rested on his shoulder, and now she leaned to him still closer.

"Come in. We'll try what can be done for you." There was a change in the man's voice that made me wonder.

I entered a large room, in which blazed a brisk fire. Before the fire sat two stout lads," who turned upon me their heavy eyes with no very welcome greeting. A middleaged woman was standing at a table, and two children were amusing themselves with a kitten on the floor.

"A stranger, mother," said the man who had given me so rude a greeting at the door; "and he wants us to let him stay all night."

The woman looked at me doubtingly for a few moments, and then replied coldly—

"We don't keep a public-house."

"I am aware of that, ma'am," said I; "but night has overtaken me, and it's a long way to G

-."

"Too far for a tired man to go on foot," said the master of the house, kindly; "so it's no use talking about it, mother; we must give him a bed.”

So unobtrusively that I scarcely noticed the movement, the girl had drawn to the woman's side. What she said to her I did not hear, for the brief words were uttered in a low voice; but I noticed that, as she spoke, one small fair hand rested on the woman's hand. Was there magic in that gentle touch? The woman's repulsive aspect changed into one of kindly welcome, and she said—

"Yes, it is a long way to G

I guess we can find a place for him. Have you had any supper?" I answered in the negative.

The woman, without further remark, drew a pine table from the wall, placed upon it some cold meat, fresh bread and butter, and a pitcher of new milk. While these preparations were going on, I had leisure for more minute observation. There was a singular contrast between the young girl I have mentioned, and the other inmates of the room; and yet I could trace a strong likeness between the maiden and the woman, whom I supposed to be her mother -browned and hard as were the features of the latter.

Soon after I had commenced eating my supper, the two children who were playing on the floor began quarelling with each other.

"John! go off to bed!" said the father, in a loud, peremptory voice, speaking to one of the children.

But John, though he could not help hearing, did not choose to obey.

"Do you hear me, sir? Off with you!" repeated the angry father.

"I don't want to go," whined the child.

"Go, I tell you, this minute!"

Still there was not the slightest movement to obey; and the little fellow looked the very image of rebellion. At this crisis in the affair, when a storm seemed inevitable, the sister, as I supposed her to be, glided across the room, and stooping down, took the child's hand in hers. Not a word was said, but the young rebel was instantly subdued. Rising, he passed out by her side, and I saw no more of him during the evening.

Soon after I had finished my supper, a neighbour came in, and it was not long before he and the man of the house were involved in a warm political discussion, in which were many more assertions than reasons. My host was not a very clear-headed man; while his antagonist was wordy and specious. The former as might be supposed, very naturally became excited, and now and then indulged himself in rather strong expressions toward his neighbour, who, in turn, dealt back wordy blows that were quite as heavy as he had received, and a good deal more irritating.

And now I marked again the power of that maiden's gentle hand. I did not notice her movement to her father's side.

She was there when I observed her, with one hand laid upon his temple, and lightly smoothing the hair with a caressing notion. Gradually the high tone of the disputant subsided, and his words had in them less of personal rancour. Still, the discussion went on; and I noticed that the maiden's hand, which rested on the temple when unimpassioned words were spoken, resumed its caressing motion

the instant there was the smallest perceptible tone of anger in the father's voice. It was a beautiful sight; and I could but look on and wonder at the power of that touch-so light, so unobtrusive, yet possessing a spell over the hearts of all around her. As she stood there, she looked like an angel of peace, sent to still the turbulent waters of human passion. Sadly out of place I could not but think her, amid the rough and rude; and yet, who more than they need the softening and humanizing influences of one like the 'Gentle Hand?'

Many times more, during that evening, did I observe the magic power of her hand and voice-the one gentle, yet potent, as the other.

On the next morning, breakfast being over, I was preparing to take my departure, when my host informed me that if I would wait for half an hour, he would give me a ride in his waggon to G- ——, as business required him to go there. I was very well pleased to accept the invitation. In due time, the farmer's waggon was driven into the road before the house, and I was invited to get in. I noticed the horse; it was a rough-looking Canadian pony, with a certain air of stubborn endurance. As the farmer took his seat by my side, the family came to the door to see us off. 'Dick!' said the farmer, in a peremptory voice, giving the rein a quick jerk as he spoke.

But Dick moved not a step.

'Dick! you vagabond! get up.' And the farmer's whip cracked sharply by the pony's ear.

It availed not, however, this second appeal. Dick stood firmly disobedient. Next the whip was brought down upon him with an impatient hand; but the pony only reared up a little. Fast and sharp the strokes were next dealt, to the number of a half-dozen. beaten his waggon! The man might as well have

A stout lad now came into the road; and catching Dick by the bridle, jerked him forward, using, at the same time, the customary language on such occasions; but Dick met this new ally with increased stubbornness, planting his forefirmly, and at a sharper angle with the ground.

feet more

The impatient boy now struck the pony on the side of his head with his clinched hand, and jerked cruelly at his bridle. It availed nothing, however; Dick was not to be wrought upon by any such arguments.

'Don't do so, John!

ear.

I turned my head as the maiden's sweet voice reached my She was passing through the gate into the road, and in the next moment had taken hold of the lad and drawn him from the animal. No strength was exerted in this; she took hold of his arm, and he obeyed her wish as readily as if he had no thought beyond her gratification.

And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony's neck, and a single low word spoken. How instantly were the tense muscles relaxed-how quickly the stubborn air vanished!

'Poor Dick!' said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly, or softly patted it with her child-like hand.

'Now, go along, you provoking fellow,' she added in a half-chiding, yet affectionate voice, as she drew upon the bridle. The pony turned toward her, and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant or two; then pricking up his ears, he started off at a light, cheerful trot, and went on his way as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever entered his stubborn brain.

'What a wonderful power that hand possesses!' said I, speaking to my companion as we rode away.

He looked at me for a moment, as if my remark had occasioned surprise. Then a light came into his countenance, and he said briefly—

'She's good! Everybody and every thing loves her.'

Was that indeed the secret of her power? Was the quality of her soul perceived in the impression of her hand, even by brute beasts? The father's explanation was, doubtless, the true one. Yet I have since wondered, and still do wonder, at the potency which lay in that maiden's magic touch. I have seen something of the same power, showing itself in the loving and good, but never to the extent as instanced in her, whom, for a better name, I must still call 'Gentle Hand.'

A gentle touch-a soft word. Ah! how few of us, when the will is strong with its purpose, can believe in the power of agencies so apparently insignificant! And yet all great influences effect their ends silently, unobtrusively, and with a force that seems at first glance to be altogether inadequate. Is there not a lesson for us all in this? And how very quickly it may be learned! God bless every "Gentle Hand!" say we.—American National Magazine.

COTTAGE CHILDREN IN THE GRAVEYARD. I KNOW a pretty village, with a turnpike house at one end of it and a blacksmith's shop at the other. Often have I seen the farmers jog to market through the turnpike gate on their dobbins; and often have I stood at the smithy door when the blacksmith was welding the red-hot iron, or blowing up with his bellows the flaring fire.

In the middle of the village is a green with four large elm trees, and a bench under them. I have sat on the bench in the shades of the trees, and heard the rooks, that had a nest high up in the branches, cawing above my head. About a quarter of a mile from the green is the village church, built of grey stones, which are weather stained, and half covered with moss. It has a low tower, and the graveyard is one of the most quiet and retired places I ever saw. I wish you could only see that graveyard. Sometimes old men with bald heads or grey hairs talk together in the graveyard as they stand by the stump of an old tree with the sundial on it. At other times, children may be seen sitting on the green hillocks, prattling together; and a pretty sight it is to see them. Why, when the daisies spring up, and the sun shines on the place, the graveyard is as cheerful a spot as any in the village.

The first time that I went into the graveyard, old Thomas, the shepherd, went with me. I was but a boy then; but old Thomas, who was a kind-hearted man, took a good deal of notice of me. "The graveyard," said he, "is a book to be read by the young and the old, the poor and the rich, the reckless and those that fear the Lord."