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all ought to feel greater interest than we have yet done in the cause of Christian Missions, and labour with increased earnestness and zeal, to hasten that time when all shall know the Lord.—
" Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
Doth his successive journies run;
THE BASKET AND PINCUSHION. AMELIA is a little girl who has some good qualities. She is careful to tell the truth. She is neat in her dress, and keeps all her books and playthings in good order. And when she is well pleased, she is gentle in her manners. But she makes herself very disagreeable by an ugly habit of finding fault. When she is being dressed she is always complaining that her clothes are too loose. If she gets a new bonnet, it is sure to come too far over the face; if a new frock, it is too high in the neck, or too plain in the make. Her teachers do not please her, they are too cross; and as to grammar, arithmetic, and music, when she finds any little difficulties in them, she exclaims, “ She does not see any use in learning them, she does not like them.” The weather often displeases her. It is too warm, or too cold; and if the fire happens to be low when she comes from school, she will say, “ There never is a good fire when I come home.” At church she is not pleased; the sermon is too long, or the minister uses too hard words, she cannot understand him.
Amelia's mother is dead, and she resides with her aunt, of whom she is very fond; but by her complaining, discontented spirit, she often pains her aunt.
She sometimes will even find fault with things before she has seen them, as in an instance which lately occurred: and as I am writing this account with a view to her improvement, I will relate the whole affair exactly as it happened. The aunt with whom Amelia lives has another niece named Susan, who resides with her parents near by, and the two girls are very intimate. A lady in the West Indies sent these two children, as tokens of her love, a basket and pin-cushion ornamented with shells. The letter, which accompanied them, arrived before the box containing the articles was taken out of the ship. It did not particularize which should have the basket, or which the pin-cushion ; and as they had not yet seen them, it was impossible to judge which was most desirable. After their aunt had read the letter to them, she took up her sewing, and the children, seating themselves in a distant part of the room, entered into a chat as to which was likely to be the prettiest article. No particular attention was paid to what they were saying by their aunt, until she heard Amelia warmly declaring, if she did not get the basket, she did not care who had the pin-cushion ; indeed, if it was given to her, she would throw it into the street. Her aunt, much surprised to hear her talking in that manner, said,
“ Amelia, is it possible you can speak of throwing away a present that has been sent you by a kind friend, even without seeing it ? Consider how ungrateful you are."
Amelia had worked herself into too bad a humour to be recalled even by the voice of her aunt, and answered,
“I do not want the pin-cushion, if I cannot have the basket.”
Her aunt then said, “ As the things were sent to my care, I had intended to give Amelia the first choice, as she is the eldest, but she has behaved so badly that choice is no longer hers. I will write on one slip of paper the word Basket, on another, Pin-cushion; you shall draw one, and whichever you draw that article shall be yours, and the other Susan's.”
To this plan Amelia made no objection, though she looked sullen ; while Susan said, with great propriety,
" Aunt, whichever Amelia draws, I will be satisfied with mine.”
" That is right, my dear child," said her aunt, “and I hope Amelia will become sensible how very foolish she is
to take a dislike to a thing before she sees it, and acknowledge that she has done wrong to be so ill-tempered about it.”
But Amelia was sulky, and made no such acknowledgment.
The next day a lady invited the two little girls to drink tea with her. Susan's mamma had received the invitation for them both, and Susan was the bearer of it to Amelia; but her aunt thought it was not right to allow Amelia to make a visit while she refused to confess her fault, and Susan went home much disappointed that she was not to have Amelia's company on the visit. She soon returned, bringing a note from her mamma, asking that Amelia might be forgiven, and allowed to accompany Susan.
" Amelia,” said her aunt, “ for my friend's sake I will forgive you and let you go out this afternoon, if you will confess that you did wrong yesterday.”
Amelia, without lifting her eyes from the book she was reading, said in a low voice, “I know you think I was wrong.”
“ I did not ask you what I thought," said her aunt, “I wish you to feel yourself that you were wrong."
“ But I do not feel it,” said Amelia, " and why should I say what is not true?”
“ Amelia,” said her aunt, “ take care that you do speak truth : I know you pride yourself on doing so, but look in my face now, and tell me if you think your conduct in this affair has been such as to please God.”
On this Amelia raised her eyes, and looking at her aunt, said, “I know very well He thought me wrong."
“ And yet you say you do not think yourself wrong, when you confess that you know very well God thought it wrong !-Go, Susan, and tell your mamma I cannot let Amelia go out with you, though I wished to. She is too naughty."
Susan went away much disappointed, and Amelia remained at home, looking cross and unhappy. After a while she took out her paint box and commenced colouring some pictures. All this time she was perfectly
sensible she had done wrong, but she would not humble herself frankly to confess it; and the more she reflected on it, the more plainly she saw that her conduct was foolish and sinful. I cannot tell all that passed in her mind, but I think that when she retired for the night, she prayed for a better spirit, for early in the morning she came to her aunt with a smiling face, saying, “I was wrong, I know I was, and I will now be quite satisfied if Susan gets the basket."
In a short time the box containing the presents arrived. When the basket and pin-cushion were taken out, they were found to be so nearly equal in beauty that it was difficult to decide which was the prettiest. The papers were written. Amelia drew the pin-cushion, which she now admired as much as she had before found fault with it; and Susan, who from the first would have been satisfied with either, ran home to show her mamma the basket.
LETTERS TO THE YOUNG.
NO. II.-HOME. MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS,-Last month I wrote you a Letter—the subject of which was yourselves—the object being to lead you to think and act so as to become wise, amiable, and pious. I hope, that the very many efforts made to do you good will have the blessing of God. I hope, that you will not allow them to fail of answering their end. It is a solemn thought, that idle, self-willed young persons, put it out of the power of their best friends to do them good. Young persons may have the best books put into their hands ; but they will do them no good unless they read them. They may have the best advice given to them; but it is useless unless they follow it. Medicine, 10 do a sick man good, must be taken. Food must be eaten before it can benefit us. The mind, also, must take in and follow instruction, or it is given in vain. I hope, however, that the readers of the Juvenile Companion are like the little busy bee
“Which gathers honey all the day,
From every opening flower.” I promised you that this Second Letter should be on Home. What a very charming word is that word Home ! Is there a heart in the world that does not bound at the sound of the word home? It brings up to the memory, of both old and young, the most pleasing ideas and associations. When Home is spoken or thought of, the dear faces of parents come before the mind's eye. The eyes of our dear mother looks into ours. We remember that father who sought, in so many ways, to promote our happiness. Brothers and sisters, with the many innocent gambols we have enjoyed together, start up. The house we live in, or used to live in, comes before our memory. It may not be either the largest or finest; but it has charms for our minds, such as no others have. If the roof be thatched and the rooms incommodious-still there is no house we should have so much difficulty to forget. The windows we looked out at-the table around which we have so often seen smiling faces—the fire-place where we have warmed ourselves--the chamber where we have knelt-and slept -each have their charms. Home! there the hand and voice of kindness have soothed us when ailing—there lessons of wisdom have been been imparted. There the sunshine of purest joy has often beamed upon our souls. Our brother's affection-our sister's kindness—our parents wisdom, are thought of in connexion with Home. Nor can we ever forget the blazing fire on the winter's night. “When winter comes to rule the varied year, sullen and sad,” with all his rising train, vapours, and clouds, and storms,-0, where can we find richer enjoyment than in the united family, sheltered from the driving storm in the peaceful dwelling. The tempest rages without, wrapt in black gloom, the wind whistles around the dwelling, and, O, how sublime is the mournful melody of its song! The snow beats fiercely against the windows, magnifying the warmth and comfort within by contrast with the desolation of the storm raging without. Who has not been constrained