The following sketch of my past history, which, at your request, I furnish, can be of little interest or value, any farther than perhaps leading the minds of Christian parents properly to estimate the importance of the duties devolving upon them, and begetting a higher appreciation of the value of the weekly rest, as affording an opportunity to all Christians, however poor their circumstances, or laborious their employment, of imparting instruction to their offspring. It may tend also to show that no Christian mother, with the Bible in her hand, and possessing the power of reading and understanding the blessed truths it reveals, can plead excuse if she allow her children to grow up in ignorance of those truths, the knowledge of which would lead them in safety and happiness through all the temptations to which youth is exposed in this world of folly and wickedness.

If she properly estimates the importance of the blessings imparted by the knowledge of God, and really feels the power of the love of God in her own heart, poverty may surround her, the pressure of domestic cares may lie heavily upon her, or she may be engaged in the most menial and laborious employment, but, in the midst of all this, she will find opportunity to awaken and enlighten the young minds of her offspring. It is the duty of Christian parents, in whatever situation in life, to train up their children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord; and it is a duty which they can entrust to no one else without a direct violation of the command of their Saviour, and incurring a fearful risk as regards the well-being of their children.

Is it not a strange sight, to see a Christian parent so deeply involved in business, so engrossed with the cares of this life, or so occupied with other matters, however important, that he is compelled to entrust the moral and religious training of his children to a hireling?—a preacher so much engaged in proclaiming the Gospel to sinners in the world, that he has no time to lead his own little ones to the feet of Jesus?—a father so occupied with the improvement of his neighbours, with Sabbath-schools, prayer and class meetings, or evening lectures and sermons, that he has no leisure to lead, in proper season, the devotions of his own little circle at home? Such a man substitutes his own way for the will of God; and, in so far as he does so, the consequences will be seen in the future character of his children; and even he himself will suffer loss in the health of his own soul.

Parents, with the Bible in their hands, and the word of God hidden in their hearts, having the blessed hours of Sabbath rest as their birthright, however humble their circumstances or toilsome their life, can never be entirely destitute of an opportunity for training and instructing their offspring.

In glancing back on the years of childhood, and tracing the influences which have surrounded me through youth, I am convinced, that, in so far as my mind has been awakened to intelligence, and my character formed to virtue, under God, I owe all to my parents, but especially to my mother: her earnest and indefatigable exertions, in the face of difficulties which would have deterred any common mind from attempting such a task, together with her ceaseless watchfulness, secured for us such an amount of knowledge, and formed in us such habits, as raised us above the temptations which usually beset youth in the humble walks of life. While the constant necessity existed, as soon as we were able to do anything—for all our exertions toward the support of the family allowed us little time to cultivate acquaintances, whether injurious or beneficial—our mother’s constant endeavour was, even through the very early years of childhood, to keep our hands and heads fully employed.

Memory carries me back to a period when my parents, with five little ones around them, tenanted an obscure garret in the outskirts of one of the principal towns of Scotland. By some of those vicissitudes common to all, my father was, at this time, out of employment; hardships were endured, pinching want sometimes visited their fireside. Of these things I have heard, but have no recollection of them, as I could not then be much more than four years old. Yet a shadowy vision sometimes rises before me of a broad paved street, along which I was running on before our father in joyful haste, that I might be the first to apprise mother that the meeting was dismissed; but as to whether the place of assembly we had just left was an upper chamber where a handful of disciples met together, or a large and fashionable edifice, memory supplies nothing. A dim dreary scene, too, sometimes passes before me of some back yard or lane where I was standing with my hand in my father’s, gazing with childish delight, and, at the same time, with a feeling of awe and admiration, upon the starry heavens. I know not what, at that moment, led my eye to the bright scene over head; nor yet what fixed these two incidents of my childhood so indelibly upon my memory, for they are associated, in my mind, with nothing particular of which I ever heard any one speak; but they are almost the only recollections I have of the short time spent in this place.

I think that before this time I must have been pretty far advanced in reading, as I have no remembrance of ever learning, or having any difficulty with common books. Our father, at the time alluded to, was exerting himself to find a settled situation as a gardener, and, in the mean time, taking whatever work he could get in the small gardens in the neighbourhood. He was soon noticed as an active and tasteful gardener, and received into the employment of a gentleman whose property lay in that part of Scotland known by the name of Strathmore, or “the great valley.”

The dwelling we now entered was very pleasantly situated near a river called the South Esk, which flows through that part of the country. Between it and the highway was a large field, with a belt of trees on the side next the house; on the other side lay the garden; while beneath the garden, stretching to the river, was what we used to call the haugh, a flat little meadow.

Our dwelling in appearance was not unlike one of those houses which are tenanted by farmers in the south-east of Scotland. Its dimensions, its blue slated roof, and its smooth grass plot, encircled with a gravel walk before the door, bespoke it the abode, if not of affluence, at least of competence. It had not, when planned, been intended as the abode of a servant, but as a residence for the proprietor’s mother, who having been removed by death, we were permitted to occupy it. Had the reader visited that spot in the spring of the year, when the young plantations were arrayed in bright green, the music of wild birds welcoming the morning, while the cowslip, the meadow-crocus, and the primrose studded the banks, and the butter-ball, the wild geranium, and numberless flowers besides, were shooting up amid the tangled maze of yellow whins and broom, wild rose, and scented sweet brier, which covered that little haugh; or had he sauntered down to the river, walked along the pebbles on its shore, and seen the little trout sparkling in the sunbeam as it leaped at the insects that sported upon the surface of the water, he would have called it a pleasant dwelling-place. It was indeed a sunny spot, and the gay children who used to ramble at will amid its beauties, were as happy a little band as could have been found.

Yet, freely though they wandered among the surrounding pleasure grounds, they were carefully taught to avoid putting their foot in an improper place, or setting forth a hand to injure shrub or tree; and this in itself was calculated to form and strengthen in us a habit of self-restraint. Even in infancy our parents began our moral training; a prompt and cheerful submission to parental authority was the first habit they sought to form; and this once accomplished, the instruction and training of youth are comparatively easy. As soon as we became capable of understanding the reasons which influenced them in their conduct towards us, we were taught that our parents were the guardians placed over us by our Creator, in his kind care for our welfare, and that it was his will, that to them we should in all things cheerfully submit ourselves without hesitation or murmuring.

I have often thought, when I have seen children allowed to demand a reason for every trifling order, numerous reasons and excuses having to be discussed, and thus a long altercation entered into between parent and child, in the shape of reasoning, before a lesson could be attended to, or the most trivial command obeyed, what an incalculable amount of evil is done to children by such treatment! Not only is time wasted, but self-will is fostered, and a habit of tardy performance of duty induced.

Few parents seem to comprehend how soon even a very young child may be made to understand such language as this: God, who lives in heaven, made us all; he gave mother her little son that I might take care of him, be kind to him, and teach him to be good. He says little children must obey father and mother, and he would be angry with me and punish me if I allowed my boy to be naughty and disobedient. Such language firmly and kindly spoken by a parent, even to a very young child, and steadily and consistently acted upon, will very soon subdue the self-will of the most wayward, and thus render future training easy to both parent and child.

Such was, in principle, the training to which we were subjected in our early years. Obedience—immediate, cheerful obedience, and the strictest regard to truth, lay at the foundation of all our other training. A thousand little follies, mistakes, and even graver faults might be passed over, but disobedience and falsehood were unpardonable. Yet there was nothing of sternness or severity in the conduct of our parents towards us. Perhaps no mother ever lavished more fond caresses upon her children, or exerted herself more to make their time pass happily, and no father was ever more anxious to secure the comfort and happiness of his family.

Pleasantly did the days and hours pass over us, during our residence in this secluded spot: there was no school within reach, and if there had, our father’s small income would not have allowed our education to be paid for, without greatly diminishing the comforts of the family; therefore, it had to be attended to at home. One by one, we used to take our place beside our mother, read a short lesson, have the larger words explained to us, when our mother would take the book and read it over again slowly and distinctly, that we might the better understand what we had been reading; and then we were at liberty to indulge in active and healthful amusement, or we were engaged in some useful and necessary employment. Four times a day, usually, each of us had our short lesson; and if it be considered that the whole of the labour of the house devolved upon our mother, it will be believed that this could be no light task; nothing, however, was allowed to interrupt our lessons: and it was no uncommon thing to see her busy at the washing-tub while we by turns took our place beside her; one child would be found attending to the baby, another gathering sticks and keeping the fire alive, a third engaged in reading, and a fourth bringing water from a pure, soft spring, at some distance from the house; while our eldest brother assisted father in the garden.

Our morning lesson was usually from the Scriptures, but throughout the day from other books. Our parents were, themselves, as eager to obtain knowledge as they were anxious to impart it to us. An hour was allowed for meals: when our father came to breakfast or dinner, as soon as the repast was finished, (and a working man in health does not usually loiter over his meals,) our mother used to read aloud till the hour was finished, either with the youngest child upon her knee, or, if it was in the cradle, knitting while she read. She used to say, that it was disagreeable and improper to be bustling about while father was within; and when he was gone out, the work must be done up.

At these times, books of every kind that came to hand were read, unless, indeed, there was in their language or morality something very bad. Nor were any of us, so far as I recollect, ever restricted in our reading; books of all kinds, which came within our reach, were free to us. Some may be disposed to condemn this laxity, as they may consider it; but with the limited means our parents possessed of purchasing books, and being far distant from any town or village where they might have had a choice from a library, it was not strange that all that by any means came to hand should be eagerly perused: books were not then so plentiful, nor so various, as at present.

Well do I remember my brother finding a torn leaf of a little school-book in a bush in the haugh—it had been caught there when the stream was swollen by heavy rains. What a prize it was! one by one, we committed it to memory, while stretched upon the daisied sward, during the sunny hours of a summer Sabbath-day; and I do not believe that there is one of the young group who then learned the beautiful hymn that stray leaf contained, who does not retain its simple words indelibly impressed upon the memory, and feel in a renewed heart the influences of the blessed truths taught in its lines. It was the hymn beginning,

If our parents’ plan of reading, and allowing us to read, all that came in the way, had any danger in it, it was in our case counteracted by the free conversation about what was read, which usually followed, and by the duty constantly inculcated, and practised by themselves, of reading and searching the Scriptures as the standard by which every practice, principle and opinion, in religion or morality, must be tested. We were taught to view the Bible as the words of an infallible Teacher, by which the instructions of every other were to be tried, and only to be received in so far as they were in accordance with this heaven-descended guide: we were, thus early, led to analyse what we read, to exercise our understandings upon whatever came in our way, and to receive nothing as truth, until it had been put to the test of the Divine word.

Our Sabbaths were our happiest days; we were near no place of public worship—not so near, at least, as to permit any of the children often to attend. As soon as we were dressed and had breakfasted, family prayer was attended to, and then our father would point out some hymn or passage of Scripture which he wished us to learn, when we would sally forth, book in hand, in different directions, one to stretch himself upon the soft grass in the field close by, another to pace backward and forward on the pleasure walk, or to find a seat in the bough of an old bushy tree; while another would seek a little summer-house our father had made of heather, and seated round with the twisted boughs of the glossy birch, each reading aloud till the allotted lesson was thoroughly fixed upon our minds. If the day was wet, or if it was the winter season, we would gather around the table by the window. During the afternoon, mother would read to us, or all of us, father and mother included, read by turns; questions were then asked, and conversation entered into, about what we had been reading.

It was upon one of these occasions, when some remarks made by one of my parents in endeavouring to call our attention to the truth that we must be changed, renewed in the image of God; or, to take up the simple figurative expression then made use of, that we must have new hearts, else we never could be happy with our Father in heaven, that an impression was made upon my mind, never to be effaced: from that hour, through all my follies and all my waywardness, the thought of that new heart still haunted me, until I indeed found peace with God through Jesus Christ, and felt the renewing power of the truth of God.

Viewing the practice of allowing children to consider their lessons as a part of their amusement, as pernicious in its tendency, as calculated to induce a habit of trifling with serious things, and to form a giddy, frivolous character, our parents never permitted anything like levity in attending to our lessons; we never were allowed to consider them as a recreation, but as serious, though cheerful employment, which must never be trifled with, but seriously and earnestly engaged in. A uniform veneration for the word of God was evinced by themselves, and if we read or repeated any part of it, we were taught to do so seriously; if a hymn was recited, or any piece in which the name of our Creator might occur, we were accustomed to do so in a solemn and attentive manner.

We had been about six years in this place, when my father’s master died, and his lady kindly recommended him to her brother, who was in want of a gardener. We now removed to the east of Scotland; and our dwelling, until the death of the former gardener, who was laid aside by age, was two rooms, rented for us, in the adjoining village. About two years after our arrival, his decease allowed us to remove to what was to us a pleasanter abode, as being a little more secluded, but otherwise possessing little advantage. There, several of us attended a female school, supported by the lady, for the instruction of the children of servants upon the estate.

Our attendance, from various causes, was by no means regular; the necessity for one of us remaining at home, to assist our mother, prevented regular attendance, and the change from a dry inland situation, to a low, damp locality, upon the east coast, so affected our health, that, for many years, the spring of the year turned our dwelling almost into an hospital. The loss of time and expense incident upon sickness, in our circumstances, were keenly felt; however, experience gradually taught us how to manage sickness without so much medical attendance as we at first required. My brothers procured employment in the neighbourhood, and I entered the house of my father’s master.

I had little relish for the society I was thrown into in this place; all my habits and pursuits were at entire variance with what my fellow-servants practised; though the light of the Gospel had not yet entered my mind—it was only struggling for an entrance.

When I now look back to that period of mental conflict, I am convinced that my darkness and difficulty arose, not from any mystery thrown around the beautiful simplicity of the Gospel by my teachers, but that I entertained a secret unwillingness to yield up my own will, and my own wishes; my heart was divided—I was striving to serve God and Mammon; the love of the world, and the things of the world, shut out the light of the glorious Gospel; and it was not till my heart was subdued by the love of God, till I became willing to do, or be, or submit to, anything which God required, that I found peace—then I saw God as my Father in Jesus, receiving me freely, through him; the burden of guilt was removed, and I was led in the paths of obedience by love.

I had been a few years in my situation, when my mother’s health being very much impaired, I felt it my duty to return home. There were now ten of us, besides our father and mother: my eldest brother was employed in the garden; my second worked with a tradesman in the neighbourhood; and two of my sisters were employed in the family I had left; while five younger brothers and sisters were at school. The eldest of these was soon after engaged by the village teacher as his assistant.

When at home, our Sabbaths were spent much in the same manner as formerly, only we had now the opportunity of attending public worship; and instead of merely conversing, we had begun to try and commit our thoughts to writing. Our parents would request us to state our reasons for certain parts of our belief, or our ideas of the meaning of certain passages of Scripture; we would also, often exert ourselves to give expression to our thoughts in a verse or two of poetry. At these times, several of us would apply our minds to one subject, and it was interesting to observe the different forms our thoughts would assume.

Our mother’s health was re-established, and our circle of acquaintance widened, but not much, for few in the same walk in life as ourselves sympathized with us in our pursuits, and we had as little relish for theirs: our time fully occupied, we never felt the power of the temptations to evil to which young persons, in the same circumstances, are usually exposed: we had been carefully taught in early childhood, that

and idle empty hearts, too, he will fill with sin and folly. I firmly believe, that the only safety from temptation in this world of sin, in this state of weakness, is to have our hearts full of the love of God, our understandings enlightened by the truth of God, and our hands actively engaged in whatever useful employment the providence of God places within our reach; never sighing over our limited opportunities of doing good, never repining that we are not placed in situations, and endowed with talents to do and suffer great things for the cause of Christ, or fretting, because our opportunities of improvement are few and small.

This has been my most besetting sin, and the most powerful temptation to which I have been exposed; and, so far as it has prevailed, it has lessened my usefulness, and retarded my improvement. Could we comprehend how great is the blessedness of being permitted to be fellow-workers with God, we should not thus trifle with the opportunities afforded us of doing what we can; but feeling that we are called to an honour and felicity far above anything we can deserve, eagerly seize the slightest, if it be but to whisper a word of truth in the ear of the poorest child, to lure on and assist some ignorant one to spell out and understand a passage, a phrase, or even a word of the book of God, or even to minister to the comfort and happiness of those around us in the things of this life. Thus our Father in heaven stooped to lavish kindness and care upon man’s mortal frame, to throw the sweets of summer at his feet, and hang the luxuries of autumn overhead, to enamel the field, to paint the flower, and carve the leaf; and shall we disdain to lay hold of every opportunity of ministering in the slightest degree, or in the humblest way, to the comfort and enjoyment of those around us? And yet how often are opportunities of doing small acts of kindness and usefulness let slip, while we are sighing over our narrow sphere and our limited means of serving God, or benefiting man!

For a considerable time our family circle was unbroken; however, by the marriage, at different times, of four members of the family, six only remained around our parents. Sorrow might have had a resting-place in the bosoms of some of that family circle, but to the eye of lookers-on they were happy as ever. But change, death, and sorrow were to come. Our beloved father was suddenly and unexpectedly removed from among us, and a long course of illness in the family followed on his departure. Illness prevented for a time our removal from the abode which had so long sheltered us, and where we had spent so many happy days.

At this time, however, we all recovered; but shortly after our removal to another residence, five of us were again prostrated by fever, and our youngest sister—our gentle, quiet, affectionate sister, she who lived but for the happiness of those around her—was removed.

I am now residing with three sisters and our youngest brother, under the roof of our widowed mother; other two relatives live with us, and I am still engaged in my old occupation of managing the house, which I have never quitted since I returned on account of my mother’s health, except for about two years, when I was in the service of others.

Many sources of enjoyment and comfort have been removed; but the spring to which our beloved and revered parents led us in our early years, that fountain whence issued our sweetest and purest enjoyments, is still open to us, even the well of living waters which never can be dried up; and though those loved ones are departed, and we cannot but feel the loss of their society, we are happy in the hope of soon meeting them, where there are pleasures for evermore. Religion—the knowledge of God—has been to us our strength and our happiness, the source of all we have enjoyed worth calling enjoyment: it has been the sunshine which, in the hour of prosperity, has made earth fair unto us as the bowers of Eden; and when the darkness of adversity encompassed us, it has been the star whose beaming indicated the approach of the morning’s brightness.