OUR MOTHER'S ROOM. yj 



There was a small wooden box that had place for 

 many years under the foot of the bed, and in the 

 course of time this box began to look leaky at the 

 corners and temptingly easy to open, for the lid was 

 very loosely nailed down. 



Our father had written on the top " Sacred to the 

 Memory of my Beloved Parents," and that was enough 

 to arouse the curiosity of any young person ; but when 

 they learned that the contents of that box were love- 

 letters, their longing to remove the lid became in- 

 supportable. 



In an evil hour when our parents were entertain- 

 ing visitors, and some of their younger offspring were 

 rampaging about our mother's room, that box was 

 hauled out, and a tug from a boy's strong hand laid 

 bare the contents. 



One of the faded letters and then another was read, 

 and the graceless young hearts were utterly touched 

 by the beautiful sentiments, the courteous tenderness 

 by which the old-fashioned gentleman, of a more 

 manly age than the present, addressed his intended 

 wife as " My dearest Miss Mally," and signed himself 

 " with utmost respect, your devoted lover." 



Our mother was afterwards informed of the audacious 

 raid which had been made upon those interesting docu- 

 ments, and the love-letters disappeared for ever — all 

 except one which she kept, and gave to one of us who 

 had grown wise enough to value it aright. 



There was usually a small bed in the corner of the 

 room for a " sick or sorry " child, and it was seldom 



