SPEAK GENTLY.

A STORY FOR MOTHERS.

"I AM entirely at a loss to know what to do with the boy," said Mrs. Burton to her husband, with much concern on her face, and in an anxious tone of voice. "I never yield to his imperious temper; I never indulge him in anything; I think about him and care about him all the time, but see no good results."

While Mrs. Burton was speaking, a bright, active boy, eight years of age, came dashing into the room, and, without heeding any one, commenced beating on the window-sills, and making a deafening

noise.

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Incorrigible boy!" exclaimed his mother, going quickly up to him, and jerking the sticks out of his hand. "Can't I teach you either manners or decency? I have told you a hundred times that when you come into a room where any one is sitting, you must be quiet. Go up-stairs this moment, and don't let me see your face for an hour."

The boy became sulky in an instant, and stood where he was, pouting sadly.

"Did you hear what I said? Go upstairs this moment!"

Mrs. Burton spoke in an angry tone, and looked quite as angry as she spoke.

Slowly moved the boy toward the door, a scowl darkening his face, that was but a moment before so bright and cheerful. His steps were too deliberate for the overexcited feelings of the mother; she sprang towards him, and seizing him by the arm pushed him from the room, and closed the door loudly after him.

"I declare I am out of all heart!" she exclaimed, sinking down upon a chair. "It is line upon line, and precept upon precept, but all to no good purpose. That boy will break my heart yet!"

Mr. Burton said nothing, but he saw plainly enough that it was not all the child's fault. He doubted the use of coming out and saying this unequivocally, although he had often and often been on the point of doing so involuntarily. He knew the temper of his wife so well, and her peculiar sensitiveness about everything that looked like charging any fault upon herself, that he feared more harm than

good would result from an attempt on his part to show her that she was more than half to blame for the boy's perverseness of temper.

Once or twice the little fellow showed himself at the door, but was driven back with harsh words until the hour for tea arrived. The sound of the tea-bell caused an instant oblivion of all the disagreeable impressions made upon his mind. His little feet answered the welcome summons with a clatter that stunned the ears of his mother.

"Go back, sir!" she said sternly, as he burst open the dining-room door, and set it swinging with a loud concussion against the wall; "and see if you can't walk downstairs more like a boy than a horse."

Master Harry withdrew, pouting out his rosy lips to the distance of full an inch. He went up one flight of stairs, and then returned.

"Go up to the third story, where you first started from, and come down quietly all the way, or you shall not have a mouthful of supper."

"I don't want to," whined the boy.

"Go up, I tell you, this instant, or I will send you to bed without anything to eat."

This was a threat that former experience had taught him might be executed, and so he deemed it better to submit than to pay too dearly for having his own way. The distance to the third story was made in a few light springs, and then he came pattering down as lightly, and took his place at the table quickly, but silently.

"There there, not too fast; you've got plenty to eat, and time enough to eat it in."

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Harry settled himself down to the table as quietly as his mercurial spirits would let him, and tried to wait until he was helped; but spite of his efforts to do so, his hand went over into the bread-basket. look from his mother caused him to drop the slice he had lifted; it was not a look in which there was much affection. While waiting to be helped, his hands were busy with his knife and fork, making a most unpleasant clatter.

"Put down your hands!" harshly spoken, remedied this evil, or rather sent the active movement from the little fellow's hands to his feet, that commenced a swinging mo

tion, his heels striking noisily against the chair.

"Keep your feet still!" caused this to

cease.

After one or two more reproofs, the boy was then left to himself. As soon as he received his cup of tea, he poured the entire contents into his saucer, and then tried to lift it steadily to his lips. In doing so he spilled a third of the contents upon the table-cloth.

A box on the ears and a storm of angry words rewarded this feat.

"Haven't I told you over and over again, you incorrigible, bad boy, not to pour the whole of your tea into your saucer? Just see what a mess you have made with that clean table-cloth. I declare I am out of all manner of patience with you! Go away from that table this instant!"

Harry went crying away, not in anger, but in grief. He had spilled his tea by accident. His mother had so many reproofs and injunctions to make, that the bearing of them all in mind was a thing impossible. As to pouring out all his tea at a time, he had no recollection of any interdiction on that subject, although it had been made over and over again dozens of times. In a little while he came creeping slowly back, and resumed his place at the table, his eyes on his mother's face.

Mrs. Burton was sorry that she had sent him away for what was only an accident; she felt that she had hardly been just to the thoughtless boy. She did not object, therefore, to his coming, but said, as he took his seat, "Next time you see that you are more careful. I have told you again and again not to fill your saucer to the brim; you never can do it without spilling the tea over upon the table-cloth."

This was not spoken in kindness.

A scene somewhat similar to this was enacted at every meal; but, instead of improving in his behaviour, the boy grew more heedless. Mr. Burton rarely said anything to Harry about his unruly manners, but when he did a word was enough. That word was always mildly and yet firmly spoken. He did not think him a bad boy, or difficult to manage-at least he never found him so.

"I wish I knew what to do with that child," said Mrs. Burton, after the little fellow had been sent to bed an hour before his time, in consequence of some violation of law and order; "he makes me feel un

happy all the while. I dislike to be scolding him for ever, but what can I do? If I did not curb him in some way, there would be no living in the house with him. I am afraid he will cause a world of trouble."

Mr. Burton sat silent. He wanted to say a word on the subject; but he feared that its effect might not be what he desired.

"I wish you would advise me what to do, Mr. Burton," his wife said, a little petulantly. "You sit and don't say a single word, as if you had no kind of interest in the matter. What am I to do? I have exhausted all my own resources, and feel completely at a loss."

"There is a way which, if you adopt, I think might do a great deal of good." Mr. Burton spoke with a slight appearance of hesitation.

"If you would speak gently to Harry, I am sure you would be able to manage him better than you do."

Mrs. Burton's face was crimsoned in an instant; she felt the reproof deeply; her self-esteem was severely wounded.

"Speak gently, indeed!" she replied. "I might as well speak to the wind; I am scarcely heard now, at the top of my voice."

As her husband did not argue the mat ter with her, nor say anything that was calculated to keep up the excitement under which she was labouring, her feelings in a little while quieted down, and her thoughts became active. The words "speak gently" were constantly in her mind, and there was a reproving import in them. On going to bed that night she could not get to sleep for several hours-her mind was too busily engaged in reviewing her conduct towards her child. She clearly perceived that she had too frequently suffered her mind to get excited and angry, and that she was often annoyed at trifles which ought to have been overlooked.

"I am afraid I have been unjust to my child," she sighed over and over again, turning restlessly on her pillow.

"I will try and do better," she said to herself, as she rose in the morning, feeling but little refreshed from sleep. Before she was ready to leave her room, she heard Harry's voice, calling her from the next chamber where he slept. The tones were fretful; he wanted some attendance, and was crying out for it in a manner that instantly disturbed the even surface of the mother's feelings. She was about telling him to be quiet until she could finish dress ing herself, when the words "speak gently"

seemed whispered in her ear. The effect was magical-the mother's spirit was subdued.

"I will speak gently," she murmured, and went in to Harry, who was still crying out fretfully.

"What do you want, my son?" she asked in a quiet, kind voice.

The boy looked up with surprise; his eyes brightened, and the whole expression of his face was changed in an instant.

"I can't find my stockings, mamma," he said.

"There they are, under the bureau," returned Mrs. Burton, as gently as she had at first spoken.

Harry;

"Oh yes, so they are," cheerfully replied "I couldn't see them anywhere." "Did you think crying would bring them?" This was said with a smile and in a tone so unlike his mother, that the child looked up again into her face with surprise that was, Mrs. Burton plainly saw, mingled with pleasure.

"Do you want anything else?" she asked.

"No, mamma," he replied cheerfully, "I can dress myself now."

This first little effort was crowned with the most encouraging results to his mother; she felt a deep peace settling in her bosom, the consciousness of having gained a true victory over both her own heart and the heart of her boy. It was a little act, but it was the first-fruits, and the gathering even of so small a barvest was sweet to her spirit.

For the first time in many months, the breakfast-table was pleasant to all. Harry never once interrupted the conversation that passed at intervals between his father and mother. When he asked for anything, it was in a way pleasing to all. Once or twice Mrs. Burton found it necessary to correct some little fault in manner, but the way in which she did it disturbed not his temper; and instead of not seeming to hear her words, as had almost always been the case, he regarded all that was said, and tried to do as she wished.

"There is a wonderful power in gentle words," remarked Mr. Burton to his wife, after Harry had left the table.

"Yes, wonderful indeed; their effect surprises me."

"Love is strong."

"So it seems-stronger than any other influence that we can bring to ear upon a human being."

Days, weeks, months, and ye, rs went by;

during all this time the mother continued to strive earnestly with herself and with her child. The happiest results followed; the fretful, passionate, disorderly boy, became even-minded and orderly in his habits. A word, gently spoken, was all powerful in its influences for good; but the least shade of harshness would arouse his stubborn will and deform the fair face of his young spirit.

Whenever mothers complain to Mrs. Burton of the difficulty they find in managing their children, she has but one piece of advice to give, and that is to "SPEAK GENTLY."

THE PIOUS STEWARDESS.

A SEVERE gale one night caused great alarm among the passengers of a steamer which plies between two of the Atlantic cities. The ladies had just retired, and anxious fathers and husbands crowded round the cabin door with encouraging words to their friends within.

"Stewardess," said one of the gentlemen, "my daughter is in berth eleven. I fear she is alarmed. Will you give her this?" and handed her a small piece of paper.

The stewardess took the paper to the young lady, whom she found too ill to read it.

"Will you please to read it to me?" she said to the stewardess: " my head aches so that I'm almost blind."

"Yes, dear," said the kind stewardess; and turning to the light, read, "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee."

"That's a precious text, miss," said she; "it's comforted me many a time."

"Thank you, nurse, so it is," said the sick girl.

The storm increased, and the alarm of many of the passengers showed itself in shrieks and groans.

The stewardess, amid the confusion around her, saw that the young lady in number eleven had left her berth, and was kneeling in silent prayer in a retired place. She went up to her and said,

"If you would read a few verses aloud, miss, I think you would do a power of good."

The young lady rose, and going to a table opened the Bible, and in a low and faltering voice began to read some verses in the 107th Psalm. The noise in the cabin was so great