When I stand before the throne, When the praise of heaven I hear, SPEAK GENTLY TO EACH OTHER. “PLEASE help me a minute, sister." “O, don't disturb me; I'm reading," was the answer. "But just hold this stick, won't you, while I drive this pin through?' "I can't now; I want to finish this story," said I, emphatically. And my little brother turned away with a disappointed look, in search of somebody else to assist him. He was a bright boy of ten years, and my only brother. He had been visiting a young friend, and had seen a windmill; and as soon as he came home, his energies were all employed in making a small one; for he was always trying to make kites, and all sorts of things such as boys delight in. He had worked patiently all the morn ing with his knife, and now it only needed putting together to complete it-and his only sister had refused to assist him; and he had gone away with his young heart saddened. I thought of all this in the fifteen minutes after he left me, and my book gave me no pleasure. It was not intentional unkindness; only thoughtlessness; for I loved my brother, and was generally kind to him: still, I had refused to help him. I would have gone after him, and offered the assistance he needed, but I knew he had found some one else. But I had neglected an opportunity of gladdening a childish heart. In half an hour he came bounding into the house, exclaiming, Come, Mary, I've got it up: just see how it goes!" His tones were joyous, and I saw that he had forgotten my petulance: so I determined to atone by unusual kindness. I went with him, and, sure enough, upon the roof of an out-house was fastened a miniature windmill, and the arms were whirling round fast enough to suit any boy. I praised the windmill, and my little brother's ingenuity, and he seemed happy and entirely forgetful of my unkindness; and I resolved, as I had many times before, to be always loving and gentle. A few days passed by, and the shadow of a grea sorrow darkened our dwelling. The joyous laugh and noisy glee were hushed, and our merry boy lay in a darkened room, with anxious faces around him, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes unnaturally bright Sometimes his temples would moisten and his muscles relax; and then hope would come into ou hearts, and our eyes would fill with thankful tears It was in one of these deceitful calms in his disease that, thinking of it, he said, "I hear my windmill." "Does it make your head ache?" I asked. “Shall we take it down?" "O, no!" replied he: "it seems as if I were out of doors, and it makes me feel better." He mused a moment, and then added, "Don't you remember, Mary, that I wanted you to help me to fix it, and you were reading, and told me you couldn't? But it didn't make any difference; for my mother helped me." O, how sadly these words fell upon my ear, and what bitter memories they awakened! How I repented, as I kissed little Frank's forehead, that I had ever spoken unkindly to him! Hours of sorrow went by, and we watched his couch, hope growing fainter and anguish deeper, until, one week from the morning on which he spoke of his childish sports, we closed the eyes once so sparkling, and folded his hands over his pulseless heart. He sleeps now in the grave, and home is desolate; but the little windmill, the work of his busy hands, is still swinging in the breeze, just where he placed it-upon the roof of the old shed: and every time I see the tiny arms revolving, I remember the lost little Frank; and I remember, also, the thoughtless, the unkind words. Brothers and sisters, be kind to each other! Be gentle, considerate, and loving. THE HAPPY SISTERS. THERE were two little sisters at the house whom nobody could see without loving; for they were always so happy together. They had the same books and the same playthings; but never a quarrel sprang up between them,-no cross words, no pouts, no running away in a pet. On the green before the door, trundling hoops, playing with Rover, helping mother, they were always the same sweet-tempered little girls. "You never seem to quarrel," I said to them one day: "how is it you are always so happy together?" They looked up, and the eldest answered, "I suppose it is because Addie lets me, and I let Addie." I thought a moment. "Ah, that is it," I said: "she lets you, and you let her; that's it." Did you ever think what an apple of discord "not letting" is among children? Even now, while I have been writing, a great crying was heard under the window. I looked out: "Gerty, what is the matter?" 66 'Mary won't let me have her ball," bellows Gerty. "Well, Gerty wouldn't lend me her pencil in school," cried Mary; " and I don't want her to have my ball." "Fie, fie! is that the way sisters should treat each other?" "She shan't have my pencil," muttered Gerty: "she'll only lose it." And you'll only lose my ball," retorted Mary; "and I shan't let you have it." The "not letting" principle is to be disobliging; and a disobliging spirit begets a great deal of quarrelling. These little girls, Addie and her sister, have got the true secret of good manners. They are yielding, kind, unselfish; always ready to oblige each other: neither wishes to have her own way at the expense of the other. And are they not happy? O, yes. And do you not love them already? WHAT LITTLE HANDS CAN DO. CHILDREN think they can do little good; and even their parents generally think the same. They can be obedient and affectionate: this all admit; but few think they are old enough to do anything for the salvation of the world. Now, children, this is a very great error. Can a child do as much as a worm? "Why, yes," exclaims every little reader, " and more too." Let us see. Imagine that you and I are sailing in a vessel upon the South Seas. How beautifully we glide along! The vessel skims the ocean like a swan. But what is that yonder, rising above the billows like a painted island? Now it sparkles in the rays of the sun like a rock of silver; and now it assumes different colours,―red, golden, silvery hues; all blended together in delightful richness. Nearer and nearer we come to the attractive object, all the while appearing more beautiful and brilliant than |