take Thy rewards, though I cannot do Thy work?' If that is your determination, then write it down, and put your name to it."

He looked horrified. "You are not fair, Annie; you are too hard. I could not write such a thing; you know I could not."

"No; I know you could not, when you see plainly what it means; yet surely it is just what you have been saying, 'Time enough when I am old and sick.' Oh, Charley! if you could venture on it, surely you would not treat Him so; you would not be so mean, so ungenerous!

"But, more than all this, I want to put before you not the giving up, but the receiving. Every good gift of God will be enjoyed the more, if recognised as His gift and used for Him; every safe and innocent pleasure will be the brighter for His presence, 'Who has given us all things richly to enjoy ;' 'Who taketh pleasure in the prosperity of His servants.' And if, as in my case, our Father sees fit to withhold many of them, then the full assurance that it is His will, and therefore not only good but the very best for us; the sure hope that it is only for a little time-really a little time, though it may be a life-time—and then 'fulness of joy and pleasures at His right hand for evermore;' and through it all, whether in prosperity or trial, what it is to have Him ever near, a sympathising Friend, a Brother, an almighty Comforter, an ever-present Saviour-that's just where the world's pleasures fail, and leave us desolate and weary. The pleasures our God gives grow brighter and brighter, the hope stronger and clearer, the love warmer, till the soul feels as it were at the very gate of heaven, knowing that, however good its portion here, its best is even yet to come, till the cold waters of affliction are found changed into the rich wine of the kingdom."

As she paused, Charley looked up, and seeing how entirely exhausted she was, he rose, and kissing her tenderly, he said, "God bless you, darling! I see what I never saw before-that I have been nothing better than a fool. Go on praying

for me, and by God's help I shall meet you and mother in heaven."

Too weary to speak, she could but smile lovingly at him, and lift up her heart in the earnest prayer that it might indeed be so, and that if the work were begun through her feeble instrumentality, God would Himself carry it on to perfection.

A

In Thy Stead.

LIFEBOAT on the northern coast was manned to reach a wreck, O'er which the angry mountain waves poured thundering on her deck;

Driven by the wind right on the reef, there seemed no hope to

save,

In such a tempest, those poor souls from the devouring wave.

The storm-cloud hid the evening light, and thunder loud and long,
The wind lashed up the angry waves, and shrieked a deafening song,
Yet still the hardy mariners put forth their precious boat,
Though but a cockleshell she seemed in that wild sea afloat.

They tried and tried to reach the wreck; their efforts were in vain ; Each time they neared the wind and waves drove them far back again;

At length exhausted-sad at heart-they strove the shore to reach, Where anxious wives, and mothers dear, were crowding on the

beach.

Home to their cots the seamen sped, drenched to their very skin,
Feeling to leave those men to death would be a crying sin;
They ate and drank, and dried themselves, at home they could not

stay,

They hurried to the beach once more, and watched the lightning's

play;

For by its flashes they could see distinctly the dark wreck,
And helpless beings swept away from broken masts and deck;

And as they strained their eyes to gaze, and keep the wreck in view,

A giant wave leaped on her deck and parted her in two.

"I can't stand this !" a seaman cried; "Lads! we must try again, For ere the morning light has dawned she'll sink, 'tis pretty plain." They launched the boat a second time, and soon were all afloat, When shouts were heard, "Hold hard! hold hard! I'm going in the boat."

Up ran brave Jack, "Now, Willum, lad, I'm going in thy stead,
Thou hast a wife and little ones who look to thee for bread;
My sister is thy wife most kind; thou hast been out before;
Thou shalt not go a second time; I told her at the door."

"No, Jack; thee stay and comfort Jane; thou must not risk thy lite,
Else what will pretty Mary say, so soon to be thy wife?
Please God, I trust we'll all be back before the morning light,
And bring yon creatures home with us, and brighten up their life.”

"Please God," said Jack, quite solemnly, baring his curly head, "But this one time, Willum, my lad, I'm going in thy stead; No use to bandy words to-night; I know I risk my life, But God can keep us on the sea, e'en in this wild night's strife.

"And if he takes me, all is well,' since 'tis the path of right. Give me your hand, my brother Will, and bid us all good night.'" Away they went, right through the surf, battling with might and main,

Now on the crest of mountain wave, then lost to sight again.

Backward and forward, driven and tossed by wind and tide and

wave,

They felt their strength was failing fast, and still no power to save: The unequal fight so hard had grown, to shore they now must flee; But as they turned a heavy wave swept all into the sea.

The boat-soon righting-floated on, was gained by some all right; But half her human freight went down, that dark and stormy night: Battered and aged, a few poor souls, half dead, at length came back, And found old William on the shore, who cried, "Where's brother Jack!"

They told their tale in simple words, amid the women's tears,
Whose hearts were sadly tried that night by dark and anxious fears;
Poor William speechless stood at first, in mental agony,
Then bowed his grizzly head, and said, "He gave his life for me!

"He took my place in yonder boat, he braved the storm for me,
For me he gave his young fair life, that I might savéd be.”
His grief was great, and to his cot they gently homeward led,
For none could soothe-his spirit sore would not be comforted.
Day after day he wandered forth, and gazed upon the sea,
Murmuring in accents soft and low, "He gave his life for me.”
To hoary years he ne'er forgot that friend's warm, loving heart,
And lived in hope of meeting him where they no more should part.

Dear reader, such a friend hast thou, in Christ, the Son of God,
Who came from heaven to take thy place, and sorrow's pathway

trod

To the last step of suffering, of shame, and painful death,

And 'twas for thee He bore it all, and gave His gentle breath.

He saw thy sins-a mountain load-and knew thou couldst not bear,

Their crushing weight and bitter sting would drive thee to despair;
He knew they hid His Father's face of pity and of love,
And so to rescue thee He left His glorious home above.

He took thy nature that He might have sympathy with thee,
Ere dying in thy place and stead on precious Calvary;
He sealed thy pardon with His blood, He satisfied the law,
While angels gazed in wonder down, full of admiring awe.

No longer then a slave to sin, since He has set thee free,
Accept the pardon offered thee, believe He died for thee;
Confess thy sins, repent, turn round, and take the upward road,
For He will give thee strength to turn, and take away thy load.

Tell Him thy wants, He loves thee well, and knows thy weakness

sore,

He will not turn away from one for whom He suffering bore; Come in thy rags; He will not scorn, but royal robes provide, And cleanse thee from thy filthiness, and draw thee to His side.

Nearer than angels art thou brought to that dear precious side,
Since He redeemed thee for Himself, and claims thee as His bride;
Oh yield thy heart in fullest love, and take what He has given,
For He has paid thy debt for thee, and gives thee love and heaven.

No greater love could e'er be shown than that of giving life,
To save a wayward wicked one, whose heart was full of strife;
Think that the Son of God did this, to save and set thee free,
And yielding up thy heart proclaim-" He gave His life for me!"

H. D.

IN TWO CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER I.

ou think, doctor, that the case is serious?"

"Yes, I do; that is, serious in its probable and almost certain consequences."

"And yet, surely, there does not seem so very much the matter with Mr. Hillier."

"You mean, he is not confined to his bed; and he