This letter reached Miles by the post that brought him one from Mrs Latham, giving him some commissions to execute for her on his way through London; and one from Walter, full of the delight that he and Amy felt in looking forward to his visit. Expecting no unusual news from home, he had indulged the impulse, natural in his circumstances, and read this letter first. He had even enjoyed some delicious day-dreaming before he opened poor Mary's. The revulsion of feeling was great; but there was no struggle between duty and inclination; they coincided. He wrote immediately to Mary, enclosing half a ten-pound note, promising that the other half should follow next day; told her to get wine, a nurse, everything that the invalids and she herself required; said that he would take a little time to consider whether he had better go home, or send the money that his journey would cost; and that he would consult Mrs Latham; assured Mary that he had never before known how much happiness money could give, and that he should feel not only bound, but delighted, to give his last farthing to add to the comfort of those who were so near and dear to him. He felt that a year previously he should have said, nearest and dearest. Next he enclosed Mary's letter to Mrs Latham, telling her what he had done, and asking what he had better do. That good and sensible woman shall speak for herself in her answer to him.

'MY DEAR MILES-The vicar and I, and indeed all of us, are truly sorry for the trouble in your family. For your sake, you know, we feel a particular interest in them. You have only done what we should have expected from you. It does not appear from your sister's letter that your mother is in danger; if she were, I should say, Go to her. I can guess that she would be too self-sacrificing to ask you to do it, even while her heart ached to think of dying without seeing you once more. She will, please God, recover; and as an extra servant would be far more useful than you can be, I recommend your supplying the funds for paying one, and keeping to your original plan for the holidays. Moreover, you might, as your sister says, take this fever, and so add to the family affliction. Let us hear again as soon as you have any fresh intelligence; and when you write, assure your father, mother, and sister of our warm sympathy. We all unite in love to you, and in wishing to see you soon.-Your affectionate friend,

SUSAN LATHAM.'

It is hard upon Miles,' said the vicar to his wife when they were alone; 'every farthing that he has saved will be wanted.'

True, my dear; but he could not do otherwise. We must have completely altered our feeling and opinion about him if he had hesitated.'

There is, nevertheless,' resumed Mr Latham, 'something to be said on the other side of the question. The sooner Miles becomes independent, the sooner can he help his family effectively. He can give a home to a sister or sisters-push on his brothers. All this is, to all human appearance, delayed for two or three years longer than might

have been calculated.'

Mrs Latham smiled inwardly, and thanked God silently that her husband's practice was in continual contrast to this cautious, timid talk.

It was a bright July morning. Mr-by courtesy, Dr-Thompson awoke with a sigh, and put on, with less than his usual alacrity, the white corduroy breeches, double-breasted, lemon-coloured kerseymere waistcoat, and myrtle-green coat with brass buttons, which had been his ordinary attire since he retired from his majesty's service by sea, to the varieties of country practice in the north of England. Down, Vic., down,' was the only notice he took of the morning greetings of his favourite bull-terrier; and no good

morning did he-as was his custom-say to the staid servant who brought his breakfast. He made a light and hasty meal; and sighed again when he mounted his clever little hack, to set out on his rounds. He had not gone far when a cheerful female voice saluted him with: 'Good-morning, doctor; you are taking it leisurely to-day. Are all your patients getting well in spite of you?' He turned to answer a lady of about his own age-forty-five, perhaps and of a certain similarity of appearance, stout, hearty, goodhumoured; behind, or rather defiant of the fashion as regards dress; and driving, unattended, a neat little brown cob. She seemed puzzled by his gravity, and half-seriously, half-jocosely asked: Why, what is the matter with you?'

The doctor was whimsical; liked, even in his rare moments of sadness, to tantalise; so he said: 'I am devoured by a useless wish, Miss Blenkinsop.' It was too bad of him, for he was perfectly well aware that Miss Blenkinsop knew him to be suspected of a hankering after her, and of being too timid to come to the point. He knew, moreover, that this was not the case; and he enjoyed seeing an involuntary change pass quickly over the lady's frank, firm countenance, as she rejoined: 'What is it? Are you sure it is useless?'

'You shall decide. I was wishing that there were no poor parsons.'

Amen! But what makes that wish uppermost in your mind just now? and why are you so unusually

serious?'

They will feel their mother's loss as little as possible, if their eldest sister lives. She is a wonderful creature. She has nursed her father and mother; she was with her mother to the last; kept the house in order, and managed everything; but I fear she will break down. With all her homely talents and virtues, she has the nervous temperament, and the tone of mind which feels most acutely; and she is not strong. She will go on uncomplaining till she drops.' 'How old is she?'

Only just nineteen.'

'Has she no one with her?'

The eldest brother, a fine young man, two years her senior, came two days ago, and he is an immense comfort; but she wants a female friend: they have no near relative who can come to them, and just now the only neighbours who could have been of any real use are away. Mr Stanton, who was recovering, is prostrated by this new blow; and there are those young things, alone with sickness, death, and poverty.'

The doctor's voice trembled. Miss Blenkinsop's honest eyes were full of tears, which she tried to hide, but in vain. She made a miserable show of wanting her handkerchief for her nose only; but it covered her forehead for a minute before she said: 'Are you going to the parsonage ??

The poor

'Yes; I stayed there last night till all that could be done was done; gave father and daughter a composing draught, and told young Miles to insist on their staying in bed till I came. I told him that I would make all arrangements, and exactly as I knew that his father, my old friend, would like them. fellow said he must remind me how little they could afford; and I quieted him by saying that I knew all about it. Now I shall take care that that good wife and mother is laid in her last resting-place as she ought to be; but there are other things I don't know how to manage, for I cannot bear to think of hurting Mary's feelings. They must have mourning; I am

"Yes, because you want to do everything yourself, sir; but do you not see the hand of Divine Providence in my meeting you? Here am I, a single woman without encumbrance, straying out to enjoy the weather, the very person wanted in that house of mourning. You must go on and tell that young Miles-by the by, is he not the man who behaved so well at that atrocious pedagogue's somewhere down in the south? I thought so tell him that a friend of yours, whom you can trust, is coming to take care of the household for his sister, till she's well. Meanwhile, I'll put up the pony, and dawdle about the garden till you call me in. Leave the rest to me. I had a father and mother of my own once.'

"God bless you!' said Mr Thompson, more cordially than he had ever spoken to her before. I see my way clearly enough now. What an owl I was not to think of you!'

Miles had not gone to bed: he had watched his father and sister fall asleep under the influence of the medicine; had looked at the younger ones, who needed no narcotic, and had then gone to sit by the Iside of his dead mother. There he wept long and freely; there he promised her that nothing not even his love for Âmy-should tempt him to leave undone anything that he could do for the benefit of those dear ones to whom she had been devoted, and for whom only she wished to live. He thought of all her patience, meekness, self-denial, love; and felt that he had never half appreciated, never at all repaid her. Then he said to himself: Life is nothingdeath is everything. Now, for the first time, do I realise what I am, and for what purpose sent into this world.'

Thus the night and early morning passed-he the only watcher in that silent house: then beginning to act in his new character, he called the servant, had the family prayers, the breakfast, and tried to interest and amuse the children according to their ages. He was glad when Mr Thompson came. He had known him from childhood, and had no reserves with him. With regard, therefore, to Miss Blenkinsop's offer, he owned that he shrank from exposing their narrow housekeeping to a stranger, especially to one who was accustomed to every comfort; but the bluff doctor said: 'My dear young friend, take my advice, and thank God for sending this good Samaritan. Your father and sister are incapable of acting. Absolute quiet of mind and body is indispensable for them. This good creature will come quietly in, put away her bonnet, send for her night-cap, and homely old servant, manage the dinner, the children, the everything that some one must do, and that a young man cannot do. I grant you that not one woman in five hundred is fit for such a delicate undertaking, but she is the very one. And now, Miles, not one word about money. All that ought to be done shall be done. Miss Blenkinsop and I divide the spoils that is, take all the expenses on ourselves. It will be a secret Your father has a right to all that his friends can do for him, and it is little enough compared with his devotion to them and his present trouble; so don't there's a good fellow-look overcome, and crush my fingers to pieces-I have hard work already to keep my own old eyes dry, and you and I must cheer up others, so I'll call Miss Blenkinsop in to help us.' He did so; and she and Miles grasped hands as if they had known one another for years; and she kissed the children, and asked Miles to see if Mary was awake, and to prepare her for making friends with her. He did it so well, that when, half an hour

between us.

later, Miss Blenkinsop went to Mary's bedside and laid her hardy cheek against the girl's pale thin one, Mary threw her arms round her neck, and cried and sobbed on her bosom so freely that she had no diffiThus, in that great trouble there came to that afflicted family help and comfort according to their need. Some of the neighbours said that it was hardly decent of Miss Blenkinsop to take possession of the house before Mrs Stanton was cold, and that Mr Stanton must have observed and been disgusted at such a dead set at him; but this did no harm.

Six weeks had passed slowly. Mr Stanton was recovering; Mary was meekly endeavouring to fill her mother's place; Miles had gone back to his school, accompanied on his journey by his next eldest brother, George, destined for Mr Smith's office. Miss Blenkinsop borrowed the little girls in turn to stay with her. The material position of the family was generally improved, but the elder members of it felt that they moved in a new world. Miles said he felt old. There was so much incident crowded into his last two years and a half.

The Lathams had watched him with intense interest and increasing esteem. His ready sacrifice of self at a time when he had the strongest possible temptation to be worldly-wise, his perfect freedom from regretful after-thought, his unimpaired hopefulness and resolution so worked upon the vicar, that he told his wife he could never know a man to whom he would so willingly give his darling child, and that he hoped he would succeed as he deserved. Mrs Latham remarked that he had fully justified her good impressions of him. Amy was shy of talking about him to any one but her mother; to her she had expressed freely all her sympathy in Miles's sorrow, all her admiration of his conduct; with her she had discussed his prospects. God is sure to reward his filial piety,' said Mrs Latham; and we shall see, perhaps, that the very circumstances which seem against him tend to his advantage.'

I hope so,' replied the Little Rosebud heartily, and that nothing will prevent his coming for the Christmas holidays. It will be a year since he was here before, and then we were not so happy as we ought to have been: first, that dreadful business at Mr Parker's was fresh in our minds; and next, we were all sorry that Miles was going away.'

'A gentleman wants to see master, ma'am,' said the servant entering; and if master's out, he'll be glad to speak to you.'

'Who is it, Jane?'

'I don't know, ma'am ; and when I asked his name, he said you did not know him, but I might give you this card.'

On the card was engraved 'Captain James Jackson, ship Maria, London.'

Shew him into the study, Jane. Say that your master is out, but that I will come.'

A tall, slight man of sixty or thereabouts, prepossessing in appearance, turned from the study window at the sound of Mrs Latham's footstep, and, colouring, said: 'I am sorry, ma'am, to find that Mr Latham is out, for I wished particularly to see him. Probably, however, you can give me the information I come to ask. And I am sure you will pity me when I tell you that I am the only surviving relative of poor Mrs Parker who was so barbarously murdered in this town ten months ago. He paused, overcome, then continued: 'She was, in fact, my sister.'

'I expect the vicar presently, Captain Jackson; but till he arrives I will with pleasure answer as fully as I can any questions that you like to put, and it cannot be necessary to say that I sympathise deeply with you. Pray, sit down.'

'I am the master,' said Captain Jackson, of a barque trading between the West Indies and London.

I maintained no regular correspondence with my poor sister: I was, in fact, displeased with her for marrying that rascal. I always distrusted him; this led to reserve between poor Margaret and me. First of all, she was angry, and, lastly, no doubt the poor thing preferred keeping her trouble to herself. On my last voyage home, however, my mind was much occupied about her in a way that I could not explain, and I determined to come down and see my sister as soon as my business would permit. Indeed, I thought of retiring from the sea, and if I found things better than I expected at Parker's, of offering to spend the remainder of my life with them. I have money, and I do not intend to marry. I came to London three weeks ago, discharged my cargo, and was considering whether I would take Margaret by surprise, or write to her first, when I got this piece of old newspaper, wrapped round a pound of tobacco. Look at it."

He laid his face on his hands, and sobbed while Mrs Latham read the paper. It contained a narrative, substantially true, of the circumstances which led to poor Mrs Parker's death. Mrs Latham was deeply moved, and had not recovered herself sufficiently to be able to speak when Captain Jackson resumed: 'It was such a blow as a man can never wholly recover, and for a while I felt stunned, and did not know what to do. God forgive me! I was comforted to find that Parker was transported. At first, I wished him hanged. I felt that if the law had not caught him, I must have hunted him, and broken every bone in his worthless body. Then I felt a longing to know who took care of that poor soul in her dying moments, and if she left any message, and so on. So I came down here last night, meaning to ask questions at the son, but I found I could not do it without breaking down, and a man doesn't like to shew his feelings to every one. I looked at the paper again, and saw that the "vicar and his wife rendered every attention to the sufferer," and I made up my mind to come here, and I'm right glad I did. God bless you!' He concluded warmly, for Mrs Latham was weeping, and her tears comforted him.

Gently and feelingly, she told him all the sad story that his sister had not suffered much or long after the dreadful blows inflicted by her husband -that she forgave him fully-tried to extenuate his guilt, and sent him a message exhorting him to repentance and hope that she had mentioned a seafaring brother, and said she was sure that if he lived he would come some day to make inquiries about her; that she had hoped Mrs Latham would fall in with him, and give him her fond love, some of her hair, and some articles she mentioned. She had, from weakness, pronounced his name so indistinctly that Mrs Latham could not catch it; but she had kept his legacies carefully, in hope of being able to give them to him some day. In fact, Captain Jackson, I felt deep regret that I had not known your sister intimately. All that I saw of her during her last few days, and all that those last dreadful circumstances revealed of her patient endurance, and conscientious discharge of duty, inspired me with cordial respect and regard for her; but we had always felt that her husband was not a person with whom we could be intimate, and we had no idea how different she was.'

will take you there, and leave you, if you like, but I hope you will return and spend the evening with us.' He thanked and followed her. She had judged correctly that he would like to be alone, and it was more than an hour before he came back. By that time, Mrs Latham had put her husband in possession of his history, and he met him with genuine kindness. Gradually the vicar told him every detail of the dreadful outbreak at Parker's, and Miles's conduct naturally attracted Captain Jackson's attention. What has become of that young man?' he asked. He behaved well, and I should like to help him on in the world, if he needs it.'-Miles's simple story was soon told. So the young gentleman wants to go to college, and has not the money,' said he; I should like to see him. Where is he?'-He was told.-'I suppose there would be nothing odd or unpleasant in my calling on him?'

Certainly not,' said the vicar. But it may modify your plans to know that we expect to have him with us early next month. He is to spend the Christmas holidays with us; and if you can make it convenient to come to Dulford during his visit, we shall be happy to make you mutually acquainted.'

'Thank you, sir; I will think of it; and, if you allow me, will write to you. My intention is to sell my share in my barque, and resign the command. I have worked hard, and acquired ample means to live in comfort for the rest of my life. I am too confused as yet to decide where I will settle. I have no near ties, and it is as yet a matter of doubt with me whether I should like to live near poor Margaret's last restingplace. I cannot tell yet whether it would soothe or madden me to see daily the house where she suffered so much, and died so sadly. At one moment, I fancy I should like to live in it; at another, I feel as if I could not bear to pass by it.'

Christmas-eve, and a bright, frosty, sunny, sparkling one; but it brought sadness to Stanton parsonage, where the sweet wife and mother had been, and was not. Not, however, hopeless sadness; they believed that she was happy, and felt that they had much to live for. Dr Thompson and Miss Blenkinsop have invited themselves, and they will take no refusal. They are to come to a one-o'clock dinner: she is to stay till after New-year's Day; he is to sleep at home, for fear a patient should want him, but he is to dine as often as he can at the vicarage. It is no secret that he is to be married soon to Miss Blenkinsop. The gossips say now that she knew better than to set her cap at a poor parson with a large family, that she has done well for herself, and that some people's luck is wonderful. She says herself that the doctor and she are a couple of old fools, but that there have always been old fools as well as young ones, and she supposes that there always will be. mother to Mary and all that young family, and a valuable friend to their father.

She is a

There is great joy at Dulford vicarage. Miles is expected before five; the vicar is roused from his usual placidity; Walter is wild; Mrs Latham and Amy have got everything ready. Such a neat little bedroom! Such beautiful holly and ivy in the hall, and, indeed, wherever it can be put! The mincemeat and cakes are a complete success; there is no doubt what the pudding will be. The poor people's good and comfortable things have been given to them, and Amy goes to her own little nest to dress. She is to put on a white muslin frock with a scarlet sash. She is not long, and there are some minutes to spare. She sits down to think. Will Miles be as glad to come back as he was sorry to go away? She thinks he will. She feels still the firm clasp of his hand-he is not a changeable character: what should she do if he were! She will not think of it; she only hopes she shall not cry for joy when he comes-it would be silly. Mamma comes

down; she says the coach is late, and that it always is when one expects any one. There it is. Two minutes more, and Miles holds both Amy's hands, and they who parted in suppressed sorrow have met in frank gladness. Miles says something rapidly, which meets no ear but Amy's; she hears the words: 'My own, own darling!'

The little loving heart must then have overflowed in tears but for the unexpected appearance of Captain Jackson. There he was behind Miles, looking thoughtfully and kindly at her. He turned, and said to her father: 'I have to explain and apologise for my abrupt reappearance, Mr Latham; and, if you please, I will do so in another room.'

'Get rid of your greatcoat first, and warm yourself, and have some tea,' said Mrs Latham. 'We cannot separate again directly we have all met. We have not looked at Miles yet, and I want to see if he is altered, and to ask how he is.'

Her husband was equally cordial; and Captain Jackson acquiesced gladly. I must, however,' said he, relieve my mind by telling you that I found I had not patience to wait to make Mr Stanton's acquaintance here, so I went to Leyburn a few days ago, and I have used my time there so well that he has promised to be my son. His familiarity with the last two years of poor Margaret's life makes him especially interesting to me, and I know enough of his character to believe that intimacy will but draw us closer, if he will bear with any oddities that advancing years bring. I have often thought that they come out on old people as knots do on old trees, so I expect my share.'

I hope and think,' said the vicar, that you and Miles are fortunate in each other, and that thus, in a totally unlooked-for way, joy will come from your poor sister's sorrows,'

Every one can imagine that happy tea-party; and most readers can guess the tenor of the private conversation that followed.

Captain Jackson began it by saying that he had not yet decided where he would live; that there was no hurry about it; that his judgment would be better when his feelings were calmer. But Miles was to go to college next term; and meanwhile, after his visit to the parsonage, was to go and see his family, that they might be cheered by his good-fortune. There is, however, more to be discussed,' he said: 'Miles told me candidly of his attachment to your sweet daughter, and of your sentiments about it. Now, I will venture to ask you whether, his prospects being now good, you object to their being engaged? I confess that it would make me happy.'

The vicar fidgeted and looked at his wife, but she knew that the decision ought to come from him, and was silent. His voice trembled a little as he said: Time and observation of Miles Stanton's character have materially modified my feelings; and though it costs me a pang to promise my darling to any one, I feel that I could not hope to keep her with me always, and I confess that I think she is fortunate to have secured the affection of so worthy a young man. I give them my blessing, stipulating only that they shall not marry before Miles has taken his degree, and that we shall never be more than six months separated from our child. Do you agree with me, Jane?' 'I do,' replied Mrs Latham firmly; and now, let us go back to them. You must spend your Christmas with us, Captain Jackson. We have another spare room.'

Lovers' confessions were never intended to be public. After an early conversation with the vicar on Christmas morning, Miles asked Amy to take a walk with him after church; and before they returned, they had promised to be faithful to each other till death.

Three years afterwards, they were married, and happy.

JEWELS.

FLOWERS of the inner Earth, that never fade,
But bloom unchanged for centuries unseen,
In radiance born of darkness, and yet made
To double daylight's sheen;

Mysterious children of Earth's hidden deeps,
Strangers to sun, and stars, and crystal sphere-
Some wondrous secret life within you sleeps,
That hath no symbol here.

I see a quiv'ring strife within you waged,

A heart of light convulsed in chained control, As though within the adamant were caged A struggling new-born soul.

The Diamond, in its restless rainbow blaze,
With essence of th' unquiet Aurora filled;
The Ruby, in whose core of focused rays
The sunset is distilled;

The steadfast Emerald, with her planet-light,
Like Earth in summer sunshine all attired;
The Sapphire, shrine of truth, keen, pure, and bright,
With Heaven's own light inspired;

The Carbuncle, in whose volcano-heart

Has Mother-Earth instilled the fearful blood That cries to Heaven for vengeance, till it start To judgment in a flood;

Pearls, sad as frozen tears upon a shroud,

And pallid as the spectre-moon by day;
The Opal, fraught, like tender morning-cloud,
With shifting tint and ray;

The golden gleaming Topaz, that hath caught
A struggling sunbeam in its heart of rock;
The Gem, whose tint from glacier-depths seems brought,
The living spring to mock-