ing efforts to make both ends meet, and the whole household was made irritable by the constant watching and worrying over the expenditure of a shilling, the subject was never discussed, and shabbiness crept upon them, unnoticed if not unfelt.

Their three children were, Annie, a year or two older than Jem; Jem, our hero; and Mary, a year or two his junior.

Jem was a stupid fellow. He had been a dull sleepy baby, a big awkward child; always spilling, breaking, and tumbling over everything in a heavy matter-of-fact manner; never profiting by his many experiences in the form of bruises, cuts, or scoldings; never clearly understanding that any one event was the natural consequence of any other; never able to take in more than one idea at a time.

Poor Jem! He might have done very well had he been born heir to some thousands a year. In a happy and genial atmosphere his self-confidence might have received sufficient nurture to enable him to pass muster among his peers, and be pronounced in the county (even apart from his fine horses and fine wines) a very good fellow.

As it was, he was expected to make his own way in the world, and his proud but timid parents watched him with the most aggravating anxiety from his cradle. His sisters were quick little things. Curious-he never was; confidinghe never could express himself; observant-he only understood his fellow-creatures well enough to feel no interest in their concerns; but he was the hope of the family.

Mr. Nash used to sit and plan all that James' might accomplish in these days of open competition, when James was an innocent infant sucking his large red thumb, trying the veracity, or rather, perhaps, the ingenuity, of every lady visitor to the house, so difficult was it to discover where the mother's weak point might be in that shapeless doughylooking mass.

Mr. Nash had not got on in the world as well as he would have wished; but then he had never had the chance that James would have.

James would easily be able to provide a home for the two girls if anything should happen to him and Mrs. Nash. He was determined to spare no pains or expense in his education, and he should be one of that band who would prove to the world what lights England had hitherto hidden under the bushel of aristocratic influence and corruption.

Jem certainly took some time to master his alphabet, and laboured under a chronic confusion as to B and R up to a very mature age of childhood; but then to be 'slow but sure' was what Mr. Nash always wished for his boy. He would have been quite disappointed had he been as quick and volatile as Mary was.' Jem's lessons in arithmetic were long remembered in the family. And his little sister's ideal of the acme of human woe was Jem one lovely summer's day forbidden to go out until a certain sum was finished. Lying first on his back, then as time went on and his brain grew more hopelessly clouded, on his face, his thumbs in his ears, that he might not hear the birds, and worse than that, Dash's impatient bark of joy at Mary throwing sticks and dawdling near the house with him, waiting, as Jem well knew, for him; his fingers through his thick heavy hair, repeating by rote but without one ray of comprehension the rule that ought to have made it all clear to him. Tears at last dropped slowly one by one on the slate under his nose. I think he was occupied in wondering how long it would be before the round drops would join together and make a stream, and in judiciously guiding their course by tilting the slate, when Mary came in. Angry to be discovered thus, his tears were dashed away by slaty fingers. In spite of her intense sympathy she could hardly help laughing at the effect of the dirty furrows all across his woebegone countenance. Poor Jem! the rule had been explained so often and was so self-evident to his father, that his failing to accomplish his task was put down to obstinacy, and it was considered a moral duty to conquer him. He never got out all day, had bread and water for

supper, went early to bed, slept like a top, and was quite as stupid and almost as imperturbably contented and happy as usual next day. At night his mother lingered in his room, spoke to him lovingly, but gravely, told him how his own future and that of those who loved him depended mainly on his own exertions, &c., &c. ; how he must try always to do his very best, and not let temper' interfere. Jem found out at last that she alluded to his unfortunate sum of the day before, and began an emphatic assurance that he couldn't really... but was immediately implored not to add another fault to that of yesterday, kissed, told to pray to be an honest and truthful boy, to love and obey his father, and left alone, puzzled, but hardly sad.

By degrees, however, the sense of being a continual source of disappointment and vexation to those around him began to tell upon him, and he grew morose and rough. It was 'his own fault,' he had 'no one to blame but himself,' as the world says so often and so glibly, if he were misunderstood. He chose to show no feeling, and even his mother began to think that he had very little. Of how she sorrowed, and how she prayed, and how her husband's bitter tone about the boy smote her to her very heart, I mean to say nothing.

His sister Mary, who was clever and younger than he was, was often quite unconsciously very hard on poor Jem. She found it very easy to do all her lessons, and knew perfectly well that when she failed it was her own fault; and she had not yet learned that people are not all made alike. Annie, who was older, suspected the truth; but it would have been such an insult to the family to breathe it that she hardly dare confess her suspicion to herself. She had once in a daring mood tried the experiment of announcing that she did not believe that Jem could learn as much or as quickly as she could, and was not nearly as clever; but as the only result had been a lecture on vanity and conceit, she now contented her self with doing all the lessons they

did in common lazily and carelessly, partly for her own sake, but partly, let us hope, for his. One day Mary came running to her.

'Oh, Annie! poor Jem is so miserable; he says he knows he is a stupid lout, and that he wishes he had never been born. He wonders if it would be very wicked to drown himself, or to run away. He is a burden and disappointment to papa and mamma, and never can be anything else.'

'Did he tell you this, Mary?'

'Oh no; but I was on my seat in the tree by the river, and thought I would hide for fun. He came down talking to Dash, and would not let him go, but lay down with him, and told him all this, and asked him if he loved him. Then I am almost sure he cried; so of course I did not dare come out, he would have been so very cross. I was so afraid Dash would discover me; but luckily a large rat came out and ran along by the hedge, so they both ran after him, and I crept out and came here. But, Annie, what does Jem mean? Will he drown himself? Must I go and tell mamma?'

Annie affected to be very calm, and superior to Mary's fears; told her that she was a foolish child, and that Jem had been talking nonsense; proved quite to Mary's satisfaction that as she had overheard by accident what Jem had never meant for other ears than those of old Dash, she ought not to tell anyone, or to allude to her guilty knowledge before Jem himself. So she sent Mary away full of the importance of having a secret; openly condemning Jem very severely for being so wicked, secretly admiring and respecting him more than she had ever done before. He had dared to think and feel as she could not. Mary looked at his stolid countenance as he devoured his bread and butter that evening with 'real awe, and went to bed, after cunningly getting out of her nurse some information as to suicides, to imagine Jem being buried at midnight where four roads meet, with a stake through his heart, and woke in the morning with a horrified sensation at her own want of feeling

and hardness of heart, as she recollected that she had at last fallen asleep while calmly wondering whether the four lanes by the pond would do, or whether they would take him all the way to Ashton Cross. It would be a long walk at midnight, but then the roads were so much wider.

Annie had been anything but really calm when Mary left her, and had pondered, and thought, and planned, till she had suddenly awoke to the consciousness that it was very late. And where was Jem? She threw her shawl over her head and rushed out, prepared for any catastrophe, and met, within a few yards of the house, Jem and Dash in full glee. They had killed their rat; and anything less tragic than their appearance at that moment could not well be imagined. She felt an unusual glow of satisfaction in seeing Jem happy, and was running up to him, feeling that she should like immensely to give him a kiss, and show him that some one liked him, by listening with the most intelligent interest she could command to the history of the rat-hunt, when Mr. Nash's voice was heard.

'Who can have left the gate of the field down there open? I had it tied up on purpose to keep the calf in now some idiot has not only untied it, but left it wide open, and no doubt the calf is half a mile off, or in the village by this time.'

'Oh, Jem, was it you?' whispers Annie.

'Well, how did I know I was to shut the gate?' responds Jem.

'Didn't you hear papa talking about it at breakfast this morning, and afterwards in the garden, telling Andrew about it?'

No-Jem had heard nothing-he never did hear, it seemed to Annie.

Annie,' said Mr. Nash, do you know how that gate came to be open?'

Poor Annie! she always knew or guessed everything, and was well used to be appealed to; but she felt now as though she were aiding and abetting suicide as she answered, hesitating

'Oh, papa-I think-Jem had to open the gate to help Dash to kill a VOL. LXIX. NO. CCCCXI.

rat. Good old dog, Dash,' she went on, hoping to make a diversion in Jem's favour by patting and drawing attention to the dog. ‘Jem didn't know about the calf, you see.'

"James,' said the awful voice, 'when you found the gate tied up, instead of open as usual, did it never occur to you that this was done for a reason?'

No-Jem opened his mouthlooked, it must be confessed, sheepish enough to provoke the most indulgent of parents, and held his tongue.

'Well, sir, go along now. Get the calf back somehow, tie up the gate and that fool of a dog, and come in to your tea as soon as you can.'

Annie had mean time matured a plan for saving time for Jem. She knew that his Latin for next day was still unlearned, and that he would never know it if he did not give it an hour or two's study-(she had just done it in half an hour)— so she ran after him to tell him that she had seen Bob, the gardener's boy, go into the cottage, and that he had better give him sixpence (she had one ready), and make him go for the calf.

'Jem!' she called, 'Jem! Jem!' No-Jem would not came backhe dreaded some new message or order.

Oh, if he were only quick enough to see from her face that she wanted to help him! She ran after him; but she knew her father would not let her run past the turning. Sure enough she is called back, told 'not to be a goose. What was the good of her going too? Did she want anything?'

'Oh no, nothing.'

'Well, then, come and take a turn with me.'

She came, and was less of a companion to her father than usual. She forgot to be surprised when she heard that Farmer Barton had sent his boy to school; forgot to 'be sure,' from that fact, that he meant very soon to give way about that path through his farm, and be good friends with the parson.' The parson, unwittingly perhaps, had counted upon this assurance, and missed the sympathy he was so used

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to, and went in depressed, and more than ever convinced that all is vanity and vexation of spirit. He sat down before the quire of blue paper that before the end of the week would be a sermon. Surely he would be able to write a telling discourse against the love of this world. He found it such a wearisome place, he was fully convinced that he had overcome it.

Annie tried in vain to imagine the state of mind that would quietly acquiesce in the certainty of suffering and disgrace for the morrow, without making an effort to avert it. She nearly persuaded herself that Jem must have had some better plan than hers when he ran off.

Will he never come back? He has had time to go to the village twice over. But he can't well run away or drown himself, with Dash as a companion, that is one comfort.'

At last he appeared, having, it was hoped, effected all that was required of him, and was gulping down his cold tea in hot haste, when his father stumbled into the room very nearly head foremost, and Dash rushed in, muddy and howling, from between his legs. Of course he jumped up on Jem, who of course dropped his tea-cup. Mr. Nash could bear most things better than any loss of dignity. He felt that he had looked ridiculous, and was very angry-would hardly listen to Jem's assurance that he had tied up the dog. Jem had done so, but he had tied him to a ring that every one else in the house knew had been broken a week ago, and had never thought of looking for himself to see that all was right. He never did think, as he was told now roughly enough by the discomposed Mr. Nash, who rang the bell, and desired the servant to tie up the disconsolate dog. Mary tries to give him a pat as he slinks by her; but Dash is too conscience-stricken to be comforted, and thought that even her hand was raised against him. I wonder if the neighbour's dog detected the depths of contrition that were stirring within him as he howled to the moon that night?

Annie was too much vexed, for her mother's sake, at the stain that

would be so evident on the carpet that had just been remade-at the loss of one of the new dozen of teacups that had been bought at last, after so much consideration and consultation-too much occupied in rubbing and putting to rights to feel at the moment keenly for Jem. But she heard her father's parting allusion to his Latin; and the ominous slam of the door upstairs as he went off to bed, struck painfully on her heart. Jem had at last been worried enough, and was sulky. Annie doubted, and wavered, and put her hand on the lock of his door, and took it off again, a dozen times as she passed it an hour later on her way to bed. At last she peeped in -the light was out, and she was more distressed to see him sleeping peacefully than she would have been to find him crying, as she would have done, had a tenth part of his troubles that day fallen to her lot-or painfully toiling at his Latin, cross and angry, as she had imagined him.

Poor Jem!-even Annie did not then do you justice. He had intended to learn his Latin well before going to bed; but he was so tired and sleepy, and his wet leg, where all his tea, poor fellow, had fallen, grew so cold and stiff. He would just undress, and put on another pair of trousers, and sit up till midnight if necessary; but then he could only find his clean white pair for Sunday. He felt he would only get into another scrape if he meddled with them. His room looked very comfortless, and his bed very tempting. If he could only learn it in bed?-but then that promise to his mother about putting the candle out. He might have asked Annie to come and put it out, to be sure; but then he had not done so, and it was too late now. The end of it was, that the candle was blown out suddenly, and that Jem groped his way to bed, fully intending to wake very early, and learn his lessons before any one was up next morning. He said his prayers, and wondered helplessly how he came to be always naughty and in disgrace; for he really would like to be good, and meant every day to try hard to be