d and what I have suffered in it. There I went
when my heart was too full of pain or pleasure to bear the eye of
another. There have I prayed. There have I sent up thanksgivings.
There have I wept bitter tears. A new page in its history will
commence to-morrow, Frank. I hope, also, a new and fair page in the
history of your mind, that inner, private apartment, on which only
your own eye and the eye of Infinite Purity can rest. Begin to-morrow
to write on that new page the history of conquered selfishness, of
truth and purity, of devotion to duty, of a higher love for others,
of obedience to the will of God; then this will be a truly happy
New Year.

As I have told you, Frank, beforehand, what your New Year's gift is
to be, I will tell Harry, if he pleases, what I have got for him."

"Tell it now, Mother. It is so pleasant here by the fire."

"You are to have a nice new desk, with a key to it, all your own."

"O, that's prime, Mother," said Harry; "and where shall I keep it?"

"In my little writing room, if you like, Harry."

"Yes, Mother; and then I can talk a little now and then to you, I
suppose."

"Sometimes, Harry; and I doubt not that Frank will let you come, now
and then, to his closet. I don't want this closet to separate you;
but, on the contrary, to be the means of making you better friends,
because it will help Frank to be a better boy, and so always to set
you a good example."

"It is rather hard, Mother, for a boy to set a good example. I don't
think I ever did such a thing in my life."

"Mother," said Harry, "you told us that you had been translating a
little story from a French book, to read to us some evening. We
shall have time enough to-night, for you know you promised to let us
sit up till the clock strikes twelve; so we can talk, and read, and
tell stories too. There will be time enough for all, before Mr. Old
Year goes out and Mr. New Year comes in."

Mrs. Chilton consented. Frank placed her little stand by her, with
the German lamp upon it, in the way she liked to have it, and she
read as follows:--

THE BIRTHDAY.

Near the coast of Northumberland, at a little distance from the
land, you can just see rising up a group of little islands, rocks
scattered without order, that grow in number at low water; you may
count as many as twenty of them, whose sharp, menacing crests seem
to defy the returning waves.

Nothing can be more desolate than the appearance of the little Farne
Is