allowed a Christmas to pass without remembering her with some present would not be likely to come home empty-handed. What he would bring her, to be sure, she could not tell. But then that only made her excitement greater, for curiosity fanned the flame of expectation. James had written to say that he hoped, with the help of a good voyage, to spend New Year's Day in England. Already the younger boys were home for the Christmas vacation, but the joy of their return was in this instance less bright because of the exceeding brightness of the joy which the news of James' approach created. It was Christmas Eve. Mrs. Petrie had been relating to the children recollections of Christmas-days gone by. First, those in her father's house in Yorkshire; then one especially, which was notable for some unusual token of God's good providence and of her husband's love; and lastly, the birthday of her eldest-born, James; for he was born on a Christmas morning-sent, as Mr. Petrie used to tell his wife, just as the Blessed Saviour had been sent in baby-form, to secure their thought for the feeble, and to move their hearts to help the orphan and the oppressed at Christmas time. Then the children had gone into the kitchen, where the servants had set a train of games for their amusement; and Mrs. Petrie spent an hour of solemn, holy quiet in thinking of the promises and goodness of Him who is Infinite Husband to each sorrowing widow.

By and by Kitty was taken up to bed, to keep a rosy face for her brother James to see when he came home. The other children were seated once more around their mother, and the servant was attending to the locks and bars before retiring to rest, when the bell of the front door startled every member of the household with its wild clangour. The boys rushed impulsively into the lobby; Mrs. Petrie turned deadly pale; her sorrows had made her a little foreboding of evil. It was the boy from the telegraph office who had brought a message. James had reached Liverpool, was taking train for home, would be there at midnight. This was what had produced the flutter in the house, in the servants' hall, amongst the younger boys, and most of all in the mother's heart. Ready as everything had been made for his coming, there now seemed much to do, and each one was busy doing her best in putting the finishing touch upon the preparations.

The time flew almost unheeded by. The excitement of the telegram was beginning to give way to more solemn thoughts of the changes that had taken place in James' absence, when the rattling of wheels broke in upon the stillness of the night. The door was thrown wide open. The driver of the cab pulled up his tired horse, and in a moment mother and son were weeping on each other's neck. It was in this way that what Kitty Petrie expected to be New Year's gifts became her Christmas presents.

Maintained it might be turned to good account:

And so, perhaps, it might, but never was:— From first to last it was an evil place.

POLLOK.

K

ATIE DAWSON was the eldest of three children, her age about seventeen years. During the early part of her life she had been surrounded by every comfort and happiness which either this world could afford or she desire. Her father had been engaged in extensive commercial pursuits, but owing to a succession of serious disasters at sea, in which several of his ships had been lost, he was reduced from a position of affluence to one of comparative poverty. He was compelled to become a servant, though all his life long he had been surrounded by those who did his bidding. But though he was now poor he resolved that he would make any sacrifice and put himself to any amount of inconvenience rather than that the education of his children should be neglected. He knew that he would never be able to retrieve his lost fortunes, and he was quite as sure that his children would never be able to do so either if they were allowed to grow up in ignorance. "Learning is a better fortune than money," he many times said; "and now that I cannot leave my children worldly wealth, they shall have knowledge." He was, though poor, a sensible man; he knew well that unless his children were instructed in those things which would prove for their good, others might teach them ill, for no child goes entirely untaught.

Hence Katie Dawson received a very excellent education, much superior to that of the girls living in her own station in life. She was a good, kind-hearted girl, possessing some degree of common sense, but unfortunately a few grains of pride got mixed up with it. The school to which she went was the best in the town, and the daughters of the gentry and tradespeople were her school

fellows. Katie was always dressed neatly, but not near so well as the other girls; still, no distinction was made, at least in the school, on this account; she met and mixed with all the girls on terms of equality. In fact, Katie had such a genial and generous disposition that she was a general favourite in the school. But she had now arrived at an age when her parents thought it was time she left school and commenced to render assistance in the various duties. connected with the household.

Katie received this intimation with mingled feelings of joy and sorrow-of joy because her school days were past, of sorrow because of the duties she would doubtless have to perform. This was the source of unending grief to her. "There is Jane Calvert," she said to herself; "when she left school she had nothing to do but be a lady; when I leave school I shall have to work, and then they'll all look down upon me, and pass me in the street without noticing me." Her fears were to some extent realised, and this caused her great pain of mind and made her envious and dissatisfied with the humble home of her parents; but what could she do to help herself, seeing she was dependent upon them for everything she possessed? She fretted, she cried, she envied and got herself almost to hate her former school companions, and all because their parents were better off and had nicer homes than the one she lived in.

Katie looked at the surface and judged from outward appearances. She had to wear a cotton or stuff dress, whilst the girls she knew walked out in silk ones, and she thought how much happier was the lot of these favoured ladies than her own.

Poor, silly girl! to fret over that which

she could not help. Why did she not make the best of it? Why envy others, and thus make herself miserable? Had her own home no attractions? Had she not a kind, loving father and mother, who always welcomed her with a smile and a kiss, and who loved her dearly? And had she not an affectionate brother and sister? In short, was not her home as happy as home could be? She should have reflected upon the blessings she had, and not have brooded over those which were not hers.

But though Katie's school companions slighted her, there were two girls about her own age who displayed more kindly feeling and common sense, who called to see her, and invited her back to their home. These girls were Annie and Pollie Sinclare, the daughters of a wholesale tradesman in the town. They were nice attractive girls, and Katie loved them dearly, but she envied them their more fortunate social position, and wished her own parents could give to her similiar things to those which Annie and Pollie had, and it was to her an intense sorrow that she could not obtain them.

One morning Annie and Pollie had got the consent of their mamma to call upon Katie Dawson and to invite her to come and spend the afternoon and evening with them at their home, Belmont Villa. Katie, after asking permission, consented to go; but whether it afforded her the more pleasure or pain, it is hard to tell. She, however, arrived at Belmont Villa at the time appointed, and was greatly surprised at the

grand way in which the house was furnished. Annie took her into her own bed-room, to take off her hat and cloak, and whilst there showed to Katie many nice things, both of clothes and ornaments, which she said "are my own." Little did she think of the mental pain she was causing her friend Katie, for Katie's heart was full of envy and of grief that she could not own such pretty things.

As she surveyed the room she thought to herself, "How happy Annie must be ! A nice carpet on her bed-room floor-mine has none; beautiful curtains on her bed, whilst mine is bare; a large looking-glass and pretty pictures. How happy must Annie's life be !"

But if Annie's life was happy, Katie was using the right means for making her own life miserable, and when she was taken into the drawing-room she looked around at the beautiful pictures and splendid furniture, and wished she could have such a home, to be surrounded by so many luxuries. The more she saw the stronger she wished, and the greater became her dissatisfaction with her own more humble home. In a short time Katie's gloomy broodings gave way to cheerfulness. Whether this arose from the fact that Annie could not say, "These are mine," or whether it was Pollie's playing on the piano that produced this result, I know not; but this desirable result was brought about, and the three girls seemed as happy as happy could be. They were now summoned to tea.

OHN STANLEY was born in London, in the

year 1713. At the age of two years he became blind, and to him might be applied the lines of the poet Shirley

". . . Nature recompenseth the defects Of one part with redundance in another: Blind men have excellent memories, and the tongue, Thus indisposed, there's treasure in the intellect."

At the age of seven years Stanley began to learn music, in which he made such wonderful progress that he was placed under an eminent musician; and at the early age of eleven he obtained the situation of organist in one of the London churches. A biographer, in noticing his great capacity of observation, has written of him :

"He had so correct an ear that he never forgot the voice of a person he had once heard speak. An instance is given in which he recollected the voice of a person he had not heard for twenty years, who then accosted him in an assumed voice. If twenty people were seated at table together, he would address them all, in regular order, without their situations being previously known to him. Riding on horseback was one of his favourite exercises, though it would seem a very dangerous one for the

blind; and towards the end of his life, when he lived in Epping Forest, and wished to give his friends an airing, he would take them the pleasantest road, and point out the most agreeable prospects. He played at whist with great readiness and judgment. Each card was marked at the corner with the point of a needle, but these marks were so delicately fine as scarcely to be discerned by any person not previously apprised of them. His hand was generally the first arranged, and it was not uncommon for him to complain of the party that they were tedious in sorting their cards. He could tell the precise time by a watch. He knew the number of persons in a room when he entered it; would direct his voice to each person in particular-even to strangersafter they had once spoken; and would miss anyone who was absent, and could tell who that one was."

Stanley was not only a brilliant musician, but a composer of no mean order, and his productions evinced great taste and judg ment. In recognition of his great merits as a musician, Stanley was appointed Master of the King's Band of Musicians. He died in the year 1786.

"a little match, like other little things, may do great good or great harm. A good apostle once said, 'Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth! And now, as our fire is burning, I will tell you a story about a little match, and the good that it did. Far away down on the shore of the Bristol Channel stands a small fisherman's cabin. It is just far enough from the water