to Christ. Now Lucy saw how much she had been mistaken. She longed for the love of the Lord Jesus. The beauty of His character attracted her as it had never done before. Would He, could He, accept such an one as she?

No matter who saw her, Lucy determined to stay behind, and talk it all over with the mission-preacher, and thus take advantage of the general invitation to those who were anxious. He was enabled to remove some of her difficulties, and she returned to Lady Dalby's much encouraged. After two or three conversations with him, the simple truth of the gospel was understood by Lucy and enjoyed. She wondered she had never seen its meaning before. How clearly Mrs. Lester had put it, and yet Lucy had not taken it in! She now saw that her mind had been blinded by the false idea that her salvation would have to be a joint work between the Saviour and herself. Yet, after all, Mrs. Lester's Bible lessons and quiet talks with Lucy had not been in vain, in that they had led her to desire that spiritual blessing which was reached out to her by the hands of another. She now perceived that Jesus Christ Himself was the Supply for all the wants of her soul; that, by His death, He had made atonement for sin, and that in heaven He was pleading the merits of His finished work on behalf of His people; she had but to receive Him into her heart, and nothing less would do; and Lucy felt

she could do no less than gladly admit the loving Saviour. Henceforth she could say

"My heart is resting, O my God,

I will give thanks and sing:
My heart is at the secret source
Of every precious thing."

"I came to Jesus, and I drank

Of that life-giving stream,

My thirst was quench'd, my soul revived,
And now I live in Him."

She found herself introduced into a state of freedom. What a different thing life became to her after this! Earnestly did she desire to live for the time to come, not unto herself, but unto Him who died for her and rose again.

K

CHAPTER XII.

"Men call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that yourself you daily such do see;

But the true fair, that is the gentle wit
And virtuous mind, is much more praised of me,
For all the rest, however fair it be,

Shall turn to naught, and lose that glorious hue;
But only that is permanent and free

From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue,

That is true beauty, that doth argue you

To be divine, and born of heavenly seed;

Derived from that fair Spirit from whom all true

And perfect beauty did at first proceed.

He only fair, and what he fair hath made;
All other fair, like flowers untimely fade."

-SPENSER.

MOST of those who read these pages will have seen beautiful brooches, rings, and other expensive trinkets set with precious stones, such as the emerald, garnet, and turquoise, displayed in the windows of jeweller's shops. A few of my readers may have admired necklets of pearls, or coronets of rubies, or of diamonds sparkling with brilliant rays of light.

Such costly gems can only adorn the rich; but there is an ornament which is far more valuable, and

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which may be worn by the poorest servant girl no less than by the Queen upon her throne.

All do not possess it; and with some it shines more brightly than with others. While the wearers may be unconscious of being decked with this lovely jewel, they themselves can best appreciate its softened light in the faces of their companions.

There were those in Mrs. Lester's Bible-class who wore this charm; as a rule, they were the most plainly-dressed young women there.

Necklaces, bracelets, and glittering gems may be highly prized and much admired by human eyes, but this decoration is of great price in the estimation of God Himself, for it is "the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit."

It cannot be bought with money like earthly jewels, for its beauty is of a higher order, consisting in humility, gentleness, modesty; modesty as seen in the look, manner, language, dress-in fact, in the whole conduct.

Sad, indeed, is the defect where these sweet graces are wanting, for nothing can take their place. All true followers of Christ possess them in a greater or less degree, but, independent of Christian grace, some characters are naturally more humble, gentle, modest than others, reflecting the beautiful ornament, which, in the highest sense, they cannot call their

own.

Whatever Alice Sharman's attractions were, and she had her attractions, she yet was long without the crowning graces of which I have spoken, and her reflection of them was faint, and grew less and less discernible. It was only through sorrow and suffering that she became possessed of the ornament, which is the gift of God, and, unlike earthly beauty, incorruptible.*

Alice was the daughter of a respectable bricklayer's labourer at Wilminster, where she was in service. She was a member of Mrs. Lester's Bible-class, and nineteen years of age, at the time of which I am about to speak. She was good-looking, with rather a fine figure. Poor girl! If others thought her pretty, she considered herself very pretty; if friends told her she had a good figure, she admired it as graceful.

Alice seldom gave anything to her poor, hardworking parents, for whom she ought to have felt a daughter could not do enough; all her earnings were spent on dress. Her mind, in leisure moments, was chiefly occupied in devising what sort of bonnet, hat, or other attire she should buy, to set herself off to the best advantage. No one could be long in Alice's company without seeing where her thoughts were; this was made evident by the conscious looks, and the frequent putting to rights of her ribbons, collar, or necktie.

* I Peter iii. 4.