The reader, very likely, has never been in the Black Country, as the region of coal and iron in the Midland counties is called; if so, he should not suffer a dark name or prejudice to keep him away from it. There is a strange weirdness in its beauty; but beauty, to an artistic eye, it certainly has. If he could look across the Common where these men lay, he would confess it.

Five miles away the prospect stretches; the distance is made mysterious by haze and smoke, but the mystery is graduated; there are several lines, more or less defined, lying across it, and each, as it fades into the space beyond, has in it more to cheat the senses. You may fancy Eastern cities with their pagodas, and minarets, and pyramids, and obelisks, and anything you like, for such a variety of strange forms arise everywhere that imagination may work at will. All seems at last to melt into a sunny ocean, and, being much helped by the wonderfully healthy breeze that almost always blows over the expanse, you feel as if a good hour's walk would take you to

the seaside.

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Those men, however, lying on the sward, who are discussing the question whether the trams will pay," know better. They know that the minarets, pyramids, pagodas, and the like, are all the same as those pits with their furnace apparatus and tall chimneys, sending forth volumes of smoke, that stand in the foreground of the scene, and that the zigzag lines forming such elegantly fantastical shapes are only the scaffoldings and fencings around the various works. Truly, if ever

"Distance lent enchantment to the scene,"

it is here. So they did not give a look nor a thought to the beautiful distance, the strange mirage behind them.

One of them, by name Joss Coly, as he lay prostrate, was rubbing the turf with the hand that did not support his head, and occasionally looking fixedly towards the road, while his companions went on to sum up the cost of the concern, and prophesy its failure.

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""Twont pay, Joss, 'twont pay; they'll see it won't pay!

He that spoke was a shortish, strongly-knit man with red hair, which seemed to grow wherever it liked all over his face.

"Never mind," said Joss, "they'll pay us; that's the p'int for we.'

"P'int it may be, and p'int course it is, but it's not the tottle, for there's a many hands consarned in the business, an' if the job goes smash (as I b'lieve 'twill), then there's more nor one as 'll be throwed out o' work, for how can them pay as hasn't got no money, and who's to work as can't get pay? You don't see to the fur end, Joss!"

"Don't want," replied Joss, rolling himself round on his back preparatory to rising.

"Time's not up," said the other, "what's the good o' moving?"

"A deal, when it comes pleasanter than keeping still," cried Joss, now standing erect and giving himself a stretch and a shake.

A fine handsome man was Joss, with a face indicating no ordinary spirit and character. Seeing that his closing the debate was not well taken, he looked down with a half smile at Sonsie Bill, as the red-haired man was called, and pointing to another man who

had sat listening to the argument and every now and then throwing in an approving or dissenting remark, said, "Here's Jemmy; if thee'st got more to say, he'll listen, and if thee wants talk he'll talk till this day week, and never know no tire!"

The truth was that Joss, while he had seemed busy examining the turf, had had his thoughts, as well as his eyes upon the road, and when he saw a figure in the far distance that interested him much more than the question of the tramway's success or failure, he turned the orator, Sonsie, over to another, and left the Common. At first he moved with a leisurely step, but when he had gained the end of a street that led from the road side, his motion quickened; he struck into it, and stood before the door of one of the houses in it, waiting till the figure he had been watching should approach. He was not kept long.

"Gaffer!" he cried, to a very respectable-looking "Canst give we a lift?"

man,

"A lift, Joss, what sort of a lift?" asked Mr. Grey, the Scripture reader of the district, with a good-humoured smile.

"Just a word put upon paper, as can be showed to make it plain as we's a man to be trusted," said Joss.

"Oh, a character?" enquired Mr. Grey.

"Ay, ay; maybe it's a sort o' a character; it's just a word saying as thee knows we, and what be's like."

"And I'm to tell the truth about you?" asked Mr. Grey, laughingly.

"Don't want nobbut the truth; lies is no benefit," said Joss, simply and earnestly.

"Good. Then I will put down that my friend, Joss Coly, is a right good, honest, hard-working fellow; and if I had a thousand pounds I'd trust him with it."

Joss clutched his hand with the true Black Country grip, till he cried out, "Oh, leave me some whole

bones !"

They then went together into Mr. Grey's house, before which they had been standing, and the required testimony was written and duly signed.

"Ay, sure, gaffer," cried Joss, who had watched its execution, admiring greatly the readiness of the writer, both in penmanship and composition; and added, "glad thee's put thee's name!"

"And who is to have this?" asked Mr. Grey, remarking that a certificate unsigned would be worthless.

"Who?" replied Joss, assuming a mysterious confidential air. 'Why, it's for Honourable Cox!" "Who? What Cox ?" inquired Mr. Grey.

Why him as is on our carts, sure!" answered Joss; "don't know never another, but him as keeps cows up on the Common."

"But, Joss," said Mr. Grey, hesitating to give the paper; "my word won't go for much with him." "No! But gaffer, whose word be's good if thee's besn't!" cried Joss in great surprise.

Mr. Grey laughed outright at his unfeigned astonishment, and answered," My good friend, he never heard of me. How should the Honourable Mr. Cox hear of me?"

Now Joss was fairly puzzled. He had almost felt that the Honourable Cox, with whose name he was so familiar, having it constantly before his eyes on trucks and carts, would know him at first sight, and

"Ah, Joss," said Mr. Grey in reply to this, "London is a large place, and full of bustle and fine folks, and the day isn't long enough for a thought to be spent there on such as you and I are. Depend on it, whatever we may think of ourselves, others, beyond our beat, think but little of us."

Joss screwed up his mouth and looked thoughtful. "What business have you in hand that takes you to Mr. Cox?" asked his friend, noticing his grave expression. "You know it will be an expensive journey; I'm sure you are a prudent man, and wouldn't throw away your hard earnings on nonsense!"

Ben't nonsense," replied Joss, "business is pertickler; got the money-plenty (slapping his pocket) -and if it goes for nothing, no matter; it's upon conscience to go, and all the more strong for what thee didst say at lecture, last Wednesday evening." "What did I say?" asked Mr. Grey.

"Thee saidst a power o' things; but one on 'em struck in very strong: Which art in heaven,' that were the word. Mind, gaffer, thee said it wasn't put in the book which wast' in heaven, nor's a going to be' in Heaven, but plain 'art.' It come very plain when thee said how the Lord Jesus teached the disciples to pray, 'Our Father which art in heaven.' Thee saidst our Father were in heaven then, all them years gone by, and was ever before that, and still is there, and will be for ever and ever; so, thee said (and a good word it was), thee needn't send thee's prayers, thee doesn't know where, just like arrows shot about in any quarter, but thee canst send 'em straight up to our Father which art in heaven.' Oh, 'twere mighty pretty an' comforting! and when we looked up into the sky as we comed away, poor Jarvis (him, gaffer, wi' the sick wife and long family, thee knows him well), he says 'Joss,' says, 'there's the throne! it's high, yet it's nigh!' Poor Jarvis! his heart were ever so full, but he got a deal o' comfort by that word you spoke."

he

Mr. Grey, with a full heart, like poor Jarvis, grasped the huge dark hand stretched out to him, till Joss, laughing, cried, "Heh, gaffer, but thee canst break bones, surely. God in heaven' bless thee, gaffer; do thee send up a word to Him to help in this job; ay, sure thee wilt; and thee won't tell about this" (pointing to the paper).

Mr. Grey promised to keep the affair quiet. "An' thee shalt know the tottle when we's back again," answered Joss, hastening back to his work.

II.

That evening, as the men were returning homewards from their work, Sonsie Bill looked round as if he missed some one.

"What become o' Joss ?" he asked.

Two or three replied that Joss had gone off the moment work was over, without a word to any one. "Gone to see he's Liz!" suggested one.

"More like to be gone to see Jarvis," said another; "Joss is very took up wi' him just now."

"Joss is always took up wi' any one in trouble,"

3

chimed in a third, who had known his sympathy by experience.

Meanwhile the subject of their enquiries was busy making arrangements for his journey. They were very simple; how to get to the train unnoticed was his consideration, luggage formed no item in his deliberations.

At length the time for starting came, and he was seated in a third-class carriage on the way to Birmingham; thence to proceed to London by the night train. A good conscience and honest toil make a fine recipe for securing sleep, and he was soon in a dreamless slumber in the corner where he had placed himself.

He was sensible of the stoppage of the train at various stations, but before it had started again, his head was back in the corner and his arm resting on the only article with which he had encumbered himself; this was a huge bundle, and he seemed to take as much care of it as if it had been a baby.

At length Paddington Station was reached, and he opened his eyes very wide as he saw the passengers turn out, emptying the carriages as if by magic.

More by an indistinct sense of necessity than any conviction that it was the right thing to do, he made up the rear and strode from the carriage on to the platform with his bundle in his arms; he stood there looking up and down and all around him entirely bewildered by his novel surroundings. It was about seven o'clock in the morning; the crowd had dispersed. "Dear heart!" he thought; if he could only meet with somebody who could tell him where to find Honourable Cox.

He saw several doors and office-like-looking places, but was puzzled as to the utility of applying at any one of them. "Sure London is a big place" he murmured, and something like a blank feeling of disappointment arose as he wished that he had not, from a desire to keep his enterprise a secret, refrained from making enquiries as to the whereabouts of the Honourable. His sanguine expectations of immediate success began to cool, and doubts though not regrets to arise as to whether he had been wise in his project. Suddenly he remembered "which art in heaven." And with a brightened countenance, he exclaimed, "There now, sure as I'm here, and as gaffer said, He knows all as I'm a-doing, and all as I wants"-and he leaned against the platform rail, and said softly, "O, please help me-our Father which art in heaven--please to remember poor Jarvis, and now I can't do nothing for him if I don't find the Honourable." The thought that he was not on his own errand, but on that of a brother, doubtless helped him, and his heart grew strong as his went up to heaven.

prayer

He had only just finished it when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and, turning quickly round, he saw a gentleman standing beside him. He started, and rose to his full height, which by comparison, greatly reduced the size of his companion, who looked almost nervous as he watched him going up-up-up.

"I was afraid you were ill, friend; or in trouble," he said in a kind voice, "Are you in want of anything, or anybody?"

"Ben't ill, nor in trouble, gaffer; 'bliged to thee the same, but wanting of somebody I be, sure enough."

Now Joss's faith was as near to that of a little child as possible: he had asked his Father in heaven

"No, my name is not Cox," replied the stranger, who was much taken with his simplicity; "What is he? You call him honourable;' what is his Christian name?"

"'S'pose he've got one; think it's-' Here he took a mental review of all the coal-carts and trucks with the name on it, but nothing presented itself but Honourable and Cox. He shook his head. 'Well, well! come with me to this office; we shall find a Directory there," said the stranger. "London is a large place, and Cox is a common name, but if your Cox is a Londoner, we shall find him safe enough in the Directory. I have time, I see;" comparing his watch with the clock. "Happily for you, I am much too early; my train will not start for twenty minutes.”

He then walked briskly towards the office, and Joss, rejoicing in having undoubtedly received an answer to his prayer, followed him.

"You can't remember anything but Cox?" asked the stranger, as his eye ran down the long list of those who bore that name.

"No, only as he be Honourable Cox; but that's not on the carts and trucks; but now, be's there ever a H put afore one o' them Coxes?"

Again the list was searched, and the stranger cried, "H-H—it isn't Hamilton Cox, is it? Here's the Honourable Hamilton Cox-is that the name?" "'B'lieve it's the gaffer hisself!" said Joss, who in his joy felt almost as if the object of his search was bodily in the book, and would come forth to end all his difficulties.

The stranger, who greatly admired Joss's physiognomy, which, handsome as it was, owed much of its beauty to its fine benevolent expression, said, "Then I had better write down the address for you?"

Joss assented with a grateful smile.

The stranger took a card from his pocket, and wrote the address and gave it to him, saying, Perhaps you were never in London before?"

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Joss shook his head.

"Then of course it is all perfectly strange to you?"

Joss nodded vigorously.

"Then," said his friend, "the best thing you can do is to get into a cab here; I will call one for you and tell the man to drive you to this address. It is very early; much too early for a gentleman like Mr. Cox to see people on business, I should think; but if you get driven to the house, you can wait there, I suppose?"

"Bide any time?" exclaimed Joss joyfully. "Come away, then!" said the stranger, and hailed a cab. Turning to Joss, he said, "You have money? you can afford a cab ?"

"Plenty o' money," said Joss slapping the pocket which contained all his wordly riches.

"Very good," replied the stranger, who explained to the driver that he must take his fare to the exact address on the card, for he was a stranger in London; then telling Joss what he was to pay, he left him, heartily wishing him success, and walked quickly away without staying for thanks.

"God bless thee, an' all the like o' thee!" cried Joss as he watched him vanishing into the bookingoffice. "Thee'st one o' our Father's children

hallowed be His name for sending of him to help me when I were in this fix!"

The cabman had been much struck with Joss's Goliath build and pleasant face, and wondered as much as any thorough-paced Londoner could wonder at a thing that did not concern himself, what could take a man like him to such an address as that for which he was bound.

When they had arrived at the door, he left the box to let him out.

I don't believe the servants are stirring yet," he said going up the steps, "don't think it'll be any use to ring!"

The comparative silence that reigned in the square, the closed shutters in most of the houses and other indications that his conjecture was right, made him hesitate to ring.

"It's only eight o'clock; here comes the postman?" he said, “what will you do?"

Might get some breakfast," said Joss, who felt very hungry.

The cabman told him there was a very good place at hand, cheap and clean, where he would fare well. Joss nodded, and thrusting his hand into the depths of his pocket brought out his canvas bag, from which he took a handful of coins, gold, silver, and copper, and began to consider what he had to pay.

"What was't the gaffer said I should give thee?" he asked.

The man honestly told him, but added that as he seemed to be so flush of money, glancing as he spoke at his well-filled hand, an odd sixpence over would be very acceptable to him, and could not hurt one so rich as his fare seemed to be.

Joss looked at him; he thought he looked tired, perhaps he was hungry, for his face was thin and pale.

"Hast had thee's breakfast?" he asked.

"Short commons," answered cabby. "It's hard times in London, everything is riz in price but our fares; and that comes, as you may understand, very ill-convenient."

Joss immediately paid the fare and gave him a shilling over. The man was very thankful, and took him to an eating-house near, bidding him mind the way they went, that he might find the house of the Honourable Hamilton Cox when he returned after his breakfast.

But Joss, who would not have feared to explore the most intricate recesses of a coal-mine by torchlight, was quite in the clouds in his present circumstances and surroundings; he bargained with the man to take him back when he was ready, offering him anything he liked in the shop to complement his short commons with, if he would wait, promising not to be long.

The offer was promptly accepted, and the cabman sitting on the step of the cab regaled himself to his entire satisfaction.

When Joss reappeared, his meal being over, ho

quite startled the cabman with the fine figure he made. He had unrolled his bundle, which held a cloak he had bought before starting, very ample in its dimensions and surmounted by a magnificent fur collar, fastened by a huge brass clasp and chain.

Joss not being intimate with the fashions was quite satisfied with his purchase, which he had procured at a general salesman's; who let him have it cheap as it was a very old shopkeeper.

Fashionable or not, it was remarkably becoming to him, setting off his noble form to great advantage.

"Bought this for to go to see the Honourable," he said, noticing the surprise and admiration on the cabman's face; "being all of a hurry I never thought to put it on, till I got into yon place (pointing to

the eating-house), and then I couldn't make out

where to stow it, being no room on the bench, and it come to me, On your back, man! that's where to put it.”

Many turned to look at him as he got into the cab, attracted by his imposing array; but their notice was lost on him, his mind was fixed on one object, he looked at no one, and knew not that any looked on him.

Right glad he was when he once more reached the place of his destination. The cabman, whose good breakfast had made him all alive, told him it was right now; shutters were open and he would be sure to make himself heard if he knocked or rung.

Joss, rather encumbered by his cloak, walked up the steps, and gave a hearty salute to the door with his clenched fist, that being to him the natural way of announcing his wish to be let in.

It happened that the hall-porter was close to the door, and hearing the singular summons for admission, he looked through the side-window, to ascertain if his suspicion that it was a saucy beggar were correct. He was struck with surprise on beholding the visitor, and immediately opened the door.

"Wants to see Honourable Cox," said Joss in a tone so independent, so lofty, that it vouched for his being no beggar.

The porter told him Mr. Cox was not to be seen so early, but if the gentleman would give him his card he would send it up to him.

"Card!” cried Joss much perplexed, "Ha'n't no card but this'n!" and he pulled out the address written for him by the kind gentleman at Paddington Station.

The porter examined it, and remarked that that was merely Mr. Cox's name and address; what he wanted was the name and address of the gentleman who presented it and his business.

While holding this parley he had time to make observations on the stranger, and got more and more puzzled as he went on. At first sight, Joss looked, every inch, a foreigner of distinction. Was he a Russian, or a German, or any other outlandish refugee, so many of whom were continually applying to his master for advice or other assistance? He would have decided on this being the case, but those hands, black from the grits, with a blackness which had become ingrained! Still he knew from report that foreigners were eccentric in their views of many things, cleanliness among the rest.

That he was not English he felt sure, his peculiar dialect (which, it may be remarked cannot be written down, but must be heard to have a true

5

| conception formed of it) decided that; but then, rogues and ruffians were not confined to England, this might be one from abroad, and the conviction grew as he looked at him that poor Joss was a foreign rogue and ruffian, to be got rid of at once.

CAN WE MAKE SURE OF TO-MORROW? A NEW YEAR'S SERMON.

BY THE REV. ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D., MANCHESTER. "To-morrow shall be as this day, and much more abundant." -Isaiah lvi. 12.

companions to new revelry. They are part of

'HESE words, as they stand, are the call of boon

the prophet's picture of a corrupt age when the men of influence and position had thrown away their sense of duty, and had given themselves over, as aristocracies and plutocracies are ever tempted to do, to mere luxury and good living. They are summoning one another to their coarse orgies. The roystering speaker says, "Do not be afraid to drink; the cellar will hold out. To-day's carouse will not empty it; there will be enough for to-morrow." He forgets to-morrow's headaches; he forgets that on some to-morrow the wine will be finished; he forgets that the fingers of a hand may write the doom of the rioters on the very walls of the banquetting chamber.

What have such words, the very motto of insolent presumption and short-sighted animalism, to do with New Year's thoughts? Only this, that base and foolish as they are on such lips, it is possible to lift them from the mud, and take them as the utterance of a lofty and calm hope which will not be disappointed, and of a firm and lowly resolve. which may ennoble life. Like a great many other sayings, they may fit the mouth either of a sot or of a saint. All depends on what the things are which we are thinking about when we use them. There are things about which it is absurd and worse than absurd to say this, and there are things about which it is the soberest truth to say it. So looking forward into the merciful darkness of another year, we may look at these words as either the expression of hope which it is folly to cherish, or of hopes that it is reasonable to entertain.

I. This expectation, if directed to any outward things, is an illusion and a dream.

These coarse revellers into whose lips our text is put, only meant by it to brave the future and defy to-morrow in the riot of their drunkenness. They show us the vulgarest, lowest form which the expectation can take, a form which I need say nothing about now.

But I may just note in passing that to look forward principally to anticipate pleasure or enjoyment is a very poor and unworthy thing. It is weakening and lowering every way, to use our faculty of hope mainly to paint the future as a scene of delights and satisfactions. We spoil to-day by thinking how we can turn it to the account of pleasure. We spoil tomorrow before it comes, and hurt ourselves, if we are more engaged with fancying how it will minister to our joy, than how we can make it minister to our duty. It is base and foolish to be forecasting our