tidings were received; and his voice faltered as he gave thanks for a boon so rich,-a blessing of which, as he expressed it, he was so unworthy. Then his voice grew stronger, and words flowed eloquently, as though he would pour out his full heart in gratitude to God. And he closed with one earnest and fervent petition that his other children might be made partakers of that hope, "which is as an anchor to the soul, both sure and steadfast." Alas! for the hardness of the human heart, that appeals so powerful could be resisted. THE HOUSE AND THE HOME. ON THE HOUSE.-NO. II. N the morning of the day on which we introduced you to Susan Jones, as the clock struck eight she jumped out of bed, and in a few minutes rushed downstairs, looking as if her clothes had been tossed on anyhow. She rattled the cups and saucers, to show that she was there; and her husband, who was blowing the fire, turned half round, and said, "I do wish you'd keep some chips or shavings, or something of the kind, in the house. Here I have been more than half-an-hour trying to make it light." “Well, Edward, I am very sorry. I did mean to go over to Mr. Smith's yard last night, but somehow or other it slipped my memory." "Like it has every day for the last week," said her husband. "Now, then, quick, and make the coffee, the kettle's boiling." "Dear, dear, how provoking! I quite forgot we finished up yesterday. Willie, run over to Mr. Taylor's, and get an ounce; make haste, that's a good boy; don't be a minute." By the time it was brought and made, half-past eight had struck, and Edward had to swallow his breakfast in a great hurry, to be punctual at his work. The children soon after started for school; and by the time their mother had finished her breakfast, according to her own notions of comfort, it was rather more than half-past nine. Rising up to put away the things, she heard a knock at the door. "Any dresses or shawls wanted to-day ?" inquired a travelling packman. "Nothing wanted," said Susan, holding the door open, and looking hard at the pack. "Shall be happy to show you my goods, ma'am, just the same. No trouble whatever; never consider anything a trouble in the way of business." Susan draws back, and the man enters the house. "Step in, Mrs. Collins, and we'll just see what he's got; but I've told him I don't mean to buy." Mrs. Collins, a nextdoor neighbour, did not wait to be asked twice; and they were soon busy viewing and admiring. "A most decided bargain, ladies, that shawl. The cheapest thing, in point of fact, that I have had for years.' This referred to a green shawl which Susan had thrown over Mrs. Collins' shoulders, and which that lady was drawing close round her, with many twist and shrug, while she declared it to be uncommonly comfortable. The shawl was afterwards taken off to make room for another, and this again for another, until the pack was empty, and the owner's patience at an end. "Come, now, ladies, let me sell you one or other of 'em. green one," turning to Susan, "is the very thing for you." After a good deal of difficulty about price, the shawl was at last bought; Susan trying hard to cheat herself into the belief that she wanted it. Just at this moment Mrs. Fisher, an opposite neighbour, came out to her door, and running across to see what was going on, was invited to step in. The goods were turned over again, that she might see them; but finding she was not to be tempted, the man soon took his leave. After he was gone they sat down to talk over the bargain; and from shawls naturally went off to bonnets, and from bonnets to gowns. They were in the midst of this gossip when the sound of children's voices coming near made them understand all at once that it was past This BOBBY'S SUNDAY NIGHT'S BEGGING. twelve o'clock. "Good gracious me! there's PAGE FOR OUR YOUNG FRIENDS. my breakfast things never put away, and I promised the children to make a pudding for dinner to-day. Well, good-bye! (to her visitors, who rose up to go.) I'm sure I can't tell how the morning's slipped away." In the hour that was left before her husband came in, Susan tried hard to get things a bit straight. But, somehow, her very impatience seemed to make her slower, and as it always happens when we are in a hurry, everything went wrong.` When Edward came home at a quarter-past one, he found his dinner not nearly ready, and his wife looking hot and tired. So tired she really was, that when they were all gone after dinner, she threw herself on a chair, and fell asleep. It was between three and four when she awoke, and then there was the washing up, which ought to have been finished before dinner, and the bustle and fuss which this put her into tired her more than doing the work twice over in the right way and time. Well might her husband declare, when he came home night after night, and after trying to settle down, was driven out to seek for comfort and quiet, that "no one could say he left his home, for he had none; his was a house, not a home.” "WHAT ARE WOMAN'S THE THE right to wake when others sleep; 66 "T'S a drefful cold time," said a little 66 manage. "Bobby's better nor I am," murmured the woman. "I doesn't love him, though. I don't love anything more. I wish he'd hurry; I want my drink." Bobby went along the street, hurrying through the biting cold, and shivering with every blast that came sweeping past him at the "" corners. Halloa, there! Bob, is that you to-night?" and a specimen of the forlorn accompanied the voice, and came out with it into the light of the street from an opening somewhere. "It's likely to be I," answered Bobby; "I's allers out o' Sunday nights; folks is Christian then, ye know. Come along, let's get up close before they have time to lose what makes 'em better like to me a little while. I catches 'em at the fust corner, I does, and then is allers sure of something." "Under "But standun of men is queer, isn't it, Bobby?" questioned the second comer out for penny charities. "I doesn't understand men nor women neither, and I guess I don't want to," answered poor little Bobby. hurry, I say, I want to go home and go to bed." "Run along then, I'll take the chance to-night. I likes to have it well enough. Mother won't let me go to bed till she's had her drink." The two came out from the street where dark poverty gloomed, and groaned, and writhed into the clearer light, the better street, where were stately rows of goodly houses, and they came in sight of a temple dedicated to the living God. The muffled doors, that close so softly on the worshippers, seem shut, never to open to Bobby and his friend. "I say, Bob, it's warm inside o' there. guesses they won't turn us out, if we're still like. Take off your boots out here, then hide 'em in the shadow, ye'll be like to make money by it-it kinder seems to me that some of these folks, that's so nice and warm, and has such a plenty o' meat and drink, must meet the like o' us in the dreams they go away to in the night. I s'pose they dream like we, don't they, I Bobby?" Bobby had lifted his feet out of the shaking boots, and hidden them on the shady side of the church, and came back in time to hear the question. "I does'nt want anybody to dream like I," answered he. "Good enough dreams, ain't they?" asked the questioner. "All about it's bein' so cold, and having no cover 'cept the old rags that ain't big enough to hold my feet in, and going out a-beggin', and saying over, Please, sir, give me a penny,' until it has'nt any sound at all. I's very tired of it all; I want to die, I does, and then I shan't have to beg, only I know mother won't get me a coffin, and I hates rats, they'd eat me, I know it; I'll beg a little more; come in with ye, softly now." The two went in at the vestibule, and gently pulled at the muffled door. The sexton was asleep behind the curtained screen. Bobby's friend whispered, as he succeeded in putting his tiny self within, "Come on, there's nobody here, it's nice and warm for your feet." They crept in, and Bobby's companion sat down upon the floor; they were veiled away from the worshippers. "God loveth truth," was the preacher's theme. The two listened in silence to words they scarce knew the meaning of. "Truth! what's that?" whispered Bobby's friend! "do ye know?" "I guess we don't tell it when we asks for money to buy bread with, that the rum-man gets," answered Bobby. God don't love us." "I wants somebody to love me," sighed Bobby; "nobody does." "Yes, I does, Bobby; don't feel so bad." The sermon closed. Music filled the place. The people stood while the benediction was pronounced. "They're coming now," said. Bobby; "hurry, and don't let 'em see us in here." Out of God's house the almsseeking boys went, before the coming of the great congregation. "You go one side, I'll try t'other,' said Bobby; then you "Then run back after my shoes, and go home with me; my head hurts." They separated, the friends in begging. |