relieve himself, he would not. To contend with an intoxicated man was, he well knew, worse than folly. His temper was beginning to be aroused; and-as Revere stood by his side, holding the amber-coloured draught, his face flushed and purple with drunken eagerness, his tottering limbs almost refusing to support him, his trembling hands and bloodshot eye revealing his own bondage, and his thick and husky tones, half-articulate, pressing again and again upon him the poisoned cup-from the impulse of the moment, Robert exclaimed, with energy, as he pushed aside the glass

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No, no! Would you make me like yourself, sir?" There is left to almost every one, however abandoned, some power to appreciate what "is lovely and of good report." When the power to rule one's self is admitted to be gone, and even the wish to do so is all but extinguished, there will still lurk a perception of goodness when it is seen; and thus was it that the contrast thrust upon Revere by Robert's question produced this effect. How could it be otherwise? In the strength of his young manhood, with the energy of a determined mind, his face beaming with health and intelligence, strong in the consciousness of rectitude, and with bright and steadfast trust in the future, as a future of good-what a contrast did he present to him who would tempt him! It was too palpable, too evident for even the half-closed eye and dimmed perceptions of Revere !

"I will not! I will not!" he muttered, as he sank into a seat; and he groaned a bitter groan, as there flashed upon him a remembrance of the past: how, even to him, it had once been true that life was hopeful, and death and eternity not to be dreaded; how he had started buoyant and strong in expectation, his life crowned with blessings, his path strewn with mercies, and his course watched with eyes of anxious, yearning love. Ah yes! and the recollection of that first glass came now to him!—that

first indulgence in what had proved his ruin! And was he one to force upon another the like destruction? To that first yielding to temptation could he now look as the beginning of his downward course; to it could he now attach that weakened strength of principle, and its consequent prostration, which had left him powerless in the hand of the tempter. It was an hour of bitter thought. The same draught which had impelled him to use all his powers to persuade Robert, now awakened in him new remorse. No future dawned upon him, as he sat and thought. It was all dark-all night! His own course had been madness-its end was ruin. He himself was but the wreck of a man-the broken remains of a goodly temple, whereof the polished shafts and chiselled stones lay scattered and half-buried, like his own youthful hopes and expectations!

Would that this truth could be impressed upon the heart and mind of every youth-What you are doing to-day, you are doing for eternity! A simple act, small and insignificant as you may regard it, may stain for ever the purity of your soul. You may deem it trifling, but its performance may commit you for a lifetime; it may seem to be of no account, but it may rest for ever in the scale of dishonest purposes; foolish, but it may endanger your reputation through a long course of years; hardly sinful, but it may lead to consequences fearful and lasting beyond life-yes, even beyond death itself!

That first proffered glass made Thomas Revere a drunkard, because he yielded to its temptation; that first glass, resisted, made Robert Moreton firm as a temperate man; and, from this time, he was known and respected as one whose appetite was not to be overcome when tempted, nor his principles successfully assailed.

CHAPTER XVI.

MARY'S LETTER.

"TIME, in passing, takes us along with it." Unconsciously, the spring glides into summer, the autumn into winter, until it is only by looking far back that we can realize the rapidity with which life is passing away.

It is not our intention to dwell minutely upon everyday occurrences in the Moreton family. The summer's work and pleasures, the winter's plans and entertainments, are more concisely narrated in the following letter of Mary's to her friend Lucy Leighton, which we lay before our readers :

LAKELAND, January 2, 18-.

DEAR LUCY,-O! that rough leather mail-bag that rides past our house on horseback, once every week! What good things it sometimes brings! When it was slowly moving along last week, I had a presentiment that it held something more precious than our weekly supply of papers and pamphlets; and I was not disappointed. Hardly one of us but received some token of remembrance from absent friends, telling us that we were not forgotten. Yours, dear Lucy, with its promise of good for our Sunday-school library, was not the least welcome. You have accomplished much for us, in getting so choice a supply of books, and they cannot fail to help us in our work. We thank you for your efforts, and we thank all who have aided you.

And our letters! How we listened as we heard parts or the whole first of one, then of another. Every item of news was discussed-every expression of affection treasured. Were this not our home, there might have

been some longings, some wishes. Dear old Laurelton, with its beautiful homes and pleasant friends! No home will efface the remembrance of that from our memoriesno friends ever be dearer than those we left there.

But here we are truly happy-even at the West, and wintering in a log-cabin with whitewashed walls. The barn was finished, and the horses, cows, and crops provided for; but by no possible effort was father able to get the house into a habitable state for the winter. He was disappointed, and says that the only trouble he has had here has been the little dependence to be placed upon the word of others, many of whom like to work only when there is nothing else to do.

The

Even in the log-house, as I said, we are happy. We are well, and a fresh chinking outside made the walls all tight; while the abundance of fire-wood, which would delight poor people at the East, keeps us warm. climate is more mild than that of New England, and only a few days have been too cold to be pleasant. Charles, Willie, and Alice, go to school to Mr. Blagden. Susan accompanies them three afternoons in the week, having been engaged by Mr. Blagden to give instruction in needlework to the girls. This plan pleases all. The mothers like it, for they have many a nice piece of mending or making accomplished without their oversight. The girls like it, as a variation from their school studies; and Susan, far from being weary of the monotony of "stitch, stitch, stitching," seems more and more pleased as she sees the improvement and ambition of her scholars.

Our domestic labours are not great or heavy, yet mother, Susan, and I, find sufficient occupation for every morning. Winne stands ready to aid us whenever wo need her help, and we call upon her often, considering that we live in a small house, and dispense with all but absolute wants. Besides this, I hear Annie recite every

day, and on Saturday of each week I have a singing-school for the Sunday-school children. This was brought about by accident. Annie, in her rambles soon after we came here, followed for some distance the little brook near which Patrick's dwelling stands. Its course was not remarkably interesting at first, for it was straight and sunny; but suddenly it took a turn, and came back into the woodland owned by father, making a bend which left some rods of ground covered with green, soft grass, and shaded by large black walnut-trees. It was a pleasant surprise to Annie. The soft western sunlight spread cheerfully over it, the little stream flowed so quietly on, and the trees were so alive with birds, that she was charmed. On her return, she told us of it with delight, and dwelt so long upon the multitude of birds she saw there, that Willie, always ready with a word, declared it must be "the birds' parlour." The name pleased us; and when we visited it in a company the next day, we voted unanimously that it was well named, and from that time it should be our chosen gathering-place.

Frank and Charles entered immediately upon the work of clearing out the undergrowth and trimming the trees. This done, Charlie, who admires great undertakings, thought some stones judiciously placed where there was a slight fall of water, would make its course more melodious; for it was evident that, in the matter of noise, the birds had the pre-eminence. Stones are not very plenty hereabouts, and the old rocky hills of Laurelton had the honour of a sigh to their memory; but, by dint of perseverance, enough were gathered, and it was a great improvement. Robert made some rough seats for the place; and, when all was finished, mother gave permission for the children to have a rural party there.

It was quite a gathering of the village boys and girls, and a merry time they made of it. An attempt to have some music seemed to please; and one song that I sang