it with the best smile and the strongest faith that there is a silver cloud somewhere if you only look for it. VI. Beware of meddlers and talebearers; they always bring mischief into the house. Tell them to mind their own business and attend to their own affairs. If they attempt to sow the seeds of discord between you, show them to the door at once. They are no friends to you or your happiness who wish to make a breach between those whose business at all times is to seek to be one. It is high treason for any one to try in any way to stop the regular current of your love to each other. If poverty comes in at the door, it is not needful for love to fly out at the window. On the contrary, that is the time when true love ought to find its opportunity for the warmest display and its heartiest expression. "Let us cling together" should be the decision of all right-minded people, for by doing so you may be able to overcome your trouble, and, at any rate, show that you are true to your promise on the wedding-day. Happy is the man who is blessed with a thoughtful, careful, clever wife. She is worth her weight in gold. Well says Sir Thomas Overbury "Give me, next good, an understanding wife, By nature wise, not learned by much art; It is hardly possible to overrate the influence of a truehearted woman of this kind. No man, however debased, can fail to recognise her worth, however unwilling he may be for a time to acknowledge it. Thoughts of her devoted love will come across his mind, until, angel-like, they will lead him, almost against his will perhaps, into the paths of virtue and peace. This was strikingly shown in the following case-On the day of her wedding Mary made the strange request that she might be allowed a pint of ale daily. John wished she had not asked such a promise from him. Still, as she had set her mind upon it, what could he do but be persuaded by her? So he made the promise. "I knew it was too much," he said, "and was sorely 'mazed, for I thought I'd taken a sober, steady lass; but what could I do?-for I knew only too well how much more than that I spent every day upon myself." They had worked hard; she had her promised allowance, and he—perhaps it's well that no account was kept of the sum he spent each day at the public-house, as soon as the factory was closed Many a little plan did Mary try to win her husband from the alehouse, and by dint of one gentle artifice or other sometimes to her joy succeeded. They had been married a year, and on the anniversary of their wedding-day the husband looked askance at her trim, comely person with some shade of remorse as he said 66 Mary, we've had no holiday since we were wed; and only that I have not a penny in the world, we'd take a jaunt down to the village to see the mother." "Wouldst like to go, John?" said she softly, between a smile and a tear, so glad to hear him speak so kindlyso like cld times. "If thee'd like to go I'll stand treat." "Thou stand treat!" said he, with half a sneer. got a fortun', wench ?" 66 "Hast Nay," said she; "but I've gotten the pints o' alc." "Gotten what?" said he. "The pints o' ale," said she. John still didn't understand her, till the faithful creature reached down an old stocking from under a loose brick up the chimney, and counted out her daily pint of ale in the shape of three hundred and sixty-five threepences-i.e., £4 11s. 3d.—and put them into his hands, exclaiming, "Thou shalt have thy holiday, John!" John was ashamed, astonished, conscience - stricken, charmed, and would not touch it. "Hastn't thee had thy share? more !" Then I'll ha' no He kept his word. They kept their wedding-day with mother-and the wife's little capital was the seed corn of a series of savings, whence sprang a shop, factory, warehouse, and all the enjoyments of a well-earned competency. Yes, wherever a true wife comes, home is always around her. The stars may be over her head; the glowworm may be the only fire at her feet in the night-cold grass, but home is where she reigns, it is her true place and power. It is the grand sphere for woman's consecration and usefulness. It is a rough world outside, but here in the quietude of home you can be queen and reign supreme. As one says:"Men come at eventide to the home; but all day long you are there, beautifying it, sanctifying it, adorning it, blessing it. Better be there than wear Victoria's coronet. Better be there than carry the purse of a princess. It may be a very humble home. There may be no carpet on the floor. There may be no pictures on the wall. There may be no silks in the wardrobe; but, by your faith. in God and your cheerful demeanour, you may garniture that place with more splendour than the upholsterer's hand ever kindled. There are houses in this city two stories high, four plain, unpapered rooms, in a most undesirable neighbourhood; but there is a man who would die on the threshold rather than surrender it. Why? It is Home. When he thinks of it, angels encamp about it. Ladders are let down from heaven to every pillow in that house. Over the child's rough crib there are chantings as sweet as those that broke above Bethlehem. It is home! home! The children of the family will grow up, and though they may get splendid residences of their own, they will never forget that homely place-the place where their father rested, and their mother sang, and their sisters played. If you wanted to gather up all tender memories, all lights and shadows of the heart, all banquetings and reunions, all filial, fraternal, paternal, conjugal affections, and had only just four letters with which to spell out that height, and depth, and length, and breadth, and magnitude, and eternity of meaning, you would write it all out with these four capital letters:H-O-M-E. a queenly woman? Maria Catherine of Russia? No! Your idea of a queenly woman "What is your model of Theresa of Germany? No! Mary, Queen of Scots? No! is the plain woman who presided over your father's household. Sitting opposite to him at the table. Arm in arm with him going down the path of life. Sometimes to the Thanksgiving banquet. Sometimes to the grave. Always side by side. Soothing your little griefs. Correcting your little follies. Joining in your little sports. Hearing your little prayer. Toiling with you, and for you, at the needle and at the spinning-wheel. On cold nights putting you to slumber, wrapping you up snug and warm. Caring for you until that dark day when she folded her hands in her dying prayer, and commended you to the God in whom she had taught you to trust. Ah! she was the queen! She was the queen! When you think of it how all tenderness breaks up the fountains of your soul! You feel as much a child as when you cried in her lap. And if you could only wake her up from her slumbers, if you could only hear her voice speak again your name as gently as once she spoke it, you would be willing to throw yourself on the sod that covers her, and to kiss the very dust, crying, 'Mother! MOTHER! Oh! she was the queen!" It was such a mother's love which produced the following "DREAM OF HOME": "Last night I had a happy dream My spirit crossed the sea, My peaceful home the joyous theme; I viewed the scene with fresh delight, Joy gave transport to my sight- "Our cottage door was open wide, I did not feel the weight I'd borne I had but few more steps to take, "Then with a bound of joy and love, I felt the warm tears on my cheek The joy that our hearts made known." VII. Try to be ready when sickness comes. Sooner or later in every family illness of some kind enters. Sometimes it comes suddenly, at others gradually. But when it does it is a very solemn moment in our lives. Indeed, there are few things in our lives more solemn than to stand or sit by the bedside of those we love, where life is trembling in the balance, and the brittle thread which holds life together seems so slight and near breaking. What a blessing if at such a moment we can feel that, however severe may be the suffering, we are innocent of having brought it by indulging in any bad habit, or by neglecting to provide those dependent upon us with the means of averting it! We can then well say with Grahame "O health! thou sun of life, without whose beam |