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comes into his kingdom. The kind old maiden lady at Charleswood went quietly to her rest, and John Mortimer of The Wild, was now also lord of the fair domain of Charleswood, and a personage of considerable importance in the county where it was situate.

But when he came last to The Wild after some weeks of absence, and we walked under the limes, whose leaves shivered silently to the ground beneath our feet, I was vexed to observe that my old friend was disposed to treat this fact but lightly, and that in his mood and conversation generally there was a discontent, and gloom almost, quite unwonted in him. His sudden appearance, during my stroll, was somewhat unexpected, and I said so as I welcomed him.

"I seem to have been away an age, too," he answered, hastily; "and I came upon my soul, I hardly know why I came, except that I was horridly lonely up at Charleswood, and no wonder! Not that The Wild is much better, though, only, at any rate, I don't miss there a kind old face I used to know. Frank, if it had not been for the dear old lady I should never have come home, I think; and since she's gone, I can't do better than go back again. I declare, if it was possible, I'd go back to the bush tomorrow."

"The dear old country seems to have grown small, Frank. I feel in the way here.”

We were just at the end of the shadowy avenue of limes as he spoke, and the next instant there was a faint rustle among the withered leaves on the grass, and my cousin Beaty glided into it, and faced us. We both started a little, but the little lady held out her hand to Mr. Mortimer with ever so quiet a smile, and then swept away, before we could trun and accompany her.

Jack looked after her for an instant, and there was trouble in his eye. "Miss Francis is not looking well,” he said; "she has grown thin and pale.”

CHAPTER IV.

BETWEEN THE LIGHTS.

There was no prettier nor cosier room in all comfortable and picturesque old Meadowsleigh than that one appropriated to its master, and called "Mr. Marchmont's study." It was sacred to myself, and I was chary of allowing the intrusion of my household across its threshold, feeling that the "business" in which I talked solemnly of being engaged during a quiet hour or so, when it pleased me to retire from the bosom of my family into its comfortable seclusion, might perhaps suffer in the respect of its members, if they found how often it was transacted with a cigar between my lips and in a position of recumbency on a lounge constructed with many cunning contrivances for insuring the greatest amount of comfort, with the least expenditure of effort, on the part of the indi

"In search of society?" I inquired. Jack laughed, but the next instant he sighed. “Ah! you may laugh at the idea of a man who has been five years in the bush, crying out at the solitude of an old country house under bachelor rule; but I can tell you solitude is not at all the same thing there-nothing like bore-vidual who sought its sleepy hollow. dom in the bush, Frank; and somehow a friend's face seems all the more worth seeing, when you have ridden over fifty miles of green slope and swell, with that sole object in view. In fact, I think a man must go to the bush before he really understands the meaning of the word neighbor." No offence to you, old boy."

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“None in the world; but, for a gentleman of passably engaging manners, decidedly handsome means, in a moderately populous, and sociably disposed neighborhood, to complain of solitude, and talk of flying to the bush for society, strikes me as a fact requiring explanation. If Charleswood and The Wild are dull, fill them with friendly faces, dear lad; they are never turned away from such as thee." But Jack shook his head.

The fire had sunk down into a deep red glow on the wide tesselated hearth, my favorite the room was full of brooding shadows, and that hound was sleeping peacefully in its heat, all wavering glow from the fire only very dimly defined the large person of Jack Mortimer as he lay extended very much at his ease on that same lounge.

A tap at the long window that opens upon the shrubbery.

"If you please, sir, Jones would thank ye to walk down to the stable. Lady Betty went dead lame to-day, sir, while one of the boys had her out exercising, sir."

Uttering an anathema upon boys in general, and stable boys in particular, I caught up my cap and hastened away without a word of ex

cuse to Jack, who was, moreover, half asleep. | have seen her many times. My home was I might, perhaps, have been absent half an always at Charleswood with my aunt, and after hour, for I had to wait the veterinary surgeon's Amy left school she went to live down in Essex arrival and report upon the disaster of my with her guardian. We two were pretty much favorite mare; and when I presently re-entered alone in the world, and perhaps that was the my sanctum, which I did by the window, as I reason we thought a great deal of one anothdeparted, I stood still a moment surveying the er—at least I know I was very fond of my little sight that presented itself to my eyes. sister.

Not with surprise-no-I flatter myself I had entirely overcome any tendency to that emotion where Jack Mortimer and my cousin Beaty were concerned; for of course, those young people composed the tableau on which I looked. It was not otherwise than a pretty one, I am bound to confess that. There was Jack seated easily back on my favorite resting-place, and by his side-and so very close, that Jack's arm could scarce have found a position anywhere but round her waist-nestled little Beaty. As far as I knew, he had hardly hitherto touched the little finger-tips of my pretty cousin, and now-lo-but I was calm, and advanced into the charmed circle within the firelight, as if for a lady and gentleman apparently on the most formal terms of acquaintanceship, to assume the present relative position of these two, was among my most ordinary and familiar experi

ences.

“Wish me joy, Frank, old fellow," said Jack, jumping up then.

“I wish you all possible joy," I answered meekly; "none the less sincerely, that I don't in the least know of what.”

“I should think it was plain enough, too," Mr. Mortimer answered, turning to draw Beaty up beside him; "but I am afraid you are vexed, old boy, that we had a secret from you all this time. I suppose we have each fancied it the other's; but now it can be yours, too, Frank, if Beaty will tell it.”

"Not I, Jack. I came here this evening meaning to tell Frank, and made a sad mess of it (here she glanced up at Jack, with the most enchanting look imaginable). You do it this time. Sit here, Frank, dear."

And my little cousin, bless her loving heart! seeing that I was grave (which I was, through sheer bewilderment), and fearing that I was wounded, sat down by me on the side not next Jack, and her soft cheek lay against my shoulder while I listened.

"I don't know whether you remember my sister Amy, Frank," Jack began; "I think it is likely enough you may not, for you could not

"And she thought there was no brother in all the world to compare with hers, and never tired of talking of him," murmured a voice on my left-Jack was on my right.

"And perhaps I never heard of Miss Beaty Francis, either, before I saw her," answered Jack. "I remember I laughed one day when Amy was setting forth her perfections, and said she must introduce me, and perhaps I might be the happy man who would win this paragon for his wife. Perhaps this unlucky speech of mine first turned my little sister's thoughts towards such a thing, though it passed entirely out of my mind; for very soon afterwards Amy fell into delicate health, and before many months were over I knew that we should not have her long."

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"It was a sad time, and I don't care to think of it. She sank very rapidly, and one day burst a blood-vessel; after that we knew the end must come very soon. She knew it herself, too, and pined so much to see her dear little school-friend Beaty Francis, that her kind old guardian went up to London himself, to beg Miss Francis might be allowed to return with him to bid the poor dying child 'Good-bye!'"

"I have never forgotten that day you came, nor how I first saw you," Jack went on, addressing himself now to Miss Beaty, with that involuntary softening of his deep voice as he did so which tells a tale to those who listen.

"Often and often out in Australia, when I have been sitting quite alone in my hut, with the level sunset light streaming through the open door, I have seen it all over again. That golden light coming across the low Essex lands, and flickering on the wall above the sofa where Amy lay, her poor little wasted face propped upon pillows; and lying beside it, pressed close against it, your fresh rosy face, and your yellow hair, so bright and wavy, mixed with hers, all dark and straight. I did not think much about it at the time, but I suppose it must have

made some impression. I remembered it all so öften afterwards; then I thought of little, but my poor Amy. Your coming seemed to have put new life into her. She had scarcely spoken for days, now she laughed and talked so gaily, that something almost like a hope began to wake up in my heart. I looked over at you, and said, I remember, that you were the best doctor that had come near Amy yet, and that I thought a few days of your company would do all they had not been able to accomplish. And then-but you remember."

"Yes," whispered Beaty.

would; and when all was over (she died with her arms round my neck that night, Frank) it was only left me to try and make the best of the matter with Miss Francis. I told her—at least I tried to-that she need never think herself bound by a promise so given-that she need never fear my insulting her, by making any claim upon it.”

“Oh, Jack, Jack, you incorrigible old blunderer!" I could not forbear crying out here; so you as good as told a lady you would not have her."

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I suppose I did blunder horribly; I've no "I do not," I could not refrain from remind- doubt I did," answered Jack, seriously; "for ing these absorbed creatures.

"I beg your pardon, Frank,” returned Jack, with quite a start; "I had forgotten I was telling you."

"So it seems. But go on, my dear old fellow." "Think of Amy, then, Frank, as a very young, very warm-hearted and loving-romantic, perhaps, and lifted, by the knowledge that she was dying, above ordinary, every-day life; very sorry for me, too, whom her death would leave but with very few to care much about me-think of her so, and then perhaps you will understand how it all came about; that, holding her friend's hand in hers, she asked her to promise her something, and that Beaty answered, Yes-willingly-gladly-anything!' Then looking across at me, Amy asked me to do the same. How could I dream what the poor child's thoughts were fixed on? I answered, as Beaty had done. And then-thenwith a light in her dying eyes, and a smile on her mouth, she told us that what she asked of us, what she had longed for, thought over, and prayed for, was, that we two would marry. That we had promised to grant her what she asked, and she asked that.

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"Just imagine, if you can, our awful confusion while we listened, Frank; I'm sure I can't depict it. I only dared once look towards Miss Francis, and then saw nothing of her faceonly one little ear and a part of her throat, and they were flushed with deep, and, I felt sure, indignant crimson. I was unutterably pained and shocked; but could I reproach my little dying sister? I did try to laugh the matter off, awkwardly enough, I dare say; at any rate, I failed, and made matters worse. How could I joke on such a subject, or dream that she could do so with dying lips?"" Amy said.

"Be angry with her I neither could nor

certainly Miss Francis

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"Behaved very foolishly, I am afraid," here broke in the voice on my left. "But I was very young-only a school-girl-and the idea would torment me that you might think Amy had talked of-of what she wished to me before, and that perhaps I knew what the promise she asked referred to, before it was given. Thinking this, I felt so horribly ashamed, I could not bear to see you. I thought I never should be able."

"Only it appears to me that you have changed your mind on that point Miss," pinching the little fingers that lay in mine.

"Yes, Frank," responded the demure monkey.

"Since when, pray? for deuce take me if I can understand how you and Jack, who seemed only this morning as far as the poles asunder, can have arrived, in the space of half an hour, at the-well-I think I may say without offence, close relations,' in which I found you.”

"Don't, Frank, dear!" whispered Miss Beaty. "Ill tell you another time."

"No time like the present. Come, Jack. I comprehend now, how the hostile attitude came about. Do clear up the mystery of the allied one."

"It was arrived at very simply, too. Miss Francis and I have been under the mutual impression all this time, and we were respectively disagreeable to each other. By a—a little accident this evening we found out that we were mutually mistaken, and so- I think that will do, Frank."

"By Jove! no; for I declare I'm all in the dark."

"We were in the dark, cousin Frank," Miss Beaty whispered here, laughing and blushing, I dare say; certainly turning her face so that it

should be invisible to Jack, who had risen by this time, and was standing before the fire. "At least, no-it was 'between the lights;' and I came in here to talk to you about something that was making me very unhappy-something I heard you and—and Mr. Mortimer talking of this afternoon in the avenue-about his going away to Australia for good, I mean. I thought it was you lying on the sofa, Frank. And before I had found out it was not, I had saidI don't know what. But Mr. Mortimer knew then I did not dislike him; and so-and so

"And so poor little Amy's wish has come about, after all, thank God! And I don't think I shall go farther for a home now than Charleswood, unless Beaty particularly prefers the bush," concluded Jack, coming to the rescue.

"And my shrewd little wife's prediction is verified, also," I observed, " that if ever Jack Mortimer married, the lady would have to make the first confession of love. There, Beaty, never hide your face, my dear. Methinks a woman need scarce do that, when she owns to loving Jack Mortimer, no more at shining noonday than between the lights.""

[London Society.

TAKE MY HAND, PAPA.

In the dead of the night I am frequently awakened by a little hand stealing out from the crib by my side, with the pleading cry, "Please take my hand, papa!”

Instantly the little boy's hand is grasped, his fears vanish, and, soothed by the consciousness of his father's presence, he falls into a sleep again.

We commend this lesson of simple, filial faith and trust to the anxious, sorrowing ones that are found in almost every household. Stretch forth your hand, stricken mourner, although you may be in the deepest darkness and gloom, and fear and anxious suspense may cloud your pathway, and that very act will reveal the presence of a loving, compassionate Father, and give you the peace that passeth all understanding.

The darkness may not pass away at once, night may enfold you in its cold embrace, but its terrors will be dissipated, its gloom and sadness flee away, and, in the simple grasp of the Father's hand, sweet peace will be given, and you will rest securely knowing that the morning cometh.

SUSPICION is usually born of one's own faults the truly good are confiding.

LITTLE BESSIE,

And the Way in which She Fell Asleep. "Hug me closer, closer, mother,

Put your arms around me tight;
I am cold and tired, mother,
And I feel so strange to-night,
Something hurts me here, dear mother,
Like a stone upon my breast;
Oh, I wonder, wonder, mother,
Why it is I cannot rest?

"All day long while you were working,
As I lay upon my bed,

I was trying to be patient,
And to think of what you said;
How the kind and blessed Jesus
Loves His lambs to watch and keep;
And I wished He'd come and take me
In His arms, that I might sleep.
"Just before the lamp was lighted,

Just before the children came,
While the room was very quiet,
I heard some one call my name,
And at once the window opened,

On a field where lambs and sheep-
Some from out a brook were drinking,

Some were lying fast asleep.
"But I could not see the Savior,
Though I strained my eyes to see;
And I wondered if He saw me,
Would He speak to such as me?
In a moment I was looking
On a world so bright and fair,
Which was full of little children,
And they seemed so happy there.
"They were singing, oh! how sweetly!
Sweeter songs I never heard!
They were singing sweeter, mother,

Than can sing our yellow bird.
And while I my breath was holding,
One so bright upon me smiled;
And I knew it must be Jesus,
When he said, 'Come here, my child!
"Come up here my little Bessie!

Come up here and live with me,
Where the children never suffer,
But are happier than you see!'
Then I thought of what you told me

Of that bright and happy land;
I was going when you called me,
When you came and kissed my hand.
"And at first I felt so sorry

You had called me!—I would go—
Oh! to sleep, and never suffer!

Mother, don't be crying so! Hug me closer, closer, mother,

Put your arm around me tight, Oh! how much I love you mother,

But I feel so strange, to-night!"
And the mother pressed her closer

To her overburdened breast;
On the heart so near to breaking,
Lay the heart so near its rest.
At the solemn hour of midnight,
In the darkness, calm and deep,
Lying on her mother's bosom,
Little Bessie fell asleep!

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THE GRAVE OF THE HEART.

There is in every heart a grave,

A secret holy spot,

Fill'd with the memory of one
This busy life knows not.

Low down, and deeply dug it lies,

This cherished grave unseen;
And years of blighting care that pass
Make not this grave less green.

With jealous love we keep it fresh

Through many wintry years;
And when the world believes us gay,
We water it with tears.

Not for one cause alike do each
Their secret sorrow bear.
Perchance some mourn a living death
Yet still a grave is there.

There is within my heart a shrine,
All wholly given to him;

No dearer treasure e'er could make
Its lights burn low or dim.

Oh there are things within this life
Which strangely, deeply thrill ;
In music's softest, sweetest notes,
We hear a voice long still.

We deem the act a wanton one
Upon a grave to tread ;
We pass in silent reverence
The resting of the dead

Then on the sacred hidden spot
Let us not press too near,
Remembering that to every heart
Its secret grave is dear.

PROVIDENCE.

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and direct as that of the old time, “when one went out not knowing whither he went." Our gray-headed class leader had cried out through his tears when we met him for the last time, Lord, if thy presence go not with them, carry them not up hence;" and we felt sure that his prayer would be regarded. Yet I remember how I longed, on that Saturday night, on the crowded wharf, and in the poor lodgings which our small means and careful fear compelled us to creep into-oh! so different to the bright old Yorkshire homes-to see some one face that I had ever seen before, and hear one man say, You are welcome. And I have wondered many a time since then, whether there is not a hint in those words of the Master, "I will come again and take you to myself," that touches some such feeling respecting that other and still more wonderful removal by-and-bye. Will our dearest friend--the one that is as near to us as the Master was to John-be drawn, by some great attraction, as we cross the shining river, to meet us, and welcome us, and save us from all feeling that we are strangers? I hope so. It seems a formidable thing now to go out alone, without even the little woman. But I suppose I shall feel different when the real time comes; it will be all right then, as it is all right for ripe fruit to fall. Ripe fruit does not die; it is gathered. And a ripe man is like ripe fruit. The result of his life is for the nurture of the world. The shining seed is planted again in a better world. "He that liveth and believeth

TWELVE years ago last April, I went wirst in the (that is, liveth right shall never die

chapel among the hills, and we said some homely old words to the minister and to God about what we meant to do, and so, in a few moments, had woven the chain that was to be of everfresh flowers or of iron, as time and our own soul's texture should make it; and kissing each one both our mothers, who sat still and white and weeping, we turned away from the little valley where we had nestled all our lives, and started to seek a new home in a new world. How well I remember, as I stand here, the feelings and emotions that crowded upon me on that Saturday night, when I stood just here and just landed, a stranger in a strange land. Except the little woman who clung to my side, I knew not one soul on all the great continent; and except the face of her husband, every face was strange to her. It was a great venture. We had never left the nest until we left it so utterly; but we were full of a trust as simple

A woman in her strong prime came to me lately with a troubled face, and said, "I am afraid of death." I said, "I am glad you are; so would a green apple be, if it could think as you do. You will not be afraid of death, if you live forty years more as you are living now; death then will be lost in victory, as it is in ripened fruit."

There was one charge the Yorkshire folk laid strongly upon us: "Hold on to your money as long as you can. From the moment you touch land in New York-and the Americans see that you are strangers-they will cheat you on all sides." The man who kept our lodging was Yorkshire. He did not seem very honest, but I felt that I was a match for that sort of cheat. The wife fell sick almost as soon as we got ashore, and I went into Broadway to get some medicine. Of course, I was sure to be cheated. The druggist looked like a pleasant man; but

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