little boy sate hidden from his view. And why did the child look so sorrowful? I will tell you-he was poor and he was homeless. He knew not where to look even for his mite to contribute to the Sternchutz memorial. He had been at school only half a year, and it was but little that any one knew of his character. He was delicate in health, feeble in spirits, and one might read an orphan's tale in the expression of his pale face. It was not so much that of any positive unhappiness, as the absence of all youthful joy. He was not affectionate,' the under master said, and so said the boys, had no warmth, no energy, no ambition, no character, of any kind.'

Children! boys especially, if in your school life or in your knowledge of other boys, you meet with one like poor little Edward Halley, will you try to bring out the affection which, depend upon it, the Creator has planted somewhere in his young heart, but which some bitter east wind in spring has blighted, or some neglect in nursery culture has dwarfed in its growth. How could the boy be loving? He had never been loved. He could not recall the time, as many of you can, when an eye of unutterable affection watched by his bed, and a mother's tones sang such songs as mothers only can sing. He had no gentle household memories to soften his boyish character; no hopes of a home in time to come to cheer his school life. The world was to be his home, and the voice of his schoolmaster was the only voice that had ever yet reached his heart, poor lad! His father had been dead three years; of his mother he had no recollection. The former died when his affairs were in extreme perplexity, leaving them to be settled by a well-doing, but somewhat penurious brother, who found that after this settlement he was several hundreds the poorer, and that the child must either be fed by him or starve. He was not an unfeeling man, although he was deficient in tenderness; but he had a large family, and he thought that he should be cruel to them if he were too kind to the orphan.

Dr. Sternchutz came by the boy in a curious manner. The uncle and nephew had travelled from town one day to look out for a cheap school, in which (so the uncle had been told) the town of Dover abounded. He had been recommended to a Mr. Reed, a schoolmaster, by one of his acquaintance, and as chance would have it, or as we would prefer putting it, as God willed it, he asked his way to Mr. Reed's house of Dr. Sternchutz, who was walking thoughtfully on the road towards the railway station.

The Doctor paused- Mr. Reed, sir, has just given up his school, and has left Dover.'

The uncle was discomfited-' Can you tell me of a boys' school, sir -a moderate school, for this lad? It is very provoking, after the expense and trouble of the journey."

The Doctor looked at them both. I keep a school, sir, but'-and he looked at the uncle and nephew observantly- I don't know that it would suit you.'

'That's soon settled, sir. I am prepared to give 251. per annum for the boy's board and education. I think he's a sharp lad, but I want

no

Latin nor Greek into the bargain. What you can teach for 251. a year, you may teach. I expect he will be made to write a good hand for that, and to understand book-keeping, double entry, and so forth. What you can give him in any way, I say, for that sum, except extravagant notions, he may have. Is he likely to suit you, sir?'

Dr. Sternchutz thought, whatever the child might be, the uncle was certainly not promising; but he was not a worldly-wise man; he was, his friends said, benevolent to a weakness, and the child's look of fatigue, and the uncle's appearance of indifference, enlisted his interest on behalf of the former, and he felt strongly disposed to make the

venture.

A very unbusiness-like act of yours, Dr. Sternchutz, without any reference or any guarantee for the payment of that pitiful 25l. But the Doctor did mean to make inquiries. He was not so very weak a man, and quite a discerning one, so politely asking the weary travellers to go in and take some refreshment, he learned more particulars of the child's history and connexions, and the matter was arranged.

Six months had passed away, and Dr. Sternchutz had not repented. The child, whatever he might appear to his schoolfellows, was to him an object of interest. He was clever, orderly, and I think he is attached to me,' said the good Doctor to his wife one night.

'I hope he is, my dear, but he does not show it much. There is nothing genial in the child; he always seems so reserved, so very cold.' 'We shall see, my love,' said the all-hopeful master. I have not yet repented taking him in. Let us open our hearts to him, my Agnes, and who knows but his may open to us?' Indeed, Doctor, you were right. That unnoticed boy has within his breast such a well-spring of gratitude to you for your kind words and looks to him, that there is not a glance nor a tone of approval, not a word of commendation, not an expression of interest, but he treasures up in his forlorn orphan's heart, and night by night he breathes your name in his child-prayer to his Maker, and when others are asking God to bless a father or a mother, a brother or a sister, the lonely one prays for all good things to rest on that dear friend who is all the world to him.

The picture came in due time, the packing-case arrived one night when the master was out, and the usher, having succeeded in lulling the natural curiosity of the lady and her daughters, had it conveyed into his bed-chamber, to the inexpressible satisfaction of the boys, who had to stifle their cheers as the porter returned from his laborious ascent.

This was on the Saturday; the excitement was universal, and the money already received from home made a goodly clink in the large box into which Cecil had cut a hole for the purpose of receiving voluntary contributions. Each of the twenty-nine had dropped his contribution there. It stood in the head master's room. for the purpose, when in the dusk of that Saturday evening little Edward stole up stairs, and blushing and sighing deeply, he let fall his only coin. Well -it was but sixpence, and it was a sixpence that the Doctor had given.

him, but the child without a heart' said within himself, and God heard him, If I put nothing in, I shall feel as if I had not shown my love to him. If I put this in (and they will be sure to know who put in that only sixpence), they may perhaps despise my gift, but I shall have done all I can; and yet, oh that he could but know how I love him!' So the child's offering fell, and his spirit was lighter than before. Pride had told him it were better to give nothing than to give that; and avarice had told him that it was not to be expected that he should contribute, because he had truly nothing to give; but the Bible told him that while the rich men cast in their great gifts to the treasury, the widow out of her penury gave more than all the others, and so the boy went down with a livelier step and happier thoughts.

Monday night came. The Doctor was to give a supper to his children; he always called the boys My children,' and the usher had to beg that he would permit the elder lads free access to the dining-room for an hour before supper.

To be sure, to be sure,' said the good man; they won't lift up the white cloth, I know.'

'I will answer for them, sir ;' and they were admitted.

The picture was hung up in the best light possible, and before it was drawn a red curtain. Garlands of flowers festooned the apartment, and nothing was wanting to complete the beauty of the place. One by one the lads were admitted to view the preparations, and the last, because the youngest, came little Edward. It would be very pretty,' said the child, to put a garland of "Forget-me-nots" round. the frame.'

Very! I wish we had thought of that; but I only know of one place where they grow fine, and that is by Welbourne-brook.'

'Do you think, Cecil, you could get leave for me to go?'

'Why, boy,' said Cecil, 'it's nearly two miles, and you are not fond of a walk.'

But, Cecil, I am fond of Dr. Sternchutz, and he loves flowers too.' 'Well, I will ask for you.'

'How kind! I shall so thank you.'

Permission was granted, and the child set out. The Forget-me-nots were just in time, and that was better than being before the time, for spite of their sweet name they fade away with lamentable rapidity. The garland was woven. The clock struck eight, and the supper bell rang. The good Doctor led in his wife, and the two daughters followed. The boys came in in single file, very orderly, but very happy. The table was covered with a white cloth over the whole contents. But the boys were not astonished. Oh, no, it was the Doctor's turn to be surprised.

וי

Grace was said, and the neat maidens removed the covering. There was a present for every one; not costly, but exactly the sort of gift suited to each boy's taste.

"You know, my children,' said the Doctor, that I never give prizes, and you know, too, the reason why I never give them. I am glad there is to be no prize given. I could not bear to inflict pain to-night, as,

You

perhaps, I might have to do, for you should all be joyful now. will each of you come to my study to-morrow, and receive the expression of my thoughts of your conduct during the past half year. They are thoughts of peace in every case,' said the good man, smiling, 'so let no one be alarmed,' for the rebel lad already alluded to met the eye of his master, and now let us begin supper. Agnes, my friend, what hast thou for us?'

It was difficult to say what article of simple inexpensive cookery there was not. Many a pretty German dish was there, and one which no boy in the school could be taught to like, but which the Doctor always declared excellent, even the Krauten,' or sour crout.

And would you believe it? all this time the Doctor had never remarked the red curtains over the side-board, but then he never did see any change of the sort. Mrs. Sternchutz had noticed it, and so had the young ladies, and at length Madelaine, the younger daughter, could pen up her curiosity no longer, but said

'Papa, only look at the red cloth there.'

'I see! ah, I see! what is it, child?'

'I fancy the young gentlemen can explain,' said the usher; and at these words, he drew out of his pocket a sheet of paper signed by all the school, and headed by these words :

'Dear and most honoured Doctor,

'We have long wished to give you something which should recall us to your remembrance when some of us are separated from you. We owe you a great debt. It is one that no words, no gift can pay. Receive then, dear sir, the tribute of our affection, which we deem most appropriate, and in the trial of your son's absence may it comfort you to know that we each subscribe our name as your dutiful and affectionate children, &c. &c.'

The letter was read, the curtain was withdrawn, and silence reigned -a silence of astonishment and of deep feeling. At length the Doctor spoke

'Dear children, it is too much, too much! You could not indeed have done better.' His voice failed, and mother and sisters wept plentifully. The dear boy! how like! Truly, Madelaine, it speaks.' 'Come in, come in!' called Gertrude, the elder daughter, to the faithful nurse of the family, the good Gabrielle. Come, see your boy, your Gerhard.'

Nurse rushed forward, and you should have heard her criticisms in her own expressive language. Very, very like! bless him! but not so handsome; no, not so handsome!" They said it was a speaking likeness. No,' Gabrielle averred, that was its fault, it did not speak.'

Ah, Gabrielle, good handmaiden! thou hast told the reason wherefore likenesses of the dead or of the absent so often make the heart to ache, they do not speak, for they are soul-wanting.

But the Doctor said she was wrong, the likeness did speak, would

always speak to him. It was like a voice telling of his adopted children's love. Blessings on you,' said he, taking up a morsel of the Forget-me-not,' which had escaped from the fading garland, and who wove this wreath?'

It was little Edward, sir.'

Oh, how the heart of the child beat as the Doctor, laying his hand fondly on the light hair, said, 'Flowers speak, too, my child-I will not forget thee.' The hour for evening prayer was come. Reverently they knelt, and not a heart there but was touched at the tones of the Doctor as he led their devotions, prayed for the absent and present, and praised for the departed and the glorified.

It was morning. The boxes were all packed, and there was a smile on every face, but on that of Edward there was no smile. He was going to his uncle's house, but he was not going home. Each boy passed into the study; some came out with visible marks of feeling; all with chastened and gentle manner.

'Well, Edward, art thou happy with us, my child?' "Very, sir.'

Thou wilt come back then?"

'Oh, sir!' and the boy burst into tears. Yes, if you will take me!' The hand was extended, but the boy could not take it. Let me, oh let me, sir, say one word to you. I am very miserable, dear Dr. Sternchutz. It was so sad to me, to think that when everybody, who owes you less than I, contributed something to your gift, I had nothing to give. I who owe you so much.'

6

My child, you did give something, did you not?'

Alas, alas, sir! only the sixpence you gave me.'

And why did you give that, my Ned; it was not needful. I should

have been well content with that wreath of flowers from you.'

'Why, sir, why! because I loved you.'

Well, my boy, and do you not think your sixpenny share in that portrait is worth as much as every other?

Come, sit down on my

knee, little one, and I will tell thee a parable; in English or in German shall it be? In English thou sayest. Well, next midsummer remember I will tell thee one in German. There! so! thy arm round my neck, boy, as my own Gerhard used to sit. Now, Edward, listen to the tale of "The Dew Drops."

'Selia, the child of pious parents, who lived near Mount Tabor, in the Holy Land, had often heard of those kind angels sent by Jehovah to the earth, to hover over and to walk beside little children, to minister to their joys and to breathe in their ears words of truth and counsel. 66 Surely," said the child, "flowers must have their angel to care for them. Oh, that I could see his beautiful form." And often did the boy go secretly to the mountain, and listen if perchance he might hear the rustle of his wings, when his large blue eyes would be fixed on the sky, or he would stand thoughtfully looking on the flowery hill. But in vain; the Flower Angel came not. "Ah," said Selia, "he does good unseen; by night he watches the flowers and