went on. "He-this man here, took up the case, ferreted out the matter; the mines were real. He formed a company, it prospered, one morning I found I need no longer tax your bounty. I had feared to tell you until I knew the result was certain. Only here am I to blame. I shrank from paining your mobility with my pride of independence. Miss Meredith was weeping still, but gentler tears, upon her lover's breast; she held out her arms to Mabel, she prayed for forgiveness with an impassioned gesture of entreaty. Mabel smiled, then kissed her friend's forehead, and stole away she had forgiven a great wrong. Miss Meredith asked no forgiveness of her lover -words were not possible, for hours, at all events. The waxen tapers burnt low, the moon paled, the stars faded, the dawn, rosy-red as. cended the sky. "Look, Philip!" said Miss Meredith," the New Year has come." Philip Valance arose, and drew the woman he had chosen to the window, and the bower of green garlands enshrined them both with fragrant, spicy wreaths of pine and holly. "Yes, the New Year has come, my dear one, that I set so high I would not ask you to come down among men and work with me. I kept you too far away, I will love you better now. A New Year fairer than any yet, dawns for us both. Love, we will be workers, both. By God's grace we will strive for great results, waiting with patience, though they come not. Yes, with patience most of all. Presently, it shall be perfect day." "A CHILD LOST!" BY AUNT ALICE. crowd of women gathered there. As to the men, they were off and away to the rescue. Some on horseback, and some on foot, with lanterns, they started at once for "the timber." 'Tis a fearful cry, hear it where we may; | tin sconces, lighting up the anxious faces of the even in the city we raise the window and try to catch the description of the little wanderer, try to remember if we have seen "the red frock and white apron," then close the blind and forget it. But in the country or small village, it is a very different affair. There men and women come forth at the first alarm, and, like the clansmen of old, who, at sight of the fiery cross, and "Left in the half-cut swath the scythe," "Fast as the fatal symbol flies, It is not left to the bell-man alone to find the lost one; all join in the search, and no business is attended to until the lost is found. I remember well the time when this great city "was but a village," and the few inhabitants were as one family, deeply interested in each other's welfare, and all to do a neighbor a kindness. One night in October, when the rain was still pattering down after a fearful thunder storm, which had spent its force early in the evening, and all had retired to their beds in our quiet little town, we were startled about eleven o'clock by the loud and fast ringing of the school-house bell. Now this school-house was the only public building in the place, and was used as a church, court-room, academy, lecture-room, and for fifty other purposes. As we sprang from our beds on that fearful night at the first sound of the bell, a man rode furiously down the one long street, crying, in a hoarse voice, "A child lost!" Then, as Scott has written, went -"pressing forward like the wind, Left clamor and surprise behind." So we rushed to the school-house for further information. There, in the darkness, a man was tugging at the bell-rope, and only left off long enough to tell us that "Charlie Foster," the little son of the "Widow Foster," was lost in the woods. Tallow dips soon flamed in the We were left to wait with what patience we could, and soon, some half dozen of us concluded to go to the poor, bereft mother, and try to comfort her. We walked in the rain and through long fields and dark woods, a full mile and a half to the cabin of the Widow Foster, and found her in the yard, calling, “Charlie, Charlie!" Her little girl, between her sobs, told us the following particulars : It seems that just before sundown, and before the storm had begun, Charlie, a boy only seven years old, with his sister, aged ten, and a neighbor's son of eleven, had been sent out to hunt the cows. They lingered on the way, as children will, gathering and cracking nuts under the trees, making wreaths of bright autumn leaves, and thinking but little of the cows. When they were nearly half a mile from home, and the sun gone down, the thunder muttered in the distance, and little Mary became alarmed, and declared she must go home. She was a delicate, timid child, and gave up at once. But Charlie was very brave, and determined to go on for the cows. He laughed at his sister's fears, and ran on towards the creek bottom, where the cows usually were found at this season. Mary cried bitterly, and begged Charlie to come back; but he only shook his sunny curls, and cried out, 'Who's afraid?" and ran on out of sight. Now Tom Green was entirely too gallant to leave Mary alone in the woods; he told her to get up, for she sat sobbing under a tree, and he would take her home, and then return for Charlie and the cows. By this time the storm was gathering fast; thunder and lightning, and a few large drops of rain. The children hastened out of the woods and across one field, when the rain came down in earnest, and great hailstones fell just as they were passing the door of a cabin where a German family lived. The good man of the house came out and took the children in, almost by force, for they wanted to go home; and they were under shelter none too soon. It was a fearful storm of hail and wind, blinding lightning, fearful thunder, and Mary hid her pale face in the broad lap of the kind Dutch woman. They could not understand one word of English, this German family, and so did not know why it was that Mary was so anxious to get home; they did not know her brother was out in this terrific storm-that the poor mother would be half frantic at their long absence. to awaken any living thing, so they gave in that Charlie was not living. The kind, earnest neighbors parted at the cross-roads, six of them going to Mrs. Foster's before going home, to tell her not to give up all hope, as they would renew the search in the morning. They rode up to the fence, tied their horses, and walked in. The grief of the poor mother was now terrible to witness; she begged them not to give up so-to let her go out with Before the rain ceased, Mary would start, so them-Charlie would hear her if she called. the good woman wrapped her up well, gave TomBut they told her that he must be sleeping a blanket to throw over him, and the kind soundly under some bushes, that he would Dutchman put on his heavy overcoat and started wake when the sun came out; the rain had out in the rain to take the children home. In ceased, and he would be safe till daylight, now. the first field, they met the anxious widow; it was quite dark now, but the German carried a large lantern, and they could see it a great way off. 41 Her first cry, on reaching them, was, Where is my boy?" And poor Mary cried, "Oh, mother, he would not come home!" We could not persuade her to go to bed, and we could not leave her sitting there. A bright thought just then came into the head of Mrs. Crane, the wife of our principal merchant; she whispered to us that if we could only get Mrs. Foster to think of something else for a time, it It was long before she could be made to be- would be good for her, and she suggested that lieve that her boy was out in the dark woods all we should ask her if we might prepare supper, alone. They gave the alarm at the first house, or rather a breakfast, for the six tired men now and it flew like wild-fire, and two men rode into about to start for the village, first giving a hint town, as I told you, one stopping to ring the to her husband, who was one of them, not to bell, the other to ride through the streets, cry-object, but to pretend to be in great need of reing, "A lost child!" freshment. We got the poor mother in doors at last, took off her wet garments, and replaced them with dry, warm clothing, and she sat rocking herself to and fro, calling her lost boy by all the pet names possible. Every few minutes men would ride up to the gate to inquire if the boy had been brought home, startling the widow with the hope that they had brought him with them, and then we had it all to do over again, to calm her. So the hours passed, until about three o'clock in the morning, when the hunters all met, according to an arrangement they had made, at the cross-roads, near Mrs. Foster's, and there concluded to give up the search till daylight, as both men and horses needed rest. They had been over every part of the ground where the boy could have been; they had taken Tom with them to point out the spot where Charlie had disappeared, and they had all about made up their minds that poor little Charlie was drowned in the creek, now swollen with the fall rains. The creek should be dragged in the morning. It was well Mrs. Foster had not even thought of the creek, or all hope would have left her at once. The effect was just what we wished. Mrs. Foster, always a kind and hospitable woman, was interested at once, and began to tell us what materials she had in the house for a good meal, and to tell us where we could find them. We even let her move about with us, set out the table, get the dishes from the high corner cupboard, and the silver spoons-just half a dozen— from the chest at the bedside. The men entered heartily into our plan, brought in wood and kindling, and soon a roaring fire was blazing on the wide hearth. Stoves were not so much used in those days; the frying-pan, Dutch oven, skillet, and griddle, were our usual cooking utensils. We found a huge pair of waffle-irons during our search among the pots and kettles, and Mr. Crane proposed at once that we should make some waffles. Anything for delay; we did not wish to get this ever to be remembered meal over too soon; some of the men were already sleeping in their chairs, but Mr. Crane was wide awake; he said he knew his wife could make good waffles, but that she seldom indulged him with them. Mrs. Foster told us where to find the milk, flour, and butter, and Mr. Crane told her he The men had made noise enough in the woods could go out to the barn to hunt up some eggs, but the widow told him, with a deep sob, that poor Charlie had brought them all in that very day, and put them in the "loom-place," and then she sat down and cried again. Now, the "loom-place" was a shed built on at one end of the cabin, where the widow spent many hours daily, weaving linsey for the farmers' families, and in this way she earned a very good living for herself and the two children. There was a door and one small window to this shed; its earthen floor was hard and clean; piles of wool, carded and uncarded, were lying there, for the widow had often to spin the yarn she wove. come quickly at such moments, and all these had come into the mind of lively Mrs. Crane when she first caught sight of the sleeping boy. But how did he get there? Well, he was a sensible little fellow, and when the thunder grew louder, and the rain began to fall, Charlie concluded to let the cows go, and return at once. When he got out of the woods, he just caught sight of Tom and Mary climbing a fence in the distance. He shouted, but they were too far off for his voice to reach them, and the fences that way were very high, so he took the path down along the meadow, let down one bar, and crawled through. He ran very fast now, and had reached their own sheep-shed, in a field not very far from his mother's house, when the hail came on thick and fast. As I said, he was a brave little fellow, and Mrs. Crane ventured to ask where she should look for the eggs, and was told they were in a basket under the loom, "just where dear Charlie put them when I sat there weaving to-day." So, taking a candle in her hand, her husband | feared nothing; he did not like the big hailfollowing, Mrs. Crane entered the loom-place, stones, so he crawled under the shed with the the door of which stood wide open, and a great sheep, and soon had his arms round the neck of puddle of water had collected within. Splash the youngest of the flock, a pet he had played into this went Mrs. Crane, and, of course, gave with all summer, but it had grown too large to a little shriek, and her husband, nearer laugh- keep at the house, and had been lately turned ing than he had been to-night, stood on the out with the other sheep. He said afterwards, wooden door-sill, to watch her farther progress. that he "was not the least bit lonesome or She dived down under the half-woven web, to afraid, for Billy was there." When the worst reach for the basket, now plain to be seen, when, of the storm was over, it was dark, but he knew with the loudest scream ever uttered by human the way to the house, as he so often went down voice, she fell flat on her face, letting the candle to pet Billy, and he went straight home. fall into a pile of wool, where it went out at once, and left them in total darkness. What new horror had come upon us now? We rushed to the rescue, and found Mr. Crane sitting flat in the puddle at the door, where he had fallen when his wife disappeared; and Mrs. Crane was bumping her head against the great beams of the loom, trying to raise up, with a boy in her arms. Can I ever forget her face, as it looked when the candle I held threw a light upon it? Fright, delight, and a bewildered, dreamy expression was there, as she shook and kissed the boy, as his sleepy head bobbed on her shoulder. Now, you may remember that just at this time Mrs. Foster had started out to find her children, and met them coming home with their kind neighbor, the German. So Charlie found no one in the house. He looked, and he called, but received no answer; so he went to the "loomplace," hoping to find his mother there. He left the door open; it was very dark, but he felt round, and at last lay down on the soft wool, and that was the last he remembered. It was all very plain now, but who could have thought to look there for the child? I think a breakfast never had a better flavor than the one we ate that morning at the Widow Foster's, and Charlie was hungry enough to enjoy it with the rest of us, for he had gone supperless. Mrs. Foster had come out with the rest of us, and her joyful cry, when the blue eyes of her Charlie opened to meet hers, was our reward for all the discomfort of the past night. Yes, it was The village bell rang merrily about half an little Charlie Foster, sleeping sweetly on the un-hour after Charlie was found, and the good news carded wool, just in front of the egg-basket, that flew fast. The creek was not dragged that day. had caused the scream of Mrs. Crane, for she We had many a hearty laugh over our great thought he was dead, and that the men had fright, and for years after, it was always underbrought him in and laid him there till they stood that when we visited Mrs. Foster's we could make up their minds as to the best manner were sure to have waffles, let the meal be breakof breaking the news to his mother. Thoughts fast, dinner, or supper. LET WINTER COME. Let winter come! let Polar spirits sweep And when its short and sullen noon is o'er, LOTTE. THE HEROINE OF "THE SORROWS OF WERTER." manner apologized for the delay. 'Indeed, sir,' said she, 'I am sorry you have had the trouble to alight, and that the ladies should be detained; Most of our readers have seen, or at least heard of this story, which was written in Goethe's youth, and produced, on its first appearance, an extraordinary sensation. We will quote a por-but, in my eagerness to be dressed in time, I tion, descriptive of our engraving: quite overlooked some indispensable household concerns, and these little ones lose half their relish for supper, unless I cut it for them.' "I made a reply, but I cannot tell what it was, her voice, her address, and her expression, had so ravished me. I was in this stupor of delight and astonishment, when she ran into an adjoining apartment to get her fan and gloves. The little ones took advantage of her absence to steal a look at me, and to whisper to each other, upon which I approached the youngest, whose face was full of the most lively expression; he was about to run from me just as Charlotte returned, who said to him, 'Come, my Louis, you surely are not afraid of your cousin?' "The sun had descended behind the mountains by the time we had arrived at the house; the air became very warm, and thick, leaden clouds, overspreading the horizon, indicated a storm was approaching. The ladies foresaw that the threatening atmosphere would put a stop to the ball, and were anxiously concerned lest their gratification should be put off. With an air of philosophic inspection, I endeavored to dissipate their fears, by assuring them that I could venture to predict it would be only a passing cloud, and would soon blow over. I had alighted, when a servant came and begged we would wait a moment for her mistress. I then crossed the court of this tranquil abode, and went up a few This removed all his fears, and he shook my steps to the hall, in which were six lovely chil- hand with a smack, which I returned with a kiss. dren, (the eldest eleven, and the youngest about "I then conducted her to the coach, repeating, two years of age) playing about a young lady, as we went, 'Cousin! why so? Am I to consider of a middling height, but of a form the most ex-myself worthy the honor of being your relaquisite that can be conceived, dressed in white, ornamented with pale, pink ribbons. She was supplying the little cherubs with bread and but ter from a loaf she held in her hand, which she distributed in pieces adapted to their size, and that with the most winning and affectionate grace. Their innocent hands were alternately holden up for the piece as it was cut off, each crying, on receiving it, 'Thank you, thank you" They then ran across the court to have a look at the ladies and the carriage which was to take their Charlotte away. tion?' 'With an arch smile, she replied, 'You must know sir, that I have several cousins, and it would hurt me to think that you were the least estimable among them.' 'As she took her leave, she directed the eldest girl, Sophia, to be attentive to her brothers and sisters, and when her father came home, not to let him be alone. She then gave a charge to the other little ones to mind as much what their sister Sophia said to them, as if she, herself, were there, which they all promised to do, except a "The latter, on seeing me wait, in the sweetest sprightly little girl, about six years old, who |