rgive me."

She could not speak, but her hand pressed mine. She looked upon me, and
lifting her thin, white hands, she clasped my own within them, and cast
her eyes upward. She moved her lips in prayer, and thus died. I remained
kneeling beside that dear form till my sister removed me; but the joy of
youth had left me forever.

Boys who spurn a mother's counsel, who are ashamed to own that they are
wrong, who think it manly to resist her authority, or yield to her
influence, beware. One act of disobedience may cause a blot that a
life-time can not wipe out. Wrong words and wrong actions make wounds
that leave their scars.

Be warned; subdue the first rising of temper, and give not utterance to
the bitter thought. Shun the fearful effects of disobedience. Lay not up
for yourselves sad memories for future years.

[Illustration: _The Shipwreck_]

STAND BY THE SHIP

"Do, grandmother, tell us about the little drummer boy whose motto was,
'Stand by the ship.'"

"Grandmother is not used to telling children stories; but, if you will
be quiet, she will try." And this is the story she told us:--

During one of the fiercest battles of the civil war, the colonel of a
Michigan regiment noticed a very small boy, acting as drummer.

The great coolness and self-possession of the boy, as displayed during
the engagement; his habitual reserve, so singular in one of his years;
his orderly conduct, and his fond devotion to his drum (his only
companion, except a few well-worn books),--all these things unusual in
one so young had attracted notice, both from the officers and the men.
Colonel B.'s curiosity was aroused, and he desired to know more of him.
So he ordered that the boy should be sent to his tent.

The little fellow came, his drum on his breast, and the sticks in his
hands. He paused before the colonel and made his best military salute.
He was a noble looking boy, the sunburnt tint of his face in good
keeping with his dark, crisp curls.

[Illustration: _The Drummer Boy in Battle_]

But strangely out of keeping with the rounded cheeks and dimpled chin,
was the look of gravity and thoughtfulness, in the serious, childish
eyes. He was a boy, who seemed to have been prematurely taught the
self-reliance of a man. A strange thrill went through Colonel B.'s heart
as the boy stood before him.

"Come forward, I wish to talk to you." The boy stepped forward, showing
no surprise under the novel position in which he foun