a severe pang, as, on surveying the child’s sketches, he dared not say one word in praise of them, although his very heart bounded, lover of the fine arts as he was, at the promise of superior talent they exhibited.  After William had left the room he sat leaning his head on his hand, quite unrepentant, however, for his seeming harshness, but at the same time troubled that his views of duty made it imperative for him to appear so.  Margaret was the first to break silence.

“George,” said she, “why did you hurt poor William by not praising his drawings? the child was so sure you would be delighted; and although he knew where your pencils are kept, he never once asked for them, but took the charcoal from the hearth.  I cannot understand why you did so.”

“My dear Margaret,” he replied, “I am far more grieved to be obliged to look frowningly on that which, in other than our present circumstances, would have given to me greater delight than to you or my good child himself.  William’s sketches, rude as they are, evince very extraordinary talent, but I should sin were I to encourage him to pursue such a work.  I know too well how absorbing it is; how hard it is, when one’s mind is filled with pictures of the grand and beautiful, to work at a trade one does not like.  The boy, most likely, has genius; but even so, how is that genius to be fostered?  I know, too, how toilsome and difficult is the early path toward the art, and how few, comparatively, ever gain distinction and reward.”

“That is true,” said Margaret; “I now understand and see that you are right.”

“Yes, Margaret,” washer husband’s reply, “I think I am right; remember that it is the Unerring who has allotted our condition, and I have no higher ambition than to see my only child grow up an honest man, diligent in his calling, whatever it may be.  My first wish is, that my boy may be a Christian:  it will never trouble me that he must work hard and be obscure; for if he is pious, honest, and happy in his own mind, he will be a greater man than those who fill high stations without the qualifications I have named.”

“He is such a good child,” said Margaret, “I cannot bear to give him unnecessary pain.”

“The proper discipline does no harm,” said Raymond; “and the Scripture tells us that ’no chastening for the present is joyous, but grievous, but afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruits of righteousness to them that are exercised thereby;’ and as we are in the same place commanded to ‘make straight paths for our feet,’ so in this instance I have preferred giving my child present pain in order that he may escape future and greater trials.  Ah!  Margaret, he may think I am harsh in this case, as he cannot fathom my motive; and how often do we judge hardly of the dealings of our kind heavenly Father when he thwarts us in some favourite wish, or smiles not on our undertaking.  Be assured that only those who commit their way unto the Lord are safe; and as I bear my boy daily upon