man, who moved on in a certain even way, loved Emily, and told her so sometimes, but knew as much of her inner life as the Queen of England. At home every day were her mother, this unmarried aunt, and one servant. Her mother was a thoroughly practical woman, busy with her dairy and her garden, and more industrious than her sister, who bustled about all day long in a disconnected way. Between Emily's secret thoughts and this home circle there was a most impassable gulf. They could help her less than she could help herself, only this night the burden seemed too heavy for her to bear. There was no use in going away to cry over it: she had tried that before. She was in no mood for reading; so she took her unfinished dress, put the shade on the lamp, and sat down to sew on the braid. Tinkle, tinkle," went the door-bell. 'Dear me," she said to herself, "I cannot talk to-night," but she went to the door.

66

66

'Oh, Mrs. Jackson; good-evening!" And this good lady had a hearty kiss and welcome. Something in her quiet eyes met Emily's mood. She untied the strings of her friend's white hood, and sat down close by her, with a very wistful look. Now they were alone, if Mrs. Jackson would only talk to her, and help her a little. However, it was only by intuition one could have told her thought. Emily never knew how to speak first.

66

Do you know, Emily," said Mrs. Jackson, when they had talked a little about common-place things, “I often wonder if you are quite contented?"

Emily looked up quickly, and read something in the thoughtful face that opened her heart. She hadn't much to say, for her trouble was rather intangible—a blank, a sense of life slipping away with no real thing done.

66

I sew," said she, "for John, and I dust the rooms every morning; but most of the things mother would rather do herself. Then auntie takes a good deal of care, so I don't seem to be very necessary. The weeks go on, and I don't see what it all amounts to."

"You finished school last summer, didn't you, Emily?"

"Yes; father thought I had been long enough. Besides, my head troubled me so much when I was studying, it was of no use for me to try to go on. Oh, dear! Sometimes I wish I were so poor I should have to support myself. I believe I should be much happier."

Mrs. Jackson was silent a minute, pondering, while she drew Emily to her with a caressing motion. I understand," said she. "I've lived through it all. I think the great thing for you now is, to know

just what you ought to do. You want to find the right path between yielding in a lazy way to circumstances, and trying to force your dreams against Providence. Suppose we think things over, and see a little."

66

Well," said Emily, "I have wanted to go with Carrie French, to teach. I believe I know enough for that. But you see, I can't stir a step. I'm the only daughter, and they think I'm not strong, so I never could persuade father and mother that it is anything but nonsense. There's no use thinking any more of that. If I lived in a large town there'd be plenty to do for poor people, but you know how it is here. There it is-I seem to be so shut up." And her lips quivered a little as she went round the old hopeless circle again.

"But, Emily dear, God means to have you do something that calls out all your powers. If He shuts you up here in this village, the work is here. I know what you want to say. You have lived here so long, with everything going on in a regular way, you can't break through. You don't know how to get anything to begin with. It is like putting out your hand to take an apple in a dream—just as you put it out you wake up."

Emily looked up with a smile, and eyes brimming over. This was just the trouble.

Mrs. Jackson was silent another minute or two. She knew Emily didn't need to be directed into seeing home duties better just now. She was already a good daughter and sister. The finer shares of help and home service she would find by degrees, if she could once start in the right direction. To go out was the best thing for her first. The silence was broken rather abruptly.

Can you sew well, Emily? Do you like it?"

"Why, yes, pretty well; but why?"

"Well, I have thought much of you, of what you need to assist you in your present state of mind. And I have thought much of our minister's wife, of what she needs in her feeble state of health. Did you ever think of what she has to do with her feeble health, to take care of her house, and sew for those three children? You know that she cannot afford--or rather, I should say, we do not pay her husband sufficient stipend to allow her to keep a servant, and obtain the help she should have. I know this is a shame, and have often thought of it. I have often thought of the style in which many of our people live, and yet they seem not to think of poor Mrs. W., toiling day after day, and night after night, till her health

is quite broken down, when a very little from each would put this all right. Now I propose that you take your work-bag, the first pleasant afternoon, and go down there and sew for her. You can manage it all pleasantly, and you will give more comfort than you can think. When you come away, bring home something to finish. Then, if you can, interest some of the other girls in it. If you had ever been very tired, and seen piles of sewing waiting to be done, you could feel what good it would do her.

"Look around, then, and see if there isn't some one else who needs just such help in some similar way. Then, Emily, be all the time looking out for little chances-not to find fault, or find something to speak of that would be hurtful—but to do something for everybody you see. If you go over to the post-office, don't go dreaming and thinking of yourself, but watching. If you meet Charley Clark, speak to him pleasantly, however sulky he looks. He is one of the kind that few like-though he has been somewhat successful in life -so a little sunshine like that is just what he needs. If you see Martha Cricks, don't say in your mind, Ah! how cross and gossipy she looks!' but give her a kind word, and try to imagine what made her so, and what she might have been in different circumstances. And so on, Emily: keep it up, week after week, watching for little chances in all sorts of ways, to make somebody-anybody—even Bob Lightfoot, at the corner, happier-better, if you can. Don't let any one slip by your thought, simply because he always has. Stop and ask yourself, 'Now, isn't there something for him?' You will have to think in a flash sometimes-but do it. Then there is Christmas coming. There are ever so many people here who live right on past all these holidays, and hardly ever know in their lives what it is to have a present. You can make some little thing; some cushion, or necktie, or collar-just some small thing, and astonish them with it. It would be such a surprise. It would give a thrill of hearty pleasure to persons who are not used to thrills of any kind." Emily drew a long breath, while a certain light slowly kindled in her eyes. "I think I shall have enough to do." She laid her head upon Mrs. Jackson's shoulder. A silent kiss told the story of a trouble solved, a lifelong rest and work begun. Her eager desire, her underlying Christian principle of self-denial, would develop the little hints into a rare life—a life, however, possible to any girl who is at this moment saying, "What shall I do? What can I do?"— By an American Writer.

MISSIONS IN THE SOUTH SEAS.

A BRIGHT example, not simply of the success which has attended

missionary effort, but of the success which has attended native Christian agency, is seen in the island of Mangaia. This island, only twenty miles in circumference, with a population numbering 3000 souls, situated far away in the southern seas, ranks prominently amongst those regions into which the light of the Gospel has been carried by the coloured converts themselves. For twenty years, as the Rev. William Gill tells us, in his "Gems from the Coral Islands," Mangaia was left exclusively to native Christian teachers. At length, however, it was arranged that Mr. Gill-then stationed at a large island one hundred and twenty miles distant should proceed to Mangaia, and ascertain the extent to which the Gospel had spread there. The testimony he bears, shows how perseveringly and how ardently those native teachers, for twenty years alone, must have laboured. On the evening of the day on which he landed, he says 800 persons gathered and heard from him the object of his visit. Day after day believers and inquirers came to him for instruction and advice. On the first Sabbath after his arrival an early morning prayer-meeting, attended by 300 persons; schools, attended by 800 or 900 children and young persons; and a public service, attended by 2000 persons, showed the deep hold which the Gospel had gained amongst the natives. "It was altogether," says Mr. Gill, a day of deep interest-one that we had little expected to experience among a people who had only had native teachers' instruction."

66

One can scarcely forbear smiling at the conscientious scruples with which some of these good people were troubled after embracing Christianity. One, for instance, came to Mr. Gill, asking, “Is it a sin to eat raw fish?" whilst another was exceedingly anxious to learn whether or not it was wrong to eat half-cooked pork. They seemed to think that, in order to be good Christians, they must of necessity have their meat well done! Other inquirers would ask, Is it wrong to eat rats?" while others again were troubled to know whether or not the Bible commanded wives to sit at meals with their husbands! This last point seems to have been a difficulty with an unusual number of the natives. Degradation of the females had been part of their heathenism, and it proved to be that part which yielded last to the influences of the Gospel.

66

About five years after this first visit by Mr. Gill, a heavy calamity