waters, or casts it in the branch of bitterness which makes them poison and death. Her ardent spirit breathes the breath of life into all her enterprise. Her patience and constancy are mainly instrumental in carrying forward to completion the best human designs. Her more delicate moral sensibility is the unseen power which is ever at work to purify and refine society. And the nearest glimpse of heaven that mortals ever can get on earth is that domestic circle, which her hands have trained to intelligence, virtue, and love, which her gentle influence pervades, and of which her radiant presence is the centre and the sun.

It may be thought by some prosaic persons, that thus far in describing the sphere and duties of woman I have drawn it from the regions of imagination. I can only say in my defense, that nothing is prosaic which concerns human hearts and human happiness. Woman is made to live in the regions of sentiments and imagination. Her sorrows and her joys are there. It is they which to her clothe the dull affairs of this every day life with an interest unknown to the rougher sex. And she her

BAXTER'S WIFE.

fitted to adorn and bless, as the wife, the mistress of a home, the solace, the aid, and the counselor of that one, for whose sake alone the world is of any consequence to her. If life be increased in cares, so it is also enriched by new satisfactions. She herself, if she be inspired by just sentiments and true affection, perceives she has attained her true position. Delivered from that tastelessness which sooner or later creeps over a single life, every power and faculty is called into energetic exercise, and she feels the current of existence to flow in a richer, deeper stream. We are all made for action and enterprise. Existence, though surfeited with luxury and abundance, is insipid without it. The affections, which God has ordained to spring in the bosoms of those he has destined to pass through life together, are no deceivers. They are not intended to betray the sexes into a state of misery. The wife does not bid adieu to happiness, though she leaves a magnificent mansion to take up her abode under an humbler roof. Youth, health, employment, affection, hope, are more than a compensation for all. The privations of commencing life in narrow circum-self is the very poetry of the world.-Burnap's Lectures. stances are borne with cheerfulness and alacrity. If there be on both sides good sense and generous feeling, as well as true affection, nothing will seem hard, and they will experience a happiness unknown to those who shut up or disappoint their affections from false pride, or from dread of losing caste, by beginning life precisely as their fathers and mothers did before them. The good woman! How much this world's happiness and prosperity is contained in the compass of these two short words! Her influence is immense. The power of a wife, for good or for evil, is altogether irresistible. Home must be the seat of happiness, or it must be for ever unknown. A good wife is to man wisdom, and courage, and strength, and hope, and endurance. A bad one is confusion, weakness, discomfiture, despair. No condition is hopeless when the wife possesses firmness, decision, energy, economy. There is no outward prosperity which can counteract indolence, folly, and extravagance at home. No spirit can long resist bad domestic influence. Man is strong, but his heart is not adamant. He delights in enterprise and action, but to sustain him he needs a tranquil mind, and a whole heart. He expends his whole moral force in the conflicts of the world. His feelings are daily lac-molded into a perfect conformity to his. He celebrates erated to the utmost point of endurance by perpetual collision, irritation and disappointment. To recover his equanimity and composure, home must be to him a place of repose, of peace, of cheerfulness, of comfort; and his soul renews its stength and again goes forth with fresh vigor to encounter the labors and troubles of the world. But if at home he finds no rest, and there is met by a bad temper, sullenness, or gloom; or is assailed by disconent, complaint, and reproaches, the heart breaks, the spirits are crushed, hope vanishes, and the man sinks into despair.

Let woman know, then, that she ministers at the very fountain of life and happiness. It is her hand that lades out with overflowing cup its soul refreshing

HER character is thus sketched in a masterly critique on the life and times of Baxter in the Edinburg Review: "Timid, gentle, and reserved, and nursed amidst all the luxuries of her age, her heart was the abode of affections so intense and of a fortitude so enduring that her meek spirit, impatient of one selfish wish, progressively acquired all the heroism of benevolence and seemed at length incapable of one selfish fear. In prison, in sickness, in evil report, in every form of danger and fatigue, she was still, with unabated cheerfulness, at the side of him to whom she had pledged her conjugal faith, prompting him to the discharge of every duty, calming the asperities of his temper, his associate in unnumbered acts of philanthropy, embellishing his humble home by the little arts with which a cultivated mind imparts its own gracefulness to the meanest dwelling-place, and, during the nineteen years of their union, joining with him in one unbroken strain of filial affiance to the Divine mercy and of grateful adoration to the Divine goodness. Her tastes and habits had been

her catholic charity to the opponents of their religious opinions and her inflexible adherence to her own, her high esteem of the active and passive virtues of a Christian life as contrasted with a barren orthodoxy, her noble disinterestedness, her skill in casuistry, her love of music, and her medicinal arts. Their union afforded to her the daily delight of supporting in his gigantic labors and of soothing in his unremitted cares a husband who repaid her tenderness with unceasing love and gratitude. To him it gave a friend whose presence was tranquility, who tempered by her milder wisdom and graced by her superior elegance and exalted by her more confiding piety whatever was austere, or rude, or distrustful in his rugged character."

THE DEATH OF ABSALOM.

55

Original.

THE DEATH OF ABSALOM.*

BY J. G. BRUCE.

and sought his pardon, and he the pardon gave—or routed by Joab, he had escaped to re-inforce, and then renew the strife. But Cushi's coming checked his flying thoughts, and stayed a moment more the tide of feeling: "Tidings, my lord the king," he reverent said; "for the Lord hath thee this day avenged of all them that did against thee rise," and here he paused. The anxious king again inquired, "Is the young man Absalom safe?" "The enemies of my lord the king, and all that rise against thee to do thee hurt, be as that

For hours had the king of Israel sat between the gates-his royal vestments soiled and worn. His crown was in the dust-his harp-companion of his youth-whose cords, deep-toned, amid the grandeurs of the regal state, had poured their notes in music's softest, mightiest swell, and in devotion's holy hour, in solemn grandeur rolled along the temple's aisle-un-young man is," he faltering said-which, like the rod strung and broken. The softly moving gale played gently with his hoary locks, as if in kindness come to cool his fevered brow, now marked with sorrow, weariness, and care. He sorrowed for a wayward, wicked prince, the child of his own pure love-the idol of his fond, confiding heart, who had by foul revolt the empire into tumult hurled, and driven him an exile from his throne. Weariness oppressed his aged frame; for he had come that morning from far off Jordan, and thought to lead his hosts to battle for his rights in Ephraim's woods; but kindly had his people thrust him back, and bade him stay within the city. Care for the issues of the day had empire in his heart, and ruled him with a tyrant's rod-gave color to each thought, and bade at pleasure hope to live or die. If Absalom should victory gain, he had no hope of life; for well he knew that he who struck from off his head

of Moses, smote his heart, and passage opened for his long pent up feelings. And they, as swells the wave before the storm, and driving breaks upon the shore, swelled and broke in sorrow over his fallen child. The king was much moved-his child, his wayward child, was dead-the triumph of the king had overthrown the father, and forgetful of his gain of crown and sceptre made again secure-of vanquished foes-of kingly pride and power, he wailed in anguish loud, "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!"

So nature triumphed over art, and pride of kings bowed at affection's shrine. Death buried all his wrongs, while kind remembrance brought his virtues back, and led the saddened heart to pour its sorrows over his grave.

MATRIMONIAL JARS.

the crown, unmindful of the Lord's anointed, and of the Father's claims, would not the conquest deem secure till he were silent in the grave. And should the Ir people would but consider how possible it is to "mighty Joab" triumph, would erring Absalom be inflict pain, and perpetuate wrong without any positive safe? Would he, a captive, come to claim an injured intention of doing either, but merely from circumstanfather's love, and sue for pardon? Or on the battle ces arising from inadvertence, want of sympathy, or field be left among the slain? Thus hope and fear for an incapability of mutual comprehensions, how much self, and hope and fear for his rebellious child, did acrimony might be spared! Half the quarrels that gently move, or shake him with the tempest's force. embitter wedded life, and half the separations that The watchman stood upon the roof, and waited spring from them, are produced by the parties misuntidings from "the woods of Ephraim." The sun de- derstanding each other's peculiarities and not studying clining low, permission gave to hall and tower to cool and making allowance for them. Hence, unintentional in quickened breeze. Here and there were matron and omissions of attention are viewed as intended slights, maid in conversation joined, and anxious look and and as such are resented. These indications of resentmurmurs low, repressed sighs, and whispers soft, beto-ment, for an unknown offense, appear an injury to the kened sadness and despair. When from his tower the unconscious offender, who, in turn, widens the breach watchman loud proclaimed, “A runner cometh!" quiet came over the city, each ear, attent to hear the tidings, fixed. The king moved not; but sat in silence till in his presence stood the herald, who came in haste to tell that all his foes had fled. The king moved not-there was no sign of joy-no shout as when a victory is won. No gleam of light was on his brow. One thought alone absorbed him then-his son. "Is the young man Absalom safe?” pronounced his royal lips, while through his mighty heart rolled passion's strongest tide, and shook his manly frame; and when he doubtful answer had, he bade Ahimaaz stand aside. It was but a moment that he hung in doubt, but in that brief space ages passed before him-Absalom came

2 Samuel xviii. 24-31.

of affection by some display of petulance or interference, which frequently irritates the first wound inflicted, until it becomes incurable. In this manner often arises the final separation of persons who might, had they accurately examined each other's hearts and disposi tions, have lived happily together.

THE GOOD MAN.

To love an enemy-to condemn the proud when prosperous-to listen kindly to a tale of sorrow told by the poor-and to wage successful war on besetting sins, are four features in the character of a truly good man. But they never subsist without grace. Having before us the picture of a good, we can easily make out the features of the bad man.

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TRUST IN GOD.

TRUST IN GOD.

THE very centre of the Christian religion is union with Christ, and the receiving him as our all; in other words called faith, or a "staying our minds upon him." To the doing this, there are many hindrances, but the two greatest and most general ones are:

First, the want of self-knowledge; this keeps ninetynine out of one hundred from Christ. They know not, or rather feel not that they are blind, naked, leprous, helpless, and condemned; that all their works can make no atonement, and that nothing they can do will fit them for heaven. When this is truly known, the first grand hindrance to our union with Christ is removed.

mercy? This will never do. Thou must be brought to say, "What shall I do to be saved?" Without trembling at God's word, thou canst not receive Christ. Nothing short of love will do.

The penitent needs, and, blessed be God, has every encouragement. You have nothing but sin-it is time you should understand the Gospel. You see yourself sinking-Christ is with you. You despair of yourself-hope in Christ. You are overcome-Christ conquers. Self-condemned—he absolves. Why do you not believe? Is not the messenger, the word, the Spirit of God sufficient? You want a joy unspeakable—the way to it is by thus waiting patiently upon God. Look to Jesus. He speaks peace; abide looking, and your peace shall flow as a river.-J. Fletcher.

The second is the want of understanding "the Gospel of Christ;" the want of seeing therein the firm foundation given us for this pure and simple faith, the only solid ground of staying our souls on God. We must remem- MOTHER CONQUERED ME. ber that the Gospel is "good news," and not be slow of A PIOUS and excellent mother, who has blended great heart to believe it. Christ receiveth sinners; he under- firmness with much affection in the training of her taketh their whole concern; he giveth not only repen-children, related to me the following anecdote of one tance, but remission of sins, and the gift of the Holy of her sons. Her command had gone forth on one Ghost. He creates them anew: his love first makes Sabbath evening, that all her household should accomthe bride and then he delights in her. The want of pany her to the temple; one wayward boy refused to viewing Christ in this light, as the author and finisher comply with her request. After admonishing him on of our salvation, hinders the poor, humble penitent the subject, and finding him resolved to disobey, she from casting himself wholly on the Lord, although he told him the door of the house would be locked, and hath said, "Cast thy burden on the Lord, and he shall he would not be allowed to remain inside. At length sustain thee." the hour of worship arrived, and the sullen lad, unbending in his purpose to forsake the house of God, was made to pass out with the rest of the family, but hurried from them to pursue his own way. The pious mother's heart was very sad while joining in the services of her God that evening, for she knew not where her prodigal might be wandering.

On the family returning from the sacred assembly, the culprit contrived to slip in at the door of the house with the other boys; and in order to avoid the repro

I do not mention sin, for sin is the very thing which renders man the object of Christ's pity: our sins will never turn away the heart of Christ from us, for they brought him down from heaven to die in our place; and the reason why iniquity separates between God and our souls, is because it turns our eyes from him, and shuts up in us the capacity of receiving those beams of love which are ever descending upon and offering themselves to us. But sin, sincerely lamented, and brought by "a constant act of faith" and prayerving eye of that firm mother, he retired to his bed. before the Lord, shall soon be consumed, as the thorns laid close to a fire; only let us abide thus waiting, and the Lord will pass through them and burn them up together. When the soul feels its own helplessness, and re-mother's heart-stirring language, she spared not the rod ceives the glad tidings of the Gospel, it ventures upon Christ; and though the world, the flesh, and the devil pursue, so that the soul seems often to be on the brink of ruin, it has still only to listen to the Gospel, and venture on Christ, as a drowning man on a single plank, with "I can but perish;" remembering these words, "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee."

This place, however, was not one of comfort to him— for soon his quick ear caught the sound of his praying mother's footfall. She entered his room; stood by his bed; and, after talking to him of his sin in a pious

lest he should "bring her to shame." The spirit of her boy was humbled, and he promised never again to grieve her in the same way. As soon as he awoke in the morning, calling to one of his brothers who slept in the same room, he said, "John, mother cONQUERED me last night!" O yes, he found his mother revered the commands of her Lord too much to allow her child to pursue that downward course which would end in darkness and a second death, without using every means

The careless sinner is not to be exhorted to trust in Christ; it would be to cast pearls before swine. Be-in her power to bring him to the cross. fore an act of faith, there must be an act of self-despair; before filling, there must be emptiness. Is this thy character? Then suffer me to take away thy false props. Upon what dost thou stay thy soul? Thy honesty, morality, humility, doing good, using the means, business, friends, confused thoughts of God's

Most of her children (to say the least) love the Gospel, and some are doers of the word. We believe they will all rise up and call her blessed, when she is passed into the skies. She always seems to have in view the meeting before the great white throne.-Mother's Magazine.

Original.

THE HERMIT'S CAVE.

THE HERMIT'S CAVE. THERE is something wild and desolate associated with the idea of the gloomy life of a lonely hermit. Taking up my residence, some few years since, in the immediate vicinity of the celebrated hermit of Waldo, of whom I had frequently heard, I availed myself of the earliest opportunity to visit his secluded cell. My main object was to obtain, if possible, something of his early history, of which but little was known, as also to gratify my own curiosity, by observing his singular mode of living. On my first visit to the old man of the forest, he was residing in a little camp, his cave having been injured by a recent freshet. He was, however, soon after in his cave again, and I had frequent opportunities, during a stay of two years, only one mile distant from him, for visiting and conversing with him in his dismal habitation. Indeed, I became a favorite, to whom he revealed perhaps more relative to the cause of his self-exile than to any other person. The place which he had selected to pass his lonely days, was highly romantic. A gentle stream of water passed in front of the cave, while in his rear rose a majestic mountain, whose lofty summit pierced the clouds. The waving pines were his tulips, and the hollow moan of dreary winds the rich melody of his soul's delight.

57

some reptiles and birds pleasing his palate equally with the most delicate.

He was now tottering under the pressure of numerous years. The chill blasts of seventy-five winters had beat upon his sturdy frame, and his cheek was deeply furrowed by the sorrows of early years. Fifty years of his life he had dwelt in this lonely spot, the first twenty of which were passed in dreary solitude, without seeing a single individual. Gloomy indeed must have passed the days of his solitary pilgrimage. A frithful dog served him as his bosom friend, the two first years, after which his companion was the wild wolf of the forest. He had carried with him, in his exile, a copy of the Bible; but his ideas of its truths were too vague and erroneous to permit him to draw from it that sweet consolation which it is designed to impart. For instance, he supposed that what is generally termed the night-mare was being possessed of the devil-that when he was asleep with his mouth open the devil went down his throat, and took possession of him. Accordingly, he often cautioned me never to sleep with my mouth open, for if I should die while thus possessed, I should certainly go to hell. I never left the old man but with a sad and heavy heart. Am I asked for the cause of his thus forsaking society for that lonely retreat? When young he was respectable and wealthy. His fond heart had selected its comI first met him in a little foot-path leading to and panion, with whom he hoped to spend his future years near his habitation, to which I received a cordial invi- of bliss; but the tongue of slander, and the interpositation. His clothes were a coarse kind of woolen, and tion of those who ought to have been his best friends, fastened to him by a girdle composed of eel-skins, made a breach, and withered the fair flowers that which he wore about the waist. He did not wash bloomed so fresh before him. He was induced, by imhimself at all; consequently, his beard, which was proper and over-solicitation, to wed another; but he some three inches long, was matted together like the had already tasted the last cup of joy that earth could fur on a partially worn buffalo robe. The skin of a present him-a sable pall had been spread over all its wild cat, (which had been killed some years previous,) future prospects-before him, commingling with socitaken off whole, with the jaw-bones and teeth left in,ety, was nought but sadness and sorrow. He left her and stuffed with moss gathered from the trees so as to resemble the living animal, with an aperture in the bottom part so as to place it on his head with the teeth grinning before, and the tail hanging down behind, served him for a hat, giving to the old man an appearance wild and terrific; yet in his disposition and intercourse he was mild and social. The cave which served as his mansion, and in which he had passed the most of his life, was a narrow cavity dug into the bank of the stream. Its entrance, which was horizontal, was by a narrow aperture, stopped by a slab of wood, which was placed and re-placed at pleasure, by the side of which was the chimney, built of rough stones. The THE BOOK OF GOD. entrance and chimney made up the front of the cave, To that book I turn, when weary and disappointed which was some eight feet deep, or rather long, and in all other books, as the foundation and source of all four feet wide at the bottom, drawing to a point at that I know about God and eternity. It is the only the top. Its height in the centre was not more than lamp that is borne before me a single step. Take that five feet, rendering it impossible for him ever to stand away, and all is dark in the future. I know not why erect while in it. His bedding was the skins of wild I live; I know not why I must die; I know what I animals, and his only cooking utensil a piece of broken must do to meet my Maker in peace. Take that away, kettle. He obtained a subsistence by hunting, fishing, and I am in a dark world. Though the bright sun may and raising a few vegetables. His mode of living was shine in the heavens, yet the Sun of Righteousness is not only simple, but exceedingly filthy--the most lothe-gone, and I can only sit down and weep in despair. VOL. III.-8

at the very altar to mingle his moan with the lonely
winds, and shed his tears in solitude. He is now
eighty-three years old. The almost sacred hiding place
of his sorrows has been rudely desecrated by the cruel
axe of the woodsman. The tall pines that once waved
their lofty branches over him have been hewn down,
and only a few bushes now surround his lonely cave.
Sympathy has excited for him the friendship of sur-
rounding inhabitants, who gladly soothe his passage to
the grave of his earthly sorrows.
E. S. N.

ENOCH.