with him to Mrs Frink's, for she had her own little gifts to dispense, but she consented to take a walk with him in the afternoon, and even to call at Mr T.'s shop, for she concluded there could be no danger in looking at the toys after they had disposed of their money.

Harry's account of his reception at Mrs Frink's was anything but satisfactory to Effie, for although he evidently endeavoured to make the best of it, he said not a single word of John's gratitude. 'I am afraid, Effie,' he rather mischievously whispered, 'if you had gone with me to Mrs Frink's you would have thought dirt was her god, for I believe she loves it better than anything else.'

'O Harry, I am sure it is wicked to make fun—'

'I didn't mean to make fun, Effie, but I'm sure I couldn't help thinking of the old man in Pilgrim's Progress with the muck rake, refusing the crown, all the time I was there.'

'Father told me that the man with the muck rake, meant the miser.'

'Well, I suppose it does, but I should think it might mean any body that is not a Christian, for such people, you know, are rejecting a heavenly crown for worldly things, which are in reality worth about as much as the trash the old man is raking together in the picture.' Effie stared at her brother in complete astonishment, for she could not but wonder how so small a head could contain such a wondrous amount of knowledge. Harry endured a stare for a moment with considerable dignity, but he was naturally a modest lad, and finally added, 'That is pretty nearly the substance of what Frank Ingham told me about it—I can't remember the words quite.'

After dinner was over, and Harry and Effie had distributed the remnants of it among several poor families that lived on an adjoining street, they set out on their walk. The day was extremely cold, but clear and still, and altogether as beautiful as any day in the whole year. Effie in cloak, hood, and muff, seemed the very picture of comfort as she walked along beside her brother in his equally warm attire, towards Mr T.'s shop.

'Are you cold? What makes you shiver so?' inquired Harry. Effie did not answer, but she drew her hand from her muff and pointed with her gloved finger to a little girl who stood a few yards from her, stamping her feet, and clapping her red bare hands, and then curling them under her arms as if to gain a little warmth from thence. 'Poor thing!' said Harry, 'I should think she would freeze, with nothing but that old rag of a handkerchief about her shoulders, and that torn muslin bonnet. I don't wonder you shivered, Effie, it makes me cold to look at her.'

'Let us see if she wants anything,' said Effie.

By this time the attention of the little girl was attracted by the children's conversation and glances, and she came running towards them, crying at every step, 'Give me a sixpence, please?'

'We have no money, not even a penny,' said Harry, 'are you very hungry?' The girl began to tell how long it was since she had had anything to eat, but she talked so hurriedly, and used so many queer words, that the two children found it very difficult to understand her.

'She is in want, no doubt,' whispered Harry to his sister, 'but father would say, it was best to give her food and clothing, not money.'

'I wish I had a sixpence, though,' said Effie.

The wealthy and the gay, the poor and the apparently miserable, went pouring by in crowds, and some did not hear the beggar-child's plea, others that heard did not heed it, while many paused from idle curiosity to gaze at her, and a few flung her a penny, and passed on. Harry and Effie too went on, frequently looking back and forming little plans for the good of the child, until their attention was attracted by other objects of compassion or admiration. Sleighs were continually dashing past them, drawn by beautiful horses, and filled with the forms of the young, the gay, and the happy. Old men, bowed down by the weight of years, hobbled along on the pavements, their thin blue lips distorted by a smile—a smile of welcome to the year that, perhaps, before its departure, would see them laid in the grave—and busy tradesmen, with faces strongly marked by care, or avarice, or anxiety, jostled by them; ladies too, in gay hats and large rich shawls, or the more comfort-seeking in cloaks and muffs; and poor women, with their tattered clothing drawn closely around their shrinking forms, were hurrying forward apparently with the same intent. Every variety of the human species seemed crowded on those narrow pavements.

Harry and Effie were only a few rods from Mr T.'s door, when Mr Maurice overtook them, on his way to some other part of the city. He smiled, as he always did, on his children, then putting a few pence into Effie's hand, whispered something about 'temptation money,' and passed on.

'I shan't be tempted, though,' said the child, holding the coin before her brother's eyes.

'No, Effie,' replied the boy, 'it isn't wrong to spend this money for yourself, so you can't be tempted to do wrong with it. This is every body's day for pleasure, and you ought to enjoy it.'

'I have enjoyed it,' said Effie, looking upon her brother smilingly, 'and I guess somebody else has helped me.'

'I guess so, too,' was the reply, 'I think we have been a great deal happier than if we had come here in the morning.'

Children though they were, they were demonstrating the words of the Lord Jesus, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'

Mr T.'s shop was crowded to overflowing with children, a few grown people intermingling: and every one, from the errand boy, that, with his hard-earned pittance in his hand, was estimating the amount of good things it would purchase, to the child of the wealthy merchant, murmuring because the waxen doll she contemplated adding to her store, was not in every respect formed to suit her difficult taste, seemed intent on pleasure.

Harry and Effie were as much pleased as any one, and some, who had seen with what readiness they had parted with their money in the morning, would have wondered at their taste for toys; but these children had one talent which a great many grown people as well as children would do well to imitate. It was not absolutely necessary that they should possess a thing in order to enjoy it. They had been taught when very young, to distinguish beautiful things from those that were merely novel, and although they liked (as I believe is natural) to call things their own, they could be pleased with what was calculated to produce pleasure, without envying its possessor, just as you would look upon a beautiful sunset, or a fine landscape, without thinking of becoming its owner. But Effie had a little money to spend, and this occasioned a great deal of deliberation, for to tell the truth, the little girl was so pleased with her day's work, that she was still determined on self-denial.

'Take care,' whispered Harry, as he watched her examining some trifles which he was pretty sure were intended for old Phillis, 'take care, Effie, that you don't get proud of your generosity—there is more than one way to make self a god.'

Effie blushed, and calling for some nuts, threw her money on the counter, saying to her brother, 'We can share them together in the evening.' The nuts were scarce stowed away in reticule and muff, when a poorly-clad young woman, very pale and thin, bearing in her arms an infant still paler, pressed her way through the throng, and gained the counter. She inquired for cough lozenges. It was a long time before she could be attended, but she stood very patiently,