E spake a parable unto them to this end, that men ought always to pray, and not to faint." The parables of Christ were frequently designed to illustrate specific doctrines or duties. In most of them the moral or practical inference follows the opening out of the subject; here it precedes it. The great truth he intended to teach those whom he addresses -the duty of sincere and persevering prayer-forms the preface to the parable, and is the basis upon which it is built up. If we wish to be successful in our prayers we must be instant, earnest, diligent in them; we must not faint, or, as the word strictly means, we must not act the coward in battle. Prayer is here spoken of as a warfare, if we fail in our first attempt to carry the point at which we aim, we must again and again renew our attacks. With such importunity God is well pleased. The arms of the Church are prayers. The Church militant is the Church supplicant. Her congregations for public prayer are her armies of soldiers storming the gates of heaven with a siege of prayers."

"

"There was in a city a judge, which feared not God, neither regarded man: and there was a widow in that city; and she came unto him, saying, Avenge me of mine adversary." Three persons are presented to our notice in this parable. A judge, whose character is, "he feared not God, neither regarded man." He was under no religious restraint, if he believed in the existence of a God, he cannot have believed that he was one who had no respect for persons—that he was one who will by no means clear the guilty. He acted in all his ways irrespective of God's will and authority. And he had no respect for public opinion: | treated with contempt the estimate others might form of him. By one of these evils he stifled conscience, by the other he gave way to the most unjust decisions. The second person is a widow-one deprived of the desire of her eyes—the stay of her arms the counsellor of her mind. In every age, and in almost every country, it has been accounted a glaring sin to oppress the widow, and yet in Christ's time it was a common offence, proved by the fact that the scribes and Pharisees are denounced by Him, the meek and lowly One, as devourers of widows' houses (Matt. xxiii. 13). This widow had a suit, a case of obvious wrong, which required redress, and that soon, for she used TO COME OFTEN-this is the force of the word rendered "came" in our Bibles. The third person introduced is her " adversary," or more properly her " opponent." Avenge me, or do justice for me against my oppressor," is the cry that escapes from the poor lone one. For a while the judge heeded not her plea for help, and regarded not her supplication. Perhaps her adversary had wealth

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or influence, and she had neither. He may have made use of his power with him who sat on the seat of justice to dispense the law, and dispensed it not. What little prospect of success has she! still she perseveres, and is not by failure prevented from coming again and again. At last she is heard; her petition reaches his ears, and at length

"He said within himself, Though I fear not God, nor regard man; yet because this widow troubleth me, I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me." This he said "within himself, secretly, and our Lord would appear to lay stress on this to show that he is the Searcher of hearts, and knows everything that passes there, though we may scarce know it ourselves. This is a truth necessary to be impressed upon or, at least, remembered by all. The motive for assisting the widow is purely selfish. By his language this judge represents himself as the injured person, he feels himself worried by her constant coming, and therefore, to be no more wearied by her, he comes to the resolution to comply with her oft-repeated request, and avenge, or do justice to her.

And shall not and night unto This is the

"Hear what the unjust judge saith. God avenge his own elect, which cry day him, though he bear long with them?" application Christ makes of the parable. None but he would have ventured to liken the righteous Judge of all the earth to this unjust judge. The thought running through the parable is this, if a bad man will yield to the importunity which he hates, how much more certainly will a righteous God be prevailed upon to comply with faithful prayers which he loves. The case of the widow is that of the Church, now a widow in the world, and subject to persecution and distress till the return of her Lord, who is the righteous Judge of quick and dead. The adversary is the Evil One, from whom comes all evil, in whatever shape it afflicts the Church and its several members.

Deliverance from our spiritual oppressors can only be obtained by prayer. If we desire to have our wants supplied, we must tell them to God. We should seek his blessing upon all we think and do and say. That success will attend humble, earnest, continued prayer is certainly taught us in this parable, and the duty of it is urged upon us in many passages of Scripture. What do we not need? Constant mercy, daily grace, ceaseless help. Our adversaries and oppressors are many; to contend with them unsupported by a power superior to our own we are not able. What, then, must we do? Appeal to God, and commit all to his hands, in full reliance on his promises to hear and answer prayer. He will deliver us, he will avenge us, and he will at last punish our unrepenting enemies.

no young man answering to Edmond's description was to be found among those who had enlisted in either Her Majesty's service or the East India Company's. In fact, the officer himself, notwithstanding my father's request to the contrary, insisted that it was useless to carry the matter further, and we reluctantly gave up the search.

A singular change now came over my dear father. As long as the excitement occasioned by the reports we heard from the police officers-twisting as he did every ambiguous expression in them into a hope of success-lasted, his mental energies were kept fully alive. But now that we had decided to abandon all further research, he appeared to sink into a state of morbid, sorrowful quietude, as if he had resigned him- | self to a cruel and continued affliction, which he was unable to throw off. By degrees the sorrow began to have an effect on his personal appearance, and from the fine erect old man he was before Edmond had left us, he now stooped considerably, and his gait was slow and feeble. For some time both my mother and myself attempted to close our eyes to these sad facts, but it was in vain. My father's despondency evidently increased so much that my mother determined to insist on his leaving business. We anticipated at first that we should meet with considerable resistance on his part, but this was not the case. He acceded to my mother's advice without offering any opposition, and in a few months the business, and everything connected with it, had been disposed of. My father and mother still continued to reside in the house they had inhabited for so many years, a separation having being effected between the dwelling and the business portion of the premises.

I say my father and mother still continued to reside in Spital Square, but that was hardly the case. The medical man, fearing my father's illness might become worse, advised his removal to Brighton, not only for change of air, but that he might be able to take some exercise as well. In town he rarely left the house, and seemed to dread meeting his friends, though without reason, for all showed him in his trouble the greatest delicacy and kind feeling. And then it should be remembered that the fact of Edmond's dishonesty was known only to my father, my mother, and myself. I need hardly say that we faithfully kept the secret, so that not a word on the subject was whispered abroad.

After my father had been at Brighton a short time, a most favourable change took place in his bodily health, and my mother began to have great hopes that in time his mind would also recover from the nervous shock it had received. After remaining there for some weeks they went to the Isle of Wight, and from thence to other places on the southern coast, occasionally returning for a week or a fortnight to London, when, on each occasion, I could see a visible improvement in my father's health.

Let me now return to my own personal narrative. My husband continued in the house of business, but with what object I could hardly guess. He told me he received no emolument for his services; and on my asking him whether he was likely to become a partner in the firm, he said there was not the slightest possibility of his doing anything of the kind, even if it were offered him; and this answer he made in so abrupt a manner that I thought it better not to press the subject further. In his behaviour to me and my child he was uniformly kind, but as time passed on I began to see enough of his disposition to be aware it would be dangerous to tread even lightly on subjects of which he disapproved; and that to a certain extent kept me silent on matters I ought otherwise to have spoken of.

On one subject connected with his business I would willingly have spoken to him, if I had had the courage, and this was of so grave a description that I even then frequently blamed myself for keeping silence. My husband would often leave me for a month or two at a time, being called from London on business matters. Although I had not the slightest reason to doubt his statement, there was one curious feature connected with the repeated journeys he made. Why should he take such immense trouble if he were to receive no ultimate profit by it? Then, again, there was another point which afforded me considerable uneasiness. Frequently during his absence I was in want of money, and even had to defer the payment of our tradesmen's bills. On one occasion I received so much annoyance on this subject, that I at length determined to bring it under the notice of my husband. Choosing my opportunity one evening when he appeared to be in especial good humour, I told him of the annoyance I had been subjected to by a butcher, who very uncivilly demanded the money owing to him.

Why don't you send off the impertinent fellow?” said my husband. "There are surely plenty of other butchers in the neighbourhood, and we are not obliged to buy our meat solely of one."

"But he is not the only tradesman who has been importunate for his money," I said, now summoning up courage, "although the others have not been as impertinent to me. I trust on another occasion, when you are obliged to leave London, you will givə me sufficient money to defray the current expenses of the house."

"Certainly I will; and in case I should forget it, you must be sure and remind me." And here the conversation dropped.

The next time my husband left London, however, he gave me no notice of his intention; and his absence this time being a long one, I was subjected to much annoyance. True, I knew perfectly well I had but to apply to my father, and I should receive any. assistance I required, but my pride revolted at the

CHAPTER XXVIII.

MY SECOND GREAT TROUBLE.

THE next day, before he left home, my husband wrote, as he promised, to his agent in Paris. When he had finished the letter he placed it in my hands to read.

"Tell me, Clara," he said, when I had gone through it, "if I can word it more strongly than I have done."

I admitted that it would not be possible. In it De Vernieul had insisted that the agent should forward to him without delay all the moneys of his that he had in his hands; and that if he failed to do so by three days after the receipt of the letter, he show'd take legal proceedings against him. I told my husband that I had no doubt I should be able to put off our creditors for at least a week, and he then left the house to attend to his business in the City. The week passed over, and no reply had been received from Paris. My husband now determined to take vigorous measures; and the same evening he left for France, promising that within three days I should receive a letter of credit for a considerable amount of money. My husband had been away a week, but no letter came, and I had not a shilling left in the house. I had received more than one notice of legal proceedings being taken against us, and was now fairly driven to desperation.

I first wrote a very pathetic letter to my husband, imploring him to send me some money; and the letter posted, I drove off with Adeline to Spital

I contrived to have some private conversation with my mother, and told her all that had occurred without the slightest concealment, including the amount of our liabilities, and De Vernieul's refusal to apply to my father, or allow me to write to the baron.

To my astonishment, my mother showed not the least surprise at the intelligence, and merely said in reply, "It will not, my dear, be the slightest use your applying to your father on the subject of your dowry. I know he will only answer the application when it is made by De Vernieul, and I should strongly object that even he should make it at the present time. Your father has lately greatly improved in health, both of mind and body, and a shock of this kind might bring on a relapse. You must not fret, dear Clara, about money matters, nor even allude to them before your father. Stay with us for the remainder of the day, and I will take care, from my private purse, that you do not go back empty-handed. Now, sit down, and make a list of all the sums you owe, and you shall have the money before you leave the house."

I did as my mother requested me, and found the who e of my liabilities, including the rent, amounted to £130. I must confess I was startled at the sum, but she desired me to tell her the whole truth, and I had done so. On leaving that day, and without saying a word, she placed in my hands a sealed packet, which, when I arrived at home, I found to contain three £50 notes; and grateful, indeed, was I to her for her kindness.

Another week passed over our heads, but no news from my husband. So far as the question of money was concerned, this gave me but little trouble. At the same time I began to feel exceedingly anxious at his silence. I feared some misfortune might have befallen him; for a change in his affection I never doubted for one moment. A month passed, and still no news from De Vernieul, although I had written him several letters during the time. I now thought of applying to my mother for advice, but fearing it might elicit some very uncomplimentary remarks respecting De Vernieul, I determined to keep silen a little longer. This I did, till another month had gone by, and then my anxiety could endure no longer, and I asked my mother how I ought to act on the occasion.

"My dear," she replied, "what advice can I give you? I will not disguise from you that I have the strongest aversion to that man, and it would be a subject of the greatest happiness to me could I be certain you would never see him again."