As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.—PROV. xxv, 25.

A LONG and severe illness which visited Mrs. Latimer, and caused deep anxiety to her family, afforded her a period of complete rest from the duties she had been accustomed to discharge with constancy and devotedness. She saw that it was her heavenly Father's will thus to lay her aside, and yielded at once to the many consequences of that necessity.

Unlike poor Mrs. Denby, who had prolonged and aggravated an illness by overwhelming anxiety, through imagining that everything must go wrong over which she did not preside in person, Mrs. Latimer wisely hoped that she had not ruled so long without having established certain laws of order which would not be immediately broken through, and now expected from her children some proof of the effect of her mission on their behalf. The younger ones visited her when she was able to bear the excitement of their presence, and to their two elder sisters were confided the responsibilities of housekeeping, and the privilege of access by turns to their mother's room, with their books or work, whenever release from necessary duties afforded opportunity.

Mrs. Latimer thought it was a mistake to exclude children of their age from a sick room, when no serious danger attends their presence there, and wished them to cultivate sympathy with suffering, and to enjoy the pleasure of soothing it by such gentle and thoughtful attentions as true affection loves to suggest. And when after a time she was able to converse with them again, very sweet to both parent and child were the hours of confidential intercourse they passed together. There was the touched heart of the child, to whom a beloved mother was given back from the verge of the grave, and the earliest wish to prove, by more obedience and love than ever, how dearly she was valued. And there was a lively sense of the loving-kindness of the God who had answered prayer, and a warm desire to render him affectionate service in return.

And there was the grateful love of the Christian mother, more than ever anxious to devote to his glory the life he had spared. It was very true, blessedly true, that if it had been otherwise, her heart would have reposed too faithfully on the love of Jesus to doubt that all was wisely ordered, and she would have felt that to depart and be with him was "far better;" that there was no more for his servant to do for him below, and that the best interests were really consulted of those she left behind. But now that his will was manifested in recovery, she felt it was mercy still which permitted her to watch over the little flock intrusted to her care, and sought increase of grace and wisdom to discharge her duty more diligently than before, endeavoring to prove that she had passed through a refining and sanctifying dispensation, and that it was "good" for her to "have been afflicted."

But she did not wrap herself in her own solemn meditations, as if the things of earth had no further interest. She was ready as ever to enter into the feelings of her children, to listen to their simple chat, and participate in their cheerfulness. And she knew that their spirits would rise in proportion to their late depression, now that she was pronounced convalescent.

"Well, Agnes dear," she said one day, as Agnes sat with her work by the side of her mother's couch, "have you and Marion finished the books we began together before I was ill?"

"We finished the 'History of the Reformation,' mamma, because we thought you would not object to let us read that by ourselves. But we have not opened the other book, because you said that we required guidance to discern the error of some things assumed in it, or inferred, and which its fascinating style might cause us to overlook. We finished 'Cowper's Poems,' and have learned a great many pieces which we admired so much. Papa has been very kind, and has read to us, and talked to us often about what we have read to ourselves."

"That was very kind, I am sure; and now we shall all read together again soon, I hope."

"I am so glad of that, mamma; but I must tell you about another book. Do you know, my cousins, when they came one day to inquire about you, brought a work in two volumes with them, which aunt said they might lend to us, to amuse us while we were so dull and sad. When they were gone, I began to look at it, when Marion said,—

"'O Agnes, mamma has not seen it.'

"So I was very sorry I did not think of that, and shut the book directly. We asked papa about it when he came home, and he said you would not like us to read it. So we took it back to Aunt Fielding's the next time we went out."

"That was right. But Agnes, what would you have done if mamma had been in another world, and papa not near enough to ask about it?"

"I am not sure, mamma, but I think I should soon have found out that it was not like the books you choose for us. And then I think and hope I should not have read it. Papa said it was a fashionable novel, conveying wrong impressions of good and evil. And though it might excite our feelings, and amuse our minds while reading it, we should be more dull than ever afterward, and want something more exciting still."

"That is usually the case in reading works of mere imagination, dear Agnes; their tendency is to weaken the mind, and divert the feelings from practical sympathy with real sorrow, into the useless and exhausting channel of inoperative sentimentality. You are sometimes permitted to read narratives descriptive of real character and probable circumstances, illustrating Scriptural principles and Christian conduct, because they may suggest paths of usefulness, and encourage your efforts in the right direction. But such works cannot, from their nature and aim, be classed with those whose object is to while away time and divert the mind from serious reflection.

"I once knew a young lady, who, during a period of some trial which afflicted her, was so anxious to get rid of her own thoughts, that she obtained the longest and most extravagant romance that a neighboring library could supply, and resolved to lose the keen pressure of her sorrow in the terrible misfortunes of such heroes and heroines as the world never produced, and wonderful events that never could have happened. She read away, and too soon finished her intoxicating occupation. And when again she was obliged to face the realities of life, every providence looked darker than before; her discontent was more wearing and rebellious, and she was more really unhappy than ever. Now this weakened her mind, and increased her selfishness to such a melancholy extent, that she forgot entirely the many around her for whose sakes she ought to have exerted her energies, and whose trials, quite as great as hers, she might have soothed and mitigated."

"Mamma, was she a religious person at all?"

"She was a Sunday professor of religion, dear Agnes, formal and self-righteous. But if, conscious of her helplessness, and humbly desiring patience and comfort where none ever seek is vain, she had taken her Bible and read of the real One who was 'a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief,' she would have lost sight of self in the only profitable sense, and learned how 'her lighter cross to bear.' She would have seen the necessity of discipline to an ungoverned will and a deceitful heart, and blessed God for dealing with her as with a child of his love; and she would have gained such strength from holy communion with the unselfish mind of Christ, and the influence of God's Spirit, as would have made her a beam of light and a messenger of mercy in the troubled household of which she was a member."

"I suppose we shall know some day, almost without requiring to be told, how to select good and useful books, mamma?"

"Yes, I hope so, when your judgment is in some measure formed, and you have made certain good principles landmarks to guide your course."

"I should like to ask you something, mamma, if you can bear to let me talk a little more now. It is about what happened one day when we were all walking as far as we could go into the country. You were too ill for us to tell you at the time."

"Talk on, my love; I have missed your little accounts of what you see and hear, and am ready for the contents of your budget whenever you like."

"Well, mamma, we met Miss Thornhill and young Mr. Belmont first, and just afterward Miss Belmont and Selina, who were reading together. Selina is a nice, kind girl, you know; and though she is a little older than we are, she stopped and introduced us to her friend. They showed us their book, which seemed to be biography of somebody who was called a saint, and had a beautiful picture in it.

"Selina said, 'Would you not like to read it, Agnes?'

"I said, if mamma approved, I dare say I should, very much. And then Selina colored so, that Marion said afterward she did not believe that Mrs. Thornhill would like the book, or knew that Selina was reading it."

"Indeed, I am afraid Marion was right," said Mrs. Latimer.

"But this is what I want to know particularly, mamma," resumed Agnes. "Selina seemed to think that it was necessary to read both sides of a question before we could know which is the right one, and that the creed was worth nothing which could not be made to overthrow all opposite opinions. Is it so?"

"Let us take her first statement: Is it necessary to read arguments on both sides of a subject, in order to decide which is right? She was referring, I suppose, to religion."

"Yes, mamma; we walked together a few minutes, while nurse was running with the little ones, and we spoke about the books we also were reading."

"Well then, dear Agnes, attend to the rule I should like to give you on that point. In subjects of human learning, of science or taste, or anything in which man's wisdom or research is the only source of information, it is good to put ourselves in possession of what has been said by competent writers on both sides, to read for and against the point at issue, and then accept the view which best commends itself to our judgment. But in those which are beyond the reach of man's reason, those of which we can know nothing certainly but what God has revealed, there is no room for argument; human opinion is mere presumption: a fact is stated, and our duty, as well as our interest, is to believe it. Do you understand me clearly?"

"Yes, I think I do, mamma. Suppose I ask you how I can be saved; you would not tell me what anybody thinks may save me, but you would tell me what God has said will save sinners."

"Yes; I would say,—

"'Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.'

"He came to suffer 'the just for the unjust,' to bring us to God.

"'Neither is there salvation in any other.'

"God has said it; and if all the angels in heaven and wise men upon earth were to argue about it, they could never touch the fact: it belongs to the region of God's wisdom and saving grace, and is altogether beyond their reach to scrutinize or interfere with. But you may justly say, 'Prove to me that such is indeed the word of God,' and then I proceed to lay before you evidences of the Old and New Testaments being the inspired revelations of Christian truth. You may read different writers on the authenticity of the Scriptures, and satisfy your reason that these are really what they claim to be, before you receive their statements; but there the province of reason and judgment ends. Once assured that the authority is Divine, faith receives the revelation as from God himself, and no more argues, but believes. This simple rule I heard ably defined by a minister of Christ, and have given it you almost in his own words, so easy to be remembered."

"But suppose, mamma, two persons disagree about the meaning of what God has revealed."

"Then we must thankfully use our Protestant privilege, and 'search the Scriptures.' Some persons choose to look back into the writings of men, and mystify themselves again amid conflicting and fallible human opinions; but he that would trim his lamp with oil that will give certain light, will seek 'to the law and to the testimony,' and he who speaks not according to that has no light in him. We must compare Scripture with Scripture, examine all the passages bearing upon the point, and accept the interpretation that best harmonizes with the whole; for Scripture cannot contradict itself."

"Thank you, mamma; I understand this now. But perhaps I could not argue out a doctrine with some one who opposes it, and Selina would say that it was worth nothing because I could not completely prove it."

"And her assertion would be worth nothing either, Agnes. Truth abides, let what may be the strength or weakness of its advocate; and the victory is paltry indeed which merely triumphs over the feeble witness, while the subject of his testimony remains unshaken. Many a Christian knows in his soul what no human power could disprove, and yet would utterly fail to set it influentially before the mind of another. The Bible contains no doctrine which is not stated plainly, in some passage clear enough for those who desire to be taught by God's word."

"I am sure of that, mamma," said Agnes quickly. "And no one can be lost for want of more means to know God's way of salvation—I mean, if he has a Bible."

"That is true, dear child. If sinners would look for the glory, the love, the mercy they rightly think should belong to God, in the face of Jesus Christ, they could not fail to see there the beautiful harmony of all that they prefer to speculate about. They do not want more light, but they want 'the seeing eye.'

"'This is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light.'"

"Religion is easy and happy in Jesus Christ; out of him, all is false and dismal."

"Mamma," said Agnes, drawing closer to her mother, "do you think that I can be—that I am—God's child?"

"Do you love the Lord Jesus Christ, my Agnes?" said her mother, fondly drawing toward her, and resting the drooping head upon her bosom. "I mean Jesus as revealed in Scripture, the Son of God, the Saviour of sinners?"

"I sometimes think I do; I am almost sure I do," faltered Agnes.

"Then you are answered, my darling, and we are 'heirs together of the grace of life.' 'No man can say that Jesus is the Lord, but by the holy Ghost.'"

"But, dear mamma, I am afraid; and the reason I dare not say positively that I love him, is not because I doubt his love to me, when I know that I am a sinner, but because he says,—

"'If ye love me, keep my commandments.'

"And O, I do so often forget them!"

"Are you happy when you forget and disobey him?"

"O no, no; I never knew what unhappiness meant until two things happened. You were ill, and I could not say to God 'Thy will be done,' unless he would give you health again. I knew it was very wicked, but I have found out so many things in which I am not keeping Christ's commandments."

"'If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves,—'

"my Agnes, but—

"'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness'—

"From the guilt of it because he died, and from the practice of it by his Spirit dwelling in us."

"Then if I feel in my heart that I love Jesus, and wish to please him, I need not think it is all deception when I sometimes fail to do right, mamma?" asked Agnes, anxiously.

"No, dear, certainly not; but if you say you love him, and 'regard iniquity in your heart,' and do not try to please him, you may justly fear that you are deceiving yourself. You know, for you have learned it, in words at least, that 'faith without works is dead,' and so is love without obedience. But if the heart is indeed given to Christ, the life will give more constant evidence of its renewed affections than of its natural corruption; obedience will be the desire and the habit, and sin the painful and repented exception. And, dear Agnes, it is written, for the comfort of all who are brought by the Spirit of God to trust with intelligent faith in his Son, that—

"'He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.'"

"O mamma, how happy it is to know that!"

"It 'is' happy to be invited to look away from the depressing fact of our own weakness to our dear Saviour, in whom we may find strength to contend against self and sin. He is not only our lovely example for holiness of life, but he is the source of every motive that can stimulate us to follow it, and the bestower of power to overcome all obstacles. My precious child, you can scarcely conceive the joy that fills your mother's heart, to find you endeavoring to realize the blessedness of loving and serving God in Christ."

"You have taught me to desire it, my own dear mother," said Agnes tenderly; "you have done like the mothers of Jerusalem, and Jesus is taking some of us in his arms and blessing us. O mamma, I do pray that dear Herbert's wish, that I have so often thought of, may be granted, and that we may all reach heaven hand-in-hand."

Agnes's voice faltered, as she felt the fond clasp of her mother's arms, and both hearts were too full for words.

At last, timidly looking in her face, "Dear mamma," said Agnes, "do you think that Philip loves the Lord Jesus Christ?"

"Do you think he does, Agnes?"

"Loving is such a different thing from not disliking," said Agnes, as if she could not give a comfortable form to her reply.

"Very different indeed. Not disliking, means mere indifference; but love arising from an appreciation of blessings bestowed on the undeserving, makes everything connected with the benefactor interesting and precious."

"Then, mamma, I dare not say that Philip loves the Lord Jesus; and if not—"

"Then let us ask for him the grace that can make him do so, dear Agnes."

"O, indeed I do, mamma, and so does Marion. We never knew what a comfort there is in prayer until Philip went away, for we know that only God can take care of him now, and keep him from being a bad boy. And though it was so hard to say, 'Thy will be done,' we believe that God has heard our prayers for your recovery; and we do so long to be and do everything right, to show how dearly we thank him for such kindness."

At what point in her child's little history the quickening touch of the Eternal spirit had kindled the breath of life, the grateful mother knew not. And the young believer herself could not tell. From a child she had known the Scriptures, and line upon line, precept upon precept, had been daily falling, like good seed upon the soil. But might there be no self-deception through present touching providences, and naturally awakened susceptibilities? Rather, why doubt that prayers were answered, that God had fulfilled his promise, and that the seal of adopting love had stamped his sacred ownership on one, if not two of her treasures, and written their names in the book of life? And when was ever prayerful interest in the spiritual welfare of another excited by mere natural affection? Human feeling kindly hopes for a peaceful end, and a safe conduct to heaven, but longing desire that one should love the Saviour, and glorify him here, is the fruit of a living seed, that neither superstition, nor sentiment, nor mere intellectual conviction could plant.

It is often said, that familiarity with Scripture and external means of religious instruction tends to harden the conscience, and deceive children into the idea that all is right, because they conform patiently to certain rules, and yield readily to prescribed dogmas, but this careful consideration for results cannot be acceptable to Him who gave such a command to the model families of old, as that celebrated in the seventy-eighth Psalm, that the generation to come—

"—might set their hope in God, and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments."

It is better and wiser to obey the command, notwithstanding all risks, and leave Him who gave it, well knowing all that is in man, to order the consequences, and take care of his own truth.

Philip Latimer's voyage lasted eighteen months, and he returned home grown, bronzed, and hardy. Many were the tales he had to tell to wondering brothers and sisters, and very happy was the time they spent together after so long a separation. His parents received satisfactory accounts of his conduct from Captain M., and the change they observed in him was not greater than they reasonably expected to occur. His manners were more free and bold, his expressions occasionally savored a little of "salt water," as he playfully said; but his general character seemed unaltered, and his love for all at home undiminished.

He returned with evident pleasure to his old occupations, and his sisters again heard his voice in their songs and hymns, and played to his unforgotten accompaniments the favorite music they had learned together. There was not yet anything vulgar about their dear sailor brother. But they felt that there was no sympathy in their higher and holier feelings, and were tempted to wish they could detain him within the pure and loving influences of their happy Christian home.

Philip's diary, or his "log," as he called it, afforded some instruction, and much entertainment, but it told little of the inner life of the young sailor. Perhaps there was not much to tell, for the thoughtlessness and indifference of youth seem often to leave that department of the being a blank for years. The ship refitted and sailed again to another part of the world; and though the actual parting was scarcely less painful than before, there was a difference for which all were thankful. It was no longer an untried life, and through the first blasts of its temptations and dangers Philip seemed to have passed unscathed. Who could tell how many had been averted in answer to believing prayer? In all such cases the praise is due only to God; and whatever the means, "the day shall declare it."

Time passed swiftly, both at sea and on shore. Philip was accustomed to write to each member of the home circle by turns, and all the letters sometimes arrived together, if no homeward-bound vessel had been spoken in the intervals of writing.

One day a package arrived from which Mr. Latimer produced several epistolary favors, which their various recipients were all eagerly devouring, when Agnes uttered an exclamation of delight, and passing over to her mother, she held the letter before her.

"Come, dear papa, come, Marion, and let us read this dear letter together; it brings good news for us all."

And she had scarcely time to observe that tears of joy were sparkling in other eyes than her own, over a hasty paragraph addressed to his dear parents by Philip at the moment his packet was called for, and for further explanation of which he referred them to his sister's letter.

"MY DEAREST AGNES,—It is your turn for a letter, and I must tell you at once of something so strange, so beautiful, that has happened to me. No discovery of a new earthly country, no shipwreck, no 'Flying Dutchman,' could have affected me half so much. We wanted water; and so, one Sunday morning, we put into a pretty island to obtain some. I had leave to go ashore after morning prayer on board, and I rambled about, grievously forgetful of the different way you were all engaged that day. O! Agnes, I have been very guilty; many things I used to think wrong when I was at home have become familiar to me, and lost their power to shock or disturb me. What might I not have become if left to myself?

"But I was returning to the ship; it was evening, a sweet calm evening like one of those at home, when we were so happy together singing our hymn in the twilight. As I went along, I heard a sound of music floating on the breeze, and I stopped to listen. Then I went in the direction whence it seemed to come, and found a little range of buildings, the chief of which was a place of worship, and many people were assembled within it. It was many, many months since I had seen a church or chapel, and the sight of one here made my heart beat quick. There were English faces, too, mingled with the natives of the island, negroes and other colored people, and they were singing with voices scarcely less sweet than yours, what do you think?—even your favorite hymn. I crept into a corner quite overpowered, and then listened to the sermon of an English missionary who lives there, and was preaching at that time in our own language.

"It was nothing new, dear sister, but just what I had been taught at home; only it came with a startling power all the greater for that, for it seemed as if my own dear father and mother were speaking to me again, and reminding me of all that I was in danger of forgetting. I seemed as if I were suddenly awakened out of a long sleep; and what makes me think that God himself has spoken to me is, that I can see a beautiful meaning in texts and verses that seemed only words before. And all those passages we used to learn at home come in at the right place, and the right time, that seemed of no use before. I read my Bible now, not only because I promised dear mamma I would, but because I like it.

"I have told my captain all about it, and he said with the tears in his eyes, 'Bless God, my boy, for your home where God's word and blessing are, and whence prayers for you have been winged by faith that the Mighty One loves to honor.' And I do, dear Agnes. The captain's is so kind, and reads and talks with some of us often, and gives us quiet time when he can; he is just like a father to us.

"And will you not all be quite happy about me for evermore? And will you not give something more than you ever gave before to send missionaries abroad? It is said somewhere, for I know we learned it once, that 'in watering others we shall be watered also ourselves.' We have been taught to remember the heathen, and the heathen's blessing has come back to us.

"Now, if it happen that I never come home to you on earth, my dear parents, and sisters, and brothers, we shall meet in the better home at last, and sing praises together again. But I hope we shall meet again on shore, and talk about this, and many, many things that dear papa and mamma can teach me.

"With a great sail full of love, that drives my heart close to you all, I am, my dearest sister, your loving, happy brother, PHILIP LATIMER."

It were needless to speak of the overflowing love and gratitude to God with which this little narrative was read. The Christian can imagine it, and sympathize; to all others it is nothing but an exaggerated coincidence; but it is, nevertheless, one which has already caused joy in heaven, and will be told again far better in the language of eternal praise.