him in or about his house. Every merchant, who was a house keeper, might also read it, but no women, nor artiicers, apprentices, journeymen, serving-men under the degree of yeomen, and no husbandman, nor laborer, might read it. Such were the struggles of Protestanism! nearly two hundred years after Wickliffe's translation first appeared; even after the authorized version was published and cir culated, the king, who is falsely described by our oppo nents, as the nursing father of our faith, strove by every means with which absolute power invested him, to stifle the infant religion, which he is said to have engendered. The Baptism-A Sketch from Real Life. IT was the afternoon of a cold winter day. The snow had been drifted over the plain, that spread itself around the cottage of Mrs. Seldon. From the summit and sides of the hills that lifted themselves above the little valley, it seemed to have been whirled and wreathed in high and dangerous drifts about the house. Now the wind was hushed, and the sun broke from the clouds. Serene and quiet lay the untrodden snow, as if a storm had never swept across its dazzling surface. As I left the village, and urged my way towards the cottage, I saw the curtain lifted from the window, and presently the door was opened, and the old nurse gave me a cordial welcome. "We feared you would not come ;" and she added in a hushed tone, "to-morrow it would have been too late." I had no time to answer, for she quickly led the way to the little room, where the widowed mother lay. The racking pain had left her, and her face was kindled with joy-not of earth-as the sun shone upon it. Near the bed was a table, upon which a white cloth had been spread A basin of water stood upon it, and a Bible lay near. Two chil dren, bright and gentle, stood by the nurse, gazing silently upon the sweet face of the mother. I went to the bedside, and spoke to her in a low tone. "Yes, I have strength," she whispered. "I have done with earth-earthly ties are sundered," and the flush deepened on her cheek, as she cast her eyes upon her children. "I have committed my orphans to God., I have loved them beyond life—but I have given them up. Now, sir, let the solemn ceremony be performed." She called the children to her, and they bent their young heads, as we all kneeled in prayer. Her right hand rested upon that of the oldest, and with the other she clasped the little round arm, that lay across her breast. She closed her large dark eyes, and her lips moved-moved in earnest prayer. Then, clasped hand in hand, the little ones came, and stood by the table. Beautiful and simple as the baptismal rite always is, it was peculiarly touching and beautiful, in that room of death. A dying mother then gave her children to God. When the children returned to their mother, she pressed them to her bosom-kissed them-and asked God to bless them. "Mother," asked the oldest, "has the water made our hearts clean?" "God cleanses the heart, my child. When your mother is dead, remember this-she gave you to God. You are no longer mine, but his." "I am glad, mother, because God will be your father, too; and, mother, if you live with God, and he takes care of sister and me, then he can tell you when we are good, and that will make you happy." A peaceful smile passed over the pale, languid features of the mother, as she again pressed her children, and exclaimed, "God bless you, my precious ones!" Death, whatever may be our preparation, comes unexpectedly at last, and between the rising and setting of that day's sun, a life of devoted piety was quietly closed. There was a long silence around the bed of death, and beautiful to those that stood about was the face from which anxiety and sorrow had forever departed, now reposing in everlasting rest. As her pale cheek flushed, and her eyes kindled with the last glow of life, her voice was earnest in prayer for her children, and her last words heard distinctly by us all, were, "Into thy hands I com mit them." Observance of the Sabbath. AMONG many excellent speeches, which were made at the "Chelsea Association for the observance of the Sabbath," none were more interesting than that of Mr. Chancellor, who is well known as one of the largest proprietors of carriages let out for hire, in the neighborhood of London. The following portion of his speech shows the happy result of a conscientious sacrifice. "About four years and a half ago, it came into my mind, that I was acting wrongly in allowing my public conveyances to run on the Sabbath day; but I had doubts what to do, for I knew if I gave it up, it would be a loss of £500 a year to me, and my family was large. I made it a subject of prayer to God; and, at length, my mind was made up on the subject. It is impossible to describe the peace and happiness, which I have enjoyed since this resolution. I would not return to my former practice for ten thousand pounds. I now always pay my men early on Saturday morning, instead of Saturday night, and great is the benefit resulting from it. I used often to hear of their joining in riots, at the public houses on Saturday nights, but now nothing of the kind occurs. Our Sunday is really a day of rest; and it is delightful to me to see my men at church, and reading their Bibles. I wish many of my neighbors might follow my example, for they would find happiness from it here, and I am sure they would in Heaven." Will your principles stand the test of a dying hour? COLONEL Ethan Allen was a bold and distinguished officer in the American Revolution. He could face the enemies of his country, with the most undaunted bravery, and in the field of battle he never shrunk from danger. But he was an opposer of Christianity, and even gloried in the character of an infidel. His wife, however, was a pious woman, and taught her children to love and respect religion, while he told them that it was all a delusion. But an hour at length came, when the confidence of Col. Allen in his own sentiments was severely tried, and like many other infidels, he dared not defend them. A belov. ed daughter was taken sick; and, at length, her situation became alarming. In this solemn period, she sent a message to her father, requesting to see him. He hastened to her bedside, when she thus addressed him-" Father, 1 am about to die-I shall soon be in eternity and before the bar of God-I wish to be on safe ground-now tell me-shall I believe in the principles, which you have taught me, or shall I believe what mother has taught me?" What a question for a daughter to put to a father! The intrepid soldier quailed before her his chin quivered— his frame was agitated-he paused, unable to reply-but at length laconically replied-" Believe what your mother has taught you"-and hurried from the room. The Missionary Garden—A Dream. THE day had been sultry, and a warm south wind was blowing languidly, as I took my evening walk, along the banks of a small stream, which ran at the foot of my garden. It was twilight-the hour when fancy asserts her sway, and when we most often indulge in reverie As I walked silently along, my thoughts were employed on that most grateful of all topics, to the Christian-the extension and final triumph of the Redeemer's kingdom in this revolted world. My imagination transported me to the time when, wherever the voice of man is heard, the song of praise to redeeming love shall strike upon the ear; and wherever his footsteps are seen, there shall be found those, whose feet run in the way of God's commands; and I exult ingly exclaimed: Jesus shall reign where'er the sun, Does his successive journeys run; His kingdom stretch from shore to shore, 'Till moons shall wax and wane no more. But, in the midst of these gladdening and soul reviving anticipations, the thought suddenly presented itself, How is all this to be accomplished; and when shall these things ne? Although the triumph of the Gospel had been the delightful theme of my contemplations; yet I had never before seriously pondered upon the means of its accomplishment; and, now, as one difficulty after another rose to view, I began to despond; and, by the time I had seated myself on the bank of the stream, something like gloom and unbelief pervaded my soul. I thought of the nations setting in darkness-of the shocking and sickening forms of error, which thousands had embraced, and were cherishing; and, more than all, of the natural enmity of the human heart to the pure doctrines of Christianity. And then, I turned my gaze to the church of Christ, itself— the light, which was to illumine all this darkness-the salt, which was to purify all this corruption. Alas! the candle glimmered faintly in the socket, and the purifying savor was scarcely diffused through its own body. At length, overcome with fatigue, and wearied with my sorrowful reflections, I fell asleep; and, as is often the case, my imagination, uncurbed by reason, pursued a similar train, as during my waking moments. I seemed, in my dream, to be on the summit of a mountain. Stretching beneath me, lay a fertile and beautiful valley, which looked as if it might be the abode of happiness, such as seldom falls to the lot of mortals. As I regarded it more attentively, I observed that it was regularly laid out like a garden, and there were in various parts of it, persons who seemed to be endeavoring to improve and cultivate it. Desirous of knowing more of this interesting spot, I commenced descending the mountain, and at length encountered a person, who appeared to be a spectator like myself, seated beneath a small arbor. On seeing me approach, he requested me to take a seat beside him, and in answer to my inquiries, proceeded as follows: "The garden which you see," said he, "belongs to a great and wise king, who resides far distant, but who, nevertheless, has herein interested himself for many years in the production of the choicest fruits; and destines this spot to be the favorite and best cultivated of any in his dominions. For this end, he has here placed some of his most faithful and highly valued subjects, to whose care he has committed it, giving them directions how to keep it, and promising them a due reward for their faithful |