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As the day advanced, the travellers became fewer; in fact, almost every man was on the ground. And before it grew much later, a wild rush of wheels and regular tramp of many hoofs was heard from afar, steadily advancing in a fresh cloud of dust; and a post-carriage, as white as if it had been powdered, and four fleet horses, with scarcely a dry hair on them, dashed up to the turnpike, when "the gates wide open flew."

John Giles caught sight of a small, spare, keenlooking gentleman inside, dictating to a secretary, and, flinging up his old hat, impetuously cried, "Hurray! hurray! hurray!".

"The Lord bless him! And now I'll trudge onward," said the pedlar, in high complacence. “I've not waited in vain, I've had my share of a nod from Billy Wilberforce, and he's come in the very nick of time, and the true Englishmen at least Yorkshiremen-will no longer be a body without a head, for he'll speak the right word at the right time, and carry every man with him. Won't he kick up a dust when he gets upon his legs!"

And the event proved the pedlar was right. The opponents of Government had contrived, as they thought, to have a meeting without Wilberforce's knowing anything about it till too late; but somehow or other the news reached Pitt, who hurried with it to his friend, whom he found just about to start with his family to church on Sunday morning. Mr. Pitt prevailed on him to set aside for once his private for his public duties, and hasten at once to his post in Yorkshire. He lent him his own carriage with four horses and outriders, for the first part of the journey, and, after a few hours' rest, Wilberforce

again started on Monday, travelled all day, studying as he went the papers Mr. Pitt had thrust into his hands, and reaching York just as his friends-the friends of religion and order-were assembled and wistfully looking around for a leader. As soon as his carriage dashed in among them, they rent the air with shouts. He led the way to the Castle-yard, where he made one of his most effective speeches, and an address and petition against seditious meetings and in favour of the King and constitution, were triumphantly carried. Other counties followed the loyal and patriotic example of Yorkshire, so that it was really a most important effort. The Bishop of Winchester remarks: "Its success was complete, and it was the direct consequence of an unflinching obedience to the dictates of his conscience, against what at the moment seemed to be personal interest." For the sentiments of many of his constituents were supposed to be against his.

Little Amy was not quite sure she had numbered every horseman after all, but she was quite sure she had reckoned three thousand; and she always afterwards remembered with glee "that wonderful day when people kicked up such a dust.”

“THE QUIVER" BIBLE CLASS.

324. What special significance is there in the fact that Malachi predicted the coming of John the Baptist as the forerunner of Christ?

325. Who was it that gave vent to violent passion, and almost immediately afterwards showed signs of deepest contrition?

326. What was the difference in spiritual gifts and natural capacity between Paul and Apollos, when we are told that the one planted, and the other watered the churches?

ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAge 752. 315. In flotes by sea to Joppa, whence it was transported overland by the "bearers of burdens" to the site of the Temple (2 Chron. ii. 16).

316. Eighty thousand (2 Chron. ii. 17).
317. "All the people stood up" (Neh. viii. 5).
318. In Job, chap. iii.

POEM FOR A CHILD.

H, how cruel spider is!
Look, he's caught that little fly;
Why does God let him do this?

Oh, I want so to know why." 'Spider, dear, must eat like you;

He wants flies as you want meat;

He must have his dinners too;
Flies to him are quite a treat."

"Why, if he is made to eat,

Must he eat up little flies?" "All God does is right, my sweet; We are blind and He is wise." W. C. BENNETT,

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to make," said Anne, one day. "I want work, and she who told the story to my informant. The woman work I must have."

She had been looking dull and spiritless of late, but she said this with all her old brightness and energy.

said she was quite a pet among the prisoners; but she could not be made to understand the loss of freedom, and was always crying to go home."

"When does she come out?" said Anne, "and

"There is always plenty of that to be had," said where will she go?" Nelly.

"I can't find it," said Anne.

"She comes out in a few days, and most likely one or other of the liberated women will carry her

"Make a beginning, and you will soon find more off, if no one else is there." than enough."

"But how am I to make a beginning, and where?"

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Anyhow and anywhere," said Nelly; "the nearer home the better. A sad thing has happened to one of our children."

"Our children," repeated Anne. "But you are right, Nelly. They are our children, and very neglectful of them have we been."

"Do you remember," Nelly went on, "a pretty little girl, with fair hair and blue eyes, and white, blue-veined skin, of whom you took notice last autumn ?"

"Yes, I remember her well; for I thought how nice she would look in her brown frock, and it turned out that she had been taken away two or three months before."

"Yes, she was taken away and adopted by a childless couple, who had made a fortune in the neighbourhood, and who took her with them to a new house they had built for themselves. She was an orphan in all but name. Her father, a common soldier, deserted her mother, and after a time the mother deserted her child."

"I will go myself," said Anne, "and rescue the poor little thing."

"Will you let me go, Anne?" said Patricia; "that work should be mine. You do not mind my going instead," she added.

"No, dear; I shail be glad for you to go.” "And you will bring her here," said Nelly, "till we can provide for her elsewhere."

It was understood among them that she could be nothing more than a passing guest. Mr. Palmer's objection to thieves was not to be overruled.

On the day appointed, Patricia set off early in the morning for the prison, and was there among the strange crowd assembled, waiting for the opening of the prison door. She was obliged to wait and watch for some little time before any one answering the description of the child appeared. There came out that morning one or two men, who slunk away alone-back, no doubt, to the haunts of vice whence they came. Where else, indeed, were they to go? Woman after woman issued from the gates, to be met by other women-companions in evil - and carried away to be treated at the nearest publie

"Horrible!" exclaimed Anne. "Did the mother house. And what women! Sin and misery, misery desert her while she was with us?"

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and sin, in infinite variations, written upon their haggard or bloated faces. Patricia was fain to ask herself, "Can there be redemption for such as these?”

Apart stood a decently-dressed woman, wrapped ia a thin shawl, in which she every now and then hid her face in uncontrollable grief. A pretty-looking young girl, with the look of a respectable servant

"Baby as she is, she is there among the most not yet effaced, came out and looked round in dismay depraved of women," said Nelly.

"For doing what ?"

on her companions, then took to weeping too. The woman came quickly forward, touched her, and spoke her name.

"Oh, mother-mother!" cried the girl, "what shall I do?"

"Come home," said the mother; and they went away weeping together.

"For stealing from her-I can hardly call her benefactress-I think. It is the saddest story. For six months they treated her as their own child. She was made to forget her former poverty and misery, and was indulged in every way, when a gay ring of the lady's was missing, a thing of which the child knew not the value-possibly thought it only a glittering toy-and, on the evidence of a servant, she An elderly woman-neither like a poor person nor was convicted of the theft and imprisoned." yet like a lady-had spoken to almost every one "What merciless wretches!" said Anne. "Who who had issued from the gates, met by some with found out about her?"

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"Poor girl!" thought Patricia; "well for her she has a mother."

a laugh and a jeering answer, and by others with half-wondering thanks. She had spoken to the respectable poor woman, and been severely repulsed, and now she spoke to Patricia. She was a missionary, sent there by a devoted band of workers bent on rescuing the lost. She gave a rapid account

TWO YEARS.

of their plans, and Patricia, in return, told of her errand of mercy. They were standing together when the little girl came forth. One of the newly-released prisoners caught her by the hand, and was leading her away. She was looking up into the woman's face and asking anxiously, "Will you take me home ?"

The woman promised readily.

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her with some acquaintances of his own-a plain, well-to-do Scotch family. He had also offered to arrange her affairs, or get them arranged for her. The only thing, indeed, that he had not offered to do was to see her safe back to England. However, when Mrs. Jobson's affairs came to be looked into, it was found that she had in reality nothing to arrange. The speculator had spent her little fortune, and the

Patricia came forward, and said in her sweet, pure shares in this and that company which represented it voice, "You are Rosa Thomas, are you not ?"

The child nodded.

"Will you come with me?"

were not worth the paper they were written on. Mrs. Jobson wrung her little hands in dismay when she learnt the truth, and declared that she

"You will take me home," said the child, with an must die, for she could neither work nor beg; and emphasis which showed greater trust in her.

Something provoked the woman to resist Patricia. "She is coming with me," she answered sullenly.

"Do you wish to make her such as these?" said Patricia, pointing to a group of leering, impudent girls. "Such as you," Patricia might have said, but she would not, wound even her.

The woman looked from one to the other-from the innocent child to the ruined girls-and said, " "Take her."

her sympathising friend told her speedily that there was no need to do either, if she did not mind changing the name of Jobson for that of Jackson.

She did not mind it at all. How should she? But even to her came the terrible fear, what if this second venture should be as bad as the first? and she trembled to take the step till it dawned upon her, in consequence of a hint which she received, that Mr. Jobson had probably married her for money, and that as she had no money her second husband could

"And let me take you," said the missionary. hardly be the same as Mr. Jobson. There might be "Have you a home?"

The woman shook her head.

"We will give you one, and a chance for a better life. You will have to work-work hard for yourself and others; that is our test. Will you come?"

The woman, and one or two others who had given the like promise and were waiting for the missionary, went with her, and Patricia took Rosa and led her away.

CHAPTER LIV.

A CONFESSION.

ANOTHER harvest had brought its golden gains to Harry Palmer-hard-earned gains enough, for he never slackened for a day, not even for an hour, in his strenuous efforts. But for this work, of which he was learning the virtue and potency, he could not have endured his life. But he knew he was useful, Mr. Ruskin notwithstanding, the grain that might have rotted on those distant plains, because the poor ignorant farmer knew not whither to send it, he sent to help to feed hungry millions on less favoured soils; and just because he did not think of himself first nor solely, but of his work, his work prosperedhis gains promised to become enormous.

He was going to New York on business-a long journey-but thousands of miles in America count less than hundreds in England, and while in New York he proposed to send another and larger remittance home.

Nor was this settlement of money matters the only business which took him to New York. He was going to a marriage—the marriage of Mrs. Jobson. Harry's friend had seen her safely to that city, and in his pity for her friendless condition had located

worse reasoning, and Mrs. Jobson was content.

Harry sped his thousand miles or so, and arrived in good time for the wedding. He found his friend in a state of seventh-heaven blessedness, enraptured with the beauty and gentleness of his bride, and filled with wonder at the strange providence which had cast this lot into his lap. He was an honesthearted, simple fellow, with a fund of affection in his nature, which promised well for the future of his wife.

Of course, Mrs. Jobson inquired after Harry's wife and sisters, and was surprised to learn that he knew nothing of them, and would hardly speak of them at all. She would have written at once to them, deploring this, and calling Harry all but an angel, only her husband-to-be prevented her.

The wedding came off to the entire satisfaction of all concerned, except that it left Harry Palmer in a very unenviable frame of mind, filled with regret and longing which he could not shake off.

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"I need to be at work again," he said to himself; 'this idleness does not agree with me. I would ge back by the next train, only there are one or two things I want to do as I am here. I must get back my watch, and I must see my old friend Mary."

For both purposes it was necessary that he should visit his old lodgings; also, but the hope was a faint one, there might be a letter awaiting him there. It was in the evening when he sought the tall, dingy house, more like a prison than a home, in which he had suffered so much. There was the slatternly landlady, looking, as Harry thought, more harassed, more slatternly than ever. She received Harry, though minus a gold chain, obsequiously.

Did he want to come back to lodge? Most of her

lodgers did come back, because she made them so comfortable.

Harry thought human conceit had never gone so far. No, he was not coming back. He stated the first object of his visit, and got the name of the jeweller to whom his watch had been sold. She didn't think it was any good his going after it; of course, it was out of the man's hands long ago.

His next question was for Mary. The landlady made answer, with a toss of the head and in a tone of particular virulence, that she had left long ago, the young hussy, and she believed no good had come of her.

"I am sorry to hear that," said Harry; "perhaps you can tell me, if not where to find her, at least, where she went on leaving you. She was very kind to me, and I should like to make her some little recompense."

The landlady knew nothing about her. Somewhat o a fiction, as she had had the pleasure of seeing her that very day, though she did not know the exact house in which she was located. She didn't want to know anything about her-" the lying, thieving creature." It was a wonder that she had not been put into prison; but she was sure to go there sooner or later. She had deceived the gentleman with her wheedling ways. She (the landlady) was certain Mary had stolen money from him, and from other lodgers.

Harry indignantly repelled the aspersion on the character of his favourite. She had had no opportunity of stealing from him, and he was certain she never had.

"You sent her messages," retorted the landlady. "I knew when she had stolen anything she ran home with it, and when you sent her a message there was no getting her back. I remember when you first came here you were always sending her to post your letters."

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Thrice," interrupted Harry.

"As likely as not she kept the money, and burned the letters. I know the ways of her."

"She dared not do such a thing," returned Harry, indignantly, and preparing to take his leave.

The landlady laughed unpleasantly. "There aren't many things they don't dare to do," she said, and closed the door, muttering to herself. Harry went direct to the jeweller, who was a pawnbroker also, and he found that his watch had been pledged, and that the pledge had since been redeemed. Bent upon accomplishing his purpose, he returned to tax the landlady with her perfidy, with almost a sense of satisfaction in finding out that she herself was far from immaculate in the matter of meum and tuum. She had planted an uneasy feeling in his mind, though he persisted in maintaining to himself that Mary was innocent of the charge which she had brought against her. He could not get rid of the thought, "What if my letters never reached

home at all?" It was a possibility that had never occurred to him, and it came to him now as a terrible dread; but there was also the remittance sent to his father nearly a year ago. It would have been possible to trace him by that, as he knew, and nothing of the kind had been attempted.

Thinking thus, he hurried back through the streets at a swinging pace. As he neared the house once more, he heard some one running behind, and a panting creature came up and touched him. He looked round.

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'Sure, I knows you, and I don't know him," said the girl.

Ah! when will men learn that unless they reflect the light of the Divine face, they darken it to such poor ignorant souls as hers? When will professing Christians learn that unless the ignorant and erring see Christ in them, they see him not at all? that their pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy are tenfold more hurtful than the sins of those whom they so bitterly condemn?

A bright idea seemed to dawn upon her at last. "If you'd only take what I owes you," she said, "I'd be aisy in my mind."

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