often like to do my own will better than God's and better than yours; but I will try to love God's holy will, and to do it, mother." She said a moment afterwards, "I wish you would tell me something about yourself when you were a little girl, and about your father and mother, and their farm-house upon the heath, will you mother?"-"I will tell you, my dear Mary, something about our garden at the Heath-brook, or rather about one of the trees in the garden: a vine once grew up the side of the house; in the summer-time it was covered with leaves, but it bore no fruit; year after year, my father looked for fruit, but in vain, and at last it was decided to cut it down. I remember that some one wished the vine to remain, but my father said, 'A vine without fruit is useless in every sense, and in every state. I would let it grow where it is, but there are other plants which seem to me preferable to an unfruitful vine. It is never hung with sweet-smelling and beautiful blossoms, like the rose, nor do its leaves remain green all the winter like the ivy.' It was cut down; I was standing by my father, and he turned to me and said, 'What shall we do with the wood?' I could not tell: they build ships of the oak; they make planks of the fir for boards to our rooms; but I don't know what we can make of the vine, we cannot even make a peg to hang your cloak on, Mary. It is fit for nothing but for burning.' Observe, my Mary, he said, 'the only worth and use of the vine is its fruitfulness; other trees

are distinguished for their qualities in various ways, but the vine for fruitfulness, and as you must now perceive, if it is not fruitful, it is utterly worthless, far more worthless in every way, than any other tree;' and then he asked me if I could find any spiritual application for the unfruitful vine. Perhaps, my dear Mary, you can answer the question which my father put to me.' "Or you can, Edward ?" Mary asked her brother. Edward looked very wise

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and thoughtful, but had nothing to say. "I suppose, Edward, I must do for you, as my father did for me, set the application before you. As the vine among other trees, so is the Christian among other men. All trees are distinguished for some particular worth or quality: the oak for the beauty of its foliage, and the lasting firmness of its wood; the laurel for its glossy and evergreen leaves; the rose and lilac for their sweet and lovely flowers; but the vine for its fruitfulness. The Christian, if a real Christian, may be excelled by his fellow men in many qualities, which make a man a favourite in the world he may not be distinguished by bodily gifts, or outward beauty, or any superiority of intellect, but if he is a disciple of Jesus Christ, he is fruitful in good works; and unless he is fruitful, unless he does excel in good works, many persons who are wholly of this world, far surpass him; he is indeed, when compared with them, a poor wretched useless creature; and though he may bear the name of vine, or Christian here, his end, like that of

the unfruitful vine, is to be burned."-While Mrs. Hilton was speaking to her younger children, her husband, who had been listening to all she said, had opened the Bible. "Come hither, Edward," he said, "and you shall read aloud to us what the Spirit of God has spoken to us on this very subject by the prophet Ezekiel. Turn to the fifteenth chapter of the book of Ezekiel, and when you have done reading, we will go and look at the vine which grows all over the south wall of the garden, and partly over the summer-house. Edward turned to the fifteenth chapter of Ezekiel, and read, Son of man, what is the vine-tree more than any tree, or than a branch which is among the trees of the forest? Shall wood be taken thereof to do any work? or will men take a pin of it to hang any vessel thereon? Behold, it is cast into the fire for fuel; the fire devoureth both the ends of it, and the midst of it is burned. Is it meet for any work? Behold, when it was whole, it was meet for no work: how much less shall it be meet yet for any work, when the fire hath devoured it, and it is burned? said the Lord God.'

"Come now to the garden, my dear children," said Mr. Hilton, drawing his wife's arm within his own; but before they reached the south wall and the vine, one of the servants came running down the broad walk to tell Mrs. Hilton she was wanted immediately. She did not return till nearly an hour after. "We will not go to the vine till your

dear mother joins us again," said Mr. Hilton, and they all returned to the house, and to their books."You seem pleased, my dear mother," said her son William, when Mrs. Hilton returned. There was an unusual brightness upon the calm clear countenance of his mother. "I am pleased, very happy, very happy, my dear William. I have been present," she said more gravely, "at a glorious sight, the death-bed of a pardoned sinner. I confess, dear Mark," she continued, turning to her husband, whose whole attention had been fixed upon her from the time she entered the room, and at the sight of his kind approving smiles, her own smiles returned" I confess to having been a little idle, and unwilling to leave the dear party in this pleasant room, when I was called away: I then foolishly felt the call an interruption; but it is true enough to pass into a proverb, that whenever our blessed Lord calls us to perform a duty, we find in the midst, perhaps, of our unwilling obedience, that we have been called to a high honour, not only to do the bidding of the King of kings, and to hold communion with the Lord of lords, but to be a fellowworker with Him in whose favour is life.

"You know how often I have been to read and pray with poor Sarah Green. When she lived in our service, some years ago, she was one of the most thoughtless girls I ever met with, and since the beginning of this, her last and only illness, I have found all my visits, vain and fruitless, till to

day. She was always in a miserable, repining state. I never saw a smile upon her face. She liked to have me with her, but seemed always inclined, nay determined, mournful as she was, to talk to me about the things of this world. I could not help feeling that in a short time the things of this world would possess no interest with her, for she was evidently about to be removed from them. And so I told her, but I spoke to her in vain. I read the Bible to her, it seemed, in vain. She paid no heed to the words of life, and all the while seemed hastening towards the shades of death. Her thoughtless and utter carelessness appeared to me even more incurable than her bodily disease. It was beyond the help of me or any human creature; and that consideration, while it humbled me, drove me to more earnest prayer for her, and bade me wait patiently for the answer to my prayer. Poor thing! she had never, I believe, been a gross sinner, and it was therefore the more difficult to prove to her that she was a sinful creature. When I entered her little wretched chamber, this evening, I saw that a fearful change had taken place in her appearance since I had been last with her, but there was a life and energy in her look and manners such as I had never beheld, even when she was in strong health of body. I found who had been her teacher, while she had been searching into those parts of the holy Scriptures which I had marked for her, even He who has said that His children, the children of His