Remarkable sight! I was too bashful to come close, but sat down at the first desk. Caroline had, perhaps, made some kind of apology to Frances; for the latter looked pleased, and little May sat at her feet, quite happy again, and trying to thread some very large beads, but continually scattering them, and scrambling under the table to pick them up. At last, taking advantage of a pause in the discourse, she leaned against Frances's knee, and exclaimed, without any preface, "But when is she to come ?-she is such a long time coming.' "I told you," said Frances, "that she should come whenever you could count a hundred, without making a mistake." "Will she have blue eyes,' proceeded May-" will she have blue eyes, Miss Chris-tiana Frances."

"Blue eyes and flaxen hair," replied Frances," and two little pink shoes that will take on and off."

"Oh! I do want her so much."

"What is the child talking of?" asked Caroline.

"Of a wax doll that I have promised her when she can count a hundred, for she has been very idle lately; and when she has learned this one thing, not before, I shall give her the doll for a reward."

"Not before," sighed little May; "and her frock is to be a white frock, Miss Chris-tiana Frances? Oh! I wish she would come to-night."

Frances smiled. "Well, begin then," she said, "one, two, three, and if you go on properly to a hundred she shall come to-night." By this she convinced me that the doll was already in her possession, and ready to be given at a moment's notice. I am very much mistaken if the same idea did not strike Caroline, for she also smiled, and said, “ I never should have patience to keep back anything that I was teased for." This she said in French, and Frances answered, "I have passed my word."

May began to count,-Frances took her up on her knees; the little creature laid her head on her bosom as on a place of tried security, and when she reached sixteen she stopped, and had to be prompted, and then Frances discovered that her feet were cold, and took off her shoes to warm them, and a great deal of kissing and caressing went on between them ;' upon seeing which, a cloud passed over Caroline's brow. Let me warm them for you," she presently said.

་་

"Oh, no thank you!" said Frances; "I could not think of troubling you. She spoke exactly as she might have done if May had been her sister, her natural charge. "Now, May, go on.'

"Shall she come, then, when I can count up to trenty?" pleaded the child.

Frances shook her head.

"But may n't she come, if I kiss you a great many times!" said May, suddenly, as if a bright idea had struck her. "She may come when you can count a hundred," repeated Frances.

“Then I will do it right, Miss Chris-tiana Frances,” exclaimed May, with a mighty sigh, and she immediately counted up to nineteen without once stopping even to take breath.

All the remainder of that evening Caroline was particularly friendly to Frances. The next day Madame, having occasion to drive into the town, invited Caroline and another of the pupils to accompany her. I happened to hear Madame ask them whether they wished her to buy anything; for, when this was the case, she always chose to know it beforehand.

I was standing close to Madame at the time, holding her gloves, and, therefore, I could not fail to hear the answers ; one I have forgotten, the other struck me forcibly, it was Caroline's, and given in a particularly low voice: "She wished to buy a doll," she said.

ORRIS.

THE FIERY FURNACE.

BY ANNA MENNELL.

TRUE religion never promises to its subjects an immunity from present suffering. It lessens, it is true, many of life's evils, and smooths much of life's ruggedness; it sustains and even gladdens the drooping spirit, under the pressure of heavy cares and startling vicissitudes; and through storm and sunshine, it thrills the heart of its recipient with a joy that is unspeakable and full of glory; a joy with which a stranger intermeddleth not, and which none can take away. Still the Christian is not by any means exempted from the cares and changes incidental to our earthly existence. Losses, disappointments, bereavements, sickness, unkindness, mental distress, and all the varying ills that flesh is heir to,

do not cease to form part of his inheritance because he has enrolled himself among Christ's followers. The promise that all things are working together for his good, gives him no warrant to expect that all things will be to him pleasant and desirable. "Many are the afflictions of the righteous;" and it is through much tribulation that they enter their prepared kingdom. Softened and sanctified as their trials undoubtedly are, and containing within them, as they assuredly do, the germs of the lovely, luxuriant, and peaceable fruits of righteousness; nevertheless, they are still trials, and as such they are grievous and not joyous, and oftentimes hard to be borne.

It is needful to remember this, because young Christians are sometimes surprised and perplexed by the events which befall them. They have an undefined sort of idea, that since wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness, and her paths paths of peace, the course of the heavenward pilgrim will be comparatively easy and unclouded. And thus, they are ill fitted to cope with the difficulties which assail them, and they are liable to be discouraged by God's providential dealings. As they survey the troublous and agitated scenes through which they are passing, the exclamation rushes to their lips, "Verily, I have cleansed my heart in vain, and washed my hands in innocency; for all the day long have I been plagued, and chastened every morning." They can hardly reconcile their position with the assurances of God's love towards them, forgetting that this is a state of discipline, and that without sorrow's influences the Christian character would not be matured, nor its budding graces ripened. The Rev. Richard Cecil was one day walking in the college-garden at Oxford. He felt very sad and dejected on account of the troubles which he had to endure. During his walk he saw a fine pomegranate-tree, almost cut through the stem. On asking the gardener the reason why

this was done, he received an answer which brought him much comfort. "Sir," replied the man, "this tree used to shoot so strong that it bore nothing but leaves; I was, therefore, obliged to cut it in this manner, and when it was almost cut through, then it began to bear plenty of fruit.' "Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth."

True religion, therefore, while it transforms apparent misfortunes into real blessings, and evolves our purest joys from our intensest griefs, never teaches us that we shall find in her service deliverance from sorrow and suffering. The three captive youths who, in the midst of an idolatrous people, had shown their fidelity to God, by prudently avoiding a mode of life which they thought would be religiously injurious to them, are the very men who have to pass through the burning fiery furnace. Their piety, although on the one hand it doubtless elevated them to honour and renown, did not secure them, on the other, from bitter reverses and painful temptations. Nay, more than this, their history sanctions the inference, that religion itself may be the indirect cause of our trials. Had not these exiled companions openly avowed, and persisted in their allegiance to their Maker, they might have escaped the terrible ordeal to which they were summoned. It was their fixed determination to worship God, and Him only, which involved them in so fearful a doom.

And it is even so in some degree with ourselves. All that will live godly in Christ Jesus must suffer persecution. He that is born after the flesh continues to persecute him that is born after the Spirit. Our adhesion to truth may not now demand from us the sacrifice of our lives; but there is enough opposition to meet with from a world that lieth in wickedness, to require from us in the conflict a martyr-spirit, and to enforce upon us that emphatic declaration of the Saviour, "If any man will come

after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me." A sneer, a taunting word, an ungenerous insinuation, a calumnious report, unkindness, neglect, poverty and ill-treatment, one or all of these, may be the result of our steady obodience to God's will. And a fiery furnace they have proved to some of His servants. "I have often," said a British admiral, "fearlessly faced the cannon's mouth, expecting to be shivered to pieces the next moment; but when I saw the finger of scorn pointing at me, There goes a saint!' I have shrunk like a coward."

Now, trials develop the reality of our faith. Azariah, Hananiah, and Mishael professed, in the midst of worldly greatness and adulation, to be God's servants. But if their religion should expose them to shame and suffering, would it stand the test? Was it a real, living principle within them, which no adverse circumstances could weaken or destroy? Yes; unmoved by the despot's threat, they calmly and boldly replied, "Be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up." As you listen to these heroic words, you feel sure that their religion was not a mere summer-day profession, a hasty and passing excitement; but that theirs was that mighty faith which has subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, and resisted even unto death, not accepting deliverance.

And "beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial, which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you, knowing that the same afflictions are accomplished in your brethren that are in the world." It is God's invariable procedure with his children. He tempted Abraham, and he led the Israelities forty years in the wilderness, to humble them and to prove them, and to know what was in their heart, whether they would