remember the time when I used to think the register was all that was necessary."

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"I fear," replied the clergyman kindly, "that many people make the same mistake; but if they would only submit to the teaching of the Church in the persons of their pastors, they would soon find out their error."

"I am sure, sir," said Mrs. Martin, "I dearly love my church, and I have reason to be truly thankful to GOD, Who put into your heart to come among us.

Well, Mrs. Martin," replied the kind rector, "always love that Church, and never forsake the good old paths;' and to conclude with the Rev. W. Gresley's words, 'Long may England be blessed with her Apostolic Church, and may her children, who know her value, and enjoy her privileges, (and confirmation, Mary, is one,) use their best endeavours to extend her holy ministrations to every corner of the earth.' Then may we hope that GOD will continue to bless us, and 'that we may be His people, and that He may be our God.'"

It was the winter after the confirmation, when Mary's father, who was a woodman, met with a bad accident, and cut his leg very badly when felling a tree, so badly, indeed, that he was obliged to have it amputated; and in consequence could work no longer. The family struggled on as long as they were able, but at last were almost starving; for the little money that Mrs. Martin could procure did not find them in bread. At last Mary said that she could not bear that her mother should slave herself so, and that she would go and ask the clergyman's wife what she had better do; so she dressed herself in her best attire, and set out to the rectory. Mrs. Howard received her very kindly, and after hearing what she had to say, told her that the best thing she could do was to go to service, and that she would see if she could find a place for her. It was not long before Mary and her mother received a visit from their "good parson," (for so they loved to call Mr. Howard.) He told them that Mrs. Howard had asked him to call to say that they had heard of a situation which they thought would do for her at a neighbouring farmer's, to look after the poultry, and to take care of the children. "But Mary," continued the kind pastor, you must endeavour to please; and if you have any crosses to bear, (and we are all to take up our cross and follow Him,) you must consider how your mercies preponderate, and never under any affliction murmur against your heavenly FATHER, and endeavour by prayer, selfdenial, and watchfulness, to follow in the steps of the meek and holy JESUS. I hope also that you will, as often as you can, par

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take of the Holy Communion, for great, I fear, is the sin of those (who know what is right, as you do, Mary,) who turn their backs upon the Holy Altar; and now that you are confirmed it ought to be one of your greatest blessings to do so."

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Mary went to her place, and by following the clergyman's advice, behaved so well that she quite won the esteem of the farmer's family, and not long since she was married to the farmer's only son, and she told the good pastor that she should always look back to her confirmation and his kind teaching as the happiest events of her life.

E. A. B.

THE TWO GAMEKEEPERS,

OR,

FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES, AS WE FORGIVE THEM THAT

TRESPASS AGAINST US.

IN a lovely glen, situated in the west of England, under one of the finest of the Mendip hills, were scattered a few and distant cottages, occupied chiefly by the labourers employed on the estate of the squire to whom most of the property around belonged. Indeed, the look of these rural homes, and their approach, proved that the grounds were private, and strictly kept, though far distant from the landlord's dwelling and extensive domain. Steep, slippery, and grass-grown tracks were to be discovered at every turn, leading through the low evergreens of Arbutus, Laurustinus, and Yew, whilst rocky crags rose one above the other, each from beneath appearing as the summit of the picturesque hill; but on being reached, higher points and far more steep were perceptible; and thus led on from rock to rock amidst the enchanting wildness of the scene, you found yourself drawn upwards as by a magnetic influence, and felt astonished when the top was reached, and you beheld the depth of the valley below, yes, so much deeper than it seemed while traversing it. The little cottage which a few minutes ago was quite distinct is now hardly visible, the bare chimney tops being hid by the dark foliage of the huge elms which, when below, appeared towering so high above them; and the eye may now look down upon the topmost branches, and watch the solitary crow cradled in its stern seclusion. On the other side

how beautiful the scene! Distant lies the wide spreading curve of the Bristol Channel and the Holme's Island, which many a sad heart has looked upon for the last time, when leaving its country's sheltering shores for the vain gold and treacherous suns of India. To the right and left may be seen the broken ridges of the Mendip range, and as the eye continues to descend on either side, cottages and villages lie embedded in their woodland nests, whilst the guardian tower or spire rising above all man's other works, proclaims by the Church's signal, where man lives, there lives GOD also. And be it noticed, that wherever houses are congregated, the inhabitants never seem to progress in temporal or spiritual things till a church or spire (so to speak) is raised near them.

On the beautiful hill just described there stood, one bright afternoon in September, a young man, gazing, admiring, and reflecting on the scene he for the first time beheld, whilst now and then he could not help giving vent to his feelings in words such as these: "How happy one would be amid this beautiful scenery and peaceful retirement, and how blessed are they who live thus far from the crowded towns, 'from strife and tumult far,' for surely they, like their homes, must live far from the world and near to GOD, and as GOD is love, so love must abound." Charles Hamilton was on a first visit to his old college friend, Mr. Stuart, who had not long been in possession of the living to which this beautiful hamlet was attached. He was somewhat Mr. Stuart's junior, being still an Oxford student, and, full of that healthful enthusiasm and energy which study and recreation seldom fail to produce, had readily obeyed his friend's order to find his own way up the hill, where he would soon join him in time to watch the beauty of the sunset that might be expected from the loveliness of the afternoon, having first to visit some of his parishioners situated in a remote part of the valley. Thus they parted: Hamilton to give vent to his vivid imagination, and the rector to meditate and act on the more sober realities of the life present and the life to come. It was a long and winding course Mr. Stuart had to take ere he could arrive at the cottage he desired to visit, as it lay on the opposite side of the hill to that on which these friends had separated. Could a tunnel have been cut right through, it would speedily have taken Mr. Stuart to his destination, but as it was, he must either climb the rugged hill and descend the opposite side, or else continue his course round the wide circling valley. This plan he adopted, for notwithstanding its being the longest as to distance, it was more level, and accomplished with greater speed and ease. At length the sick labourer was visited, read and prayed with, and Mr. Stuart per

ceiving from the cottage clock, as compared with his own time, that it was later than he thought, began to ascend by the nearest track the steep hill that would lead him to his friend. Here and there the startled hare ran across his pathway, or the Rector in his turn was surprised by the whirring sound of the rising pheasant, on whose covert he had so noiselessly intruded. He had not proceeded far when the sudden report of a gun aroused him from his reverie, and the scream which followed told that something more than usual had occurred, and that not far distant. Mr. Stuart hastily followed the path which led in the direction from whence the report came, and before many minutes, on turning a sharp angular rock, perceived a fine young man, about the age of thirty, stretched upon the ground, with blood flowing profusely from his temple. Three men were leaning over him with an expression of sorrowful sadness, whilst one older man, with a face of Cain-like hatred, was doggedly walking in the opposite direction, afraid to look behind him, as he muttered, "I have done it at last." It may be considered strange that a murderer should have been thus permitted to retire unmolested, or that he should not have made an effort to save his life by escape. But so it was. Drinking and sinful habits had hardened his conscience against the fear of murder and the dread of death, so that, strengthened by the power of Satan, and forgetful of Him Who alone is able to cast both soul and body into hell, the murderer sullenly proceeded to the village ale house, where in his seldom vacant corner he continued to drink away any convictions that might have arisen till the summons of the constables arrived not many hours afterwards.

The young men at the first hoped life was not quite extinct in poor M'Intyre, and their instant desire was to stay the bleeding by propping him up whilst they bound the wound, trusting by this means life and animation might be restored, but all was in vain. When Mr. Stuart had sufficiently recovered his horror and astonishment to enable him to collect his ideas, he said to the young men, all of whom were well known to him, "How is this, is it accidental?" "No, no, sir," they replied with full hearts, "but it is unexpected. Joseph Assender has shot poor M'Intyre;" and truly he had, for he was dead, yes, quite dead!

Donald M'Intyre was a fine, handsome young Scotchman, beloved by all who knew him for his justice, his kindness, and respectability. He lived in the gamekeeper's cottage at the foot of the hill, before described as being so hid from the Toot (a name by which the hill was known.) In that peaceful home had dwelt not only the young gamekeeper, but a still younger wife and two fine children. To her the sad tidings must not be suddenly borne, for she was ere long again to be a mother. The

Rector therefore, seeing that nothing more could be done for the dead, desired at once to seek and comfort the living. Ordering the men to take care of the body, and if they required more assistance to obtain it, for he wished some time to elapse ere they brought their sad charge home, which necessarily must have been the case, owing to the rugged and difficult descent; in the meantime he began to pursue his steps downwards, for the purpose of preparing the heart of the wife to know that she was a widow, when the thought rushed upon his mind that it would be better not to go alone, and that he had rather have the assistance of his friend Hamilton under such trying circumstances. So giving wings to his feet, he bounded up the steep crags by the shortest way, and there found him deep in the soliloquy before given. "O Stuart," he exclaimed, on seeing him coming towards him, "I am lost in the love of this lovely spot; and when I just now heard the echo of that gun, it made me long to be one of Mr. Squire's (or whatever his name is), gamekeepers. But why do you look so sad and grave? what has happened?" These last words were spoken with as much rapidity as he moved from the rock against which he was leaning to meet his friend, perceiving his breath as well as colour had almost forsaken him.

“Oh, Hamilton, my dear fellow, come with me,” said Mr. Stuart; “we must not wait, and I will tell you how much has happened since we parted; then too soon will your bright visions fleet away, and, if you still hold your old theory, you will now be convinced the power of sin and Satan is as strong in the country as in the towns, and that hatred dwells with love in the most lovely spots." He then told him all that had taken place, adding, "My task is heavy, I am unequal to it; but it is comforting to know my God is perfected in weakness, and His strength is sufficient for me. Let us pray.”

So saying, they paused, and kneeling down upon the green sward, with folded hands and earnest hearts bent their uncovered heads against the rock that was at their side, whilst from the Rector's lips fell these broken words from the Church's prayers, known to him so far better than any others from their frequent repetition :

"O FATHER of mercies and GOD of all comfort, our only help in the time of need, we fly to Thee for succour in behalf of Thy afflicted servant suffering under Thy heavy hand. Grant to us, LORD, the spirit to think and to act towards her in such a way as shall be rightful, and because through the weakness of our mortal nature we can do no good thing without Thee, grant us the help of Thy grace, and pour upon us the continual dew *· of Thy blessing, to speak not our own words, and to act not in