Winifred had her ideal (what young girl has not?), and, with true womanly weakness and mistake, was investing a real, living person with qualities which he did not at all possess. It is sad indeed so to dream,

because awaking to the fact that the worthiness was in one's own imagination alone, is so bitter. To the young it is more cruel than death. Alas! that the saddest of all losses should come to us as we advance on life's journey-a believing heart.

For the second time in Winifred Lorne's young life she had been brought under the influence of true religion. Her Aunt Isabella was a sincere Christian, humbly striving in her daily walk and in uninteresting details of household duty to evince the spirit of her Master. In a different sphere, Winifred now saw Mr. Archer doing the same thing-one serving in public ministry, one quietly "doing the next thing," however humble and insignificant it might be.

Completely hidden from observation, in a rocky retreat, Winifred began dreamily watching an active little figure running to and fro, now stooping, now climbing a few steps higher, on a headland near. It was Minnie Connor, gathering Carrigeen moss; and as she filled a small basket, which was tied to her side, she sang to herself in clear, high tones

"I do not live in palace great,

I care not now for rank or state,

A lowlier lot is joy to me-

To dwell beside the sounding sea,

To watch the wild waves swell and roar,
And break in foam upon the shore,

A fisher's child, a fisher's mate,
Be this my rank and this my state."

"A very pretty song, but so pretty a maiden may desire a better lot than the fishing-cabin on the hill," exclaimed a voice which Winifred knew only too well.

Wishing to escape notice, and without a thought that in this case concealment could be wrong, or overhearing dishonourable, Winifred drew a little further into her retreat.

"It is good enough for the likes of me," was the modest reply; "leastways, it's a deal dearer than the grandest place on airth."

"Good enough? Why, I should say, my seaflower, nothing was too good for you," was the ardent response. 'Stay a moment; I wish to make a drawing of that cliff, and shall draw you too. I cannot lose my pretty picture. Give me your hand; I must place you in a proper position to adorn the view."

An indignant exclamation from Minnie Connor at this smiling but impudent speech nearly drew Winifred from her hiding-place, but, recollecting herself, by a great effort she controlled the rising tide of passion, and pressing both her hands upon her heart, and with flushed cheeks and eyes flashing with a light it would be unpleasant to mect, crouched further back beneath the sheltering rock.

I will let her deal with him alone," she muttered. "Let the false nature and the pure speak out. If she is a true woman and not an untaught coquette, she

will rebuke and expose him to himself, or restore his faith in womankind. Let the hand of the poor fishergirl humble him instead of his humbling her. At present my interference would be ill-judged."

Winifred was not mistaken in her confidence in the girl. In a quivering tone, yet with simple dignity which might have gone straight to the heart of another man, the peasant-girl said, slowly

"I am the widow Connor's child, an' the promised wife of Will Joyce."

Her faith in the two beings whose special charge she was, and whose love she repaid with her young heart's devotion, was most touching. Tears sprang to the concealed listener's eyes, but the better nature of the man beside her was not aroused.

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Pretty one," he said, in a voice which, though low, was but too distinct-"I wish I could say my pretty one-you do well to love your good mother, though, shut out from the world as she has so long been, she is rather hard upon a young girl like you in bringing you up only to sell fish and gather weeds on the seashore. You ought to be dressed in a way more suited to your beauty, and surrounded by pretty things, go forth to see the world and enjoy yourself as other young girls do, to whom fate has been less cruel. Why think of Will Joyce at all? he is but a common fisher-lad, honest though he may be. Let him find some mate more like himself. You might marry almost any one; ay, even a gentleman."

There was no reply. Oh! did she waver? Not for one moment was her pride in her lover shaken. She felt, instinctively, his marvellous superiority, rough and uneducated though he might be, to the false man beside her, and had smiled in derision, as she heard him assailed, to think how little Will Joyce would affront an honest maiden. Not for one moment was discontent at her lot awakened; not for one moment, good heart and true; not for one moment, pure mind and simple! A cry, half terror, half anger, burst from her lips, quickly succeeded by another. Winifred started to her feet, and rushed forth. As she did so, a perfect avalanche of clay, weeds, and heavy stones came sweeping down the steepest side of the cliff. Following them appeared what at first sight seemed only a dark shapeless mass. Then there was a waving in the air, as if some enormous bird had been frightened from its rocky nest; and round the light yet muscular form of Frank Ruthin there twined the long sinewy arms of Danny Connor. Active and sure-footed, Minnie sprang forward over the sharp and treacherous rocks to separate them, while Winifred, with lips compressed and knitted brow, stood to witness the deadly struggle, scorning to interfere. Not a particle of wounded pride or selfish regret filled her mind then; she felt for the fisher-girl as if she had been her sister, making her cause her own, and was thankful that she had a natural protector, who would not allow harm to come to her the simple "sea-flower," as she had been by the artist's fancy not inaptly called.

On the summit of the rock they swayed, to the

verge they tottered. Frank Ruthin was wary, active, and courageous; but every effort he put forth was vain, and only expended the strength he would need for the final struggle. He could not unbind, or in any way resist the clasp of those long bony arms, which held him as in a vice. That clasp seemed more than human; he felt as if he was in the embrace of some monster, calm in the intensity of its passion. Again and again he tried to twist himself free, in vain!

Now nearer and nearer to the rocky brow they come, until they totter on its very brink, swaying backwards and forwards as if unconscious of, or indifferent to their perilous position. A loud cry of horror burst from Minnie, Winifred's pale lips parted, though she uttered no sound. Then, feeling the ground giving way beneath his feet, Danny Connor was seen to lift his adversary from the place where he stood, and twining his arms more securely around him, to spring out into the dark and troubled water, his victim still locked in a deadly embrace.

Moments passed, moments of horror, moments that seemed ages, and then there rose a dark and confused mass to the surface of the water, and the great arms of the fisher-lad-like enormous propellers-struck out for the shore. He staggered on the wet shingles, shook himself like some great water-animal, and began slowly, and with unusual difficulty, to ascend the rocks, not deigning to glance behind. Minnie called to him, and would have gone to his assistance, but he only half turned his head, feebly smiled, and hastened on his way. Then, half-borne by the waves, with little vitality save the power of an occasional stroke in the instinct of self-preservation, came in a fainting and bruised form. His feet touched the shore, he staggered, and fell insensible. Then Winifred's womanly instinct awoke. Calm

and cold, as though she looked upon a strange form, she advanced, and, motioning to Minnie, the two girls drew it further on the sands beyond the reach of the rising tide. Supernatural strength seemed to be given her. Minnie, despite her slight figure, long inured to hardship, and a strain upon her muscular powers, proved no small help. Then they bent over him these two young women of different birth and station, of different habits and education, yet one in a sisterhood of pure thought and feeling-these two women whom his admiration had shamed, his love would have injured. Winifred bound his forehead, from a wound in which the blood was streaming, with her neckerchief, loosened his neckcloth, and unfastened his waistcoat. Then, severely cold as ever, she placed her hand upon his heart-it beat still. Rising up, she threw her arms suddenly, with an uncontrollable impulse, round the girl beside her. "Minnie," she said, "call your mother; I shall stay here. We must not alarm his sisters; one of them, you know, is very delicate. And-oh! God bless you, Minnie! you have saved me from myself -saved me, perhaps, from a life of misery with him!"

And thus deliverance came to Winifred down by the sea. Thus the prayer her aunt had taught her was answered, though she thought not of it. And from the hill-top came borne to her a wild wailing recitative

O

UR knowledge of the angels is exceed ingly limited. It would be easy to ask many questions concerning them, which it would be impossible to answer. For example, what do we understand by the nature of angels? How long have they had an existence? Have they any bodily form? Are the representa

tions of them by artists, in sculpture and on canvas, purely imaginary? How much of His own Omnipotence, Omniscience, and Omnipresence, does Almighty God see fit to delegate to them? To these and similar questions there are no definite or satisfactory answers. The Bible, however, teaches us that the angels are those high and holy spirits or intelligences who live in the presence of God in heaven. It tells us that they are numerous, for our Lord speaks of "legions of angels." From the same source we learn that they are powerful, for it is written that the angels "excel in strength." They may have many other employments besides this, but it is stated that one of their employments is to come to our world, to visit God's elect, "to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation." They are represented as desiring to look into the scheme of redemption, and the repentance of a sinner is said to give the angels joy. There is sympathy between heaven and earth. The angels are interested in the spiritual welfare of men. There is a link connecting the visible with the invisible world; a bond uniting angels and men.

The happiness of the angels is increased by the salvation and happiness of a fallen sinful race. Here is the revelation of a great and marvellous truth. There is something stimulating, almost inspiring, in the thought that a human being can perform an act, or pass through an experience, which interests and gives joy to such an exalted order of intelligences as the angels are. For when we consider their knowledge, their power, their history, their dwelling-place, their rank, we might easily imagine that they have witnessed, and are constantly witnessing, events of more importance than a sinner's repentance.

What a history is theirs! What an experience they have had! The angels fought when there was war in heaven, and they shouted for joy over the birth of a world.

From the heights of their exalted position they have watched the course of time, and the vicissitudes through which man has passed from the date of his creation until now. They witnessed the fall of Adam and the expulsion from Eden. They saw the Noachian deluge of flood, and Sodom's deluge of fire. All the many epochs in history, in science, in art, in literature, and in

religion, have glided before their sight as the scenes in a panorama glide before the eyes of the spectators. And not only on earth, but in heaven, what wonders have they beheld! They bask in unsullied light. The smile of the Deity is theirs. They dwell in the pavilion of the eternal. They behold the dazzling throne. They see the face of God and live!

It is probable, too, that the angels have visited, and do visit, distant worlds in the universe of which we have no conception. Those stars and planets which God has sown like dust in the firmament, some of them, if not all, may be inhabited. If so the angels probably have messages to deliver to the inhabitants. But, if they do traverse these infinite depths of space, if they do visit those distant worlds, we know that they return; and although it is not recorded what interest they take in these far-off worlds, or in their hypothetical inhabitants, yet we are told that they do take an absorbing interest in the salvation of men; for, notwithstanding the extensive sweep of their knowledge, their marvellous history, and their vast and varied experiences, we have the statement of our Lord that the repentance of a sinner kindles and augments the happiness of the angelic hosts in heaven; for "there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth."

This joy of the angels is a pure, spiritual, and unselfish joy. It is manifested not over their own welfare, but over the welfare of others. It is mixed with no dross or earthly alloy. Men, frequently, rejoice over the misfortunes of their fellows. Sometimes the success of one person engenders the feeling of envy in another person's breast.

The prodigal's elder brother showed a spirit of jealousy and anger when he saw and heard of the welcome which the long-lost wanderer received when he returned home. What a contrast to this envious spleen does angelic joy present!

The blessings following repentance flow to men, not to the angels, yet the sight of a penitent sinner bowed before the Saviour causes angelic joy. The joy of the angels is spiritual in its character. It is caused, not by our worldly prosperity, but by our moral condition before God. It is the purest joy of benevolence and love.

Again, there are what we may term the negative and positive aspects of salvation. The future punishment of the wicked is to the most reverent minds an awful mystery.

The knowledge and prescience of angels, doubtless, go deeper than human ken into this solemn subject, and they rejoice when they see another human spirit escape the chains and the outer darkness of eternal despair. What joy