remembered voice was in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and
childhood were brought back so distinctly to my mind, that, had it
not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have
been gentle and refreshing. The circumstance may seem a trifling one,
but the thought of it now pains my heart, and I relate it, that those
children who have parents to love them may learn to value them as
they ought.

"My mother had been ill a long time, and I became so accustomed to her
pale face and weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, as
children usually are. At first, it is true, I sobbed violently; but
when, day after day, I returned from school, and found her the same, I
began to believe she would always be spared to me. But they told me
she would die.

"One day, when I had lost my place in the class, and had done my work
wrong side outward, I came home discouraged and fretful. I went to my
mother's chamber. She was paler than usual, but she met me with the
same affectionate smile that always welcomed my return. Alas, when I
look back through the lapse of thirteen years, I think my heart must
have been stone not to have melted by it. She requested me to go down
stairs and bring her a glass of water. I pettishly asked why she did
not call a domestic to do it. With a look of mild reproach, which I
shall never forget, if I live to be a hundred years old, she said,
'And will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor sick
mother?'

"I went and brought her the water, but I did not do it kindly. Instead
of smiling and kissing her, as I was wont to do, I set the glass down
very quickly, and left the room. After playing about a short time, I