who would go on in her own quiet way, only seen by the unobtrusive acts of goodness which she did to others. Such characters are lightly esteemed, and little praised, yet what would the world be without them?

The good Flemish dame sat at her work undisturbed, occasionally stopping to listen for the noise of her husband's forge, which resounded from the high road, a little way off, where the blacksmith had wisely placed it, as well to deaden the noise of the hammering in his little cottage, as to attract stray customers. At this distance the unceasing sound of the forge was rather lulling and pleasant than otherwise, and no doubt the wife often thought so, as it reached her ears, and told her of the unwearied diligence with which her husband toiled for her and her children. Their cottage had once been alive with many childish voices, but one by one all had dropped off, from sudden disease or inherent delicacy of constitution. Of eight, seven lay in the churchyard not far distant, and one only was left to cheer the blacksmith's cottage-little Quintin, the youngest born. No wonder was it, therefore, that the mother often turned her eyes within, where the child was amusing himself; and at such times the placid, almost dull expression of her face changed into a look of ineffable love, for he was her youngest and her only one.

At last the sound of the forge ceased. The blacksmith's wife immediately put by her distaff, and set about preparing the evening meal; for she knew her husband's daily work was over, and that he would soon be home. The sour kraut and the beer were laid on the rudely-carved plank, which, fitted on tressels, served for a table; and all was ready when the husband and father entered. He was a short, stout-built man; his broad face shone with good-nature, and his muscular frame showed strength which had not even begun to fail, though some gray locks mingled imperceptibly with his light curly hair. He nodded his head in cheerful thanks when his active wife brought him a large bowl of clear water, in which he washed his dusky face and hands; and then, without wasting words, sat down, like a hungry man as he was, to his meal. The wife, with a quiet smile, watched the eatables and drinkables disappear, interrupting him only to fill his plate or cup in silence, as a good wife ought; asking no questions until the first cravings of nature were satisfied.

When the blacksmith had finished his meal, he rested his brawny arms on the table, and looked in his wife's face-then for the first time broke silence. "I have had a long day's work, Gretchen; but that is not a bad thing for us, you know. Í have shod all the elector's horses. He was travelling, and said none could do it so well as Matsys the blacksmith."

"It is a good thing to be spoken well of; but great people do not often notice such folks as we are," answered the quiet Gretchen.

"The elector need not be ashamed of speaking of or to an

honest man, who owes nothing to any one, and whose forge is never seen idle," said the blacksmith, who was an independent character in his way, though rather phlegmatic, like the rest of his countrymen. "But, by the by, working all day in the heat of that same forge makes one feel cold even here," continued he, shivering, and glancing towards the half-open door.

Gretchen rose up and closed it without saying a word. "You are a good wife, Gretchen," said the blacksmith, looking at her affectionately: "you always think of your husband." A pleased smile passed over Gretchen's face. "You know, Hans, it is near the end of October; we must begin to have larger fires, I think."

"And, thank God, we shall be able to have them, and also warm clothes; for I shall have plenty of work all winter. We will have a merry Christmas dinner, wife, and Quintin shall dance and sing, and have many nice things. But where is little Quintin?" asked the blacksmith, turning round.

66

Here, father!" answered a sweet child's voice; and a little boy crept from out of a dark corner beside the hearth, where he had remained crouched while Matsys was eating his supper. He was slight, and rather delicate-looking, and dressed in the quaint Dutch fashion, which made him appear much older than he really was; and the uncommon intelligence of his countenance did not belie that impression. "I am here, father; do you want little Quintin?" said the child, lifting up the long dark lashes from his deep, violet-coloured, and beautiful eyes, which indeed formed the principal charm of a face not otherwise pretty.

"I want to know what you have been doing all day," said Matsys, drawing his son on his knee, and kissing him affectionately. The boy returned his father's rough but loving embrace, and then jumped off his knee, saying, "Wait a little, father, and I will show you."

He ran to a far corner of the room; the mother looked after him, saying, "Quintin often alarms me: he is always getting near the fire, and working and hammering. When I scold him, he only says that he is doing like his father."

The blacksmith burst into a loud cheerful laugh, that rung through the little cottage, in the midst of which Quintin appeared, bringing with him two armlets, as he called them, ingeniously worked in iron. The father took one of them from his son's tiny wrist, and put it on his own great thumb, laughing more than ever. "How did you make this clever little article?" asked he.

"Pray do not be angry, father," timidly answered the child; "but I found an old horse-shoe in the forge, and brought it home; and then I made it red-hot, and hammered it into shape with the poker."

"And how did you contrive to make this pretty little hand that fastens the bracelet?"

"I made it in clay, and then took the shape in sand, and poured the moulten iron into it."

"Clever boy! clever boy!" cried the blacksmith, raising his hands and eyes in astonishment; then, recollecting himself, he said in a loud whisper to his wife, "Quintin will be a genius some day-a wonderful man; but we must not tell him so, lest it should make him vain."

The mother shook her head, smiling all the while; and little Quintin, who doubtless heard every word, grew red and pale by turns as he stood by his father's knee, proud and happy at the admiration his work excited.

"I'll tell you what, my boy," cried Matsys, "you shall come to the forge with me to-morrow; 'like father, like son.' I had no idea you had watched me to such good purpose. Let me see; how old are you? I forget exactly."

Quintin will be ten years old at Christmas," said Gretchen; adding, with moistened eyes, "You know, Hans, he was born just two years after Lisa-poor little Lisa-and she would have been twelve now."

The father looked grave for a few moments, but soon recovered his cheerfulness when the eager upturned face of his pet Quintin met his. This one darling atoned for all his departed children; he had soon become reconciled to their loss, like most fathers; it is only in mothers' hearts that the memory of babes vanished to Heaven lingers until death.

Matsys twisted his coarse brown fingers in Quintin's fair curls, and said thoughtfully, "Well, ten years old is not too soon to begin; I was a year younger myself when my father made me work; to be sure I was stronger than Quintin, and was the eldest of a dozen boys and girls. But then Quintin shall do no hard work, and it will keep him out of mischief, and make him learn diligence betimes-always a good thing for a labouring lad. Not but what I shall have some gold florins to put by for him in time; but bad things happen sometimes, God only knows! However," continued the blacksmith, ending his long soliloquy, and speaking louder, "if you like, Quintin, to-morrow you shall begin to learn how to be as good a blacksmith as your father."

"And may I make plenty of bracelets like these?" inquired the boy.

His father laughed merrily. "You would take a long time to get rich if you never did anything but these little fanciful things. You must learn how to forge tools, and horse-shoes, and nails; but," continued he, noticing that the boy's countenance fell at this information, "don't be unhappy; you shall make bracelets now and then if you like, and rings too, if you are clever enough. And now, go and ask your mother what she says to this plan."

am quite willing, Hans," said his wife; "you know best;

but I shall often be very lonely without the child. However, you must send him over to see me sometimes in the day."

"Very well, wife; and now, all being settled, put out the fire, and let us go to rest, for it is long after sunset, and little Quintin will soon be half asleep here on my lap.”

Gretchen kissed her little son, heard him repeat his prayers, then undressed him, and laid him in his straw bed. In another hour the quiet of night was over the cottage, and the little household it contained had all sunk into that deep slumber which is the sweet reward of labour.

II.

DEATH IN THE COTTAGE.

"Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth!" is a wise saying, and of mournful import. The holy man who wrote it knew its truth, and many a fearful heart, shrinking from the future, as well as many a one stricken to the earth when most confident of bliss, have acknowledged the same. They are words never written or spoken without an indefinable dread; for no one living is so happy, or so confident in his happiness, that he has nothing to fear.

Christmas drew nigh merrily. In the blacksmith's little family there was nothing but hopeful anticipation. The clear biting frost of a Dutch winter had set in, and all was gaiety; for this is an important adjunct of mirth in a country where all festivities are carried on by means of the frozen waters. Gretchen had bought her furs and her gay ribbons; all the Christmas gifts were ready, and the Christmas dinner provided. The blacksmith's wife had finished all her preparations, had brought out the great silver cup, a family heir-loom, the only vestige of riches, and had set out, ready for the morrow, one or two bottles of Rhenish wine, as a crowning treat for the Christmas festivities. Lastly, she brought out the eight carved wooden cups which had been added at the birth of each child, each bearing the initial letter of their names. It was the fancy of an old relative, a clever workman, who had thus enriched the stores of the blacksmith. Gretchen brought them out one by one, dusted them as carefully as if they were to be used, and as she did so, let fall a few quiet tears on each memorial of her little ones. Mechanically she arranged them in order, and then sighing deeply, put them all aside, leaving only Quintin's. She then dried her eyes with her apron, glanced round the cottage to see that all was right, and wrapping her warm mantle over her head, went outside the door to watch for her husband and child, for the loneliness of the cottage was too much for her.

It was a fine day for winter: there was no sunshine, but the white snow made everything light and cheerful. The frosty

The

weather caused the bells of the cathedral to sound louder and nearer; their merry peal rung out as if to drive away all care and melancholy thoughts; and while Gretchen listened to them, the mists of despondency which had gathered over her soul were, unconsciously to herself, swept away by their influence. Dutch wife had little or no sentiment in her composition, yet she could not help giving way at this moment to fancies which mother-love alone could have roused in her placid mind. She thought no longer of the children lost on earth, but of the angels gained to Heaven.

Gretchen's reflections then turned towards those left to herher husband and Quintin. She thought of Hans, his diligence and industry, and how he had gone through all the struggles of their younger days, until comparative riches, the fruit of his labour, were beginning to flow in upon them. Their cottage was as small as ever, to be sure, but still it boasted many little comforts which it had not when they first began life; and all was through Hans-good, steady Hans! Gretchen never thought how much her own careful economy had contributed to keep safe, and spend rightly, her husband's earnings. Then she looked forward to the future, calculated how long it would be before Hans might leave off work, and Quintin succeed him in the forge. And the mother then pictured Quintin grown to manhood, and smiled as she thought of his taking a wife, and making Hans and herself grow young again on playing with a troop of grandchildren.

The blacksmith's wife was in the midst of these reflections and anticipations when the sound of her husband's forge ceased. It was earlier than usual; but Gretchen was not surprised, as it was holiday time, and she thought that Matsys had got through his work quicker than ordinary, that he might be at home on Christmas eve: So she went into the cottage to await his return, and warm her chilled hands at the fire, which she took care to heap up in readiness for the cold and weary labourers, for Quintin was now indefatigable at his father's trade. She waited longer than usual, but neither came; the short twilight had passed away, and it was nearly dark. Still she feared nothing, but sat quietly by the fire.

At last the latched door was burst open, and little Quintin rushed in. He hid his pale face on his mother's bosom, sobbing bitterly.

"What is the matter? Who has vexed my little Quintin?" said the mother, soothing him.

"No one, mother; no one!" cried the child anew; "but they told me not to tell you. Father

"Where is your father? Is he coming home?"

"Yes, he is coming home-they are bringing him; but he will not speak, and he looks like Sister Lisa. That is what frightened me."

At this moment some neighbours entered: they were carrying