Various - Mrs Whittelsey\'s Magazine for Mothers and Daughters

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[Illustration: Engraved by C. Burt, from a Miniature by H.C. Shionway.

Yours truly

A. G. Whittelsey]

MRS. WHITTELSEY'S

MAGAZINE FOR MOTHERS

AND DAUGHTERS.

EDITED BY

MRS. A. G. WHITTELSEY.

That our sons may be as plants grown up in their youth; that
our daughters may be as corner stones polished after the
similitude of a palace.--BIBLE.

VOL. III.

NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HENRY M. WHITTELSEY,
128 NASSAU STREET.

1852.

Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1852, by

HENRY M. WHITTELSEY,

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for
the Southern District of New York.

Transcriber's note: Minor typos corrected and footnotes moved to
end of text.

INDEX.

PAGE

A Child's Prayer. 369

A Child's Reading. 129

A Lesson for Husbands and Wives. 257

An Appeal to Baptized Children.--By Rev. William. Bannard. 141

A Temptation and its Consequences. 21

A Word of Exhortation. 5

Brotherly Love.--By Rev. M. S. Hutton, D.D. 89, 105, 137

Children and their Training. 375

Children of the Parsonage.--By Mrs. G. M. Sykes. 246

Children's Apprehension of the Power of Prayer. 305

Chinese Daughter.--Letter of Mrs. Bridgeman. 18

Cousin Mary Rose, or a Child's First Visit. 69

Despondency and Hope; an Allegory.--By Mrs. J. Norton. 187

Every Prayer should be offered in the Name of Jesus. 356

Excerpta. 100

Excessive Legislation. 167

Extravagance. 354

Family Government. 320

Fault Finding; its Effects.--By Ellen Ellison. 13

" " The Antidote.--By Ellen Ellison. 156, 180

Filial Reverence of the Turks. 292

First Prayer in Congress. 308

Female Education.--By Rev. S. W. Fisher. 271

" " Physical Training. 297

" " Intellectual Training. 330

" " 363

Frost. 384

General Instructions for the Physical Education of Children. 336

Gleanings by the Wayside. 217, 249, 277

God's Bible a Book for all. 220

Habit. 140

Infants taught to Pray. 192

Inordinate Grief the effect of an Unsubdued Will. 301

Instruction of the Young in the Doctrines and Precepts of
the Gospel. 31

Intellectual Power of Woman.--By Rev. S.W. Fisher. 255

Know Thyself. 93

Letter from a Father to his Son. 241

Light Reading. 316

Lux in Tenebras; or a Chapter of Heart History.--By
Mrs. G. M. Sykes. 286

Magnetism. 170

Memoir of Mrs. Van Lennep. 24

Ministering Spirits. 20

Mothers need the Baptism of the Holy Ghost. 353

My Baby. 309

My Little Niece Mary Jane. 55, 76

Music in Christian Families. 342

Never Faint in Prayer. 259

Never tempt another. 184

Notices of Books. 36, 131, 164

Old Juda. 96

One-Sided Christians. 283

Opening the Gate. 267

Parental Solicitude. 165

Prayer for Children sometimes unavailing. 213

Promises. 223

Recollections Illustrative of Maternal Influence. 37

Reminiscences of the late Rev. T.H. Gallaudet.--By
Mrs. G. M. Sykes. 42

Report of Maternal Associations.--Putnam, O. 64

" " " 2d Presb. Church,
Detroit, Mich. 84

" " " Salem, Mich. 86

Sabbath Meditations. 81

The Benefits of Baptism.--By Rev. W. Bannard. 120

The Bonnie Bairns. 53

The Boy the Father of the Man. 339

The Boy who never forgot his Mother. 202

The Death-bed Scene. 34

The Editor's Table. 67

The Family Promise.--By Rev. J. McCarroll, D.D. 109

The Importance of Family Religion.--By Rev. H. T. Cheever. 48

The Mission Money, or the Pride of Charity. 205, 234

The Mothers of the Bible.--Zipporah. 101

" " " The Mothers of Israel
at Horeb. 133, 188

" " " The Mother of Samson. 197

" " " Naomi and Ruth. 229

" " " Hannah. 261

" " " Ichabod's Mother. 203

" " " Rizpah. 325

" " " Bathsheba. 357

The Mother's Portrait. 310

The Orphan Son and Praying Mother. 378

The Promise Fulfilled. 112, 145

The Riddle Solved. 211

The Stupid, Dull Child. 175

The Treasury of Thoughts. 162

The Wasted Gift, or Just a Minute. 125, 150

The Youngling of the Flock. 196

The Young Men's Christian Association.--By Mrs.
L. H. Sigourney. 228

To Fathers.--By Amicus. 7

To my Father. 318

Trials. 227

Why are we not Christians? 346

Woman.--By Rev. M. S. Hutton, D.D. 370

MRS. WHITTELSEY'S

MAGAZINE FOR MOTHERS

AND DAUGHTERS.

* * * * *

Editorial.

A WORD OF EXHORTATION.

Sensible of our accountability to God, of our entire dependence upon his
blessing for success in all our undertakings, knowing that of ourselves
we can do nothing, but believing that through Christ strengthening us we
may accomplish something in his service, we enter upon the duties of
another year--the twentieth year of our editorial labors.

With language similar to that which the mother of Moses is supposed to
have employed when she laid her tender offspring by the margin of the
Nile:--

"Know this ark is charmed
With incantations Pharaoh ne'er employed,
With spells that impious Egypt never knew;
With invocations to the living God,
I twisted every slender reed together,
And with a prayer did every ozier weave"--

we launched our frail bark upon the tide of public opinion. Since then,
with varied success, have we pursued our course--often amid darkness,
through difficulties and dangers, and to the present time have we been
wafted in safety on our voyage, because, as he did Moses in the ark,
"the Lord hath shut us in."

Referring whatever of success has attended our efforts to His blessing,
and believing that He has given us length of days, and strengthened our
weakness, and poured consolation into our hearts when ready to sink in
despair, in answer to persevering and importunate prayer, we come to
direct our readers to this source of wisdom and aid,--to urge upon them
to engage often in this first duty and highest privilege. Let us go
forth, dear friends, to the work we have to do in the education of our
families, having invoked the Divine blessing upon our efforts, holding
on to the promises of the covenant, and pleading for their fulfillment
in reference to ourselves and our households.

As Mrs. H. More has beautifully said: "Prayer draws all the Christian
graces into her focus. It draws Charity, followed by her lovely
train--her forbearance with faults--her forgiveness of injuries--her
pity for errors--her compassion for want. It draws Repentance, with her
holy sorrows--her pious resolutions--her self-distrust. It attracts
Truth, with her elevated eyes; Hope, with her gospel anchor;
Beneficence, with her open hand; Zeal, looking far and wide; Humility,
with introverted eye, looking at home."

And who need these graces more than parents, in the government and
training of those committed to their charge? Could our Savior rise a
great while before day,--forego the pleasures of social intercourse with
his beloved disciples, and retiring to the mountains, offer up prayers
with strong crying and tears, unto Him who was able to save from death
in that he feared, and shall we, intrusted with the immortal destinies
of our beloved offspring, refuse to follow his example, and pleading
want of time and opportunity for this service, be guilty of unbelief, of
indolence, and worldly-mindedness?

You labor in vain, dear readers, unless the arm of the Almighty shall be
extended in your behalf, and you cannot receive the blessing except you
ask it. Let then your supplications be addressed to your Father in
heaven;--pray humbly, believingly, perseveringly, for wisdom and aid,
then may you expect to be blessed. So important is this duty, and so
much is it neglected, that we could not forbear to urge your attention
thereto, ere we entered upon another year.

And will not our Christian friends remember us in their prayers, asking
that we may be directed in what we shall say and do this present year,
in the work in which we are engaged? And if God shall answer our united
petitions, we shall not labor in vain.

* * * * *

Original.

TO FATHERS.

BY AMICUS.

How gladly would the writer gain (were it possible) the ear of every
father in the land, if it were but for the short space of one quarter of
an hour,--nay, some ten minutes, at a _propitious time_,--such a time
as, perhaps, occasionally occurs, when business cases are not pressing,
when the mind is at ease, and the heart has ceased its worldly
throbbings. He wants such a quarter of an hour, if it ever exists.

"And for what?" That he may have an opportunity to propose some worldly
scheme,--some plan which has reference to the probable accumulation of
hundreds of thousands? Nothing of the kind. Fathers at the present day
generally need no suggestions of this sort--no impulses from me in that
direction. They are already so absorbed, that it is difficult to gain
their attention to any matters which do not concern the line of business
in which they are engaged.

Look for a moment at that busy, bustling man; you see him walking down
Broadway this morning; it is early, quite early. May be he is calling a
physician, or is on some visit to a sick friend. He walks so fast; and
though early, there is something on his brow which indicates care and
anxiety. And yet I think no one of his family is sick, nor do I know of
any of his friends who are sick. I have seen that man out thus early so
often, and hurrying at just that pace, that I suspect, after all, he is
on his way to his place of business. That, doubtless, is the whole
secret. He is engaged in a large mercantile concern. It seems to
require--at least it takes--all his attention. He is absorbed in it.
And, if you repair to his store or office at any hour of the day, you
can scarcely see him,--not at all,--unless it be on some errand
connected with his business, or with the business of some office he
holds, and which _must_ be attended to; and even in these matters you
will find him restless. He attends to you so far as to hear your errand;
and what then? Why, if it will require any length of time, he says: "I
am very busy at this moment, I can't _possibly_ attend to it to-day;
will you call to-morrow? I may then have more leisure." Well, you agree
for to-morrow. "Please name the hour," you say. He replies--"I can't
_name any hour_; but call, say after twelve o'clock, and I will catch a
moment, _if I can_, to talk over the business."

Now, that merchant is not to blame for putting you off. His business
calls are so many and so complex, that he scarcely knows which way to
turn, nor what calculations to make. The real difficulty is, he has
undertaken too much; his plans are too vast; his "irons," as they say,
are too many.

This is the _morning_ aspect of affairs. Watch that merchant during the
day,--will you find things essentially different? The morning, which is
dark and cloudy and foggy, is sometimes followed by a clear, bright,
beautiful day. The mists at length clear off, the clouds roll away, and
a glorious sun shines out broadly to gladden the face of all nature. Not
so with the modern man of business. It is labor, whirl, toil, all the
day, from the hour of breakfast till night puts an end to the active,
hurrying concerns of all men. There is no bright, cheerful, peaceful
day to him. Scarcely has he time to eat--never to _enjoy_ his
dinner,--that must be finished in the shortest possible time: often at
some restaurant, rather than with his family. Not one member of that
does he see from the time he leaves the breakfast table till night, dark
night has stretched out her curtain over all things.

Let us go home with him, and see how the evening passes.

His residence, from his place of business, perchance, is a mile or two
distant--may be some fifteen or twenty, in which latter case he takes
the evening train of cars. In either case he arrives home only at the
setting in of the evening shades. How pleasant the release from the
noise and confusion of the city! or, if he resides within the city, how
pleasant in shutting his door, as he enters his dwelling, to shut out
the thoughts and cares of business! His tea is soon ready, and for a
little time he gives himself up to the comforts of home. His wife
welcomes him, his children may be hanging upon him, and he realizes
something of the joys of domestic life!

Scarcely, however, is supper ended, before it occurs to him that there
is a meeting of such a committee, or such an insurance company, to which
he belongs, and the hour is at hand, and he _must_ go. And he hies away,
and in some business on hand he becomes absorbed till the hours of nine,
ten, or eleven, possibly twelve o'clock. He returns again to his home,
wearied with the toils of the day,--his wife possibly, but certainly his
children, have retired,--and he lays his aching head upon his pillow to
catch some few hours of rest, and with the morning light to go through
essentially the same busy routine, the same absorbing care, the same
wearing, weary process.

This is an outline of the life which thousands of fathers are leading in
this country at this present time. We do not pretend that it is true of
all,--but is it not substantially true, as we have said, of thousands?
And not only of thousands in our crowded marts of commerce, but in our
principal towns--nay, even in our rural districts. It is an age of
impulse. Every thing is proceeding with railroad speed. Every branch of
business is urged forward with all practical earnestness. Every sail is
set--main-sail, top-sails, star-gazers, heaven-disturbers--all expanded
to catch the breeze, and urge the vessel to her destined port.

This thirst for gain! this panting after fortune! this competition in
the race for worldly wealth, or honor, where is it leading the present
generation--where?

To men who have families--to fathers, who see around them children just
emerging from childhood into youth, or verging toward manhood,--this is
and should be a subject of the deepest interest.

Fathers! am I wrong when I say you are neglecting your offspring?
Neglecting them? do I hear you respond with surprise;--"Am I not daily,
hourly stretching every nerve and tasking every power to provide for
them, to insure them the means of an honorable appearance in that rank
of society in which they were born, and in which they must move? In
these days of competition, who sees not that any relaxation involves and
necessarily secures bankruptcy and ruin?"

I hear you, and you urge strongly, powerfully your cause. You must,
indeed, provide for your household. You must be diligent in business.
You may--you ought in some good measure, to keep up with the spirit, the
progress of the age. But has it occurred to you that there is danger in
doing as you do; that you will neglect some other interests of your
children as important, to say the least, as those you have named? Are
not your children immortal? Have they not souls of priceless value? Have
they not tendencies to evil from the early dawn of their being? And must
not these souls be instructed--watched over? Do they not need
counsel--warning--restraint? "O yes!" I hear you say, "they must be
instructed--restrained--guided--all that, but this is the appropriate
business and duty of their _mother_. I leave all these to her. I have no
leisure for such cares myself; my business compels me to leave in charge
all these matters to her."

And where, my friend--if I may speak plainly--do you find any warrant in
the Word of God for such assumptions as these? Leave all the care of
your children's moral and religious instruction, guidance, restraint,
to their mother! It is indeed her duty, and in most cases she finds it
her pleasure, to watch over her beloved ones. And in the morning of
their being, and in the first years of their childhood, it is _hers_ to
watch over them, to cherish them, and to bring out and direct the first
dawnings of their moral and intellectual being.

But beyond this the duties of father and mother are coincident. At a
certain point your responsibilities touching the training of your
children blend. I find nothing in the Word of God which separates
fathers and mothers in relation to bringing up their children in the
ways of virtue and obedience to God.

I know what fathers plead. I see the difficulties which often lie in
their path. I am aware of the competition which marks every industrial
pursuit in the land. And many men who wish it were different, who would
love to be more with their families, who would delight to aid in
instructing their little ones, find it, they think, quite impossible so
to alter their business--so to cast off pressure and care, as to give
due attention to the moral and religious training of their children.

But, fathers, might you not do better than you do? Suppose you should
make the effort to have _an hour_ each day to aid your wife in giving a
right moral direction to your little ones? How you would encourage her!
What an impulse would you give to her efforts! Now, how often has she a
burden imposed upon her, which she is unable to bear! What uneasiness
and worry--what care and trouble are caused her, by having, in this
matter of training the children, to go on single-handed! whereas, were
your parental authority added to her maternal tenderness, your children
would prove the joy of your hearts and the comfort of your declining
years. But as you manage--or rather as you neglect to manage them, a
hundred chances to one if they do not prove your sorrow, when in years
you are not able well to sustain it. Gather a lesson, my friend, from
the conduct of David in respect to Absolom. He neglected him--he
indulged him, and what was the consequence? The bright, beautiful,
gifted Absolom planted thorns in his father's crown,--he attempted to
dethrone him,--he was a fratricide,--he would have been a parricide: and
what an end! Oh, what an end! Listen to the sorrowful outpourings of a
fond, too fond, unfaithful parent: "My son, oh, my son Absolom,--would
to God I had died for thee, oh, Absolom, my son, my son!"

Take another example, and may it prove a warning to such indulgence and
such neglect! Eli had sons, and they grew up, and they walked in
forbidden ways, and he restrained them not; yet he was a good man: but
good men are sometimes most unfaithful fathers, and what can they
expect? Shall we sin because grace abounds? Shall we neglect our
children in expectation that the grace of God will intervene to rescue
them in times of peril? That expectation were vain while we neglect our
duty. That expectation is nearly or quite sure to be realized if duty be
performed.

But I must insist no longer; I will only add, then, in a word,--that it
were far, far better that your children should occupy a more humble
station in life--that they should be dressed in fewer of the "silks of
Ormus," and have less gold from the "mines of Ind," than to be neglected
by a father in regard to their moral and religious training. Better
leave them an interest in the Covenant than thousands of the treasures
of the world. Your example, fathers,--your counsel--your prayers, are a
better bequest than any you can leave them. Think of leaving them in a
cold, rude, selfish world, without the grace of God to secure them,
without his divine consolation to comfort. Think of the "voyage of awful
length," you and they must "sail so soon." Think of the meeting in
another world which lies before you and them, and say, Does the wide
world afford that which could make amends for a separation--an eternal
separation from these objects of your love?

* * * * *

Original.

FAULT-FINDING: ITS EFFECTS.

"What in creation have you done! Careless boy, how could you be so
heedless? You are forever cutting some such caper, on purpose to ruin me
I believe. Now go to work, and earn the money to pay for it, will you?
lazy fellow!"

Coarse and passionate exclamations these, and I am sorry to say they
were uttered by Mr. Colman, who would be exceedingly indignant if any
body should hint a suspicion that he was, or could be, other than a
gentleman, and a _Christian_. His son, a bright and well-meaning lad of
fourteen, had accidentally hit the end of a pretty new walking cane,
which his favorite cousin had given him a few hours before, against a
delicate china vase which stood upon the mantle-piece, and in a moment
it lay in fragments at his feet. He was sadly frightened, and would have
been very sorry too, but for the harsh and ill-timed reproof of his
father, which checked the humble plea for forgiveness just rising to his
lips, and as Mr. Colman left the room, put on his hat and coat in the
hall, and closed the street door with more than usual force, to go to
his store, the young lad's feelings were anything but dutiful. Just then
his mother entered.

"Why James Colman! Did you do that? I declare you are the most careless
boy I ever beheld! That beautiful pair of vases your father placed there
New Year's morning, to give me a pleasant surprise. I would not have had
it broken for twenty dollars."

"Mother, I just hit it accidentally with this little cane, and I'm sure
I'm as sorry as I can be."

"And what business has your cane in the parlor, I beg to know? I'll take
it, and you'll not see it again for the present, if this is the way you
expect to use it. You deserve punishment for such carelessness, and I
wish your father had chastised you severely." And taking the offending
cane from his hand, she, too, left him to meditations, somewhat like
the following:--

"'Tis too bad, I declare! If I had tried to do the very wickedest thing
I possibly could, father and mother would not have scolded me worse.
That dear little cane! I told Henry I would show it to him on my way to
school, and now what shall I say about it? It's abominable--it's right
down cruel to treat me so. When I had not intended to do the least thing
wrong, only just as I was looking at the bottom of my cane, by the
merest accident the head of it touched that little useless piece of
crockery. I hate the sight of you," he added, touching the many colored
and gilded fragments with the toe of his boot, as they lay before him,
"and I hate father and mother, and every body else--and I'm tired of
being scolded for nothing at all. Big boy as I am, they scold me for
every little thing, just as they did when I was a little shaver like
Eddy. What's the use? I won't bear it. I declare I won't much longer."
And then followed reveries like others often indulged before, of being
his own master, and doing as he pleased without father and mother always
at hand to dictate, and find fault, and scold him so bitterly if he
happened to make a little mistake. Other boys of his age had left home,
and taken care of themselves, and he would too. "I am as good a scholar
as any one in school, except Charles Harvey, and I am as strong as any
boy I play with, and pity if I can't take care of myself. Home! Yes, to
be sure it might be a dear good home, but father is so full of business,
and anxious, and thinking all the time, he never speaks to one of us,
unless it is to tell us to do something, or to find fault with what is
done. And mother--fret, fret, fret, tired to death with the care of the
children, and company, and servants, and societies, and every thing--it
really seems as if she had lost all affection for us--_me_, at any rate,
and I am sure I don't care for any body that scolds at me so, and the
sooner I am out of the way the better. I am sure if father is trying to
make money to leave me some of it, I'd a thousand times rather he'd give
me pleasant words as we go along, than all the dollars I shall ever
get--yes, indeed I had."

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