A PASTORAL OF ENGLISH LIFE.

LITTLE PETER.

OR a moment Lizzie stood and listened at the church door. She could hear the sound of music within, but surely that could not be Miss Ashton playing! Those timid, uncertain notes, could never be hers! Urged by curiosity, she gently pushed open the heavy oak door, and went inside the sacred building, which had been so familiar to her from her childhood that it seemed in a special sense to belong to her. It was a quaint, venerable place, was Stoke Melford Church, hallowed by all the religious associations, the tenderest memories in life and death, of the simple forefathers of the hamlet. That massive font, which dated back from Saxon times, had received them as infants, proudly brought by loving parents; many a wedding group had stood by the carved reredos of later days, with the sunlight dimly streaming in upon them through medieval stained-glass windows of various shapes and sizes; and Sunday after Sunday, one generation and then another had come in through the Norman doorway, or been carried out thence to their last home in the peaceful churchyard outside.

Much of this might be said of many of our country churches, but that which was specially noticeable at Stoke Melford was, that all these memorials of past days, these ever-growing records of history, had been left undisturbed. No modern architect, with a crude passion for uniformity, had been suffered to sweep away all that, to his eyes, looked inappropriate. The worn brasses of the chancel floor had been suffered to remain in their setting of rough stone, mellowed by time and use; the quaintly carved benches which Dame Prudentia Gilif, good, pious soul! had caused to be made for the use of poor scholars, still served their primitive purpose; even the sturdy little cherubs on her monument above were unharmed.

But I must pause here, as my reminiscences would never end, for this was fifty years ago, too, and who knows how all may be changed, alas! since then? It was in such a spot as this that Lizzy Ridley stood but she was not thinking of the past, whose memorials surrounded her; it was in the present that she had such a warm and vivid interest, as her eyes rested upon the upturned face of her little brother. He it was who was playing, or rather trying to feel out, by ear, the notes of a hymn which the lady by his side was teaching him. Surely no artist, seeking a model for a cherub, could have found a more angelic face than that of little Peter at that moment! His wavy brown curls, in which his sister took so much pride, fell back from his broad fair forehead, and the splendid dark eyes were raised with an ecstatic expression, while a happy smile played round his lips. You might have thought those sightless orbs were beholding some heavenly vision, and Lizzie almost held her breath as she watched him, for never before had she seen him look like that. At another moment it might have roused her jealousy to find that the key to such happiness for him was in the hands of another than herself, but in her present mood she could only feel gladness not unmixed with awe.

Now sing it to me, Peter,' said the lady; 'I know you can re

member the words, for I heard your voice last Sunday when we had this hymn.'

Without question or demur the child obeyed at once, and his pure sweet notes sounded clearly through the church. Lizzie in her eagerness had come nearer, and she made some sound which roused Miss Ashton's notice, for at this moment she looked round. It was a pale, uninteresting face, marked by sickness, which Lizzie saw, and framed in a great brown bonnet, which she would certainly not have deigned to wear; for if the girl had one special weakness, it was a love for bright colours, at least on high days and holidays, when she could afford to gratify it.

Unattractive in feature and simple in her dress as she was, no one could help seeing that Miss Ashton was a lady. And, indeed, she was rather a great lady in Stoke Melford, for her father was not only the Rector of the parish but also a Canon of Mere Cathedral, and connected with I cannot tell how many county magnates. Her position might have been that of a Lady Bountiful, a leader of fashion, the object of devout admiration to all the village maidens; but that she was devoid of ambition, and, poor girl, had such delicate health that she was only able to come to Stoke Melford for a few months in the summer, and spent the rest of the year in the Close at Mere, within near reach of her doctor. At the sound of footsteps she had turned to look round, and Peter, conscious of some interruption, stayed his singing. Mary Ashton was short-sighted, and did not at first recognise the intruder; but when she remembered the face of her little friend's sister she said shyly, almost timidly,

'I hope you did not miss Peter, or feel anxious about him? The child is so fond of music that it is quite a pleasure to teach him.' 'Oh, no!' exclaimed Lizzie, scarcely knowing what she said. 'It is very kind of you, Miss.'

'It can scarcely be called kindness,' said Miss Ashton, quietly, 'for there may be a mixture of vanity in it. Unless I am greatly mistaken,' she continued, in a lower tone, he is a pupil who will do credit to any teacher.'

'Oh, Miss Ashton!' whispered the girl, eagerly; do you think he will ever be able to play like

,you?'

Far better, I trust, indeed,' replied Mary, with a smile; and on a nobler instrument than this,' she added, pointing with a gesture of something very like disdain to the old seraphine, I think it was called, which held the place which would be now filled by a harmonium, possibly.

Lizzie was silent, for she was overwhelmed with a wild vision of little Peter sitting there in church on a Sunday leading the choir. She was roused from this stupendous flight of imagination by Miss Ashton's voice.

I wish your brother could hear the organ in Mere Cathedral; and how I should like our old organist to give him some lessons! I am sure Mr. Blake would take an interest in him. Do you never come to Mere?' she asked.

'No; I never have time,' said Lizzie, waking up again to the remembrance of her own wrongs and hardships; but Amos, he do go, once in a way.'

"That's your eldest brother, the blacksmith; is it not? When is he likely to go next?'

In the pause which followed her question, Mary Ashton happened to look at her watch. 'How late it is!' she exclaimed; 'I had no idea the time had gone so quickly. I am afraid I must go home now, for I have promised to write some letters for my father; but if you will walk a little way with me, I want to talk about Peter.' Lizzie gladly assented, and a few minutes later they were passing

out through the churchyard. Meantime, she had been thinking when Amos would be likely to have any business which might take him to Mere, when she suddenly remembered that the great yearly sheep-fair would be held there in about a fortnight.

Maybe Amos will be going to Mere soon,' she said; for I did hear Farmer Yeatman a-saying to him that he must take him in to the fair, to have a look at some of they new machines he'd heard tell of.'

Miss Ashton looked up full of interest. Oh! I am so glad Farmer Yeatman has some thoughts of trying one, for I know my father is very full of the subject, and has spoken about it to all the farmers he meets. He would greatly like to have one tried in this parish, for he says it will save the poor men so much heavy labour in thrashing.'

'But the men, they don't like them,' quietly observed little Peter, who had been listening intently to every word.

And why not?' asked Miss Ashton. I suppose it is only the old story of ignorant prejudice against every kind of improvement.' 'What can thee know about it, lad?' said Lizzie, in surprise.

'I hear no end of things,' replied the child, for folk never take note of me. 'Twas last Saturday, the men was all standing agen the forge, waiting for old Thorn to pay their wages. They was talking about they machines, and Luke Barnett, he said as how 'twas a sin and a shame for masters to use such things and rob the poor man of his bit o' bread.'

But, Peter dear,' cried Mary Ashton, eagerly, 'don't you see that it is all a mistake, and a false view of the matter altogether to say such things? If the work can be done quicker and better in this new way, it must be good for the poor man and everybody, for it will make bread cheaper.'

6

Luke was saying that Farmer Briggs-he as lives at Chitwell parish--he'd a-got one o' they new 'chines, and now he'd gone and turned off three labourers as had worked, man and boy, this twenty year, for he and his father before him.'

This was a long speech for the boy to make, and it showed that Luke Barnett's eloquence had made so much impression upon him that he was not to be convinced at once, even by Miss Ashton's arguments. How I wish my father could get hold of this man and explain the subject to him properly!' exclaimed the girl, impatiently. Not a doubt crossed her mind that this wrong-headed individual would not meekly give up his mistaken opinions as soon as their fallacy was pointed out to him. But little Peter had his own thoughts on the subject; he knew that Luke Barnett never went to church, even when the Rector was at Stoke Melford, so that he could not be very anxious to be instructed by him.

(To be continued.)

MABEL'S

YOUR eyes, my little Mabel,
Are filled with purest glee;
What is there on the pages

You touch so reverently?
Pictures! Ah yes, and stories?
The child is rich indeed!
'I only like the pictures,

I don't know how to read.'

I thought 'tis so with Nature,
O'er earth, and sea, and sky,
Open, that all may view them,
Her precious pages lie;

'O pusillanimous heart, be comforted,
And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road,
Singing behind the hedge.'-E. B. BROWNING.

DAILY governess sat at a very small fire, in a very small room, with a look on her face that you only see on the faces of those who have a slight difficulty in making both ends meet; not exactly an embarrassed look, nor an anxious look, nor a puzzled look; but a modified combination of all three. There she sat, very still, thinking, thinking: no regrets of the past, no anxieties for the future, harassed her just then; it was simply the living present.'

If I could but get on till the 16th,' she said, half aloud. Then her own voice seemed to startle her; she made a little 'hem' and sat silent again for a long while; no sound but the occasional fall of a cinder breaking the silence.

The heads of the family where she taught the greater part of the day had gone to the sea, leaving her pupils at home. They had promised to send her salary when due, but had evidently forgotten it; and, like many other wealthy people, never once thought to what serious inconvenience they were exposing her. She was not an underpaid drudge; the people whom she had to deal with were liberal and good-natured, and if she had written, would probably have sent her money: h she was reserved and timid, and preferred suffering any amount of retrenching to doing such a thing. Her landlady was very straitened herself, she knew, and had, moreover, the affliction of a husband given to indulge in stimulants, unless watched pretty closely. The lodger had never yet disappointed her of her week's rent, and she had carefully and sparingly eked out the small sum left after paying her only sister's school-bill for the last half-year. She had determined to educate her well, and prepare her fully for the great battle of life; and however much people may talk and write about moderate terms' in this money-getting age, the governess knew practically that really good instruction must be well paid for. The quietest tap announced Mrs. Meek.

'Sorry to disturb-but-the coal man, Miss, called for the money for the last hundred you had; shall I bid him call again, or is it quite convenient?'

Mrs. Meek spoke with soft emphasis on certain words, and had an air of insinuating blandness about her. She was dressed in 'better days' things, and had a rather washed-out appearance.

'I think I can pay it now, Mrs. Meek,' the governess said, feeling it would be horrid' if he called again when there was no money; and determining that she hadn't liked the last butter, and thought she should be better without it this week.

'You're looking pale, Miss; I'll bring up your tea directly. Have a muffin, do; it'll relish,' she added, kindly.

'No, thank you; only my tea, and some of your nice dry toast. I think it will agree with me better.'

'An egg, then?' in an insinuating tone.

'No, nothing more, thank you.'

The landlady shook her head.