God or of the Bible were far enough from me. Though I never tried to make friends, there was one of my comrades seemed to care for me. He was an orphan lad, with no home but aboard his ship. Tom was different somehow from the rest, he never swore, nor got drunk when we went on shore, nor joined in the wild, bad talk on the forecastle, and was always ready to do any one a good turn. He got pretty well laughed at for his steady ways, and now and then one of the fellows would fly in a rage with him and abuse him. But he was brave enough, and managed to go right on and hold his own; so after a bit he was pretty well let alone. I know many on board respected and envied him while they jeered. Tom took a liking to me, and many a kind word and deed I had from him.

"One evening it chanced that we two were alone on deck, and as we paced up and down in the dusk, we began to talk as men don't often talk to each other. My heart was very full, and I told him of you, mother, and how bitterly I repented of having disobeyed father, and how I longed to go back and tell him so. I scarce know how it came about, but we talked too of God and the hereafter, and the thoughts that make a man strong for right. He spoke so bravely and feelingly that I couldn't but listen, and for the first time since I left you, mother-for the first time I prayed. I don't know what I said, I scarce knew what I wanted, but my heart spoke to God. After that evening Tom and I did not meet for some days, except at our work. I felt a little shamefaced, in the bustle of broad day, to think how I had opened my heart to him that night. But I went on trying to pray, and I think God heard me.

"About ten days after that talk our ship went into action. The decks were cleared, and we all stood to our posts. I hadn't time for thought or fear as the shots flew about us, and comrade after comrade fell by my side. I could see Tom from where I stood, and I think his quiet, resolute face helped me. At last a ball struck him and he fell; I forced my way to his side, he was badly wounded, but not dead. He was carried below, but the surgeon said he could not live many hours. We won the fight, but when it was over I thought only of how it had cost me the life of my only friend. I sat by his side that night. Hugh,' he said, take the Bible from my breast pocket, and read a verse or two.' I took the Bible, this very one; there was a stain of blood on it that turned me

You

sick you see it, Annie. The words I read seemed like cool water to parched lips, and his face grew peaceful and calm. Keep my Bible, Hugh,' he said, I've not much else to leave; God grant it may be even more to you than it has been to me.' He spoke again. He spoke again. I'm going home; Jesus has forgiven all my sins, I am not afraid to die. will come to me, Hugh, will you not?' 'I scarce know the way,' I said. Jesus is the way, you will read of him in that book; pray God help you, he will make it plain.' In the morning, when he lay dead, I took his Bible, and God only knows the blessing it has been to me. Through God's great mercy it has brought me to himself, and given me hope of a better life. 'Tis the Bible broke down my sinful pride, and has brought me home a poor man to ask forgiveness."

This was the story of Hugh's Bible, and thank God we too learned to love it. We often said that Hugh had indeed brought us home a fortune, and I trust it has made and will make us all rich unto everlasting life.

NAT CANTLE, THE ORACLE.

CHAPTER I.

"WELL, neighbour, I'm thinking," said old Nat Cantle, "that whilst you are so busy trimming other people's lamps, you are mayhap forgetting to trim your own.

Now Nat Cantle was looked up to as an oracle amongst the people in that and a few adjacent streets. Not that he proclaimed his opinions, for he seldom left his own quiet fireside, unless to visit a sick person or go to a place of worship; but most of his neighbours sought him out when in trouble or difficulty, and they certainly were quite justified in so doing; for a clearer-headed and more conscientious man was not to be met with in their vicinity. Nat had seen a good deal of the world in his early days, having served under the Duke of Wellington in the peninsular war. Originally he must have been of a tolerable height; but roughing it abroad and bending over his work at home (for he was a shoemaker) had told upon him, and when I first knew him he was a spare little old man, with a remarkably intelligent countenance and peaceful expression.

Yes, neighbour," continued Nat, "I fear you have been forgetting to trim your own."

"Why, what do you mean, Mr. Cantle?" inquired Mrs. Fry, the person that he had been addressing. I don't understand you."

Nat laid down the shoe he was mending, and looking up at Mrs. Fry, who was standing opposite him, leaning against the window, replied, "I mean, neighbour Fry, that in your bustling to this friend, and running off to that one, you perhaps have not time to look after your own soul; and that's how it is that you're always in hot water."

"But what can I do, Mr. Cantle, when I'm sent so for that I've hardly a minute to call my own?"

"First make it all right within, and the Lord will make it all right without."

"Then you mean that I oughtn't to be leaving my own home to help a poor body in their trouble?"

"No, no, Mrs. Fry; I do not mean that. What I mean is, that in the hurry and driving after other people's affairs, I am afraid you are neglecting your own. The command is, Seek ye first the kingdom of God;' and I'm inclined to believe that the heaps of trouble you are complaining of are all through your not seeking in the right way, and the right place."

66

Right way, and right place, Mr. Cantle?"

"Yes,-on your knees, in your own chamber, Mrs. Fry." "Well, you do speak plain, Mr. Cantle," said Mrs. Fry, with a little annoyance in the tone of her voice.

"We both call ourselves servants of the same Master," observed Nat.

Mrs. Fry bent her head in the affirmative.

"And we both profess to know what the will of the Lord is.' Knowing it, oughtn't we to try to do it?"

"Of course we should; and I'm sure the desire of my life is to be useful, and be doing for Him who has done so much for me."

are.

"I know it is, neighbour, and a right helpful woman you But, neighbour, all these worries you've come complaining about must begin somewhere, and I'm thinking 'tis with yourself. Your intentions are good; but I am afraid you overstep your intentions."

"How so?" questioned Mrs. Fry.

"Why, in trying to help others, you forget to help yourself. Unless a lamp is kept fed with oil, the light will die out; and unless you and I feed our souls upon the bread of life, we shall soon languish and pine away. I know 'tis

possible to get what we seem most to wish, and yet not have a blessing in it. Don't you recollect what king David says of the Israelites? He (the Lord) gave them their request, but sent leanness into their soul.' (Psa. cvi. 15.) "Tis the leanness I am thinking you're suffering from. You're always so busy a doing for others, that you forget to go to Him who keeps the supplies for your own nourishment."

"I'm thinking, Mr. Cantle, that perhaps you are somewhere about right. Why, sometimes I don't get a quiet minute or two to read a chapter for days together. And as to my prayers, I ofttimes drop asleep over them, I'm so tired out. And when I don't, all the world comes rushing into my head, and scares the good thoughts out. I aren't like the same woman as when I first found the Lord, for I haven't got the same joy in him.”

(6 And you know that oughtn't to be; for the Christian is to grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.' Now, Mrs. Fry, is it your own work, that which comes in your own way, that tires you out; or is it what you go out of your way to find ?"

Mrs. Fry could not but confess that it was not her own calling which overtaxed her powers, but her love of being first and foremost amongst her neighbours. She was one of those kind-hearted, bustling women, who are always ready to lend a willing hand at all times. There was scarcely a birth or death in the street she lived in but she was present at it, and very few young people were married in the neighbourhood without her taking a prominent part in the family gathering. She had a few shillings a week coming in independent of her mangle, and was what her poorer neighbours would call a well-to-do body. But for some months a sense that she was not nearly as happy as she ought to be, or used to be, had been creeping over her; and though she strove to get over the feeling by incessant action and kindly offices to those around her, yet she could not; and at last she brought her little "heap of trouble," as she called it, to Nat Cantle, for him to advise her what to do with it. One little grievance seemed to follow so quickly upon another, that she was weary of trying to extricate herself; and, seeing Mrs. Cantle go out that morning, she thought she would just step in and talk them over with Nat.

Nat quickly saw that the cares of this life were choking up the good seed in Mrs. Fry's heart; and having brought her to confess that the hindrances to her spiritual growth

were chiefly of her own making or seeking, he determined, as far as in him lay, to awaken her to a sense of her danger.

If you can spare a quarter of an hour, neighbour," said he, "just sit down. I guess you are much in the state I was in when I was pensioned off, and settled down into a quiet life. I'd got heartily sick of war, and longed for peace; and when it pleased God to send it, I thought to myself, Now, Nat Cantle, with your so much a day and your trade, you've nought to do but enjoy yourself.' So I set up shoemaking and mending at once, and soon got a tidyish bit of business together. I'd given myself to the Lord some years before, but I did not walk close with him. Religion wasn't the fashion then; and though the dangers and horrors of the battle-field kept me from quite letting go my hold of the things which were for my peace, yet I followed my Master afar off, and in secret, that I mightn't be laughed and scoffed at. Well, as I was saying, I got a tidyish bit of business together, and then I remembered a lass in my own village that I'd always a liking for (my Mary), and so I thinks to myself, if she ain't married, I'll marry her. And she wasn't, and we married; and then I thought, now I've got all I want in this world. But I hadn't. 'Twas six years before a little one was born to us; and all the time till Polly came I was grumbling, because they that had hardly bread to put into the young ones' mouths had plenty of children, and I that had enough and to spare had none. I thought I was a happy man when Polly came. But not a bit of it, neighbour. No: I next wanted a boy-one to bring up to my trade, and to take care of his mother when I was gone. Well, the good Lord granted me that wish or want, and my missus was almost beside herself with joy, because she thought I'd be satisfied at last. But no, neighbour: as fast as I'd got a mercy granted I was wanting something else,-when my Mary says to me one day, says she, 'Master, I'm a thinking 'tain't all right with your religion. The Lord seems to do nought but grant you blessings, and yet you don't seem to be blessed in 'em.'

"I was struck all of a heap when she said it, and as I went on with my work I couldn't help thinking of it. The Lord had, and did bless me, and yet I was not happy in his blessings, and I wondered how it was. And by-and-by I saw how it was. I found out I was seeking my own gra