"And why, I should like to know? You've paid for them, I suppose, out of your own money, and if that does not give you a right to wear them, I don't know what will."

"I'd no right to buy them, to begin with. It's very true what mistress says, if I waste money on things I don't want, how can I lay by for old age, or ever have a sixpence to spare for those who are poorer than myself?"

"Well, you are a softie to take all that in!" said Fanny; "all mistresses talk like that, but no servant, with any spirit, would listen to 'em!"

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"Perhaps that's why so many servants have to end their days in the workhouse, or in lunatic asylums," said Susan; 'my mistress is a good friend to me, and has taught me a deal since I came to live with her, and if I went against her wishes, I should just hate myself."

Then, taking up the bonnet, Susan declared it looked. much better and more respectable without the flowers.

"Then give them to me, if you don't want them," said Fanny. "The shopman has promised to change them for some print to make me a couple of tidy aprons. Mistress walked into the town this morning, and asked him if he had any objection to take them back."

Two years passed away, and Fanny, who was an active girl, married a young gardener, named Thomas Drew.

For a time all went well with them; but by degrees Fanny found that her husband's temper was not perfect, or his patience inexhaustible. If his dinner were badly cooked, or not ready for him, as was sometimes the case when he came home punctual to the hour, he was vexed; and then, as Fanny herself said, when he scolded, "her spirit was up in a moment, and she gave him back as good as he brought." So the home that was at first a happy one became, by degrees, a scene of discord and misery. Fanny would often. say in her haste things which she afterwards repented, and she began to see that the spirit of which she had once been proud was bringing trouble on herself and on her husband.

For most men will go anywhere to escape a woman's tongue. And Fanny's "spirit" was driving Tom to the ale-house.

Meanwhile, Susan stayed on at her place. One night Tom went out after supper, and did not come home till after midnight, but he was perfectly sober. "There's been a fire at Surbiton," he said, “and I'm afraid your friend Susan has got badly burnt. They've put out the fire at last, but the house is well-nigh burnt to the ground, it was so long before they could get the engines to work. From all I hear, the youngest boy but one would have been burnt in his bed if it hadn't been for Susan. sooner did she find he was missing than into the house she dashed, and however she came out of it alive is more than I can say. I saw her myself at the topmost window with the boy in her arms. Dick was up the ladder in a minute, and got her down, but not before she was badly burnt. I don't think the boy was hurt; she threw him down into a sheet which some men were holding below."

No

"Poor Susan! I hope she'll get the better of it," said Fanny. “That was a noble thing to do! I'll never say that girl's got no spirit again. Why, it's more than I could have done for anybody's child. But it would be better for you

and for me too, Tom, if I were more like her."

If Fanny had not had a generous nature, she could not have acknowledged Susan's superiority. Her humble words and manner led Tom to own that he too was often in fault.

"I dare say I'm a plague to you," he said, kissing her, "for I've got a quick temper, and of late I've spent too much money at the beershop; but, Fanny, if you were always to keep your brow as cheerful and your voice as sweet as when I first married you, I'd never want to see the inside of the 'Black Lion' again."

From that time Fanny determined to imitate Susan's mild temper; but she found it a very difficult matter. Harsh words rose to her lips, and too often escaped from them before she was aware, and did their cruel work in destroying the peace of her home.

Susan recovered from the effects of her burns, and became dearer to her mistress than ever, as the preserver of her child's life.

She remained in the same service for nine years, and then finding that old Mrs. Turner, her aunt, had become too infirm to be left alone, and too "cantankerous," as the neighbours expressed it, "for any other body to do for her," she returned to nurse and take care of her in her old age.

The poor woman must have ended her days in the workhouse if it had not been for Susan : she knew this, and often expressed sorrow for the hard words and hard usage of past years. But the violent temper that she had indulged in youth was too strong for her in age, and Susan had still much to bear from the old woman.

One day when Susan had gone into the town to do some marketing, Fanny Drew, who lived within a few doors of Mrs. Turner, brought her work, and proposed to sit with her till Susan's return. While she was there Susan's former mistress called.

"I don't know indeed, ma'am, whatever I should do without Susan," said old Mrs. Turner; "she's quite a daughter to me."

"And indeed you may well say that," said Fanny, in her quick way; "there isn't one in a thousand like her, and nobody can know it so well as you."

"I, too, have cause to be for ever thankful to Susan," said the lady, "for she saved my child from an awful death through her courage and presence of mind.”

"Yes, ma'am, I remember," said Fanny; "and yet how often I've laughed at her, to be sure, for having no spirit of her own. But I was wrong there, as we've all seen."

"Nay," said the lady, "the spirit that has made Susan such a blessing to every one who knows her is not her own. It is from above."

The remark made a deep impression on Fanny. It was quite true, Susan had never been like other people; her thoughts, her ways, her motives had seemed different, and

the conviction flashed on Fanny's mind that her friend was indeed directed by the Spirit of God. Then her own failures came to mind, and she thought to herself, "I have not tried God has promised His Holy Spirit to all I will ask; and more than that, I will seek to

in the right way.
who ask Him.
be 'led' by it.

'quench it."

I will keep a watch over myself lest I should Before she lay down to rest that night she opened her Bible to see if she could find anything on the subject uppermost in her thoughts. She was quite surprised to find how constantly it is referred to in all the Epistles.

“As many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God." 1

Again, "We have received, not the spirit of the world, but the spirit which is of God. The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned." When she read this, Fanny stopped, and covered her face with her hands.

2

"I see now why I laughed at Susan, and thought her foolish," she said to herself; "it was all too high above me." And then she knelt down and prayed earnestly that she might henceforth be "led by the Spirit of God," and have the blessing that is promised to the "meek," and the "poor in spirit.”

"Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth." "Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

Her husband was not slow in observing the change in Fanny, and when he asked her the reason of it, she told him of the lady's words, and how they had sunk into her mind. And he too prayed for the same blessed Spirit, and strove to live under its influence; so that their home became even more happy than in their early married days.

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"Methinks, Fanny," Tom said to his wife some months afterwards, we were nigh upon losing, not heaven only, but all the comfort and happiness of earth."

1 Rom. viii. 14.

2 1 Cor. ii. 12, 14.

A STUDY.

"She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised."-Prov. xxxi. 27-30.

IN my childhood a favourite book was "The Little Dove." It is a true story of a young German count. One day, when a little boy, he saw a young dove drowning in the middle of a deep pond. He did not stop to think of danger to himself, he only thought, "That poor dove will be drowned if I do not save it." He found near the pond a washing-tub, and getting into it, with a stick for an oar, paddled out to the frightened bird. He took it up tenderly, wiped its wet feathers, and unfastening his waistcoat, placed it in his bosom. When safely on shore the rescued dove shared the breakfast of bread and milk which he had left upon the garden seat. From her castle windows his mother watched her boy's perilous voyage with joyous tears, and her prayer was that when her Adelberdt should become a man he might be as kind to his fellow-men as he then was to animals; for it was not only doves that he befriended.

That prayer was abundantly answered. When grown to manhood Adelberdt's heart went out towards the little ragged children made orphans by Napoleon's wars. Though a count, he was poor, his father having had severe losses from which he did not recover for many years, but he established a Home for these poor children, assured that God would help him with the means wherewith to carry it on. And God did help him, and when the purse or flour-bin was empty, always supplied the want, often sending the exact sum required, or food just suited to the needs of the large family. It was in 1819-fifty-six years ago that Count von der Recke Volmerstein opened his Home with three orphans. At the end of the year he had forty-four children to take care of, and