And when I have none of them on hand, I catch up some story that I want to read, and yet don't want to give that time which I usually devote to solid reading. The volume I lent you Mrs. Nelson blushed; she had had it a week, and read only the first chapter-"I read in four days in this way. And when I have no reading that I am anxious to do, I spend the moments in writing. Most of my letters are penned while waiting for the tea bell to ring. And hark, there it is now; a pleasant sound for your ears, too, I guess, after the homily I have just given you. Please," and she rose gracefully, "let 'great Ï' usher' dear you' to the dining room." "With pleasure; yet I wish the bell had not rung so early. I have not heard half enough."

"Have you never observed, my dear friend, that many sermons lose half their effectiveness by undue length? The benediction at such a time is noted as a relief, not a blessing. Some other time I will preach the rest."

"I pray Heaven I may have resolution enough to practice what you have already taught. Sure I am, if I so do, my life, what is left of it, will be like a perpetual sermon; and my daily benediction like yours also the blessings of my children

yours

and the praise of my husband."

SHE WOKE THAT MORN IN HEAVEN.

SHE knelt alone, that little one,

An orphan child of three,

And whispered forth the prayer she learned

Beside her mother's knee. No gentle hand upon her head

In soft caress was laid,

No sweet voice murmuring her name

She knelt alone and prayed.

The tear drops resting on her cheek

A tale of sorrow told;

For even she, that angel child,

Had found the world was cold,

And murmured forth, with tiny hands
Up-pointing to the skies,

"God, take me to my mamma, when

Poor little Lily dies."

The angels, pausing, heard the prayer,
And in the calm moonlight

Bent down and breathed upon the child,

And kissed her forehead white;

And bearing her with songs of love Through the blue depths of even, They laid her in her mother's arms— She woke that morn in heaven!

GIVE ME MY OLD SEAT, MOTHER.

GIVE me my old seat, mother,

With my head upon thy knee;

I've passed through many a changing scene

Since thus I sat by thee:

O, let me look into thine eyes;

Their meek, soft, loving light Falls like a gleam of holiness Upon my heart to-night.

I've not been long away, mother;
Few suns have rose and set

Since last the tear drops on thy cheek

My lips in kisses met;

"Tis but a little time, I know,

But very long it seems,

Though every night I come to thee,

Dear mother, in my dreams.

The world has kindly dealt, mother,
By the child thou lov❜st so well;
Thy prayers have circled round her path,
And 'twas a holy spell

Which made that path so clearly bright,
Which strewed the roses there,

Which gave the light and cast the balm
On every breath of air.

THE earth hath treasures fair and bright,

Deep buried in her caves,

And ocean hideth many a gem,
With its blue curling waves.

Yet not within her bosom dark,
Or 'neath her dashing foam,
Lies there a treasure equalling
A world of love at home.