And had those whose counsels governed the school possessed the rich treasury from which these lines are taken, it is possible that even its wealth might not have been considered too pure for those who, though here occupying a lowly position, have yet souls to be disciplined, and hearts to be purified, to a fitness for the company of heaven. Into the cottages of Margrove, and among the servants of the Hall, many a standard work found its way; so that in the times of leisure, which among the household servants especially often recurred, rational amusement was ready to their hand; and there remained no excuse, and frequently no inclination, for seeking that which was forbidden. It was never heard that any immorality or vice could be traced to this source. On the contrary, the people, as they were unusually well educated, because refined and highminded persons had taught them to think, so were they unusually moral, respectful, and industrious.

Poor Annie had a hard struggle at one time with her family; William fell from the roof of a barn, and broke his leg: this was a sad event. William was a general favourite, and all Margrove sympathised with him and Annie; he was ill a long time. "It is a bad job," he said to a friend, "but, please God, I shall come round by and by; it shall never be said that one of the Lindleys went to the parish." And the family lived more and more parsimoniously on the savings they had acquired in their prosperous days. But the supply became more and more slender; for Annie, though content with a Spartan diet herself, would never rest satisfied unless the invalid was supplied with everything that she believed necessary for his recovery.

And now sad faces were round the cottage fire; Joseph, their son, was a noble lad, and worked hard, and spoke no foreboding thoughts, lest he should add sorrow to the afflicted; but there were many helpless ones to support, and he knew that matters were becoming desperate. He had been missing for two days; a sort of despondency seemed to be creeping over Annie. One quiet evening she was sitting unoccupied and listless, when the boy entered suddenly. "Mother," he cried, "I have enlisted for a soldier! We cannot stand against things here; we shall surely come to the parish. So I have made up my mind to this: I shall now be no expense to you and father, I shall get very good pay, and I shall send you help regularly. I met Mrs. Sidney as I was coming by the park gate, and I told her all about it. . . . And she said you ought to have explained your circumstances to her, and she would have tried to get situations for Jane and Kitty; she does not think they are too young for under-places, and you are to step down to the Hall as soon as you conveniently can. Now don't look so at me, mother; I am very glad of what I have done, and I know I shall come back all safe and sound; I know I shall."

Poor Annie burst into tears; Joseph was the delight of her eyes. Stilly and silently did her heart doat upon the boy. "And he's

going to the wars !" as she called it. She at first thought it an overwhelming calamity, but Mrs. Sidney did not view it in this light, and that first shook her faith in her own opinion. And as the boy showed a good heart and high spirit, and seemed happy in the prospect, she, casting her care before the Ruler of all things, took hope, and became reconciled to the plan. But the day was long and gloomy, and Annie sat hour after hour alone when Joseph departed, and for many a month her songs were silent. She reckoned Hester Saville, the school mistress; her best friend next after Mrs. Sidney, and to her first she began to go for consolation. Hester said she should not forgive Joseph in a hurry, for going away without saying farewell to her. To this charge Annie replied, "Well, 'twas a very strange piece of behaviour, surely, Hester. I told him you wanted to see him, and he went to every one else." "Well, then, I shall take it as an affront," said Hester, not looking, however, at all offended.

Hester had been a servant in Mrs. Sidney's nursery. From this situation she had married a tradesman, and for a few years all had gone tranquilly and happily with her, when she was so unfortunate as to lose her husband, and was left with one little girl to face the world alone. She was too slight and delicate to attempt hard work. The love of her little girl roused her from her grief to make every exertion, and she endeavoured to establish herself as a dressmaker; and hour after hour, and day after day, from morning till night, were her thin hands busied over the gay garments of the butterflies of the sunshine. But her pale face grew paler, and the young mother's deep cough was a sound to touch the heart.

Isabella Sidney, who came to visit the dark room, in the smoky street, of her who used to bask in the gardens of Margrove, was shocked at the change. By her recommendation, Mr. Stopford engaged Hester as mistress of the Church school; she was very grateful for the appointment. The schoolroom, originally built as an almshouse by dame Alice Sidney, some hundreds of years back, had received considerable additions from the present occupant of the Hall. He had cut down trees, and laid open a large sunny playground, and a good garden was attached. The fresh sweet air brought back a rose-leaf hue to Hester's cheek; but what especially rejoiced her, and called forth more abundant thanks to "Miss Isabella," was the improvement in her little girl. A little sorrowing, withering thing had she been; one on whom the dark, anxious, hazel eye of the mother fell constantly; but now daily stronger and merrier, and to be lost sight of for half the day without care.

Ill health had increased Hester's natural gentleness and softness, and these qualifications were much more effectual than those to which recourse is generally had, namely, the loud voice and the strong arm, in her vocation. Many a rough and wild one has been trained to meek tempers and civilized manners, by the con

stant and strong, though insensible persuasion of her patience and mildness. Children watch and imitate those placed over them; and it is not surprising that the harsh conduct and violent words usually employed by teachers should fail to produce amiable characters and engaging manners in the pupils. Hester was a silent and reserved woman, of a peculiar natural refinement of mind. The majority, perhaps, might have thought her cold-hearted, but these erred greatly. A whirlwind had passed over the one sunny spot of her life, and now all her affections, in their accumulated strength, rested upon her little girl: her name was Elizabeth, but Isabella Sidney called her Lily; and there must have been something appropriate in the name, for she always retained it. The child, as is often the case, was the more endeared by the constant watchfulness its infancy had required. In many a long night has the pure light of the moon shone through the cottage lattice, while the sweet face of the widowed mother hung in its pallid watchfulness over the disturbed slumber of the child. For her she struggled against the feebleness of sickness, and laboured on, denying herself in all that she could, lest an evil day might come; hoarding up with a miserly care her little savings. Her mind dwelt on this with a morbid anxiety, for she felt prophetic misgivings as to her own health, and a certainty that Lily could never encounter the same privations she had been strengthened to endure.

Mr. Sidney's daughters took a lively interest in the school. Emma and Åda had each a separate class, and various importations of new books were constantly enriching its well-selected library; being supplied by the little girls out of the money allowed them for amusements. And as the village children grew up, they felt that the eyes of those from whom they had learned the blessed precepts of religion and morality were still watching them, and that their future conduct could alone repay the generosity of those who had done so much for them. The Sidneys, justly weighing the trials and temptations of the poor, endeavoured in a practical way, which all could understand, to uphold morality, by making a marked distinction in their charities between the virtuous and the vicious. Those who deserved kindness were sure to meet it; but to lose this, with all the blessings it brought to their cottages, was considered a misfortune as well as a disgrace.

By their assistance, and by very careful management, William and Annie Lindley overcame their difficulties; and soon after Joseph left them, William was able to return to his work. His daughters, Jane and Kitty, were growing up, and being active and well trained in the school, situations were found for both by Mrs. Sidney. Thus William and his wife again sat by a lonely fireside, but they had much to cheer them. Sometimes Mrs. Sidney would bring them very favourable accounts of their daughters from those persons to whom they had been recommended. They were very

dutiful to their parents, and often wrote to them; so Annie looked forward to a re-union, and was happy in watching the success of the different members of her family. Occasionally a letter came from abroad from Joseph, giving accounts of marches, sieges, and tales wonderful and new to the peaceful inhabitants of Margrove; who had indeed read of such things in the books of the lending library, but could scarcely realise that one of their own pastoral body was actually engaged in the stirring scenes. Sometimes, too, a present, the fruit of careful foresight and long reckoned-up savings, gladdened the aged parents. "Not," as they said, "for the sake of the gift, but for the giver's, poor dears." William had received a watch from his son, and a substantial umbrella; then a rare piece of luxury had been sent by Jane for her mother; another had armed her against the winter with a scarlet cloak of most conspicuous brightness, as down the white snowy lanes she took her way to Church, and carefully, as great treasures, were these things laid up.

Thus the Lindleys again prospered; and full of hope, and energy, and health, even in age, they formed the design of making themselves still more independent, by building a house. This, Annie said, would be sure to come to the children-a strong argument in favour of the plan-and it would always save house rent, for they had never been able to get a good house under what seemed to them a considerable rent. For William, being a thatcher, and not a labourer, was not so well off in this respect as those working on Mr. Sidney's estate generally were, to whom unusually comfortable dwellings were allotted. But as soon as he heard of Annie's energetic plan, he promised her a site.

A long time elapsed before they were ready for building, as they could not afford to let the matter interfere with their ordinary labour. Annie employed her spare time in gathering together heaps of flints, which abounded in that neighbourhood. This cost nothing but toil. Other stones gradually accumulated, and at last William set to work. Wonderfully well it proceeded, and speedily was it finished, and merry was Annie in these very busy times. The cottage stood beneath the shelter of a "brotherhood of beeches," on a smooth grassy slope on the confines of Mr. Sidney's park; from whence the view extended over hill and woods, till the blue outline melted into the summer's haze. By degrees its hedge of roses, and beds of pinks and lilies arose; flowers which, like old English songs, may bid defiance to the attempts from foreign interlopers upon the affections of the true British heart. For he who is of a sincere spirit still clings to his own old flower, and his song, old, it may be, “as the hills," but sweet as the valleys of May.

(To be continued.)

THE CITY OF ALEXANDRIA

Is situated on a narrow piece of land, stretching between Lake Mareotis and the Mediterranean. Two harbours break the otherwise uniform line of the coast, and give it a very varied front towards the sea. These harbours are divided by a projecting piece of land called the Cape of Figs, which bends round to the west, and terminates in the modern lighthouse. It is principally occupied by the palace and the harem of the Pasha, with government offices, forts, and soldiers' villages. An elbow, projecting in an eastern direction, and prolonged by a causeway leading to the island and castle of the Pharos, forms the principal protection of the eastern or new harbour, which is comparatively small and shallow. It is likewise defended by rocks and breakers. Near its other point, called Pharillon, the line of fortifications that encircles the city terminates. I have already mentioned the Marâbut Island and fort, which sparkle at the western point of the great harbour, at a distance of about nine miles from Ras-et-tin, or the Cape of Figs.

It is round the base of this cape that the great mass of the Alexandrian population is congregated. In whatever direction you proceed from it the streets become wider, the open spaces more frequent, the houses more thinly scattered, the gardens more numerous, until at length, in most cases, before you reach the fortifications, you are in a comparative solitude. The principal artery of the city, on leaving the gates_of_the Palace of Ras-et-tin, soon enters what is called the Turkish Town, a collection of large cottage-like buildings, with white walls, small gardens, and carefully latticed windows. Taking a continual bend towards the east, it leaves to the left the seldom visited quarter of Abu-el-Abbas and the approaches of the Castle of the Pharos, and, skirting the shores of the new harbour, becomes what is called the Strada Franca, or European Street. Several thoroughfares of gradually increasing length now join it on the right, leading from the arsenal, the custom-house, the lazaretto, and the shoonah. These thoroughfares, most of them newly opened, pass through a dense mass of houses, which may be called the Arab quarter of the town, mixing gradually with the Levantine quarter. At length the Strada Franca terminates at an angle of an immense oblong open space, covered with sand, and surrounded by glaring white houses. This is the Minshiyeh, or Plain, or Great Square. It may be considered as the European quarter-at least, with the addition of the new streets that proceed from it. The peculiarity of its aspect is, that from the roof of nearly every house rises an enormous flag