overcast; the heavens are black; I can not see his face. O why, why has

He done this?

You, my brother, who are suddenly thus bereaved, are like a traveler lost in the catacombs of Rome, his lamp gone out and his guide fled. It may It may Se night, and the pole star be gleamwg in the north; but it gleams not for him nor helps him to direct his steps. Is may be day, and the sun be shining bright and gloriously overhead; but it shines not for him; there is a mass of earth above him, darkness around him, and he can not see.

So you who are stricken, may belove, by a cold process of reasoning, that God's face still glows with love; but you can neither feel the warmth or see the brightness of it, because of the clod of earth-that heavy, heavy clod which rests upon the coffin where your heart lies buried.

Your dear one's spirit, however, is not in the grave, but has risen to Him who gave it. Your faith, too, is not dead; it has not utterly perished; it is only stunned. It mounts up again, at last; and you feel once more, not only that God is Love, but that God loves you. And you say sorrowfully, indood, but humbly and sincerely: It is the Lord. He gave and He hath taken again: blessed be his name!

Did I say that Mr. Trowbridge was lott alone? No, not alone. Madge was gone, and in his first great grief and loneliness he scarce took account of the wee baby which she had left to Comfort him. But as the child grew, and in its development took on more at the likeness of his lost wife, the lacerated tendrils of the father's affection began to twine themselves about his boy. He was changed, however. The fountain in his heart, whose sweet and kindly waters Madge had made to averflow, still remained, but no longer sparkling and bubbling, and revealing resence in a hundred ways. increased. A gravity, ten times rious than before, settled down him. He went heavily in and

His

duties with almost painful conscientiousness. He preached with unabated, some thought with increased, vigor; and his fame went out, like that of the Master, into all the regions round about him so much so, that he was presented by an admiring college with a D. D.

Mr. Trowbridge's people were well pleased that their minister was made a Doctor of Divinity. They had always respected him, and this formal recognition of his merits, by a corporate body, served to confirm their good opinion of him by assuring them that he really was all that they thought him to be. They laid more stress upon his new title than the recipient of it did. They raised his salary a peg on the strength of it, a proceeding against which he made no remonstrance, as would have been the case had they seen fit to lower it instead. He looked upon money as his necessity, not his reward. So that he had enough to maintain himself and family with decency and comfort, he

was content.

But though his people honored him, they were not familiar with him. The oldest men among them felt a secret uneasiness in his presence. The young stood in awe of him. If he chanced to pass a bevy of school children at play on the green, they involuntarily ceased their sport and eyed him gravely. His entrance into a room full of youths and maidens was sure to act as a constraint upon their mirth. Yet, his words, though few and serious, were kind. It seemed a pity that he was not more demonstrative. The fountain was there yet in his breast, and its waters may be were deeper and sweeter than ever; but the ice had formed over them again, and there was no Madge to charm it away by her magical influence. The child could not do this. By his wife's death, Mr. Trowbridge's whole system, mental, moral, and physical, received a shock, from the effects of which it seemed likely never to recover. heavy sense of the vanity of earthly happiness took possession of him. He fully believed that by his wife's sudden

A

for his idolatry, and he accepted be not as a blessing to be enjoyed erished because it was his own adge's child, but as an immortal ntrusted to his keeping, and for mporal and eternal destiny of he would be held accountable. is married life, he had trembled should love his wife too well, doubly fearful now of centering ctions in his son, who reminded her every day.

would love the boy, as a teacher favorite pupil, not as a fond clings to the only child of his wife. He would train him to the paths of righteousness and for a useful manhood, but he not carry him, tenderly folded bosom, when he saw that the et were weary.

3 comparatively easy for him to rom demonstrations of fatherly , for he was by nature undeme. But to keep from feeling ad tender love for his boy was le. He soon discovered this, irmer root he saw his affection he more he tried to check in all exhibitions of tenderness. le cheated himself, sometimes, belief that it did not exist. , as the little motherless boy rough the many petty griefs ood, the father did not kiss tears which gathered in his press the small, wet cheek to

te caress.

rowbridge's maiden sister, y name, had lived at his th more or less constancy, his marriage. She had conreat fondness for Madge and not only to be with her, but her as much as possible of ad burdens of housekeeping. good soul, firmly believing airing her brother-all his proud of him-but, as was he preceding chapter, a perreat force of character, nor f intellect. After Madge's hich she was present and je deeply mourned she took

the little motherless babe to her own bosom, with genuine tenderness and a heartfelt desire to supply, so far as she was able, the place of its dead mother. And if the babe drew its daily nourishment from a junk bottle, instead of from a human breast, throbbing with warmth and maternal love, surely it had reason to be grateful-if gratitude can be felt so early in life-to its simple-minded but kind-hearted and longsuffering Aunt Cynthia, whose solicitude for the child's welfare and gentle patience in administering the judiciously prepared contents of the junk bottle, were the theme of universal admiration. Whether the child was thankful or not, Mr. Trowbridge certainly was. He soon formally installed his sister as mistress of the parsonage, and foster-mother of his son.

One day, when the latter was about three months old, the minister was reading the story of the prophet Elijah; how that, when his work on earth was done and he was caught up to heaven in the chariot of fire, his mantle fell and was taken up by the youthful Elisha; and how that, as is implied in the narrative, the spirit of the prophet rested on Elisha from that time.

"Heaven forbid," said Mr. Trowbridge, as he pondered over the wonderful story, "that I should liken myself to the holy man whose name I bear, in anything except my office. He was an ambassador from God to menHis chosen messenger-and, such, I trust, am I, though in a far lower sense and endowed with but a tithing of his spirit. I am an unprofitable servant." How often he used to say that! "I should rejoice to see this child, as he grows up, indued with a double portion of the spirit which has led me to choose the work of the ministry as my life-work." Thus he reasoned; and the child was baptized Elisha, and dedicated to the Lord.

The little fellow early manifested a disposition to revolt against Aunt Cynthia's authority. That good lady's long experience as a spinster had not especially fitted her for the manama.

ment of such a high-spirited, fractious young gentlemen as was Master Elisha about the time when he got into his first pair of pants. He had, naturally, a hot temper, which had doubtless been aggravated by the trials of his unfortunate babyhood. Indeed, had nature blessed him with a temper of angelic sweetness, it would probably have become humanized in consequence of that abominable junk bottle. For though Aunt Cynthia took unwearying pains with the article in question, she was a frail woman, and as such liable to make mistakes. For instance, how could she, by simply poking her calloused forefinger into the milk, know for a certainty that it was at exactly the proper temperature? Authorities differ as to the treatment best calculated to insure the welfare and happiness of motherless infants, but I believe all who know anything about the matter, concur in the opinion that milk which is either too warm or too cold is liable to give babies the colic. Elisha must have suffered the painful consequences of many such blunders on the part of his faithful nurse.

Aunt

It was Aunt Cynthia's misfortune also to have a cold in her head for weeks together, sometimes. We all know that the person thus afflicted experiences difficulty in distinguishing accurately the many stages between very sweet and extremely sour. Cynthia was no exception. She occasionally pronounced the bottle sweet when it was, in Elisha's judgment, decidedly the reverse; hence, loss of temper, and a swelling sense of wrong, with a dim perception, perhaps, that at the best, he was being humbugged and defrauded of some inalienable right of babyhood? What wonder? I have seen much older people go into a tantrum at being disappointed in their hopes of a faultless dinner! On the hol, however, Elisha held his glassy high esteem. It was only in al cases that he became enit. It is on record that he The privilege of taking it to bed im in more than one instance,

and that, in the more advanced stages of his pre-articulate existence, he would fondle the unconscious object of his affections for hours together, at the same time crooning this delightful sentiment: "Mum-m-m, mum b-z-z-le, w-z-z-le.”

Mr. Trowbridge in all his studies had met with nothing so untranslatable as this, but Aunt Cynthia declared that it plainly was, "My ma, bottle, wottle;" and straightway pronounced Elisha a born poet, and in every other respect a very remarkable child—as he was to be sure.

As he grew older and waxed in strength, both of mind and body, he showed little respect for his aunt's authority. She was too tender-hearted to deny him anything when she found that he was bent on having it. He soon learned that he had only to try hard enough to carry his point, whatever it might be, and Aunt Cynthia would certainly yield. When she made sweetened doughnuts—an edible for which he early showed a remarkable appetite-and gave him one to eat, piping hot, but when that was disposed of refused him another lest it should make him sick, he had only to kick and scream with vigor and perseverance to obtain the victory with its accompanying spoils-as many doughnuts as he could eat.

He manifested also, while still of tender years, a strange propensity for doing what Aunt Cynthia didn't want him to do, as nearly as he could make out what that was. Was she filled with consternation at seeing him in company with the blacksmith's children! He sought the society of those depraved boys most perseveringly. Did she forbid him to poke the setting hen with a long stick! He thought it the best sport in the world, and poked her on the sly with prodigious satisfaction. He caused poor Aunt Cynthia a world of trouble and anxiety. Mr. Trowbridge directed her to report Elisha's misdemeanors to him, but the reward which he meted out to the offender was more than her kind heart could endure.

but

y when Elisha was guilty of grave offense indeed, that he ed in the study. Mr. Trowby no means a harsh man, 1 with Solomon in the offirod as a corrective of moral y. The young gentleman esome respect for his father, ed official treatment more ing else in the world, unless Sunday lessons in the catee did not become acquainted er, however, until private inthe study were an old story. a bright, handsome little with all his faults winlovable. Sometimes, after Aunt Cynthia's patience ay long, he would at bedis small arms around her s fresh young face against cheek, and say: antie Cynthia! I love you; hia, I do." And the lonely d clasp him to her bosom pon him all the rich treasaffectionate nature. That st of feeling, on the boy's repaid her for a whole iety and trouble. Poor nthia!" There was a ove in her heart which een called out. She had ities for loving, but until to love. She was enjoy ething for which she had ny years; and she received y's nightly caresses and Is of regard, as the dry the first scattering drops yed shower.

d a California man saycompetent authority, if dge of his experience in by his worn and jaded chat gold was often found in most unlikely spots. id he in his inimitable can't never calkelate the etion from the looks of it. e, don't lay on top, mostly, gh ye'll walk right a past of it, an' never know its e blamed sharp feller'r

'nother comes along an' diskivers it an' makes his pile."

It strikes me there are a great many women in the world whose worth can not be truly estimated by looking at them, in consequence of which fact short-sighted wife hunters pass them by, until some sharp fellow, shrewd enough to look beneath the surface, discovers the treasure hidden in the heart, and sets up his claim for the section. Whether Aunt Cynthia was a woman of this class, I leave the reader to judge. I do not say she was; tastes differ, you know. The jewel which one man is proud to wear, another scornfully rejects. What is to Lazarus a fortune would not keep Dives in spending money a week. The buxom lassie, whom stout John, the farmer, or honest McHammer, the blacksmith, would treasure as the apple of his eye, Pimlico, the banker, or Classicus, the professor, would keep below stairs at three dollars a week. Take your time, my good sir, if you are searching for a wife. You have only to look long enough and you will be sure to find the right person; for the man does not live, be he a king with a crown on his head or a laborer with a shovel in his hand, for whom there hath not been provided a helpmeet, provided the man be an honest one. If he be not honest, then heaven forbid his marrying at all. There is enough of hereditary evil in the veins of the best of us. There would be no immediate danger of a millennium, even though thieves, drunkards, and murderers should not marry. But for Aunt Cynthia, this much may be said, beneath a somewhat unpromising exterior she carried as kind a heart as ever throbbed. And if as much can not be said for her head qualities, why, we have it on good authority that it is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaketh. It must be acknowledged that when Aunt Cynthia attempted to speak out of the abundance of her head, she said very little that was worth repeating. But what sane man ever married a woman for her head? (TO BE CONTINUED.)

eenth century, when Lady Huntingdon, in the prime of her long and useful life, was laboring in the cause of evangelical Christianity, a little girl was growing up in the parish of Stapleton, who was destined to achieve a wider and more enduring renown than any woman of her age.

This was Hannah More, whose name has become a household word throughout England and America, and whose piety, genius, and learning have wreathed undying laurels for the crown of noble womanhood. Her works, revealing a high order of intellect and eminent practical wisdom, have enriched the domain of literature, and what is more, have now for several generations exerted a powerful influence on society, and in forming the minds of the young, both in her native country and our own. As has been aptly said by an American author, "We have felt the effect of her writings ever since we began to reason, in the nursery, in the school-room, and even in college halls."

In addition to this valuable legacy of her gifted pen, her labors for the moral and religious improvement of the lower classes in England entitle her to rank as one of the benefactors of the human race.

Hannah More was the youngest but one of five sisters, daughters of Mr. Jacob More, the master of the parish school of Stapleton. Her father was a man of talent and learning. He had been brought up with higher expectations than that of filling the post of village teacher; but in early manhood he lost his mansion and estate by lawsuit, and thankfully accepted this hum

which characterized him, and which his daughters inherited, he soon became reconciled to his altered fortunes, and devoted himself to the duties of his calling and the education of his children. In cultivating their minds he found an ever increasing delight. Having lost his library with his estate, he was obliged to adopt a new style of teaching history. This was through the fascinating medium of conversation and story, and his own interest in the lives of the heroes of antiquity was stimulated by the eager, rapt attention of his little daughter Hannah. early read with ease and intelligence, and displayed so great an aptitude for learning that her father soon began to teach her Latin. But with all his good sense, Mr. More had a horror of a learned woman, and Hannah's progress in the classics was so astonishing that he gave up his pupil for fear she would become pedantic. Some months after, at her earnest entreaty, he allowed her to resume her favorite study, and from this time she read and studied as she pleased.

She

As the family grew up their means became more straitened, and the elder sisters determined to assist in the expenses by teaching school. Accordingly the three oldest left home and established a boarding-school in the neighboring town of Bristol. Their success was greater than they had expected. Pupils flocked in, and the school soon acquired a high reputation.

At the age of twelve Hannah joined them as a scholar. The brilliant stand she at once took in every department reflected credit on the school, and