Annie Pendreath.

day, and was now walking rapidly up and down outside in the moonlight. She started at the sight of Mally, who quickly explained her errand, and begged her to come at once and open her mother's oak chest.

Annie readily complied, with a mixture of girlish curiosity and tender reverence. They lifted the massive cover, and soon, one by

one, the long-treasured relics saw the light. There were faded dresses of various textures and colours no longer seen, carefully put by with camphor and lavender; there were curious Indian scarves and ornaments of filigree-work, possibly gifts of the sailor-husband; and in the red-leather box were a few old-fashioned trinkets, which might have been family heirlooms. At the very bottom, wrapped up with special care, was a white dress of some soft material, a lace shawl,

Annie Pendreath.

yellow with age, and a straw hat, with white ribbons to tie under the chin.

These were the special objects of old Mally's search.

"Your mother wore them when she was wed,' said she, in a low voice. Aw, my dear Miss Annie, how I should love for'ee to wear the dress, and yon lace for a veil! West'en ye look fitty and braave?'t

Annie looked at them for a moment in silence. Those shadowy garments seemed to call up visions of the past, and then she found herself dreamily wondering what the future might have in store for her.

With a sudden impulse she turned to the faithful creature, who was watching her anxiously, and throwing her arms round her neck she cried ::

'You dear, good Mally! I will do whatever you like, only don't talk to me about it any more.'

This conversation had taken place about a week before, but it will explain how it was that on the wedding morning the young girl, in a quaint white dress of by-gone fashion, and a delicate lace veil on her head, timidly entered Mr. Pendreath's study. It was still his sick-room, for he could not bear to be moved away from the sight of his beloved books, and the place which was endeared to him by so many hours of earnest labour. He was lying back, perfectly still and motionless, with his eyes closed, waiting patiently for the coming of his niece, the one link which still bound him to earth.

She had promised to see him at the last moment before going to church, and as she opened the door he looked up and started at the sight of the beautiful girl before him in bridal array. A mist seemed to come over his eyes. It was not Annie who stood there; that bright vision must be his long-lost sister, his loved Catherine! He murmured her name.

But a pleading voice sounds in his ears, and warm tears are falling on his hands.

Uncle, dear! speak to me! don't you know me?'

With a violent effort he roused himself to a sense of the present, and smiled and spoke caressingly to the young girl. There was a bright light in his eyes, and a tinge of colour on his face, which did not escape Annie's notice. Poor child she was the only person in the house, I had almost said in the parish, who knew nothing of his actual danger. She had, indeed, been told what a shock the loss of his property had been, and how important it was for him to have his mind set at rest about her future. Beyond this, she knew nothing. She noticed the change in him to-day; certainly he was better, and her spirits rose with the fresh hope and courage that come so readily to the young.

Good-bye, my darling,' said the old man, as she pressed her lips

to his.

'What do you mean, Uncle Hubert?' she cried passionately, "Good-bye? But there can be no good-bye between us! Robert will

* Aw= Ah.

+ Fitty smart.

Braave handsome..

The Mitherless Bairn.

never take me away from you. He has promised that we shall all go abroad together, when you are stronger, to some beautiful sunny land, where you will be quite well again.'

A faint smile passed over his face, but there was no bitterness in it. He would not contradict her, and sadden her spirit at such a moment.

Kiss me, my darling. God bless you!' were his parting words. A few steps across the churchyard, and Annie, led by her kind old friend, Dr. Kerrow, reached the church. Some of the villagers were waiting to see her pass, but she was too much absorbed in her own thoughts to notice them.

A strange clergyman from St. Elvyn was there, and the solemn service began at once, which was to join Robert Wilson and Annie Pendreath till death should them part.'

All was over, and the bride and bridegroom were passing out together through the porch, when Mally met them with a terror-stricken face.

'Come quick, Miss Annie!' she cried.

Pale as death, the girl flew in breathless haste to her uncle's study; she was in time-yes, in time to receive the last breath of him she loved so well; and in her arms the weary spirit passed away.

FARMER WALTERS' REFORM.

ARMER WALTERS stood with his arms on the top bar of the gate beside the stile that led through the Upland Meadows. His face rested on his arms, and the prospect before him on which he so intently gazed might well make him stop and gaze on it with delight that golden July evening.

Far below him in the valley lay embosomed in the trees the picturesque village of Lea, out of which rose its old ivy-wreathed church tower, while grouped round the tower were the low white parsonage-house, its walls rose-garlanded, and the cottages of the poor. Closer to the young farmer was his own snug farmhouse and his wide fields, fast growing ripe unto harvest.

Edward Walters was a man of about thirty; till within a year he had lived a careless life, anxious only to be regarded as a good neighbour, a kind master, and a social, generous fellow. Some years before he had, by the death of his father, come into possession of 'as pretty a little estate as you could find in a hundred miles,' and he was determined to enjoy it to the full. Hitherto he had continued his father's plans on the farm, and Lea being in a West-of-England cider county, he had turned the produce of his orchards into that beverage, for which he found a ready market or a ready use. He had been a good son to his widowed mother, and rarely caused her a moment's anxiety, save that a few times on his return from a fair or market he had stumbled into the parlour with an unsteady gait.

Once only had Edward Walters been actually drunk, and that was at his own harvest supper the previous autumn. Then, indeed, his pious old mother had been really alarmed; she had tenderly reasoned with him, and led him to reflect on the terrible course, of which she feared this might be the beginning. The young farmer loved his mother sincerely and promised amendment.

It was just at this time that the parishioners of Lea were invited by their vicar to hear a special sermon on temperance from the bishop of the diocese. Edward Walters, on learning that his mother and sister wished to attend, accompanied them. The earnest words he listened to in the little church that evening proved the incentive to a purer and nobler life, and he longed henceforth to dedicate himself to the active service of God. It was no wonder that as a means to an end he shortly after this, on the formation of a Church of England Temperance Society in Lea, determined to sign the total abstinence pledge, and prove the sincerity of his new emotions by an act of selfdenial. He was surprised very soon to find that he had done himself as much good as those whom he had intended to benefit, and that with a clearer brain and an improved physical condition he had a far greater enjoyment of life than before.

For some months, however, he carried his abstinence principles no farther than his own personal habits; he was even inclined to dissuade his mother from her determination also to forego the use of all intoxicating beverages. But when many weeks had passed, and neither of them suffered in the least, he began to reason as to whether he was not putting a stumbling-block and an occasion to fall' in his brother's way by so freely giving cider to his men, and by selling the drink from his presses. It would be a great sacrifice of money to

Farmer Walters' Reform.

give up the sale of cider, but Edward Walters was not à man to consider this as worthy to be laid in the balance against conscientious scruples. But was he justified in withholding from his men what they had so long been accustomed to in the laborious harvest season, now so soon approaching? He had given them cider as usual through the hay harvest, which was just completed, yet he had had many painful misgivings as to the course he had adopted, and these had been strengthened by the following circumstance:

Amongst his labourers-men who had worked on the farm in his father's time-was an old and valued servant, Jem Parker. He had a son also called Jem. This latter, now a man of middle age, was the father of a third James, a lad of about fifteen. On these three were universally bestowed in the village the distinctive appellations of Old Jem, Young Jem, and Little Jem. All were employed by Edward Walters. Old Jem was a remarkably sober man, and hardly ever drank anything but water. Young Jem, though a man who well understood his work, was a sad tippler, and noisy and quarrelsome in his cups. Little Jem was a promising lad, extremely fond of his good grandfather, and influenced by him to sober habits. Whilst the hay was being carried in one field, Young Jem was drunk, but insisted that his boy should fetch him more cider. The old man, who was carting the hay, and the lad, who was receiving it on the waggon, both ventured to expostulate, when, without more provocation, Young Jem threw his fork at his son, wounding him severely in the leg. The poor boy was still confined to his bed, and Edward Walters resolved, when he was called to the scene of the accident, that he would never open another cask of drink for his men.

But as the golden glory of the declining sun is mellowing into still richer beauty the yellowing corn and the pale brown of the bare hay-fields, he is pondering intently the way in which he can best provide for their needs and do justly to himself and them. What shall be the substitute of the cider? Will money instead satisfy them? Will there be a revolt in the harvest-field? Will he be deemed a hard, cruel master, instead of a generous one?

This last question is by no means without its weight in the mind of Edward Walters. A hand tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and a pleasant voice inquired,

In a brown study, Mr. Walters? I must beg your pardon for interrupting you.'

Turning quickly, the farmer confronted Mr. Somers, his clergyman. ‘I am in a puzzle, and I'm glad you've come to give me some advice,' said the young man. 'You know, Mr. Somers, what happened on my hay-field; you know, also, that I am an abstainer; you will not wonder much if I tell you that my brown study refers to my men, and the approaching harvest, and the cider-barrel. Did you ever hear of anyone getting through his harvest teetotally?'

Mr. Somers smiled. 'Don't look so solemn, Mr. Walters, for indeed I have, and that with as much success as with strong drink, and with infinitely less trouble among the men. I have a whole packet of papers from old friends of mine, one a farmer in Gloucestershire, who has been a teetotaler these ten years; and now they hear I am interested in our society, they think that their facts may be