And sing she did, rather tremlously; but it did her good to hear ome sound besides the ticking of he clock, and the wind in the chimney. When the clock struck seven, Emily lighted the candle and the fire, and put on the tea-kettle; and when the chill was a little gone from the room, she took off her hood and smoothed her hair. At twenty minutes past seven, ack, as regular as the clock itself, came in. "Aren't you frozen ?" asked his sister. "It's awful cold." "It seems like snow," said Jack, warming his hands. "Do you remember, Jack, what fun we used to have-ages and ages ago-when there was snow?" Jack gave a grunt of assent, such as his father had given before him ; after which Emily sunk into a little stillness, just as her mother had done before her. "What makes it so cold here tonight, Em?" Jack asked, as they sat down to tea. "Have you been doing what I caught you at once, and told you not to do again? I you have,—you're as blue as a Puritan.' believe "I took a walk that made me cold and 'blue' too," said Emily. "I didn't mean to tell you about it till after tea." Jack looked inquiringly, and Emily went on: "I went to Mrs. Hall's with some work that I hurried like anything to finish, so as to get the money for it to-day-fifteen shillings. I knew you wouldn't be paid till Saturday, and last week's pay went for rent; and I wanted to get some coal, and to surprise you with a nice little dinner to-morrow. I thought I'd get some nice beef, and some vegetables and some apples." 66 Well!" said Jack. "It wasn't well at all," said Emily; "for that mean woman just sent down word that the work was right, and that she'd pay me next time I came. I made the girl go and say that I needed the money then, and she came back and said that Mrs. Hall hadn't the change, and was too much engaged to attend to it. Did you ever hear of anything so mean ?" "Yes; a thousand things," said her brother, fiercely. "I hardly ever heard of anything that wasn't mean and contemptible. I made a fool of myself to-day asking Old Skinflint to advance this week's wages on account of to-morrow; but he said I was better off without money for a 'spree,' when he knows I never touch a drop. I wanted to surprise you with a dinner, too.". 66 Emily, who always went up when her brother went down, said, brightly, How droll it would have been to have two dinners, instead of none at all! Don't let's care, Jack. Let those horrid people enjoy their stalled oxen to-morrow, if their consciences will let them. I think our 'yarbs,' as the old women say, will taste sweeter." It wasn't easy to be good company that night, and the two went to bed earlier than usual. "It will save wood," said Emily, as she poked the fire down with unusual energy; thinking, as she did so, "How I hate and despise to be so small and stingy, it's the worst part of being so horribly poor;" and she gave a final poke that sent sparks and ashes over the floor. 66 When in her own room, Emily repented her crossness, and opened the door to say, Good-night again, Jack; you had better go to bed before the room gets cold." Jack, sitting on the side of his bed, deep in moody thought, hardly noticed her. Emily's heart was too full of stormy feelings to let her say her prayers properly, or to let her go to sleep for a long time. It was not often that clouds got the better of sunshine in that brave hopeful soul, but now she felt powerless to resist them. When Emily woke late next morning, she was glad to see sunshine instead of snow, and to find her spirits as clear as the sky. "It makes me feel so stuffed up to get so mad," she thought, "and it does no good. I will give thanks to-day, even if we do have a skimpy dinner;" and her morning prayer was full of gratitude and of submission. Emily found Jack with the fire made, and busy chopping up the wood-box to help out the day's fuel. After a breakfast of potatoes and bread, Emily proposed their going to church. 'I suppose so." Before long the two had made the most of their appearance, and were walking towards the church which they attended, when Jack would go anywhere. Jack felt proud of his sister's sweet face and ladylike bearing. If he had said so, Emily's cup would have brimmed with pleasure; but he did not say anything of the kind. It was not his way. They took their seats in one of the free seats, just as the service began. The congregation wore their best clothes and their best faces, seeming to blend jubilee with devotion. Emily felt the atmosphere of the place, and joined heartily in the song of praise and prayer of thanksgiving. As she raised her head at the end of the prayer, her glance fell upon Mrs. Hall, resplendent in velvet and sable, and wearing an expression of placid benevolence which Emily found it hard to forgive. Mrs. Hall felt that she had cause to be satisfied with herself that day, as well as with he earthly lot; for she had provide good dinners for a number of po families, and was prepared to giv handsomely when the plate shoul be, passed. She was in comfortab ignorance of the discomfort she ha caused by being, last evening, to intent upon plans for this day duties and engagements to settle trifling account with one of her sew ing-women. Emily fought down the rising spirit of resentment, and, helped by the next hymn, was ready to enjoy the sermon. The minister, instead of selecting any of the texts usually chosen fo the day, gave these words of the gentle disciple: "That ye love one another." He said he would leave it to others to enumerate the great blessings of the past year; nor would he remind his people of those every day benefits that called for hourly gratitude. He would not even dwell upon that greatest benefaction-the redemption of the world. To-day his theme was to be that wonderful gift to the children of men-human love. Beginning with the love of Eden he showed that though "the trail o the serpent was over them all," stil the loves and friendships of the world had kept it from becoming a desert of sin and selfishness. He grew eloquent, recalling the records history gives of acts of heroism performed by friend for friend, and the sacrifices laid on altars of love the world over. Then he told them to look about, and see heroism and sacrifice as worthy of immortality and as immortal, though unstoried and unsung. He spoke tenderly of the love of parents and of children, and of that love that makes the forsaking of father and mother a holy thing. But as honest men must, he grew most earnest when he spoke out of his own experience, and told of the unselfish devotion that sisters some imes bestow upon brothers, and more rarely brothers give to sisters. As he pictured a sister's daily self-denial, and her gentle but irresistible influence, his voice thrilled with feeling, for he was describing his own angel sister,-she who had been to him at once sister, mother, friend, and guide. Jack turned and looked into Emily's face. It was tremulous with emotion. But she was thinking of what Jack was to her, not of what she was to Jack. Jack breathed hard, and winked away a tear. The minister went on, saying, "Let every one that is blessed-as who is not ?—with loving and being loved, see to it that he appreciates the blessing; cherishing it as a priceless treasure, ever trying to grow more worthy of it. Break through the barriers of cold reserve and selfish pride. Love and be lovedfrankly, generously, joyously-every day singing a new song of praise to God, in that ye love one another." When service was ended, and the brother and sister were in the street, Jack seized Emily's hand and drew it through his arm. "We did learn that we have some thing to be grateful for, didn't we, dear Jack?" said Emily, looking up into his face. "I did," said Jack; "I don't think you have much." "O Jack! how can you say so?" Well, any how, I mean that after this you shall have something—a good deal, Emily." "Just as soon as we get home, I'll give you such a hug and a kiss," said Emily. "I often want to, indeed I do." There were not in all Christendom two happier hearts than Jack's and Emily's as they, sat down that day to their meagre dinner. They made merry over it, calling each potato and slice of bread or meat by some fine-sounding name, till Emily declared that beef would not have given half the pleasure that the cold mutton had. "No thanks to Mrs. Hall or Old Skinflint," said Jack. "No, indeed," said Emily. "Still, I am sure they didn't think; and when the money does come, it will make another Christmas." "I feel," said Jack," as though all our days should be Christmas-days, because we love each other." "WALKING WITH GOD." BY THE REV. JAMES FOSTER. "And Enoch walked with God, and he was not, for God took him."—Gen. v. 24. In the study of antiquity there is something very attractive to the human mind. We naturally look with veneration on the relics of former ages, and allow ourselves to array the tales of ancient times in the fair and softened colours of imagination. By the long distance of intervening ages, the harsher features of the society and manners of olden times are mitigated, and fancy invests with its russet light the virtues and excellences of the mighty dead. Hence it is that the ivymantled ruin, the moss-grown sepulchre, the shattered column, the old deserted monastic pile, the forsaken roofless temple and hoary pyramid, possess such a charm above the more recent architecture of modern days. From this too (as well as other reasons) so high a value is set on the remains of the literature of the past. These remarks will apply in all their force to the Bible. Beyond dispute it is the most ancient book in existence, and in addition to its containing" words whereby we may be saved," it possesses high intrinsic value as being the most authentic record of the remotest ages of the world. The only reason that can be assigned for the neglect it has suffered is that it is God's book, and therefore unacceptable to that "carnal mind which is enmity against him." Were it not on account of this opposing principle in man's heart, it would be universally lauded for the greatness of its antiquity, the richness of its contents, and the light it sheds on the history of the world. The Book of Genesis contains sketches of biography of inimitable simplicity, variety, and worth. The history of the patriarchs as there depicted is especially replete with beauty, truth, and instruction. Amongst those "elders who by faith obtained a good report," Enoch stands pre-eminent for his attainments in piety. Of all those early lights of primitive days he shone with the most conspicuous and steady lustre, and when he set, it was in a flood of glory. The inspired his torian, however, does not dilate upon his excellences, but with wonder ful condensation of thought, combined with equal beauty and force of expression, says, "And Enoch walked with God, and he was not; for God took him." We have no incidents recorded of him fraught with historic interest. The religious complexion of his life is mainly delineated, the testimony to character rather than the relation of secular events. To that therefore we must especially bend our attention; noticing, however,— un I. That Enoch's life appears to have been one of EMINENT TRANQUILLITY. The phrase "walking" conveys the idea of quietness. Probably like the rest of the patriarchs he led a peaceful rural life, tending his flocks or cultivating the soil, shunning at the same time adventuresome publicity. The excitement of public life is inimical to habits of piety. The strife of worldly business, the tumult of the ambitious, the eager restlessness of the speculator, the turmoil of politics, are unfriendly to religion. It is true we can carry religion into all the active scenes of life, and whilst "not slothful in business" may be " fervent in spirit serving the Lord;" yet dwelling in such scenes forms an element congenial to "growth in grace.' Although so long as we are in this world we must mingle with worldly men, yet there is nothing in com mixture with them or their all-engrossing pursuits to nourish piety in the soul. And when such scenes and companions are sought by the believer from choice, they become replete with the shares of death. No man who voluntarily walks much with the world can walk much with God, "for friendship with the world is enmity with God." On the other hand, the believer who seeks to "lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty," is the man who is most likely to hold very intimate communion with his God. The quiet deep valley will nourish sweet flowers that can never bloom on the summit of the storm-swept mountain. So in the secluded quiet and obscure walks of society the most eminent Christians are generally found. This peaceful, unobtrusive, unworldly mode of life appears to have been that pursued by Enoch from the little worldly incident that is recorded of him, and hence we may trace in some measure the spring of his eminent piety. II. Enoch lived in INTIMATE COMMUNION WITH GOD. He" walked with God." Walking with another implies the idea of communion, and, when constantly maintained, of endeared friendship, for "how can two walk together except they be agreed?" Thus like Abraham Enoch was 66 the friend of God." In those early times Jehovah was accustomed to manifest Himself to His servants in a diversity of ways. Sometimes an audible voice told that God was near. Sometimes in the dreams and visions of the night the unveiling of His presence was beheld. Sometimes a visible form as "the Angel of the Covenant," or a token of His glory, as the flaming bush in Horeb, indicated the approach of the heavenly Majesty. There can be little doubt that Enoch by such sensible indications of the Divine presence held communion with Jehovah. But we must suppose that his sweetest intercourse with God arose from an abiding spiritual perception of His presence, from an overflowing sense of His love and beneficence,-from deep humility and increasing faith,-from progressive holiness of soul,-from enlarged views of the intentions of God to man, gathered from direct revelations on the part of God,-from bright prospects of the final and full enjoyment of God in a better world. What sweet seasons of soul refreshment in this world of darkness Enoch must thus have enjoyed, who not occasionally and as a stranger drew near to God, but who lived in the very sanctuary of presence, and dwelt "in the secret place of His pavilion!" His III. Enoch's course was one of CONTINUAL ADVANCEMENT. Walking implies progression. It is no easy matter to make constant attainments in religion. There is no difficulty in putting on the semblance of piety, but to endure as seeing Him who is invisible," to press forward unweariedly to the prize, is what requires Divine aid to accomplish. To withstand the seductions of a sinful world, the allurements of a deceitful heart, the open and subtle attacks of Satan and his emissaries; to out-brave the frown and sneer of men, and yet neither give way to discouragement nor defeat, but to acquire actual progress in grace,—is what a heedless, slothful, or self-confident spirit will never accomplish. The work is arduous. It requires striving, wrestling, praying. It demands the union of divine energy with human determination "to stand in the evil day, and having done all to stand." Enoch must thus have trampled on difficulties; must thus have followed the Lord "with full purpose of heart;" must thus have struggled with consummate fortitude, seeing that "none of these things moved him." IV. Enoch was honoured with HIGH MARKS OF SPIRITUAL DISTINCTION. To walk with God is a high honour. It is the bliss of angels. It is a height of dignity to which comparatively few attain. Compared with it earthly grandeur is but a vain show, and the wealth of worlds but empty dust. Where it is truly sought, the sincere inquirer says, with |