I SHOULD like to tell you a little story about my mother, dear children. She has gone home to God now, but her example and teaching have not died out, and through these, she being dead yet speaketh. On looking back at my childhood’s days I often think how naughty my brothers and I were; and how we tried our gentle and loving Christian mother, who so seldom lost patience with us.
There is one little family incident which occurred when I was about five years of age, and which was very strongly impressed upon my childish memory at that time.
It was one Sunday afternoon, when our; nurse was out and our mother was confined to the sofa by indisposition. We children were left in an adjoining room to learn a hymn, but instead, we all marched off to· the nursery, and thence proceeded to the bed-rooms, which were deserted in the silence of the Sunday afternoon. Here we began to play at making gipsies’ tents by pulling off the clothes from the beds, and were in the midst of a most exciting game of mischief when, to our dismay, who should appear on the scene but the mother we thought so snug and secure upon the sofa. Quietly opening the door, she stood a moment, fixing her eyes reproachfully upon myself and my eldest brother. She then led us by the hand into her room, and very tenderly explained to us the sanctity of the Lord’s day. Then, making us all kneel down, she prayed for each by name; offering such a prayer as mothers only can; for it was mingled with tears. This very much surprised us; my eldest brother, who was seven years old, could not help throwing his arms round my mother’s neck, exclaiming, “Mother! mother I don’t cry, and we will never do it again.”
Our respective ages at that time were seven, five, four, and two years, so we were all little ones. Our mother held the Lord’s day in great reverence, and she longed that her children should also Honor it, even in little things, and when we saw her tears we felt our disobedience was a sin against God which could even make our mother cry.
Dear children, if you have a good mother, do not vex her: and if your mother does not pray for you, will you pray for her? My dear mother has gone to the grave, but, as long as memory lasts, to me she will never be dead.
When my mother was nearly eighty-three years of age she was enabled to spend her last Sunday upon earth with her family as usual. She had always been fond of hymns, and had taught her children to love them, too, and after retiring to her room for the night, she heard the sound of music and of singing of hymns, so she came down-stairs again, and joined with us in singing―
“I’ll soon be at home over there,”
and— “Many are the friends who are waiting for me.”
In a day or two we had to part! When told she would soon be in paradise, she gently answered, “I know that.”
“Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you,” was the motto of my dear mother’s life. She sought God in youth, and He was faithful to her in age; she realized the truth of the promise, “Them that Honor Me I will honor;” for she did Honor God, and God abundantly honored her. She died surrounded by loving children. RHODA.