ome 
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fi,e ^LaSies' Sflorai feiafiiiiet cm3 factorial 
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Take the Other Hand.—One of the most attrac¬ 
tive things in children is their willingness to do what is 
best. A pretty anecdote is told of a young lady who 
had been anxiously watching for some weeks by the 
bedside of her mother, and who, on a lovely day in the 
commencement of spring, went out to take a little exer¬ 
cise and enjoy the fresh air, for her heart was full of 
anxiety and sorrow. After strolling some distance, she 
came to a rope-walk, and, being familiar to the place, 
she entered. At the end of the building she saw a lit¬ 
tle boy turning a large wheel. Thinking this too 
laborious employment for such a mere child, she said 
to him, as she approached:—- 
“ Who sent you to this place?” 
“ Nobody, ma’am ; I came my¬ 
self.” 
“ Do you get pay for your 
labor?” 
“ Indeed 1 do; I get ninepence 
a day.” 
“ What do you do with the 
in a brown study. What is my daughter thinking 
about ?” 
“ I was thinking how much one cigar costs.” 
“ Why, it costs ten cents—not two dollars by a long 
shot.” 
“ But ten cents three times a day is thirty cents.” 
“ That’s as true as the multiplication table.” 
“ And there are seven days in the week f” 
“ That’s so by the almanac.” 
“ And seven times thirty cents are two hundred and 
ten cents.” 
“ Hold on. I’ll surrender. Here, take the two dol¬ 
lars to your mother, and tell her that I’ll do without 
cigars for a week.” 
“ Thank you, father; but if you would only say a 
hand eagerly for the beautiful fruit. “It is too pretty 
to eat; I’ll keep it to look at,” she said, and she held 
it by the stem and turned it around and around. But 
Belle laughed at her and made dents in her apple. 
Presently a little girl came up the steps. She had 
a basket on her arm, too, but there were pins hi it in¬ 
stead of apples. 
“Pins!” she said, “six cents a paper—fourteen 
rows. 
u 
“ 0, mother gets it all.” 
“ You give nothing to father, 
then ?” 
“I have no father, ma’am.” 
“ Do you like this kind of 
work ?” 
“0, well enough ; but if I did 
not like it, I should still do it, 
that 1 might get the money for 
mother.” 
“ How long do you work in the 
day ?” 
“ Pturn nine till twelve in the 
morning, and from two till live in 
the afternoon.” 
“ How old are you ?” 
“ Almost nine.” 
“ Do you get tired of turning 
this great wheel ?” 
“Yes, sometimes, ma’am.” 
“ And what do you do then ?” 
“Why, I take the other hand.” 
The lady gave him a piece of 
money. 
“Is this for mother?” asked 
the well-pleased urchin. 
“No, no; it is for yourself, 
because you arc a good little boy.” 
“ Thank you, kindly, ma’am,” 
returned he, smiling; “mother 
will be glad.” 
The young lady departed and 
returned home, strengthened in her devotion to duty, 
and instructed in true practical philosophy by the words 
and example of a mere child. “ The next time duty 
seems hard to me,” she said to herself, “ I will imitate 
this little boy, and take the other hand.” 
The Ready Reckoner.—“ Father, do you remem¬ 
ber that mother asked you for two dollars this morn¬ 
ing ?” 
“Yes, my child, what of it?” 
‘ Do you remember that mother didn’t get the two 
dollars?” 
“Yes. And I remember what little girls don’t 
think about.” 
“ What is that, father?” 
“ I remember that we are not rich. But you seem 
No,” answered Lulu, “ ma’s got plenty now; come 
again.” 
“I will,” said the other. “Oh! what a nice big 
apple !” and then she turned down the steps. 
“ Poor little girl,” whispered Lulu to herself, and then 
she looked at her apple. “ Shall I?” she said. “Yes.” 
Down tHe steps she went very 
fast. 
“Here, take the apple,” she 
said, holding it out to the pin- 
girl. “Pa has plenty more.” 
“ Yes,” the pin-girl returned, 
and she put the apple at once to 
her mouth. “ It is good!” she 
cried gleefully, and then she went 
out of the gate biting away at it. 
Lulu came up the steps smiling, 
and Belle caught her in her arms. 
“ You darling!” she said, “do 
you know that is a charming 
action you have just done? 1 
am going to buy you sugar-plums 
for it.” 
“ No !” answered Lulu soberly, 
“'it was not for sugar-plums l 
did it .”—Hearth and Home. 
The Little Housekeeper, 
year. It would save more than a hundred dollars. 
We would all have shoes and dresses, and mother a 
nice bonnet and lots of pretty things.” 
“Well, to make my little girl happy, I will say a 
YEAR.” 
And the father’s kisses were sweeter for many years 
after, for once the habit was overcome, he persevered. 
Not for Sugar-Plums. —Five-year-old Lulu was 
running races on the piazza with her young lady- 
cousin Belle when Lulu’s father came up the garden- 
path with a basketful of apples on his arm. 
“Here are two of the largest and most beautiful 
apples that ever grew,” he said; “one for Belle, and 
one for Lulu if she has been good.” 
“ Oh! I’ve been good !” cried Lulu, holding out her 
Laughing Children. — Give 
me (says a writer) the boy or 
girl who smiles as soon as the 
first rays of the morning sun 
glance in through the window, 
gay, happy and kind. Such a 
boy will be fit to “make up” 
into a man—at least whenj con¬ 
trasted with a sullen, morose, 
crabbed fellow, w T ho snaps and 
snarls like a surly cur, or growls 
and grunts like an untamed 
hyaena from the moment lie opens 
his angry eyes till he is “ con¬ 
fronted ” by his breakfast. Such 
a girl, other things being favor¬ 
able, will be good material to aid 
in gladdening some comfortable 
home, or to refine, civilize, tame 
and humanize a rude brother, 
making Mm gentle, affectionate 
and loveable. It is a feast even to look at such a joy- 
inspiring girl, such a woman-girl, and see the smiles 
flowing, so to speak, from the parted bps, displaying a 
set of clean, w r ell-brushed teeth, looking almost the 
personification of beauty and goodness, singing, and as 
merry as the birds—the wide-awake birds that com¬ 
menced their morning concert long before the lazy 
boys dreamed that the sun was approachifig and about 
to pour a wdiole flood of light and warmth upon the 
earth. Such a girl is like a gentle shower to the 
parched earth, bestowing kind words, sweet smiles and 
acts of mercy upon all around her—the joy and light of 
the household. 
The very nearest approach to domestic felicity on earth 
is in the mutual cultivation of an absolute usefulness. 
