"Mary is perfectly absurd about her church," exclaimed Mrs. Berkeley, "she thinks of nothing else."

"She is very right if she finds any pleasure therein," replied Wilfred; "with your leave, Mary, I will betake myself to the library; I suppose it is still retained for the exclusive use of the gentlemen of the family;" and he sauntered away, leaving Mrs. Berkeley to expend the irritation his words had caused on his unoffending sister. Very thankfully Mary made her escape to church.

Oh my home of rest," she inwardly exclaimed as she sunk on her knees in her accustomed place. "In thee is GOD well known as a sure refuge."

On her return she found Mrs. Berkeley alone in the drawing-room in very bad humour, as she had seen nothing of Wilfred all the morning. Mary went to look for him in the library, and found him as usual lying on the sofa with a book; he seemed very glad to see her, and welcomed her with a tender caressing manner which was very winning; he made her promise to walk with him in the afternoon, that he might escape at once the tedium of solitude and the society of Mrs. Berkeley, and she was very glad to have the prospect of being alone with him for a time.

While they were talking Mary unthinkingly took up the book which lay at his side, and began to look at it; she had just time to see that it was a French novel, when Wilfred suddenly snatched it from her hand and flung it to the other end of the room.

"I beg your pardon," he said as she looked up in astonishment; "I must seem to you very rude, but I could not endure to see you with that book in your hands; you must not darken your soul with any such reading as it contains, dear child."

"Then oh, why do you darken your own with it ?" said Mary involuntarily; the next moment she regretted words which seemed as if she assumed the right to advise him, and throwing her arms round him she said, "forgive me, dear Wilfred, I spoke from impulse; I did not mean to interfere with you."

"Little Mary," he said, stroking down her soft brown

hair," and so you think there is still some light left in my soul which may be darkened ?"

"Heaven forbid that I should have reason to doubt it," she answered, looking up into his face with an earnest solemnity which seemed to move him strangely. He made no answer, but stooping down he kissed her, and a deep sigh escaped his lips.

Unconsciously to herself that sigh gave her the happiest moment she had experienced since her brother's arrival.

The feeling of comfort did not last long however; they went out to walk after luncheon, and the charm of Mary's gentle sympathy led Wilfred to talk much more freely than he wished or intended; he made no open avowal of his opinions or feelings, but they pierced through much that he said, and Mary's heart sunk heavier and beavier as each moment revealed more clearly his state of separation from that LORD of Love and Life Who died for him.

His case was in truth but that of many other young men who have been sent by their parents on the Continent to acquire a "knowledge of the world." Strange perversion which can imagine there is advantage in knowing that world which is the cruellest and most bitter enemy of our own LORD; in learning to know it they learn to love it, and with that knowledge faith and innocence depart.

Wilfred had received the same religious education as his brothers and sisters; he had been confirmed and became a communicant before he left home, but he had done so simply as a matter of course, and without any right appreciation of the nature of the blessed Sacrament; when he went abroad the facilities offered by English chaplaincies were not such as to encourage his continuance in this practice, and he dropped it altogether. Thus deprived of the Bread of Life the Divine nature languished within his soul, and cut off as he was from all channels of grace, he soon fell, as it would seem, utterly from the life-giving membership of CHRIST'S Body. Whether any spark yet remained of the flame of his new birth no human eye could see; but assuredly if there were a lingering light, it was never fanned by a breath of heavenly hope, for he had made an utter ship

wreck of his faith on that sea of reckless pleasure where he had launched his soul.

All this poor Mary saw but too plainly, and when at the close of their long sad walk they passed once more through the churchyard and stopped at Cecil's grave, her feelings overcame her utterly, and giving way to an uncontrollable impulse she buried her face on her brother's arm and said,

"Wilfred! Wilfred! you break my heart! is there nothing then in which you believe ?"

"I believe in what I see," he answered, gently raising her tear-stained face to kiss her; as he did so her eye caught sight of the cross on the church tower, which at that moment was beaming out against the darkening sky in the light of the last sunbeam, as if it were made of liquid gold.

"Oh, then, believe in that!" she suddenly exclaimed, directing his gaze towards it with an impassioned determination; "believe in that, the Cross of CHRIST, the revelation of the love of GOD, the wood of suffering which He cast into the bitter waters of this life to heal them for the souls of men, and make them bear us safely to the eternal shore. Oh, Wilfred! brother! He Who hung upon that Cross alone is Life, alone is Truth, alone is Hope and Joy. He stretches out His arms to youHis bleeding hands. Will you too turn away ?"

She stopped her voice choked with sobs, and hid her face in her hands while Wilfred stood silent, apparently deeply moved. At last he spoke.

My dearest Mary, I honour your faith-I envy, oh, how unspeakably, your hope; but you know not with whom you have to deal. Let us go home."

And in silence they passed into the house. Next morning Mary was sitting with Mrs. Berkeley before Wilfred had appeared, when they saw a postchaise drive to the door. "Another arrival!" exclaimed Mrs. Berkeley, delighted; "look out at the window, Mary, and see who it is."

"It is empty," said Mary, somewhat astonished: a servant appeared at the drawing-room door.

"The chaise for Mr. Wilfred," he said.

"For Wilfred!" exclaimed Mary, a sudden pang shoot. ing through her heart: at that instant he appeared, dressed for travelling.

66

Any commands for Paris, Mrs. Berkeley," he said, addressing his grandmother. She answered with so much irritation that he hastened to take leave of her, and went out into the hall with his sister.

"Oh, Wilfred, are you really going," she exclaimed, clinging to him.

see my

My dear child, do not look so sad, you cannot expect this quiet life should suit me; and besides, I must father. Good-bye, little Mary," he added, smoothing back her hair in his caressing way. "The recollection of your peaceful eyes will often be very refreshing to me, I am sure." Another instant and he was gone.

Mary watched the carriage with wistful eyes till it was quite out of sight. Then darting up to her own room, she flung herself on her knees, and burst into tears. A great terror was in her heart, that her impulsive words the day before had driven Wilfred from the only spot where any good influence could reach him; for she had hoped much from an acquaintance with Mr. Radclyffe, and it was, perhaps, the punishment of her repining at her compulsory inaction, that she had marred a work so dear as this, by her want of caution and reserve.

These were her bitter thoughts, and they were doubtless salutary for herself; but she was mistaken with regard to her brother. Often and often did the ardent gaze of his sister's innocent eyes upon that cross, come with strange power before him in his hours of temptation.

MY DEAR

CONSISTENCY.

A LETTER TO A FRIEND,

You ask me what may be considered the chief hindrance to the success of our religious principles. I answer without hesitation, "the inconsistencies of Chris

tians." The religion they for the most part profess and outwardly attend, does not agree with their daily life. The one contradicts the other, and in consequence the religion itself suffers.

But you will say, who is consistent? Is it not almost equivalent to saying, who is perfect ? certainly the more consistent a man is the nearer he is to that perfection, which (however distant its attainment) we do not doubt it is our duty to strive after. And in arguing for greater consistency, we need not fear that it will beget in us pride at the idea of our being (what in one sense we are undoubtedly told to be) "not as other men are:" as Mr. Archer Butler so expressively says, 66 were a perfect man to exist, he himself would be the last to know it; for the highest stage of advancement is the lowest stage in humility." But what is generally understood by Consistency? No word in the English language is more frequently used than this, and few perhaps more frequently misapplied. It is mostly used in such a way that its full meaning is entirely hidden from view its meaning in Scripture phrase would be "walking worthy of the vocation wherewith we are called." In other words, it means a state of life in which every part of the conduct or system agrees in harmony together; no one part, deed, or word contradicting the other part, deed, or word. But how often do we hear people take one single part or work of a man's life and apply the word consistency to that one part? Thus we hear of a consistent father, a consistent son, a consistent tradesman, as if the father, son, and tradesman, were three distinct persons, instead of three parts of one man's life and duty; so that really, all of these may be most inconsistent people in the full and true meaning of the word. For do we not often find the consistent tradesman is a most inconsistent father, brother, or son; giving all that time to his trade a part of which should be devoted, like Abraham, to " ruling his household," and as in his case, we have God's own approval, so we need be under no fear that his flocks and herds were in consequence neglected, or that they were less increasing and prosperous.

Consistency even in moral duties is, we fear, not so