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GREAT GUNS AND KNITTING-NEEDLES.

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at the Battery gave a response for the old Thirteen-a pledge that not one of them should be wanting in the contest.

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"The bells will ring for an hour yet," said Marion as the last report died away, so you may as well sit down and listen at your leisure. Poor Mary Laton! how can she bear all this? Her oldest son was killed in the engage ment. Well, I must go. How lovely you look, child! these guns have put colour in your cheeks, try and keep it for your visitors-oh no, you will not see them. Poor child! and dear child, and every kind of a child that ever was well-beloved, good bye." And giving Rosalie a half dozen kisses, Miss Arnet quitted the room.

When little Hulda next awoke she found Martha keeping watch at her bedside.

Not indeed keeping watch of her,-for Martha's eyes were intent upon four long shining knitting-needles that were kicking about at a great rate; while below them depended a short worsted cylinder of clouded blue yarn. "What are you doing, Martha ?" said Hulda.

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Massy! child, how you scar't me! and made me drop a stitch into the bargain. Why, I'm a knittin'-didn't. you never see nobody knit afore ?"

"Oh yes, but not such a looking thing as that," said Hulda disapprovingly. "What is it ?"

"It's a firstrate lookin' thing, I can tell you," said Martha-" firstrate feelin' too. It's a mitten.'

"What's a mitten ?" said Hulda, who being a young lady convalescent and at leisure was well disposed to ask questions.

"Don't you know?-them things people wears on their hands. It aint a glove, but it kivers a person's hand just as well-some folks thinks better."

“Oh, I know now," said Hulda-"it's like a little bag with a thumb to it.'

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"Well I s'pose it does look considerable like that," said Martha, knitting away with renewed energy.

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Only a bag is shut up at one end-" said Hulda doubtfully.

"A thing can't be finished till it's done," said Martha sententiously.

Hulda looked on for awhile in silence.

"Is that little hole for the thumb to come out of ?" "For nothing else," said Martha.

"But who are they for?" said Hulda,-"that is too big for you."

I

"La sakes, Hulda, you aint waked up, be you? guess it'll be some time afore I want mittens to sew in. These is for the militie."

"The militia ?" said Hulda.

mittens."

"Why they don't want

"Don't they though ?-then you know more about it than Tom Skiddy, for he says his hands gets awful cold sometimes, mornings. And you see, Hulda, the paper says the ladies up to Newburgh and Hudson, and along shore there, has been knittin' their fingers off; and sent I do' know how many pairs of socks and mittens-six hundred I guess, more or less-up to the Governor for the militie; and there was printed thanks to 'em in the paper, so I don't see why folks here mustn't do nothing."

66 Oh yes, Rosalie told me about that," said Hulda. "But she said those were for the soldiers away offsomewhere where it's very cold."

""Taint cold here, I s'pose," said Martha,-"we don't have to make fires in these parts."

"But it isn't so cold as some other places."

"La, child, so long's fingers gets froze, it don't make much odds about the theometer. And fingers can get froze in this town o' York-Tom Skiddy says so.'

"You like Tom Skiddy very much, don't you?" said Hulda.

"He aint so bad he couldn't be worse," replied Martha, when her head had taken two or three turns as if her mind were balancing as well.

"But isn't he very good to you?" pursued Hulda.

"Good to me!" said Martha with a gyration of more dignity," he aint got quite so far as that yet. Once in a while I'm good to him,—and he's pretty good to himself. That's about the state of the case. Only I may as well give the mittens to the first militie-man that comes handy; instead of sending 'em off to nobody knows who, nor whether they'd fit."

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SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

Hulda looked on again thoughtfully.
"Thornton don't wear mittens," she said.

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"I can't see why poor folks should lose their fingers because the Capting buys yaller gloves," said Martha. And inspired by the freezing fingers hers flew the faster. "How very quick you knit!" said Hulda.

"Don't I, though!" said Martha-" as quick as most folks. I always was spry. And you see, Hulda, I'll put blue and white fringe to the top; and the way they'll keep Tom Skiddy's fingers warm,'ll be a caution."

CHAPTER VII.

The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere
Each vapour that obscured the sunset's ray,
And pallid evening twines its beamy hair

In duskier braids around the eyes of day;
Silence and twilight, unbeloved of men,

Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen.-Shelley.

Ir was Sunday afternoon; and unlike most perfect things, the daylight lingered; and a fair specimen of winter drew slowly to its close. The last sunbeams played persuasively about the hard-featured city, as if to draw and lead its attention towards the great light of the world; even as had the light of truth that day touched some hearts that slowly moved off beyond its reach.

Little Hulda sat in her sister's lap by the parlour fire; sometimes putting forth simple questions and remarks in a very unostentatious way, and sometimes silently following her sister's eyes, as they gazed upon the fire or looked out into the darkening light. At the window, half withdrawn within the curtains, sat Thornton. He had but just come in, and seemed not to have brought his mind in with him, for his attention was given undividedly to the street. At least it seemed to be; but from a certain moody aspect, from the gloomy air with which he now and then nodded to a passer-by, his sister judged that his thoughts were busy not only within doors, but within himself. Neither pleasantly nor profitably

she thought, it was more like the clouds which cover up the day than the darkness which precedes it.

Afraid that he should think she was watching him, her eye came back to the fire and then down to the little face on her breast. Hulda was observing her very anxiously, but the anxiety broke away and a smile came.

"Are you tired, Alie?" said the child, stroking her face. "A little."

"Were you out this afternoon?" said Thornton, abruptly turning his head.

"No-I stayed with Hulda."

"You were not with Hulda when I came in ?" "No."

"Where then ?"

"Oh, with some scholars who are older and know less," said Rosalie.

"In other words, with your kitchen Bible-class," said Thornton in a way which gave the adjective its full effect. She bowed her head slightly, but without looking at him, and answered, "Even so."

Her brother eyed her for a minute, and then said more softly

"What do you do so for, Alie ?-it's too absurd, and wrong. Tiring yourself out as if you were not possessed of common sense."

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'Why, you declared yourself 'tired out' yesterday," said his sister, smiling.

"But I had been amusing myself-taking my pleasure." "And I have been taking mine."

"Nonsense! Do you expect me to believe that you like to hear bad English and worse Theology if it is only kept in countenance by the kitchen dresser ?"

Not Theology at all," said his sister, "only the Bible; and that is sweet English to my ear, always. And if it were not- -Thornton, you would have liked to bear a hand in the destruction of the Bastile ?"

"off on some unpur

"There you are!" said Thornton; suable tangent. The most impossible person to argue with I ever saw!" and his head turned to the window again. "I haven't said any hymn to-night, Alie," said little Hulda.

SUNDAY EMPLOYMENTS.

"Well, dear, it is not too late.”

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"Oh no," said Hulda, "but I haven't learned any new one."

"Then tell me one of the old."

Hulda considered awhile, and began very slowly and distinctly.

"Little travellers Zionward,

Each one entering into rest,
In the kingdom of your Lord,
In the mansions of the blest;
There, to welcome, Jesus waits-
Gives the crowns his followers win-
Lift your heads, ye golden gates!
Let the little travellers in!

"Who are they whose little feet,
Pacing life's dark journey through,
Now have reach'd that heavenly seat
They had ever kept in view?
'I from Greenland's frozen land;'
'I from India's sultry plain;'
"I from Afric's barren land
'I from islands of the main.'

"All our earthly journey past,
Every tear and pain gone by,
Here together met at last,
At the portal of the sky!
Each the welcome 'Come' awaits,
Conquerors over death and sin!'
Lift your heads, ye golden gates!
Let the little travellers in !"

Rosalie had listened with her face bent down and resting upon the child's head; drinking in the words with double pleasure from those little lips, and blessing God in her heart for the life and immortality so clearly brought to light, so simply put forth within the reach of a child's faith. She glanced towards her brother, but the moodiness was greater than ever.

"What makes you sigh, Alie ?" said Hulda, looking up, "Don't you think that's a pretty hymn ?"

"I do indeed. But, Hulda, who are these little travellers ?"

"You told me-the children that follow Christ." "And what does that mean ?"

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