indulgent towards me; I cherish his memory with respect and love;
but I have different feelings when I think of my mother. I often
feel, even now, as if she were near me--as if her cheek were laid to
mine. My father would place his hand upon my head caressingly, but
my mother would lay her cheek against mine. I did not expect my
father to do more--I do not know that I would have loved him had he
done more; for him it was a natural expression of affection; but no
act is too tender for a mother. Her kiss upon my cheek, her warm
embrace, are all felt now; and the older I grow, the more holy seem
the influences that surrounded me in childhood."






THE POWER OF PATIENCE.





I HAVE a very excellent friend, who married some ten years ago, and
now has her own cares and troubles in a domestic establishment
consisting of her husband and herself, five children, and two
servants. Like a large majority of those similarly situated, Mrs.
Martinet finds her natural stock of patience altogether inadequate
to the demand therefor; and that there is an extensive demand will
be at once inferred when I mention that four of her five children
are boys.