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FOR A YOUNG MOTHER'S ALBUM.

table, or companions of the sitting-room and the study; and, in many cases, brought there by the parents themselves. Such books contain many things which a modest lady would blush to have introduced in conversation, or to be suspected of reading; and yet she often, for the entertainment of her company, boasts of the author as a "favorite writer."

We turn, for the present, from such libraries of trash and moral contagion, with this advice: let all who persist in having such books have the appropriate inscription over the library, Trash and pollution for the mind.

of a new star to the eye of the firmament-gazer. No lady of mind can be insensible to the benefits arising from the general circulation of sound intelligence, whether it be through the medium of the ungraceful newspaper, the more highly finished magazine, or the elegant octavo. Every new book, if it be useful and chaste in its tone, must add something to the general stock of knowledge.

As to the pleasure to be found in books, let those testify who have tasted it, and are able to draw the contrast between the pleasure found in frivolous { amusements, or monotonous idleness, and the pleasures of "increasing in knowledge." Lady Jane Grey was once asked why she went not out to enjoy the pastime and amusements of the park. She replied, "All their sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure I find in Plato. Alas! good folk, they never felt what true pleasure means. My book hath been so much pleasure, and bringeth daily to me more and more, that, in respect of it, all other pleasures are to me but trifles and troubles."

I have given a short homily on a short text; and, if it should prove uninteresting and dull to the reader, she will now be relieved by its close.

BY WILLIAM BAXTER.

WRITE for your album! Shall I write

Some legend dark of olden times-
How warriors fought for fame, or gold,
Or minstrels sung in sunnier climes?
Ah, no! a humbler strain be mine,

But there is a moral and intellectual elevation, consequent upon an association with books written by the wise and the good-books which are pure in thought, chaste in expression, and instructive in sentiment-sparkling with diamonds and glittering with gems of richest value, which may be gathered by the reader, and enrich and adorn the mind in such a way that poverty, affliction, or the wrinkles of age cannot impoverish it. Still there are many who will little heed all our croaking. They are such who, if shut up in a room with nothing better than a well-stored library, would, for weeks and months together, sit watching the coming and departing day in painful idleness, rather than gather, from the FOR A YOUNG MOTHER'S ALBUM. pages near, consolation in affliction, or learn philosophy to enable them to forget their imprisonment. To the mind delighting in the study of good and instructive books, it matters but little whether the place of its research be on the hill-side, with the winds of summer nestling on the page, and the glorious sun steeping the brow, or, in the dull unworldly cloister, shut out from the breath of heaven, in the silent hours of night-to such a one it is all the same whether her bed be on the mountain heath, or the downy couch; while the brainless belle of the drawing-room, who rarely scans a page, or dares to think-who uses her voice only to torture sense in the use of sounds-who delights only to converse on the last bon mot about Victoria, or recite an epigram about her exquisite appearance in the dancethis belle, with the milliner's patterns of "the latest fashions" in her hand, will call herself a lady, and be so labeled by public opinion. Instances of such might be given, who know no more of the literature of the day than they do of the arrangements of the planets-who never look into a book, except it be a novel, or a "lady's book," for a picture of the "latest fashions," or in the "Elegant Letter Writer," to find a model on which to build a high-sounding billetdoux, to some one of like capacity with herself. And such instances might be found without traveling as far as Japan.

But happy, thrice happy for this world of ours, there are others to whom the devotions paid to letters bring the purest enjoyment. To them the appearance of every good new book, is as the uprising

Though to my ear 'tis sweeter far
Than tales of banner'd hosts, and all

The stern and proud delights of war.
I'll tune my peaceful lyre to sing

Of pleasures which know no alloy-
Which find their dearest haunts among
The scenes of pure domestic joy.

A slumb'ring babe's soft breathings seem
To fall upon my list'ning ear;

A mother by its cradle bed

With look serene is ling'ring near.
How sweet that calm, untroubled sleep!
Yet when those silken eyelids part,
What joy beams in that mother's eye-
What joy swells in that mother's heart!
In gazing on a scene like this,

I've smil'd to see that mother's pride,
And thought that mother seem'd a rose-
The babe a rosebud by her side.
Then be it thine to rear this flower,

To teach its beauties to expand,
Till child and mother, rose and bud,
Shall bloom in heav'n's unfading land.

"WHAT CAN I DO?".

BY MRS. CROSS.

"Count that day lost, whose low, declining sun Views from thy hand no worthy action done."

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THE interrogation which I have placed at the head of this article, would seem almost superfluous, when we remember that every highway and by-way of life is teeming with objects upon which to lavish exertion. But many, with a vague desire to be usefully active, find themselves in the situation of the prince in the fairy tale, who, when he came within the vicinity of the magic fountain, was so distracted by the multitude of voices that aspired to direct his way, as to be quite incapable of deciding which was the right path. Thus the multiplicity of objects often prevents the power of selection; and between inaction and irresolution, life passes away unimproved, and none is the better for our sojourn among men.

cost the dying agonies of the Prince of life. But salvation, though purely a gratuity of divine love, is conditioned on our faith and holiness. There is no deliverance from the thraldom of sin, and no qualification for the kingdom of heaven, but through the earnest co-operation of the creature with the Creator. Therefore saith the apostle, "Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God that worketh in you, both to will and to do, of his good pleasure." Sin must be renounced; Christ must be apprehended by faith; the heart must be kept with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life; the rank growth of passion must yield to the fruits of the Spirit; the rose and the myrtle must supplant the thistle and the thorn; and the strong man armed must surrender the citadel to a stronger. The evangelical subjugation of the heart is an achievement prouder than a thousand conquests, and shall wreathe the victor's brow with laurels of immortal verdure.

If we look around us, we shall discover many avenues opening to usefulness, some one of which is adapted to each person's peculiar talents and pecu

It is said that one of the three things which Cato regretted during his lifetime, was, that he had ever spent a day in inaction. Newton, after all his splen-niary condition in life. God has commissioned us did achievements in science, declared that he had been but gathering pebbles on the seashore, while the great ocean of truth stretched out in mystery before him. And Johnson, in the zenith of his literary success, as the eagle soaring to the sun, paused for retrospection, and exclaimed, "What have I been doing?"

If we look within ourselves, we shall find enough to do a mind to be expanded and improved-a heart to be purified by faith, and perfected in lovea work which shall control the current of our eternal being. The material is furnished, on which is to be wrought the likeness of Divinity; and the instruments for the work are put into our hands. The soil and the seed are given, from which we are to realize the full harvests of knowledge and virtue; but the ploughing, the sowing, and the reaping, are "The mind that would be happy must be great." The talent was never intended to be wrapped in a napkin, and buried in the earth. The jewel was not made to be concealed in the casket for ever. The child of rare intellectual endowments, should be the hero of rare intellectual achievements; and he who spends his blooming springtime in mental indolence and sloth, has nothing to anticipate but a fruitless summer, a dreary autumn, and a winter of despair.

our own.

Man is an embryo of immortality. We live and labor for the life to come. "Though the body," says Mrs. Lincoln, "is sister to the worm and the weed, the soul may aspire to the companionship of angels, and claim kindred with God. It is a flower destined to bloom in the empyreal Eden-a gem destined to gleam in Immanuel's coronal. Its preciousness drew Divinity down to earth, and its redemption

with a ministration of benevolence and mercy-a work which surely brings its recompense, if not in this life, in that which is to come. "Cast thy bread upon the waters;" if it flow not back upon the returning current, it shall come erelong in blessings to the bosom of the giver.

We are apt, as Hannah More says, to extenuate our inaction in reference to the various enterprises of philanthropy, by the plea that our sphere of operation is so circumscribed, and our influence so limited. As well might the planet pause in its orbit, and refuse to perform its revolution, because its circuit does not take in the circumference of the universe. Every one does not possess wealth to lavish upon the indigent, but every one may sometimes relieve his neighbor's necessities, and make glad the heart of the widow and the orphan. Shall he withhold his pittance, because he cannot fill up the coffers of charity with an ostentatious display of gold? The poor widow's farthing was graciously recognized by our Savior, and he said, "She hath cast in more than they all." As Mr. Summerfield once remarked, God estimates the amount given by the amount withheld. The pauper's mite counts more in heaven than the miser's million, because the pauper has {parted with all his living, while the miser has millions yet in store. What though I cannot do a deed which shall go down to posterity, tinged with the golden coloring of fame-what though my name may not be emblazoned, with that of a Howard or a Ross, on the records of philanthropy; nor my memory descend to other generations, linked with turret and tower, shall I, therefore, do nothing? Shall I refuse to improve my one talent, because I have not ten? Did Napoleon abandon the passage of the

Alps, because he could not scale the eminence at a leap? Shall the stream linger at its fountain, because it does not burst forth an ocean? That crystal drop, trickling from a crevice in the rock, shall blend with other drops, and form a rivulet; and the confluence of many rivulets shall constitute a river, which shall roll on, in swelling majesty, through the continent of a thousand miles. "There is nothing in the earth so small that it may not produce great things; neither is any thing vast, that is not compacted of atoms." Our individual efforts may seem insignificant, but each is a link in the great chain that draws on the millennium. Our individual influence may appear inutile, but each is a soldier in the great army of Christian philanthropists, who follow the Captain of their salvation to the conquest of universal evil, and the ultimate emancipation of the world. "This pebble which I cast from my hand," says Thomas Carlyle, "shall change the centre of gravity of the globe!"

LIGHT AND LOVE.

In the action of light, unattended by love, there is full evidence that reason is made the standard of belief. The record of the past and the experience of the present are replete with the clearest testimony to the validity of this position. The action of light upon mind begets an unwarrantable confidence in intellectual ability; hence, every thing must be clear to the vision of feeble reason, or it is instantly rejected. No other authority can be received, no other evidence will be taken, and no other testimony admitted. The voice of God is unheeded. This standard, then, becomes a fragile crucible, however small and wanting capacity, into which every truth must be thrown, and here, being fully reduced, must bear the rational impress before embraced. It is made an altar, lit only by an earthly flame, before which every subject must appear, and meanly bow in homage. With a groveling dignity it takes the judgment seat, and every thing, whether on earth or in heaven, must come to its petty tribunal, and answer its interrogations. Soon infallibility comes to be fixed upon its decisions, and there is no variation answering to its development. It matters little whether the reason be well educated and pow

to assume censorship over the works and revelations of Jehovah. The beardless youth, who has never so much as seen the first line in Virgil, or reached the simplest problem of Euclid, alike with the ablest skeptic, fears not to decide, with unwavering certainty, upon problems that angels cannot solve.

But there are claims upon our attention, other than those of alms-giving. "The streams of small pleasures fill the lake of happiness." The kind word, the soft and gentle tone, even the friendly glance of the eye, may sweep, with trembling felicity, the chords of many a sorrowful heart. Sym-erful, or illiterate and imbecile, it impiously dares pathy is a thing of peculiar power. Its smile is like the sunshine, and its tears are like drops of pearly dew. It has won an entrance into hearts which gold could never penetrate. It has revived the withering flowers of virtue, arrested the career of desperate sensuality, and wheeled the bacchanal's chariot hard on the brink of the unsounded gulf. It has cheered a thousand desolate hearthstones, and sent a fresh tide of enjoyment through a thousand weeping circles. It has thwarted the pilgrim's rayless horizon with a beam of daylight, thrilled the bosom of the dying culprit with a new life-pulse, and dashed from the lip of misfortune the chalice of despair. It has fanned into a flame the dying embers of genius, and rolled superincumbent mountains from the struggling intellect, developing a Horner, a Milton, or a Goethe.

"What can I do?" I can do much-much to gladden earth, and people heaven. There are woes which I cannot reach, and evils which I cannot cure; but let me break the blow which I cannot avert, and mitigate the sorrow which I cannot remove. If I may not shine with a Zinzendorf and an Eliot in the constellation of philanthropy, yet let me contribute what I can toward turning the wilderness into a fruitful field, and making the parched desert redolent of flowers. If I may not write my name with Newton's among the stars, or with Washington's upon the roll of military fame, at least let me record it in living characters upon the human heart, and win for myself a crown whose value is to be estimated only by the blood of Jesus, and whose radiance is unrivaled even by the orbs of heaven!

But light alone is incompetent to the full examination of reason's endless chain; and hence, again the introduction of skepticism. This chain, united link by link, reaches from man, through angels, up to God. In man is only seen the earliest dawn and feeblest twilight of reason; in angels is beheld its rising, spreading light; in God appears its burning and eternal noon. Light commences the examination of this chain, and ascends upward as far as its ability will permit, and then, forsooth, because it cannot discover another link, most absurdly denies its existence; hence, all beyond is contrary to reason, and all below hangs upon nothing. Here love, with its eagle eye, takes up the investigation; and, in the vision of faith, which is the evidence of things not seen, carries on the work, ascending still higher, until at length the golden chain is discovered to reach the great Eternal. Hence, when light, from its inability to fully discover the great truths of revelation, declares them opposed to reason, and therefore absurd, love enters, points to a link still upward and much brighter, which, if discovered and developed, would remove the absurdity and show the reason. Things, then, that appear inconsistent to lower reason, may be most consistent to higher reason. The feeble powers of childhood see many

not contain him. The British isles could not keep him, and the world became his theatre of action." The Crucified was the pattern he copied, and hence, in the record of his character is exemplified the richest development of these great principles. The one does not succumb to the other, but both bear an equal and harmonious sway, and, united in the deep of the soul, awake a kind of spiritual melody that answers to the music of the universe. We wish to name another, and yet we hardly dare, because his memory is lingering with us still. Of him the poet has most truly sung,

"The Fisk of memory can never die."

We knew him while he lived, and saw him when he died. It was angel living, and it was holy dying. We heard him speak; and there was depth of thought and power of mind; but they were clothed in the sweet drapery of love. I need not add another word. We know the wisdom of his counsel, and the tenderness of his instruction. We have seen the kind solicitude he showed, and manlike dignity he wore. Within his soul there dwelt a childlike meekness, with a high-toned magnanimity; and on his countenance there lingered the mild repose of love, with the brighter glow of light. Here we see a harmony in mental and moral development, and behold most closely wedded the noblest of earth and heaven. In this union, then, are found the elements of true greatness and undying worth-the principles of choicest virtue, and the source of noblest joy and holiest bliss. Here brilliancy seems united with mildness, and powerful thought with gentle feeling. The sun and moon seem to have changed the course of their

inconsistencies which the maturity of age fully removes. The uneducated mind, with its small capacity, finds numerous errors where the educated discovers only truths. Now, since there is an immeasurable distance between the finite and the infinite reason, a contradiction most glaring to the former may appear an argument most complete to the latter. Here is manifest the appropriate work and beautiful harmony in the reciprocal action of these two great principles. Love inspires such a confidence in heavenly truths, and light in earthly truths, that, when united, they seem, in some spiritual way, to bring both worlds together. The choicest graces from above seem descending, whilst the noblest virtues from below seem ascending; and so they approximate each other, until there is formed the sweetest union in the intelligent, sanctified soul. There are many instances in illustration of this union-some among those who have always lived in the woodland cottage-who have died unpraised and are quite unknown: others there are who have received their meed of praise and share of song; and from these we select a few. Newton was pre-eminent in intellectual ability. He held a close communion with nature, placed a burning light in her hidden retreats, and seemed quite at home along her unfrequented paths. His thoughts went forth like the thoughts of others; but, unlike theirs, in return they came laden with new and unknown fruits. Objects that had been passed and repassed by thousands of others, as of trivial import, and little interest, by him were magnified into a world of consequence. He caught the apple in its swift descent, and made it tell the reason of its fall, and then de-flight, and, moving toward each other, appear to manded of the sun, the moon, and earth, and other spheres, if they were not affected by the same strong force. A loud responsive echo answered, Yes! He stopped the sunbeam in its rapid flight, and made it take its mantle off, and rest awhile, and, lo! within its bosom slept the rainbow hues; and there he saw in beauty blended every tint that shades the eastern sky, or mingles on the blooming flower. Thus, although he was nature's great adorer, he paid his earliest worship to the only God, and claimed to be an heir of heaven. Love had begotten such a religious integrity and high moral sentiment, that whoever dared, in his presence, to abuse the Bible, insult its Author, or defame its religion, received a severe and merited rebuke. Edwards and Fletcher, illustrious while living, and victorious when dying, have left unclouded evidence of this union. Love in its fullness, and light in its clearness, rose to an unrivaled ascendency in the dominion of their spirits. They manifested powerful thought and angelic feeling. Of Wesley it has been most beautifully said, "The angels of light and love came down from heaven. Light illumined his head-love softened his heart.livery of heaven" to do its deeds of darkness in,

Light circled his brow with a halo of intellectual glory-love swelled his soul until the Church could

VOL. VI.-15

have run in together; and the burning splendor of the one is mellowed down by the softening radiance of the other. Here the soul reaches its highest earthly elevation, exhibits a symmetry in its development, and shows man in the mirror of heaven.

It may now appear that light alone has a skeptical tendency, is inadequate to the wants of man, and poorly answers the great end of human existence. There is danger, then, in the too great admission of light, and the forcible expulsion or even careless neglect of love. Hence, that education which warmly embraces the former, and coldly repels the latter, is eminently perilous to national as well as individual interests-to truth as well as piety. In confirmation of this, we might add the names of statesmen and legislators, who, from long experience and close observation, have avowed the same sentiment, and shown its truth. It ought to be written in golden characters on every American standard-it ought to be engraven with the diamond's point upon every American heart. I know that the unprincipled skepticism of the present age, which has "stolen the

would conceal this truth-would make men angels, all except their heart and wings, and teach them that

CONSOLATION AT THE GRAVE OF A CHILD.