The harp, and the viol, the tabret, and pipe, and wine, are in their feasts: but they regard not the work of the Lord, neither consider the operation of his hands.—ISA. v, 12.

THOUGH a certain amount of friendliness still existed between the families of Mr. Latimer and Mr. Fielding, there could be nothing of congenial intimacy, and their children seldom spent more time together than was consumed in a call of kind inquiry after the health of either. Mr. Latimer did not think it desirable, because his children might some day come into contact with much that he disapproved, to precipitate the event by way of testing their principles, and the efficacy of the Christian plans pursued in their education. He knew on which side lay the mischievous strength of external influence—the natural instincts of youth, the allurements of an untried world, and the malice of a never-weary tempter; and opposed to these were parental watchfulness and authority, and Christian precept and example, against all of which many among the youth of the present day seem to rise with contempt and defiance.

A Christian lady whose family was fast approaching manhood and womanhood, remarked to another whose little flock was still chiefly confined to the nursery:

"Your time of trial is not come yet; the care of mere childhood is nothing compared with that you will experience when your young people demand indulgences and enjoyments you hesitate to grant, and you are divided between the duty of rendering home attractive to them, and your desire to preserve its Christian simplicity."

"If my duty to God is worthy to be paramount in the management of childhood," thought that younger mother, "it is surely of infinitely more importance afterward, as difficulties multiply and temptations abound; and may God grant that the first attraction of my children's home be sought and found in the fact that his presence and blessing are there, and that whatever is done be done as unto the Lord, and not unto the world."

Blanche and Gertrude Fielding were rapidly growing into elegant and fashionable young women, and it was their mother's pride to deck them for the homage and admiration plentifully lavished on youth, beauty, and accomplishments. No party was perfect unless they were present, and their young heads were full of anticipated triumphs. Mrs. Fielding had many sources of disquiet in other quarters; but when she witnessed the sensation produced in her large visiting circle by the appearance and manners of her lovely daughters, she fondly accepted the congratulations of her friends, and complacently believed that she had done a mother's duty.

It happened that Mrs. Latimer, with Agnes and Marion, called one day during their morning walk to inquire after her sister, and Blanche carried off her cousins to see Gertrude, who she said was lying down.

"Do not move, cousin," said Agnes, kindly; "you are not well."

"O yes, I am well enough," cried Gertrude, laughing, "only a little tired. We have been out so much lately, and are going to a ball to-night; so I was only turning day into night, to balance my account with the twenty-four hours. But I am glad to see you; I am quite awake enough to talk. Why don't you come oftener?"

"You always seem so busy visiting," said Agnes, "and have no interest in our quiet ways."

"O! Come, Agnes, do be like other girls, and leave your quiet ways at home. Let me see; how can we put some spirit into them, Blanche? You shall see our dresses that are to be worn to-night; they are so pretty, and cost me many an anxious thought to produce the right effect. Mamma says I have so much taste that I ought to be a mistress of robes, and she lets me direct the milliner just as I please."

"Stay, Gertrude," said Blanche mischievously, as the light-hearted girl sprang from her couch; "you forget they don't care for such things. I shouldn't wonder if they had to do penance for looking at them."

"Nonsense; I want to make them care. I know they would like a little pleasure, as well as we like it. Tell the truth now, Marion, and never mind what Agnes thinks."

"Yes, we like a little pleasure, or rather a great deal of it," said Marion; "but—"

"But you cannot get it. There, I knew it!" exclaimed Gertrude.

"You are not apt at guessing, I perceive," said Marion; "let me finish my speech for myself; but it is not precisely of the same kind as yours. We are actually mistresses of the robes, though, and can assure you it is a very pleasant office."

"To half-a-dozen clothing clubs, I suppose, or all the urchins in the ragged school," cried Gertrude, laughing immoderately at the idea.

"Not quite so many," said Marion, with pretended gravity, "but enough to call forth our taste and skill; and the patterns are at your service when you are installed."

"Now, Marion, don't talk as if your mamma were hid behind the curtain listening," said Blanche, laughing. "But do tell us, is it really true that you like going to church, and reading Bibles, and visiting poor people, and making clothes, and all such good things as are very proper for people three or four times your age?"

"Quite true," said Marion; "those are some of our pleasures."

"Quite true," said Agnes; "we are hoping to do a great deal more in some of those things by and by, when we devote less time to study."

"Poor girls," said Blanche; "what a pity you know nothing better. But it is not your fault."

"No, it is mamma's fault," said Marion, with a mischievous expression in her eyes; "she has a peculiar notion that she learned out of an old book, which recommends feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and visiting the sick; so, as many thrive upon that prescription for happiness, we wish to try it, knowing it to be written by 'the good Physician.'"

"I do believe you are satirical, Marion, so I won't talk to you. Agnes, do you think you are going to die soon, that you seem to like such dull things?"

"No, I cannot tell anything about that," replied Agnes. "But as it must happen some time, I like to believe and live so that I may be ready to depart and be with Christ whenever he pleases."

"Ready to die! Only think, Blanche," exclaimed Gertrude, shuddering, "why, I shall not be ready these hundred years."

"Provided you keep as you are now, I suppose," said Blanche, "but, unhappily, there are such things as wrinkles and gray hairs."

"Do not mention them," said Gertrude, glancing into a mirror; "there is no occasion to anticipate horrors."

"There is nothing horrible in 'the hoary head, which is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness,'" said Agnes, in a tone of gentle reproof.

"Never mind her, but listen to me, Agnes," said Blanche. "I am going to test you. These words caught my ear one Sunday as they were read in church, and I thought of you."

And having produced a beautiful little Bible from its handsome case, Blanche, after some search, found the passage, and read,—

"'If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.'

"Now, do you hate your father and mother, Agnes?"

"No," said Agnes.

"No? Then you are not religious; you are not a 'disciple.'"

"If you compare the Scriptures fairly, Blanche, you will soon see what that verse means. It says in another place:

"'He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me:—'

"It is just comparative, and our love to Jesus ought to be so devoted, that no other affection can contend with it for a moment. If our friends would hinder us from serving God, we must give them up for his sake."

"Do you believe that you could do that yourself, Agnes?"

"I do not know, I have not been tried; but it is quite certain that I ought."

"Ah, that will not do. If you are so positive and determined and strict about other things, why do you hesitate in this, which is something you would not like to do at all? And yet the Bible says it."

"I only hesitate because you ask whether I 'would' do it, and I know how weak and foolish I am; but I believe in my heart that if there were occasion I should, because of the promise which says,—

"'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.'

"I always am afraid to say positively that I can and will do anything except as Christ strengthens me, since mamma told us about two persons who lived during the persecution of the Protestants at the time of the Reformation."

"What happened about them?" asked Blanche, carelessly.

"They were talking together concerning their faith, and one said he could bear to be burned alive for the doctrines of the Gospel, if it came to his turn to suffer. The other was timid, and said he dared not trust himself; he prayed that he might be faithful, but he feared bodily suffering. Their time did come, and the boaster recanted before the dread of a cruel death; and the humble believer was strengthened to die triumphantly, praising God at the stake."

"A very nice story. But, Agnes, you don't put yourself on a level with a martyr, I suppose, nor imagine that in the crowds of angels and people in heaven and earth you are seen and known by yourself?"

"God puts all who need and seek help on a level so far as this, that he helps them all," said Agnes. "And if he numbers the hairs on his children's heads, and notes the sparrows, he will not overlook the poorest and weakest who loves Jesus."

"Well, it is quite true, as mamma says, that you are the very oddest family I ever heard of. I really would laugh at you, only you seem so much in earnest, and mean what you say."

"O yes, Blanche, we have reason to be in earnest. Did not God give us back our dear mamma when almost all our friends thought she would die? And we want to give him our whole hearts, and love him and serve him because he has given us a Saviour too."

"Well, but if I were in trouble, don't you think he would help me just as soon as you?"

"Of course, if you come to him in the right way. But indeed, dear Blanche, I am afraid you do not care about Jesus; and if not, how can you suppose God could attend to your prayer?"

"Blanche! Agnes!" exclaimed Gertrude. "Do talk about something else, if you please. I declare I am getting quite melancholy. Did anybody ever see four girls of our age together, talking of such things as these? We should scarcely be believed if we told it to-night."

Blanche said she so seldom saw her cousins alone that she was determined to find out if they thought for themselves, and were happy in their dull ways. And now, having obtained sufficient information on the subject, Gertrude was at liberty to talk as much nonsense as she pleased.

And then the giddy young lady poured forth some of the thoughts which occupied her heart and head, and "made the most of them," she said, "to astonish her saintly cousins."

But before the second year of this gay life expired, Gertrude was a severe sufferer from violent cold, and was for some time confined to her room, though she persisted in regarding so much care as both unnecessary and irksome. Her fond mother supplied her with all the gossip and news she could collect, and always took care that some lively novel lay at hand, to cheer her spirits if she happened to be left alone. And Blanche, though kind and attentive, felt it no particular cause for regret that she had the field of display entirely to herself for a time.

It is surprising how much the health of the physical system is supposed capable of enduring amid variations of temperature, excitement and fatigue, in the pursuit of pleasure; while in the same individuals, it is threatened with utter prostration before a shower on the way to public worship, the risk of infection among the sick poor, or the head-aching tendencies of profitable study. In Gertrude's case, however, too much had been presumed in the calculation of bodily strength, and she did not shake off the effects of indisposition, but was removed to the drawing-room, and allowed to receive visitors long before it was deemed prudent to permit her to leave home.

A visit to a fashionable watering place was then supposed to have effected complete restoration. And again, therefore, Gertrude, more beautiful than before, was seen mingling in the gay world, and eagerly seizing on every amusement that came within her reach. Her parents flattered themselves that she was well, though not strong. But wiser heads were shaken with admonitory warnings, when, as too often happened, her sweet voice could not sustain its usual part in the song, nor her light figure flit as untiringly through the mazes of the dance. Often concealing under a smile the vexation and disappointment she felt, she was compelled to retire from scenes of exciting pleasure to the quiet of her own room. Then an epidemic disease prevailed in the neighborhood; and, predisposed by weakness of body and irritability of mind, poor Gertrude was among its earliest victims.

Now, to her deep dismay, the fond mother, so able and willing to contribute to the triumphs and pleasures of her children in life and health, was useless beside the sick bed, where positive danger had awakened the fears of conscience. She sought to soothe the restless mind of the young sufferer, by assurances of her good and amiable qualities, the innocence of her life, and the certainty that she had never deserved the displeasure of the Almighty. But Gertrude knew better than that. As the world seemed fading away, and no foundation remained to uphold her sinking steps, all was dark, and she turned impatiently from the false hopes that ignorance offered for her consolation. She wanted something, but she knew not what to ask for.

The progress of the disease was rapid, and between the attacks of delirium, rejecting every suggestion that pitying love could invent to cheat her into the hope of recovery, or calm the terrors of death, she begged to see Agnes Latimer.

"Send for her," she said impatiently; "she knows about a Friend in heaven."

And it was not long before Agnes stood there, gazing on the restless form and wandering looks of her lovely cousin; but she never knew if she were recognized. She spoke, of Jesus, she whispered the sweet message of his love to sinners, and prayed her own prayer to the Friend in heaven. But Gertrude spoke no more, and that night, while her attendant watchers, exhausted by sorrow and fatigue, had yielded to overpowering sleep, the spirit of Gertrude Fielding passed silently away. And when they roused themselves to note the hour, and looked upon their charge, behold, death had set his seal on her faded brow.

The one event that happens to all had happened in the spring-time of life to the beautiful one, on whose tomb no more suitable inscription could have been engraved than,—

"A lover of pleasure more than a lover of God."

What the mother felt who had prepared her child for any lot rather than that which befell her, it is not possible for another to know. But the disappointment of every hope with which she had cherished her through life must have been her bitter portion. In such an hour, how deeply is that parent to be pitied who has lavished her love and care on the external form and temporal interests of her child, when, in the mysterious dispensation of an early death, she has nothing left of the loved one but a corpse! O how different the feelings of faith and hope, which follow the departing spirit, when God and Christ, heaven and home, are so associated with its earthly history as to afford just right to appropriate the apostolic consolation concerning "them that sleep in Jesus!"

It was, however, quite possible for Mrs. Fielding, after time had subdued the keenness of her grief, to talk sentimentally of her "transplanted flower," and of "escape from the vicissitudes of life." But the solemn lesson that ought to have been impressed on the domestic circle, the warning to young men and maidens, to remember the uncertain tenure of that frail thing called health, and the certainty of a like summons at some unknown time to each and all, was avoided as a too painful theme.

In a few months time, younger members of the family moved and lived as before. And Mrs. Fielding thought it her duty to recall the thoughts that often wandered to her daughter's grave, in anxious remembrance that her other children must be brought forward, and made to attract and please as their sister had done before them.

Alas! Whither was her flower transplanted? To what purpose was escape from the changes and chances of this mortal life, unless the soul had sought pardon and peace through the blood of the Lamb, and the Eternal Spirit had ripened the bud of grace to adorn the paradise of God?