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To Read an Inscription on a partly obliterated Silver Coin. Put the poker in the fire when red hot, place the coin upon it, and the inscription will plainly appear of a greenish hue, but will disappear as the coin cools.-J. M.

To Clean Bottles Infected with Bad Smells.Put into bottles so affected some pieces of grey or brown paper; fill them with water; shake the bottles strongly; leave them then a day or two in this state, when, finding them more or less affected, repeat the process, and afterwards rinse them with pure water.-S. S. T.

To Restore Ivory.-To bleach a card-case, expose it to the sun in a close glass shade, previously washing it in spirits of wine and water, with a small quantity of soda in it. Allow it to dry very slowly in a cool place before exposing it to the sun. But, under any circumstances, carving in ivory is apt to split, and become unglued. For an ink spot, try a little salt of sorrel.— MARY C.

Paste for Sharpening Razors.-Take oxide of tin levigated, vulgarly termed prepared putty, one ounce; saturated solution of oxalic acid, a sufficient quantity to form a paste. This composition is to be rubbed over the strop, and when dry a little water may be added. The oxalic acid having a great attachment for iron, a little friction with this powder gives a fine edge to the razor.-J. R. C.

Best Position for Bee-hives.-The best situation for hives is to face the south, or the southeast. From the north they should always be sheltered. As bees require a great deal of water, they will not thrive unless there is a stream in their vicinity. The grass round their bench should be kept free from weeds, and some dwarf or low flowers may come within two feet of it; but tall plants will assist destructive insects in getting to the bees.

To make the Oil in Lamps last longer, and to Remove the thick Smoke.-Dissolve in a glass of water as much salt as will fully saturate the water, and steep in it the wick, which must be afterwards dried; pour into this water an equal quantity of oil, and then put them into a bottle and well shake them, in order to mix them together: trim your lamp with this mixture and the prepared wick.-The linseed oil is the principal oil which has been used in this experiment, but other oils, it is said, will answer the same purpose.-S. S. T.

Method of Binding School-books-When the books have been cut, coloured, and backed, cut off the part of the bands intended to be laced to the pasteboards, and glue on the back a piece of strong smooth linen cloth, which must reach within half an inch of the head and foot, turning on the sides about an inch; paste the boards on each side of the cloth, fixing them close in at the groove, and give the books a firm pressing in the standing-press till dry. Square the boards, glue the backs, and cover and finish the books in the usual manner. This method will secure and give strength to the joints, so as effectually to prevent the leather from breaking, and require no more

time than lacing in the bands. The edges may now be coloured, sprinkled, or marbled, as required.-M.

To Make Artificial Red Coral Branches for the Embellishment of Grottoes.-Take clear resin, dissolve it in a brass-pan, to every ounce of which add 2 drachms of the finest vermilion; when stirred well together, choose the twigs and branches, peeled and dried; then take a pencil and paint the branches all over whilst the composition is warm; afterwards shape them in imitation of natural coral. This done, hold the branches over a gentle coal-fire till all is smooth and even, as if polished. In the same manner white coral may be prepared with white lead, and black coral with lamp-black. A grotto may pebbles, pieces of large flint, shells, moss, stones, be built, with little expense, of glass, cinders, counterfeit coral, pieces of chalk, &c., all bound or cemented together with the above described cement.-J. MASON.

To Renew Floating Tapers.-Having saved a sufficient quantity of old bottoms belonging to tapers that have been used, wipe them clean one by one, and spread them out on a sheet of coarse paper. Melt some white wax, and take some of the very finest or smallest white cotton cord, such as is scarcely thicker than a coarse thread. Having melted the wax, dip the cord into it while hot, so as to cover it completely with a coating of the liquid. Then dry it in the open air, and when quite dry and stiff, cut it into pieces of equal size, about an inch in length, and put them through the holes of the old taper-bottoms, leaving a little bit beneath or on the under side to be turned up, and pressed hard against the wood with your finger, so as to stick fast and secure the wick from slipping out. Put the tapers into a box, and keep them for use.AN ECONOMICAL HOUSEKEEPER.

To brush Clothes.-Have a wooden horse to put the clothes on, and a small cane to beat the dust out of them; also a board or table long enough for them to be put their whole length when brushing them. Have two brushes, one a hard bristle, the other soft; use the hardest for the great coats, and for the others when spotted with dirt. Fine cloth coats should never be brushed with too hard a brush; this will take off the nap, and make them look bare in a little time. Be careful in the choice of the cane; do not have it too large, and be particular not to hit it too hard; be careful also not to hit the buttons, for it will scratch, if not break them; therefore a small hand-whip is the best to beat with. If a coat be wet, and spotted with dirt, let it be quite dry before brushing it: then rub out the spots with the hands, taking care not to rumple it in so doing. If it want beating, do it as before directed; then put the coat at its full length on a board; let the collar be towards the left hand, and the brush in the right: brush the back of the collar first, between the two shoulders next, and then the sleeves, &c., observing to brush the cloth the same way that the nap goes, which is towards the skirt of the coat. When both sides are properly done, fold them together; then brush the inside, and last of all the collar.-W. CHRISTOPHER.


Put down four nines, so that they shall make one hundred.


Fair, weeping England! thou hast lost a Chief,
Willing, all times, to speed to thy relief:
What worthy son e'er valued mother more,
Than that bright one, now led to Lethe's shore?
Full oft, when world was shaken, did he view
My peril first, while strife exub'rant grew!
He lived in times when my fell second shone,
No more, in England, as a prop to throne:
Then was its service superseded quite,
Where life yet linger'd in the foes of might:
Nevertheless he oft, in the loved wood,
To laud such aidant felt in eager mood!
He never used my whole in his career,
Where bayonet so oft created fear;
Where the well wielded weapon of dragoon,
Glitter'd in fulgence of observant noon!
Yet did he know its services of old;
When morions sported crests of orient gold.
He did remember when the valiant knight
Threw terror thereby thro' the frantic fight:
He knew an instance that a bard did sing,-
Of its creating trust thro' northern king:
Yet he well saw, altho' so fraught with power,
"T would never suit the present alter'd hour!

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Say, joyous riddlers, what am I?
You'll quickly guess if once you try!
For I am often near the breast;
Yet seldom visit the distress'd.
With happy mortals I am found,
And make the hearty laugh go round.
Their joking sure proclaims me near,
From rustic clown to courtly peer:
Nor dwell I with mankind alone;
The birds may claim me as their own:
And if you manage me with skill,
I'll tell your fortune when you will;
At least, as far as this, be said-
I'll tell two folks who first shall wed,
And do all this without a head!

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secretly cultivated an intimacy almost as close as with her brother. In fact, nothing which had life, and youth, and tenderness, came amiss to Kitty, from a calf to a rabbit, a chicken to a gosling; or, if it must be owned, a litter of very juvenile pigs. When Seymour approached her, while in the act of nursing one of these, she did feel rather ashamed; but she would always leave the most ex


SUCH was the intimacy established between Seymour Clifton and his little sister, that seldom were they seen apart, except when his studies required a degree of close attention which her lively spirit could not well endure. Still less, how-quisite little pet to walk with him, even ever, could she bear to be the cause of along those almost silent rambles in which vexation to one so tenderly beloved; and he sometimes scarcely responded to her less even than this did she like to sit still prattle. But it seemed to be all the same and hold her tongue. to Kitty. She could hold his hand, and look up into his face, and even guide his feet sometimes, for her brother had a strange habit of not observing exactly where his feet were treading. So the child

So when Seymour was at his studies, Kitty was free to roam the garden, or the farm-yard, where she found infinite amusement in the young animals with which she



actually led him after her own fashion, sometimes a little astray from the path he had been intending to pursue.

It happened one day, and, perhaps, for the first time in his life, that Seymour was going to some place where he did not wish that his sister should accompany him. Perhaps the way was too long, or the evening was too far advanced. At all events, he told Kitty so many times to return to the town, and all without effect, that at last he spoke sharply, and said he did not want her companionship just then. Instantly her little lip began to quiver, and a gush of bitter tears as quickly followed. Seymour wiped them off, and kissed the child, and told her she should have a long ramble with him on the following day. So Kitty sat down sobbing on the branch of a fallen tree, and said she would be a good child, and go home, only she must sit there a little while,-Seymour supposed to recover herself, which was all very natural.

Seymour walked steadily on for a little distance, only once or twice looking back to his sister with a smile and a nod. At last his path turned round the corner of a hedge, and he was lost to her view. The boy might well not want either of his sisters, still less his brothers with him on that occasion, for he was tracing a path which he had already trod before to a little village conventicle, where a poor old man, in whom he had become deeply interested, had first induced him to go, by telling him that a few good people met there once a week to praise God and pray.

Strange! that to so young a boy there should be any temptation in a place where God was to be praised and prayed to! Yet so it was. Seymour saw all the absurdity of the act, as his doing it would appear in the eyes of others; he felt all the coarseness of the scene, and its associations; but there was just one thing which his often-wounded soul seemed ever pining for, and never yet had found, and that was fellowship in earnest communion with his God. It was not that his family were by any means an irreligious family-rather the contrary; but his soul was unsatisfied. It was not that Seymour, in practical virtue, was at all more exemplary than others in such matters as resignation of his own will, patience, long-suffering;

even in charity he sometimes seemed wanting when he spoke of cruelty and wrong: but in his nature there had been implanted that earnest and insatiable longing after a more spiritual life, which cannot always associate itself commendably with the necessary business of this; especially in the season of youth, before the character is deeply experienced, and has learned the inestimable advantage of being able to live as it were two lives, by blending both in one. An earnest religious youth seems often to want actually to escape from the body. Hence those habits of neglect of health, and even punishment of the poor body, to which so many earnest but mistaken zealots have resorted in their eagerness to live only in, and for, the soul. It is in the later stages of experience we learn that the body may be used as a worthy instrument, and so with that also that God may be glorified.


Seymour Clifton was far from having t arrived at this stage of wisdom. He was, in his natural tenderness of character, eminently a devotee; but he would more easily have thrown himself into a convent, and inflicted upon himself almost any amount of bodily suffering, than he would have discharged a vulgar duty, or yielded a favourite position to another, especially to one whose mental capabilities and powers of appreciating he considered inferior to his own. Well, indeed, might people say, How was Seymour Clifton ever to get through the world?

Even with all his serious earnestness, Seymour was a little ashamed of entering the low place in which the small company were convened whose evening worship he had gone to join; nor could he turn his face to the door, without glancing hastily round him; for the humble edifice stood in the main street of the village, if street it might be called. As he did so, a boy with a broad, laughing countenance, peeped at him, he fancied, from the window of a neighbouring house; and the face, he thought, too, was like that of his brother Philip, but he could not be sure. He entered, however, with very little discomposure, for that evening more than usual, his thoughts were in unison with the purpose for which the few hardworking humble people who summoned him there had


met. Seymour knelt down with the rest upon the rough stone floor, and sat with them in an undistinguished place upon the same deal forms. He did not care for things of this kind. Indeed he would have knelt on thorns if he could have enjoyed in no other position that communion of heart which he had so recently found, or fancied that he found, in the audible language of prayer; but he did care for the coarse expressions, the untuned voices, and the sometimes vulgar and familiar appeals to the Supreme Being which jarred upon his ear, and made him actually look round, more than once, to see if the broad laughing face was not looking in at the door.

This, however, was only in the early part of the service. Before its conclusion, Seymour had forgotten everything except that he had an eternal destiny to fulfil; and tears were streaming down his cheeks, while he lifted up his heart in fervent prayer that he might walk this earth as one of the Saviour's chosen flock, even though he might be called to pass through tribulation, persecution, or martyrdom itself. Yes, this poor, weak boy, was one of those who would have walked unflinchingly towards the fiery stake; but was he one who could walk the earth as it is, or tread the busy ways of men without failing in heart or hope, or losing sight of the Star of eternal glory?

Seymour Clifton arose from his devotions so entirely subdued in spirit, that he could shake cordially by the hand any members of that humble community who might choose to come forward and address the young gentleman; and as might be supposed they almost all did so, for after ascertaining that he went there to pray, and not to scoff, their welcome was certainly not the less cordial because his coat was of finer material than their own. Amongst others, a grave young woman came forward. At first Seymour did not recognise her face, but on looking a second time, he saw she was an inmate of the farmhouse in which he had found a temporary home, and he shook hands with her, too, for at that moment the company around were all immortals to him, and might have worn actual glories round their heads without any impropriety in his eyes. It is surprising, however, how soon the

soul may be compelled to return to earth, after its most elevated aspirations. Just at that moment-the very moment when Seymour had relinquished the hand of the grave, hard-working girl, an explosion of laughter was heard at the door of the conventicle, so loud, and so violent that Seymour almost leapt from the ground. It is needless to say that the glories instantly departed; the humble worshippers were converted into a company of vulgar and very common-place people, with whom the son of a gentleman had no business to associate himself; and while the other members of the community only sighed and turned peaceably away, as if accustomed to this kind of persecution,-some of them as if rather rejoicing in it than otherwise,-Seymour was struck dumb with shame and confusion, and could only make his escape from the place by an effort which sent the blood into his cheeks, making him look like anything rather than a mild and patient devotee. How indeed was Seymour Clifton to get through the world?

The question now was, however, how was Seymour Clifton ever to get home? for that the laugh was, in part, at least, his brother Philip's laugh, he had not the shadow of a doubt; and whatever reproof he himself might choose to administer on the impropriety of making game of a religious service, wherever it might be conducted, he sought through his mind in vain for any plea which might justify his shaking hands with a servant girl. The unlucky individual, too, would be so constantly before him in pursuing her domestic avocations, and Philip was so unscrupulous in his raillery, that poor Seymour felt as if he had fallen irrevocably into a pit of disgrace, from which it would be impossible ever to escape.

It is very possible that the religious frame of mind in which Seymour had gone out that evening, would scarcely have left a trace of its own nature to mark his return, had not one circumstance awaited him, which, though natural and simple enough in itself, his imagination converted into a pleasing omen that he would never be utterly forsaken or borne down in his attempts to walk according to that spiritual life, now, as it were, just dawning in

his soul.

As the boy pursued his solitary way, in

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