"Not going!" exclaimed Fanny.

Not going!" echoed Katie with a bewildered look. "Not going!" said the others.

Helen quietly confirmed her declaration, and explained that her uncle particularly wanted her to help him, and that she could not very well leave home.

"But you must go,” replied Katie, "I will ask papa what he wants with you; I am sure you can be spared; and away she was hastening, forgetting in her gladness her father's recent displeasure, when Helen arrested her steps by the intelligence that Dr. Sinclair had already gone out.

"But I shall not leave you, Helen," said Katie, her sunny face growing very serious, "If you cannot go I must stay with you.'

So

Helen speedily negatived this; and the others were so anxious to set off, that Katie found herself hurried across the garden path, and through the gate, almost before she knew what she was doing. Even then she wanted to return; and could she have looked back into the parlour, she would have done so; but Fanny said, and said truly, that there was no use in two giving up a pleasure because one was obliged to do so. Katie went on. It may seem strange she did not guess the secret of Helen's conduct; but then it must be remembered, that the act, both as regarded her father and her cousin, was a very unlikely one; and any of her surmises as to what Dr. Sinclair could want from Helen, were soon set aside by the bustle and hilarity of the next few hours. She often regretted during the day, that Helen was not there to share in her gratification; but children live almost exclusively in "the present;" and as a faithful historian, I am bound to say, that neither the past, nor the future, embittered Katie's enjoyment.

As Helen turned away from the window, after she had watched Katie's departure, a feeling of sadness and desolation came over her; and sitting down by

the table, she leant her head upon her hand, and shed a good many tears. During the excitement and hurry of the last few minutes, she had not realized her own disappointment. She had been so much elated with her success as Katie's mediator, that she had lost sight of herself. But now that all was hushed and still, and she was alone, there came the reaction; she began to feel how much she had relinquished, and to wish that she was with Katie. Not that, if she could, she would have recalled the past; oh no, she was willing to stay at home if Katie's enjoyment could be purchased in no other way; and her heart glowed with satisfaction, that she had secured it for her, although at the sacrifice of her own; still Helen had longed as much as Katie to make one of the happy party, and the disappointment was a disappointment.

Not long, however, did Helen sit thus mourfully; she presently brushed away her tears, and fetching her desk, began to make up for Katie's negligence; and she found so much to do, that she could not afford to waste her time in grieving. There is nothing so good for the diversion of thought, as occupation. Helen was surprised how soon the dinner-hour came. Her uncle had not returned, so she dined alone; and the good natured cook, who sincerely pitied her, had purposely made her a nice raspberry tart; and it was surprising how much this little act of kindness pleased Helen, and brightened her meal. After dinner, when she had finished her copying, she amused herself with her music and drawing as well as she could, until tea time; and she felt much happier than she had expected. It was the reflex influence of her loving self-denial which cheered her solitude, and gladdened her spirit.

At tea-time Dr. Sinclair returned home. He had not purposed, when he left it in the morning, remaining so long absent, but in the course of his walk he had met with a very old friend who wished to spend a few hours with him at the house of a mutual ac

quaintance; and their important conversation banished Katie and the country excursion entirely from his remembrance. But as he retraced the road homewards, his little girl's melancholy situation recurred painfully to his mind, and he was half sorry that he had insisted upon her staying from the party; it was almost the first time in her life that he had employed such severe discipline towards her. "My poor little Katie," he said to himself, "I must carry her some thing home to comfort her." He was just then pass ing a bookseller's, and he recollected having heard Katie and Helen expressing, on the previous day, their earnest wish for a new and rather expensive tale, that was lately published, and he went in immediately and purchased it. Some persons may consider the doctor very weak minded and imprudent to buy such a nice present for his heedless little daughter; it is probable, steady reader, that you are one of them; for my own part, I must frankly confess, that this foolish little action of the doctor's greatly warmed my heart towards him.

You may imagine his astonishment when he reached home and found Helen where he expected to meet with Katie; and you may perhaps form some idea of the admiration which he felt for the kind and selfdenying conduct of his niece.

"And Katie could let you suffer the deprivation which she merited, while she went and enjoyed herself at your expense," remarked Dr. Sinclair, as he reproachfully thought of his child.

"Oh no, uncle," said Helen, eagerly, unconscious that in her vindication of her cousin she was revealing her own generous self-forgetfulness, "Katie was not aware that I staid instead of her; she thought it was for something quite different that I was wanted at home, or else I am sure she would never have consented to go."

Helen was half-ashamed of her uncle's hearty eulo

giums on her behaviour, and of the deep regret which he expressed for her disappointment. He was so kind all that tea-time, so affectionate, and even tender in his manner towards her, that she could scarcely believe he was the same Dr. Sinclair, who had treated her request with such roughness in the morning. She did not feel at all afraid of him now; and she almost thought that this pleasant change was worth staying at home for. It was so delightful to have such a free and friendly chat with her once dreaded uncle.

When Katie's joyous face was seen that evening at the garden-gate, Dr. Sinclair sent Helen out of the way, as he wished to receive his little girl by himself. With a bounding step, which moderated as she came nearer the house, out of considerateness for her less fortunate cousin, Katie ran along the gravelled walk, and was soon in her father's presence. She asked for Helen, and began to pour forth some of her exuberant gladness at the same time, when Dr. Sinclair gently interrupted her, and drawing her towards him, told her in few but forcible words how she was indebted for that day's pleasure, to her cousin's generosity.

Katie's keen and quickly excitable feelings were touched in a minute; her cheeks flushed, and her heart beat rapidly; she rushed up stairs into her cousin's room, and, flinging her arms around Helen's neck, almost overpowered her with kisses and tears. Poor Katie! she seemed as if she could not be sorry enough, and as if she should never be able to forgive herself. It was as much as her papa and Helen could do to comfort her, and bring back a smile again before bedtime.

From that day may be dated the commencement of the cure of Katie's fault. When inclined to procrastinate again, the recollection of Helen's unjust detention on her account, checked the propensity, and helped her to be punctual in the performance of duty.

And the candid and truth-loving Katie could not be satisfied when Mr. Hamilton called at their house on the day after the gypsying party, and told Helen he was sorry that she was unable to be present at the Rectory, until she had fully unfolded to him the cause of her cousin's absence. There was much gentle wisdom in the counsel which the kind minister gave her; and then he seized the opportunity of leading their thoughts to that highest love, and that noblest instance of self-sacrifice, of which all human affection and self-denial is but the very faint and imperfect reflection, namely, the sufferings and death of Christ in the stead of sinners. And as Helen and Katie listened to his earnest and persuasive appeals, a deep and ineffaceable impression was made upon their hearts.

ALICE H.

A SECOND LETTER TO WILLY.

I SIT beside the fire at eve,

To watch your father's troubled sleep,
And hear the winds lament and grieve,

As through the leafless boughs they sweep;

Till, mingling with their dreary sigh,

Another voice is in mine ear,

And I can hear that dying cry

Once more "Why is not Willy here?"

Alas! alas! your father's brow

Grows wan beneath his silvery hair;

I seldom leave our cottage now,

So much he needs my love and care.

He trembles at the wintry chill,

He shrinks before the north wind's breath,
And longs for sunnier hours; yet, still

I know the spring will bring his death: