Classic Story

The Power of Silence Joe was an old man aged 75 years. He lived very happily and formed a beautiful family. His children grew up and moved to different cities in pursue of good career and future. He lived in a small village carrying the memories of his deceased wife. Joe had 4 grand children and they used to visit him during their holidays. And it was the vacation time and Joe was eagerly waiting for the arrival of his grand children. He was preparing his home for the kids, cleaning the home, mowing the garden, rearranging the household items, buying the favourite foods, dresses for the children, etc. In the busy arrangements, he lost his favourite watch. old-watch The watch was gifted by his dead wife when their first child was born. Joe treasured the watch and it became his sole companion after his wife's death. He forgot the watch missing and was happy receiving the kids at home. It was only the next day when he was about to take bath, he remembered that the watch was missing. He saw the watch last when he was arranging things in the barn. He was shocked and very upset. His grandchildren asked him why he was so dull and asked him what troubled him. Joe said, 'Dear children, I lost the most precious watch I have ever had and I ever got in my life. It was gifted by your grandma and I lost it while cleaning the home! I feel like I'm missing my heart.' Joe was on tears and the children promised him that they would search the watch for him. One granddaughter asked 'grand pa, do you remember when you saw the watch last before it was missing?' Joe told, 'I guess when I was cleaning the barn!' The children decided to search for the watch in the barn. The barn was full of waste materials, books, scraps, broken furniture, etc. The children searched for more than 2 hours with help of Joe and a servant, but could not find it. Joe was completely shattered and asked the children to stop searching as they could not find anything. The kids were also too sad, and consoled the grandfather. One grandson again moved to the barn, and Joe asked why he was going there again. The little boy requested others not to follow him and remain silent. While the others were little surprised, they still followed what he said. The little boy went to the barn and sat there in silence. The other children reached him and asked him what he was doing and the little boy asked them not to make noise. He sat there for about 15 minutes and then rushed to his grandfather. Yes, he got the watch and happily gave it to Joe. He was surprised and asked how he was able to find it. The little boy replied, 'I sat there without making a noise and the barn was so silent. After a few minutes, I heard the 'tick tick' sound and found the watch. Joe hugged him and thanked the little boy. This is the power of silence. If we stay calm, we can find the solution very easily!

The Duck Pond SO little Bridget took the baby on her right arm and a jug in her left hand, and went to the farm to get the milk. On her way she went by the garden-gate of a large house that stood close to the farm, and she told the baby a story:- "Last summer," she said," a little girl, bigger than you, for she was just able to walk, came to stay in that house she and her father and mother. All about the road just here, the ducks and the chickens from the farm, and an old turkey, used to walk about all the day long, but the poor little ducks were very unhappy, for they had no pond to swim about in, only that narrow ditch through which the streamlet is flowing. When the little girl's father saw this, he took a spade, and worked and worked very hard, and out of the ditch and the streamlet he made a little pond for the ducks, and they swam about and were very happy all through the summer days. Every morning I used to stand and watch, and presently the garden-gate would open, and then the father would come out, leading the little girl by the hand, and the mother brought a large plateful of bits of broken bread. The little girl used to throw the bread to the ducks, and they ran after it and ate it up quickly, while she laughed out with glee,, and the father and the mother laughed too just as merrily. Baby, the father had blue eyes, and a voice that you seemed to hear with your heart. "The little girl used to feed the chickens too, and the foolish old turkey that was so fond of her it would run after her until she screamed and was afraid. The dear father and the little girl came out every morning, while the black pigs looked through the bars of the farm-yard gate and grunted at them, as if they were glad, and I think the ducks knew that the father had made the pond, for they swam round and round it proudly while he watched them, but when he went away they seemed tired and sad. "The pond is not there now, baby, for a man came by one day and made it into a ditch again; and the chickens and the ducks from the farm are kept in another place. "The little girl is far away in her own home, which the father made for her, and the dear father lives in his own home too in the hearts of those he loved." That was the story that Bridget told the baby.

The Kite IT was the most tiresome kite in the world, always wagging its tail, shaking its ears, breaking its string, sitting down on the tops of houses, getting stuck in trees, entangled in hedges, flopping down on ponds, or lying flat on the grass, and refusing to rise higher than a yard from the ground. I have often sat and thought about that kite, and wondered who its father and mother were. Perhaps they were very poor people, just made of newspaper and little bits of common string knotted together, obliged to fly day and night for a living, and never able to give any time to their children or to bring them up properly. It was pretty, for it had a snow-white face, and pink and white ears ; and, with these, no one, let alone a kite, could help being pretty. But though the kite was pretty, it was not good, and it did not prosper; it came to a bad end, oh! a terrible end indeed. It stuck itself on a roof one day, a common red roof with a broken chimney and three tiles missing. It stuck itself there, and it would not move; the children tugged and pulled and coaxed and cried, but still it would not move. At last they fetched a ladder, and had nearly reached it when suddenly the kite started and flew away right away over the field and over the heath, and over the far far woods, and it never came back again-never -never. Dear, that is all. But I think sometimes that perhaps beyond the dark pines and the roaring sea the kite is flying still, on and on, farther and farther away, for ever and for ever.

The Magician THIS is a fairy story, but it is a true one, as you will know when I have done. Magicians are not believed in nowadays, but .they still exist, and I will tell you about one whom you can all employ after reading my story. A favored being of earth, endowed with the spirit and power of which I speak, once exclaimed, "I wish ! " And he wished to see a city built, to see forests and fields, streams, tiny lakes, and many other wonderful things, in a desolate country. This power was put into force in a thousand directions, and soon dwellings arose, scenes once barren waste became end-less beauty, human creatures and dumb animals rejoiced, and the abundance of all good things brought harmony in every home, and there was no envy, for this power blessed all alike. I saw this power in its might and beauty, and it was not from beneath, it was from above ; it was a principle that even exalted beings recognize, honor, and employ. Idleness, want, and misery had vanished, and the thoughts of human creatures had time to soar to loftier themes that still had in them the higher demands of this motive power. Shall I tell you the secret, that you also may exercise this magical gift ? The lowliest hearts and hands may wield it and help to adorn the earth, help to ennoble and bless each fellow-creature. The name of this magical power is Prayerful Labor.

Delicacy of Feeling THE value of a charitable deed depends entirely upon the way it is done. Remember, the poor are always sensitive. Said a poor woman: "If anyone gives me anything and then tells of it, I've paid for it" Yes, paid for it in shame and distress more than the gift was worth. Said a lady at her gate one day: "That's Mrs. Dean; I know it's her by her dress. I gave it to her." Once one man said to another, " I gave you this work because you were poor and I thought you'd be glad to get it." Why did he remind the man of his distress, already hard to bear? It would have sounded much better if he had said: " It is very handy getting this work done so near home. I am glad you could do it for me." The workman would have thought: "I like to work for him, his manners are so pleasant." Now judge which is nicest. A lady was having the Primary Association girls at her house to make a quilt for a donation to some worthy object. One girl whispered: "My sister and I are the only ones here without white aprons." She did not know it was overheard till after dinner, when the hostess appeared from an inner room and whispered to her, "Now you're not the only ones with gingham aprons on." I heard the whisper, glanced at the two faces, and lovelier smiles I never saw. They were from the hearts of sympathy and appreciation.

How a Boy Went Fishing ON the morning of Decoration-day, Harry declined attending the celebration with the family, saying that he preferred to go fishing, "lots of other fellows were going." So Harry gathered up his fishing outfit, his gun, dinner pail, matches, and an umbrella for sultry sun or summer shower, and set them outside the door while he hunted for a few angleworms. The parents bade him good-by, to take care of himself, and not go too far up the canyon, for the walk home after pleasure is over is always a longer one than that of going. When the parents and two youngest ones returned from the celebration that afternoon, the good house- keeper had a nice, plain dinner ready; the two children left in her care were asleep after their dinner, and the house seemed peaceful and cool after the long ride and exercises in the open air. Just before lamp-light, Harry came home, all his trim outfit looking very dusty and out of order; the umbrella was broken, the dinner pail dented and cover lost, and his clothing both torn and dirty. But Harry proudly showed a trout that he had brought home for mother's own supper no one else must ask for a taste or even accept a proffered portion, or cast admiring glances that way. The trout was about five inches long and had a peculiar, ragged appearance. "You see," explained Harry, "the line got tangled after he swallowed the bait, and I shot him for fear he'd get away." " There was no danger of that," said Harry's father. The proud son now expressed a de- termination to. make a fire and cook the trout. " O Harry, don't make a fire to-night and heat the house; the trout will do for breakfast ! " " Mother, the house-keeper might eat it herself; little bites; trout is tempting." "No, Harry, she wouldn't do that." "Well, then, mother, I'll dig a hole in the garden and bury the fish to keep it cool all night." "Very well," said she, and Harry spent half an hour in the garden, then came in satisfied with the labors of the day. Throwing himself upon the lounge, he recounted the rambles he had made, how encumbered he had been with so much luggage, the loss of his ramrod, then the theft of his dinner by a hungry dog, and finally how blistered his feet were with so much walking ; but he had enjoyed himself. Suddenly he asked, " Do you suppose cats or dogs could burrow under that box?" He rose, looked out of the window and spied a neighbor's dog sniffing at the fresh earth. That roused him thoroughly and he forgot that he was tired. The dog was chased for a block away; the trout was dug up, the protecting wrappers of paper, cloth, and leaves were removed, a hot fire kindled, and the trout put into the oven. " Baked trout, mother, is a delicacy enjoyed by epicures." "Thank you, Harry, but I'm afraid I can't eat it to-night." "Yes you can, I want you to know what a real fresh brook trout tastes like. I'll practice on my flute while it bakes, and call you when it is done. You go walk in the garden." She had not the heart "to refuse his pleading smile, and, glad also to get out of the warm kitchen, she strayed into the front yard, and, oh, what a sight met her gaze ! Geraniums, verbenas, and over there the strawberry bed, turned upside down ! Holes and mounds of earth, and, lying crossways of a pansy bed, a hoe and long- handled shovel. "What does it mean?" she asked the housekeeper, who was just returning from an errand up town. " He said it was searching for angle- worms, ma'am." Harry's mother re-entered the house after a serious conflict with self, whether to scold or not to scold, and there was he upon the lounge fast asleep after the weariness of the day. She went to the oven ; the trout was done like a chip. When Harry was awakened for bed-time, he said : " Mother, I enjoyed your having that trout more than though I had eaten it myself." " I know it, my son, and now won't you eat some raspberry pie and sweet milk, for I am sure you must be faint?" " Faint! I'm starved! Mother, I couldn't love you more if you were an angel ! " Harry concluded this declaration with a rapturous hug, and turned with a boy's own appetite to his tempting meal.

Respect for the Aged SOME young girls on their way to Sunday-school cast many humorous glances and subdued tittering toward one of their own age who was walking quietly along beside a venerable man, one who had helped "build up the country." It was observed by the pair, but they cared little for it, only the thoughtless girls did themselves an injustice. It was inappropriate conduct on any day, but upon the Lord's day it seemed even more unbecoming. In former times church-going persons went to their worship reverently, and, reaching the house of God, entered with the utmost respect. When seated, they did not twist around in their seats to gaze at some new-comer; perfect attention was given to the sermon, and it was the theme at home in the evening. Clothing, however rich or poor, need not be scanned or criticised ; when you and I came upon this earth, we were treated equally in that respect. But to return to the subject. The gray-haired man was a Sunday- school teacher, and had taken the pains to invite some new residents to attend meetings and Sunday-school, and, seeing the timidity of the young lady, invited her to walk with him. This was true kindness and courtesy on his part. I know he was once taken a little by surprise when a young person, meeting him bowed and quietly said, " Good-afternoon." Said he in relating the incident, " I thought a good deal of that bit of politeness, for young folks don't notice me on the street, they pass right along." If, in meeting a person upon the street, you slightly bow, or lift the hat, it does not mean an invitation to form an acquaintance. It always looks well for one who is well dressed to render a slight inclination of the head if meeting another less favored of fortune. The poor and the laboring classes already feel the comparison between their and your circumstances keenly enough without any display of conscious superiority or ill-bred pride. I know of a tired little boy who, coming from his long day's work, was mortified to meet a nicely-dressed young lady, but said he that night at home, "She spoke just as politely to me as if I had been Brother Brigham, and she's the nicest and best woman in the world, and I'm going to be as near like her as I can." Some years later he was her escort through a wild portion of country, and he seemed to take delight in bestowing every attention to her and her little children. If she had turned up her nose or giggled at him, do you suppose he could have felt as well toward her? The lounger, the vagabond and the wicked are easily recognized, and have no claim to our notice, but among strangers many we meet are our equals and some our superiors. Let me relate an incident which occurred perhaps twelve years since, in Salt Lake City, as told to me by the young man, who is now a very prominent and beloved gentleman, whom you all know. " I was upon the sidewalk and approaching the crossing. I was in great haste, and as I neared the plank an aged man was in advance of me. I hastily took a few long steps, intending to get there ahead of him. Another step arid I would have accomplished it, but, as I brushed close to him, he turned, saw my eagerness, and politely lifted his hat, stepping aside for me to pass. My momentum was such that I could not stop before I had one foot on the plank, but there I paused, transfixed with shame, a very tableau of precipitate haste and rudeness! We gazed in each other's eyes until he kindly extended his hand in acknowledgment of my distressed apologies, which I knew by his gracious smile and adieu he understood. I could not speak his language, but I learned then and there a lesson from him that I have never forgotten." RESPECT TO OTHERS. There is another thing I would like to mention, which is, speaking of others with too great familiarity. Shall we not speak of our friend as Brother Joseph Hall instead of Jo Hall, especially as the gentleman is one of your Ward Teachers? Remember him as an officer in the church of which you are a member. Strive to emulate the calling and mission of the Teachers, guardians of peace and guides to truth. Well, if you think "that's as good as a motto," write it on your book-mark, for it is true. The Teachers have your welfare more closely in view than even your Bishop. Their frequent visits have given them an insight into your heart; they know your life and circumstances. In sickness they are to be depended upon for consolation and spiritual aid ; you can go to them for counsel, for advice in worldly matters, and if you are in sorrow you can confide in them. You may think their office a small one, but I can tell you the Teachers of the Ward are like the index to the book ; go to them for what you want to find. Boys, you can never become a Bishop, President of a Stake, or attain to any other high calling until you have qualified yourselves as Teachers. Therefore, honor them and strive to win and keep their confidence.

An Hour with the Aged AT a time when I had a nice Sunday-school class, of which I was very fond, there was an aged and very eccentric old lady who was quite particular in the selection of her acquaintances. For some reason of her own, she favored me with her friendship, and it became my custom to start so early to Sunday-school that I could spend an hour with her. Her room was very odd to look at ; she had a fancy for putting almost everything into a separate little bag. The hair-brush, coarse and fine combs, were each suspended in a bag just exactly large enough. Even the penholder stuck out of the top of a slender bag that just fitted it. Would you imagine a thimble-bag also? It was a fact. It took me several visits to become accustomed to her oddity. " It was partly on account of the dust, and partly a habit of order," she said. I found out through her kindness of heart that some of these calico bags held a bunch of grapes and an apple each. "I've got grandchildren," she explained. She also had a Bible so very old that the pages were yellow, and it was so large it was awkward to hold. Many a pleasant talk we had, she explaining to me passages that were obscure. How I loved to read the writings of Esdras in the Apocrypha, and how odd were some of the names in the old Bible ! Such old-fashioned ear-rings as she wore, too. One day I asked her if she had not had them a long time, for my mother had, hidden safely away, a pair something like them that grandpa gave her for her fifth birthday, when he came home with his ship. Said she, "My husband put these in my ears forty years ago on our wedding-day, and I want them buried with me." It so happened that her wish was fulfilled that same summer, and it was my mournful pleasure to attend her last hours and moments in this life. Dear children, it is a sacred pleasure to realize that you have lightened a few hours of the aged and lonely who have been withdrawn from the sunshine and cheerfulness of outdoor existence. If it is your privilege to do so, let your ministrations help them to forget a portion of their sorrow and pain, and perhaps they may bear a kind word for you to the higher and better world.

The Mother's Heart IF children could realize how indifference and disrespect to parents wound the heart, they would never offend in that way. "Honor thy father and thy mother," is one of the first commands, and was intended to be obeyed as much as any other. When one of God's commands is disobeyed, a penalty is sure to follow, whether the transgressor realizes the cause or not. It may be that every disappointment, loss, sickness or affliction is a penalty merci- fully appointed to pay the debt here instead of here-after. If so, what a load we would carry with us into the next life to our great shame and hindrance if we do not expiate, in part, our faults while here. If a person should make you a costly present, you would entertain the most pleasant feelings toward that one; your countenance would brighten and your step hasten to do some kindness in return, and this you would perhaps consider almost nothing in comparison. Yet, to those who gave you the first smile and welcome, shelter, food and clothing, loving care and teaching, do you respond as willingly ? If so, how sweet must be the thought ; if not, there will be much to regret some day. If you were making some beautiful article for yourself, your time and materials being limited, and you should mar your workmanship beyond repairing, how sorrowful you would be ; but the spirit and the record you are moulding are what money cannot create or replace; neither can time efface from the faithful records of the heart, the vivid picture of a misused opportunity, an injured work of the soul. There is some consolation in the knowledge that repentance cancels part of the offense, if not its result; but the heart that never repents or seeks to amend its wrongs, the heart that fosters ingratitude, is cultivating an element that will at last destroy every bright attribute and hope. Let me tell you a story or two from life to show you the tenderness of a mother's heart, its long, enduring love. A woman past sixty years of age, a tailoress, lived near me. She had sons and grandchildren, and was very kind to them all, constantly helping to provide for the families, and even now and then lending some poor man or woman a sum of money to start business with; always cheerful and hopeful in her ways, and never idle. Early and late her sewing-machine was hurrying, and some persons hinted that she must have riches hoarded up. One day a young woman entered the shop, and the tailoress looking at the baby she carried in her arms, the baby responded with a coo and a spring toward her. "What do you think of my baby ? Just take her a minute," said the young mother. The gray-haired woman drew back, and a strange look came over her face. "I have never held a girl-baby in my arms since my own little girl died I cannot! " said she. "How long ago was that?" tenderly asked the young mother. "Thirty years," answered the poor woman, and the tears came so fast she had to wipe them away, and the rest of us had to wipe our eyes too. Long as we had known her, we had never had a thought that a secret, beautiful and sacred sorrow was hidden in her heart, but I know that ever afterward we who were in her shop that afternoon always spoke with tenderness to the poor old woman, as though we were partners in her sorrow. THE GRAVE AT NEPHI. There was another old woman, quite an eccentric person, whom some young folks used to smile at when she came to their houses with her basket of lace and other small things ; she was so lofty about her business, as though it were vastly more important than it really was, and so cheerful about it, as though it was a very delightful way of making her living. "I'm sorry you have to earn your living this way," said a young lady to her one day. " Why, my dear, it's just as well as for your father to be selling furniture the year around; I only has to earn a little bit for myself, and it brings in all I need, and I gets acquainted with lots of fine young folks, and I sees all the pretty things as I pass along as well as if I was riding, and I gets refreshed a bit, and when I goes home I've lots to think over that I've seen through the day, and that's better than sitting alone and fretting. I'm well off, my dear, to get what I need and lay a bit by for a future day." We all felt a little touched, and when she missed coming next week we hardly knew what to think, but the week after she came again, and we inquired if she had been sick. "No, my dears, I have been down to Nephi on the excursion train to visit my daughter." "Why, we didn't know you had a child living." "And I hasn't, my dears; my daughter has been dead and buried these eighteen years; only nineteen when she died; and every year I goes down once in the summer and takes my bouquet of flowers to lay on her grave, and I has my bread and cheese and bottle of cold tea, and I sits down by her grave till sundown, and we has a comfortable time together that lasts till I goes again." Do you think we felt like smiling slyly at her odd ways after that? One of us went out and brought a tray with refreshments, and never forgot to do the same thing in all her after calls. She had kept her Decoration-day years before it had become a national custom. Let me tell you of another mother's faithful heart. This woman had such love for children, such tender pity for the orphan, that she had, when we first met her, raised three adopted children of different parentage. One day a person said to her, "You never had a child of your own, did you?" "Yes, I have got a son of my own," proudly answered the dear old lady. The questioner paused in surprise, and thought, "Perhaps she left him for the Gospel's sake," and respectfully pursued, " Did you leave him in the old country?" "Yes, I have left my dear boy in the old country." "How old is he? and does he write to you?" "He does not write to me; he is twenty- three years old. He died when he was five." "Died? then you have not got him now!" "Yes, I have got him now; I have got him all the time, I have never lose him, he is mine." Children, let these brief stories prove to you that each heart bears its own hidden, sweet history, and do be careful when meeting the aged, the poor and numble, to speak kindly and show them respect; perhaps this is all you can ever do for them, and you little know what might be revealed to claim your pity and admiration.

The Mother's Heart IF children could realize how indifference and disrespect to parents wound the heart, they would never offend in that way. "Honor thy father and thy mother," is one of the first commands, and was intended to be obeyed as much as any other. When one of God's commands is disobeyed, a penalty is sure to follow, whether the transgressor realizes the cause or not. It may be that every disappointment, loss, sickness or affliction is a penalty merci- fully appointed to pay the debt here instead of here-after. If so, what a load we would carry with us into the next life to our great shame and hindrance if we do not expiate, in part, our faults while here. If a person should make you a costly present, you would entertain the most pleasant feelings toward that one; your countenance would brighten and your step hasten to do some kindness in return, and this you would perhaps consider almost nothing in comparison. Yet, to those who gave you the first smile and welcome, shelter, food and clothing, loving care and teaching, do you respond as willingly ? If so, how sweet must be the thought ; if not, there will be much to regret some day. If you were making some beautiful article for yourself, your time and materials being limited, and you should mar your workmanship beyond repairing, how sorrowful you would be ; but the spirit and the record you are moulding are what money cannot create or replace; neither can time efface from the faithful records of the heart, the vivid picture of a misused opportunity, an injured work of the soul. There is some consolation in the knowledge that repentance cancels part of the offense, if not its result; but the heart that never repents or seeks to amend its wrongs, the heart that fosters ingratitude, is cultivating an element that will at last destroy every bright attribute and hope. Let me tell you a story or two from life to show you the tenderness of a mother's heart, its long, enduring love. A woman past sixty years of age, a tailoress, lived near me. She had sons and grandchildren, and was very kind to them all, constantly helping to provide for the families, and even now and then lending some poor man or woman a sum of money to start business with; always cheerful and hopeful in her ways, and never idle. Early and late her sewing-machine was hurrying, and some persons hinted that she must have riches hoarded up. One day a young woman entered the shop, and the tailoress looking at the baby she carried in her arms, the baby responded with a coo and a spring toward her. "What do you think of my baby ? Just take her a minute," said the young mother. The gray-haired woman drew back, and a strange look came over her face. "I have never held a girl-baby in my arms since my own little girl died I cannot! " said she. "How long ago was that?" tenderly asked the young mother. "Thirty years," answered the poor woman, and the tears came so fast she had to wipe them away, and the rest of us had to wipe our eyes too. Long as we had known her, we had never had a thought that a secret, beautiful and sacred sorrow was hidden in her heart, but I know that ever afterward we who were in her shop that afternoon always spoke with tenderness to the poor old woman, as though we were partners in her sorrow. THE GRAVE AT NEPHI. There was another old woman, quite an eccentric person, whom some young folks used to smile at when she came to their houses with her basket of lace and other small things ; she was so lofty about her business, as though it were vastly more important than it really was, and so cheerful about it, as though it was a very delightful way of making her living. "I'm sorry you have to earn your living this way," said a young lady to her one day. " Why, my dear, it's just as well as for your father to be selling furniture the year around; I only has to earn a little bit for myself, and it brings in all I need, and I gets acquainted with lots of fine young folks, and I sees all the pretty things as I pass along as well as if I was riding, and I gets refreshed a bit, and when I goes home I've lots to think over that I've seen through the day, and that's better than sitting alone and fretting. I'm well off, my dear, to get what I need and lay a bit by for a future day." We all felt a little touched, and when she missed coming next week we hardly knew what to think, but the week after she came again, and we inquired if she had been sick. "No, my dears, I have been down to Nephi on the excursion train to visit my daughter." "Why, we didn't know you had a child living." "And I hasn't, my dears; my daughter has been dead and buried these eighteen years; only nineteen when she died; and every year I goes down once in the summer and takes my bouquet of flowers to lay on her grave, and I has my bread and cheese and bottle of cold tea, and I sits down by her grave till sundown, and we has a comfortable time together that lasts till I goes again." Do you think we felt like smiling slyly at her odd ways after that? One of us went out and brought a tray with refreshments, and never forgot to do the same thing in all her after calls. She had kept her Decoration-day years before it had become a national custom. Let me tell you of another mother's faithful heart. This woman had such love for children, such tender pity for the orphan, that she had, when we first met her, raised three adopted children of different parentage. One day a person said to her, "You never had a child of your own, did you?" "Yes, I have got a son of my own," proudly answered the dear old lady. The questioner paused in surprise, and thought, "Perhaps she left him for the Gospel's sake," and respectfully pursued, " Did you leave him in the old country?" "Yes, I have left my dear boy in the old country." "How old is he? and does he write to you?" "He does not write to me; he is twenty- three years old. He died when he was five." "Died? then you have not got him now!" "Yes, I have got him now; I have got him all the time, I have never lose him, he is mine." Children, let these brief stories prove to you that each heart bears its own hidden, sweet history, and do be careful when meeting the aged, the poor and numble, to speak kindly and show them respect; perhaps this is all you can ever do for them, and you little know what might be revealed to claim your pity and admiration.