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"So much the better. Can't the girls work for | shillings; so that I have only two pounds, nine shilthemselves?"

I was going to answer, but he interrupted me, rose from his seat, walked towards the window, and, tapping the glass as he spoke, said, "Well, I have no more time to waste. Consider whether you will retain the curacy with a salary of fifteen pounds a year, and let me know. If not, I wish you a better curacy by New-year's Day." He bowed civilly, and raised again his cap.

I gathered up my money, and took my leave. I was completely thunderstruck. Never before had he received me so coldly, or dismissed me so hastily. Doubtless, he must have heard something to my disadvantage. He never even offered me any luncheon, as he had always done hitherto, and I had reckoned upon it, for I left Cricklade early without breakfasting, and now felt faint and tired; however, I bought some bread in the town; and that was sufficient till I got home again. How subdued and disappointed I felt, as I retraced my steps! I wept like a child!-the bread I was eating was moistened with my tears!.... At last, I roused myself: "For shame!" I exclaimed; "shame upon this weakness! Is this your trust in God? What more could you do had you lost the curacy itself? It is but a reduction of five pounds! though that is one-fourth of your little income, which must support three people; and though it is but a diminution of a few pence daily, still it will deprive us of some of our little comforts! And what then?-He who clothes the lilies of the field, He who feeds the young ravens, will not desert us!"

December 16.-Truly, my Jenny is an angel! Her mind is still more lovely than her person. I am quite ashamed to see her so much better, so much more truly pious than myself.

I had not courage yesterday to tell the children of our misfortune. When at last I mentioned it to them, Jane became very serious; then smiling sweetly, “Do not be uneasy, dearest father," said she.

"Not uneasy!"

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No, indeed, you must not."

My poor child, how can we ever avoid debt and want? I know not which way to turn. We want so many things-and fifteen pounds will scarcely give us bread!"

Instead of answering, Jane put one arm softly round my neck, and, pointing with the other to Heaven, said, There, father-there we shall find help!"

My little Polly seated herself upon my knees, and, stroking my face, said, "Do let me tell you a dream I had last night. I thought it was New-year's Day, and that the king, mounted on horseback, with all his court, came to our door. There was a piece of work! What a noise of drums and trumpets! What a clatter and confusion! Then we all set to work to roast and bake .. However, the king had brought his own food in gold and silver dishes, and, when it was served, what should they bring in upon a crimson velvet cushion, but a golden mitre for you, just such a one as is on the bishop's head, in the pictures in the old Bible. You looked very well in it, though I was ready to die with laughter when you put it on. Just then Jenny woke me, which made me very angry. There must be some meaning in such a dream, particularly when it only wants a fortnight to the new year."

"Pooh! nonsense, child!" said I. "Dreams are all folly !"

"But," she answered, "dreams come from God." I cannot help thinking so too, sometimes; so I have noted this one down, to see if it was really sent to console us. It is very possible we may receive some Newyear's gift, which may be welcome to us all!

I have passed this whole day in calculating, though it is an employment I detest. All money matters puzzle my head, and leave my heart barren and empty, yet very heavy.

December 17.-God be praised! All my debts are paid, except one. I have paid away seven pounds, eleven

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lings, remaining, and with this I must keep house for half a year. God help me! The beautiful black suit, which tempted me so much in Cutby the tailor's window, must now be given up, though I am sadly in want of it. To be sure, it was not dear, but Jenny must have a new dress. I cannot bear to see the poor girl going about in a cotton gown this cold weather. Polly must be satisfied with the merinos her sister wore last year, which she has turned and arranged for her so nicely.

I am sorry to say I must also give up my share in the weekly paper which I have been in the habit of taking with Westburn, the bookseller. I regret this very much; for without it, in this secluded place, one never hears what is going on in the world. They say that at the last Newmarket Races the Duke of Cumberland won five thousand pounds from the Duke of Grafton. How curious it is, that we should thus, every day, see the words of Holy Writ so literally fulfilled, "To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken even that which he hath!" Even I must lose five pounds from my poor little income! But shame upon me, here I am again complaining! and why? Because I must give up the luxury of a newspaper. Shame upon me! Surely I shall know soon enough, whether Paoli can maintain the independence of Corsica. The French have sent assistance to the Genoese, but Paoli has at least twenty thousand veteran troops. However, it does not matter much to me.

December 18.-How happy we are all to-day! Jane has bought an excellent second-hand winter dress from a pedlar, wonderfully cheap, and there the two girls sit, working at it, as merry as possible. Jenny understands bargaining far better than I do; indeed, I almost think her sweet and winning manner makes people give her everything she wants on her own terms. How they are both laughing as they work! Jenny means to appear in it for the first time on New-year's Day; and Polly is prophesying what wonderful conquests she will make. No queen was ever so pleased with her diamonds, as these two girls with this simple dress: but, after such an expense, Jenny says we must be very economical.

What a worthy man is Westburn, the bookseller! I told him yesterday that I must give up the newspaper, because I had lost part of my income, and was not even sure of retaining the curacy itself. He shook me kindly by the hand, and said, "But I will continue to take it in, and you, my revered friend, will do me the favour of reading it as before." One should never be tempted to despair; there are many more good men in the world than one thinks; and full as many may be met with among the poor, as among the rich.

Same Day. Evening.-The baker is a hard-hearted man after all! The last time Polly went for bread, she found fault with it for being under weight, and badly baked; this offended him so bitterly, that he called her all manner of names, and ended by desiring she would tell me, although I am no longer a sixpence in his debt, that he would not serve me upon credit, and that we might get our bread elsewhere.

Poor Polly! We had enough to do to console her! I cannot make out how the inhabitants of Cricklade get all their news. Every one in the village says that Dr. Snarl is going to put another curate in my place. It would be the death of me! The butcher must have heard something of it. But for that, he never would have sent his wife to me, to complain of the hard times, and to tell me that, in future, he could only sell his meat for ready money. The woman was very civil, and repeated many times how greatly she esteemed and respected us. She advised us to try Smith, for the small

(1) It must be remembered that our curate had probably a provision of corn meal, dried vegetables, fruit, and other necessaries stored away for winter use.

quantity of butchers' meat that we require, said he was better to do in the world, and could perhaps afford to wait for his money. I did not tell her how this extortioner had treated us during a year, when he sold us meat a penny a-pound dearer than to other people, charged us for a much larger quantity than we had, and, when at last we proved it to him, declared roundly, with many oaths, that his money must bring him in good interest, if he had to wait a year for it; and so showed me the door.

I now possess but one pound one shilling and threepence in cash! What will become of us, if no one will give us the necessaries of life on credit, even for a quarter of a year? And if the rector should turn me out!I shall be upon the wide world with my two poor children and is not God there too?

December 19. Early.-I awoke early this morning, and endeavoured to consider calmly the situation in which I find myself. My thoughts turned to Edward Sitting, my rich cousin, at Cambridge; but poor people have no cousins! If the new year were to bring me the mitre which Polly dreamt of, half England would find out they were related to me. After much deliberation, I wrote the following letter to Dr. Snarl; and have despatched it by to-day's post :

"I write with a heavy heart; for every one says your reverence has determined to remove me; I know not whether there is any foundation for this report, or whether it only arises from my having mentioned to one or two persons the conversation I had with you. I have endeavoured to discharge the sacred office committed to my care with zeal and faithfulness; I have taught and preached the word of God in all its truth and purity: have given occasion for no complaints. My inmost conscience has nothing to reproach me with. I humbly requested a trifling addition to my salary. Your reverence immediately spoke of reducing the small income, which is barely sufficient to furnish me and my family with the absolute necessaries of life !—I appeal to your own feelings of humanity. I laboured with your predecessor during sixteen years, with yourself a year and a half. I am approaching to old age, my hair is already grey. Without friends, without a patron, without a hope of other preferment, or the power of obtaining my bread by any other means; the fate of myself and children hangs upon your word. If you desert us, nothing can save us from beggary and ruin. My daughters are now of an age to occasion me greater expenses, in spite of the strictest economy. The eldest, Jane, has filled the place of a mother to her younger sister, and does everything in the house. We cannot even keep a maid; my daughter cooks, washes, cleans the house, sews, &c. I myself perform the other menial offices of my little household. In one respect, God has most especially shown his mercy towards us. He has blessed us with excellent health, we are never ill. We could not have afforded medicines. My daughters have, in vain, attempted to obtain employment. They were ready to wash, to iron, to do any kind of needle-work; they can scarcely ever get it: for, in a poor village like this, all help one another, no one can afford to pay for assistance. It would be hard enough, if I must still endeavour to exist upon twenty pounds a year, but it would be still worse if I am to find myself reduced to fifteen pounds; but I trust in the goodness of God, and your own humanity; and humbly entreat your reverence speedily to put an end to my present state of anxiety." When I had finished my letter, and given it to Polly to take to the post, I threw myself on my knees, and prayed for the blessing of God on the step I had just taken; and soon I felt strangely comforted and cheered; for a word addressed to God, has ever the same blessed effect as a word from him. I had entered my chamber bowed to the earth with grief, and now left it cheerful and composed. Jane sat working at the window. She looked as calm, as happy, as peaceful as an angel. Her sweet face beamed with joy and contentment. A faint

sunbeam shone through the little window, and illuminated the whole room. I felt inexpressibly happy. I seated myself at my desk, and wrote my Sermon "Upon the Joys of Poverty." God grant it may infuse into the hearts of others a portion of the consolation I felt while writing it-while reviewing the joys and blessings which still remain to me, and giving vent to the feelings of thankfulness which they inspire! Even if it does good to no one else, it has been of use to myself; should my weak words comfort no other soul, they have soothed my own. But the preacher is like the physician, he knows the power of his remedies, though not always the exact effect they will produce upon his patients.

The same Day. Noon.-This morning I received a note from a stranger, who arrived last night at the inn, and entreated me to come to him for a few minutes upon pressing business. I went immediately, and found a handsome young man of about six-and-twenty. He had a noble countenance, and very prepossessing manners, but I remarked that his coat was old and shabby, and his boots patched in many places. His hat, though originally a much more expensive one than my own, was now much more worn and old. In spite, however, of his shabby dress, I could not help suspecting that the young man was well-born. He certainly had on a shirt of the very finest linen, and as white as snow, but it is possible it may have been a present from some benevolent person. He conducted me into a small private room, and after making a thousand apologies for the trouble he had given me, he confided to me, with some embarrassment, that he was in the greatest possible distress. He knew no one in this village, where he only arrived last night, and had addressed himself to me, the clergyman, as the only person from whom he could have the slightest hope of obtaining assistance. He told me his profession was that of an actor, but he was now without any engagement, and on his way to the town of Manchester. Unfortunately, however, he had got to the end of his money, and had not enough even to pay for his lodging, much less to carry him to the end of his journey. In his despair, he had recourse to me. Twelve shillings were all he asked for: and he promised, if I would advance him this small sum, to pay it me back faithfully and honourably, the moment he obtained an engagement. His name is John Fleetman.

There was no necessity for describing to me so fully his trouble and distress; his countenance expressed it even more vividly than his words; but he must have read something similar in my features, for, on raising his eyes to mine, he started, and said, "Will you not assist me?" I then confided to him the exact state of my own affairs, without any attempt at concealment : I told him, that what he asked of me was the fourth part of all the money I possessed in the world; and that I had great reason to apprehend the approaching loss of my curacy. His manner suddenly became cold and constrained, and he said, “You are relating your misfortunes to one still more miserable: I ask nothing from you; but is there no one else in Cricklade, who, if he does not possess riches, has at least some humanity?"

I felt rather confused and ashamed, and as if I had confessed my miserable position to Mr. Fleetman, in order that I might be hardhearted without blushing for it!-I thought over all my parishioners, but there was not one to whom I could venture to recommend him with a certainty of success. Perhaps I did not know their hearts sufficiently! I then approached him, and, offering him my hand, said, "Sir, you grieve me much. Have a little patience. You now know how poor I myself am, but I will help you if I can. In an hour I will give you an answer."

As I returned home I could not help thinking how extraordinary it was, that the stranger should have addressed himself to me !-an actor to seek help from a clergyman! There really seems to be something in me, which, like a magnet, attracts the unfortunate and the distressed! All who are in want turn to me, who,

unluckily, have so very little to bestow. Even if I dine with a friend, if there is a dog in the room, I am perfectly certain that he will come and rest his head upon my knee, and fix his eyes so beseechingly upon the morsels which I carry to my mouth, that I cannot help giving them to him.

When I got home, I related to the children who the stranger was, and what he wanted. I asked Jenny her opinion; she said, compassionately, "Nay, my dear father, I know well enough what you wish; you have no need of my advice."

"And what is it I wish?"

"You wish to treat the poor actor as you hope God and the rector will treat you."

I own this had not been my feeling; I wish to God it had! I took out the twelve shillings, and gave them to Jenny to carry to the traveller,—I should have felt humbled by his thanks. I can better bear ingratitude; besides, my sermon was very far from being finished. The same Evening.-No doubt, the comedian is an honest man. When Jenny returned from the inn, she had plenty to tell me about him, and of the landlady too; for the woman had easily discovered that her guest had an empty purse, and my daughter could not conceal from her that I had furnished him with money, with which to continue his journey. This drew down upon her a long discourse on my improvidence, on the wickedness of encouraging trampers, of giving one's children's bread to strangers, that charity begins at home, &c. &c.

noble and impressive, and he asked more than once,
for how long the money which remained would suffice
to procure us the necessaries of life. His last words to
me were, "It is quite impossible that you should ever
be unhappy; you have heaven in your heart, and"
(pointing to my daughters) "two of God's angels at
your side!"
(To be continued.)

ON THE SUPERIORITY OF VOCAL OVER
INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC.

Ir would appear at a first glance, that there could be no question as to the superiority of instrumental over vocal music; the varied, complex harmony belonging to the one, would apparently be far beyond a power which has only simple melody at its command-at least comparatively speaking it can hardly be said to possess more. Why is it, then, that the most spirit-stirring instrumental music, however it may dazzle and delight, can neither at the moment make so deep an impression, nor yet linger with us through life, as the tones of some simple song from the lips of one who knew well how to feel, and to express, its beauty? That this is the case with persons in general will be readily conceded, and but one reason can be given; good singing really touches the heart, while instrumental music, with all its wonderfully-blended harmonies, capable indeed of dazzling, of delighting, possesses not the power, at least only in a very inferior degree, of making us feel; and it may be, too, there is something in the mechanism of an instrument which renders us less susceptible of music proceeding in any way from such a source.

I had just settled myself to my sermon again, when Fleetwood entered the room. He said he found it impossible to leave Cricklade without thanking the benefactor whose generosity had extricated him from the most distressing situation. Jenny was just laying the table for dinner. We had bacon, and plenty of potatoes. I invited the stranger to share our meal. He readily There is also a most important cause of its want of accepted. Indeed, it must have been welcome, for I permanent impression. A performer may be entire suspect he had but a poor breakfast. I sent Polly to master of music as a science, and yet not possess one draw some beer; and it was a good while since we had particle of feeling-he may be perfection in the knowenjoyed such a comfortable meal. Mr. Fleetman ap-ledge and execution of his art, and yet be a mere autopeared pleased with his reception; he soon lost the look maton. Now with good singing this is impossible; of suffering and distress which he had at first, but pre-feeling is its very essence, its being; it has no existence served that modest, timid demeanour, which I have often seen in those who are a prey to the persecutions of fortune. He thought us very happy, and we assured him that he was right. He imagined I must be richer and better off than I chose to appear; but there he was in the wrong. No doubt the good man was deceived by the order and neatness of our rooms, where everything was bright and clean; our furniture, though plain, was in perfect order, the table linen white as snow, and spoons and forks as bright as hands could make them. One is accustomed to find dirt and disorder in the abodes of poverty, for the poor never understand true economy. But I always endeavoured to impress upon my late wife, and upon my daughters, that order and cleanliness are ever the very best economy; and Jane understands this thoroughly: she almost surpasses her poor mother, and brings up her sister admirably in the same way; I do not think the smallest speck would escape her quick eyes.

We soon became quite intimate with our visitor; but he spoke less of his own affairs, than of our precarious situation. Poor young man! there appears to be something weighing heavy upon his heart! God grant it may not be upon his conscience! I remarked that he sometimes suddenly ceased speaking, and a dark cloud came over him, which, with a strong effort, he threw off, and strove to be gay again. God help him! When he left us after dinner, I thought it my duty to give him a great deal of good advice; for I know that stageplayers are often light and thoughtless people. How ever, he gave me his sacred promise, that as soon as ever he was in possession of the necessary sum, he would faithfully return what I had lent him. He must have meant what he said, for his words and manner were

apart; and well may mechanism and science shrink before a power which fills the soul of the poet, the painter, the sculptor, which alone can create the beau tiful in all things. None would assert that all instrumental performers are deficient in the more subtle and refined portion of their art; yet even Thalberg, with all his depth of feeling, can never speak as he would have done, from the soul to the soul, had nature given him the power of utterance without the mechanical medium of keys and wires.

Some persons rest the claim of superiority on an orchestra. We will speak of one which is unrivalled, the orchestra of the Italian Opera; and yet the audience, unquestionably persons of the utmost refinement, surrounded by perfection in every art, familiarized with the great masters of music in all their excellence, and therefore likely to possess the power of feeling and appreciating, yet these persons listen with apathy, or more properly, can hardly be said to listen at all, until the first low notes of the singer change in a moment Shall we speak of the character of the whole scene. one to whom, in all human probability, we shall listen no more, of perhaps the most exquisite singer England ever will hear,-of Rubini. When that most perfect voice fell on the ear, so unbroken was the stillness, that the vast house seemed filled only by an assemblage of statues, save only for the expression which that soulsubduing influence called up into every face capable of expression at all. Let any one listen to Philips's singing from the Messiah-it is impossible for any combination of sound to be more thrilling, more majestic, more perfect, than that single voice. When he utters the words, "And darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people," who does not tremble with a dim

feeling of that desolation where the light of God shone not, even as" darkness which might be felt." We will imagine, as the last tones of the singer die away, the organ pouring forth the glorious magnificence of its music-magnificent it indeed is, and we shall acknowledge while we listen that it is indeed the triumph of art, but we shall feel that the first sound, the voice of the singer, was the triumph of nature. It may be remarked, that part of the effect produced by the Messiah is from the sublimity of the words. This will readily be conceded; but, as poetry and vocal music are so legitimately linked, are so entirely one, it is of their united charm we speak, in dwelling on the beauty of vocal music in its highest perfection. But we need not look so high as the inspired writings, or the noble melodies of Handel, for beautiful and lasting effects; none ever heard Moore's Irish melody,

"Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour," sung under the circumstances for which it was written, -sung at the parting hour by a dearly loved friend who could feel and express its exquisite spirit, without remembering it through life-without feeling, whenever the song might be heard again, though at the interval of years, that one evening come back, vividly as it had been but yesterday,

"the day, the hour,

All things pertaining to that place and hour," remembered faces-familiar voices-the singer, the circle of "happy friends," it may be, dispersed never to meet on earth again; all, at the moment, would return with a distinctness, a reality, which we would defy all the instrumental music in the world to produce. The power to soothe and charm the present hour, to embalm the memory of the brightest past away, is surely not a light one, and may well claim pre-eminence over all the splendid perishing gratification which instrumental music can give. We willingly concede its scientific superiority, its more brilliant qualifications, but we claim for the union of melody with poetry, something more refined, more exalted, an abiding influence over the inmost soul which cannot pass away.

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I HAD for a long time felt a great desire to see the Low Countries: my wish was gratified. After a voyage (for that it literally was) of two days, the minutiæ of which I will not detail, I landed at Ostend. There is scarcely any sensation more pregnant with novelty, and a sort of confusion of ideas, than that which awaits a traveller from the shores of Old England, when first he sets foot on a foreign land. Something new, something strange is about and around him everywhere. New customs, new costumes, new ways, new habits, solicit his attention on all sides; and though the intercourse of all the continental nations with the inhabitants of Albion's isle has become more and more frequent, as civilization, with all its concomitant blessings of steamboats, railroads, &c. has advanced, still novelty and a difference are visible in every aspect of the terra nova. That such were my own feelings I must frankly confess, when, after a night's repose in the Hôtel de la Cour Impériale, I sallied forth to see Ostend.

First, the whiteness of the houses, so different to the exterior of our own habitations in smoky London: this had for me an extraordinary effect, inasmuch as I could not refrain from fancying that they had all been recently painted or cleaned. This very agreeable appearance arises from the fact of the prevalence of wood as an article of fuel.

Sensation the second, was produced by the garments of the populace, so picturesque and distinct. The many priests I encountered, with their flowing cassocks and tri-cornered hats, added very considerably to the grouping of the scene: their name in Belgium is legion: in almost every street, in every nook or sequestered spot, on the beach, in the outskirts of the town, there they were. I must say they did not give me the notion of rigid abstinence from rich men's feasts, for all that I saw were of a very comely port.

Ostend, as well as I could ascertain, is not a very remarkable place: there are few remains of antiquity in it. It stands on a low flat shore, the sands of which, and the fortifications, especially the rampart, present a charming promenade for the many visitors who flock here, during the season, to avail themselves of the opportunities the place affords for bathing. Oysters are sent to all parts of the kingdom, and the Ostend oysters are considered of great excellence. There is a One of their congreat deal of fishing carried on. trivances in the piscatory art afforded me much entertainment a round net is fastened by loops to the end of a long pole, and repeatedly ducked in and out of the water: many of these nets were, however, left all night attached to boats; I had no means of knowing with what success.

I had an introduction to a widow lady, who resided in the Rue de la Chapelle, but it happened unfortunately that she had the day previous gone on a visit to some friends at Bruges, so that I did not see her. The grisette, a lively young Frenchwoman, gave me permission to see Madame's pictures: the gem of the collection was a small Rubens, equal to anything I ever there was any particular lion visible in or about the saw by that master. I could not ascertain whether

neighbourhood.

The church has no especial feature to invite the attention of the tourist eager to behold others well known to fame. Far out at sea, you may descry the steeple, a very welcome sight to all who love not, and are not loved by, the rolling deep.

I was much amused with the obstinate adherence of an old épicier, to the faith of a fact somewhat dubitable. I certainly had heard that the celebrated "huîtres d'Ostende" were really and truly an English importation, sent here to be improved, or rather educated, to suit the Belgian palate: indeed, I had seen the oyster parks a few hours previous to my conference with the Fleming. When I expressed my belief that the fish were not Ostenders, but English born, he had for all reply, "Monsieur, mais Monsieur, vous êtes trompé; c'est bien drôle, mais pardonnez, vous êtes trompé." The same worthy, on hearing me exclaim that I had not seen a tree in or near his patriotically loved dwelling-place, offered, with no small pomposity of manner and proudness of voice, to guide my ignorant person to a spot where I should behold a tree of large dimensions. A short walk brought us close to this famous specimen of the forest tribe. Shades of Pansanger, noble avenue of Hatfield, how you rose to my mind's eyc, in your quiet, stately grandeur, with all your majesty of limbs rich with the hoar of ages! Imagine a common sycamore, in one of those out-of-the-way churchyards in the great metropolis, and you have before you an exaggerated specimen of the leafy glory of Ostend.

After a walk on the sands, and round the ramparts, I was not sorry to partake of a most comfortable and

well-served dinner. Nothing could exceed the spotless purity of the table-cloth, or the cleanly and neatlyarranged style of the whole apartment. It will not do to detain the reader over further particulars of Ostend, for within a few miles lies a town far more interesting, and one to which I will direct his attention speedily but let us for the present pause.

THE WANDERER'S RECEPTION.
CHAPTER I.

THE sky was dark and stormy, the clouds sent forth torrents of rain, and all nature threatened a dark and dreary night, when an old man, tottering along the road, turned aside to rest against the stem of an ancient oak. His dress bespoke great poverty, his staff could scarcely support his weak frame, but no shrinking fear could be traced in his countenance; his white hair, blown by the boisterous winds off his wrinkled forehead, showed a restless, anxious eye; and, while his bodily infirmities demanded repose, he turned eagerly towards the road, his heart apparently longing to resume the journey. The large drops of rain could not cool his brow, and the lightning that played with destructive beauty around the branches above him, served to show more clearly his haggard and worn features. Could we have seen his heart, we should have discovered that, although his journey through life had been sad, yet the hope of future joys, and faith in the love and support of his Maker, had ever proved, as it still did, his strength and consolation.

The old man's eyes were closed, as if to shut out the distance between him and his destination, when a low, gentle voice recalled his attention to the present moment, and, looking down, he found a little child clasping his hand, in sweet tones trying to comfort him.

Stroking her fair hair, now damp with the falling rain, he inquired why one so young and tender braved the dangers of such a storm.

"I am looking," replied the little one, "for my dear "Trust.' If you have seen a large black dog pass this way, pray tell me, that I may find him."

"Poor child! you must not wander to seek the animal now. While you speak so kindly of your favourite, have you no considerate parent to be uneasy at your absence?"

"They call me Mary. I never saw my father, but my mother told me he was not lost; and one day, when she was very ill, that she was going to him, that they would both wait for me, but that I must stay amongst the green fields till I was called to them. I never saw her again; and my aunt brought me to her home. I called Trust,' and he ran by the cart all the way; I cannot bear to lose him, he loves me better than any

one.

"How is it you have lost your pet? and why have you been allowed to come out now to look for him?"

me.

"This morning my uncle took me to school; I had never been there before, but my aunt has so many babies at home that she has no time to teach and love I begged very hard that my dog might come with me, but they would not let him, and when I came back he was gone; he would not eat the dinner they offered him, and I am sure he went away to look for me. I must find him; I am very unhappy without him;" and the tears ran down her cheeks as she spoke.

"Not without Trust; indeed, I cannot go back without him. It did not rain so fast, and there was no thunder, when I ran from home. I am sure if I could call loud enough he would hear me."

The little girl could not be persuaded to return without the missing favourite, and entreated the old man to let her go to a shed in the next field, where he migh have taken shelter: it was quite in vain to tell her how unlikely it was that they should find the dog; and, rather than leave his young companion in distress, he moved towards the spot. The child put her little hand into his, and jumped forward as if to reach the hovel in one bound, but, when she found her friend so feeble, her heart reproached her, and, with a few tears at the idea of not seeking her pet, she begged that he would turn towards her aunt's cottage, where he would find rest, and could have his clothes dried; but, seeing he would not listen to her thoughtful proposal, and perdetermined that he should not expose his health on her sisted in his intention to grant her former request, she account, and appearing to consent, and to guide him to the hut, she gently led him round the tree in the opposite direction, and did not discover to him her simple artifice till at the door of the cottage. With warm gratitude did the old man regard her; but, intent on securing him a welcome, Mary hastily let go his hand and pushed open the door, when, to her great joy, Trust sprang upon her with every manifestation of satisfaction at the meeting. Upbraiding him for running away, she drew near to her uncle, earnestly entreating him to take care of the aged traveller. She was soon made quite happy by seeing him seated by the fire, and partaking of their frugal supper.

Mary's long absence had caused some alarm, but she begged for forgiveness, and soon ran off to her bed. Quite exhausted with crying and running about in the damp fields, she directly fell into a sound, quiet sleep. Her aunt, wishing to point out how mistaken she had been in going at such a time to seek the dog, went to her room as soon as she could leave the other children. She felt unwilling to disturb her, and sitting down by the bed-side she watched her slumbers. The lightning still played round the house, but did not agitate the sleeper; her soft dimpled arms were crossed over her, her fair locks fell over her shoulders, and her half-closed lips seemed ready to impart some mystery of sleep: presently she moved uneasily, and with suddenly outstretched hands murmured, "Mother! Mother!" For the first time her companion felt tenderly towards the poor orphan. She had unhesitatingly taken charge of her as her sister's offspring, but, with nine of her own, she had not paid any particular attention to Mary, and, seeing the child apparently happy, singing in the fields, and playing with Trust, she had felt contented about her. She was too generous to feel the addition to her family a burden, and without reluctance offered her such advantages as her own children enjoyed. Mary troubled no one, and had become so independent that none of the family thought of guiding her actions or consulting her feelings. Her aunt now felt drawn towards her, and she blamed herself for not having taken greater interest in the child's pursuits and tastes; gently bending over her and kissing her smooth brow, she prayed for strength to be able to take the place of that parent with whom the slumberer, in spirit, seemed now to be united.

CHAPTER II.

On joining her husband and their guest in the lower "I should not have thought it possible, this morn-room, Martha, Mary's aunt, found the old man ready to ing," reasoned the old man, "that I could turn aside relate the circumstances of his journey, and, on their during to-day's journey; but this little girl requires expressing sympathy in his apparent troubles, he offered assistance, and I must place her under some protection." to recount the most important events of his life; to Turning towards her he raised her drooping head, and which proposal they willingly acceded. desired her to tell him where she lived, that he might take her home.

"I was born in the north of England," he began, "and, in so remote a village as ours, my parents would

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