"Greater is he who ruleth his spirit, than he who taketh a city."

  "COME here, sir!" said a strong, athletic man, as he seized a delicate-looking lad by the shoulder. "You 've been in the water again, sir! Have n't I forbidden it?"

  "Yes, father, but—"

  "No 'buts!'—have n't I forbidden it, hey?"

  "Yes, sir. I was—"

  "No reply, sir!" and the blows fell like a hail-storm about the child's head and shoulders.

  Not a tear started from Harry's eye, but his face was deadly pale, and his lips firmly compressed, as he rose and looked at his father with an unflinching eye.

  "Go to your room, sir, and stay there till you are sent for. I 'll master that spirit of yours before you are many days older!"

  Ten minutes after, Harry's door opened, and his mother glided gently in. She was a fragile, delicate woman, with mournful blue eyes, and temples startingly transparent. Laying her hand softly upon Harry's head, she stooped and kissed her forehead.

  The rock was touched, and the waters gushed forth. "Dear mother!" said the weeping boy.

  "Why did n't you tell your father that you plunged into the water to save the life of your playmate?"

  "Did he give me a chance?" said Harry, springing to his feet, with a flashing eye. "Did n't he twice bid me to be silent, when I tried to explain? Mother, he's a tyrant to you and to me!"

  "Harry, he 's my husband and your father!"

  "Yes, and I 'm sorry for it. What have I ever had but blows and harsh words? Look at your pale cheeks and sunken eyes, Mother! It 's too bad, I say! He 's a tryant, mother!" said the boy, with a clenched fist and set teeth; "and if it were not for you, I would have been leagues off long ago. And there 's Nellie, too, poor, sick child! What good will all her medicine do her? She trembles like a leaf when she hears his footsteps. I say, 't is brutal, mother!"

  "Harry"—and a soft hand was laid on the impetuous boy's lips—"for my sake"—

  "Well, 't is only for your sake,—yours and poor Nellie's,—or I should be on the ocean somewhere—anywhere but here."

  Late that night, Mary Lee stole to her boy's bedside, before retiring to rest. "God be thanked, he sleeps!" she murmured, as she shaded her lamp from his face. Then, kneeling at his bedside, she prayed for patience

  "No, no, not that!" said Harry, springing from his pillow, and throwing his arms about her neck. "I can forgive him for what he has done to me, but I never will forgive him what he has made you suffer. Don't pray for him,—at least, don't let me hear it!"

  Mary Lee was too wise to expostulate. She knew her boy was spirit-sore, under the sense of recent injustice; so she lay down beside him, and, resting her tearful cheek against his, repeated, in a low, sweet voice, the story of the crucifixion. "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do!" fell upon his troubled ear. He yielded to the holy spell.

  "I will!" he sobbed. "Mother, you are an angel; and if I ever get to heaven, it will be your hand that has led me there."

  There was hurrying to and fro in Robert Lee's house that night. It was a heavy hand that dealt those angry blows on that young head!

  The passionate father's repentance came too late,—came with the word that his boy must die!

  "Be kind to her!" said Harry, as his head drooped on his mother's shoulder.

  It was a dearly-bought lesson! Beside that lifeless corpse, Robert Lee renewed his marriage vow; and now, when the hot blood of anger rises to his temples, and the hasty word springs to his lip, the pale face of the dead rises up between him and the offender, and an angel voice whispers, "Peace, be still!"