over the parting scene of Ellie and her mamma; and then she would secretly wish poor little Ellie had had a brother like her Charlie, for surely he would have helped her through some of her troubles.

While "The Wide Wide World" is being read, and Mr L'Estrange is writing, and the fire is burning brightly, shall we too sit in the library, and see what the little girl we have been reading about is like. She looks very snug this afternoon, curled up in that large arm-chair, her head thrown back on the soft cushion, so that we can see her whole face. A pretty, intelligent little face it is, with its bright eyes and its coral lips, looking redder by contrast to the almost colourless cheeks; the hair drawn back from the forehead, and hanging loose in rich, heavy masses about the shoulders. How happy, peaceful, and still this little countenance looks this afternoon! Is it always so? Ah no! for too often in moments of passion the colour mounted to those pale cheeks, and those eyes flashed with excitement and anger. Alice L'Estrange's feet often wandered from the narrow way, and her heart was prone daily to forget the verse in the Bible which tells that "He who conquers his own spirit is greater than he who takes a city;" which means that any man or woman, little boy or little girl,

who is enabled by God's grace to check their angry and impatient feelings, and to possess that meek and quiet spirit which in God's sight is of great price, has gained a greater, more glorious, more enduring conquest than he who takes a strong citadel; for the one victory may end in an earthly crown; the other shall end in hearing those blessed words, "I will give thee a crown of life.”

CHAPTER II.

ONLY TWO DAYS TILL, CHRISTMAS.

“They are going, only going,

Jesus called them long ago;
All the wintry time they 're passing,
Softly as the falling snow.

"They are going, ever going,

Leaving many a lonely spot;

But 'tis Jesus who has called them;
Suffer, and forbid them not."

O absorbed was Alice over her book, that her papa's voice startled her, saying, "Come, my child; since you will keep Jack Frost company, let us be off."

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Papa, I am just as warm as a toast," said Alice, as she laid her burning cheek, which had stolen a glow from the fire, on his hand. He nodded assent; and Alice, running upstairs, soon reappeared in her mamma's room, ready for her drive, looking so snug and warm in her black velvet dress, scarlet

cloak, little beaver hat with its pretty feathers, and the soft, rich furs which surmounted all:

"Look, mamma, I never can take cold when nurse has dressed me so warmly, though it does snow fast. How beautiful it is! all so white. I love the snow.

It would not be Christmas without

it; would it, mamma?”

"I agree with you, Alice, that it adds much to our idea of Christmas; yet did the snow not come, Christmas would. But do not I hear papa calling that he is waiting for you."

"Oh yes, mamma; good-bye. Christmas comes now, mamma,"

Only two days till said Alice as she

left the room. Mrs L'Estrange went to the window, and watching the carriage drive off, smiled when Alice put up two little gloved hands to send back her heart's love to dear mamma.

Long, long after the horses' feet had died away in the distance, Mrs L'Estrange still stood at the window, and again and again Alice's words, "Only two days till Christmas," echoed in Mrs L'Estrange's Words carelessly uttered by her little girl, but they made one heart ache. They awakened memories of this very month last year, when, besides Charlie's and Alice's voices, another little voice had gladdened this home-one who, by his childish

ears.

prattlings and winning ways, had gained the love of all. How well Mrs L'Estrange could now picture to herself a little boy standing by his nursery window, on a bright Sunday morning in winter, listening to the distant church bells, and tapping on the pane of glass for her to look back at him as she went down the avenue, while with his two little hands he threw kisses to her, just as Alice had done to-day! Ah! this was a bright picture ; but it was not all. Mrs L'Estrange's thoughts passed on to another morning only four days later, when she had stood beside her little darling's bed, held back the golden curls which fell on his fevered brow, and stroked those burning little hands, earnestly praying God to spare his life. The prayer was heard, but not granted; for on the next Sunday, when the bells chimed for church, she had kissed for the last time for ever the cold lips of the little boy whose hands had thrown the kisses to her one short week before.

Ah! it was hard to bear this sudden bereavement, and to feel that never again would that bright face be watching at his nursery for her. Never again would he throw kisses, or tell her how much he loved her, as he squeezed her hand. No; all this was only a memory, on this the anniversary of his