to leave me. He is my very devoted servant! No-there, I didn't mean to make you angry, you foolish boy! Come, and find the sportsmen. They had a smart fight with some poachers the other night little Robson did wonders, I am told! Oh, here's Jim, at all events, with the lunch. I suppose, if we begin, they will call us very bad names! They will be sure to scent food and come here, so I shall pitch my tent. There is a veal-and-ham pie, made after Mr. Sam Weller's receipt- Werry good, especially when you know the young woman as made it!'"

Thus prattled the maiden, and the love-sick Curate hung upon every word, delightedly, to the full as earnest as if he were listening to the discourse of some grave bishop on the minor prophets. Occupied as they had been with this discourse, they had neither of them paid any heed to the pattering of little footsteps which followed them. It was a little ragged urchin, as brown as a berry, but almost out of breath with hard running, who almost as soon as he reached the couple pulled the sunburnt lock of hair which straggled over his forehead, and gaped, "Please, sir, be you the parson ?"

"Yes, my little fellow," said the Curate; "I am the parson. Does anybody want me?” "Please, sir, Black Jim, over at Pullen's Croft, be mortal ill, and his wife axed me to go and see for you. I had a stiffish run!"

"Pullen's Croft! oh, I know," said Katie, with a serious face: ". 'very likely it is the poacher; he was injured the other night. Dear me! I hope it is nothing serious. You must run at once, Loftus, and if it is nothing much you can come back here."

In his walk to the Croft with the ragged little elf, the Curate elicited the information that Black Jim had had a terrible knock on the head-that he had been brought home in almost a dying state, and that he was now suffering from raging fever, "raving and going on most awful!" as the boy said, with a serious face.

Pullen's Croft-which they were now approaching-was no favourite visiting-place of the Curate's. In the first place the people who herded there were the idlest and most drunken in all the village, and resented his visits to them as an intrusion rather than blessed his coming. Often had he turned, weary and dispirited, almost hopeless, entirely heartless, from the alley, seeing that he could do nothing of himself, where Ignorance and Vice led the forces against him. Often had his visits come to the same fate as Mrs. Pardiggle's in "Bleak House" -often had the drunken cobbler pointed to his wife's black eye and the broken furniture, and said moodily, with many curses, "Did I do all that?-yes; and I'll do it again if I like, and no parson shall hinder me doing what I please in my own house !"

Still, Hope had not entirely quitted the Curate's heart yet. He was determined not to leave the task untried: the higher the emprise the braver should be the watchword, "Esperance!" What, he thought, would have be

come of the sufferers in the fever-haunted jails, had John Howard left the unwelcome work but half completed? How would the English soldiers have fared at Sebastopol, had Florence Nightingale lost heart, and returned to England by the next ship? And-higher ensample still than all other-what would have become of sinning humanity, had He, who eighteen hundred years ago was "nailed for our advantage to the bitter cross," wearied at the work of salvation? So the Curate bravely set his face against the pitiless storm of adversity and persecution, against sullen brutality in word and deed. He endured to witness sights that made his young heart sick with loathing-to hear words which, in their bitter blasphemy, made his young heart's blood curdle within him-all for the possible chance of saving one of these benighted people. Often, after a hard day, he would return to his lodgings, and bow his head in tears, hopeless, almost hopeless. "Will no kindness, no reproof melt their hearts?" He had, in good truth, tried both effects. He had half-supported families when the worthless husband was drinking out the remainder of his wages at the Rose and Crown. He had found his way to the deathbed of the sinful people, and there, in a voice of stern reproof, assured the mourners that they had no hope in the next world, unless they repented and lived better lives in this. But too often he found it was seed sown on barren, stony ground. His kindness they mocked at; his reproof they disregarded.

Pullen's Croft was a very fair index to the character of the inhabitants-no palaces certainly the cottages, but such as by skilful care and cleanliness might be made habitable enough; but they had been suffered to go to rack and ruin. In the windows-almost uniformly paneless-were stuck fragments of dirty cloth; whilst the furniture in most of them seemed to be nothing but a bed, a table, and a chance three-legged chair; and in front of the door festered a heap of impure garbage, which poisoned the whole air. Poverty and shameless vice seemed to ride rampant everywhere. Two women had just commenced to quarrel about the right of drawing water first, as the Curate came up, and with their arms akimbo sprinkled each other freely with the flowers of language; and as the contest grew more furious, and seemed likely to terminate in a fight, a lot of idle, hulking men and boys were delightedly proceeding to form a ring, and encouraging the combatants with yells and oaths! At sight, though, of the Curate's pale, serious face, and the clerical dress, they stopped for very shame, and slunk off to their dens-some lingering trace of manhood existing in them still.

"This is the house, is it? Thank you, my little man; and here's something for yourself."

"A tract," the reader will say. By no means. The Curate knew that a tract would have been as unwelcome as the sight of forbidden meat to the hungry man. No it was a small coin, for which the little urchin bent almost to the

me meet the man as did that; I'll make surer next time." Here was a hopeless case.

"Do you know, James?" said the curate more sternly, "that it is not at all certain whether you will live; and if you die, what do you expect is to become of you? Have you never thought that there is a world beyond this, and a judgment to come?" A stifled groan was the only answer.

"Drink, give me something to drink, master. My mouth is so hot." Loftus administered the draught with his own hand, then bent over the maimed wretch, and whispered to him—

"Repent now; it may not be too late. Shall I pray for you?"

"Best leave me as I am," murmured Black Jim. "No one cares whether I live or die. But before I die I should like to see the man as struck me. I might be able to forgive him and have a chance. Would there be any chance sir, do you think?" was the eager question.

"Repent of your sins, and there is salvation for you," said the curate, solemnly. "I will grant your wish, and find the man who struck you if I can." Straight to the Hall went Smyly, and asked to see Grantley.

"There is a man they call Black Jim, one of the fellows engaged in the poaching affray the other night, lying dangerously ill down in Pullen Croft. He is very desirous of seeing the man who struck him.

"Good God!" said Grantley. "Dying, do you say? Why it was I who struck him, and saved little Robson's life by it. I'll come at once."

Together they returned to the poacher's house, and Grantley at once rushed up to the bedside with a face of the utmost concern, for he certainly did not wish to burden his already laden conscience with another's blood.

"I am the man who struck you," said he. A look of deadly hate came over the prostrate man's face, but he glanced towards the curate, and then his face softened.

“Ay,” he groaned. "I am afraid you have done for me this time, sir. Better that than that I should have murdered the other gentle

man."

Oh, cheer up," said Grantley. "You will get over it, I know; and then I'll make the squire take you as under-keeper if you can't keep away from the birds. There is lots of life in you yet."

"If I only thought so!" murmured the poacher. "If I could but get well again, I'd lead a different life. Mary, my lass, where art thou? Ah, I have been a cruel bad husband to thee. Better for thee if I do go."

“Oh, James!" pleaded the wife, through her tears, "don't say that. I have often tormented thee for bread, mayhap, and angered thee, and drove thee to drink; but if thou wilt only get well, and work, Jimmy, me and the children will be happy enough then. Oh, tell me, is there any hope?" she entreated in an agonised voice of the doctor: "is there any hope?"

"It's worse almost for me than for anyone," groaned the captain. "I do not want to have the man's blood on my soul, though it was done to save another's life."

66

'It's just this," said the doctor. "If he gets over the night he will do very well; if not, he will die at once. "Tis just a mere chance; I can do nothing more, Captain Grantley, but leave Nature to her work. The brain is considerably injured, and if he recovers he will be weak all his life."

"And if he recovers I'll be a good friend to him," exclaimed Grantley, impulsively. "I'll be of some use in the world, at any rate, and see whether I cannot do a good action if I try."

When the affair was represented to the old squire, he declared in his kind-hearted way, which none knew so well as his dependents, that he had long given over his intention of persecuting the man who had poached his pheasants, and said that if the rest of the fellows agreed, he would take him as under-keeper; but prejudice was very strong among them, and they all agreed to leave if Black Jim was enrolled among their number. Here Grantley stepped in, and as soon as the man was convalescent he set him up in a decent little shop in a place where he was far removed from his old haunts and associates, and where he has been often heard since to praise that downright honest crack from Grantley's bludgeon, seeing that it was the making of him. As for Mary his wife, no one a twelvemonth after would recognise in the round-cheeked pleasant little woman the careworn, poverty-stricken wretch she had been at Pullens Croft. And, to Loftus Smyly's intense pleasure, her honest face, and not seldom that of her husband, were to be seen at the parish church where he officiated. And when service was over, the grateful woman would never rest till she had been noticed by the curate, and without fail to affirm that she hoped God would bless him for his kindness to them when in misery and despair.

KIND WORDS.-They never blister the tongue or lips. And we have never heard of one mental trouble arising from this quarter. Though they do not cost much, yet they accomplish much. They help one's own good nature and good will. Soft words soften our own soul. Angry words are fuel to the flame of wrath, and make the blaze more fierce. Kind words make other people good-natured. Cold words freeze people, and hot words scorch them, and bitter words make them bitter, and wrathful words make them wrathful. There is such a rush of all other kinds of words in our days, that it seems desirable to give kind words a chance among them. There are vain words, and idle words, and hasty fanc words, and warlike words. words, and spiteful words, and empty words, and proKind words also produce their own image on men's souls-and a beautiful image it is. They soothe, and quiet, and comfort the hearer. They shame him out of his sour, morose, unkind feelings. We have not yet begun to use kind words in such abundance as they ought to

be used.

It is amusing to watch the course of public interest, and observe how for a time some one subject engages the attention of a certain class of people, pervades their correspondence and conversation, perhaps rules their actions, and | then dies out of notice, giving place to some other of an equally absorbing character. Through such a period of excitement we have just passed, and I hasten to record a few of the incidents that have peopled it before they fade from away the memory,

"And, like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a wreck behind."

With one solitary exception, an exception which caused much surprise in my mind, I have not received one letter since about a week before the celebrated" 13th and 14th of November," in which the glorious display of aerolites which we had notice to expect on those days was not in some degree the subject; aud since the display really took place, scarcely a visitor has entered my house who has not with more or less energy discussed those wonderful appearances, their causes and effects. We have many of us, too, been led to a class of reading and thought that previously never occupied our minds, but which may possibly tell on our future studies. For myself, I would gladly sit up two nights in a week for a month to come if I could but once again witness the sight which I saw on the night of the 13th and 14th November, with the degree of knowledge as to what to observe, and how to calculate the distances, &c., which I have since obtained.

" to a

It seems, however, a wonderful thing that so many well-informed people who knew all about what was expected, and the fitting time to look out, preferred an hour's "beauty sleep sight of the heavens when they were so sig nally and unusually "declaring the glory of God," and showing to human eyes a part of His works that most of those sleep-lovers will never again have an opportunity of beholding; for how comparatively few amongst us will see the golden showers of 1899, even should clear skies permit those who may be alive at the time to do so? It is a noticeable circumstance that invalids and delicate people, who rarely, many if ever, for years had been out of their beds, at the coming in of "the small hours," made arrangements to enable them to see the wonderful sights, whilst intelligent men and women in the full vigour of health, and a readiness to be up late into the night for other purposes, were content on this great occasion to go to bed and to sleep!

At twelve o'clock on the night of the 13th and 14th of November I settled myself alone at a window commanding that portion of the sky

which extends from Orion on the right, to Ursa Major on the left, and with a fairly unbroken view from a little above the horizon to the zenith. The sky was clear, and before me lay Leo, just risen in the east, Procyon flashing his red light in great splendour, Auriga, Perseus, Gemini, Aries. There were also in view Taurus, with its brilliant cluster of stars, the Pleiades, and many other constellations; and, though last not least," beautiful Mars. I sat behind a green baize curtain, so that the light of fire and candle might not distract me, and with writing materials and my watch close at hand, I entered on my vigil.

My intention was to count the number of meteors I saw to fifty, and then note how long a period had passed whilst I did so. Soon, however, the increase of numbers was so great, and the scene became so exciting, that I was obliged to set my limit at one hundred, and even occasionally to exceed that before I could venture to turn from the window and make my minutes of number and time. I doubt not that at such moments I missed seeing many, and also I am aware that I did not count all the meteorites that passed over my little portion of sky, which it must be remembered was not more than about fifty degrees; but I was desirous of getting some definite ideas concerning the real numbers that I saw, and not to trust chiefly to "that forward and delusive faculty," imagination, which is so apt to mislead in any matter that concerns time and quantity.

My observations extended over only two hours, and about twenty minutes of the time neither stars nor meteors visible. This time of the sky was entirely covered with clouds, and obscuration was, so far as I gathered from the accounts of other places where it was not cloudy at the time, the richest of all, and the fall of meteors more abundant than that during any other period of the night. The result of my observations was as follows:

From 12 to 12:25 I counted 50
12:46
1:22

دو

12.25 12:46

100

53

106

104

101

50

1.58

13

All these, besides many that I did not count, were seen in my little bit of sky during one hour and forty minutes. All that fell between twelve and one, with one exception, were traceable back to Leo as their radiant. After

one, such was not the case. Before one I thought the largest proportion that I saw were of the description that I shall distinguish by the name of "the rocket kind," those which dashed right up towards the zenith, or from north to east, with exceedingly rapid motion, and looking as if a star had started on a race. These seemed to be of more compact formation, to be more energetic and perfect in their course, and to leave a longer train of light behind them. The other kind were apparently of looser construction, more like fire - balls. These flew shorter distances, and their trains were shorter and formed the arc of a much smaller circle than those of the rocket kind. The colour of the trains was also more usually of a blue or greenish tint, whilst those of the rockets exhibited none of the red side of the prism.

Soon after one the clouds down low in the north-east cleared away, and the sight I then saw was most beautiful and most suggestive. A faint auroral light of a yellowish tint lit up the whole of that portion of the sky that had cleared, flickering upwards, but its rays were not visible from the obstruction made by a dense mass of black cloud that lay above it. All over the cleared part of the sky played fireballs of various sizes, crossing each other at different angles, and tossed hither and thither as if by a multitude of giant hands. Many of the balls were very large; some seemed to fall back as if spent before their time, whilst others rose upwards and were lost behind the bank of cloud, which was, however, now rising higher and higher, and in a few minutes had quite vanished, leaving the sky bright and clear as before. The sight was glorious as the clouds scattered away, and the splendour of stars and meteors illumined the dark deep vault of Heaven

"Till the place

Became religious, and the heart ran o'er
With silent worship.”

The solitude in which I sat, the deep silence of the night, and the infinite beauty and glory of the firmament, with its countless fixed and shifting lights, seemed almost too exciting, and it was long before I could sleep without having the visions repeated in my dreams with all sorts of fantastic additions. How many at that moment in different parts of the world were watching the skies, and sharing in the wonder and delight with which my own mind was filled! Mariners on the ocean, the wild Indian on the prairie, learned men in the east and in the west, the shepherd on the hill-sides, and the belated traveller alarmed and startled by the fiery vision,-all would be gazing at the same wonderful and beautiful sight. Again, how many in past ages have seen and wondered at and spoken of the strange sights they had seen! The Druid watching through the night amidst the Dartmoor wilds; the holy prophet of God gone forth to pray and meet his God in the temple, or on the mountains; the warrior

rushing to meet his foe in the coming morning; men in all ages and of all classes, and of all degrees have seen such a vision and trembled. It may have met the amazed view of Abraham in his Chaldean home, or of Jacob in his flight to Padan-Aran. It may have been seen by his sons in their Egyptian bondage, or in the mighty desert through which they wandered for forty years: for though not then, as now, foretold and expected, these wondrous periodic flights of aerolites must have had existence in all past times, they must probably have been seen by many, and whenever seen, they must have excited somewhat the same feelings in hearts of ancient mould as they now do in our hearts; though possibly awe and terror and superstitious feelings had more place in their minds than in those of men to whom science has made much familiar that formerly was too sudden and too inexplicable to give to the beholders the delight which we of later years and more advanced knowledge can derive from such sights.

But what are these aërolites, and whence do they come? This is a question as yet unsolved, and although the attention of astronomers is now fully at work on it, and facts are being collected on all hands, and classed and arranged, and calculations as to the exact time of their periodical appearance are proved correct, we as yet know but little about them. Guesses are made, and some of them probably include the truth, or at any rate a part of it; but much remains as yet to be discovered. Mr. Olmstead in America was the first who undertook to deal with the subject of these meteoric showers, their nature, periods, and the radiant from which they appeared to start, which he fixed at a point near the star y in Leo. The decision which he and other astronomers have at present attained is, according to Olmstead, that the meteors "emanated from a nebulous body which was then pursuing its way along with the earth around the sun; that this body continues to revolve around the sun in an elliptical orbit, but little inclined to the plane of the ecliptic, and having its aphelion near to the orbit of the earth; and finally, that this body has a period of nearly six months." This "nebulous body" is supposed to "constitute a sort of ring diffused over the whole orbit like a great highway of rolling or flying stones, though not always of equal density. breadth of this highway or stream is compared to the moon's orbit, and it takes two or three successive years, or rather successive Novembers, for the earth to enter and clear it. These stones enter our atmosphere with a velocity of forty miles in a second. They are supposed to become ignited by the intense rapidity of their flight, and extinguished by coming in contact with our grosser air." The meteorite, so long as it is in moving through the highest regions of the air, may be called a "shooting star," or a "fire-ball," according to the apparent magnitude and brilliancy of its mass. An enormous development of heat and light is consequent on

The