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MOTHERS NEED THE BAPTISM OF THE HOLY GHOST
At one period of my life, during a revival of religion, God led me by his Spirit to see and feel that the many years I had been a professed follower of Christ—which had been years of alternate revivings and backslidings, had only resulted in dishonor to Him and condemnation to my own soul. True, I had many times thought I had great enjoyment in the service of God, and was ever strict in all the outward observances of religion. But my heart was not fixed, and my affections were easily turned aside and fastened upon minor objects. In connection with this humiliating view of my past life, a deep sense of my responsibilities as a mother, having children old enough to give themselves to God, and still unreconciled to him, weighed me to the earth.
I plainly saw that God could not consistently convert them while I lived so inconsistent a life. I felt that if they were lost I was responsible. I gave myself to seek the Lord with all my heart, by fasting and prayer. One day, in conversation with my dear pastor, I told him my trials, and he said to me, "What you want is a baptism of the Holy Ghost. Give yourself up to seek this richest of all blessings." I did so—and rested not until this glorious grace was mine. Then, oh how precious was Jesus to my soul! How perfectly easy was it now to deny myself and follow Christ!
I now knew what it was to be led by the constraining love of Jesus, and to do those things that please him. Then it was that he verified to me his precious promise, "If ye keep my commandments, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you." Very shortly, one of my dear loved ones was brought to make an entire surrender of herself to Christ.
I trust I was also made the instrument of good to others, who professed to submit their hearts to my precious Savior. Will not many more be induced to take God at his word and believe him when he says, "Then shall ye find me, when ye shall search for me with all your hearts"?
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EXTRAVAGANCE
The following paragraphs, which we have met in the course of our reading, contain a great deal of truth worthy the consideration of our readers.
Extravagance in living.—"One cannot wonder that the times occasionally get hard," said a venerable citizen the other day, "when one sees the way in which people live and ladies dress." We thought there was a great deal of truth in what the old gentleman said. Houses at from five hundred to a thousand dollars rent, brocades at three dollars a yard, bonnets at twenty, and shawls, and cloaks, &c., from fifty dollars up, are enough to embarrass any community that indulges in such extravagances as Americans do. For it is not only the families of realized wealth, who could afford it, that spend money in this way, but those who are yet laboring to make a fortune, and who, by the chances of trade, may fail of this desirable result. Everybody wishes to live, now-a-days, as if already rich. The wives and daughters of men, not worth two thousand a-year, dress as rich nearly as those of men worth ten or twenty thousand. The young, too, begin where their parents left off. Extravagance, in a word, is piled on extravagance, till
"Alps o'er Alps arise."
The folly of this is apparent. The sums thus lavished go for mere show, and neither refine the mind nor improve the heart. They gratify vanity, that is all. By the practice of a wise economy, most families might, in time, entitle themselves to such luxuries; and then indulgence in them would not be so reprehensible. If there are two men, each making a clear two thousand a-year, and one lays by a thousand at interest, while the other spends his entire income, the first will have acquired a fortune in sixteen years, sufficient to yield him an income equal to his accustomed expenses, while the other will be as poor as when he started in life. And so of larger sums. In fine, any man, by living on half of what he annually makes, be it more or less, can, before he is forty, acquire enough, and have it invested in good securities, to live for the rest of his life in the style in which he has been living all along. Yet how few do it! But what prevents? Extravagance! extravagance! and again extravagance!
Wives and carpets.—In the selection of a carpet, you should always prefer one with small figures, for the two webs, of which the fabric consists, are always more closely interwoven than in carpeting where large figures are wrought. "There is a good deal of true philosophy in this," says one, "that will apply to matters widely different from the selection of carpets. A man commits a sad mistake when he selects a wife that cuts too large a figure on the green carpet of life—in other words, makes much display. The attractions fade out—the web of life becomes weak—and all the gay figures, that seemed so charming at first, disappear like summer flowers in autumn. This is what makes the bachelors, or some of them. The wives of the present day wish to cut too large a figure in the carpet of life."
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EVERY PRAYER SHOULD BE OFFERED UP IN THE NAME OF JESUS
Through Him alone have we access with boldness to the throne of grace. He is our advocate with the Father. When the believer appears before God in secret, the Savior appears also: for he "ever liveth to make intercession for us." He hath not only directed us to call upon his Father as "Our Father," and to ask him to supply our daily need, and to forgive our trespasses; but hath graciously assured us, that "whatsoever (we) shall ask in his name, he will do it, that the Father may be glorified in the Son."—(John 14:13.) And saith (verse 14), "If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it." And again (John 15:23, 24), "Verily, verily, I say unto you, whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name he will give it you. Hitherto ye have asked nothing in my name; ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full."
All needful blessings suited to our various situations and circumstances in this mortal life, all that will be necessary for us in the hour of death, and all that can minister to our felicity in a world of glory, hath he graciously promised, and given us a command to ask for, in his name. And what is this but to plead, when praying to our heavenly Father, that Jesus hath sent us; and to ask and expect the blessings for his sake alone?
H. More.
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THE MOTHERS OF THE BIBLE
BATHSHEBA
A summons from the king! What can it mean? What can he know of her? She is, indeed, the wife of one of his "mighty men," but though he highly esteems her husband, he can have no interest in her. She meditates. Her cheek pales. Can he have heard evil tidings from the distant city of the Ammonites, and would he break kindly to her news of her husband's death? It cannot be. Why should he do this for her more than for hundreds of others in like trouble? Again, she ponders, and now a crimson hue mounts to her temples—her fatal beauty! Away with the thought—it is shame to dwell upon it—would she wrong by so foul a suspicion the Lord's anointed? She wearies herself with surmises, and all in vain. But there is the command, and she must be gone. The king's will is absolute. Whatever that summons imports, "dumb acquiescence" is her only part. She goes forth in her youth, beauty and happiness—she returns—
Weeks pass, and behold another message, but this time it is the king who receives, and Bathsheba who sends. What is signified in those few words from a woman's hand, that can so unnerve him who "has his ten thousands slain"? It is now his turn to tremble and look pale. Yet a little while, and he, the man after God's own heart, the chosen ruler of his people—the idol of the nation, shall be proclaimed guilty of a heinous and abominable crime, and shall, according to the laws of the land, be subjected to an ignominious death. He ponders now. Would he had thought of all this before, but it is too late. The consequences of his ungoverned passion stare him in the face and well nigh overwhelm him. Something must be done, and that speedily. He cannot have it thus. He has begun to fall, and the enemy of souls, is, as ever, at hand to suggest the second false and ruinous step.
Another summons. A messenger from the king to Joab. "Send me Uriah the Hittite." It is peremptory; no reasons are given, and Joab does as he is bidden. Unsuspecting as loyal, Uriah hastens on his way, mindful only of duty, and is soon in the presence of his royal master, who, always kind, is now remarkably attentive to his wants and thoughtful of his interests. He inquires for the commander of his forces and of the war and how the people fare, and it would almost seem had recalled him only to speak kindly to him and manifest his regard for the army, though he had not himself led them to battle.
But though unsuspecting and deceived, the high-minded and faithful soldier cannot even unwittingly be made to answer the end for which he has been summoned, and after two days he returns to Joab, bearing a letter, of whose terrible contents he little dreams and is happy in his ignorance.
Meantime Bathsheba has heard of his arrival in Jerusalem, and is momentarily expecting his appearance. Alas! that she should dread his coming. Alas! that she should shudder at every sound of approaching footsteps. How fearful is the change which has come over her since last she looked on his loved face! He is her husband still, and she, she is his lawful loving wife. Never was he so dear to her as now. Never did his noble character so win her admiration, as she contemplates all the scenes of her wedded life and reviews the evidences of it in the past. How happy they have been! What bliss has been hers in the enjoyment of his esteem and affection! She is even now to him, in his absence, the one object of tender regard and constant thought. She knows how fondly he dwells on her love, and how precious to him is the beauty which first won him to her side. She is the "ewe lamb which he has nourished, which has drank from his own cup and lain in his bosom"—she is his all. He has been long away; the dangers of the battle field have surrounded him, and now he is returned, alive, well; her heart bounds, she cannot wait till she shall see him; yet how can she meet him? Ah! fatal remembrance, how bitterly it has recalled her from her vision of delight. It is not true! it cannot be true! it is but a horrible dream! Her heart is true? She would at any moment have died for him. The entire devotion of her warm nature is his. She had no willing part in that revolting crime. Oh! must she suffer as if she had been an unfaithful wife? Must she endure the anguish of seeing him turn coldly from her in some future day? Must she now meet him and have all her joy marred by that hateful secret? Must she take part in deceiving him, in imposing upon him—him, the noble, magnanimous, pure-minded husband? Oh, wretched one! was ever sorrow like hers?
The day passes, and the night, and he comes not. Can he have suspected the truth? Slowly the tedious hours go by, while she endures the racking tortures of suspense. The third day dawns, and with it come tidings that he has returned to Rabbah, and his words of whole-souled devotion to his duty and his God are repeated in her ears.—Faint not yet, strong heart; a far more bitter cup is in store for thee.
Bathsheba is again a wife, the wife of a king, and in her arms lies her first-born son. Terrible was the tempest which burst over her head, and her heart will never again know aught of the serene, untroubled happiness which once she knew. The storm has indeed lulled, but she sees the clouds gathering new blackness, and her stricken spirit shrinks and faints with foreboding fears. The little innocent being which she holds fondly to her bosom, which seemed sent from heaven to heal her wounds, lies panting in the grasp of fierce disease. She has sent for the king, and together they look upon the suffering one. Full well he knows, that miserable man, what mean those moans and piteous signs of distress, and what they betoken. He gazes on the wan, anguished features of his wife as she bends over her child; his thoughts revert hurriedly to her surpassing beauty when first he saw her—a vision of the murdered Uriah flits before him—the three victims of his guilt and the message of Nathan, which he has just received—the stern words, "Thou art the man," bring a full and realizing sense of the depth to which he has fallen, and overwhelmed with remorse and wretchedness, he leaves the chamber to give vent to his grief, to fast and weep and pray, in the vain hope of averting the threatened judgment.
Seven days of alternate hope and fear, of watching and care have fled, and Bathsheba is childless. Another wave has rolled over her. God grant it be the last. Surely she has drained the cup of sorrow. She sits solitary and sad, bowed down with her weight of woes; her thoughts following ever the same weary track; direful images present to her imagination; her frame racked and trembling; the heavens clothed in sackcloth, and life for ever divested of happiness and delight. The king enters and seats himself beside her. And if Bathsheba is changed, David is also from henceforth an altered man. "Broken in spirit by the consciousness of his deep sinfulness, humbled in the eyes of his subjects and his influence with them weakened by their knowledge of his crimes; even his authority in his own household, and his claim to the reverence of his sons, relaxed by his loss of character;" filled also with fearful anticipations of the future, which is shadowed by the dark prophecy of Nathan—he is from this time wholly unlike what he has been in former days. "The balance of his character is broken. Still he is pious—but even his piety takes an altered aspect. Alas for him! The bird which once rose to heights unattained before by mortal pinion, filling the air with its joyful songs, now lies with maimed wing upon the ground, pouring forth its doleful cries to God." He has scarcely begun to descend the declivity of life, yet he appears infirm and old. He is as one who goes down to the grave mourning. Thus does he seem to Bathsheba as he sits before her. But there is more in David thus humble, contrite and smitten, to win her sympathy and even love, than there was in David the absolute, and so far as she was concerned, tyrannical monarch, though surrounded with splendors, the favorite of God and man. A few days since had he assayed the part of comforter, she would have felt her heart revolt; but now repentant and forgiven, though not unpunished by Jehovah, she can listen without bitterness while he speaks of the mercy of the Lord which has suffered them both to live, though the law could have required their death, and which sustains even while it chastises.
Another message—by the hand of the prophet to David and Bathsheba—a message of peace and tender consideration—a name for their new-born child, the gift to them from his own hand. "Call him Jedediah—beloved of the Lord."
"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."' In his dealings with his sinful children how far are his ways above the ways of men! "As the heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy toward them that fear him." He dealeth not with them after their sins—he rewardeth them not according to their iniquities, but knowing their frame—remembering that they are dust—that a breath of temptation will carry them away—pitying them with a most tender compassion, he deals with them according to the everlasting and abounding and long-suffering love of his own mighty heart. Whenever those who have known him best, to whom he has manifested his grace most richly, whom he has blessed with most abundant privileges, fall, in some evil hour, and without reason, upon the slightest cause, bring dishonor on his name and give occasion to his enemies to blaspheme, and incur his just judgment, behold how he treats them. Upon the first sign of contrition, the first acknowledgment "I have sinned," how prompt, how free, how full is the response, "The Lord also hath put away thy sin, thou shalt not die." No lingering resentment—no selfish reminding of his wounded honor—no thoughts but of love, warm and tender, self-forgetting love and pity for his sorrowing child. Even when he must resort to chastisement, "his strange work"—when he must for his great name's sake, raise up for David evil out of his own house—when he must, before the sun and before all Israel, show his displeasure at sin; with one hand he applies the rod, and with the other pours into the bleeding heart the balm of consolation, so pure, so free, that his children almost feel that they could never have understood his goodness but for the need of his severity. When, notwithstanding the earnest prayer of the father, he smites the child of his shame, how soon does he return with a better gift—a son of peace, who shall remind him only of days of contrition and the favor of God—a Jedediah, who shall ever be a daily witness to his forgiving love.
And to those who suffer innocently from the crimes of others, how tender are the compassions of our heavenly Father. To the injured, afflicted Bathsheba is given the honor of being the mother of Israel's wisest, most mighty and renowned king; and she is, by father and son, by the prophet of the Lord, by the aspirant to the throne, and by all around her, ever approached with that deference and confidence which her truly dignified character and gentle virtues, not less than her high station, demand. And while not a word of reproach is permitted to be left on record against her, on that monument of which we have before spoken, among mighty and worthy names, destined to stand where many of earth's wisest and greatest are forgotten, with the progenitors of our Lord and Savior, is inscribed hers "who was the wife of Urias."
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FEMALE EDUCATION
BY REV. S.W. FISHER
The second and special object of education, is the preparation of youth for the particular sphere of action to which he designs to devote his life. It may seem at first, that this general education of which I have already spoken, as it is most comprehensive and reaches to the highest range of subjects, so it should be the only style of training for an immortal mind. If we regarded man simply as spiritual and immortal, this might be true; but when we descend to the practical realities of life; when we behold him in a mixed nature, on one side touching the earth, on the other surveying the heavens, his bodily nature having its necessities as well as his spiritual, we find ourselves limited in the manner of education and the pursuit of knowledge. The division of labor and of objects of pursuit is the natural result of these physical necessities in connection with the imperfection of the human mind and the constitution of civilized society.
This division of labor constitutes the starting point for the diverse training of men, and modifies, in part, all systems of instruction that cover childhood and youth. This is, at first, an education common to all. The general invigoration of the intellect, and the preparation of the mind for the grand, the highest object of life on which I first dwelt, embrace all the earliest years of youth. There are elements of power common to all men, and instruments of knowledge effective for both the general pursuits of a liberal education, and the limited pursuits of physical toil. The education of the nursery and school are equally useful to all. But when you advance much beyond this, far enough to enable the youth to fix upon his probable line of life, then the necessity of an early application to that pursuit at once modifies his course of education.
When we pass from the diverse professions into which the growth of civilized society has divided men, to the distinctions which exist between man and woman, we enter upon a still clearer department of our subject. The differences which are here to give character to education, are not incidental and temporary, but inherent and commensurate with life itself. The physical constitution of woman gives rise to her peculiar life. It determines alike her position in society and her sphere of labor.
In all ages and climes, celebrated by travelers, historians, poets, she stands forth as a being of better impulses and nobler affections than him, of whom she is the complement. That which is rugged in him, is tempered by softness in her; that which is strong in him, is weak in her; that which is fierce in him is mild in her. Designed of God to complete the cycle of human life, and through a twofold being present a perfect Adam, she is thus no less different from man than essential to his perfection. Her nature at once introduces her into a peculiar sphere of action. Soon, maternal cares rest upon her; her throne is above the family circle; her scepter of love and authority holds together the earliest and happiest elements of social life. To her come young minds for sympathy, for care, for instruction. Over that most wonderful process of development, when a young immortal is growing every day into new thoughts, emotions and habits, which are to abide with it for ever, she presides. By night she watches, by day she instructs. Her smile and her frown are the two strongest powers on earth, influencing human minds in the hour when influence stamps itself upon the heart in eternal characters. It is from this point of view, you behold the glorious purpose of that attractive form embosoming a heart enriched with so copious a treasure of all the sweetest elements of life. She is destined to fill a sphere of the noblest kind. In the course of her life, in the training of a household, her nature reveals an excellence in its adaptation to the purpose for which she is set apart, that signally illustrates the wisdom of God, while it attracts the homage of man. Scarcely a nobler position exists in the world than that of a truly Christian mother; surrounded by children grown up to maturity; moulded by her long discipline of instruction and affectionate authority into true-hearted, intelligent men and women; the ornament of society, the pillars of religion; looking up to her with a reverent affection that grows deeper with the passage of time; while she quietly waits the advent of death, in the assurance that, in these living representatives, her work will shine on for ages on earth, and her influence spread itself beyond the broadest calculation of human reason, when she has been gathered to the just.
How then are we to educate this being a little lower than the angels; this being thus separated from the rest of the world, and divided off, by the finger of God writing it upon her nature, to a peculiar and most noble office-work in society? It is not as a lawyer, to wrangle in courts; it is not as a clergyman, to preach in our pulpits; it is not as a physician, to live day and night in the saddle and sick room; it is not as a soldier, to go forth to battle; it is not as the mechanic, to lift the ponderous sledge, and sweat at the burning furnace; it is not as a farmer, to drive the team afield and up-turn the rich bosom of the earth. These arts and toils of manhood are foreign to her gentle nature, alien to her feeble constitution, and inconsistent with her own high office as the mother and primary educator of the race. If their pursuits are permitted to modify their education, so as to prepare them for a particular field of labor, proceeding upon the same supposition, it is equally just and appropriate, that her training should take its complexion from the sphere of life she is destined to fill. So far as it is best, education should be specific, it should have reference to her perfect qualification for her appropriate work. This work has two departments. The first, which is most limited, embraces the routine of housewifery and the management of the ordinary concerns of domestic life.
The second department of her duties, as it is the most important, so it must be regarded and exalted in an enlightened system of female education. It is as the centre of social influence; the genial power of domestic life; the soul of refinement; the clear, shining orb, beneath whose beams the germs of thought, feeling, and habit in the young immortal are to vegetate and grow to maturity; the ennobling companion of man, his light in darkness, his joy in sorrow, uniting her practical judgment with his speculative wisdom, her enthusiastic affection with his colder nature, her delicacy of taste and sentiment with his boldness, and so producing a happy mean, a whole character; natural, beautiful and strong; it is as filling these high offices that woman is to be regarded and treated in the attempt to educate her. The description of her sphere of life at once suggests the character of her training. Whatever in science, literature and art is best adapted to prepare her to fill this high position with greatest credit, and spread farthest around it her appropriate influence, belongs of right to her education. Her intellect is to be thoroughly disciplined, her judgment matured, her taste refined, her power of connected and just thought developed, and a love for knowledge imparted, so that she may possess the ability and the desire for future progress.
Who will say that this refiner of the world, this minister of the holiest and happiest influences to man, shall be condemned to the scantiest store of intellectual preparation for an entertainment so large and noble? Is it true that a happy ignorance is the best qualification for a woman's life; that in seeking to exalt the fathers and sons, we are to begin by the degradation of mothers and daughters? Is there anything in that life incompatible with the noblest education, or which such an education will not ennoble and adorn? We are not seeking in all this to make our daughters profound historians, poets, philosophers, linguists, authors. Success of this high character in these pursuits, is usually the result of an ardent devotion for years to some one of them, for which it is rarely a female has the requisite opportunities. But should they choose occasionally some particular walk of literature, and by the power of genius vivify and adorn it; should there be found here and there one with an intense enthusiasm for some high pursuit, combined with that patient toil which, associated with a vigorous intellect, is the well-spring of so many glorious streams of science, should not such a result of this enlarged education be hailed as the sign of its excellence, and rejoiced in as the proof of its power? The Mores, the Hemanses, the De Staels, and others among the immortal dead and the living, who compose that bright galaxy of female wit shining ever refulgent—have they added nothing to human life, and given no quick, upward impulse of the world? Besides, that system of education which, in occasional instances, uniting with a material of peculiar excellence, is sufficient to enkindle an orb whose light, passing far beyond the circle of home, shall shine upon a great assembly of minds, will only be powerful, in the multitude of cases, to impart that intellectual discipline, that refinement of thought, that power of expression, that sympathy with taste for knowledge, which will best prepare her for her position, and enable her in after life to carry forward her own improvement and that of her associated household.
The finest influence of such an education is the development of a character at once symmetrical, refined, vigorous, confident in its own resources, yet penetrated with a consciousness of its distance from the loftiest heights of power; a character which will be an ennobling life in a household, gently influencing others into quiet paths of excellence; to be felt rather than seen, to be understood rather in its results than admired for any manifest attainments in science; an intellect informed and active, in sympathy with what is known and read among men; able to bear its part in healthful discussions, yet not presuming to dictate its opinions; in the presence of which ignorance becomes enlightened and weakness strong; creating around its home an atmosphere of taste and intelligence, in which the rudest life loses some of its asperity, and the roughest toils much of their severity. Such is the form of female character we seek to create by so enlarged an education.
The education of the heart reaches deeper, and spreads its influence further than all things else. The intellect is only a beautiful piece of mechanism, until the affections pour into it their tremendous vitality, and send it forth in all directions instinct with power. When the "dry-light" of the understanding is penetrated by the liquid light of the emotions, it becomes both light and heat, powerful to vivify, quicken, and move all things. In woman, the scepter of her chief power springs from the affections. Endowed most richly with sensibility, with all the life of varied and vigorous impulse and deep affection, she needs to have early inwrought, through a powerful self-discipline, an entire command of her noble nature. There are few more incongruous and sadly affecting things than a woman of fine intellect and strong passions, without self-control or truly religious feeling. She is like a ship whose rudder is unhung; she is like a horse, rapid, high-spirited, untamed to the bridle; or, higher still, she is like a cherub fallen from its sphere of glory, with no attending seraph; without law, without the control of love, whose course no intelligence can anticipate and no wisdom guide. Religion seems to have in woman its most appropriate home. To her are appointed many hours of pain, of trial, of silent communion with her own thoughts. Separated, if she act the true woman, from many of the stirring scenes in which man mingles, she is admirably situated to nourish a life of love and faith within the circle of her own home. Debarred from the pursuits which furnish so quickening an excitement to the other sex, she either is confined to the routine of domestic life and the quiet society of a social circle, or devotes herself to those frivolous pleasures which enervate while they excite; which, like the inspiration of the wine-cup, are transient in their joy, but deep and lasting in their evil. But when religion enters her heart it opens a new and that the grandest array of objects. It imparts a new element of thought, a wonderful depth and earnestness of character. It elevates before her an ennobling object, and enlists her fine sensibilities, emotions and affections in its pursuit. Coming thus through religion into harmony with God, she ascends to the highest position a woman can occupy in this world.
