18 VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. There yet the deeds are all trumpet sounded- Watching him rise from the sparkling wine. BLANKETS. To be read on a cold night in November. BY OLD HUMPHREY." Help me my young friends! Help me, for the poor stand in need of comfort: let us try to do them a kindness. ter, biting blast whistles among the trees! said, when speaking of kindnesses done to his disciples, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." Think of these things now, for it will be of no use to reflect on them in summer. Charity is never so cordial as when it feels the misery it relieves ; while you feel the cold, then do something to protect others from the inclemency of the season. son. It is enough to be ill-fed, and ill-clothed, and to sit bending over a dying fire without a handful of fuel to revive it; but after that to pass the night without a blanket for a covering, must indeed be terrible. See in the sharpest night the poor old man, over whose head threescore and ten winters have rolled, climbing with difficulty his narrow staircase, to See creep beneath his thin and ragged coverlet ! the aged widow, once lulled in the lap of luxury, but How the casements rattle! and hark, how the bit-now girt around with trials, in fastings often, in cold, and almost nakedness, worn by poverty to the very bones, stretching her cramped limbs upon her bundle of straw! Fancy, but why fancy what you know to be true?-these poor, aged, miserable beings have to shiver through the live-long night, when a blanket would gird them round with comfort. could weep at such miseries as these, miseries which so small an effort might relieve. crumbs of the rich would make a banquet for the poor, and the spare remnants of their clothing would Yet, after all, the darkest night, the bitterest blast, and the rudest storm confer some benefit, for they make us thankful for the roof that covers us, the fire that warms us, and for the grateful influence of a comfortable bed. Oh the luxury of a good, thick, warm pair of blankets, when the wintry blast roars in the chimney, while the feathery flakes of snow are flying abroad, and the sharp hail patters against the windowpanes! Did you ever travel a hundred miles on the outside of a coach, on a sharp frosty night; your eyes stiffened, your face smarting, and your body halfpetrified! Did you ever keep watch in December in the open air, till the more than midnight blast had pinched all your features into sharpness; till your feet were cold as a stone, and the very stars appeared as if frozen to the sky? If you have never borne these things, I have; but what are they compared with the trials that some people have to endure? Who can tell the sufferings of thousands of poor people in winter, from the want of warm bedclothes! and who can describe the comfort that a pair or two of blankets communicate to a destitute family! How often have I seen the wretched children of a wretched habitation, huddling together on the floor, beneath a ragged great-coat, or flimsy petticoat, striving to derive that warmth from each other which their scanty covering failed to supply! In many places, benevolent persons give or lend blankets to the poor, and thus confer a benefit, the value of which can hardly be told. May they be abundantly repaid by the grace of that Saviour who I defend them from the cold. The table Come, come, reader! yon are not without some feeling of pity and affection for your fellow creatures. Be not satisfied in wishing them well; let something be done for their welfare, If there be a heart within you, if you have a soul that ever offered up an expression of thanksgiving for the manifold mercies which your heavenly Father has bestowed upon you, then sympathize with the wretched, and relieve, according to your ability, the wants of the destitute. Let me beseech you to do something this very winter towards enabling some poor, aged, helpless, or friendless person, who is slenderly provided for, to purchase a blanket. You will not sleep the less comfortably, when you reflect that some shivering wretch has been, by your assistance, enabled to pass the wintry night in comfort. It is not a great thing that is required; do what you can, but do something. Let me not plead in vain; and shame betide me if I neglect to do myself the thing that I recommend to you to perform. Did you ever lie snug and warm in bleak December, the bed-clothes drawn close round your neck, and your nightcap pulled over your ears, listening to the midnight blast, and exulting in the grateful glow of your delightful snuggery? I know you have, and I trust, too, that the very reading of these remarks will affect your hearts, and dispose yon to some gentle deed of charity” towards those who are destitute of such an enjoyment. Now, then, while the subject is before you, while you look round on your manifold comforts, while you feel the nipping and frosty air, resolve, aye, and act, in a way that will bless others, and give comfort to your own heart. Youth and health may rejoice in frost and snow, and while the warm blood rushes through the exulting frame, we can smile at the wintry blast; but age, sickness, and infirmity, can take no exercise sufficient to quicken the sluggish current of their veins. Wrap them round, then, with your charity; help them to obtain a pair of warm blankets, and the blessing of the widow and the fatherless, the aged and infirm, the destitute, and those ready to perish, shall rest upon you. TRUE REST. Sweet is the pleasure, Is not true leisure One with true toil? Thou that wouldst taste it, Wouldst behold beauty Only hath duty Such a sight found. Rest is not quitting The busy career; Rest is the fitting Of self to its sphere. 'Tis the brook's motion, Deeper devotion Nowhere hath knelt; Fuller emotion Heart never felt. 'Tis loving and serving The highest and best! 'Tis ONWARDS! unswerving, And that is true rest. THE MOURNERS. BY CAROLINE E. S. NORTON. Low she lies, who blest our eyes She may not smile, she will not rise,- Yet there is a world of light beyond, Where we neither die nor sleep; She is there of whom our souls were found,- The heart is cold whose thoughts were told Where the saints their calm watch keep; Her laughing voice made all rejoice, As it lightly touched the ground. There is silence still and deep; Yet we know she sings by God's bright throne,- The cheek's pale tinge, the lid's dark fringe, Were beautiful in the eyes of all,— And her glossy golden hair! But though that lid may never wake From its dark and dreamless sleep; She is gone where young hearts do not break,— Then wherefore do we weep? That world of light with joy is bright; This is a world of wo: Shall we grieve that her soul hath taken flight, Because we dwell below? We will bury her under the mossy sod, And one long bright tress we'll keep; We have only given her back to God,- MY MOTHER. BY "OLD HUMPHREY." Whether you have, or have not a mother, my present address will not be unsuitable. With whatever respect and admiration a child may regard a father, whose example has called forth his energies and animated him in his various pursuits, he turns with greater affection, and intenser love, to a kind-hearted mother. The same emotion follows him through life, and when the changing vicissitudes of after years have removed his parents from him, seldom does the remembrance of his mother occur to his mind, unaccompanied by the most affectionate recollections. Show me a man, though his brow be furrowed, and his hair grey, who has forgotten his mother, and I shall suspect that something is going on wrong within him; either his memory is impaired, or a hard heart is beating in his bosom. "My Mother" 20 VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. is an expression of music and melody that takes us back agian to the days of our childhood, places us once more kneeling in the soft lap of a tender parent, and lifts up our little hands in morning and evening prayer. For my own part, I never think of my mother, without thinking, at the same time, of unnumbered kindnesses, exercised not towards me only, but to all around her. From my earliest years, I can remember that the moment her eye caught the common beggar, her hand mechanically fumbled in her pocket. No shoeless and stockingless Irish-woman, with her cluster of dirty children, could pass unnoticed by her; and no weary and way worn traveller could rest on the mile-stone opposite our habitation, without being beckoned across to satisfy his hunger and thirst. No doubt she assisted many who were unworthy, for she relieved all within her influence. "Careless their merits or their faults to scan Her pity gave ere charity began." With her trowel in her hand, my mother was busily engaged, one day, among the shrubs and flowers of her little garden, and listening with pleasure to the sound of a band of music, which poured around a cheerful air from a neighbouring barrack-yard, where a troop or two of soldiers were quartered; when a neighbour stepped into the garden to tell her, that a soldier was then being flogged, and that the band only played to drown the cries of the suffering ofNot a word was spoken by my agitated parent; down dropped her trowel on the ground, and away she ran into the house, shutting herself up, and bursting into tears. The garden was forgotten, the pleasure had vanished, and music had turned into mourning in the bosom of my mother. fender. Reader! have you a mother? If you have, call to mind her forbearance, her kindness, her love. Try also to return them by acts of affection, that when the future years shall arrive, when the green sod shall be springing over the resting-place of a kindhearted parent, you may feel no accusing pang when Had her kindness, like that of many, been confin-you hear the endearing expression, My Mother! ed to good counsel, or the mere act of giving what she had to bestow, it would not have been that charity which beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things," 1 Cor. xiii. 7. Her benevolence was uniform and unceasing; it was a part of her character. In benefiting another, difficulty only increased her desire and determination to be useful. She was one who searched out" the cause that she knew not; her pen addressed the peer, and her feet trod the threshold of the pauper, with equal alacrity in the cause of charity. To be occupied in relieving the poor, and pleading the cause of the friendless, was medicine to her body and mind. No child could cry, no accident take place, no sickness occur, without my mother hastening off to render assistance. She had her piques and her prejudices; she never pretended to love those whom she did not like; and she remembered, perhaps too keenly, an act of unkindness, but kindness was the reigning emotion of her heart. Reader, if you think that I have said enough, bear with me; remember, I am speaking of my mother. Among the many sons and daughters of affliction, whose hearts were made glad by her benevolence, was a poor widow of the name of Winn, who resided in an almshouse; my mother had known her in her childhood. Often have I gazed on the aged woman, as she shaped her tottering steps, leaning on a stick, towards our dwelling. A weekly allowance, a kind welcome, and a good dinner, once a week, were hers to the close of her existence. She had a grateful heart, and the blessing of her who was " ready to perish," literally rested on my mother. I could weary you with instances of my mother's kindness of heart; one more, and I have done. THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Touch her not scornfully- Still, for all slips of hers Loop up her tresses Who was her father? Had she a sister? Or was there a dearer one Alas! for the rarity Sisterly, brotherly, Feelings had changed: Even God's providence Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river: In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly Lave in it, drink of it, Take her up tenderly, Smooth, and compose them; Cross her hands humbly, Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour! EVENING SONG OF THE WEARY. BY FELICIA D. HEMANS. Father of Heaven and Earth! I bless thee for the night, The holy pause of care and mirth, Of sound and light! Now far in glade and dell, Flower-cup, and bud, and bell, Have shut around the sleeping wood-lark's nest; The bee's long murmuring toils are done, And I, the o'er-wearied one, O'er-wearied and o'er-wrought, Bless thee, O God, O Father of the oppressed, With my last waking thought. In the still night! Yes, ere I sink to rest, By the fire's dying light, Unto life's fainting travellers, the night, HOW JESUS WAS RECEIVED. BY THEODORE PARKER. TRUTH never yet fell dead in the streets; it has such affinity with the soul of man, that the seed, however broadcast, will catch somewhere, and produce its hundredfold. Some kept his sayings and pondered them in their heart. Others heard them gladly. Did priests and Levites stop their ears? Publicans and harlots went into the kingdom of God before them. Those blessed women, whose hearts God 22 VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED. had sown deepest with the orient pearl of faith; they who ministered to him in his wants, washed his feet with tears of penitence, and wiped them with the hairs of their head, was it in vain he spoke to them? Alas, for the anointed priest, the child of Levi, the sons of Aaron, men who shut up inspiration in old books, and believed God was asleep --They stumbled in darkness, and fell into the ditch. But doubtless there was many a tear-stained face that brightened like fires new stirred, as truth spoke out of Jesus' lips. His word swayed the multitude as pendent vines swing in the summer wind; as the spirit of God moved on the waters of chaos, and said, "Let there be light," and there was light. No doubt many a rude fisherman of Gennesareth heard his words with a heart bounding and scarce able to keep in his bosom, went home a new man, with a legion of angels in his breast, and from that day lived a life divine and beautiful. No doubt, on the other hand, Rabbi Kozeb Ben Shatan, when he heard of the eloquent Nazarene and his Sermon on the Mount, said to his disciples, in private, at Jerusalem, «This new doctrine will not injure us prudent and educated men; we know that men may worship as well out of the temple as in it; a burnt offering is nothing; the ritual of no value; the Sabbath like any other day; the law faulty in many things, offensive in some, and no more from God than other laws equally good. We know that the priesthood is a human affair, originated and managed like other human affairs. We may confess all this to ourselves, but what is the use of telling it? The people wish to be deceived; let them. The Pharisee will conduct wisely like a Pharisee-for he sees the eternal fitness of thingscven if these doctrines should be proclaimed. But this people, who know not the law, what will become of them? Simon Peter, James, and John, those poor unlettered fishermen on the lake of Galilee, to whom we gave a farthing and the priestly blessing, in our summer excursion, what will become of them when told that every word of the law did not come straight out of the mouth of Jehovah, and the ritual is nothing! They will go over to the flesh and the devil, and will be lost. It is true, that the law and the prophets are well summed up in one word, love God and man. But never let us sanction the saying, it would ruin the seed of Abraham, keep back the kingdom of God, and " destroy our usefulness." Thus went it at Jerusalem. The new word was "Blasphemy," the new prophet an " Infidel," "beside himself, had a devil." But at Galilee, things took a shape somewhat different; one which blind guides could not foresee. The common people, not knowing the law, counted him a prophet come up from the dead, and heard him gladly. Yes, thousands of men, and women also, with hearts in their bosoms, gathered in the field, and pressed about him in the city and the desert place, forgetful of hunger and thirst, and were fed to the full with his words, words so deep that a child could understand them; James and John leave all to follow him who had the word of eternal life; and when that young carpenter asks Peter, "Who sayest thou that I am?" it has been revealed to that poor unlettered fisherman, not by flesh and blood, but by the word of the Lord, and he can say, "Thou art the Christ the son of the living God." The Pharisee went his way, and preached a doctrine that he knew was false; the fisherman also went his way; but which went to the flesh and the devil? We cannot tell, no man can tell, the feelings which the large free doctrines of absolute religion awakened when heard for the first time. There must have been many a Simeon waiting for the consolation; many a Mary longing for the better part; many a soul in cabins and cottages and stately dwellings, that caught glimpses of the same truth, as God's light shone through some crevice which piety made in the wall prejudice and superstition had built up betwixt man and God; men who scarce dared to trust that revelation- too good to be true" such was their awe of Moses, their reverence for the priest. To them the word of Jesus must have sounded divine; like the music of their home sung out in the sky, and heard in a distant land, beguiling toil of its weariness, pain of its sting, affliction of despair. There must have been men, sick of forms which had lost their meaning, pained with the open secret of sacerdotal hypocrisy, hungering and thirsting after the truth, yet whom error, and prejudice, and priestcraft had blinded so that they dare not think as men, nor look on the sun-light God shed upon the mind. In a recent work of L. F. Tasistro-"Random Shots and Southern Breezes”—is a description of a slave auction at New Orleans, at which the auctioneer recommends the woman on the stand as a good Christian! A CHRISTIAN SLAVE. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. A Christian-going, gone! My God! Can such things be? In that sad victim, then, |