anxious. The boy was always home in good time. He crept round again to his neighbor's.

"I'm gettin' feart about him," he said: "he's niver been sae late's this."

"Hoot, awa' wi' ye! he'll be doon, maybe, at the bathin' wi' the lave, but I'll gang doon the village wi' ye, an' we'll soon fin' the laddie."

She hastily put her bonnet on her head, for the night air was cold, and they both stood together outside the cottage.

He clutched her arm. What was that? Through the still night air, along the dark street, came the sound of muffled feet and hushed voices, as of those who bore a burden. With blanched face the old man tried to speak, but he could not. A fearful thought came upon him.

They are coming nearer. They are stopping and crowding together, and whispering low. The two listeners crept up to them; and there in the middle of the group lay Tammy dead drowned.

With a loud shriek, "Tammy, my Tammy!" the old man fell down beside the body of his son.

They carried both in together into the little room behind the shop, and went out quietly, leaving one of their number who volunteered to stay all night.

The shoemaker soon revived. He sat down on one side of the fire, and the man who watched with him sat on the other. The kettle was soon on the fire, and he watched its steam rising with a half-interested indifference. Then at times he would seem to remember that something had happened; and he would creep to the side of the bed where the body lay, and gaze on the straight, handsome features and the bloodless cheeks, quiet and cold in death. Tammy, my man; my ain Tammy, speak to me ance- jist ance I'm awfu' lonesome-like." Then the watcher would lead him quietly to his seat by the fire; and there they sat the whole night long, till the stir of the outer world aroused them..

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The school is filled with happy, pleasant faces. The prize day has come. There stands the minister, looking very important, and the schoolmaster very excited. The prizes are all arranged on a table before the minister, and the forms for the prize-winners are before the table. And now every thing is ready. The minister begins by telling the parents present how he has examined the school, and found the children quite up to the mark; and then he ad

dresses a few words to the children, winding up his remarks by telling them how at school he had thought that "multiplication is a vexation," &c., but that now he found the use of it. And then the children laughed, for they heard the same speech every year; but it made the excitement greater when they had the prizes to look at, as they shone on the table in their gorgeous gilding, during the speech. And now the schoolmaster is going to read out the prize-winners, and the children are almost breathless with excitement, you might have heard a pin drop, when from the end of the room, a figure totters forward, the figure of an old man, white-headed, and with a strange, glassy look in his eye. He advances to where the children are sitting, and takes his place amongst them. Every one looks compassionately towards him, and women are drying their eyes with their aprons. The schoolmaster hesitates a moment, and looks at the minister. The minister nods to him, and he begins the list. It is with almost a saddened look that the children come to take their prizes, for they think of the sharp, bright, active playmate who was so lately with them; and they gaze timidly towards his father who sits in their midst. "Thomas Rutherford," reads out the master, "gained the prize for arithmetic.”

"I'll tak' Tam's prize for him. The laddie's na weel. He's awa'. I'll tak’it;" and the shoemaker moved hastily up to the table.

The minister handed him the book; and, silently taking it, he made his way to the door.

A quiet old man moves listlessly about the village. He does nothing, but every one has a kind word for him. He never walks towards the river, but shudders when its name is mentioned. He sits in his workshop often, and looks up expectantly when he hears the joyous shout of the boys as they come out of school, and then a look of pain flits across his face. He has one treasure, -a book, which he keeps along with his family Bible, and he is never tired of reading through his blurred spectacles the words on the first page :

BARNES SCHOOL.

FIRST CLASS.

PRIZE FOR ARITHMETIC

AWARDED TO

THOMAS RUTHERFORD.

DEAF AND DUMB.

Oн, a wild little slip was young Kitty McRea!
So saucy and daring, so dimpled and sweet;
A foot of the lightest, a hand of the whitest,
She brought the whole village to sue at her feet.

Gay Kitty was guarded and kept like a nun :

She'd greet you demurely, the whole world might see.
She wore a prim shaker, and dressed like a Quaker,
And 'neath all disguises was - Kitty McRea!

There came to the town a professor of ink,

A dashing young penman: he published his plan;
Declared himself willing to give for a shilling
A lesson to any child, woman, or man.

To their sense of compassion he wisely appealed:
He was deaf, he was dumb, - would they give him their
mite?

Papas read with pleasure, and cried, "What a treasure!
There'll be no love-making while learning to write."

The maidens flocked eagerly into the hall:

The teacher began his instructions with glee; Though some had a notion he showed more devotion To Kitty than might have pleased father McRea.

The handsome young teacher was freely discussed:
"Such lovely, sad eyes! The girls voted it " mean.
"Such a pity! I'd just like to kiss him!" said Kitty.
"You may!" he said softly. Imagine the scene!

Kitty fainted; then fled, with her cheeks all aflame.
They met in the garden that night after tea:

Well pleased with his hoaxing, the lad turned to coaxing, Pray do not be angry, dear Kitty McRea!"

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Who now was so bashful as Kitty McRea,

The saucy and daring, the dimpled and sweet? Without further parley, behold the finale,

Gay Kitty soon wedded this deaf and-dumb cheat.

ANNA F. Burnham.

THE CHANGED CROSS.

It was a time of sadness; and my heart,
Although it knew and loved the better part,
Felt wearied with the conflict and the strife,
And all the needful discipline of life.

And while I thought on these as given to me,
My trial tests of faith and love to be,
It seemed as if I never could be sure
That faithful to the end I should endure.

And thus no longer trusting to His might,
Who
66
says we walk by faith, and not by sight,"
Doubting, and almost yielding to despair,
The thought arose, My cross I cannot bear.

Far heavier its weight must surely be
Than those of others which I daily see:
Oh! if I might another burden choose,
Methinks I should not fear my crown to lose.

A solemn silence reigned on all around,
E'en nature's voices uttered not a sound;
The evening shadows seemed of peace to tell,
And sleep upon my weary spirit fell.

A moment's pause, and then a heavenly light
Beamed full upon my wondering, raptured sight:
Angels on silvery wings seemed everywhere,
And angels' music thrilled the balmy air.

The One more fair than all the rest to see
One to whom all the others bowed the knee-
Came gently to me as I trembling lay,
And, "Follow me," he said: "I am the Way."

Then speaking thus, he led me far above;
And there, beneath a canopy of love,
Crosses of divers shape and size were seen,
Larger and smaller than my own had been.

And one there was most beauteous to behold,

A little one, with jewels set in gold.

"Ah! this," methought, "I can with comfort wear, For it will be an easy one to bear."

And so the little cross I quickly took,
But all at once my frame beneath it shook:
The sparkling jewels — fair were they to see,
But far too heavy was their weight for me.

"This may not be," I cried, and looked again,
To see if any here could ease my pain;
But one by one I passed them slowly by,
Till on a lovely one I cast my eye.

Fair flowers around its sculptured form intwined,
And grace and beauty seemed in it combined:
Wondering I gazed, and still I wondered more
To think so many should have passed it o'er.

But, oh! that form so beautiful to see
Soon made its hidden sorrows known to me.
Thorns lay beneath those flowers and colors fair :
Sorrowing I said, "This cross I may not bear."

And so it was with each and all around, -
Not one to suit my need could there be found;
Weeping, I laid each heavy burden down,
As my Guide gently said, "No cross, no crown.”

At length to him I raised my saddened heart:
He knew its sorrows, bade its doubts depart.
"Be not afraid," he said, "but trust in me:
My perfect love shall now be shown to thee."

And then, with lightened eyes and willing feet,
Again I turned, my earthly cross to meet;
With forward footsteps, turning not aside,
For fear some hidden evil might betide.

And there, in the prepared, appointed way,
Listening to hear, and ready to obey,
A cross I quickly found of plainest form,
With only words of love inscribed thereon.