house of God together as friends, but they can and do take sweet counsel together: and here is one by whom she will not be misunderstood, and to whom she can venture to speak more freely of that bitterness which every man's heart alone knoweth, and of that joy with which a stranger doth not intermeddle. So, after giving her a sketch of the matter and divisions of the sermon she had just heard, she continued, "Oh, Jane, one part of it did so make me feel how hard my heart still is! I don't think there could have been another that was listening to it to whom it could have been so applicable as to me. All the while Mr. Herbert was describing the peculiar hardness of those who, being able to say, from their own experience of his grace and mercy, 'He is our God, and we are the people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand,' yet need the exhortation, To-day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts.' To think of the many unspeakable mercies he has shown me, and the continual tendency of my wicked heart to forget him, to depart from him! Surely every mercy he has bestowed upon me does so aggravate my sinfulness, that they, who have never yet really tasted how gracious he is, cannot compare with me. Why, there's that poor Martha Smith, if she had had half my advantages, what a devoted Christian she might have been by now!" "Was she at church to-day?" "No; and I find that Mrs. Wright tried to persuade her to go with her, but she refused; and is, I fear, gone out with her father and mother, taking their pleasure on God's holy day." "Well, that is very strange; she seemed so to long for the return of Sunday, that she might again hear something of that gospel which seemed such a new thing, such a surprise of to her." mercy "Yes; I am quite disappointed at her absence this morning, and suppose I shall see no more of her to-day. But it's time we had our dinner; the bell at Mount House has rung some time, and it must be getting on for two o'clock." While Widow Watson and her sister are eating their meal with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God, let us just look in at Mount House, and listen to what is going on at Mr. Manton's luncheon table. The family have just returned from church, and are taking their midday meal. Their footman William, and maid Sarah, are waiting on them, and, as is usually the case, are beguiling their intervals of attendance in listening to the conversation at the table. "A nice sermon we have had to-day," says Mrs. Manton; "I must say Mr. Herbert's manner interests me; rather too long, though." "Yes, his manner is rather taking, I own," says Mr. M"and that's the reason you ladies, and the less thinking part of the congregation are satisfied; but really, when a man does ramble about in the unconnected manner he did to-day, it's high time some one should give him a hint that there are reading and thinking men in his congregation, who have a right to expect that the weekly discourse on the subject of religion, which they make a point of attending and listening to, should be at least a connected and well-sustained argument upon such topics as the text obviously suggests. Whereas, our good pastor today, after leading us to expect a sermon on that rather wornout subject, the hardness of the heart as a hindrance to hearing God's voice, strikes off suddenly by some by-path of his own discovery, but which no one else can find an entrance to from his text, into a rhapsody on affliction and kindred topics; and, not content with this digression, winds up with some allusions so far-fetched, that I cannot even remember what they were. No, my dear," continued he to meek little Mrs. Manton, who was beginning to feel herself very ignorant, "though it may be our duty to listen to this sort of sermons, don't let us discredit our own discernment by calling them by any than their right name, mere unconnected, illogical, though certainly pious, well-meant rhapsodies." And having delivered himself of this piece of what he thought learned criticism, Mr. M— continued his meal with great self-complacency, feeling no doubt of his right to be esteemed a competent judge of such matters. "There now, Miss Sarah," says William, when they have regained the kitchen; "who's right and who's wrong, I should like to know? You're always standing up for Mr. Herbert's sermons, and here's master, who is such a clever sort of man, and knows a deal better about such things than you do, says it's unconnected, illogical rap-rap-what was it?" said William, fairly exhausted by having remembered and uttered one word which he didn't understand, and then stumbling at the second. “I don't understand what master said," said Sarah; “but when I was at school I could understand what Mr. Herbert said, and it used to make me feel very different from what I do now, and it's only when I'm listening to him on Sundays that I feel at all like my old self, and it seems like something speaking to one's heart." "Oh! yes; it's all very well for you ladies, and the less thinking part of the congregation," said William; "but when a man has lived among gentlefolks, and improved himself by listening to their opinions, he begins to know a little more about style, diction, ret'ric, and ellykance, than the smockfrocks and clodhoppers of a country village." William then proceeded to partake of his own dinner with as much self-complacency as his master, only too well pleased to find that the criticisms he had heard in the dining room were wonderfully efficacious in quieting certain uneasy feelings which the faithful setting forth of God's word had been stirring within him, and which, had they been fostered instead of being checked, might have led him to look into his own heart more narrowly; and, peradventure, to find that all was not as right there as he liked to think. That evening, instead of going to church, William persuaded himself that he might follow his master's example of only listening to such discourses once every Sunday, and spent the time of evening service in edifying an acquaintance with various reminiscences of his master's criticisms; and being much flattered by the deference with which his misapplied long words and incoherent phrases were received, concluded that for the future it would be quite as well for a thinking individual like himself to employ his Sunday evenings in rational conversation as in listening to unconnected "rapsudden," as he at last ventured to call it. Had his master spoken a word in due season, how good would it have been! But instead of this the idle word had been idly spoken. "The words we say, Into still air they seem to fleet; We count them ever past, But they shall last; In that dread judgment they We will now follow Sarah, his fellow-servant, who, having obtained leave of her kind mistress to spend the rest of the day with her widowed aunt, set out directly after dinner for a small cottage at the other end of the village. Mrs. Turner, its occupant, had recently lost an indulgent husband, after a long and trying illness; the necessary expenses attendant upon this, and upon the humble funeral, had left the poor widow not only dependent upon her own exertions for the support of herself and little family, but even in some arrears of debt to her neighbours, who, knowing and appreciating her high principles, had been willing to give her the credit she was so reluctant to take. It was the first Sunday after the funeral, and the first on which she had been able to get to church for several months. She THE ENGLISH MONTHLY TRACT SOCIETY, 27, RED LION SQUARE, LONDON. received Sarah with a placid smile, that surprised and relieved her, for the maid had on her way been picturing to herself the burst of grief with which she expected to be met at first, and the sad detail of regrets and sorrows which would occupy the afternoon; for the last time Sarah had been in her aunt's cottage, how different had been her condition and prospects! Now, the once happy home was sad, the cheerful hearth desolate ! After the first greetings were over, and Mary had taken her seat in the room, where every object seemed to strike her with the realization of her bereaved aunt's sorrow, she began to say, "I felt almost sorry to see you at church to-day, aunt; it is such a long walk, and you have had so much fatigue and anxiety lately; I wonder you didn't read the prayers and a sermon at home, instead." "Oh! Sarah dear," said Mrs. Turner, "I wouldn't have missed being at church to-day for a great deal. I went there very desponding and sad, yet hoping that, being 'in the way,' the Lord might have a message for me; and I prayed as well as I could that he would give me the hearing ear and understanding heart to learn it; nevertheless, all through the prayers I could not enjoy his presence, my wandering heart was too full of its own troubles, and was refusing to hear the voice of the charmer. Well, when the sermon began there seemed nothing in it which particularly suited me; indeed, when I heard the text I thought that God was so angry with my want of resignation to his will, that he would not suffer me to gain from his ordinance the consolation I was longing for. But, oh! I soon found how faithless I had been; for, before the sermon was concluded, there was the very word I wanted; and Mr. Herbert did so speak of the purpose of God in sending affliction, of the help he gives in time of need, and of the privilege granted to his afflicted children of hearing his voice, when trouble has softened their hearts, that I felt as if every word was spoken to me, and that God himself must have put this word into his minister's mouth, in answer to my poor, unworthy prayers. Not a sparrow lighteth on the ground, to pick up the grain which it needs, but God, who knew its necessity, put it there by his providence; and he it was, who gave to his servant her portion of meat in due season." And this was the very part that Sarah had heard her master criticise so severely. She was wise enough not to repeat his words, as she felt they would only pain her aunt; but she thought much of what both had said; and, finding that, from the very same words, one had derived so much comfort, the other only materials for finding fault, resolved, the next sermon she heard, to try her aunt's way, to expect a message from God, and pray that she might receive it. On her return home after going to church with her aunt, in the evening, Sarah passed by Smith's cottage; and, seeing no one inside but Martha, who sometimes came to Mount House, to assist the cook when she was busy, stepped in to speak to her. Martha was looking very unhappy; and gave very short answers to Sarah's different inquiries; so, after staying but a short time, Sarah was about to wish her good evening, when she happened to say, “Oh, Martha, I expect there'll be two or three days' work for you at our house this week, as Watkins is going to have a holiday. I thought I would tell you so, if I saw you at church; but, not seeing you there, I had almost forgotten it." Sarah expected to see Martha look pleased at this announcement; for her home was an unhappy one, and her life full of hardships; and the fare and employment of a gentleman's house were luxury and rest compared to the scanty food and drudgery of her daily life. But when, instead of this, she saw Martha's eyes fill with tears, as if her words had pained her, she felt completely puzzled. "Shan't you like to come?" said she; then mistress had better send for Sarah Palmer: I know she would be glad enough to get our work." "Oh yes, I should," said Martha, whose tears were much increased by the effort of speaking. Why, what is the matter?" said Sarah; are you so sorry because your father and mother have left you at home alone, and gone out without you? I'm sure you're better off here, than with the sort of company you'd be like to meet with; and I know, Martha, you are not over fond of their kind of doings: everyone says you seem better inclined than your family." "Oh no!" sobbed Martha; "they don't know; no one can be worse inclined. I have been so wicked to-day. I must tell you; it will be a relief. You just now said you did not see me at church; and the thought that I had missed being there, through my own pride and folly, and spent such a miserable day from the same cause, was more than I could bear." 66 "Well, don't take on so, you can go next Sunday; and if you're really sorry, you know you'll be forgiven; and I dare say you're not so much worse than others," said Sarah, trying to console her, as well as she knew how. 66 Oh, don't," said Martha; "I am so much worse than you think: but do let me tell you; I want to make myself suffer some of the shame I deserve. This morning I was up very early, that I might do all my mother required, and get clean, in time to go to church with Mrs. Watson. I thought nothing would hinder me doing |