But Mr. Richmond kindly told the men that now they had nothing to do but partake of the lunch, and, as he would not infringe on their working time afterwards, the conversation he wished to hold with them must be deferred till the evening; if they would then all meet him again at the young men's class-room in the Sunday-schools at seven o'clock, he would be happy to tell them something over which he had had many very serious thoughts.

"All right, master; we'll be there, we hope !" exclaimed the men, one and all; and Mr. Richmond left them free to enjoy his liberal hospitality, albeit without any ale of that sort called "home-brewed!"

*

When Mr. Richmond, punctual to his appointment, entered the class-room, he found not only his eighteen guests already assembled, but also a closely-packed audience, who awaited his entrance in orderly silence, and then, as if to atone for past bad conduct, arose as one man to their feet to acknowledge his friendly salutation.

"We are in for it; he has brought a Bible," whispered Symes.

"Whatever he has brought I mean to listen to him, and attentively, too," answered his companion, settling himself into a listening attitude.

"Thank you, my friends," exclaimed Mr. Richmond, who had just caught their words in passing; "I am glad you are determined to attend to what I have to say; the more so as I am not going to speak my own words, but those of a much wiser man than I, who spoke hundreds of years ago as he was moved by the Holy Spirit of God.1 Shall I begin?"

"Go on, sir; go on, if you please."

Mr. Richmond then opened his Bible, and in a loud, clear voice, read as follows:

"He that answereth a matter before he heareth it, it is folly and shame unto him!'"2

“He means Joe, as raised the report, I'll be bound," whispered Symes, with a significant look towards another part of the room.

Mr. Richmond paused, and raising his voice said: "Do not let us bring forward any Joe, or John, or James, where the cap fits, but let us substitute 'me' or 'I,' and we shall be sure to hit the mark." Then returning to the Bible he read, "The words of a tale-bearer are as wounds.'"1

There was a visible wince amongst the folks, but unheeding it, Mr. Richmond turned over a page and read on, laying great emphasis on each word: "He that repeateth a matter, separateth very friends;' 'A whisperer-separateth -chief friends.'"

“I can't stand any more!" cried Symes, starting to his feet; "and if your honour will only please to forgive us, and say no more about it, you will find we have learnt a lesson we shall not forget quickly."

"I forgive you with all my heart and soul, my friends; but I cannot promise to 'say no more about it,' for I have two more things to say, and then I am sure I shall not again have need to revert to the subject.”

Symes dropped into his seat, and folding his arms on the back of the next seat, laid his head down on them in great distress of mind.

"The words that I am now going to read are from a greater than Solomon. Our Lord said, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged: for with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged; and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.' Now, it is clear from these texts that whoever judges his neighbour, as you have judged me, commits, in the first place, a great sin against God, by disobeying His command, ‘Judge not;' and secondly, he commits the greatest folly imaginable-he lays up retribution for himself in the form of receiving such measure as he has given, and being himself judged by similar harsh and often unrighteous judgment. It is just because I would have you 1 Prov. xviii. S.

spare the rod for yourselves, that I beseech you to take heed how you deal blows to others."

"Sir," cried Symes, once more starting up, "Sir, please, I take the blame, every bit of it, on myself! It was I who spread the report. When I was mending a pane of glass at your house, I saw you at your lunch; you were reading and eating together, so you did not notice me. You had cold beef, and there was something in a tumbler by your side that looked exactly like a glass of strong brown ale. So, says I to my mates, 'That old Richmond is a sly fox; he pretends to abstain, and all the while he takes his glass in secret. I'll be bound that was a strong bitter he was drinking, for he seemed to relish it uncommonly.' There, now, sir, I have confessed; and may God forgive the injury I've done one of the best gentlemen going by my foolish tongue!"

"Come now, enough of this; I am not going to let you take all the blame. I let myself in for a full share of it," exclaimed Mr. Richmond, pleasantly.

"How so, sir?" came from more than one voice.

"Because I also should have remembered the text, 'Abstain from all appearance of evil;' and I advise any of you who wish to substitute cold tea without milk or sugar for beer, to take it in an honest teacup, and not in a tumbler, if you do not wish to incur the charge of private tippling. And next, I have myself frequently called my beverage 'home-brewed,' and offered it to friends as such; so when I heard your remarks at the meeting yesterday, I could not help smiling to see how my folly had returned on my own head. Now then, my friends, I hope we have all learnt a lesson; and we shall be happier men and women, ay, and children, too, if we practise it. When our blessed Lord gave that command, 'Judge not,' He gave it in loving-kindness as well as in righteousness, because He would save the judged from the bitter pain it often inflicts to have their acts misinterpreted; and He would save the judger from reaping the fruits of his own uncharitableness. Good-night,

Symes; thank you for your manly candour; remember the events of this night are not too insignificant to take to the throne of grace, for that spirit of Christian love and charity, which alone can keep us from injuring our neighbour with our tongue, is only to be obtained by seeking it from God, who, by sending His Holy Spirit into our hearts will purge out from us the works of the flesh, amongst which 'evil speaking' takes a very prominent place. Good night, my friend." Then offering Symes his hand, and nodding kindly to all the rest of the company, Mr. Richmond left the room, but stopping a minute in the doorway he called out"Evil is done by want of thought,

As well as want of heart."

A Blessed Exchange; or, Wealth and Poverty.

HE days we live in are often spoken of as fast, busy times, in which everybody is engrossed over business, and hastening to be rich. Many are rapidly

growing rich, while others who remain poor look with envious eyes on the more fortunate, until all in common are apt to forget that there are things in existence of more value than gold and estates; that there are blessings to be had for the seeking which the greatest earthly wealth cannot purchase, though to gain them many have gladly parted with all their goods, or even with life itself. To make my meaning clear, I purpose telling you a true story.

Many years ago, or in the closing years of the last century, there lived in one of the eastern counties of England, a young man, who, as the reader of these lines may have done, perhaps, or as other youths whom you know may have done, looked eagerly towards London as a more promising sphere wherein to push his fortune than could be found in the quiet country district in which he was born and reared. He was quite a poor lad, but having determined on improv

ing his condition after settling in London, he heartily began his upward career as a journeyman tailor. He appears to have pleased his employer by working hard and by rendering faithful service; and all know what industry, sobriety, and frugal habits lead unto-saving money. The humble tailor saved money, and found his reward when the time came round-which most young artizans long to welcome-the time for beginning business on his own account. He took a shop of his own, and the experiment proved successful. Then the business grew larger and larger still. In a word, he, who only shortly before was but a mere journeyman, rose step by step until he became master of one of the largest establishments of its kind in the best part of London, and until he found himself the owner of a hundred thousand pounds. How enviable must this man's life now have appeared to outsiders! He could lay his hand on everything which wealth could command. There were servants to do his bidding. There was a convenient house in London, and when he grew weary of that there was another fine house in the country, whither he could retire and enjoy the fresh air and rural quiet. All these are the very things which most people ardently desire, and in their efforts to secure them they work unceasingly, and even go so far as ruining health and risking premature death. Doubtless, you, my reader, think you could be happy were you to grow rich in process of time as the journeyman tailor I am writing about. Are you quite sure that your soul would not yearn for something better, or that your sinful nature would not cry, “Give me more?" How did it happen with the once poor artizan but now wealthy merchant? Let us follow his history.

It has been proved long ago that giving a man wealth is something quite different from giving him contentment. Money creates a longing for money, until people become possessed with an infatuation which nothing short of death or misfortune can cure. The merchant of our story did not think he had yet enough, and while thinking so he invested his large capital in shares which he believed would soon