valley?-it will bring us to poverty, us and our children-must we really go?"

"I fear we must, wife," said Martin. "You would not deny the truth in which our fathers have lived and died, and worship graven images for the sake of house and home? And my mind tells me there are no other terms on which we can stay."

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No, husband, I would not; house and home are not worth that sacrifice. Let us keep our conscience safe, whatever we lose." "Well spoken, and like yourself, my own Martha," and Martin threw a loving arm about his faithful wife. "Next to the Lord Himself, you have ever been the strength of my heart in all times of trial, and this is a trial indeed. Yet let us meet it with good courage. He that sent it will bring us bravely through. Remember what our forefathers did for their faith in field, on scaffold, and at the stake, and shall we grudge to give up only a house and farm? Listen, Martha. My mind was made up what I should do, with God's help, before I had well read the paper. That was, in the first instance, to lay my case clearly before the baron, lest, being a stranger in the place, he might

EXILED.

not see its true bearings; and then, if neither justice nor grace could be had, which I fear is to be expected, we would get together our goods and our stock with all the haste we could, for it will be work enough to do within the time, and move away to Birkenfeild. There we may get some land to settle on, under the free laws of the Electorate, where no tyrant lord can claim evil rights, forged in the old time of bondage."

He that can look the worst that threatens him in the face has stripped it of half its terrors. Martin and Martha talked over their prospect of banishment, and prayed together for help and direction in the shade of their own orchard trees, till their minds rested in calm and steadfast trust that whether it was appointed they should go or stay, the God of their fathers would be with them and theirs.

Then Martin sent his sons to engage labourers for gathering in the harvest among the country-people beyond the bounds of the barony, while he himself waited on the baron with a respectful but clear and manly statement of his case, setting forth how long his forefathers had been true and loyal tenants of the

former lords of Westerthaul; in what good accord he and his had lived with their Catholic neighbours, slighting no man's religion, but following their own; how punctually he had paid dues to his present lordship, and how cheerfully he would pay double, if thereby he might keep his ancestral farm in peace. The baron's bad health had grown worse, and his superstition more austere, since he came to reside in the castle; moreover, he was, as usual, in the hands of his confessor and his steward: the one wanted to make a convert, or banish a bad example—so he called the honest Kindermanns-from the valley; the other had cast a covetous eye on Kindermann's house and land; and thus the only answer Martin got was given him at the castle gate, that the baron would neither read nor hear anything from an obstinate heretic, and he must either renounce the false doctrines of Luther, or quit the barony within the specified time.

"Well," said Martin, "since my earthly lord will not consider my case, I will lay it before my Lord in heaven, and with His help I am resolved to keep my religion, though I lose my farm."

There were sad faces at home when he came back with that intelligence; it cut off their last hope of being allowed to remain, and something like despair fell on the Kindermanns; but there was a brave spirit in that peasant family.

"Father and mother," said David, "you know the promise made to those who have left houses or lands for His name's sake. Besides, consider that we are going all together, while many good and wise men have had to leave home, and kindred also, liko Abraham when he went out, not knowing whither he went, and Joseph, when he was sold into Egypt."

"We will not be long poor in Birkenfeild. I am grown, and my brothers will soon grow up to work on another farm." "Ay, boy, but you and Catharine will have to wait long," sighed Martha.

"Never mind that, mother,"-it was the title Catharine always gave the good woman now-" never mind that; I can make lace and embroidery when there is time to spare from the housework, and the traders who come to the Black Forest fairs will buy them."

"You boy and girl are shaming us old folks with your better sense," said Martin, as he dashed away the tears that came into his eyes in spite of himself. "Come, wife; come, children; there is much to do in getting ready for our moving; time is better spent in work than in grief."

Acrostic.

"PREACH, SAYING,"

"R-epent ye, for heaven's kingdom is at hand!"
E-ver anew "the Voice" is sounding clear.
P-enitent souls! and all who will to hear!

E-ver anew, heed ye the high command.
N-ot the Forerunner only, but the Lord,t
T-his same alarum rings: His chosen bands,
A-s the lost sheep they seek throughout all lands,
N-ot the "glad tidings" only dare afford.
C-ast off the sins which hinder faith and prayer;
E-ach contrite hour your faith shall shine more fair.

BIBLE CLOCK.

F. M. E.

WE resume our series of Bible Clocks. Let our young readers commence with the word FAITH. As before explained, the object is to find a word or subject about which twelve texts or portions of Scripture can be given in the form of a diagram representing the face of a clock. In the index space of II., a verse, or portion of a verse, consisting of two words, is to be written; at III., a sentence of three words, and so on. The sentences must have the exact number of words required, and must be a clear statement, whether formed of one verse, or part of a verse, or portions of more than one verse.

mind to meet Muriel Rivers, with Clissie's eyes taking note of the encounter. To all her hints of a desire that he should be at home when Miss Bertram called, he opposed a gentlemanly determination that Sophy's hour with Muriel should not be invaded. "How are you to-day, Sophy?" Muriel asked tenderly, leaning over the couch with her sweetest look.

"Pretty well. Just as usual," Sophy answered. "Only always better for seeing you."

"That would be quick work indeed, the very moment after I have come," Muriel answered playfully, taking a seat by her side. "I am punctual to-day, Sophy. Just three o'clock, so we have a nice time before us. What shall we do? Read or talk?"

66 Talk to me a little first. I love your voice both ways. Tell me how you are yourself, dear

Miss Bertram."

"I-oh, I am almost always well," said Muriel. "We had some sad news yesterday, about the loss of some dear little cousins in India from cholera." Sophy and Mrs. Rokeby were full of sympathy, but Muriel would not dwell upon that subject. She knew how much the poor crippled girl depended on such hours as this for cheerfulness, and talked lightly of various matters. More serious things after a while came to the surface, but Muriel was at pains still to preserve a bright manner.

The habitual tone of mind of the gentle little widow, Mrs. Rokeby, was certainly not cheerful. Life had ever showed through sad-coloured spectacles, as seen by her eyes, no less before than during her widowhood, and her religion caught a reflection of the same tint.

It was a favourite plan for Muriel to bring with her a small blank book, wherein were written extracts from prose and verse, to which she was ever adding. She had a thought of her invalid friends rather than of herself in making choice of extracts, so it came to pass that they breathed almost without exception a spirit of trust, peace, and thankfulness. Mrs. Rokeby also possessed an extract-book, from which she sometimes treated Muriel by way of variety. Muriel did not greatly encourage this. Mrs. Rokeby had a particular love for verses describing the present world as "a vale of weeping," "a valley of Bochim," "a desolate wilderness," "a bleak and howling desert." Muriel thought Sophy had enough of this foggy atmosphere on other days, and wanted to pull her up to something

better.

In fact, it may be doubted whether Muriel were not actually helping Sophy Rokeby to a higher ledge of Christian joy than that on which she herself had taken stand.

"O I am forgetting," Sophy said suddenly, when she had lain for some time in her usual half-reclining position, eagerly drinking in every word "I am quite forgetting. You won't mind this being such a poor little thing, Miss Bertram, but I did want to give you a present of my own making. If it were only worth more! "

She pulled a little marker or illuminated card from under her pillow, folded in white paper, small and daintily finished. Though unable to do more than sit up partially, and unable to work long at anything, she had a great taste for colours and facility in design.

The central part was taken up by three words in massive gold

"Soyez toujours joyeux."

Round these ran partly a graceful wreath of forgetme-nots, the two ends being almost joined by a tiny bunch of daisy-buds, half-open and pink-tipped. There were two other texts, printed in small black letters upon gold scrolls. Above was-"The joy of the Lord is your strength;" and below-"Thou shalt rejoice before the Lord thy God in all that thou puttest thine hands unto."

"Dear Sophy, that is kind. How very pretty. I shall keep it in my Bible, and prize it for your sake. The flowers look almost as if one might take them up, and what sweet words you have chosen !" "I seemed to fancy the French ones more than the English, Always rejoicing-though it is the same thing. Miss Bertram, I chose that text because it is so like you. Mamma and I both think so. Toujours joyeux'-'toujours joyeux'-just what you are. I never saw it in anybody else."

I am afraid you know very little of me if you think so," Muriel said rather gravely.

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Ah, but it is an easy thing to see. One can't well be mistaken. Miss Bertram, what does make the difference between you and others?"

"There is no such difference as you think." "No, you won't allow it-you will not think well of yourself. But other people must see what you are. Please don't go on denying it, but just tell me how it is that you are always happy, and so many real Christians are not so. Mamma and I have determined to ask you."

Muriel's mind was in a mixed state, having on the one side certain conscience-thrusts, and on the other a disposition to wonder whether, after all, it might not be humility on her part which made her rate herself so low. Was she not pretty uniformly cheerful?

"Hardly fair, Sophy," she said, smiling. "You will not let me deny what you say, and you insist on my explaining what I do not allow. But suppose we take the idea more in a general way. Every Christian ought to have as his motto-Toujours joyeux.' "That is not common," said Mrs. Rokeby, "But the ought' stands unchanged. It ought to be universal amongst all who love the Saviour." Mrs. Rokeby shook her head. Such a world of sorrow," she said. "Quite impossible."

"I know there is sorrow, but there is joy to balance it," said Muriel earnestly-just as earnestly as if she had never argued on Mrs, Rokeby's side of the question at all, and quite forgetting at the moment that she had ever done so.

"No-but, my dear Miss Bertram, Let him that | thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.” ”

"Yes, indeed-there can't be any greater danger than self-confidence. But that is very different from having a firm trust in Christ."

Mrs. Rokeby sighed. Hers was a hopeless dolorous kind of religion. She dimly believed, and faintly hoped, but rejoiced in no happy confidence. Her view of the spiritual life was almost as if she thought she had to struggle up to heaven, by means perforce of her own faith, with no desire on the part of her Saviour to land her there. She had a vague impression that He was always turning from her in displeasure. Conscious of her failures, she stumbled along with downcast eyes, mourning over them, and never seeing the outstretched Hand of love, waiting to bear her up. She hoped He might keep his promises, and bring her safe to heaven at last, if she clung to Him, but she did not feel certain. The world was very insidious, and her heart very deceitful, and Satan very strong. It seemed to be quite a mooted point with her whether Christ or Satan was to prove the "stronger than he" in her spiritual life.

A very up-and-down spiritual life hers was too, only with more of the down than the up, by a considerable amount. Every time she slipped, she went through the same dismal experience. She always prescribed for herself a season of repentance, almost to be called penance, during which she held aloof from her Saviour's smile, doubted altogether her own acceptance through His blood, and believed she must not look for pardon till she had accomplished a due amount of sorrowing. Then she was comforted, until another stumble came, when the whole had to be acted out again. And her conscience being tender, and slips and stumbles being many, she passed the greater portion of her time "in penitence"-self-banished from peace.

"I do not seem to know where this text comes from," said Muriel, taking up the card.

"The joy of the Lord is your strength.' That is from the eighth of Nehemiah. Wouldn't it be a beautiful motto for one to live up to? O did you mean the last text? That is from the twelfth of Deuteronomy. And there is another in the twentyeighth."

Muriel took up the little Bible, found the lastnamed place, and read aloud the verse, guided to it by a pencil mark :

"Because thou servedst not the Lord thy God with joyfulness, and with gladness of heart, for the abundance of all things; therefore shalt thou serve thine enemies"

Muriel paused very thoughtfully. Had she so rejoiced?

"One does not always realize it as a positive duty," she said. "It seems so often rather a privilege a 'may,' but not a 'must."

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learner than teacher, though Sophy was perfectly unconscious of this.

"Before the Lord;' not merely in the doing, apart from Him. Doesn't that mean just bringing Him into everything-doing all in the name of Jesus?" "And looking up for His smile, finding delight in His pleasure," said Muriel.

"That would be the joy of all joys, would it not? O Miss Bertram, you have so helped me to-day, said Sophy, half-tearfully. "You know so much more of it all than I do. You have tried it already. I have always thought it was enough to be just patient.. I did not know I had actually to lie still here and rejoice."

"Does it sound strange to you, Sophy, that to me it seems almost easier work to lie still and rejoice, than to go about in the thick of work and temptations, and then to keep up the 'always rejoicing?"

Sophy looked up slowly. "Ah," she said, "only try it for one month! Not that I wish that for you. But the temptations come, and I can't run away from them; and every little thing is work to me."

"That was rather a complaining remark of mine," said Muriel, smiling. "But I know better really, Sophy, and I would give a great deal if you could be up and about."

"It looks as if rejoicing would be no difficulty at all then," Sophy said rather soberly.

The hour slipped away quickly, and in the interest of conversation neither Sophy nor her mother thought of mentioning Cramer Ray's name. In truth, his very existence was forgotten by them. Mrs. Rokeby sat and listened with interest, but sorrowfully. It seemed to her that this command to the Israelites had nothing to do with herself. How could she rejoice, poor failing creature, leaving undone what ought to be done, and doing what ought not to be done? Clearly, whatever other people might feel, her duty was to go on in bitterness all her days. This was a satisfactory decision for one whose natural inclinations led her to act in such wise.

Muriel having said good-bye, Clarissa came back alone. "I could not get Mr. Ray in," she said. "He brought me to the gate, and went off like a shot. What an odd man he is! He seemed bent on not arriving till just after Miss Bertram had gone, as I told him she never stayed after four, and yet ho evidently didn't want to be back later than this. Is he afraid of her, I wonder?"

CHAPTER VIII.-PRACTISING AFTER PREACHING.

Muriel had yet a call to pay on her road home, and she stopped at the Maxwells' house, not in the least aware of some impatient eyes watching her movements from a distance.

"Yes, but it is a particular kind of rejoicing," said Muriel, feeling herself rather in the position of

the house contained not a second-with a large volume close to his eyes, and another open at his elbow.

There was also a little old lady in an arm-chair, with a green shade over her eyes, and some knitting in her hands. Blindness almost total in the mistress

and housekeeper, combined with utter indifference to appearances on the part of the master, served to explain any lack of neatness in surroundings.

May I come in?" Muriel asked, and Montgomery started up, letting his big volume fall with a bang.

"OI beg your pardon-oh, I beg-ah!" and a sharp twinge of pain showed in his face as he grasped Muriel's hand, steadying himself against the table. "Mother, here is Muriel."

"Mr. Maxwell, if you don't lie down directly, I shall go," said Muriel with decision. "I thought your knee was to be kept still."

"I assure you I have not moved for hours." Muriel stood waiting, refusing to advance till he had regained his proper position. Then she crossed over, and very affectionately kissed the old lady.

"That's a good girl," murmured Mrs. Maxwell. "I knew you wouldn't let a whole week go by without coming. It always cheers me to see you, my dear."

She talked of " 'seeing" still, after the fashion of the blind. Muriel sat holding her hand, listening to details of housekeeping troubles, giddiness of young servants, and bodily aches and pains.

"How are you all at home?" Montgomery broke in. "Arthur told me of your uncle's sad loss." "I can't think how Sybel will bear it," said Muriel sorrowfully.

"She will be brought through. God will bring her through somehow. He doesn't lay on His children a heavier burden than they can bear. Men sometimes take a heavier burden of their own accord," added Montgomery in a meditative tone. "Yes, I have seen that done."

"It seems almost enough to kill her-so delicate as she is."

Montgomery shook his head slowly-half in sympathy, half in dissent.

"She has one child still?" Mrs. Maxwell remarked. "Oh yes-the baby. But he can't take the place of the other two."

"No, my dear. No one can ever do that."

Muriel was silent for a minute.

66

I am sure he meant it most kindly," said Muriel.

"He meant it—no doubt-oh yes-no doubt," said Montgomery, with a beseeching look at Muriel. Would like it said of you?"

66

you

"I am only a woman," she said. "I may claim a right to have my own thoughts, but I should like folks to be the wiser for them."

And then she turned smilingly to chat with Mrs. Maxwell, leaving Montgomery in a crushed condition. Had Muriel meant reproof? Did she despise him for cowardliness? He reached that point while she was sitting there. After she was gone he went deeper.

His words to her at parting were-
"I see you think I have been weak."

"You have been prudent," she said with a slight play of feature.

"Yes-prudent. That has been my aim. Without prudence no one could have taught long in Mr. Rivers' house. My great dread was always lest I

should be banished."

It has been the smoothest course.' "But you are not satisfied. You think I have been too prudent. You would say that I have held my tongue too much."

"No, I would not say anything," she answered cheerfully. "I cannot teach you, Mr. Maxwell.

might strike you. That is all. Good-bye, and take care of your knee."

No efforts on the part of Mrs. Maxwell could draw him into conversation again that evening. She sat and yawned, poor old lady, and made occasional remarks about Muriel. But the silent mood gained the day. She yielded, and went quietly to sleep.

It was no small matter to Montgomery. Muriel to blame him! That was a new order of things. He was not humiliated, in the sense of suffering from wounded pride, being a man of lowly spirit, with little pride to be wounded. But he stood abashed. Nobody the wiser for his thoughts; nobody the better for his religion! Was that it?

Not quite, and he was thankful to be able to say so much. He could point to John, Muriel, Arthurperhaps also to Sybel and Rosamund-as more or less gainers from his influence. But even there the influence had been chiefly of the indirect kind.

Had he verily smothered his religion into a back corner? Had he preferred the smooth and easy path