THE UNSPOKEN WARNING. I AM no believer in the supernatual. I never saw any ghosts, never heard any strange noises-none, at least, that could not be accounted for on natural principles. I never saw lights round the bed or heard knocks on the head-board which proved to be "forerunners of sickness or death; I never had even dreams come to pass; and to spirits, in the common acceptation of the term, since the days of the Fox girls, my very presence has been always a damper. I am not one of the sort who are always on the look-out for signs and wonders; and if want of faith in spiritualism or supernaturalism is a sin, I ought to have been the last one to look out for so marked a-you may name it what you please, I call it-Divine interposition as the one I am about to relate, all the witnesses to which-and they are not a few-are still living.

One bitter cold day in winter a merry party of us, nestled down under furry robes, went to meet an appointment with a friend living a few miles distant, with whom we were to spend the afternoon, and in the evening attend a concert to be held near by. The air was keen and inspiriting, the host and hostess genial as the crackling fires in the grates, and the invited guests, of whom there were many besides ourselves, in that peculiar visiting trim which only old-time friends, long parted, can enjoy. Restraint was thrown aside: we cracked jokes, we chattered like magpies; and not a little of the coming concert, which promised a rare treat to our unsophisticated ears. All went merry as a marriage bell, and merrier than some marriage bells, till just before tea, when I was seized with a sudden desire to go home, accompanied by a dread or fear of something, I knew not what, which made the return appear, not a matter of choice, but a thing imperative. I tried to reason away, to revive anticipations of the concert; I thought of the disappointment it would be to those who came with me to give it up; and, running over in my mind the condition in which things were left at home, I could find no ground for alarm.

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For many years a part of our house had been rented to a trusty family; our children were often rocked in the same cradle, and half the time ate at the same table; locks

and bolts were things unused; and in deed as in word we were neighbours. In their care had been left a boy of ten years, the only one of the family remaining at home, who knew that when he returned from school he was expected to bring in wood and kindlings for the morning fire, take supper alone or with little Clara E as

he chose, and otherwise pass the time as he pleased, only that he must not go into the street to play or on the pond to skate. He had been left many times in this way, and had never given occasion for the slightest uneasiness; still, as this nameless fear grew upon me, it took the form of a conviction that danger of some sort threatened this beloved child.

I was rising to go and ask Mr. A- to take me home, when some one said, "You are very pale; are you ill?"

"No," I answered, and dropping back in the chair, told them how strangely I had been exercised for the last few minutes; adding, "I really must go home."

There was a perfect chorus of voices against it, and for a little time I was silenced, though not convinced. Some one laid the matter before Mr. A———, who replied, "Nonsense; Eddie is a good boy to mind, will do nothing in our absence that he would not do if we were there, and is enjoying himself well at this moment, I'll warrant."

This answer was brought to me in triumph, and I resolved to do as they said, "not think about it." But at tea my trembling hand almost refused to carry food to my lips, and I found it utterly impossible to swallow a mouthful. A deathlike chill crept over me, and I knew that every eye was on me as I left the room. Mr. A- rose, saying, in a changed voice and without ceremony, "Make haste; bring the horse round; we must go right away. I never saw her in such a state before; there is something in it." He followed me to the parlour, but before he could speak I was pleading as for dear life that not a moment should be lost in starting for home. "I know," said I," it is not all imagination, and whether it is or not, I shall certainly die if this dreadful incubus is not removed."

All was now confusion; the tea-table deserted, the meal scarcely tasted; and my

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friends, alarmed as much at my looks as at my words, were as anxious to hurry me off as they had before been to detain me. To me those terrible moments seemed hours, yet I am assured that not more than half an hour elapsed from the time my fears first found expression before we were on the road towards home. A horse somewhat noted for fleetness was before us, and with only two in the gig-the rest staid to the concert, and made Mr. A- promise that if nothing had happened we would return-we went over the road at a rapid pace. I knew, from the frequent repetition of a peculiar signal, that the beast was being urged to his best, yet I grew sick with impatience at the restraint. I wanted to fly. All this time my fears had taken no definite shape. I only knew that the child was in danger, and felt impelled to hurry to the rescue. Only once was the silence broken in that three-mile journey, and that was when, on reaching an eminence, from which the house was in full view, I said, "Thank God, the house isn't on fire!"

"That was my own thought," said Mr. A- but there was no slackening of speed. On nearing home a cheerful light was glimmering from Mrs. E- -'s window. Before the vehicle had fairly stopped we were clear of it, and, opening the door, said, in the same breath, "Where's Eddie?

"Eddie? Why, he was here a little while ago," answered Mrs. E- pleasantly, striving to dissipate the alarm she saw written on our countenances. "He ate supper with the children, and played awhile at marbles; then spoke of Libby Rose having a new picture-book, and that he wanted to see it. You'll find him over there."

With swift steps Mr. A- crossed the street to the place mentioned, but returned with, "He has not been there." Eddie was remarkably fond of skating, and my next thought was that he had been tempted to disobedience. I said calmly, "We will go to the pond." I was perfectly collected; I could have worked all night without fatigue with the nerves in that state of tension; but Mr. A said, "No, you must go in and lie down. Eddie is safe enough somewhere about the village. I'll go and find him." But there was nothing in the tone as in the words to reassure

me.

As Le oke he crossed the hall to our

own room, and turned the knob. The door was locked. What could that mean? Eddie was either in the inside or had taken the key away with him. Mr. A——————— ran round to a window with a broken spring, which could be opened from the outside. It went up with a clang, but a dense volume of smoke drove him back. After an instant another attempt was made, and this time, on a lounge directly under the window, he stumbled on the insensible form of little Eddie, smothered in smoke! Limp and apparently lifeless, he was borne into the fresh cold air, and after some rough handling was restored to conscious

ness.

From that hour I think I have known how Abraham felt when he lifted Isaac from the altar unharmed, in obedience to the command of the angel of the Lord. True, I had been subjected to no such trisl of strength and faith; my Father knew I should have shrunk utterly before it; yet, if it was not a similar messenger that whispered to me in the midst of that gay party an hour previously, I have no wish to be convinced of it, and were the book placed in my hands which I knew had power to rob me of this sweet belief, I would never open it.

Eddie said, on returning from school, he made a good fire, and as the wood was snowy, thought he would put it into the oven to dry-something he had never done before. Then, on leaving Mrs. E- -'s room, he went in for an apple before going to see Libby Rose's picture-book, and it seemed so nice and warm he thought he would lie down awhile. He could give no explanation as to what prompted him to turn the key; it was the first and last time; but this could have made no difference in the result, for no one would have discovered the smoke in time to save his life. The wood in the oven was burned to ashes, but as the doors were closed there was no danger of falling embers setting the house on fire; and had we stayed to the concert everything would have been as we left it, except that little Eddie's voice would never more have made music for our ears. Every one said that with a delay of five or even three minutes we should have been too late.

Many years have passed since then, yet now, when the lamp of faith burns dim, and God and bis promises seem a great way off, I have only to go back to thisthe first, the last, and only manifestation

of this nature-to feel that as a father careth for his children, so careth he for us. "Deliver us from evil, for thine is the power," is now no mere formality, but is pregnant with glorious meaning.

THE OLD PASTOR AND THE NEW

MEETING-HOUSE.

It was a Sabbath morning in spring, serene and sweet, with bird songs that seemed to talk of heaven to the brown hills and the unleaved trees, and with the more homely but contented voices of country farm-yards, that spoke of human companionship and the painless side of earthly care. A look of reverential Sunday restfulness lay all over the picturesque landscape of Winton, and not a sign of weekday work appeared, far or near, to mar the general aspect of worship, or disturb its suggestiveness of peace.

Alone among the hill-side maples yonder, close by "Bigelow Brook," there curled up a thin, half-invisible skein of smoke from under the sugar-boilers of John Fenwood, as if saying there had been busy hands about there last night, and would be tomorrow morning; but more than this not a glimpse or an echo of worldliness broke in upon the Sabbath harmony, or ruffled to the sense of the distant observer the sacred serenity of the hour.

Men, women, and children were moving that morning by twos, and fives, and dozens, up the north, south, and west roads, in quaint family waggons and afoot, over the long pastures to Winton Green. The

sight was a delightful one, and reminded you of those ancient "Songs of degrees with which the psalmists of Judah, after the Captivity, gladdened the frequent pilgrimages of the people to the second Temple. You exclaimed, involuntarily, as you saw it, "Surely this is in keeping with the rest of the scene!"

But when you drew near enough to catch the conversation of those groups of churchgoers, the illusion was gone, and you found yourself transported back to the sinful humanity of every day. "They've had their way down on the flat for the last ten years," pronounced a pretty decided voice, from a great, old-fashioned chaise, as the vehicle swung lazily along to the meeting. "They've had their way in everything for the last ten or twelve years, and I declare it's time the church got into some other lead, or we'll surely all go to ruin.

We

were just havin' a revival, and things looked prosperous if the Lord's work had been let alone, but a few must start up about a meeting-house right in the midst of it, and now it's come to all this quarrel. As if the Lord couldn't convert souls in the old place! I've known for two or three years that we'd got to have a meeting-house; but to start up the thing this winter-'twas too bad, and the worst of it is, the contrariness of the 'Flat folks to set the house down amongst themselves, against the wish of two-thirds of the members! Take it all together, it's got up a difficulty here that's lasted well into spring, and will last into summer, and the Lord only knows how long."

"I wonder how they can expect to be blessed and prospered to hold out so stiff about half a mile of road!" rather spitefully remarked the owner and driver of a highbacked green waggon, full of women and children, coming up the other side of the hill. Any one of 'em might see, if they'd give up their narrow prejudice, that it's an infinitely better place for a meeting-house down at the end of the flat than on this windy bleak upland. But some folks are so set they won't own it when they know they're wrong."

"I've been to Miss Stiles and Miss Rider and Miss Deacon Diniper," ran on one of a group of four old ladies advancing towards the stile in a path that ran across to the green; "and they all own that the hill's the place for the meeting-house, by rights, and that they wouldn't say a word about having it down among them if it wasn't for being so cold up here."

"Pshaw!" said another, contemptuously, "it seems to me they've got more reasons than that for putting the meeting-house down there away from everybody but themselves. Suppose it was cold in the old meeting-house! Do they think it wouldn't be cold in the new one?"

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"I know they're a head-strong set down there," remarked another. cause they've had the church clerk, and church treasurer, and three of the church committee, and half the deacons, for ten or fifteen years, they've got to think they've more rights than the rest of us, and must take the lead and do as they've a mind to."

"I shan't go nigh 'em if they build down there," said another; "and I know six families that won't."

The old parish in Winton was scattered Over a circuit of five miles, and the meet