were crying, and she was crying too. And with every moment that passed the crowd grew larger and larger, as nothing but bad news can make a crowd grow.

We learnt it very quickly. Biddy had been so much cheered up by our visit, that when the woman went out to buy supper for them, she did not lock the door. When she came back, Biddy was gone. To do her neighbours justice, we could not doubt-considering how they talked then-that they had made inquiries in all the streets and courts around.

"And wherever t'owld lass can ha' gone!" sobbed the woman who had been her neighbour in the noblest sense of neighbourhood.

I was beginning to comfort her, when Dennis gripped me by the

arm:

"I know," said he. "Come along!"

His face was white, his eyes shone, and he tossed his head so wildly he looked madder than Biddy had looked; but when he began to run, and roughs in the street began to pursue him, I ran too, as a matter of safety. We drew breath at the dock gates.

The gate-keeper told us that old Biddy, "looking quite herself, only a bit thinner like," had gone through the evening before, to meet some one who was coming off one of the vessels, as he understood, but he had not noticed her on her return. He had heard her ask some man about a ship from New York.

I wanted to hear more, but Dennis clutched me again and dragged

me on.

"I'll know the wharf when I see it," said he.

Suddenly he stopped, and pointed. A wharf, but no vessel, only the water sobbing against the stones.

"That's the wharf," he gasped. "That's where he sat and looked down. She's there!"

He was right. We found her there at ebb of tide, with no sign of turmoil or trouble about her, except the grip that never could be loosened with which she held Mickey's one letter fast in her hand.

(To be continued.)

VILLAGE CHIMES.

OW sweetly rhyme the old Church bells,
With fitful cadence soft and clear,
As heard afar their music swells
Upon the lonely wanderer's ear!

Now pealing like a hymn of praise,
Triumphant thro' the deep blue sky,
Now faltering as the breeze delays,
Like whispered prayer of infancy.
They seem to tell of home and rest,
Of garden trim, and pleasant trees,
Of holiday and rural feast,

And household joy, and marriage glee.

They seem to tell of youthful mirth,
Of loiterings sweet in alleys green,

Of sports at yule around the hearth,

When hearts grow warm, and winds blow keen.

And now, they toll in mournful chimes

The knell of friends long vanish'd hence,

Of ties long rent, of bygone times,

Of childhood's faith and innocence!

Of friends perchance, with whom, as now,
He paused to hear those Church bells' tone

Upon the green hill's sunny brow,

Where now he lingers, changed, alone!

They tell, as on the breeze they die,
Of hope, now lost, and peace within,
Of thoughts once turn'd to things on high,
Forgotten long in care and sin!

With plaintive voice they seem to say,
"Come back, belov'd, no more to roam!
Turn, wayward spirit gone astray!

Return, return, to heaven and home."

Ye old Church bells, ye old Church bells,
As sounds from far your cadence wild,
The wanderer's heart within him swells;
He turns and weeps-again a child!

"Naughty Hugh."

Words and Music by A. SCOTT GATTY.

1. Of all the lads I ever knew, I ne'er met one like