munity may manifest obedience to that law in which our Saviour summed up the whole duty of man to man- "Love thy neighbour as thyself." We can feel no hesitation in saying, that a nation or community practising such will become the abode of truth, virtue, peace, justice, temperance, and love towards God and

T

HE life of the Christian is represented to us in the Scriptures as a pilgrimage through a

dreary wilderness, beset by many snares, dangers, and temptations. It is a period of probation and trial; of self-denial and personal sacrifice. Yet it is not Christianity which creates the snares, and trials, and sufferings. The preceding chapters have exhibited some of the true fruit of Christ's perfect law of love, and in these examples we see it pouring balm into the wounded soul, lighting up with hope the dark dungeons of despair, and raising up the suffering and degraded to a rank of equality with their fellow-men.

The law of love, of kindness, of non-resistance, we have seen, is often one which the heart finds it very

difficult to yield obedience to. Yet it brings with it its abundant reward; and, even in the noblest imitations of it, when we learn to cultivate a generous, a selfdenying, and a forgiving spirit, we never fail to meet with an ample return. The following story, which Mrs. Child has entitled "The Neighbour-in-law," most happily illustrates the reward which a gracious and self-sacrificing disposition secures :—

"So you are going to live in the same building with Hetty Turnpenny," said Mrs. Lane to Mrs. Fairweather. "You will find nobody to envy you. We lived there a year, and that is as long as anybody ever tried it.”

"Poor Hetty!" replied Mrs. Fairweather; "she has had much to harden her. Her mother died too early for her to remember; her father was very severe; and her lover borrowed the savings of years of toil, and spent them in dissipation. But, notwithstanding her sharp features, she has a kind heart. In the midst of her greatest poverty, many were the stockings she knitted, and the warm waistcoats she made, for the poor drunken lover, whom she had too much good sense to marry. Then, you know, she feeds and clothes her brother's orphan child."

"If you call it feeding and clothing,” replied Mrs. Lane. "The poor child cold and pinched, and frightened all the time, as if she were chased by the east wind. I used to tell Miss Turnpenny that she would make the girl just such another sour old crab as herself."

"That must have been very improving to her disposition," replied Mrs. Fairweather, with a goodhumoured smile. "But, in justice to poor Aunt Hetty, you ought to remember that she had just such a cheerless childhood herself. Flowers grow where there is sunshine."

"I know you think everybody ought to live in the sunshine," rejoined Mrs. Lane; "and it must be confessed that you carry it with you wherever you go."

Certainly the prospect was not very encouraging; for the house Mrs. Fairweather proposed to occupy was not only under the same roof with Miss Turnpenny, but the buildings had one common yard in the rear, and one common space for a garden in front. The day she took possession of her new habitation, she called on her neighbour. Aunt Hetty had taken the precaution to extinguish the fire, lest she should want hot water before her own wood and coal arrived. Her

first salutation was, "If you want any cold water, there's a pump across the street; I don't like to have my house slopped all over."

"I am glad you are so tidy, neighbour Turnpenny," replied Mrs. Fairweather; "it is extremely pleasant to have neat neighbours. I came in merely to say good morning, and to ask if you could spare little Peggy to run up and down stairs for me, and I will pay her threepence an hour."

Aunt Hetty had begun to purse up her mouth for a