"Why, f-a-ther!" burst from each of them all at once; when, in reply to their surprise, he carelessly said :

"I'm off for a bit of a walk after breakfast." And so he was; and that bit of a walk was to his long-neglected church; the bread was the attraction. But I must do John Lawton justice by saying that, although he privately hoped he might get a loaf, he did not so much go for that, as to indulge his curiosity, and see who of his neighbours that were not regular attendants would be what he called mean enough to go for the sake of what they could get.

John reached the church just as the doors were opening, but not liking to be the first to enter (which would look greedy), he loitered about until the usually empty pews were nearly filled with bread-seekers; then he secreted himself behind a pillar, whence he could better see than be seen.

"There goes Betsy Ward; I'm sure she ain't one of your hungry sort," he said to himself, as a tall, robust woman walked up the aisle. "And there's Bob Symes; catch him staying away when there's any giving going on."

Thus some mental comment was made by John on each new-comer, until, just as the clergyman entered the readingdesk, a little chirruppy-looking man entered, and whisked towards the top of the church, turning his head first to one side, then to the other, as if expecting thanks for the favour his appearance there conferred on the congregation.

"What on earth do you do here?" said John, almost aloud.

The question seemed to rebound and echo back to him: "And what do you do here?"

John fidgeted uneasily, but did not answer-we shall hear by-and-by what he did in church that day.

The prayers were over, the hymn before the sermon was sung, and God's blessing on the words about to be spoken reverently asked; when, after the subdued buzz of settling down to listen had subsided, the clergyman, with a loud, clear voice, gave out his text from John vi. 35:

"I am the Bread of Life."

Then turning to each wing of the church, he repeated it softly, yet distinctly: "Jesus said unto them, I am the Bread of Life.'"

John Lawton's attention was at once riveted. He had not wished to be seen, but by degrees, as the words of solemn and loving truth flowed from the preacher's lips, John's head peeped more and more from behind the pillar, until at last, forgetting who should see him or who should not, he stood right up, and leaning forward, folded his arms in an attitude of close attention. The clergyman could not avoid occasionally meeting the keen black eyes so earnestly fixed on him-he should know them again anywhere-and he could not but hope that this listener was a hungry soul, waiting to be fed with the true Bread that came down from heaven;1 and this hope increased his desire to proclaim to all such listeners, that there was bread enough and to spare in their heavenly Father's house; none need perish. with hunger; and that he stood there that day to bid all kindly welcome in the name of their dear Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. Then, at the close of the sermon, ere pronouncing the benediction, he made a solemn pause, and said:

"One word more, my friends, about this true Bread, this Bread of Life. Remember, you are here to-day each one to seek it for himself; none can take it for another. It is a matter between God and your own souls:3 it is a matter between life and death."

When the congregation began to disperse, the breadseekers waited behind, but John Lawton was not amongst them; and when asked by a neighbour, who had seen him at the church, if he had received some bread, he started, and said: No; I forgot all about it !"

But what made him so forgetful he did not tell for some time yet.

1

1 John vi. 32.

2 Luke xv. 17.

3 Psa. xlix. 7, 8.

眼天

RS. BUCKLEY was a widow, and a tried one. She was poor, ill, destitute, and alone. Had not fraud and injustice prevailed among those to whom her pecuniary interests were entrusted at the time of her husband's death she would have been in good circumstances, seeing that the property left by Mr. Buckley was amply sufficient to maintain herself, and to educate her three children for suitable positions in life. But the same old story of wrong and fraudulent appropriation held good in this case, as in many others, with the necessary consequence that she and her little ones had to face a cold world moneyless, homeless, and friendless.

Do you ask why the law was not put in motion to restore to the widow and fatherless their rights? Because there are different ways in which fraud can be carried out, and in many of these ways men can sin without being touched by Acts of Parliament. A man may cheat his neighbour and never become amenable to the law of the land, provided he only does it cleverly; and the man who defrauded Mrs. Buckley was cleverer than the law of his country. Consequently, beyond the few pounds available at the time of her husband's decease, she had absolutely nothing to depend on, except the labour of her hands. Still, the dishonest one was answerable to God's law, the requirements of which he had broken, and that most foully, while He who proclaims Himself the "Judge of the widow and the Father of the fatherless" looked on with just indignation. Mrs. Buckley's oppressor might well tremble as he thought of that great day "for which all other days were made."

So it came to pass that Mrs. Buckley, sick, poor, and oppressed, was striving to hide her sorrow in the seclusion of a fifth-rate London lodging. One poor bedroom and a tiny parlour had to suffice for all the wants of herself and little ones, while so utterly broken down was she that even

the landlady looked upon her and her modest purse with pity. Daily it grew more difficult to keep the wolf from the door; daily it became a harder task to satisfy the cravings of the little ones; and finally, when the widow had paid the last pound for rent, leaving only a few shillings unchanged, she lay down on the little sofa to ease her aching head, and, clasping her hands, poured out strong cries and tears to her Father in heaver And as she spoke faith was imparted to her; a holy confidence entered her soul, so that she could tell the widow's God all her troubles, and roll her burden upon Him.

"Before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear." Those words were sent to her heart with tenfold power as she prayed, and so perfect was her confidence in them that she calmly awaited the blessing which the prayer-answering God would send. Within an hour the landlady announced a visitor, unknown to her even by name. Sitting up, and putting on as composed an appearance as she could, she drew the little boy towards her to still his noisy chatter, and received her visitor.

"I am a stranger, madam, and on that account have hesitated before this house once or twice, wishing to call, yet fearing to intrude. You are but recently come into my parish, I find.”

"Only a month since. Indeed, I am a stranger to London. I came from a happy country home, rendered desolate and poor by my husband's death and the fraud of a trustee. I came here, hoping to secure some position as matron or housekeeper, whereby I could support myself and little ones. But trouble and bereavement have laid me so low that I have been invalided nearly all the time I have been occupying these apartments."

"I was informed of it, Mrs. Buckley, before I called. These facts made me anxious to see you, and to render assistance, if I could."

"You know it, sir? I was not aware that anybody knew of my destitute circumstances, I have kept them so much to

myself." As Mrs. Buckley spoke, the flush of honest shame mounted to her face. With the true instinct of a lady, she could not endure the thought of her affairs being laid open to the eyes of the world, even in pity.

"I have been aware of that, dear madam. But you must allow me to remind you that people with whom we have to do understand sometimes that we are suffering, when not a word is spoken on the subject. I would not dwell on this, however, were it not to offer you help. I am the bearer of help to you, if you will accept it."

"Help, sir!" and the widow burst into tears. "Help, sir! Who can have sent it? You must be mistaken."

"God, madam. A certain lady, who seeks to do His will, and to devote her vast wealth to His honour and glory, seeks to lessen the sum of human misery in this great world of London by making some of us, who are face to face with want every day, her almoners. I have the honour to be one, so I have come to offer you help from her purse."

"May I ask the name of this lady? Is it forbidden me to know? I should like to express my gratitude."

"You will easily recognize her if I but mention her name." And the clergyman gave the name of a lady honoured beyond common honour, who has for many years devoted herself and her fortune to the service of humanity. "I am only her almoner, or rather one of many. I judge that you are sick, in need of medical care, comforts, and employment, perhaps. Do I speak rightly?"

"You do indeed, sir," replied Mrs. Buckley. "Were it possible for me to find a post as housekeeper or matron, I would cheerfully labour hard to educate my little ones, and to keep a home for them."

"But first you must get well. I will send you a medical man to minister to your sickness. Then, when restored to health and strength, I will see if some sphere of useful labour cannot be opened up to you. But, meanwhile, you must allow me to impart to you pecuniary relief. It is not my own money, but that of the lady to whom I referred