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pointing out as an example the humility of little children, said,
Except ye become as one of these, ye cannot enter into the kingdom of Heaven,' and who calleth all the weary and heavy laden to come unto him, that he may give them rest. The scene called forth sympathy, even from manly bosoms. The mother, worn with watching and weariness, bowed her head down to the clay that concealed her child. And it was observed with gratitude by that friendly group, that the husband supported her in bis arms, and mingled his tears with hers.
He returned from this funeral in much mental distress. His sins were brought to remembrance, and reflection was misery. Conscience haunted him with terrors, and many prayers froni pious hearts arose, that he might now be led to repentance. The venerable man who had read the Bible at the burial of his boy, counselled and entreated him, with the earnestness of a father, to yield to the warning voice from above, and to break off his sins by righteousness, and his iniquities by turning unto the Lord.'
There was a change in his habits and conversation, and his friends trusted it would be permanent. She who, above all others, was interested in the result, spared no exertion to win him back to the way of truth, and to soothe his heart into peace with itself, and obedience to his Maker. Yet was she doomed to witness the full force of grief and remorse upon intemperance, only to see them utterly overthrown at last, The reviving virtue, with whose indications she had solaced herself, and even given thanks that her beloved son had not died in vain, was transient as the morning dew. Habits of industry, which had begun to spring up, proved themselves to be without root. The dead, and his cruely to the dead, were alike forgotten. Disaffection to the chastened being who against hope still hoped for his salvation, resumed its dominion, The friends who had alternately reproved and encouraged him, were convinced that their efforts had been of no avail. Intemperance,“ like the strong man armed,' took possession of a soul that lifted no cry for aid to the Holy Spirit, and girded on no weapon to resist the destroyer.
Summer passed away, and the anniversary of their arrival at the colony returned. It was to Jane Harwood a period of sad and solemn retrospection. The joys of early days, and the sorrows of maturity, passed in review before her; and while she wept, she questioned her heart, what had been its gain from a father's discipline, or whether it had sustained the greatest of all losses--the loss of its afflictions.
She was alone at this season of self-communion. The absence of her husband had become more frequent and protracted. A storm, which feelingly reminded her of those which had often beat upon them when homeless and weary travellers, had been raging for nearly two days. To this cause she imputed the unusually long stay of her husband. Through the third night of his absence she lay sleepless, listening for his steps. Sometimes she fancied she heard shouts of laughter, for the mood in which he returned from his revels was various. But it was only the shriek of the tempest. Then she thought some ebullition of his phrenzied anger rang in her ears.
It was the roar of the hoarse wind through the forest. All night long she listened to these sounds, and hushed and sang to her affrighted babe. Unrefreshed, she arose and resumed her morning
labours. Suddenly her eye was attracted by a group of neighbours, coming up slowly from the river. A dark and terrible foreboding oppressed her. She hastened out to meet them. Coming towards her house was a female friend, agitated and fearful, who, passing her arm around her, would have spoken.
“Oh, you come to bring me evil tidings: I pray you let me know the worst.”
The object was indeed to prepare her mind for a fearful calamity, The body of her husband had been found, drowned, as was supposed, during the darkness of the preceding night, in attempting to cross the bridge of logs, which had been partially broken by the swollen waters. Utter prostration of spirit came over the desolate mourner. Her energies were broken, and her heart withered. She had sustained the privations of poverty and emigration, and the burdens of unceasing labour and unrequited care, without murmuring. She had laid her first-born in the grave with resignation, for faith bad heard her Saviour saying, Suffer the little child to come unto me.' She had seen him, in whom her heart's young affections were garnered up, become a persecutor and injurious,' a prey to vice the most disgusting and destructive. Yet she had borne up under all. Öne hope remained with her as an anchor of the soul,' the hope that he might yet repent and be reclaimed. She had persevered in her complícated and self-denying duties with that charity which beareth all things, believeth all things, endureth all things.'
But now, he had died in his sin. The deadly leprosy which had stolen over his beart, could no more be purged by sacrifice or offering for ever. She knew not that a single prayer for mercy had preceded the soul on its passage to the High Judge's bar. There were bitter dregs in this grief, which she had never before wrung out.
Again the sad-hearted community assembled in their humble cemetry. A funeral in an infant colony awakens sympathies of an almost exclusive character. It is as if a large family suffered. One is smitten down whom every eye knew, every voice saluted. To bear along the corpse of the strong man, through the fields which he had sown, and to cover motionless in the grave that arm which trusted to have reaped the ripening harvest, awakens a thrill, deep, and startling feeling in the breast of those who wrought by his side during the burden and heat of the day. To lay the mother on her pillow of clay, whose last struggle with life was, perchance, to resign the hope of one more brief visit to the land of her fathers, whose heart's last pulsation might have been a prayer that her children should return and grow up within the shadow of the school-house and the church of God, is a grief in which none, save emigrants, may participate. To consign to their narrow, noteless abode, both young and old, the infant and him of hoary hairs, without the solemn knell, the sable train, the hallowed voice of the man of God, giving back, in the name of his fellow-Christians, the most precious roses of their pilgrim path, and speaking with divine authority of Him who is the 'resurrection and the life,' adds desolation to that weeping with which man goeth downward to his dust.
But with heaviness of an unspoken and peculiar nature was this victim of vice borne from the house that he troubled, and laid by the side of his son, to whose tender years he had been an unnatural enemy. There was sorrow among all who stood around his grave, and it bore features of that sorrow which is without hope.
The widowed mourner was not able to raise her head from the bed when the bloated remains of her unfortunate husband were committed to the earth. Long and severe sickness ensued, and in her convalescence a letter was received from her brother, inviting her and her child to an asylum under his roof, and appointing a period to come and conduct them on their homeward journey.
With her little daughter, the sole remant of her wrecked beart's wealth, she returned to her kindred. It was with emotions of deep and painful gratitude thật she bade farewell to the inhabitants of that infant settlement, whose kindness, through all her adversities, had never failed.
And when they remembered the example of uniform patience and piety which she exhibited, and the saint-like manner in which she sustained her burdens, and cherished their sympathies, they felt as if a tutelary spirit had departed from among them.
In the home of her brother, she educated her daughter in industry, and that contentment which virtue teaches. Restored to those friends with whom the morning of life had passed, she shared with humble cheerfulness the comforts that earth had yet in store for her; but in the cherished sadness of her perpetual widowhood, in the bursting sighs of her nightly orison, might be traced a sacred and deep-rooted sorrow_the
memory of her erring husband, and the miseries of unreclaimed intemperance. Hartford, Conn.
L. H. S.
On the entry of the French into Toledo during the late Peninsular war, General La Salle visited the Palace of the Inquisition. One of the instruments of torture there found deserves a particular description. In a subterraneous vault, adjoining to the audience chamber, stood in a recess in the wall a wooden statue, made by the hands of Monks, representing the Virgin Mary. A gilded glory beamed round her head, and she held a standard in her right hand. Notwithstanding the ample folds of the silk garment which fell from her shoulders on both sides, it appeared that she wore a breastplate; and, upon a closer examination, it was found that the whole front of the body was covered with extremely sharp nails and small daggers, or blades of knives, with the points projecting outwards. The arms and hands had joints, and their motions were directed by ma. chinery, placed behind the partition. One of the servants of the Inquisition was ordered to make the machine manœuvre. As the statue extended its arms and gradually drew them back, as if she would affectionately embrace, and press some one to her heart, the well-filled knapsack of a Polish grenadier supplied for this time the place of the poor victim. The statue pressed it closer and closer; and when the directors of the machinery made it open its arms and return to its first position, the knapsack was pierced two or three inches deep, and remained hanging upon the nails and daggers of the murderous instrument.
This statue is a fair representation of Romanism. It has, to the eye of the careless observer, a beauteous form. It has a countenance of much simplicity, and quiet devotion. It is arrayed in rich and flowing robes; but beneath them are daggers.” It has joints in its arms and hands, which enable it to make what motions its Ministers please. These motions are regulated by an unseen machinery. It extends its arms, with great deliberation, and apparent affection,-and, with a smiling face, presses its deluded victim to its heart, and the pressure is, wounds and death! Dick.
THE ADVANTAGES OF SABBATH-SCHOOLS.
We come to a consideration of this subject, fully convinced that its importance has never yet been sufficiently felt, and that the experience of one or two generations will prove Sabbath-Schools to be one of the most powerful means of benefitting the human race.
In the present exhibition of the advantages of SabbathSchools, we will follow the light of prospective reasoning, without reference to any facts which experience may have shown. These advantages may be set forth, 1st, in the character of the Sabbath-School pupils ; 2d, in the character of Sabbath School teachers; and 3d, in the nature of the truths taught in these schools, and the circumstances under which those truths are communicated.
I.— The character of Sabbath scholars. Both religion and philosophy show us the advantages resulting from the youthful age of the pupils in Sabbath-Schools. It is a rule of our holy religion, laid upon parents, to train up their children in the way wherein they ought to walk through life. The obligation of this rule is not only felt in the heart which has been sanctified, but it is an element of the natural heart, placed there at creation, by the same God who afterwards inspired the wise man by whom it was written in Scripture. But while the duty is felt, few place sufficient reliance on the positive promise, connected with its performance. There are reasons to be found in all human hearts for this want of re. liance upon
the truth of this declaration. Were it to be felt as sensibly, and believed as strongly, as our present existence, what a tremendous weight of responsibility would it bring upon every parent! How would it make every one concerned in the business of education, sensible, that on his efforts. hung, inevitably, the future character of his pupil! How would it teach us all to gather good and holy influences around the child :'to remove from him all precepts and examples of evil, and to watch over him with unslumbering anxiety, as a pledge committed to us, and to be accounted for by us, in the great day of the Lord! From this accumulation of care, labour, and responsibility, our evil natures lead us to shrink, and we become exceedingly ingenious in removing from our shoulders the burden. Now Sabbath-Schools, in view of this Scripture, possess vast advantages for moulding the youthful character into forms of good, and sending their pupils forward in the
in this life, to the life that is to come.
way they should