cipline and care about the pleasant mouth, and over the intelligent brow. Yet the likeness was too strong, the description too true to be mistaken.

You will remember the time when you were at Mrs. B-'s preparatory school for little boys," said the visitor.

"Oh yes, many many years ago, more than twenty at least."

"And you may perhaps remember Arnold M- one of the boys at your first appearance there."

Miss Crooke thought a little, and then the child's face came back to her through the long vista of years. She recalled the interest with which he had listened to her Bible stories, and missionary records, and the hope that some day he might be the means of turning many to righteousness, and shine as the stars for ever.

"Yes, I do remember him, and he promised not to forget me. I have often wondered what would be his subsequent career."

"He sent me to tell you," said the visitor. "Through the years of school-time, and the temptations of youth, after many a check and struggle, it was found that the good seed sown by a young Christian teacher was alive, taking root downward, and, in time, to bear fruit upward in a new creature in Christ Jesus.' Sometimes Arnold would rather have forgotten what she had taught him, but it could not be; he knew that she must have prayed for him, and he believed that her Lord, whose work she was doing, would answer her prayer. He gave himself up to Christ, to be his faithful servant, and to do some work for him in the world was his earnest desire. Circumstances favoured his wish to devote himself to the ministry, and preach the everlasting gospel, and it was my privilege to receive him as my curate, and to witness something of the love and zeal and faithfulness of a true follower of apostolic doctrine.

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Early and late, in season 'and out of season, he has worked among high and low, the educated and ignorant, with one ruling motive, to win souls to Christ, and you will not be surprised to hear that rich and constant blessing has rewarded his devotedness. In pulpit, school, or cottage, mansion, shop, or home, he never forgot his Master, and the sunshine of a heart at peace with God spread something of its radiance wherever he went.

"But it was not to last-his constitution was delicate, and some thought he overworked his strength; but the weaker he got, the harder he worked, for he saw the night coming when he would work no more. Then he preached his last sermon, and struck deep into listening hearts for a last, and, I trust, a lasting remembrance, and then laid down mutely and peacefully to bear his Master's will.

"It was not long then until his spirit went to be present with the Lord, and now all that was mortal of Arnold M-— lies beneath the old trees in my churchyard

"One thing he had neglected to do, always hoping to be able to do it in person at some convenient time; and to my charge he confided that neglected duty. It was to seek out that lady to whose instructions and example he owed under God the salvation of his own soul, and of the souls given to him for his hire during his short ministry, as well as all the peace and joy which have blessed his personal experience, and made him in life an example, as well as, by the word of his message, so truly an ambassador for Christ.'

you

his

"I have this day fulfilled his wish, and bear to dying testimony to the truths you taught him, and his loving thanks for the impression you made on his young heart concerning the happiness of being Christ's servant, and the reward awaiting those who turn many to righteousness.'

His deeply-touched auditor had no response but grateful tears. Who and what was she to be so honoured, so encouraged? She was simply a believing worker in her Lord's vineyard, with the Master's eye upon her efforts, none of which done for love of him, and in his name, could be worthless or vain. And now at a moment of doubt and depression, from the light of his very throne, and bearing his own signet and superscription, came this message of heart-cheer, enough to crush every doubt, and dissipate every fear, and send her along the remainder of her pilgrimage with a new song of praise, and a new staff of strength:

"Upon the stormy waters

The bread of life we cast,
With cheerful trust believing
It shall be found at last.

We see it but a moment
Far drifting o'er the main,

But deathless, undecaying,
It shall be found again.
One eye shall ever watch it-
The eye of Him who sees
Each tiny seedling scatter'd
By summer's passing breeze;
That eye that sees the coral
As year by year it grows,
And counts the myriad crystals
Of Himalayan snows.

Yes! on the stormy waters
We cast the bread of life;
Vain are the surging waters,
Vain is the tempest's strife.
His never-failing promise
Jehovah will fulfil,

And the seed be found in glory
When those proud waves are still."

ANNIE'S SIXPENCE.

ATERCRESSES, watercresses!" The cry grew fainter as the little ragged creature passed on gazing anxiously at every house in hopes of

seeing a customer. But no one seemed to be in want of watercresses this afternoon, and as the little girl turned to take a last look down the wet, splashy street, she sighed and burst into tears. "It aren't no good trying," she muttered half aloud, "nobody wants cresses when I've got 'em, and father 'll be angry, and I'm so hungry and cold;" and she shivered as the biting east wind lifted her few fluttering rags and sent the chilling raindrops running down her neck. "Oh dear! what shall I do?" she cried, seating herself in a covered doorway, after making quite sure that none of her enemies, the police, were in sight. She thrust her hand into her bosom as she spoke, and drew out a little piece of rag containing three half-pence. "That's all I've got," she said, with another sigh, "and I've been out all day and ain't had nothing to eat." As she uttered these words, a gentleman came up to the door, and, noticing her tears, asked what was the matter whether anybody she loved was ill, or had she lost anything?

The girl's eyes opened very wide at the question. "I ain't got nothing to lose," she said, "and nobody don't love me."

Oh, yes, they do. You have one Friend who loves you very dearly, and who wishes you very much to love him in return."

"It can't be me: I'm Annie Morrison, and nobody don't care for me. It's a mistake."

"No, Annie, it's no mistake; the Friend who loves you is so good and wise that he never makes mistakes as other people do. Would you like me to tell you the name of this friend, little girl?"

The tears still stood on Annie's cheeks, but she had left off crying to stare in open-eyed wonder at the gentleman, who was now bending down to her, as she stood with her basket on her arm leaning against the portico. "Yes, I'd like to know him," she said, lifting her little white pinched face and looking straight into the gentleman's eyes, "I'd go and tell him I can't sell these cresses.'

"And he would listen to all you wished to say," replied the gentleman.

"Would he? Where does he live? Does he know my name?"

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Yes, he knows your name and all about you. Once he lived in this world himself, and was so poor, that sometimes he had nowhere that he could sleep."

"That's just like me," broke in Annie. hungry too?" she asked.

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"Was he

Yes, more hungry than ever you have been." "Then he'll know all about how bad it is. Where does he live now? I'd like to see him."

"You will see him one day, Annie, if you learn to love him. He has gone to heaven now to

"To heaven!" repeated Annie, in a disappointed tone, "that's a long way off, ain't it?"

"It seems so to us, but Jesus is never far away from those he loves and who love him. He can see and hear all we are talking about now, and he will listen to you whenever you pray to him."

What is pray?" asked Annie, in a little perplexity. "Speaking to the Lord Jesus. He loves to hear people pray to him-ask him for what they want. Would you not like to know and love this Friend who loves you?" Annie nodded. "Then you must ask the Lord Jesus to help you, and try to do all you can to please him."

"What 'Il please him?" asked Annie, quickly.

"Being gentle and kind, never stealing, or telling lies,

or saying bad words." Rather hard that, Annie thought, for she had never been taught that these things were wrong, and therefore was not very particular about what she said or did. She said nothing of this however to the gentleman.

She looked down as he finished and was silent for a minute or two, but when she raised her face again there was a little look of anxiety in it. "But are you quite sure the Lord Jesus will love me?" she asked.

Yes, my child, there is no mistake about it. I am his servant, and am sent to tell you."

As he spoke the door was opened, and thrusting his hand into his pocket he drew out a sixpence and gave it to the child, at the same time lifting up his heart in prayer to God for a blessing on what he had been saying. The sixpence happened to be a new one, and as Annie eyed it lying in her little dirty palm, the thought came into her mind that this sixpence had been sent to her direct from the Lord Jesus. She had seen sixpences before, but none so white and shining as this was, and she made up her mind on the spot not to part with it, but to keep it in remembrance of her friend who loved her. Yes her! poor little Annie Morrison that everybody else hated and called ugly and wicked. How nice it seemed! She looked at her sixpence and kissed it, and at that very moment a feeling of love to her unknown Friend stole into her heart as she thought of his kindness in sending to her this bright memento of his love. Yes, she would keep it, nothing should make her part with it, and she would look at it every time she felt hungry and cold and tired, and did not sell her cresses.

She rolled her treasure up in a corner of her frockone of the cleanest pieces she could find; and hiding it away with her tiny bundle of half-pence, she picked up her basket and went forward on her rounds. "Watercresses, watercresses!" again sounded down the quiet street, but the cry was uttered less plaintively this time, for Annie was not thinking of her cresses but of the words the stranger had spoken. "Mustn't steal," she repeated, "mustn't tell lies, mustn't say bad words, but be kind and gentle, he said. I ain't got nobody to be kind to, no sister, nor brother, nor mother, not even a cat now old Tom's dead;" and a tear dimmed her eye at the remembrance of the loss of this, her only friend. But another thought came to Annie's mind as she slowly trudged through the