This accomplished stranger, a Roman Catholic, visited New Haven, Connecticut, and was present at an evening party, where were gathered the elite, gentlemen and ladies, of that well-known centre of learning and social refinement. There was nothing in the appearance of the men to excite surprise, or special attention, for he had seen others of similar accomplishments; but the character of the women, the position they held in society, and the influence they were so obviously qualified and permitted to exert, struck him with such admiration and delight, that, on retiring from the scene, he exclaimed, "I've found it now. I have ascertained the secret of your success in self-government, and of your character, prosperity and greatness as a republic. You owe it to your WOMEN. I never saw the like before. SUCH MOTHERS must, and no others can, make a nation like yours. Give us in South America, such women for mothers, and we should, ere long, follow hard after you in the race of national prosperity and happiness."

Well did Napoleon say to Madame de Stael, “France wants mothers." Yes, every land, the whole world, "wants mothers; " mothers of the right character and influence. Liberty, religion, almost every thing for time and eternity, depend, under God, very much on what they are, and what they do. Our world can be neither redeemed, nor reformed, nor saved from ruin, without mothers, good mothers; and every improvement in their character is one of the surest possible guarantees for the general improvement and welfare of our race, through all coming time.

THE boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

And all which beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour,

The path of glory leads but to the grave! Gray.

In the golden days of childhood, there was one who loved me well;
One, whose love had mighty power with me, and bound me like a spell; -
One, who, when my heart was saddened with the griefs of early years,
Was the first to yield me sympathy, and kiss away my tears.

In her fond, yet faithful bosom, 1 unbosomed all my cares;
By her knee I knelt at evening, to repeat my evening prayers;
And whene'er the lightning quivered, or the thunder-bolt replied,
I was sure no harm could reach me, were I only by her side.

I remember how her counsels came as watchwords to my heart,
When, from many a path of virtue I was tempted to depart; -
When the stormy waves of passion rose, my peace of mind to wreck,
She was always sure to quell the storm by weeping on my neck.

With her prayers and pious counsels, she has lured and led my way,
Till her once luxuriant tresses are inwoven now with grey;
And I read the saddening record Time hath graven on her brow,
Yet I know her heart ne'er beat for me more lovingly than now!

And I love her with a truer heart, as she treads the vale of years,
For the memory of her early love to me her age endears;
There is something of remembered tones, and smiles, and joys long past,
Which determines me to cherish her, and love her, till the last.

1 shall ne'er forget the light her smiles upon my path have shed;
I shall ne'er forget her heart which poured its blessings on my head;
And if e'er those smiles should lose their light, that dear heart cease to bless,
Yet I know, in yonder world of joy, she will not love me less!

There's a star which shines at dawn, awhile, with light serene and clear,
And thence becomes the evening-star, the remnant of the year;
There are few who prize its lustrous light, when ushering in the day,-
Yet its evening brilliance all admire, and mourn its setting ray.

When the shadows round the sunset fall, as day retires to rest,
Then it glitters, like a diamond-pin, upon the evening's breast;
With the beauty of that queenly gem, before its beams depart,-
Shines the jewel of MATERNAL LOVE, in a MOTHER'S FAITHFUL HEART.
Hingham, Mass., Jan., 1850.

THE BEREAVED MOTHER.

THE

Written for the Mother's Assistant.

BEREAVED MOTHER.

BY REV. DANIEL WISE.

I saw a young mother one day, fondling her first-born, in an ecstacy of delight. She was indeed a beautiful child, with a skin "fair as alabaster," large blue eyes, and curly locks of chestnut-colored hair. Twelve months of life, had bound her firmly to that mother's heart. As the fond mother danced it on her knee, its merry, musical laugh, stirred afresh the fountains of her maternal love; with strong expressions of affection she folded the happy babe to her warm and throbbing breast. She felt a gush of pure enjoyment in that sacred moment, such as flows from no spring save that of a mother's heart.

Having seen in the experiences of human life, how swiftly sorrow flies along the trail of bliss, my heart trembled for that young mother, lest the overrunning cup of her joy might soon be dashed to the ground by the rude, stern hand of the great Destroyer. I knew that death loved to rifle beauty of its charms, and that he took a heartless delight in transforming the living form of glorious childhood into the cold, still, marble-like corpse.

Nor did I indulge an ungrounded fear; for scarce a month had passed, before I stood in that mother's house to minister consolation, by prayer and counsel, to her wounded spirit. I saw her babe there too; but O how changed! Its once blithe and springing form, now lay in still, quiet beauty, in the narrow coffin. But for the cold and clammy feeling of that lovely brow, it would have been far easier to fancy that sleep, and not death, held it in its chain. Its beautifully chiselled lips bore so bright a smile, that, as I gazed upon them, they seemed to move, and I involuntarily asked myself: Can this sweet babe be dead?

But it was dead! and the mother seemed disconsolate. Her stifled sobs told me but too truly how deep the blow had

struck, and awakened the liveliest sympathies of my heart, for I too had followed my own offspring to the grave of infancy.

I began the difficult but delightful duty of consoling her stricken spirit, by speaking of the universality of the affliction she had suffered. I quoted the exquisite lines of Longfellow :

"There is no flock, however watched and tended,

But one dead lamb is there;

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair."

This seemed not to afford her any relief; for what alleviation was it to her, that others suffered in the same manner? It might, indeed, show her that bereavement is the common lot of mankind; but that could not heal her wound. So I changed my theme, and brought the light of the gospel to shine upon the corpse of the child. of the child. With the poet, I said:

"She is not dead, the child of your affection,

But gone unto that school

Where she no longer needs your poor protection,

And CHRIST himself doth rule."

This was the thought she needed. Her child was not dead, then, after all. No, it had only left the beautiful clay cottage it had inhabited for some twelve months or more, to become a pupil in the school of Christ. This was comfort. I heard her repress a sob as I continued:

At this idea the shadows on her brow began to dissolve in the light of faith. Her babe was really better off; it had a better home, a better protector; it was freed from the possibility of evil. To wish it back again would be selfish. But the separation, how could that be endured? This thought

brought back all her grief, and floods of tears deluged her pale cheeks. Faith alone, was not fully adequate to her consolation. So I brought hope, the companion of faith, forward, and suggested the example of David, who said of his departed babe, "I can go to the child." Thus I pointed to a speedy

re-union.

Again the springs of sorrow were checked. Faith and hope united, were effectual comforters, and I went on to say:

"Not as a child, shall you again behold her ;

For when with raptures wild,

In your embraces you again enfold her,
She will not be a child,

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,

Clothed with celestial grace,

And beautiful with all the soul's expansion,
Shall you behold her face."

My task was finished. The mother found consolation. A submissive spirit grew up within her. When her maternal heart yearned in vain to embrace that buried form, she quelled her quick rising sorrow by calling faith and hope to her aid. Mounting on their wings, she soared to heaven's exalted heights, and in spirit embraced her living child.

As I walked home that day, I felt the charm of Christianity on my soul, and blessed God for that revelation whose light sheds beauty on the vale of death, and robs the grave of its boasted terrors. And then I prayed for a more earnest faith in the revealings of Holy Writ. Fall River, Mass., Jan., 1850.

AMBITION.

WHAT various wants on power attend!

Ambition never gains its end.

Who hath not heard the rich complain
Of surfeit and corporeal pain?

And, barred from every use of wealth,

Envy the ploughman's strength and health?

- Gay.