M. I dare say I should; but that is a reason why I would not go; for the light hearts and merry faces seen there have nothing lasting in them, but only make work for repentance. I like the mirth which brings no repentance after it.

T. So do I: I don't repent of being there; I like it so well that I am about the last to come away; that shows I don't repent of it.

M. So much the worse for you; and, if your heart becomes so blinded that you cannot see your fault, there is great danger that you will sooner or later perish in your fault.

T. Why, sure you don't see any harm in a little good fellowship.

T. No; but I don't call yours good fellowship. Good fellowship is, when neighbours meet together for good purposes, at good hours, behave themselves cheerfully, friendly, and peaceably, and do not waste their time, nor neglect their families. Will you answer me a few questions fairly?

T. Yes, I will.

M. First, then, John, have you any money to spend on things which are not necessary?

T. No, not I; I haven't a sixpence besides this which I have just begged; but Master Jones will let me score double that, and more too, as I'm a pretty constant customer, and bring him in as many as I can.

M. Secondly, don't you receive parish relief?

T. To be sure I do: for I can only get a job just now and then; and I have a wife and five children. 'Tis but right I should have some pay.

M. Thirdly, do you go to the beer house on a Saturday night as well as other nights?

T. Yes, when I can get my parish money; Master Jones always likes best to see us then; for then we pay off some of our score, and run up a fresh one.

M. Fourthly, do you always leave the beer house before Sunday morning?

T. Why, we make no particular rule: we commonly sit as long as he'll draw; and he'll mostly draw as long as our money lasts, or the score doesn't look very white.

M. Fifthly, whom do you meet there?

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T. Oh! there's Jack Wilson, the Sunday barber, and he always takes care to be away in time for his jobs, and Dick Woodman, who had a little money left him the other day, and Ned Batley, the soldier-man; as soon as he's got his pension, he mostly comes and drinks it out very freely; and sometimes there drops in one or another who treats us with a pot.

M. Now, I don't want to ask you any thing more, John. I can pretty well guess at your conversation. And now your answers just make my reasons for not joining you.

T. Aye, indeed, Richard; how do you make that out?

M. First, then, I haven't any thing to spend on what is not necessary.

Secondly, I have also a wife and family looking to me for support, and what I earn I lay out for what is needful for us all, and not on my own belly. I should hate myself if I were to see a score at a public house, while my wife and family were in want.

Thirdly and fourthly, I know that spending Saturday night and Sunday morning in a beer house unfits any one for serving God on the Lord's Day. And he who hasn't the heart to be thankful to God, and to pray to Him, and hear His Holy Word, on the Lord's Day, is an unhappy man, whatever present appearances may be.

Lastly, I don't wish to speak ill of any; but I wouldn't have such company as you meet at the beer house, if I could have my beer for nothing.

T. Pray, then, what do you do with yourself of an evening; and how do you spend your money?

M. I'll answer you as freely as you do me. I am, in one sense, as poor as you; for I have a wife and five children to maintain: but I'm not so poor as you in another sense; for I can, and do, look up to my heavenly Father for the riches of His blessing on me and mine, though I be an undeserving creature ;-and you cannot, as you go on at present. In this sense, then, I'm much better off than you.

I spend my time in my daily labour, trusting in God

through the merits of our Redeemer for His protection and blessing on me and mine. And when my day's work is done, I go home to my family; if I'm not too tired I do a little matter to my own garden; or one or other of us reads a chapter or so in the Bible; and we have a nice book or two which the clergyman lends us: and there is always some little job or another to look to: so my time passes very much to my content, and I do think it has God's blessing upon it; and that makes every thing go right.

I spend my money in the way which I am bound to do: in buying what is needful for my wife and family: so my wife and children are not for ever wandering about the parish to beg; for I lay out for them what I receive; and, by making every sixpence I get fetch its value home, I am able to spare enough to buy a drop of beer sometimes, when my wife or I have had a more than common hard day's work in the field, or any of us, for any reason, have particular need of it.

I pray to God, in the name of Jesus Christ, morning and night, and teach every one belonging to me to do the same. All of us contrive to go to the Church on a Sunday, to pray one with another in the congregation to the Father of all, to hear His Word, and to get instructed, and be reminded of what is the faith and duty of believers in Jesus Christ. I endeavour, by the help of God's Holy Spirit, to live contented with my lot; and to be thankful for any bettering of it, and I try to keep my heart fixed, as much as I can, on that heavenly home, to which I am travelling.

I have tried this way of going on for some time, Master Townsend, and I am every day more and more sure that it is the right one. I'd fain have you try it too. You'd find it help you better than the beer house, to bear the cares and crosses of this life; it would give you comforts you'll never find there; and you'd be looking with some hope, through Christ, to come to a heavenly abode, when you are called out of this world;-but you can have no such hope as things now are with you.-Farewell.

S. Y.

A MINISTER'S VISITS TO A PARISHIONER.

I WAS lately called upon to visit one of my parishioners, under circumstances, which, I think, are full of important instruction to Christians in general.

On calling on her, I found her grievously afflicted with bodily suffering; but this was not all; her situation was rendered much worse by her being most deeply distressed in mind. When she needed the consolations of religion most, alas! they were then denied her.

And why was this? Was it that, like hundreds in this sinful world, she had set her face altogether against religion? Or, that, like thousands of the careless ones, she had never before thought of religion at all? No. Neither of these was her case. The fact was, that, having once been earnest and anxious about that great work, she had fallen away from her stedfastness. An idol had, for a time, taken possession of her heart. How this happened I will state as clearly as I can.

She had been for about eight or ten years a steady and constant attendant on divine worship, and religious instruction, being serious and devout in the use of the means of grace; especially in the exercise of private and public prayer, and in attendance on the Lord's Supper. Thus she appeared to have become a true and confirmed believer, and lived, as I understood, like a faithful practical Christian; and hence had been permitted to partake in that joy, and peace in believing, which is generally the high privilege of the sincere and faithful servant of Jesus Christ. So far, all was well; but it happened, that, about six years ago, one of her sons having married, had a child born to him. This had a most remarkable effect on the grandmother's mind. She became quite taken up with the child. It was, to use her own words, "her own child's child," and it soon possessed such a supreme place in her affections as almost to shut out from her thoughts the remembrance of what she owed to her God. Now she began to neglect the means of grace. Now she seldom entered a place of worship. She did not, indeed, give up her own private prayers; but with them her devotions seem to have ended. Thus she con

tinued to live, for several years: and though repeatedly warned by her friends of the sinful state in which she was persevering, yet all those warnings were lost upon her. And not even did the death of the child, (for it was taken away at the early age of between two and three years,) appear to have produced any change in her conduct. At length, however, it pleased God that she should be awakened to see and to feel how great her sinfulness was in having thus estranged herself from God. She perceived that by preferring a creature to the Creator she must have deeply offended Him who forbids any one to give that honour to another, which belongs to himself alone; and hence it may easily be imagined that she became very miserable.

When this beginning of repentance first arose, I did not learn, nor am I aware by what particular means, under God, it was produced; but most probably it was the disease with which she was afflicted that brought her to herself. At all events, her family had cause to observe that her mind had been for some time ill at ease. She was, as most people are, whose conscience is suffering from a burden which they are unwilling to acknowledge, very irritable and difficult to please; as her son told me, nothing seemed to go right with her.

When I called on her, she then, for the first time, (for she had never mentioned the subject before, even to any member of her own family,) confessed to me the state of her mind, and the real cause of it. She placed her sinfulness, without disguise or exaggeration, in its true colours. She found herself drawing near to her last home, and she owned that she was now afraid to die.

Having thus obtained a view of her case, I proceeded to read and explain to her such passages of Scripture, and to use such prayers as appeared to apply to her situation: what these were I need not relate at length. But I may mention, that she derived much comfort from the 51st Psalm, and the history of David connected with it; and some, also, from our Lord's most beautiful parable of the Prodigal Son. But, suffice it to say, that, during my visits, I had the satisfaction of seeing her gradually acquire, through the mercy of God, a better con