me all this time? and you had no sleep all night either, for, even in my sleep, I knew that my dear Fanny was close to me. May God bless my dear child, and He will do so, for truly she has been a dutiful and good child to me, and I never look at you without thinking of the fifth Commandment, 'Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.' Well have you kept it, my child, and truly you will have your reward."

"Dear mother, who but you taught me my duty. It is no merit in me doing it, for, with such a good mother always telling me what was right, I must have been very bad if I hadn't minded what you said."

66

Ah, Fanny, it is not always that good mothers have good children: I am afraid my

poor Willie is very different from you; but I feel sadly weak, I can't talk, only I did want to say something to you, but my cough won't let me."

The poor woman's cough had come on again with redoubled violence from the slight effort she had made to say those few words. Fanny supported her in a sitting posture on the bed, moistened her lips with fresh cold water, wiped the cold perspiration from her forehead, and did all that care and affection could do to render her more easy; but the cough only went on increasing in violence,

till, to Fanny's inexpressible terror, she saw some drops of blood slowly oozing from her lips. This was what the Doctor dreaded, that she would break a blood-vessel, and that that would be the end of it, and he had told Fanny his fears, that she might know what to do, in case he was not immediately at hand; he had directed her to place her mother as flat as possible, without even a pillow under her head, and to keep cloths constantly dipped in cold water on her chest. Almost stupified with fear as the poor girl was, she still remembered what he had said, and after calling to Willie from the window, and sending him off at once for the Doctor, she proceeded to the best of her ability to follow his directions: one of her kind neighbours, seeing Willie flying past her cottage, and hearing from him what his errand was, instantly came to Fanny's assistance. A kind friendly woman was Mrs. Wilson, and having been much used to illness in her own family, she was a great help to the poor girl, and at her suggestion she sent one of her own girls, who had followed her to the cottage, to summon the clergyman, for though she wouldn't increase the poor girl's alarms, she was too well used to watching the bed of the dying not to see at once that poor Mrs. Aiken was sinking fast.

The clergyman came as soon as it was possible he was a very old man, and ten

:

H

derly beloved by his parishioners for the unceasing care with which he attended to their welfare, both spiritual and temporal; and when poor Fanny saw him lifting up his withered hands, and praying by her mother's bedside, she couldn't help feeling revived, even at such a moment, by the sound of the weak tremulous voice that had for so many long years been employed in the service and worship of God. But the words spoke only of death, and of a soul about to be released from its bonds, in a prison of clay. They held out no hope, except the bright hope of everlasting life. She looked at her mother, her face was perfectly calm; now and then her eyes were raised to heaven, and her thin white hands lifted devoutly in the attitude of prayer; her lips moved in short whispered petitions, and when the prayer was done, she looked at the old man with a smile, gently bowed her head, and said,

"Thank you, sir, for the great comfort you have given me.

The old clergyman took Fanny by the hand, and laying one of his own upon her head, he said,—

"Fear not, my dear child; the God whom you serve will raise up friends for you, though He sees fit to take away your only remaining parent; for He is the father of the fatherless, and the protector of all them that truly trust in Him."

At this moment the door opened, and the Doctor, accompanied by Willie, entered the room: he soon saw that there was nothing for him to do, so he only just administered a cordial he had brought with him, and with a fervent blessing on the sorrowing daughter, and the dying mother, he left the room. It is not my intention to dwell longer on so sad a scene; poor Willie seemed quite stupified with grief, and knelt, sobbing bitterly, close to his mother's pillow; for some little time she seemed too much exhausted to open her eyes, but when she did, a smile came over her face as they rested upon Willie, her youngest and dearly loved child; and in so low a voice as to be scarcely audible, even to those who were so anxiously listening, she said,

"God bless my dear children, and may He make my Willie a good boy, and keep him out of temptation: bless my dear Fanny; and pray, my child, that we may all meet in heaven."

These were the last words she spoke; her children both leant over her, and kissed her, and she half smiled as if she was aware of it, and then lay in a sort of slumber, and before the evening had closed in, Fanny and Willie were left orphans.

THE

BROTHER AND SISTER.

Part II.

"Happy the man who sees a God employed;
In all the good and ill, that chequer life;
Resolving all events, with their effects
And manifold results into the will
And arbitration wise, of the Supreme."

COWPER.

"I called upon the Lord, the father of my Lord, that he would not leave me in the days of my trouble."—Apocrypha; Baruch, chap. li. 10.

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith."-Galatians, v. 22.

Ir is an error into which many people fall, that the poorer classes do not feel misfortune in the same acute manner that we do; but it is an error that no one will long persist in, who has been accustomed to live amongst them, and study all their habits and feelings. There may be among the affluent a luxury of grief (so to speak) which is altogether unknown to the poor; in the dwellings of poverty there is no room, no leisure, for such indulgence. On the very day that death