"That comes of having brothers, little troublesome wretches; always meddling," said Nancy.

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I was not meddling," said Tom's voice from the kitchen. "Hold your tongue, Sir," replied Nancy,

business.'

"and go about

your

"I can't, and that's because my button is not put on, and you would not put it on; so it's your fault," said Tom, "that I can't go to school, and Mother says so too."

Nancy got up and shut the door, and heeded him no longer, intending to make him pay for his saucy words on some future occasion. She then lent her attention to what was far more agreeable, a further discussion on the merits of worsted work, which Miss Bent practised nearly as diligently as Nancy did; and then came a description of some new bonnets and mantles, which had appeared in a shop lately opened in the market town of the neighbourhood. After this Miss Bent gave Nancy a pressing invitation to return with her to tea, telling her that "young Joseph Frost and some other guests" were also to be of the party.

66

'Well, Mother, you don't want me, do you?" said Nancy. "Father won't be home till late, but Betsey can do all you want, and get his supper for him too."

66

Very well," replied Mrs. Childers, "I suppose you won't be very late, or father will complain, you know."

"Oh no," said Nancy, and then she asked Miss Bent to wait for her while she got ready; and so saying, she left the room to prepare herself to return with her friend to spend the evening at Dingley. Mrs. Childers gave a little sigh.

"I'm afraid you are not very well this afternoon," said Miss Bent, kindly, and drawing her chair nearer to Mrs. Childers. "I can't say I do feel very well," she answered, expect it, you know, after such an illness."

"but I can't

"I'm afraid I am taking Nancy away when you can hardly spare her?" continued Miss Bent.

"Oh no, I don't want to keep her; she had better go; she's young, and it is but natural she should like to enjoy herself; I'm sure I'm willing she should."

Miss Bent felt half sorry she had invited Nancy, for she saw plainly that poor Mrs. Childers felt ill, and longed for somebody to stay with her. Miss Bent was like Nancy, an only daughter. Her one brother was grown up, and Nancy thought her very much to be envied in having no invalid mother, and no little brothers to attend to. She soon came down, looking very gay and happy, and prepared for her walk with her friend.

"Good bye, Mother," she said, "you had better have your tea soon; I've told Betsey I'm going out, so it's all right."

Very well, my dear; thank you for telling Betsey ;" and Mrs. Childers looked quite pleased by the unusual attention.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

ABOUT MISTAKEN PERSONS.

Every one makes a mistake at some time or other of his life. Some persons' whole lives are a mistake from beginning to end; some go on for years leading a wholly mistaken existence, and then, finding out their error, set bravely to work to overcome it; and conquering, determine that they will never commit themselves again; others continue in a mistake for a few weeks, or perhaps only days, and then find it out, and throwing it on one side never take it up again. One class of persons make mistakes every now and then; some continually make the same mistake; others are always doing something wrong, and yet never doing the same thing twice; some make but one mistake, but if it is but one it is often one that will last them all their lives, one that cannot even with the uttermost attention be remedied, one that goes on getting worse and worse, eating deeper and deeper, till the canker worm of remorse, bit by bit consuming the life and spirit, drags down the victim to an early and untimely end.

I have known a great many people in my life time, and I have seen a great many mistakes made; I have seen a great many mistakes made by divers persons, and I have seen them endeavour to remedy them. I am not going to be tedious if I can possibly help it, but I am going to talk of some of these good people, and tell how they made the mistakes, hoping that their history may prevent others from committing the same error, and serve as landmarks and beacons to those in whose way the same temptation is thrown. I was going to say these papers are meant to be didactic, but no, I do not like didactic papers; let me say then, simply, that they are meant to do good; and this one especially is written in hope, hope of doing good and warning others. They are all true characters I pourtray; as I go on the path of life I mark down the persons good and bad that I meet, and I cull from my collection the richest buds for example, and the cankered and broken petals I offer to my readers for warnings.

I am not going to tell here of funny mistakes, of "bulls" and jokes, so if any one has begun this paper in hope of such they had better at once put it down. I can make a joke, a good one, sometimes, but I think they bore people, so I generally leave them and always leave the "bulls" for other folk. Here, however, I am going to talk of serious mistakes; of mistakes which foolish men and silly women fall into, and which mar their lives for the time or for ever. In such a paper as this it is not possible to speak of a hundredth part of these errors; there is scarcely room to mention even the chief of them; but some few there are in themselves, apart from

their consequences, great, yet often overlooked, because they have their origin in private individuals, not in the public. Yet it is mistakes such as these, made by one person here and there, which upset families and separate friends. Mistaken people, moreover, will never allow themselves to be in the wrong, but go on in their error-not till they injure their friends or relations, that they do not care for—but till the mistake ruins or injures themselves.

How often we make the grand mistake of neglecting one duty to fulfil another. To take a case in point: a parson undertakes school work; it is his duty to be with his class every morning at half-past seven o'clock; example to the boys demands, and his position as a parson requires, that he should be with them at prayers. In obedience to the canon he says matins to himself, and not only is absent at the school prayers, but generally late for his class as well. Now not one word against his saying matins, it is doubtless his duty to say them, but I say it is a grand mistake to take the time out of an hour which he owes for the wages given to his employer. He objects to the school prayers as only a selection; then let him refuse to take a situation where such a form of prayer is used; surely this would be the most honourable way; by adopting it he does his duty and does not defraud his employer. On the other hand he defrauds his employer to do his duty; put the two things in the balance, and the last will cut but a sorry figure. Then, too, the duty might be done on both sides by rising half an hour earlier; our friend, however, never seemed to see that.

Another man exclaims because there are not enough Services in his parish church to please him; because there is no Daily Prayer and weekly Clebration, and yet we find this man, when there are Prayers and Celebration, absenting himself from both. I knew a man once, and he called himself a good churchman, a very good churchman, who made such a complaint as this, and he was not satisfied with doing it privately, but endeavoured to do it publicly. Now during Lent there was Daily Service, and all the year round Matins on Wednesdays and Fridays, and yet this orthodox young man never went; yes, once he did, but then he came in at the "General Thanksgiving," and made so much noise that he disturbed the whole congregation. Forty yards only separated him from the church. His reason for not going was that the Services were so far apart, and conducted so badly, that he was fearful of turning Romanist if he went to them. If he had been a woman it would have been well to have said to him, in the words which Shakspeare puts into the mouth of one of his greatest characters, “Get thee to a nunnery," and, there might have been added, "rid us of your presence; for surely the Church can spare such friends as you." It seems scarcely possible to imagine any man, especially one professing to be a good churchman, making such a mistake as this. It could but be the mistake of a very silly person, and yet it is to be feared that there are many who fall into it; they cannot get, close to them, a service ritualistic enough to please them, and so do not

RR

enter the church themselves, and do their best by disparagement to hinder those who are entering in.

Then, too, what a common mistake is that which so many of us make in supposing ourselves to be men and women before we really are so. The moment the jacket is exchanged for a coat, and the child's frock for the woman's long dress, so soon we put on the airs of grown-up persons, ill-brook restraint, and chafe at the obedience which we owe to our parents and others who are over us. They are old fashioned; their advice was well enough years ago. Things are altered now. These are the excuses for this mistake; how much better it would be if such were to say that they do not intend any longer to obey their parents; it would be plain then, though so wicked; plain to all what they meant to do. Look at the man who stays away from home night after night to frequent some place-at the best doubtful-of amusement. Warned time after time that he is making his living here a mistake, that he is ruining himself and disappointing his family; look how he persists in his mistake, and perhaps endeavours, knowing he is doing wrong, to hide himself under a lie. He has been to the house of some friend; and his absence from the dinner and tea table is passed over, till at last he is absent altogether. What a marvellous mistake it is that parents and friends fall into, especially in large towns, in not looking closer into their sons' and relations' manner of spending their evenings; they seem to let them go on from time to time, doing almost what they like, and scarcely, when they do turn out badly, acknowledge that they have made a mistake. We all know people do not like to confess themselves mistaken; they would sooner, if they see it themselves, go on in their mistake than confess it, all the time longing to give it up, and craving for some one to whom to pour out their misery. But pride prevents the confession.

How careful should parents be who have daughters as to whom they introduce into their houses; and how carefully they ought to watch over them, and that which is to be their future. It is no use saying after the daughter is mixed up with some objectionable person, "Never thought of such a thing." This is one of those mistakes so hard to rectify. It is a parent's duty to know what men and women are before they introduce them to their sons and daughters. "I looked upon him as a mere boy:" this is often the excuse made. But boys cease to be boys in love matters after their last teen, especially if they come in contact with a designing woman whose age, looks, or temper, shut her out from the end which all women more or less hope for. So, too, on the other hand, may the “ mere boy" only have craved the introduction that he may inveigle a girl into an engagement because he knows she has some money, and he thinks that without a penny himself, or the chance of one, he may live for a while a life of idleness and ease. There are- -it seems

almost improbable, but there are such silly women as these, and there are men, let us hope they are few, who are mean enough

to engage themselves to a woman-and rob her, I can call it by no other name, rob her of her money.

Another very great mistake lies in allowing young people to become acquainted with those of the opposite sex when in a lower station of life than themselves. It can do no good; it may do an immensity of harm. People in a lower station of life than ourselves are quite as good, may be morally better than ourselves; but every one knows that people in each station are better and happier if they keep amongst those in their own station. No happy alliance or even prosperous one ever yet sprung from a peer and a farmer's daughter, or from a tradesman and a lady; yet if such are introduced to each other, it may happen; it does, we know, not unseldom happen; that they make the great mistake of taking a fancy to each other, and marring each other's future. And yet they are not nearly so much to blame for the mistake as those are who first bring them together.

It is the duty of parents before they introduce their children to others to know who they are, and if they are of an inferior station to eschew them as friends. This is not pride, it is avoiding a mistake, taking proper precaution, doing their duty, doing a kindness to both sides; a great kindness, too, for nothing of good or even common comfort ever arises from a mes alliance.

up

for us.

But there is one kind of mistake which many people make that must not be omitted here, in a Magazine essentially advocating its opposite. I mean the mistake which so many of us make with regard to the preparation in this life for that one which is to come after; day after day putting off, year after year neglecting to take the burden of the cross which we have to bear, and following in the steps (it is no doubt a difficult path) of Him Who bore it first It is a wilful mistake that is made here, for we Christians in a Christian land are taught to bear it. "There is plenty of time yet." "I am not going to die yet." "I am quite young." "This preparation is for the old." These are some of the excuses made, or rather falsehoods told, to cover the omission, to make amends for the error. It is hardly necessary to say that they make the omission worse, that they bring the error more prominently forward. The young amongst us, those who have hardly entered on the race of life, are taught such doctrine as this, but how great, how vast this mistake is. "The longest lived but die, and the youngest among us knows not when he rises in the morning whether the whole day will be added to his life."

It is very hard, we all know, to take up this cross; how hard if left till late in life; how hard to grasp at all then, many can tell; but there is this great beauty about it, it becomes easier day by day to bear, when once taken up.

I have seen the poor people labouring on a hot day to drag pieces of wood from a stream as they float almost beneath the surface of the water. They are so saturated with moisture that it is hard work to get them to the bank and lift them on their shoulders, but once