IN a certain Sabbath-school, no matter where, there was a class,which had been the despair of successive teachers. One after another was frozen out by the elegance, or was it by the stiffness, of the half-dozen beautiful young girls who composed the exclusive circle. Bound together by congenial social relations, the young ladies remained apparently indifferent as to whether they had a teacher or not, and equally polite and uninterested with the new teachers who came from time to time, as they had been with the old. 

The superintendent grieved over their lack of class feeling. They were in the school, and not of it. It was suggested to him to press them into the service as teachers. They, one and all, declined the office. 

During the opening and closing exercises, they behaved with propriety, as grown-up girls should, and, when they had no one to teach them, they spent the time appointed for study in talking to each other, with evident enjoyment, but as evidently about anything else rather than the lesson. 

One day, a little, dark-eyed woman entered the school, and offered her services as a teacher. She stated that she had recently come to live in the neighborhood, and wanted to work for Christ. 

"We have a young ladies' class," said the superintendent, with some hesitation,-thinking, good man, of the fine clothes worn by the class in question, and of the plain attire of the woman before him. "It is an unpopular class," he continued; "nobody succeeds in it; but you might try it for today." 

Looking in her direction a little later, he could hardly believe his eyes. The ice had melted. The class had forgotten itself over the Bible, and was a unite in its eager attention to the lady, who was speaking to them in a low, soft voice, and as if what she had to say was worth their hearing. And, yes indeed, he could see that they were asking questions as well as answering them. 

Sabbath after Sabbath, the stranger, who soon grew to be a friend, was in her place; but ere long the six had grown to twelve, and then to twenty; and in three months the number had increased to thirty-five. 

A more miscellaneous set could not have been imagined. Yet they did not seem ill-assorted. There was no patronage in the manner of Floribel N., the judge's daughter, nor the least servility in the air of Dulcie W., who was folding sheets for books daily from eight until five. 

"Tell us your secret," said some of the teachers one day, to Miss-. It was at a little afternoon meeting of the lady teachers, informally assembled to talk over methods. 

"How do you contrive to hold those girls " 

"I have no secret," was the reply, "I pray for my girls daily. I name each individual at some time every week, to my Master, and I study the lesson with my whole heart and soul. I try to make it a living lesson; not a story of the past, but a vivid, stirring story for today. I try to find out what is back of each girl,-what home influences she has, what are her surroundings, and to what key her life is set. 

Then I seek to discover whether she is happy or discontented, whether she feels herself of use, and what work she can do, and my constant refuge in every doubt and perplexity in my Saviour. I know these young lives are very precious to him, and I cannot be satisfied to let them slip into worldliness, when they ought to be consecrated to him. 

“But how did you conquer the caste feeling so completely?" 

A light came into the dark eyes, kindling the expressive face almost into beauty. 

"I think nothing about it. Caste must go down when the cross is the central thought. The only secret," said the little woman, smiling, "is that I bear my scholars on my heart night and day, that I set them at work, and that I get them to be wide awake with interest in the Bible, which is the most interesting book in the world. And then I trust in One who never breaks his word. He is with us always."

Margaret E. Sangster,

 in S. S. Times.