ength he spoke slowly, and his voice trembled with the strong
feelings which had shaken him. "Mother, you are the dearest and best
mother that ever lived. I wish I could be a good boy, for your sake; but
when father speaks so harsh, I am angry all the time, and I cannot help
being cross and ugly too. I know I am more and more so; I feel it, and
the boys tell me so sometimes. John Gray said, yesterday, I was not half
as pleasant in school as I used to be. I feel unhappy, and I am sure if
I grow wicked, I grow wretched too." And again he burst into a passion
of tears.

"Does not sin always bring misery, my dear boy?" asked his mother, after
a little pause, "and will you not daily meet with circumstances to make
you angry and unhappy, if you give way to your first impulse of
impatience,--and is it not our first duty to resist every temptation to
feel or act wrong? God has not promised us happiness here, but He _has_
promised that if we resist evil it will flee from us. He has promised
that if we strive to conquer our wicked feelings and do right when we
are tempted to do wrong He will aid us, and give us sweet peace in so
doing. To-day you have given way to anger, and you are wretched. You are
blaming your father and think he is the cause of your trouble; but think
a moment. If you had borne the punishment he gave you meekly and
patiently, would not a feeling of peace be in your bosom, to which you
are now a stranger? You know that when we suffer patiently for doing
well, God is well pleased; and would not the consciousness that you had
struggled against and overcome a wicked feeling, and that God looked
upon you with approbation, make you more really happy than anything else
can? My dear, dear boy, your happiness does not consist in what others
say or do to you, but in the feelings you cherish in your own heart.
There you must look for happiness, and there, if you do right, you will
find it."

"I know you always say right, mother, and I will try, I will try, if I
can, to bear patiently; but oh, if father only was like you"--and again
tears stopped his utterance.

"My dear child," said his mother, "your father has many troubles. It is
a great care to provide for his family, and you know he suffers us to
want for nothing. He often has most perplexing cases, and his poor
brains are almost distracted. You are a happy boy, with no care but to
get your lessons, and obey your parents, and try to help them. You know
nothing ye