and walk quietly home, or else change the subject by entering at once upon other business.

"Ay, she may keep her troubles to herself," was the frequent observation, as Mary walked down the lane; "but we know what makes her look so pale."

And pale, indeed, poor Mary did look, though she wore an old black bonnet drawn so far over her face, that to see her countenance at all was no easy matter; yet the neighbours were accustomed to tell how she was the blithest bride in Oakton-and the prettiest, too, when she first came home with James Pattison from her father's house. And a sweet garden she had, and such blooming flowers; and James and she used to be seen, late on a summer's evening, tying up the pinks, and watering the balsams, while the scent of their roses and sweetbriar used to make every one turn as they walked past, to see what could be so full of perfume in a simple cottage-garden like that.

Nor was the cottage within, less inviting than the flowerbeds without, and the well-stocked border which ran along the wall. A queen might have sat down in Mary's parlour without finding a speck of dust upon her clothes: and then that clean fireside and tidy hearth, with the tortoise-shell cat, asleep on the outside of the fender, and the cradle for the baby, with its snow-white counterpane on one side, and the oak table, with a large bible in its green baize cover, on the other; while, opposite the fire, stood the large mahogany table, with its let-down leaves, and the

tea tray reared up against the wall, and polished caddy, a bridal present to Mary, in front! All these, so neatly arranged, so polished, and so clean, made up the household picture of the interior of Mary's happy home. Nor should the well-timed handsome clock be forgotten; for it, too, had been a wedding-present from James Pattison's former master, whom he had faithfully served from his sixteenth year until the day of his marriage. Mary used to say of this clock, it was excellent company when her husband was away; but, somehow or other, she never heard it either tick or strike after he came home. The fact was, they had so many pleasant things to talk about, they heard nothing but their own voices, or that of the child when it laughed and crowed, and would not go to sleep for very fun and glee.

Yes, they were a happy trio-James, and Mary, and that one child. It would be a difficult and painful task to tell by what slow degrees this happiness melted away, as if it had never been. Yet so it was: and, as we said before, there was not a more wretched-looking cottage in the whole village of Oakton than that of the Pattisons, at the time of which we speak. And that frightful-looking man, too-was that man ever respectable, or beloved? Yes; and there is a stranger fact in his history than that-he is beloved still. What, that horrid man? Why, even his own children are afraid of him, and one hides its head in its mother's apron, and the other buries its face in the hand

kerchief around her neck, while a third holds up its hands. to be taken out of the cradle before he comes near. And yet this man is beloved. He is beloved, because Mary is a true-hearted woman, and she thinks if all the world. abhors him, there is the more need for her to be his friend. He is beloved because she prays for him night and morning, and many times during the day; and we naturally love those whom we are in the habit of imploring our heavenly Father to take into his keeping to reclaim, to purify, and to save.

Whether the pale and haggard appearance of Mary Pattison arose from the sufferings of her mind or her body, was often a subject of curious and not very delicate investigation and comment amongst her neighbours; and one thing only remained certain—that she never complained : no, though she sometimes went about with her face so muffled up that a black mark upon her cheek could only just be seen, she never told how it had come there; and though she sometimes sat down on the side of her bed, while the children ate their supper of bread and water, that she might not long for the morsels they put into their mouths, she never owned that she knew what it was to be hungry and have no food, nor sunk down with faintness when a neighbour came in; though she did, more than once, say to a lady who visited her cottage, that wages were very low, and that she thought one of her children, who was ill, would be better with better food.

L

This was the extent to which Mary Pattison had gone in soliciting assistance; and though her own cheek was hollow, and her eye bright with the fever of want, at the time she spoke, her necessities were stated in terms so much more moderate than the lady was accustomed to hear, that a small basin of gruel now and then for the sick child, was all she thought it right, or even prudent, to give. The fact was, that Mary, like many other women in her situation, was almost shut out from the sympathies of the charitable by the character of her husband, who had often been known to pawn his wife's apparel, and his children's bread, to obtain that liquid poison which was destroying him and them.

In this way the children of James and Mary Pattison grew up. William and Patty, who were born before the troubles of their father's house began, seemed to have something of the sunshine of those happier days about them, despite their circumstances; while the younger children were fretful, and sickly, and the youngest of all, after months of suffering, passed quietly away, and was buried in an early grave.

It was a great object with Mary Pattison to have her children removed, as early as possible, from a home where little was to be learned, and still less enjoyed. Education was out of the question, except so far as her own powers extended in teaching them the earliest rudiments of reading and spelling; for as we have already

said, everybody had given them up, under the idea that it was impossible to do any good to a woman who had such a drunken husband, or to children who had so bad a father. So the only hope which Mary had left, was to get them out into active employment as early as possible, and this was exceedingly difficult, because the children themselves had so ragged and forlorn an appearance, that few people liked to have anything to do with them.

It is often said by the rich, and by those who live in plenty, that, however poor people are, they may keep their clothes from being ragged; and it is also said by the same class of persons, that, however miserable people are, they may still keep themselves and their families clean. We know, however, that there is a state of poverty, and that often to be found in Ireland, if not in our more favoured isle, in which the poor are literally so destitute, as to have no materials to mend with; and it would not be difficult to find individuals so abject, and fallen, and devoid of comfort, that they have no hope of obtaining any satisfaction from maintaining the common decencies of life. We find, too, that when hope is restored to such as these, their habits of neatness and order return again, and the natural pride of being respectable, and like their friends and neighbours of the same grade in society, again rouses them to industrious