from Ireland to pick up a little in harvest-time, and perhaps has a miserable ragged family at home."

"I have only one shilling and fourpence," said Henry, sorrowfully.

"It is too little," said Mr. Dalben; "but last week I promised you a new hat-will you wear your old one another half year, and in that case I will give you the value of half a hat, for you know that you are allowed a new hat every year? Don't answer me now," continued Mr. Dalben, interrupting Henry, who was going to speak; "think of my proposal for a short time, and this evening you shall tell me your determination, and we will walk over to Farmer Smith's to inquire after the poor Irishman."

Mr. Dalben then dismissed Henry, who went up to his closet, where his best hat hung upon a peg, and by it his old hat, which was indeed but a shabby concern, and yet must necessarily be worn on all common oocasions, till the place of the other was supplied by a new one. Henry's worst hat had been a brown beaver, with a green lining; but the fur was quite gone, and the corners of the crown so worn away, that the part into which the head usually went looked very like Sally's cream-bowl. More than that, Master Wellings had cast an eye of scorn on this hat-and there is no part in which the honour of a boy of eleven years old is more sensitive than in the crown of his hat. Henry had, therefore, observed the glances of scorn which had been cast on his hat, though those which had fallen on his patched shoes had been wholly disregarded.

Now, had Henry been asked whether he cared for Master Wellings, he would certainly have said no; and he would not have intended to tell an untruth; and yet, when he thought of doing without a new hat for the sake of the poor Irishman, the first person who occurred to his mind was Master Wellings, and the first question he asked himself was this,-"Should Master Wellings come again, what would he think of my old hat! perhaps he would say, Why Henry, have not you laid aside the old milk-bowl yet?"

However, after a little while, Henry's better feelings prevailed, and when he met his uncle at tea-time, which was the time fixed for giving his answer, he said, "I have made up my mind, sir, I will do without the hat for a year to conie, not half a year as you said; and i

you please, you shall carry the money for me to the Irishman."

"You have decided properly," replied Mr. Dalben, "and we will go immediately after tea to look for Patrick O'Grady, for Thomas has made me acquainted with his name," added Mr. Dalben; "and has also told me that he has been more than one season in this country, and has always behaved himself in an inoffensive

manner.

Farmer Smith lived at some distance from Mr. Dalben's house; and though he tenanted some pieces of ground on his side of the country, yet his house lay in another parish.

The way to this farm-house lay over several wide fields and a breezy down, from which the road dropped into a hollow, wherein stood the farm-house, encircled with its hay and corn-stacks, its cow-houses, stables, and barns, with its fertile kitchen-garden-the whole being backed by a small wood, through an opening of which appeared the parish church, whose ancient tower spoke of times long past.

“Let us wind round this eminence," said Mr. Dalben, "and look into the church-yard, and so come down to the house on the other side; it is good, my child, sometimes to visit the abodes of the dead, and thus to be led to think of that period when, as far as we are concerned, time shall be no more."

Mr. Dalben then turned his steps towards the south, and winding round the hollow, presently found himself with Henry at the gate of the little church-yard.

"What a sad thing death must be," said Henry, 66 to those people who know nothing about the next world! but you are not afraid of it, are you, uncle ?"

"Every man is naturally afraid of death, my dear boy," replied Mr. Dalben; "the poor body always shrinks from it, just as you would shrink from having a tooth drawn, although you were assured that the moment your tooth was out you would be set free from a dreadful toothache; nevertheless, you would be somewhat alarmed when you saw the operator preparing his instruments to put into your mouth."

"Indeed I should," replied Henry.

"In like manner," returned Mr. Dalben, "the frail body shrinks at death, and the more so, as death, even in its mildest form, is the punishment of sin; neverthe

less, nothing renders the thoughts of death so easy as confidence in the Saviour; and hence, my dear boy, it is necessary that we should know whom we trust, for we cannot well trust any one whom we do not assuredly know.

"And now, my child, let me ask you who is the Saviour, in hope of whom many who now lie here rest in peace and perfect safety?"

"Christ," replied Henry, "is the second person of the Trinity, the Father is the first, and the Holy Ghost is the third; and they are all equal, and no one is greater or less than another, or before or after another, though they are called first, second, and third, and all three are one.'

"Why then," asked Mr. Dalben, "have all true Christians agreed to call them first, second and third?"

"Because of their work," said Henry," and what they have undertaken to do for us; that is, if we are to be saved, God the Father first chose us, and appointed his Son to die for us; God the Son then died for us; and God the Holy Ghost gives us clean hearts, and teaches us the right way."

"And when all this is done, what follows?" asked Mr. Dalben.

"Glory! glory! glory after death!" replied Henry; "glory on earth, while the reign of Christ shall endure, and glory in heaven for ever and ever!"

By this time Henry and his uncle had entered the church-yard, and were proceeding with awe and reverence to examine the grave-stones, when suddenly a low mourning sound reached their ears; and looking to the side from whence it came, they saw a little ragged figure sitting by a fresh grave.

"Stand still," said Mr. Dalben; "draw a little behind the yew-tree, and observe what is passing."

"It is a little ragged boy," whispered Henry, "and now he is wiping his eyes with his pinafore." A short silence followed, and Henry heard the cawing of certain jackdaws which were flying about the church tower. Again the little boy broke out into fresh cries, and Henry and Mr. Dalben heard these words, in wild and foreign accents-"Ah! why would you die, father dear? why would you die and leave your little Maurice? Ah! why would you die ?" And again fresh bursts of grief prevented his utterance.

"He has lost his father," whispered Henry, as he looked up with tears in his eyes in his uncle's face.

Mr. Dalben made no answer, for the boy began to moan again; and they heard these words :-" And granny is dead, and mother is dead too, and Maurice is left alone, and far away across the sea;" and as the little mourner spoke, he laid his head on the grave, and extended his ragged arms quite across it; at that moment another voice was heard, loud and harsh, calling the boy, and bidding him come away.

The child instantly lifted up his head and looked up, but expressed alarm; for it was Farmer Smith himself who was come into the church-yard, and was addressing the boy.

"Come away, I say," said the farmer; "what's the use of staying here, your father's dead and buried, and there's an end on't? come away, and see how you are to earn your porridge; am I to keep you here for nothing? come away, I say, and hie thee back to the yard; come away willingly, or I'll see if I can't make you come against your will."

So saying, the farmer was about to drag the child by force from the grave, when Mr. Dalben stepped from behind the yew-tree, followed by Henry, and accosting the farmer civilly, asked the cause of the poor child's deep affliction.

"Why, sir," replied the farmer, changing his tone from rough to civil, "the lad is sure and certain to be pitied, but howsomdever there can be no use in fretting now; his father is dead and gone, that's sure, and it can't be denied, and no power on earth can bring him back; and then it can't be expected that I am to keep him here, idling and doing nothing, and harvest-time too, till the parish officers has settled what's to be done with him; for keep him I can't, nor won't, for he is fit for no work worth talking of; and if his father did die in my service, it was through no fault of mine, and to have him lying there in my barn dead and alive for five days was desperate inconvenient, just now above all times; and so, as I said before, I cannot nor will not keep the child on no account, and so I telled the officers, and they are to have a vestry about it on Monday, for they can't have it tomorrow, because of Worcester market, and then we shall see what is to be done; but as my dame says says she -she would not on no account have me think of keep

ing the child, to be a burthen to us as long as we live."

"Take care," replied, Mr. Dalben, who was by no means pleased with the farmer's speech; "take care, Mr. Smith, lest by putting off this burthen during life, you may find yourself forced to carry it on your deathbed. I don't understand the case of this child, but I imagine that he is an orphan, and friendless; and I advise you as a friend, a Christian friend, not to thrust him out of your house till you have provided some other home for him."

"No, to be sure, sir," replied the farmer, qualifying his former harshness out of respect to Mr. Dalben; “no, to be sure, I would not do no such thing upon any account; but how is a man like me, who am but a hardworking man, and only have what I get; how am I, sir, to be keeping other people's children."

"There is something particular in this boy's case, I see," said Mr. Dalben; "and I am convinced that you, in your own heart, feel that you are doing wrong in casting him off. Every word you have uttered has convinced me of this, and let me advise you, as you would wish to be a thriving man, keep the child in your house, and do well by him till his friends can take him, and be sure you will never miss his bit of bread and sup of skim-milk."

"His friends," said the farmer, laughing; "and who be they, sir?"

"How should I know," replied Mr. Dalben, "I know nothing about the poor boy, who is he?"

66

Why, who should he be," returned the farmer, "but the son of him who was laid in yon grave but an hour ago, poor Patrick O'Grady, who fell from the top of the wagon last Saturday night, and was so crushed by the wheel which went over him that he survived only three days, though I had the doctor to him immediately."

"Patrick O'Grady!" exclaimed Henry; "oh uncle! uncle! how careless I have been ;" and the little boy in the agony of his feelings ran to the grave, and falling upon it, put his hands to the side of his face, and sobbed with a vehemence which quite confounded the farmer.

"Poor Patrick O'Grady!" said Mr. Dalben; "and is that brave fellow no more, and is this his orphan and friendless child?" And the good old gentleman was so much affected, that he walked to a short distance, and did