did not seem to have suffered from the flames. He recovered rather slowly, and at first seemed surprised at the scene; but gradually his recollection returned, and he then burst out into the wildest exclamations of grief concerning his wife and children, whom he declared to be still within the house, though he supposed all hope of aiding them was now over: He declared that he, like the man, had been aroused from his sleep by a suffocating feeling, and finding the room which was in front of the house to be in flames, he immediately arose, and going to the back for the purpose of calling for assistance, he in his agitation had fallen from the window, his head coming in contact with the piece of timber, where he had remained, stunned by the blow, until roused by the noise and the attentions of the people. He added that he had called loudly to his wife and the servant-sleeping in the nursery, which was next their bedroom-with the children, to follow him, and had no time to know whether they had done so or not, when he was rendered insensible by his fall. He could give no further information.

As he spoke, Captain R. passed us, leaning on the arm of one of the most influential men in the town. He looked fearfully pale and haggard; yet as he passed he found time to cast one rapid glance at my father, who returned it with a cold, unpitying stare, which, even in the midst of my own nervous excitement, puzzled me amazingly. However, in his present strange mood, I did not think fit to make any remark on it; and in a few minutes more we reached home, where my dear mother was anxiously awaiting us. She was of course much shocked at the news we brought, but insisted on my going at once to bed, after taking sundry precautions against any illness which might be the consequence of my long exposure to the piercing night air.

The next day the six bodies were dug out of the ruins. The mother and her infant, five months old (the nipple still in its little mouth), were found lying in the bed, from which they had evidently never stirred. The entire upper parts of both were much burned, those next the bed being scarcely injured at all: nay, I have heard it said that it would seem as if the very flush of life still lay on one cheek of the little baby. It was believed that they had not happily suffered so much, after all; that they must have been stifled by the smoke in their sleep before the fire reached them. The bones of the poor servant, mingled with those of the children (impossible to say which), were discovered just within the nursery door, as in the act of escaping, while the mere ashes of the others were found, mixed with some shreds of bed-clothes and the iron screws of their little cribs, from which they had very probably never moved at all.

An inquest was held on them that evening, when the afflicted husband and father, the servant, my brother, and the man who came up at the same time with us to the fire, were examined. To my great relief, they did not think it necessary to question me, as I had been in a constant state of fright, lest they should do so, all that day.

For two hours altogether the people worked vigorously, and at length the fire was completely got under, leaving the house a mere smouldering ruin. Gradually, then, the crowd dispersed to their several homes, it being decided that, to think of saving any lives now was utterly useless, and that it was better to wait until next day to dig out the bodies. My brother and I then, accompanied by my father, who had long before joined us, prepared to return home, when it struck me suddenly that my father's manner towards Captain R., throughout the entire scene, was, to say the least of it, strange, if not unfeeling. He had arrived just as the poor bereaved man had been raised insensible from the ground; but beyond lifting first one closed eyelid with his hand, and then the other-both falling again immediately over the poor expressionless eyeshe had not interfered or given any directions necessary to forward his recovery; neither did he offer any remark on the statement made by him when his senses were restored. Yet he The two who had escaped repeated in subhad been the medical attendant of his family for stance all they had stated the night before, the years, and had always seemed to take a deep in- Captain adding, with great apparent remorse and terest in Mrs. R. and her children: and now, suffering, that he feared the accident might when warmly seconded by my brother, I pro- have been occasioned by his own carelessness, posed inviting the poor man to spend the re- as he now recollected snuffing off the wick of mainder of the fearful night-which had seen an oil lamp burning in the bed-chamber, and him deprived of his entire family-under our letting it fall on the floor. He swore positively roof, he answered, in a cold, sharp tone, No, that he called to his wife and the servant; that my dear, there is no necessity for doing so. He the latter had answered him, and that he believed can go to the tavern; and I suppose it is espe- his wife to be following him with the child when cially when a man is in trouble that he is the accident befell him at the window; and he likely to find his warmest welcome in an inn.”’ knew nothing more until he found himself in Inexpressibly shocked and surprised on re- the midst of a crowd, when the house was enceiving such an answer from my father-usually tirely in flames. the kindest-hearted of men-I was about to draw my arm from his, when he prevented me by pressing his own more closely to his side, and then said, gently, "Excuse me, my dear, I am not so ill-minded as my remark would lead you to suppose; but you see the man is surrounded by friends, and cannot possibly want us."

A verdict in accordance with this evidence was returned, the remains of the victims decently interred, and deep and general sympathy felt and expressed towards the poor bereaved man who had been so awfully and suddenly deprived of an apparently happy home. My father did not attend either the inquest or the funeral;

"You are proving your own guilt over and over again," replied my father: "I have never accused you, never spoken my doubts of you to any person. Why then do you come here to defend yourself against a charge which has never been made."

"Because I read your suspicions in your face," was the reply; "in your avoidance of me, in your entire manner; and I dreaded that on some impulse you would speak that which, though you could not prove it, would still place me in a terrible predicament!"

"I wonder," said my father," sneeringly, 'why it never occured to the coroner or any one of his wise jury to ask you how it was that you were fully dressed when discovered in sensible with a stress on the word]. You say you had just started from sleep. Is it usual for you to go to bed in your clothes?"

There was, perhaps, a second's pause, and then came a hurried exclamation rather than a reply.

"But the man was dressed also: why not I as well as he?"

"Yes," said my father, "his clothes were, I perceived, huddled on; but he was scarcely so particular as to put a gold pin in his neckcloth."

now understand you are about to marry the
unprincipled person who has so long alienated
your affections from your wife and children."
I could hear, though I could not see, the
bound with which Captain R. sprang to his feet,
as he cried:

"She-she, whoever has been in fault, or, worse still, guilty, it is not she. I met her pure as the angels are, living in her happy English home. She loved me, God knows for what reason, neither did I care to ask, as I did not love, but adore her. I led her to believe I was not married, and, after a brief courtship, asked her of her father: at first he was doubtful, but, influenced by her innocent sorrow at parting from me [the ship was about to sail], even still more than by my passionate entreaties, he reluctantly consented, and we were married. You see I do not fear to trust you with this secret. I brought her here. You will say, perhaps, that I was mad in doing so; it may be that I was, as, soon after, she discovered all. But, after a bitter struggle, she pitied and abided by me. Because she was true then at least to me, more than to herself, am I now to prove false to her? It is not, then, that I intend to marry, for I have already legally done so. My love! my innocent wife! I will take her home to see her father after this voyage to the Labrador, without a blush upon her cheek, but that of her sweet joy in meeting him."

"Wretch !" replied my still unmoved father. "I-I repeat I do not wish for your confidence. You force your so-called explanations on me: I only know that you have escaped without a scorch, while your entire family, including a servant, who could have nothing to do with your affairs, perished miserably. Who was the occasion of it I do not say. God knows all."

"May He judge between us," said the captain, solemnly-"who is wrong, you or I."

"You are determined to condemn me," was the answer; "but if you will allow me I can explain even this away. On returning from the party I stayed down-stairs to smoke, and in about three-quarters of an hour went to our bed-room, where I found her in bed, and, as usual, stupid -so much so that I feared she would even stifle the poor little baby; the lamp was burning on the dressing-table, on which stood also a bottle which she had forgotten to conceal. In my anger and disgust I flung the latter on the ground, breaking it in a thousand pieces, and, of course, spilling its contents (brandy) upon the floor. I said at the inquest that I remembered snuffing the wick of the lamp: it was not so; but I think it probable that some of it, or a spark it may be, fell into the liquor spilled about, and so ignited the curtains or toilet-cover. I cannot say, I only know that, flinging myself, without undressing, on a sofa in the room, I awoke to find everything in flames. Curses on her!" he added savagely; "living and dead she continues to be a torment to me. You accuseing me-it would be more just to accuse her: through her I have lost my whole family-all my dear children !”

"Yes," replied my inexorable father, "whom I have often heard you curse as an evil brood, and wish to be rid of. You were ever a hypocrite; but you overact your part when you express sorrow for them. I do not want to defend the unhappy propensity of the poor woman. I have often reasoned with her regarding it, but in vain. Yet, if there can be an excuse offered for such a fault, have not you given her one-you whom she loved with all her poor weak heart and soul? I did not believe it at first, I thought it to be a mere jealous fancy; but I found afterwards that she was right; and I

At this point of the conversation I felt they were about to separate, and, trembling at the idea of being found listening, I left the room. In answer to the questions of the lady, I said my father was so busy I feared to interrupt him, but had no doubt he would be out presently; and, unheeding-nay, unthinking of her misery, went quickly up to my own room, to appear no more that night. I know many persons, read

this over quietly, will be shocked at my standing deliberately to listen to a serious conversation not intended for my ears. Perhaps if I had had time to reflect I should not have done so; but taken by surprise as I was, my interest-I will not call it curiosity-powerfully excited by all the circumstances, I freely confess I listened because I could not resist doing so. And I felt amazed afterwards, not at my having done so, but at the presence of mind which had enabled me to escape when I heard them move. However, although then scarcely nineteen years old, I kept the secret of this strange interview faithfully. If I were writing a mere story I should probably enter into long explanations in the development of my plot; but it is not so and I can only tell things as they

occurred. A few more sentences, then, and I have done.

Not many weeks after the conversation I have detailed, I observed my father lay down his newspaper, which he was in the habit of looking over in the morning, and leaving his unfinished breakfast, quit the room with an expression of extreme horror on his face. My mother took it up remarking,

"There must be something in this to shock or surprise your father very much!" and immediately after read aloud a paragraph copied from another paper headed,

"FOUNDERED AT SEA, off Cape St. F

on

her passage from Labrador, The Grinna,' commanded by Captain R- The crew, consisting who was on board, fainting, her husband delayed of thirty men, escaped by the boats; but Mrs. Rbehind the rest to assist her, when the ship went down, and both unfortunately perished."

indeed, "God judged between them?" who was I felt strangely still and awed. Had, then, right-the accuser or the accused? But, until the great deep is required to deliver up its dead, and the charred bones of the fire victims are called on by the trump of the Archangel to reclothe themselves in their flesh, no man can answer: to the Lord only "all things are manifest."

LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONES.

THE TASK; OR, THE HISTORY OF
PATIENCE, CARELESS, AND WORK-
AWAY.

(A modern Fairy Tale).

BY JOHN D. CARTWRIGHT (MERLIN). PART I. THE HOME OF THE THREE SISTERS

AND THE VISIT OF THE FAIRY,

Once upon a time, not very long ago either, there was a man named Goodenough, and he with his three daughters, Patience, Careless, and Workaway, lived in a large house built round with brick walls, beyond which they were never allowed to pass, but as there were trees and flowers all round it and a great garden many miles long with a beautiful river running through it, that did not matter; especially as these little children had everything they wanted-servants to wait upon them with food when they were hungry, and ladies to teach them how to read the nice books, of which each one had so many that it would take you, dear little reader, a whole year, with nothing else to do, to read through them; and it would take you weeks more to look at all the beautiful toys they had. Now with all these things to make them happy, surely these little girls ought to have been quiet contented and thankful that they were so fortunate; yet they were not and Careless Goodenough was always murmuring, wanting something she had lost, or longing to pass through the great gateway into the streets beyond. Her sisters did not murmur like her, but they were not very happy either, though Patience was always at her books, and Workaway always doing something or another; and this was what made these two so much more contented than their sister Careless. I think I can tell you what it was these little children wanted to make them perfectly happy

it was somebody to love them, not that they
did not love one another, for they did and very
much indeed too, but they wanted somebody
older than themselves, a mother, or a grown-up
sister; but their mother was dead, and Patience,
who was the oldest, was only a child. Their
governesses were kind and very careful about
them, but then it was not like a mother's kindness
and care; and their father, who loved them very
time, even if he could have done it, to supply
dearly, was so much engaged that he had not
that greatest of all losses that children can
suffer the loss of their mother. He was also
too much occupied to see that they were not
that, with such a beautiful place to play in, they
very happy, and never thought it even possible
could desire to go beyond the gate, or to have
new companions, and if he had thought of it
he would never have consented to their going,
for he thought very harshly of the world, and
believed all the people in it were selfish and
bare. We know better than to believe this, for
we know of many and many a noble deed, done
in the very heart of the city; but he had known
a few unworthy people, and judging of the whole
world by these he did it great injustice. This
was the reason our three little heroines were
never allowed beyond the garden walls, and
but one visitor, in whom they were interested,
ever entered, that one was Aunt Goodenough,
who came to see them four times a year; and
brought them hampers of toys and books each
time. Indeed so many and beautiful were the
presents she brought them that they had, and
not inappropriately, re-christened her as Aunt
Toogood, the name by which they always spoke
of her, and her four visits in the year were the
grand epochs in the year of our little ladies.

of summer.
It was a bright sunny morning in the middle
weeding her flower-bed; Patience was in the
Workaway was in the garden,

in a few minutes. If she had not had fairies PART 2.-Patience, the Little Girl wHO to work for her, how could she have done this? And, besides, I have known her leave her carriage at that very house where Workaway lived, and go fifty or sixty miles in a morning, and back again, without a horse or anything except her fairies, to take her; so that I know she was a fairy, though she did not look a bit like one, but just like a regular good-tempered English aunt who was very fond of her nieces.

"Does Aunt expect us to put all these thou-fully; "but I have not made the least progress." sands of bits together?" said Careless, taking some in the palm of her hand: "I am sure I can't do it."