her countenance long when she saw the brave look of her boy. The neighbouring people passed by their door on their way to the market, some in gigs, traps, and carts, some on horseback, and some on foot; but there was no market for Frank or his mother! Of what use was it to go there with an empty stomach and an empty purse? Money is what the sellers wanted, or there would be no buyers. Legs of mutton, ribs for roasting, fat geese, and ducks, and all the rich abundance prepared for the holy tide, passed another way, and not a single shred crossed their threshold. Frank went down to the seabeach, and found some wood washed up by the waves, which he gathered together and carried home, so that they might not be entirely without fire on Christmas Day. He also succeeded in securing a handful or two of shell-fish, which he put into his pocket for his mother, who greatly relished them. A few crusts were all they had that evening, when they retired to bed early to save their fuel and the candle. And who knows what earnest, heartfelt prayers went up through the darkness of that poor home, from mother and son, to Him who exclaimed, when walking this sorrowful world, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head?" Could Mrs. Bindweed have heard their solemn petitions, and seen the tears upon the faces of the two praying ones, would she not have shuddered in the midst of the brilliant ball, like him who saw the fingers of a Man's hand writing mystically upon the plaster, and have sent the poor ncedlewoman's hard-earned pittance to her before the dawning of the following Christmas Day? Surely it is high time that the rich ceased thus to trifle with the industrious poor, who too often suffer hunger and cold through such neglect.

The bells rang on Christmas Day, the sun looked down upon the snow, carol-singers chanted their anthems in rich men's halls, the mistletoe and holly graced many a dwelling, and the yule-log blazed in the chimney-nook; but nought of a festive nature was found in Susan Fraddon's abode. Now and then they caught the stray strain of a Christmas song floating past them on the cold wind, awakened by the choristers at a well-to-do farmer's door, where buns and beef were plentiful; but no fowl was spitted in their dwelling, or festal cake sent forth its odour on their board. Frank kindled the drift-wood

he had picked up on the beach, which soon made a cheerful blaze in the chimney corner. But he was careful not to burn it too fast, and got a few sods from the wood-corner to save it. His mother put the three remaining potatoes in the saucepan, placing it over the fire, which, as the reader is aware, with a shell-fish or two, would constitute their Christmas dinner. Frank attended to the wood, and sometimes smiled to see the great sparks soaring and sputtering up the stack. Susan sat by him with her holiday cap on her head, and a few faded garments she had saved from the wreck of the past enfolding her person. She was pale and thoughtful, and looked with anxious eyes into the flickering fire, as if she saw some far-off vision which had aforetime cheered her spirit. The Christmas bells of other days sounded in her ears, when one, who now is not, filled her life with brightness and her soul with hope-gone from her outward gaze like the mists from the moorland mere. And who can say that she did not see H in the midst of the blazing drift-wood, who once walked with the three Hebrew children in the burning fiery furnace; and also stood in glorified robes on the Mount of Transfiguration; and whispered in after-days to His wondering disciples by the sea of Tiberias, "Children, have ye any meat?"—who can say that she did not see Him, and that He did not whisper to her, saying, "Daughter, be of good cheer; I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee?

The three potatoes were ready, and several of the shell-fish were roasting upon the red brands. Frank was watching them, and Susan was laying the cloth on the table, ever and anon wiping off a tear from her face, and bending affectionate looks upon her poor patient boy, who seemed so contented with the thought of having two potatoes-for she would only reserve one for herself—and a few limpets for his Christmas dinner, when so many were having their roast meat and fowlpie, to say nothing of the pudding which could scarcely bear its own weight for the figs and fat. Frank Fraddon had no thoughts of envy of the better feasters of the day; for he even whistled with contentment as he attended to the cooking of the shell-fish, and often spoke quite cheerfully to his mother, saying it was jolly to hear the hissing of the fish, and the crackling of the brands. Just then some one came into the porch and knocked. Who could it be at that time? for it was rarely

indeed that they had a visitor. Susan opened the door; and, behold, a man was standing there with a bandage around his brow. He was leaning on a stick, and appeared to be very weary. He told them he had been travelling for a considerable way, and asked if they would allow him to rest a little in their cottage. Susan consented, and placed him near the fire where Frank was cooking limpets. He had not much to say at first, but looked eagerly about the room, and often fixed his eyes upon Frank and his mother. In the meantime Susan had told him a little of their history, and invited him to share their meal, though it was so scanty. He consented, and they divided the three potatoes amongst them, having exactly one each, with a proportionate number of the shell-fish. The stranger was grateful; Susan and Frank were grateful; and warmer thanksgivings ascended to Heaven from that scantily spread board than from many a rich man's dwelling whose table overflowed with dainties.

After Susan had removed the cloth, he asked if she had heard aught of her husband since his mysterious departure. She told him, no, and that every Christmas tide it was her one saddening thought. She had stooped to pick up a half-burnt brand, and Frank was looking up into the strange man's face, when he suddenly slipped off the bandage from his brow, and sat quite still in his chair. "Look, mother!" said he; and Susan gazed at their visitor. Another look, another, and a great cry of joy; and they were locked in each other's arms, mingling their kisses and tears together. Frank was nearly frightened out of the house; but he grasped the side of the mantel-piece and wondered. Nor was it long before the whole mystery was explained, much to his satisfaction, so that he danced around the room, clapping his hands and kicking the fender and the cricket for joy. The reader will scarcely need be told that this was Frank's father and the long-lost husband of Susan Fraddon. A brightness had entered that poor home which poverty could not darken.

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"And so you have only had three potatoes and a few shellfish for dinner?" sobbed Solomon Fraddon. "If I were at home, it would not have been so. And why is it, wife, that my slippers are here ready for me by my chair?" "O,” replied Susan, with the tears running down her face, "your slippers have always been put by your chair every Christmas Eve; for we believed you would come some day."

Before he would agree to tell them his story, he asked his son Frank to go out with him into the cow-house. There they found a package containing bread, beef, turnips, butter, tea, coffee, and a great fat goose, which he had purchased with the money he had in his pocket when he left them so many years ago, which he had secreted and recovered on his return. Susan was soon in the midst of cooking a very different dinner to that of which they had partaken a short time before, and Frank was leaping around, saying he was surely the happiest boy in the universe-that God had sent him his own dear father, and he did not want anything more. The cooking was hastened as fast as the driftwood would permit; and after a more substantial meal than Susan and Frank had enjoyed for a long period, Solomon Fraddon told them how the press-gang had blindfolded him in the market, when he was borne on board a ship, carried into a strange land, and compelled to be a soldier. Once or twice he had written, but the letters were either destroyed or lost in their transmission. Of the war horrors he had witnessed, he would make no mention then.

Crossing a river at the mouth of a harbour, the wind suddenly arose and drove their boat to sea. Three of his companions were lost, and he was picked up by a Norwegian bark, and carried to their country. Here he remained a long time, and had an opportunity of reading his Bible to some of the inhabitants who had learned to speak our language. This was the Bible Susan had given him when they were betrothed, and which he had with him that morning at the market. Byand-bye a ship bore him to England, where he arrived five days ago, and at cnce set out on foot towards home. And here he was at last, overcome with excessive joy thus to meet them on Christmas Day. Poor he was, yet his heart was as warm as ever; and the loving Master whom he had tried to serve was still his supporter and friend, and he could not doubt would make a way for their escape. With Frank and Susan he was rich; though he had been the victim of conscription and the press-gang, which had entailed untold horrors upon him and upon his household. But his right arm was still strong, and he would trust to it and the blessing of Jehovah. Frank would soon be able to help him on the farm; and he trusted in a few years, by dint of perseverance, to regain what was lost.

Though he had been parted from them,

he had not been sundered from his God; and henceforth it would be his greatest delight to serve Him.

They sat by the embers until the last piece of driftwood was burnt out, Frank holding his father's hand in his own, and whispering just loud enough for his mother to hear, "God has answered our prayer, and sent us a handsome Christmas Day." And years afterwards, when a little sister was born to Frank, and the well-cultivated farm yielded the best crops in the neighbourhood; when they had cows in the meadows and pigs in the stye, milk and cream in the dairy and flitches of bacon hanging from the kitchen-hooks; when friends came to see them, amongst whom was the rector himself, and they rode to church on Sundays in their own pretty conveyance, and sat in the pew close behind the squire on every Christmas Eve the poor people of the district were called to their pretty home, when a present was made to each; and while they were being regaled with the good things of earth, in the presence of Susan and Solomon Fraddon, Frank told them of the return of his father to their empty home, when his mother and he had only three potatoes and a few shell-fish for their Christmas dinner. This rehearsal would draw tears from the eyes of the grateful audience, and, indeed, from the eyes of Susan and Solomon also, and they would all join in the carol of the angels at the birth of the world's Redeemer, "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good-will toward men."

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SIMON SWARD AND LITTLE BEN

HY is there a light burning in that window?" said little Ben Bound to his mother, as they returned from a walk after church one quiet summer evening. "Simon Sward is ill, my son," said Mrs. Bound; "did you not hear the parson pray for him in church this evening, when the names of the great people were mentioned who have carriages and servants and an overflow of the good things of this life? True, our parson did not actually pray, 'Lord, help poor Simon Sward,' but then he was included in the general petition, which, you know, is much the same thing. Poor man!