OT long ago, the writer of this tract became acquainted with two Christian ladies, whose unostentatious, simple lives, spent amid years of suffering, and what many would have deemed utter helplessness, formed an eloquent commentary upon the value of quiet work.

Mrs. S- was the wife of a bank clerk, and with a family of five children lived in the suburbs of London. Husband and wife were true Christians, and it was their constant ambition to bring up their children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and to do good as they had opportunity unto those who needed either spiritual or temporal assistance. During the first ten years of their married life, they were enabled in a quiet way to engage in many works of usefulness. Mrs. S especially was a model of Christian activity in her own household, and in connection with the church of which she was an honoured member.

When about thirty years of age, and rejoicing in the success of her work, and when her eldest child was no more than ten years of age, it pleased God to visit her with a most painful affliction. She left her home in the morning, apparently in perfect health; in the evening she was carried to her room a helpless paralytic! The grief this occasioned to her large circle of friends can be imagined, but not described. Her own grief when she found herself, without a day's warning, severed from all the Christian. activities in which her heart had taken such intense delight, was of the most agonizing character. Bitter, indeed, was the trial; but the tender solicitude of her husband, and the affection of her little children, left her much to be thankful for; and ere long, though her trial was almost more than she could bear, she meekly bowed her head and allowed the Divine billows to sweep over her. Her daily, hourly prayer was, "Thy will be done!"

Twelve months passed away before a single ray of hope illumined her chamber of suffering. To her great joy, she then became aware of a feeble life in her hands. Her lower extremities were hopelessly paralysed; but day by day the flickering sense of power in her fingers grew stronger. The best medical advice was at once obtained, and she was encouraged to hope that she might once more obtain the use of her hands. The good news communicated to her a strength of will to which she had long been a stranger; she grew more hopeful and cheerful, and, after some weeks of skilful treatment, she was able to do what she thought she should never do again—take a pen in her hand! The glow of hope which this simple exercise awakened in her breast may be imagined, but cannot be described. The thought immediately occurred to her, that though a prisoner in a sick-room, her days of usefulness were not at an end yet. She lifted up her heart in prayer to God that he would graciously use the feeble remnant of her strength for his glory. She could not see, all in a moment, in what way she might best serve her Saviour with her slender powers; but the hope that she might yet do something for him who died for her, did her more good than all the medicine which her physician prescribed.

After meditating some time upon the means of usefulness which were within her reach, she determined, like Dorcas of old, to ply her needle in making garments for the poor. How many garments she made in the course of the year, no one rightly knew; the writer never called without seeing her plying needle and thread with all the briskness of which she was capable. The number must have been considerable, for there was scarcely a society in her neighbourhood that was not the richer for her efforts. Many a poor mother, when carrying home comfortable clothing for her little ones, had reason to thank God for the unremitting labours of the poor paralysed lady, who did good, hoping for nothing again.

Nor were her labours confined to her own neighbourhood, or even to her own land. Having relatives abroad who

were labouring for the conversion of the heathen, it was her delight at regular intervals to send a capacious box of suitable clothing and articles for sale. The articles she sent fetched a high price, and added considerably to the funds which were necessary for carrying on the work of the mission.

In this work of caring for the poor at home and abroad, this Christian lady spent more than twenty years of her life, though by common consent she might have been fairly excused from any effort whatever. It would be doing her memory great injustice, were it not stated that no mother could have been more solicitous about the eternal welfare of her children; and such was her winning way of presenting the gospel of her Lord and Saviour, that she had the unspeakable happiness of seeing all her children on the Lord's side.

As she became accustomed to her imprisonment-it lasted more than twenty years a serene joy took possession of her spirit, and she would have been the first to have been surprised had any one ventured to condole with her upon an affliction which Divine grace had rendered light indeed. She felt that, though laid aside, she was not deprived of the power of doing good, and the letters she received from many friends who appreciated her labours of love, formed an incentive ever new and encouraging to work while it is called to day.

One great trial fell to her lot at the close of twenty years of weakness. Her beloved husband was suddenly afflicted with a malady similar to her own! Her children tried for a while to keep her in ignorance of his illness; but it was impossible, and for the first time for many years she gave way to a paroxysm of weeping. When she was, in some degree, composed, she requested to be carried to her husband's chamber. Her children with many tears besought her to desist from her purpose; but she said, gently yet firmly, "I must go and see my husband." They carried her into his room, and placed her sofa-bedstead in such a position that she could see him. The young, tender love of

early youth shone in her eyes as she looked upon the poor, pale figure on the bed. For days he was speechless, perhaps unconscious; his wife scarcely ever removed her eyes from him. The doctor could give her little or no hope of his recovery; it was very doubtful, he said, whether he would again awake to consciousness; but his wife fondly hoped that she might hear his voice once more, and take farewell of each other "for a little while,"-only “a little while." After a day of unusual lethargy, at midnight he awoke, and seeing his wife by his bedside, gazed at her long and fixedly, while a smile of the most loving tenderness irradiated his countenance. He tried to turn on his sideeven to stretch out his hand-but the effort was too much for him, and with a gentle sigh the mortal put on immortality.

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In a few weeks, with perfect calmness and radiant hope, the wife whom he had left to bewail her loss exchanged the sombre garments of her widowhood for the bright robes of the celestial city; and as we followed her remains to the tomb where the dust of her husband was scarcely cold, we felt that there had been a greater power in her quiet life than in the lives of many whose one object it was to attract attention to themselves, and by sound of trumpet to summon the multitude to look on deeds which were intended to win the praise of men, rather than the praise of God.

The second illustration of the power of a quiet life with which the writer became acquainted was in some respects similar to the case of Mrs. S―; but in others widely different. Miss R had been a sufferer from childhood; she never remembered having a single day's health. Through the carelessness of a nurse, she had met with a heavy fall while almost a baby, and this had resulted in a spinal complaint which compelled her to pass the greater part of her time upon the sofa. Her face was surpassingly beautiful, and was a fair index to the heavenly character of her mind and disposition. Never having known what the joys of active life meant, she herself did not miss what others so

bitterly regretted on her behalf. Calm, patient and resigned, she submitted to her earthly lot without a murmur, and whenever she saw a cloud of sorrow flit across her parent's brow, she exerted herself beyond her strength to prove that she was quite happy, and that no one ought to grieve on her account.

At nineteen years of age, such had been the influence of the discipline through which she had passed, that she had the experience of one twice her age, though she had never stirred beyond her father's house and garden. She had never listened to a sermon in her life, and she was led to give her heart to the Saviour simply through reading the Bible alone. The book which had led her, while quite a child, into an entirely new world of thought and feeling, was her choicest treasure; truly may it be said that it was her meditation day and night. By it she was first instructed in the way of salvation, and from its pages the truth first flashed upon her mind that, weak and ailing though she was, she was bound to do something for the cause of Christ. The manner in which this was to be done, however, occasioned her anxious thought.

One morning, her path of duty was suddenly made straight. A poor little girl called upon her with a bright bunch of flowers; and as the invalid lady looked upon her shining, wholesome little face, she thought how pleasant it would be to have a few such children around her, that she might talk to them of Jesus. She immediately made a beginning with the child before her, and talked to her of the love of Jesus with such gentleness and freshness of feeling that her young heart was thoroughly interested and touched. Giving her a kiss, Miss R—————— told her that she might bring two or three of her little companions with her, and then they would have some singing, and more conversation about Jesus. The child was delighted, and appeared next morning with three girls of her own age.

Thus was a means of usefulness commenced, the results of which no one can adequately measure. Miss. R's class