into Thy presence together with them, being found in Thy light as a fair and acceptable sacrifice prepared for Thyself, that so Thou mayest accomplish what Thou, O true and faithful God, hast foreshown. Wherefore I praise Thee for all Thy mercies: I bless Thee, I glorify Thee, through the eternal High Priest, Jesus Christ Thy beloved Son, with whom to Thyself and the Holy Ghost, be glory both now and for ever. Amen."

"God's elements are merciful,

Man only mocks His will;

The raging fire that spared the saint, The sword had power to kill.”

DR. HENRY HAMMOND (1605-1660). 25th. The dying man could not give full attention to the devotions offered by his friends; he frequently dozed. "Alas!" he exclaimed, "is this all the return that I make for these mercies-to sleep at prayers?" When temporary ease was afforded from suffering, he would cry, "Blessed be God! blessed be God!" A

few moments before breathing his last he whispered, "Lord, make haste!"

"The golden palace of my God,

Towering above the clouds, I see;
Beyond the cherub's bright abode,
Higher than angels' thought can be.
Oh, lead me to Thy bright abode,
Lead me, my Saviour and my God."

WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800). 25th.-Being asked how he felt, he replied, "Feel? I feel unutterable despair!" He was assured of the happiness that awaited him in a future state, but he cried, “Oh, spare me, spare me; you know—you know it to be false!" His last words were addressed to Miss Perowne, declining a cordial—“What can it signify?"

"No voice divine the storm allayed,
No light propitious shone;

When snatched from all effectual aid,
We perish each alone :

But I beneath a rougher sea,

And 'whelmed in deeper gulfs than he!"

Couper.

CHAPTER I.

ELL, mother, what do you want with me now?" asked Anna Miller, presenting herself at the door of her mother's cottage with flushed and heated cheeks, and something of vexation apparent both in her tone and manner. "I have been called away from my work in the far hay-field at least five times in the last hour, and now it will never be finished in time, that I am sure of."

"What work have I called you away from, Anna? I thought you were only playing in the paddock with Barbara. It is so seldom that you can be induced to do any real work, that I never supposed for a moment I was disturbing you in anything more important than a game of wady buckety or chucky stones."

"I was not playing at either one or the other," replied Anastatia, still in the same injured tone, though her voice changed slightly as she noticed the paleness of her mother's face, and the too evident signs of recent tears.

"What was your work, Anna? repeated Mrs. Miller, anxiously, while she gazed with some curiosity at a piece of bright blue satin ribbon which her daughter held half concealed between her fingers.

'Oh, mother, mother, it was really nothing of the least importance, it will do quite well some other time," replied Anastatia, hesitatingly, for she had noticed the inquiring glance cast upon her cherished ribbon, and she feared some interference in the object for which it was designed. "What did you want me for, mother?" she added, hastily, hoping thereby to

divert the questions which she dreaded being compelled to answer.

“I was calling you, Anna,” said her mother, gravely, "because I thought it was right you should hear the news of poor Bob, which I have just received by this morning's post."

"Of Bob!" cried Anastatia, anxiously.

"Yes; the fishing smack he was out in on last Thursday was wrecked off Horse Island, and poor old Saunders and little Willie Staunton have been drowned."

"And Bob?" asked Anastatia, her cheeks blanching, and her whole manner changing into that of the most intense anxiety.

"No; thank God, our Bob has been spared to us, but he has had a sad bruising and shaking amongst the rocks, and his arm, they fear, has been broken in two places."

"Where is he, mother?"

"He is in Giles Cramley's cottage on Horse Island; and no one but the old deaf widow who minds Giles's house is there to look after him."

Poor Bob! How terrible!" sighed Anna, sympathetically; "and he is such a good fellow!"

"Yes indeed you may say so; he is a good fellow surely. Three times he swam towards the shore with his arm tight round ättle Willie's body, and three times the waves dashed him back, and not until his arm was smashed against a rock did he loose his hold; and now they say, what with the fever, and the pain, and the shock, he does nothing but rave of Willie, and never ceases calling to him to keep a tight hold on his neck, and never to fear." Here poor Mrs.

Miller's voice completely broke down; and taking | from the table the open letter which contained the news of her son's disaster, she placed it in her daughter's hand, that she might read the particulars for herself which she was unable to relate.

When Anastatia had finished perusing it her eyes also were full of tears, and her manner, when next she spoke to her mother, was quite softened and changed. "Well, mother, what are you going to do? you will never leave Bob, surely, all by himself on Horse Island!"

That is just what I was calling to you for a minute ago, Anna, for I have a mind to start off by the coach which passes through the village at eleven o'clock; and if I do who is to look after father and his dinner, and all the rest of it?"

"I will!" said Anastatia, quickly; "I'll take the best of care of the house, and father, and everything. You may trust me for it, mother."

Aye, aye! I know you are willing enough to help me, Anna; but I doubt if you have the sense to keep straight and steady for so long a spell, for I might not be home for a couple of days; and again, if Bob were right ill, I might not be able to leave him for a week, or even it might be longer."

"Indeed, mother, I will be right steady and careful. I know well what father likes for his dinner, and you shall see what a good hand I shall make at the house. You can go to Horse Island with an easy mind, and leave it all to me."

"Is Barbara Mason here still ?"

"Yes. As she is waiting in the hay-field for me; I said that is, I"-here Anastatia hesitated, and coloured so painfully, that her mother could not but gaze on her in surprise.

"Why is Barbara not at school? This is the hour, I know, when Miss Ferrier goes down to teach the church singing-class, for I saw her go by the gate not ten minutes past, and she will be sadly disappointed if Barbara is not there to learn her part.” "Barbara is not going to the class to-day," replied Anastatia, with still deepening colour, which she hung her head foolishly to conceal.

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sobs, born of shame, and blushes, and remorse, and sorrow, ended Anna's sentence, while in her misery she twisted the new blue ribbon which she held in her fingers into a crushed and dirty string.

Mrs. Miller could not but pity her daughter's distress, especially as she guessed that Barbara Mason had been the chief instigator of this foolish project. Still it was distressing to find that Anastatia was so weak, and ready to yield to the first breath of temptation; and as she looked at the confusion still so manifest on her daughter's countenance, she could not but doubt the wisdom of leaving the charge of the household in so unstable a hand.

"I would we could get Bob home," she said, presently, as if thinking aloud; "if father were to go round for him in the boat he might be able to move him in the cool of the evening, and the poor fellow would be so much happier in his own bed, with all of us around him, than in Giles's lonely cottage."

"I thought you said his arm was broken, mother?" "Yes; but the doctor has put it in splints, and if father were to carry him carefully in his arms up and down to the boat, it might not harm him, and he would be far nearer help and comforts of all kinds, for I doubt but it's only a hard bed he'll have to lie on in Giles's cottage, and he, poor man, with his own son lying dead on the other side of the house." "Father is gone to his work," said Anna, dejectedly, "and the coach will be up here directly."

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'Aye, that is true; but I was just thinking, Anna love, that if you made good speed you might catch father down at the mill, and bring him word of what has happened, and if he thinks well of it, he might call at Dr. Salmon's, and ask him whether Bob is in a fit state to be moved or not; and if he says yes, well and good, father can come round with the boat when his work is done, and bring him home this evening; but if the doctor says no, then father might just cross over by the ferry himself, and take a peep at the poor lad, and bring thee word in the evening how he is."

"I may go through the town to the mill, mother, may I not? it is far shorter than by the fields," said Anna, whose eyes betrayed her too painful anxiety lest her request might be refused.

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Nay, nay, that I cannot consent to; this is fair day, and you could never walk through the crowded streets by yourself. It would be neither safe nor wise for you."

"But Barbara is here waiting to go with me; she came on purpose, and I am quite certain that she would not let me get into any trouble or danger, and she has been there hundreds of times before."

"Barbara knows nothing of the troubles or dangers of fairs any more than yourself, Anna, and as to her looking after you, I think you would run a twice greater chance of falling into mischief under her care than if you went quietly by yourself. Nay, be content, go round by the meadows, and if thy heart is so

set on Barbara's company, I have no objection that she should walk with you a piece of the way."

"Barbara is going to the fair whether I go or not," replied Anna, with heavily filling eyes and downcast looks. "Her mother is not afraid to trust her out of her sight, and she may go or come by the town or fields when she likes, while I-I-who never-it is too hard!" cried Anastatia, bursting into unrestrained tears, while, turning her back to her mother, she leaned her head against the dresser, and sobbed bitterly.

"Anna, I could not have believed that your heart would be so set on the fair and its pleasures and poor Bob lying in such pain and misery on his bed, and only saved by a miracle from a watery grave. But laws, there is the horn of the coach sounding at

the foot of the hill, and I have not as much as put up my things for the night. Come and give me a helping hand, Anna, that's a good girl. Some fine day, perhaps, when father and I have a trifle to spare in the money-box, we will take you a-fairing ourselves in the town, and buy you something smart, so give over fretting and be content to yield your own way for once in your life, and believe that your mother knows best what is for your good."

Thus adjured, Anastatia followed her mother into the inner room, and assisted her to make the few preparations necessary for her journey; but there was no alaerity in her movements, and long after the yellow coach had disappeared from sight Anna stood leaning against the garden gate, with swelling

heart and tearful eyes, and rebellious thoughts, which grew every moment more and more intense in their vexation and disappointment.

(To be continued.)

"THE QUIVER" BIBLE CLASS. 152. Quote a passage which shows that the Areopagus was the general resort of the Athenians and others for discussing the topics of the day.

153. Who is it that St. Paul designates by the title of "dear fellow-servant?"

154. Whose crown is stated to have weighed a talent of gold?

155. What testimony have we from King David to the valour of the Gadites?

duty of every person to provide for the needs of their poorer relatives?

156. What does St. Paul say in reference to the

157. Where do we find mention made for the first time of people calling upon the name of the Lord?

ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 368.

144. He was to be a wild man, his hand against every man, and every man's hand against him (Gen. xvi. 12).

145. Cleanness of teeth in all their cities (Amos iv. 6).

146. "He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none, and he that hath meat, let him do likewise" (Luke iii. 2).

REV. iii. 7-14.

URTHER inland than Sardis, but situated on the slope of the same mountain range of Tmolus, was Philadelphia, a city of no great fame, except for her misfortunes, for again and again her streets were laid low by earthquakes. These catastrophes were of such frequent occurence that Strabo designates Philadelphia a city full of earthquakes." Ecclesiastical history is all but silent concerning her, save that we have handed down to us an epistle to the Church of Philadelphia, from Ignatius, the well-known Bishop of Antioch.

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To this congregation the Lord Jesus discovers Himself as bearing the attributes of holiness and truth. "These things saith He that is holy, He that is true." It does not seem that they were not holy, not true; but they were a feeble Church, a small tender plant, a seed in a dry ground, and that which was to develope the seed, and make the plant stretch abroad its branches that the fowls of the air might find shelter, was holiness and truth. There is no strength like the strength of holiness, no power like the power of truth. It was the pure holiness which made the life of the Lord Jesus so safe until His hour came. It was His truth which, had it not been for the eternal counsel, would have acquitted Him at even Pilate's

bar.

The feebleness of the Philadelphian Church seemed to be such that they evidently thought they must give way before the evil which surrounded them. They, like the congregation in Smyrna, were violently assailed by the Jews, and

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it possibly may have been the case that the Chris, tians of Philadelphia were to a great measure in the power of these Jews-as if the Jews were the employers of labour in the city, and the Christian converts were their workmen. Be it as it may, the cause of Christianity was feeble; and the strange promise that their violent enemies should yet be found at their feet, seemed so unlikely, that to believe it, the Lord Jesus reveals Himself to them as the truth-the signature of His being is affixed to the message they received. But lest it should be more than they were able to bear, He tells them the means by which they shall prevail. These things saith He that is holy, He that is true, He that hath the key of David, He that openeth, and no man shutteth; and shutteth, and no man openeth." The marginal references will take you back to Isaiah xxii., to the anointing of Eliakim, the son of Hilkiah, to be treasurer. "The key of the house of David will I lay upon his shoulder; so he shall open, and none shall shut; and he shall shut, and none shall open." The key was the insignia of the office of treasurer. one could open the treasuries of the king save he who possessed that key; and if he refused to fasten, none could shut. In later times, a scribe was inaugurated into his office by delivering to him a key, symbolically meaning that he thence had the power of unlocking the mysteries and hard sayings of the law.

No

This key was the key of the house of David, and the treasury was full of "the sure things of David," "the holy things." The prince of the house of David, "the son of David," he for whom David's house existed was Christ. In Him is all