94 A Boy's Resolve. I WILL not swear; God's name in vain to take; But I will try The truth my guide to make. I will not steal, Nor be for fighting blamed. If I begin In youth to sin, My misery is sure; Can I thus find, But if I love The God above, My friends and parents kind, GO HOME, BOYS. The Cost of Carelessness. How often do we hear as an excuse for some harm done or wrong committed, 'I had no thought of causing any such trouble.' Certainly, 'want of thought' draws after it evils, and leaves behind it a broad trail of cost and sorrow. We see the result of carelessness in all departments of life. A nurse fell down stairs with an infant in her arms, and fifty years afterward there was a humpbacked man creeping about the streets. A switchtender opened the wrong switch, and the heavy train dashed into a great building that stood at the end of the short side-track, and lives were lost. An operator gave a careless touch to his instrument, and there was a terrible collision on the rail. A boy shot an arrow from his bow; it went whizzing away from the string, and a comrade is blind for the rest of his life. A young man pointed a gun, in sport, at his best friend, playfully saying that he would shoot him; and one noble youth was carried to his grave, and another goes through life with an awful shadow of memory hanging over him. A druggist's clerk compounded the prescription in haste, and in an hour a young girl was dying in terrible pain from poison. There is a great deal of the same want of carefulness in ways whose consequences are not so manifest, yet are no less destructive. A man speaks light and careless words in a humorous mood, and while the laughter goes around a heart is writhing in agony. The man did not mean to stab his friend, but he made a wound which no after kindness can altogether heal. There is a manifold ministry of pain wrought by careless words. A person's name is mentioned in a certain circle, and the most inexcusable liberties taken in speaking of him, his character, his business, his acts. No one means to do him harm or injustice; yet, in the guise of confidence, words are uttered which are like so many stabs. There is no part of this life we are living, day by day, that is not vital with influence. We are evermore touching other lives, and our touch to-day may decide a destiny. Our silent example, as well as our words and deeds is vital, and throbbing with influence. There is need, therefore, for the most unwearying watchfulness over every act and word, lest in a moment of unheeding we start a train of consequences that may leave sorrow and ruin in its track for ever. Go Home, Boys. Boys, don't hang around the corner of the streets. If you have anything to do, do it promptly, right off, then go home. Home is the place for boys. About the street corners and at the stables they learn to talk slang, and they learn to swear, to smoke tobacco, and to do many other things which they ought not to do. Do your business and then go home. If your business is play, play and make a business of it. I like to see boys play good, earnest, healthy games. If I ruled the town I would give the boys a good, spacious playground. It should have plenty of soft green grass, and trees, and fountains, and broad space to run and jump and to play suitable games. I would make it as pleasant, as lovely as it could be, and I would give it to the boys to play in, and when the play was ended I would tell them to go home. Home Politeness. READING FOR MOTHER. A BOY who is polite to father and mother is likely to be polite to everybody else. A boy lacking politeness to his parents may have the semblance of courtesy in society, but is never truly polite in spirit, and is in danger, as he becomes familiar, of betraying his real want of courtesy. We are all in danger of living too much for the outside world, for the impression which we make in society, coveting the good opinion of others and caring too little for the good opinion of those who are in a sense a part of ourselves, and who will continue to sustain and be interested in us, notwithstanding these defects of deportment and character. We say to every boy and to every girl, cultivate the habit of courtesy and propriety at home-in the kitchen as well as in the parlour, and you will be sure in other places to deport yourself in a becoming and attractive manner. Reading for Mother. THERE is nothing in the recollections of my childhood that I look back upon with so much pleasure as the reading aloud my books to my mother. She was then a woman of many cares, and in the habit of engaging in every variety of household work. Whatever she might be doing in the kitchen, or dairy, or parlour, she was always ready to listen to me, and to explain whatever I did not understand. There was always with her an undercurrent of thought about other things, mingling with all her domestic duties, lightening and modifying them, but never leading her to neglect them, or to perform them imperfectly. I believe it is to this trait of her character that she owes the elasticity and ready social sympathy that still animates her under the weight of almost four-score years. How much I owe to the care and sympathy she gave to my childish years I cannot measure.-Mary C. Ware. Bubbles. AFTER spending a good long while in blowing bubbles, each one having several turns at it, they laid aside the pipe and saucer, and had a talk with each other, of which I wish to give some account. Ned.-I say, Mary, do you remember what teacher said to us last night about bubbles? 95 Mary.-Why, Ned, he said so much, how is it likely I can remember? Ned.-I know he said much, and it isn't likely you can remember all. I can't myself. But don't you remember there were a few things he said over and over again, that we might be sure to remember them? Mary.-Oh, yes; do you mean those things? If so, I think I do remember them. Ned.-Yes, those are the things I mean. How many were there of them? Mary.-Three, I think. Ned. And what was the first? Mary.-Let me see now; I must not be in a hurry, or I am sure to trip. I think the first was something like this: 'Sinful pleasures are as glittering as bubbles.' Ned.-You are right, Mary; and you remember his telling us how pretty the bubble looked as it floated in the air, gilded with the sunbeam, and that sinful pleasures were just as pretty to look at, tempting us to our ruin. Mary. What was the second of the three things, Ned? Ned.-Perhaps Nellie can tell us. Nellie.-Teacher said there was nothing in the bubbles. Ned.--Yes; his words were: 'Sinful pleasures are as empty as bubbles.' Nellie.-Yes; and he said, 'Sinful pleasures could not make us happy.' After having them our hearts would be uneasy, and would crave for something else. Mary.-I quite forget just now what the third thing was. Can you mention it, Ned? Ned.-Yes; it was this: 'Sinful pleasures are as fleeting as bubbles.' Just as bubbles float away and soon burst and are gone for ever, so sinful pleasures soon disappear. Don't you remember how he talked about Moses 'choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season?' The pleasures of sin are only for a season, a short season; but the pleasures of religion are for ever. Mary.-Now, when you mention these things again I can remember them quite well. Ned.-Well, then, let us all repeat the things we had to keep in mind, Mary.-'Sinful pleasures are as glittering as bubbles.' Nellie.-'Sinful pleasures are as empty as bubbles.' Ned.-'Sinful pleasures are as fleeting as bubbles.' |