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cheerfully devoted to one, whom I so much love and esteem, and for whose temporal and spiritual interest I feel deeply solicitous. Some of my leisure hours I have spent, this winter, in perusing the elegant and instructive pages of Dr. Beattie. His remarks on filial duties, have given the current to my present train of thought. Allow me to quote one sentence. "Next to that which is due to the Creator, children owe their parents the highest love, reverence and gratitude." On reflecting on this subject, I thought that the most delightful scene of earthly bliss, which pen can des cribe, or imagination paint, is a family of children who are perfectly obedient to their parents. If a father could ever say of any sublunary object, In this I have found happiness, it was in the fond embrace of a dutiful child. If a mother was ever supremely blest in the object of her tenderest affection, it was when witnessing a punctual and cheerful compliance with all her wishes.

You will doubtless acknowledge this an interesting subject, and of practical importance to one of your age; but perhaps, my friend, you have never considered how much your personal happiness depends on your conduct towards those to whom you owe your existence, your support, and a thousand blessings. I trust you will lend me your attention, while I make one or two remarks on a subject in which you are so deeply concerned. I do not look forward to futurity-my eye is fixed on your present happiness.

Let us consider for a moment the happiness, or the misery which children experience in their own bosoms, according as they respect or disrespect their parents. Though the rod of correction should never be felt, the disobedient child will necessarily be unhappy. Whatever else he may escape, he cannot escape the reproaches of a guilty conscience. Shame and confusion corer him when he appears in the presence of his parents. He receives no paternal smile-but a frown-a frown which he feels that he justly deserves. He has done wrong—and though the act itself might afford a momentary pleasure, the recollection of it is attended with

pidation, and after obtaining a light, with some difficulty and delay, he went to the door, opened it with great caution, and was surprised to find nobody there. He returned to his bed, and telling his wife that they were mistaken, he tried to compose himself to sleep again. But neither of the two could think of any thing but ghosts and hobgoblins. In a few minutes, they were electrified by another rap. After considerable debate upon the question, which of them should go, they concluded to share the danger together, and when they arrived at the door, were again astonished at finding nobody there. They looked out, up and down the street, but all was perfectly calm and still; a light snow had just fallen, and there was not the least mark of a footstep upon it. They examined all the other doors, but at neither did they find any thing to explain the mystery.

They were soon convinced, beyond a doubt, that they were honored with a visit from the Evil One, and the whole house was immediately in a state of consternation. The man was walking about in utter dismay, his wife just ready to fall into hysterics, and the children crying with terror. After some time, the rapping growing louder and more frequent, my courageous friend succeeded in urging, by threats and persuasions, his oldest son to steal away at the back door, and call in one of the neighbors. When he came in, he soon ascertained that some roguish boys had tied a string to the knocker, and were pulling it, occasionally, from an old deserted building across the street; making all this mischief, to amuse themselves with the ridiculous fears of the family. MERTREM.

DEAR C.

[For the Monitor.]

I AM happy in having an opportunity of complying with your request. If my letters can afford you any pleasure or profit, a portion of my time shall be

cheerfully devoted to one, whom I so much love and esteem, and for whose temporal and spiritual interest I feel deeply solicitous. Some of my leisure hours I have spent, this winter, in perusing the elegant and instructive pages of Dr. Beattie. His remarks on filial duties, have given the current to my present train of thought. Allow me to quote one sentence. "Next to

that which is due to the Creator, children owe their parents the highest love, reverence and gratitude." On reflecting on this subject, I thought that the most delightful scene of earthly bliss, which pen can des cribe, or imagination paint, is a family of children who are perfectly obedient to their parents. If a father could ever say of any sublunary object, In this I have found happiness, it was in the fond embrace of a dutiful child. If a mother was ever supremely blest in the object of her tenderest affection, it was when witnessing a punctual and cheerful compliance with all her wishes.

You will doubtless acknowledge this an interesting subject, and of practical importance to one of your age; but perhaps, my friend, you have never considered how much your personal happiness depends on your conduct towards those to whom you owe your existence, your support, and a thousand blessings. I trust you will lend me your attention, while I make one or two remarks on a subject in which you are so deeply concerned. I do not look forward to futurity—my eye is fixed on your present happiness.

Let us consider for a moment the happiness, or the misery which children experience in their own bosoms, according as they respect or disrespect their parents. Though the rod of correction should never be felt, the disobedient child will necessarily be unhappy. Whatever else he may escape, he cannot escape the reproaches of a guilty conscience. Shame and confusion corer him when he appears in the presence of his parents. He receives no paternal smile-but a frown-a frown which he feels that he justly deserves. He has done wrong-and though the act itself might afford a momentary pleasure, the recollection of it is attended with

to

pain and remorse. Those peculiarly pleasant and happy emotions, which arise from the consciousness of receiving a parent's approbation, he never feels. Though the disobedient child may sometimes submit through fear; yet every command is irksome-to obey becomes painful to disobey is attended with more painful consequences. He must, for years, be under the just and reasonable commands of his parents; and those which are naturally calculated to make him happy, seem him, on account of his perverse disposition, a grievous burden. Thus his disobedience renders him sullen and wretched, when he might, were he disposed to obey, be cheerful and happy. And though he may flatter himself with the thought of one day being liberated from parental authority, yet he will have the same disposition, which will lead him into new kinds of vice, and be attended with new and more aggravated evils. So that he not only suffers immense loss of happiness by his disobedience, but he becomes subject to the worst of passions, which are painful in themselves, and which will terminate in endless misery and ruin.

If the picture of disobedience has become too painful for you longer to contemplate, let me invite your attention to that amiable and lovely child, who finds his chief happiness in obeying his parents. When he has done what was required of him, he feels a satisfaction that adds much to his other pleasures. He is happy, superlatively happy in the presence of his parentsevery new act of obedience renders it more pleasant to obey-strengthens his affections for his parents— prevents the rising of harsh and painful emotions, and throws a charm around the age of childhood and youth, which will ever be remembered with pleasure and satisfaction.

Would you then be happy, love and obey your par ents. Never indulge the most secret desire of being liberated from their restraints. The moment such a wish is cherished, it will make you unhappy. Ere you are aware, you may form a habit of fostering a disobedient spirit-and when such a habit is once formed, "farewell, a long and last farewell," to all your happi

ness. You may have hours of giddy hilarity, or a momentary gratification of some selfish and wicked desire, but this is not happiness. Your return to your parents is greeted with no smile-no joy-no cordial approbation! But on the other hand, if you are duti ful to your parents, your own feelings will witness that real and lasting happiness emphatically belong to you.. FILIUS.

[For the Monitor.]

TO THE LUKEWARM CHRISTIAN.

He who lags in the Christian race, falls far behind the active spirit of the times. The church is beginning to look up from her low state of inaction, and shame be to the man who composes himself to the sleep of uselessness. The Jews the Africans-all the world, are to be regenerated; but what can a feeble piety do towards producing such mighty effects? "The sacramental hosts of God's elect," with "the King of glory" at their head, are on their way to universal dominion, armed for the battle, and moving onward with the sure and rapid strides of victory over the powers of darkness and the gods of the heathen. The attendant heralds are crying, 'Come ye up to this battle!'

But you, inactive Christian, who did once answer this challenge, put on the armor, and join yourself to the ranks, have now become deaf to those heralds' voice, have put off that armor for the trappings of worldly honor, and have deserted those ranks to lie down and slumber. While you slumber, the hosts are marching forward to conquest; the battle is fought, the victory is won,-but you are not there.

18*

XAVIER.

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