able, it is said, to attend school. His education he gained by his own efforts at night, after working all day at his trade, and by the help of his wife.

The early home of General Grant, on the banks of the Ohio, more than fifty years ago, was without many of the comforts of civilized life. Till he

was seventeen, when he was sent to West Point, he lived the life of a common boy in a common home.

hut.

James A. Garfield, like so many of his predecessors, was born in a log log. When he he was one and onehalf years old his father died. The family was poor. When he had scarcely entered his teens he was doing a man's work in the harvest field. He learned the carpenter's trade. He worked on the Ohio canal. He was determined, however, to have an education, and, leaving his plane and scythe, he worked his way through the preparatory school, and with some help from friends, was able to graduate at William's College.The Interior.

HOME.

"Home thy joys are passing lovelyJoys no stranger hearts can tell!" What a charm rests upon the endearing name--my home! consecrated by domestic love, that golden key of human happiness. Without this, home would be like a temple stripped of its garlands. There a father welcomes with fond affection; a brother's kind sympathies comfort in the hour of distress, and assist in every trial; there a pious mother first taught the infant lips to lisp the name of Jesus! and there a loved sister dwells, the companion of early days. Truly, if there is aught that is lovely here below, it is home-sweet home! It is like the oasis of the desert. The passing of our days may be painful; our path may be check

ered by sorrow and care; unkindness and frowns may wither the joyousness of the heart, efface the happy smiles from the brow, and bedew life's way with tears; yet, when the memory hovers over the past, there is no place in which it so delights to linger as the loved scene of childhood's home! It is the polar star of existence. What cheers the mariner, far away from his native land in a foreign port, or tossed upon the bounding billows as he paces the deck at midnight alone --what

thoughts fill his breast? He is thinking of the loved ones far away at his own happy cottage; in his mind's eye he sees the smiling group seated around the cheerful fireside; in imagination he hears them uniting their voices in singing the sweet songs which he loves. He is anticipating the hour when he shall return to his native land, to greet those absent ones so dear to his heart.

Why rests that deep shade of sadness upon the stranger's brow, as he seats himself amid the family circle? Ah! he is thinking of his own sweet home; of the loved ones assembled in his own cheerful cot.

Why these tears which steal down the cheeks of that young and lovely girl as she mingles in the social circle? Ah! she is an orphan; she, too, had a happy home; its loved ones are now sleeping in the cold and silent tomb. The gentle mother who watched over her infancy, and hushed her to sleep with a lullaby which a mother only can sing, who, in girlhood days, taught her of the Saviour, and tuned her youthful voice. to sing praises to His name, has gone to the mansions of joy above, and is mingling her songs, and tuning her golden harp with bright angels in heaven. Poor one! She is now left to thread the weary path of life, a lonely, homeless wanderer.

Thus it is in this changing world. The objects most dear are snatched away. We are deprived of the friends whom we most love, and our cherished home is rendered desolate. "Passing away" is engraved on all things earthly. But there is a home that knows no change, where separation never takes place, where the sorrowing ones of this world may obtain relief for all their griefs, and where the sighs and tears of earth are exchanged for unending songs of joy. home is found in heaven.

This

In the shadowy past, there is one sweet reminiscence which the storms of life can never wither; it is the recollection of home. In the visioned future, there is one bright star whose lustre never fades; it is the hope of home of a heavenly home.

BESSIE GRAHAM'S NEW YEAR'S

RESOLUTIONS.

Bessie Graham sat before the cheery grate fire in the library, waiting for the tea bell to ring. It was New Year's Eve, and Bessie was thinking very earnestly. Dr. Deane had preached very impressively to the young people of his congregation yesterday, and Miss Grover spoke seriously to her class in Sabbathschool.

Bessie had been thinking about it all day, and wondering what she could do. Somehow she did not feel inclined to consult her mother, for, "very likely," she said to herself, " mamma would tell me to resolve for one thing that when I swept my room I'd be sure to sweep the corners clean. Of course I mean to be very faithful about everything, but who would ever think of making New Year's resolutions about such common-place things? I wish that I knew some poor folks to visit, or that mamma would let me have a

class in the mission school. It would be so delightful to have the children love me, and perhaps when they were grown up they would come and thank me for the good I had done them. Perhaps if I ask mamma once more, she will let me, and I'll ask Miss Grover if she does not know some poor folks that I can visit or work for. I could"

"Bessie, where are you?" called Tom from the hall.

"Oh, dear!" thought Bessie to herself, as she answered fretfully; “I do wish that Tom would let me have a little peace once in awhile; he is always wanting something."

، Ї say, Bess," said Tom rather hesitatingly. "Would you make candy with Joe and me to night?"

"No," said Bessie decidedly. "I have something else to do, and then I cannot endure that Joe Turner."

"Well, he's got enough sight better sister than I have, anyway. Carrie will do anything he wants her to," exclaimed Tom.

"Then have Joe ask her to make the candy, if she can find amusement with two such rough, saucy boys. I'm willing, I'm sure,' replied Bessie.

Just then the tea bell rang, and Tom obeyed the summons with a sullen, angry face; but Bessie never once noticed it; she was so busy wondering if she could persuade mamma to let her take that class.

After tea Tom went directly off some where, but Bessie did not notice that either. If he had only been a member of that mission class, for instance, she would have been very much concerned about him, but as long as he was only her brother, she was not willing to exert herself in the least to keep him away from the street, and the companions he would be likely to meet there.

"Where's Tom?" asked mamma, the first thing, when she came in from her ride to grandpa's.

"I'm sure I do not know," replied Bessie. I haven't seen him since supper."

Mamma looked troubled. It was after nine, and she did not like her boy wandering about the streets. "Couldn't you have kept him at home, Bessie?"

"I suppose I could if I would amuse him, but I can't be bothered with him all the time. Why doesn't he amuse himself?"

Mamma turned away with a sigh, and just then papa came in.

"Where's Tom?" was his query instantly.

"Out somewhere. Bessie does not know where. Why?" asked mamma anxiously, for papa seemed very much disturbed.

"Oh, nothing very particular, only some of the boys have gone to the river skating, and I do not think it is quite safe. Tom is over at Joe's I presume. I'll step over and see.”

Mamma's face grew very white, and even Bessie listened anxiously for papa's return.

When he came he only stopped at

the door.

"He isn't there, and they do not know whether he went to the river or not. Sam Turner wanted him to, they think. I down guess I'll go and see."

But before papa was down the steps Joe came rushing up with a white face. "Somebody's drowned in the river, and they are bringing him up and Jack Peters thinks-it's Tom."

Papa went down the street like a flash. Mamma tried to steady herself by the stair case. Bessie burst into tears, and crouched down at her feet.

"Oh, mamma, mamma, it's all my fault! He wanted me to make candy and I wouldn't because I was dream

It seemed hours to Bessie. How could she bear it?

"And to think I thought I was good enough to teach a class! I'm too wicked to live. I shall never be happy again-never! Oh, if I could only have Tom back again, I would do anything in the world for him! But I can never do anything now. I have as good as killed him.”

Just then there was the sound of a familiar, merry whistle, the door opened, and in walked-Tom, without the slightest symptoms of being "drowned."

"O Tom, is it you?" cried Bessie. ""Tisn't any one else that I know of," replied Tom.

"And weren't you in the river at all?" asked mamma.

"Not that I know of. Havent been there anyway. The boys wanted me to go, but I thought that you would not want me to. What's up, any way?"

Before mamma and Bessie could finish their story, papa came in, and said that one of the boys had broken through, but was rescued alive.

"O Tom," said Bessie, putting up her tear-stained face for a kiss, "if you will forgive me for being cross to-night, I'll make candy or do anything whenever you want; but don't get drowned!"

"Not much I won't, if I can help it, and it will be awfully jolly if you will do things once in awhile."

"I've just got the best sister in the world," said Tom a long while after. But Bessie never mentioned the mission class to her mother.

KATE S. GATES.

THE FLOWER GATHERER,

FROM THE GERMAN.

Theresa, a delicate and innocent child, had passed the fairest portion of the Spring upon a bed of sickness. When she began to recover and regain her strength, she talked a great deal about the flowers, and one day inquired whether they blossomed as beautiful as they had done the pre-. vious year; for she loved the flowers very much, but she could not go out to gather them. But Erich, the brother of the sick girl, took a little basket, and secretly said to his mother, "I will go out and bring her the most beautiful that I can find in the fields!" So he went out into the fields for the first time that season, for as long as his dear sister had lain there sick, he had not left her. It seemed to him now as if the Spring had never been so beautiful. dren, can you tell me the reason of this? It has because he looked upon it with a pious and loving heart.

Chil

Up and down the mountain ran the merry hearted boy; all around him the nightingales were singing, the bees were humming, the butterflies fluttering, while at his feet the most delightful flowers were blossoming in the greatest profusion. So he went on, singing and skipping, from one hill to another, and from one flower to another, while his soul was as bright as the blue sky above him, and his eyes sparkled like the little brook that comes purling from the rock.

At last his little basket was full of the most beautiful flowers, and on the top lap a wreath of field-strawberries, strung

like rubies on a spear of grass. With a delighted eye the boy looked into his full basket, and then laid down to rest a little while upon a bed of soft moss growing in the

shadow of an oak. Here he gazed quietly round upon the beautiful landscape, as it reposed in all the splendor of Spring, and listened to the varying song of the nightingales.

But he had become weary with enjoyment. The low hum of insects and the song of the nightingale stole softly over his senses and he slept. So he lay near his little baskethimself a living type of sensual pleasures, with their exhausting enjoyment-and their withering.

Peacefully slumbered the beautiful boy, when, behold! a storm arose in the heavens. Darkly and silently the heavy clouds drew their mantle over the heavens; the lightnings flashed, and the voice of the thunder sounded still nearer and louder. Suddenly the wind shook the branches of the oak, and the startled boy awoke. All around him he beheld the heavens veiled in threatening clouds. No sunbeam illuminated the fields. The next moment a violent thunderclap completed the desolation of the scene. The poor boy stood as if stupefied before this change of things.

Son of pleasure, art thou safer upon thy gay and thoughtless path?

Thick and heavy rain-drops were already rustling through the leaves of the oak. Then the boy seized his little basket, and fled. The storm was over his head. Rain and tempest, strove together, and the thunder rolled fearfully. The water streamed from his locks and from his shoulders, and scarcely could he pursue his way. Suddenly a violent gust of wind struck the basket in the hand of the

boy and scattered all his carefully

collected flowers over the field.

Then his countenance grew dark, and with angry impatience he hurled

the empty basket upon the ground. Loudly weeping, and drenched with the rain, he at last reached the dwelling of his parents.

Wise son of earth, are thy impatience, and the display of thy anger more amiable, when a wish is denied thee, or a favorite plan has miscarried?

The storm soon passed away, and the heavens again became clear. The birds began their songs anew, and the husbandman once more proceeded to his labor. The air had be

come purer and cooler, and a sweet quiet reigned over the valley and the hills. The newly watered fields drank in fresh strength and beauty. Every thing appeared renovated and young, as when Nature first came from the hand of her loving Creator, and the inhabitants of the fields looked up with grateful joy to the distant clouds, which had brought to their pastures blessings and wealth.

Storms purify the air, and through the dark cloud heaven sends down its blessings. Sufferings and struggles encompass the son of earth, that he may beget in himself the fruit of improvement.

The clear heavens soon beckoned the frightened boy again in the fields. Ashamed of his angry impatience, he went silently back to find the basket which he had thrown away, and to fill it anew with fresh flowers. He also felt himself renovated. The breath of the cool air, the fragrance of the fields, the leaves of the trees, the song of the woods, all appeared to him, after the storm and refreshing rain, doubly beautiful. And the mortifying memory of his foolish and unjust anger, made his joy softer and humbler.

The pleasures of earth need the root of bitter reverses to elevate and

CHANGES IN LIFE.

The following interesting sketch is one of the lessons that teach forcibly the true "mission" of woman in her most lovely development of character, that is, being able to adapt herself to the fortunes of her husband, and "help" him in all good and noble efforts, if she has been rightly trained:-

"When Robert Peel, then a youth, began business as a cotton-printer, near Bury, he lodged with his partner, William Yates, paying eight and sixpence per week for board and lodging. William Yates' eldest child was a girl named Ellen, and she very soon became an especial favorite with the young lodger. On