The Cradled Infant [pp. 280]

THE CRADLED INFANT.
regions, some refugee Protestants, in years long
gone by. One will point you to this or that place,
his dark Italian eyes filled with expression, as having been the scene of some tragic deed, which he
relates with as much freshness and vigor as if it had
just occurred under his own eyes, and not one, two,
or three centuries ago. To them almost every
rock speaks a volume. At one place they pointed
to a pass in the mountains, where, after the order
by the Duke at the Castello di Mendovi for the
liberation of the captives taken in the persecution
of 1686, through the inhuman conduct of the officers in charge of the order, one hundred and fortysix perished from fatigue; and still higher up the
mountain, among the same number, eighty-six
more were buried in a furious snow storm; and that
merchants who crossed these mountains the following spring, saw the bodies stretched out on the still
unthawed snow, many of whom were mothers, clasping their children in their arms, cold and still!
"There," said one man, "my ancestors were dashed
down that terrific steep;" "and yonder," said another, "fourscore infants perished from the snow, as
their mothers and families fled from their homes,
in the beautiful valley of Pregola, firom the fury of
the Popish emissaries." Volumes, in fact, might be
written on the scenes that occurred in many of these
lone places. The inhabitants love to dwell on these
things, and point them out to their children, that
they may feel the uncertainty of their earthly resting place, and look upward to that brighter, fairer
clime, where are no more howling storms and bitter
persecutions, but all is bright and fair. D.
Original.
THE CRADLED INFANT.
COME hither! Hast thou an eye for beauty-for
the works of human art? Hast thou not gazed
long and with rapture at the sculptured stone-the
painted canvass? It is well; for the genius that
informs the lifeless matter is the rich gift of Divinity; but turn thou now to this cradled image-this
breathing form-this thing of dawning life. Thou
hast a contemplative eye-behold the miniature
work of a mightier artist. Look at it earnestly!
Nay, stoop not to kiss the bright cheek, lest thou
break its slumbers-thou shouldst study it thoughtfully-solemnly. It is good the heart's dull soil
should be stirred even as is the earth's, to admit
the sunshine and the shower; and what a train of
emotions shall the contemplation awake within
thee! —thy tenderness for helplessness-thy love
for the beautiful-thy fears for its fragility —thy
pleasure in innocence-thine awe for the mysterious-thankfulness for the redeemed, and hope for
the immortal. Yearns not thy heart already over
it with a strange mixture of pity and delight?
Has it been laid to rest by one skillful to adjust its
pillow? for its limbs are without strength, and it
hath no power, even in waking, to tell its needs.
Such is thine instinctive observance. And behold!
is it not fair? What sculpture has fashioned aught
of so exceeding loveliness? How exquisitely the
rosy form is laid in its gentle repose! How like
the fold of a flower is the position of the rounded
limbs, with their soft, waxen polish! What pencil
hath wrought a hue like the pale rose tint of its
cheek, or the soft brown of the clustering curls,
which the sunbeam, stealing through its curtains,
has just touched into gold? What odor, even of
the rose, is like the freshness of the breath that
stirs the fair bosom with a motion like that of the
leaf just lifted by the unseen air! Yet tremble as
thou gazest! Its beauty is as the morning dew
and the early flower. It is by the pillow of infancy that the spoiler lurks in most frequent ambush. To-morrow the loveliness thou lookest on
may have been touched with decay. Yet turn not
sadly away: it hath a deeper and holier charm than
beauty. Innocence is written on every lineament
as with a pencil. In the clear glance of that blue
eye, which is now half opening to the light-in the
wakening and trustful smile with which it now
meets thy gaze, there is no guile-no shadow of
impure thought. Yet let thy delight be tempered
still; for the morning passes, and the noonday
shall arrive, whose dusty paths shall sully that purity. Thou gazest on that which shrines all the
elements of the good and evil of a human nature.
Within that infant being are sealed the high prerogatives, the lofty attributes, the dark passions,
the mighty impulses, the secret springs of human
mind and action. Behold the chief mystery of creative Power with reverence! And gaze still on;
for deepening thought is yet in the study. In that
scarce conscious clay thou seest an heir of sin's
mournful heritage-the dark bondage of death;
but joy-joy for the redeemed! The ransom has
been paid! the bonds canceled! In the soft depths
of that earnest eye thou seest the first beamings of
a spirit whose birthright is immortality. Shall it
be cast away? O blossom of life! O beautiful and
smiling babe! who can look at thee without hope?
hope extending through the boundless ages of eternity. Kneel by that cradle, believing Christian!'tis a holy altar-and make that hope strong in the
prevailing might of prayer.
IT is a poor business to attend to the accuimulation of a fortune for our children, and neglect their
education. It is as if a man would gather straws,
and scatter precious stones. Let parents but cultivate the minds and morals of their children, and in
a majority of cases they will reap a hundred fold.
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