Dutch Milk-oman.

UR first engraving this month represents a Dutch woman with her small milk cart. The farms in Holland, and in most of the countries in Europe, are much smaller than the English and Scotch farms. They generally consist of about twenty acres, hence the produce for the market is not great. The ploughs and carts are smaller than what we have in this country. But the people are very industrious, and generally happy and contented.

Talks on Character.

By W. L. ROBERTS.

Chap. X.-On Being Persevering.

SUPPOSE you all know, and sometimes sing the lines,

'Tis a lesson you should heed,

Try, try again, &c., &c.

If you don't know them, learn them, and sing them, whenever you are struggling with a difficult task, for many a good object is given up when a little more effort would have accomplished it. A story is told of that most wonderful of women, the mother of John and Charles Wesley, that in teaching one of her children, she had to tell him the same thing over and over again, many a time. Her husband heard her, and asked why she told him the same thing twenty times over; "because nineteen would not do," was her reply. And of course, you have all heard the story that is told sometimes of Alexander the Great, sometimes of Alfred the Great, sometimes of Wallace, and I daresay sometimes of somebody else, for such stories are often applied to many folks :

however, the story goes that one of these warriors had been many times defeated in battle, and one day was just about to give up in despair. Resting himself in a barn, he looked up and saw a spider swinging in a long string of web, and every now and then trying to swing itself so as to catch hold of a beam on which it wanted to alight. Every time, however, it fell back, until it had tried just as many times as the warrior had tried to gain a victory. Now, then, thought the poor man, you are as bad as I; but on seeing the spider try once more and this time succeed, new life was imparted to him; away he went, called his men together, fought another battle, and won. You see, one more try may bring success.

Perseverance is a capital thing, an excellent thing indeed, if only the object be a good one; but perseverance, like other noble qualities, is capable of being abused by being devoted to bad things. When you are about to make an effort for something, first of all ask yourself, "Is it a right thing?" "Is it worth doing?" "Is it worth being at much trouble?" and if you are satisfied, then remember

All that other folks can do,
Why, with patience, should not you;
Only keep this rule in view,

Try, try, try again.

I will try to point out two or three things in which perseverance ought to be shown.

1. In gaining knowledge. Knowledge is a valuable thing; it helps us to do good in a hundred ways; it helps us to do all our work better than we could do without it. Knowledge is power. Knowledge cannot be obtained without an effort. It requires effort to learn the alphabet; it requires effort to learn the multiplication table; it requires effort to learn to do Rule of Three, and Vulgar fractions. It is sometimes said "there is no royal road to learning;" kings as well as mill-boys and plough-boys, if they want to learn anything, must think, and labour, and persevere. Knowledge is worth lots of trouble and toil. It is said that Dr. Livingstone, when he was a piscer in a cotton factory in Scotland, used to have a

book in the middle of his spinning frame, and every time he had to run to pick up a broken thread, he had something to think about out of his book. The same spirit of perseverance carried him on from one thing to another, until by the blessing of God he made a name as honourable as any the world has known for many a year. Perseverance in gaining knowlegde enabled a young baker's boy to become a great physician, and leave the honourable name of Sir James Young Simpson behind him. Perseverance has helped little ragged boys to become great men; plough-boys, shoemakers, carpenters, and mill-hands to become learned men. You will never learn English Grammar, Arithmetic, Algebra, French, or Latin unless you try hard and try long.

2. We should persevere in carrying on а lawful business. It is well for everybody to have a trade of some kind; even rich people would do well if they made their sons learn a trade. The Jews have a proverb, that "He who does not teach his son a trade, teaches him to steal." I suppose most of the boys, and a good many of the girls who read these chapters will have to work for their living, and they need be none the less true ladies and gentlemen for that. Your trade or business is that by which you support yourself in this life. It should be your object not to get rich, but to serve God and your fellow men. A successful business cannot be carried on without perseverance; and if business is honest and honourable, your then persevere in it. I have a friend who some years ago started in a certain business; it was honest and honourable, but at a certain village he met with a great deal of opposition; people ordered him out of their houses, and abused him with their tongues. However, he stuck to it, and although he frequently at first spent more money in going to and from the village than he took in it, yet by perseverance he established a good trade, and secured the friendship of the people.

If you have anything good in hand, do not be turned aside by little things, but persevere. 3. Persevere in building up for yourselves a good character. Here you may often fail. You may sometimes do wrong when you intended to

do right; you may sometimes be led away by unexpected temptations; and if you make mistakes, do not give up in despair. The Apostle Paul urges us to, "Press toward the mark for the prize of our high calling." He means we are to strive hard, to persevere amid difficulties. Some of you at school will perhaps find yourselves writing a well-known sentence, worth thinking about; it is not always, but it it is often true, that "Perseverance ensures success."

My Little Gentleman.

N the 1st of June, the summer term of the district school began. It was an intense surprise to the scholars to find, first of all in his place young Shaftsbury, who had lately come to reside at Prospect Hill.

"Robert Shaftsbury, thirteen years old," he replied to the teacher, who asked his name and age.

He studied quietly until recess, and even then lingered in his seat, with evident shyness, though he watched the others with a look of interest on his face. They stood apart, and talked of him among themselves, instead of rushing out to play as was their wont.

At last, after a good deal of wonderment and talk, one boy, bolder or more reckless than the rest, marched up to him.

"I say, Velvet Jacket, how came you here ?" was his salutation. "Seems to me you're too much of a gentleman for our folks."

A slight flush warmed young Shaftsbury's pale cheek, but he answered with frankness as absolute as his courtesy was perfect,—

"I've been taught at home up to now-but my father wants me to be with other boys of my own age; and he says a true gentleman belongs everywhere."

The boys all heard what he said, and in spite of their boyish rudeness, it inspired them with a certain respect. That was the beginning of

the title which they gave him among themselves, of "little gentleman "-only among themselves at first; though afterwards, when they grew more familiar with him, they used to address him by it.

If there had been a philosophical observer to take note of it, it would have been curious to watch how unconsciously the boys were influenced by my little gentleman-how their manners grew more gentle-how they avoided coarse, or unclean, or profane words in his presence, as if he had been a woman. He led his class easily in his studies. The teacher had never to reprove him for carelessness in his duties, or for broken rules. His father had said, "A true gentleman belongs everywhere," and he was quietly proving the assertion.

The scholars liked him; they could not help it, for his manner was as courteous as his nature was unselfish and kindly; and yet in their feelings for him there was a little strain of envy, a slight disposition to blame him for the luxury and elegance to which he was born; and because of his very courtesy to underrate his courage and the real manliness of his character.

But there was one in whose eyes he was, from first to last, a hero. Jamie Strong was yet more delicate than young Shaftsbury. He had something the matter with one of his ankles, and could not join in the rough sports of others. He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. Her husband and her other three children had all died of typhoid fever, and had been one after another carried out of the little lonesome cottage at the foot of the hill, where the sun seldom came; and now Jamie was the last.

He would never be strong enough to do hard work. Sowing, ploughing, mowing, harvesting -he could never manage any of these; so for his weak limbs his quick brain must make up; and Widow Strong had determined that he should be a scholar-a minister, if it pleased the Lord to call him to that; if not, a teacher.

So she quietly struggled on to keep him at school, and to earn money to provide for future years in academy and college. She sewed, she washed, she picked berries, she did anything

by which she could add a shilling to her hoard. Jamie understood and shared her ambition, and studied with might and main. He was used to harshness from stronger boys, and he had grown shy and shrunk within himself. To him the coming of my little gentleman was grace from heaven. Here was one who never mocked at his feebleness and poverty-who was always kind, always friendly, and who did many a little thing to make him happy. Young Shaftsbury was quick to perceive the loyal admiration of the other, and there grew between them the tie of an interest that had never been put into words.

It had been a damp and strange summerintensely warm, even in that hilly region. It had rained continually, but the rains, which had kept the fields green and made vegetation so unusually lush and ripe, had seemed scarcely to cool at all the fervid heat of the air. Wiseacres predicted much sickness. Indeed, several cases of slow fever were in the town already.

One day my little gentleman looked about in vain for his friend Jamie, and finally asked for him anxiously, and found that the boy was ill of typhoid fever. At recess he heard the boys talking of it.

"His

"He'll never get well," one said. father died just that way, and his three brothers. You see it's damp down in that hollow, and the sun hardly ever touches the house. I heard Dr. Simonds say it was ten to one against anybody who was sick there."

When school was out, Robert Shaftsbury hurried home. He found his mother sitting dressed all in white, in the music room, playing a symphony on the piano, while his father sat a little distance off, listening with half-closed eyes. He waited until the piece was over, and then he told his story and preferred his request.

The doctor had said it was ten to one against anyone who was sick in that little damp house in the hollow; and he wanted Jamie brought up to the hill to their own home. He watched the faces of his father and mother as he spoke ; and it seemed to him that a refusal was hovering on their lips, and he said earnestly,

"Don't speak just yet. Remember that he

is his mother's only son, as I am yours. If I lay sick where there was no hope for me, and some one else might perhaps save me by taking me in, would you think they ought to try it, or let me die ?"

Mr. Shaftsbury looked into his wife's eyes. "Robert is right," she said, with the sudden, sweet smile which always seemed to make the day brighter when it came to her lips.

"If the poor boy can be helped by being brought here, we must bring him by all means."

"I will go and see," Mr. Shaftsbury answered at once.

"And I too, papa," said my little gentle

"I think there is no danger for me, living on this bright hill top, in those great airy rooms; but even if there were, I am sure you would let me go if you knew how much Jamie loves me."

"Come then," his father said to him quietly. He had been all his son's life preaching to him of heroism, self-sacrifice, and devotion. He dared not interfere with almost his first opportunity for any real exercise of them. So the two went down the hill together.

It chanced that they met Dr. Simonds coming away from the house, and proposed to him the question of the removal. It would not do, the doctor declared at once. The disease had made too much progress. To remove him now would be more dangerous than to leave him where he

was.

"Then I must go and see him," Robert said resolutely. "You know he has only his mother, and I must spend all the time I can spare from school with him."

"But I will send an excellent nurse, my son. Do you not see that I cannot let you expose yourself?"

"Send the nurse too, please, papa, but do not keep me from going. He will not care for the nurse, and he does care very much for me."

Mr. Shaftsbury hesitated. This boy was as the apple of his eye. Must he, indeed, begin

so soon to look danger in the face for the sake of others? But dare he withhold him, when the boy felt that honour and duty called! It ended by his walking in with him quietly.

It was something to see how Jamie's face brightened. He had been very dull and stupid all day, his mother said, and some of the time his mind had been wandering. But now a glad, eager light came into his eyes, and a smile curved his parched lips. He put out his hot hands.

"Oh! it is you, my little gentleman!" he said. "I had rather see you than anything else in the world."

"Well, then, I will come every day as soon as I am through school," Robert Shaftsbury answered.

"Do you know what you have done ?" his father asked, when at last they stood outside the house together.

"Yes, papa. I have promised the poor, sick, helpless little fellow all the comfort I can give him. I have promised to do by him as I should want him to do by me, if I were Jamie Strong and he were Robert Shaftsbury.

Mr. Shaftsbury was silenced. This, indeed, was a rule of living he had taught. Should he venture to interfere with its observance ?

So my little gentleman had his way. He took every precaution which his mother's anxiety suggested, such as going home to lunch before he went to the little cottage where the sick boy lay and longed for him. But he went regularly. And no matter how wild Jamie might be, his presence would always bring calmness-the dim eyes would kindle, the poor, parched lips would smile, and Mrs. Strong said the visit did Jamie more good than his medicines.

At school the boys looked upon my little gentleman with a sort of wondering reverence. They all knew of his daily visits to the feverhaunted place, which they themselves shunned, and they marvelled at his courage. This was the boy they had fancied to be lacking in manliness, because he was slight and fair, because he was carefully dressed and tenderly nurtured. They said nothing; but in a hun