hour."

pleasant custom at Florence Villa for her to spend one uninterrupted hour with her mother every afternoon. This was termed "mother's As the little one increased in understanding, Mrs. Linton made use of these opportunities to instil many useful precepts into her daughter's mind.

While Maude worked-which for a little girl of eight years she could do very fairly-her mother would read to her, or entertain her with some instructive conversation.

The afternoon on which Aunt Doughty's invitation arrived, on Maude bringing her hassock and sitting down in front of mother, to her hemming, Mrs. Linton laid her book on her lap, and, before getting to other matters, talked over the subject of the letter.

“Auntie is even more pressing than usual this time, my dear, and I am afraid she will be much disappointed if we don't go."

Mrs. Linton's eyes rested thoughtfully as she spoke on the old-fashioned garden, which she could see where she was seated.

Without looking up from the needle which she was threading, her little companion answered with quaint importance

No, dear, that's true; but I think we might for once do as Auntie proposes."

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'But who will look after the garden, feed the chickens, and-"in a very solemn tone of voice, "look after Bronte. There will be no one to make his bed, or put out his supper if we go away. I don't see how it can be done, mother, do you ? 'Yes, dear; Eliza can take charge of everything, and if we make up our minds to go, I shall send for her sister Ellen to keep her company, and she will take as much care of Bronte as you.' Bronte, we must tell the reader, was a large sandy-coloured old pussy, somewhat advanced in years, a wonderful beauty in his way, being partly of Persian extraction, and a great pet. The captain had brought him home from one of his voyages, and the captain's little daughter could not bring herself to contemplate any pleasure at the sacrifice of Bronte's comfort.

She had never realised the delight of a visit to London. The name merely conveyed to her the idea of a large noisy place, without anything pretty to be seen, where no one ever smelt hay or saw green fields. Indeed, the little girl had a very bad opinion of the metropolis altogether, and being very shy of strangers, and not greatly admiring her cousins, who occasionally visited her, she tried to persuade her mother to stay at home.

But Mrs. Linton had begun to think that a little society would be good for herself and daughter, and in her own gentle manner overruled her little girl's objections and accepted the invitation.

But few afternoons intervened between the one on which this decision was made, and that on which they were to start for London, and "mother's hour was more greatly prized than ever as the time of their departure drew nigh.

At length the day arrived; and a few hours' railway travelling brought them to their destination, where they received a hearty welcome from uncle, aunt, and cousins.

On actual acquaintance, what a world of surprises London revealed!

In her transits hither and thither, among such wonders as she had never even heard of, her country home was not forgotten, and she missed nothing so much as her quiet hour with mother. It was the remembrance of this pleasant season, and its precepts, that helped the little girl in many a difficulty; for during her visit to London Maude found opportunity of practising her mother's lessons.

It has been said she had not much admiration for her cousins, and a closer acquaintance revealed many little matters that she had been taught to consider wrong.

Knowing what a steady well behaved little girl her niece was, Aunt Doughty hoped much from the force of example, and during the visit she was greatly pleased to see signs of improvement in her children.

Agnes was decidedly less selfish, Ada more tidy, while George and Tom seemed ashamed to quarrel and behave uncourteously to Katie and the other junior members before their gentle cousin. But before long a circumstance occurred which showed the true characters of the young people.

One afternoon Maude and her cousins were sitting in St. James's Park, when an old man with tired steps approached the bench on which they were seated.

There was plenty of room for another besides themselves, but on noting his poor clothes and travel-stained appearance, Agnes, Ada, and little Kate spread out their dresses in order to take up as much room as possible, while George and Tom simultaneously and uncivilly exclaimed—

"You can't sit here, you must go somewhere else."

The poor old man, who was too feeble in health and pained by their unkindness to insist upon his rights, was turning away with a sigh, when Maude, with quivering voice and tear-dimmed eyes-for she was very tender-hearted, and the hoary-headed traveller's distressed look and dejected appearance touched her deeply-sprang from her seat, and touching his arm detainingly, said,

"Sit here-do rest!"

"A sailor;" then with a sigh she added, "but dear mother is very uneasy, for we have not heard from him for a long time-he's been away four years."

Kisses now fell on the astonished little maid's lips and cheeks; and before her companions could recover from their surprise, their strangely behaved acquaintance demanded,

"And your name is Doughty, I suppose, and Maude and her mother are staying with you." "That's about it," answered George; "you seem to know all about us; we should

"Like to know something of me," was the merry retort; "well, take me home with you, and I promise that you soon shall."

Leading the way as he spoke in the direction of the young Doughties' home, the stranger on his way thither showed that he was fully acquainted with Maude's country home, and to her no small amazement, even inquired after the health of Bronte.

This entirely won the little girl's heart, and with a look of affection on her rosy face, she said,

"I do wish you were father." "I believe it is Uncle Linton," muttered George, who began to have his suspicions.

But no word from the stranger gave them any enlightenment on their way home.

Whom do you wish to see, Sir?" inquired Agnes, politely; "Mamma or Aunt Linton ?"

"Aunt Linton!" was the response, as still holding little Maude by the hand the speaker followed

Agnes had crept away to spread the news among the other members of the family, and Mr. and Mrs. Doughty, with their girls and boys, came trooping in.

Then followed explanations, and the mist of wonder vanished.

Letters, which should have reached Mrs. Linton apprising her of the Captain's whereabouts and homeward passage, had miscarried; and had it not been for his encounter with Maude and her cousins in St. James's Park, he would at that moment have been on his way to Florence Villa. But "Mother's hour" prevented the Captain from arriving at his much loved little home when wife and child were not there to welcome him; for this untoward circumstance would certainly have happened had not his little daughter attracted his attention by putting in practice one of mother's lessons.

DERMY:

S. L. H.

OR, COLONEL MACKLIN'S GARDEN PARTY.

INE weather had come at last! The sun,

that for so many days had been hidden by ominous looking clouds, shone merrily forth, apparelling all nature with golden glory.

Everything looked the better for it, and Etta Staunton's eager little face almost rivalled the brightness of the morning on seeing the sun streaming over the lawn at Cromwell Lodge.

Cromwell Lodge was the residence of her grandfather, with whom, since the departure of her parents for India, the little girl lived.

It was a fine, handsomely-built, although somewhat gloomy, old place. On the extensive grounds stood many stout old trees, under whose gnarled and twisted branches Etta's mother had played in her own childhood.

Little Etta hastened down the richly carved staircase, along the hall with its shields and trophies of other days, into the library, where she knew she was sure to find Colonel Macklin.

"Grandfather!" A kiss and a grasp from two little white arms filled up the pause as the speaker was lifted to the old soldier's knee.

"Grandfather, the sun is out and it is going to be fine, so you'll have the large tent put up on the lawn, won't you? You said when the weather was settled you would send out the invitations."

Thus reminded, and thinking with his grandchild that the weather was now favourable for garden parties, the old Colonel that day fulfilled his promise.

On the day of the gathering, refreshments were spread under the huge tent for the expected guests; while Etta tripped hither and thither in happy expectation of the coming festivity.

The piled up plates of raspberries, strawberries, and other luscious fruits were no novelty to her; but to a small, wild looking urchin, whose wistful face was pressed to a chink in the fence, they were a cause of great longing, and little Dermy's mouth watered as he surveyed the tempting display.

The soft air wafted the delicate fragrance of the fruit to his keen scent, and his bare brown chest heaved as he gave vent to a deep sigh.

Etta's gay laugh came floating to his ears, as, with her grandfather, she passed through the grounds for her morning stroll.

Approaching the gate leading into the lane the two walked out.

A bend of the road soon hid them from view, and Dermy (as his friends and acquaintances called him) ran to the gate, which yielding to a slight push enabled him to get a far better view of the grounds within than the hole in the fence had afforded.

The dazzling flowers, noble trees, and smoothlymown lawn exercised so powerful an attraction, that the unconscious boy advanced several yards along the broad gravel path before he was aware of what he had done.

Fear of discovery, and an unwillingness to break the charm that was upon him, made him seek shelter under the branches of a magnificent copper beech, from whose shade with fascinated eyes he watched the servants moving to and fro as they prepared the feast.

In order to get a better view of the tent, under which the refreshments were spread, he crept closer and closer, till such glories as he had never seen before dawned upon his view.

Glasses filled with all sorts of tempting looking things, of which he did not even know the names; nice looking cakes, jugs of cream; but nothing looked so enticing as the dishes of fruit: a nearer approach making Dermy clasp his little brown hands together, as though striving to restrain some unwelcome impulse.

"She wouldn't touch one if I th'eved it," solemnly shaking his curly head he gave utterance to his thoughts as a hazy look crept into his wistful brown eyes.

Moving a few paces back he again crept under the shade of the low trees, and yielding to a very tired feeling sought rest on the smooth turf.

The grateful shelter, the fragrant scent of the flowers, and the drowsy hum of the ever busy bees, were influences the weary little wayfarer was powerless to resist; Dermy went fast asleep.

Later in the day the grounds at Cromwell Lodge presented a very animated appearance; and amidst the sounds of rippling laughter, lively conversation, and the rattling of cups and spoons the young sleeper awoke from his very long nap. If ever little boy thought he was in fairy land,

assuredly the brown-eyed stranger did as he peered from his leafy retreat.

Such an array of pretty dresses he had never before seen; and when Etta, with long flowing hair, and simple white frock, floated by, a sup pressed cry of admiration broke from his lips, which moved feverishly as he watched her and others partake of the cooling fruit.

The memory of one to whom a few of these dainties would have been an unknown luxury, wrung from the little boy's heart a deep, low sob, which caught the ears of those within reach of the sound, causing no little consternation, and drawing attention to his whereabouts. In a few moments he was the centre of an inquiring group.

"Where have you come from?" asked Colonel Macklin kindly, seeing the nervous trepidation with which the poor child glanced around.

"From there!" answered Dermy, pointing to the door by which he had entered, adding quickly as though his honesty might be suspected, "but I didn't touch nothin'-not one-for I knew she wouldn't eat 'em if I did,”

"Who wouldn't eat any?” asked several who had gathered round.

Feeling intuitively that he had nothing to fear, the little boy explained how he had been wandering about for hours in the early part of the morning searching for wild strawberries, or any fruit that would cool his sick mother's parched lips.

"She's only water to drink," he said piteously, "an' last night I heard her moanin' in her sleep, an' wishin' for fruit, an' we had none to give her, an' I do want some for her so bad."

Then he told how he had wandered into the beautiful grounds, and longed for the fruit that loaded the tables before he fell asleep under the trees.

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Why didn't you take some of the fruit?" asked Etta.

"Because mother always tells me never to touch what is not my own," replied Dermy with wide open eyes. "Wild strawberries that grows on banks she says any one may have; but I knowed them never growed there," added the little speaker solemnly, his eyes travelling wistfully in the direction of the fruit.

No need to tell our young readers that the honest little fellow was amply rewarded ere leaving the grounds of Cromwell Lodge.

The richly piled basket of raspberries and strawberries which he carried home to his mother was a recompense for resisting a temptation to which many little boys, similarly circumstanced, might have yielded.

Dermy loved his mother too truly to disregard any of her lessons, and in following them he unconsciously added to his own and her future happiness.

Owing to the kindness of Colonel Macklin, and the neighbouring gentry, brighter days dawned in our little hero's home.

Years have passed since this happened; but Dermy often thinks of that memorable day, as does Miss Etta, who can scarcely realise that the