Half Title
 Title Page
 The cloud
 The lining

Title: cloud with the silver lining
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00060935/00001
 Material Information
Title: cloud with the silver lining
Series Title: cloud with the silver lining
Physical Description: Book
Creator: Mackarness, Henry S.,
Publisher: James Munroe and Company
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Bibliographic ID: UF00060935
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltuf - ALH3944
alephbibnum - 002233535

Table of Contents
    Half Title
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    The cloud
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
    The lining
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
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        Page 57
        Page 58
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        Page 60
        Page 61
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        Page 64
        Page 65
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        Page 67
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Full Text









GSAI "m =am 0 ufl1 Uma=o U m Mnuog,"
U14" IGIAM ,I" "inuin Ge


himi mRsuu to tho aOomp, to ym by
lavaCe'omtub~ ~radevmemnu"



"WiLL, Auntie, and what then Go on, I
love to hear your stories of yourself, and when I
have listened to all your suering, and look in
your face, your calm face, I can sarcely believe
it all, aad think it must be a story yo have
made out of your own head."
Auntie" smiled a odd quiet smile, and an.
swered in a voice so low, that the rustling of the
autumn blast outside the house rendered what
she said almost inaudible.
"It is all true, Annie, quite true.-I have
little more to add now; my last grief was your
unole's death and my removal from my long
loved home to thi cottage."
It is a prey place, Auntie."


"Yes, Annie, I am quite contented. Hark L
is that Frank "
No, that's not his step," answered the young
girl with emphasis.
"It is getting near his time, though. Tell
Betsy to see about his supper if you please, my
"Yes, Auntie,"-and Annie rose from her
seat and left the room to fulfil her Aunt's request.
Irrespective of the wide difference in the ages
of the speakers, the contrast between them was
very great Annie Lindsay was a blueeyed,
fairhaired girl, with a round, plump figure, a
homely happy face, and a roebud of a mouth
about which sparkled the sauciest little dimples
every time she smiled-and that was nearly
always--for Annie had no sorrows of her own,
therefore, unless when listening to the woes of
others, the dimples kept their place about that
pretty mouth; but she was full of sympathy, and
when she did hear a sad story the dimples
vanished, and large pearly drop shone in her
blue eyes


The implest misortune wa by herxaM or
sted into great sorrow, for she had never kow
or witnessed grief and as she listened to the storic
told by her Aunt, her little simple hbrt was
filled with wonder that she was living to relate
them,-and other, older and more experienced,
wondered too,- not so much that she was living,
but at the calm meek face with but few wrinkles
for her age, and the low tranquil voice, and the
lear pale blue eye which nothing could ill with
tears. Was it that in a life of such Mrrow they
had wept the fountain dry It might be so,-
she had neither friends nor relations leA wo
eould testify to what abe had been. Bh was of
marble paleness, tall and thin; the perfect me
clarity of her features telling of past beauty.
Over her high white forehead the silver hir was
braided, and the almost Quaker-like simplicity of
her dream, completed the striking difference be
tween herself and her bright and joyous eon
penion; for Annie, it must be confessed, was
something of a coquette, and was glad whea a
occasion offered itself for a spice of eheny-


eclred ribbon, which was always disposed with
great taste, for that same quality, so indispensable,
in a woman especially, Annie fully possessed.
Mr. Lindsay had, as I have 'said, outlived all
her relatives, at least those of her own age; she
had no one now belonging to her but her niece
Annie, and one only child, a son. Annie's father
was a tradesman in the great city of London,-
mother she had none; the mother had given her
life for the child, and Mr. Lindsay, a stern man
of business, without an interest beyond the rise
and fall of the funds or a treasure so great as his
money, gased at the helpless wailing infant, and
wondered what was to become of it; and what
would have become of it, is hard to say, but for a
woman, who having made a young imprudent
marriage with an Irish sergeant who had deserted
her, was glad to be hired as a nurse, and who,
with the greatest devotion and seal, became a
second mother to the little orphan, and when it
grew older, and its joyous laughter and merry
romps, were voted a nuisance by its father, she
sought out this widowed Aunt, and by her prayers


wad entnraie tried to win her to om- that
Annie should come and lire with her. Her elo
quence prevailed, and Mrs. indsay made an
arrangement with her brotheinlaw to te the
little Annie and her nure, whose hand having
lef her, and death robbed her of her hild, had
no tie in the word sae th he o felt fr Anze.
Seenteen years had paied aine then, and Mr.
Sunday had almost forgotten thathe had a daugh
ter, and Annie that he had a father. And I
uninterrupted ourse of peaoefnl ecuided bp
pine had been hers benea the roof d r
Aunt' pretty home, they paid no vit, de
few aquaintances, for the reverM of. bri ne
Mrs. ndny had experienced rendered he
averse to gaiety, and made her prefer the qui
and privacy of her own little cottage.
It stood on theedge e o a commo nea r alil
village in the south of England. A fw white
cottage were dotted about, which preerd it
from loneliner, and yet did not interfere wih
its peeful rtiretment. Mn. Idaay's waS the
largt ad best, the other won owopied ehi


by laboring men and their families,--ad one
belonging to the blacksmith had a shed built
beside it, from beneath which the forge sent out a
cheerful glow of light, pleasant to se in the gloom
of these autumn evenings. Almost always, too,
a group of idlers stood about it, to goeip on all
that concerned themselves and their neighbors.
A few sturdy little ponies greased amongst the
fure and heather, and here and there a donkey
with his long a erect stared at the ponies, who
taraed from him with a toe of the head, a though
in contempt of so bad an imitation of themselves.
Opposite to the road which led to the village was
another between high baks covered with wild
powers, which brought the traveller suddenly on
to the wild seabeach, a long line of coast without
a house in sight save a small preventive station;
and to ramble on this beach, with her dear old
nurse," whom she loved as a mother, was one of
Annie's chief delights, her aunt seldom or never
going out, save to church.
But all this time we are leaving Annie in the
kitchen, not that she is in a hurry to leave it, for

.naI OLOD.

no ooner does her bright fee peep in the door,
than Grace makes a rnuh at her darling" aad
has so much to say, that she isuually detained
three times a long a is necery for the fUS
meant of her misn. While the upper wa being
prepared, therefore, Grace drew a chair near th
wood fr for Annie, and settled herself for a b
"Mr. Frank's later than uual it seem to me,
our clock has struck seven ome time."
"Well, I was just thinking he was, Grace,"
id Annie, aiously rising from her seat aad
geing out into the fat waning light. Make
hate with the supper, Betsy, and take the e
dle into the parlor; he likes it to be ready wb
he oomes in," he continued, turning to Grce.
Tre, dear, it tells him how much he's thought
of and cared for."
Annie sighed slightly, as she answered,-
"Yes, Anntie loves him very dearly. Poor
Auntie! how much she has rfred, Grace I ad
borne it all so well."
"Ah! Miss Annie, she has found the 'ilver


Lining' to the clouds, that I'e so often told
you of" -
"I wish I knew what that means, Grace!"
said Annie, smiling.
"Its a saying in Ireland, dear, and I can't
tell you what it means more than that there is no
trouble so bad, but that it has a bright side. Did
you never ee a black cloud in the sky, darling,
with an edge like silver all round. Perhaps it's
from that the saying comes."
As Grace concluded her sentence, Annie heard
some one outside calling in a strange wild voice,
Ma'am, Ma'am."
"That's poor Ruth, Grace, let her in, it's so
cold and windy to-night."
Grace hesitated a moment,and then said in a
lower tone,
I don't much like that woman, hadn't we
better give her some money, and sed her on;
dear, how thewind howls."
Ma'am, Ma'am," again the voice called.
Nosse, Grae, said Annie, lauhing,


" why you seem quite nervous toiht; let the
poor oreture in, think how cold she must be in
those few rap which barely over her.
Grace shook her head ominously, but proceeded
to open the kitchen door according to the young
lady's orders. Crouched in a corner close to the
step wa a woman some eighty or ninety year
old, with seemingly no covering but a torn and
ragged gown-she was very small, almost child-
like in sise-over 'her brown and withered face
hung straggling looks of thin whit6 hair, a dirty
lace cap covered her head, and in her bony hands
she held a long state When the door was opened
she sprung from her recumbent position, and ex-
claimed, in her wild thin voike,
Ah! Ma'am, lend Ruth a halfpenny, I'll pay
you again next week,-yes yes, pay you again."
"Come in, Ruth," said Annie, kindly, come
in near the fire, you must be cold."
"Yes, but promise to lend it me fit."
"Oh, yes, I promise," said Annie, smiling,
"would you like some supper?"
Oh, yes; that I woald so hungry--had


a nice dinner yesterday, nie saveloy- a kind
lady gave me, don't know who she was very
kind everybody's kind to Ruth. How's my
sweetheart? bless him she continued, turning
sharply to Grace, who somewhat ungraciously
was offering her the supper. The poor creature
seized it, and began eating it eagerly, again
asking how her sweetheart was."
Oh I" aid Annie, laughing, he's quite
well, we expect him in every moment, you'll see
him before you go."
Akh! he's nice, so handsome. Ruth's sweet-
hearts always were. Is he going to be married ?
Are you going to have him ? I won't .be jealous
of you. ll love you because he does."
A blush of the brightest crimson mantled over
Annie's neck and face, she turned away to the
window, and after a pause, wishing the poor
maniac good bye, and desiring Grace to give her
sixpence, she returned to the parlor.
Her Aunt was standing at the window watching
for her son. The wind blew roughly over the
common in heavy gusts; the loads scdded


rapidly over the sky, u though beat on som di
tant mission they must fufil ore nightfall.
The gossips round the forge fire were fst di
perusing, parties of ducks and processions of geese
were waddling home, tumbling over now and
then with the violence of the wind-far behind
them a little boy in a smook frook, who had been
sent to drive them in, loitered to chat with another
boy or to throw stones at the donkeys; and trot-
ting on some fat poney, with a large basket on
her arm, came by a woman from market, her
head bent agait the strong wind, and her large
red cloak infated like a balloon behind her.
Soon all these had pased, and no signs of life
remained upon the common, but the ponies and
donkeys standing with their tails to the wind, and
the light of fires gleaming out of the cottage win-
dows. The moon was rising, but acres her bright
face dark angry clouds were passing, and at
length one heavier than the other obscured it
altogether, save that the rays turned its edge to
Annie had crept to her Aunt's side waeb-


ed with her, but neither of them spoke, and the
son came not. At length Mrs. Lindy said,
Frank is very late."
Yes, what can make him so, Auntie ?"
"It is Saturday night, and the men have to
be paid."
Annie thought there had been many Saturday
nights, but yet Frank had been home much earlier.
It grew darker and darker- they were both so
anxious that they could not talk-the fire, for
the evenings were cold enough to make a mall
fire pleasant, threw a glare over the room-it
was too low to have a lame,- making the shadow
of the furniture take fantastic hape. Annie
shivered, and moving from the window stirred the
fire and put on a freh log. It blaed up cheerily
Frank can see that all across the common, I
should think, Auntie I"
"I hope so, love."
Annie sat down beside the fire-but she did
not gae at it as she was wont to do, imagining
fairies and covers ad quaint figure of men and


animals amongst the coal. No, her gse was
rivetted on the heavy loads, which still hg
bodingly in the sky, and it seemed to her that now
she was to know the meaning of Grae's prove,
-that a cloud wa to rest upon her hitherto
bright life, that the trouble was coming.
Motionless and silent Mrs. Iinday kept her
watch at the window to catch the first glimpse of
the truant, and strangely the words kept ringing
in her ears, as though she heard them spoken,
" he was the only son of his mother, ad she
was a widow." Everything was so still out of
doors and so silent, that a sudden wild laugh fom
Ruth startled them both.
"It's only Ruth, Auntie, she's been having
some supper."
Oh! poor Ruth, she has not been here for
a long while," and Mrs. Lindusy sighed, and
turning away from the window sat down by
Hark! a firm quick step, a manly nice speak-
ing at the back door. Thank Heave her on at
last-none but that Heaven hew the aniety


se had felt for his absence; a slight, very alight
tinge of color underneath the eye had been its
only outward sign, and all she showed of gladness
was a little convulsivo pressure of the fingers, and
a calm happy smile as she said,
Here he is."
Not so Annie; pale as death she had watched
from that window, with a choking sensation in her
throat which was only prevented from being a
burst of tears by fear of alarming her Aunt, but
now with a joyous cry she flew out of her seat
and into the kitchen to welcome him, helping him
of with his cot, running for his slippers, and
bringing the bootjack instead, running bck again,
talking and laughing all the time, forgetting the
hour of anxiety forgetting the cloud in the sky-
mindful of but one bright happy fact, that he was
at home well and unhurt. Annie had given him
no time to speak, but when he could get in a word
he said,
"Has my Mother been very anxious "
"Yes, I think she has, but she did not sy so."
"No, ahe would be see not to sy o,"' he

Ta O~OUD. 19

answered, as he walked into the parlor. "Wel,
Mother, he continued, going up to her pnd kisag
her tenderly, u he always did.
My boy- I am glad you ar come, are yo
A Mother's eye noticed at one glane a change
in her child's face,-a weary haggard look un-
usual in his open cheerful countenance.
Tired, Mother, that's all-I shall be glad of
something to et, or to drink rather, I am very
thirsty." In a moment a foaming glass of beer
stood beside him.
Thank you, Annie, dear," he said, ad laid
his hand on hers; it was very hot and fvmies
"I don't think you are very well, M sr
Frank," she said, laughing. Yes, laughing, be-
cause to her it seemed something too absurd to be
anxious or fidgety about anything, now he was at
home. What more could they want. Though he
had said he wanted something, hemade but a poor
attempt to eat the supper prepared for him, and
then throwing himself back in his chair, was dsl
for some time; however, that little A ie talked



enough for two. She drew a low chair lose to
him, and looking up in his face with her sunny
eyes, chattered away to him as fst as she could,.
till at length he stroked back her fair soft hair,
and kissing her forehead, said kindly:
How the child talks tonight; but rode as it
seems, I must to bed, for I am tired to death."
"It's not nine o'clock, Frank," said his Mother.
"I know, Mother, but if I'm tired, what does
it signify if it is eight o'clock ? "
Something must be wrong- for the fist time
in his life he has spoken impetuously to his
Mother his idolized mother that being, whom
he loved with a reverential love, that made him
think that all she did and said, and thought, was
right. He lighted a candle and kissing her and
his little cousin, whom he always fondled and
treated as though she were the little child he
firt remembered her, went off to his room. In a
few minutes Annie and Mrs. Lindsay followed his
example and the former, her heart lighter and
happier for the slight shook which had fallen on
it, was soon slumbering calmly, smiling in her

Mn cown. 21
seep and dreaming foolishly hpp dreas, too
happy to be relied on earth.
Night closed over the common, one by me the
light vanished from the cottage windows, and
deepp and silence keep their watch o'e men."
Grace has been to look at and kim ad bless her
darling, as she had done for seventeen yea, and
the little household are all still and sleeping re
Frank has never laid down, never undressed,
and now he cautiously opens his door and litens-
no sound but the ticking of the old dock; he
creeps down stairs, unlocks the door, ad putting
the key in his pocket, goe out into the aight
He pauses for a moment, looks up at his mother's
room, and then hurries on.
At the houe belonging to the owner of the
paper-mille where Frank is employed, there has
been a small party, not like a Londn soirde, but
a homely country merry-making, befiting the
station of the host and his guests; for though his
trade was a successful and lucrative one, James
Havendon had no pretension about him, but he


had got something much more attractive in the
shape of an interesting only daughter, and had
she not been as interesting and good and amiable
as she really was, still she would have had ad-
mirers, as the only child of a man reputed ricb.
For her amusement the party had been given,
and she had been gliding about amongst her visit-
ors with a gentleness and grace far above her
station, but these were innate in Jessie Havendon;
nothing could have made her other than the pure,
good, innocent hearted girl she was.
Jessie had had a good mother,- a mother who
had shown her the value of goodness here and here-
after,-- had taught her that there was a talisman
which would keep her good, one not to be worn
externally, but carried in the heart, making every
thought and action subservient to it,--an in-
fluence teaching her to hope all things, believe
all thing, endure all things,"- that would soothe
her in sickness, comfort her in sorrow, make her
temperate in joy, and Jessie had found this. Re-
ligion the purest and best, was the ruling prin-
ciple of her life,- and truly had it taught her to


hope, to believe, to eadure,-made her peaceful
and happy in herself,-loved and respected by
The guests had gone, and Jesie having issed
the round fat face bf her good humored father,
was going to bed, when a servant pale as death
rushed into the room and exclaimed in a voioe of
extreme terror,
"Oh! Mis, Master, what do you think ? Poor
Mr. Butler, our foreman I some one's been and
murdered him!"
"Bless my soul," exclaimed Havendom jump-
ing up from his asy chair as Jesie assid his
hands in horror, what's to be done ? "
Oh! Sir, really I don't know they've car-
ried the poor tan's body home. It was just by
the cross roads."
Shocked as she was at this sudden and awful
intelligence, Jessie's quiet self-possession did not
desert her; they could be of no service, and all
she could do, therefore, was to calm the teror
and excitement of the servants, and induce theft
to go to bed, assuring them that the proper an-


thorities would take the matter up; and if they
at up all night to talk about it they could do no
good) that the wisest coure was to carefully
secure the house and go to bed. Tremblingly
they obeyed their gentle mistress' bidding, and
then she turned to her father and said,
"Who can have done this ?"
"Who my girl,- there's a bad enough lot
on his way home not to cause much wonder, -
when they know his wages have just been paid
him, too; poor chap! he wasn't particular who
he made his acquaintance."
Father, I wish he could have been removed
from your service by less horrible means, I should
not have been sorry- then."
"Well! he -wa rather fond of the bottle, I
think; but a clever fellow and a useful man to
me, -but you go off to bed now, my child, you
look pale as a ghost, and I'll go with one of the
men and see into this horrible busines- God
bless you," and giving her a hearty kis and hug,
which nearly squeezed the breath out of her body,
he sent her to her room.


An hour had passed away,--the Church lock
was striking, a Frank Lindesy returned to his
home; a cautiously as he had gone oat he enter
ed, closed and barred the door, and stoAe up
stairs. His mother's bedroom door was partially
open, a light was burning there as usual, he pean
ed before it and listened no found but the same
ticking of the old lock, and the deep breathing
of his mother. He pushed the door gently and
stood gaming at her in her cam sleep; he, so pale
and haggrd, his hair damp with the night dew,
his eyee bloodshot, stood and gaed at that mi
face, that dearly loved mother in 'her peaee
slumber, and the hot tears seemed to scald his
eyelids;--her lips moved, she as speaking in
her sleep.
"Yes, that's right, Frank, say it again, pray
God bless me and make me a good child."
He couldbear no more; the agony, that had.
been pent up in his heart for hour, he eld
endure no longer,-he few to the bedside, sad
on his knee clasped the thin white hand lying a


the counterpane, and wept like the little child
that she had dreamed he was.
* "Mother, dear Mother, teach it me again, that
simple prayer, I had forgotten it."
She woke at this first burst of grief, and start-
ed up in terror.
My child my boy! what is the matter I
dreamed I heard you crying, that you were a
child and naughty, and had struck a little play-
mate, and I "-
("And you were teaching me to ask God to
bless and make me good: Mother, if I had used
those simple words to-night, you would not see me
"But what is it all about? Frank What has
happened ? What have you done "
Nothing, Mother, by God's mercy, nothing;"
-he was growing calmer now, there was some-
thing to him so soothing in his mother's low-toned
voice, and the feel of her soft hand upon his burn-
ing head. I will tell you all about it, and then
I shall feel better perhaps happier. You have


heard me speak of Jessie Havendon,-she is
good, Mother, so good, in short, I love her,-
I have never really told her so, but I think she
knows it. For months she has been perseeted
by a man who is her father's foreman, a drunken
fellow, the intimate companion of the wont in-
habitants of Sidemoor. I have had words with
him inessantly,-he hated me, for he saw that
Jessie, dear Jessie, liked me.
"I spoke to Mr. Havendon once about him,
and complained of his want of sobriety and violent
temper, but he said, he was a clever man, and
he must put up with the rest.
To-night he was more insolent than ever,-
it was through negligence of his I was detained
beyond my usual time, and when I spoke to him
about it, his cool insolence was irritating beyond
description. I came home in a temper that
almost terrifed myself,-I 'could not rest,-a
thousand thoughts like demons crowded on me,-
my love for Jessie,--my poverty,-my* hope-
lesness ever to call her mine, my rage agsit
, Butler. Oh, Mother, you who are so gentle id


so good, cannot understand all I felt during that
hour, I determined then to go out-some vague
thoughts posseed me never to return, but to go
and gae once more at the house which contained
her, and leave this place for ever."
"Frank ,
"Mother! I wa mad, I think," he continued,
preding and kissing her hands-"but listen, I
had just reached the turning of the Bidemoor
road, when I saw a man stretched ol the ground
with a wound in his ide from which the life-blood
was flowing- it was Butler!"
Merciful Powers murdered!"
"Yes, Mother, yes, the horror that I felt I
cannot tell you,--what a lesson for me--if I
had met him and he had provoked me further and
I- it is too horrid."
"Frank, Frank, you would not "-- aid the
poor Mother clasping her hands and looking wild-
ly in her son's face.
Mother, what will not intemperate anger do ?
That pallid oorpee will haunt me to my grave."
But what did you do, Frank, did you give


the.alarm? Oh! Heaven," she mid as a new
thought seemed to occur to her,-" y9 surely
have not left the body there without calling a
sistance ."
"I have, Mother--I flew home I know not
how, but Mother do not look so wildly," he mid,
rising and putting his arm around her, there i
no danger, no one saw me I am sure, lights were
still shining in Mr. Havendon's house and there.
fore some of the company must have been still
there: on their return home they will ind the
body of the unhappy man and -"
And you may be suspected of his murder.
Have I lived so long and suffered so much for
It was now for Frank to console where he had
sought consolation, and it was long ere he could
calm the agitation of his Mother, or assure her, as
he tried against his own conviction, that he wa
free from suspicion. Long and earnest was their
conversation, and then she persuaded him to go
to his own room and try to get rest that his ha.
guard face might not excite remarks in the mora


ing, so he left her to seek the rest he so needed;
whilst she lay awake, listening to every sound
with a strange and indefinable dread.
As he passed Annie's door, he heard, or thought
he heard a low sob, but it might have been fancy,
and so. he went on to his own room.
The sun rose in unclouded splendor after the
rough night, the wind had sunk, and it only now
gave a slight sigh occasionally, as though weary
of its past exertions. Grace had entered her
young mistress's room with a face bright as the
sunshine, but the joyous voice with which she was
about to speak changed to one of astonishment
and grief, for, for the first time since the transient
showers of her childhood, Annie was in tears.
"My darling, what is it? What ha hap-
"Oh, Grace! dear Grace! you love me, don't
you? Come to me and kis me," and she burst
into a passion of weeping. Her nurse tried every
effort to soothe her, as she wept upon her shoulder
like a child, yet forbore to ask the cause of her
sorrow until its effects had somewhat subsided;


but then Annie said, "Ask me nothing dear
Grace ask me nothing, I have been very foop
ish. I am better now, wiser at least but the
cloud has fallen on me, Grace, and I can see 6
silver lining. I never shall be happy again,--
tell Auntie I've a headache, and leave me alone;
draw the curtain close, don't let the gloomy light
come into my room;" and throwing her little
flushed face back upon the pillow, she closed her
eyes, and seemed determined to speak no more.
Mrs. Linday who, as I have said, had ot
slept after her son's communication, but passed
the night in the most distressing dread that soe
picion might rest on him, rose early and awaited
with anxiety his appearance in the parlor; she
would not go to his room, for she hoped he
was sleeping. He came down at last, and though
still pale, he looked very different from the wild
haggard being who had disturbed Mrs. Lindsay's
slumbers. When they had concluded their almost
silent meal, for they could neither of them keep
up any lengthened conversation, Mrs. Linday


"Now will you go with me to Church,
Yes, Mother, I will, but every eye that meets
mine will seem to carry accusation in its glance."
His mother sighed, and faltering some words of
consolation, rose from her seat, kissed his forehead,
and left him to prepare for Church.
Along the green lanes, across the fields by
the road, came troops of people whom the bells of
the Village Church were summoning to prayer;
aged men and women, young men and maidens,
mothers, fathers and their little ones, all hasten-
ing to assemble beneath the roof of the grey old
Church, dear to them from many associations of
joy and sorrow, of burials, and christenings and
marriages; and as they met in the path all paus-
ed to speak of the murder, all pitied the wretched
victim, but said gently and reverently, for he was
dead now, he was a bad man."
Mothers said, Happily he had no children;"
Wives,-"It was well he had no wife;" and
then they crowded eagerly round one old man,
who lived near Sidemoor, for he had news; a


mmn had been taken up on smpiion, quis a
young fellow, but who bore a very bad character,
and every circumstance was against him. All
drew near to listen, till there was quite a crowd,
and the bell had nearly finished, when they were
awakened to the fact by a voice requesting Am
to make way.
It was Frank with his mother on his arm. As
he paueed through the little crowd, the me
touched their cap respetfally to Mrs. Indey,
and whispered one to the other, How mortal
bad Mr. Frank do look." He wa pale, deadly
pale, for his heart was fll, fll of peit e md
gratitude, and never in his life had he felt mbc
an earnest desire as now, to offer that arifice
required of al, a broken and contrite heart,"
or such belief that his offering would be accepted.
In the adjoining hamlet of Sidemgor, no rosh
"assembling together" was taking place; the
small Church was never open in the morning, for
the clergyman from Allerton did the duty there
in the afternoon, when a few women and diry
squalid children, and one or two hulking boys


strolled in, and either fell asleep, or sat whisper
ing together and often laughing. There seemed
a blight upon the place, the cottages were few,
dirty and out of repair, and inhabited by the
worst of each sex. If there ever had been re-
spectable people dwelling there, they must have
been driven out by the bad, for they were all
gone now. The before-mentioned clergyman-said
he had done all be could, that they were incor-
rigible; when he first came, he had hoped to do
good, and he had built a school, but the mothers
would not send the children, and now with all the
windows broken and covered with mud which had
been thrown at it, it stood empty and deserted.
Alas! that such spots should darken the face
of sunny England; that in these days there should
be dwellings in which there is neither Faith, nor
Hope, nor Jove; that from childish lips should
come forth oaths; that that sweet age of guileless
innocence should be one of infamy and subtlety,-
growing up in vice,- growing up to fill our pri-
sons and our copviet ships.
It is well that good and sealous men should

m OLOwD.

with tern selfdenial forake their homes, and in.
exile, persecution and privation, strive to lighten
the darkened mind of the wild Indian, and lead
him to the fold of the good Shepherd; but there
are lost sheep here, whom it were better first to
strive to bring home. Prisons and penal settle-
ments may teem with felons, and the hangman
grow weary of his unceasing labor, but crime Till
never cease, till the young are brought up in
" the nurture and admonition of the Lord," till
His ealous disciples live amongst the. poor in
their parishes, checking the first appearance of
evil, and teaching them, that order, discipline and
decorum, the first forgetfulness of which is the
first step to crime.
On this morning several people were standing
round one of the wretched cottages, the door of
which was partly opei', but the entrance was
choked up wit people. Two surly looking men
smoking short pipes, a dirty woman with a pal
sickly infant in her arms, and a young ruianly
looking lad with his arm round the neck of a very
pretty girl, whoe long rough hair hanging down


almost to her waist, he was twirling round his
fingers, were the principal personages who stood
outside. In the interior crouched on the brick
foor sat Ruth Newington, her long staff in her
hand, which she was shaking angrily, and utter-
ing a variety of threats against some one, which
caused every now and then a burst of laughter
from the people who were thus standing round
the cottage.
"Oh! it's no use, Goody!" said one of the
men, taking his pipe from his mouth for a moment,
"they've got him now, and he'll swing for it,
depend on it. Where's the money ? Did he
leave you that? Eh ?"
Give us some of it, old girl, if he did," said
another. "She don't know the use of it," he
continued in a lower tone, we may just as well
have it; where does she keep it ? "
Here, I'll go and see," said the young fellow
taking his arm from the gir's neck, I'll get
it if it be there," and he made a movement for-
"No, no, Sam, don't tease her now," said

Tim OLOr. 7T

the girl holding him baek, she*I so frightMed
and soared."
She was a woman, -the spark of humanity
was not quite extinguished, -oreover she en-
deavored to induce them all to leave the poor
creature, by saying she would stay with her, bat
she only won them to consent, by promising if
Ruth slept, to hunt for the money and bring it
to them; so they dispersed, some to the bye-lan
to play at various games, smoke their pipes and
quarrel, and others to the wretched dwellings
they called homes.
Yes-the grandson of Bath was the murder
of Richard Butler. The son of Ruth's only
daughter, whose misconduct it was said had tarn-
ed his mother's brain, Sandy Newington, had lived
with the poor creature since his mother's death;
all the money given her in compassion to her in-
firmity he took from her, and used her with the
greatest coarseness and brutality, but she did not
seem to be aware of it, and loved him and talked
of him as her "dear good boy." Idle and worth-
less, the constant inmate of the alehouse, he-


came known to Butler, whose love of drink and
low company brought him to the same place.
Bandy had little trouble himself a to who he was,
until at length under the influence of drink But-
ler began to brag of his situation, and the large
salary paid him every Saturday-Butler was
now a corpse, and the wages of which he boasted,
in the pocket of his murderer. Sandy had made
no eflrt to conceal himself, on the contrary, he
walked into the alehouse immediately after. Of
course he was soon taken, and he laughed at the
agony of his bewildered grandmother as the offi
cers bore him away. Fear he had none, he cared
not what became of him now, and he had never
been taught what would become of him hereafter.
When Frank and his mother returned from
Church, they found Annie in the parlor, she rose
and kissed her Aunt and held out her hand to
Frnk, but she did not speak until Mrs. Lindsay
asked her how she felt.
"Better, Auntie, but my head sill aches."
What an altered voice-a sweet, melancholy
adeas in its tone, so unlike her former bright


and joyou one. Mrs. Linday looked emrartly
at her.
Did you sleep well, Annie, dear "
Frank started and went out of the room, saying
hurriedly, he should take a walk. Mrs. Lindsy
repeated her question.
Yes, Auntie, when I got to sleep, very well.
Have you had a good sermon ?"
"Yes, dear, very; have you or the servants
heard the shocking news ? "
Annie turned her head and looked out of the
window, as she said,
About the murder ? Yes; the milkwomaa
told Grace,--the man's taken up."
The man,- the murderer,- is he ?" asked
Mrs. Linday eagerly, and are they ur he is
the right one ?"
"Yes, Auntie, they have no other suspin
whatever,- it i Sandy Newington, Ruth's grand-
Annie had spoken this lowy, and.with em
phasis,-but she never turned her head fro the
window, though she heard her Aunt leave the rom.

40 m CLOUD.

The day pased slowly,-Frank went with hiq
mother to the second service,-and she then pro
posed he should go and inquire how Jessie Haven
don was; whether the news of the murder had
alarmed her. She was sometime before she could
persuade him, but she succeeded at last, promise
ing him he should find tea waiting for him on his
Annie and her Aunt sat reading for some time,
and then the light began to fade, and they closed
their books and drew near the fire.
"Auntie, dear," said Annie in that sweet sad
voice she had spoken in all the day, "I think I
have found out something which used to pussle
me,-how you have borne all your troubles; you
have found the way here," she said, laying her
hand on the Bible in her lap, "this has taught
you all the calmness and endurance which has
often set me wondering, and you must have
studied it when you were quite young,-young
as I am,-till you had stored in your heart a
lesson for every fault, a promise for every good,
and a coolation for every sorrow; I thought, so


foolishly, sinfully I am afraid, dear Auntie,--tat
this book and all serious thoughts and readings
were for old people, but now I know that there .
hope and comfort in it for all, and that if it is not
studied in youth, it will not help us in age."
Astonished at this change in the lighhearted,
thoughtless, childish Annie, Mrs. Lindaysearee-
ly knew how to answer. Before she had time to
reply, however, Annie slipped from her chair, and
kneeling down by her Aunt with her head on her
shoulder, said:
Amongst all your troubles you never told me
whether,-whether,-you were so udonrtue s,
so silly, as to love any one,-who didn't,-wbo
loved some one else ?"
Mrs. Lindsay gave the slightest possible start,
and then said, as she laid her hand on the golden
hair of her niece,
No, my child, I was spared that; but a ae
of the kind occurred in my own family; a swet
young girl, joyous and merry-hearted, had ben
brought up by a relation, and was constatly Mr
unavoidably thrown into contact with thi lady's


ron; no one oould know the girl without loving
her, but the young man loved her as his darling
little cousin only. She one day discovered his
afection for another,- her eyes were opened, she
was his cousin, nothing more,-ahe had no other
home-she must learn to bear this her fist trial
bravely, like a woman, like a Christian; so,
Annie,.sha buried the secret in her heart, told no
one, not even her fond old Aunt, but rejoiced in
this her first sorrow, because it taught her the
truth and value of those beautiful words; "Before
I was troubled I went wrong, but now have I
kept thy law."
Annie made no answer, but clung close to her
Aunt, and sobbed as though her little heart were
breaking; that night when she fervently kissed
her dear nurse, she said, smiling through her
Grace! I have found the cloud-but I think
I do ee the edge of the lining."
Long after she was gone to bed, Frank eat up
talking to his mother; he told her that Jesie had
been kind to him, kinder than usual, but that


every gentl look and word had gone to is heart
for he felt how ill he deserved them, besidess
the one obstacle which has always seemed to be
between us, her wealth and my poverty, there is
now a greater, Mother; I am not worthy of her;
your teaching, your example had made me snoe-
thing near to her in goodness, until last night the
demon of evil entered me, and can I clasp to the
heart that ha even harbored a guilty thought, a
being of such goodness and purity;"-his hamd
was in his mother's as he spoke, she preedit
fondly, and turning on him her soft bles eyes
My boy, in a life of almost unceasing srrow,
in which I can scarce number twelve happy moths,
nothing has ever given me greater grief than the
knowledge that my darling child could have
permitted passion to have asch power over him;
and a inking oold sensation comes over me when
I consider what you might have done; but ye
must remember you are as much overrating Jo
use's goodness as your own inflness. I beiev
her to be a very good girl, she has d an mael


lent mother, and has profited by her excellent
teaching, but, Frank, she is human, and has
faults which if roused by temptation might be-
come sins grievous as yours, though of a different
"A dear old friend of miine used, with the
truest Christian charity, to say, when he heard
any one being loudly condemned for some fault,-
' Ah! well, yes, it seems very bad to me, because
that's not my way of sinning.' We are all sin-
ners, Frank, dear, but some of us are more tried,
more tempted,-we have none of us hope but in
mercy. Remember this when you would judge
too harshly; remember this when you would love
too fondly; there is no perfection in human
nature. Passion had almost maddened you, and
you might have revenged yourself on the man
who had sinned against you, forgetting that there
is One alone who will repay. He has, I hope
and pray, my dear Frank, pardoned you, for he
has promised it to those who repent; do not let
this then add another obstacle or be a hindrance
to your obtaining a good wife, whose love will


comfort you, whose good counsels will aist you
when I am-"
"Dear Mother I Thank you for the omfort-
ing words you have spoken, but I am only a poor
clerk," he continued, smiling faintly, "and Jes-
sie Havendon is an heiress; but we must to bed
now, I have kept you up already too late."


Timn passed on, but with it Frank's depression
increased rather than diminished. He began to
look ill, and his mother grew sadly anxious about
him. Where the corn had waved so gracefully
in the breeze, there was rough stubble now, the
trees were leafless, the hedges bare; in place of.
the green foliage was now the hoar frost; the
cattle were taken into their warm sheds, and all
spoke of Winter,-of Christmas time, which some
were looking forward to with so much joy, others
with as great a dread.
There is now a new and very constant visitor
beneath Mrs. Lindsay's cottage roof, a young
pale man, remarkable only for a look of the
greatest benevolence. He has been some two


months a resident in Sidemoor,-actually in Bide-
moor; with peaceful lovely Allerton so near, he
chose a home in Sidemoor. He had heard of its
awful condition, and possessing a little property
beside what he earned as a doctor, he took one of
the long-deserted houses, and began his seemingly
hopeless but benevolent scheme of reforming the
wretched inhabitants. He became acquainted
with the Lindsays, and there found his recreation
after the labors of the day;-to them he would
recount all he had done,-all he hoped to do.
They were ready listeners, especially Annie,
she would sit beside him, her blue eyes fixed on
.his pale intellectual face, and eagerly drink in all
he told her, of how at first they had insulted and
. jeered at him, of how his curing a woman of a
dreadful illness had turned the tide in his favor,
and that now he could not only pass through the
street unmolested, but they seemed to respect
him; of once when he had been sitting by a
woman's bedside, a boy had tried to pick his
pocket, but the father had pushed him angrily
away, and bid him remember it was the good


doctor"--of the long conversations he had had
with the Vicar, who had come into hiews very
readily, and how together they hoped to fi the
good work.
On the ensuing Monday the sched was to be
re-opened, four mothers had promised him their
children should go, and he hoped before that day
to get many more.
Poor Annie, whose childish mirthfulnes had
never returned, and who had until now manifet-
ed a gentle apathy,-seemed roused.into activity
again, by the young doctor's recitals, and was
never weary of listening to him. On the Monday
evening that the school opened, he was with the
Lindsays again, for Annie had begged he would
come and tell them about it. He was in great
spirits, six children had been and behaved toler
ably well, and the Vicar was going to have a
Curate,-and the little Church was to be opened
in the morning as well as in the afternoon. He
was full of hope and excitement; his plain pale
fce was tinged with color, and Annie began to
wonder how she could ever have thought him ugly.


He wa so clever, at least he seemed so to
Annie, that she was always afraid to talk to him
much, and for many evenings she had been sum-
moning courage to say something to him; she
had felt, as he spoke so warmly and energetically
of all he meant to do for these wretched people,
and as she watched the brightness which kindled
in his face, that he must have found the true pur-
pose and aim of life; that he was fulfilling the
command to "love one another" in its highest
sense, for he was loving them in' deed as well as
word, loving those whom it was hard to love,-
not because they loved him, and it was pleasant
to him to serve them,-but from that best and
highest motive,-because he felt they had qouls
to be saved, and that they must not be lost for
want of a hand stretched out to help them; and
as she reflected on all this, she thought how hap-
py he must be, to be thus doing his duty,-how
few things could have power to make him wretch-
ed, thus well employed,-how little time he must
have to brood over disappointments and sorrows,
and as she drew near to him, and, raising her


eyes to his fce, said so softly that he only could
catch the words:
May I help you; I don't know that I oould
be of much use, but I think I' could teach in the
What a delighted face he turned on her as she
spoke, and how earnestly he said,
Thank you a thousand times, but can you
venture am6ng such people, though," he continued
hastily as if fearful of frightening her from her
good purpose, I shall always be there to take
care of you."
To take care of you I" simple words, but to
him as he uttered them, and to A~nie as she
heard them, they sounded strangely, and a bright
blush mounted to her temples. There was an
awkward pause, and soon after he rose and said
he must go, shook hands twice with Frank and
then apoloised, and said he did not mean it, aad
then laughed, and wished Mrs. Lindsay "good
morning," and so left the house very awkwardly.
Mrs. Lindsay said he was.so excited about his
plans he did not know what he was doing. Fraak


said nothing; he was too much absorbed in his
own feelings to notice anything,-and Annie
said, she could not eat any supper," and went
to bed.
But it was not much use Annie's going to bed
as far as sleep went, for her little head was full of
schemes,-such romantic notions filled her brain,
such improbable ideu,-but she went to sleep
finally, fully determined to put in practice two of
her plans; one was to teach in the schools, and
the other was a secret!
She was up very early in the morning, a sharp
cold morning it was too, enough to free up the
very best resolutions of doing anything but sitting
knees and nose in the fire; but Annie was a
heroine, and so her resolutions kept as firm in
that blank cold frosty morning, as when they
were formed in her own warm bed the night
before. The moment after breakfast, she said,
"Auntie, dear, I am going for a walk, can I
do anything for you in the village ?"
"Auntie" looked up at her wonderingly;-
almost the old bright voice again. No, dear,


nothing, thank you," she answered, "is Oroes
going with you "
"No, Auntie, I am going by myself, good
bye!" and, seemingly afraid to be stopped for
another moment, she started off.
Over the common, the bleak common, Annie
trotted briskly,-the keen wind bler in her face,
but she only drew her cloak closer round her and
walked faster; it did not blow away a sweet
smile that was resting on her lips;-the dimples
had had a long holiday, but they had all come back
to work today. Onshehurried,-notimebutfor
a blithe good morning to the friends she met, no
time to stop and kiss the children even, though
she passes the cottages they run out and cal
after her; along the high road, over a bridge,
down a long lane, and then she stops before
James Havendon's pretty cottage, he pauses as
though to take breath after such a sharp walk,
and then pulls the gate-bell. All the dogs begin
to bark, they do not know what a good little girl
is at the gate, or they would not make such an
angry noise. Mr. Harendon, for whom she ass,


is at home, and so she goes in. No, no, curious
leader, you are not going in, too, you must wait
till she comes out again, though it is cold outside.
She is a long time, but at last she comes, with
such a flushed face, but still the dimples; and, at
the same rapid pace, she retraces her steps, but
not all the way home. At the bridge she makes
a turn and goes towards Sideioor; as she reaches
the entrance of the village, she slackens her pace
as though afraid to enter it alone,-not alone,
Annie,-a voice behind her startles her, and
looking round she sees the young doctor.
"Miss Lindsay, are you really going to the
school? This is very kind."
It is not chronicled.what answer Annie made;
if called upon herself to say, she would not know,
but she put her arm through his when he offered
it to her, and walked on to the school. And day
after day from that morning was Annie found
diligently at her task,-patietly, cheerfully
teaching those dense, dogged children, seeming
to make little impression on them, nothing to en-
ourage her in their proves, bat as she raises

m umM. 56

her eyes from the book, the contents of which sh
is so earnestly endeavoring to impress ea th
minds of her pupils, she sees a pale hee and dark
eyes fixed earnestly upon her, looking p n
ly and encouraging at her. And she is pCrud
and satisfied, the roses come back to her obeek,
the smile to her lips, the bright joyous tone to
her voice, and with all her old playfulnes she
endeavors to cheer Frank, to draw him from
his moody silence; and again her rigingg la#
gladdens the heart of her old Nurse, and of her
Aunt, who wonders at the chage, but calls her a
"brave little girl."
It is Christmas Eve, every one in the vilqA is
busy and excited. For the first time in Sideeaor
for many years, Christmas is thought of and kept;
in the little window-panes pieces of holly aad
laurel are placed, and mothers are actually work-
ing to make their children nest for Christma Day;
--those who have come regularly to school an
to have new dresses given them,-new dIu es
to those who in their little lives could eay r
member to have worn dirty ras,-thy are


looking forward with a strange interest to to-
Annie had been very busy and excited all the
morning, busy in her own room,-her Aunt had
scarcely seen anything of her. When she was
quite sure Frank was gone out, and that her
Aunt was alone, she came down stairs with a
strange new sort of expression on her face, and
entered the parlor. Her Aunt was reading; she
came close to her and laid her hand upon her
shoulder. Mrs. Lindsay looked up:
Well, my love," she said, "what is it?"
Annie looked at her and smiled, and then grew
very red, and said:
"Auntie, are you tired of me ?"
"Tired of you, my child! what a question!
Why ?"
Because, because, Auntie, I am going away."
Her Aunt looked startled and distressed,-in
a moment Annie's arms were round her.
Dear, dear Auntie, not far away, how could
I ? from you, my dearest, best friend, my Mother,
-olose to you I shall be always, for ever I hope,

MTa wUm.

bat with" she added, in a lower voie, ranm
to take are of me, and love me, for, Autie, he
wants me to be his little wife."
For a moment Mns. Lidsay made no reply, M
completely was she astounded by this intelligeae,
and with the iconsistency of human nature, d
was disappointed that Annie had oeased, eeold
cease, to love her son;-but it was a momentary
feeling, the higher, better part of her nature
triumphed, and she kised fondly the boring
cheek of her little niece, and sa4 heartily:
SI am delighted to hear it, my darlig child,
and I hope, I am sure, you will be very happy."
With tears in her eyes, but still smiling bright
ly, Annie said:
Auntie, dear, I did try to bear my trial
bravely like a woman,-like a Christian,-and I
have learnt to rejoice in it, because it has taught
me the true value of those beautiful words, 'Be
fore I was troubled I went wrong, but now have
I kept thy law.'"
True, true, my dear girl, go on through liH
Syou have begun, struggling against a weak


indulgence of unavailing regrets, always bearing
in mind that we were not placed here to be made
happy, but to learn to deserve to be, and that the
surest way to forget our own troubles is to do as
you have done, strive to lighten those of others.
I suppose Mr. Ernest Carrington will dine with
us to-morrow.
Yes, please, Auntie."
Auntie sighed as she said,
"I wish both my children were equally happy."
"Patience, Auntie," answered Annie, and
again kissing her she flew off to communicate her
tidings to one who would be equally glad to hear
them,-her fond and faithful nurse.
James Havendon had ordered that all employed
in his service should leave business early, and,
therefore, as soon as it was dusk 'rank prepared
to go home; not joyfully as the others,-he
would just 'as soon have remained in the counting
house,-for he was working for Jessie's father.
Since the night of Butler's murder, Frank had
been an altered man; before that he had been full
of hopes, of plans for the future, all connected


with a vague idea of Jessie's sharing that future;
from that moment such dreams had vanished,
although he loved her even more deeply; but he
had made a stern resolution that never, while there
was the slightest chance of his temper becoming
uncontrollable, would he seek to make thit gentle
girl his wife; since then, since that evening, his
whole thoughts and energies had been coacen-
trated on this one point, this one hope, to render
himself worthy of being loved by Jessie Haven-
don; before, he had only thought to make him-
self rich enough. He was just leaving the house,
when he was told Mr. Havendon wished to speak
to him. Of course he obeyed the summons and
presented himself before him.
Mr. Lindsay," he began, "take a chair. I'm
a man of few words, and I like to go to the point
without circumlocution. A little bird, as the say-
ing goes, has told me something about you, that
I should like to hear the truth of."
Frank shuddered, for the thought which always
possessed him rose to his mind now, that Haven-
don was alluding to Butler; for, although New-


ingtoe wa convicted of the murder, still that
"conscience which makes cowards of us all"
kept him in continual dread that some one might
have seen him standing by the body on that fatal
As he seemed waiting for ah answer, Frank re-
plied, "You shall hear nothing else from me, sir."
"That I'm sure of, lad, that I'm sure of, par
ticularly as I am not going exactly to accuse you
of a crime."
Frank grew paler and paler, it was too evident,
at least so he thought, to what he alluded.
"It's quite excusable in a young fellow like
you," he continued; "I'm not going to be hard
on you, so speak out bravely;" there was a merry
chuckle in the old man's voice, and a roguish
twinkle in his eye, which Frank thought strange,
in connection with such a subject. Some weeks
ago it would have irritated him, but his self-disci-
pline had not been in rain, and he remained quite
"The fat is, Mr. indsay, to make a long
story short, I understand you love my daughter "


The room emed to tmr round with him,
the old man uttered these words, so compketly
was he unprepared for sueh a speech, but he
made au effort to recover himself, and am
"I cannot guess, sir, how you have become
possesed of the knowledge of this fet for I do
not deny that it is one, but situated as I am I
never have, never should dare to have made either
you or your daughter saquainted with soh a
hopeless passion; it has never passed my lip, but
to my mother, and how it has reached your
"Ha! ha! I never tell secrets,but a these
delicate affairs are not for a rough old fellow like
me; I only wanted to know the truth, and I have
asked a lady relation of mine to come and talk
this over seriously with you, so you wait here
a bit, and I'u send her to you;" and rising quik-
ly, Havendon hurried out of the room, leaving
Frank lot in thought, as to how he hd learnt
this, and whether he was displeased or otherwise.
Hi bck was to the door, and he was so ab

Tol LmmG.

sorbed as not to hear it re-open; the rustling of a
dress first roused him, and turning, he saw Jessie,
his darling Jessie, blushing and smiling before
him. What did it all mean? He could not
speak or move, but she advanced slowly to him
and said in a low trembling voice, My father
said you wanted me."
"I! Miss Havendon, no-I-this is too
cruel,"-and poor Frank covered his eyes with
his hands, as though to shut out that sweet blush.
ing face which he had so long worshipped silently.
There was an instant's pause, and then he felt a
soft hand laid on his, and heard with acute dis-
tin6tness, although spoken very softly, Frank,
dear Frank,"-he waited for no more, all resolu-
tions, everything vanished but his love, his deep
absorbing love, and the bewildering certainty that
it was returned.
Reader, we have no right here;-we will
imagine half an hour to have passed, and Frank
is again in the presence of James Havendon, tell-
ing him of his long continued love for his daugh-
ter, and his fear of rejection from his poverty.

62 *

a JAleM.

"My lad," replied Havedon, "there's w
shame in that, she'll have-enough for both fyo.
I only ask for my child what rIe fond forher,
a brae and honest man to love and cherish her,
and may God blew you both."
Where are frank's reolutins ? They are
fading fast, for he is human. All stern resolve
is melting away in the light of Jessie's smile, in
the love which is shining inher eyes, and as he
holds her hands in his, a hope, which is almost a
prayer, rise in his heat, that aswoiation with
one so gentle and so good may make him at length
worthy of her.
Christmas morning has dawned, bright,.ehar
and cold, and cheerful hearts and merry faces are
assembled round Mrs. Lindsay's.breakfst table;
she does see both her children happy; she has
been patient and she is rewarded. They are all,
of course including Ernest Carrington, to dine at
Mr. Havendon's, and wherever Christmas that
day was kept, true genuine happiness could not
have been greater than amount that party.
After dinner Mr. Havendon requested permisio


to give a tost, which having been accorded, he
rose and proposed the health of a Little Bird,
who in whispering to him a secret, had given him
the gratiacation of making two people very happy;
and he thought it only fair to wish it happy in
return, with a snug nest and a kind mate.
The toast was drunk with looks of wonderment
by all save Jeie and Annie, who nemed to be
in the secret, and the curiosity of men will rank
as figh as women's when it is a fact on record,
that Mr. Frank Lindsay never rested till he had
coaxed the secret from Jesie, and. learnt that
Annie, his cousin, was the kind little bird, whoee
whisperings had secured him his bride.
Annie has owed a long debt of gratitude to
her Aunt, her second mother, who, as she clasps
her to her heart and kises and blesses her for
her goodness to her son, tells her she is more than
Yes, Mrs. Lindsay could appreciate what
Annie had done, and yet not fully, for she did
not know what it had cost her, thus to put an irrev-
ocable barrier to her own happiness by securing


Frank'.. Bhe did not know how Anani had
struggled with her own selfish feelings, and how
the noble part of her love had triumphed, and she
had determined to make him, at least, happy.
No I no one knew all this, but He to whom the
secrets of all hearts are known. But the know-
ledge that the example of Ernest Canington his
goodness, his seal, his energy, had first stimulated
Annie to exertion, first induced her to strive
against the indulgence of her own selfish feelings,
and taught her that the safe way to-seem her
own happiness was to endeavor to secure that of
others, made her love and respect him more deep
ly, and give her hand to him, with a clear hoes
glance of trust in her blue eyes, which told of per-
fect confidence in his power to make her also happy.
The early spring was fixed for the marriage,
and it was agreed that the two girls should be
married on the same day, for Mr. Havendon said,
February was the right time for his Little Bird to
have a mate, and by .that name he never eased
to call her. The weeks flew swiftly pat to the
happy lovers, and the end of February saw two


fair young brides standing by the altar in the village
Church of Allerton. Mr. Havendon had doubled
Frank's salary, and given each bride a handsome
wedding present, and it was a sight to see his
rosy, happy, proud face, as he stood by his daugh-
ter's side and placed her hand in Frank Lind-
say's; such a contrast in its rude health to the
pale delicate mother, who with equal but much
calmer joy stood there beside him.
She had written, when she knew of Annie's
engagement, to Mr. Lindsay, and again when
the marriage day was fixed, but she had had no
answer, save t few lines to say he had no objeo-
tion, but that he had no time to come down; and
it was with something of pain that she gazed on
pretty blushing Annie, neglected so entirely by
her father at this momentous period of her life.
But Grace! who shall paint Grace's joy as she
dressed for her bridal the darling, whose first
wailing cry she had heard, whose helpless years
of infancy she had tended so fondly, whose ripen-
ing years she had watched so proudly.
Well, dear," she said, as she fastened her

THm UlnM

dress, I'm christening your pretty gon with
my tears, old fool that I am; I can oare e
for them, I'd better wait, may be they'll spoil it."
"No, no, Grace, dear," answered Anie,
"they won't spoil it--you are determined I
shall have some pearls on my wedding dress,
that's all; and such pearls," she continued, fing-
ing her arms round her nurse's neck, are far
more precious to me, than any that money could
buy me, dear, dear Grace."
The wedding is over, the solemn words ree
spoken, the crowd has dispersed, and the bridal
party have returned home,.-they have all agreed
there should be no company, no expense at home,
but that a dinner should be given to the por of
the two villages instead, so their own quiet break-
fast is soon finished and the brides are gone.
For miles might the shouts be heard which
rent the air as the carriages passed, the sonoreo
tone of youth, the trembling tone of age, and the
shrill notes of childish voices, all mingled in tat
heartfelt cheer; and lingered long in the memory
of those whom it sent on their why rejoiing.

T I UaIe.

Having married my Hero and Heroine, and
given a fair promise that they shall be happy
ever after, what more have I to add? But
little;-simply to assure you that in their hap-
piness Ernest and Annie did not forget their
task, but continued, with unabated seal, the work
of reformation in Sidemoor. I will not tell you
that a few months sufficed to make it a Paradise
on earth, because that would make this a Fairy
tale, which it has never pretended to be; the
task was a long one, to render the place even
respectable; but it was quite enough to cheer
them in their labor, to see one or two cottages
clean and decent, and know their inhabitants had
changed their dissolute life for one at least of
industry; quite enough to see a few children
come regularly to school, a few families regularly
to Church, and so they still went on working and
waiting; and this is the one leson we have to
learn here, to labor and to wait, to work diligent-
ly, untiringly in the vineyard, and prove our-
selves worthy of our hire."
There may not be a Sidemoor near us, but

T l Uam.r. 09

there i work for us to do itted to our powers,
if we would but seek for it; it may be vry
humble, very slight to what others may be called
on to do, but if we do it diligently, our pay will
be the same as theirs.
The lesson which had made so deep an impe-
ioon n Frank he never forgot; the ghastly figure
in that pale moonlight was ever present to him
when his temper was about to rise, and it calmed
him in a mom Thi with the example of his
pre sad inestimable wife, made him at length a
he had hoped and prayed, worthy bf her; and
witaesing the goodness and prosperity of those
she loved best on earth, Mrs. hnday was truly
happy, and it was no slight thing for them to
feel that they had thus gladdened the erenng
of one, who had indeed borne the burden and
heat of the day."
Annie now fully understood the meaning aad
force of Grace's proverb; one weeehould all do
well to study and believe, On all of us at so
moment of our lives there has rested and there
will rest it may be again, a heavy Good, but


Sgaing on it with the eyes of faith and trust, we
shall see through its darkness only the Silver
Lining. Trials are but blessings in disguise;
each loud which shadows our life comes charged
with some good; if we would only look at it
without shrinking, calmly and steadily, we should
pierce its darkness, and see the light behind, we
should recognize some warning or acknowledge
some chastening which makes us more the children
of our Father, and speaks to us of His love. It
may be that in a gay and prosperous life here we
are forgetting another; so dasled are our eyes
by this world's brightness, we need the shadow-
ing of the Cloud to speak to us of that other;
it is the Cloud that is leading us through the
wilderness of life to the Land of Promise; how
then can we fail to acknowledge its use, or be so
blind that we cannot see its light. Pursuing our
journey with patience, running cheerfully the
race that is set before us, we shall find that out
of evil cometh good, an4 that the eye of Faith can
see through all Clouds their Silver Lining.


List of Works PuiaJSd by

The following re by the author of "A Trap to
Catch a Sunbeam."
1. The House on the Rock, with Frontispiece.

2. The Dream Chintz, a Tale of Fairy Agency.

8 Old Jolliffe, Not a Goblin Story; By the
Spirit of a Little Bell awakened by the Chimes.

4. The Sequel of Old Jolliffe, written in the
ame spirit, by the same spirt.

5. Only," a Tale for Young and Old. 8th Ed.

6. A Merry Christmas. 4th Ed, price 12 cts.

7. A Trap to Catch a Sunbeam. 25th Edition.

8. The Cloud with The Silver Lining.
CloA, sped, 25 de. per wome.


The title is of inviting promise, and the fulfilmet Is
lly equal to the expetatlon created. The n of thi
little lm s omewat imilr to that of r. Dikens's
Christmas Stories. We aure the reader, if he will purose
the 'TXA' he. will eitch a 'Snblam.'"-N. y ppm.
"Whoever may be the author of the Thp CO a
mIusme,' It ouglt to be distributed by theoands by such
influential prons as are dehrous to preerve the soal aDd
bodies of the poor."-la-doa papr.

The moral of the story is the dsager of temtation
which are thought to be too small -"oaly a hll "
"only for once,' &o.
"' Only' is an uncommonly plessnt story, with an ex-
ellent moral forcibly illustrated."--BoI r Jm A dewiser.

Wr wm 01a or 1A LUM 3A, AWAIRUIe 5r "3 eina." M

"Old Jollife" is not a mere talker he ats up t his
philosophy, as those who read the books may ee. Whey
well deserve the pains, being short, fanciful, unaffected and
exquisitely written; moreover the motto is "cheer u and
despond not," which entitles them to a place equally the
sumptuous library of the rich, and the plain ihelf of the
oor man who reads, and reads with the Intent of nourish-
Shi mind with the dictates of truth and blessing of

One good argument briefly and pleaantly presented has
more weight than a folio of tiI digested vruboity, aad
therein lies the secret of the success which has attended
the volumes of Miss Plsachd. The present one shows how
incompatible is selfshness with the enjoyment of a Merry
Christmas, and that he who would be py himself mut
contribute to the happiness of others.- New Yor paper.

One of the best, if not the very best, of the series of
stories by Miss Plauoh.

Loers of exquisite stories, of which we know there are
sre among oar readers, doubtless remember The Dream
Chints," "Trap to Cath a Sunbeam," Only," &c. These
narratives are unique, delicate in conception, racefAl and
winsome In execution, and of high moral sign dance. It
is therefore enough to ay of the present volume that it is by
the same author, equally felicitous in its way.-- us JoMr

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