The accounts of Jane Campbell varied much; and Lotty had to endure long trying hours of fluctuating hopes and fears. At last came the glad news, the crisis was past, Jane would live! Oh, how thankful Lotty felt! It was Ned, who had watched for hours that he might learn the latest accounts, who now brought the joyful message to his sister; but it was in Cousin Charles's arms that she sobbed out her heartfelt joy. And it was at his side she knelt, as together they returned thanks to the Great Physician for having spared the life of her little friend.

Jane's strength returned slowly. Naturally delicate, she did not rally so quickly as her sturdy little brother had done; and a change to the seaside being ordered, weeks elapsed ere Lotty was permitted to see her. Then it was in the presence of Cousin Charles and Ned (who insisted on accompanying them) that Lotty first saw her friend, and begged her forgiveness, Ned pleading that indeed it was greatly his fault; but for his thoughtless words, Lotty would never have spoken as she had done. It needed small pleading; Jane was only too willing to forgive. Her anger had been short-lived; and for many weeks she had longed on her sickbed for a sight of her little friend; and her father told that, on her recovery, the first smile of pleasure that crossed her face was on receiving a beautiful bouquet sent to her with Lotty's love. It was with a light heart and bounding step that Lotty returned home, after having received her friend's full forgiveness.

The bitter lesson of these sad weeks was never forgotten; and in after years, when Lotty herself was a mother, she would check her children in any outburst of angry words, by telling them the story of her childhood, and how bitterly she had experienced the truth of the old proverb: 'That least said is soonest mended ;' reminding them of the Scripture proverb, that

'Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue, keepeth his soul

from troubles.'

M. H.

JESSIE OGLETHORPE.

THE STORY OF A DAUGHTER'S DEVOTION.
BY W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS.

CHAPTER VI.

EMOVING now the scene to the exterior of the lighthouse, we observe that the storm raged not so violently as at its outbreak; but the wind still roared loudly, and the rain fell heavily, and the surging billows spent themselves furiously on the rocky shore. The night was dark with a moonless, starless darkness-a darkness such as I think no dweller in towns ever conceives an idea of. That profound gloom, which on tempestuous nights covers the vexed sea, is indeed a fearful thing; and it is as impossible for the pen to describe as for the most skilful brush to paint it.

To Dick Marsland, however, it was familiar enough. His wild and wayward career had made him acquainted with all the terrors of the deep. not for the darkest night that ever descended upon The smuggler cares the shuddering bosom of the earth. He congratulates himself that it will the better conceal his nefarious deeds, and protect him from the vigilance of the officers of the law. It is under its cover that he runs for the well-known beach, and lands his ill-gotten cargo at the appointed rendezvous, where his accomplices, warned by certain signals, are waiting to receive it, and to carry it off to a secure place of concealment. The gale may blow, and the waters may hurtle and clash against the

rocks; but neither

gale

nor angry billows can daunt the