"If I Only Lived in a Village."
"If I only lived in a village I could do so much more," writes a friend who is anxious to accomplish for the cause of humanity what she considers impracticable in her present locality. This remark, made doubtless in sincerity, and confidence of purpose, reminds us of the many "ifs" that have a place in the vocabulary of hundreds whose good intentions are of the same type. "If I only had wealth I am sure I would use it in doing good," said a friend whose word was considered as good as his bond. At this time he had barely a competence. Years rolled on, and the time came when he possessed a large income, but, sad to tell, his feelings had changed. His heart was steeled against the cry of the poor, he lived for self alone, and was indeed less happy and less useful than when he ate the bread of poverty and toil. He did not know himself. He was "weighed in the balances and found wanting." "If I only had more time, I am sure I would do more for the cause of charity," said a lady whose home duties were arduous and constant. A period came when time hung heavy on her hands, but she felt no interest in laboring for the needy and the suffering. "If I only had a smaller family, and could find a room free from interruptions, a reliable nurse to take charge of my little ones, I would pray more for the church, the impenitent, and especially for my own family," said a Christian mother who believed in the efficacy of prayer, and rightly regarded the incentives to this duty. A period came that all these facilities were within her reach, but the spirit of prayer was wanting—and less time even was spent in this exercise than formerly. These examples show how unwise it is to defer present duty for better opportunities; how little we know what we would do in other circumstances, and how important to live by the moment, doing with our might what our hands find to do, knowing that "It is accepted according to that a man hath and not according to that he hath not." The following item from an exchange paper refers to a faithful departed laborer whose history is familiar to all our readers. The facts named are suggestive, and in this connection may be contemplated with profit:— "Many people have been accustomed to look on Mrs. Fry as a heroic spinster, who, unfettered by the cares of home, and the anxieties of a family, had nothing to do but wander over the face of the earth in quest of affliction, in soothing which she sought relief to the tedium of opulent retirement. Hence it has been a thousand times over, not only thought, but said, "It is all very well for Mrs. Fry to visit goals and penitentiaries, throughout the British Isles, and to prosecute her humane endeavors in foreign countries; but had she been circumstanced as we are, she would have found work enough at home." Now let all such know, that so far from this being the case, Mrs. Fry was the mother of a family of ten children! No maternal care, no domestic solicitude, no home duties and home burdens? It was much otherwise; and this circumstance adds peculiarity to the worth of her invaluable life. As a daughter, as a wife, as a mother, as a mistress, she presented a shining pattern which the opulent and the titled of her sex throughout the land may contemplate with exceeding great advantage. It may be truly said, that she lived not to herself, but for mankind, or rather for womankind. She had a heart large enough to embrace the world, and by economy of time and money, she, to an extent all but incredible, found both leisure and resources to minister to the necessity of vast multitudes.—Sel.