Original. THE JUVENILE EXCURSION. 269 which they involved me-much less from the rebukings of conscience. There was no immunity of the "wages of sin" made in my favor. Therefore, my statement only goes to say that, at that early stage of life, though the child may be full of faults, yet we are compara. tively innocent, and also as yet free from many of those passions of the mind and heart which possess our riper years. And though there are continual indications that the enemy is sowing his tares in the open fields of character, yet the full development, the harvest, is not yet arrived, perchance to shock and overwhelm us. THE JUVENILE EXCURSION.* I was left to reflect upon my offense, of which I immediately felt ashamed. I perceived, too, that the punishment was not at all too much for the fault. If it had not embarrassed my mother so much, or if she had passed it over without this summary notice, I, too, should probably have passed it over with more ease to my conscience. My mother seldom punished me in this manner, and I knew that she loved me; therefore, my childish logic did not err in knowing that my aggressions had been beyond endurance. I perceived that this last act was only one in a series of petty trespasses upon propriety and order, in which I had been engaged whenever an over-excited and mirthful spirit prevailed within me. I even then had the reflection that though my present felicitous freedom bestowed much delight upon me, yet I felt and knew that the restraints of school, and the usual restraints of home-like the rest, become somewhat expert at climbing a now relaxed-were salutary and excellent. I was naturally a bashful child, yet, as I have said, I had become giddy by my recent uncontrolled wanderings about the farm, and more particularly by constant association with Lima, that I often did and said things which, in an instant after, I would perceive were culpable and improper. And amongst other things I had become a tremendous romp; and, abetted by Lima, had, tree; that is, I could fearlessly ascend one as far as the And in my little sequestration, I found time to feel a stepping places were tenable. This, of course, was sense of degradation and self-abasement at this falling unknown to our mother. And yet it was by tacit comaway from my good conduct. My mother kept me pact that the subject was withheld from her. These close until the visitors had retired. And this, indeed, little traits of secretiveness are a bad feature in childwas the only way in which she could have appeased hood. But the matter of compact, which often accomthe insulted party. I was not called out to tea; but panies them, is, I believe, invariably from the teaching after every one else had finished, a cup was handed me of an elder; and, though readily received, it is not the in a seat apart; and after the rest of the children were intuitive suggesting of the infant heart. How careful, sent to bed, she led me a few paces, out of the hearing then, should parents be in ascertaining the faithfulness of others, and gave me a severe and impressive repri- of those to whom they intrust their children. Lima mand, saying, "Where, my daughter, have you learned was believed to be an excellent attendant to us; bethe vulgarity of grimacing? Worse than that, when cause she loved us, and would take any pains, and a person—a grown person-had kindly noticed you, make great personal sacrifices to save us from inconvethat you must mimic and insult her? O, how much nience. For these reasons, and from her turn of charashamed I am of you!-a person that came to this acter, she was precisely a very dangerous companion house to see me, too! Will you ever do the like for us. Good humored, lively, and obliging, and just again? Promise me that you will not." I promised enough older to dictate to us with authority, she was very sincerely all that she required. I felt overcome full of devices for our amusement. Admiring her as and oppressed; yet, perhaps, it was my self-love that we did, and intimately associated as we were at this was humbled, and my affection for my mother-for I time of recess, we could hardly have failed, had the saw that she was deeply moved-that was wounded, thing continued for a long time, to have imbibed her rather than any specific sense of sin in what I had done traits. But, happily, when we returned to town, we that affected me. Yet my little reader may remark that || were again sent to school, and Lima had other duties I suffered a punishment, though not the proper convic- to perform, which, in a measure, divided us from her tion of my fault. My conscience was disturbed, though intimacy and her example. not clearly enlightened. The sinfulness of error, rather than its disgraces, should be the prominent point by which admonition is presented to a child. My mother finished by saying to me, "Now retire to bed, and repeat your prayers continually until you get composed enough to go to sleep. And," added she, raising her finger and lowering her voice, "go to sleep now, and let to-morrow be a new day." I have said that for a certain time my happiness was uninterrupted; but of course I must be understood to mean this only within the sense of human limitation, and not that I stood aloof for three whole weeks from error and folly, or from the incidental peccadilloes in Concluded from page 251. But of our tree-climbing accomplishment, I found that in the sin of deceiving our mother, there was to me, at least, a sort of retributive punishment. I had one day made my way up one of these forked trees. At the height of perhaps eight or ten feet I found a very comfortable seat. The orchard was situated just on the road-side, from which it was divided by a fence, and the tree wherein I was perched was within a few yards of the fence. There was a tuft of foliage which completely hid me from the, road, of which I could command a view to right and left. It so happened, whilst I was looking that way, that a traveler on horseback approached, and as he came nearer I recognized the features of a gentleman whom I had often seen in my native town, and whose name I knew. The name 270 THE JUVENILE EXCURSION. was D. I know not what spirit of boldness possessed || our part, which, indeed, was only an effort at self-reme, but just as he arrived nearly opposite to me, I cried straint. These children were indeed better instructed out, "How d'ye do, Mr. D.?" screening myself still in one point of civility than is many a city bred further from sight. Now, my first impulse had been miss; for they did not precipitate their errand the of joy and novelty, of seeing a person from my native moment they entered the house, or before they had town, which, it seemed to my infant fancy, was a thous-made the compliments of the day. But the little girls, and miles off. But the instant I heard my own voice intending to do what they had been told was proper, accosting a stranger-a gentleman, too-I was covered went on the other extreme, and waited full three hours with confusion. The gentleman reined in his horse, before they uttered themselves. They persisted in not stopped, listened, looked all around, and seeing no per- taking their bonnets off during the whole time, though son, he proceeded on his way. When he had got a they stayed and took dinner with us. In fact, these few paces beyond me, as I had once escaped notice, I good children were bent upon obedience to instructions; felt a childish delight in practicing upon his surprise; and they were also entirely unable to discriminate cirand, raising my voice a little, I cried out, "How d'ye cumstances. At departing, I remember that they walkdo, Mr. D.?" He now turned his horse's head delib-ed to the door, as they had been instructed, and made erately, and, riding back, inspected each tree' more each one a low and respectful courtesy, without turning closely, and presently discovered the culprit. "Miss, the face about. At this "dumb show," "past all econdid you speak to me?" said he. I was not habitually omy of face" to bear, we yet restrained our laughter; given to falsehood, but now I was so entirely overcome for another look from our mother reminded us that it by a sense of my boldness, that I was completely under "wouldn't do," though she could hardly command her the control of shame, and I answered, (O, shame in- own voice to tell the children "good night, dears,” deed!) "No, sir." "But it must have been you that without attempting any instruction, which I know well spoke," said the gentleman, "tell me, or I shall have to she would kindly have bestowed on them, could she ride to that house and ascertain who it was. It was have trusted her voice in our presence. you, wasn't it?" "Yes, sir," said I. Mr. D. smiled, and rode on. And, however many years have passed away since, I can truly say that I never recalled that little incident without feeling ashamed-not that I had the least intention of deceiving, or any intention at all, beyond the impulse of speaking the words. A giddy state of feeling, even without any culpable purpose, is one which brings more or less of mortification with it at any age. I did not dare to tell my mother of this for a great many months. Lima, in the meantime, tormented me at every little chance, by singing out, "How d'ye do, Mr. D.?" After a long time, I relieved my mind by confessing this boldness to my mother; and she, seeing that my extreme mortification would prevent a repetition of the fault, passed it over as well as she could. And all this time I was accustomed only "to say" my prayers. I had not learned to pray forgiveness of specific faults. May be, if I had, the sense of them would not have continued to oppress me so long. Lima, after the children were gone, passed out of the room, and, as she did so, she looked over her shoulder, and seeing that our mother's attention was engaged, she then gave an excursive glance at us all, and without turning made a very low courtesy. This was the drop too much; and our long suppressed laughter shook the room, each one saying, "Only laughing at Lima, ma." At a later date, when my mother wished me to perform any little ceremonial of politeness, she would remind me to deport myself, and not be as awkward as the little girls at the farm were, always adding that she wished I were as obedient and as good. But these poor people, of whom I relate so many awkwardnesses, are probably now a well bred and a well informed people; for such changes, in a course of time, will supervene, such is the force and the necessity of example, even upon those who are determined never to have any other way than their own way. Then they had neither a school nor a church in their township. The time we passed there, our observance of the Sabbath consisted in our mother's reading of some sacred exercises. We each repeated the decalogue and a school catechism, and we were restricted to suitable behavior and conversation as marked the day. When we got home our mother pressed it upon us to notice what a privilege it was to have a church to attend-2 regular appropriation of the day keeping us from lassitude and discontent, as well as training us in the "way in which we should go." And yet these little incidents, bad in themselves, were not without some good effect. The memory of them would serve to restrain me in other instances. I remember of having once behaved pretty well under tolerably trying circumstances. It was about a week after the occurrence of the apple tree that we received a visit from three little girls, the daughters of a neighbor. They were of the ages of seven, nine, and twelve years. They came the distance of about two miles to convey a message to my mother, and to make our acquain- I cannot recollect any other particulars of my visit, tance. These poor children had probably never gone excepting that it was whilst here that, for the first time, on an errand of ceremony before in their lives, and I noticed the glories of the setting sun, and the granthey were nearly overcome by bashfulness and awk-deur and solemnity of the firmament by night. And wardness. But we understood well, by a look from our mother, that we were to "behave ourselves." So the little girls might have thought that was coldness on other developments of a taste in other departments of nature had been as decided as this. And I have believed, albeit I have ever resided in cities, that my true MY SISTER'S BIRTH-DAY taste is for the country. I like the country in its simplicity, too-no "cottage ornee" is, I think, in half as good taste as a substantial, large, plain house. And the inner embellishments, which, by the conventional folly of cities, are deemed necessaries of life, should be all dispensed with. The dissipations of town hardly admit of reflection enough to correct or to scan its abuses. But The "coachee" is at the door, and so is Dexter and his wagon. The decree is irreversible; therefore, we are reconciled to it. Black Monday, which haunts us in one form or another through our whole life, is in perspective, and, bitter as is the pill, we must swallow it. And such is the sequel to my "three weeks of happiness." Original. MY SISTER'S BIRTH-DAY. DEAR sister, on this joyous day Why shades a cloud thy gentle brow? And why do silent tears betray The sadness of thy spirit now? I know a smile plays round thy lips, I see that smile sits lightly there. I know thy thoughts-"again has fled The first the freshest beauty wears; And why, dear sister, why permit Such thoughts thy gentle breast t' invade? Those flowers which spring beneath thy feet, Must, with the evening twilight, fade. But there are flowers which bloom on earth, That far excel the spring-time's prideThe garden of the skies their birth, Where pure perennial streamlets glide. Were all the universe my own, And did the stars my voice obey, But there is one most precious gem With more than talismanic powersMore brilliant than the diadem Which sparkles in Cashmerian bowers * Many of the early spring flowers of the east close as soon as the sun is sufficiently high to dissipate the dew from their petals. That priceless MIND, thou callest thy own, Than all the universe beside. Then cease to seek, in meaner things, 271 With joy I'd leave these courts below, And join the songs above the sky, Which angels bright are singing nowThey never die. There elders tune their harps of gold, And seraphs strike the sounding lyre; Their ceaseless story ne'er is toldThey never tire. Millions of saints surround the thronePraise him to whom all praise belongs, While swells to the chief Corner-stone Triumphant songs. There we shall part with every tear, Whene'er we reach that blissful shore; For sorrow cannot enter there We'll weep no more. We'll praise him there in loftiest song, Who has redeemed us by his bloodPraise shall resound from ev'ry tongue, O, Son of God! Our innocence is not our shield: They take offense who have not been offended, They seek our ruin too, who speak us fair, And death is often ambush'd in their smiles. 272 TRAINING OF CHILDREN. TRAINING OF CHILDREN. CHILDREN should be trained up. If you desire your offspring to serve God on earth, and enjoy his favor for ever in heaven, their spiritual welfare must be the object of daily, continual care. Occasional efforts few and far between, are not likely to be productive of much good. A divine precept is, Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old he will not depart from it." On this important passage, Dwight remarks,-"The word train, originally denoted to draw along, by a regular and steady course of exertions; and is hence very naturally used to signify drawing from one action to another, by persuasions, promises and other efforts continually repeated. In a loose and general sense, therefore, it may easily include all the duties of parents to their children." This is a very important representation of parental duty. How would you train a tree? Would you not begin the operation while the branches were yet young and pliant; fixing them then in the right direction, and afterward watching and guiding their growth? Would you not continue the process, by pruning away what was useless or hurtful, and directing every useful shoot till the tree should assume the shape desired, and cover the wall it overspread with verdure and fruit. Thus train a child; thus endeavor to subdue and remove whatever is baneful, and thus guide into the right way his views, his feelings, his desires and affections. Think it not enough, occasionally, to give a check to what is evil, or an impulse to what is good; but pursue the course now described, from month to month, and from year to year. This is training up a child in the way he should go. How is a young animal trained for any particular service? The process commences early, is pursued steadily, and never relinquished till the object contemplated is accomplished. Thus "train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old he will not depart from it." In training up your children, make your arrangements for them in this world, in view of the next. Let eternity be kept in sight. In all your plans for them, contemplate not only their temporal, but their everlasting interests. If you were about to place your child in a situation for one day, and then in another for twenty years, would you, when planning for the day, forget the twenty years? If your plans could embrace both, well; but if not, surely you would never so forget the twenty years, as to pursue any measures that would render your child wretched through that time, for the sake of promoting his interests through a single day. If, in case the interests of the two periods were in opposition, you would let the twenty years outweigh the day. And you would esteem it no more than madness to plan for the day, and to forget the twenty years. The difference between a day and twenty years is, however, perfectly insignificant, when compared with that between the longest life and eternity. Let eternity, therefore, be brought into all your estimates, plans and arrangements. Never so plan for this world, as to undo your child for that which is to come; but, while striving to promote the temporal good of your offspring, always consider, also, their eternal happiness. Regard both worlds in your arrangements, when you can; but when you cannot, especially regard the eternal world. Let your children know, that, in your efforts for their good, you act under the influence of these principles. Impress upon their minds that eternity is before them, and that those only are truly wise who can secure eternal blessings. Say, "My child, what concerns you most, what I am most anxious about, is not what you are to be, or to possess here, for a little while, but what you are to be, and have for ever. You and I are soon to be the inhabitants of another world. There we must abide for ever. That world must be either heaven or hell; and by faith in Christ, to reach heaven, and obtain its blessings, is your chief interest and weightiest concern!"-Parental Care; by the author of "Persuasiveness to Early Piety.” HOLINESS. This is a How can I obtain entire sanctification? question of great importance, and easy to be answered, provided we take the Bible for our entire guide, and not without. To sum up the answer in a few words, it is by importunate, or agonizing, praying faith, that says now, that looks now. There is one thing to guard against, viz., imposing conditions on the Lord; as all do when they fix the particular exercise that must follow when the prayer is answered. Now, one thinks to have a powerful movement; another, a glorious elevation; and a third, such a melting influence as will make him willing to weep his life away in love; and a fourth expects a silent awe that dares not move but with great precision. Now if God answers your prayer, you may have some of the above exercises, or a part of them all, and perhaps none of them; and of this you should feel no solicitude. Impose no conditions on the Lord, only agonize for the object, and leave the particular immediate effect it shall produce on you to the wisdom of the Holy Ghost. Depend wholly on the blood, the atoning blood and Holy Spirit of our living Lord; firmly believing in the promise of the Lord, that saith, "He is faithful and just to forgive you your sins, and cleanse you from all unrighteousness." That blood has virtue, and the Spirit has power to apply the atonement. Believe, believe and all is yours. It is in the above manner that the Church should pray for a revival; imposing no conditions on the Lord, only sue for the object. We want power; but whether it shall make sinners cry out, or weep, or tremble in a deathly silence, leave that, it belongs to God, not to man; no, not to good men or angels: the object get, the manner leave.-Guide to Chrstian Perfection. 。9བ་ THE greatest friend of truth is time, her greatest enemy prejudice, and her constant companion humility. MARY CRAIG.* At other times she would drive her benefactor's gig EARLY in the spring of 1843, and as soon as the with his wife and child in it, through the darkness snow banks had well disappeared after the long and of midnight, to his retreat seven or eight miles from tedious winter, a tall robust man, of middle age, and Elizabethtown. Often during engagements between melancholy countenance, might have been seen, day the contending armies, the Doctor's house was the after day, examining the ancient tombstones in the|| hospital of the wounded and dying patriots, and she different cemeteries about New York. He had come was the surgeon's assistant in staunching wounds, tafrom the "Far West," the place of his nativity and king off shattered limbs, and administering drink and the active scenes of his life, and was searching the food to the wounded and dying. Thus Mary's time grave-yards of the city for the tombstone of his mater- was spent during that long and bloody struggle. At nal grand-parents-the father and mother of Mary its close she found herself separated for ever from her Craig. friends. At the re-capture of New York, her step-father had removed to Nova Scotia, whither he took all of Mary's family; and circumstances prevented them from ever meeting again. To the inquirer, the stranger's story was simple though interesting, and exhibits one of the many instances where real life surpasses in affecting incident even romance itself. "The war ended, but not Mary's hardships and ex"John Craig, the father of Mary Craig, emigrated posures. Soon after the Revolution she was married from Scotland to New York about the year 1767, to a young man who had accompanied Judge Symmes Mary, his youngest daughter, having been born on the in his first tour of observation to the Miamies, with voyage to this country. He had barely become com- which he was so delighted that he determined to migrate fortably settled in his new home, when he was called to the new country. In 1788, accompanied by a little to bid his family a final adieu, Mary then being but six colony, Mary and her husband bent their course for years old. The widow and her children remained in their new home; lived the first winter on the Kentucky the city of New York until the breaking out of the side, and in the spring of 1789, settled at Columbia, Revolutionary war, about three years after, and when five miles above Cincinnati, where the little colony Mary had attained her ninth year. At this early age, erected a block-house, until 1791, when Mary's comhowever, she had imbibed Whig principles, and her panion was taken from her and she left a widow in an whole soul was embarked in the success of that strug-Indian country, with two babes, the eldest but two gle for liberty. Soon after, the city fell into the hands years old, the other an infant of only a few days. of the British, and her mother, being left among stran "Before the loss of her husband, Mary had frequent into the garrison; but in her bereaved condition, her gers in a distant land, and meeting with an acquain-ly, in times of more imminent danger, retired with him tance and countryman from Scotland, in the captain of a British vessel of war then in the harbor, was induced to give him her hand in marriage. The captain was of course a devoted royalist, and his principles so opposed to the politics of Mary, that she could not brook the insults to which her opinions were exposed, though personally treated by her step-father with great kindness and respect. Mary therefore left home and took shelter under the hospitable roof of Dr. Halsted, of Elizabethtown Point, where she found a welcome home and congenial political sentiments. Here, during the remainder of that bloody war, Mary was exposed to its dangers and hardships. It is known that Elizabeth-every night, week after week, would she place her chiltown was the theatre of frequent engagements between the contending parties, and sometimes in possession of one, and sometimes of the other. Often the inhabitants, men especially, were compelled to fly at midnight from their homes to escape capture and imprisonment, if not death. Sometimes all, male and female, on account of the invasion of the Hessian hordes, and when they had not the force to oppose them, were under the necessity of flying for safety to some place of security. On such occasions Mary sometimes remained behind to prevent by her entreaties the wanton destruction of her patron's property. Here her life was frequently threatened for her importunity, and on one occasion a sword was drawn to execute that threat. *This is believed to be strictly a narrative of facts.-ED. VOL. III.-35 dren, after putting them to sleep, while she watched through the chinks of the cabin during the greater part of each night, the approach of the savages. The plan was, if the Indians entered one door, to fly out at the other and give the alarm at the garrison before her children would be found in their concealment under the floor. Often thus watching, she saw the Indians enter the little settlement, traverse the grounds in the vicinity of the block-house; sometimes they came to her very door, but never did they enter. Horses were stolen, settlers were killed and taken prisoners, but Mary and her babes were protected. Delicate as a flower, and with all the tender sensibility of the most feeling heart, it was the faith of the Christian which sustained her under all these trials, and enabled her to triumph over all fear. There, day after day, might have been heard, |