« ZurückWeiter »
eye to look into. The harmonies of a developed and transfigured womanhood have been set many a time to other music than that of wedding-bells. She who is enthroned never, under any roof, in a mother's holy sovereignty, may earn the right, in many a house, of compelling every soul to love her. She will create or find an atmosphere in which to keep unwithered "the beart out of which are the issues of life.” Her hands will redeem the time, and her brain not be idle. Living single, yet not solitary, when sbe dies it will not be till "smote" by many a touch of gratitude and cheerful, reverential sympathy "the chord of self has trembled past in music out of sight."
“MY MOTHER KNOWS BEST." A party of little girls stood talking beneath my window. Some nice plan was on foot; they were going into the woods, and meant to make oak leaf trimming, and pick berries. Oh! it was a fine time they meant to have.
“Now," said they to one of their number, “Ellen, you run home and ask your mother if you may go. Tell her that we are all going, and you must.” Ellen with her white cape-bonnet, skipped across the way, and went into the house opposite. She was gone some time. The little girls kept looking up at the windows very impatiently. At length the door opened, and Ellen came down the steps.
She did not seem in a hurry to join her companions, and they cried out, “You got leave ! you are going, are you ?"" Ellen shook her head, and said that her mother could not let her go. "Oh,” cried the children, “it is too bad! Not go ! it is really unkind in your mother. Why, I would make her let you. Oh, oh! I would go whether or no !”
“ My mother knows best," was Ellen's answer, and was a beautiful one. Her lips quivered a very little, for I suppose she wanted to go, and was much disappointed not to obtain leave; but she did not look angry or pouting, and her voice was very gentle but very firm, when she said, "My mother knows best."
There are a great many times when mothers do not see fit to give their children leave to go where and do what they wish, and how often they are rebellious and salky in consequence of it. But this is not the true way, for it is not pleasing to Gud. The true way is a cheerful compliance with your mother's request. Trust her, and smooth down your ruffled feelings by the sweet and dutiful thought, "My mother knows best." It will save you many tears and much sorrow. It is the gratitude you owe her who has done and suffered so much for you, and the obedience you owe her in the Lord. Christian Treasury.
To cheer the soul, when tired with human strife,
And soften down the rugged road of life."
FROM THE GERMAX BY TIE EDITOR.
XXXIX-THE COLLIER AND THE BLEACHER.
A collier said to a bleacher, who was going about to rent a house : “ Brother, remove to me, into my house; it is large enough for your work and mine."
But the bleacher said: “It will never do, brother; for the linen that I should whiten with much toil and care would be blackened again from your coal."
Then the honest collier laughed and said: “You are rightwhite and black go not well together. Yes, as the white linen would fare among the coal, so fares a pure soul among men of black hearts and vulgar manners."
Would you be innocent, then say
XL-THE TWO TRAVELLERS.
Two travellers, Albrecht and Burkhard, went peacefully with one another on their journey. Albrecht spied a bag of gold lying in the road. At once he sprang toward it and picked it up.
“Brother," said Burkhard, “ let us honestly divide the money between ELS." But Albrecht said : “No; that I will not do; I found the bag, and hence it is mine." Smiling, he put it into bis pocket, and Burkhard travelled on with him sadly.
After some time, a robber, with unsheathed sword rushed into the Toad toward them. Albrecht grew pale as death, and said : “Brother,
we will faithfully stand by one another; one man will not so easily overcome two. Hasten and draw your sword with me !"
But Burkhard said: “That I will not do ; the robber can take nothing from me. You kept all the money for yourself, and hence you may also fight for it alone."
Albrecht was overcome by the robber, and instead of bearing from the conflict his gold, came off with nothing but wounds !
In time of luck share with your friends
XLI-THE LITTLE BASKET MAKER.
Young Edward had very rich parents. He depended on their wealth, and refused to be taught any useful employment. But the son of a poor neighbor, little Jacob, with great diligence learned to make baskets.
One day Edward sat at the sea shore, fishing for pastime. Jacob had cut a bundle of willow, and was just ready to start for home, when suddenly several pirates sprang out of the brush-wood, and carried away both boys to their ship, in order to sell them as slaves.
The ship was carried about long and far by storms, and at last wrecked on the rocks of a distant island. None escaped death but the two boys, who, amid much suffering, swam to the land, which was inhabited by fearful negroes.
Little Jacob immediately bethought himself that his art of basket making might be the means of bringing him into favor with these Moors. He took out his knife, cut off willow shoots, and began to plait a neat basket. Many black men, women, and children, gathered around him, and looked on with great curiosity.
When the basket was finished he presented it to the chief among them. Then all of them, big and little, wished to have such baskets made. They provided little
Jacob with a neat hut, shaded by many fruit trees, that he might work undisturbed at his baskets. They also promised faithfully to furnish him as much food as he should need.
Then they asked Edward also to make a basket. But when they found that he had learned nothing, and could not do it, they whipped him severely ; yea, they would have killed him had not little Jacob interceded for him. They also compelled Edward to give Jacob his nice velvet coat and himself put on Jacob's cassock made of ticking, and made him become the servant of the little basket maker, to wait upon bim, and carry his willow bundles to the hut.
Thus industry will honored stand
LIGHTS AND SHADES.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
The gloomiest day hath gleams of light;
The darkest wave hath bright foam near it,
Some solitary star to cheer it.
The saddest heart is not all sadness,
There shines some lingering beam of gladness.
Nor life nor death the future closes ;
Will Hope and Fancy twine their roses.
DEATH OF THE PASTOR'S WIFE.
BY THE EDITOR.
Ort, oft beside the solemn bed uf death,
Where anxious friends sat silent in their cloud of fears,
And there, with others mourning, drop'd affection's tears.
And in the room of death but looks, not whispers speak;
Warm tears are coursing ever warmer down his sadden'd cheek. Chide not his grief; such tears o'en faith may shed, Since Christ at Beth'ny wep't o'er His beloved dead. "Tis o'er! We mournful say that she has gone,
Bat angels on the other side say, she has come ; Her life has pass'd from view but joyeth on
In a far higher flow of bliss, and in a happier home. Oh joy! when Christians die Heaven greets the earth, And what we mourn as death the angels hail as birth.
Close her eyes for sweetest rest,
Earthly things the sees no more ;
For her work is o'er.
That it is the sainted wear ;
Rosebuds in ber bair.
She has learned to live and love ;
She will join above.
'Neath the church-yard's shaded sod;
Round the lovely dead.
Plant a flower at its bead;
For the trump of God.
Nor as sleeping in the tomb;
In the heavenly bome.
This the world can little bear;
They will tell it there.
In your heart's deep silent love,
Let her sacred image lie;
That can never die.
Joined in faith and holy love,
Christian hearts are sunderea never;
One in Christ forever!
NOTHING IS LOST.
Which trembles on the leaf or flower,
In summer's thunder shower ;
That fronts the sun at fall of day;
Of fountaios far away.
By wild birds brought, or breezes blown,
W rein 'tis sown and grown;
The perfume of some cherished flower,
To memory's after hour,
Uttered, they are not all forgot;
Pass on, but perish not!
They have their powers scarce understood ;
To make them rife with good!
HOW TO LIVE. “So live that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan,
that moves To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go, not like the quarry slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him and lies down to pleasant dreams.".