Year: 1866

40 Happy at Home.


A little straw Of every day habit, floating
slowly and silently down the stream of life,
shows very plainly which way the tide sets
And when Mrs. Purple says with groan,
My husband never spends his evenings at
home, it is natural to inquire within ones
self why it is that Mr.. Purple finds other
resorts so much more attractive than the
household altar


II don't see why he can't be little moro
domestic, says Mrs. Purple.


Well, why. is it +? There is a reason for
everything in the world, say philosophers,
and there must be reason for this. 80,


In the first place. Mrs. Purple is one Of
those unfortunate housekeeper whose work
is never done. There is always something
dragging room to be swept, lamps to be
trimmed-fretful babies to be put to sleep,
while one eye is on the broiling meat and the
other on the muddy footprint unwittingly
left by Mr. Purple, on the doorstep sThere,
Purple, knew just how it would be.
wonder if you know the use of scraper on
door mat l should after al the time I've
spent in cleaning up"


And Mrs. Purple goes off into monoto-
nous recapitulation of her troubles and trials
that has the effect of lullaby upon the ba-
by, however trying it may be to the feelings
of the baby's father.


Moreover, Mrs. Purple, with all her clean
ing up, does not understand the elementa-
ry principles of keeping house neat
Things are always "round in the way ;" ta-
bic covers put on awry +; dust as hes under
the crate d; curtains torn away from their
fastened and pinned up until Mrs Purple
can find time" to readjust them. Some
how it looks forlorn and desolate, and un-
homelike when the master of the house
comes in at night Mr.. Purple, manlike.
can't tell where the the detection hes-he
don't analyze the chill that comes over his
heart as he crosses the threshold only
knows that things don tlook ship-shape y
And so he takes his last when his wife shack
is turned and sneaks ignominiously off, glad
to get away from the dead-alive fire, the
dusty room, and Mrs. Purple stongue, Who
can blame the man Mr.. Purple may be-
lazy and careless" and selfish" very
likely he is-most men have tendency that
way-but nevertheless he don't ike to be
told of it over and over and over again, IL
that persistent, Illogical sort of way that re-
minds you of an old hen running from side
to side in her coop, and poking her head
! through the bars in the same place every
seven seconds Mr.. Purple naturally won
ders why his wife don't occasionally allude
to the few good qualities he happens to pos
sess Mr.. Purple has every inclination to
be happy at home, if his better half would
only give him chance.


OF all the sweet tinted pictures of domes-
tic happiness that we find in the pages of
Holy Writ, there is none that suggests more
comfort than Abraham sitting in his tent
door in the heat of the day" under the
shadow of the palm trees of Mamre. De-
pend upon it, the good old patriarch never
spent his evenings away from home He
didn't believe in ';just running across the
plains to Lott house., or going over to Sod
ON to hear the news" No, Abraham liked
to sit quietly by his tent door, and very ike
ly Mrs. Sarah would come and lean over his
shoulder and chat with himafter the Orien-
tai fashion We have the very best of tes-
timony for knowing that she was very anna.
bic under the ordeal of unexpected com.
pany," when ''the calf tender and good
was dressed, and the three measures Of fine
meal baken on the earth


The idea of looking beyound the sphere
of home for enjoyment is at the root ofour
modern evils. Home should be the very
centre and sanctury Of ofhappiness and when
it is not, there is some screw loose in the do-
mestic machinery fyou want to surround
young man with the best possible safe
guard, don't overwhelm him with maxims
and homilies as to what he is and is not to
do. but make his home happy in the even
ines Let him learn that however hard and
cruel the outside world may be, he is always
sure of sympathy and consideration In one
place /! Woe betide the man, whatever his
| Tot or position, who hasin his heart ofhearts
no memory of home where the sunshine
never faded out and the voices were always
sweet. Where he as Rothschild, heis q
| poor man. es-s