thin, small,
labour-worn hand tightly, and then turned and sat down. He, too, was
moved as well as she. But the children gathered around him, and seemed
gladder to see him than when he was last home. There was a reason for
this. Seeing the hand of George in a sling, he inquired the cause, and
when told of the accident, appeared deeply grieved, and said he should
not go back to the mill any more. The heart of his wife fluttered. Was
there a meaning deeper than a momentary impulse? At last little Hetty,
who had climbed upon his knee, said, "Where's my New Year's gift, papa?"

The father put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small
picture-book, and gave it to the child who was wild with joy in a
moment. He had a larger book for Emma, and Robinson Crusoe for George.

"And what for mother?" asked Emma, looking earnestly at her father.
"Haven't you brought dear mother a New Year's gift, too?"

"Oh, yes," replied the father, "I've got something for her also." His
voice was a little unsteady as he said this. Then he put his hand into
his pocket again, and, after keeping it there for a moment or two, drew
out a large folded piece of paper that looked like a title-deed, and
handed it to his wife, who took it with a trembling hand. She opened
it, read a few words, and, bursting into tears, turned and went quickly
from the room. Hers were tears of joy--unutterable joy.

Was it then a title-deed of property that her husband had given her,
filling her heart with gladness at the thought of relief from toil, and
privation, and suffering? No, it was better than that, and brought a
fuller and more perfect joy. It was a _New Year's gift_ such as she had
never dared hope to receive--the dearest gift in the power of her
husband to bestow. Already blotted with tears, it was tightly pressed
to her heaving bosom.

What was it? What could it be but the blessed temperance pledge,
signed, in a firm hand, with her husband's name.

That was indeed a happy New Year's day to the wife and mother, who,
when the morning dawned, felt that she was entering upon the darkest
days of her troubled existence. But a brighter day unknown was
breaking. It broke, and no gloomy clouds have since arisen to obscure
its smiling skies.

AUNT MARY'S PRESERVING KETTLE.

"I DECLARE, if these preserves haven't been working!" exclaimed Aunt
Mary, as she opened a jar of choice quinces, and perceived that, since
they were sealed up and carefully stored