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not to have touched in Sue's pantry, mended his shoe with a piece of leather taken from Fred's oar, and was afterwards found stealing turnips in a field, and not being able to pay the fine, was sent to prison. They were but a few he had taken, but Barney ought not to have touched anything not his own. He, however, bore his punishment very well; and his kind-hearted friends received him again, on the solemn promise that he would behave more honestly in future. Sue was so glad to see him; she could have embraced him for joy; and then prepared him a warm cup of coffee, and made him feel quite at home. Fred was equally pleased to see him, but he felt some reproof was due; and there was a reproach in his tone as he said, "Well, Barney!" But he uttered no more; a silence ensued that spoke more than words, but Barney was ignorant, and seemed hardly to know the extent of what he had done. He could neither write nor read; he cared not for his clothes, and would sit in his things dripping wet, if Sue had not cautioned him to change them. Yet, silly as he was, Fred found his use, and missed him when he was gone. There was no one to haul in the lobster pots, or to help drag in the great Conger eels, which are so large and strong, that they have been known to kill a man. And Barney seemed to feel he was disgraced, and did his best, rowing with all his might. And Fred kindly said, "Pull, my flower!" and all was made up; and it was not until the next time that Fred had to threaten, "I'll be blessed if I have anything to do with that fellow again!" Yet through good report and evil report, Fred is ever kind to his comrade; and Barney does his best to merit this kindness.

Sue had an old father whom she tenderly loved, and who had suffered for a long time with a disease of the heart. He was not so noble as Fred's father-a fact she had often to admit; for Fred was proud of his relations, and there was nothing to be proud of in this poor old man; but he was good and kind to Sue, and she attended him with great affection in his last illness; sitting up with him, and doing her utmost to soothe his pain. But he died, in spite of all her care; and her grief was very great for her old father's loss, and she had no spirit to go out and sell fish, but sat by him to the last. And when Fred came to console her, she said, "Dear father! look at him, Frederick; he is not the least altered; dear and tender flesh!" But the friends assembled, and poor Sue had to take her final leave of the parent she loved so well. And Fred assisted in carrying him to the grave; dressed in his blue jacket, a piece of crape round his arm, and a clean white handkerchief. And Sue followed close upon the coffin, neatly dressed in black-only just decent black, that was all; for she felt a grief beyond its outward show, and she had been watching her father to the last, instead of busying herself about the mourning. Even Fred's eyes streamed with tears, as he stood by the side of the

grave and felt it a solemn service, and Fred was blessed if ever he felt so dismal before. But he cheered up again at the sight of their comfortable tea by their warm fireside; but poor Sue could not eat, so he knew that her sorrow was even greater than he supposed. Yet after a while Sue restrained her tears, for she thought it unworthy of him to whom she had rendered the last honours to weep for his entrance into the joy of his LORD; for she hoped that, through the grave and gate of death, he had passed to his joyful resurrection." And she found comfort in thus thinking that her dear father was at rest, and that her loss was to him great gain, for he was now free from pain and trouble. So Sue resumed her busy life again, and Fred was very glad to see her cheerful once

more.

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The peaceful halo which gave radiance to her countenance lightens up the very abode of the fisherman's hut; the sunbeam of every Christian virtue brightens their tabernacle. Well was it that GOD made a help meet for man! Luther says "that there is nothing more tender than a woman's heart, when it is the abode of piety," and yet her spirit, tender as it is, is as firm as any rock, for there are no toils which she cannot endure, no little difficulties but what she overcomes. Self-denying, mindful of the wants of others, seeking not her own, but ever the same happy Sue, the dear companion of her husband; making his home a little paradise on earth by her sweet, and gentle, and loving temperament.

Fred was decidedly fond of good things; he managed to subscribe sixpence a week to a club, where he had tripe every Saturday night for supper. It seemed rather a selfish enjoyment, for Sue could not possibly go with him; and poor Barney, it was in vain that he desired to accompany Fred, for a sixpence was more than he was worth altogether. So Barney used to sit sulkily till Fred returned, and Sue had enough to do in arranging her house for Sunday. "The little woman's work is never done," Fred would good humouredly say upon his return. It is easy to be jocose upon a good supper, but Sue would reply, "Poor people must work for their livelihood; it is pleasanter to eat than it is to scrubby." But Fred with his good cheer was above the world, and Sue's sober sense told her that anything was better than scolding; so she would sit down to needly, as the Devonshire people express it, and everything was ready for the morrow. On other nights Fred was as busily employed as herself, singing as he leisurely mended his nets. He could not complain of the havoc a bountiful draught had caused; but he wished the dog-fish would keep themselves away, for being larger than herrings, it was difficult to extricate their fins from the net. And, besides, the dog-fish is of no use, for it is venomous and does mischief; wounding the hand, if possible, with a sort of thorn it has on the back. In the herring season the nets are spread out on the beach, or are hung over

the railings that are near to dry; adding to the picturesque, as the fishermen in the open air persevere in their work. It is always a pleasure to see them so happily employed. The sea before them restless and unassured; themselves so calm, though their lot uncertain, yet they never despair. There is Fred now busy at his net, leisurely drawing out his thread, and looking so joyous, with, I dare say, not a penny in his pocket; but the sea is all before him, and at Fred's age hope remains fresh to the last.

"The sun shall soon

Dip westerly. But oh! how little like
Are life's two twilights!"

The young are more trustful than the old, which ought not to be; for however those have been tried who have passed through life's cares, they must have also experienced the mercies vouchsafed, the unexpected help when they have all but despaired. The poor are far more confident than the rich sufficient for their day is the evil thereof. They have nothing to lose, and the morrow is really left to take thought for itself.

"Live for to-day, to-morrow's light

To-morrow's cares will bring to sight:
Go sleep like closing flowers at night,
And Heaven thy morn shall bless."

And heaven surely does bless the poor with peaceful sleep, and they are in many ways spared the anxiety of the rich; for true it is there are many more cares beyond riches than on this side of them. Riches are a burden, and weigh the heart down with heaviness that is set upon them; not so with Fred: he is now sitting in "The Lovely Susan" on the beach, busy at his work, rejoicing under a warm sun: and plenteous has been the supply of herrings, to judge from his damaged nets. Six thousand in one day's work! Oh how rich Fred would be if he could but take care of his hardearned wealth! but in the same way as his nets, poor Fred always seems to have a hole at the end of his purse; and in spite of the pretty Sue's preaching, he will spend many a careless penny. Now his heart is in his work, and like the spider when it breaks its thread twenty times, twenty times will it tread it again. And so is Fred never cast down at the sight of the many loops he has to take up steadily he presses onwards, true as the needle to the pole, never dismayed by difficulties, his heart seems to dance over the cares of life as buoyant as his bark upon the waves, forgetting those that are passed, and not disturbing his peace of mind in looking out for those that may never come; thankful in prosperity; trustful in adversity; what should Fred fear with a heart so pure and honest, rejoicing in his integrity as the sun rejoices in

his strength; so does our fisherman brave the chances and changes of this world; knowing that though the day may be darkened by a passing cloud, yet the sunbeam is ever ready to burst forth, the rainbow visible; God's light arising out of obscurity, and His form upon the troubled waters. "If the softness of sunshine nourishes our peace of mind, yet more does the might of the storm; the beauty might be God's messenger; the storm is God Himself.” And how true it is that every cross is sweetened with some mercy! A Scotchman was once asked how he managed to exist, poor as he was, with such a large family to provide for? He replied, "It is hard; but the help always comes: has not ilke blade of grass its ain drop of dew?"

But Fred has his one besetting sin, "Prodigality, that noble fault:" and he is now away from Sue, and making a bargain over a cart with a vendor of carrots and of brooms; and the man is inducing him to buy, and Fred throws back his ringlets, pushes aside his cap, and seems nothing loth. Sue would like some carrots for her soup, and his old broom is well nigh worn out, still he seems to ponder and to hesitate. He knows what she will say when she finds he has spent his money; and he is debating whether he shall care for Sue or not. It is a pity that her twinkling eyes are not near, with the tear that will sometimes glisten in them, for Fred is really having the basket filled to the brim and weighed, filled with carrots seemingly enough to last the whole parish for a month. But Fred's heart is larger than his purse; and he blames the latter rather than the former; so he fixes his large heart upon one of the best brooms, and is really taking it from the bundle; and then he handles it, and tries it just to see how it will sweep. A very pretty broom, he calls it; too good to clean his dirty court yard; a pity to use such a nice article for so common a purpose; so he gets another besides, a cheaper one, forgetting how well his own broom at home might still have served his turn, and saved this second outlay. Fred little thinks any one is looking on whilst he gives way to his liberal feelings, and indulges in his whims; he knows his Sue is safe at home, and he intends to make it appear that kindness for her has tempted him to excess; so he looks up self-satisfied, and in no way ashamed, for we can always excuse our worst faults; so he held up his head, and the tassel of his red cap is blown backwards and forwards by the breeze, his black ringlets curl round his neck, nearly concealing the spotted blue handkerchief loosely fastened round his throat, and his handsome countenance is looking most important, while he is foolish enough to allow himself to be tempted to do what he cannot afford; forgetting all Sue's wise precepts, and making her good little heart so sad. The bargain, however, is struck; the huge basket is raised upon the shoulders of one of the men, whilst Fred condescends to carry the brooms,-not satisfied with one broom, he must have

two; not satisfied with a few carrots, he must have a basket full. And now he begins to wonder what Sue will say when she sees him and his cargo! He knows what she will feel, that little careful hardworking thing, but that he does not mind; it is what she will say. She would have passed those brooms and carrots by a thousand times, and never thought of buying them: and now he begins to think whether she has sold all the fish, which he knows she has been busy taking about. And while he is wondering, she darts like a flash of lightning down a narrow lane upon him, her baskets empty, and her bright face full of smiles, and Fred was surprised that he could not smile so cheerfully as she did; but Sue's heart did not reproach her, for it was brim full of peace; and she asks in some astonishment, "Where did ye get all these things from, Fred ?" and he tells her without any disguise, and Sue takes one of the brooms from him, and she says, "But not two, Frederick? the old one at home is good enough for me, and you shall have the best; but what's this for ?" and Fred could hardly say. But Sue knew him of old; yet she loved her Fred too dearly to be really angry with him, and he is aware that he need not much fear her displeasure; for when she tries to scold, she can laugh at the passion she is in, and a sweet smile steals over the frowning look, and the twinkling of those pretty eyes returns. And Fred feels that however the world may frown, however the sea may be rough, there is always a bright face and peace at home, playfully childlike and trustful in her Fred; her good temper turns the rough waves of a toilsome life into calm waters, for Sue is blessed with a gentle disposition, that gladdens the fisherman's home; for she is a virtuous wife, her price far above rubies; the heart of her husband does safely trust in her; she will do him good, and not evil, all the days of her life; she openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness; she looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. But these two brooms! Fred little knew how sorrowful he had made Sue's heart whilst cleaning her little territory the next morning, and he far away at sea.

"And night now comes on, and the sunbeams are o'er." The summer has passed, and winter, grim winter, has well set in; and the fisherman knows that his hardships are beginning, and one after another their little comforts creep away, and their frugal fare is little better than a sorry disappointment. Hard, very hard is the prospect before them, and Fred was one who had not trimmed his lamp, that is, he had not made the most of his time, nor garnered his store; his money was all gone, his carrots were all gone, and there was little else but the three brooms standing in the neat back-let of his cot, and Fred's heart repented, and he said one day to his wife, "Sue, I wish we could eat them brooms!" and a blush passed over her face, for she felt sad to hear Fred thus

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