Paul Faber, Surgeon

e softly, and departed noiselessly. Next time she knocked-and he came to her pale-eyed, but his face almost luminous, and a smile hovering about his lips: she knew then

woke him to an early tea-not, however, after it, to return to his study: in the drawing-room, beside his wife, he always got the germ of his discourse-his germon, he called it-ready for its growth in the pulpit. Now he lay on the couch, now rose and stood

understand that he could not part with her as one of his congregation-could not therefore take her into his sermon before he met her in her hearing phase in church, with the rows of

e near him on a Saturday. But that evening, Mr. Drew, the draper, who, although a dissenter, was one of the curate's warmest friends, called late, when, he thought in his way of looking at sermons, that for the morrow must be n

perfectly understand y

shall not tell my

ut-do you think it well for a wif

aughed

d him some particular thing? Suppose I know now that, when I do tell him on Monday, he will say

hen," answer

inks it better not to tell. If my husband overheard any one calling me names, I don't think he would tell me. He knows, as well as I do, that I am not yet good

nd you, ma'am," a

" returned Hele

time had passed for her husband, had been otherwise dishonest as well, and had fled the country; she and her daughter, brought to absolute want, were received into his house by her forsaken husband; there they occupied the same chamber, the mother ordered every thing, and the daughter did not know that she paid for nothing. If the ways of transgressors are hard, those of a righteous man are not always easy. When Mr. Drew wo

and woke in the morning