ing. This sounds much handsomer, and it was poor Tom's misfortune that he always believed it to be so ; though he gave away what did not belong to him, and fell back for the supply of his own pretty numerous wants upon other people, not forgetting Madam Liberality. Painful experience convinced Madam Liberality in the end that his way was a wrong one, but she had her doubts many times in her life whether there were not something unhandsome in her own decided talent for economy. Not that economy was always pleasant to her. When people are very poor for their position in life, they can only keep out of debt by stinting on many occasions when stinting is very painful to a liberal spirit. And it requires a sterner virtue than good nature to hold fast the truth that it is nobler to be shabby and honest, than to do things handsomely in debt.-A Great Emergency and Other Tales.

MCALISTER GAES HAME.

John Brown remained by his friend, whose painful fits of coughing, and of gasping for breath, were varied by intervals of seeming stupor. When a candle had been brought in and placed near the bed, the Highlander roused himself and asked:

"Is there a Bible on yon table? Could ye read a bit to me, laddie?"

There is little need to dwell on the bitterness of heart with which John Brown confessed: "I can't read big words, McAlister."

"Did ye never go to school?" said the Scotchman. "I didn't learn," said the poor boy; "I played." Aye, aye. Weel, ye'll learn when ye gang hame," said the Highlander, in gentle tones.

"I'll never get home," said John Brown passionately. "I'll never forgive myself. I'll never get over it that I couldn't read to ye when ye wanted me, McAlister."

"Gently, gently," said the Scotchman. "Dinna daunt yoursel' over much wi' the past, laddie; and for me— I'm not that presoomtious to think I can square up a misspent life as a man might compound wi's creditors. Gin He forgi'es me, He'll forgi'e; but it's not a prayer

up or a chapter down that'll stan' between me and the Almighty. So dinna fret yoursel', but let me think while. I may."

And so, far into the night the Highlander lay silent, and John Brown watched by him. It was just midnight when he partly raised himself, and cried: "Whisht, laddie! do ye hear the pipes?"

The dying ears must have been quick, for John Brown heard nothing; but in a few minutes he heard the bagpipes from the officers' mess; where they were keeping Hogmenay. They were playing the old year out with "Auld Lang Syne," and the Highlander beat the time out with his hand, and his eyes gleamed out of his rugged face in the dim light, as cairngorms glitter in dark tartan. There was a pause after the first verse, and he grew restless, and turning doubtfully to where John. Brown sat, as if his sight were failing, he said: "Ye'll mind your promise, ye'll gang hame ?" And after a while he repeated the last word "Hame!"

But as he spoke there spread over his face a smile so tender and so full of happiness, that John Brown held his breath as he watched him. As the light of sunrise creeps over the face of some rugged rock, it crept from chin to brow, and the pale blue eyes shone tranquil, like water that reflects heaven. And when it had passed it left them still open, but gems that had lost their way.Lob-lie-by-the-Fire.

FABER, CECILIA BÖHL VON, distinguished Spanish novelist, better known by her pseudonym, Fernan Caballero, born at Morges, Canton de Vaud, Switzerland, in 1797; died at Seville, April 7, 1877. Her father was the son of a German merchant, and in early life removed to Cadiz, professed the Catholic faith, and married the daughter of a Spanish noble. Cecilia received a part of her education at her father's estate near Schwerin, Germany. She became possessed, besides other accomplishments, of a thorough knowledge of German, Spanish, French, Latin, Italian, and English. In 1814 she married Captain Planells, of Cadiz, whom she accompanied to America, where they resided for some years. After his death she married the Marquis de Arco Hermoso, and her high social station frequently required her appearance at the Court of Madrid, where she was much admired for her beauty, wit, and accomplishments. In 1835 she was again left a widow, and two years later married Señor de Arrom, a barrister. He accepted an appointment as Spanish Consul abroad and his wife decided to remain at Seville. Her first publication, and by many thought to be her best, is La Gaviota (The Sea Gull) (1849), which was published in daily instalments in a Madrid newspaper, and was highly appreciated at the Capital. It was followed at short intervals by Elia, Clemencia, La Familia de

Alvareda, Una en Otra, Simon Verde, and Cuadros de Costumbres Populares.

All the works of this fascinating novelist were published in the later years of her life. Her brilliant intellect turned to literature as a solace for the trials and disappointments of her declining years. It rarely happens that such decided literary instinct remains obscured for so long a time, for she was fifty when her first novel was published, and most of her works saw the light in the succeeding ten years. As early as 1828, however, she had committed to writing La Familia de Alvareda, a tale of peasant life which had been told to her in the olive groves of Seville. This was composed in German and not intended for publication. Washington Irving saw the manuscript during a visit to Spain and advised the writer to adopt Spanish literature as a serious occupation. Once before the public, the fame of her stories spread rapidly over the peninsula and were translated into French and German. In 1859 a thirteenvolume edition of her works was issued from the royal press at Madrid and the same year she was appointed governess to the royal children, and occupied rooms in the Palace of the Alcazar. She was one of the promoters of a society for the prevention of cruelty to animals, and at her death. was at work on a book of nursery rhymes. The interest of her novels lies not so much in the characters, scenery, and manners described, as in the selection of the incidents which are intended to point a moral and adorn a tale. She excels in her descriptions of peasant life in Andalusia.

THE BLESSINGS OF WEDLOCK.

"I wish," said the Asistenta, half vexed and half amused, "that you were married to each other."

"With such a wife, senora," replied Pedro, "one would have no peace by day; and I'll wager that at night, instead of snoring, she growls."

"For my part," said Maria, tossing her head, "I'd rather go into a convent at once than take such a lump of dough for my husband."

"I was once married, senora," remarked Pedro, "and I would not like a second wife, if it was the Princess of Asturias herself, on account of a story I once heard—” "Shut up with your foolish stories," cried Maria, sharply.

"Tell it me, Pedro," said his mistress; "it will amuse me."

"Well, then, senora, once upon a time there were two friends who were greatly attached to each other, and who agreed that whichever of them died first should appear to the other, and tell him how matters went on in the other world. They were both married men ; and the first who died fulfilled his promise, and appeared to his friend.

"How do you get on?' asked the other.

"Famously,' replied the ghost; when I presented myself at the gate above, Saint Peter said to me: What has been thy life?

666

ried

666

Senor, I replied, I am a poor man; I was mar

Say no more, said his holiness; pass in; you have gone through purgatory, and now you may enter glory.'

"Then the apparition vanished, leaving his friend greatly satisfied and consoled. In process of time his wife died, and he married again. When the hour arrived that he himself was carried out of his house feet foremost, he presented himself in high spirits to Saint Peter.

"What has been thy life? asked the saint.

"I was married twice, replied the new-comer confidently, taking a step in advance.