employs severe means, such as personal afflictions, disappointments, poverty, or the loss of children; thus convincing the mind of the vanity of all earthly objects, and its need of other and higher sources of pure and permanent happiness. Our trials emanate not from the dust-they are all wisely designed to answer some great, good, and worthy purpose. As illustrative of this point we may relate the following incident:

"Once a gentleman had in his employ a gardener, whose dear child had been suddenly taken away from him. The bereaved father deeply felt the stroke, wept immoderately, and, Rachel-like, would not be comforted. His employer, having observed his deep, immoderate grief, made up his mind, if possible, to cure it. There was growing in the gentleman's garden a most beautiful flower-a flower whose size, and hue, and beauty had attracted the notice of all the family. Both the master and his gardener thought much of this kingly flower. Early one morning the flower disappeared; the event filled the gardener's mind with fear; and it was with considerable difficulty he ventured to communicate the sad news to his master. His employer, having endeavoured to quell his fears, asked him to accompany him to his library, and there, to his great surprise, he saw the favourite flower on his master's table, Then the gentleman, addressing himself to the sorrowing parent, said, 'Now, this beautiful flower was mine, it grew in my own garden, had I not a right to pluck it, and to remove it to my library? But,' continued he, 'our heavenly Father had planted a flower in your garden; there it grew, beautiful and tender, but one day he thought proper to send for it to adorn one of his mansions in glory; it was his, he had a right to it; but, my dear friend, you seem to fret, to repine, and feel dissatisfied with his conduct in removing to his palace his own beautiful flower.' It was enough, the lesson had its intended effect, and the death of the gardener's favourite child became an effective means of spiritual discipline to his heart.

"3. The death of little children leaves no room for grievous doubts respecting their eternal destiny. Their destiny is certain. They are not lost, but gone before.' It has not been thus with every bereaved and weeping parent.

There is a kind of a dark uncertainty overhanging the graves of some individuals. Many holy and devoted parents, like Job, and Aaron, and Eli, and others, have had to mourn in bitter anguish over the graves of their grown up children, who were taken away from the midst of life's pleasures and gaieties without ever having given a satisfactory evidence of a change of heart. Who does not remember the deep anguish, the bitter tears, and the mournful lamentation of David on the untimely death of his son Absalom. But when a little child dies, we have no painful anxiety respecting its safety; we feel assured that, on leaving our world, it gains the crown without the turmoil, reaches the goal without the 'fight of faith,' and enters upon its harvest of joy before ever sowing in tears.' The thought is full of consolation, and chases from the mind all sad and distressing fears.

"4. The death of little children strongly reminds us of the instability of all earthly objects. When our beloved ones sicken and die around us, we are strongly reminded of the frailty of our nature, and the vanity of all earthly things. When anxiously watching by day and by night at the bedside of a dying infant, we have before our eyes a touching comment on the words of Scripture: As for man, his days are as grass as the flower of the field, so he flourisheth.' Our earthly treasures, our kind friends, our beloved children, are only lent us. Soon, very soon, we must part with all that we esteem good, dear, or precious in this world. Well may it be said:

'As vanishes the fleeting shade,
As flowers before the evening fade,
Such is the life of feeble man,

His days are measured by a span,'

Let us ever remember the frailty of our nature. Let us not hold with too firm a grasp any earthly object. Let the young reader, amidst the joys and pleasures of youth, never forget the downward path which leads to the cold grave. The bright morning of life will soon be over-the joyous period when we look into the blue distance with admiring eyes, and imagine that the world we are about to enter is a scene of enchantment,' is only a pleasant dream, it soon passes away. The pride and strength of manhood has no firmer tenure of existence :

'What is life? like a flower with the bane in its bosom,

To-day full of promise-to-morrow it dies!

And health, like the dewdrop that hangs in its blossom,

Survives but a night, and exhales to the skies!

How oft, 'neath the bud that is brightest and fairest,

The seeds of the canker in embryo lurk! How oft at the root of the flower that is rarest,

Secure in its ambush, the worm is at work!'

"5. The death of little children should incite us to a more earnest diligence in preparing for the future. Its language to us is, 'Be ye also ready.' Death appears in all its terrors to the mind of a heathen parent; he sees nothing there but the lifeless clay, the lonesome grave, and the shadow of death darkening all his future prospects. No wonder that his tears are bitter, and that he weeps as 'one having no hope.' But, in the light of Christianity, we can look beyond death; see, in our imaginations, our departed friends in a state of happiness, and wipe away our tears. There is something remarkably lovely in an infant in the arms of death. The little cold, withered form appears as if in a sweet dream, listening to the song of the happy departed spirit, and smiling at the thought of again reuniting. It is with reluctance we give it up, and bury it out of our sight. But, ah! the thought of going to that redeemed one reconciles us to the mysterious dispensation, and stimulates us to a more earnest diligence in preparing for our own dissolution. If the event has suddenly dried up one small rill of earthly pleasure, it has opened a fountain of bliss for the soul on high. Every bitter cup which our heavenly Father hands to his people contains some sweet ingredients; all things work together for their good. Those parents who have lost young children may take comfort from the thought, that they have such forerunners in heaven. Their beloved ones are now sanctified spirits before God's throne. This forms a new power of attraction to draw up their hearts to that better world. Those myriads of infant spirits which tune their harps of gold, and sing with the heavenly choir the song of Moses and of the Lamb, expect our arrival in the world of light. Oh, let us not disappoint them! Let us not

rest until we also are safely lodged in the bright pavilion of heaven. Weeping parents, dry those bitter flowing tears; we who have lost dear children shall have them restored to us, and all painful disruptions shall be healed. 'The flowers of love and hope we gather here, Shall yet bloom for us in the home of God; They shed not their last fragrance o'er the bier,

They lie not withered on the cold grave sod.'"

are

It

WORDS TO YOUNG MOTHERS. MESSRS. WERTHEIM have just issued a tract, entitled, "A Few Friendly Words to Young Mothers," which we happy to introduce to our readers. bears the stamp of the high authority of Dr. Conquest, to whom it is "Dedicated by permission." That eminent Physician, in a note to the Author of the Pamphlet, states, that he has read the proof carefully, and "so far as the Pamphlet goes, it contains much sound, useful advice, and many important suggestions, especially in reference to Nurses, who are the greatest plagues or the most valuable persons mothers and medical men have to do with."

As specimens of the Pamphlet, we shall now set forth a portion of one of its important Chapters, touching the Monthly Nurse, which is as follows:

THE MONTHLY NURSE.

My experience has made me acquainted with several monthly nurses: three have served in my own family, and one only would I wish to recommend or to re-engage. This good soul, possessing many admirable qualities, has however a failing which is inconvenient though not serious-it is a love of gossip; but I have always been inclined to overlook this fault, on account of her many good qualities, though it does idle the maids often, who come in her way.

The most just criticism I can pass on the Monthly Nurse is to describe three individuals of the class, each differing from the other, but each portraying the various failings generally to be found in such-with something more or less redeeming in the character of all. And I wish my readers to draw their own inference from facts here set down; they will cull their experience from mine, and gain their knowledge in a pleasanter way: I will make few comments on the characters here described--they will speak for themselves, and I trust save those who are entering upon such scenes from much of the perplexity many have to encounter, through an ignorance of the peculiarities and prejudices of persons they are at this trying season so much depending upon. Nurse L- was engaged to attend me

with my first baby, and was duly installed in the house fully a week before the event took place: this gave me an opportunity of judg ing of her. She answered very much to the description of monthly nurses in general: she had that bland, quiet, undisturbed look and manner which few of them are deficient in-they study it no doubt; their self-possession inspires confidence, and has its advantages; they never appear hurried or in a fright; no matter what happens or is likely to happen, there is the same calm look and blank expression when they choose, so that it is impossible to read in their face any intelligence of what is passing-even at the most critical period, although the doctor and nurse always thoroughly but silently understand each other: this is right,-during trying scenes it is well to keep the patient calm and free from fears. I had the utmost confidence (to begin with) in this nurse, as most young mothers have, especially with their first child. She was an oracle of wisdom; all she recommended was done, in fact she had the whole control of the infant. The opinions of grandmammas and aunts fail before the supposed superior judgment of the old nurse.

Nurse L was one of the old fashioned sort, who thought it highly important to administer a liberal amount of "physic," according to the approved ancient custom prevalent in the days of great grandmothers. Doctors seldom interfere with these matters; and so the poor babe was dosed plentifully at intervals, amidst a fearful deal of struggling, choking, and screaming; but I was told it was "all for its good:" and so in very ignorance and trustfulness I allowed it to continue.

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The morning and evening ablutions, with the torments of dressing and undressing, were a sad scene-a daily recurring trial from beginning to end for me and the poor babe: I begged, and begged in vain, that the nurse would desist for awhile, that the child might take breath and not scream itself into convulsions; but I was not heeded, "It must be done," was always the answer, " and the sooner it is got over the better." Then to quiet my fears and re-assure me, she would say, Why, ma'am, it does the little dears good to cry-it stretches their lungs;" and, "Babies always cry, it wouldn't be natural if they didn't, would it, my darling?" and would then go off into a long rigmarole of a talk to the baby, in the true old nursery style (as if it could understand), partly to avoid any further remonstrance on my part: and so the dressing was finished and the poor little creature, instead of being refreshed, was weakened and wearied by its efforts, and went involuntarily into a slumber from very exhaustion. I always thought this a horrible state of things that an infant should be subjected to such a system of daily torture; but I was necessarily passive, because I could not then control things nor command a remedy: but in later years, when I had gained courage to undertake this business myself, I was the more convinced that it is unnatural for an infant to scream through what ought to be a pleasant process, if managed with the smallest degree of judgment and care.

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I now recollect some circumstances attending the administering of medicine to the infant, which I looked upon at the time as mere accident; but I discovered afterwards that this woman could not read! She passed her deficiency off with great address,-always putting on her spectacles and seeming to try and decypher the direction on the bottles, then giving it up, saying she was so nearsighted;" and she would ask any one who happened to be present to read the label for her; this answered till a fresh bottle arrived, and the same ceremony was again gone through. But one day two bottles stood side by side-alike colourless; one was a mixture, the other an eye lotion; and the entrance of some one to the room of quick observation was the happy means of staying the nurse's hand about to administer a dose of the latter to the infant internally. Another mistake she really accomplished, which caused great suffering for a time, but happily resulted in nothing serious: she applied dill-seed water to the infant's eyes instead of rosewater, both being in the same sort of bottle; and, though labelled distinctly, to one who could not read and would not ask, they were alike. She made the venture, and erred.

The first baby had a tolerably good constitution, and struggled through much mismanagement, the extent of which I was not aware of till this woman nursed me with my second child; it was not so robust as the first, and could not contend with the dosing, &c. At length an indiscretion on the part of the nurse caused it to be " struck with the cold," as she expressed it herself; she took it out of doors at a month old in January, because (as she reasoned) the first child went out at that age in June. Convulsive fits ensued, and it is a marvel that the little creature survived, considering too that the warm baths given to restore it to consciousness and to revive it from the fits, were at much too high a temperature. At length I discovered that this woman was a drunkard (it is of no use attempting to soften the term for such a heinous offence in one of her profession), and more, that she used to give the poor babe some narcotic to cause it to sleep, and it was administered in such quantities that the poor little sufferer could arouse from the effects of the torpor only by means of a convulsive effort. I then took entire charge of the dear babe, and slowly, oh! how slowly did it rally, and at length recover from the sad effects of such mal-treatment.

The next monthly nurse (my second specimen), was rather a grand dame in her way, more stiff and stuck up than those people mostly are, very fond of talking of the

great" families she had lived in; she had rather a large idea of her own dignity and superiority over servants in general (with which it may be questioned whether their notions kept pace). She was very particular about her diet. I often thought she gave more trouble than need be, but some how or other she always got what she wanted. One of the first things she made me acquainted with concerning her expected allowances, was her quantum of porter-liberal enough I thought it-and that "she had never been refused a glass of wine when she required it,"

but I did not dislike her for that, I thought she was less likely to indulge too freely when she was so candid about what she took. She was very punctilious in every thing, till it became at length irksome; she was a very coldhearted, cold-mannered person, did not like children, so that it was quite a trouble and always ruffled her when the elder child came into the room to see mamma and "new baby;" indeed, she did not hesitate to let me know that she preferred nursing a lady with her first child, she did not mind a second "to oblige," but she could not go beyond that, so I knew when she went I bid adieu to her for good, and I did not much regret it; her freedom from the great fault of her predecessor alone made her tolerable, and I did not despair of finding a more suitable monthly nurse in the event of wanting one. Now this predilection on the part of these people to nurse ladies with their "first," is not uncommon, and considering that there is a cer tain amount of anxiety attending the first, which somewhat subsides after, they must have some very good reason of their own for such preference. It is doubtless that they are less interfered with, for after a little experience in these things a mother naturally begins to form her own ideas and plans, and to wish to have them carried out for the sake of increased comfort to the little one and herself.

The time did come when I engaged my third specimen; and I believe, taking her all in all, that she is as good a monthly nurse as any can be: she has attended me with each of the remainder of my children, so that she is now (and has been for a long time) looked upon as one of the family, always greeted in the nursery with the warmest welcome, a little enhanced perhaps by a shadowy sort of suspicion on the part of the children, which they have learnt by the repeated experience of her visits, that she is the harbinger of the arrival of a little stranger, ever welcome as an important addition to their number.

It may be gathered from these remarks, that this good old nurse had not any dislike to children as noticed of her predecessor; on the contrary, she was ever ready to welcome them under certain conditions (as to being quiet and so on), and there was always a good and right understanding between her and the servants that made everything go off pleasantly, while she was in the house. She was very cheerful and happy minded, and always had some lively pleasant little

chat when she found that it would be acceptable; but knew when she had talked enough, and when repose was better for her patient. Notwithstanding the love of gossip I have before noticed in this woman, I believe she maintained a great respect for "her mistress," and the family, which is not often the case with servants who give their mind to tattle. It is a most mischievous habit. No one can be trusted who indulges in it, for the love of talk induces them to invent falsehoods rather than be deficient in subject matter, and thus their best friends suffer. This nurse we have last been considering, was greatly superior to most of her class in many ways. I believe I improved her much, for when I gained experience by my own observation I taught her many ways of managing, and she was surprised at the facility with which an infant could be put to sleep without crying, and how it might be washed and dressed most peaceably to all, if humoured a little, without "getting it into bad habits," which is the excuse of most monthly nurses, for a great deal of really barbarous treatment in this way; they will keep to rule," it must be done," etc. is always in their mouth; they say they are so afraid of getting the infant into bad habits, and so, to please the nurse who is to take the baby from them, they accustom the poor little thing to scream the whole time of washing and dressing, in order to get through it quickly rather than wait between whiles and do it pleasantly to all. I convinced my good old nurse at length, that the plan generally adopted would get the child into the habit of crying, and there could scarcely be anything more prejudicial to its health and comfort. I was rewarded for the pains I took with her, when she told me, that "if her time could come over again, she would adopt many of my plans in preference to her own," and she had long experience in nursing too. She "took to it," as she said, in rather early life for that occupation, and had studied professionally a year or two. She was a woman of clear judgment, and so less influenced by prejudice than most of them; she was therefore teachable, and her good-natured kindly disposition induced her to adopt the views of others, if a mere matter of convenience or opinion were involved; but she would never swerve from her ideas of duty by departing from the established rules of her profession, if the health of her patient were in any way risked by a suggestion from those about her.

matter.

We hope Mr. Mellor will re

sume his pen and extend his efforts. Can we obtain a better theme than the entire Book of Psalms, or, at any rate, selections therefrom? We offer the following as golden specimens of a

"He is not planted whose piety is a thing of mere notions. There is such a religion. There are tens of thousands who know of no other. They have been instructed, and rightly so, from their childhood in the Scriptures, and have been taught all that constitutes a correct creed. They can expound the relation of doctrines one to another. They can detect, and may not be slow to expose in unmeasured terms, the most hair-breadth deviations on the minutest matters from what they have been taught to consider the standard of orthodoxy. They are unquestionably men of enlightened understandings, and perceive the external harmonies of truth in a manner far more clear and intelligent than the great mass of the humbler and less informed members of the Church of Christ. No discourse can soar so high but their wing can follow it. It can descend to no depth but they can fathom it. It can have no sweep so vast but they can grasp it. And as their life was never distinguished by egregious and scandalous immorality, they repose themselves calmly on their orthodoxy and terrestrial virtue. They never suffer the invasion of a doubt as to their essential piety. But they may not be planted. Theirs may be a religion without roots. They have knowledge about religion, but it is not a knowledge of religion. They are mere analysts of truth. They have seated themselves on the banks of the 'river of the water of life,' and they have heard the music of its murmur, and have seen the brightness of its sparkle, and have examined its ingredients and can tell them all, but they have never taken a deep delicious draught. Their knowledge is dead and must remain so, until it becomes steeped in love, and the fountain of love is not in the head but in the heart. What do we know of religious truth which Satan does not know? Nay, how much may he, with his angelic though fallen spirit, know of which we cannot form the faintest conception? What a marvellous combination of all the Divine attributes he may discern in the redemptive plan which transcends the reach of our frail and finite faculties! Does he not know the glories of Heaven better than

we? He remembers his lost estate. Does he not know the miseries of hell better than we? He has felt its hottest flame and keenest fang. Does he not know more of the greatness of redemption than we? He has sought and is still seeking to foil its blessed designs. There is not, perhaps, one truth in the Scriptures with which he is not as familiar as we; but what of that? Not one ray of all this light of knowledge has ever shot down into the thick gloom of his heart. There he still revolves his plans of destruction. His knowledge of truth only helps him the more in the invention and propagation of error. It is a very humbling fact in our moral nature that there should seem at times so complete a divorce between our knowledge and our affections. What solemn truths a man may know but neither feel nor practise them. What a broad clear light may play in and around the intellect, and yet the heart be both dark and chill! We may be nothing more than religious icebergs glittering in the serene moonlight. Our creed may be only a lamp in our hands, by the aid of which we make our way the more easily to the pit. Unsanctified knowledge always hardens and degrades, and hence we should pray that all our religious knowledge should be transmuted into feeling that what is light in the head should become love in the heart and labour in the hands. Sad it is, but true, that it is possible to know all mysteries,' and not to have love, and thus to be 'profited nothing. Do not forget, then, dear reader, that we are never planted until the truth 'as it is in Jesus'-the truth that Christ died for us that he has borne our sins in his own body on the tree-that 'we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of sins — has shot its roots into our heart, and grasped hold of our affections. Rely not on mere inoperative, inefficacious notions, however clear and true. However spiritual your creed, and into whatever symmetry of form its various points may be constructed, it will not save you. Save you! The creed which is held but not felt will, in proportion to its correctness, aggravate your condemnation. 'He that knew his master's will (and up to the extent that he knew it) and did it not, shall be beaten with many stripes.'

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