3 
SEED-TIME AH© HARVEST. 
All, the child did not know that a few 
weeks before, the poor woman, worn out 
by hunger and fatigue, had fallen asleep 
at her work, and was mercilessly discharg¬ 
ed, for laziness, as Mr. Bell, who had 
caught her in the act, told her. And when 
-she begged his forgiveness, and told him j 
her child was sick, and that she would 
-starve unless he would give her work to 
do; begged him for her child's sake to 
forgive her for this once, he said he could 
not afford to employ people to sleep. 
Every minute since, when she could 
leave her child, she devoted to find work, 
but found none to do. Yesterday she sum¬ 
moned courage to again visit Mr. Bell, but 
•all entreaties prevailed not with him. 
Heart sick she returned to her room, only 
■to find Minnie worse. Cold and hunger 
had done their work. The end was near. 
Weak from the want of food, and with¬ 
out hope, she wrapped the child in the one 
remaining covering saved from the pawn, 
and took her upon her lap. 
The time wore on. It was near midnight, 
when Minnie started up, as from a dream, 
with the cry of: 
“Mamma, mamma, 1 am so cold! Take 
-sue to the fire. Do, oh! mamma, do!” 
Can you, who have warm, comfortable 
rooms, picture the feelings of this lonely, 
starving woman, as her child’s cry smote 
Tier ears, knowing, as she did, that she was 
helpless to grant the appeal; or the child’s 
Jiext words, which pierced her like a knife? 
“Forgive me, mamma, I forgot we have 
no fire.” 
“Minnie, mamma would die to save you. 
Oh, my little darling, why must we suffer 
when others have so much!” 
Her voice was so unlike her own, that 
•even the child noticed it, and asked: 
“What ails you, mamma? Don’t you 
‘get sick, too!” she sobbed. ' Mamma—” 
but the child’s head fell back on her moth¬ 
er's breast—done with cold and hunger— 
a harsh unfeeling world. 
The next morning the bright sun shone 
through a narrow window, upon the faces 
of mother and child—both at rest. 
And Mr. Bell is generous—a bei eiit. to 
the city in which he lives! Bah! generous, 
like many others, only when it gratifies 
his own tastes, and adds to his wealth. 
Deeds of men will remind us 
That the world is full of sin; 
But with mis’ry ever crying, 
Shows us what it might have been. 
Will I Be Like You, Papa? 
A gentleman who for years had been 
more or less under the influence of liquor, 
and whose red nose and bloated figure 
stamped him as an inebriate, had gone home 
to his wife and children in this condition. 
He was not unkind in acts or words. It 
was his delight to play at games with his 
little ones, as he was able, and to entertain 
them with wonderful stories. 
On this occasion the family were all 
together in the sitting-100111, and the usual 
games having been played, little Freddie, 
a lad about six years of age, had climbed 
upon his father's knee, and was asking all 
sorts of boyish questions. He talked as a 
child will talk—of what he would do when 
he was a big man! asking if he would be 
like papa then; and finally, after a long 
and serious look into his father’s face, with 
every shade of childish curiosity in his 
face and glauce, put to him this bewilder¬ 
ing query: 
“Papa, when I grow up to be a man, will 
my nose be red like yours, and my face 
swelled ?*’ 
Ah! why should that poor swollen face 
grow redder than it was wont to be? Why 
should his arms so quickly draw the boy to 
his breast! And why should tears flow 
and voice tremble as he replied in words 
and tones that made his mother’s heart 
glad: 
“No, Freddie, please God you won’t be 
like me when you get to be a man; and 
neither will your father, my boy, for from 
this hour he will lead a sober life.” 
“Be like him!” he had never thought ol 
that before, and the bare possibility stag¬ 
gered him. All the love of that father's 
heart cried out again to him. 
That boy! His pride! Going about with 
a bloated face and poisoned breath! No, no! 
He was not prepared for that! Never before 
had he seen his own looks so clearly; they 
were reflected in the boy's—the boy grown: 
