often do, little darlings of five or six years old, forced to sit still through a weary half-hour, with nothing to do, and not one word of sermon that they can understand. Most heartily can I sympathise with the little charity-girl, who is said to have written to some friend, "I thinks, when I grows up, I'll never go to church no more. I thinks I'se getting sermons enough to last me all my life!" But need it be so? Would it be so very irreverent to let your child have a story-book to read during the sermon, to while away that tedious half-hour, and to make church-going a bright and happy memory, instead of rousing the thought "I'll never go to church no more?" I think not. For my part, I should love to see the experiment tried. I am quite sure it would be a success. My advice would be to keep some books for that special purpose—I would call such books "Sunday-treats"—and your little boy or girl would soon learn to look forward with eager hope to that half-hour, once so tedious. If I were the preacher, dealing with some subject too hard for the little ones, I should love to see them all enjoying their picture-books. And if this little book should ever come to be used as a "Sunday-treat" for some sweet baby-reader, I don't think it could serve a better purpose.
Christmas, 1897.
