Not long ago a woman fifty years old went to a teacher in School
No. 2, and with tears in her eyes, begged permission to sit down
with the little ones five to six years old, that she might learn
to read and write. She explained that she had two boys in the
West, and desired to learn her letters that she might be able to
communicate with them. Her daughter had done this for her, but
three years ago the daughter died, and now the hungry-hearted
mother was willing to make any sacrifice to keep in touch with
her sons. So she entered school without telling any one, even
her husband. Four weeks from the day she entered she was able to
read through the primer, first reader, and almost through the
second. Now she can write so any one can easily read every word.
She learns ten new words at home every day, and always knows her
lesson perfectly. She has learned to begin and end a letter,
and it will not be long before she can write a love-letter--a
genuine mother love-letter--to her boys. Through the goodness
of my friend, I have in my possession a yellow sheet of paper
containing one of her writing exercises. Reading between the
lines, there is something inexpressibly touching about it.
The words are such as may be found in the copy-book of any
schoolboy, but the mother, with her hard hands and tender heart,
as she copied the words imagined herself writing a letter to
one of her sons. After writing her address and the date, this
imaginary epistle, brimming with a real love, reads: “My dear
son Hugh:
Be the matter what it may,
Always speak the truth.
If at work or if at play,
Always speak the truth.”
Surely there is no ordinary clay in this vessel! She may not
be able to understand the plan of her soul’s divine Potter,
but a brave trust and a high hope reside at the center of her
being.--F. F. SHANNON.
(2105)
* * * * *
One calm, bright, sweet, sunshiny day an angel stole out of
heaven and came down to this old world, and roamed field and
forest, city and hamlet; and just as the sun went down he
plumed his wings and said: “Now my visit is out, and I must go
back to the world of light, but before I go I must gather some
mementos of my visit here”; and he looked over into a beautiful
flower-garden and said, “How lovely and fragrant these flowers
are,” and he plucked the rarest roses, and made a bouquet, and
said, “I see nothing more beautiful and fragrant than these;
I will take them with me.” But he looked a little farther and
there saw a little bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked babe, smiling
into its mother’s face, and he said, “Oh, that baby’s smile is
prettier than this bouquet; I will take that, too.” Then he
looked just beyond the cradle, and there was a mother’s love
pouring out like the gush of a river, toward the cradle and
the baby, and he said, “Oh, that mother’s love is the prettiest
thing I have seen on earth; I will carry that, too!” With the
three treasures he winged his way to the pearly gates, and lit
just on the outside, and said, “Before I go in I will examine my
mementos,” and he looked at the flowers and they had withered;
he looked at the baby’s smile and it had faded away; he looked
at the mother’s love and there it was in all its pristine beauty
and fragrance. He threw aside the withered flowers and the faded
smile and winged his way through the gates and led all the hosts
of heaven together and said, “Here is the only thing I found on
earth that would keep its fragrance all the way to heaven--a
mother’s love.”--“Popular Lectures of Sam P. Jones.”
(2106)
See ARTIFICE; PRODIGAL, THE; WAYWARD, SEEKING THE.