The Editor's Table.

CHAPTER VIII.-THE LOSS AND PROFIT OF READING.

HERE was no resistance long in that house to any whim of Miss Wilson's. That very evening, when the cloth was laid in the dining-room, and Harriet was packing up her work with a heavy heart-for her secret hopes about her mother had been all rudely crushed-there came a message that she was to go instantly to Miss Wilson's room. Julia received her with open arms, saying, sadly enough, "Hatty, I for. AUGUST, 1871.

I

give you quite; I suppose we shall never be able to go out alone again. But I don't mean to let your little fault of not keeping by me, but frightening me with rushing to help that child-I don't mean that to send you away from me. I wanted to go out to Caroline Halket's birthday ball to-night, but I'm not well, and I'm to rest on the sofa. I'm determined not to go to bed; and you shall read to me.

It was easy to see that Julia was not in her usual health; for though her face was flushed, her eyes looked glassy, and her lips parched, and the hand which she held out in reconciliation to Hatty was so hot, that the young girl, used from former attendance on an invalid to symptoms of illness, was really concerned, and would have entreated her to go quietly at once to bed, but that she soon found it useless.

"You coaxing, tiresome Hatty; then you do care for me and feel for me as well as for Crystal ?"

"I do indeed," said the girl, her large eyes glistening with tears.

Julia was gratified; but she meant to have her own way as to remaining up. Hatty arranged her pillow on the sofa, and then read the book which had already been Julia's companion in the garden.

It was gaily covered in red and yellow paper, and had a coarse picture on the outside, of a man firing a pistol at a woman who was kneeling by an open grave in a churchyard. The contents were like the picture; murder, robbery, lies, and superstition filled it. Hatty read and read quite two hours. Julia listened with flushed face and a beating heart. At length came Norris, saying,

"Time now for bed. This is the third time I've come in, and I really must go down to your mamma. You'll be downright ill, and no mistake."

Harriet was hoarse; and so Julia allowed herself to be persuaded, and suffered her young reader to depart, who, to say truth, was so scared by the book, that she for the first time felt terror rather than security in the solitude of her chamber.

How perfect is the gospel rule, "The tree is known by its fruits"! A good book fills the mind with good thoughts, pure desires, pleasant memories; makes the reader more wise, active, cheerful, and useful. But wild, impure, tawdry fictions are like poisoned sweetmeats; they allure only to injure and enfeeble the mind, and make the reader dreamy, idle, frivolous, and unprincipled.

Mercifully Harriet in this temptation had the grace to fly to the Strong for strength. The antidote to all mental poison lay within her reach, in the Holy Book she had learned to love so well; and before she slept, sweet words of divine wisdom had come like a refreshing shower, and washed away the contaminating stains from her spirit, and she slept secure.

Poor self-willed Julia acted very differently. As soon as Norris left her for the night, she rose and fastened her door, lighted the gas, and set herself to devour her book. She would have done the same if she had had to light up candles and imperil the whole house as well as herself. As it

was, this danger did not arise; but still Julia did not escape. The wild narrative held her until the morning hours. Then she was too excited to sleep; tossing and restless, her feverish cold gained greater hold, and by the time the household were aroused on the Sunday morning, Miss Wilson was found to be ill-not in imagination, but in stern reality.

Her first cry was for Hatty; and thus it came to pass, that in the illness which followed, the young orphan was installed in the sick room permanently.

All that Harriet had learned in attending on Mrs. Lumley was now of use. Her soft voice, quiet manner, light touch, and quick apprehension, were invaluable. Yet even her patience was sorely tried, for never was there a more wilful being than poor Julia; refusing her medicine, angry with her sufferings, and with her attendants for not relieving them. It was a sad time for every one, certainly for Harriet.

The only person who ever praised her was the doctor, who constantly called her "My clever little assistant," and seemed much interested in her; indeed, once when Harriet attended him down-stairs, he turned to give her some directions, and, to the poor girl's alarm as well as astonishment, said,

"Your cousin is much indebted to your kindness."

"Whom, sir?" said she, involuntarily.

"I thought I had heard Mrs. Winchfield was your aunt?" was the doctor's reply.

"She does not say so, sir," said Harriet, in a frightened whisper.

"Oh, very well,” said the doctor, as if he quite understood the case. Martha was in the hall, ready to open the front door for him, aud heard this little dialogue. She afterwards caught up Harriet on the stairs, and said significantly,

“News flies, Miss Meagre, when there's such birds as Nappy about." "Nappy? Why, that's the office boy who brought me here." "Yes; and his eldest brother lives own man with the doctor, miss." "It is wrong, Martha, of him or any one to talk of what does not concern them," said Harriet, as she re-entered the sick room.

"Wrong or right, folks will have their say," was Martha's comment. And certainly Mrs. Winchfield's pride and harshness had produced the very effect she wished to avoid. It had caused her words and manner to the friendless girl to be more noticed, and the relationship to be fully believed. So true it is that falsehood and injustice sooner or later always defeat themselves.

It was a lingering attack of rheumatic fever that chained poor Julia to her bed of pain for two long months. The variable spring weather was most unfavourable to recovery, and she herself so complained, even when she was slowly rallying, at any attempt at removing her, that spring was growing into summer, and the only change made was to open a communication with a room adjoining her chamber, and turning it into a sittingroom, into which she could be carried from her bed for the day.

Of course Miss Elkins's visits as teacher had been entirely given up; but she came as a friend to visit her pupil as often as Julia could see any one. It was at least a month or six weeks after that morning call on Crystal (who had, however, sent constantly to make inquiries) that Miss Elkins was first admitted. She brought the long-promised letter for Harriet. Just then, however, the orphan was engrossed in many cares, and one of her first efforts for Julia's welfare was to ask Miss Elkins to recommend them some books; a request that was responded to by Miss Elkins sending a goodly heap of biographical works-lives of good and great men and noble women, some pleasant books of travels, some sweet, affecting narratives and lovely poems,-better, too, than all to Harriet, some beautiful books about that dear, true story without an end-Jesus and His love. These books were Hatty's armory to conquer the murder and mystery, trash, which she was afraid would be brought in as soon as Julia was freed from acute pain, and able to listen.

Our young orphan had been long trained in a school where the discipline is hard but the teaching often very good-the school of adversity, and she had improved constantly. She was able skillfully to use the books Miss Elkins provided. At first she picked out all the parts that were most interesting; in order to do this she had to scan the contents, and thus while she was catering for her friend, her own mind was nourished by wholesome mental fare. As she attained her fourteenth birthday, with no mother's kiss or friend's loving gift to consecrate the day, she yet felt in her inmost soul that the true consecration of God's blessing was on her, and that she had realized the promise, "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up."

I am sorry to say that though Harriet gained on every one in the house, even on the poor self-centred invalid, Mrs. Winchfield proved an exception. She would have been glad, as soon as Julia was better, to find some means of disposing of Harriet elsewhere. The orphan had grown a very interesting-looking girl. The elaborate plainness, almost poverty of her dress, rather added to than took from her good looks, since it was her smooth dark hair, so neatly braided from her open brow, her delicate complexion, always fresh from nature's best cosmetic-pure water, her sweet smile, and gentle voice and manners, and not her smart attire, that attracted attention. If young girls thought more of taking good care of the personal gifts God has bestowed, instead of the fripperies of foolish fashions, we should not see so many uglified rather than beautified by dress. Crystal's letter to Hatty was written by herself, between raised lines. used by the blind. It was very brief, and after a few words of affection, merely dealt with the question my young readers recollect. Harriet had asked, "I want you to tell me if I ought to keep a bit of paper with writing on it that I have found, and that concerns me." To this the reply was, "As to your question, my dear, you must not keep any, even the least thing, that is not your own. You are not to judge of its value or importance, it is enough for you to know it is not yours."