You will let me stay and help you now I am come, will you not ?"

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My mother burst into tears.

"You don't know what danger you are running yourself into, Bertha," she cried. Everybody in the house is down with the fever but me; and your poor uncle is very very bad." My dear mother broke down here.

"I know it all, aunt. I am not afraid of the danger; only let me stay and help you to nurse my uncle and cousins."

What more passed at that time need not be told; it is enough to say that my mother was easily prevailed upon to receive Bertha's help-indeed, she thankfully accepted it; though she was too much agitated and confused to understand at that time all the explanations Bertha was willing to give of the way in which tidings of our distress reached her.

That night, Bertha sat up with my father, who was delirious, and talked wildly about his losses and the ruin which was coming upon his family; but he did not know who it was that sat by his bedside, and, from time to time, moistened his fevered lips with cooling liquid. At intervals, too, through that night, Bertha slipped noiselessly into the other chambers where we, her cousins, were lying helpless -administering our medicines, and smoothing our pillows, and whispering words of comfort into our ears. time, our mother would not be prevailed on to leave us in Bertha's care; but towards morning she lay down in the spare bed-room, and fell fast asleep in spite of all her trouble. No wonder that she slept; for, until that morning, she had allowed herself for a whole week no rest, except by fitful snatches as she sat by our beds.

For a

I very well remember how great my astonishment was when I first saw Bertha. Perhaps disease had quickened my perceptions, for notwithstanding the alteration time had made in her looks, I knew her at once.

"Hush, George," she said, softly, smiling gently as she spoke, when I made, as I suppose, some violent demonstrations of surprise; "I am come to nurse and take care of you; and you must be quiet and obedient, or I shall get no credit for my nursing."

Before this time I had been exceedingly fretful and impatient (obstreperous, my mother had complained); but somehow or other, Bertha controlled me, and (not to give

myself any credit for the change) I became as docile as even my mother could wish.

Of course, I knew nothing, or very little, of what passed in the other sick rooms at this time, when our house was more like a hospital than a farm; but I do know that, in my chamber, cousin Bertha was a messenger of mercy. She not only nursed me very tenderly and judiciously; but she led my thoughts to the Saviour of sinners, and while she spoke to me with great solemnity of an eternal world and a judgment to come, she pointed out to me the Lord Jesus Christ as the only refuge for the lost and perishing. She knelt by me, and prayed for me that God would sanctify the sickness to my soul's salvation; and, from time to time, she opened her pocket Bible-that condemned and forbidden book, which I so well remembered -and read to me the invitations of the gospel.

I had ample time for reflecting on these things; for my illness was long and my recovery was slow, and, of course, Bertha was not always with me, for her attentions were necessarily divided among us; and what she did for me, she did also for all the rest. In fact, as I afterwards learned, she passed from chamber to chamber, day after day, and almost day and night, with a stout and fearless heart, and helpful willing hands, and cheering voice and smiles; directing the attention of every sufferer to Him who was lifted up on the cross for man's salvation.

Our mother let Bertha have her own way. The truth is, as she afterwards said, she was terrified and consciencestricken by the affliction which had befallen us, and which seemed to threaten the sweeping away of her entire family; and from the very first evening of Bertha's return, she clung to her, in a kind of silent desperation, as her only hope.

As my father was the first who was smitten with the fever, so he was the first to show signs of amendment. It was at about the crisis of his illness that Bertha made her appearance; and on the following day the doctor gave some hope that he would recover. A few days later the fever had entirely left him; but it left him as weak as an infant.

It was some little time after consciousness was restored to him, before he was aware that the young woman who, in turn with my mother, had paid him so much kindly attention, was no other than his niece Bertha. And I can very

well understand the conflict of mind which kept him back at first from stretching out his feeble hand and welcoming her back to her old home. But he did this at last; and he did more; for when he understood from my mother how much a friend in need Bertha had been, he thanked her gratefully, and acknowledged humbly that he had not deserved such love and kindness at her hands.

"And you have brought back your religion, I suppose, Bertha," he whispered-for his voice was very weak.

"I think it is my religion has brought me back, uncle," said Bertha.

My father made no reply to this; but presently, he spoke again: "I want you to tell me a little about it, Bertha-about your religion, I mean; for somehow, it isn't a comfortable thing to lie in such a state as this, and have no religion at all.'

And upon this hint, Bertha spake.

Several weeks passed away, and then, one Sunday afternoon, we were all assembled in the large parlour of our old farmhouse. All? no, not all; for death had made a breach in our family; my youngest sister-the pet and favourite child of our father-had been removed from us; my married sisters also were absent, and so was my sailor brother; but all besides were there, a diminished household truly. Sickness and trouble had worn us all downmy mother included, though she had been kept from the fever; but the danger had passed away, and our strength was slowly returning.

We were all sobered down and sorrowful; for the near escape from death which we knew we had experienced made us thoughtful; and the remembrance of our dead sister filled our eyes with tears-for we had loved her dearly-after a rough fashion, perhaps; but we had loved

her.

We met in that room at the bidding of our father, who sat silent for some time, looking round upon us all, in a strangely timid manner for him who was generally so determined and outspoken. Once or twice he appeared as though he were preparing himself to address us; and then recoiled from the attempt. But at last he rose on his feet, and said, in a voice which trembled with emotion-as nearly as I can recollect his words" Boys and girls, I have got something to say, though I don't know very well

how to say it; but I mean to try. We have had a good deal of trouble in our family, and it has not passed over yet, though it's not so bad as it might have been.

"Since your cousin Bertha has been back again, I have thought over and over again of my behaviour to her since she went away, and I have not found any difficulty in coming to the conclusion that we all, and I most of all, behaved very badly to her when she lived with us before. And now, before you all, I want to confess that I was wrong, and humbly to ask her pardon for having persecuted her and turned her out of house and home because of her religion."

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Uncle-dear uncle; do not say any more about it,” Bertha interposed earnestly, as she sprang forward and took my father's hand; "I am sure you did not mean— you did not know—”

“I knew I was determined to have my own way, Bertha, and that I would not have any religion in my house; but I did not know altogether how badly I was acting; but I do know it now, and I ask God to forgive me: it was against him I was sinning.

"And now,” continued my father, after a pause—“ I want to acknowledge to you all that I have been justly punished for my sin; and I have to thank God that he has not quite destroyed me, as I deserved. And I want to say that I think differently now about Bertha's religion from what I did; and that I intend, by God's help, to seek my soul's salvation in the way he has laid down.”

My father paused again here, a little; for it seemed as though his heart was too full for utterance. But presently he made another effort, and in broken language acknowledged how guilty he had been in bringing up his family in ignorance of God and his word, and in open rebellion against him; and how thankful he now was that, through the instrumentality of Cousin Bertha, he had been brought to a knowledge of his own true condition in the sight of God. Then he asked us all to kneel down and join him in prayer, which we did, though almost all he could say with his lips was, "God be merciful to me a sinner- be merciful to me a sinner!”

And so, for that time, he finished speaking.

I confess that all this took us by surprise; but it was to me a very glad surprise, for I had been led, as I hope and believe, by God's good Spirit, through Cousin Bertha's

pious teachings, to seek the Lord while he was to be found; and I had anticipated my father's anger when he should come to know that "methodism," as he would once have called it, had again entered his house.

I have been told, and I partly believe, that vows made in times of sickness and trouble are not much to be depended on. By God's grace, however, my father did not draw back from the determination he had formed. And as increasing light from God's word broke in upon his soul, he became more and more anxious in his inquiries after salvation, until he was enabled to lay hold, tremblingly yet firmly, on the hope set before him in the gospel.

My mother was at first bewildered by the change which God had wrought in her husband, and not in him only: but she was afterwards gently drawn by Divine mercy to feel her need of a Saviour's help; and to acknowledge that the brightest, happiest day in her life was that in which Cousin Bertha, risking her own health and life, returned to our house to overcome evil with good.

Our cousin remained some months at the farm after the need for her help as a nurse had ceased; but she was no longer looked upon as a dependent relative, to be used first as a toy, and then as a drudge; and there were not many dry eyes among us when she finally left us for a home of

her own.

Evil principles and evil habits are not eradicated in a day; and the effects of long years of past neglect and ungodliness remained to trouble us. But amidst all the anxieties and cares which our parents afterwards experienced, they had the happiness of seeing one and another, and yet another of their children brought to an acknowledgment of the truth as it is in Jesus; and they were enabled to adopt the language of the prophet as their own—“O Lord, we will praise thee: though thou wast angry with us, thine anger is turned away, and thou comfortest us. Behold, God is our salvation; we will trust, and not be afraid. For the Lord Jehovah is our strength and our song: he also is become our salvation."

THE DARK LANTERN.

"It's very dark, ma'am," said Mary Brown, as she opened her door to let me out, "and I'm so sorry to let you go home by yourself after coming to do such a kindness for me."