Yet He did leave them peace: that peace within Which passeth show, and lives when all around Scared by the sound of sorrow and of sin Affrighted shrink; and they that peace have found Where supplication breathes, and faith and love abound. Dread Saul the persecutor even now With armed followers draws nigh the gate- Prostrate and humbled on the ground he lies, But to his inward darkness light is given, And from his heart by God the cloud of error driven. Prayer followeth on conviction-where hath flown The Christian converts' fear? wondrous the ways By which the Lord preserves and guards His own ; Glorious the hymn those Christian converts raise When by the Lord revealed-"Lo! Saul of Tarsus prays!" ANE. 27. Easter Day. John and Charles Mozley, Printers, Derby. Good and Bad Habits:-Disrespect (Concluded.) The Indian's Revenge, Juggernat'h, Blackbirds feeding their Young, Blind Elephant, April, GOOD AND BAD HABITS. DISRESPECT. (Concluded.) "Death and Life are in the power of the tongue."- Prov. xviii. 21. Notwithstanding all that was before her on the morrow, poor Mrs. Barfoot, worn out with fatigue, slept long and soundly that night; so long indeed, that Hannah Fleetwell, roused by her mother, was far on her way to Mitchley, through the fog and dust of the October morning, before she was stirring. She awoke, however, at last, much refreshed in body, though there came directly over her mind the burden of care which sleep had for a time removed. The sorrow of parting with her baby was the worst and the first part of it, for her cousin had herself pro APRIL, 1853. mised to come to fetch it quite early, that it might be out of the way when she was getting ready for her journey. And she was as good as her word. Mrs. Barfoot had hardly finished swallowing the tea which Sally had got ready, before she was up, and was busy telling the latter how she was to manage when she was gone, when the cousin lifted the latch and walked in. "I wish that I could offer to take Sally and Johnny in too, whilst you are gone," she said, "for 'tis lonesome for them stopping out here, but, you see, we are nine in family, now my eldest girl is at home, and having a lodger too, we are pretty well as full as we can hold." "Oh dear, don't mention it!" said Mrs. Barfoot, as she thanked her. "They'll do very well, for my neighbour, Mrs. Fleetwell, will look after them, and I have given Sally all as I can spare to buy what little they will want; and she is as much to be trusted, is Sally, as if she was forty years old, that I will say. And I know she will take as much care of Johnny as if I was here myself. I have not any fear of harm coming to him. You won't let him get about by himself, and you'll be good to him when I am gone, for mother's sake, won't you, Sally?" What Sally would have answered I do not know, or what she felt when her mother spoke so kindly, for just then Mrs. Fleetwell came in with the bandbox, which Hannah had succeeded in bringing from Mitchley, and her voice, of course, prevented any one else from being heard. In no very long time, the baby, not without as much screaming as if it meant to protest against being taken away from its mother, was dressed and fed, and with its poor little clothes tied up in a small bundle, carried off by the cousin to her home. Poor Mrs. Barfoot stood at the door, watching that small armful of feeble life, to her so precious-disappearing over the heath, without a tear. She did not think whether she should ever see her child again in this world, or not. She had thought, and feared, and cried about it yesterday, but to-day a sort of dulness was come over her, and she only knew that whether her going to London was right or wrong, it must be done now. She had three miles to walk to the railway station, and Mrs. Wilmore had told her that the train would start at a quarter before ten, so, judging by the sun, which was now beginning to struggle through the fog, they thought that there was not much time to spare. Mrs. Fleetwell, indeed, had a clock which she thought was 66 never much more than three quarters of an hour or so wrong," and when she ran into her own cottage to look at it, she heard very faintly through the thick misty air, the sound of the distant Church bell, ringing for the early service, which was at eight o'clock. She hurried back to Mrs. Barfoot's directly to tell her so, and to urge her to start directly. "You really must not stop now for nothing," she said, "for you are but a poor walker, and 'tis as much as you will do to be at the station, and get yourself a ticket for London, and all, before the train comes in; and they don't wait for nobody." Mrs. Barfoot had got her bonnet on, and her new shawl, and her white cotton gloves, and looked very nice and tidy; and she was just tying up her money in a corner of her handkerchief, for fear it should shake out of her pocket. "But where is Sally and Johnny?" she said. "I must speak to them before I go. They were both in the house a few minutes ago, and now I cannot see them anywhere." "It don't signify," said Mrs. Fleetwell, rather impatiently. "They are not here now, and you cannot stop to look after them! depend upon it that Sally has taken Johnny out of the way, for fear he should make a to-do when you went off." "She had no need to have done it," Mrs. Barfoot answered. 'I don't think he would have taken any notice, for he has not seemed to mind anything that has been going on since yesterday." "Dear me!" she sighed, as she looked round the other side of the cottage, with her bandbox in her hand, "dear me! it don't seem natural to be going away so, do it? it makes one feel very strange and lonely, somehow." But Mrs. Fleetwell was not willing to give her time to feel any thing. She hurried her over the little low stile between the garden and the heath, and after walking with her some way past her own cottage, and wishing her a good journey, stood looking after her until she was out of sight, round the corner of a low hill. But Sally had not taken Johnny out of her mother's way, or indeed thought at all about him. She intended to do what was right, and to |