“Now you may repeat this verse after me,” said his mother, “and never forget it:  ’When my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up.’” The child repeated it three times—­then he kissed the pale cheek of his mother, and went quietly to his little couch.

The next morning he sought as usual for his mother, but she was now cold and motionless.  She died soon after little Roger retired to his bed.  That was her last lesson to her darling boy—­he did not forget it.  He has grown to be a man and occupies a high post of honor in Massachusetts.  I never can look upon him without thinking about the faith so beautifully exhibited by his dying mother.  It was a good lesson.

THE GOLDEN CROWN.

A teacher once asked a child, “If you had a golden crown, what would you do with it?” The child replied, “I would give it to my father to keep till I was a man.”  He asked another.  “I would buy a coach and horses with it,” was the reply.  He asked a third.  “Oh,” said the little girl to whom he spoke, “I would do with it the same as the people in heaven do with their crowns.  I would cast it at the Saviour’s feet.”

EARLY AT SCHOOL.

One Sabbath evening a teacher was walking up and down in the porch before his house, in one of the South Sea Islands.  The sun was setting behind the waves of the ocean, and the labors of the day were over.  In that cool, quiet hour, the teacher was in prayer, asking a blessing on his people, his scholars, and himself.  As he heard the leaves of the Mimosa tree rustling, he thought the breeze was springing up—­and continued his walk.  Again he heard the leaves rattle, and he felt sure that it could not be the wind.  So he pushed aside the long leafy branches of the trees, and passed beneath.  And what did he find there?  Three little boys.  Two were fast asleep in each other’s arms, but the third was awake.

“What are you doing there, my children?” asked the teacher.  “We have come to sleep here,” said the boy.  “And why do you sleep here; have you no home?” “Oh, yes,” said the lad, “but if we sleep here, we are sure to be ready when the school bell rings in the morning.”  “And do your parents know about it?” “Mine do,” said the lad, “but these little boys have no parents; they are orphans.”

You know the nights in the South Sea Islands are not cold and damp like ours, but as the teacher thought a heavy rain would fall in the night, he roused the orphans, and led the three little boys into the large porch of the house, where they might rest in safety.  He was happy to find that they were some of his scholars, and that they loved their school.  What would these little Islanders think if they could look from their distant homes into some of our schools and see how many late comers there are!

THE PLUM BOYS.