The Children

Hev. T. Dcwitt Talmndge, in a sermón on children, speaks of them in tliis manner : The child's beauty does not depend on form or feature, or complexion, or apparel. That destitute one seen on the Street, bruised with unkindncssaud In ragshas acharm about her, even under her destitution. You have forgotten a great mnny persons whom you linvu niet, of linely cut features, and with rrect posture, and with faultless complexion, white you will nlways remember the poor girl who, on a oíd moonlight night as you were passing late home, in lier thin shawl and barefeet on the pavement, put out her hand and said : "Please give me a penny.1' Ah, how oftcn we have walked on and said, "Oh, that is nothing but street vagabondism.'1 But after we got ablockortwoon we stopped and said : "Ali, that is not right;" and we passed up that saine way and dropped a niite into the suffering hand, as though it were not a matter of second though t, so asliamed were we of our hard-heartedness. With what admiration we all look apoa a jrroup of children on the play-ground or in the school, and we clap our hands almo8t involuiitarily and say, "How beauttful !'' All Itlffnoil and dignity are gOMi and your sliout is lieard witli theirs, .uní you trundle their hoop and fly their kite and strike thcirbal!, and all your woirlpni and aiuciety are gone, ns when a child you liounded over the pluy-ground yöorwlC Tli.it futher who stands rigid and unsympathetic amid tlie sportfuluess of children ought nevcr to have been temptrd out oí n cnislcd and Dnndeemablc solitariness. The waters leap down the rocks, butthey have not the graceful step of eliildhood. Tlic inorning, eomes out of the ffates of Iba east, tlirowin; lts silver on the lake aad lts gold on the towers and its lire on thecloud, but it is not so brijrht and beautiful as tbc inoniiiig of life ! 'J'hore is 110 liglit like that whlch is kindlcd in a child's cyc, 110 color like that whlch bfoonu on ¦ chlld'a cheek, no musie like the sound oí a cliild's voicc. lts face In the poorest picture redeenis any Imperfection üa art Wben we :11e cary with toll, thi-ir liltle hands puil tbl liirdcn oll'onr bftCks. Oh, what a dull, hlale, mean World tliis would bc without tbe .-portluliicsH of diildruu. Wlien I lind pcople tbat do not like cbtldren, I immediutcly doubl Huir moral and '. 'hrislimi chnracter.