There was a

Young Men's Society" in the town in which he lived, and he became its secretary. For a while he did wonders; he was here, and there, and everywhere; he got up a course of lectures; he instituted a Bible class; he persuaded several who had at first looked coldly upon the matter to become members; and every thing flourished. But by the end of the year he became tired of it; some of the members opposed him in his wishes about a tea meeting, and some disapproved of his having written to a particular individual to take the chair. The end of the matter, however, was, that he became disgusted with the whole affair, and retired not only from the secretaryship, but from membership altogether.

John Barton took a great fancy to Ned Coppin, the widow's youngest child, and determined to get him into an orphan asylum. And right hard he worked on his behalf He wrote to a number of subscribers; he called in person on several that he knew; he bought about a dozen votes himself; he made no less than twenty of his relations and friends subscribe, for the special purpose of voting for poor little Ned. The widow made fully sure that with such an ally she must succeed at last; when, lo! Mr. Barton quite suddenly gave up, and just as little Ned was on the very point of being elected, he was thrown out by only five votes.

Thus in a dozen different things, one after another, did this well-intentioned youth fail; and amongst the dozen was the Sabbath-school. There was no doubt whatever but that young Barton had not succeeded with his class. When he first came, it was a quiet, attentive, regular class; but of late things had not gone on so well. This he was obliged to confess himself, when he reviewed the different members of it in his mind. Peter Charlton had become a truant, Richard Bennett was irregular, John Desmond never knew his lessons, Charles Baker could not be made to understand, and all the rest were inattentive. "In point of fact," said he to himself, "the class has gone to the dogs, and the best thing I can do is to give it up." At the same time, the fact of his having failed in the

Young Men's Society, and in the election of little Ned Coppin, together with sundry other misfortunes of the same kind, came rushing into his mind.

In the same school with John Barton was a teacher of the name of Pickering. Pickering was a poor man. The one suit of Sabbath clothes had to last him for many years. He gained his bread by his own exertions as a carpenter. He had one of the most flourishing classes in the school. John Barton could not but perceive the great difference between the success of his neighbour and his own failure; so he determined to ask him how it was.

"How is it Mr. Pickering," said he, after afternoon school, "that my class is in such a wretched state, and yours thrives so well? how do you get on?

"The P's have everything to say to it," said Pickering, "at least 'tis by the P's I succeed; perhaps you haven't them ?"

"The P's," said John Barton, in astonishment, who had never heard of any persons or things called by such a name; "and what are they?"

"They're what helped me on," answered Pickering, apparently determined to sharpen the curiosity of his questioner.

"I never heard of them before," observed John Barton, with a strange look of curiosity and astonishment in his face.

"There's many a Sabbath-school teacher that knows nothing about them," answered the carpenter. "I never got on until I made acquaintance with them.

"Be so kind as to explain yourself," said John Barton; "I really cannot understand what you mean."

Mr. Pickering had now thoroughly aroused his hearer's curiosity and attention, which was the end he had in view; so looking him straight in the face, and extending the fingers of his left hand, he began slowly to tell off on them, with the fore-finger of his right hand, the mysterious P's.

"One P, Mr. Barton, is Patience, another is Perseverance, another Prayer, and another is Preparation," and,

as though a sudden thought struck the worthy man, he seized his thumb, which was the only finger to which a P had not been appropriated, and said, "and plenty of them." "These P's are great things," continued the carpenter, "and they'll do wonders if one has them always near him ; and if I may make bold enough to say it, Mr. Barton, perhaps the reason the class don't get on with you is for the want of them."

It was impossible for John Barton to be offended with the worthy man, although his conscience pressed him very hard, and he felt that he knew very little of the P's; he determined, therefore, to think the matter over, and see how things really stood, before he gave up his class. That evening he catechised himself on each of the P's mentioned by the carpenter.

Quest. "Have I been Patient?"

Answer by John Barton's conscience. "You were in a fret with John Desmond for not being able to repeat his lesson this morning; you lost your temper with James Brown for bringing apples to school; you gave Ned Warren a rap on the side of the head for looking about, and thus you lost influence over them all."

Quest. "Have I been Persevering?"

Answer by John Barton's conscience. "You gave up the Young Men's Society; you remember that-(and then a pause, as much as to say to John Barton, Don't you ?)—you gave up poor Ned Coppin, and he lost his election; you contrived to send Dick Joyce out of your class, because he was slow in reading, and you wouldn't be at the trouble to get him on; you have given that up; you are not persevering, nor anything of the kind."

Quest. "Have I been Praying?"

Answer by John Barton's conscience. "How can you ask such a question? You have never uttered a single prayer on behalf of the class; nor have you asked for a blessing for yourself in teaching. There is no doubt, John Barton, but that you have not been praying."

Quest. "Have I been Preparing?"

Answer by John Barton's conscience. "You have very

often gone to the school without having ever even looked at the lesson; you have been known on your arrival there to ask a fellow teacher what the lesson was; you have just trusted to what you could think of at the moment, and you have been a miserably uninteresting teacher, and that's the reason why Ned Warren looks about."

The last question which was suggested by John Barton's having now arrived at his thumb (for he was counting in Mr. Pickering's fashion) was whether there had been plenty of all the P's. After the foregoing answers by his conscience, he could not bring himself to enter on the thumb question, so he betook himself to making resolutions on the several P's. Until these had been put in force for some little time, and he saw how things got on, he determined not to give up the class.

John Barton became Patient; and John Desmond got ashamed of not having his lesson prepared, and in the course of two months repeated eight verses without missing a word.

John Barton became perserering, and after a few weeks' visiting amongst his children he found his class grow large again. Mrs. Crook was busy, and couldn't see him, but he called again; Mrs. Barlow was rather saucy, but he stayed with her, talking about her Jemmy, until she became quite civil, and from that day out, she herself saw Jemmy off in time.

John Barton prayed, and he felt wonderfully strengthened for his work; he prayed for the children, and he couldn't tell exactly how, but they seemed to love him

more.

John Barton prepared; and Ned Warren, who had often been rapped on the head, looked about no more, but fixed his eyes on his teacher as though he would look him through and through.

And finally, John Barton, according to old Pickering's advice, gave all four P's the thumb, i. e., was abundant in each, and the class now thrives under the influence of the old carpenter's receipt.-Church of England SabbathSchool Magazine.

ONCE there was a boy in Liverpool, who went into the water to bathe, and he was carried out by the tide. Though he struggled long and hard, he was not able to swim against the ebbing tide, and he was taken far out to sea. He was picked up by a boat belonging to a vessel bound for Dublin. The poor little boy was almost lost. The sailors were all very kind to him when he was taken into the vessel. One gave him a cap, another a jacket, another a pair of shoes, and so on.

But that evening a gentleman, who was walking near the place where the little boy had gone into the water, found his clothes lying on the shore. He searched and made inquiries; but no tidings were to be heard of the poor little boy. He found a piece of paper in the pockets of the boy's coat, by which he discovered who it was to ' whom the clothes belonged. The kind man went with a sad and heavy heart to break the news to the parents. He said to the father, "I am very sorry to tell you that I found these clothes on the shore, and could not find the lad to whom they belonged; I almost fear he has been ¦ drowned." The father could hardly speak for grief; the mother was wild with sorrow. They caused every inquiry to be made, but no account was to be had of their dear boy. The house was sad; the little children missed their playfellow; mourning was ordered; the mother spent her time crying; and the father's heart was heavy. He said little, but he felt much.

The lad was taken back in a vessel bound for Liverpool, and arrived on the day the mourning was to be brought | home. As soon as he reached Liverpool, he set off towards his father's house. He did not like to be seen in the¦ strange cap and jacket and shoes which he had on; so he went by the lanes, where he would not meet those who knew him. At last he came to the hall door. He knocked. When the servant opened it, and saw who it was, she screamed with joy, and said, "Here is Master Tom!" His father rushed out, and bursting into tears