uld fall, if he couldn't have one
of those sparkling glass drops,--and then he wonders if Betty will give
the baby his humming top to play with before he gets home--and whether
his mother will have apple dumplings for dinner? And then he explores
his Sunday pocket for the absent string and marble, and then his little
toes get so fidgety that he can't stand it, and he says out loud,
"hi--ho--hum!" and then he gets a very red ear from his father, for
disturbing _his_ comfortable nap in particular, and the rest of the
congregation generally.

Yes, I'd have a church for children, if I could only find a minister
who _knew enough_ to preach to them! You needn't smile! It needs a very
long head to talk to a child. It is much easier to talk to older people
whose brains are so _cobwebbed_ with "isms" and "ologies," that you can
make them lose themselves when they get troublesome; but that
straight-forward, childish, far-reaching question! and the next--and
the next! That clear, penetrating, searching, yet innocent and trusting
eye! How will you meet them? You'll be astonished to find how often
you'll be cornered by that little child--how many difficulties he will
raise, that will require all your keenest wits to clear away. Oh, you
must get off your clerical stilts, and drop your metaphors and musty
folios, and call everything by its right name when you talk to
children.

Yes, I repeat it. Children should have a minister. Not a gentleman in a
stiff neck-cloth and black coat, who says solemnly, in a sepulchral
voice, (once a year, on his parochial visit,)--"S-a-m-u-e-l--my--
boy--how--do--you--do?" but a genial, warm-hearted, loving, spiritual
father, who is neither wiser, nor greater, nor better than he who took
little children in his arms and said, "Of such is the kingdom of
heaven."

THE LITTLE "MORNING GLORY."

Dear little pet! She was going a journey in the cars with mamma; and
her little curly head could not stay on the pillow, for thinking of it.
She was awake by the dawn, and had been trying to rouse mamma for an
hour. She had told her joy in lisping accents to "Dolly," whose stoical
indifference was very provoking, especially when she knew she was going
to see "her dear, white-haired old grand-papa," who had never yet
looked upon her sweet face; although pen and ink had long since
heralded her polite perfections. Yes, little pet must look her
prettiest, for grand-papa's eyes are not so dim, that the sight of