cause it was secret the disciples overestimated him. They regarded him as good when he was bad. Ananias and Sapphira were held in esteem by the Church when they had no right to it.

Nor is it otherwise with us when не retain invisible sins. Whether we mean it or not, we are deceiving our fellow-men. They give us credit for more than we possess. Surely this should lead us to pray," Cleanse thou me from secret faults."

4. Secret faults become public faults. Herein the physical is illus trative of the spiritual. If there is serious though hidden disease, it will presently manifest itself. Supposing that there is a "secret fault' in the lungs, a minute defect, perhaps hardly larger than a pin's point, exists there. It becomes greater; it grows and grows. First one cell, then another, is destroyed, and at length the secret fault becomes public. There is the hollow cough, the wasted hand, the sunken cheek, the hard breathing, weary days and sleepless nights. Then you see the blinds of the house drawn down ominously; perchance you happen to pass when a coffin is being borne out. Some day when you are loitering in the cemetery you see among the gay flowers, the fluttering leaves, and the overshadowing trees, a new grave, and a new grave-stone, and a new inscription, telling how the family, the Church, and the world have been bereaved of one who, in the prime of life, has been called home. So is it morally. Indeed, so hardening is the influence of sin, that a secret fault indulged in must inevitably become public; the sinner gets indifferent as to whether it is known or not. Here is a man that justifies a debased appetite by intemperance; but he does it in private. He gets drunk by his own fireside. On no account would be have his fellow-citizens become acquainted with his habit. So callous,

however, does iniquity render the heart, that presently the inebriate will make no secret of his vice; he will frequent hotels, he will be found reeling in the streets. He who reads unclean and lascivious books on the sly, pushing them under the cushion of the couch, or thrusting them into his pocket when a visitor enters, will not be so particular by-and-bye. The said volumes will, one day stand boldly on his library-shelves

"Thinkst thou to be concealed, then litt e thought!

That in the curtain'd chamber of the soul

Dost wrap thyself so close, and dream to do

A hidden work? Look to the hues that roll

O'er the changed brow, the moving lip behold,

Linking thee unto sound, the feet that

We

Well, then, may we wish that we may be cleansed from "secret faults." Let us take heed, however, that our wish forms itself into a prayer. "Cleanse thou me." cannot cleanse ourselves. Alas for the deluded man who with the water and laver of his own resolves and efforts, seeks to free himself from moral impurity. "The work exceeds all nature's power." Only when God comes to our aid can we be effectually delivered from secret faults. Be this, then, our reiterated supplication, "Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow; " "Clean thou me from secret faults."

The boy moved again, almost with a start, as though the pain felt an instant before suddenly increased. All children are thankless! the speaker kept on, talking to a friend, yet really thrusting at the boy.

So

"Not all," answered the friend. "I have a mother, and I know my heart in regard to her. It is full of love and gratitude, and I cannot remember the time when it was not so."

"There are exceptions to all rules. And, besides, there are few women ke your mother. That would be a cold beart, indeed, into which she did not inspire love."

"Love begets love. That is the old, trite story, and as true to-day as it was a thousand years ago. If children grow up cold and thankless toward their parents-if they early separate from them, going off into the world, and treating them with neglect-the fault, in most cases, rests with the parents. They did not make themselves lovely in their children's eyes."

There followed this a dead silence

for some minutes. The boy had let his book fall from before his eyes, and was listening intently. His mother saw this, and had a quick perception of what was passing in his mind.

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Edward," said she, "I don't like boys in my bedroom. Go downstairs."

This was not spoken harshly. The mother's tone of voice had changed considerably.

The boy arose without hesitation, and left the room.

"I don't think it's always good to talk before children," remarked the lad's mother, as soon as he had retired.

"A proper regard for our language and conduct before our children," was answered," is a matter for the gravest consideration. They have keen instincts; their eyes are sharp; they read us, and know us sometimes better than we do ourselves." They are sharp enough, I suppose, but not quite so sharp as all that," was answered. 66 'I'm not one of those that make children of much importance."

66

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Our estimation in the case will not alter the result, my friend. Of that we may be certain. As we are to our children, so will they be to us. Love begets love, and kindness good-will. If we do not hurt them wantonly, they certainly will not, in turn, wound us by neglect."

"Hurt them wantonly! I'm not sure that I get your meaning "

"Are you much surprised that Tom Baldwin made his escape from home at the first good opportunity?"

"Well, I looked for it, I must confess; but that don't excuse him; he's proved himself an ungrateful boy, after all his mother has done for

G

him. But, as I said a little while ago, all children are thankless. I don't calculate on anything from mine. They'll grow up, and scatter themselves east and west, getting off as far from home as possible; and I'll probably be left to an asylum in the poor-house when I get old and helpless."

talk so before your chil

Do you dren ?" said the friend.

66

They know my sentiments."

So I inferred. In that way you hurt them. You put their future on trial, and write out a verdict of condemnation when it is impossible for them to defend themselves against your cruel charges. I saw your boy stand and writhe, a little while ago, under your sharp thrusts at him. He was no party to Tom Baldwin's unfilial act, and it was a hard thing in you, my friend, to make Tom's delinquency the occasion for smiting your own son, whom you may bind to you, if you will, by triple cords of love, not to be broken, or push away to a distance, where he can feel no warmth and no attraction. Take care! You are on dangerous ground!"

66

Oh, you make too much of children," was answered, but with a little constraint in manner.

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They are simply human beings. They have sensitive souls, quick to receive impressions. Tender to love, but hard or resentful to all unkindness. They are creatures of feeling rather than thought, not generally holding malice, but rarely losing the memory of pain from unjust infliction. In after years this memory is often revived. It is my opinion that in a large number of cases, where children neglect their parents in old age, the cause lies just here."

"All of which is simply vindictive," said the lad's mother, "and a poor compliment to human nature."

"Human nature does not often suffer unjustly through hard judg ment," was answered. "But I am not offering an apology for her short

Who says that he feels so?"

The mother started. There was a mingling of anger with surprise in her face.

"Must it not be that you with hold too often the signs of love?"

I shall get angry at you, if you talk to me any longer in this strain."

"No, my dear friend, you must not get angry at me. Too many sweet memories of the past are shared between us. Bear with me, now, as one who holds you in her heart. Shall I relate to you an incident that occurred in my house only yester day? It is under the warrant of this incident that I have ventured on the plainness of speech which has disturbed you."

The red spots faded off from the mother's cheeks. The keen light vanished from her eyes.

"Go on," she said, her voice dropping down from its sharp key.

Edward had called to see the children. We always like to have him come. He is never rude nor coarse in his manners, but gentlemanly in bearing beyond what is usually seen in lads of his age. have more than once compared him with my oldest son, and each time. wished that John resembled him in

I

"There was a vase of wax flowers on the parlour mantelpiece, the ingenious maker of which had placed several imitations of moths and beetles among the leaves. The vase was covered with glass. John's newformed interest in entomology had given a special attraction to these Wax moths and beetles; and on this occasion he went so far as to lift the glass covering, that he might obtain a closer view. In venturing to do this, one of those accidents that so frequently happen with children, and grown people, when they are not doing right, occurred. The glass shield slipped from John's hand, and cracked to pieces on the floor. The noise startled and excited me. I went hastily to the parlour, and saw at a glance the damage which had been done, and also comprehended the cause of the disaster. Edward looked pale and frightened; John fashed and grieved. Repentance and self-condemnation had come with the accident. Even through my indignation, which could not be stayed, I saw that. Hard words were struggling to come through my lips, but I repressed them. Experience warned me to keep silence till I could speak calmly, and under the influence of

reason.

"I stood for a few minutes looking at the shivered glass, and then, without trusting my lips to say any thing, went out for the dust-pan and brush. I was glad that I had controlled myself. It is my experience that scolding almost always does harm; and even where it works correction of bad habits, I am certain that a different way would have been

better. I was quite self-possessed when I returned. As I stooped to gather up the broken fragments of glass John came up close to me. I did not speak to nor look at him. Edward had drawn back to a distant part of the room. Silently the work of collecting the pieces of glass went on, John standing near me all the time. It was done, and I was about rising, when I felt his arm across my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry,' he said, in a penitent voice, laying his face down against mine, which I had turned toward him; it was wrong to touch it, I know, but I thought I would be so careful, I can't tell what made it slip out of my hand.'

66 6

Accidents are almost sure to happen with us, my son,' I answered, gently, but seriously, when we are not doing what is just right. Let this disaster stand as a lesson for the future.'

"You shall take my money and buy a new case, dear mother,' he answered, in a spirit of manly justice that was very grateful to my

sad and longing that it brought tears to my eyes.

The mother of Edward caught her breath at this. Her lips moved as if she were about to speak; but she repressed what was in her thoughts, and kept silent.

"Of course your mother loves you,' answered John." So the friend continued. 'But Edward said, 'No, I'm sure she doesn't love me.'

6

"Why do you say that?' questioned John.

"If she loved me, she wouldn't be always scolding me and hurting me with hard words, no matter what I do. O John. if I had such a mother as you, I'd be the happiest boy alive! I'd do anything for her!'"

There was a silence for some time. It was broken by the friend, who said, "Forgive me for having told you this. The wounds of a friend are better than the kisses of an enemy. Forgive what may seem an exaltation of myself above you. He who knows my heart, knows that in it there is no pride of superiority. He knows how weak I am, how often I fall short, how often passion gets the better of reason-how near it was to bearing me down yesterday. It was in His strength that I overcame, and helped my boy instead of hurting him. In His strength you may overcome also, and win the love of a child whose heart is athirst for your love, as the drooping flower is athirst for dew and rain."

The mother of Edward bowed her face into her hands. For a little while her body shook with halfchoked sobs. Then she looked up at her friend. Her eyes were wet, her face pale, her lips curved with pain and grief.

"not

You are not hurt with me?" "No, no," she answered, with you, but with myself. What have I been doing? What madness has possessed me? I know that love begets love-that, in Mrs. Howitt's

beautiful words, it has readier will than fear. I know also that hardness begets hardness-that driving is more difficult and far less certain than leading. And yet, knowing this, I have sought to rule my chil dren by passion and force-to drive instead of leading them into the right ways! No, no, I am not hurt with you. For all this plain speaking which I so much needed, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, If it is not better with both me and my children in future, it will not be your fault. But it shall be better!"

And it was better. How quickly all was changed under the new order of home government! Love and kindness found swift obedience where anger and harshness had met obstruction. Sunshine dropped in through a hundred places which had been closely barred against its sweet influences; and Edward, wondering at the pleasant change, drew nearer and nearer to his mother, and felt that she loved him.

O love! sweet to all hearts! Ye who should give of its treasures, see to it that your hands fail not in its dispensation. It has signs peculiarly its own, which are never mis taken. If you would win love, look at the sign.

DONE GIVING.

'No, sir, I shall not give you shilling. It is just give, give,' all the time, from one source or another.

and for my part I am tired of it. I tell you, sir, I am done giving."

These words came from the lips of a man whom the Lord had abund antly prospered. But as his riches increased, he forgot the command, "Set not thy heart upon them." The passion for heaping up treasure had so grown upon him, that he felt as if every pound given away was really robbed from his stores. If you are ever tempted to court wealth, re