of a Grecian mother, that, when Alexander the Great was passing in the crowd, with his tall helmet and waving plumes, she raised up her child above her head, and said to him, "Look there! that is Alexander the Great, and you must be another." We only point to the heathen mother, to teach you to take a high example; take the example of Jesus, and teach your child his blessed history, and say, "There, my child! be like Jesus; tread in the footsteps of Jesus."

Original.

THE HAPPY WIDOW.

ROCHESTER, January 1, 1844.

In the outskirts of our little village, there lived an aged Christian who had numbered nearly ninety years; whose history, I doubt not, would interest a large class of your readers. And for the sake of the widow and orphan, permit me to give you a brief sketch, though thankful should I be to possess the talent and materials to raise an imperishable monument to such a Biblereader and trusting widow. It was a lovely day in June last, that I entered her cottage; and although bent with years, yet her benignant face was illuminated with an eye of uncommon brilliance. I had seen her at the house of God, and occasionally met her at the social circle, and was well acquainted with her high reputation for piety, yet was not altogether prepared for the reply which she made to my first salutation, which was nearly this: "Mrs. L., you are near the end of your pilgrimage. How does the prospect appear to you?" "I have nothing," said she, "to speak of, but goodness and mercy in reviewing the past, and only gratitude and praise for the present. I have not now a wish in the world and I do not want to wish."

"Not a wish! and do not want to wish !” I looked round upon the neat cottage. Here were no elegancies-not even luxuries-not a carpet or sofa. All was

plain, neat, comfortable. "Your life has been one of great trial and sorrow, Mrs. L., how is it that you have arrived at this truly singular and enviable condition?" "It has indeed been one of severe discipline," she replied, "but oh, how merciful!

"When I was left a widow and the news arrived that my husband was no more, and our little property at once swept away on a foreign shore, my heart rebelled. It was more than I could bear to look at my six orphans, some of them mere infants, and think that their father was gone, and I wished then, that I was dead! I knew not Him who has since proved himself the God of the widow, but in that dark night He drew near and called me first to Himself and then bade me drink of the living waters which flow from His blessed word, and I should thirst no more." But this was not enough. He opened a way for me to feed and clothe children and keep them all with me. Year after year He sustained me, and I have seen my children grow up and fill useful stations in society-some of them are still better provided for. They hunger no more and thirst no more, but are with the Lamb before the throne.'

6

my

"And now why should I wish? I dare not, lest I desire something which might not please my Heavenly Father. I can think of no place in the wide universe' where I would not be happy, if His hand led me there. I desire Him to do just as He pleases with me. I would go now cheerfully, and often think as I turn into my little room, I should love to die all alone with God if it is his will-but if he pleases I can live on many years longer."

Well, thought I, such strains sound like heavenly music. She cannot be long separated from kindred spirits. And so the event proved. A few weeks more passed away, when an injury received from a severe fall laid her upon her bed to rise no more. During the few days of suffering allotted to her, she met every one who called, with a radiant smile, telling them, that "the Master had sent the joyful summons and she was hastening away!" "Ready to depart," she caught up the "louder, sweeter song" to "Him who loved her" as she passed through death's portals, and if heaven rejoiced to receive her, earth might well have wept to lose so much effectual prayer.

After her decease, I called to learn more of the particulars of this interesting Christian. Her daughter informed me, that "previous to the last fifteen years her mother's life had been one of great labor and care. It was only by untiring industry that she was enabled to provide for her family, and educate her children." Many testify to her unwearied exertions at the spinning-wheel, the loom, and the successive processes of cutting and making garments of her cloth; and then upon horseback take her bundle to a neighboring market to dispose of her hard-earned collection.

It was upon her first expedition of this kind, while the tear of sorrow and desolation bedewed her eye, that she entered the town, and by mistake found her way to the office of a philanthropist whose name is familiar to the sons and daughters of affliction, who are found in this land of the Pilgrims. Finding herself in the midst of gentlemen seated around a writing table, she apologised for the intrusion and was retiring, when the benevolent R, reading at a glance the lines of distress upon her countenance, accosted her with a friendly smile, inquired into the nature of her errand, purchased her garments, and bade her bring more! At once a powerful patron was, by the guiding eye of the Widow's God, provided to cheer her way and kindle hope in her desolate heart. But it was not the spinning-wheel, nor the loom, nor the patron, which lighted up the dwelling of that bereaved one. The Bible directed her to the light of the world. It poured out the living streams to refresh her fainting spirit and its toils.

From my window I see the lowly cottage which witnessed the labors and consolations of this mother in her early strife. I venerate its walls; for there the God of the widow met her, and wells of salvation sprung up in the desert! There, she learned the richness of her resources. Oh, ye desolate widows! Fear not. In your poverty there is wealth, if ye have but the spinningwheel, the loom and the Bible! Lift up your drooping heads, ye little orphans, if your mother has found for your necessities, the Father of the fatherless! Even 66 now, you shall hunger no more

and thirst no more!"

But the best is not yet told. The last fifteen years this care

worn mother was permitted to rest. She at once gave up all care into the hands of her daughter, and with her knitting-work, her Bible and her God, she learned a new lesson-an original and striking lesson in our world. She learned "not to wish for anything." There she discovered the grand secret, that there is not a place in God's universe where the soul can be unhappy, if He be there with his smile of love. There, too, she commenced

the song of the Redeemed.

She was a complete concordance. Her daughter assured me that no passage might be named that she could not immediately find, chapter and verse-and she daily enriched her family with the things she had handled of the word of life. Could that young widow have cast her eye forward to the glorious visions of her later pilgrimage, when tears were all wiped away and her rapt spirit seemed bathed in an ocean of love, how would she have blessed the rod. Widowed mothers with your orphans at your side, think of this widow, and let the remembrance lead you to become rich and mighty in the unfailing promises of the Bible! C. B.

Original.

MORAL POISONS.

UNDER this head, some months since, I took occasion to animadvert upon those works of taste, which, without distinctly avowing such an intention, inculcate dangerous views of religion, and tend to sap the foundations of virtue and purity. This class of poisons, I am firmly persuaded, is the most pernicious of all which Satan prepares in the shape of literature, for the immortal soul. But there is a second class, standing next in rank, perhaps, in regard to their influence upon morals, which claims attention scarcely less than that already noticed. I allude to the more respectable portion of those works, the object of which is

avowedly to strike the axe at the root of the religion of the Gospel.

I say the more respectable portion of these works-I mean those by the reading of which the moral and virtuous community would not consider themselves absolutely disgraced. It is never safe for the young, whose characters are unformed, whose judgments are immature, and who easily imbibe false impressions, to read them indiscriminately. It is not always enough that the antidote is administered, after such poison has been received. It is not enough that the child or youth is under the salutary influence of parental discipline, and is well instructed and indoctrinated in the Sabbath school and the sanctuary. The malignant infection once received, it may baffle the most industrious and zealous efforts of those who are interested in their spiritual welfare, to drive it from the system. Reasoning may not do it. The eloquence of a father or a mother is often ineffectual. The tender and affectionate words of a brother or sister, charming never so wisely, may fall powerless from the lips. The seeds of scepticism, or some one of the various forms of religious error, have been sown, and have already taken deep root in the soul, perhaps too deep to be eradicated; and thus the fondest hopes of a godly parent may be dashed to atoms. Oh, what a curse must rest upon the head of that man, who mixed the fatal draught, which has ruined the soul of this youth!

I know a young man-it was but a few weeks since I received a letter from him full of bitter lamentations respecting his spiritual state-whose early education had been under the happiest influence, who was blessed with the counsels of a godly mother, and the advantages of an efficient Sabbath school instruction, but who, in an evil hour, received the germ of scepticism into his mind through the pages of Voltaire and Tom Paine. He has long since repented that he ever came in contact with these contagious principles, but his repentance came too late. "Oh," he says, "Oh, that I might break loose from their influence! But alas! I cannot, I cannot !" He has enjoyed several seasons of religious revival; but the Spirit passed him by unblest. So strong