D Htan'iK ;3i aim.i-! ,.
 
 .m n •;»:•<■•■? iUTf; M 
 
 v;M.cn,»..»»^.i,>..... 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 n 
 
 i
 
 A BOOK 
 
 FOR 
 
 THE HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 Home, Sweet Home ! and 
 other Tales. 
 
 ^ 
 
 I Fourteenth Thousand. 
 
 > ■ / 
 
 I ■ " I 
 
 / 
 / 
 
 I 
 
 I I 
 
 I / 
 
 I _ . . ,. ^ „ I 
 
 \ LONDON: JAR BOLD AND SONS, f 
 
 12, PATERNOSTKR ROW.
 
 3111 
 
 •^\/' 
 
 HOME, SWEET HOME ! 
 THE GOOD MOTHEE. 
 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 SUNDAY EXCUESIONS. 
 KIND TURNS. 
 
 61'120i 
 
 UBRART
 
 "HOME! SWEET HOME!" 
 
 PiS. COWELL was dreadfully busy, and as cross 
 as possible. The weather was hot ; the children 
 had holidays ; the baby was teething, and whined 
 fretfully the livelong day ; the washing was about, 
 and — it was Friday. Mrs. Cowell was by no means the 
 best-tempered woman in the world, and, seeing that she 
 had so many things to ruffle her temper just at the time of 
 which I am ■^Titing, can you wonder that she was cross ? 
 Her eldest girl, Fanny, was sitting on the door-step 
 dandling the baby somewhat roughly on her knee, and 
 trying to soothe it with one of the songs that she had 
 learned at school. Fanny had a clear voice, and the 
 words rang out sweetly — 
 
 "Home ! home I sweet, sweet home ! 
 Be it ever so humble, there is no place like home." 
 
 The child sang without thinking much of what she was 
 saying. For had you questioned her closely, you would 
 soon have discovered that she thought any place, even 
 the streets, better than home. There was discomfort, 
 untidiness, snappishness, quarrelling at home : it was a 
 place which the children shunned as much as possible. 
 
 Mrs. Cowell was bending over her wash-tub ; she felt 
 hot and flurried. Fanny's song floated through the house 
 to the back kitchen ; it grated on her mother's ears. 
 
 "Fanny!" shouted Mrs. Cowell, "drop that! and 
 just sing something sensible, if you must sing." 
 
 Fanny changed her tune. "No place like home, 
 indeed!" muttered Mrs. Cowell to herself; "them as 
 wrote such rubbish ought to have had ?«?/ place." 
 
 Both Mr. and Mrs. Cowell worked hard ; that cannot 
 be denied. Mr. Cowell was a journeyman carpenter, and 
 earned very fair wages. Mrs. Cowell went out three
 
 4 "home, sweet home." 
 
 days in the week to work at a laundress's ; and hy so 
 doing she lost more than she gained, though she didn't 
 know it. Her house was always disorderly ; her children 
 were untidy and neglected ; Mr. Cowell spent his evenings 
 out ; in short, the home was miserable. 
 
 Fanny, who was eleven years of age, had a sony life 
 of it. She managed to get to school sometimes, but got 
 scolded for irregular attendance. She had been turned 
 away from two schools. Going so irregularly as she did, 
 the teachers told her she was a bad example to the other 
 children. So now she went to a free school, where she 
 could take the baby on days when her mother went out 
 to work. Fanny had one brother older, and two or three 
 younger, than herself. These she had to " manage" in 
 her mother's absence, and it was no easy task, I can tell 
 you. A child ought never to be placed in such cir- 
 cumstances. If the wives of our working men would be 
 wise and do that which is best for their families, they 
 must certainly be '^keepers at home." 
 
 Mr. Coweli was very careless of home. His garden 
 gave abundant proof of this : it was trampled and over- 
 grown with weeds. There was a nice square plot at the 
 front of the house ; and a long strip behind, sufficient to 
 grow nearly enough vegetables for the use of the family. 
 But it was cut up into patches which were claimed by the 
 different children, and over which they quarrelled to their 
 hearts' content. The house itself ought to have been a 
 little paradise. It was one of a row built on improved 
 ^principles, and it had eveiy convenience for housekeeping. 
 When the family first went into it, Mrs. Cowell resolved 
 to turn over a new leaf and keep it nice. She put neat 
 muslin curtains to the front windows, and beat the 
 children oftener than ever for coming in with muddy 
 shoes, for scratching the paint, or smearing the windows. 
 But the new house was only a nine-days' wonder. When 
 the curtains became dirty they remained dirty ; concerning 
 the smeared windows and dirtied floors, Mrs. Cowell said 
 she " couldn't be for everlasting turning the house out 
 of the windows;" and the flowers which had been 
 planted in the garden grew wild, and faded for want of
 
 tending ; so the new home speedily became as slovenlj 
 as the old one had been. I dare say you know, friends, 
 that it is very easy to " turn over a new leaf;" but it is 
 hard work to carry out the new resolutions that are im- 
 printed on the new page. It requires a great deal of 
 patience and steady perseverance to enable you to do so. 
 But when you are struggling up-hill, never halt midway, 
 friends, iiever halt inidiraij. It is easy to run the Jirst 
 steps of a race, but having once set out, don't give up : 
 persevere to the end. I have said that Mr. Cowell was 
 very careless of home. He certainly brought the greater 
 part of his wages home to his wife every week ; but 
 earning money for the maintenance of the family is but 
 one part of the duty of a husband and father. To be a 
 cumfort and a blessing to his home he must be the 
 " head " of it, overseeing, arranging, and taking a deep 
 interest in every thing that concerns his family. 
 
 Mr. Cowell cared nothing about this part of his duty. 
 He came home to his meals, grumbled, (so setting au 
 example to the children to do the same) and went otf to 
 his work again. In the evenings he joined some of his 
 tellow workmen for "recreation," either going out for 
 long walks, sitting gossiping in a neighbour's house, or 
 smoking and drinking in a public-house. Meanwhile, 
 his neglected and miserable children were left to do what 
 they liked. They felt that they were not cared for at 
 home, so they sought the streets and street companions ; 
 and in the streets children learn that which is ruinous to 
 their moral health. 
 
 Mr. Cowell was not what you would call a drunkard. 
 He was very rarely unable to walk straight. Although 
 he indulged rather more freely on Sundays than on other 
 days, he was not in the habit of keeping " Saint Monday." 
 But though he called himself a "moderate drinker," he 
 spent many shillings every week that would have made 
 his home comfortable had they been properly spent ; and 
 the useless and health-destroying drink that he bought 
 sapped him of energy, clouded his mind, and kept him 
 from rising intellectually and morally. In his spare 
 hours he was not in the humour for studying or improving
 
 6 *' HOaiE, SWEET HOME." 
 
 his mind in any way ; he had no inclination for tidying 
 or beautifying the homestead, or for interesting, and 
 giving pleasure to, his poor children. He was hankering 
 after the companionship of men as had or worse than 
 himself. He didn't feel that dignity and exalted pleasure 
 and peace that a right-doing man feels ; how could he ? 
 
 So the days, and months, and years passed by. He 
 went on in his old drowsy, dead-alive, grumbling, 
 naiserable way, until a little circumstance occurred which 
 caused quite a revolution in his tastes and habits. 
 
 There was a man who worked in the same shop as 
 Mr. Cowell. On account of his steady business habits 
 and superior manners, this man was nicknamed " our 
 gentleman," by his fellow workmen. His name was 
 George Pariy. He was one who dearly loved his home, 
 and he did everything in his power to make it happy. 
 He lived no selfish life. All his spare time was devoted 
 to his family. Thai could sing with heart and voice, 
 " There's no place like home." 
 
 George Pariy knew that Cowell's home was wretched. 
 He often saw the children running about the streets, 
 ragged and dirty ; and at such times he would say to his 
 neat, motherly-looking wife, " How sad it is to see the 
 poor little Cowells running about as though they had no 
 owners ! " And Mrs. Parry would reply, " Ah ! Mr. and 
 Mrs. Cowell little think what a terrible rod they are 
 making for their own backs." Then she would go on to 
 say that George ought certainly to speak to Mr. Cowell 
 in a friendly way, and try to influence him to see after 
 his family and attend to their best interests. 
 
 So one day in the workshop, Mr. Pany managed to 
 get near the bench whei-e Mr. Cowell was working. He 
 began a conversation which presently turned upon ship- 
 building; and the two, in the most lively manner, 
 discussed the merits of ships, from Noah's Ark to the 
 Great Eastern. Mr. Cowell was quite at home on the 
 subject of the Great Eastern. He had heard it talked 
 about and quibbled over in the public-houses so much, 
 that he flattered himself that he could talk very intelli- 
 gently concerning that monarch of vessels.
 
 THE WELL-KEPT GARDEN. 7 
 
 "Ah!" said George Parry, "I've had a good many 
 conversations with my boys about that ship ; and my 
 eklest hid, ^Yilliam, took up so with the idea of it, that 
 what must he do but go and build a model ship ! and I 
 must say he's done it first rate, rigged it out, and made 
 quite a smart thmg of it. I tell him it's good enough 
 to be put under a glass case. The lad has named it The 
 Britannia. Perhaps you'd like to call and take a peep 
 at it ; "William would be quite proud to show it to you. 
 I like to encourage my boys in little works of the kind. 
 The power to make such things may be of great use." 
 
 " Well," said John, with a half sigh, " some children 
 do turn out clever, and are orderly, and satisfied to stay 
 at home and do such things ; but as for mine, you might 
 as well think of chaining the wind as keeping them in- 
 doors of evenings. While they're in the house it's all 
 helter-skelter to get out again. Even at meal times 
 they eat their food fast enough to choke 'em, or else take 
 it out in their hands." 
 
 George Parry knew where the fault lay, but he did 
 not allude to it just then; he only said, "Well, John, 
 I shall be very glad to see you any time that you like to 
 drop in. I should certainly like you to see William's 
 ship." John promised to make an early call; and the 
 next evening, after giving himself an extra cleaning, he 
 bent his steps in the direction of George Parry's house. 
 
 His knock was answered by Mrs. Parry. She was 
 dressed with care and neatness. In her dark serviceable 
 print gown, white apron, neat cap, and with a cheerful 
 face, she looked just as a working-man's wife should 
 look. John made known his errand ; and Mrs. Parry 
 asked him to walk out into the back, where Mr. Parry 
 and the boys were doing a " bit of gardening." 
 
 John followed her through the tidy house ; and felt 
 inclined to open his eyes with wonder when he reached 
 the garden. It was not so large as his own, but it 
 was in beautiful order. All round the garden ran a 
 border of sweet flowers : the middle plot was planted with 
 vegetables. " Good evening," said Mr. Cowell, "I hope 
 I shan't distui'b you; you look as busy as bees here."
 
 8 " HOME, SWEET HOME." 
 
 The cliildren paused in their -weeding and looked mth 
 curiosity at the visitor. Tliere was William the " ship- 
 Builder" there: he was the eldest of the family; and 
 there were two hoys besides, and a baby girl, who was 
 " helping" by digging in a corner with an old knife. 
 
 " We are rather busy," said Mr. Parry, in answer to 
 his friend's remark, "but we shall soon have done out 
 here. Evening is the best time for gardening this hot 
 weather. How do you get on with yours, John ?" 
 
 John seemed confused, and stammered a little as he 
 replied, "Well, my garden don't seem to thrive some- 
 how ; no matter what I plant in it, it never comes to 
 anything. I've almost given it up." 
 
 "Given it up!" echoed George. "Don't say that, 
 John, about such a nice garden as you've got. Why, 
 it's a good bit larger than this, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Half as large again, I should think," said John. 
 
 "Well, lad," said George, cheerfully, "make it yield 
 what it ought to yield. Seeing that you are its master 
 you must look after it constantly ; tickle it with spade, 
 and hoe, and rake, until it laughs with a plentiful 
 harvest, as I've heard somebody say. If you let it 
 alone, it won't take the trouble to grow you anjiihing 
 worth having ; you must oversee it and trhij) it up, like,- 
 or it will be sure to sulk, and become weedy and seedy." 
 
 John laughed as he leant against a wall, with his hands 
 in his pockets, watching the father and boys at work. 
 " Now, Willie, look alive," said Mr. Pany to his eldest 
 boy, "there are six or seven lettuces ready to tie up 
 yonder. Just see if there's a good one you can pull for 
 Mr. Cowell ; may-be he'd like it for his supper. Have 
 you got any lettuce in your garden, John ?" 
 
 "No," said John, feeling a wee bit ashamed. "I've 
 told you that we've got nothing worth having." 
 
 "Well, now, take my advice, there's a good fello'w, 
 and tickle it up a bit. It isn't too late to plant some 
 things even now. And it seems to do folks like you and 
 me, that ai'e shut up all day, a world of good to do a 
 bit of gardening. It's healthy for the body ; and then 
 it wakes up thoughts in the mind. You know we are
 
 THE "best room." 9 
 
 reminded that we may sow, and plant, and water, but 
 none but God can give the increase. And it is so in- 
 teresting to watch things grow. I'm sure we've been 
 looking out all the spring for the coming of these flowers ; 
 and see what lovely colours they are ! " 
 
 " The finest border of flowers that I've seen for many 
 a long day," said John, thinking gloomily of his wilder- 
 ness of a place. 
 
 " Shall we pick a bunch for — " began one of the boys, 
 shyly. 
 
 '"For Mr. Cowell, Frank?" said his father. "Yes, 
 surely, if he'll accept of them. I think a bunch of 
 flowers looks nice in the best room." 
 
 "The best room, indeed!" thought John. He had 
 no such a place in his house. 
 
 "Wait, Frankie," cried George, as the little boy 
 began pulling at a rose bush, " I think mother had 
 better see to the picking of the flowers ; you know she's 
 veiy particular about them. 
 
 The child ran into the house, and in a few moments 
 re-appeared with his mother. She came out with some 
 sewing in her hand, and, hearing what was required of 
 her, laid it down on a gooseberry bush, and cut several 
 beautiful flowers, which she handed to Frank to tie up. 
 
 " They are very fine I" said John, admiringly, as the 
 child handed them to him. 
 
 " Here, father, I have done the lettuce," said William, 
 presently, " is there anything else to do ?" 
 
 " Not this evening, Willie; gather the things together, 
 and we'll carry them in. You run and get washed, 
 Mr. Cowell wants you to show him The Britannia.'' 
 
 The lad smiled and blushed as he stooped to pick up 
 the spade. He was pleased that any one should take an 
 interest in his work. He quickly disappeared into the 
 little washhouse, and was ready to accompany John into 
 the house, by the time his father and the little ones 
 came to take possession of the washhouse. 
 
 William led the way into the "best room." It was 
 quite a "parlour," although I must tell you that the 
 carpet did not extend all over the floor, there was no
 
 10 " HOME, SWEET HOME." 
 
 sofa, and there was not a useless article of furniture in 
 the room. But it was a pleasant, clean, cosy little place, 
 and had the air of a "best room" about it. William's 
 ship stood on the centre of the table. He gave it into 
 Mr. Cowell's hands that he might examine it, while the 
 boy explained the different parts. Then he took a book 
 from the book- case, and told John that it was from that 
 book — "The Old Sea Captain" — that he had gained 
 information to enable him to build The Britannia. 
 
 In the midst of their interesting conversation llr. 
 Parry entered the room. 
 
 The younger children were soon afterwards sent to bed. 
 William went to his favourite seat by the kitchen window 
 to do his home lessons, and John was left with Parry and 
 his wife in the parlour, Mrs. Parry sat sewing. 
 
 John did not feel quite at his ease with them. He 
 would have been quite at home among pot-house orators, 
 and could have " held forth " as bravely as any of them 
 on politics, of which they knew about as much as the fat 
 landlady who sometimes listened to them. 
 
 " Well, I must say your boy is uncommon clever," 
 remarked John, when William was gone into the kitchen. 
 
 "Yes," replied George, with a gratified smile, "I 
 expect he will make himself famous some day." 
 
 "And he's so good and obedient," said Mrs. Pany, 
 quietly; "it's such a comfort to have the eldest so, be- 
 cause he's an example to all the rest." 
 
 " Yes, it is," said John, thinking regretfully of his 
 eldest boy, who was a young scapegrace. 
 
 "God is faithful to His word," said George, seriously. 
 " He has said, ' Train up a child in the way he should 
 go, and when lie is old he shall not depart from it.' 
 That is very true ; but that training is no easy work : it 
 requires one to be continually watchful and careful." 
 
 After a pause he added, cheerfully, "I suppose you 
 can stay and have half-an-hour's chat, John. I generally 
 read to the Missis in evenings, but we'll forego our book 
 this evening. We're going through Smiles' 'Self Help,' 
 it's a capital book ; have you ever seen it, John ?" 
 
 John knew very little about books now, though he had
 
 " it's THE MISSIS THAT DOES IT." 11 
 
 been something of a reader in his younger days. He 
 had never even heard of ' Self Help,' and so answered 
 George's question with a quiet " No." 
 
 " I advise you to get it from the Free Library," said 
 George ; it's a capital thing. Missis is as much in- 
 terested in it as I am myself, and William says it's as 
 good as a story book." 
 
 "We folks are not much of ones for reading," said 
 John. " Missis says she's got too much to do to trouble 
 about books. You see she isn't at home much." 
 
 " Does she go out to work ?" asked Mrs. Parry. 
 
 " Yes ; two or tlu'ee days eveiy week." 
 
 "0, what a pity!" said Mrs. Parry. "It is so 
 dreadful for the home and children when the mother 
 goes out to work. I do think she would find herself 
 better off by staying at home. I assure you, Mr. Cowell; 
 I would not leave my children for three shillings a day, 
 I'm sure I should lose by it even at that rate. And then 
 what comfort is there at home when the children are left 
 to do as they like ?" 
 
 " Not a bit," said John, promptly ; " but then you see 
 a family is so expensive that one is glad of a few shillings 
 coming in any way." 
 
 " How many children have you, now ?" asked George. 
 
 " Five," said John. 
 
 "Just the number we had till we lost our second last 
 summer," remarked George. And he added, "Now, 
 let us talk in a friendly way, John : you get just the 
 same wages as I do, yet there's no need of my Missis 
 going out to work. Indeed she always manages to put 
 by a little every week out of the earnings for a rainy 
 day, you know." 
 
 " Well, I don't know how you do it ; it comes over 
 me by notches," said John, with a short laugh. 
 
 " It's the Missis that does it, you must ask her," said 
 George. 
 
 "Ah, you do everything to help me," said his wife, 
 " or I shouldn't get along half so well. You see, Mr. 
 Cowell, we manage in this way ; we never buy anything 
 but what is quite needful. George brings every farthing
 
 12 " HOME, SWEET HOME." 
 
 of liis money home. He never buys such rubbish as 
 tobacco or snuflf ; and as for beer or any such drinks we 
 never spend a halfpenny in them : we are healthier with- 
 out them, and a thousand times happier than those who 
 buy them. Then, you know, I'm always at home to see 
 after the place and take care of things ; and I can tell 
 you that I find quite enough to do to keep the house in 
 order and the children tidy. We have everything done 
 at home, baking, washing, making, mending ; and what 
 with that; house cleaning, and attending to the children, 
 my time is quite taken up. I couldn't think of going out 
 to work unless I made up my mind to neglect my duty at 
 home." 
 
 " Well, I believe you there," said John. "When the 
 mother is out much, things are bound to go wrong at 
 home. I must have a talk with my Missis about it. I'm 
 certain of this ; there's a screw loose somewhere with us. 
 Before ever we could get as straight and comfortable as 
 you are we should have to turn everything topsy-turvy. 
 But how do you manage with your children ? they don't 
 seem to want to be off into the streets." 
 
 "Bless you, no," said Mr. Parry; "we've never 
 allowed them to go, so they haven't a wish to go. I"ll 
 tell you how we manage ; we try to make home so 
 cheerful and happy, that the children shall feel when 
 they are out that they would rather go home than any- 
 where else in the world. We always study how we can 
 amuse and interest them. You know God has given 
 them to us to train up so that they may be a blessing to 
 the world, and a glory to Himself; and I am sure they 
 need our anxious thoughts, and earnest attention and 
 prayers always. We study to keep broils and bickerings 
 from our family circle. And with gratitude to God — for 
 He is the author of all our blessings- — I can say that we 
 live very peacefully and happily. We certainly have 
 little troubles of one kind or another to bear very often : 
 for instance, sickness, and last year we had a death ; but 
 I assure you that such troubles are easy to bear compared 
 with such as having wicked, rebellious children ; a 
 scolding, ill-managing wife ; and a disorderly home."
 
 FEELING AMBITIOUS. 13 
 
 "I believe it," said John, tliouglitfiilly. 
 
 "Do you ever feel ambitious, Jolm '?" said Mr. Parry. 
 
 "Ambitious," repeated John, slowly; he was trying 
 to recollect the meaning of the word, 
 
 "Yes, ambitious," said George. "I mean in this 
 way : without feeling discontented with your present lot, 
 do you ever find yourself reaching after something better?" 
 
 "I should think so," returned John, promptly. "I 
 should hope my condition would be bettered some fine 
 day; it's a hum-drum, slaving sort of a life as it is." 
 
 "But you know, John, hopiuffs no good without 
 stiivinr/. Now, I expected to be entirely on my o'wn 
 hands before now. But that long spell of illness that 
 I had the winter before last, and our poor Lucy's illness 
 and death last summer dragged me back dreadfully. 
 However, now I am striving to make up for past losses ; 
 and I am hoping that in two years at the most, if things 
 go on well, I shall be my own master, and begin business 
 on my own account." 
 
 "■Then you u-ill be quite the 'gentleman,' George," 
 said Mr. Cowell. 
 
 " In one sense I have always tried to be that," said 
 Mr. Parry. " I remember my mother saying to me one 
 day, when I was quite a young man, ' George, my lad, 
 though we are poor you may be a gentleman now and 
 always; for fine clothes, and lands, and riches, don't make 
 the gentleman ; but a kind heart, a cultivated mind, and 
 courteous manners do.' Ah, John, my mother had 
 poverty and hard work for her lot, but she never forgot 
 what made a true lady, and I say that she was fit to be a 
 duchess. Well," he added gaily, " are you ambitious 
 to begin business on your own account, John ?" 
 
 John pushed his fingers through his hair, and said 
 that he " Didn't see the use of dreaming of such a thing 
 even ;" it seemed so unlikely to him. 
 
 " Where there's a will there's a way," said George 
 Pany. "You determine to do it, and you'll do it. I 
 suppose you live rent free, John ?" 
 
 " Rent free!" echoed Jolm, "I should think I didn't I 
 Do you, then?"
 
 14 " HOME, SWEET HOME.'* 
 
 "Yes, I bought this house four years after we were 
 married. You must know that I had saved something 
 before I married." 
 
 "Well, Missis and I began life with nothing," said 
 John, " and we've jogged on pretty well ; but I can't call 
 the house we live in my own, and I don't think I ever 
 shall. You see, property's dear ; and we've got a lot of 
 hungry mouths to feed." 
 
 " For all that, John, it isn't impossible to get a house 
 of one's own now-a-days. I know you've got five growing 
 children to maintain ; yet don't you think, now, that you 
 could manage to put by a little in the savings' bank every 
 week out of your earnings ? you know we get good 
 wages, John." 
 
 " I'm sure I couldn't," said John, " Missis is waiting 
 for the money every Friday, and she very often grumbles 
 because she says it isn't enough to pay all expenses." 
 
 "But perhaps you don't give her all of it?" said 
 George. 
 
 John fidgetted his elbow on the back of his chair, and 
 looked as though he wished himself clear out of Parry's 
 house. "Well," said he, "I give her nearly all of it. 
 Of course I keep back a Utth for myself. A fellow that 
 works hard don't like to be without a shilling in his 
 pocket." 
 
 " Well, John, if you put it in your pocket and heep it 
 there it's almost as good as putting it in the bank. 
 Perhaps you're saving up a few pounds on the sly, so as 
 to give your wife a pleasant surprise some day." 
 
 " Not I," said John. " I lay it out for the benefit of 
 my health." 
 
 George Parry looked inquisitive, but did not speak. 
 John passed his fingers through his hair again, and said 
 with hesitation, "You know I'm one as can't get along 
 without beer. I know you won't hold with me here, 
 because you're all water drinkers ; but I tell you that I 
 can't work without it." 
 
 " Have you ever tried, John ?" 
 
 " Yes ; for three days once, and I was regular upset." 
 
 " Tlu-ee days!" echoed George. "You didn't give
 
 PUTTING THE CASE. 
 
 15 
 
 yourself time to feel better wdtliout it. Tliat wasn't a 
 i'iiir trial, John. I know tliat a person who has been 
 accustomed to take beer and such things for years would 
 feel the loss of them for two or three weeks after giving 
 them up ; but afterwards he would feel so much benefit 
 from abstaining from such drinks as would quite surprise 
 him. If you had tried our plan for three months instead 
 of three days I should have called it fair play." 
 
 " Well, I don't think I should be happy without it," 
 said John. 
 
 "Don't say that, John," replied Parry, earnestly, 
 " It cannot give a bit of happiness, but it can rob a man 
 of any he may have, and be destructive to everything 
 that is good and noble and beautiful. It often sours 
 a man's temper, robs him of his peace of mind, blasts 
 liis character, destroys his self-respect, makes him a 
 cui'se to his family instead of a blessing, takes all the 
 energy out of him, and ruins his soul. Excessive 
 drinking undermines thp strongest constitution, because 
 it is injurious to the human system. God has blessed 
 ns with the bounteous gift of water, which is our natural 
 drink ; and, surely, He must be grieved and angry with 
 us, when we accustom ourselves to undue indulgence 
 in intoxicating beverages. Wife and I have read books 
 on this subject, so we know what's what." 
 
 "Well, you know I don't take much," said John, 
 after an awkward pause, " I'm sure that a pint-and-a-half 
 or two pints a day, can't hurt any man — that's all I take, 
 just enough to keep one alive." 
 
 " Excuse me, John, but you must mean just enough 
 to rob one of true energy, and to keep one from rising. 
 Now, looking at the money question, only let us see how 
 the case stands. Let us say that you spend fivepence a 
 day, putting it at the lowest figure, eh, John?" 
 
 "Yes, acquiesced John, whose conscience told him 
 that it was oftener a shilling or eighteenpence a day. 
 
 "Well," continued George Parry, "fivepence a day 
 would be two and elevenpence a week, including Sunday." 
 John nodded his head. " Two and elevenpence a week
 
 16 "home, sweet home." 
 
 would make seven pounds, eleven shillings, and eight 
 pence a year. "Wouldn't that be something to lay by 
 every year towards getting a house of your own, John ?" 
 
 "I should think so," replied John, looking very 
 uneasy. And he thought to himself, that if he had put 
 the lowest figure at tenpence a day, he would have spoken 
 more truthfully ; and, doubling Parry's figures, John 
 thought of the amount — fifteen pounds three shillings 
 and fourpence a year ! And that useful sum of money 
 he was wasting every year of his life. No wonder that 
 he had no honest ambition to rise in the world — no 
 wonder that he had no house to call his own — that his 
 wife had to go out to work — that his children looked 
 untidy and neglected — that he had no love for books, or 
 home, or garden ! Yet, as I have told you before, he 
 could not be called a drunkard. 
 
 "Well," thought he, "the Parrys look well enough, 
 and I'm sure they're the happiest people I've ever met 
 with. I suppose I might have just such a house as 
 tJiey've got, if I was as careful of my earnings as Pai-ry 
 is. Certainly that's a good round sum to spend in beer 
 in a year — more than fifteen pounds ; and if a fellow can 
 be as well in health without it, or, as Parry says, better, 
 I thind he'd be wise to pocket the money, or lay it out 
 in something useful. Wonder what Mother Stibbs, at 
 the Red Lion would say, if I was to turn water drinker ! " 
 "Well, George," he added, aloud, "I shall think over 
 your arithmetic. I'll have a talk with the missis about 
 it. I really do think that we might make a change of 
 some sort to make home more comfortable like. 
 
 "I'm sure you might make a beautiful change," said 
 Parry, earnestly. "But don't forget this, John — you 
 must begin with yourself. Begin with that little matter 
 of the two-and-elevenpence a week. Depend upon it 
 that if you do, it will be the first step to your rising to 
 comfort and real respectability. Now I suppose we must 
 say good-night," he added, as John rose from his chair. 
 " I'll fetch the flowers and lettuce for you. I think 
 you'll find the lettuce young and white. Ours are a 
 first-class sort this year."
 
 THE "best room'* AGAIN. 17 
 
 John thanked his kind friends, and wished them good- 
 bye. On his way home, he saw two of his children 
 }>laying with a number of rough rude boys, in the dusty 
 street. He stood and called them. They approached 
 him slowly with their heads hung down, as if in fear of a 
 shai-}) reproof or something worse. 
 
 They were greatly surprised when, instead of this, he 
 said, — "Now, lads, come in home." James, who was 
 thirteen years old, and the eldest of the family, ventured 
 to look up presently and ask, — "Did you buy that 
 lettuce, father ?" 
 
 " No, I had it given to me." 
 
 " And the flowers, father ?" enquired the younger boy 
 Robert. 
 
 " And the flowers," replied Mr. Cowell. " Now if we 
 had such flowers in our garden, it 'ud be something like." 
 
 " Ours is such a bad garden," said James. " The 
 things get trampled down dreadful ; and if they didn't, I 
 don't believe they'd grow." 
 
 " That's what I've said," remarked his father, " But 
 however we'll see some day." 
 
 When Mr. Cowell entered the house with his two 
 boys, his wife, in her astonishment at seeing the three 
 together, accosted him with, — "Is anything the matter ? 
 Have any of you been up to any mischief?" And seeing 
 the lettuce and flowers, she added, — "Have they been 
 taking anything?" "Bless you, no!" said John. 
 " George Parry gave me the lettuce for supper, and the 
 flowers for our best rooviP' John gave a short laugh, 
 and continued, — "They didn't know we hadn't a best 
 room, and, of course, I didn't say anything." 
 
 "I suppose they've got a best room, and everything 
 else they want," said Mrs. Cowell, pettishly. "Mrs. 
 Parry's got a lady's life of it compared with mine. If 
 she'd my place for a month, I guess she wouldn't hold 
 her head so high." 
 
 "Law, bless you!" said John, "she don't hold her 
 head high ; she's as humble as any woman I've ever 
 seen. You must pay her a visit some of these days." 
 
 "Pay her a visiit!" echoed Mrs. Cowell, augiily.
 
 18 " HOME, SWEET HOME, 
 
 »» 
 
 "It just sliows what you luen know about work. When, 
 I should like to know, have I got time to go and see 
 anybody ? Ain't it slave, slave, from morning till night 
 every day ?" And Mrs. Cowell went plump do\^Ti on 
 her knees again, to finish sweeping up the fireplace with 
 a hand-broom. It was Tuesday, Mrs. Cowell had been 
 out washing all day, and had to go again on the morrow. 
 She had arrived home about half-an-hour beiore her 
 husband came in with the two boys, and she had found 
 the house in extreme confusion. 
 
 Fanny was sent upstairs with the fretful baby, while 
 her mother set-to to clear up the disorderly kitchen. It 
 was hard work for the child to pacify the baby, who was 
 clamouring loudly for his mother. Fanny walked about 
 the bed-room with him, tapped her fingers on the 
 window-panes, and, finally, sat down tired, to jog him 
 about on her knee. She began singing " Home, Sweet 
 Home," to soothe him. Surely the familiar tune must 
 have been running in the child's head. 
 
 Mr. Cowell heard her singing it a few minutes after he 
 came in. He looked round his dwelling, and, thinking 
 that it looked anything but " sweet," he wondered how 
 the child could sing that tune so heartily. 
 
 "Fanny sings very well," he remarked to his wife. 
 " Parry says as they can sing those words with heart and 
 voice." Mrs. Cowell was cross, and that last utterance 
 of her husband's did not tend to make her better. She 
 said very snappishly, — "Don't you talk to me about 
 what them stuck-up Parrys do, and what they don't do, 
 John. One thing's clear, Mrs. Parry haven't got the 
 trouble as I have, so jon just shut-up about them." 
 
 John did not allude to them again. He went out to 
 the pump and washed the lettuce. As he re-entered the 
 kitchen with it, Mrs. Cowell was sending her boys up to 
 bed. Each child had a thick piece of bread in his hand. 
 
 " Stop, mother," said Mr. Cowell, " let the boys have 
 a bit o' lettuce with their bread." 
 
 The boys came back, and eat their lettuce standing. 
 Then they went upstaii-s to the tune of " Don't be up to 
 any of your larking, or I'll come up and break your
 
 A BAD TEMPER GIA'ING WAY. 19 
 
 bones!" which Mrs. Cowell uttered in a most unmotherly 
 voice. At a call from her mother, Fanny came down- 
 stairs with the baby. Mrs. Cowell took the little one, 
 and told Fanny to get her supper, and be off to bed. 
 
 Mr. Cowell cut her supper for her, and when she was 
 going out of the room, said, — " Good-night, Fanny," 
 which was a very unusual thing for him to do. 
 
 Mrs. Cowell was almost too cross then to notice that 
 her husband had not been drinking at all, and that he 
 was behaving kindly to the children. She undressed the 
 baby, and rocked it to sleep. Meanwhile, John walked 
 out into the back garden to look about him a little. 
 
 It was a wretched waste place, over-run with weeds. 
 John leaned against the door-post, and let his eye wander 
 over the disgraceful scene. I think he felt ashamed as 
 he contrasted it with George Parry's blooming plot of 
 ground. The setting sun threw smiling golden beams 
 down upon it, but it only made it look more des<4ate. 
 John thought how rich blossoming flowers would look in 
 that beautiful light. Presently he heard his wife's ioot- 
 step in the back-kitchen. 
 
 " Jane," he called. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. 
 
 *' Here, just come out and have a look at this garden," 
 
 " What, have the children been playing any more of 
 their pranks ?" 
 
 "Not that I know of," said John, "But look here, 
 Jane, I'm thinking that we might make quite a Paradise 
 of this garden — you see the mould looks very good." 
 
 Mrs. Cowell's bad temper was fast giving way. "It 
 'ud be all right enough if it was attended to," she said. 
 "If it was properly seen after, we might have as good 
 flowers as Pariy's. 
 
 " That's just what I think," said John, quickly. 
 " And I think I shall set-to, and clear away the weeds 
 and rubbish. A few flower-seeds don't cost much, and 
 then just see how jolly it looks to have flowers of your 
 own in a garden. Yes, I'll do the garden, Jane, and 
 we'll have some flowers, even if we haven't got a bust 
 room to put 'em in."
 
 20 "home, sweet home." 
 
 Jolin gave a side-glance at Jane, to see how she would 
 take the hint about the "best room." Not being in 
 such a bad temper now, she replied, quietly, " Well, I 
 can't think how the Parrys manage to keep a best room. 
 Goodness knows I couldn't do it. Even the kitchen 
 and the bed-rooms get ransacked out and out. I don't 
 know how it would be with a few tidy things in a best 
 room." 
 
 "Why, look here," said John, "I think Mrs. Parry 
 manages in this way — she's always at home to see after 
 things, and to take care of 'em." 
 
 "That's just it," said Mrs. Cowell. "Of course it 
 can't be expected that I can keep things in tip-top order 
 when I'm out away fi'om home three or four days in 
 every week." 
 
 "Well, Jane," said Mr. Cowell, "I should like you 
 to give up going out to work." 
 
 "Give up going out to work!" echoed Mrs. Cowell, 
 opening her eyes in astonishment. "If I did, John, 
 you'd find that some of us 'ud have short allowance." 
 
 " Well, Jane, Parry gets just the same wages as I do, 
 and he lays by money every week, he told me so." 
 
 " Then they must pinch somewhere," said Mrs. 
 Cowell, with a decisive nod of the head. 
 
 " The missis manages all the money matters," said 
 John. 
 
 " Well, I'll defy her to save if Parry don't give her 
 all that he earns," said Jane. 
 
 " He gives her every farthing," said John, 
 " Ah, that's where it is, John, Parry don't whip off 
 five or six shillings or more every week for the Red Lion." 
 " 'Course he don't — he's been a water-drinker for 
 years, remarked John. "And as hale and hearty a 
 fellow as I ever wish to see. And what a chap he is for 
 book-learning ! You ought just to see what a library of 
 books he can sport ! And Mrs. Parry's just as fond of 
 books — he reads out loud to her in the evenings while 
 she's at her sewing." 
 
 " Something like," uttered Mrs. Cowell. "Time was, 
 John, when I was as fond of reading as anybody, but
 
 GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 21 
 
 W'lien tlie trouble comes one forgets all about books. I'm 
 sure I've got no time for notbing but struggling to get 
 food for tbe cbildren's moutbs and clothes for their 
 backs." Mrs. Cowell picked up her apron, and ran her 
 finger and thumb along the hem of it, while a tear 
 gathered in one corner of her eye. 
 
 John stood thoughtfully hoeing up a stone with the 
 heel of his boot. "Jane," he said presently, "if you'll 
 promise not to go out to work next week, I'll give you all 
 my wages on Friday night." 
 
 "All your wages, John! — but can you? I'm sure I 
 should be glad enough to stay at home and attend to my 
 own house, but then you see, John, I shouldn't dare to 
 give up my place of work unless you could promise to 
 give me the wages every week, because of course, if I 
 stayed away one week, they would get somebody to take 
 my place, and then they wouldn't take me on again." 
 
 "Jane, I'll try and give you all the money every 
 week," said John. " I mean to ti-y George Parry's plan 
 of living. Any way, it seems more comfortable than 
 mine ; and we'll do our garden up, and see if we can't 
 keep our boys in at night : I'm quite sure of this, Jane, 
 that the streets are bad for children." 
 
 " They don't get no good there," said Mrs. Cowell. 
 
 "Well," said John, "we'll begin at the garden to- 
 morrow evening. James and Kobert shall stay in and 
 help, and Johnny can lend a hand too. That'll be one 
 evening at home ; then we can go on gardening for four 
 or five evenings, till the place is in apple-pie order ; and 
 after that I must plan something else to keep the boys' 
 heads and hands employed. We'll look round the house 
 and set the furniture to rights. We've got a few chairs 
 and a table that seem to be saying good-bye to their 
 legs. After we have doctored them we can do a bit of 
 painting, and make you a bran new clothes-horse — eh, 
 missis ? " 
 
 All traces of Mrs. Cowell's temper had by this time 
 vanished, and she said, "Yes, John," with something 
 like a hearty laugh. 
 
 Robert was dozing ofi" to sleep upstairs, when his
 
 22 " HOME, SWEET HOME, 
 
 >i 
 
 brother James gave him a poke in the side, saying, 
 "What ever's up. Bob? didn't you hear mother laugh- 
 
 ing? 
 
 " Mother laughing ! " said sleepy Robert; "don't 
 talk stuff ; you're only dreaming ; mother never laughs 
 when father's at home." 
 
 " Am I dreaming ? " said James, warmly ; " tell ye 1 
 heard her, drony ! How could you when you was fast 
 asleep?" 
 
 Here the conversation ceased. The young Cowells 
 never talked to each other very civilly ; and no wonder, for 
 when the parents of a family are continually jarring and 
 snapping you cannot expect to find the children agreeable 
 among themselves. 
 
 But it was certainly true that Mrs. Cowell was laugh- 
 ing. Feelings that had lain so long dormant in her 
 heart that she thought they were dead began to struggle 
 into life again. The dreams that she had indulged in 
 before her marriage, of having a happy home and a 
 loving husband, came back to memory now. She won- 
 dered whether it were possible that peace and harmony 
 and affection could be restored to their uncomfortable 
 home, and while she wondered she ventured to hope. 
 Then she said to herself, " Yes, the home might be all 
 right if it wasn't for the children ; but I don't believe we 
 could ever get them into order, they're such wicked un- 
 manageable little creatures." As she stood thinking she 
 uttered her thoughts aloud, " Ah, John, I don't believe 
 you'll ever get them boys to stay in at nights for long." 
 
 "I must and will, Jane. I ought never to have let 
 them go out into the streets ; but now that Parry's doings 
 have waked me up to see what's right and what isn't, I 
 shall make 'em do what I think is right. I'm their 
 father, and they must obey me," said John, firmly. 
 
 "John," said Mrs. Cowell, presently, "I'm bound to 
 go out to work to-morrow, because I didn't give Mrs. 
 Jukes any notice about leaving off; but I'll tell her that 
 to-morrow must be the last day." 
 
 " Very well, Jane; but I'm sorry this couldn't be the 
 last day."
 
 TAKING A SURVEY. 23 
 
 That evening IMr. and Mrs. Cowell sat down to supper 
 together for the first time for three or four years. Other 
 evenings John was out with his companions. They sat 
 in the front room, which was not kept as a " best room " 
 by them ; it was made a kitchen, and the proper kitchen 
 behind this room had lumber, and saucepans, and other 
 things strewn untidily about it. In this room, too, Mrs. 
 Cowell did her washing ; and lines were stretched across 
 it, on which some ragged thing or other was sure to be 
 always hanging. Mrs. Cowell did her washing there, 
 because, as she said, her little wash-hous-e was "too 
 poky — there wasn't room to swing a cat round ; " just as 
 if wash-houses were made to swing cats round in. But 
 there would have been ample room for her to do her 
 washing in if she had kept the little place in order. 
 Instead of anything like order, however, pans, old bas- 
 kets, and such things lay about in such disorder, that 
 you could scarcely make your way to the pump for water. 
 
 As John sat eating his supper in the front room, he 
 looked round about him — first at the walls, from which 
 the pretty paper was torn off in patches ; at the few 
 prints, which were nailed to the walls without frames or 
 glass to preserve them ; at the grimed boards of the 
 floor ; at the side-boards, which had once been painted 
 mahogany colour, but which were now fast growing 
 white ; then he looked at the window, across which was 
 slung a curtain, that pure water had not fondled for 
 many a long day. 
 
 After John had taken a quiet survey of the place, he 
 said, "It's clear that this room was meant for a parlour, 
 Jane ; you see the walls are papered. Then that ain't 
 a kitchen grate, by no means. I'm sure the next room 
 is larger and more comfortable for living in. Why don't 
 we live in there, Jane ? " 
 
 "If you'll take the trouble to look round it you'll 
 pretty soon see," said Jane ; " there's saucepans, and 
 pans, and all sorts o' things about." 
 
 " But couldn't you keep 'em somewhere else, Jane ? " 
 
 " Where else could I keep 'em ? " 
 
 " Why, you could put the pans under the bench in
 
 24 "home, sweet home.' 
 
 the wash-house, and put the saucepans up on a shelf in 
 the coal-place." 
 
 " Yes, if there was a shelf to put 'em on." 
 
 "I'll set one up there for you," said John, "and one 
 in the wash-house to keep a few things on." 
 
 "Well, perhaps I might clear this room out after a 
 bit," said Mrs. Cowell, thoughtfully; "but then it 
 wouldn't look much of a parlour after all ; see how dirty 
 and torn this paper is." 
 
 " I'll get and paper it out fresh in time," said John ; 
 " I could get a few pieces of paper, enough for this room, 
 very cheap ; but we mustn't be in too much of a hurry. 
 We'll do the garden first, Jane ; then the shelves for 
 your pots and pans ; then we'll take the parlour in hand." 
 
 You will perhaps wonder that John should be so hot 
 about turning over a new leaf, especially as he had not 
 thought anything about doing so, until he went to George 
 Parry's house. But to his credit I must say, that John 
 no sooner saw his way clear to do anything, than he felt 
 ready to set about it with all his might. 
 
 He had no beer for his supper that night, and the 
 reason he did not attempt to send for any was, that 
 Parry had so clearly shown him that it was quite un- 
 necessary, that it was hurtful to body and mind, and 
 that people were much happier, healthier, and more 
 comfortable every way without it. 
 
 . This John told his wife after supper, and he added, 
 "I mean to try Pane's plan. Of course, Jane, if I'm 
 to give all the wages to you I must give over paying 
 visits to the Red Lion ; you know they're expensive. I 
 shall soon see how the new way works." 
 
 The next day Mrs. Cowell went out to work for the 
 last time. Mr. Cowell went home to dinner, and found 
 his boys at home. Instead of cutting them a piece of 
 bread and meat or cheese, and packing them otf, as he 
 was wont to do on days that his wife was out at work, he 
 told them to sit round the table, and not move away 
 until they had quite finished their dinner. They remem- 
 bered the lettuce which their father kindly gave them 
 the preceding evening, and wondered what had come
 
 SETTING THE TEA TACKLE. 25 
 
 over him. Little Fanny was as pleased as possible, and 
 tossed the baby up and do^^^l, and made her crow at her 
 father, who snapped his great fingers at her, and made 
 her as " pleased as Punch," as Johnny said. 
 
 After dinner, when the hoys were going out to school, 
 Mr. Cowell told them to stay in the back garden when 
 they came home to tea, as he should be home early, and 
 want them to help him work in the garden. Children 
 like the idea of doing work with grown-up people, and 
 the boys readily pi-omised to do as their father hade 
 them. 
 
 When the place was cleared up, Fanny put the baby's 
 little sun-bonnet on her, and carried her to Mrs. Jukes', 
 as the child was very anxious to let her mother know 
 what a quiet, peaceful dinner-time they had had. Of 
 course Mrs. Cowell was very pleased to hear that all 
 had passed off well. 
 
 " Mind you get the kettle boiling for father's tea," 
 said Mrs. Cowell, " and I shall try to be home soon 
 after six." Fanny returned home with a light heart. 
 She did not know of half the good things which her 
 father intended to do, but somehow she had a conscious- 
 ness that better days were coming ; she even ventured 
 to hope that she might be able to go back to her old 
 school, and go regularly, and pay respectably, as other 
 children did ; and the thought of doing so infused so 
 much life and spirit into her young heart that she sang 
 her favourite old tune, "Home, sweet home," more 
 vigorously than ever to the baby, while she placed the 
 tea-things in anticipation of her father's speedy arrival 
 home. A soriy "set" of tea-things theirs was: the 
 cups and saucers were odd ones ; they were chipped, 
 cracked, and some of the cups could not boast of handles. 
 Yet when Fanny had set them upon the old tea-tray, 
 Irom which nearly all the japan was worn off, she thouglat 
 they presented a veiy creditable appearance. 
 
 Mr. Cowell paid more attention to tliiugs that evening 
 than he usually did. Now at other times he would not 
 have noticed what was on the table at all, but now, as 
 Fanny set the brown teapot on the tray — a teapot with
 
 2G " HOME, SWEKT HOME." 
 
 only half a spout — Mr. Cowell burst out laughing, and 
 said, "Why Fanny, your crockery looks as though it 
 had been in the wars ! " and when the colour mounted 
 to Fanny's cheeks, and she could scarcely keep the tears 
 hack, because she had thought how7(/cethe table looked, 
 her father added, " But you can't help it, can you, 
 goody ? We'll have a bran new set when our ship 
 comes in, won't we, Fanny ? " And Fanny laughed, 
 and said archly, 
 
 " But when's it coming in, father ? " 
 
 "Before the sun shines both sides of the hedges, I 
 dare say ! " laughed he. 
 
 The time went merrily out in the garden that evening ; 
 not one of the children sighed for the streets, I can 
 assure you ; they were too proud and happy to be " gar- 
 deners," with some one over them to direct them, and 
 keep bickerings away. Fanny sat on the step of the 
 back door, with the baby on her knee, watching them. 
 She changed her tune this evening, and instead of sing- 
 ing " Home, sweet home " to the baby, she carolled 
 another of the old school songs — 
 
 " I love the jjoor man's garden, 
 It gives great joy to me, 
 That little precious plot of ground, 
 Before his door to see." 
 
 Mrs. Cowell was in the house ; and although she was 
 very busy she did not roar out to Fanny to " shut up." 
 
 In a week fi'om the time that Mr. Cowell and his boys 
 took the garden in hand it looked beautiful. The paths 
 were made so even, and the few flowers looked in such a 
 flourishing condition. The pretty little bit of ground at 
 the front of the house was quite as radiant as the flower 
 border at the back. The middle plot at the back was 
 reserved for winter vegetables. 
 
 John put up shelves in all sorts of convenient places, 
 for his wife to arrange things on, so that the house might 
 be kept in order. And he allowed his boys to help in 
 everything, although sometimes they hindered more than 
 they helped, and did things in the wi"ong way. Yet 
 John tried to control his impatience, and would not be
 
 JIOKE PROGRESS. 27 
 
 iu a liurry over auytliing, because he desired to keep the 
 boys pleasantly employed quite as much as to got the 
 house in order ; and he was so patient and cheerful with 
 them that he very soon won their afi'ection, and that was 
 a blessed thing for John ; for when parents have the 
 affections of their children, they have a mine of wealth 
 which nothing can ever destroy. But when parents dis- 
 I'cgard their children's affection, what tongue can tell 
 their loss ? They must be miserable and poor indeed ! 
 
 Sometimes John proposed a game with the boys ; and 
 you might have seen him outside his back door playing 
 at marbles with them like a great school-boy, and it was 
 a right mei'ry time. 
 
 Then they got old newspapers and strips of wood, and 
 made a gigantic kite, taller than Robert ; and when a 
 nice breeze was moving in the evening John took the 
 children right away to the fields, and there they let it 
 up, and watched it mount, mount, till it became a tiny 
 speck in the blue sky. And how proudly the boys stood 
 and held the string while the huge kite tugged and 
 tugged, as though it wanted to take a ramble through 
 the sky without being in leading-strings. But no, the 
 boys couldn't allow that ; they had bestowed too much 
 labour on it to allow it to skitter away to destruction. 
 
 The chairs were all mended at last, and Mrs. Cowoll's 
 new clothes-horse was made ; yet still Mr. Cowell and 
 the boys found enough to do. Robert had the picture- 
 i'rames in hand, and a very tidy job he was making of 
 them. Mr. Cowell was considering how he could paper 
 out the front room in the most economical way. 
 
 I must tell you how wonderfully Mrs. Cowell's temper 
 had improved in the meantime. You very seldom 
 heard her raving at the children now, or passionately 
 beating them for eveiy slight offence ; and she and her 
 Imsband veiy rarely quarrelled now. I think the im- 
 jirovement in her temper was owing in a gi-eat measure 
 to the change in her husband, for in the matter of 
 temper the husband greatly influences the wife. If 
 Mrs. Cowell's temper had formerly been bad, there was 
 room for excuse for her ; her huaband was cureless of
 
 28 " HOME, SWEET HOME." 
 
 home and of the children ; he did not care a bit how his 
 wife managed ; he never addressed a kind or thoughtful 
 word to her, or an encouraging one to the children. 
 But now that he manifested such a lively interest in 
 the home and the childi-en, she felt that it was some 
 encouragement to do her utmost, to make home happy. 
 Now she had a helper ; her husband had turned quite 
 round, and was pulling the right way, and she felt true 
 pleasure and satisfaction in pulling with him. The two 
 were striving cheerfully together, and when husband and 
 wife do that they are bound to succeed and be happy. 
 
 Yes, Mrs. Cowell's temper certainly improved wonder- 
 fully. Instead of threatening the childi-en, she tried to 
 train and lead them in the right way. It wasn't easy 
 work, after they had been allowed to run riot so long ; 
 but it was pleasant work, because the mother soon saw 
 the fruit of her labour : the little voices were not raised 
 in angry discussion as they had been ; violent quarrel- 
 lings ceased ; matters of dispute were not settled with 
 doubled-up fists as of yore, but were taken to father to 
 be settled by him. The children learned to confide in 
 him whom they had once shunned. 
 
 Mrs. Cowell soon found the advantage of minding her 
 own home instead of going out to work. She found 
 enough work in her own family to keep her head and 
 hands fully employed ; she now had time to arrange and 
 keep in order tidy clothes, both for Sundays and week- 
 days, for her children. Neighbours could not point the 
 finger of scorn at them now, and call them *' dirty, 
 ragged little creatui-es ; " they were always neat and 
 respectable-looking. And when Mrs. Cowell cleaned 
 her house nicely, she could keep it clean, now that she 
 was always at home to look after it. 
 
 The children had never experienced love for home 
 until the bright "new leaf" was really "turned over," 
 and the house was transformed from a comfortless, pig- 
 stye-looking place into a clean, happy, cheerful home, 
 where peace, and order, and pleasure reigned ! Now it 
 was to them indeed the " happiest spot upon earth." 
 John Cowell had many a hard struggle to drag his family
 
 FAMILY PEAYER. 29 
 
 up this hill of comfort. At the outset he told his worthy 
 friend, George Pariy, what hard work it was, and how 
 he sometimes felt tempted to give it up and return to the 
 old ways. And George Parry had urged him to ask 
 help and strength of God. He said, " We are but poor 
 weak creatures in ourselves, John, and we never know 
 how weak we are uutil we begin to do battle with self 
 and sin. But we are not to grow weary and despairing 
 because the battle is a long and hard one, for God has 
 promised to give us as much strength and wisdom as we 
 need if we ask Him for these blessings." Then John 
 told George that he never prayed, and did not know how 
 to ; and George told him that it was just earnestly asking 
 God for what we felt our need of; and that it was no 
 matter how plain and homely the language was, because 
 God understands the simplest form of speech, and He 
 takes notice of what the heart desires more than of the 
 words in which those desires find utterance. 
 
 And so John Cowell did not set about refonnation 
 work in his own strength. All along he had God to 
 help him, and that is the reason why he succeeded so 
 well and kept on so bravely. 
 
 George Pari*y had frequent conversations with John, 
 and he tried to prevail on him to begin family worship. 
 He said, " It wll subdue your children as much as any- 
 thing could do, John ; and when they go out into life 
 the remembrance of the peaceful times of earnest prayer 
 will cling to them, and perhaps be the means of preser- 
 ving them many a time from evil." 
 
 And John made the resolution to begin, and he carried 
 it out too. At fij'st his prayers were very short and 
 nervous, but as time passed on he gained more courage, 
 and the few minutes devoted to family prayer every day 
 were reckoned as among the happiest that the parents 
 and children ever spent together. 
 
 Mrs. Cowell soon got herself tidy clothes for Sunday, 
 and every Sabbath the family attended a place of wor- 
 ship. It was in the summer that John set himself the 
 task of creating a happy home. Well, the summer 
 paaood away ; the beauliiul autumn came aud wcut, and
 
 30 " HOME, SWEET HOME." 
 
 winter set in. How pleasant the winter evenings were ! 
 In the snug, comfortahle little kitchen, with the curtains 
 drawn, the bright fire roaring in the grate, and everything 
 around them clean and comfortahle, sat the little family. 
 Perhaps Fanny would be sitting on the bit of carpet 
 before the fire, amusing the hahj with wooden bricks, 
 which her father and brothers had made for building 
 mimic castles. John would have his boys at the table, 
 studying with them, or forming a puzzle map of England 
 and Wales — for I must let you know that John some- 
 times managed to spare a shilling or two to purchase 
 any useful and pleasing article to interest his boys. And 
 they dearly loved their puzzle-map. 
 
 Then sometimes they had drawing. Mr. Cowell took 
 in two or three cheap illustrated periodicals every month, 
 such as the British Workman, the Band of Hope Bevierv, 
 or the Cottager, and the beautiful engravings in these 
 papers were their drawing copies. John himself tried 
 his hand at some of these drawings, but he had to be 
 very patient, for in trying to get the right expression of 
 a face he frequently made a man look as though he was 
 crying when he ought to have been laughing, and this 
 blunder was sure to make the boys laugh merrily. John 
 was quite as much amused at his own awkv/ardness as 
 they were, and he would quietly rub out the mouth and 
 eyes on his drawing paper, and set to work again to get 
 tiie right expression. Both he and the boys made very 
 creditable progress in drawing in one winter. 
 
 And sometimes they had music in evenings. Eobert 
 had a small concertina, to buy which he had been obliged 
 to save up odd halfpence and pence, which he was able 
 to earn sometimes for doing errands, &c. It had taken 
 him many long months to save up enough for the much 
 longed-for instrument, but at last, with a little kind 
 assistance from his father, he had enough to buy the 
 concertina. And then how pleased he was to learn to 
 jilay the beautiful tunes which he had been in the habit 
 of singing. 
 
 James had a small flute, upon which he was able to 
 perform very nicely. He and Robert frequently played
 
 A MERRY CHRISTMAS. 81 
 
 together, and made beautiful melody. Sometimes Mr. 
 and Mrs. Cowell and the j'ounger children would join in 
 singing while the boys played, and they had really nice 
 little concerts among themselves. 
 
 At such times, if John ever thought of the public- 
 houses that he used to spend his evenings in, of the 
 stifling stench of stale beer and tobacco-smoke, of the 
 foolish discussions and empty songs that he joined in, it 
 was only with disgust and loathing that he thought of 
 these things. The "pleasures," as they were falsely 
 called, in which he once took part, would not bear the 
 slightest comparison with the pure and real pleasures of 
 a happy home. At Christmas, John and his wife, after 
 a gi"eat deal of cogitation, resolved to ask Mr. and Mrs. 
 Parry and their four children to spend Christmas Eve 
 with them. Oh, it was such an event in the Cowells' 
 life to ask friends to tea ! If the queen had been going 
 to pay them a visit I don't think the little Cowells could 
 have talked more about it : and when the veritable even- 
 ing arrived there was such a to-dc as you never saw ! 
 
 They spent a very pleasant time, and before parting 
 carol-singing was proposed, and they had quite a concert. 
 They sang a lot of old Christmas carols ; and, after a 
 time, "Home, Sweet Home," was asked for. Fanny's 
 eyes brightened when she heard the name of her favourite 
 Bong. All could now join heartily in singing 
 
 "Home, home, sweet, sweet home, 
 There's no place like home, there's no place like home." 
 
 When nine o'clock came, Mrs. Cowell served out a 
 cup of hot fragrant coffee to each one, with a slice of 
 cake or bread and butter. She could not afford to 
 prepare a supper of meat or anything of the sort, but 
 her nicely-made coffee, and homely cake and bread, gave 
 entire satisfaction. And after spending a happy evening 
 with their humble neighbours, the Parrys took their leave. 
 
 On New Year's eve they returned the compliment, 
 and invited their friends, the Cowells, to spend the 
 evening with them. Then there was all the pleasant 
 excitement over agam. Mr. and Mrs. Parry entertained
 
 32 " HOME, SWEET HOME." 
 
 their visitors admirably. William's ship was shown, 
 and, of course, greatly admired. 
 
 These simple social gatherings seemed to do both 
 families good. They elevated them, and made them feel 
 an interest in each other which otherwise they probably 
 would not have felt. Giving and receiving visits too 
 often is bad for persons of any class ; it keeps a home in 
 a continual ferment, and often drags sadly at the family 
 purse, but it is well for nicely-conducted families to open 
 their doors now and then to respected neighbours. 
 
 One day, John told his friend George that he was 
 beginning to feel that " ambition" which he had once 
 spoken to him about ; and he really hoped that he would 
 yet be able to live in a house of his own, and be a 
 master-man. He further told him that to attain to this 
 he was not only hoping, but strivinrj. 
 
 Just as the Parrys exerted a beautiful influence over 
 the Cowells, the latler are in their turn influencing those 
 around them. Neighbours in squalid and comfortless 
 houses, say, — " Well, if Cowells set themselves to rights, 
 I should tliink we could." 
 
 Example, dear friends, does far more than precept. 
 
 If my readers are parents who have uncomfortable 
 homes, let me say that it is in your power to make them 
 better. I have told you how beautifully Mr. and Mrs. 
 Cowell improved theirs, and made it pleasant and happy, 
 that you may imitate them. 
 
 Begin to-dan ! and as you go on striving in your good 
 work, don't get discouraged. Determine, in God's 
 strength, that from henceforth you will live and labour 
 to this end, — that both yourselves and your children 
 may be able to say of your dwelling-place, "Home, 
 Sweet Home ! " 
 
 JAPROLD AND SONS, PRINTERS, LONDON STREET, NORWICH,
 
 The Good Mother, 
 
 |ND so you would like a nice book to read 
 while you are laid aside and not able to 
 S amuse yourself! Well, I might have 
 guessed that, to be sure ; but tell me what kind of 
 book it is to be, and I will not forget it again, Mrs. 
 Groves, I assure you," said a good-natured looking 
 lady to a pale, delicate-looking young woman, 
 with whom she seemed to be well acquainted. 
 
 " Oh, a nice story, if you please, ma'am : I gets 
 so dull at times lying here all alone with only 
 baby ; I want something to amuse me and cheer 
 me up a bit. If you had a book now that's a 
 kind of a history of some wonderful person, I'd 
 like that ; and it would do me a deal more good 
 than all the medicine in the world." 
 
 "Well, I must see," replied Miss Lucan, 
 smiling ; " you want a story about a wonderful 
 person ! I must make a note of that. But then, 
 suppose we don't agree, and I think some one 
 very wonderful and very excellent, whom }'ou 
 don't think so at all — what's to be done ? I was 
 just thinking, however, that, as I forgot your 
 book, I might perhaps tc/l you a story that 
 would answer the same purpose for one after- 
 noon. Would you be too tired to hear it >" 
 "Oh no, ma'am, indeed I wouldn't; and I'd
 
 4 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 be so pleased if you'd stay a bit ; and baby's 
 fast asleep, an' all. Please begin, ma'am." 
 
 But now, before Miss Lucan does begin, I 
 must first tell my reader a little about her ; how 
 she was one of the very kindest of all kind 
 ladies, and spent nearly all her time in the 
 houses that made up this long narrow court, in 
 one of which lay our sick friend. Yet she was a 
 person that had plenty of money, and no family 
 cares ; so that, if she had felt disposed, she 
 might have spent all her time in anmsing her- 
 self : but I am glad to say that this was not her 
 taste, and that she preferred to have plenty to 
 do, and loved making friends among the poor. 
 
 I don't say that these were her great reasons 
 for living the life that she had chosen ; she had 
 much higher and better ones ; but every one 
 could not understand these, although they could 
 all see that, deformed as she was, it was no easy 
 work for her to be always in and out, and up 
 and down those dark, narrow staircases, and 
 were forced to confess that it was uncommonly 
 kind and good-natured of her to do as she did. 
 
 " She's none o' your meddling sort, that peo- 
 ple talk so much about, though I can't say I 
 ever saw 'em; but she's a rale good woman, that 
 she is," said Groves to his wife after he had let 
 Miss Lucan out one day; "and I'm right glad 
 you've got such a friend to come and see you 
 now you've took to be'so sickly-like." 
 
 And Sarah Groves was right glad too, as any
 
 QUITE A HEROINE. 5 
 
 one might have guessed if they had seen the 
 flush of pleasure that came over her face when 
 the good lady offered to stay with her. 
 
 " Well," she said, " I must begin at once then, 
 or I sha'n't have time ; but mind, I will not 
 promise that you will like my story. / was 
 very fond of the woman that I am going to tell 
 you about, and thought her quite a heroine ; but 
 perhaps jjw^ won't see anything particular in her." 
 
 " Oh, I daresay I shall," said Sarah ; " only I 
 don't know what a heroine is." 
 
 Miss Lucan laughed, and said, "It's a fine 
 word, isn't it } But what I mean by it is, that I 
 consider that my poor friend, Ann Smith, was a 
 person of a very brave spirit, and that she did 
 many remarkable and noble actions, which de- 
 serve to be remembered and talked about. In 
 short, she was a wonderful woman, and I only 
 wish that there were more like her. 
 
 " Now, perhaps it may interest you to know 
 that she once lived in this very street, and that 
 it was in one of these houses that I first saw her 
 twelve years ago." 
 
 " Was it, indeed, ma'am } " said Sarah, in sur- 
 prise ; " and pray tell me which it was." 
 
 " No, that would not be right at all ; and I 
 should not have told you her name either, only 
 that it is such a common one that it would not 
 help you if you wished to be too inquisitive. 
 There are at least twelve of the same name 
 living in this street now; and I sometimes tell
 
 6 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 tiiem that their names are of no use, and that 
 they might as well have none at all. 
 
 " My first visit to Ann I shall never forget. 
 It was in the middle of a very hard winter, and 
 on a bitterly cold afternoon ; and I went there 
 because some one said that the family would be 
 glad of some coal tickets, which I was entrusted 
 to give away. So I found my way up to Mrs. 
 Smith's room ; and I will begin by giving you a 
 description of that, in the first place ; for it made 
 such an impression on my mind that I could 
 even now almost draw you a picture of it as it 
 looked the very first moment I saw it. This 
 may have been owing to my having just left 
 two of the most miserably dirty and untidy 
 families that ever were seen ; but certainly I 
 thought that I had never in my life seen such a 
 picture of order and cleanliness in the midst of 
 the very deepest poverty ; and I felt sure at 
 once that some people, who were very different 
 to the ordinary run, lived there. 
 
 " I knocked rather too gently, for my hands 
 were numbed with the cold ; but although my 
 tap did not make the inmates aAvare of my 
 presence, it pushed the door a little open, so 
 that, during the minute that I waited and hesi- 
 tated whether I should disturb them or not, I 
 got a glance at the room within ; and I don't 
 think that I should ever have forgotten that 
 room even if I had never seen it again. 
 
 " The mistress of the little home was sitting
 
 TRYING TO LEARN. 7 
 
 on a low stool, and crouching, with an infant in 
 her arms, over the expiring remains of a little 
 fire, so that I only saw her back. But, seated 
 by the little round table in the middle of the 
 room, sat a little girl of perhaps twelve years of 
 age. There was a basket of socks by her side, 
 which she had evidently just finished mending ; 
 but she was then bending over what seemed a 
 hymn-book, and engaged in learning a lesson. 
 Her thoughts seemed, however, to be elsewhere ; 
 and as she leant her pale, thin face on her hand, 
 the tears were gushing between her fingers, and 
 some had fallen on her book. She looked, at 
 least, half starved, and was shivering with cold ; 
 yet she was evidently trying to forget these 
 things, and to give her mind to the lesson before 
 her. She had on but few clothes, but they were 
 quite a wonder to look at, so patched, so tidy, 
 and yet so veiy old. In one corner also lay two 
 little languid, hungry-looking children, perhaps 
 kept in bed that they might feel their hunger 
 the less; and in two other corners there were 
 beds also — or rather in one a good-sized bed- 
 stead, with an old screen beside it, and in the 
 other a large roll of things that I knew would 
 be made into a bed at night. I saw, too, that 
 there were hooks and curtains by each of the 
 little beds : so that this one room would be 
 made into three every night. 
 
 " But what so particularly struck me was the 
 wonderful order of the whole room ; — walls^
 
 o THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 boards, and furniture, were all as clean as it was 
 possible to conceive; and the table and two 
 chairs were bright and well rubbed, while every- 
 thing seemed to have a place, and to be in its 
 place. There were two or three little stools, 
 which looked like home-made ones, and a little 
 shelf of the same kind for books ; and nails, and 
 pegs in the different corners, on which to hang 
 up clothes or any odd things ; and there was 
 one large square box, which I guessed was 
 meant to hold other clothes, and on which stood 
 several articles, such as a wash-hand basin, a 
 little box of sand, a jug of water, a flat-iron, a 
 tea-tray, a pincushion, and one or two other 
 things which would be wanted for cooking when 
 there was anything to cook; but clearly the 
 room was not then likely to be too full of either 
 victuals or clothes. 
 
 " There was no rubbish corner visible, and not 
 a single thing out of its place. Still the look of 
 desolation and want about the whole place went 
 to my very heart ; and indeed I afterwards 
 found that I had happened to call just when 
 things were at their very worst, and when the 
 family were almost in despair, 
 
 " I said that / happened to call ; but Ann 
 Smith herself never used that word ; she always, 
 in after days, when she referred to this visit, said 
 that the Lord had sent me there that day, as 
 He once sent the ravens to feed Elijah, to pre- 
 vent them all from perishing, and to show that
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISIT. 9 
 
 He never forgets His people, although, when 
 things come to such an extremity, they are apt 
 to think that He has forsaken them, 
 
 "Well, I told you that I saw all that was in 
 the room at one glance ; my eyes, you say, are 
 very sharp, and they have a good deal of prac- 
 tice this way. However, I could not stand there 
 looking on without making my presence known, 
 so in a minute I tapped again, and my tap 
 startled the girl from her dreamy mood, and she 
 instantly jumped up, colouring, and brushing 
 away the tears from her eyes, and exclaimed, 
 * Mother, here's a lady wants you ; ' at which the 
 poor woman turned round also, and with some 
 difficulty rose from her seat, folding her infant 
 closer to her breast, and looking, as she did so, 
 almost too faint and ill to be roused by anything. 
 
 " I saw starvation in her face, and was so 
 shocked at her appearance, that in my eager- 
 ness to bring comfort and hope to her mind, I 
 hastily said, 
 
 " ' I heard, Mrs. Smith, that you were badly 
 off for coals, and have brought you a ticket or 
 two ;' and I was going to suggest that some one 
 should be got to fetch them directly, and to ask 
 about their food, but at these first words a faint 
 colour rushed to her face, then instantly left it 
 again ; she staggered against the table, and with 
 a murmured 'Thank God,' would have fallen to 
 the ground, had not the girl and I rushed for- 
 ward, and caught her and the child.
 
 10 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 "You may be sure that the poor girl was 
 dreadfully frightened, and that we were quite at 
 a loss what to do with her mother. But happily 
 the screams of the little ones in bed soon 
 brought in two strong Irishwomen, who lived in 
 the next room ; and they, with all the warmth 
 of their kindly nature, quickly lifted the poor 
 creature on to the bed, chafed her frozen limbs, 
 and got everything necessary to restore anima- 
 tion. With their help, we soon found means of 
 getting a good fire, and some warm food for the 
 tamishing party ; and when the poor, worn, and 
 weary father came in soon after from his fruit- 
 less search after employment, you may judge of 
 his amazement to see his wife laid upon the bed, 
 and being fed by one of these kind neighbours, 
 while I sat before the fire with the little babe 
 sleeping in my arms, and the other children 
 were enjoying their nice food at the little round 
 table. It was too much for the poor man ; he 
 sank into a chair and cried like a child. So, 
 after whispering to the girl to pour him out a 
 cup of tea and then take the baby, I got away 
 as quickly as possible, promising to come next 
 day and see how they were getting on. 
 
 " There was, however, more to be done ; for 
 during the confusion I had discovered that on 
 neither bed were there clothes enough to keep 
 warmth in any living creature on such a night 
 as that ; so I had to go off for a supply of 
 blankets, which I was able to obtain from the
 
 POOR AND TIDY. 1 1 
 
 same society which had given me funds for the 
 coals and food ; and these I told the man would 
 be le7it them as long as the cold weather lasted. 
 
 " So this was my introduction to my poor 
 friend ; and I can see that my story has already 
 made you take an interest in her." 
 
 " Yes indeed, ma'am ; and I should think you 
 wanted bad enough to see them again : but 
 'twas just you all over, doing all that for them." 
 
 " Well, I don't know why you should say that, 
 Sarah, I didn't buy any of the things with my 
 own money ; and I should have been hardly 
 worthy to be called a human being if I had left 
 them in that state." 
 
 Sarah, however, looked rather knowing, and 
 declared that she knew a good many that would 
 just have given them a shilling, and then left 
 them to die; but she added, "What puzzles me 
 is how she could have been so poor, and yet 
 kept things so tidy ; why, I should have had no 
 heart at all, and I'm sure you'd have found me 
 in a nice muddle — worse than I am now ; and I 
 know, Miss Lucan, that you don't think I do as 
 well as I might." 
 
 The lady smiled, and replied, "Well, you are 
 not the person whom we are talking about now, 
 you know ; and you remember that I told you 
 that Ann Smith was an uncommon woman. 
 You were quite right, however, in supposing that 
 I was anxious to see her again, for indeed I was 
 very doubtful then whether hunger and cold had
 
 12 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 not done their work, and whether help had not 
 come too late for her. So I went as early as I 
 could next morning, and was greatly rejoiced 
 to find her decidedly better. 
 
 " It would take me a week at least if I were 
 to go on telling you all that passed at each visit 
 which I paid ; for there was a sort of charm 
 about that little family that seemed to draw me 
 to their room, and I made many excuses to my- 
 self, and to them, for going so often as I did. 
 
 " To cut this part of my story rather short, I 
 must tell you that, through some kind friends of 
 mine, regular work was soon found for Smith 
 himself, which, though not very good as to pay, 
 served to carry them all pretty well through the 
 winter ; and then by degrees we got a little em- 
 ployment for the elder children too ; and so in 
 time the family began to get back their things, 
 and to look quite happy and comfortable, and, 
 as they said, they used to be. The two biggest 
 boys, who were fourteen and eleven years old, 
 each got little places, one to clean knives, and 
 the other to run errands ; and their employers, 
 who really took them out of charity, soon found 
 them such handy, steady little fellows, that they 
 would not hear of parting with them again, even 
 when spring came, and the mother thought that 
 little Billy must go back to school and finish his 
 learning. 
 
 " ' I don't see why,' said his master ; ' he is 
 very forward for his age, reads and writes well,
 
 INDUSTRIOUS AND INDEPENDENT. 1 3 
 
 and is quick at figures. You look after him in 
 the evenings, I know ; and if you give him nice 
 books to read, and make his brother work him 
 well at his writing and sums, it'll do them both 
 good. I would not advise the plan for many- 
 boys ; but there are not many that have been 
 brought up as he has been, or that have such 
 mothers to look after them, Mrs. Smith. And 
 you are not so strong as you were, and want all 
 the comforts you can have. Billy is an inde- 
 pendent little man, and you have worked long 
 enough for him. Set him on his own legs now, 
 and let him do for himself, and so help you all. 
 It's better for him to be getting his breakfast 
 and dinner without costing you anything than 
 to throw up his place, and not be able to get 
 another when hard times set in again. No, no, 
 let him stay, and just send him to the Sunday 
 school regularly, and I'll supply him with plenty 
 of good reading, and then he'll do well enough.' 
 "So it was settled: both boys kept their 
 places ; and their sister was supplied with 
 needlework ; and so they grew up an indus- 
 trious and independent little set, and proud 
 enough their parents were of them all." 
 
 "But that girl couldn't get much by her 
 needlework," said Sarah Groves ; " children of 
 twelve years old ain't often much of hands at it, 
 and they're so slow too." 
 
 "That often depends on how they are taught," 
 returned Miss Lucan ; " Nelly Smith was not a
 
 14 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 bad hand, nor a slow one either, I can tell you. 
 I only wish you had seen a set of little petti- 
 . coats that she once made for a little niece of 
 mine ; you couldn't have wished for nicer work ; 
 and they were all tucked too, and done so 
 quickly that we were quite surprised." 
 
 " But wasn't it rather a shame for her mother 
 to keep a child of that age so close to her sew- 
 ing ? Why, there's nothing so bad for the 
 health ! " 
 
 " Oh, Nelly was not kept so very close, I 
 assure you ; there was too much cleaning and 
 tidying up and going of errands for that. She 
 had plenty of exercise, and was never dull ; for 
 when she had got all else finished, and sat down 
 in an afternoon to her work, her mother took 
 care to make it cheery for her ; and whenever 
 she could, she'd sit down and work too ; and 
 then Nelly would say over to her all the texts, 
 hymns, and little pieces of poetry she had learnt 
 at school, or which she was learning for the next 
 Sunday. Sometimes, too, her mother would 
 make her say over her multiplication table, or 
 little bits of geography, such as the names of 
 the countries of Europe and their chief towns, or 
 the counties of England, or all that she could 
 remember about the Holy Land, and the towns 
 and rivers and mountains which we read of in 
 the Bible. And so the time used to pass very 
 pleasantly, and Nelly had begun to do needle- 
 work so young, and had done so much for her
 
 THE LITTLE PET. 15 
 
 mother and brothers and sisters that she rather 
 liked it, and was quite expert at it. 
 
 " Some of the httle ones were at school most 
 of the day, so then they got a quiet time, espe- 
 cially if baby had a nice sleep in the afternoon ; 
 but there was one little thing who could not go 
 to school, for he was always too sickly, and 
 could not bear the noise of the number of young 
 voices. It was difficult sometimes to keep him 
 contented and amused, and it .required a great 
 deal of ingenuity to do it, as no one had time to 
 sit and devote herself to him. He was Nelly's 
 great pet, and she would certainly have liked 
 now and then to put away her work, and have a 
 game with him. And so she should, her mother 
 used to say, if she was working for anything 
 more than their daily bread ; but as it was, it 
 would not be right. And Nelly felt this ; so 
 her games were confined to the little bits of fun 
 which they could have together when she took 
 him out for a walk, or when she was keeping 
 him happy by getting him to help her to dust 
 and rub the few little pieces of furniture which 
 they possessed. But he was a gentle little boy, 
 and grew to be very fond of his sister, and 
 would often be very pleased to sit by her side, 
 spelling out words with some card letters, which 
 his brother had made to please him, or trying to 
 make straight lines and round O's on his 
 brother's slate. And then Nelly would talk to 
 him, and sometimes very prettily her mother
 
 l6 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 told me, and teach him httle verses which they 
 sang at the infant school, or tell him Bible 
 stories, such as he could understand ; and so the 
 little learner, and the little teacher too, both 
 learnt a great deal." 
 
 "Well," said Sarah, "they must have been a 
 wonderful family indeed ; and if you had not 
 said you knew 'em all, ma'am, why I'd have 
 wondered whether it could all be true. Dear 
 me ! why, I've read about gentlefolks spending 
 their time like that, but I never saw people like 
 them myself Why, look at all the houses down 
 here. There ain't many that live in one room 
 where there's a family ; and yet I don't know 
 one that goes on like that. Why, the tidiest 
 room that I know would be a pigstye to Mrs. 
 Smith's ; and as to the children, some of 'em 
 goes to school, and some doesn't; but there's 
 very few that earns a penny, or could make 
 themselves useful like your little Nelly." 
 
 "Well, Sarah, then all that just proves that 
 what I said was true, and that my old friend 
 was an uncommon person, and did things wor- 
 thy of being remembered. Don't you see now 
 that it was all the fruit of her good training of 
 her children that made them what they were .'* 
 A mother can do so much, and so much more 
 than any one else, if she only tries and gives her 
 mind to it. Now, Sarah, you are a mother too, 
 therefore you have a great work before you. 
 Did you ever think of how much the happiness
 
 A TRUE SAYING. 1/ 
 
 and usefulness of your little babe's future life 
 depends on you ?" 
 
 The young woman col(yured a little, and 
 looked fondly at her sweet infant ; and then she 
 answered in an open, honest way, 
 
 '* No, ma'am, I can't say that I have thought 
 much about it. I know that I love him better 
 than any one else can do ; but somehow I 
 always think that I am too silly and ignorant to 
 do much for him by-and-bye, and I feel as if he 
 must get all his learning from some one else." 
 
 " Book learning is not the only thing, Sarah," 
 said Miss Lucan, kindly ; " and depend upon it 
 that if you leave your work to others, it will 
 mostly go undone. No one can quite fill a 
 mother's place. Did you ever hear the saying, 
 which I think a very true one, that, ' Every 
 great man has had a great mother, and every 
 good man a good one .-' ' " 
 
 " Oh dear," said Sarah, " then I'm afraid that 
 my boy will be neither good nor great ; for I'm 
 sure that I'm neither one nor the other." 
 
 " As to that," returned ]\Iiss Lucan, " I do not 
 want you to tJiink yourself great or good ; it 
 would be much wiser for you to try to become 
 so. And I think that if you are not too proud 
 to learn, you may get a good many hints from 
 the story of my heroine — you recollect the 
 meaning of that word, don't you } So now I am 
 going to tell you what she once told me of the 
 history of her early life."
 
 1 8 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 "Oh, I shall like to hear that very much 
 indeed. I suppose that she had a great many 
 advantages when she was a child. Had she a 
 very good mother, ma'am } " 
 
 " I am not sure ; and you know I did not say 
 that every good woman had a good mother ; it 
 was men I spoke of. But however, I should 
 hope that it was so in Ann Smith's case ; for, 
 from the little things that she could recollect, 
 she said that she felt sure that her mother had 
 loved her Saviour, and taught her to love Him 
 too ; but she died when Ann was only six years 
 old ; and afterwards she was left to the care of 
 a very poor woman, who had told her mother 
 that she would look after the child ; and as she 
 had no father, nor any relations who would talk 
 to her of what her mother used to do and say, 
 the remembrance of those things soon became 
 very faint. There was a little prayer which she 
 used to repeat for years, and which she could 
 never remember learning ; so she supposed that 
 her mother had taught her that. And she re- 
 collected perfectly that she would never let her 
 be dirty or untidy, and that she used to make 
 her brush up every bit of dirt or mud that 
 people might bring in when they came to see 
 her ; and also that her good friend used to say 
 that she had seen better days, and would have 
 fretted sadly if she thought her girl would turn 
 out a slut. ' 'Twas your mother made yer such 
 a tidy little lass ; I never seed one like yer,' was
 
 THE NIGHT-SCHOOL. I9 
 
 her praise when Ann had pleased her very 
 much. • Sure it was her wanted yer to go to 
 the ragged school, Sunday an' all, or I'd never 
 ha' sent yer, for yer'd better by half not learn 
 nor go wi' a set like them.' 
 
 " But little Ann did not think so ; she de- 
 lighted in her school, and clean as she was, she 
 thought it worth while to put up with a good 
 deal, in order to be taught ' by such kind ladies 
 and learn such pretty lessons ; ' she knew that if 
 she didn't go there she could not go to school 
 at all, because there was never a penny to spare 
 for schooling, and her adopted mother could not 
 read, and knew nothing of things like that. 
 
 " It was a night-school, however, that she 
 attended ; for the child was obliged, even at 
 that age, to earn her daily bread. The woman 
 who took care of her kept a fruit-stall at the 
 corner of one of the neighbouring streets ; and 
 when she went to market to lay in her stock, 
 the child went also to make her little purchases 
 of flowers, which she afterwards made up into 
 her own tiny nosegays, and sold about the 
 streets. And so from six to eighteen this was 
 her manner of life ; and its trials, dangers, and 
 temptations, perhaps you who have lived in a 
 comfortable service, and had kind parents, can 
 scarcely know. There was the scorching heat 
 of summer, and the piercing cold as well as the 
 wet of winter, to be borne day after day ; and 
 then there was the uncertainty of her little
 
 20 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 trade, which would sometimes bring in enough, 
 and sometimes nothing Hke enough, to keep 
 away the pangs of hunger. And there was, too, 
 the lawless wickedness and rudeness of those 
 with whom she was constantly thrown ; and all 
 these things were made doubly bitter by that 
 lonely, lonely feeling that seemed only to in- 
 crease with her years, as she became more and 
 more sensible of having no one in the wide 
 world who really cared for her and loved her. 
 
 " Surely, but for the goodness of God, little 
 Ann Smith must have grown up a low and 
 hardened woman, instead of turning out what 
 she was when I knew her. It is true that old 
 Molly Black, the woman who looked after her 
 as a child, was pretty tolerably respectable, and 
 did as well as she could by the child ; but even 
 while she lived she was out most of the day; 
 besides, she died when Ann was only twelve. 
 But it was the ragged school which was always 
 the bright spot in her young life; there she 
 found kind friends, learnt to read, and got a 
 Bible of her own ; there also she learnt to go to 
 the house of God regularly twice every Sunday. 
 
 " But all these things by tJiemselves would not 
 have proved sufficient to keep her 'from the evil 
 that was in the world ; ' for although she was 
 taught the 'things which are able to make us 
 wise unto salvation,' told that she was a sinner, 
 and pointed to a Saviour, yet if this knowledge 
 had gone no further than her head, she would
 
 PRAYERS ANSWERED. 21 
 
 have been, not better, but rather the worse for 
 havhig it, because she would then have sinned 
 wilfully and against the light, instead of in 
 ignorance. 
 
 " But happily (and who can say how happily 
 for her ?), it was not so. The good seed did not 
 fall into barren ground, but into a heart pre- 
 pared and made ready by God Himself. Her 
 mother had earnestly wished her to go to this 
 school ; ' It was a fancy of hers,' old Molly 
 would say, and ' she'd be the last to cross it' 
 But why it was that school in particular no one 
 ever knew. I believe she prayed a great deal 
 for the child before her death, and the answer 
 was not long withheld ; for it seems that, from 
 the time of Ann's first going to school, the in- 
 struction that she received was blessed. She 
 thought so herself, and used to tell me how very 
 much she was touched by her first lessons about 
 the Saviour's love to a poor little girl like her, 
 and how she used often to wonder at it for 
 hours together, as she stood waiting for custo- 
 mers in the streets ; and how she used to grieve 
 at her own coldness and hardness of heart, that 
 seemed to feel so little when Jesus had done so 
 much for her. Sometimes it seemed impossible 
 that He could care for one who was so ungrate- 
 ful ; and she would have been quite in despair 
 but for some pretty lines which would come into 
 her mind just when she felt inclined to give up 
 all hope.
 
 22 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 "Her teacher had told her one day that she 
 
 must go to Christ just as she was, and not wait 
 
 until she was good enough to go, for that 
 
 'If we wait until we're better, 
 We shall never come at all ;' 
 
 and she had given her a pretty hymn, which 
 
 had this verse in it — 
 
 'Just as I am, and waiting not 
 To cleanse my soul from one dark blot, 
 To Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot, 
 O, Lamb of God, I come.' 
 
 It was made on purpose for her, of that she was 
 quite sure, and she made up her mind to act 
 upon it that very day. Then it seems that a 
 very happy feeling came into her mind ; and she 
 resolved, that if ever such as she might call her- 
 self a child of God, and a servant of Jesus, she 
 would certainly try very hard to please Him, 
 and to be an obedient child and a good servant. 
 And after this came a strength and a courage 
 which she could not understand ; and it seemed 
 worth while now to try to be the very best child 
 at school, and the neatest and most civil little 
 flower girl that ever stood in the streets of 
 London. And the thought would now come 
 into her mind that after all, poor and lonely as 
 she was, there were many much worse off than 
 she — some even that she knew, who had to live 
 with cruel and drunken people, and were never 
 sent to a nice school like hers, and many that 
 never had heard of her dear Saviour. So now,
 
 A RIGHT USE OF KNOWLEDGE. 23 
 
 when the lady who taught her would beghi to 
 talk to her of making the most of the advan- 
 tages which she had, and of trying to become as 
 clever as she could in everything that she learnt, 
 in order that she might grow up to be a useful 
 woman by-and-bye, and tell her that even she 
 had talents, for which she would have to ac- 
 count one day or other — then she would begin 
 to count them over to herself, until they seemed 
 to her very many and very great. 
 
 " Little did these good ladies know what 
 thoughts their words would put into her mind, 
 or guess that the reason why she learnt to read 
 so fast, and was so eager to pick up every scrap 
 of knowledge that she could, was because she 
 had already begun to consider all the ways in 
 which she might use her knowledge. 
 
 " At once she set to work to read to her good 
 mother Molly, and to tell her the glad tidings 
 which she had learnt herself, and then she felt 
 that she must try what good they would do to 
 some very bad children who were the plague of 
 her young life. Besides, she often thought that 
 perhaps one day she might have children of her 
 own, and then how much she might do for them 
 if she only really knew how to teach and train 
 them, and keep them out of the streets, so that 
 they should never have to do as she had done." 
 
 " Dear mc ! " said Sarah, laughing, "to think 
 of a child like that having such thoughts in her 
 head ! But I suppose she soon forgot them."
 
 24 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 " No, indeed ; if she had, she would never 
 have been the woman she was. Ann used often 
 to tell me how thankful she felt that she was 
 taught to look at things in this way, though, she 
 would add, that she knew she should soon have 
 forgotten everything if God had let her, but 
 ' He was so kind He wouldn't leave me,' al- 
 though she would add she had 'the wickedest 
 heart that ever a child possessed,' and used to 
 be always getting tired of doing right, and want- 
 ing to go this way and that ; but it would not do. 
 
 " And so she grew up ; and though she had 
 but a struggling life of it, yet she said she got 
 many a help and many a comfort in her young 
 days ; and chief of all she reckoned it, that old 
 Molly died a real christian, and was so happy in 
 thinking of the mansion and the company to 
 which she was going. 
 
 " ' I had a lonely life for a bit after that for 
 certain,' said Ann ; 'but when some of my ladies 
 that bought my flowers found out that I was all 
 alone, they took to be kinder than ever ; and 
 by-and-bye, I found out a girl who went to the 
 same night-school, and was alone too ; and so I 
 thought that, as she was very steady, it would 
 be nice for us to get a little room and live to- 
 gether, if we could pay the rent between us. So 
 we got a little place, and were very comfortable, 
 only at first Betty was very untidy, and did not 
 keep things as I'd been used to have 'em. By 
 degrees, however, I coaxed her, and shewed her :
 
 GETTING MARRIED. 25 
 
 and at last, in about a year, a kind lady came 
 and asked us both what we could do ; and she 
 looked how we had scrubbed our floor, and done 
 up the hearth, and then she said that she had 
 found two very nice places, which she thought 
 would just suit us. 
 
 " ' The people where we went each kept little 
 shops, and were very kind and good ; and we 
 had to go and keep the place clean and tidy, 
 and to look after the children. We were both 
 very happy, and so glad to get out of the street. 
 Betty took a better place after a time; but I 
 thought I'd rather stay than go among strangers 
 again ; and I learnt a great many things there 
 that have been very good for me ever since. 
 And so I stopped on until I met John, and we 
 took a liking to one-another, and got married. 
 But we didn't do it in a hurry though, for we 
 wanted to know what each other was like ; and 
 I was afraid that John mightn't be so good 
 when I saw more of him, and he was the same 
 about me. But we had gone to the same place 
 of worship, and I used to see him helping in the 
 school-room when there were meetings ; and so 
 at last 1 made up my mind, and we were mar- 
 ried ; and I'm sure that, though he's only a 
 labouring man, and gets little wages enough 
 sometimes, yet for all that we've been as happy 
 as any two people could be. And, thanks to my 
 good bringing up, I knew how to manage by 
 that time, and could make money go pretty far.
 
 26 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 So some of the neighbours thought we hved too 
 grand hke, and used to say unkind things, which 
 were very hard to bear: but we thought the best 
 way was to be kind to them, and then they'd be 
 kind to us in time ; and so it came about. 
 
 "'There were some of the most decent women 
 about us, that used to pride themselves on 
 keeping themselves to themselves, and having 
 nothing to do with nobody ; but I never could 
 see that that was a christian-like way of living 
 at all, nor more could John. 'Twasn't that we 
 wanted to make friends with them that wasn't 
 steady ; but we thought that when we had a 
 chance of doing them any good, we ought not 
 to lose it. And I know my man has got many 
 another to go with him to public worship that 
 never would have gone without. And at last 
 we thought it would be nice and cheery if we 
 could get up a little party to come to our room, 
 and read a chapter together at times. So we 
 did ; and it did us all a world of good, and was 
 better than if we had lived like two bears, and 
 never spoken even to the folks in the next room.' 
 
 " But I must not go on like this," said Miss 
 Lucan. " I have told you how my good friend 
 began life, and how she got over many difficult 
 parts of the road ; but now I want just to tell 
 you more of what she was when I knew her." 
 
 "Will you think me very silly if I ask you 
 what sort of looking woman she was.-*" said 
 Sarah, interrupting her.
 
 GENTLE FIRMNESS. 2/ 
 
 " No, not at all, Sarah. I always like to know 
 what people look like myself. I wish I had 
 described her before ; for very likely you have 
 been thinking of her as some great coarse-look- 
 ing person, instead of what she was — a small, 
 pale, placid-looking woman, not pretty, but with 
 a very pleasant, thoughtful look in her clear 
 blue eye, and a quiet voice, that seemed to 
 make the children mind much better than all 
 that screaming would I so often hear from the 
 mothers down this street. A gentle voice is a 
 good thing in any woman, Sarah, even in the 
 poorest ; and it was by her gcjitle finnncss that 
 Ann Smith got all her influence. You would 
 never hear that slapping and banging in her 
 room that some women think so necessary to 
 make children mind them. She would correct 
 hers when they needed it, but not in that angry 
 tone and manner which is so frightful, and does 
 so much harm; yet she always would \\dive them 
 obedient, and began to teach them that lesson 
 when they were mere babies, saying that every- 
 thing else came easy if that were once learnt. 
 
 " But you asked me what she looked like, so I 
 must not forget one great point, namely, that she 
 always looked clean and neat. 'Go in when yer 
 will, ma'am,' said Smith to me one day, 'you'll 
 never catch my wife dirty, any more than you'll 
 catch her smart ; she doesn't think that flowers 
 and flounces make a working woman look a bit 
 well ; and she says they only make the ladies
 
 28 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 laugh at 'em ; but she does Hke to have clean 
 cotton gowns all day and every day as well as 
 Sundays, and clean caps too ; and she likes her 
 gowns to fit her well ; and so she spends the 
 little she does in useful clothes, and that ain't 
 much, because she's so clever-like at mending 
 and contriving.' I was rather amused at this 
 speech from a man, but it shewed how much 
 they think of such things, and besides, it was 
 quite true. Somehow or • other, Ann always 
 looked nice ; and her clothes seemed to become 
 her, and set her off without any finery. I think 
 that some of your neighbours would follow her 
 example if they could have seen how much her 
 own boys admired her. I've heard them say 
 very often, ' Mrs. So-and-so is smart enough, but 
 for all that she don't look nice like mother :' and 
 the little ones would climb on her knee, and say, 
 ' Nice smooth hair ; mother got nice hair,' and 
 then run off to smooth their own. Oh, Sarah, 
 people think too much about dress down here 
 in one way, but they don't think enough in 
 another. They don't seem to understand how 
 important it is that men and boys should al- 
 ways have nice comfortable-looking wives and 
 mothers in their homes, and not find dirty slat- 
 terns, with red flowers in their caps, fuming and 
 scolding when they go home tired at night. 
 
 " Smith used to tell his boys that they would 
 never know how much they owed to their 
 mother ; and when, after her death, the whole
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 29 
 
 family determined to go and settle in Australia, 
 he told me before they sailed, that he only 
 wished his lads were older, and could take wives 
 with them, ' for,' he said, ' they'd never find any 
 to their taste out there — tJicir mother had made 
 them so particular.' 
 
 " However, I hear that they have found some 
 very good ones, and are getting on bravely, and 
 hkely soon to be two of the most substantial 
 farmers in the colony, as well as excellent men, 
 who try to do good wherever they go. 
 
 " The handy little Nelly is settled also, and 
 has her father' living with her ; but I don't quite 
 know what has become of the little ones." 
 
 "Ah, but you did not tell me anything about 
 Ann's death, nor how they all got on after you 
 got them out of their trouble," exclaimed Sarah. 
 " I want to know more about them all." 
 
 " I found that it was getting so late that I 
 jumped to the conclusion quicker than I in- 
 tended, because I wanted you to know how 
 much this excellent woman was the means of 
 accomplishing," returned the lady. " You shall 
 hear all that I know another day ; but now I 
 must tell vou a few things more. 
 
 " I used to go in to see her very often, as I 
 told you, and was often surprised at her clever 
 contrivances, and at the pains she took about 
 every little thing. ' Little or great,* she would 
 say, ' it's a duty, I think ; and " mony a little 
 maks a mickle," as the Scotch folks say. I
 
 30 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 don't think anything seems Httle either, if you 
 do it for the sake of Jesus and for those you 
 love. Besides, I want my children to grow up 
 healthy and handy, and to be able to do well 
 enough for themselves to be kept from the 
 temptations that I was in when I was young. 
 And though I can't give them money, I can put 
 them in the way of earning it, and of knowing 
 how to use it when they get it, which is the 
 great thing after all.' 
 
 "Sometimes I would ask her how she could 
 keep that little room so sweet, and clean, and 
 orderly as it was whenever I went in ; and she 
 would answer that ' it was not so difficult as I 
 thought, for if it was a small place for so many, 
 still it was but one that she had to see to, and 
 she was always in it to look after everything.' 
 
 "'The thing is to have a proper place for 
 everything, and to put everything in its place as 
 soon as it is done with. If I let the children 
 throw things about, there would be no end to it ; 
 but they're so used to putting them away that it's 
 part of their nature now, and I never have to tell 
 them. And as to keeping the room sweet, why 
 we always liked air, and are used to it ; and we 
 keep the window open a good part of most days 
 in the year, and at night too, for the matter of 
 that, though some would be frightened to death 
 to do so. But I think it's worse to sleep in a 
 close place, and it makes one so weak. In 
 summer we open it a good piece, but not at the
 
 CONCLUSION. 31 
 
 bottom — that makes a draught ; but we open it 
 at the top, and if it's windy we let the bhnd 
 down over it ; and so even in winter we have it 
 open a wee bit, unless it's bitter cold. 
 
 " ' It makes a wonderful difference, I know, 
 and we don't catch cold so easily as when we 
 kept it shut at nights, and so got over-hot, and 
 ready to faint by the morning. 
 
 " ' Then if you want to keep a room sweet, 
 you must be careful about the clothes you work 
 in ; and that's one reason why I always wear 
 cotton gowns ; woollen ones will get so musty. 
 But men and boys can't have cotton coats ; so 
 the only way is to brush them, and shake them 
 well, to clean them, and then hang them outside 
 the door or out of the window to air. We never 
 leave them about at night ; they're put away 
 either into the cupboard or into the great box, 
 for if they weren't they'd make the room smell 
 close. It wants a deal of care,' she said, 'but 
 it's all easy when you're used to it.' 
 
 " Well, so they went on, and I got very fond 
 of them all, and so interested in seeing how 
 nicely the children were getting on ; but after a 
 time, my poor friend fell ill with an incurable 
 disease, which in a few months brought her to 
 the grave. I must tell you about her illness and 
 death another time, for you would be interested 
 by many things she said, I know; but it was 
 her life, and not her death, that I wanted to tell 
 you about to-day.
 
 32 
 
 THE GOOD MOTHER. 
 
 " I will not ask you to tell me now whether 
 you think Ann Smith an uncommon character 
 or not ; you can make up your mind about that 
 before I come to see you again. Only remember 
 one thing, if you are disposed to set her down as 
 too strict and too precise to be a pattern for 
 other women, and that is, that if we take the 
 Bible for our guide, and believe what it says to 
 be true, we must not conclude that we shall be 
 excused for the neglect of any duty just because 
 it is disagreeable or difficult ; for the word of 
 God speaks of the Christian's life as a race, which 
 must be run with all our might : so that if any 
 any one is content to take life easily, to go with 
 the stream, and do like the rest of the world, 
 that person cannot be a Christian at ally
 
 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 OTHING is more pleasant than to see " holiday 
 people" bursting forth, like bees from their hives 
 of industry, at Easter or Whitsuntide, for it is 
 then that Nature seems to rise again from her 
 winter death- sleep, and to welcome them with gleams of 
 sunshine and opening flowers. Their clean attire, their 
 happy looks, their cheerful nods and recognitions, their 
 hearty shakes of the hand when they meet friends or 
 acquaintance, and the thousand little kindnesses which 
 they exercise towards each other as they pass along, are 
 especially delightful to the observer ; and he who wants 
 a day's pleasure himself cannot do better than mingle 
 with " hohday people" in their diversions. 
 
 In my early days I did so, and I do so still ; for to see 
 others happy is a happiness to me at all times. I re- 
 member going, one holiday time, to Greenwich, to ramble 
 in the park, and to see the sports and fun beneath the 
 eld chesnut trees, of young men and maidens, old men 
 and children, who gamboled there, and who ran down 
 tie hill, and played "kiss in the ring" with an extacy 
 indescribable. On one of these holiday visits to Green- 
 wich, a little circumstance occurred which made a 
 strong impression on me, and which I think may not 
 inappropriately be applied to the introduction of this 
 subject. 
 
 Ascending the walk from the town, I soon got into the 
 park and up the hill on which the observatory stands.
 
 4 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 It was a fine, bright, sunny morning, and the birds 
 were singing on every tree. It was barely noon ; the 
 holiday people had not yet arrived ; the old pensioners, 
 who ply there to ferry the eye up and down the river 
 with their "spy glasses," were all ready for action as 
 they called it ; and I took my stand behind one of them 
 to see the holiday people come up, and to hear their 
 acclamations of surprise as they looked through the 
 " spy glasses," as they were then called. I soon found 
 that the great object of attraction was a sight of "the 
 tiien in chains." These were the bodies of pirates, 
 suspended on gibbets by the river side, to warn sailors 
 against crimes on the high seas ; and it was a sad and 
 dismal sight to look at them, especially when, to do so, 
 we had to turn from the blooming trees and lovely 
 flower beds and the daisied gi'ass ; but the majority of 
 people like the excitement of the dismal rather than of 
 the beautiful. 
 
 Well, as I was saying — in every instance, save one, 
 the first sight demanded was "The men in chains;" 
 but there was one exception. An able-bodied sailor, 
 with a new hat on his Saracen-looking head, carrying a 
 handkerchief full of apples in his left hand, with some- 
 thing sticking out of the side of the breast pocket 
 of his jacket for a nosegay, dragged his female com- 
 panion up the hill with all the might of his right arm 
 and shoulder, and the moment he was at the top assented 
 to the proposal of the telescope keeper for his "good 
 lady " to have a view. 
 
 "Give her the 'men in chains' to begin with," 
 quoth the sailor ; but the young woman, who seemed a 
 hard-working, neat, modest kind of person, " wanted to 
 see something else first." 
 
 " Don't be a fool," said Jack ; " see them first — it is 
 the best sight."
 
 THE "MEN IN CHAINS." 
 
 (( 
 
 No, she wouldn't give a fig to see them, not she; 
 she should like to see something a good deal better than 
 that." 
 
 Jack tried to persuade her — but no ! " she was not to 
 be moved ; she should like to see something better than 
 ' men in chains ; ' and she would see what she liked to 
 see best, and she would see it first too." 
 
 " Well, if it's no use," said Jack (meaning of no use 
 to argue with her), " what is it you want to see ? " 
 
 " Why, I want to see," replied the wife — " I want to 
 see our house in ' The Gardens,' with the flower-pots ; and 
 I don't see that I will see nothing : what's the ' men in 
 chains' to that?' Give us an apple." She took one 
 out of the bundle, and beginning to eat it, gave in- 
 structions for the direction of the instrument towards 
 Greenwich church, whilst Jack fished out a tolerably sub- 
 stantial sausage roll. Long she looked and peered over 
 the chimney tops, and almost gave up the hope of 
 finding what she wanted to see, but on a sudden she 
 screamed out, "Here, Jack, here it is! flower-pots and 
 all ; and there's our bed-posts — I left the window open 
 on purpose that I might see them. I declare their 
 polish glitters in the sun ; look, do look, pray do." 
 
 Jack himself now took an observation. "D'ye see 
 it, Jack?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Do you see the flower-pots and the bed-posts ? " 
 
 " Aye ; and — here, Sal, here, here's the cat looking 
 out of the window." 
 
 " Come away, Jack," she said, " and let me look 
 again." And then she looked, and talked away as if 
 under a fresh inspiration — "Dear, what a sweet place it 
 is ! That's where you and I are happy, Jack — where I 
 make the dumplings, and you smoke your pipe, you know. 
 That's our happij home! that is the place to look at ! "
 
 6 Household happiness. 
 
 " Do look at ' the men in chains,' " said Jack, wishing 
 to impart the popular delight to his little housewife ; hut 
 no, she wanted no " men in chains," except the one she 
 had got (that was Jack), and she looked upon her little 
 home as the padlock to that chain, the chartelaine of 
 her mortal joys, the charm of her heart, and she broke 
 forth again with a snatch of the old song, " Home, sweet 
 home ; "' and Jack kissed her till the apples rolled out of 
 his bundle ; and then he pushed her down the hill, and 
 then he pulled her up again ; and then she paid for 
 another look at her little " home," and she and Jack 
 seemed so happy, for they hardly seemed to look at 
 anybody, or care for anybody, nor saw anybody but 
 themselves. They were themselves a sight ; and though 
 the woman was far from 
 
 " Whatever fair, 
 High fancy forms, or lovish hearts could wish," 
 
 yet she was all that to Jack, and all that she seemed to 
 love or care for were "our house," and the "flower- 
 pots," and the "bed-posts," and the "cat," and Jack. 
 
 So, in this mood — and a very happy mood it was — 
 Jack and his wife left the land of the telescopes, and 
 made off for the other enjoyments of the park, and I did 
 the same. I saw nothing of either the whole of the day, 
 but towards evening, just as the sun was setting, and I 
 was coming out of the park gates, I saw the " happy 
 pair " arm-and-arm, hurrying along full sail till they 
 were suddenly brought to by a man-of-war's-man, fully 
 rigged in* the nautical toggery of that day — pumps, 
 glazed hat, turnover shirt collar a quarter-of-an-ell- 
 broad, blue jacket, and a guernsey, on which was worked 
 the word " Salamander." 
 
 " flallo, my hearty," said the Salamander, "give us 
 your fin." Upon which, Jack gave him such a blow on
 
 TOM HIGGINS. 7 
 
 the palm of his hand as would have stunned most folks, 
 and shook away at his arm as if he had determined to 
 dislocate it. They had not seen each other for seven 
 years. Tom Hipgins — for that was the stranger's 
 name — had heen hoatswain of a fireship that had been 
 at the bomhardment of Algiers, and had blown up, 
 to the great satisfaction of Tom, who had thereby 
 something grand to talk about. Well, there was 
 another and another shake of the hand, and a pressing 
 invitation from Tom for Jack to go with him to the 
 " Sea-horse " close by, to which he would have gladly 
 repaired (for he had eaten all his apples, and was very 
 thirsty) had it not been for his wife, who plainly told 
 Tom that Jack knew better than to go there, when he 
 had a " comfortable home of his own," and that a cup of 
 tea would do him more good than a pailful of grog ; and 
 while Tom pulled Jack towards the " Sea-horse," Sally 
 pulled him in the direction in which her home lay, and 
 in the last prevailed, not so much by the strength of 
 physical pulling as by her arguments, and the inviting of 
 Tom to go home with them, and to smoke his pipe by 
 their fireside, and to see tlieir house and all the " rattle- 
 traps," as Jack called them, feeling it a duty to chime 
 in with his wife when he knew her to be in the right 
 course. 
 
 So at last, after vain endeavours to persuade Jack to 
 take just one glass of rum at the " Sea-horse," Tom 
 agreed to go to Jack's house, partly for old acquaintance 
 sake, and partly to see what sort of a thing married life 
 was, and especially how Jack could accommodate himself 
 to it, considering the wild sort of a blade he had been in 
 the earlier part of his life. " There must be some- 
 thing," thought Tom, " that I am not aware of, for Jack 
 to be led along like a lamb by a string, and that too by 
 a little bit of a woman not above five feet high, and not
 
 8 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 over and above handsome besides. So, after a lingering 
 glance at the " Sea-horse," which stood, as it were, 
 beckoning them in, the trio all abreast passed along 
 Greenwich High Street ; but before they had got far, 
 there was a second heave-too. A respectable-looking 
 working man stopped them short with a "Ah, Sally, 
 how are you ? am glad to see you are well ; heard all 
 about your marriage." Then shaking of hands again all 
 round, and—" Come and see us at our own house," 
 from Sally, and so the trio set sail again. 
 
 I thought there could be no harm in my asking a few 
 questions about Jack and his wife ; so when they were 
 gone, I said to the man who had spoken to them, 
 " That's a happy couple ; I suppose they have not been 
 long man-ied." 
 
 "No," said the man, "they have not been long out 
 of the honeymoon ; and Jack is as happy as a man need 
 be. As to the girl, I have known her for a long time, 
 and she is one of the ' right sort,' I can tell you." 
 
 " What do you mean by one of the ' right sort ? ' " I 
 enquired, not so much that I did not understand what 
 the man meant, as to hear what kind of a construction 
 he might put upon the term. 
 
 " Well," he replied, " I mean, by saying that the girl 
 is one of the right sort, that she is a regular good one — 
 a capital wife- — lots of good stuff in her — ' plenty of 
 work,' and an out-and-outer for looking after the main 
 chance ; and as to her house, that would do any one 
 good to look at — you might eat pudding off the floors." 
 
 " How did Jack get hold of such a wife ? " said I, 
 " for he seems as if he had spent many years at sea." 
 
 " So he has," replied the man ; "he has been away, 
 off and on, for seven years or more. When he went 
 away about eight years ago, Sally and he had just 
 become ' acquainted.' She was then living as servant at
 
 COFFEE versus GROG. 9 
 
 a coffee house here in Greenwich just by the church, 
 and she had neither father or mother, and came out of 
 the workhouse, where she had been brought up. Well, 
 after Jack took a liking to her, which he did almost at 
 first sight, she used to persuade him to stop at the coffee 
 shop, and drink coffee instead of going to the grog shop ; 
 and Jack at last got very fond of the coffee shop, and of 
 the old cat that used to bask in the window there among 
 the flies and the empty coffee tackle which stood in it 
 for show. Jack also got fond of Sally, and she of him, 
 and so the thing was made up between them, that some 
 day or other, when Jack's ' ship came home,' that is, 
 when he got a few shot in the locker, they would get 
 spliced. With this understanding Jack went off to sea ; 
 was shipwrecked once, and lost everything he had ; then 
 he was taken prisoner by the Algerine pirates, and she 
 lost sight of him for more than a year, thinking he was 
 dead ; then he came home without a shoe to his foot or 
 a rag to his back. Sally fitted him out, and off he went 
 to sea again, till at last, after a vast deal of beating 
 about on the ocean of life, Jack came home ; and having 
 saved up his wages for a long time, when he came 
 ashore he was not without tin. But what filled him 
 with the greatest astonishment was, that Sally, during 
 the whole time of his coming and going, had saved up 
 her wages too, and also all the wails she had made 
 her, and she made a good deal of the customers, for she 
 waited in the shop, and being very smart and obliging, 
 the gentlemen were pretty liberal to her." 
 
 " Then I suppose, when Jack came home, she had a 
 good round sum to throw into his hat as a kind of 
 dowry," said I. 
 
 "No she hadn't; she didn't go to work that way. 
 She had made up her mind to Jack ; she knew he was 
 faithful, and that he had made up his mind to her: so
 
 10 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 ■what does she do ? Jack had a poor old mother, wlio 
 obtained her living by taking in washing, but who made 
 a very poor thing of it, as she was a sickly woman, and 
 dreadfully troubled with the rheumatics. Sally feeling 
 for the old creature, and having no mother of her own, 
 took to her, and hired her a nice little house, with a 
 good washing place and drying ground behind ; and 
 then she began to furnish it, bit by bit as she could, 
 buying ' things ' at a cheaper rate this way than by 
 waiting till she had got a lot of money, and then laying 
 it out all at once. Besides, she often picked up things 
 that she had a fancy to ; and by these means managed 
 to get the little house she had taken not only very 
 comfortably but very nattily furnished — aye, nice little 
 useful tit-bits of furniture ; and so, when Jack came 
 home this last time, there was a beautiful cage for him 
 to sing in, and to smoke in, and for his wife to sing in 
 too — a regular nest already prepared, and lined inside 
 with the feathers of comfort and the down of happiness, 
 as one may say, made entirely by the hen bird out of 
 her little pickings here and there." 
 
 " I should like to see this ' nest,' " I remarked. 
 
 " That you may easily do," replied the man. "You 
 know I have got an ' invite,' and if you like to join me 
 this evening I will take you to the place, and we can 
 compare notes together, for I have a great desire myself 
 to see how Sally has laid out the concern." 
 
 So, after a few more woi'ds on the subject, we both of 
 us partook of some refi'eshment at the identical cofi'ee 
 house at which Sally had scraped together her little 
 fortune, and soon after set out to see what was a great 
 deal better sight to our liking than even the " men in 
 chains." 
 
 We had not far to go. The house was a little way ofi 
 the thickly populated streets at a place called " The
 
 TRAFALGAR COTTAGE. 11 
 
 Gardens," ■where a row of neat cottages had been built 
 in what are called pairs, having a little garden before, 
 and a somewhat larger one behind, the said gardens not 
 containing more than three or four rods of ground in 
 both. Jack's house was dignified by the name of 
 " Trafalgar Cottage." There was a little round bed of 
 flowers in the centre of the "front garden," surrounded 
 by a bright walk of gravel ; a jasmin nailed up to the 
 side of the door, just beginning to sprout out ; and there 
 were a few tulips in the same condition in the round 
 bed, with daftbdils in full blossom, and some pretty 
 polyanthuses, garden daisies, and sweet williams, with 
 other common flowers ; and also some bright red flower- 
 pots on the window sill, with ivy, variegated, and horse- 
 shoe geraniums in them. The door was open, for it was 
 a warmish evening, and Jack was sitting on a small keg, 
 which had fonuerly contained Dantzic spruce, at the side 
 of the door post, smoking his pipe. His eye brightened 
 as he saw us approach through the little garden gate, 
 and he came forward with a sailor's tip-toe-roll towards 
 us, ofiering his fin to both of us, recognizing me as 
 having seen me on the top of the hill at the observatory. 
 "Here's my cabin," said he, "come in. Sally," he 
 then called out at the top of his voice, "here's Bob 
 Standish and a gent come to see you. Walk in," he 
 continued, "my hearties," addressing us, "walk in, and 
 make yourselves cosy. Here's plenty of tobacco, and 
 some pipes, and some red-hot cofi'ee, which I always 
 drink with my pipe, you see, after the Turkish fashion, 
 ■which I learned at Constantinople." This was a little 
 bit of a fib of Jack's, who wished to disguise the fact 
 that his \^ife had strenuously interdicted any "wine, 
 beer, or spirits" on the premises, and also spitting, 
 except in two neat japanned spittoons with earthenwaie
 
 12 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 fittings, which were brought to us as soon as we had 
 fairly taken our seats. 
 
 Well, Sally came in, neat and clean to the very 
 essence of nicety. She soon gave us coffee, and then 
 sat down to darning Jack's sea stockings, and she, and 
 Jack, and Standish began to talk about old times ; and 
 Jack told the story of his shipwreck, and of his im- 
 prisonment, and of his fun and frolic and merriment on 
 ship-board. I continued silent, and spent my time in 
 taking notes of the charms and delights, the comforts 
 and conveniences of the little palace, for so it might 
 with justice be called. There was a nice square piece 
 of carpet under the table where we sat, but the boards 
 all round were as white and clean as a platter. The 
 fireirons were of a glorious polish, and the stove or 
 grate black and shining as the finest ebony. Good 
 elm-tree chairs stood round the room, and, with a 
 polished oak table having a double leaf, bore testimony 
 to the stupendous power of elbow-grease. And up in 
 the coi'ner was a clock, whose case was almost as bright 
 as a mirror, and served as a mirror, for not a looking- 
 glass was to be seen. When Sally opened the door 
 leading out of the front room into the little kitchen 
 behind, I got a glance of pot lids and tin ware almost as 
 brilliant as the display in the shop windows of a London 
 silversmith. And all within and without smelt clean, 
 and wholesome, and sweet. Ah, Jack was indeed a 
 happy man, and a real pleasure it was to me to find that 
 he appreciated his happy home and his good-tempered 
 looking wife ; and I did not at all wonder when I heard 
 him say that he intended to go to sea no more, and that 
 he had engaged himself as a "ship carpenter" — his 
 original trade till he " ran away to sea," for the sake of 
 seeing the world. He had never seen, probably, in all 
 his voyages from Nova Zembla to Cape Horn any thing
 
 THE CUT FINGER. 13 
 
 more beantifal or captivating than his own little home, 
 and so he had wisely determined, as he said, to enjoy it 
 to the hest of his ability. 
 
 While we were talking, we heard a loiid ontcry at the 
 garden gate, and looking out, we saw a little child about 
 four or five years old, shrieking at the highest point of 
 the gamut, and holding up its hand and stamping its 
 feet, it cried out, " I have tut my finger, I have tut my 
 finger ! " So out runs Sally, brings the child in, and as 
 quick as lightning rushes to a little di'aw within a 
 bureau, and in a trice she brought out a piece of lint, a 
 short length of twine, and a bottle of friar's balsam, and 
 binding up the cut finger, soon sent the little one to its 
 mother cured and comforted. Ah, the incident told a 
 good tale — there was a place for everything, and every- 
 thing in its place. No hunting in one draw for a piece 
 of rag, in another for a piece of string, and finding 
 neither ; but here both ready to hand, and a bottle of 
 friar's balsam besides. And no doubt, had Sally been 
 suddenly called upon to make up a parcel, she would 
 have found cord and paper as ready to hand, for it was 
 plain that she was provided for many a sudden emer- 
 gency, and was never without a homely expedient when 
 a necessity arose. 
 
 No wonder Jack loved his home, and liked to show it 
 to others ; no wonder he was proud of his wife, and of the 
 white boards, the shining table, and the bright pot lids, for 
 they go very far in making a pleasant home. There are 
 many other things to be considered, no doubt, but a 
 woman of the riglit sort brings every thing to bear upon 
 this one object — to make home the most loving place in 
 the whole world, so that all other places — the haunts of 
 pleasure, the public-house parlour, the club meeting, the 
 skittle ground, bowls, the card table — are as nothing in 
 comparison with it. If a woman can't do that, she must
 
 14 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 not look for anything like matrimonial felicity. No real 
 happiness, no real peace, no real comfort, when " cares 
 annoy," are to be found in like perfection as by the side 
 of the household hearth ; and therefore I mu&t say a 
 little say upon these matters. 
 
 I suppose that every one, if he were to be asked the 
 question, would say that he should like a " happy home." 
 The thing is not so common as many suppose. It is a 
 precious jewel which is not to be picked up on the 
 surface, but must be dug and searched and laboured 
 for with the aid of a good deal of common sense, 
 tact, and resolute perseverance. A happy home is not 
 made all at once any more than a bird's nest is made all 
 at once, and it requires skill and painstaking in the 
 making. The natural tendency of mortal things is to 
 irregularity and confusion, pain, trouble, and sorrow ; 
 but when mind is called into play, and prayer calls 
 down a blessing from above, and the Holy Spirit en- 
 lightens by its teachings, then the discordant and jarring 
 sounds of our ill-tuned instruments — the aflections — ■ 
 come into unison, and human harmony and melody 
 discourse most excellent music. 
 
 To those, then, who would desire this heavenly order 
 of things, I would fain enumerate a few of the requisites 
 of a happy home ; without many of them, the marriage 
 state would be intolerable and unendurable, and home 
 would be little better than a place of torment, for the 
 evil passions are worse than imps of that place which 
 is bottomless. And the thoughtless stupidity which is 
 so very common, with regard to household felicity and 
 the way to secure it, is the very quintessence of donkey- 
 ism, bottled up reaJy for mischievous kicking and 
 tribulation. 
 
 Order is heaven's first law. It is the order of nature, 
 the order of the universe, everything being arranged on
 
 HOUSEHOLD ORDER. 15 
 
 a plan and principle, and kept in harmony by the opera- 
 tion of certain invariable laws. Order in a house is 
 equally necessaiy if human comfort and happiness be 
 the object, and disorderly conduct, whether in the house 
 or out of it, is sure to bring its penalties. The first 
 principle has regard to 2}Iace, the second relates to tune. 
 "A place for everything, and everything in its place, 
 and a time for eveiything, and everything in its time." 
 If these two principles be acted on, their observance go 
 a great way towards ensuring household comfort. Order 
 clears away as she goes ; she does not let the breakfast 
 things stand about, while she goes up to make the beds, 
 for the want of hot water to wash them up. Order does 
 not come down from the bed-making leaving the bed- 
 room undusted and slops unemptied. Order does not 
 peel the potatoes, and throw the peelings under the 
 fire-grate. Order does not throw the tea-leaves into the 
 sink hole below the pump spout. Order does not thrust 
 dirty dishes into holes and corners, nor stick crusts of 
 bread about on shelves and in cupboards. Order does 
 not permit half-slices of butter to remain on a variety of 
 plates ; or for sugar, or tea, or mustard, to remain for 
 days in their opened papers before putting them into 
 their proper receptacles. Order does not throw down 
 the piece of meat fresh from the butcher's into a dish, to 
 become unwholesome, but hangs it on a hook. Order 
 does not throw shawls and bonnets on a chair, or 
 perhaps on the floor, but puts them carefully upon a 
 place fit to receive them. Order has a bag for combs 
 and hair brushes. Order does not cram the clothes for 
 the wash into unimaginable places, but sorts them care- 
 fully into the clothes well, taking care that the dirtiest 
 articles are kept by themselves. Order does not sweep 
 the dust and dirt of a passage under the door mat, and 
 is particularly mindful of having nothing hidden up in
 
 16 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 dark corners. Order has a particular dislike to nncom- 
 fortable drawers, into which every heterogeneous thing 
 is crammed higgledy-piggledy, so as to form a focus of 
 inextricable confusion. Order does not leave the soap 
 in the water after washing. Order keeps the garden in 
 order, and is particularly impartial to weeds and litters ; 
 and, among other good things that she does, order takes 
 care that the inmates of the pigstye are not without a 
 post to rub themselves against for their comfort, that 
 their noses are ringed, and that their troughs cannot be 
 upset. In short, order does all things in a sensible, 
 careful, thoughtful, proper manner, and is a great 
 benefactor to the human species, and one of the most 
 amiable promoters of human happiness, and should be 
 obeyed accordingly. 
 
 The very opposite to order is covfmion — a very com- 
 mon personage in the houses of both rich and poor, who 
 is utterly destructive to household comfort, and who, 
 when thoroughly located in a family, is a general " dis- 
 turber of the peace." With her everything goes wrong; 
 the cart is everlastingly put before the horse ; all is in 
 the wrong place, and nothing in the right time. Mustard 
 pots are without mustard, saltcellars without salt till just 
 at the moment they are wanted. Things are mislaid ; 
 nothing is ready ; there is a hunt all over the house for 
 things that ought to be at hand. The chimney smokes, 
 and the soot comes down over the roasting joint ; sauce- 
 pans boil over, and the cat runs away with some little 
 tit-bit of cookery in preparation on the dresser. All is 
 belter and skelter, and one operation runs into the other 
 in spite of every effort at adjustment ; yet the sweeping 
 and the scrubbing, and the scouring, the sweeping and 
 the brushing, the folding and scolding, all go on the 
 same. Everything is behind-hand, and "before-hand" 
 is never thought of; and ferment and muddlefication is
 
 EIGHT METHOD IN EVERYTHING. 17 
 
 present both in the house, and out of the house, and 
 round the house, from the kitchen to the chambers, 
 including all the staircases and the passages. There 
 are the steps leading to the door littered or spotted ; the 
 accumulated dirt left beneath the scraper ; the shabby, 
 ill-fitted blinds are all askew ; spiders' vrebs are in the 
 corners of the window-panes ; and a dustpan, or perhaps 
 a pail of water, is on the stairs, for you to fall over and 
 break your neck. 
 
 All this from want of method. Method is the sister 
 of order, and without her aid no home can be comfortable. 
 There is a right method in everything, from the folding 
 of a table-cloth to the dusting of a drawing-room ; and 
 the end of experience is the right method of doing 
 things. Some people, by a kind of instinct, see at once 
 how a thing should be done. Others are slow to learn, 
 but surmount the difliculty by painstaking. Some never 
 learn at all. 
 
 No one can be happy or comfortable when a house is 
 in disorder, when chairs are lumbered up, or tables 
 loaded with litters, or carpets strewn with shreds, or 
 crumbs, or the like. To orderly minds such accumula- 
 tions are a positive torture, and tend to disturb the 
 feelings, so as to produce and provoke ill temper, 
 horrible to endure, and drive the lord of the mansion to 
 the comfortable inn and quiet and cleanly tavern parlour, 
 where everything is neat and nice, and liquor is espe- 
 cially conveniently to hand, and where plated pots glitter 
 in a row, and elegantly polished beer machines, and a 
 coal fire, and a white hearth, and the luxury of a pipe 
 invite him with open arms to that seeming comfort, 
 which exhibits a strong contrast to the misery of his 
 own dwelling. Among other things of discomfort are 
 disorderly children — babes who squall from morning till 
 night from want of good nui'sing and management, and
 
 18 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 toys and girls who climb over the backs of chairs, slide 
 down bannisters, and who practise boisterous noises and 
 eveiy kind of mischievous monkey tricks, of which there 
 is neither prevention or cure. If children are not 
 brought up in orderly and submissive habits, they of them- 
 selves would create confusion in all order, and render all 
 about them perfectly bewildered. Nothing can sui-pass 
 the horrible state of wi'etchedness that only one unruly 
 disorderly child can produce in a family. Yet mothers, 
 led astray by the instinct of animals for their young, 
 pet and indulge their offspring to such a degree as to 
 make them nuisances to all around them, while they 
 cannot see anything in theu' conduct but what may be 
 justified on the score of exuberant youthful spirits, and 
 the natural follies belonging to childhood, and so quiet 
 and orderly and forbearing people have to suffer. 
 
 So much for order, disorder, and muddle. And now 
 for NICETY, who is also the sister of the former. Nicety 
 likes to see clean steps to a door, and clean skirting 
 boards in the kitchen. She is fond of bright utensils, 
 sweet and wholesome cupboards, a nicely laid cloth, and 
 neat set-out of the brealdast, dinner, or tea table. She 
 is particularly fond also of clean hands and faces, of a 
 neat white apron, and of a good strong large one when 
 work is going on. She is an enemy to tawdry 
 ribbons and artificial flowers, but a friend to well-laced 
 boots, with the tongues not flapping about the heels, and 
 of small white collar, well-brushed hair, and becoming- 
 looking caps, and is particularly fond of a well-brushed 
 polished stove, fender, and fireirons, and of a clean 
 hearth. She rejoices in well-cleaned windows, and has 
 no objection to a few geraniums and myrtles in pots, or 
 a nosegay of flowers in a vase or bottle. She enjoys 
 well-rubbed and shining furniture, and saucepans and 
 stewpans clean and bright both within and without, and
 
 THE CHEERFUL DWELLING. 19 
 
 with a tea-kettle not ashamed to show its face on the 
 hob. Well-scruhhecl dressers, and plate racks free from 
 dii't and grease, and sinks, over which plates and dishes 
 are washed, free from disagreeable accumulations. She 
 feels great delight in the open and cheerful face of the 
 backyard, and in the sanitary condition of the inside of 
 the water-butt, the dust-bin, and of all things thereunto 
 adjacent and appertaining, and has an especial horror of 
 foul smells, particularly of cabbage water, and of the 
 various fever-breeding effluvia or disagreeable masses of 
 eveiy kind. She is fond of ablutions, and thinks that 
 washing of the feet is as necessary as washing the 
 hands ; and " clean " teeth are as beautiful in her esti- 
 mation as the pearls in a monarch's crown. And so she 
 walks about a house in the loveliness of her excellence, 
 to order it, and keep it, and garnish it, so as to make it 
 a place of delicious comfort and joyful entertainment to 
 all who pass her threshold, and especially to the lord of 
 the mansion, whether he be rich or poor, gentle or 
 simple, fiither, or brother, or husband ; and sbe feels as 
 much pride and glory in her little domain as the queen 
 herself feels in the empire upon which the sun is said 
 never to set. 
 
 Everj' one must have noticed the advantage of a 
 cheerful dwelling, of a house with a lovely prospect, 
 with windows open to the light of the morning, and 
 where, from a blooming apple or plum tree, the song of 
 birds is heard at the beginning or ending of the day. 
 iiut it is not always that habitations have these delicious 
 privileges. Many a working man's house has a dead 
 wall in front and a dead wall behind, and is so closed up 
 on every side that sunligiit is almost excluded, and every 
 bri^^ht and cheerful thing forbidden to peep in. But 
 blessed be God, who can give light in the deepest of 
 darkness, and create a glory in the profoundest gloom,
 
 20 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 there is no place so dim or drear but a cheerful heart 
 and a cheerful face will not illuminate. Cheerfulness i^ 
 the internal sunshine of a dwelling, and a happy face — a 
 face beaming with the loveliness of an amiable temper, 
 dissipates most of the inevitable evils of life, and they 
 flee away like fogs and mists before a summer's sun. 
 Cheerfulness is one of the tokens which a child of God 
 bears from the Father of light, and, sanctified in His 
 sight, it purifies the whole moral atmosphere about us, 
 scares away the noxious reptiles of the mind, and sweeps 
 down the cobwebs that muffle up our best thoughts and 
 feelings. 
 
 Yes, it is indeed one of the first of home comforts 
 when a happy face meets us on the threshold as we 
 return from toil, for toil is then remembered no more, 
 except as one of the blessings which enable us to provide 
 for those we love. There is always a powerful stimulus 
 in a sweet look of genuine afi"ection ; and as an illustra- 
 tion of this in the life of Hutton — " My wife," said he, 
 " has not only always something nice and economical for 
 my supper, but the sauce (not of the tongue) of a cheer- 
 ful, merry face to season it. How ofteu have I come 
 home, wearied in body, pei-plexed in mind, and disgusted 
 with the ingratitude and base selfishness of man, over- 
 borne perhaps by pride, crushed by the weight of over- 
 whelming gold, bent and bowed down by chagrin and 
 disappointment, when my wife's smile on the threshold, 
 her cheerful, happy looks, and the cheerful look of all 
 about her, down to the very cat that rubbed itself against 
 my legs as I entered my dwelling, has sent flying away, 
 like so many imps of darkness, the sad thoughts that 
 beset me, calmed my feelings, assuaged my evil thoughts, 
 and restored me to that serenity of mind and goodwill 
 towards others, which are so essential to great enter- 
 prizes and carrying them out successfully."
 
 THE GENTLE VOICE. 
 
 21 
 
 Another home comfort is a " gentle voice." Happy 
 is the man that has to listen to the music of it. A man's 
 voice may he strong and sonorous, but a woman's must 
 be soft, and low, and sweet, and delicate. Few are 
 aware of the harmony produced hy a meek and gentle 
 voice over the whole habitation. The voice is the key- 
 note, as it were, to the grand oratorio of the day's 
 bustle ; if wrongly pitched, we have a hurly-burly con- 
 fusion of continuous discords. Cruel truths, necessary 
 to be said, have no barbed prongs when spoken in gentle 
 language, although they pierce deeper and probe the 
 more fully. But a barbarous disturber of domestic peace 
 is the shrill, loud, screaming discord of the female 
 larynx, or its chattering, nagging grumble. To be 
 stung with wasps, or bitten into bumps by mosquitoes, 
 or tormented by the puny acrobats of the bed-chamber, 
 is by no means so unendurable as to be perpetually 
 under the infliction of a fierce scorpion tongue. Pinker- 
 ton, who was a sergeant of dragoons during the American 
 war, gives an account of the effect of a woman's voice 
 on an old horse of his named " Turk." He was a huge 
 black horse, a fine, noble, sure-footed, but stubborn old 
 fellow. Every morning they used to muster for parade 
 on the barrack ground opposite the men's mess rooms. 
 The old horse was especially fond of music, and when 
 the band struck up he was all joy and animation, prick- 
 ing up his ears, and slashing with his tail, as if in a 
 kind of extasy. He was no less alive to the sounds 
 which proceeded from the throat of Pinkerton's wife. 
 The stable in which he was kept being at the rear of 
 Pinkerton's hut, the old horse could hear the wife's 
 voice from day to day in all its combinations of shrill 
 fierceness and furious clamour, and found by a kind of 
 instinct that, whenever he had heard these sounds, and 
 the sergeant came to groom him, he was sure to come
 
 22 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 in for an extra punch or whack or two. One morning the 
 troop was drawn up in the barrack square, and it so 
 happened that okl Turk was placed close to the front 
 door of Pinkerton's hut. All was quiet enough for 
 awhile, but just as the troop was about to face round, 
 the shrill voice of Mrs. Piukerton was heard at the top 
 of its pitch scolding the " baker." Up rises old Turk 
 on his hind legs, down then on fore ones, up go his 
 heels behind, off goes Pinkerton, while the whole troop, 
 supposing perhaps that the shrill pipes they heard were 
 intended for a trumpet sounding a charge, dashed for- 
 ward in the most ridiculous confusion, and to the great 
 dismay of both officers and men, and to the production 
 of a tale to last for many a long day, illustrative of the 
 dangerous effect of a discordant voice. Some people are 
 great admirers of the music of a piano-forte, and love to 
 hear its dulcet sounds by night or day jingling in their 
 ears, and the money and time spent upon the learning of 
 the instrument is enormous ; but the finest sound to be 
 heard in a household is the sweet and gentle voice, of 
 which I have spoken, heard in accents of love and 
 ali'ection, to husband, or child, or friend, or neighbour. 
 And next to it is the crow and chuckle of some healthy, 
 hnppy baby, when it gives a jerk and a leap of extasy in 
 its mother's arms. There beat the finest music of the 
 finest of all composers, from Handel to Jullien, and 
 afford more melodious symphonies than ever Haydn set 
 to score. Talk about going to music halls and concerts, 
 oratorios or operas, where sopranos and prima donnas 
 sing Italian dialogues ; these are nothing to me com- 
 pared to the singing of the tea-kettle on the hob, or of 
 the cricket on the hearth, when at the closing of the 
 day the man of toil sits down with his wife and family to 
 their "tea-supper," in the midst of domestic endear- 
 ments of various kinds, well set forth by the "quaker 
 poet : "
 
 THE AMIABLE DISPOSITION. 23 
 
 *' There blend the ties that strengthen 
 
 Our hearts in hours of grief, 
 The silver links that lengthen 
 
 Joy's visits when most brief. 
 There eyes in all their splendour 
 
 Are vocal to the heart, 
 And glances gay or tender 
 
 Fresh eloquence impart. 
 Pleasure is marked by Heetness 
 
 To those who idly roam, 
 "While grief itself hath sweetness 
 
 Within the household home." 
 
 An amiable disposition, too, is an excellent piece of 
 family furniture. Down sofas and splendid looking- 
 ghisses do not produce so much comfort to the mind as 
 the inward feeling of kindness and amiability. It is not 
 only a sweetness in itself, but it imparts its sweetness to 
 all around, like some fragrant flower, and fills the house 
 with a kind of moral incense. To be amiable is to be 
 happy ; to be kindly and aflectionately disposed towards 
 those who surround us, to make allowances for human 
 error and the accidents of heedlessness or frailty, to 
 sympathise with the unfortunate, and to comfort the 
 alHicted, is to partake largely of earthly as of heavenly 
 bliss. And homes are the happiest where an amiable 
 disposition is the chief dispenser of our daily dishes, 
 culinai-y or sociable. Amiability need not be lackadaisi- 
 cal, or stupidly sentimental, or mawkish, or moodish, 
 for true amiability is a thing of sound reason and com- 
 mon sense, guided and du'ccted by human sympathy, 
 which cannot be better described than in the words of 
 the apostle in regard to charity, which is christian 
 amiability on the most comprehensive scale, which 
 " believeth all things, hopeth all things, and endureth all 
 things." I do not believe that a truly amiable disposition 
 can exist except in comiection with the christian virtues;
 
 24 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 and she is the most amiahle who has the spirit of Christ 
 in her heart, for that spirit is a spirit of love, joy, 
 meekness, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness. Where 
 this amiability exists as the presiding queen of domestic 
 duty, there indeed will be happiness, which it will be 
 difficult for the bitterest cares of the world to destroy. 
 
 Good Temper, too, is another ingredient in domestic 
 bliss. Smiles, and a cheerful face, and even a gentle 
 voice, can be put on for the occasion ; but a good temper 
 is part and parcel both of man and woman. A good 
 temper goes over difficulties as a well-built and lively 
 bark goes over the ruffles of the mighty deep, riding and 
 capering upon them as it were, and rollicking in the 
 foam of the waves. When good temper is the result of 
 a clear conscience and a right spring of duty dwelling in 
 the heart, the difficulties of life are easily surmounted ; 
 and happy are those who bring it as their marriage 
 inheritance ; but woe to those who are troubled with the 
 sulks. A sulky man is bad enough, but a sulky woman 
 is ten times worse. Sulkiuess arises from capricious 
 displeasure in an unreasonable, dogged, stupid person ; 
 who thinks to work his revenge upon those who have 
 given ofience by silence. Heaven foi'bid that the sulks 
 should ever establish itself in any household hearth, for 
 where she is, there it is that the robin sings in vain, and 
 the cricket sings in vain, and the sunshine looks in vain 
 into the windows, and flowers blossom in vain round the 
 lintels. Of the two, a scolding woman is more endurable 
 than a sulky woman ; and even querulousness and per- 
 tinacity, which are always finding fault, or complaining 
 and creating misery around, are not so bad as sulkiuess, 
 as these passions work themselves ofl', and are amusing, 
 if it were right to be amused by them ; and those who 
 are so unhappy as to be under their tyranny, when once 
 relieved, open their bosoms for kindhness to take refuge
 
 AFFECTIONATE DEMEANOUR. 25 
 
 there again : but sulkiness is never open to conviction, 
 for as I said, it is generally founded upon stupidity, and 
 a cold-blooded temperament, and phlegmatic disposition. 
 The remedy for it is to let it take its full swing. But 
 no home can ever be happy in which this most disagree- 
 able passion of the mind takes up its abode, and to be 
 mai-ried to it is little short of madness. 
 
 An "affectionate demeanour" is also a nice thing to 
 have in a house. I remember once seeing at the door 
 of a small genteelish-looking cottage a pair of turtle 
 doves, and when I entered it I saw several birds in cages 
 singing sweetly. "Ah," thought I, "this is the place 
 for happiness." But I was mistaken; for although the 
 inmates were really sentimentally fond of each other, 
 and liked to see doves in a cage billing and cooing, the 
 two persons I refer to never seemed to behave to each 
 other as if they were one flesh — not a bit of it. There 
 was no affectionate demeanour whatever, no nice little 
 attentions on either side, no little forbearances, no 
 respect to each other's feelings, so there was a pretty 
 little tinkling discord in the house. There was, too, a 
 vast apparent indifference, and a chilly coldness, not the 
 result of mutual dislike, but of stupidity. Wise and 
 sensible people always observe an affectionate demeanour 
 towards each other, never forgetting the respect which 
 man owes to woman and woman to man ; and this kind 
 of conduct has a vast deal to do with hapj^y homes. 
 And little kindnesses too, how powerful are they in the 
 production of happiness ! Life is made up of atoms, 
 time of seconds, and little matters are often productive 
 of the greatest events, both for good or evil. Every 
 hour in the day calls upon us for little acts of love or 
 justice, little amenities and civilities, and these sweeten 
 the often bitter cup of life so as to make it endurable. 
 A man, for instance, comes home weary and low-spirited ;
 
 26 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 and when he enters his dwelling, one of his little children 
 runs and sets him a chair, another brings his slippers ; 
 and then his wife has secured some little nicety for his 
 evening repast, which is presently set before him. And 
 so family affection, in a thousand winning ways, has a 
 mighty charm to dispel the pressure of indigence and 
 to beautify the home of industiy. 
 
 One of the prettiest sights I ever saw in my life was 
 upon my once looking into the cottage of a working man 
 at the close of the day. The night was setting in 
 gloomily, for it was the middle of November. I wanted 
 a job done to my gig, and walked down from the clergy- 
 man's to the wheelwright's. I knocked at the door, and 
 heard a cheerful, independent kind of voice cry, " Come 
 in." So I opened the door. There sat the wheelwright 
 in his snug chimney comer, with a good wood fii'e 
 blazing before him, smoking his pipe, and nursing a fine 
 fat baby ; his wife was sitting at a table close by, busily 
 plying her needle ; his eldest daughter, a girl of about 
 eleven, was knitting little socks for the baby ; the eldest 
 boy, about nine, was cutting wooden pegs to be used in 
 the wheelwrightry ; while a younger girl was working a 
 sampler, and a younger boy about five was busily em- 
 ployed in colouring some small outline prints. Here 
 was a happy family ; here was ingenuity and industry, 
 comfort and quiet, ease and enjoyment. How different 
 to the enjoyment of the public -house, the skittle ground, 
 or the quiet game of cards in the little back parlour of 
 the inn. How different too to the squalling and bawling 
 of an ill-trained family, and the litter and confusion of a 
 badly-managed house, where all is in a muddle. 
 
 At first sight it may appear a very easy thing to attain 
 this household felicity, and that it only requires a will 
 to ensure it in all its perfection. But there is no place 
 so pure and holy, but evil will endeavour to make a
 
 ENVY, A MISCHIEVOTJS FIEND. 27 
 
 lodgment in it. Our first parents had a sad experience 
 of this fact ; they lived in a paradise prepared by their 
 good and great Creator, and might have enjoyed them- 
 selves for ever. Here they had all that human wishes 
 could desire, provision for the full and perfect exercise 
 of the senses and of the intellect, and for the development 
 of the higher faculties of the soul. All around was 
 peace, and joy, and harmony, and beauty; yet Satan 
 soon put his foot there, to poison, and destroy, and to 
 throw into ruin all the blessings of that heavenly exis- 
 tence, and to drive its inmates into sin, misery, and 
 soiTow. And so it may be, unless constant watchfulness 
 be exercised, with those who have made for themselves 
 that earthly paradise, a "happy home," unless the 
 Spirit of God walks in it to purify the sanctuary from 
 all that is unholy. Satan is as busy now as he was 
 when he first entered the garden of Eden, as full of 
 bitter hatred and cruel malice, subtle craft, hatred and 
 deceit, all ready to be exercised for the ruin of man's 
 happiness both in this world and that which is to come. 
 The wicked, unrestrained passions of the mind are his 
 ministers in this execrable work, and they, like him, go 
 about seeking whom they may devour. 
 
 Envy is one of these fiends of mischief, and the mind 
 that entertains it can never enjoy happiness. It is a 
 possession that acts on the soul as rust acts upon iron, 
 corroding it and eating it away by piecemeal, destroying 
 the day's joy and the night's repose, and invading the 
 midnight dreams ; and numerous are the progeny of the 
 old hag ; Hatred and Malice are her twin firstborn, and 
 after these come Spite and Slander, Detraction, and a 
 host of minor imps, who harass the mind with pei-petual 
 chagrin, and soon drive peace and comfort over the 
 threshold. Keep Envy and her crew, then, away from 
 the household hearth ; look upon her, if she comes near
 
 28 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 the door, as some foul witch, who brings curses under 
 her garment to destroy contentm.ent — that angel of our 
 homes, who makes the dry crust a savoury morsel, and 
 a cup of spring water more delicious than the finest 
 wine, and a chatf mattress softer than the finest down. 
 
 Intemperance, too, is another foul fiend, whose aim it 
 is to destroy body and soul, to make matrimony a curse, 
 and deprive children of bread ; who brings confusion, 
 and strife, and woe, and discord, and misery, and sin of 
 every deadly form and type into the dwellings both of 
 rich and poor. It is Satan incarnate, going about like a 
 roaring lion, and devouring millions upon millions of 
 every degree, from the highest to the lowest, or rolling 
 over them his car of tyranny, like that of Juggernaut, 
 and crushing every sentiment of good within his prostrate 
 victims. If we look at the columns of every daily print 
 we shall see how often lust, and murder, and other 
 enormous crimes have their origin in this wretched vice, 
 and how infamy is multiplied, from door to door, by 
 indulgence in its fearful orgies. If you would have your 
 home a happy one, let not the spirit bottle ever enter 
 5'our dwelling ; avoid intoxicating drinks of every kind ; 
 shun them as you would the plague, the pestilence, or 
 the malaria, for none of these, nor even the sword, com- 
 mit such cruel devastation, or so thoroughly destroy all 
 that is dear and valuable to mankind. 
 
 I might mention the danger to be apprehended from 
 many other evil passions or habits likely to invade do- 
 mestic comfort, for their name is legion, but shall content 
 myself by remarking upon one which is no uncommon 
 visitor — and this is Jealousy; and of all the fiends 
 engendered in the human heart, she is one of the 
 most fearful, for she turns love into hatred, and 
 changes the most honied instincts of life into a corroding 
 poison. Whenever Jealousy takes up her lodging in a
 
 POOR PATTY GROOM. 29 
 
 house, farewell for ever to domestic enjoyment, to sweet 
 sleep, to fond regards, to tender endearments of thought 
 and act, and to every holy feeling ; farev/ell to the 
 bright eye and cheerful countenance, to the sweet smile 
 of welcome and the parting kiss of love ; farewell to the 
 noble sentiment of duty, to self-sacrifice, and to the 
 exquisite pleasure of devoted and ardent attachment. 
 Home, no longer a heaven of chaste delights, is turned 
 into a pandemonium of misgivings and of torture unen- 
 durable. Open not the door to jealousy by levity of 
 conduct or unchaste desires ; if she once enters, it is a 
 difficult thing to eject her, for she will hold possession in 
 spite of all reason, and home will be miserable for ever. 
 
 Jealousy is indeed one of the great destroyers of 
 domestic peace, and is often produced by some intimate 
 aet|uaintauce. Sally had none of these ; but a near 
 neighbour of hers — one Patty Groom — had. Patty was 
 a little too fond of listening to the counsel of this ac- 
 quaintance, and you will see what came of it. This 
 particular friend was one Mrs. Gordon, an old flame of 
 Patty's husband before he married. They were, as was 
 often said, " like sisters : " Mrs. Gordon was in and out 
 half the day at Mrs. Groom's, ready to do anything for 
 her, and professing the greatest affection. But alas ! 
 she was like that old fiend whom I have mentioned, and 
 Milton has described as sitting like a cormorant on one 
 of the trees of the garden of Eden — full of envy and 
 spite against the happiness he saw around him, and was 
 detennined to destroy it. Mrs. Gordon hated both man 
 and wife, and after a time began to insinuate various 
 matters against Groom, without the slightest foundation. 
 Patty, who was doatingly fond of Groom, instead of 
 turning a deaf ear to the insinuation, turned the quick 
 ear of jealousy to eveiy whisper of this wicked and cruel 
 and from that moment all her household happi-
 
 80 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 ness was fled. Every day brought some false things to 
 her mind; "trifles, light as air," were to her "confir- 
 mation strong as proof of Holy Writ; " her heaven was 
 turned to hell, her love to hate, her peace of soul to 
 anguish ; and the cause of all her misery came daily, 
 under the pretence of comforting her, to open her wounds 
 afresh, and scarify them again. The end of all this was, 
 that poor Patty Groom lost her reason, and ended her 
 life in a lunatic asylum, and Richard Groom never looked 
 up again. Therefore, my readers, beware of jealousy ; 
 it is a " green-eyed monster, that doth make the meat it 
 feeds on ; " and beware also of " particular friends." 
 
 But how shall we repel this and other destroyers of 
 happiness ? Evil is a powerful principle ; it circumvents 
 us on all sides, is above and beneath us, and in our very 
 heart-centre, to undermine the springs of life and to root 
 up our highest aspirations. We may keep out the per- 
 sonal enemies of our comfort by barring and locking the 
 doors of our house, and we may, by prudence and fore- 
 thought, arrest many of the disasters of life ; but our 
 spiritual enemy, and our proneness to sin, require a 
 higher and a stronger Power to buS"et them and drive 
 them away whenever they may choose to assault us. 
 In earthly warfare we have our impregnable bastions, 
 our plated vessels, our "rifles" and "Armstrongs," for 
 our defence. Thank God, that in our spiritual warfare, 
 and in our contests with the enemy of man, we are still 
 mightier, and that, far beyond the efficiency of armies or 
 armaments, is the potent power of prayer with Christ the 
 rock of our defence; and of all the spectacles that can be 
 presented to the mortal eye in this foundering world is 
 the spectacle of a christian family making the "house- 
 hold hearth" its altar of morning and evening sacrifice. 
 To see bending before the footstool of the eternal Father 
 the husband, the wife, the children young and old, the
 
 THE HEAVENLY HOME. 81 
 
 domestics, and perhaps the stranger, supplicating for 
 grace, and for strength, and for protection against tlie 
 evils and temptations that may assail us in our daily- 
 walk, is a sight which angels, dwelling in the gloiy of 
 God, may look upon with a delight akin to that they 
 enjoy in the heavenly world. If we would have, there- 
 fore, love, and peace, and joy in our dwellings, we must 
 seek to secure these blessings through our frequent 
 communication with the eternal Father in the faith of 
 His Son, the Saviour of our souls. Then it is that fiends 
 are s/snt away fi'om us howling and gnashing their teeth, 
 and that angels come and minister to us. 
 
 When the "household hearth" becomes a "house- 
 hold altar," home is a consecrated spot and a temple 
 of the living God, in which deeds of aflection, of 
 duty, of self-sacrifice, and goodness are the meet and 
 acceptable offerings. The worship of our Heavenly 
 Father, in buildings set apart for prayer and the obla- 
 tions of the Sabbath, are in the highest degree important 
 to us, and he who neglects them can hope for no earthly 
 blessings ; but, however impressive and important they 
 may be, whether in the cathedral or tabernacle, still 
 they are not to supersede the spontaneous and devout 
 aspirations of the heart, v/hich arise in prayer or praise 
 from a pious family, knit together in love, and kneeling 
 before the footstool of the Most Hi^h. 
 
 And in all these household delights and duties we 
 Bhould not forget that our true home is not here, and 
 that far beyond the regions of time and space lies our 
 eternal— our heavenly home, that Eden again restored, 
 that paradise of never-ending joy, into which evil cannot 
 enter, and which has been prepared for all true believers 
 from the foundation of the world. To tliat home all our 
 thoughts should tend, for it is there that redumption is
 
 32 HOUSEHOLD HAPPINESS. 
 
 made perfect, and man restored to the divine likeness 
 tlirough Him who died for us. 
 
 And let our home here upon earth resemble, as much 
 as possible, our home in heaven, by its peace, its purity, 
 and its love, and by the practice of fireside virtues and 
 domestic duty. Let it resemble it in its happy cheer- 
 fulness, in its songs of devout joy, and in its praises and 
 thanksgivings ; in its absence of turmoil and strife, and 
 in freedom from evil passions and presumptuous sin ; so 
 that in our household felicity we may enjoy a foretaste of 
 the bliss that awaits us. With our hearts full of love 
 for eternal mansions, we will not sigh after the melan- 
 choly wickedness of earth, nor be captivated by the sight 
 of "the men in chains," but, with eyes fixed upon 
 heavenly mansions, run the race that is set before us, 
 with patience, and courage, and constancy, and hope, 
 nothing doubting in the goodness and mercy of our 
 heavenly Father to guide our footsteps, and to strengthen 
 and sustain us in every domestic trial, and to cheer and 
 assist us in every household duty, and secure for us 
 Household Happiness.
 
 SUNDAY EICUESIONS. 
 
 T was a bright Saturday afternoon in mid- 
 summer. The hot sunbeams gleamed 
 ^ through the dingy windows of a large 
 London manufactory, where many men were 
 busily engaged in work. The click and whirr of 
 machinery in an adjoining room sounded uncea- 
 singly. There it would have been impossible for 
 the workers to keep up a conversation so as to 
 make each other heard ; but in the large room of 
 which I have spoken, the noise was not too great 
 to prevent chattering, in which many of the men 
 were indulging. 
 
 " Well, this is a baking day !" said one, face- 
 tiously, to his neighbour, as he drew his bare arm 
 across his heated and grimy face. "If anything 'ud 
 make a fellow pant for a sea-breeze, this would : 
 I feel just stewed. I guess I shall get the dust 
 blowed out of me down at Brighton to-morrow." 
 
 " Why ! " said John Watt, his friend, " I thought 
 you didn't patronise Sunday excursions, Harry." 
 
 " Well, no, I don't in a general way ; but I 
 thought I'd give the missis and the young-uns a 
 bit of a treat for once in a way. You see, John,
 
 SUNDAY EXCUESIONS. 
 
 we can keep the Sunday just as well there as here, 
 because we shall go to a place of worship— the 
 train starts early, and gets there in time ; then in 
 the afternoon we shall stroll about and enjoy our- 
 selves, and get home in the evening as comfortable 
 and refreshed as possible." 
 
 " And how about the engine-driver, the porters, 
 and guards ? Don't you tliink they would like a 
 day of rest as well as we ? " said Watt. 
 
 " Dare say they would," replied Harry Lyte, as 
 he went on energetically with his work, " and I 
 daresay they get it sometimes. We needn't sup- 
 pose that the same men drive the excursions every 
 Sunday, or that the very same porters are in atten- 
 dance at the stations." 
 
 " That's no matter," said Watt," some men are 
 there to attend on the pleasure-seekers ; and I 
 say it's a shame, one man has as much right to a 
 rest on the Sabbath as another." 
 
 " Well, if we didn't go by the excursions, some 
 one else would ; so our denying ourselves an inno- 
 cent pleasure wouldn't prevent the trains running," 
 said Lyte. "And even if excursions didn't run at 
 all on Sundays, the railway people wouldn't get 
 their rest because of the ordinary trains that run 
 for ordinary people, who don't consider themselves 
 such sinners as we poor excursionists." 
 
 " They are just as much to blame," said Watt. 
 "And I tell you what it is, I consider it selfish in 
 the highest degree, for one class of persons to say
 
 " CABBY AND THE LADY. O 
 
 to another, < You must forego the boon of a day 
 of rest, and the privilege of attending a place of 
 worship, that we may enjoy ourselves on the Sun- 
 day.' It is a kind of despotism. It is one class 
 of men making another class slaves on that day 
 when all men should be free to rest, and refresh 
 their souls and bodies, so as to enable them to be 
 ' diligent in business ' during the six days on which 
 God has commanded them to work." 
 
 " Well, now," said Lyte, " it happens that rail- 
 way people are not the only ones who are deprived 
 of their Sunday for the gratification of other folks. 
 There are bakers and brewers at work on Sundays, 
 fishmongers, and cabmen, and 'busmen. Why, the 
 lady that my wife lived with before we were mar- 
 ried, although she pretended to be very religious, 
 she never would have her Sunday fish sent home 
 on the Saturday ; nor would she have stayed from 
 church on the Sunday, if it had rained hatchets 
 even ; but then the old fogey never walked to 
 church — catch her at it. Poor cabby had to drive 
 her there in all weathers, and wait at the church 
 doors till her ladyship came out. Of course, she 
 didn't think cabby had a soul, and as for wanting 
 rest for his body, ' how could lie think of that when 
 he had his living to get? " My wife was let out 
 in the evening after working the whole day Sun- 
 day — and that's how folks live. Rich folks ought 
 to make Sunday as easy as ever they can for their 
 servants, 1 say. They may count us worse than
 
 "6 
 
 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 heathen for going excursions on a Sunday, but I 
 do stick to this, if they help to rob any tradesman 
 of his Sunday, or keep their servants slaving at 
 things that ain't necessary, they are every bit as 
 bad as we are." 
 
 " Then you do not mean what you said just now 
 when you used the words ' innocent pleasure ? ' " 
 said Watt. " Indeed, Harry, it is not innocent, 
 because God has said, ' Remember the Sabbath 
 day to keep it holy.' " 
 
 "0, as for that," replied Lyte, "that doesn't 
 hold good now. That was a commandment given 
 to the Jews hundreds of years ago. We live under 
 the Christian dispensation, and you know the 
 New Testament says that we are not to be judged 
 in respect of a holy-day, and that if we choose to 
 esteem every day alike no one is to judge us, or 
 something of the sort, I don't exactly remember 
 what." 
 
 " The second commandment was one of ten^'' 
 replied Watt, "and if 'Thou shalt not steal,' and 
 ' Thou shalt do no murder,' hold good in the pre- 
 sent day, so also does ' Remember the Sabbath day 
 to keep it holy.' We sin against that God who 
 is so good to us, and in whom we live, and move, 
 and have our being, when we refuse to keep holy 
 the day which He has blessed. And look here, 
 Harry, even if it were not for our highest good 
 to keep the Sabbath holy, we should do it if it 
 is commanded by God, out of pure gratitude to
 
 " ACHY ' 
 
 Him, because He is so good to us. See how He 
 gives us health and strength for our daily labour, 
 and loads us with blessings too common to be 
 noticed, although we don't deserve anything good 
 at his hands ; again, we should keep holy the 
 (Sabbath day for our own sakes, even if God had 
 not commanded us to do so, because, look here, 
 our bodies require periodical rest, and our minds 
 require to be elevated by high and pure thoughts, 
 or we should soon descend to the level of the 
 unthinking soul-less brutes. Now, about bodily 
 rest, I affirm that we don't get it in Sunday 
 pleasuring, going excursions, and so forth ; that 
 is just hard work, one comes home more tired on 
 a Sunday night from a day's gallivant, than one 
 does on a Saturday niglit from a hard week's 
 work. And then on the Monday morning one 
 crawls to work achy, shaky, and dissatisfied with 
 everything and everybody. I've proved it, because 
 I've been out pleasuring on.Sundaj's many a time 
 in my life." 
 
 Watt picked up a tool which he had dropped, 
 and went on: ''If our bodies require a rest and 
 refreshing, how much more our souls ? Why, I 
 tell you what it is, Harry, sometimes when I think 
 that we men have got immortal souls, and that we 
 shall live on somewhere for ever, and ever, and 
 ever, and never die; the thought seems to me 
 grand and awful ! " 
 
 " There, I never think of it much," said Lyte.
 
 8 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 " I try to forget it ; it makes me feel all over acy- 
 how." 
 
 " It is folly and cowardice to try to forget it," 
 said Watt, earnestly. " It is a great /act, and we 
 should stand up and face it like men. I never 
 thought much this way till my wife died a year or 
 two ago ; she was one of the religious sort — not 
 like that person that your wife used to live with, 
 mind you. I know now that she was in the right, 
 though I used to give it her well about her reli- 
 gion. I called it all cant, but there was no cant 
 about /ier, poor soul." 
 
 Watt dashed his hand across his eyes and con- 
 tinued, " One thing that I stood out against her 
 most about was the very thing we are discussing — 
 Sunday excursions ; but though she never said a 
 cross word about them, but only kept on in a 
 pleading kind of way, I never would give in. I 
 remember how I thundered at her one day for 
 quoting this text to me, ' If thou turn away thy 
 foot from the Sabbath, from doing thy pleasure 
 on my holy day; and call the Sabbath a delight, 
 the holy of the Lord, honourable; and shalt honour 
 Him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine 
 own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words ; then 
 shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord ; and I will 
 cause thee to ride upon the high places of the 
 earth, and feed thee with the heritage of Jacob 
 thy father : for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken" 
 it.' I told her that it was like Dutch to me, and
 
 AN UNEASY MIND. 9 
 
 she was to keep her cant to herself. So I went 
 my own way, though my mind was dreadfully 
 uneasy, and she went her way, to her little chapel 
 as usuaL I nicknamed her ' Methodist,' because 
 she never would come with me on Sundays." 
 
 " Well, to be sure ! " said Lyte, " now my Jane's 
 just the reverse; she's up in the boughs about 
 going to Brighton to-morrow." 
 
 " Well, my missis died, continued Watt, " and 
 one night as I stood by the bed where she was 
 laid out all white and cold, I began to think all 
 sorts of things about the soul. And, bless you, 
 everything seemed so real; life and death, and 
 the hereafter seemed to me such tremendous facts ^ 
 that I wondered at myself for ever having con- 
 sidered any such thing as pleasure or worldly gain, 
 or selfish gratification before eternal things. I 
 thought of that text in her bible which says, 
 " What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole 
 world and lose his own soul?" And though I 
 tried hard to forget these things, they clung to me ; 
 and thoughts came into my mind which / couldrCt 
 drive out anyhow." 
 
 Harry Lyte looked very uneasy, and scratched 
 his head. Going on busily with his work, Watt 
 continued, " Well, I resolved to let the Sunday 
 excursions alone for a bit, and I went to church 
 and tried to learn something that had made my 
 wife so good, for she roas good, now I come to 
 think of it, little less than an angel."
 
 10 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 " Stop a minute," said Harry, interrupting ; 
 "before you go on, I want to say a word about 
 church-going. Now, you know, I've fought shy 
 of Sunday excursions — that is, by rail — up to this 
 time ; to-morrow we are going to make our first. 
 I have been in the habit of going to church in the 
 morning, out with the missis and the children to 
 Hampton Court, or to some pleasure-gardens in 
 the afternoon and evening. Of course, we patron- 
 ised 'busses, there were men and horses working 
 just like on other days, but higher folks do just 
 the same thing in their way, so it don't matter." 
 
 " But do you think," chimed in Watt, "that the 
 fact of one class of persons doing what we consider 
 wrong, is any excuse for our doing tho same ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose not," replied Lyte. " I'm 
 not saying now whether it is right or wrong; I 
 only say that is what we have been in the habit of 
 doing. And you do that yourself, don't you, 
 Watt? If you don't, you used to." 
 
 " Yes, I used to, but I've given it up entirely 
 now. The last Sunday jaunt I took was to Kew 
 Gardens last summer. A little Frenchman came 
 to lodge next door to me, a silk-weaver by trade. 
 He hadn't been in England long, and didn't 
 know much of London, so I took him to Kew 
 Gardens. You know I do like the sight of 
 flowers and green trees, and it seemed to do one's 
 heart good to see the beauty of the place. But 
 the going there and back again was dreadful.
 
 "VARRY LIKE PARIS." 11 
 
 Tlie crowds of giddy people, smoking, swearing, 
 and many of them tiiisj, were sad to see. The 
 dusty, jaded-looking 'bus-men, and the tired, 
 reeking horses — I tell you what, I felt as though 
 I alone was answerable for robbing them of their 
 seventh of rest. The little Frenchman was as 
 pleased as Punch. He rubbed his hands, and 
 pummelled me about to make me look first at 
 this and then at that, and he said, ' Varry like 
 Paris ! " and then he explained as well as he 
 could, for he didn't know much English, that it 
 didn't need much more to give us the blessmgs 
 such as can be enjoyed in Paris on a Sunday, and 
 he explained to me what some of them were. I 
 said to myself, * God forbid that we should ever 
 descend to that ! ' But I tell you I felt sorry to 
 my heart for the poor folks. I know they work 
 hard all the week, and we know what that is, and 
 they seem to want a turn-out now and then to see 
 flowers, and grass, and to get a mouthful of fresh 
 air. We all feel so ; it is natural we should, and 
 we ought to get it. But things ought to be so 
 arranged that we could get it on week-days. 
 Some do, but we don't; but if we were to stir 
 ourselves a bit I dare say we should get an oppor- 
 tunity for getting out sometimes to enjoy ourselves 
 without desecrating the Sabbath. Now in summer 
 evenings I do get many a jolly stroll, and it's 
 downright good. In the evenings of last winter 
 I studied at home, and though I couldn't do mucii
 
 12 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 by myself at first, for I haven't had much educa- 
 tion in my time, still I managed to get on bit by 
 bit ; and bless you ! you wouldn't believe what a 
 pleasure learning is ; talk about the pleasure of 
 sitting boozing of nights in public houses, or 
 wandering from gin-palace to gin-palace for a 
 spree — bah ! it makes a fellow feel more like a 
 beast than a man." 
 
 "Well," said Lyte, "and pray what do you do 
 with yourself on a Sunday? " 
 
 " Well, before service in the morning I go for 
 a walk if the weather's fit; then after service 
 home to dinner ; then take a book, and perhaps 
 out to one of the parks ; in the evening to church 
 or chapel again. And on Monday morning I feel 
 like a lark. I've had a rest for my body, and I've 
 had food for my soul ; I feel that I have learnt 
 something, climbed another round of the ' ladder 
 of learning,' as you may say, and then there is 
 something inside that tells me I have done right, 
 and I feel as I should not feel if I had been 
 patronising Sunday excursions. But you see, 
 Harry, in some respects I'm different from you, 
 because I've neither chick nor cliild and no wife, 
 so that I am free to spend Sunday as I please. 
 But I don't think it would be any trouble to take 
 two or three children with me wherever I went." 
 
 " Bless you, no," said Lyte. " I always take 
 the children with me on Sundays, though I'm 
 sure they don't need the fresh air so much as I
 
 SUNDAY NEWSPAPER BEADING. 13 
 
 do, for tliey go to school on week days and get 
 plenty of play. I don't get out on Sunday morn- 
 ings before service, for if I didn't peep into a 
 newspaper then I never should at all." 
 
 " You should carry your paper in your pocket 
 to peep into in the dinner hour," said Watt. 
 " I have no need to take up my Sunday time with 
 newspapers, yet I think I could pretty well tell 
 you what is going on all over the world. I know 
 how affairs are going on in America; I know 
 where Garibaldi is, and what he is doing ; all 
 about our dear little queen, the prince of Wales, 
 and all of them ; what is doing in Parliament, 
 and all the rest of it," 
 
 '^ Well, I suppose it's possible to get something 
 out of odds and ends of time, but it's what I've 
 never troubled myself to do. But you see," con- 
 tinued Lyte, laughing, " we have got half-a-mile 
 away from what we were talking about. I was 
 going to say that sometimes I go to church 
 or chapel, and stand for half-an-hour perhaps 
 before I get into a seat, though there may be 
 plenty empty, but they're 'owned.' Well, I don't 
 like that sort of thing ; I can't afford to pay for 
 sittings, and I do say that churches and chapels 
 ought to be built so that seats are as free for 
 one as another. There isn't half enough accom- 
 modation for folks that can't afford to pay for 
 scats. Of course I like to go where the preacher 
 is a man that I can understand and that has a
 
 14 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 bit of life in him. I hate drowsy preaching — all 
 about doctrines, and things that don't do any one 
 any good ; 1 like to go where the preacher seems 
 to feel as we feel, and tells us of things that 
 concern us and that we can understand, and tells 
 us in words that we can understand, not dictionary 
 men, you know. Well, it so happens that other 
 folks seem to like the very same thing, and so the 
 places where such men preach are sure to be 
 crowded. Now if all churches and chapels had such 
 men, some of them would'nt be half empty on Sun- 
 days as they are now ; and many folks would have 
 something else to care about and think about 
 besides excursion trains. I tell you what it is, 
 John, though I don't pretend to be good — I know 
 I ain't good — yet when I see men preaching in 
 the parks or in the streets on Sundays, I don't 
 make fun of them, because I think they are in 
 earnest about us poor sinners, and with all their 
 hearts they seem to be trying to give us what we 
 can't get inside some decent churches." 
 
 Here the conversation was interrupted by the 
 ringing of the six o'clock bell. 
 
 " Well," said Watt, smiling, " shall you go 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 " ah," said Lyte, in the tone of one who is 
 making up his mind to do something which he is 
 not quite " clear" about doing, " I think I shall. 
 Why you wouldn't believe I've never seen the sea,
 
 " SATURDAY EXCURSIONS." 15 
 
 and of course I should like to ; I know tlie sight 
 of anything grand is elevating." 
 
 So it is, and far be it from any of us to wish to 
 debar our sturdy, industrious working men from 
 the sight of anything grand in nature or art. 
 But we do say that, to gratify that strong desire 
 which is inherent in us all, the working man 
 should not be compelled to give up the Sabbath, 
 to forego its high and holy pleasures and privileges. 
 An extra hour in the evening of each day, and 
 the half of every Saturday for recreation would be 
 a great boon. Then without hurting his con- 
 science he would be able to gaze upon and enjoy 
 the beautiful; and instead of "Sunday excur- 
 sions " we might have " Saturday excursions," 
 — is there any reason why we should not ? 
 
 Certainly the labours of philanthropists would 
 increase. In proportion to the time at the dis- 
 posal of the industrial classes this must be the 
 case. " Weather permitting " is a phrase that 
 rises to the lips of us English whenever we are 
 discussing an excursion, a picnic, or a pleasure 
 party. And the weather proving unfavourable on 
 a holiday the time of the working man hangs 
 heavily on his hands if he have not some other 
 means of enjoying himself. The low, brutalizing 
 pleasures — if pleasures we dare call them — of the 
 public house and gin shop cannot satisfy the great 
 cravings of his better nature : he requires some- 
 thing high, exalting, ennobling. Free lectures
 
 16 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 on literature, science, art, or any topic of general 
 interest would be a boon. Saturday concerts of 
 really good music, not coarse buffoonery and racy 
 songs, but real music, would be appreciated. 
 Saturday and evening classes for self-improvement 
 are wanted; certainly there are many organized 
 already, but more are wanted. This work de- 
 volves upon practical philanthropists, and indeed 
 upon working men themselves. They can do 
 more for themselves than anyone can do for them. 
 The Saturday half-holiday would afford hundreds 
 of hard-worked Londoners an oj^portunity of visit- 
 ing the fairy-like palace at Sydenham, or of 
 running down to the sea-shore, to gaze with 
 admiration and delight upon that great deep 
 upon which our bonnie island is cradled. Most 
 Englishmen have a passion for the sea, and it is 
 not to be wondered at that many thoughtlessly 
 avail themselves of the Sunday excursion to 
 wander for a time within sight and sound of its 
 grand murmuring waves. But it is a pity, yea a 
 shame, to see in this christian land the Sabbath 
 made a day of great business, of bustle, and rush, 
 and mad mirth for one portion of the community, 
 and of hard, tiring work for another, which as 
 truly needs a rest-day as any class in the country. 
 Give our working men the Saturday half-holiday, 
 let excursion trains be run for their especial 
 benefit, and they will not be reluctant to give up 
 that Sunday pleasuring in which they now in-
 
 A SEVENTH-DAY REST FOR ALL. 17 
 
 dulge at, the expense of the comfort and enjoyment 
 of some of their working brothers. The working 
 peojile of these realms are men and women of 
 feeling, and they can see the justice and reason- 
 ableness of demanding for all men one day in 
 seven for rest — for the cabman as well as for the 
 workman in the manufactory; for the engine- 
 driver as well as for the shopman; for the 
 railway porters and guards as well as for the men 
 pent up in close work-rooms. 
 
 But there is a shout raised, that if the Sunday 
 excursion trains be stopped our working men will 
 flee for comfort and consolation to the publican. 
 This we believe to be untrue. We believe that 
 the majority of our working men have too much 
 self-respect to think of doing such a thing. Our 
 working people would not bear such a character 
 for drunkenness as they do, were it not that temp- 
 tations are so forced upon them on every hand 
 that it is next to impossible to expect them to 
 withstand them. No ; we have more faith in our 
 working men, in their sense of right, than to 
 think that they would snub like whipped children 
 and run off to the interested publican, and whine 
 in his sympathizing ear, " They won't run Sunday 
 excursions for us, so we ivoti't be good, we wo7i't 
 go to church, we'll be as bad as ever we can, and 
 80 we're come to you to get downright tipsy ! " 
 Wouldn't that be like cutting oif their nose to 
 spite their face ?
 
 18 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 Well now, some people have said our working 
 men would do that ; but we don't believe a word 
 of it. Give our hard-working people time from 
 weekly labour for recreation, and we will guaran- 
 tee that their common sense, their feelings, and 
 their self-respect will prompt them to act like 
 men on the Sabbath, and not like beasts. It is a 
 libel upon them to say that their " Sunday be- 
 liaviour" depends upon giving them that which is 
 not for their real and ultimate good. 
 
 And above all, let the ministers of our churches 
 and chapels do everything to render the Sunday 
 religious services as alluring as possible. Let one 
 part of the sweet day of rest be exclusively devoted 
 to the working folks. Let the preachers descend 
 from their theological stilts to the level of men. 
 Let the sermon be no dry disquisition on abstruse 
 subjects, no doctrinal harangue, but words coming 
 from the heart and going to the heart, uttered, 
 not with a pulpit^ sanctimonious twang, but in a 
 free, heart-felt, natural manner, about the common 
 wants of this human nature of ours, about the 
 unchangeable love of Him who was wounded for 
 our transgressions, who died that we might live, 
 who invites the weary and heavy laden to come to 
 Him for rest — that is what we all sorely need; 
 about the undying love of Jesus, who, though 
 now far above all things, is interested in all that 
 concerns us, and is touched with the feeling of
 
 A DIGEESSIOK. 19 
 
 our infirmities, because He was in all points 
 tempted as we are, yet without sin. 
 
 Let Jesus be fully and simply preached in our 
 churches and chapels, and " the people " will be 
 found turning towards them, as surely as the sun- 
 flower turns to the sun ; for He alone can satisfy 
 all the cravings of our hearts. And the man who 
 does not so preach Christ and Him crucified, 
 ought not to stand in the pulpit, even though a 
 thousand bishops have ordained him. 
 
 The reader will kindly pardon this digression. 
 And now we purpose following Henry Lyte 
 home; he lives somewhere in Whitechapel, but 
 you do not need to know the street. 
 
 As Harry said, his Jane was "up in the 
 boughs " about going to Brighton on the morrow ; 
 and, would you believe it, she welcomed her 
 husband with a kiss? Now, I shouldn't say, 
 "would you believe it?" only that Jane left off 
 kissing her husband a year or two after they were 
 married, which was a very wrong thing to do, 
 because it is quite right and proper that a wife 
 should kiss her husband, and vice versa. You 
 needn't tell anyone, you know, but the fact of it 
 was, there was a new bonnet in the wind ! Poor 
 unconscious Harry submitted to the kiss, and sat 
 down to his supper as happy as a lord. The clock 
 struck nine ; three children were in bed and 
 asleep, but Jane the eldest girl was staying up to 
 keep house while her father and mother went
 
 20 SUNDAY EXCUESIONS. 
 
 marketing, as they usually did on Saturday nights. 
 Harry was not so foolish as to booze in pnblic- 
 liouses at night, which was a happy thing for 
 the little family. He always accompanied his 
 wife to market, to " see her righted," as he said ; 
 and she was very glad of his company. Well, 
 after supper they went out. The summer evening 
 light was fading away, and the silver stars began 
 to peep out. 
 
 " I think it will be fine to-morrow," said Jane, 
 '' don't you? " 
 
 " There is no sign of rain at present," said 
 Harry. " Do you know," he continued, " Watt 
 and I have been having such a confab about 
 Sunday excursions ? he doesn't like them at alh" 
 
 " He isn't everybody," said Jane, promptly. 
 " Of course you're going to-morrow ? " 
 
 " yes," said Harry. 
 
 " Harry," said his wife, after a silence, " you 
 know that poor young widow that lodges on the 
 second floor of Mrs. Webb's ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Harry. 
 
 *' W^ell, she was a milliner before she was 
 married, and she makes the sweetest bonnets you 
 ever saw." 
 
 " Does she ? " said Harry. 
 
 " Yes ; she brought me in one to-day, to look 
 at; one that she has for sale, and my best was 
 lying on the table — this one I've got on, it's my 
 best — and you never saw what a contrast ! I
 
 PREPARATION AND PERSPIRATION. 21 
 
 couldn't liave believed mine was so shabby." 
 And Mrs. Lyte gave a short laugh. 
 
 Harry was slow to take the hint ; and she con- 
 tinued — " Do folks dress very smart to go by 
 excursions ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose they put on all their best 
 toggevy, Jane. What do you want to know for ?" 
 
 " Because if we should see any one we know I 
 shan't be a disgrace to you in this bonnet, shall 
 I, Harry?" 
 
 Harry stopped and looked all round his wife's 
 bonnet. " How much was that one you spoke 
 of? " he asked. 
 
 " Only eight shillings, Harry, and suck a 
 dear!'' 
 
 " Yes, rather," said Harry drily. 
 
 " I mean it is very cheap," said Jane, quickly. 
 
 "0, is it? Very well, I suppose you must 
 have it. But Mrs. What's-her-uame must stop 
 for the money till next Saturday, because those 
 tickets to-morrow will cost something." 
 
 " 0, she'll stop," said the delighted Mrs. Lyte ; 
 and nothing could possibly ruffle her blessed 
 temper that evening. 
 
 The morrow came. The Lyte family was up 
 bright and early. It was, as Mrs. Lyte said, " a 
 dreadful job " to get the children ready in time 
 for the train. By the time they were dressed she 
 was quite in a perspiration, and cross into the 
 bargain. Jane was sent outside, to walk up and
 
 22 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 down with the baby till her mother was ready. 
 Harry was ready and waiting ; and his frequent 
 '' Come, come, Jane, we shall be late," quite 
 upset his flurried wife, and made her, as she said, 
 *' twice as long as she should be if he'd hold his 
 tongue. " At last she was ready, except having to 
 put on her boots. The smart new bonnet was on 
 her head, and altogether she looked as radiant as 
 a rose, but not very smiling. The second boot 
 was just going on, when lo ! the tag came off the 
 lace. " Harry !" she cried to her husband, Vv'ho was 
 anxiously looking up the street, after his little 
 flock; "it's no use for you to hurry and scurry, 
 here's the tag come off my boot-lace, and I 
 haven't another in the house." 
 
 " Here, lass," said Harry, who was determined 
 not to lose his temper, " let me manage it for 
 you." And he stooped down and tried to thread 
 the boot with the tagless lace, missing two or 
 three holes every time. 
 
 Well, it was done. Harry took up the parcel 
 of eatables, and Mrs. Lyte the baby. The door 
 was locked, and they took their way to the 
 railway station. A neighbour standing at her 
 door, said to Mrs. Lyte, as she passed, " So you're 
 going by the excursion, are you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and I almost wish I wasn't. It fairly 
 upsets me." 
 
 " Well, let's turn back,"' said her husband, in 
 an annoyed tone, and halting.
 
 " AIX OF A TREMBLE ! " 23 
 
 The clnldren looked fearful lest their mother 
 should acquiesce, but she kept steadily on her 
 way ; Harry followed rather moodily. 
 
 There was a rush to get tickets at the station, 
 ditto to get places in tlie train. There was noise 
 fi)r the million. Laughing, joking, grumbling on 
 some sides, chattering interspersed with expres- 
 sions which I decline writing ; and • at last all 
 noises were merged into the one deafening clatter 
 of the speeding train. 
 
 A motherly woman, sitting next to Mrs. Lyte, 
 with a little girl on her knee, seemed nervous and 
 discomposed. Said the child to her, " Auntie, is 
 it realli/ Sunday? It don't seem like it." 
 
 As they were going through the tunnel one of 
 the passengers shouted, " Now, it's neck or 
 nothing ! if there was to be a upset it would be a 
 mess, for we're a smartish cargo." 
 
 " Oh dear," said the motherly woman to Mrs. 
 Lyte, "how can he? It just sets me all of a 
 tremble. I ain't quite clear about coming by 
 these Sunday excursions, but I thought I sliould 
 like to run down to Brighton to see my brother. 
 One can't very well find time for trips on week 
 days ; but I'm dreadful nervous." 
 
 Mrs. Lyte remained silent till they were out of 
 the tunnel, then she took a long breath, and the 
 children's eyes ceased to dilate. 
 
 The large grey-and-wliite clouds which slowly 
 sailed up from the south-west, flung some drops
 
 24 SUNDAY KXCUKSIONS. 
 
 of rain against the carriage windows. " It's only 
 a summer shower," said Harry, cheerfully, to his 
 wife ; " it'll cool the earth a bit, for there's every 
 promise of a scorching day." 
 
 " It proved a long shower, for on arriving at 
 their destination it was coming down smartly. 
 Some of the passengers ruefully declared they 
 didn't helieve the sun would "come out" again 
 that day. But after a while he did shew his 
 smiling face, gave them a warm welcome, and set 
 to work to dry up nature's tears. 
 
 " It's too late to paddle to church no7v,''' said 
 Mrs. Lyte, " we must stop here till it dries up a 
 hit. Johnny's boots let wet." 
 
 In little over half-an-hour they ventured out. 
 Of course they were overwhelmed with delight on 
 walking for the first time on the sea-shore. There 
 were hundreds who didn't seem to care a bit about 
 the gi-and sight. They were "enjoying'^ them- 
 selves in their own rollicking boisterous fashion ; 
 far from looking "from Nature up to Nature's 
 God," it was manifest that He was not at all in 
 their thoughts. The glories of Nature, the music 
 of the breeze, the hollow moaning of the beautiful 
 sea- waves, seemed to exercise no elevating in- 
 fluence over them. The great majority of the 
 ])leasure-seekers seemed to have given themselves 
 entirely up to thoughtless, reckless mirth and 
 joviality. The Sabbath and the God of the Sab- 
 bath appeared to be alike furgutfeu.
 
 MRS. LYTE AND HER TEOrBLES. 25 
 
 Tliey little knew what they were losing. 
 
 In the afternoon, as Harry and his charge were 
 streaming ahout, they came upon one of his 
 fellow-workmen. "Well, to he sure," he said, 
 striking his hand into Harry's open palm, "you 
 here, and the missus, and all !" 
 
 Harry laughed. 
 
 " Well," continued his friend, " that's what I 
 couldn't stand." 
 
 " Mother," cried Jane, " here's Johnny's got a 
 stone in his shoe, and it hurts him dreadful." 
 
 " Well, take it oiF then," said the mother. 
 
 " I can't, it's tied in a hundred knots !" 
 
 " Here, take the baby, and be quiet telling lies," 
 said Mrs. Lyte impatiently. The transfer of pro- 
 perty was not agreeable to all parties, for the baby 
 began screaming lustily. 
 
 "How musical!" said Lewis, Harry's fellow- 
 workman. And he added in a whisper, " I say it 
 ain't fair to be tramellcd like this on a Sunday, 
 when a fellow wants a bit of a let-up. You should 
 leave the missus and the chits at home, I always 
 do." 
 
 " But then," replied Harry, in a tone of apology, 
 " as missus says, it's the only day we've got to- 
 gether, and, you know, I don't like to leave 'em." 
 
 "0, that's namby-pamby talk !" replied Lewis. 
 " Well, all I can say is, it's well you can afford it." 
 
 "Harry," cried his wife, "can't you just look 
 after one or two when I'm so bothered? Here,
 
 26 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 Alice has been tumbling down and cut her hand 
 dreadful ! Jane, tear a strij) off your 'and- 
 kerchief." 
 
 Jane squatted down on the beach with the 
 fretful baby, and tore a piece off a calico pocket 
 handkerchief. The wounded child was crying 
 piteously. Tears stole down Jane's flushed and 
 heated face. The poor child had not as yet got 
 any of the enjoyment which she had reckoned 
 upon. She lifted up the heavy baby, and walked 
 to and fro to hush it. 
 
 ^' Harry," said Mrs. Lyte, presently, " I shall 
 sit down and get baby to sleep." 
 
 ''And I'll take a stroll with Lewis," replied 
 Harry. " The children can play about ; I shan't 
 be long." 
 
 Mrs. Lyte watched him till he got quite out of 
 sight. She felt anything but happy. She 
 anxiously watched her children romping about, 
 and dirtying their best clothes. " Oh dear," she 
 said to herself, " I wish we'd never had anything 
 to do with excursions at all. I'm sure we were 
 happier when we stayed at home to go to church, 
 and the children went to the Sunday school. It 
 ain't much like Sunday now." 
 
 The baby slept but a short time, which was not 
 to be wondered at, considering the noise that 
 reigned on all sides. 
 
 Time passed on. Tlie children clamoured for 
 their " tea." Harry Lyte had not returned
 
 V DOiraSTIC " TIFF." 27 
 
 from bis stroll " I tlmught father was going to 
 take us in somewhere to have tea comfortable," 
 said Mrs. Lyte, after she had wandered about 
 wearily for some time in search of her husband. 
 " However, it's no use waiting," she continued, 
 '' come and sit down and we'll have something to 
 eat." And she turned to the apparently in- 
 exhaustible packet of food which they had brought 
 with them. 
 
 They had some time concluded the meal when 
 Harry made his appearance, without Lewis. His 
 face was flushed, and he appeared very merry. 
 His wife said anxiously, " Where's that fellow 
 been taking you to?" 
 
 " He didn't ta^eme," said Harry, jocularly, "1 
 n-ent^ and had a glass or two of ale with him." 
 
 " Then it's a shame ! you know very well how 
 it makes you feel, and — ^just wait till I catch hold 
 of Master Lewis ! I'll teach him that he ought to 
 be looking after them as belongs to him instead 
 of spreeing down here all alone. I didn't expect 
 things would turn out like this : I thought we 
 were going to have tea comfortable together." 
 
 A regular domestic "tiff" followed. And as 
 the hour for departure drew on they sulkily wended 
 their way to the railway station. 
 
 They succeeded in getting to one of the carriages 
 almost first, and were about to enter when they 
 found that little Alice was missing. 
 
 "Where ever's Alice?" said Mrs. Lyte, in
 
 28 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 alarm. Harry looked round, but not seeing her 
 said, '' You get in, or somebody else'll take your 
 places, I'll see after the child." 
 
 Mrs. Lyte reluctantly got in, and took a seat 
 by the door, keeping an anxious look-out for her 
 husband. The carriage filled up ; it was no use 
 trying to keep a place for him. A weary looking 
 porter came along to shut the doors. 
 
 " Have you seen a little girl with a rag tied 
 round her hand ?" she asked anxiously. 
 
 " No !" 
 
 "Well, don't lock the door, I must get out, 
 there's no room here for my husband." 
 
 " It's no use of your getting out, missus," said 
 the porter, " you won't find a better seat." 
 
 "Now then! going! going!" shouted a shrill 
 voice ; and just then Harry made his appearance 
 with Alice in his arms. He evidently could not 
 find the carriage in which his wife was. She 
 stretched out of the window and shrieked, 
 "Harry!" which gave rise to some coarse jokes 
 among the passengers. But Harry did not hear 
 her; and she had the felicity of seeing him 
 hurriedly bundled into a carriage at the far end of 
 the train. 
 
 She felt miserable. I need not enter into details 
 of how they reached home ; but as the weary wife 
 descended the stairs after putting the children to 
 bed, she said with a sigh of relief, " Well, I'm 
 glad this day's over."
 
 DISSATISFACTION. 29 
 
 Harry wisely said nothing ; but he felt dissatis- 
 fied with himself, everything, and everybody. 
 
 " The trip hasn't done us much good," he 
 soliloquized; "here we have spent a lot of money, 
 there's Jane's new bonnet to be paid for — though 
 she deserves it, poor soul, — we've had nothing ' for 
 the mind,' as Watt would say, we've had a good 
 many discomforts, and we're as tired as dogs !" 
 
 During the week Mrs. Lyte said to her husband, 
 " I shan't have do more Sunday excursions, Harry." 
 
 *' Lewis was saying last Sunday that it didn't 
 exactly do for women and children," replied Harry. 
 " Besides, it's such an expense, I couldn't stand it 
 for a regular thing. Perhaps I shall run down 
 myself next Sunday." 
 
 " Now I should hope not," said his wife in 
 concern; "you know Sunday is the only day we've 
 got together, Harry ; I shouldn't like you to run 
 off like that." 
 
 " Law, it's what most workmen do," said Harry; 
 "you know they want a let-up, and they can't 
 always afford to take a tribe with 'em." 
 
 " To make up for last Sunday's expenses, let us 
 spend next Sunday without even going to Rich- 
 mond or anywhere," suggested his wife, whose 
 conscience was rather uneasy about the money 
 that she owed to the poor young widow for her 
 bonnet. 
 
 Harry considered. " Well," said he, at length, 
 " I don't mind trying Watt's way fur once."
 
 30 SUNDAY EXCURSIONS. 
 
 On the following Sunday they passed the day 
 very quietly, going to church in the morning, — by 
 going there early they were fortunate enough to 
 obtain very good free sittings, and the sermon was 
 anything but " drowsy." Harry admitted that it 
 was just the sort of preaching he liked; and 
 something he could understand too. The text was, 
 " 8eek ye first the kingdom of God and His 
 righteousness, and all these things shall be added 
 unto you." It was a very beautiful sermon. In 
 the afternoon they went for a walk, and in the 
 evening to a chapel which was near their house. 
 
 Spending the Sunday so made them neither 
 weary nor cross ; neither did it involve them in 
 expenses which they could ill afford. 
 
 Harry said he thought he should give up Sunday 
 excursioning for once and all. He was a very 
 intelligent man and fond of reading, and he said 
 that knocking about all day on a Sunday quite 
 robbed him of any time which he might devote to 
 reading. 
 
 " And if you'd manage to send the children to 
 the Sunday school in afternoons we might some- 
 times have a quiet read together, Jane," he 
 remarked one day ; and added, with something of 
 his old fondness, " for I'm determined not to leave 
 you of a Sunday ; it would be downright selfish of 
 me. Let others do it if they've got the heart. 
 And after all, Jane, I think it's better to deny 
 oue's-self a bit of pleasure for the sake of keeping
 
 & VnSK SUGGESTION. 81 
 
 a clear conscience and peace of niind. Just to 
 think of the poor servants and waiters at the 
 public-houses and tea-gardens, and the engine- 
 men, and porters on the drive, drive, when they 
 ought to be at rest, it's cruel and a shame. I 
 don't wonder that Watt holds out against it all so. 
 You see he's thought it over a good deal, and if 
 everybody would do the same I don't think Sunday 
 excursion trains would run much longer." 
 
 One day Watt and Harry had another long 
 conversation on this subject, and Watt said, "I've 
 been thinking it would be first-rate to petition the 
 master for a Saturday half-holiday ; and we could 
 form a cricket-club, it would be such healthy ex- 
 ercise for us ; and an hour on one or two evenings 
 of the week would give us such a jolly opportunity 
 for adding to our little stock of learning. You 
 know master is a regular good one for doing any- 
 thing that he thinks is for our good, and I really 
 believe that if we were to lay the matter before 
 him he would do what's reasonable and right." 
 
 " But, you see, some of the fast ones might get 
 off on the spree," suggested Harry. 
 
 " 0, but we would form classes amongst our- 
 selves for self-improvement, and what with that 
 and our cricket club in good weather, and lectures, 
 I tliink we shall keep together pretty well. How- 
 ever, we'll see about it," 
 
 " Ah, you're the man to be leader in anything 
 like this," said Harry, giving his friend a hearty
 
 32 SUNDAY EXCUESIONS. 
 
 slap on the back; " I hope you'll help us to carry 
 it out." 
 
 "We must all do our best," replied Watt ; " it's 
 all for our good, you know. And if the Saturday 
 half-holiday would induce the men to give up, 
 willingly, the Sunday excursion, it would be a 
 blessing. For, wheel round the question as you 
 will, and make what excuses you will for these 
 Sunday excursions, they are sinful. 
 
 " Sunday excursioning isn't right; and in that 
 Word of truth which has exalted Britain above all 
 nations of the world we read, ' Remember to keep 
 holy the Sabbath day ;' and when we are found 
 despising that command, we have reason to fear 
 for the greatness of our country. For God's 
 blessing must be withheld from those who 
 disregard His commands. 
 
 " Righteousness exalteth a nation : but sin 
 is a reproach to any people."
 
 KIND TUENS. 
 
 E often hear persons say, "I am tired of the 
 world," or "I hate the worW," or "This is a 
 had workl," and so on ; meaning, of course, not 
 the great round hall which composes our earth, hut the 
 people on it, who are in the main unjust, selfish, and hard- 
 hearted. If you want to find sj/nipaih;/, you must look 
 for it in the dictionary, we are told, and even there it 
 only exists as an abstract noun. If you want a " friend," 
 it is like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay ; and 
 if you want a " kind turn," you may go from Dan to 
 Beersheha before you are likely to find one. " Charity," 
 too frequently, not only begins at home, but ends there, 
 and the "open hand" has frequently nothing in it. 
 
 Stop a bit — don't let us he too hasty; the world is 
 not all barren, depend upon it ; large wastes of stony- 
 heartedness may exist, but the purest gold is often 
 found in the clefts of the rocks, while arid deserts and 
 seas of sand, have their "green oases" even in the 
 midst ; and so in this inhospitable world of ours, among 
 the briars and thorns of human cruelty, are to be 
 found the healing herbs of christian love ; and these 
 abound everywhere, but not more in the gorgeous palace 
 than in the humble cottage, not more among the high 
 and mighty of the earth than among the poor and lowly 
 — indeed, if I were to be asked where true sympathy 
 would be found, I should not direct the enquirer to 
 " lordly halls," but to " lowly cottages," to the homes of 
 the poor and needy, to the throwers of the shuttle, the
 
 KIND TURNS. 
 
 pushers of the plane, the wielders of the pickaxe, and 
 the drivers of the plough. 
 
 These reflections were forced upon me in rather a 
 curious manner. I was one day loitering at the comer 
 of a street in " our town," when I observed a man 
 standing under a kind of gateway just opposite to me, 
 having a billhook in his hand. He looked anxiously 
 up the street and down the street; presently he ad- 
 dressed a gentlemanly-looking young man : what he said 
 to him I did not know, but the young fellow shrunk back 
 as if his dignity had been very much offended, and, 
 without deigning to reply, passed on. The man with 
 the billhook looked disappointed, but watched for another 
 passer-by. One presently approached ; he was a stalwart 
 fellow ; his face was red and bloated, and he looked big 
 enough and strong enough to have pitched a sack of 
 flour into a cart without much exertion ; but he also, 
 upon being addressed by the man with the billhook, shook 
 his head, and, like the Levite and the Priest, passed by 
 on the other side. The man with the billhook seemed 
 vexed and perplexed, still, however, continuing on the 
 watch. He did not watch long, nor in vain, for very 
 soon a young sailor boy came by ; he was about sixteen, 
 and seemed as if he had just returned from a long 
 voyage, as his face and toggery were rough and weather- 
 beaten. To him the man with the billhook spake. The 
 lad's eyes brightened, and with the alacrity of a young 
 monkey, he turned up the open gateway with the bill- 
 hook man, and both vanished from my sight. 
 
 I was a little curious to know what all this meant, 
 and so I took the liberty to follow the man and the lad 
 up the gateway. Before I had proceeded far I saw 
 "Jack " turning away with all his might at a grindstone,
 
 THE GRINDSTONE AND THE MANGLE. 5 
 
 while the other was sharpening his billhook thereon, and 
 60 my curiosity was satisfied. The man wanted a 
 "kind turn;" he had been twice refused, but had at 
 last found a helper. 
 
 While the stone was performing its revolutions by the 
 arm of the sailor boy, and the sparks were flying about, 
 I heard the loud squalling of a child at a tenement close 
 by. When the child's voice lulled a little, it was 
 followed by a rumbling, grating, and rattling noise; 
 presently I heard the voice of a woman, and I thought I 
 heard the sound of a kiss — it might have been the click 
 of the mangle machinei"y. I crossed to the other side 
 of the yard, and looking into the door of a tenement 
 which stood wide open, I beheld a poor woman with a 
 baby at her breast, which she held closely to it with one 
 arm, while she turned a mangle with the other. It was 
 rather hard work ; so when the billhook was sharpened, 
 the young sailor, who had noticed the "mangling under 
 difficulties," as I had, sprang across the pathway, saying 
 as he came to the door, "Hard work that, missus; 
 can't I give you a turn ? which shall I do '? " he con- 
 tinued ; "I will either hold the baby or turn the mangle, 
 whichever you like, for I have nursed babies and turned 
 mangles many a time." 
 
 " If you will only just hold the baby for a few minutes," 
 said the woman, " till I have taken out the pieces fi'om the 
 mangle, I shall be able to get along very well, and then 
 I will put some others in, and if you will give me a turn 
 I shall be very much obliged to you." The woman 
 soon took the things out of the mangle, and put others 
 in ; Jack talking to the baby and tossing it up and 
 down in true nursing fashion. When all was ready. 
 Jack gave up his "tender charge," and flew to the
 
 6 KIND TURNS. 
 
 haudle of tlie mangle, whicli he turned as vigorously as 
 he had previously turned the grindstone. The woman 
 sat down on a chair, suckled the baby, and rocked it to 
 sleep. She then put it to bed in a little cot by the 
 fireside ; and by this time, the " things in the mangle," 
 having been " done to a turn," she removed them from 
 the rollers, and thanking the boy for his kindness, offered 
 him two rosy -die eked apples. 
 
 "No, I thank ye," said Jack; "one good turn 
 
 deserves another. When I was at sea, off the coast of 
 
 Holland, I ran my boat ashore on the ice. It froze 
 
 very hard, and it was late in the afternoon. There was 
 
 nobody in the boat but myself, and I could not see 
 
 a sonl all along the strand to give me a ' shove off.' 
 
 I tried again and again, but it was of no use, the boat 
 
 was frozen in as hard as a nail ; besides which, a fog 
 
 had sprung up, and hid the ship to which I belonged 
 
 entirely from view. A pretty mess I was in, was I 
 
 not ? " continued Jack, appealing to me and the woman. 
 
 " There was hardly a shelter all along the low line of 
 
 coast, and not a soul to be seen, as I said before. I 
 
 tugged and I pushed, and I tried to break the ice that 
 
 had frozen round my boat, but to no purpose ; it froze 
 
 shai-per and sharper, and the ice got harder and 
 
 harder, and my hands and fingers began to get so numb, 
 
 that I could scarcely feel them, and I began to think 
 
 that I should be frozen to death before morning, for 
 
 there was no other boat to our ship — she being only a 
 
 'billy-boy,' and those on board could render me no 
 
 assistance. 
 
 " While I was wondering what I should do, and the 
 fog having partly cleared away, I saw a woman paddling 
 away in a small Dutch coble ; she was not far from the
 
 THE KIND-HEARTED SAILOR-BOY. 7 
 
 shore, and appeared to be quite knocked up by her 
 rowing. Her eyes were full of tears. I bailed her ; 
 she told me that her husband had been washed over- 
 board while hauling in his nets, that she was rowing 
 homewards as fast as she could, and feared she should 
 not save the ebb, which was setting rapidly down shore, 
 and if she did not she should have to knock about on 
 the open sea all night. Her home was at a small 
 fishing village about four miles down the coast. I 
 knew she had no time to spare^ but my case was des- 
 perate, and telling her in a few words the fix I was in, 
 she at once ran her boat into the ice close to mine, and 
 with a short hand-pick which she had in her boat, set 
 to work with such good heart that in a few muiutes 
 the ice was broken up. The kind woman then helped 
 me to shove ofi" my boat into the sea, and I soon 
 regained my ship. Well, you know," continued Jack, 
 " that kind assistance seemed to sink deep into my heart, 
 and I said to myself, ' As long as I live I'll never refuse 
 a kind turn to anybody ; ' and so good-bye, my good 
 woman, for I am only just come home, and our craft 
 will be ofi" again to-morrow morning. I am just going 
 to have an hour or two with my mother, and must be on 
 board before high-water; good-bye, good-bye." So 
 saying, Jack gave a bit of a sea-lurch, and was out of 
 sight in a twinkling. 
 
 And so the sailor boy played his part. He seemed to 
 understand the Divine maxim, "Whatsoever ye would 
 that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." 
 It was not a great thing to do — the turning of a grind- 
 stone or a mangle ; there was but small self-sacrifice, 
 which is the true glory of a kind act ; but I hold that 
 he who is ready to help another in a small way, would
 
 8 KIND TUENS. 
 
 do SO in a large one, liad he the opportunity. "We can- 
 not all ennoble ourselves amid " the flourish of trumpets 
 and drums ; " we cannot indulge in the luxury of clemency 
 or magnanimity from " thrones of high estate," nor have 
 our "nothings monstered" by the frantic applause of 
 the giddy multitude. But we — that is, "working men 
 and women," hidden, as we may be, from the glare of 
 the world's sunshine, shut out from the saloons of 
 fashion and frivolity by high factory walls, or cyclope- 
 dian smoke, or the dust of whirring machinery, yet with 
 us the soul has still elbow-room, and the heart is not a 
 mere pump or mechanical arrangement in our system. 
 No, no ! we can yet learn to play the man, as man 
 ought to be played, full of truth and love, even in the 
 swathing bands of hard labour and repressed energies ; 
 and though we work amid stony quarries or iron mines, 
 yet we may have hearts of flesh ; and with our hard and 
 rough hands may soft and delicate feelings be found. 
 
 And' as to opportunities, they abound everywhere. 
 There is no time, or place, or mode, or exigency of life, 
 in which opportunities do not present themselves of 
 doing good to our fellow-men. As the whole universe 
 is mutually dependent, as suns and stars are bound 
 together by attraction, and dew-drop mingles with dew- 
 drop, in obedience to this universal principle, so does 
 heart beat to heart by the like universal law of sym- 
 pathy. And we have only to obey the teachings of the 
 spirit of love, the suggestions of goodness multiplied 
 within us, to make us as "ministering angels" to all 
 around, and thus " do the will of our Father" on earth 
 as it is done in heaven. 
 
 There are many beautiful things on this beautiful 
 earth — the sun in his rising and setting, the meadows
 
 GENUINE PHILANTHEOPY. 9 
 
 in their spring-time of flowers, the orchards in their 
 profusion of luscious fruit, the corn-fields in their 
 harvests of gold, and the glorious starry firmament, 
 burning with ten thousand eyes of fire, how beautiful is 
 it ! But there is something far more beautiful than all 
 this — it is a good man doing a kind turn to his neigh- 
 bour; the "helping hand" giving forth its strength; 
 the human eye glistening with a tear of pity ; or the 
 feeling heart bleeding at another's woe. 
 
 Much is to be learned by those who obseiTe what is 
 occurring in the passing panorama of life, and who 
 walk with then- eyes open, and who do not shut them to 
 the light of truth, whether its rays proceed from the 
 glorious sun above, or the small crevice of the humble 
 cottage in which the farthing rushlight makes its touch- 
 ing revelations. In the broad street, in the narrow 
 alley, in the crooked coui't, " lessons of instruction " are 
 to be found, and *' teachings of love " are going on. 
 One kind-hearted fellow may be seen, as he walks along, 
 carefully removing orange peel fi'om the pavement, that 
 the legs and arms of the passers-by may not be put in 
 jeopardy. On one occasion, I saw a poor man walk into 
 the middle of the road, and pick up some broken glass, 
 which he threw into a ditch, and which he thought 
 might be perilous to some poor horses' feet. At another 
 time, I noticed a poor woman, old and feeble, hesitating 
 and trembling at a crossing, when a "knight of the 
 plane" came up, and speaking veiy politely, ofiered 
 his arm, and led her across the road in safety. I saw 
 another working man, with the greatest kindness, take 
 a piece of grit from the eye of a stranger, which the 
 doctor had been unable to remove. Another generously 
 took up a poor washerwoman's buirow, which he wheeled
 
 10 
 
 KIND TURNS. 
 
 for a considerable distance. "Help me to raise this 
 ladder," said a bricklayer to a labouring man going 
 going. " With all my heart," said the man, and the 
 ladder was quickly raised. A cartful of bricks was 
 along uphill, drawn by a single horse, when the horse 
 jibbed from exhaustion and fell. In vain the driver 
 tried to get the beast on his legs ; he tried again and 
 again, but to no purpose. At last, without even a word, 
 he held up his whip, and looked at the bystanders, and 
 immediately half-a-dozen men were either at the wheels, 
 or the shafts, or hanging on behind, till the horse was 
 on his legs again, when a united shove behind the cart 
 soon sent it to the top of the hill. Instances might be 
 multiplied of " little kindnesses " and " little helps " 
 being exercised among working men. Then* name is 
 " legion," and I only regret that I have not space to 
 record them as well as the noble acts of disinterested- 
 ness, self-sacrifice, and generosity, which I have noticed 
 among working men. A few, however, I must relate. 
 
 There was a remarkably strong man in our town, one Tom 
 Soames. He was what is called a ship's porter, and was 
 generally employed to load and unload ships lying in the 
 .docks, carrjdng the cargoes from the holds of the vessels 
 to the floors of the warehouses. The cargoes consisted 
 for the most part of sacks of corn, and the price the 
 porters had for their work was so much per score — 
 that is, so much for each twenty sacks. These, of 
 course, they took on their shoulders from the vessel, 
 and running along a board, delivered them safely in 
 the warehouse, their day's wages depending upon the 
 number of sacks they carried. One of these porters, 
 named James Poulter, had the misfortune to fall from 
 the plank on which he was walking from the ship to the
 
 11 
 
 shore, with a sack of wheat on his shoulders. Unfortu- 
 nately, the tide was out, and the dock was diy. If the 
 tide had been in and the water up, the poor fellow 
 would, perhaps, have met with no further mishap than 
 a sound ducking. As it was, he fell, sack and all, upon 
 the hard stones, wrenched his back very severely, and 
 dislocated his shoulder. This was indeed a sad misfor- 
 tune, for the poor fellow had a wife and six children at 
 home, totally dependant upon him for bread. His 
 mates of course felt for him, but they had little to give, 
 and what they gave went but a very small way, and the 
 poor fellow had no other alternative than being taken to 
 the union house with his whole family, a resource so 
 repugnant to him, that, as he said, " he felt he should 
 die the moment he entered the doors." 
 
 When Tom Soames, who, as I said, was a remarkably 
 strong man, heard of the accident of Poulter, he was 
 sorely distressed ; at the same time he felt, as he ex- 
 pressed it, almost like a Samson in his muscles and 
 sinews. There was no Philistine to be slain, no lion's 
 jaws to be rent, no city gates to be carried away, no 
 heathen temples to be pulled down, but a feat was to 
 be performed of higher and greater value — there was 
 a poor man and his wife and family to be assisted, 
 starving children to be fed. How could Tom help them ? 
 He thought of the words of the apostle, " Gold have I 
 none, and silver have I none, but such as I have give I 
 unto thee." 
 
 He had strength — extraordinary muscular strength, 
 beyond that of common men. He had been kno-mi to 
 lift from the ground a live ox, to raise two sacks of 
 flour, and to twist the kitchen poker of the " Ked Lion " 
 as easily as if it had been a bit of cane. 'Tis true, the
 
 12 KIND TURNS. 
 
 veiy fulness of his manhood was gone ; he had passed 
 the age of fifty ; he could no longer perform the feats of 
 strength for which he was celebrated; besides which, 
 he had ricked himself in the loins once or twice, and he 
 had for some time refrained from any exhibition of 
 his former feats; but when the accident to Poulter 
 occurred, and he saw how the case stood with regard to 
 the poor fellow's having to go to the Union, Tom 
 mustered his strength once again. He went to the 
 merchant who employed the porters, and made an offer 
 to take two sacks fi-om the ships to the warehouse 
 instead of one in his regular time with the other men, 
 and thus to do Poulter' s work for him while he lay sick, 
 paying to him every week the extra earnings for the 
 porterage. The generous offer was accepted. Tom 
 worked away cheerfully from day to day, but not without 
 pain or fatigue. He felt his natural force abated, but 
 he laboured on for about thii-teen weeks, doing double 
 spells all the time, and never ceased till the sick man 
 was placed firmly on his legs again, and able to perform 
 his daily duty. 
 
 It is, I have no doubt, a very fine thing to see the 
 coronation of a monarch, the enthroning of a bishop, 
 the pomp and ceremony of the triumphal entry of a 
 victorious hero into the capital of the country he has 
 subdued, but I am of opinion that it was a much more 
 sublime spectacle to see " Tom Soames " with a sack of 
 wheat strung by means of a band over each shoulder, 
 as was the case, walking from ship to shore and from 
 the shore to the granary, with the heroic determination 
 of helping a fellow-labourer. There is a moral grandeur, 
 as well as a physical grandeur ; the latter is generally a 
 mere artificial affaii*, got up for show, like the puppet
 
 THE RIVAL MILKMEN. 13 
 
 procession of a travelling circus, while the former is an 
 intrinsic and real production, made to endure, not for a 
 season merely, hut for all time. 
 
 The story of the strong porter is not a fictitious, nor 
 is it a singular one — that is, it is not the only one of its 
 kind ; it does not stand alone, for, as I have said, many 
 are the *' kind turns " among the working classes. In 
 the very same town of the " strong porter" there were 
 two rival milkmen. Each had, indeed, their separate 
 " walks," but it frequently happened that little differ- 
 ences arose as to the trade of the "border-states" — 
 that is, upon those parts of the walks that trenched 
 upon, or intermingled with each other. Of course, the 
 milkmen were both jealous of their trade, and had their 
 little altercations now and then ; but they were both 
 christian men ; one went to church and the other to 
 chapel, and as often as they differed, so they practised 
 mutual forgiveness, to the great advantage of both. 
 
 Now it so happened that one of the milkmen, whose 
 name was Potter, was seized with a dangerous distemper 
 — the small-pox. His was a veiy bad case, and the 
 disease soon extended to his wife and one of the chil- 
 dren, who were " laid down " with it, as the phrase 
 goes. The neighbours would not go near him, and the 
 people belonging to his milk- walk fancied the milk which 
 he sent round by his biggest boy was infected with the 
 disease. "Now is the time for you," said one of 
 Walker's fiiends to him, " Now is the time for you to 
 walk into the other milk-walk, and get the whole custom 
 to yourself." 
 
 "Yes, now is the time for me," said Walker, "you 
 are quite right, now is the time for me, and I will take 
 advantage of it."
 
 14 KIND TURNS. 
 
 So the lucky milkman provided himself with a donkey 
 and a couple of biggish casks, in lieu of his cans, which 
 would not hold enough for an increased supply. He 
 walked into his rival's trade with the greatest ease. 
 The nice, well-brushed donkey — to say nothing of the 
 drollery of it — the white and clean casks, and the civil 
 attention of Walker, won the hearts both of cats and 
 women. In less than a week he had obtained the whole 
 of his rival's connection, selling exactly double the milk 
 that he had sold before. 
 
 "It was a lucky hit for you," said the same con- 
 scientious friend who had said to him before, " Now is 
 your time." 
 
 " Yes, it is a lucky thing for me," replied Walker, 
 " and I mean to turn it to the best account." 
 
 And so he did ; for he kept a strict account of all the 
 milk he sold to his rival's customers, and at the end of 
 every week, for nine weeks, he made out a sort of 
 balance sheet as to what he had paid for the milk, the 
 profits thereon, the whole of which he handed over weekly 
 to the other milkman, keeping, at the same time, his 
 trade together, and holding it, as it were, in trust ; and 
 when the man got well, and the small-pox was out of 
 the house, he gave him all his customers back again, 
 thanking God for giving him the opportunity and for 
 enabling him to make the most of it, and of turning it 
 to the best account, namely by including it in that 
 account which must be rendered up to God at our final 
 settlement. 
 
 Among the poorer classes, even the very poorest, 
 there is often a large amount of sympathy exercised, for 
 with the labouring classes mishaps are ever present. 
 There are the lyings-in and the layings out, the hard-
 
 Br. AVE " OLD PATTY.'* 15 
 
 ships of poverty, the struggles to keep the head above 
 water, and the expenses of the sick-bed. Amid all 
 these there are many who do " kind turns " repeatedly, 
 and some who are never more happy than when doing 
 them. I have more than once met among the veiy 
 poorest the most heroic devotion in the cause of suiforing 
 humanity. One dear old creature I can mention, who 
 is worthy more praise than I can bestow upon her. Her 
 name is Patty Sawder, who, sunk in the depths of the 
 lowest poverty herself, and having no dependence what- 
 ever, except a small annuity of three shillings a week 
 from the club of her long-deceased husband, yet devotes 
 herself to the necessities of her fellow-creatures with 
 such an ardoui" of kindness as to be truly wonderful. 
 Wherever a case of real necessity exists, there "Patty" 
 is sure to be seen, scenting, as it were by instinct, the 
 places of miseiy, as Billy, the fireman's dog, is stated 
 to have smelt a fire at an almost inconceivable distance, 
 setting off to it as fast as his legs would carry him. 
 Often is old Patty on the ground at " a Ijdng-in " before 
 the doctor; often is she seen early in the morning 
 lighting the invalid's fire, and setting out the breakfast 
 for poor children deprived of motherly care. Where 
 fever rages old Patty is sure to be seen, and no fear of 
 danger ever withholds her from doing her part to " make 
 things comfortable," as she calls it; and I have known 
 her to go to a cottage, turn out every bit of dirty linen 
 she could find, put a fire in the copper flue, set the 
 water boiling, and wash and iron the whole, rather than 
 the poor sick family should not have some clean linen, 
 for " clean linen is such a comfort," she says. On one 
 occasion, a malignant fever had invaded a fetid court in 
 one of the back slums of St. Peter's pai-ish. Fear hud
 
 16 
 
 KIND TURNS. 
 
 seized tlie snrronnclmg neighbours ; not one would enter 
 the abode of death, and none could be found to ad- 
 minister the least service to the plague-stricken inmates 
 of one of the cottages ; but Patty was soon on the spot, 
 doing her best in every way. She not only sat up day 
 and night to attend upon the sick, but she laid out the 
 dead and comforted the dying, and by her energy and 
 perseverance, stayed the pestilence. I believe the 
 heroic exertions of this good old creature saved the lives 
 of numbers, as her christian example edified and at- 
 tracted all. It was one particular feature of this woman's 
 earnest benevolence, that she always steadily refused to 
 receive a farthing in money for what she did ; she would 
 take her scanty meal at the house in which she laboured, 
 but nothing more ; and often have her own slender 
 means been taxed to enable her to exist while in the 
 performance of her " labour of love." Among the noble 
 deeds of women, we hear of queens, and duchesses, and 
 ladies of high birth and with very long pedigrees, and 
 we find their virtues emblazoned upon marble monu- 
 ments and painted sepulchres ; but worthy as their 
 deeds may be of record and of sculptured efiigy, it is 
 probable that in the eye of the Omniscient some of the 
 most vaunted of virtues will pale before the fire of old 
 Patty's " heart love," and look dim beside her humble 
 doings amid the haunts of poverty, the hot-beds of 
 disease, and in the regions of wretchedness and death. 
 
 One of the greatest blessings' we enjoy in this free 
 country is freedom of opinion, and the right which every 
 one has to worship God according to the convictions of 
 his conscience, and to discuss religious questions in all 
 their bearings without being called to account by a 
 dominant power. This privilege, so great, so truly
 
 A FREE COUNTRY. 17 
 
 catholic, is the very life and soul of Christianity in a 
 nation ; without it we should be doomed to remain in 
 " the slough of despond," and to crawl about in the 
 slime of bigotry and superstition, to the utter degradation 
 of all our faculties, both intellectual and moral. But 
 blessed be God, our thoughts are as free as the air we 
 breathe, and may range under a dome as wide, and as 
 high, and as pure and beautiful as the canopy of heaven 
 itself. The "little Bethel" may say to the great 
 Cathedi-al, "I, too, am one of the churches;" the 
 inspii-ed cordwainer may say to the enthroned bishop, 
 " I, too, am among the prophets ; " and the common 
 labourer may join issue with the doctor of divinity in 
 the elucidation of scriptural truth and gospel doctrine. 
 Hence, controversy, when not indulged in at the expense 
 of christian charity, is a noble element in our spiritual 
 economy. The mind of man is fond of investigation, is 
 emulous of proof, is desirous of conviction, and so it is 
 that, in our zeal for the truth, the best of men have 
 sometimes come to loggerheads, and fierce wars, both of 
 pen and tongue, have been waged without any infringe- 
 ment of that charity, which "beareth all things, hopeth 
 all things, and endureth all things," as the tale I have 
 to relate will sufficiently ilMstrate. 
 
 There were two members of our mechanics' institu- 
 tion, one named Harry Iving, and the other Joseph 
 Smithers. They were both working men ; Hariy was a 
 painter, and Joe a stonemason. They were of very 
 opposite religious convictions, and both were sincerely 
 desirous of converting each other to his owti way of 
 thinking. Whenever they met of an evening their 
 favourite topic was sure to come up. It is no matter 
 ■what it was, for it related to those non-essentials of
 
 18 KIND TURNS. 
 
 religion, abont which there has been controversy for the 
 last eighteen hundred years, and which " synods," and 
 " councils," and " conclaves " have never yet been able 
 to determine, though the rack and the faggot have been 
 freely used, and oceans of blood have been shed, with an 
 especial aim at uniformity. Often did Harry and Joe, 
 when they met, bristle up at each other's opinions ; often 
 like two game cocks did they crow and strut at each other, 
 and stretch out their necks in the furor of polemical zeal ; 
 and then they would set to and fight, not in the way of 
 fisty-cuflfs, but with the weapons of words — shai-p, bitter, 
 strong, always vehement, but never conclusive. Some- 
 times Harry would get a terrible knock-down blow, then 
 Joe would be thrown with a syllogistic cross-buttock 
 over the pale, and now and then both were put " hors de 
 combat" in the fight. Then the subject would be 
 dropped for a time ; but when both got a little wind, 
 and picked up more ammunition from the spiritual store, 
 they would at it again with renewed ferocity. At last, 
 however, out of sheer exhaustion, hostilities seemed 
 completely suspended, and the two belligerents broke 
 up their respective camps in terrible ill-humour with 
 each other, for neither of them were convinced, and 
 each thought his fellow di'eadfully in the wrong. 
 
 It so happened that Harry and Joe were at work on 
 the same building — a huge brewery, which, in addition 
 to a iall chimney, had a very handsome elevation, and 
 a noble frontage of the Corinthian order carried up to 
 an imposing height. Harry was finishing some tip -top 
 work on the highest part of the erection, and had to 
 paint a lion, which stood as a crest or insignia to denote 
 the "Lion Breweiy," and to give perhaps an idea of 
 the strength of the beer manufactured under its name
 
 A TERILOUS SITUATION. 19 
 
 and mane. Joe was at work below, pointing some of 
 the stones of the basement with Eoman cement. Harry 
 was just giving the finishing touch to the lion above ; to 
 do this, however, in front, he was obliged to creep round 
 the edge of the cornice, but in order to make himself 
 secure, he had fastened himself to a rope attached to a 
 crowbar, which had been fixed in the interstices of the 
 stonework behind the lion. He then moved cautiously 
 along to the fi"ont, with his paint pot and brushes in his 
 hand, not indeed without fear ; but he was a bold man, 
 and daring. He had just put the first dab of paint on 
 the nose of the lion, when the crowbar began to wi'iggle, 
 and the rope that held him to slacken. He immediately 
 tried to hold on by the coping stones close to him, but 
 he missed them, slipped, and fell over to the cornice 
 close below. This he grasped — if it can be called 
 grasping — with the tips of his fingers, and hung for a 
 few seconds between heaven and earth, with seemingly 
 nothing to prevent his falling a depth of between sixty 
 and seventy feet, and being dashed to pieces on the 
 basement below. It was impossible for him to sustain 
 himself for more than a few minutes in this horrible 
 situation, and death and eternity were staring him in 
 the face ; yet at this hopeless moment help was at hand. 
 Joe had heard his cry of despair, and was looking up 
 towards him from the bottom of the building. He soon 
 saw it was his old polemical friend — or rather enemy. 
 He believed that if he died without a change in his 
 opinions his soul would be lost as surely as his body 
 would be destroyed. He knew that " drop he must." 
 There was but one thing to be done, and that was, to 
 intei^pose his own body between the falling man and the 
 hard stones, and so to break his fall. His own life was
 
 20 KIKD TURNS. 
 
 in jeopardy, but christian love told him to risk it, and 
 he did not hesitate a moment. He called out to Harry- 
 to drop into his arms, and he would catch him. The 
 wretched man fell with a tremendous shock on the 
 shoulders and upon the arms of Joe, and both were 
 doubled up together into a mass, and fell apparently 
 lifeless on the stony platform. In a short time they 
 were taken to the hospital, where they remained for 
 several months, and each came out crippled for life. 
 
 Ah, how much is a christian deed of love better than 
 controversy ! How much holier is a touch of Divine 
 sympathy than the hot zeal of furious enthusiasm ! and 
 how thankful ought we to be, that, notwithstanding the 
 contests about "non-essentials," the discord about sur- 
 plices or candlesticks, crosses and piscinas, the meaning 
 of obscure texts, or the interpretation of the Divine 
 mysteries, christians do not after all forget to love each 
 other. If our love did not burn brighter than our 
 bigotiy, our state would be perilous. But we do see, in 
 spite of all our strife and bitterness, and all the acrimony 
 of religious sects, that christian men do love each other. 
 On every side in this protestant land do we behold 
 institutions and asylums for almost every infirmity to 
 wliich human nature is liable. Hospitals, schools, 
 missionaries abroad and at home, visiting societies, 
 asylums for the deaf, the dumb, the blind, the insane, 
 for the poor man stricken by years, and for the suffering 
 and afflicted of every grade and kind. United efiort, 
 indi\'idual effort, on all sides, for the purpose of alle- 
 viating suffering and misfortune. So let us go on, 
 and may in-door love go side by side with our out-door 
 charities. May love burn within us to the warming of 
 our household, to the comforting of our neighbours, and
 
 EPHRAIM AND BBIDGET GRAY. 21 
 
 to the good of our sjDecies, wlietlier they be friends or 
 enemies ; for " love is the fulfilling of the law," and he 
 who loveth God will love his brother also, and with a 
 love that all the bitter cavils of the world cannot destroy. 
 
 There ai'e so many ways for a man to do good 
 when he has the mind, that it would be difficult to 
 recount them ; and a man is never too old to begin a 
 work of love. Some years ago a haberdasher of London 
 left off business, as soon as he " had enough," as he 
 called it, and he " sold off," and settled down at a small 
 town on the borders of Hampshire. His "enough" 
 secured him but a very small income ; but he had no 
 childi'en, and both he and his wife were of simple frugal 
 habits, and their united income barely exceeded a 
 hundi-ed pounds a year. He had not much to give 
 away ; but he soon found out, that in the place in which 
 he resided, there was much to be done which it needed 
 but little money to do — that tact and knowledge, energy 
 and perseverance, and the love of God and man did 
 wonders. 
 
 It was in a veiy small cottage that Ephraim Gray 
 and his wife Bridget lived. It had only six rooms, a 
 neat garden, with a little brook running at the bottom 
 of it, and a small summer-house, from which he at first 
 obtained a view over a poi-tion of the grounds of Squu'e 
 Bumpus, who took occasion, on the second year of his 
 residence, to build a high brick wall before it, so as 
 completely to shut out the view. This Squire Bumpus 
 resided in a large house above him on the hill, and 
 looked down with (of course) ineffable contempt upon 
 the poor haberdasher. He kept a regular establishment 
 in town, a regular establishment in the country, and a 
 regular establishmeut abroad. He bagged hundixub of
 
 22 KIND TURNS. 
 
 pheasants, hares, and partridges daily, and sent them to 
 the London poulterers for sale. He kept a splendid 
 stud of hunters and racers. He drove four-in-hand, 
 patronized prize-fighters, gamhlers, and shai-pers, and 
 spent his money either at making a show, or getting up 
 a great name among the heroes of the "turf." 
 
 The old haherdasher's " turf" was ahout twelve feet hy 
 eight, just in front of his little cottage porch. There 
 were a few fliowers around it — double daisies, pansies, 
 daffodils, sweet scabious, and the like ; and there was a 
 little plot of arable land, about twenty feet square, close 
 by, where the old man essayed to grow a variety of 
 flower seeds, the young plants of which he delighted to 
 give to the cottage gardens round about him ; and I have 
 no doubt that Ephraim derived more real pleasure fi-om 
 his little bit of grass plot, with its accompanying seed- 
 bed, and the opportunity it gave him to do a kind turn 
 now and then in the "flower way" to his neighbours, 
 than any that my lord could derive from all his estab- 
 lishments abroad or at home, with all his tui-f transactions 
 or game preserving into the bargain. 
 
 Then the poor haberdasher was in possession of 
 enormous wealth of a kind that Squire Bumpus knew 
 nothing of; it was of greater extent than his broad 
 acres, of far more intrinsic value than shares and scrip 
 and hoarded thousands, of more importance than houses, 
 horses, and hounds, and capable of affording him a 
 pleasure uncloying and substantial ; and this was, a 
 feeling and a generous heart — a comfort to himself, and 
 also a comfort to many that were around him. 
 
 Usefulness, and duty, and kindness of heart — these 
 are great levers in God's spiritual kingdom, and will 
 remove mountains of difficulty. The idea of usefulness
 
 WOODGROVE AND ITS WANTS. 23 
 
 was ever upon his mind, and he soon saw that, poor as 
 he was, he might make himself useful in a variety of 
 ways, and therefore he laid himself out to do a numher 
 of things that other folk would not take the trouble of 
 doing He had retained one of the lessons learnt in 
 his early boyhood, long before he was called upon to 
 take the posifion of man's responsibility, namely, " to 
 do his duty in that state of life unto which it should 
 please God to call him." He had not been called to be 
 a statesman, or a legislator, or a soldier, or a physician, 
 or a minister, or to do his duty to his country on a 
 large and imposing scale. He had been called to do 
 his duty as a haberdasher. He had done his duty as a 
 haberdasher, and sustained one of the noblest of charac- 
 ters, that of an upright and honest tradesman. He had 
 now to do his duty to the community with which he 
 lived as a friend and neighbour. 
 
 "When duty calls we must obey," Ephraim would 
 have sung, but he was no singer ; he, however, sung it 
 in his heart, and began to look about him for the first 
 thing to be done. Bridget had been doing her duty 
 among the poor fi'om the first. What should Ephraim 
 do in the prosecution of social science and the develop- 
 ment of domestic economy ? 
 
 The to^vn of Woodgrove was in the centre of a rural 
 district, and the first thing Ephraim noticed was, that 
 nobody knew how far it was to the adjacent villages ; 
 there were eight or nine of them altogether, lying at 
 every point of the compass, and strangers wanting to go 
 to these places were continually very much deceived as 
 to distance, especially those who had to hire gigs, or 
 the like, at the public houses ; for instance, the village
 
 24 KIND TURNS. 
 
 of Puddlebog, which was only two miles and three- 
 quarters, was generally called three and a half, or four 
 and a quarter sometimes ; and the same discrepancy was 
 common to the other places. Ephi'aim thought that it 
 would be a capital thing to have these distances accu- 
 rately ascei-tained for the benefit of the public, and 
 therefore he borrowed a "mile wheel," and measured 
 from the church of Woodgrove to that of Puddlebog, 
 and so on of all the other villages, at the same time 
 taking their exact bearings, east, west, north, or south, 
 as the case might be. He then had all this painted on 
 a board, and got permission to have it stuck up near the 
 Post-office, for the benefit of travellers in general, and 
 the townspeople of Woodgrove in particular. 
 
 The next thing that Ephraim turned his attention to 
 was what he thought a cruel grievance. He felt for the 
 poor, as every good man should. He knew what they 
 had to endure, the struggles they had to make, and the 
 evils they had to encounter. He did not like them to 
 be imposed upon, but he knew that they often paid more 
 for the worst articles of consumption than the rich did 
 for the best. A veiy cold winter set in, coal rose to a 
 great price, but this was not all ; the poor had double 
 dues to pay, owing to the manner in which the coal 
 was supplied to them. Of course the poor labourer 
 or handicraftsman cannot lay in coal by the ton — he 
 must buy it by the hundred ; and the way in which 
 the poor obtained it was through a middle man, who 
 bought a ton or chaldron or so of inferior coal, which 
 he retailed out by the hundred at an advanced price. 
 Ephraim bought twenty tons of the veiy best corJ 
 before the cold weather set in, which he retailed to tho 
 poor at the cost price. He did more than this; he
 
 THE "juvenile GUARDIAN SOCIETY." 25 
 
 hired a donkey and cart, so that the coal was delivered 
 to the purchasers free of all charge for carriage. 
 
 Bridget was no less active in her way among the 
 poor. In her visits to the sick, she often found persons 
 with lingering and painful complaints. Sometimes a 
 poor creature would he what is called " hed-ridden," 
 and week after week, month after month, nay, year 
 after year, would lie in great agony from some painful 
 disease. Ephraim had seen a " water-hed " at the 
 Polytechnic institution, the first one exhihited by Dr. 
 Arnott. He saw at once the great comfort which might 
 
 be derived to invalids fi-om its use. He therefore set to 
 work, obtained a subscription from a few Quaker fr-iends 
 to begin with, others joined in the benevolent work, and 
 in less than a foi-tnight a " free water-bed" was estab- 
 lished for the use of the " poor " in the town of 
 Woodgrove. 
 
 The " water-bed " soon led the way to the establish- 
 ment of a dispensary ; and when the dispensary was sot 
 fairly agoing, Ephi-aim got up "garden grounds" for 
 the working classes. He was also mainly instrumentiil 
 in getting up a "mechanics' institution," and a "penny 
 savings club." He had during the winter an " evening 
 school," in a large room, which was lent for the pui-pose, 
 and here in the long winter nights he used to exhibit a 
 " magic lantern," and talk to the lads about the wonders 
 of creation, and the wisdom and goodness of their 
 Heavenly Father. 
 
 One of the best things that Ephraim did — and would 
 his example were followed in every town in the king- 
 dom ! — was the establishment of what he called a 
 Juvenile Guardian Society. This he intended for tlio 
 overlooking and encoui'agemcnt of lads after they had
 
 26 KIND TUENS. 
 
 left school, during tliat dangerous period that intervenes 
 between boyhood and manhood, called sometimes the 
 age of " hobbledehoydom." It is indeed a dangerous 
 period for the young, for then it is that youthful ardour 
 and imagination, and the violence of the passions begin 
 to manifest themselves, before the reasoning faculties 
 have learned to act. The object of this society was to 
 afford fostering care and guidance to lads of this age, to 
 invest their weekly savings, to guide them in their 
 reading, to select proper amusements for them, and to 
 direct them in the way they should walk in accordance 
 with the Divine precepts. More than fifty lads joined 
 this society, and rose up to be men, blessing the name 
 of their kind friend and benefactor. 
 
 There were many other ways in which this good 
 Samaritan exerted himself. He was instrumental in 
 improving the sanitary condition of the place, and went 
 about from door to door among the poorer classes, 
 explaining to them the laws of health ; nor was he ever 
 backward in risking his life when necessary for the 
 benefit of the afllicted. On one occasion, during the 
 time of the cholera, three houses in one narrow street 
 were attacked by the dreadful disease. The neighbours 
 fled from the adjacent houses panic-struck ; the parish 
 authorities in vain directed that the dead should be 
 separated from the dying, and that the place should be 
 purified and lime-washed. None were found but the 
 old haberdasher and his wife to throw themselves, as it 
 were, into the jaws of death. With their own hands 
 they worked at this labour of love, and, encouraged by 
 their noble example, the timid at last came forward to 
 assist. We talk of the sublimity of Nature in her 
 imposing forms, of the thundering cascade, or the
 
 UNKIND TURNS. 27 
 
 heaven-piercing mountain, but nothing equals man's 
 moral sublimity, which as much exceeds that of the 
 natural world, as heaven exceeds earth, and the beauty 
 of which will remain when heaven and earth are no 
 more. 
 
 Instances of " kind turns " might be multiplied, but it 
 must not be forgotten that this sinful world of ours also 
 abounds in unkind turns, and that there is a vast deal of 
 ingratitude in it. Neighbours, even next-door neigh- 
 bours, instead of being the best of friends, are often the 
 bitterest of enemies, and frequently distress and annoy 
 each other without the slightest reason, except the 
 gratification of their envious, morose, and spiteful 
 natures. They have thousands of opportunities for 
 performing little semces to each other, and frequently 
 neglect them all. I have known a peevish and un- 
 neighbourly person to cut ofi" the tops of some beautiful 
 espalier apple trees in full blossom, because they peaked 
 a little over a garden wall which divided his own garden 
 from that of a neighbour to whom the apple trees 
 belonged. I have known another who refused to let a 
 poor man pick up a few walnuts, which he had dashed 
 from his own tree, when they fell into an adjacent field. 
 I have known others to poison their neighbours' cats 
 %nd fowls, and cannot forbear relating one case of 
 neighbourly unkindness which fell under my own obser- 
 vation only a few years ago, and which forcibly illustrates 
 what want of feeling may exist among what are nominally 
 called christians. 
 
 A poor shoemaker brought up a pet blackbird, of 
 which he was very fond. It grew up into plumage and 
 eong, and when the primroses and violets came, its 
 melody was charming. Its owner hung it in its cage
 
 28 KIND TURNS. 
 
 on a nail at the back of his house, close to his chamber 
 window, and early in the morning its chirpings and its 
 whistlings began, to the poor man's delight, for they 
 awoke him to his work at an early hour, and made the 
 morning joyous to him. Now a few doors from the 
 shoemaker's little house, in a large one lived a Mrs. 
 Rackets, to whom the matins and even song of the 
 blackbird was a great annoyance. When her ill-nature 
 and bad conscience would not let her sleep, she laid it 
 to the blackbird, and the song that was so lovely to all 
 others, was to her, harsh, grating, and disagreeable, for 
 it gave evidence that there was one thing at least 
 happier than herself, and she determined to get rid of 
 the annoyance ; but this was not to be brought about so 
 easily; had it been a cat, she could have trapped it; 
 had it been a pig, she might have strychnined it ; but 
 it was difficult to get at the bird, he was too far off and 
 hung too high to be conveniently got at. She, however, 
 sent to the shoemaker to abate the nuisance, as she 
 called it. She threatened legal proceedings through her 
 lawyer, and the poor shoemaker was terribly frightened ; 
 but the neighbours took his part, and advised him to let 
 his bird sing away as loud as it liked, and to pay no 
 attention to the unreasonable requirement of the lady. 
 
 But the poor shoemaker was at last thrown down by 
 a fever, and lay at death's door. His wife and family 
 fell into extreme want, many of their household goods 
 had to be disposed of, and they had scarcely bread to 
 eat. Yet the bird sang as sweetly and as joyfully as 
 before, and the little children could, poor as they were, 
 always find a crust for him ; and when the sick man cast 
 his looks towards the songster, as he lay, unable to rise 
 from his pillow, it fluttered its wings with delight, and
 
 THE SICK MAN AND HIS BLACKBIRD. 29 
 
 would sing a song of such touching melody as to bring 
 tears into the eyes of all. 
 
 But doctors' bills came in, so long, and with such a 
 sting in their tails, that the shoemaker trembled as he 
 lay in his bed. The doctor insisted on being paid at 
 least a part of his bill ; and when the sick man pleaded 
 poverty, the doctor said, "What right have you to 
 plead povei-ty when you can afford to keep a bird which 
 must cost you money, and is only an annoyance to your 
 neighbours. It is your duty to sell it, and I know you 
 can get a good price for it, and so you may satisfy 
 somebody of his claim against you." The idea of duty 
 made a forcible impression upon the sick man's mind. 
 " K it is my duty," he said to himself, " to sell the 
 bird, then I must sell it." So, after many a heart-tug, 
 he at last resolved to part with his pet, and, what was 
 very fortunate, as he thought, the doctor himself offered 
 to become its purchaser, on behalf of a friend who had 
 taken a great fancy for it ; and so the bird was taken 
 away forthwith, cage and all. 
 
 The next morning, when the invalid, who was fast 
 sinking to the place where the wicked cease to trouble 
 and the weaiy are at rest, opened his eyes, he thought 
 of his bii'd ; but it was no longer there to cheer his sad 
 heart with a morning hymn. The little children stood 
 around the bed with watery eyes, and his poor wife too, 
 charged as she was with family cares of far gi'eatcr 
 import, could not help thinking of the beloved songster. 
 As the family were about sitting down to breakfast, a 
 knock was heard at the door ; Lissy, the youngest of 
 the girls, who was about six years old, opened the door, 
 and took in a parcel nicely wrapped in brown paper, 
 tied and sealed with black wax. The sick father held
 
 30 KIND TUENS. 
 
 out his hand for it, thinking it might be some kind 
 present from a friend or neighbour. He opened the 
 outer enclosure as well as his trembling fingers would 
 permit him, and found the inner one to consist of a 
 cigar box, on which was wiitten "With Mrs. Racket's 
 compliments." He opened the case — it xvas the body of 
 his blackbird, cold, and stiff. The poor shoemaker died 
 the next day, and !Mrs. Rackets lives to triumph over 
 him. 
 
 Yes, we are not all kind-hearted. The hearts of 
 some of us are but frozen deserts, in which the flowers 
 of sympathy fail to vegetate. People abound on every 
 side of us with hearts as hard and as cold as ice. The 
 sun of Divine love has a great struggle to pierce through 
 the misty atmosphere of our souls, and ingratitude, with 
 a serpent's tooth, would frequently wound the hand 
 stretched forth in its service. This is perhaps the most 
 formidable of all foes to happiness, and like the petrifying 
 water, which turns the flowers thrown into it to stone, 
 so does ingratitude harden our generous sympathies. 
 
 But although cruelty and ingratitude may abound, 
 although our motives may be questioned or our humanity 
 abused, it is our duty to go on doing all the good we 
 can, in the spirit and in the strength of our Divine 
 Redeemer ; we are not to be deterred in our walks of 
 mercy by a want of thankful-heartedness, for our hea- 
 venly Father is continually showering His blessings on 
 us, and we cease to be thankful because they are so 
 common. Let us not forget that He who "laid down 
 His life for His sheep," and who " went about doing 
 good," was scourged, bufieted, betrayed, spat upon, 
 and cracified. So, though we too may suffer through 
 the world's injustice and its wrong, it is our duty
 
 CONCLUSION. 31 
 
 to go on ; and in our intercourse with our fellow-men, 
 in the high-way, and the bi/e-wnj, and the crooked 
 way, on the broad common, in the narrow lane, in the 
 wretched garret, or the crowded cellar, nor less in the 
 workshop or the factory, the mme, the dock, or railway 
 cutting, amid the whirr and buzz of the loom or the 
 spindle, the chatter of the mill hopper, the din of the 
 forge hammer, or the sparks fi'om the anvil — there is no 
 place or spot which the religion of love cannot consecrate 
 as a temple, and where deeds of mercy may not send 
 up incense fi'om the altar. Kindness gives a poor man 
 a lift with his load ; kindness gives him a shove off to 
 his boat, kindness pushes behind the heavily-laden 
 tumbril, kindness turns the widow's mangle, kindness 
 guides the blind man in his path — in short, kindness is 
 requii'ed everywhere, and is as necessary to our social 
 existence as is the light and warmth of the sun to the 
 natural creation. 
 
 Let us pray to our heavenly Father, whose most 
 emphatic name is Love, that His Spirit may abound 
 in us, both teaching us and urging us in the way of our 
 daily duty, so that we may never refuse a " kind turn " 
 to those that are in " danger, distress, and tribulation." 
 Though we may move in ever so humble a sphere of 
 life, man is never insignificant, but full of the signifi- 
 cancy of God's image impressed upon him, and in which 
 he lives, and moves, and has his being. The thrill of 
 sympathy, which induces us to feel for another's sorrow, 
 has its origin in Him whose "tender mercies are over 
 all His works." "Jesus wept!" God is love and 
 sympathy in Christ. " For ye know the grace of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ, that, though He was rich, yet for 
 your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty
 
 32 
 
 KIND TURNS. 
 
 iniglit be rich." Oh ! what a world this woukl be were 
 there no pity iu it, and how terribly cursed must be the 
 heart that has no wellspring of love ! Let us never lose 
 an opportunity of doing good — not to friends only, but 
 also to our enemies, for this is the crowning glory of the 
 christian creed. Commencing from the focus of the 
 household hearth, let our humanity spread ; and as the 
 stone multiplies its circle waves when dropped in the 
 quiet lake, so let the pulsations of our love go on 
 extending from this centre point to the widest extent of 
 which they are capable, till they beat at the gates of 
 heaven. 
 
 JAEROLD AND SONS, PKINTERS, NORWICH.
 
 The Books for the Hottsehold. 
 
 One Shilling and Sixpence each, embossed cloth, 
 with coloured Frontispiece. 
 
 Heads of Households, School Committees, and Large Employars, are 
 especially reminded of the value of the " Books for the Household" as 
 Presents, and for the Lending Library, and for Public Readings. 
 
 THE BOOK FOR FATHERS AND MOTHERS. 
 Cottage Homes — The Mother's Trials and Triumphs^How do you Manage 
 the Young Ones? — Household Management — Peace in the Household. 
 
 THE BOOK ON HOME HAPPINESS. 
 
 Something Homely— Whose Fault is it ?— How to Make the Most of Things 
 — Never Despair — Household Troubles, and How to Meet Them. 
 
 THE BOOK FOR WORKERS AND THINKERS. 
 
 Working Men's Hindrances— When to Say " No !"— The Day of Rest- 
 How People Hasten Death— Men who have Fallen. 
 
 THE BOOK FOR YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 The Useful and Happy Life — My First Place — The Dangerous Way — Kind 
 Words — Daughters from Home. 
 
 THE BOOK FOR YOUNG MEN. 
 
 How to Rise in the World — Life's Battles, and Men who have Won Them — 
 Straightforwardness — How to Take Care of Number One — Sons from Home. 
 
 THE BOOK FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 
 Mother's Last Words — Our Father's' Care — Work and Play — The Starting 
 in Life— How to " Get On " in Life. 
 
 THE BOOK OF POETRY ON HOME AND SCHOOL LIFE. 
 Children at Home — Children at School— Happy Schoolfellows — The Sick 
 Child's Cry — Household Rhymes. 
 
 THE PATHWAY OF HEALTH. 
 
 The Worth of Fresh Air— The Use of Pure Water— The Value of Good Food 
 — The Influence of \Vholesome Drink — The Advantage of Warm Clothing. 
 
 THE BOOK FOR YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN. 
 Are You Thinking of Getting Married ?— Going a-Courting — Marriage 
 Bells — Company — Temptation. 
 
 HOME ! SWEET HOME ! AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 Home ! Sweet Home !— The Good Mother — Household Happiness — Sunday 
 Excursions — Kind Tiuns. 
 
 POPULAR READINGS. 
 
 Poor Betsy Rayner; by Mrs. Sewell — Robin Gray— Annie's Walk to 
 
 School — Little Elsie : or the Hidden Bible — The Cottage in Gloom and ia 
 
 Gladness— That Sight has Saved Me— Mary Hatley, tlie Prudent Cottage 
 
 Wife— News from Afar — What's in the Wind Now? — A Christmas Surprise. 
 
 TALES IN RHYME. 
 
 A Mother's Legacy — Sketches from a Ragged School— Margery the Martyr 
 —Tale of a Dark Alley- Dear Children — Perils in the Mine. 
 
 The 12 in handsome mahogany box for One Guinea. 
 
 Londoti: Jarrold 6-» Sons, 12, Paternoster Row.
 
 BOOKS FOR PRESENTS, 
 
 AND FOR LIBRARIES. 
 
 ONE SHILLING BOOKS. 
 
 Happy Half-Hours with the Bible ; or, Mary Jane 
 
 and Bertie. By Aunt Emily. Frontispiece, iSmo, cloth. 
 
 My Teacher's Gift. For Girls. On Toned Paper, with 
 
 Frontispiece, i8mo, cloth. Also in Paper Covers, 6d. 
 
 My Teacher's Gift. For Boys. 'On Toned Paper, with 
 
 Frontispiece, iSmo, cloth. Also in Paper Covers, 6d. 
 
 Children of Summerbrook : Scenes of Village Life in 
 
 Simple Verse. By Mrs. Sewell, Author of " Mother's Last Words." 
 Frontispiece, i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Rose Bryant : Passages in her Maiden and Married Life. 
 
 By Emma Marshall. Frontispiece, i2mo, cloth. 
 
 The New Home: or, Wedded Life; its Duties, Cares, 
 
 and Pleasures. Frontispiece, izmo, cloth. 
 
 The Peace Maker and the Mischief Maker. 
 
 Frontispiece, Foolscap 8vo, cloth. 
 
 Tales of the Workroom : — The Sisters. By Mrs. 
 
 Curtis. Frontispiece, i8mo, cloth. 
 
 Consideration ; or. How we can Help one Another. 
 
 By Emma Marshall. Frontispiece, i8mo, cloth. 
 
 Every-Day Wonders of Bodily Life; Essential to 
 
 be known for Health and Comfort. By Anne Bullar. i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Lessons about God : for very Little Children. By 
 
 Sophia Sinnett. iSmo, cloth. 
 
 Tales of the North American Indians and Adven- 
 tures of the Early Settlers in America. Frontispiece, i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Katie's Work. By Emma Marshall. Frontispiece, 
 
 iSmo, cloth. 
 
 Things of Every-Day Use : What they Are, Where 
 
 they Come From, and How they are Made. i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Lyrics for Little Ones. i8mo, cloth. 
 
 Kirton's Temperance Tales, including " Buy Your 
 
 Own Cherries." i2mo. 
 
 ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENNY BOOKS. 
 
 Roger's Apprenticeship ; or, Five Years of a Boy's 
 
 Life. By Emma Marshall. Foolscap Svo, embossed cloth. 
 
 Fred Williams. A Tale for Boys. Frontispiece, 
 
 embossed cloth. 
 
 What Shall we Do with our Daughters? Hints 
 
 on Self-Help for Young Women. Ey Jessie Boucherett. i2mo. embossed 
 cloth.
 
 JARROLD AND SONS' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENNY BOOKS. 
 Do IT WITH THY MIGHT ; Or, Our Work in the World. 
 
 Addressed to those who ask, "What shall we Do?" Cloth elegant. 
 
 Sayings about Friendship. By the Author of " Do 
 
 it with thy Might." Cloth elegant. 
 
 Rural Scenes ; a Peep into the Country. New Edition, 
 
 profusely illustrated, demy i8mo, embossed cloth. 
 
 Picture Story Book of London ; or. City Scenes. 
 
 New Edition, profusely illustrated, royal iSmo, embossed cloth. 
 
 The Earth and its Garment of Water and Air. 
 
 i2mo, cloth. 
 
 The Atoms and Electric Forces of the Earth. 
 
 i2mo, clolh. 
 
 Health for the Household. Frontispiece, i2mo, cloth. 
 Here a Little and There a Little ; or Daily Manna 
 
 for the Lambs of Christ's Fold. By a Mother. Frontispiece, iSmo, cloth. 
 
 The Life of a Plant; "Science for the Household." 
 
 i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Household Truths for Young Men. Frontispiece, 
 
 i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Household Truths for Working Men. Frontispiece, 
 
 i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Household Truths for Mothers and Daughters. 
 
 Frontispiece, i2rao, cloth. 
 
 TWO shilling books. 
 How TO Train our Children : The Mother's Manual. 
 
 By Mrs Reed ; with a Preface by her Sons, the Authors of " The Life of 
 Dr. Andrew Reed." With Frontispiece. 
 
 Our World ; its Rocks and Fossils. By the Author 
 
 of "The Observing Eye," &c. Numerous Illustrations. 
 
 Caterpillars, Butterflies, and Moths ; their Man- 
 ners, Habits, and Transformations. By Mary and Elizabeth Kirby. 
 Illustrations, i8mo, embossed cloth. 
 
 The Illustrated Geology. By F. C. Bakewell. Many 
 
 Illustrations, embossed cloth. 
 
 Patience Hart's First Experience in Service. By 
 
 Mrs. Sewell, Author of " Mother's Last Words." Fifth Edition. Six- 
 teenth Thousand. H-indsome cloth boards. 
 
 Ellen French : Passages from the Life of a Worker. 
 
 By Aunt Evergreen. Cloth. 
 
 What Mean ye by this Service.? or, Old Testament 
 
 Sacrifices Explained ; shewing their Typical Meaning and Fulfilracut iu 
 our Lord Jesus Christ. Illustratiais, lauio, clolh.
 
 JARROLD AND SONS' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HALF-CROWN BOOKS. 
 The Dawn of Life : or, Mildred's Story told by Herself. 
 
 By Emma Marshall. i2mo, cloth, elegant. 
 
 Aunt Annie's Tales.— The Water Lily — The Druids' 
 
 Retreat— Santa Claus — Mistletoe Bough, Cloth, elegant. 
 
 Stories of the Reformation in England and Ger- 
 many. By the Rev. B. C. Johns. Frontispiece, i2mo, cloth, elegant. 
 
 Ernest and Kate ; or, Love a Reality, not Romance. 
 
 By Mrs. Thomas Geldart. i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Historical Tales of Illustrious British Children. 
 
 By Agnes Strickland. Tinted Illustrations. 
 
 Stories of England and Her Forty Counties. By 
 
 Mrs. Thomas Geldart. Woodcuts, i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Stories of Ireland and its Four Provinces. By Mrs. 
 
 Thomas Geldart. Woodcuts, i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Stories of Scotland and its Adjacent Islands. By 
 
 Mrs. Thomas Geldart. Woodcuts, i2mo, cloth. 
 
 Sunday Thoughts ; or Great Truths in Plain Words. 
 
 An Interesting Sunday Book for Young People. 
 
 Plants of the Land and Water ; Short and Enter- 
 taining Chapters on the Vegetable World. By Mary and Elizabeth 
 Kirby. Fine Coloured Frontispiece and Woodcuts. 
 
 The Observing Eye ; Letters to Children on the Three 
 
 Lower Divisions of Animal Life — Radiated, Articulated, and Molluscous. 
 Woodcuts, thick iSmo, cloth. 
 
 What is a Bird ? the Forms of Birds, their Instincts, and 
 
 Use in Creation Considered. By the Author of "The Observing Eye." 
 Woodcuts, thick iSmo, cloth. 
 
 Stories and Pictures from Grecian History. -By 
 
 INIaria Hack. With Thirty Illustrations by J. Gilbert. 
 
 Stories from the Old and New Testaments, By 
 
 Miss Lawrence. With Twenty whole-page Illustrations. 
 
 The Little Forester and His Friend. A Ballad of 
 
 the Olden Time. By Mrs. Sewell. 
 
 THREE SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE EACH. 
 
 Mother's Last Words. By Mrs. Sewell. With Four- 
 teen beautiful Illustrations, on wood, by some of the first artists of the 
 day. Handsomely boimd in cloth, with gilt edges. 
 
 Ishmael : a Tale of Syrian Life. By Mrs. J. B. Webb, 
 
 Author of " Naomi," &c. With Eight full-page Illustrations. Cloth, 
 elegant. 
 
 Thy Poor Brother : Letters to a Friend on Helping 
 
 the Poor, By Mrs. Sewell, Ninth Thousand. Embossed cloth.
 
 JARROLD AND SONS' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THREE SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE EACH. 
 Patrick Murphy on Popery in Ireland : a Narrative 
 
 of Facts. Edited by the Rev. W. Adams. Crown 8vo, cloth. 
 
 Scientific Knowledge of Things Familiar. By 
 
 Dr. Brewer. Interesting and Instructive for the Family Fire-side. 
 
 Guide to Astronomical Science. By Dr. IMann. 
 
 Vegetable and Animal Life : a Hand-Book of Physio- 
 logical Science. By Dr. Mann. Third Edition, embossed cloth. 
 
 Religion in Science. By Dr. Brewer. Illustrations. 
 
 five shillings each. 
 
 The Mother of the Wesleys : an Interesting Biogra- 
 phy. By the Rev. John Kirk. Fourth Edition. 
 
 Dr. Brewer's History of France : an Interesting Vade 
 
 Mecum of French History, brought down to the Present Time. A most 
 useful Book for every Family. 
 
 TWELVE SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE. 
 
 A Cyclopaedia of Illustrations of Moral and 
 Religious Truths : 
 
 Consisting of Definitions, Metaphors, Similes, Emblems, Contrasts, Analo- 
 gies, Statistics, Synonyms, Anecdotes, &c., &c. By John Bate. Third 
 Edition, Revised and Enlarged, 8vo, cloth, bevelled boards. 
 
 Ttie best thoughts of the best minds— ancieyit and wodern. 
 " It is no hyperbole to say that such a production has never be/ore been 
 given to the public as the unaided effort of a single^ brain. It is t'le 
 very hatid-book for clergymen, editors, tutors, acadetniciajis, and private 
 students." — Church Standard. 
 
 A CHOICE PACKET OF TWELVE GIFT BOOKS FOR THE YOUKG. 
 
 In handsome covers, is. the pkt; or, separately, ^d. each. 
 
 ADMIRABLE FOR SCHOOL REWARDS. 
 
 CONTENTS : 
 
 The Dangerous Way 
 
 Straightforwardness 
 A Tale of a Dark Alley 
 Village Children at Home 
 Village Children at School 
 The Happy Schoolfellows 
 
 Mother's Last Words 
 Our Father's Care 
 The Starting in Life 
 The Happy Life 
 My First Place 
 Daughters from Home. 
 
 London : Jarrold (Sr^ Sons, 1 2, Paternoster Row.
 
 Reading to make Happy Homes, 
 
 THE HOUSEHOLD TRACTS FOR THE PEOPLE 
 
 Supply information on Health, Home Happiness, Training of Children, and 
 Social Morals, in the most interesting and attractive style of narrative and 
 illustration. 
 
 THREE MILLIONS already in circulation. 
 
 TWOPENCE EACH. 
 
 FOR PARENTS. 
 How do You Manage the Young Ones? 
 How to Make the Slost of Things 
 Peace in the Household 
 Household Management 
 Whose Fault is it? 
 Never Despair ! Household Verses 
 Something Homely (Sanitary) 
 Household Troubles; How to Meet 
 
 Them 
 The Lost Child. By Mrs. Sewell. 
 
 FOR MOTHERS. 
 
 Cottage Homes 
 
 The Mother's Trials and Triumphs 
 
 Sick Child's Cry ; Household Verses 
 
 The Good Mother 
 
 Two Ways of Going to Market 
 
 FOR WORKING MEN. 
 
 When to Say "No !" 
 Working Men's Hindratices 
 The Day of Rest 
 
 FOR YOUNG MEN. 
 Sons from Home 
 
 How to Take Care of Number One 
 How to Rise in the World 
 Life's Battles 
 Men who have Fallen 
 Company 
 
 FOR YOUNG MEN & WOMEN. 
 Are You Thinking of Getting Married? 
 Going a-Courting, Sweetheartmg, 
 
 Love, and Such Like. 
 Marriage Bells 
 
 FOR SERVANTS. 
 My First Place 
 Kind Words ; or. Pleasing One's Self 
 
 FOR GIRLS. 
 The Happy Life 
 Daughters from Home 
 The Dangerous Way 
 
 FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 Mother's Last Words 
 
 Household Rhymes 
 
 Work and Play ; Household Verses 
 
 Children at Home 
 
 Children at School 
 
 The Happy Schoolfellows 
 
 Dear Children 
 
 FOR BOYS. 
 The Starting in Life 
 How to " Get On" in Life 
 A Mother's Legacy 
 Beware ! or. The Effects of Gambling 
 
 FOR SAILORS. 
 
 A Short Yarn 
 
 FOR EVERYBODY. 
 
 Our Father's Care 
 
 Straightlorw ar Jness : the Road to 
 
 Honour 
 Scandal, Gossip, Tittle-Tattle, &c. 
 Temptation 
 
 The Gain of a Well-Trained Mind 
 Kind Turns 
 
 The World at the Birth of Christ 
 Perils in the Mine 
 A Tale of a Dark Alley 
 Sunday Excursions 
 What shall I do with my Money? 
 Margery, the Martyr 
 Home ! Sweet Home ! 
 Lost Days 
 
 Household Happiness 
 What Can be Done with Ten Shillings 
 
 ON HEALTH. 
 
 The Worth of Fresh Air 
 
 The Use of Pure Water 
 
 The Value of Good Food 
 
 The Influence of Wholesome Drink 
 
 The Advantage of Warm Clothing 
 
 How People Hasten Death 
 
 Secret of a Healthy Home 
 
 How to Nurse the Sick 
 
 The Black Ditch 
 
 London: Jarrold (S^ Sons, 12, Paternoster Row.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-2m-6,'49(B4568)444
 
 UC SOUTHERN RtGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 427 350 4 
 
 PR 
 
 3991 
 A1B66