ences; Pa, Ma, or John being made responsible for innumerable bits of gossip, that would doubtless have astonished these good people had they reached their ears. Innumerable were the topics that received similar treatment—not to be hinted at-the many important secrets communicated with the preface of "Don't mention it for the world, from me!" and interrupted by exclamations of "Do tell!" "No?" and the like. At length there was silence,-comparative silence, that isfor the children were as industrious as ever. Mrs. Harden stepped out a minute to tell Hannah for the fortieth time to be careful of the china ; and as the door closed behind her, a bright face passed the windowand lo, another theme:

"If there isn't Mary Butler again!" said one of the ladies, as the three looked after her retreating form. "That girl's always in the street!"

"So John says!"

But horror for the moment suspended speech, and raised six hands simultaneously.

"Did you ever see the like?"

"She called him back, didn't she?"

"Yes, he had got to Stone's store."

"Well, I don't wonder he looks strange-just to see her shaking her finger at him just as if she'd known him all her life, and to my certain knowledge she never saw him before Mrs. Jackson's party; but when girls are in the street all the time, what can be expected?" Mrs. Folger drew a long sigh, and shook her head ominously.

Here Mrs. Harden returned, and was made acquainted with the important fact-all the witnesses speaking at once-that Mary Butler was going up street (for the third time this week, and it's only Wednesday)-and met Mr. Jorden just by the bank. He bowed very coldly (didn't he?) and was going on, when Mary Butler called him back, and they stood laughing and talking for as much as five minutes before she let him go. Miss Harriet, who had known him so long-a bowing acquaintance of a year's standing-wouldn't have dreamed of doing such a thing. Her mother hoped not-no, certainly, such an impudent thing.

VOL. XII.-29

The gentlemen came in before the wonder had fairly subsided, and the interesting intelligence was duly reported. How provoking Mr. Folger was! He could not see anything at all remarkable in the affair; perhaps they were old friends! and Mr. Harden would insist that Mary Butler had an undoubted right to go up street as often as she chose. But men are always so queer-they never suspect! There was more going on than some people thought for; the ladies all agreed they should hear from that quarter again.

And so they did; for just as Hannah called them to tea, Harriet directed their attention to the window, with many a silent sign toward that corner of the room in which the gentlemen were discussing the projected river road; and there in the uncertain twilight of early spring, they saw-just as sure as you are reading this page-they saw Mary Butler going down street, and Mr. Jorden walking with her! Miss Harriet declared it was very hard to see why some people were so much in the street, in a manner that said as plainly as possible, that she thought it extremely lucid; and added that "she'd like to have brother John see her walking that way with Mr. Jorden," intimating that if he did, it would be the last time she'd get out that winter!-The Gossips of Rivertown.

HAVERGAL, FRANCES RIDLEY, an English poet and religious writer, born at Astley, Worcestershire, December 14, 1836; died at Swansea, Wales, June 3, 1879. She was the daughter of William Henry Havergal, an English clergyman and musician, the author of a Psalmody, from whom she inherited a fine talent for music. She was the author of many religious and devotional poems, published at various times under the titles of Bells across the Snow, Compensation and other Devotional Poems, Loyal Responses, Songs for the Master, Alpine Poems, etc. She also published several volumes of prose, principally for young people. Since her death her poems have all been collected and published in two volumes, and the story of her life has been told by her sister, Margaret V. Havergal, in Memorials of Frances Ridley Havergal.

CHRIST'S RECALL.

Return,

O wanderer from my side!
Soon drops each blossom of the darkening wild,
Soon melts each meteor which thy steps beguiled,
Soon is the cistern dry which thou hast hewn,
And thou wilt weep in bitterness full soon.
Return! ere gathering night shall shroud the way
Thy footsteps yet may tread in the accepted day.

Return,

O erring, yet beloved!

I wait to bind thy bleeding feet, for keen

And rankling are the thorns where thou hast been;