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little girls about my own age. One of them was offended by something her mamma said or did; and she sullenly pouted and hung down her head. I had never seen any one sullen before this time; but a few days after, taking offence at some contradiction or reproof, I hung down my head as I had seen the child do. My mother, who knew that sullenness was no part of my disposition, said, “This is something new;" and she inflicted such a correction as suited the occasion, and repressed my future imitations of that kind.

I have adduced these instances to show the power of example over children. But it should be remarked that they also prove how needful it is to study and ascertain their natural dispositions ; not from single acts, or peculiar circumstances, but from their general behaviour. Had one of these children been treated as sullen, and the other as violent, false estimates would have been made, and improper measures would have been pursued, with imminent risk in both cases.

JOHN ASHWORTH'S MOTHER.

NE hot summer day, a poor woman was seen toiling up the hill called Fletcher Round, with a flannel " piece" on her back. A little boy was walking by her side. On reaching the Milkstone, she laid down her heavy burden, and leaning on the "piece” for support, she wiped the sweat from her face with her check apron. With a look of affection the boy gazed into the face of his mother, and said, “Mother, when I get a little bigger, you shall never carry another “piece.” I will carry them all, and you shall walk by my side.

On that very day the painful fact flashed

into the mind of that little boy that he was the poor child of poor parents,—the young son of a humble, toiling, kind, and affectionate mother. But as he grew bigger and stronger he redeemed his promise, and carried the "pieces ” up Fletcher Round, and on to Mr. Whitworth's warehouse at Sparth, without calling at the Milkstone to rest. His love for his mother was deep and lasting, and from his own pen we have the following sketch :

The impression made on my mind on that hot summer day, while my mother was resting and wiping the sweat from her flushed face, was amply confirmed in my after life. On awakening to a sense of our social position as a family, I found we were not amongst those considered respectable in our neighbourhood. The test of respectability consisted in having a set of mahogany drawers, and an eight-day clock in a mahogany case; and a holiday shirt for the

young men, and a printed dress with a large flounce for the young women. Many of the flannel weavers in our village could boast these possessions; and they held up their heads above others not so fortunate. But the real aristocracy were those who used tablecloths, had knives and forks to eat with, and displayed a muslin window-blind on a Sunday. One family had a room they called a parlour, the floor of which was covered with a carpet; a secondhand table-piano also figured largely, which was looked upon by us as a mark of great wealth and respectability. This family held quite a distinct position. None of us ever presumed to be even on speaking terms with such "great folks."

One Saturday evening I was playing with my companions, when my mother gently laid her hand on my head and requested me to go with her into the house. I took up my marbles and quietly followed her.

What do you want me for, mother? It is not time to go to bed yet; let me play a little longer, will you?”

“I know it is soon to call you from your play, but I cannot help it. Your trousers want mending, and I want to wash your shirt; for though we are poor, we ought to be clean. I intended to get you a pair of clogs, but I am not able. I am making you a pinafore out of part of a wool-sheet; it will cover your ragged clothes, and you will then look a little better."

The quiet way in which she spoke, and the sad look which accompanied her words, subdued all my objections. I silently walked upstairs to allow her to begin washing and patching; and while my playfellows were still laughing and shouting in the street, I crept naked into my humble bed, not to sleep, but to think and to weep. My mind wandered far into the future that night. What air-castles I did build! I thought I grew to be a man, entered into business, made money, built a new house with a white door and brass knocker to it, planted trees around it, and had a lawn and a garden; bought myself new clothes and twenty shirts ; bought my mother a new crimson cloak and bonnet, and gave her plenty of money to buy clothes for my brothers and sisters, and to get a set of mahogany drawers, an eight-day clock, and muslin curtains to the window. I then fell asleep a man of great importance, and awoke in the morning-without a shirt !

Sunday morning ever found my mother doing all she could to get us in time for school. She rose the first and lighted the fire, got ready the breakfast, dressed the younger children, and helped us all. This Sunday morning I was going to have on my new “bishop,” to cover my patched garments. I shall never forget that new pinafore. The wool-sheets had at that time stamped on them, in large black letters, the word WOOL. My mother had got one of these old sheets as a gift from the warehouse; but it was so far worn that she could not make my pinafore without either

a

new

putting on a patch or cutting through the letters. She chose the lesser evil, thinking she could wash out the letters; but though she washed, and washed, and washed again, she could not wash out the remaining half of the word. I put my arms down the sleeves, and was stretching the front, when I saw the letters. My little spirit sank within me in bitter sorrow. I looked into my mother's face, but when I saw the tears in her eyes, I instantly said, "Never mind, mother,-never mind. It will do very well. It covers my patches; and when I get to school I will sit on the letters, and then no one will see them. Don't cry, mother; we shall be better off yet.

Away I went to the Sunday-school, with bare feet and a packsheet pinafore, with half the letters WOOL down one side, to take my place in the third Bible-class, among boys who were much better dressed, and who did not like to sit beside me on that account.

This state of things was for the most part the result of that direst curse of our nation-intemperance; for, unhappily, John Ashworth's father was a drunkard, and the money which should have procured food and clothing for his eight children, was spent in the gratification of his own appetite: the consequence was, that his exemplary and God-fearing wife had to struggle against poverty and want. What a hideous vice is drunkenness! It is the foulest, blackest spot upon our country's otherwise bright escutcheon. “Its march of ruin is onward still! It reaches abroad to others -invades the family and social circle—and spreads woe and sorrow all around. It cuts down youth in its vigour—manhood in its strength-and age in its weakness. It breaks the father's heart -bereaves the doting mother-extinguishes natural affectionerases conjugal love- blots out filial attachment_blights parental hope—and brings down mourning age in sorrow to the grave.

It produces weakness, not strength; sickness, not health ; death, not life. It makes wives widows—children orphaus-fathers fiendsand all of them paupers and beggars. It brings shame, not honour; terror, not safety; despair, not hope; misery, not happiness. And now, as with the malevolence of a fiend, it calmly surveys its frightful desolations.”

SECURITY IN CHRIST.
ORD Jesus ! we, believing The Holy Ghost, revealing
In Thee, have peace with God; Thy grace, hath given us rest;

Eternal life receiving Thy stripes have been our healing; The purchase of Thy blood.

Thy love doth make us blest. Our curse and condemnation

In Thee the Father sees us Thou barest in our stead ;

Accepted and complete; Secure is our salvation

The blood from sin which frees us, In Thee, our risen Head.

For glory makes us meet.
The late S. P. TREGELLES, D.D.

young men, and a printed dress with a large flounce for the young women. Many of the flannel weavers in our village could boast these possessions; and they held up their heads above others not so fortunate. But the real aristocracy were those who used tablecloths, had knives and forks to eat with, and displayed a muslin window-blind on a Sunday. One family had a room they called a parlour, the floor of which was covered with a carpet; a secondhand table-piano also figured largely, which was looked upon by us as a mark of great wealth and respectability. This family held quite a distinct position. None of us ever presumed to be even on speaking terms with such "great folks."

One Saturday evening I was playing with my companions, when my mother gently laid her hand on my head and requested me to go with her into the house. I took up my marbles and quietly followed her.

“What do you want me for, mother? It is not time to go to bed yet; let me play a little longer, will you ?”

“ I know it is soon to call you from your play, but I cannot help it. Your trousers want mending, and I want to wash your shirt; for though we are poor, we ought to be clean. I intended to get you a pair of clogs, but I am not able. I am making you a pinafore out of part of a wool-sheet; it will cover your ragged clothes, and you will then look a little better.

The quiet way in which she spoke, and the sad look which accompanied her words, subdued all my objections. I silently walked upstairs to allow her to begin washing and patching; and while my playfellows were still laughing and shouting in the street, I crept naked into my humble bed, -not to sleep, but to think and to weep. My mind wandered far into the future that night. What air-castles I did build! I thought I grew to be a man, entered into business, made money, built a new house with a white door and brass knocker to it, planted trees around it, and had a lawn and a garden ; bought myself new clothes and twenty shirts; bought my mother a new crimson cloak and a new bonnet, and gave her plenty of money to buy clothes for my brothers and sisters, and to get a set of mahogany drawers, an eight-day clock, and muslin curtains to the window. I then fell asleep a man of great importance, and awoke in the morning-without a shirt!

Sunday morning ever found my mother doing all she could to get us in time for school. She rose the first and lighted the fire, got ready the breakfast, dressed the younger children, and helped us all. This Sunday morning I was going to have on my new “bishop,” to cover my patched garments. I shall never forget that new pinafore. The wool-sheets had at that time stamped on them, in large black letters, the word WOOL. My mother had got one of these old sheets as a gift from the warehouse; but it was so far worn that she could not make my pinafore without either

putting on a patch or cutting through the letters. She chose the lesser evil, thinking she could wash out the letters; but though she washed, and washed, and washed again, she could not wash out the remaining half of the word. I put my arms down the sleeves, and was stretching the front, when I saw the letters. My little spirit sank within me in bitter sorrow. I looked into my mother's face, but when I saw the tears in her eyes, I instantly said, "Never mind, mother,—never mind. It will do very well. It covers my patches; and when I get to school I will sit on the letters, and then no one will see them. Don't cry, mother; we shall be better off yet.”

Away I went to the Sunday-school, with bare feet and a packsheet pinafore, with half the letters WOOL down one side, to take my place in the third Bible-class, among boys who were much better dressed, and who did not like to sit beside me on that account.

This state of things was for the most part the result of that direst curse of our nation-intemperance; for, unhappily, John Ashworth's father was a drunkard, and the money which

should have procured food and clothing for his eight children, was spent in the gratification of his own appetite: the consequence was, that his exemplary and God-fearing wife had to struggle against poverty and want. What a hideous vice is drunkenness! It is the foulest, blackest spot upon our country's otherwise bright escutcheon. “Its march of ruin is onward still! It reaches abroad to others -invades the family and social circle--and spreads woe and sorrow all around. It cuts down youth in its vigour-manhood in its strength—and age in its weakness. It breaks the father's heart -bereaves the doting mother-extinguishes natural affectionerases conjugal love— blots out filial attachment_blights parental Hope—and brings down mourning age in sorrow to the grave. It produces weakness, not strength; sickness, not health ; death, not life. It makes wives widows-children orphans—fathers fiendsand all of them paupers and beggars. It brings shame, not honour; terror, not safety ; despair, not hope; misery, not happiness. And now, as with the malevolence of a fiend, it calmly surveys its frightful desolations."

SECURITY IN CHRIST.
ORD Jesus ! we, believing The Holy Ghost, revealing
In Thee, have peace with God; Thy grace, hath given us rest;

Eternal life receiving Thy stripes have been our healing; The purchase of Thy blood,

Thy love doth make us blest. Our curse and condemnation

In Thee the Father sees us Thou barest in our stead ;

Accepted and complete; Secure is our salvation

The blood from sin which frees us, In Thee, our risen Head.

For glory makes us meet.
The late S. P. TREGELLES, D.D.

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