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THE HOUSEHOLD.

our walk, and the like of that; yet, if we didn't mind one or two little things, nothing about us will go for much."

"What little things do you mean, Fanny?"

"Why, just listen. Whether girls think of it or not, one great secret of looking well in what you wear is to be nice yourself. What matters a good bonnet over a grimy face? What's the use of a pretty shawl around a dirty neck? Who likes a girl that plasters her hair, but seldom combs it? And though I like to see a quiet-colour glove when it is a good fit, a clean hand, after all, has a greater charm. Nothing is worse than a filthy paw; and to see a girl's dirty finger-ends poking through greasy holes in her gloves is about the most nasty eyesore one can meet with. Mind that, Sarah. I need not say that a bright, well-fitted shoe or boot upon a spotless stocking always tells a good tale. Dirty heels are seldom friendly with clean pates. And though pins are little things, they often help you to great lessons. If you mark some people, Sarah, you will find that their way of dealing with a pin is just their way with greater things. A girl that never passes along without picking up a pin, that happens to be on the floor, will be sure at other times to act on the old saying, 'A penny saved is a penny got.' And you may guess, too, pretty well, whether a young woman is tidy or not, if you can find out how she uses her pins. There's a sluttish way, and a neat way, even in fixing a pin. A pin's head is not very big, and needs no trouble to keep clean; but I have seen people who never show a pin's head, but it is dull and dirty. Not that one must let every pin's head be seen, we may use them without showing them much; but if they do peep, don't let them look as if they had just come out of the grease-pot."

"Come, come, Fan, you are cutting it too fine. Some of us have too much dirty work to be so nice as you want us to be." "No, I don't think I'm unfair, Sarah. I know what dirty work is as well as most; and yet, from what I've seen among those who are worst off in that matter, 'tis plain enough to me that nobody has any excuse for being untidy. I know many girls who work in cotton

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mills, and many who get what some think dirtier work still, among nails and buttons, and the like of that; and then you have had enough of household work to be sure that there's plenty of what is not very clean to be done at home: but what of all that? You may pitch upon a real tidy body any day in the midst of her work; for she's known by the way in which her very working-clothes are kept about her. Then when the work is over, why, one can make herself just what she likes. Talk of dirty work, you

should see what I have seen in the west country among the girls that work in the mines. There they are, a long row of them in an open shed, breaking up lumps of ore with hammers. Let anybody go and look, and it would be harder to find dirty women there than clean ones in some places that I know, where the hands set up for much finer things, and turn up their noses at low gettings. A minegirl would not think herself fit to be seen without a snow-white cotton bonnet, made so as to shade her face, and cover her neck from the sun. She manages, too, to keep her boots black, and her working-dress whole and clean. Nor would she work without gloves, not she; and when her hammering is over for the day, and she puts on her pretty cotton-print frock, and sits to sew or knit in her clean stone cottage on the hill-side or by the road, you would never think, while you looked at her fine bright face, or watched the motion of her nice healthy-looking hands, that she had been so long pounding stones and earthy stuff that very day. I don't mean to deny that untidy girls may be met with there; but I do think that, taking them as a lot, the mine-girls show you how people may be clean and really dress well, though they have very dirty work to do."

"Well, I must give in, Fanny: it's no use trying to speak for a slut where you are, I see; you meet a body at every turn, and nobody but decent people stand any chance with you. Not that I like loose ways and untidy looks; no, no: 'tis because I like what you like that I want to know a little more about how you manage for yourself. Now I have been trying all this time to get out of you who your dressmaker is, and you keep it close still. I should like to know; for I am sure

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I would go to her. My things never seem so nicely done as yours, somehow."

"The truth must come out, Sarah: I do a great deal for myself. It always does me good to help myself; and I find that when I am doing my best in that way, other people seem most inclined to help me. And I think there's something in what I've heard a great man used to say, that if he wanted anything done well, he did it himself.' I don't mean that I make all my own dresses: but I do manage everything for common wear; and try to keep my best clothes right; for you know, Sarah, that the best things will soon be fit for nothing, unless they are looked after. Now, when I buy anything new, I like to have it as good as I can afford to get. Good things last longest, and are cheapest in the long run.

And as to fashion, why, I always try to have my things made so that they may be altered a bit now and then, if need be; and so I keep them, one way or another, as near to the fashion as is becoming for me."

"But how can you find the time for all that, Fanny?

"Time: why, I suppose everybody has some bits of time on hand now and then; and some people spend them in gossip, or trifle them away. For my part, I try to use up my scraps of time stitching and thinking."

"What in the world have you got to think about, Fan?"

"What have I got to think about, Sarah ? Why, about making sure of my fortune."

(To be continued.)

Narratives.

THE NEW YEAR'S TEMPTATION. THE tide of business and of pleasure flowed rapidly along the streets of on New-Year's Eve. Happy children, free for the holidays, sauntered along in groups, stopping at each of the gailydecorated shops to gaze upon the tempting articles exhibited for sale, and to speculate upon the probable cost of book or toy, and upon the chances of their ever possessing them. Here and there were persons intent on business: bright-looking matrons passing from one store to another in the selection of new-year's gifts for their children; the respectable artisan's wife filling her basket with a bountiful provision for the new-year's-day dinner; while amongst the crowds there was a genial exchange of good wishes for the new year. But the tide of business and of pleasure flowed past one house whose inmates had little acquaintance with either. A pale woman stood in the small room, just in the dusk of evening, preparing a meal for the children who surrounded her; and as she placed it on the table, and all gathered towards it, God's blessing was reverently asked; but there were no

bright looks of enjoyment on the faces of any in the group. The mother had been struggling for many years to maintain her children; for the father, who had worked with a strong arm for their support, had been removed by death. It was a fierce and daily contest with poverty; and, poor woman, she seemed to have the worst in the fight: the leanness of their daily fare had sapped the strength of her eldest child, and just before the night we name, she had, with an aching heart, taken him to a neighbouring infirmary, and left him there to become a cripple for life; the doctors having decided that white-swelling in one of his limbs rendered amputation necessary.

And now on this new-year's eve the poor widow had much to weigh down her heart, and make her very sad. Her rent was due, but the needed sum was not nearly raised. A stock of tea-cakes, whose sale usually added a little to her small earnings, lay almost untouched; for the respectable families whom she generally supplied, had not, amidst their profusion of Christmas fare, this week required any.

But she did not despair. God had for

OUR SERVANTS.

many years been her reconciled Father through her faith in the atonement of His Son; and she could remember wonderful deliverances which He had wrought for her in times of distress as great as the present. So she took as her new-year's motto, "I will trust, and not be afraid. Hitherto hath the Lord helped me!" And, casting her burden on the Lord, she was able to turn to her children with a cheerful face; and the homely meal was brightened by her loving words, and pleasant stories of the past.

The new year and the hallowed Sabbath dawned together; and as she rose next morning, and looked forward into the probable trials of the future, the widow felt thankful that this "first day" might be given entirely to God, and strength be sought to take its discipline and its duties in the spirit of a Christian. The trial of her faith was nearer than she thought. Scarcely was breakfast over, before her door was besieged by applications for tea-cakes from her neighbours who hallowed not the Sabbath. They knew her conscientiousness, and had not generally disturbed her in this way; but today she must make an exception to her rule: it was holiday-time, and people must enjoy themselves; and surely she would be glad to get her children a hearty meal. These, and many other pleas were urged by the would-be customers: some tried ridicule, and some abuse, to shake

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her purpose and stronger than all these rose the voice of the tempter, suggesting that He to whom she had entrusted her case had not supplied her wants so very liberally; and that in this instance, when relief was at hand, she might certainly avail herself of it. But through all the strife of human and satanic temptation there breathed the still, small voice of Divine guidance: "Remember the Sabbath-day, to keep it holy." "This is the way, walk ye in it." "He that believeth shall not make haste;" and Mrs. ——, keeping a firm hold on the promise of the widow's God, was able "to stand in the evil day."

"Mother!" cried little Johnny, dashing into the room next morning with very unusual animation, "here is a letter from uncle William: perhaps he has sent you a new-year's gift!" "No, dear," said his mother sadly, "your uncle has never spoken to me since I was married; and I fear it is too late to expect him to change now :" but she hastily opened the letter, and written upon it she might have read the triumphant inquiry," Is anything too hard for the Lord?" Her brother had relented towards her; and, in a kindly letter, had enclosed the exact sum required to make up her rent, and it had reached her only an hour or two before the landlord was expected to call for it!

"A Judge of the widow, and a Father of the fatherless, is God in His holy habitation."

Our Servants.

TRUTH.

THE year 1860 being now past, and the year 1861 having come, without unnecessary grief at our own short-comings, or unkindly remembrance of other people's misdoings, who does not wish to begin the new year better than he has lived the old one? A better year would be a happier year, and we wish every one "a happy new year."

The pride of Great Britain is the sanctity, seclusion, union, and comfort of her families. The family is God's own in

stitution for the concentration and diffusion of the greatest social good. Look at a well-ordered family which way you will, it ever impresses you with respect and delight. But we are apt, perhaps, to under-estimate the importance of "our servants," as an element of well-being and happiness in our families. "Our Times" may be called, on sundry occasions, critical, eventful, spirit-stirring, and the like; but the term that comprehends most fully, and most perfectly, the spirit of "Our Times," is "Money-seeking Times,"

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Everybody wonders and inquires what everybody else is worth: he that has most money is of the greatest worth; and he that has none is nothing worth. We know that such-like talk is, indeed, nothing worth; for we are very sure that thousands of most worthy people are poor people; and if much money were really necessary to make us worth much, one wonders why God has not taken greater care of His own children, after that fashion. This sort of talk, we say, is unwise; and is damaging to our right judgment and peace of mind. And we would at once express our sorrow at finding that "our servants," carried away by the stream of" our times," can indulge so far as they often do, in calculations about what their situations are worth, and how much themselves also are worth. This is a habit of thinking which quite saps the mind of all considerations but one, which is just this: How can I get the most out of my situation; and what is the least I can render in return? Fie upon such thoughts! They are genuine fruits of a covetous heart, and are themselves fraught with untold mischief and misery. No honourable persons can either indulge this disposition in themselves, or respect those who do gratify it. To assist "our servants" in making themselves, and the families wherein they reside, sure of happiness, is our purpose in writing the following paragraphs.

Truth. There is nothing like truth. It is the first and best of all qualities. It is the foundation of honour, the line of righteousness, the plummet of exactness, the pendulum of punctuality, true strength of character; it makes threats terrible, and promises reliable; without it friendship is flattery, and contracts are lies.

JESUS, SWEET NAME.

FROM THE LATIN OF ST. BERNARD.

No matter what else perishes, truth perishes not. Truth abides for ever. Such is the common estimate of truth, that every one despises falsehood; and nobody can be called a false man without offending him. Truth is, of all qualities, the most valuable in " our servants." It does not follow that there should be any less of what besides may form a good servant; of kindliness, modesty, and so on; but unless truth, the fair, the firm, white stone of truth, lie at the foundation, some day or other, everything you heap up will tumble down, because it was not built up on truth. Therefore take truth into your very heart: there it will cure the deceit of the heart itself, and regulate your judgment, and give law to your lips, and unity to your actions, and it will look out at the windows of your eyes, and it will render your whole character clear as crystal. Be sure of this, that you will find many temptations to depart from the truth. An enemy may suggest that the matter being little, the lie to cover it cannot be great; or the matter being great, it is worth a lie to cover it. Horrid! No lie is little. Nothing can be worth a lie. Therefore may you pray, with the devout Psalmist, "Save me from the way of lying." Save me from equivocation, prevarication, hypocrisy, guile, simulation, dissimulation, false looks, false tones; everything that is untrue. Make me, O God of truth, like Thyself in truth: let my yea be yea; and my nay, nay. In truth, let me liken Jesus, who is "the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever." God loves truth, and will hear and answer such a prayer as that, for Christ's sake. Then, should slander breathe upon you, it will be but as breath upon a diamond: the diamond is dim one moment, bright the very next.

Poetry.

JESU! the very thought is sweet!
In that dear Name all heart-joys meet;
But sweeter than the honey far
The glimpses of His presence are.

No word is sung more sweet than this;
No name is heard more full of bliss;

No thought brings sweeter comfort nigh
Than Jesus, Son of God Most High!
Jesu! the hope of souls forlorn!
How good to them for sin that mourn!
To them that seek Thee, O how kind!
But what art Thou to them that find?

No tongue of mortal can express,
No letters write its blessedness;

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THE BANKS OF THE TAMAR.
No. XIII,

"No further seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode; There they alike in trembling hope repose, The bosom of his father and his God."

"WHAT was it?" you are ready to say, "what was it you saw?" Why, it was not the effigy of Sir James Tillie putting forth tokens of life; but it was a living thing mysteriously peering over the old Knight's stony shoulder; it was an owl: and he looked at me from under the ivy, and rolled his lustrous eyes, as if he would say, "Who is this that dares to disturb my first delicious moments of communion with

the gathering shadows?" "So it is come to this!" murmured I within myself, as I dropped from the window of the desolate place, and threaded my way down through the darkling wood, "it is come to this: the poor Knight can no longer choose his company; his mortal part, at all events, could it speak, would have to say, 'I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls."" Nevertheless he ought scarcely to complain; for night-birds had their home in that mountain-knoll long before Sir James Tillie was born: he chose to come to them, not they to him. And it may be hard even for an owl to suffer encroach

ment. But, after all, to think of one's bones reposing where the silence is never broken but by the voice of a solemn bird keeping "watch and ward," is much more pleasant than to conceive of being buried in some open yard, where the sod which covered one is to be trodden down and worn away by the feet of those who pay no respect to dust which fetches nothing in the market. Yes, and much more agreeable than to suppose one's mortal tenement pressed beneath the squat slabs of some cemetery, whose stones serve the double purpose of covers for the dead, and pavement for the living. To look at some of our graveyards, is to be tempted towards the opinion that, as to any tasteful care of departed friends' memorials, many are disposed to say, as a primitive Jew said about his brother's blood, "What profit is it?" How little there is in such cases to remind us that

"The dust we tread upon was once alive!" I have not much affection for Paris; but I do love the example of her "Père la Chaise." If she has no "homes" for the living, she becomingly provides them for the dead; and if no heart is to be found under the accomplishments of her social life, she manifests a lovely feeling in her attention to the tombs of her children,

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