arisen.

slumbers he never woke, and things now took such a turn with poor Mr. Day as he never looked for. He thought all impediment removed out of the way, but others on which he had never calculated had Alice Day was the last woman young Squire Jellico now thought of marrying, whatever his promises had once been, and though in true justice she ought to have been the first. When this sad knowledge came to her father, his rage was terrible, not only against the betrayer of his daughter, but against her; while old Miss Gadsby, whose blind eyes were now doubly blinded, regarded the young and deceived victim alone as the guilty one. Poor Mr. Day had carried it with a high hand in the village when he thought fortune would favor him, and this was not forgotten by the villagers. He was a man whom no one liked because so many had envied him, and he had no friends. He had been very proud, and now this downfall and humiliation cut him up, as one may say, to the very roots. In a few weeks' time so much did he take it to heart that no one would have known him. From a strong, fleshy man he wasted away to a mere shadow, and died literally of a broken heart. His few things were sold up, and his daughter left the village.

I had some little interest in the parish, and, as the young squire gave it out that he should continue the fifty pounds a year salary, my brother, who was then living on a farm at Kirkton, sent for me out of Suffolk, and I was fortunate enough to be nominated against fourteen other candidates. I came the very day that poor Alice was last seen in the village. Her father had been

buried the evening before, and a melancholy funeral it was. With some help of the squire, as was supposed, she went off to a distance, nobody knew where, but, as most people thought, among her own relations up in the North, where, I pray God at this distant period-for it is twelve years since, next May-she met with friends who would compassionate her hard fate. Within twelve months of the old squire's death the young squire married the only daughter of Sir Leonard Harcourt, with whom he had a large fortune, but the marriage, as is well known, is not a happy one and is now childless, which, as people say, is a great grief to Squire Jellico; for in case of his leaving no heir male all the property will go to his second cousin, Jukes Jellico of Kent, with whom he is not on good terms. Very unfortunate is it for Moreton. and Kirkton that this unhappy breach exists between those who are the true exemplars of a large population which naturally looks to them as its head.

There is to be a great Christmas held at the Hall this year. Squire Jellico comes down with many of his London friends, and great preparations are making for their reception. I noticed an unusual sight as I walked within view of the Hall—viz., smoke coming out of eight different chimneys. The gamekeepers are all alive in the preserves, and a butler and other servants from London are come down for the occasion. It is said that Mrs. Jellico has gone to Italy, and that the squire makes these rejoicings in consequence. Hopes are entertained of his returning to live at the Hall-at least, for part of the yearthere being a rumor to that effect. It makes a great difference in a poor place like Moreton

Returned home late in the afternoon. The wind is still in the north, and the roads are beginning to be soft. I warned the boys off the ponds as I passed them. I saw nothing of the strange boy on my way back, nor could the lads give me any information, as he had not been seen by them that day. It is singular that I feel so strong an interest in him. But there is something uncommon in his look and behavior. Openness and candor are so truly the attributes of childhood that we are startled by reserve and circumspection; yet he has not a depraved or cunning look, but a something singularly grave and penetrating in his eye, with that occasionally proud and proud and defiant look which seems to resist and repel inquiry. I could imagine that he has had experience not suited to his years; there is a something about him, to use the homely adage, which reminds me of "the old head on the young shoulders." I I may be deceiving myself may be converting a poor common crow into a phoenix-but I confess to a sentiment toward him approaching to affection. I should like to attach such a being to me; my heart has unoccupied room which yearns for a tenant, for early sorrow and disappointment do not close every heart against affection and human trust.

21st. Must have taken cold in my walk from Kirkton, as the roads were damp and my shoes not of the best. Have been confined to the house these two days. In the afternoon walked down to Widow Marshall's. Found her in some anxiety, as the strange boy has not returned. He owed her eighteen pence for three nights' lodging and victuals. I gave her the money, and thus settled his

again.

22d, Sunday.--Better of my cold. Attended morning service. As I sat in church I was well pleased to observe our young friend. He came not with the Widow Marshall, but he looked clean and decent. He sat in the aisle, on the free benches, and conducted himself well during the service. The Sundayscholars came in in an orderly manner, with their teachers at their head, and marched up the aisle past him. If he remains in the parish, I must have something done for him.

The church was pretty full, principally because the squire and his friends were expected to be there. pected to be there. But the great pew was empty, although the new stove which has been put up had been lighted the day before, and all duly aired. Some of the servants, however, were in the church. After service it was found that the squire did not arrive last night, nor is expected till Tuesday, the 24th, when both he and his friends are looked for. Seven and twenty beds are made up; so that a large party is expected.

In the afternoon I walked toward the ponds. The wind changed to north last night and the ice is again firm, and, though it was Sunday, the boys were sliding. I saw my little friend again on the ice; he was still by himself, but had ventured out much farther, and was sliding pretty well. He is not maladroit, as I imagined. I watched him for some time, meaning to beckon him to me, but as soon as he saw me he came forward of his own accord and thanked me for having paid his little debt to Widow Marshall.

"But," said he, with his proud manner,

"I was not going to cheat her; I meant to pay her, and I shall repay you."

Without contesting this subject with him, I asked him to walk home with me and I would give him a cup of tea. I doubted not but that I should overcome his reserve, for kindness has great power. I did not, however, make much out, as I reserved my questions for the fireside, when I thought Becky's good tea and some seed-cake which Mrs. Garnett had given me would open his heart. When I reached home, however, I found Mr. Garnett and a friend of his come to drink tea and spend the evening with me; so that I was reluctantly obliged to send my little friend into the kitchen, where, Becky not being in a good humor, I am afraid he was not well entertained, for he left before tea was well over. On my way home, however, I learned that he had been, as he said, to Kirkton, had not only been in but over the Hall, and had been allowed to sleep in an outhouse. The old woman had given him some victuals and had shown him the family pictures, and he had been in the church and seen the tombs there. He is probably an embryo antiquarian whose name may become renowned in some future day, for such tastes are rare in boys of his age and class. I asked him what made him take so great an interest in these old things. Again he put on that strange look, and, turning on me his large gray eyes, said coolly, but with a flushed countenance that seemed to belie his words, that he didn't know. I counselled him to get some work to do, and in reply he inquired if he could be employed at the Hall. I laughed, saying I supposed he wanted to see the old rooms and the family pictures there.

"Yes," said he, in a much more frank tone than was common to him.

I promised, therefore, to ask Mrs. Julip, the housekeeper, to let him go through the Hall some day, but, as the condition of this, made him promise to be a good boy and get some work.

24th. It is strange how my interest in this boy grows; it is no common feeling of idle curiosity or mere pity that I have for him.

I walked to-day through the town. It has been all astir. The squire arrived at eight this morning, having travelled post all night. Several parties arrived in the course of the day, and the White Lion was thronged with postilions and post-horses. They were decorating the church with holly as I passed; the door was open, and I walked in. To my surprise, I found my young friend in the chancel; he was reading the inscriptions on the tombs of the Jellicos. He can read well. I made him read several of them to me, and explained the Latin to him. I made him also read the ten commandments, but he knows these by heart. I asked him. who had taught him. He said his mother. And how came he to leave his mother? I inquired.

He turned hastily away and wept. The boy has known sorrow, and the wound is yet fresh.

25th, Christmas Day.-This has been a day of strange tribulation. A sudden thaw came on yesterday, and continued through the night. The boys, as usual, went to the ponds, but few ventured on the ice, as it was giving way. The poor stranger lad, for whom, as I have before said, these waters seemed to have a strange fascination, went

down, leapt thoughtlessly from the bank across the water which had already covered the ice from the land, and began sliding at some distance. He was now a tolerable proficient and very daring, but from his reserved manners, his evident poverty and his being a stranger he had no acquaintance among the village lads. Nevertheless, some of them warned him of his danger. Before long the ice on which another lad was sliding gave way, and he must have sunk had not the stranger rushed to the spot and pulled him out. But this brave act was only performed at his own sacrifice: the ice broke in with him, and while the boy he had rescued was received on the bank by his comrades our little hero sank. He made desperate efforts to save himself, but the ice all around was rotten and soon gave way. His danger was instantly perceived by the boys on the water's edge, and a loud cry was raised. Several ran for help, and two, with noble courage, sprang upon the ice in the hope of saving him, but a short time proved this to be impossible. He was apparently left alone to perish. Presently, however, some of the boys who had run to the village returned with men, bringing a rope, but, unfortunately, it was too short to reach him. By this time he was becoming exhausted. a new anxiety seemed to possess him this save something, which appeared to be a small packet of papers, which for some time he held between his teeth, as if to preserve them from the water. After struggling for a long time and making wonderful efforts to save himself, he sank to rise no more. I know not when any event of late years has so much distressed me. I did not hear of it till an hour afterward,

was

But

when Widow Marshall brought me word, she having been down to the ponds to see if nothing could be done to save him; for, as she lives at that end of the village, her house was one of the first the boys ran to in their dismay. Why did they not come instantly to me? I ran down to the ponds, although I had no hope of life being restored, even if the body were found. A great crowd A were on the banks, and two men with a boat and drags were on the water, the ice having been broken for that purpose; but the poor body must have been floated away, for it could not be found.

As I stood on the edge of the water thinking of the poor houseless lad who had just lost his life, I turned my eyes in the direction of the Hall, which from this point is wholly visible. It was becoming dusk, and the large mansion was lighted up as if for a great festivity. There is a grand Christmas entertainment there to-night; for, though Mrs. Jellico is absent, the dean of Windsor, who is a relative of the squire's, is there with his lady, and a large family party and all the gentry of the neighborhood-nay, of half the county-are invited. What a contrast was this to the cold, dreary night, the desolate water, the drowned but unfound body of the fatherless, motherless and homeless boy! Life is full of strange contrasts!

I feel as if I had sustained a great lossas if life had been deprived of something of worth. What might not that boy have been to me! What undeveloped powers not within him? what a wealth of feeling and affection?

26th. The body has not been found. I have thought much to-day of the papers

which the poor boy appeared so anxious to save. They say that he was heard to exclaim with a despairing voice, "I have lost them!" just before he sank. He held them between his teeth, probably in the vain hope of keeping them dry. What could they be? My curiosity suggests many ideas. Perhaps some last letter of his mother; perhaps a little money. In the idea that it might be money, some of the men were were additionally eager in their search. I confess to a desire to know myself.

27th.-Had a strange dream or vision last night. It seemed to me to be the daybreak of a summer's morning. A sunny mist of an opal color appeared to fill my chamber, gathering round my bed, at the foot of which lay a brightness as of noonday, and amid these gradually revealed themselves, as if fashioned of light, two figures-the strange boy and a woman of resplendent beauty. The boy had the same countenance, but beautiful exceedingly, and the woman held him by the hand. They looked at me with an expression of divine love, and I seemed to hear, although not by outward speech, these words:

"These are mother and son she was the schoolmaster's daughter of whom thou hast heard."

The knowledge thus conveyed brought with it no astonishment, but a calm certainty, as of eternal truth.

Yes," I seemed to say to myself, "thou art the daughter of Nathaniel Day, and this is thy son; and it is now well with thee."

"It is well," she replied. With that all disappeared, and I awoke. It was pitch-dark in my room. I sat up in

mind

bed and looked around-for the impression of my dream was still as strong in my as reality itself--but there was nothing.

Perhaps this singular dream or vision was but the effect of my excited feelings, for the loss of the boy has troubled me much. Perhaps supernatural appearances, so called, are the deepest of truths and I have been privileged to have the secrets of the grave laid open before me-to behold the dead, or, more correctly speaking, the really living. I know not. I dare not disbelieve, nor yet wholly believe. It may be so. This boy may be the child of poor Alice Day, and the papers which he was so anxious to save might contain proofs of the fact. And I must confess that the expression of proud reserve which struck me so much in his countenance is not unlike that of the Jellicos. What would have been the consequence had he lived and asserted his claim of parentage on the squire? But he needs no earthly father now: the great Father of all has taken him home. The subject can matter to no one now. I therefore shall not speak of my dream, for there are many Sadducees even in a poor ignorant place like Moreton. In these pages and in the faithful chronicle of my memory let it alone remain.

30th. This day the body was found. A boy who was on his way to Kirkton this morning ran back to the village with the news that he could see the poor drowned boy's shoes near the bank, under the ice. He was taken out and carried to the Nag's Head, near Widow Marshall's. I went down to see him; he was laid on a board in the great club-room, and the coroner's inquest was held about three in the afterThe body was was as fresh and the

noon.