was at first taken into his employment to sweep the shop, but he afterwards rose so

high in the esteem of his master that he

became not his servant but his friend. In

after years he married the goldsmith's only daughter, and became master also of the great shop. He grew richer and richer. His wealth, it is said, was untold, and he was courted by persons of the highest rank; but in his old age fortune frowned upon him-he lost as rapidly as he had gained. He became poorer and poorer, till he could no longer support himself, when he entered the Charterhouse as one of its pensioners.

QUILL.

And now another picture, children dear. Come, come along; with me you need not fear: A dark foul court; a damp and wretched

room,

No ray of sunshine penetrates the gloom,
No carpet on the bare and dirty floor,
No handle to the worn and rotten door,
No curtain to the window, and no tea;
No chair, my dears, nor even stool, you see.
A little figure, on a poor straw bed,
With racking pain within the little head:
There's no one with him-he is quite alone;
His mother is away all day from home.
And he lies there, this patient little man,
With no good things to eat, no bread, no jam:
But he is happy, for he hopes to go

Where children sing the Saviour's praise,

and so,

gloom,

He treads the pathway to an early tomb.
But when he stands within the 'Better Land'
He may be foremost in the angel band,
For both to children rich and children poor
The Saviour opens wide His golden door.
Meantime, my children, if your paths be
spread

n flowery pastures, where you love to tread,
Think of the little ones who know no joy,
And help them to the gold without alloy :
Let them Christ Jesu's loving message see-
Suffer the little ones to come to Me.'
ANNIE PRESTON.

AMONG LIONS.

(Continued from page 243.)

ALICE had wondered openly to her father

why that big Selina Gregg chose to sit ith the little ones, when the least of them ould answer better than she could, and she ad half pitied, half despised, the heavy, tupid girl, as she thought her.

And now Death, the leveller, had come, nd Alice, with eyes from which a veil had

been rent, saw Selina, the faithful servant, called away from her work to hear the 'Well done!' of a loving Master, while she was left to battle awhile longer with the enemies that so often got the better of her: the world, the flesh, and the devil.

Sickness is no accident, but a messenger from God, and as such Alice Swayne received it. She had not strength for much thought, much resolve, the day she heard of Selina Gregg's death, but bit by bit she

thought her life over, and prayed for help to resist her besetting sin, self-will, which had already brought so much suffering on herself and others. And then she set a watch on herself, lest by any means her adversary should get the better of her in these new days of bodily weakness, and the first good thing her watch did was to stay her lips from asking more about the fever and its victims. It was evident, for some reason or other, that her father did not wish her as yet to talk to him of this; and though Alice would greatly have liked to question her nurse, her sense of honour would not allow her to do so.

It seemed a little matter to begin on, but to Alice, who knew every face in the village, it was a self-denial. Words spoken in her presence, allusions to a state of things which did not exist when she fell ill, all made her aware that there had been change, if not loss, going on around her, and as life and natural curiosity returned. to her it was a struggle to keep silence.

She made no opposition now to being sent from home, though the plan was even more disagreeable to her than before, since she could not be with her brother and sisters for fear of infection, and even Miss Dawkins could not be spared to accompany her, as Miss Brett had taken the fever.

So Mr. Swayne told his child as he sat with her one evening. The fever had now raged in Moor for five weary weeks, and showed no sign of abatement, while the heat was so excessive that those in health

felt depressed and weak. It was quite necessary to get Alice to the sea as soon as she could be moved, Dr. Darell said; so arrangements had been made to place her with an elderly woman, once housekeeper at the Manor House in Moor, who had a pretty cottage on the Lancashire coast, and let two or three rooms in the summer.

An under-housemaid, who had suffered from the fever too, was to be her attendant, and Mr. Swayne intended to spare a day to take them to their new quarters.

Poor Alice! it sounded like banishment from all she knew and loved. Even the description of the bold sea and the fresh breezes did not revive her, but she tried to look hopeful, though the voice was very feeble and troubled that asked.

'You'll write to me, father, as often as you can, and send Miss Dawkins when she can be spared; she must want change more than I do. Where is it, father? and how do we go,--through Manchester? That is where Bell said she came from.' The voice grew more cheerful and interested.

Poor little Bell!' said Mr. Swayne, 'we have hardly had leisure to think of her. I wonder where she is now? The woman promised to write and tell me, if I could do anything for her.'

'Father,' said Alice, 'I'll keep my eyes open while I am away, because, you know, Mr. Pottinger's show may travel anywhere, and it would be so nice to see Bell again."

'Do, dear,' said Mr. Swayne, glad of anything that could keep his little girl's thoughts away from Moor and its troubles, while she was unable to do anything to relieve them.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE dreaded visit to the sea turned out a great pleasure. Alice rapidly regained health and strength, and was able to enjoy rambles among the delightful sand-hills and on the shore at Littleby. The bracing air, the blue sky, the smiling world, she wanted nothing else at first but to enjoy them, and it was a question whether she or her maid Helen made the quickest progress towards perfect recovery.

Littleby was the sweetest spot in the

world, Alice wrote to her father: so retired; you could do all day as you liked; their cottage was the most comfortable and the prettiest ever seen, and Mrs. Holmes, their landlady, was kindness itself; in short, Alice had fallen in love with her, and liked nothing better than enticing her into the front parlour for a chat. Poor thing! she was so alone in the world-had no relations at all to visit her or care for her.

Mrs. Holmes in return liked her inmates, and was flattered by Alice's interest in her recollections of the days when she was young and lived at the Manor, and the years following when she and her good man kept an upholsterer's shop in Manchester.

Manchester again! Alice pricked up her ears at the sound.

'There is a little girl, a poor child, who thinks she was born in Manchester,' said Alice: you wouldn't know anything about her, I suppose?'

'Bless your dear heart,' said Mrs. Holmes, 'there are thousands of poor children in Manchester, and it's ten years and more since I set foot in the place;' and then the poor old lady sighed, and her bright eyes grew misty.

Alice often wondered who those eyes reminded her of, they were so bright and lively usually, but then they belonged to a very sprightly old lady.

She considered awhile, and then said,'Mrs. Holmes, if you wanted to find a person out in Manchester, what should you do?'

'Ask the police,' said Mrs. Holmes. "I know an Inspector that would rummage the place over for me.'

'But suppose the person isn't there?' said Alice. Oh dear, you can't understand what I mean: it's this little girl, I want to find out if she was born in Manchester, and who her parents were.'

And has she nothing left belonging to them that she may be known by? for I reckon she's one of those little castaways who lost their home too early to remember.'

Yes, it's just that,' said Alice; and I don't think she's got anything unless it's a necklace belonging to her mother.'

'Ay, and a string of beads won't tell much,' said Mrs. Holmes.

That evening was wet, and the landlady looked into the front-room to see how Alice was amusing herself.

'Come in,' said Alice; 'I'm writing to father, but my letter is nearly finished, and I want you to go on with your story. You had just set up shop in Manchester, you know. It's like having a new book without the trouble of reading, isn't it, Helen?' she asked of the girl, who was sewing by the window.

Helen agreed to this, and Mrs. Holmes, much flattered, sat down as invited. (To be continued.)