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 Sovereign who is living there within it. Poor little child, so helpless, so dependent! It grows and develops, and if there is no one to impart this divine knowledge in those early, impressionable years, what a lifelong, nay, what an eternal loss! What designs of God over that little creature are all frustrated!

Now who is the being to whom this beautiful, awe-inspiring mission is intrusted? Whose tender hand shall mould that little heart to good, who shall teach those little lips to murmur its first prayer, who shall instruct, console, strengthen it in virtue, even turn it wholly to God from the beginning? In all your hearts is the answer, Nature's own answer—the mother!

And such a mission did John Bosco's mother accomplish. Upright, religious, a truly holy woman, she participated in that abundance of God that I have told you of, and by continual prayer sweetened her hard life of toil and poverty. She must have married when very young, for at nineteen she was a widow with two children of her own, Joseph and John, and a step-son, Anthony, John, the youngest, was two years old when his father died. They had their little home on a slope of the Alps, their modest vineyard above, and below a pasture for the cattle, while opposite was a deep, wild forest. A lonely place, you might think, for our little John; but there he grew up, thoughtful, observant and prayerful, in the midst of grand and impressive scenery that was ever