he meanest food, and are compelled to be obedient, and to do the most
servile work.

Now, suppose, while you are in the poor house, some kind gentleman and
lady should come and say, "We will take this little girl, and give
her food and clothes for nothing. We will take her into our own
parlor, and give her a chair by our own pleasant fireside. We will
buy every thing for her that she needs. We will hire persons to teach
her. We will do every thing in our power to make her happy, and will
not ask for one cent of pay in return."

What should you think of such kindness? And what should you think of
yourself, if you could go to their parlor, and receive their bounty,
and yet be ungrateful and disobedient? Would not a child who could
thus requite such love, be deserving of universal detestation? But
all this your parents are doing, and for years have been doing for
you. They pay for the fire that warms you; for the house that shelters
you; for the clothes that cover you; for the food that supports you!
They watch over your bed in sickness, and provide for your
instruction and enjoyment when in health! Your parents do all this
without money and without price. Now, whenever you feel ill humored,
or disposed to murmur at any of their requirements, just look a
moment and see how the account stands. Inquire what would be the
consequence, if they should refuse to take care of you.

The child who does not feel grateful for all this kindness, must be
more unfeeling than the brutes. How can you refrain from, doing every
thing in your power to make those happy who have loved you so long,
and have conferred upon you so many favors! If you have any thing
noble or generous in your nature, it must be excited by a parent's
love. You sometimes see a child who receives all these favors as
though they were her due. She appears to have no consciousness of
obligation; no heart of gratitude. Such a child is a disgrace to
human nature. Even the very fowls of the air, and cattle of the
fields, love their parents. They put to shame the ungrateful child.

You can form no conception of that devotedness of love which your
mother cherishes for you. She is willing to suffer almost every thing
to save you from pain. She will, to protect you, face death in its
most terrific form. An English gentleman tells the following affecting
story, to show how ardently a mother loves her child.

"I was once going, in my gig, up the hill in the village of Frankfo