"But there is something the matter. sister."

Tell me, dear

With much persuasion I prevailed on my sister to speak. Something that had passed the previous day troubled her : well, she would tell me, only I must not be vexed; it was what our Charlotte had read-some part of it, a single sentence, which had not struck her at first, but which had fastened upon her memory, and had terrified her almost directly we left the cottage; and she could not get rid of it.

"What sentence was it, dear?"

"Children of wrath, even as others.' Oh, Emily, if that description should belong to us!"

I was vexed, though I had promised not to be; but I concealed the vexation as well as I could; and after endeavouring, with some success, to soothe my sister by saying that I was sure such a description did not apply either to her or to myself, and that it was only methodism, such as Charlotte Evans', to suppose that it did, I sat by Bessie's bedside till she slept.

But the impression made by these words was not effaced; and on the following day, my sister so earnestly entreated me to accompany her to Mrs. Evans' cottage that I consented, though unwillingly. I managed, however, to slip into the sick chamber before her, and to whisper to Charlotte that she must not say anything about religion to Bessie, because it made her so gloomy.

Surely I shall never forget the quiet, placid smile which settled on her lips as she replied, "Dear Miss Emily, it is not religion that makes any person gloomy: it is the want of it, and wrong thoughts about it."

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Well, well," I said hastily, we will not argue about that; but you must promise

Bessie came in before I had finished speaking; and the first thing she said was, "Charlotte, what you read yesterday made me very uncomfortable; and I wish to talk to you about it."

Charlotte looked at me, as though she would have said, "Must I not speak about religion now?" and I felt very angry-so angry that I left the room. To while away the time I entered into conversation with Mrs. Evans; and the first thing she spoke about, was the joy she felt in the precious promises of the gospel, and the support they afforded under every trial.

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Why did you go away and leave me with Charlotte ?" Bessie asked, as we returned home that day.

"Because I did not want to hear her talk about religion," said I.

"I wish you had remained with us," said Bessie, thoughtfully: "yes, I wish you bad."

"I might as well," I replied, "for I had to hear enough about it from Mrs. Evans."

"I wish I knew what to think," my sister rejoined.

"Better not think about it, dear," I responded: "they are ignorant people, you know; and there is no need to mind what they say."

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Ignorant, Emily?"

"Of course they are; and methodistical as well."

Bessie heaved a deep sigh. "I wish I knew what to think," she repeated.

I had spoken lightly and disparagingly of Charlotte and her mother, but it was to hide my own confusion; for an arrow had been fastened in my heart. "It is not religion that makes any person gloomy: it is the want of it, and wrong thoughts about it." I could not get rid of this.

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"Bessie," said I, a few days later, I cannot bear it any longer; I am very miserable."

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My sister did not seem much surprised; but she was silent. Why do you not speak, Bessie ?" I asked passionately. "Do you not know that I am wretched?"

"What makes you miserable and wretched, Emily?" she asked, tenderly.

I told her told how the remembrance of Charlotte's

words rankled in my memory. We mingled our tears together.

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The Bible had been a neglected volume with us both. Emily, we must read the Bible," said my sister. That evening we opened it in company-opened it and read it to find ourselves condemned and ruined. But the same good Spirit which led us, by degrees, to this fearful discovery, showed us also the remedy provided for us in the gospel of God's dear Son.

And, oh! how unspeakably precious were the visits we afterwards paid to the sick room of our Charlotte! Her faith, triumphing over death and the grave, sealed the testimony of her consistency of life; while lessons of hope and patience in tribulation fell from her trembling lips.

THE FRUIT MERCHANTS.

"I HAVE heard the distant sound of guns," said Mr. Lambert, hastily entering the room where his two daughters were seated at work;" and I have no doubt that the men of war which were expected have come into harbour, and are saluting the admiral's flag. It is highly probable that your uncle's ship is one of them."

"Dear uncle! how glad we shall be to see him again!" exclaimed Mary.

"Well then, lay aside your workboxes, and get ready for a drive without delay. I have ordered the car, and by going fast we shall be in time for the steamer which will take us down the river to the harbour."

This proposal being gladly acceded to, the party soon set out. When they got within a couple of miles of the place from whence the steamer started, they overtook a man and woman, who, though the day was exceedingly warm, were walking at full speed, and carrying a large covered basket between them. They were poorly dressed, yet their clothes were so neat and tidy that they had a respectable appearance.

"Are you going to the boat?" inquired Mr. Lambert.

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Yes, sir," replied the man, speaking as if out of breath from his exertions.

"I fear you will be late," Mr. Lambert said, looking at his watch. "Put your basket on our car, and you can get on faster without it."

The offer was thankfully accepted, and while the basket was being arranged, Julia said, "Cannot he put his wife on it also, papa? she looks greatly fatigued. Pray, good woman, get up beside me."

"Oh! blessings on you, young lady," cried the husband, as he placed his wife on the seat; "she has been ill, and this fast walking is very bad for her. But indeed I am ashamed to-"

There was no time to lose, and the car went on before the apology was finished; the man, now rid of his encumbrances, following at a quick pace.

"I thank you very much for this kindness, ma'am," said Julia's new travelling companion.

"We are glad to have had an opportunity of showing it, particularly as you have been ill," said Julia.

"I have, ma'am; and my poor man was afraid that walking so fast would bring on the illness again. I told him that we might trust the goodness of our heavenly Father in that matter as in everything else; and you see, ma'am, that it was so."

Miss Lambert and her family were amiable and benevolent people, but she was not accustomed to hear the providential care of God referred to in the small occurrences of daily life. She smiled, and said, "Do you allude to our taking you on the car?"

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Yes, ma'am; and while I am truly grateful for your kindness, I feel that my first thanks are due to Him who made you think of it; for you know, ma'am, we are told that the disposing of the heart in man is from the Lord.' """*

As the poor woman said this, Julia observed that her countenance assumed an expression of peace and joy. "I believe," said she, "that it makes you happy to trace God's hand in these little things."

"Yes, ma'am, and to thank him for them. David says, 'It is good to sing praises unto our God; for it is pleasant, and praise is comely." "t

"Then you think that God superintends every trifle?" The woman seemed surprised, and answered, "Surely, Ima'am. Does not our Lord tell us that not even a sparrow can fall to the ground without his permission? And, oh, ma'am! it is very sweet to feel that a loving Father is always watching over us, and doing everything for us in the best way."

"But misfortunes sometimes come," observed the young iady.

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They do, ma'am; I know it well. But, indeed, ma'am, a deal of their bitterness is taken away when we remember that they come from the same kind hand, and trust in the promise, that though no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous; nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which. are exercised thereby."‡

"This poor woman's religion seems calculated to make her happy," thought Miss Lambert; "she seems to love and trust God with child-like confidence. Pray, my friend, said she, "do you suppose yourself an object of * Prov. xvi. 1 (marginal reading). † Psa. cxlvii. 1.

Heb. xii. 11.

special regard to God; or do you think that every one may look to him as to a loving Father?"

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Every one, ma'am, who is reconciled to God by the death of his Son. Surely, then, as he has promised, he will give us the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry Abba, Father.'* Oh, dear young lady, take my word for it, though I am but a poor ignorant woman, you can never be safe or happy till God is your reconciled Father in Christ Jesus."

They had now reached the steamer, and Julia lost sight of her new acquaintance; but this short conversation so engrossed her thoughts that she scarcely spoke till they reached the seaport, and alighted. Mr. Lambert soon recognised the ship his brother-in-law commanded, which had just cast anchor, and hastened on board, desiring his daughters to walk to a certain point on the beach, from whence they would have a fine view of the harbour, and to wait there till he came to them in their uncle's barge to take them on board, as soon as he had ascertained that a visit from ladies would not be inconvenient after so recent an arrival.

They set out; Mary enjoying the fine scenery, and Julia thoughtful and silent. The day was very warm, and on reaching the place pointed out by their father, they were greatly fatigued, particularly Mary, who was rather delicate. Seated on a low parapet wall that ran along the top of the cliff, they tried to examine the fine view before them; but the dazzling brightness of the wide expanse of water, reflecting back the rays of the sun, was not a pleasant object of contemplation under the circumstances, and when they turned their faces landward, not a breath of air refreshed them with its coolness. Oh, Julia, I wonder when papa will come; I am so warm, and so thirsty, that I fear I shall faint if we remain here much longer; and I am not able to walk back," said Mary. She looked so unwell that her sister became rather alarmed, and replied, "I do think I see a boat leaving uncle's ship now; perhaps it is papa coming for us. I will hold this umbrella over you, and when he comes he can procure a glass of water which will restore you."

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Just then they observed that two persons, with a large basket on the ground beside them, were seated, not far off, on the same wall. These they soon recognised to be the *Rom. v. 10; Rom. viii. 15.