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Seth was unable to reply, and they walked on in silence At last, as they were nearly at the yard-gate, he said, "Well, Dinah, IHim who is invisible But I feel noeak one, I could never joy in anything anythe love of women as I feel for you, for I could be content without your o and live at Snowfield and be near you I trusted as the strong love God has givenfor us both; but it seems it was only ht to feel for any creature, for I often can't help saying of you what the hyun; She issun

That ht better But you wouldn't be displeased with o to live at Snowfield?"

"No, Seth; but I counsel you to wait patiently, and not lightly to leave your own country and kindred Do nothing without the Lord's clear bidding It's a bleak and barren country there, not like this land of Goshen you've been used to We mustn't be in a hurry to fix and choose our own lot; we uided"

"But you'd letI wanted to tell you?"

"Yes, sure; let me know if you're in any trouble You'll be continually in ate, and Seth said, "I won't go in, Dinah, so farewell" He paused and hesitated after she had given hi but what you s different after a while There ood to live only a moment at a time, as I've read in one of Mr Wesley's books It isn't for you andto do but to obey and to trust Farewell"

Dinah pressed his hand with rather a sad look in her loving eyes, and then passed through the gate, while Seth turned away to walk lingeringly ho the direct road, he chose to turn back along the fields through which he and Dinah had already passed; and I think his blue linen handkerchief was very ith tears long before he had made up his mind that it was time for him to set his face steadily homewards He was but three-and-twenty, and had only just learned what it is to love--to love with that adoration which a young reater and better than hiious feeling What deep and worthy love is so, whether of woman or child, or art or music Our caresses, our tender words, our still rapture under the influence of autumn sunsets, or pillared vistas, or cal with them the consciousness that they are mere waves and ripples in an unfathomable ocean of love and beauty; our emotion in its keenest mohest flood rushes beyond its object and loses itself in the sense of divine iven to too an for us to feel any surprise that it should have existed in the soul of a Methodist carpenter half a century ago, while there was yet a lingering after-glow from the time when Wesley and his fellow-labourer fed on the hips and haws of the Cornwall hedges, after exhausting lie to the poor