THE LESSON OF THE FLOWER.

"Flower upon the green hillside,

Thou, to shun the threatening blast, In the grass thy head dost hide,

By the tempest overpast. Thou, to greet the azure skies,

And to feel the soothing sun, Brighter, sweeter, thou dost rise,Tell me, flower, how this is done?" "I will tell thee, as thy friend, Artless, timid, whispering low, To the blast 'tis good to bendHe who made me, taught me so! While His teaching I obey,

I but fall to rise and stand, Brighter for the stormy day, Leaning on His viewless hand.

"When to Him I've lowly bowed,

He with freshness fills my cup,
From the angry, scowling cloud ;
Then He gently lifts me up.
So I fall, and so I rise,

In the dark or sunny hour,
Minding Him who rules the skies,-
He's my God, and I'm His flower."

THE GARDEN OF THE LORD.

Many of the most beautiful plants in our gardens, and the trees that bear the richest fruits, were once wayside seeds, with insignificant flowers, or stunted thorny bushes bearing only sour berries. It was a slow and troublesome process, however, requiring skill and pains and patience, that changed the buttercup into the ranunculus, or the sour crab into the sweet apple. And so, when it pleases God of His grace to select wild seeds, like you and me, we must not murmur or wonder if He insist upon wholly changing us, and leaving no portion of the original bitterness and harshness and sourness of our natural character in us.

Many of the seeds He chooses for himself, He allows just to germinate, and immediately plucks and sanctifies, and takes to Heaven. These are the babes who die in the very morning twilight of their days. Some, like

the thief on the cross, have ripened almost to destruction, when they are snatched like brands from the burning! Others, like Dr. Chalmers, are fostered long on this earth, and put on many of the heavenly characters before they are transplanted to the gardens. of the Lord. But all are watered by the Holy Spirit, and renewed by Him in their whole nature, and purified and cleansed and pruned by the Father, the Husbandman, and grafted into the true Vine, which is Christ, and made branches of Him; and thereby, and thereby alone, bring forth fruit.

Let us long, then, for holiness. Even if we got into Heaven without it, which is impossible, we should have no pleasure there. You and I know that sickness makes it impossible to enjoy the delights of this world, and that health is essential to the realization of even its pure joys. Well, sin is the sickness of Heaven, and holiness its health. As a sick man turns away in disgust from the flowers and books and music and food that delight the healthy, so a sinner would find no pleasure in the holiness of Heaven. Holiness and happiness are inseparable. GEORGE WILSON, M.D.

BY A. G., AUTHOR OF

CHAPTER X.

"It is therefore vanity to seek after perishing riches." THOMAS A KEMPIS. "Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, Thou who art underground to lie? Thou sow'st and plantest, but no fruit must see, For death, alas, is reaping thee."

M

ABRAHAM Cowley.

R. WENTWORTH was not mistaken in his idea that Captain Gifford had reasons of his own for paying a visit to Vivian Mansion at that particular time when he could spend an hour in the drawing-room free from observation, and that the solicitude he was so careful to display, respecting the health of his aged relative, was a mere pretence. Mr. Wentworth was, however, entirely ignorant as to the nature of those reasons; and could he have seen the manner in which Captain Gifford proceeded to employ himself as soon as he was alone, he would probably have been no less surprised than shocked.

The gentleman's first act was noiselessly to close and bolt the door. Then he walked to a large old-fashioned writing-table in one corner of the room, containing a great many drawers of various sizes, from the smallest of which he took a bunch of keys. Poor Miss Vivian! little had she ever imagined that the place in which they were hidden, kept studiously secret from every one, even Bentley,—had been discovered by the lynx-like eyes of Captain Gifford, only a few days before. Keys in hand, he next set himself to the task of opening drawer after drawer, turning over and examining the contents of each with equal care and rapidity.

Whatever was the object of his search, it was not easily discovered. But strange and various indeed were the long-hidden hoards thus brought to light. Here were a number of old letters, faded and torn, relics of earlier

MABEL AND CORA,"

days, when Miss Vivian had not been quite alone in the world. There were some pieces of rich-flowered silks,-such silks as in the days of our great-grandmothers would have cost some thirty or forty guineas the dress,-rolled up and thrust into a drawer. Now Captain Gifford opened one full of newspapers, none less than fifteen or twenty years old; then another filled with pieces of string and packthread, knotted loosely together, or rolled into balls. Here again were scraps of blank paper, yellow and dusty, intermingled with the torn leaves of one or two books, amongst which was a very ancient and dilapidated primer. Could it be possible that Miss Vivian's love of hoarding had extended so far as to induce her to preserve the book in which she had learnt her A, B, C? More curious still, in the next drawer were one or two broken toys,-the wheel of a child's cart, roughly made, and a misshapen, battered wooden doll, minus legs and arms, a mere caricature of the elegant waxen babies now in vogue. But Captain Gifford was in no mood for lingering over these strange melancholy relics of former days, and he tossed back the doll with an impatient, "Pshaw! what a parcel of rubbish! "

He had, as yet, by no means come to the end of the rubbish. Other drawers remained, and he still continued to open one after another, now turning over a mass of papers, now of scraps of old dresses, here a pile of old music torn and soiled, there a number of faded watercolour sketches, echoes of the school days long, long gone by. And all these were locked up as carefully as if they were treasures of the greatest value.

Only two more drawers remained, and Captain Gifford began to look annoyed and impatient at his lack of success in finding what he wanted. But he was now near the discovery. He opened one of the drawers-it was stuffed full of beeswax, string, nails, and paper; but within it was a much smaller drawer, which at

first almost escaped his glance. Inside this lay a piece of paper, written closely over, faded, yellow, and worn with old age, upon which Captain Gifford eagerly seized.

Yes, this was the object of his long search, and very well pleased was the expression of his face as he scanned the contents, written and signed by Miss Vivian, willing the whole of her possesions to "Percival Gifford," with the exception of fifty pounds to Bentley.

But he was not yet satisfied, for the will being so old in date, the probabilities were great that it was not her last. He carefully replaced the yellow paper in the drawer, and resumed his search with renewed vigour, only pausing every two or three minutes to listen for the coming footsteps that might herald an interruption.

Not only the writing-table, but every drawer in the room,-and the number was not small, and every shelf in the deep old cupboards, he ransacked with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. But nothing in the shape of a second will, or writing of any description signed by Miss Vivian, could he discover; and, very well pleased with the result, he closed the last drawer, returning the keys to their hidingplace, and prepared to leave the room.

He had reasons for being perfectly satisfied that this was the only will in existence, and that he was consequently secure of the property, from some words uttered by Miss Vivian not long before. Captain Gifford had one day contrived to edge the conversation round to the subject of wills and bequests in general, in the hope of making some discovery in reference to hers in particular. He related one or two amusing anecdotes, to which she listened graciously, but at the end she said, scornfully,

"Ay, you think a great deal about wills, I don't doubt, Percival Gifford. But you know nothing at all about mine."

Captain Gifford knew very well that there had been one in his own favour, but whether it was still in existence was doubtful, and by way of finding out, he remarked cautiously, “I have no doubt you have made plenty of wills in your lifetime, Miss Vivian.”

"You are mistaken then," said Miss Vivian, shortly.

"Indeed!" returned Captain Gifford, politely, though secretly nervous. "I should have expected one in your position, Miss Vivian "-this was said with infinite respect," to make and destroy a great many before being satisfied.

And in such a large rambling old house as this, I should think it very probable that more than one might be accidentally lost or mislaid."

"You talk like a child, Captain Gifford!" Just what Captain Gifford had intended to do, in the hopes of obtaining an explanatory answer. "I never destroyed or lost a single will in all my life,-nor anything else, for the matter of that. And if I have a will at all in the house, and I don't say I have not, though it certainly is no business of yours,-I keep it in its proper place among my other papers, in this room, so I am not likely to mislay it as you seem to fear. Nevertheless it is safe enough from all prying eyes, and neither you nor any one else would find it if you looked all day and night too."

This was the one solitary instance of Miss Vivian's condescending to speak upon the subject, and from the last words Captain Gifford inferred that there undoubtedly was a will, though in favour of whom he had no means of knowing. That he would discover it as soon as possible, he at once determined; and as the first step towards doing so, he managed by very close observation to find out the hiding-place of Miss Vivian's large bunch of keys, and-what was still more difficultthe nature of the spring by which the little drawer was opened. After that he had only to wait for an opportunity; and one was not long in presenting itself, as we have already

seen.

Why Captain Gifford should have chosen to run such a risk of discovery, as he undoubtedly did run, in making this search, instead of waiting to become acquainted with the contents of the will in the due course of events, it is at first sight difficult to say. Impatience alone could hardly have formed a sufficient reason. A more probable solution of the question seems to be this, that the unprincipled man, feeling almost certain that one will had been made, leaving the property to himself, and being uncertain whether a second existed of later date disposing of it otherwise, contemplated destroying the latter in the event of finding it, and thus securing to himself the wealth he so greatly coveted. But if these were his intentions, he was spared even the temptation of committing such a crime by the absence of any second will.

Well satisfied with the result of his search he left the house, overheard, as related in the last chapter, by both Beatrice and her father, but the real object of his long visit was of

course unknown to them, and in the midst of succeeding events they soon forgot the incident altogether.

Beatrice was greatly shaken and overcome by the sad scene of Miss Vivian's closing hours, and for many days afterwards she was haunted unceasingly by that last melancholy conversation. It was the terrible uncertainty connected with Miss Vivian's death that weighed so heavily upon her, far more than the actual loss of an old friend; for though she had been in a measure attached to Miss Vivian, the latter was not a person to inspire any very deep affection, and in Beatrice's intercourse with her, there had been far more of pain than pleasure.

The day of the funeral came at length, and the worn, aged body was borne beneath velvet and plumes-strange mockery of grandeur after her life of parsimony!-to its last resting place. Little availed to her now the wealth that for years she had been heaping up. Death claimed her for his own, and the broken idol of riches must be left behind. There were many lookers-on in the churchyard, and half of Rookdale turned out of doors or stood at the windows to see the sad procession pass on its way thither, for Miss Vivian was well known by character in the place; yet how few-how very fewthere were who really felt her loss! "It is the funeral of Miss Vivian, the old miser! Poor old lady; her money has not done her much good after all," was the comment made by many, and then they turned away, and thought no more about her. Sparingly as Miss Vivian had sown love and kindness among her fellow-creatures, so sparingly she reaped it in

return.

There were several gentlemen to follow the hearse to the grave. Captain Gifford was there; and Captain Vivian and Mr. Mansfield, laying aside all remembrance of her repellant coldness towards them, were there also, as well as Bertram and Mr. Wentworth, and Mr. Clifford, the principal lawyer in Rookdale. When all was over they returned in a body to the old Mansion, to hear the reading of Miss Vivian's will.

Meanwhile Constance Mansfield was flitting to and fro between the garden and drawingroom of the Rookery, in a fever of impatience and suspense, that rather perplexed Mrs. Mansfield. She bore for some time in silence her daughter's fidgety movements, but at length said in rather a worried tone,

"My dear Constance, do pray sit down and

employ yourself. What is the matter with you to-day?"

"Oh, I am only rather excited, mamma. I can't help it. I do wish they would make haste and come back."

"I have no doubt there is a great deal to arrange and discuss, and that it will take them some time. I had no idea you cared so much about this, Constance."

"Mamma, it isn't for myself. I really don't think I am mercenary, am I? I can't help wishing it for Leonard."

"Poor Miss Vivian is very unlikely to have left anything to Leonard, so you had better not expect it, Constance. I thought you had quite made up your mind to that."

"Not quite, mamma. I know it is most unlikely: but still it is possible, just possible, that she may have relented enough to leave him something."

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"I did not know you thought so much of riches," said Mrs. Mansfield, with a quiet smile. Not generally, mamma. I don't care at all about them generally. It is only just now --just this once. I should be very glad if any. thing were left to Leonard, because—”

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Well, dear?" as Constance hesitated. "Because he is so poor, mamma, and-andand because Mrs. Wentworth thinks so much of riches," added Constance, blushing and laughing. "There, mamma, now you have my reason."

"You seem to think a great deal of Mrs. Wentworth's opinion."

"Oh, mamma, you must know what I mean. You must have seen for yourself. And I don't believe she would ever consent-and Mr. Wentworth would never dream of consenting unless she liked it-if Leonard had no more that he has now. Her dream is to see Beatrice rich."

Mrs. Mansfield smiled, and Constance was satisfied,"I was mamma."

sure you knew what I meant,

"I do not think wealth would form any inducement to Beatrice, Constance."

"No, mamma, only,-I don't believe she needs any inducement," and Constance coloured and laughed again. "Beatrice is the last girl in the world to marry for money. But the doubt is whether Mrs. Wentworth would give her consent. Oh, mamma, I do hope it will come to pass. Would it not be delightful?" "Your ideas are running on rather fist, I think," said Mrs. Mansfield, quietly. "After all

it may be only a fancy of yours." Constance shook her head decidedly. "At all events I think we are rather premature in discussing this now. It may be long before it comes to anything."

"It won't be Leonard's fault if it is," said Constance, archly. "I am not at all afraid, mamma. I only wish I could see Beatrice more like herself again."

"

You thought her rather brighter this morning, did you not ? "

"Oh, yes, much. Quite different from what she was at first; only she still looks very pale and worn, and she can't bear to hear poor Miss Vivian mentioned. Mrs. Wentworth is so insensible, she will keep on making remarks and asking questions, without caring a bit for Beatrice's feelings. Afterwards she was called away, and when Beatrice was alone with papa and me, she cried so bitterly, and said she was afraid she had never done her duty by Miss Vivian, and that she was always thinking now of things she might have said and done.”

"I should think Beatrice is the last who ought to reproach herself with neglect of duty," said Mrs. Mansfield.

"So I think, mamma; but it is of no use to say so to her. Papa talked to her a good deal, and she seemed happier before we came away. But I don't wonder at her feeling it all, after knowing Miss Vivian as she did."

Steps outside made Constance start up, and Mr. Mansfield and Bertram entered the room together. Leonard did not make his appearance till some time later.

"Papa, what have you been doing?" asked Constance eagerly, though trying to look unconcerned, and to persuade herself that she was prepared for the disappointment of her hopes. "Have you heard the will p”

"Yes, and it is all left to Leonard!" said Bertram. "Such a scene we have had! How Captain Gifford did storm!"

"But is Leonard really to have all? Is it really true, papa ?"

satisfied expression he added,-" Never mind my looks, Constance. Both Leonard and I felt it to be a very painful scene. Poor Miss Vivian! Little use have her riches ever been to her!" and with a sigh he turned to leave the room, saying, "Bertram will tell you all about it."

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"Papa always feels that kind of thing so much," Constance remarked half to herself, as the door closed behind him. "But now, Bertram, you must tell us how it has all happened."

Bertram was by no means unwilling, and at once commenced his recital:

"We were all together in the drawing-room. Captain Gifford was very polite and gracious, and evidently felt quite sure of his ground,indeed, his manner was remarkably like any one entertaining visitors in his own house. I think he looked upon it as already belonging to him. Mr. Clifford opened the proceedings by a long preamble which-it seemed to memeant nothing at all, and produced a yellow faded old will, made when Captain Gifford was hardly more than a baby, which he read aloud. Every single penny was left to Captain Gifford, and very complacent and self-satisfied he looked, while it was being read. Mr. Clifford explained that, old as it was, it was the only one in existence, so far as could be discovered by the closest searching."

"But how does the property come to Leonard. Was there no other will?"

"No one imagined that there was, after what Mr. Clifford said. At least no one except Leonard and Mr. Wentworth. Mr. Clifford was congratulating Captain Gifford, and Captain Gifford was looking extremely well satisfied, when Leonard, who had been very quiet and silent all the time, drew a paper out of his pocket, handed it to Mr. Clifford, and sat down again, only saying,-"Will you be so good as to read that, if you please ?" "Bertram!-no, was it really-"

"You remember the time, Constance, when Leonard rescued Miss Vivian from the runaway cart and horse; and the next morning his visit to the Mansion, about which you told me he was so mysterious?-you remember how curious you were about it?"

"I should think so. And from that time to this he has never satisfied my curiosity. What was it all about?"

"Why, it seems that in the first impulse of her gratitude-though I should never have imagined poor old Miss Vivian to be impulsive