silence, unconscious of all that passed around him. He neither ate nor slept. In vain his wretched mother urged him to seek employment, with all the entreaty that her love and fears dictated. He would only mutter the name of thief, or appear too stupified to comprehend her meaning at all. The poor old men who attempted to secure him were capsized on every side, like the playing-card soldiers that delight our infancy; and the gate-keeper, a mighty man of valour, who advanced with a box as a shield and a crutch for a weapon, shared the same fate. The scene would have appeared ludicrous, had not his mother stood at a little distance wringing her hands in speechless agony. At length, deaf Jerry, an old soldier, who had lost his hearing in battle, and the master, with the assistance of several others, succeeded in for At length she, one day, so far prevailed, after using every argument she could think of, as to induce him to apply to a gentleman, who employed a great number of men of his trade. The gentleman, from his appear ance, was preposessed in his favour; he might, proba-cing the madman back to his prison-house. But these bly, have engaged him, but he unluckily asked his reason for leaving the dock-yard. To George's over-excited imagination, there was suspicion in the very name; rushed from the room, and hurried home. he His anxious mother met him at the garden-gate, and earnestly, passionately, he begged of her that she would never again ask him to apply for work. "Let me hide in a corner and die," he said, "rather than go out again to be looked upon as a thief." Week succeeded week, and months dragged on their weary course, still George was the same. Day and night he was watched by Mrs. Collins, as mothers only can watch. Their scanty stock daily decreased, and then she sought employment, even of the meanest kind, to earn a frugal meal. After her work was finished, with what joy she returned to her son, although he began to show fits of frenzy which even threatened her life! It was one evening, when George had long been even unusually silent, that when she spoke to him suddenly, he met her look of love with such a wild gaze that it froze the blood within her, and the dreadful truth broke at once upon her doubly widowed heart-her son was a maniac. For a long time, she refused even to listen to the persuasions of the neighbours to allow him to be re. moved. Many times he raised his hand against her, and once her life was saved only by an accident-if accident such an intervention could be called. A mother's love is a stranger to fear. But when he became so violent that nothing could restrain him, when every time she was obliged to leave him, she feared he might do himself an injury before her return, she submitted to necessity with an aching heart, and George was removed to the workhouse. It was shortly after this that one of his frequent escapes from the oakum room, (the strongest place of confinement the house afforded,) made such a lasting impression on my childish imagination. scenes occurred so frequently that it was deemed advisable to send him to Bedlam. In the meantime matters grew worse and worse with the poor widow. She was obliged to leave the cottage that had seen, her happiest days, and a small garret received herself and the remnant of furniture which had once been her pride. She visited her son every day, but he had long ceased to recognise her; she spent all she could get to add to his comfort. The deep melancholy expression of her thin and care-worn face showed the wretchedness that preyed upon her heart, but there was a light in her gentle eyes, speaking of comfort with which no earthly sorrow could interfere. Her dress, although old and patched, was always neat, and her rough-dried apron as snowy white as it had been in better days. It was a severe trial when George was sent to London; but still she went to see him as often as she could, walking all the way, for money was now far too valuable for her to spend upon her own comfort. At length, worn out by sorrow and privation, she was no longer able to work. And how did she live then ?-on the bounty of her poor neighbours. Oh! if there is a gift that has value in Heaven, it surely is the morsel saved by the poor from their already scanty meal, for one still poorer than themselves. The widow never wanted. After many, many months, there came a rumour that Mad Collins, partially recovered, was about to return to Deptford; but the ear to which that rumour would have been music, and the heart to which it would have brought hope, and health, and joy, had long been cold. The last time Mrs. Collins left her forlorn home, it was with the intention of visiting her son; a last visit she felt it must be, for her fast failing strength had long whispered that her trials and sorrows were soon to end. And she was right, for before she had left Deptford, one mile behind her, she sank exhausted by the road. side. Some one who knew her, passing at the time, assisted her home. She never spoke again, except to breathe in fervid and almost inarticulate words, one last, heartfelt, ardent prayer for her poor George. all that happened. When he heard of his mother's death, he wept; but his tears flowed without bitterness. 66 Soon, very soon," he said, "we shall meet again; And Collins returned to the workhouse. At first but, ob! now I feel as only the dying can feel,— he appeared bewildered, and then looked around how wrong I was to think so much of the opinion of almost wildly, as if in search of some familiar face; his the world. It was pride, the pride of a too-confident eye lighted on that of Jerry the soldier. "My mother "security was in my heart. I never thought of adversity, was all he could say. "Haven't you seen her ?" said Jerry, who, accustomed from his infirmity to judge from the expression of the face, guessed at the question he could not hear: "Didn't she visit you away there, where you have been stopping?" "No!" replied Collins, dejectedly, "I never sawI do not think I ever saw-my mother the whole time. Sometimes, indeed, I dreamed I heard her voice, but it must have been only a dream. If she were well, she would be here now. I fear she is ill, or," he added with difficulty," perhaps dead! Oh! if she is dead!" he continued, catching fright at the tearful eyes of the honest soldier,-"if she is dead, in mercy tell me so at once; let me know all my misery." And he was told, with all the kindness and caution that the simple narrator could use to break the shock; but it was one notwithstanding from which, in the still weakened state of his intellect, he never could recover. He did not become violent again, but settled down into confirmed melancholy madness. From this moment he never spoke again without being absolutely obliged. All day long, and day after day, he used to pace the yard with measured steps, his eyes fixed on the ground, or on the sky; and when night came, if he had been allowed, he would still have continued his monotonous walk. Before he went to bed he would kneel by his bedside and murmur over a fervent but childish prayer, just as he had done, when in infancy he kneeled at his mother's knee, and repeated the words after her loving voice. It was a mournful sight to see the strong man praying like a helpless child; but who can say that even then, with the lamp of mind 'extinguished, his prayers were not as acceptable at the throne of grace, as the petitions of the learned philosopher? This life could not last long; for he became daily weaker and weaker, and was at last confined to his bed, when it was known to the whole house that George Collins could not live many days. As is frequently the case, his reason returned to him before he died. He asked to see old Jerry, and requested from him an account of and I feared man more than God." He was grateful to Providence for the restoration of his senses, but he had not a wish to live. His death was as peaceful as, latterly, had been his life.* "Where is thy home?" I asked of one, Who bent with flushing face, To hear a warrior's tender tone "Where is thy home, thou lonely man ?" I asked a pilgrim grey, Who came with furrowed brow, and wan, He paused, and, with a solemn mien, "The land I seek thou ne'er hast seen, O! blest, thrice blest! the heart must be, From "Annals of Humble Life," one of the first literary efforts of a lady, published nearly twenty years ago. THE GIRL'S WORK-TABLE. BY MADAME EUGENIE. CURTAIN OR SCREEN FOR FIREPLACES. THE pattern for work which we give this month is a Curtain or Screen for a fire-place, it may either be worked in crochet or in darned netting; but, in which ever way, the cotton must be rather fine, or the work will hang heavily. It may be made to any width or length to suit the fire-place, and looks extremely elegant if hung over a bunch of flowers or basket in the fire-stove. COUNSELS FOR THE YOUNG. NEVER be cast down by trifles. If a spider break his thread twenty times, twenty times will he mend it again. Make up your mind to do a thing, and you will do it. Fear not, if trouble come upon you; keep up your spirit, though the day be a dark one. Troubles never last for ever; The darkest day will pass away. If the sun is going down, look up at the stars; if the earth is dark, keep your eyes on heaven. With God's presence and God's promises, a man or a child may be cheerful. Never despair when fog's in the air. A sunshiny morning comes without warning. Mind that you run after. Never be content with a bubble that will burst, or a firework that will end in smoke and darkness. Get that which you can keep, and which is worth keeping— Something sterling, that will stay When gold and silver pass away. Fight hard against a hasty temper. Anger will come, but resist it stoutly. A spark may set a house on fire. A fit of passion may give you cause to mourn all the days of your life. He that revenges knows no rest, If you have an enemy, act kindly to him, and make him your friend. You may not win him over at once, but try again. Let one kindness be followed by another, till you have accomplished your end. By little and little, great things are completed. Water falling day by day, Wears the hardest rock away. And so repeated kindness will soften a heart of stone. Whatever you do, do it willingly. A boy that is whipped to school never learns his lesson well. A man that is compelled to work, cares not how badly it is performed. He that pulls off his coat cheerfully, strips up his sleeves in earnest, and sings while he works, is the man for me. A cheerful spirit gets on quick; A grumbler in the mud will stick. Evil thoughts are worse enemies than lions and tigers; for we can keep out of the way of wild beasts, but bad thoughts win their way everywhere. The cup that is full will hold no more. Keep your head and heart full of good thoughts, that bad thoughts may find no room to enter. Be on your guard, and strive, and pray, POISONOUS SNAKES, ETC.-Poisonous snakes may be readily known by the shape of their head and neck; the head being very wide at the back, and the neck comparatively small. Some persons compare the head of a poisonous snake to the ace of spades, which comparison although rather exaggerated, gives a good idea of the poison-bearing head. It has a cruel and wicked look about it also, and one recoils almost instinctively. Should a person be bitten by the viper, the effects of of olive oil; and the effect of the oil is said to be much the poison may be much diminished by the liberal use increased by heat. Strong ammonia, or hartshorn, as it is popularly called, is also useful, as in the case with the stings of bees and wasps, and for the same reason. The evil consequences of the viper's bite vary much in different persons, and at different times, according to the temperament of the individual, or his state of health. I may as well put in one word of favour for the viper before it is dismissed. It is not a malignant creature, nor does it seek after victims; but it is as timid as any creature in existence, slipping away at the sound of a footstep, and only using its fangs if trodden on accidentally, or intentionally assaulted." Common” Objects of the Country, by the Rev. J. G. Wood. MOTIONS OF THE EARTH.-The earth travels in an hour, and in the same time turns more than round the sun at the rate of upwards of 68,000 miles 1000 miles on its own axis. And in one year the whole solar system moves over a distance of 33,550,000 miles. 116 GOLDSMITH, www KEZIA. A. H. LOWE. CHARADES. 118 My first is a parent; my second is half of a person; my whole is now before you. GEO. BENSTED. 119 My first is an element; my second is an article of food; my whole is a celebrated general. NELLA. 120 My first is what Solomon was; my second is an Eastern fruit; my whole is sometimes a royal command. M. A. C.W. 121 My first is a part of your body; my second is a company of musicians; my whole is to encircle my first. C. M. CARR, 122 My first is a girl's name; my second is what we live upon; and my whole is one of the United States. H. J. H. 123 My first is a useful part of speech, Not often seen in the broad daylight; A place where kings and beggars reside; And my whole is a battle of days gone by, Where a foreign king lost his liberty. ANONYMOUS. 124 My first is a foreign vehicle we see At times carry persons of ev'ry degree- |