hearts. At supper time it was rumored that we might cross the bar in an hour, so we hurried up and got the children washed and dressed and all ready for going on shore, and carried the twins up to the ladies' cabin on deck. It was about 9 P.M. when the tender came out to meet us, and, though I was born in England, I must say that the landing at Liverpool was the worst part of the whole journey. Imagine a dark, cold, drizzling night, and all the passengers, steerage and saloon, huddled together on the open deck of a little tossing vessel with no shelter of any kind from the wind and rain. To get down to the deck of this miserable little thing you have to cross a footboard and then descend steep iron stairs, and when you get down find scarcely sitting room even for the ladies. I was anxious enough about our tiny babies, suddenly exposed this way to the night air, as it took about three-quarters of an hour to reach the quay, and then we had to wait our turn

to land, as three or four other Atlantic steamers had just arrived like ourselves. We covered them up entirely, head and all, in shawls, and in due time struggled up the stairs again and on to terra firma, and were happy enough to get through the Custom House in time to catch the last train for London. It was my first experience of an English sleeper, and it was luxury. We had a whole carriage to ourselves in three sections, containing three berths, a lavatory, plenty of hooks and racks for light luggage and complete privacy, and all slept soundly till we reached Euston Station (London), and in a few minutes more our 11,000 miles' journey was at an end, and the children were locked in their grandmother's arms, while loving aunties waited to carry them off, and we felt we were at home; and oh! how restful that home looked, after thirty-two days of continuous travel, few can realize.

Flannel Dress.

This most becoming dress for a little girl is fashioned on the popular Gretchen model. It is made of fine red flannel, the yoke, cuffs and top

of the sleeves smocked, the tucks on the skirt and band that holds the pocket feather-stitched, while the pocket itself and the belt have an additional

decoration of small embroidered stars, all of coarse black button-hole silk.

The little pocket is the distinctive feature of the dress, and will prove itself to be a most useful addition, apart from its picturesqueness. Furthermore, it does away with the uneven appearance imparted to a skirt by the sagging at that side where the pocket drags it down, for is not every child's pocket a general store-room of all sorts of odds and ends, from a slate pencil to a full set of jacks? Such a pocket, made of black silk or velvet, can be worn with any dress, and ought to be a part of every little girl's wardrobe.

For those not initiated into the mysteries of smocking, a few words of explanation will not be out of place here, all the more as it is a style of trimming employed largely for children's clothing. Lay shallow pleats close to each other at the top of your piece of goods; then catch two and two together with a few stitches, passing the thread loosely along on the wrong side of the work. In the following row catch together the two pleats that lie apart, and proceed in the same order, always alternating the pleats in each succeeding row. The smocking shows best when worked with a contrasting color of silk, as in our model, black on red. A pretty variation can be made by carrying the silk along the upper edge of the pleats, thus defining the little diamonds.

ty-four stitches. Forty-eight rows complete the back, on each side of which a straight strip nine stitches wide and fifty rows long forms the front parts. Fronts and back are now edged all around by five rows worked in worsted of a contrasting color, crocheting two half stitches divided by one chain into the corners at the bottom. The collar at the top of the back is shaped by working several stitches to form a corner into the stitch at either end where the front part is begun. Four rows of the ground color are now added all around

and an edge worked of picots (one tight stitch, five chains and a tight stitch back into the first chain), the latter reaching up about three inches on the edges between the fronts and back. Sew these edges together about three inches above the picots, and into the opening remaining crochet the sleeves. The latter count twenty six stitches at the top, twenty-four at the bottom and are thirty-five rows long, ending at the bottom in a border and edge of picots like the jacket. Crocheted cord finished off by worsted balls serves for closing.

Crocheted Skirt.

A pretty and durable skirt that will fit a child of about five years is made as follows: Materials, two hanks of tan color and one of pink, single, Germantown worsted. The skirt is crocheted in Afghan stitch with a long, rather coarse needle. Cast on twenty-five chains and crochet three rows of the tan; then add the pink-the wool is not broken off at every change of color, but carried along at the end-working up to within. eight stitches of the top, and a second row of pink to within four stitches of the preceding one; now take up the tan again and work three rows the entire length. This process will shape the skirt into a yoke at the top. About forty of these stripes, twenty

of each color, will make the skirt about

the proper width. Join the skirt, leaving an opening of about three inches for the placket, which finish off with a neat edging of small scallops. Now work a flounce of the stripes, three rows of tan and two of pink alternately, forty in number likewise, casting on twenty stitches,

STITCH FOR JACKET. but add one stitch

at the beginning of each row, and drop one at the end, which will cause the stripes to run bias. Join and finish off at one edge with a pretty crocheted lace, either of pink or tan, or of both colors blended. The other edge, full on to the skirt, having first worked a row of tan-color plains around the latter, through which run a pink ribbon. Attach a

band to the skirt at the top, and provide with the usual buttonholes.

The woolen lace known as "yak" having gone completely out of fashion, can be had in all colors at extremely low prices, five and seven cents a yard. It forms a pretty finish for little girls' woolen or knitted skirts, and hence the laying in of a small stock may not come amiss where there are little ones in the family.

Tam O'Shanter Cap.

This style of cap for little ones of either sex seems to know no diminution in popular favor. The one here illustrated presents a few novel features. It is made of white astrakhan and requires for the top a piece 45 inches long and 10

inches wide. Line this with crinoline, and after sewing together at the short ends, gather firmly around a circular piece of the goods, about 2 inches in diameter. The other side is evenly taken in into a band also stiffened with crinoline, about 11⁄2 inches wide and 23 to 24 inches long-it is safest to measure the child's head around. The cap is then lined with soft white silk, and trimmed with several full white silk pompons. A fly embroidered in bright silks on the top of the front forms a unique decoration, while a small tippet of the astrakhan-for a little girl a muff may be added-will enhance the becomingness of the pretty "Tammy."

Cross-bar Design.

Pinafores and bibs made of the cross-bar glass towelings that wash so satisfactorily, can be prettily finished off at the edges by the design here illustrated, which may be worked either in the

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blue or red of the crossing lines, or in the contrasting color, using washable marking cotton. A simpler pattern is a star of four crossed stitches worked into every alternate square.

Connemara Cloak.

This quaint cloak for a little girl is made of white embroidered cashmere, pleated upon a yoke that fits closely around the neck and shoulders. A slit among the pleats in front serves for the

hands to pass through, while a ribbon passing around the waist confines the pleats at the back,. where a small crossed

belt serves as ornament. Ribbon bows at the throat and buttons and button holes down the front serve for closing. The handsomely embroidered flannels sold for skirting will make up prettily into this style of cloak, for which, however, any light quality of cloth will do. Instead of the hand-laid pleats, the at present very fashionable accordeon pleats may be substituted, in which case the cloak will have to be made considerably wider.

IT

T has long been acknowledged that home influence is a most potent power in the growth of civilization; that nations are the concentrated forces of the individual homes. But do we appreciate our power? Are we conscious of the opportunities and advantages we have for rendering this home influence even more important in its far reaching effects? We hear from every side of the rapid progress that has been made in the sciences, arts and industries. The teacher has better books, the investigator has better laboratories; the manufacturer better machinery; the farmer better implements, and the housekeeper more conveniences. Are we not then all fairly equipped to engage in the struggle for life, with a reasonable hope of success?

The difficulty is that in the intensity of the struggle we almost forget what we are striving for, viz.: the best things in life, or how to live in the fullest, broadest sense of the word; how to have the most perfect homes. There are kindergartens, primary schools, high schools, colleges and universities, rendering it possible for the child of four years to find instruction, and go on up the ladder as he advances in years, so that any additional home study would be decried as being detrimental to health. Already the cry goes up from earnest men and women that we are crowding the children; that we demand too much of them; that we stimulate the mental at the expense of the physical growth. But let us see whether it is the crowding them, or a thwarting of nature's plans, that is injurious.

When does a child begin to learn? Nature sends it to school as soon as it is born, the school of experience, and during the first four or five years of its life how much it acquires! It has learned how to use its muscles with seemingly wonderful skill, has mastered the mother tongue and is already familiar with many objects in nature. Its activity has been unflagging, and when we sum up all it has accomplished in this short time do we not feel a blush of mortification

that we ourselves have accomplished so little? And during this early mental development we have never thought the little one was learning too fast. We simply felt pleased and delighted with each new progressive step. The first smile of recognition, the first step voluntarily taken, the first words spoken, always give us pleasure. We take delight in repeating to our friends the bright little things that are done, the puzzling questions asked, and feel a worthy pride in our children's mental growth. In these early years we enter into their occupations and amusements with a sympathy that seems to vanish when, a few years later, the child is sent to school (years and years too young it seems to me). Then almost the whole care and responsibility of instruction is left with the teacher, while we put little more thought upon what the child is doing and learning than upon a letter dropped in the post-office. We write our letter, enclose it in an envelope, stamp and direct it, mail it, and our part is done; the government sees to the rest. But there should not be such a complete change-such a breaking away from the sympathy which has existed between parent and child up to this time. We do not know how keenly it is felt, how much the children miss the sympathy which has been heretofore so freely lavished upon them. Their successes and their failures they would share with us, and it is only by taking an interest in their work and understanding it that we remain their sympathetic companions.

We have seen that children can learn without books when they are too young to go to school; so that we do not need to have lessons in the ordinary sense of the word, when we would encourage study at home as they grow older. But their school work would be much simplified and far more profitable if it were talked over at home. They commit to memory the fact that the earth is round, that it has a daily and a yearly motion, and the consequent results, but have they a rational understanding of the subject? It took mankind a long time to grow up to the conception,

and children cannot appreciate these truths without frequent illustration and familiar informal conversation on the subject. Having once gained a clear conception of this, problems in longitude and time are comparatively simple, though to most children who solve them they are mere abstract problems solved according to the given rules; and since we are not bound to get everything from books, we can study about things of various kinds.

Much can be learned from a box of water colors and little brushes. Children are pleased, as grown people are, when they think they have discovered something new; and by being assisted in such a manner as to develop self-help, they acquire cour age in overcoming difficulties, and develop the power to persevere in whatever they undertake. If they learn by experiment the different colors which can be obtained by combination, they take especial delight in making different shades, and thus train themselves in distinguishing between fine gradations in color.

The sewing machine, which has wrought such wonders in our home work, may do a great deal for the little ones. The little boy may make his own finger stalls; and the little girls, how many garments they can make for their dolls if they may use the machine to run up the seams, or whenever they think it too much to sew by hand. It is foolish to adhere to the old idea that the use of needle and thimble must be thoroughly learned before one is allowed to sew on the machine. Bright new cambrics are so cheap that for a trifle the children can be furnished with material which will give them unending pleasure. Or let them learn how to use hammer and nails, the square and saw. Girls as well as boys delight in such things if their parents sanction the work. How little work to make a mitre box for them, and show how a little convenience of the kind will aid them in their work. They may attempt a picture-frame; it certainly will be crude, but they are learning to do something, to use their eyes, their hands, their judgment—the whole boy or girl is intent upon the object under construction. And how pleased are they to exhibit their work when it is done! This desire to always show mamma or papa what has been done, even if it be nothing more than a fancied castle constructed of building blocks, illustrates the natural craving children have for parental sympathy. If a pretty stone, a bit of moss, or a bright flower is found, straightway they would show it to mamma if she be near. They would

share their pleasure with us when some excep. tionally tempting mud pies have been made, or when little gardens have been planted with choice shrubbery. All these little things grow in beauty for them if mamma will but look and smile approval.

But during the vacations, the cry goes up from almost every household daily: "What can I do, Mamma?" and Mamma, so full of other cares and duties feels relieved when the vacation is over, and the children are again in school, and she is no longer worried with the daily task of providing something to do. We do not feel it to be our imperative duty to enter into the children's work, and consequently seldom find time to work with them. We are constantly doing for them; every day we plan what their food shall be; we strive to contrive appetizing dishes and are glad to see them eat with a keen relish what we have prepared. We plan out the little wardrobes, what materials are best and what we can best afford, and how the various garments shall be made, and only mothers know how much time is thus consumed. It all requires time. But whatever we have to do, however busy we are, is it not a duty we owe to our children that we give them more undivided time and attention?

How few pleasure walks we take with them; how little we talk with them, and yet what bright memories such hours leave. Would it were true that:

"Between the dark and the daylight,

When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the children's hour." But how few times the hour or even the half hour is given them. Papa has the newspaper to read, the crop reports to look over, or some business requires his time and perhaps his presence, and he hurriedly swallows his tea and is gone. Mamma has some sewing or knitting or fancy work, or is herself interested in some book; and the children, what shall they do? There is not much space to run and play hide-and-seek; old Witch would scarce have room to wield her broom. Paper and pencil or picture books may amuse them awhile, but they soon become weary and feel lonely when boisterous play ceases. They would like of all things to hear a story, and fortunate is the mother who is a good story-teller and has a fund of fairy stories at hand-for what child ever grew who did not delight to hear of fairyland? But we are not all good story-tellers and must resort to the next best thing; we can get books of all grades from Babyland to old age.