SOAP-BUBBLES are next to nothing in substance, yet how they glisten in the sunlight! 

How easily they are made! How desirable they seem to the children, but how quickly they vanish out of sight! The moment of seizure is always the end of the bubble. 

I well remember one rainy afternoon, when, after two days in the house, my little ones were tired, restless, and uneasy, they came to me with the same old question, "Mamma, what can we do?" 

"What should they do?" I asked myself, really at a loss for anything to suggest.

The long storm had sorely taxed my ingenuity in trying to keep them busy and happy. Now it seemed that I could think of nothing more.

Suddenly, a sunbeam glanced through the window, and lay in my lap. It had stopped raining. A thought came to me. 

I remembered that there was a clay pipe in the back-part of the wash-stand drawer; so I said, "How would you like to go out by the door and blow soap-bubbles?"

"That's just the thing," cried Willie in delight, while Lilly danced with joy.

Willie helped me prepare the water, trying it over and over in order to be sure there was just the right amount of soap.

At last it was ready, and a fine time they had. They would call out, "Look, look, mamma!" "Oh, just look, mamma!" until I had to spend most of my time looking in order to satisfy them.

Soon Ned came home from school. He took baby and went out to see the bubble-makers. What a good time they had! 

Baby clapped his hands and laughed gleefully. Frisk barked to let them know that he was enjoying it too, and every one was happy.  I was watching them with much pleasure, when something happened which made me feel very sorry. Willie had blown an unusually large bubble, and was just starting to blow it off, when Lilly accidentally hit it, and it burst.

This was too much for tired, excited little Will, and in a fit of passion, he struck Lilly, breaking the pipe in two.

The afternoon's good time was over. I told Willie to come in and sit down till I could talk with him.

In a short time, I took him into my room, and, taking him on my lap, I said,"O Willie! How could you make your mamma feel so bad, when she tries so; hard to make you happy?"

"I didn't mean to, mamma; I did it before I thought," he sobbed. "Won't you forgive me, mamma?"

“Yes, my darling," I answered, "but you must try to be more thoughtful another time. Don't you know that it grieves the Father in Heaven, too, to see a little boy get angry and strike?"

"Yes, mamma; and I'm so sorry! I Mayn't I ask him right off to forgive me?"

"Yes," I said, and folding his hands, he knelt down, and said, "Please, great Father in Heaven, forgive me for being so naughty, and help me to be a good boy all the time. I'm very sorry, dear Father. For Christ's sake. Amen. "I am sure the little prayer was heard and answered; for I can see that my little Willie is growing more patient every day. 

M. C.