one in the face for so many days, feeling as if they would be sure to read his secret. Farmer Yates would have been better pleased if Luke had confessed at once, and of his own free will; yet he willingly agreed to forgive him when Mr. Sharp went with him to the farm, and spoke in his favour.

GOOD NIGHT.

A BOY'S LAST WORDS.

ADA LYDDON.

"Good-night" precedes "Good-morning!" There is another Home,

And a lasting fair "To-morrow."
To which the children come.
And the boy who dies shall finish
The life begun below
Amid the joy and glory

Which yet we do not know.
Oh! sweetly for our comfort,
When fades the earthly light,

Comes the thought of that blest morning,
After the last "Good-night."
Marianne Farningham.

ITTLE to him it mattered

What royal names he bore;
Only a boy grown weary
Was he, whose day was o'er.
He knew the evening shadows
Were thick about his head;
He knew the hours for study
And play had quickly sped;
Around him was the fading

Of the short day's cheery light;
So he turned him on his pillow,
And whispered low, "Good-night."

No milder was the anguish
That pierced his mother's heart,
Because a courtly dwelling

Had seen him play his part;
And keen the father's sorrow
At parting from his own,
Though he filled the highest places
And was nearest to the throne.

The palace-home was darkened,

And quenched was love's glad light When the boy, whose strength was failing, Uttered his last "Good-night."

It seemed 'twas but the morning
Of the day of that young life;
Nothing knew he of labour,

Of the world's exciting strife,
Of the contest and the battle,

And the measuring of strength, Of the fierce glad joy of conquest That the victor knows at length. The hours were very early,

The way with flowers was bright, For his day was but beginning

When he spoke the words "Good-night."

And then it all was over;

The sunset brought the gloaming;
The boy might share in no more play,
No fields were for his roaming;
And all the brave endeavour,

And the good that “might have been," And all the hope-fulfillings

Of that life, will ne'er be seen. But yet we know his fading,

Though so early, must be right; For was not God beside him

When he softly said "Good-night?'

LITTLE SIBYL.

ITTLE Sibyl Maude sat on the high stool behind the counter in the dreary little shop, and she listened to the rapid click of her mother's sewing machine in the inner room, and to the monotonous drawl of her little brothers' voices as they stammered and stumbled over their reading lesson with their father. And once she heard her father give a great sigh, and then say wearily," O, children, do get on. Do try to do a little better, you really seem to day to be wishing to prove that you are hopelessly stupid." Then there was a short pause, and then the dreary sounds went on as before, and the tears dropped down Sibyl's cheeks, and her knitting fell into her lap.

Sibyl Maude was only nine years old, but she was old enough to think a good deal, and being old enough to think meant just now, in her home, being old enough to be very sad. Until Sibyl was seven years old, and her brother Herbert four, and little Frankie three years old, they had enjoyed every comfort, and almost every luxury that children's hearts could wish.

They had lived in London, occupying as many rooms as they liked over grandpapa Maude's great linen drapery establishment. A place so big that the mite of a shop in which Sibyl was now sitting, would have looked by its side much as a mouse would do by the side of an elephant. Old Mr. Maude, himself, lived in a beautiful house a little way out of town, from which he used to drive up to business nearly every day in his carriage, He was a proud, haughty, active man, and chose to keep his business entirely in his own hands as long as he had strength to carry it on, but he made his only child, Sibyl's father, his chief manager and head clerk; and when the young man married, some years before our story commences, he gave him leave to make a home for himself and his young wife over the great shop, and took care that they should have enough of everything to make them very comfortable. Time passed, and the old gentleman grew very fond of his gentle daughter-in-law and her children. To his golden-haired little grand-daughter Sibyl he showed especial affection. He often took her with him for a drive in his splendid

carriage with its pair of fine horses, always, on such occasions, buying her some beautiful toy, or other present to carry home. And the fair child had learnt in her turn to love the tall, stern man whom every one else, even including his own son, rather feared.

But when Sibyl sat on the high stool behind the shabby little shop counter, with the heavy tears stealing down her cheeks, more than two years had passed since she last saw her grandfather. While they were all enjoying themselves one summer at the seaside, a manufacturer, who had taken a fierce spite against the vigilant manager, told old Mr. Maude shameful falsehoods about his son which roused him to such passionate anger against the poor young man that he declared he would never see him more, and he refused even to read his letters. He dismissed him, with his wife and little children from their happy home, and declared that none of them should ever have another penny of his money. Sibyl's beautiful wax doll, with its fine wardrobe, and her pretty workbox, and writing case, and coral necklace, had long ago been sold to pay a butcher's bill, and her last treasure, a dainty little umbrella, with an inlaid silver and motherof-pearl handle, had gone but the other day to pay for baby's medicine. But Sibyl was not crying for her lost possessions, although any child might have felt sorry to part with so many pretty things. Sibyl's heart was aching with the thought that there was nothing left to sell but the poor second-rate stock of the little shop, which no one seemed to care to buy. She had so prayed that morning, and indeed all day long that God would be so very good as to send people to buy some of the things. They had none of them had any meat for three days, and mother looked so sad and pale, and father had tears in his eyes that morning when he rose from his knees after prayers. Yes, his keen-sighted little daughter was sure of that, although he had so quickly hidden his face by turning to bend over baby's cradle. And there were but three penny pieces in the drawer of the till now, the price of some tape, and two reels of cotton, bought by a servant girl and a poor seamstress, the only two purchasers who had entered the place that day, and it was already past three o'clock, and the short hours of the December daylight were drawing to a close. No wonder Sibyl's soft pink cheeks were wet with tears, How far would three pennies go towards buying food for that evening and the morrow ?—not to speak of any little poor luxuries for the day after that, the day that used to be the happiest of all the year. Now it seemed likely that they would have nothing to eat on that day, and that she would have to watch her parents' sad faces, and to hear her little brothers and the baby crying for hunger. Think as hard as she could, Sibyl could think of nothing more to sell, and hope and pray as she might that some one would come and buy the pretty little frock or pinafores mother had made, or the muffatees she herself had knitted, no one came; and she began to feel very hopeless, sitting there alone in

the chill dimness, the golden-haired head full of saddening thoughts, the sweet blue eyes dim with tears, and the poor little hands and feet numb with the winter's cold. She was a very sad little child just then as she began to fear that they might not even have enough bread to eat on Christmas Day to satisfy their hunger. And she seemed to see her mother's dear, patient face grow still more pale, and her father's head bowed with an agony of grief upon his arms.

Suddenly a noise of merry voices broke the silence of the quiet country road, the shop door was burst open, and Sibyl was roused from her dreary fears by the inroad of half a dozen welldressed, rosy-cheeked, laughing children, from eight to fourteen years of age. Sibyl jumped from her stool, and asked what they pleased to want, with newly awakened hope shining in her eyes.

"Two dozen yards of that penny-a-yard scarlet ribbon, please," was the prompt answer from at least four voices at once. "Won't the Christmas tree look jolly with all that bright coloured stuff on it!" exclaimed a brown-headed urchin, as he watched the carefully measured yards slip through Sibyl's eager fingers.

"Can you give me change for half a sovereign, if you please?" said one of the elder children laying down the coin, as Sibyl delivered the neatly folded packet into one of the many outstretched hands, and looked for payment.

"Please, Miss, I am very sorry I have not enough," said Sibyl, the colour flushing her fair cheeks, as she remembered the three pennies in the till drawer, and wondered what these rich young ladies and gentlemen would think if they knew that was all there was in the house. Meantime the question went round, " Had any one two shillings ?" No, only one of the party had brought out any money besides the useless halfsovereign, and he had not enough.

"Well, never mind," said Miss Manley, picking up the gold piece again, “your father will trust us; we'll pay you next week." And the happy troop prepared to hasten back to continue their pleasant work of decking the Christmas tree. But an expression of absolute despair overspread the hapless little shopwoman's face as she saw all the money go; she clasped her wee white hands tightly together, and stood for some moments silent for sorrow, then a gasping “Oh !" burst from the quivering little lips, and after a pitiful struggle to control herself she burst into tears. All the party but one, a boy of fourteen, had by this time left the shop, but he had been watching the clever little saleswoman from the first with much interest, and now, seeing his companions had gone, and a man who had appeared to intend to enter had turned to look after them, he stepped quickly to the counter, and laying his hand on Sibyl's shoulder, said gently,

"Don't cry, little girl. May I buy those muffatees ? Will you tell me how much they cost?"

Sibyl raised her eyes to the kind young face,