Imatges de pàgina
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contentment," rather than the "stalled ox and hatred therewith." Let the food be the most wholesome that the money will buy, and let its good not be turned to evil by the cookery. Draw up the great arm-chair for the old grandfather, and set the high-chair for the baby. Let each and all be decorously in their places, while the Giver of every gift is asked to be present at the feast. Then let cheerful conversation aid digestion. To the garret with the discontented and the disagreeable. Banish all that is unlovely, and let thankful enjoyment pervade the room till the last mouthful is eaten. Such a meal will be a means of grace to the soul as well as a means of refreshment to the body.

SYMPATHY.

YMPATHY is not only the power to feel with and for another, it is also the power to restrain selfishness, and repress all outward manifestations that would chill or wound the feelings of others. The gift of sympathy is one of the sweetest manifestations of love. The mother has it for her babe in a wonderful degree. Long before any eyes but hers can discern the expression in an infant face, she sees the light of intelligence kindling in the eyes, the smile dimpling the mouth. She hears the joyous "coo," soft breathing murmur of satisfaction, as plainly as the cry of impatience or of pain. God has implanted and hallowed the sensitive quick tenderness-the sympathy in the maternal heart.

But as no human emotion is perfect, this feeling requires both watchfulness and guidance, or it becomes mere idolatry or declines into indifference. The good of the object is the end that love aims at. So the mother does not cease to wash her child thoroughly, though the little creature dislikes it; she has to give the disagreeable medicine and to dress the painful sore with all firmness, while her heart is throbbing with pity. She must learn to say "No," and make her baby early understand and obey that hard little word. She must not yield to the cry of temper, nor allow the assaults of infant passion. In loving firmness she must rule from the time that her baby smiles up at her from the breast. Yes; loving firmness is true sympathy.

But there comes a time when children have outgrown the helplessness and the beauty of infancy; when they are frequently noisy and tiresome and self-assertive. Then, often, even with loving mothers, there is a decline in sympathy. Wearied with many trials, the mother is content to know that she loves her children, and does, as she says, her duty by them; but their plays and pursuits and companionship have no longer the hold they had

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on her. Now this should not be so. As human love is a far nobler thing than the mere animal affection dumb creatures show for their offspring, so it ought, if possible, to increase,-certainly not to decline,—as the child grows up.

I know a mother who is one of the neatest women I ever saw in all her household arrangements. Her children, when at dayschool, being promoted from pencil to pen-and-ink, had to write exercises at home in the evening. Their mother, fearing they might upset the ink, would not allow the use of it; and the result was, the boys made little progress at school, got dispirited and careless about their lessons, and if they could get away, misspent their evenings. Happily, a friend interposed; gave a word of praise to the boys for wishing to write at night; spoke of the value of good handwriting, and the need of practising it; and then the mother yielded. She was soon repaid by seeing the improvement and diligence of her boys,—a matter worth risking a few ink-spots to attain.

I once heard a poor woman who had to work very hard for her living, say to her little girl who had wanted to read to her: "Oh, don't bother me; I've no time to listen." It went to my heart to see the look of disappointment that clouded little Mary's face at this rebuff. The mother was not without love, but she lacked sympathy.

How different the incident recorded by the writer of an essay on the Sabbath, which the good Prince Consort allowed to be dedicated to him. The young woman who wrote it was the daughter of a working gardener,-one among a large family, and living far away from any school. The children scrambled into a little acquaintance with books; and she records that when her mother was busy washing, she used to sit on a little chair near and read aloud to her; and at night, when the father came home, both child and mother talked over with him the reading of the day. That was an education. Its result was that this child grew up, not only intelligent, but pious; and her essay was approved and thought worthy to be read by some of the best and wisest in the land. The father and mother in this home were Christians; they had learned sympathy from Him who said, "Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in Me."

When little Henry Kirke White first began to feel the promptings of the poetic faculty, he was a very shy, timid little boy of not more than seven years old; but he ventured to whisper to his mother, "I have made some verses; don't tell any one." And then the verses were repeated, and the mother and her boy kept the delicious secret, until practice made the child aware, as the mother soon was, that his was no common gift. The mother's sympathy in this case led her to undertake the work of teaching a little school, so as to have the means to help her boy to a better education. And though that gifted youth died in early life, he

left a name fragrant for all graceful attainments and Christian excellence.

I recollect once calling at the lodgings of a poor family in the west of London. The mother was in the midst of ironing, and the whole place was full. I wished to withdraw and call again, but the good wife and mother in that home begged me to remain awhile. I noticed that one corner of the crowded room was filled with what seemed a cumbrous bench or box, which was carefully covered over with a patchwork quilt. It was this that took up so much room and made the little place almost too small for the domestic work that was going on. Seeing my look at this object, hostess said, with a smile of great glee on her kindly face,"I'll let you see that. It's my husband's work of an evening."

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With a wonderful glow of admiring love on her countenance she uncovered the bench, and there was a table-top, of various pieces of different kinds of wood, in a rich mosaic pattern.

"There, that's his work. There's them that grumbles, and says they'd not be bothered with a man chipping and glueing and all that every night, and putting things in my way; but I says it shows a head-piece in a man, and if I was twice as much put about for room I'd never hinder him."

"No, I should think not," was my reply, as I admired her husband's ingenious and really beautiful work. It showed, as she said, "head-piece" in him, and her sympathy showed "heartlove" in her.

That table, when finished, went to an Industrial Exhibition and sold for a sum that helped to take the man and his family to Melbourne, where he had long wanted to go; and there they have so prospered that the little room and the hardships of their early married days are only recalled to increase their thankfulness for the comfort of their present condition.

O mother! let your children's joys, sorrows, lessons, pursuits, and acquaintances, be all matters of interest to you. Show your sympathy with them in the little incidents of life. Make them your companions; win their confidence. Nothing can go very wrong with them while they confide in you.

O wife! let your husband feel that in his leisure hours his innocent hobbies and fancies, even if troublesome, excite your sympathy. It is a hard, cold world; let united love defy the coldness, and strive prayerfully to walk together in oneness of heart and the blessed hope of the Gospel.-Home Words.

"LET EVERY ONE OF US PLEASE HIS NEIGHBOUR FOR HIS GOOD TO EDIFICATION. FOR EVEN CHRIST PLEASED NOT HIMSELF."-Rom. xv. 2, 3.

THE INFLUENCE OF EXAMPLE.

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HERE is no action of man in this life," says Thomas of Malmesbury, "which is not the beginning of so long a chain of consequences as that no human providence is high enough to give us a prospect to the end." Example indubitably is one of the most potent of instructors, though it teaches without a tongue. It is the practical school of mankind, working by action which is always more forcible than words. Precept may point to us the way, but it is silent continuous example, conveyed to us by habits, and living with us in fact, that carries us along. Good advice has its weight, but without the accompaniment of good example it is of comparatively small influence; and it will be found that the common saying of "Do as I say, not as I do," is usually reversed in the actual experience of life.

All persons are more or less apt to learn through the eye, rather than the ear; and whatever is seen in the fact makes a far deeper impression than anything that is read or heard. This is especially the case in early youth, when the eye is the chief inlet of knowledge. Whatever children see they unconsciously imitate; and they insensibly become like those about them, like insects which take the colour of the leaves they feed on. Hence the vast importance of domestic training. For whatever may be the efficiency of our schools, the examples set in our homes must always be of vastly greater influence in forming the characters of our future men and women. The home is the crystal of societythe very nucleus of national character; and from that source, be it pure or tainted, issue the habits, principles, and maxims which govern public as well as private life. The nation comes from the nursery; public opinion itself is for the most part the outgrowth of the home; and the best philanthropy comes from the fireside. "To love the little platoon we belong to in society," says Burke, "is the germ of all public affections." From this little central spot the human sympathies may extend in an ever widening circle until the world is embraced; for, though true philanthropy, like charity, begins at home, assuredly it does not end there.

Even the mute action and unconscious look of a parent may give a stamp to the character which is never effaced; and who can tell how much evil act has been stayed by the thought of some good parent whose memory their children may not sully by the commission of an unworthy deed, or the indulgence of an impure thought? The veriest trifles thus become of importance in influencing the characters of men. "A kiss from my mother,' said West, "made me a painter." It is on the direction of such seeming trifles, when children, that the future happiness and

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success of men mainly depend. Fowell Buxton, when occupying an eminent and influential station in life, wrote to his mother: "I constantly feel, especially in action and exertion for others, the effects of principles early implanted by you in my mind."

The living man is a fruit formed and ripened by culture of all the foregoing centuries. Generations six thousands years deep stand behind us, each laying its hands upon its successor's shoulders; and the living generation continues the magnetic current of action and example destined to bind the remotest past with the most distant future. No man's acts die utterly; and though his body may resolve into dust and air, his good or his bad deeds will still be bringing forth fruit after their kind, and influencing generations of men for all time to come. It is in this momentous and solemn fact that the great peril and responsibility of human existence lies.

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WOMAN in Glasgow got into difficulties. rent was due, but she had no money for the landlord ; and she knew very well that he would turn her out if she did not satisfy his claim. In despair she knew not what to do. A Christian man heard of her distress, and came to her door with money to help her. He knocked, but, although he thought he could hear some one inside, yet the door was not opened. He knocked again, but still there was no response. The third time he knocked, but that door still remained locked and barred against him!

Some time after he met this woman in the streets, and told her how he had gone to her house to pay her rent, but could not get in. "O sir!" she exclaimed, 66 was that you ? Why, I thought it was the landlord, and I was afraid to open the door!"

Dear friends! Christ is knocking at the door of your heart. He has knocked many times already, and now He knocks again by this message. He is your best Friend, although, like that woman, perhaps, you think He comes with the stern voice of justice to demand from you the payment of your great sin-debt. If so, you are sadly mistaken. He comes, not to demand, but to give! "The gift of God is eternal life." He knows you can never pay the great debt you owe to God. He knows that, if that debt is not paid for you, you are for ever lost! He loves you, though He hates your sins; and, in order that you might be saved, He laid down His life a sacrifice for the guilty. And, now, He comes! bringing the gift of salvation to the door of your hearts. Will you receive the gift ?-D. L. MOODY.

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