you wish no more than he did to occupy a low position in the world, but are as anxious as he was to rise and become perhaps a rich, perhaps a great, certainly a good man. But remember that dreaming and wishing will never accomplish anything; you must work diligently and perseveringly. And then, if God is your guide, and you are earnest, conscientious boys, there is no reason why you should not make your way in the world, and be as Bayard Knight was, both as boys and men,

66 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE."

LIGHT IN DARKNESS.
Ps. cxii. 4.

I HAVE walked in thorny pathways, with a lowering sky above me,
And my heart was full of doubting, and my eyes were full of tears,
As I cried in bitter anguish, "Hath my Father ceased to love me?
Hath He blotted out the brightness from the noontide of my years?"
And, feeling in the darkness for the Hand that failed me never,
I have found that it was leading me by paths I had not known,
That the bonds that held me earthward I must falter not to sever,

Ere I at last might rest me on the footsteps of His throne.

I have sown with hand unsparing my seeds of rarest promise,

And have mourned the blighting tempest that killed them one by one,
Forgetting in the darkness which hides our dearest from us,
It is God's hand interposing between us and the sun.

I have given without stinting of my heart's most sacred treasures,
Its strongest faith, its purest love, its honest, fearless trust;
And have seen them flung aside for a moment's fleeting pleasures,
And my gold, and pearls, and blossoms lie scattered in the dust.
And I buried them, my treasures, lest the heartless world around me
Should slay me with its pity. Ah! I buried them and smiled.
But the light of life had vanished with the tender ties that bound me,
And I wondered had I ever been a careless, happy child.

But a pure love cannot perish, for its essence is immortal,

Though the dewdrops of the morning ne'er shall shine on it again; From the low grave of my heart it shall bloom with grace supernal, And its fragrance be the sweeter for the crushing hand of pain.

Ah! surely in the desert the fountain never faileth;
The rod may fall upon us, but the staff is in our hand;
A Tower of Strength is ours when the enemy assaileth,
And the shadow of a great Rock is in a weary land.

L. B.

NOTICE TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The Editor of the CHRISTIAN WORLD MAGAZINE begs respectfully to intimate to voluntary contributors that she will not hold herself responsible for MSS. sent on approval. Unaccepted MSS. of any great length will be returned, provided the name and address of the owner is written on the first or last page, and provided also that the necessary stamps are enclosed for transmission through the post. Authors are recommended to keep copies of verses, short essays, and minor articles generally, since they cannot, under any circumstanees, be returned. Miscellaneous contributions are not requested.

THE

CHRISTIAN WORLD MAGAZINE.

JULY, 1871.

JESSIE RAY'S TROUBLE.

99.66

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE CHORISTER OF ST. BEDE'S," THE DIARY OF A NOVELIST," &c.

CHAPTER X.

Ir was a sunny, gracious day when Mrs. Ray and Jessie set out together for their walk over the hill to West Hillsborough, one of those days when everything seems in tune, when all nature smiles peacefully upon one, and even the saddest and dullest heart must needs feel some stirring of content within to match the joyfulness without. Larks were singing high up in the blue, carolling at the very gates of heaven, as if the ecstasy of existence were almost more than they could bear, and then dropping down, down to their little brown nests among the yellowing corn. The air in the valley of East Hillsborough was still and warm, and scented through, around every farm-steading, with the fragrance of the new-stacked hay; but higher up, as Jessie and her mother climbed the hill past the church, the breeze from the sea came keen and freshly over them, full of vitality and life.

"I do declare," said Mrs. Ray, as she stood still, panting a little, at the top of the steep ascent, "it is as good as a cordial, getting a mouthful of this sea air. If it were not for being sheltered in winter time, I could be sorry, every time I get as far as here, that ever our village parted from the church and settled down in the valley yonder. It is wonderful how springy and light it feels up here, with nothing but the sky and the church tower higher than

oneself, to what it does at our place, with the hills and trees always overtopping you."

"It is pleasant," responded Jessie, who was feeling, with all the vividness of youth and health, the exhilaration produced by the boundless prospect, and the wild free air on the hill-top. "It makes me want to get higher yet, like yon lark that is singing up above the church tower. I believe, if I lived up here constant, I should begin to feel the wings sprouting on my shoulders."

"I don't know about that," said her mother, shrugging her own; "and if you did you would soon be wanting a nest on the ground to come down to again. It would be poor work both for larks and folks, women particklar-and you're one now, Jessie-if they were always fluttering their wings, and had no spot to call their own that they could nestle on. However, you will have a part of your wish when we get to the farm by Bestwood. I am glad, myself, that the land there lies high. You can see the sea, I know, quite fair from the top-story windows of the house. It will be ever so much healthfuller there than down in the hollow at East Hillsborough."

It was something new to hear Mrs. Ray speak so cheerfully. Jessie had grown so accustomed to her despondent tone that she had almost ceased to make any attempt at cheerfulness herself. There was no resisting that atmosphere of limp depression in which she habitually dwelt. But now she chatted gaily as they went along, and Mrs. Ray for once suffered her unchecked in her unwonted flow of speech. It is wonderful what an influence the mood of one person has upon that of another. It seemed to Jessie as if, somewhere or other, the clouds had suddenly parted, and a stream of brighter sunshine than before was flowing down upon her. Her feet trod more lightly over the grassy path. She felt almost joyous, as if, after all, life, the present hour, and all that were to come after it, was a pleasanter portion than she had thought awhile ago it ever could be again. If one could but store up these sunny moods, lay them by as careful housewives lay by their goods, and bring them out when the dark and weary days come round again, what a blessing it would be to some! But they come like the sunshine and pass away, and night brings its gloom again.

Hannah Bonthron and Matthew were both at home when Jessie and her mother reached their journey's end. The old man was sitting on the bench outside the door, basking in the sun, and gazing out, as his custom was, away over the rippling, shining sea, with a dim, dreamy look in his aged eyes, as if beyond the restless waves he caught a glimpse of the great ocean of eternity on which so soon he must embark. Hannah, in her close cap and afternoon gown, sat knitting within. Her day's work was over, the house

place trim and clean, as everything was with which her hands had to do. The little fire was blinking in the grate, and the kettle, filled with fresh water from the spring behind the house, had just been set upon it. Not a speck or stain was to be seen upon the buff-washed walls and nicely-sanded floor. The old carved walnut bureau, the table, and high-backed chairs, all shone with the polish that hard rubbing and good housewifery alone can give. The only sombre-looking object that was to be seen was Hannah Bonthrou herself, as she sat where the light fell in through the open doorway, knitting swiftly and silently at the stout yarn stocking that she was shaping for her son. Wherever the sunshine fell, it seemed always to pass by Hannah Bonthron, and leave her black garments and grey drooping face untouched by its brightness.

She made her visitors welcome enough, however. Hannah was not behindhand in the duties of hospitality, though it did not often fall to her lot to exercise them. Old Matthew, too, was cheery and cordial, and declared that he was as pleased to see them as he had been sometimes to sight land after a six weeks' voyage. John was not at home. He had gone with the boat to Linby to fetch coals, and would not be home till evening. Perhaps his absence gave a touch of warmth that might otherwise have been wanting to his mother's welcome of Jessie. It was easier to be kindly in her manner to the fatherless girl when her son was not by to vex her heart by the thought that whoever might be second with him now, it was Jessie Ray who held the first and dearest place. And Jessie took her attentions so prettily, and behaved herself altogether so modestly and quietly, and as a young person should who desired to stand well in the opinion of her elders, that if John had not loved her first, the grave, sad woman could almost have been won to love the girl herself.

Most people enjoy being made much of now and then, and Mrs. Ray was no exception to the rule. She did, it is true, lift up her voice in expostulation when Mrs. Bonthron bestirred herself to make preparations for as sumptuous a tea as the house could provide. But Mrs. Bonthron knew what was due to a guest of Mrs. Ray's degree, and insisted on bringing out the best china teaservice, that for the last twelve months at least had stood unused behind the glass doors of the corner cupboard, and on making an infusion, trebly strong, of some of the precious Himalayan tea, which an old crony of her dead husband's had brought to them last year on his return from an Indian voyage.

"And with just a spoonful of cherry-brandy in it," suggested Matthew, whose taste for the comforts of life was somewhat in advance of the facilities which his daughter-in-law usually afforded him for their indulgence. "There's nothing to beat a cup of this tea

for picking you up after such a walk as you have had over the hill from East Hillsborough here."

Mrs. Ray remonstrated again, but the cherry-brandy was produced, and certainly its reviving and enlivening effects, though partaken of as sparingly and reluctantly as a due sense of feminine decorum required, did not belie the old fisherman's eulogium. Even the widow Bonthron seemed to warm and brighten after a few cautious sips, till more than once the hard-drawn lips relaxed into a smile. It was a long time since such a pleasant meal had been partaken of in the keeping-room at Matthew Bonthron's house, and they sat so long over it, sipping their tea and chatting-for Matthew especially had grown quite talkative under the combined influence of cheerful society and the mild allowance of cherrybrandy which had been doled out to him—that Mrs. Ray quite started to hear the big eight-day clock in the corner striking six before they had risen from the table.

"Dear me!" she exclaimed; "how the time has gone, to be sure! We ought to be thinking of starting for home."

"Nay, nay," said Matthew. "You hadn't need begin to think of that yet. Why, you have only just come! It wants near two hours yet to sunset-you needn't be afraid, surely, of its falling dark before you get home."

"It isn't that, Mr. Bonthron," returned Mrs. Ray. "It's the cheeses that are on my mind. They are all to press, and the cream to measure, after we get back to the farm. I couldn't trust Sally to do that, though I did leave her to set up the milk herself for once. A dairy ties you so. I always say it is as bad as having a family of children to look after. There's no such a thing as putting off the work from one day to another, or making a push and getting to-morrow's work out of hand to-day, if there is anything extra that you want to be at liberty for."

Mrs. Bonthron was not quite so urgent as Matthew in ber entreaties for her guests to prolong their stay. There was a lurking fear in her mind that if they did so John might return with his boat from Linby before their departure, and she would fain have spared that walk over the hill to East Hillsborough which he would be certain to take with Jessie and her mother if he came back before they were both safely away.

But Matthew's persuasions made up for the lack of heartiness in hers. Mrs. Ray stayed on, one ten minutes after another, though insisting continually that they really ought to be moving; Hannah, the while, watching uneasily the sun dropping nearer and nearer to the crimsoning line of sea, till at last a tall shadow fell across the threshold, and John Bonthron entered, having left his boat lower down upon the beach ready for unloading.