having to appear before the great white throne." The rector was much pleased with her remark, which evinced the serious light in which she viewed death. He then proceeded to the bedside and read some texts of Scripture to the little sufferer, carefully applying them to his peculiar case. The child was early called to bear his cross, and with humble and loving trust he kissed it for his Saviour's ake. The fever by this time had completely prostrated him, and his strength was almost exhausted. His mind was wholly set on the things unseen, which fade not nor pass away, and which were opening more clearly on his view as the mists of earthborn hopes and fears were vanishing. One day the clergyman promised to call at a certain hour that evening. As the time approached the boy cast his eyes to the door, and remained gazing full half an hour, till his beloved friend and counsellor arrived; thea such a bright and placid smile played erer the young features, that no one could fer a moment doubt the calm pleasure he received from the pastoral ministrations. The Church, like a tender mother, nursed him in her lap of purity and grace, and fed Lim with the food of the Spirit; and he, longing to serve, longing to kneel at her feet and do her bidding, had but to wait. The comand had gone forth, "Learn to wait!" and he had learned. And now, with the summets of death drawing nearer and more near, he could hearken with a calm, unhesitating faith and say, "And so divinely sweet the call, I would not but obey; Farewell, then, to my childish dreams, I'm on my homeward way." The last time the rector called the child was weaker far than he had yet been. He could scarcely speak, but in broken accents he asked his mother to hold his hands together r he was unable to do this for himself) whilst the clergyman said a prayer, in which he should love to join mentally. He glanced at the rector to see if his proposal met with THE REAL BLESSING.-God's ways are not our ways-nay, so far from it, that what seems to be a misfortune, is not unfrequently found to be a real blessing. Could we see erents in all their consequences, we should, no doubt, universally perceive the truth of approval; and then, as his mother clasped his feeble hands, a prayer rose holy as incense in that simple home, supplicating the Father of all to conduct the departing Christian safe to the land of Paradise, and to watch over his parents and brother, that, through repentance and faith, they might conquer in the fight, and meet him hereafter in the regions of bliss. The boy whispered "Amen," and there was silence. Who can tell that that prayer may not yet be answered in the conversion of the father's erring soul? "Not long, I feel sure," replied the rector; a great change has come over him since I last saw him, and I doubt not that in a few hours his spirit will have flown to its rest, and you, oh! may you be supported!" It was with a look of entire resignation that she replied, "O sir! I am happy now I feel that he is prepared for the change; not for the world would I recall my beloved boy." Already she could realize those words put forth in the strength of a living faith: "Far better they should sleep awhile, Within the church's shade, Nor wake until new heaven, new earth, For their abiding-place, be made, On our frail love once more." "The loss," she continued, "is mine, the gain is his, and nothing, oh! nothing now could make me wish to have him back again, to be plunged, perhaps, into sin and woe." This was the last time that the kind pastor was to see his little lamb. Before the evening, with its dim twilight and gathering mist, closed in, the spirit had departed, and had been reunited, we need not doubt, to the little ones who had gone before. "Oh! not in cruelty, not in wrath, E. L. this saying, that "all things work together for good to them that love God."-Dr. He berden. PRECEPT. By others' faults, wise men correct their own. M CHAPTER XVIII. FANNY DALE. RS. DALE might be excused for praising her two girls that afternoon, as, hot and tired, but with cheerful faces, they came into the kitchen just before tea. "They did more than two women," she declared, and certainly they had worked very hard to get the worst of the washing done without their mother's help, that she might have a quiet day after the anxious, restless days and nights which she had spent lately. "Well!" exclaimed Fanny, emerging from the cupboard with the tea-chest in her hand, "here's pleasant news for thirsty peoplenot a scrap of tea! I thought you got it this morning, Bessie." "And I thought you got it last night," responded Bessie. "At any rate there's no tea, so there's nothing for it but to trudge up to Mrs. Price's and buy some," said Fanny, tying on her bonnet. "Mrs. Cooper," she added, putting her head into the parlour, "you need not fold up your work, unless you are fond of milk and water, for there will be no tea till I come back from Mrs. Price's; so don't be thirsty or impatient." "No tea, my dear?" said Mrs. Dale, coming downstairs. "No, mother, not a bit. I thought Bessie had fetched it, and Bessie thought I had fetched it. Please to give me the shilling, and I will be back in no time. Shall I .call for Charlie's boots, Mary?" "No, thank you; there's no hurry for them now." "Can I do anything else, mother?" "Only make haste back, my dear, for we all want our tea; so don't call at the Slaters', or anywhere. Do you hear, Fanny?" for she was setting off without making any an swer. "Oh, yes! I hear; I wasn't going to," she replied without turning round, and away she went. "You may as well put the kettle on, Bessie," said Mrs. Dale; "she'll be back in a quarter of an hour." But half an hour nearly expired and no Fanny. "There's the gate!" exclaimed Bessie, jumping up from her stool by the fire, where she was toasting a slice of bread. "Now for some tea!" and she went to the door. But instead of Fanny there stood a ragged little boy, the son of a poor neighbour. "Please, ma'am," he said, making a bow "I was and handing in a small blue parcel, to bring this and Miss Fanny's competence, and she'll keep her to tea, and they'll bring her home very late." "What is it, Jemmy?" said Mrs. Dale, coming forward. The child repeated his not very intelligible message word for word. "Was that all, Jemmy?" "Yes, ma'am, that's all; I've been a saying of it all down the lane." "Who told you to say it, Jemmy?" "Miss Fanny and ever so many of 'em." "Was she at Mrs. Price's, my dear?" "No, ma'am, t'other shop,-boot-shop; and they give I that there to bring, and what I said just now." "Very well, Jemmy, and thank you!" said Mrs. Dale; and as the child turned a longing glance at the loaf and tea-things, she added, "You could eat a bit of bread-andbutter, Jemmy, I dare say; cut him a nice slice, Bessie.' "Thank ye, ma'am," he replied with another bow as he took the piece with an eager face; "I never get's butter home 'cept Sundays." "Really Fanny is very provoking," said Mrs. Dale, as she shut the door after the child; "she knows I don't like her to stay there-and so busy as we are too!” Fanny meant what she said when she told her mother that she was not going to stop at the Slaters'. But she seemed to have a perverse determination to put herself in the way of temptation, more especially where the Slaters were concerned; for having run across the fields the shortest way to Mrs. Price's and purchased her tea, she thought she would come back the other way, past Mr. Slater's. So she dawdled on, stopping to look at a pair of boots in the window. As she might have expected, a head popped up over the blind, and the next minute Charlotte was in the street begging her to come in: "They had ever so many things to say to her about Thursday." "No, indeed I cannot stop," replied Fanny, though without moving on; "and you've compeny here-I hear them." "It's only Aunt Jane and Tom and Harriet -you don't mind them. Do come in." A this minute out bounced Amelia, and ing Fanny by the arm tried to pull her towards the door. **You must and shall come in, Fanny," I she said. "Nonsense! they can wait for their tea." **No, Amelia, indeed I must go," replied Fanny, trying to disengage herself from Amelia's grasp. “Way, what nonsense! I'll send the tea," returned Amelia. "Here, little boy!" she called; "it's Jemmy Brown-he'll take your tea, Fanny." "No, really I must not stay. Just tell me you have anything to say about Thursday, and then I must run home as fast as I "I've heaps of things to say, and I can't of them in a minute; why won't you Bay!" "She says we've got company," said Charlotte. "Stuff! only Aunt Jane and the Perkses -you don't mind Aunt Jane, I know," said Amelia. Then stepping inside the door, but till keeping a firm hold of Fanny's hand, the called out in a bold, laughing tone, "Here, Mr. Perks, you're wanted if you please; here's a young lady won't stay to tea because you're here." "O Amelia, for shame!" said Fanny, getting very angry, and trying in vain to free herself. "I'm sure, miss, it's time I went home, then, if that's the case," said a smart, disagreeable-looking young man, coming out of the parlour, and bowing and smirking at Fanny. "Get me my hat directly." The Slaters all burst out laughing, in which they were joined by Albert and a showylooking girl who had come out of the parlour after the young man. Poor Fanny tried in in to release her arm;-how she wished she had gone home the other way;—she could not bear such rude bold ways, and in the street o-suppose any one was to come by and see ler with such a noisy set. "Do let go my arm, Amelia!" she said sharply, and almost ready to cry. "Now do let me prevail on you to stay, miss," continued the young man with another impudent grin; "you'll find me very quiet and agreeable." Another shout from all the party but Fanny; and Mrs. Slater was just coming out of the shop to desire they would come in and shut the door, when Albert brought the whole party to order by exclaiming, "As sure as you're alive, girls, here come Mr. and Miss Mortimer," and in a moment his two sisters sprang in, dragging Fanny with them, and slammed-to the door. Fanny could not be sure that Miss Mortimer had not recognized her; she was standing just opposite, waiting for Mrs. Mortimer, who had gone into a cottage, and Fanny did not like to face her. Not that there was any harm in coming out of the Slaters' house, but conscience made a coward of her, and she thought she would wait till Miss Mortimer was gone on. In the mean time Amelia, having got possession of Fanny's packet of tea, went with a demure air to the door, and after making a respectful curtsey to Miss Mortimer, she called little Jemmy Brown to her, and told him to take the parcel to Mrs. Dale and say, "Mrs. Slater's compliments, and she had kept Miss Fanny to tea; but she would not be late, and they would see her home." 'Regularly caught in a trap, Miss Fanny!" said Amelia, running laughing into the kitchen, where Fanny had escaped from Mr. and Miss Perks; "now you must stay, so don't make any more fuss. I've sent Jemmy Brown with the parcel, and told him to say you would stay to tea." "Indeed I shall not, Amelia !" returned Fanny, angrily, and going towards the door; but Amelia interrupted her with another rude laugh, and said, "Come, if you won't stay for me, I must call Mr. Perks again." "Why don't you come into the other room, Milly?" said Mrs. Slater, coming into the kitchen; "the tea is almost ready." "I can't make this foolish girl come in, mother, and all because the Perkses are there." "Oh! you'll stay to tea, my dear?" said Mrs. Slater in her kindest tones; "do now. We so seldom see you." "Thank you, Mrs. Slater," replied Fanny, "but mother told me to make haste, and they'll be expecting me." "But I'll send the girl down directly, my dear, to say I've kept you; I'm sure Mrs. Dale won't be angry." "That's all done, mother," said Amelia; "I've sent little Jemmy Brown, with Fanny's parcel." "Then you'll stay, my dear, I'm sure," said Mrs. Slater, persuasively; "it's a pleasure to us all to have you here." "She's afraid of the Perkses, mother," interposed Amelia, seeing Fanny still unde. cided and beginning to tie her bonnet. "La! my dear Fanny," returned Mrs. Slater, "you needn't mind them, quite like our own family they are; such old friends of mine; and very genteel young people, I assure you. Harriet sings beautiful, and Tom so amusing with his jokes. Come now, you'll stay, I'm sure; they were saying just now they remembered you at Kingsford at Mrs. Martin's, and what a sweet, clever little thing you were." "And you've stayed so long now," added Amelia, "you may as well stay on. They know where you are now." "Well, then, you'll let me go directly after tea," said Fanny. "You shall do just as you please, my dear, about that," replied Mrs. Slater, "and Albert and Milly shall walk home with you." "She couldn't help it," Fanny said to herself, but it was with an uneasy conscience that she joined the tea-party in the parlour, especially when she found that another young man had dropped in, so that they were quite a large party. Fanny had been especially desired to come home, and if she had not been, she knew they were busy and wanted her; besides, Mrs. Dale had often refused to let Fanny go to the Slaters' when they expected other friends, and she knew enough of the Perkses to be quite sure that her mother would strongly object to her making acquaintance with them. Their mother kept a road-side inn about halfway to Kingsford, the frequent resort of holiday-making parties of a rather noisy character. Fanny knew perfectly well that she ought to go home directly, and if she had any doubt on the subject, the feeling of shame and fear with which she retreated into the kitchen, on hearing Miss Mortimer's voice in the shop, might have been a sufficient indication to her that she was doing wrong. But, as usual, Fanny stifled the "still small voice" that would have prevented her following her own way, and soon joined the merry party in the parlour. Mr. Slater liked Fanny, and was always particularly kind to her. He made her sit between him and Miss Perks, who also seemed inclined to be very attentive to her, and notice or admiration from any one was never lost upon Fanny. Harriet Perks was a goodnatured, silly girl, four or five years older than Fanny, with a round face and glossy curls, very like a doll's, which people called pretty. She was very smartly dressed, but quieter than the Slaters, and very good-tem pered and fond of patronizing. On the present occasion she took a fancy to Fanny, and was so extremely attentive and kind that Fanny was quite delighted with her notice, and began to be very glad she had stayed. There was a great deal of laughing and talking, and Fanny soon got over her shyness, and was as merry and silly as any of them. Whilst Mr. Slater remained they were toler ably orderly, but he left them in the middle of tea with an apology, as he was very busy in the shop, and after he was gone the laugh. ing and noise increased tenfold. It certainly was more than Fanny quite liked, but "there, she was in for it, and couldn't make a fuss," she said to herself, when conscience upbraided her with talking and romping in a way that she would have been ashamed for her mother or Mary to see. So amused and absorbed was she in the nonsense that was going on, that she quite forgot her determination of going home directly after tea, and it was getting dusk when with some difficulty she prevailed on her kind friends to let her go. It had been a part of the agreement with Mrs. Dale that only the Slater family and themselves were to be of the party to Kingsford. Had any of the Slaters' friends been engaged to accompany them, Mrs. Dale had determined that she would not go; but Bessie had ascertained from Mr. Slater, when she went with her mother's final message, that there was no intention of adding to their party. From what transpired during teatime, it was very plain to Fanny that the Perkses, and perhaps some others, were to join them on the road, and she began to fear whether, after all, her mother would consent to go. "Good evening, Mr. Slater!" said Fanny, going into the shop to shake hands with him before she left, a piece of civility which Milly considered very superfluous, but which pleased her father. "Good night, my dear!" he said kindly; "I hope we shall see you again soon. If I was not so busy I'd see you home with pleasure." "Oh! thank you, Mr. Slater; Milly and Albert are going." "Give my respects to your mother, and tell her from me that she may be quite easy about to-morrow; the old horse is very steady and safe, and you'll be home before dark, say; there's no one going but my family and yourselves, a nice quiet little party. Now, Milly and Albert, you're keeping Fanny," he called out; "you had better go and see for them, my dear. Good night!" "I'm sorry you must go so early, Fanny," said Mrs. Slater, as Fanny returned to the paricur. "Ma keeps you pretty tight, I fancy, don't abe!" said Mr. Perks with a grin. "A girl of your sense and spirit should kick a bit mare; I wonder you don't!" "We shall be sure to meet on Thursday, dear," said Miss Perks, giving Fanny a kiss, ich Mr. Perks said "ought to go round," and a great deal of giggling ensued. "Be quiet, do, Tom," said his sister; "never mind him, dear," she said to Fanny. "Now be sure you remind me to lend you that book I was telling you of; it is such a sweet interesting tale-a French story, and quite true, they say,-'Angeline, or the Count's Revenge.' Now don't forget. Good night, dear!-you look so like Angelina in the story -good night!" and with another kiss Fanny at last managed to get away. CHAPTER XIX. ALBERT and Amelia were unusually silent at the commencement of their walk. As they were crossing a field where the path was narrow, Fanny had to walk first, and she overheard a sort of muttered consultation going on. "Had I better tell her? "-"We must, or we are done;"-"I think she's pretty safe," were the words which caught her ear. At the end of the field was a small swinggate, and when Fanny was within a few yards of it, Albert bounded past her, and, seating himself on the top, put his foot on the opposite rail. "Now, Miss Fanny," said he, smiling triumphantly, as he saw her looking in vain for some way to get past him, "here we are, and before we go any further we must have a little serious conversation." "Oh! Albert, please do let me go on," she replied; "it is getting so late ;" and she again tried to pass. "If it was twelve o'clock," replied he, "I could not let you go on till I have said what I've got to say; so don't make a piece of work, or I'll keep you all the longer." "Well, do make haste, then; but cannot you wait till Thursday?—it can't be so very important." "That's as you may think," he said coolly, "perhaps it's of no consequence to you; only, if you won't stay and hear what I have to tell you, there will be no going to Kingsford for us or you either." "O Albert, what can you mean?" "Just what I say, neither more nor less." "O Milly, he doesn't mean it, does he?" "Yes, to be sure he does, and if you were not in such a hurry you might help us; but it's nothing to you, I suppose." "We shall none of us go to Kingsford, that's all," rejoined Albert; "but if Fanny does not care, I need not say any more; we'll go on," and he got off the gate. "But don't be in such a hurry, Albert," said Fanny, stopping him; "let me hear what it is." "And if Albert tells you, will you promise to help us?" asked Amelia as her brother resumed his seat on the gate. "I will if I can," replied Fanny, "when I know what you want." "Of course she will," replied Albert; "I knew Fanny would come about and be goodnatured like herself. Well, the case is this; you know we were to go in Short's cart with his old slow horse, and mother was to go with us, because father did not like our going alone, which was all humbug, but so it was. Mother wanted to go with Uncle Stephen, who will be going by our house; and when father found that Mrs. Dale was going, he said that would do for us. So mother and Rosina go with uncle, and as we are not so many we are to have Short's phaeton instead of his cart, which I must say I like a good deal better. But now comes the business; I must drive that wretched old Dobbin, or whatever they call him, there, for father, who knows nothing on earth about it, is just as timid about my driving as your mother might be. But I say, Fanny, what shall we do if the poor old horse should happen to fall lame at Kingsford?" "I don't know," replied Fanny, rather |