to manifest greater regard for his present feelings or gratification than for his eternal welfare. The high obligations of Christian faithfulness are upon me. I must discharge my duty to God, to him and to myself, at the same time. How can I do this, if my conversation is wholly of a worldly nature, and in no respect different from what it would be likely to be on any other day of the week? I am persuaded I ought not to be thinking or conversing upon worldly matters, when on my way to the house of God. I ought NOT to engage in common amusements or recreation, when not at church. True I may be cheerful and ought to be so, and may relax my mind in pleasant and animated conversation, or in a great variety of other ways. But I must look well to the moral and religious tendency of every kind of relaxation in which I allow myself. A boundless field of proper and allowable pleasure lies before me. I may recount the scenes and incidents of my past life-call to mind the goodness and mercy of God in sustaining me and leading me safely through so many dangers, and in giving me so many privileges and so much happiness. I may look forward to the bright scenes and pure enjoyments of the heavenly world; and if my heart is right, may, as it were, enter upon them by anticipation. Such thoughts and contemplations are sweet and refreshing to those who love God, and shall they not be so to me? Shall they not make a part of my Sabbath-day recreation? A Christian is hardly in danger of indulging in worldly amusements on the Sabbath, it would be so glaringly inconsistent both with his feelings and profession. But But the case of those who are not Christians, is very different. The temptation for them to indulge in what they perhaps may deem innocent diversions, is strong and besetting. They may find themselves engaged in then before they are aware. let them take heed. They cannot plead exemption from any duties which are binding upon the Christian. Every act of theirs which would be wrong or criminal in a professor of religion, is wrong and criminal in them, and has a tendency to hinder them from becoming Christians. Worldly amusements on the Sabbath, however harmless they may appear, sweep away from the mind whatever of seriousness may have been occasioned by listening to the preacher - they dissipate the thoughts and drown reflection, and render the heart insensible to eternal things. They have been the instruments of perdition to millions; - I would not have them such to me. I ought not then to indulge myself in them on the Sabbath. I ought not to read books on the Sabbath, that are not of a religious character or tendency. But why not? Because it would be as direct a violation of the fourth commandment as it would be to labor with my hands. The moral law of which the command," to remember the Sabbath day and to keep it holy," is a part, has respect to the mind rather than the body. It is a law by which God governs the spirits of men, and may be transgressed in the stillness of private retirement as well as in the noise and bustle of a crowd in the streets. The reading of books which have not a religious tendency is often more unfavorable to such a state of mind as we should always cherish and maintain on the Sabbath, than almost any kind of bodily labor. It shuts out serious thoughts, leaving no room for them in the mind. I have observed that many who would not on any account, be seen occupied on the Sabbath in what, they consider, worldly business, feel little or no compunction for perusing works of history, travels, science, literature, and so forth, which have no connexion with religion. They regard this as a proper manner of spending the hours that are not occupied in public worship. Reading is not their every day employment; and, on this account hardly seems to be a worldly business. Besides, they disturb no one all is done in the stillness of solitude, and their example they think, is not so pernicious to the interests of society, as that of the man who attends to his ordinary pursuits on the Sabbath. But are their reasons sufficient to justify the practice in question? Is the reading of books which are not of a religious charater or tendency in any way more nearly allied to the appropriate duties of the day which the Author of all our blessings requires us to keep holy, than any other employment that does not interrupt the quiet or devotion of others? Might not the merchant post his books, or the cashier prepare his bank bills for circulation, or the mechanic work in his shop, or the farmer in his barn, as well as one who is fond of reading, peruse such books as I have referred to in the parlor, or his chamber? I have often thought upon this subject, and am fully convinced that I ought not to spend the Sabbath in reading books, that have no particular tendency to inspire me with such sentiments and feelings, as the whole spirit of its original design and institution requires of those, who would properly observe it and profit by it. I ought not to form plans or make arrangements on the Sabbath for the business of the week. This I find myself at times quite too much disposed to do. When I expect to engage in any new undertaking, or take a journey, or receive a visit from particular friends in the course of the week, it requires an effort to keep all thoughts of these things, out of my mind. They rush upon me unexpectedly and not unfrequently trouble me exceedingly,for I feel all the time that I ought not to indulge them. They have no right to my attention during the hours God has set apart for his especial service. They may sometimes cost me a painful struggle, but I must not allow them a place in my mind, if I would have a pure conscience. I ought not to neglect private religious duties on the Sabbath, because I am occupied so much of the time in public worship. I ought to be even more fervent in my supplications and spend a longer time in my closet than is, on other days, usual. I must strive to live very near to God, and then will the Sabbath shed a sanctifying radiance over every other day of the week. 1 ought not to allow the Sabbath to be to me a dull, uninteresting day. It should be the happiest and most delightful day of the seven. It was intended by its Author to be a joyful seasen, in which the heart should overflow with gratitude and holy joy, and exult in rapturous anticipation of an endless Sabbath in heaven. It brings along with it a train of most interesting and grateful recollections. It carries the thoughts back to that eventful morning when some pious women and two of the disciples went early to the Sepulchre, and found that Jesus was not there. He had risen, as he had told them death had not power to hold him. On the Sabbath he met his disciples and by the gracious words he spoke, filled them with joy, revealing himself as a triumphart Redeemer who had achieved the great work of man's Salvation. On the Sabbath too, he rode on a bright cloud to heaven, leaving to his disciples the sustaining assurance that he would be with them, to the end of the world. On the Sabbah, the Holy Spirit came down and converted in a single day more than three thousand souls. Every thing connected with the history of the Sabbath is adapted to awaken the most pleasing emotions, and to render its return delightful. It ought not then to be to me a tiresome or uninteresting season. In a subsequent number, I propose to consider some of the positive duties of the Sabbath, or in other words what I ought to do on that holy day. If the ascension took place on the fortieth day after the ressurrection, as seems to be clearly taught in Acts 1, it must have occurred on Thursday. Whether the day of Pentecost occurred up on the seventh or upon the first day of the week, is a point upon which the learned are by no means agreed; but the more common opinion seems to be, that it fell upon the Christian Sabbath. EDS. For the Religious Magazine. THE FIRESIDE, NO. III. BE KIND TO YOUR SISTER. A STORY FOR CHILDREN. She was thin, and There ONE morning, there was a little girl sitting on the door-steps of a pleasant cottage near the common. pale. Her head was resting upon her slender hand. was a touching sadness in her sweet face, which the dull, heavy expression about her jet black eyes, did not destroy. What was she thinking of,-sitting thus alone? Perhaps of that pretty flower-garden, which she had cultivated with so much taste and care? Those blue morning-glories, and bright yellow nasturtions, which she had taught to climb to her window? -or those four o'clocks, which she had planted in so straight a line, under the little fence which encircled the flower bed? She might have been thinking of these,-perhaps wondering whether she should see these flowers, which she had been cultivating with so much care, open their pretty leaves to another summer's sun. Her name was Helen. For several weeks she had seemed to be drooping, without any particular disease; inconstant in her attendance at school, and losing gradually her interest in all her former employments. Helen had one sister, Clara, a little older than herself, and several brothers. While she was most indisposed they had expressed a great deal of sympathy, and tried to amuse her, and had willingly gave up their own enjoyments, to promote hers. But children will too often be selfish; and when Helen, for some days, appeared better and able to run about and amuse herself, they would forget how peculiarly sensitive she had become, and the cross words which they occasionally spoke, and the neglect, with which they sometimes treated her, wounded her feelings, and caused her to shed many bitter tears, as she lay awake on her little cot at night. This day she seemed better, and it was something her sister had said to her just before, which gave that expression of sadness to her face, as she sat at the door of the cottage. Clara soon came to her again. "Helen, mother says you must go to school to-day; so get up, come along and get ready, and not be moping there any longer." Helen. "Did Ma say so?" "Yes, she did. You are well enough I know, for you always say you are sick, at school-time. Get your bonnet for I shan't wait." Helen got up slowly, and wiping with her apron, the tear, which had started in her eye, she made her preparations to obey her mother's command. Now Clara had a very irritable disposition. She could not bear to have Helen receive any more attention or sympathy than herself; and unless she were really so sick as to excite her fears, she never would allow her to be sick at all. She was determined not to go to school alone this morning, and had persuaded her mother to make her sister go with her. In a few moments, they were both ready but now a difficulty presented itself. The distance to school was so great, that they seldom returned at noon. Their dinner had been packed for them, in a large basket which stood in the entry. Upon whom, now, should the task of carrying this devolve? "Helen," said Clara, "I've carried the basket every day for a week; it's your turn now." Helen. "But it is twice as heavy now. I can but jus. lift it." Clara. Well, I don't care. I have got my Geography and Atlas to carry; so take it up, and come along, Miss Fudge. I shan't touch it." Helen took up the basket, without saying another word, though it required all her little strength, and walked slowly behind her sister. She tried hard to keep from crying, but the tears would come, as fast as she wiped them off. They walked on thus in silence for about a quarter of an hour. Clara felt too much ill-humor to take the least notice of her sister. She knew she had done wrong, and felt uneasy, but was yet too proud to give up, and was determined to "hold out;" excusing herself by thinking," Well, Helen is always saying she is sick, and making a great fuss. It's just good enough for her." When she had reached the half-way stone, she had half a mind not to let her rest there, as usual; but the habit was too strong, to be easily broken, and she sat down sullenly to wait for Helen to come up. This was a spot, which few could have passed unnoticed. The broad flat stone was shaded by a beautiful weeping willow, |