Susan would cry ever so many tears before you could get

them."

"You may give them to her, but remember to ask mamma next time," and she stooped and kissed her little boy, and told him to come down to the dining-room and get his dinner. They were only just seated when their cousins Louis and Jacques came hurrying in, all out of breath, and seeing Pierre and Henri looking so sad, and their eyes red with crying, they said, "What makes you look so doleful?" "What are you crying about?

Poor Susan's mother is dead!" said little Henri, and the tears came in his eyes.

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Who told you so ?" said Louis.

"She got a letter a little while ago," said Pierre.

"I don't believe it is true. That is some of Jules and Nicolas's doings.”

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Why so-what makes you think so?" said his aunt.

"Because yesterday, when we were playing, they said that to-day was the first of April and they were going to fool Susan, and asked us to help them, and we wouldn't.”

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Why should they wish to trouble Susan?".

"Because she would never let Pierre and Henri play on the Boulevards after sundown."

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THE

They were very wrong. Susan did just as I told her." "Go and bring me the letter; I will look at the postmark." Henri ran, and returned all out of breath with the letter and nurse. Madame D'Arce took the letter and saw that the mark was Paris, and upon the top of the first page was April 1st." It is all a hoax," said the mother. "Your mother is neither dead nor sick, Susan. Jacques and Louis came to tell us that Jules and Nicolas were going to fool you, but they came a little too late.”

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Henri danced and jumped; kissed first one then another. These wicked boys ought to be punished, and I think they must be."

"How-when-where ?" said the children al at once. "Never mind now, since we are all happy again. Susan, take the children up stairs and dress them to go and spend the evening with their Aunt Rouville."

At seven o'clock the children went to their aunt's, and found their cousins Jacques and Louis there, and Annie and Marie Rouville. Jules and Nicolas came soon, and other little friends.

After a little they began to play and feel very merry; for their parents had gone into the library and left the little folks alone. When they were in the midst of their glee, laughing and talking, a servant opened a door and said, "Here is a police officer." Every one was silent, and all looked and wondered what had brought a police officer there. The officer took a letter from his pocket, and said, "Which one of you wrote this ?"

"That's the letter that made Susan cry so. said Henri.

I know it,"

"Let us see the letter," said Pierre, and the children all came up to the officer but Jules and Nicolas.

"That is Susan's letter," said Louis.

"Well, who wrote it?

me ?" pointing to Jules.

Can you two boys over there tell "Come here and see if you have

seen it before." They came up slowly; their knees trembled and their teeth chattered.

"Which of you wrote this letter?

"It was Jules," said Nicolas.

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'It was Nicolas," said Jacques.

"Very well, you mean you both wrote it. Do you know what we do with people that write false letters, and sign false names to them? The law says you must go to prison."

"Pardon us, do pardon us; we did not know it."

"I don't think I can; you wait here until I come back." The father and mother, hearing the noise, came in. Jules cried out," Papa, save me-forgive me!" Nicolas begged,

"Do save us !-we will never play tricks again."

"I am afraid your love for fun will make you forget."

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"No, papa, we will not forget; will you tell the policeman we will never forget ?"

"Well, I think I will; but remember, you made poor Susan feel very bad, and it was only right that you should feel bad too.

The children did not play any more. After eating their cakes and drinking some lemonade, they went home. But Jules and Nicolas did not wish to play any more tricks on the First of April.

A BOY'S VICTORY.

DOZEN boys stood on the green, by the school-house, careless and jolly, just from a game of ball. A boy came round the corner of the school-house, with an old cloth cap on his head, and wearing a loosely fitting garment of some very coarse cloth. In his hands were an iron stove shovel and a hod of ashes.

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'Oh, here comes old Dust and Ashes," shouted one of the group, springing forward and giving the coat a twitch.

"Hullo! what's the price of sackcloth ?"

The boy's cheek flushed in an instant. The shovel rang on the gravel walk, and his fingers clutched; but as quickly his cheek paled again, and clenching his teeth, as with a great effort to keep back something, he turned a little and muttered the word "mother!"

"Ho! Ho! shouted the other. "The baby's sick and wants to see his mother."

The boy in the coarse frock turned away and rapidly dis

appeared behind the old barn; then breaking into a run, he fled swiftly down the path to the maple woods; his faithful Hunter bounding and racing through the grass by his side.

Most graciously stood the maples, all russet and crimson, and yellow, bathed in the yellow haze of the still October afternoon. In among their shadows he sprang, his feet rustling the already fallen leaves, and flinging himself in a little hollow, he buried his face in his hands. Poor Hunter stood by, wondering why his young master any more than himself, could possibly think of anything but birds and squirrels at such a time. Then the boy seizing his only play-mate in his arms, cried,

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"O, nobody loves me, nobody loves me in the world, but you, Hunter. Oh, mother, mother, why did you die ?"

And the sobs came fast and thick and the tears flowed like rain. Long did the motherless boy wail and cry, till from very weariness he could weep no longer. Tears brought relief, and the holy quiet of the grand old woods filled him with solemn and heavenly thoughts; thoughts of his angel mother.

Only one year ago she had died, and he remembered his agony and loneliness, and the year of toil, as the ward of a cruel uncle. He remembered his eagerness to go to school, his trying to pay his way, by working about the school-room, and the unfeeling jibes and jeers his humble station and coarse clothing had earned him. Again the angry rebellious thoughts came up as his eye fell on his coarse frock, and the quivering sobs returned; but with them came the words of that mother, and how her poor fingers had toiled to make that frock, the best she could give him. Though coarse its texture, every thread was hallowed by a mother's love. took from his vest pocket the well-worn Bible, her Bible, and read the precious promise to the widow and orphan, again and again. New and strange thoughts came to him, and there in the grand old forest, with the autumn sunset shimmering the golden maple leaves, was a new purpose born in his soul. He had begun to conquer himself. Henceforth

He

there was no hesitation for him. Body and soul he devoted himself to God. Companions might jeer, but Jesus reigned in his heart, and his mother waited for him in heaven.

The years rolled on, and the boy became a man, but the purpose formed in the old maple grove burned in his bosom yet; and now his feet tread the decks of an Indian steamer, bearing him swiftly to the chosen scenes of his toil; for these words are in his heart, "I must be about my Master's business."―The Congregationalist.

MEMOIR.

ELIZABETH FELL. GAIN death has been visiting our Sabbath-School at Star-Hill Rochester; selecting for its victim Elizabeth Fell who had for some time been a scholar there. She was born of parents in humble circumstances and was, in her disposition, rather reserved. She was placed in our school where, without doubt, she received the first impressions for good. Her life was of brief duration; for she was laid down for a period of eleven months with that wasting disease Consumption. During her

affliction she was visited by our school visitor and some of her teachers; the report of the visitor runs thus:

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She bore her affliction with great patience and resignation. During my first visits, she hoped to be soon well again, to go to school and be with her teachers and fellow-scholars. But this was not permitted, and, from time, to time in visiting I witnessed a marked change in her; the desire to get well again died away, and she was able to say in her childish language, If God blesses I am content.' But I should like to be carried out to see the children (refering to the school treat in