Mrs. Whittelsey's Magazine for Mothers and Daughters

THE BENEFITS OF BAPTISM

BY REV. WM. BANNARD

Son.—Father, how do you reconcile the distinction which the apostle Paul makes in 1 Cor. 7:14, between children as "holy" and "unclean," with the fact that all the descendants of Adam inherit a corrupt nature?

Father.—The distinction is not moral, but federal or ecclesiastical. The apostle is speaking, you perceive, of the children of believers and unbelievers. The one, he says, are "holy," the other "unclean." But he does not mean by this that the children of pious parents are by nature different from others, or that, unlike them, they are not tainted with evil. He means that they stand in a different relation to God and his church. "Holy," in Scripture, means primarily "set apart or consecrated to a sacred use." Thus, the temple at Jerusalem, its altar, vessels and priests, were holy. The Jews themselves, as a people, were in covenant with God. They belonged to him, were set apart to his service, and in this sense "holy." Now, the apostle is to be understood as teaching that children of believing parents, under the Gospel, are allowed to participate in this heritage of God's ancient people, and hence are holy.

Son.—But how can this be?

Father.—I will tell you, briefly, though I cannot now go into detail. In virtue, then, of their parents' faith in God's covenant, into which he entered with Abraham, and through him with all believing parents, their children, also, are brought into covenant with him and entitled to its privileges and blessings. They are set apart and given to him by their parents when they are sealed with the seal of his covenant in baptism. In this manner, and in this sense, they become "holy."

Son.—In what sense are all others "unclean?"

Father.—The children of unbelievers are "unclean" because they sustain no such relation to God. They have not been consecrated to him by their parents' faith in offering them to him in the ordinance of baptism, and are not interested, therefore, in the provisions or benefits of the Abrahamic covenant. They have, moreover, no special relation to the church; no more title to its immunities, deeper interest in its regards, than the children of the heathen. They may, indeed, when they reach a suitable age, hear the Gospel, and upon repentance and faith, be admitted to its ordinances, but they have no special claim upon its care, or right to its prayers and nurture.

Son.—But, after all, is not this relation one of mere name or form? Has it any positive or practical benefits?

Father.—It is, indeed, too often disregarded, yet it is positive in its character and fraught with striking benefits. If you will give me your attention I will state a few of the benefits which accrue to children from this relation. You, then, my son, and all children of believing parents who have been consecrated to God in baptism, are considered as thereby belonging to Him. You are set apart to his service, in a sense that others are not, and consequently are "holy." In this solemn dedication, your parents professed their faith in the triune God, and their desire that you should be his servants. They took him to be your God according to the terms of his covenant; they desired that you might be engrafted into Christ, and claimed for you the promise of the Holy Spirit to regenerate and sanctify you. Now this, in itself, is an unspeakable blessing. On their part it was an act of faith and obedience. In compliance with the divine direction, they claimed for themselves and for you a privilege which has been the birthright of the church in all ages. They commended you in the most solemn manner to God—the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, a covenant-keeping God, who is rich in mercy, infinite in resources, and who has promised "to be a God to thee and to thy seed after thee." It is an unspeakable blessing to be thus placed under his protection, to be brought within the bonds of his covenant, and to be entitled to that pledge of mercy which he has made "unto thousands of them that love him and keep his commandments." If it were a privilege for children to be brought to Christ to receive his blessing while he was on earth, equally is it a privilege to be brought to him now that he is exalted to the majesty on high, and "able," as then, "to save unto the uttermost." Though God has a regard for all his creatures, both his word and providence assure us he has a special interest in his people. His language is, "Jacob have I loved, and Israel have I chosen." His elect are those in whom he delights. Their names are in his book of life. "All things" are overruled for their good. They are regarded with more than maternal tenderness, for though a mother forget her infant child, God will not forget his people. And in this affection their children share. Repeated instances are given in which the offspring of believers, though wicked, were spared for the sake of their parents. The descendants of David were not utterly banished from the throne for generations, for their father's sake. Of Israel it was said, when oppressed for their sins by Hazael, King of Syria, "the Lord had compassion and respect unto them, because of his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and would not destroy them, neither cast he them from his presence as yet." Even since they have rejected and crucified their Messiah, there is a remnant of them left, according to the election of grace, who are "beloved for their father's sake." The children of the covenant do unquestionably receive manifold temporal and spiritual mercies, and to this more than anything else on earth, it may be, they are indebted for their present and eternal well-being. They are not forgotten when those who bore them to God's altar, and dedicated them to him in faith, have passed away. When father or mother forsake, or are called from them, the Lord shall take them up. Though they stray from the fold of the good Shepherd, and seem to wander beyond the reach of mercy, often, very often, does His grace reclaim and make them the monuments of his forgiving love. This covenant-relation is indeed one whose benefits we cannot here fully estimate, for they can be known only when the secret dealings of God are revealed, and we are permitted to trace their bearing upon an eternal destiny. They do not secure salvation in every instance, but who shall say they would not obtain even that blessing were they never perverted, and were parent and children alike faithful to the responsibilities they involve?

Son.—These are, indeed, great benefits, but are there any other?

Father.—Yes; besides sustaining this marked and honored relation to God, the baptized sustain a different relation to his church from that of others. They are members of the visible church. Their names are enrolled among God's preferred people. They have a place in the sanctuary of which David sung, "How amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord of hosts." Nor is this relation without its benefits. They are brought thereby within the supervision and nurture of the church. They become the subjects of her care, instruction and discipline. In addition to household privileges, to the prayers, examples and labors of pious parents, they have a special claim to the prayers and efforts of the church. They are remembered as "the sons and daughters of Zion." "For them the public prayer is made." They can be interceded for not only as needing the grace of God, but as authorized to expect it in virtue of their covenant with him. With all faith and hope may they be brought to the throne of mercy as those of whom God has said, "I will be their God." They may claim, too, as they ought to receive, a special solicitude on the part of ministers, officers and members of the church, in their instruction, and in the tender interest which those of the same body should feel in each other. They are to be watched over, sought out and cared for in private and in public; to be borne with in their weakness and reclaimed in their wanderings. They are "Lambs" of the flock, dear to the good Shepherd, and to be loved and labored for, therefore, for his sake. Though they become openly wicked it is not beyond the province of the church to rebuke them for their sins, warn them of their danger, and by all the moral means in her power to seek for their reformation. And these considerations are fraught with benefit. It was the lament of one of old, a lament that may be taken up by numbers in our day—"No man careth for my soul." But the church does care for the souls of her baptized children. She recognizes them as within her pale, provides in her standards for their nurture, and though not faultless in her treatment of them, she does seek their improvement, through the influence of her ministers, and by urging upon parents their responsibility.—There is in these facts, moreover, a tendency to draw them to the church, to bring them within hearing of the Gospel and within the scope of its ordinances. They will be attracted to the sanctuary of their fathers and attached to the faith and worship of those among whom they have been solemnly dedicated to God. How often in after years do we in fact see them coming themselves and esteeming it a privilege to bring their own children to receive, as they have received, the seal of the covenant!—The baptized are, further, candidates for all the immunities of Christ's house. They may come to the Lord's table as soon as they have attained to the requisite knowledge and piety. It is a distinguished honor, and exalted privilege, to be a guest at Christ's table, to partake of that feast which is a type of the marriage supper of the Lamb, and to this they are invited whenever they are ready publicly to avow their faith and love as his professed disciples. They are for the present excluded, as children in their minority are forbidden to exercise the rights of citizens; or rather in virtue of their power to discipline, as well as instruct, the officers of the church may exclude them, like other unworthy members, from the communion. But it is the aim and desire of the church that they may speedily acquire the knowledge, faith and godliness that shall qualify them for this delightful service.—Now, all this is happy in its tendency and beneficial in its effects. It is a high honor to sustain a covenant relation to God, and to be favored with the peculiar regard of his people. It is a privilege to stand in a different relation to the church of Christ from that of a mere heathen, and to share in the kind offices and be objects of the prayers of those who are "the excellent of the earth," and whose intercession availeth much. It is a blessing to be under influences adapted to counteract the power of an evil heart and an evil world, and thus be made meet for the glories of Christ's kingdom. And though the baptized may be, in fact often are, insensible to these benefits, they do in themselves constitute their choicest mercies. If valued and improved, they will become effectual for their salvation. And should they be brought ultimately to share in the blessings of this covenant, they will praise God for the agency it exerted, and adore the wisdom and beneficence of its arrangements.

Original

THE WASTED GIFT; OR, "JUST A MINUTE."

"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might."—Ecclesiastes 9:10.

"Dear mother," said little Emily Manvers, as she turned over the leaves of an elegant annual which she had just received, "Is not uncle Albert very kind to send me this beautiful book? I wonder sometimes that he gives me such costly presents, but I suppose it is because he sees me so careful of my gifts."

Mrs. Manvers smiled. "That speech sounds rather egotistic, my dear. Do you really think you are such a very careful little girl?"

"I am sure, mother," replied Emily, coloring slightly, "that I take more care of my things than many other girls I know. There is my wax doll, I have had three years, and she is not even soiled; and that handsome paint-box uncle gave me a year ago this Christmas, is in as good order as ever, though I have used it a great deal; there is not one paint lost or broken, and the brushes and crayons are all safe and perfect."

"That is as it should be, my daughter," returned Mrs. Manvers, "for even in small things, we should use our gifts as not abusing them; but what will you say when I tell you that you possess a treasure of inestimable value, which you often misuse sadly, and neglect most heedlessly,—a gift that properly employed will procure wonderful privileges, but which I sometimes fear you will never learn to value until you are about to lose it forever."

"Why, mother, what can you mean!" exclaimed Emily, in astonishment. "It can't be that costly fan cousin Henry sent me from India, that was broken when I laid it down just a minute, instead of putting it immediately away, or do you mean my pet dove that I sometimes have not a minute's time to feed in the morning; you cannot surely think that I will let it starve."

"No, Emily," answered the mother, "it is something far more precious than either, although by your own admission you have two gifts of which you are not at all careful. But I fear that if I tell you what the treasure is, I shall fail in making you see clearly how much you misuse it; I will therefore keep a little memorandum of your neglect and ill-usage of it for one week, and that I hope will make you more careful in future. I will begin on Monday, as to-morrow, being the Sabbath, I have this gift of yours more under my immediate care."

Emily wondered very much what this wonderful treasure could be that she used so badly, and puzzled her brain the whole evening in guessing, but her mother told her to have patience, and in a week she would find out.

Emily Manvers was a kind, amiable little girl, between ten and eleven years old; she was dutiful and obedient, but had an evil habit of procrastination, which her mother had tried in vain to overcome. It was always "time enough" with Emily to do everything, and consequently her lessons were frequently imperfect, and her wardrobe in a sad state, as Mrs. Manvers insisted upon her daughter sewing on strings, and hooks and eyes, when they were wanting, thus endeavoring to instill early habits of neatness. "Put not off till to-morrow what should be done to-day," was a copy the little girl frequently wrote, but she never allowed its meaning to sink into her heart. It was this truth which her mother hoped now to teach her.

On Monday morning, Emily jumped up as soon as her mother called her, and seated herself on a low stool to put on her shoes and stockings; there was a story book lying upon the table, and as her eyes fell on it, she began to think over all the stories it contained, (some of them quite silly ones, I am sorry to say,) and pulling her night-dress over her feet, sat thinking about worse than nothing, until her mother opened the bed-room door, and exclaimed in surprise,

"What! not dressed yet, Emily! It is full fifteen minutes since I called you."

"I will be dressed directly, mother," said she, jumping up quite ashamed, and she hurriedly put on her clothes, brushed her hair and prepared for breakfast.

After breakfast she had to look over her lessons, but remembering her mother's remarks, she stole a few minutes to feed her doves, and then hurried to school afraid of being late. On her return home in the afternoon, her mother told her to mend her gloves, which she had torn. Emily went to her work-basket, but could not find her thimble.

"Where can my thimble be?" she cried, after looking two or three minutes for it. "Oh, I remember now; I left it on the window sill," and off she ran to get it.

She was gone some time, and on her return her mother asked, "Couldn't you find your thimble, Emily?"

"Yes, mamma, but James and George were flying their kites, so I stopped just a minute to look at them. I will sit down now."

She opened her work-box and took out a needle, then looking about said,

"Why, where is my cotton spool? I left it on the chair a minute ago."

She moved the chairs, turned up the hearth-rug, and tumbled over her work-box in vain; the cotton could not be found. Presently she espied puss, under the sofa, busily employed tossing something about with her paw.

"Oh, you naughty kitty, you have got my spool," cried Emily, as she stooped down and caught hold of the thread which puss had entangled about the sofa legs; but kitty was in a playful mood and would not give up the cotton-spool at once, so Emily amused herself playing with the cat and thread for some time longer. At last, she remembered her gloves, and sitting down mended them in a few moments.

Had Emily's mother told her that she looked at her watch when the little girl first went for the thimble, and that she had passed exactly three-quarters of an hour in idleness, she would not have credited it.

After a while Mrs. Manvers sent Emily up stairs to get something for her. She stayed so long that her mother called, "Emily, what keeps you so?"

"Nothing, mamma; I stopped just a minute to look at my new sash, it is so pretty."

Ten minutes more were added to the wasted time. The next day Emily came home from school without any ticket for punctuality.

"How is this?" asked the mother; "you started from home in good time?"

"Yes, mother," returned the little girl, "but I stopped just a minute to speak to Sarah Randall, and I know our school-clock must be wrong, for it was half-past nine by it when I went in."

Mrs. Manvers took the trouble to walk around to the school and compare her watch with the clock; they agreed exactly, and thus she found her daughter had wasted half an hour that morning.

"Do you know your lessons, Emily?" she asked, after her return, as the little girl had been sitting for more than an hour with her books upon her lap.

"Not quite, mother."

"Have you been studying all the time, my dear?"

"Pretty near; there was a man beating his horse dreadfully, and I just looked out of the window a minute."

Mrs. Manvers smiled, and yet sighed, for she knew that Emily had spent half an hour humming a tune and gazing idly from the window upon the passers by.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Original

A CHILD'S READING

In this day of books, when so many pens are at work writing for children, and when so many combine instruction with entertainment, every family should be, to some extent, a reading family. Books have become indispensable; they are a kind of daily food; and we take for granted that no parent who reads this Magazine neglects to provide aliment of this nature for his family. How many leisure hours may thus be turned to profitable account! How many useful ideas and salutary impressions may thus be gained which will never be lost! If any family does not know the pleasure and the benefit of such employment of a leisure hour, we advise them to make the experiment forthwith. The district library, the Sabbath-school or village library in almost every town afford the facilities necessary for the experiment. But my object is not so much to induce any to form the taste for reading, for who, now a-days, does not read? nor is it to write a dissertation on the pleasures and advantages of reading; but simply to suggest a few plain hints upon the subject matter and the manner of reading.

And, in the first place, the parent should know what his child reads. The book is the companion or teacher. Parent, would you receive into your family a playmate or a teacher of whose tastes and habits and moral character you were ignorant? Would you admit them for one day in such a capacity without having previously ascertained as far as possible their qualifications for such an intimate relationship to your child? But remember that the book has great influence. It puts a great many thoughts into the mind of the young reader, to form its tastes and make lasting impressions; and how can you be indifferent to this matter, when our land is flooded with so many vicious and contaminating books; when they come, like the frogs of Egypt, into every house and bed-chamber, and even into the houses of the servants! A single book may ruin your child! You yourself may not be proof against evil thoughts and corrupt principles. Look well, then, to the thoughts that come into your child's mind from such a companion or teacher of your child as a printed book, having perhaps all the fascination of a story or a romance. And, besides, there are so many volumes that are tried and proved, and acceptable to all, that there can be no excuse for admitting into your family any which are even of a doubtful character. And do not merely exercise supervision over the books which come to you and ask admission. Avail yourself of the best means of information, and choose the best books; I mean those best adapted to your purpose. Do not get too many, but make a choice selection. Judge whether your child can comprehend what you put into its hand; whether it is fitted to convey instruction, or wholesome entertainment, or right moral impressions. If it can do neither of these, it will be either an idle or a vicious companion for your child, and you should exclude it at once.

But, furthermore, see in what manner the book is read. Draw out the thoughts of your child upon it; ascertain whether it has been read understandingly and is remembered. In this way you will strengthen the power of attention and of memory and judgment, and exercise also the power of language, by drawing out an expression of thought. In this way reading will be doubly interesting, and will be an invigorating exercise without overloading and clogging all the powers of thought.

But, one thing more: Is your child inclined to pore over its books too much? Be careful, lest its mind be over-stimulated at the expense of the body. Many a child is at this hour undermining its physical constitution by reading in the house, when it should be playing out of doors, or using its muscular system in some kind of domestic employment. Beware of any cause which shall induce a sickly precocity or a hotbed mental growth. Let no partiality for mental prodigies induce you to make physical invalids. The sacrifice is too great; seek rather a healthy and complete development of the whole child, watching each power as it unfolds, and training all for the most efficient fulfillment of the practical duties of life.