nervous tremor of her lips; but no one spoke, as, after playfully tapping his daughter's fingers with the paper, Mr. Irby slowly unfolded it.

He glanced quickly down the page, grew pale, then pushing Milly aside as if she obscured the light, perused it more carefully; and as he crushed it in his hand with a blank look settling on his face, he looked from one to the other.

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They they decline the purchase. They have decided upon carrying an embankment across the marsh, and therefore will not require the land I offered them. They are no gentlemen!" he added, furiously. "How dared they shilly-shally with me in this manner, and then send me a refusal! I will write and tell them what I think of their disgraceful behaviour!"

"Do you think papa has been unfairly treated, mamma?” asked Ida, as Mr. Irby strode out of the room to fulfil his threat.

"No, child; nor will he when he has overcome his vexation," her mother answered, with such a sigh that Milly drew nearer, and put an arm around her neck.

"Are you very much disappointed, mamma?" Mrs. Irby did not answer directly; and when she did her voice was hoarse with emotion.

"The money would have been very acceptable, my dear, if I could have had it, to clear off some debts that are troubling me just now; but I must try and learn Clive's philosophy, and say, with him, that everything is for the best."

"Clive's isn't philosophy, mamma,” her daughter murmured, softly; "it's something better and more comforting than that."

Mrs. Irby sighed, but did not speak; and the next minute her husband bustled back, his wonted equanimity almost restored.

"After all it would be lowering oneself to let those stingy rascals know that I feel aggrieved, eh, mamma? It will be more dignified to treat their communication with silent contempt - don't you think so, Helen? I'm not sorry they did not buy the ground, it would have brought the railroad unpleasantly near. Don't look sober, Milly, you shall have your foreign trip all the same. Yes, I am determined upon it, so begin your packing as quickly as you please." "Are you serious?" asked his wife. "Quite so. I must go to London, and see my lawyer. I shall get some one or other to let this house for me; and then hey for Paris!"

"But the expense!" Mrs. Irby remonstrated. "Pooh, pooh, mamma dear! other men whose incomes are not larger than mine contrive to give their children a treat now and then, so why should not I? In fact, I have already written to my solicitors to tell them they must raise me a little money, as I intend to go abroad directly."

Mrs. Irby said no more, but after she had taken Clive Elsley into her counsels, she obeyed her hus

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band's injunctions, and preparations were commenced for the long-talked-of journey. Mr. Dunlop came down in haste, and Mrs. Veriston with him, to beg that Helen would not leave England, but spend the term of the Irbys' absence at Richmond; the result being that for several days she had an uncomfortable conviction that she must have appeared unkindly, if not rudely, deaf to their united entreaties. This troubled Helen very much; though she knew in her heart that she would have preferred to remain, and that it was only a dread of their influence being greater than her own conscientious desire to obey her father, that had enabled her to appear so firm.

For a few days Mr. Irby was in such eager haste to start for the Continent that the house was kept in confusion with endeavours to obey the often contradictory orders he issued; but when all was ready, trunks packed, and the little boys despatched to school, he deferred his departure that he might attend some local festivity, and by the time this was over Milly was so far from well that another delay was imperative.

Not that Milly had any tangible complaint that could alarm her friends. She was only feeling strangely weary; but she confessed this with such a smiling hope that she should feel better on the morrow that every one tried to think she was right. At first she was merely languid enough to be glad to sit quietly by the fireside with her book, and retire to rest at an earlier hour than usual; but soon, active, lively Milly only left her bed for the sofa; and the nourishing jellies and soups she had tried to swallow in pity for her mother's anxiety were turned from with absolute loathing.

"It is only the cold weather that affects her," Mr. Irby stoutly affirmed. "As soon as it is a little milder we will cross the Channel, and the change will make her strong again."

He appealed to the medical man, who had been called in, to confirm this, which he partially did. “A thorough change would doubtless restore her, but it must not be attempted yet; when she was stronger perhaps "-and Mrs. Irby's pale lips echoed incredulously, "When!"

Still Milly was so cheerful, so free from pain, that no one expressed much uneasiness about her, and Helen, who loved her dearly, was indefatigable in her efforts to rouse her from the lethargy into which she seemed to be falling. Mr. Evans had said that it would not do her any harm to be taken out for a drive on mild sunny mornings, and Helen, on learning this, walked into the town that same day to inquire for a more comfortable carriage than Mr. Irby's pony phaeton.

She came back just in the dusk of the evening, elated by her struggles with the northern wind, carrying a new book that Milly had wished to read, and some splendid grapes in her basket; and catching a glimpse of Mrs. Irby in the hall, she hurried

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E have considered two parts of the field:. the hard-trodden footpath which ran across it, or skirted its margin, on which the seed fell but into which it did not enter; and the part of the field where the thin layer of earth just covered the underlying stratum of hard, impenetrable, and impracticable rock. In the one case the scattered seed was immediately destroyed or carried away; in the other case it was readily received into the superficial soil, rapidly sprung up, full of hopeful promise, but as rapidly withered away, the seedsowing issuing, after all, only in sterility and death.

We now come to another and very different description of soil. So far, indeed, as the soil itself is concerned there is nothing to complain of. It seems healthy, open ground, ready to receive the scattered seed, and of such kind as to fill the sower with the hope that in due time it will be covered, not only, at first, with all the freshness of green, but eventually with all the glory of gold-the rich promise of spring being succeeded and crowned by the richer abundance of harvest.

But alas! though the seed is sown, though it springs up, though in some sort it arrives at maturity, yet no fruit is brought to perfection, the preliminary stages are passed through, but the final issue is not reached. There is no gladness at harvest time, for notwithstanding all that has gone before, there is no fruit worth the gathering, or no fruit at all. The result of this seed-sowing is but a defective and fruitless growth, which is "as the grass upon the house-tops, which withereth afore it groweth up, wherewith the mower filleth not his head, nor he that bindeth sheaves his bosom." The failure is as complete and thoroughgoing as either of the others, but a failure which is not so speedily made manifest.

The only thing which needs explanation is the phrase "which fell among thorns," which indeed is explained by the other part of the verse, where we are told, "and the thorns sprang up, and choked

them." Whence we learn what were the facts of the case-not that the seed was sown in a part of the field where the thorns and weeds had manifest existence, where they were fully, or even partially grown, but where, hidden in the soil itself, were the roots and seeds of noxious plants, which, springing up in their vigorous and rank vegetation, afterwards exerted so injurious and destructive an influence.

This ground, through some inadvertence or negligence, has not been thoroughly cleansed, just turned up by the plough, and smoothed over by the harrow, the weeds and thorns hidden for a time, but not effectually destroyed or removed. And what is the consequence? The seed is sown, and springs up, but so also spring up the thorns, and these soon manifest so rank and vigorous an existence, as to overtop and strangle the growing corn, keeping from it the light of heaven, and draining from the roots the richness and moisture of earth. They grow up together, side by side, but it is an unequal competition, the thorns soon assert their pre-eminence, while the corn, though it has not all vitality quite choked out of it, has all fruit-bearing power destroyed, and can only maintain a stunted, dwindled, and utterly profitless existence.

There is here no fault in the soil, that seems good enough, good enough for thorns in any case, good enough for wheat if there are no thorns, but not able to sustain thorns and wheat too. The thorns drain the soil of what should go to the corn, and so there is no fruit-no fruit worth the grinding or eating; the up-growth, such as it is, is fit only to be tied up in bundles with the thorns, and burned, is useful only in its destruction. Our Lord's interpretation of all this we have in the 22nd verse-" He also that received seed among the thorns is he that heareth the Word; and the care of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, choke the Word, and he becometh unfruitful."

Before we enter specifically upon the consideratien of this class of character, it may be as well

for us to notice the way in which these three classes of profitless hearers are related and distinguished

In the first case, the Word of God seems utterly ineffective, must be, indeed, for it gains no entrance, it just lies for a while on the world-hardened surface of the heart, to be crushed or borne away by the first destructive or dissipating influence which may be brought to bear against it.

In the second case there is the speedy and joyful reception of the truth, obedience to it for a season, but all this early promise is followed by a speedy falling away, indicated by the withering of the entire plant.

The late Dean Alford well remarks:-(I.) That there is in these three classes a PROGRESS, and that a threefold one: (1.) In TIME. The first receives a hindrance at the very outset; the second after it has sprung up, but soon after; the third when it has entered, sprung up, and come to maturity, or while it is so coming. (2.) In APPARENT DEGREE. The climax is apparently from bad to better; the first understand not; the second understand and feel; the third understand, feel, and practise. But also (3) in REAL DEGREE, from bad to worse. Less awful is the state of those who understand not the word, and lose it immediately, than that of those who feel it, receive it with joy, and in time of trial fall away; less awful again this last than that of those who understand, feel, and practise, but are fruitless and impure. It has been noticed also that the first is more the fault of careless, inattentive CHILDHOOD; the second of ardent, shallow YOUTH; the third of worldly, self-seeking AGE. (II.) That these clauses do not EXCLUDE one another. They are great general divisions, the outer circles of

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which fall into one another, as they very likely might in the field itself, in their different combinations.

We are really, then, here introduced to the worst class of all-the class made up of those who, maintaining the form of godliness to the last, have suffered the cares, the pleasures, the riches of the world to strangle the life itself-these are they who have a name to live, who manifest some of the outward forms of life, and who yet are really dead.

And while we have taken these three figures as distinct, as setting forth the leading and marked characteristics manifested by different men and different classes of men, we should not lose sight of the fact that we may suffer in varying degrees from all these evils.. Our hearts may become so indurated by worldly influences, that they shall be at last like the hard-beaten footway on which no impression can be made. Beneath an impressible surface, that shall seem readily responsive and sympathetic, there may lurk a nature hard and insensible as the adamantine rock, and we shall presently see how that which at first has the fairest show of life and promise of fruit-bearing, may be strangled by the thorns, the cares of this life, the pleasures of the world, the deceitfulness of riches. We are exposed to danger not on one side only, but on all sides, and we differ in this, not that we, any of us, are altogether exempt from dangers to which others are exposed, but that we are each exposed to some special danger, which owes its exceptional power over us to something peculiar in our individual character, position, or circumstances.

(To be concluded.)

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CHAPTER III.

AS it fancy, or was it because they had been thinking of other things, that they had not noticed that ominous hissing on the fire for the last few minutes? And was it because they had grown accustomed to the sound that the dash against the door seemed to be fainter and less violent?

The light of hope came into their faces as in silence they held their breath to listen, and then one and all exclaimed, "I do believe the storm is going down a little! The wind certainly isn't making such a noise round the house and down the chimney;" and the mother added a quiet but heartfelt "Thank God!"

It was not high tide even yet; but if the wind continued to fall, then there might be hope for them!

So they listened and prayed and waited, until their newly-kindled hope seemed confirmed; there could be no doubt that the wind was falling, and the sea less boisterous.

It was a good hour past the time of highest tide now, and the little cottage still stood its ground in the midst of the waters around it. It was too dark to see anything without, save now and then a twinkle of the lamps at Farnhead; but their ears told them that the splash of the waves no longer beat upon the door, and that was a relief unspeakable.

The tide was ebbing; the danger for the time being over; and they fell upon their knees, and gave thanks to the mighty God who had spread His sheltering arm over them.

For the time being they were safe, "but," as Frost

said, "the next tide is a higher one still; the highest of all. If the wind keeps up, and blows from the same quarter we shall be in more danger than ever."

Yes! they had enough to keep them anxious all through the long hours of that night, which seemed like a lifetime to all of them. But they had learnt in their helplessness and weakness to lean upon One who was mighty, and a strange calm and peace, such as they had never felt before, had stolen into their hearts, quieting and strengthening them.

Soon it seemed as if they were almost rehearsing that storm on the Sea of Galilee, for the wind fell, gradually but rapidly, until there was a great calm. The storm had died away! and the next dreaded tide scarcely overstepped its usual limits, flowing in and then flowing out again quietly and almost unnoticed.

When the late dawn of the winter's morning came, the imprisoned inmates of the little cottage opened their windows and doors, and once more looked out upon the world, which they had thought never more to do. It was like beginning a new life, and the old one seemed separated from it by a gulf as of years instead of hours.

But during that time of peril they had learnt some lessons which calmer hours had not taught them; and even little Joe, as well as Polly, felt that the lives which had been given back to them must be spent differently from the old ones.

'Please God, I won't forget Him again, and live with scarce a thought of Him, as I've done all this while," said Frost, reverently, strong feeling breaking through his customary reserve, as they stood at the open door, looking out upon the sea and the waters still lying about in the meadows around. He had but given expression to the thought that was in all their hearts.

The sun soon burst forth, all clouds were rapidly dispersed, and the day was mild, and, as the people said, "quite spring-like." The sea lay so calm and tranquil that it seemed difficult to believe it was only the night before it had been agitated by such a tempest.

The storm, however, had left its traces behind it in the vast heaps of pebbles which the waves had cast up all along the beach, and in the waters which flooded the meadows, quite altering the face of the country. Also, a large piece of the high road, which ran along by the beach a little beyond the turnpike, had been carried away, and a tiny bay left where hitherto it had beer dry land; whilst the waters had proved the power they possessed by laying prostrate more than one wall which had been considered tolerably strong.

"It was a marvel that the cottage had escaped," everybody said who came out to see the havoc caused by the storm; and all day long the place

was made quite lively by the numbers of visitors; whilst a troop of workmen was set to clear the road of the thick layer of pebbles, which rendered traffic almost impossible. Also they had to make a fresh piece of road farther inland, where the sea had encroached and done such mischief.

Joe ran in and out, and looked about him, enjoying the novelty and stir around him; but Polly, who was generally so ready to chatter to any one who would listen to her, seemed not to care to speak much of the night which had just passed; and when her school-fellows questioned her about it, soon turned the conversation off to other subjects. It had been too solemn a time to talk lightly of it.

None of the little party ever ceased to remember that night of peril, nor, though the danger was over, did they forget to be thankful for their wonderful deliverance. And Polly, when she took her seat in school on the next Sunday afternoon, determined not to lose all for want of attention, as she had been so much in the habit of doing, but listened, and carried away with her a great deal of what had been said.

"THE QUIVER" BIBLE CLASS. 104. Who were the three most mighty men in the army of King David ?

105. From what place was Urijah the prophet fetched when he fled from Jehoiakim king of Israel? 106. Quote a passage which shows that David was an inventor of musical instruments.

107. St. Paul in Gal. iii. 19 speaks of Moses as a "mediator." Quote a passage which proves this. 108. On what four occasions did our Lord make Himself invisible to the people?

109. What passage in the Old Testament sets forth the doctrine of humility in a similar manner to that of the parable in Luke xiv. 7—10?

ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 304. 94. Delilah, who sold Samson to the Philistines for eleven hundred pieces of silver (Judg. xvi. 5).

95. When the Gileadites under Jephthah fought with the Ephraimites, killing all those who could not pronounce the word Shibboleth (Judg. xii. 6).

96. Nergal-sharezer, Samgar-nebo, Sarsechim, Rabsaris, &c. (Jer. xxxix. 3).

97. St. John (John xxi. 7).

98. "Ye endured a great fight of afflictions; partly, whilst ye were made a gazingstock both by reproaches and afflictions; and partly, whilst ye became companions of them that were so used. For ye had compassion of me in my bonds, and took joyfully the spoiling of your goods, knowing in yourselves that ye have in heaven a better and an enduring substance" (Heb. x. 32—35).

99. The mother of king Lemuel (Prov. xxxi. 1).