ate of a small parish not many
miles from H----, in the county of S----. The match was one of pure
affection; the beautiful young girl brought no fortune to her husband.
Mr. Grant's income was less than 150_l._ per annum; but in the eyes of
love, it seemed sufficient for all their wants. Several years passed
away, and the young couple, though obliged to dispense with most of the
luxuries of life, did not repent the imprudent step they had taken.

Ella was the happy mother of three fine children, and she nearly doubled
her husband's slender income by teaching a small but select school. At
length the day of trial came. Mr. Grant was taken ill, and was obliged
to relinquish his parochial duties. Ella's time was devoted entirely to
her sick husband. The school was broken up, and after a long and severe
affliction, which consumed all their little savings, the curate died
deeply regretted by his flock, by whom he was justly beloved; and such
was the poverty of his circumstances, that his funeral, and decent
mourning for his wife and children, were furnished by subscription.
After the melancholy rite was over, the widow found herself and her
young children utterly destitute.

"I have hands to work--I must not despair," said she, as she divided the
last morsel of bread she had among the children, reserving none for
herself; "I have trusted in God all my life, and though it has come to
this, I will trust in His mercy yet."

She sat down by the window, and looked sadly towards the churchyard. She
could scarcely, as yet, realize the truth, that her husband was sleeping
there, and that she, the cherished idol of his heart, had prayed for
daily bread from the great Father, and was fasting from sheer want. It
was a bleak cold day,--the autumnal wind was stripping the sallow
leaves from the trees, and roaring like a hungry demon among the
shivering branches; a little sparrow hopped upon the window-sill, and
relieved his hunger by picking up some grass seeds that the children had
gathered in the ear; and left by accident there,--and while the poor
mourner watched the bird through her tears, the text so touchingly
illustrating the providential care of the Creator, recurred to her
memory--"Fear not, ye are of more value than many sparrows,"--and she
dried the tears from her eyes, and felt comforted.

The postman's sharp rap at the door roused her from her vision of hope
and trust, and she was presented with a letter. Alas! the postage