The Prisoner and Lina.

Concluded.

HEN we saw Lina last, it was when she was reading the account of Paul's affliction caused by the "thorn in the flesh." She had some very good thoughts as she read, you will remember, and they came from Him to whom she had prayed with such earnestness.

Lina was never happier in all her life than after she had finished her prayer and reading the Bible. She arose and walked out in the street, and it seemed to her that everything she saw reminded her of the goodness of God. She felt very confident that her father would become a better man. It seemed to her impossible now for him to continue as bad as he had been.

I must now tell you that she did not give up her design to get some good food into her father's cold and gloomy cell. On going to school three days after her fruitless application to the jailor, she passed close beside the rear of the prison, and, to her great surprise, saw her father's face as he stood at the grated window. But that was the second story of the building, and it would be impossible for her to reach it if she tried, her arms being far too short. She felt greatly rejoiced on seeing her father, and immediately cried out to him,-"O father-my dear father!" The tears came to her eyes and blinded them for a moment, but, after brushing them away, she looked again, expecting to hear him say some kind word on seeing her after an absence of a number of days. Instead of that he uttered bitter words of unkindness, and departed from the window. She stood and wept, and called him to come again to the window,

even if he would not say anything. It was all in vain. She waited half-an-hour, and saw him no more.

That evening, about nine o'clock, she passed along the the street again, having in her hand some food that was nicely prepared, which she hoped to be able to give to her father. She had thought that she knew the distance from where she stood to the window of her father's cell, and that a pole of about eleven feet long would reach it. So she tied the basket containing the food for her father on the end of a pole which she had brought with her, and put it right up against her father's cell window, and let it stand there on the window-sill without saying a word. The pole had been provided with a little hook at the end, so that she mamaged the basket very well indeed. She then drew the pole away, and went off as quietly as possible. The next evening she went there again, having brought more provisions to give to her father. She saw the basket that she had left there on the evening before standing upon the window-sill, and, after taking that down, she handed the other up with her pole and left it standing there. Much to her pleasure, she found that all the food which she had left had been eaten. How happy she felt on reflecting that her father had eaten some food that she had prepared! The next night she went again, and found that he had again eaten what she sad left.

As time passed on, she did not grow weary of this labour of love; but not a night passed without providing her father with a little basket of nice fresh food. He was not aware for a good while that it was his daughter Lina who was doing this. He suspected that it was a kind lady in the city who was known for her care for prisoners. The way he found out it was Lina was this:

He watched one night from his cell-window for the person who was in the habit of leaving a basket. He saw that as she came near the prison, right close under his window, she was concealed by a thick fir-tree which grew there.

One bright moonlight night, however, he succeeded in discovering who it was before she reached the fir, and his heart was overcome with kindness when he saw it was none other than his daughter Lina.

She continued to provide him with a basket of fresh food every night for many weeks, praying and hoping that, by this kindness, he might be made a better man. He grad ually came to himself, and was permitted to see all his past conduct towards his daughter in its true light.

"How wicked I have been! one who loves me very dearly!

How badly I have treated

How can I stay in this cell

away from her any longer?" he said to himself.

One night Lina found a little slip of paper in the empty basket which she had taken down from the cell window. On it was written these words,

"Your father loves you, Lina, as he has never loved you before. It is proper that I should stay here and suffer for my bad conduct towards you. I think you will never again hear an unkind word from me, or receive a blow from me as long as I live."

Lina was happy beyond description when she read his ittle note. She made application to the Mayor the next day for his release, and the Mayor was so pleased with her manner, and so overcome by her affectionate appeal in her father's behalf, that he granted the prisoner release. It was indeed a happy meeting when the prisoner returned the same evening to his house and found Lina preparing his evening meal.

When the Mayor met her in the street, a week after that, he asked her about her father, and she replied that he was a changed man. Then he said, in answer to her,

"I have known, through one of the policemen, what you have been doing in your father's behalf ever since he has been in prison, and though it is against our law to provide any food except the regular fare in the prison, I have permitted no attention to be paid to you, but allowed you to

give your father a basket of good food every night. Your conduct has already become known to nearly all the good people in the entire town, and I believe it will be a lesson of kindness to parents who treat their children in a harsh and unkind manner, not only in this place, but throughout the whole country. You have known how to conquer a bad spirit, and I would that all the children in the world who have parents who are severe and harsh beyond necessity would treat them in the same affectionate way."

Lina, through the goodness of God, conquered her brutal father, and he became a tender and affectionate Christian, and remained such as long as he lived.-Selected.

Lady Huntingdon's two Friends.

ADY HUNTINGDON lost two friends in 1773, with whom she had been long and differently associated. "That indefatigable servant of God, Howell Harris, fell asleep in Jesus last week," she writes to Romaine. "When he was confined to his bed, and could no longer preach or exhort, he said, 'Blessed be God, my work is done, and I know that I am

going to my God and Father, for he hath my heart, yea, my whole heart. Glory be to God, death hath no sting-all is well;' and thus this good man went home to his rest.

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'It is impossible to describe the grief which is awakened everywhere by the tidings of his death, he was so beloved as the spiritual father of multitudes. Truly his loss is felt in the college, where many were awakened by his lively ministry. The last time he preached at college, he spoke

with a mighty sense of God, eternity, and immortality; and when he came to the application, he addressed himself to the audience in such a tender, earnest, and moving manner, exhorting us to come and be acquainted with the Redeemer, as melted the assembly into tears.

"On the day of his interment, we had some special seasons of divine influence, both upon converted and unconverted. No fewer than twenty thousand persons were assembled, and we had abundance of students in the college, and all the ministers and exhorters, who collected from various parts to pay their last tribute to his remains. We had three stages erected, and nine sermons addressed to the vast multitudes, hundreds of whom were dissolved in tears. Fifteen clergymen were present, six of whom blew the gospel trumpet with great power and freedom. God poured out his Spirit in a wonderful manner. Many old Christians told me they never had seen so much of the glory of the Lord and the riches of his grace, nor felt so much of the power of the gospel before."

In contrast with the death of Howell Harris stands that of Lord Chesterfield, which occurred a few months afterwards. He had been the early friend and companion of Earl Huntingdon, after whose death, he seems always to have remained on a friendly footing with the countess. Towards the young earl we find him acting as towards an adopted son, a circumstance which lady Huntingdon is presumed not to have been able to control, and which must have occasioned her no little sorrow. His scepticism and profligacy did not prevent him from frequently attending on the ministrations of Whitefield, whose eloquence he greatly admired, and at lady Huntingdon's solicitations he often contributed to the cause of Christ.

"Really there is no resisting your ladyship's importunities," he once replied to her: "it would ill become me to censure your enthusiastic admiration of Mr. Whitefield; his eloquence is unrivalled, his zeal inexhaustible, and not to