THOUGHTS ON PROVIDENCE.

WITH AN ILLUSTRATION.

THERE are three very extensive volumes that ought to be read, and in some measure understood, by the children of men. The volume of creation, the volume of providence, and the volume of redemption. Having frequently examined the first and last of the above-mentioned books, I was more particularly led, a few days ago, to inspect, with some degree of care and precision, the volume of providence. Upon looking over the table of contents, I discovered three particular chapters ; namely, universal inspection, universal preservation, and universal government. I began at the first, and read as follows:-"Am I a God at hand, and not afar off?" "Do I not fill heaven and earth, saith the Lord?" "The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good." I immediately perceived that on the ground of universal inspection, the providence of God extended to all places, to all persons, and to all things. To all places; yes, the heavens, and earth, and sea. To all persons, especially the truly pious. "For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness; his countenance doth behold the upright." They are to him as the "apple of his eye;" and his special providence is as the eyelid guarding that tender part. "The eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, to preserve them from death, and to keep them alive in famine." He bottles their tears, strengthens their weaknesses, and supplies their wants. The eternal Jehovah "sitteth upon the circle of the heavens;" (not as an idle spectator ;) no, but he taketh cognizance of the children of men. Not anything is hid from the eyes of Him with whom we have to do. The providence of God likewise extendeth unto all things; to those minute, as well as to those immense; to the fish of the sea, to the birds of the air, and to man upon the earth. He that numbereth the stars, he also numbereth the hairs of our heads.

"Thou,

"The

The second chapter in the book of providence is universal preservation. Lord, preservest man and beast.” eyes of all wait upon thee, and thou givest them their meat in due season. Thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the desire of every living thing." A fish supplies Peter with the sacred tribute; the great deep augments the Lord's revenue, and at his command the scaly tribe present their offerings. The ravens feed Elijah at the brook, the flinty rock discharges streams of water, and the clouds in showers drop down manna for the preservation of Israel's numerous tribes. This great Preserver of

man and beast also clothes the lilies of the field, and gives beauty and fragrance to the garden-flowers.

The third chapter in the volume of providence is universal government. Let none suppose that the world is governed by mechanical laws; no, but by the constant interposition and energy of the great Creator. "The Lord hath prepared his throne in the heavens; and his kingdom ruleth over all." "Providence is God in motion; providence is God teaching by facts; providence is God fulfilling, explaining, and enforcing his own word; providence is God rendering natural events subservient to spiritual purposes." This providence is irresistible. When the time was come for the release of Joseph, the prison could contain him no longer. When the hour of emancipation is at hand for the captive Jews to come out of Babylon, the predicted commander from the East, Cyrus, is raised up to issue the proclamation. How amazingly diversified are the scenes of providential dispensation! How inscrutable to mortals are many of its actings! We only discover a part of the circling wheel; the other part is seen in a different hemisphere. But what the Christian knows not now, he shall know hereafter. I mean when the. mysteries of divine providence shall be unfolded, and the cloud removed that covered a variety of dispensations.

As an improvement of the foregoing remarks, I beg permission to offer a few words of advice. 1. Observe the motions of providence. "Whoso is wise will observe these things; they shall understand the loving-kindness of the Lord." The truly pious are not altogether unacquainted with the mind and will of God. "Shall I," saith the Lord Jehovah, "hide from Abraham the thing that I do?" 2. Admire the depths of providence. An Apostle exclaimed, when standing on the brink of this stupendous ocean, "O, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!" There are many depths in providence that the finite line of human knowledge can never fathom; many labyrinths impossible for creatures to explore. Numbers have been bewildered in the intricate mazes, and have returned with considerable loss. See that stately vessel sailing on the mighty waters: how soon her track is lost in the pathless ocean! Thus the ways of God are in the sea, his path through the mighty waters, and his footsteps, to mortals, are not fully known. Let us, upon all occasions, "Confess the Almighty just,

And where we can't unriddle, learn to trust." And, finally, I would recommend a hearty

compliance with the designs of providence. The Apostle St. Paul was very eminent for this. "I know," he says, "how to be abased, and how to abound; everywhere and in all things I am instructed, both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and suffer need." See yon King of birds, the royal eagle; he is under confinement in a spacious cage: how he flutters about from side to side! but sooner will he beat his wings to pieces than obtain emancipation by his struggling.

W— K——T was a person much habituated to the shameful practice of reviling and persecuting the people of God. They received a variety of insults and much abusive language from him, both during the seasons of religious worship, and at other times; insomuch that he became proverbial for his wicked sayings, and base conduct. But the Ministers of Jesus Christ were the principal objects of his malice. When speaking of these, he used the vilest language his imagination could possibly invent. The general appellation by which he designated the Preachers of the Gospel, was, " Dunn's* devils." But in order to carry this ridiculous and wicked language to its highest pitch, on a certain occasion, when an eminently pious man of God, who had for some

*Alluding to a worthy member of the society, of that name, who lived at that time.

years been preaching the Gospel in the West Indies, paid a visit to the place, and was walking up the street to the preaching-house, this monster in wickedness, on perceiving him, exclaimed, "That is the devil himself." He continued to pursue this conduct till the Almighty "shortened his days." While he was one day climbing a very high walnuttree, in order to gather the fruit, he fell from one of the lofty branches, and was so bruised and injured by the fall, that he almost instantly, and in great agonies, expired! How awful to be thus suddenly snatched away, and summoned to appear before the bar of a sinavenging God, while living in such flagrant rebellion and open hostility against his laws and government! In what a dreadful light does the depravity of the human heart appear, when we witness the continuance and prevalence of a persecuting spirit, in spite of the many awful warnings which God has given, of his high displeasure at it! "God speaketh once, yea, twice, yet man regardeth it not; " but goeth on in his trespasses. But let those who are in the habit of ridiculing religion, and of using their feeble efforts to oppose the work of God, be astonished, ashamed, blush, and be confounded; let them cast away their weapons of rebellion, and, at least, no more dare to oppose religion, lest the Almighty should cut them off at a stroke, and then a great ransom cannot deliver them.

A MOTHER'S COUNSELS AND

PRAYERS.

A MOTHER'S Counsels and prayers! Who can estimate their influence? When the son has left the parental roof, and gone forth mingling with a gay and trifling world; among all the recollections which crowd themselves upon his mind, none go deeper into the fountains of feeling, none excite purer emotions, than those of the affectionate counsels and fervent prayers of a pious mother. If, happily, he is associated with a pious family, whose altar-fires never go out; as they surround that altar in the morning, hear the word of life as it is read, and listen to the ardent petition as it rises to God; his mind wanders quickly and quietly back to his own home, where he has often witnessed the same scenes; where the same pious practice is maintained. As they surround the table, and the blessing of God is invoked, these hallowed associations are again stirred. When about to retire to rest, as he sees the child at the knee of its parent, offering up its evening prayer, he remembers how often he has done the same. And when he lays his head upon the pillow in the stillness of

night, he meditates upon the advice and prayers of his mother. Does he attend the house of God? as he hears the Minister speak of the glories of heaven, of the joys of religion, of the sufferings of Christ, he recollects what his pious mother used to tell him concerning these things. Let him be where he may, whether pursuing his classic studies in college-halls, or engaged in the absorbing pursuits of merchandise, or traversing the country in pursuit of recreation or health, or whatever may be his employment, there are times when these recollections will force themselves upon him. Yes, the weather-beaten sailor, away upon the mighty ocean, will sit down among his comrades, and, as he details the events of his earlier days, he proceeds without difficulty until he has occasion to say, "My mother ;" and with this his voice falters, his lips quiver, his frame is convulsed, and the big tears are wiped away in their descent by his rugged hand. "Good woman," he says; " if ever there was a Christian, she was one; " and it is not until he has made a pause to recover himself, that he can proceed with the narration. Even the infidel or the atheist, in

his more sober moments, when reflecting upon the future, as reflections like these flow up in his mind, feels his foundation quiver and quake. Argue with him upon the subject of religion, and while he remains unmoved by any other appeal, only mention a mother's counsels and prayers, and in an instant the great deep of his heart is broken up, and his tears freely flow. The soldier, though his finer feelings may have been buried for awhile amid the clangour of war, and the prospect of military glory; yet when the strife is over, and he gives way to reflection, a tide of feeling will rush over his soul as he thinks of his mother. And do these recollections always end with the emotions which they excite? No. They exert a most powerful influence upon the conduct. Is that son tempted in an evil moment to take advantage by telling a falsehood? the remembrance of the pure, unadulterated truth which ever flowed from his mother's lips, checks him in the attempt. Is he prompted to take his Maker's name in vain? he remembers with what reverence that name was spoken by his mother, and his tongue is silenced. Ah! who could have the hardihood to commit a crime, against which he had been warned by his mother, with that warning before his mind? Where is the inebriate, however deeply sunk; where is the libertine, however abandoned; where is the scoffer, however hardened, who, if trained by such a mother, has not, under the influence of these recollections, formed purposes of reformation? Nay, where is the rebel against God or man, whose heart has not been softened, and had its palpitations quickened, by such hallowed remembrances? O! the influence exerted upon a son by these things is vast, immeasurable. It strikes deeper in the soul, and twines more closely round the spirit, than any other. It is in the soul, and as a beacon-light to show the dangers of the way. It is the silken cord to incline gently and affectionately to the path of virtue and piety. It is the influence which has, no doubt, been the means of landing many a soul in the paradise of God. -Mother's Magazine.

THE MATERNAL EDUCATION OF

INFANTS.

LET not mothers be incredulous. The dawn of reason in their babes is very early, and very often brightens into morning, or travels into the full effulgence of day, before they look on them as aught but a delicatelyorganized mechanism; a pet-a plaything! O, let them think how soon their little one leaps when the mysterious charm of music thrills through its tiny brain; how soon it learns to modulate its feeble voice, before it

47

can articulate, to the melodies that bring from its eyes an eloquent smile! and that earliest smile which responds to the maternal caress is the first lesson in the affections.

Mrs. Howitt, whose works overflow with the good, the true, and the beautiful, says: "Children should very often be sung to; they should be brought up with melodies, and early taught that universal harmony should be the element of their being." Sentiment precedes intelligence; and thus, though the voice of instruction waits for the more full development of reason, yet, with its mother's milk, the young child may drink in education.

The duty of every reflective and intelligent mother is thus early to inspire a love of beauty and of virtue, long before the abstract terms can be understood, or direct teaching be comprehended. And the affections may be cultivated, and the reason aroused, and the memory stored with recollections, long, long before they can find utterance in language. "And a wise man scorneth nothing, be it never so small or homely; for he knoweth not the secret laws that may bind it to great effects." The ocean, vast and mighty, is composed of single drops; and atoms crowded on atoms form the lofty, the colossal mountain and so character is formed hour by hour, and all things aid in its develop

ment.

"I am a Missionary in my nursery," said a young, lovely, and sensible mother, to the writer. "Six pairs of little eyes are daily watching mamma's looks, as well as listening to her words; and I wish my children never to see in me that which they may not imitate, that which may neutralize my instruction or influence." Need I say that her children arose and called her blessed?

"We want more mothers," said Napoleon to Madame Campan: "they are the most influential teachers: with them rests the tuition of the heart, so much more influential than that of the head." Disposition and character are impressions multiplied and made permanent. Then early twist the sapling, early train the floweret; or Time, with his iron hand, will fix the tree, knotted, knarled, and immoveable; and cultivate the flower, until, in a worthless and vagrant profusion, it will be cast away as a deforming weed, or a smothering incumbrance to the gay parterre.

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Thelwall," says Coleridge, was accustomed to say, that he thought it very unfair to influence a child's mind by inculcating any opinions before he had come to years of discretion, and was competent to choose for himself.' I showed him into my garden, and told him it was my botanical garden. How so?' said he it is covered with weeds.' 'O! I replied, that is only because it has not yet come to its age of discretion and choice. The weeds, you see, have taken the liberty to

6

grow, and I thought it unfair to prejudice the soil towards roses or strawberries.' " The practical joke was more demonstrative than a score of arguments to the mind of the sophist.

So, then, thou art set as the guide and guardian to thy tender little ones; to plant, to "For if this prune, to water, and to weed. field be not tilled every day," says Bishop Hall, "it will run into thistles. This work must be continual, or it speedeth not." So, then, as a landmark on a hill, they will observe and copy thee in all things. And of thee they must learn, even in their cradles, the duties of obedience, devotion, and belief. The seeds of first instructions are dropped into the deepest furrows; therefore never let them recollect the time when good thoughts were strangers to their minds. It is an unfortunate feature of fallen humanity, that our evil tendencies are the most active, and the most easily developed. The diviner parts of the character are easily subjugated by the vicious and the sensual; therefore let not the observant and curious appetite of youth be fed on poison or on garbage, whilst truth and virtue are banished from its presence. They will be found apt scholars in the school of folly, or of vice; and, humiliating as may be the sentiment in the ears of philosophers and sentimentalists, it is too true, that early and evil habits soon cling around the willinglike captive, and clustering weeds impede the pathway of the virtues.

An affecting illustration of this aptitude to evil occurred some months since to the writer. Wishing to renew her acquaintance with an old schoolfellow who had lately come to reside in her neighbourhood, she made her a morning visit. Her youthful friend had become a wife and a mother. Her children naturally became the objects of inquiry and interest; and at the especial request of the visiter, they were brought from the nursery to the drawing-room. Dressed for their début, they entered. Curled, combed, and equipped for conquest; creatures so fairy-like and

spirituel, that a mother's eye might well beam with pleasure as she looked on their infantine loveliness. So quiet, so gentle, and so tutored were they in their mien; so soft the pale blue eye, and the glossy flaxen ringlets, that the timid hare would scarce have started at their approach, or the butterfly fled from their tiny touch. Let the reader imagine how admiration and affection were speedily exchanged for pity and sorrow, when the little silvery voice of the prattling child was heard to utter oaths the most fearful and obscene!! A start of horror, and a look of anguish, must have attracted the attention of the mother. "I fear you are unwell?" she inquired in a tone of anxiety and kindliness. "I am sick, and shocked," said I, faintly. "Do you hear the language your sweet child is using?" No; what is it?" "It is unutterable; it is impious; so gross, as not to be repeated!" "O, really!" said the chagrined mother: "how shocking!-she shall be whipped directly: naughty girl, that she is!" "First inquire," said I, "if she knows that she is doing wrong: she may only be the innocent victim of a bad example. If she be punished unjustly, she will be made hardened and reckless, rather than penitent." Whilst the mother appeared to muse over this opinion, I inquired of her, "Fanny, do you know that those are very naughty words you are speaking?"." And very vulgar and unlady-like?" added mamma, on the princi"No," ple of her climax, but of my bathos. said Fanny, in innocent amazement. said so to-day, and yesterday, and every day!" "Punish papa, and not Fanny," I whispered in the mother's ear. "Yes," said she, as the blush of shame suffused her brow, "it is a sad vulgar habit of swearing that Mr. acquired: he speaks without thinking, and the children catch it up of course." I write facts. I had paid my last visit. The seeds of evil were indeed dropped into deep furrows. They must produce a frightful harvest in that fair field.-Whisper for the Nursery.

CHAPTERS FOR THE YOUNG. BY THE REV. J. T. BARR. CHAPTER III.

THE HOP-GARDEN.

(Continued from page 17.)

AFTER wandering for many hours, he knew not whither, he found himself in the neighbourhood of Tottenham. Night had already thrown her sable veil over the face of nature; and the unhappy wanderer resolved to rest in the fields, or in whatever place he might

"Papa

bas

Such a

discover, whether a barn or a shed. place he at length found, at a short distance from the turnpike-road. It was an empty shed; and, in his present distressed situation, was a welcome asylum, as it afforded a shelter from the bitter cold.

There he laid himself down, but not to sleep. The thought of his forlorn, destitute condition, and of his own folly which had urged him to visit London, without the means of procuring a subsistence, and where he had no friend to counsel or instruct him, tended more and more to depress his spirits.

He began to ruminate on what course to pursue on the following day, but he could arrive at no decisive point.

Soon as the first streak of light appeared in the eastern horizon, he rose from his hard, damp bed; and, having commended himself to God, and relying on his guidance and protection, he returned to the city. As he stood in one of the principal streets, watching the different coaches which had just arrived from the country, the thought struck him, that he might obtain some pecuniary help from the passengers by carrying their carpet-bags or parcels to their respective residences. With several of them he succeeded; but the mere pittance which this precarious employment afforded, was barely sufficient to supply the cravings of nature.

For nearly three weeks this was the only course he was enabled to pursue to preserve him from want. During the whole of that time he thus struggled in the daytime, to secure the necessaries of life; and in the evening returned to Tottenham,-there to "seek his nightly shed, and weep till morn."

But his feeble body was now becoming inadequate to the task. Symptoms of consumption, which could not be mistaken, began to appear. A distressing cough, to which he had been for some time subject, had rapidly acquired strength, and had settled on his lungs. His face was pale, and his limbs trembled under the weight of his emaciated frame. On the last day of his unhappy sojourn in the city, he had received no employment. A solitary penny was all the money he possessed.

With this he purchased a loaf, which he eagerly devoured; and at night crawled to his usual place of rest. Cold and hungry, he threw himself on the bare ground, and wept audibly. He had not lain there more than an hour, when a rough-looking man, bearing a lantern in his hand, entered the shed. "Who are you?" he cried, in a voice that caused the heart of Henry to quake. "I am a poor orphan," replied the youth.

"And what are you doing here?"

"I have no home; nor have I the means of procuring lodgings: so I came here to rest myself for the night; for I am very tired."

"Go about your business," exclaimed the unfeeling wretch, "or I will take you into custody. I have met with many impostors before."

With this he gave him a cut with his whip, and told him to be gone instantly.

Driven almost to desperation, he left the shed; and, being totally unable to walk any great distance, he passed through a gate which led into an adjoining field, and lay on the damp grass, without closing his eyes, till daylight made its appearance. He now rose from the ground, and, looking wildly around him, muttered to himself, " Merciful heaven! VOL. III.

D

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what must I do? I have not a friend in the world. Destitute of food, and pining in sickness, here I may die unpitied and unknown. 'No man careth for my soul.'' Then, kneeling upon his knees, he earnestly implored compassion from the Lord. For a length of time he wrestled and agonized with his Maker; and that prayer, breathed from a devout heart, and offered in faith and fervency, was heard in heaven; and, as far as it referred to temporal aid, was answered on earth. "Do not despair!" said a voice which proceeded from a short distance. Henry hastily turned round, and beheld a venerablelooking man, who had evidently heard and witnessed his devotions.

"What is your situation, young man ?" he asked, in a remarkably mild manner: "can I do anything for you?"

Henry related to him the story of his griefs; and at the recital the aged man wept like a child.

"I will supply you with the means of returning to your native village," he said: "I am sure your earliest friends will not forsake you. They will be able to do better for you than what you can expect in London, where you are an utter stranger. Here is a sovereign, which will be more than sufficient to bear your expenses home."

He then led him into the turnpike-road, and directed him to an omnibus, which was about to start for London-Bridge, where he might embark in one of the Gravesend steamers.

While Henry was expressing his heartfelt gratitude to the benevolent stranger, the latter exhorted him to put his trust in God, and never more to deviate from the path of righteousness.

Nothing of any particular interest occurred till he reached his native place, which was in the evening, about the time of sunset. With indescribable emotions, and uncertain as to the reception he should meet with, he entered the house of Mr. Baker. That excellent man received the returning wanderer with an affectionate embrace. Instead of upbraiding him with his improper conduct, he only felt compassion for his present sufferings.

"Sit down, my dear," he said to Henry: "you seem fatigued, and need refreshment."

The soul of Henry was melted by this hearty welcome to the abode of his fosterfather; and he fell upon his knees and wept.

An elegant writer has remarked, "When the soul is bowed down by the consciousness of weakness, or perhaps of guilt, and shrinks from the gaze of its fellow-mortals, as from the severity of eager and unpitying criticism, how may one soft word, one encouraging look, open it to the tide of repressed affection, and stifled repentance!" Had Henry's return been welcomed with less affection; had he been received with coldness instead of kindness, with a look of displeasure