did not crush her; she meekly bent to the blast then raised her head, and hoped for a purer clime, and calmer days, when, safely sheltered, she should enjoy the life-giving beams of a sun that is never overcast, even that Sun of righteousness which had already arisen for her with healing in his wings. Blessed hope!-full of immortality! What stay, what anchor has the soul in the hour of trial but thee? Without a hope beyond the narrow limits of time and earth, what were man? without a hope beyond its transient enjoyments, what becomes of him when they fade, and vanish, and sorrow, sickness, and care, take place of mirth, and joy, and health? Happy they who have heard and known the joyful sound of the Gospel, calling them into that narrow fold, where the Savior guards his flock-where they shall be safe, though storms assail, and dangers alarm; let their path on earth be bright or dark, calm or stormy, still shall they walk, O Lord, in the light of thy countenance. Reader, if you partake in the interest I felt for Ellen Lindsay, you can imagine with what feelings I saw her a few years after the period I have been describing. It was on a lovely Summer's evening I reached her abode. As I turned up the avenue, the birds were singing their blithest notes, as if vying with each other in offering the sweetest lay, before night put a close to their melody. The vistas through the trees afforded an agreeable prospect of the newly-mown meadows, beautifully variegated by the river which wandered through them. The fields of waving corn, bearing promise of an abundant harvest, and the rich and cultivated appearance of the grounds, on whatever side I turned my eye, spoke of the diligent inspection of the owner, and evinced an air of comfort and happiness. Here, indeed, might the figurative language of Scripture almost literally apply, for the valleys stood so thick with corn they seemed to laugh and sing. "And this," I thought, "is the dwelling of the just, and surely the blessing of the just rests upon it." At the moment they appeared in sight, Ellen, no longer the patient afflicted girl I had seen at the hall, but the happy mistress of this place, approached, leaning on her husband's arm; a sweet lisping boy held his father's hand, and while listening to his innocent prattle, or turning to speak to Ellen, Neville's countenance expressed the happiness that filled his heart. A clump of trees prevented their seeing me; I stopped my horse, and looked on the group, till my thoughts expressed themselves in the Psalmist's words, "Many are the troubles of the righteous, but the Lord delivereth him out of them all." Many were thy troubles, Ellen, but the Lord did indeed deliver thee-thy trust was in him, and he did not fail thee. The little boy, all life and spirits, was the first to discover me, and plucked his mother's gown to make her observe me. As she looked toward the place I was standing, I smiled; and Ellen, with an exclamation of joyful surprise, flew to meet me; all the ardor of her affectionate heart seemed called forth, as she cried, "My best, my kindest, dearest friend, my friend when all others forsook!" But I will not repeat the ebullitions of her joy, at seeing again an old acquaintance. Ellen exchanged Neville's arm for mine; and even saucily bid him lead my horse, while she hurried me to the house to get some refreshment. I admired and loved Ellen Lindsay in adversity-and prosperity had not changed her. Now, when looked up to by all her servants, when indulged in every wish of her heart by a fond husband, she evinced the same meekness, the same humility and desire to promote the comfort of others, as she had shown when in a subordinate station. The termination of these distresses had happened at the time she least thought of it, and in a way she hardly dared to hope. The death of his uncle, whose property he was to inherit, left Charles Neville at liberty to please himself in the choice of a wife; and, without hesitation, he declared it was his belief, were he to seek round the world, he should return to select Ellen Lindsay; he sought her in her humble situation, in her low estate-and grateful and happy he took her from it-and joyfully he restored her to the rank she had held, and placed her in a situation she was calculated to adorn, and in which she could be eminently useful. When no matters of immediate importance call for attention, I love to steal away and spend two or three happy days at the Grove, with Neville and his wife. Ellen still retains her quiet manners, and the rose has but slightly returned to her cheek; but even the very paleness and pensive cast of the face he loved in bloom and sprightliness, are interesting to Neville, as they remind him he was not without a share in those regrets which produced them. As a wife, a mother, and a mistress, she continues to act upon the same principles which influenced her conduct in other stations; in all of them she is beloved, revered, and, I hope, imitated; her sphere of usefulness is extended, and her benevolence consequently exerted; she knows that she has nothing which she did not I am compelled to." And then the crimson tide rushed over her face. She was deeply mortified by her sudden betrayal of want. receive, that she renders to the Lord his own, replied Jennie, impetuously, "and I would not in resigning what he calls for, and she endeav-like to accustom myself to the necessity before ors to be a good steward of what he allows her to retain. Thus, in sorrow and in joy, has she offered a bright, though perhaps retiring example, of the patience and resignation under trials and difficulties, the moderation and usefulness in contrary circumstances, which true religion enables its followers to maintain. "You are not merry to-night," said Mrs. Holmes. "I suppose, Miss Jennie, you think yourself the most afflicted person in the wide world. Sit down and let me tell you a story." She sank listlessly upon a sofa, more because Mrs. Holmes had almost commanded her, than because she wished to. "I was married, Miss Jennie, when I was seventeen. My husband was kind; I loved him. When I was twenty-five, we were the parents of three children. Three beautiful children they were; and, O, how my heart yearned over them! No care was spared for their comfort and health. I watched them as a gardener watches the budding of a rare plant. And I was blessed and pleased each day by new beauties and traits of character. Now, Jennie Lester is only one of that class "There came an epidemic. It raged fearfully. that discerns no mar upon other lives than their My children were too fair a mark; they all died own. Sunlight seems drifting every-where save within an hour. O my heart was well-nigh in that little spot occupied by one life. God broken then, my brain was wild. I called on seems partial in his gifts. He gives all the God for justice. I reproached the All-Powerful glory to one, and blinds another with bitter who had swept my treasures into eternity by darkness. It chafes the spirit to witness those one cruel sweep. They were buried. I buried who are in no way superior in intellect, enjoy-myself. The house was closed to those who ing the ease and delights of the world, while would sympathize with me. I allowed no one we strain every nerve to gain mere necessities. but my husband to look upon my face. Jennie is not alone in weariness of soul, in unsatisfied heart-yearnings. There are as many tears as smiles in the world, a bitterness for every pleasure. But to return to Jennie. She grew restless in that misty twilight; she scorned the life that doomed her to toil. With a sigh she arose to carry Mrs. Holmes's dress home. It was an elegant dress, heavy with rich trimmings. Jennie knew she would look well in that dress; she knew that Mrs. Holmes had a dozen as fine. Out into the gathering night she went, bitterness rankling in her heart. She noted not those whom she met as she sped down one street and over to another; she hardly touched the marble steps as she flew up to them. She felt an undefinable impulse to rush onward-any where. She was ushered into a spacious, luxuriant family room, so brimming with ease and comfort that the pain at her heart grew sharper. "It is cold this evening," said Mrs. Holmes, pointing to a chair; "you had better warm yourself by the grate." "Two weeks after my children were buried, my husband was brought home to me dead. A beam from a building had fallen from a great hight, and crushed him. "Alone, desolate, every cord in my soul broken rudely, I prayed to God. But God will not allow people to die whenever they desire it. He has given us breath, and we can not deprive ourselves of it, without depriving our souls of every thing that is satisfactory-heaven! I "I bore the burden with loud murmurs. became frenzied. I derided divine love. But there came a time when I instinctively began to pray-to pray for a support; something to ease the fierce gnawing that preyed upon my heart. That prayer brought me light and comfort. I took the Bible to search for promises and consolation. I found even more than I had hoped for. "Miss Jennie, from that time I have bowed to God's will. Be content with your lot; there are thousands so much worse than yours or mine." Jennie bade Mrs. Holmes good-night, mutter"I have not yet built my fire this Fall," ing, when she was in the street again and saw the brilliant light streaming from the windows: "But she was n't poor." She suddenly remembered that she had promised to call at Mrs. Lane's that evening, for a cloak to alter. She was somewhat afraid of Mrs. Lane; she was not a woman of kindly feelings. She was not a woman who held out her hand to the weary. When she gave Jennie the cloak, she also gave her many injunctions in regard to neatness and dispatch, flavoring them with an air of threatening and coldness. She was interrupted in the midst of one of her most startling dictations by the entrance of a lady, whom she called sister Ellen. "I thought I must just run in," said sister Ellen, "to let you know what a miserable time I have had. That impertinent girl asked me to give her three dollars for embroidering my baby's skirt, declaring that it took her a week, night and day. Now, what difference does it make to me whether she trifled away her time over my baby's skirt-I sha' n't pay her for it." "The saucy creature," replied Mrs. Lane, "sewing girls in my day did n't ask pay for idleness" she spoke from experience. Then followed a tirade upon every body in general, which convinced Jennie that she preferred to stitch her life away, than to grow uncharitable and narrow-minded, in the possession of money. The very atmosphere of the house was frigid and unkind. The keen air was more welcome than Mrs. Lane's grate. Jennie felt no desire to be transplanted there. On her way home, she met a crazed woman, bonnetless and shoeless. She peered into Jennie's face, uttering such strange, incoherent words that the girl drew back, frightened and amazed. As she was entering the dilapidated gate of her own home, the door of the house opposite was thrown open, and she saw Mrs. Hill bolstered up with pillows, as usual. She had been a confirmed invalid many years. Her feet were strangers to the green turf; the air of the outside world withered her. When Jennie was by herself, partaking of her frugal meal, her eyes were opened to the truth. She had health, reason, and work. She might make herself content if she would. Hundreds were more distressed, more alone. When we begin to repine, we should take a survey over the vast world, in thought. There are hovels where fire and food are coy to the call of the hungered. There are dens of vice from which God in his mercy has saved us. There are houses filled with the crazed and idiotic. There are souls cramped in a feeble body, that only pant to be free. Their frail tenements are burdensome to themselves and all others. We do not appreciate our blessings. We call health a natural gift; we call intellect and reason things of ordinary worth. Poverty, or struggling to maintain life! What is that? A little thing compared with the thousand agonies that beset mankind. A humble home may contain content and happiness, love and faith, with a hope of a glorious hereafter. An elegant home is not always peaceful. Jealousy, fretfulness, and every-day dissipation has destroyed many a family circle; has riven hearts even in the homes of the rich. Death never pauses because a door is gilded, or because it is old and worn. He makes no nice selections. He is not awed by glitter or splendor; he scorus not to enter the meanest hut. And God is watchful over all of his children. He will not chastise without decreeing some good result for his own glory, and for the good of his child. If you have health, reason, and friends who sympathize and love you, cease complaining. If you have never been tempted into sinning grievously, thank Heaven that you have a pure soul and an eternal hope. IMMORTALITY. BY JOHN W. MONTCLAIR. AFAR we stretch our bold, unbounded thought- Each cloud, dispersed in rain-drops shall unite; To shape some infant struggling for its birth. place and care for my mother, instead of her caring for me?" The hildren's Repository. The mother blessed the child who had com THE LITTLE CABIN-BOY-A TRUE STORY. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME DE PRESSENSE. SOME years BY HELEN F. MORE. ago, the wife of a fisherman of Quiberon was left a widow with four young children. She did not lose her courage under this calamity, nor did she expend her deep grief in tears and lamentations. Her heart was broken, for she had long been as happy as a woman can be, but her courage was not. She went to work again the day after the funeral, or rather she did not cease for a single day. Even sorrow does not give poor people a holiday from their daily toil; Death enters their house, but brings rest only to him for whom it comes. forted her and sent him back to bed. She herself soon put out her lamp and sought the sleep which she needed for the work of the next day. But for a long time neither of them slept. The mother was thinking of the past, the child of the future. At last Toon turned over in bed, laid his head on one of his arms, and went to sleep. He had made up his mind. The next day he went to see the captain of a little merchant vessel, who had been a friend of his father's. He knew that the schooner Return was to set sail in a few days, and he intended to ask the captain to take him on board as cabin-boy. His request was at once granted. Toon was active, hardy, and accustomed to the sea, as all fishermen's children are. Honesty shone in his face and looked at you through his great brown eyes. The agreement was quickly made, and it now only remained to obtain his mother's consent. This was less difficult than might be supposed. The wives of sailors and fishermen look upon their children as devoted to the sea from their birth. Accustomed to a hard life and all sorts of privations, one suffering more does not frighten them. Nothing hardens the soul like constant contact with danger, especially with a danger which brings all the man's energy into On the evening of the sad day, the poor woman, seated alone beside her little lamp, looked, now and then, at the empty place, but she quickly wiped away the tears which gathered in her eyes that they might not dim her sight. The four children slept, or so at least she thought, for no sound was heard but that of their regular breathing, and the distant, monot-play, still leaving him in the presence of Him onous roar of the rising tide. The voice of the ocean, which she had heard ever since she could remember, suited the widow's thoughts well. Listening to it she lived again her past life. How many times she had waited for her husband when he was on the sea, hearing uneasily the gusts of wind and the dashing waves! Now she had no longer any one to wait for or to be uneasy about. It seemed as if, till this moment, she had never felt that she was alone, alone indeed and forHer heart failed her. She bent her knee and prayed. While she was thus engaged, a little arm was placed around her neck, a child's head rested against hers, and Toon, her eldest son, not yet eleven years old, whispered in her ever. who alone commands the winds and the waves. The life of a true mariner is only a struggle and a prayer. It is the type of what the life of man should be. It is not the same for all, but those who understand its true grandeur draw from it unknown to themselves a simple strength which, in the hour of danger, becomes heroism. Toon went away then, and sailed for two years. The captain was good to him, the sailors loved him. He sent all his earnings to his mother. It was but little, but in the eyes of the child this little sum was a treasure, and for the mother it was priceless. It was the month of December. The schooner was sailing the Mediterranean. It was one of those dark nights when the light of the stars can not penetrate the thick fog. During these nights it sometimes happens that ships strike against each other in the open sea as foot-passengers do in the dark and narrow streets of a great city. All at once the little vessel was shaken by a terrible blow. A great bark had run against them in the darkness. The captain, not doubting that his poor schooner was on the point of foundering, sprang upon the bark which had caused the misfortune, calling to his crew to follow him. The sailors obeyed without hesitation. The little cabin-boy, most active of them all, was about to follow in his turn, when he saw a poor, sick sailor whom all had forgotten in that moment of danger. What was to be done? The unfortunate man could not stand. Toon was not strong enough to carry him, but still less was his selfishness strong enough to enable him to leave him alone. He staid and the bark sailed away and was lost to sight in the darkness. See him then alone! Alone on the great sea and in thick darkness, with the sick sailor, who asked why he had not left him to die. He thought of his mother, his poor widowed mother, whom he might never see again, but who needed him so sorely. But he would not despair; day would come again, and with it some chance of safety. The wind blew from the north and drove the little boat toward the coast of Spain, where it could not fail to be wrecked upon some reef. The poor sailor, unable to act himself, gave his orders to the child, who executed all the maneuvers with wonderful skill and precision. But what could he, all alone and so weak, do to resist the force of this wind? He hoped that the bark would come back and not abandon them to so sad a fate. But the bark never thought of returning. She was quietly shaping her course for Marseilles. Night comes again a long night without moon, without stars, no light-house, no hope. The poor child prays. He is very ignorant, but he knows that God is good, that he is powerful, and that he can save. This is all that saves him from despair. On the morning of the second day, three ships pass a short distance from the schooner, but they either do not see or do not understand the signals of the little cabin-boy. When they had disappeared, the sea seems more dreary and deserted than ever. Suddenly the wind changes; it blows from the south. In a few hours, if it is well steered, the little vessel may be driven to the coast of France; may enter a port and the two passengers be saved! Yes, if it is well steered; but who will steer it? No child can by himself do the work for which four or five strong and skillful were hardly sufficient. speak he said only, "O, my mother!" then he thanked God. The sick soldier was so exhausted by pain and the alternations of hope and fear that he could not even congratulate his young companion. Toward evening the pilots of the little port of Agde signaled a boat of which the rigging was in confusion and the sides bore the marks of a violent blow. They soon saw with amazement that this little boat was sailing alone. The deck was deserted; a single cabin-boy was alone there to execute all the maneuvers. A sailor lying in one corner of the vessel followed him with his eyes, and directed him. They were amazed, and hastened to the aid of this singular crew. The child, on being questioned, told what had happened, without seeming to think that he had done any thing for which he could be admired or praised. Toon was called to appear before a commercial tribunal, in order to make his report as temporary captain. He did so with the same reserve and modesty as before. He did not utter a complaint or a word of blame against those who had abandoned him. He gave all the credit of the skillful maneuvers which had saved the ship, to the sick sailor, and the testimonies of esteem and approbation showered on him from all sides, seemed to touch his heart without inflaming his pride. Thanks to the interest inspired by the noble conduct of her son, his mother, though she still lives by the work of her hands, is no longer in misery. You may well believe that she is proud of her brave child, although she thinks it nothing remarkable that he should have done his duty. It must not be thought that the beauty of a life depends upon its outward circumstances. Every life is beautiful which is consecrated to duty. It is not necessary to be abandoned upon the ocean to show, like the little cabin-boy, courage and devotion. A child who obeys his conscience can each day perform acts of selfdenial. Doubtless there will be nothing heroic in them, and they will not attract great praise, but they are of value in the eyes of God, who reads the heart. He who accustoms himself thus to be faithful in little things, while he is a child, is preparing himself to be faithful in great ones when he becomes a man. But Toon does not stop to reflect. The old sailor has explained every thing to him and he has understood it all. He runs from yard to yard; he unfurls the sails, which at first fall THE province of reason as to matters of reheavily and then are filled by the wind. Seeligion, is the same as that of the eye in refer them all spread and swollen like the wings of a bird as the light ship glides rapidly over the waves toward the coast of France! What a moment for Toon! When he could ence to the external world: not to create objects, nor to sit in judgment on the propriety of their existence, but simply to discern them just as they are. |