or reason, seeming every day to play upon the very verge of the grave, lived on year after year on ever present sorrow. It seems as if such a fate were worse than death. It is hard to meet death, and we know the mother loves her child, whatever it may be, and for that reason it seems as it were easier to lay it in its little grave, and cover the fresh green sods upon its bosom, than gaze upon its growth, and see no intellect, no beaming health, no soul in its features. The most mighty agent in the universe, is the least known. The sun is brilliant and gives light and heat to our planetary system; all eyes may behold and all nature bask in his beams, but the mightier, unseen influence of gravitation binds Orion and the Wasa Major with our planet, controls the whole material world, and reaches perchance to the throne of God. Thus it is in the moral world. The mere forms of religion and the laws of the land which are made and administered by man with pomp and state, may influence the conduct of a people; but how feeble are they to touch and improve the character of a nation, compared with that unseen spiritual influence possessed by the Christian Consider the mother of Washmother. ington, who may well be said to claim the noblest distinction a woman can gain; that of training her gifted son in the path of rectitude, and inspiring him by her example, to make the way of goodness his path The Bible in the unfoldings of its sacred to glory. True, it may be said, he pos truths, present to the mind the unmistak- sessed the germ of greatness; but had it able design of God in the creation of wonot been carefully nurtured and guided We are taught that man was or- by the hand of a mother, whose own chardained to become the provider, the pro-acter was admirably adapted to form and tector and lawgiver, and woman the pre- develop those noble virtues and high morserver and the inspirer, or teacher. al principles which will be precious to the see that her mission is one of the noblest, world in all succeeding ages, he might and most sacred on earth. Having no have been added to that number of masplace in the struggle for dominion in the ter-spirits whose fame rests upon the fac world, she is left to refine the human ulties they have abused, and the crimes affections, to elevate the moral faculties, they have perpetrated. and to cultivate the sweet charities of home, and all those tender spiritual affections, which strengthen the silver chord of life, and bring the soul into harmony with its Maker. Yet both these destines are equally the dispensations of God, and to each of them we must bow submissively, if it should be our lot; but when we look upon a living sorrow like this, we say surely, there is a sorrow worse even than death. REQUISITES FOR WOMEN OF THE TIMES. man. BY C. E. M. We The sculptor who spends years in chiselling the dull piece of marble into a lifelike form, works on dead matter; but woman, with her patient influence, works upon the living elements of human nature. She creates her form of beauty in the soul. Obedience, Truth, Love and Piety are her materials, and with these she may work out powerful results for good. From this brief outline of woman's misgion-the one for which we believe her designed by her Creator-we are led to notice some of the requisites which she should possess, that she may answer the great end of her existence. Principles less firm and just, an affection less regulated by discretion, might have changed the character of the son, and with it the destinies of a nation. If we wish a still broader field of usefulness and activity for woman, let us look to the missionary enterprise, which opens to the Christian woman the opportunity of cheering the souls and dispelling the clouds of ignorance from the benighted minds of the heathen. What an example of Christian fortitude and perseverance do we see in the three Mrs. Judsons, who braved ap palling dangers and even death in its most unwelcome forms, in a foreign land, in the service of their Master. in Bat these are only a few of many stances which history furnishes of her efforts as a moral instructor. But from these we are enabled to mark those noble The voice of summer's minstrelsy, The whippoorwill, at close of day, No more will summer's genial voice Nature takes a higher aspect from places where good and memorable deeds have been done, and it lends to them a deeper charm. It is enriched with rarer sanctity, it sheds more blessed dew upon the spot where the hero struggled, or the martyr peri hed, or the righteous sleep. Palestine will always be a "Holy Land." TALES OF THE FIRESIDE. BY AN OLD FRIEND. "Do tell us all about that time,” said I; "it is storming outside and pleasant within, and just the right time for a story." I never shall forget," said my friend, smiling, "what a good time there was around the old family table, one bright evening in early winter. The winter school had begun. I had been to school for the first time in my life, and nothing in memory reaches so distinctly beyond that memorable day, as the momentous events of that grand epoch in a child's life. It was a full mile and a half to the old school house, and the time occupied in walking there with brother and sister, was employed in sight seeing, and some very grave thoughts upon the probable appearance of the school, and the how I should appear and feel, which latter I cannot describe to the understanding of the unitiat ed. Those who have been to school for the first time, will need no description, so I will briefly pass in review the transactions of the day, and basten home to gather around the inviting board- so very cheerful to children at school, tired and hungry and bursting with news. "We arrived at the school-house in season, my good mother always made it a point to send her children early to school ་ - I and were met at the entrance by a numerous group of Wide Awakes, who seemed in a great hurry to get in. For my part I had some anxious forebodings, and home longings, but the rubicon was past; already in the entry, a small room at the end of the school-house, where wood was thrown in, and mantles, blankets, hats, caps and baskets piled on. had no time to demur against the rites of initiation, and passed in. Struck with consternation at nothing remarkable, as I have often been since, at the threshold of less important places, I suffered the cere monies to proceed without interruption, and took a proffered seat upon a low bench with some other boys of the same age,four years, and sat bolt upright against the hard back all the day, save the nooning-the play spell in middle of forenoon and afternoon, when the boys went out,' and the awful calling up to read,' by the master, whose tall, majestic form, piercing black eyes and searching voice, made me shrink from his presence, and wonder if I should ever get home again. I tell you, that little unfinished house, with homely surroundings was more than airy castle to me, that first day of school and when, that night, I crept into bed under its rafters, that almost touched my head, no monarch was ever half so satisfied with his couch, or so thankful for shelter. And didn't I sleep and dream over again the perils of the day, and fancy I was never to see home again, till the flashing eye of the school-master, seemingly directed to me, broke my slumbers and relieved my fears. 0! how glad to find myself in bed at home, in the dear old chamber with brothers and sisters near. "But I am getting way ahead of my story. Well, as I was about to say, we were called up to read, - the other little four year olds and myself twice in the forenoon and twice in the afternoon, which duty was duly executed in the presence of the whole school, in a creditable manner, as I judged by the praises of the master, who began to assume less formidable dimensions. At four o'clock the school was dismissed, and we went noiselessly out, if such a thing be possible. But the scene in the old entry beggars all description. "As before stated, this was the reccptacle of surplus clothing and dinner baskets. If these had been indiscriminately deposited, minus the labels, there was now an indiscriminate attack, by an indiscriminate company of boys and girls, each eager for the desired article, and none knowing just where to look. As usual, the larger ones were first served and helped the younger ones, so that soon the whole school rushed out pell mell, like a flock of sheep, only for the noise, that made it more like a flock of geese. How we all got started in the right direction is more than I can tell. For one I depended entirely upon an elder brother, who escorted me home a wiser and happier child than I went. I had learned to say my A B C after the teacher, and escaped alive. Henceforth the road was open to me-the road of science. A road that has had many obstacles in it, but none so formidable as those of this day. "At home, supper dispatched with a greediness that none but school-children have, the supper dishes washed, wiped and laid away, we gather around the oblong table to recount the events of the day, and listen to the tales of the neighborhood, one of which I will now relate." So saying. my friend narrated the following story of BLACK HARRY. if "On the way from school the children had met Black Harry whose appearance always made the little folks scamper, away from home, and sometimes the big boys were glad to run at the sight of this son of Africa, and for good reasons, as will presently appear. On this occasion, I shared the general fright, and thought myself very lucky in escaping this last peril of the day, and was quite happy to find myself at home, and quite loquacious in recounting the wonders of the day. Among these, black Harry was the gravest and the darkest. As I had before seen him, and paled in his awful presence, with feelings akin to those kindled by infantile imagination, when a blacker than black Harry was supposed to be prowling around in quest of naughty children, I resolved to ease my aching heart by asking who this negro was, and why he was so much dreaded by children? Half suspecting and half fearing that he might be some way connected with the Prince of darkness himself -a prince then verily thought to be veritable with hoof and horns, and potent for evil; but since discovered to have been a bug-bear, for weak parents to frighten weaker children into bedience with, I timidly inquired of my mother about Harry. Who is he?' What made him black?' and why are all the children so afraid of him?' My mother readily complied, and she had an attentive audience, for all the children were deeply interested to hear some thing of one whose presence cast such a shade over them, and whose near home rendered it probable that he might be seen frequently. "Black Harry,' said she, 'is called a negro, because he is of African descent and is black. He is a poor but harmless man, living in an old house out on the Plains, near the road as you go to S―, and has a family as black as he is.' "How funny a black child must look! and a black woman! how I should like to see one!' exclaimed several voices. Don't you think Harry would hurt us if we should go to see his little black baby?' "O, no! Harry is very harmless, as I told you, and would be pleased to have you call to see him and his baby, for he is just as fond of his babe as any father, and his wife would feel as proud to have people come in and praise her darling child, as any mother in the land; but I am sorry that but few ever do go in to see these poor colored people, and I have heard that they are very poor and destitute.' 666 But what is the reason that people do not go to see them if they are harmless, and would like to have them come? why are the boys so afraid of him? As to the boys, I can only say that it is very bad boys that are afraid of Harryboys who have misused him. You have heard some of them call him a nigger, or old black Harry, or a thief. This provokes Harry, and he runs after the boys as if he would hurt them, and the guilty fellows are afraid that he will. But I have never heard of his hurting any one, though he has to bear a great deal from others.' "But why do the boys call Harry bad names and misuse him? son. "Indeed I can give you no good reaI know of none except that he is despised on account of his color, which is a very sorry reason, I am sure. Yet it is the case that the colored man is ill-treated on account of his color, which he can no more help than we can ours, and which is no more disgraceful." "Who made Harry black, mother?' "The same good God who made you white, my child.' 666 Then is it not wicked to ridicule him?' Certainly it is, and I hope you will never do so, but always treat him kindly.' That I will, and I shall not be afraid of him, now; but I wonder why he does not go to Africa, where all the people are black, and no whites to despise them. I am sure I would not stay here all alone.' 'Doubtless Harry would be glad to go where his own people live, who would treat him well so far as his color is concerned, but then he would be subjected to a great many troubles, as his people are very ignorant savages, and very cruel to each other when engaged in war, which is often the case, besides it is a great way to Africa, and would cost a great deal of money to get there, which poor Harry has not.' "Is Harry a savage too, mother, and so ignorant?' He is very ignorant, but not very savage, as I told you; he never hurt any of the bad boys who misuse him, and act much less like a Christian than Harry, who can neither read nor write.' "But why does Harry not learn to read and write, mother?' 66 6 Ah! it is painful to tell you that the same prejudice that keeps people from going to his house, and makes the boys call him hard names, and throw stones at his windows, also prevents his learning to read and write; for nobody will teach him nor allow his child in school.' Editor's Table. "What was written for you?" I inquired. "These lines by one of Earth's great ones. They were written before I was born; in an age just gone by, in a foreign language, and among a foreign people who are in many and important things unlike ourselves, yet nevertheless they were written for me." I did not for a moment deem this language enigmatical. Something of the magnetism of her enthusiasm penetrated my own spirit, and whatever the lines might be or by whomsoever penned, I knew as well as she that they were written for her. 66 They are by Goethe," she continued" and these alone, if he had written no other, would have entitled him to the appellation of great.' "I know it by your face," said I,-I am sure of it." Yet read them. The same sublime passion that rested on her face was in her low voice as she read aloud the lines which follow: "Without haste! without rest!" Bind the motto to thy breast! Storm or sunshine, guard it well; Haste not-let no thoughtless deed Rest not-life is sweeping by, When these forms have passed away! Haste not! rest not! calmly wait; "My duty is here marked out," said she, as she ended. "It is difficult, but oh, how beautiful! Never to hasten and never to rest! 'To fill up every moment of my waking life hereafter each with its appropriate duty. Never to tire and never to stop; as the swimmer that swims for his life, to put behind me one wave after another, with calm determination to keep on, and keep on-To wait, 'calmly wail,' when I must, and life has often no more difficult problem than waiting; it is hard to wait, and with my eyes on my polar guide,' to push bravely on when I may, this is my duty hereafter, 'Ponder well and know the right, "It is such a spirit as this," said I," that makes heroes and demi-gods. Being a woman you will become neither the one nor the other, though there is the stuff in you for both. But shall I tell you what I see? I see a hue of light before you, and your shadow following steadily along it. Your breast-plate is well secured, and its legend is undimmed. High up in the arch above and before you, beams the polar-guide and your serene eyes are fastened steadily upon it. You hasten not-you rest not-you look not to the false meteors that flit here and there on either hand; you stoop not to gather the flowers that blossom at your feet; the sweet voices, more potent than all, which would lure you from your path, so straight, so narrow, are powerless to stay you: but shall I tell still what I see?" "Tell me." "I see a soft sadness in your eyes as the tremulous echo of one voice, dearer, more pervading, more transfusive than the rest, dies faintly, quiveringly away in the distance, and the steady foot for a moment falters and seems |