always wait for the others, and be sure you are right, it would save you some trouble."

It would have been well for Alice if she had remembered her mother's words. But she heard similar advice so often that I am afraid she took very little notice of it. To-day, however, she was to receive rather a painful lesson in patience, which might have been avoided if she had listened to her mother. It happened in this way:

They had nearly reached the rocks of which Charlie had spoken, when a bramble caught Edith's dress.

66 Oh, papa, I cannot get away! Please help me, or I fear I shall either scratch my hands or tear my dress!" she cried.

Of course, her father went to her assistance immediately. "Wait a moment, Alice," he said; but I am sorry to say that his words were quite disregarded.

The bramble proved rather obstinate, and it was with great difficulty that Edith's dress was disentangled. Alice grew impatient before it was done, and walked on. Lifting her eyes she saw something that looked like a rock, a little distance away.

"That is the place we are going to," she thought, and immediately started to run towards it.

Her father did not notice her because he was busy helping Edith; and Alice did not know the danger there was. But she had not gone far before she came to a pit. She must have been looking in another direction at the moment, for she did not see it. You can guess the rest.

She suddenly found herself falling, and uttered a loud scream, and the next moment she was lying bruised and torn at the bottom of the pit, entirely through her own impatience.

Her father ran to the spot directly.

"Oh, Alice, did I not tell you to wait for me! Are you hurt?" he said.

She was so much hurt that she could not stand. So she had to be carried back, in great pain, to the station, and they were obliged to return directly.

So the holiday, which began so happily, was quite spoiled, because Alice had not more patience, and was so disobedient.

But her fault was severely punished, for she had to lie in bed for more than a week; and it seemed to her that she would never forget the lesson she had received on Whit-Monday.

(To be continued.)

NOTICE TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The Editor of the CHRISTIAN WORLD MAGAZINE begs respectfully to intimate to voluntary contributors that she will not hold herself responsible for MSS. sent on approval. Unaccepted MSS. of any great length will be returned, pro vided the name and address of the owner is written on the first or last page, and provided also that the necessary stamps are enclosed for transmission through the post. Authors are recommended to keep copies of verses, short essays, and minor articles generally, since they cannot, under any circumstances, be returned. Miscellaneous contributions are not requested.

THE

CHRISTIAN WORLD MAGAZINE.

JULY, 1873.

ANDREW MARVEL AND HIS FRIENDS.

A STORY OF THE SIEGE OF HULL.

BY MARIE HALL, née SIBREE.

Author of "Sermons from the Studio," "The Sculptor of Bruges," &c.

CHAPTER II.-ALICE'S DIARY.

1640.-April 4.-I saw father looking earnestly at me this morning; and when he saw that I observed him he half smiled, and then sighed.

"I suppose it is true?" he said.

"What is true?" asked I, wondering what he could mean. "Why, that my little Alice is almost a woman. Come here, sweetheart." I went and knelt beside him. "How shall I stop you getting any older?"

"Too late, father, now," I said, laughing; yet I felt the tears coming, he looked at me so wistfully and tenderly.

"Why can't you always be a child, Alice, and sit on my knee? It seems only yesterday since I carried you in my arms; and now you are a maiden of eighteen. Some one will be stealing you from me, and I shall be left a lonely old man.'

"No, indeed!" I cried. "I shall always be your child, father; and I am not too old now to sit on your knee-when we are by ourselves. I wish I was a little child still, sometimes; but I can't put myself back again, can I? And, after all, what does it matter, father? I do not love you less, but more; and now I can be better company for you."

"Yes, yes," he said, sighing again. "I am getting selfish, I think; it is so hard to keep from idols!" Father said no more, except to tell me to get some new gowns, for other folks did not forget my age; and then, kissing me fondly, with another wistful glance, he went away.

I have been looking into my mirror, and truly I am changed of late. I understand my father's scrt of surprise; the past month has been a very eventful one; it has brought me my first real sorrow, and I have felt for the first time the chill shadow of death. I cannot be the same as before. I see the childlook is gone from my face; I feel the childhood is gone from my heart—not the child-nature, that I pray ever to keep; but my merry, heedless days are gone, and will never return. I hardly know whether I am sorry or glad; I think I am content to bid farewell to this part of my life, to dreams and idle fancies, and am content to welcome sober thoughts and the realities of life. The night after my father came home I could not sleep; for the wind discoursed so loudly and lamentably that it was useless to close my eyes. I was glad to see the day begin to break; but when it came the storm increased in its fury, and my thoughts went after the poor mariners who would be at its mercy. A pagan might have thought and written the last sentence-one who believed in a Being who lets out the great and the little winds, just as it pleases His fancy or His spite-such a Deity as I have read about in an old book I found in the library. Instead of this I read in my own beautiful Bible that "He bringeth the wind out of His treasures ;" and, again, "He causeth the wind to blow and the waters flow." This should take away our fears.

My father was still asleep when I opened the library door; so I put on my cloak and hood, and walked down the street to Uncle John's, though I had some ado to get there, not being a heavy body. I heard some sailors saying that the river would not be safe to cross that day, and that it would be wild out at sea. Uncle was

not any worse, but neither was he any better, and even Will had not a cheering word to say. I met Master Hildyard in the hall when I got home again; he had been, I think, to the stable to look at his horse. He bade me good morning, and seemed surprised to see me hooded, and I daresay looking blowed with the breezes.

"You have been out betimes, Mistress Alice," quoth he. "You know how to get roses, though they must have been rather roughly presented this morning. Do you always rise with the sun?"

"Not always," replied I; "but I thought my father would like to know how Sir John was, as soon as he awoke." He said something about my being dutiful: 'tis a strange thing to be commended for; but, maybe, that virtue is a little out of fashion

amongst the great London folk. Just then my father opened his door; and, hearing where I had been, straightway scolded me for venturing out alone. Dear father, he forgets that Hull is not like the City. As I went upstairs, I heard him tell Master Hildyard to consider himself at home, and to stand on no ceremony; and I wondered, and do wonder still, how long he is going to stay with us.

Company was coming and going all day; some to say kind words of welcome; some to know if my father had brought them letters and packages from London or York; others, just to hear the news -these curious people did not get much satisfaction, for their questions were unheeded, or carefully put off.

In the afternoon two ladies were sitting with us, when Simon burst into the room, quite out of breath, with such a face of horror that we all started up in alarm.

"Oh master!" he gasped, "the good minister is drowned." The ladies cried out; but my father was incredulous.

"Drowned! who, Simon? Not Mr. Marvel?"

"Yes; sure, sir, 'tis he. There is a great crowd down at the river, and I heard one man say that he saw his reverence sink." "But what could the minister be doing on the river such a day as this? It was madness to think of launching a boat. You must be mistaken, Simon. Do not tremble so, Alice; depend upon it, the good man is safe enough." My father snatched up his hat and went off, Simon following him. I think they both trembled as much as I did. We opened the front door, and saw people hurrying past on their way to the Humber; but no one seemed to know exactly what was the matter, and my heart grew sick with the fear that evil had indeed befallen our dear friend. After a time the crowd slowly returned; some of the folks talking very fast, and others weeping, so that I did not dare to ask any questions. The ladies went away and did not return. Then I saw my father and Master Ralph coming home in company with Master Crowle. When they had parted my father drew me aside, and tried to tell me, but his voice failed and I needed no words. I laid my head on his breast, not, as the day before, to weep for joy, but with a grief for one we should see no more.

At last my father spoke. "Nothing could save him; the tide was running out, and I never saw the river so rough. George Crowle said he tried to persuade Mr. Marvel not to go, but it was useless. The young lady who came over to be god-mother to his infant insisted on returning to Barton, because she had promised to do so, and her mother would be anxious. Mr. Marvel felt bound to go with her, since she had come at his request; so both have been drowned for her rashness. Master Scale says they could

hardly induce the watermen to go; and they have all gone down but one."

"Does Mistress Marvel know?" I asked.

"Crowle said he would ask his wife to go and break the matter gently to the poor soul. Mr. Marvel's last thought was about his son Andrew. He said he expected danger, and threw his cane to Crowle, saying he was to give it to his son, and bid him remember his father. One of the bargemen on the quay declares that, as he jumped into the boat, he cried, Ho! for heaven!' and surely he had landed there safely."

While we talked Master Crowle came in. He said his wife was with Mistress Marvel, who requested that Andrew might be sent for at once. And then it appeared that he wanted my father to go and fetch him. My fears of losing him again so soon were quickly allayed, when he said

"I would do anything for our poor friends, and I would go directly notwithstanding my long absence, but my brother is not likely to recover and I cannot leave him now."

"I forgot, Sir John," replied Master Crowle. "Your duty is certainly here, and we must find another messenger. I am sorry neither Scale nor I can leave just at this time." He was going away when Ralph, who had been standing, looking out of the window, came forward and said

66

Stop! Master Crowle. I am a poor substitute for the Colonel; but if you do not find another courier, I will ride to Cambridge, right willingly. I am only an idler here."

"I do not think I need go further, Master Hildyard," replied Crowle. "I will accept your services with many thanks. When will you go? The wind is going down; it will be calm to-morrow morning, I dare venture to affirm."

"I will be away in half an hour, and shall not wait for the caprices of wind and waves. The road by Selby, if longer, is at least safer than yonder boisterous river. I will be out of the gates before Trinity Church strikes five, and so accomplish one stage before night fall."

This proposal relieved us all, and while the young cavalier prepared for his journey my father wrote a few lines to poor Master Andrew. Simon soon had two fleet horses saddled, and the mails being strapped on, he and our guest rode out of the courtyard, Master Ralph turning back to kiss his hand to me. It was very kind of him to go, and so I told him, at which he smiled and said he would do much more than that for my good opinion, and that he was more than repaid by my smile of approval. This was a piece of flattery, and I am foolish to record it; his own conscience will approve him enough for doing a kind action.