from sin, he remarks, "Of some have compassion, making a difference, and others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire." Some must be gently won; others must be admonished and reproved. The peculiarities of some must be studied, and the prejudices of others consulted. "I am made all things to all men," says St. Paul," that I might by all means save some." And when, during his visit to Jerusalem, he eagerly proclaimed that gospel which he himself so deeply loved and prized, he tells us that he "communicated it privately to them which were of reputation, lest by any means he should run or had run in vain." Would it not be well if we were sometimes to imitate this trait in St. Paul's character?

But Christian zeal, although tempered by discretion and guided with regularity, will, after all, achieve but little of importance, if it is fitful and intermittent. And therefore too much stress can hardly be laid upon the value and the necessity of,

IV. Perseverance. In worldly occupations, what poor success is theirs who want steadiness in the execution of their plans! On the other hand, what will not a resolute, patient, and perpetual course of industry accomplish! Burgh mentions a merchant who, at first setting out, opened and shut his shop for several days together without selling goods to the value of a penny; but who, by the force of application for some years, rose at last to a handsome fortune. "But I have known many," he adds, "who had a variety of opportunities for settling themselves comfortably in the world, yet who, through lack of steadiness to carry any scheme to perfection, sank from one degree of wretchedness to another, without the least hope of ever getting above distress and want.'

And who can estimate what "perseverance" has done in the furtherance of Christian labour? One striking instance of the good which it has lately. effected is fresh in my recollection; and, as "example

is better than precept," a lively anecdote will perhaps more easily arouse you to the cultivation of this essential business habit, than a long string of didactic observations. On the top of a delightful hill in France there is a small village, called Laforce. Under the ministry of a truly evangelical pastor, the Rev. John Bost, a revival of religion took place among the simple inhabitants, and the erection of a new church was contemplated, towards the expenses of which a liberal collection was made. While this was going on, Mr. Bost told his parishioners of his desire to build an institution for the maintenance and education of orphan girls and daughters of poor Protestants. The poor people said, that having given all they could for the church, they had no money to give; but added, "We will, however, aid you in the undertaking in another way; we will carry all the materials required both for the institution and the church." The architect, on being told the peasants would do the work, could not help laughing, and exclaimed, "Were they ten times more numerous, they would not succeed." But the peasants had counted the cost. They all set to work-a work which lasted for more than two years! Night and day, through snow and rain, some of them went to the mountain to hew the wood, and bring it to Laforce, while others went to the river for the stones. This handful of devoted men, (Mr. Bost has not more than five hundred parishioners in all, including women and children,) by their persevering efforts, thus brought from the mountain or the river eight thousand carts of materials, valued at no less than eight hundred pounds! With such a pattern as this before us, ought we to grow weary in well-doing?

Dear reader, I wonder whether you and I are" about our Father's business."

"THE pleasures of the world appear very charming from a little distance, but they are as unreal as the mirage in the desert. Society, or whatever you may please to call the round of gaiety and excitement which girls anticipate on coming out,' has generally the first love of the young, but they at length turn wearily from its delusions. If they have been well educated and have entered into the spirit of their teaching, and still care to learn, they sometimes try to forget their disappointment, and find satisfaction in a continued and arduous course of study. But what contentment can they feel in it unless they love knowledge really and truly for its own sake, for the stimulus of ambition is denied to them? Amiability is not cultivated so much as it should be as a means of winning love; and the quiet and conscientious discharge of home duties is not sufficiently appreciated, though the one is the surest way to gain affection, and the other to win esteem."

These remarks of my mother's terminated a conversation relating to certain incidents with which I am about to acquaint you, my reader.

My brother Eustace and myself were the only children of our mother, and "she was a widow." Gentle-hearted and unselfish, she may have seemed almost wanting in decision of character until circumstances of peculiar trial developed in her a strength of mind and calm self-reliance which had lain hidden beneath the yielding mildness of her daily life. Eustace resembled her in disposition more than I did, perhaps because a constitutional weakness prevented him from joining in the sports of other boys; and so having been from infancy my mother's constant companion, his mind became moulded like hers, and all her tastes and feelings became his also. For myself, though I loved those dear ones with all my heart, I would willingly have varied their society a little, and many were the longings that I felt to see and mingle in the world that I read of in my books, and concerning which, in the long hours of solitude that I passed among the wild wood-walks round the Heronry-so my home was called-I had indulged in so many delightful dreams.

As a little child I had peopled copse and dingle with fairy folk. Ouphes and brownies, Queen Mab herself and freakful Robin Goodfellow, were dwellers in my favourite spots; and

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long after I had ceased to believe in the existence of these elvish sprites, the memory of their supposed companionship in days gone by made many a shady nook or sunny corner haunted ground to me. The mind receives a certain tone from the books that one reads, and, as I was left to choose my own studies, reveries, tinged with the hues of chivalry, succeeded those early fancies, as historical tales of the middle ages replaced my nursery stories. At last dreams ceased to satisfy me; the age of chivalry was past, and was, therefore, as unreal as the time of the fairies which never had been, and my idle hours were filled with thoughts of the joyous life in the world from which I seemed to be shut out.

I was really very lonely, for Eustace was ill, and our mother was always with him, and, as there were few families in the neighbourhood with whom we were even formally acquainted, I had no companions. So the mornings I spent in study, and the rest of the day in rambling about the grounds, generally with some engrossing volume in my hand, and I passed the evenings in my brother's room when he was well enough to bear the presence of a third person. The autumn had gone in this way, and it was almost mid-winter when Eustace seemed all at once to rally. His illness was not of that acute nature which requires exertion on the nurse's part, it was a slow wasting away, scarcely perceptible, needing only quiet watching; and they alone who have seen the gradual ceasing of life can tell how trying it is to know that the sufferer is passing away certainly, and that each day is most surely taken from the brief time that is left to him. However, Eustace was decidedly better, and so strong that, as the Heronry was dull, and he wished for some change, the physicians said that late as it was in the season for travelling, he had better start at once while the weather was mild for some place further south, in case the cold usual at that time of the year should render the plan impracticable on his

account.

All necessary arrangements were soon made. My mother, Eustace, and two servants, one of whom had been my father's valet, and had grown grey in the service of the family, and the other my brother's nurse, composed the travelling party, while I was consigned to the hospitalities of Clinford Court, to whose proprietor we are distantly related. With hope and fear, for I was almost a stranger to my hostess, and my recollections of her were calculated to inspire awe rather than confidence, I commenced my journey in one of the Clinford earriages, which was passing through an adjacent village on its way from London, whither it had been sent for repairs.

The roads were in some places almost impassable on account of the recent heavy rains, so that we were considerably longer on the journey than we had expected, and it was with great satisfaction that, as we turned in at the lodge-gates and drove up the avenue, I saw lights gleaming from the windows of the house. As we stopped before the doors a gong was sounding so loudly that it almost deafened me; and by the passing and repassing of domestics, and the odour of viands, I rightly judged that it was the dinner-hour. Could anything be more annoying than to be obliged to introduce myself in the presence of I knew not how many people, sitting on either side of a long table, staring at me, and wondering who so late a comer could be? This unpleasant vision passed before my eyes while I was being conducted to my room by a smartlooking French maid, to whom the footman that had opened the door had given me in charge.

"Will mademoiselle make her toilette?" she asked, as I warmed my hands by the fire, and surveyed the luxuriously furnished chamber into which she had ushered me.

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Presently, thank you," I answered, assuming an ease that I did not feel. ་་ If you could bring me a cup of tea here I should be glad, and I will join the ladies in the drawing-room after dinner."

"As mademoiselle please, but madame have reserve a place for her at de table."

"Oh, dear, then I must go down. Perhaps you will have my trunks brought upstairs directly, and help me to dress."

"Assurément, I am here for to assist mademoiselle ;" and away she tripped, soon re-appearing, followed by two of her fellow-servants, carrying my boxes. They were quickly unlocked, a dress selected, and with the aid of the skilful femmede-chambre I was ready in a surprisingly short space of time. "Is there any company to dinner?" I asked, taking a last look in the glass to see that everything was complete.

"Oui, certainement," she answered, reckoning on her fingers the number of the guests as she mentioned them. "Dere be miladi Grace Lyall, and Meess Conyers wid her sister, and Madame Darley, and Colonel and Madame Hamilton, and Mr. Lawford, and Madame Gordon, and de Capitaine and Meess Moore, and

But I stopped her voluble recapitulation of the visitors' names by asking her to show me the way downstairs. With considerable trepidation I followed her guidance, feeling my courage diminish at every step, so that I was obliged to ask the man-servant to wait an instant before he threw open the dining-room door. It was of no use to delay the terrible