50 THE ORPHAN'S PRAYER. and struggling to get free. I had feelings which none fathomed, and thoughts which none understood. I was deemed odd, unsocial, and singular. Another source of suffering was found in the embarrassment in going into society, from a consciousness that, owing to my way of life, and the want of some one to guide and instruct me, my manners were rough and uncouth. I often got myself into most sad predicaments of awkwardness, which exceedingly perplexed and mortified me. But it would be useless for me to attempt to describe the sufferings and perplexities through which I passed in my orphan state. I am not good at that kind of description, and I can convey to you, kind reader, no idea of the embarrassments and sorrows which fall to the lot of the friendless, homeless orphan. On me the recollection of my own sufferings has at least one good effect. It induces me to treat those who are now as I was then, as I would that others should have treated me. And Providence has surely favored me with the opportunity of practicing to any desirable extent the lessons which I with sorrow learned. Kind reader, deal gently with the orphan. For the sake of your friend, the gray-haired old man, deal kindly with the orphan. MY FIRST LOVE. Be not startled, gentle reader: I am not going to tell you a love story. Not exactly. At least, not such a one as you find in the fashionable magazines. There is some love in my nature; but I have not much affinity for these popular tales. Yet I must talk something of love. When I was young, I had nothing to love but a kitten, and then a lamb; and both these died. When I became older, there were few that cared for me. Amid, however, the cold neglect of the world around me, there was one being, whom Providence seemed to throw across my path, as my guardian angel. She was some two or three years older than I, and was greatly my superior in education, taste, and accomplishment. Her mind was a gem of the first water, her sensibilities were quick, her heart all affection, and her temper all gentleness; and, what was better than all, she was deeply, devotedly pious. She had none of that useless reserve, which would restrain a lady from doing good in every possible way. She lived near the family in which I was residing, and her gentle heart was moved by my lonely and neglected condition. She sought an interview with me, and frankly told me she felt interested in me, and invited me to call at her father's house. From that time I was a constant visitor, almost every evening, after the day's labor was over, to that humble yet hospitable cottage. My friend took the liberty of giving me advice on many matters of interest to me, and of making many suggestions for my improvement. My visits to that family opened a new world to me-a new world of thought, of feeling, and of { happiness. Our intercourse continued for some three years. It was our custom, in my visits to the family, after the evening was near spent, to have prayers, in which the family, father, mother, and daughter all joined, each praying in succession. A heavenly influence seemed resting on us. I had begun to regard my friend, my Mary, as some superior being. I could hardly believe her human, like other beings around me. The influence she exercised over me was unbounded, all-powerful, and constant. And it was all turned to good account. But a sad reverse awaited me. I was called away for a few weeks on business to another part of the country; and when I returned, my Mary was dead. She had fallen sick soon after I left, and lingering for a few days, died, and was buried before I returned. I knew nothing of it, until, on my return, I called at the house and inquired for her. Alas! alas! my heart sunk within me. I learned that her last act was to pray earnestly for my prosperity, success, and happiness in life. Years, ah! almost an age has passed away, and yet the memory of Mary lives fresh in my heart. It sometimes seems to me that she was some angel whom Providence sent on earth with a special mission for my benefit, and having accomplished that mission, she returned to her native heaven. Well, reader, I must be done for this time. Perhaps, however, we may meet again. WHAT shall be the orphan's prayer, What shall his petition be Give us, Lord, our daily bread, Teach us to forgive and love, LETTER TO MY MOTHER. 51 book his servant pronounces words which you had ofttimes read to me. I listen, and as the lightning hurled from the armory of Omnipotence blasts and LETTER TO MY MOTHER. MOTHER, My mind will often fly away more swiftly than the chainless lightning, to the place where dwells my mother. The scenes of my boy-splinters the giant oak, that has withstood the temhood, mother, when I wept my tears of childish sorrow on your bosom, are present with me. I'am again, in fancy, in the little cottage, where I first remember to have looked out upon "this breathing world." Night begins to pin up his ebon curtains with glittering stars; the birds carol their last evening song, and fly away to the leafy grove beside the well-remembered stream, in which I used, with child-youth or perish in the attempt. At this very mo pest's desolating onset, so did the resistless energies of the Holy Ghost break the will of your wicked boy. The thunders of Sinai roll around me in almost insupportable, deafening loudness-the ire of an incensed God curls about my guilty head and makes my knees to quake. I leave that place, determined, by the grace of God, to be a different ment, a letter from you, mother, exhorting me to religious paths comes opportune indeed. The dash Him, who, in other days, spake peace to the waves of Galilee. The rainbow of promise arches the troubled elements of my mind, and I feel the bless "Long my imprison'd spirit lay, Fast bound in sin and nature's night: I woke; my dungeon flamed with light! I rose, Redeemer blest, to follow thee." ish glee, to bathe. And you have been all day away at your accustomed toil. I am kneeling on a chair at the shattered window, while my heart beats highing billows of despair were hushed by the voice of with hope, that every step I hear may be thine. Soon I see your cherished form, I clasp my little hands for joy, and, throwing wide the door, bound out to the wicker gate, shouting with maddeningedness of sins forgiven. rapture as you clasp your child to your lonely bosom. Ah! you are all to me-mother and father too; for no fond father's hand smooths my nightly pillow. The rum-sellers have ruined him, and driven the feelings of a once kind nature from his breast. And when the cold world scorns the drunkard's boy, it goes like daggers to my heart. I can now see your frugal hand, from the poor widow's scanty store, prepare our hasty meal. And when around the board we sit, I hear thy voice the great Protector's blessing ask upon your little ones. I see the big, submissive tear roll down your care-worn cheek. Supper over, you show me how to clasp my hands, and teach me to lisp the hallowed name of Jesus; and, through faith in him who lives to intercede for man, to commit my soul to the keeping of him, whose eye never slumbers. And when deep sleep upon me falls, you there, in that dim-lit chamber, continue to ply the weary needle, till "the iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve." The vision changes! By time's resistless current I am carried along, till past the bounds of boyhood. Then, innocence is forced from my breast by the influence of damning vice. Time comes when I must leave thy watchful eye. That sweet "God bless thee, my boy," which you uttered with tremulous voice, with eyes full of tears, and with your trembling hand upon my brow, is still ringing in my ears. I haste away to America's metropolis. There few knew the inebriate's son, and, goaded on by demons, I plunge into wild excess. Save the few hours when your teachings, mother, came flitting before my excited mind, my heart is void of virtue's high resolves. But it is night-my feet are treading the consecrated aisles of one of God's earthly temples. It is the last night on an old year's calendar. I look around upon the glittering pageant as revealed by the flashing light and heave a sigh. Stillness, dread and oppressive stillness, reigns. From God's holy Again the vision changes. Years have rolled away. Night and day I hear a voice sounding in my ears"Go herald the glad tidings of salvation to a ruined world." Oppressed with a sense of my unfitness, what strivings I endure to silence that voice. But no! driven from my last covert, a world wading in sin and rushing down the dizzy steeps of everlasting death, and that fearful voice behind me, I rush to the outer walls of Zion, and unfurl the crimson banner of the cross. And, now, here I am, and if one immortal spirit, through my instrumentality, is brought to a joyous entrance through glory's gates into the kingdom of heaven, that soul will be mainly indebted to you, mother, for impressing upon my mind, when young, the principles of the religion of the blessed book of God. VIVENZO. MENTAL ABSTRACTION. CASES of mental abstraction very frequently occur, and particularly among literary men. Our writers on intellectual philosophy, and those who have treated of insanity, have recorded numerous and strange instances. From these sources we might quote a large quantity of them; but, so far as our reading has extended, no case has ever occurred surpassing that recorded by Plato of his master, Socrates: "One morning," says Plato, "he fell into one of these raptures of contemplation, and continued standing in the same posture till about noon. In the evening, some Ionian soldiers went out, and, wrapping themselves warm, lay down by him in the open field, to observe if he would continue in that posture all night, which he did until the morning, and as soon as the sun rose he saluted it and retired!" 52 A DISTINGUISHED FAMILY. A DISTINGUISHED FAMILY. BY MARIA L. AGARD. MANY, many years ago, and far away to the east, there lived an excellent family, the eldest son of which was a comfort to the declining days of his father; for he was a hundred and eighty-two years old when this son was born. Both the old gentleman and his son were, by occupation, farmers. not save from the world of waters. There, too, was strong and able manhood, vainly clutching at unsubstantial aids, and grasping that which would but hasten his fate. The tallest mountain tops afford no safeguard from the pursuing waters. But where was our preacher during this fearful wreck? Perishing with the guilty who had disregarded his sermons? Do you not see that noble vessel proudly riding the destructive waves? There are our faithful minister and his excellent wife with their three sons and daughters in safety. And the whole human family beside, is utterly destroyed! For many days and nights that little community of eight persons rode aloft o'er hill and dell, while beneath them were cities in destruction. But it was not to continue thus. The waters ebbed, the olive-leaf ap The neighborhood in which this pious family resided was very wealthy and fashionable, and the people lived in great luxury and constant dissipation. But our youth entered into none of their pernicious practices, and made no intimate acquaintances among them; but, with the approbation of his parents, selected a comely and discreet maiden from a respecta-peared, the bow of promisc was set, and man once ble family, and settled, with fair prospects, for a long and happy life, such as their fathers had led, in the quiet simplicity of their rural home. Years passed on, and while the dissipation and immorality of his neighbors increased, his own little family of three sons grew to manhood, and, in their turn, took prudent and pious damsels for their wives. But those around them were unholy in all their doings and imaginations. So great was their wickedness that their all-wise Creator, grieved at their corruption, repented that he had made them. A benevolent heart is touched by the prospect of woe to others. So it was with the father of the three sons. He was not content to see the wicked perish in their iniquities. Being persuaded that sudden destruction would overwhelm them, and taught by the heavenly Preceptor, he became a preacher of righteousness. Then did the zealous minister of truth strive with men to turn them from vice to virtue, from error to truth, from sin to God. But, like many other sincere and devoted ministers, he was grieved to see men pursuing their own ruinous course in defiance of the fearful denunciations he uttered. But the time at last came-a time in which all would vainly regret they had not listened and sought safety while it were possible. But now it was too late. The frowning clouds poured down their torrents, and the earth, as if spurning her degenerate children, sent all her hidden fountains forth to meet the cataracts from above, till the whole earth presented one scene of devastation and dismay. There was frail woman, with outstretched arms, calling on husband, brother, father, to save her from a watery grave. There was tottering age, with dripping and disheveled hair, beseeching hale and sinewy youth to rescue from so fearful a death. There was feeble disease, with clasped hands, crying to the strong for succor. There was defenseless infancy, beautiful in its helplessness, gasping for breath, and spreading its dimpled hands toward those of whom help was expected. Early youth, merry in its budding beauty, was there, but its rapid foot and giddy head would more inhabited the earth. Need we say this good man was Noah? This virtuous family formed a connecting link between the old world and the new. Its father lived six hundred years with the antediluvians, and conversed with those who were familiar with the first created man, the father of all living. 'Twas thus he learned the story of the fall from innocence, the banishment from paradise which was its meed; of the first foul murder, and its consequences to the wretched fratricide; and of the translation of holy Enoch. These were inspiring themes of story and of song. How charming must have been the tale, as it fell from the lips of eye-witnesses, and they the eloquent and inspired men of God. Nor was this the termination of their intercourse with men. A great family arose from these eight persons, with whom their progenitors commingled through a period of eleven generations, until the fiftieth year of Isaac, a space of about eleven hundred years. Was not Noah a striking type of Christ? He reproved wickedness, taught righteousness, prepared a salvation for all that would obey his voice, and saw the destruction of those that scorned his instructions. Nor was he unlike Adam, in the position he occupied to the world. He was the second progenitor of the human race. He saw the entire triumph of virtue in the renovated world. Was not this a distinguished family? YOUTH may indeed be likened to the vernal season of outward nature, when there is bud and flower, but no fruit; now the sap has come up, boasting of vigor, yet there is no true strength. It gives itself forth to the eye, delighting that: it effuses the odor of deliciousness. But let it not boast itself: at present it has neither power nor fruitage. Wait till its condensed balm shall be given to the science of healing, its odors concentrated to the office of soothing; then shall its harvest be likened to knowledge, and to the sweetness of wisdom. B. SEPTUAGENARIAN POET.-HOW DO YOU LIKE THE CITY? THE SEPTUAGENARIAN POET. The following piece of poetry is a literary curiosity. When the circumstances attending it are considered, it is also to be looked upon as a wonderful achievement. The writer of it is an old Methodist preacher-the first raised up in New England, and, when it was written, was beyond his "threescore years and ten." He is one of that choice band of veterans, who, in other days, raised the banner of Methodism in Puritan New England; and, though his battles have been many, he has seen the ensigns of victory. He has now woven his own chaplet, which we, as an editor, and not less as an admirer of these old heroes of the cross, take infinite pleasure in laying upon his brow. May God bless him, and all his old compeers wherever they may be. Their names will be held sacred, when their scarred bodies shall be sleeping in the dust.-ED. THE SONG OF THE DIVER. BY REV. ENOCH MUDGE. I DIVE where groves of coral grow, Where sea flowers all their beauty spread, The sea-fan spreads its verdant wing, Moluscan tribes in revelry, In all their pride and varied forms, Enjoy their bliss in the deep sea, Free from the upper howling storms: While raging surges o'er them flow, All is tranquility below. There, lovely sea flowers Spread in the deep their sweet perfume, Within their coral bowers. The shelly family, array'd In robes of peerless glory, shine; His wisdom and his power divine: The bivalves' numerous forms And pure devotion warms. The univalves no less inspire The mind with thoughts sublime and grand! Their iridescent plays of fire, And variegated spiral band; Their wrinkles, curves-the transverse line, Each fold, and whirl, and streak, The saffron, or the ruby lip, The nodules and the dimpled dip, Unbounded wisdom speak. Their natures, textures, parts, and forms; Their wants, and their supplies of food; Their means of safety from the storms: These all declare that God is good! Divine economy supplies All means to their localities, And plentifully given. Such scenes the diver sees below, His grateful songs to heaven. 53 HOW DO YOU LIKE THE CITY? With its splendor and its mirth? Ere the daylight work is done. It groweth alone in the solitude, It loves the shade of the mighty tree, With an angel hid in its pearly cup The angel of love and peace; And no other spot on the earth's wide breast To me is as dear as this. HERMIONE. HAVE FAITH. HAVE faith in God though troubles roll THE PRESENTIMENT. 54 THE PRESENTIMENT. BY REV. G. H. M'LAUGHLIN. Ir is a rural residence, rich in natural scenery, and yet somewhat ancient in its artificial improvements, which was once the home of an unbroken and affectionate family. Scarcely had the savage ceased to roam, when first the adventurous father fixed here an humble habitation for his family-a young wife and infant children. This was a place, not only of patient, domestic toil, but of peaceful, gracious piety. Here the evangelical pioneer of the Gospel always found a place of welcome repose. Immigrants soon came and colonized this vacant, yet fertile valley. As the country became improved and populated, the word of the Lord grew and was multiplied; so that soon the surrounding country presented an aspect of physical and moral loveliness, which made it desirable as a residence of the religious and intelligent. incipient but violent disease. With the dawn of a memorable day, the family learn that, what they had little feared, the father had seemed to realize as truly near at hand. Coming events seemed to cast the shadows of death before them. To his mind there was an impressive presentiment. "The soul hath its feelers-cobwebs floating in the wind, Which catch events in their approach With sure and apt presentiment." We cannot tarry long to talk of prescience, or to fix a firm foundation on which to place presentiment. The occasion is too solemn. He felt that this earthly tabernacle was being speedily dissolved, and dared to say, with the apostle, "The time of my departure is at hand." It seemed that the Lord had said to his servant, "Set thy house in order, for thou shalt surely die." There is something very soothing in the words of a good man, even though they appear prophetical as to the time of his departure. They are not only impressive, but peaceful and comforting. How unlike the frightful, feverish forebodings of the afflicted sinner. Death, as an outlet to a world of darkness and And now, after the lapse of many years, I take, as my point of observation, that rural spot. A beautiful landscape surrounds me. There are oft-repeat-misery, and as the entrance to a world of light, and ed, alternate views of farm and forest, and "Hill and dale and liquid laps of murmuring streams." It is a Sabbath morning, and a sacred awe checks the fancy, and soothes the soul, which casts a superior beauty on all around. An aged man stands by my side, wrapped in calm contemplation of this, his quiet home. I was often with him; for it so happened that thus my fortune led me. But hark! what do we hear? The well-known music of the church-going bell, as it rolls sweetly over the beautiful hill that intercepts the adjacent city, and it seems to say, "This is not your rest: come hear of a better land." Thus prompted, I see (it is no imagination) the father and two of his tender daughters, who love the call to worship God, leave for church. The cheerful wheels roll rapidly. They tread the accustomed aisle, and seat themselves to hear a sermon. There sits the aged sire in his accustomed pew, his hair whitened with the frosts of many winters. How sweet to him the Savior's name! How welcome the news of a heavenly hereafter! I know well his pew. It was where he always sat, and where, in time of love-feast, he always spake of the Christian's love and hope, and shed the Christian's tears. O, how many lessons of parental love and holy wisdom did he there leave to his children and his Church! The service closed. It was his last. He and his pious daughters seek their home. They have arrived. But, ah! strange feelings fatigue the aged man. The serene Sabbath evening closes, as usual, with pious, paternal admonitions and supplications at the throne of heavenly grace. The family retire to rest. While the night passes, refreshing with balmy sleep the young and peaceful, it wearies the way-worn patriarch with life, and glory, had no sting for him. The family, however, feared for themselves, while they sympathized deeply for their suffering friend; and with much reluctance could they acquiesce in a dispensation so afflicting. That circle had never as yet been broken by death. True, there was a time when death seemed to approach and lay his cold and iron hand upon a junior son. Then, too, I happened to be present; and I never can, nor would I forget that scene. Sympathetic tears stole down my cheeks, as his father and mother said, "Farewell, my child," and then the father, who now precedes his darling boy, having kneeled beside his little couch, said submissively, "The Lord gave and the Lord taketh away, and blessed be the name of the Lord." But such a scene was not at all terrific. The little boy, with languid limbs extended, was breathing softly, except occasionally a heavy sigh told the pressure of mortality. Even the dew of death was not appalling on his pretty face. It seemed to be more like the lovely dew of "heaven." As a kind parent would gently take the hand of his little son, and with an affectionate smile, and careful step, would conduct him into an adjoining room, an apartment more comfortable, better furnished for his enjoyment-into his own sitting-room; thus, it seemed to me, was the Savior about to take this "little one," saying, "Leave a world of sickness, and sorrow, and death, and come into a better, brighter world. I have gone and prepared a place for you, that where I am you may be also." But God permitted him, perhaps for the sake of friends, and the good of the Church and the world, to recover and grow up to manhood. And William is still on the stage of life-a man of God, I trust. May the Lord bless him! |