The Mother in the Front Pew

She was a little woman, very plainly dressed in black bombazine that had seen much careful wear, and her bonnet was very old. Many people stared at her tottering up the aisle of the grand church, evidently bent on securing one of the best seats, for on that day a great man preached, and the house was filled with splendidly-dressed people, who had heard of the fame of the preacher, of his learning, his intellect and his goodness, and they wondered at the presumption of the old woman. She must have been in her dotage, for she picked out the pew of the richest members of the church, and took a seat. The three ladies who were seated there beckoned to the sexton, who bent over the intruder and whispered something, but she was hard of hearing, and smiled a withered smile as she said gently: 'Oh, I'm quite comfortable here, quite comfortable here.' But you are not wanted here, said the sexton, pompously. There is not room. Come with me, my good woman; I will see that you have a seat. 'Not room?' said the old woman, looking at her shrunken proportions, and then at the fine ladies. 'Why, I'm not crowded a bit. I rode ten miles to hear the sermon today, because—' But here the sexton took her by the arm and shook her roughly, in a polite, underhand way, and she took the hint. Her faded old eyes filled with tears, her chin quivered; but she arose meekly and left the pew. Turning quietly to the ladies, who were spreading their rich dresses over the space she left vacant, she said gently: 'I hope, my dears, there'll be room in heaven for us all.' The great preacher looked at her with a smile of recognition, and then the service proceeded, and he preached a sermon which struck fire from every heart. 'Who was she?' asked the ladies who could not make room for her, as they passed the sexton at the door. 'The preacher's mother,' was the answer of that functionary, in an injured tone. How few remember that while man looketh on the outward appearance the Lord looketh on the heart.