having a concert at school should make you fancy it had been a bright sunny day."

"Why, mother," replied he, in pitying tones, "I told you your sun did not shine to me as it did to you. There is one thing, and one alone, that I can really feel and see and hear. Oh, mother! if you were blind, you would know then why music is light and joy to us. day that the sun was dows, and we sang so been there to hear us. tion from Spohr's Last Judgment-such music, mother! I never felt so near to God as I did today. I could well understand how the poet felt who wrote those beautiful lines

"Thy glorious face

Indeed, it seemed to me toshining brightly in the winwell; how I wish you had The first part was a selec

Is leaning towards me; and its holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place,
And there is no more night.

My being fills with rapture; waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit; strains sublime

Break over me unsought !'

"And, mother, they do when I am listening to music. I seem to get so near to heaven. I can realize all the goodness of God to me then. I always want to pray afterwards, to thank Him for giving me a voice to sing; and if I dare I would

go round and thank every one in the room for helping to keep up such an Institution for us, but that I dare not do; so I talk to God instead; and I feel he hears me, and blesses them for me."

CHAPER II.

"The blind boy's been at play, mother,
And merry games we had;
We led him on our way, mother,

And every step was glad."-E. Cook.

OUBTLESS my young readers will like to know who Paul Fenton was, therefore it will be necessary to go back a few years in our story. He was the son of a gardener. An accident depriving him of sight at the early age of two years, he was almost as unconscious of the appearance and colour of surrounding objects as though he had been blind from his birth.

His tastes and desires were all of a far higher order than was to be looked for in one born so humbly. His father, who was in the employ of the Earl of Glenquin, resided in a small cottage on his employer's estate. It was a pretty cottage, only divided from the noble mansion of the Earl by a clear running brook and narrow lane. Here Paul was born, reared, and nurtured with the tenderest care.

The family of the Earl of Glenquin consisted of himself, the Countess, and one only daughter, the little Lady Adela.

Pitying the forlorn condition of the little Paul, the Countess had allowed him to be brought to the hall every day, there to share with her own child all the advantages of masters and governesses, and thus it happened Paul Fenton received an education so far above his birth.

Apt at learning, quick at comprehending, gentle, patient, and docile, singularly graceful in manners; no wonder he was a favourite with all, especially with Adela, who never wearied of describing everything beautiful to the blind boy.

Not only was Paul allowed to share with the youthful Lady Adela in all the advantages of education at the hands of first-class teachers, but he dined with her along with her governesses, and only in the evening was he allowed to go home, mostly accompanied by some one from the hall.

Thus the early years of Paul Fenton's life passed happily and quickly, but peacefully, as passed every day to him-he looked forward to Sunday as the day of all days. Then, led by his father to the small but elegant little church, standing in the

rear of the hall, and completely hidden from view by the branches of the elm and oak trees and the dense shrubbery by which it was surrounded. Into this church the ancestors of the present Earl had for centuries been brought to rest when their earthly toil was ended. Gently pushing aside the rich foliage which clustered near the porch, Paul would leave hold of his father's hand, and groping his way round to the organ loft, take his seat by the side of Mademoiselle de Conde, who not only played well, but played with both refinement and feeling.

Here, when the fine tones of the organ pealed forth in solemn strains, the eyes of the blind boy, blue as an Italian sky, would flash and sparkle with rapture, the little fingers would twitch nervously, while gleams of rapture would light up the face with a fire of more than earthly beauty.

Possessed of a voice of touching sweetness, he would join in every hymn, with sightless orbs upturned, hands clasped, until the face rapt as with inspiration seemed to approach, with the soft tender notes, lark-like, nearer and nearer to heaven.

No vulgar thoughts distracted his attention. Other boys of his age might be trifling, some