heavy clothes, such as coats and pantaloons for my boys, till my arms and fingers ache, I rest them by taking up some light garment for my little girl. Or when my limbs ache severely, from some arduous duty, and yet I have no inclination to sleep, as is frequently the case after rocking a worrisome child to sleep, I lie down on my old-fashioned lounge, and rest myself in body by that course; while I soothe, and gladden, and improve my mind by reading, always being careful, though, to put by the book just as soon as I feel that I am enough recruited." "But suppose you get behindhand with your work from sickness or company, or some other cause; what do you do then?" "I never allow myself to get behindhand from the latter cause - visitors. I never allow them to interrupt my domestic affairs. I never invite company except on those days of the week that have the lighter duties. And if casual visitors come along, they will not disturb or hinder you, if the rules I have given you are implicitly followed. You are always ready for chance company. And with these rules, even sickness, unless long continued, will not vary the domestic economy. But if I do get behindhand, I make it up as quick as possible. I rise an hour earlier every morning, and deny myself the luxury of visiting till the accumulated work is performed." 66 Excuse me, but I must ask you one more question. What do you mean by odd times? You said you should work your collar at odd moments." "I can answer you but by some examples. Yesterday afternoon I was going to cut and baste a dress for myself. But unexpectedly a friend from the country came in to take tea with me. Now, I did not want to litter the parlor with my pieces; so I went to my basket and took out a pretty little sack for Harry, and spent my time on sewing that. I always keep something in my basket suitable for such odd times; and when I have nothing really necessary, I take up my embroidery. And then, you know, we wives are frequently obliged to wait till a considerable time has elapsed for the appearance of our husbands at the table, and these odd moments, usually so irksome to women, are precious to me. I always mean to have the meals ready at the hour: if Mr. Merton is not here then, - and, being head clerk, scarcely a day passes but some meal must wait, -instead of watching the clock or thrumming on the windows, I read the newspapers and magazines. I assure you I never take any other time to read them, and yet I am never behindhand with them. And when I have none of them on hand, I catch up some story that I want to read, and yet don't want to give that time which I usually devote to solid reading. The volume I lent you" — Mrs. Nelson blushed; she had had it a week, and read only the first chapter-"I read in four days in this way. And when I have no reading that I am anxious to do, I spend the moments in writing. Most of my letters are penned while waiting for the tea bell to ring. And hark, there it is now; a pleasant sound for your ears, too, I guess, after the homily I have just given you. Please," and she rose gracefully, let 'great I' usher' dear you' to the dining room." "With pleasure; yet I wish the bell had not rung so early. I have not heard half enough." "Have you never observed, my dear friend, that many sermons lose half their effectiveness by undue length? The benediction at such a time is noted as a relief, not a blessing. Some other time I will preach the rest." "I pray Heaven I may have resolution enough to practice what you have already taught. Sure I am, if I so do, my life, what is left of it, will be like yours-a perpetual sermon; and my daily benediction like yours also the blessings of my children and the praise of my husband." SHE WOKE THAT MORN IN HEAVEN. SHE knelt alone, that little one, An orphan child of three, And whispered forth the prayer she learned Beside her mother's knee. No gentle hand upon her head In soft caress was laid, No sweet voice murmuring her name She knelt alone and prayed. The tear drops resting on her cheek A tale of sorrow told; For even she, that angel child, Had found the world was cold, And murmured forth, with tiny hands "God, take me to my mamma, when Poor little Lily dies." The angels, pausing, heard the prayer, Bent down and breathed upon the child, And bearing her with songs of love Through the blue depths of even, They laid her in her mother's arms She woke that morn in heaven! MAIDEN BEAUTY. HER hand's like a lily — Like the hue of her lip. Wherever they go. For each one she's something, To comfort or cheer; When her purse fails her wishes. She gives them a tear. Seems to bring them relief; And they bless that sweet face Which speaks hope 'mid their grief. |