to flow spontaneously; fond of flattery concerning her particular work, yet boasting of self-abasement; full of love and good deeds if you only knew the right way to bring them out, and having an idea that God often specially enlightened er as to His providence.

Featherstone Workhouse, like many other similar institutions, bore the nickname of the Bastille, and it certainly did resemble a prison more than a refuge for the poor. Its great high walls, the grim monotony of which was unrelieved save by some patches of moss and a pair of iron gates, involuntarily made the visitor think of cells and scanty fare. It was built in a quadrangular style, enclosing a large space of ground which served as a playground for the children.

Mrs. Watson seemed to be no stranger there, for she passed unchallenged through all the gates, doors, and passages, till she came to that part of the south side known as the hospital. Then she knocked at a door, and before any one had time to answer, opened it herself and entering, shut it behind her. This was the fever ward, but fortunately there were only three cases or patients in it at that time.

An old woman, dressed in the well-known workhouse garb, came towards her with a limping gait.

"Ah, Mrs. Watson, you're true to your time, but it's no good. The two children are getting on nicely, but the poor young woman is still crazy. She was herself a little while last night, but it was dreadful to hear her; she did nothing but call for her child, and you know— We do not know how much longer the old woman would have gone on had not Mrs. Watson interrupted her by saying. 'Hush, nurse! don't speak so loud."

Looking towards the further end of the room, where stood the bed on which the young woman lay, she had seen two dark eyes gleaming wildly at them. The nurse turning to look in the same direction, exclaimed, "Well, I never! only just this 'ere very instant she seemed asleep, and I was hoping as how it might do her good."

By this time Mrs. Watson had walked up to the bed, and just as she was going to speak the young woman raised herself up, and said in a sad, beseeching tone, "Are you going to bring her?"

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Now, Attenborough, if you don't lie quiet--" put in the old woman. "I won't, I won't," shouted the woman, and fell back gasping for breath.

Mrs. Watson drew the nurse gently away, and whispered something to her; then she returned and said, "Who is it, dear, you want me to bring?"

"My child, my child," she moaned.

Mrs. Watson sat down on the side of the bed, and leaning over stroked the dark hair and fevered brow with her cool hand.

"I want to try and make you understand, dear, that it might kill your child to bring her in here."

"But I am dying-dying; consumption is here," pointing to her chest. "But you know you are also feverish, and there are two more cases of fever in the room. You would not like your little one to have the fever, would you?" "I want to whisper something to you," she replied, a strange look coming into her beautiful eyes.

Mrs. Watson bent over her.

“I should like her to have the fever and die. Do bring her in, do, do !"

"Would you like me to be her murderer? What could I say to God when He asked the reason of her blood being upon me?" and Mrs. Watson solemnly drew her little figure up to its full height.

A deadly pallor spread over the woman's face, her eyes closed, and she lay as one dead, but Mrs. Watson being very desirous of getting the woman to think about the state of her soul, went on talking. Very soon the moaning cry came again, "My child, my child! I want my child! How can I leave her all alone?"

"A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in His holy 'habitation."

"Is He?" she asked, opening her eyes.

"Yes; can you not trust her with Him?"

"But I want to see her once more. It is hard enough to die in this place, all amongst strangers, but to die without seeing my child-I cannot, I cannot."

The nurse had been busying herself at the lower end of the room, but at this juncture came up to Mrs. Watson. When the dying woman saw her, her agitation grew worse, until a violent fit of coughing came on.

"It's no use her carrying on like this, Mrs. Watson. I have asked the doctor if the child might come in, and he almost had my head off, and, says he, 'if that Scripture woman comes a-bothering of me about anything more she shan't be allowed to come in;' so don't you interfere."

"I wouldn't even touch her, 1

"If I could only see her," moaned the woman; would only look at her; 'tis only a look I want." "Have you any friends, my dear?" asked Mrs. Watson.

"No, they are all dead. My husband died four years ago, and since then I have worked hard to gain a livelihood, but I grew ill, and then the landlord turned us out, and I came and sat on these steps, and I knew no more until I found myself in this bed, and my child, my darling, gone—gone!" Sobs choked her utterance, and then she continued, "Oh, if I could but see her! if I could but see her pretty face, I could die in peace."

"Are your sins forgiven? Have you made your peace with God?” Just then the noise of the children coming out to play broke upon them. hark! perhaps I may hear her voice."

"Hark!

Mrs. Watson went to the window, and looking down into the yard, saw all the little ones running about.

Turning towards the nurse she said, "Could we not lift her up to the window? perhaps her child is amongst these."

"Indeed, and we couldn't. Do you think--" Mrs. Watson interrupted her by pushing a silver coin in her hand. The dying woman saw the action, and even smiled at it. That deed and the idea of seeing her child had made life bright again; she felt there was still some sympathy in the world for even her. "I'll try if you like," said the nurse, in a changed tone.

So the two lifted the dying woman as she lay on the mattress-she was too weak to be carried or moved about otherwise-and bore her to the window. "Can you see her?" said Mrs. Watson.

"I hope nobody will see us," said the nurse, or there'll be a fine row." "My eyes seem so funny, I cannot see anything."

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Well, make haste, or my poor arms will break; my bones are old; I'm seventy come next month, would you believe it? but I am."

"Ah! I see her, I see her! my Jenny, my Jenny! And look, the sun is shining on her. The good God sent it to cheer me; He will take care of her. Put me

down."

They placed her on the bed, and Mrs. Watson saw at once that the death-sweat was on her brow, and before many minutes had elapsed her spirit would have flown. Eager to make good use of the little time allowed on earth, she began again to question as to the state of her soul.

"I am trusting on the mercy of God," replied the woman.

'He has shown me

He will take care of my child, and I trust He will of me. I want to ask you to do one thing for me. She has promised "-pointing with her finger, which was already growing black, to the nurse,- -" but I have no faith in her."

"You may have faith in me. What is it?"

"Go to Anthony Rogers, No. 4, Vick's Court, and ask him to take care of my child, and teach her to love God."

"Certainly I will; I will go to-day."

"Yes, go to-day; I didn't want him to be asked while I was alive, but I shall soon be dead. Do you think God will receive me? I have never loved Him much, but I do try to now."

"He will receive all who trust in Christ."

"I trust-in-Him." Then she grew delirious. "O my child,-my child! Ah, Jenny, I knew you would come and kiss me before I died. Put your arms round me; don't be afraid, it is your mother. I shall be an angel soon, and I shall always be near you. Jenny, listen, I have asked God to let me go to heaven, and to forgive me, and he has said Yes; He said it in the sunlight I saw on your head. Where are you, Jenny ? my child."

There was a long pause. The two women at the bedside gazed speechless, knowing that the other world, with all its mysteries, was opening its shadowy gates to this poor spirit. The death-rattle sounded in her throat; she put up her arms and said, "Husband-Jesus," and then arms fell, the gates closed, and nothing was left but cold clay.

Mrs. Watson, although familiar with such scenes, was always awe-struck thereby. Death to her had never lost its awfulness, but the old nurse was as garrulous as ever.

"I knew when they took her off those steps she would not live long. I wonder who'll tell the child her mother's gone? Should I take her ring off? the child could have it."

“Woman, have you no feeling? it is bad enough to be buried in a pauper's grave, without having your body robbed. If I know you touch anything belonging to her I'll report you."

"I didn't want it," whined the woman, "I should have given it you for the child."

“Can you tell me when the guardians meet?" asked Mrs. Watson, abruptly changing the subject.

"To-morrow."

"Thank you." She took one more look at the lifeless form, and then suddenly remembering that there was no kind hand near to perform the last offices for the dead, she proffered her services.

"Oh yes, you can help if you like."

And so she did. The dim dark eyes were gently closed, the arms crossed, the white shroud put on, and then, after dropping a tear on the dead white face, she covered it over and hasted away.

THE ART OF KEEPING SOULS.

EXT to the art of winning comes the art of keeping souls.

No man satisfies himself by securing flocks and herds, and then leaving them to themselves. Rather he carefully notes their diversity and peculiarity of habit; puts a strict watch upon them, and marks their coming and going. What a straying there would be if such were not the case!

For already in the field, against us and our influences for good, is a host of evil ones, who strive hard to undo what we have done, and who will, if we are not upon our guard, snatch our treasure from our grasp.

Do not hesitate because another pointed the way and led the soul to Christ; but the moment it has entered the fold follow it and give direction.

And first a great deal of patience is required and close watchfulness. You must needs be very kind, gentle and loving. You must pursue steadily, looking out for the weak places in the character. Study well the nature you have in hand, and adapt yourself to it rather than expect it to adapt itself to you.

Familiarize the soul with all the ways and means of grace. If you permit it to shrink at the outset, you will have it always a weakling.

A convert may yield to a disinclination to attend church at times. Instead of sighing over such an one, or even attempting to reprove or argue, note the growing indifference, get your own heart fully surcharged, and then, on every occasion possible, call and take the recreant

one to church with you. some one to take them, themselves.

They may be very much relieved to have while they did not feel disposed to go by

Be strictly forbearing; and, above all, very uniform in manner. Never pass a young child of grace without a warm pressure of the hand, or, at the very least, a smile which tells them how fully you understand just what they are passing through.

Do not feel that you must pray over one every time any little difficulty arises. You must, indeed, always pray for them; but there will be times when it will not be advisable to bring them to their knees; when, rather, you should sit beside them in thoughtful, sympathetic silence, it may be, until the heart expands itself, when it will humbly come back to its rest and joy. Or, it may be that a stanza of some truth-speaking hymn will subdue the momentary stubbornness and revive love.

"Feed My lambs," was Christ's injunction to and test of Peter. Alas, how many of the lambs starve and perish among us! We take it for granted that they will have the sense to seek out pasture for themselves, all forgetful that their feet are, as yet, unaccustomed to the way, and that there are dangers on every hand.

Now, if any one thinks it a hard office to look after new-born souls, let them not attempt it; but let them rather seek to look after their own condition, for evidently they are yet lacking.

But to the heart fully filled with the love of Christ, there need be no great effort. To such the training of a soul will come almost naturally, at least delightfully, even as a mother's care of her child. You will be quick to mark the changes, the ups and downs, of beginners. You will see when the eyes fill with tears, when the heart is depressed, and apply yourself immediately to the remedy.

Whenever you find one who, at the very start, boasts that the way is easy, lay a restraining hand upon him, for he needs ballast. Some will have to be held back a little, and some urged on.

No two cases can be treated alike; and beware of laying down any set rules. For, as a general thing, rules are irksome. Bend, never break your subjects. Keep them pliable and tender, that you may mould them as you will.

Never speak from a height, but drop down to where you first started, to the days of your own early experience; and talk and lead upward.

Speak cheerfully, and show that religion is a very joyous thing. There should be such a charm about the advanced Christian, that others of a later growth will not be able to withstand it.

And oh, if a younger brother or sister fall, do not dare to pass by,