Speak kindly ever--oh, cherish well
The light of a gentle tone;
It will fling round thy pathway a magic spell,
A charm that is all its own.
But see that it springs from a gentle heart,
That it need not the hollow aid of art;
Let it gush in its joyous purity,
From its home in the heart all glad and free.
Speak kindly, then, kindly; there's nothing lost
By gentle words--to the heart and ear
Of all who hear them they're dear, how dear--
And they nothing cost.
HAVE PATIENCE.
IT was Saturday evening, about eight o clock. Mary Gray had finished
mangling, and had sent home the last basket of clothes. She had
swept up her little room, stirred the fire, and placed upon it a
saucepan of water. She had brought out the bag of oatmeal, a basin,
and a spoon, and laid them upon the round deal table. The place,
though very scantily furnished, looked altogether neat and
comfortable. Mary now sat idle by the fire. She was not often idle.'
She was a pale, delicate-looking woman, of about five-and-thirty.
She looked like ones who had worked beyond her strength, and her
thin face had a very anxious, careworn expression.
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