THE EMBLEM.

BY REV. W. WARREN.

'Tis calm again, the furious shower has passed;
The lightning's crinkling lash, the thunder's frown,
Have cleared the sky. The frighted earth is still.
The insect-voice alone the silence breaks,
And this the wide repose more tranquil makes.
How sweet, how pure, how calm, how mild, is all!
The trees and clouds stand motionless,
so still
That one would think the breath of nature spent.
The smiling lake lies waveless, voiceless, still,
As the ocean, hung on high, seen in its face.
Silence seems audible, so hushed is all.

How strange the contrast! But an hour ago

The pines were bowing, forests waved and roared,

The heavens were hurried, waters rushed and broke,

The winds and waves, the clouds and flames were mixed!

God reigns. He speaks, and all is calm and still.

The storm obeys Him. Humble at his feet

The billows lie. The winds He calls again
Into his treasury. From darkness light

He brings; from chaos, harmony. From winds
And storms He calls the sweetness of the calm ;
Yon sunset's wreath of gold, dropped from the brow
Of tyrant tempests. Wrath is turned to praise.
Where am I-where? The world of yesterday
Is this? Are these terrestrial scenes? those trees,
Those clouds, those streams,· are they the streams and clouds
Of earth, or paradise? Of earth, alas!
I'm yet a voyager of life. And still

Ere angels sung, or men or worlds were made,
When all was space and spirit where I gaze.

A stillness reigned than this more deep and dread, —
It was the stillness of a waste, a void,

A solitude, the calm of nothingness

Save Deity. Such calm will reign again

When earth's last storm is hushed, and all, once more,
Is spirit! When, like the hurrying clouds, the heavens
Themselves shall roll together; when the fires

That flew, just now, around the heavens, shall light
The universe, and in a glance paint hell
Upon creation! Earth's convulsion o'er,
The conflagration spent, then calm will reign.
Silence more deep and dread than this will be.
No ear shall list, to drink it in. No step

Shall pause, in pensive mood, to catch the spell.

No heavens will shine, nor cloud shall blush, nor lake
Shall lash the shore! "Tis universal rest;

There are no heavens, no clouds, nor lakes, nor shores.
Great nature, tired of storms and agitations, rests-
Rests in the sleep of calm extinction.

Sweet and impressive hour! Inspire my faith
To cast a look beyond these billowy waves,
These storms and restless shores of mortal strife,
To the calm rest and shore of heaven, serene.
Sweet hour, dear scene, depart, adieu! Cares call,
Night hastens ; yet I've read in thee a leaf
Of life. I've seen this day an emblem true
Of man's existence here. Its rosy morn,
Its rising hopes, its cloudless, peerless sky,
The darkening hour, the swift vicissitudes,
The stormy strife, the peaceful end in heaven!
Let this still hour my closing day portend,
Then shall it stand on memory's faithful leaf
Of joys recorded, fresh on life's last page,

When all, like this day's strife, is hushed in death.

MOTHER SAYS SO.

BY MARY GRACE HALPING.

"DEAR me!" exclaimed Mrs. Jones to her husband, one afternoon; "there is Mrs. More coming up the lane. She will stay to tea, of course, and there is n't a bit of bread in the house; and just see how I look! It seems as if that woman was abroad half the time. Day before yesterday she spent the afternoon at Mr. White's, and yesterday, when I went over to Squire Muggins', she was there. I really think it a sin and a shame for a woman to neglect her family in the way she does! Fanny," she added, sharply, floor playing with her dolls,

addressing a little girl seated on the

put your playthings away directly! How often must I tell you not to litter up the floor in that manner?"

Mrs. Jones had hardly time to smooth her ruffled collar, and still more ruffled brow, when Mrs. More entered. Advancing to meet her visitor with a bland smile, she greeted her cordially, addressing her in a strain in which reproaches for so long neglecting to call, and delight at seeing her, were strangely intermingled.

The large, wondering eyes of the child were fixed on the mother with a look of mingled perplexity and doubt. "How do you do, Fanny?" said Mrs. More, kindly addressing the little girl; "come and speak to me, dear." The child drew back behind her mother's chair.

'Fanny," said Mrs. Jones, gently, "the lady is speaking to you. Go and shake hands with her."

"I don't want to," replied the child; "she is a naughty woman, and ought to stay at home."

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"What is that, Fanny?" said her father, sternly, looking up from the paper he was reading; "what is that you are saying? Who taught you such manners? Go right up and speak to her!

"She ought to stay at home, father," said the little one, earnestly, looking up into his face appealingly, her lips quivering, and her eyes filling with tears; "she ought to stay at home,— mother said so."

"Leave the room, Fanny!" said Mrs. Jones, hastily, her cheek flushing crimson. The child obeyed, sobbing as though her little heart would break.

Poor child! she was learning her first lesson in deception, and a bitter one it was.

"That is not a proper manner in which to speak, Charles," I observed one day to a little boy who used the name of God lightly and irreverently; "that is not a proper manner in which to speak of the great and holy God."

40, but it is, ma'am," he returned, quickly looking up with his clear, truthful eyes," mother says so."

A group of little ones had collected in a corner, discussing a question to them of the greatest importance. "I don't believe that is true, Ellen," said one of the little girls, in reply to a statement made by her sister.

"Nor I either," exclaimed the others; "I don't believe a word of it."

"It is true," returned Ellen, positively, looking around in triumph; "it is true,- mother says so."

O, take care, mother! The ear of the little one at your knee is drinking every careless word, its eye is observing every varying expression. To its little credulous, confiding heart, you are the oracle of wisdom, one who cannot err.

Children are keen and quick observers, influenced more by example than precept. And it is all in vain, Christian mother, that you endeavor at stated intervals to lead your little ones up to Christ, while your daily walk and conversation show that your heart is far from Him. It is all in vain that you strive to inculcate, by a few. set phrases, the doctrines of the "meek and lowly," while the words which daily fall from your lips prove that they are strangers to your own bosom. It is all in vain that you seek to cultivate in their hearts a love of truth and a hatred of deception, while you speak with lying lips, leading their young and tender feet into the dark. mazes of falsehood.

And, with habits fixed for time and eternity, it is all too late, perchance, that they learn by sad experience that you are not infallible, that it is not always so because Mother says so.

THE YOUNG DISCIPLE AT LYSTRA.

BY REV. E. F. CUTTER.

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TIMOTHY was the favorite disciple and fellow-laborer of Paul. He was first introduced to the apostle's notice at Lystra, by the favorable report of the brethren there. His father was a Greek, but his mother a Jewess, "which believed." This memorable fact is a clue to his excellent, early training, and to the consistency, of deportment that marks his youth and his mature life. From this time he became Paul's confidential companion and friend," his own son in the faith," "dearly beloved," his "work-fellow," who, "as a son with the father, served with him in the gospel." The record, is a remarkable one. The young disciple of Lystra seems never to

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have faltered in his Christian course. Though all others sought their own, he sought rather the things that were Jesus Christ's. (Philip. 2: 21.) Wherever Paul has occasion to speak of him, he uses the language of commendation,- he records his "unfeigned faith," devoted affection and persevering zeal.

We are naturally led to inquire into the circumstances under which such a character was formed, and the causes that operated to produce it. These are alluded to in the first chapter and fifth verse of the second epistle to Timothy. Paul addresses him with great affection, as Timothy, my dearly-beloved son. He then implores upon him the blessing of God, expresses an earnest longing to see him, and thanks God for his daily remembrance of him in his prayers, and for his strong confidence in his piety and devotion to Christ. Then he adds, as the ground of that confidence, "When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois and thy mother Eunice, and I am persuaded in thee also." Here we are admitted into the secret places where God, by mighty instrumentalities, trained Timothy for the work he had appointed him. From early years a mother, distinguished for piety, guides his feet; and that mother herself was the daughter of one of like faith and prayer. "The unfeigned faith" of Timothy "dwelt first in his grandmother Lois and his mother Eunice." Their teaching and example early impressed the stamp of truth and holiness, and from childhood made him familiar with the Scriptures. With the first and deepest impressions of his mind were mingled the pure teachings of God's word. With all the undying memories of a mother's love were linked the remembrance and love of God. The mother and the Bible formed the basis of a true, symmetrical character, a matured understanding, and an intelligent belief of religious doctrine.

Hence the apostle addresses him (2 Tim. 3: 14, 15), "Continue thou in the things which thou hast learned and hast been assured of, knowing of whom thou hast learned them; and that, from a child, thou hast known the holy Scriptures, which are able to make thee wise unto salvation, through faith which is in Jesus Christ." This was the only appeal needed in the case of one so well taught from the beginning. Early trained at a mother's knee in the Bible, it only remained that he should abide in the path opened to his youthful feet. This he might do with strong confidence, for he knew the