I LAID ME DOWN AND SLEPT. 153 hands me a book, in which visitors' names are inscribed, and requests me to write mine. Certainly-" Mrs. John Smith""there it is. Hope she likes it as well as I do.Fanny Fern. "I LAID ME DOWN AND SLEPT." THE following circumstance took place in a family not long ago: A blooming group, at evening prime, And one, a beauteous boy, o'er whom "O sweet, my son, the gem you bring, But still that student of the skies "No, dear mamma, just this alone, That night the fever smote him sore, And fiercely on his heart-strings fed, Then all at once, in slumbers soft, The darling sufferer lay, And, like a lamb of Jesus, slept His gentle life away. He slept; but, with what glorious joy, The waking words he spoke not here, Shall be pronounced above. L. H. S. HOPE FOR THE SABBATH-SCHOOL TEACHER! HOPE ON EVER! "My beloved is gone down to his garden to gather lilies." MARY - was admitted, at a very early age, into the Sunday school in the parish of; there was nothing extraordinary in her abilities, they were of an ordinary kind, but there was something remarkable in her sweet temper and cheerful disposition, which shone forth in her bright blue eyes. She was ever regular, and appeared to love her school, her teacher, and the instruction given her; but no evidences of Divine grace appeared till she was nearly eight years old-the love of Jesus, and the name of Jesus, then seemed inexpressibly sweet to this dear child; she would try to assist her companions in finding the Scripture proofs required of them, whilst I was instructing the younger ones in their reading-that, to quote her own words, "Dear Miss might have more time to talk about Jesus." . If I was indisposed, or appeared unhappy, her sweet comfort was as balm to my wounded spirit. I lost a dear friend, and felt my loss very severely, the first Sunday I taught after her removal. Little Mary left her place and stood by my knee, with her sweet eyes fixed supplicatingly on my face; and when asked what she would say to me— "Dear teacher," she replied, "I want you not to cry any more." I replied, "You know, my dear, you have all lost a kind friend as well as myself." "Oh, dear teacher," she exclaimed, "she has only gone to sleep-she was so tired when she went to bed; but she will not stay there long, and when we see her again she will be quite awake, and will be tired no more." "What," I said, "do you mean?" "I mean, teacher," she answered, “that sin, and fighting with Satan, have made her tired-the grave is only her bed for a little time, and when we see her HOPE FOR THE SABBATH-SCHOOL TEACHER. 155 again, she will be like Jesus, all beautiful-oh, dear teacher, so beautiful!" I said, "How do you know you shall see her again?" Because," she replied, without a moment's hesitation, "I have been a sinful child, I know; but Jesus died for me, Jesus pleads for me, and Jesus loves me.” She loved to see me in the week, alone, and never left without, in some way, mentioning her Saviour's love. I once remarked to her" I hope that you will have a nice play this dinner-hour; see how brightly the sun shines!" "Yes," she said, "but do, dear teacher, before I go, pray with me that the Sun of Righteousness may shine upon us; for when yonder sun goes down at night, we shall want Jesus to stay and take care of us." She loved to think of Heaven, the crown of gold, the harp of gold, and the white robes; and any difficult word in her lessons always sent her to me for an explanation. No weather prevented her attendance, and no cold or wet seemed to affect her health; however, the Lord, in love, saw fit to transplant this bud of sweet promise to blossom in a happier land-her illness began with cold, and terminated in rapid consumption. Her patience, her faith, her joy, in the midst of suffering and pain, were truly exemplary. I frequently saw her, and not then being aware of the incurable nature of her malady, expressed a hope that, on the return of Spring, renewed health and strength might be granted her; to which she replied"Yes, dear teacher, I shall be quite well, I think, by the Spring, for 'There everlasting Spring abides, And never-withering flowers; (To be concluded next month.) THE THORN IN THE PILLOW. A LITTLE girl went to visit her grandmother, some distance from her mother's and her father's home-she seemed very happy all day, and she had everything around her to make her happy; but when her kind grandmother went to look at her, after she was asleep, she observed a teardrop on the little girl's cheek-"Ah," said the old lady, the next morning, “you were a little home-sick last night, dear." “Oh no, grandmother," Mabel replied, “I could never be home-sick here." It was just so the next night, and the next; at length, the grandmother thought, as the little girl seemed troubled, she would sit in the next chamber until the child went to sleep. Presently, although Mabel was tucked up, she began to rustle the quilt, and shake her pillow, and the grandmother thought she heard a little sob; so she went to the little girl's bed, and said -“Mabel, my child, you have got a thorn in your pillow -what is it?" Then the little girl hid her face, and began to cry aloud. The grandmother was very troubled. At length, the little girl said-"Oh, grandmother, when I am alone here, I cannot help thinking how I said—ʻ I WON'T, mother,' and I cannot unsay it; and mother is so good, and loves me so, and I—I was so naughty;" then the tears streamed afresh down the child's cheeks. Here, then, was the thorn in the pillow, and she could not withdraw it. Ah, so it will be, by-and-by, with that little boy who is selfish and unkind at home now; when he is away, among strangers, he will think of the home of his childhood, and the recollection of some unkind word or action will be a thorn in his pillow when he retires at night. And that little girl, who does not care to help her good mother now, will find a thorn in her pillow when that mother sleeps in the grave. THE FATHER'S PAGE. 157 That young man, too, who will not listen to his good father's advice, and who hates his father's religion and his father's God, will find a thorn in his dying pillow that no mortal friend will be able to withdraw. Mother! Father! Are you planting any sharp thorns that will spring up in that last pillow, by neglecting or half-attending to your momentous duties? THE FATHER'S PAGE. SOME ESSENTIALS IN A FATHER TO RENDER HOME HAPPY, THE husband and father is bound by an inevitable obligation to vindicate his authority before the family. First, by acquainting himself with all the duties of that sacred relation. If a man appointed to an office in the State neglects to acquaint himself with the duties of that office, and the State thereby suffers injury, he encounters public reprobation, and lays himself open to impeachment. Now, the family constitution lies at the foundation of all the forms of civil and Christian society. To be willingly ignorant, then, of the right mode of administering it, is to incur a high degree of criminality. Secondly. The paternal authority is to be perpetuated by the maintenance of a wholesome example. The example of the father is generally the means of moulding the son's character. How exact, then, should it be? The father should be content with nothing short of that resolution, "I will walk within my house with a perfect heart." Thirdly. Authority should be tempered with tenderness, but not annihilated by indulgence. "As a father pitieth his children." By that tender trait is the disposition of God himself illustrated. It may and ought to exist, even in the bosom of sterner mould. "And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath, but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." The cares and vexations incident to the pursuits of men too often produce |