owed by a very different personage. No less a man than Judge
Curtis arose and gave us a little address, after which Amy Pierce and
Lois Partridge played a duet on the piano.

Then the refreshments were distributed. There was a merry time talking
and laughing over the feast, and we all went home. Miss Muffet looked
radiant, she had so many compliments, and Aunt Hetty, who appeared in
her stiffest calico, was not backward in accepting some for herself.
Though what she had done, except try my patience, it was puzzling to us
to tell.

My precious mother had the very prettiest surprise of all for us when
her trunks were opened. It is her way to make people happy, and she goes
through the world like an angel.

For every girl in the club she had brought home a silver pin in the
shape of a four-leaved clover. "Whether you keep up the club or not,"
she said, "it will be a pretty souvenir of a very happy summer."

I don't know whether I have made mother's way plain to all my readers,
but I hope they see it is a way of taking pains, of being kind, of being
honest and diligent, and never doing with one hand what ought to be done
with both. If I learn to keep house in mother's way I shall be perfectly
satisfied.

Father says: "Thee certainly may, dear child! For my part, I trust my
little lass."

The Lighthouse Lamp.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

The winds came howling down from the north,
Like a hungry wolf for prey,
And the bitter sleet went hurtling forth,
In the pallid face of the day.

And the snowflakes drifted near and far,
Till the land was whitely fleeced,
And the light-house lamp, a golden star,
Flamed over the waves' white yeast.

In the room at the foot of the light-house
Lay mother and babe asleep,
And little maid Gretchen was by them there,
A resolute watch to keep.

There were only the three on the light-house isle,
But father had trimmed the lamp,
And set it burning a weary while
In the morning's dusk and damp.

"Long before night I'll be back," he said,
And his white sail slipped away;
Away and away to the mainland sped,
But it came not home that day.

The mother stirred on her pillow's space,
And moaned in pain and fear,
Then looked in her little daughter's face
Through the blur of a starting tear.

"Darling," she whispered, "it's piercing cold,
And