Ellen, for that was her name, was an orphan, and without a single friend or relative that she knew of in all the world. She had a dear little brother once, she told us, but he died many years ago. Every one said it was a good thing, and perhaps it was for he was a cripple and very helpless, and she could not spare time to be always with him, or they must have starved; but nevertheless it was pleasant to have some one to love and work for, and she often felt sad and lonely after her little brother's death, although at other times she was thankful that it had pleased God to take him, and that he would never know want or suffering again. There was no romance in the history of the poor Flower girl. She had sinned and sorrowed; she confessed the one, and complained not of the other. What she most wanted of the living was to teach her how to die! She was grateful for little beyond kind words; and went away at length, promising to call on the following day.

Days and weeks glided on, but the Flower girl never came again. Had she deceived us? Was she in reality less destitute than she seemed? Impossible! She must be ill then —dead, perhaps! God forbid! And then we thought of all that we had left unsaid which ought to have been said, and undone that ought to have been done-but it was too late! We had even neglected to ask her address. The flowers withered in their white vases, and we had no heart to replace them: other Flower girls were pitied and relieved for her sake-but Ellen came no more!

Nearly two months had elapsed since the events above narrated, which were almost forgotten when, passing down Regent-street one bright day, we saw a slight, bent form creeping along in the sunshine, and shivering and drawing together the folds of her tattered shawl at every breath of air which blew. The basket of flowers which she held seemed all too heavy for her feeble grasp; and every few moments she paused to rest and take breath, looking up into the blue sky as if she knew that God alone could aid and strengthen her. It was Ellen, but worn and wasted away to a mere shadow. We were about to address her when a carriage containing two ladies fashionably attired, drew suddenly up before the door of a jeweller's shop, and she tottered forward to offer her flowers. One passed on without observing her, but the other did not alight. The latter was very lovely, but there was more of disease than health in her flushed cheeks and glittering eyes. She beckoned to the Flower girl to come nearer, and spoke a few words in a low, kind voice. How beautiful she looked with her graceful head

bent down, and the wind playing with her long dark ringlets, and the snowy plumes of her white chip bonnet: one small, delicately gloved hand rested on the side of the carriage, while the other held the flowers which she had purchased. What a contrast to the wan, shivering being before her, with her tattered garments, and meek, upward glances! Who would have imagined that they were sisters-and the children of one heavenly Father? But the lady remembered it; and her red lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears as she wrote down something which the Flower girl told her-most probably her address -upon a card. At that moment her companion joined her; she did not look surprised but only smiled, and the carriage drove away leaving poor Ellen standing like one in a dream.

We joined her immediately, and accompanied her to her miserable home, for her little strength was evidently fast sinking. She had had a long illness she told us, and this was the first time that she had been out since we last saw one another. She had intended to call upon us when she was able to walk as far, but she did not know when that would be, and was thankful that we had met thus.

"God is very good!" said Ellen, as she sank down upon the straw pallet, weary and panting for breath.

Her first thought when she recovered a little was for her flowers, of which several bunches remained unsold. I assisted her to untie and place them carefully in water.

"Poor things" said she pityfully, "I doubt whether they will revive. The sun was very hot to-day, and has quite scorched them up; but it was my fault for I forgot to cover the basket. Poor things!" repeated Ellen, picking off the withered leaves with her pale thin fingers.

"You appear to be fond of flowers."

"I ought to love them for they have been good friends to me. I am not strong enough to do much and they keep me from starving."

This was a species of flower love of which we had never dreamt until that moment. Verily there is a poetry in human life!

The following day upon visiting Ellen's humble lodgings we heard that she had been taken away a few hours previously by the benevolent lady of whom mention has before been made. The poor woman who afforded us the information, and with whom Ellen had remembered to leave her new address, gave a sad account of the girl's increasing weakness, adding that they

had been forced to lift her into the carriage like a child, the lady following, with the tears in her beautiful eyes. She appeared to have been as much struck as ourselves with the exceeding loveliness of the latter; but observed, that notwithstanding her crimson cheeks and glittering eyes, she did not think that she was very long for this world, and the sequel proved her right. The poor woman appeared glad that Ellen had met with such a friend, and would, in all probability, be comfortably provided for during the little time she had to live; and related many touching instances of her long suffering and meek endurance. She told us how often the poor girl had actually no food from day to day, but she forgot to add how many times she had fed her from her scanty store and gone without herself; all this we heard afterwards from the grateful Ellen.

The woman, it appeared, was a widow, and worked hard and incessantly in order to procure a livelihood for herself and children. Many were the trials and privations which she endured, but instead of hardening, they served only to make her pitiful to others. Frequently would she commence a day of toil by rising up before the dawn in order to fetch those flowers which Ellen's failing strength rendered her only just able to totter forth and offer for sale, declaring that she quite enjoyed the long walk, and the fresh morning air, and that it did her good. The history of this poor woman is far from affording an isolated or uncommon illustration of the kind and self-sacrificing spirit of the poor, one toward another. Heaven help them if it were not

so!

Ellen lived nearly six weeks after the events above narrated, during which we saw her several times. This was undoubtedly the happiest-perhaps the only happy period in her brief existence, and it was touching to witness her deep gratitude for the comforts and blessings which she enjoyed. Her young benefactress visited and spent several hours every day reading and praying with the poor Flower girl, in her low sweet voice, and leading her gently to that covert where she herself had long since taken shelter from the storms and temptations of the world. THE ROCK IN A WEARY LAND, beneath the shadow of which Ellen learned at length to rest in perfect peace.

The last time that we saw the poor Flower girl, she was lying on a little white bed, with her hands clasped together, and a happy smile upon her pale, wasted countenance. Beside her was an open Bible and a few faded flowers, while a face fair and

NO. X.

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VOL. I.

bright as that of an angel bent pityingly over her, and smiled also as it pointed to the Holy Book, and repeated in a whisper some of the precious promises contained therein. The lady bowed her beautiful head and moved silently away upon our entrance, and we never saw her again.

"God bless her!" murmured Ellen.

The interview that followed was too solemn to be recorded here. Truly has it been said, that at the approach of death many a countenance which through life was cast down, becomes elevated, and blazes up with wonderful brightness ere its light is extinguished for ever, and many a charmed tongue becomes loosened and utters evangelical and glorious words! But the words of the dying are holy words, when they die in the Lord, and may not be idly repeated.

Many years have passed away since then, and Ellen and her benefactress are both in heaven! The sun shines pleasantly into our little sitting room as we write. There is a cry of flowers in the busy streets-Memory wakes up from her long dream, and the recollection of the past makes us pitiful. May all who read the above simple and truthful history also learn to have compassion upon the wants of their fellow creatures, for therefore was it recorded. Every one loves flowers, and delights to listen to the tales which they tell of old times, and the green woods and fields far away; but few remember the Flower girl. The beautiful in this world of ours, is oftentimes linked to the sad; while a stern reality lies hidden beneath the poetry of life. In admiring the one let us never forget to sympathize with the other nor is it enough to talk, or even to feel-we must act. Good deeds, it has been truly said, are acted poetry; A few gifted ones have written poems which all the world admires; it is well but better still are those acted poems of which all the world knows nothing-but the angels only! The Laurel, is beautiful, but the Palm is more glorious still! We shall conclude this paper with a familiar illustration which will serve not only to make clear the moral which it is intended to convey, but also to evidence what our gentle readers must have long since found out for themselves,-that it is a thousand times easier to preach than to practice!

Last night as we sat in our warm and comfortable drawingroom, which seemed all the more comfortable for the rain beating without, and tapping and whispering against the window pane, there arose up all of a sudden a strain of sweet and melancholy music, for although only a common street organ, it sounded

marvellously sweet to us. Tears filled our eyes as we listened to the old familiar hymn tune, and thought of the young, glad voices that once mingled with ours in the sacred melody, and were now singing in Heaven! We bowed down our head upon our hands, and fell into our own dreaming mood; while the poor organ-boy wandered hungry and houseless, it may be, through the wet streets-but we never thought of him. The music died away lingeringly in the distance, and with it passed our opportunity of benefiting and relieving a fellow creature!

Gentle Reader, has it never happened thus to you? Have you no similar experience to record? No like fault to amend? But perhaps you have not thought about it? Flowers and Music have never before been associated in your minds with Poverty and Death! May we all remember henceforth that human life has its Reality, as well as its Romance.

PRIDE AND JEALOUSY.

Continued from page 303.

CHAPTER V.

And they were wed-Constance and Sir Henry—and amid all the outward demonstrations of happiness, and joy, and gladness Constance Hope became the Lady Hargrave. No, ye lovers of the marvellous, it did not rain as if "heaven and earth were coming together,"-there was no thunder storm to terrify, no lightning to affright, nor were strange sights to be seen, nor unearthly sounds heard; no sighs emitted from unseen personages behind conveniently placed pillars, echoed along the distant aisles, no monitions and warnings from old witches or grey-bearded wizards, no interruptions from disappointed lovers, no brawling in the church, no upbraiding, no claiming of brides, or chiding on account of perjured vows. There was no fainting; no extravagance of any kind. But there were prayers from honest villager's hearts, and shouts from their throats that rang sharply through the clear air, and there were merry birds carolling among the waving boughs, and a brilliant sun shining over all.

And well did Constance play her part; and too much she then knew and felt it was but a part she was acting, but she