slight as it may seem, would never have occurred. Instead of the threatening and distrustful look in the mirror, he would have found a laughing face, and a tiny, loving hand would have been given him. O, my dear children, this story has a higher meaning than I thought of when I commenced! In the feelings of those whom we approach we see the reflection of our own; if we approach any one with love, it is given to us from them. 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 precious.
Father made our shoes, and rough ones they were too, and which we only wore in the coldest part of the winter. The long winter evenings were so beautiful to us! Father taught us to read and spell, and chalked out sums on the wall for us; then we would draw profiles on the wall, for the great blaze of the wood-fire cast a bright light, and, consequently, the shadow was well marked. A