their fortune; the other, opening to it, was provided with a sofa bedstead for her helpless father, and was used in the day time as the room in which she prepared, and they ate their frugal meals. Her friend interested himself in her behalf and obtained for her quite a number of scholars.

Louisa entered upon her new employments with much energy, and daily increasing contentment and cheerfulness. Months of sorrow had caused youthful beauty to fade from her wasted cheek, but a calm serenity had taken its place. In the morning she arose early, put her rooms in order, prepared the frugal meal for herself and her father, ministered to all his wants, for he needed the careful nursing of an infant child, and then went into her school. She had native strength of mind, as well as a fine education; ennobling views of life and duty; and soon gained a powerful ascendency over the minds and hearts of her pupils. Their characters were formed by hers; success crowned her endeavours, and the joy of success warmed her heart; a joy far more elevated and satisfactory than she had ever found, when forced into those scenes of fashionable gaiety for which she had no taste, and which she could not but despise. Month after month her school became more lucrative. Comfort after comfort was added to her life. Her intelligence and literary taste gathered a new circle of friends around her. And the black cloud which had darkened her early years, gradually disappeared in the distant horizon, as the sunlight of prosperity and joy again illuminated her path. Her feeble father became to her what a sick and suffering child is to a loving mother— almost an object of idolatry. She watched over him with the tenderest care, was enabled abundantly to supply all his wants, and at times was rewarded with a smile almost of glowing gratitude, as the infirm old man received some act of attention from his unwearied child. At last death, who seems sometimes to linger, but who never stops in his march, removed her father from her care. The event was to Louisa a positive grief, and she could not recognize it as a relief from a heavy burden. But the penniless and friendless

Louisa was penniless and friendless no more. Several of her literary contributions had appeared in the periodicals of the day, and Miss Jones, with her thriving school around her, was now a literary lady whose society was courted by the most intelligent circles, and who was enjoying from her regular income an ample competence. Youth gradually passed away, and middle life came, with its physical and intellectual moral beauty.

There is a peculiar loveliness in the smooth and blushing cheek of childhood, ere care has ploughed one furrow upon the brow, or life's storms have placed one tinge of bronze upon the skin, where the lily and the rose vie for the mastery. There is, however, a maturer beauty in those features upon which the virtues of benevolence, humility, and magnanimity, by long exercise, have placed their ineffaceable impress. The eye beams with a radiance which tells of conflicts and victories. The soul, with all that it contains that is ennobling, has traced upon the speaking countenance its characteristics. There is a beauty in the spring morning, with its rejoicing sun and swelling bud and blushing violet. There is also a rich and noble beauty in the calm still day of early autumn, when not a cloud darkens the sky, and the green leaves have not yet lost their freshness, and the full-blown flowers have not yet been touched by decay. Louisa was thus beautiful. Contentment, benignity, the consciousness of life usefully employed, had painted their expressive lineaments upon her features, and she was now a woman noble in heart and beautiful in person. She had not only been able to provide herself with every comfort of life, but year by year had laid up a little in safe investments, so that when, in after years, she saw fit to retire from the laborious toil of life, she had an ample competence to supply all her wants in her declining age. Old age at length came, but not with discontent and moroseness and weariness of the world, but with cheerfulness and hope;-with a joyful consciousness of a life well spent, and a happy anticipation of a home in heaven through faith in the Redeemer. She lived to the age of threescore years and ten, and the whole half century suc

ceeding the first twenty years of her life, was blessed by the influence of her school-girl days.

MEMOIR OF JOHN RATHBONE.

JOHN RATHBONE, the subject of this brief memoir, was born at Longport, near Burslem, on the 11th of January, 1840. He was about three years of age when he first accompanied his father to Longport Sunday-school, in which he continued a scholar until his last illness. His attendance was regular. He was a youth of considerable promise, and was beloved by all who knew him. He had a strict regard for the truth; and would not join other boys in using bad words. His temper was mild; his disposition kind; he was fond of the school; had a taste for music, and took a part in singing two pieces at the last Anniversary. Notwithstanding these pleasing traits in his character, his heart was not given to God. This occasioned his father deep concern. He prayed earnestly for John, and urged him to seek the salvation of his soul. But, like too many, he thought that if he became religious, he must give up everything like pleasure.

In November last, it pleased God to lay His afflicting

hand upon him; and, on the Sabbath, he wept that he was not able to attend the school. His mother, seeing him weep, asked him whether he thought he should not get better? He replied, "I don't know; but I should like." After five days' illness, it was evident that his disease was inflammation on the brain. At times he became delirious. When a little better, he would lift up his voice in prayer to God for mercy, and then break out in the language of praise. On one occasion, which will not soon be forgotten by those who were present, he exclaimed, "Lord have mercy upon me." "The Lord is good." "Praise the Lord." Heaven seemed to beam in his countenance as he said-"Father, I feel so well this morning. The Lord is good to his servant, is he not, father?"

During his illness, every attention was paid to him both by his friends and the doctor. Many were the prayers offered up on his behalf, but all appeared in vain. After suffering severely for a fortnight, it pleased the Lord to release him. He died on the 30th of November, 1852, and we trust he is now for ever with the Lord. It is remarkable that three sons of Mr. Rathbone have died on the same day of the month.

My dear young readers, let me affectionately urge you to give the Lord Jesus your hearts now, for He hath said, "Now is the accepted time: behold, now is the day of salvation," and "They that seek me shall find me.” Religion is the “ one thing needful," therefore, get religion. "Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." Do not put off until another time what ought to be done to-day. Get ready for heaven: for, like John, you may be called to your account while yet young. Happy shall ye be, if, when God calls, you are found ready. The voice from heaven said, "Write: blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours, and their works do follow them."

JOSEPH RATHBONE.

A REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF DIVINE
PROVIDENCE.

THE following remarkable narrative was inserted in Dr. Rippon's "Baptist Register" for 1802:

"Dr. Joseph Stennett married a lady in Wales, in consequence of which he resided there several years, and preached with great acceptance to the Baptist congregation in Abergavenny. There was a poor man in that congregation, generally known by the name of Caleb; he was a collier, and lived among the hills between Abergavenny and Hereford. He had a wife and several small children, and he walked seven or eight miles every Lord's-day to hear the doctor, the weather seldom preventing him. He was a very pious man; and his knowledge and understanding were remarkable, considering the disadvantages of his station and circumstances. The doctor was very partial to him, and much pleased with his conversation. One winter there was a severe frost, which lasted many weeks, and not only blocked up his way to the chapel, so that he could not possibly pass without danger, but prevented him from working for the support of himself and family. The doctor and many others were much concerned lest Caleb and his family should perish from want. However, as soon the frost had broken up, Caleb appeared again. The doctor saw him from the pulpit, and as soon as the service was ended went to him, and said, "O Caleb, how glad I am to see you. How have you done during the severity of the weather?" He cheerfully answered, "Never better in my life. I not only had necessaries, but lived upon dainties during the whole time, and have some remaining still, which will serve us for some time to The doctor expressed his surprise, and wished to be informed of the particulars. Caleb told him that one night, soon after the commencement of the frost, they had eaten up all their stock, and had not one morsel left for the morning, nor had any human probability of getting

come.