Petter Sigurd, who rescued him from the clutches of the Russians-where, he will know best himself," answered the old man, full of hope and confidence.

"Petter Sigurd?" said the General, after having received the servant's report. "Yes, yes, I remember him; a tall, powerful fellow, is he not ?"

"Yes, sir; tall, but not very powerful, for be has a wooden leg."

For one moment old Sigurd stood as if petrified. His first impulse was to tear the bank note into atoms, his second to force himself into the General's presence.

"No! So mean, so heartless, the little lieutenant cannot have become. It is you, you rascal, who are the cause of it all-it is you who are stealing from your master as well as from me!"

There was more truth in this than the "He would not do at a ball, then," ob- corporal was aware, and as the man feared served the General, meaning to be witty, that it might reach his master's ears, for a vague suspicion entertained by him there was nothing left for him but to of the omnipotence of intellect made him kick the old man down the stairs, in the desire to show off in this direction some-approved fashion of might versus right. times, even to his servants.

"Ha! ha!-hi! hi!" giggled the lackey, as if too much tickled by his master's wit to be able to suppress his laughter.

Encouraged by this, the General continued with a self-satisfied smile: "He 'was no dancing-master then, either; but the fellow did his duty, and got a medal for it, if I be not mistaken."

"Yes, sir, he wears a medal."

"Yes, yes; it was I who got it for him. Well, then, I suppose be has the medal pension, and must make up the rest by his labour. He has come to beg, I sup

pose ?"

"No doubt, sir."

Well, give him a dollar (you will find money in the drawer there), and tell him that I remember him very well, and that it was I who got the medal for him; but that I can't give more, and that I will not countenance paupers."

The servant went out with two paper dollars, but on the way one of them slipped into his own waistcoat pocket, and when he opened the door to the passage where Sigurd was standing, he had only one in his hand. Thinking that he was now at last to be let in, the old man moved forward, but a violent push from the servant made him understand that he was mistaken.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you old ragamuffin, to try to force yourself in in such a way. See, there's money for you, and the General says he remembers you very well, and that it was he who got you the medal, and that he will have nothing more to do with you, old curmudgeon, so be off!"

When he slammed the door to again, Sigurd lay bleeding in the passage. It was the second time the little lieutenant caused his blood to flow.

The old man was wounded in the temple, and almost insensible. Gustaf wiped the blood off his forehead with the skirt of his coat, and bandaged the wound with a rag torn from his own shirt.

"Never mind, my boy, never mind," murmered the veteran, when recovering. "You have seen it-I can do nothing for you, and you must just grew up to be an ignorant, idle lout, though God destined you for better things. But don't mention to your mother what has happened-I can't bear that she should know I fell down and hurt my head, that's all."

"But why should you be ashamed, old Sigurd? you could not help it," asked the child, in the simplicity of his heart.

"I am ashamed that I was fool enough to think that the life of that puny little fellow was worth much. He knew better himself; he showed that when he sent out a paper dollar to the man who had saved it."

"And it is for my sake that you have been treated in this way," resumed Gustaf, while they were resting near the observatory, and he was wiping the blood stains from the old man's face, that he might not frighten the others when they got home. "It is for my sake that Sigurd has been treated in this way," and he looked into his friend's face with a smile full of tender pity-"Poor old Sigurd!"

"Hold your tongue, boy!" thundered the corporal. "It is not I who am to be

pitied; but I know some rich, grand
folks who are poor, pitiful creatures, in-
deed."

"If I could only do Sigurd some service
in return!" exclaimed the boy, who
seemed to feel deeply the wound in the
old man's temple.

"Service in return? And of what service have I been to you? I have shown you that I was an old fool and believed in gratitude, that's all! No, boy, do like the rest; send those to the devil who do you good-forget them as soon as you can; it's only children and old dotards like myself who are grateful."

"Oh, Sigurd cannot mean that. I know that it does your heart good when people thank you for what you do for them, and are fond of you. Is it not so, old Sigurd ?"

"Well, don't look into my eyes in that way, boy," answered the old man, hiding his emotion under a gruff tone. "Your eyes are too honest, my boy; you will never get on in the world."

They now went home, and found the two children full of expectation of the great things Corporal Sigurd had predicted; but they were doomed to disappointment.

When they had eaten their humble dinner, the old man told Ludvig to follow him out. "Hm!" said he to himself, "if I am to be disappointed in all my plans for Mrs. Borkman's children, then let it all be over at once."

But this time old Sigurd was successful, and when the widow came home in the evening, she found him on his threelegged stool at the corner of the street, gazing at the stars in high good humour, and humming an old tune.

"Good evening, Corporal Sigurd. Dear ne, are you sitting here in the evening air?" said Mrs. Borkman, putting down the jug of small beer, as usual.

"Yes, here I am," answered the corporal, likewise as usual.

ing."

And you are singing, Sigurd ?"
Yes, I am singing.'

Sigurd seems so pleased this even

And so I am, Mrs. Borkman."

"And what is it, then?"

Mrs. Borkman--Ludvig has been on gaged as errand boy at Pahlson's" "Good Lord and Father be praised and thanked! But is it really quite true, Sigurd?"

Yes, it is as true as can be; that what I and the boy have been about the whole afternoon."

"And it is Sigurd that has done it all?"

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Borkman; old Sigur! has some friends in the world; but he must keep clear of those whose life he has saved; they don't seem to think that they have much to thank him for."

"If we could only get Gustaf int something, now," said the mother, whe did not forget her younger boy in her joy at the great good fortune of the elder in attaining the position of errand boy at a grocer's.

"Yes, God will help him, for I can't," said Sigurd, blowing a volley of smoke out of his pipe.

A few days later the veteran presented himself in Mr. Pahlson's shop with his well-combed and well-brushed protege by the hand, and the boy entered on his duties.

Four years had gone by, and old Sigurd was again seated in his favourite place. It was autumn, and the veteran was more bent under the weight of years than when we first saw him. His face also was paler and more shrivelled, and his dress was ragged-for he was now a beggar. His strength had failed him; he could no longer saw wood, nor chop it, and there was nothing left for him but to beg. Had you looked closely into the old man's eyes you would have seen the tears in them glittering in the moonlight, and his honest countenance had assumed an expression of contemptuous sarcasm, of proud disdain.

"Hm! I shall never grow wise. I see nothing, understand nothing, walk straight out before my nose. Ought I not to have known that he wouldn't notice old Sigurd when he got a green

In the northern countries, where wood is the only fuel used, a number of poor people make a living by sawing wood and chopping it into the

"Well, I will tell you the good news, size required for the stoves.

and I never shall be otherwise, I suppose." "Here his melancholy meditations were interrupted by Mrs. Borkman's friendly voice exclaiming, "Bless me! is old Sigurd out of doors so late in the evening?"

66

'Yes, here I am!" replied Sigurd.

Oh, Sigurd, I can't tell you how happy I am! Only think, old Pahlson is going to adopt Ludvig as his own son !"

"Indeed! Yes, I think I have heard something about it," answered the corporal drily.

"Oh, I can never be sufficiently thankful to God and Sigurd; for, after all, it was Sigurd who got him into the shop.'

The old man turned sharply round, and said in a severe tone, "Yes, and now Mr. Ludvig pretends not to know me."

frock-coat on, and a smart necktie and a roll of tobacco from the shelf; but you gloves? No, nothing of the kind ever musn't come here to bother me.' Then came into my head. When I went into I turned away and said, 'Ludvig, Ludvig, the shop and saw him so busy with the this you will have to answer for on the customers, I thanked God in my heart last day.' But it is senseless of me to sit that he was so attentive to his duties that brooding over these things," he continued, he could not see the friend of his child-after a pause; "but I was always stupid hood, the old man that stood awaiting his leisure; and when the people were gone, and he at length came and shook hands with me and said, 'Good evening, Corporal Sigurd, how goes it?' I used to feel quite warm about the heart. Yes, it oftener happened that I met him in the street, but it happened almost as often that he did not see me; yet I never took heed that it was only when he was alone that he did see me. I was an old fool not to be able to see that he was ashamed of old Sigurd, with his wooden leg and patched clothes, when others were by. They say that he is a clever boy, that he is Mr. Pahlson's favourite, and that the old gentleman is going to adopt him as his son. This is all very well, but it was I who managed it all from the beginning; and it does cut like a knife into my very "But surely Sigurd is not angry at soul to think that, nevertheless, he looks this? Why, Ludvig doesn't exactly speak down upon me and despises me. This to me either when he meets me, or take evening, when I went into the shop, and, any notice of me; and he never comes never thinking that it could be wrong, home to see me. But it isn't to be wonstretched out my hand to him and said-dered at, for, you see, he is going to be a 'Good evening! How goes it, Ludvig, my rich gentleman, and we are only poor fine fellow he turned away from me- folk." for he was speaking to a smart lady, and the shop was full of people. I perceived that I had done something amiss, for the fine gentleman never looked to the side where I was, but pretended that he had not heard me. My blood boiled, but I thought perhaps I had been rude to the lady. At last the people went away, and I asked what was the matter, and, lo and behold! the conceited scapegrace answers me with the air of a prince-Sigurd musn't be coming here and calling me Ludvig when other people are by to hear it. It is all very well that you live at home in mother's cabin, but I am not therefore to be made to feel as if I were going to sink into the earth with shame.' I couldn't say a word, for I felt as if someone had given me a slap upon the mouth. 'If you want money or tobacco you can have it,' he went on, taking down

The poor mother felt so deeply the boundless gulf that separates riches from poverty that for her part she could see nothing surprising in the fact that her eldest born denied her. She grieved that it should be so, but she thought it no more than wise prudence on the part of the young man; for she believed that it was likely his kindred to her, and his relation to Sigurd, might blight his prospects, and mix some drops of gall in his cup of happiness.

"And Mrs. Borkman is not incensed at the fellow who denies his own mother?" asked Sigurd.

66

No, Sigurd, that I am not! May God grant him every blessing; me, he may forget," said the old woman, wiping her eyes with her apron. "It is hard enough, Sigurd, very hard to see oneself despised by one's own child; but Lord

bless us! he is once for all in a different position to what we are-he doesn't see us, he forgets the old for the new. There is no evil in the boy, that I know, but he is young and thoughtless. The day will come, I dare say, when he will again think of his old mother, but then, most likely, she will be in her grave."

"Yes, yes; one day we shall all meet again, and then we will all be the adopted children of one and the same Father, and there will be no rich and no poor among But, Mrs. Borkman, that will be up yonder, where the many lights burn at night, and where the moon hangs like a lamp in the ante-room."

us.

"Yes, Sigurd is quite right. But bless us, what is to become of Gustaf, who will now soon be full sixteen years?"

"Leave bim in the Lord's keeping; I have done what I could. That one, at least, shall not be made a gentleman.' Mrs. Borkman went in to her children; but old Sigurd remained in his place some time longer. At length he rose, and turning his sad face towards heaven, he said, "Lord, forgive me that I have murmured, and teach me to love as that poor mother loves, without asking aught

in return!"

(To be continued.)

TO ANNIE.
ANOTHER year has flown,
Another year gone down
Into time's depths unknown.

Another year has been
Wafted on wings unseen,
And brought thee bright seventeen.

And may this year be fraught
With blessings, and may nought
Of pain cause one sad thought.

Oh! may such joy be sent
That thou may'st ne'er repent
That life to thee was lent.

May pure love's gilding ray
O'ershadow life's brief day,
Lighting thine onward way.

Seest thou dark clouds inclining?
Each hath its silver lining."
The sun, though veil'd, is shining.

May thy years no sorrow see,
No grief leave saddened mem'ry.
This, love, do I ask for thee!

HOPE DOUGlas.

DUTY.

DUTY is but a little word, very east read, and not by any means formidable look at; but where, in the whole Englis language, can we find a word me comprehensive, or possessing a greater in mensity of significance than this simp one of four letters?

Like the atmosphere which surrou us, duty pervades our "whole of bei in our path through life, at whate altidude that path may lie; whether on vale of humble life, duty attends our ste eminence of wealth and rank, or in t

at all times, under every circumstance presents itself to our notice as that wh is required of us as rational, thinking, a responsible beings.

In adaptation of the different cire stances, or according to our differe positions, our duties assume various charse ters and forms to suit. Every position life has its respective duties-no individu and not unfrequently the higher the post is exempt, however great or however low the more onerous the duties-"where me is given, much is required." Hea wealth, and talents, are not given to b hidden and buried in selfish ease, v ・ bestowed upon our own pleasures wither a portion laid out for the benefit of others But it is a consolatory thought that nothing is required of us beyond what we are abl to give-that our duty does not exceed ou ability; yet selfishness will often endea vour to make us believe the contrary, and magnify, by its sophistical representations our duties into impossibilities, sometime persuading us that the responsibilit circumstances have laid upon us are to much for our strength, and inducing us abandon them when voluntarily taken u sometimes dissuading us from even makin the attempt to carry them at all, often fighting, as it were, a hand-to-hand contes with our conscience, which, in contradiction to the sophistry of its adversary, assert plainly that such and such an undertakin is nothing more than what is due from us to God or to society, or perhaps to our ow selves.

But selfishness is not the only stumbling block in the way of duty. Prejudice, child of ignorance, and too often the paren of injustice and uncharitableness, is perhaps a greater detriment than selfishness; for it does not so much discourage us from doin what we feel to be right as it misleads with regard to what that right is. A min swayed by prejudice, on any particular, is

sure to judge unfairly, to view things either in a partial or an unjust light; and this produces false zeal, or enthusiasm in a wrong cause, while the right is totally abandoned. There are few persons over whom prejudice has not some power, for to be entirely free from all prejudices implies a perfection, an impartiality of judgment, over which no feeling of our own, nor any external predisposing cause, can have the least influence in giving a character short of strict truthfulness concerning whatever we form an opinion. Happily, however, it is quite possible that our prejudices may have truth on their side; early teachings, early associations, peculiar circumstances, and individual feelings, all which produce and foster our predilections, may be as calculated to guide in a right as in a wrong direction: however strongt hose prejudices may be, our enthusiasm, our zeal, our partialities, are not misplaced, though they may be more fervent than is necessary; and then it is that we exceed our duty, and overstep the mark. Thus we sometimes find those in public situations, by their over officiousness and intemperate zeal, do more harm than good to a just cause than if they had simply contented themselves with doing what duty exacted, and no more; and instead of suffering their passions to domi

neer

over their judgment, made the former subservient to the latter, bearing in mind that "discretion is the better part of valour."

Yet, after all, without a little enthusiasm in the discharge of our duties; if we take no interest in them, but merely perform them as a duty, as what we ought to do, as an obligatory impost; if we have no sympathy for the work, if we take no pleasure in it, if we feel no anxiety for its success, independent of that success being the proof required by conscience that we have faithfully discharged our trust, it will be little short of a miracle if conscience ever receives the satisfactory proof.

round of tunes, and then be silent until wound up afresh. So we, if we feel no love for, and take no delight or interest in our duties, can never discharge them in any but a mechanical, spiritless, unsatisfactory way. There will be no expression in our execution, no fire, no touch of feeling, no vitality, none of those animating influences which give a brilliancy to our performances, and without which our best efforts are dull and languid so far as our inner or personal feelings are concerned.

Whence sprung into existence all the benevolent institutions? What induces those charitable bequests which daily meet our eye, but from the heartfelt emotions of pity, of love to our neighbour, a tenderness, a kindliness, a thoughtfulness for those who are in suffering or distress, rather than from a sense of duty alone?

It is for the cause of truth, for the sake of upholding his religious principles, that the martyr goes a willing sacrifice to the stake.

"Mourir pour la patrie" is the patriots' motto, acted upon when that country requires such a sacrifice.

Where much love exists there will be small need of the whip or spur in driving the will.

Love to God produces a desire to please Him by doing what is right in His sight. Love to our neighbour makes us anxious to do unto others as we would they should do unto us. And so both in great and little things duty will ever be more satisfactorily attended to when truly accompanied by love. EMMA BUTTERWORTH.

"YOUNG DAYS! how wonderful these

often are! What deep, what unsuspected capacity of sorrow often lies in a young heart! If manhood's acts were but as holy as youth's aspirations, the bright and breezy morning of the great Day of Victory would soon arrive; for the sorrow is a generous sorrow; and did but one suffer for rightcousness' sake in mature life for the ten who in youth think they could be even crucified might they but help the world, martyrs would soon render martyrdom unnecessary."-Lynch.

"Duty," Mrs. Jameson has observed, "is far more than love." Yet the one is not an equivalent for the other. Duty without love! What can be more unsympathetic, colder, more formal, or emotionless? To set about a task, to plod on in a pursuit, to go through a round of perform- "When Aladdin descended into the vault ances, actuated by no spontaniety, pro- he found the trees of golden fruit, and the pelled by no warmth of feeling, encouraged wonderful lamp. We must first retire into by no ulterior impulse, is at best but a ourselves, sink into the vault of our own mechanical, soulless piece of business, like being, before we shall be able accurately to a self-acting musical instrument, which, learn the limits and dimensions of our own when wound up, will play its accustomed being."-Rev. Paxton Hood,