THE TWO MISTAKES. To the Editor of " The Mothers' Friend." Y DEAR MADAM,-Finding your widely circulated little knows no respect of persons, I venture to send you two circumstances relative to my own history; but whether will be found worthy to occupy a place in your valuable azine must be left to your own judgment. am one of a numerous family, and when a little boy--just ble of minding cows and so on--returning home one night my father and elder brother, we found my mother and 's very busy preparing for baking. My mother had just vered that she had not so much flour as she needed; my not being considered so laborious as my elder brother's, I selected to run to the mill, the distance of about three ters of a mile. It being rather dark, and I a little timid, I ested the company of a younger brother; this was refused, I was ordered off immediately. Passing through the gate, od making a noise in the hope that my young brother d be sent out to accompany me. The door soon opened, instead of my brother, I saw my mother with a stick, with h she beat me, and threatened to beat me more severely, if not soon return. now began to feel sorry I had given my mother so much ole, and, losing all my fears, I ran as fast as I could, obtained flour, and returned with all speed. Pride then took the e of fear, and I began to reason thus with myself—" Mother be sure to call me a good boy for going so quick, and I shall re to have a cake from the oven!" But when I opened the the first glance of my mother's eye plainly told me she had forgiven me, and her words soon confirmed her looks; for d scarcely entered when I heard the heart-rending words-ke off your shoes, Sir, and go to bed supperless." have not written this, dear madam, out of any disrespect y mother, but to show that the best of mothers may somemake a mistake. My mother was a good, kind mother, I often think if The Mothers' Friend had been in circun then, we should have been a much happier family.old times are passed away, my mother has long been in -en, I am become a father, and am liable to make mistakes as I will tell you. ne Sunday morning, a little time since, my eldest daughter repeating to me a piece she had learned from her magazine, 118 GOING HOME ON SATURDAY NIGHT. "The Wind in a Frolic ;"-coming to that part where the wind reached the cattle, she made use of the word "familiar” instead of "unusual." I corrected her;--she replied, "I just learned it from Eliza's book, father, and it was so there." I told her that could not be; she said, "It was, indeed, father." I again told her she must be wrong; she was about to confirm what she had said, but I rather sternly bade her be silent, assuring her I knew better. Going to school she called for her companion Eliza, and borrowed her book; and when I overtook them my little girl looked at me with a countenance of innocence and fear, and held up the book, saying "Look here, father." I at once saw I was wrong-my conscience smote me, I confessed my fault, and asked my child's pardon, which was readily and cheerfully granted. Thus I have told my tale in as few words as I could, hoping some mother or father may be benefited thereby. C. D., a Father. [Fathers and mothers need wisdom. Ask it from heaven.—ED.] GOING HOME ON SATURDAY NIGHT. THINKS I, how nice to have a house of my own! no matter how little, provided it will hold two or so; no matter how humbly furnished, provided there is hope in it; let the wind blow-close the curtains-what if they are calico, or plain white, without tassel, or any such thing? Let the rains come down-heap up the fire-no matter if you have not a candle, for the light from beautiful glowing coals sheds a sunset through the room, just enough to talk by-not loud, as in the highways-not rapid, as in the hurrying world-but softly, slowly; whispering, with pauses between, for the storm without and the thoughts within to fill up. Then wheel the sofa round before the fire-no matter if the sofa is a settee uncushioned, if so be it is just long enough for two, or say three. How sweetly the music of silver bells from the time to come falls on the listening heart then! How mournfully swells the chime of the days that are no more! SOMETHING ABOUT THE FACE. 119 ECTS OF EARLY TEACHING ON A ROBBER. URING the absence of Mr. James Montgomery at public hip, one Lord's day, some robbers entered his house at field, and stole, among other articles, a silver inkstand, h had been presented to him by the ladies of that 1. The loss, however, was but for a time-" And,” arked Mr. Montgomery, "proved the occasion of the test compliment I ever had paid me. A few days - my loss, a box came directed to me-I opened it, and there was, uninjured, the missing inkstand! and a , in which the writer expressed his regret that he had red my house and taken it. The thief said, his mother taught him some of my verses when he was a boy, on seeing my name on the inkstand he first became re whose house he had robbed, and was so stung with orse that he could not rest until he had restored my perty, hoping God would forgive him."-Mother, -h on! M. L. E. SOMETHING ABOUT THE FACE. HE expression of the face is a beautiful distinction of nanity. We are little aware of the influence which it stantly exerts. If the dumb animal, on whom man too en exercises his cruelty-if the horse or the dog, when fering from the violence of man-could turn upon him h a human look of indignation or appeal, could any one st the power of the mute expostulation? How extrainary, too, the difference of expression in the human e, by which the recognition of personal identity is ured! On this small surface are depicted such ious traits, that among the millions of inhabitants the earth, no two have the same lineaments of face. hat dire confusion would ensue if all countenances were ke! If parents did not recognise their children! the 120 FRAGMENTS FOR SPARE MOMENTS. friend his friend! But now we can point to our beloved ones among the multitudes of the assembled universe! How wise the great Maker of All! How good! God is love! FRAGMENTS FOR SPARE MOMENTS. PREPARING JEWELS FOR SETTING. THE lapidary employs more than one instrument in preparing the gem for its final setting. They are kept in the work-house, and are continual neighbours to the instruments, often coming under them till made quite ready. The Church is God's jewelry-His work-house; and the Christian passes from one process of refinement to another, polishing for His house and palace. FORGIVENESS. Forgive thy foes-nor that alone,- So does the fragrant sandal bow In meek forgiveness to its doom; Sheds in abundance rich perfume. BISHOP HORNE'S REMARK ON THE CONVERSION OF THE ETHIOPIAN EUNUCH.-(ACTS VIII. 27, 39.) "How will this illustrious Ethiopian rise up in judgment against those Christians, who in hours of domestic ease and tranquillity never open a Bible, when he did not even travel in his chariot without one. A nobleman thus employed was an object that engaged the attention of Heaven, and an Evangelist was sent to sow the seed of eternal life in a ground so well prepared." NOTICES OF BOOKS. Home Thoughts. A Cheap Magazine for the Family. Kent, Paternoster Row. As far as we have seen the numbers they bid fair to be useful. DEAD LITTLE ONES. MOTHER, when sweet babe put into your and placed it up Well, we have a shady path, you had your ms, did you think it was given to you? Did you? Ah, u made a mistake; it was only LENT, not given. Has e bountiful Giver taken it back again, ong the shining multitude? Has He? me there also; so we will step aside into d together converse of our folded lambs. They look very lovely up there, in their beauty, boundg over the celestial hills and down the golden streets by e river of life, do they not? "Yes; but they were vely down here too!" To be sure they were; did ever other take her first and last kiss of a babe a day old ithout thinking it beautiful?-NEVEr. Our path led us on where we could look upon dying and ead babies, at a season of great mortality among these ttle ones. Oh, how beautiful and unearthly they looked, id down in their silence, with folded hands upon the niet little breast! They looked like chiseled marble, nly more perfect than mortal hands could form it. A iend remarked, "It is well with the babe." We thought f the lines by a mother who had suffered, and we said— "Is it well with the child?" and she answered, “”Tis well.” But I gazed on the mother who spake, For the tremulous tear, as it sprang from its cell, And I marked that the bloom from her features had fled, So late in their loveliness rare, And the hue of the watcher, who bends o'er the deal, Was gathering in pensiveness there! "Is it well with the child?" and she answered, "'Tis well!" I remembered its beauty and grace, When the tones of its laughter did tunefully swell In affection's delighted embrace ; |