WHAT TO DO WITH THE BOY.
By George T. Dowling
I know a Christian woman, pure and consistent, and yet that woman, unwittingly, by her traditions made void the commandment of God. One day, from the breast of her dead daughter she lifted a little child, fatherless and motherless. The child grew. She fed him; she clothed him; she loved him; she sent him to the Sunday-school and the day-school. But she forgot that she was seventy years old, and he was only seven. She forgot that he, with his youthful restlessness, wanted something besides the primer and the Bible. And when he grew older, and brought home his little games she didn't believe in them. And what was the result? He said to me when I talked to him, "Mr. Dowling, I must have amusement. If I bring those things home they are put in the fire." And when he found he could not have these things at home, he did just what your son is doing, though you may not know it. He went where he could have them. And ere long it was the old story; Sunday-school forgotten; church forgotten; and the very woman who would have given her heart's blood for him, forgotten. And when she came tottering to me on her staff, her head bent, and the gray locks falling upon her temples, throbbing in sorrow, and said—"What shall I do for my boy?" how I longed to tell her of her mistakes; but it was too late.—George T. Dowling.