HINTS FOR KEEPING CHURCHYARDS HOLY.

1. NEVER pass through a churchyard as through common ground. Think within yourself that under those graves lie Christians, awaiting the Day of Judgment. Say a secret prayer that God will raise you up from the death of sin unto a life of righteousness, that when you shall depart this life, you may rest in Him.

2. Teach your children from their earliest years to reverence the churchyard as a holy place, and discourage any childish mirth or playfulness there, much more actual sport. And you will be the better able to do this, if you avoid, as much as you can, all exchange of ordinary civilities, while you are standing on sacred ground.

3. If you have friends or relations lying in the churchyard, make it a religious duty to see that their graves are well cared for. It is a beautiful and appropriate custom to plant flowers on the graves, where it may be done.

4. Be careful always to walk in the proper paths, and not to disfigure the turf by treading where you ought not but especially recollect, never to put your foot upon a grave, for one who was created in God's image lies beneath.

JOHN HENRY PARKER, OXFORD AND LONDON.

IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN WORSE.

Он, I'm a miserable woman, that I am! a poor worn-out drudge! quite a slave! scrubbing and rubbing, toiling and moiling in all manner of dirt and sorrow! As soon as one set of lodgers is gone, another coming in! No peace, no respite! And Tom out all day, aye, and often half the night too, with his boat! No help in carrying the water, nor in beating the carpets! And little Tom fretting so with his teeth! Oh it's a miserable world, and this is a miserable place, and I'm a miserable woman! What a fool I was to leave Ashton Hall, and... there's the kettle boiling over!

So did Ellen Day bemoan her lot; and while she runs down stairs to look after the kettle, the reader shall be made acquainted with the nature of Ellen's misfortunes. Like many other people, she had so few real troubles that she was disposed to indulge herself in imaginary ones. She had allowed herself to complain so much about trifles, that without being aware of it, she had grown very discontented, and was making her

self, and every one who had to do with her, uncomfortable.

Now that she was no longer in service, she was continually comparing her present condition with what it had been at Ashton Hall; all the while she was there, she was always full of misfortunes. It was too hot, or too cold, or the place did not agree with her; or the country was so dull; or she had engaged herself for a nursery-maid's place, while her talent was in the kitchen; in short, every thing went the wrong way, and nobody, according to her way of thinking, had ever so many troubles and vexations as herself. Her chief consolation was in pitying herself, and in looking forward to a future when she should be her own mistress, and have her own way, and then nothing would go wrong, and nobody would cross her. "Service is no inheritance," she would say, "that's my only comfort. If I were but settled for life I should be happy."

And before very long she was settled for life. About two years before the events which we are about to record took place, the family from Ashton Hall moved for the summer season to the sea-side, and took up their abode at Winterbourne, which, as all the world knows, is one of the most delightful spots on the Sussex coast, a

bright sheltered nook, in a little bay or rather cove of its own, with a long row of villa-residences built at the foot of a lofty cliff, and with a wide expanse of firm white sand in front.

Being a good fishing-station, there are plenty of boats, and where there are boats there must be men to manage them. The Ashton children. passed a good deal of time on the water, and it was soon observed that a certain Tom Day had acquired the exclusive privilege of carrying the young Ashtons out to sea, and further, that when he came up to Sea View House for orders, Ellen Mason was seldom out of the way. A fine, sturdy, good-looking fellow was Tom, with a merry laughing eye, and an honest, open, sailor-like countenance; I suppose Ellen thought he seemed like one, who, if he had a wife, would know how to take care of her: and, as soon as he dared, Tom let out that he was pretty well to do in the world, and every year was doing better; that Winterbourne was a growing place; that a lodging-house (and there were one or two of them on sale) would be a safe investment for money, and that if he could but find a wife to take charge of it, he should be a happy man. And if, in addition to all this, he told Ellen that he admired her more than any one he had ever

seen, and that he was over head and ears in love with her, he said no more than he felt, and than he had good cause to say, for barring a slight shade of discontent which now and then passed over her face, Ellen was a very pretty girl, and what is more to the purpose, a well-principled and well-disposed one; so that, when upon enquiry and further knowledge, she was satisfied that Tom was a good man, and likely to make a kind husband, she contrived to let him know that she did not care how soon Ellen Mason became Ellen Day.

The autumn of that year had not passed into winter, before the young Ashtons had gone home with a new nursery maid, and Ellen's savings were helping to furnish "Sunny Nook" (so the new purchase was called) with beds and carpets, tables and chairs.

It was well named Sunny Nook; for its full southern aspect, and the lofty elms on either side of it, and the high cliff at the back, made Tom Day's villa the warmest and most sheltered lodging-house at Winterbourne. In its garden the myrtle and scarlet geranium lived through the winter, and the blue passion-flower hung in festoons from pillar to pillar in the little verandah.