Year: 1863

very early into the minds Of children /;
and, like all seed sown by mothers
hand, it will take deep root there. Then
will the virtues of the aged shine very
brightly before the mind, and their iufrm-
tiles be looked on with with great leni-
ency and pity. Next to the motherless
children do the stricken in years." claim
our sympathy.


Not long since. good looking man, in
middle life, came to our door asking for
the minister. When informed that he
was ou. of town, he seemed disappointed
and anxious. On being questioned as to
his business, he replied


81 have lest my mother, and as this
place used to be her home, and as my
father lies here, we have come to lay her
beside him"


Our heart rose in sympathy, aud we
said, "you have met with great loss"


"Well yes" replied the strong man,
with hesltancy, "a mother is great loss
in general-but our mother had outlived





childhood, and her mind had grown as
weak as her body, SO that she was no CON-
fort to herself, and was burden to every
body. There was seven of US, sons and
daughters, and as we could not find any
body who was willing to board her, we
agreed to keep her among US year about.
But I've had more than my share of her,
for she was too feeble to be moved when
my time was out, and that was more than
three months before her death. Butthen
she was good mother IN her day, and
toiled very hard 20 bring us all up"


Without looking at the face of the
heartless man, we directed him to the
house of neighboring. pastor, and re,
turned to our nursery. We gazed on the
merry little faces there, which smiled OF
grew sad, in imitation of ours, those lit.
tie ones to whose ear flows no word in
our language half SO sweet as "Mother y
and we wondered if that day would ever
come when they would say of US, "!She
has outived her usefulDess-she is nc
comfort to herself, and burden to every
body else" And we hoped before that
day would dawn, we night be taken to
our rest. God forbid that we should out
live the love of our children; rather let
US die while our hearts are part of their
own, that our grave may be watered with
their tears, and our love linked with theiI
hopes of heaven


When the bell tolled for the mothers
burial, we went up to the sanctuary tc
pay cur on y token of respect to the aged
stranger; for we felt that we could give
her memory tear, even though her own
children had none to shed.


"She was good mother in her day,
and toiled hard to bring US all up-but
she had outlived her usefulness was
no comfort to herself, and a burden to
everybody else" These cruel, heartless
words rang in our ears as we saw the
coffin borne up the aisle. The bell tolled
long and loud, until its iron tongue bad
chroncled the years of the toil,Worn
mother. One, two, three, four, FIVE ; how
clearly and almost merrily each stroke
told of her once peaceful slumbers in her
mothers bosom, of her seat at nightfall
on her weary fathers knees. Six, seven,
eight, nine, ten, rang out the tale of her
sports upon the green,sward, in the
meadow and by the brook. Eleven,
twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, spoke
more graveIy of school days, and little
household joys and cares, Sixteen, sew
enteen, eighteen, sounded out the enrap-
tured visions of maidenhood, and the
dream of early love. Nineteen brought
US before happy bride. Twenty spoke
of the young mother, whose heart was full
to bursting with new strong love which
God had awakened in her bosom. And
then stroke after stroke told of her early
womanhood-of the love and care and
hopes. and fears and tolls through which
she passed during these long veals, till
fifty rang out harsh and loud From that
to sixty, each stroke told Of the strong
warm hearted mother and grandmother,
living over again her own Joys and sor-
rows in those of her children and ler
childreu'S children. Every family of all
the group wanted grandmother thea. and
the only strife was who should secure
the prize. But bark the bell tolls on
Seventy, seventy-oue, two, three, four
She begins to grow feeble, requires some
care, is not always perfectly patient or
satisfied, and goes from one child's house
to another, SO that no one place seems
like home. She murmurs in plaintive
tones, that after all her toll and WEAKNESS,
it is hard she cannot be allowed home
to die in; that she must be sent rather
than invited from house to house. Eighty,
eighty one, two, three, four, five, ah, she
is now a second child, "she has outived
her usefulness; she has now ceased to be
a comfort to herself or ANYBODY :" that is