busy with a bag of corn, part of which he evidently intended to put into the manger where Tom lay. Cold as was the morning, he burst into a perspiration at once. What was to be done? He was afraid of being punished for sleeping there, but knew that he must be discovered in a minute or two. He felt that there was no time to lose. So he determined to get up and tell the man that he was poor, thinking perhaps he might have pity upon him. So, making up his mind and gathering all his courage in less time than it takes to describe it, he suddenly sat up in the manger. One moment more and the corn would have been spread upon him, for, just as he sat up, the driver had lifted the corn sack and was approaching the manger.

"Good gracious!" cried the startled driver, as Tom sprang up almost as if he had come from another world. le dropped the sack, and was so frightened that for a minute or two he was speechless.

CHAPTER V.-LOST IN THE SNOW.

TOM got out of the manger as well as he could. This, however, he found to be no easy matter. His limbs were stiff with the previous day's walking. The night's exposure had made all his bones ache as if he had been thrashed. Fearing that he now would be thrashed, he rolled out of the horse-box, and began to tell his tale. The frightened waggoner had by this time partly recovered himself, though the perspiration still stood on his forehead. It would be hard to say who was most afraid-the man or the boy. Tom made no attempt to escape, but stood there trembling from head to foot.

66

"You little vagabond!" said the man, as he laid hold of Tom by the collar and led him from the shed to the public-house; "what brings you here? Look here!" said he to another man, what I have found in the manger; ain't this a fine thing to begin the day with ?"

But the man was not so cruel as he seemed to be. He had children of his own, and thought of them as he led Tom into the house, and placed him near the fire. The landlord, landlady, and a few others stood looking at Tom while the driver told how he had found him.

"How long have you been there ?" asked the landlady. "All night," said Tom.

"And what made you sleep there instead of going home to sleep?" inquired she.

"I have no home," said Tom, and told them his simple tale. Before he had finished, the driver who had found him was heard to cough once or twice rather strangely, and seen to draw the sleeve of his smock-frock across his eyes. The landlady said to her husband"I could never have slept in my bed last night if I had known that that poor thing had been in that cold cart-shed." As she said this she went off to the kitchen and brought a mug of hot coffee, which she gave to Tom, with as much toast as he could eat. Whilst he had his breakfast, the rest had a good laugh at the driver as he

told them how he had seen Tom come, as he thought, from the grave.

After finishing his breakfast and warming himself well, Tom took his departure, thanking them for their kindness. This day he found walking very painful. One of the clogs which Mrs Strong had given him broke, and hurt his foot so very much that he was obliged to take them off and once more walk on his bare feet.

The day wore wearily along. He passed but few people and had no company. Night came at last, and a bitter night it was. Suow had fallen during the day, which made his travelling more difficult. A cold wind was blowing, and seemed almost to pierce through him. As the evening advanced the snow continued to fall.

Tom had missed his way. He was now in the open country. In vain he sought for a shelter. Still he kept on, hoping to find some house in which, perhaps, he might beg a night's lodging. The rags, which barely covered him, were but poor guards against the nipping wind which blew. His feet were nipped and numb with the snow. But he was fast growing insensible to all this privation and suffering. His head felt strange. He became very dizzy and all seemed to be going round. Several times he almost fell. He could go no farther. Standing there for a minute, he resolved to sit down and give himself up for lost. All hope was gone. Just then, looking a little to his left, he saw, or thought he saw, a faint gleam of light in the distance. New hope came: but, alas, his strength was almost exhausted. Oh, how he longed to reach it! He made a last effort. What little strength was left he now put forth. He moved in the direction in which he thought the light was. On and on he went, fearing that every step would be his last. There it was. He could now see it. As he saw it, he felt sure that it was not far away. It is impossible to describe the agony through which the boy was now passing. Weak with travel, exposure, and want of food, he was ready to perish. The excitement kept him up for a time, but the crisis came. The light seemed to be within a very short distance of him, but it was beyond his reach. He felt himself falling. Raising one loud cry for help, he fell cold and senseless upon the snow.

BAND OF HOPE PAPER.

STOCK-TAKING.

EXTRACT FROM A LECTURE GIVEN AT A YOUNG MEN'S
IMPROVEMENT SOCIETY.

F my voice could be heard from east to west and
north to south of this our highly-favoured land. I
would raise it against the awful waste of money in
drink, liquors, tobacco, snuff, &c. If ever there
was a time when all well-wishers of their country
should set their faces against this great and crying
Let us just take stock and see the tremendous misery

evil it is now.

it is creating. Though there never was a time when so many agencies were at work to stem this evil, yet the iniquitous traffic in intoxicants, sanctioned and upheld by law, patronised by men of learning, position, and great national influence, still continues to fill our prisons, asylums, penitentiaries, workhouses, and, to a large extent, our hospitals and infirmaries. It continues also to render children fatherless, making widows by wholesale, and creates miserable and wretched homes. Its victims are to be counted by thousands, or rather by tens of thousands and hundreds of thousands. We wish that the working men of this country who have fallen in this snare would reflect—take stock of their position! We cannot but think they would alter their ruinous course, and prefer to see their wives comfortable and happy, rather than miserable and wretched. "The drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty, and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags." Though Solomon uttered these words 2500 years ago, they are still true: We still find, as a rule, that the drunkard, sooner or later, comes into the street of poverty. However dark the picture drawn by the pen may be, it fails to do full justice to the awful sadness of the reality. The half cannot be told. It robs our schools and churches of their best members, and brings many to an untimely end, to the loss of hody and soul. Oh that all would be induced to give up drink and all other sensual and Costly indulgences! We have been looking into the expense of the habit of drinking and smoking, saying nothing of other habits which are worth nothing and cost much.

A man who drinks what is called moderately will expend fourpence per day, which is about six pounds a year. To this add the average amount of one shilling per week for tobacco, and you have eight pounds twelve shillings per year. Then add loss of wages through drinking, and you may fairly say that every man who drinks and smokes but moderately wastes ten pounds per year. Yet many of these persons appear to be satisfied thus to live and allow their wives and children to be poorly clad, with scarcely a farthing in their pocket from Monday to Saturday. How natural it seems for some men, the moment they leave the factory on Saturday at noon, to go straight with their wages to the alehouse! Their feet are certain to be in the direction of that place which they have the most to blame for their culpable wretched condition. Ler such who are under this slavish yoke beware lest the fetters which bind them become too fast to be broken away. They should take stock of their condition ere they find themselves involved in irretrievable bankruptcy. A good name lost, friends gone, money all spent, self-respect destroyed, and the confidence of others forfeited; these are the results to which a drunkard's life invariably leads.

Young men, especially to you we address the admonitory words of Solomon: "Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has wounds They that tarry long at Look not thou upon the

without cause? Who has redness of eyes? the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine.

wine when it is red, when it giveth its colour in the cup, for at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.”

Batley.

J. J. F.

OUR SUNDAY-SCHOOL ALBUM.

BY ENOCH GRATTON.

(Continued from page 74.)

XI.-MISS NEVERFAIL.

HE portrait you next see is the likeness of a most estimable friend of mine, and if I told you all I think of her virtues you would probably think I was exaggerating. She is one of the excellent of the earth. She is always abounding in the works of the Lord, in season and out of season; weekday and Sabbath she feels that she must be about her Father's business. She sows beside all waters, and was rarely, if ever, yet known to be weary in welldoing, and doubtless she will reap in due season. She may seem to fail, but she will not say "Fail,” and though she toils all night and takes nothing, the morning shall come and the Master shall come, and crown her efforts with success. Even apparent failure intensifies her ardour and strengthens her resolution. It is not because there are no difficulties in her post, no weaknesses in her heart, that she succeeds. She battles bravely with the difficulties, and takes her weaknesses to Him who is mighty to save, and who "giveth power unto the faint." Miss Neverfail does not owe her success to her superior rank, culture, or accomplishments. She is, as you may see by her face and garb, what might be called a poor, plain, hardworking girl. She has much grace and some gifts-among others, the gift of "continuance." She holds on her way, and daily waxes stronger and stronger. She prepares her lessons carefully, and, like some other friends whose cartes appear in this Album, she goes to school regularly and in time. The scholars would rub their eyes and be filled with wonder if she began to come late. One by one her scholars are being led to the Saviour. They are prayed for and spoken to personally and separately, and are joining the Church of Christ.

Sometimes the temptation to give up has been powerfully presented. Her health has been feeble, her body weary with the toils of the week. The claims of home have had to be responded to; the pleasures and excitements of youthful society have been spread around her. The scholars have been listless and ungrateful. There has been, on the part of many, a want of sympathy with the spiritual

work-the deepest and highest work of the Sunday-school teacher. Some who should have cheered and helped have been cold, obstructive, and envious. But she would not give up. She might weep, and pray, and wrestle with God for more grace and power, for

"Faith that never falters,

Unmoved by fear or praise,
With love that never alters
And hope in darkest days."

But she will not desert her post. She is resolved to be faithful unto death. Wordsworth describes in very beautiful language the

efforts of a miner who

"Alone waged unremittingly the stubborn work
Unseconded, uncountenanced.

A long and slanting
Track upon the rugged mountain's stony side,

Worn by his daily visits to and from

The darksome lustre of his constant hope,

18 named the Path of Perseverance."

Miss Neverfail is well acquainted with the path of perseverance. She makes effort after effort, exerts energy after energy, breathes prayer after prayer, just as the waves of the sea when one billow breaks another rises to take its place, each billow coming nearer and nearer to the shore.

XII.-MR. WAVERING.

That is the name, and this the portrait, of an acquaintance of mine, and possibly he may be known to some of my readers. He belongs to a large family. He is brother to Mr. Fitful, cousin to Mr. Windy Wordy. He is a descendant of a man named Reuben, who lived a long time ago, and of whom it was said, "Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel." A very painful disease has prevailed in this family for many centuries, in fact it seems to be hereditary and incurable. It is called "Fits and starts." It seizes them suddenly, excites them, impels them along for a short time in a kind of frenzy of zeal. Like one of their ancestors they "drive furiously," and threaten to carry everything before them, and to crush everything beneath them. But, like an ill-trained steed, they soon run themselves out of breath. They run fast but not far, and stop short of the end. They have a habit of doing what an old man once told me he had done. He said, "I laboured so long, then I took off side." So the Wavering family often "take off side."

The Mr. Wavering whose carte I now show you is not an old man, but, to my knowledge, has often taken off side. You can never rely upon him. He may be at his post or may be miles away. Look at his face. It lacks expression, firmness, and force. His eyes and lips tell of fickleness. Take hold of his hand, and you are impressed with his want of grip and energy. Listen to his voice, there is nothing