And larks rose up, to heaven streaming, 'Where did ye leave our Hetman brave?' 'Where by Kilia's fair city the tomb stands high, On the Turkish line doth our Hetman lie.' "The following lines present a popular picture of a battle-field in that Ukraine where the air breathes sorrow.' "The field in darkness lay, A Cossack there did ride; Up the mountain's rugged side. And he spake to the mountain, 'O high mountain say, Wherefore didst thou not burn at the breaking of day?' 'OI did not burn that day, But when the morning rose I boil'd with blood. Ha! mountain say, Was it blood of friends or foes?' 'O fast ran the torrent of that red flood, And 'twas Cossack half mingled with Polish blood.' "The next Duma shows us a Cossack dying on the field of battle, and needs no comment to illustrate the train of feeling in the warrior's mind, to which it introduces us: "The wind is sighing, the grass makes moan, His drooping head rests on a stone; His sable steed is standing near, And at his head an eagle gray; His claws he twists in the Cossack's hair, The warrior spake to the eagle gray; Go, speak to my mother dear of me, And, eagle, now mark what thou must tell, His meed might have been a royal hand, 'O sister mine, gather the sand of the plain, When the sand shall spring up like the grass of the plain, Let thy mother's hands wash thy long hair!' CHRISTIAN PENITENCE. Meek were the accents-soft and slow, WHEN Peter wept bitterly, he started anew on his heavenward journey. Repentance is the first step of the moral offender towards virtue. Its tears, like softening showers, mellow the soil of the heart, which nourishes and renders productive the seed of truth. It is not more the order of Providence than of the sinner's constitution, that sorrow shall go before joy. For this reason angels exult in our godly sorrow. They have no pleasure in our misery. They seek, by unwearied ministrations, to promote our good and increase our sum of happiness. Yet Christ himself assures us that "there is joy among the angels over one sinner that repenteth." There should be joy; for repentance is the way to faith, faith is the way to Christ, and Christ is the way to heaven. The circumstances related in the last chapter laid the foundation for repentance. And as judgment begins at the house of God, Mr. Flitwood was the first to see and lament his error. On parting with him what could "The next Duma exhibits the Cossack leaving his I do less for a Christian friend than admonish him of home for the battle-field, and well portrays the hard-his offense, and exhort him to personal humiliation on ships of his condition. It may be considered as a prototype of many others, and is probably very ancient. The style is more allegoric, and the transitions more frequent, abrupt and bold, than is usually the case "The storm shakes the forest, and fierce winds are striving, Thick gloom overshadows the plain; The mother her son from his youth's home is driving'Away my son, turn not again- Hence! let the Turks take their prey.' 'O mother the Turks are right friendly to me, With a gift of fleet horses I welcome shall be.' account of it? He had not considered. "How is it possible," said he, "that I could so overlook the inevitable and obvious tendency of my example!" The confession and self-reproach might have been expected from a well trained disciple in the school of Christ. He wondered at his own blindness; yet mark the difference between him and Mrs. Standish. If blind, he was not incorrigible. A word-the gentlest hint, convinced and subdued him. And then his confessions flowed like rivers. How was it with Mrs. The storm shakes the forest, and the fierce winds are striving; Standish? She defied all admonition. When met in Thick gloom overshadows the plain; The mother her son from his youth's home is driving, 'Away, my son! turn not again; Let the fierce Tartars seize on their prey.' 'O mother, the Tartars are friendly to me. One sister brings his steed from stall, Another his arms proffered then; But weeping said his sister small, 'Say, brother, when wilt thou come back again?' her career of wild apostasy, and urged to pause and live, she answered with self-complacency, and affirmed her own uprightness. Nothing could check, convince, or save her. She held on her way, and waxed stronger and stronger. The reader will remember that I declined giving my advice until I had taken time to consider. It was agreed *Continued from page 154. me. DISAPPOINTMENT. CHAPTER VI. THE RECANTATION. Gentle her voice and tremulous its tones, While meek humility her folly owns. 187 that I should defer it till the following day. I spent || the discovery, that cleaving to the world is an adhesion most of the intervening period in efforts to devise a to its god; that pleasure pursued out of Christ and out plan for Mr. Flitwood's relief. But invention failed of the Holy Spirit, is pursued in the direction of despair. As the time drew near I became extremely anxious. When we met, therefore, I was gratified to learn that Mrs. Flitwood was unhappy, and was prosecuting her preparation for Mrs. Gaulette's party with fitful hesitation. I found that of her own accord she had introduced the subject to her husband, informing him that she wished to visit at Mrs. Gaulette's with a select company, and soliciting his approbation, if not his presence which she greatly desired. He answered with gentleness: Mrs. Flitwood was surprised. Wayward as she was, she looked upon her husband as the purest of mankind. If she reproached him, it was for being too good. She looked upon him as differing from other mortals-not merely by accident or by grace, but originally and radically. She considered him divested of all gross affections; and with nothing earthly to care for, waiting like Enoch, amidst scenes of sweet seren "My dear, it grieves my very heart to seem averse to any associations which can contribute to your enjoyment. But anxiety for your happiness has already car-ity, for translation into glory. ried me too far. I have violated conscience, and am pained at the remembrance." "Surely," she replied with some sharpness, "it was of your own free will that you attended the splendid party at my father's. You cannot charge it to my account." Inexperienced as she was, she could not at first comprehend the import of his grief. She would not trace it to any fault or error of his own. His confession did not warrant it. What had he done? The circumstance alluded to could not, she conceived, cause him so much sorrow. She saw that many Christians allowed themselves an unreserved communion with the fashionable world; and conscience did not trouble them. She overlooked the declaration of our Lord, Many shall say in that day, have we not prophesied in thy name, and in thy name cast out devils? then will I profess to them I never knew you. She did not consider that these reputed Christians were the diseased of the Church, infecting other members, impairing its vigor and its beauty, and rendering the betrothed of Jesus Christ a suspected and wanton bride. Nor did she perceive that the world was made easy in its neglect of Jesus Christ, when, to ascertain who were his disciples, men must look, not at their lives for the fruits of the Spirit, but at the Church register on which their names were entered. "No, no," he replied, "not at all. Do not mistake me. The blame is wholly mine. My wounds are self-inflicted, but not on that account less painful; and had I wounded only myself, it might be borne. But the wrong affects you. How can I ever again have a face to admonish you as to the interests of your soul. Alas!" he exclaimed with irrepressible grief, “alas, that I should have crowned my efforts to win you to Christ, by such an act of folly and sinfulness! I shall no more say to you, refrain. No, my dear, act your pleasure. I cannot utter nay. I dare not suggest again the vanity of the world, and the solid comforts of religion. I know both; but I have robbed myself of the privilege of testifying. I am a silenced witness. Henceforth I shall lie in the dust, and plead with God to undo what I have done-to save you from Such were the majority of Christians with whom injuries which I have inflicted on your soul! But I Mrs. Flitwood was acquainted. But such was not her cannot go with you. You see my brokenness of husband. He felt within, the power of Christian life, heart-you witness this agony, and you will in pity and he expressed it by his actions. He sought his excuse my again mingling with the world on any ac-pleasures in religion. He was so much more self-sacricount. Try me in a way which shall involve mere earthly sacrifices, and see what my love will do and suffer to make you happy." This appeal, by its manner as well as by its sentiment, wrought deeply on the feelings of Mrs. Flitwood. She began to address soothing words to her husband. But she knew not the nature of his wounds, nor the ointment which alone could heal them. She was ignorant of the Gospel balm, and of the great Physician. She could only insist that "he had done no harm; that the pleasures he had so slightly participated were innocent; and that he had no cause for this extreme grief." So blind is the world to Christian duty-so ignorant of Christian privilege! It cannot be convinced that the love of the world is as truly irreligious as robbery or murder; and that to mingle with the world is to love it. Some professors can scarcely be convinced. How many at last will be confounded by ficing than other Christians, and so much more happy than they appeared to be, that Mrs. Flitwood believed him past repentance, and especially such repentance as his present sorrow indicated. Repentance is She mistook the Christian character. one of its strongest features. True, the believer's repentance is not distrustful and death-working. It is wholesome and confiding. Yet it is repentance, and he would not forego it. It has luxuries. The happiest hours of holy men are softened by it. None ever get above it. We may ascend the mount of regeneration-the mount of faith-the mount of love, but on their loftiest summits we shall find no soil barren of repentance-no region elevated above its sheltering clouds and grateful showers. Our earthly graces are mere buds and blossoms, and are most beautiful and fragrant when wet with drops of generous sorrow. these buds of grace become the fruits of glory, and they Let can bear the constant sunshine. Then they will be || his knowledge of Mrs. Flitwood's weakness, he could treasured in a tearless heaven. not think her in much danger. Her sorrow seemed so deep and her purpose so sincere, that he smothered all misgivings. What then was his surprise to find that one half hour served to re-reform his wife! It was so. Mrs. Standish left her in possession of her former views and feelings, and more than ever bent to thwart and grieve her husband. Misconceiving as she did, no wonder Mrs. Flitwood came to the conclusion that these tears were shed for her. Of this, on reflection, she became almost certain, and it moved her exceedingly. She relented. Her husband saw it, and began to indulge the most grateful expectations. His hopes did not seem unwarranted. She retired a few minutes to give vent to her emotions; then returned, and sitting by his side, proceeded to make a full statement and recantation of her pledge. The reader will wish to know what restored her so suddenly to a state of moral stubbornness. It was not any direct appeal from Mrs. Standish, for her conversation ran wholly on religion. She recounted the recent triumphs of her faith, the fullness of her comforts, and described her hopes, so firm and bright as to leave her almost nothing to desire. She rejoiced that while religion was so precious, and held out its treasures to This proves the power of religion; and shows that duty is sound policy. It also proves that open contrition can do something to counteract the social influence of our backslidings. Peter's oaths and curses may have hardened many hearts; but his tears have softened more. We glance at his denial; but we dwell in tear-her, she could still enjoy the world. One she held in ful and penitent meditation on his relentings, his confession, and his fidelity in after life. this hand and the other in that, while the delights of both were subject to her fruition. She thanked her heavenly Father for provisions adapted to all her wants of soul and body-of her solitary and social states. She thanked him for his Spirit, to teach her how to Mr. Flitwood had offended; but he was docile under the admonitions of friendship, and the warnings of God's Spirit. He did not mourn in secret. Unvailing his sorrow to his wife, she was smitten to the heart.use and not abuse these gifts. She thanked him that If she reformed, he was the instrument; if not, he had cleared his skirts. CHAPTER VII. THE WORSE ESTATE. "And with rash thought and tongue he cries, Whether an oath to do wickedly should be kept or broken, has been questioned. Some say that if the sin be worse than perjury, the vow should be violated; if otherwise, observed. For in circumstances which render offense in some form inevitable, we should at least sin as little as may be. This is plausible. But some objections lie against it. If I vow to commit murder, the rule requires me not to do it, but rather forswear myself. But if I vow to steal, it forbids retraction, because larceny is not so flagrant as the violation of my oath. Suppose, then, I am bound by oath to steal a horse next August. Two months will intervene. During the time I am smitten by conviction, and desire to seek pardon. What course must I pursue in relation to my oath? If I resolve to execute it, I cannot find pardon, because a purpose to sin prevents forgiveness. Is there no way to avoid the difficulty? Certainly there is. Give up the oath and cry to God for mercy. For the swearing, though wrong, is already past, and on repentance will be pardoned. The inference is that an oath to do wrong ought not to be observed. he allowed her so many indulgences adapted to the necessities of her frail nature. Such was the spirit of her homily. Whatever was the aim of this conversation, its effect on Mrs. Flitwood was disastrous. It was a Satanic incantation, and roused all the evil energies of her nature. The amiable sorrow which just now threw the softened shades of beauty over her fair features, gave place to graceless obduracy; and the hue of moral loveliness yielded to an expression of coarse rigidity. Mr. Flitwood saw it, and hope was quenched in despair. He might well be discouraged. Human nature is bad enough at best; but when we aim at self-defilement, and strive to aggravate our guilt, we are a spectacle to angels and to God. We were made for glorious purposes, and may ascend to heaven; but moral liberty was essential to natures so ennobled, and possessing it we may plunge ourselves to hell. Mrs. Flitwood was in danger. She had purposed reformation; but quenching the Holy Spirit, she had unlocked her heart to Satan. He entered and re-possessed it, and her last state was worse than the first. CHAPTER VIII. THE CHASTISEMENT. 'Midst stirring hopes and startling fears That gild or gloom our opening years, Omniscience notes our ways and wiles, And as we walk he frowns or smiles. These successive changes in Mrs. Flitwood's feelings It was right for Mrs. Flitwood to change her purpose. She had said that death alone should prevent her vis-occurred the evening after her husband's first call upon iting Mrs. G. Though this was not an oath, it was a rash and sinful promise. But she had now revoked it. Well for her had she remained steadfast. While sitting by her husband and making her confession, Mrs. Standish was announced. Mr. Flitwood withdrew, and left the ladies to unrestrained communion. It was to him an anxious crisis. But with all me. The next morning she was silent; but when he left her, she seemed more subdued in manner, and his hopes began to be revived. They had two lovely children, who were taken ill during the night. In the morning the physician pronounced their sickness scarlet fever, which was prevailing in the neighborhood. Mrs. Gaulette's party was to be on Wednesday even TO HENRIETTA. worse.' 189 "But if I do not go," said Mrs. Flitwood, "it will be ing. It was now Friday morning. As the result of || exclaim, "Dead!" Mrs. Standish turned and said, "I our deliberations, it was agreed that my family should fear, my dear madam, we shall be disappointed. A call at Mr. Flitwood's that very afternoon, and that messenger brings us word that the children are much my wife should use the influence acquired by long intimacy to dissuade Mrs. Flitwood from her purpose. The call was made. Whether fortunately or unfor-yielding the point." tunately, we met Mrs. Standish. She remained to the last, and with obvious anxiety watched the movements of all parties. No opportunity offered to approach Mrs. Flitwood confidentially, and we left her as we found her. Wednesday morning brought a message from Mr. Flitwood to my wife, informing her that the eldest child was dangerously ill, and soliciting an early call. She went without delay. On approaching the house what was her surprise to meet Mrs. Flitwood and Mrs. Standish sallying forth, apparently for a morning ride. She gave them a hasty salutation, and proceeded to the chamber of sickness. Two physicians were present, who, after consultation, pronounced one of the children beyond relief. Mr. Flitwood was there, anxious, pale and sorrowful, watching the dying child, and with a mother's love, bestowing upon it the most tender and unwearied attentions. The little one was almost speechless. She was five years of age. Her eyes moved continually this way and that; and we could not mistake the gesture; for whenever she could utter one short syllable, she called in feeble accents for her mother. Her grandma was present, striving to fill the place of her absent daughter; but she was embarrassed. Her features revealed the deep impress of sorrow, and gushing tears confirmed the testimony. When the physicians withdrew, Mr. Flitwood invited my wife aside, and informed her that Mrs. Flitwood had gone to spend the day with Mrs. Standish, and from thence would accompany her to Mrs. Gaulette's. "What! and not return?" "And not return. She is persuaded," continued he, "that the children are slightly ill. She believes that the physicians have conspired with me to rob her of the pleasures of the evening; and she has declared that unless her child should be a corpse, she will go to Mrs. Gaulette's. I deem it best not to follow her with any more persuasions. We must leave results to Provi dence." All this was remarkable, in that Mrs. Flitwood was a most devoted mother. She idolized, her children; and she loved them still, as much as ever. Sin can rob the soul of natural affection; but Mrs. Flitwood had not yet reached such a state. Her credulity had been so wrought upon by Mrs. Standish, that she thought her child slightly ill, and the report of the physicians intended to deceive her. She knew not what was coming. At eight o'clock that evening, as Mrs. Flitwood and Mrs. Standish were entering the carriage which waited to convey them to Mrs. Gaulette's, the latter was checked by her husband, who drew her aside and spoke with her in an under tone. Mrs. Flitwood heard her "My daughter," said a well known voice, "your little Jane is in heaven!" It was her father. Her eyes grew dim, and she sunk, insensible, to the earth. They placed her in the carriage which was to have borne her to the halls of mirth, and in a few minutes she lay, half conscious, near the corpses of her two dead children, as pale as the clay of either. The end had come. She had tempted God, and how bitter were the fruits! She was smitten indeed-not by the loss of children, but because they died invoking the name of mother, and she was not there. Hers was a riven heart, and none but Christ could have healed the deadly wound! H. Original. TO HENRIETTA. BY HENRY E. MORRILL, M. D. Suggested by seeing in her Album a beautiful engraving of a little girl, who, having gathered some flowers, sits weeping near the grave of her father. LIFT up thy head, dear child; let not the sigh O Grave! how rich thy mansions are! This is a sombre theme. My mournful muse, To nature's noblest manliness. Aye, more: There is a world "where death no treasur'd tie Of life eternal, fears no coming ill. So live, that when thy soul, released from earth, Joins the great congregation of the dead, Thy grave, fraught with the dearest sympathies, May prove a spot where friends shall kindly meet, To think of one, whose name, like odors pure Of gathered flowers, emits a sweet perfume. Madison, O., April 7, 1841. Hail, then, ethereal realms of bliss! We would your silent voice obey, Your varying-changing light maintains.* "It may be easier suggested in words, than conceived of in imagination, what variety of illumination two suns-a red and a green, or a yellow and a blue one-must afford a planet circulating about either; and what charming contrasts and "grateful vicissitudes"—a red and a green day, for instance, alternating with a white one and with darkness-might arise from the presence or absence of one or the other, or both above the horizon." HERSCHEL. We'd love to mark the silent course Which your majestic steps pursue; Bound each to each by heavenly bands, Resistless, though concealed from view. But more we'd love to gain a place Upon some heavenly rampart high; Thence, with some high commission charg'd, His power and glory thus displayed, But boundless void and endless night! The suns of systems which we pass, Should light the broad, ethereal way; And guide our course 'mid countless realms, Where Fancy's wildest thoughts ne'er stray. And thus, while endless years roll round, And mind remains unchanged and free, We'd still delight to view, and learn The wondrous works of Deity. Lane Theological Seminary, May, 1841. 170 Original. THE PUPIL'S DEATH. BY MISS M. B. BAKER. HER voice was as sweet as the young rose's breath, Like the young tree of forest, laid low by the blast, They'll miss her sweet voice 'mid the glad tones of mirth, They'll miss her bright smile by the light of the hearth; |