shall require his services to-morrow. He buys a loaf, eats it dry, waits, watches, listens for his father; but no father comes. Weeks, months, years pass; the boy has regular employment, is steady and respected, has good food and clothing, has taught himself to read and write, and bids fair to be prosperous-yet he has never heard of his father! Nor was he heard of after that night at the fair. The last that was seen of him, he was in company with a strange-looking fiddler, who was scraping away on his violin, sitting on the end of a beer-barrel, with the drunken man before him, attempting to dance. It was noticed, too, that his fiddle twanged considerably, and sparks of fire seemed often emitted from the bow. In the morning both the fiddler and the dancer were gone, and were never heard of afterwards.

When our story commences, as we have before intimated, Samuel Sound was a young man. His father's farm had been untilled for a long period, so that the fields looked like small gorse crofts. Samuel still resided there, in the back kitchen, which was less exposed to the weather than the front of the apartment. After the mysterious disappearance of his father, his aunt came to live with him; and they managed, what with her spinning and knitting, and his odd jobs, &c., among the neighbours, to get on for some time together. But though the farm might now be called his own, yet very little was made of it, except a few shillings annually for the sour summer grass. Often did the boy wish that it was in his power to do something on the land; but what prospect had he, the son of a drunkard, left on the wide world with no road to fortune but his own two hands, of accomplishing such a task? But was he not getting older, and stronger, and more responsible? One night he consulted his aunt about it, and she encouraged him in his enterprise; and in a few days his plaus were arranged, his proceedings marked out, and his mind quite fixed.

And so Samuel Sound began to work, with no other hand to help him, and no capital to force him on. But "little by little was his motto. He repaired the roof of the house, mended the door, and fixed the window; he plastered the broken places in the wall, patched the floor, and gave the whole building a coating of white-wash. He cleared the garden paths, trimmed the trees and fences, uprooted the brambles and weeds, and burnt them all in the little meadow.

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This took him some time, and then he came out upon the farm. What a task lay before him, looking worse, perhaps, than it really was! Brier and bramble, brush and brake everywhere! "Little by little was his daily text. He struck into the brushwood right and left, hacking and hewing like a hero; and the thorn and the thicket fell before his hook, like grass before the scythe of the mower. Furze and bramble lay in heaps, until the crackling fire consumed them, the smoke rolling away in volumes; and the ashes were strewn over the field for manure. "Little by little" was Samuel's creed, which lays a tribute on sea and land. An iron plough and two red horses were lent him by a neighbour, with the understanding that payment should come with the first crop. How wonderfully the red horses pulled the iron plough through the root-lined ground! How grandly they swept round the curves, and turned the rich mould into regular furrows! Then the rough roots and sods were burnt in large piles, which made great furious fires in the moonlight, scaring the owl from the ivy, so that his tu-whit, tu-whoo, was heard in another locality. The harrow did its work, the sower scattered the seed, which was supplied by the same farmer, on the same terms as the iron plough and the red horses, out of respect for the honesty and perseverance of Samuel Sound. His aunt helped him when and where she could, picking up the roots and grass, and conveying them to the heaps, bringing his lunch to him, with water from the well under the trees, and raking the corners which the harrow would not reach.

At last the field was quite finished, and the increase was left with HIM. The dew fell, the early rain descended, the sun shone, the blade appeared, then the ear, and then the full corn, rich, rustling, and heavy. Yes! it was a good crop. Samuel Sound cut it himself, whistling as he did so to the blackbird that sang on the hedge. It was threshed, winnowed, and in due time the grain was sold, reserving seed for the next season; and the profit surprised him. The horse-hire was paid, and also the seed-account; and Samuel Sound was, as they say, set upon his legs. He then turned his attention to the remaining portion of the farm, clearing, grubbing, and cleansing. chiefly doing it all with his own two hands, living on coarse but wholesome food, drinking nothing stronger than coffee, or cocoa, rising early in the morning, when Sloth was

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stretched on his down, and plying his agricultural tools with the song of hope on his lips. And season after season found an additional pasture ploughed and tilled.

One evening, in summer, he was working in the under field. He had nearly finished it, and it was the last he had to clear. The farm was now one of the best in the neighbourhood. He had a horse of his own, and cows and sheep were in the green pastures. Samuel Sound was a prosperous man. But it was all due to his untiring perseverance, and the blessing of Providence. He had nearly finished for the night, and was about to put his tools upon his shoulder and walk home, when a respectable-looking man rode up to the gate. He hastened over to him, when the rider asked if his name was Samuel Sound? He answered yes, and invited him into the house. The rider dismounted; and he was indeed a fine powerful man. His countenance was open and frank, his eyes bright and intelligent, his forehead high, and his thick bushy hair beginning to turn grey. He was slightly sunburnt, as if accustomed to travel. He eagerly glanced at the house, from the basement to the roof,and from the eaves to the chimney-tops. He entered, and his eyes flashed on the walls, the ceiling, the few pictures, and the stove. He fell into a chair, moaned, wiped the tears from his face, gazed at the aunt, looked at Samuel Sound, rose up, walked to the window, pulled out his handkerchief, fell into the chair again, and. fixing his piercing black eyes upon the young man, exclaimed in a voice which almost shook the habitation, "Samuel Sound, I am your drunken father!"

Reader, do not leave your seat, or ring the bell, or close the door. This fine-looking horseman was no Knight of the Round Table, or elfin of the bog, but the veritable whisked-away father of Samuel Sound. And was he really whisked away by the furious fiddler on that night of the fair? Read on, and draw your own conclusion. The violin ceased, the fiddler roared, the dancer swooned, and fell under the table; and when consciousness returned, he was on board a ship, with the blue waters of the Mediterranean all around him. The grim fiddler was there, still playing lustily upon a cask. He was the victim of the press-gang, thus strangely bereft of his liberty. He wisely kept himself still for several days, manifested no excitement; and then stalked forth the storm. The heavens,

were red with vengeance, and the troubled sea rose up to meet the watery moon. The ship sank; and he was the only one saved-cast ashore upon a lonely island. Here he sustained himself by singular exertion, month by month and year by year, until he was taken off, at last, by a merchant vessel. In one of the caverns of the island he had discovered much treasure, in gold, and silver, and precious stones, all of which he had secured, and which was enough to make him and his son independent for life. Of course, he drank only water, and had learnt to value it more than any malt liquor. Taking his son Samuel by the hand, he shouted rather than sobbed, "Forgive me, my son, for my great cruelty! And thou, who art in heaven, the angel of my life, on whom I suffered the rains of sorrow to fall, and the chill winds of neglect to beat so unkindly, forgive me, O forgive me also! And Thou, great King, against whom I have sinned so long, blot out my transgressions! I have done with the beer-cup for ever."

Listen! the bells are pealing from the village tower, rising and falling over the cornfields in waves of melody. Mirth is abroad, and Joy has on his holiday vest. A new porch is added to the farm-house, remarkable for its show of roses and woodbine. The roof is newly thatched, and the shaven eaves look lovely. Aunt is giving directions to the servant how to cook a great fat turkey, whilst she arranges some choice flowers for the snug little parlour. A small wing is added to the building, for the special comfort of the happy reclaimed father. Samuel is now the owner and manager of the farm, as his per gift; and when the strange horseman is dead, the treasures of the cave are his also. But he rests not upon this showy perspective, but simply on his own two hands, which have made him what he is.

Still the bells peal, and the echoes roll in swelling volumes up the hill-sides, and then down into the deep dales, ever repeating on their musical march, "Samuel Sound is bringing home his bride!"

ance.

PETER PLARE'S COTTAGE.

HE cottage was an old one, and had been old for a considerable period. Great patches were nailed to the door and windows, and the walls were sadly rent. The thatch-roof was very ragged, and repaired here and there with banks of coarse reed, giving it a very uneven appearThe interior had also an antique look, though it was tidy and clean, which was entirely owing to Peggy Plare's thrift and industry. It consisted of two down-stairs rooms, and a similar number up-stairs. The up-stairs apartments seemed as if they were at perpetual variance, and were continually lunging at each other. How very full they looked of blotches and bruises! There was no ceiling overhead, and the unplaned beams were all visible, and even the rotting rafters, which appeared in the dusky twilight and solemn moonlight as if they were full of curious eyes, opening and shutting, and shutting and opening. Some of the roof woodwork was broken; and it required no very vivid imagination from the sleepless occupant of the couch to convert the long splinters and red oozes into the shattered limbs of conquered goblins dangling in the dark. Through sundry holes in the reed the stars could be seen on a clear night, in all their twinkling triumph, even the stately Orion with his belt and sword. But woe to the inmates when the winds were out! Wisps of straw, rolled up and thrust into the crevices, failed to rebuff their fury, which smote them like the woodman smiting the ash. And was this miserable cage the abode of any of England's excellent workmen? Yes; an honest agricultural labourer dwelt here, with his wife and four children. And this is not so unhealthy, even, and fever-feeding, as hundreds of squalid homes in our over-crowded cities, where so many families are huddled together in one house, to the injury of morals, and the increase of crime and disease. A grand little fortune it may be to the landlords, but a foul curse and blot upon the land. Is not the time fully ripe for the legislation of the realm to hasten to redress this hugelyincreasing evil?

Peter Plare was Squire Stronghand's woodman ; and this