had been a fight between them. But William prevented it, and conquered Julia by kindness and submission to injury.

I was talking and playing with William one day, and trying to get well acquainted with him. Julia saw us, came up and pushed William away, and appeared to be angry with him. She was angry because she thought I liked him better than I did her. But her brother was not to blame, if I did like him better. She certainly had no right to be angry with him. I was the one to be angry with, if anybody. 'Julia," said I, "do you not wish me to love William ?" She hung her head, and was silent. "Are you not willing I should love him, and play with him, as

well as with you ?"

She kept her head down,

and would not answer. But William felt much for her when he saw her look so confused. Said

I, "William was talking about you, when you came in and pushed him away. He was telling me how he loved you, and how he wanted me to love you; and he said, the more I loved you, the better he should like me; and that he had rather have everybody love you, and play with you, than love him, and play with him. Now you are angry with him! O, Julia, how selfish and ungenerous you are!" William pitied his sister, and tried to comfort her, and reconcile her to herself--for that was all she wanted-and he did. Thus he conquered his angry sister again without any fighting. She struck him indeed, and was angry, but there was no fight, simply, because William loved her, and would not fight lack again.

H. WRIGHT.

My mother bless'd me, yet so low
I scarce could hear her speak;
And she breathed heavily and slow,
And pallid was her cheek.

I tried to pray beside her bed,

My bosom filled with fear,
For something terrible and dread
I thought was coming near.

And while my mind was wandering,
I heard a trembling sigh;
It seemed as if an angel's wing
Was passing swiftly by.

I looked my mother's breath had ceased,

And motionless she lay;

Her hand I fearfully released

'Twas stiff and cold as clay.

Those came who never knew her worth, And placed her 'neath the sod;

So I'd no mother on the earth,

Nor father but my God.

My weary feet far far have roved,

And many friends I have met; But one to love me as she loved I've never met with yet.

But vile and hardened I should be

If I did not confess,

That though the Lord hath smitten mo, He did it but to bless.