which soothed my soul when storms raged fiercely around me can speak unto them in the old, sweet words, "It is I: be not afraid."

"Nurse, where do those ships come from? Have they been to the southern seas, where the beautiful islands are ?"

"No, Miss Annie; they are only small trading craft. Some of them-the black-looking brigs-are colliers, and have been to Newcastle for coals. They never make long voyages."

I almost wished that I had not asked the question. It was one of my chief delights to stand at my bedroom window, looking out upon the vessels lying in the haven of Flatshore, and speculating about them in my childish fashion. I liked to fancy that they had been to the other side of the world; and the very sight of their tall black masts suggested thoughts of long cruises. Newcastle was such a very little way off, and coal was a prosaic freight: I had been better pleased to hear of a cargo of sandal-wood and spices. It was a May evening, clear and fair. The blue water was at rest, and the few clouds trailing slowly across the sky were white as the robes of saints. My uncle's dwelling stood high upon the beach, and our upper windows commanded an extensive view of the harbour, bounded in the distance by the low green. hills. Opposite to ours was an old wooden house, built so low down upon the shore, that at high water the sea washed the piles whereon it was raised; and then, as the tide receded, it was left stranded

on the mud. Why it had not been erected upon the dry land, was a puzzle which always remained unsolved.

"Nurse," I said, after a pause, "I heard uncle talking about sending me to school. Do you think he means it ?"

"It is time that you went there, my dear, for you are nearly nine years old. You would not like to grow up a dunce ?"

66

No," I answered; "but you can teach me very well."

"I am not clever enough to go on with your studies, Miss Annie. Often and often you ask me questions that I can't answer. You must be taught by some one who has more learning than I have."

I was silent, feeling an uncomfortable conviction that school would be the beginning of my troubles. Hitherto I had lived a delightful life of unrestraint, the plaything of my kind sailor-uncle, and the chief object of my nurse's existence. At a very early age I had been left an orphan, and consigned to the care of my mother's brother, Captain Jerrold, a retired officer of the merchant service, who, being childless, gladly accepted the charge. It was my uncle's fancy to live where he "could smell salt water;" and although he was wealthy enough to have taken up his abode in a far more fashionable quarter of the large seaport town, he persisted in remaining at Flatshore. At this hour-about seven o'clockI knew that I should find him smoking his pipe in his little parlour downstairs. It was Saturday.

Nurse was busily employed in mending stockings, sitting, as she generally did, at my chamber window, while she darned. She was a quiet woman-quieter than usual on this occasion, I thought; and I resolved to forsake her company for that of Captain Jerrold. Carrying out my intention, I tripped down the narrow staircase, and unceremoniously entered his sanctum.

“Ah, little maid," said he, without removing his pipe from his lips, "what's your will and pleasure with me ?"

He was a handsome old man, grey and weatherbeaten, with a tall, lean figure, and a wooden leg. Indoors, he wore habitually a long-tailed blue coat of ancient make, adorned with tarnished gilt buttons. He sat in his leather-covered arm-chair, and his wooden limb was stretched out stiffly across a footstool. The room was garnished with various souvenirs of foreign lands. Above the chimneypiece hung savage-looking spears and clubs, together with a huge hat of palmetto-leaf. Branches of coral and curious shells decorated the mantel-shelf; and the hearthrug was formed of a tiger-skin. There were also sundry specimens of carved ivory from China; screens of perfumed wood; glass cases of stuffed birds with gorgeous tropical plumage; watercolour drawings of scenes in far-off countries ;—in short, the little apartment was literally crowded with strange things, and bore a strong resemblance to an old curiosity shop.

"I want to talk to you seriously, uncle," I began.

“Nurse has been speaking about my going to school, and I don't like it."

66 But you have never tried it, little woman."

"There are some things we don't wish to try," I rejoined, gravely; "because we have made up our minds to dislike them."

"Well, well," said my uncle, in a musing tone, "if you set your face against it, Annie, I can't tell what's to be done. But my poor dear sister, if she had been alive, would have wished her daughter to grow up accomplished. Your mother was a clever woman, my dear it is a sad pity that she wasn't spared to you.' "But God has taken her to live with Him," I remarked; "and nurse says that she is very, very happy."

:

"Ah, yes, of course," he responded, rather absently.

"You'll be going to Heaven yourself, by-and-by, uncle, I suppose ?" said I, my thoughts being suddenly turned into a new channel.

"Eh!-not just yet, my dear," he answered -briskly.

"In a year or two, perhaps ?"

"Bless the child! does she want to get rid of me? Well, Annie, I think my old timbers will hold together for some time yet to come."

"I was only wondering," I said, "if you will take your wooden leg to Heaven."

He laughed outright. "No, no, little woman; that isn't likely. But we won't puzzle our brains with the subject."

So the topic was lightly dismissed, and I was shrewd enough to see that my uncle did not care to think about leaving this world. Nurse took great delight in speaking to me of that "better country" whither my mother had gone; and when she talked of it, I loved to listen. And in after years, when childhood and its memories lay very far away, I vaguely remembered my early dreams of heaven, longing for the childish faith which had so readily received the sweet story of the promised land. Then it had seemed as if I stood on the Delectable Mountains, and saw the bright vision with unclouded eyes. And I think that, perhaps, when old age creeps on, and the tired heart ceases its striving and troubling about earthly things, my sight may grow clear, even as the sight of the little child, and I shall see that land again.