single pocket-handkerchief, or embroidered cape, sold daily by Mr. Stewart to the ladies of our city!
In the evening, at their own dwelling, the house naturally was the subject of conversation. "How very lucky," said Uncle Phil, "that Mr. Beckwith happened to build a house that suits us to a t!"
"It is not luck, father," said Harry Aikin, "when things suit precisely. Mr. Beckwith has studied the condition and wants of the labouring classes. He tells me, the attention of many rich men has been turned to the miserable tenements of the poorer classes; and he says, they believe the want of comfort and convenience about them to be a great evil to society—they think the intemperance of many men may be traced to this cause. To say nothing of the crowds huddled together in filthy unwholesome alleys, even the better houses of the poor are discouraging to the women: they get wearied out with their necessary work, and no strength and time left to clean a house that always wants cleaning. The poor husband has been working hard all day; comes home at night to a filthy, dark, cold room—his wife cross, or half sick and dumpish, and crying children—no wonder he goes out to the corner grocery, that looks so light and cheerful!"
"Then, after all, father, it's the woman, and not the house, that drives him off?"
"Ah, Will, the poor wife is disheartened; we are weak creatures, my son, and need help on every side."
"I am sure you and mother have not had so many helps."
"Have not we? I'll tell you some of my helps,
