and out of her long curls; and, as I often stood and watched her, I was puzzled to know which was the more beautiful-Gracie or the flowersand which the more frail. And all through her play she frequently sang softly to herself a little hymn her mother had taught her. She was merry as the day was long, and very fond of play; but she was fond of some other things also, for she was not one of those who loved all play and no work; she loved what some girls do not like her lessons. They were not hard lessons, for she was a very little girl, and they were chiefly out of one book, the book of books, the Bible. She knew most of its pretty stories -all about Joseph and his coat, and the little boy Samuel who heard God's voice, and David who killed a giant with a stone, and Daniel who went down into the den of hungry lions, and many other wonderful stories in that most wonderful story-book, the Bible. Many a lesson Gracie learnt as well from it: she learnt how even a child may share the love of Him who took up the little ones tenderly in his arms, and said so kindly, "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of heaven." She learnt of the infinite love and pity of the blessed Jesus, who went about doing good, and curing

all who were sick, and comforting the sad; and these lessons recurred to her mind in afterlife, and the thoughts they awakened cheered and lightened many an hour of suffering and pain. She often loved, as she afterwards told me, when she required consolation and strength, to think of Jesus in heaven as the same pitying, compassionate Saviour as he was when on earth; with the same tender love, with outstretched arms, wooing a little child to the confidence of his all-merciful heart.

Such was little Gracie when I first saw her, many years ago, in that far-off land. I remember well the long drive, lined with widespreading trees, up to the house, that nestled embowered in the midst of luxuriant foliage. It was a very pleasant picture we beheld when we approached the portico. There, on the steps, stood a crowd of servants dressed in snow-white robes, whose dark complexions and jet-black hair formed a strange contrast to the little golden-haired fairy before them. Very beautiful she looked, the soft evening breeze playing with her curls and waving them back from her sunny brow, her blue eyes gleaming with pleasure, and her face dimpled with smiles, as she stood eagerly awaiting the expected arrival of her aunt.

Grace was a remarkable child in that eastern clime, where dark luxuriant hair and black eyes are universal. The common people and the servants, accustomed only to the sight of their own dusky companions, looked upon her as a marvel, and were never tired of admiring her. I have heard that they, amongst themselves, reported that she was the greatest wonder in the world, and that they shook their heads gravely when they spoke of her, and pointed upwards, as though she belonged to some other world. Her cheeks were touched with the soft peachy tint of an English girl; and, as you looked at her, you could scarcely fancy that the land of the deep-blue skies, and the fiery sun, had been her birthplace. Immediately the carriage stopped, I heard a merry shout and a clapping of hands; and then the tiny lady was dancing round and round the newcomer, kissing my cheeks again and again, laughing and chatting; while the white-robed servants bowed their "salaams," and welcomed in the visitor. Then came the greeting of her papa and mamma, which, though not so wild and enthusiastic as that of Grace, had in it a warmth and fervour known only to those who meet in a foreign land, and feel that they are with their fellow-countrymen-when they hear

once more the sweet words, uttered in English, "Welcome home."

At dinner that evening the manners and customs of eastern life were most fully realised; and to one unaccustomed it seemed a new world. It was strange to observe the tall, mute, motionless figure shrouded in white that stood behind each chair; the dishes, too, were equally strange, delicacies unheard of in frugal homely England, and the lavish profusion told plainly that we were in the land of plenty. But the servants particularly struck me, especially Boxoo, the steward of the household, the presiding genius of the feast. Grace had scarcely been said when, with a slight wave of the hand, Boxoo whisked off the cover of the dish before his master, and then, presto! in an instant the other white-robed figures followed his example; and, behold! there lay before our uninitiated eyes the various dainties and delicacies of an eastern clime. Each white-robed figure returned silently to his post, and stood still and motionless, with arms folded and eyes fixed glassily on vacancy; and yet, most wonderfully, each seemed to know just when his services were required. You touched your

glass, and the white figure filled it, though when your action had been observed you could

not tell. Watchful, noiseless and silent, what wonderful people are these!

Dinner over, we retired to the verandah, where, beneath the clear blue sky, we enjoyed the cool evening breeze. The sun's dying rays fell full on the shipping in the river, tinting the sails with a rosy flush, and lighting up the whole scene with indescribable beauty. Those stately monarchs of the sea moved lazily to and fro with the tide, and the very ropes fell slack and loose in idleness. We sat together, Gracie and her dolly and I, on the verandah, not conversing much, but enjoying the delicious coolness which all who have experienced the oppressive heat of an Oriental climate prize so highly.

When night came on, which almost instantly succeeds the setting of the sun-no twilight there, gently preparing us for the change-we watched the lamplighter hurrying down the road, as he rapidly shouldered his ladder and ran from lamp to lamp. Then, as if a new thought had struck her, Grace turned from the faint lights of earth to the shining stars above, and said:

"Auntie, who lights the stars ?"

"God," I answered, softly. "He lit them long ago. It was very dark then, Gracie;