life. This new view of matters made her study her husband's welfare more than ever. She resolved, in the strength of God, to make the best of everything, to have the house clean and tidy, to have all the meals ready at her husband's own time, to consult his taste in cooking, to see that his clothes were properly washed, mended, and ready to put on, to keep herself clean and respectable, to have a kind word and a smile for him whenever he came in from his work, and in bad weather to have a comfortable fire for him to sit by, with a pair of dry shoes and stockings to put on.

Such conduct, carried out as it was in the spirit of prayer, was too much for him. He, in turn, became softened in his manuer towards his wife, and his very selfishness began to give way. He brought home and handed to his wife the greater part of his wages, and often purchased for her little things which he thought she would like. This encouraged the wife to greater efforts and more persevering prayer. She spoke to him, in all tenderness and affection, of his late hours and bad language, and he took it kindly, and gave them up. She then tried what she could do to stay his drinking so many "half-pints" of beer during the day. This too, he took quietly, and the half-pint pot was less frequently to be seen in his hand. She next got leave to go to church, and when she returned he would listen to what she had to tell him from the Word of God. Finally, she succeeded in inducing him to attend occasionally the House of God with her. And he attended; not indeed, for any benefit that he expected himself to get-such an idea, we fear, never entered his mind—but simply to please his wife. He frankly confessed that she had made him a deal better man than he used to be,” and “all he could do in return was to work hard for such a wife."

Thus did this good woman do what she could to win the affections of a wicked and selfish husband; and to a very great extent, as we have seen, by kindness and attention, and above all by prayer to God, she succeeded. We grieve to hear from our Reader, who always took a deep interest in the spiritual welfare of these people, that the poor widow is just now in great distress, and will probably have to break up her little home, and go into the Workhouse. Yet she works hard, often fainting, we are told, under the work she strives to perform. “LIKEWISE, YE WIVES, BE IN SUB

JECTION TO YOUR OWN HUSBANDS: THAT, IF ANY OBEY NOT THE WORD, THEY ALSO MAY WITHOUT THE WORD BE WON BY THE CONVERSATION OF THE WIVES WHILE THEY BEHOLD YOUR CHASTE CONVERSATION COUPLED WITH FEAR.'

THE DYING SHOEMAKER; OR, THE CLOSING SCENE. "Sin entered into the world, and death by sin."-ROM. v. 12.

OME time since one of our Readers became very interested in a hard-working Shoemaker, who was encouraged, and almost compelled by his wife, to work on the Sabbath. He taught him to read the Bible, and as his visits tended directly to break down all his evil habits, the wife offered every discouragement to them. As he entered the room she would scowl at him, and say by looks, if not by words, "We don't want you here!" and then she would sit down, as if

"Nursing her wrath to keep it warm."

Ere long he gave up Sunday-trading and attended the House of God, which greatly displeased and irritated his wife, who had yet to learn that "Godliness, with contentment, is great gain." She henceforward led him such a life that he was driven to his brother's to get his meals, and when consumption set in, as it did soon afterwards, to his mother's, where the poor fellow died. But even here the wife followed him, and did all she could to prevent the Reader ministering to his comfort. She forbad him the place. "She did not want him there," she said, "and neither should he come. They didn't want any of his preaching." It is to the death-bed scene, presenting, alas! so many sad and extraordinary features, that we wish to direct attention.

The poor Shoemaker was living or rather dying, for he was sinking all the time he was there-in the room occupied by his mother, and the man with whom she was cohabiting. About noon one day a messenger arrived at the Reader's residence to summon him to his side, if he wished again to see him alive. He hastened round, and was never more astonished in his life than when he saw the poor fellow sitting in an old-fashioned cane chair, evidently dying, and his wife and brother and several others sitting at a table making lucifer-match boxes, with their backs towards him, and taking no more notice of him than if a cat had been dying. The mother's partner had gone out-frightened, as well he might be, to look on the face of death. The Reader was greatly distressed at their conduct, and at once asked them to kneel with him in prayer. They did so, and that seemed to awaken them tʊ the fact that a human being was dying in their midst. But still the coolness and indifference with which they seemed to regard the whole scene was most surprising. The Reader alone seemed

capable of feeling. As he was moistening the parched lips of the dying man, he begged to be laid down on the floor. They laid him accordingly on a bed upon the ground, and then he called his wife, and spoke to her in accents of tenderness, which seemed to imply, and certainly did imply, full forgiveness of all her cruel conduct to him. She was touched, as she had never been touched before, by his kindness at this solemn time. "I am all right; it is all right," was all he could say in response to the questions of the Reader, who wished to show them all that with him all was peace. The Reader then called his two little children, who were playing in the court, ignorant of the passing scene— -which greatly pleased him. And as he was speaking on a part of the third chapter of St. John, "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life," the dying man started as if gazing at some object invisible to the rest; and almost before the Reader could again attend to him his soul had fled away, leaving but a corpse behind.

66

The Reader closed his eyes in death, and then turning round to the company, he found them wringing their hands, as if in agony of mind. 66 'Oh, is he dead?" cried one. Oh, he can't be dead!" cried another. "I am so glad you were with him," said a third. No sooner had death actually entered the apartment than they seemed almost bereft of their senses. The Reader spoke solemnly to them about the state of their own souls, and then, bidding them flee for refuge to the hope set before them in the Gospel, left the house. Shall we follow the history of that house further? It is a sad and melancholy one. The widow soon afterwards picked up with a hawker of gold-fish, who ill-used her, as she had done her husband, until she confessed that "she missed every hair of his head, and longed to be at rest with him." The hawker himself died of cholera the following summer; and after his death a child was born to them, who also died. "KNOW THEREFORE AND SEE THAT IT IS AN EVIL THING AND BITTER, THAT THOU HAST FORSAKEN THE LORD THY GOD, AND THAT MY FEAR IS NOT IN THEE, SAITH THE LORD OF HOSTS."

'Stop, poor sinner, stop and think,

Before you further go;

Can you sport upon the brink

Of everlasting woe?"

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER; OR, THE GIRL'S RESCUE. "Treasures of wickedness profit nothing but righteousness delivereth from death."-PROV. x. 2.

ON a district in the far East is a street notorious as one of the worst in London. Indeed it has been pronounced by thieves-no incompetent judgesto be the worst. The street, with several of its

courts, contains a population of upwards of fifteen

hundred persons, two-thirds of whom, at the very

lowest computation, are thieves, vagrants, and others of the worst of characters. In it are twenty-five common lodging-houses, most of which are dens of infamy. Besides these there are about a hundred rooms let out singly in what are termed "Furnished Apartments," the rent being three shillings and sixpence a week, and the dimensions about twelve feet by nine. The furniture generally consists of a broken bedstead with a hammock of straw; two sheets and a coverlet; a broken table; a couple of chairs, with little to sit upon but the frame; a saucepan and tea-kettle. The inhabitants are of a very migratory character. Where an honest working man and his family are found to-day, a very different kind of tenant is found to-morrow. Within the small compass of a single room, the Reader has often found a man and his wife with from four to seven children huddled together. And where there have been only two children, he has known the parents take in as lodgers two females of the vilest character to help to pay the rent. The greater portion of the tenants, however, are living together in an unmarried state. The language which falls upon the Reader's ear, as he visits here, and the scenes which often meet his eye, it is quite impossible for us to do more than allude to in this passing way.

In one of these terrible courts our Reader was happily instrumental in rescuing a poor young girl of twelve or thirteen years of age. The mother, from whom her husband had separated on account of her incorrigible conduct, had charge of the daughter; for whom, though sunk so low herself, she still retained a strong maternal affection. This she showed in her own way, by never allowing her at least so she said-out of her sight by day, and by locking her in the room when she herself went out by night. Often did our Reader plead with that guilty mother to abandon her wicked course, pointing out to her its awful but inevitable result, both for time and eternity, but all in vain. He then directed his attention more especially to the rescue of the daughter, who was still, he believed, uncorrupted, though living in the midst

of such dreadful scenes. The girl was naturally gentle, frank, and docile, but, having had no education, she was very ignorant. After several interviews, in which the Reader pointed out the blessing of being able to read and write, and being otherwise fitted for a respectable position in society, she readily consented to go to a Refuge, where she would be taken care of and educated for service, the mother agreeing to pay part of the expense. Before, however, matters were arranged for the girl's removal to a place of safety, the mother was taken into custody for theft, and committed to prison for six months.

It

No sooner was the Reader made aware of the fact than he set off to communicate to the Rector the altered position of affairs. The Rector at once most kindly undertook to be responsible to the Refuge for the amount guaranteed by the mother, until the mother's return. All being again made smooth for her reception into the Refuge, the Reader set off to see after the girl. To his horror, he discovered that she had already been laid hold of by a woman in the neighbourhood, and used for begging purposes. was not without some difficulty that he managed to rescue the poor girl from this woman's grasp. For two days she continued to elude him, by keeping her out of his way. He then threatened to bring a policeman to his aid, and having paid the woman her demand for the child's support during the few days she had had her, as she expressed it, "under her care," the Reader had the inexpressible pleasure of handing over the poor girl to the safe keeping and kind guardianship of a "Girls' Refuge" in the East of London.

At the expiration of six months the mother was released from prison, and returned to the neighbourhood; but as she was expecting to have another child almost immediately, she was obliged to go into the workhouse. The fund from which the girl had been partially supported in the Refuge having now failed, the Reader was in despair lest she should be obliged to follow her mother into "the House." The girl's conduct, however, had been in every respect so entirely satisfactory to the matron and the Committee, that they resolved to keep her in the Refuge without any remuneration whatever! The Reader continued to visit her from time to time, to give her a few words of advice and encouragement, and to speak of the things which make for her everlasting peace. Before leaving the Refuge she had become a communicant; and, the Rector having most kindly provided her with a suitable outfit, she soon afterwards left for a place of service, where she has ever since given the utmost satisfaction. Thus had our Reader the happiness of rescuing from one of the worst haunts in London