gentleman actually displayed an old-fashioned spencer, whilst another, a noble, hale old fellow, boasted somewhat proudly that he had dared the weather without any protection whatever; "for how," said he, "was it possible to hold up an umbrella against the pitiless wind?"

Paternus came in, rubbing his half-frozen hands, and repeating the well-known saying,

"March borrows of April

Three days, and they are ill;
April returns them back again,

Three days, and they are rain.

"It is unfortunate, most unfortunate," he added, smiling, "that one of these borrowed days should be the day appointed for our meeting; but no," he continued, "if it had not been for the wretched welcome we have met with out of doors, we never could have enjoyed so greatly the comforts now before us." So saying, he seated himself in the easy chair provided for him, and whilst waiting for the rest to place themselves around him, he spoke most sweetly and edifyingly of the future world, comparing man's troubles to the storms that were then raging round us : and the happiness and comforts of our present haven, to the heavenly home already provided for the sons of God.

But the gentleman who had undertaken to narrate a remembrance of divine goodness, being ready, thus began his tale.

"It was in the fair month of June, when just ordained, some years ago, that I paid a visit to my future rector, in order, as he said, that he might have fuller knowledge of my religious opinions, before he appointed me to be the companion of his ministry. Mr. Palmer was an old friend of my father's, and his attachment to our family was so great, that he treated me rather as a son than a new acquaintance, so that the time I spent with him was at once sweet and profitable.

"I had been with him about a week, when one morning a note was put into his hand, which the servant said required an immediate answer. After perusing it himself, he again read it to me. It was in a lady's hand, and to this effect:

I

"Come to us quickly, dear Mr. Palmer, pray come. know not what to do for my boy, my poor little Edwin. Some

thing has happened which has distressed him excessively, and he grieves so bitterly, and his health is always so delicate, that I even fear I shall lose him, unless he can be consoled; and I know not what consolation to give him. He always loved youOh! do come and see what you can do for my poor child. A physician has seen him, and all that he replies to my earnest enquiries is- Send for Mr. Palmer; ask him to converse with your child; he is the only person I know who could do him good.'

́ My friend had read thus far aloud, when I somewhat rudely interrupted him by observing-'You will go then, I suppose,

sir.'

"This moment,' he answered; and as the boy is very young, I should like you, George, to go with me: you may, perhaps, be of service on the occasion, whatever it may be.’

"Our hats being close at hand, we immediately set off towards the dwelling of the afflicted mother and son; and on the way, Mr. Palmer informed me of some particulars of the family we were about to visit.

"Mrs. Selwyn,' he said, 'is lady of one of the manors in this parish: she is a widow with an only child-a sweet boy who can scarcely be nine years of age. The child is endowed by providence with every temporal advantage; but, though he possesses so many outward blessings, it is much to be feared that his too-fond mother has neglected the one thing needful in his education so far: it is for this reason that poor little Edwin, with all his fine worldly prospects, has always been an object of compassion in my eyes. What the cause of his present distress may be, I cannot imagine, but I shall endeavor to get the statement from the child himself, rather than the mother, who is always all feeling and excitement.'

“We were soon at the house of Mrs. Selwyn, and found it a regular english mansion house, having all the appearance of belonging to a family which could boast of many well-born ancestors. But we had no leisure to look about us : we were expected most impatiently; and as soon as we were in sight, the liveried servants were all in motion to announce our arrival. The next instant we were hurried across the hall, to a summer breakfast-room, where they informed us we should find the

young gentleman and his mamma.

strange,' whispered Mr. Palmer to me, of this sort before.'

It is strange, passing

I never saw any thing

“The attention of the good gentleman being thus directed, he was not aware, neither was I, that a fine spaniel, a dog of Mr. Palmer's, had followed us into the hall, and keeping close to his master, had actually taken the liberty of accompanying us into the parlour.

“In this pleasant summer parlour we found the little heir of the fine estate around us, extended upon a sofa by the open window, whilst his mother sat beside him with her arm around him. Edwin was, as Mr. Palmer had informed me, an unusually pleasing child, possessing that peculiarly winning address that seems to belong only to childhood. Traces of tears were on his cheeks, but they only brightened the somewhat doubtful glow of those cheeks, and darkened the long eyelashes as if heavy with moisture. He looked up at our entrance, and tried to smile, for he dearly loved Mr. Palmer, when suddenly his eye fell upon the spaniel that, as I said before, had accompanied us into the His countenance changed in a moment. Distress the most agonizing was painted on his infant face; he started up, wrung his hands, and then hiding his face with them, he seemed as it were convulsed with his emotions. Oh! Fido, Fido,' he at length exclaimed, 'Oh dear, dear Fido, what can I do?-what shall I do?-Oh! I shall never be happy again. -Oh, my dog, my faithful dog!'

room.

Mrs. Selwyn's eye was at once directed to the spaniel, and she made a sign to me to put him out of the room as quietly as I could; but he, being unwilling to go, his resistance seemed to plunge the poor child into fresh agony, 'Oh, do not hurt him, sir, pray do not hurt him, sir!' he said to me. 'Oh, do not, pray do not, oh, be very gentle to him, sir, oh pray, pray do!' "He will not hurt him, my dear,' replied Mr. Palmer. 'Why should you be afraid for the poor dog. George would not hurt any animal, much more an old friend like him.'

"Oh, he is good, sir,' said the child, 'very good; oh, that I was as good; but I have been very, very cruel, and I shall never be happy again;' and once more he wrung his hands in agony. “Tell me, my boy, tell me all about it,' said Mr. Palmer,

paternally drawing the boy towards him, and placing him on his knee; ‘I should like to hear all you have to say ?’

"Mrs. Selwyn made a movement as if she would caution Mr. Palmer. Let him speak out, Mrs. Selwyn,' he said, 'the poor child's mind will be relieved; and perhaps I shall find some comfort for him.' Then turning to Edwin, he said kindly, ‘Tell me your trouble, my dear, and then we will talk of comfort afterwards.'

"Do you remember my Fido, my own Fido, sir,' began little Edwin, though he could hardly speak for his sobs - my precious, precious Fido. He did love me so, sir, and was so good and so obedient to me; and I-oh, how did I use him- I was unkind to him, very unkind; how I could hate myself now for my unkindness! And yet Fido loved me still; and I am sure I loved Fido, though I was so unkind to him. It was only yesterday morning that I went out to play with my dog, and he jumped about me, and seemed so happy to see me, and be with me, that I loved him too for a little while, and played with him. But soon he offended me, and I got tired of him, and drove him from me, and I picked up all the stones I could find, and threw them after him, to try to strike him. I threw one after another at my poor dog, till at last I am afraid I struck him and hurt him, for he ran limping away and howling, and I was not sorry; no, I was not sorry even then, I was so wicked. Well, when my poor dog, as I thought, had gone quite away, I still had a stone in my hand, and not knowing what else to do with it, I ran down to the edge of the water, and threw it in. I stood for some moments watching the circles it made, and then threw in another, and another; and getting very eager in my play, though I don't know how it happened, my foot slipped, and I fell into the water. I remember that I screamed out very loudly as I felt myself falling, for I was dreadfully frightened, but I do not know what happened next, till suddenly I felt that something had got tight hold of me; so tight, that though I was still in the water, I felt I was safe, and had no fear. Oh, sir, would you believe it?-it was Fido, my own Fido, that I had driven away from me by my cruelty; and yet he had forgiven me all, and had come to save me when he heard me cry for help!'Here little Edwin's tears fell fast, but much more gently than

before. 'Could you have thought, sir,' he said to Mr. Palmer, 'that my dog would have still loved me, after I had just used him so ill?'

I should have expected it of him, my boy,' replied Mr. Palmer, because I know the nature of a faithful dog; but I want you to tell me what happened next: I am anxious to hear what followed?'

"By the time I was out of the water, some of the servants were come, and they took me from Fido; and for some minutes my head seemed to turn round so, I did not know where I was, I felt so sick and ill. So they laid me down, or, I believe I laid myself down on the grass, for I refused to let them move me, whilst they sent for mamma. Before mamma came I was better, so that I heard all they said to her, and then I remembered that it was Fido, my beloved Fido, who had saved me! When I remembered that, I looked round for my dog. I called him; and though mamma was very much afraid of my catching cold by remaining in my damp clothes, I would go after my Fido, for no one seemed to know where he was. I ran off then from those who would have held me, from mamma and all, to see my dog, my precious dog which had saved me. I wanted to shew him how I loved him-how thankful I was to him; for I knew that he would understand me, and that he would shew he did so. But oh, sir,' added little Edwin, shuddering and hiding his face with his hands, oh, sir, I do not know if I can tell you what happened next. I found my poor dog lying under a tree on the grass; the game-keeper and one of the men were standing by him, and when I came up, I heard the one say to the other, 'We must shoot him, poor fellow; it is brutal to let him linger in such misery.''

66

'Is it my dog that you would shoot?' I said-'how dare you?” But the men held me back; they would not let me go near him, or touch him; and then when I struggled in their hands, they told me that my poor, poor dog was dying for me! I had beaten him, I had thrown stones at him, and yet he had forgiven me; he loved me still; and in his exertions to save me, he had hurt himself so severely; but how, they did not tell me ; that he could not live, and that it would be a kindness to shoot him. They could not move him-it would have been cruel to have