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'Lots of Time!'

orchard, and the orchard, with seven tall poplars standing in a low, thick, trim, quickset hedge ending at the towing-path, was the lawyer's house and office. Here, on this January morning, Bertie Daunay, a child of twelve years, in the short-sleeved, low-necked frock of that period, with brown hair plaited in two long tails behind, had dressed with some hurry and some awe; for the lightning dimmed her candle and the hail crashed on her window-panes. Her dread had been that she might oversleep herself, and miss making breakfast for her grandfather, whose New Year's visit was to end that morning. So Bertie thanked the storm, inasmuch as it roused her betimes.

What is sweeter than the willing service of a loving child? Early in the morning, and, for her age, late in the evening, Bertie was on her feet, doing her best all day. This little lass was not quite twelve, with seven younger than herself; and the responsibilities of her position gave a thoughtful expression to a face less pretty than intelligent. At this time she was the light of her home. A small house it was, full of children, an invalid mother, few domestic helps, and very limited means. But the sunshine of love dwelt with Bertie, and she would not have changed her lot with that of a princess. She helped to dust the parlour, and lay the breakfast carefully; she had been to her mother's room and secured the keys, and roused her father on her way downstairs.

At half-past eight a soldier-like step was heard in the passage, and Grandfather Falkland came into the room with pleasant smile. 'Well done, little Dame Trot! Hot toast, well-brewed tea, and bacon frizzled to a nicety! If mother could spare you, I would like to take you back to Cumberland with me. Is your father coming down?'

I hope so, presently, grandfather;' and Bertie went on with her duties.

Twice during his breakfast the old gentleman hurried out of his room to fetch or attend to something; then, when his meal was over, to put on his boots, pack up his slippers, and lock his carpetbag. After that he became impatient, and whistled up and down the room in a manner which somewhat fidgeted Bertie. At last, out came his watch.

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Run up, child, and ask if I can come and say good-bye to your mother."

"They are both just ready to come down, please grandfather, and there's lots of time.'

'One of the most mischievous expressions in common use, my dear, and one of the least true. But I will not scold you. You have made my breakfast very nicely, Bertie, and here is a halfsovereign for a new-year's gift; but never say there's lots of time, because An ominous sound out his speech short. It was the rattle of wheels, the clatter of horse-hoofs over the stones.

Bertie was kissed quickly, but kindly. James, the servant-man, threw open the door, bag and umbrella in hand, and without a goodbye to either of her parents, Bertie's grandfather walked hastily to the inn, where the team of bright bays was yielding place to four iron-grays.

'Lots of Time!'

Bertie rubbed her nose listlessly against the cold window, a semicircular bow of the old-fashioned type; then, having seen James returning empty-handed, she spun her half-sovereign on the windowseat, and strove to keep back her tears of disappointment at her parents' want of hospitality.

Then she turned to the table, cleared away the remains of her grandfather's breakfast, and put all straight and neat in readiness for her father and mother.

'Did the Squire drive himself this morning?' she heard her father inquire of James in the passage. No, sir; but they were very sharp to time. The coach started on the very stroke of nine.'

Then the parlour-door opened. Bertie made her simple courtesy, a child's morning greeting in those days. Her father smoothed her brown hair, kissed her, and called her Mother's useful little maid.' Her whole face brightened at her father's words as a sun-ray suddenly brightens up a picture, and she showed the gold piece.

Your grandfather is a soldier still in many of his ways, and punctuality is one. What did he think of our not being down?' 'I don't know, father; except he said that I was never to say there's lots of time.'

'Well, I think he paid you handsomely to remember his lesson,' Mr. Daunay said, with some vexation. Now pop it into your moneybox and run for your mother's pillow.'

Mr. Daunay had to be in his office at half-past nine; and breakfast was often a scramble, with the consciousness that some one would be waiting to see him, and some one perhaps who could ill afford to lose ten minutes at the beginning of the day. This morning he looked very grave as he helped a strong maid to bring his wife down, with the notable Bertie as cushion-bearer.

"Your father is really gone, sweetheart, without a good-bye.' 'What did he say, Bertie ?' her mother asked.

The child repeated her grandfather's words once more; and Mrs. Daunay looked at her husband.

'I know,' he said, 'five minutes, or even three, would have prevented it.'

"Then, dear George,' she began, let us turn over a new leaf with this New Year. We will breakfast at half-past eight always, and when I cannot come down let Bertie make your breakfast for you.'

Only we shall be shutting the stable-door a little too late, unless you can persuade your father to take us on his way home to the North.'

'But need I go with him, mother?' put in Bertie.

'No, no. It is to see how well we can train ourselves in ten

days, and how we have profited by this lesson.'

'Oh! And you will write this very day, mother?'

Her father laughed at her eagerness.

Nay, nay, not to-day; there really will be lots of time.'

Mrs. Daunay would not contradict, but she felt how easily a habit

moulds us, even to the form of an expression.

However, before the short light of that winter day had faded the letter was written; the playfulness of tone not at all concealing the

'Lots of Time!'

penitence which the good daughter hardly needed to express for her father's departure without one adieu or embrace.

Captain Falkland could not come again.

'Ah, Grace!' he wrote. 'Lots of time! It is a fable, a fiction to the aged, to the wise at any age; but it is held to as a fact at St. Hephs. There is time for everything: but only enough-not lots. The foolish Israelites thought there was lots of manna. Now let me describe a fact. First, I had to pelt along the pavement at a most undignified pace, vexed at my hurry, and angry with you and George. Then, when I had climbed to my seat beside the coachman (it would have been no wonder if I had missed that bit of courtesy) I saw the St. Hephs barber racing down the High Street in panting haste to catch the stage. What right had he to be late any more than ? And when we had got fairly under way, and were slackening pace a little up the Hoo, behold a four-wheeled chaise racing in mad haste after us! The coachman shook his head when he was told this from behind. "I don't see that vehicle this morning, and I don't mean to. I'm going straight on. I've got my orders, and they mean punctual to the stroke, or else they don't mean anything. Folk must learn time.”

'I felt about the guiltiest old fool, Grace, that ever sat to be lectured. My conscience would not let me plead for these poor laggards, and every word was a smart rap of the knuckles. He touched up the leaders, and we were over the Hoo and trundling towards the next stage speedily. St. Hephs will have to learn a lesson soon or late. It may be a long time: not till the railroad finds its way to them. I hear that you have to be up to time where the railway is concerned, or lose your journey-and a very good thing, too.

'Well, child, the conclusion of the whole matter is, and I am sorry to say it, I cannot come to you on my way home. God bless you, and George, and the children. Bring some of them up to Cumberland next summer if all is well, and you can bear the journey; and bring them all up to believe that Tin. Tide, and the "Times "Coach, wait for no man.

'Your loving old father,

'JOHN FALKLAND.

Summer came but by that time the Cumberland home was at an end, and good Captain Falkland had exchanged Time's short span for Eternity's long life.

Whatever lesson the barber and the people in the four-wheeled chaise learned on that January morning, it was a profitable day for the Daunays.

Hear the testimony of a poor widow:

'He's an honest lawyer as ever wor for charges and trew advice; but he never knew the valler of time. I can't say jistly how he's changed, but he's ready to see poor folk of a morning, which he wern't hardly ever afore. Thank God! Hurrying does give me the heart complaint and bad breathings.'

And again,

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Are you making money, Daunay?' asked the great Squire, who owned the coach, the horses, and the chronometer, one morning, coming in, as he sometimes did, for five minutes to wait for the Times.' Your door often used to be locked and bolted, and the steps unwashed, at this hour. What has happened, if it is not a rude question, to cause this revolution?'

6

Mrs. Daunay's pale face brightened. Bertie, whose cheeks the Squire delighted to pinch, pushed away his hands in her eagerness to catch her father's answer.

Elijah the Tishbite.

"Your "Times" and my wife's good father gave us a lesson last winter which we do not mean to forget.'. And Mr. Daunay briefly told the simple story.

"If time be money, we are taking care of it;

If money is time, we have none to spare of it."'

'So, you actually found a moral in anything so humdrum as the "Times" coach! Good-bye, Bertie; good-bye. If I did not hear it coming now, I would stay and read you another moral.'

Whip in hand, in the very best of humours, the Squire hurried away to take his seat as coachman. And woe to the wight who came to try to get a place after time when the Squire had the reins!

A. B. C.

ELIJAH THE TISHBITE.
No. II.

T is a singular feature in the history of the Jewish people, that though they possessed the grandest religion in the world, and were the chosen people of God, yet they were continually falling into the idolatries of the surrounding nations. This is the more remarkable, as they had not to do with the noble philosophies of Greece but with the most puerile and degrading superstitions, which formed the most striking contrast possible with the majesty of their own faith. For it must never be forgotten that, quite apart from matters of belief, and looked at only as poetry, the Hebrew descriptions of the Divine Being are the most sublime in all human language. Yet the Jews left the god of Elijah for the God of Ekron-forsook the Lord of hosts for the lord of flies!"* And when 'Ahaziah fell down through a lattice in his upper chamber that was in Samaria, and was sick,' it was to the God of Ekron he sent messengers that he might know his fate, whether he should live or die. What scorn there must have been in the voice of the stern prophet when, confronting the king's messengers in the way, he said, Go, turn again unto the king that sent you, and say unto him, Thus saith the Lord, Is it not because there is not a God in Israel that thou sendest to inquire of Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron? Therefore thou shalt not come down from that bed on which thou art gone up, but shalt surely die.' And what dread must have fallen on the weak mind of the king when, asking the messengers, 'What manner of man was he which came up to meet you, and told you these words?' they answered, 'He was an hairy man,† and girt with a girdle of leather about his loins. And he said, It is Elijah the Tishbite.'

It is probable that the king thought he might soften Elijah, or prevail on him to intercede with the Lord in his behalf. For, notwithstanding the destruction of his captains and their men, he still sent to the prophet, though only to get his doom confirmed at last.

* Baal-zebub means, in Hebrew, the lord of flies.'
+ Literally, a 'lord of hair.'

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