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his doctrines would be to divide families and households, that the father would be divided against the son, and the son against the father; the mother against her daughter, and the daughter against her mother: that there would be five in one house divided, three against two, and two against three.*

I have already said that we were an irreligious family in our old farmhouse. We knew nothing of the humbling, sanctifying influences of the gospel of Christ. Let me further confess that we were proud and Pharisaical, very much in the condition of those of whom the Lord Jesus Christ said, that they thought themselves to be rich and to have need of nothing, not knowing that they were wretched and miserable, poor, blind, and naked:† or like those of whom we read in another place, that they trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others.‡ We boasted of our good name for honesty and worldly integrity, and of our regard for the external forms of religion, while we branded as enthusiasts and Methodists and hypocrites, any who made the service of God the real business of their lives. This, as I have confessed, was at the root of my enmity towards our neighbours, the Wakes. Judge then of my anger and scorn when I made the discovery that my own sister had been, as I said, "enticed over to their way of thinking," or "persuaded to be a Methodist." These are only a specimen of the phrases I used. I had many

others.

Lucy was one of those who, in the endless variety of ways by which our heavenly Father brings home his children to himself, seem to be gently drawn, as by the bands of love. Like Lydia, her heart had been opened to receive the blessed truths of the Bible. Her illness had not excited her fears so much as her thoughtfulness; and the faithful, yet encouraging words of her "dear nurse" had been the instrumental means by which a believing knowledge of Christ's most precious salvation was brought home to her soul. She was humbled, indeed, and deeply penitent at the remembrance of her former neglect and alienation from God; but even this had not wrought terror in her soul, because it was accompanied by a full sense of the infinite mercy of God in Jesus, and of his readiness to receive and forgive and bless every returning sinner. All this I knew many years afterwards from her own lips, when + Rev. iii. 17.

*Luke xii. 51-53.

Luke xviii. 9.

I was passing through very deep waters of soul-sorrow. For it was in this way that my gracious loving Lord was pleased, by his Holy Spirit, to convince me of sin, and of righteousness, and of judgment to come. So true it is,

that

"As blows the wind, and in its flight
Escapes the glance of keenest sight,
So are the wonder-working ways
Of God's regenerating grace.

As o'er our frames we feel the gale
Gently or mightily prevail,

So some are softly drawn to heaven,
And others, as by tempests, driven."

To return to dear Lucy: the time she had spent at Hastings with her kind friend and our neighbour had been happily employed by them both-the one in imparting, and the other in receiving, the encouragements and consolations of the gospel. It was this probably which had imparted such a charm of simplicity and earnestness to my sister's comparatively brief epistles, though she did not mention the cause. When I afterwards asked her why she had thus avoided any mention of the change in her views and aims, she said that she felt it was not for her to be making a parade of the source of her newly-found happiness, that she even feared writing too enthusiastically if she should write at all, that she wanted time to prove (not to herself so much as to others) that her joy was true Christian joy, and that she treasured up in her heart the hope of telling with her own lips, when her experience of the love of Christ had stood the test of some little further time, what a dear Saviour she had found. As to concealment-studied or unstudied-Lucy had thought of no such thing. She fancied that perhaps we might smile a little at the warmth of her feelings when she should make them known: but, poor dear girl, she had not thought, could not have thought, how seriously displeased with her we should all be.

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The way in which we came to a knowledge of my sister's new notions," as we termed them, was the finding, by me, in her bedroom, of two or three books, which had been lent to her by her friends at The Grange. This was about a month after her return home; and I should also state that, in that interval, Lucy had spent several days, by invitation, with the Wakes.

The books were of a religious character; and when, little

thinking what would follow, I began to rally my sister on her new studies, and to ridicule both the books and their owners, she begged me to desist, and told me, with all the artlessness of true sincerity, of the happiness she had found in having cast herself as a poor sinner on the mercy of God, and trusted her soul's salvation to him, through the merits of his dear Son.

At first I could scarcely credit my senses. All that Lucy said was so strange and incomprehensible to me, that I really fancied she was intending to amuse me with some exquisite folly or childish romance. But I was soon undeceived by the increasing earnestness with which she besought me to seek for the same joy which she had found, and which made everything around her appear in such a new light, that it was like being in a different world from that which she had before inhabited.

I rose from my seat with scorn and indignation, at the same time throwing from me the books which, till then, I had held in my hands, as though there were contamination in the mere touch.

"Very pretty, indeed, miss," I said, angrily, "for you, who are five years younger than I, to be setting yourself up as my teacher! And you must needs be religious too, must you, like your hypocritical friends at The Grange? I suppose the next thing will be for you to be setting your cap at the dear Alfred they are always talking about; and then-" I scarcely remember what more I said; and if I could remember, it would not be worth while to write it down. I was in such a passion!

Poor Lucy looked at me aghast, and then burst into tears.

"Jane, dear Jane !" she said, very sorrowfully; "you have never before spoken to me like this."

"You have never deserved it like this," I cried.

"Why, what have I done? oh dear! what have I done?" she sobbed.

"What have you done! as if you didn't know what you have done!"

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"Nothing to offend you so much, so very much, surely,” she replied, still weeping; or if I have, I am very, very sorry. But it cannot be that you are angry with me for believing what the Bible says, and for telling you how much happiness I have found in believing it."

"Much good may your happiness do you, Lucy," I re

torted, in no degree appeased by my sister's appealing looks. "But I shall very soon find out whether this Methodism of yours is to be allowed in this house; I can tell you that." And, without giving her time to reply, I picked up the books again, and went out of Lucy's room straight to our mother's, where, with much exaggeration no doubt, I repeated what had passed.

That evening there was a solemn consultation of the whole family-Lucy only excepted. I shall not repeat the hard and unjust and bitter things that were said of Lucy and her friends at The Grange; and I shall only briefly record the decision at which we arrived. It was this: that our acquaintance with our neighbours should be immediately broken off, and that Lucy should be expressly and peremptorily forbidden any further correspondence, either by personal intercourse or letters, with Mrs. Wake or her daughters. We trusted that if this complete severance were accomplished, Lucy's religious excitement would gradually die away for want of encouragement; and to make this more certain, schemes were to be devised, from time to time, for bringing her into contact with a different sort of society, and for providing her with seasonable amusements.

I have no doubt that it will seem strange to some of my readers that any persons could act so ungratefully as well as foolishly as we acted. But those who have had experience of the deep-seated enmity of heart which sometimes leads those who consider themselves to be respectable and honourable to behave very unworthily and unjustly towards the followers of Christ, will understand what I have written. "Ye shall be hated of men for my name's sake," said Christ to his disciples; and this prediction was proved to be true in our case; for our dislike towards the Wakes was increased to hatred, when the discovery was made that they had been the means of introducing their religious notions into our own home.

WHAT UNCLE RAINE SAID ABOUT FAMILY PRAYER.

Ir was a long-promised visit which Mr. Raine, a small farmer in one of the dales of Yorkshire, paid to his nephew, George Atkinson. Atkinson was the son of Mr. Raine's youngest sister, who had been left a widow somewhat early in life, with a family of three sons and two daughters

dependent upon her. After her husband's death, Mrs. Atkinson continued to farm the few acres of land which had belonged to him; but as the farm was too small to afford a living for all her children, it became necessary that two of her sons should seek some other occupation; and George, who had a mechanical turn, was put apprentice to a smith in the small market town nearest to his mother's farm. When his time was out, his master would gladly have retained his services, but George wanted to see the world. There was at that time no railway in the district, and so, one fine spring morning, he set off on foot to Leeds. He had not a single friend in the town, and the only introduction he had was a good character from his old master; but his well-knit frame, and his steady, intelligent look, told so far in his favour, that the proprietor of a large machine-shop gave him immediate employment. At the end of four years, the situation of foreman was offered him in a similar establishment in Manchester, and at the time of his uncle's visit he had been there six years, and had risen to be the general manager of the working department. He had married before leaving Leeds, and he had now four children. He had often intreated his uncle to visit him, but, like many of his class, Mr. Raine had a great objection to leav ing home; and his unwillingness to do so had increased with advancing years. Indeed, he had never been further from his native dale than the city of York; and his visit of two days to that place had formed quite an event in his life. Now, however, a railway had been opened to a town within seven or eight miles from his house, and by dint of strong persuasion he was induced to go.

Mr. Raine was a sincere and earnest Christian, thoroughly acquainted with his Bible, and, for his position in life, well read and intelligent. In all the dales there was no man more highly respected, even by those who had no sympathy with his religious principles.

It was on a Saturday afternoon that he arrived in Manchester. His nephew met him at the railway station, and conducted him home, and a very pleasant, tidy home he found it.

They had a great deal to talk about the first evening, and they were all surprised to find how late it was before anybody had thought of retiring to rest. Mr. Raine supposed that might possibly be the reason why there was no family worship; though, glancing his eye round the room,

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