he was called upon at last to "endure hardness," and to face trial in a holy cause.

Flora was still ready to sit by the sick, to visit the dying, and to teach in the school; she was still willing to give freely to the poor, looking for a plenteous reward hereafter, and receiving in the present the interest of human gratitude, admiration, and love. But she was not ready to be "kind to the unthankful and the evil," to "let patience have its perfect work," to strive to reclaim wilful and unruly children, with the prospect of awakening the jealousy of their parent, but never of rousing her to a sense of obligation. Flora's religion was not "the love of Christ" which "constraineth," therefore in the time of trial it failed her.

Consideration for her mother usually restrained Flora from making audible complaints, though she had not sufficient command over herself to abstain from them altogether; but she indemnified herself for her forbearance by writing to Ada full and circumstantial details of all her petty miseries, with a by no means flattering description of the family from Barbadoes. It was a letter which Flora would

not willingly have seen in the hands of her revered pastor; she would never have addressed it to her mother; she had some doubts, after having finished it, whether it would be well to post it. But it was really a clever and amusing letter; it eased her heart to write it; she was glad to have some way of giving vent to the pent-up flood of bitterness which was beginning to overflow its bounds.

The letter brought a speedy reply, containing an affectionate and urgent invitation to Flora to join her cousin in London, giving a glowing description of the amusements which she would enjoy, while a P.S. entreated her not to delay her visit, lest she should lose all the May meetings in Exeter Hall, which Ada was sure that to one so good would be a greater pleasure than all the rest."

Flora uttered an involuntary exclamation of delight as she perused the letter of her cousin. It was as though a caged bird had suddenly seen the door of his prison open, and the way free to liberty and to sunshine. She was full of impatience to show Ada's epistle to her mother, and could scarcely endure the delay occasioned by Mrs. Vernon's having to ex

amine into the cause of a furious dispute between Johnny and his elder sister, and then to administer gentle advice and reproof to each of the little offenders. The interruption appeared to Flora so vexatious and petty,—she would willingly have ended it at once by sending both the children away to the most distant part of the house, to settle their disputes by themselves; but her mother calculated more truly the importance of whatever regards the training of immortal beings.

At length, however, Johnny and Lyddie were dismissed, having been, after much trouble, induced to exchange the kiss of forgiveness; and the door had scarcely closed behind them, when Flora placed the letter in the hand of her mother. Eagerly she watched the expression of Mrs. Vernon's countenance as she read it. The lady perused it to the end before she uttered a word, and then she glanced up with a gentle smile.

"What do you say to this, Flora ?”

"Oh! mamma-it is just as you like—just as you think best,-but-"

"This invitation seems to meet a difficulty which has pressed heavily on my mind.

I

have grieved to feel how trying to you has been the change in our family arrangements. You have grown thinner and paler; your spirits have left you; for the first time in my life it has pained me to look at my child. It is better, perhaps, that you should be absent. from home, till we bring matters into a somewhat better train."

"It seems almost like deserting you, mamma; and yet I do not think that I can help you much, I have not the least influence with the children."

Why was it that even Flora knew that her absence at this time would be actually a relief to her mother? How was it that she had proved a burden rather than a helper? She had never put the question fairly to her own heart, and was very glad to substitute for it another.

"Does it not seem to you, mamma, as though I might be more useful in London than I am here? I believe that poor dear Ada really likes me; I have some influence with her, I believe she seemed here to be turning her mind more towards religion than she hitherto had done; but she has no one now

to speak to or consult on serious subjects. If I were with her she would be induced for my sake to go to meetings which she would not otherwise attend, it seems to me that it may really be my duty to go to Ada at this time.”

"It will be your pleasure, at least," said Mrs. Vernon, smiling; "and your happiness is ever near to my heart. I can trust your principles, my Flora; I believe that you will ever act in my absence as you would if my eye were upon you. And the Almighty may, and I trust will make you, my love, a blessing to others, if you serve him with a humble, devoted heart, and a single eye to his glory."

CHAPTER VIII.

PLEASURES AND PAIN S.

A FEW days after the conversation recorded in our last chapter took place, Flora, full of youthful hope and joy, sprang into the carriage which was to convey her to the station, and waved again and again a fond farewell to the beloved parent who watched her departure from the gate.