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kiss had been on their cheeks and the than because of the sharp glances that father's hand had been laid on their heads measure her ability to milk and to spin. in blessing ; they had sobbed their fare The tallow candle burns almost down, wells to each other, and a long distance and the old people find their way to bed of miles, and the infinite of a new love, by the flickering wick, having told the were between them.

young folks they must be up early in the Not far from the old home, Betty sat morning and begin life in earnest; and in the homely house of her husband, who Richard breathes freely again. looked proud and happy in his nice new He asks Betty why she is so silent, and suit of homespun, as he heard her call she answers it is because she is so happy; the old folks who sat in the corner father but he feels that for the first time in her and mother, and saw that they smiled and life she is concealing the truth from him, were pleased with the young wife he had and for the first time in their intercourse brought home. They were old and feeble, he finds it necessary to dissemble, and and could not work any more, and per- makes pictures in the future, bright as haps it was less for the love which the only fancy can make. young woman brought them, than for the The brown mare shall be hers, and he bundle of white coverlets and sheets, and will spare corn enough to buy her a sadthe little tow-bag full of bright silver dle, and he asks her whether its cushion dollars, that they were pleased and smiled shall be blue or red, and assures her, as they sat beside her in the corner. though she says nay, that the bridle-bit

“It is a poor home,” says Richard, and the stirrup shall be silver, and that he "and you will miss much that you have will order them made the first time he been used to, I am afraid ; I am to blame, goes to town, and that she herself shall perhaps, and yet I could not help loving go with him in the little cart, and buy a you; and loving, I could not help wishing silk gown as fine as that which the rich you to be my wife; and now that you are Mr. Fairfield bought her sister Polly that so, dear Betty, you shall be spared every day. She shall have a new bureau too, thing that my toil and my love can spare in which to keep the pretty linen she has you."

1.” And in these words and in the brought from home; and one drawer she kiss that goes with them, the wife would shall keep locked away from him, and in have found compensation for all the trial that she shall keep the purse that was her and all the suffering that awaited her, father's marriage gift, and add to it from could they have been foreseen.

time to time all the money she can save The old people talk apart of a new roof from the management of the dairy. But for the house-new plastering for the gar- Betty puts the purse in his hands, and says ret; of another window that must be she will have no lock and key to divide made ; for that as they grow blind the them; that all she has, and herself too, are light is too little for them ; of a loom that his ; that she only wishes she had brought must be bought, and then of sheep that more, and that she herself were better and must be had, so that there may be some worthier of her new position-she does thing to spin and weave; and then the not say worthier of him. And so the fire farm must be paid for, and if a few acres

burns down, and the rain comes against of woodland were added it would be well; the window; a little of it drives through and in short, there is no end of the things a pane that is broken, but Richard places they plan to be done with the little bag himself between her and that, and she does of money Betty has brought, and with not feel it; and as he soothes and caresses the more which she and Richard shall her, she ceases to listen to the wind as it earn—for what are youth and strength for blows rougher and rougher; she forgets but to be spent in work ?—there is no holi- the thick warm walls of the homestead day in their plan at all. Richard hopes forgets even Polly—and but for one troubthat Betty does not hear all this, but she ling shadow from the future would be blest. does; and though he puts his arm about Poor Betty, enjoy all you may; drink her, and lays his cheek close against her in all love's whisper, full as it is; let face to drown their selfish calculation, she your faith root itself deeper if possible hears all the same, and the stifled sob that in the goodness and purity of the heart, shakes her bosom is not more for the ten- for which you have, in part at least, sold der light of her own good mother's eyes, / away the love that was tried and true


you will need to grasp and to treasure all and narrowed together, and broken again, the bright moments Heaven shall give, and till only one or two are left who wander they all will not be enough to cast even a apart and grow weary, searching for that little light from shadow to shadow along which in this world is never found--perfect the way that is before you.

rest; and then cometh the end, and the And thus with the rain against the win- old house is repaired, or a new one made, dows, and the wind in the leafless trees, and another family begins, and work and the clouds above, and the winter coming hope for a time go on as though the sower on, we leave them, and for a moment turn were surely the reaper, and the planter of to a brighter scene.

the tree had promise of the shadow. And Polly has no time to weep-no time to so it is, beginning and ending, ending and listen to the winds; but their noise is so beginning always. broken by the high walls of the houses of

(To be continwod.) the city that it would have lost all its old melancholy sound if she heard it; she is

[For the National Magazine.] so bewildered by the lights about her that her thoughts reach not to the lost light

THE VILLAGE GRAVEYARD. of home; so many gay voices speak to her, and so sweet and so often falls one

SLOWLY, sad and slowly, whisper on her ear, that she forgets the

Down the silent way, broken farewell of the gentle Betty; or if 'Mong the graves so lowly, sometimes she thinks of her, it is to say,

With affection holy, “She has all she loves, even as I, and she

Do the mourners stray. must be happy as I; she is not fretting Mute is all the music about me, I am sure—how were that pos

Of the cloudless morn;

Bells, erst chiming gladly, sible?" So are we prone to measure the Now are tolling sadly, feelings of others against our own.

“ Gone, forever gone !" It was a higher ånd a wider roof than

Down the silent alleys, the one Polly had left that was over her

'Mong the humble dead, now, and within her memory so many 'Mid the fondly cherish'd, lights had not been consumed in her fa- Ah! so early perish'd !

Do the mourners tread. ther's house as were burning about her now-the very draperies at the windows

Little graves just swelling >

From the earth's green breast, were worth more money than the broad

Silently are telling meadow where the cows fed at home.

Of the quiet dwelling Bridal presents were shining all about her,

Where we all must rest. and as far as she could see the future gave And the sunshine lightly excellent promises.

Gilds each little bed ; And the old people had set the house Song birds carol sprightly,

Sweet flowers open brightly, in order after the wedding, and had prayed

By the early dead. for blessings on their children, till their supplication had been answered in peace

Costly, sculptured marble,

Carved and chisel'd stone, to themselves, and were calmly asleep.

Raised by love or duty, The mill was still, the cows lay together In their cold, sad beauty, in the meadow, and in the spinning-wheels

Tell what death hath done. the spiders stopped the making of their Tell of early manhood silken meshes for a while; but with the

Stricken in its prime;

Of the hoary headed, morning some changes would come, and

Of the newly wedded, others and still others with the weeks and

Known no more in time. the years, for change is the order of be

Shadows dark and mournful ing, and one generation passeth away and

Wrap us as we go; another cometh.

Hollow seem the treasures, Children are born, and old men and old

Phantom-like the pleasures

Of this world of wo. women die and are heard of no more ; youths and maidens love and weep, and

So we hasten heavenward,

Fleetly as we may; young men and young women marry and

Speeding upward ever, are given in marriage ; households are

In our progress never formed into perfect circles, and broken

Lingering by the way.




favorable to his religious developinent. He received urgent Christian letters from

them occasionally, and in one of his an'N reviewing, somewhat informally, Dr. swers he discloses the state of mind-so

Binney's late book,* we have contem- irresolute, so wretched and yet so much plated Buxton as a man and a philanthro- better than reckless—which all men of repist; it remains for us to notice more fined moral nature, but of unrenewed hearts, distinctly his character as a Christian. sadly and habitually know. He writes :His religion, indeed, was no mere mat

“I see the excellence of the walk you have ter of the pew or the closet-it character- chosen, and the madness of dedicating myself ized him as a man and a philanthropist, to anything, but to the preparation of that and we have, therefore, seen already its journey which I must so shortly take. I know, demonstration ; but we may justly recur

that if success shall crown all my projects, I

shall gain that which will never satisfy me, to the subject with a more exclusive at that which is not bread. I know the poverty tention. Binney dwells upon it at length, of our most darling schemes-the meanness of and with rather homiletic particularity. our most delicious prospects—the transitoriWe propose only to glance at a few of the

ness of our most durable possessions—when marked traits of his Christian character.

weighed against that fullness of joy and eter

nity of bliss which are the reward of those who And our first remark is, that his relig- seek them aright. All this I see with the utious life began and was continued to the most certainty—that two and two make four is end with the distinctive qualities of an

not clearer; and how is it, then, that with

these speculative opinions, my practical ones evangelical experience.” It was not a

are so entirely different? . My reason tells mere process of moral self-culture, the me that these things are utterly indifferent; but ripening of good natural dispositions; but my practice says, that they only are worthy of commenced as a moral renovation, and

thought and attention. My practice says, continued as

• Thou art increased with goods, and hast need a gracious discipline and

of nothing;' but my reason teaches me, Thou growth. He was a striking example of art wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, the difference between “morality (so and naked.' called) and holiness.

He was always

“I have in this letter divulged the train of “moral” from childhood, notwithstanding

thinking which is constantly recurring to my

mind.” his natural buoyancy and love of sport. None of the corruptions so incident to

"Constantly recurring to my mind;" yes, youth is known to have infected him. He and as constantly to the mind of many was even minutely scrupulous about his a reader of these lines. It is the inword during the thoughtlessness of boy- variable suggestion of a nature not wholhood. While at school, an usher made a ly self - abandoned to frivolity or vice. trivial charge against him; he denied it. There is, to a thoughtful mind, no signifi“ I have never known the boy to tell a cance in life except so far as it is subserfalsehood," said the principal, Dr. Burney, vient to the future well-being of the soul. " and I will not disbelieve him now. Reflecting men of undecided religious About his twentieth year he betook him- character, therefore, carry with them self, with unusual interest, to the reading habitually this sense of being “wretched of the Holy Scriptures, and gave other and miserable.” Alas for them that they indications of religious feeling, such as

hesitate so much to take the one step would be taken by many people of moder- more which introduces the struggling ate opinion as a conclusive proof of a well- spirit into the benign and refreshing light, defined Christian character. He had not the open sunshine of “ peace and joy in yet attained that character, however-at the Holy Ghost.” They have but to be least in his own estimation. And not till decided, and, by an act of entire and open the excitements of a public career began consecration, give themselves to God to attract him forward—the usual tempta- through the mediation of Christ, in order tions to the neglect of religion among to dissipate the spell of their misery and public men—did it take profound hold find “rest to their souls ;” and yet how upon him. The influence of the refined often do they linger through years, at the and endeared circle of Earlham Hall was very threshold of that rest—made only

the more wretched by its near contrast • Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton. A Study for with their equivocal and hazardous state! Young Men, &c. By Rev. T. Binney.

It was during a severe attack of sickness

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that Buxton was brought to this more and, mentioning the clear view he now had
determinate religious experience. At first of Christ being his Redeemer, he said," It
he even wished that the attack might be is an inexpressible favor, beyond my de-
perilous in order to awaken his sluggish serts. What have I done all my life long ?
feelings on the subjectma false idea, in Nothing, nothing, that did God service;
deed, but not without its good significance. and for me to have such mercy shown!
says :

My hope,” he added, " is to be received

as one of Christ's flock-to enter heaven "I gradually grew worse ; and when the disorder had assumed an appearance very alarm

as a little child.” And a day or two aftering to those about me, I spent nearly an hour ward he said, “I shall never again pass in most fervent prayer. I have been, for some negligently over that passage in the years, perplexed with doubts; I do not know

Prayer Book, We bless thee . . . for if they did not arise more from the fear of

thine inestimable love in the redemption doubting than from any other cause. The object of my prayer was

, that this perplexity of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ;"" might be removed; and the next day, when I and he broke forth into thanksgiving for set about examining my mind, I found that it the mercy,“ the unbounded, the unmerited was entirely removed, and that it was replaced love," displayed toward him, in having by a degree of certain conviction totally different from anything I had before experienced. the Christian doctrine brought home to It would be difficult to express the satisfaction his heart. Again and again he declared and joy which I derived from this alteration.

how glad and thankful he was for his illNow know I that my Redeemer liveth' was the sentiment uppermost in my mind, and" in ness, and, at the same time, how anxious the merits of that Redeemer I felt a confidence he felt lest the impression it had made that made me look on the prospect of death upon him should become effaced. with perfect indifference. No one action of In a letter written soon after his remy life presented itself with any sort of consolation. I knew that by myself I stood justly covery, to his Earlham friends, he says of condemned; but I felt released from the

this illness :

penalties of sin by the blood of our Sacrifice. In Him was all my trust. My dear wife gave me

“I looked upon it when I was at the worst great pleasure by repeating this text_* This is and have not yet ceased to do so) as a gift, a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptation, and a blessing, and the choicest of my possesthat Christ Jesus came into the world to save

sions. When I was too weak to move or speak, sinners.' Once or twice only I felt some doubt my mind and heart were at full work on these whether I did not deceive myself, arguing in meditations, and my only lamentation was, this manner :- How is it that I, who have

that I could not feel sufficiently glad or gratepassed so unguarded a life, and who have to ful for the mercy, as unbounded as unmerited, lament so many sins, and especially so much

which I experienced. This mercy was to know carelessness in religion-how is it that I feel

the sins of my past life-that the best actions at once satisfied and secure in the acceptance of it were but dust and ashes, and good for of my Saviour ? But I soon was led to better nothing; that, by the righteous doom of the thoughts. Canst thou pretend to limit the law, I stood convicted and condemned; but that mercies of the Most High? • His thoughts are

full and sufficient satisfaction had already been not as our thoughts, nor his ways as our ways.'

made by Him who came to save sinners; and He giveth to the laborer of an hour as much as

such was the ease and confidence with which to him who has borne the heat of the day. this conviction inspired me that death was not These were my reflections, and they made me

attended with a terror.” easy.”

This, we again say, is the genuine proThis, we repeat, was an evangelical cess of religious experience as taught by experience”—marked on the one hand by Christianity and by what are called evanthe simplicity, and on the other by the gelical Churches. We have dwelt upon it permanency (as his whole subsequent life the more because it is so seldom recorded showed) which are usual to such an expe- in Buxton's sphere of life. It is the procrience. It was the moral renovation of ess, be it alsosaid, which, however it may the man—the new birth;" and true to its be cavilled at by philosophical skeptics, character as “ evangelical,” it was by faith. can alone recover thoroughly vitiated men; When the medical gentleman who at which alone produces real saintliness, intended him observed that he must be in spires religious heroism, or sanctifies marlow spirits, “ Very far from it,” he re- tyrdom in our fallen world. Casting away plied : “I feel a joyfulness at heart which self-dependence, it nevertheless secures would enable me to go through any pain." the profoundest conviction of self-respon“From faith in Christ ?” he was asked. sibility. Renouncing the merit of good

Yes, from faith in Christ," was his reply, | works, it nevertheless prompts the whole

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life to them. Often immediate and fervid talents to be their leaders, such as Mackin its effects, it nevertheless, more than intosh, Brougham, &c.; but these were any other religious influence, permanently not morally qualified to head the conflict : impresses the life of the man. Fifteen they stepped into the fray ever and anon, years afterward Buxton wrote that " from and struck stifling blows; but they never that day to this I have never been ha- showed the strength of moral purpose, rassed by a doubt of our revealed religion," the calm defiance of sarcasm and calumand on his recovery he commenced a ca ny, the consecration to duty and selfreer of moral and religious labors which sacrifice which Wilberforce and Buxton terminated only with his glorious death. brought from their closets of prayer into The three years following, his

the parliamentary sessions, and which susplace books,” says his biographer, “ are tained the one through a twenty years' chiefly filled " with memoranda of his la- fight against the slave-trade, and the bors for the Bible Society. He“ other through nineteen years of struggle ally made himself complete master of its against colonial slavery and other moral affairs and proceedings,” says his son. evils of the realm. Buxton says himself, He entered soon upon his efforts in be- in a letter to the devoted clergyman whose half of the amelioration of prison discip- ministrations he attended, that “whatline, in connection with his noble sister, ever he had done in his life for Africa, Mrs. Frye. He wrote an effective work the seeds of it were sown in his heart at on the subject. He gave his coöperation Wheeler Chapel.” as an active manager to the cause of mis Precisely here is one of the most imsions, foreign, and especially domestic. portant lessons of his life for the study He opened his country house for Sunday- of young men.

“ It shows the possibilevening gatherings of the villagers and his ity,” says Biņney, “ of a man's combinneighbors, to whom he expounded the Scrip- ing a very laborious outward life-a life tures. He entered Parliament as a Chris- of business, trade, politics with one of tian, and, prompted by his new sympathies, deep and eminent spirituality. Men bugave his attention to such reforms as most sily occupied in the affairs of the world, naturally appealed to the moral sentiments, behind the counter or the desk, “in chamand which, from that very fact, were at bers' or at the house,' often imagine, or the same time the most important and the perhaps complain, that they have no time most liable to be disregarded by the usual to attend to spiritual subjects, or for the motives of political ambition. The sut- discharge of religious acts. If reminded tees of India, the Mauritius slave trade, of David as a soldier writing his psalms, the sufferings of the Hottentots, prison or Daniel at court directing a kingdom discipline, the reform of the criminal code, and yet keeping daily his hours of prayer, the entire abolition of British slavery, they can discover reasons, in their pecusuch were the noble subjects of his atten- liar aids as inspired men, to render their tion and labors throughout the rest of his example inapplicable to them. Here, howlife.

ever, is a man of our day,—and one ever Now, we hesitate not to affirm, that the active and all alive in his worldly duties, peculiar greatness of Buxton as a states--not said to have been attentive to devout man, and his success in public measures, communings with his own spirit, and to grew chiefly out of this determinate reli- earnest and holy walking with God, but gious character. Had he and Wilber- proved to have been so, by papers bearing force been of the usual style of British the stamp of sincerity, and indicating at statesmen — the Walpoles, the Towns once the reality of his religion and the hends, the Cannings, or even the Burkes, constancy of his efforts to preserve it by the Foxes, and the Pitts—we doubt that culture and to evince it by consistency.” those great ameliorations, those high moral Beautiful and incessant are the exhibidevelopments of British policy, which at- tions of his fervent and manly piety given tended their political labors, would have us in his memoir by his son. He was not ensued. We doubt, indeed, that they only the father but the priest of his housewould have been seriously thought of. hold, conducting divine worship on its There were really good men-men of vir- altar daily, and preparing himself for the tus, but not of piety—who coöperated with service by meditations which rendered it them; men who were fitted by superior instructive to his family. It need not be

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