neither does the carrying of the Fourth Commandment beyond the bare letter authorize us to break it in the letter. It would be a very hypocritical justification of a murder to pretend that we kept the Sixth Commandment spiritually, and indulged no malice in our heart; and it would not be less hypocritical, when openly bringing our worldly business and worldly amusements into the Lord's-day, to pretend that we kept it spiritually. Again in bringing out the Sixth and Seventh Commandments from the bare outward letter, our Lord may seem to a superficial reader of his Sermon on the Mount to be speaking slightingly of the law, though in reality he is only speaking slightingly of the received interpretation of the law; and in like manner, when his apostle speaks of the Sabbath as a mere shadow of what was to come, he may also seem to be speaking slightingly of the law, whereas in reality he was only repudi- | ating the dead letter, that the true spiritual observance of the law in connection with Christ might be carried out. Therefore, when St. Paul writes to the Colossians, "Let no man judge you......in respect of an holyday......or of the Sabbath-days;" and to the Galatians, "Ye observe days......I am afraid of you," it will not be an untrue description of his doctrine taken as a whole if we suppose him to speak thus: "Ye are returning to the system of mere outward observances, and ye think by this routine of ceremonies to commend yourselves to God, and procure to yourselves a more assured hope of salvation than you have by faith in Christ alone. But in Christ ye are complete; and let no man condemn you as though you would not be saved because you do not keep the Jewish festivals according to the law of Moses; for these festivals, and the Sabbath among the rest (when observed merely in the outward letter), are only a shadow of the things that were to come. But those good things are now come, and in Christ you have the substance; and if you are Christ's, and keep his ordinances, observing among other things his day-not as the Jews keep their dead Sabbath, but using it in living worship and spiritual communion with Jesus-you need not be uneasy about your salvation."

There is nothing which so much exalts the character of the Lord's-day as this spiritual teaching of

Such is this day who does not love

St. Paul. A mere formal observance of the day is, according to this teaching, no Christian observance at all. Christ must be the spirit of it. He is the Sun whose beams enlighten it and make it a joyful day. How little do those know of this holy day who, when they hear it is to be a day of joy, at once think of cricket or football, or holiday-making of some kind. It is not thus that God has "blessed" this day. that no one can keep it aright Christ. It is a condemnation to all others; and therefore the world hates its sacred obligation and its spiritual character. But to Christians it is a day of light and joy, a day in whch they realize more fully their rest from the bondage of this world. It takes its tone from the resurrection of Christ. It is a chosen opportunity for the risen Saviour to appear to the hearts of his people, as he appeared of old to those who loved him,-to Mary Magdalene lingering at his sepulchre, to the two disciples who spoke of him one to another as they walked, and to the general company of the disciples gathered together in his name. To such he comes still by his Spirit. Unless he gives more or less communion with himself to his people on that day, Sunday is not Sunday to them it has no light. But when they find him, then they can say, "This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice, and be glad in it." It is a great self-deception to suppose that it is any part of Christian liberty to make light of this day. Is it liberty to drudge on through all seven days alike in ordinary work? Or is it a Christian man's liberty to read the newspaper, bringing the full tide of the world's gossip into the Lord's-day, lest perhaps, if the hum of the world were shut out, the ear of the soul might hear Jesus speaking? And what shall we say of museums and zoological gardens? Is going out of one's way to look at a wild beast, or to amuse one's-self with a cage of monkeys, likely to draw one's heart closer to Christ? Is bringing down God's day to occupations like these a good application of the saying about "ascending from nature up to nature's God"? Does any one in his senses imagine that St. Paul would have recommended such things on the Lord's-day, or that this would be walking in the spirit or in the freedom of God's children? It may be said, per

haps, "We might be doing worse." But that is an argument which would take us down step by step to almost any depth. A Christian will not justify what is wrong by comparing it with what is worse, but will seek to do the right thing; and however much he may fail, yet he will aim at the right still, and will not come to a compromise with evil.

But whatever those who will not have Christ to reign over them may say or do, let not Christians, at all events, be deceived with empty words. There is no one so spiritual as to be independent of times and opportunities. If there be no hallowed season, when the things of this world shall be put away, that we may fill our minds with

thoughts of Christ, and seek his presence more intently and earnestly than on ordinary days, the tone of our minds will undoubtedly get lower and lower. On the contrary, if we try to enter into the spirit of the day of Christ's resurrection, and to rise from earthly things, and by meditation and prayer, and spiritual work for Christ, and sacred song, to draw near to our Lord, that he may draw near to us, we shall not seek him in vain; he will give us communion with himself, lifting up his pierced hands in blessing over us, and send us out into the world again strengthened for conflict with it, until that "day of the Lord" come when we shall see him face to face.

J. F. B.

M sorry I frightened you so, ma'am. I wasn't scared myself. It was only one of my turns. Mother says she expects I'll go off in one of 'em some time, but we don't tell father that. And I hope I shall live to go on a pilgrimage first.

"Did my flower take the prize?

"I'll tell you all about it, ma'am. After father went away with it in the morning, I thought what a long day it would be before he would bring it back at night. But I told stories to the children, and that kept them out from under mother's feet, and I read my 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and had a good time; but I was glad when I heard father's step on the stairs, and to see my dear, good little flower, safe and sound.

"Don't take on, my lass,' says father, but the handsome flowers elbowed yours away off into a corner, and it's my belief that nobody so much as looked at it.'

"That must be the reason it did not get the prize,' says I. 'I'm glad it ought to have got it, anyhow.'

"And then I said it was late, and time to go to sleep, and I lay down and cried under the quilt; but not loud; that would have plagued father. My poor little flower! Nobody had looked at it! Nobody had told it how pretty it was! And it was such a good little thing, to grow here in our crowded room, when other plants were having such a nice time out o' doors!

"But after I had cried a pretty long time about it, I fell asleep, and dreamed a beautiful dream. I thought I was as well and strong as ever, and that I carried my

flower to the exhibition myself, and stood a little way back, to see what the people would say to it. There was a great crowd, and somebody said there were lords and ladies mixed all up among us poor folks. But all I looked at was my flower. There it stood, up in a corner, all by itself; but nobody noticed it, nobody said a word about it, except Mrs. Jones; and I heard her laugh, and say, 'Do look at that mean, scraggling little atom of a marigold of Lizzie Gray's! The idea of bringing it here, among all these splendid flowers!'

"She passed on, and a gentleman and a lady stopped to look at it.

"Oh, look at this poor little half-starved marigold!' said the lady. 'What a pathetic story of its own it tells. Fancy how the child's heart will ache, when it goes home and tells her it has not won a prize after all! Tuck something down into the pot, dear; she will find it tomorrow; and what a surprise, and what a joy, that will be to her!'

"She was such a lovely lady to look at, with a face that went right down into your heart! And her husband said-'Yes, darling, I have.'

"Then all the people who had brought plants had tea and bread and butter in a tent, and there was a band that played sweet music; and the children tumbled about on the green grass. But I did not want any tea, or any bread and butter; and I had heard that sweet lady's voice, and it was music that nobody else heard. So I took my little flower-pot in my arms, and went home with it; and it kept growing heavier and heavier, just as Jim used to the last days I nursed him, and I could

hardly get up the stairs; and when I did, my two legs went from under me, and I fell right into the room.

"The fright woke me up, and then I knew it was all a dream, for it wasn't bed-time, and mother sat at work by the light of the candle, and father sat by her, cutting a bit of stick. So there wasn't any sweet lady, and there wasn't any kind gentleman, after all! The tears began to come again, and I could hardly help crying out loud. But I heard mother say

"She didn't take it much to heart, after all, poor thing. She dropped off to sleep like a lamb, as soon as you got home.'

"And when was that?' says mother.

"It was the night I got a look at her poor back,' says father. 'You'd better let me know it when it was a-coming on, and not let me find it out all of a sudden. Why, when I went to my work next day, the streets and the houses and the people were there just the same, and the carriages rattling along just as usual; and yet they weren't the same streets, nor the same houses, nor the same people. Everything was altered to my eyes, and altered to my ears. My trouble had struck in, and there wasn't no cure for it. Sometimes I think it's your fault, with letting the poor thing carry the children about; and sometimes I think it's a judgment upon us for living like two heathens, as we always have.'

"As to that,' says mother, 'I did the best I could by the child. Bringing up a family of young ones is a trade, and I never learned it. I was a slip of a girl, and was set to the business with nobody to show me how to go to work, and without any tools. I wasn't brought up myself; I footed it up; and how should I know our Lizzie was getting beat out? She never said she was tired, and never said her back ached; and I was so drove from morning till night, that I did not notice how pale she was getting. I tell you what it is, Joe. A man has his day's work, and there's the end of it. He can go to the beer-shops and gin-shops, and sit and warm the inside of him every evening, and then lie down to sleep all night, and wake up strong and hearty. But his woman's work goes on, and she's up and down of nights, and she lays and thinks what's to feed them all next day, and her head isn't empty enough to sleep on.'

"Wife,' says father, 'don't mention beer-shops and gin-shops in the room where that angel of ours lays asleep.'

"You see, ma'am, he didn't mean anything by that. I hope you'll not take offence at father's calling a poor girl like me an angel.

"I thought, though, I ought not to let them believe that I was asleep, and I tried to speak; but I couldn't, for the tears. Did you ever have a lovely dreani, ma'am, and wake up and find it was a dream?

"I suppose I may mention the places where my husband goes and spends his time, and wastes his money,' says mother, a little short.

I said we were heathens.'

"I rose right up when I heard that. For I remembered what a big book it was, and how much reading it had in it.

"Why, Lizzie, have you woke up?' says mother. 'There, lie down and go to sleep again. It's nigh upon ten o'clock.'

"But you were talking about a book,' I said.

"Yes, yes; we pawned it after father's hurt to his leg, when he couldn't go to his work; dear me, I'd forgot all about it. I've got the ticket now.'

"Please God, we'll have it back again,' says father, 'and Lizzie there shall read to us out of it every night.'

"Then they blew out the candle, and I lay and thought about my pretty lady in my dream, and the room seemed almost light. And the next thing I knew it was morning, and everybody was getting up.

"That night when father came home, he brought the man with him that gave him my plant. The man kept his hat on, and when he looked at me, he said 'Hallo!' and no more.

"Then father reached him the flower-pot, and when he saw that, he took it in one hand, and held it off as far as he could, and burst out a-laughing; and he laughed so hard that he fell back into a chair, and the tears rolled down his cheeks. He kept trying to say something, but every time he tried, he laughed harder than ever. Father looked bewildered at first, but then he began to laugh too; and then mother and all the rest of us set in, till we made the room shake. Oh, how tired I was; but I couldn't stop.

"At last he got out what he had to say, and it was just this, and no more :

"Why, it's nothing but a marigold,' and then he went off again.

"At last he sobered down, and says he, 'If I don't pitch into Bob Higgins, my name isn't Hicks. He told me it was such a rare and costly plant, with such a high and mighty name of its own, that I thought your lass there was sure to win the prize. Never mind, my girl; we'll do better by you next year. you how to manage this plant. tall, and it looks like a sickly girl that's got no life in her. When this blossom falls off, pinch it here, so, and

And now let me tell You've let it run up too

pinch it there, so, and it will throw out more leaves, and bear more flowers in the end; and if it don't get prizes, it will help pass away the time, won't it?'

"I said, 'Oh yes,' and thanked him, and he went away; and I was holding the flower-pot while father showed him out, and one of the children brought me a little stick, and said I was to put it away down into the earth, and tie my plant to it, because it kept falling over, and looking as if it would faint away. It was the stick father had been working at the night before, and it wouldn't go down into the earth; but when I pushed it hard, it broke short off.

"There's a stone in the way,' says father, coming up to the bed, and you must dig it up.'

"And it's the truth I'm telling, and I wouldn't tell a lie for all the world: I dug up the stone, and it wasn't a stone; but it was something bright, and shiny, and yellow.

"And says I, 'Oh, my pretty lady did it! My pretty lady!' and then I turned faint-like, and father threw water in my face, and mother fanned me with her apron; and when that didn't bring me to, they slapped my hands hard. The children thought they slapped me because I was naughty, and they came and stared at me; glad some, and sorry some.

"At last I got over it

"So somebody had loved my poor little flower, and thought it was pretty, and told it so as well as she could. And my flower had come and told me ; and I don't know which of us was the gladdest.

"And I told my dream to father and mother, and the children; and father said I had seen a vision, and that it was no man or woman had sent It to me.

"After I had done telling them all about it, and every one had handled my yellow thing, and at last given It to me to hold, I felt as if there must be Somebody else to tell how happy I was, or I should burst. Did you ever feel so, ma'am?

"Whenever I woke up in the night, I felt under the pillow to see if It was safe. And then I wanted to show It once more; but it was all dark and still, and I couldn't think who the Somebody was.

"The next day was Sunday, and father dressed himself in his clean clothes; and after dinner, made mother put on hers, and the children's, and says he,-'Now, Lizzie shall read to us all ;' and he whipped out a book from under his coat, and it was the pawned book come home again. There was a mark in it, and he said,— 'Read there, Lizzie. My old mother read there, every Sunday.'

"And I read the Twenty-third Psalm; father holding the book, it was so heavy.

"Well, now, the questions you put upon one, child! I oughter be a parson, to answer the half of 'em.'

"He was going to put the Bible away, but I had just caught sight of a verse, and read these words,— 'God so loved the world, that he gave'-I hadn't time to see what he gave, but I knew it was something out of the common. O father, just let me see what it was God gave because he loved us so.'

"Loved the world, you mean.' "Isn't that us?'

"How should he love us, I want to know?' says father, quite put out like. Though, to be sure, he may love you, poor child. I daresay he does.'

666

Then, would he like me to show It to him?'

says I. "Father didn't hear me, I suppose, for he got up and went out.

"And I said to myself, I know now who the Somebody was that I wanted to show It to.'

"And I held It out on my hand, where he could see It plain; and I said, softly,-' Please! this is mine! Are you glad?'

"And I thought I heard him say, 'Yes, I am.' But when I asked mother if she heard anything, she said she didn't.

"And then I thought it wasn't likely he'd say anything to a poor girl like me.

"But the room seemed brimful of him.

"Oh, I did wish the Bible wasn't so I ig and heavy, so that I could hold it myself, and read it all day long! "Did you say, ma'am, that I should have a little Bible that wasn't big and heavy? Two Bibles in one house? That wouldn't be right. Perhaps father will give his to Mrs. Jones, and get good friends with her again.

"In the evening father said he was going to the preaching, and mother must put the children to bed, and go too. She never said a word about her old bonnet and shawl; but put them all to bed, except the baby, and took him with her.

"I was wide awake when they got home, and father

told me a little about the preaching. He said it was all about Jesus, who loved poor folks so, that he came down from heaven, and lived right in amongst 'em ; and that they loved him so that they would hardly give him time to eat, but went everywhere he went; and he fed the hungry ones, and cured the sick ones, and was just like their brother; and if they did bad things, he forgave them four hundred and ninety times!

"Then, father, you'll forgive Mrs. Jones just one time, won't you?' says I.

"I will, to please you,' says he.

"Tell her about the hymns,' says mother.

"I can't,' says father. 'Next Sunday night, as I'm a living man, I'll wrap her up in your shawl, and take her to hear for herself. It'll be next best to getting to heaven.'

"Then your back 'll be broke next,' says mother. 'Ain't it enough that you have to go two miles out of your way every time you go for her beef-tea and things? Must you go and kill yourself a Sundays?'

"I didn't say a word.

"I'd got so used to having things happen to me, that if two angels had come in and said, 'You can't go on a pilgrimage, and so we've come to carry you,' I shouldn't have been surprised. So I held It tight in my hand, and went fast asleep.

"When Sunday came round, father began again about the preaching. If I'd a-known how far off it was, I never would have let him carry me. It's a wonder it didn't kill him.

"How good the air felt, blowing in my face, when we got out into the street! And when I looked up into the dark night, all the stars looked down at me, and I thought they winked, and whispered to each other, and said,

"See that poor girl going to the preaching. When she was well, she hadn't time to go; but now she's nothing else to do. She couldn't go when the bones was in her legs; and now they're gone, she can. And she's got It in her hand!'

"When we first got into that grand place, I was scared, and thought they would drive us poor folks out. But when I looked round, most everybody was poor too.

"At last I saw some of them get down on their knees, and some shut their eyes, and some took off their hats and held them over their faces. Father couldn't, because he had me in his arms; and so I took it off, and held it for him.

"What's it for?' says I. 'Hush!' says father, 'the parson's praying.'

"When I showed It to God, the room seemed full of him. But then it's a small room. The church is a million and a billion times as big; isn't it, ma'am? But when the minister prayed, that big church seemed just as full as it could hold. Then, all of a sudden, they burst out a-singing. Father showed me the card, with the large letters on it, and says he,-'Sing, Lizzie, sing.'

"And so I did. It was the first time in my life. The bymn said,

'Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly;'

and I whispered to father,- Is Jesus God?' 'Yes, yes,' says he. 'Sing, Lizzie, sing.' "But I couldn't.

"The hymn made me forget all about my picture of the country, and my 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and It, and set me upon thinking that my father and mother had got a hunchback for their oldest child, that had lost the bones out of her legs, and got 'em a-growing out in a lump between her shoulders; and how it broke father's heart, and how it made mother work so hard; and I pitied them so, and I pitied myself so; and the people sang out so strong and hearty,

'Leave, O leave me not aloneStill support and comfort me!'

but I could only whisper it out, and maybe God didn't hear it, the rest sang so loud.

"You say you are sure he did? Then I am sure a lady like you ought to know, and so I'll think so too. "After the praying and the singing, came the preaching. I heard every word. And you did too, ma'am, so I needn't tell about that. You say you want to hear how much I remember? Oh, I remember it all! It was a beautiful story. It told how sorry Jesus was for us when we did wrong, bad things, and how glad he was when we were good and happy. It said we must tell him all our troubles and all our joys, and feel sure that he knew just how to pity us, because he had been a poor man three and thirty years, on purpose to see how it seemed.

"And it said we might go and tell him everything. I was so glad then that I had showed It to him! "And when it was time to go home, and I was beginning to feel awful about poor father's carrying me all that long, long way, you came and spoke to us, ma'am, and said you would take us in your carriage! To think of your letting a girl, with such a looking back, get into your carriage like a lady!

"But it has always been so! Something happening always!

"I was so tired after mother put me to bed that night, that I couldn't get to sleep for a good while. So I lay, and said over all the hymns, and all the prayers, and all the preaching. I did not know what prayers were before. But I know now that it's saying things to God. And I thought I would say something to him; and I said, 'Please, did you see me sitting alongside of a real lady in a carriage, with It in my hand? Did you hear her say she would often take me to hear the preaching. And oh, please, have you looked at my back, and felt sorry for father and mother, that they've got such a child?'

"My praying did not sound like the minister's pray