turned out of doors, and made their way along the high road leading towards the beautiful village of T-.

At the commencement of their walk they had rows of elm trees, interspersed with poplars, on either hand. Between the branches of those on one side which threw their deep shadows across the road, they could see the full-orbed moon; while beyond, its silvery light was seen brightening the housetops, and dancing on the windows of the church of the village; so that their course was out of darkness into light; as Mr. Hamilton afterwards said, it was an emblem of their friend Pearson's progress in his mental exercises.

The three were, however, so occupied with their subject that they at once began their discourse, and left the poplar boughs to battle with the moonbeams as they chose. Pearson had often said that there was as much slavery at home as abroad; if he ever believed this, his views had undergone a great change, for when Mr. Hamilton asked him whether he would like to change places with such a poor creature as the one he had been reading of, he replied, with a shudder, "No!" "But still," said he, "I maintain that working people in this country are not treated as they ought to be."

"In some cases, no doubt, they are treated harshly, and are inadequately paid," said Mr. Hamilton; "but then they have their liberty, so that they can dissolve the connection, and offer their services to some one who is likely to remunerate and treat them better. The law," he continued, "defends the working man from open inJustice, and where a man's skill and industry are up to the average, the master will find it to his advantage to secure such an one, and will treat him accordingly."

"How is it that the negroes are in such an enslaved and wretched condition ?" asked Pearson.

"Undoubtedly through the unjustifiable deeds of those who hold them in bondage," replied Mr. Hamilton.

"There appears to me," said Mr. Gilby, "to be a very great difference between the cause of their misery and that of the greater part of those who dwell in the wretched hovels at which I have to call. The captive negroes seem to be without the power to prevent their distress, while thousands of our English poor bring themselves to their wretched condition through indolence and

intemperance; though, of course, there are many among them who are the virtuous victims of misfortune, and who find all their efforts ineffectual to raise themselves from the slough of suffering into which they are sunk."

"Yes," said Mr. Hamilton, "it must resolve itself into that in many cases. It seems to be ordained by a superhuman power that some shall be subordinate, and who they shall be, and what they shall suffer; and though some of the doings of the unseen hand are inexplicable, yet in general, in the variety and dependence of the parts of society, we see the divine wisdom and goodness displayed."

"That is very plain to my mind," remarked Mr. Gilby, "for if all men were equal in power and property, what a dissociated set of creatures we should be; and then as to the decision by men who should be high and who low if we admit variety, it would be a dispute interminable, except by the voluntary subjection or the destruction of some. Permanent social equality must be an absolute impossibility, constituted as we are, and as it seems we must be to be united, happy, and progressive, or even moral beings."

"Well, I think you Pearson.

are right," said

"That, you know," continued Mr. Gilby, "is how the Apostle Paul, who was a divinely taught working man, puts it in one of his letters, in which he is exhorting to subordination. He uses the metaphor of a body, showing that every member of it is necessary to its completeness and welfare, and he says that God hath set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him.' You can get no further than that; and if you would pardon the liberty, Mr. Pearson, I would say you never will be happy in your present or any other condition in life, unless you trace it up to the appointment of the Most High, and not only admit that he is right, but praise him because he is good. Transgressors as we all are, it ought deeply to affect and humble us, that still it is true, whatever our circumstances may be, that "the Lord is good unto all."

Pearson, who had never steadily viewed the matter in this light before, felt all his objections fail, and was ashamed that he had ever murmured at his lot. After a moment's pause, he said, with deep feeling, Yes, it is wrong, it is very wicked

to rebel against the appointments of God; but, oh, what a blind and daring sinner I have been in this way."

They had now reached Pearson's house, and the two friends, on being asked to step in, consented to do so. On being introduced, they found Mrs. Pearson and her eldest girl at work, George was drawing, and the other children were in bed. Mrs. Pearson was soon informed by the schoolmaster that they had been talking on the topic which was the subject of their conersation on the day when they met in thefields. "Oh, have you, Sir ?" she said, "my husband is almost always troubling about that matter."

"It will be different in future, though wife," said Pearson. "I see much more clearly than I did. I earnestly hope that God will forgive my past ingratitude, and help me to thank and love him."

"That is the only way to get right and happy," said Mr. Hamilton; "all the arguing possible will not give peace of mind. True love to God is the oil on the waves which makes them smooth and still. Where the love of God is shed abroad in the heart by the Holy Ghost, there is not only contentment and gratitude, but a peace which none of the perplexities and pains of this mortal state shall ever be able to destroy."

"There is truth in what you say, I believe," responded Pearson, thoughtfully. "I wish I could say I have experienced it; but I hope I shall."

His wife, observing tears in his eyes, could herself hardly refrain from weeping, as she took up the conversation by saying, "We know that all this is true; but what we have to mourn over is, that we have not read the Bible and attended a place of worship as we ought, or we might know more of these things. For myself, I must confess that though I have taken things easier than my husband, it has not been through religion. We have been both alke strangers to the love and peace of which you speak,"

Mr. Gilby ventured to say, " Why should you not now become acquainted with them? As sinners, Christ has made peace for us through the blood of his cross, and he himself has said, Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'"

"I am sorry we must discontinue our talk," interrupted Mr. Hamilton, "but it is now so late, we must be going."

Pearson and his wife warmly returned the greeting of their friends, as, on leaving, they wished them "good night." They also thanked them for their kindness; and when the friends were gone, it was with no ordinary feelings that the working man and his wife went over again the course of thought they had just pursued. Nor did the good effect produced in their minds soon cease. Henceforth they carefully read the Scriptures, and by these and the preaching which they regularly attended, they were further guided into the truth of the gospel.

And not long after the period

when our narrative closes, they were received into fellowship with a christian church, and have since continued to walk in the fear of the Lord, and in the comfort of the Holy Ghost. They have often since, in times of great affliction, enjoyed greater calmness of soul than any which they ever knew, in their most favourable circumstances, when they were far from God. And when any of his shopmates and neighbours asked George Pearson, after his conversion, what was the secret of his composure and contentment he would reply, "Be careful for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God; and the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."

her friend.

And especially had she hoped for this when her home duties would prevent her visiting the poor to counsel and to aid, then she would think how, by and bye, her eldest-born would pass from house to house in their sweet village home, and fill the place, amongst earth's suffering ones, which she herself had longed, but failed, to occupy.

And Ellen, leaving school a christian girl, -was she all this? Ah, no!

For she had always loved to read of lofty deeds, of life devotion, holy sacrifice, and martyrdom,-of women who stood out before the world in bold relief, and with unequalled courage worked for God; and she had dwelt upon all this, fired, as she often said, "with high ambition," till the good of every day existence had grown tame and was despised, and months had passed away in her calm peaceful home, leaving her reading, dreaming, and inactive still.

Once she had spoken of these things, but her mother's look, which said so plainly, "Leave me,-and I die !" had touched her deeply, and she said no more. And beyond this, had both her parents smiled upon her wish, still as she often said, when none but God could hear, "There is no sphere for high exertion within sight; long as I may, no opportunity occurs,-no prospect opens. Oh, that I could do some work for God! Shall I be always longing for some way of proving my deep gratitude and love, and never finding it ?"

Ah, Ellen, you have had a lofty sphere for months, and you have trodden it as dust beneath your feet. Think you that woman's sphere is ever to stand forth, in sight of all, a heroine? No, there are quiet lives of usefulness on which our Father smiles as graciously, as on the deeds which bid a world admire.

But Ellen has yet to learn all this!

"If you please, Miss Herbert, uncle Edward has sent me a parcel of tracts, 'to give away in my walks with papa,' he says. But papa is ill, you know, and so I came to ask if you would go with me?"

there, kiss me, and run home with this book, which I promised to lend your sister."

Oh, Ellen, Ellen !

"I shall be ready in half an hour to call on Mrs. Birton; will you be ready, Ellen ?" "Don't think I shall go, mother." "Why not, dear ?"

"Oh, I feel more inclined to lie down on the sofa here and think."

"But, Agnes, who feels her brother's death so much, will she not expect you ?" "You can say all that is needful."

"But, Ellen, I cannot be to Agnes what you would be. You are just her own age." "Well, not to-day, mamma; I don't feel inclined !"

"Quite ready, papa. day for a ride."

What a splendid

"I did not know you were getting ready, child; your mother told me she would ask you to let poor Mary James go to-day in your stead."

"Oh, mamma did say something, but I feel just in the mood for a ride, and I want to go through the forest with you, so I told mamma all about it. Besides, I have had no ride for several days."

Her father, too indulgent! kissed the rosy cheek, although he felt that she was very selfish.

The evening came.

"Ellen, I can't see any longer; just read that half column about China, will you ?” "Sorry to say, No, Sir; but must make haste over this French book so as to return it."

"Get on with your French, dear; I know, from experience, how useful it is."

Ellen heard the words, but not the sigh which followed.

"Sister, tell me all about it," said Charley, next morning, pushing a print, called, "Jesus blessing little children," on the table.

"Sister is busy now, ask Sarah."

Sarah was in the room, sweeping the hearth, but good-humouredly stopped to explain the picture.

"And them's the children, and that's Jesus, and their mothers is bringing of 'em to have His hands alaid upon their heads, to make 'em good."

Oh, Ellen, Ellen! and is this the version of that

"sweet story of old,"

which you would have impressed on that child's mind? Was there no holy love to be lit up in that young heart, by a judicious setting forth of Jesus, and His love for little ones? No noble lesson to be conned by that bright, eager boy?

A sphere! you have one here, and you neglect it; and, oh, what a death-bed shall yours be, if God do not ere then in mercy waken you !

And you, who read this page, do you condemn her? Have you never, then, sinned like her? Which, which of us can lift his hand to heaven and say, "I have done all the work I had to do"?

Ellen was sad; who could be otherwise? and, sitting in her room brooding as usual over her "sad lot," heard Sarah's step and voice.

"Oh, if you please Miss Herbert, I have been to Mrs. Rayman's again, and she asked me to tell you as her daughter went off to her new place all in a hurry yesterday; but that, before she went, she left a note for you."

Ellen waited till Sarah had closed the door, and then read the note. Oh, how it pierced her heart. It spoke of deep anxiety for the soul's safety, of ignorance as to the way of salvation, and of a dark despair, which, as Anne feared, had already begun to close around her. "And, oh, Miss Ellen," Anne went on," if you had but come to see me, and had begun to speak as you did once before, oh, I think I should have told you what I felt, and perhaps you could have shown me what to do."

Long time does Ellen kneel and weep and pray, and long does she lie awake that night thinking of all the past, beginning to see where her path is lying. And, even in her dreams, these thoughts will follow her, and she sees ignorant and careless ones without even a tract to speak to them of a Saviour, and she sees herself refuse to bear the messengers of mercy. She sees fellow-christians sad and sorrowful, and she sees herself turn coldly from their door. Poor Mary, too, so pale and friendless, and the ride which might have proved indeed a blessing, the father's unread paper, and the neglected child, all rise before her so reproachfully!

The morrow came, and in new strength she rose, and praying for God's blessing, she began her work. But, though she visited

the widow, wrote to Anne, and watched for opportunities of doing good through all the day, still, still she felt that the time past was gone, for ever gone. And even now, as she looks back on many years of active usefulness, there comes a shade of sadness and of deep humility, when she remembers all the carelessness and sin of earlier days. And without losing her high admiration of the lofty and renowned, she yet rejoices that in quiet humble life God has been pleased to give to her a noble "sphere." C.

THE MUDDY BOTTOM.

The heart of man is like a pool of standing water. Look at it on a summer's day, when not a breeze ruffles the surface, not a bird flies over to cast its light shadow on its face. It is so clear, so bright, you may see your own image reflected there.

Now, cast a stone to the bottom, and watch the effect. The dark mud is rising all around, rank weeds are floating up which you never saw before; the whole pool is in a state of motion, and hardy! a drop of water escapes the foul pollu

tion.

Look at your heart when all outward things go well. No vexing, crossing care mars its tranquil calm, and you think you see the image of Jesus reflected there. It is so long since sin has molested you, that you think it has left you quite, and that al pure within.

is

Now, let a sudden offence come,-an unkind, undeserved rebuke; let pride be touched, or self-will roused, and presently all is lost. Like the waves of an angry sea, the poor mind is tossed from thought to thought, and finds no rest. The mud is raised from the bottom, and not one corner of that wretched heart is free from its polluting influence. All gentle, soothing thoughts are gone, and one by one the dark weeds are floating on the surface.

But do not give it up; it is not all lost. Do you remember the Sea of Galilee, and One who had power to calm its troubled waters? Go to him; he has done greater things than these. Go to him in earnest, persevering prayer, and wait the result of faith. Again shall his image be reflected there; again shall the sunshine of his love sparkle over the scene. But learn, oh, man, from thy misery, this lesson; for therefore was it sent: There is no moment