to go through the world without it. Alan, through sickness, had fallen in arrear with his rent, and Ronald Benson's ill-natured bailiff, who had his eye on Alice Lee, was determined, if possible, to take away his goods, to prevent his being married. Ronald Benson knew this; but did he hinder it? Not he! What did he care for Alan or Alice, so that he secured his rent? His soul was set on selfishness.

Summer came, with its sunshine, flowers, and fruit, as if to teach man, by its abundant gifts, the virtue of generosity; but Ronald remained uninfluenced by one generous emotion. Winter came, with its pinching frost and snow, as if to move man, by a sense of his own wants, to minister to the comforts of the distressed, but not a sixpence did it wring from Ronald's purse. Winter and summer found him ever the same-eating, drinking, and making merry by day, and reposing on his downy couch by night-in his goodly mansion at Ravenshaw. Ronald! Ronald! where was thy love of man? And "whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?" 1 John iii. 17.

It was eventide, the gloom of night was beginning to prevail, and Ronald Benson was standing alone in a vault in his mansion of Ravenshaw. Before him stood an iron coffer, filled with gold, and strongly banded round with bars of iron. So long had it been since the coffer had been opened, that both lock and key were rusty. The storm was abroad, the loud thunder went to Ronald's heart, and the fierce lightning flash had driven

him to the vault for fancied security. Suddenly appeared, standing on the uppermost step of the flight which descended to the vault, the figure of Dugald Guy, who had forced his way to the spot, and who then stood, with a menacing mien, stretching out his hand towards Ronald Benson. Dugald Guy was a wandering mendicant, half beggar and half gipsy, much privileged, and possessing great influence, on account of the freedom and wildness of his speech, and the boldness of his denunciations. 66 Ronald," said he, "the tempest is seeking thee; the lightning is commissioned to smite, and the thunderbolt is commanded to destroy. The orphan has cried out, and the widow has lifted up her voice against thee. Hark! the whirlwind is at the door!"

The fearful blast that swept round the mansion at Ravenshaw seemed to demand an entrance, and Ronald trembled, while Dugald Guy proceeded thus :

"Here thou art with thine iron coffer, locked and barred, that it may not be minished, but what will it avail thee? Like Belshazzar, thou hast been weighed in the balances, and found wanting. Wilt thou now give of thy store to Andrew Roberts? or to the Widow Woodward? Quick! or thou wilt be too late, for the lightnings are searching for thee."

A fearful flash blazed through the vault; Ronald's knees were loosened, and they smote against each other. As eager to give, as he had before been to withhold, he thrust the key into the lock of the iron coffer, but he had not strength to turn it round. Again the voice of Dugald Guy rang through the vault :—

"To-morrow will thy bailiff seize on the goods of Alan Drew, and Alice Lee will be desolate; but as thine

will be the crime, so thine will be the punishment. Ronald the Rich will be a byword among the poor. Wilt thou not, even yet, give of thy gold? The thunderbolt is above thee, it may soon descend on thy head."

Never before did Ravenshaw reverberate a thunderclap so loud as the one which then burst over the building. In an agony, while the clammy perspiration burst from his pallid brow, Ronald wrenched round the key, but in vain, for the coffer was still closed by the bars of iron that passed round it. Harsh was the grating sound of the key as it turned in the rusty lock-but, harsher still, and far more fearful, was the sound of the voice of Dugald Guy, crying aloud :—" A moment lost, and the season of retribution will have arrived-Hark!" A dreadful crash was heard, and Ronald knew that a part of the mansion of Ravenshaw had fallen. In the madness of his despair, he caught up a massive iron crowbar, which had been left in the place by some workmen, and lifting it up with both hands above his head, smote with desperate energy upon the coffer-lid, to break it to pieces. The discordant clangour rang through his brain, and he-awoke.

Yes! it was a reality that he was in his own bed, in his own chamber. The vault, the iron coffer, the storm, and Dugald Guy, were gone ;-the past, though fearful, had been only a dream; but it had "ministered to a mind diseased," and melted a heart hardened by selfishness. It had done more than the work of years. Ronald Benson became another man; Andrew Roberts soon built himself a new cottage; Widow Woodward found a friend, who had the will and the means to

increase her comforts; and, in a month, Alice Lee was the bride of Alan Drew. Ronald the Rich, became Ronald the Generous, and lovely Ravenshaw became the abode of peace, contentment, and joy.

we may learn a

"Surely," continued Mr. Godfrey, lesson of instruction from the Iron Coffer. To pay attention to every idle dream would be a weakness, but the mind may sometimes gain useful hints by thoughts in "the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on men." I fear that in real life it is not often that changes such as described in this tale are produced by mere alarm; yet, if there be a change of a wealthy churl into a liberal man, however it may be produced, many are benefited. We have not the wealth of Ronald of Ravenshaw, but we are all rich in qualities and endowments that may add to the happiness of others. Are we, then, generously using them, or selfishly abusing them? The fearful dream of Ronald may not be ours; we may neither be scared by a storm, nor affrighted by the denunciations of a Dugald Guy; but, if selfishness lock up our hearts, and we neglect to love and serve one another, a time will come when our joints will be loosened with fear, and when our souls will sink within us through consternation. If we are humble enough and wise enough to profit by what we have heard, we shall not have read altogether in vain the tale of Ronald the Rich; or, the Iron Coffer.

Well speeds, amid this selfish world,

That heart, where'er it goes,

Which warmly beats for others' joys,

And bleeds for others' woes.

THE SUMMER SEAT.

WHERE rolls the silent river,

And where lies the fertile mead; Where leaves so softly quiver,

And where lambs so gently feed; Where the grass grows green beneath my feet, All deck'd with the summer flowerOh! there shall be my summer seat, And there my summer bower!

There finny tribes are leaping
In the sunny waters free,

And ivy boughs are creeping

O'er the trunk of the hollow tree;

And I can see the sun go down

Where the clouds are flaring red,

And the heavens are bright, without a frown, Far, far above my

head.

Where rolls the silent river,

And where lies the fertile mead;

Where leaves so softly quiver,

And where lambs so gently feed;

Where the grass grows green beneath my feet,

All deck'd with the summer flower

Oh! there shall be my summer seat,
And there my summer bower!