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spray meant; nothing but Willie's good, I dare say. He is a capital hand for laughing, and all that sort of thing: we shouldn't have had half the fun these holidays if he hadn't been here that I know."

I was sorry to recall poor George, who, as usual, was winging away from his troubles; but I felt it right to hint at the most painful part of the business, poor little Willie's having been made a party to the deception. "You know," said I," how stoutly he stood out, till now, against any infringement of the conditions of the treaty."

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I

Oh, it is no fault of his in the least,-all me. What shall I do?" asked George in deep distress; "go after him? mayn't be too late to prevent the mischief,-eh, Aunt Mary?"

I could give him no hopes in that quarter. Willie, I knew, had flown straight to the breakfast room, where he would probably find his godfather and his mamma seated at the very little table round which we all had recently read the Psalms and Lessons for the day.

"And she will know of it," said George, the tears starting to his eyes. "I wouldn't mind if I had told her myself, but I can't bear for her to find it out, and think a fellow deceitful—”

"Go to her then, George dear; never mind who's by; declare the truth boldly, and rejoice that you can thus punish yourself, for you well know you have little to fear from her."

"So I will; thank you, Aunt Mary, thank you; and I'll make Willie give back the case if he's got it; and I know what else I'll do. Shall I have time to ride to Spaleborough before dinner? Look at your watch, Aunt Mary,-quick."

This was a tender string to touch on. George, as I happened to know, had been for a long while saving his money to buy a watch, and now the hoarded treasure was evidently to be applied to the purchase of a case of the full value of the forfeited one.

Meanwhile Willie (as I afterwards learnt from his mamma), had bounced into the breakfast parlour, his face all in a glow, and was running up to his godfather, when, as if from a pretty impulse of delicacy, he suddenly stopped short, changed his purpose, and sprung, as little boys do spring into their mammas' laps, to the great detriment of silk aprons and muslin collars. Nestling in at her ear he whispered that he had found out the riddle.

"If my ears tell true," said Mr. Witherspray, "I am concerned in that secret, eh, Willie ?"

Willie, on this hint, timidly approached his godfather with the solution on his rosy lips.

"All your own guessing, Willie ?" demanded the latter; "no helping out?"

Willie nodded assent.

"Such being the state of the case, (the last pun for the season, I trust,') continued Mr. Witherspray, as he smilingly left the room. He returned a few minutes after with the much coveted treasure, and Willie at length held in his hand the bird he had so long heard twittering in the bush.

Hastily thanking his benefactor, the happy little fellow bounded off to show his prize to his brothers. What then must have been his surprise at hearing George, whom he met in the passage, pronounce in an authoritative tone,

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say."

Carry back that case to Mr. Witherspray; carry it back, I

66 No, I shan't," retorted Willie, reddening. "What for?" "Because it is none of your's. You know very well you were helped out," said George, "and that you would never have guessed it if I hadn't as good as told you."

'I didn't ask you to tell me," replied Willie indignantly. "No, but you know I did help you out for all that. That case isn't fairly come by, so you may as well carry it back to the real owner at once, or else let me,'

Dear little Willie's conscience beginning, I suppose, to wake up from its innocent slumber, admitted a glimmer of the truth. Resigning the case into George's extended hand, he followed him to the breakfast room, his pretty eyelashes weighed down with tears, which I dare say dropped like hot lead on poor George's feeling heart. This last walked boldly up to Mr. Witherspray, whose surprise was extreme to find his late gift thus returned on his hands, and George, blushing painfully as he proffered it, related its simple history, adding with generous vehemence, "It was all my doing, sir; Willie never once asked me, but I thought I would just give him a lift, and so-but I know now, for Aunt Mary showed me how wrong I was."

"If you know it, my boy," replied Mr. Witherspray, looking kindly at him," and feel it, as I see you do, I shall reserve my lecture for those who need it more; those who have neither the sensibility to feel, nor the honesty to acknowledge their faults. But in order to impress on my little friend here this valuable lesson, teaching us that no evasion of the truth, even the slightest, and with the kindest intentions, can ever answer in the end, I resume my gift; promising, however, to your mutual comfort, that I will give it back before I take my departure."

Willie could not help often asking his mamma how soon that would be, albeit entertaining the most cordial love and esteem for his godfather. To his great alarm and visible agitation the day approached-arrived. He saw with increasing emotion preparations made for near approaching departure. The carpet bag

was carried up into his godfather's room empty, and shortly after brought down full, so full that a small bulge in the centre, just the size of a small bible and prayer-book case, was alarmingly visible. There was not a moment to be lost. Willie as usual repaired for counsel to mamma. Would there be any harm in just giving his godfather's memory a gentle jog? Not asking for it point blank, but bringing it about quite naturally? Mamma smiled, and committed the delicate piece of diplomacy into Willie's discretion, who on his part promised to manage it so as to leave Mr. Witherspray wholly unsuspicious of his real object. Repairing to the lobby, where that gentleman was busily engaged in putting a few finishing touches to his travelling arrangements, Willie hovered awhile at some distance watching his movements in silence and with a beating heart, till, seeing him about to lock his carpet bag, he said desperately, “Are you going to take that carpet bag with you, Mr. Witherspray, sir?"

Yes, Willie, I hope so, or I shall have to sleep without a nightcap, with other short-comings too numerous to mention." The carriage drove up briskly to the door. "Mr. Witherspray, sir,"—it was Willie's last squeak,-" do you like plum

tart?"

"Plum tart! to be sure who doesn't?"

"Because, sir, have you forgot that you promised to give me the case before you went?"

The laugh which greeted poor little Willie's apropos des bottes relieved the unpleasant feeling which always attends the leavetaking of an agreeable guest. Willie had soon after the cordial satisfaction of receiving the much desired case from the hands of poor George, who for his part was gratefully alive to Mr. Witherspray's considerate kindness in making him the medium of its restoration.

Dear boy! I pray that the lesson connected with this little history may prove to him one of lasting benefit.

:

But after all, kind reader, is honest, headlong George the only one guilty of passing censure on his elders? Is not this contempt of authority the rank vice of the day, the moral epidemic of our time? Men do not, as heretofore, and GOD be praised for even thus much! drink out the contents of a wine cask at a sitting they seldom now abuse the gift of speech-well-bred persons never-by profane cursing and swearing, but all, all have fallen into this sin of the scorner. The baby scarcely escaped from its go-cart contests its nurse; the child, as soon as it attains the gift of speech, disputes the point with its mother; young men, while they mock their father with the slang title of "Governor," break loose from all parental guidance and control, while the father in his turn, having failed in reducing to

order and obedience his own small circle, sits in ruthless judgment on public men and measures, measures which perhaps have cost the projectors anxious days and sleepless nights, and premature grey hairs. To go still higher: the devout, lowly, and due attendants at church, where are they? The comparatively few who do condescend to come now listen to her beautiful offices with a critical ear, and can show the pastor a better way than that which his sermon points to. Thus where an archangel reverently holds his breath, poor erring man resists, arraigns, brings "railing accusation "against his brother man.

Poor Burns, the "tender and impetuous," may not be exactly the authority to cite on a question of moral propriety; yet how beautifully true and charitable are his observations on the subject in hand, especially the concluding verse:

"Wha made the heart 'tis He alone,
Decidedly can try us;

He knows each chord, its various tone,
Each spring, its various bias.

Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;

What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted."

LINES

On the little Chapel in Margaret Street being pulled down, to build a new Church on the site: addressed to E. C. L.

LET none rebuke our sorrow vainly swelling,
Nor say we sin to taste, dishonour art,
Because the bareness of this poor low dwelling,
Had grown entwined around our heart;

Because no show of clustered arches bending,
Nor slender shaft, nor storied window clear,
Nor fretted roof on pillars proud ascending,
Can give the charm that lingered here.

For what is taste, but the soul's earnest striving
After the beautiful in form and thought,

From the pure past a nicer sense deriving,
And ever by fair nature taught?

A strong creative impulse making real,

Dreams framed from earth, or drawn down from above-
These barren walls could give one bright ideal,

And the heart's beautiful is-love.

Nor unto us alone,-how many another,

Weary, and worn, and penitent, hath come,
Here knelt down in the shadow of his mother,
And borne her low-breathed blessing home.

How many spirits troubled with the chiding
Of the rough world, have hither turned for rest,
Like storm-toss'd ship awhile at anchor riding
On some small haven's quiet breast.

How many lips in rapturous devotion,

Wrought by no outward impulse, here have moved:
How many hearts can share our heart's emotion,
Here meeting with the lost and loved.

This was the casket where our hearts embalmed her,
A reliquary fitting for a saint;

Here, where His love had met, His mercy calmed her,
When her poor human heart did faint.

Still on her place where a dim ray fell slanting,
There was a sound, known to our hearts alone,
Of angel's wings; still with the choir's low chanting,
Mingled her gentle undertone.

So shall it be no more: a crimson splendour

Shall break that wandering sunbeam's silver line;
And bid it fall in tinted radiance tender,

On the pure pavement by the shrine.

Down the long nave the deep full organ pealing,
A hundred echoes lingering shall draw,

From roof, and niche, and sculptured angel kneeling,
In the fair fane she never saw.

Why are our hearts filled with so many yearnings
And adverse claims that each to other call,
Admiring thoughts, and zeal, and inward burnings,
And this poor human love through all?

We would not check the work of your adoring,
We love when art, and wealth, and fervour meet;
Their gifts most bright, most beautiful outpouring,
Meekly at our dear Master's feet.

Still let us weep,-even as a mother weepeth,
Over a sickly child in mercy ta'en;

Deep in her heart his little spot she keepeth,
But wishes him not back again.

And if there be, who meet us with upbraiding,
Call back the lost loves of your early years,

The deep sad thoughts that ask no outward aiding,
And leave us our few silent tears.

April, 1850.

C. F. H.

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