entreated to receive them,—yes, and many are found who do receive them. It is no strange thing now to behold infant piety, to witness even in childhood the fruits of Christian experience, and the influence of a holy life. O yes, the church is looking towards the Sabbath school, to fill up the places of those who have gone down to the grave. Bands of youth are approaching, well-trained, thoroughly instructed, amply equipped, to stand where their fathers stood, and fight the good fight of faith.

Behold the literature of the Sabbath school, rich and elevated. Hundreds of books are published every year to meet the demands of this new reading public. Early taste and early associations are no longer linked with ghost and goblin; the youthful fancy is no more amused and vitiated with the mysterious powers of an Aladdin's lamp or the fairy's wand; but truth, and duty, and humanity are wrought into children's books; realities are woven into story, possessing a power to influence and to charm, which the vagaries of a wild fiction never yet gained over the young heart. Sabbath school literature possesses an effective force all its own; it imparts knowledge, it presents motives, it compels action; it is the literature of moral progress and renewal, not of mental adornment and pleasure.

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The Sabbath school is now an arm of the church, strong and vigorous. Behold the officer of missions visiting the Sabbath school. He stands up there, describing the desolations of heathen lands, and declares the Bible, with its efficient ministry, their only and sure remedy. "And now, children." he says, we want to send the Saviour there, and to do it we must have your sympathy and co-operation; you must help on this great and glorious work. There is something for you to do; give your money, your prayers, yourselves. A great multitude in those dark lands raise their little hands towards you, from the wheels of Juggernaut, the eddies of the Ganges, the entangled jungle, and cry, 'O come and

1846.]

save us!'

Sabbath School Concert.

27

Will you not listen to their moaning, and fly to their rescue?" A response comes, deep and strong, from the mighty heart of childhood. "Help, help!" it cries with ready sympathy. Behold how the children work; one digs, another hoes, a third saws; favorite appetites and accustomed pleasures are cheerfully sacrificed for the silver bit or single. penny. They resolve to do something, and their ingenuity never slumbers when it has something to accomplish. Hear the chinking of their money, cast from a thousand little hands into the treasury of the Lord! A new and mighty instrument is at work for human good, of which the churches of olden time knew not. The Sabbath school is stretching out its long arm, and planting the blessings of a gospel ministry, and a Christian education, and the Bible and tract, on the waste places of this world; it works with the unchecked ardor of warm, young hearts, and in the vigor of sympathies unblighted by long and sad acquaintance with a heartless world.

The Sabbath school now aims at nothing less than the conversion and sanctification of children. It aims to fashion the child's earliest habits of thought and feeling according to a Christianized literature. It aims to do the work of active Christian love. How wonderful its growth, since its first, faint, imperfect birth.

Blessings on the Sabbath school for all it has accomplished, and all it will accomplish, in the great economy of grace! May every pious heart love it, cherish it, pray over it!

OUR RELIGION SHOULD NOT BE ALL TALK.-"People of little religion are always noisy. He who has not the love of God and man filling his heart, is like an empty wagon coming violently down a hill; it makes a great noise because there is nothing in it."-Josiah Gregory, quoted by Adam Clarke.

A NIGHT IN A LOG CABIN.

It was a pleasant afternoon in autumn.

Horses were

brought to the door well saddled, and a party of three young ladies, who were waiting in readiness, mounted them. Following a man with a loaded team, as guide, we proceeded to the residence of a friend, seven miles distant, on a promised visit.

The path was such (for there was no road) that any light vehicle would have been unsafe, and the only modes of conveyance were by carts and on horseback. After leaving the immediate vicinity of the city, we were in the open country. There were no adjoining towns and villages, as in New England; and in the direction in which we were riding the nearest town was nearly thirty miles distant.

We passed on, over hills, through dense forests of immensely large trees, forded several streams of water, and at length approached a "clearing," and soon after came in sight of a neat, substantial looking log-house, the first dwelling we had seen for nearly six miles. It was just about sunset when we arrived, but not unexpectedly. Three or four little children, who came that whole distance every Sabbath, when the weather would admit, and whose happy faces we weekly saw in the Sabbath school, met us with warm greetings a short distance from the house, and soon the mother and an older sister welcomed us at the door.

After tea, although nearly dark, we walked about the garden, which was neatly enclosed on one side of the house, and admired the surrounding scenery, the wildness and beauty of which would alone have repaid us for the ride. The site, like that of most other residences in the western country, had been selected near a little rivulet or spring. This afforded them an abundant supply of the purest water; over it was erected a milk-house or dairy; a "dry-house," for drying

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A Night in a Log Cabin.

29

fruits of various kinds, a "smoke-house," "wash-house," "bake-house," or oven, all separate log buildings, together with the barns, completed the little village, for such many of the better sort of country establishments at the West appeared to be.

After enjoying the scene a little time, we returned to the house, and the family were soon assembled for evening worship. A daughter, ten or twelve years old, in a sweet voice, read slowly and distinctly a chapter from the Bible, after which the father commended his family, and the friends who shared with them the protection of God, and the common bounties of his providence, to his care and guardianship, and the younger members of the family retired to rest.

Captain and Mrs. H. were well educated, intelligent people. The eldest daughter had enjoyed all the advantages which the best schools in the city could afford, and was now the instructress of her younger brothers and sisters at home. A well furnished library, several fine paintings and maps, with some family portraits, hung against the bare logs, and adorned the rude but neat apartment in which we were sitting. The conversation of our friends was instructive and delightful. They described to us their far off English home, the motives which had induced them, twenty years before, to leave their childhood's home and friends for the beautiful wilderness, which had since become a populous city in Indiana, and then their second retreat to the lovely spot where they now resided. They told us, too, of the blessings and afflictions which had been mingled in their cup in this favored land. Death had taken from them old friends and new. Painful disease for long years rendered the husband and father helpless. Yet now the Lord was smiling upon them; health and strength were restored; and though they might not meet again their loved ones upon earth, they looked forward confidently to a reunion where partings and death are unknown. They were not only blessed abundantly

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themselves, but were a rich blessing to those with whom they had intercourse.

The evening was far advanced, and we, too, sought repose for our wearied limbs. The chamber, to which we ascended by a ladder, was a large apartment, the size of both the lower rooms, and, as we thought, sufficiently airy. The only windows were two apertures where logs had been sawed off, and boards were placed against them when the weather rendered it necessary. The room was perfectly clean, neatly and comfortably furnished, and though we could, from our beds, count the stars in almost any direction, between the interstices of the logs, we were too much fatigued with our ride long to enjoy the novelty of our situation; and sleep could not have been more sweet and refreshing in the luxurious chamber of a palace than in that rude log cabin.

Before morning we were awakened by the heavy rumbling of thunder, and soon the lightning's flashes rendered every object in the chamber visible. The daughter, who occupied the chamber with us, more used to such emergencies than ourselves, proceeded to make arrangements for our comfort during the shower. Boards were placed securely against the window, basins were set in various places to catch the water, and shield those below from the wet (the beds had been previously guarded), and the sides of the dwelling exposed to the rain were secured by old garments, kept in readiness for such occasions.

We were not inclined to sleep again, for although we were not ourselves exposed to the rain, it came down abundantly all around us. The time was pleasantly passed in conversation, and ere long the rain ceased, the clouds broke away, and daylight gradually appeared through the crevices.

We removed our window-shutters, and finding it almost sunrise, hastened to prepare ourselves for a walk. After guarding our feet from the dampness of the morning, we proceeded to a lofty eminence a short distance from the