to relax theirs. He did not professedly allow them to do so; but when he was not there-and he was so often not there!-they naturally took advantage of his absence, and began to exemplify the truth of the quaint old proverbs, "Like master, like man," and "When the cat's away, the mice will play." Idle, trifling, pleasure-loving habits were engendered; nor was this all, for those who learnt to rob their master of his time, soon found out the way to defraud him of his money; and one of his clerks absconded with large sums in his possession. Deeply did Wilton Gray feel that. It was not the loss of the gold which he cared for; but the consciousness of his own culpable neglect weighed heavily upon his conscience. For Harry Bertram, the clerk, was a well-disposed, well-broughtup youth-the only son of his widowed mother-who had been entrusted to Wilton's charge, with the understanding that he would look after him, and keep him out of harm's way. And instead of looking after him, Wilton had left him to take care of himself; and had not only suffered him to run into temptation, but had accelerated his approaches to it. And the past could never be recalled!

Oh! Wilton Gray, would it not have been far better for you if you had never taken that peep into futurity?

All at once, as Wilton was mournfully reviewing his late conduct, and contemplating his sad deterioration of character, the Spirit of the New Year again appeared to him, and informed him that she had come to unfold to him another page of his existence.

"What event have you now to foretell?" asked Wilton with a saddened brow and a beating heart, as he thought of her last visit.

The answer was slowly and solemnly spoken. "The wife whom thou so fondly and deservedly lovest will be parted from thee by death. Before my race is ended, her career will have closed."

;

As he listened in mingled terror and despair, the spirit vanished. He was alone, and he was glad that he was alone, and that there was no one to witness his irrepressible agony. So great was his anguish, that the perspiration stood in cold drops upon his brow; for he was devotedly attached to his wife some people would have said that he almost idolized her. He had married her when he was just entering upon life; and she had shared with him the toils and perplexities of an up-hill career. Her affection had animated him, and her sympathy had cheered him through many a bygone struggle. And gentle as she was, and all-clinging in her attachment to him, he had often turned to her for support in moments of weakness, and had never found her fail him.

How could he bear the separation from such a wife? How could he part with one so loved and cherished ? And yet it must be! A few brief fleeting months, and the delight of his eyes" would have left his dwelling; his children would be motherless; and heoh, he dared not think of himself! the thought was too overwhelming, and he could only pace the room like one half-distracted.

And conceive, if you can, what were his feelings, day after day, as he gazed upon his loving wife, with the harrowing consciousness that the ties which linked them here must shortly be severed. He was completely unnerved. He had no heart for anything. He had lost all interest in his former pursuits, and he shrank with a morbid dislike from every fresh effort. His eagerly-expected prosperity-what cared he for it now ? A gloom seemed to have fallen upon all around; his favourite pleasures were distasteful to him, and he trembled every moment lest he should perceive the first symptoms of some fatal malady in his beloved companion.

Oh, Wilton Gray, would you not have been far

happier if you had never sought to penetrate the mysteries of futurity?

There was the sound of merry childish voices in the hall, and then the eager pattering of little footsteps up the stairs, and in another minute five or six healthy-looking, happy-tempered boys and girls rushed into the room, laden with toys and trinkets which they were in a hurry to display to papa. "Look at my Noah's ark, papa," exclaimed Harry, as he clambered up Wilton's knee. "And my waggon and horses!" shouted little Arthur, in a perfect ecstacy of delight. While the elder ones more quietly, but not less earnestly, put in a claim for their share of his attention; and mamma stood a little in the background, in evident admiration of the whole group, papa included. She did not stand there long, however, for she hastened the children away to take off their things, telling them that tea would soon be ready, and that they would make papa's headache worse with so much noise. Away they went like good, obedient children as they were, and their mother followed them; and then Wilton rubbed his eyes, and looked half-dreamingly about him, as if uncertain where he really was. He gave the fire a vigorous stir in order to rouse it into a cheerful blaze, that he might be able to see more clearly, and he was speedily convinced that he was sitting, as he had been all that afternoon, in his own comfortable drawing-room and that the predictions respecting "his business" and "his wife were fictions, instead of realities. And right thankful was Wilton Gray that they had proved so. Oh, how happy he felt in his ignorance of the future; how rejoiced he was to be able to throw away the knowledge which he fancied he had acquired. He wanted no more peeps into futurity. He had been dreaming, then!

:

Well, dear reader, you must decide that point as may be most satisfactory to yourself, for Wilton Gray would never give any conclusive opinion respecting it. He always inclined to the belief of its being something more than a dream, although what that "something" was, he either could not, or did not choose to define; but if his wife maintained, as she generally did, that it was only a dream, he would quietly reply, "Very well, my dear, it doesn't signify; it might have been a dream."

So here the matter is left, dear reader, to your wise arbitration; and if you will only learn from it the useful lesson which it taught Wilton Gray, I shall feel inclined to say with him, that "it doesn't signify" how you regard the medium through which it was imparted.

You have just entered upon another year. A new and untrodden path lies before you; and as you

stand gazing upon the outstretched future, it may be said to you as Joshua said to the Israelites, “Ye have not passed this way heretofore; " you are unacquainted with its peculiarities; you cannot sketch its windings, nor distinguish its diversified features; you do not know its dangers, you are a stranger to its charms. And it is well that you are thus ignorant of the future. Be thankful that its coming scenes are hidden from your view, for it is in loving wisdom that God has concealed them. He knows that the clear perception of them would be injurious to your real welfare and happiness, and therefore He refuses to unfold to you the panorama of life. But He bids you trust in Him, and simply follow where He guides you; assuring you that all things are working together for your good, and that what you do not know now you shall know hereafter. Then banish al corroding anxiety about the morrow; check each vain longing to understand those secret things which belong unto the Lord your God; and with quiet and

childlike confidence in your heavenly Father, go forth with the New Year as, she hastens to traverse her appointed way-casting all your care upon Him who careth for you, and gladly leaving in His hand the all-tender and all-skilful arrangement of your daily life.

"With cheerful mind the path of duty run:

God nothing does, nor suffers to be done,

But what thou wouldst thyself, couldst thou but see
Through the events of things as well as He.

"And murmur not if now from thee He hides
His loving plans; but follow where He guides;
Then both in earth and heaven thy song shall swell
The praise of Him who doeth all things well!"

ALICE H-.

WILLY'S RETURN.*

PART FIRST.

ALL was over! I was orphaned; and love's severed golden chain,
That had girt my happy childhood, might be never linked again.
My father by my mother slept beneath the dark yew-tree,
And there was no one left to grieve for Willy's sake but me.

I still lived in our cottage, but it seemed so lone, so drear,
So haunted by sad visions of its former love and cheer,
I could not bear its solitude, and so at my request
My mother's aged sister came to dwell and be my guest.

Widowed in youth, and early 'reft of all her children, well
It pleased her of her ancient griefs in plaintive voice to tell;
And lovingly to brood above her blighted heart's distress,
Until I felt but lonelier for her kindred loneliness.

Because it seemed so wrong to me to sorrow for the dead,
Who slept with hope immortal like a glory o'er them shed,
And to weep for dove-eyed cherubs flown away to Eden's bowers,
Who might have been-what Willy was-in this bad world of ours.

* Vide pp. 244 and 344, vol. iv.