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tied up with pink ribbon, so I have brought my money away and shall replace it in the bank.”

I was glad to hear such a cheerful account of my friends; but when I reached their home I saw that matters were not really so flourishing as I had hoped to find them. Harry Blair had come in tired and dispirited, having failed in securing the work of which he had been in search ; baby was very ailing and fretful, and Lizzie did not hesitate to speak openly of her brother-in-law's meanness in not offering them a little help.

“He would have helped you," I said quietly—for I thought it might do her good to know the truth. “He came here with that intention, but says he found you so smart in a lace collar and gold chain that he did not think you needed it.”

Mrs. Blair flushed and exclaimed, “It's only a tuppenny thing I bought for one of the children.”

“But what man would believe that a woman of your age could be so vain and foolish as to wear a tin thing like that ?” said her husband angrily. “A few pounds would have been an immense help just now, and we have missed through your love of show."

“Well, I am sure, Harry, you would not like to come home and find me dirty and dowdy,” exclaimed Lizzie..

“There's no need to be that,” replied her husband. “ John's wife is never either dirty or dowdy, but she doesn't dress herself up in chains and ribbons. I am always telling you we can't afford such silly finery.” And he got up and left the room.

Reader, you may think that this is overdrawn ; but it is a faithful pict ure of a real case that came under my own notice, and I do not think it is by any means a solitary or an unusual one. We hear terrible accounts of homes that are poverty-stricken through the drunkenness of the husband and sometimes of the wife, but how many homes there are, not perhaps ruined, but always pinched and straitened, and where the members live as we say “ from hand to mouth,” because all the earnings are swallowed up by the mother's

love of finery and desire to keep up appearances. Lizzie Blair was not born a working woman exactly; her father was a schoolmaster in a very humble fashion, but still her parents always had their “parlour” to sit in, and Lizzie struggled to keep up the "gentility” of her girlhood, though her husband was only a journeyman printer, and they lived with a number of children in three small rooms. One room must be called the “parlour," and the comfort of the whole family diminished to maintain its character, and to deck it with a few trumpery ornaments. Edith, the eldest girl, must have a feather in her hat, “like a young lady," and to procure this, the money is spent that was sorely needed to mend Charlie's boots. Is this not often so ? And each trifle bought seems so trifling that the husband finds it difficult to make a stand against the wasteful expenditure ; but as the continuous dropping of water wears away stone, so the constant spending of pennies undermines the income. By all means try to keep a bright home for your husband's return from work, and teach your children in all things to be pleasant, and to make home cheerful and happy. But beware of that gaudy and flimsy show, beneath which there is no real comfort; dread that cheap finery which in the end is so terribly dear.

The Mill Burn.

W HEN he was a young, a. generous boy,

VV A Mill Burn was his daily joy:
When June days came, with pomp of Sun,
He ran, and with him we would run
Down the green loaning, till we came
Where the gold lilies were aflame ;
And, flowing softly by their side,
With shout of mirth, the Burn he spied :
Then through its shallows clear and cool
We waded on from pool to pool;
He was our Leader-he could say
Under what stones the smooth trout lay.

He told the habits of the flies,
He watched the aspects of the skies :
Nature had spoken to him, and we
Knew he had learned Her mystery.
Beside the old mills, now outworn,
Beside the hills and fields of corn,
The Burn is flowing still, but gone
The Boy, and all the banks are lone;
Silent the green lane, and the lawn
Is silent, for the Voice is gone ;
Blossoms the lily as of old,
But bent its stem, and dim its gold. . .
I know he lives in happier lands,
I know he mates with happier bands,
Yet do I think, as the old love
Is in him, he will sometimes move
Forth from his fellows, and will turn,
Pensive, his thoughts to the Mill Burn;
And long till those who loved him then
Are standing by his side again.


The Best Time of the year.

From the German of Luther.
THE best time of the year for me

1 Is when the birds sing merrily!
When earth, and all the sky so wide,
Resound with song from side to side.
And, chief of all, the nightingale
Makes full of joy the moonlight pale-
With her sweet warbling, loud and long,
Who would not thank her for her song ?
Yet more, the dear Lord God and King,
Who taught the birdie how to sing,
Who made her mistress of the art
To sing, and still to touch the heart.
Him lauds with joy the morning light,
And Him, unwearied, solemn night-
Him also laud, thou song of mine,
With thanks and praise, the King Divine.

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At the close of a week of mission services, when the members of the congregation were deliberating how best to carry on the labours thus begun, a working-girl came forward and made the request mentioned in the following lines :

DINISHED the solemn week of prayer,
T Of earnest words remembered long,
Of stern appeal to conscience made,

Of pleading look and hallowed song.

And once again the people met

To show their faith by deeds of love, Not willing barren words alone

Should test their zeal in heaven above.

And sweet and clear their earnest vow

Uprose through quiet evening air, Henceforth with hearts more brave and leal,

For Jesus' sake to do and dare ;

Each choosing work that fitted best

His own peculiar gift or grace, More anxious thus to serve his God,

Than claim some more distinguished place.

But one meanwhile amid the rest

Sat bending low in thoughtful prayer : What might she do for His dear sake,

Whose love had brought her footsteps there?

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