Good mothers are very dear to their children.  There’s no mother in the world like our own mother.  My friend Sanders, from Glasgow, says, “The mither’s breath is aye sweet.”  Every woman is a handsome woman to her own son.  That man is not worth hanging who does not love his mother.  When good women lead their little ones to the Saviour, the Lord Jesus blesses not only the children, but their mothers as well.  Happy are they among women who see their sons and daughters walking in the truth.

A BLACK HEN LAYS A WHITE EGG.

The egg is white enough, though the hen is black as a coal.  This is a very simple thing, but it has pleased the simple mind of John Ploughman, and made him cheer up when things have gone hard with him.  Out of evil comes good, through the great goodness of God.  From threatening clouds we get refreshing showers; in dark mines men find bright jewels; and so from our worst troubles come our best blessings.  The bitter cold sweetens the ground, and the rough winds fasten the roots of the old oaks, God sends us letters of love in envelopes with black borders.  Many a time have I plucked sweet fruit from bramble bushes, and taken lovely roses from among prickly thorns.  Trouble is to believing men and women like the sweetbrier in our hedges, and where it grows there is a delicious smell all around, if the dew do but fall upon it from above.

Cheer up, mates, all will come right in the end.  The darkest night will turn to a fair morning in due time.  Only let us trust in God, and keep our heads above the waves of fear.  When our hearts are right with God every thing is right.  Let us look for the silver which lines every cloud, and when we do not see it let us believe that it is there.  We are all at school, and our great Teacher writes many a bright lesson on the blackboard of affliction.  Scant fare teaches us to live on heavenly bread, sickness bids us send off for the good Physician, loss of friends makes Jesus more precious, and even the sinking of our spirits brings us to live more entirely upon God.  All things are working together for the good of those who love God, and even death itself will bring them their highest gain.  Thus the black hen lays a white egg.

EVERY BIRD LIKES ITS OWN NEST.

It pleases me to see how fond the birds are of their little homes.  No doubt each one thinks his own nest is the very best; and so it is for him, just as my home is the best palace for me, even for me, King John, the king of the Cottage of Content.  I will ask no more if Providence only continues to give me

    “A little field well tilled,
    A little house well filled,
    And a little wife well willed.”

An Englishman’s house is his castle, and the true Briton is always fond of the old roof-tree.  Green grows the house-leek on the thatch, and sweet is the honeysuckle at the porch, and dear are the gilly-flowers in the front garden; but best of all is the good wife within, who keeps all as neat as a new pin.  Frenchmen may live in their coffee-houses, but an Englishman’s best life is seen at home.