writings; or else it may be to show how learning was now devoted to the service of God, and the explanation of His teaching. But this is a point beyond the power of human study and learned lore, and she sits inactive, unable to help him.

The little figure in the distance is in a deacon's dress, and is believed to be meant for St. Stephen, on whose life St. Augustin wrote some reflections. Perhaps he is put in to remind us how he bore witness to the faith, on which St. Augustin was commenting; how he was content to die for it, without being too curious into having everything made perfectly clear; and how to that faith, even while still on this side the grave, sight was vouchsafed.

But that faith—if no human mind can grasp it-may be made plain enough for salvation to the most humble and unlearned. Did not our Lord thank His Father that while these things were "hidden from the wise and prudent, they are revealed unto babes ?" If the cup of a lily cannot hold the whole ocean, it can hold just as much dew as it needs, to make it grow and lift itself up to heaven.

"In His own words we Christ adore;
Yet angels, as we speak,

Higher above our meaning soar
Than we o'er children weak."

What is needed is faith and love, which all may have, not comprehension; for that neither sage on earth, nor saint in heaven, nor angel around the Throne, can ever have completely, though all may be growing more and more in knowing what is the length, and breadth, and

depth, and height, of the love that is high as heaven above the earth, and wide as from east

to west.

LOVE YE THEREFORE THE STRANGER.

PART II.

a little story of

A SHORT time ago I related some things which once happened in a village, where these words had been the text of a sermon, and had not been forgotten by those who heard it. But I had not room to tell at that time all that I had meant to do; and besides the remaining part of it had not quite so much to do as the former with the exact words of that text, and did not refer exactly to the same time.

It was in the middle of summer that the events that I described then, took place, but the little history now to be told begins with the following November, and it is contained in a letter written from the same village, Eversham, by "Flora Douglas" to her mamma. It is not indeed to

be called a story, but it gives a nice example, I think, of the way in which even a little girl almost, may fulfil the Christian duty of being kind and hospitable to strangers. But I must tell you first, that at the opposite end of the village to that where Mr. Wilmot's school, and the church, and the parsonage stood, there was a rather large old house, the village "Hall,” in which a physician lived, named Dr. Douglas. His wife and he were excellent persons, and it seemed as if the words " as ye have opportunity,

do good unto all men," were never absent from their minds; and amongst the various opportunities they had, those of receiving strangers, and exercising "hospitality, without grudging," were never overlooked, and were amongst the sources of their greatest pleasures. Their children too, taught both by precept and example, were growing up to feel the fullest sympathy with their parents in these things, and many were the times of such sweet and pure enjoyment in them, as it is pleasant to believe that many children and older people know by experience, though far fewer, I think, than might do so. Dr. and Mrs. Douglas had at this time three children-for they had lost some. Flora, who was fifteen; Mary, nearly ten; and Walter, the little darling of his sisters, who was only two. Flora and Mary were instructed partly by their mamma, and partly by masters, who came to Mr. Wilmot's school, and from whom they had lessons. Their house stood a little way out of the village, and did not look to the road, but had a garden in front, and a steep grassy slope, at the foot of which was a brook, and meadows beyond. And the shortest way to the church, and Mr. Clifford's house, was not by the village street, but by a pretty shady path through the fields behind it. Having thus given a little account of the happy home of Flora Douglas, I will proceed to her promised letter.

"My dear mamma,

Eversham, Nov. 2.

"I have felt quite impatient to begin a letter to you to tell you about yesterday, it was such a very happy

day, and it was so pleasant that the particular pleasure I have to tell you about, should happen on a Saints' Day, and on that day too; for I thought it seemed so much to belong to it. And what a beautiful day it was! Do not you think that All Saints' Day almost always is a fine day? And a fine autumn day is the very one that one would choose for it, I think. We had breakfast at half past seven, for papa was obliged to go out very soon after, and he could not even wait for the post. He scarcely expected to come back last night, and he did not come till this morning, and he has been out most of the day since. There was a letter for you yesterday morning from Mrs. Darwell, which I opened, as you told me to do. She wrote to say that she had given a letter to papa, to an American friend of theirs, a clergyman from the 'far west,' who had very lately come to England, partly to see some friends, and partly because he was in bad health, and hoped a visit to this country would do him good. Mrs. Darwell said she wished very much that he could have papa's advice, and she knew how willing you always were to exercise hospitality, so that she was not afraid to give him leave to come here at once. But that he could only, at least at present, stay for one night on his way to London on business, and that he would probably arrive very soon after her letter. (I need not have told you all this, if I had had her letter to send you, but I gave it to papa this morning, and he has it with him). Mrs. Darwell also said that she was quite sure that you would like their friend, the Rev. Henry Faye, very much.

"You can fancy, dear mamma, how much interested Mary and I felt in the expectation of seeing a stranger from such a distant country; and though we were so sorry that you were from home, and papa likely to be out all day, yet I could not help being rather glad that I should have to be the mistress of the house, and try to make everything ready just as you would, and to give the same kind of welcome that you would-I mean so far as I could possibly represent you. So Mary and I made haste to set out some breakfast again, and make some coffee, that Mr. Faye might have some when he arrived. Then Mary went into the garden (it was not nine

o'clock), and gathered some flowers-for there are beautiful monthly roses, and some others still-and I into the kitchen to settle about dinner, and to prepare to make some cakes for tea, which I knew Anne could not have time to do, and I thought you would approve of our asking Mr. and Mrs. Clifford to come to tea. I took the things up to the nursery, where Mary and I made the cakes, and nurse helped us, and little Walter was delighted to see the bustle, and I dare say he thought he helped too. At least he was so good that he did not hinder us, and we had just finished at ten o'clock, when we heard the pony chaise drive up, (I had asked Richard to go down to the station in time for the train, following the mail-train), and Mary and I hastened down to the hall just as Mr. Faye came in. It seemed a little formidable to have to receive a visitor who looked so tall and so grave; but as soon as he spoke I felt that I need not be afraid, and he looked so ill too, that almost one's first thought was how much he must want papa's advice, and some nursing besides. I asked him at once to come into the breakfast-room, telling him as we went how sorry I was that both papa and you were from home, but that I hoped he would see papa if he would stay all night here, and that we should be so very glad to try to make him comfortable. He said the bright fire looked most comfortable, after his cold journey, and that he would very gladly rest a day, if we would let him stay. He seemed very glad to take some breakfast too, and during that he talked about Mr. and Mrs. Darwell, to whose house he went as soon as he arrived in England, and I asked about his voyage, which was a stormy one, and I suppose partly the reason of his looking so ill. Then I asked him if he would like to go up stairs and rest. I said that Mary and I were going to church, but I thought he could not feel ready to do that. He said he should not have liked to do any thing so much, but that he felt so tired he thought he must rest. I had had the fire lighted in his room, and he went there, and Mary and I to church. We had such a pleasant walk, and after the service we went into the rectory for a few minutes, and told Mr. and Mrs. Clifford about Mr. Faye, and they promised to come to tea at six.