table, and three chairs, where he could take his wife and children; and it was settled that Mr. Sansfere should send his horses and wagon, and bring them, for a night, to Sansfere House. Nothing less than this would satisfy the girls.

As might have been expected, after the mother and twins had been well discussed, and a pleasant surprise planned for them in anticipation of their visit, the drive home was more quiet than it had been in going. A wild beauty was abroad upon the earth. The moon had risen, and the fitful lights and shadows caused by driving clouds, lent a strange and varying charm to the romantic scenery through which we passed. There was some danger of the drive becoming monotonous and dull, when Mrs. Sansfere, in a firm, clear voice, which was wonderfully impressive in the deep night silence, recited that noble poem, the Nineteenth Psalm. Every heart was stirred; and, I believe, every soul was moved with a deep, religious aspiration, with love to God, and a desire to keep his laws. Then hymns were sung, in which every voice joined. Mrs. Sansfere's training of her pupils was of such a nature that no incongruity was perceived in mingling religion with innocent amusement and enjoyment. Being herself imbued with deep religious feeling, she did not confine its expression to stated times and seasons, as if it were a thing entirely apart from the current of our common life, but permitted it daily and hourly to breathe through her cheerful and courageous nature, leading, comforting, and attracting, as well as warning and commanding.

The sleep of that morning was a sound one; but, what is worthy of note, not a cold, or a rheumatism, or a sore throat, was experienced by an individual of this night's party; on the contrary, all were ready for study, and for their three mile walk in the afternoon, and for another long excursion at the end of the week.

But the mother and the twins; what became of them? For three days, during a portion of the time devoted to amusement in Mrs. Sansfere's family, delicate fingers might have been seen at work upon shirting cotton, and calico, and muslin-de-laine. Small purses were emptied of pocket-money, shops were explored for shoes and stockings, ivory needles were busy upon worsted caps. A little comfortable pile of necessary articles, both for wear and for housekeeping, gradually grew and increased, until a closet was required to contain them. On presenting my mite, I was allowed a sight of

the collection, and pleasant it was to behold. Pleasant it also was, when, three days from this time, Mr. Sansfere himself, a man more warmly and widely beloved than any person, with one exception, whom it has ever been my happiness to know, brought the poor woman, with her children, to his house, where she was clothed and comforted, and advised, and sent back, with full hands and a rejoicing heart, to gladden the heart of her husband.

It was at a warmer and brighter season of the year, and on a pleasant afternoon, when we again visited the Furnace; and, when we sat down to eat the dishes of wild strawberries prepared for us, in Margaret Bonn's neat little cottage, we had delicious cream from Margaret's own cow. "The most beautiful cow," as she declared, looking at Mr. Sansfere with glistening eyes, "the most beautiful cow, and the best milker, in the United States of America." This was said in German, but the twins were beginning to prattle in English. I marked the dappled cow as we left the cottage, and perceived that she was one that I had missed from Mr. Sansfere's pasture-grounds. How the beautiful creature came to be Margaret Bonn's property, I do not know; though she and Mr. Sansfere seemed to have a very amicable understanding on the subject.

SUNSET; OR, THE

CHRISTIAN RACE.

How fair has the day been! How bright was the sun!
How lovely and joyful the course that he ran !
Though he rose in a mist when his race he began,
And there followed some droppings of rain.
But now the fair traveller comes to the West,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best
He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest,
And foretells a bright rising again.

Just such is the Christian; his race he begins,
Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sins,
Then melts into tears, and breaks out and shines,
And travels his heavenly way.

But as he comes nearer to finish his race,
Like a fine-setting sun, he looks richer in grace,
And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days,
Of his rising in brighter array.

Comes o'er the shrinking heart with fearful power,
That voice, which speaks unto the storm-tossed soul,
Is heard not in that dread and awful hour;
But when her brief, tumultuous reign is o'er,

And reason gains once more her wonted sway,
And the fierce heart, so strong and proud before,
Shrinks, weak and humbled, 'neath her steady ray-
Above pride's fearful strife, a voice will say -

In youth's gay morn, when adulation flings,
With rich and lavish hand, her golden store
To deck my brow; when soft-voiced Flattery sings
The story she so oft has sung before;
When the heart, yielding to her witchery,

Seeks heartless fashion's gay and crowded mart,
When the eye beams with wild and thoughtless glee,
And pride doth to the cheek a glow impart,
Then comes, again, that solemn voice to me.
Its low, rebuking accents make me start-
"Hear thou thy Father's pleading voice to-day,
And give me now that young and giddy heart."

When fierce misfortune's scathing bolts descend,
Laying in dust some cherished idol low,

And the weak heart, ill-fitted to contend,

Grows wild and restless 'neath its weight of woe;
When, as I tread that dark and thorny way,

I shrink before her keen, relentless dart,
Through the thick-gathering gloom a voice will say -
Its low and gentle accents make me start
"Hear thou thy Father's soothing voice to-day,

And give to me that young and stricken heart."

THE YOUNG STEP-MOTHER.

BY MRS. E. W. A.

"MANY thanks for the Mother's Assistant. It has, indeed, proved an assistant to me, and a blessing to my children." Such was the remark of a young step-mother, to whom, soon after her marriage, I had sent the Assistant. She was young, too young, perhaps, for the responsible situation she had assumed, but the children of her earliest and dearest friend were motherless, and she was invited to take charge of them, and she hoped to be able to train them in the paths of virtue and piety.

But O, the sorrow which pierced her heart, when she found they were beyond her control! For nearly three years before their mother's death they had been left almost entirely to their own guidance. Their father had gone to seek health and a fortune in the land of gold. Their mother's health soon began to decline, and she found it impossible to watch over them as formerly. When unable to attend church, she kept her little girl at home with her; but the boys, one nine and the other eleven, were sent alone. She saw that they had their Sabbath-school lesson perfect, and her heart rejoiced that they were so anxious to attend church. Little did she suspect that their Sabbaths were spent in the woods with a party of reckless lads, who met there for gambling, and other vices. They always managed to see some boy who did attend church, and learn the name of the preacher, the text, and other facts on which their mother would be likely to question them. Thus they went on, in a course

of deception, until the return of their father, a few weeks before their mother's death. It had now become a habit with them to spend the Sabbath with the gambling club. They were almost sorry to meet their father, for they feared he would interfere with their amusement. But it was not until after their mother's death that he became aware of their real character and conduct. While she lived, he did not leave her bed-side; and her death seemed, for a time, to have a good effect upon their minds.

For two Sabbaths they accompanied their father to church; but the habits they had formed were not easily broken. The sanctuary was, to them, an irksome place. The third Sabbath the disconsolate father was surprised to find the two boys were missing, when he was ready to go to church. He supposed, however, that they had gone on before him; and, taking his little girl by the hand, he proceeded to the house of God; but the boys were not there! He was now alarmed for their safety; something, he thought, must have happened to them. Where could they be? Leaving the little girl with his housekeeper, he went in search of them. He inquired of his neighbors, but they had not been seen. Still he thought he saw a look of intelligence, a meaning smile, negative answer; and he said, "What does it gentleman stood near, who had often given him good advice. "Friend B.," said he, "I can tell you what it means." which he took his arm, and led him away from the crowd. He then told him how he had seen them going the downward road; how he had followed them with prayers, tears, and entreaties, but all in vain; and how he feared to tell their mother, lest the sad news might hasten her progress to the grave.

as they gave the mean?" An old

Upon

We will not attempt to describe that father's feelings, as he listened to this fearful narration. His first thought was to seek them, and compel them to go home; but this he feared to do. He knew the character of his boys too well to venture on any harsh or severe measures. He might, perhaps, secure obedience, but he feared to command it, lest he should break the tie that bound them to him, and drive them from their home, and from his influence, forever. He, therefore, resolved to wait patiently for their return, and then try, by gentle means, to reclaim them. When they returned, he asked them kindly where they had spent the day? At first they attempted to deceive him, and make him believe they had been to