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LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONES.

THE TWO WILLIES.

CHAP. I.-DEATH IN A HOVEL.

"God of the fatherless! I leave this orphan in Thy hands!"

A faint glimmer, a sudden flare, a flickering gleam, scarcely breaking the room's shadows. The candle was melting in its socket, for it was near midnight, and the dim wick had been wasting untended since night-fall.

Half disclosed, or obscured, as the flame waxed or waned, was a low pallet, on which, covered by tattered blankets, lay a woman whose life was ebbing as the candle flickered. Beside her reposed a little boy, whose quiet respiration mingled with the painful breathing of his dying mother.

When the flowers of summer-time withered upon their stems, and the brown autumn foliage drifted silently from the trees-and when, afterwards, sad winds of November rustled the fallen leaves into dry heaps by the way-side-a young, pale-faced widow, dwelling in one of those miserable hovels that are often found in the rear of fashionable streets, had wasted slowly, upon her bed, drifting from life, until now, at the winter's coming, her wearied dust was to be gathered among the dry heaps of a pauper burialground.

But the instinct of love was strong as death. She pressed her shrunken hand upon the head of the little boy beside her, and, with her last tremulous breath, murmured a prayer to the Merciful One:

"God of the fatherless! I leave this orphan in Thy hands!"

The child, awakened by his mother's embrace, clung, frightened, to her bosom; for the candlewick, nearly consumed, gave out, at intervals, only a sullen tinge that could not dissipate the gloom.

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Mother, mother! it is dark! where are you?" "Willie, I am going from you""Mother-"

"My child!-God will find-you a-mother!" One convulsive clasp of her boy's neck in the darkness-one tremulous movement of her lips, as with a parting kiss; and then the widow's spirit soared beyond its earthly habitation, and Willie clung to his mother's lifeless breast-an orphan.

Dwellers in other hovel-like apartments of the tenant-row-neighbours poor as the departed widow--came and stilled the child's loud grief with soothing words. Closing the eyes and straightening the limbs of the dead, they waited, curiously, while a coroner hurried through his routine, and the alms-house officer gave orders for a pine coffin, wherein to cover up the dust

of that friendless sufferer, who had died of neglect and privation.

But whither wandered the child Willie, when strange-faced men had nailed down the coffinlid, and when his tearful gaze beheld a dark hearse driven from the narrow alley? Was it the hand of his Father in heaven that led the poor boy out of this desolate home, and directed his young eyes, all blinded with weeping, away from those dreary tenant-house walls, that had, till now, surrounded him?

"Mother! dear mother! where are you?"

Sobbing thus, Willie wandered through the thoroughfares. His tattered garments brushed the rich apparel of many who passed him by unheedingly; his feeble cry sunk all unheard amid the bustle and tumult of traffic and pleasure. But still, as the tiny figure of the little child threaded the crowd, he lifted his sorrowful eyes, and stretched out his imploring handscrying, always—

"Omother! when will God find you for me?"

CHAP. II.-DEATH IN A PALACE.

A little white crib in the corner, and beside it a pair of sinall boots, with grass-mould of the garden still soiling them; in the corner a vacant chair, over the back of which hangs a boy's satchel. A child's velvet cap lies upon the chair; and near it sits a pet spaniel, with its black eyes fixed steadily upon the white-clothed crib. It is Carlo, the good little dog.

But where is Willie, whose shining ringlets used to dance so lightly on the breeze, as he frolicked with Carlo up and down upon the greensward, swinging his velvet cap, to make the little dog leap high and bark merrily? Ab, me! Carlo has nobody to play with him nownobody to love, as he loved his kind young master:

But Carlo remembers-O, he must always remember-how once, in the woods, he was chasing a silver-winged butterfly, down among the daisies and buttercups, by the brook-side; sharply barking as the bright insects circled above him; and how a cunning snake darted quickly from a tree's root, to strike with his cruel fangs; and then how brave Willie, who was following close behind his little dog, frightened the wicked adder back to his covert again. Ah! perhaps, if Carlo could talk, he would tell everybody how much he remembered and loved the dear boy who saved him.

His

But Willie-sweet Willie-is dead. musical voice will not any more awaken his tender mother, calling for her first kiss in the morning. His sunny ringlets lie damp on his pale

forehead; his white hands are crossed upon his, bosom. Willie is not any more a child in the world, but an angel in heaven, with a bright crown upon his beautiful head, and a golden harp in his hands.

The slow ferry was crossed, and at length the coach rattled through paved streets of the great town.

Very quiet, upon the carriage rug, at the feet of his late play-fellow's mother, the little dog Carlo lay, with head resting on his crossed paws. At intervals the poor animal would lift his eyes to the face of his mistress, as if sympathizing in her grief for Willie.

At last, the carriage was drawn up before the house, whence it had followed the sable-plumed hearse, and the mother of the dead alighted at her own door. It was quite dusk. Indeed, the gas-lights began to gleam far down the streets, making luminous vistas upon the walks. One bright lamp centred its rays upon the broad white steps of the lady's mansion, up which Carlo the dog leaped quickly, whilst the sad mother ascended with slow steps, weary from

Maybe, it was from Willie's harp, that such soft music came last night, seeming to float through the chamber, when his mother, weary with sorrowful watching, closed her eyes, for a few moments, and dreamed of her lost darling. But Willie now lies cold in his mamma's bed, and his little white crib is vacant. Only Carlo creeps closely beside it, placing his paws on the low pillow, and moaning for his absent playmate. And now, outside the house, how solemnly the carriages are drawn up in the street, one behind another-a long line, reaching from the great hall door to the corner; ay, and around past the alley, that leads to a row of wretched tenant-houses, a square in the rear. The coach-long vigils of sorrow. men sit silently upon their boxes, looking up at the closed blinds of the splendid mansion. They know that within the carved doors are many sorrowing hearts.

Sorrowing indeed!-around the little rosewood coffin, wherein is lying a beautiful sunnyhaired boy, with eyelids sealed forever to the light of earth: mourners, weeping for the departed; friends, who rejoiced so lately in his presence; playmates, of a short month since, who cannot believe their favourite gone.

The good minister opens the Holy Book, and prays fervently beside the bier, speaking softly of our blessed Jesus, who loved little children so tenderly upon earth, and calls them to himself in the bright immortal heaven.

Now, the pale mother kisses her boy for the last time; the little coffin is lifted very gently, and placed under its velvet pall. Slowly and solemnly, then, through the long streets, Willie is borne away to the silent tomb.

Birds sing still among the evergreens of the cemetery, though russet leaves are piled upon the graves, over which also flowers have been scattered by the hand of affection. But the mother of little Willie heeds not the singing birds, and the flower-cups are to her only as withered leaves.

CHAP. III.-"GOD TEMPERS THE WIND."

"It is all over! Was that harsh grating of earth upon the coffin-lid the last sound that shall ever connect the living with the dead? Is the darling one folded away from earth, henceforth forevermore?"

The mother of Willie falls back upon the cushions of her carriage, with a desolate sinking of the heart. She strives to hide the sorrow that she cannot hush.

Thus, away from the place of tombs, and back to the city, the carriages of mourners and friends were hurriedly whirled. That one only which contained the bereaved mother, was tardy on its way for the old servant who sat upon the box had no heart to urge his horses to a rapid pace.

Suddenly, little dog Carlo stopped, and barked sharply-then looked around and downward to attract the notice of his mistress; who raised her eyes, and saw upon the marble steps a sight that caused her to tremble with strange emotion.

A little boy was lying upon the white door stone, even as her dead darling had reclined upon his bier; his arms folded over his bosom, his eyes closed, and their long lashes resting upon cheeks pale as the marble which they pressed. Ringlets, like those of the lost one, clustered in disorder around the forehead of this stranger child, and a smile dwelt upon its sealed lips, even as those of her dear Willie, now shrouded away, beneath his flower-crowned tomb. The sorrowing mother clasped her hands, as she regarded the little boy, reposing thus, like death, upon the threshold, and then, yielding to a pitying impulse, sank on her knees beside him, murmuring-" Is this poor child likewise with the dead?"

Carlo the dog barked shrilly, and, leaping on his mistress, began to lick the face of the poor little sleeper, who opened his eyes in astonishment and terror.

"O mother!" he murmured, lifting his delicate hands-" when will you come to your Willie?"

"Willie !-Willie!" sobbed the lady; and she clasped the outstretched hands of the young outcast; for, alas! this child, lying at her door, was only that orphan boy whose mother had been carried from her squalid bed in the tenanthouse, and who had been wandering through the city streets, till at last, from weariness, he had fallen asleep upon these marble steps. His small feet were naked and bruised by the harsh stones, over which they had travelled. clothes were rent and soiled, and very neglected was his whole appearance; for he had known no mother's care during the long weeks of the widow's sickness. But yet his smile was beautiful, and his voice touchingly soft, while he murmured

His

"Mother! dear mother! when will God find you for me?"

Was that tattered and desolate outcast a mes

senger of comfort vouchsafed to the stricken mother, who had just laid her darling in the grave? Was he sent by the angel Willie, to the door of her lonesome home? May-be it was only fancy; but the lady seemed to hear, as she rose from beside the stranger-child, with prayer on her lips and her eyes lifted to heaven-she seemed to hear a silver-toned whisper, falling like a note of music through the dusky air, and saying to her heart-" Remember Willie !" Did Carlo hear it, too, that he stood so quietly, his paws upon the breast of the boy-outcast, and looked up pleadingly, with his black eyes, to the face of his weeping mistress?

Much the good coachman wondered, when his lady bade him lift the child tenderly, and carry him into the hall. And much the servants of the mansion marvelled to see that little orphan one, after a few days, clothed in garments like those of their departed Willie, and gam-'

bolling with the dog Carlo over the greensward. But the young stranger soon became a favourite among the household, and, in his love and gratitude toward his protectors, there seemed always to enter something of a higher spirit, as if he were indeed a link of remembrance, and a medium of blessing between Willie in the angelworld, and his beloved mother upon earth.

And not alone this little waif, adopted from the threshold, but many another poor neglected child of the great city, had cause for gratitude, deep and abiding, that the lady of the marble mansion now bowed her heart to the holy influence of charity. Many an outcast did she seek out and rescue from the by-ways of suffering, uplifting their sad hearts to thankfulness, and their souls nearer to the light of heaven, where dwells in happiness her own dear absent Willie, rescued and cherished by Jesus, the lover of children.

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QUARTERLY MAGAZINE OF THE INDEPENDENT ORDER OF ODDFELLOWS. (Manchester.)—In the current number of this quarterly the Editor (Mr. Hardwick, who has done and is still doing so much in the interest of the Society of which this publication is the organ, and who has made many sagacious revelations on the subject of friendly-society finance) draws attention to the false principles of many competing clubs, which profess to give, on impossibly-inadequate terms, advantages equal to those in which the terms of membership are much higher. For a common subscription of sixpence a week, and an initiation-fee of half-acrown, from young men who join between the ages of eighteen and thirty, the following benefits are promised, viz.:

Ten shillings a week during all sickness; ten pounds on the death of a member or his wife, and five pounds on the death of a member's widow. In addition to these insurances, free medical attendance and medicine

are provided, as well as relief to those travelling in search of employment.

The working-expenses of the Society are to be paid out of the money thus raised, and "the only recognition," says the writer, "of the startling truth that, as men grow older, they are liable to increased incapacity to labour, owing to sickness," &c., is to be found in an announcement that persons joining between the age of thirty and forty are required to pay a double entrance-fee. Very forcefully the author of the forthcoming "Manual of Friendly Societies" shows the utter fallacy of such a scheme, and the impossibility of a pitiful half-crown paying the difference in the liability of a man entering

at eighteen years of age, and of another who joins at the advanced age of forty:

The value of the young man's life, on his joining the Society, is more than forty years; while that of his elder brother is worth little more than five-andtwenty! The liability to the payment of the mortalityinsurance in the latter case is fifteen years nearer than in the former, and yet a portion of the said half-crow! is presumed to be sufficient to form an equitable equivalent to the young man's fifteen years' annual contribution for this purpose.

The writer then goes on to point out that the young man's liability to sickness for the first twenty years after entrance is little more than sixteen weeks, while the liability of the man entering at forty, for, the first twenty years of his membership, is more than forty weeks:

Yet the remaining fraction of the aforesaid haifcrown is coolly presumed to be sufficient to meet the demand for the additional twenty-four weeks' pay, at the rate of ten shillings per week, as well as to provide for the still heavier sickness after age sixty! Of tions are appropriated to the liquidation of the decourse it results that the young men's early subscrip mands of their elder brethren (?)—and when their time of heavier sickness comes, they will find the club bankrupt, like hundreds that have gone before it, or else that they have been compelled to continue the "sell" on other young men who have followed in their wake.

Ignorant of financial laws, members rush to join these unsound clubs which promise impos. sibilities; but, by-and-bye, when young men are sufficiently educated to understand these laws, they will carefully examine the foundation

Our Library Table.

on which such specious promises are built, and "recognize themselves the absolute necessity, as well as the equity, of a graduated scale of in-payments according to age on entry." Amongst several amusing articles we particularly notice a paper, by Mr. W. F. Peacock, entitled "Up Cader Idris Overnight," which contains some nice descriptive paragraphs, and is generally interesting. "A Tale without a Title" is continued. Miss J. Munro contributes a sketch of travel from her inexhaustible reperMrs. C. A. toire of South African scenery. White gives a short paper on the "Flora of the Sea-side," and Mr. John Ingram an amusing one, aptly entitled "Amongst some Oddfellows," in which a numerous procession of traditional monsters, bearing some affinity to the human race, pass before us-giants nine feet highdwarfs short of three feet-Cynocephali (or dog-headed people)-Monoscelli (who have but one leg each)-Sciopodes (who lie on their backs at the hottest season of the year, and make umbrellas of their huge feet)-goat-like creatures with men's faces, and others again headless, but with eyes and mouths in their breasts-a description that tallies with that of St. Augustin, who, in his thirty-third sermon, entitled to his "Brothers in the Desert," testifies that when he went into Ethiopia to preach the Gospel, he saw many men and women without heads, who had two large eyes in their chest. Altogether, this is a good number, and very agreeable reading.

ness of men.

women, being healthy, clean, and capable of execution
at home. Deaf and dumb women may make good
dressmakers, but one can hardly imagine how they
can be employed as servants. No mistress who could
afford to give ordinary wages would take a deaf and
dumb servant, except out of charity, and it would be a
who could neither answer a bell, take a message, nor
most severe exercise of that virtue to engage a woman
understand a direction, unless it was written down.

ENGLISH WOMAN'S REVIEW.-(London: 23, Great Marlborough-street, Regent-street, W. Kent & Co., Paternoster-row.)-The first article in the current part of this quarterly (the claims of which to the interest and encouragement of our feminine readers we pointed out in a previous number of our magazine) draws attention, under the title of "A False Principle," to the presumed fact that, in practice, the happiness of women is less considered than the happiIn the first place the author illustrates her statement by reference, to the system prevalent in a certain asylum for the deaf and dumb, where the boys who discover talent (and these unfortunates have very often a keen perception of form and colour) are taught to draw and design, and, in after-life, obtain a livelihood by illustrating newspapers and serials, and by making designs for manufacturers, "by which means they earn excellent wages and are employed in a manner which is not disagreeable to them, and in which the sense of their infirmity is not constantly pressed painfully upon them."

The writer suggests that as many as possible of
the girls who discover a taste for them, should
be taught "wood-engraving, designing, or some
other pleasant trade, more or less connected
with the arts, such as glass-engraving, ivory-
to domestic service for these unfortunates; and
carving"-anything, in fact, would be preferable
perhaps this idea is making its way in the minds
of the executive; for the census shows us that
eleven deaf and dumb women are at present
"painters, engravers, litho-
are engaged as
employed as upholstresses; but while 68 men
graphers, wood-carvers, modellers, designers,
women are thus em-
and draughtsmen, no
ployed." Wig-making employs thirteen deaf
and dumb men, and the writer sensibly suggests
that this trade offers a suitable employment for
such women also. Passing from the exemplifi-
cation of the principle, that "the happiness of
women is of less importance than the happiness
of men," in the case of the deaf and dumb, the
author goes on to show that there is no subject
on which this false principle more distinctly
shows itself than in discussions on the employ-
She quotes from
ment of women.
Children of Lutetia," Blanchard Jerrold's ac-
count of the decline of wages in the Paris glove-
trade since the introduction of women-workers,
and reminds us that the persons who have real
cause of complaint are the women into "whose
special trade of needlework men have introduced
themselves." From the earliest ages the needle
has been specially appropriated to women. The
writer then goes on to show the causes that
have gradually tended to wrest the exclusive

The girls, however, in the same institution, are taught little drawing, and become, in after-life, servants and dressmakers. Now it is difficult to see why the girls should not be taught drawing as well as the boys, unless the above doctrine comes into play. Wood-engraving is an excellent employment for women-numbers of women, not deaf and dumb, engage in the occupation and earn good wages. It is one of the few trades which possess no drawbacks for |

The

use of it from her hands-causes which threaten,
it appears, to deprive her shortly of that most
feminine calling the business of dress-making.
One West-end tailor, it appears, has already
introduced the trade in his establishment, and
we may now look for the gradual spread of what
is assumed to be a profitable innovation. The
writer goes on to show why greater excellence
is attainable by men in this competition for
women's work than by women themselves.
The lucidity and carefulness with which this
article is written would tempt us to follow it to
the end did our space allow of our doing so;
as it is, we can only quote the following
passage:

One reason of his (the man's) success is probably
the greater length of time which men remain in
the trade compared to the time women remain.
of 20 is 68,634; the number of the age of 40, is
The number of milliners and dressmakers of the age
17,715. The number of tailors of the age of 20 is
12,220; the number at 40 is 12,110, Thus, if a

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head-milliner starts with sixteen young women in her employment, at the end of twenty years only four of these experienced hands will remain; the other twelve workers will be comparatively new hands. If a mastertailor has sixteen young men in his employment, at the end of twenty years he will still have fifteen of them left only one new hand will be required, unless his custom has increased. It is evident, therefore, that first-rate tailors have a terrible advantage over first-rate milliners; and one fears that, both in London and Paris, the milliners must eventually succumb, in a great measure, to their male rivals.

The long resumé, entiled "Public Opinion on Questions concerning Women," is wholly taken up with the subject of the suffrage for women, and the bias of the various journals and reviews with regard to the subject. The "Westminster Review" is quoted in its favour, and gives sound and well-considered grounds for its arguments, and for its faith in the righteousness and wisdom of the measure. The concluding paragraph

will show their drift:

The homes of the working-classes, education, factory acts (regulating the labour of women and children), sanitary laws, water supplies, drainage (all municipal legislation, in fact), the whole administration of the poor-laws, with its various subdivisions care of the pauper-sick, pauper-schools, &c.-all these are subjects which already, by common consent, are included in the peculiarly feminine province of home and charity. If the possession of a vote should induce more women to extend their interest to the comfort and happiness of other homes besides their own, it will certainly not have exercised a deteriorating in

fluence on their character.

The Times, whilst acknowledging the fact that men monopolise the national spoil with shameful greediness (?), that of the seventy millions raised by taxation (if the dividends be deducted of which women get their share) they do not get a hundredth part.

Even in our great commercial undertakings, such as railways, they are not employed, though thousands are, in France. Their wrongs are great, and our laws bear on their very face the stamp of man-made-law. But nevertheless, strong as the case may be, it only proves to us that women should be more cared for-not that they should be invited to care for themselves.

And the writer thence diverges to scathe the idea of suffrage for women with what is evidently meant for withering sarcasm. We are not able to follow the reasonings of the "Contemporary Review," the "Sunday Magazine," "Fraser's Magazine," and the Weekly Dispatch, all of which advocate the belief that a new and better political element is wanted-and the want points to the enfranchisement of woman.

The Editor of the "Englishwoman's Review" suggests the getting up of local petitions, the form of which is given in the current part.

ANNUAL REPORT OF THE ROYAL NATIONAL LIFE-BOAT INSTITU. TION, 1867.

The details of the current report are of the most satisfactory description, and exhibit an ever-widening sympathy on the part of indivi duals, public bodies, and provincial townships, with the objects of this nobly conceived and as nobly maintained Institution. Thirty-three new life-boats have been built during the past year, and the Insitution now numbers a fleet of one hundred and seventy-four life-boats; but large as the number looks, and bravely as they are manned, the Wreck Register of the Board of Trade shows the sum total of 1,787 shipwrecks, and the loss of 602 lives, against 17 vessels and 426 lives saved by the gallant life-boats men in the past year. Every new life-boat (or the means of building one) given to the Institution strengthens our seaports and coast-villages with enlarged power to aid imperilled ships and their crews. A new station is opened, from time to time, and the boat (franked to her destination by our great steam and railway companies) is received in triumph by her future guardians. The day of her arrival becomes a local holiday. She is drawn to her place of shelter on beach or strand, amidst the heartprayers and plaudits of the people. And brave men are never wanting to form a crew; for the Life-Boat Institution is in some sort a school of heroism and humanity, and its honorary meof life itself. Nor does it only encourage the dals and awards, prizes to be fought for at risk persons in connection with its own machinery,

boats and other means, a result accruing from 495 lives were rescued last year by fishing the rewards bestowed by the Institution" on all who are instrumental in saving life from shipwreck on our coast. We have so recently drawn attention to this great national undertaking for the succour of our ships and seamen, that we must refer our readers to the report itself for the interesting statistics in connection with it.

Donations and annual subscriptions will be thankfully received by all bankers in town and country and by the Secretary, Richard Lewis Esq., at the office of the Institution, 14, Johnstreet, Adelphi, London.

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