Presently, however, and still as if purposely retaining this attitude, she said gently, "I have two other things to ask-the one, are you religious? I do not mean in the sense of mere church-going, or mere outward form, but I mean in the sense of conscience and right action, that would enforce faith and duty in your household, that would teach your lisping children by your knees, those prayers which men go back to in their after years, for penitence, for faith, for hope, for good; and next, I

The speaker stopped here; bending her face still more, for the blood now blushed there from her warm and gentle heart.

The one beside her knew intuitively what she meant, though no question had been asked; and so obeying the profound impulses which wrought upon her at the instant, she knelt as a disciple might before the holiest teacher, and said, as she buried her face in the stranger's lap, in a voice, faint and lowly, yet which bore upon it the stamp of truth: "I would teach, lady, what I was taught in my own childhood, love to God and duty to man; and, as for my life, it has been a pure and womanly one, or else I could not have come to you this day. You will believe me, I am sure."

"I will," was the firm and earnest answer; "for truth is always simple in its asseverations." And those hands, worn with work, and which, for months, had felt no kindly pressure of affection or sympathy, were grasped by the dear fervent ones of this sweet nature. A thousand words could not have made declaration of a more pregnant meaning, than this same pressure of those fervent hands.

It was some seconds before Lucy rose, and when she did so, the lady said, now in her more ordinary way, "You must pardon what I implied, if I did not ask; but, knowing what are the needs of emigration, I think that a woman, useful, religious, and chaste, is more worthy of success, and more likely to succeed in a new country like Australia, whither I should advise you to go. Now, as for the means of going thither, you say you can work well at the needle?"

"I have done the finest and the coarsest work, Madam." 'Well, fortunately, I have lying here, and yet unanswered, a note from a friend of mine, asking if I know of a good needlewoman, who could work for her this entire winter, as part of her family are going abroad in the spring, and need a large outfit, so that I will write a note, which you shall take to her. She is a liberal and good woman, and will pay you well I know, and thus, if you should get the work, you may, by diligence, through this winter and the spring, lay by a portion, at least, of the passage money thither. Further I cannot promise, till I see what you can, and will do, though if you prove, what I hope you will, I shall ask you to do other things beside help yourself in the noble land you go to. For, here, charity, however well irtentioned, does but relieve, to augment still more severely the sufferings of your class -and, if public charity still more largely steps forth to aid emigration, it can only do so partially-but if the hearts of the colonists themselves could be stirred in this matter, if the women who have gone forth, and been benefited, could be made to remember the needs of those who remain at home,-if men, who need, and ask for, good chaste, and useful wives, would help towards what is so priceless, a permanent and yearly fund might be raised for the purposes of female emigration, on such a plan, as

tray. Whilst Lucy sat and ate the savoury meal, thus brought in for her, she had time to observe the little quaint old wainscoted room, its rich old china bowls stuck on the top of little corner cupboards, its few casts and pictures, its many books, its large old chairs, its latticed window looking into the garden, ani showing a mass of verdant holly, bright with clustered berries, old spreading laurels, and a thriving myrtle, and then hastily scanning all these things, fastening her gaze at last upon the sweet womanly face before her. At last Lucy rose

"You will let me see you again at the end of the week," said the lady. This is Tuesday, so come on Saturday, my friend will have made her enquiries by that time. Now good day, bear what I have said in your heart, as I think by your manner you will."

a

Lucy, when she had ended her thanks, hesitated in manner, evident to the writer. "What is it?" she asked.

Hesitatingly, Lucy answered, with trembling lips, "I am much alone, lady, and I should like to have beside me or before me, some token, however small, of your goodness and your words. An old glove, or pen, a faded ribbon, anything so that you have worn it, or touched it."

Blushing and trembling as the earnest compliment met her ear, Mary Austen, for such was her name, rose, and going towards a flower-stand, took from thence a thrifty primula.

"It will be better," she said, "than ribbon, or pen, or glove; it will be green, and, perhaps, bear flowers."

"Like your goodness, lady, as I hope, and in another land," and saying thus, and curtseying lowlily, the needlewoman, too moved to say any more, closed the door of the little quaint country parlour, upon the sweetest nature she had ever known.

The enquiry into Lucy's character, by the lady, to whom she bore Miss Austen's note, proved so satisfactory in every respect, as not only to ensure her more than sufficient work to occupy the entire winter, but also the high trust of cutting it out from the piece. Added to this, the same kindly hand which thus intrusted her paid her a few shillings in advance, gave her some articles of warm, second-hand apparel, and such old household things for her miserable, denuded garret, as two chairs, a tea-kettle, and a pair of blankets; so that on the Saturday afternoon, when she again reached the old country house, and stepped into its parlour, the signs of the coming more womanly, more hopeful, more natural life, were already marked upon her worn and haggard face. The interview was a brief one; for Mary Austen was, in some respects, as stern of will and concise of speech, as in others she was warm of heart and child-like in her nature.

"I have little time," she said to Lucy, "for frequent interviews; nor will you if you mean to work out a future course of well-being, either for yourself or others. For much rests on your own honest endeavours, particularly, as my friend writes me word, that with industry and thrift, she thinks you may contrive to put by six or eight pounds out of the sum she reckons she shall have to pay you. If you do this, say six only, I will write some paper, the price of which shall add five pounds, thus making in the whole £11, towards £15, the cost of a passage to South Australia, whither I strongly desire you to go; more especially since I have recollected that

you are a Cornish woman, for many of your countrymen have settled in the mining districts round Adelaide. And by the time this sum of £11 is gathered, means may disclose themselves of obtaining the remainder of the needed sum. Till then I must commend you to your own diligence-for only prove to me, what I believe you to be, a stern, strong-willed, earnest, truthful woman, bowed down, yet not debased by misfortune, and no effort, I can make to serve you, shall be wanting."

Lucy was moving away, though with her lingering gaze still fixed upon this earnest face of large humanity, when Mary, questioning her again, said, gently, "you have a sister?"

This question, so simple in itself, might have been one which involved life and death, or some fatal secret, or the confession of some guilty knowledge, for the effect which it had upon the creature questioned, as she stood for the moment incapable of speech or movement, and at last she only answered with difficulty, "Yes Madam, who will only be seventeen next July-but she's gone wrong -and I never mention her."

"Did she do so from need," asked Mary, speaking so low that her voice was a whisper, "for if so, you should be forgiving and relenting, Lucy."

"I would," replied the woman, with a sternness which startled the questioner, "if it had been so, but it was not. For Lawrence even sold the little organ he had made, that Nelly, 'our father's flower,' as she was called, might not be so pinched as were the rest; and my mother likewise parted with, one by one, such few valuables as remained, so that the beauty of our home might not know want; but all in vain. For she went wrong, and so put past hope Lawrence's recovery; for Nelly was the pride of his heart. Sometimes I am hard enough, even wrong enough, to think, aye, and to say, that it was love of finery, or dislike of such a sordid home as ours had come to be, or our cruel hours of labour which led her astray, for she had nice ard delicate tastes, girl as she was; but in my more charitable moments, I believe, and indeed am certain, that it was some one of Lawrence's friends who persuaded her to quit us, under promise of marriage, and assistance to her friends, for she had a believing nature, and clung to others with instinctive faith; and thus deceived, did not dare to return. Poor childperhaps, by what I suffer and think, the grave were better than this dream of happier lands."

"Nay, nay," added Mary, tenderly, "the grave is no fit ending to human tragedies like these, my poor one; for if we, as women, despair of helping our sister woman, what can men do? No! it is only through labourhonest self-help, that those standing can raise the fallen -and this you may do this is what I have to do this is what the strong in will, and what the untempted of our sex have to do. Not, not, as God is my witness, but what I would have every woman, whose destiny it is to kneel beside her infant's cradle in this newer land, be able to curtain it to rest, by the holy veil cast down of her soul's purity."

"I understand you, Madam," replied the needlewoman, weeping, though tears which flowed not from the bitterest fountain of the soul, "and from so understanding, take both counsel and stronger resolution, for it seems as if I drew fresh zeal from every word you speak. And so God bless you, Madam, the primula you gave me has not yet leaf or flower; perhaps, it may have both." So saying, she bent lowlily, and moved to go, like a disciple from before the face of his prophet.

"Good-by," said Mary Austen, cheerfully, "now both of us to work. You to your needle, I to my pen, and depend upon it, diviner flowers will spring towards heaven, than what we even think of, or dream of; for charity, and love, and faith, within the heart of woman, have not yet accomplished the millionth part of their duty, nor scarcely yet foreshadowed their destiny in the progress of

the ages. Good-by-and God speed you." And with a lingering gaze on Mary's earnest face, for these last sentences she had spoken, as if partly addressed to herself, Lucy closed the door, and so began these women's service to humanity. For

I shall not linger over the months of this winter. hours before the break of day, for hours long after it was closed, the busy needle plied a ceaseless task; and it was not a weary one, for hope shone brightly at its end. The chamber too looked different than of old; though much could not be said for its cheerfulness, as such a small bit of fire burnt in the grate, as to convey a sense of coldness rather than warmth. But things were brighter at nighttime when the one dip candle was lit, and the curtain drawn across the window. As the weeks, however, went by, a new source of care and trouble arose; for as soon as it became known amongst Lucy's friends, all needlewomen, like herself, that she was in good and full work, than knowing her nature, and abject in their wretchedness, they came to beg and borrow, in the certainty that one who had found means to be kind in the hour of extreme poverty, would be so now when she had work to do, and they had not. And this fact of refusing a penny to human creatures, pleading for its gift or loan, as if for their life; or asking for a piece of bread, a candle, or a little coal, and that by those too who had often helped her in her own hour of need, were the hardest tasks of all, but Lucy recollected her promise to Mary Austen, who with her usual penetration, had foreseen this trouble, and guarded her against it. But the worst part of these daily trials was, what was soon said of her by those who had been to her in her own misery, sympathizing friends, or their averted glances, or angry looks, when they chanced to meet her at the huckster's shop, or on the staircase of the house in which she lodged. A few, however, knew her better than to dream that the narrow prosperity of the needle could change this woman's most womanly heart; and came only the oftener, when they once understood her motives, to listen to her hopeful speech, and helping her with hem or seam, or by cleaning up the room for her, so assist her to the best of their poor ability. It thus happened, as the pebble dropped into the stream widens its own circle, that Lucy Dean had many listeners; human creatures who came to her, to listen, to believe, to trust, just as she in turn had done; to return to their breadless, fireless homes, with hope re-born within their hearts, as from the icy hand of winter, the leaves and buds of Spring. Thus, as the woman plied her needle, and told the little which she knew of happier and newer lands, a Raphael would have seen within their earnest, bending faces, new graces for a New Maternity; for hope lives not within a woman's heart, without declaring its presence and existence, through those feelings, those expressions, those emotions, which Nature, truer and diviner than man's laws, has decreed shall be the sign of woman's great prerogative, as Mother of the World. (To be continued in our next.)

READING.

Reading is to the mind, what exercise is to the body. As by the one, health is preserved, strengthened, and invigorated; by the other, virtue (which is the health of the mind) is kept alive, cherished, and confirmed. But, as exercise becomes tedious and painful, when we make use of it only as the means of health, so reading is apt to grow uneasy and burthensome, when we apply ourselves to it only for our improvement in virtue. For this reason, the virtue which we gather from a fable, or an allegory, is like the health we get by hunting as we are engaged in an agreeable pursuit that draws us in with pleasure, and makes us insensible of the fatig es that accompany it.

under a broiling Egyptian sun, with nothing to do but grumble, hope, despair, and watch the countless manysailed windmills along the low coast, which almost twirled us mad; and at night we were told to get ready early the next day, for that the barge would come to convey us to the lazaretto. We had been subjected to the entire Beyrout quarantine.

from the natives who thus cherish them, the virus of ophthalmia.

"The next day we contrived to hire some mattresses to put on the floor; and these, with a light crate, or coop, made of palm-sticks, for a table, completed our furniture. We also got some dinner; but as it had to come some distance, everything was quite cold when it arrived; this, however, was of little moment. We made our toilets at a general stone tank in the yard, and then came back to grumble until it was time to be locked up in our cells; for, as I have said, there was no shade all day long in the yard, and the very air appeared to be chiefly composed of

"We were received by some hideous Arabs, who kept us at a respectful distance by long rods; and by them we were conducted to our prison. Passing several grated passages and high walls, we were introduced to a courtyard, surrounded by cell-windows, grated with massive iron bars. We were all thrust in together, Christians, Jews, and Mussulmen, and told that we might choose our cells. These were stone rooms, about ten feet square, perfectly bare and empty. A thin French priest who was with us, for some reason got a room to himself; but when I pictured his spare angular form lying upon the hard ground I shuddered. About myself I was less anxious on this point. I generally slept on deck on the Levant steamers, preferring that part to the crowded berths-crowded, too, with foreigners-and I had a thick capote. But still the place was so wretched and dismal, that when I sat down on my knapsack and looked about me, I felt sadder and more beaten down than ever I can recollect having done. There was nothing to be met with every where but lime-hot, glaring, half-slaked lime, that in itself, dazzling in the sun, was enough to give ophthalmia. We could see nothing from our window but a large hot grating, like the front of an immense wildbeast cage, and beyond this another, with the top of a hot lofty white wall for the horizon. A huge desiccated one-eye Arab shot some hot, tainted water from a goatskin into a hot tub, for our supply; and there were, beside, two hot tanks to be used for general washing. Finally, the very ground was a composition of hot lime; the hot smoke of the sanitary (?) fumigations almost choked us; and there was no shade anywhere.

"At noon we were allowed to write into the town for what we might require; and we also sent various letters to our respective Consuls, the Board of Health, and the Lloyd's agents. These were taken from us with long implements, something between scissors and steak-tongs, and then cut through and fumigated, as though we had been travellers for the diffusion of plague and cholera; but there was such delay in sending them, that we were thrown upon the liberality of one of our fellow-passengers, who had friends in the town, for a meal that night; and we made a supper from dates, bread, and questionable water. At six we were all locked up for the night, and we selected our beds upon the lime floor. But sleep was out of the question, and the Arabs kept up such a harsh and constant screaming, that we could do nothing but lie awake, turn from one side to the other, in the hope of finding an easy position, and think of horrible things, the fleas and mosquitoes continuing in full activity throughout the night; and with the first blush of morning the flies, who still remain one of the plagues of Egypt, came in swarms, and flew at once to settle in our eyes, according to their custom, bearing with them,

the transit steamer, and I was afterwards compelled to hire a private boat for the voyage to Cairo, which occupied six days from want of wind and the inundation stream, and swarmed with rats almost as large as kittens, spiders that led one at once to place credence to the full in the bird-catching powers of some of their race, cockroaches, fleas, and their more important associates, as well as mosquitoes, to whose stings clothes offered no protection. I began to think that the American traveller who covered his head with his hunting-kettle, and clinched the stings of these horrible insects with a hammer as they came through the copper, was unjustly laughed at for his narrative. Add to these the continuous croakings of millions of frogs, the howling of the dogs in the villages, and the jackals in desert places, with the squabbles of the eight Arabs who composed my crew; and then, with a tolerably clear conception of these miseries, you will not be able to form the least notion of what I endured. I am given to understand, however, that all these accompaniments are considered as so many novel and interesting variations by travellers on the Nile, and that, therefore, I should have been gratified by them, or at least have written to that effect.

"To return to the lazaretto. On the fourth day of our detention came a glimmer of hope and release. The doctor arrived to see us. We were ranged all in a row, and he walked backwards and forwards, smoking a cigar, and looking at us, as I have seen convicts inspected in the Houses of Correction at home. We then heard, that after all this wretched discomfort, the Board had argued our case, and that taking our voyage from Smyrna into consideration, we should be allowed pratique the next day. Our various applications had, I expect, but little to do with this. An accomplished dragoman, who was imprisoned with us, hinted that he believed a protest of our Turkish companions, showing that they would be too late for the grand ceremonies at Mecca, if detained longer, had been the most powerful instrument of our liberation. However, on the morrow, we were liberated."

NATURAL REPORTING.

Nature will be reported. All things are engaged in writing their history. The planet, the pebble, goes attended by its shadow. The rolling rock leaves its scratches on the mountain; the river its channel in the soil; the animal its bones in the stratum; the fern and leaf its modest epitaph in the coal. The falling drop makes its sculpture in the sand or the stone. Not a foot steps in the snow, or along the ground, but prints in characters more or less lasting a map of its march. Every act of the man inscribes itself in the memories of his fellows, and in his own manners and face. The air is full of sounds, the sky of tokens, the ground is all memoranda and signatures, and every object covered over with hints, which speak to the intelligent.Emerson.

THE more a man works the less time he will have to grumble about hard times.

So heavy fell the shadows

Upon the grey hill side,
Till bursting through the darkness,
Some golden sunbeams glide.
Then each far mountain summit,
Broke through its sable shroud,
And showed the "silver lining "
Which brightened every cloud.
Then, with deep tone, and earnest,
Thus spoke the inner voice,
"Let the strong truth of nature,
Bid thy sad heart rejoice;
When clouds of sorrow gather,
Thy cherished joys to hide,
Rest peacefully in patience

While Hope is at thy side.

"In waiting for the promise
Of the good time to be
In prayerfully upsoaring,

Till one bright ray we see.
In Love and Trust unfearing,

Though darkest gloom enshroud,
Look for the 'silver lining'

Which brightens every cloud."
ELIZABETH P. ROBERTS.

THE POOR CLOCKMAKER. ABOUT ten years since, there lived in Paris a celebrated culinary artist-M. Carême. Not only was he profoundly and scientifically skilled in all the mysteries of the cuisine, but he also possessed a cultivated mind, a lively imagination, and a warin, generous heart. "Why," he would say, "should there not be at the Institute a professor of culinary as well as of organic chemistry? Surely the former is neither less interesting nor less useful!"

This foible, if it can be called so, was that of regarding gastronomy as the first of the arts; meditating on the combination of a sauce, or pursuing the solution of a culinary problem, with all the seriousness and ardour of a Newton, when employed in investigating the laws of the universe.

Carême was a charming companion, and an exceedingly well-bred man. Wearing a gray hat, with his hands plunged in bis coat-pockets, he might be frequently seen on the boulevards, strolling, without much apparent object, save that of finding amusement in any passing incident.

One evening, having rambled near the boulevard of the Temple, he paused before a small, low, tumble-down house, with broken windows, and without a door. The aperture was partly shaded by a ragged red curtain, and an unintelligible daub, in the shape of a showman's painting. Carème peered curiously into the interior. No light was visible, although the evening was advanced. At length he perceived, at the farthest extremity of the room, a man seated, with his face buried in his hands. Hallo!" cried Carème, "is your exhibition to be seen, Monsieur ?"

66

Twice he repeated his question before the man seemed

So saying, Carême, gratifying at the same time his benevolence and love of adventure, entered the obscure den, and awaited patiently the return of its owner.

He soon appeared with a packet of candles in his hand. While he was arranging and lighting them, Carême observed that the poor fellow was eagerly, at intervals, biting a small loaf.

When the room was lighted up, the spectator saw before him a really splendid clock; its vast proportions, and the numerous and scientific combinations of its works, made it a most remarkable specimen of art. Carême understood mechanics, and was fully able to appreciate the ingenuity of the design.

While he was admiring in silence, and asking himself what great artist could have conceived and executed such a work, a crowd of little figures, exquisitely modelled, came forward and began to dance. Never did automata move with more truth or grace.

"Who is the author of this master-piece?" asked Carême.

"í, Monsieur," replied the man of the candles.

His visitor turned and looked attentively at the man whom, till then he had scarcely noticed. He saw that he was old, with long white hair escaping from beneath his broad-brimmed hat, and falling on his vest of coarse camlet. He wore large gaiters, and altogether his appearance was more that of a peasant accustomed to labour in the fields than of an accomplished mechanist. "You!" cried Carême.

"I," repeated the old man. "I spent forty years of my life in constructing that clock." "Alone?"

"Alone, Monsieur, without a master, without a model, without advice; alone-shut up during forty years. They said in our village that I was mad; and now I begin to think that perhaps my reason did suffer. I had just recovered from a bad fever; I was twenty years old; I lo ed and I was loved! I went to Strasbourg to buy some wedding presents for my intended bride; by chance I entered the cathedral, and saw the famous clock, which had been out of order for many years. I felt then as though something struck my brain, and I returned home so sad and downcast, that even my affianced bride was afraid of me. The next day I sold some little property that I had, and went to Strasbourg. On my return Í shut myself up, refusing to see any one but my mother, who wept, but let me do as I pleased. 1 applied myself to work. I had timber, tools, iron, brass, a forge, measures and books. During forty years I never once left my workshop. And no one knew what I was doing-no one but my mother--my poor mother, who used to come and sit beside me, and watch my work so sadly and so silently. However, Monsieur, after numberless failures I succeeded my idea was realized. The works movel-lived. I had finished my undertaking: now for fame and fortune! I rushed into my mother's chamber to make her a sharer of my joy. She lay on her bed: I seized her hand: it was cold as ice: God had taken my mother to himself!

"I went out to seek the curate. I no longer remembered the village street; its aspect was quite changed; old houses bad fallen down, and new ones been built. No one recognised me, save one stout, portly-looking woman, who was scated at a door, surrounded by her children. As I passed, she clasped her hands, and cried, André! André! can it be?' This was the affianced bride of my youth, whom I hd deserted for my great work.

"What remained for me but to leave my village, and