VOL. VI.-No. 6.

My opinion is, that this expression, "Mother's boy," was not generally applied in a complimentary or respectful sense-more's the pity. If every boy was his mother's boy, in the sense in which Ned Radcliffe might be said to be

so, it would be so much the better for boys in general, and no discredit to any mother in particular. But there is one thing to be reckoned in the account, so important that, if we leave that out, our reckoning would be totally incorrect. If being a mother's boy means being what Ned Radcliffe was, then mothers must bear some likeness to Ned Radcliffe's mother. Ned loved her with all his heart; to please her, what would he not do? To offend her, the very thought was so painful to him that he turned from it with horror.

An upright boy-speaking the truth always, cheerful, intelligent, active-such a boy as would be most likely to prosper in the world, to gain a good position, and win the approval of the wisest and the best. Such a boy was Ned Radcliffe, his mother's boy.

The only son of his mother, and she was a widow; not a wealthy widow, rich in this world's goods, but almost as poor as the widow in the gospel, who, when she cast her two mites into the treasury, parted with all her living.

Mother and son lived in a little hut or cottage in a quiet country lane, leading from Fiveacres to Meadowland. The widow taught a few children, did a little plain needlework, was always ready and willing to earn a penny, and Ned was out in the fields scaring the birds and earning a trifle of

money, getting what learning he could from his mother in the evening. That amount of learning was of course not very extensive; but it all came out of one book-that sacred volume from which the wise and

the ignorant may alike receive the best instruction.

Ned used to sit when he was quite a small child and watch his mother's fingers busy with the needle, and wish. He wished that he could help her, that he could save her from so many hour's hard toil, that he could help to make her more comfortable; but he never breathed it to her, for she, he knew full well, would check the thought as shewing discontent with God Almighty's dealings.

She had been reading to him one day-and helping to read-the psalm which tells of God's goodness to all things, and how He openeth His hand and satisfieth the desire of every living thing. The child was very thoughtful for a few minutes, and then he said:—

can trust in me?"

"O yes," he said, and his face shone brightly as he smiled into hers, "of course I can trust in you. I am mother s boy.'

'Let us remember, then," she said, 66 that we are our Father's children-the children of a Father who cares for us better than any parent here on earth."

And that thought was fixed in his mind-a nail driven in a sure place.

One day Ned was out in the lane. He had been set to fence up a gap in the hedge, for he was a handy boy and shrewd. A gentleman came riding that way slowly, for his horse had just cast a shoe.

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Boy, is there a farrier to be had near here?"

'Ay, sir, that there is, about three parts of a mile yonder."

"There is no help for it," said the gentleman. Shew me the way, boy, and I'll give you a shilling."

A pang shot through the boy's heart, for a shilling was a great prize to him, but he felt he must not earn it. He had been sent there to finish a job of work; by twelve it was to be done, and then he might rest for an hour; but it was not yet noon and the work was still unfinished.

"I am sorry I cannot shew you," he said, "but I must finish my work."

The gentleman looked sur

it will cost no more than a few minutes to shew me the way, ease this poor brute, and earn a shilling. Come."

"I am sorry," the boy replied, working on perseveringly as he spoke, "I am very sorry for you, sir; for the poor horse, sir; and for myself, sir; but the few minutes are not mine. I am paid to do what I am doing, and it is as bad to thieve time as to steal money."

"An oddity," said the gentleman, getting off his horse and patting the animal's neck. "Who has taught you this scrupulosity, boy?"

Ned did not know the meaning of that word, but he knew that all he had been taught was from the lips of his mother, and so he answered: "Mother, sir."

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Mother," said the gentleman, "must be a remarkably shrewd person, a pattern villager, to be executed in Dresden china and set on the chimneypiece; and they call you"

"Mother's boy, sir."

The gentleman laughed outright, and then, and not till then, he saw the boy's face flush, and that his eyes were full of meaning.

"I am a poor boy, sir," he said, "and cannot be expected to know good manners. I try to be honest and to love my mother and my God."

The gentleman laughed no more, but spoke in a freer and kinder tone.

"You are quite right, my lad, and I will wait your time. It wants less than fifteen minutes to noon; then after that you can shew me to the farrier's."

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Very willing, sir."

So when the gap in the hedge was mended, Ned very readily shewed the gentleman the way and received his shilling.

Run! you should have seen that boy run with the prized shilling it almost takes away my breath to think of it. Home, home to his mother, to cast the treasure into her lap. and to hear her words as she kissed his forehead, "The Lord is opening His hand."

That evening the gentleman came to the cottage and asked for "mother's boy." He was a light-haired, light-eyed, laughing gentleman, son of my Lady Fanshaw-a great notability in fashionable quarters-Dowager Lady Fanshaw's son-who had never been his mother's boy-lounging away his life at the club and the mess-table, and finding it rather dreary work. This gentleman had been struck by the boy's oddity, and had resolved to make Ned a liberal offer. I think I told you he was a well-made lad, tall of his age. Well, the son of my Lady Fanshaw intended to take him into his service, to put him into livery, and to let him hang on to the back of his cab as a "Tiger Trim!" Very much surprised was he

to learn, as he did learn, that "mother's boy" objected to his proposal; that he would not take service, even under the most tempting offer; that he preferred doing the hardest work for the lowest pay, rather than leave his mother and live in luxury.

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Simpleton," said the son of my Lady Fanshaw, "do you not observe that by taking service you would be best looking after your mother's interest as well as your own? We should make a man of you in time, and you would be able to send your mother something handsome at Christmas."

"I would rather stay with her and work," said the boy. "She would never bear to part with me, and if she could I should never bear to part with her."

The son of my Lady Fanshaw, who thought he could get on very well without his mother, and did not scruple to say so, went his way without his tiger. He stopped at the parsonage, two miles away, and over the supper told his story.

Two or three days afterward Farmer Fordingham had a visit from the pastor; two or three days after that Farmer Fordingham offered to take Ned on his farm at seven shillings a week. From that time Ned began to prosper, and it was found that the work which his mother obtained was easier done and better paid for than

it had been. Then Ned's wages were raised, and he became lawful proprietor of a small piece of ground of his own. It was the work of years, but they were years happily spent. God was opening His hand. The pastor had a pleasant word for him, so had the squire, so had Farmer Fordingham, who, except on special occasions, was rarely known to utter pleasant things to anybody-but a good man for all that.

And now it has come to pass that Ned has a small holding of his own—a small farm and works on it, and Ned's mother looks after the dairy. He is still what thriving farmers would call poor; it is more than probable the valet of my Lady Fanshaw's son-to which high dignity he would have risen by this time had he taken service with his lordship -realizes twice the money for a tenth part of the work. What of that? The worth of money is only that which it will bring. Heaps of gold

would never have made Ned so happy as working for and with the mother he loves so dearly, and watching her joy in all his