M

HOUSEHOLD TREASURES.

HAT are they? gold and
silver,

Or what such ore can buy?
The pride of silken luxury;
Rich robes of Tyrian dye?
Guests that come thronging in
With lordly pomp and state?
Or thankless, liveried, serving-men,
To stand about the gate ?

Or are they daintiest meats,
Sent up on silver fine ?

Or golden-chased cups o'erbrimmed
With rich Falernian wine?
Or parchment setting forth

Broad lands our fathers held,
Parks for our deer, ponds for our fish,

And woods that may be felled?

No, no; they are not these! or else,
Heaven help the poor man's need!
Then, sitting 'mid his little ones,

He would be poor indeed!

They are not these! Our household wealth

Belongs not to degree;

It is the love within our souls-
The children at our knee!

My heart is filled with gladness
When I behold how fair,
How bright, are rich men's children,
With their golden clustering hair!

For I know 'midst countless treasure,
Gleaned from the east and west,
These living, loving human things
Are still the rich man's best!

But my heart o'erfloweth to mine
eyes,

And a prayer is on my tongue,
When I see the poor man's children,
The toiling though the young,
Gathering with sunburnt hands
The dusty wayside flowers!
Alas! that pastime symbolleth
Life's after, darker hours.

My heart o'erfloweth to mine eyes
When I see the poor man stand,
After his daily work is done,
With children by the hand;
And this he kisses tenderly;

And that sweet names doth call-
For I know he has no treasure
Like these dear children small!

Oh, children young, I bless ye,

Ye keep such love alive!
And the home can ne'er be desolate,
Where love has room to thrive !
Oh, precious household treasures,
Life's sweetest, holiest claim ;
The Saviour blessed ye while on
earth-

I bless ye in His name!

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.

A NARRATIVE OF FACTS.

WAS born in the village of D, and reared there by godly parents. My dear mother was a woman of more than ordinary piety, and my father was a sincerely devoted and exemplary Christian. I was as unworthy of such parents as those parents were deserving of the best of sons.

Of me it might justly be said, I "went astray " from the cradle. From my childhood up I wandered from God, till, when but a lad, I had become notorious for mischief and wickedness. My name was not only associated with the vile and abandoned, but stood first on their list. Often did my parents pray with me and for me; many were the instructions they imparted, the warnings, the admonitions, the entreaties, and the corrections I received; and many, too, the tears of sorrow and anxiety they

shed for me. But I was proof against all their efforts, and my heart continued hard and unmoved; and I longed for the time I should be of age, that I might have it in my power to leave my parents, and take my fill of sin, without restraint. Many were the plans I laid, and the schemes I formed, to get from under my parents' roof. At length, not because I was in love of a military life, but because it would at once deliver me from parental authority and restraint, I enlisted to be a soldier; and the more effectually to get rid of all and everything having the appearance of religion, or even the form of godliness, I enlisted for a regiment then stationed in the West Indies. Being the only son, and the only child, it was too much for the already broken heart of my tender mother to bear up under; and, praying for the unworthy child, she sank into the grave soon after my departure. My father's grief was equally severe, and with tears he entreated me to allow him to buy me off. But no; my hatred of religion, and perceiving no other way of escape from it, determined me to reject his kind offer. Oh, the mercy that could pity and pardon

a wretch like me!

On her knees, with tears my mother prayed me not to leave her. "Your father," said she, "will buy you off. Oh, my son, my only son, do not break your mother's heart, and draw down the curse of God upon your own head. Think of your precious soul; what must become of it, when you become a soldier!"

All in tears, my father sat in sad silence and beheld the scene. I felt I loved them; gladly would I have stayed at home-but their religion! It was their RELIGION, not them, I hated; and to get away from it, I resolved to go away from them.

My mother, still solicitous for my everlasting welfare, when she put up my clothes, hid a small Bible within the folds of one of my shirts. I did not find it till far out at sea, when, on changing my linen, it dropped out. When I saw the Bible I felt mad with rage, snatched it up, ran on deck, and cast it overboard as far as I could throw it.

When I joined my regiment in the West Indies, I cast off all restraints, and sinned with a high hand. The sins I there committed make me tremble and blush when I think of them. I feared not God, and regarded not future consequences. Nothing but grace worthy of God-grace free and sovereign-grace abounding to the chief of sinners, could have reached my case. Some, if they will, may boast their "work," but I must ever say, "Not by works of righteousness that I have done, but according to His mercy He saved me."

"Oh, to grace, how great a debtor!"

I had gone into the woods one day with my companions in sin, where we sought to hide our guilt from the eyes of men,

when the sound of distant "psalm singing" broke upon my ear. It was the first I had heard since I left my father's house. My attention was arrested; I stood still and listened, and thoughts, altogether different from any which had heretofore occupied my mind, laid hold upon it; and tears, astonishing to myself, ran from my eyes. "Home" stood before me. My heart melted. My father's prayers-my mother's-the grief and sorrow I had caused them-Sabbaths at home-family worship in my father's house-my sins, my heinous sins, against God, against my dear parents, against many youthful companions, and against my own soul-all came crowding upon my remembrance and heart, until I trembled in view of the wrath of Almighty God.

At first my companions mocked at my distress; but as my convictions and distress increased, they became frightened, and left me. When I recovered strength sufficient to rise for I had fallen to the earth-I walked as I could towards the place whence the sound proceeded, where I heard the voice of a preacher. It was a missionary preaching to a congregation of negroes. Unperceived, I lay under a bush, and listened to the remainder of the sermon, and heard also when they were again to meet for worship. It would be impossible to describe how my nights and days were passed till then. I had no Bible, nor was there in the regiment a man to whom I could reveal my distress, or apply for advice and instruction.

At the time appointed by the missionary, I was again hidden behind my bush. The sermon served only to call up to my view fresh guilt, and more terribly make manifest my exposure to the "wrath to come." As the messenger of God, it "found me out,” and cried to my heart, "Thou art the man!" For some time, despair and death were before me, and I refused to eat my bread. Awful, indeed, was the realisation I then experienced of that truth, "There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked." Thoughts of the past were dreadful, and I trembled at the prospect of the future.

My former companions now came about me in crowds, some coaxing me, others swearing at me, many laughing at me, but all mocking me. With much feeling, I reminded them of the fearful extent to which I had run in the ways of sin and folly; that they had prompted me on, and madly followed after; and that it was of the "Lord's mercy we were not consumed." I fearlessly made known to them the change which had taken place in my mind; and what would be the sad and everlasting consequences if we persisted in our wicked courses, and refused to repent and turn unto the Lord. The whole barracks now rang of the new "Methodist."

As a retreat from my persecutors, I now spent much of my time in the woods, under the bush where I first heard the missionary preaching, and, in my supplications to God, I prayed to be

directed where I might find a Bible. Judge of my surprise when, one day, on coming to my bush, I found under it a new Bible! Overcome with joy, I fell upon my knees, thanking and praising God for the gift. Hearing some one approach, I looked up, and, to my great joy, saw the missionary. He informed me that, on a previous occasion, while waiting for his congregation, he overheard me praying to God to direct me where I might obtain a Bible; he had, therefore, brought me one. I received from him such instruction and advice as encouraged and somewhat comforted my drooping and disconsolate spirit. He also prayed with me, and pointed me to that one only remedy for my guilty soulthe precious blood of Christ. In my Bible I read that Jesus, the sinless One, had borne the punishment due to the sinner, and that I might come, just as I was, and receive the forgiveness of all my sins, "without money and without price."

Now the great questions were-"What shall I render unto the Lord ?" 66 Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?" "How can I best glorify Thy great name, and do others good?" For this purpose I commenced, evening after evening, reading my Bible in the barracks. This was met by great opposition. To drown my voice, some sung songs, others cursed and swore, and many laughed and mocked; a few, however, night after night, gathered around me, and listened with attention to the word of God; nor did they hear, I hope, in vain.

For some time I suffered greatly for my religion. But in the Lord I had a Friend sticking closer than a brother, and making "His grace sufficient for me," till by steadfast, unflinching perseverance, I put persecution to shame-I might say to an end. Finding that neither their frowns nor threats could terrify, nor their smiles allure me, the Lord assisting me to speak His word with all boldness, they let me alone. Indeed, so completely did persecution cease that, while some appeared to fear me, I found almost all ready to do me a kindness.

Such had become the happy state of things when the regiment received orders to return home. We were soon embarked, and when we reached our native country, I sought and obtained leave of absence to visit my father.

Filled with deep contrition, but full of hope, I hastened home to my native village. At last I reached it. I had not proceeded far up the street, when I met a funeral; and, recognising a near relative walking by the head of the coffin as "chief mourner," I inquired whose funeral it was, and was told, alas, that it was my father's! I turned about, and followed after it as I could. At the grave, I threw myself on his coffin, scarcely conscious what I did, or what I said. Those in attendance, not having before seen my military costume, and not suspecting but that I and my regiment were yet in the West Indies, were some time in recognising me; but no sooner did they, than I could hear it mur

mured around, "He has brought down their grey hairs with sorrow to the grave!"

Oh, that this accusation had been false! But, alas! it was too true. Mine was the guilt of the premature death of both my dear parents. And yet I, though "chief of sinners," can say, as Saul of Tarsus, "Yet I obtained mercy!"

"CAST THY BREAD UPON THE WATERS; FOR THOU SHALT FIND IT AFTER MANY DAYS. IN DUE SEASON WE SHALL REAP, IF WE FAINT NOT."

A CHEERFUL HOME.

SINGLE bitter word may disquiet an entire family for a whole day; one surly glance cast a gloom over the household; while a smile, like a gleam of sunshine, may light up the darkest and weariest hours. Like unexpected flowers which spring up along our path, full of freshness, fragrance, and beauty, so do kind words, and gentle acts, and sweet dispositions make glad the home where peace and blessing dwell. No matter how humble the abode, if it be thus garnished with grace, and sweetened with kindness and smiles, the heart will turn longingly towards it from all the tumults of the world; and home, if it be ever so homely, will be the dearest spot beneath the circuit of the

sun.

The

And the influences of home perpetuate themselves. gentle grace of the mother lives in the daughter long after her head is pillowed in the dust of death; and fatherly kindness finds its echo in the nobility and courtesy of sons who come to wear his mantle and to fill his place; while, on the other hand, from an unhappy, misgoverned, and disordered home go forth persons who shall make other homes miserable, and perpetuate the sourness and sadness, the contentions and strifes, and railings. which have made their own early lives so wretched and distorted.

Toward the cheerful home the children gather "as clouds and as doves to their windows," while from the home which is the abode of discontent, and strife, and trouble, they fly forth as vultures to rend their prey.

The class of men that disturb, and disorder, and distress the world are not those born and nurtured amid the hallowed influences of Christian homes; but rather those whose early life has been a scene of trouble and vexation-who have started wrong in the pilgrimage, and whose course is one of disaster to themselves and trouble to those around them.