I will pour my Spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring; and they shall spring up as among the grass, as willows by the watercourses.—ISA. xliv, 3, 4.

AS her children grew up, it was Mrs. Latimer's earnest desire to continue, as she had ever been, their chosen friend and companion. But could she hope that the pleasure with which they had formerly sought her society would continue after the restraints of education had been removed, and freer intercourse with others became suitable to their age? Was it probable that they would still make her the confidant of their thoughts and feelings? Would they still believe that she was interested in everything that interested them? Or would they not rather shrink from the unreserved simplicity of earlier intercourse, fearing to be misunderstood; or, what to some is worse, to be too well understood, doubting sympathy, dreading ridicule, or concluding that the wise and Christian mother would disapprove the light, gay thoughts of youth?

There had been hitherto no interruption to the closest intimacy, no gap of absence at school, no visits from home without maternal guardianship. God's kind providence had favored all her plans for home education; and now unusually perverse must have been the materials on which she had worked, or ill performed indeed her duty, if her children knew not where to find the readiest sympathy, and the warmest interest in all that affected them. There was One whose right she had always placed first, and to whom alone she was willing to yield their closest confidence; she had taught them that while to God all hearts are open, he loves to have his children pour them out voluntarily before him; and if she might hope they thus enjoyed the highest communion, she might reasonably expect that the next confidant of their revealable feelings would be, the ready ear of a loving Christian mother. It was not jealousy of other friends, nor selfish monopoly of their affections; it was the lawful claim of the maternal relationship, and the due response of filial love; it was wise provision against misguided feeling, and a shield from many youthful mistakes.

But in addition to the tie of nature, there was a dear and precious bond of union between the mother and her daughters, which it were well for parents to ponder. It is allowed that spiritual relationships are influential and lasting; and the apostle Paid adopted the tenderest emblem of their nature, when he addressed his youthful convert as "mine own son in the faith." And when he would add a constraining motive to the exhortations he was writing to the Church at Corinth, he thus pleads with them:

"As my beloved sons I warn you. For though ye have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet have ye not many fathers: for in Christ Jesus I have begotten you through the Gospel. Wherefore I beseech you, be ye followers of me."

The individual who seems to be God's instrument to enlighten the soul with knowledge of his salvation becomes justly dear and valued; and the affectionate sense of personal obligation is added to the sacred interest with which his mission invests the teacher. But the relationship so gracefully urged by Paul may descend among ministers who have not the apostle's single-hearted devotedness, and converts forgetful of Timothy's consistent example; and the results may be mischievous on both sides. Idolatrous attachment to a comparative stranger has been often interwoven with the reception of Christian truth; and a spirit of partisanship has ranged youthful enthusiasts on the side of human opinions, because taught or vindicated by their favorite pastor and guide.

To unite, so powerful an influence in its purest form with that naturally her own, is a wise mother's aim; and if blessed of God to be his voice to her children, she may guard them from many snares, and hallow her own memory in their hearts by a more sacred and holy love. Thus was Mrs. Latimer associated with the heavenly hopes, as well as the earthly happiness, of her children; and devotedness to her as their spiritual teacher was a twin fold in the enduring bond which united them to the best of friends.

Between the sisters themselves she promoted the closest sympathy, knowing how many mischiefs and heart-burnings arise from permitting young people to choose from indifferent society a companion whom each calls "a friend," the friend being in reality too often a retailer of gossip, a reflector of the sentiments and fancies confided to her ear, unfit to advise in difficulty, and an instrument of family disunion.

It is not denied that friendships, worthy, honorable, and lasting, have been formed in the warm impulse of youthful affection, but they are the fair exceptions. The frequent rule is selfishness and jealousy. The intercourse consists chiefly of silly secrets about things that are either unworthy to be mentioned at all, or, if worthy, would better be reposed elsewhere. Happy the sisters who feel that, by whomsoever surrounded in the society of congenial youth, their most intimate friendship is with each other, their interests are one, and their pleasures sweetest when shared together. And when in need of guidance, their mutual resort should be the trusted mother who loves them all alike.

O that mothers, in the dignity of their subdued or well-balanced feelings, after the discipline and experience of years, would be careful how they crush or repel the awakening susceptibilities of youth that has had no experience, and to which each new feeling may open a world of speculations concerning life and its manifold destinies. It is a mistake to despise the first signs of conscious power to please, to turn contemptuously upon a supposition of gratified vanity; and still worse, to excite a blush by the suspicion of feelings, or imputation of motives, which may either not exist at all, or if existent, might never assume importance if left unremarked.

The delicate machinery of the youthful affections cannot be too jealously guarded, or too closely watched, but it must be with the refined and unobserved skill of a mind as delicate as itself. No rude touch nor vulgar breath should intrude into its movements, or unnecessarily interfere with its reserve, lest the very confusion be introduced, and the very mischiefs suggested which it was designed to avert. Warm young hearts should be led to expand in love and tenderness at home, where scope enough is usually afforded for their healthy exercise, before they can profitably be bestowed elsewhere.

But many a parent, or injudicious friend, has thoughtlessly raised a spirit which no subsequent discipline could lay; and in yielding to that temptation of vulgar minds, some imagined opportunity to banter and quiz has driven the plowshare of ridicule over the delicate fibers of modesty and reserve, and sown in their stead that pert defiance, flippant retort, and deceitful concealment, which deform the moral beauty of many fair maidens in the present day. A line of conduct may then follow, leading too often to results disastrous to domestic peace.

Confidence, where there is anything to tell, may be induced between those who understand one another without its being rung forth by questioning, which, after all, produces nothing worthy of the name. And that mother is a wise, true friend, whose sympathy and love have been so long trusted that she can tenderly elicit the truth from her child if she fear any wrong bias to her inclinations, and without assuming too much, reason them back to a correct estimate of worth and honor. Many a premature interest might be easily dissipated, undesirable attachments arrested in the bud, and many a wretched self-deception hindered, if the love of mothers and daughters were allowed, as the period of authority and obedience expires, to ripen into sympathizing, confidential friendship. The mother would lose nothing; the daughter might gain much.

It in no way derogates from the respect due to a parent that her children can talk to her of anything and everything by which their minds and feelings are exercised; it does derogate from it essentially if any other be permitted or selected to usurp the place in their confidence to which she is entitled. She loses the sweetest proof of their appreciating love, and the pledge of their integrity; they lose the benefit of her counsels, and the influence of close intercourse with her purified affections.

The self-possession and propriety of manner observable in the young people brought up as Mr. Latimer's daughters had been, in the retirement of a Christian home, surprised many who expected to see them awkward and constrained, or book-learned and self-sufficient. But not having been taught to regard the world's opinion as any criterion, but rather to consider what was right and good in itself, and having insensibly imbibed from the examples constantly before them the simple observances of courtesy and refinement, they felt no awkward diffidence about the effect of what they said or did, and came into society not to exhibit themselves, or to suppose themselves there for the notice and admiration of others, but because their age warranted the privilege of meeting and visiting their parents' friends.

Mr. and Mrs. Latimer did not "introduce" their children as many young ladies are introduced, like rare plants cultivated for exhibition, and brought forward in all the triumph of anticipated applause, candidates for the best prizes in the lottery of life; but simply permitted them to appear among friends and acquaintances more frequently than before, because the object of their closer studies might be supposed to be attained, in the formation of principles, and the acquisition of knowledge calculated to prepare them for paths of usefulness in which their time and talents might be employed for God. It was but a slight change of scene—home as it were enlarged; the persons remained the same, the motives, the desires the same.

If the attractions of Mr. Latimer's house had increased by the presence of his accomplished daughters in the visiting circle, it was obviously his duty to take special care who found access there. The vain, flattering coxcomb, the empty-headed idler wishing to kill time, had little opportunity of admission. But if such did happen to present themselves, it needed not a father's frown or a mother's eye to warn the sisters against extravagant compliments and besieging attentions. The simplicity of sound good sense and Christian principle armed them with matchless weapons wherewith to unmask the cheat, and, for the time, half annihilate the perpetrator.

"Mamma," said Marion one day, when alone with her mother, "do you know I heard last evening the very nicest remark made on our dear Agnes that could be said of any one."

"Did you, dear; what was it?"

"Why you know, mamma, it is no wonder that we admire her, who know how good and kind she is, but I never seemed to understand before what it is that makes her look always so lovely. I see young ladies with more beauty of feature and complexion, perhaps, but few so interesting."

"Well, dear, did you meet with some one who agrees to your opinion?" said Mrs. Latimer, with a smile.

"I was standing near Mr. and Mrs. D., who seemed to be observing Agnes very closely. And when she was asked to sing, and did so at once, in her usual willing way, Mrs. D. said, 'There is no affectation about her, I should think.' And, 'What a very sweet Christian face she has,' said Mr. D., looking at her so kindly, and laying strong emphasis on the word 'Christian.' I felt in a moment he had traced her attractiveness to its true source."

"I am glad you did, dear Marion; it is very precious to think that it is 'by the grace of God' she is what she is. A heart and mind under the guidance of the Spirit of God, can spread the beauty of Christian peace and serenity of temper over a countenance not gifted with symmetry of form."

"Agnes has no vanity," said Marion, musingly.

"Are you sure of that, Marion?"

"Sure, dear mamma? I have not a single doubt of it," exclaimed Marion, looking at her mother with astonishment.

"I have; and I think Agnes herself would not subscribe to your view of her character in that respect."

"Mamma," said Marion, after a moment's pause, "if you think Agnes vain, what must you think of me?"

"I did not say that Agnes is vain, my dear girl, nor do I think you vain either. But that is a different thing from being tempted to vanity as one of the corruptions of our evil nature."

"Then Agnes subdues it, keeps it in check, you mean, mamma."

"Yes, and so does my Marion, I hope," said her mother, tenderly. "Vanity is one of the greatest mischiefs with which youthful womanhood has to contend. It is natural to love praise; it is woman's delight to exercise the power of pleasing, and her temptation to gratify it, increases with every success. I have felt it so, nay, I feel it still, though not in the same manner or measure; and do I err in thinking that my children may feel it too?"

"No, dearest mother, you are right; and perhaps in this way Agnes would be obliged to admit the same. I should like to be above the folly of seeking or caring for the praise of people who have no principle to guide their judgment."

"You discriminate justly there, Marion. A young woman who haughtily sets herself above all human opinion is likely to be particularly selfish and disagreeable."

"It is not wrong, then, to be willing and glad to please those whose good opinion is worth having," remarked Marion.

"Not at all. And judicious praise is often the just tribute to self-denying love; it encourages and stimulates right efforts. And though, of course, secondary to the great motive which should rule all we do—the desire to please God, the good opinion of his people need not be denied a place in our enjoyment of present reward."

"It is much more easy to satisfy ourselves that we please somebody like ourselves, than that we please God, mamma."

"And yet no one so tenderly feels for our weaknesses, and bears with our infirmities, dear Marion. I have often felt, when self-condemned for sin, that I can better bear the all-searching eye of God, than that of any fellow-sinner; because he pardons completely, and he knows all—not only the fault, but the penitence. He upbraideth not; and a pardoned sin is to him as if it had never been. We do not find this in our fellow-sinners; they remember our fault; they know but little of the sorrow and penitence which have followed it, and we are perpetually liable to their suspicions."

"It is certain that mere vanity must grovel about among sin and folly, if it is to be gratified at all," said Marion. "It cannot soar into anything commonly respectable."

"But it may take another name, and become pride of intellect, conceit of talent, and self-sufficiency in many ways not less reprehensible."

"Well, then, I suppose there is no escape from some touch of its troubles. But a vain woman has always seemed to me such a despicable, senseless creature."

"But a woman who is aware of one of the weakest points in her natural character is safe from that designation. She will try to do and be what she desires, in the spirit which elevates above the littleness of personal earthly distinction. And though vanity may assail as a temptation, it will not be a conqueror, and perhaps never show its colors long in the battle-field of her experience."

"Thank you, dear mamma, for that encouragement. But when I spoke of a vain woman, I was just thinking of some young ladies I have seen who seemed to covet admiration for personal attractions, and do their best to secure it too."

"That is the usual form of female vanity in undisciplined hearts, and weak or uncultivated minds. And it involves so many other faults that few objects are more pitiable than a young woman vain of what she has no merit in possessing, and which an illness or an accident may ruin at any moment. It leads to immoderate interest in dress and adornment; it provokes envy and unworthy emulation. Its triumphs are destitute of lasting gratification, and it tempts to the neglect of those domestic qualities which are the true attributes of a lovable and attractive woman."

"That brings me back to thoughts of Agnes, mamma. Do you know, I believe Mr. and Mrs. D. had a reason, and a very good one too, for noticing her so much."

"Do you, love? Then, perhaps, you may like to know that you are not singular in that thought."

"That is like my own dear mother," cried Marion; "you are able to give me your confidence, as well as to accept mine: and O! mamma, it does so steady me. I feel it such an honor not to be repulsed as if I were a child still. And I will not utter a syllable of my thought to any one else, I do faithfully promise you."

"That is right, darling; it would not be right or delicate to do so, and I would not have so candidly acknowledged the correctness of your penetration if I had not felt that anything concerning her sister is as sacred in my Marion's heart as if it concerned herself."

"Indeed it is, mamma," said Marion, with tears of grateful love springing to her eyes, "but I could not keep my discovery from you. But now I must tell you something naughty about myself, and what we have been saying has shown me that I am vain, or self-sufficient, or something of the sort. Do you know, mamma, that I cannot help seeing through people's characters sometimes. And when things happen afterward to prove that I am right, I feel quite edified with myself for my wisdom. If I only saw the good side of everybody, it would not so much matter. But I see the bad side the quickest, I am afraid. Now what do you call this, and what must I do about it?"

"I fear we must call it self-complacency at present," said Mrs. Latimer, gratified at the simplicity of the confession. "I have observed this power in you, dear Marion, and though discrimination of character is a valuable possession, being a great safeguard from imposition, watchfulness is requisite to prevent it from degenerating into censoriousness. You know true Christian love 'hopeth all things,' 'thinketh no evil,' and can feel no satisfaction at the correctness of an unfavorable impression concerning the conduct or character of another. I should prefer to see you less observant of persons toward whom you are not attracted by their virtues, and more anxious to detect in yourself those beams which may otherwise distort and magnify the motes around you."

"Mamma, if you have taken trouble to teach us what is right, should you be sorry that we can see and disapprove what is wrong?"

"I am not sorry, dear Marion, and I wish your opinions about right and wrong to be wise and firm, but you may make mistakes in judging of persons, notwithstanding your penetration. And even where you are compelled to disapprove, you should be careful to make kind allowance for disadvantages of education or circumstances, to which you have not been subjected yourself. This does not palliate sin; it only inclines us to the Christ-like spirit which pities and feels for the sinner."

"That is just what I want, mamma. I wish I could always remember that to us much has been given, and from us much may justly be required."

"Let me give you another caution, Marion. When you are obliged to observe anything disadvantageous to the character of another, do not give utterance to your discovery, unless some positive good can be secured by it. Speaking of a thing impresses it upon the mind; having given an opinion, we feel involved to support it by proof. And the unchristian and unamiable spirit is fostered of watching for evidences of our own sagacity."

"Mamma, did it take you a long time to form right opinions about things, or did it come to you at once?"

"Those of my opinions, dear Marion, which have any pretension to your description, have been formed by the prayerful study of the word of God, and the guidance of the Spirit who inspired it. I do not think any one will greatly err who is willing to bend to that authority, and seek that instruction. And those who come into society undefended by the knowledge of God's standard of right and wrong have to learn many a hard lesson from painful experience, which they might otherwise be spared. May you, dear child, seek the mind of Christ in your exercise of the gifts he has bestowed upon you and then I shall not fear for your quickness of apprehension, or powers of discrimination. We do not need time to prove the correctness of principles derived from his Gospel, but time ought to prove our faith in, and improve our practice of them."

Marion's impression concerning the chief cause of the observations made upon her dearly loved sister was just. It was in a family trained as Mr. Latimer's had been, that the sober-minded, anxious Christian father rejoiced to find an alliance sought by the son on whom all his earthly hopes were centered. He did not covet for him riches, or rank, or prosperous connections, but a happy home, and a true-hearted Christian companion, whose influence would be on the side of practical piety in everything, and who would bring with her "the blessing that maketh rich, and addeth no sorrow." It was from such a family that the jealous love of a mother might fearlessly receive a dutiful and attentive daughter, who would cement rather than sever the filial tie, and feel it her blessed privilege to contribute to that mother's comfort, rather than subtract from it one single attention to which she had become fondly accustomed.

It is no slight subject of anxiety when a son is disposed to form a separate home and household, and what is called "settle in life." Too frequently his intention to "settle" is thoroughly frustrated by the very individual he selects for its accomplishment. And the peace, order, and retirement he delighted to anticipate, are forever banished by the worldliness, self-indulgence, and dissipation in which his wife finds her untired enjoyment. Such a disappointment could not be through the habits, the virtues, and the cultivated character of an Agnes Latimer. The "sweet Christian face" was no deceptive surface, promising more than experience would realize, but the faithful index of a heart and life under the rule of those sacred principles which, far from deteriorating like most earth-born graces, must through life more and more beautifully adorn, more and more richly bless.