er favour. The mere wages that she earns is much less
than what she really receives. All her children's clothes are given to
her, and she receives many a bag of meal and load of coal without
knowing from whence it comes. In fact, her condition is more
comfortable in every way than it was, and, in fact, so is mine. The
lesson of patience I learned from Mrs. Partridge in my first, and in
many subsequent interviews, impressed itself deeply upon my mind, and
caused me to look at and value the good I had, rather than fret over
the few occurrences that were not altogether to my wishes. I saw, too,
how the small trouble to me had been the means of working out a great
good to her. My need of a washerwoman, about which I had been so
annoyed, and the temporary want of a seamstress which I had
experienced--light things as they should have been--led me to search
about for aid, and, providentially, to fall upon Mrs. Partridge, who
needed just what it was in my power to do for her.

Whenever I find myself falling into my old habit, which I am sorry to
say is too frequently the case, I turn my thoughts to this poor woman,
who is still toiling on under heavy life-burdens, yet with meekness and
patience, and bowing my head in shame, say--

"If _she_ is thankful for the good she has, how deep should be _my_
gratitude!"

I DIDN'T THINK OF THAT!

MR. LAWSON, the tailor, was considered a very good member of society.
He was industrious, paid what he owed, was a kind husband and father
and a pleasant and considerate neighbour. He was, moreover, attached to
the church, and, by his brethren in the faith, considered a pious and
good man. And, to say the truth, Mr. Lawson would compare favourably
with most people.

One day as Mr. Lawson stood at his cutting board, shears in hand, a
poorly dressed young woman entered his shop, and approaching him,
asked, with some embarrassment and timidity, if he had any work to give
out.

"What can you do?" asked the tailor, looking rather coldly upon his
visitor.

"I can make pantaloons and vests," replied the girl.

"Have you ever worked for the merchant tailors?"

"Yes, sir, I worked for Mr. Wright."

"Hasn't he any thing for you to do?"

"No, not just now. He has regular hands who always get the preference."

"Did your work suit him?"

"He never found fault with it."

"Where do you live?"

"In Cherry street," replied the young woman.

"At No.--."

Mr. Lawson stood and mused fo