I WAS hurrying along the street in one of the beautiful inland cities in Wisconsin, when my attention was arrested by the appearance of a little boy on the side of the pavement, selling candy. As I came nearly opposite to him, the oft-repeated interlude, "Candy, Sir?" fell upon my ears, and although opposed to the excessive use of candy, I stepped aside to purchase of him, partly for his encouragement, but with particular reference to the friendship of the little folks of the family with which I was a temporary guest. The candy was as white as the cloth beneath it, being free from the poisonous colouring ingredients so extensively used in the confectionary art. I tasted it, and found it delicately flavoured and very nice. "My boy," said I, "your candy is very good; let me have a little more.' His countenance beamed with joy, as he raised his large eyes, sparkling with delight, and with an unconscious outburst of filial affection replied, "It is good, isn't it? Mother made it." دو The incident, in itself, was trifling: but the spirit of the language carried my mind back through life more than thirty years, and at irregular intervals bade me pause and apply the sentiment to some fact connected with my own history. When I was a little boy at school, and carried my dinner in a VOL. VIII. No. 5.] [MAY, 1871. satchel made of calico, some of my schoolmates carried theirs in fashionable willow baskets, and sometimes teased me because I carried mine in a "poke." I felt vexed at their insults, but reconciled myself with the recollection that, if I did carry a calico poke," Mother made it." In less than twenty-five years after that time, one of these same schoolmates was happy to avail himself of the privilege of sending his children to my school to receive gratuitous instruction, proffered in view of his extreme poverty. His children came to school without any dinner. They had no nice willow basket, and they needed no calico "poke." When in school I had no India-rubber ball, as some others had, but I had one made of woollen ravelings and covered with leather. "Mother made it." I am now so far advanced in life that my friends begin to call me old. But I have not lived long enough to learn why I should not still respect my mother and regard her affectionately. She is now quite advanced in years, and has nearly lost her sight. She sits within a few feet of me, sewing up a rent in my linen coat, while I write this. She knows not what I am writing. She has been a widow eight years, and is still toiling for the welfare of her children. She has never studied grammar, nor philosophy, nor music. These things were seldom taught in her younger days. But she knows their value, and has toiled hard many a day to purchase books for her children, and support them at school. The old dilapidated grammar in my library might testify against her style; but its testimony would be infinitely more terrible against my ingratitude, for I recollect well when she rode seven miles, one cold winter's day, to sell produce, and purchase that book for me, when I was a little boy. It required a sacrifice, but "MOTHER MADE IT." God bless the mothers! "FATHER NEVER PRAYS!" R. L is a wealthy man, and with his wife and family resides in one of our great cities. Mrs. L—, a few years since, became the subject of Divine grace, and is a humble and devoted follower of her Saviour. For a long time her husband's heart remained untouched. Morning and evening the pious mother gathered her little household about her, and the incense acceptable to God, the sacrifice of Christian hearts at the family altar, went up daily to His mercyseat. But the husband and father of the family was never one of the happy group. One morning when Mrs. L-was gathering her little flock about her for prayers, Willie, the youngest, a boy three years old, steadily resisted the call, and started to go down stairs with a very manly strut. "Come to prayers, Willie," said the mother, gently. "No, mamma; I don't want to say my prayers. I am a gentleman. Gentlemen never say their prayers. 66 وو "But gentlemen do say their prayers, Willie," said his mother; they pray to God to take care of them; and I want my Willie to be a good boy; and you cannot be a good boy if you don't pray." "Father never prays," answered the little fellow; "father is good, and father never prays!" "Oh, Willie, don't say so," said the tearful mother; "you do not know about that; father does not meet with us night and morning, but I trust he prays. The little boy yielded, and the thoughtful mother pondered the saying in her heart, "Father never prays!" That evening, after the little ones had laid them down to sleep, and prayed to the Lord, Mr. L- and his wife sat quietly together, and the gentle wife told her husband the story of little Willie, and his argument, "Father never prays!" The strong man bowed his head, while the tears dropped upon his open book. "A little child shall lead them." The father was conquered. He acknowledged his sinful example; and the two knelt down together, and offered up their first united sacrifice of praise and prayer. From that time Mr. L- was never absent from the family altar. However pressed with business, he made time to serve God. It is now a most happy, pious family. May God's blessing ever rest upon them! POLITE CHILDREN. OR some parents these remarks will contain nothing new; to a good many-judging from their children-they will be a revelation. "Thank you, Charlie," said Mrs. Brown, as her little son handed her a paper he had been requested to bring. "Tank' ou, Bidget," said the little fellow a few hours after, as he received a glass of water from his nurse. "Well, Mrs. Brown, you have the best mannered children I ever saw," said a neighbour. "I should be thankful if mine were as polite to me as yours are to the servants. You never spend half as much time on your children's clothes as I do; and yet every one notices them, they are so well behaved." "We always try to treat our children politely," was the quiet reply. That was the whole secret. When I hear parents grumbling about the ill-manners of their children, I always wish to ask, "Have you always treated them with politeness?" I once knew a man, considered quite a gentleman in society, who would speak to his children in a manner that a well-instructed dog would resent. He would order them with a growl to bring him his slippers, or perform some other little service; and yet he complained of the rudeness and disobedience of his children. : Many parents, who are polite and polished in their manners toward the world at large, are-perfect boors inside the home circle what wonder if the children are the same? If they should accidentally brush against another in the streets, an apology would be sure to follow; but who ever thinks of offering an excuse to the little people whose rights are constantly being violated by their careless elders? If a stranger offer the slightest service, he is gratefully thanked; but who ever remembers to thus reward the little tireless feet that are travelling all day long up stairs and down on countless errands for somebody? It would be policy for parents to treat their children politely for the sake of obtaining more cheerful obedience, if for no other reason. The costless use of an "If you please," and "I thank you," now and then, will go far to lighten an otherwise burdensome task. Polish is not everything, but it is something. It is better to have a black kettle that is sound, than a bright one with a hole in the bottom; but there is no reason why the sound one should not be bright, too. It is of the first importance that children should possess those sterling qualities which fit them for battle with temptation and sin; but do not send them out into the world in great clodhopper boots. Shine them up, and both their happiness and influence will be increased. Read what is written in 1 Kings ii. 19: 1 Pet. iii. 8; v. 5; Rom. xii. 10; Phil. ii. 3. THE PRESENTATION IN THE TEMPLE. "Then took he Him up in his arms, and blessed God, and said, Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word: for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation, which Thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of Thy people Israel."-Luke ii. 28-32. THOU who art enthroned on high, In peace now let Thy servant die, For Thou, whose words and deeds are one, By Thee, before Thy hands displayed A lamp to give the Gentiles light, A glory, oh, how infinite! To Israel's faithful seed. G. S. |