On a bright autumnal morning, I stood with a dear young friend, looking at a noble ship, which was bearing a band of missionaries "Far from home and native land." We had knelt with them in prayer; had united in the farewell song, and had given the parting hand, before the vessel left the wharf. Many friends of the missionaries were there, and all, even strangers, wept with them, and sympathized in their sorrow; for we all felt, that those devoted ones were making a heavy sacrifice. Among these missionaries, was a man of middle age, accompanied by his wife and sister. He was leaving an affectionate and united church, with whom he had labored for years, the blessing of God attending his labors. With them, comfort and love awaited his declining years; yet, at the call of duty, he cheerfully resigned them to the charge of another, that he might labor for his Master, in a foreign land. Among them, there was, also, a fair young bride. Her father and mother, with many dear friends, she knew were weeping in their distant home. In the morning of life, associated with them, the world was bright before her. Yet she had left them all, had given them a last earthly farewell, and had exchanged prosperity with them, for the perils, cares, sacrifices, and sorrows of a missionary life. But no tear dimmed her eye, and no regret was in her heart. Her voice, trembling, but clear, united in the parting hymn, and all present felt how great the power of that love must be, which had enabled one so young, thus unfalteringly to forsake all for Christ. The vessel disappeared in the distance. The missionaries had looked for the last time on home. On the shores of their native country, they had heard for the last time the Sabbath bell, and we who had assembled to bid them farewell, had turned away sorrowing, yet rejoicing. The young friend who was with me, had been all through the morning too much affected for words. She had recently given her heart to Christ, and was anxiously inquiring, "Lord, what wouldst thou have me to do?" As I left her at her own door, she said, "How great the privilege those noble ones enjoy! How blessed they are, in being permitted to obey the command of Jesus, and to leave all for Him! O! that I too, could go; but my talent is so small, and my education has been so neglected, that I could do no good if I went. I can do nothing for my Saviour." "My poor friend," thought I, as with a word of comfort I turned away, "you are but one of many who look with feelings akin to envy, on those who possess the five talents, while the one given them is suffered to lie dormant. Who sigh for large fields of usefulness, while their own little garden remains uncultivated; who long to labor with the missionary, while opportunities for usefulness pass by them every hour, unimproved. I have thought that the simple narration of several instances, where humble efforts have been owned and blessed by God, might encourage some who are mourning over their limited powers to improve what talents God has given them, to his glory. How great the encouragement to labor in the cause of a Master, who smiles on the feeblest efforts put forth in his service; who knows our powers, and requires of us no more than we are able to perform, and places us in no situation where we cannot labor for Him, and find full and active employment for all the talents He has given us! He shows us every day, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong; that not the wise and the mighty, the rich and the learned alone, are blessed by Him. From the time when He made the humble fishermen the instruments to promulgate his religion, in a sinful generation, until the present hour, He has chosen the weak things of the world to confound the mighty, and the feeble ones to do Him honor. He delights to dwell with, and bless those, who, in singleness of heart, perform the little every-day duties of Christian life, counting no opportunity for usefulness too small to be improved, and no effort too feeble for Heaven's blessing, if put forth in faith. THE FAITHFUL SCHOOL-GIRL. The first night from home! How desolate the feeling which creeps over the heart of the young school-girl, as she finds herself alone among strangers. Amy shed many bitter tears, as she watched her father's carriage, when it left the door of the seminary, where she was to spend her first six months from home. Many cheerful voices welcomed her, pleasant faces were around her, merry laughter sounded in ear; but she was a timid stranger, who had seldom before left her mother's side, and she turned away and sought her chamber, to be alone. "I can never, never be happy here! she thought. But her father's last words of cheer, and his hope in her, came to her mind. She thought of the reasons expressed in her presence, why it was best she should leave home for a season, and she tried to find comfort. Then again came the memory of her mother's farewell kiss, her brother's sorrowful good-bye, and the dear baby's smiling face, as she kissed her, the only happy one in the little group; and, as she counted the weary months which must pass, before she could see them again, the tears would flow. But Amy was not alone. She had a friend in Him who sticketh closer than a brother, and she turned to Him with dependence and comfort. "He will be with me if I am faithful," said she; "and beside, mother told me I should find opportunity to bear witness for Him here, as well as at home. I will try; but I am afraid I can do nothing right, without mother." She closed her first day at school, with a fervent prayer to her Heavenly Father. Morning came; and its pleasant sun brought encouragement to her heart. "The same sun shines here as in my own dear home," thought she; the same God sees me here;" and thus reasoning, she commenced her new duties with a cheerful heart. She found many perplexities in her studies hard to be overcome, but kept up courage, and succeeded better than she had feared. Night brought a new trial, in a room-mate. She had not foreseen 66 this, and found it hard to perform her evening duties before a stranger; and one too, whom she saw, could not unite with her in prayer. She listened not to the whisper within, prompting her to omit it until another opportunity, and retired to rest, happy in the peace which duty, faithfully discharged, always brings. Time passed away more rapidly than she had thought it possible. She found trials and temptations on every hand. It pained her to see little acts of deception, which she had been taught to consider sinful, passed over as of no consequence, by the young friends around her. The excitement, and the close attention demanded by her studies, all tended to draw her mind from God. Persecution, too, in little ways, but none the less difficult to be borne by one so sensitive, she found to be the consequence of her rebuke of some things she considered wrong; and her |