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HOW TO MEET HOME TROUBLES.

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HERE now," said an honest prosperous working man to his wife, as they stopped at the door of a clean newly-painted house in a small street, out of the noise and bustle of the town, "will this do for you? Here's no dirt to begin with; it's as clean as a new penny;" and Richard Moore goodhumouredly began to point out all the comforts and beauties of this new home.

Mrs. Moore looked pleased and satisfied, and said there would be some pleasure in keeping things nice now that she should get away from the smoke and dirt of their present neighbourhood, where she never could keep anything clean and tidy, if she tried for a hundred years.

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"Do! there's plenty to be done," said Betsey, peevishly; "I can't get this child to lie down for a minute, and how can I put things straight? There, just look at the mess those brats have got into while was gossiping with Mrs. White, she might have said, but she did not. Moreover, she had so accustomed the baby to the rocking-chair, where she chose to sit talking, or doing nothing but swing backwards and forwards, deluding herself into the idea that it was wholly on his account-that he certainly did behave as if he meant to live in it altogether.

Seizing a brush, Susan swept up the ashes and tried to coax back the fire which had dwindled to

The collector called punctually for the rent.

One morning, as Mrs. Moore sat in the rocking-chair in the kitchen with a baby in her arms, and two other children, not much beyond babyhood, tumbling about at her feet, while a neighbour stood leaning against the dresser in the midst of an idle gossip, a gentle tap at the door announced a visitor. Betsey Moore looked vexed, and gossiping Mrs. White, with a quick "good-day," hurried off; while Susan Taylor, in her morning gown, clean apron, and neat bonnet, walked in, with a smiling pleasant face.

"Mother is staying with the children a few minutes, Betsey, so I just ran here to see if I could do anything for you," said she, cheerfully.

a spark. The breakfast things stood unwashed on a table. Here stood an empty kettle, there a candlestick and saucepan had rolled together; here a piece of crust had found its way into an old shoe, and on the floor the two children were delighting their minds by stirring up their bread and milk left from breakfast with a dirty comb.

In a very few minutes, however, Susan set the chairs in their places, filled the kettle, and began to wash the breakfast things, talking kindly but anxiously to her sister all the while.

"It is past eleven, Betsey," said she, presently; "Richard will be in to dinner, I suppose, soon after twelve; perhaps you've got something doing in the oven. for him."

"Perhaps I haven't," said Betsey; "I can't do everything. But there's

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some cold meat in the cupboard, and may be some potatoes too, for I boiled too many yesterday. I wish, Susan, you would make Richard see that he ought to keep a servant for me; I've no peace of my life now. I'm sure I'd never have married him if I'd thought to come to this!" and she rocked away with redoubled vigour.

Susan was just then busy with the "cold meat," which, with bones, bits of fat, and a quantity of cold potatoes all mixed up in a dirty pie-dish, did not look very tempting. "You won't be offended, Betsey, will you, if I just make this into a little Irish stew? It isn't nice for him in this state."

"Well, if there's time-and you're very handy to be sure; it would be nicer, of course, and I think there's a bit of a chop hanging in the pantry as well;" and Betsey did look rather ashamed.

The saucepan had to be washed, salt pinched up from the bottom of a box, pepper hunted after in a drawer. Then an onion had to be searched for which had rolled off the shelf; and at last Susan contrived to make a savoury dish likely to tempt a hungry man.

"Now, dear Betsey, give me the baby while you just wash those little ones, and smooth your own hair; you always used to keep it so nice, and when it hangs as it does now you don't seem like the same person.'

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"Well, I've no time to keep myself nice," grumbled Betsey. "To listen to you one might think you didn't know what it is to have a lot of children always in the way. I'm sure I don't know what to do with them, they're the plague of one's life.

"Oh, Betsey, don't say that. Oh, I do wish you knew the comfort of having God's blessing in your home; it helps wonderfully to keep things straight, both in our tempers and our work, and it makes like sunshine of everything."

"It's no use talking, Susan; I don't see why I should be a slave from morning till night just to please Richard, when he cares nothing about home now."

"Ah, Betsey, it was just that made me come here this morning; for Richard was no less than four times last week in a public-house, and last night William made him come to our house instead, aud he talked reasonably enough; but he said-I hardly like to tell you, Betsey."

"Oh, you may tell, for anything I care. I know this, that the other night, when the children were in bed, I set to, and scrubbed and cleaned till my arms ached, and I got a lot of clothes washed, and Richard could see I wasn't idle; but all the praise I got was his going off in a huff, saying he didn't want to be swilled into the street, nor swept into the grate, and that he hated to sit where things were hanging to dry. So I gave up there and then, and sat down and nearly cried my eyes out."

"Oh, Betsey, Betsey, did you really do all this with your husband in the house wanting to rest quietly after his day's work? Indeed, I don't wonder he went out."

"It's very odd to me that you always take my husband's part," exclaimed Betsey, angrily.

"Do try more, dear sister, for Richard's sake, and your own and the children's sakes, to make your home more comfortable for him. Indeed you don't know what you are doing by vexing him so as to make him go out when he ought to have a happy fireside to sit down to."

She then added: "Forgive me for speaking so plain, dear Betsey, and do think it over yourself. And now, couldn't you just say to Richard that you'll have a nice warm supper for him in the evening, for if you don't

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UT will you begin to build your spire from the top?" said an elderly Christian lady, who was sitting in her wheelchair, and had been calmly listening to the conversation which was passing in the room. Her question was gravely addressed to an ardent young clergyman, who was at that time very busy in a new district to which he had recently been appointed. He was full of his plans, and was telling of his temporary church and schools, and parochial clubs, and the new church which he was building. A nobleman in the neighbourhood had ordered the tower of it to be raised

higher, and a spire to surmount it; and another noble person had ordered a peal of new bells for this new tower.

Our young friend's heart was very full of thankfulness and hope, and out of the abundance of his gladness he went on to say what services there were to be in the new church, and to speak about the organ and the choir, the painted window, and how he was now gathering his congregation.

The lady had been silently listening to all this, and when there was a little pause, asked her question,-"Will you begin to build your spire from the top?"

"Oh, grandmamma!" said several voices at once; but the lady meant something, and looked to the clergyman for an answer.

"No, not from the top, but from the foundation."

The lady said, "That is right-that is right," and went on with her knitting.

Soon after this the lady was taken away, but the unexplained words were associated in the clergyman's mind and memory with their author. Time passed on, and the church, tower, and spire, all were completed, and the intended services were duly commenced and

continued, and everything was as successful as the heart of the clergyman could desire. And so years passed on, and with it manifold works, and many services-forms of godliness without the power thereof, till it pleased God to bring him to a faithful friend who said to him abruptly one day, "You will never do any good in your parish till you are converted."

His stricken soul was now agitated with new and strange fears. Was he indeed wrong, and had he been wrong all along, and had he deceived and misled others, many of whom were now beyond his reach, and gone to their awful account? Saul of Tarsus slew the bodies of happy Christians, and released their souls to heaven; but he had been slaying souls! This was indeed an overwhelming conviction, and it filled his soul with darkness and despair; for he saw that he was guilty before God, and guilty of blood-the blood of souls!

On the following Sunday morning he was unwell, and unfit in mind and body to minister at the public service. It was a bright cheerful morning in October, and the bells struck out earlier than usual a merry peal, which sounded away to a great distance, and many people were responding to their musical call, so he roused himself up and went to church. The service was very soothing, the psalms and portions of Scripture seemed especially to speak to him, the hymns greatly comforted him, and he went up into the pulpit briefly to explain the gospel of the morning, and then he would return home.

He took for his text, "What think ye of Christ?" and as he pursued his discourse, he saw how Jesus, the Son of God, came to save and deliver sinners from the power of sin and the devil, and that the Pharisees were so taken up with themselves and their services, that they could not see Christ, to whom they pointed, as He was, though He was there speaking to them, and appealing to His miracles and to the Word for testimony of His divinity. They were looking for the future deliverer, and overlooking a present one.

While he was thus enabled to speak, and by the operation of the Holy Spirit plainly to see the mistake of the Pharisees, he could not but see and feel he had been making exactly the same mistake himself. But, in the midst of the discourse, it pleased the Lord to show to our friend that Christ was the true and only foundation, and—what the Pharisees did not see-that He was the Lamb of God who beareth away the sins of the world. His soul was now as full of joy as it had been of misery; truly he had "beauty for ashes, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." Now God had opened his eyes, and he saw that to work for life was building without a foundation, and promoting sanctification before justification; it was really beginning at the top, and building in imagination, in the air. Groundless is the hope of such; it is the "hope of the hypocrite," which must surely fail, and end in the miserable cry of the lost ones, and the wail of despair and bitter remorse.

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was about to be disbanded at Barnstaple. The regiment consisted of onethousand men, who were soon to return to their families in almost every parish of the north division of the county. A Sunday-school friend said to me, 'What a noble opportunity there is for distributing religious tracts in all the dark villages around! The regiment will giveus a thousand distributors, if we can only get them conveyed to the men.' I said, 'How can it be done?' To which he answered, 'I have not nerve enough to give the tracts to the soldiers; but I will furnish you with the tracts, if you will circulate 'Agreed.' The tracts were obtained, and I

them.'

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"It is not in my power to convert people; but if it were, the first person I would convert, sir, should be Sergeant Reynolds.' 'Well,' said he, 'that is plain enough.'

"Yes,' I added, and it is sincere too. Now, this tract may convert you, sergeant; it was written by that great man, Mr. Hervey, who wrote "Meditations among the Tombs." 'Ah,' said he, 'I have read that book, and I will take your tract, and read it too.' This was just what I wanted, for immediately all the musicians took tracts.

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Books for Presentation.

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PICTURES from the GERMAN FATHERLAND,

Drawn with Pen and Pencil.

BY THE REV. SAMUEL G. GREEN, D.D,
Author of "French Pictures," etc.

Uniform with "English Pictures," "Swiss Pictures," "Italian Pictures," etc.
Profusely Illustrated with superior Engravings.

8s. bound in handsome cloth boards, full gilt.

FRENCH PICTURES,

Drawn with Pen and Pencil.

BY THE REV. SAMUEL G. GREEN, D.D.

With upwards of 150 Fine Engravings. Imperial 8vo. Uniform in size and style with "English Pictures," "American Pictures," etc. 8s. elegantly bound in cloth, gilt; or 25s. in the best morocco, handsome.

SPANISH PICTURES,

Drawn with Pen and Pencil.

BY THE REV. SAMUEL MANNING, LL.D.

Imperial 8vo. 8s. cloth

elegant, gilt edges; or in best morocco, handsome, 255.

ITALIAN PICTURES,

Drawn with Pen and Pencil.

BY THE REV. SAMUEL MANNING, LL.D.,
Author of "Swiss Pictures," "American Pictures," etc.

Profusely Illustrated by eminent English and Foreign Artists. Imperial 8vo.
8s. cloth elegant, gilt edges; or 25s. in the best morocco, handsome.

[Reduced from "Pictures from the German Fatherland."

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY, LONDON, 56, PATERNOSTER ROW, AND 164, PICCADILLY.

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