tily into its meaning; remember what an awful state those must be in who know not how to pray for themselves, and what need they have of the prayers of all good Christians."

Ancient Hymn for Whitsuntide.

RULER of the hosts of light,

Death hath yielded to Thy might;
And Thy blood hath marked a road
Which will lead us back to God.

From Thy dwelling-place above,
From Thy Father's throne of love,
Look upon us here below,
Do not leave us in our woe.

Now Thou sittest on Thy throne,
By Thy death, Thy sorrows, won;
Now perform the promise given,—
Send the Holy Ghost from heaven.

Praise the Son, Who reigns on high
With the Father, in the sky:

And the Holy Ghost adore,
Three in One, for evermore.

June.

THE feasts of this month are,-St. Barnabas, on June 11; St. John Baptist, 24th; St. Peter, 29th.

The feast of Whitsuntide falls either in May or in June. Trinity Sunday is the last great festival of the ecclesiastical year, and follows Whitsunday.

Rohson, Levey, and Franklyn, Great New Street, Fetter Lane.

"Naughty" or "Wicked"

165

July

Poetry: Hymn for the Morning; The Lark and Dove

167

168

Olive Lester, the Lame Girl.

A TALE.

[Continued from p. 117.]

Ar last, one of the party, the eldest and the worst, who belonged to one of the outlying cottages, began talking of some great undertaking they were to go upon next. In this Stephen was to make one, as he had behaved with so much spirit this night. He could not promise them any plunder for certain, but they would have the pleasure of revenging themselves on those who wished them ill, and frightening the gentlefolks and the parson.

He spoke so loud now, that Olive could not help hearing; and she understood, though their words No. VII.

H

were often strange to her, that they meant to fire the ricks of a farmer who had turned off two of them from work, owing to their drunken habits. All present were to be concerned in the job. If any thing could be got for themselves in the confusion, so much the better; but the chief thing was to destroy the ricks, and to avoid suspicion by seeming to help in putting out the fire. The night, the hour, and the post of each man, were settled; and Olive heard all. Her grandfather woke, and asked for drink. She spoke low to him, as she gave him water, that the revellers might not know that she was there. She heard him say, "Lord, have mercy," as he turned round; and though he said it rather as a form, and because he was in pain, than like a real prayer, still she hoped it might be accepted as a prayer.

If he only could earnestly pray for mercy, she would have hope for him. But oh! would Stephen be spared to pray for it? or would he ever have the will to pray? She could not hear that he had made any objection; and the noise went on for some time. At last, towards morning, the party broke up. Bob and George went up to their loft, and Stephen and the other two left the cottage.

Olive's heart beat, and her head began to swim. She could not keep still; she could not think; she knew not what to do. The old man sunk again into the heavy sleep caused by the medicine he had taken. To pass away the time, she looked out of window. The little room was at the back of the cottage, and the one window looked out from under the thatch into the forest close by.

It

It was a beautiful clear night, and the moonlight shone upon the smooth turf, and the leaves of the hollies, and the white stems of the birch-trees. was late in autumn, but the withered leaves still hung on, so that the woods did not look bare. There were still thick shadows on the grass, and the dark shapes of the trees were seen clearly against the light sky. Olive thought to herself how different all was

inside and outside the cottage, how beautiful the works of God were, and how unworthy the deeds of man. It seemed to refresh and quiet her, when she looked out on that scene; and she felt it differently from what she had done before.

She opened the window-for the room was close, and her head felt hot and light. The cool night air, and the smell of the dew, seemed to take a weight off her. She stood a long time looking out and breathing the fresh air; and when she had shut the window, she knelt down quite calmly, and was able to collect her thoughts. She prayed for her sick parent, for her sinful brother, and for her poor weak self. And then she repeated collects, and verses of the Psalms; and the time passed away with more comfort, till the morning light brought the remembrance of the cares of day.

The thought of her dreadful secret came back to her when she heard her cousins' voices again. She knew not what to do about it. She would have given the world not to have heard it. Her way always had been to take no part in what passed round her, to shut her eyes and ears as much as she could; but now it struck her that if she could prevent mischief, she ought to do so.

She was turning over in her mind whether she should speak to the farmer or to Mrs. Payne, when her aunt said, "Who'll go to the parson's after father's broth?" Olive answered, "I will go, please; the walk will do me good." For it darted into her mind to ask Mr. Morton's advice. She felt that she could rely on him, and on no one else, to guide her rightly in her difficulty.

It was true that the walk did her good, tired as she was the fresh morning air revived her; and she made up her mind, as she went, that she was doing right. The fear of the harm that might happen overcame her usual fear and shyness, and she begged at once to speak to Mr. Morton alone in his room. However, when there, she hardly knew how to

begin; and she let him ask her some questions about the sick man, before she got courage to say, 66 Please, sir, it was not that; but something wrong is to be done, and I don't know if I ought to tell of it." "Do you wish to tell me, Olive?"

"I thought, sir, I would make so bold as to ask your advice about it."

"Was it told to you?"

"No, sir."

"Did you listen, then? or how did you find it out?"

"Oh no, sir! I did not listen; but I could not help hearing-I wish I had not!"

"Will your telling do any good? Will it stop the mischief?"

"I think it might, sir."

“And will it get you into trouble, do you think? does that make you afraid of speaking?"

"I don't know but what it might: but I was not thinking of that, I feared to meddle, and get others into trouble."

"Those who do wrong must take the consequence. Are you willing to risk any trouble that may come to you in doing your duty? and will you trust me to act for you?"

66 Yes, sir."

"Then you had better tell me, and I will judge." Olive then told her whole story; and Mr. Morton said,

66

I shall

"I am very glad you have told me. You may have been the means of preventing a great misfortune, and, what is more, a great crime. speak to Mr. Ashton, that he may set watchers; but I will not mention your name. Now, my good girl, whatever happens, do not repent what you have done,-I am sure it is right. The consequences are in God's hands, and you need not fear about them. And if any punishment should fall on those who do wrong, remember it is far better for them to suffer, than to go on sinning unchecked."