SABBATH SCHOOL VISITER. VOL. IV. SEPTEMBER, 1836. NO. 9. BIRTHDAY LINES. Addressed to two young friends of the same age. At twelve years old was Jesus found At twelve years old, say, where are ye, Your hearts for Him this day, engage? This day, O now the offering make, Who did in love our nature take; Who childhood's wants and weakness knew. And in the holy path he trod From childhood to His latest breath; A. B. H. ONE WAY TO DO GOOD. "I'm sure I don't see what good I can do, mother," said Charles Haven, as he returned from the Sabbath school and laid his books on the table near which Mrs. Haven was sitting. "Mr. Harris addressed the school, and he told us all to try this week, and see if we could not do some good.” "Yes, brother," added little Martha, "and when you smiled he said, 'You smile because you wonder what good a little child can do; and then he read a letter, which said what a little boy did do once."" "What was it, my daughter?" asked Mrs. Haven. At that instant Charles exclaimed, "Oh, mother, there is the minister coming here with father." "And perhaps," said Martha, "he will show you the letter, which he said contained a true little story.' After tea Martha, timidly, approached Mr. Harris, and asked him to read the letter to her mother. Her request was instantly complied with. "The letter," said he, as he took it from his pocket-book, “was addressed by a lady to her little Sabbath school class during her absence from them. THE LETTER. My dear children,—There was a little boy in a town near this, who went to the Sabbath school. His father was a kind, affectionate man, and dearly loved his children; but he was not pious, and did not pray with his family. As William returned, a few weeks since, from the Sabbath school, he went and stood by his father, and placing his little hand on that arm which was affectionately thrown around him, he looked earnestly in his father's face. “My son, what do you wish? "Father," said William, "I want you to do something." 66 My son, what do you wish? I will do any thing to make my dear William happy." 66 Then, father, won't you pray with me and Ellen and Mary?" The father paused a moment. His heart was full; and his manly voice trembled as he replied, "I cannot— indeed, I cannot.” A week passed, and another Sabbath evening came. The crimson light was fading from the western sky, and the evening stars were quietly stealing from behind the beautiful clouds that lingered in the horizon. It was the day of all the week the best; and in its calm retirement the father of little William, for the first time in his life-prayed. Tears and sighs were mingled with the broken sentences that escaped his lips; but they were tears of blest penitence-they were sighs from a humble and contrite heart; and a smile of joy irradiated bis countenance as he collected around him, his little family, and knelt with them in grateful prayer. As he arose, he drew his little boy towards him, and kissed his fair brow, as he said, "My son, you awakened in my heart the first desire for communion with the High and Holy One; and from thy mouth may praise be perfected.' Was not William happy? God chose him as the means of his father's conversion; and God may choose you as the means of as great good, if you love and trust him. "What can I do?" said Martha, as Mr. Harris closed the letter and replaced it in his pocket-book. "Father does pray now, and he prays with Charles and me very often-and Papa don't you pray for us every day?" 66 Mr. Haven pressed his daughter to his heart, and replied, My child, if in future your father daily bends the knee in fervent prayer for his children, he shall bless God for the good he has enabled you to do this night. Oh, may you both be blessed now and forever!" NOTICE OF ELIZA ANN TRAVIS. S- S. The subject of this notice was born in Natick, Mass., August, 1829, and died in July, 1835, aged 5 years and 11 months. She was a member of the Sabbath school from the age of three till her death. Her parents do not remember that she ever asked to stay away. She loved the school and her teacher, and at home would often speak of what had been said to her. She was very fond of Sabbath school books, and particularly the lives of good little children. As her mother was one day reading to her the Memoir of Mary Lothrop, Eliza Ann wept. She was asked if she wanted to be like Mary; to which she answered, yes. For some time after this she was very still, and said little except to ask questions about what had been read to her. One day her mother said to her, "Do you recollect what Mary used to do?" Eliza knelt down and offered a short prayer. After this, if she did any thing wrong, it was sufficient reproof to ask her if that was the way that Mary used to do? She had learnt several prayers adapted to children, and always repeated one of them on going to bed. Her sympathies had already become enlisted for the heathen. If she had any money given her she always saved it. One day, as she was looking over her little treasures, a neighbor came in, and spoke to her of the heathen and of their wants, and as she was going away, Eliza reached out all she had, saying, "Send that to them." Eliza Ann was taken unwell in March, after which she went out but little. Her mother said to her one day as they were sitting alone, "You know that God made you, and it is He that 1 can make you well when you are sick. Shall I ask him to let you get well so that you can be a good girl here; or if it should not please him to let you get well, that he would give you a new heart, and take you to his happy heaven? After a moment's hesitation she answered, "Yes. From this time she seemed to think she should not get well, but appeared very submissive and cheerful. She said to her mother, one day, “You must not ask to have me get well; it is wicked." She would often ask her mother to read to her in the Memoir of Mary Lothrop, and one day, after hearing this, she wanted to hear the 14th chapter of John, in which Christ comforts his disciples. She then asked her mother, "Do you think I shall go to heaven?" I hope so, was the reply. She said, "Will papa and you?" If we repent of our sins, said her mother, and believe in Christ, we shall. Eliza said, "You must learn Alonzo and Claudius (her little brothers) to be good, for they will not know unless you learn them." Her mother asked her if she had always been as good a girl as Mary was. She said she had not. She was told that if she had done any thing wrong, she must ask God to forgive her. She wanted her mother to pray with her; and after this she said, I will pray now; will you tell me what to say. She then repeated a prayer for the forgiveness of her sins, and for a new heart. She was asked what she would do if she should get well. She said she would read her Bible and pray. Her mother, perceiving that Eliza was very much exhausted, said to her, you are tired and must go to sleep. She turned and shut her eyes, but in a few moments said, "Mother, you must not worry too much because I am not going to get well; but go right to sleep when you go to bed." The same afternoon she said to her sister, "I have prayed for a new heart, and I have got a little new heart." Directly, one of her school mates came in, and Eliza wanted her to look at the picture in the Memoir of Mary Lothrop, and said to her, "You must be a good girl, and come to heaven." After this she was able to say but little, but would often ask to hear reading or singing, and she was particularly fond of the following hymn :- "See the kind Shepherd, Jesus, stands, Gathers the feeble in his arms, And feeds the tender lambs." After hearing this sung she seemed calm, and went to sleep. The day before she died, while her mother was reading in the "Mother's Hymn Book," Eliza said, "I want Christ should call me his own little child." She appeared sensible that she should not get well, but spoke of dying with much cheerfulness, and a sweet and heavenly smile played on her countenance to the last. In the morning of the day she died, her little brother came into the chamber, and she looked at him and smiled, and called for her younger brother. He came to the bed, and she looked pleasantly at him, but could say nothing, and in a few moments she strangled and died. To those who best knew Eliza Ann, she furnished a striking and pleasing instance of intelligent youthful piety, not only during her sickness, but for a considerable time before. And it is hoped that the reading of this notice may encourage parents and Sabbath school teachers in their efforts to bring the young, the "tender lambs," to Christ. How rich a reward for all your fidelity and toil, could you see one child or scholar leave the world as did Eliza Ann. And will not the youthful reader, too, be led by this example to pray for the forgivenesso f sins; to love the Savior; and prepare for that "happy heaven" to which, we hope, Eliza Ann has gone? ADVICE TO A SCHOLAR. My dear young Friend,-You have now entered on your fourteenth year; and, as you are about to leave the Sabbath school, I have a strong desire that you may carry with you right feelings and correct principles. I am truly sorry that you cannot continue in the school a few years longer; but, as the circumstances of your parents make it necessary that you should now learn a trade, I shall endeavor, from time to time, to give you such instruction as I think your situation requires. The first thing against which I would warn you is the breaking of the Sabbath. This day, my dear Francis, is sacred to God. Let its earliest hours be given to prayer and serious reflection. When you look around you and see every thing bright and beautiful, you must remember that God is their maker, and that he wishes you to look upon his works and be happy. But God wishes you to rejoice with a holy heart, for there is no peace to the wicked. No, there is no peace to the wicked. There is nothing that satisfies them here, and nothing that will make them happy hereafter. Francis, you will think of this. No peace to the wicked. This is the language of God. Have you ever, seriously, thought on the character of 17* VOL. IV. |