Andrew's waking thoughts were very uncomfortable. He remembered Mr. Plummer's words, "lying and deceit," and could not help owning to himself that he had deceived him; but then the flattery of Richard's designing parents came into his mind, and changed selfcondemnation into self-justification-"He sees how clever you are, and can't bear to lose sight of you, and he ought to be thankful to have such a pattern of goodness in his house!"

Greatly, then, was he surprised when Mr. Plummer laid before him his altered conduct, his inattention to orders, and his assuming manner, all of which he had long noticed. "The truth is, I have spoiled you, and I'm sorry for it. I won't be answerable for you. I must write and tell your grandfather that you'd be better under stronger hands, and I'll ask my friend Mr. Sharplines to take you. I hope the past will have taught you a little."

This was a blow Andrew didn't expect. Then he was not so valuable, not so impossible to do without! He dared not say a word; he knew that Mr. Plummer, though he was so kind, was fixed in purpose, and he was not sufficiently master of his work to attempt to hire himself to any one else; neither could he have a character to enable him

to do it.

So he went to Mr. Sharplines, who soon brought him to book; he was no longer the admiration of the shop, nor the praise of the house; he very often got rebukes when he was sure he didn't deserve them; but he was obliged to put up with his vexations, much as he disliked them.

By degrees he fell into his new condition, and before the year had closed he

had begun to see the nar

row escape he had had, and how needful his change of masters had been.

When his time was out he went down to see his

mother and grandfather, and a happy meeting indeed it was.

"About settling, Andy," they said, "you know there is your own money to set you up in business whenever you feel able to start.'

Andrew considered a little, and then said humbly, "I think I had better stay as workman with Mr. Sharplines for a few years till I am older and wiser! This was joyfully assented to.

"Well, Andy," said Mr. Plummer, shaking him by the hand, "so you had rather be man than master for awhile, I'm glad to hear. I had great fears for you once. 'Seest thou a man wise in his owr. conceit? there is more hope of a fool than af him;' but that time is

tern in hand, and beheld Billy in his hay bed, rolled up in his rug, sleeping as sweetly as any royal prince could do in a down bed.

"Billy, get up this minute and saddle the pony, I say," said Mrs. Grinder, when he opened his eyes. "D'ye hear now?" she cried. "Hear?" said Billy, staring.

"Yes, hear, to be sure, you're to get up this minute."

"Minute?" said Billy, still staring, and saying the only word he could think of, that being the last he had heard.

"There, don't stare and say over my words; but get up and saddle the pony, and go to Doctor Green's, and tell him to come directly," said Mrs. Grinder, in a pet.

"Directly?" said Billy, again taking up the last word.

"Yes; mistress is very bad, and he must please to come; she's a deal worse."

"Missus?" said Billy, starting up, for now he was awake. "I'll go directly." And while Mrs. Grinder gave him full directions, he rolled out of his hay, ready dressed, for it was very cold weather, and he had to think how to make himself as snug as he could; so when he arose in the morning he was dressed for the day.

Poor Billy! his fingers were blue with chil blains, and his hair, full of bits of hay, stuck out and caught the snow-flakes as they fell. He soon scrambled down to the stable, and though he dropped everything two or three times through the cold, he managed to get the

saddle on the pony, and was out in a wonderfully short time.

"Whatever you do, don't come back without him," shouted Mrs. Grinder, as he rode off.

Doctor Green was an old man, and didn't like going out at night, especially in the winter. Billy had some trouble in bringing him down-stairs; he had to knock and ring, and throw snow at the window, before the door was opened.

"Come to your house tonight!" said the doctor, when he had succeeded in bringing him to the door; "it's impossible. I've only just got to bed. I'll send some physic, and call tomorrow."

"Please, you must come," said Billy, stoutly. "Pooh, pooh! there's nothing much the matter; I was there yesterday, some physic will do," said the doctor, who was as sleepy as Billy had been. "She's a deal worse," said Billy," and, please, you must come."

11

"Here, come in," said the doctor; "I'll put up something to make her better."

"Can't!" said Billy, shaking his head. "Can't? why not?" said the doctor. "My orders was to take you back," said Billy; " and I must mind orders."

"Oh, leave that to me. Here, come in; the kitchen fire isn't out; sit down and warm yourself, and eat a mince-pie, while I make the physic."

"Can't," said Billy again, his teeth chattering.

"But suppose I can't come?" said the

doctor, getting angry.

"Then I must go for Doctor Stout," said Billy, with firmness.

"But I've not got a horse that's able to get one foot before another," said the doctor, much provoked.

THE BIBLE ILLUSTRATED. "Having food and raiment let us be therewith content."-1 Timothy vi. 8.

KING GEORGE III. walking out one morning, met a lad at the stable-door, and asked him, "Well, boy, what do you do? what do they pay you?" "I help in the stable," replied the lad; "but I have nothing except victuals and clothes." "Be content," replied the king; "I have no more." All that the richest possess beyond food, raiment, and habitation, they have but the keeping, or the disposing, not the present enjoyment of. A plough-boy, who thinks and feels correctly, has enough to make him contented; and if a king have a discontented spirit, he will find some plea for indulging it.

"Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low estate,"-Romans xii. 16.

WHEN Sir William Jones returned the salute of a negro who had bowed to him, he was reminded that he had done what was very unfashionable. "Perhaps so," said Sir William; "but I would not be outdone in good manners by a negro."

"These all died in faith."-Hebrews xi. 13.

THE following sentences are recorded amongst the dying words of believers who, as they trusted in Christ whilst they were living, found the comfort of his presence in death.

JOHN DODD.-"I am not afraid to look death in the face. I can say, 'Death, where is thy sting?' Death cannot hurt me."

ROBERT BOLTON.-"Oh! when will this good hour come? when shall I be dissolved? When shall I be with Christ? "

HALYBURTON.—“ Here is a demonstration of the reality of reli

gion, that I, a poor, weak, timorous man, as much afraid of death as any, am now enabled by the power of grace, composedly and with joy, to look death in the face."

EDWARD DEERING.-"As for my death, I bless God I feel and find so much inward joy and comfort to my soul, that, if I were put to my choice whether I would die or live, I would a thousand times rather choose death than life, if it may stand with the holy will of God."

JOHN OWEN.-"Oh!

brother

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"Оn, blessed be God that ever I was born," said Halyburton when dying. "I have a father, and a mother, and ten brethren and sisters in heaven, and I shall be the eleventh. Oh, blessed be the day that I was ever born! Oh that I were where He is! And yet, were God to withdraw from me, I should be weak as water. All that All that I enjoy, though it be miracle on miracle, would not support me without fresh supplies from God. The thing I rejoice in is this, that God is altogether full; and that in the Mediator, Christ Jesus, is all the fulness of the Godhead, and it

"Much food is in the tillage of the poor: but there is that is destroyed for want of judgment." -Proverbs xiii. 23.

Two gardeners who were neighbours had their crops of early peas killed by frost; one of them came

to condole with the other on this misfortune. "Ah!" cried he, "how unfortunate we have been, neighbour; do you know, I have done nothing but fret ever since. But you seem to have a fine healthy

"Yes; while

crop coming up already: what are these? these?" "These!" cried the other gardener, "why, these are what I sowed immediately after my loss." "What! coming up already?" cried the fretter. you were fretting, I was working." "What! don't you fret when you have a loss?" "Yes; but I always put it off until after I have repaired the mischief." "Why, then you have no need to fret at all." "True," replied the industrious gardener; "and that's the very reason."

"I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord."-Philipp iii. 8.

"I HAVE taken much pains," says the learned Selden, "to know everything that was esteemed worth knowing amongst men; but with all my disquisitions and reading, nothing now remains with me to comfort me, at the close of life, but this passage of St. Paul, 'It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners.' To this I cleave, and herein I find rest."

แ

HOPE FOR THE NEW YEAR. EXPERIENCE worketh hope worketh hope" (Rom. v. 4). Such is the result of a Christian's acquaintance with suffering, that it worketh hope. The more terrible the conflicts he has sustained, the more furious the storms he has encountered, the more courage does he feel rising within him for the future. In all his greatest trials he has found a help still greater; a Hand unseen, yet always near to uphold his faltering footsteps; a light shining ever brighter as the shades grow darker round him; and a strength given him in the hour of extremity, increasing in proportion to his need. This has from age to age been the unfailing experience of those who have learnt to cast their burden on the Lord. They find that he does sustain them; that he makes the rough places smooth, and the crooked straight; and that a way is traced out for them to walk in, so that their footsteps shall not slide. They know in whom they have trusted. They can trust him with all that belongs to them. They can trust him to lay upon them no greater burden than they are able to bear. They can trust him to fulfil his promise, that he will "with the temptation also make a way to escape" (1 Cor. x. 13). And though clouds and darkness are round about them, they see a light beyond, and know not a fear or a misgiving.

Is it not so even with the children of this world, that in looking back on the past they are forced to confess that they have over and over again met with deliverance when they expected ruin; comfort and consolation when they saw nothing but gloom and blank de

แ

spair? Have they not again and again found that the evils which they dreaded most were kept at a distance from them, or if they came, were accompanied with such unexpected alleviations that they were stripped of half their terrors? And have they not always found it true, that if only they waited patiently, relief and help were sure to come at last?

And if this is the experience of the children of this world, will it not be still more the experience of the children of light? Will they not go forth, even in the thickest darkness, "rejoicing in hope"? casting themselves fearlessly upon that Arm whose strength can uphold them in the deep waters, and guard them from the scorching flames of a furnace "heated seven times"?

Will they not go on their way hoping all things, as well as bearing all things, looking onwards to the green pastures" which lie on the other side of every dark and stony valley?.

put down at full length. It is a book which no man has ever read. But everything that is in it will come out one day.

It is the book of God's remembrance; the book, or books, of which it is said, "And the books were opened: . . . and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books" (Rev. xx. 12).

Everything in those books is set down at full length: all the sins, all the oaths, all the bad words, all the wicked thoughts.

Are there any bad words written there against your name? Any oaths, such as would be put down in a common book, or a newspaper, with a ——— ? Ask God to forgive you for them. Pray that the blood blot them out. They

of JESUS may

must be blotted out before the books be opened, or you are lost! And nothing can do it but that precious blood. Oh, seek it, and then go and sin no more.

THE HOURS.
THE hours are viewless angels,

That still go gliding by,
And bear each minute's record up
To Him who sits on high.
Like summer bees, that hover
Around the idle flowers,
They gather every act and thought,
Those viewless angel-hours.
The poison or the nectar

The heart's deep flower-cups yield; A sample still they gather swift,

And leave us in the field.

And some flit by on pinions

Of joyous gold and blue,

And some flag on with drooping wings

Of sorrow's darker hue.

But still they steal the record,
And bear it far away;
Their mission-flight, by day or night,
No magic power can stay;
And as we spend each minute

Which God to us hath given,
The deeds are known before his throne,
The tale is told in heaven.
These bee-like hours we see not,

Nor hear their noiseless wings;
We only feel too oft when flown,
That they have left their stings.
So teach me, Heavenly Father,
To meet each flying hour,
That as they go they may not show
My heart a poison-flower.

"I WAS in the Club on Saturday night," said one

working man to another in the north of London. "I always used to go to the public on a Saturday, but last Saturday I went to the Club instead. I had fourteen shillings when I went in, and when I came out I'd spent twopence. I haven't felt like that on a Saturday night at ten o'clock I don't know when."

"Well," said his friend, "I hope you didn't go into the public then."

66

'No, I didn't," he replied; "I'd got the money in my pocket, so I bought some shoes for the little 'uns, and some clothes for the old woman, and went home."

To this man, then, the Tap-room and the Club-room represented two quite different ways of living-one the way of reckless waste and debasing selfishness, the other of honest enjoyment and manly thoughtfulness. There are hundreds of working men who can bear out his testimony as to their comparative effects.

But there are still many thousands who know much more about the public-house than the club. Of the vast sums which are spent every year in this country on drink, it is estimated that nearly half comes out of the pockets of the working classes. Why, if the money could be all paid down in sovereigns, and one man were to count day and night, it would take him eleven months, or nearly a year, to reckon up the amount, for not less than £30,000,000 are annually expended, in one way or another, on intoxicating liquors by working men! If, indeed, all these glittering sovereigns could be laid side by side, how many club-rooms might they pave with gold! They would cover a space of about three acres and a half!

How much more might be done towards improving the social condition of the people, if, of this vast sum, only those pence which still are spent in mere idle tippling could be collected, and devoted to some worthy object. Working men already understand something of the power of combination. They have known more than £80,000 collected from one town within a few weeks to sustain a strike. What if in more prosperous times the great multitude of industrious workers were to tax themselves and forego some of their luxuries, for the sake of carrying out measures to promote the general good? They have shown by their co-operative stores at Rochdale, and by their Benefit Societies and Trade Unions, what power they have to help themselves. Let us look at one of the things which yet remains to be done.

A great want of the working man in almost every

town, and in many villages, is a place where he can obtain rest and refreshment when work is over, without injury to his health or waste of his money. "Men ain't ducks," said a poor despairing brickmaker, whom a wet day often deprived of his wages; "they can't stand in the street to be rained upon, and so they goes into the only house ready to receive them-that's the publichouse; when they get's there, they get's drinking again -of course they does-they couldn't stop there even, if they didn't. Why, what's a poor fellow to do ?" Now, if all the artisans or cottagers in a neighbourhood were to unite together, and each one give every week the price of a pint of beer-just the pint he knows he really does not want, or what he now spends in "standing treat"-this poor man's question might be answered in a truly brotherly way, and the pleasures of good fellowship experienced to real advantage. A room might be rented, or perhaps even a house, where all like him might find shelter and comfort. There are many, especially young men, who have not homes to go to; and others whose homes are so wretched, that they are tempted to forsake them for the tap-room or gin-shop. Now, a good club, well supported, supplies not only this want, but offers various means of self-improvement, of mutual help, and of social companionship and amuse

ment.

There are already, we believe, one hundred and thirty or forty Working Men's Clubs in operation in different parts of the country. The first steps in this direction were taken as far back as 1851; but great strength has been given to the movement by the establishment of a central "Working Men's Club and Institute Union" (150, Strand, London), which society offers information and counsel to all who require its assistance. During the twelve months ending in June last, more than fifty clubs were commenced under its direction, and it is still adding every month to the number. Of the clubs in operation, that at Leeds appears to be the largest, numbering 1,700 members, with a boys' branch of 350; another at Bolton numbers 1,200, and a third at Bradford, 1,000. But the numbers vary greatly, down to the village club of less than twenty.

Let us now suppose that some of our readers, who may not possess the advantages of a Club, wish to obtain them. "Three hundred men," says one of the circulars of the Union, "paying 2d. per week, or 1s. 6d. per quarter, can rent a comfortable house to meet in for conversation, business, study, or recreation, and can keep it well supplied with newspapers, games, and books, pay for a housekeeper, coals, and gas, and, in many places, have a yard besides, for skittles, quoits, and gymnastic exer

cises. With a little money-help from friends and neigh bours, they can buy gas-fittings, timber for making tables, benches, and partitions, whitewash, or paperhangings; and they themselves can have the satisfaction of giving, after their day's work, any labour required in fitting up, so as to be no more dependent than necessary upon others." The number of rooms or size of the house must be determined by the wants of the particular neighbourhood.

The case of Soho may be taken as an illustration of the manner in which a club may be started. Several working men being interested by a newspaper article, resolved at once to make further inquiries, and applied to the secretary of the Union above referred to. The result was a conference between them, and a deputation from the council, at which they stated the wants and wishes of the working men of their district. They were none of them total abstainers, and some had been hard drinkers, but they described the longing which working men felt, after a hard day's toil, for the refreshment of social intercourse, and among the younger men for some kind of games during some part of the evening; dwelling, at the same time, on the want of accommodation in their own homes. They referred to the practice so prevalent among them, of standing at the street corners for a little chat, often till their toes were half frozen, rather than go into the public-house, or when their money was all gone, and said they knew of scores of men who would gladly join a Working Men's Club at once, and pay 2d. a week, helped giving their labour to fit it up, if only they were by having the materials found for them, and the rent of a house guaranteed. In the end, a member of the council agreed to guarantee the rent of a suitable house, which they named, and gave them something towards the first expenses. A strong recommendation of the undertaking to the support of gentlemen and tradesmen in the district was drawn up, and thus a few more pounds were col lected. This enabled them to make tables and benches, fit up and floor an outhouse for a smoking-room, colourI wash the whole house from top to bottom, purchase crockery and a few games, put up partitions, and introduce gas-fittings into every room. They worked so heartily, that, within five weeks from their interview with the council, they had the club in full operation. Everything for a time went prosperously, proving that a little energy well directed may suffice to originate one of these useful institutions. It is right, however, to add, that the later experience of the club has shown that, as with all other good enterprises, there is need of wise management to surmount the difficulties which are likely to arise as the novelty of the undertaking wears away.