cart as it drove from the door till it was out of sight. She then entered her solitary cottage, and, sitting down in her accustomed seat, gave free vent to her tears. Her busy fancy represented to her her aged husband, sick and in prison, in the midst of winter, wanting all those little comforts which her kindness and attention had for so many years administered to him: the idea was terrible, and she continued to weep for her old man, and wish she could be allowed to endure all these privations for him. A hope for a moment stole across her mind, that when his infirm and tottering state was seen, pity would restore him to her. This hope, however, was but momentary; his hard-hearted creditor, like Gallio, whom St. Paul speaks of, "cared for none of these things." At last it occurred to her that her only chance of rescuing her husband from his perilous situation would be to state the case herself to the minister of the parish, who constantly resided upon his living, and was ready to assist his poor neighbours in temporal as well as spiritual concerns. Hastily drying up her tears, she set out upon her walk, and soon reached the parsonage. To her great joy she found the clergyman at home; to him, therefore, she told her plain and artless tale; and when she spoke of her old man, as she called him, it was with all the affection and warm feelings of youth.-It was impossible to be unmoved by her affecting story; and though the evening was fast closing in, she had so strongly interested the clergyman in her favour, that he set out immediately for the neighbouring town, where the aged prisoner was to rest for the night. The minister stated the case to the parties concerned, and pleaded earnestly for the poor cottager thus hurried away, in the midst of winter, for a debt not his own: however, finding all he said of no avail, he came to the resolution of discharging the debt. When he conimunicated his intention to the poor old man, he thanked him most respectfully, but entreated with

great firmness to suffer him to go to gaol. The debt, he said, had never been contracted by his consent, and he was not dismayed at the thoughts of a few weeks' imprisonment, which it was better he should suffer than his hard-hearted creditor receive money which, he must know, he was not justly entitled to from him but when the clergyman represented the misery his aged wife would endure, by a separation which would remove him far from her to a prison, in the depth of winter, the tender recollection of her sorrow melted him into tears, and he thankfully accepted the proffered kindness. The debt was accordingly paid, but the evening was too far advanced to allow of the old man's return to his cottage till the next morning. In the mean time the poor woman returned home, comforted by the hope that the kind exertions of the minister would secure the release of her husband. The wintry sun cast its departing beams as she reached her cottage. All there was silent and solitary; she could not refrain from tears on seeing the old beehive chair, which her husband used to repose himself in after the fatigues of the day, now empty. Upon a little shelf, just over the chair, was his Bible, and the chapter that they had read together the evening before, was pointed out by his spectacles being laid in the book, to mark the place where he had left off. The little garden, also, as she went to close and lock the door for the evening, brought back all her sorrows; there lay his spade near a patch of potatoes, which he had in the morning been using his feeble endeavours to dig up for their winter use. The old woman wept bitterly at returning to the house, and the evening was in unison. with her feelings. The wind blew hollow, and her little casement window shook with the approaching storm. She sat shivering over the dying embers of her small fire, till its almost total extinction roused her from her melancholy train of thought, and she retired to her solitary bed, but not without a fervent

prayer to the Father of Mercies, that He would protect and restore to her her aged and beloved husband. The next morning she locked up her cottage, and, with a beating heart, set off for the parsonage, to learn what success the minister had had. Just as she had reached the house, almost breathless with expectation, she was told that her husband was released, and was now slowly ascending the hill. All her sorrows were in a moment forgotten; she ran to the spot, and beheld her dear old man climbing with difficulty the steep ascent, In a moment she was by his side. Who could behold the joy of this aged pair without emotion! They soon reached the parsonage, and there again renewed their pious and artless gratitude to their benefactor, for having, by his bounty, restored them to each other; and they departed, praying that every blessing might light upon him. This worthy pair still live in their peaceful cottage, a pattern of kindness and affectionate attention to each other; their daily petition to the Father of Mercies is, that their earthly pilgrimage might terminate at the same moment, so that, "even in death, they may not be divided."

THE VILLAGE FIRE,

OR

THE IDIOT BOY;

A TALE FROM REAL LIFE.

IN that village, the simple annals of a few of whose inhabitants have already been recorded, dwelt a cheerful old man and his wife; their little neat cottage stood upon the brow of a hill, which looked over a large extent of rich and fertile fields; above appeared the village spire, with the pastor's house and sloping garden before it. The old cottager was the son of respectable parents, who, after being visited by a long train of misfortunes, which wasted all their worldly substance, at length died, leaving their only child to struggle with sorrow and poverty. He was consigned to the workhouse, and was fortunate enough to fall into humane hands: his orphan state was commiserated: he was treated with kindness, and taught to read; and the clergyman of the parish often noticed him, and rewarded him for his attentive and quiet behaviour at church. As he grew towards manhood, he engaged himself in the service of a neighbouring farmer; and by his fidelity, sobriety, and steady upright conduct, gained the respect and confidence of his employer. After some years spent in the service of this master, finding himself possessed, in consequence of honest industry, of a few pounds, he thought, with this slender provision, and by the aid of his own industrious habits, he could maintain a wife. He had long liked a young

woman, who lived as servant at a neighbouring farm house. When first he became acquainted with her, they were both extremely young, and each engaged in respectable service, and were prudent enough to defer their marriage till they had some little means to begin with, and provide for the wants of a rising family. It would be well if their prudent example were more generally-followed; but that honest pride which used to keep the poor cottager in former days from seeking parish relief, and made him struggle with many and great privations, rather than have recourse to it; that virtuous, independent feeling, by the pressure of the times, and other circumstances, is now rapidly passing away, and many a gay and smiling group are now going to the pay-board, who, frequently, when their claims are looked into, have only to allege, that their neighbour receives parish relief, and therefore why should not they apply, and take their chance of getting money from the same source? One striking and fatal effect of this reasoning is, the frequent marriages of very young people, who think not of the future wants of a family; and if they do look forward, it is only to contemplate, what relief the birth of each child will entitle them to receive from the parish. Nothing has engaged the attention of the enlightened public more than the state of the Poor Laws; the evils resulting from them in their present form are of no small magnitude, and hitherto have baffled all the attempts of the legislature to reform. In some instances, no doubt, much good would result from the farmers giving higher wages labour, nor would they in the end be losers by this means, as the poor rates would be considerably lessened by such a measure, and the temptation to seek for parish relief almost done away. This, and putting down all unnecessary public houses, which prove too frequently the bane and ruin of many an innocent family; and, when practicable, letting the labourer have a small portion of land, I cannot help

for