at least two hours each day, while the mother went a distance to carry a scanty meal to her husband, who was a day-laborer. My spirits were much depressed, when I arrived at home, so much so, as to attract the observation of some friends, whom I found waiting my return. I explained the cause of it to them. My simple story touched their hearts. The next day, while the snow was drifting and the wind piercingly cold, one of the young ladies who had heard the relation, the day previous, called for me to visit again this place of interest, with her. She said, she had thought much of the deserted child since, and that a plan had been proposed, which was, that the fostering hand of charity, should place her in that blessed institution, formed for the relief of orphan children, Full of hope, we proceeded towards the dwelling; as we approached it, again we heard the same pitiful cries, from the same cold wet cellar; again we descended the steps, and were about to enter, when we found the door locked. The mother had heard of our visit the day previous, and had taken this precaution to prevent our gaining access to the child again. But our object could not be so easily defeated. We went through the neighbor's apartment, and descended the same dark stairs, and found as before, the poor little girl suffering from cold and hunger. We again took her to the apartment above, placed her by the fire, and gave her some food. In a few moments the mother returned from her long, cold walk; her tattered garments showed that misery, the attendant of vice, was her portion. When she beheld us, her manner became agitated, her looks indicated conscious guilt; she instantly took the child in her arms and carried her to the apartment below. We followed her to it. While reproving her for her unnatural desertion of the child, our feelings towards her became softened, when we heard the deep sepulchral cough, and saw the hectic flush on her cheek, which told, that this wretched woman would e'er long, in all probability, be an inmate of the tomb. Though we knew her to be a victim of vice, yet we felt her to be an object of pity too; for human suffering, from whatever cause it may proceed, must ever touch the heart that feels. We told her the object of our present visit, but she positively refused to part with the child. Thus, in a moment, all our fond anticipations as to its rescue from vice and misery, were at an end. We left this scene of woe with heavy hearts. The child's case was so hopeless, its future prospects seemed so dark! for what confidence could be placed in an intemperate mother? During the evening of that day, a messenger was dispatched with food and clothing for this wretched family, but he soon returned with this painful intelligence, that shortly after our visit, in the morning, the parents had taken the child and moved, without naming their future residence. I never expected to see them again. But a few days after, while walking in the lower part of the city, I saw this cruel, intemperate mother, asking charity at the door of a dwelling. I stopped, and spoke to her; she recognised me and turned from me. I requested her to call on me the next day, she accordingly came. I could not learn any thing definite, as to her present place of residence, or respecting her child. The design of her answers to my inquiries on the subject, were evidently, to deceive me. When clothing was again given her, for herself and child, I feared that it would soon be exchanged for another draught of that intoxicating poison, which had caused a mother to forget her child, and had withered all her domestic joys. I never saw her more, but my mind has since continually reverted to her-worse than an orphan child-as I had seen her in the cold, dark cellar, without a mother's smile to cheer her heart, or a father's hand to guide her infant steps. For both had wandered from the paths of virtue and happiness, and were now reaping the bitter fruits of intemperance and vice. When I thought of this child, my only hope was that He, whom the wind obeys, would temper it to this shorn lamb, and would soon remove it from these scenes of earthly sorrow, to "a brighter world beyond the skies." 66 For the Mother's Magazine. AN EASTERN STORY, L. "God is great, and great is his Prophet," said the Sultan Achmet, as sitting solitary in his Riosh, upon the highest mound in his garden; he looked down upon his magnificent Stamboul. "God is great, and no believer has greater reason to say so, than myself. I thank Allah, that he did not make me a woman; that I am commander of all the faithful, the terror of evil doers, the destroyer of mine enemies, the scourge of the tchufonts and the infidels. Allah Achbam! who so great as the son of my father." "Peace to the Sultan Achmet," exclaimed a voice of peculiar melody behind him. The Sultan turned to rebuke the intruder, but stood himself rebuked and silent, beneath the glance of a majestic stranger. He was a man of surpassing beauty, with all the fresh ruddiness of youth, and gravity of aged wisdom. His turban was of an emerald green, and his robes were white and exceedingly lustrous, "Achmet," said the majestic visitant, (and Achmet heard himself addressed without the titles of brother to the sun and moon, and uncle to the stars, for the first time,) " Achmet, I have heard your exclamations of gratitude and commend your piety; Allah is indeed the fountain of blessing, without whose favor, life were like the desert. I am one of the angels who stand before his throne. He is indeed not unmindful of his children. He has even now sent me with a treasure of blessing, for that mortal to whom he has committed the highest office of trust and honor." "Welcome, angel of God, welcome," exclaimed the Sultan. "What is the blessing Allah has sent me, the most favored of men?" "Stay," said the angel, “the blessing is not for you." "Not for me! I not the most honored servant of the prophet!" shouted the angry Achmet. "Who dare say thus? Am not I the vizier of the prophet, the commander of the faithful? Is not my foot on the neck of the world? Have not my armies wasted whole provinces, and put to death millions of mine enemies? Are not my prison-houses filled with evildoers? and is not my treasure-house heaped with gold and jewels? Am not I the favorite of the prophet." "Nay, Achmet," replied the angel, 66 come with me and learn wisdom." He took from his girdle a small mirror, and touched the Sultan upon the shoulder, and suddenly Achmet found himself borne with exceeding rapidity through the air, along with the angel. They touched the earth in a remote and shaded valley, before the door of a little cottage. The angel lifted the latch, and they entered. They beheld a lovely woman, sleeping with an infant of a few months in her arms. "Here," said the angel to Achmet, "here is the mortal most honored of Heaven, the faithful mother of this lovely boy." The genius laid his hand upon her head, and said in solemn accents, "Receive, favorite of heaven, the gift for which thou hast prayed, wisdom for thy child; but he must receive it from thy lips and thy life." The mother smiled as in dreams, and the angel drew the sultan from the cottage. They paused under the shade of a mighty tree, and Achmet murmured, that a woman, without a soul, should be greater than a sultan. "Murmur not, son of Solyman," said the angel," beware how you resist the decision of Allah." Thus saying, he waved the little steel mirror three times in the air, and bade the sultan look therein. Achmet obeyed. He beheld the mother with her boy increased in stature and age; upon her lap lay an open Koran, and Achmet heard these words, "Fear God, my son, and not man; seek to be good, and not great." The boy looked up into his mother's face and kissed her forehead. Again the. angel waved the mirror, and Achmet looked again. The mother was no longer there, but the boy had attained to early manhood. He was instructing a peasant in cultivating the earth. Again the mirror was changed, and the young man appeared watching by the pallet of a beggar, beneath whose arm a plague sore was oozing forth its deadly infection. Again, he beheld him as the vizier beside a sultan, in his council chamber. monarch's face, but the vizier was pleading with him. province from desolation, and the lives of ten thousand men. Another change of the mirror, and the being of the vision was a sultan himself. Through the windows of the palace, he saw an empty prison. He was giving his orders to his treasurer to sell the jewels of the crown to furnish corn for a pachalique, the harvest of which had failed. At this moment a rebellious pacha was brought in chained, the black eunuch stood ready with his bow, but to the astonishment of Achmet, the sultan rose and giving bread and salt to the criminal, sent him in peace to his home. A scowl was on the His eloquence saved a "Look yet once more," said the genius. Achmet looked and beheld the throne of Allah. Before him stood two men to receive judgment. The one was the being of the vision. The other seemed familiar to him, but it was only after the lapse of some moments that he recognized himself. The angel of judgment turned to the first and said, "Blessed art thou, for thou hast been faithful. Better is it to teach men how to live, than how to slay; to preserve life, than to destroy; to prevent crime, than to punish. Mercy is more precious than jewels, and wisdom than power." "Blessed be Allah,” said the prince," not mine is the praise, it belongs to my mother. She taught me to fear God, and not man; to seek to be good, and not to be great. All my good deeds are her's, be her's the praise." "Yea," said the angel of the judgment, "already is she blessed, for blessed is the faithful mother and blessed the obedient son." At that moment, Achmet fancied the eye of the angel of the judgment turned upon him. In his alarm, he turned to escape, he fell and -awoke. All this time, he had been fast asleep. The voice of the Muez 60 LETTER FROM A CLERGYMAN. zin was just calling to prayers. So Achmet went to his prayers like a true believer, but it was remarked by his servants, that Achmet was a much better king, ever since the afternoon he fell asleep in his garden. For the Mother's Magazine. LETTER FROM A CLERGYMAN TO A WIDOWED FRIEND. The hour is come, my afflicted friend, and its events are heavy in proportion to the long and peaceful day of serenity that had preceded it. Yet the consoling voice is heard, from the cloud of sorrow that now covers your dwelling with a deep and mournful shade-Be still. Know that I am God, and infinitely wise to order every event; almighty to execute that holy order, and sustain the afflicted sufferer; and also full of most tender compassion, for those who suffer and submit. Sit down in solemn silence. Hear the voice-" come and see the place where thy Lord was laid. He is not here, he is risen." Here learn a lesson full of consolation. honor, now demands of you, new duty. witnesses of your sorrows, that religion can and will support the mourner. The holy religion you profess and "The soul that's filled with holy light, Shines brightest in affliction's night." Be advised to devote an hour to the meditation of the most serious and interesting steps of Christian duty before you. 1. The holy providence of God hath ordained, and hath done all these things well-for you, as his child, for the best. 2. There is a new course of duty before you; and to enter upon that course, and to persevere in it, and to instruct your family, and the church which deeply mourns with you, is an important duty. 3. To sustain your sorrows, and with your children to render the affliction a real and a lasting blessing. Consider it also an imperious duty, and sacred, to use all proper means to preserve your health, that precious blessing to the mind, and precious aid in duties. The parental duties are now no more His The mortal husband is no more. divided. They all devolve on you. But listen to the voice of consolation. place shall know him no more. Thy Maker is thy husband. Underneath is the everlasting arm, nor is it shortened after sustaining the pious widows of a thousand generations. His style is, the God of the widow, the Father of the fatherless. Your claims of high and heavenly privilege are new. Enter on those claims by faith. strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. The church claims you. Be 4. Be not appalled by the melancholy scene before you. Become a bright and calm example of the power of religion to sustain the mind overwhelmed Your with sorrows. You are not your own. children claim you. Let your light so shine, as to teach every spectator the all powerful force of piety. What woman has done, woman can do. Trim your lamp with holy oil. Let it burn calmly and brightly. Blessed above Soon their last tear shall all earthly prosperity, are they who mourn aright. They, long tried in deep sorrow, can point you to the heavenly hills, from whence cometh all our help, all our hope, all our consolation. The cup that your heavenly Father giveth, and mingleth with many blessings, and many precious promises, will you not receive it, with a smile through your tears? In my lot of blessings infinite, this stands foremost, that my heart has bled. I thank my God for all, but most for the severe. 5. Look frequently and attentively at your list of blessings. Remember how many promises, precious beyond all price, have been dearly purchased by Him, the almighty sufferer, who is tenderly affected with sympathy, in all our infirmities. Adieu, afflicted friend, Kindly receive, and well consider this counsel of an aged mourner. Hartford, Conn. THE GREAT HELPER. A Christian mother has at her command, motives and influences of such amazing power, that it is not wonderful if she does not perfectly comprehend them, or embrace in her clearest vision, their vast results. A few simple experiments will often disclose to her, the nature and relations of these motives and influences, better than volumes of speculation. Allow me to suggest a few hints, gathered from experience, on a subject, which although familiar, is not unimportant to a mother. I refer to a child's dependence on God. In waking from the long sleep of antinomian repose, I fear, we may run to the opposite error, and thus fail to produce in the mind of our children, a sentiment so essential to our own well being. To lead a child to feel its dependence on God, perhaps no means are so powerful, as a habit of frequent prayer, arising from a watchfulness on the part of the parent, which allows no incident affecting its moral character, to pass unnoticed. Let her not feel that her work is accomplished, if the morning and evening hour of retirement be duly attended, but rather, let her, as she meets her children in the morning, silently notice the feelings which pervade each little bosom. In one, perhaps, the buddings of pride, in another, selfishness, in another, fretfulness, may arise from the fruitful source within; and who so much needs help, as the feeble, unsuspecting child, in its early conflict with sin? Perhaps the mother little suspects how much conflict may be passing in the breast of that child. Many a bright morning resolution had not been broken, if a very little of her aid had been imparted, at the moment of doubt and danger. A great part of a mother's duty, is to "acquaint herself with her child," learn the nature of its conflicts, and assist its infant efforts by the united power of motives and prayer. As she notices the first signs of sin, suppose just then, she quietly leads it away to obtain the promised help from above, and without a word of reproof, simply says, "My child, you need a helper; you are in danger and are weak; sin is strong, Satan is strong, but God is able to subdue both," and then, with the tenderness of a mother's love, commit the case to the great Helper. Let her through the day, thus carefully watch the conduct of her child; and at night, when reflection seems easy and natural to chidren, review the incidents |