boy, one day when in London; "I love him better than anybody, and I know he loves me."

"But Boosa will wish to go home again to his father, and mother, and brothers."

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No, auntie; Boosa says, he loves me better than all. Auntie dear, we mustn't let Boosa go back."

"Why, darling?”

Harry couldn't do without dear Boosa. And perhaps Boosa would die."

"But God can take care of him."

"But Boosa doesn't pray to God.

He

prays to idols,

wooden dolls. I sometimes tell him not.

those things can't hear you.' He says,

I say,
I say, 'Boosa,

'Master Harry,

these be my gods.' And one day I got into a passion with

him, and I take his

floor, and it broke.

god and throw it down, down on the Boosa was very angry; but I said, 'Boosa, that can't be God, when it lets a little boy break it.' Boosa cried, and put his hands together, so that at last

I cry

too."

"Then what did Boosa say?"

"Oh! Boosa never like to see me cry, so he says, Never mind, master, I mend it soon;' but you know, auntie, how can that be a God which I can break, and which Boosa can mend?

"Of course it cannot, darling."

"But then if Boosa goes back to India," continued the little fellow, with increased earnestness, " he will always be

praying to those foolish things; but if he stays with us, I think, he will some day love our God."

“I trust so, Harry, but we can't change his heart." “But we can teach him, auntie."

"Yes, and pray for him."

"I do, auntie; indeed I do. I often ask God to make dear Boosa put away all his ugly idols."

“Then, Harry, if he goes with us to Alleyne, you must still teach him, and try and be a gentle boy; speak kindly to Boosa, and do not get angry, as I heard you this morning."

Harry rather hung down his head, but soon raising it again, he replied, "But, auntie, I did not strike him; and it was really so provoking for him not to put sugar on my bread and butter."

"I hope Harry would never strike Boosa." "Not very often," said the child, colouring. when he vexes me."

"Only

Harry, when Jesus was a little boy, He was very gentle, and his little children must try to be gentle also. Boosa will not think that Jesus is kind, unless you are so too."

"Then I will try, auntie; but it is so difficult."

"Yes, darling, very difficult; but ask God, and He will help you."

Then Ethelda and the little Harry knelt down together, and prayed that poor Boosa might learn to love the name of

Jesus, and that the kind Saviour would change little Harry's heart, and make him meek and mild.

And thus the infant boy, supplicating strength from on high, was enrolling himself a mountain clamberer, and his little feet were being made ready for the difficult ascent.

DURING the fortnight of Ethelda's absence, Rowland found his time fully occupied. It is true, Mrs. Crowe was very indefatigable in supplying the persons on the list that her young mistress had left with all the needful things that the culinary department could furnish. There was often the plateful of meat for old Colin and blind Jeanie, or the pudding for poor Jamie Clark, or the "sup broth" for his suffering little sister, besides sundry little delicacies or necessaries for the cottagers around, according as might be required. Rowland had, however, learnt to visit, and to care for the poor. He now knew, that the daily portion from the hall was of little comparative benefit, either to giver or receiver, unless accompanied with personal inquiries.

Likewise, he had learnt to think of the wants of others; to consider before he left home what was needed, or what was likely to be welcome to the inhabitants of the special cottage he wished to visit; and thoughtful love had so grown upon him, that some of his complimentary friends declared that, "Master Rowland was just like a woman, in the way that he understood what would please them." He would go

himself into the garden to gather violets for blind Jeanie; whilst for the less refined taste of Jamie Clark he would select, from the vase of drawing-room flowers, the most showy geraniums and lilies. Sometimes he made mistakes, as when, for Thomas Nesbit, just recovering from fever, he put into his pocket an early cucumber, which his mother boiled, and meshed it as if it had been a turnip; or when he sent a bunch of young rhubarb to a family that were ill from the effects of indulging in unripe gooseberries. Usually, however, Rowland was successful, and his father remarked with pleasure the increased brightness of his boy's countenance. The old man had not penetrated through Rowland's reserve, and discovered that he had begun a noble work, that with feet shod with love to God, and with strength imparted from on high, he was endeavouring to clamber the ascent of human duty--duty of the creature to its Creator, of the sinner to his Saviour, of the brother to his fellow-man —and that, as he ascended, the young man was experiencing that duties became privileges, and that even now their ways were ways of pleasantness, and all their paths were peace.