Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

Soon after Japan was discovered by the Portuguese, Roman Catholic Missionaries visited the empire, and were so successful in their efforts to convert the natives, that many of the Japanese professed conversion. The mission commenced in the year 1549, and in the year 1582 a public embassy was sent from the Japanese court, with letters and valuable presents to the Pope. The Portuguese, who had settled in great numbers in Japan, were so inflated with the extent of their commercial transactions, and the success of their religion with the Japanese, that they became so grasping, domineering, and insulting, as to arouse public indignation against them; and the Pagan priests persuaded the Emperor of Japan to issue an edict against the profession of Christianity. A violent persecution ensued, and twenty thousand professors of Christianity were put to death. Still the number of converts increased, and one of the Emperors professed to become a convert to Christianity. The Portuguese, encouraged by these successes, became arrogant and insulting in their behaviour; and one of the Romish bishops acted insulting to one of the royal Princes. Another persecution then broke out, which raged for forty years. The native Christians were put to death, and the Portuguese were banished from the country. It is also said, that to evince their detestation of the Romish religion, a yearly festival was instituted, at which images of the Virgin Mary are trampled upon.

Very little intercourse with either Europeans or visitors from other parts of the world is permitted by the Japanese. Their moral state is most deplorable, as is the case with all heathen nations. We ought to pity their miserable condition, and earnestly to pray that they may be delivered from their idolatrous wicked practices; that the Gospel of Christ, in its purity, may be preached unto them, and that they may be "turned from darkness to light, from the power of Satan unto God."

How thankful ought our readers to be that they dwell in a land where the pure worship of God is taught and observed; where the Gospel of Christ is preached; where every one may learn to read, and may possess the Holy

Scriptures, which are able to make us wise unto salvation.

THE POWER OF AFFECTION.

"WELCOME little Ellen to our home and hearts," said I. "See how confidently she looks up to us! She expects to find affection. Oh! never let her look for it in vain. There is nothing which appeals to my heart like the confiding affection of a little child. How many and bitter must have been the lessons which make the child distrustful of others! I cannot bear to think of it. If there is one thing more than another that I covet, it is faith in goodness, in kindness, in affectionprecisely that faith which a little child has. If there is one thing more bitter than another in the experience of years, it is to have had this trust shaken—this faith destroyed. I remember"

"What do you remember?" exclaimed the girls.

"Many things, dear children," I replied; "but let us turn over the leaves of this great book of past experience, and see what is written there, which has a bearing upon this matter; who will hold little Ellen on her knee?"

"I will," said one; and I;" "O let me," was echoed throughout the group of happy children. So many arms were outstretched-so many faces were lit up with smiles-so many eyes looked a welcome invitation-that the little one was bewildered; and, turning from one to another with uncertainty, fled at last to me, the mother, and nestled in my bosom.

"I remember a little white cottage, on a sunny hill side. Sloping down to the river edge was a young forest of birches, whose glossy leaves, for ever in motion, dappled with dancing shadows the lap of the green earth, into which loving summer and autumn scattered their flower-gifts perpetually. And, oh, the music of that happy place! Who can describe it? Winds and water sent forth a merry peal that gladdened me, wherever I went; and I loved it, for it called up pleasant images within my heart; and it seemed to speak the very language of my own delight.

"In this white cottage lived my mother and my sister, and

a little baby brother-the pet and darling of us all; and with us dwelt, unseen but for ever felt, the spirit of our father. His hand had planted the grove which was our play place-had made the path over which back and forth, hither and thither, with a light step and a lighter heart, we dragged the little wicker waggon that held our paragon of perfection-the blueeyed boy that mother said was so like his father, and in whose tiny features we used to strive to trace lineaments which had faded from our memories. We were too young, even to know the nature of grief, or the bitterness of those heart-wrung tears which we saw upon the cheek of our mother-and she never spoke to us of her sorrow, but always of his joy, who was with his heavenly Father; and we thus learned to associate every thing bright and glorious with death, and to look forward to it, not as the end of life, but the beginning. She talked to us always of our father. its accustomed place which had and cane still stood in the hall.

She removed nothing from belonged to him. His hat Everything spoke to us of

him, and we never lost the feelings of his presence with us.

"I remember a bright dawn in summer. My mother came to the bed where my sister and I were lying awake, and beckoned us to get up quickly, and come to her room, for our brother was dying. He had been slightly ill the night before, but none of us had dreamed of danger. In the night his symptoms were more alarming, and before morning he was past hope. We entered the room just in time to see him die.

"We saw his blue eyes turn toward us, but the mists of death gathered thickly upon them, and quenched their light for ever. My mother stooped down and kissed his last breath away, and her tears fell fast upon his pale cheek. We wept, too, but it was to see her weep. But day by day we missed the dear child more and more. This was our first sorrow.

It did not remain with us long; for by degrees we became accustomed to his absence, and pleased our fancy by picturing the delights of his new existence.

"I remember another morning, when, after a night of anguish, my sister and myself stood beside our dying mother. In this remembrance there is a pang even now-for we had

none to share our sorrow, and we were old enough to comprehend our loss.

"On hearing of the death of my mother, an uncle, whom I had never seen, offered to take one of her children to bring up as his own. I was the one selected; and my sister, from whom I had never been separated, was sent to another relative at a distance from me. I cannot think, even now, of that bitter hour when I parted from her, without a feeling of sadness.

"Just such a trusting, loving child as this little creature nestled here, only not quite so young, was I when I first went to my uncle's. He was a tall, solemn, stately man, who seldom smiled, and when he did, it made his features more repulsive. My aunt was a pale, sad-looking woman, who, young as she was, had outlived all traces of youth, and all memory of the joy that belongs to it. What she might once have been I know not, for the brightest flowers will droop and wither, if deprived of the blessed sunshine, and the warmest affections be blighted in the ungenial atmosphere of a loveless home. Happily for me, I remained there but a short time. No eye looked kindly on me-no voice spoke tenderly. There were no children in the house-everything was prim, formal, and precise. My aunt was so nervous she could not bear the least noise. If I sat in the room with her, I was not allowed to speak, and scarcely to move. My uncle seemed hardly conscious of my existence. I have sat for hours, during the long winter evenings, watching and hoping that he would speak to me, and yet, if he turned towards me, I was so fearful that he would speak and say something harsh and grating, that my eyes involuntarily turned away, and my heart veiled itself closely, lest he should be able to read my thoughts.

“Oh, what a new revelation of life it was to me--a home without happiness, a heart without love-and how I yearned for some one to love, and to be kind to.

"At length, in my solitary rambles, I chanced to pass an Irish shanty, around which some little children, ragged and dirty, were sunning themselves; and on a stone near the house sat a rosy faced woman, nursing a little child. O! what a thrill of joy ran through me! I felt the stream of

affection gush forth from my heart, and tears fell from my eyes that were sweeter than smiles. O, that I could live here, and love these dear children,' I exclaimed; ·I would rather be one of these-to feel a mother's arm around me-to hear her kind voice calling me-to look up into her face, and see it turned kindly towards me-than to live in a palace of gold, with frozen hearts and icy looks around me.'

"I need not tell you that I became happier, now that I had found objects to love. As my affections expanded, my desire to make others happy increased. All that my mother had taught me came back to my memory, and her beautiful example cheered and animated me. I had lived so long without love, that I had learned to prize it. I saw that there was no luxury like that of doing good to others. These little children were entirely uninstructed. I taught them to read; I read to them; I felt the desire to be useful.

"This is all I have to tell you of myself, dear children—a mere fragment in my life's history, but you see it has a moral. This little girl has neither father nor mother, brothers nor sisters--we must supply their places to her. She comes to us with a heart that has never been chilled with a word or look of unkindness. She expects from us all the love and sympathy she has need of. Shall she ever look in vain to any of us ?"

"Oh, no mother !-never-never! She shall be as one of us! See! she is sleeping on your bosom, mother! How pretty she is!"

"What a delight it will be to take care of her," said one. "And to play with her," said another.

"And to teach her," said the third.

I saw that the right feeling was awakened, and I thanked God, who has given so holy a thing as love and kindness to dwell with us below.

MRS. S. W. JEWETT.

« AnteriorContinuar »