THE FIRESIDE.

The Fireside.

A GOOD TALE FOR WIVES TO READ TO THEIR HUSBANDS.

A WORKING man-a Manchester calico printer-was, on his wedding day, persuaded by his wife to allow her two half-pints of ale a day as her share. He rather winced under the bargain; for, though a drinker himself, he would have preferred a perfectly sober wife. They both worked hard; and he was seldom out of the public-house as soon as the factory closed. The wife and husband saw little of each other except at breakfast; but as she kept things tidy about her, and made the small sum which he allowed her for housekeeping meet the demands upon her, he never complained. She had her daily pint; and he, perhaps, had his two or three quarts; and neither interfered with the other, except that at odd times she succeeded, by one little gentle artifice or another, to win him home an hour or two earlier at night, and now and then to spend an entire evening in his own house. But these were rare occasions. They had been married a year; and, on the morning of the anniversary of their wedding day, the husband looked askance at her neat and comely person with some shade of remorse as he observed, "Mary, we have had no holiday since we were wed; and, only that I have not a penny in the world, we would take a jaunt to the village to see your mother!" "Would you like to go, John?" asked she softly, between a smile and a tear, to hear him speak so kindly, as in old times. "If you would like to go, John, I will stand treat." "Thou stand treat!" said he, with half a sneer, "Hast got a fortune wench ?" "No," said she, "but I have got the pint of ale." "Got what?" said he. "The pint of ale," was the reply. John did not understand her nutil the faithful creature reached down an old stocking from under a loose brick up the chimney, and counting out her daily pint of ale, in the shape of three hundred and sixty-five threepences, put £4 11s. 3d. into his hand, exclaiming, "You shall have the holiday, John." John was ashamed, astonished, conscience-smitten, and charmed. He would not touch it, but said, "You have only had your share? Then I will have no more." But they kept their wedding day with the old dame; and the wife's little capital was the beginning of a series of investments that ultimately swelled into a shop, factory, warehouse, country seat, a carriage, and for aught we know, John was mayor of his native borough at last.

This is a good tale well told. It is given as a fact, and teaches a good lesson to wives as well as husbands. A prudent wife will, if at all possible, have a little purse of her own, and she may if the husband will behave like a man, and trust her; but if she be careless or wasteful he had better take care of the purse himself.

THE PENNY POST BOX.

The Penny Post Box.

CHEAP BREAD.

As we do not happen to have a letter on this subject in our box, and as just now it is of the first importance, we shall say a few words about it. Ever since the laws were repealed which taxed the poor man's loaf, the people of this country have tasted how good and sweet cheap bread is. But the landlords have been grumbling ever since, and now and then they have threatened to tax corn again. Well: they tried last year, but they could not manage it. This year they have got into power, and it is expected that they will have a General Election soon that they may get men into Parliament who will tax our bread again. You have all heard of the Anti-Corn-Law League, and how it broke up after it had succeeded in getting the cheap loaf. This League, finding that the landlords were about to try to tax corn again, has been revived, and in twenty-five minutes the gentlemen then present subscribed £27,500. Since then, this sum has been made up nearly £50,000. So now the League will go to work again to prevent the landlords from taxing our bread. We say the landlords; for it is all their doing. They find they must reduce their rents, or the farmers will be ruined. Some of the farmers are simple enough to join the landlords, which is very unwise; for if they would only be quiet their rents would soon come down. The labourers themselves are now much better off; for their wages are not lower, and they can buy all kinds of food and clothing cheaper than ever they could. If this bread-tax is put on again, it will be a law to make the poor man pay to support the rich. In fact, instead of a poorrate it will be a rich-rate, and nothing else. What we advise every poor man to do is to sign a petition for keeping the hands of the tax-gatherer off his loaf. Men and women too should all sign everywhere. They need not make any noise or disturbance, but go quietly about it. The Queen and Prince Albert, and all the best men in the nation, are on our side, and we shall be sure to succeed if we stick to it well. And let every man who has a vote refuse to give it to any gentleman who would tax his loaf, let him be who he may. Let us beat the dear bread folks this time, and we shall never have dear bread again.

Only think what a good thing it is to have plenty of bread at a cheap price; and lately it has been not so much as half the price it once was, which is as if a working man got double wages. It is indeed one of the saddest things in the world for children to be crying for bread when their parents cannot buy it for them. The rich landlords can better afford to bate their rents, than the poor pay more for bread.

FACTS, HINTS, AND GEMS.

Facts, Hints, and Gems.

FACTS, HINTS, AND GEMS.

THE CHILDREN'S CORNER.

The Children's Corner.

A CHILD'S DREAM OF HEAVEN.

"OH, mother, mother! such a dream
As I have had to night,
Such fields, such flowers, and such

a stream

Of pure and heavenly light!

As I was sleeping on my bed,

A glorious angel came,

His eyes were stars, like gold his
head,

He called me by my name.
O mother, once I thought his face
Was like my father dear,
But then for tears I could not see

What was before so clear.

He hung above me, o'er me bent,

As did my father too,
Ere to his lowly grave he went
Under the graveyard yew.
And then what tender words he said,

And what a garland sweet,
He gently placed upon my head,
And raised me to my feet.

'Up, Mary Ann,' he said, 'arise,'
And far away we flew,

| On me, my mother, when he smiled,
My blessed Lord was known.
And then, methought, an angel fair
Did beckon me away,

A little child was sitting there,

As lovely as the day.

Mother, it was our little one,

For whom you wept so much;
To clasp it in my arms I ran,

But could not feel its touch.
His cheeks were like the roses red,
His hair was golden bright,
A wreath of flowers upon his head,
His garments shining white.
He said, 'What does my mother do
So long away from me,
My Father here, my sister too,

O where, O where is she?
I turn'd to seek my father nigh,
But he had flown away,
My brother too was gone, and I
Upon my pillow lay.

The meaning of my dream now tell,
Dear mother tell to me,

By clouds and stars, among the skies, As thou hast ever loved me well,

All silvery with dew.

And up, and up, and up we soar'd,
And stars were everywhere;
And mild and murmuring music
pour'd,

Along the balmy air.

And of the change I nothing knew,
So sudden and so bright;
But, mother, there I stood below
A throne of burning light.
Angels in thousands crowded round,

And bowed before its blaze,
And struck their harps of heavenly
sound,

And sung sweet hymns of praise.

One like the Son of Man, so mild,
Was sitting on that throne;

As I have still loved thee."

"Alas, my child!" the mother cried,

"Thy dream I well do know,

I have but thee, and none beside,
And now thou too must go."
And so it was the little maid

Soon droop'd and died away;
And in her brother's grave was laid,
Near where her father lay.
Oft where those precious relics sleep,

When summer evenings gleam,
The lonely mother comes to weep,

And think of that sweet dream.

To pray in faith she may abide,

Till God's good time shall come, Then lay her down by their dear side, In her good husband's tomb.