and in two weeks you have given sixteen slices of bread, equal to one good sized loaf, and nearly half a pound of butter. Now which is best; to give that loaf of bread and half-pound of butter to vicious, worthless tramps, or to some industrious poor family who are struggling for a maintenance?"

"Oh, to the industrious family, of course; but how do you know that all the tramps are vicious and worthless?"

"Proved it by my wood-pile, child. I used to believe in tramps; used to feed them, talk to them and sympathize with them: was equal to Elizabeth Stuart Phelps herself in that respect. But I read "Nicholas Minturn;" `and when I had swallowed and digested that idea of Dr. Holland's of helping the poor by teaching them independence, I thought it was good; and I decided to act upon it, by establishing a wood-pile. You have You have seen to-day how the wood-pile works; it has been just 30 every time. So now I give to needy agents instead of tramps."

"Why, Aunt Judith! Father always tells me to shut the door in an agent's face."

"

That's just as much as your father knows. Excuse me, child, but your father is so absorbed in his studies that he does n't know how to be practical. What does a man buried in molecules, and atoms, and beams of light-I mean the study of them --know about needy agents? He can only remember that an agent is an insufferable bore. But let me give you my experience. The first poor agent that I encouraged was a lame soldier. I saw him stumping his way up to the door, a few days after I had read Nicholas Minturn," and I said aloud as I went to the door, 'Now if you beg, sir, you won't get a penny; but if you have anything for sale, I'll try Dr. Holland's plan. Sure enough, he had pencils for sale. Only twenty cents a dozen, ma'am; very cheap.' I thought so too; and said to myself: 'I don't want any more poor lead pencils. I have enough of that kind already;' still I told him I would take two dozen, and handed him the money; but when he tried to give me the pencils I waved him away. Keep your pencils, young man,' I said, 'and sell them to some one else. I don't need

them; but I like to encourage honest industry in these degenerate days.' To tell you the truth, I didn't forget the look of surprise and gratitude that that young man gave me, for some time. In that case I am sure it was more blessed to give than to receive,' and I do believe the man was genuine."

"But I don't believe they all are,” I said. "Neither do I, child. Of course you must be observing. They don't all need help, any more than William Vanderbilt does. I always make a difference. If a man comes to my door in one of those dangling ulsters, takes off his tall hat, to make a low bow, and displays a huge seal-ring at the same time, then pushes his way into my hall without leave or license-the impudent thing receives his walking-ticket immediately. I don't bow down and worship any idols of brass, I can assure you; but if it's a young man who does n't put all his money into a sealring, and an overcoat in the latest style, I usually make it a point to help him along a little, whether I need anything that he has

or not.

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6

Here's another case: One day I went to my door, and there stood a way-worn pilgrim, weak in body and mind, with a basket of pins, needles and tape. Come in and rest' I said; for it was a very warm day, and he looked jaded. Well,' he said, 'this does seem good. I've been to all the big houses above here, and nobody never asked me to come in, or set down. They didn't act like Christians. You see ma'am I've just got over an awful fit of sickness. The doctors say it's just killing me to work in the mill, and I aint strong enough to labor no way; so I'm just going round with these useful articles; but there aint many that will buy, and I do get dreadfully beat out!' I bought some of his wares, and told him to rest as long as he liked. The Lord bless you ma'am' he said, when he went away: 'I believe you must be a Christian. I'm a member of the Methodist class myself, and you will have my prayers, though my light is feeble.' So you see there's one man praying for me," laughed Aunt Judith; "but I guess he is the only one. I'm 'most through this lecture, child, and that makes me think!

Lucy Larcom.

III.

As Arkwright and Pastorius made their way home they passed the foundry, and had not left it far behind when Arkwright noticed, walking before them, his chief clerk, Ezra Simon. Mr. Simon when off duty was scarcely less professional in his appearance, but a deeper black about his dress seemed to make the adjective clerical to fit both his secular and his Sunday demeanor. He had no family and was not in mourning for any one, but his hands were decorously clad in black, so that, until his face was turned toward them, one could not detect anything but black lines about him. He heard Arkwright's greeting as the two young men came up behind him, and turned.

"I try to go on the principle of balancing all my books every night; I mean figuratively speaking. Your father taught me the phrase. But just now I happen to be on my way to the willow tree to hear Mr. Herrick, who is to preach there this afternoon."

"By all means let us go, too," said Arkwright. Pastorius consented, and the three presently turned down a cross street and found themselves with others who were strolling toward the rendezvous. The willow was an ancient, stubby specimen of its class, which long ago had parted with its grace and now stood maintaining a dogged life in the midst of a dusty, well-trampled lot, once no doubt covered with grass, but now a mere patch of gravel. Here, tradition said, Whitefield had preached; and here, every once in a while on mild spring or summer afternoons, preachers of various creeds and with varying powers were wont

"My brother had a remarkable way of translating all wisdom into the Arkwright tongue," said Edward to his companion. But, Mr. Simon, how do you happen to be in its neighborhood? You have no uneasy conscience. Your work is always square."

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afforded an excuse for a pulpit. Its overhanging branches gave just so much of a shelter as saved the preacher from appearing too isolated. It was a canopy which, barren enough in itself, was yet the only suggestion of greenery in the neighborhood, and such associations as clung to it were

all in harmony with the special work which went on beneath its shade. It is curious how instinctively religious worship seeks shelter of some sort. Houses it will have, but even when it goes a-field, it asks for a tree, the hollow of a great rock, a haystack --some object which can give the worshipers a deliverance from the unrelieved freedom of nature. If life is like a stroll upon the beach, it is very certain that worship does not easily drop on its knee upon the sandy stretch.

The preacher, who had mounted a box beneath the willow, and held a book in his hand, was a tall, lean man, supported by a small knot of young people who formed a musical body-guard and were already calling the people by singing preliminary hymns. The crowd that gathered was silent and respectful; one here and there joined irresolutely in the singing, and a few, fearful apparently of committing themselves, skirted the outside and walked leisurely about, nodding to acquaintances and turning about at every new movement behind them. Mr. Herrick, the evangelist, had a wiry voice, which seemed to issue from his long frame only by some special muscular effort, so that, as he stood on his box and squirmed through his address, a person who did not hear his words might easily fancy him doing some penance and trying in vain to escape from the pillory in which he was secured. Arkwright and Pastorius remained upon the outside of the crowd and listened attentively to the preacher. His sermon was a series of ejaculatory warnings to flee from the wrath to come, and the somewhat passive mood of the congregation acted upon him as an irritant, leading him to grow more and more shrill and incisive. He told short stories, which he made still shorter in his eagerness to reach the application.

"I had two scoffers come once to hear me," he shrieked; "they belonged to a firstclass family, and had all that wealth could give them. They went away sorrowful, because they had great possessions; and where were they that night? That night their souls were required of them." He shook his Bible warningly at the two friends, who

Say it for sake of argument, John, if you wish. For my part, I have my doubts. I am driven into it by circumstance and the pressure of necessity. What other course could I take? My mother, and for that matter my brother, father and grandfather forced me into it; but I never heard a still small voice say, 'My son, be a brass and iron founder.'"

"Did you ever hear that voice tell you what you should be or do in this matter?"

"No. I listened a good while, and no sound coming, made up my mind that the next best thing to do was to take up the

occupation which seemed marked out for me. I am negatively persuaded. I had other dreams, other wishes, when I was in college, and after I left, but they had not the force of conviction with me. I could not be a martyr to them. If I am a martyr or witness to anything, it is to the necessity of maintaining and handing down a brass and iron foundry."

"Hold to that conviction, Edward, till it is forced from you. It is the unconvicted that would hold the world back till they are ready to go on."

"Give me anything but doubt," said Arkwright warmly. "Yet that seems to be all

I get just now."

There are chapters in every man's experience which are acted, not written. Between the lines of St. Paul's story of his conversion, one reads the history of his struggle. What was his restless plunging and backing against the goad that was thrust into his flank but an effort by vigorous persecuting of the churches to crowd down the thoughts which the martyr Stephen's words had sent into the heart of his theology, philosophy and moral life? The doubts which then sprang up were goads that pricked him forward into a relentless persecution. As he struck at the feeble churches, he thought he was dealing blows also at the inimical thoughts which opposed his Judaism, and the sudden light that shone around him showed him that he was persecuting Jesus, and that Jesus was the Lord who sent the doubts to arouse him. Somewhat in this spirit did Arkwright plunge into his daily business, resolved to fight off the insidious enemy of distrust that seemed always perched upon his desk.

"Haste makes waste," said Simon to him one morning, with an air of having invented the saying. "I have often heard your brother Job say in his cool way that the mark of a good business was to have no mistakes to correct, and that mistakes all arose from hurry."

"My brother Job," said Arkwright impatiently, "ought not to have been in such a hurry then to leave this business." Simon was silent, and his silence was taken for a

rebuke. "That was a careless word, Mr. Simon. I know perfectly well, in theory, that time is necessary for any good work; but what is one to do when one thing trips the last one up, as it is here with me to-day? When did you say our note to Raymond was due?"

"Day after to-morrow. It was down on the ticket that I gave you yesterday."

"I know it. I know it. You are not to blame. But plague take these notes. I wish we could get back to Job's way. He got along without giving notes."

"You 're right, sir. But I think the times have changed."

"Et nos mutamur in illis. I suppose I must go to town and scratch round."

"It's the financial part that bothers me most, mother," said the young man that evening when giving an account of his day's experience. "I think if I had the shop alone I could manage it. But Simon just plods on and seems to expect that money will come in as regularly as it goes out."

་

"It's the thermometer of the business, Edward," she said, anxiously. "It doesn't make heat or cold, but it registers it with unfailing accuracy. Your father used to say that he liked to keep the financial thermometer steadily at sixty, where it was too cold to let him sit down at ease, and too warm to allow him to get nervous and fretted over his work."

"There's a powerful sympathy though now between mine and other people's," said her son. "It used to be different in father's day; but everything is at sixes and sevens now and we can't help feeling the effects of it.

Work goes on briskly, but there are a great many more bad debts."

"Bad debts mean bad debtors," said Madam Arkwright, "and you must not get into the control of your debtors. We 're the servants of the public, but it's our fault if we keep on serving masters that don't pay our wages. We ought to find out beforehand if they are not going to pay."

"I believe a business man ought to have antennæ as well as eyes," said Arkwright, stretching his legs and trying hard to take a humorous view of the situation; "feelers