wrath of the child is excited against the divine law as executed by the parent, the child alone must bear the consequences. For disobedience in such a case, the parent is not accountable. But when the error of the child is the legitimate result of the parent's wrong, the case is different. If the parent, by his own mismanagement, provoke his child to wrath as against himself, instead of, or as well as, the law of God, will he not justly be held responsible for being at least a partaker in the sins of his child? What else could the apostle mean by the injunction, "And ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath"? As if he would say, "Your children are by nature at enmity with God; they do not love the divine law; they are restive under its requirements; hence the more need that you do nothing, in addition, unnecessarily to excite their evil passions." Or as if, by the apostle, God would say to all parents, "I will hold your children responsible to me for their violation of my law. You need not feel concerned about the legitimate and certain effects of pressing its claims upon them. No matter if their hearts do rebel; no matter if they are angry against me; but I warn you to beware how you provoke them to wrath." A very important inquiry, therefore, is, how parents are in danger of provoking their children to wrath. A reply is reserved for a future occasion.

REV: GORDON HALL:

[See Engraving.]

BY REV. H. BARDWELL.

THE work of foreign missions to the heathen forms an era in the history of the churches in this country, an era in which originated most of those Christian institutions of benevolence which are the glory and hope of the land.

The commencement of such a work, under the circumstances of doubt and embarrassment which then existed, demanded qualities of character, in the first missionaries, of no ordinary stamp. God, in his good providence, raised up such men for the work, and among them the name of GORDON HALL will ever be remembered and honored.

The first mission of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions was commenced, in 1812, at Bombay, on the western coast of India, under embarrassments of no ordinary character, — embarrassments unforeseen and unprovided for; the removal of which, and the permanent establishment of the mission, demanded, on the part of the missionaries, a maturity of wisdom, faith and zeal, which could hardly be expected in men of their youth and inexperience. But the work was of God, who furnished his servants for the peculiar exigencies of the case, by giving them that wisdom of plan, firmness of purpose, and strength of endurance, which led to a happy issue.

Mr. Hall was eminently a self-sacrificing and laborious man in all the details of missionary life. In addition to the great work of translating the Scriptures into the Mahratta language, and thus laying a foundation for a Christian literature among twelve millions of pagans, a work in which he bore a distinguished part, Mr. Hall devoted a portion of every day to the preaching of the gospel to the heathen. In the performance of this, he was not satisfied in confining his labors to the hundreds of thousands on the island of Bombay, but devoted no small portion of his time and strength in itinerating tours on the adjoining islands and continent.

These tours were attended with much fatigue. It was necessary to walk from village to village, to sleep on a mat or blanket spread in some veranda or open shed, and to depend on his own resources for food; not that the people are inhospitable in their disposition and habits, but the principle of caste forbids the ordinary acts of hospitality to any one of another religion.

Mr. Hall's last tour, and the one on which he died, was commenced March 2d, 1826. His object was to visit Treembukeshwer and Nasseek, two populous and celebrated places on the continent, about one hundred miles from Bombay. He took with him, as assistants, two Christian lads from the mission family at home. When he arrived at Treembukeshwer, on the 11th, he found the whole population in dismay on account of the cholera, which had just made its He remained, however, four days, preaching the gospel, distributing Christian books, and administering medicine to the sick.

appearance.

He arrived at Nasseek on the evening of the found the ravages of the same dreadful disease.

15th, where he More than two

hundred died the day after his arrival. Throwing himself between the living and the dead, he spent three days in preaching the gospel and administering medicine to the sick. His stock of books and of medicine was now exhausted, and himself worn down by the labors and excitement of his tour. On the morning of the 18th he left Nasseek, and set his face homeward. On the next evening at ten o'clock, having travelled thirty miles, he arrived at Doorle Dhapoor; and spreading his mat in the open veranda of a pagan temple, he lay down to rest his weary limbs and aching head. Here the sick and the dying were around him. Being unable to rest, he rose from his mat about four in the morning, and, calling the lads who attended him, he was about to resume his journey, when he was suddenly seized with the cholera. The spasms were so immediate and violent, that he fell helpless to the ground. Being laid upon his mat, he took the last portion of medicine which remained in his possession, but it was immediately rejected. All hope of recovery had now fled. As his strength would permit, in the intervals of the spasms, he gave directions to the lads concerning his watch and clothes, and especially in regard to the manner in which they should inter his body after his decease. The inmates of the temple were now around him, whom he affectionately exhorted to forsake their idols and embrace the faith and hope of the gospel. Earnestly did he pray for his dear wife and children, for his missionary brethren, and the heathen around him. With his soul filled with the consolations and hope of the gospel, he three times repeated, "Glory to thee, O God!" then yielded up his spirit.

The lads immediately engaged in the mournful service assigned them by their departed friend. With much difficulty they succeeded in procuring a grave. They then shrouded him in his own blanket, and, according to his own directions, laid him, coffinless, in his humble bed.

Thus died, and thus was buried, one of the first missionaries of the American Board, in the forty-second year of his age, after an illness of about eight hours. A stone monument, bearing, both in English and Mahratta, his name, office and age, marks the lonely spot of his interment.*

* See the excellent Life of Gordon Hall, published some years since, by Flagg, Gould and Newman, Andover, Mass., and New York city.

"Strange olive brows with tears were wet,
As a lone grave was made,

And there, 'mid Asia's arid sands,

Salvation's herald laid;

But bright that shroudless clay shall burst
From its uncoffined bed,

When the archangel's joyful trump

Convokes the righteous dead."

THE BROKEN FLOWER.

RY MRS. A. B. M.

"while

MOTHER," said a little girl of seven or eight years, playing, I accidentally broke off this beautiful japonica with a stick I had in my hand. I will be more careful next time; it was all an accident; please forgive me, mother."

"I guess you will be more careful next time," said the mother. "Take that to help you remember," giving her a smart slap upon the ear. "I never saw such a child as you are, so careless and troublesome, and always in some mischief. Now go to your room, and don't you leave it till the tea-bell rings; and don't you step into the flower-garden again for a whole month, nor even then, without you can be more careful. Just to think of my beautiful japonica being broken by you! I had set my heart upon wearing this flower in my hair to Mrs. L.'s party to-morrow evening. Go to your room, naughty child."

The little, honest, frank-hearted, truth-telling child leaves her mother, her eyes filled with tears, her heart almost broken, and goes to her little room, to spend the lonely hours of the afternoon. Let us follow her. Listen; she is talking to herself. "Next time I break a thing, or do any mischief, I won't tell mother of it. Oh, that old japonica — I wish I had staid out of the garden. I almost wish I had broken it all to pieces. Oh, how my ear burns. I was feeling so sorry about breaking the beautiful flower, when mother boxed my ear so, but that made me so angry I did not care much about it. I think it was enough to box my ears, without shutting me up here this afternoon, the only holiday I have in the week."

Thus this little girl brooded over her conduct and its punish

ment, till the tea-bell called her to meet her mother again. With a stealthy step she creeps to the door of the dining-room, and looks in to see how matters are, and if there will be any danger of a renewal of the storm, if she ventures to the table. Her mother is sitting at the head of the table, her face all smiles and sunlight, just as though all the japonicas in the world, whole or broken, could not drive that bright smile away. The lady friend, who is taking tea with her, and chatting so pleasantly, little thinks what a terrible breeze was stirred up by the breaking of a single flower only a few hours before. Did I say a single flower? A flower more beautiful and more fair than the most delicate white japonica eye ever saw was bent, if not broken; an honest, truth-telling, loving little heart has been crushed, and its delicate petals will bear the seared marks as long as time lasts! That broken japonica, that aching ear, the angry words of that mother, the long, desolate afternoon spent in that little room, will never be forgotten. These things are written, as it were, with a pen of iron, on that loving, sensitive heart, and time can never erase them. Could we but turn the pages of memory's book, years from this time, we should see this scene just as bright and distinctly as the first hour of its enactment. The sight of a japonica, with its fair, smooth petals and delicate perfume, will cause that child, that young lady, that middle-aged woman, a feeling of pain; for the whole scene will spring up to view, as it were, by magic, and she will feel that she was not justly dealt with. But does it affect that child's principles? That we can tell from

SCENE SECOND. - A few months have passed. The mother has forgotten the broken japonica. Not so with little Ella. It is a bright summer morning. She has been playing in the garden, and enjoying herself so much, that it is school-time before she is aware of it. Hastening to the house for her books, she finds one missing, and while looking for it, she exclaims, "O, dear me, there goes the school-bell! I shall be tardy, I am afraid. Where could I have put my geography? O dear, what shall I do? Ah! I see it." In her haste to get the book, she does not notice the inkstand which is upon the other side of the table, and down it went, its contents falling upon the carpet! "O! what shall I do? What will mother say? I will run and tell her all about it, just how I happened to do it. Perhaps she will forgive me. But I forgot the broken japonica. I won't go; I'll run to school, and