or breaking a household, but these two are the mightiest of agencies.

The mother stands first. There are certain things which must be true
of every mother. She must be a Christian. The father may fail if he
must, but let the mother fail and God pity the children. She must be
consistent. The children may forget the inconsistencies of the father
but when the mother fails the impression is lasting as time and almost
as lasting as eternity. She must be prayerful. I do not know of
anything that lifts so many burdens or puts upon the face such a look
of beauty as the spirit of prayer. And she must study her Bible. When
we pray we talk with God, but when we read the Bible God talks with us
and every mother needs his counsel.

A poor young man stood before a judge in a great court to be sentenced
to death. When asked if he had anything to say, he bowed his head and
said, "Oh, your honor, if I had only had a mother!"

A mother's love is unfailing. When I was in Atlanta, Georgia, in
October, 1904, a little girl and an old mother came to see the
governor. They had met on the train, and the child agreed to take the
old lady to see the governor of the State. They entered the governor's
office and she spoke as follows:

"I want to see the governor," was the straightforward request of the
little lady addressed to Major Irwin, the private secretary to the
governor, as he inquired her errand.

"That is the governor standing there. He will see you in a moment,"
replied the major, indicating Governor Terrell standing in the group.
The governor went over to her. "What can I do for you, dear?" he
asked. Throwing back her curls she opened wide her baby brown eyes and
said:

"Governor, it is not for me; it is for this old lady. Her name is Mrs.
Hackett, and she wants to talk to you about pardoning her boy." This
was said by a little lady of eleven, who spoke with all the grace and
_savoir-faire_ of a woman twice her age.

In a voice choked with emotion, Mrs. Hackett began her tearful,
scarcely audible story and presented her petition for clemency for her
boy.

"Governor, have mercy on me," she began, and threw back her bonnet,
showing a face wrinkled by age and furrowed and drawn by suffering,
"and give me back my boy."

Breaking down under the strain of talking to the governor, whom she had
planned for months to see, the pleading mother gave way to her grief.
The governor was visibly moved, and continued to str