which God speaks to us.' But her mother had no Bible; for the Indians burned her Bible when they burned her house and killed her family. Her mother resolved to go to Philadelphia and buy a Bible; but her good minister gave her one, and it was found that Regina could read it at once. "You see, children, why I wished you to learn that particular hymn,—the same hymn by which this poor mother and child were restored to each other. I know by your looks that you have understood the story, and hope you will always remember the beautiful hymn, and the story connected with it." Does my reader say that he cannot illustrate or keep attention awake by a story every Sabbath? Nor do 1 ask him to do it. I only tell him how he certainly can awaken and fix the attention as often as he pleases. Does he say that this is an expensive way of teaching,— that it will cost time and reading and planning and thinking? I reply that you can have nothing valuable without taking pains, and labouring for it. If it requires trouble to fix and keep the attention of your class, you are abundantly repaid for all this, by their decided improvement. As I am certain that I could fill half a volume at once from recollection, with illustrations which might be used to fasten instruction, and to fix the attention, I cannot readily see why teachers might not do it to any desirable extent. Few have been more successful in teaching children than James Hervey. "On such occasions," says he, "I endeavour to comprehend, not all that may be said, but that only which may be level to their capacities, and is most necessary for them to know. The answer to each question I explain in the most familiar manner possible, in such a manner as a polite hearer might treat with the most sovereign contempt; little similes I use, that are quite low. In every explanation I would be short, but repeat it again and again; tautology in this 170 A FAITHFUL TEACHER. case is the true propriety of speaking to our little auditors, and will be better than all the graces of eloquence." To sum up all that I would wish to say in this chapter, the great art of teaching children and youth, is to be yourself interested, deeply interested in what you teach. This will lead you to try various methods of attaining the great object proposed; it will lead you to study, to fill the mind with thought, and to simplify your modes of communicating your thoughts. It will call forth your ingenuity to contrive in what ways you can best reach, enlighten, and impress the heart, form habits for this life, and guide the soul to the next. The following beautiful testimony of a teacher's faithfulness was found among her papers after she had gone to the sleep of death. "A class of seven was committed to me for instruction,-of different ages, from twelve to sixteen, and one was older than that. Most of them were girls with whom I had little or no acquaintance, and as I took my place with them for the first time, I feared I should not have a very interesting class. However, I resolved to be faithful to my trust when with them, and in my preparation to meet them; though often fearful that I fell very far short both in teaching them, and in commending their case to God in private. "It has been my habitual practice to press upon their attention those questions in the lessons which are addressed to the conscience and the heart; and frequently to ask a number more, which the subject seemed to suggest, that, if possible, some valuable and lasting impressions might be made; always requiring every scholar to pay her undivided attention during the whole recitation. Sometimes I was hurt to observe some individual in the class to be gazing about the house in a careless manner; but in general their attention seemed absorbed in the lesson. "About the middle of summer, one of the oldest members of the class began to be anxious about the sal INFANT SABBATH SCHOOLS. 171 vation of her soul. This concern continued for several weeks, until three more of the class were saying, What shall we do to be saved? These four were all soon brought to rejoice in hope. Two of the others, I soon found, were mourning over their lost state as sinners, while one seemed hardened, and I feared would be left to her own chosen way. "It was my usual practice to inquire of each individual respecting the state of her mind, after the close of the recitation, in addition to the practical remarks during recitation. Before the time for closing the summer term arrived, I had the happiness of hearing every member of my class express her hope in Christ, and of seeing six of them united with the church. (The seventh united soon after.) ، I could not, should I attempt it, describe what my feelings were, on meeting my class all rejoicing in the Saviour. "I do not know that my instructions were, in any considerable degree, the means of leading the class to seek religion; this is left to be developed another day. But I felt when I saw them all hoping in the Saviour, as if I should like to commit them to the care of some other person, and take another class, that I might still teach sinners." CHAPTER VIII. INFANT SABBATH SCHOOLS. BUFFON, in his Natural History, describes the wild ass which was brought to France, and which was the only one he ever saw. He says it was nearly wild when it arrived, but after great labour and pains to subdue him, they at length got him so tame that a man dared mount him, having two additional men to hold him by the bridle. He was restive like a vicious horse, and obstinate as a mule; still. Buffon thinks that if he had 172 1.ARD TO CIVILIZE A SAVAGE. been accustomed to obedience and tameness from his earliest years, he would be as mild as the tame ass, or the horse, and might be used in their place. Now the Scriptures describe human nature by saying, that "man is born like a wild ass's colt!" If this graphic description be correct, then we cannot be too anxious to begin the process of subduing and training too early. The men who are engaged in catching, taking, and exhibiting wild beasts, never think of catching one that is old, or even grown up. They take them as young as possible, and even then find it difficult to manage them. They act on the soundest principles of wisdom. The experiment has often been made of taking young savages, sometimes from the Indians of this continent, and sometimes from the Eastern Isles, and educating and civilizing them; after expending much money and pains-taking, we have almost uniformly been disappointed by having them return to savage life, and savage habits. Some years since a young New Zealander was carried to England, where he lived many years, was carefully educated, and introduced into the most refined society. When his education was completed, he returned to his home, and at once returned to the habits, the character, and the degradations of savage life. This has almost uniformly been the result of attempts to civilize and educate young savages. And why? On what principle can it be accounted for? I reply, that the work was begun too late. The impressions made upon early childhood cannot be effaced. You may take the young savage, and make a palace his home, and he is like the wild ass's colt; he longs for the forest, for the lawlessness of savage life. This principle is deep, uniform, unalterable. I cannot describe it so well as it has been done by a gifted pen; and the description is so true to nature, and so beautiful, that I cannot deny the reader the privilege of enjoying what can never be THE LADY AND THE MOUNTAINEER. 173 read without stirring up the deepest fountains of the soul. I refer to Mrs. Hemans's exquisite description of the deep impressions which are made upon early childhood; and though longer than I could wish, yet I can see no part that may be omitted. It is a dialogue between a patrician lady and a poor boy from the mountains, whom she wishes to adopt as her son. LADY. "Why wouldst thou leave me, oh gentle child? A straw-roofed cabin with lowly wall Mine is a fair and pillared hall, Where many an image of marble gleams, And the sunshine of pictures for ever streams!" Boy. "Oh! green is the turf where my brothers play, Through the long bright hours of the summer day; And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme; And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know,— LADY. "Content thee, boy, in my bower to dwell! Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, Harps which the wandering breezes tune; Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains heard." Boy. "My mother sings, at the twilight's fall, A song of the hills far more sweet than all ; To the babe half slumbering on her knee, I dreamt last night of that music low, Lady, kind lady, oh! let me go!" LADY. "Thy mother hath gone from her cares to rest, She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast; Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more, Nor hear her song at the cabin door; Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh, And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye!" Boy. "Is my mother gone from her home away? Or they launch their boats where the blue streams flow,- |