HE Christmas sun is shining clear Across the frosted pane, Making the chequered chancel bright With many a crimson stain; The tracery of the fretted arch,

Long veiled by virgin snow, Steals shyly forth, as drop by drop,

It melteth down below.

The cowering birds beneath the eaves

Peep out with curious eye,
As welcoming the gracious beams

All earth that glorify.

A flutter in each downy nest,

Low notes, prelusive long,
Until the pent-up joy bursts forth

In a stream of grateful song. "Twould seem as though the very wails

Had heard a seraph voice:
Let saints above, and man below,

And meaner things rejoice.

The church is swept and garnishedSober in gaiety,

Its ancient walls are almost hid

By verdant tapestry.

No hidden corner seems too mean,
No slender shaft too high,
To bear upon its rugged breast

Boon Nature's blazonry.
The lingerers of the dying year
Symbolic stories tell,
Holly and ivy "never sere,"
That poets love so well;

The scented pine, the sable yew,

And e'en the tiny seed,

Have furnished forth the sacred scroll,
That he who runs may read.
As silently as willing hands

The good words wrought apart,
So silently may some deep truth
Sink down into the heart;
As lisping tongues essay to spell
The words of living green,
And hoary heads bow down to tell
The children what they mean.

The crowned day of all the year,

For which all days were made,
When man may "hear the voice of God,
And yet be not afraid."
Oh! mystery of mysteries,

A lost world reconciled
By faith in Him, a risen Lord,
Who came a sinless child;
The festival of festivals,

The boon all boons above,
That freely gave a life for all,

And only asks for love.
The anthem that the angels sang,

We hymn in choral strain;
How is it that the "still, small voice"
So often pleads in vain ?
Oh, for a living coal to touch

Our frozen hearts to-day;
To make the wisest wiser grow,
And babes as wise as they!
Churchman's Magazine.

CHAPTER IV.

into the nursery one morning with an unusually bright and cheerful face, and announced that she and Mr. Greenstreet had decided on going to Paris, and taking the two eldest children with them. There was a shout of delight from Rosa and Fanny, two little girls of nine and seven years old, and then a chorus of shrill voices from some younger ones, all begging to go too. "Take me, take me, oh! do mother, dear," said one; "and me, too, pease," chimed in a little mite of a thing about three.

To Ruth's surprise and delight, her mistress informed her that she was to take charge of the children to Paris, while the younger ones were to be sent to the sea

side, under the care of the older nurse. The arrangements were soon completed, and one bright sunny morning the party set off for Newhaven. Ruth thoroughly enjoyed the journey, and the change from the dull cheerlessness of her present life. She was gifted with keen powers of observation, which had ripened and expanded considerably during these four months of her sojourn in London; and it was with no little interest and pleasure that she passed through the beautiful south of England. Surrey, with its "pleasant hills," was soon left behind, then came the Sussex downs, and then the chalk cliffs of the coast, rising up from the blue green sea, a long line of glaring white, reflecting in dazzling brightness the full rays of an August sun. They were all heartily tired of hanging about the pier at Newhaven, and very glad when the signal for departure was given, and the steamer was fairly off on her voyage to Dieppe. It was perfectly calm, and not a creature on board was ill. The children were in the greatest state of excitement, and it was with no little difficulty Ruth kept them within bounds: she herself felt an exhilaration of spirits she had long been a stranger to. The great and wide sea was such a wonderful sight to her inland eyes, and it was so strange to see the English coast grow less and less, and at last wholly disappear, while for two hours or more there was nothing all around but sea and sky. Then came the first faint outline of land again, and gradually the long line of the French coast stretched itself out before them.

"We are looking at a real continent, now, nursie," said one of the little girls; "not a pokey little island like England."

It was almost dark when Dieppe was reached; and they were anchored below the pier, looking up with curious eyes to the crowd above them, and listening with bewildered ears to the noisy Babel of voices. A kind of bridge soon connected the steamer with the pier, and the astonished Ruth found herself suddenly relieved from her travelling-bag by the politest of officials, who tried his best by repeated gesticulations to make her understand it should soon be restored to her.

Tightly holding a child by each hand, she followed in the wake of her master and mistress, and went with them before some important-looking functionaries, who inspected them and their passports. They were then passed on to the Custom-house, where Ruth regained her much-prized bag: and whence, after the briefest possible form of searching their "baggage," they drove off to the railway station, intending to break their journey at Rouen. It was midnight, or later, when they reached that "quaint old town of toil and traffic," so rich in the glories of Art, and so full of historic memories and old-world associations. It was too late to obtain a cab, but a porter volunteered to carry their bags, and to guide them to an hotel on the quay where Mr. Greenstreet had already secured rooms. There was something rather exciting and adventurous, walking in the very dead of night in a foreign town, with an unknown guide through dark and narrow streets, meeting no living creature, except perhaps a solitary cat that here and there crossed their path. Every object had a grand mysterious aspect in the "dim uncertain light." At length, after repeated turnings and windings, they came out into a large open square, and their leader stopped in front of a forlornlooking old inn, declaring they had come to the end of their journey. In vain did Mr. Greenstreet insist that it was to the quay they were bound, and to the quay they must go. The man refused to proceed further; and Mr. Greenstreet reluc tantly agreed the whole party should take up their abode there for the night. They were taken upstairs to rooms that seemed from their stuffy and mildewy atmosphere to have been uninhabited for montis, or even years. Some unhappy boys were roused from their slumbers to make up beds for our travellers, whose only comfort in such uninviting quarters was the speedy prospect of refreshment; but their expec tations were doomed to disappointment. In vain did they petition for tea, coffee, wine, anything. The landlord only lifted up his hands, shook his head, and ejaculated, "It is midnight, it is past midnight; you shall have everything you want in the

At last Ruth, by dint of repeated signs, made the boys comprehend their necessities. In a minute the good-natured fellows rushed away, one returning with a loaf of bread nearly half-a-yard long, and the other with a knife and some water.

"At all events we need not die of starv. ation," said Mr. Greenstreet: and the children's eyes brightened at the sight of food. But alas! the bread was too sour for civilized English mouths, however it might suit French ones; and the whole party retired supperless to bed.

It was a strange awakening on the next morning, which was Sunday; bells on every side were ringing for service, but there were other sounds which jarred sadly with the chimes; the streets were full of stalls, buyers and sellers were hard at work, women in the nearest of caps were arranging fruit and flowers, men in blouses were going off to work, and there were few signs around that it was the Lord's day and not man's. After our hungry travellers had breakfasted, they went to the grand old cathedral, which Ruth felt at once, in spite of all difference of faith, was indeed a house of God. And though she gazed with astonishment at the gorgeous altar, the costly magnificence of the prie‹ts' dresses, and was in utter bewilderment as to the meaning of all the imposing service she was witnessing, she ventured to kneel and say some of her own Prayer-book prayers, in simple faith that there was the same Father in heaven present there, as at home in the little church at Grendon.

After quitting the cathedral they proceeded to the hotel for which they were bound the night before, the comfort and luxuriance of which soon made up for all they had undergone. Tae next few days were spent in sight-seeing, one of their visits being to a beautiful modern church on the summit of a hill above the town, the interior of which was most richly painted, gilding and colour having been lavished on it most profusely; but costly as were its adornments, there was much in it to shock the eyes of English Churchmen. A great part of one side was covered

with ascriptions of honour to the blessed Virgin, as are due to God alone. "I have prayed to Mary and she has helped me," was the prevailing tone of most of them, though it was often accompanied with a detailed account of the particular instance in which her help had been supposed to be efficacious. After descending the hill, they went to see the glorious old church of St. Ouen, one of, if not quite, the finest in France. And Ruth was shewn the square where the brave and loyal Joan of Arc, the heroic Maid of Orleans, was burnt to death by cruel murderous hands. Another visit was paid to the cathedra', where the heart of our own lion-hearted Richard was buried, and where are the tombs of many great and illustrious Englishmen.

CHAPTER V.

66 Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast
Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste!
No shepherds' tents within thy view appear,
But the chief Shepherd even there is near."

COWPER.

AFTER most of the wonders and beauties of Rouen had been explored, our travellers proceeded to Paris, and were soon comfortably established at an hotel in the Rue Rivoli, close to the Tuileries Gardens, where Ruth would take the children for hours together, while Mr. and Mrs. Greeastreet were elsewhere sightseeing.

A length a day was fixed for Ruth to accompany her mistress and the children to the Exhibition. Before entering the building it was agreed that Mrs. Greenstreet should look after Rosa, waile Ruta should take care of little Fanny.

Ruth was slightly disappointed at first by the general effect of the interior of the Exhibition, but on going round the building and examining the different objects in detail, she found a great deal to interest and astonish her. True, however, to her love of country and home prejudices, she was more pleased with the English productions than those of other lands, ani scarcely knew how to contain her deli.ht when she discovered a case of Ardenby ribbons, and saw the name of Messrs.