in anything, least of all in gratitude, but | whatever was the reason, nothing would satisfy her that morning but the making of a fresh will, leaving her money to him. And she did it too,-all by herself, for you know her horror of lawyers was even greater than her horror of doctors. It was signed by Mr. Wentworth and Bentley, the only others in the secret, and they as well as Leonard had to promise never to mention what had passed, so long as she was alive, without her express permission. Leonard says that the reason she gave was that she did not like a sensation made about her money,' but I suspect it really was that she did not like him to be known as her acknowledged heir. And the oddest part of it all was that she gave Leonard the will to keep. That was how no one knew anything about it, till he pulled it out of his pocket." 66 "But what was it that so amused Leonardthat morning I mean when the will was written -when he was so mysterious? I remember his laughing and looking very much amused." chose to appear. Captain Gifford had evidently felt perfectly sure of gaining the property, so it really was rather a shock to him. After a while he cooled down, and began to look a little, ashamed of his explosion." "But is nothing at all left to him?" asked Constance. "Yes, I was just going to tell you something about that. There is a hundred pounds left to Beatrice, and seventy to Bentley, and five hundred to Captain Gifford. When he had come round again, and was talking to Mr. Clifford,-rather excited, but not in such a passion,-I saw Leonard take up the paper, and point to the legacy of five hundred, saying something which I don't suppose he meant us to hear." "What was it?" Constance asked involuntarily. 66 Well, I may as well tell you, for you won't think any harm of him from it. I could not quite hear all he said, but it was to the effect that he thought the five hundred less than Captain Gifford had a right to expect, and offered to double the sum, if Captain Gifford would permit him." "I fancy it must have been a very curious interview from what he says. And the wording of the will itself,-at any other time and place we should have been almost amused over it. But it is all perfectly correct and valid. Mr. Clifford examined and questioned pretty" And how did Captain Gifford take it?" closely, but he could find no flaw either in the way it was drawn up, or signed, or witnessed, and at last he got up, shook hands with Leonard and congratulated him." "How nice of Leonard,-how kind and generous!" exclaimed Constance warmly. "And how did Captain Gifford take it?" "I was just going to tell you. He would hardly believe his own ears at first, and when he was obliged to see the truth,-the passion he was in! I really think he could have knocked us all down, 'with the greatest pleasure in life,' as the Irish say. He looked quite ferocious." "I think I could excuse a little disappointment on his part," remarked Mrs. Mansfield. "Disappointment!—yes, mamma, but I don't think you would have excused the rage he was in, and the words he used. He stormed at us all, and seemed quite beside himself, till Mr. Clifford took him aside and reasoned him down into quietness. After all, I don't wonder he was astonished, for we all were. No one imagined-Leonard least of all-that she would not have made a fresh will after he offended her so. But I suppose it was either too much trouble, and she put off doing it too long, or else she was not really so angry with him or so pleased with Captain Gifford as she I can't say his manner was very gracious to Leonard, but for very shame he was obliged after that to be civil to him. He mumbled out something like thanks, I think, and at any rate took care not to refuse the offer. It is a great deal more than he deserves, and I think it is a great pity that Leonard should fling away his money in that fashion, directly he gets it." "It is just like him," said Constance. "I am very glad he did it." "Like him! Yes I dare say it is. There's no great praise in saying that. I can't think what he did it for though, unless he thought it would appear creditable. You need not look so angry, Constance, for that is what half the generosity in the world springs from. However, here comes Leonard himself." "Has Bertram told you all particulars, Constance?" Leonard inquired as he entered. Very quiet and composed he looked, but Constance fancied she could detect a lurking ex pression of bright hope and pleasure beneath the gravity of his face. Yes, all. And you must let me congratu late you, Leonard," she added with a smile. "It is very delightful. But you don't look half glad enough. Are you distressed for Captain Gifford's disappointment ?" "Don't I look glad? I am very much pleased, Constance. But there are some rather depressing circumstances connected with it,-I mean if one thinks of poor Miss Vivian," he added in a lower tone, as she looked inquiringly. | "I could not sit in that drawing-room without thinking of the last time I was there,-and wishing I had said more, or spoken more wisely." She would not let you say more." "So I thought at the time, and that it was impossible. Now I cannot help fancying that I might at least have spoken differently, and in such a way as to have caused less irritation. But it is too late to think of it now." Leonard was silent a minute, and then added more cheerfully,—“You must not think I am insensible to the advantages of wealth, Constance, and to the influence it brings with it." "I can hardly fancy you a rich man," said Constance, half incredulously. "I suppose you will quite give up India now, and settle down in the old Mansion." "Time enough to think of that," he answered, half gravely, though with a smile. One evening, about ten days later, Constance was sitting upon the rug, absorbed in a book. A fire had been lighted, as the evening was chilly, and the ruddy flickering light danced over her figure, and cast a gigantic, unsteady shadow upon the wall and ceiling at the farther end of the room. She had been alone for some time when the door opened, and her father came in. "Reading by firelight, Constance! That is very bad for your eyes." "I was so interested, papa, that I could not leave off. But where have you and mamma been all this time?" "Talking to Leonard. Can you guess what about?" "To Leonard! What, all the time, papa ?" "Not quite. What do you think it was about ?" "I don't know, papa ;" and Constance started up. "Is it something good?" "Ask Leonard if he thinks it so. Here he is to answer for himself." Leonard came forward, attempting to speak in his usual tone, though his face wore a telltale expression of happiness, "You are quite puzzled at my father's mys. terious remarks, are you not, Constance ?" "No, but is it really? Do tell me;" said Constance, glancing eagerly from one to the other. "Oh, please tell me, papa! I am so afraid of guessing the wrong thing-though I am almost certain." Leonard looked down with a smile upon the bright face, "Constance, you adopted me long ago as your real brother. Are you willing to have Beatrice for a sister ?" "Then I am right! Oh, how delightful!" and in her ecstacy she seized his hand, and shook it warmly. "How very delightful! I always thought you would like Beatrice. And she has always been my sister in everything but reality. Now, papa, it is too bad to laugh at me; you know what I mean. But are not you and mamma glad?" "No need to ask that, Connie," said Mr. Mansfield, smiling; "nothing could have pleased us more." "And Beatrice will be just across the road, and I can run in and out whenever I like," pursued Constance. "And she will be rich at last! What a Lady Bountiful she will be! Oh, Leonard, isn't Mrs. Wentworth delighted?" "Something like it. Yes, she certainly seemed gratified." "Only gratified! after she had set her heart on it for so long." "You seem very well acquainted with Mrs. Wentworth's private feelings and wishes," remarked her father drily and Constance blushed, but she did not retract her words. "Papa, you know what I mean. Leonard knows." “Do I?” was all Leonard would say. I know you do. I don't say that of Mrs. Wentworth without reason. Leonard, you must have seen how cool and stiff she was to you for some time after that day when you offended poor Miss Vivian,-ever since then, indeed." "Yes, I saw it," said Leonard, quietly. "It was no more than I feared beforehand." "Before you spoke to Miss Vivian? then you expected Miss Vivian to be offended ?" "I thought it very probable. Once or twice before she had shown signs of anger, when I had attempted to say a word upon the same subject." "And you did it, nevertheless. I think that was very brave; but I wonder you had the courage, when you might have known that so much was likely to depend on your favour with Miss Vivian." ΙΙ "I did not dare to think of that." Both Mr. Mansfield and Constance looked inquiringly, and he added in a low serious tone, "I found the thought of the money was becoming a snare to me, Constance,—not for its own sake, but for that very reason that I knew how much Mrs. Wentworth thought of riches, and that as a poor man I was very likely never to gain her consent. I found myself involuntarily, though not intentionally, concealing my religious principles from Miss Vivian. I was hardly aware of it, until one day Beatrice in a passing way repeated some words that Miss Vivian had used respecting me, to the effect that she liked me because I was 'not so over-particular, or so fond of interfering with other people's principles as some that she could name,' and that she had 'on the whole been agreeably disappointed in me.' You can imagine what that meant from Miss Vivian." " No wonder you spoke to her openly after that," said Mr. Mansfield, gravely. "And you must be glad now that you did," added Constance. "Very glad and thankful, Constance. But after what Beatrice told me I could never have had any peace of mind until I had shown Miss Vivian my 'true colours,' without reserve. It was as much for my own sake as hers that I spoke." "I remember wondering sometimes, before that day, how it was that you got on so smoothly with her," said Constance,-adding, with a smile, "but I see now that you understand what I said about Mrs. Wentworth. If she had not set her heart on the money for Beatrice, she would not have been so displeased when she thought all hope of it had gone. However, I suppose she is very happy about it all nowalmost as happy as I am. Oh, Leonard, you must tell me one more thing! How soon is it to be ?" "Well done, Constance!" said her father, patting her cheek. "Did you think everything could be settled in half-an-hour ?" Leonard smiled, and assured her that if matters were arranged according to his wishes, they would not have very long to wait. "And what are you going to do about the old Mansion ?" asked Constance. 66 Constance, you are a rather inquisitive young lady," said Mr. Mansfield. "You see, Leonard, she is determined to become ac quainted with all particulars." 66 She is very welcome to know all that I can tell her," returned Leonard. "I hope to have preparations begun there at once. Beatrice has very gloomy associations now with the place, and my intentions are to make all possible alterations within and without. I shall want your help, Constance, in the choice of new furniture, carpets, curtains, and so on. I am afraid I am very ignorant about such matters. Then the house must be painted and papered from top to bottom, and all the old useless lumber must be made away with." once. And the jungle," suggested Constance. "Yes, the garden must be taken in hand at I am afraid it is too late in the year to transplant many plants, but at all events the brambles and weeds must be cleared away, and turf laid down, and beds made. I should like to have the place so completely transformed that it could hardly be known again." "No great difficulty, considering the state it is in now," said Constance. What a comfort it will be to have a respectable garden across the road. Though I am not sure that I shan't rather miss the jungle: I have been so accus tomed to see it from my bedroom window from babyhood." "I don't think you will," returned Leonard. "You will have plenty of trees to look upon still. It is the nettles and brambles that I intend to remove. You can hardly care for the sight of them." 66 'I wonder what poor old Miss Vivian would think of such alterations," remarked Constance half to herself. Leonard, you and Beatrice will make a better use of the money than she ever did." "I trust we may be led to do so," said Leonard seriously, as Mrs. Mansfield entered the room with Bertram and Edwin, and the conversation was broken off. TAKE CARE OF THE HELM. BY BLIND AMOS. ERY often, when I have been on the water in a boat, I have heard, as you may have heard, the man at the oar say to the man steering, "Mind your helm." On board ships and steamboats you often see the inscription up, "Passengers not allowed to talk to the man at the helm." So much depends on steady and careful steering. A careless helmsman might very soon lose a ship; and I remember being on a river in a rough wind, when we got into a great difficulty and dilemma through a little carelessness in steering. We got the boat aground, and long we had to wait, and to wait in very unpleasant circumstances too, because the foolish man did not take care of his helm. And yet the helm seems the most easily managed of any part of the vessel. One is inclined to say, "Well, if a man fail, there is a perfect carelessness and nothing short of it." He has not to do so much; it is no toilsome work; but it needs the attentive, diligent eye. It needs the silent tongue. Sometimes more and sometimes less exertion is needed, but what is especially needed is care. And in rough seas or calm rivers, as the dangerous rock may lurk or the shallow spread below, the good sailor will keep his weather-eye open and "mind his helm." We are all sailors, and all the success of the voyage depends on our taking care of the helm. I have known many a ship lost by the helmsman. I knew one especially; it had gone many a voyage, but it had always met with some disaster, and always through the helmsman. The vessel had always been light and well rigged, sails all complete and stout, flags and pennons flying; away she went before the breeze. But she had not been at sea long before a spark from the helmsman set a sail on fire; the ship was in flames very soon. Το be sure she was saved, but she had to put in again to harbour to be refitted and re-rigged. Well, away she went again, and this time all went very well till the helmsman, a stupid fellow, drove her right among some rocks; there she lay aground for a long time; but again she was saved, and once more was seaworthy. But again she was coasting too near the Arctic Seas, and she was run by the helmsman right upon some icebergs, and there she might have been lost; and was saved by no clever arrangement of her own, but by a friendly hand from a neighbouring ship. Lost three times by the same helmsman! Take care of the tongue; it is the helmsman of the soul. A word from the tongue will set all the passions in a blaze,—a word from the tongue will wreck a craft among the rocks of thoughtlessness,-a word from the tongue will dash the human vessel among the icebergs of unkindness. The tongue is the helm-take care of the tongue. "Whoso offendeth not in word, the same is a perfect man." When we advance a little into life, we find that the tongue of man creates nearly all the mischief of the world. The man who is able to command his tongue is able to command his whole body, and is able to command other people too. Is it not wonderful to notice that so large a number of proverbs of all nations should be about the tongue? it shows how much attention it has needed. It is of no use being soft and kind and gentle in disposition, and. generous in pocket, and firm and powerful in character, if you cannot control your tongue. A man's tongue makes him or unmakes him far more than he thinks; and indeed it represents and reveals the man. "By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned;" for every word, you know, is an action, and none the less because its deeds cannot always be clearly seen. دو 66 66 In a word, if you would walk upon velvet, take care of your tongue. "Many a man finds fault with his hard path, who has spit stones from his own teeth." "Let a man be born among roses, a foolish tongue may turn them all into nettles." 'Rue and thyme both grow in one garden." "A good tongue is a good weapon. Fair words break no bones, but foul ones many a one." "Good words cool more than cold water." "To cast oil in the fire is not the way to quench it." "Take care of the first words." "The beginning of strife is as when one letteth out water." Evil words beget evil words, till at last they come to generations." 66 Oh, the tongue! the tongue! the tongue! "What shall be done unto thee, thou false tongue?" Hollowness and deceit are as bad as slander or railing, or worse. Some tongues are always on the look-out for an equivocation; they cannot give a direct or plain answer. Their owners do not so much use them, as fence with them; and play off on their neighbour a clever double-dealing in words. All the words of such people are like pieces of money-they have two sides, and one is as good as the other, and neither good for much, for it is all brass or copper coin. Whenever they give you a reply, you can almost always hear the words chuckling in their throat, to think how cleverly they have imposed on you. To such persons a yea is never yea; nor is a nay, nay. Learn to hate all two-faced words. Life has been said by some people to be like the waterman's craft, Rowing one way, and looking another." That is very well, for we have not only to act for the present moment, but to look right ahead into the future. But we must not say one thing and mean another; it is our using too many words which makes us insincere. If we thought before we spoke, we should oftener live nearer to honesty. Take care of the helm. Every helm may be steered to the right or to the left. The two things to be constantly borne in mind in the government of the tongue are kindness and sincerity. Virtues carried to extremes become vices. If you are too gentle, soft, and yielding with the tongue, there is danger of insincerity; if too vehement, too rapid, forcible, incon. siderate, you become unkind. There is a golden mean, if we can find it, so that the tongue may become a temple of purity and meekness, of love and truth. I am sure that the tongue does more to keep the world in turmoil than the sword. I am sure we shall never tread on velvet till people look after their tongues. Of course, control the tongue as we may, still there will be many vices left behind: but a busy tongue is the parent of much mischief. What keeps so many people constantly by the ears? Why, some two or three venomous old newsmongers, who go about, like industrious old apostles of mischief, from house to house. I have often thought when I heard of a straight-waistcoat for lunatics, and a lunatic asylum, what a glorious thing it would be if there were a tongue asylum, and some sort of restraint for that most mischievous piece of red machinery. If a man runs out of his house and breaks a window, he is clapped into an asylum, and watch and ward kept over him; but if an old gentleman or lady of the best intentions invite a few neighbours to tea, and proceed to tear in pieces half the characters in the neighbour. hood-or if they go from house to house de liberately to exercise their gifts and graces of malice, by whispering suspicions into the ear of the unsuspicious-or breathing a blight upon fair names, it is all thought to be right and natural, and innocent enough. We have lunatic asylums, asylums for the deaf-for consump. tion-for the eyes-for the ears. I have heard of chiropædic hospitals; but I have groaned for some hospital for diseased tonguestongues that are troubled with perpetual and mischievous motion. What a benefactor to his race would he be who should found that hos. pital! Take care of your tongue-never mind any. body else's tongue-let them take care of theirs -you take care of yours. I say this because most people are more anxious about their neigh. bours' tongues than about their own. You take care of your hands and your face, why not take care of your tongue? You don't trouble your. self much with your neighbours' hands or face, let their tongues alone. And you do find, or probably you will, that they do not attend to the health of theirs, and they meddle with the tongues of other people; that will only be another argument why you should devote more attention to yours. Take care of your tongue; you have but one tongue to take care of; two feet-two hands-two eyes-even nostrils-a double pair of nerves I am told: but only one tongue, and that the cause of as much trouble to everybody as an unbroken colt. Take care that your tongue does not become your master -make it your servant; take care that it does not turn coward-teach it when to speak, what to speak, and how to speak. "Life and death are in the power of our tongue." Blessing and cursing are in the power of the tongue." Pure fountains and black pools; and the will and the mind preside over all. Take care of your tongue. 66 How blessed is the privilege of those who live so near to the Lord that when the breath of injurious slander has gone over them, they sit still, or pay back the false coin of the world's unkindness with words of gentleness and love! "Of such is the kingdom of Heaven." And why may not this be? The wind that shakes the rose cannot destroy its sweetness. The insect that crawls upon its beautiful leaves may seem to impair, but the rose still pays back injury in fragrance. A shower washes the insect away, but leaves the rose a rose still. And is it not very sweet to know that |