ovely boy, and one
day he came home to find him at the gates of death. "A great change has
come over our boy," said the weeping mother; "he has only been a little
ill before, but it seems now as if he were dying fast." The father went
into the room, and placed his hand on the forehead of the little boy. He
could see the boy was dying. He could feel the cold damp of death. "My
son, do you know you are dying?" "No, am I?" "Yes; you are dying." "And
shall I die to-day?" "Yes, my boy, you cannot live till night." "Well,
then, I shall be with Jesus to-night, won't I, father?" "Yes, my son,
you will spend to-night with the Saviour." Mothers and fathers, the
little ones may begin early; be in earnest with them now. You know not
how soon you may be taken from them, or they may be taken from you.
Therefore let this impression be made upon their minds--that you care
for their souls--a million times more than for their worldly prospects.

The Stolen Boy--A Mother's Love.

There was a boy a great many years ago, stolen in London, the same as
Charley Ross was stolen here. Long months and years passed away, and the
mother had prayed and prayed, as the mother of Charley Ross prayed, I
suppose, and all her efforts had failed and they had given up all hope;
but the mother did not quite give up her hope. One day a little boy was
sent up to the neighboring house to sweep the chimney, and by some
mistake he got down again through the wrong chimney. When he came down,
he came in by the sitting-room chimney. His memory began at once to
travel back through the years that had passed. He thought that things
looked strangely familiar. The scenes of the early days of youth were
dawning upon him; and as he stood there surveying the place, his mother
came into the room. He stood there covered with rags and soot. Did she
wait until she sent him to be washed before she rushed and took him in
her arms? No, indeed; it was her own boy. She took him to her arms all
black and smoke, and hugged him to her bosom, and shed tears of joy upon
his head.

The Repentant Father.

Not long ago a young man went home late. He had been in the habit of
going home late, and the father began to mistrust that he had gone
astray. He told his wife to go to bed, and dismissed the servants, and
said he would sit up till his son came home. The boy came home drunk,
and the father in his anger gave him a push into the street and told him
never to enter his house aga