was absent three weeks. On the day of his return Emmie said to her governess, "Miss M'Neil, you see papa has come back all safe, because I prayed every morning and night while he was away that God would send his angels to take care of him, and bring him home safe and well to his little daughter." Emmie was very fond of grapes, but they did not agree with her; accordingly she was not allowed to eat them. One evening she was walking in the garden with her governess, when they entered the grapery. The ripe clusters of luscious fruit hung in tempting beauty around, and Emma looked at them with longing eyes. Presently Miss M'Neil observed her turn her head aside and heard her whisper, "Please, God, if I eat a very few grapes do n't let them make me sick." She then looked brightly up and said, “Miss M'Neil, if you will give me just a leetle bunch I know they won't make me sick." Miss M'Neil broke off a very ripe cluster, picked from it the finest grapes, and gave them to the child. She eat them and was not sick. That Emmie prayed with the full strength of faith her teacher perceived, and thought it necessary to instruct her further. She, therefore, told her that unlimited faith should only be exercised in seeking the salvation of our souls. Our temporal affairs we should commit to God, asking him to do what his wisdom and goodness sees best. She opened the Bible and showed her how the Israelites erred in asking for the gratification of their carnal desires. God was not pleased with those prayers, though he answered them. We are told, "He gave them their request; but sent leanness into their soul." She then turned to the New Testament and read how Jesus prayed respecting the body. "Not as I will, but as thou wilt." Whereas, at the same time he could have prayed to his Father, and he would have given him "more than twelve legions of angels" to deliver him from his enemies. But then the Scriptures would not have been fulfilled, the atonement would not have been made for our sins, and the whole world would still have been under the curse of the law and the just wrath and indignation of God. "We also find," .continued the teacher, "that the apostles resigned their temporal affairs into the hands of God, believing that it was their duty to do and suffer all his righteous will. St. Paul had a thorn in the flesh which tormented him for life; but he bore it meekly, because he felt that it was necessary to keep him humble. Christians must be humble; yet were it not for that 'thorn,' Paul thinks that he might have been | 'exalted beyond measure,' so greatly had he been honored by God. Yet that this holy man made his earthly desires subjects of prayer we perceive by his having besought God three times that the thorn should depart from him; and he commands us 'in every thing, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God.' He made his request known, and when the answer came, 'My grace is sufficient for thee,' he was content. Though so powerful was his faith that he could work miracles, yet he gloried in an infirmity which it was his heavenly Father's will to inflict. And when the end came, and it was appointed him to suffer a violent death at the hands of his enemies, his gentle remark respecting it was, 'I am ready to be offered up.' "The same spirit we find in all the early Christians, and from their example we learn that whatever we ask of a worldly nature should be asked with submission, leaving with God the right to do as his wisdom sees best for us and for others. "And now, darling," and the teacher looked into the clear eyes of her pupil, "do you think you understand all I have been saying?" "Yes, ma'am," said the child, "I think I do; it is this, that though God has promised to do whatever we ask in faith, yet for our bodies we ought to let him do whatever he thinks best." "Yes, love, that's it," and the governess fondly kissed her intelligent charge. "But, Miss M'Neil," quickly inquired the child, "how about praying for рара, and you, and aunt, and uncle, and cousins, and the servants, and every one?" "In praying for others our petitions for their bodies are to be the same as for our own, in submission to the will of God. Respecting their souls, we can ask for the operation of the Holy Spirit in any way they most need it. This we may ask in the fullest faith. "In praying for the ungodly we may entreat God to have mercy on them. Habakkuk, the prophet, prayed, 'In wrath remember mercy.' "We may ask him to give them time to repent, and to grant them the aid of the Holy Spirit to lead them to repentance; yet they may resist the Holy Ghost, and St. Paul says, 'They that resist shall receive to themselves damnation.' So we may pray in faith that God will give the sinner all necessary help; but we can not believe for the sinner's salvation, it being in his power to resist the strivings of the Spirit. "Among the parables of our blessed Lord there is one which will, perhaps, explain this more clearly. Listen while I read: 'He spake also this parable: A certain man had a fig-tree 1 planted in his vineyard; and he came and sought fruit thereon and found none. Then said he unto the dresser of the vineyard, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig-tree, and find none: cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground? And he answering said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it: and if it bear fruit, well: and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down.' Now, love, do you think you understand what is meant by this parable?" "Yes, ma'am, I think so. God does not save sinners against their will, so we must not believe for that; but we may ask him not to cut them down in their sins, but to send his Holy Spirit into their hearts to strive with them, and he will do it." "Right, dear. I think, however, that in praying for such of our friends as belong to the household of Christ, our faith should accompany their desires. We have an example of this in Paul's beautiful prayer for the Ephesian Church. He tells them in his epistle, 'For this cause I bow my knees unto the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, that he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man; that Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and hight; and to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fullness of God.' "And now, Emmie dear," added the governess, folding the child to her bosom and pressing her lips to the smooth, upturned brow, "I did not expect to have had so little trouble in explaining to you this difficult subject; but your readiness to understand shows a desire to learn, and I know no greater pleasure than to teach a willing pupil. May God bless you, darling, and by his Holy Spirit's influence 'guide you into all truth!'" The seed Miss M'Neil so faithfully sowed fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit a hundred-fold. Emmie became a praying child. Her young spirit went out in breathings to heaven and her thoughts flowed upward. The study of the Scriptures was her delight. There she learned the "deep things of God," which are "hidden from the wise and prudent and revealed unto babes." Watchful over self, her blemishes of character disappeared. Her fair, young face was no more clouded with ill-humor or stained with angry tears; but inward serenity and love shone in her eyes, gilded her countenance, gave modest grace to her movements, and was apparent in the sweet, soft tones of her voice. Bel soon observed the change in her little cousin and questioned her upon it, and Emmie imparted her knowledge and experience in pretty, childish language, making the mysterious truths of the Gospel plain to the simple understanding of her listener. Nor was their play less gay and healthful, when they visited each other, that it was sometimes varied by a low-toned dialogue upon some subject of interest in the divine law; nor did it weaken the benefit derived from the free, pure air of the spacious pleasure-grounds that they sometimes walked, hand in hand, in the retired shade, the ears of the one open to instruction, while the other sweetly discoursed of the "beauty of holiness." One afternoon Miss M'Neil went to see the minister's wife, and finding the lady sick in bed, proposed to take the eldest child, a little girl about Emmie's age, and keep her till her mamma should be well again. This proposal was gladly accepted; for Sarah had no governess, and the nurse had two younger children to mind. Emmie was much pleased to have little Sarah for a companion, and the evening passed happily to both. The following afternoon Bel came, and the three children had quite a gay time together. All Emmie's toys were spread out in the schoolroom, and the happy sounds of their innocent mirth came like music to the ears of Miss M'Neil, who, seated in an adjoining room, was engaged in reading. In the cool of the evening they were permitted to play outdoors. After they had been gone some time Miss M'Neil went to walk in the garden, but she saw no sign of the children; she heard not their merry voices, and wondering where they were she approached the summerhouse. Thinking that perhaps they had tired themselves running and had gone in there for rest, she peeped through one of the windows, when, lo! what a sight met the delighted eyes of the lady! Surely angels must have been looking down with radiant joy! On their knees were the three children, their little hands clasped, and their fair heads bowed, while from Emma's tender heart and guileless lips came the words of humble, simple, trusting prayer. With tearful eyes and pent-in breath the governess listened. An infant prayer meeting! how touchingly holy the scene! Surely he who invited little children to come unto him was smiling on that group! Prayer ended, they arose. "And now," said the little leader, "let us sing 'Gentle Jesus," and as their lisping tones united in the sacred song the observer moved softly away, mentally exclaiming with uplifted heart: ment Emmie was on her knees in their old place of meeting engaged in earnest, but submissive "Verily, 'out of the mouths of babes and prayer in her behalf. sucklings hast thou ordained strength!'" Sarah spent a week with Emmie, during which she shared all the benefits of the school-room. Of the religious privileges of her little friend she was also a partaker; and the influences of that short visit affected her character ever after. Miss M'Neil was candidly informed of the meeting in the summer-house, and her approbation freely expressed. Even more, she encouraged the act of childish devotion by engaging to invite Bel and Sarah upon the same evening, once each week, that the little prayer meeting might be continued. This, then, became a settled arrangement with which nothing was suffered to interfere. At first Bel's mamma hesitated about allowing her little girl to join in the juvenile worship; but when she found that the minister was pleased with the proceeding and gladly accepted the invitation for Sarah, she withdrew all opposition. Meanwhile, as the long, bright summer advanced Miss M'Neil watched with intense joy the improvement in her beloved pupil. Emmie was growing in grace; she was "spiritually-minded," and truly did she enjoy "life and peace." The little prayer meeting was continued with unflagging zeal, and when the season arrived in which the summer-house was no longer suitable for the purpose they united in the school-room, and still the weekly meeting went on. Before long, however, a change came; Bel was sent to a fashionable boarding-school; and, alas for the influence of evil example! the good impression which she had received dwindled away. Still Emmie and Sarah met each week, and in their prayers their absent companion never was forgotten. A little longer and another change occurred; the small-pox appeared in the neighborhood and soon made dreadful ravages. Sarah's papa, believing that his duty to the flock over which he was pastor took precedence of family considerations, visited regularly the stricken members of his Church; and from bed to bed, where the loathsome disease prevailed, carried his benign and evangelic ministrations. Careful to change his clothes and bathe his person before returning to the domestic circle, it was through no fault of his that the contagion found entrance to his dwelling; but it came, and little Sarah, in her bloom and purity, was smitten by its foul breath. A few days of suffering on her part, and agonizing suspense on that of her parents, and the little Christian was called to the glorious presence of the children's friend; while at the same mo Emmie had now no pious companion of her own age, but the sacred hour, formerly appropriated to the meeting with her little friends, was still religiously observed. "I will make it," she said to Miss M'Neil, "a season of special prayer for dear Bel while she is in that gay school without religious teaching." Nor was this holy effort without avail; for Bel in her letters to her cousin soon evinced good desires and expressed a disrelish for the vain pleasures by which her young heart had been drawn away from its high allegiance. Emmie continued to live a life of faith in the spirit of prayer and thanksgiving. Her pure and unobtrusive religion was little noticed by the world, and yet, like the gentle dew refreshing the summer herbage, the answers to her prayers were sent in a plenteous flow of grace to many hearts; and the day of eternity alone can tell how wide-spread the good that was effected in the quiet closet of that praying child. THE INFLUENCE OF MEMORY ON HUMAN UND ent. BY REV. F. S. CASSADY. NDENIABLY great is the influence of memory upon human happiness. It is so from the very necessity of the case. Every man has a past in his history-a past, too, which it is the office of memory to reproduce in the living presWhatever may be the moral character of this past, it is designed to live in human consciousness, and to have a vital influence upon the welfare of humanity. If this view of the subject be true, then every man's happiness or misery is, at least to a considerable extent, in the resources of his memory. The past is a necessity to him; therefore, memory is a great arrangement in his constitution with direct reference to its perpetuation. And as every man's past is just what he has personally made it, he must abide the result of its memory upon his moral welfare. Whatever of happiness or wretchedness is evolved by memory from this source is legitimately his own-he has made or unmade his fortune thus far on his journey to the invisible world. Memory to a good man is every thing, since it furnishes the materials out of which the condition of his happiness is created. There must be a reason for our happiness, and as that reason can not possibly lie outside of ourselves, it is found of necessity in the resources of our memory. Something must lie back of our happiness; that In a true and noble life-a life full of outflowing sympathies and generous deeds for the welfare of the race- -there must exist all the materials for the highest possible enjoyment on earth. The man who has ever given a pleasant look, spoken a kind word, or performed a good deed to a wronged heart or a saddened spirit has thrown something of sunshine and cheer about the pathway of some lonely one on life's pilgrimage, and is, by consequence, all the richer and nobler in his heart's experience from the memory of the same. In the sum of the kindly offices and worthy deeds he has performed in behalf of the welfare of his fellow-men, he has a valuable and enduring inheritance bequeathed to him from the past-an inheritance as enviable on the one hand as it is honorable and just on the other. Whatever of good the past history of such a man has yielded lives in the present in its gracious influence upon his own heart and upon the hearts of others; and while he lives, yea, forever, he will find in his own memory the resources of his happiness. A blessed arrangement of nature, indeed, is memory when it has the right kind of material to work upon in our past lives. In recounting and summing up the noble treasures which memory holds sacred and dear to the heart, well may the bard sing, "Long, long be my heart with such memories filled, Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled; You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will cling round it still." But memory is by no means friendly to the happiness of the man who bears about him the consciousness of having lived beneath the dignity of a rational and immortal intelligence. With a history full of self and selfish pursuits in the past, such a man has wronged himself and humanity, and, as a consequence, there exists no materials for happiness in his memory. In the presence of remembered wrong against the rights and welfare of his fellows, or in the conscious knowledge of guilt and crime, how could such a spirit escape self-torture and pain? With a record as full of the details of selfishness as it is wanting in genial love and generous devotion to the happiness of his kind, would it not be in contravention of all philosophy and reason for such a man to be happy? In such a case must not "Remembrance wake with all her busy train, Swell at the heart and turn the past to pain?" Sadly indeed is the past in the way of the happiness of thousands of our race. But for memory they might blot out its faithful record, and get away from the reach of its influence on their minds and hearts. And yet do they not justly deserve the pain occasioned by "the serpent's sting" of memory? Might they have not put nobler material into the history of their past lives, and thus securely laid the foundation for a rational and serene happiness? If memory, in reviewing the scenes and associations of the past, "Wakes the key-note of the saddest dirge That fancy ever played to melancholy," whose fault is it but theirs? A mournful truthone that has been attested by human experience all along the roll of the ages-is contained in the following deeply-suggestive lines of Denham: "Had memory been lost with innocence We had not known the sentence nor the offense; 'T was man's chief punishment to keep in store The sad remembrance what he was before." Notwithstanding our present happiness or misery is in the resources of our memory, yet the corrective or remedial design of memory is worthy of earnest consideration. What is the present now will shortly be the past; therefore, we should impress upon the present such a moral history as will conduce to our happiness hereaf ter. That much of our history as lies between the present and the moment of dissolution is all unwritten; and since it is our work to create the materials and write our own moral autobiography, it becomes us to learn wisdom from the teachings of memory. In order to do this, "T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven; And how they might have borne more welcome news." What is the lesson suggested by memory? What is the character of the history it calls for in our future earthly being? To all men memory's office is to say with particular emphasis, Write a better history for the future! Even the purest spirits of earth, those who have ever had the cause of heaven and humanity nearest the heart, may learn through the medium of memory something suggestively important for the present and future. A close analysis of the past will dis cover blemishes in the best man's life, and suggest points in that life capable of important modifications. It is in this way that the influence of memory is designed to be corrective or remedial in its character. While the happiness which is thus derived from the past reveals the wisdom of the good man in putting the right moral impress upon it, it also calls for progressive development in regard to our relation to present obligation and duty. We must be constantly enlarging the sources of our happiness by doing the true work and meeting the urgent claims of the living present upon us. Upon a wicked man the influence of the memory of the past should be specially corrective in its character. Unwise to the last degree is he if he remain untaught and unbenefited by the bitter memories and experiences of the past. As the past makes no yield of happiness, but the memory of it is potent only to make him wretched, he should seek to become wiser and happier by tracing out the necessary connection between a sinful past and an unhappy present, and by acting properly in reference to this fixed relation of cause and effect in the future. This is one of the designs of memory, and he is strangely insensible to his highest welfare whose memory of the past fails to make him concerned about being a better man. "Cease to do evil and learn to do good," is an infallible receipt for happiness; and this even the most wicked may do by the aid of those divine influences which only await their call. None ever practiced upon this principle without throwing into their lives the element of future happiness. Try it, reader, and success is inevitable. "I will make it," she said to Miss M'Neil, “a season of special prayer for dear Bel while ste is in that gay school without religious teaching." of the one, hier reaffing in the "Unmitigated agony of the other. If, in conclusion, memory is such in its influence on our welfare here, and such in its results on destiny hereafter, can we be too careful, reader, in putting into our lives such material as memory may make a source of blessedness to us for ever? If we are working out results here which are as enduring as eternity itself, and to which our active, conscious thought will be perpetually recurring all through the sweep of endless ages. is it not of vast moment to us to look after the character of our work, and see to it that it has about it the element of future happiness? แ THE FRETFUL MOTHER. REPORTED BY A TRAVELER. UMAN nature" is often spread open before us when we are traveling, and a person has time to turn a leaf or two of it in riding upon the cars, the short distance from Hudson to Cleveland. A few days since, as I seated myself in a car, my attention was attracted to a group who oc cupied the seat opposite to me. It consisted of a lady and two children, one a beautiful little boy of three or four years, the other a pale, puny babe of eight or ten months. They had evidently been traveling for some time, for they seemed very weary, and the lady looked sad and careworn. My sympathies are always excited at the sight of a delicate woman traveling alone, with two or three children dependent upon her care, and I had begun to feel considerable pity for the weary mother, when she manifested such a spirit of impatience that I turned my sympathies upon the poor children upon whom she wreaked her petulance. "Henry, keep your feet off my dress!" said the mother, contracting her features into a mass of wrinkles, and striking at the intruding morocco, "sit still!" vociferated the same shrill tones. "Ma, are we close to Ohio?" said the child in a languid, drawling tone. "Sit still, and quit asking questions," was the ungentle reply. At this moment the infant, who had been sleeping upon the reversed seat, awoke with a This granted, memory is to be a source of plaintive cry-a cry that went to my heart, and I But we have not only reason to know that our happiness or misery in the present life is greatly dependent upon the resources of memory; but we have the highest reason for believing that such will be the case forever. Death can not be logically supposed to work any diminution in the power of memory, since its effect is purely physical. But, on the contrary, it is fair to conclude that death, so far from impairing the memory, will have the effect to increase its power. Physical causes affect the memory as we all know, but in a future state of being no such causes can possibly exist; therefore we argue that the human memory must be capable of an intenser action in eternity. When in addition to this we consider, in the light of revelation, the clearer knowledge with which a future state will invest us as to the actual results of our lives and actions upon the moral history of the race, the truth of this proposition has all the force of absolute certainty. |