Eliza obeyed, and when she returned several hours after, her face glowing with animation, and eagerly recounted how much had been done for the poor family; how their dead had been humanely borne from their sight; how the sick man was visited by the physician, and his bitterness of spirit removed by the sympathy which was sent him; how the room was to be cleaned and ventilated, and how she left the little boy eating a huge slice of bread, while others of the family were half devouring the remainder of the loaf; her mother listened with the same gentleness.  “It is well, my daughter,” said she; “I preferred to send you on this errand of sympathy, that you might see how much you could do with small means.”

“I have a picture here,” she continued, “which I wish you to keep as a token of this day’s feelings and actions.  It is called ’The Widow’s Pot of Oil.’  Will you read me the story which belongs to it?”

Eliza took her little pocket Bible, the one that she always carried to the Sabbath school, and, turning to the fourth chapter of the second book of Kings, read the first seven verses.  Turn to them now, children, and read them.

“You can see in this picture,” said her mother, “how small was the ’pot of oil,’ and how large were some of the vessels to be filled.  Yet still it flowed on, a little stream; still knelt the widow in her faith, patiently supporting it; still brought her little sons the empty vessels; the blessing of God was upon it, and they were all filled.  She feared not that the oil would cease to flow; she stopped not when one vessel was filled; she still believed, and labored, and waited, until her work was done.

“Take this picture, my daughter, and when you think that you cannot do good with small means, remember ‘the widow’s pot of oil,’ and perseveringly use the means you have; when one labor is done, begin another; stitch by stitch you have made this beautiful garment; very large houses are built of little bricks patiently joined together one by one; and ‘the widow’s small pot of oil’ filled many large vessels.”

“Oh, mother,” said Eliza, “I hope I shall never be so wicked again.  I will keep the picture always.  But, mother, do you not think Mr. Usher would like this picture to put in the ‘Sabbath School Annual?’ He might have a smaller one engraved from this, you know, and perhaps cousin Julia will write something about it.  I mean to ask them.”

MARY ELLEN;

A sketch from life.

By Mrs. Margaret M. Mason.

   “O, lightly, lightly tread! 
   A holy thing is sleep
   On the worn spirit shed,
   And eyes that wake to weep;
   Ye know not what ye do,
   That call the slumberer back
   From the world unseen by you,
   Unto life’s dim faded track.”