"A more useful life,' I said; 'and here I lie a mere useless block.'

"Alice smiled gently as she said, 'On the whole, I am not sure that I do not consider that an invalid's life has more opportunities of usefulness than any other. Invalids have the precious leisure that is so often coveted by more active Christians; they are always to be found when wanted; they can work, and write, and talk, and sympathise, and what lessons they can teach!-lessons that would not probably be listened to from other teachers.'

"What are they?' I asked, as a ray of comfort stole into my heart.

"The great grand lesson of patience, dear, when you have learned it,' replied my friend, of submission to God's will; of cheerfulness under suffering; of obedience; of selfdenial; of faith in an unseen but ever-present Helper. Oh, Kate, if God enables you to learn and teach such lessons as these, your life will be as useful as you ever could desire.'

"I was silent for a time, thinking of her words. Presently I said, Alice, if I could really believe that God heard that prayer of mine that morning, and sent this illness in answer to it, why everything would be different. I am sure I could bear it then.'

"I see no reason why you should not believe it,' she answered. 'That God heard your prayer we know ; and the answers are so often different to what we expect, though always loving and wise. I do not say, dear Kate, that you were right in praying as you did; it would have been better to take your old friend's advice and wait till a way was opened for you. We should be very careful, while we ask in faith, nothing wavering, yet to ask in perfect submission to the will of God, remembering His infinite knowledge and wisdom, and our ignorance and weakness. But our Father is as kind and forbearing as He is wise. He knew that your motive was love to Him. He loves you; you are His own child, and I believe your prayer is answered Your life

will not be what you meant it to be, my poor Katie, but I believe it will be a useful and a happy one.'

"She left me, for I was crying, and my tears were partly tears of joy. Light had come, and a sense of the near presence of a loving Saviour, and it has never left me again for long. My friend's prophecy was a true one. My life has, through God's blessing, been both useful and happy— more so perhaps than it could have been in any other way. And now," concluded Miss Mervyn, reaching a hymnbook which was on the little table by her side, "here is a lesson for you to go home with ;" and she read me the wellknown lines:

After good resolutions,
After desires for light,
After your earnest struggles
To do the true and right,
Shall all be rendered fruitless
Because some one will frown?
And will you give up seeking
The never-fading crown?

After so many conflicts,
After such weary strife,
After the toils and sorrows
Of this poor earthly life,
Is hell to be your portion?
Are friends to share your lot,
Because, when Jesus called you,
You heard, but answered not?

My brother, there is mercy,
Now, whilst life's lamp doth burn;
Return to Christ the Saviour,

Th's very day. Return,

My sister; be decided;

From all your idols part:
This day give the Redeemer,
Your undivided heart.

He knocks-oh let Him enter.
He calls-Poor sinner, come.
Poor pro ligal, "our Father"
Will bid you 66 welcome home."
Come now! your guilt confessing;
Come now! before Him fall;

Come now! for Christ will save you-
Will bless you-" after all."

YOUNG man sat in his own room, grave and silent; his head was bent over his hands, and he was, apparently, lost in thought. An open letter lay before him, and it was evidently the contents of this letter which now occupied his mind. The letter was

from his father, and announced that father's intention to visit him; and as he had always been kind and generous in his behaviour, one might have supposed that the prospect of seeing him would give unmixed pleasure to a dutiful and affectionate son. It will be necessary, therefore, to give some little explanation, in order to account for the puzzled and almost sad look upon our young friend's face.

Six months before the day of which we speak, Edward Chad left his country village home, to begin a new life for himself in a large and distant city. He had been carefully and respectably brought up; his parents were honest, industrious, and "well-to-do," and therefore in most respects his home had been a good one. But there was one serious lack; it was not a Christian home. The name of God was, indeed, to some extent acknowledged there, and there was a certain kind of formal observance of religion on the Sunday; but this was all; and when Edward Cbade his parents good-bye, the only advice he received was, "Be a good boy, and mind your business; and be sure and take care of yourself."

No voice of prayer was uplifted on behalf of the youth about to leave the roof that had sheltered him from his cradle; no Divine protection from the sins and snares of a city life was implored for him; no word was said to him respecting that "Friend that sticketh closer than a brother,"1 and whose loving sympathy and counsel would be now more than ever needed. But Edward C-missed none of these things; he knew not the need nor the value of them, and he was quite satisfied with things in general, and with himself and his future prospects in particular. To tell the truth, he was rather tired of the restraints of home, and intended to take his fill now of the gaieties and novelties of city life.

"Take care of myself, indeed!" he laughed to himself; "that's all very well for old folks like my father and mother; 1 Prov. xviii. 24.

but I mean to go in for pleasure and fun, and have a good time."

These were the sentiments with which he began his duties in the new situation provided for him. But God had mercy upon the thoughtless youth, and had other plans for him. His hand raised up for him, amongst the strangers by whom he was surrounded, kind friends who loved the Lord Jesus and loved souls. These immediately interested themselves in him, and persuaded him to accompany them to some special religious services, such as he had never attended before. Edward would have preferred going to the theatre, of which he had often dreamt, but he could not very well refuse the invitations which were so kindly given by those to whom he was indebted, and therefore he, for no better reason than simply to please them, consented to attend the meeting.

But God met him there; the Holy Spirit applied the truth to his heart, and, after a season of deep anxiety and conviction of sin, he was led to trust in Jesus the sinbearer, and to dedicate himself, heart and soul, to that Lord who had bought him with no less a price than His own precious blood.

"This indeed is joy!" he exclaimed; "I never could have believed that it was possible for any one to be so happy!"

Full of this peace and joy himself, it now became his most earnest desire that his parents should share the same blessing, and he therefore wrote them a long letter, giving them a glowing description of the change that had come over him, and urging them at once to seek Jesus as their Saviour.

It all seemed so clear and so important to him, that he felt sure his parents would see it in the same light, and become converted also. Great, therefore, was his sorrow when, instead of the grateful letter he expected, there came after a time a short note from his father, saying that he was glad to hear that his son was doing well in his business,