to be accomplished? By sitting at Christ's feet, and learning of Him, who is meek and lowly in heart. Waiting upon Christ must be combined with working for Him. And then bright and useful will be your onward course. You will be a blessing to all who come within reach of your influence; and your ardent toils will, perhaps, stimulate some who are standing idle in the market-place to go and work to-day in Christ's vineyard.

And then think of your reward! Think how delightful it will be to meet in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ, at his coming, those who shall be your hope, your joy, and your crown of rejoicing! Think of the unspeakable gladness with which you will hear the commendation of your Saviour, "Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of your Lord!"

But perhaps, dear reader, you are not like Martha of Bethany. You dislike bustle and excitement. You are quiet, gentle, unassuming, fond of repose. Well, be it so. Diversity of character is both pleasing and requisite. There are varied spheres of usefulness in Christ's service, for which varied qualifications are needed. You may be walking quietly along some narrow and sheltered path, while another is hurrying over the hot and dusty high-road, yet the object to be attained in each case be the same. There are "Marys' as well as "Marthas," whó minister to Christ.

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Only don't take it for granted that if you are not one you must necessarily be the other. You are not an admirer, you say, of the busy and impatient Martha. You have too much refinement and delicacy of feeling to sympathize with a love of domestic occupations; you are so timid and sensitive that you shrink from those arduous engagements in which others seem to find much pleasure. A life of perpetual activity, of stirring employment, is not your vocation. Now, I am

not going to find fault with this description of yourself, but I am going to say that it is very possible to hare Mary's disposition without Mary's piety. Because you are not cumbered with serving like Martha, it does not follow that you have assuredly chosen the good part, like Mary. Our Saviour's commendation of the latter may no more belong to you than his reproof to the former. It is too easy to sit still without sitting at Christ's feet. Indolence is not religion; nor is natural gentleness of disposition always allied with that docility which distinguishes Christ's scholars. Learn, therefore, to discriminate between things that differ. A fondness for quiet and intellectual pursuits may exist without an earnest attention to the one thing needful; and, on the other hand, a love of activity and excitement is by no means identical with the hearty endeavour to serve Christ.

Do not mistake nature for grace. Grace works, it is true, in harmony with the individual temperament; it moulds, not alters; sanctifies, not destroys. Peter is not like John; Mary does not resemble Marthastill we must be careful that we do not substitute natural impulses for spiritual emotions.

Dear reader, whether we have the energy of a Martha, or the meekness of a Mary, let us love the Saviour and learn of Him, and then his favour and blessing will rest upon us, and his service will become increasingly our delight.

A TALE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

IN TWO CHAPTERS.-CHAPTER I.

THE shades of evening were gathering darkly over the sunset sky when a traveller, almost sinking from hunger and weariness, sat down beneath a blasted fir tree on a dreary Scottish moor. He looked hopelessly around, for there was no building in sight; on every side the barren waste stretched far away, cold and grey and desolate, strewn with shattered blocks of slate and granite, and dotted with stunted pines which offered the only shelter at hand from the heavy rain that began to fall, spanning the leaden-coloured masses of cloud in the east with a brilliant bow, as the sunbeams flashed on the sparkling drops; and no voice replied to his repeated shouts. A noble horse, tired and dispirited like his master, stood by him, cropping the scanty herbage that sprang up between the stones, but not stirring from his companion's side; as though fatigue and loneliness were bonds of sympathy between them.

It was towards the close of the year 1684, when party spirit ran so high between those who wished to force on the people of Scotland a liturgy similar to that accepted in the sister kingdom, and the rejecters of that form of worship, that, forgetting the comparative unimportance of externals, the supporters of either opinion affected to consider their opponents as more sunk in ignorance and error than the church against whose authority and doctrines they both protested; and the civil strife was carried on with all the malignant animosity for which religious disagreements have ever been remarkable, when the disputants have had recourse to arms as a means of deciding their differences. The Prelatists, sometimes conscientious in their efforts, more often caring only to secure for the established church an increase of secular power, and disregarding the opposition necessary to gain the desired end, and the Covenanters, stern, unyielding, and somewhat fanatical, were alike in one feature of their respective party-character their charity was restricted to those of their own persuasion; and while, on the one hand, whoever harboured suspected persons was severely punished by the government, on the other, any benevolence extended to one who had not joined the cause was deemed by the Whigs a crime of no ordinary magnitude. Woe betide, then, the unlucky wight whom necessity compelled to solicit aught of that sect to which he did not belong; he must ac

knowledge the Act of Supremacy, or embrace the Covenant, according to the views of those to whom he applied, or the links of brotherhood between man and man were forgotten, and life itself might be the penalty of recusancy.

The traveller was by no means sanguine, therefore, as to the reception that he should meet with were he to continue his journey until he arrived at some place of human habitation. Accustomed to the privations of a sportsman's life, as well as to the indulgences of a sojourn at the court of the luxurious Charles the Second, he would have thought it little hardship to rest on a couch of heather under the cope of heaven, on a summer night; but a flinty bed, beneath a stormy sky, with the autumn winds howling round him, was no inviting prospect for a half-famished man.

"One effort more," he thought, "before we choose this rough lodgment;" and, having rested for a short time, he rose, and placing his hand on the bridle of the way-worn steed, he slowly ascended a hill in the opposite direction to that by which he had come.

The summit was soon gained, and his perseverance rewarded, for in the dim twilight he discerned, on the farther side of the stream that took its course along the bottom of the valley below, a cluster of trees, between the stems of which glimmered a light, as from a cotter's window, shining through the increasing darkness, like a star of hope.

'Courage, Dreadnought, courage!" exclaimed the traveller, cheerily, to his dumb follower; "our journey is well nigh ended.

Down the hill-side they went, cautiously avoiding the smooth rolling pebbles that were scattered about; they crossed the brook, from which both horse and man took a refreshing draught, and then, as the gusts of wind and rain grew stronger and more frequent, the wanderer approached a small cottage, which, with its peat-stack kale-yard, and out-buildings, was as an oasis in the desert moor.

Like a wary campaigner the belated stranger determined to reconnoitre the ground, before he asked for admission. Looking through the casement, which was partly shaded by a curtain hanging within, he saw the inmates of the cottage occupied with their evening devotions: an aged woman sat in the ingle nook, and on the other side of the hearth, on which a fire blazed brightly, illuming the clean brick floor, the white walls and the table, whereon some bowls and platters were laid in preparation for supper, sat a young woman, whose placid face, from which the hair was taken back beneath the matronly curch, contrasted in its looks of

mild and gentle love with the stern and sorrow-stricken expression of the elder female. An infant slumbered quietly on her knee, but though from time to time she glanced fondly on its tiny features, her attention seemed to be absorbed in listening to a man scarce past the prime of life, who read from a well-worn volume some portion doubtless of the inspired Word. Deep lines of care furrowed his homely and weatherbeaten countenance, but there was something impressive and even dignified in his appearance, as, holding the book in one hand, he extended the other, as though to rivet the thoughts of his auditors, and raising his voice he repeated with emphatic earnestness a passage perchance that had taken fast hold of his mind; again the rich full tones died away, there was a moment's hush, and then the three knelt down in prayer. The traveller stood still, gazing almost with reverence on the little company of worshippers. Without, the storm raged wildly, within all was peace and holy calm; and hesitating, not from doubt of obtaining succour, but from reluctance to intrude on the dwellers in the humble abode, during the time thus sanctified, he waited until the service was over, and then knocked gently at the door. The casement was opened, and a manly voice demanded, "Who is here?"

"A friend," was the reply.

"What is the pass word, then?"

"In faith, I know it not; but for me, it well might be Charity,' for I, a benighted wanderer, ask it at your hand." "God forbid that I or mine should deny it to any that are in need. But whence come you?"

"That I can scarcely tell, for I have journeyed far, and I know not the way that I have traversed."

"How many are without?" was the next interrogatory. 'Myself alone."

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"But I hear the tramp of a horse."

"It is my own good steed. He has borne me many a weary mile since sunrise, and loth am I that he should come to harm; I pray you therefore to tell me if I may find shelter and provender hereabouts."

“On which side are you?" resumed the cautious questioner, after a pause, while the women whispered together within the chamber, and the stranger stood impatiently by the window, with the light flashing on his frank and sunburnt face.

"I am of no party," he replied. “ Liberty, honour, and loyalty I am sworn to uphold, and truth also, wherever it may be found. If our parley last much longer, however, I shall be in sorry plight, and ill able to work ill or well for church