Front Matter
 Title Page
 Mary Grant
 Bread cast upon the waters

Title: Mary Grant, or, The secret fault
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00060762/00001
 Material Information
Title: Mary Grant, or, The secret fault : with alterations, adapting it to the use of the General Protestant Episcopal Sunday School Union.
Alternate Title: The secret fault
Mary Grant
Physical Description: 52, 4 p. : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Sherwood, Mrs (Mary Martha) 1775-1851 ( Author, Primary )
General Protestant Episcopal Sunday School Union ( Publisher )
Publisher: General Protestant Episcopal Sunday School Union
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: c1853
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00060762
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltuf - ALH4317
alephbibnum - 002233901

Table of Contents
    Front Matter
        Page 1
        Page 1a
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Mary Grant
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
    Bread cast upon the waters
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
Full Text



Tlm eye of dl Ln w la ev~ir pi, bheMlg hi e wl e
soe ped.-t erorb a, &

ADAMu IT TO Vm 0V Tm aE UmA. Ae sUes UM
monaT sOm. umu.





I was Saturday eennga and little Mary Grant
was sitting behind a corn-tack, getting her les
for the Sunday school, when Donald, her younger
brother, came running to her, with his book open in
his hand, to entreat her to asist him with the verse
he was trying to lean. Thee are some long
wods here, Mary," said he, "that I cannot under-
stand, and you know the master will not be tied,
however well I may repeat the words, if I do n6t
know what they mean."
ary. You must learn quick, then, D'Doa,-
for look at that black loud above our heads, it will
rain soo, and if we go into the house, you know
you are very bad at getting your less when the
little ones are playing beside you.
Dmed. It-is dark above us; but look, the nm
hine up that hill yet. Oh I wishwe couldly
to it,--bu perhaps it will not rain.
Mary gave her idle little brother ll the hel she-
coud, and trile to explain to him what he fte
dlaeult il his tak She was very smry fr him at
that time, sd would have om any t ing a her
t1 (A)

power for him, because he had met with a severe
disappointment the Sunday evening before, which
had cost him many tear. Donald was an idle little
boy, but for some weeks he had endeavored to do
better; and as he had got to the end of his Catechism,
and repeated his lesson without one mistake, he
expected to be advanced to a higher clau; but
when the master asked the children a few simple
questions about the meaning of what they had re-
peated, Donald gave such very foolish answers, as
proved the lesson could be of no use to him, as he
did not understand one word of it. And the master
told him he must begin the same Catechism over
again; for, unless he understood what it contained,
he was too ignorant to be put into the next class-
Donald wept bitterly when he foundhimself disap
pointed. He had often talked about his getting into
other class, and thought himself quite sue of it;
and now he was ashamed to tell his father and
mother what had happened. Mary tried to comfort
him, and promised to assist him if he would be
more attentive: and told him never to answer aen-
Mu---to think a moment,-and, if he did not un-
dertand what he was asked, to say so, and remain
silent, and be very attentive when the master ex-
plained any thing to him. This evening Mary
again warned him never to answer na -se, and
at to be ashamed of being ignorant-r, if he wa
will to lm the master was ready to instrut
hm Doid listed with more ear than ma
o all she A id, ad the lesson had been repeated

ver for the third time, and without uy mistake
when some large drops o rain begad to ll.
Dead. (Jumpoi up.) You wee right, Mary;
here comes the rin, but my task is done, and I do
not mind it now: so let us try who an run home
Donald ran ol and Mary followed as quick as
she could; but she had her books, and some work
she had brought out with her, to put up,-and
before she got round the corner of the field, the
darkness had increased, and a loud peal of thunder
followed. Mary ran as quik as she coud, and had
nearly reached the cottage, when a bright fish of
lightning made her start bak in terror. She felt a
if she had been rounded by it for a moment, the
rushed into the cottage Seveal pel of thunder
followed, then a very heavy shower; but the dark-
ae by degrees leseed, the sky was oon eau,
ad the setting sa again shone bright.
Donald laughed at his sister, and told her, that
hough he was not near o tall, yet he coad rn
auch faster than she could. Mary did not amwer
im, but continued busily employed at her work,
which her mother wished her to finish. Mary was
not dispoee for mirth. She had been much fhigh-
mned during the thundetorm, and her thought
ere still painful and w eay. She had oft sen
Sfa of lighting, ahd head the thundr whi
Ulowed, but Ase had mnmiftt the rmse ear beh
This evening her heart til tumbled, nd
aoght how awful iden death would be, f the

8* mLRT eSAT.
soul was not ready to appear before Go, the great
Judge of al.
The following afternoon, the children went a
usual to the Sunday school. Their minds were in
a quiet state,-they loved their master, and they
wished to please him. Donald wa more attentive
than ever he had been in his life before, and was
able to answer all the questions put to him; and he
felt very grateful to his sister, who had given him
so much kind help during the week. Mary was a
sesible girl, and a good scholar, and one of the
oldest children at school. Thi afternoon the teach-
er had given her a reward for her good conduct,
and was about to dimim the clan in which she
stood, but detained tham till he again spoke to Nelly
Dunn, a big gir who was not only very arelem in
getting her lessons, but who had been abent from
chumh the whole of that day, without any good
aaon for being o: and, u this was known to all
the children, Mr. Graham thought it needful to
mention it before them. He desired Nelly to repeat
the forth commandmet, and then endeavored to
impre upon her mind the necessity of obedience to
GoD. He spoke to her very plainly for some time,
and warned her of. the etreme danger of breaking
the sbbath-day. She listened, yet did not seem to
fe any regret for her sin, orany dread of the
"wrath of Go." The woids spoken, however,
made p impeson one heart present. When
Mr. Graham rided the young people that the
eye of Ga is qpon at evm mommnt-that Goo

looks upon the heart sad knows all its secret ins,-
one he little thought of could scarcely cooeeal hr
r an d her misery.
Mary had long received the approbatioet of her
mater, and was regarded by all as the bst girl a
school But, alu two days befe, Mary had
committed a fault, the remembrance ofwhich now
lay heavy upon her aeonciM e. It was as ar sin
that no one knew of but hersl and that holy Goo
from whom nothing can be hid; yet at that moment
she felt so miserable she almost wished it known to
every one, and wished it wa in her power to return
the prize she now felt unworthy to keep.
When Mary had committed this fault two days
before, he had forgotten Go-she had forget
the instructions of her pious parents and her kind
master. The moment it wa done, she was con-
eous ahe had simned; but took ruge in the idea
that no one knew it or could ow know it,-ad
that day she thought little more about it. At nigh,
when she knelt down to pay to Go, she then re-
membered it and was afraid: she thought of GoD
and was troubled. Yet she still endeavored to pat
it away from her mind, and to think of other things;
sad she succeeded in doing so, till that fearful mo-
meet when she felt herself surrounded by the bright
flah of lightning. It was the remembrance of all
her sin, and of this recent ooe, that made kr
tremble and be afraid when ahe thought danger
was near; but it was the imple instruction of hr
master that made her se her fult in its true eight,

10 mayT enAT.
mad made her feel how very guilty she was i the
sight of Gon.
Mary could not join in the concluding service.
She feared to raise her thoughts to that GOD against
whom she had sinned, ad gladly would she have
spoken to her master,-told him she was miserable,
and asked him how she could again obtain peace to
her troubled and guilty conscience. But, before
Mr. Graham dismissed the school, he told the child-
ren that he was going to visit Sally Morton, one of
their companions, who was very ill. He added
that he had seen the doctor in the forenoon, who
informed him he did not think poor Sally could
survive many days.
Mary trembled when the mater told this. She
knew Sally was ill; but the idea that she was dyig
never had entered her mind, and now she had no
courage to detain her master, or venture to speak to
him. While e h walked home, she became every
moment more unhappy; she remembered all the
advantages she enjoyed in having pious parents,
who had early taught her to know right from wrong,
and all the instruction she had received in various
ways. She remembered, too, that the Bible says,
SWhere much is given, smeAshall abo be required.'
She was conscious that she was one of those to
whom much had been given: and she felt convinced,
that if any of the other girls at school had com-
mitted the same fault, they would have been les
guilty than she was; beease few of them were daily
taught the wil of G or had the ame holy s-

MArT *seAM. 11
mple set before them in the conduct of their pam s
which she had. Poor Nelly Dun, oa whom tha
mater had been severe because she wa absent
from church, saw only a bad ample at home: her
parents were very regardless eol and Nely had
probably never been taken to church by them in
her life.
When they reached home, Donald an in before
his sister, saying, Mary had got a pretty book, and
that he had answered every question put to him.
His father took the book from Mary, saying he was
glad the master was pleased with her; but Mary
turned away to conceal her tear.
Any little reward she had before received had been
a source of the greatest pleasure to her; but shenow
felt that she was deeiving her master, her parents,
and every one. She thought if they all knew the
truth she would be less miserable; shewoald at
least no loger receive undeserved praises, whi
cut her to the heart.
When Mary retired to bed, she could not sleep for
many hours.' That she had been s long without
feeling any sorrow for her sin, and without praying
that GoD would pardon her, seemed to have added
to her guilt, and to show such a deadnes ofsoul as
made her dread that she had never at any time flt
sineerelove to Go. If she had offended her early
father, she would have been unhappy till she had
obtained his forgiveness and been restored to his
favor; but she had sOreely thought of her Go till
the voice ofhis thunder was heard, and a feeling Q

is muar *Roam.
her own danger alarmed her. Wh that-pmed
away, he thought no more till the warning ddea
ed to another touebed her heart, and now could not
be resisted. The longer Mary continued to reect,
the more her thoughts became confused. She was
a ensible girl, and the instruction bestowed upon
her had not been in vain. Even at this moment
she could perhaps have told another what is the
only mean by which a sinfl and guilty creature
can find accem unto Goo, and forgiveness with him.
But, in her own cae, the feeling of sin w so
strong upon her mind, that she was aled with fear,
and saw not where to turn for comfort.
The following evening, when her father came
home, he asked Mary if sheh rad any of her ew
book? She answered, quickly, "No, father, I bave
not had time" Her father was playing with his
yongstb boy, who had limbed upon hie kne, sad he
thought no mose of it; but poor Mary was coasos
that she could early have found time, as in fmer
instance, if she had wished to read the book; and
her now awakened onsienee instantly accused her
.of srtvt. She felt a new addition to her misery;
and she aw, in her own experience, how one in
leads to another. During the day, Mary had re-
quntly thought of telling some one all her distre.
There wa a girl about her own age, the daughter
f a relation, who lived near, that she liked better
than any one in the village, and she iat thought ot
telling her; but, when she considered the matter,
h SBared that BetDey would peraps comfort her.

and think less of her fault than she hersef did; Ia
it was not this kind of comfort tht would give her
ay relief. She then thought of telling her father.
She well knew that from him she would get the best
advice, and meet with no unkindness, however much
he might be grieved by her fault. But to speak to
him required courage. When could she do it?-
When could she ind him alone?-He was out all
day, and his family wee all round im the moment
he returned. Little Willy was now old enough to
carry hi dinner to him: she was fully employed at
home, and could not be wanted at that hour. Some-
thing, however, must be done; for she could no
longer endure what she aufred. Her mother had
observed her looking ill, and asked her what wa
the matter? Her kind d arffeetiouate anxiety
humbled Mary to the dst; and she determined to
speak to her father, ad oblige hersf to teB hi
the whole truth.
Morning, however, came, and Mary let her dter
go out to his work, without having courage to say
one word to him. Mary was very attentiveto every
thing she thought it her duty to do; but no prent
obedience to the dictates of her conscience could give
her any peace regarding her past disobedience to the
commandments of Goo.
When Richard Gantcame from his wrk, he
told them, that, in the morning, poor Sally MMor
had been so much better, her father had gone outm
usual, but had been set for oon after, that height
Shis child before she died, for she had bsMle

14 3M1t enUAr.
much worse. Richard added, I came that way to
ask for them, and found the child had died about an
hour ago. Her parents are in deep affliction; but
they are the Loan's people, and he will support
Mary was greatly struck when she heard that her
young companion had entered the world of spirits;
and for a time she forgot her own griefs, only to
feel them more bitterly when' she again thought of
the uncertainty of life, and of the state of her soulin
the sight of Gon. Again she spent some sleepless,
miserable hours, when all around her was in the
darkness and silence of night. She wished to pray
as she used to do; but she felt that she had forsaken
Goo, and she was afraid to draw near unto him.
After many painful thoughts, and many bitter tears,
she determined that another day should not pas
without telling her father; and she felt willing to
bear any punishment he might appoint for her.
Before her father went to his work next morning,
Mary, true to her resolution, with a beating heart,
caught hold of him, and said all she intended. Her
father stopped a moment, and looking surprised,
aid, "What ails you, Mary?"
Mary, afraid her mother might hear, said more
calmly, "That she wished to tell him something, but
could not do it before the younger ones."
Her father seemed to understand her; for he
turned back a moment, and called to his wife-" to
sad Mary with his dinner, for he wanted her;"
ad then walked off to hi work. Mary fe her

MANY OG nT. 1s
heart a little lightened when this much was done;
but, as the hour drew near, her courage failed, and
she feared the looks and words of displeasure she
might perhaps meet with. She walked more slowly
as she came toward the place where she was to ed
her father; and, at a turn of the road, she was
ashamed to wee him coming to meet her,-and she
ran to him.
"Well, my lassie," aid he, what have you to
say to me? never be afraid of your father." He
patted her as he spoke, and poor Mary's full heart
could not stand his kindness, and she burst into
tear. Her father looked 4tresed; but spoke to
her with still more affection, which only made her
weep more bitterly. At last she obbed out-" Oh,
Father t you would not be sokind tome, if you knew
how wicked I have been; you will hate me if I tell
you all, and I deserve you should."
"No, my child," aid her father, taking her kindly
by the hand, I hall not hate you whatever you
may tell me; and if you are sorry for your ins, and
turn from them, GoD, for Cuar's sake, will forgive *
As he said this, Mary looked up earnestly in his
face, while she said-Oh, father, tell me how GOD
will forgive me; it is the anger of GoD I fear:
punish me as you choose; only tell me how I can
obtain pardon-how I can think of Gon without
terror-how I can pray to'him as I used to do?"
Mary spoke quick, and again held down her hed
and wept.

M usav *BaRi.
*My dear Mary," aid her father, "I am yet
ignorant of what you have done; but I seeyouhave
felt what an evil and a bitter thing sin is, and I
'hope you have learned to dread it more. But we
are now coming to the place where I rest till the bell
calls us to our work again--it down by me, and tell
your father what weighs so heavy on your heart."
Mary sat down beside him, on a green bank, a little
way from the road;-the first effort was made, and,
painful and humbling a she felt it, yet she had no
wish to draw back, and with a trembling and
hurried voice, she said-
"You know, Father, Mis Graham sometimes
employs me in going message. She sent for me
last Friday to carry some fruit to a sick lady, a
friend of her, who lives about two miles distant. I
knew it was a present, because I was in the room
when she was putting it into the basket, and heard
her speaking to her siter about it" Mary's head
hung down, and her voice sunk lower as the spoke.
"Mary," said her father, in a stern voice, while
his face became pale-" Did you dare to steal what
was trusted to ytur care ;l-did you forget that GOD
who beholds you at every moment, and who will
bring every secret thing into judgment?"
"Yes," answered Mary, "I did forget GoD, I did
take some of that fruit ;-end now, Father, you know
all-all but the misery I have endured." And she
hid her face with her hands, and wept bitterly.
Mary did not ee the distress of her father when
he wiped his pale face, and then lifted up his eye

MAn OGasxu. 4 I1
to heaven, while he prayed GOD to prdon i gulty
child. And children do not know the pan which
their parent safr when they depart fom the right
If Richard Grant had ben told that one of his
younger children had done the same thing, he
would have been distressed, but not so much sur-
prised, for he knew how very wicked human nature
i; but that Mary, his eldest, and he thought his
best child, should commit such a sin, grieved him to
the heart. Mary had always been uncommonly frea
from the sins, and even the follies o children; and,
for the last year, she had been so dutiful to her
parent, so attentive to eermy thing she was taught
at school, and eemul to feel uchan increasiglove
for Sunday, and its holy services, that her father
thought he had reason to hope her young hart was
under the effectual teaching of the Spirit of GOD,
and that she was early to be numbered amogt the
lambe of CmW 's ock. Now he felt al his fnd
hopes destroyed: yet when he aw Mary weep s
bitterly, and remembered that she had chosen to tell
what could only be learned from herself, he hoped
there must be some love to GOD in one who elt
such sorrow because she had offended him; and he
was anxious to led her back to the GOD and Saiour
she had forsaken, and to the way of obedience from
which she had so greatly departed; and he said
gently to her, "Have you prayed to GOD to paeda
this great sin, Mary?"
Xary. I cannot pray, Father.

Bkdseh. Have you lived so many days without
prayer, my child?
Miry. I have tried to pray; but Oh! my heart
has not prayed, and you have taught me tht is the
only kind of prayer Gon will hear.
iRdewd. Did your heart not desire pardon,
JMay. Oh yes, but I was afraid when I knelt
down before Gon, and I id only a prayer I had
been taught long ago; then I felt this was wrong,
and I wa more afraid; and sometimes even this
did not do. I think all that ever made me unhappy
in my life before was as nothing compared with
what I have endured since Sunday.
Rtekrd Since Sunday did you not know that
you had minded the very moment after you had done
VMry. Yes, Father, but I tried not to think of it.
And she then told him about the thd erstorm, and
all that we have already mentioned. She told him,
too, that she felt pleased and proud when Miss
Graham trusted her; and that, if any one had, in
the morning, told her she would touch that fruit, she
would have declared that nothing could make her
commit so great a sin; but that she would never be
proud again, for he now saw how wicked her
heart was. She told her ftr, th at she was walk-
ing alone, and the day was very hot; that she wa
thd, and at down in the shade to ret a little, ad.
without thinking, she lifted some of the leam with
which the basket was covered; that the fruit looked

so nie, she thought if she took me, that, asit was
a present, ao oe could seer know it, and then she
took a little I but, befo she had doa eating it, de
heard a noise thatimade her start up in tnor, thiak-
ing some one must hae seen all she did; then she
walked on very quick, and afterward, on looking
back, she knew it was the wind amongst the tree
above her that had lled her with much dread. She
did not venture again to look.into the basket, and
walked on ery miserable, and frightened at every
noise she heard. And ohI if my young readers
knew the anguish a mind can sffer after commit-
ting sin, they would turn away n alarm from the
first approach to any evi.
BReard. You have oud, Mary, that you fea
the anger of Goo; do you know by what means you
can be saved from the punishment which your sin
deserve ?
Mary. I thought that I knew a gNat deal about
good things; but now I seem to know nothing.
When I try to think, my mind is so confaed, I can
only remember such fearful tets as thee .:- The
wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations
that forget Go." Fear Him who is able to eat
both aoul and body nto hell."
Richard. My dear child, sin has bought darkesam
into your mind, and noe a ea store light but
that Gen against whn you have nlaed O! may
what you have anw sufa teach you to bara
bate in, ad to tar haem it with your whole heMs
Yu have been taught, my dear. that whbe man had

... -.1 ___..

forsaken GoD, and broken his holy law, and was
expoeed to the fearful punishment which his sin
deserved-when there was no eye to pity, and no
hand to help us;-that then the Son of Gon had
compassion upon us in our lost tate, and he so
loved us that he took our nature upon him, and
came into this world, and suffered, the just for the
unjust, that he might bring us unto GoD;" and he is
able to save to the uttermost all that come unto Goo
by him. "Behold the Lamb of Goo that taketh
away the sin of the world." You feel that you
have sinned, and are guilty before Goo; but if you
return unto him by Jam CHmIw, the way to
the Father, and pray for pardon for his sake, and
entreat that power to obey GOD may be sent into
your heart, your petitions will be heard, and your
soul shall be healed. Do you undesand this,
Mary did not answer for som minutes, but
remained with her eyes fixed upon the ground.
Since that unhappy moment in which she had
dared to put forth her hand to an, her mind had
been confused and dark: when she thought of Gon,
she thought of him as infinite in holiness and justice,
and trembled when she remembered that fearful
punishment which the Bible declare shall await
the wicked. When her father spoke of Jam Cm r
or Saviour, and what he had done for siner,
light seemed to break in ups her mi, and she
felt at that moment the truth of these worder-
*The whole need not a physicia, but tey that a

sick. Many encourage passge of Sarptur
now returned to her nmembance, ad at lagth
she repeated aloud, "The blooddo Cam clsah
from all in;" thea addd, U Father, I may pray to
GoD in his name-bat I eanot-Oh Fathe, pay
for me" Her father spok to her a few misae
longer to be sure that dhe fully underood wht
they were about; then lading her a little wayinto
a sheltered corner of the feld, he held his ht in as
hand, then placig the other on the head of his
child, he confessed her sins before a present Goo,
and ferently prayed that all her trasressions,and
especially this late one, might b pardoned -ae
Cnmss' sake; that her soul might be washed i
his preiows blood, that eleaseth from all ima; md
.that Gon would seed his Holy Spirit to dwet ia
her heart, to enable her to loe ad obey him in as
things. Then, after expr g what he though
the deires of her heart he anstly eommitt her
to the care and protection of his heavily Father,-
and, before he moved his hand from her head, h
blessed his child with the warm affetionof a Chris-
tian part. Mary had been perfectly comped,
while her whole heart followed every petition that
her father offered to Heaven for her; ad whm he
eoanuded, she repeated his Amea with ferre
devotio. They returned in ilee to the little
bak which they had quitted; but just they
reached it the bell rang whieh called Blshad to
work. He shook heads with Mary, sad they
prted but without speaking.

When Mary fund herself alone, her tea again
dropped fst, but they were no longer bitter tear;
not that she thought any les of her ain, but she
now maw how GoD could pardon her guilt. She
felt how much had been give her in thi kind and
pious father. She thought how much GoD had
done for her, and she felt encouraged still to hope
in his mercy. She could now almost pour forth her
earnest prayers for herself, while she placed all her
confidence in Jzsus Cazus herAlmighty Saviour.
As Mary walked home, she thought over all her
father had said, and it seemed strange to her, that,
though she was till cast down with a sense of sin,
yet she found her thoughts continually rising to GOD
in prayer; and this rejection led her again to offer
up another prayer that GOD would keep her from all
ai, for she knew it was this evil thing which irnt
led her to neglect secret duty.
When Mary came near home, he turned down to
the brook to wash her face, that her mother might
not see she had been crying; then went in, aixious
to do every thing that was right, and to watch
against the first rising of sin in her heart. Her
father treated her, she thought, with more than
his usual kindness when he came home; but no-
thing further paed that day. The following morn-
ing she again heard him desire she should be sent
with his dinner. This day she wished the hour to
come; for now she had much to say to her father,
ad Abe was at the appointed place ame time
before he came to her. after they had talked a

little, Mary, unwilling to lose time on any bject
but the one which filled her heart, aid,--Fater,
you have not punished me at all, though I told you
of so much sin."
RBid d. No, my dear, you are too old now to
be treated as a child; and I mspect youhav Mered
enough from this ad fault to make you remember it
all your life.
Mary. Yes, indeed, I have; I shall never forget
Riehrd. You know how earthly parents and
friends can be deceived; think only of what the wil
of GoD is, and how you can live o to pleee him;
and do not act from any lower motive.
Mary inquired in a low voice if he had told her
Bid~ d. No, Mary, I have told no one; and at
parent I will not tell you my reason for wishing to
conceal it frm your mother; but if you ask me in
six months after this, perhaps I shall then tell you.
Mary thought a little, and then she said, I should
not keep that book which the master gave me on
Sunday evening. I never would have got it if he
had known the truth."
Richr !. I expected you to think this, Mary,
and what will you do?
.Mwy. I think I ought to return the book and tll
the master my easom for doinuo. It will not be
very easy; but there is something more 'difalt,
sti, Father-Mim Graham-Oh, I think it w6dd
ant bha been so bed f i had been any oherpersoa

Bishd. Yes, Mary; you hae sinned saint
GoD, nd against a friend who has been kind to you,
and to your family; but you m t now try to do
what is right, and put it in the lady' power to
mploy you again or not as he choose if Ae does
t atut you again, you must patietly mbmit to
the punishment you justly deserve.
Mary. She will never employ me again-thst I
cannot expect; but what I fear most is, that she
will tell about me, and that it will be known. She
has been kind to us, Father; but she is not like her
brother, he is so gentle, so good :-but I should not
can who know, when GoD has en all the wick-
edness of my heart.
Her father eoaaged her simply to follow the
dictates of her consence, and reminded her,
tht, if the sol is at peae with Go, all eld is of
little consqumee; for, s that jdgeth m, is the
Ioa." Mary w y b experience the truth of
what her father aid; for she had enjoyed every
outward comfort, and the approbation of all her
friend, at the time when she had lately endured so
much from the dread of the "wrath of GoD."
Mary told her father she would go that very
opening to Mr. Graham and return the book, the
sight of which gave her pain every time he opened
the drawer in which it lay. She was, however,
aved the necessity of going thee; f, as as
returned home after her fathr's dimer, she met Mr.
Gsham walking n the road. The intant Mary
saw him, he thought how much easier it would b

to WUl him the, than to go to his hoease a ld
not d him at home; but her poor taoMed hart
bet so quiek, she oould eseely aSwr hi when
he topped ad spoke to her in hiwn kind way.
Well, Mar, yor have bee with you fitr's
dinner, I ee; is e quite oot now? "
awry. Yes, Sir; quite well, thask you.
.r. Gram m. And, Mary, whae you walk this
long way quite aloe, what do yoa employ you
thoughts about: do you ever try to raie thm above
thi world; do yo ever think of that Goe in whoe
presence we ae t this moment, and at emery mo
"I have had much to think of lately, Sir," replied
Mary in a low voice, ad looking down.
"Has any thg happened to disress you' in-
quired Mr. Graham in a ale tone "Ca I be of
may aue to yo?"
His kiandses brought tean into poor Mary's eyes;
but she hastily wiped them away, and, with rsh
coafaio and a cotenace glowing with shame,
he informed him ofall that had passed, ad that
she intended to reun him the book that evening.
Mr. Graham was greatly surprised with poor
Mary's tale; but, as he convereed with her, he saw
such evident pofM of her deepsarrow for her oAue,
and each ienr willigineso to do any thiin her
plwer for those ike had sinaed again, that he
hoped this would peooe a ablM and a humbiag
lms to her all her ife he od MWy that he Se.'
eialywoud no have giren r thebook f he hae

known the truth; but that now he would not take
it from her, for he knew she was in the habit of
leading her books to the other children, and if she
cold not give them this one they might ask her un-
pleasant questions, that would distress her without
doing any good. And, as her father kne what had
pased, he did not consider it needful for her to tell
any other person except his sister,--ad he explained
to her, that we must mourn over our secret faults
before Gon, in whose sight they are committed, and
deeply repent of them; but that we are not required
to publish our secret sins to the world. If we have
*injured our neighbor, then we must confess our fault
and ask his forgiveness, and do all that i possible
to repair the injury he may have received from us.
Mr. Graham was often in the habit of covering
with the children, if he happened to meet them when
he was walking in the country; and what he aid
to them alone in that way sometimes made a deeper
impression on their young hearts than what was ad-
drweed to them when assembled at. school He
warned Mary of what he thought might now be her
danger, and told her how she must watch against
all temptation, and carefully examine her heart and
conduct, that she might not deceive her immortal
soul: and he desired Mary to call nett morning and
he would tell his sister she wished to se her.
Mary felt her mind muoh relieved after this can
vmation with her kind master was over. To a
Miss OGraham was now her oly diculty; but th
brm was ad, and she muat go.

MARv smU 3
Mary stood long at M. Graham's door net
morning bore she had outrage to knuok; at length
ladin that delay only added o her ars, she
knocked, a dd was dire by the rant who opened
the door to go to Mi- Graham's room. Mary aid
justly that Mis Graham was not like her brother:
she wanted that holy, gentle spirit of the Chrisian
which influeced all his oduet; and in this instance
she thought moe of Mary's ingratitude to herself
than of her sin against Gon. Mis Graham told
Mary that her brother had informed her of what she
wished to my i-4hat she w sorry to fld dhe had
been deceived in her, ad Mary must not expet to
be employed again, at eat not for sme time; bst
that se would not mentiM the eiamntance to aay
one, as her brother had begged she might et; sad,
a she believed her-parents were good people, d
would do nothing to distress them; and ded by
giving Mary a great deal of good advice a to her
future condut,-but all so unlike what her father
mad her master had aid, that Mary was glad to get
away from her, while she thought she could lite
to them all day long.
Mary had bees received by Mie Graham much
as she expected. That she would be sise was
mre than she had venturd to hope; and hr heart
was laUd with gratitude to her kind masir, togh
perhaps eve Ie as than her &ths was, wh he
head of all Mr. Graham's kindness to his child
Mary emtiamu d to eiAt Domal with his esome
pat of evy day, ad t little flow ws tiper.

as many GAN.
ing very much with all her care. During the we*,
too, Mary had often thought of poor Nelly Dan.
She felt a if Nelly had received the reproof whih
he deserved far more; and gladly would she have
done any thing in her power for her young comua
nion, who was placed in circumstance so differtt
fiom her own: but what could she do? She won
deed if she could persuade Nelly to go to church
with her next Sunday; but she was forbid to go to
her house, and she had never seen her all the week.
At length Friday evening came, and nothing had
been done,-she then determined to tell her mother
what had pased at the Sunday school, and ask leave
to go and se if Nelly would come to church with
them. Her mother allowed her to go, but forbade
her to tay long, and deired her not to go into the
house if she could avoid it.
When Mary arrived, she found Nelly standing
outside the door, dirty and tawdry, and quite idle.
Mary was o good-natured and gentle she was a
favorite with all her companions, and Nelly was
very glad to see her. Mary soon told her the pur-
pose of her visit. Nelly grew red, and answered
that she did not intend to go either to church or the
Sunday school any more.
Mary wa grieved to hear her may this, and tired
to persuade her to change her mind. She spoke se
kindly to her, that Nelly answered more gently,
"You know I need not go to the Suday school to
bleetured before all the children, if I do note to
churck; ad thee I cannot go, beenase my bee

fo k was tor the last time it was m, ad it i t
meded yet."
.ray. Bt theMris all dayto-mer w; snad ify
will prmiw to eomr to ekichu wit me, I shll hlp
you to medit. Is those nnh to be de?
.NbI. O ye, a great del-I don't belim it will
ever mend; and I have little chase of. getting a
new one.
AMry. Will yolet me look at it? Agratdeal
can be doea if one has patience.
Nelly mined to despair of being able to mnd the
unfortunate frock; but brought it out, and them,
holding up the large and uneven tar to her iend,
she said, T1s surely can me. go to chneh
again I "
Mary examined it all careflly, sad and the
frock was so wide it would admit of the piee, i
which the at was, being take out; sad wits a
little trouble it would look as well as ever apin.
Nelly's hae brightened when he saw thi, and
then, for the int time, she th ed Mary fr her
.Tr. Well, if you will eome to me at twelve
o'clock to-morrow, we shall very soon get this
JNby. It is good of you to take thi trouble, ad
I hall be sre to cme; but I haveallmy less to
Sf I intended never to enter the Sunday .ehol

Yo can eaily get your les, Nelly;
adl yeo know I not help y in that, and I a

80 EAT OlAnl.
sue they need not cost you much trouble, for yoO
can zead quite well: and I do not touch the frock
unless you go with me both to church and to school.
.Jegy, (I.kiM .) I know that, and you have my
promise; but I wonder how good you will be by the
time you are twenty: you look as grave as the
minister already, and you walk to the church with
your head down, and your eyes fixed on the ground
as if you feared to see any thing that might disturb
your Sunday thoughts: and I am sure, if I go with
you, you will not speak a single word to me all the
MAfer. And I must not stay to speak any longer
to you now, wsgood night, Nelly.
Mary was often laughed at by this thoughtless,
ill brought-up girl. She seldom made any answer,
but tried to bear it patiently, and to be gentle and
good-natured in return; and at this time she did not
feel the least inclied to be angry with her.
At the appointed hour next day Nelly arrived,
bringing the frock with her. As the day was fine,
the two girs.went into the field near the house, that
they might work undisturbed. Mary soon found
she must do all heel, as Nelly was far worse at
sewing than she had supposed, and could only do an
easy part of it. After Nelly had worked for a little,
talking all the while, she put a handful of cherries
into Mary's lap, saying-" they were ry
the last of the season She took them out
work-bag, n which they had been concealed,
she had carried all her work in her
uI 1

mAST oU* a
utant Mary aw the cherries sh falt a snqeii
of ar companion. The remembrance o her own
an was ever reset to her thoughts, ad she dal
mimed to Sad out where Nelly had got -hm befe
she touched ee of them.
Jiry. Did your father give you these eeni,
Jbi. No, truly; my father seldom parts with
any thing that an bring him money to buy whiskey
With; but I took them out of a beket that he had
just prpred for market, that is stand in the
"ry, (giing her eek the charm .) SBiM that
is the way you got them, Nelly, I would nmt tom
me of them for the wod.
Neagy. The mao fool you, for they are aeoma
monly good, and we hall e hl so mo till at
summer. And he was jut going to put eas Le
her moah, when Mary caught er hand aMd smped
her, mying euaratly-
Do you know what you are about, Nelly? You
am inning against GoO-that Goo who has power
not only to kill the body, but to cast both soul and
body into hell, that place of dreadful tormet from
which there is po escape."
Whe Mary spoke of min an hel, Nelly look
frightened, and lifting the herrie she put the
dowan o the pm aa distaene trom her, then mi
"at I havemo tha thee:" aad be t il sh
had together; the looking at the, dde
4sir e, what ea he the geat harm of ting

__ AIIL - --- -Y~u---Y --~ r-

Sma WT IuTr.
thm? I am sa my fater will mrer mira them
out of that lge basket "
Mary tried to convince the ignorant girl w it
would be painful; sad, aft some tim, her ui3l>
way of speaking seemed to make a fi deeps
impression sh huad hat than all the maste
had ever aid to her; and at lai Nelly turned to
her young friend with teas in her eye, and asked
her what abe should do, for now sh wa convinced
she had been very wrong?
Mary felt much puzzled what to advise her to do
a Nelly said-that to tell her parents was impossi-
be, ad what she could not, and would not do.
Mary theJ imqired if the basket from which ae
had taken the cherries was still the sam place,
and if she could pt them back ga in?
if. Yea; tat I can easily do, and no oae
wmr me.
.ary. Then do run home, Nelly, and put mway
what may still tempt you to sin more: and 0
bewre of ever doing the same thing again I hall
work buy till you return; t coma bak as quick
as you can.
Mary fet thankful he had been able to pmemt
her companion fom committing thi sin; and,
while he felt thankful al for the pious Chrian
parents Goo had gii her, her heart longed to be
usful to poor Neily, and to lad ha to pray fr
thoae b ngs which O e ha promised to thies
who ask tem.
Nelly resed sooner than hi aspeoisd, taer

--ar esa-a lia
o reioed wet do Lad te o away. ny
foad her quitwllhs to *nme, while s V sd
speak serldon I her about her msea, ld
some passage fhoe tomhe s t ter jas jMlm
to eome, and th ewrlsting state of tose who, im
this world, bslog to Cxu.r dad of those wo do
not, nad poor Nelys beat was mom saodua thea
it had ever bbea in.
When the girls had work for abo two hbm
the task was vanished, ad the bok was gspin U
good as er. Wih Nly saw the trouble M *
took for her, she felt very grteflhl for all her kin
nei, sad much asamed of her own cond ms wrh
dhe remembered bow e ds had labu d ather
aad turned her aito ridi*, though she saw it sne
he pin; sad hne desarmina never to behave le
Maz is ar ia Mf dn. sg i trud to esai wi
she ftd, sad wold gdidly have rnaied si Ar
talking to aher fried; bt Mary' time was Mf
employed, and she we now o1id to mm homs.
It was Saturdy, and se had always moe do o
that day than any other; and, though Nely did not
know it, she had got up tha morni as uso as it
was liht, that she might be able to assist her, f
otherwise e e od ot have bae wtenutd lo.
When the children met at the Snday sh ,
poor Mary Mt distressed aad humble aid w
th de' a i whih .e tood weo ednd up I y
would i have taken hr pae as th lIbuet In i
a d Ilp stoed act e the op, and s end
m p chage; but it was with a vIy hvumb

qdt dM went above many ed ema-ie beter
tha hbesell Bow dirmet was the sat of her
mid that afternoon from the oid dad setas a
whih she had ben te lat time h stood thde,
ad until the marin of htach er seatovition
to e heart.
Mr. Oham concluded this afteoon, by telling
the young people some particulars reading the las
days of SllyMorton. He had een her ery often;
and her compmnis listened with deep interest to
the pleasing account they receive, and many ot
them wept when they thought of her they had loed,
and whom they would eee no more. Mr. Graham
renided them that each one there present mut
also water the wodd of isria and Goo only ka w
which of them would be called away net, and how
sam it might be: that the body must die, and be
laid in the ient gaa, but the oul canao die.
Whoe it fomke the mortal frame, it mat go either
to ternal misery or to eteral happinee. After
death thee can be n obhage of state; it i in the
preat wordd we must prepare for our future
sistenee; it is now we must ease from si, and
uek to know and love Goo, if we hope to enjoy the
portion of hi children heeafter, and eape the
misery of hell.
Week after week paaed away, and Mary con-
tined attentive to every duty, ad appmaredheeful
ad happy: yet she was ote ct down by the
mbwimaw of her pe, and the dread of ai
doing what was wrog; bat there 'was aOw Im b

"mr eMum a
danger of her omming m a y gy et %*I fr
had sem. and d ly Uqt, the 41 ekees Of ife
heart a rd, faruM of IMsI- hseaanely ath
a trusted intkhie Ireela updo1 hershahan
She daily mad4 the Bi3 wir k mgatey to MdII
stand the wead of Go sh had nwer th bon
and she began o IempnhaMld mae df wht JMfs
Cmnr did and smrd, when e eamue r
and to ave that which was lot," and to "give h
life a r om for many." She biimed ti Mm
the good dshphed, ad atru d that b woaM mver
leave nor forake her.
Nelly Duan had always lowed Maryt h the
instaa of kiadum she had leeived ablu the
tatt ere.d fre, the a.iesy Mary haod howm a
preent her doing what wasu wmg, hadven
of her adtioa tham ever; amd -aiae dtt ti he
bad bee. with Mary wienem it was in her paOm
The pea and a ooer which she A aw I. the
cotta of Bhaud Gant, famed a uug ed~at
to the, imed and mamWio whicE were alwnr
men is that o er fChr, sad we ry strikig to
her. She knew her ow father was monsideed a
richer man than Mary's; bLt in ome fily all was
pomrt, dimena, and dietMe whilM i the othe, aB
was plety, idumtry, ap d ehemnsddmei She wa
always kindl treated by Mary's h en the
h apires hm.s w. her la wee speut with hmd
Mary's emmam was of asmh e to bem and hei
mdeeNe ever her daily, mesomed. my -neft
Nwdr s- ad- wvok bmes hMer, halt4v

........ li ,If rill


dqg. tan& bew uwuar mi and,@be -bows to
i&e @ aa ia Isiag assMdy swi.1 lbs wa
am a thhe owId sb W t" o Maad As
loved bt *Mithal te abimtavyveqgaad'm
hutm May hih bolr qa Isa aftesg to meshw,
till sk uged herto shavetok toboaom awi
bw" II Id is drYIm.ilyt. wthdsd itrof
her daugher, Ms. DimV hue nlaps to kwk losa
diMt, md the litlMe oanalam 'mus. Do, poor
Nely's bad habi wa, af sagniding;I -so. it
~mqird vassay 9a exhaumuhnfsgsa iAyo imp bog
stady; the mote ao ben doe -an with Bak wo
Msonage her at oome.
Ahiothe & "dofwsMr. of a" M. s m hi.
ftw la.t *kooo% ,i 1 11g to be wahtk ias
- .ini 4k. tool waS sabt ". Maq vsu
mook dieomm at eble,a aNdly's swum, bmust.
* wimasu desi~wi swoe hsiupa vasehool
MdOAt~~ be w i hoiilr siLlmo
- -a'r b..ae d kk~dra k egkdydwu
vwid to do,'s0 $=bady ettam iu vw3m xall had
bosm lhod dosoumbokl. aarrdauadve to sl se
bomed the, I Aa she Whiah to A*di N wht e
WLA* hja sm.. M saldamlfg what- amb 4w
dne, May obslake bowa sr. ber hdhr to sak
MAlY to shoe thevae ami m wish he da lames
whish the ,nswee ddeised t*mio urns dingve
week he wsebe absust. Ieydbewep
0 su; aud seesbwthe miaimr is hisk th hly
fay ar ms& was kept "ade by this Chieiu hoa
Win isaw d as mob. go w 10 muas belov

sar enAae. U
go thee, a her mother often said if har ehilts
found they wen happier when they wee.out, she
would never refue them, for Aee could gip them
little comfort at home; and her father, eacioau of
his own improper conduct, eldom aked where the
children were, or any thing about them.
Some weeks after this plan had been settled by
the girls, Nelly came running one Sunday afternoon
to the Grants earlier than usual, to tell them her
mother had been taken suddenly ill, and that she
must not stay away from her. From what she aid,
Mrs. Grant thought that perhaps an elder pemon
than Nelly might be of ue; and offered to go and
see her mother. Nelly was very happy when she
made this offer, and entreated her to cope, for her
father was out, and she did not know what ought
to be done. Ms. Grant immediately got ready, and
went with poor Nelly, who was now a gpat favor-
ite with every one of the family.
Mrs. Dunn lived at the other end of the village:
and, from her husband not being a reapeqtable man,
and her children very ill brought up, Mr. Grant had
avoided having any intercourse with the family,
and forbade her children ever going there; but sinea
Mary had known Nelly at the Sunday school, the
mothers had sometimes met, and Mrs. Grant was
always ready to do any thing in her power for a
neighbor in distress.
Nelly's mother .coatmnu ery ill for some time
so ill, that even her husband was alsraed, sad
kindness dad asnetion reVed, while he ltad

rspused himself when he saw her ill, sad, am
hb sin and folly, wanting the little comforts that
were needful for her.
Mrs. Grant attended the poor woman with a
much ae as if she had bee a sister of her own,
and procured for her every comfort that was in her
power. Mn. Dunn at length slowly recovered; and,
during the many hours that this kind friend watched
by her bed-side, she opened her whole heart to her,
and, with many tears, told her all her sorrows, and
asked her advice. She aid Nelly was a changed
gil since e hehad had so much intercourse with Mrs.
Grant's family, and perhaps they might help to
change her poor mother also. The returning aee-
tios of her husband seemed to revive hope in her
almost broken heart, and she listened eagerly to
Mrs. Grant, while this true friend pointed out her
former errors, and simply told her what she thought
her duty,'and then endeavored to lead her to the
only real source of consolation for the afflicted.
Mrs. Grant found her a gentle, good-tempered
woman, but rather indolent; and her spirits were so
completely sunk by the bad conduct of her husband,
that she could make no exertion either for herself or
her children. As she recovered, with Nelly's assist-
ance, sad the advice of her friend, she did all in her
power to make his home more comfortable for her
husband, who, as yet, had never gone back to the
ale-house; and, though reduced to great poverty,
dth fily eemed to be muah happie than before.
Nedly was now quite happy, and mas indtiao


mar seamu.
ad mae tem ever; while she aso m meKEm
the approing looks of both her parma Lhe w .
also so good-natur and kind to the yoeas sam,
that they were now quite obedient to her; ,ad iah
hoped Mr. Graham would admit two mon of thbs
to the Sunday school when it was opened again.
Three weeks passed away after the time WM.
Graham had fixed for his return home, and sti8
did not arrive. When the children inquired at hi
house, the servant told them her mater was deead
by business, and it was uncertain wham he would
eturn. At length, about the end of Deember, they
heard the joyful new that Mr. Graham wa to be
home before another Sunday; and one evm
when her father came home, be told Mary her
ter was arrived in safety, and he had se him. The
marriage had stopped at the door jut as he passed,
aad he waited to inquire after the family. Mry
was very happy, for she loved her master, jd
longed to be at the Sunday school again. e wse
a good deal surprised, however, when Mim Gem
sent for.her the following morning, and employee 1
her for several hour at different things in the hee.
It was the first time she had ever been employed
since the unfortunate meage which had been t
cusae of much kpain.
Mia Grahm nevr alluded to any thing that had
formerly passed, but seemed saious to show MNy
that she could plae omadm in her; and wmeo
gIu amd kind in her way, at Mary mahy
she was rly p inmg ke her ser. ay


0 marT rAIIT.
was not eatuly mistaken. Since she had lat sen
Mise Graham a great change had taken place in
her mind. Fond of the pleasures and gayeties of
the present world, she had long turned away with
indifference from every serious subject; but at length
the prayers and the influence of a brother she dearly
loved were not in vain, and she began to feel the
care of her immortal soul to be "the one thing
needful;" and she was now earnestly inquiring,-
"What must I do to be saved?"
Sunday afternoon came, and the master and child-
sea were mutually pleased to meet again; and most
ofthe young people proved their affection for him,
by the attention with which they had got all their
leons during his long absence.
Nelly had the pleasure of seeing a younger sister
and brother received into the school; and from the
instruction she had given them, she had likewise
the pleasure of seeing them appear far less ignorant
and stupid than she had done on first coming there.
Donald now stood at the very top of the class which
he had so long wished to be in; but he no longer
appeared conceited and proud of being advanced to
it, but was become a quiet, sensible boy, and atten-
tive to every word that was said to him.
Before the school was dismissed, Mr. Graham
told them that, as the following Friday was New.
Yea's day, the minister and he would examine the
Mshool a they had done on the former year, anm
that pries would be given to all the children whose
mdost had been such as to deerve it.

-sm .
Poor Mary ht a pang when she h"ard Ped
e tioned, and remembered al she had aim a
about the last one she had received. It was nw
about sx months sinee that period, and Mary ad
thought often and often of what her father had peo.
miad to tell her at the end of that time; but it was
long since he had alluded to the subject, ad she
scarcely liked to recall it to him; however, the
following evening her mother had gone to e Ms.
Dunn, and, after Mary had put the little one to bed,
she found herself alone with her father; Donald
having gone with a little boy to finish something
they were preparing for New-Year's day; and she
loged to remind him of his promise. Her fther
was sitting beside a clear fie, busy reading, and
she sat by him for some minutes before she had
courage to interrupt him. At last he ventured to
put her hand on his, and baid in a low voie,
"Father, do you remember that you promised
something at the end of six month ? I think it is
six months now." Her father put down his book,
and looking kindly at her, said, Yes, my dear; I
remember my promise, and I thought you would not
forget it; and now, Mary, I will answer you the
question which I then refused to do."
Mary looked down after she spoke, and thought
it very likely her father might still not choose to.
satisfy her curiosity; she now looked earnestly at
him, when she found he would tell her all sk i
wished to know. He was gentle and kind, but lookW
very serious, and said,-" Mary, I have wahde

--~ -.--c


yn wry narrowly ie that period; and I shall now
plain to you my reason for not telling your mother
what passed at that time, which then gave you so
much surprise. You know, my dear, that howerv
goodour conduct may appear to our fellow-creatures
unless the motives of our conduct are such as Goo
requires them to be, we cannot please him. GoD
looks apon the heart. He is to be our judge; and
of what avail will it be at last, should we have lived
so a to please our earthly friends and gain their
love, if GOD condemn us Who can deliver us from
his power? It was that you might be single-hearted,
and act so as to please GoD alone, that I did not
wish to tell your mother the painful circumstance
you had mentioned to me. Had she then known
it, every time she looked at you, every time she in-
quired into your conduct, you would have supposed
she suspected you in some way or other: yu must
have felt she had cause to do so; and, insensibly,
your desire to please her and to regain her confidence
would have mixed with your motives and made
them les pure. Your love for an earthly parent,
present with you, might have come between you and
your heavenly Parent, eqv lly present with you,
though unseen but to the eye of faith; and thus
'your iniquities might again have separated between
7ou and your 0on, and your sins have hid his face
tom you.' Do you understand this, Mary?
Mary. Yes, Father, I know what you mean; aad
I am very su you were right. Oh! how muh I
am obligetoo. .


J~~P~lr- 7L~W7Ty;?~y~ ~WV7



RJlids Those you were esowatldy with k
nothing of what lay heavy on your heart. Yo
we trusted by every one a you had been befm;
and it was you believing that Goo saw you at
every moment, your trying to live as in his light,
that kept you from in, not to pleae any earthly
friend; and, I trust, your daily prayer will be that
you may receive help from GOD to enable you to
obey him in all things, and love him with your
whole heart: then, my dear child," This Goo willbe
your GOo for ever and ever, and your guide eves
unto death; and will at last receive you into endless
happiness "
Mary wept much while her father continued to
peak to her words of kindness and encouragement
and he trusted that GOD would carry on the good
work which he hoped was begun in her young
Mary sid that she had once almost told her
mother every thing herself. "I was at thedoor me
day washing potatoes, when a friend of my mother's
was with her; I heard their voices, but knew
nothing they had said, till I heard my mother tell
her, Though I ay it, that should not sy it, Mary
never was the child to touch a thing that was not
her own.' I lifted away the tub immediately to a
distance from the door that I might not hear another
word; but, oh, Father, I was so miserable, wisd
to tell my mother how much she was deesied
inme: but her frid staid long; I rnemberd ye
ad some rnson fr not wishing he told, a di



a q*t OuMr.

mhing: but oh, how much misry does sin bring
with it I
New-Year's day came at last, and the ehilde met
in the mshool, all clean and neat, and looking happy.
Mr. Graham and the minister examined every cl,
and seemed pleased with the progress the young
people had made during the year; and a great
number of prizes were given, which made them very
happy. No one at school had improved more than
Nelly Dunn. The former year poor Nelly had stood
at the bottom of her class, tearing about, scarcely
knowing for what purpose they were met together;
now she stood next her friend Mary, the second
from the top, and received one of the best prim that
were given. She looked quiet and msriou; but,
ohI ahe felt it one of the happiest days of her life.
When Mary received her prize, Mr. Graham said a
few kind words to her; and, as he knew all her
sorrows, she received it from him with unmixed
Miss Graham and a few of her friends came to
the examination of the school; and, after the minis-
ter had pronounced the blessing, and the children
wen dismissed, Miss Graham followed them, and
desired every one who had received a prize to come
in a few minutes to her house, and they would get
something to take home with them. It was New
Year's day, and the housekeeper had prepared a nice
little bun for each child that could show her a prize.
Mis Graham gave each of them some apple, and
the children went home quite happy to divide their



. -

am anes a
toa of good things with their little both. sad

Donald'ared for nothing but a new Bible which
he lad received, and which gave him the greatest
pleasure. His name was written in it by his dear
master: he had got it from him, and he said he
would never part with it a long as he lived.
Poor Nelly's heart was full, and he thanked
Mary again and again for all her kindness; which
she said.had saved her from sin, and taught her
how to be happy: then she added,-" And, Mary,
your parents kept you away from me because I was
a bad girl, and I never should have known you
nless I had gone to the Sunday school"



s 's blet whome si have padon gaa'd,
No more in judgment to appear,
Whose guilt remiion ha obtained,
And whose repentae is sinee.

No sooner I my wound disclod,
The guilt that tortured me within,
But thy forgiveness interposed,
And mercy's healing balm pour'd in.

ornows on sorrow multiplied,
The harden'd inner shall confound;
But them who in His truth onfide,
Blssings of mercy shall surround.

His saints, that have performed his laws,
Their life in triumph shall employ;
Let them, as they alone hae cause,
In grateful capture shout for joy.
BL 1^ ^ .. ,/. L

. . . ..... ~ kI1I- IY W~-IIl~~7i&



"OuC th bred upmoo l w ars: fr m he halk ad t r
may rdyi."-Adl. zL L
"0, MDAnw," aid little Mary to her teacher, a
she read this vere, "who would ever do that? Ca
bread upon the waters! to be sura it must be
The teacher endeavored to explain the passage to
her in the following manner -" This pecept of
scripture is not to be understood literally, or exatly
as is expressed; for the Bible never teacher us any
thing contrary to common reason and prudence nor
encourage ua to expect the blowing of Proridene
to attend us if we purm e such a course. The
pam e speaks of something valuable; it cannot
mean that we should throw it away without
.ay. No, Maam, I should think not.
Teu er. But there are ome things practiced by
very prudent and discreet persons, which exactly
represent to us what is meant. You have heard
talk of merchants, whose business it is to convey by
sea the produce or manufacture of one country, and
exchange them for those of other countries. Thus,
in England there ae mines of irou and other metals,
which ingenious workmen prepare and make into

khnves, scsso, and may other articles, a grt
number more than a wanted to apply the people
of that country. Them are purchased by trading
merchants, who convey them to distant countries,
and in exchange bring back tea, sugar, coffee, spies,
S fruits, cotton, ke. Now, in order to obtain theme
goods, the merchant must have parted with a
great deal of money, perhaps almost all the money
he had, which would have purchased bread for
himself and his family; but this he ventures on the
waters, and if the voyage proves successful, "after
many days" the ship returns richly laden with the
commodities of other climes, which are sold,
and the merchant receives his money with good
interest. In this way the words you have read
appear as an encouragement to pious and benevolent
persons to abound in works of liberality; and, i
many remarkable instances, the bountiful havebeen
prospered and repaid in a seasonable manner, either
in themselves or their families. We are told in
Scripture, He that giveth unto the poor, lendeth
unto the LoaD," and also, "GOD is not unrighteous
to forget your work and labor oflove-in that ye have
ministered to the saints, and do minister."
But there is another way in which the precept
has been explained, and which appears to me still
more exactly to answer the expression of casting
bread upon the waters. It is by the manner of
sowing corn in the eastern parts of the world, whee
king Solomon lived, and where the holy Scripture
wre written. The climate thew is much hotter

than ors; and they have no, like s, Itkle
changes of weather, but two regular maoms of ai ;
the one just after seed-time, and the other Just
before harvest, called in Scripture "the early and
Hitter rain." In the mean time, the groudI oles
becomes very dry; but is seasonably visited nd
enriched by the river overfowing their banks, and
watering the low grounds through which they pas.
Some rivera overow regularly every year; others
only occasionally: when a large quantity of now
has fallen on the southern mountains, it s melted
by the sn, and flows down in very considerable
streams, watering the meadows, and causing the
rivers to overflow. This takes place about the
mouth of March, which is, in those countries, the
time of barley harvest, and seed-time of wheat. In
a old and damp climate, late food generally
prove injriou to the lands; but it is quite otherwise
there, the ground i gently enriched by them, ad
as the waters well, the husbandman asts hi
bread upon" them; that is, bread-corn, seed f
wheat. The waters spread the eed over the whole
Auree of the field, soften the ground to receive it,
and cause the grain to spring.
This is going on unseen while. the blood con.
tinues; yet the husbandman believes that it does go
on, because he ha witnessed and experienced it in
past seasons. At length the food retire; the lad
immediately appears covred'with the tender blade
and he see with pleaure the likely green of he
aigin-g oa, which, "many days" bask, he W




* m M5 OUGIT Ue
at upon the waters" mere gain, and which am
delights him with the prospect of a plentiful crop.
X. How very wonderful I
T. Yes; it should lead u to admire the work of
the GOD of nature and providence, who thus visit
the earth, and watereth and enricheth it, and blesseth
the springing of the corn."
M. And it just makes out what the verse say
about casting the bread upon the water, and seeing
it after many days.
T. Thus it is, my dear child, that we are encour-
aged in our labors of love to you; we see many
dear children growing up around us, and we long
to do them good. We give up much of our time,
and deny ourselves many opportunities which we
otherwise should have enjoyed for our own religious
gratification and improvement, ii order to instruct
you. This is casting in the seed, and we do it
hoping and praying that a divine blessing may
crown our endeavors. "After many days" we
look round and expect to see the fruit of these
instructions. And then if one parent should say to
us, My child used to be obstinate and passionate,
but now she is become mild and obedient;" and
another should say, "Mine used to tell lies, and
cheat his playfellows, and quarrel with his brothers
and sisters, but now he speaks the truth always,
and is honest and kind to all: oh, how much good
he has gained at the Sunday school how thakful
I am that ever the Sunday school was set upl"-
and if person in want of servants should a a a

~uur-~L~ ~;..,,, ~~~tL~-~~~ld*YLLlieYi ~LW*~L-rY;


mmmse i ther out of the ahool, f r kt th e
have known osholas who hae turned out so e-
cientions, steady, and good-oh! this would
gladden our heart just like the springing of the
blades of corn: bt Otill we should look, ad waeh,
and pray, that these good beginnings might go on
to grow and thrive. Then if we should se you still
steadily improving characters; ery useful ad
respectable in the stations in which GoD ha been
pleased to place you in this world; humble believer
in the Lord Jas CHam, consistently following his
holy example, and gradually ripening for the world
of glory; how would such success delight our
hearts we should, indeed, "joy according to the joy
of hrvest."
Remember, also, that the passage we have bee
speaking about instrets and encourages you to
improve the good instruction with which you ar
favored. ood instructions are very valuable ad
pecious, like the sed of bread-eon Now is the
time; store your memories well; lay up a good
treamue of knowledge from your Bible, Praybook,
and Catechisma; and if GOD give his blaming, you
will ee them "after many days" to your comfort.
Perhaps when you grow up in life, the recollection
of these good things may srve to keep out evil
thoughts from your minds; and prove the mans of
presering you from temptation. When you come
to be beet with the cares and vatioD of life, ad
have not much time to learn or read, some good
eMs may ome into your mind and frbek au
ii~~v ;~a~~c_,



s ADu aNm mH -M WAITS.
etai you. O wha your might ad hearing al,
what comfort you will fnd it to hae a good stock
ia hand to go to, a treare of Scripture, and oth
good sentene and hymns And above al, if you
anenow eaubled by prayer and faith to lay up for
your own, all the "exeeding great d precious
promise of GoD, which are "ye and amen in
CuMtm Jise," who died to save us, and who lives
to plead for all who come to him, then you will be
truly happy. Then with what confidence and delight
may you thus plead, "0 GoD, thou hut taught me
from my youth: now also when I am old and gray-
heade, 0 GOD forsake me not."
k b r is oar emr me d th e w rdMM thi wb he o w d,
Mad eMld mthr sUedMs tbhe awaa(pumiw r thhp g h wha
WA baee4 a fb mins heres h e seM redpuia the
-f bd t Pami, Mek he bed heA by buht whM he .a

- -*

K. **.,* ';r v

- 3VAVc~biU 1'~

DANIUL DANA, Is., Aosai,
NoL M Jeuu ma.




.90t *ban 4t tress.


sow Bobis to flqm.

1 10OKft-





p~iy~i'~~dAr;ri&.~U;i~+l~ii~J-r;a~~-;L Lu: rrc~ -P


-: ;~ ~rW Plr)~1 n i

o Aa 1JU~srlyl (mm 69 p of do asswid Pnlo&
US Nh.uI Smwaftbd U~ow, who Dqmaahiiy al
fu n J~mHmU. Uis a. -mo bmbbg nd swim
A "i bq*pda wof t of pvodesa, o The
sy a. ofqd OitIy Ova w puima of dh mu odewa
& m Is dwr m od ofp sL Wd"fe aw MAS h
1 pwbL w 06w4 do --- kb ma, *

dwy ma 11 .
fm beg ohw o whm. pda. We &.y we bmi
~S~rk w of a*b kbAl wa~

so muin hm Item muhg
*aPt.'Iimcwub A at" shbj -- ww

mboah" -st to
L jhbsd v U *"

am aaa frw gbt& Te
L n ummg Im do A

w'"ith ai ~U~rY~rrP
Pff do Chrir pwmi4 toa wee4 sorl PM m!

.Z bmutm emddws
9.W & mbb fhwr AU T*
ri 00104M pm-- -
.10~'~ -tr' `wr
I~ll~r~ d t

University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs