down, leapt thoughtlessly from the bank across the water which had already covered the ice from the land, and began sliding at some distance. He was now a tolerable proficient and very daring, but from his reserved manners, his evident poverty and his being a stranger he had no acquaintance among the village lads. Nevertheless, some of them warned him of his danger. Before long the ice on which another lad was sliding gave way, and he must have sunk had not the stranger rushed to the spot and pulled him out. But this brave act was only performed at his own sacrifice: the ice broke in with him, and while the boy he had rescued was received on the bank by his comrades our little hero sank. He made desperate efforts to save himself, but the ice all around was rotten and soon gave way. His danger was instantly perceived by the boys on the water's edge, and a loud cry was raised. Several ran for help, and two, with noble courage, sprang upon the ice in the hope of saving him, but a short time proved this to be impossible. He was apparently left alone to perish. Presently, however, some of the boys who had run to the village returned with men, bringing a rope, but, unfortunately, it was too short to reach him. By this time he was becoming exhausted. But a new anxiety seemed to possess him this was to save something, which appeared to be a small packet of papers, which for some time he held between his teeth, as if to preserve them from the water. After struggling for a long time and making wonderful efforts to save himself, he sank to rise no more. I know not when any event of late years has so much distressed me. I did not hear of it till an hour afterward,

when Widow Marshall brought me word, she having been down to the ponds to see if nothing could be done to save him; for, as she lives at that end of the village, her house was one of the first the boys ran to in their dismay. Why did they not come instantly to me? I ran down to the ponds, although I had no hope of life being restored, even if the body were found. A great crowd were on the banks, and two men with a boat and drags were on the water, the ice having been broken for that purpose; but the poor body must have been floated away, for it could not be found.

As I stood on the edge of the water thinking of the poor houseless lad who had just lost his life, I turned my eyes in the direction of the Hall, which from this point is wholly visible. It was becoming dusk, and the large mansion was lighted up as if for a great festivity. There is a grand Christmas entertainment there to-night; for, though Mrs. Jellico is absent, the dean of Windsor, who is a relative of the squire's, is there with his lady, and a large family party and all the gentry of the neighborhood-nay, of half the county are invited. What a contrast was this to the cold, dreary night, the desolate water, the drowned but unfound body of the fatherless, motherless and homeless boy! Life is full of strange contrasts!

I feel as if I had sustained a great loss— as if life had been deprived of something of worth. What might not that boy have been to me! What undeveloped powers lay not within him? what a wealth of feeling and affection?

26th. The body has not been found. I have thought much to-day of the papers

which the poor boy appeared so anxious to save. They say that he was heard to exclaim with a despairing voice, "I have lost them!" just before he sank. He held them between his teeth, probably in the vain hope of keeping them dry. What could they be? My curiosity suggests many ideas. Perhaps some last letter of his mother; perhaps a little money. In the idea that it might be money, some of the men were were additionally eager in their search. in their search. I confess I confess to a desire to know myself. 27th.-Had a strange dream or vision last night. It seemed to me to be the daybreak of a summer's morning. A sunny mist of an opal color appeared to fill my chamber, gathering round my bed, at the foot of which lay a brightness as of noonday, and amid these gradually revealed themselves, as if fashioned of light, two figures-the strange boy and a woman of resplendent beauty. The boy had the same countenance, but beautiful exceedingly, and the woman held him by the hand. They looked at me with an expression of divine love, and I seemed to hear, although not by outward speech, these words:

"These are mother and son: she was the schoolmaster's daughter of whom thou hast heard."

The knowledge thus conveyed brought with it no astonishment, but a calm certainty, as of eternal truth.

"Yes," I seemed to say to myself, "thou art the daughter of Nathaniel Day, and this is thy son; and it is now well with thee.'

"It is well," she replied.

With that all disappeared, and I awoke. It was pitch-dark in my room. I sat up

in

bed and looked around-for the impression of my dream was still as strong in my mind. as reality itself-but there was nothing.

Perhaps this singular dream or vision was but the effect of my excited feelings, for the loss of the boy has troubled me much. Perhaps supernatural appearances, so called, are the deepest of truths and I have been privileged to have the secrets of the grave laid open before me to behold the dead, or, more correctly speaking, the really living. I know not. I dare not disbelieve, nor yet wholly believe. It may be so. This boy may be the child of poor Alice Day, and the papers which he was so anxious to save might contain proofs of the fact. And I must confess that the expression of proud reserve which struck me so much in his countenance is not unlike that of the Jellicos. What would have been the consequence had he lived and asserted his claim of parentage on the squire? But he needs no earthly father now: the great Father of all has taken him home. The subject can matter to no one now. I therefore shall not speak of my dream, for there are many Sadducees even in a poor ignorant place like Moreton. In these pages and in the faithful chronicle of my memory let it alone remain.

30th. This day the body was found. A boy who was on his way to Kirkton this morning ran back to the village with the news that he could see the poor drowned boy's shoes near the bank, under the ice. He was taken out and carried to the Nag's Head, near Widow Marshall's. I went down to see him; he was laid on a board in the great club-room, and the coroner's inquest was held about three in the afterThe body was as fresh and the

noon.

countenance as undisfigured as if he were lying in a decent and placid sleep. This was astonishing to all, and Mr. Hatherall, the coroner, who had lately lost a son, a fine lad of twelve, was so much affected at the sight as to be unable to speak for some time. As for myself, it was more than I could bear. I stayed but a short time in the room, and, cutting off a lock of his dark hair, returned home, when I spent some time in Scripture reading, which I always find consolatory to my spirits.

31st. The last day of the year. This being the alternate Sunday when there was no afternoon service, the poor lad's funeral was ordered for three o'clock. It was a parish funeral, of course, but what did that matter? I, who had been privileged to see the spirit in its blessedness, could not mourn that his poor perishable remains were unattended to their last resting-place by worldly pomp. Nevertheless, I paid half a crown to Mr. Coates, the undertaker, for the use of a pall, and I and the Widow Marshall agreed to see the poor body laid decently in the earth.

The funeral was somewhat later than was intended, owing to a farmer's funeral from Heathlands, which was to take place first, being after time. The Sunday-scholars, therefore, were all out, and thronged about the Nag's Head door to see it move off. I went out to them and spoke a few words about the poor lad who had come a stranger among them, only, as it were, to give proof of a noble heart and noble self-sacrifice, and then to die. Some of the children, the girls especially, seemed much affected. I marshalled them, therefore, in a little order, for the coffin just then came out, and they fol

lowed in twos and twos, Mrs. Marshall and I bringing up the rear. I had on my best black suit and she wore mourning, which she had borrowed; so that it was a respectable funeral.

Just as we got out of Nag's Head Lane into the main street the squire's carriage drove up-he was going out-and two gentlemen were with him. Our little funeral procession stopped the way, and his coachman pulled up. The squire seemed in a very merry humor, and, putting his head out of the window, asked Tim Stephens, the barber, what funeral that was. Tim replied that it was only a poor lad-whom nobody knew

that had been drowned in the pond: that was all. The squire drove on, and I pondered seriously on the mysteries of life. There father and son met; where would their next meeting be?

April 12th.-The swallows are come. The boys brought me word that one and another had seen them singly or in twos and threes. The spring this year is steady and genial and full of amenities. Worked in my

garden, this being a half holiday. The primroses which I set under the nut-hedge are very beautiful, and the wild red variety which I brought out of the fields last spring flourishes well. I will plant many more of these roots, as well as of the oxlip, which likes my garden greatly. It is not every wild flower that can bear cultivation; the whole tribe of orchises, for instance, seems to resist human endeavors, while the primrose and oxlip, and a few others, take all in a kindly spirit and make gracious returns. I have mentioned to the boys my wish for these flowers.

16th. My desire to have some roots of