f children are. Some are always pleasant and
obliging, and you love their company. They seem happy when they are
with you, and they make you happy. Now you will almost always find,
that such children are obedient to their parents. They are happy at
home, as well as abroad. God has in almost every case connected
enjoyment with duty, and sorrow with sin. But in no case is this
connection more intimate, than in the duty which children owe their
parents. And to every child who reads this book, I would say, If you
wish to be happy, you must be good. Do remember this. Let no
temptation induce you for a moment to disobey. The more ardently you
love your parents, the more ardently will they love you. But if you
are ungrateful and disobedient, childhood will pass away in sorrow;
all the virtuous will dislike you, and you will have no friends worth
possessing. When you arrive at mature age, and enter upon the active
duty of life, you will have acquired those feelings which will
deprive you of the affection of your fellow beings, and you will
probably go through the world unbeloved and unrespected. Can you be
willing so to live?

The following account, written by one who, many years after her
mother's death, visited her grave, forcibly describes the feelings
which the remembrance of the most trifling act of ingratitude will,
under such circumstances, awaken.

"It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a long
absence from my native village, I stood beside the sacred mound,
beneath which I had seen her buried. Since that mournful period, a
great change had come over me. My childish years had passed away, and
with them my youthful character. The world was altered too; and as I
stood at my mother's grave, I could hardly realize, that I was the
same thoughtless, happy creature, whose cheeks she so often kissed in
an excess of tenderness. But the varied events of thirteen years had
not effaced the remembrance of that mother's smile. It seemed as if I
had seen her but yesterday--as the blessed sound of her well-
remembered voice was in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and
childhood were brought back so distinctly to my mind, that, had it
not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have
been gentle and refreshing. The circumstance may seem a trifling one,
but the thought of it now pains my heart, and I relate it, that those
children who have parents to love them may learn to value them as
they ough