family the day before my departure, and I found two young boys gambling for pence and quarrelling over their game, while a poor mother lay ill upon her bed. So I reproved them, and took away the instrument of their idleness and profligacy. They must have dropped from the pocket of my travelling coat." "Dear me !" said Mrs. Davis, as taking hold of some of the cards, she handled them with a timid curiosity. "Dear me !" she repeated, while Charles exulted inwardly, to think how he had "sold" the old dame. But the fact was, that she was forcibly struck with the idea that poor boys should be able to get such elegant cards with gilt backs, and to keep them so clean in spite of their dirty hands. There is in falsehood a tendency to convict itself. Like the prism, it requires only to be looked at from different sides, to show that behind a glow of roseate light, there is a cold and colourless body. There is, too, an honest and unassuming simplicity which is far more clear sighted than pretensive knowingness; and this Mrs. Davis possessed. CHAPTER VIII. A LONDON HOSPITAL.-A STRANGE COINCIDENCE. necessarily heightened the curiosity of the spectator. About eleven o'clock in the day, a number of people with pale faces, hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and fleshless limbs, crowded around the gates. Some hobbled along upon crutches, others were supported by the arms of friends. There were mothers, with crying children; widows attending upon tall and delicate boys or girls, and seeming blind to every object of pity around them, save the one that formed the special object of their There were melancholy greetings between those who had met each other here before; and those that were new comers looked strange and timid, and held back from the ill-looking and motley crowd. Some of this latter class might be seen standing off a considerable distance, watching the movements about the gates. They appeared better dressed than the others, and were probably held back by feelings of delicacy or pride. care. Suddenly there was a stir, the faces were turned towards the gates, while a robust man in a blue livery, and a hat somewhat of the beadle turn, strode down to the gate with a measured tread and unconcerned air. He held in his hand a bunch of large keys, with one of which he turned back the heavy lock, and threw the gates apart. Immediately the motley crowd entered, and as they ascended the flight of steps, they clamoured for the foremost places, and asserted their claims, some by coughs, some by sighs, and others by impious exclamations. Mothers sat down upon the steps to suckle their screaming babes; and boys and girls who, though bearing marks of disease, were still well enough to be mischievous, played annoying tricks with each other, or mocked the grim countenances of those who seemed marked by the seal of death. IN a crowded part of London, where houses and warerooms, shops and manufactories, tall chimneys and low roofs, seemed huddled together with as much confusion and irregularity as if a half developed earthquake had brought them into a crowd for sympathy and protection, -there stood a large square building, railed in all around, and fronted by an open area, as if it claimed homage from all the rude structures surrounding it. There was a peculiar air of distinctiveness about this building,- -a brightness of its numerous windows, and a well swept appearance of its broad area, and of the large flight of steps which led to the spa- Warts, the beadle (if so we may term cious porch in front of its wide doors, that him,) moved about among the crowd, and bespoke for it respectful attention, even lifting up a poultice here, feeling a pulse from the most unobservant pedestrian. there, or fingering with his broad fat hand There was a tablet on its front, comme- an enlarged joint in another case, promorating the foundation of the building, nounced opinions which were listened to and recording the names of the chief with profound attention. "Eh," said he, promoters thereof. But there was no "it's doctor M.'s day-he'll corterise that indication of the character of the institu--had it a bin Dr. C. he'd a off with the tion, the absence of which information lim'-he always makes short work o' them things," and the poor wretch who held out an ulcerated arm, trembled equally at the thought of caustic or the scalpel. "Wot's the use o' bringing that young un 'ere?" said he to a poor widow, whose eyes never wandered from her suffering child; "it's scroffla, and the wust case I ever sin. Why he's got no neck-it'll eat into his throat afore to-morrow morning." The poor mother drew her offspring near her, and clutched him convulsively, while she eyed the heartless pedagogue with terror. And here's another case," said he, turning to a weeping mother who held the hand of a lovely girl of sixteen, upon whose cheek the hectic flush immediately rose. "This hinstitution aint for such as them there; I've never seen one of 'em get over it. They'll give her lots o' sedadatives, or perhaps some cod-liver 'ile; but, lor bless yer, wots the good on it? it'll only eat up the funds, an' she'll die arter all." The mother buried her face in her hands, while the poor patient passed her taper fingers over her mother's fevered head, and said, "Don't weep, mother, he doesn't know; the doctor will be here presently." "As for that varmint there," continued Warts, pointing to a poor cripple whose spine was distorted, and whose legs were bent under him like a couple of triangles, "he'll be bottled for the museum soon; they'll make a case o' him for the students." How far these remarks were likely to comfort the unfortunate beings who flocked for relief to the Hospital, the reader may best judge by trying to imagine himself one of them. Fortunately any further pain of the kind was spared them by the arrival of Dr. Montague, whose carriage, drawn by a spirited pair of horses, drove up through the gates to the steps. The doctor alighted, and was assisted from his carriage by a young man who stepped out before him, and who followed him into the hospital, bearing a case of instruments, and some books. Before we proceed to the examinationroom, we cannot help remarking that we have a strong impression that we have seen the young man, attending upon the doctor, upon a former occasion. Yes, it is no other than Alfred Beresford, Mr. Lyndhurst's nephew and Ellen's cousin. Some time has passed since the two cousins con versed upon the choice of a profession, and the fact that Alfred is here to-day proves the impression which Ellen's remarks then made. Dr. Montague was a fine-looking gentleman of fifty, having an intellectual forehead, a benevolent countenance, and a fine head of hair of snowy whiteness. By his side and behind him were a muster of medical students, and attending upon him was Alfred, who seemed deeply interested in the proceedings, and scrupulously careful in everything he did. Warts stood at the door waiting for orders, but occasionally left it to command silence on the outside, and to threaten exclusion to those who offended against his order. "Call on the first case," said Dr. Montague. Warts brought into the room an old asthmatic man, who coughed in reply to every question put to him. "Well, William, you don't seem to get better?" "No, doctor, no! nothing does me good." "You know you must take care of yourself, or physic will be of no avail. I fancied I saw you out late last night, as I was returning from a patient, and I thought you were in a state not very creditable to a man of your years." "Well, you see, doctor, I went to the christening of a grand-child of mine, and I took a little drop too much, all by accident." "Old men of sixty, with severe asthmas upon them, have no business out at christenings until twelve o'clock at night. That's bringing the cradle and the grave unnecessarily within sight of each other. Take more care of yourself for the future, or it's no use coming here." The doctor wrote a prescription, and the patient passed on with it to the dispensing department. In succession, teeth were drawn, ulcers lanced, prescriptions written, patients discharged, and others passed into the Hospital, perchance never to leave it alive. At length the mother and daughter, whose feelings had been so agonised by the pretensive declaration of Warts, entered. They were both dressed in deep mourning, and their faces were pale with agitation, as they stood before the sage who was to pronounce their doom. At first the doctor was puzzled to know which was the patient, they both looked so wan and pale. At length he proceeded: "How long has your daughter been affected thus ?" "About three months, sir; ever since the death of her father. She sat up night and day with him, until her strength was exhausted. We could never induce her to leave his bed-side. Even when others were there to watch, she would never leave the room, but would drop off into a doze, from which she would repeatedly start up in a great fright." The doctor requested the mother to unfasten the daughter's frock. "What are these things?" said he, putting his fingers with some difficulty under the bones of a stiff stays. "Do you think these are natural? Draw in your breath," said he, and the young creature tried to take a deep inspiration. "Is that all? we must do better than that," said the doctor. "That's not our best, by any means, try again!" She drew her breath to the utmost, and just as the stays were at their utmost tension, the doctor passed his hand around to the back and cut the lace with his pen-knife. "Now we shall do better," said he, and the patient breathed freely. The doctor then looked gravely at the mother and said, "Those barbarous things were killing your daughter. She has a good pulse and an active circulation. She doesn't want a drop of physic. Fresh air, moderate exercise, and nourishing food will make a woman of her in a little time." With this assurance the mother's heart leapt for joy; she thanked the doctor, and so did the patient herself. "There," said she, as she passed out from the door, "I told you he didn't know," an imputation which Warts well knew might damage his reputation with the by-standers, so he immediately drowned her voice by shouting out with stentorian power, "The next case there come onor you'll lose your turn!" (Continued at page 121.) DISSIMULATION.-No man for any considerable period, can wear one face to the world, and another to himself, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the most true. PERSEVERANCE REWARDED. A young peasant one day on returning to his village from Sion, a heavy fall of snow, about the beginning of October, met him on his toilsome ascent; he reached at length a rock from which he could see his own chalet, but in its stead nothing appeared but a frightful mass of snow heaps, beneath which his house, his wife, and their only child were doubtless engulphed. At first he was overwhelmed with despair, and threw himself on the rocks in a state of stupor; but presently the light of hope broke upon him-he started up, and rushed to the still uninjured cottage of one of his neighbours, whose assistance he entreated; several others joined with them, and together, armed with pickaxes and spades, they set to work with the view of disengaging the devoted family from the overwhelming wreck. It required both strength and resolution, and the friends worked till night with ardour. The young man was then left alone; he continued to labour without ceasing, and at daybreak his companions returned; the second day ended without result, but despair gave the husband fresh vigour, in spite of his fearful disappointment. A third day he toiled on, and at last, to his unspeakable rapture, he discovered the roof of his dwelling, and through an aperture for the smoke he perceived his wife sitting by the light of a lamp watching her infant, who was being at the moment suckled by a goat. His cries of joy were soon responded to, and the story of deliverance was soon told. A large rock behind the chalet had forced the avalanche which had descended to take another direction, and all beneath the roof, to the last of his flock were saved. His resolute perseverance was rewarded, and the pair became the objects of congratulation to the whole district. When one sees the position of these villages, one is not astonished at any of these histories, which however have seldom so fortunate an ending as this. LOVE, when founded in the heart, will show itself in a thousand unpremediated sallies of fondness; but every cool, deliberate exhibition of the passions only argues little understanding or great insincerity. THE BURDEN OF THE DESERT. A PARAPHRASE.-ISAIAH XXI. The burden of the Desert, The Desert like the deep, That from the south in whirlwinds I see the spoiler spoiling, I hear the strife of blows; Up! watchman, to the heights, and say How the dread conflict goes! "What hear'st thou from the desert?""A sound, as if a world, Were from its axle lifted up, And to an ocean hurl'd; The roaring as of waters, And lo! the tempest-smoke and cloud, "What see'st thou on the desert?"- And now a lion darteth From out the cloud, and he Looks backward ever as he flies, As fearing still to see!" "What, watchman, of the horsemen?""They come, and as they ride, Their horses crouch and tremble, Nor toss their manes in pride; The camels wander scatter'd, The horsemen heed them nought, But speed, as if they dreaded still, The foe with whom they fought." "What foe is this, thou watchman?""Hark! Hark! the horsemen come; Still looking on the backward path, As if they fear'd a doom! Their locks are white with terror, MORNING HYMN. "LET THERE BE LIGHT!" The Eternal spoke, The glad earth smiled to see the day, "Let there be light!" O'er heaven and earth, The God who first the day-beam pour'd, Utter'd again his fiat forth, And shed the gospel's light abroad. VISION-FROM JOB. 'Twas in a dream, a vision of the night, And shrunk with abject fear the lordly heart! That fill'd the vastness.-Silence, and a voice man, Be purer than thy Maker-juster than God?" MEMORY. There is a moonlight in the heart, Strange lustre to the wintry night: By gleams that haunt it from the sky, Gray watchers on the waste of years. Of death, and will not thence depart. WE LIVE IN A VERY STRANGE WORLD. How often our hopes have been given To things that but mockeries be, As the hills that seem touching on heaven Are just as far off it as we! The idols we worship are those Which Fashion and Fortune can mould; Other idols are shaped but of snows! The world thinks of nothing but gold! Once Truth her bright banner unfurl'dBut we live in a very strange world. We live in a very strange world Strange things are occurring each day; But they pass without comment or word, And to-morrow goes just the same way: I used to imagine that hearts Were the fountain of honour and worth, And of all that a blessing imparts! But they learn--who live long upon earth, Once Truth her bright banner unfurl'dBut we live in a very strange world. Once the laurel was Friendship's own leaf, Now its emblem, alas, is more brief- But if it be equally sweet, It is equally hollow as well! Once Truth her bright banner unfurl'dBut we live in a very strange world. CHARLES SWAIN. THE majestic oaks, the herds and verdant pastures of Bashan, have ever furnished to the inspired prophets of Israel, types and figures of richness and fertility. Age after age has passed away, nation has succeeded nation in earth's pageant over these fair plains, cities have risen on those river banks; but the nations have melted into the shadows of the past, the cities have crumbled away, and all has changed save those glorious oaks of Bashan, which still crown the summits of the hills, where their kindred flourished, and gaze down as of old, upon the vales and rivers beneath. Their day however must come, for Isaiah hath said, "the |