ribly exaggerated; and because I saw Mr. Cleffain didn't seem to be quite persuaded-for he went on drawing with his Indian ink on the back of a letter-I told him, that if he liked, I would send him the names and directions of those who would set him right in a moment, for I knew he would forget them in a moment; and I did send them; and I know that if he writes-they all like Raymond so much-that not one will say a word against him. When I did all that for him, it is hard that he should go away and say I abuse him, and try to injure him."

"Very," said Evelyn; "but it is all part of the cross we were talking of. Is it not ?"

"Yes," said he, "I love to think of that, but—” "But what ?" said Evelyn.

"Why," said Eustace, "is it really needful for any to bear such cruel misrepresentations ?"

"Yes, certainly," said Evelyn; "whom did your great example ?"

you make

"Why," said Eustace, "I knew that His example was the only one which I wanted to follow; but, Evelyn, it is difficult. I study, I meditate on Him, I think Him to be so beautiful, I determine to follow Him; but I do not, I can not—"

"No, do not talk so," said Evelyn. "He will help you. Let your search after Him be more diligent. Keep His Figure ever before your eye. Believe that He ever goes before you. Realize His Presence. Think how He did act in like circumstances, and He will be your strength and help."

And the friends parted.

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CHAPTER XIII.

DIFFICULTIES ABOUT EUSTACE.

EUSTACE was more than usually cheerful that evening, and his mother was delighted to hear him singing to himself in his little room, and talking to his dog as he re-arranged some books. It was a lovely evening. The moon had risen with its pale shield scarce visible in the bright evening sky, to come out with clearer and brighter light each minute. Evening insects were drowsily seeking their prey, and the bats whirled in giddy circles around the head of the solitary traveller through the quiet lane. It was tea-time again, and Eustace came down cheerfully and happily.

Mother," said he, as he started up from the table to save a moth which had flown to the lamp, and which he put out of the window. "Mother, I am going out after tea into the lane. There is a poor lad with a bad leg there, and I heard this afternoon that his pain is great."

"Then, my boy, you cannot alleviate it," said the widow; "what is the use of your going ?"

"Yes, I know, mother; but still I can do what any one can ever do short of alleviating bodily pain. I can read something that will bring him peace of mind."

"Yes," said the widow, "true; but come back as soon as you can."

"All right," said Eustace.

As soon as he was gone, his mother went to his room. She was surprised at finding an alteration in the furniture, and a re-arrangement of the room. The chair, the books, were in their places. On the table, which was

against the wall, was an Albert Durer's Crucifixion, which she had not seen in his room before. This then, was the object of his constant gaze, the motive of his every act—JESUS crucified. She looked long on the speaking Form-the Figure hanging suspended from the Cross-so as to manifest the real suffering of the Son of Man. The Countenance spoke the anguish He endured for our sake. There was a wonderful reality in it. Below it lay two little books partly open. She took them up: one was Bishop Andrewes's Devotions; the other a book of the Hours, after the old catholic plan of the Church, marked all over by the signs of constant use. Here then was the history of a daily life—the mainspring and motion. She was not quite prepared for the strong, unhesitating expression of the Person of JESUS -of these frequent means of realizing His Love. But gratitude to Him Who was so leading her child to Himself, overcame all, and she knelt down and poured out her heart in thankfulness for GOD's unspeakable mercy, for he was indeed the LORD'S.

“But was this mode of keeping his soul near his Lord right? was there danger in it ?" So Mrs. Sherwood argued. She had been brought up in a school of religious thought, which, while it recognized the power of the Church's ordinances and the beauty of her arrangements, still had led her to be afraid of what was thought an excess of external aid. She thought, as many did who adopted her line of thought, that it might lead to Rome.

"Still," she thought, "it is very beautiful-very natural. I will speak to Evelyn about it. The dear fellow then knelt here to prepare for his visit to the poor lad, the sight of whose painful disease would make any one recoil were he not fortified with the sight of that Figure

of his Divine Master who went about healing all manner of disease and sickness."

And with these thoughts she left the room, determined to speak to Evelyn on the subject at the first opportunity. This soon occurred, for about half-an-hour after, when she was quietly sitting at work, enjoying the delicious scents and the loveliness of the summer evening, the little gate of the garden opened, and Evelyn walked up the path. He was always most kind to Mrs. Sherwood. There was a peculiar, an unusual attraction to him about that home and its small household. Eustace had had a strong and powerful hold on Evelyn's mind. The one seemed just made to fill up what was wanting in the other. The warm, earnest enthusiasm of Eustace operated well on the calmer and more composed love of Evelyn.

"Oh, Evelyn," said Mrs. Sherwood, "you are just the person I wanted to see."

"Am I !" said he, " I shall be delighted to be of any use. Where's Eustace ?"

"Why it was about him that I was wanting to talk with you. He has gone down to that poor boy in the lane who is dying with the diseased leg. They say he is a terrible object, yet Eustace would go. Dear boy, his heart seems wholly set on loving and serving CHRIST. It is really true in his case that he has no other equal delight. I do believe that he acts and feels as if our SAVIOUR were always going before or following him. Is it not a happy thing ?"

"Very," said Evelyn, looking down, and describing the pattern of the carpet with his stick.

"But do not you think there is just a little, a very little danger in it ?" said Mrs. Sherwood, rather timidly. "Danger!-my dear madam-danger! what possible

danger can there be in so blessed a feeling and desire ?" said Evelyn, starting up from his musing attitude, and speaking with great earnestness.

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Why, what I mean," said Mrs. Sherwood, "is that— is there not a tendency to lean so on the outward forms and associations connected with our Blessed LORD that we cease to lean enough on Him by interior love and faith; just, you know, as when that poor demoniac asked 'to be with Him,' 'JESUS suffered him not,' as if He feared his dwelling too much on the external things to do with Him-His Sacred Body, the look of that Eye, and the tone of that Voice-and is there not a danger lest we may do something like that? Is there not? I do not know whether I have quite explained myself."

"I see what you mean; but I never conceived that we could use too much and with too much love those outward things which speak so immediately of Him; that is, if the mind of the person using them is stayed on Him,' as Eustace's is, then it can but help to draw him on nearer and nearer to our Blessed LORD. For instance, what can better help him in the good work he has gone upon more than the fact and narrative being before his eye in which our Blessed LORD's healing and tending the sick and dying is described. It surely brings the whole of the great Gospel motive close to his will with a great inspiring power. It adds wings of encouragement to his steps. It is what early Martyrs gazed at before entering on their great struggle and were refreshed. I cannot see the harm. An old devout writer has said, 'We are men, not pure spirits. In us the body should co-operate with the soul in the homage she renders to GOD. In us the whole being, body and soul, should worthily offer a tribute of adoration and prayer.' It seems to me that the very sacramental system of the