song all together. You ken take the big end, that's the bass, yer know."

"I want to be quiet," said Benny; "do let me alone."

"In course I'll let 'e alone. I looks like it, don't I? I's a very forgivin' natur', Mister Benjamin Bates, you knows that, though I don't forget. But the fact is, I's so pleased to 'ave yer company agin that I'm bound to show my delight in some way."

"If you don't take yourself off, Perks, you'll wish you had," said Benny.

"Now, don't be touchy, Mr. Bates.

But let's dance a cornpipe, while one o' my mates whistles Pop goes the Weasel.'

Poor Benny! he could not escape his tormentor, so he bore throughout that weary Sabbath, as best he could, a series of petty persecutions. He tried to be patient, he even tried to pray, but the only prayer he could utter was, "O Lord, kill me at once, and put me out of misery."

WHILE Benny in his prison-cell was dragging out the weary hours of that June Sabbath, Joe Wrag was engaged in an experiment that had occupied his thoughts for some considerable time. Since that never-to-be-forgotten day when he had kissed his little Nelly a last good-bye, he had never doubted three things:-First, that the elect were "whosoever will"; second, that he had been accepted of the Father; and, third, that little Nelly Bates had been to him the "sent of God," to lead him out of the darkness of error into the light of truth.

The certainty that he was included in God's invitation of mercy was to him a new revelation. He felt as if he had suddenly grown young again, and, notwithstanding his grief for his little pet, he experienced a joy springing up in his heart the like of which he had never known before.

The words that have comforted so many sorrow-bruised hearts-"for we mourn not as those without hope, for them that sleep in Him "-seemed to him to have a new and deeper meaning. For he felt that not only was his little Nelly safe, but that he, too, was secure in the almighty love of God.

For several weeks Joe hardly knew at times whether he was in the body or out of it. Wrapped in contemplation, he would forget "all time and toil and care," and the long nights would slip away like a dream. He grew more silent than ever; but the look of melancholy was rapidly disappearing from his weather-beaten face, and an expression of heart-rest and peace was taking its place.

But one morning, as Joe was walking home from his work, lost as usual in contemplation, a thought crossed his mind that fairly startled him, and for several moments he stood stock-still in the street.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" he groaned. "If I don't desarve to be reprobated, my name's not Joe Wrag."

Then he walked on again with rapid strides, as if he would escape the haunting thought. But the thought would not leave him; nay, it seemed to grow into a living voice, that sounded clear and distinct above the roar of the streets. your religion such a selfish selfish thing, that you can Are you the only one for

Joe Wrag," it said, "is thing, and is your joy such a think of nothing but yourself? whom Christ died? Are there no tired and toil-worn men and women around you struggling in the darkness and longing for light? Do you want heaven all to yourself, that you

invite no one to go along with you? Wrag, you are actually growing selfish!

For shame, Joe

In your thank

fulness that you have found a place of shelter, you have forgotten the many outside still exposed to the storm. Is this what you have learnt of Christ? Get down on your knees, man, and ask His pardon, and ask Him for grace also that you may be saved from yourself, and that henceforth you may live for Christ and humanity."

"O Lord, have marcy!" cried Joe, rushing on faster and faster. "I've been as blind as a bat, an' as selfish as sin could make me. Enter not into judgment with me for Thy marcy's sake, an' I'll try to do better-I will, for sure."

When Joe reached his home, he went at once to his bedroom, and falling on his knees, he poured out his soul in a long and agonizing prayer. He prayed for grace and strength, he prayed for light and wisdom. He did not ask for peace or joy, but he asked to be made holy and useful, that he might do diligently his life-work, and be able to say when death came, "I have finished the work that Thou gavest me to do."

When Joe came downstairs a light was shining in his eyes, such as his wife (who had been for many years Joe's "thorn in the flesh") had never seen before.

From that day Joe Wrag was a changed man, and, as might be expected, his wife was the first to notice the change and the first to appreciate it. That very morning, instead of eating his meal in silence, as had been his custom for many years, he began to talk to her, to ask her questions, and to interest himself in domestic affairs. And when

he had taken his four or five hours' sleep, instead of moping in silence, as he had been in the habit of doing, until it was time to go to his work, he actually began to help his wife to tidy up the house, and even anticipated her wants in several little matters, and altogether made himself so agreeable, that his wife was at her wits' end to know what had come over him.

Mary Wrag had grown, as the years had slipped by, from a light-hearted, high-spirited girl, into a sour, disappointed, and vixenish woman. Poor Joe was utterly at a loss to understand the change that had come over her. He could not think that he had contributed to it in the smallest degree. He had never crossed her, never answered her back when she snarled at him, never bothered her with his own troubles, and never vexed her by trying to pry into hers. He had always let her have her own way, and had scarcely interfered with her in anything, and hence it was a mystery to him how she had grown so cross-grained and sour.

It was a very common mistake, and one that has been fraught with the most serious results. He did not know how, in the years gone by, his wife had longed to share his troubles (for she was too proud to tell him), and how she wanted him to share hers. He did not know what a trouble it was to her when he sat hour after hour moody and silent, never speaking to her, and taking no interest in anything she did or said. He did not know what bitter tears she shed in the early years of their wedded life, because he would not notice a new bow of pink ribbon she had made, or a new fashion in which she had done up her glossy hair.