ty
picture.--At Epworth.--Mr. Wesley is very unkindly
treated.--All for the best.--The curate is
"done."--A happy ending to a bad
beginning.--"Good-bye, Epworth."

SHALL we have another peep into the Magic Mirror? See that pretty
country church, with the square tower. There are some big trees near,
looking as if they were tall giants keeping guard; they have no leaves
on them yet, and their bare arms stretch out a long way as if they were
trying to reach the church.

If you look carefully you will see buds coming out on the trees, baby
buds they are, waiting for the sun's kisses. Then they will burst out
and grow into great leaves that will cover up the naked old trees. Ivy
climbs up the church wall. I see its dark glossy leaves, for the ivy is
evergreen.

There are many graves in the churchyard, but you can hardly see them
because people are sitting on them; such a number of people, hundreds
more than could ever have got into the church. They are all looking one
way, and seem to be listening very attentively. What are they looking
at? They are looking at a gentleman who is standing all alone on a big
flat tombstone near the church wall. He wears a gown and white bands
like a clergyman, and he has long hair brushed very smoothly, and a
beautiful, happy face.

Dear me! did I hear a crash then? And did I hear a hundred young voices
shouting: "I know who it is, it's Mr. John Wesley"? Why, you must have
broken the mirror with your shouts. You are right, dears, but you
shouted rather too soon. I wanted to read what it said on the tombstone
on which Mr. Wesley was standing. But, never mind, I think I saw some of
the words:

"SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
SAMUEL WESLEY,
FOR THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS RECTOR OF EPWORTH."

Yes, it was his father's grave on which John Wesley was standing.

On his way back from one of his visits to Newcastle he thought he would
like to see his dear old home once more. It was a long, long time since
he had been there, and he was not quite sure whether the people would
have anything to do with him now, for, as leader of the Methodists, he
had many enemies.

It was Saturday evening in early spring, when he got to the little inn,
in the long straggling street that was called Epworth village. He had
not been there very long before three or four poor women found him out,
one of them an old servant of his mother's