over the beautiful hills of Malvern. Sometimes alone, and sometimes with Dr. and Mrs. Kirby, they ascended all their heights, and explored all their recesses. The fresh breezes seemed to give Constance new life, and Mary watched the returning colour upon her pure pale cheek with the strongest interest and delight. Nor did Constance study with less interest the little simple girl who was thus her daily companion. Mary was not a pretty child; but there was that in her countenance which it was impossible to look upon without love. Her clear open expression revealed a heart in which there was no guile; and Constance easily drew from her the little history of her past life, her future plans, her hopes, and feelings. She also aimed at making their mutual intercourse profitable, by instructing her in "things pertaining to life and godliness;" and was often touched by the simple expressions of faith and love, the strong sense of duty, and the humble devotion of her young catechumen.

The only alloy to Mary's perfect contentment during these happy weeks, was in not knowing any thing of the welfare of that dear little brother, whom she loved almost with a mother's love; but her engagement kept her so closely

confined to Malvern, that she could never have a day of leisure for going to Worcester. Her work, when finished, she sent home by a neighbour, who also worked for the same glover, and she received a fresh supply by the same means; but the woman, who was by no means good tempered, would never go a step out of her way to enquire about the poor boy. He was never long out of his sister's thoughts,—and the strongest desire of her heart, it may be said the purpose of her life, at this time, was, after having paid Mrs. Lee for her own board, to save money enough to buy new shoes and stockings to take him, the very first time she could go to Worcester. For this, as Constance discovered, she rose early and sat up late, and worked with untiring industry. "He wanted them badly before he went," she said, "and he'll be almost barefoot now, I am afraid."

One beautiful evening, Constance and Mary had ascended to the highest point of the hill, called the Worcestershire beacon, and Constance alighted from her donkey, that she might sit and enjoy one of the most splendid sunsets she had ever witnessed. The patient creature cropped the sweet short grass by her side, as seated on a low wall she gazed on the scene

before her. The mountain line of Wales, which bounded the horizon, was of a deep violet hue, and stood in strong relief against the glowing sky, while the varied and beautiful county of Hereford lay bathed in a flood of golden light at her feet. She gazed, till her whole soul and being seemed absorbed, and she felt as if she were joining with all nature in a magnificent offering of praise and adoration to the Creator; but ere long, her dazzled eye sought for rest, and she turned to look upon her little maiden, who, seated on a stone at her feet, with her back turned to the gorgeous west, had drawn from her pocket her thimble and work, and, without looking to the right or the left, was putting in stitch after stitch as fast as her nimble fingers could fly. "Mary," said Constance; and at the sound of her name, the little girl raised a countenance so radiant with all pure and good affections, that Constance, struck with its expression, said, "What were you thinking of, Mary?"

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"I was just thinking, Ma'am, that next week I should be able to buy Jemmy's shoes."

What was there in this answer to bring tears into Constance Kirby's eyes?

It was the conviction, struck home upon her heart, how far nobler an offering a human soul

pursuing the most lowly path of duty and selfdenial makes to the glory of the great Father of Spirits, than can ever ascend from the grandest and most sublime of material things.

But it is now time to enquire what became of little James, about whom no tidings reached Malvern during this long period. The sinking of heart which the poor child felt, when left alone in this strange place, with his unknown uncle and aunt, too surely foretold the misery and suffering which awaited him. His uncle soon procured him employment in the chinamanufactory where he worked himself, and got him very good wages for such a child; but the poor little fellow had to work early and late to gain them; and as it was the object of his relations to make what profit they could out of him, they only bestowed upon him the very poorest pittance which could keep body and soul together. Their house being full of lodgers, a dark hole under the stairs was the place they gave him to sleep in. Some dirty straw, and an old ragged blanket, his only bed. No one ever did any thing to clean him, or make him comfortable; in the midst of the feasting and drunkenness which were too often going on among the inmates of the house, he was weak and aching

with hunger, and no one gave him any thing, but a kick or a curse. He grew thin and ,squalid, and the lines which his frequent burning tears traced down his clay-covered cheeks, shewed that his complexion was, if possible, paler than the dirt which obscured it. Poor wretched little boy! He had no comfort upon earth, but in thinking of his dear mother; trying to remember all that she had taught him, and hoping that he should soon go to her. These thoughts kept him from learning the wicked ways of those who were around him, and were a safeguard to him through many temptations which beset his path. One day as he was passing through the market-place of Worcester, on his way to work, hungry and weary, for his cruel aunt had given him nothing but an old dry crust for dinner, he was stopped by a number of people who had collected round a child which had been hurt by a cart. Unable to go forward, or to penetrate the crowd, he stood quietly waiting till there was room for him to pass, and he soon perceived himself to be standing exactly before a baker's stall, covered with rolls and buns, the owner of which was in the midst of the bustle. A quick glance shewed him that not an eye was upon him, that he had