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Short Stories

Margaret And Herbert.
In a large family there are often diversity of character an...

A Tale Of Negative Gravity
My wife and I were staying at a small town in northern Ital...

A Good Mother.
Mrs. Savage was the eldest sister of Matthew Henry. When sh...

Anne Cleaveland.
Anne was the daughter of a wealthy farmer. She had a good N...

Flora And Her Portrait.
"And was there never a portrait of your beautiful child," s...

Harvest Song.
Now the golden ear wants the reaper's hand, Banish eve...

A Piece Of Red Calico
I was going into town one morning from my suburban residenc...

Mother's Last Lesson.
"Will you please teach me my verse, mamma, and then kiss me...

Lizzy And Her Dog.
I wish to relate to you a very affecting story about a good...

The Trusty Dog.
I am glad to introduce to you, the noble dog whose picture ...

About a hundred feet back from the main street of a village...

The Explanation.
Lettice's father was a man of education, a scholar, a gentl...

Benny's First Drawing.
You have perhaps heard of Benjamin West, the celebrated art...

The Lady Or The Tiger?
In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, wh...

A Boy Reproved By A Bird.
The sparrows often build their nests under the eaves of hou...

My Early Days.
My father's house was indeed a pleasant home; and father wa...

A Good Act For Another.
A man was going from Norwich to New London with a loaded te...

The Glow Worm.
On a summer's evening about half an hour after bed time, as...

The Dying Boy.
A little boy, by the name of Bertie, was taken very ill, an...

The Remarkable Wreck Of The Thomas Hyke
It was half-past one by the clock in the office of the Regi...


"Will you please teach me my verse, mamma, and then kiss me and bid me
good night," said little Roger, as he opened the door and peeped into
the chamber of his sick mother. "I am very sleepy, but no one has
heard me say my prayers." Mrs. L. was very ill, and her friends
believed her to be dying. She sat propped up with pillows and
struggling for breath, her eyes were growing dim, and her strength was
failing very fast. She was a widow, and little Roger was her only
darling child. He had been in the habit of coming into her room every
night, and sitting in her lap, or kneeling by her side, while she
repeated some Scripture passages to him, or related a story of wise
and good people. She always loved to hear Roger's verse and prayer.

"Hush! hush!" said the lady who was watching beside the couch. "Your
dear mamma is too ill to hear you to night." And as she said this, she
came forward and laid her hand gently upon his arm as if she would
lead him from the room. "I cannot go to bed to night," said the little
boy, "without saying my prayers--I cannot."

Roger's dying mother heard his voice, and his sobs, and although she
had been nearly insensible to everything around her, yet she requested
the attendant lady to bring the boy and lay him near her side. Her
request was granted, and the child's rosy cheek nestled in the bosom
of his dying mother.

"Now you may repeat this verse after me," said his mother, "and never
forget it: 'When my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take
me up.'" The child repeated it three times--then he kissed the pale
cheek of his mother, and went quietly to his little couch.

The next morning he sought as usual for his mother, but she was now
cold and motionless. She died soon after little Roger retired to his
bed. That was her last lesson to her darling boy---he did not forget
it. He has grown to be a man and occupies a high post of honor in
Massachusetts. I never can look upon him without thinking about the
faith so beautifully exhibited by his dying mother. It was a good


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