RECENTLY, while looking for a seat in a crowded train during my travels in Iowa, I passed through a car entirely filled with little boys from three to twelve years of age.

Glancing upon the little upturned faces as I passed, I wondered where so many little ones, seemingly all alone, were bound for.

Their dirty hands and faces and uncombed hair suggested that they might be poor little orphan boys, which I found on inquiry to be indeed the case. They had been gathered from the streets of New York City, by some kind-hearted persons, and after each little one had been provided with a new suit from cap to boots, they were placed in charge of men who were finding homes for them among the farmers of the far West.

A few of these I have since learned found kind friends and pleasant homes, while many though provided with food, clothing and a shelter from storms, yet found no warm friends to sympathize with them.

When the pure, white snow carpets the earth, and old Jack Frost creeps forth upon his freezing mission, how the little hearts of the family ought to be lifted up to God in thankfulness for all the blessings they enjoy; for father, mother, happy homes, and plenty to eat and wear!

When we offer thanks, we ought to realize that all the blessings of life do truly come from our Heavenly Father, and that to him we owe our life, our all.

How hard we ought to try to obey those dear parents spared us, and show by our every action our appreciation of them.

Dear children, when you are spending pleasant evenings by the warm fireside with loving friends, do not forget the many poor who are so destitute. May God's blessing rest upon you all, and spare you the sorrow of parting with your dear parents!