of being 'for ever with the Lord,' brings with it no added sense of joy. And thus I can imagine that the sad, sad sentence of departure from His presence will be pronounced on many who now least expect it, because, after all said and done, they have never drawn near to their God in humble, trustful love.

Now have I made clear what was the probable meaning of the preacher you heard ?"

But Nancy would not say, nor would she afterward, when pressed, give more than a very doubtful promise to attend the evening meeting. Then when, even as she had feared, no Nancy put in an appearance at the carpenter's shed that night, Mrs. Grainger, remembering how often before she had tried to influence her for good, and failed, could but strengthen herself with the thought that if the Good Shepherd seek after but one poor straying sheep, until He find it, His people must not grow weary in following after Him.

To be continued.

Briny Breezes.

No. I.

Every beginning is shrouded in a mist.

Oon, pithy maxims are capital things. They appeal to the imagination and cling to the memory. They speak little, yet say much, and fly about

the broad green earth like merry, refreshing breezes, welcomed alike in cottage and in castle. We should try to gather such as we pass swiftly on, and to scatter them broadcast. Perhaps the maxim before us may prove to some a word spoken in due season. How many

beginnings there are in this world! Yet who shall say one of them finds termination here? When any enterprise is set going, or any work undertaken, what momentous consequences are involved! Momentous because eternal; eternal, because in the omnipotent hand of Him who alone knoweth the end from the beginning, and who is Himself

the First and the Last. There is to each of us the beginning of life. As we gaze upon the innocent face of infancy, how yearningly we question the sequel of that sacred dawn! But all save the present moment is mercifully hidden, and we can only look up, and hope, and pray. Then there is the new experience ushered in with every new day. Who can tell us what may happen ere eventide? The perplexities that may arise, the sudden change often effected by a call, a letter, a chance word, the undreamt-of joy or sorrow that may flood our hearts; who is sufficient for these things? Only the soul that can say, "My times are in Thy hand.”

The mighty river began with trickling drops of water; the world-renowned poem is but a magic blending of tiny words. And they who saw the beginning of these could little guess their noble destiny. Let us work, and leave the result with God. To one He entrusts the education of a peasant; to another the culture of a queen. It is ours to begin, as He places material ready to our hand. It is His to carry forward, and fructify and bless. The mist is soft, and gentle, and yielding. In His good time it will all disperse, when the Sun of Righteousness shall arise.

There is a pathetic tremulousness in glad birthday greetings, just because we feel the unknown future so cloudy and full of thrilling possibilities. But in every beginning which comes to us in the providence of our Heavenly Father, let us gaze far onward to the sweet land of Beulah, beyond the Everlasting Hills. Let us press forward with light heart and elastic footstep. Blue skies o'er-canopy us lovingly; fresh breezes play around our path, and whisper words of courage and comfort just as we need them. We are content. Nay, more, we are highly thankful. Our Guide would have us leave our hand within His; and by-and-bye He will make all clear as a morning without clouds, if only we will trust, and pray, and labour more and more unto the Perfect Day.

A. M. V.

A TALE OF VANITY.

CHAPTER I.

ELL, Esther, you do look smart to-day; who gave you that fine red tie ?"

"Please, sir, I bought it," replied the girl addressed, flushing with delight; adding, after a moment's thought, "I saved up my pennies, please, sir, and bought it myself."

"Well, I hope you won't frighten the cows in the field," replied the minister cheerily, as he passed on, and Esther Dearlove blushed again and curtsied, and ran on to the school-house.

Mr. Nixon would have liked to say a few words to the girl about spending her hardly-earned money on a gay red silk tie, the principal effect of which was to make her other articles of dress look more shabby than they really were by contrast; but it was the day for their annual Sunday-School treat, and Esther looked so beamingly happy and pleased with herself, that he had not the heart to damp her pleasure by any words of disapproval. I will get Helen to give her a word of advice about buying more useful things, he thought, as he walked briskly on; let the child enjoy herself and her fine tie to-day.

It was a warm, still day in July, and the whole village was on the look-out to see the long procession of children start from the school-house, and march with flags and banners to the big field in which, by favour of Farmer Westbrook, they were to have their tea and their games.

Presently Mr. Nixon met Helen, his only daughter and his right hand in parish work, walking gaily towards the field, some white tablecloths upon one arm, a large basket of flowers on the other.

"Oh, papa," she exclaimed, "the buns have just arrived in a great clothes-basket; they are quite hot and smell so deliciously, I am sure the children will never be able to wait till four o'clock for their tea."

"Quite hot, my dear !" said Mr. Nixon; "that is rather extravagant, I am afraid; and won't they make the children ill?"

"Not just this once, I should think, papa," replied his daughter. "I do want them to have a real good treat; isn't it a lovely day? I must run on and lay the tables."

"You have been robbing my garden, I see," said her father good-humouredly, but giving a lingering and halfregretful glance at the basket of flowers.

"We have so many flowers, papa, and the children's homes are mostly so ugly, I like to make it nice for them. to-day; it teaches them to love pretty things, and to try and make their homes nice, don't you think so?"

"Yes, dear, certainly, I don't grudge them the flowers; but, Helen, talking of pretty things, I wish you could give Esther Dearlove a hint that it is a great pity to waste her money on the things she buys. I met her just now with a grand red silk tie that I should not like to see you wearing, and I am sure her parents cannot afford that she should buy such things."

Helen's face fell; she was a girl of a sweet, joyous nature, and never liked having to give anyone unpleasant advice, or tell them hard truths, but she knew that Esther was very weak on the subject of fine clothes.

"Very well, papa," she said, "I will try and find an opportunity; she is such a good girl, and so nice-looking, that it is a pity she is not satisfied with just being quite neat and clean; but there is no harm in her, she only loves bright colours and pretty things."

"Oh, there would be no real harm in it if she could quite afford it," replied Mr. Nixon; "though even then it would be out of place and inconsistent with the rest of her clothing."

"Well, I will tell her, papa, some time; but we will let her be thoroughly happy to-day. And now I must really make haste; there is the mothers' tea to set out as well as the children's."

"Don't be late at the school-house, Helen," called Mr.

Nixon, as she ran off; the hymn."

"Oh, yes, papa," she called back, "I shall certainly be in time," and Mr. Nixon pursued his way through the village to call on one or two people too old and feeble to join in the day's festivities, and leave with them a ray or two of cheerfulness.

Thistleton was a village in the heart of the Cheshire salt works. It was surrounded on every side by soft grassy slopes and long stretches of undulating meadow land, and yet in itself it was as black, as barren, and as dirty as the heart of a big city. It was as if you had taken up a piece of the east end of London and set it bodily down in the midst of the country. In some respects Thistleton was worse even than the east end of London, for it was frequently smothered in the great volumes of smoke that poured from the tall chimneys of the salt works, and that killed all flowers and vegetation within its reach. But it was better, inasmuch as a short walk of fifteen minutes would carry you from a black and barren desolation to smiling green fields and hedgerows, where, in the spring time, yellow primroses and purple violets nestled under glossy green leaves. It oftentimes startled strangers visiting the pleasant houses and blooming gardens of the neighbourhood, to be taken down to the salt works, and to come suddenly upon the blackened hedgerows and the leafless trees lifting their bare black arms sadly towards the blue summer sky. Even the very roadways and paths were black, made with fine cinders and refuse from the furnaces, and some of the houses were built of black clinkers," a hard cinder left in the furnace, though these were often grotesque in shape, and tinged with a deep red hue, that gave the houses built of them rather a picturesque appearMost of the work-people, however, lived in little red brick houses that had been built for them in long straight rows, like town houses, without a bit of garden or a tree to relieve their monotony.

ance.