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Baby's Cradle.

'HAT sight can be pleasanter to see in a neat cottage home than 'Baby's Cradle?' I know such a home, a home where the little cradle seems always to be the centre of attraction to all in the house. Father is a railway porter, and in his home five or six little curly heads are nightly laid to sleep; but the cradle is the conspicuous object always. It is adorned with a coverlet knitted by mother's busy fingers, and tied on each side by knots of blue ribbon; and how pretty it looks! and how mother smiles when a visitor admires it, and takes a peep at the sturdy little fellow who lies within! It is scarcely necessary to say that both the father and mother of this happy home are strictly sober people, drink is never seen within their door. But I know another home where there is a baby too, and I have something to say about this baby and its cradle.

Upon a cold, snowy afternoon last winter, when all the women had assembled at the mothers' meeting, and just as the opening hymn had been given out, the lady in charge observed a stranger enter and take her seat at the door. She was quite a young woman, about twenty-two years of age, poorly clad, and carrying a very young infant in her arms. It was such a very cold day that she was at once invited to sit close by the fire with her baby, which she did. At the close of the meeting she was invited to return the following week, but as she did not do so she was visited in her home. Meantime the ladies had ascertained some sad particulars as to her history. Though so young, she was quite given up to drinking. Her husband, a young shoemaker, was a sober man, but he was bad tempered. There was an elder child of two years old. The misery of the home caused by his wife's intemperate habits so irritated him that fearful quarrels were the result, and once or twice the police had been obliged to interfere. We found her at the washingtub, the elder child sitting half-naked on the wet, sloppy floor, wailing and crying without getting a single word of kindness from the mother. She received us in a civil way enough, but she said that she did not care about the meeting, and would not return. As the child's cries were increasing, we suggested that the poor thing was cold and comfortless, when she snatched it up by the arm so violently that its cries were changed to screams of fright and pain.

This wakened up the younger child, who we then discovered for the first time was lying in a half-open drawer! 'Have you no cradle for baby?' we asked.

No,' she replied with a peculiar smile. I have no cradle.' We afterwards heard that just the week before the poor baby's cradle had been sold to supply the mother's craving for drink! And yet this poor unhappy woman, who had wrecked her home and ruined the happiness of her husband, was only twenty-two years of age! D. B. MCKEAN.

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The Street Chairmender.

MONG the travelling traders who contribute to the strange cries and quaint characters of the London streets, the chairmender well have a place.

His cry of 'Chairs to mend!' or, as he commonly prefers to pronounce it, Cheers to mend!' is familiar to those who live in London. Our picture gives a likeness taken from life of the personal appearance of one of these humble but neat-fingered craftsmen. It is the dilapidated, cane-seated chair that he repairs, and when his services are required he examines, as a skilful practitioner, the nature of the fracture which he has to set to rights. If the rent in the cane-work be small, and some thrifty housewife wishes to have the stitch in time that saves nine,' he takes from his shoulders the long loop of cane, he produces from his pockets his simple tools, and, seating himself in yard or area, or in a quiet neighbourhood, even under the garden railings of the Square, he splits and splices, and laces and replaces the breaking and broken cane, to the astonishment of children who gather round him, and for a modest fee he makes it as good as new,' as he would assure you. If the damage is of a more serious kind, if a foot or a leg has gone clean through the seat as some one stood on it, or if some one has sat on it of heavier weight than its frayed and worn edges could sustain, and there has ensued a serious rent of the cane net-work away from the wooden frame, then our wandering chairmender cannot well plant himself in street or area for so long a job, but, thrusting his arm through the rent, he carries off the dilapidated chair to be mended at his leisure in what he calls his home, though, probably, it is only a room in some dingy and crowded tenement, or, mayhap, only the kitchen of some registered lodging-house. Nevertheless, though his appearance be not very reputable, his craft humble, and his profits small and uncertain, we may respect the poor man's desire to earn an honest living, and may hope that he may meet with many Cheers to mend' in his rounds, and may be cheered in mending them by receiving no niggard payment for his skilful repairs.

Edward Blewett.

'Only, mind, don't look to me: As you bake, so brew, sir! Uncle won't an uncle be,

Just to bring you through, sir.
Sadly from your dreams you'll wake;
All experience teaches,

They alone should peaches take
Who can pay for peaches.'

Well, we married, I and Anne,
With a heart undaunted;
And the spell to work began;

Life seemed life enchanted.
'Yes, of course, a month or two,
Then you found your folly;
Owned your skins were gray, not blue,

Till they darkened wholly.'

Look around our dwelling now,
See this humble chamber;
Pledges seven of marriage vow
Sport, and leap, and clamber.
When each child was born I said,
'Doubtless God has sent it;
But that Anne and I were wed,
No, I don't repent it.'

Men may say the world's unkind;

But, where hearts are willing,

Help and work they're like to find,
And we owe no shilling.

Somehow, when the night gloom'd round,
God a way provided;
Perseverance sought and found ;—

Go and do as I did.

There is something surely wrong

When free honest labour
Needs must shift and falter long;

Though you frown, old neighbour,
Love and Nature win the day,
Wise saws won't prevent it;
Love, fond hearts, if love you may,
And you'll scarce repent it.

Thanked be God that labour's lot

Seems to lighten daily;

If the old land needs you not,

Emigrate, boys, gaily.

T

Comfort in the Dark Hour.

Boundless plains in sunshine bask,
Call for hands to share them,
Where two hearts, that only ask
What life needs, may pair them.

Therefore, once again I say,
Nature prompts you kindly;
Over-haste were life delay,
Mind you don't choose blindly.
But if maid should meet your love,
Worthy heart's possessing,
Trust your arm and God above,
And secure the blessing.

If your helpmate's half as dear
As my Anne, my darling -
Ah! there's uncle, boys, quite near,
Never mind his snarling;
All his wrath deceives me not:
When his lips have spent it,

'Boy,' he'll say, 'God's blessed your lot,

And you shan't repent it.'

Comfort in the Dark Hour.

HERE never was such affliction as mine,' said a poor sufferer, restlessly tossing in her bed in one of the wards of a city hospital.

'I don't think there ever was such a racking pain.'

Once,' was faintly uttered from the next bed.

The first speaker paused for a moment; and then, in a still more impatient tone, resumed her complaint.

'Nobody knows what I pass through. Nobody ever suffered more pain.'

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One,' was again whispered from the same direction.

'I take it you mean yourself, poor soul! but-'

Oh, not myself! not me!' exclaimed the other; and her pale face flushed up to the very temples, as if some wrong had been offered, not to herself but to another.

She spoke with such earnestness that her restless companion lay still for several seconds and gazed intently on her face. The cheeks were now wan and sunken, and the parched lips were drawn back from the mouth as if by pain. Yet there dwelt a strange sweetness in the clear gray eyes, and a refinement on the placid brow, such as can only be imparted by a heart-acquaintance with Him Who is full of grace and truth.'