greater evil than to stir up such a host of evil passions as were now raging in Eugene's heart-if Form is better than Principle-it might have been the wisest. And now we will take our leave of Mr. Howard's family. We hope that Mrs. Howard will, before it is too late, see how fearfully she is failing to discharge a mother's duty; we hope that Cornelia may yet become an amiable, kind-hearted, and, consequently, a truly polite young lady; we hope that Eugene's fine traits of character will not be destroyed, or even marred, though he should grow up under the deleterious influences which are now about him. We hope, but we also fear. [To be concluded in the next number.] Written for the Mother's Assistant. THE MOTHER'S PARTING GIFT. BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. 'COME near, my little ones,' the mother said, 'Take my parting gift! And every morn and evening, from your hearts Pour the warm, gushing prayer. So shall He be Your Comforter and Guide, when I am laid In the cold grave, that God who was the stay Much they wondered why Yet, when morning came, Close by her couch; then pressed her whitened lip One long, cold kiss, upon their polished brows, And with a wondrous lustre in her eye, The last, bright sunbeam of a mother's love, High o'er the bondage of all earthly ties, Hartford, Ct., Oct., 1846. Written for the Mother's Assistant. PRAYING MOTHERS. BY REV. D. WISE. THERE is music, sweet as the strains of an angel's song, in the name of Mother. It has power to move the hardest heart and to call out responsive emotions from the most marble-like spirit. But sweeter far is that word when joined to another; when to the word 'mother' we prefix the term 'praying,' and repeat the phrase 'praying mother.' Oh! then, how overwhelming is the idea which it paints to the mind! A mother on her knees pouring forth the earnest love of her soul at the throne of the All-Powerful, and thus bringing to her aid the infinite love of God for the salvation of her child! If ever angels pause in their flights between our world and their own clime of light and beauty, to gaze with loving admiration on any earthly scene, it must be when they behold a mother on her knees. I had a mother who loved me tenderly as a mother without the religion of Christ could love a child. Honor to her beloved memory! But alas! she was not a praying mother. I never knew that sublime feeling which a child must know when a mother leads him to her quiet chamber, and with the soft eloquence of maternal affection, first points him to the cross of Christ, and then, with moistened eyes kneels over him, her soft hand laid upon his young head, and pours out the swellings of her soul for his conversion. I would, even now, give worlds could my mind fall back and linger on such a spot. How much of sinful wandering and of bitter experience it might have saved me, God alone can reveal; and how much of consolation it would have afforded me, now, that without her prayers, as by a miracle of mercy, I, as a brand, am plucked out of the fire, my pen refuses to tell! Oh! I could almost peril my own soul to be sure of that beloved mother's salvation. But there are many praying mothers who often pray in doubt. They do not see their prayers answered in a day. Their children walk on in the broad way and they often despair. This is wrong. A mother's prayers are not lost. that the child of a truly consistent praying mother perished! This is strong ground. But who ever knew the child of such a mother die unconverted? Nay, I believe has never yet I wish to present a fact for the encouragement of mothers. I heard it related by the gentleman who was chief actor in the occurrence, at a recent public meeting. He was at the time master of a merchant ship, which sailed out of Boston. When he was once on the eve of sailing, a woman brought him her son, a bright, active looking lad, — and wished to send him to sea. He consented to take the boy, and earnestly commending the spiritual interests of her child to the care of the captain, she left him on board. This excellent officer was a pious man. He was faithful to the mother's request, and, during the voyage, the lad became truly converted. On the return of the ship to Boston, just as they were taking in sail, this converted boy lost his hold and fell from the topmast to the deck. He was taken up by the captain apparently dead, and carried below. It seemed at first that there could be no hope of his recovery, for the height from which he fell was very great. But to their inexpressible surprise he soon opened his eyes and rose up unhurt! Why,' said the master, who loved him tenderly, who could scarcely believe the scene was a reality; 'how is this? Is it possible you are not hurt after such a fall?' 'Sir,' replied the boy, 'this is the hour when my mother prays for me, and I could not be killed while she was praying.' Beautiful reply! How illustrative is this whole fact of the potency of maternal prayer. It saved the soul and body of that dear boy. He felt it too. He had faith in his mother's prayers. Perhaps more than she, in her humility, had in herself. And her faith saved him. Pray on, then, ye mothers. Let nothing daunt you. Let nothing stop you. Besiege the throne of grace incessantly, and He who listens there will bring all his wisdom, love, and power to bear upon your child's heart. He will spare no efforts to place your children beside you in the beautiful world of glorious rest. Nantucket, Mass., Sept., 1846. When faithless Peter asked a sign, and not a sign was given, He learned that faith should ever trust, though clouds obscure the Heaven, If the warm sunshine be bestowed, or if it be denied. Miss Margaret E. Robinson. |