fully and faithfully rendered. Would he secure the devoted and self-sacrificing affection of his partner, he must make every sacrifice requisite for obtaining and preserving such a sacred good. Would he have his children obedient, respectful, capable of self-control, possessed of a refined taste, and adorned with good manners,— would he have them rank as good scholars, as honored and useful members of society, as devoted Christians, then he has a work to do, sacrifices to make, and self-denials to practise.

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Let not the mother be reluctant to resign all former enjoyments which are needful. For the honor and satisfaction of being a faithful wife and a devoted mother, she can well afford to give up much. Although called to retire from the circle of fashion, to make painful denials to her social promptings, to surrender many a cherished hope of literary enjoyment and mental culture; although constrained to devote strength and time to household duties, although her new position demands of her new cares and new anxieties, yet, if faithful, she has her reward. Every faithful wife and mother will be abundantly compensated for all her toils, sorrows, cares and sacrifices. This compensation she will find in the high satisfaction arising from the discharge of duty; in the respect and devoted affection she secures from her husband; in the love and gratitude she receives from her children; in the indescribable joy she experiences in witnessing the good conduct of her children, their honorable and Christian course, their exemplification in life of her principles, and their fulfilment, in the paths of Christian usefulness, of her fondest hopes.

PROVIDENCE.

Just as a mother, with sweet, pious face,

Yearns toward her little children from her seat,
Gives one a kiss, another an embrace,

Takes this upon her knees, that on her feet,

And while from actions, looks, complaints, pretences,
She learns their feelings, and their various will,
To this a look, to that a word dispenses,

And, whether stern or smiling, loves them still;

So Providence, for us, high, infinite,

Makes our necessities its watchful task,
Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants,
And even if it denies what seems our right,
Either denies because 't would have us ask,

Or seems to deny, and in denying, grants.

A THOUGHT FOR MOTHERS.

BY REV. WM. M. THAYER.

I SAW her at the window,-a loving mother of middle age, graceful, intelligent, but worldly. With tender care she was nurturing a thrifty rose-bush, whose buds were just unfolding their blushing petals to the sun. She brushed the insects from the leaves, loosened the rich soil around its branching roots, and poured refreshing water upon the whole plant. It was her pet flower. She spared no pains nor time to render its growth luxurious, and manifested a sort of pride when visitors spoke of her beautiful rose-bush. It was committed to no other hands to be dressed; and the many little ones were closely watched, as they sported about the floor, lest they might jostle it from the window. And when her indulgent husband proposed to paint the worn and unseemly pot in which it was planted, she at once declined the proposition, because the paint would fill the pores of the vessel, and thus deny the roots that air and moisture, which otherwise would refresh them; and, at the same time, would surround them with a poison, whose exhalations might wither, rather than nourish the flower.

"

Careful woman! Would that she were half as careful of the daughters which a kind Father has given her! Would that worldliness had not blinded her eyes to the moral beauties which a tender nurture would unfold in their youthful hearts! What are the mingled hues of the rose, be it the first or the last of the fragrant summer, compared with the moral virtues of a daughter's heart? Of what account is the injury inflicted upon the choicest plant, by drought and insects, compared with the moral detriment of worldly scenes and pleasures, to the immortal mind? Yet, she saw it not! A more studious watch, and more untiring and systematic attention were bestowed upon the plant, than upon the moral culture of the children. She was never anxious lest the vermin of pernicious sentiments should devour the unfolding buds of virtue, and never asked for the crystal waters of life to fall upon the fresh soil of the heart. She was not scrupulous about confining their training to her own hands, as she was that of the rose, but often committed them to the

trust of irresponsible servants, while she was gadding abroad, or killing time at her toilet. And, what is equally hazardous, she studied to adorn them with all the elegancies of dress, and the finery of fashion; thus painting them over with a moral poison, more surely pernicious to their tender hearts, than a coat of Paris green to the roots of her petted rose.

Imprudent mother! Thou wilt rue the day that a rose-bush was tended with a closer watch than the development of a daughter's moral nature!