and there, as her burden swung about in her weak hands, and bumped against the stairs or banisters, so that her way was anything but the "way of the victor," being generally followed by the abuse of the tenants whose doors she passed; and poor Effie had little heart to persevere in her experiments of soap and water.

At last dirt, starvation, foul air, and silent sorrow for her father's drunken life told upon her feeble health; and as soon as her father left home, and she had made her simple preparations for his return, she was glad to make a couch of her ragged bed by the window, and sit watching for her friends the stars to come and peep down at her from the narrow strip of sky which was all of the material heavens visible to the dwellers in Nag's Rents.

Hours would she sit there praying for her dear father, and murmuring snatches of hymns learned at the Sundayschool which she attended, although at the cost of many a rude sneer from her father. Yet, in spite of his neglect, if Edward Brook had a spark of goodness left, it was his love for Effie; but, alas! that spark was too often quenched in drink.

On this particular day (how memorable a day for child and father!) Effie was not alone. We do not speak of that Divine presence which always visits suffering innocence; but Effie had to-day a more earthly and visible companion in the shape of a great jugful of flowers. Her Sundayschool teacher-her dear Miss Merton-had called that afternoon to see why Effie had not been in class last Sunday; and, guessing that sickness was the cause, had brought with her, as a welcome present to an invalid penned in a city court, a large cluster of stocks, pinks, roses, and other flowers from her own garden.

"Oh, what darling flowers!" cried Effie, almost burying her face among the blossoms. "There must be flowers in heaven, Miss Merton. Don't you think so?"

"I don't know, Effie," replied Miss Merton, smiling at her fervour; "and, perhaps, we ought not very much to care,

because, you know, dear, He who made the flowers has told us that, 'Eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him.'”

For more than an hour the teacher sat with Effie, reading little sweet and simple gospel verses, and talking with her over her many trials and her few consolations; and before leaving she looked round, and, seeing a solitary jug upon the shelf, she, in the most natural way in the world, took it down, filled it with water from the pitcher, and, putting in the flowers, placed it on the window-sill, and, giving Effie a good-bye kiss, told her that she had brought them for her to look at and talk to until she came again.

Oh, that jug of flowers! What a blessed gift! What a dewy wonder in that close, unhealthy garret! Poor Effie hugged the jug in her thin little arms, and pressed her feverish cheek against the soft, cool leaves in a rapture too full for words. For hours she sat in a delightful reverie, her soul lifted up to the God who made those flowers, and thinking of Him who was Himself "the Rose of Sharon, and the Lily of the valley," when the heavy sound of her father's steps recalled her thoughts. She could tell, by his blundering gait, that he was in drink; and she knew that in this state his first act was always to send out for more. an instant the thought flashed across Effie that they possessed but a single jug, and that was the veritable one in which Miss Merton, in the innocence of her heart, had placed those darling flowers. What was to be done? No other vessel was at hand, not even a friendly gallipot; and before she could think of any contrivance her father staggered into the room.

In

"So there you are, skulking on that bed as usual! Get off, lazy-bones, and get me some drink. Do you hear? I'm choking with thirst."

"Yes, father dear," faltered Effie. "There's some nice cold tea in the pot; that'll do, won't it, father ?"

"Cold tea!" roared Brook; "I suppose cold water will

be the next move. Not if I know it, my girl! Fetch me a quart of ale from the Crown,' with a dash of gin in it ; the right stuff, mind! no slops! and look sharp! Get on your hat while I reach down the jug.”

Suiting the action to the word, he went towards the shelf. Need we say no jug was there? With a growl he glared round the room in search of it, when his eye fell upon its familiar form standing in the window, filled with its most unfamiliar contents.

66

Ullo!" he exclaimed; "what have you been up to now, stuffing this muck in my beer-jug?" and, seizing the flowers in his large hand, he snatched them all out, and was about to fling them into the courtyard below, when Effie, with the courage of despair, clasped his arm in both her own, and cried, piteously, "Oh, don't, dear father! Pray, pray save me one!"

"Stuff!" replied her father; but the child still clasped his arm; and as he looked down into her tearful eyes, he added, in a milder tone, "What a precious fuss about a bunch of green-stuff! Well, you may keep a bit if you've got a bottle to stick it in ; but none of these red things-they'll stink the place for a month;" and, picking out the roses, he was about to throw them out of the window, when Effie, trembling for the flowers which were the chief beauty of the nosegay, ventured to sob forth, “Oh, not the roses, father! Mother loved roses."

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

The Power of United Intercession.

HOMAS BARNARD was the eldest son of a wealthy tradesman in the West of England. He had been well educated, and his prospects in life were bright and good. But more pleasant than either his learning or temporal prospects to his godly parents was the early opening of his heart to spiritual things. Like Timothy, from a child he had known the Holy Scriptures; he had

reverenced the Sabbath and loved the means of grace.

But he had never taken the grand decisive step of declaring himself on the Lord's side. He had avoided doing or through fear of not being equal to his profession, and of bringing disgrace upon it. Thus, at twenty-one years of age, although with a heart keenly open to religious impressions, he was still without fellowship with any Christian church. When remonstrated with by either his parents or his faithful minister, he would promise to reconsider the matter; but all his reflection led to no decisive result,

It pleased God about this time to afflict him with a long and severe illness, in which his life trembled in the balance. It was now that his mother, a lady of strong faith and eminent piety, called to her assistance the aid of united intercessory prayer on her afflicted son's behalf. He had been the child of her prayers from his earliest infancy, but now she ventured to ask two or three of her most valued friends to join with her at regular intervals in interceding on his behalf. She wrote a touching letter to each of them, one of which came under the writer's notice. It was to the following effect:-" Of course the life of my dear boy is inexpressibly dear to me, and in devout submission to the will of God, I am asking that he may be spared to us. But I am more concerned about his soul. He has long been the subject of religious impressions, but he has never experienced joy and peace in believing. Now, my dear friend, you know the assurance which God's Word gives us of the power of united intercessory prayer. It is absolute: the Now shall we have

promise is it shall be done for them.' faith to believe this promise and to act upon it? I ask you to join with me in believing prayer to Him with whom nothing is impossible. If you consent, as I feel sure you will, it is necessary that we should be agreed. Let there be definiteness in our prayers; let each of us understand what we are praying for. I have felt many times the want of this; in this case, let us be as definite in our prayer at the throne of grace as a child is when he asks bread of his

father. Let us each ask as much as possible in the same words, that by the gift of His Holy Spirit our heavenly Father may make Thomas a true disciple of the Lord Jesus, so that whether he lives or dies it may be well with him. In the matter of his recovery let there be deep submission to the Divine will. The Allwise must know best, and He will do what is wisest and most loving, I am sure. It is in reference to what is spiritual that I am most deeply concerned. Fondly as I love, I think, through the Redeemer's strength, I could resign him if I saw his mind at peace with God. Once more, let us meet together at the throne of grace at the same hour. We are miles apart from each other, but in that sacred meeting-place we shall be very near each other."

Such was the substance of the letter which, blotted in many places with tears, the lady sent to a friend of my acquaintance. Her first exclamation was, "O woman, great is thy faith!" It made her feel a deep sense of humiliation that she had made so little of the power of prayer, that she had often prayed confusedly, and had never looked for an answer to her prayers. Her friend's letter did her good, and it is scarcely necessary to say that she readily complied with the request contained in it. From day to day, for weeks together, a little band of faithful women knelt in each other's houses and earnestly agreed in prayer. Never did doctor watch more earnestly the symptoms of his patient than did Mrs. Barnard watch for some sign that they were not wrestling in vain. Was she fanatical or superstitious in this? By no means. He who has taught us to pray has also taught us to expect an answer to our prayers. His gracious words are, 66 Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you;" but very many content themselves with earnest prayer without looking for a blessing in return; then, indeed, the words are true of them," Ye ask and receive not, because ye ask amiss.” For many weary days Thomas Barnard continued in the same state of mind which had marked him for years. felt himself unworthy to name the name of Christ; and

He