him, and deliver him up, so that his life may be put an end to. What do you say to that?'

The wicked company praised the base and cruel plan, and soon the soldiers came, and they soon finished the remains of the supper.

'Make yourselves comfortable,' cried the woman, as she lighted a lantern and threw a handkerchief over her head. I will fetch the priest at once.'

She went. Her husband lay down in the bed. The soldiers hid themselves. It was not long before the woman stood before the priest, whose place of concealment had been betrayed to her, and said weeping, and with a feigned voice, ‘Oh, M. le Curé! my husband lies dying. We cannot get any word out of him except "Fetch the priest:" if you don't come the poor man will be lost! Do come! make haste!'

The good pastor did not hesitate a moment, and, ready to sacrifice his life to save a soul, he fell at once into the trap.

But God watched over the life of His servant, and brought the snares of the ungodly to no effect. The priest entered the house, went up to the bed of the pretended sick man, and said,

Well, my friend, how are you?'
No answer.

• You wished to speak with me alone?'
No answer.

You cannot answer me, you are so weak? Let me feel your pulse.' He took up the hand and felt that it was icy cold.

Oh, my good people, you have fetched me too late!' cried the priest: 'the man is already quite dead! What is this?' he exclaimed, when he saw the soldiers who came forward at these words. You are seeking for my life! You have deceived me: may God pardon you for it!'

'No, no, pardon me, M. le Curé, we are

not seeking for your life,' cried one of the soldiers, falling on his knees before the priest. This, indeed, was our evil intention, but we now confess that there is a God Who punishes blasphemy. This man was a few minutes ago in perfect health, and was laughing with us. From the moment that he heard your step he did not give a sign of life.'

Who cannot help shuddering at this proof of the power of God, Who is provoked by the wicked every day?

Till the year 1846 the priest was still living in Conches.

The widow of the man who had pretended illness had a wretched, weary life. She suffered from cancer in the face. Her relations abandoned her; every one fled from her, as an outcast smitten with the curse of Heaven. The only helper or visitor that she had was the now aged priest whose destruction she had sought, and who now supported her by alms and tried to comfort her by prayers, and to give hope of the mercy of God. J. F. C.

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE EAST.

LAMPS.

THE people of the East often light up

their rooms very brightly with lamps and lanterns. The large lamps are hung on a string which stretches from wall to wall, the smaller they carry in their hands. They are made of pottery, glass, or metal, and oil is burnt in them. The golden. candlestick with seven branches, which was lighted every evening in the Holy Place of the Tabernacle, was made of gold, and there was an oil-lamp at the end of each branch. We are taught in the parable of the wise and foolish virgins to have our lamps always trimmed, which means, that our hearts should always be ready to learn and to do the will of God.

TIMOTHEUS AND PHILEMON.

(Continued from p. 211.)

CHAP. IV.

THE PIOUS GARDENER.

N this village there lived a rich Turk named Ibrahim, who had a large and splendid garden. He kept a very clever gardener, who served him well. His garden was so full of fruit and vegetables, that not only was the house abundantly supplied, but a great deal too was sold in the market.

One day the two boys were sent into the rich Turk's garden to fetch a basket of vegetables. The gardener, an elderly man, was also a Christian slave. He had just been digging round a garden-bed, and was now sitting to rest on the grass under the shadow of a tree. He was reading a book, beside him lay a spade, a piece of rye-bread, some cheese, and a pitcher of water. When the two boys, each holding a handle of the basket, stood before him, he looked on them with pity. Their sweet faces, their likeness to each other, their pretty Hungarian dress which they had brought with them from their father's house, struck him at once. He greeted them kindly in the Hungarian tongue, and told them that he was their fellow-countryman. Both felt great joy when they heard their native language. The man asked them how they had fallen into slavery. They told him their story, and both began to weep bitterly when they mentioned the name of their beloved father. The good gardener comforted them, and asked them if they had received instruction in the Christian religion.

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Both at once upraised their little clasped hands and began to pray, and looked as they said the words, Which art in Heaven,' so devoutly up to Heaven that the good man was touched and delighted. He praised them, and told them his name was Antonius, and that he too was a Christian. Then both boys reverently wished to kiss his hand. He would not consent to this, but exhorted them, as a father, to remain true to the Christian faith, and to trust in God.

'Believe me,' he said, with a devout look towards the sky, 'the good God will have pity upon you, and guide you back again at last to the arms of your worthy father.'

Then he blessed them, filled their basket with vegetables, and presented them with many flowers. They hastened home delighted, and gave the beautiful flowers to the Turk's children.

The boys now often went to the garden to fetch vegetables. The Turk's children thought themselves too grand to carry the basket, so they were glad that the boys went so willingly. As they always shared with them the flowers and fruit which the gardener gave them, the Turks' children used to say, 'We like much better that you should go with the basket, for the gardener never gave us such beautiful flowers and nice fruits when we fetched the vegetables.'

So the boys went now nearly every day to the garden. The good Christian gardener had always something instructive and interesting to tell them. They used to look forward to the happy quarter or half hour they should spend with him. At last, at their request, Selim allowed

them to spend an hour a-day with their friend the gardener when his day's work was over. This was the happiest hour they enjoyed in that unchristian land. They thanked God every day for granting them such a good priest for a teacher. (To be continued.)

THE POWER OF LOVE.

AUNTIE,' said Flora Morrison, one

spring morning, I am so grieved; that sweet little baby of Mary Trapp's is dead-carried off by convulsions last night.'

'I have heard so, my dear, and can hardly say I regret it. Mary is so hardened a character, that it seems like a judgment upon her; and she certainly was unfit to train up a child for the Lord. I mean to call to-day, however, and try to impress upon her the duty of taking this chastisement to heart.'

'Oh, auntie! wait a bit, please,' said Flora, anxiously. They say-the maids, I mean-that Mary feels it dreadfully; and all the week that baby has been ailing she has never taken anything to drink, but has sat up all night with it.'

'I must do what I consider my duty, Flora,' replied Miss Morrison in a hard voice, and not refrain from rebuking Mary Trapp from any weak motive. A word in season, you know.'

Aunt Jemima was a good, upright, austere woman, ruling more by fear than love; and Flora, a warm-hearted girl, often differed from her in her plans of managing her servants, the poor, and others around her. She was sorry, therefore, but not surprised, when her aunt returned from a visit to Mrs. Trapp the washerwoman, that evening, with the remark that Mary was sadly hardened, would listen to no good advice, and had plainly told Miss Jemima to go away and leave her; for that, now the baby

was dead, the last thing was gone that cared for her, and for whom she would ever

care.

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She spoke so roughly, my dear, you would have been quite terrified,' said Miss Jemima. 'I would not advise you to go near the house, for it is of no use-she was quite abusive.'

Mary Trapp had once been a servant of the Morrisons', but having given way to a love of drink, she had first estranged her husband, who was not a perfect character himself, and had gone off to America and left her; then she set all her friends at defiance, Miss Jemima among the number. The one good feeling left to her was love for her only child, and when little Louie was taken from her she was like a tiger bereft of its young.

'Poor Mary!' said Flora, sighing, 'I am sorry for her.'

Even the neighbours keep away,' answered Miss Jemima. Mary rages at them. all. She seems almost to have lost reason.' 'Poor thing!' said Flora again; if only we could comfort her!'

Flora took a severe cold, and was shut up in the house for some days, so she could not venture out over the wet fields to Mary Trapp's cottage, as, in spite of her aunt's warning, she meant to do. She puzzled much over poor Mary's case. Litton, her maid, plainly refused to go near the woman. 'I daren't, miss,' she said, 'Mary scares me with her wild ways; and they do say she is mad with grief now.'

So Flora had to content herself with waiting till she was better, and meantime she made a beautiful wreath of spring flowers to lay on baby Louie's coffin, as she had learned to do when staying in Germany. The gardener took it to Mary Trapp's house and laid it on the doorstep.

That afternoon was the funeral. Flora