speak; just then, a doctor who had been sent for, made his appearance. He gave my husband a few drops of cordial he brought with him, and for a time he revived, and was able to speak, though in a faint, very faint voice.

No sooner did he thus revive, than I saw that he turned his eyes repeatedly from side to side. At length, I said; “Tell me, dear love, why you are so anxious? Whom do you look for?" "I dread," he mildly said, "to see them bring back that poor fellow. I dare say I insulted him by my haughty and overbearing conduct in past days, though I cannot now recall any particular offence I gave him ;-but Jane," he continued, with earnestness, " promise to me, as to a dying man, that should he be taken, you will leave no means untried, even to pleading with the king in person, to save his life." I readily assured and promised him. "Think upon it, my Jane," he said, "promise to yourself, most solemnly promise to your God, that you will not be overruled by the false reasoning of any one. Let not another stain of blood be fixed upon my memory when I am gone? Nay," he said, observing my mournful look at the words "another stain of blood," "I will not say so; I will believe, I do believe, that there is no stain of blood upon me now, for the blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin, and whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life. I have been long seeking Him to save me from my sins, and from the curse

upon them, and now I am seeking Him. Now He does not leave me comfortless; indeed he does not." He clasped my hand most fervently, for a moment, and then his feeble fingers relaxed their grasp again. He turned upon me one long, long look of tender love, then gently closed his eyes, and remained for a considerable space of time in the same quiet position, his lips moving, and now and then a few faint words were audible. 66 Lord, thou hast mercy for the chief of sinners. For His sakethrough His merits, be merciful to me.". In another minute I was a widow-my children orphans—his mother childless; no, no, she is our mother too—she is not childless.

OLD TIMES.

BY MISS A. FARRER.

Do you remember, Mary,

Our childhood's happy years;
The buoyant laugh that chased away
Our few and fleeting tears?
It was a life of joy unmarked
By sorrow or distress,

The time that I regret

Was a time of happiness.

Do you remember still, the love

I felt, yet feared to tell :

Till the words, "I love thee," from thy lips

In trembling accents fell;

Our bright plans for the future,

The happy dreams we wove,

The time that I regret,

Was a time of hope and love.