Perhaps at no time is it more likely to become trifling and useless, than during the every-day intercourse of the members of a family; who being necessarily thrown much together, are at a loss oftentimes for subjects which would prove to all interesting, and in which each might bear a part. Some of my readers will readily recall times when they have found it so; and wearied with the irksomeness of being compelled to talk about anything, would, perhaps, be glad of assistance in order to occupy future time more profitably. Will they allow me to introduce them to the breakfast table of an intelligent and pious family, who had some valuable plans for preventing this dearth? Some of the young people were advanced beyond the age of childhood, and had given satisfactory evidence that they desired to be remembered with God's people. Among the methods which they had adopted was one, which I would recommend my young friends to try, that of noting in their memory any passage which had struck, or thought that had occurred to them, in their morning reading; and when assembled, to seek further information, or communicate the result of their own reflections. On the morning to which I would allude, Ellen, one of the younger children, begged permission to furnish the topic for discussion, which being granted, the following conversation ensued : Ellen.-Papa, is all that our Saviour said, in conversation with his disciples, to be considered as binding upon us ? Father. You may find a few of his commands of an immediately personal nature; but when He who spake as never man spake, conversed with his disciples, or preached to surrounding multitudes, he never did it but for some important purpose; and, doubtless, all his precepts come to us with the authority of Jehovah himself. But which particular one have you at this moment in view? Does it appear to you too trivial to be attended to, or too difficult to be observed ? Ellen.-Indeed, papa, I scarcely know, perhaps I do not understand it. I am thinking just now of that one, "Let your communication be yea, yea; nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil." Matt. v. 37. Father.-Perhaps you think, my child, that, in adhering to this rule, we should soon become as laconic as the Spartans of old were said to be; and thus lose much of the pleasure which we derive from conversation, which if it be, as your favorite expresses it" the overflow of feelings, too big for the bosom to hold and be at peace," could not well be very diffuse, if confined to those two monosyllables; but your brothers and sisters will doubtless assist you; mamma, too, will add her thoughts on this important command. Come, Henry, how should you explain it? Henry.-There is much of our Saviour's language which we cannot explain literally, and in this case, I believe we must look beyond the words themselves, to the spirit of the command. Anna.-And what, Henry, will you call the spirit of it? Henry. We consider "yea" to be a simple affirmative; we expect it to be truth; it can scarcely admit of equivocation, certainly not of exaggeration, or of those embellishments of a lively imagination, which, if not falsehood, are not direct and simple truth. Frederick.-I agree with you in this view, but to examine it more minutely, (for if it be a command, we should understand all its bearings,) what does it enforce, or what prohibit? Henry. I should say that it certainly forbids direct falsehood, which will be readily admitted: all agree in condemning that vice, even those who practise it; but there are modifications of falsehood, from which I fear we are not altogether free. According to my view of the passage, it condemns any thing which makes the most distant approach to deception, and any thing beyond a simple assertion of truth unmixed with those unnecessary affirmations so often used. Anna.-Do you consider such expressions as "Upon my honor," &c. as included among those unnecessary affirmations? Henry.-I do; they are needless to one who is conscious of meriting credence; and equally so, to those who have forfeited their character for veracity; they add no weight to the thing affirmed, and are unbecoming the dignity of one who scorns an evasion of truth. Mrs. S.-I agree with you, my son, and I would curtail too, the exaggerating modes of expression which have become authorised by custom, but certainly not (unless they could be proved to be truth) by the word of God. In the extravagant terms, of "excruciating agony," "ecstacies of delight," which commonly mean only an ordinary degree of pain or pleasure; this rule of simplicity of conversation is evidently violated. Frederick.-It should also prove a check, in the relation of a circumstance, which, simply told, might seem common-place, to those embellishments and heightened colours which are so easy to a warm imagination. We must keep to the plain and unvarnished truth, though our tale should fail to excite the tear, or, raise the laugh, which it might otherwise do. Anna. It will then prohibit that profusion of unmeaning compliments, words of mere ceremony, and sometimes bordering upon flattery; to which we unthinkingly habituate ourselves. - Henry. There is another thing, which, if not included in the injunction, is yet connected with its spirit ;-the repeating the words of others (when necessary) with studied correctness, not only of expression, but of tone and manner, endeavoring to convey that meaning ONLY, which we, in conscience, believe they intended. I believe in this we are too apt to err, and a very slight variation, may make a most material difference in the sense which they will convey to the mind: but our meal is over, and we must end our discussion, without exhausting our subject. Anna.-Well, Emma dear, I must thank you for its introduction, and you, brothers, for your elucidation. I had certainly never so fully considered the passage, and have, I fear, been guilty in every point. Mr. S.-We have all, even those who have best understood it, great reason to be humbled for our too frequent deviation from Christian simplicity of speech. May we, my children, be increasingly anxious to adorn the doctrine of our Lord Jesus in this, and every other respect. MARGARITA. TRYING AGAINST CRYING. (From the American Religious Magazine.') ONE afternoon, just before dark, there were assembled in the comfortable parlor of Mr. of two boys and two girls. Selby, a group of children, consisting was crying bitterly, and her brothers and sister were trying to comfort her. "I wouldn't cry, Fanny," said one of the boys, soothingly, "if you will only stop crying, you can do your sum in a minute; I know you can."' "No, I can't, William," sobbed Fanny; "I know I never can do it in the world, and I can't stop crying either"-and her tears flowed still faster. "If you will only try, Fanny," said Lucy, "If you will only stop crying and try to do it, I know you can." George ran to the card-table, where the slate and pencil had been carelessly thrown, and brought them to her, but she did not take them; and as he stood holding them by her side, she said, "I should think father might let one of you help me," and her grief seemed to pour forth afresh at the thought. Just at this moment, her father came in, and as he entered the door, he surveyed in astonishment, the scene before him. "What is the matter, children?" he asked. "Fanny can't do her sum," answered William in something like a reproachful tone, for he thought his father rather severe in not allowing him to help her. Mr. Selby had his hands filled with papers, and was in a great hurry, but he was always ready to devote his time to his children, and he stayed to settle the difficulty. "Have you tried to do it, Fanny?" asked he. "I know I can't do it, father," was all her answer. "But have you tried?” "Such a great long sum in compound division !" was her only answer, and her tears flowed afresh at the hard name of the process. "Will you tell me, Fanny," said Mr. Selby in a decided tone, "if you have tried to do the sum?" 66 No, father, I knew I never could do it, if I tried ever so much." "You cannot know that, Fanny, until you have tried. I am persuaded that you can do the sum if you choose to give your mind to it; but I never yet knew anything done by crying. You wasted an hour this morning over this very sum, and I presume you mean to do the same this afternoon. If you had exerted yourself this morning, you might have finished your task in half an hour, and have spent this afternoon in amusing yourself with your brothers and sister; and if you are willing now to make an effort, you may yet spend the evening happily with them. Take your slate, dry your tears, and give your whole mind to what you are about. Do not look at your brothers or think of them. Be resolved to do your best without any assistance, and you will find this dreadful undertaking very much easier than you expect. Will you not try, Fanny, to conquer yourself, to please me, and your brothers and sister? If you meet with any real difficulty,” he added, "if there is anything that has not been explained to you, I will show you about it; only do your best as far as you know what is to be done. Now, will you not try ?" do Fanny had stopped crying while her father was speaking to her, for she felt a little ashamed that he should see her in such trouble about such a little thing; and before he had finished talking, she began to feel how foolish it was in her to be so easily discouraged. So she resolved to do her best and try, as her father wished. Fanny seated herself at a window in a remote part of the room, and began her work in earnest. William and George very kindly went out of the room, that they might not disturb her, and Lucy took her sewing and sat down by the fire very quietly. Fanny was proceeding in her division very prosperously, when she saw her mother coming up the front steps. She was going to put down her slate and run to the door to meet her, but just as her slate touched the chair, she remembered that this was not the way to accomplish her task, and she went on with her work. When she saw Lucy go out of the room to meet her mother, she could not prevent her thoughts from wandering a little, and she was obliged to repeat" 5 in 14, goes"-several times before she had collected her thoughts enough to know that 2 should be written down in her quotient. When, however, Lucy had gone, and she was alone, she gave her attention again entirely to her sum, but her difficulties were not quite over, for before she had finished it she became puzzled, and was almost tempted to throw down her slate in despair and declare that she "never could do it." But, remembering the kind words of her father, and the anxious looks of her brothers and sister, she persevered, and soon found that a little patience helped her out of her trouble. In the space of half an hour, she entered the library, and put her slate into her father's hands with the answer to her sum neatly written upon it. Her countenance wore rather a doubtful expression, for she felt as if it |