tion to the case: but it must be made of such importance as not to be neglected-and it will not be, if right views are entertained of the importance of this family tribunal. The magnitude of an offense is not lessened in the eyes of the offender, by having it referred to a future hour, more favorable to investigation. When the child knows, by invariable experience, that such an hour will surely come, the result will often be found in a ready, prepared and full contrition, closing the painful duty before it is begun. We have seen many cases of discipline fail wholly of benefit, from the partial, divided attention given to them, in consequence of other cares and occupations. The present plan would obviate this deficiency, by giving opportunity for reflection, while it looks forward to a fixed point and purpose of execution. Even memory should not be wholly trusted, where it is apt to prove treacherous— but a note-book might be kept, in which to enter the items for investigation or reproof. Such a course, steadily persisted in, we have known do away in a short time, almost the necessity of punishment in a family;-so that it proves as merciful to the child as satisfactory to the parent.

The quiet hour between the day and evening, has been selected as the most fitting for these rehearsals. It is another plan derived from that great model, the imitation of which cannot be unsafe. On the first act of disobedience and rebellion in this fair Creation, the Parent of our race

"Walked not in Eden till the close of day."

It will not be an hour of dread, except to the offender-and when the offense is great and lasting, where can be found more favorable circumstances for inducing thorough repentance than to leave the little culprit to the reflection of his fault in the silence and solitude of night? The business of the day should be ordered with reference to this hour, that it may be left unembarrassed—and it should be held as sacred from interruption as the hour of family devotion.

If a mother will thus spend an hour, daily and habitually, with her little children, in the calm twilight of their nursery, in reviewing the day with its trials and its failings, instead of sacrificing it to fashion and to company, she will find that blessed hour multiplied into years of virtuous principles and action, which had here their birth-place. There is a softening and subduing influence in the shades of twilight-the bustle and agitation of the day is over-contention has become weary—and here is the favorable hour for inducing reflection, and impressing the vanity and emptiness of that worldly ambition whose gilded objects "fade like the hues of evening." Let her inspire and invite confidence by her gentle dealings and discriminating judgment. We have seen this hour so occupied-when it became almost the "gate of Heaven." We have seen it devoted to a voluntary and ingenuous confession of the little failings of the day, when there had been no eye to mark those failings,—and when the success of this system had lessened the repetition of faults, their place was supplied by the expression of those hopes and joys which fill the breast of happy, artless childhood. Let this hour be so filled for your children, ere they kneel to their evening prayer, and there is not an hour in the twenty-four upon which both mother and children will look back with such unalloyed satisfaction. It will be an hour to refresh and strengthen their spirits for the cares and conflicts of to-morrow, and of future

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life. We believe the child of such associations will find these reminiscences a spring in the desert, through every stage of his existence.

We have seen the mother who pleaded want of time for attention to her children and could yet spend this hour in trifling occupation, or in visits and idle gossip, mischievous to herself and others, while her children at home were employed in occupations as unprofitable. Every thing else should be neglected sooner than those immortal plants, committed to a mother's training. This little season, between an early supper and the early hour at which young children usually retire to rest, seems, of all others, the one to be set apart and sanctified to this moral review. It is usually the hour of greatest leisure, and when thus usefully and delightfully appropriated, the hours of evening remain for fireside enjoyments, or the claims of society and neighborhood intercourse-while those precious children are secured from the contagion of evil, by the guardianship of that Spirit whom you have just called down to watch over their sleeping pillows.

For the Microcosm.

MOTHERS SHOULD PRAY WITH, AS WELL AS FOR THEIR CHILDREN.

MUCH has been said, in our little world of home, of a mother's influence, and its importance to the welfare of her children. We have ourselves, no fears, that this subject will soon become uninteresting, to those who read for instruction. Not, at least, before it has been exhausted. To the mother, is especially intrusted, the formation of the character in early life -the inculcation of those habits and principles, which, emphatically, "grow with our growth and strengthen with our strength." If she judiciously and faithfully trains up her children in the way they should go they will become sources of comfort to their parents, ornaments to society and blessings to the world. But if she is negligent or incapable, she makes them curses to themselves, and to the community,—" foolish children, who are a grief to their father, and bitterness to her that bare them." How shall the pious mother, whose responsibilities are thus weighty, best promote the temporal and eternal welfare of her offspring?

The design of our present remarks is to point out one particular way, by which this only proper object of education, can be very much promoted. The mother, whose aims are fixed thus high, should habitually pray in secret with her children. It is not enough, that by her teaching, she faithfully points them to the Lamb of God, and by her example, sweetly allures them to his service. It will not answer her purpose, that she often retires to her closet, and there pours out her full heart in prayers to God for their salvation. All this is as it should be; but if she wishes to exert her influence upon them to its full extent, she must frequently take them to her closet, and

there, when no eye but God's is upon them, with faith commend them to their Savior's love.

over.

his little arm is round

Let her faithfully and perseveringly pursue such a course, and she will obtain an influence over them, happy in kind, and lasting in its effects. These reflections call, O how forcibly! my own beloved mother to my mind. She has taken her little son by the hand, and is leading him to her room. The expression of his countenance is chastened and subdued; for he is going alone with his mother, that she may pray with him. She closes the door behind her. She is kneeling with her child beside her her neck her heart, with all a mother's fondness, yearns over her beloved child-she gives utterance to her feelings, in the solemn language of prayer. "O God, be merciful to my child, and save him for Christ's sake"-she pleads, in the simple language of love, that God will make him a good boy;-that he will preserve him from all the temptations of life, and in his childhood, bring. every thought of his heart, into sweet subjection to Jesus. The prayer is The child withdraws. And will he forget his mother's prayer? He is now a man, and it is still fresh in his recollection. But busy memory recalls another scene. The child has been guilty of a great fault. He has taken something from his mother, without her knowledge, and appropriated it to his own use. He has added to his guilt by telling a lie to conceal it. Deep anguish fills the mother's heart, and tears stream from her eyes. Yet she is resolute. She does not suffer her selfish tenderness to interfere with the discharge of a painful duty. The child is chastised. He is seated in a corner by himself, and cries as if his heart would break. Occasionally, he steals a glance towards his mother. He has grieved her; and he knows it. A struggle is going on in his breast. At last pride is overcome, he runs to his mother, and with bitter sobs, hides his face in her lap. "My son, have you anything to say to your mother." "O mother, dear mother, do forgive your wicked boy, and pray to God to forgive him too." The mother and her child again retire to the place of prayer. She opens the bible, and from its sacred pages, reads to her son, God's abhorrence of his crimes. She kneels, and prays for him. And will he forget her solemn prayers and warnings? He remembers them yet, and blesses God who gave him such a mother.

Does any pious mother doubt the propriety of frequent private prayer with her children. To her, we can only say, be persuaded to try it, and then, if you find that it answers no valuable end, you can give it up. Does any one say, I have never adopted such a course, and it would be too great a trial to my feelings to commence it now. Blush to offer an excuse, which proves you to be more anxious how you wound your own selfish feelings, than you are regardful of the highest interests of your children. Does any mother say, I have no time for private prayer with my children. If you can plead at the bar of God, that no time which might thus be profitably spent, is consumed in sinful or unnecessary employments, then are you excused.

We cannot better conclude our remarks upon this subject, than by selecting Mrs. Sigourney's beautiful lines, upon the following incident.

"When I was a little child, (said a good old man,) my mother used to bid me kneel down beside her, and place her hand upon my head, while she prayed. Ere I was old enough to know her worth, she died, and I was left too much to my own guidance. Like others, I was inclined to evil passions, but often felt myself checked, and, as it were, drawn back by a soft hand upon my

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head. When a young man, I traveled in foreign lands, and was exposed to many temptations; but when I would have yielded, that same hand was upon my head, and I was saved. I seemed to feel its pressure as in the days of my happy infancy, and sometimes there came with it a voice in my heart, a voice that must be obeyed,-'O, do not this wickedness, my son, nor sin against thy God.""

Why gaze ye on my hoary hairs,

Ye children, young and gay?
Your locks, beneath the blast of cares,
Will bleach as white as they.

I had a mother once, like you,
Who o'er my pillow hung,

Kissed from my cheek the briny dew,
And taught my faltering tongue.

She, when the nightly couch was spread,
Would bow my infant knee,

And place her hand upon my head,
And, kneeling, pray for me.

But, then, there came a fearful day—
I sought my mother's bed,

Till harsh hands tore me thence away,
And told me she was dead.

That eve, I knelt me down in wo,
And said a lonely prayer;

Yet still my temples seem'd to glow
As if that hand were there.

Years fled, and left me childhood's joys,
Gay sports and pastimes dear;

I rose a wild and wayward boy,
Who scorned the curb of fear.

Fierce passions shook me like a reed;
Yet, ere at night I slept,

That soft hand made my bosom bleed
And down I fell, and wept.

Youth came-the props of virtue reeled;
But oft, at day's decline,

A marble touch my brow congealed,—
Dear mother, was it thine?

In foreign lands, I traveled wide,
My pulse was bounding high,
Vice spread her meshes at my side,
And pleasure lured my eye ;-

Yet still that hand, so soft and cold,
Maintained its mystic sway,

As when, amid my curls of gold,
With gentle force it lay.

And with it breathed a voice of care,

As from the lowly sod,

My son-my only one-beware!
Nor sin against thy God.

That hallowed touch was ne'er forgot!

And now, though time hath set
His frosty seal upon my lot,
These temples feel it yet.

And if I e'er in heaven appear,
A mother's holy prayer,
A mother's hand, and gentle tear,
That pointed to a Savior dear,
Have led the wanderer there.

M

For the Microcosm.

EVIL SPEAKING.

WHEN you notice the title of this article, careful reader, it may seem to you that you have an old number of the Microcosm in your hand, or at best a former article repeated or renewed; but if you should happen to compliment that number and that article so far as thus to remember them two months, you ought also to remember that our last aim and shot were leveled at Evil Speakers. Our present subject of conference is therefore as much like our last, as drinking is like drunkards; and do not apprehend that we shall confound subjects which are not in themselves confounded. We cannot leave this mention of that last article without a sigh over its inadequacy; not that we feel particularly diffident or humble about it,—for while we say, 'Alas! we fear it did not reform, nor even chasten, nor even reach, one evil speaker!' we take to ourselves also the 'flattering unction,' with which all people are wont to heal up the wounds, and supply the wants, which their confessions disclose we take to ourselves a like relief, by asking, What arrow of truth did ever of itself "strike and fasten and quiver" upon the spirit of an evil speaker? Though you wheedle or rebuke or anathematize or scourge it, your exorcism may be all vain. "This kind can come forth by nothing, but by prayer and fasting."

However, we may have done some good already upon this subject of evil speakers. Possibly we may do a little more if we can now barely draw the thoughts of our large circle of readers, for a few moments, as to a center, to this kindred subject of evil speaking.

Ten years ago there was a vast number of drunkards in this land, but O what an amount of drinking! Every body was not a drunkard; but almost every body drank. And so, it is to be presumed, we are not all evil speakers, while there is not one of us who is not in some degree chargeable with evil speaking.

"This depends upon what is meant by the phrase. Be good enough to define evil speaking."