seen with their stockings out at heels, their gown in slits, and their apron-strings tied together in knots,-strong symptoms of a serious want of industry. Cultivate an honest pleasure in seeing your daily task done, and well done. Since it is a settled point that you are to be employed by others, the more you can do, and the better you can do it, the more valuable you become to your employers, and at the same time you are gaining more and more knowledge and experience for future

use.

There was once a person who applied for a place in the service of a family in London: among other questions put to her by the mistress, she was asked, "Are you afraid of work?"

"Afraid of work!" she exclaimed; "why, have I not come all the way from Yorkshire to London to seek it?" "And what kind of work can you do?"

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Why, I can do what is wanted to be done: if I have not done it before, sure I can learn. Pay me well and feed me well, and I will do the work of two."

Nor was this an empty boast. She was hired by the family to whom she applied, and lived with them several years. She maintained a good character in every respect, and, in the matter of industry, far above most servants. No sort of work came amiss to her, no quantity discouraged her. She was never in a bustle, but went right on with her business, and had always finished in good time. While many people would be collecting their materials, and beginning to prepare to set about a thing, she would have done the thing and cleared away the litter; and when they would be complaining of weariness, and reckoning up how much work they had yet to get through, she had finished her daily work. Having thus done her duty towards her employers, which was measured not merely by their requirements, but, in addition, by her own ideas of what was fit and right, she usually had a long evening to employ herself as she pleased. She never spent it in idleness. "Change of work," she would say, "is as good as play." She was always usefully employed, cheerful, and never seemed weary. Her employers knew her value, and rewarded her liberally after serving them faithfully many years, she returned to her native place, and settled respectably, and really rich in the fruits of her own Industry.

Useful Lads; and Esther Copley.

BAD MANAGEMENT.

"THERE are the beds to be made, - and the breakfastthings washed, and pudding and potatoes to be boiled for dinner."

A bad manager receives these directions from her mistress; and to work she goes, with bustle enough, perhaps, as if she would accomplish it all long before dinner-time. She makes the beds, and comes down to wash the breakfast-things. "Oh dear! oh dear! was ever anything so provoking? not a drop of water in the kettle, and the fire just out!" Then the sticks and the bellows go to work-(by the way, I never knew any but a bad manager who found it necessary often to use the bellows) ;-- at length the water boils, and the clock strikes-"Why, what o'clock is that? My pudding ought to be in; and it is not made, nor any water set on for it! Well, I must use this, and do the teathings afterwards." The pudding is made, and put in halfan-hour later than it should be; then to work again, to heat water for the tea-things: it boils-but she "must now first put the potatoes on, or they will not be half done by dinnertime." The potatoes are put on, and the water is poured out: but now the family are assembled for dinner, and the cloth must be laid; and the potatoes are all but raw, and the pudding but half boiled; and the water cold, and the teathings not washed up; and the mistress displeased, and the house thrown into confusion! It seems never to occur to a bad manager, that there are some things which, if once set a-going, go on by themselves. If she had but supplied the fire with coals, it would have drawn up; and set on the kettle, the water would have boiled for the tea-things, while she made the beds; and the fire would have been at liberty for the pudding water to be set on;—and all the mischief would have been prevented.

Cottage Comforts.

EXEMPLARY ECONOMY.

Ir is now generally admitted, that almost all the poverty among us is occasioned by want of economy in some way or other; and, to show how much can be done by good management, I could name a widow, still living in this parish

(Stobo), whose husband was a ploughman, with an income of only about twenty-five pounds a year, upon which they brought up a delicate family of ten children, living as comfortably as his neighbours, paid all their accounts, and at his death left his widow sixty pounds; of which, though many years have passed since, she has scarcely ever spent a shilling. While others, with not half the number in family, and perhaps double their income, are continually in poverty, and are always ill-clothed, and never have a comfortable meal. Surely there must be something wrong here!

Peebleshire Advertiser.

QUESTIONS.

I.—If a labourer earns twelve shillings a week, how much is that a year?

Ans. £31 4s.

II.- How many shillings per week will make the sum of twenty-five pounds a year? Ans. 98. 74d.

THE LITTLE MURMURER CORRECTED.

SARAH BREWER was left an orphan at an early age. Her mother she had never known; but her father, who was very fond of her, did his best to make her happy, and to bring her up well; and Sarah did not discredit her father's care, for she was a diligent, obedient, and affectionate child, and at thirteen years of age she was become his chief earthly comfort. But she had scarcely reached the age of fourteen when her father died. Some kind friends placed her with a worthy woman, who had known her from infancy, until a situation, in service, could be obtained for her; and this, through the recommendation of a friend, was secured in a few months.

Sarah Brewer went to live in the family of a respectable tradesman. She was expected to attend chiefly to a little boy, under two years old, to keep the nursery clean, walk

out with the child, and do needle-work. At busy times she was also to assist in the kitchen.

The evening that Sarah went to her place, her mistress spoke kindly to her, told her what her work was to be, and how she wished it done and then added, — "I hope, Sarah, you will be comfortable among us. This, in a great measure, depends upon yourself. Those who do their duty in their station, and content themselves with the lot in which Providence has placed them, go the likeliest way to be happy themselves, and make those about them so. You must observe the rules of the house, and get the habit, as quickly as you can, of minding them with exactness and regularity. Some things, which you are told to do in a certain manner, you may at once see to be reasonable and proper; but there are others which it may not appear to you to be at all important whether they are done in this way or that. Accustom yourself, however, to comply at once with what is desired of you; you cannot imagine how much inconvenience and mischief may arise in a family from the neglect of this rule."

Not to prolong this history, Sarah, on the whole, was thankful she had so comfortable a situation, and it was her general endeavour to give satisfaction; but neither Sarah, nor her place, was perfect. Her fellow-servant was not good-tempered: she would snap at poor Sarah, and drive her about sadly, and sometimes even scold her for not doing properly something she had never taught her to do. Sometimes, also, Sarah got into disgrace with her mistress, for not rising in proper time in the morning. On those days, Sarah observed that everything went wrong. Then, once or twice she wanted to imitate the foolish finery of a servant at the house opposite. This her mistress would by no means suffer; and Sarah felt discontented, when she had spent her money to buy something smart, and her time to make it, that she could not have the pleasure of wearing it. One time, indeed, she was so near giving way to discontent, that if she had had a foolish person to consult with, instead of her faithful and prudent friend and foster-mother, she would certainly have thrown herself out of a good place.

It happened that her mistress was confined, and, of course, there had been more work than usual for every body to do. Betty always did what was required, but gave way to her ill-temper; and Sarah had an extra portion of scolding. The little boy, also, was restless and poorly; and, as Sarah

now had the full charge of him, her night's rest was disturbed, and she felt often wearied, low, and fretful; nor could she now speak to her mistress, whose kind manner would have soothed and encouraged her. She could not help sighing for the days that were past, when she had only her dear father to please, and was sure of receiving tenderness and indulgence.

Mrs. Roper had promised the servants that, before the nurse left her, they should each have a day to go and see their friends. Sarah's day came just at the time she was so much disheartened; and, instead of feeling pleased at the thought of visiting her old friend, she indulged her mind in summing up a gloomy list of grievances, to lay before her, which having done, she burst into tears, and added, "Oh, Mrs. Simpson! if my poor dear father were but living, I should not be where I am now !"

"But, my dear Sarah, are you not where Providence has placed you? Are you not where all your wants are supplied; and where you are taken care of, and kept from evil?"

"Yes," said Sarah, "very true; but that is not all I wish."

"Nor have you any right to expect all you wish," said Mrs. Simpson; "or, if you do expect it, in this world you will never attain it. But do you not think, Sarah, that it is very ungrateful to repine at a lot which thousands, as deserving as yourself, would be truly thankful for? Have you forgotten that, when you expected nothing but to go to the workhouse, you then said how happy you should be to get the meanest, hardest place, in a steady respectable family? and now, for some trifling cause, you seem to think you have a right to murmur, and fly in the face of a good Providence! I hope, Sally, you will think better of this. Read your Bible, and pray earnestly, and then your mind will become composed and resigned, and you will be able to see things in a true light. Besides, in the course of a week or two, your present troubles will vanish away: your mistress will be about in the family as usual; the little boy will have cut the tooth that teases him and makes him cross; the work will be lighter, and Betty will be in better temper; and then even Sarah will be ready to say,' How could I be so weak as to fret myself about such trifles?' So dry up your tears, my dear, and let us employ ourselves cheerfully, these few hours, together. Recollect, too, Sarah,