church of Christ, so your
children, in a certain sense, and that a very important and precious
sense, _belong_ to the church. Your little, unconscious babe belongs, in
that sense, to the church. You will not, you cannot, misunderstand me.
These are the children of a child of God. All your brethren and sisters
in Christ count them in their great family circle. They covenant with
you to pray for them, to watch for their good, and to rejoice in it, to
provide means for their spiritual prosperity, and to seek their
salvation. But, above all, God will ever have special regard to them as
the children of his dear child.

"Receive now," said he, "the divine ordinance of baptism, whereby God
signifies to you, and seals, all that is implied in being your God."

He drew near the bed, with a silver bowl, from which he sprinkled water
upon the head and forehead of the dear believer, whose countenance
expressed the peace of receiving, rather than the effort of giving,
while her lips moved now and then during the quiet scene.

They brought Edward, the first-born, and he stood, with his hand in his
mother's hand, and was baptized. There were almost tears enough shed by
us for his baptism, had tears been needed. Lucy came next, and then the
rosy-cheeked Roger, who had been persuaded to leave his new sled, a
little while, that Saturday afternoon.

But now the little boy was coming in from his cradle. His mother raised
herself in the bed, and received him in her arms. He had been weaned,
but, on coming to his mother, he began to make some solicitations,
which, beautiful and affecting though they were, some of us endeavored
not to see, but turned to smell of some violets, and to open a book of
engravings. The mother smiled, and held him off, but immediately put two
fingers, one on each eye, and wept;--the marriage-ring on one of those
fingers,--ah, me! how had the finger shrunk away from it. The nurse took
the child and diverted its attention. The husband sat far on the bed,
put one arm under the pillow that supported his wife, and held her hand
in his. Recollections and anticipations, we knew, were thronging,
unbidden, into that mother's soul. She had been reminded of fountains of
love sealed up, and yet there were opening within her living fountains
of water. She grew calm, beckoned for a little book on the table, opened
it, and pointed her husband to a stanza, which she had marked, and he
read it for her:--

"When I can trust my