em. Think of this: it will serve you
well, and teach you to be careful, ere you hurl the stone, to know what
is the object of your anger.

I have often thought that we all helped to make my brother selfish. He
was so very beautiful that we indulged him in every whim he had; so he
came to look upon us at last as bound to serve him. I do not blame him
only; they who had the nurturing of him, they to whom his young spirit
was sent so fair from God's heavenly gardens, in their unwise love
taught him to think of himself, and make others serve his purposes.

These dear, helpless little ones--they come to us in fresh beauty like a
spring morning, and we taint their spirits with selfishness, and darken
them with worldly care!

Years after, when my brother and myself had grown to men, we bound our
interests in one. He had quicker parts than I--was a much better
scholar; so I trusted all our business confidently in his hands. But I
grieve to say he did not meet my confidence with honor--he took from my
purse to enrich his own; and when I stood by his bedside, at last, and
saw how the deep wrinkles were worn in by care upon his once round
cheek, I wept. I wept that he should die without having found in life
that peace which any one would have predicted for him over his cradle,
when the rosy cheeks sank into the soft pillow, and the long lashes of
his baby eyelids rested upon them! I love that brother now, and his
child, who had become penniless after his death, I warmed in my
chimney-corner, and held to my heart as though she had been my own
child. Brother, I know thou hast repented, long ago, of the wrongs thou
didst inflict, and that some time, in the presence of God, I shall clasp
thee in my arms, pure again as when we sat together on our mother's
knee!

See how I have wandered away off from my story!

Let me tell you how we got our clothes. Did you ever ask yourself what
we could do then, when there were so few shops, and so little money to
carry to the shops?

We had sheep, who gave us wool, which my mother spun, and wove it into
cloth. Just think of that! Do you imagine you would have as fine
clothes, if your mothers had to spin all the cloth? She knit, too, O, so
fast! as well in the dark as the light. I have known her to knit a
coarse stocking easily of an evening--her fingers _flew_ along the
needles! Cotton cloth was a great rarity among us. I remember once my
mother had a cotton gown, and it was esteemed very pre