they are weak and frail. Alas! it is a bitter thought how few of that gallant band will be prepared to meet their Master at His coming!” Herbert was silent with sorrow and surprise, and the angel continued,— “Look well at those youths who are standing there side by side. They are brothers:—he, whose hands are clasped on the hilt of his sword while his eyes are closed in earnest prayer, is Albert, and the other who looks so eager and happy is named Eustace. Let us watch them unto the end.” After a time a great change came over the soldiers. At first they had kept their armour bright and watched oil; at the castle gates, but too soon, alas ! many of them became idle and careless; they suffered their white garments to be stained, their beautiful shields to become dim and black, and some even threw aside their swords. Then Herbert saw that their enemies who filled the air around them tried to conquer by deceiving them. “Yeshall not surely die," they whispered, and persuaded them to lay aside the armour of light and to soil their white robes by disobeying the commands of the great King. Amongst the few who remained faithful he noticed Albert, who was ever to be seen watchful at his post. During the long dark hours of the night, as he paced up and down before the castle-gate, his glittering shield shed a light around him ; and even when he took his short rest, the good sword was firmly grasped in his right hand, that he might be ready at the first alarm of danger. Not so was it with Eustace. He had thought at first that a soldier's life was a gay and easy one, but soon he became weary of the ceaseless round of duty, and listened eagerly to the foes, who whispered that it was useless to watch, for his ter would never come. Then his shield seemed a heavy burden, and he laid it down; his sword became dulland rusty, and he cast it from him; and when he was thus unarmed, his white garment became so sadly stained that it could scarcely be recognised. In vain did Albert earnestly and tearfully warn him of his folly, and by his

example, more then by his words, seek to win his brother back to the path of duty. Eustace would turn away with a scornful laugh to join his thoughtless companions who o mock and taunt Albert for his devotion. Time passed on; and the wicked soldiers became more reckless each day in their vain confidence, and even joined with their hateful enemies in tempting each other to evil; while smaller and smaller became the gallant band of the faithful few. Yet unknown to all, the great King was at hand. One fearful night, the storm was raging so fiercely without the castle that the brave Albert, who was a sentinel on guard, could scarcely keep his footing; constantly driven back by the wind and hail, he was weary and almost ready to faint. But in the hour of trial he called for help upon his Master's name. Within the castle walls, surrounded by a group of wild companions, Eustace was loudly joined in some evil song to drown the still small voice of conscience. Suddenly was heard the blast of a trumpet so long and loud that it shook the old castle to its very foundations. To Albert the sound brought unspeakable joy, but to Eustace it was like the knell of judgment, for both alike knew that the King had come in triumph to claim his own. Eustace vainly sought to find his shield and sword, but he had not worn them for so long, that they were useless now in the hour of his extremity. His shield was broken, and his sword rusty and blunt. Trembling and shivering, unable to hide his shame, he was hurried before the presence of his offended Judge, and the enemy who had tempted him became his accuser. Dazzled by the intense light which he could not bear to face, the dreadful words of doom sounded in his ears,

“Depart, ye wicked, into outer darkness, there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

To the happy Albert even the bitter sense of his brother's fate was lost in the overwhelming happiness of his Master's love, when, like a soft strain of sweetest music, were wafted to him the heavenly words,

do not like to trust them with work, and so the thieves are tempted to steal again rather than starve, and the good intentions that they had when leaving the prison are driven away. Besides, it is well known that, when the three weeks' or three months' imprisonment of any offender is at an end, his or her companions go to meet the prisoner coming out, and have money to spend at the public-house, so as to keep them from getting away from the gang, and turning honest. In our picture we have a young girl coming out of the prison, when her sentence is done. She looks as if she were thinking of the words of Jesus, which the prison chaplain said to her as he said goodbye, “Go, and sin no more.” Her hands are clasped, as if she were praying God to help her to keep from sin, when she meets her wicked mother, or her hardened companions. Every Sunday we pray in church for those who are in gaol. Let happy children, who, with no toil of their own, have good clothes to wear, and nice food to eat, then think about the ragged little ones who have no parents, and no home, or perhaps have parents who keep a home together by sinful doings, and ". them pray that these unhappy brethren and sisters may

learn from the clergyman in prison the good lesson which is not taught them at home, so that when they come out of prison they may be kept from the snares of their evil companions. When the minister says, in the Litany, “That it may please Thee to show Thy pit, on all prisoners and captives,” then say #. your lips, and with all your heart, “We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.”

THAT ETERNAL THINK.

A CONWICT, on being removed from one rison to another, was asked how he liked o new home. “Not at all,” was his reply. “Are you not clothed and fed as well here 7" “Yes, better.” “Is your work harder 7" “No, not so hard.” “Are you not treated so kindly 7° “Yes, quite.” “Then why do you not like it as well ?” “Because I am not allowed to speak to any one. I go to the table, and sit and think; I go about my work all day, to think; at night the iron door shuts me in my solitary cell—to think think . . think!!! and I cannot bear it—it drives me mad.”

women would be thankful for one sight of anything so fair, when a look into its windings would freshen many a tired heart by reminding it of the never-failinggoodness of the Father it served. Little white cottages are dotted along the slopes, each with its patch of corn and fruit-trees; and more rarely a church-spire rises on the hilltop, and does duty as a landmark for miles away. In this valley is a spot I have known for years, no less a place than Kerne Ferry, and a more lonely situation could § be found. There is not another cottage, excepting that of the ferryman, to be seen far or near ; but the road to market lies across it, and twice aweek the place is gay enough with passengers of all sorts. Then *ill Morgan has hard work to punt his various customers across; and sometimes his wife takes a turn to let him rest, while they hear all the news of the country-side, and exchange greetings with their friends. And, to tell the truth, their stock of such people is a large one, in spite of their generally lonely life; for if anybody is in trouble, they know well that Morgan is the man to help them, and his wife is of the same mind as himself. They learnt, long ago, the best wisdom of all—even the fear of God; and their work has been done for Him, and not for themselves. Their kind hearts shine out through their faces which are crying now ; but the story I am going to tell you, happened when they were young (many years ago), when the ferryboat was newly set up, and there were even fewer cottages at hand than at present. One dark evening in autumn as they were shutting up for the night, the shout of “Ferry s” was heard far over the water in a woman's voice; and Morgan, somewhat tired, lit his lantern and went to undo the boat, wondering the while who could be out in the country that time of night. Nor did his wonder cease when, as he neared the opposite shore, he saw in the dim light a woman with a child in her arms. She came down the steep bank and stepped into the boat without a word, but as they touched the landing-place she spoke in a kind of despairing way,+ “I have not a penny left to give you, friend,” she said ; “and what I am to do to-night, I know not.” “Have you come far?” said Morgan, looking with pity at her tired face. “Twenty miles to-day,” was the answer “I and the child; he's fairly beat. Is there a town near here 7" “Town!” echoed Morgan, “you're away far enough from the town; there's not a cottage but mine within two miles of us over the hills. Where are you going?” “Home,” said the woman, “to Glamorn; but the way's longer than 1 thought or, and my money's gone, and begging's sore work.” “Sore, indeed!" said Morgan, “but you must bide with us to-night. My wife will find a corner for you and the child, though

it's but a small place ;” and so saying, he took the sleeping little one from her tired arms, and beckoned to her to follow him into the cottage. It was not the first time that Nell Morgan had been called on to take care of a benighted traveller. They quickly scraped together the smouldering ashes, and put some fresh firing on ; then, as it brightened into a blaze, Nell made the stranger take the arm-chair in the chimney-corner and dry her clothes, which were dam with the night-dew, while she herself hel the child who slept soundly from sheer fatigue, it seemed. “Poor lamb ..." said Nell, as she put aside the tangled curls on his forehead; “it’s a long way for him to come in a day: he's just the age of my Willie. I’ll put him to sleep with mine till you've had some supper, mistress; it's just over-head, so if he wakes (though there's not much chance of that) you'll hear him call directly. Come with me and see him safe.” So, followed by the stranger, Nell carried the little one into her own small bed-room, where, in a cot, lay a boy of six years old. Stout, round-limbed, and rosy, he formed a strong contrast to the pale-faced stranger who was laid to sleep beside him. “You’re set on your boy " asked the woman, as Nell bent over the cot much longer than she need have done. “He’s my only one,” said Nell. “Yes,” was the answer: “but you've your husband left you, and I'm a widow woman. My husband died a fortnight ago to-day in London, and I thought I'd money enough to get back to my own people, but it's slow walking with a child, and my money's gone; and unless you'd helped me, I don't know what would have become of me.” “Cheer up, mistress,” said Nell, gently, as the widow's voice trembled; “God sent you help to-night, and He'll send you help to-morrow if you ask Him.” Then they went back to the fireside, and an hour more saw the Ferry dark and silent. The widow was sleeping soundly, warmed and fed; but Nell and her husband were awake, turning over in their minds how they could help her through the weary miles which she had still to go before she could reach her home.

“It’s too much,” said the widow, “quite too much, and I can't thank you rightly.” She was seated with her little boy, bright again with its night's rest, among the contents of a store-waggon bound for the heart of Wales. Morgan had bargained with the carter to take her that day's journey in it, and Nell had pressed into her hand half of their small store of silver laid by for a need-be (there were no savings-banks in those days). “God bless you,” said the widow to them, as she wrung their hands; “He will repay you and yours, for I can't.” And then as the waggon rolled heavily on its way, the two turned to their cottage again with light hearts, though their purse was light too. “We’re strong and well now,” Nell had said on the night before, “and with His blessing will keep so; it's lending to Him, for He was a stranger once, and had not where to lay His head, and He has forgiven us all that great debt.” “Amen,” said Morgan; and so they determined to give to the widow and fatherless at their own loss, rather than turn them helpless from their door. (To be continued.)

MISCHIEF MAKERS.

H ! could there in this world be found Some little spot of happy ground, Where village pleasures might go round Without the village tattling. How doubly blest that place would be, Where all might dwell in liberty, Free from the bitter misery Of gossips' endless prattling. And then they've such a cunning way Of telling ill-meant tales: they say, “Don’t mention what I've said, I pray: I would not tell another!" Straight to your neighbour's house they go, Narrating everything they know ; And break the peace of high and low, Wife, husband, friend, and brother.

Oh, that the mischief-making crew Were all reduced to one or two, And they were painted red or blue,

That every one might know them : Then would our villagers forget To rage and quarrel, fume and fret, And fall into an angry pet With things so much below them. For 'tis a sad, degrading part To make another's bosom smart, And plant a dagger in the heart We ought to love and cherish Then let us evermore be found In quietness with all around; While friendship, joy, and peace abound, And angry feelings perish

A CHRISTMAS SHIP.

AL; our readers we hope have seen a Christmas-tree, and have had the pleasure of getting something from its sparkling branches; but not many of them have, we think, seen a Christmas ship, such as was launched last December, in the school-rooms of the great Church of St. Peter's, Wolverhampton, for the enjoyment of the children. The ship, of which we give a picture, was built o, the masters of two of the parochial schools; it was twelve feet long, and the height of the main-mast was eleven feet; yet the material of it did not cost more than about £4, which included lamps, cannons, and banners. The children of the schools were told beforehand, that those who subscribed a penny, twopence or threepence, would receive the value of their subscription back in articles from the ship, and also be admitted to the exhibition of it without charge. The subscriptions of the children were laid out in toys and ornaments, with which the deck and rigging of the ship were ornamented, and these were distributed to the subscribers when all was over. The ship, well lighted up, and with its cannon firing at intervals, was exhibited in three different school-roomsin St. Peter's parish, on three different evenings, and the parents of the scholars, and the scholars themselves, were admitted to see it on payment of a penny or twopence. It was a very pretty sight, and to children who lived in a midland town, and had never seen real ships, it was a very inte