stray halfpenny; and approached me with that forlorn hope. What was she like? A little, colourless girl of about twelve, in clothing the shabbiest of the shabby; not the least like my notion of the Flower of Dumblane. I gave her a penny and no more, saying, "Sing the song again," secretly intending to give her sixpence when she reached the end of it. Her fit audience, though few, consisted of a butcher-boy eating a roasted apple, a man with an apparatus for cooking that dainty at the streetcorner, and one or two children loitering on their way to school. She looked irresolute, cleared her throat a little, and began half a note flatter than before, and with much less expression: it was no longer carolling. I began to think my sixpence would be rather poorly invested, and was listening with almost indifference, when suddenly she stopped short in the middle of a line, and burst into tears.

I;

If there's anything I hate, it's hypocrisy, and my interest in the child instantly ceased. "A got-up cry," thought ten to one she is an artful, depraved little thing," and returning to the counter, I hardened my heart against her, and deliberately chose the ribbon. While it was being measured off, I glanced towards the street again; she was still in the middle of it, smearing her wet eyes with her hands, and the tattered shawl showing every catch in her breath. The butcher-boy had finished his apple, thrown away the core, and gone off whistling; the apple-seller was serving a new customer; the children had strayed away, all but one little healthy girl, perhaps between six and eight years old, who, in her short red cloak, looked a Little Red Ridinghood. After gazing fixedly at the singer, she did from impulse, and in the best way

possible, the very thing I was already reproaching myself for not doing. She went up, laid her little fat hand softly on the other's arm, and said, simply

"Is anything the matter ?"

What balm there is in the voice of sympathy and kindness! The poor girl looked wistfully at her, and said, in broken accents

"My mother's so ill !"

I hastily swept the change that lay before me from the counter, selected a sixpence, and putting the remainder into my purse, went quickly to the door. The little girls were just passing out of sight, round the street-corner, locked hand in hand.

How often we give ourselves much extra trouble, to say nothing of uneasiness and self-dissatisfaction, by forbearing to do a right thing at the moment, and making a huddled, patched-up affair of it afterwards! To say nothing of the pain needlessly given the other party, allowed to go on to a point beyond the power of self-restraint. I remember hearing a preacher say, "We speak of impulse; and mad and foolish are they, my hearers, who neglect their good impulses: for through them the Spirit speaks.”

I could have given many exquisite reasons for refraining from my first impulse; the Little Red Ridinghood acted upon hers without any reasoning at all, and, I think, had the best of it. I followed those children through two streets, each shabbier than the other, and every step out of my way; once or twice calling, "Little girl, little girl," but never heard. Once I lost sight of them; they had turned into an alley, and I did not know whether they had again turned to the right or left. I soon espied them, however, standing still before a mean doorway. Now I

possible, the very thing I was already reproaching: for not doing. She went up, laid her little fat hand. on the other's arm, and said, simply

“Is anything the matter ?”

What balm there is in the voice of sympathy a ness! The poor girl looked wistfully at her, and broken accents—

"My mother's so ill!"

I hastily swept the change that lay before me. counter, selected a sixpence, and putting the re into my purse, went quickly to the door. The lit were just passing out of sight, round the stree locked hand in hand.

How often we give ourselves much extra tre say nothing of uneasiness and self-dissatisfaction bearing to do a right thing at the moment, and n huddled, patched-up affair of it afterwards! To thing of the pain needlessly given the other party, to go on to a point beyond the power of self-rest . remember hearing a preacher say, "We speak of and mad and foolish are they, my hearers, who their good impulses: for through them the Spirit

I could have given many exquisite reasons for ing from my first impulse; the Little Red Ri acted upon hers without any reasoning at all, and. had the best of it. I followed those children thr streets, each shabbier than the other, and every of my way; once or twice calling, "Little girl, but never heard. Once I lost sight of them; turned into an alley, and I did not know wh had again turned to the right or left. I soon es however, standing still before a mean doorway