Above all, the Ministry of the Word ought to be practical and to the point. How much was meant and designed to be conveyed to our minds by the illustrative designation, "fishers of men!" What patience; what waiting endurance; what bearing of disappointments; and how very thorough the results."Fishers of men!" to bait them, to catch them, to net them, to keep them, and all for Christ! to draw them out of their old and native element of sin; to cause them to die to their old nature, so that a new life and a new being may be formed in them!

Every engagement of our hands, to be real and productive, must be practical. "Is it a' done?" inquired a lady of the venerable Dr. Chalmers, at the conclusion of an important meeting in Edinburgh. "It is a' said," replied the venerable man; "it now remains that it be a' done." And so with preachings and ministries; it must be not only "all said," but also "all done," not only by the

Here is a goodly motto for the Ministry of the Word: Ernest, Duke of Luneburgh, adopted as the device for the coin of his realm, a lamp burning, and these four letters underneath, "A. S. M. C.;" standing for "Aliis Serviens Meipsum Contere" (In serving others, I wear myself out). This was an "illustration" of a faithful Prince; it would also be of a faithful minister; as the apostle saith, "I will very gladly spend and be spent for you" (2 Cor. xii. 15.) Such is the work, and such the character of the work, of any one who undertakes, with zeal and fidelity, to discharge the Ministry of the Word.

"His only aim to praise and glorify

The blessed Jesus as enthroned on high;
To preach his Blood's atonement, and impress
On sinners' minds His healing Righteousness;
Salvation's finished work to all declare,

His greatest glory, his unceasing care,
To bring to Christ the erring and astray,
Direct them to the Word, the Truth, the Way."

P

CHAPTER VII. (continued). RESENTLY their conversation came to a lull, and they listened to Mr. Denton, who seemed as if his special qualification was talking, as in truth it was. People asked him out to dinner because he did talk. Very good chatter it was in its way, small and light and easy, unflagging and unforced; and as there never was anything much in it, it re

quired little answering, and so other people were able to eat their dinners in peace, if they wished to do so.

"By the way," Captain Finch said to Margaret Albury, who sat next to him, "have you seen any thing of old Grant Stanmore of late years ?" is appeared the speaker had only recently returned from India.

"No, I quarrelled with Adelaide, and it ended in

a general cut. I am not sentimental myself, but I don't care for such very worldly girls; so I grew tired of her at last."

"I met old Stanmore the other day," put in Mr. Albury; "he looks as well preserved as ever, has still his vague story about the entail and the West Indian property, and still paints daubs, and fancies himself an artist."

"Poor old fellow, he always dabbled in art," the soldier answered feelingly; "and Adelaide was so beautiful, and going out spoilt her."

There was little in him altogether, but the good that the little contained was uppermost as he spoke in the defence of the one woman he had cared for in his life, and who had thrown him over. Perhaps it was because he knew that her falseness had been the consequence of the half-love, or seeming half-love, he had given to a proud ambitious woman, who much as she prized the world, would, had he asked her, lost it "all for love," and thought the riddance a remarkably good one. He had been lukewarm, and she proud and impetuous, and had allowed her head to conquer her heart, and thrown him over. He had never been in earnest with any woman since, he never would be again, but he had generosity enough to defend her.

"Does going out spoil one ?" asked Polly. "Sometimes. Have you been out much?" and he looked as if he considered it doubtful or not whether she was spoilt.

"Oh no, I have never been out before to-night at all, never anywhere-I mean to other peoples' houses; only just for walks and-" but she stopped, for it was going up-stairs time, and she had to rise. No one ever asked me before," she added, as she went out of the doorway.

"What a shame!" he answered; and he thought, as he summed her up mentally, that she was rather a pretty girl, a little bit of a coquette, but a very simple one, as innocent as a kitten, and as fresh as a daisy.

Polly was glad when Mr. Brandford entered the drawing-room a quarter of an hour later, and she waited, with her eyes turned in another direction, for him to take a seat near her, but to her disappointment he crossed over and sat down by her mother. He seemed to forget her very existence indeed, until he heard the sound of the piano, and looking up saw Polly trying to hobble through Thalberg's "Home, sweet home;" then he rose and stood near her. could not manage it, however, her fingers trembled and refused to flutter through the runs, and at last, confused and vexed, she stopped in the middle.

She

Why do you spoil that lovely thing, which in spite of its beauty, is so hackneyed by every schoolgirl, that unless uncommonly well played it is a nuisance ?"

"I don't know," she said, astonished at his plain speaking. "I didn't like to play anything too easy, it looks so silly."

"Can't you sing ?"

"Oh yes, but only very simple songs.” "Then try and sing one," he said, “and I will go and keep your seat on the sofa till you come.”

She had a delicious voice, and when she was reassured, and the clear, sweet, though not powerful tones, were heard, the conversation lulled till the last note of her song had died away.

"That was much better," he said, as she went back to her seat; "much better than 'Home, sweet home."" That was all, and she was rather astonished on the whole; she thought he would have praised her performance as Robert Welch had done. "I am coming to see you,” he said, as Captain Finch took his seat at the piano, and commenced the prelude to "The Bridge "-that song so dear to drawingroom tenors.

“Are you ?” she said, pleased at first, but suddenly remembering how shabby the house was, and how little hospitality he was likely to receive.

"Yes, I think I know your house, and your mother has invited me. Is it not next door to one with bright green blinds ?—I pass it often going to see some friends-and it has red curtains at the windows. I've noticed it because it looks such a dingy house, and stands out in contrast to its neighbours. I should say your landlord is a screw, and your father an easy tenant.”

"It is our own house-" she began; but Margaret Albury came up, and stopped the conversation. She wanted them to hear Captain Finch sing "The Bridge," which he did in a style of his own. He fancied he had a great deal of pathos, and that he threw it all into the song.

"How do you like it?" asked Margaret Albury, as Captain Finch informed his hearers, with a very perceptible sigh, that “the burden had fallen" from him.

"He has a great deal of feeling," she answered, doubtful of what to say.

"Yes, a keen sense of the pathetic, and none at all of the ridiculous."

Polly looked at the singer, and thought of the girl she had heard him mention at dinner; not that she had ever heard of her before, or knew any. thing of her history, but merely because she had a vague idea, she hardly knew why, that Adelaide Stanmore was a name she would some day hear again, and that man seemed like a link in her history.

“Isn't Miss Albury amusing ?” she said, turning to Richard Brandford.

"Very; she has a habit of expressing other people's thoughts, especially their disagreeable ones;" and Polly did not know what to make of his tone, only discovered suddenly that her mother was moving, and that it was time to go home.

She never knew how it was, as she was leaving the house with her father and mother, that Richard

747

Brandford appeared and observed that it was a lovely night, and supposed they were going to walk on that account.

"Do you live near this?" Polly asked, thinking it time to change the subject.

"Yes-in the Bayswater Road that is. Well, here

"Not that we could not afford to keep a brougham, the same as the Alburys, only Mr. Dawson-" began Mrs. Dawson, but her husband gave her a violent nudge, which brought her remark to an abrupt ending.

"I think it is better to walk," Polly said, though a few minutes before she had so wished for a cab.

"So do I," he answered; then he hesitated a little, and was going to offer his arm, but saw that she had put her hands into her muff, and did not seem to expect it.

"He came out of his way on purpose to walk home with me," thought that vain Polly. "I wish I knew when he means to call, I'd make myself look nice." Then she thought of Robert Welch. "Oh! how different Mr. Brandford is," she said; "and how proud he seems, though he is so agreeable. He would never have stood up in a woollen comforter, with a portmanteau in his hand, humbly begging my pardon for having tried to kiss me;" which was quite true

he wouldn't. Inwardly she thought perhaps that Robert Welch had not made the most of his chance.

hardly knew, "he is very good-hearted, but-well, I don't know what it is, but it is rather a pity that the very nicest people don't monopolise the good hearts."

Two letters arrived for her in the morning. One from Cumberland, and one from Robert Welchthe first she had had. She would have opened it eagerly the day before, but she hesitated a little now, and thought of Richard Brandford-she did not know why-and said a little wonderingly, "Oh, if Robert only knew!"

(To be continued.)

BY THE AUTHOR OF

CONCLUDING PAPER.

HAT a marvellous twenty years have been the last that have passed over us! What two decades of freedom have followed that freedom for the Vaudois Church and freedom for Turkey and the ancient Christians of the East!

The remarkable work of the Holy Spirit of God --following on the circulation of his written Word -has since been pressed on our attention on every side. The Divine influence swept over the continent of America, and half a million of souls seemed to have been born in a day. The whirlwind of rebellion expended itself in India, and left British power still in the ascendant. India was still given to England that she might fearlessly offer to it her Bible, made ready in its thirty languages, as the voice of the living God. She has now introduced steam-vessels on its broad rivers, and her railways traverse its length and breadth, 'to speed the way of the Book of Life; while the Bible-woman may freely pass from village to village, to read to her poor sisters the wonderful words of God, The gates of even China are open; and we

have secured a treaty which admits "outside barbarians" to scatter New Testaments in "the Flowery Land."

In Africa the beloved Moffat at last beholds the fruit of his thirty years' work-the Bible, "the mouth of Jehovah," complete in the Sechuana, the key language of all the tribes of the interior.

In 1861 came freedom for the Bible in Madagascar by the death of its tyrant queen, and the praying people of that vast island were found to have preserved in their memories the priceless book. They had been always mending their old Bibles, more precious than gold, and dearer than life; and in the absence of all living teachers, the hundreds of converts had, amid all their martyrdoms, become thousands, for the "more they were afflicted the more they grew."

And by means of American missionaries we had, in 1860, become acquainted with a wandering people in Burmah (India beyond the Ganges), called the Karens, who have many marks of an Israelite origin. While Burmah yet refused the Word of God prepared for her, amid a fight of afflictions, by the admirable Judson, many a poor