And again, as then, I see thee in thy early manhood's pride,

As the guiding-star which ruled me, ever by my willing side.

Thine were then the earliest offerings that the infant spring-time brought,

Thine were first the daring footsteps that her sacred temples sought;

And the wealth of blushing blossoms nestled

'mid my flowing hair,

Were not thine the gentle fingers that enwreathed their treasures there?

Many a quaint and ancient volume, many a relic rich and rare,

From the world across the waters to my bowerhome thou didst bear.

Thou hadst sought the Ocean caverns, and their buried treasures won

Yet to me the spoils were given, when the victory was done ;

And a smile of pride and triumph gave thine eyes a changeful light,

As thy crown of pearl and amber o'er my brow grew softly bright.

Yet thy smile was but of triumph, naught of love thine eye betrayed;

Sadly gazed I, till its sunlight slowly deepened into shade.

experience. At a time when she wrought in a factory, a "Revival" took place, and she became interested; she would go to her work at three or four o'clock in the morning, in order not to desire to work over hours in the evening, as her wish for gain had impelled her. She attended night after night these meetings, till at length she was torn and shattered by religious anxiety, and this, added to her excessive labors, was too much for her strength. The little portion of time she allotted for sleep, was lessened by the length of her wrestlings in prayer, till, exhausted, she sank upon her bed. At length she fell into a trance, and, with no signs of life, she lay in that condition for three days. Many physicians came to see her, and though none of the usual evidences of life were present, they could not decide that she was dead. She was insensible to the effect of needles and pincers applied to her flesh, but lay, as she expressed it, "as cold as clay and as stiff as a rail." While she was thus conditioned, she affirms she went to heaven. She was bewildered with joy to think she was really in heaven, but the next moment she was filled with fear lest she should not be permitted to re- |! main. She gazed around the vast palace hall, and all the space was filled with white covered seats- so white was the covering that it glistened like new fallen snow when the sun is clear in the heavens. At the end of the hall, opposite to the entrance, was an elevated platform, on which was something like an altar, with three arm chairs, covered as the seats, and to this platform she was invited by the Savior. He pointed her to one of the outer chairs; and she sat down in it, and found it soft as down. Such a sense of repose she had never known before as when she sunk into its softness and laid her arms on either side. She then took a survey of what was in sight. Before her, kneeling, with the sweetest faces and with hands put palm to palm as if in prayer, an innumerable number of little children were seen nearest the altar or throne. They sang with a richness of melody never dreamed of by mortals, as she said. Back of the platform-chairs, quite elevated, sat three venerable men, their hair was as white as the almond blooms, and their faces were very holy. She asked who they were? She was told that they were Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and that they "tuned the singing"-led on the choral. The unusual nature of these sights exhausted her, and she began to be hungry. No sooner was the desire for food felt, than into her hand, from an invisible medium, came something shaped

like a fig, yet yellow as an orange, and having the taste of many fruits. She ate, and was then thirsty, and at the first sensation of thirst, as strangely as before, the answer came. A goblet, in appearance like silver, came into her hand, filled with a liquid that looked like milk, but as she drank, she tasted a resemblance to every thing that had ever been desirable-every luxury was there. After this she fell asleep. When she awoke, she was directed to follow her guide, and then left this beautiful place. She stood on the outside of heaven; and great throng was gathered there, and, said she to me, with a strange fire in her eye, "You need not tell me that them words there in the twenty-sixth of Matthew don't mean what they say, for I heard Him say them, and saw the damned go into the place made for them-I saw the gates myself. And He told me I must go back to earth, and tell what I had seen, and if I was faithful, I might return to stay there forever. And I have been faithful," she added, with great intensity of feeling; "I have borne my testimony in the presence of five hundred at once, and I wanted you to hear it."

"But it does not teach that. I believe all that is said in Matt. xxvi. 46, and if I were to hear that language uttered in reality as you heard it in your vision, I could not believe it meant endless punishment, for God chastises to reform, to reclaim. But, still further. I know a good woman who had a vision, who told me that vision as earnestly as you have told me yours. She was a member of a Baptist church at the time she was taken sick, and was thought to be in a dying state. She was strongly opposed to Universalism, but she had children, and good children too, who received it as the truth of the Bible. She was greatly concerned about those children. She read her Bible; she prayed; she agonized before God; she labored to be reconciled, but she could find no rest. At length her prayer was for some manifestation that would decide the case for her. A prophecy seemed brooding over her soul that an answer would come, and she waited for it. Suddenly all was bright about her, and the Savior appeared.

He

stood by her bedside with a countenance of unspeakable benignity, and with a holy beauty that made heaven present to the heart. "I AM," said he," the Savior of THE WORLD." "Can it be?" exclaimed the delighted mother. "Yes," was the response, and again, with a divine emphasis came the declaration, "I am the Savior of the World." Peace passed upon that Christian's spirit, and from that hour she began to recover, and she was certain it was a vision, and not a dream, because ever after the Bible was a new book to her, and she was able to argue with the wisest and most learned in Bible lore in defence of Universal Salvation. Now, madam, I will not dispute that you have had the vision you represent, but if I am to receive it, what must I do with the vision of this other good Christian? To deny hers, is to deny yours, for the evidence is equal. What shall I do?"

THUS far had I written when a new vein of thought was opened in my mind. Why need this be? Why should so many pain-racked bodies and weary hearts and guilt-stained souls people this beautiful earth? We would not ask this as a theological question, but as a mother's thought, the subject of careful and prayerful inquiry from the depths of a mother's heart, while as her hand guides the pen, her infant sleeps upon her breast.

Can we make or mar the happiness of our children, even after they have left our care? Can we prepare them for life's labors, and nerve them for its trials, and strengthen them against its

many temptations? Is it in a mother's power to say if her children shall go forth to the world as Christian men and women, or as the slaves of sordid passions, or as the gilded playthings of a day? Is it in her power to say if they shall carry with them in life's darkest hours the light of a happy childhood and a mother's love? I think it is. Byron's mother made him a misanthrope, and his misanthropy cursed the world he hated. Napoleon's mother made him a warrior, and the nations have hardly yet ceased to tremble before him. Benjamin West has recorded of his first effort, that it met his mother's approving kiss, and his was a true word-picture of a mother's power, when he said, "That kiss made me a painter." John Quincy Adams and Timothy Dwight, are specimens of the statesmen and divines with which good mothers may furnish the world.

"I took up a package of my children's letters to-day," said a mother to me, "and they were really quite a comfort to me." How blessed is the reward a mother sometimes receives, even in these little thought-messengers, from those who have long since raised for themselves another altar-place, and created another happy home.

I read one of these affectionate epistles, and was forcibly impressed by the close. The writer quotes from "Fanny Forester's" lines to her mother:

"The world hath kindly dealt, mother!

By the child thou lov'st so well; Thy prayers have circled round her path, And 'twas their holy spell

Which made that path so dearly bright, Which strewed the roses there,

Which threw the light, and cast the balm, On every breath of air.'

*

*

Mother, I have read this beautiful stanza until I have learned it, it so completely expresses my feelings.. Adieu now, mother, and don't forget to pray for Ellen."

How touching the request, coming as it did from a daughter, who already, in a distant city, nestled her own loved child to her bosom, and offered up petitions for its welfare. There too was revealed one powerful agent of that mother's influence. Her prayer for her child! From its earliest infancy she had asked of God concerning it, and found wisdom and strength for a mother's life-task, from the Mercy seat of prayer. Not only was her own heart thus purified,

and her soul strengthened in its need, but what a blessed memory was thus created for the after life of her child. What a powerful inducement for religious meditation and communion would be her mother's example, and the holy associa tions connected with it. Among light minded or worldly associates away from the sacred seclusion of home, with the dread of ridicule, (so fearfully strong in the young mind) added to the influences of new pursuits and engrossing thoughts to deter from habitual prayer, how often may this be the reclaiming power. "The hour of prayer is come in my own loved home. My father prays for me. My mother bears her child upon her heart's petition up to God." And in families where the death or irreligion of the father has left the whole duty upon the mother, still may this power be felt; "My mother always prayed."

"My mother prayed for me." It has come as a heart burst of penitence from a guilt stained wanderer returned to his mother's grave;-it has been uttered in joyous thanksgiving by many an aged Christian about to enter into heavenly rest.

How striking a contrast to this is presented in the words of a convict about to suffer the death penalty for a fearful crime. On the scaffold he asked for his mother. She came. "Mother, you placed me here! Mother, you made me what I am! You placed the poison to my infant lips, and taught me to love it. Under its influence I committed the fatal deed. Mother, this is your work." She fainted, and was borne away.

"Mother, this is YOUR work!" There is not a mother upon earth to whom those words are not sooner or later addressed by the life of her child, and it is for each one of them all to say if to her it shall come as an anthem of rejoicing or as the bitter curse of an accusing spirit.

Beloit, Wisconsin.

T. J. CARNEY.

GRACIE WRIGHT.

I LOVE thee for thy step of air,
Thy rosy cheek and chestnut hair,
And for thine eye of azure light,
Gracie Wright.

And not for these, dear one, alone,
I love thee for thy gentle tone
And for thy hand-clasp, warm and tight,
Gracie Wright.

Why art thou ever good and mild? Comes there no shadow, dailing child, To dim thy spirit sky so bright,

Gracie Wright?

Sure thou hast had thy sorrowing hours;
Thine have not all been thornless flowers;
Can grief o'erwhelm thee with its might,
Gracie Wright?

Does anger never flash thine eye
And swell that peaceful bosom high?
Do tears ne'er cloud thine eye's clear light,
Gracie Wright?

When gladness comes to make thy heart
With new and wild pulsations start,
Thou'rt still the same, mild, gentle sprite,
Gracie Wright.

Say, does the joy-tide run so deep
It in thy heart doth ever keep
And ne'er run over with delight,
Gracie Wright?

Thou blessed one, to thee has heaven
A strange, a mighty power given,
O ever use that power aright,
Gracie Wright!

May angels guard thee, gentle child,
And smooth for thee life's pathway wild,
And tinge each shadowy cloud with light,
Gracie Wright!

MAY S. L.

THE EXILED CHIPPEWA-WAM-E-NOO-SA.

MINGLED with the wild and ferocious customs of the savage, we frequently find the most admirable and unflinching adherence to justice, and a beautiful susceptibility to gratitude, that divine and noble emotion of man's nature. Instances are on record, in which both these principles have been strikingly illustrated by the lives and deeds of those untutored sons of the forest. Untutored, I say, yes, in the arts and craftiness that disgrace civilized nations, as well as in those refinements that are a distinguishing feature between the white man and the dusky Indian. Most humiliating is the reflection, that we, who have been favored with the light of science, and the teachings of the Gospel, have been the bearers of many of those enormous evils that afflict humanity-the disseminators of

them, among the aboriginal inhabitants of our broad and beautiful land. The swift destruction of the brand and tomahawk, is not more fearful than the blighting "fire water" and its kindred temptations, that have led hundreds of simple beings to utter ruin. Let us be silent, then, when we read of the baleful fires kindled along our western frontiers; and find in our own weak and sinful hearts, an excuse for the untaught child of nature, who acts from the small glimmering light that illumines his mind, and knows nothing of the Glorious Sun that has dispelled much of the gross darkness that bound men's souls in ages past.

Whatever may be the state of morals among the Chippewas in their degeneracy, there was a time, when theft, as well as many other like vices, was not tolerated among them. Disgrace not only followed the commission of such a crime, but the aggressor was banished forever from his tribe and their hunting grounds, returning only on pain of death. This was, with them, a better protection than the bolts and bars of our prison houses. A few hieroglyphics, drawn upon a lot of bark, were a surer protection than the "premium safe" of an enlightened nation. A poor comment this upon our code of laws!

Although acting more on the defensive than otherwise, in matters of warfare, the Chippewas were not deficient in true Indian prowess; and stood by their homes and hunting grounds to the last breath. In the year 18- a large war party of the Black Feet, having gained the Chippewa lands, by the head waters of Lake Superior, undiscovered, fell suddenly upon the latter in the night, and threatened to almost destroy the whole tribe. Taken somewhat by surprise, the Chippewas had not time to rally around their chiefs, and seizing their arms in haste, fed in great confusion. The outskirts of their principal village were already in flames; and destruction, utter and hopeless, to men, women and children, seemed to hover over their heads. At this moment, a young man, hardly known as a warrior, bounded into their midst, and shouting the Chippewa war-cry, in a voice that startled the silent old woods from their slumbers, called upon the flying braves to follow him to the rescue of their homes from ruin. The emergency of the moment had called into action every energy of the young man, and he stood before them, transformed from the quiet youth to the daring warrior, in the space of a breath. His keen black eye flashed fury; and the large veins upon his dusky brow and sinewy arms, seemed

swollen to bursting, as, followed by the braves of his tribe, who caught a spark of the fire that kindled his soul, he led them to meet their enemies. The conflict was sharp but brief. Against the fury of Wam-e-noo-sa and his band, the Black Feet in vain attempted to advance. In their own land, and fighting for all they held dear, the enraged Chippewas dealt death on every hand. With a fury bordering on madness, Wam-e-noo-sa raged here and there, at one time discharging his rifle into the bosom of a powerful Black Foot, and again cleaving the head of another, with his whirling tomahawk. Soon the scalps that swung at his girdle made him an object of terror to his now bewildered enemies.

Two-thirds of the Black Feet were stretched upon the earth, to bend the bow no more; and the remainder were giving way, when Wam-enoo-sa beheld his own father, an aged chieftain, contending bravely but feebly, with a powerful Black Foot, who had just raised his hatchet to cleave the skull of the old warrior. Quick as thought, the young brave was at his side, and dashing his father to the earth, to save him from the impending blow, instantly closed in with his antagonist. Seizing him around the middle, by an almost superhuman effort, Wam-e-noo-sa flung the Black Foot to the earth, but was himself grappled in the fall, and both rolled upon the ground, each struggling desperately for the mastery. The Chippewa succeeded in drawing his knife first, but before he could use it effectually, the knife of the other gashed twice, to the very bone, the arm that had kept it from piercing his heart. At last, as he came uppermost, Wam-enoo-sa, by a sudden jerk of his disabled arm, threw the knife from the hand of the other, and at the same moment, raising himself by a powerful effort, plunged his own hunting-knife into the bosom of the Black Foot. The tight grasp of the Indian relaxed, and the young brave, almost exhausted, arose from the ground and looked about him. Not an enemy was in sight, and his friends had all disappeared in the pursuit. A moment he stood erect, and surveyed the bloody scene; then, from loss of blood, his head grew dizzy; and with the soft word Mi-o-na on his lips, he sank upon the earth in a death-like swoon. His filmy eye had caught the outline of a light figure, moving rapidly towards him from among the wigwams, and that brief view had told him that it was his own Mi-o-na hastening to his relief. Tearing the girdle from her waist, she bound it around his bleeding arm, then fly

ing to the lodges with the swiftness of an arrow, returned with a vessel of water, which she sprinkled over his face with a trembling hand. This revived him, and raising himself from the ground upon his elbow, he regarded the dusky girl attentively. There was a quiet joy `upon his face, indicative of the bliss he felt at having saved his tribe and kindred, from the ruin that threatened them; but more than all, at having turned back the blood-thirsty tomahawk from the brow of his affianced bride. She had long been promised him, by the old sachem Ma-daska, when he should have done some deed to distinguish himself among the braves. Now he After knew and felt that the time had come. regarding her a moment, he spoke. "The knife of the Black Foot was aimed at Wam-e-noo-sa's heart, but he lives. Will the Morning Star still shed her beautiful light upon him, and make him happy?"

"She will," was the reply. "And Ma-das-ka will smile upon him too. Had it not been for Wam-e-noo-sa, his home would now be smoking in ashes, and Mi-o-na's scalp hanging at the belt of the Black Foot. Ma-das-ka will give his Morning Star to shine always in the lodge of the brave Wam-e-noo-sa, and she will be happy in his home."

The return of the other warrior from the pursuit, interrupted farther conversation, and gathering around the wounded Chippewa, each offered some mark of respect. Mi-o-na would have fled, but her father detained her, and placing himself in the midst, addressed them in these words:

"Warriors of the Chippewas! You have this night escaped an awful doom. Who has saved you from this doom? Our homes are saved from the destroying fire, and our wives and children from the hatchets of our enemies, and who has ! done this? Wam-e-noo-sa. Let him be called 'Waking Panther,' and Ma-das-ka gives him the Morning Star to make his home bright and beautiful forever."

After this brief speech, the warriors separated, and sought their several homes. As they moved away, the eyes of O-moo-moo-la, the Lynx, were fixed upon Wam-e-noo-sa with a look of the blackest hatred. Mi-o-na caught the glance, and it made her shrink close to the side of her father, who bade the Waking Panther, now able to walk slowly, to come to his lodge.

The Chippewas kept themselves on the alert from this time, for fear their enemies might return with reinforcements, but no Black Feet ap