"And who is Nan? your sister?" | close to the window, surveying their "No, she's he's-Uncle Pete's new surroundings with round-eyed her father," said Dick, growing wonder-the older and paler face rather confused in his efforts to farther back in the room was only explain the relationship. visible occasionally, as it was lifted "Is she very sick?" from its pillow-and uncle Pete, Pretty bad," Dick answered, passing in and out in a slow, solemn cheerfully, bestowing a close way, awkwardly intent upon various scrutiny upon the loaf that was household matters, interested, handed to him. "You don't make amused, and touched her. Again these yer as big as we do." she said earnestly to Nell,

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"You needn't bring it back," Lydia informed him, pleasantly. "Well." He turned on his heel very unconcernedly, and vanished through the door again.

"Were you afraid he would repay it?" Nell asked, with a shrug of her shoulders.

"I should be afraid if he didwith any of Uncle Pete's baking," laughed Lydia. "Dear me! I wonder if he does the whole cooking for the family-sick woman, children, and all!"

The next moment the wandering thought was forgotten in the pretty effect of a new light upon the picture she had just hung. Then her sister proposed a re-arrangement of the plants, and this was accomplished to the satisfaction of both; but by the time the mania for making changes in the apartment had expended itself, the afternoon had vanished also, and the "few things" had multiplied until a respectable number of them were waiting for the morrow.

"What an uncomfortable place to be sick in! We really must go and see her as soon as we can find a chance. Perhaps we might help or cheer her in some way.'

They grew quite accustomed, during the next day or two, to Dick's visits. He came now upon one errand, now upon another, and sometimes with so nearly none at all that Lydia fancied a liking to come was his chief motive.

"How is Nan this morning?" she asked once, when the black eyes looked in upon her as she stood by a table covered with all the materials for cake-making.

"Worse, I guess, like as anyway," was the rather uncertain reply, the eyes rather too intent upon the process of beating eggs to a froth to even look up.

"I mean to come and see her some day.”

"Well." He waited a minute, and then volunteered the information: "She looks over here lots when she's sittin' up; she says she likes to."

The curtains, having been taken down, must be replaced, and though The vision of a sad, weary Bridget proved successful in wash- sufferer, watching with sad, longing ing them, Lydia, fastidious young thoughts a bright, pleasant home, housekeeper that she was, would that told so plainly of a different trust no Celtic fingers with ironing and happier lot, flitted through and hanging them. Her zeal and tact exceeded her physical strength, however, so the curtains looked very fresh and cool when they were hung, and she very warm and tired. She was glad to lie down upon the sofa and rest for an hour, watching meanwhile the little house over the street. The two small faces pressed

Lydia's mind. Did this woman feel such things in any way as she should? she questioned, glancing down at her wrapper, as if meditating the propriety of running over then, as she was. The next moment her eyes rested upon the table— cakes, pies, and all sorts of luxuries to be conjured up, and company

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coming the next day. She really the pleasant effect of the whole, and had not time. enjoyed themselves immensely. Dick," she said, producing a The association was a grand glass of tempting jelly, "will you success-large, animated, with carry this over to Nan? Maybe many speakers who pointed out eloquently what ought to be done,

"Yes; but this is for

because she is sick."

"Don't ye never eat 'em ye ain't sick?" questioned curiously.

Nan,

when
Dick,

she will like it." "All of us like them," answered and a few who designated briefly Dick, regarding it with evident some things worth doing; and they favour. were all enthusiastic in the cause, and delighted to be together. They had three days of hearty good time, and resolved unanimously that the town which had received them was one of the most desirable of places for such a convocation, and its people entitled to all thanks for their gracious and cordial hospitality. None expressed this feeling more warmly than the guests of Brante Garnet, and so pleasant had the brief acquaintance proved that the parting was almost that of friendship.

A provoking query.
"Sometimes," answered Lydia,

briefly.

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Well, I'll take 'em over." Dick picked it up carelessly, as if he had lost his interest in it, and departed slowly.

We do good to our fellow-mortals from a far higher motive than any expectation of gratitude-at least we think we do-yet anything like unthankfulness often stops our efforts as effectually as if its reverse had been the sole and only fruit we were labouring for. In her slight vexation, Lydia lost, almost unconsciously, any desire to pay her promised visit that day. Such odd, queer people they must be, if Dick was any specimen! She would go some time, when she could, but it was scarcely likely they would care much about it, anyway.

"And now," said Brante, when Lydia had watched the retreating forms with more regret in her face than she could have believed possible a few days before—“Now I shall send a carriage, and you, Nell, and the baby must go out for an airing. Why, you have been kept indoors all this week."

It was rest, that long, quiet drive in the golden sunlight, and soft sweet air, with no thought of hurry, but a thorough yielding to rest and enjoyment. They passed out into The oven and high culinary art lonely, lovely country roads, away accomplished wonders that day, and from all the noise and bustle, and Lydia viewed her trophies with a talked dreamily, as they loved to complacent eye. She had succeeded talk, of how strangely human lives in carrying out her plans, and pre- mingle; of what is meant to us and paring for her guests in her own to others by these life-paths that dainty and peculiar fashion, and just touch for a little, and then she was now quite satisfied and separate so widely-these stories of ready to receive them. Her which a single chapter is bound hospitality was always graceful, with our own, and of which we and Brante felt proud of her and of his cosy nest of a home, as he introduced the strangers there. If the "wise spectacled gentlemen," from whose appreciation Nell had expected so little, did not admiringly notice all the little details, they felt

never read the ending. The bright hours slipped softly away, and a rosy flush in the west had taken the place of the sunlight when they reached home again-a fair home in a lovely world.

Dick stood on the steps,

"Well?" Lydia said, gently, feeling a peace with all the earth in this holy calm of the sunset.

"I tried to get in two or three times before, but you was going away," explained the boy. This time I seen you comin' an' waited. Nan's dead.'

"Dead!" Nell paused in the doorway-the child in her arms. "Uncle Pete wanted things fixed up decent like, he said he did, and he guessed you'd let him have a sheet and a clean white piller. There's a woman there she was goin' by, an' come in-she said them's the things we wanted."

Silently Lydia selected articles he asked for.

the

"I will come in a few minutes, and see if there is anything more I can do," she said. Then she went and stood by the window.

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was a stranger, and you were so busy; you didn't know she was so very ill. It might all have happened with anybody just as it has with you; it is no uncommon thing."

"That is just it!" Lydia answered quietly, but very sadly. "It is such a common thing that we can do it easily, and they, maybe, scarcely looked for anything else. I attended to all the little things that were nice to do and pleasant to be busy with, and for the lonely, suffering, dying one, to whom I might have given help and comfort—or even more; who knows?-I delayed all service, waiting for some good chance, some time that should be perfectly convenient, and now-oh Nell, it's all past!"

"What is that old Bible story?" said Brante, softly-" that old verse, 'While thy servant was busy here Lydia," said Nell, a little and there, the man was gone.' We doubtfully, "I know what you are let these things slip by so often, and thinking, dear; but after all, you forget, I think, that we are on mustn't make too much of it. She guard."

THE VISITATION OF THE SICK.

BY THE REV. W. T. ADEY.

WERE we to accept our proper place, in the opinion of many persons of refinement and position, we should have nothing whatever to do, as Nonconformists, with this matter; and in the discussion of the whole question we should be compelled to begin with a vindication of our right to minister to the spiritual wants of the sick and dying, in fact, of the assumption that clergy of the so-called National Church are duly appointed in each parish, whose special care, next after the conduct of public worship, is the visitation of the sick. To the honour of many of these be it said, that in a good parish priest (we use the term conventionally), we may often find, in the kind and conscientious discharge of these duties, a model worthy, in many respects, of our own imitation.

The question, By whom are the sick to be visited? deserves, however, within our own peculiar sphere of action more careful consideration and a clearer understanding all round. By questioning the right of the clergy to exclusive ministration in these spiritual and solemn duties, we open the door widely enough to admit others besides

ourselves, and claim liberty of prophesying in the pulpit and out of it, asserting that he who knows the truth is free to teach it."

Is it not needful that our people should be plainly told that to expect their minister to do the whole work of sick visitation which may be needed, in face of the demands of the pulpit and the thousand and one miscellaneous duties of a Christian pastor, is not only unreasonable, but is in part a pandering to a professional sentiment altogether foreign to Protestant Nonconformity, involving expectations which can never be realised, and producing, when consistently carried out, a sense of priestly importance on the one side, and of superstitious helplessness on the other? It is clear that the visitation of the sick should not be exclusively the work of the minister.

There are not wanting those who would rush to the other extreme, and delegate these duties to deacons, elders, class-leaders, and other church officers, holding them entirely responsible for the welfare of the sick. But surely this can hardly be wise. There will arise cases in which the utmost wisdom of one most familiar with the struggles of a troubled soul for peace will scarcely suffice to meet the case. And besides that, the sick must be taken as we find them. They are not to be argued out of their mere prejudices; it is well if we can, by God's blessing, put them out of conceit with their sins. Do they prefer the minister to the deacon, or, for that matter, the clergyman to the minister? It is a small thing; and he would be a poor pastor who would not to this extent shelve his theory, and even alter his practice, if only "a soul might be plucked as a brand from the burning."

The discussion as to the religious rights of ministering women dies out happily here. Thrice happy is that church which can boast of gentle and true helpers-sisters of mercy-who issue not from the convent door but the Christian home, and who themselves can bind up the broken-hearted with Gospel words of tenderness, and in some cases take precedence of all others, and in scenes of anguish and alternate hope and fear, are equally ready with gentle hand or cheering word or earnest prayer. Their evident fitness for the work has suggested the formation of religious "orders" of ministering women, but so far as we have been able to read and judge, the sisters do their work better out of the sisterhood than in it; and there is a general conviction abroad that religious orders are even now more numerous than is warranted by either Scripture or reason.

Who, then, to return to the question, should be expected to visit the sick? Does this question admit of any other solution than that which we apply to other and similar cases, such as these: Who are to teach the young? or, Who are to expound the Word of God publicly? Obviously those whose gifts are adapted to the work. The brothers Boanerges are not to be expected to do the work of Barnabas. To send a brother who in the prayer-meeting can be

heard on the other side of the street to exercise his lungs in the sick-room, would only issue in high fever or something worse. The pastor himself may not necessarily be an excellent visitor of the sick, simply because it requires a personal fitness which is not always associated with the good student, the excellent preacher, or the platform orator, and cannot be conferred even by the ordination of a bishop.

I submit that it is one of the most important duties of a pastor to discover what his members individually are good for, and one of his primary cares should be this: To get the round pegs into the round holes, and the square pegs out of them. This process would doubtless result in the discovery of a few devoted persons in each church whose talents for sick visitation might be recognised and encouraged, and whose labours should receive from time to time by the vote of the Church such careful and kindly acknowledgment as they might deserve. These persons should be in communication at fixed intervals with the minister, to whom they should report, and their names inserted in the Church manuals or other public records, so that the distance of the minister and other considerations should form no barrier on the part of the sick who need to be ministered unto. One of these might have the public institutions specially under his care, so that if any of the members of the Church or congregation were lodged for a time in the infirmaries or workhouses, they might be promptly looked after by one who knew the modes of access and the rules of these places, and who would in time come to be known in his representative character.

What should be the nature of the service rendered to the sick? should, perhaps, be the next question. We venture to suggest what we fear will, after all, add but little to the practical wisdom of my readers. The golden rule that we should do as we would be done by, will surely guide us here.

We have, I presume, most of us, at some time or other been sick, and possibly in danger of death. What did we most require, and what did us most good at that time? Whatever it may have been, similar good service will be welcome from us. The Word of God was precious in those days. We must therefore speak in its language, and read from its page. There is no consolation like that which commences with a "Thus saith the Lord." Where the Word of God is not valued it should be our first business to gain for it an entrance. "The entrance of thy Word giveth light." Where there is much opposition the fullest exhibition of human kindness will gain the easiest access to the unwilling ear and the human heart.

The duties connected with the sick chamber draw heavily on the hearts of those who attempt them. Those who cannot feel are intruders in the sick room; yet the words of kindness and a display of sympathy are not all that is required there. They may serve as a passport to the heart, but the object of all such minis