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any blackberries, don't put them in your pockets; for if you do, they will get all mashed up, and the juice will stain your apron dreadfully. If you don't mind, I shall have to give the apron to Dolly Clark."

Yes," was the reply, "run and ask her to added, wash it, and you, too."

An hour after, Daisy might have been seen in her play-house under the elm, looking as fresh as a flower from which a loving sunbeam has just kissed the dew. She was holding in her hands, and talking to, a rubber doll, once admired for its bright eyes and rosy cheeks, but now bearing evident marks of old age and ill


Daisy began, "I must say, Eva,- for that

The clothes were soon rubbed, rinsed, and hung on the fence to dry. Then came the harder task of washing the doll. The more she was scrubbed with soap and water, the darker she grew; and soon she was quite black. Daisy, in despair, was thinking of trying the effects of sand, when her mother came to the door to call her to supper. She started at once, carrying with her the poor doll.

"Mamma, what shall I do with Eva?" said she. "I've been trying as hard as I could to wash her white, and now she looks as though she was made of smut.”

"She is made of India-rubber like your overshoes; and now that you have washed all the paint off of her she looks like a negro sure enough," said Mrs. Leaf, smiling. Seeing the eyes of her little girl filled with tears, she "Never mind; she couldn't very well look any worse than she did before; but now I am sure whe will make a very nice little colored doll, and you can call her Topsy."

Daisy was much pleased with this suggestion i and, for a time, Topsy was an object of great interest. The next morning, Daisy ironed the dress which she had left on the fence to dry; but the washing had caused it to shrink so that it was now too small for the doll.

"Can't you make it larger, mamma?" she asked. "I do believe that Topsy has grown

since the dress was made."

"The dress was scarcely large enough when it was new, but that was all the cloth I had of that kind," was the reply.

"I wish papa would buy me a new dollie,

she went to the meadow for flowers; and thoughtlessly would she do a great many other things which, young though she was, she knew perfectly well were not proper for her to do. But she was such a loving and generous little girl that you could not think she ever really meant to do wrong. She was very quiet for


some time after her mother had spoken. length she said, "I do wish the Lord had had stuff enough to make me a big girl!' Why, Daisy?" asked her mother. "Because big girls don't be naughty."


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Mrs. Leaf smiled; but she was soon more

particularly pleased to see that her little girl was very careful not to scatter the crumbs about, and that, when she was done, she went to the door and threw them to the birds. "Now may


go out to play with Ella Clark?" she asked as she came in.

She received permission to go as soon as she had put away her playthings.

"What shall I do with Topsy?" was her inquiry.

Her mother promised her that before many days Topsy should have a new dress.

Ella Clark was only two years older than

Daisy; and, as they lived very near each other, they often played together. She was drawing her doll in a little carriage when Daisy went out; and, as she saw her, she called out,—“I am glad you have come, for now we can play go-a-visiting." Little girls who have passed many happy hours with their playmates can imagine what a pleasant time they had.

Cousin Lucy came over that afternoon, to the great delight of Daisy, who exclaimed, – 15 You have come to make Topsy a new dress, haven't


"Topsy! who is Topsy?" inquired Lucy in surprise.


Oh, don't you know? she used to be Eva, but now she is a little black girl who hasn't got a dress to put on."

Now, Lucy, answering Daisy's first question, could not say that she had come expressly for that purpose, but she did say that, if aunt Ellen would furnish the necessary materials, she was ready to go right to work. "Will you, mam

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A BEAUTIFUL ILLUSTRATION. At one of the anniversaries of a Sabbath School in London, two little girls presented themselves to receive the prize, one of whom had recited one verse more than the other, both having learned several thousand verses of Scripture. The gentleman who presided enquired, "And couldn't you have learned one verse more, and thus have kept up with Martha?”

"Yes, sir," the blushing child replied; “but I loved Martha, and kept back on purpose."

"And was there any one of all the verses you have learned," again enquired the President, "that taught you this lesson?"

“There was, sir,” she answered, blushing still more deeply; "In honor preferring one another." Arithmetical Problems.


An old woman, carrying eggs to market in a basket, met an unruly fellow, who broke them. Being taken before a magistrate, he was ordered to pay for them, provided the woman could tell how many she had; but she could only remember, that in counting them in the basket by twos by threes, by fours, by fives, and by sixes, there always remained one; but by counting them in by sevens, there was none remaining, Now in this case, how many was the number to be ascertained?


A sailor went into four public-houses, at each one of which he borrowed as much as he had in his pocket, and before leaving, spent in each place 24 cents. On leaving the last place he had spent all his money. How much did he start with?

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I am composed of 19 letters.

My 12, 14, 2, 13, 5, is an indispensable article in housekeeping.

My 18, 4, 14, 2, 16, 9, 5, is everywhere commended.

My 3, 8, 9, 19, is an article of clothing.
My 15, 11, 14, 7, is a bird.

My 17, 14, 4, 11, 19, 19, 6, 1, 6, 8, 14, 9, are dangerous.


My first is at the door; my second is a grain; When is a clock guilty of misdemeanor? my third is what most men covet; and my whole is one of the United States.

When it strikes one.

When do broken bones begin to make themselves useful? When they begin to knit.

My 9, 13, 10, is the name of a luminous body. My whole is a popular proverb.


I am composed of 16 letters.

My 13, 14, 10, 9, 12, is a division of an army.

My 15, 11, 4, 3, is the name of a noble patriot.

My 12, 1, 11, 11, 16, 8, 14, 7, 11, is the title of a familiar song.

My 5, 13, 11, 13, 10, 11, 6, 7, is delicious in warm weather.

My 9, 6, 2, 4, is a kind of vessel.

My whole is the name of a celebrated American author.



A mischievous urchin may soon do my first,
If he meets with a teapot or ewer!

My second brings on us both hunger and thirst;
My whole thirst and hunger can cure.


My first is a very warlike place,

Where drums and trumpets sound; My second's heard in every town,

Where peace and concord should be found. My whole is the name of a gallant man, Son of a well-known Highland clan.


My first in winter the warmth you desire;
My second is cold to the touch;

Both together are cold, yet appear all on fire,
Which has puzzled philosophers much.


Four words, though differently spelt, Are al pronounced the same.

Ye wits, proclaim them to the world
By giving each a name.

My first, a path you'll quickly see;
To poise you'll find my second;
My third is often made from milk;
And my fourth a measure reckon❜d.





at the fifth milestone, or the fiftieth, or the eightieth. It is the centre of our hopes and our joys. It is our pride in prosperity, and our


OME is one of the most beautiful words in refuge in adversity. It is our delight in health,


some of the holiest affections, the tenderest memories, the most pleasing dreams of our life.

In childhood there is no place like home," be it never so humble in its appearance, or poor in its appointments of comfort and ornament.

In manhood and womanhood, worn with the cares, and vexed with the infelicities of our lot, there is no spot on earth to which the heart turns so fondly as to the dear old homestead where we sported in childhood, learned our first lessons of love and trust, of labor and effort and duty, and came to know how sweet is the sympathy of those dear to us in the time of trouble.

And in old age when the years weigh heavily, and our manly activities and ambitions have come to an end, and the mind begins to wander from the present into the past, what place is so sacred as that ancient home where, when we were children, life was fresh and new and sweet to us? To what spot does the failing memory go back so often? and where does it linger so long and so lovingly, as around "the house where we were born, and the little window where the sun came peeping in at morn?"

Such is the hold which Home has on the thoughts and affections, whatever the material condition and circumstances; such is the tender charm which floats around it, wherever in the journey of life we pause to look back, whether

of our safety in temptation, and it is the one shelter which is never closed against the returning prodigal. It is the sacred spot on which our eyes first opened when we came into the world; and it is the spot on which we most earnestly desire that the failing vision may linger in the last moments of life.

With what longing the absent look toward home no matter what the cause of absence, whether duty, business or pleasure; when the appointed time is passed, how impatiently the wanderer waits the hour of departure. With what feverish pleasure he makes his last preparations for leaving; and with what joy he watches the sailors as they loose the white canvas to the favoring wind which is to bear the good ship to his own dear native shore. And even when in the fervid heat of summer, we go to the country or seashore for rest and refreshment, however much we need and enjoy it, after all we feel a sense of relief and comfort when we turn our faces homeward, and a glad satisfaction as we nestle down again into the familiar coziness of our home.


Then, on the other hand. is there anything so sad and painful as sickness away from home, and especially when alone in a foreign land, with the ocean rolling between us and those we love? How heavily the burthen settles down upon the fainting flesh: what shadows cloud

the mind, and what anguish, not of the disease, lays hold upon the heart. Those about us may be never so kind and attentive, and with light step and ready hand, may minister to our every want; but in sickness there is no step so light, there is no touch so soft and welcome, as that of wife or mother or sister; and there is no draught so soothing and helpful as that which is lifted to our lips by the hand of one we love. () when, in a distant land, among strangers, we are sick, and weary with suffering, and we know not how it will terminate - but above all, when we feel that we are sinking day by day, and that death is approaching with slow but certain step, then truly we feel that there is no place like home; then to meet death is a trial to the affections from which the strongest shrink away with undisguised grief and anguish. Then the ancient Arab blessing-"May you die among your kindred ❞— reveals its full meaning.

And how many such deaths there have been lately not in a foreign land, to be sure, but in many cases far away from home, in a land made worse than foreign by the neglect and cruelty of a barbarous enemy. How many brave men have died, under circumstances too painful and shocking to repeat, whose thoughts by day, and whose dreams by night, turned toward home with an agony of longing which no reach of language can describe. What sweet pictures of the sacred spot floated through their minds; what holy and beautiful memories came up to them from the past the cottage among the trees, the old well-curb, the brook across the field, the pleasant woods, the garden, the flowers and vines, and the dear faces of father and mother, of wife and children, of brothers and sisters. And to many a youthful hero, dying amid those nameless horrors, there came also the fair face of one who was to have

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hope; I think also of those brave women, those angels of mercy, who also with such generous courage left behind them home-comforts, security, ease, and luxury, that they might minister to these sufferers, and help them tenderly down the banks of the river of death. And I bless them in my heart, above all utterance in words, that they have thus filled the place of daughter, mother, wife, sister, to these heroic men, and by their assiduous watching and waiting, so far as it was possible, brought to the dying the sacred tenderness and sweet ministries of home. Noble, glorious women! True saints of humanity are ye, true children of God, the Universal Father. To you belongs whatever of promise, whatever of reward there is in that divine saying of Jesus -"Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, ye did it unto me; enter ye into the joy of your Lord.”

And what shall I say of the delight with which the returning soldier escaped from the harvest of death, climbs the last hill from which he looks down upon the dear home that waits to welcome him beneath its sheltering roof, and to bless him with the affectionate greetings of kindred, and of those who love him, and will rejoice henceforth to do him honor? or of the long absent mariner who, as he sails toward the familiar shore, catches sight of the tall spire that lifts heavenward near the house where he was born, and which shelters the beloved family whose prayers have gone up daily to God that He would watch over him amid the perils of the great deep, and bring him back in safety to his home?

I might dwell at great length on the joys incident to these and kindred occasions, but even with the little that has already been said on this fruitful theme, is it strange that the rest, the peace, the fellowship and happiness of Heaven

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