out like story-books. Things don't always come as we should fancy was best; and now I am getting into an old woman, and I'm growing to know what I ought to have learnt long ago, that it's very well for us that our notions of what's best don't have their own way. How should we settle matters, who don't know what may be floating in with the next tide? and what a deal of good fretting we might save if we only thought more over that! Besides if you won't think I'm preaching, which isn't my business at all-when we get ourselves into a puzzle over why anything is let to be, as I did over Lotty and Dick, we should mind that we don't see the end of it here. It will come right by-and-bye. George will have his reward.

'And now, Ma'am, if I've tired out your patience, you can guess my story is pretty well over. They've been married nigh on two years, and I think Lotty is happy, though not so merry as in the old days. Dick makes her a good husband; always a bit selfish to my fancy, but steady, and a right good workman, so there's no fear of his not doing. They have the dearest prettiest little maid that ever you saw, and-that Lotty did set her heart upon-George is her godfather, and they call her Phillis. which, by good luck, they tell me is a woman's name. George was here for the first time last Easter, biding with us. None but me saw much difference in him; but I know where the lines have come in his facenot from pinching, for he has got on wonderful. Ah, well, I don't want to get grumbling again! and Lotty never knows how dearly he loved her. He had a hard struggle, and folk would say a hard lot; but he's found a big blessing in the midst of it all-and that is God's peace!'

She stopped here, and we thanked her heartily, for indeed, the story, as she told it, was very simple and touching. There was much in her last words to make us think, and we were all glad to sit silent for a time; she with her back to us, her face to the harbour which we were reentering, and the sail's rope lying slack in her hands. It was a very faint breeze which carried us on, but the tide was in our favour, and we slipped quietly over the still waters. The sun was setting, a golden ball, beyond Tor Point; and under the dark bank shadows the water gleamed as golden as the sun. Sight travelled far, but thought went beyond. Yes, the mighty Hand is over us everywhere, and He who laid out that vast expanse, watches also the sparrows as they fall, and knows the weight of every sorrow :—with infinite Love caring for us, yet not always seeing fit to take away the pain-not always sending the crown of joy here not always fulfilling the yearning desire of our hearts. But the end tries all, and we may not judge by time while eternity remains.

As we neared the landing-place, we saw a young woman standing on the shore with a child in her armis. Old John touched my shoulder: "That's her the Missus has been telling about,' he said; 'that's Lotty.' When the boat grated on the shingle she came forward to help in the unloading, and we looked at her with interest. The countenance was a

sweet one, the eyes deep and patient, an expression not commonly met with in a face like hers: I dare say knowing her story made us fancy ourselves very discerning; but I think it was easy to read that she had seen trouble. She was very gentle with the old people, and wonderfully proud of the baby. We left them all together-a pretty group-the child on old John's shoulder, crowing delightedly; and the young mother playing at bo-peep with her behind his back.

I am glad to picture her so when I think over her story.

F. M. P.

THE ENGLISH FAMILY IN GERMANY AGAIN.

MAX KOCH.

GOOD Frau Schültz came from time to time to call upon the 'gracious English lady,' as she always termed Mrs. Leslie; but her mind was full of her own troubles. A heavy sorrow was slowly but surely approaching the peaceful little Pfarrhaus, of which she was the mistress.

The inmates of the Lutheran Pfarrhaus, at Gründenau, consisted of the Herr Pfarrer, a grave quiet man, who simply attended to his religious duties; and seldom, at other times, was seen out of his little study, where he composed sermons, wrote essays, and studied the heavy folios of the early Swiss and German reformers, which were the daily food for his mind. It was little wonder that the stern, uncompromising, argumentative, tone of their works, which he was constantly studying, should have influenced the cast of his features, and lent to them an equally stern unapproachable appearance. He was a man well fitted to have graced the stake or the torture-chamber, in support of what he believed to be the truth; more so, than to be a shepherd of his flock in the peaceful times in which his lot had fallen. Still he was looked up to and revered by his simple people; and it spoke well for him, and also for the Roman Catholic priest of Gründenau, that, notwithstanding the antagonism of their principles, they could be appointed to one parish, worship in one edifice, and meet constantly without any dissent or quarrels. For at Gründenau, as in many villages in southern Germany, where there was only one church building, it belonged to the Lutherans for Divine Service at certain hours, and was used at different hours by the Roman Catholics. The Lutherans permitted a good deal of ornament in their churches; so. that there was much that the two churches could have in common, and what was strictly Roman Catholic, such as a portion of the altar, was removed after each celebration. The Lutherans always had a crucifix and candles on their altar-tables.

Frau Schültz herself was a kind-hearted good woman, whose heart and hand were alike open to every call for sympathy or charity; she had the

profoundest respect for hermann,' as she called her husband, but she found more congeniality in the society of her two daughters, Wilhelmine and Louise; who at the ages of seventeen and fifteen were able to be pleasant companions to her.

The one darling of her mother's heart was her son Oscar; from the day he first saw light, until the present moment, when he was just twenty, he had been the object of all her thoughts and her anxieties. At first, he, being a healthy child, had been the source of more pleasure to her than pain; to dress him to the very extent of fineness that their humble means would allow to control his wilfulness herself, and yet screen his boyish faults from his stern father-and to build castles in the air, in which her Oscar was always the hero-was the occupation she had in his earlier years. Then came the grievous moment when she must let her Oscar be cared for by stranger hands. He went to school. And each succeeding holiday she discovered she was less necessary to his happiness-that he even had little secrets from her. Oscar was to go to the university to be a clergyman—with his talents he must at least become a dean; and if sometimes she feared his wild spirits and uncontrolled temper would never tame down to the gentleness required of a Pfarrer, she decided he might become a lawyer-and through a rapid succession of honours and appointments, her mother's eyes beheld in him a grave and dignified judge. But Oscar in the meanwhile-Oscar had resolved to be a soldier, and that neither father nor mother should prevent him;-of all things to choose to be a soldier-the mother hoped it was but a boyish freak, and that he would change his mind before he left the Lyceum for good. Herr Schültz would not hear the subject mentioned: whenever he had exerted himself to interfere in family matters, his will had always been law. He supposed it would be so now; and when he said to Osear, ‘I command, that such a subject as your future profession is not mentioned again in this house for one year,—and if Oscar ventures to disobey my orders, I insist on your not listening to him,' he continued, addressing his wife; he had no doubt he should be obeyed. And for the space of one year he was obeyed; mother and son had no conversation on the subject, though each was quite aware of the thoughts of the other. Oscar returned to the Lyceum, and left it with high testimonials.

The morning after he had returned home, the day year after his last conversation regarding a profession with his father, Herr Schültz called him into his study, and began,

'I have been quite satisfied with your conduct and progress at the Lyceum.' A word of praise from his father was rare, and accordingly acceptable to Oscar's ears. 'I have made every arrangement for your entrance at Heidelberg University at the autumn term; I am still remembered there, and I hope the untarnished character and the name which Johann Schültz brought away from the University will be equally supported by Oscar Schültz.'

Oscar was going to speak, but his father continued, 'There is but one

thing remaining for you to decide. Last year you had some foolish notions about the profession you wished to adopt; I silenced them then, now I hope they are forgotten; and it remains for you to decide whether, like your fathers for many generations, you will become a clergyman, or whether you choose to follow the law.' He paused. Oscar stood before his father; he knew it was no trifling thing to oppose his father's fixed will; he felt no hopes of changing his determination, but his own resolve was firmly taken.

'Father,' he said, 'I am not fit for a clergyman; I hate books. Do not thwart me-I must, I will, be a soldier.'

'Never!' exclaimed his father; 'I will never give my consent. Till to-morrow morning I give you to decide whether you embrace the law or the Church; I will hear nothing more.'

'Listen, Father!' began Oscar. 'Silence!' insisted his father. dutiful son, and return to me.'

'Leave the room. By to-morrow be a

Angry and rebellious, Oscar left his father, and rushed to his own room, bolting the door after him. His mother came knocking for admission, but he said he was engaged; she turned away-the first time she had been refused her son's room-with a heavy heart.

Meanwhile, Oscar was engaged, putting together his few things, every now and then breaking out into angry exclamations against his father. When his packing was completed, he thought he could not leave his home without speaking to any of them; his mother was out of the question; he wanted to call his favourite sister, Wilhelmine-'I dare not,' he said bitterly to himself; they are so under father's control, they will go and tell him.' So he seated himself at his little writing-table, and wrote a very affectionate letter to his mother.

He told her he had often longed to talk to her about his wishes, but his father's commands to her had restrained him. He was grieved to cause her pain, but his father was very cruel; he felt he never could fulfil their wishes, so to avoid angry discussions, before she read this letter he should have enlisted. This was the only act of disobedience he should ever do, and he begged her to believe that he would never commit an action of which her most affectionate son Oscar need be ashamed.

He kept his door locked. Supper was a mournful meal to them all. Oscar's absence excited no remark; they supposed he was keeping his

room.

Poor Frau Schültz could gather nothing from her husband as to what had passed; he was too angry to speak about it. 'Still,' he said to himself, 'I was so decided about it, the boy may sulk, but to-morrow he will give in, and there will be an end to it.'

Had he in former days studied the boy's character as much as the mother had done, he would not have felt so confident of his yielding.

As it was, when Frau Schültz came next morning to his room, the open letter in her hand, trembling with alarm and grief, it came upon

him like a thunder-clap-his Oscar, his first-born and only son, whom he had looked upon as scarcely more than a child, had defied him, had ruined his own future, and taken a step in life which could never be retraced! It was a dreadful blow to his pride, to his authority, to the name he had always borne for governing his household so admirably; nevertheless, he would probably have controlled his own feelings, and forbidden the name of Oscar to be mentioned again, have disowned him as his son, had not Frau Schültz, his gentle yielding Anna, who in the course of their long married life had never once opposed her will to his, or failed to defer to him as undisputed master, now turned upon him, and with tears and reproaches called him cruel, hard, iron-willed! He had driven her son to despair! The gentlest and most affectionate lad; you could have led him to anything. But, heartless book-worm that you are! you prevented his mother talking to him; and who knows what hard things you have not said to him yesterday! My Oscar would never have acted like this if you had not driven him to it; and, even now, see what a loving letter he writes to his mother!'

Surprise mastered every other feeling in Herr Schültz's mind-surprise at his wife; and though he defended his conduct, and said no dutiful child should dispute his father's word, he used no angry expressions against Oscar, and endeavoured to comfort poor Frau Schültz.

In a few days Oscar Schültz was gazetted as having entered the 1st Regiment of the Baden army, stationed at Karlsruhe. He began, as all foreigners of whatever rank must do, as private of the regiment, in which he fondly hoped he should some day hold a high command.

The same evening that the Schültzes read this announcement, the Herr Pfarrer came to his wife, and giving her a small roll of money, he said, 'Anna! Oscar has chosen his own lot in life. I will send him yearly what I had intended his education to have cost me; you can send him this money every quarter; I do not wish to hear anything of him.'

Frau Schültz thankfully took the money, and accepted what she felt rightly was a permission to hold intercourse with him. She always told her husband when she heard from him, and the news was listened to without any comment; still she thought it gratified him to hear the good accounts they received, of his order, his discipline, and his steadiness, from time to time.

These events had taken place some time before the Leslies came to Gründenau; the freshness of the distress had worn off in the Pfarrhaus, and their life had been much the same as before Oscar had so bitterly disappointed them. Perhaps the greatest difference to be noticed was, that instead of constantly quoting 'my son Oscar' on every occasion, as it had been formerly Frau Schültz's habit to do, she was seldom heard to mention him in society; not that she thought of him the less for that. The sorrow which was approaching them so swiftly at the present moment was of a different nature.

If the Schültzes had been disappointed in their favourite child, in