them. Why could she not see her mother too? Her eyes followed the clouds in their course. Over there by the trees the sky came down so low, surely the end of the world must be there-surely heaven began there? The child's eyes remained fixed on the sky, into which she fancied she could penetrate; and she remained absorbed in the thought. There could be no further doubt. Over there, in the forest, heaven came down and touched the earth.

A farm-labourer passed by, and Mary, full of her one idea, cried out to him, "Christian, does heaven come down quite close to the ground over there by the trees, and can we get into it ?"

Christian opened wide his eyes. "Well, my little lady, go there and try. Perhaps you can.”

Poor Johnny, meanwhile, grew quite benumbed with the cold, and began to cry louder and louder, till at length he aroused his sister from her reflections.

"Come, Johnny, come, we will go home;" and she hastened back with him.

Mary did not trouble herself much that evening about being frowned at, and was rather pleased to be sent at once to bed, for there nothing prevented her from thinking of that heaven that came down so low over the trees, and of her dear mother, who must surely have entered it over there. "Johnny, don't you ever think of mamma.now?" she asked her little brother.

"Oh yes! every night when I go to bed," answered Johnny.

The cold grew more and more intense, both within doors and without. The farmer's wife, as the hope grew more and more dim of ever seeing the aunt from England, lost all love for the children, and the growing fear of being at length compelled to keep them entirely caused her to treat them with increasing severity. However, time passed on, and that season that makes the hearts of all children to beat faster-Christmas-drew near. Mary had but a confused recollection of former Christmas Eves.

Before the last one her father had already been taken from them, and her mother was overwhelmed with sorrow. To be sure, a small tree had, indeed, been lighted up, but the feast did not shine as a bright star in Mary's memory.

The approaching fête had aroused the whole village into joyous activity. Here, tempting cakes were being brought home from the oven; a little farther on a peasant might be seen returning from the neighbouring town quite laden with treasures of all kinds; and wherever the children were to be seen whispering together one might be sure they were asking each other, "What will Christmas bring for us ?"

When Mary saw all this excitement, she became more than usually sorrowful. No one troubled themselves about her or Johnny, no joyous preparations were made in their home. On the very day itself the woman was specially cross. She was miserly, and consequently grudged every halfpenny that custom compelled her to give to servants of all kinds. She had left all the cleaning to be done on this day. Mary and John were, therefore, driven from one corner to another; everywhere they were in the way. As a climax of misfortunes, the cake did not turn out well, and, not being in the habit of taking any blame to herself, she became more cross than ever, exclaiming every minute, "What a bother Christmas is! I am sure it brings me no good. And here," she continued, "I am plagued with these children, and find them food and drink, and all for nothing; and then they will be expecting me to give them a Christmas present. Go to your rich aunt," she added, raising her voice to a loud pitch. "She'll give you some│thing, I warrant, when she sees you-she'll give you something. I wish I had never come across you, you good-fornothings! Your mother had better have taken you with her. It would have been a good riddance for others. You had better soon take yourselves off out of my house, or I shall be tempted to drive you out." Then the woman slammed the door behind her, and left the room.

The children remained alone, and poor John, quite fright

ened, looked up at his sister's face, which was clouded She rose up, saying, Come, John, let us go,

with anger.

or she will beat us."

66

"Yes; let us run away," replied the boy. "Let us go to mamma," continued Mary. "Let us go to mamma," repeated Johnny.

"But you must walk well, John,” said Mary.

"Mamma

is in heaven; but I can find her. Can you go as far as the forest? Look !" And she took him to the window. "Over there heaven comes down so low that we shall be able to get in, and then we shall be with mother. I cannot stay here any longer."

"I can run quite fast," Johnny assured her.

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'Well, then, come. We will wrap ourselves up in shawls, and we will go through the garden, so that no one may see us. Come along quickly, John, so that we may reach there before night."

Mary wrapped up her brother as well as she could, and then tied a shawl round her own waist, and they went out by the back door unseen by any. They ran across the fields towards the forest, which they could see clearly on the horizon. At first all went well, and the delight of having escaped from the cruel woman overpowered every other feeling. Like happy children, they ran some distance, rejoicing that nobody saw them who could recognise them and take them back again. But soon John began to complain of feeling hungry. Mary was pleased that she had foreseen this, and put two apples in her pocket.

By this time they had reached the high road. "Look, John!" she cried. "Run and catch this apple." And she threw it on a little way, and when John reached it, threw it farther again, before the little man might pick it up and eat it. In this way they got on some distance, but they began to suffer from the cold. John stopped short, and, with tears, declared he could not walk any farther. Mary dried his tears, saying, "Don't cry, Johnny; we shall soon get to heaven;" and she looked round about her, but it was grow

ing dark, and she could not see heaven at all. The arch above her head was still as high as ever, and night was coming on fast.

Mary noticed that the road made a turn close by, and that there was a little footpath which led from it straight into the wood. She took this path, and, giving her hand to John as she walked on, she tried to comfort him, telling him they should soon reach heaven, and that they would be so happy there. But, alas! the darkness grew deeper and deeper, and Johnny cried with hunger and fatigue and cold. Mary, too, could hardly get on; but she dared not complain. She must encourage John. "No, John, you must not sit down here, or it will be dark-quite dark, before we reach heaven. Come along! be a good boy, and I will tell mamma how brave you have been."

But Mary herself quite lost courage when the darkness became so complete that they could see neither the forest nor the sky. To the right and left of them they could hear the church bells of the neighbouring villages summoning the inhabitants to the Christmas Eve services. Within the churches they were singing to the praise of Jesus. But the two children, lost in the forest, did not hear them. They believed heaven to be opened to them, but they knew not Him who had opened it. Yet He knew them, and had called them by their names, and they were His; and the faithful Shepherd had none but thoughts of peace towards these two poor lost lambs. He, too, wished to bring them to heaven, but by another way than that which they had chosen. There they were crying and shivering and tired. slight feeling of repentance crept into Mary's heart. Had they not better, after all, have stayed with the cruel woman? At least they had a roof over them there. But here!-and poor Mary looked round again; not a star was to be seen in the overcast heavens, and yet here and there, a short distance off, there sparkled a tiny light: it shone more and more clearly, and seemed as if calling the children.

A

Everything just round about them was quite black; and

over there that brilliant little light. there's a light-let us run to it quickly. Oh! John, if only I could carry you!"

"John, look, look! Come, it is so near.

Mary stood up by the side of her brother, and drying his tears and pointing to the house, she drew him onwards. Happily, they had not far to go, and soon stood before a modest-looking little house, through the windows of which streamed this brilliant light. Mary was timid, and hesitated about knocking at the door, when a dog, that was chained up not far off, began to bark loudly. John screamed, and a minute or two afterwards the door opened. At the same moment a lady appeared at the threshold, and asked, "Who is there ?"

"Oh! madam," answered the servant, "they are two children half-frozen with cold."

"Come here," said the lady kindly; and she led the two children into the room, the light of which had attracted them. What dazzling splendour! In the centre of the room stood a large fir-tree, on which innumerable little candles sparkled; there were no sugar-plums hung on it, but amid the green branches little angels were suspended, clothed in white, and with golden wings outstretched, as if anxious to make known the good news to all who entered the room. Solemn music sounded through the room; the father was sitting at the organ, and several bright, rosy children were seated on each side of him, and their childish voices mingled with the deep tones of the organ. They were singing of the announcement to the shepherds, of the angels' hallelujah, and of the coming of the Saviour.

John King.

N the year of the cholera, 1831, in Drogheda, I was residing in that city, and had a good deal of intercourse with the poor. It was a fearfully awful dispensation; people were suddenly seized, and in a few minutes all was over. I have spoken to