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As they lie before her there,
There babbles from chair to chair
A little sweet face

That's a gleam in the place,
With its little gold curls of hair.

Then, oh wonder not that her heart
From all else would rather part,

Than tiny blue shoes

That no little feet use,

And whose sight make such fond tears start!

W. C. BENNETT.

PARENTAL DECISION.

ARENTS, when you wish your children to perform a certain thing, anything, discharge any duty in-doors or out, go an errand, recite a lesson, read a book or paper, retire to rest, rise up in the morning, attend to any family duty, labour in the vineyard,-how do you shape your request? Firmly, decisively, expecting to be obeyed implicitly the very moment the requisition has gone forth? Do you, or do you not falter, hesitate, waver? A parent may be firm, resolute, decisive, immovable as the rock of Gibraltar; meanwhile, mild, kind, gentle, affectionate. There is no necessity, in commanding our little ones, to resort to the boisterous, the austere, or dogmatical. Let everything, by way of discipline, be done in a right spirit, mildly, calmly, gently, heavenly; but at the same time with firmness,-immovable, unalterable, as the laws of the Medes and Persians: more still, firm as the pillars of heaven.

Let a child slip out his neck once, and be sure he will try again and again to evade the watchword. One deviation leads to another, till the child assumes the reins of government, becomes lord and master of the domicile.

Thus you see looseness, disorder, and confusion in many families. The father or the mother, or both, are undecided in family discipline. They do not intend or expect to be obeyed implicitly. Children are eagle-eyed; they see the hesitancy, the want of firmness, of a settled, fixed determination, in the very look and tone of the parent, and take advantage of it. Never, beloved parents, require a child to do an unreasonable thing. Think what is right, just, reasonable; then speak once and only once. Let it be always fully understood that one bidding is to suffice. A child who is made to obey his parent or teacher the very instant the command is given, is happier by far than a child left to himself, who is sure to "bring his mother to shame." "When you give a command, enforce its obedience invariably at the time." There is no more effectual way to teach a child disobedience, than by giving commands which you have no intention of enforcing, and that immediately. "Correct thy son, and he shall give thee rest" (Prov. xxix. 17).

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HINTS FOR THE HOUSEHOLD.

MILK LEMONADE.

Dissolve three quarters of a pound of loaf sugar in one pint of boiling water, and mix with them one gill of lemon juice, and one gill of sherry, then add three gills of cold milk. Stir the whole well together, and strain it.

CURE FOR DRUNKENNESS.

There is a prescription for the cure of drunkenness, by which thousands are said to have been assisted to recover themselves. The recipe came into notoriety through the efforts of John Vine Hall, commander of the Great Eastern steamship, who had fallen

into such habitual drunkenness that his most earnest efforts to reclaim himself proved unavailing. At length he sought the advice of an eminent physician, who gave him a prescription, which he followed faithfully for seven months, and at the end of that time he had lost all desire for liquor; although he had been for many years led captive by a most debasing appetite. The recipe, which he afterwards published, and by which so many other drunkards have been assisted to reform, is as follows :Sulphate of iron twenty grains; magnesia forty grains; peppermint water forty-four drachms; spirits of nutmeg four drachms. Doseone table-spoonful twice a day. This preparation acts as a tonic and stimulant, and so partially supplies the place of the accustomed liquor, and prevents that absolute physical and moral prostration that follows a sudden breaking off from the use of stimulant drinks.

CLEAN A BRASS KETTLE, before using it for cooking, with salt and vinegar.

TO COOK VEGETABLES.

The whole art and mystery of cooking greens, peas, beans, cauliflowers, brocoli, cabbages, Brussels sprouts, etc., consists in using a large vessel, plenty of water, plenty of salt, and rapid boiling with the lid of the saucepan off. Put in the vegetables directly the water boils fast, and do not let it slacken a moment until they are tender. No rule can be given as to the time they require; some peas will be done in twenty minutes, others require twice as long-they must be tried to ascertain; but generally, when seen to sink in the saucepan, it is a sign they are boiled enough. By this plan vegetables may be brought to table retaining their beautiful greenness. Potatoes, on the contrary, require very gentle boiling, or they will break before they are done. Put them on in cold water with a little salt, simmer them till they begin to crack, pour off the water immediately, and lay on them a clean cloth, to absorb the steam, for a few minutes before taking them up. New potatoes may be put into boiling water.

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"MAYN'T I stay, ma'am? I'll work, cut wood, go for water, and do all your errands."

The troubled eyes of the speaker were filled with tears. It was a lad that stood, one cold day in winter, at the outer door of a cottage on a bleak moor in Scotland. The snow had been falling very fast, and the poor boy looked very cold and hungry.

"You may come in, at any rate till my husband comes home. There, sit down by the fire; you look perishing with the cold;" and she drew a chair up to the warmest corner, then suspiciously glancing at the boy from the corners of her eyes, she continued setting the table for supper. Presently came the tramp of heavy boots, and the door was swung open with a quick jerk, and the husband entered, wearied with his day's work. A look of intelligence passed between his wife and himself. He looked at the boy, but did not seem very well pleased; he nevertheless made him come to the table, and was glad to see how heartily he ate his supper.

Day after day passed, and the boy begged to be kept "until tomorrow;" so the good couple, after due consideration, concluded that, as long as he was such a good boy and worked so willingly, they would keep him.

One day, in the middle of winter, a peddler, who often traded at

VOL. V. No 6.]

[JUNE, 1868.

the cottage, called, and after disposing of several of his goods, was preparing to go, when he said to the woman, "You have a boy out there splitting wood, I see," pointing to the yard.

"Yes; do you know him?"

"I have seen him," replied the peddler.

"Where?

Who is he? What is he ?"

"A jail-bird;" and the peddler swung his pack over his shoulder. "That boy, young as he looks, I saw him in court myself, and heard him sentenced-Ten months.' You'd do well to look carefully after him."

Oh, there was something so dreadful in the word "jail!" The poor woman trembled as she laid away the things she had bought of the peddler; nor could she be easy till she called the boy in, and assured him that she knew that dark part of his history. Ashamed and distressed, the boy hung down his head. His cheeks seemed bursting with the hot blood, and his lips quivered. "Well," he muttered, his whole frame shaking, "there's no use trying to do better; everybody hates and despises me; nobody cares about me."

"Tell me," said the woman, "how came you to go so young to that dreadful place? Where is your mother?"

"Oh !" exclaimed the boy, with a burst of grief that was terrible to behold, "oh! I hadn't no mother! I hadn't no mother ever since I was a baby! If I'd only had a mother," he continued, while tears gushed from his eyes, "I wouldn't have been bound out and kicked and cuffed and horsewhipped. I wouldn't have been saucy, and got knocked down, and run away, and then stole because I was hungry. Oh! if I'd only had a mother!"

The strength was all gone from the poor boy, and he sunk on his knees, sobbing great choking sobs, and rubbing the hot tears away with the sleeve of his jacket.

The woman was a mother; and though all her children slept under the cold sod in the churchyard, she was a mother still. She put her hand kindly on the head of the boy, and told him to look up, and said from that time he should find in her a mother. Yes, she even put her arms around the neck of that forsaken, deserted child. She poured from her mother's heart sweet, kind words, words of counsel and tenderness. Oh! how sweet was her sleep that night-how soft her pillow! She had plucked some thorns from the path of a little sinning, but striving mortal.

That poor boy is now a promising man. His foster-father is dead; his foster-mother is aged and sickly, but she knows no want. The "poor outcast" is her support. Nobly does he repay the trust reposed in him.

"THE STRANGER, AND THE FATHERLESS, AND THE WIDOW, WHICH ARE WITHIN THY GATES, SHALL COME, AND SHALL EAT AND BE SATISFIED; THAT THE LORD THY GOD MAY BLESS THEE IN ALL THE WORK OF THINE HAND WHICH THOU DOEST."-Deut. xiv. 29.

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