was a small place where everybody knew his neighbours, and in many instances his neighbours' business likewise. Gideon had small difficulty in finding the house of which he was in search. He stood on its single step in the dusk, and paused a moment. Then, summoning up all the nonchalance for which he had been famous, he gave the bronze knocker a couple of sharp, decisive lifts. For what seemed an age all was still again here, while the echo he had started travelled eerily down the street. Then, there came the shuffle of slippered feet along a passage, the drawing of a latch, and the door stood open. Was this careworn, sad-faced man who, lamp in hand, confronted him Gideon's brother? Gideon himself was partly in the shade, and although the lamp's rays flickered feebly towards him he was unrecognized. Robert Grenton was leaving it for his visitor to tell his errand.

"I'm an old acquaintance of yours. I called to see you on a matter of importance," Gideon began. The years had altered him almost as much as Robert, but the voice-when does time touch that? The listener started as though a galvanic shock had gone through him. He held his lamp on high and took a narrower scrutiny.

"An old acquaintance?" he said slowly. "Pray come in. An old acquaintance? My brotherJames !"

There was no longer any attempt at disguise; and if the two did not exactly fall on each other's necks and embrace in the true stage fashion their greeting was none the less a moving and an affectionate one. There are moments when years of alienation are bridged over once and for ever; when jealousy, hate, suspicion look the paltry motives they are and take their proper places as the defeated foes of the soul. This was one.

In a very little while the brothers were sitting in the same room to which our story first introduced us. James Grenton's identity with Gideon Hoole was still unrevealed,

"I am alone just now, except for my daughter, Milly," Robert said; "and Milly is gone to-night to a young people's service. My wife is at Liverpool, nursing my son, who is ill there. But youI thought you were dead."

"And James Grenton has been dead a good many years now," replied the shipowner. "Allow me to offer you my card." He drew a plain card-case from his pocket, and laid one of its tiny slips on the table. "Gideon Hoole!" cried Robert Grenton, rising with the surprise. "You are Gideon Hoole-Martin's master! You have taken another name and the boy has been working for his uncle-ran away from his uncle! Is this true, or some mistake?

"Quite true," answered Gideon, with a thread of sadness running through his words. "That is why I refused to see you when you came to Burlham. My secret would have been out if we had met; and I was not prepared for that then; I had not been tried enough. But there is much to tell-a strangelylinked chain all round. I met Edith-Miss Blainean evening or two ago. It was she who took compassion on Martin at Liverpool-or rather on board. the steamer Alica, out at sea, in the first instance." Step by step the story of these mysteriously interwoven lives was made plain to each. We, who are behind the scenes, shall not need to follow the narration. There were problems to explain, con

3.7

fessions of wrong to make, forgiveness and forbearance to claim. Such a conference is sacred.

"And God has led us both into the light," said Robert Grenton softly; "His hand has been with us both; adversity and prosperity are alike His ministers and do His bidding. I have been sighing and repining these many months at my last trial, at Martin's loss, and never even dreamed that it was God's way of answering an old petition-that, if you were living, we might, after all, be reconciled. It should be ours to trust Him always."

"Amen," said Gideon, in a tone equally solemn and equally earnest.

The younger brother's stay in Hollingdale was prolonged some days, and thus it came about that, to Martin Grenton's infinite astonishment, the first face he saw, after his father's and Milly's, on reaching home was that of his late master. But for Varcourt's communication and the pleasant smile that reigned upon Gideon Hoole's countenance, the boy would have been almost frightened at this circumstance. As it was the whole story had to be gone over again for his mother's and his especial benefit.

"And so Martin dear," whispered Milly, hugging him, "we've not only got you back, but I've got a new uncle as well."

"Please don't squeeze quite all the breath out of me, pussy," he answered; "I'm not strong enough to pay you back yet."

"But you soon will be, Martin," said Gideon; "you are not so pale as I expected to see you, from what I heard from Miss Blaine."

"Miss Blaine?" echoed Martin doubtfully, "Yes, the lady that nursed you first. Her name is Blaine, really, whatever you heard."

"Well, then Miss Blaine's an angel," said Martin gratefully.

"I believe you," came his uncle's deep voice.

The episode of Maurice Varcourt's crime, capture, and dying confession remained to be told in turns by Martin and his mother. In so far as its information bore on the share of Gideon Hoole in Martin's flight, it was already stale; but in its vivid picture of the evil consequence of unchecked pleasure-seeking and sin, it touched all hearts.

"Poor fellow!" said the shipowner, "I knew nothing about him when I engaged him—a long while before Martin came to Burlham-but I soon had reason to think he was going wrong, and I kept a watch over him much stricter than he suspected. I have forgiven him though, like Martin, and I hope that, after all, he repented."

"Martin, I should think, like the rest of us, has learnt his own lessons from his adventures," said Robert Grenton gravely; "has learnt how terribly easy it is to go downhill; how one false step leads to another, and then on, on, on, if not mercifully stopped by some trial; or if the trial is not heeded, until the goal of ruin is reached; has learnt that while "wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths are peace,' "he that soweth iniquity shall reap vanity.'

"Even more than that, father," answered Martin; "I have learned that he who does the right may have the courage to trust God to bring him through, and needn't run away from the result of his decision, however dark it looks around."

Gideon Hoole, with an infinitely lighter heart, was

myself at all in danger. I can drink a glass of beer or a glass of wine and have done with it.

ALICE. You remember the words of the old Book-"My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not." You are just the one that is likely to be led astray. Full of fun, with a light and genial heart, with an open purse, how easy for you to form evil habits before you are even aware of their existence! Edgar, think of it, and see if you cannot help us in our new work.

EDGAR (thoughtfully).—I will think of it, but I cannot promise you much help. You know, I like my freedom. I like to be able to drink or leave it alone, just as the opportunity serves. (Bell rings.) Ah! ah! there's Frank and half-a-dozen other fellows come for me to be off to the “Hare and Hounds," so I must ask you to excuse me running away so abruptly. Do let me know how your cold water mission goes on. (Foices of boys crying, "Come along, Edgar!"') There, you hear, cousin; they are calling me. Good-bye. (They shake hands. Exit Edgar.)

ALICE.-Yes, the little plot is developing itself. Our cousin little knows how many are conspiring to save him from evil habits and evil companions. He is one of the right sort, and worth a deal of trouble, if we can only succeed in getting him into our ranks. Ah, me! how true it is what the poet tells us :

"Ill habits gather by unseen degrees,

As brooks run rivers, rivers run to seas." Now let me see where I am going (opening basket and taking out the several articles.) There is half a pound of tea for poor Mrs. Williams, there is a little roll of flannel for baby Tomkins, a packet of sweetmeats for little Tommy; and then I must go on to the Children's Hospital and take this doll to little Lucy Matthews. Well, it does make me happy (putting the several articles back in the basket) when I do a little to bring sunshine into dark homes and hearts. It is not much I can do, but all I can shall be done well and thoroughly. Now I must be off. (Takes up basket and exit.) SCENE II.-The library in Edgar Fletcher's house. Enter Edgar and Frank Thompson, both dressed in jerseys, and fresh from the "Hare and Hounds," Edgar looking very fatigued, Frank very lively.

EDGAR.-I cannot make it out; I am so fatigued I can hardly hold my head up. What is the cause of this feeling I cannot tell, while you, Frank, look as fresh as a lark on a spring morning.

FRANK.-I think I can tell you the secret of it, old boy: I am a staunch abstainer, and as you know, I drank nothing but milk at the close of the chase, while, if I remember rightly, you drank two glasses of ale.

EDGAR.-There you are again-on the same old theme. What with Mr. Baxter, Aunt Cassell, Cousin Alice and you, I am always being lectured on this watery subject. Oh, dear, my head! how it aches! Do you know, Frank, I sometimes think I skall not make old bones; for, after every game, I feel so worn out I am fit for nothing.

FRANK.-I will tell you why: you are trusting to a false stimulant; and when the stimulous has gone off, it leaves you wretched and miserable. Now, the best athletes never touch intoxicating liquors while engaged at their sports; some, indeed, are staunch abstainers at all times. Haulan the champion sculler, Weston the great walker, and Grace the cricketer, are all examples of abstinence from intoxicating drinks.

EDGAR.-Frank, my dear boy, I wish I had your bravery; you don't mind the sneers of the big fellows when they see you drinking your glass of milk. You know I cannot stand ridicule. I would give anything for your spirit. (A knock.) Come in. (Enter servant, bringing a card for Edgar.) Mr. Martineau, my Sunday-school teacher. Ask him upstairs, Mary. (Exit servant.) You will like him, Frank; he is such a jolly fellow-just the one for boys. (Enter Mr. Martineau.) How do you do, sir (shaking hands); I can hardly tell you how delighted I am to see you. This is my friend Frank Thompson. I am sure you will find him a suitable companion for me, for he is already a lieutenant in the Cold Water Army.

MR. MARTINEAU.-I am sure I am delighted to make the acquaintance of your companion. (Frank and Mr. M. shake hands.) Hearing of your return from school, I was very anxious to see you; but I am afraid I shall only bring sorrow with me.

EDGAR-Sorrow, Mr. Martineau! Why, what is the matter? MR. MARTINEAU.-Your old companion, Martin Wilson, is dead.

EDGAR AND FRANK.-Dead!

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MR. MARTINEAU.-Yes; and he died the death of a suicide. Listen to this. (Reads from newspaper.) "Yesterday, was found floating on the river, near Westminster Bridge, the body of a young man who has been identified as Martin Wilson. It is supposed that inaccuracy in his accounts at his place of business was the cause of this dreadful act." My dear boys, it is the old, old story, of which I have spoken so much and so often in the class-love of pleasure, visits to music halls, drinking and gambling with his companions, and then, to pay his debts, taking money that belonged to his master.

FRANK.-Mr. Martineau, Edgar and I are discussing the evil influences of alcohol on the human system. I say that it cannot strengthen, but that, really and truly, it takes away the strength.

MR. MARTINEAU.-You are right. The hardest workers the world has ever produced in many instances have been abstainers. Among soldiers we have the brave Havelock and our modern hero, General Roberts; among philanthropists, John Howard; among preachers, John Wesley; among philosophers, Dr. Johnson; among statesmen, John Bright; and I might mention many others who hold high places in the history of the world, and they have all abstained from drinking intoxicating liquors.

EDGAR.-Excuse me, sir, but are there not many respectable persons who take a glass of wine occasionally, and are none the worse. Surely it is not right to suppose that I must necessarily become a drunkard because I am a very moderate drinker. MR. MARTINEAU.-I do not say so. It is possible you may escape; but remember the temptations to which you expose yourself are very powerful. In London alone there are sixty miles of beer-shops, public-houses, and gin palaces; and, in one year alone, forty thousand persons were taken up for drunkenness. You know yourself that there is hardly a family anywhere but has some sad tale to tell of misery pro duced by the intoxicating cup. Who, then, is safe-the one who drinks or the one who abstains? (Enter Alice suddenly.)

ALICE.-Who is safe? The one who abstains; for abstinence is the only perfectly safe path. Edgar, you must give way! You must give our principles a fair and honest trial!

FRANK (taking hold of Edgar's left hand.)—Yes, do, Edgar; come over on our side.

I am

MR. MARTINEAU (taking hold of Edgar's right hand.)—Yes, my boy, give way to good impulses and influences. certain you will never regret signing the pledge. EDGAR (seriously).-Dear cousin, Mr. Martineau, and Frank, I thank you all for being so interested in my welfare. I cannot understand how it is there are so many influences round me to-day, trying to lead me in the right path. I think some of you have been plotting. Yes, I will sign, and, for better or worse, I will this day renounce the pipe and glass.

(Enter servant and half a dozen schoolboys.) ALICE. Here is the book (taking it out of her basket.) I am always on the look-out for customers. Here, Edgar, write your name on that line.

FRANK.-Shall I guide your hand, old boy? (Edgar signs.) SCHOOL-BOYS (in chorus).-Bravo, Edgar! You will soon be a captain in the Cold Water Army!

(They all stand in a half-circle, Alice in the centre.) its end. I am sure you must admit the truth of what has ALICE. Ladies and gentlemen, our little plot has gained been said. May we hope that you also will aid us in the work we have undertaken? We cannot hope to succeed without we have the assistance of parents and teachers; but if stem the torrent of intemperance. To the young, who are we work and pray in unity we shall be able to do much to faithful in their promises to abstain, temperance will be a friend, bringing health, prosperity, and happiness; and, in will be able to say, with Shakespeare,— old age, when the snows of winter are on their heads, they

PART VI.-" Perils in Great Waters."

the annual district meetings held at St. Christopher's,

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great waters." By a mysterious providence the deep blue sea has become the grave of mary an ardent messenger of the Cross. Called

their duties. The voyage, under ordinary circumstances, only occupied about twenty-four hours, but during the first night a storm arose, which threatened

away suddenly, in the midst of multifarious labours, when to human judgment they could be least spared, the cold, cruel waves have engulfed them, and the restless sea has hidden them from sight. Many others have suffered bitterly, and have just escaped with life, being rescued when all hope seemed gone. They have been saved and brought back to life from the very jaws of death. Among others, the following touching incidents are well worth recording in our pages::

On February 26th, 1826, a mission-party of fourteen individuals sailed in the Maria, from Montserrat, for Antigua, West Indies. The party consisted of five Wesleyan missionaries, three of their wives, four children, and two nurses. They had been away from their several stations in the West Indies, attending

danger. Next day the storm increased, and huge waves began to wash over the bulwarks of the vessel. Still, no great alarm was felt, as Antigua was in sight, and the man at the look-out gave out the cheering cry, "Land, ho!" Just at this moment the vessel turned on her beam ends, the passengers were thrown down violently on the cabin floor, and the sea washed down into the cabin, adding to the terrors of the situation. The sailors were alarmed; the captain exclaiming, "Oh, my vessel! will become of us?" The children were screaming with affright, and the women collecting those children together, as if determined to cling to them in death. Hoping to save the vessel, the captain ordered all the masts and rigging to be cut away, but in vain, for very soon the Maria began to break up. It was

What