jackets. Not many yards from the door the mother was waiting for them; she took them at once to the pawnshop, stripped the little shivering ones of the only warm garments which they had known for many a day, disposed of them for a trifle, and got drunk with the money. The next day the sufferings of one of these children were happily closed by death. I say happily, for death is the only release: a release to be desired beyond everything for the drunken mother's child. Here we must weep for the living and not for the dead."1

It is painful, says the same writer, how drink turns the kind-hearted mother into a demon. "The

"Years fled and left me childhood's joy,

Gay sports and pastimes dear;

I rose a wild and wayward boy,
Who scorned the curb of fear.

"Fierce passions shook me like a reed,
Yet ere at night I slept,

That soft hand made my bosom bleed,
And down I fell, and wept.

"That hallowed touch was ne'er forgot,
And now, tho' time hath set
His frosty seal upon my lot,
These temples feel it yet.

"And if e'er in heaven appear,
A mother's holy prayer,
A mother's hand and gentle tear,
That pointed to a Saviour dear,
Hath led the wanderer there."

1 Ragged Homes.

sound of her returning footsteps" (after a day's absence at work), " instead of being, as at first, welcomed with joy, becomes the signal for throwing the little group into unutterable dismay. Something which has gone wrong with these neglected children at once attracts the mother's notice; two or three little heads are banged violently together, another is taken up by the hair, and flung across the room; the much-needed supper is withheld, as a punishment for some misdemeanour, and in the midst of curses and blows, these wretched children are driven on to the heap of rags called their bed, where, either broken-hearted, or (according to the temperament and health of the child) with every evil passion at work in the breast, they sob themselves to sleep. An hour or two afterwards, when the mother has gone out again to drink or gossip, or is sleeping the drunkard's sleep upon the floor, I have stolen into such rooms, and stood by the heap of rags, and watched the countenances of these unwashed, uncombed, unloved, uncared-for children, in their troubled sleep. I have seen the marks of the mother's violence; I have seen the lines caused by the tears which have coursed down the cheeks of the gentler girls, and the look of defiance stamped thus early in the faces of the hardier boys, and, God forgive me, if, in uncontrolled agony, I have knelt on

the dirty floor, and prayed that these injured ones might never wake again!"

"1

In striking contrast to such scenes, study the picture of a well-trained humble family, in the introduction to a beautiful little essay on the Sabbath, called The Pearl of Days. The little work was composed by a Scottish labourer's daughter, who had received scarcely any instruction but what she got from her mother. In the sketch of her life, prefixed to the essay, she gives a most interesting account of her parents, particularly her mother. It was the constant aim of this excellent woman to make home a scene of comfort and enjoyment to her family, and especially to her husband; and so far did she carry this, that she used to say that "it was disagreeable and improper to be bustling about while father was within, and when he was gone out the work must be done up." Too poor to provide schooling for her numerous family, she herself became their instructor; and her daughter relates, that "four times a day usually each of us had our short lesson; and if it be considered that the whole of the labour of the house devolved upon our mother, it will be believed that this could be no light task. Nothing, however, was allowed to interrupt our lessons; and it was no uncommon thing to see her busy at the washing-tub,

1 Mended Homes.

while we, by turns, took our place beside her; one child would be found attending to the baby—another gathering sticks and keeping the fire alive-a third engaged in reading—and a fourth bringing water from a pure soft spring at some distance from the housewhile our eldest brother assisted father in the garden." In this well-ordered family the Sabbath was uniformly a day of bright and peculiar enjoyment; it was a well-spring of comfort and peace, that, besides its own peculiar joy, increased the relish of other blessings, and sweetened the bitterness of many trials. It may readily be conceived, that for such constant exertions as those of the parents, a strong sustaining influence was requisite; that influence. was LIVING PIETY, fed amid the calm and holy exercises of a well-spent Sabbath.

Of all the outward requisites for a comfortable dwelling, none stands so high as cleanliness. An old proverb says, that "Cleanliness is next to godliness;" and there is much force in the statement. Cleanliness is certainly the type or emblem of godliness. No figure is more frequently used in Scripture than cleanness or purity to denote true holiness. Now, there ought to be ever a visible connexion between the type and the antitype-the emblem and the reality. We cannot say at present, that wherever there is cleanliness there is godliness, nor

even that wherever there is godliness there is cleanliness; but unhesitatingly we say, wherever there is godliness there ought to be cleanliness. We can

hardly conceive how any one can have a very high sense of the value of inward purity and order, and yet not be offended by outward filth and confusion. Notwithstanding this, however, and notwithstanding that the working classes in Scotland usually stand higher than those of England in intelligence and religion, our Scotch dwellings are usually far inferior to those of England in tidiness and cleanliness. No one can have travelled in England without being struck by evidences of superior taste for neat and tidy dwellings. One of her Majesty's inspectors of schools for England, in a report on the state of education in the county of Norfolk, amid sad details of the ignorance of the people, writes thus of the habits of the Norwich weavers, a class whose earnings are miserably low:-"One marked and favourable peculiarity, even amongst the poorest Norwich weavers, is their strict attention to cleanliness and decency in their dwellings—a token of self-respect, and a proof of ideas and habits, of which the severest privations in food and dress did not seem to be able to deprive them. Their rooms might be destitute of all the necessary articles of furniture; but the few that remained were clean-the walls and staircase white