CHALK.

Otago Witness, Issue 1819, 1 October 1886, Page 31

CHALK.

Br Alice. Author of " Fickle Jack," " Grandmother* Story," &o. [Am. Rights Resbrved.] Chapter XIII. A True Friend. "Puir lassie!" said Mollie. Mollie was seated in her favourite place before the open piano, her fingers softly touching the keys. Bertie, looking as usual too large for the small parlour, sat near in an easy chair, while Grannie occupied her old seat among the soft cushions. Mollies» gentle, sweet face was very thoughtful, and every now and again her soft shy eyes sought Bertie's face, seeking in it somo koy to his feelings. Not hard to discover at any time—certainly not at the present— hot indignation was traceable in every feature. " Poor girl, indeed ! " he burst out with in tones that made the cottage shake almost. " I call it confoundedly cruel. Mary is the only one who seems to act like a hnman being towards her ! " . • " Puir lassie ! " murmured Mollie again. " I called yesterday," said Grannie quietly. " It is not the pleasant house to visit it used to be. Mrs Hunter is very hard on Winifred — very. It is, of course, a great disappointment. The girl was a noble, devoted soul. Her dislike to Charles Mason was no sham,' neither was her affection for Frank Hunter and Mary a sham. . I can't understand it ! " and the old lady shook her head. " She is either a most accomplished hypo-, crite," continued Grannie presently, "or a martyr ; and if she is a hypocrite, how comes that enduring expression in her eyes ?^ Circumstances are very black against her, but, children, never judge by circumstances alone. Many an innocent person has suffered unjustly; and though, of course, Winifred is not innocent, perhaps if we knew all we should pity more than blame. Sin brings its ©wn hell. We will not be among those to heap on the fire. We called her friend, my dears. A friend, I take it, is one who clings through all. If a sheep falls into the ditch and bleats to get out, is that a friend who will not stoop to lift it 1 We never rise so high in humanity, children, as when we stoop low in charity. God bless us all 1 who or what are we all that we cannot soil our fingers by touching one stained? If love has got warmth about it, do those who are clothed by all a happy life gives need it so much as those who are scantily robed with this world's respect ? That girl has got a hard road before her. God help her ! Repent in what bitter anguish she may, she will be despised. Do whatsoever she will, she will be distrusted. Look at her daily life— one of meek, patient, self-sacrifice and drudgery ! If she were heartless and bad, as her one act would say she mast be, would she endure it ? No I I say no ! " added Grannie vehemently. "It is not by those swift hours in life that alter its whole course you can fairly judge either man or woman— those transient, passionate, reckless acts that mar so many lives : a sudden impulse, a weak moment when strong influence overpowers—but by the quiet continued course of every day. I tell you, children, there has been often and often more nobility and strength displayed by poor struggling soula to scramble up out of the ditch into which they have slipped, and to regain the high road, than in keeping there. We lift up a child that falls — we assist the struggling creeper to climb higher; but heaven help fallen human nature, for man rarely holds out his hand to man, and more rarely still to woman I " " Grannie," said Bertie, looking into the kind flushed face, " you are a brick I for I'm going to marry Winifred — that is if she'll have me." A long silence fell upon the room after this announcement. Bertie looked from Mollie to Grannie. At length Grannie erosaed over the room,

and, with her blue eyes bright with tears, laid her hand upon Bertie's broad shoulder, and with an eloquent pressure said simply : " I wish you were my own son, Bertie 1 and left the room. . . "You have pleased Grannie weel, said Mollie softly, with the sweet Scottish accent she always used when touched. " Love seems to me no kind of love that slinks off and leaves a woman in trouble," said Bertie in a sort of apology. " I know folks will wonder, but they can all go to Halifax ! Winifred is in misery— confounded misery ; and if s,he will let me take her out of it, I will. So tftere ! and to the deuce with public opinion 1 " / "You love her as much as you used to do ?" very softly and falteringly from Mollie. «■ Why— that— l can't— exactly say," very deliberately answered Bertie, thrusting his hands i»to his pockets and looking straight before him. " You see, Mollie, she was a sort of goddess— such a glorious creature— the impersonation and embodiment of all that was grand and noble 1 I never feit near enough to her to do anything but worship. She is in the dust now, Mollie, instead/of on a throne ; and, well, dash it 1 if a great hulking brute like me can lift her up and won't— why, what am I good for, Mollie?" „,_ . * tv Mollie didn't say. She turned her soft eyes upon Bertie's eager face and smiled simply. It had been a hard time for Winifred. From' the hour of her return with Mary, in which Frank had angrily broken in upon Lucy's torrent of reproach, and forbidden the -girl to leave the house, he had not spoken one solitary word to her. She waited upon him like a slave. Nothing did he ever need to ask for. The tokens of her industrious care were in every hour of the day and every room of the house. Frank laughed and talked gaily witli Lucy and Mary at table, while Winifred sat silent and white, with bursting heart, meekly enduring the taunts of Lucy and the sneers and scorn of the world. • The world ! Oh, the pure world was scandalised, and pitied poor Lucy for being obliged to submit to disgrace so shameful, and admired the patient, forgiving spirit of Mary that endured such daily contamination. The world that never sins judged, and judged about as correctly and .justly as it always does. " If he would only speak to me," Winifred would say night and day, " all the rest would be easy." And with pale face and queenly bearing she moved about all day, and at night, with streaming' eyes, listened to the unsteady footstep on the garden path, while Mary, securely locked in, slept with her baby on her breast. No one suspected the truth, the girls acted their parts so well ; and if Mary'sf ondness for the child was noticed, it was attributed to her sweetness and pity. Only in the secrecy of her own room did the unhappy mother strain it to her breast *and weep over it. How very, very hard it was not to be thought the mother of her child. She watched Winifred with jealous .eyes. If Winifred seemed fond, Mary grudged the awakening smiles that her baby gave to its supposed mother ; if Winifred seemed cold, then poor Mary resented it, and said it would be better if she and her babe were both dead. • So one evening Bertie came. Ifc was a ovely New Zealand evening in early autumn, when, after a still, broiling hot day, the warm evening air tempts one to linger outside. Winifred sat alone on a garden seat. She had sat there long, her lovely black eyes watching the glorious burning colours die out in the west, arid the bright greenish tinge over the Port hills gradually fade to pale blue, and from pale blue to grey. She had been reading from Tennyson's " Idylls." Often before she had read the story of " Seraint and Enid," but she seemed to realise more fully to-night what Enid's anguish must have been^vhen, so true and loving as she was, Geramt doubted her. Psyche from Hades moaned its evil work — " Long time I held My love r,oo dear for doubt, who was so sweet And lovable. But at last the sneers, Tho mystery .... These worked on me," Although lo te had said : " The high gids Link Love with Faith." " What misery doubt works," she thought — " as much as hate, Hate is very often an open foe, showing its face boldly ; but doubt lies in ambush, and you cannot fight it fairly. It is like some subtle, slow poison mixing with the blood and gradually robbing the vigour and bloom from love." What misery Charles' doubt had worked What long train of evil consequences ! And what would be the end ? Then with the poet she murmured : O purblind race of miserable me'J, How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves By taking true for false, or false for true ; Here, thro' the feeble twilight of this -world Groping, how many, until we pass and rcacli That other, where we see aB we are seeu ! - The world has misery enough, born of its strife and open warfare, without loving hearts adding to the sum of its sorrow by allowing that blight to the beauty and growth o£ love — doubt ! — to be that — Little pitted speck in garnered fruit, That rotting inward slowly moulders all. Oh, lovers, cling together I the old world Is full of Hate. Sweeten it ; draw in one Two separate chords of Life, and from the bond Of twin bouls lost in Harmouy create A fair god dwelling with you — love the Lord. There is no home without it. There may be a mansion, but no home. There is no prosperity without it. There may be wealth of gold, but no real prosperity of the soul. And yet, like children gathering shells upon the sea shore, we gather precious love and faith, and as heedlessly throw them away. Breaking in upon Winifred's sad thoughts came Bertie's hearty voice in friendly greeting. After chatting cheerfully for some time upon subjects of more or less indifference, he said : " Will you take a turn in the garden with me, Miss Winifred? 'fhere is something I want to say to you." Winifred took his proffered arm, and walked glon^ slowly by hi? side, The *ftoo»

had risen behind the trees, and was casting a bright flickering light upon Winifred's, face. Bertie noticed how sad and pale it was. He was looking down at it when Winifred suddenly lifted her large eyes and saw the look of pity in those regarding her. " Winifred," said Bertie suddenly, " what I came here to-night to say is this. I have admired and loved you for a very long time. In the old happy days, when your future looked bright, I did not dare to utter mj presumption. Ask Mollie ; she knows how miserable it used to make me to know myself so unfit to dream of ever winning your love. I am no more fitted now than I was then ; I shall never be anything but a great lumbering, stupid, thick-headed fellow. But will you be my wife, Winifred ? You can't ever care much for a fellow Kke me ; but if you will trust me, Winifred. I will do my best to make you happy." Winifred stopped in her walk, a sudden flush of beautiful colour surging to her cheeks ; and, letting her hand still rest upon Bertie's arm, she looked up into his fair kind face — looked for a long while — then she spoke : " Bertie Young, I thank you— first for the honour that every man confers upon the woman he asks to be his wife, and then for the double honour it means coming to me noro. Do you know," she continued, looking still into his eyes, " how outcast I am from society 7 Oh, my good name ! Do you not know I am cut off from even the trust of those that know me most — that I have played a shameful part both to my guardians and to Mary ? Do you not know lam nameless — a waif — a stray — a dishonoured outcast unworthy a friend I " I don't know anything of the kind ! " blurted out Bertie. " I know that you have been the light and charm of this house ever since I knew you. I don't care what circumstances are against you, I believe you to be a noble, good woman ; and, if you will only give me the chance, I'll prove it to all the world." "You believe in me, in spite of all?" asked Winifred, with kindling eyes. "On my soul I do ! There is everything in. you to inspire belief. You seem to me more like a martyr than — than anything else." " Oh, hush ! " said Winifred hurriedly. "If anyone heard you they might " She broke off abruptly, and looked round in terror. Bertie caught hold of her hands suddenly, his manner excited, his face eager as he bent it towards her. " Winifred," he said excitedly, " I see it all 1 Something in your manner this moment — I don't know what— has opened my eyes. Mary is the mother of Charles Mason's child 1 " " Bertie, for God's sake, hush ! " cried Winifred in terror and dismay, placing her hand over his mouth. "Do you know what you are saying 1 Do you know what it means ? Shame to this house — to his daughter " "Ah, there it is I" cried Bertie. "Oh, what blind fools we have all been ! You a traitress 1 You anything but what we always knew you — noble in your gratitude, divine in your love ! Oh, forgive me that 'I asked you just now to be my wife! You marry a fellow like me, you queen of women ! Winifred, you sha'n't suffer this cursed shame. Why should you ? Why did you?" "Bertie," said Winifred impressively, again taking his arm and walking slowly beside him, " listen to me. Before you guessed my secret, believing me guilty of the basest treachery, you still had confidence enough in me to ask me to become your wife. I shall never forget that of you — never. Not worthy of me! Why, Bertie Young, J am not worthy of you ! If you had come to me knowing my innocence, I was scarcely worthy then ; but, believing me guilty, you offered to raise me up and shield me from the world. Not because I do not deem you worthy do I refuse, but because (if instead of disgrace I i could bring honour) I esteem you too well to give you wifely duty and reverence alone, when I know that the future will bring you that in your bride, and her adoring passionate love, too. No woman could honour you more than I, but another woman, whose heart is freer from the claims upon it than mine, will bring you a more passionate and undivided lo v e and bless your life as it should be blessed. My mission is here in thiu house — my duty here." "But, Winifred, you surely do not mean . to sacrifice your life to this gross injustice?" urged Bertie. " What can Mary mean by allowing it ? - 1 call it deucedly shabby and selfish, to say the least." " Mary is weak — too weak and timid," pleaded Winifred, "to bear so heavy a burden. The world makes it vary heavy," and she sighed. "My poor girl ! " murmured Bertie pityingly; then hotly— "lt is confoundedly hard. Curse that ape, Mason ! Winifred, you are a woman in a thousand. lam proud to know you ; and, oh ! you can't tell what I have found to-night in finding you the noble creature I worshipped always. It is so much to us men. you women cannot imagine, to find true all we thought gold in the womerl we love and trust. It is a greater loss to a man to lose his faith in woman than to_ lose his gold. A man may lose his first love, and if he does not lose with her his boyhood's belief in good true women, he still retains what will fill his life with gladness. It is the loss of faith that spoils us men. lam not a clever fellow, Miss Winifred, but I know that much. How can a man believe in heaven when he doubts the love of mother, sister, wife ? A man can dream any high dream, and struggle up to any height, while his faith is strong in his ideal womankind. Better to murder a man — I am speaking of brave, loving, trusting men — than shatter his faith ! " Never had Winifred heard Bertie speaTc so well and earnestly. And she had done all this. Her guardian had believed in her. Had she done well ? The present misery, the shattering of all her purpose and hopes, the structure of so many r&tient years— all this rushed in upon her suddenly with overpowering force, and she burst into a passion of tears. Very nearly crying himself, Bertie tried atfirst vainly to soothe he?; then, filling

words unavailing to check the deep aobs that shook her frame, he put his strong arms round her and drew her head to his broad breast, and stood there quietly while she learned upon him and • cried her cry out. Pale and exhausted, ab length she drew herself from Bertie's arms, and, taking his hand, she looked up into his truthful eyes. "Bertie, I bind you on your honour to keep the secret you have discovered. I trust you." " You may. J3ut can I not help you, Winifred — serve you in any way ? " " You have helped me. Your belief in me has strengthened me beyond measure. I may not be your wife. One day you will see the happiness you would have missed did I consent ; but from all the men I ever knew or could know, I choose you for my friend, Bertie." " Confound it ! " said Bertie to himself, going home, "I wish the days of Tennyson's knights were these days. How I would smash at the thick skulls of anyone who dared to disparage her ! lam not a hand at poetry, but' I gathered enough from the ' Idylls of the King ' to learn that the knights | used their muscles to wield their swords in the fair ladies' defence. If I haven't got a head for verse, I've got an arm for fight, and i I only wish I could use it ! " LADIE^GOSSIP. — In a show window at Washington is a golden chameleon from Yucatan. It is a long cream%oLoured beetle wearing a dainty gold harness and tethered to a pin, with a Gin gold chain of the lightest pattern. He wanders aimlessly to the end of his tether and round and round his beaten stake. A peculiarity of the creature is that it will live some months without eating. The ladies of Yucatan and Central America very generally wear this curious pet, in a harness of gold, tethered with a gold chain to their corsage. — The washing dresses are simplicity itself. A full plain skirl, long over-drapery cut up to the waist, trimmed with long looped bows ; either a full banded bodice or a jacket and waistcoat. Sprays of natural flowers worn in the front of the bodice, and also on the hat, look weU too, but to make quite a la mode they should be put on the back, not the front of the hat. For country wear rash hats are fashionable, plaited coarsely, and trimmed with flowers. — Mi\3}Hobart, widow of Hobart Pasha, has received a kind message from the Sultan, informing her that orders had been given that a suitable pension should be provided for her, and requesting her and her nephew, the Earl of Buckinghamshire, to go to the palace and receive the firman from his Majesty's hands. — Dark blue is the colour of the season. When of plain material, the addition of a deep flounce of cream yak lace is a great improvement. An American lady I know wore such a gown at a recent cricket match, and with it a tall hat of coarse blue straw with a trail of rich yellow roses creeping up the back. Norfolk jackets, made in all sorts of plain and striped goods, are largely worn ; they are useful, but not universally becoming. They are rather stiff! in appearance at best, and when the figure is not well curved give it a fiat look ; whilst stout ladies find the waistband fatal as betraying the size of the j waist. — A little bit of romance is connected with Christine Nilsson's second marriage. M. de Miranda has neither the attraction of great i fortune nor position. He is not handsome — he has not even the benute dv, diable that is the special attribute of youth. But years ago, when the Swedish enchantress was in the first flush of her conquest of the world, M 'de Miranda, then a gay young man of the world, fell madly in love with her. Nilsson, however, had pledged her maiden troth to N. Ilouzeaud, and the ardent love-making of the young Spanish count was of no avail to break it. The faithful devotion of years is reaping its reward in the late bestowal of iheprima donna's hand. — The last born child of the Duke and Duchess of Connaught has received the name of "Patricia," from the fact of its having been born on St. Patrick's Day. — Most of the newest French bonnets are wonderfully artistic, though they consist of little besides tulle or net, gauze ribbon, lace, and the most natural looking grasses or flowers ; the lighter materials are raised over such fine wires that they are hardly to be seen, and the ribbon is tied in bows raised straight above the face in front. Coarselyplaited straw bonnets of harmonizing colours, each strand of the plait being different, are having a decided success. In one, deep crimson, beige, olive green, nut-brown, and bronze were charmingly blended, loops of these mixed straws forming the front of the bonnet, yellow lace— paille colour — being cleverly introduced amidst (he straws and upwright bows of pearl-edged ribbon, in which the colours of the straw are reproduced. A somewhat fantastical bonnet is in pale wheat-coloured straw, the crown resembling in its short broken straws a cornfield after harvesting', with the stubble left ; the front of this is arranged with upright central ribbon bows and wheat ears on each side, cornflowers peeping out between the wheat. — Winter is the heavy season for piano tuners. The heat of a fire soon puts a piano ' out of tune. This is not due to the expanding and contracting of the strings, as generally supposed, but to the variations produced in the sounding-boards under the influence of the increased "dryncss of the air, especially in furnace-heated houses. Sounding boards are made of spruce because of the superior resonance of that timber, but spruce, of all woods, is most affected by changes in moisture. — Tailor-made white canvas dresses arc to be highly fashionable. The tailor's bill is twicfi as much as the cost of the material. This is what makes them so fashionable. — King Otto of Bavaria resides, or is kept rather, in the chateau of Furstenried, about one hour's ride from Munich. The castle is wholly isolated and situated in the heart of the forest. It was a convent in the thirteenth century and was purchased by King Louis I. The garden and park are traversed by a grand avenue shaded by elms and surrounded by a high wall. The gqardp and servant? &re

stationed in little houses. Patrols of honour ! aro stationed at the entrance to the castle j since Otto's elevation to the throne. The king has lucid moments, and then he devotes himself mainly to reading the newspapers. But these moments are of brief duration. His Majesty smokes cigarettes incessantly and often takes a promenade. He sometimes takes a notion to visit the Imperial family of Austria, to which, in his sane moments, he appears very devoted. He t spends whole hours in picking strawberries and making them into .little pyramids in the park. An alienist physician in black coat and white cravat always walks a certain distance behind him, and he is followed in turns by three gendarmes. ' LONDON HOTELS. — The hotels in London to live at are those about Trafalgar Square, which avowedly cater to American visitors. They are modern, luxurious, and, in two or three instances, much more elegant than anything in New York. Here one may live royally, pay for the privilege and rejoice in expenditure. " The Grand " is, I think, the handsomest of all, and has a charm of elegant luxury and a certain home-like comfort, beside which would seem impossible to eyes accustomed to the cold splendours af an American hotel. The dining rooms, halls, entrance, and corridors are walled to the stained glass ceilings in exquisitely toned marbles, delicious pinks, softened with warm browns — the floors are beautiful, inlaid in mosaics, on which are thrown choice India rugs and mirrors, brass, Eastern draperies, portieres, curtains, easy, luxurious divans ; and the chairs, together with bird-cages and really fine bric-a-brac and pictures, suggest the comfort of a private home. Flowers are everywhere, tastefully arranged, and no end of t>alms, tropical plants, and ferns all set'about the halls and rooms with the same idea of careless grace which one would bestowjon a favourite private sitting room. Then there is a delightful supply of books, magazines, periodicals, &c, fluttering over tables and reading stands, and as the reading rooms here are intended principally for the use o£ ladies— we have the access to all the entertaining literature of the hour, which at hotels in our own fair land would be seized and devoured by the more privileged sex. ROMANTIC WEDDINGS. ' The New York Sun's Newbury correspondent tells of two novel wedding ceremonies which took place on June 18. One was ajmidnight affair; the other occurred in open aij\ The midnight wedding took place at Warwick just as the town clock struck 12 p.m. There was a large attendance. C. S. Findlay and Miss Emily B. Tobias were married at Maple Cottage, the residence of the bride's mother. A largo, marriage bell of white roses was suspended from the branch of a large tree on the lawn. Over 1200 guests were present. When the guests arranged themselves under the trees the bridal party descended the stairway, advanced over the wide lawn, finally stopping beneath the floral bell. Ushers preceded the procession. Then came 10 young lady friends oC the bride, followed by two sweet little girls, who carried baskets of roses, which were strewn in the pathway of the bridal party, who came last. While the birds were twittering in the boughs overhead the ceremony was proceeded with. The scene was one of rare beauty and novel surroundings. PERSIAN WOMEN. Lady Shiels, in her " Glimpses of Life and Manners in Persia," says : — "I went to see the" Shah/s half sister, a beautiful girl of 15, who lived with her mother in an obscure part of the ante-room, neglected by the Shah, and, consequently, by everyone else. She was really lovely, fair, and with indescribable eyes and a figure^only equalled by some of the chef d'cewwcH of Italian art. This is so very rare among Persian women that she was one o£ the persons I saw in the country with an approach to a good figure. " She was dressed in the usual fashion oi< trousers on trousers, the last pair being of such stiff brocade that if put standing" upright in the middle of the room they would remain. Her hair was curled, not' plaited, and she was literally covered with diamonds. She was quiet in her manners and seemed dejected. She was most anxious to hear about European customs ? "And what seems to surprise her most was that we took the trouble to undress every night before going to bed — and she asked mo was it true that we put on a long white dress to pass the night in ? "All Persian women are astonished at this custom, and are quite miable to account for it. They never undress at night ; they untie their thin mattress from its silken cover, draw it out from its place against the wall, and roll themselves up in the wadded quilt which forms their blanket. The only time they change their clothes is when they go to bathe. If they go out to visit they of course put on their best garments and take them off at night, but generally they lie down just as they are, and even in cold weather they wear their 'chadeor,' or out-of-door veil, at night." VULGARITY IN DHESS. The woman who is careless concerning the fashion, and takes no pains even to be neat, [ is guilty of almost as unpardonable a social offence as a man of limited means with others dependent upon him who affects to be sublimely indifferent to finance and flings his money almost away at random. Sensible women know how to follow the fashions without being carried away by them, and a little practice quickly enables them to meet the. seductive" tones of a too ardent milliner with the imperative mood. Sensible men never follow the fashions — except at a distance. They leave the golden youth of the period, the mashers and dudes, to show the way, and they content themselves with walking behind, quietly picking their stops between the folly of extremes. Dress affords vulgarity an ample field for its display, and in common fairness it must be admitted that it, is not slow in either sex to redeem the opportunity. The "'Arries and 'Arriettes " whom Mr Punch has immortalised aro in reality unconscious social reformers, because, by running in front of tb} fashion of the hour, they disgust sepaiblq people w$ prevent

them — through a wholesome aversion to low company — from running at its heels. They act, in fact, as danger signals, and society, repelled by their extravagance, recoils as from a caricature of itself and a feeling akin to amused contempt. — London Standard. DUCA# WEEDING GIFTS. The latest Parisian sensation is the Due de Morny's wedding to Miss Guzmann Blanco, the daughter of a South American president. The New York Herald's graphic correspondent, who was doubtless "there all the I while," says of the wedding gifts :—: — * The due's presents to the biide were equal to those of the famous Duke of Buckingham. I will only mention four of them. A superb reviere of enormous diamonds, not mounted —that is to say, held together simply by a wire of gold so fine that when worn on the neck v the diamonds only are visible and have the appearance of hundreds of huge drops of dew. Another present was a magnificent diadem of diamonds, worth at least 20,000d01. Then a broad ribbon of diamonds, attached to a sort of gold chainwork so as to tie and untie about the neck, like an ordinary silk scarf. Then a fan of white feathers, literally powdered with thousands of small diamonds. The flowers that the due sent to the bride dnring the 30 days preceeding the wedding were superb, no two bouquets ever being the same. One day there would be a ship of carnations filled with roses ; another day a South American hammock made of twisted lilies of the valley and filled with orchids ; the next day a bicycle made of corn flowers, surmounted by roses; then a balloon of lilies, with jessamine and pansies — in short every floral originality that a vivid imagination could devise. TOO GREAT VARIETY. Mothers often make the mistake of satiating their children with too great a variety. As soon as the child tires of one toy, for example, there is another substituted, and discontent is the certain result. \ The mother of four children, of whom the oldest was eight years and .the youngest ten months told me that she had never had any trouble iv amusing them because they were taught to play a variety of games with the least possible number of toys. She feared collision of interests if each child had a special set of toys ; and on this acconnt gave each one a doll, with the necessary belongings, and a few other toys — each possessing almost precisely the same things. Th« finer toys were understood to be mother's property, and were kept in a cupboard apart. These were only lent to the children on special occasions. There was always rejoicing when mamma's toys were brought out, each child vying with the other as to behaviour, so that the treasnres could be kept as long as possible. Books for painting with coloured crayons were an important adjunct, as, when tired of play, the children were always ready to paint. The older children were taught that they must devise some play for the younger ones, and thus a happy time was the rule in the nursery. A store of harmless bonbons was kept in mamma's drawer, and a single one was put into the mbuth of each little one after tfhe evening prayer was said. " Sweetness and light " are powerful adjuncts in nursery ethics. — New York Commercial.