The Rev. John Hasloch Potter is known far and wide as the Clerical Secretary of the Church of England Temperance Society and the editor of its admirable Temperance Chronicle. Educated at Oxford, he laboured zealously at Sunbury-on-Thames and St. Leonards, Streatham, before his official connection with the Temperance movement.

As editor of the Chronicle, Mr. Potter has done much to turn public opinion into the right channel, by his pithy, pointed, and practical comments upon current events. Under his ready and genial pen, the ordinary topics of the day are often made "to point a moral and adorn a tale," which strikes home upon the Temperance question.

There is one feature of his work which is especially noteworthy, namely, his efforts to bring the subject of Temperance before conferences of Day and Sunday school teachers. His pamphlet on "The Sunday-school Teacher in Relation to Temperance Work," is decidedly the most comprehensive, practical, pointed, common-sense Temperance tract we have seen. Mr. Potter is logical, incisive, and persuasive. He raises his argument on the basis of undoubted facts-sad, stern, startling facts-which must impel every earnest teacher to sympathise thoroughly with the Bishop of Rochester's appeal to his clergy:-"You may not all adopt the plan I have adopted--total abstinence; but in God's Name either adopt that or find a better one."

The statistics given by Mr. Potter in this pamphlet are very painful. very painful. "Last year there were taken into custody in the metropolitan area alone, for drunkenness, 16,525 women, being an increase of 1,100 over the previous year; and probably for every one apprehended thirty or forty are passed by." Again-" On one Sunday there were counted entering one public-house in Westminster, not the largest, 262 children of tender years."

We do not know how many sermons and addresses Mr. Potter gives in a single year, but the number must be very large. Travelling in modern days by rail is a considerable improvement upon the old coaching stages; but in excess it entails no little

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strain upon the traveller; and we think Mr. Potter's eminently busy life, and his untiring activity, is not a bad recommendatory total abstinence argument.

Mr. Alfred Sargant, the General Secretary of the same Society, is another most popular representative of the Temperance movement. He was born at Worthing, in Sussex, in 1848. So early as sixteen, he was the secretary of a flourishing Temperance Society, and a year later he successfully discharged similar duties for St. Margaret's Temperance Society, Westminster, at that time under the presidency of the Hon. and Rev. Lord Wriothesley Russell.

When the Church of England Temperance Society was reconstituted, he was elected to the secretaryship, and has thus been associated with the organization throughout the great work accomplished during the past seven years.

On entering upon his duties there were less than one hundred and fifty branches, and the Society had an income under eight hundred pounds a year; now there are over two thousand branches, and the income reaches nearly eight thousand pounds per annum. These figures, gratifying as they are, must not, however, be accepted as indicating the bounds of the increased work accomplished: for many parishes have been influenced, although not officially connected with the Parent Society, and large sums have been thus spent by Church Temperance agencies which are not included in the figures we have given.

His

Mr. Sargant has been a tower of strength to the Society in deputational work. platform appeals hardly ever fail to kindle the enthusiasm of his audiences, while his pleasant way of "stating a case " has gained for him troops of friends among the working classes.

To the literature of the movement he has contributed several stirring songs, which have achieved a wide popularity. He has also written some hymns, which are charac terized by deep devotional feeling, and the earnest simplicity which is one of the secrets of the power of our best hymn-writers.

"Having received the word EACE, as a main element of spiritual joy, results from the influence and teaching of the Holy Ghost. Of course I know there may be false peace. There may be the peace of insensi

bility, the peace of indifference, and-so great is the mystery of ungodliness-even the peace of self-righteousness. Yes! "self-righteousness," though the soul be "dead" in its 66 trespasses and sins!" God deliver us from such peace as this! It can bring us no true joy, for it speaks of no Saviour in whom we can rejoice.

But wherever there has been a ray of Divine light gaining entrance to the soul, there the need of peace has been felt. There must be no fear of God before men's eyes, a state of mind in which men are acting as if the fool's desire were realized, "there is no God," or the lack of peace will in some measure at least be readily admitted. I question whether any reader has not felt this. I am sure not one will deny that it is a blissful thought, "I am at peace with a Holy God." But how imperfectly we are wont, even those who know most of it, to realize this peace in its fulness!

Take the description of it, or rather the evidence of its possession, as expressed in a verse of a familiar hymn :

"Teach me to live that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed;
Teach me to die that so I may
With joy behold the Judgment Day."

How is it that we fail to possess this full portion? If we had to make our own peace, to undo the past, or perform in the future-to bring our own hearts into such

"dread

the grave as little as our bed," and even look forward with joy to the Judgment Day-well might peace be far from us; but Christ has "made our peace," and His peace, the peace which He made, is "perfect peace."

How is it then we fail to possess the full portion? It is because we forget or ignore the fact that peace is the Spirit's gift as well as the Saviour's purchase. Peace as well as light can only be realized or received by the ministry of the Holy Ghost. The Spirit's office is to "take of the things of Christ," the things which Christ has done as our Peace-maker, "and show them to us." As the Divine Interpreter of the love and power of Christ, as the Revealer of grace-He, by whose inspiration all Scripture was given, takes such texts as these and shows them to the aching soul:-" He that believeth is not condemned"; "Being justified by faith, we have peace with God"; "Him that com

eth to Me I will in no wise cast out." Words like these, interpreted to the soul by Him who is "the Interpreter," become refreshment to the weary and life to the dead in sin.

And so we see our fitting position is on our knees. If we would possess as well as hear about "the peace of God," which "passeth all" human "understanding," the Divine Spirit must be our Teacher. He it is who bestows the heaven-sent gift of faith-justifying faith which brings peace with God through Jesus Christ our Lord": and when the sweet assurance of our adoption as children is thus brought home to us, our peace flows as a river: "the Word" is indeed "received with joy of the Holy Ghost."

BY AGNES GIBERNE, AUTHOR OF

very bad. poor thing."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE VISITOR.

R. GREEN was evidently disturbed and distressed by the weary and worn appearance of Marina, "Dear me! dear me! poor thing,she does look badDon't look fit for much work,

"She could do a deal more than she does," said Martha, "if she wasn't for ever idling her time away, and moaning and fretting about nothing. She's a poor useless sort of a body. I suppose you've come for your five shillings. It's lucky I can give it to you."

"No, I don't," repeated Mr. Green. "Not in what folks mean when they talk about luck. No, I don't."

"I say it's a lucky thing I've got the five shillings to pay you, now you're come to ask for it," said Martha loudly, thinking he had misunderstood her.

"Yes, yes, I heard. I'm not so deaf as that comes to," said Mr. Green. "And you're wrong two ways, there's where it is,-wrong two ways. There's no such thing as luck. God gives, or God doesn't give; that's how it is, I take it. Things don't come of themselves. And as for the five shillings, if you think I'm come to ask for them, you're mistaken. I'm come for nothing of the sort. I'm come for-well, not exactly to see if all this little girl told me was true, for I'm in no manner of doubt; but I'm come to see for myself-to pay a sort of a visit."

"Anyway here's the money," said Martha curtly. She took the two half-crowns and

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pushed them across the table. "Here's the five shillings. I couldn't have given 'em to you an hour ago, but Clarrie's had a present, and I can now."

"A present!" said Mr. Green, pushing his chair two paces back from the table, as if to escape from the vicinity of the half-crowns.

"She went to see a young lady who took a fancy to her," said Martha. "I don't know what for, I'm sure. She gave Clarrie the picture-book and text over there, and four half-crowns. They'll pay you and the landlord."

"Four half-crowns! That's ten shillings," said Mr. Green. "She's a good friend to you; maybe she'll go on as she's begun."

"Oh, she's going away to-morrow. We've got no friends," said Martha.

Mr. Green looked at Martha and then at her husband. His gaze wandered round the room, carefully avoiding the two half-crowns, and finally rested upon Marina.

"What's the matter with her?" he asked: addressing his remark generally, with an instinctive knowledge that it would be difficult just then to draw an answer from the silent worker. "Been ill ?"

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"She's never what you may call well," responded Martha. Always been lame since a fall she had, down some garden steps."

"Don't she ever speak?"

"Not unless she's obliged. She ain't the most lively of companions, I can tell you."

"The most lively folks are not always the best,-no, not by any manner of means," said Mr. Green. "But she don't look up to much, neither talking nor working. Shouldn't think she made much by her work."

"No, she don't. It's down-hill for all of us," said Martha. "We're on the high-road to beggary."

Mr. Green gave a little side-glance at the two half-crowns lying on the table, one tilting over the edge of the other; then he gazed in an uncomfortable manner about the room. "Marina's a good girl,-she does her best,"

said Keyn. He had not spoken hitherto, a somewhat silent fashion having grown upon him of late. "She's a good daughter to us. I don't know what we'd do without her,"

"That's a strange name,-what was it you called her ?" asked Mr. Green.

"Marina. We call her Marrie as often as not. And my wife's Martha, but I call her Patty most commonly."

"Why, they're Martha and Mary," said Mr. Green in quite a pleased tone. "Martha and Mary. I wonder if they're like the Martha and Mary of old."

Mr. Green was looking at Clarrie now, and she said, "What?" inquiringly.

"Why you know the story, my dear, sure-ly," said Mr. Green, pulling the child between his knees. "You know the story well enough. Martha and Mary were sisters, not mother and daughter, but it don't matter; and they lived in a nice little village, not a big town like this, but that don't matter either. And Martha was a bustling sort of person, always for doing and doing, and Mary was quieter and didn't say much."

"Why that's grandmother and mother," said Clarrie, finding the description accurate. Martha tossed her head.

"Well, I hope the story is true for them all through; yes, I hope it," said Mr. Green, looking studiously into vacancy. "For they had a Visitor one day, and the Visitor told Martha something was wrong that she did. Now, my dear, I shouldn't wonder, I really shouldn't wonder, if you could tell me what it was He said."

Clarrie shook her head decisively with an interested air. Mr. Green looked at Martha to see if he might venture to proceed. She gave no sign.

"He had a deal to tell them," pursued Mr. Green after a pause,-"Yes, to tell them both. For they were His friends, and He loved them, and they were His children, and He had to teach them."

"His children!" repeated Clarrie, puzzled. "To be sure, yes, to be sure," said Mr. Green. "They were His children, and He had lots to teach them. But Martha had a deal in hand, bustling about, and seeing to the housekeeping, and laying the table, and making things comfortable. She hadn't time

to listen to her Master's words. And Mary was wiser. She didn't talk and bustle and scurry, but she just left all that alone, and sat down at her Master's feet, listening to Him."

"But who was their Master?" asked Clarrie, not seeing how the words had touched one present.

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Why, He Himself-the Lord Jesus," said Mr. Green. "He was their King and their Master and their Lord. Which do you think did the best ?"

Clarrie was silent. Mr. Green looked at the two women. Martha sat with head turned somewhat sullenly away. Marina had dropped her work, and was leaning forward, shielding her face with her hand.

"I know what the Lord Jesus Christ thought best," said Mr. Green. "Martha meant well of course-oh, very well, and He wasn't angry with her. Only He did just say,—' Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: but one thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen that good part which shall not be taken away from her.'"

CHAPTER XV.

THE MESSAGE.

"It's all very fine," said Martha shortly. "But folks must eat to live."

"To be sure,-yes-to be sure,—and it isn't easy to be never troubled, with a bare larder, I suppose," said Mr. Green. "It takes a lot of trust."

"Trust!" repeated Martha. "Seems to me there's just nothing to keep things from going to the bad."

"No?" said Mr. Green inquiringly. "You've prayed to God to care for you, and find He don't answer? Well, well, well; it's a maybe-I don't say but it's possible. There's times when our sins do keep Him from answering, and He holds back just so as to make us step on. Yes, there's times when He has to do that, no doubt."

"It's nothing I've done that's brought us so low," said Martha.

"I'm afraid we don't try prayer often

enough," said old Keyn sadly. "I'm afraid we don't, Patty. God is merciful, and maybe He'd hear if we asked Him."

Mr. Green gave a look across at Keyn full of indescribable meaning.

"I wonder how often you read your Bibles all of you," he said with emphasis. "Now I wonder, I do."

Keyn shook his head slowly and selfreproachfully.

"Ah, I thought so-I thought so," said Mr. Green, shaking his own head in emphatic response. "I thought so. Talk of' maybe'! Isn't God our Father? and don't a father hear his hungry child asking him for bread? -and don't a mother hear her baby crying? Don't God feed the very sparrows? No fear but He'll hear you quick enough if you pray. I don't say it's so sure He'll give you just the very thing in answer you've a fancy for. He'll give you an answer, if you go on asking. Dear, dear me, how folks do think of God, just as if He was like one of themselves,-and He as different as light from darkness. Well, well, I've stayed long enough for one day. But you just try-you just try and see you don't go to God with a 'perhaps.""

"And you're right," said Keyn. "I take blame to myself for not thinking more about Him when I was younger."

"Well, well,-good-bye, good-bye," said Mr. Green, getting up with a sudden appearance of haste. "Good-bye. I'll see if I

can't find some sort of softer work-softer and easier for that poor thing," and he looked pityingly at Marina, whose bowed head and hidden face told of strong agitation. "This tough sort of material is hard for her poor thin fingers. Yes, yes, we'll have a change. Poor thing," and he paused a moment gazing down upon her. "You want comfort of some sort," he said in a lower tone. "Yes, yes,-plenty of people want that. Well, you'll find it sitting at His feet, you know."

"You haven't taken your money, Mr. Green," said Martha shortly.

"Oh, it don't matter," said Mr. Green, backing hurriedly, as Clarrie took up the two half-crowns and held them out to him. "It don't matter. I'm in no sort of need for the money."

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"You'd best take it now," said Martha. "We mightn't be able to pay you another day." "Well, well,-then-don't," said Mr. Green, with decision. "You get a bit of something good for your supper all of you—yes, yes, that'll be best. And you can pay me the five shillings-when I come to ask for them -and that'll be never! Good-bye."

Mr. Green vanished.

"He's a good man, a real good man,” said Keyn.

"He's better than some preaching folks: he does practise too," said Martha, who had had a different style of remark ready. "What's the matter now ?"

The question was directed to Marina, for sounds of smothered weeping could no longer be restrained, and each sob had in it a sound of bitter heart-pain. Martha stood looking at her as Mr. Green had done, only with a different expression.

"I don't know what's come over her, I'm sure, of late: always whining and pining like a sick baby.".

"I believe it's a bit of good food she wants, like us all," said Keyn. "Come, Patty, Mr. Green said we was to make a good supper-" and the old man looked wistful.

"Well, I'll go round the corner and get a scrap of fish or something. It won't do to leave that to Clarrie."

Martha put on her old bonnet, and went off, bearing one of the precious half-crowns with her. Keyn remained after her departure watching Marina with a distressful air. Presently he could bear it no longer: so he made his way slowly to her side.

"Now, now, Marina; now my poor girlwhy, there's no need to cry so. What's it all about?" he asked almost timidly, stroking her arm with his brown hand. "Things'll look up now, Marrie; depend on it they will. And Clarrie and me we mean to ask God to help us, don't we, Clarrie ? though I don't see as we deserve He should. Was it something Mr. Green said that made you cry so, Marrie ?"

"Wasn't it that about sitting at the feet of Jesus, mother?" asked Clarrie, and the sobbing came in a fresh burst.

"Oh, if I could, if I could!" broke through the sobs.