hands of one who is able to bring light out of darkness. I shall return to my people in the city of B, better prepared to labor for the cause of temperance, than when I left. I resolved in Roselle to be valiant in this work."

Mr. and Mrs. Bradley had more than once wept over the desolation that this evil had already made in their native village.

On the evening of their arrival in Roselle, they had gazed with admiration upon its quiet beauty. They had for years thought and talked of it, as it was in the days of their childhood.

As the carriage rolled along its almost deserted streets, they could see by the clear light of the crescent moon, that time had wrought its changes upon many an old familiar way-mark. The elder Mr. Bradley turned his

horse into the avenue that led to his own door; the tall cedars that overshadowed them, waved their luxuriant branches, welcoming them to the quietude of their happy home.

The eyes of Charles filled with tears as he thought of his then sainted mother, whose blessing and smile had so often greeted him, as he had returned from his boyish sports, or the arduous duties of a student; but a grateful resignation filled his heart as he thanked God for blessing him with a praying mother.

As he entered the house, his eyes fell upon objects still more familiar. Late as it was, he could not retire until he had gone from room to room; everything seemed just as it did when he was a boy. He told Amelia, that he heartily rejoiced in New England's stereotyped mode of house-keeping.

On entering his former study, they

found his old slate hanging upon the wall where he had placed it eleven years before, and a sentence written upon it by himself was still legible.

Amelia read without any trouble, "He that loveth father or mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me." "Amelia, read the sentence under it. My dear mother wrote it with her own hand."

"Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel; how beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of those that bring glad tidings!'"

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'Amelia, these words to me have been and are yet, like 'Apples of gold in pictures of silver.'"

There was one spot sacred to him he had not as yet visited-that was his mother's room.

His father led the way to it-there hung his mother's portrait at full size, with her mild blue eyes looking down

upon them, with all their wonted loveliness. Mr. Bradley continued to weep over the portrait of his mother, until his father reminded him of the lateness of the hour. With hearts of gratitude, they bowed together around the family altar, and thanked God for his persevering care, after singing,

"Thus far the Lord has led me on,

Thus far his power prolongs my days,
And every evening shall make known
Some fresh memorial of his grace."

They ascended the old stair-case that led to their room. Wearied as they were with their long journey, the past and the present were alike forgotten.

They arose early next morning, and after a thorough reconnoitre of the old homestead, observing and admiring every improvement that had been made during their absence, the

carriage was brought to the door, and they drove to the house of Mr. Radford, who received them with his usual bland welcome; while the two sisters mingled in silence their tears and ca

resses.

Mrs. Bradley had many incidents of interest to tell her sister, who had as many to relate in return—what interested one interested the other. Their brother William was in all their thoughts, but they ventured not that day to mention his name.

Mr. Radford busied himself by driving from farm to farm, accompanied by his brother-in-law, and telling him how many thousand dollars he paid for this or that piece of ground, congratulating himself upon his luck,' as he called it, to foreclose the mortgage before the owner was able to redeem it, by saying, "I was sorry, but was obliged to oust them, for