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Another year has rolled over us; and although we cannot trace the pathway of our little work, nor hear the many remarks made ahout it in the eighteen thousand families we visit monthly, yet have we a few of its foot-prints to encourage us.

Our little periodical wins its. way; not only does it maintain its standing in these truly trying times, but it enlarges its horders—for we know it has an echo in mothers' hearts. We are told that many look for its appearance with eagerness and delight, and that amidst their many trials and sorrows they expect something from "the Mothers' Feiend " to comfort them—something to guide and direct; and it gives us a pleasure, which more than compensates for all our care and anxiety, to know we do not labour in vain.

We have tidings to cheer us from missionary fields— from Scotland, from Ireland, and from our own happy isle; hence we have abundant encouragement to proceed in our work; and, God helping us, we will go forward cheerfully. May His Holy Spirit accompany the reading of its pages,


and make the numbers of the coming year greater blessings than any which have preceded them!

But while we earnestly pursue our work, we must again ask the assistance of mothers and Sabbath-school teachers. Sure we are that our issue might be doubled, if all those who take an interest in our pages, and look for comfort and direction from them, would but recommend it in their circle, and really and earnestly seek to obtain subscribers.

Indeed, those who thus value it are under a moral obligation to see that others enjoy the same blessings; and having themselves tasted that the Lord is gracious, they must—they will be anxious to bring others acquainted with the same Saviour; thus we shall be fellow-workers, and sharers in the great reward.

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"Last night died its day; and the deeds thereof were judged. To-day is thy watch, O sentinel! to-day thy reprieve, O captive! What more?—to-day is the golden chance wherewith to snatch fruition."

When we commenced our seventh volume, how little did we imagine that many who were, treading life's pathway with us, would now be living in that world of which we had often talked with them, and tried to realise its happiness; but so it is. The common diseases incident to all have taken some away; and the direful pestilence has made many homes desolate, leaving parents and children weeping over the dead. And now, alas I thousands of our countrymen are in the sanguinary battle-field. Who among them will return to tell the tales of horror enacted there, none can say. Mothers! do you pray for our soldiers and sailors?—Do Tou?

We lately attended a Maternal Meeting where many a soldier's wife and mother assembled with us. One young mother, with a countenance full of deep anxiety, sat there, with an infant in her arms, who seemed to partake of its mother's gloom. She asked us, with great earnestness,


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