The Youth's Instructor.
By Y. N.
Well do I remember how our childish hearts bounded at the thought that we were to have a paper of our own. Eagerly was it looked for, and my love for it has never grown cold. One evening, as mother stood at the ironing table, father came from town, bringing our paper. We gathered round the table and read, “This Little Hand never Struck Me.” At the close of the story, no comment was made—our hearts were too full for utterance. And never can I forget, while memory lasts, the story, “What One Lie Did.” The sweet poetry of Annie R. Smith I committed to memory whenever it appeared. In looking back to those sunny days of childhood, the skies seem bluer, and the flowers brighter, than now. But, oh! the changes passing years have wrought. Long have summer grasses waved and snow wreaths formed above the sleeping forms of Anna White and Annie R. Smith, and while they await the dawning of “the last lovely morning,” other hearts and hands labor for the dear children and youth. And parents, what are you doing? It looks strange that professed Sabbath-keepers should think it necessary to have the REVIEW AND HERALD for their own perusal while they do not take the Instructor for their children who are old enough to read and understand it. I remember hearing of a woman who, when her husband lay on a sick bed, tossed him a Bible, saying, as she did so, “If you die unprepared, I shall not be responsible.” Are there none who read these lines who think that when the Sabbath comes, if they give their children each a Bible, and see that they sit as nearly immovable as possible, with grave faces, their duty as parents is done for the day? or, perhaps, without the sacred volume, they occupy the time as they please. Those little, active minds are hungry. The world invites them to partake of its trashy literature, which leads the mind from God to fashion and folly, and the probabilities are that the little ones will be subjects of mental starvation, or partake of such food as will poison their now pure, innocent minds. In this time, when darkness is covering earth and people, and you, with years of experience, feel that all the light you can get to walk in, only keeps you from falling, how can you expect one, a child in years and experience, to thread life's dark, intricate mazes safely, with scarcely a tithe of the light requisite for you? Would you take the atlas and, pointing to London or Liverpool, say, There is where your uncle lives in elegance, and wishes you to come, and then send your child of ten years from you to perform the journey alone? Yet, upon the ocean of life, how many frail barks, richly freighted, are engulfed, when a judicious guiding hand might have steered them safely past the whirlpool that carried them down. Do you mention the cost of the Youth's Instructor? How long would your child be permitted to go with frost-bitten fingers for want of a pair of mittens? Would you not, even if in extreme poverty, try to find a piece of cloth which ingenuity might fashion for the comfort of your child? Were sickness to come, would you think of closing your eyes in sleep while the little form was tossing in agony? But were it not infinitely better that physical discomfort or suffering be experienced, or even your loved one be consigned to the silent grave with a mind pure and unsullied, than live, and for want of proper mental food and discipline, seek the pleasures of the world and lose eternal life? Should all your efforts prove unsuccessful, could you hope for reward in Heaven if your earthly duties had not been performed? You may deem the matter of which I am writing a small one, but slender are the threads upon which all our life destinies hang. The performance or nonperformance of a small duty may lead us in the path to eternal life, or into darkness, where we cannot tell which path is the right one. Little things may make the religion of the Bible look beautiful and much to be desired, even by a child. Professing, as we do, that Jesus' coming is near, should we not heed the injunction, “Feed my lambs?” The storm will soon burst; then, while the fold-bells are ringing, let your voices blend with the Great Shepherd's, saying, “Suffer little children to come unto me . . . for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.” Let the Instructor visit every family of Sabbath-keepers, and as many more as wish it. To the worthy poor, it is free. Then let not pride or the love of twenty five cents deprive your children of this. There are many good books, if you can get them; but the paper, all can have. And while there is no danger of keeping the Sabbath too well, and conversation which would not be improper upon other days should be refrained from on this, God has given a world full of beauty, trees, mountains, and rivers, from which useful lessons may be gleaned. The unfolding leaves and flowers, snowflakes and dewdrops, tell many a story, delightful to age as well as youth. Our Saviour, with eloquence never possessed by man, yet, simplicity that reached the children, often alluded to the works of nature to illustrate his teachings. Religion is “a thing of beauty” when rightly understood and practiced, and a “joy forever,” for it yields present peace, and leads to “the rest that remaineth,” where are “fullness of joy and pleasures forevermore.” Y. N.