FIRESIDE READINGS.

The Deacon's Story.

In the Twelfth Report of the Rochdale Chapel for the Destitute, John Ashworth tells the following story. of an aged deacon, a grey-headed veteran whose locks had become hoary in his Master's service, and one of those singular characters both loved and feared by several that knew him, for reasons they still remember. He was by trade a flannel-weaver; steadiness and industry, in early life, enabled him to become a manufacturer; and by caution, and prudence, and perseverance, he secured a competence that enabled him to retire from business before old age or infirmities compelled him; but he did not travel on the continent to spend his wealth, or build a mansion, and set up his carriage to consume it, or fill his house with servants and fast company to devour it; he knew who had given him all his bank-notes, and he knew he would some day be asked what he had done with them: and he tried to be a faithful steward.

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I have no wish to forget my first, second, and last interview with the eccentric old man. I had gone down to take service in the church of which he had long been a worthy member, and an active, patient, prudent deacon. For many years his house had been the home of the workers in the Lord's vineyard, irrespective of creed, and he furnished many an hungry ambassador with something more than a cup of cold water. I was then a very young man, and rather afraid of several in the congregation, the deacon in particular. His countenance was neither placid, sanctified, nor heavenly-looking, but, the very contrary: he had a large face, strong features, his eyebrows fledged with long white bristles, and his hair, iron-grey, defying all order; he knew little about grammar, but his language was powerful, and fearfully direct. Talleyrand said "that words were invented to hide thoughts." This may be true in regard to diplomatists, such as Talleyrand was, but the old deacon would have been astonished to have heard him.

I had finished my day's work in the pulpit, and on leaving the chapel found the deacon waiting for me at the gate. Placing his arm in mine, he said—

"Well, my young friend, I suppose thou will have to take a little provender at my house; thou art very welcome, and that will make the feed no worse."

After the repast, he sitting on one side of the fire and I at the other, after a considerable pause, he said— "Art thou married, my young friend?"

แ "Yes," was my answer.

"And hast thou family prayer in the house?"