AGNES, THE IDIOT GIRL.

"Sweet to the weary mariner

To see the shore; when battle sounds no more,
Sweet to the soldier: sweet, when all doth seem
Saddening, I know, to find it but a dream!
But sweeter must it be, when life is o'er,
As first the soul awakens to the gleam,

Which tells her she is safe upon th' eternal shore."
Rev. Isaac Williams.

HALF way down the village of Kirkbeck, the beck side is shaded by a group of magnificent old sycamore trees, under which many a merry game has been played by those whose tombstones in the churchyard are now moss-grown and stained with age and weather. Close beside, and as it were under their special protection, stand two cottages, with ponderous old chimneys, and large porches, which look almost like some of the fantastically cut yew and cypress trees of old times, so completely are they mantled with ivy, which would soon close up door and windows entirely, unless the shears were liberally used. In one of these cottages, a respectable old couple, called Metcalfe (in our country pronounced Mecca), had long lived with their only daughter, until she married her cousin, a wild youth, sore against her parents' will, and left Kirkbeck. Old Job Mecca loved his daughter devotedly, and took

her undutifulness deeply to heart, though he said little about it, and never complained of her, if any one spoke harshly of her, answering, "Puir thing, puir thing! I'se be bound she didna mean ill by us young folk have aye a deal to learn.” But still it preyed upon his mind, and after a time of constant and patient nursing her "auld maister," Dolly Mecca was left alone in her little cottage.

She was rather a remarkable woman; very silent, very quiet, never uttering a complaint about anything-some of her neighbours said very unfeeling and unsociable. Those who knew her better said that she had a right warm heart, and would do anything in her power to help the needy. She certainly was not a gossip, as most of the women, especially the old women in Kirkbeck (and perhaps in other villages too) are; but Dolly thought where others chattered, and the consequence was, that what she did say was generally to the purpose, and characteristic of a reflective mind. There she lived year after year in her neat little kitchen; her large rocking chair, with its patchwork cushions, drawn close to the peat fire, and a little round table beside it, with her large old Bible, which in its way was quite a curiosity, being illustrated with very old coloured pictures, often extremely grotesque, but not unfrequently very striking, and calculated to give exceedingly vivid impressions of the scenes. they portrayed. Here, with her large white cat

at her feet, old Dolly sat day after day, her spectacles on her nose, and knitting away diligently, from time to time looking into her Bible, and taking a verse "to think on't."

Thus some time passed on, when one day a very unusual event occurred, no less than the arrival of a post-letter for Dolly. It was a matter of some difficulty to her to read "pen scrifting," as she called it, and accordingly Dolly carried the letter to the Vicarage, to get Mr. Mordaunt or myself to read it to her. The letter was from her daughter, of whom she had not heard for long. It was a very mournful and penitent letter. Agnes Mecca had lost her husband lately, and though she spoke with affection of him, still it was evident that he had ill-used her, and made her very unhappy. She had known severe privation and want, and her bodily strength had given way under her sufferings. She sometimes thought of coming back to Kirkbeck to her parents, but she had neither money nor physical strength left for the journey, and she ended by intreating her mother, if she had forgiven her, to come to her..

Whilst I was reading this touching letter, which was both well worded and well written, old Dolly sat listening with perfect calmness, only I noticed that her thin hands were more closely clasped together, and that her still grey eyes grew moist. When the letter was ended, Dolly got up. "Thank ye, ma'am," she said,

"and noo happen ye'll be able to tell me the likeliest gait o' gettin' till her. Puir bairn, it's like she'll think it vara dree to bide whiles I get there! Her unhesitating expression of affection and readiness to help her child, without one word or allusion to her having suffered from Agnes's unkindness and desertion, reminded me of that father of whom our Blessed Lord told, who, whilst his penitent son was yet a great way off, rose up to meet him and receive him to his bosom.

Of course we did all in our power to facilitate the good old woman's journey to the manufacturing town, about fifty miles hence, where her daughter was. It seemed a considerable undertaking for so aged a person, who had never before left her own village, or been in any speedier conveyance than a shandry; but Dolly did not seem flurried or alarmed at the prospect.

It was late in the afternoon when she arrived at her journey's end; and promising a halfpenny to a little boy if he would serve her as a guide to Tanner's Alley, where her daughter lived, Dolly Mecca set off to trudge through the dingy, muddy streets, her limbs aching with the unwonted journey, and her head quite "maddled" with the noise and confusion of the streets, so unlike the quiet of Kirkbeck. However, she toiled on bravely, and at last, after mounting a steep paved hill, and turning down several narrow dark lanes, her little guide pointed to one that seemed

darkest and narrowest of all, saying, "Yon's Tanner's Alley, sae now gie me t' hawpenny." Dolly gave the promised reward, and began to seek for the house where her daughter lived. This she found no easy task, for the ragged dirty children who were tearing up and down the alley paid no attention to her inquiries, and a sulky shake of the head was all the answer she got from a man who was hanging over his doorwicket, with a very black face, smoking. At the upper end of the alley, however, Dolly met a woman who was emptying a basket of potato parings and rubbish into the pathway, and on repeating to her the question, whether she knew where Agnes Mecca lived, the answer returned was, "Agnes Mecca, is it? Sure an' the poor body is lying in me house, she is, and it's not long she'll be there, I expect ! The speaker looked up at Dolly, and added, “Maybe, missis, you'll be her mother, as she's been expectin' and talkin' of?"

Dolly said that she was, and the kind-hearted Irish-woman, seizing hold of her bundle and umbrella, immediately began to lead her into the house, saying, "Come aisy then, for poor soul hasn't she just been longin' afther ye!"

Dolly grouped her way after Molly Doheen through a dark damp passage, into a small kitchen, through which was another dark room, where by the light of a rush dip, which Molly brought in, the old woman distinguished a straw