and could not help rewarding the frank, sympathising eyes that met hers with a faint smile, as she said, "Tenpence, please."

"O! no, they are worth more than that," was the quick answer as he laid eighteenpence, all he had in his pockets, down upon the counter, adding, "I wish I had more, but I hope that will be enough to buy the sugar-plums, or whatever it is you wish for."

O! I was not crying for sugar-plums, I am not a baby," was the shy but indignant answer. Then, unable to resist temptation to confide in the friendly owner of that pleasant, pitying face, she whispered, "I want it to buy dinner with, because we have only, all of us put together, got threepence, and mother and father have only had a little atom crumb of bread all to-day to leave more for us; and oh! I do so want them to have some real dinner on Christmas Day." As she finished speaking, one of her tears fell on the boy's hand as it lay before her on the counter. He looked at it for a moment, and as he looked another fell to keep it company; then he raised his hand, and putting it round the child's neck, drew her face towards him, and stooping, kissed it, saying, as he did so, in a husky voice, "Poor little chap." Then he turned quickly, and with out noticing that he had knocked somewhat roughly against a man who was standing close behind him, hurried out of the shop. He had not gone three steps when he was stopped by a heavy hand catching his shoulder, and a deep man's voice saying,

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Life is too short for dawdling, young gentleman; but you need not run away as if you had a mad bull at your heels. I wanted to buy something at that shop, but as the little girl looks rather put out, and you seem to know her, per haps she would rather do business with you than with a stranger, at least, that is,―well there!— with me. So if you don't mind, perhaps you will just step back and get me four pairs of those muffatees; here's the money. Never mind the sizes." For an instant the lad, Frank Irwell, felt inclined to resent the imperious touch, and imperative request; but the sight of the shillings in the man's hands, and a thought of the dinnerless child, checked his momentary anger, and taking the money he went somewhat slowly back into the shop.

"Won't they fit ?" exclaimed Sibyl, half frightened at his re-appearance, and feeling that her possession of the precious eighteenpence was even yet uncertain. But he hastened to reassure her, saying quickly,

"O! yes; at least I haven't tried them yet, but I know they will. And they are so nice that some one wants four pairs, just those four pairs that you have in the window will do nicely. He says he must pay the same as I did." And he laid six shillings on the counter.

Sibyl thought she must be having a nice dream, or that some fairy tale had suddenly come true. She looked at the money, and then at her new friend, and back again at the money, till Irwell said with a smile,

"It is quite real, it is not fairy gold, and I don't think I ever heard of fairy silver.'

Then Sibyl clapped her hands, and broke into a silvery laugh that very much startled and perplexed the quiet, anxious inmates of the back parlour. Mrs. Maude took her weary hand from the sewing machine; Mr. Maude closed his little sons' lesson book, and after a few words of mutual wonder, and thankfulness that their darling was still light-hearted enough to laugh, they opened the door of communication and entered the shop.

Irwell and the muffatees (which had been a good part of the stock of the small window) had gone, but there sat their little daughter looking like a new kind of fairy miser. Her face, now rosy with pleasure, and framed in the falling wavy gold of her own hair, was bent with a look of intense delight over a cluster of shillings and sixpences, and pennies, that she spread, now far apart to make them look as important as possible, then drew together into a circle, and finally gathered close into her wee hands, and rattled with a gleeful cry of delight, before she noticed that she was not alone.

"What is it, Sibyl, dear? Where did you get all that money ?" asked her mother, her pale face lit up with a look of thankfulness.

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'My muffatees, mother, dearest mother, they are all sold, and they said they were quite worth all this; and it will buy dinner for you and father as well as us, for to-morrow, and Christmas Day, won't it, mother?" was Sibyl's rather funny answer as she looked up with sparkling eyes, and once more spread out the money on the counter. Mrs. Maude smiled and nodded her answer. voice was choked with a sharp fit of coughing, for a current of cold and foggy air was coming in at the half open shop door. Mr. Maude turned to shut it, and in doing so gave some one's foot rather a hard squeeze, as a groan of pain very plainly proved.

Her

I beg your pardon, Sir. I did not see you in the dim light," he said quickly, as he drew the door back again to allow the stranger to enter. Instead of doing so the odd man, who was the same person who had lingered about while the Squire's children were making their purchase, now withdrew further into the mist, saying in a very odd gruff voice,

Never mind. Does Mr. Smith live here ?" At that moment there was the far-off sound of an approaching train, and without waiting for an answer, the stranger turned, and walked rapidly in the direction of the station.

That night as Sibyl rose from her knees, after thanking God with simple heartfelt words for answering her morning prayers, and was just going to get into bed she heard a ring at the long since shuttered shop door, and on her father opening it she heard one of the railway porters

The packet contained a bright gold sovereign; and little Sibyl fell asleep with the happy consciousness that they might all have enough to eat at any rate for the next fortnight.

Meanwhile the old gentleman who left by the 4.20_train, had reached London Bridge, where a handsome carriage met him, and he was driven to a beautiful house a short distance from London in the opposite direction. Within half an hour of his arrival at home he sat down with his wife to an elegantly appointed and well served dinner, but he declared that the fish was boiled to rags, the soup burnt, and that the chickens were nothing but skin and bone.

"My dear, I am very sorry," said his wife meekly; "they ought to be a good size, for they were six and sixpence a piece.'

"More than the muffatees," groaned the old gentleman, greatly to his wife's surprise, and he dropped his knife and fork, and pushed away his plate with a gesture of angry impatience. His wife sighed. She was a careworn, sorrowful looking woman, in spite of her beautiful home and many servants; for she had a great sorrow in her heart, and hitherto God did not seem to have hearkened to her many tear-laden prayers for its removal.

Old Mr. and Mrs. Maude were still at breakfast the morning before Christmas Day, when the footman announced that a gentleman was in the library who wished particularly to see Master. Mr. Maude was glad to have such a good excuse for leaving his almost untasted breakfast, for he had not liked this meal any better than last night's dinner. When he entered the library the gentleman came towards him, saying that he was sorry to have called so early, but that on his arrival in England he had found a letter awaiting him, which he believed so nearly concerned Mr. Maude's happiness, that he had hastened from London by the first available train to communicate its contents. The letter was written by the former enemy of young Mr. Maude on his death-bed, and contained a full confession of the cruel falsehoods by which he had sought to ruin him, and it ended by beseeching his relative to implore the father and son to forgive him. But to this latter part of the letter poor old Mr. Maude was at present too much excited to attend. He found memory and breath enough to say to his visitor, Kindly excuse me now, I shall be glad to see you another time;" and then he hurried to his wife to gladden her with the good news, and lift the load of sorrow from her heart.

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"Ah! my dear," he ended, I went down yesterday to the wretched little country place where they have been living, I might almost say dying, the last two years; and what I saw and heard sent me back here more utterly wretched than I hope I may ever have to be again. I believe I should have gone down again to-day and forgiven everything, and brought them all straight away here even without this letter, but now-well there!-my boy must forgive me, and he'll do that because he is a Christian. But there's the

carriage, I must be off. You will have tea and dinner, and beds for us all? You will be ready for us, mother ?"

Ready! ready for her boy, her only child, and for the young wife, whom, for his sake she loved dearly as a daughter, and ready for her child's children!! Why the poor fond mother's heart had been ready and waiting more than two years, and the long waiting had made it ache so that | the present joy was almost more than it could bear.

There is little more to add. A poor widow and her two little children, were made comfortable in young Mr. Maude's little shop and house, and Sibyl was made very happy by being allowed to give them her precious sovereign and shillings to buy coals with and a Christmas dinner. Young Irwell received an anonymous present of a splendid fishing rod; the dying man was comforted with full forgiveness; old Mr. Maude made over his flourishing business to his son as a handsome Christmas box; Sibyl and her brothers got more toys and pictures than they knew what to do with; and the beautiful country house became the happy home of all the family.

A WONDERFUL LAKE.

GRACE,

TN Colorado is a ten-acre field which is neither more nor less than a subterranean lake covered with soil about eighteen inches deep. On the soil is cultivated a field of corn, which produces thirty or forty bushels to the acre. If any one will take the trouble to dig a hole the depth of a spade handle, he will find it to fill with water, and by using a hook and line, fish four or five inches long can be caught. The fish have neither scales nor eyes, and are perch-like in shape. The ground is a black marl in its nature, and in all probability was at one time an open body of water, on which accumulated vegetable matter, which has been increased from time to time, until now it is a crust sufficiently strong and rich to produce fine corn, though it has to be cultivated by hand, as it is not strong enough to bear the weight of a horse.

While harvesting, the field hands catch great strings of fish by punching a hole through the earth. A person rising on his heel and coming down suddenly can see the growing corn shake all around him. Any one having the strength to drive a rail through this crust will find on releasing it that it will disappear altogether. The whole section of country surrounding this field gives evidence of marshiness, and the least rain produces an abundance of mud. But the question comes up, has not this body an outlet ? Although brackish, the water tastes as if fresh, and is evidently not stagnant. Yet these fish are eyeless and scaleless-similar to those found in caves.

COUNTRY SCENES.

HERE is an old saying that we never fully value a thing until we lose it. Have we not all experienced the truth of this all through the present year? When spring, summer, autumn, and winter come with the regularity we expect of them, and bring each the proper sort of weather, we take it all as a matter of course; but when there is any interruption of the regular order of things-when the rain persists in coming down day after day, how we miss the fine weather! and when we see nothing but the lowering clouds, how we long for the merry sunshine! We have really felt greatly for boys and girls during the very inclement season we have had, knowing how many fine games of romps have been prevented by the constant rain; how many holidays and excursions have been marred, if not entirely put an end to by the same cause. And we have thought more than once of that funny picture we used to meet with in our younger days of the disappointed schoolboy who had reached the last day but one of his holidays, and who, seeing the weather glass still standing at "rain," thrust his fist through it out of

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by the wet weather and the absence of sunshine. Let us hope that the fineness of the autumn may to some extent make up for the unfavourable spring and summer. There remains plenty of time yet for boys and girls to indulge in healthy out-door games and exercises before winter comes to make them think that the fireside is the more acceptable place.

But country scenes and out-door avocations and exercises suggest business as well as pleasure. Of course, it is all very well for people who live in towns to look upon such pleasant

scenes as are depicted in our illustrations of sowing and timber felling simply as novelties and something to minister to their enjoyment. No one with any heart or sentiment who escapes from the turmoil of town life for a time, and its murky and smoky atmosphere can fail to be impressed with the poetry of country life. But the prose of it must not be forgotten. If there were no sowing there would be no reaping, and then what would the people do for bread ? Another thing that makes sowing rather more a matter of fact affair than it used to be is, that machines are frequently used, and it certainly is not so pretty to see a sort of cart going over a field and leaving behind it lines of seed, as to see the good seed scattered by the hand of a rustic amid such pleasant surroundings as are shown in the picture. Happily there are such scenes to be witnessed in pleasant old England yet; and long may it be so, and long may people's hearts feel young enough-however old their owners may be-to enjoy such sights. It is a capital thing to have a young heart. Greyheaded people are often blest with such a thing, whilst their juniors not unfrequently feel old. Contentment is the great secret.

sheer vexation. It was a very silly action; for the glass, of course, could not help it, and the boy would get nothing for his pains but a cut hand, perhaps, and a scolding-if nothing worse -for the damage he did. But his vexation was no more than natural. Every one expects summer weather in summer time, and it is disappointing to see the seasons "all upside down."

There have, however, been times, even in this singular season, when we could enjoy the beauties of nature, and they seemed all the more beautiful because they had been denied to us so frequently

Then there is that other country scene-where timber is being felled. Could there be a greater

contrast than that presented by the two pictures? In the one case seed is being thrown into the ground, which in a few months will spring up as the tender blade, and afterwards expand into the hardier stalk, to be crowned at length with the "full corn in the ear." But it will never become more than a long blade of grass, as it were, through scores of which the reaping-hook of the harvestman will cut with ease. The sturdy trees, however, have been the growth of long, long years. Their giant trunks have developed slowly yet surely, and huge branches have been thrown out, which in summer time have afforded grateful shade, and in winter have presented many fantastic forms as the gusty winds have bent them about. Now, however, the trees must give way before the woodmen's axes, the sturdy strokes from which make a by no means unmusical sound in the wood, whilst the hard exercise gives vigour to the frame and health to the cheek of the labourers-the youngster who has perched himself upon the fallen tree looking on approvingly, and fancying, perhaps, in his high position, that he is "monarch of all he surveys.

Thomas Hood wrote an admirable description, in verse, of tree-felling, quoting part of which we will conclude:

and I won't do it any more, so there!" And Arthur pushed the child roughly away and went on with his own work, without paying any more attention to her.

Emily said nothing, but the tears stole quietly down her cheeks as she resumed her task, and tried once more to conquer the difficulty.

She was a delicate child, and often got into trouble at school for inattention and carelessness when in reality it was her health which prevented her learning so readily as some of her companions.

Arthur, who was some years older than herself, was a bright clever boy, quick both in school and at play, and first and foremost in all fun that was going on. He was, however, apt to be selfish, and too often forgot that the strong ought to help the weak.

On this occasion, when he had finished his own lessons, he ran off, without another look at his little sister, to join his companions in the cricket field.

It was a glorious evening, and the game was even more exciting than usual, but somehow Arthur did not feel quite happy in his mind; Emily's pale face haunted him, and more than once he felt tempted to run back and give her the help she had asked for.

But a feeling of false shame prevented him; he could not stand being laughed at, as he knew be should be if he gave up a game of cricket for the sake of helping a girl. "Girls are so stupid," he was often heard to declare.

Emily had gone to bed by the time Arthur returned home that evening, but his conscience smote him the next morning in school when he heard her sharply reproved for carelessness and sentenced to stay in that afternoon, which happened to be a half-holiday, in order to write out her badly prepared lesson.

He did not, however, yield to the better impulse which prompted him to give her the assistance she required, but prepared when school was over to join his schoolfellows in the playground.

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You stupid child!" said Arthur, and as Emily still continued her entreaties for help, he gave her a hasty slap and pushed her roughly from him.

"For shame, Arthur," cried the stern voice of the Rector, who, unperceived by the children had entered the room, "are you not ashamed of yourself to strike a girl, and your own sister? is that what you call being manly?"

Arthur looked very much abashed, for he knew that Mr. Wilson had heard him boasting a few days before of being manly. "A true man," continued Mr. Wilson, "is always ready to protect and help the weak; only cowards oppress and ill-use them."

"I didn't intend to hurt her," said Arthur in a sullen voice, "I only just touched her."