MY MOTHER.

WHETHER you have, or have not a mother, my present address will not be unsuitable.

The

With whatever respect and admiration a child may regard a father, whose example has called forth his energies, and animated him in his various pursuits, he turns with greater affection, and intenser love, to a kind-hearted mother. same emotion follows him through life, and when the changing vicissitudes of after years have removed his parents from him, seldom does the remembrance of his mother occur to his mind, unaccompanied by the most affectionate recollections.

Show me a man, though his brow be furrowed, and his hair grey, who has forgotten his mother, and I shall suspect that something is going on wrong within him; either his memory is impaired, or a hard heart is beating in his bosom. My Mother," is an expression of music and melody, that takes us back again to the days of our childhood; places us once more kneeling in the soft

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lap of a tender parent, and lifts up our little hands in morning and evening prayer.

For my own part, I never think of my mother, without thinking, at the same time, of unnumbered kindnesses, exercised not towards me only, but to all around her. From my earliest years I can remember that the moment her eye caught the common beggar, her hand mechanically fumbled in her pocket. No shoeless and stockingless Irish-woman, with her cluster of dirty children, could pass unnoticed by her; and no weary and wayworn traveller could rest on the milestone opposite our habitation, without being beckoned across to satisfy his hunger and his thirst. No doubt she assisted many who were unworthy, for she relieved all within her influence.

"Careless their merits or their faults to scan,

Her pity gave ere charity began."

Had her kindness, like that of many, been confined to good counsel, or the mere act of giving what she had to bestow, it would not have been that charity which "beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things," 1 Cor. xiii. 7. Her benevolence was uniform, and unceasing; it was a part of her character. In benefiting another, difficulty only increased

her desire and determination to be useful. She was one who "searched out" the cause that she knew not; her pen addressed the peer, and her feet trod the threshold of the pauper, with equal alacrity in the cause of charity. To be occupied in relieving the poor, and pleading the cause of the friendless, was medicine to her body and mind.

No child could cry, no accident take place, no sickness occur, without my mother hastening off to render assistance. She had her piques and her prejudices; she never pretended to love those whom she did not like; and she remembered, perhaps too keenly, an act of unkindness, but kindness was the reigning emotion of her heart.

Reader, if you think that I have said enough, bear with me; remember, I am speaking of my mother.

Among the many sons and daughters of affliction, whose hearts were made glad by her benevolence, was a poor widow of the name of Winn, who resided in an almshouse; my mother had known her in her childhood. Often have I gazed on the aged woman, as she shaped her tottering steps, leaning on a stick, towards our dwelling. A weekly allowance, a kind welcome, and a good dinner, once a week, were hers to the close of her existence. She had a grateful heart, and the

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blessing of her who was rally rested on my mother.

ready to perish," lite

I could weary you with instances of my mother's kindness of heart; one more, and I have done.

With her trowel in her hand, my mother was busily engaged, one day, among the shrubs and flowers of her little garden, and listening with pleasure to the sound of a band of music, which poured around a cheerful air from a neighbouring barrackyard, where a troop or two of soldiers were quartered; when a neighbour stepped into the garden to tell her, that a soldier was then being flogged, and that the band only played to drown the cries of the suffering offender. Not a word was spoken by my agitated parent; down dropped her trowel on the ground, and away she ran into the house, shutting herself up, and bursting into tears. The garden was forgotten, the pleasure had vanished, and music had turned into mourning in the bosom of my mother.

Reader! have you a mother? If you have, call to mind her forbearance, her kindness, her love. Try also to return them by acts of affection, that when the future years shall arrive, when the green sod shall be springing over the resting-place of a kind-hearted parent, you may feel no accusing pang when you hear the endearing expression, My Mother!

ON AIDING

THE MISSIONARY CAUSE.

As I hold the highest title on earth to be that of a servant of God, and the most important employment that of making known to sinners the salvation that God has wrought for them through his Son Jesus Christ, so I cannot but estimate very highly the character of an humble-minded, zealous, conscientious missionary. Men undertake, endure, and achieve much when riches, and honours, and reputation are to be attained; but where is the worldly reputation of him who goes, with his life in his hand, to make known to barbarous lands the glad tidings of salvation? Where are the honours and the money-bags of the missionary? In many cases toil and anxiety, hunger and thirst, reviling and violence, danger and death await him; but where is his earthly reward? I want you to ply yourselves with these questions, and then I will ask you if you have ever done any thing for the missionary cause?