CONNEXION INTELLIGENCE.

devoted towards the liquidation of 2727. the balance due to Mr. Wood for having advanced 6487.79s. 3d. for alterations in the chapel, and for the repairs of the chapel and chapel house; leaving 2607. 78. still due to Mr. Wood. The attendance at this most interesting station is exceedingly satisfactory, which is a cause of much thankfulness to the pastor, who would say with the Psalmist "Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory, for thy mercy and for thy truth's sake."

CHESHUNT COLLEGE. By an oversight, we have omitted to announce what probably most of our readers will have learned elsewhere; the resignation of our excellent friend, Dr. Alliott, as President of the college. The doctor has felt it to be his duty to accept an unanimous invitation to Spring Hill College, where we sincerely hope he will be increasingly useful. It is with great pleasure we are able to testify to his good will towards all connexional institutions, and his evident desire to co-operate with the friends of the connexion, and perhaps it will be difficult to find a man whose previous associations have been with another religious body, who will display as much sympathy with what may be called our movements. Such being the case, in ad

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dition to his ability as a tutor, his soundness as a theologian, and his learning as a gentleman, we cannot but express our sincere regret at his removal; but, as to the future, without wishing to introduce disputed topics or to write harsh things, it is a matter for serious concern, that the right man should be at Cheshunt ; we blame not so much the present authorities of the college, as the apathy, if not the unfaithfulness of those, who, when they had the opportunity of cementing the bond of union between the college and the connexion, allowed its management to pass into other hands. However, perhaps, it is not yet too late; its annexation to "the Independent body" has not quite taken place. Might has not yet triumphed over right, and if a man of kindred spirit to its originators can be found (and surely it would be worth while to keep the professorship vacant for a season to seek for such an one), it may yet answer its purpose, and supply, first, men for our own congregations, and then for the Christian church at large.

SPA FIELDS CHAPEL.

THE eighty-first anniversary services were held_on_ Sunday, April 15th, the Rev. T. E. Thoresby preached morning and evening. The collections amounted to 651.

THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS.

How fair and how lovely it is to behold
The sun in its splendour approaching the west?
Its race is near run, and refulgent with gold,
It glides through the ether, as hastening to rest.

It sinks-but in sinking 'tis only to rise,
Its splendour and glory afresh to display:
It sets-but in other and far distant skies,
It rises and reigns in the brightness of day.

Yet far more resplendent than this is the scene
Of the good man approaching the confines of time;
All loving, all peaceful, all calm and serene,
He passes away with a brightness sublime.

He dies-but no pencil can ever display,
The splendour and glory that burst on his sight,
As, guided by angels he speeds on his way,
Through the portals of praise to the temple of light.

Contributions to be forwarded to Mr. FREDERICK W. WILLCOCKS, Treasurer, 8, Claremont Square, London. N. Orders to be made payable at the General Post-Office.

Miss Pember

1.2 0

2 19 9

THE PLEASURE OF DOING GOOD.

THE room was large and richly furnished. A selection of paintings by the first artists hung on the walls. Books of various kinds were scattered on the table in the centre of the room. Some embroidery just began, lay on the carpet, as though it had fallen from a chair on which it had been thrown. Near an open piano stood a harp, and a portfolio of music. On a sofa beside the fire reclined a young lady who seemed worn out with fatigue. She was an elegant girl about sixteen years of age, and unusually beautiful; her features bore evident traces of an amiable dis

K

position, and no cost or pains had been spared on her education. A fancy dog sat snarling on her lap, and snapped now and then at the hand that petted it. At this moment a gentleman about the middle age, of pleasing countenance, entered the room.

"Well, my dear Emma," said he, in an affectionate tone, "how are you."

"Oh, father,” replied the girl, without answering his question, "I am so glad you have come, for I am wretchedly dull. This wearisome day seems to me an age. Sometimes I tried to read, but every book I took up was so dry and uninteresting I was obliged to throw it aside. Once or twice I began to work, but my fingers ached so I could not go on. Then I sat down at the piano and played two or three of the newest airs, but there was no music in them. At last I went into the garden to amuse myself there, but the wind was so keen I was compelled to return; and when I stroked little Flora she was cross and snapped at my fingersee how it bleeds. Really I do not know what to do with myself.”

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'I am sorry, my dear girl," said the father, with a smile which soon subsided into a serious look-"Sit down, and let us talk over it."

She sat down on the sofa beside him.

"You know, my dear Emma," the father began, "we have always had your welfare at heart."

She affectionately kissed him as her answer.

"If your excellent mother had been alive," he added, "you would not have felt these hours to be tedious and long. What you want is something really to do. All that you call your employment is not so, it ought only to be your recreation, something to fill up your spare moments, but not the end of your life. I never wish you to be obliged, as thousands, to work for your bread. But we have all enough to do to work out our salvation, and to labour to save those around us from temporal misery and eternal death. I confess, dear Emma," and here his countenance assumed increasing seriousness, "that your life hitherto seems to me to have been lost. You are affectionate and kind, but I want you supremely to love the Saviour and give Him your heart. On my return from my business engagements you cheer many an otherwise sad hour, but I should like you to spend the rest of your time in doing something for Him who has done so much for you. What a blessing you might be to many a poor family in the neighbourhood! You could visit the irreligious and talk with them about their souls. You could read and pray with the afflicted and dying, and tell them of a world where the inhabitant never says I am sick. And how happy would you be in doing it! For the manner in which we spend our talents and time, and what we do and leave undone, we shall one day have to give an account to God. Emma, have you ever thought of this?"

My dear

For some time the tears pearled in the eyes of the amiable girl, but at

THE PLEASURE OF DOING GOOD.

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these last words she fell weeping into his arms. "Oh that my mother were yet alive!" she sighed, "I have no one but you, dear father, to advise me and tell me of my faults. I love you for it. Tell me what I shall do, and I will cheerfully do it.

Only let me have your affection, a

look of reproof from you is more than I can bear!" and tears choked her voice.

The father kissed her will talk of these things.

and said, "Another time, my dear Emma, we Now of something else."

Then he began to tell her of the friends he had met with, and the business he had transacted during the day. Emma wiped away her tears, and her usual cheerfulness returned. After half-an-hour he left her.

When her father was gone she became again serious. She walked up and down the room sunk in thought. Sometimes she went to the window and stood still, and once her lips involuntarily uttered the words, "doing something for Him who has done so much for you."

The next day Emma, elegantly dressed, was preparing to go out to an evening entertainment, when her father entered the room. He seemed, when he saw her, struck with surprise, and immediately became thoughtful and serious.

"Dear Emma," said he, "What! dressed to go out! Where are you going?"

"Yes, father," she said, "I have been invited for this week past to Mrs. Bremer's ball, to-night. But, before I go, I intend to spend an hour or two with Miss Adelaide Lavinsky. She has engaged to accompany me, and I have promised to go with her through the last fashions and to take her advice for a new dress."

Instead of an answer the father offered her his arm. he, "dear Emma, we will go out together. may not wish to go with Adelaide."

"Come," said

Perhaps on your return you

"Shall I change my dress, father? I cannot walk in this."

"There is no need, come as you are," he replied; "I have no time to stop." He took her arm and led her out of the room. Curiosity might have guessed in vain where he was about to take her in a ball dress. It was something more than an ordinary walk. At the door stood the carriage waiting for them.

As soon as they entered it they drove off towards the town, and turned at length into a long narrow street. Here they stopped. Father and daughter alighted. The daughter looked enquiringly at the father, but said nothing. The street was dirty and uneven. Nothing was to be seen in it except a few ragged children running about, and here and there one of their mothers looking through the panes of a broken window. Emma held fast to her father's arm as though she were afraid. "Be patient," said he, "< a little while, we are almost there, and I will explain it all by-and-bye."