And when, a little later, Alice came to say good night, she informed her Aunt that she did like that funny man very much now, he told her such nice stories, and laughed so. The younger Millicent began to hope that Mr. Rivers would come and see them in London during the Christmas holidays: the two boys would be so pleased with him. Her elder and favourite brother was already hankering after a sailor's life, and she said to herself that if he could be just such a sailor as Mr. Rivers, she should think of his future prospects much less regretfully. son. The news of Harry Rivers's arrival soon spread to the Manor, through the agency of William Brown, who had followed the example of his superior officer not only in going to Arctic Regions, but also in returning safely thence, and was now come once more to Headingham, to cheer his old mother's heart with another sight of her sailor She had hardly expected to see him again before she died. Mrs. Brown was now too old to be of much use as a housekeeper, but she still lived at the Manor; it would have broken her heart to leave it. She employed herself chiefly in spoiling the twins, and telling them stories of their mother's childhood, as formerly she had been used to amuse Margaret herself with accounts of the former owners and occupants of the Manor. Her chief trouble, next to anxiety for Willie's safety, was disappointment that no son had yet appeared to keep up the name and family of Grantley. Fond as she was of the little girls, she could not help regretting that one had not been born a boy. Perhaps her master and mistress may be excused for sometimes yielding to the same regret, though they were both too true-hearted and too thankful for their many blessings to murmur at this one wish being denied them. Mr. Rivers did not see much more of Millicent before he returned to London; for a while her energy and fortitude seemed to have forsaken her, and all exertion was a burden to her. The morning he left Headingham, she asked for another talk with him, and ended it by saying, "Thank you very much for all you have done for him and for me; you have been a true friend to us both;" and Harry needed no other reward for his toils and his dangers. CHAPTER XXXII. "Gentle pleasures round her moved, Reverenced, like a sister loved." Wordsworth. In one of our populous seaport towns there is springing up a small but increasing school for the orphan daughters of sailors and fishermen, who find there a happy refuge from the want and sin which would otherwise surround them; and at the head of this childish flock, loving, teaching, and watching over them with a firm but gentle rule, is our Millicent. She neglects no more immediate duty by thus devoting herself to the service of the poor, for Dr. Mortimer has ended his long and useful life, and rests with his wife and elder daughter beneath the shadow of the Church in which he so long ministered. Mr. Fielding is his successor in the living; he finds the Vicarage too large for his own solitary occupation, and has persuaded one of his many nieces to come and live with him, and undertake some of the club and school duties which used in former days to devolve on Millicent and her sister. Lucy Fielding does her best; though without any hope of rivalling her predecessors in her uncle's favour; and if she were of an envious disposition, might become impatient of the very name of Mortimer. However, she is growing very useful, and with Edward Grantley's wife supplies what the parish needs of ladies' help, either from head or hands. The months immediately following her father's death, Millicent spent at Matilda Howard's, a very welcome guest to all the family circle. They would gladly have had her make her home with them, but Millicent longed for a more useful life than she would have found under her sister's roof; and whilst still uncertain what to do or where to go, she accompanied Matilda and her children to the sea-side town in which she now is. Here she gained an insight into an urgent want which she felt she could supply; one, moreover, in which she had a deep sympathy, connected as it was with the risks of a seafaring life. A few weeks more found her settled in a suitable house, with one or two little orphans to care for. As might be expected, her charge increases rapidly in number, and will soon be more than she can well manage single-handed; but in ministering to their wants she has found the best cure for her own troubles, and is really happy, though not in the way she would once have chosen for herself: happy in the memory of many by-gone days, in present usefulness and love, in cherished hopes of the time when the longest parting shall be over, and the endless meeting begin. Of our other friends there is not much to tell. Matilda's household continues peaceful and happy, though Aunt Millicent looks grave at the unlimited spoiling of little Alice, and not unreasonably wonders what would become of her own flock if they were treated in the same way. However, she hopes much from the child's really good disposition, and the influence of her elder sister, who is growing up to be all that her godmother wishes. William Baines and his wife are comfortably settled in an English home; the Hansons could not bear the thought of Rose's living at the other side of the globe, and have induced William to reverse the sentence of voluntary expatriation. His fellow-settler, Tom Charlton, still continues to tend sheep and oxen; and his poor mother looks in vain for the return or reformation of her prodigal. She is very old now, and will not sorrow for him much longer. The young midshipman of former days is already an experienced officer, with the rank of lieutenant, and spirits not less high, though less mischievous than formerly. Edward and Margaret Grantley are as happy and as estimable a couple as can be found within this realm of England. Maggie looks matronly with her little ones around her, but in simplicity and warmheartedness is not much altered from the days when she played about the Manor gardens. Mrs. Kempe spends much time at the Manor; Margaret has always been like her daughter, and the twins like her grandchildren. Emily Grantley, too, pays her brother long visits; she is not hardy enough to thrive on the north country air, and gladly avails herself of the opportunity of being with her old favourite, Margaret. Old Mrs. Grantley and her elder daughter still cultivate their little farm at Mossbeck, and do not often travel southwards; but Millicent generally finds some visitor at the Manor when she goes there for the rest and relaxation she sometimes needs. Harry (now Captain) Rivers is a not unfrequent guest; and Millicent suspected even before she was made the confidante of his intentions, that there was some extraordinary attraction which led him to Headingham. It was just like Harry Rivers, to fall in love with a being so dependant as Emily Grantley, and Millicent told him that the world would call him Quixotic, without at all supposing that the world's opinions would have any weight with him. Nor was she mistaken. "What's the use of being a great strong fellow," said Harry, "if one can't take care of some one who needs taking care of. As for Emily, all she wants to be something very near perfection is eyesight, and that I will give her as far as my eyes can do it, if she will let me." And Millicent has very little doubt that she will "let him" before long. The one earnest wish of Margaret and her husband has been fulfilled, and the twins are never so well pleased as when playing with their little baby brother. The next time Millicent pays them a visit she will rejoice with them that there is again an heir to HEADINGHAM MANOR. Resurgam." ("Resurgam," with the date of 1600, is the sole inscription over a tomb in a certain Churchyard known to the writer.) "I shall arise !"-Two hundred years Or Autumn's sunsets burn and glow. DD Easter Tide, 1862. "I shall arise!"-O, wavering heart, In darkness, mingling right with wrong; Behold the sum and truth of all. What though I strove and could not reach The grasp of larger life, the calm Of broader faith, of wider thought; Like children here we wade the shoals, Like children, yet we lisp in life, No shadowy paradise of bliss, But real,-life more true than this; More true than this, nor all too changed God's gifts of Faithfulness and Hope:- And Love's communion, pure and sweet, But we may draw like Mary near, O soul! where'er your ward is kept, I read and scarce can read for tears, "I shall arise!" O clarion call!- Brings the sure Truth which cannot die, The life where Faith and Knowledge blend; In silence, and around us here The shadow of the great white throne G. F. J. THE FAIRY'S DREAM. For the Young Folks at Yome. Once upon a time there was a very busy little Fairy. She lived in a large dwelling which had a great many rooms in it, and was full of many other busy little fairies, as active as the mistress of the mansion herself. The Fairy's name was Industria. Her house stood in a court-yard, which was guarded by two old beavers, who were past building any more; and she had good-naturedly taken them into her service by way of maintaining them during their declining years. So they wore the Fairy's livery, and paraded up and down before the door, with strong sticks in their fore-paws, and kept off all idle people, and sent them packing about their business, for the Fairy could not endure idle people. There was a charming garden round the house, with fine old trees that had been very busy, growing, for many hundred years and there were bright flowers and green lawns and sloping terraces, and fountains which were always at work, though some persons said they were always playing; the fact was, when they were at work they were playing too, which is a peculiarity in fountains; and under the south wall of the garden there stood a long range of bee-hives, full of working-bees, for the Fairy would not allow one drone amongst them; and there were swarms of lively little ants upon the walks, bustling about in all directions, hard at work, providing for the winter. Not a wasp was allowed to shew his head about the place, except a steady, diligent, mason-wasp, who had built herself a snug cottage against one of the garden walls, and lived upon very bad terms with all the caterpillars in the neighbourhood, whom she used to carry off very unceremoniously for the young wasps, her children, to devour. : Within the house there were long ranges of apartments in which various labours were continually going on, under the vigilant eye of the Fairy. In one room several fairies, her pupils, were busily employed in carding and spinning; in another was a weaving-loom, in which the warp was of the hue of the moonbeams, and the woof was of pale azure, with flowers woven into it in such natural colours that they looked as if they had fallen upon it in showers from the sky in the next room was a company of fairy-artists, designing exquisite patterns, and tinting them with dyes of unearthly brilliancy: in a fourth, the most costly gold and silver vases were being wrought by fairy hands, and gorgeous gems and snowy pearls were formed into royal garlands. In fact, every apartment in the Fairy's house was full of busy work-people; and the sound of implements, and the hum of labour, were heard from morning till night. As to Industria, herself, you may be sure she was never idle. Not that she always stayed within the house to work. She had a |