The Day of Small Things.

Many a young man makes a great mistake in his thoughts of women. He says, I can never ask a girl to marry me and share my poverty." But if a girl loves a man she does not dread poverty. She does not want beautiful clothes to wear, nor good things to eat, nor a fine house to live in. She wants the comfort and joy of a strong, true heart, the companionship of a dear friend, the pleasure of a home. The day of small things is often the happiest day in married life.

A friend said to me, pointing to a picture, "Jack and I saved our car fares, and cut off our desserts for months, in order to buy that. We used to walk past the window of the store where it was and look in, afraid it had been sold, and yet not daring to let the shopkeeper know our wish to purchase, for fear we might never be able to buy it. When at last we had the price in our hands, and could have our desire satisfied, we almost trod on air all day, and when we brought the picture home and hung it up we had a festival. Nothing we have ever bought since has begun to give us the pure ecstacy we knew when we first possessed that dear Madonna, and brought its blessedness into our lives and home."

The day of small things is a day of self-denials, a day of contrivances, a day of doing without. But it is also a day in which true hearts bear each other's burdens and grow closer in intimacy through the mutual relinquishing and common service.

It is a good plan to take the children fully into conâdence when there is need for economy in the household. Let the little ones know that they can help father and mother by being careful of their clothing and their pennies; let the older young people assist in lifting the load from the burdened shoulders of their elders. I have known mothers and fathers complain of their children's heedlessness and extravagance, the fact being that the children had been unfairly dealt with, in never being taken into the family councils. The day of small things should be an educational influence, tending for good wherever it exists.

In household management it is well to know where to cut off. I overheard a lady say in a public conveyance: "You see this silk dress of mine? I saved the money for it from my table allowance. I fed the family on codfish and bacon, and snipped here, and snipped there, till I had enough to buy it. They've fairly forgotten how a beefsteak tastes in our house."

This was a very poor sort of management, and that was a very costly silk

gown.

"Look at the great cities of antiquity," exclaimed an English clergyman the other day. "Where are they now? Why, some of them have perished so utterly that it is doubtful if they ever existed!"

The Boy.

It was a bright writer and a keen observer who drew this picture of a familiar little figure within our gates:

When you hear a fearful racket,

Like a miniature cyclone,

With some sounds so strange that surely
Their like was never known,
While the mother listens calmly,

Even with a smiling face,
You may know that it is nothing

But the boy about the place.

When there's famine in the cupboard
And the milk pail soon runs dry,
And you can't keep pies or cookies
No matter how you try;
When you vainly seek for apples
That have gone and left no trace,
Hard times is not the trouble-

There's a boy about the place.

When there's sawdust on the carpet

And some shavings on the beds,
When the rugs are tossed in corners
And your chairs stand on their heads,
While, if a tool you're needing, you
All 'round the house must race,
You may know he's making something,
Is the boy about the place.

When the house is full of sunshine
On the darkest kind of day,
And you have to laugh at seeing

Some outlandish, boyish play,
And when eyes so bright and loving
Oft are raised to meet your face,
You will pray, I know, "God bless him,
Bless our boy about the place."

"Willie," said Mamma despairingly, "Willie, won't you hush for a little while? You make so much noise, my boy."

"I can't help it," said Willie.

any 'hush' in.”

"When God made me, He forgot to put

One little corner child was playing Sunday School with her dolls one day, and began to talk very loud. She was asked not to talk "quite so loud." "Oh, I am playing I am sup'rintendent now. He is the man that stays out in the big room and hollers, you know."

The same little girl was asked to repeat the "golden text" one Sunday and promptly answered: "It is awful to do good on the Sabbath day."

Sometimes it seems almost as though some older people had learned the text in that same way!

You picture to yourself the beauty of bravery and steadfastness. And then some little, wretched, disagreeable duty comes, which is your martyrdom, the lamp for your oil; and if you do not do it, how your oil is spilt!— So, wisely, says the immortal Phillips Brooks.

Such is Fame.

Mr. Roebuck, M. P., in a speech at Salisbury in 1862, related the following anecdote:-" I recollect some years ago, being in Hampshire, I went out of my house in the morning, with the Times in my hand, and going into the garden, I found a laboring man whom I rather liked-a shrewd, clever fellow. He said, 'Any news, sir, this morning?' 'Yes,' I replied, rather bad news.' 'Bad news! what's that, sir?' 'Why,' I said, 'the Duke of Wellington is dead.' 'Ah, sir,' he remarked, 'I be very sorry for he; but who was he?' Now if I had not heard that I should not have believed it. The man who said it lived within one hundred miles of London; was a clever, shrewd fellow, and yet he wanted to know who was the Duke of Wellington. Could you have believed that within one hundred miles of London there was darkness so great that the name of Wellington was unknown to a man between fifty and sixty years of age? But so it was-'I'm very sorry for he, sir,' he said; but who was he?'"'

In the Long Run.

It is Mr. Dwight L. Moody who tells the following story with an obvious moral. A young man was employed by a large commission firm in New York city during the late civil war, to negotiate with a certain party for a lot of damaged beans. The beans were purchased, delivered, and spread out upon the upper floor

of the building occupied by the firm.

Men were employed to turn them over and over, and to sprinkle them with a solution of soda, so as to improve their appearance and render them more salable. A large lot of the first quality of beans was then purchased; some of the good beans were first put into barrels, then the barrels were nearly filled with the poor ones; after this the good ones were again put on the top and the barrels headed up for sale.

The employer marked the barrels, "Beans-A 1." The clerk seeing this, said: "Do you think, sir, that it is right to mark those beans A 1?”

The employer retorted sharply: "Are you head of the firm?"

The clerk said no more. The barreling and heading went on. When all was ready, the beans (many hundreds of barrels) were put on the market for sale. Specimens of the best quality were shown in the office to buyers.

At length a shrewd purchaser came in (no man is so sharp in business but he will often meet his equal), examined the samples in the office, inquired the price, and then wished to see the stock in bulk. The clerk was ordered to go with the buyer to the upper loft and show him the stock. An open barrel was shown apparently of the same quality of the sample. The buyer then said to the clerk:

"Young man, the samples of beans shown me are of the first quality, and it is impossible to purchase beans anywhere in the market for the price at which you offer them; there is something wrong here. Tell me, are these beans the same quality throughout the entire barrel as they appear on the top?"

The clerk now found himself in a strange position. He thought, "Shall I lie for my employer, as he undoubtedly means I shall; or shall I tell the truth, come what will?” He decided for the truth, and said:

"No, sir, they are not."

'Then," said the customer, "I do not want them;" and he left.

The clerk entered the office. The employer said to him: "Did you sell that man those beans?"

He said, "No, sir."

"Why not?"

Well, sir, the man asked me if those beans were of the same quality through the entire barrel as they appeared on the top. I told him they were not. He then said: 'I do not want them,' and left.

"Go to the cashier," said the employer, "and get your wages; we want you no longer.'

He received his pay and left the office, rejoicing that he had not lied for the purpose of abetting a sordid avariciousness, and benefiting an unprincipled employer.

Three weeks after this the firm sent after the young clerk, entreated him to come back again into their employ, and offered him three hundred dollars salary more per year than they had ever before given him.

And thus was his honesty and truthfulness rewarded. The firm knew and felt that the man was right, although apparently they had lost largely by his honesty. They wished to have him again in their employ, because they knew that they could trust him, and never suffer through fraud and deception. They knew that their financial interests would be safe in his custody. They respected and honored that young man.

Hallowed Hours.

We are in the habit of giving a too narrow interpretation to divine service, as when we say, "Divine Service will be performed at church, at - o'clock.' It is not divine service performed in every house in the parish where the housewife does her duty-in the kitchen where she cooks or looks after cookery; in the nursery, where she nurses or directs how it should be done; in the room which she sweeps as for God's laws?"

You have perhaps read the beautiful legend of Francesca. Tradition says that she was a noble lady of Rome, who, amid the splendors of court life and the