THE CHILD AND THE GORSE.

CHILD gathering field-flowers beheld one sunny

Aday

The glittering mountain-gorse bloom. At once she threw away

The violet and primrose fresh gather'd, fair and sweet, And cast them by the wayside to be trampled under feet. But hear! a cry of anguish from the disappointed child, Who clutch'd too eagerly the flowers whose golden light beguiled;

The prickly gorse was thickly set with sharp and cruel thorn,

And the bleeding fingers of the child with smarting wounds were torn.

Children of larger growth, do not too much this folly blame;

Think, with your secret well at heart, how much ye err the same.

How many let the simple flowers of God neglected fall, And, clutching Earth's false glittering flowers, lose hopes beyond recall

Grasping with eager avarice, with blinded heart and brain,

The gleams of gold their folly dreams must be life's highest gain.

Think ye your hands shall pass unscath'd the thorns such flowers beset?

Learn of the child who plucked the gorse and lost the violet.

ROWLAND BROWN.

MRS. LORIMER'S BABY.

(Continued from p. 167.)

E can find it a place in the bank, when it grows up,' meditated Mr. Lorimer; and it will be a great comfort to Amy, who has seemed lost since poor baby's death.'

So he smiled back at

his wife when he found her smiling over a pale little thing which she had dressed most tenderly in 'baby's' clothes; and to show her he took an interest in it, he told her about the bank plan.

'It is a girl, dear,' said his wife.

Mr. Lorimer was disconcerted, but Mrs. Lorimer never saw it; she was too happy with the child. But not a week had elapsed before he was as much pleased as

his wife with their new baby; it improved wonderfully with tender care and nursing, it smiled and even crowed: there was no talk now of what to do with it, it was the treasure and darling of the house.

There was no clue to its belongings, but

from its poor clothes when found it was supposed to belong to some one in humble life who would never want to claim it.

But this last conjecture was a mistake.

Not a month after the arrival of the baby, when Gerard and Regie had gone back to school, there came a letter from a hospital in London to say that a little girl of twelve years old lay dying there; she had had brain-fever, and now, since she recovered her senses, was always asking for her baby. Inquiries had been made, and from the account given by the girl it was supposed to be this identical child.

The Lorimers went up to London, nurse, and baby, and all; and with some distress of mind, lest she should lose her new treasure, Mrs. Lorimer went to the hospital.

There lay a pale little girl, who looked at her wistfully, and asked, 'Have you my baby? Did you take it out of the workhouse? Oh, thank you, kind lady.'

Mrs. Lorimer sat down by the bedside, and asked, Did you put the little thing in the wall?'

The girl nodded Yes,' it was hard for her to speak.

The doctor and some of the nurses came near, and they propped her up and got pen and paper and copied down what she said, for Mrs. Lorimer wanted to know all about her new baby.

'I'm Anna Lowndes,' said the little girl. 'We came to London to get work, father and mother and baby and I; father was a printer. We were in lodgings, work was scarce, and father took ill of fever, so did mother, and they both died. Mother gave

the woman we lodged with all her clothes and things, and she promised to look after us. But she was cruel, and when I fell ill, too, I heard her say she should keep me if I got better, as I could be useful, but she should send baby to the workhouse. This put me out dreadfully, as mother had made me promise always to stay by baby and look after it; so the first day I felt a bit stronger I got out of bed and dressed while the woman was out, and took baby with me. I meant to go far and far away, and beg kind people to take us in at night. I soon got tired though, and then I saw a sheltered wall where they were building a new house, and I crept in there to rest with baby; but she cried and was hungry, so I rolled her up as warm as I could and left her there, meaning to go and beg for a bit of bread and come back to her. But I got giddy in the street and fell down, and I can't remember any more, and they say you have my baby.'

This was little Anna Lowndes' story, fully borne out by the account of the policeman who found her, and the situation. of the spot where the baby was discovered.

'Did you want to know its name? father chose it, it is Margaret.'

And then little Anna's eyelids fell, and she began to murmur something about the cold and the workhouse, and every now and then she clasped her hands and seemed to be praying for something: her mind was wandering, and she fancied that she and the baby were running away from the cruel woman at the lodging-house.

For the few days that Anna lived Mrs. Lorimer constantly visited the hospital, bringing little Margaret with her. The poor girl had plainly been a good sistermother to the baby, and was even now dying from her efforts to do by it as her dead mother wished.

'Pray God don't let it go to the workhouse,' was her sad little cry, when her mind wandered; and then some kind nurse, or Mrs. Lorimer, if near, would try to tell the poor child that baby was safe in a new home, and would never more feel want or hunger as far as they could prevent it.

Little Anna's mind was quite clear at the last, and she died thanking Mrs. Lorimer for her kindness.

6

'I shall tell mother about you,' she said; and I shall see your baby too, up there.' For Mrs. Lorimer had told Anna about her little one in Heaven, and how baby Margaret was to fill its place.

Mrs. Lorimer has taken Margaret Lowndes quite for her own now; it is even called Margaret Lorimer; and Mr. Lorimer is very glad it is a girl, and need never. leave them, for she is growing up a most loving little maiden, the pet of the house, and the darling of every one who sees her.

Gerard and Regie exclaim every holiday at the beauty and cleverness of their tiny cousin,' and Mrs. Lorimer thanks Gerard every time for reading aloud that paragraph in the Times.

THE STAFF AND THE LANTERN.

BUT

(Continued from p. 164.)

UT we must not forget our two young friends who have gone on before. Amana and Bithiah are still together on their journey, but the deceiver has followed them. Because he failed before, he has changed his form, and appears now as a beautiful lady dressed in a robe of the most costly material. Her hair was knotted with pearls and diamonds, on her arms were bracelets of the most costly jewels, her fingers glittered with splendid rings, and her feet were encased in shoes of the finest gold.

Bithiah, who had never seen such splendour before, was dazzled exceedingly, and stood in silent admiration; but Amana did not care for the gay clothing, and rather disliked the look of the lady. She was beautiful, indeed, as wax-work, but there was no real sweetness of expression in her face; and there was a look, when he gazed at her, that made him rather shudder than admire her.

In a moment his staff and lantern were out, and he read, The lust of the eyes:' so he passed on quickly and would not tarry, for he read also on the staff, 'Avoid all appearance of evil.' He called to Bithiah, and warned her; but, poor child, she heard him not: she was so absorbed in conversation with the lady that she heeded nothing around her. The lady spoke of all her lovely dresses, of her mansion, of her splendid pictures, which she offered to show Bithiah; and as she talked she kept walking on, until she had led the little girl quite out of the path; nor until she got to the mansion of the deceiver did Bithiah see that she had strayed. When once there, she thought she might as well stay and see the dresses and the pictures, so she consented to be led into the different apartments.

The first robe she saw was of 'purple and

scarlet, decked with gold, and precious stones, and pearls.' This is a robe,' said her guide, which one of my greatest friends wears, and I lend it her to make her look beautiful in the sight of admiring thousands. Here is a beautiful sheep-skin of the finest and softest wool, made large enough to cover any wolf; and many a sheep has been snared and devoured by the wolf wearing this disguise.'

Bithiah now began to tremble; yet, most strangely, she was so absorbed that she forgot her staff and lantern, and used them nct. "May I see the Robe of righteousness?' said the child innocently.

The guide pretended not to hear, and told her she must now see the picturegallery.

'Here is the picture of happiness,' said the guide; and the scene painted was a gaily-decorated ball-room, with living and moving figures, dancing to the sound of most enlivening music.

'Are any of these dresses yours?' said the child.

Yes,' said the guide; many are borrowed from my wardrobe.'

Has any one there the Robe of righte ousness?' said Bithiah.

'Well, it you must know, I will tell you; but you will not think much of it. There, that lady with dark straight hair, dancing so slowly and talking so loudly, wears it, but I am ashamed of her; yet she is useful to me, and helps me to get a few new friends.'

'What!' said Bithiah, that woman with those filthy rags?'

"Yes,' said the deceiver; that is the robe you speak of.'

"O dear!' said the child; 'I thought it was beautiful, and bright, and lovely: and is that what I have so long looked for? And that man who wears the strange cloak