that He slighted him, but that He had something better in store for him. He sent him away because

1. It was better for the man himself. Had he been allowed to follow for ever at the heels of his Deliverer, he would have ever felt his own safety dependent on the Master's presence. As it was, he discovered that "through all Decapolis" or anywhere else his Saviour could keep him safe and that, wherever the trustful disciple's lot is cast, his Omnipresent Guide and Guard is with him there. It was better, too, for the man's friends. Who can tell the gracious influences that this "home missionary" exerted over his family circle as they saw and heard their demoniac relative of yesterday, the sane, happy, loving evangelist of to-day? It was better for the country. But for him the land of Decapolis must have remained without the Light that lighteth the world, for they had expelled Him from their coast. But this converted, restored believer, this moving miracle, went through the whole country and published abroad the love and mercy of his Saviour, so that all men did marvel!

Had this man merely helped to swell the crowd that followed the footsteps of Jesus, his own faith and love might have failed altogether, in presence of the poverty, pains, and persecu

tions he would have undergone. His home would never have been lighted with the candle of the Lord, and his native country must have remained in thick darkness and the shadow of death. Therefore, though "he prayed that he might be with Him, Jesus sent him away."

Surely we have here a lesson needful to be learned on the subject of our own unanswered prayers. The granting of our requests is not always a token of mercy, but sometimes of judgment, as in the case of the Gadarenes; and the refusal of our prayers is not a token of Divine displeasure or indifference, but is oft a special benediction and the herald of a superior boon.

Let us come boldly to the throne of grace; and though we shall often find denials, we shall always find mercy and grace to help in time of need. The denials themselves shall be a mercy; and though we may find it hard to believe, even the "time of need" shall be a grace to us, greater than deliverance could be. When from some heavenly standpoint we look back upon all the way the Lord hath led us, and see all the harm from which He saved us, all the compensations He gave us, our grateful souls shall sing His praises:

"And above the rest this note shall swell-
My Saviour hath done all things well."

CROSSED the river a few mornings ago when a thick fog obscured the atmosphere. The boat plied her swift way over the waters; but the other side was shrouded in the misty veil, and the city spires were seen dimly, as through a glass.

Beneath, the blue waves shone in serene beauty. Far up, the white clouds piled themselves against the deep azure of the sky, and the sunbeams scattered their glory. But all around, thick, grey, and impenetrable, brooded the morning mist, ethereal as the veil which floats around the bride on her sacred day; hopeless as that which the sad nun binds upon her head, when she seeks to find happiness in her cloisters, and weds herself to a life of weary disappointment. Through the gloom there came constantly the ringing of bells and the shrill whistle of the steam, as the boats, with their precious freight, hurried to and fro.

Christian is not this like thy life? Out in thy little boat upon Time's changeful stream,

WATERS.

how often the grey mists fold their arms around thee, and hide from thy view the Father's house to which thou art hastening over the blue waters! The sun of thy Redeemer's love is shining, in its constant brightness, above thy head; but faith droops under the pressure of earth-born cares and trials, and the dimness gathers. Yet, through it all, there are angelcalls that cheer thee on; precious promises that ring like silver bells through the darkness; and heavenly hopes that thrill through thy soul, leaving it stronger and braver. And by and by thou wilt reach the end, and there shall be no veil of mist to dim the light of the river of life. On, therefore, in thy way, singing always :

"Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee,
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me."

WEN WEST was a first-rate specimen of the country laddie, introduced to the attention of dominies through the modern medium of School Boards. He was a sturdy-limbed, round-faced, shock-headed young fellow, who in that very convenient era of my story, once upon a time," was not without his comrades. Owen lived in a small village on the outermost edge of a wild western moor. The majority of his acquaintances thought him a very common-place boy indeed. The only feature in his character of any prominence was a knack of getting into difficulties. Owen, I fear, was not clever; and if the village of Ambletor was, as some maligners said, behind the age and sleepy, the keeper of the village school was neither the one nor the other.

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Really, West, such laziness cannot be tolerated!" the master would say, sternly, "I am compelled to make an example of you." And then a cane would flash in the sunlight and poor Owen would go back to his seat with a hand and a heart that ached about equally.

He felt that he was growing more and more stupid. The tasks he was set to face, after two or three minutes of sturdy application, became too irksome to be endured, and his thoughts wandered out into the fields and the lanesrobed just then with the vivid green of spring. What was to be done? As certain statesmen are never tired of telling one another-it is very much easier to point out the evil than to show the remedy; and though all sorts of people, from his parents and the schoolmaster down to casual acquaintances, were sure that if Owen kept on as he was doing he would certainly be ruined, nobody seemed able to suggest a cure.

A day came at length when Owen was especially miserable. Nothing would go right. His lessons were unlearned, and even the imposition problem seemed too hard to be understood. It was then that into the depths of his despair a queer suggestion flashed.

As I have said, Ambletor lay on the edge of a bleak, wide moor, and about a mile from the last of the straggling village houses rose a furze-clad hill with a ruined castle upon its summit. Whether the castle took its name from the hamlet it once protected, or the village borrowed it from the castle there are no data to show. Neither does it matter. The mists of antiquity have buried in oblivion the answer to that and to many a more important question.

Ambletor Castle was a grey, tumbledown edifice which had witnessed many a courtly ceremony, and rung with many a doughty deed in "the brave days of old." It possessed now only one habitable room; and this was tenanted by an aged caretaker who was renowned far and wide as a wizard. Rightly or wrongly, the country people credited told Andrew Pargonne with vast and mysterious powers. They were convinced that if he only chose he could heal their diseases quite as readily as the doctor, and that as a seer he could unveil for them whatever the future might hold. Alas, that in the waning of the nineteenth century such superstitions should still linger!

Many a time, in his rambles over the moor, Owen West had scampered with awe from the vicinity of 'Drew Pargonne's tall figure. But the strange idea that had now entered his brain was nothing less than that of calling at Ambletor Castle and asking the wizard to help him by the gift of some spell or talisman, such as Owen had read of with delight in olden fairy tales.

Once conceived, this fancy rapidly strengthened itself into a resolve; and the next day, being the occasion of the regular weekly holiday, Owen put it into execution.

He did not tell anyone, not even his parents, or his chief boyish companions, of his design, and it was with much trepidation that he set out.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the balmy southern breezes fanned his cheeks. But all this loveliness of nature failed to exhilarate him. Many a timorous wild thing fled across his path, and on another day would have tempted him into a chase; but now he scarcely noticed them, and the burrows under the dark furze bushes received them unmolested.

Then the square, moss-sprinkled tower towards which his steps were bound, came into full view, and at the sight Owen's heart went pit-a-pat. His courage had long been oozing from him, and it is possible that he might have altered his mind and gone back as he had come, but for a direct interposition of fate. Owen West was destined this day to have an interview with the wizard even without the trouble of knocking at yonder iron-studded doors.

A range of mounds

some eight or ten feet in height, the debris of long-deserted quarries, lay to the right, and as he came into line with them, a tall figure emerged from the centre. The boy started, and instinctively stopped.

"Well, my lad, do you want anything of me?" asked 'Drew Pargonne. The accents were