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in a church or chapel?" said Jean, inquiringly.

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"O no," Orrin answered, we are not so fortunate as to have either, and the Lowbury churches are too far away. That is one reason why I am so anxious about the school, because it is really the only Sunday service our men have. We hold it in a large unfinished workroom, the same in which the evening school meets. You have no idea how the people seem to enjoy it. And O Jean, how often I have wished that our home choir were there with me to help about the singing! To-night, when I came in and heard you singing that beautiful anthem, 'Come unto me,' it seemed to me that I would give worlds to hear it sung by the same clear sweet voice among our people who labor and are heavyladen.'"

Jean made no reply, she was busy thinking. The dancing had stopped, and Clem was at the piano, singing "Within a mile o' Edinboro' town." After a moment's pause Orrin began again; he was talking now of Dr. Rawley and the old times in the choir, but Jean did not seem to heed what he was saying.

"Why, Orrin!" she exclaimed, suddenly; "the more I think of it, the more plainly I see it! I am so glad I waited! Don't you see? I must build a church at Lowbury with Aunt Drew's legacy."

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"He will receive a call to become the first rector of Emanuel," said Jean, who had already talked the matter over with Orrin, and introduced him to the zealous young clergyman.

"Ah, ah" answered Clem, mindful of her plans. "Now, Jean darling, you know I am dying of curiosity. Please do tell me, are you going to be the rector's wife?" No indeed!" replied Jean, laughing. "That honor belongs to a very sweet young lady living in Mr. Sterrett's native

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He has told me all about her, and is only waiting to be settled, when he will marry her at once."

"Well, I must say," said Clem, petulantly, "I think I have been shabbily treated, and everything has turned out as badly as possible. I'm sure, I don't see whom you are to marry now, and you are giving away the whole of Aunt Drew's legacy without managing to secure a penny for yourself! What are you going to do, Jean?”

"Go home and go to work, of course!" said Jean, cheerfully. "Teach school, maybe. I feel as if I could do anything now, with this burden off my mind. I have not felt so light-hearted for two years."

And home she went, feeling like an expresident or a general who has been "relieved." There would be a few more letters to write, she thought, a few more newspaper items to read, and then the ripples in her life would all die out, leaving perfect peace and calm. For a while she was glad of this anticipated quiet, but after the first welcome sensation of rest, she began to feel lost without her "burden." She had now no more far-away possible interest in struggling churches in Maine or Michigan; no more St. Barnabases would ask her for bells, nor poor students seek her help in getting a theological education. Everything was now centered down into one fixed point, Lowbury church, but she could not even see it building, or scarcely realize it.

Still, it was pleasant to be consulted in regard to the many building plans proposed, and here Arthur Sterrett's informa-tion did her good service. It was pleasant. to have a drawing of the fine lot which the manufacturing firm had donated, and to be told, in a special letter of good news, that they were going also to build a rectory.

Then Orrin sent her two fine drawings. made by himself, after the plan of thechurch was fully decided on, representing the interior and exterior as it would appear when complete. Jean pored over these, and studied out transept and choir-loft, columus and arches, with great interest.

"I don't see but Sis is just as busy as ever," said Robbie, one day. “Orrin, he writes and asks her about everything, just as if she was the pope!"

But it was pleasant to be consulted, certainly, and kept up a little ripple in life still.

"It makes the world so much broader," Jean said to her mother one day. "I had a great deal rather be thinking about church building than about tatting, and ruffling, and fluting."

"Each is good in its place," said Mrs. Argyle.

"O, I know that, mother," replied Jean, who was at that very moment setting neat little stitches in a shirt for Robbie. "I'm willing to let my fingers hem, you see, but I wont keep my thoughts hemming."

Time passed on, and Lowbury church was almost done. When a question arose about its windows, their colors, subjects and symbols, Jean wrote to Orrin:

"Only one thing I insist on, and that is a narrow purple window similar to the one I like so much in our dear old church here, opening out into the elm. I always loved to look at it, and may be some dreamy Lowbury girl will love to look at one, too, in Emanuel."

"She shall look at it herself, God willing" said Orrin, as he read her letter.

And she did. When the church was completed at last, and the day of consecration arrived, Dr. Rawley, with his sister and Jean, went down to Lowbury to the solemn ceremonies. Jean trod the aisles in a sort of happy wonder. What! this great fair house of the Lord, where the word of life would be dispensed to such crowds of poor workingmen and their fam

ilies-could all this be, in any least degree, owing to her, to any small self-denial of hers, to any slight privation she had borne? Not for her own merit, she knew that, but to think that God should have used any little event in her life to work out such great good, the wonder and the blessedness of it cvercame her.

"O, I can never, never be thankful enough," she thought, "that Aunt Drew left that money just as she did!"

The Rev. Arthur Sterrett was also present at the consecration services, full of zeal and interest in his new parish, and bringing with him a gentle sweet-voiced bride. Jean smiled as she recalled some of the vain plans that had been made in his behalf.

"How absurd Clem was!" she said to herself. "I really don't expect ever to be married at all!"

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"I have loved you for years, Jean, will you marry me?" asked Orrin Drew, ten minutes later, as they stood by themselves up in the bell-tower, looking out over the factories and the parish; and Jean laid her hand in his for her auswer. So much for expectations!

"Dear me! are all our choir going over to Lowbury!" exclaimed Mrs. Marlowe, when she heard how things were going.

"It is just as it should be," said good old Dr. Rawley. "And may our two young friends be like Isaac and Rebecca!"

UNCLE JERRY.

BY

You never heard of "Uncle Jerry,"
With his gray hair and old slouched hat,
And sorrel mare with pigskin saddle-
She always knew old Jerry's straddle-
Though I hardly wished to tell you that—

But of a trick this queer old "Sorrel"
(That is the name that she was known by)
Would play on every one that strode
her,

Excepting Jerry-when he rode her
She'd travel nicely and never shy.

Now, in the town where Uncle Jerry
Resided years without a quarrel,

The townfolk had not much to brag on,
I mean in the way of a horse or wagon,

So, frequently they'd borrow Sorrel.

You say you never heard of Jerry,
His mare, and saddle of tough pigskin,
And garments quaint, and form bent
double?

Well, his feet were his only trouble,
They were so terribly long and thin!

I told you how the townfolk borrowed
Old Jerry's mare, but the tricks she'd play
Were deuced queer, when you consider,
Jerry she'd always safe deliver,
Yet throw his neighbors day after day.

Old Sorrel at last became so bad,
Her owner's life was one of sorrow;

No one was brave enough to stride her, Unless 'twas Jerry; he could ride her, But all the town had ceased to borrow.

A long, long time it was whispered round Old Jerry had leagued with the evil one.

To ride that mare, a feat they wouldn't "Risk anyhaow;" you see they couldn't Tell "jist exactly haow it were done." Here is a fact I should have mentioned, And it's just as well to state it here,

Old Jerry's mare-whene'er he'd let her Go in the shafts-no horse was better; The fact that she liked the shafts was clear. I've seen her amble along as quiet As any family horse you'd find,

But out of the shafts one couldn't use her; Coax her you might, or e'en abuse her; Jerry was the only man she'd mind.

It may seem strange to you, dear reader, But Jerry himself could never tell

The secret of his old mare's action, Or why she'd show for him attraction, Yet throw others around right well. But finally the old chap learned itMost secrets must have an end, you know; Now do you think the knowledge pleased him,

Or, on the other hand, it teased him? Hazard a guess ere the truth I show.

This way it happened: one day Jerry, Mounted and gray, with his hat turned down,

Shook the bridle of his queer old mare,

(An act, by the way, none else would dare),

Entered the highway and drove to town.

Here's another fact perhaps you've noticed,

That in most villages you've passed through
Post-offices seem a place for loafing,
Tobacco smoke and endless joking.
I think they're always so, don't you?

At all events, that morning Jerry,
When be reached the village office, found
Some of his townfolk there collected-
Through his mare he wasn't much re-

spected

And they joked him rather freely round.

At last one says (he had been drinking), "I doesn't wish (hic) ter excite any laughs, But, bless me! a lookin' at Jerry's feet, I've found out how he (hic) rides so complete;

His old mare thinks she's atween the shafts."

CHAPTER I.

THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT.

BY MRS. GORDON SMITHIES.

Ir was New Year's Eve-the snow fell fast and thick on the frozen ground. In Bloomsbury Square the trees and lawns were white and crisp with frozen snow. The crimson curtains and the blazing fires made the dining-rooms of the handsome old-fashioned houses of the square seem earthly paradises to the houseless, barefooted outcasts, whose "rags of wretchedness" were blown aside by the keen east wind. That cruel wind drove the snowflakes in their pinched blue faces, and covered their tattered garments and lean sallow flesh with what was at one moment a white overcoat, and the next an icy bath.

With what wolfish eyes these shivering famished stepchildren of Fortune glared first at the dining-tables, covered with a snowy damask, and glittering with glass, china and silver, on which the firelight was reflected like rubies and topazes, and then at the clean cosy kitchen, where be

fore the noble fire the turkey, the saddle of mutton, or the sirloin was roasting.

One of the houses in question belonged to Mr. Pomfret, a solicitor with a fair business in the city. He had a showy, handsome wife, a very proud, pretentious and pedantic woman, but subtle and sly, withal —a tyrant where she dared, and ruling Mr. Pomfret, who doted on her, but who had a great idea of man's supremacy, by pretending to obey him, always the while craftily managing to have her own way in everything. They had six children-two boys and four girls. The eldest, a boy, was fourteen; the youngest, a girl, was four. One poor pale governess-Miss Moss-educated the four girls, and had charge of the two mischievous boys-Master Wellington and Master Nelson-during the holidays.

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after his decease-and she was equally attached to both the army and the navy. However, the great boasting-piece of the family was Mr. Pomfret's younger and only brother, Sir Harry Pomfret.

He was a barrister in good practice, had written a law book, which had become an authority, and was so lively, gentlemanly and popular that he made friends wherever he went.

He was indeed so bright, so genial, and so lovable that even those clients who had weak causes he could not gain retained him still as a friend, and continued their "refreshers" in the shape of good dinners and choice old wines. On the other hand, those clients for whom he gained by his eloquence and learning all-important verdicts positively idolized him.

One among them, a nobleman of political influence, obtained for Harry Pomfret a colonial judgeship with the honor of knighthood, and "our brother, Sir Harry Pomfret, the judge," became Mrs. Pomfret's favorite boasting-piece, in conjunction with "my father, the colonel."

Sir Harry had been abroad three years at the time of which we are writing, and was about thirty-five years of age. It was, as we have said, New Year's Eve, and snowing fast. Mrs. Pomfret was in full dress. Mr. Pomfret had promised to return from his office at five to dinner, in order to take herself and the children to the play-a great treat this, for Toole, the comic genius of the age, the Liston of our time, at once the Hogarth and Phiz of the stage, was to delight the audience with two of those rare conceptions of mingled mirth and pathos, fun and feeling, which have made him the acknowledged genius of the grotesque and the graceful, grand master of the twin sources of smiles and tears.

Mrs. Pomfret was hungry and cross, and was watching for her husband's cab, and scowling at the ragged wolf-eyed outcasts glaring at the roasting turkey at the kitchen fire, when suddenly from an upper window a few pence wrapped in paper fell at the bare blue feet of one of the outcasts.

Mrs. Pomfret reddened with anger, and rushed up stairs. The schoolroom was on the second floor. She suspected Miss Moss of the offence that had exasperated her. She wanted to vent her ill-humor on some one-the safest person in the house was Miss Moss.

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Miss Moss was a second cousin of Mr. Pomfret's, an orphan, and quite destitute; she had only been received by Mrs. Pomfret, boarded, lodged, and paid twenty pounds a year, at Sir Harry's request, on the condition that the relationship was to be kept secret, and never alluded to. other cousin of Mr. Pomfret's-Delia, commonly called Dahlia Domvile-also lived with the Pomfrets. She had been so named by an Irish suitor, who naturally pronounced Delia Dahlia, and her style of beauty and her gorgeous velvet dresses gave her a close resemblance to that splendid flower, the dahlia. The Irishman's blunder was universally adopted. Miss Domvile also lived with the Pomfrets. Mr. Pomfret was her guardian. She had some fortune, and paid one hundred pounds per annum for her board and lodging. She was a great belle and a great flirt, and having a high spirit, Mrs. Pomfret was as obsequious to her as she was overbearing to Miss Moss.

On the landing of the second floor Mrs. Pomfret met Masters Wellington and Nelson giggling.

"Who dared to throw pence out to beggars, against all my rules and orders ?" asked Mrs. Pomfret. "Not you, I am sure, my precious loves ?"

"I know-it was Miss Moss, mamma," said Master Wellington.

"She's always giving to beggars," said Master Nelson.

Mrs. Pomfret, red with wrath, entered the schoolroom.

"Who has been throwing pence out of the window to beggars ?" she asked.

"I did," said Miss Moss. "The poor creatures seemed starving with cold and hunger."

"I have soup-tickets at your service, and indiscriminate charity is the especial aversion of Mr. Pomfret and myself. By encouraging street beggars, alias robbers, Miss Moss, you risk our being murdered in our beds. Pray do not repeat an act so very annoying to me, and worse still to Mr. Pomfret."

Miss Moss bowed her head in token of submission.

"Ma, pa's come, and wants you directly. He's got a letter from Uncle Harry, and a present."

66 For me?" asked Mrs. Pomfret.

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opened it; but it's something in a red morocco case, for I saw that through a hole in the paper," said Nelson.

"Which, you tore, young shaver," said the elder boy, in a whisper.

Mrs. Pomfret had hurried down stairs. Miss Moss, pale and trembling, had sunk back in her chair. She was leaning her arms upon her desk, and her face on her hands, and was weeping silently. She said to herself:

"Why should I care for Mrs. Pomfret's unkindness? He has been heard of. He is well-perhaps he has sent a kind message to Cousin Rose. He never was ashamed to own me, Heaven bless him!"

The children were all to go to the play. Poor Rose had dressed them, and they were gone down to dessert. She was just sitting down to her weak tea and dry toast when Dahlia Domvile, the belle of Bloomsbury, came in.

"O Rose," she cried, "do help me with these plaits and curls-I can't make them feel safe-and then fix this wreath for me; and I am sure that great stupid Ann has laced my dress awry-I feel quite crooked." Rose complied-a hole had been missed. While Rose set it right, Dahlia said:

"I've such news to tell you, Rose-Sir Harry will be here to-morrow."

Rose, in her turn, missed a hole. She turned pale and red, and for a moment felt very faint.

"You'll never guess what Cousin Harry is coming for," said Dahlia. "To take a wife back with him, and that wife no less a person than the belle of Bloomsbury." "But I thought," said Rose, “ you intended to marry Mr. Philip Flounder?" "I did, poor fellow; but I must bowl him over-he can't make me 'my lady,' and Sir Harry can. But O Rose, I called on Phil's mother to-day, on the sly, and he's been called to the bar.' 6 Called! There's an honor! Think of that! As his very gifted mother says, people are not 'called' if they are not wanted. I saw him in his new wig and gown. He looked lovely. Sir Harry," continued Dahlia, “is an ugly old bore compared to Phil, and when Phil is Lord Chancellor, his wife will be 'my lady,' indeed. But I might have so long to wait, and a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' And O Rose, Sir Harry has sent such a lovely set of pearls and emeralds as a wedding pres

ent for his bride-elect. I couldn't refuse them, though I could him, and they must go together, I suppose. How they'll set off my Lady Pomfret! Ah, you handsome flirt, you!" she added, shaking her curls, while addressing her own blooming image in the toilet-glass; "you were born to be 'my lady'-you know you were. How well the title suits my style of beauty-now doesn't it, Rose? But isn't it a pity Sir Harry Pomfret hasn't Phil's handsome face and fine form, and Phil's wit and genius, too? Don't you think so now ?" Rose did not-could not-speak. "I say, Rose, are you ill ?" said Dahlia. "How pallid and bad you do look!" "No, I'm not ill, thank you."

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ness.

Rose Moss did not even remark her rudeCousin Harry's letter was in her cold trembling hand-the letter in which he offered himself to his lovely cousin, the belle of Bloomsbury.

"No wonder that he chooses Delia," she said to herself, "she is so handsome."

She glanced at herself in the mirror, which reflected a very slender form, robed in deep mourning, small delicate features, a very pale complexion, dark eyes full of tears, and a profusion of glossy black hair, simply braided and coiled round a little Grecian head. What a contrast to Delia's masses of golden hair and ringlets floating down her back, her brilliant complexion, her scarlet lips and her turquoise eyes.

"How handsome she looked to-night in that green velvet and white satin, with all that point lace, and those gems setting off her white shoulders, fine bust and lovely arms; but how will Cousin Harry like such a low dress and such short sleeves? He used to be so very fastidious, so particular. O that she were worthier of him! Can she, the admired of all, ever love him as I, the slighted of all, have loved-alas! weak willful heart-do love him still?"

Poor Rose Moss sat down by her frugal fire, poured out her weak tea, and nerved

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