numbered ten, and she was so little and slight as to seem very much younger. She answered readily, “It means giving away money to poor people, does it not, aunt?" "You are partly right, my child, but it means a great deal more than that; come and read the Epistle for to-day with me.” And while Alice read, her aunt explained such words as were too hard for the little girl. "Do you think you understand it quite now, Alice?" asked Miss Mellanby. "Yes-I think so-I am nearly sure," answered Alice slowly, as she was looking thoughtfully at the words she had been reading; "but, dearest aunt, I don't think people ever do all this. I am sure we don't-do you think we do, aunt?" Miss Mellanby smiled at the simplicity of the question, “No, Alice, I am afraid neither you nor any of us do all these things, so well as we ought, but I hope we try to do them as much as we can. We can always try, you know.” “Yes, aunt Clara,” said Alice, “but I don't think people ever do try; at least, I mean the people here that I know. I suppose you try, and all good people." Suppose you begin to try now, my own Alice," said Miss Mellanby, without directly noticing her niece's last words, which had called a momentary look of pain into her face: “see,‘charity thinketh no evil;' you know what that means? then suppose now instead of thinking evil of others, you try to be charitable, and to think well of them; to hope all things and believe all things good of them which you possibly can." “But, aunt, I was not thinking evil of any one just now; indeed, aunt Clara, I was not," said the little girl, very earnestly. "Did you not say," asked her aunt gently, “that none of the people about you try to be charitable?" "But, aunt, I really don't think they do." "Hush, my love, you should not speak so; dearest Alice, you will try to be charitable, will you not?” “Yes, aunt, if I can. "Then now try not to think any more what you said just now. Try to believe that all other people are wishing and trying to do right. It is sometimes hard to do even that; but not too hard if we have a good will. You are not always so good as you wish to be, are you?" "Oh no, aunt, never," exclaimed Alice, sadly. "Then perhaps other people say, when they see you do wrong, What a naughty little girl Alice Selford is. I don't believe she ever wishes or tries to be good at all.'" "But that would not be true at all, aunt, for I always wish, and I try too sometimes." "Then don't you think it may be the same with those people you spoke of just now; only you don't know their secret endeavours?" Alice stood silent and thoughtful; then she said in a low tone, "Aunt, I was very uncharitable when I said that. I did think evil of others." Miss Mellanby drew her close and, kissing her fondly, said "Now I think my Alice understands those words the best of all. And you will find that nothing will teach you the meaning of anything so well as doing

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it." "But I am so little; there are so few things I can do, aunt."

Just then the door was suddenly flung open, and Alice's youngest sister ran in exclaiming, "Oh Ally, do come and get me my picture-book; I can't reach it; do come now, Ally!" Alice looked rather vexed and said, "I can't come now, Kate; don't you see I am talking to aunt Clara? why can't you ask nurse, or some one else?" "Make Alice get my book, dear auntie; do make her get it," cried the little girl, running up to her aunt. Miss Mellanby looked at Alice, and then said, "I think Alice will get it for you, Katie, will you not, Alice?" Alice went immediately, without speaking. When she returned, she was still silent till her aunt said, "You had a good opportunity just now, Alice, of doing something charitable." "How, aunt?" she asked. "Look yourself, Alice; 'charity suffereth long and is kind, is not easily provoked-you did not think of that, my dear, did you?" "O aunt, I shall never remember it all; I have been twice uncharitable while you have been talking about it, although I was really going to try to be always charitable: it is all of no use, aunt Clara," she continued, bursting into tears, "it is of no use to wish; I can never, never remember; I shall never be good;" and her tears and sobs came thicker and faster. Miss Mellanby drew her very close, and kissed her silently more than once, while poor little Alice cried bitterly. "You should not talk so, my own child; you must not despair, dearest Alice," she whispered, while her own eyes filled with tears, “it is hard, I know, very hard to do right, and most hard when we first begin; but we must never give it up in despair; we must still try the more, the harder it is, and you know well, Alice, that we can do right if we will. You have not forgotten what we have so very often talked about?" "You mean about Baptism, do you not, aunt?" asked Alice. "Yes, dearest, you know that in Baptism you had power and grace given to enable you 'manfully to fight against the world, the flesh, and the devil'-power and strength to have victory and to triumph, the fulness of grace,' yes, even the HOLY SPIRIT' Himself to dwell in you and sanctify you, and help and keep you for ever;-but we have so often talked about all this, darling, you remember it, Alice?" "Yes, aunt, I remember now, but I don't feel as if I had any power or strength." Miss Mellanby was silent again for some time, during which Alice's tears ceased to fall; then she said, "Do you remember, Alice, what a trouble Lucy had yesterday with her spelling lesson. She said at first that it was too hard, that she should never never know it, that she could not learn it; and yet at last she said it all through quite well." "Yes, aunt, but you helped her to learn it, you made her read each word over so many many times, and you heard her try to say it so often; and when she

could not, you went through it all over and over again, oh, so often! I too thought she would never know it." "Yes, Alice, it was just so; and don't you think Lucy's spelling lesson is a little like learning to be good?" Alice laughed, then after a little thought, she said, "Yes, aunt, but you helped her; she could never have learnt it by herself." "Yes," said Miss Mellanby, very softly, “and we also want to be helped; you mean that, dear Alice? Yes, neither you, nor I, nor any other can learn it by ourselves. But, dearest Alice, there is One Who will, Who does help us, Who will never tire of helping us again and again all our lives long, if we only keep on really and heartily wishing and trying to do right. It is He Who gives you good wishes, and He will most surely help you to do also. Not quite directly, but a little at a time, we must go on learning to be better all our lives. Do you know what I mean, dear Alice?" "Yes, aunt," she whispered, "I do know-but-but I should not be always so very naughty, if—if—.” "You mean that if God always helped you to be good, you would never do wrong? But you must not think so, or you will doubt and distrust Him; we all have so very many bad feelings and tempers in us, that it is very very hard to get rid of them, so hard that we can never do it entirely till we die. But this must not make us despair, but rather try the harder. Look again at this Epistle, Alice. Charity hopeth all things, believeth all things.' You see we may be uncharitable towards GOD as well as towards our fellow-creatures. We must always believe firmly in His help, and hope to do all things by that help. Never say again, it is too hard; but when such a thought comes into your heart, go and kneel down in some quiet place, and ask GOD to give you faith and trust in Him. You know what I mean quite, dearest Alice?" "Yes, aunt, quite," she replied, while her eyes and face were full of solemn thoughts. "Now it

is nearly time for Church, so we will not talk any more; but you will think over all this while you get yourself ready." Alice suddenly threw her arms round her aunt's neck," Dear, dear, dear aunt Clara," she whispered, before she left the room.

Alice Selford's mother had died at the time that little Kate (who was now five years old) was born; her father was a lawyer, and so busily occupied that he seldom saw his children, but for a few minutes morning and evening. Alice and two brothers older than herself went to day-schools in the town, but while at home, all the children were left to the care of nursemaids. Alice was a clever, and generally a good little girl, and the special darling of her aunt, who annually paid them a visit of some weeks. To these visits Alice looked longingly all the year round; for she loved her aunt with that intense fondness with which a child clings to a first real friend. Miss Mellanby not merely could sympathize with Alice in feelings which no others seemed to understand, but she also

admitted the little girl to a share in her own thoughts, she made her a companion, loved, cherished, taught her. The only really religious teaching which Alice ever had was given at these times by her aunt, who though very young and self-distrustful, loved her niece too truly to be dissuaded by any feeling of unfitness from trying to lead her on to a higher and better life.

In a little while all assembled ready for Church except little Katie. Mr. Selford gave his arm to his sister-in-law, who looked round to see who would claim the vacant hand. At the same moment, Alice and Lucy ran up, the latter loudly exclaiming, "O aunt, do pray have me! it's my turn; you ought to take me; do let me walk with you, aunt Clara!" Alice only looked very imploringly at her aunt, who smiled at her, saying, “Well, I cannot have both, you know; so which is it to be? which will give up to the other?" Alice's eyes brightened, for she knew what her aunt was thinking of, and she drew back, saying, "Take Lucy, aunt." She felt almost compensated for the sacrifice she had made by the loving smile which she received; yet she was silent and grave during the walk. At Church Lucy, with a look of triumph, took possession of the next place to her aunt, Alice's own seat. Alice's eyes filled suddenly with tears, but she repressed them as quickly, and quietly occupied her sister's usual place. How glad she was when, after Church, Miss Mellanby said, "Now, Lucy, it is Alice's turn." It is true her aunt scarcely spoke to her, for she was talking to Mr. Selford, but it was such happiness to Alice only to hold her hand.

At home fresh trials awaited Alice. As all the children were together, they fell into talk about their lessons, and Alice and her brothers for some time compared notes concerning their respective schools, schoolfellows, &c. Alice repeated some praise which she had received on occasion of her remembering better than any other girl in her class a few days previously, and her brothers began to call her conceited, which vexed her so that, after some rather sharp answers, she began to cry. This only caused the boys to laugh and call her baby, till at last poor Alice, feeling bitterly miserable, escaped to her aunt's room, which however she found empty. After a time her aunt came in, and was startled and alarmed to discover Alice violently sobbing. She did all she could to soothe and comfort her, and at last Alice sat quietly on her lap, her head resting on her aunt's shoulder, her eyes red and swollen, and still a tear falling occasionally. "And now, my darling, tell me what is the matter," asked Miss Mellanby. They are all so ill-natured to me; they have been teasing me so," faltered Alice. "But how did it begin? Tell me, my child. Had you done nothing to vex them?" "O no, indeed, aunt Clara." And Alice related minutely all that had passed. "I am afraid, my love, that you were a little forgetful just then. Perhaps you

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did not intend to boast of knowing more than your schoolfellows; but dear Alice, you should keep a watch over yourself in talking, or you may say what is wrong almost before you are aware of it. But even if you were not meaning to boast, you should not have been angry at what your brothers said, but have taken it humbly and cheerfully. Do you remember what we were talking about before Church? Here is my prayer-book; now dear Alice, you shall look through this epistle, and tell me in what charity would have taught you to act differently.” “Charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up," read Alice, "you mean that, Aunt Clara ? but I did not remember it just then while I was talking. And charity suffereth long, and is kind,' that means, you told me, to bear things patiently, without being put out of temper; and 'is not easily provoked.' O dearest aunt, I cannot do all this; how can I ever learn to remember all this while I am talking to the rest? I have been very uncharitable in so many many ways in such a little while!" "But I think you remembered this morning, dear Alice, when Lucy wanted to walk with me?" "Yes, aunt, and at Church too, I remembered it says, 'seeketh not her own."" 'Yes, my own darling, and you were able to act on what you remembered. That is encouragement for you. If you can do it now once or twice, you may hope some day to do it always, only never despair because you often forget. You must try, try very hard, my own Alice, to be thoughtful while you are talking, to keep watch over yourself among other people, for then you are most apt to forget. And when you do forget, and perhaps lose your temper, or say anything wrong, you will be very sorry for it, but still think I will be more careful next time,' and pray to GOD to keep you so." "Yes, aunt," said poor little Alice, "but it is so very hard to be always careful." "Yes, my child, but that is a reason for us to try harder to be so. I think it will be your chief trouble to recollect things just at the right time, for you are thoughtless, Alice; you do think very often about doing right, but just when the moment comes for acting, you forget to apply your thoughts to your actions. Is it not so?"" "Yes, dear aunt, I always forget at the right time." No, Alice, not quite always, for you remembered twice this morning." "But, aunt Clara, you always remember to do right, don't you, aunt?" Miss Mellanby was silent: she was unwilling to do, as many would have done, to tell her little niece of many sins and much weakness, and longindulged faults, and daily falls, though all these filled her mind in a moment, and made her bow her head with shame at the contrast to Alice's words which she knew existed. Yet she was silent, for she feared to discourage the child she loved, who was already too prone to despond. So after many minutes, she answered gently, "No, Alice, not always. I am afraid, like you, I am too apt to forget just at the right time, and that I do not try enough

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