With a heavy sigh, Martin Laver went to put up his shutters again. He was so weak from his recent illness, that he had to pause more than once, even when making so slight an exertion. Six months before he would have lifted ten times the weight of a shutter with ease. It was sad to feel the once strongly-knit arms so feeble; but it was not this sense of weakness, nor the fear of approaching poverty, that drew that deep sigh from Laver's heart. It was the burden of that cross which is wont to press more or less heavily upon all who would follow Christ fully—that cross of which the Blessed Master knew the weight day by day, and which He bids all His servants take up. "Because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you," * the Lord once said to His disciples, and through His Word He says so still. Persecution has been the portion of God's saints not only in times when fire and sword were used to destroy them, but when hatred could be shewn only in sneers and taunts, that do not endanger life, but deprive it of earthly enjoyment. * John xv. 19. While Laver was replacing the shutters, he thought of Christian in "Pilgrim's Progress," and how hard his wife tried to stop him when he would flee from the wrath to come. "He had to bear her taunts and revilings," thought Laver; "what a hard struggle it must have cost Christian to leave all that had once been most dear. How different would his pilgrimage have been, had he and his wife been of one heart and one mind, and gone through all their trials together! But though his wife would not go one step with him, she followed at last in his track. Doubtless he had prayed for her very, very often, and God answered his prayer, though not till after Christian had left this earth and its sorrows behind him. Perhaps it may be thus with us; my poor Ann may remember my words, when I am no more here to speak them." Martin raised his hand to his brow, for a faintness was coming over him. "God help me to be so careful in my daily conduct, to keep my lips and my life so pure, that my wife must own, however unwillingly, that in trying to be a better Christian, I am also a better husband, father, and friend. When she taunts me with being a saint, may I have grace to become one indeed, that, at least, she may never think me a hypocrite, saying one thing and doing another." Ann would scarcely speak to her husband during all the time of breakfast, but she missed no opportunity of speaking at him, addressing herself to their child. "Ah! You want more butter to your bread, do you?" she cried, pushing towards Annie a slice which she had just cut from the loaf. "Your father takes good care that we shan't have butter, and it will soon come, I suppose, to doing without the bread too!" Ann glanced angrily towards the darkened shop as she spoke.