Part 9

The religion of this young prince of sixteen soon unfolded itself in earnest deeds; the overthrow of idolatry, the repair of the Holy Temple, and the establishment of laws for the welfare of his people and realm.

Modern history, also, describes some young heirs of royalty, whom it is pleasant to contemplate. Conspicuous among these is Edward VI. of England, who began his reign in 1547, at the age of nine years. His mother died almost immediately after his birth, and until he was nearly seven he was under the care of females, whose virtues and accomplishments were calculated to make the happiest impression on his character. Thus, by the grace of God, was laid the foundation of that deep, tender, and consistent piety, that marked his conduct through life, and left him, at death, an unblemished fame.

In early childhood he discovered strong powers of mind, and a conscientious heart. His reverence for the Scriptures was remarkable. Once, while playing with some infantine companions, he desired to reach an article that was considerably above their heads. So they moved a large book for him to stand upon. Scarcely had he placed his foot upon the covers when he saw it was the Bible. Instantly drawing back, he folded his arms around it and said seriously to his play-fellows, "Shall I trample under my feet that which God hath commanded me to treasure up in my heart?"

On his seventh birth-day he was placed under the tuition of learned men, to study such branches of knowledge as they considered best for him, among which were the Latin and French languages. He was docile to all their directions, and frequently expressed his gratitude for their instructions. Letters elegantly written in Latin, at the age of eight, to his father, Henry Eighth, Queen Catharine Parr, his mother-in-law, and the Earl of Hertford, his uncle, are preserved as curiosities in the annals of those times.

At his coronation, being then nine years old, three swords were laid before him to signify that he was the monarch of three separate kingdoms.

"There is another sword yet wanting," said the child-prince, "one more, the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God. Without that we are nothing, we can do nothing; we have no power. Through that, we are what we are, at this day. From that Book alone, we obtain all virtue and salvation, and whatever we have of divine strength."

Constancy and regularity in prayer was among his early traits of character. After he became a king, and was subject to the interruptions and temptations of a court, nothing could induce him to neglect his daily seasons of private devotion. One day, he was told, that Sir John Cheeke, who had given him lessons in Latin, when quite a young child, was dangerously sick. With deep solemnity on his countenance, he went to his stated retirement, and afterwards hearing that the physician had said there was little hope of his recovery, replied in the simple fervour of faith,

"Ah! but I think there is. For I have most earnestly begged of God, in my prayers, this morning, to spare him."

When the sufferer was restored to health, and informed of this circumstance, he was deeply touched by the grateful affection and confiding piety of his royal pupil.

Edward Sixth kept an exact diary of all the memorable events that passed under his observation. The conferring of every office, civil or ecclesiastical, the receipts and expenditure of the revenue, the repairs or erection of forts, the sending forth or reception of ambassadors, and indeed, all matters of business that occurred during his reign, were legibly recorded by his own hand, with their appropriate dates. This diary, which evinces industry and uprightness of purpose, is often quoted by historians.

But pulmonary consumption early made fatal inroads on his health, and he prepared for a higher and happier state with the benignity of one whose heart was already there. The following prayer, which is among those which he used as the close of life drew nigh, will show how much the progress of true religion among his people dwelt on his mind, when about to be taken from them:

"My Lord God! if thou wilt deliver me from this miserable and wretched life, take me among thy chosen. Yet, not _my_ will, but _Thy_ will be done. Lord I commit my spirit unto Thee. Thou knowest how happy it were for me to be with Thee. But if Thou dost send me life and health, grant that I may more truly serve Thee.

"Oh my God! save thy people, and bless thine inheritance. Preserve thy chosen realm of England, and maintain Thy true religion, that both king and people may praise Thy holy name, for the sake of our Lord Jesus Christ."

Edward Sixth died at the age of sixteen, July 6th, 1553, beloved and lamented by all over whom he had reigned.

The historians of France record, with high encomium, the virtues of one of their princes, a son of Louis Fifteenth, who died before his father. He possessed a noble spirit, amiable manners, and in all the duties and sympathies of private life was so exemplary, that he was pronounced by national enthusiasm, "too perfect to continue on earth." He was exceedingly attentive to the education of his children, and vigilant in guarding them against the pride and arrogance of royalty. He continually endeavoured to impress upon their minds, that though they had been placed by Heaven in an elevated station, yet virtue and religion were the only true and enduring distinctions. His death, which was deeply mourned by the nation over which he had expected one day to rule, took place on the 20th of December, 1765, when he had just attained the age of thirty-seven years.

He directed the preceptor of his children to take them to the abodes of the poor, and let them taste the coarsest bread, and lie down upon the hardest pallet, that they might know how the needy live, and learn to pity them.

"Ah! suffer them also to weep," he would say, "for a prince who has never shed tears for the woes of others can never make a good king."

Yes, take them to the peasant's cot, Where penury shrinks in pain and care, Spread to their view the humblest lot, And let them taste the coarsest fare,

And bid their tender limbs recline Upon the hard and husky bed, Where want and weary labour pine, Diseased, unpitied, and unfed;

And let them weep; for if their eyes With tender Pity ne'er o'erflow, How will they heed their subjects' signs, Or learn to feel a nation's woe?

Oh children! though your Maker's hand, Hath mark'd for you a lofty sphere, And though your welfare and command Are now to partial Gallia dear;

Yet many a child from lowliest shed, Whose peasant father turns the sod, May in the righteous day of dread Be counted _greater_ by his God.

Evils of War.

"From whence come wars and fightings?" James, iv. 1.

You will perhaps say they have been from the beginning. The history of every nation tells of the shedding of blood. In the Bible and other ancient records of man, we read of "wars and fightings," ever since he was placed upon the earth.

Yet there have been always some to lament that the creatures whom God has made should thus destroy each other. They have felt that human life was short enough, without its being made still shorter by violence. Among the most warlike nations there have been wise and reflecting minds, who felt that war was an evil, and deplored it as a judgment.

Rome was one of the most warlike nations of the ancient world. Yet three of her best Emperors gave their testimony against war, and were most reluctant to engage in it. Adrian truly loved peace, and endeavoured to promote it. He saw that war was a foe to those arts and sciences which cause nations to prosper. Titus Antoninus Pius tried to live in peace with every one. He did all in his power to prevent war, and said he would "rather save the life of one citizen, than destroy a thousand enemies." Marcus Aurelius considered war both as a disgrace and a calamity. When he was forced into it, his heart revolted.

Yet these were heathen emperors. They had never received the Gospel, which breathes "peace and good-will to man." The law of Moses did not forbid war "An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth," was the maxim of the Jewish people. But the law of Jesus Christ is a law of peace. "I say unto you, that ye resist not evil," were the words not only of his lips, but of his example. His command to his disciples was, "See that ye love one another."

The spirit of war, therefore, was not condemned by the Jewish law, or by the creeds of the heathen. But it is contrary to the spirit of the Gospel.

Have you ever seriously considered the evil and sorrow of war? how it destroys the lives of multitudes, and makes bitter mourning in families and nations? You are sorry when you see a friend suffering pain, or a lame man with a broken bone, or even a child with a cut finger. But after a battle, what gashes and gaping wounds are seen, while the ground is red with the flowing blood, and the dying in their agony are trampled under the feet of horses, or covered with heaps of dead bodies.

Think too of the poverty and distress that come upon many families, who have lost the friend whose labour provided them with bread, upon the mourning of gray-headed parents from whose feeble limbs the prop is taken away; upon the anguish of wives for their slaughtered husbands; and the weeping of children, because their dear fathers must return to them no more.

All these evils, and many which there is not room to mention, come from a single battle. But in one war there are often many battles. Towns are sometimes burned, and the aged and helpless destroyed. The mother and her innocent babes perish in the flames of their own beloved homes.

It is very sad to think of the cruelty and bad passions which war produces. Men, who have no cause to dislike each other, meet as deadly foes. They raise weapons of destruction, and exult to hear the groans of death. Rulers who make war, should remember the suffering and sin which it occasions, and how much more noble it is to save life than to destroy it.

Howard visited the prisons of Europe, and relieved the miseries of those who had no helper, and died with their blessings on his head. Bonaparte caused multitudes to be slain, and multitudes to mourn, and died like a chained lion upon a desolate island. Is not the fame of Howard better than that of Bonaparte?

The religious sect of Friends, or Quakers, as they are sometimes called, never go to war. The beautiful State of Pennsylvania was originally settled by them. William Penn, its founder, would not permit any discord with the Indians, its original inhabitants. He obtained the land of them by fair purchase, and set the example of treating them with justice and courtesy.

In most of the other colonies there had been fearful wars with the savages. In ambush and massacre, the blood of the new-comers had been shed; and they had retaliated on the sons of the forest with terrible vengeance. Older States looked upon this proffer of peace as a dangerous experiment. They said, "These Quakers have put their heads under the tomahawk." But on the contrary, no drop of their blood was ever shed by the Indians in Pennsylvania. They gathered around William Penn with reverence and love. Rude warriors as they were, they admired his peaceful spirit. He explained his views to them with cordiality, and they listened to his words.

"We will not fight with you," he said, "nor shed your blood. If a quarrel arise, six of our people and six of your own, shall meet together and judge what is right, and settle the matter accordingly."

Subdued by his spirit of kindness and truth, they promised to live in peace with him and his posterity "so long as the sun and moon shall endure."

On his return to England, among the friends who gathered around the ship to bid him farewell, were groups of Indians with mournful brows, the women holding up their little ones, that they might have one more sight of the great and good man, whom they called their Father. Was not this more acceptable to Heaven than the din of strife, and the false glory of the conqueror?

So earnest was William Penn to convince his fellowmen that it was both their duty and privilege to live in peace, that he travelled into foreign countries for that purpose, using his eloquence, and knowledge of various languages with considerable success. Peter the Great, when studying the arts of civilization in England, was much interested by visits from this teacher of Peace, who conversed fluently with him in German. The young Czar listened with great attention and courtesy, while he unfolded his system. He then earnestly requested that it might be expressed for him in a few words, and William Penn wrote,

"Men must be holy, or they cannot be happy; they should be few in words, peaceable in life, suffer wrongs, love enemies, and deny themselves: without which, faith is false; worship, formality, and religion, hypocrisy."

The future Emperor of the Russians, though not a convert to the doctrine of the Quakers, regarded it with so much respect, that he repeatedly attended their meetings, evincing deep and interested attention. To his mind, the theory of peace seemed beautiful, yet he considered it impossible that wars should be prevented. He did not believe that contending nations could be made to settle their differences without an appeal to arms, or that their anger might be soothed by the mediation of a friendly people, as a good man makes peace between offended neighbours. It did not occur to him that a Christian ruler might mediate with the soothing policy of the patriarch Abraham to his wrathful kinsman:

"Let there be no strife, I pray thee, between me and thee, or between my herdsmen and thy herdsmen, for we be brethren."

The Liberated Fly.

A Fly was struggling in a vase of ink, Which with my feathery quill-top I releas'd, As the rope saves the drowning mariner. I thought at first the luckless wight was dead, But mark'd a quivering of the slender limbs, And laid him on a paper in the sun, To renovate himself. With sudden spasm Convulsion shook him sore, and on his back Discomfited he lay. Then, by his side I strew'd some sugar, and upon his breast Arrang'd a particle, thinking, perchance, The odour of his favourite aliment Might stimulate the palate, and uncoil The folded trunk. But, straight, a troop of friends Gather'd around him, and I deem'd it kind To express their sympathy, in such dark hour Of adverse fortune. Yet, behold! they came To forage on his stores, and rudely turn'd And toss'd him o'er and o'er, to help themselves With more convenience. Quite incens'd to see Their utter want of pitying courtesy, I drove these venal people all away, And shut a wine-glass o'er him, to exclude Their coarse intrusion. Forthwith, they return'd, And through his palace peer'd, and, round and round Gadding, admission sought: yet all in vain. And so, a wondrous buzzing they set up, As if with envy mov'd to see him there, The untasted luxury at his very lips, For which they long'd so much. Then suddenly, The prisoner mov'd his head, and rose with pain, And dragg'd his palsied body slow along, Marking out sinuous lines, as on a map, Coast, islet, creek, and lithe promontory, Blank as the Stygian ink-pool, where he plung'd So foolishly. But a nice bath was made In a small silver spoon, from which he rose Most marvellously chang'd, stretching outright All his six legs uncramp'd, and, opening wide And shutting with delight his gauzy wings, Seem'd to applaud the cleansing properties Of pure cold water. Then with appetite, He took the food that he had loath'd before; And in this renovation of the life Of a poor noteless insect, was a joy, And sweet content, I never could have felt From taking it away. Still let us guard, For every harmless creature, God's good gifts Of breath and being; since each beating heart Doth hide some secret sense of happiness Which he who treadeth out can ne'er restore.

The Good Brother and Sister.

Jacob Bicks was a native of Leyden, in Holland, and born in the year 1657. His parents were religious, and gave strict attention to his early education, and their efforts were rewarded. He became tenderly conscientious, and in all his conduct sought to obey them and please God.

When the plague raged in Holland, in 1664, he was seized with the fatal infection. At first he seemed drowsy and lethargic, but during his waking intervals, was observed to be engaged in prayer.

"This," said he, "gives me comfort in my distress."

Perceiving that he suffered pain, he was asked if he would like again to see the physician.

"No," he earnestly answered, "I wish to have him no more. The Lord will help me, for I well know that He is about to take me to himself."

"Dear child," said his father, "this grieves us to the heart."

"Father," answered the meek sufferer, "let us pray. The Lord will be near for my helper."

After prayer, he spoke with a stronger and more joyful voice, his parting words,

"Come now, father and mother, come and kiss me, I feel that I am to die. Farewell, dear parents, farewell, dear sister, farewell all. Now shall I go to heaven, and to the holy angels. Remember ye not what is said by Jeremiah, 'Blessed is he who trusteth in the Lord.' I trust in Him, and lo! he blesseth me. 'Little children, love not the world, for it passeth away.' Away then with the pleasant things of the world, away with my toys, away with my books, in heaven I shall have a sufficiency of the true wisdom without them."

"God will be near thee," said the father. "He shall uphold thee."

"It is written," answered the child, "that He giveth grace unto the humble. I shall humble myself under His mighty hand, and He will lift me up."

"Hast thou indeed, so strong a faith, my dear son?" asked the afflicted father.

"Yes," said the dying boy, "He hath given me this strong faith in Jesus Christ. He that believeth on Him hath everlasting life, and shall overcome the wicked one. I believe in Jesus Christ, my Redeemer. He will never leave nor forsake me. He will give me eternal life. He will let me sing, 'Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Sabaoth.'"

Then, with his failing breath, they heard upon his lips the softly murmured prayer, "Lord, be merciful to me a poor sinner," as with a trusting smile his spirit passed away, just as he had completed his seventh year.

His sister, Susanna, seven years older than himself, was smitten by the same terrible pestilence, a few weeks after his death. She had been from the beginning a child of great sweetness of disposition, attentive to her studies, and so faithful in her religious duties as to be considered an example for other young persons, and even for older Christians.

Bending beneath the anguish of her disease, like a crushed and beautiful flower she sustained herself and comforted others with the words of that Blessed Book, in which was her hope.

"If Thy law were not my delight, I should perish in this my affliction. Be merciful to me, oh Father! be merciful to me a sinner, according unto thy word."

Fixing her eyes tenderly upon her mourning parents, she said,

"Cast your burden upon the Lord. He shall sustain you. He will never suffer the righteous to be moved. Therefore, dearest mother, be comforted. He will cause all things to go well that concern you."

Her mother answered with tears,

"O, our dear child, God, by his grace, hath given me great comfort in thee, in thy religious temper, and thy great attention to reading the Scriptures, prayer, and pious discourse, edifying us as well as thyself. He, even He Himself, who gave thee to us, make up this loss, if it be His pleasure to take thee away."

"Dear mother, though I must leave you, and you me, God will never leave either of us. Is it not written, Can a woman forget her child? Yea, she may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands. Oh! most comfortable words, both for parents and child."

Fatigued with speaking, she fell into a deep slumber, and on awaking, asked what day it was. She was told it was Sabbath morning.

"Father, have you commended me to be remembered in the prayers of the Church?"

"Yes, my daughter."

"This comforts me. For I have learned to believe that the effectual fervent prayer of the righteous availeth much."

She had a peculiarly warm and grateful love for her teachers and pastor, and a veneration for all ministers of the Gospel. She delighted to listen to their conversation wherever she met them, and counted any attention from them as an honour. But now, she would not consent that they should approach her, lest they might take the fearful disease that was hurrying her to the tomb.

"I will not expose their valuable lives," she said. "I cast myself wholly upon the mercies of God. His word is my comforter."

Her knowledge of the Scriptures was uncommon. She had committed large portions of it to memory, which gave hallowed themes to her meditation, and naturally mingled with her discourse in these solemn, parting moments.

She felt a deep desire for the progress of true religion, whose worth she was now able more fully to appreciate than in the days of health. One morning, she was found bathed in tears, and when the cause was inquired, exclaimed,

"Have I not cause to weep? Our dear minister was taken ill in his pulpit this morning, and went home very sick. Is it not a sign of God's displeasure against our country, when such a faithful pastor is smitten?"

She had shed no tear for her own severe pains, but she bemoaned the sufferings of others, and the afflictions that threatened the Church. Of her own merits she entertained a most humble opinion, and would often repeat with deep feeling,

"The sacrifices of God are a contrite heart. A broken and a contrite spirit He will not despise. I desire that brokenness of heart which flows from faith, and that faith which is built upon Christ, the only sacrifice for sin."

Waking from a troubled sleep, she said in a faint voice,

"O dear father, dear mother, how very weak I am."

"God in his tender mercy," said the sorrowing parents, "strengthen your weakness."

"Yea, this is my confidence. A bruised reed will He not break, and the smoking flax will He not quench."

Her parents, surprised and moved at a piety so far beyond her years, could not refrain from a strong burst of tears at the affliction that awaited them in her loss. Greatly grieved at their sorrow, she soothed them and argued with them against its indulgence.

"Oh! why should you so weep over me? Is it not the good Lord that takes me out of this miserable world? Shall it not be well with me, through all eternity? Ought you not to be satisfied, seeing God is in heaven, and doeth whatsoever he pleaseth? Do you not pray every day, that His will may be done? Should we not be content when our prayers are answered? Is not extreme sorrow murmuring against Him? Although I am struck with this sad disease, yet because it is His will, let that silence us. For as long as I live, shall I pray, that _His will, and not mine_, be done."

She then spoke of the plague that was raging throughout the country with violence, and said she chose to consider it as the especial allotment of the Almighty, and not, as some supposed, the result of disorder in the elements. After a pause, she added,