morning received a beautiful silver medal from the Horse Guards, as a reward for his services in Egypt. Accordingly, upon his clean, white linen frock, (one of which had been supplied by the Rector to all the old men who were communicants in the workhouse, that they might appear clean and white at the table of their LORD and Master,) he fastened with care to his left breast the bright token of reward; and leading him into the drawingroom, where a large family party were assembled, of all ages, the old man's greetings were as hearty and as great, as if the Rector himself had gained a victory; this being the feeling described by the good Clergyman, when he saw the aged Christian soldier enter his study, thus rewarded at the eleventh hour. It may well be imagined that the good old volunteer was not allowed to leave the house, till he had been engaged to return after service, and take his dinner at the Rectory.

ON THE DAILY SERVICE.

'MID the thronged city's hum,
When thousands buy and sell,
When daily to the mart they come,
To hear news, and to tell;
Let not one warning voice be dumb-
The daily service bell.

Oft have I heard, 'mid clam'rous din,
The thrilling call to prayer,
And come those holy courts within,
And felt the LORD was there;
To hear of penitence for sin,
"LORD, spare Thy people, spare!"

And there with one accord,
Our litany shall rise,
Have mercy on us, LORD,
By Thy great sacrifice,

Thou Who hast passed Thy Word,
Thou would'st not ten despise.

'Mid Fashion's gay resort,

Where pleasure holds her sway,
Where mirth would banish thought,
With new delights each day.
O, bless'd the warning daily brought,
The bell that calls to pray.

'Mid poverty and grief,

'Mid anxious thoughts and care,
O, welcome bell that brings relief,
And calls to common prayer,
Where, amid two or three, the Chief,
Thou, LORD, art surely there.

In poverty and wealth,

Have mercy on us, LORD;
In sickness and in health,

O, let Thy grace be stored,
And turn us from our worldly pelf
To Thee, with one accord.
S. B. N.

THE PICTURE.

(Continued from p. 100.)

THERE was a general gloom throughout the house when it was known that Effie was dangerously ill; the unfortunate affair of the picture seemed forgotten, and they looked on her as they had done before it happened. Clara especially was to be pitied;

she was really very fond of Effie, and besides she had some suspicions her illness might have been caused by the grief and disgrace she had brought upon her, and when another day passed, and Effie was certainly worse rather than better, Clara's alarm grew unendurable.

66

Mamma," she said, as she stood looking at Effie, who was then lying in a sort of sleep, "is she very ill?”

66

Very ill-she is so restless and feverish this evening," answered Mrs. Vivian. "I hope Edith will be here soon." "Edith! have you sent for Edith ?" exclaimed Clara in great alarm. "Mamma, is she dying?"

Effie moved restlessly, and murmured, me, I promised not.”

"Hush! don't ask

Mrs. Vivian went up to her, and laid her cool hand on her forehead, but Clara stood still, then suddenly exclaimed, "Mamma, I did it—it was all my fault-it was I.”

Mrs. Vivian's thoughts were engrossed by Effie, and she scarcely heard what Clara said. 'My dear, I cannot attend to you now, you had better go, she must be kept quiet."

Clara slowly left the room, and stopped at the head of the stairs, considering. Then summoning up all her courage, she ran down, opened the study door, and the next moment was standing before Mr. Vivian.

'Well, what does my little Clara want?" said her father, with unusual gentleness in look and tone.

"I wanted, I wanted," almost sobbed Clara. Effie, I spoiled the picture."

"It was I, not

Mr. Vivian drew her to him, and questioned her, but with kindness that redoubled Clara's shame and repentance. She told him every thing without the slightest concealment, ending with "And papa, now she is so ill! Perhaps she will die, and it will be my fault! Please say she will get well, рара."

Lily had been standing near, but Clara had either not seen or not cared for it, and while Clara had been speaking, bitter and reproachful thoughts filled her mind, and she forgot to blame Clara, as she thought over her own conduct. Mr. Vivian was speaking to Clara, but Lily did not hear a word of what he was saying. He saw the whole truth had been told, and for that he could not be too thankful, but he also saw Clara had acted on impulse rather than principle, and that the habit of deceit was too deeply rooted even for this lesson to destroy it. He spoke kindly but very gravely, and Clara leant her head on his shoulder, and wept still quiet tears of repentance. But Lily-she could not bear the painful thoughts that crowded upon her-she ran out of the room, and as Effie had

done once before, stood before the portrait of Blanche, looking at it.

"Effie was as bright and happy once," she thought, "and she may die too." Yet the portrait itself was not one to inspire sad thoughts. It had been taken by a friend, who half in jest had painted her as the heroine in her favourite tradition, "The Rose of the Alhambra." Blanche's love, when a child, for the tradition was so well known, that in allusion to it, her father would often call her his white rose.

And there she sat as Jacintha in the old Spanish legend sat, waiting for the appearance of the gentle spirit of Zorahayda. She sat by a fountain in an old Moorish hall, with its graceful delicate fret work and lovely arabesques. The moonlight fell on the marble columns, and the silver fountain, leaving the further part of the hall in almost total darkness; a lute was lying on a chair and a bird cage hung here. Blanche herself was admirably painted; the artist had preserved her exquisitely lovely features, but had given them the expression of mingled awe and fear and hope that might have rested on Jacintha's. Lily stood looking at the picture, though her eyes were so full of tears that she could scarcely see it. If she was answerable for looks and words as well as deeds, had she not as much reason as Clara to blame herself? had she not wished Effie to be proved guilty, and had she not embittered as far as she could the trial? Nay was she not even answerable in some measure for her illness? Lily's penitence might be somewhat exaggerated, but no one could deny that she had been doing very wrong. Oh, if Effie did recover, how she would try to make up for her previous unkindness! But that did not do away with her past faultswhat a relief it would be to confess it all to some one who would pity and advise her. But to whom? She was not

accustomed to talk to Mr. or Mrs. Vivian, she could not, she thought, and yet her present feelings were unendurable. Almost unconsciously she sank on her knees, and the words of the confession rose to her lips. She had said it every day as long as she could remember, but never with such earnestness as then.

Edith meanwhile neither came nor wrote, to her aunt's no small perplexity. The fact was, she had gone from home on a three days' visit, and never got the letter until her return. That was five days from the commencement of Effie's attack; on the sixth Mrs. Vivian received a few hurried lines to explain why she had not arrived before, and saying she should be there that day.

Effie was out of danger, but it was scarcely credible how altered she was. The resemblance to Blanche was increasedto Blanche as she had been in her last illness, and so thought Mildred, with a sigh for the pain it must give Edith, more than for that it caused herself.

All that day Effie lay on the sofa with her aunt's watch before her, still quiet and very silent. She had not strength enough to talk much, and perhaps she was too happy, for the news of Edith's coming seemed to do her more good than all the nursing had. Hurried as Edith's letter had been, there were a few lines enclosed for Effie, a very few, but they were very precious seemingly, for Effie coloured as she read them, and smiled, and kissed them over and over again, but she did not show them to any one, or say anything about them. Lily and Clara talked to her, and Herbert came in sometimes: he was to have left Compton Tracey two days before, but he could not go till Effie was pronounced quite out of danger. Kind as he was, Clara could not see him without a feeling of shame, and Lily felt something of the same kind, and one of his visits was followed by a general silence till Effie said, “Open the window, please, Lily'

Lilias opened it, and stood leaning against it, the pleasant south wind coming in, and white clouds floating in the blue sky. Everything was very still, and the sound of a carriage would be audible far off.

"I hear it!" said Lily.

Effie had heard it a minute before, and her cheek flushed, and she looked so eager that Lily was frightened.

"Lie still, dear," she said, “I will go and see if it really is the carriage."

She ran down stairs, and Effie remained quite still, though her lips quivered with excitement. There was a little bustle in the hall, voices, and a rapid step on the stairs, and in another moment Edith appeared. Effie started up, with an exclamation of joy, and Edith threw her arms round her, and pressed a long fond kiss on her cheek. Effie clung to her sister without a word; she had never realized till then how dearly Edith loved her. Then remembering Clara, who had shrunk back ashamed to meet Edith, she whispered, "You have not seen Clara."

Edith had heard the whole affair in a second letter from Mrs. Vivian, and understanding Effie's motive, turned instantly to Clara with a kind greeting, but she had no thoughts long for any one but Effie, and turned to look at her again. She noticed the

resemblance to Blanche instantly, but it had a different effect to what Mildred anticipated. The love that had been Blanche's, seemed given redoubled to Effie, and Edith had no time for painful thoughts of the past when she was so grateful for having Effie restored to her. There was a happy surprise in store for Effie, in hearing that her papa was come. That he had left S. Olave's at such a busy time, and come all the way to Compton Tracey to see her, was almost too pleasant and wonderful to be believed. It was weeks before she was able to return to S.

Olave's, but thanks to everybody's nursing and petting, being ill was almost pleasanter than being well, and Effie could never regret a trial, if it had been twice as tedious, that taught her how deep Edith's love for her was. Effie was not afraid of her now; she ventured to confide all sorts of fancies and visions to her that once she would most carefully have concealed. She did not wonder now how little Bessy felt, when she climbed on her sister's knee, and laid her head on her shoulder. And Edith was no longer cold and reserved-before, she had always doubted how far Effie returned her affection, and affection that doubts of a return is always shy and shrinking, and over sensitive. Effie had formerly been a mere child, whom she guided and watched over; now they were companions. Edith could look back at last, calmly and thankfully, and own that the loss of Blanche had been a just and needful trial, but she no longer thought of the future as the blank it had once seemed to her. And Lily? She was of a nature to strive long and patiently to overcome any fault she was conscious of, and very hard did she struggle with that of jealousy. She said nothing to her cousin of her bitter repentance during her illness; their old happy intercourse returned imperceptibly, as if there had been no break in it, and Effie had forgotten Lily had ever been unkind. But if Effie forgot it, Lilias did not; it was a warning that was of use to her through her whole life. At first she thought the fault was crushed, and would never rise up again to torment her, and it was with almost horror that she found it in some measure return, when all real anxiety about Effie had ceased, and only enough remained to make every one anxious to pet and take care of her. Lily did not now yield as she had done before,-she tried to subdue the feeling with all her might, and therefore we may trust she succeeded. Clara's fault was harder to conquer, because she had not strong principles to aid her like Lilias, and also because it was more imperceptible. Probably she would have forgotten her first shame and sorrow in a little while, but this Mr. Vivian took care she should not. His few grave kind words from time to time, made more impression on her than anything else, and she often stopped and corrected herself, or bore Lily's corrections patiently. It was the extreme difficulty she found in avoiding this fault that first made her sensible how great it was, and gave her more serious thoughts than she had ever had before. Unconsciously Lily often helped her, for when Clara saw her give way to others, or check a hasty word as it rose to her lips, it recalled her own faults to her, and gave her fresh energy. And surely her efforts were not without a blessing, for never yet did any one strive from a pure heart fervently, in a holy purpose, in vain.