plicity of her heart she told me everything: though she hardly knew how to express her feelings in words, yet she made it clear enough that she loved the stranger, and I had felt quite sure in my own mind that he also loved my sweet child. But I could not account for his absence: a week had passed away and he had not returned nor allowed us to hear anything of him. We did not even know his name, nor who he was, except that we thought from his dress and appearance that he was a Clergyman. But at last he did come, and after that day his visits became more and more frequent, until they became daily. His name was Sutton: he told us he was the Curate of yon Church," we looked involuntarily to the group of elms and the grey old tower; they were dark now: a cloud rested over them," and every Sunday afternoon Ella and I used to walk over there, for she loved to hear him preach, and he used to walk back with us. There was no longer any doubt about their attachment; she loved Edward Sutton, and so did I.” A tear, which had long been trembling on our good old friend's eyelid, as though it were balanced there, fell, as it were from its little axis, and rolled down his cheek. For a moment his voice quivered, and he paused, but we could not speak: it seemed like sacrilege to think of breaking the sad monotony of the old man's voice, as he opened to us his tale of woe. After a short interval, he said,-"Now I come to the saddest part-the part I always wish to leave out, and yet find the deepest solace in telling." A tear stood in our own eye; he saw it, and hailed as a sign of sympathy, and went on at once: "One day, I was sitting in my little parlour reading a newspaper which Edward had left the evening before,— Ella ran gaily into my presence-gaily, yet I fancy it was forced gaiety, for I noticed that her eye was troubled, and her voice betrayed the anxiety which she evidently tried to conceal. Oh, father!' she cried, for she always called me father, Edward came round from B, this morning in such a beautiful little boat, and he is going to bring us in some fish for supper, and I am going down to the beach to meet him at five o'clock'-then she broke off her words, and said more slowly and thoughtfully,'it is quite safe, father, is it not? Edward will come home quite safely, won't he?' "Of course I told her all was safe, and well might I have said so, for not a breeze was stirred, and the ocean lay before us calm as a mirror and as smooth. "Four o'clock came, and my Ella, having put on her bonnet, and thrown a light shawl over her neck, sallied out full of life and spirits and joyful expectation. Hours passed by, yet she came not. The old clock in the kitchen struck five-six, yet she came not. Still I feared nothing, for five was the hour Edward had promised to return, and at sea he might well have been deceived in the distance, or the lovers might have chosen to return by the longer pathway through the wood. But still the hours rolled on seven-eight-and still no Ella!—nine, -darkness was coming rapidly on, yet no cheerful step at the door, no joyful salutation from the loved ones. "I could bear this no longer: my anxiety grew intense, as my fears were redoubled; so, taking my hat and stick I set out in search of the wanderers. Resolving first to explore the beach, I walked slowly down this path by the side of the stream, till at last I gained the edge of the cliff. There I saw far beneath me, standing at the water's edge, erect, motionless, a tall dark form, seen dimly through the shades of night. It was Ella, and Ella alone! Where, then, was Edward? The dreadful thought struck me that he must have met with some accident: certain it was that he had never returned. And there stood my poor child waiting, she seemed to be waiting patiently. "I began to descend the cliff: the side was steep, and the footing precarious, and the danger was increased by the darkness, and the_rashness into which my agitation betrayed me. But I heeded none of these things: I could only think of Ella, and of her sad, sad state, but the good Providence of GOD protected me, and held my feeble steps, and guided me down, and helped me when I could not help myself. "I approached the poor girl slowly and silently, and she did not hear,—at least, she did not notice my steps; and even when I stood by her side, she only took my hand passively, and still straining her eyes towards the sea, said coldly,-'He is not come yet, father, but he will be here soon-very soon: he said he would come at five o'clock, so it cannot be quite five yet, but the time goes very slowly. "Poor child! her mind was wandering-I could not doubt that, oh GOD! that hour, from nine till ten-that hour of completed darkness both of nature without and of my poor dear child's mind within: on that night the sun rose again with all its olden splendour, full of light and warmth; but on her sad soul never did any sun rise again in this world, but darkness, and coldness, and unceasing silent woe were her portion till the hour of her rest came. "I had some difficulty in persuading her to return with me, but at last she yielded. To my astonishment she went at once to bed, and slept soundly: as I gave her my blessing, she looked up, and said with an unearthly smile, He will come soon, very soon; wake me, father, when it is five o'clock, and I will go to meet him!' Then she closed her eyes, and slept soundly till the dawning day awoke her. She spoke little, took her breakfast with me as usual, but never mentioned Edward. But I noticed that she continually raised her sorrowful glazed eye to the old clock; and, as it struck five, she rose, put on her bonnet and went out, saying as she did so- -'It is time to go, father; this is the hour he said, I wonder how many fish he has caught.' "At first I thought I ought not to let her go, but I altered my mind, fearing she might lose her senses entirely if I were to oppose her will. And in this I believe I was right. Day after day for the short remainder of her life-little more than three months-she used, as soon as the clock struck five to sally forth in quest of her lost one, always saying,-'he will come soon,' though he never did come. "But her health gradually gave way, till at length one evening in autumn, when the setting sun gleamed on the red leaves of the birch trees till the whole wood seemed on fire, a sudden change came over her, and she fell back fainting in her chair. She recovered only for a minute or two; GOD gave her her perfect reason again, and, whispering in my ear, 'Good-bye, father, I shall go to him though he cannot return to me,' she fell asleep. "If you will go to yonder Churchyard, you will see a simple Cross of white stone by the chancel wall-there she lies. "There is only one word upon it, 'Ella, aged 21.'” The old man wept; and, for the first time, we ventured to speak, for we saw that he had finished his tale. "Did you ever hear, then, of Edward's fate ?” "Never!" "What? was there no trace, the boat-was it never heard of again ?" "No, never; men said at the time that he was probably run down by a steamer; for, had he lost his oars, and been drifted out to sea, he must have been heard of again. No, he is gone for ever; we can never see him again in this world." The sun went down behind the hills into the sea, opening those " golden vistas into Heaven" which seem to tell of that last eternal day, which shall shine everlastingly, when the sad of heart shall be filled with joy for ever, when the long-parted shall be re-united, when the sea shall give up her dead." 66 C. The Editor's Desk. CHURCH NEWS. ON Thursday, Dec. 20, was held the school feast of All Saints' School, Knightsbridge, given annually by the Hon. Miss Campbell. The school-rooms were tastefully decorated with emblematical wreaths, and garlands of holly, bay, and ivy; and from the beams hung the flags of England, France, Sardinia, and Turkey interspersed with other banners. The happy children were regaled with tea, buns, and cake, and waited on by their fair and bountiful hostess, her sisters, and other ladies, visitors, who by their presence witnessed to the interest which they feel in such gatherings. Rewards for merit were afterwards distributed to the more deserving children; a certain number of whom are, after a term of attendance, annually clothed. The remainder of the evening was pleasingly spent by the merry little folks in witnessing a display of phantasmagoria, and terminated by a succession of cheerful games. Nor was song wanting to add fresh diversion on the occasion, under the superintendence of their master, the boys sang several graceful melodies, set to well-chosen words. It is needless for us to add a word of approval of such innocent and healthy recreation, or of commendation of the kind intentions of her who provided, or those who attended, the entertainment. Such meetings draw closer the ties between rich and poor, imprint on the mind of childhood recollections which manhood and womanhood will cherish, over and above the spirit of emulation, and the incentive to good conduct which they are so well calculated to inspire. To those who promote them, the reflection, when all is over, will be "music at midnight." OUR LIBRARY TABLE. The Owlet of Owlstone Edge, by the Rev. F. E. PAGET, is undoubtedly the book of the month. The author's wonderful powers of satire find ample employment, and his quiet humour reminds us ever and anon of "Sketches by Boz." Though written in a playful style, a deep, solemn teaching underlies the whole; and we heartily recommend the work to all our readers. We will not quote any of the amusing characters introduced, but rather adduce Mr. Paget's beau ideal of a parson's wife : "But it is not only within the narrow circuit of home and home affections that the character of the parson's wife of Owlstone developes itself. There, indeed, you may see those qualities in their perfection which constitute the good wife and mother. Go into the poor old gouty parson's study, and there, in the sweet, unassuming manner of his wife, -'neath their dull guise of earth, Bright bursting gleams unwittingly disclose |