The grinding and polishing are quickly done by the aid of machinery. But you have only the blade of the knife now, and the handle is yet to be made and riveted on.

10. That handle may be fashioned from the tusk of an elephant, the horn of a buffalo or an ox, the wood of a cocoa tree, the shell of a pearl oyster or a turtle, or indiarubber; or it may, like the blade, be made of metal. So you see that it is not fifty cents, but labor and skill, that is the real cost of your knife.

LII.-MACAULAY'S MOTHER.

Lord Macaulay, the great English essayist and historian, wrote these words:

1. Children, look in those eyes, listen to that dear voice, notice the feeling of even a single touch that is bestowed upon you by that gentle hand. Make much of it while yet you have that most precious of all good gifts — a loving mother.

2. Read the unfathomable love of those eyes; the kind anxiety of that tone and look, however slight your pain. In after-life you may have friends — fond, dear, kind friends; but never will you have again the inexpressible love and gentleness lavished upon you which none but a mother bestows.

3. Often do I sigh, in my struggles with the hard, uncaring world, for the sweet, deep security I felt when, of an evening, nestling in her bosom, I listened to some quiet tale, suitable to my age, read in her tender and untiring voice. Never can I forget her sweet glances cast upon me when I appeared asleep; never her kiss of peace at night.

4. Years have passed away since we laid her beside my father in the old churchyard; yet still her voice whispers from the grave, and her eye watches over me as I visit spots long since hallowed to the memory of my mother.

LIII.—THE ORPHAN'S PRAYER. 1. Not many miles from here, and e'en not many

months ago

When all was bound in winter chains, and cov

ered thick with snow,As night came down upon the plain, dark clouds

hung o'er the earth, And chilling winds swept o'er the scene in wild

and cruel mirth,2. A fair young child, with weary feet from wan

dering to and fro, At last o'ercome with weariness, sank down upon

the snow; His tender form was thinly clad, though rough,

bleak winds swept by, And froze upon his cheeks the tears that flowed

so mournfully. 3. They tossed the curls far off his brow, back from

the eyes of blue That gave such looks of suffering from out their

azure hue; Though none but God was near to mark the tears

that from them rolled, While from his lips came oft the moan

_“I am

so very cold."

4. A drowsiness came o'er his frame, and soon he

ceased to weep, And on the chilling snow he thought to lay him

But true to holy teachings, first his evening prayer

he said, And kneeling gently down, he clasped his stiff

ened hands and prayed. 5. “My heavenly Father,” were the words that from

his pale lips cameAnd many a dark and dismal night his prayer

had been the same, “ Please let me die and take me to the gentle

Shepherd's fold; I want to go so very much, I am so very cold. 6. “When mother died and went to heaven to be

an angel bright, She said I might come pretty soon

me go to-night; I want to feel her dear warm arms again around

me fold; O Father! let me go to her, I am so very cold.” 7. There was a time, whene'er these same small hands

were clasped in prayer, At dusky hour of eventide, another form was

there; And ere these curls were laid to rest upon their

downy bed, A father's hand in blessing lay upon that curly

head.

please let

8. There was a time when round this self-saine child

ish form were thrown The thousand comforts, dear delights, and guardian

cares of home; The budding happiness of life shone on his care

free brow, And love and warmth and light were there

where are those blessings now?

9. 'Twas not the ocean storin that sank the father

'neath its wave; 'Twas not a foul disease that laid the mother in

her grave; 'Twas not the raging flame that swept the pleas

ant home away, And turned the patient toil of years to asbes in

a day.

10. 'Twas the demon of the wine cup set the fa

ther's brain on fire, And plunged his soul and body into ruin, dark

and dire; While drop by drop the life-blood oozed from

out the loving heart Of her who vowed to cling to him till death

itself should part.

11. And when her weary life was o'er they laid her

in the ground, And left her child in this cold world, to wander

up and down. And now alone with freezing form beneath the

wintry sky, It kneeled upon the cold, white snow and wildly

prayed to die.

12. When morning with her streaming light came

o'er the eastern hill, And flashed her beams across the plain, she saw

him kneeling still ; And from the cold and parted lips came not one

trembling word; The blue eyes raised to heaven were closed — the

“orphan's prayer" was heard.

LIV.-HOW NAILS ARE MADE.

1. One of the most interesting places I ever visited was a nail factory. In one room there were as many as fifty strong iron machines with sharp steel jaws that bit chunks of iron in two as easily as you can bite in two a piece of soft bread.

2. The noise made by these machines was absolutely fearful. I wanted to stuff my ears with cotton, but I thought that would not be very civil to my guide. After a little while I became accustomed to it, and soon I found myself so much interested that I really did not think of the noise.

3. Some machines nip off the tacks so fast that a stream of finished tacks runs down a tin tube into a reservoirthousands in a minute. Listen to the ticking of the clock, and reflect that every time it ticks at least twenty tacks are snapped off. But I must tell you how they do it.

4. First, the iron bar, as it comes from the iron works, is put between immense rollers, which flatten it out as nicely as a cook can roll out pie crust with a rolling-pin. The bar of iron is thus made into a sheet, just thick enough for the nails they want to make. It goes next to the slitting machine, which makes no more fuss about slitting it into the proper widths than your scissors make about cutting paper.

5. These strips are cut a little wider than the length of the nails to be made from it, because heads are to be made on the nails. When these strips of iron are all ready, a man takes one, and slips the end into the steel jaws of one of the nail machines.

6. These jaws are worked by steam-power, and instantly they bite off a nail, while a furious little hammer springs out suddenly, and with one blow on the end of the bit of