A Bunch in the Hand, and More on the Bush

Not far from this London there dwelt an old couple. In early life they had been poor; but the husband became a Christian, and God blessed their industry, and they were living in a comfortable retirement, when one day a stranger called on them to ask their subscription to a charity. The old lady had not so much grace as her husband, and still hankered after some of the sabbath earnings and easy shillings which Thomas had forfeited from regard to the law of God. And so when the visiter asked their contribution, she interposed, and said, “Why, sir, we have lost a deal by religion since we first began; my husband knows that very well. Have we not, Thomas?” And after a solemn pause Thomas an-LOSING BY RELIGIOX.

TV swered: “Yes, Mary, we have. I have lost a deal by my religion. Before I had got religion, Mary, I had got a water-pail, in which I used to carry water, and that, you know, I have lost many years ago; and then I had an old slouched hat, a tattered coat, and mended shoes and stockings; but I have lost them also long ago. And, Mary, you know that, poor as I was, I had a habit of getting drunk and quarreling with you; and that, you know, I have lost. And then I had a burdened conscience and a wicked heart, and ten thousand guilty fears; but all are lost, completely lost, and like a millstone, cast into the deepest sea. And, Mary, you have been a loser too, though not so great a loser as myself. Before we got religion, Mary, you had got a washing-tray, in which you washed for hire; but since we got religion, you have lost your washing-tray. And you had a gown and a bonnet much the worse for wear, though they were all you had to wear; but you have lost them long ago. And you had many an aching heart concerning me at times; but these you happily have lost. And I could even wish that you had lost as much as I have lost; for what we lose by our religion will be our everlasting gain.”

There are instances where religion has required a sacrifice; but so far as our own observation goes, it has blessed its possessors, not only by what it imparled, but also by what it took away. Their chief losses may be comprised in the following items: —

A bad character;

A guilty conscience;

A troublesome temper;

Sundry evil habits,

And all their wicked companions.

And then, on the other side, over and above all the higher benefits which the gospel bestows, and which, in our last paper, we tried to enumerate, its advent into the poor man’s home is usually signalized by some immediate and obvious blessings. We allow that they are secondary, but they are not insignificant. Let us glance at some of them. Like the bunch which the spies fetched from Eshcol, they may give some notion of the goodly land; but they are only a sample, and the true wisdom is to go up and possess the region itself, and then you will gather the grapes where they grow, and when one cluster is finished, you will find still better on the tree.

1. Religion is forethought and frugality. The disciple of Jesus is well off — his fortune is made, and he does not need to set his heart on filthy lucre. But then he is high-hearted — he is of his Master’s mind, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” He would rather be an almoner than a pensioner; and he is anxious to lay a good foundation for age as well as for infirmity. And he “provides for his own house.” He would fain contribute to the commonwealth one independent and self-sustaining family. And the foresight and self-denial which he has learned at the feet of Jesus, put these achievements in his power. You may see the thing in living specimens. Take, for instance, these shoprnates, Dick Raspiron and Tom Tinkleton. Perhaps you know them; at all events, in their employment as vvhitesmitlis they have made some noise in the world. Tom once of a sudden took it into his head to marry; and as he had a (ew shillings to pay the fees, he made it out; but before the honeymoon was ended, the bride had to pawn her wedding-gown to buy next Sunday’s dinner. And Dick also fell in love; but his sweetheart and himself agreed that they would wait till they had made up twenty pounds between them. Last Saturday Tom did not take home his wages till after midnight, and then he did not take the whole; and next morning his wife went out and bought some flabby meat and withered greens, and paid the Sunday trader ten per cent, additional; but that was better management than the time before, for then he brought nothing home at all; and in order to procure a steak, they had first to sell their frying-pan. But now that at last he has married his notable little wife, Dick hies home as fast as he can on Saturday evening, sure that the earnings of last week have made the marketings of this one, and that he will find the room so tidy and the tea-lhings set out, and that afterward they will have a turn in the park, or, should it chance to rain, an hour for reading some useful book. At an immemorial period his shopmate “fell behind;” that is, in a certain lace, the consumer of pies and porter outran the producer of water-pails and metallic chimney-pots; and the shillings which he got from his employer could not keep up with the half-crowns which he spent on himself. And ever since the luckless day when the Spender distanced the Winner, it has been a perpetual scramble. For want of ready cash — and” credit they never had — his hungry household subsists on accidental and precarious meals; and bought in paltry shops, and in the smallest quantities, their greatest bargain is a stinted pennyworth. Richard read in his Bible, “Owe no man anything;” and, in order to make sure, he thought it best to have always something to spare. At the very outset he bade the Winner “march,” while he held the Spender by the heel, and would not let him stir a single step till the other was far ahead. And now he begins to find the advantage of this early self-denial. From having a little money at command, he has never on an emergency required to borrow at a ruinous usury, and he has been able to pick up at a trifling cost a clock and a bookcase, and a chest of drawers, when they happened to be going cheap. And he has discovered that sovereigns are, in their habits, somewhat gregarious; if, like rats, they run away from a tottering house, like storks and starlings they are ready to come and colonize wherever one of their species reports a kind reception. And accordingly, with little exertion, without pinching or scraping, or any shabby expedients, he finds the litde store quietly increasing. And now it is whispered in the street, that he either means to lease or buy the house in which he has been heretofore a lodger; while during the year his neighbor has

effected three removals. And curious observers have noted tl]at each of these removals is less expensive than its predecessor; and it is likely that the next may cost nothing, as at the present rate they will then be able to carry on their backs all their remaining goods and chattels.

In providing for one’s own house, perhaps the best plan is mutual insurance. In many provident societies the premiums have been calculated too low; but in some recently established, such as the “Christian Mutual Provident Society,” a scale of payments has been adopted, which effectually secures against all risk. I shall suppose that the reader is a healthy man, and twenty-five years of age. Would he like to secure ten shillings a week, during every term of sickness, for the next forty years? He may secure it by paying I5. 4|^. a month, or a halfpenny every day. Or would he like to retire from hard work at the end of these forty years? By paying 25. 36?. monthly, or less than a penny daily, he may huy against that period a pension of 65. weekly. Or would he prefer leaving to his survivors, at whatever time it inay please God to call him away, a sum of solid money? For such a purpose he may secure 100/. by paying 3s. 5J. a month, or 2/. a year. Or, if he dislikes insurance, he may try the savings’ bank, and there the daily penny would mount up to 50/. in thirty years.

But how is a work in;!; man to manafje this? How is he to spare the daily penny from his scanty earnings? I fear some can not; but I know that many can. Do you smoke, or snuff, or chew tobacco? Then please to count how much this costs you In a week, and how much in the fifty-two weeks which make a year. And how much do you pay for stimulating liquor? A friend reminds me that a moderate pint of beer comes to 3/. per annum, or 30/. in ten years. And how do you dispose of your loose halfpence? And how much do you spend in Sunday excursions, and fairs, and treats, and merry-makings? Not very much on any one occasion, but enough from time to time to make at last a fortune. For it is not by surprising windfalls, but by systematic savings — by the resolute repetition of Jane Taylor’s golden maxim, “I can do without it,” — that men have made the most solid fortunes, the fullest of satisfaction to the founder, and the most enduring. And were you only commencing now to save up the coppers which you have hitherto squandered at the pastrycook’s or the fruiterer’s stall, and the sixpences which you would have melted in beer or burned in tobacco, they will soon swell up to a pound; and by perseverance and the blessing of God, that pound may grow to a competency.*

* We would cordially recommend to our readers on this and kindred subjects, Chambers’ Penny Tract, No. 170, “Hints to Workmen.” After the above paragraphs were written, a friend in the west of England was kind enough to show us over his factory. It abounded in contrivances and processes which we had never seen before; but the sight which interested us beyond all

2. Religion insures sobriety. Is it not fearfnl that Britain spends on intoxicating liquors fifty nfillions every year? We often complain of our high taxation, and sometimes <rrow nervous at the national debt. But here is a tax for which we cannot blame our rulers; a tax self-imposed and self-levied; a tax for which we can only blame ourselves; a tax which would pay the interest of our national debt twice over; and a tax as large as the enlire revenue of these United Kin’^-doms. We thonirht it a

great sum to pay in order to give the slave his freedom; we thought the twenty millions given to the West India proprietors

these was a picture-gallery of industrious veterans. In his counting-room the wann-heartoj proprietor had suspended, large as life, the portraits of five faithful servants, who had each spent about half a century in these works. I need not say that thov had been all sober men. It was a rule of the establishment, that no one employed at it should ever enter a public-house. But mot of these venerable worthies had lieen pious men; and, pointing to one of the likenesses, my friend mentioned, “That old man was worth fifteen hundred pounds when he died.” He was a common worker with ordinary wages; but he realized enough to provide a comfortable independence for two nicees who survive him.

a mighty sacrifice; and certainly it was the noblest tribuie any nation ever paid to the cause of philanlhropy: but, large as it looks, half a year of national abstinence would have paid it all. Some grudge the eight millions which Ireland lately got, seeing it failed to set our neighbors on their feet; — but it was eight millions given to save a famishing people; and large as the grant to Ireland sounds, two months of national abstinence would have paid the whole of it. But, tremendous as are the fifty millions which, as a people, we yearly ingulf in strong drink, the thought which afflicts and appals us is that this terrible impost is mainly a tax on the working man. The lamentation is that many an industrious man will spend in liquor as much money as, had he saved it, would this year have furnished a room, and next year would have bought a beautiful library; — as much money as would secure a splendid education for every child, or in the course of a (ew years would have made him a landlord instead of a tenant. Why, my friends, it would set our blood a-boiling if we heard that the Turkish sultan taxed his subjects in the style that our British worknnen tax thennselves. It would brinn; the davs of Wat Tyler back again — nay, it would create another Hampden, and conjure up a second Cromwell — did the exchequer try to raise the impost which our publicans levy, and our laborers and artisans cheerfully pay. But is it not a fearful infatuation? Is it not our national madness to spend so much wealth in shattering our nerves, and exploding our characters, and ruining our souls? Many workmen, I rejoice to know, have been reclaimed by teetotalism, and many have been preserved by timely religion. In whatever way a man is saved from that horrible vice, which is at once the destruction of the body and the damnation of the soul, “therein I do rejoice, and will rejoice.” Only you can not bo a Christian without being also a sober man; and the more of God’s grace you get, the easier will you find it to vanquish this most terrible of the working man’s temptations.

3. Religion creates honesty, civility, PUNCTUALITY, INDUSTRY, and those Other qualities which secure for the working man popularity and promotion. And, whatever theorists may propound to the contrary, this is the way in which God himself has arranged society. The steady and sober are to rise and be respected, while the dissolute and disorderly must sink and disappear. And though there is in many quarters a prejudice against piety — though some infidel and irreligious employers prefer workmen with easy principles and pliant consciences — no business can long prosper without probity, and no employer can become permanently rich with ruffians or rogues for his servants. Hence, in all extensive and protracted undertakings, principle will undoubtedly win for itself an eventual preference; and the workman who understands his trade and keeps his character, may expect to retain his place. The king of Babylon had no liking for DaniePs religion; but then, Daniel was tile only man who could manage the hundred provinces. And the king of Egypt would have preferred Joseph’s finance and Joseph’s forethought without Joseph’s piety; but, as lie could not get the one Vv’ithout the other, he put up with the Hebrew’s faith for the sake of the statesnaan’s policy. And in the same way, if you carry Bible rules into your conduct, the Lord himself will undertake your case, and people will find out that it is good to have the like of you around them. If you will not work on Sunday, neither will you be tipsy or a-missing on Monday. If you won’t tell a falsehood for your employer, neither will you waste his materials nor pilfer his property. And if you are not a sycophant in the slackest times, you will not be saucy in the busiest; but, seeking first to please your Master in heaven, you will find yourself rewarded with the good will and confidence of your superiors on earth.

Richard Williams attended the Horshay iron works, in Shropshire. From the time that he found the forgiveness of his sins at the foot of the cross, he became a delightful neidibor and a most dilifient workman. He was a methodist, and his master a quaker; and seeing Richard’s conscientiousness, Mr. Reynolds promoted him to be one of his superintendents — an office which he held with growing honor all his life. One secret of Richard’s promotion, and one reason why whatsoever he did prospered well, was his prayerfulness. God was his heavenly Father, and therefore he besought his blessing on his common toils; and I think you will be interested to read the two following letters to a friend: —

“I am much better in health to-day, but am in some difficulty as to our works. We are ’ setting on’ the other furnace, and it goes off very stubbornly. It requires a deal of care and hard work to get it right; and will require much more, unless a speedy turn takes place in our favor. Continue, therefore, to pray for us. I know your prayers will do more than all we can do with our strong bars and great hannmers. Do not, therefore, forget us at the throne of the heavenly grace.”

Again: —

“We are engaged in difficult work, and are desirous of getting it over before sabbath. I pray the Lord that we may succeed. The expenses of the works to Mr. Reynolds are at present very great, and the profits none. I am employed all night and a part of the day; but I heartily thank God for his kind care over me, and hope he will preserve us all. Very earnestly do I wish that we may get it done, that we all may have the sabbath free from labor for the purposes of religion.”

And his love of the sabbath and his personal consistency were at last rewarded, by seeing every furnace stopped on the first day of the week. On a subject so near his heart, he ventured a respectful representation to the proprietor — a representation which derived such weight from Richard’s worth and modesty, that, notwithstanding the pecuniary hazard, an experiment was permitted: it proved successful; and these sabbatic furnaces are a noble monument to a conscientious working man.

The truth is, that God’s blessing attends his people in their common calling. If they commit their way to him, he brings it to pass. He opens doors. He finds for them friends and favor. He smooths down difficulties, and gives their earnings reproductive value. You have likely heard of Thomas Mann, the London waterman. Besides large sums given in his life to poor acquaintances, he left to diiFerent societies nearly two thousand pounds. And how did he make it? God gave it to him. God gave him great faith in his own word and promises — a devout and God-fearing mind; and these developed in politeness and honesty, punctuality and diligence. People who once used his boat were so taken with its owner, that if they could get him again, they would hail no other; and having won a friend, he was so attentive and exact that he never lost him again; and though he never plied on the Sabbath, and never pocketed a shilling beyond the proper fare, and was always giving money away, it seemed as if he could not grow poor. Always sober, always cheerful, and usually the first on the water, the Lord smiled on his pious industry; and, amid all hi? prosperity, the Lord kept him humble and generous, to show us that if a man has already got heaven in his heart, a handful of money will not make him a miser.

4. Religion is REFINEMENT. It expands the mind of its possessor, and purifies his taste. It is a great mistake to confound riches and refinement, just as it is a great mistake to fancy that because a man is poor, he must be coarse and vulgar. Lord Jefferies, though seated on the highest tribunal in the realm, while pouring forth his brutal ribaldry, was a vulgar man; and a very vulgar man was Chancellor Tiiurlow, sporting oaths and obscenity at the table of the prince of Wales. But there was no vulgarity about James Ferguson, though herding sheep, while his eye watched Arcturus and the Pleiades, and his wistful spirit wandered through immensity; and, though seated at a stocking-loom, there was no vulgarity in the youth who penned the “Star of Bethlehem;” the weaver-boy, Henry Kirke White, was not a vulgar lad. Aud so, my respected friends, if you surrender your minds to the teaching of God’s word and Spirit, they will receive the truest, deepest refinement. There may be nothing in your movements to indicate the training of the dancing-school, nor anything in your elocution which speaks of courdy circles or smooth society; but there will be an elevation in your tastes, and a purity in your feelings, as of men accustomed to the society of the King of kings. You will have a relish for a higher literature than the halfpenny ballad or the Sunday news, and for a more improving intercourse than llie tap or the club room can supply. And though you may not have at easy command the phrases of politeness, the most polished, if they but be the children of God, will have sentiments and language in common with you, and a stronger affinity for you than for the most fine-spoken impiety. And in your respectful demeanor to those above you, and in your kind and civil carriage to those around you, men will see that you have learned your manners from the book which says, “Be courteous,” and which supplies the finest model of genlihty. The religion which is at last to lift the beggar from the dunghill, and set him with nobles of the earth, will even now give the toiling man the elevated aims, the enlarged capacity, the lofty tastes, and manly bearing, which princes have often lacked; for if vice be the worst vulgarity, religion is die best refinement.

5. Religion secures that priceless possession — a HAPPY HOME. Six things are requisite to create a home. Integrity must be the architect, and Tidiness the upholsterer. It must be warmed by xlfFection, and lighted up with Cheerfulness; and Industry must be the ventilator, renewing the atmosphere, and bringing in fresh salubrity day by day; while over all, as a protecting canopy and defending glory, nothing will suffice except the blessing of God.

Dear reader, if you are in earnest yourself, I hope it is your privilege to have a pious partner. If not, “what knowest thou, O man, but that by prayer and persuasion thou mayest gain thy wife?” And then all will work sweetly; and with the Bible to direct you, and helping one another, you may condense into your dwelling, however narrow, all the happiness of which this mortal state is susceptible.

In the north of England, and in the days of haunted houses, a certain farm was infested by a mischievous sprite. It skimmed the milk, and soured the cream; it made the haystacks heat, and blasted the cattle into skin and bone; and besides frightening the maid-servants, and tumbling the chihh’Gn into the pond, it often raised such a riot up among the rafters, that the poor people were brought to their wits’ end, and resolved on leaving the place. Everything was packed, and the cavalcade was in motion; and they had proceeded so far in their journey when a countryman met the procession, and in amazement demanded, “What’s thee doing, neighbor Hodge?” “We are flitting,” shouted the farmer, gruffly; and from the depths of the wagon a shrill voice echoed, “Yes, we are flitting;” and at the same moment one of the youngsters screamed, “Oh, father, father. Brownie’s in the churn!” And finding that their foe was as ready for the road as themselves, the farmer turned the horse’s head, and went back to his old premises with a look of woful resignation. And in the course of my travels I have often encountered a Brownie’s flitting. Beneath the shadow of the Draciienfels, on Lochlomond’s silvery tide, in the fluttering

Streets of Paris, and on the bright mountains of AVales, I have many times fallen in with a family party, evidently fleeing from a haunted house. And havinof devoted some attention to the subject, I find that the mansions of the aristocracy are mainly frequented by two evil spirits, called Indifference and Ennui. They are dull demons, both of them, quite different from the vivacious Brownies of the farm and the village: they raise no racket overhead; but being of phlegmatic mood and courtly habits, they wear felt slippers and glide softly over the polished floor. The one is an incubus which dulls the heart, the other a torpedo which benumbs the brain. Indifference or Nonchalance (for both he and his cousin Ennui are foreigners, and had French names when they first came over) — Indifference takes the zest from friendship, and all the endearment out of closest kindred. If he gets into the breakfast-parlor, my lady and my lord have nothing to say to one another, but my lord taKes alternate mouthfuls of bis muffin and the morning paper, and my lady communes in silence with the sugar-tongs; and if he gets into the nursery, the brothers and sisters there are blighted into little lords and little ladies, with as little love to one another as if they were already old; and if they love papa and mamma, it is because they have learned to connect them with the cake and fruit which endear the moments after dinner. And Ennui is an idle ghost, harboring under ottomans and sofas, fond of a dressing-gown, and delighting in breakfasts at mid-day; and a most irksome ghost — a sort of aerial cuttle, shedding inky gloom into the atmosphere, and blackening the brightest skies — a moral Remora,* frustrating existence, and leaving clever and accomplished people without an object and without an

•The press-corrector has put a query at this word; and perhaps the reader will put another. It was a fish which, in the time of Pliny, could stop a ship in full sail. But, as it is no lonjcr known to seamen, I suspect, as hinted above, that it has exchanged the stormy deep for our modern drawing-rooms.

effort, becalmed on a carpet, spell-bound on a woollen sea.

“Day after day, day after day,

They stick, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
[Jpon a painted ocean.”

And it is to escape from these afflictive inmates that the travellino-carriaoe is ordered to the door, and the rumble put on. But all in vain. The Brownies have bespoken their seats. The one perks his long visage between my lord and lady, and the other mounts the box with the heir apparent. The country is deplorably “stupid;” and as the day Vvears on, the travellers discover many omissions and “tiresome” mistakes, which are so far a relief as entitling them to be cross at one another; and when the sumptuous hotel is attained, and the costly dinner despatched, a sullen sprite guides each to his chamber and laughs as they labor to sleep —

“For vainly Betty performs her part, If a ruffled head and a rumpled heart, As well as the couch, want making.”

And I am sorry to add that many a cottage is haunted. The circumstance which first called my attention to the fact, was finding that so few working-people are keepers at home. In the evenings, I found them at penny-theatres, and at “judge and jury” trials, smoking beside the alehouse fire, or lounoino- over a tankard at the door of some country-tavern. And 1 was sorry to see them. I regretted that they should be so selfish. I grieved that they should indulge in enjoyments in which their wives and children could not share. But going to their houses, I found a reason. I found that many of these husbands and fathers were driven from their homes by evil spirits. The truth is, that the abode of many an industrious man is rendered miserable by two notorious goblins, and they are none the better for being native Saxons. Tawdriness is a sluttish fairy, rejoicing in dirt and disorder; her sandals are down in the heels, the better to display the gap in the stocking-sole; and a tuft of ragged hair asserts its freedom through a corresponding rent in the frowzy cap. In matters of vertu — -in pottery and fnrnituj-e — her taste is for torsos and fractured specimens, chairs without bottoms, and grates without bars; and therefore she breaks the spouts of the pitchers, and burns the nozzle of the bellows and the brush of the hearthbroom. xlnd in the picturesque, her liking is for new combinations and striking contrasts; a blazing riband and a smutty face; a feed to-day and a fast to-morrow On one end of her geographical tea-table, untouched since the morning, England is represented in crumbs of bread, and alongside, the sister isle is sy nbolized in potato-parings; and at another corner, an Arve of muddy ale mingles with a Rhone of reluctant sky-blue. The kindred elf is Turmoil. Her talent lies in creating discord; and between the slamming of the door, and the clashing of the fire-irons, and the squalling of turbulent children, it is not surprising that she sometimes scares away to other scenes the distracted “good man of the house.” The two together are more than a match for any man; and we can not wonder at the strange asylums which people seek whose homes are haunted by dirtiness and din.

But all these foes of the house disappear when piety takes possession. I could re- ‘oice to tell the scenes which may be witnessed in some of England’s stately halls, where the genius of the place is an ascendant gos])e], and where, from its presence, listlessness and languor have fled away. Because I think you would like to look at them, I would gladly sketch some of these bright moral spectacles, where, surrounded by the beauties of nature and tie amenities of art, families of high degree dwell lovingly together, and occupy their hours in intellectual improvement and in devices for doing good to those around them; where wealth gives practical expression to philanthropy, and where the morning and evening sacrifice derive, not virtue, but impresfiiveness from their position who present it.

But I must indulge in no more digression. I must hasten to tell how real religion would make your homes happy, my dear, industrious neighbors.

And, for one thing, it would make them neat and tidy. The mind of an ungodly man is all confusion. Whims and fancies, lusts and passions, come and go; and there being no pervasive principle, no holy controlling power, no master of the house, that mind becomes a perfect chaos — a cage of disorder and impurity. And that mind manifests itself. It is very apt to transfer its own image to the abode in which it dwells, and make this also a den of filth and confusion. But as soon as that mind surrenders to the spirit of God, and is possessed by this heavenly inmate, a mighty change comes over it. He shuts the door against vile thoughts and vilianous notions; and refractory passions he quells beneath his firm but gentle sway. And he creates a liking for what is pure, honest, lovely, and of good report. And that inward change tells outwardly — the renewed mind shows itself. It sets the house in order; it finds a place for everything, and keeps everything in its place; and though it may not afford costly raiment or fine furniture, it is rich enough to keep them clean.

And just as it purifies the house, so religion pacifies the household. A great calm inwardly, it sheds a tranquillizing influence on every side. It fills the hearts which hold it with love to one another, and to happy yokefellows it gives a truer and more tender understanding than ever sprang from sentimental fondness.

The man of prayer is always a man of power. His very presence is encircled by a serene ascendency, and his children and all around him feel it. His own happiness reminds him that there is a time to laugh and a time to play; and instead of fretting at childish glee, he can heartily promote it. Or if it be time to forbear, his friendly “Hush!” creates an instant and cheerful calm. The man of prayer carries with him something of thai secret majesty which is only gotten at the mercy-seat; and while he is not seeking to bend all things to his imperious wishes, he finds his wishes forestalled, and his desires fulfilled by prompt affection, or, better still, by a kind and all-controlling power. And, hastening from his daily toil, he knows what he may expect within — smiles and caresses, and schoolroom news, loud shouts and silent love — shouts which tell that the father is not formidable, and silent love, which can not tell how dear the husband is, but both together telling to his inmost heart the loving-kindness of the Lord.

Reader, your happiness will be my reward. In this paper I have tried to show, that, even within the limits of the present life, there is great gain in contented godliness. Will you not try it? Will you not be persuaded to that wise experiment which thousands have made, but never one regretted?

Think over what I have written. Read it to your wife. Ask her what she thinks; and should you both agree that your present course is not the best, and that it might be mended, begin at once the more excellent way.

Pray to God that, for Jesus’s sake, he would give you the teaching of his own Holy Spirit. You have many things to learn; many bad habits to give up, and many good ones to befrin. You can do nothino; of yourselves; but may the Lord make you able and willing in his day of power!

For the past, seek pardon in a Saviour’s blood. If urged in the Mediator’s name, God will not despise the prayer. “Wash me from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.”

And, for the future, resolve, in the strength of the Lord, on a course of conduct entirely new. Say with the Psalmist,” I will behave myself wisely in a perfect way; I will walk within my house with a perfect heart. A froward heart shall depart from me; I will not know a wicked person.

And, to show that you are sincere — to prevent your present purposes from melting like the vanished goodness of other days, — take action. This evening set up God’s worship in your family.* Next Lord’s day carry your household to some Christian sanctuary, and commence a course of constant attendance on the means of grace. Break instandy with any bad companions, and if there be anything on which you covet farther light, consult some missionary, or minister, or pious friend. And may the Lord bless you, and keep you, and cause his countenance to shine upon you!

* Those who wish directions for conducting this blessed service, which has given a new and joyful aspect to many a dwelling, are referred to a tract, called “The Church in the House.”

[This tract is published with some others in the “Harp on the Willow.” — Am. Pub.]

0 God of Bethel! by whose hand

Thy people still are fed,
Who through this weary pilgrimage

Hast all our fathers led:

Through each perplexing path of life
Our wand’ring footsteps guide;
Give us each day our daily bread,
. And raiment fit provide.

’ 0 spread thy cov’ring wings around,
Till all our wand’rings cease,
And at our Father’s loved abode,
Our souls arrive in peace.”