Helen, and was enabled to find her through the aid of a guardian spirit; and so her fears were removed, and she slept sweetly, though the earth was her only bed, and the storm was beating in fury upon her. Whether this idea will bear the test of enlightened criticism or not, it does not alter the facts. I learned, by some means or other, that Helen was in the woods where I had never been; and I was not only made aware of that fact, but of the other things connected with it.

Notwithstanding all this good news, and the best of nursing, I was a long time in acquiring sufficient strength to leave my room.

One afternoon, when my sister Jane came in to see me, I spoke to her of my brothers and sisters with some severity, because they did not more frequently visit me.

"I am sorry they feel as they do," she said; "but you know that they and you never agreed very well, and now they believe you very saucy and abusive to mother; and they are so indignant about it, that they do not come in often to see you, for fear of getting into a dispute with you while you are so unwell."

"I am very thankful for so much kind forethought. I hope they will not lose their reward."

"You should not doubt their motives, for they are good. You are all hot-tempered, and a dispute now would injure you very much."

"I wish they could see an inch beyond their noses! But where is mother, this afternoon?"

"She has gone to Mrs. Webber's funeral."

"Mrs. Webber's funeral ! What Webber?"

"Deacon Webber's wife. Do you not know that she is dead?"

No; I had not heard of her sickness. When did she die ?"

Yesterday morning. She has left a young child. It is sad to have a little child left without a mother." "If she were my mother, I should not weep much. What a pity the deacon don't die too!"

"Why, Henri! you should not talk so; it is very wrong."

"He is a villain, Jane; and, if he was dead, the world would have reason to rejoice!

"He is your enemy, Henri, but you should not be so bitter against him. Let him live as long as God is willing. We should love our enemies, and forgive them."

"You might as well ask me to love old clump-foot himself as Deacon Webber. If Milton has pictured out the devil correctly, I have more of a fancy for him than for the deacon. There is something sublime about the old fellow. When cast out of heaven and utterly defeated, he stood up proudly in the midst of his sufferings, and declared that he would rather

Rule in hell than serve in heaven!'

Now, I like that; but these mean, savage, hypocritical creatures, like Deacon Webber, I do despise and detest!"

"You are a strange boy, Henri. If it were impossible for us to forgive and love our enemies, we should not be so commanded. If we rightly govern our spirits, we shall learn to love even our most bitter foes."

"I don't believe it, Jane."

፡፡ Why not?"

"For a very good reason. It is said that the devil, who is man's worst foe, will take delight in tormenting all he gets into his clutches. Will it be their duty to love him? If so, I will try to love the deacon; but I think it a very hopeless case."

"You may feel differently, some day; but let that pass. I fear you do not love me, Henri."

"Not so intensely as I might, perhaps. But, do you cherish much regard for your brother Henri ?"

"Certainly, I do. But why do you ask?”

"I have never witnessed any particular manifestations of it."

"I grant that there has been more of coldness between us, in days past, than there should be between. brother and sister; but I would have it so no more. In many respects you are different from the rest of us. Sometimes you are too bitter; but you have a kind heart. You are liable to be misunderstood. The better I understand you, the more am I drawn towards you.

Henri, I would have you confide in your sister Jane, and you shall always receive a return of confidence and love."

The kind-hearted girl almost wept as she spoke, and I wound my arms around her neck and imprinted a kiss upon her lips. She pressed me to her heart, and wept. This was happiness to me; for now there was one in our family who truly loved me. Mrs. Stewart came in, and was greatly delighted, calling us her dear children.

CHAPTER VI.

VISIT TO MY UNCLE'S.

WHEN I was considered strong enough for the journey, I resolved, if not absolutely forbidden, to visit Uncle Eaton's; for I had a strong desire to see Helen Means. I often queried with myself as to how she would look and appear. I knew that I should not see her in rags or boys' clothes, but dressed with taste and neatness,— for

my aunt was a paragon in such things. I thought it best to ask mother if I could have the privilege of making Uncle Thomas a visit; but I felt wicked enough to go, if she should refuse. I suppose my course would hardly be considered justifiable, but the part I was acting did not trouble me at all. A feeling of intense bitterness had sprung up in my young heart, and I spoke the endearing name of mother with great reluctance.

Was I to blame for this? I acknowledge the sacredness of the tie that binds parents and children. But it is possible to weaken the cord, or break it. Let the parent be false to the claims of humanity,-ay, doubly false by heaping abuse upon a child for doing good to a suffering