fourth year. She was enabled, however, in this heavy trial, to recognise the hand of the Lord, and to say with Job, “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be His name.'

This blow was followed, a year or two afterwards, by the loss of her father, to whom she was tenderly attached, and who had sympathised with her in her trials and aspirations; and likewise of her little daughter, three years old, whom she loved with a doating affection, and regarded as her greatest earthly comfort. Her only remaining child was anything but a comfort to her. It seemed as if God was depriving her of all that she loved on earth, that she might love Him with her whole heart, and mind, and strength. When this lesson was learnt, He was pleased to grant her another son and daughter.

It was very soon after her little daughter's death that Madame Guyon drew up in writing a covenant of selfdedication, in which she expressed her earnest resolution to take up her cross and follow after Christ—to seek His spirit, and live to Him alone. This had long been the purpose of her heart, but she probably wished. to strengthen her resolution by committing it to writing in the form of a solemn agreement, signed and sealed by her on the 22nd of July, 1672.

In July 1676, Monsieur Guyon died. During his long illness his wife nursed him with unwearied care, asserting at length the position which was her due, and permitting no one to interfere between her and her husband. When not perverted by his mother's arts, he had always shown an attachment to his wife, which deepened as the time of their separation drew near; and the last days of their married life, though sorrowful, were peaceful and happy.

(To be continued.)

To do right according to present knowledge, is man's first duty; to extend his means of doing it, by more knowledge and wider views of truth, is his second.-Rev. J. J. Taylor.

MAY MINNIE.

BY THE REV. JAMES KNAPTON.

May Minie was poor, as poor could be,
No wealth was hers, and no friends had she;
Solemn and still to the church-yard lone,
Father and mother were early gone;
Brother and sisters, too, soundly slept
Where darkness and death their vigils kept;
And the poor frail child, with tearful eye,
Shrank when she thought of her destiny.
But O, there is One enthroned above,
In garments of light, whose name is love;
To whom in the hour of deepest woe,
The saddest of all earth's sons may go;
Who gently wipeth the flowing tear
Away from his mourning children here.
And Minnie had early learnt to rest
Her bleeding heart in his open breast.
Child of the rich and gorgeous hall,
Where the streams of sunlight softly fall;
Where all that is noble, kind, and dear,
Commingle the mourning heart to cheer;
Where beauty and love their halo fling,
Of holy joy, round each earthly thing,
Creep up to that garret damp and bare,
And see what Minnie is doing there.
She kneels, but no cloud of sorrow now
Blanches her cheeks, or darkens her brow;
Her hands are clasped,-and with fervid air
Her thin pale lips are parted in prayer.
Her faith has borne her away-away,
Awhile from her prison-house of clay;

And brought from the peerless realms on high,
The angel-forms that are standing by.

Aye, standing by! For though, "day and night,"
Their home is the unknown infinite,

That temple vast, where is never heard
The throb of the heart by anguish stirr'd:
Back, through the fathomless depths of air,
On glancing wing they love to repair;
Perchance they may soothe, or firmly bind
Some breaking heart they have left behind.
And O, though of poor and humble lot,
Minnie-May Minnie-was not forgot;
Her fate seemed hard, but, with staff in hand,
Bravely she march'd to a better land;
Sustained by the Eye that ever keeps
Watch o'er His children, and never sleeps;
She patiently lived, and nobly died,
And now she dwells with the crucified.

FIRST GOING TO SERVICE.

CHAPTER I.

"OH, it is such a grand house, and there's everything all so nice, meat for dinner, mother, every day, and do you know cook says they always have butter in the kitchen, not dripping, like as we do at home; she quite turned up her nose when I said we only had dripping with our bread. Oh, I'm sure I shall like, myself, very much; quite sure and certain." These confident

words were spoken by Sarah Hyde, a healthy, active girl of twelve years old, who was in a state of high delight and exultation at the prospect of going to her first place. The situation seemed, indeed, in many respects a promising one, and by no means likely to prove so hard as "first places" often do, for Sarah was to enter the service of a family who lived in good style, and her duties were merely to consist in cleaning boots and knives, running upon errands, and acting as a sort of general assistant to the other servants of the household.

Mrs. Hyde was much pleased by her daughter's prospects, and Sarah herself thought she should like service a great deal better than lugging about a heavy baby all day; she almost expected to live in a state of thorough enjoyment and holiday indeed; for once, on going to the house which she was now to enter as servant, she had been sent down into the kitchen, and had there been highly delighted with everything-from the bright tins that glittered on the walls, to the cold plum-pudding with which she was regaled. When it came to the point, however, she found it rather a hard matter to part from her mother, and hung about her with many tears, though she was still in too excited a state to attend much to Mrs. Hyde's repeated injunctions, that she was to be sure to behave herself, and be very good." Yet Sarah was a well-disposed girl in the main, and her parting promise that she would "do her best," was given in all sincerity of heart.

Poor child! by the close of her first day spent in service, she became convinced that her bright hopes

were to be sadly disappointed. Shy, awkward, and frightened, she felt bewildered by the strange faces and ways; and the kitchen, which she had once thought so beautiful, seemed but a dreary home when she found that the servants had no welcome to give her, but that, on the contrary, they appeared to regard her as only in their way.

The cook, an elderly, respectable, but ill-tempered woman, was particularly harsh towards her young assistant, and seemed to think that the knowledge of housework ought to come by nature, for she took no pains to teach her anything. There was scarcely an article in the kitchen which Sarah could touch, without risk of incurring a scolding. Don't meddle with my dishes," the cook would cry, "you've no business to lay hands on them without my leave."

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Oh, please, Mrs. Saunders," the humble reply would be, "I was only going to dust "Well, get a clean cloth and do it, then. what's the matter now?"

them, just." Make haste;

"Oh, there's Rebecca calling me, she wants me I know, and I can't find the cloth, and I don't know where it's kept." Receiving no answer to this remark, Sarah would hunt and hunt, in every place but the right one, until at last the cloth would be thrown at her head, accompanied by the epithets "careless" or "stupid;" and perhaps she would receive, in addition, a sharp scolding from the housemaid, who all the while had been wanting her assistance, but to whose repeated calls she had been unable to attend.

Sarah, of course, did not venture to complain, but she felt very home-sick and wretched. There was no one here to love her as her mother loved her, and as for the baby-she wondered now how she could ever have thought him heavy to nurse, when he was such a dear little fellow, and had just learnt to crow so joyously when he saw her! She often dreamt of a night that she had him in her arms again, and would cry bitterly, when she found on waking, that she was hugging nothing but her pillow.

The worst part of her unhappiness was, that no one seemed to notice, or at least to care about it. Mrs.

Wainwright, Sarah's mistress, was a great invalid, and the superintendence of the household affairs consequently devolved on her second daughter, Caroline, but the latter had hitherto spoken very little to Sarah, for the girl was still extremely shy, and always endeavoured to keep out of her way.

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One day, however, they met accidentally on the stairs, and as Sarah stood aside to let Miss Wainwright pass, the young lady perceived that her down-cast face was red and swollen with crying. Why, Sarah, what's the matter," she exclaimed, "has anything gone wrong?" Sarah answered "No;" but as it was a which evidently meant yes" instead, Miss Caroline pursued her inquiries. "You haven't heard any bad news from home, I hope, Sarah, your mother isn't ill, or-" At the word mother" Sarah's face puckered up so much that her young mistress began to suspect the cause of her grief.

"no

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"Come into this room, my room," she said, "and we'll have a little talk over your troubles, shall we?" Sarah gave a frightened look round, "Perhaps, ma'am— I don't know-but I thought Mrs. Saunders and Rebecca

"May not like your staying up stairs? Oh, you've only to say that I've been detaining you There, come in and shut the door after you, if you like. And now tell me everything that you wish about yourself; don't be afraid. I shall not repeat it. You're not unkindly treated in the kitchen, I hope?"

Sarah tried to say she was not, but the answer stuck in her throat, and Miss Caroline continued, "You think you are? I'm sorry for that; in what way then? They do not starve you, I hope, or give you too much work-work that you have an actual difficulty in getting through, and that it really tires you to do?" "No, ma'am, no; it is not that."

6

“Ah, I thought not, for you have grown stouter I'm sure since you have been here; still, even if you have, I should be sorry to think that you had all work and no play,' for that makes Jack a dull boy,' and of course Sall a dull girl too, so I hope you have some time allowed you of an evening to do your own needle