more successfully approaching calamities than Egypt's towering heights and pyramids. What could Pharaoh do with the Hebrew child? His mother, under God, had been his teacher; her first lesson was, trust in God, and following her example, he performed wonders. He knew a monarch's crown would not compare with the meek and quiet spirit which must deck his brow as he stood looking unto the recompense of reward. The mother had taught him to fear God, and thus she shed a halo of power around him that infidelity could not tarnish or dim. Her influence was felt when a nation devoted to destruction, received the message of pardon and repeal of the decree. The lofty mindedness of the eastern monarch softened as she dared to mould his sternness into feelings of mildness, she subdued him; and as the swift-winged messengers fled in every direction, her power, magic-like, transformed the character not only of the peasant, but the officers of state-sackcloth was exchanged for pure white and purple, and the soft-toned notes of the harp vibrated in unison where moans had fallen by thousands, but it stopped not there-it has been felt in every age and clime, from the cold barren regions that encircle the poles as they rear their ice-bound foreheads to the sunny glades and fertile plains of the equatorial vales. Classic Greece was formed under it, and a patriotic people have said, we dare not return to our homes without a victory. It has made a nation of soldiers, and, under God, it has, and will, make martyrs. If the patriarchs, prophets, and apostles have been awed into veneration, perseverance, humiliation, and patience, the ancient Greeks and Romans into patriotism, and courage, what was the language of the veteran pilgrim fathers? as they rushed from the Mayflower and placed their frail huts on New England's soil. It links earth to heaven. How responsible the mother. She can mould the tender mind as she pleases-point the aged homeward, and the youth to Shiloh's fount, while a thousand voices in heathen lands echo it from the highest summit to the lowest vale. The isles of the mighty deep know it, and as a nation we feel its potency; and would that every gale might waft anew its most healthful breezes, fanning and invigorating the mass of mind that is slumbering near the valley of stupor.

Original.

SCENES AT THE ALTAR.

By observing the lives of individuals a profitable source of entertainment is often found, and especially is it useful to the young. While minor events, in themselves considered, pass unheeded, the more prominent ones often make a lasting impression and consequently tend to transform the character of the observer. Important eras sustain an elevated seat in the heart and often sacred to the possessor. Where affections twine, the object is valued, and the clarion voice of fame seldom sounds the praise of the brightest gems.

The short and transient life of Mary B. has left all her image, and engraven its noble deeds upon the heart of the writer. So transient was it, that scarcely an earthly contamination was seen. I beheld her for the first time as the white-robed priest was solemnly supplicating the aid of the great I Am to guide and direct the picture of innocence through infantile years. Most ardently and devoutly did he pray that she might, when arrived at the years of accountability, ratify the covenant vow, and follow the steps of the Redeemer. The scene was fraught with interest. A lovely babe, garbed in emblems of innocence, held upon the arm of a young father, while the mother looked as if the aspirations of her heart were upward, and the venerable priest listened to by the attentive audience. The scene was fraught with interest to me, as it was the last Sabbath I was to spend in my native land, before visiting a foreign clime; and from this, deeply solicitous did I feel in her welfare. As I gazed at the beauteous babe, garbed in the never-fading emblem of innocence, the silent ejaculations of my heart mingled with those that flowed spontaneously from the attentive audience. They were heard in her behalf.

Days, weeks, months and years rolled on, and still 1 sojourned in a distant land. I viewed with inexpressible delight, the spots that antiquity hallows, and found beneath a foreign sky the precious boon of health, for which I had vainly sought in my native land. So completely had the excitement of a thousand varied sensations drowned past events, that the baptismal scene of little Mary had ceased to be remembered, except when ruminating on the past.

Time rolled on, and it was considered best to return. Having a prosperous voyage, through the infinite mercy of God I find myself within the hallowed walls of my long-absented church, and am seated within my once frequented pew, but ah! how vast the change. As I glanced at the assembly it would seem that a total reversion had taken place. Change seemed engraven upon every object. Many I could not recognize; those whom I left in the enjoyment of youth and health were bending beneath the accumulated burden of infirmity and age; and those whose whitened locks indicated that the sorrows of life were upon them, where, I asked, are they? But alas! the garb of mourning, which attired their friends, but too plainly assured me that their aged feet had passed over the rolling waves of Jordan. Time-what a solemn reality. It carries us onward without pausing, regardless of aught, and we heed not its rapidity, neither listen to the apostolic injunction, (time is short) till, borne almost to the spirit-land, we wake as from a dream, soon to launch into the unfathomable depth of Eternity.

But listen the name of Mary falls upon my ear, and my attention is arrested at the altar, where a lovely youth bends in an humble attitude to take the confirmation The ceremony proceeds, and she sacredly promises to renounce the world and

Vows.

And is this

Yes, it is the

lead a life of piety, and thus takes the Christian's character upon her. the being which, fifteen years since, I beheld but in helpless infancy? sainted Mary attired in the robes of Christian simplicity, her baptismal vows are being ratified, and she is founding all her hopes on the Rock of ages. Her countenance exhibits an indescribable degree of serenity, and she seems already to have caught the spirit of the just made perfect.

Time with unceasing rapidity, bears us nearer our eternal home. Years with their rapid strides continue their never-ceasing rounds, and again I am within the sanctuary, and again Mary is there, but not alone-the matrimonial ceremony is now being performed, and she stands beside her affianced at the marriage altar. She is slightly pale, yet ever and anon as the ceremony proceeds, a faint tinge of crimson crosses her beautiful cheek, like the reflections of a sunset cloud upon the clear waters of a lake. Her lover, as he clasped her hand within his own, gazed on her for a moment with unmingled admiration, and the warm eloquent blood shadowed at intervals his manly forehead, and melted into beauty on his lips. And thus they plighted their vows in the face of heaven, and every heart blessed them as they went their way rejoicing in their love.

Years steal on, with no abatement in their rapidity. The seasons have come, and gone, and the return of spring again has been welcomed, and at the present Nature lies in undisturbed repose, and its peaceful calm is in blessed unison with the hallowed feelings of the heart. It is a hallowed morn; the village spires glistening in the sunbeams; the deep-toned bells mingling in solemn harmony tell that man has not altogether forgotten the command of his Creator, but remembered the Sabbath, and hallowed it. On this lovely morning, I walked at the sound of those sweet and solemn bells, toward one of those sun-gilded domes. The majestic notes of the organ have died away; the sweet-toned symphonies of the chant have ceased, and the man of God has descended from the sacred desk, and waits at the solemn shrine of the baptismal fount. A footfall breaks the silence, and a light form approaches the altar: it is Mary. She has come to present her first-born upon the altar of Divine Truth, and dedicate to God the little treasure which has been entrusted to her care. It is a sweet and beauteous babe; and the mother seems to clasp it with a trembling arm, as if conscious of the frailty of so fair a bud; and as she gazed at its budding charms, her heart warmed with maternal affection, and she presses it closer with all of a mother's love. Ardent indeed were the aspirations that ascended from the secret chambers of her heart. She seems desirous of sacrificing all to God, even the little infant which she fondly loves; her countenance, and her heart too, would direct the eyes yet unsullied with the waters of contrition, to a bounteous Benefactor, and lift the little hands yet unstained with vice, in prayer to their Father who is in heaven. The flame of devotion kindles her pale blue eyes with unearthly radiance, and she prays: May no heinous sins be enshrined in the unoccupied sanctuary of the heart. May not this bud of life, so fair, so glowing, be torn from its parent stem. May no rude affliction scatter its opening leaves. Father of mercies, spare, oh! spare my child. And the prayer that mother offered grew more fervent, and deepened with intense and unutterable fondness, until it seemed that the tribute was accepted, and the infant blessed, by the great I Am.

I viewed the countenance of Mary as she departed from the sanctuary. Methought there was fearful paleness on her lip, and a deeper line of care perceptible on her brow. Alas! the hidden worm was then lurking within her breast. Already had he stolen the bloom from her cheeks, and chased the tint of the rose from her lips. Yes, it was so to be but once more was she beheld at that altar. Ah! how changed. The dark palled coffin now encloses her lifeless form; the shroud and winding sheet are her

:

habiliments; the mysterious shades of death have spread an ashy paleness over those features; those eyes are closed in their last long sleep; those lips seem compressed with the dying struggle; that forehead, where dwelt the goddess of innocence and beauty, is cold as marble; the musical tones of that voice are hushed and silenced for ever; and the hands are clasped in the icy embrace of the king of terrors.

And thus it was I beheld the once beautiful Mary B. at the same altar that had successively witnessed her baptism, her confirmation, her marriage, the baptism of her infant, and now her funeral. But a short time since, and how promising the future. Before her life opened its glorious vistas, spread its prismatic rainbow colorings, and now portentous shadowings skirted the morning of her happiness. But God, her Father, called, and she left this world in peace; and no doubt myriads of angelic legions conducted her pure spirit to the realms of bliss.

A sad and bleak autumn wind sighs a funeral requiem, and chants a death dirge as that solemn procession enters the village cemetery. Weeping friends stand around that newly made grave; and he, the loneliest of the sad, is there, and in the depths of his grief seems almost to have forgotten that God gave, and that it was He who had taken away. The sunset was flinging its last golden shadows on the long grass that mournfully waved over the newly broken sod, as the clergyman pronounced the solemn words, "dust to dust, ashes to ashes," until the resurrection morn.

********

THE LAST VOYAGE.

BY MRS. HARLAN.

I STAND on the brink!-the cold waters how dark-
How chilling the blast, and how shattered the bark-
How high swells the tide to the crumbling shore!
O, who shall conduct me these dark waters o'er!

Far over the deep foaming billows I see,
A region where triumph the happy and free;

And millions, who shuddered this cold stream to sail,
There rest, or roam safely on hill or in vale.

Who, when the frail bark rides the dangerous wave,
Shall gild the deep gloom, and the voyager save?

They tell me the smile of Messiah can cheer
These waves, and his voice stay the storm's dread career,
And that safe as when borne on a calm summer's sea,
Shall the frail, lonely bark in its last voyage be.

Then quickly I'll spread to the winds my poor sail,
And trust my worn bark to the waves and the gale;
For if Jesus presides o'er the wind and the tide,
I surely in triumph the billows shall ride.

And when I am landed on that happy shore,

Then, then, I shall cross these cold waters no more.