Father had not forgotten him, nor was the door of his pleasant home closed against him if he would return.

Now it happened, as they went on climbing together, that after awhile he and his new friend were left alone on a part of the bank, and just above them was one flower brighter than any they had seen, which tossed its head up and down in the sunlight, and glittered as if made of precious stones. You can think they both wished for it, and both began to climb faster than before; but now his comrade, being stronger than Aguismos, seized him as he was putting out his hand to reach it, and flung him down the steep bank. It was a fearful distance to fall, and as he rolled over and over, the loose stones fell upon him and bruised him, the brambles tore his skin, and the serpents raised their heads and darted their forked tongues at him. When at last he reached the bottom of the hill, he lay there for some time, bleeding and insensible, as if he were dead. But after awhile he came a little to himself, and then his first thought was of the sinful act he had committed in leaving his home, and with this arose a strong desire to return thither. But this was no easy task, for when he tried to rise, he found himself so weak and bruised, he could not stand. By degrees, however, he contrived to crawl a little on his hands and knees, but when he had gone thus a few steps, he found he had wandered so far from home, he knew not which way to turn, and fearing he might be still going wrong, lay down in despair and wept. As he wept, the remembrance of his shining jewel came into his mind, and raising his poor wounded hand to his forehead, he found it was there still, though no longer bright and, shining, for the poisonous scent of the flowers had tarnish-j ed its glory, as their leaves had stained his white dress. But while he wept it grew a little brighter again, and a soft ray of light falling on the ground before him, seemed pointing out the way he should go.

He did not wait another moment, but crawled on again

as fast as he was able; and though from time to time the light grew dim, nay, sometimes disappeared altogether for awhile, yet he kept on, speaking aloud the holy words his gentle mother had taught him, speaking even with tears, until the precious jewel gleamed brightly once more.

But fearful it was to hear the howling of the wild beasts as he passed through the thick woods; fearful, too, to see the hissing snakes raise themselves beside his path, as if about to dart upon him. But he knew he had deserved all this, and therefore he bore it patiently, saying to his Father, ‘I am no more worthy to be called Thy son.'

I cannot tell you one half the pain and suffering the unhappy Aguismos underwent before he again saw the tranquil walls of his happy home; but at last he beheld them, though his eyes were blinded with tears of shame as he thought how foolishly and wickedly he had wandered

from their shelter.

You will think, perhaps, his gentle mother would not receive him again, or open her doors that he might come in. But it was not so. Nay, more than this, she came to meet him, and though her sweet face was grave and sad, she bent kindly over him as he lay before her, and listened to his sobs and self-accusing words, assuring him of his Father's forgiveness. Then she put cooling balm to his wounds, and showed where he might whiten his robe anew, and how he should find rest and peace.

Still it was long before he beheld again the fair prospeet from the windows, for his eyes were dimmed by the flowers he had looked upon so eagerly; but he called so earnestly on his Father's name, and gazed so often towards his home, that it was clear at last; and though the memory of that wandering, and the scars of his wounds, always remained, making him fearful lest he should be tempted out again, yet he felt peaceful, because he was assured that, as his dear mother had told him, he was indeed forgiven.

Now, too, being more than ever desirous to be fitted for admission to his Father's home, he pleaded earnestly to enter into that inner chamber of which I spoke to you; and so bright and glorious were the things he learnt there, so beautiful all he saw and felt, that he never wearied of returning thither again and again to delight himself in its loveliness.

So he lived as I have told you till he was fitted to go into the good king's house, for by very often visiting that fair chamber, and listening ever to his gentle mother's voice, he had grown skilled in the ways of that beautiful palace, in which he was to dwell for evermore, and his only wish was to enter therein.

When at last his Father sent for him, his mother stood by his side; she cheered him with parting music to holy words, and while her hands were still extended over him, and blessing him, he departed, full of joy, to his Father's home.

I know no words which could describe the glory and beauty of that home; but this I know, that never again did Aguismos feel pain or sorrow, for all tears were wiped away from his eyes. I know, too, that he always beheld the face of his Father, and lived in one long day of joy and happiness, for 'there was no night there.'

K. H.

'JUSTLY PUNISHED FOR OUR OFFENCES.'

BEND, oh bend thee to the blow

God Himself doth send thee,
And, be sure, no self-wrought woe
Could, like this, amend thee.

None, save He, the All-Wise, knows

By what path of sorrow,
Each one surest, safest goes

On to brighter morrow.

Justly now come pain and care,
Tears and sighing sadness;
And, if pang-time pardon bear,
Grief should nourish gladness.
Our cold hearts would GOD anneal,

Oh, then, meet we cheerly

Fires, that may heaven's hues reveal
On our souls stamped clearly.

Yea, on GOD, in deep faith stay;
He, He only knoweth
How, at the great Judgment-Day,
Unscourged sinner showeth.

Silent, with adoring heart,

Trust His Love unfearing;

Thou shalt bless each bitter smart
At thy Lord's appearing.

ROYAL ROSE-BUDS.

A HISTORICAL SKETCH.

CHAPTER III.

MAUDE OF NORMANDY, 1070.

'She was betrothed to one now dead,
Or worse, who had dishonoured fled.'

'Yet one asylum is my own

Against the dreaded hour,

A low, a silent and a lone,

Where kings have little power,

One victim is before me there.'-Scott.

We now turn to scenes and times nearer our own, and
as Shakspeare's fairy elf boasted that he could put a
girdle round the earth in forty minutes, so will we avail
ourselves of the yet quicker wings of thought, and bid
them bear us back to merrie England, as it was eight
hundred years ago.
'Merrie England' it was indeed
called, but at the period of which we write, 'the mirth of
the land was gone.'

The battle of Hastings, by which William of Nor mandy obtained the British throne, had only just been fought, the Norman Conquerors were fierce and rapacious the vanquished Saxons sullen and despairing.

We now know that much of our national greatness may be traced to the blending of Norman and Saxon character of the impetuous bravery of the former, with the sturd independence of the latter, and we look back to the event that brought this about, and see the Hand of God in them But many years passed away before these results were obtained, and meanwhile, the races remained apart, like two meeting rivers which run sullenly side by side fo a space, and then slowly begin to mingle their waters an blend their hues together.

The Conqueror attempted to win over some of the Thane by flattery and deceitful promises. Amongst these were Edwin, Earl of Chester, and his brother Morcar, two brave young noblemen, of great weight and authority in the north of England. William invited these fair-haired Saxons to his court, amused them with tilts and feastings, and even promised the hand of his young daughter Maude to Edwin, the elder brother. Most likely he never meant to fulfil this engagement, but it suited him to keep Edwin near him in a sort of honourable captivity. Having reduced his new subjects to obedience, William resolved to pay a visit to his wife and children in Normandy; and in March, 1067, embarked for his native shore, accompanied by many noble Saxons. Amongst these were the good and gentle Edgar Etheling, sole descendant of King Alfred, Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury, and Earls Edwin and Morcar. The expedition must have been most galling to English pride, and we may imagine the haughty young Thanes chafing in spirit, while they rode after their new master through the streets of Rouen. The city seemed to give forth one shout,' as they passed, and the sun shone with unwonted and Midsummer brightness. Earl Edwin