fond of Fanny. There were scarlet geraniums, mignionette, stocks, balsams, clove pinks, and one or two very beautiful auriculas, which Fanny was very proud of, and a fine old myrtle, and very pretty and gay they looked, and people often stopped to admire Fanny's goodly show of flowers. High up in the window, quite safe from any sudden attack of evil-disposed cats, hung a bird cage, containing a beautiful glossy bullfinch, the pride and delight of Fanny's life; she had had him quite young, almost from the nest, and had made him so tame that he would come out of his cage at her call, sit on her shoulder, take the seeds out of her mouth, and Willie had taught him to whistle one or two tunes besides his pretty wild notes. Never was a little bird taken more care of; he was cleaned every morning, the finest yellow sand scattered over his tray, the freshest clearest water put in his glass, and in summer a little canopy of green spread over his head, of groundsell or chickweed, and a little stock of plaintain carefully hoarded for him against the winter. I am sure Fanny loved her bird better than any thing in the world, except her mother and her brother.

In this snug cottage had Fanny spent twelve years of her life, and you may think how well she loved it: her mother, in spite of all her industry, had some trouble to make both ends meet, as she said, but hitherto she

had always succeeded, and had contrived to pay for her children's schooling at the small school in the village, for she attached (and very wisely too) great importance to the beginning as early as possible to get what instruction was in their power; her rent was always the first thing paid, for it was high, and she used to say she never felt her own mistress as long as that was owing, for their landlord was a hard man, and not likely to show any indulgence. The present state of affairs showed but too clearly how right the poor woman had been. She had some six weeks before run into her finger a hib of a needle; it had broken, and the hib remained in, which caused it to be very painful, and she was obliged to keep her hand in a sling; and so far from being able to do needlework, she had had much difficulty in doing what was wanting in the house, and never could have got on at all without the help of her handy little daughter; the result of this unlucky accident was, that instead of being prepared with her rent as usual, she knew that the quarter would be due in five weeks, a sum amounting to thirty shillings, and she had not at present put by any part of it, and saw small chance of doing so, as they had nothing but her work to trust to, saving a few vegetables that she grew upon a piece of ground allotted to her on the outskirts of the parish, which she sold in the market;

but of course the sum so gained was a mere trifle.

The children had not been to school for many weeks, and it seemed, indeed, as if troubles were coming fast upon them. She knew that her landlord only wanted an excuse to turn her out of her cottage, which he wanted for another tenant; and that, so far from showing any indulgence, he would gladly take the first opportunity of getting rid of her and so one summer's evening poor Mrs. Aiken sat on her chair just outside the door, with her lame hand fastened up, and she kept looking very sadly at her children, who were close to her, and very wistfully at the pretty green banks opposite, just lighted up by the glow of the setting sun; she looked so sad, so much as she used to do formerly, that poor Fanny felt quite cast down presently she said, "How much is it mother? and when must it be paid?"

"Well, dear, it is well on to one pound ten shillings, and it must be paid by Michaelmas-day, and that's not much more than five weeks off,-five weeks the day after to-morrow (this was Sunday); and how, Fanny, am I to get that sum with this lame hand, and the doctor gives me no hope of its being better yet! Well, it will be a sore trial to leave the place I have lived in ever since I was married; where I lost my poor William, and where I thought, if it pleased God, I might

end my days; but whatever happens, my dear children, we must not murmur, but try to submit cheerfully to whatever our Heavenly Father sees fit to send us. Think of the blessed and comforting words that we have just been reading in His Holy Word.-Ye shall be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into joy' (St. John xvi. 20.); and again, They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary, and they shall walk and not faint.' (Isa. xl. 31.) Oh Fanny, how thankful ought I to be that I am able to read, and that, let what will be taken from us, as long as we have that blessed Book, and thankful and humble hearts, we have much cause to be grateful, let our lot be as hard as it will.'

Poor Fanny put her arms round her mother's neck, and tried to say she knew she was right, and that she would endeavour to think so; but it was a hard struggle, for she was but a child, and her voice was choked with sobs and tears. Her mother very wisely would not take any notice of this, but held her close to her, and kissed her very fondly, and by degrees the poor child got quite composed, and she set about getting the tea ready, just as if nothing was the matter; the poorer classes have, in fact, not time to give way to their feelings, and very lucky

it is for them that it is so, for it very often lessens the weight of their sorrows, being obliged to exert themselves, instead of sitting still, and thinking over their many trials. At night, when Fanny had said her prayers, (kneeling at her mother's knee, with her little brother, as she always had done since her early childhood,) and lain down in her bed, she thought a great deal, and considered whether, child as she was, she might not do something to help her mother, and at least try to earn this sum of money that was so longed for, and which would make them all so happy. It was a large sum to be sure, but still, as her mother had often taught her, there was nothing like trying, and very often difficulties that seemed very great at a distance would disappear when you approached them nearer and so, after thinking over a great many plans in her little head, she fell fast asleep, and awoke in the morning dreaming that they were not to be turned out of their pretty home; this gave the poor child a cheerful feeling, and she had the room nicely swept, the fire burning brightly, and her mother's cup of tea set on her little round table, all ready for her when she came down. Her poor mother's hand was very painful that day, and she could scarcely listen to her little girl's hopeful plans, which she told her while they were at breakfast; but she did her best, not wishing to discourage Fanny; and so, as

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