Keeping shyly in their shadow as they went out at the door, Ah! never little Quakeress a guiltier conscience bore! Dear Aunt Faith walked looking upward; all her thoughts were pure and holy; And Aunt Peace walked gazing downward, with a humble mind and lowly. But "tuck-tuck!" chirped the sparrows, at the little maiden's side; And, in passing Farmer Watson's, where the barn-door opened wide, Every sound that issued from it, every grunt and every cluck, Was to her affrighted fancy like "a tuck!" "a tuck!" "a tuck!" In meeting, Goodman Elder spoke of pride and vanity, While all the Friends seemed looking round that dreadful tuck to see. How it swelled in its proportions, till it seemed to fill the air, And the heart of little Patience grew heavier with her care. O, the glad relief to her, when, prayers and exhortations ended, Behind her two good aunties her homeward way she wended! The pomps and vanities of life she'd seized with eager arms, And deeply she had tasted of the world's alluring charms Yea, to the dregs had drained them, and only this to find: All was vanity of spirit and vexation of the mind. So, repentant, saddened, humbled, on her hassock she sat down, And this little Quaker sinner ripped the tuck out of her gown! LUCY L. MONTGOMERY. A METHODIST CLASS-MEETING. Adapted from Nestleton Magna by M. Ella Dillon. IN N the early days of Methodism, in the village of Nestleton, Yorkshire, England, the little band of Methodists held their meetings at the residences of the respective members. On this occasion they meet at the house of Adam Oliver, a venerable patriarch upon whom devolves the duty of filling the office of leader. As the clock strikes seven, eight or nine members have arrived, and each, having bent the knee in silent prayer, sits silent until the patriarchal leader dons his glasses, opens at a favorite hymn, and says: "Let us commence t' worship ov God be' singin' t' hym on t' fottid payge, common measure. "Jesus the neeame 'igh ower all, I' hell or 'arth or sky; An' devvils fear an' fly." The first two lines are then given out again. and Jabez Hepton starts the tune. A few verses are thus disposed of, two lines at a time, and then the old man leads them at the Throne of Grace, in a quaintly earnest prayer. Adam always had "a good time" on these occasions, and two or three of the more enthusiastic members interpolate their "amens" and "halleluias." Adam pulls off his glasses as the members resume their seats, and folding his hands on the open book, says: "Ah's still gannin' on i' t' aud rooad, an' ah bless the Lord 'at ah's nearer salvation noo then when fost ah beleeaved. Ah finnd 'at t' way dizn't get 'arder bud eeasier as ah gan' on. Ah used te hev monny a tussle wi' me' neeamsake, t' 'Aud Adam,' an' he's offens throan ma', but t' Strangger then he's aboot tonnd him oot, an' ah feel 'at the Lord's will's mah will mair then ivver it was afoore. Ah's cummin' fast te d' end o' my jonna, an' ah's just waitin' at t' Beautiful Gayt o't' temple, till the Lord cums an' lifts ma' up, then ah sall gan in as t' leeam man did, loupin' an' singin' an' praisin' God.-Noo, Brother Hepton, hoo is it wi' your sowl teneet ?" Jabez Hepton is the village carpenter. He is rather a reticent and thoughtful man, troubled now and then with mental doubts-a kind of Nicodemus, who is given to asking, "How can these things be?" "Well," he says, "I'm not quite up to the mark, somehow. I have no trust but in Jesus, an' I don't want to have. But I've a good many doubts an' fears,why, not fears exactly, but questionings an' uncertainties, an' they disturb me at times a good bit. I pray for grace to overcome 'em. May the Lord help me!" "Help yo'," said Adam, "te be seear He will. But you mun help yersen. If a fellow cums inte my hoose o' purpose te mak' ma' miserable, an' begins to pull t' winder cottain doon, an' rake t' fire oot, tellin' ma' 'at darkness an' gloom 's best fo' ma'; ah sudn't begin to arguy wiv him. Ah sud say, 'Cum, hod thee noise an' bundle oot. Ah knoa better then that, an' ah'll hev as mitch dayleet as ah can get.' Noo, theease doots o' yours, they cum for neea good, and they shutt t' sunleet o' faith oot o' yer heart. Noo, deean't ax 'em te sit doon an' hev a crack o' talk aboot it, an' lissen tiv 'em till you're hoaf oot o' yer wits. Say 'Get oot, ah deean't want yo', an' ah weean't hae yo'!' an' oppen t' deear an' expect 'em te gan. Meeastly you'll finnd 'at they'll tak t' hint an' vanish like a dreeam. Brother Hepton, doots is neea trubble, if yo' weean't giv 'em hooseroom. Questionin's weean't bother yo' if yo' deean't give 'em a answer. An' whativver yo' deea, fill your heead wi't' Wod ov God. 'It's written!' 'It's written!' that's the way te settle 'em.-Sister Petch, hoo are you gettin' on?” Sister Petch is an aged widow, poor amongst the poorest, an infirm and weakly woman, living a solitary life, but ever upborne by a cheerful Christian content which is beautiful to see. "Why, I've nothing but what's good to say of my gracious Lord and Saviour. Sometimes ah gets a bit low-spirited an' dowly, especially when my rheumatism keeps me from sleeping. But I go straight to the cross, and when I cry, Lord, help me!' I get abundant strength. The Lord won't lay on me more than ah'm able to bear, an' sometimes He makes my peace to flow like a river. My Saviour's love makes up for all my sorrows." "Hey, mah deear sister, ah'll warrant it diz. You an' me's gettin' aud an' creaky, an' the Lord's lowsin' t' pins o' wer tabernacle riddy for t' flittin'. Bud if t' hoose o' this tabernacle be dissolved, we knoa 'at we've a buildin' ov God. Till that day cums, 'Lord, help me!' is a stoot crutch te walk wi', an' a sharp swoord te fight wi', an' a soft pillo' te lig wer heeads on, an' a capital glass te get a leeak at heaven through. The Lord knoas all aboot it, Peggy, an' He says te yo', 'ah knoa thi patience an' thi povvaty,' but thoo's rich, an' bless His neeame you'll be a good deal richer yit. Halleluia! Peggy. You're seear ov all yo' want for tahme an' for etarnity.-Brother Laybourn, tell us o' the Lord's deealin's wi' you." Brother Laybourn is the village barber, and, like many others of his fraternity, is much given to politics, an irrepressible talker, great at gossip, and being of a mercurial temperament befitting his lithe little frame, he is a little deficient in that steadfastness of character which is requisite for spiritual health and progress. In answer to Adam's invitation, he runs down like a clock when the pendulum's off— Why, I hev to confess that I isn't what I owt to be, an' I isn't altegither what I might be, but I is what I is, an' seein' things is no better, I'm thenkful that they're no worse. I've a good monny ups and doons, and inns and oots, but by the grace of God I continny to this day, an'" "Ah'll tell you what it is, Brother Laybourn," said Adam, cutting him short in his career, "fooaks 'at ez sae monny ups and doons is varry apt to gan doon altegither; an' them 'at ez so monny in3 an' oots mun-take care they deean't get clean oot, till they can't get in na |