straw bonnet; and Harry was in waiting to
cany up the hampers to the station. It was
the day of the Horticultural Show at the
town. Woodruffe had been too unwell to
think of going till this morning; but now
the sight of the preparations, and the prospect
of a warm day, inspired him, and he thought
he would go. At last he went, and they were
gone. Abby never went up to the station:
nobody ever asked her to go there; not even
her own child, who perhaps had not thought
of the possibility of it. But when the train
was starting, she stood at the upper window
with her child, and held him so that he might
lean out, and see the last carriage disappear,
as it swept round the curve. After that the
day seemed long, though Harry came up at
his dinner-hour to say what he thought of the
great gooseberry in particular, and of
everything else that Allan had carried with him.
It was holiday time, and there was no school
to fill up the day. Before the evening, the
child became restless, and Abby fell into low
spirits, as she was apt to do when left long
alone; so that Harry stopped suddenly at the
door when he was rushing in to announce that
the train was within sight.

"Shall I take the child, Miss? " said Harry.
(He always called her " Miss.") " I will carry
him—But, sure, here they come! Here
comes Moss,—ready to roll down the steps!
My opinion is that there's a prize."

Moss was called back by a voice which
everybody obeyed. Allan should himself tell his
sister the fortune of the day, their father said.

There were two prizes, one of which was
for the wonderful plate of gooseberries; and
at this news Harry nodded, and declared
himself anything but surprised. If that
gooseberry had not carried the day, there would
have been partiality in the judges, that was
all; and nobody could suppose such a thing
as tliat. Yet Harry could have told, if put
uiion his honour, that lie was rather
disappointed that everything that Allan carried
had not gained a prize. When he mentioned
one or two, his master told him he was
unreasonable; and he supposed he was.

Allan laid down on the table, for his sister's
full assurance, his sovereign, and his half-
sovereign, and his tickets. She turned away
rather abruptly, and seemed to be looking
whether the kettle was near boiling for tea.
Her father went up to her; and on his first
whispered words, the sob broke forth which
made all look round.

"I was thinking of one, too, my dear, that
I wish was here at this moment. I can feel
for you, my dear."

"But you don't know—you don't know—
you never knew—." She could not go on.

"What don't I know, my dear ?"

"That he constantly blamed himself for
saying anything to bring you here. He said
you had never prospered from the hour you
came, and now—"

And now Woodrufie could not speak, as
the past came fresh upon him. In a few
Moments, however, he rallied, saying,

"But we must consider Allan. He must
not think that his success makes us sad."

Allan declared that it was not about gaining
the prizes that he was chiefly glad. It was
because it was now proved what a fair field he
had before him. There was nothing that
might not be done with such a soil as they had
to deal with now.

Harry was quite of this opinion. There
were more and more people set to work upon
the soil all about them; and the more it was
worked the more it yielded. He never saw a
place of so much promise. And if it had a
bad name in regard to healthiness, he was
sure that was unfair,—or no longer fair. He
and his were full of health and happiness, as
they hoped to see everybody else in time; and,
for his part, if he had all England before him,
or the whole world, to choose a place to live
in, he would choose the very place he was in,
and the very cottage; and the very ground
to work on that had produced such a
gooseberry and such strawberries as he had seen
that day.

THE SINGER.

UNTO the loud acclaim that rose
   To greet her as she came,
She bent with lowly grace that seemed
   Such tribute to disclaim;
With arms meek folded on her breast
   And drooping head, she stood;
Then raised a glance that seemed to plead
   For youth and womanhood;
   A soft, beseeching smile, a look,
   As if all silently
The kindness to her heart she took,
   And put the homage by.

She stood dejected then, methought,
   A Captive, though a Queen,
Before the throng, when sudden passed
   A change across her mien.
Unto her full, dilating eye,
   Unto her slender hand,
There came a light of sovereignty,
   A gesture of command:
And, to her lip, an eager flow
   Of song, that seemed to bear
Her soul away on rushing wings
   Unto its native air;
Her eye was fixed; her cheek flushed bright
   With power; she seemed to call
On spirits that around her flocked,
   The radiant Queen of all;
There was no pride upon her brow,
   No tumult in her breast;
Her soaring soul had won its home,
   And smiled there as at rest;
She felt no more those countless eyes
   Upon her; she had gained
A region where they troubled not
   The joy she had attained!
Now, now, she spoke her native speech,
   An utterance fraught with spells
To wake the echoes of the heart
   Within their slumber-cells;