The Little Gleaner

Dear young friends,—We wish you each and all a very Happy New Year, and, above all things else, that it may prove to many of you a year of grace—that is, we pray that the rich saving grace of God may be put in the hearts of many of our readers who hitherto have not called upon Him for mercy.

How many who began the year 1887 in health are now laid in the grave! Some, no doubt, who read this address will be thinking of others who read last year's, and who were interested in The Little Gleaner, watching for its appearance month by month, but who now have passed away, and will no more read it, nor walk and talk with them again.

The other month, a wrapper in which a Gleaner had been enclosed by some friend to a person in Ireland was sent to us bearing this solemn mark, "Dead." This told us that the person to whom the Gleaner had been sent had become the prey of death, and would never read another.

Oh, how solemn that word looked and sounded to us—"dead!" and the thought rushed into our mind, "How did he die? Where is he? If he died in Christ, it is well with him, for all who thus die are eternally at rest, free from sin, care, pain, and sorrow. Yea, they are 'for ever with the Lord.'"

Dear reader, how is it with you? You are spared, while some have been called from time into eternity. We hope you feel this to be a mercy, and we now ask, Have you ever been led to the throne of grace, concerned about sin and salvation? Has the cry ever gone from your heart to the Lord, "God be merciful to me a sinner"? If not, oh, that, as this year begins to pass away, the Spirit may cause your heart to feel the guilt of your sin, and lead you, a poor, burdened, contrite one, to the feet of Him who died on the cross, and whose blood cleanses those who are thus brought unto Him from all sin. Then you shall prove that He is "mighty to save"—yea, "able to save all those to the uttermost that come unto God by Him."

We believe that many who will read these words have proved the ability of Christ Jesus to save, and that others are seeking Him, and longing to know that their sins are forgiven. We rejoice over them, and pray that many more may be brought to walk the same way, for it is the way from sin, death, and hell, and the way to Christ, peace, and heaven. All who walk therein belong to the flock of the Good Shepherd; and we can say to each one who has thus fled to Him for refuge, "He careth for you." His love is stronger than death, and knows no change, for He is "the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever."

Dear young friends, there is a reality in the religion of Jesus, and we pray that, in this truth-despising day, you may feel the power of grace, and, by the work of the Spirit in your hearts, be so grounded in the truth that you may turn with contempt from all those who, while they profess to preach, have not the knowledge of God and His truth in them; and, although they are anxious to discredit the Word of God, and set aside the atonement of Christ, yet they do not know what to substitute for them. All who follow such leaders are certainly being led on "the down grade," and even the leaders themselves confess that they do not know where they shall be landed. Some have already been landed in Socinianism, and others in infidelity. Therefore, we say to all our readers, Abide by and hold fast the Word of God, Cleave to those who preach the pure and simple truths of the Gospel of Christ, as recorded in the Scriptures, and may the Lord bless you with faith to receive them in your heart. Then you shall "know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."

Dear young friends, we seek your good, therefore we thus write, hoping that our word of warning may not be in vain, but that some may be put on their guard against preachers and teachers who have nothing but the shifting sands of science for a foundation, which must all be swept away, and those who build thereon must perish in the ruin.

Oh, may we be found on the Rock, Christ, living and dying, and be enabled to declare before all these deceivers, "I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day."

Children, do not forget the Bible. Obey, honour, and love your parents. Avoid bad company, bad and foolish books, and evil habits. These things will bring shame and misery to those who follow them, therefore shun them all.

We still ask your help in spreading the Gleaner and the Sower. May the Lord make them useful, and bless you with His covenant blessing, is the desire of

A very touching incident occurred lately at Governeur Hospital, New York City.

Little Annie Ashpurvis was sent by her parents to the cellar for some firewood. The child, who was but six years old, took a lighted lamp in her hand, and while descending the stairs, her foot slipped, and she fell, breaking the lamp, the flames of the burning fluid soon enveloping her entire body. As soon as the surgeon was called, the little sufferer was driven in an ambulance to the hospital. The child was put on a sofa cot, and the surgeon did all he could to alleviate her suffering, but it was impossible to save her life. Under the influence of a narcotic, she soon fell asleep. Thus she lay slowly breathing for some hours. Her face was so swollen that she could not open her eyes. About half-past two in the morning she showed signs of returning consciousness. The watchful nurse asked her if she would take a drink. She distinctly answered, "Yes." In a moment the house surgeon was beside her cot. He felt the pulse, but shook his head, and turned to go away. As he did so, the little creature moved her body. She turned half around. The dim light of the candle shone on the blackened face. The swollen lips pursed out, and in a clear, sweet voice, the dying child began to sing, "Nearer, my God, to Thee." The doctor and the nurse stood transfixed. The other patients in the silent, darkened ward leaned on their elbows and drank in the sweet melody. The first verse completed, she gradually sank back on her pillow. Her strength began to fail, and with it her voice, and only the humming, like distant music, of the air of the hymn could be heard. How sweet, yet weird, that humming sounded! The candle lent its meagre light, and the big clock in the corner told out its seconds, as the sweet little soul passed out to its Maker. The humming ceased. All was over. The doctor turned away with his handkerchief raised to his eyes. The nurse gazed into the flame of the candle, and heaved a sigh. She seemed to read the little one's death there.

When the remains were buried, the coffin was strewn with flowers, offerings of her little schoolmates, with whom the dead child had been a great favourite.— Evangelist.

Self-denial.—There never did, and never will, exist anything permanent, and noble, and excellent in a character which was a stranger to the exercise of resolute self-denial.

"Stop a minute, James. We're making up a skating party to go down the river to-night. We shall build a fire on the island, and have a grand time. Come, go with us."

"No, George, I can't. Father says I must skate on the canal. It isn't so wide, nor quite so good skating, I know, but it's safe."

"Nonsense! The ice is at least two inches thick anywhere, even in the thinnest places."

"No matter. I can't skate on the river."

"Well, then, come to the canal. You can skate out to the fork, where it joins the river, and see us all. Will you do that?"

"Yes."

"All right. Be there at seven."

James was ready with his skates at the time appointed, and about to leave the house.

"Where now, James?" asked his father.

"I'm going to skate awhile on the canal, father."

"Well, it's a bright evening, but don't stay late, and don't go on the river."

Just then James's little sister, Marion, who was ready to go to bed, shouted after him, "Stop, James! Give me a kiss," and holding up her rosebud mouth, in a plump face, from which the laughing eyes were shining, she received his good-night kiss, and he went out. As he passed the window, he saw, through the half-drawn curtains, little Marion by her mother, with the Bible. The father had laid his Book down, and they sat reverently listening while his petition went up to heaven. It was a beautiful picture. Poor Jamie! With what different feelings would he have looked upon it, had he then known what was to happen within the next two hours!

He crossed the field before the house, and was soon on the canal, and gliding swiftly towards the river, from which the sound of merry voices already reached his ear; and as he wheeled splendidly, just at the entrance of the canal, the boys saw him, and came bearing down upon him like a fleet of swift ships before the wind.

"Hurrah, James!" cried a dozen of them, as they joined company on the canal.

There they amused themselves awhile, racing, skating backward, and cutting all sorts of fanciful figures upon the ice, until George gave the word, "Now for the island!" and with loud shouts they shot out together upon the river, all but James.

"I must leave you now," he said.

"Oh, James, don't!" cried several at once.

"Now, see here, James," said George; "what's the use of being so set? Go down with us this time."

"Father said, 'Don't go on the river.'"

"Well, as to that, you've been on the river two or three times. Look at your marks."

James now saw that, in the excitement of their sport, he had repeatedly rushed out of the canal quite across the channel of the river. He wanted to go with the boys. He didn't really think there was much danger, and the discovery that he had already unwittingly broken his father's command, did not help him in his hour of weakness and temptation. The boys all clamoured for him to join them. James slowly glided out of the canal, stood still a moment, and the tempter prevailed.

"Well, I'll go down this once—mind you, only once," and he darted like an arrow to the front, for he was the best skater in the company, and soon was far in advance of the rest.

Alas! none of the boys knew of the murderous "breathing-hole" which had opened that day in the ice in the channel, and now lay right in James's path, waiting to receive him; and the first notice they had of its existence was a despairing cry of terror from him as he plunged in.

All was confusion among the boys; but George, more self-possessed than the others, hurried to the shore, and, shouting cheerily, "Hold on, Jamie! I'll help you out," broke off the limb of a tree, as large and long as he could handle, brought it on, and tried, by carefully creeping towards James, to put it within his reach. But the current was strong; the water was bitterly cold; and James, who had been urging his friend to make haste, now began to lose his strength and become benumbed, and before the limb came within his grasp, he said, faintly, "Oh, George, I can't hold on any longer! Ask father—to forgive——" and went down with the tide.

An hour later, the men at the mill below, who had broken the ice above the barred outlet of the dam, and were watching and waiting in expectation of their mournful work, lifted James's body out of the water, and tenderly carried it to his home.

Boys, I have seldom told you a more sad story. Oh, that I could now impress upon your young hearts the lesson of obedience to parents so deeply that it shall never be forgotten! If you are ever tempted to disregard a kind father's commands, or his advice, even though it be "only once," may you have strength to resist the temptation. Remember Jamie. It is true that disobedience to parents is not always—nor indeed often—followed so speedily by such sad consequences, but we know that the smile of God for this life will rest upon those children who obey their parents.

"Honour thy father and mother" is the first commandment with promise.

In some simple words of rhyme
Read, and mark the flight of time;
Seasons come and disappear,
As we pass from year to year.

All things ever on the move,
Whether them we hate or love;
'Tis a changing scene below—
This we own, for this we know.

Blest are they—and only they—
Who are in the "narrow way";
Seeking Jesus' blessed face;
Longing much to know His grace.

Mourning over inward sin;
Panting only Him to win
Who for sin and sinners died,
When on Calvary crucified.

Do I, who these lines now read,
Of redemption feel my need?
Do I really long to know
That His blood for me did flow?

Do my heart and mouth confess
I am all unrighteousness?
Do I pray indeed to see
Christ my Righteousness to be?

Do I feel I cannot die
Till He does His blood apply?
And my doubting soul assure
I shall to the end endure?

If 'tis so, I know full well
I shall surely with Him dwell,
And shall, in His house on high,
Shout His praise beyond the sky.

A. Hammond.

Supposing all the great points of atheism were formed into a kind of creed, I would fain ask whether it would not require an infinitely greater measure of faith than any set of articles which they so violently oppose?—Addison.

In one of the Protestant cantons of Switzerland dwelt a lady of fortune, in a handsome mansion, surrounded with extensive grounds. These were laid out with the greatest taste, so as to command at every convenient point a favourable view of the romantic and interesting country that rose on all sides round the lovely and fertile plain in which it was situated.

Madame de Blénal was a widow who had, at an early age, married a gentleman of property in the canton who, like herself, was a humble follower and sincere lover of the Redeemer, but who, after a year or two of as perfect happiness as this world can be expected to afford, died in faith, looking forward with assured hope to the promises made by the Lord Jesus to all who truly believe in Him.

With a heart prepared by faith to submit to the decrees of Providence, whether for this world's good or ill, Madame de Blénal, though she deeply felt the blow which her Heavenly Father had inflicted upon her, soothed her grief with the reflection that her husband was now at peace, and removed from the troubles which beset every sojourner in this mortal world. Too fondly attached to his memory ever to enter a second time into married life, she applied herself entirely to the cultivation of a treasure he had left behind, in the person of a little boy named Alfred, whom she endeavoured prayerfully to bring up "in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." Neither did she neglect to enrich his mind with such knowledge as might enable him to manage the earthly inheritance which was hereafter to belong to him, if it pleased God that he should live to arrive at the age of manhood.

At the time of which we are writing, Madame de Blénal had just resigned to him the management of the property which he inherited from his father, reserving to herself only the portion which she had brought with her when she married. Still, as, in his own opinion as well as hers, he was yet too young to think of taking a wife, Madame de Blénal remained the mistress of his household, while he applied himself to studying the nature of the duties that had devolved upon him, and to endeavouring to acquire personal experience in the management of his estate, as well as to improve the characters and condition of his tenants and labourers.

It happened one day, towards the end of summer, that a party who were friends of her son's, together with some older ones of her own, had been dining at her house, and the whole party had retired after dinner, to take their coffee in an open part of the grounds which commanded the best view both of the plain and of the mountains beyond it. The former was already involved in the shades of evening, which, gradually ascending the latter, soon reached the glaciers in the distance, and converted the roseate tint with which the last beams of the departing sun had invested them into that cold, lurid hue that heralds in the approaching night. The stars now began to appear, one by one, in the clear blue sky, and led the thoughts of many, if not all, of the party from Nature up to Nature's God. Some of the younger ones, however, began to amuse themselves by counting them, as they came into view; and one or two, rather vain of their knowledge of astronomy, informed the others of their names. Suddenly Alfred exclaimed—

"I can see one which is not to be found in the lists furnished by any astronomer, and yet it is by far the most brilliant."

His friends thought that he was jesting, but yet attempted to discover it in the sky.

"You are all looking too high," he said, laughing, and pointed to a distant mountain, where the fire of a charcoal burner had just made its appearance.

The party gazed attentively for some time, when one of the ladies said, with a sigh—

"Poor man! How much he is to be pitied, sitting all alone up there!"

"Perhaps, madame, he is not so solitary as you imagine. The mountaineers of these parts seldom leave their village homes for the summer season without taking a Bible with them, so that I trust it may be said of this one, even if his solitude is not sometimes broken by a passing visit from a goatherd, that he is never quite alone, for God is always near them that fear Him."

"That is a blessed thing indeed," said the lady; "but is he not in danger from the wolves?"

"No, madame. First of all, the wolves are not so numerous about here as many persons think; and, even where they are more abundant, there are few, at this season, so pressed by hunger as to have the courage to attack a man; and besides, the fire itself would keep them at a distance. They have an instinctive dread of it."

"So far so good, Mr. Alfred. Still, if I were in the place of this man, I should not be quite at ease. I should every moment be expecting the approach of robbers."

"Robbers, madame, are very considerate people. They do not like to lose either their time or their labour. Now, what could they find worth stealing from this poor charcoal burner?"

"What? Why, his money, to be sure!"

"His money? If he happens to have any. He does not carry it with him into the forest, where he has no use for it, but leaves it at home with his wife."

"A very good husband! But his watch?"

"An article quite useless to him. He marks the time by the sun and stars; or, if the weather is cloudy, most of the mountain châlets are furnished with a small wooden clock, which holds out no great temptation to men whose thoughts are fixed upon the well-stored purses of travellers."

"You have an answer for everything, Mr. Alfred. Do you know the man?"

"I cannot say that I do, madame. We have few, if any, charcoal burners in our domain. That mountain is at some distance, and he belongs most probably to another village. But I have had occasion to observe the habits of these mountaineers, and have acquired a tolerable knowledge of them generally."

"And what can he possibly be doing at this hour, in that wild place?"

"Precisely what we are doing ourselves—he is watching his fire."

After many other conjectures had been hazarded as to the way in which the charcoal burner was passing his time, Madame de Blénal said—

"A truce with these idle fancies. Our pastors in this canton are not idle, and our peasantry are generally well instructed in their Christian duties, so I trust that he is better employed than any of you suppose. Perhaps, at this moment, he is sitting with the Bible on his knee, reading of the mercies of Jesus, meditating upon them as he watches his fire, and lifting up his heart in prayer to Him who alone is able to inspire it with holy thoughts and divine affections."

"However," said the lady who had first begun the conversation, "I should really like to know what he is about. I wish some one could tell us who has actually seen him."

"I can easily satisfy your curiosity, madame," said young Alfred. "I have nothing to do but to mount my horse and gallop to the foot of the mountain. It will not be more than an hour's ride. I will then engage a guide to take me to the charcoal burner's hut, and, without losing a moment, I will find out what he was doing at nightfall."

"Are you not afraid of your son's undertaking such an enterprise at this late hour?" asked a young lady of Madame de Blénal.

Madame de Blénal smiled, and replied, "No, mademoiselle. My son is well acquainted with the road. We are not infested with robbers in this canton, and, as the object of his pursuit is perfectly innocent, I can confide him to the protection of Him on whom I know his own trust is constantly fixed. Go, then, Alfred, but exercise your usual prudence, and do not heedlessly expose yourself to danger."

An old lady who had not yet spoken, but who knew how to "speak a word in season," then remarked, "Place, each of you, a small sum of money in Alfred's hands. If he finds the charcoal burner worthily employed, let him bestow it upon him. If otherwise, as some of you have supposed may be the case, let him bring it back, and restore to each one what he has contributed."

Every one readily agreed to the proposal. Each drew out his purse, and Alfred received a very respectable sum. He was leaving the party, when some one asked how soon they might expect him back?

"By midnight," he replied.

"And where shall we meet?"

"Here," said Madame de Blénal. "We will return into the house when Alfred is gone, for the air is getting cold, and it will not be prudent to sit here any longer."

Alfred then set out; and as soon as the sound of his horse's hoofs was heard, the young men pulled out their watches, that the precise length of his absence might be ascertained when he returned.

We will now leave Madame de Blénal to order supper for her party, and the remainder to amuse themselves with conversation, music, and such resources as her house afforded, while we accompany Alfred on his nocturnal excursion.

The moon had just begun to rise in full splendour above the mountains as he started, and to spread her silver light over the plain. This, together with the increasing freshness of the air, infused spirits into the rider as well as his horse. Notwithstanding, however, the knowledge which both of them possessed of the road they had to traverse, they scarcely reached the foot of the mountain within the time upon which Alfred had calculated. Here were situated two or three picturesque cottages, inhabited by guides, one of whom was known to Alfred by name. Him therefore he sought out, and engaged to conduct him to the object of his journey. The man was rather surprised at a summons so late in the evening, and asked the traveller whether he had not better wait at his cottage till daybreak.

"No," replied Alfred; "I only wish to go as far as the charcoal burner's hut, whose fire can be seen for some miles off, and I must return to where I came from before midnight."

"Ah! my friend Gervais. I know him well, sir. But it is a good way up the mountain, and if you have far to ride back, you will hardly keep to the time you have mentioned."

"Never mind," said the young man; "I must go on now. Where can I put my horse?"

"Here in this shed, sir. There is a bit of hay and some beans, with which he can amuse himself while we are gone."

The path was not steep, for it was cut in a zig-zag form, sometimes leading over pastures, and sometimes through woods so thick that the moonlight could not penetrate them; but the guide was provided with a torch of pine, to prevent the danger of a false step. For the first part of the journey they travelled on in silence, the guide amusing himself with forming conjectures as to the object of Alfred's visit to the charcoal burner after night had set in. "Can it be," he said to himself, "a relation from the Indies, or from Algeria? I never heard that Gervais had any relations in those parts. Or a creditor? No, that cannot be, for my honest friend, I am sure, does not owe any one a single penny. Or has he gained a prize in the lottery? He would consider it a sin to risk the smallest fraction upon such a hazard. Ah! perhaps some one has left him a legacy. So much the better, if it is so. I shall be well paid for the trouble I have had. He is too good a fellow not to reward me to the utmost of his power."

Thus it was that the guide employed himself in vain conjectures. When the uncertain light by which they travelled, whether of the moon or of the torch, fell sufficiently clear upon Alfred's features, he examined them attentively, as if he could have read his secret in them. His curiosity made him not less impatient to reach the charcoal furnace than the young man himself. At length, by a sudden turn of the path, it appeared at once before them. The wood, heaped in the form of a cone, and covered with a thick coating of earth, was burning slowly, openings being made at different heights on the mound, to give a passage to the flames, and to afford a proper proportion of atmospheric air, to keep them alive.

Alfred, though born in the neighbourhood, had never before visited a charcoal furnace; but, new as the sight was to him, he did not pause long to observe it. His attention was arrested by the hut which stood near, built something in the form of a tent, and composed of planks leaning on both sides against a cross-beam, which rested on two others placed one at each end of the building. This kind of hut is common to most of the charcoal burners of these mountains, where they make their dwelling during the whole of the summer months, having no other bed than dried leaves—no other apparent occupation than cutting and piling up the wood, and watching their fires. One moment only Alfred stopped to gaze upon this humble dwelling, compared with which the châlets of the cowherds were almost splendid mansions; the next instant, his attention was arrested by something far more interesting. A chorus of youthful voices burst upon his ears, accompanied by one deep, clear bass, which was powerful enough to support and regulate the trebles. They were singing the following hymn, to a beautiful Swiss air, well known to Alfred as one used in the churches of that Protestant canton—

"Look to Jesus, weary wanderer,
Sinful, wretched as thou art;
He is precious; thou shalt know it;
Only trust His loving heart.

"Trust it wholly; it was broken
That thine own might be at peace;
Every sin its streams atone for;
He can bid all anguish cease.

"Now He reigns above the heavens,
And shall reign for evermore;
But His mighty arm is guarding
Those for whom He died before.

"He shall come again in glory;
All creation shall bow down;
Those who seek not His salvation
Must endure His awful frown.

"Wait upon Him, then, His people;
Let Him be your constant strength;
Lean upon Him daily, hourly;
Ye shall reign with Him at length.

"May the Spirit of adoption,
Which our Heavenly Father gives,
Help us all and each to please Him
More each moment of our lives."

(To be continued.)

Envy shoots at others and wounds itself.

We should often have reason to be ashamed of our most brilliant actions, if the world could see the motives from which they spring.

I was born in a house where there were many fields attached—in fact, it was called a farm-house, so, from a boy, I well knew what a "gleaner" meant. I have seen all sizes in a field, picking up corn. But gleaning is not so general as it used to be. One reason is, many farmers are too covetous to leave much in their fields for gleaners. Another is, many persons are too proud to be gleaners. But still there are many who are entitled to the character of "gleaner."

Now, gleaners, let us come a little closer. First, there must be the person known as the farmer; secondly, there must be the fields. These fields must be sown with corn. It must ripen, be cut and carried. Then is the time for the gleaner to take his or her part. The gleaners must have a will, and patience to wait. They need eyes, hands, and feet.

At the time the farmer's son is writing this, gleaning is over. It is winter. But he can tell gleaners of a farm containing sixty-six fields, some much larger than others, but all the fields grow the best corn that can be found at any market in the world. There is not one whole grass field found on the farm. There are a number of young and old people live near this farm, but they do not want to be gleaners. They look over the gates sometimes, but, having eyes so much like the mole, they either do not take that to be corn which is really so, or else they pursue other things they feel are so much better than gleaning in any of these fields; and not being very poor, but having enough gold to buy a few oxen, they tell some of the farmer's workmen they prefer buying or taking to gleaning, so they wish them "good morning"; but they are very polite to the men they join in conversation with. Then there are other people near these fields who say they hate the great farmer. In fact, they are so evil-disposed that they talk freely of hating the fields and the corn too; and there is not one workman on the estate they will give a good word to. This the farmer's son can vouch for truth; and he has a good many brothers belonging to his family, who could be called as witnesses if there was any need.

But we must not overlook others who live near the farm. Most of them dwell in a very low-built house; there is no upstairs. They live on the ground floor, and not far from the spot where they dwell, some of the labourers on the farm live, and they join in conversation occasionally. But these poor people who dwell in the low-built cottages are shy, and think they take a liberty even in saying a few words to these labourers; and as for talking freely to the great farmer, they dare not. If he passes, they only bow before him and look on the ground. You would almost wonder how they are kept alive. They are nearly always hungry, but, now and then, they get just enough to keep them alive.

When the "season" comes round, those that observe may soon find these are the old-fashioned gleaners. They possess willing legs, eyes, and hands. They use their legs by starting from their poor home; and, after walking some distance, the road brings them to this farm of sixty-six fields. These fields are all numbered. Some look at one field, and some at another, but the hedges are all good. No one can get through them, and a high gate is at each entrance. One of the gleaners looked with a very wishful eye over the gate of the eighth field, and she desired to be among the gleaners, but there was a notice that "trespassers will be prosecuted." How earnestly the gleaner uses his eyes, and looks through the bars of the gate; but there are no ears of corn to be seen at present by him, so he cannot use his hands, though they are both ready to pick up; and the thought comes, "No doubt there will soon be plenty of corn seen, and, if I might, would I not pick up? I feel I would glean beside any gleaner. If he could pick faster than I, he would have to be very nimble. I do not know that the great landowner and farmer would allow me to go into his field. But, though my hands now hang down, and I cannot use them, I will go home and wait, and come again. If I cannot get admission to one field, I may to another. I should be happy if I could glean in the smallest field on the farm. Perhaps, when I come again, that notice-board may be taken down. If so, I think I shall venture into No. 8 or 17; but should I not have nerve enough, I shall humbly ask one of the labourers, and if he says he does not know, I will, if an opportunity occurs, bow myself to the earth and ask the great owner. I have been told by some that he often appears as if he could not condescend to speak to those that live in such a low house, yet, if you press your suit, he will speak in the kindest manner, and ask what you really want."

The farmer's son noticed, as this gleaner returned to his humble home, one of the labourers greeted him with a "Good evening," and asked him why he looked so sad? He replied, "I have been a long journey to glean on the farm owned by your master, and I looked at the eighth field, but could not see that there were any ears of corn for me to pick up; and besides, I noticed a board, that 'trespassers will be prosecuted,' and thoughts would keep coming in my mind as I returned, that possibly I should never be admitted into any of the fields as a gleaner." The labourer said, "You must not faint, but, as soon as the sun rises in the morning, try and find the forty-second field, and most probably you will find the gate open. If, as you enter, the first part of the field looks bare, walk to almost the middle, and I think you will find some gleanings to pick up." He returned thanks, bowed, and they parted.

The next morning, as soon as the sun was up, he arose and did as he was bid. After reaching the field, he found the part where the ears of corn lay, and he picked up as many as he needed. On his return, he met several other gleaners who were seeking a field to glean in. He bade them go to the same one where he had picked up an armful, and there they would find the result of perseverance.

The parable is closed for this time. Will any reader, under twelve years of age, expound it? Who are the farmer and the son? Who are the labourers and gleaners? What are the sixty-six fields? And what are the names of those specially referred to? Search from Genesis to Revelation.

[A volume, "The Loss of All Things for Christ," will be given for the best answer. The writer must be under twelve.]

Jan. 1. Commit to memory 1 Chrn. v. 10.
Jan. 8. Commit to memory Psa. cxi. 10.
Jan. 15. Commit to memory Prov. viii. 10.
Jan. 22. Commit to memory Prov. viii. 32.
Jan. 29. Commit to memory John iv. 10.

What the world calls virtue is a name and a dream without Christ. The foundation of all human excellence must be laid deep in the blood of the Redeemer's cross and in the power of His resurrection.—Robertson.

Among all the beautiful needlework exhibited in the "Woman's Industry Department" of the recent Edinburgh Exhibition, many must have observed a bed-quilt worked in a quaint conventional pattern, on a white linen ground, which bore a label to the effect that it was "designed and commenced by a Countess of Aberdeen towards the middle of the last century, and recently completed by a crofter woman in Aberdeenshire."

Could the quilt tell its own tale, its history, no doubt, would be most pathetic and interesting; but we will try, with the knowledge we have, to lightly sketch that history.

The Countess who commenced it was Anne, daughter of Alexander, second Duke of Gordon. The third wife of William, Earl of Aberdeen, she was still a young woman when, by his death in 1745, she was left a widow. Quitting Haddo, the home of her married life, she went with her young family to reside in the fine old historic castle of Fyvie, a few miles distant, which, with her dower, had been bought by the Earl as her jointure house. The Countess seems to have been gifted with artistic tastes, as she left in Haddo many evidences of her skill and industry—several sets of beautifully-worked curtains, with long-forgotten curious stitches, producing varied and admirable effects. But the bright, pretty industry of the Countess was checked. Sickness, to be followed by death, entered her home.

We may fancy that by her husband's sick-bed the first beginning of this quilt was made—how, in the intervals of watching the invalid, a few sprays and scrolls were delicately traced. But the summons had gone forth, and, as death approached, the work, which had been in part the occupation of happier days, and a resource in affliction, was thrown aside.

When the widowed Countess had settled in a new home, and again faced the ordinary duties of life, we need not wonder that she thought no more of the discarded work left at Haddo House, but set herself to design afresh and embroider the curtains which have ever since (until recently) adorned a bed-room in Fyvie Castle.

Into these no doubt was woven many a thought for the Jacobite cause, and many an anxiety for dear ones, as her own family, the ducal house of Gordon, had been keen supporters of the Stuarts, and it is said that the Countess came out on the road-side, near Fyvie Castle, with her children, to see the Duke of Cumberland's troops pass on their way to Culloden to put down the Scotch rebellion, and boldly avowed to him her sympathy with his foe.

But what of the work the Countess left at Haddo House? As to it, our history is silent for more than a hundred years. It has lain folded by the fingers of the busy worker that have long been still. Sorrow and joy have come by turns to the house—birth and death. Children have prattled, and statesmen have discussed the affairs of nations. Those who have made history have come and gone; philanthropy and romance have alike been woven into the family story; but the piece of discarded broderie has been unheeded.

At length the present Countess of Aberdeen, whose name will ever be associated with earnest desire and effort for the good of others, and whose taste and love of the beautiful led to her interest in such work, unfolding the long-forgotten quilt, conceived the idea of having it completed, if possible. To whom, however, could the beautiful work be entrusted to be finished, by deft fingers and graceful appreciation?

INTERIOR OF A CROFTER'S COTTAGE.

We now turn to another scene. About five-and-twenty years ago, on the top of a bare hill in Fyvie, Aberdeenshire, stood a cottage, tenanted by a crofter named Sandieson, with his wife and family. Though at a comparatively high elevation, the land around was all cultivated, but, arid and stony as the soil was, it seemed as if cultivation were one long struggle against Nature, rather than aided by it. Life was hard; still, contentment sweetened the peasant's lot, and they got on pretty well till sickness during three successive winters told hardly on his means. Father, mother, and children all worked; still the wolf was at the door. Bed clothing was scant, and money to buy still scantier. A mother's love and care quickened thought.

The woman, as she tells her story, bethought herself what she could do for bedding for a covering against cold. Scraps she had, bits of old clothes and stockings, and tacked them together, fold upon fold, to attain a certain thickness; then, buying a pennyworth of log-wood, and with it dyeing what had once been a tartan shawl, but which had long lost all its colour, she spread it over her scraps for a cover. But, alas! the holes were but too apparent.

Necessity again quickened invention. She selected some of the better pieces of the old garments, cut them into the shape of leaves and birds, and laid them on the holes, adding one or two more for uniformity, and then, with a darning needle and "fingering" wool, she veined the leaves and made effective marking on the birds.

Such was her first attempt at fancy work. An admiring neighbour asked her to do a similar quilt for her, offering some scraps of new material. Another commission followed, this time with the offer of green wool for leaves. But one cold, hard green did not please the worker, now growing daily more experienced and critical, so a visit was made to the little country town a few miles distant, in search of greater variety in greens and browns, the appreciation of Nature's varied tints becoming daily stronger and clearer.

About this time, a lady to whom the woman had taken some work, on sight gave her a quantity of old floss silks. The possession of these was a new power to her, and from that time she rapidly acquired a skill in shading leaves and flowers with a beauty which it is impossible to describe.

A farmer from a little distance, having heard of her work, went to see her. After looking at what, to him, seemed so marvellous, he turned to her, and said, "Well, well, it's wonderful! But you will have to do no more rough work to keep your hands fit for this; and how will that do with the croft?"

"Indeed, sir," was her reply, "it would never do. But I assure you this is not my only work, for I have just finished building a hundred and thirty-four yards of a stone dyke with my own hands. My husband had work elsewhere, which he could not afford to miss. The cattle were straying where they should not, so I have just built it myself, the children helping me by handing up the smaller stones."

After gaining some experience, Mrs. Sandieson gave up the earlier style of work with which she had begun, and devoted herself almost entirely to embroidery in silks. She has trained a daughter, who lives with her, to work as well as herself, and no description can do justice to the beauty of their finer work. Their designs are, with very few exceptions, their own, and many of their pieces are singularly beautiful. They have even copied the plate representing a peacock on a branch of a tree, from Gould's "Asiatic Birds," and no one but those who have seen it, could believe in the wondrous working of the bird, and in the feathers of the neck, with the faint change of tint where it catches the light as the bird turns its head. It is marvellous!

But copying flowers from nature is what they chiefly do, and their careful observation and fidelity in representation are very characteristic in their work. Trails of thunbergia, scarlet tropæolum, apple blossom, cherry, and bramble; willow, with its catkins, a little titmouse on the branch; snowberry, with a robin perched on it; the red and white lapageria, eucalyptus, pepper tree, and others are some of their subjects. And this is what the crofter's wife, who commenced with the old dyed shawl for a foundation, has, totally unaided, taught herself and her daughter to accomplish; and this is the crofter's wife who, one hundred and forty years afterwards, was employed by Lady Aberdeen to finish the quilt which the Countess of 1745 had commenced. Is there not a little pathos in the history of a piece of work begun and completed in such different circumstances?

The work of these peasant-artists, mother and daughter, is now very well known among ladies in Aberdeenshire, and has lately been brought under the notice of Her Majesty, who condescended to purchase largely of it; but the writer believes the quilt shown by Lady Aberdeen, in Edinburgh, to be the only specimen that has been exhibited publicly.—Ladies' Treasury.

John Dickson, a farmer in the parish of Ratho, near Edinburgh, was long a stranger to the riches of divine grace. He paid no regard to the sacred ordinances, or, if ever on the Lord's Day he entered the house of God, it was more for a desire of ridiculing than profiting by what he heard. The Word preached did not profit him, not being mixed with faith.

In this dreadful situation was he when his wife died, after bringing into the world an infant daughter. The good providence of that gracious God who calleth the weak things of this world to confound the strong had ordained that the nurse of this child should be a woman of exemplary faith, who walked in the Spirit, being sanctified by the Holy Ghost. The carnal mind of the father still continued at enmity with God; but he was, ere long, to be brought to a full conviction of his own unworthiness, and a delightful experience of the riches of redeeming love.

The child, being now about twenty months old, and beginning to prattle a few words, was one day sent for by her father, who was sitting after dinner with some of his profane acquaintances. To his great astonishment the child repeated, two or three times, in its infant tones, "Oh, the grace of God!" These words made a deep impression upon the father. He began to reflect upon his sins, and the power of that grace which cleanseth from sin, so long the subject of his impious ridicule. The Holy Ghost had opened his heart, and now brought him, like a sheep that had been astray, into the fold of divine love. Since that time he has walked as becometh one called in the Lord, bringing forth fruit meet for repentance. The words which, through the grace of God, became the happy instrument of his conversion were the customary ejaculation of the godly nurse, and had thus been learned by the infant. So truly was the Scripture verified that "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings the Lord hath ordained praise."

Endeavour to be always patient of the faults and imperfections of others, for thou hast many faults and imperfections of thy own that require a reciprocation of forbearance. If thou art not able to make thyself that which thou wishest to be, how canst thou expect to mould another in conformity to thy will?—Thomas à Kempis.

It was on a dull, chilly morning, I remember, that I left my country home by the coach which was to convey me to London. I was then about twenty years of age. I had never before been very far, or very long absent from my father's house; and my young mind was filled with thoughts of the pleasures in store for me in a long visit I was about to pay to my London relations.

Among the enjoyments I most reckoned on, apart from the society of my aunt and cousins, were those of the theatre, balls, and evening parties. Very different engagements these, from the domestic duties and rural recreations to which I had been accustomed in a retired country residence.

Thoughts like these had softened the pain of separation from my kind and indulgent parents; but there were tears in my eyes on bidding them farewell, and I was glad to let fall my veil, to hide them from the only passenger in the coach.

This passenger was a gentleman of middle age, well wrapped up in a greatcoat of rather formal cut, and with a clerical-looking hat on his head. He had a pleasant, though a rather serious expression of countenance, as he lifted his eyes from the book he was reading. It was not long before he shut up the book, and made some remarks about the weather and the scenery. A short silence followed, which was broken by my fellow-traveller saying that he had just been passing a few weeks in a watering-place which I knew to be a fashionable one.

"I have never been there," I said. "I suppose it is a very gay place, sir?"

"It is a fine town, and the country around it is very beautiful," said the gentleman.

This was not the answer I expected, and I varied my question by referring to the visitors and places of amusement, particularly mentioning the theatre and the public assemblies.

The stranger smiled pleasantly, and said, "I saw only the outside of the theatre; but during my stay there I was present at several public assemblies."

"How very enchanting they must be!" I remarked, with youthful ardour.

"I am not sure that 'enchanting' is quite the right word," he said, looking thoughtful; "but they were very delightful, certainly."

"They were crowded, I suppose, sir?"

"Yes, generally," he said, and added that, at the last of these public assemblies, there were present more than a thousand people.

This seemed to me to be a great number, and to need a large assembly room to hold them. I made some remark which led him to say that no doubt there were many varieties of character present, and of different degrees in life. "But," he added, "I have reason to know that many honourable personages were to be met with there, and even the King Himself was there."

"The King, sir? I did not know that the King ever visited ——"; and I began to feel incredulous. I was not so ignorant as not to know that King George the Fourth, in whose reign we were then living, had for some time almost secluded himself from his subjects, and resided generally at Windsor.

"I see," continued the stranger, speaking more earnestly and seriously than before, "that you do not quite understand me; and I apprehend that we have each been using the same words to express a different set of ideas on which our minds have been fixed."

"I do not understand you, sir," I said, rather coldly.

"Permit me, madam, to explain. I am a minister of the Gospel. The public assemblies of which I have been speaking are the assembling together of those who meet for God's worship and service; the honourable persons to whom I referred are those whom the Bible calls the children of God; and the King whom I believe to have been present at these assemblies is He who is 'King of kings and Lord of lords,' who Himself has told us that, where two or three are gathered together in His name, there He is in the midst of them."

There was such kindness and courtesy and respect in the gentleman's manner, that I could not feel vexed at his having spoken in a sort of parable, so I smiled, and said, "I had no idea that you were a minister, sir."

"I am glad that you are not angry with me, young lady," said he, "for having wilfully misinterpreted your questions. You know it is 'out of the abundance of the heart' that 'the mouth speaketh'; and when you got into the coach I was engaged in thought, studying a subject which I hope to speak about next Sunday; and, singularly, this subject is so far like that which has engaged a few minutes of our conversation, as that it refers to an assembly, though one of a very superior character to any the world has ever seen or known."

"May I ask, sir, what assembly it is you mean?"

"Certainly," replied he; and taking from his pocket a New Testament, he opened it and read, "Ye are come unto Mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and Church of the First-born which are written in heaven, and to God, the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus, the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel."

Having read this, my fellow-traveller again put up his Book, and there was a short silence between us, until he said, "That is the text, madam. Do you think it possible for any preacher to do justice to it?"

"I do not know indeed, sir," I said; and I added (what I truly thought) that the words struck me as being very beautiful.

"They are indeed beautiful, and magnificent, and solemn," he said; and he continued to remark that they were highly calculated to arouse in the mind emotions of no ordinary nature. Did I not think so?

I hesitated what to reply, for I shrank from expressing sentiments which I did not really feel. Doubtless he saw my embarrassment, and, instead of pressing for an answer, he asked me if he might mention a few of the thoughts which had passed through his mind, as he had pondered over the passage. I said, if he pleased to do so, I should be glad to hear him, and accordingly he went on—

"I suppose that the words I have read referred not so much to the future, as to the present position or condition of those to whom they were addressed, and that they may be applied also to certain characters at the present time. I have no doubt, madam, that you understand of what characters I speak?"

"I could not misunderstand you," I said. "Of course you mean Christians?"

"Yes; of all true Christians it may be said that they are come to Mount Sion. All who truly believe in Christ live under a dispensation of mercy. They are even now 'fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household of God.' Their names are enrolled in the Lamb's book of life; angels are their invisible attendants; they are united in spirit to 'Jesus, the Mediator of the new covenant'; they are admitted into the gracious presence of the Father, 'the Judge of all,' so as to find access at every hour to God within the veil; and they have even now received the atonement, 'the blood of sprinkling,' by which their polluted consciences are cleansed and purified. These are great and exalted privileges, are they not?"

"Yes, sir," I said, feeling as I said it how incapable I was of appreciating them. The stranger did not notice my hesitation, however, but went on with still more animation—

"I cannot help thinking that more than I have mentioned is implied in the words which you justly think so beautiful, and that the writer had in his mind the future as well as the present life. The final and everlasting residence of all believers, after all the cares and toils of their earthly pilgrimage are past, is to be Mount Sion, the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem; part of their employment will be holy and devout adoration; their society, myriads of angels and a vast assembly of the perfected spirits of the just; the chief source of their happiness will be the presence of 'the Judge of all,' in 'Jesus the Mediator'; and the cause of all this blessedness is indicated in the closing words—'the blood of sprinkling,' or the atonement of Jesus."

I was interested, and wished he would continue. Probably he could see that I was not unwilling to listen, for, after the pause of a minute or two, he began to expatiate a little on some of the ideas he had already expressed. He spoke of the unbroken repose and perfect security of the city of God, and then of the happy employments of the great assembly in heaven. Here he drew a contrast between the amusements of the world and the enjoyments of the heavenly state, and added that, to worldly and unsanctified minds, these enjoyments had no attractions.

"Those who live only for this life," he said, "cannot conceive of any pleasure to be found in heavenly adoration and praise. Accustomed to account the Sabbath of the Lord a weariness, and devotional services irksome and tedious, it cannot appear to them desirable to enter upon a state of existence in which the worship of the Almighty is one of the choicest occupations of its inhabitants. Nor can we wonder," continued my companion, "that it should be thus, so long as the heart remains at enmity with God, while the affections are earthly and sensual, and where there is no fear of God, no love to God, no delight in God, no earnest desire to serve and honour Him. Am I not right?" the stranger asked, fixing his eyes upon me.

"Yes, sir, I think you are," I replied, faintly; and, after some further conversation on the same subjects, my fellow-traveller told me that he was going only to the end of the present stage. "There we shall part," he said, "and possibly we shall not meet again in this world; but if, by divine grace, we should be fellow-heirs of the same glorious inheritance, we shall meet in that general assembly."

These were almost the last words he spoke, for, in a few minutes, the coach stopped, and the stranger, alighting and bidding me farewell, disappeared.

Many years passed away, and I was a happy wife and mother. My husband was a true and earnest Christian; and I—yes (and therein was my happiness), I, too, was a believer in Christ. My Christian life had been, in some respects, an eventful one. My first steps in it had been beset with difficulties and no ordinary opposition; but patience was given me to endure; strength, to overcome; and, blessed be God, my heart's desire and prayer to Him on behalf of some very dear to me had, I trust, been heard and answered.

My conversion was in part, at least, the result of the stage-coach conversation I have recorded. God, in His infinite mercy, by means of the words of a stranger, called me to consideration. The Holy Spirit showed me my miserable condition, as being "a lover of pleasures more than a lover of God." Through a long, dark passage of soul-distress and great conflict I was led into the light and faith of the glorious Gospel—from the thunders of Sinai to "Mount Sion, the city of the living God; to Jesus, the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling."

One thing troubled me—or, if not troubled exactly, left within me an unsatisfied desire. For years I had longed to see, to meet once more, the stranger who had so kindly and so wisely invited my attention to religion. I wished to hear his voice again, and to tell him what the Lord had done for my soul. Sometimes, indeed, I recalled his parting words with something like awe, though yet with a thrill of pleasurable assurance—"Possibly we shall not meet again in this world; but if, by divine grace, we should be fellow-heirs of the same glorious inheritance, we shall meet in that general assembly."

"Annie," said my husband one day—he had an open letter in his hand—"a visitor is coming, whom I shall be very glad for you to know—my old friend and pastor, Mr. J——"; and he put the letter into my hands. It was a short note, merely stating that, finding he should be at a certain time within easy reach of my husband's home, the writer would, if he might, avail himself of the opportunity of renewing the personal intercourse which time and distance had so long interrupted.

A few days later, a chaise drove to our door, and my husband, eager to welcome his old friend, met him in the hall, where I also was waiting to receive him. He was an elderly man, but with a firm step, a strong frame, a pleasant smile, a kindly voice, and a benevolent countenance.

"Annie, my dear, this is——"

I cannot go on to describe a scene in which I became all at once and unexpectedly so personally interested. In my husband's friend I recognized, at a single glance, my stage-coach companion, though he had no recollection of me.

It was a happy meeting—the faint foreshadowing, it may be, of such meetings innumerable in that general assembly in the heavenly Jerusalem above, when they who have sown, and those who have reaped, shall rejoice together with "joy unspeakable and full of glory."—A Tract issued by the Religious Tract Society.

(Page 275.)

"I am the Rose of Sharon."—Song
of Solomon ii. 1.

I ssachar Genesis xxxv. 23.

A biram Numbers xxvi. 9.
M icah Judges xvii. 1.

T irzah 1 Kings xvi. 6.
H oreb Exodus iii. 1.
E bal Joshua viii. 30.

R ehoboam 1 Kings xi. 43.
O g Numbers xxi. 33.
S hammah 1 Samuel xvii. 13.
E dom 2 Samuel viii. 14.

O nan Genesis xlvi. 12.
F elix Acts xxiv. 25.

S imon Mark iii. 18.
H adadezer 2 Samuel viii. 3.
A maziah Amos vii. 10.
R aven Leviticus xi. 15.
O bed-edom 2 Samuel vi. 11.
N adab Numbers iii. 4.

Ada Willerton
(Aged 9 years).
Corby, Grantham.

I have found, by a strict and diligent observation, that a due observance of the duty of Sunday has ever had joined to it a blessing upon the rest of my time.—Sir Matthew Hale.

The "cross of Christ" is mentioned by the Apostle Paul in his Epistles to different Churches, but we may confidently say that the wooden gibbet upon which the Saviour suffered was never loved or reverenced by that honoured servant of the Lord, or the people to whom he wrote.

The brazen serpent, that divinely appointed means of Israel's cure, was broken in pieces by good Hezekiah, who contemptuously called it a bit of brass, because the Israelites worshipped it; and their idolatry is described as a base crime in 2 Kings xviii. 4, although it was a figure of Him that was to come; and Jesus Himself declared, "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life" (John iii. 14, 15); and the "true cross," if it now existed, would only be a bit of wood—a thing in itself worthless—and the adoration of it would be nothing better than idolatry.

"Christ and Him crucified" is the sinner's hope, the believer's joy, and this is what we are to understand by the apostolic mention of the cross of Jesus.

The cross was the sign, the illustration, of His sufferings and death. Crucifixion was most painful and most shameful, and both these facts appear in Hebrews xii. 2. He "endured the cross, despising the shame." With the hands and feet nailed to the cross, and the weight of the body borne by those pierced hands, the sufferer, who generally was first cruelly scourged, expired after long, lingering torture; and it was a shameful death, to which only the lowest and worst of men were supposed to be sentenced. Yet Jesus, the High and Holy One, "humbled Himself unto death, even the death of the cross."

But there was deep spiritual meaning in all this. "Tribulation and anguish" (Rom. ii. 9), sorrow and death, are sin's reward. "Dying, thou shalt die" (Gen. ii. 17, margin) is the divine sentence upon every transgressor, and "sin is a reproach to any people" (Prov. xiv. 34). "Shame and everlasting contempt" will be the sinner's recompense. And Jesus was His people's Surety and Substitute. He stood for them; He took their place. The Just One suffered for the unjust. The King of Glory bore reproach and shame for the sake of the sinners He eternally loved, that whosoever believeth in Him should have everlasting life, glory, and joy (Dan. xii. 2).

"The death of the cross," as Jesus suffered it, involved the shedding of blood, and "the blood is the life." "He poured out His soul unto death." "He gave His life a ransom for many," because "without shedding of blood there is no remission," no forgiveness of sin.

But crucifixion, unlike many violent deaths, did not divide or dismember the body. In stoning, the back was often broken; by other modes of execution, the head was cut off, the neck broken, or the body otherwise mutilated. The legs of the crucified might be broken to hasten death, but this was no necessary part of the sentence; and concerning Jesus it was prophesied, "None of His bones shall be broken" (Psa. xxxiv. 20; John xix. 36). And this also was fraught with deep spiritual meaning. That bruised and torn, yet perfect body which hung on the cross, and was laid in the grave, was but a picture of that holy soul, that perfect spirit, which He yielded up to God. How clear was His memory! That the Scripture might be fulfilled, He said, "I thirst." How perfect His love! He prayed for His executioners; He remembered Mary. How full His knowledge of His people, and how perfect His confidence in Himself! He blessed the penitent thief, and assured him of a home with Himself in heaven.

Oh, wondrous Sufferer! almighty Saviour! None ever died as Jesus died, bearing sin and guilt away, and overcoming death, while He laid down His sacred life.

The cross of Christ has a mighty influence upon all who believe on His name. Paul said, with holy earnestness, "God forbid that I should glory in anything but the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world" (Gal. vi. 14). Once, as a Pharisee, he loved the world—the religious world—the esteem of men, the applause of his fellow-Pharisees; but now they hated and persecuted him, and he despised their favour. So, if we are led to behold by faith Jesus crucified for us, the sins, the pleasures, and the friendships of the world will lose their power and attractions, and the love of Christ will constrain us to live to Him who died and rose again for us.

We find that, when the Apostles were first beaten and threatened for preaching the Gospel, "they departed from the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for His sake" (Acts v. 40, 41). They knew that Jesus loved and gave Himself for them, and they, out of love to their Saviour, were willing to lay down their lives for His sake, or to live despised and hated by the world.

Before He died, Christ said, "If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me." He foresaw His own sufferings from the first, but the joy that was set before Him animated Him all the while, and, as His people's Leader, He says, "Follow Me, and enter at last into My joy." But Jesus never said, "Take up My cross." Oh, no! His cross He alone could bear! His saving sufferings He only could endure! It is our own cross that we are called to bear as His followers, and His love will strengthen and support us.

Oh, that we may indeed know Him as our once crucified, but now exalted Saviour, and follow Him through all life's changes to the bright home whither He has gone, living henceforth to Him, and Him alone.

Our next subject will be, Psalm xxxii.

We cannot live well without we acknowledge God in all our ways. A Christian cannot exist without prayer. Thus, in 1 Thessalonians v. 17, it says, "Pray without ceasing," which shows us that we cannot live well without prayer. To live well also means that we should obey and honour our parents, as enjoined in Ephesians vi. 1, 2, and make ourselves useful to those that surround us. And, in 2 Thessalonians iii. 13, it says, "Brethren, be not weary in well doing." Jesus Christ has also set a pattern, for He was always doing good. He even came into this world to die for sinners. As Jane Taylor says—

"Jesus, who lived above the sky,
Came down to be a Man, and die;
And in the Bible we may see
How very good He used to be.

"And so He died; and this is why
He came to be a Man, and die:
The Bible says He came from heaven
That sinners' sins might be forgiven."

If we are taught to live a Christian life—to trust in, and fear God—He will be sure to provide for our every want.

To live well is to try and always do the things that are just, treating people with respect, and to love those who hate us, and those who despitefully use us, for Jesus Christ's sake. He says, in John xv. 20, "Remember the word that I said unto you, The servant is not greater than his lord. If they have persecuted Me, they will also persecute you; if they have kept My sayings, they will keep yours also." If we wish to live well, we must seek God in little things as well as in larger things; for He takes account of the thoughts, words, and actions of men, which are to be revealed at the last day.

Living well also means that we should do those things that are pleasing in God's sight; for if we love and serve Him truly, we shall be happy here and in the life to come, for the righteous Christ will gather as His jewels at the great judgment day, and they will be happy for evermore in that beautiful heaven which Jesus has prepared for those who love Him, and do His will; for Jesus says, in John xiv. 3, "If I go to prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto Myself; that where I am, there ye may be also."

To live well is to live as expecting every day to be our last, and to be looking for that time when the trump of the archangel shall sound, and all the dead arise from their graves. We do not know the day, nor the hour, when the Son of Man shall come to judge the quick and the dead, for it says, in Matthew xxiv. 36, "But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels in heaven, but My Father only."

Newton expresses in the following verse some good thoughts upon the right way to learn how to live, and that is, by seeking God's direction—

"Show me what I have to do;
Every hour my strength renew;
Let me live a life of faith;
Let me die Thy people's death."

Lilly Rush
(Aged 13 years).
Red House, Thornham,
near Eye, Suffolk.

[There have been several creditable Essays sent, but none that have reached the desired mark. We may mention those by Ernest Sawyer, Margaret Creasey, E. B. Knocker, Jane Bell, Maria Reeder, E. T. Mann, Edith Hirst, Ella Saunders, W. B. Beckwith (aged 11 years), A. Pease, Sarah Hicks, and Jesse Hammond. The age of the writer must always be given.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of The Little Gleaner (cloth).

The subject for March will be, "Self-Help," and a kind friend has promised a copy of "From the Loom to a Lawyer's Gown; or, Self-Help that was not all for Self," for the best Essay. We hope we shall have some good Essays on the subject. All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of February.]

Oh, blessed Jesus, care for me,
And wash me in Thy blood;
Teach me to ever look to Thee,
And help me to be good.

Give me Thy Holy Spirit, Lord,
And teach me how to pray;
Oh, let me understand Thy Word,
And take my sins away.

Whene'er I'm tempted to do wrong,
Oh, let me think of Thee;
Help me to always guard my tongue,
When naughty I would be.

Teach me to tread the narrow way,
Which all Thy saints have trod;
And guard and guide me every day;
Be Thou my Lord and God.

Help me to trust in Thee alone,
And not have fear of men;
To seek Thy will before my own,
For Jesus' sake. Amen.

Jane Bell
(Aged 14 years).
Sleaford.

A Rarely-blooming Flower.—In one of the conservatories at Hamilton Palace gardens there is a fine specimen of the Angeavia variegata in full bloom. The tradition is, that the plant only flowers once in a hundred years.

Steam heating and electric lighting of trains is receiving very close attention from a number of the leading railway managers in the United States. On some roads the change has been decided upon, and cars are being reconstructed on the new plans as rapidly as possible.

Pilots' Pay.—From London to Gravesend the pilot's fee may range from 18s. to £7 18s., and from Gravesend to the Nore from £1 12s. to £7 8s.; and while a vessel drawing less than seven feet of water is piloted from the Downs to the Isle of Wight for £3 4s., one that draws twenty-five feet will cost for the same distance, either way, as much as £14 6s.

Romanism in America is throwing off its sheep's clothing, and revealing its wolfish nature. The following is an extract from one of its journals, the Western Watchman—"Protestantism! We would draw and quarter it. We would impale it and hang it up for crows' nests. We would tear it with pincers, and fire it with hot irons. We would fill it with molten lead, and sink it in hell fire a hundred fathoms deep." Only the genius that invented the multiform cruelties of the Inquisition could express itself in such an infernally varied vocabulary of torture.

The Warrant for Bunyan's last Imprisonment.—Among the Chauncy collection of autographs recently dispersed by Messrs. Sotheby, there lay, hidden and unnoticed, the original warrant under which Bunyan was apprehended for that third and final imprisonment of some six months' duration, during which, according to his latest biographer, he wrote the first part of "The Pilgrim's Progress." It fills a half-sheet of foolscap, and is dated March 4th, 1674-5, under the hands and seals of twelve justices, six of them, either then or in the Parliament of 1678, members for county or borough, and three of whom had originally committed him for the previous twelve years' imprisonment.

Composition During Sleep.—Lord Thurlow told his nephew that, when young, he read much at night, and that once, while at college, having been unable to complete a particular line in a Latin poem he was composing, it rested so on his mind that he dreamed of it, completed it in his sleep, wrote it out next morning, and received many compliments on its classical and felicitous turn. In my own experience, I have imagined myself, during sleep, to be listening to instrumental music quite new to me, and have been able to reproduce the melody next day; and I have now in my possession a MS. copy of a Dead March composed by the author, from whom I had it, in a dream.—Correspondent of "Notes and Queries."

The Dangers of Eating Orange Peel.—It is a very bad habit to eat orange peel. Nor is the juvenile habit of eating apples with the peel on to be recommended either. Parents who do not care as yet to correct these evil propensities will perhaps be more inclined to do so when they hear that the little black specks which may be found on the skins of oranges and apples that have been kept some time are clusters of fungi, precisely similar to those to which whooping-cough is attributed. Dr. Tschamer, of Graz, who has made the discovery, scraped some of these black specks off an orange, and introduced them into his lungs by a strong inspiration. Next day he was troubled with violent tickling in the throat, which by the end of the week had developed into an acute attack of whooping-cough.

A Brave Child.—One day recently at Sandown, while a gentleman was showing his little girl how Lion, a splendid St. Bernard dog, and a great favourite in the family, caught pieces of biscuit in his mouth, the poor child stole up to put her arm round the dog's neck. Unhappily Lion was so engrossed, he never heard the fairy footstep. Taking the little face for a dainty morsel intended for him, he sharply closed his large teeth in the tender cheek and nostril. Elsie bravely struggled to conceal the blood which fast flowed from the wound, and assured her mother without a tear that she was "far more frightened than hurt." Lion, who had been taught to apologise for wrong-doing by standing up, at once assumed that plaintive attitude, while Elsie entreated his master not to punish him, as she knew "it was all a mistake." The little face is still strapped up, but as the dog was perfectly healthy, the only fear entertained is that a permanent mark may be left there. One lasting impression was certainly made. The self-control and calmness of the mother, who saw the sharp, sudden bite inflicted on her only child, and the unflinching courage displayed by Elsie while she pleaded for the dumb friend who had so unwittingly injured her, will never be forgotten by Lion's master or any one who witnessed the unfortunate incident.—Lady's Pictorial.

The General and the Sparrow.—General Robert E. Lee was one of the bravest soldiers and ablest leaders of the Southern States armies in the great American Civil War. Along with an almost culpable indifference to danger he joined an intense love for animals and a deep feeling for the helpless, as the following story will show. He was once visiting a battery near Richmond, in Virginia, when the soldiers (with whom he was immensely popular) crowded round him, and thus offered a good target for the enemy's fire. Lee at once bade them retire to the rear, out of reach of harm. The men did so, but—as if unaware of the risk he ran—he walked across the yard, and picked up some object from the ground, and put it on a tree branch above his head. It was afterwards found that this object was an unfledged sparrow, which had fallen out of its nest, and which the general had restored to its home at such imminent danger to himself.

The End of a Dog's Quarrel.—One day, a fine Newfoundland dog and a mastiff had a sharp discussion over a bone, and warred away as angrily as two boys. They were fighting on a bridge, and before they knew it, over they went into the water. The banks were so high that they were forced to swim some distance before they came to a landing-place. It was very easy for the Newfoundlander. He was as much at home in the water as a seal. But not so poor Bruce. He struggled and tried to swim, but made little headway. The Newfoundland dog quickly reached the land, and then turned to look at his old enemy. He saw plainly that his strength was fast failing, and that he was likely to drown, so what should the noble fellow do but plunge in, seize him gently by the collar, and, keeping his nose above water, tow him safely into port. It was funny to see these dogs look at each other as they shook their wet coats. Their glance said as plainly as words, "We'll never quarrel any more."

The following tragical story of a pen is deeply interesting, since to an instrument in itself so humble the death of a little Liverpool schoolboy is due. The lad, sitting at his desk at St. Anthony's School, saw on the floor a piece of paper which he wished to pick up. To leave his right hand free he put his pen in his breast pocket. He was sitting at the end of a bench, from which, in stooping, he fell to the floor. The weight of his body fell on the point of the pen. The nib pierced the poor little fellow's heart. Amid the silent work of the writing lesson his cry of agony rang out with startling effect, and a whole town, hearing of a boy's death from such a cause, shares the painful surprise of the school-room. The one ray of relief in this painful story shines over the grief-stricken home. The public sympathy directed to this house, finds it inhabited by a struggling widow, with four young children still surviving. A subscription is forthwith got up for her benefit, and the son's death is likely to be the means of saving the mother from destitution.

The Manchester Ship Canal will be a stone-banked stream, 25 feet in depth, and at least 120 feet in width, supplied with numerous docks, crossed by lofty bridges for trains, and swing-bridges for road traffic, and forming a waterway in which the biggest steamships and sailing vessels will be able to pass one another at a fair speed. It will be wider and deeper than the Suez Canal, and will depend for its construction chiefly on the huge steam excavators, which are a kind of cross between cranes and the dredgers we see in rivers and harbours, and which remove a cubic yard of soil at a time. It will enable Manchester to send her calicoes direct to all quarters of the globe, and will tap the chemical region of Runcorn, and the salt districts of Cheshire, saving the present cost of transhipment of a million tons per annum of the latter condiment. Nearly 20,000 men will find employment for the next four years in the construction of this big canal for the passage of ocean ships between Liverpool and Manchester. The first sod has been quietly cut with a navvy's spade by Lord Egerton of Tatton, the chairman of the company, in the presence of twenty directors and a few shareholders, at Eastham, where the canal will lead out of the Mersey.

Hanover Baptist Sunday School, Tunbridge Wells.—The half-yearly meeting of the above school was held on Wednesday, October 26th. The meeting was presided over by the Superintendent, who in a few opening remarks urged the parents to try and send their children to school in time, and in the morning as well as the afternoon; after which the children recited their various pieces to the Pastor, Mr. Newton. Mr. Botten then proceeded to give away the rewards, which he said he hoped they would prize, and lend to their brothers and sisters to read if they wanted them; and he hoped they would never read the pernicious books and periodicals that found such favour amongst boys in our day, but, if they were offered a book to read, to show it to father and mother, and, if they did not mind their reading it, then all right. In conclusion, he wished the teachers God-speed in the work. Mr. Saltmarsh and Mr. House also gave parcels of books away, and a pleasant meeting was brought to a close by singing the hymn, "Around the throne of God in heaven," Mr. Newton concluding with prayer. Each child received a bun on departing.

"PAPER, SIR?" (See page 26.)

Often, as we journey from place to place by rail, we notice with peculiar interest the newsboys at the different stations as they politely inquire, "Paper, sir?" and, as we think what advantages they have of reading the different kinds of papers and books which pass through their hands, we wonder, as we look upon them, what kind of reading they prefer, good or bad; and, from the appearance of many, we fear it is the latter. We know that many young people of both sexes prefer light, foolish, and fictitious books, over which they spend a lot of their precious time, reading made-up tales—things that never occurred—and we say, What a pity that they should thus waste their time in doing worse than nothing, when they might be storing their minds with useful knowledge!

We hope our young friend in the illustration is not one of these, for, as we look upon his open and pleasant countenance, we are inclined to believe he is not, in mind, of such a low order; and, while he may have to carry books and papers which we should advise him never to read, we can but reflect as to the power for good of such an agency, if used for the spread of pure Scriptural truth. Oh, that it were so! Who can tell, if good books and tracts were thus scattered, what good might result therefrom?

We have read with pleasure, and here give to our readers, the following narrative, showing the way the Lord sometimes signally blesses even the giving of a tract to a stranger, and may many be encouraged to "go and do likewise":—

Roger M—— was one of a family resident in the town of D——, where his first days were spent, without anything remarkable taking place to distinguish his boyhood from that of many around him. It was, however, his privilege, though unvalued at the time, to receive religious training in a Sabbath School. It is not known that at this period any particular progress was made by him in any department of useful or of religious knowledge. Indeed, his after-course would rather prove that, like many who have enjoyed similar advantages, he grew up only to show that, by nature, he possessed a heart averse from God, and prone to depart from Him.

In the course of time Roger M—— was placed with a respectable tradesman of his native town, with a fair prospect of becoming acquainted with a business in which he might have obtained an honest livelihood; but he turned his back on his friends and prospects, and enlisted in the marines. From his own lips the subsequent account of himself was derived.

Year after year passed on, and though often engaged in scenes of carnage and bloodshed, he was yet wonderfully preserved both from wounds and death. At length, just on the eve of the battle of Waterloo, he was drafted from his ship to take a part in that fearful and eventful conflict. Amidst wounds and slaughter, and disabled and dying comrades, he stood unscathed; and after the peace which followed on that memorable victory, he was discharged from the service, and took up his residence in the city of E——. Here, however, he only lived to prove how ineffectual, of themselves, are the most terrible scenes savingly to touch the rebellious heart of man, or even to awaken the mind to any just sense of the amazing goodness and long-suffering of God, independently of the grace and influence of the Holy Spirit. He spent his days in a life of dissipation and drunkenness, unmoved by any reflection on the past, or by any regard for the future. Yet was there mercy in store for Roger M——. God's ways are not as our ways, neither His thoughts as our thoughts.

Returning home one evening in a state of intoxication, a lady placed in his hand a religious tract, which, by the mercy of God, he carried home, and the next morning read. It is not easy to describe the state of feeling that arose in his heart from its perusal. His own account of that moment was deeply affecting. Conviction of sin, remorse, alarm of conscience, strong desire after peace and pardon, the cry of the jailor, "What must I do to be saved?"—all, in tumultuous conflict, agitated his spirit. Day after day, week after week, he sought relief to his mind, and direction to his anxious heart, by entering various places of worship in the city. At length in a little chapel he found that which his soul longed for. The word of peace, the glad tidings of salvation through the blood of Christ, came home with power to his heart, and he obtained peace through believing.

Having become "a new creature in Christ Jesus," he next lived a new life, and rendered up himself a living sacrifice to the great Redeemer. As Roger M—— had pursued a course of sin unto death, so now he pursued a course of obedience unto righteousness, the end of which is eternal life. A new life had opened upon him, and as a soldier of the cross he served Jesus Christ, his new Captain, with humble zeal and holy joy.

In the last interview which the writer had with him, his expressions of overwhelming love to Jesus were most fervent. Tears of gratitude rolled down his thin, furrowed cheeks as, with emphasis, and a feeling most touching, he acknowledged the debt of love which he owed to his beloved Lord. Never did the writer witness so strong an exhibition of heartfelt, deep, religious feeling. Roger could speak of nothing but the unmerited and wonderful love of his Lord and Saviour, and of His amazing goodness in sparing and saving so vile a transgressor.

When the burst of feeling had a little subsided, he expressed a strong desire to see his former teacher, then an aged Christian. An interview was sought for him, that he might express his gratitude to his instructor in the days of his youth, and thank him for all the good counsels which had then been given him. Here, again, the sobs and tears of the humble child of God burst forth anew, and the friend who accompanied him was obliged to shorten the interview, from fear of the consequences to both the old men. The scene will never be obliterated from the memory of him who pens this recital, nor the conviction, moreover, of the deep-seated piety and gratitude of the penitent veteran.

One thing amongst others which Roger confessed was this—that, in the midst of the conflicts in which he had been engaged, the lessons and truths presented to him in the Sabbath School were constantly rushing into his mind with indescribable freshness, producing a conflict there, compared with which that without was as nothing. Yet, strange to say, this resulted in no real conviction or conversion when the danger was past. It was not till the little messenger of mercy had reached his hand, and its truths, by divine mercy, touched his heart, that he became a contrite sinner and humble suppliant at the feet of Jesus, and at length was brought to know that, "being justified by faith," he had "peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ" (Rom. v. 1).

One point in the character of this converted sinner remains to be mentioned—that, although latterly so afflicted by entire deafness as to require communication by means of writing, yet was he constant in his attendance at the house of God, where, as one of the true circumcision, he doubtless "worshipped God in the spirit, rejoiced in Christ Jesus, and had no confidence in the flesh" (Phil. iii. 3).

He has long since gone to the unseen world to be with Jesus, "which is far better."

This narrative affords no small encouragement to those who distribute, even under unpromising circumstances, those leaves which are intended for the healing of the soul. "Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days." "In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand; for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good" (Eccles. xi. 6).

(Page 10.)

The Farmer is the Lord. "I am the true Vine, and My Father is the Husbandman," said the Son, Jesus (John xv. i). The farm is the Bible, and the sixty-six fields are the books thereof. The Bible is sown all over with spiritual food, which is the Word of God, for His people. Those people who seek after the Lord must have a will to come, and patience to wait for an answer. There are some people who have the Bible, but have no desire after the Lord; but they find other things they think better of than seeking after the Lord. There are some people who say they hate the Lord, and the Bible, and there is not a minister that they will say a good word to. This, Jesus and His servants can vouch for a truth. The people who live in those low-built houses are those who are humble in the sight of the Lord; and not far from where they dwell the ministers live, and they think it a great liberty to speak a few words to the ministers, and, as for the Lord, they often feel they dare not attempt to speak to Him. But the Lord says, in Luke xii. 32, "Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom." You would almost wonder how these people exist; but they get a little help from the Lord now and then, which keeps them alive.

And then it is said, one came to the Bible, and looked in the Book of Ruth, but could not gather anything; and Christians cannot gather anything from God's Word unless God opens it to them; and if they do not get good out of one part of the Bible they go to another, and would be glad to glean in either field of Ruth or Esther. In the end, the labourer directed the gleaner to the forty-second field, and he gathered handfuls (Luke xi. 9-13), and then he told others where to go to find plenty of food.

Corby, Grantham.

[This is the most correct answer received up to the time of going to press.—Ed.]

There is a plant that in its cell
All trembling seems to stand,
And bends its stalk and folds its leaves
From each approaching hand.

And thus there is a conscious nerve
Within the human breast,
That from the rash and careless hand
Shrinks and retires distressed.

The pressure rude, the touch severe,
Will raise within the mind
A nameless thrill, a secret tear,
A torture undefined.

Oh, you whose nature is so formed
Each thought refined to know,
Repress the word, the glance, that wakes
That trembling nerve to woe!

And be it still your joy to raise
The trembler from the shade;
To bind the broken, and to heal
The wound you never made.

Whene'er you see the feeling mind,
Oh, let this care begin!
And though the cell be e'er so low,
Respect the guest within.—L. H.

Bible students will gladly read the account of a remarkable and interesting discovery sent to the Council of the Egypt Exploration Fund by their explorer, Mr. Flinders Petrie. He has apparently found the remains of a royal palace, mentioned in the Bible as "Tahpanhes," and referred to by the Father of History in his record of the adventures of the first Greek colonists who, six hundred years before the Christian era, settled in a corner of the northeastern Delta of Egypt.

These early Greeks conveyed to their countrymen the wisdom of the Egyptians; and the science, art, and literature of the older civilization was filtered through the artistic Greek intellect to the western world.

Students of Egyptian and Greek history will take deep interest in this discovery. But the finding of the remains of this royal palace appeals to a more numerous and humbler class of students.

In the book of Jeremiah the Prophet, from chapter thirty-seven to chapter forty-seven, the reader will find a graphic record of the events that preceded, accompanied, and followed the destruction of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar. A great portion of the action of this story took place in the country in which Mr. Petrie and his Arab labourers have been at work for some time past.

After the tumults that followed the departure from Jerusalem of Nebuchadnezzar with the captive Jews to Babylon, it was decided by Johanan, against the advice and the prophecy of Jeremiah, to fly into Egypt, the land of King Zedekiah's old ally. The princesses, and the captains, and Jeremiah, were taken across the frontier by Johanan, and hospitably received by Pharaoh Hophra, who installed his guests in the royal residence in Tahpanhes. Jeremiah could not rest even in the stronghold thus provided for himself and his countrymen by the kindness of Hophra, and in the court-yard or square of the royal palace of Tahpanhes he made a remarkable prophecy. Taking great stones in his hands, and burying them in the pavement, the Prophet declared that in that very spot King Nebuchadnezzar would spread his pavilion when he came, with his destroying army, to punish the Jews, and to execute vengeance on their Egyptian allies.

The prophecy, there is every reason to believe, was fulfilled. The Babylonish conqueror invaded Egypt, and burnt Pharaoh's house at Tahpanhes. Centuries have passed. The sand of the desert, and the mud of old Nile, have swept over the site of the remarkable prophecy, and about 2,500 years after the death of the Prophet, an Englishman rolls away the encrustations of time. He discovers the basement floor of the old citadel—half prison and half palace. From the ruins he extracts slabs of fine limestone covered with hieroglyphic inscriptions, figures of captives delicately sculptured and painted, iron and bronze tools. In the kitchen he finds pokers, and spits, and broken bottles. The room of the little scullery maid is found almost intact. It contains a recess with a sink and a bench for the ancient pots and pans.

Mr. Petrie's communication, which can be had from the Secretary of the Egypt Exploration Fund, throws a strong light on the wondrous story in the grand old Book which has been for centuries a household treasure in English homes, and will be read with delight by all lovers of the Bible.

Every season of life has its appropriate duties.

Through all our troubles, the tangled skein is in the hands of One who sees the end from the beginning. He shall yet unravel all.

(Concluded from page 9.)

Alfred was struck mute with surprise. Even the guide seemed astonished at this unexpected welcome to the hut.

It was not until a minute or two after the voices had ceased that they ventured to approach the entrance. When they did, they saw the charcoal burner standing at the end of a rude table, formed of one broad deal plank, supported by four legs, along one side of which were ranged three boys between twelve and fourteen years old. Books and paper, with an inkstand and pens, were lying on the table. It was a forest school.

The intruders again paused at a sight as unexpected as had been the melody they had just heard. But their footsteps had caught the ears of those within the hut.

"Who goes there?" asked the man, in a calm voice.

"Friends," replied both Alfred and the guide, and the latter added—

"Good evening, Gervais. It is only your friend Michel. I have brought you a gentleman who is very anxious to see you."

"What is your pleasure with me, sir?" asked the charcoal burner, taking off his woollen cap.

"First, to wish you a good evening, Monsieur Gervais; and next, to apologize for my visit."

"Is there anything you wish to say in private?"

"Nothing very important; but——"

"These boys are in your way?"

"Oh, pray do not let me interrupt you! My business here is not of sufficient consequence."

"We have done, sir. Indeed, our evening studies, and more particularly our Scripture readings, have been prolonged rather beyond our usual hour. We have only one more duty to fulfil, which we never omit. You will excuse it, sir."

Without waiting for a reply, Gervais assumed a serious air. The boys knelt down before the wooden bench on which they had been sitting. Alfred, and even the guide, followed their example, and the woodman offered up a brief, but solemn evening prayer; after which he pressed affectionately the hands of the young herdsmen, and dismissed them with a kind remembrance to their employers.

"Good-night, Monsieur Gervais!" said the boys cheerfully, and in an instant they were all leaping up the heights beyond the fir trees, which soon hid them from the sight of those who remained behind.

"I expected to find you alone, Monsieur Gervais," said Alfred, "and I wished to put a question to you which is now very plainly answered by the scene I have just witnessed. Two hours ago, I was with a party of friends in the plain below, at some distance from this mountain. At nightfall, when we saw the light of your furnace beginning to shine, we said among ourselves, as we looked, with no small degree of interest, upon this earthly star, as it seemed to us, 'What can the man be doing who is watching by the side of this fire?' You see, sir, that I am young, and you know that, at my age, good-humoured frolics are not uncommon. 'I will soon know,' I said. Well, I mounted my horse immediately, and rode at full speed to the foot of the mountain. And now that I am here, I find that I have reason to rejoice in my freak, Monsieur Gervais, since it has made me the witness of a most interesting scene. These pens and paper, and these books—this one in particular—afford sufficient evidence of the manner in which you have passed the evening. Here, to my surprise, I have found, at this late hour, in the deep recesses of the woods, on a wild and lofty mountain, a school for useful learning in general, but more especially, as the closing of the scene has informed me, for the most important of all knowledge—that of the Creator who made, of the Son who redeemed, and of the Holy Spirit who sanctifies us. You pass your evenings in pointing out to these boys, who might otherwise be running wild along the mountains and through the forests, like the beasts that perish, the only way that leads to everlasting life. May I ask if you have any particular interest in them? Are they your children, or are they employed by you in your business?"

"No, sir," said the charcoal burner; "I am neither their father nor their master. Alas! they have but one Father, which is in heaven. They are orphans, sir, and are employed by the herdsmen. They remain here for several months in the year, to assist in tending their cattle and their goats, which are kept during the summer in the mountain pastures. They are therefore serving an apprenticeship to the line of life for which they are destined. But there are other things which are needful for them, as well as learning to look after cows, and sheep, and goats; and one thing more needful than all the rest, which they might learn to neglect, were they left to themselves, without some one to lead them in the right path, and to speak to them of the faith and love of the Lord Jesus. It is true they are here far removed from the temptations which they would meet with in towns, and even in villages; but Satan has his snares in all parts—in the wilderness, where he dared to tempt the Son of God Himself, as well as in the city, where, they say, his traps are set so thickly that it is impossible to avoid them, unless the light of God's Holy Spirit is shining on our path. But even here, had he no other means of leading them astray, they might fall, by his devices, into the worst of sins—the forgetfulness of God, and all they owe to Him. The condition, then, of these poor boys has interested me very greatly. I have prevailed upon their masters to let them come to me for two hours every evening, as soon as the cows and goats are milked, and the sheep are in the folds, when I endeavour, with God's help, to teach them to read and write, and cast up an account; but, above all, to seek to find out the Lord in His holy Word, and to pray to Him. For myself, too, it is a profitable as well as a cheerful occupation in this solitude. I wish, indeed, that I were able to have them longer with me each day, but that our labours will not allow of. On Sundays, indeed, they have rather less to do, and we take advantage of this to devote more time to the service of God."

"Rather less to do on Sundays!" said Alfred. "Is the Lord's Day, then, made only partially a day of rest?"

"Sir," replied Gervais, "there are works of absolute necessity which require our attention, here in the mountains, nearly as much on the Lord's Day as on the other days of the week. We do not cut wood on the Sabbath Day, but my fire must not be allowed to go out. It must be kept constantly burning till the operation is complete. So far, indeed, it affords a lesson of holy instruction to my young pupils as well as myself, and shows us the necessity of the flame of Christian love, and faith, and hope being kept alive in our hearts, even when pursuing our daily occupations. Then those who have the charge of cattle and sheep must attend to their wants, or the poor creatures would suffer sadly by their neglect. It takes up a large portion of the day to milk the cows and the goats, and I dare say you can understand that, to say nothing of the loss their owners would incur were this omitted, the poor beasts themselves would suffer bitterly from bodily pain and disease."

"I ought to have thought of this, as I am myself learning to be a farmer," observed Alfred. "But do you not draw any spiritual improvement for your scholars from this?"

"Oh, yes, sir! I show them how Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is constantly feeding and caring for His flock, watching over them, and keeping the young lambs from going astray; carrying them in His bosom, and giving them the bread of life to eat, and the waters of everlasting comfort to drink."

"And are your kind instructions confined to these three boys?"

"Not altogether, sir. Most of their masters, when their necessary work is done, come with such of their servants as can be spared, on the evening of the Lord's Day; and, as we have no pastor up here to teach us in the way of holiness, we join together in prayer. We sing 'psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs,' and we 'search the Scriptures,' and nourish our souls with the holy Word of God. Most of them, I assure you, sir, are very seriously disposed, and love to hear me talk to them of the Lord Jesus, and tell them of all He has done to save sinners, to take away their sin, to give them repentance, and everlasting life after death."

"And it is thus you have been passing your time," exclaimed Alfred, "when some of my thoughtless young friends below fancied you might be drinking or smoking while you were watching your fire. Happy man! These solitudes are no solitudes to you. How far more profitably, how far more pleasantly, are you employed than the greater number of those who live in the world! I must entreat you to pardon my having intruded upon you, I am ashamed to say, from a motive of mere curiosity. But see how God often causes even our follies and weaknesses to turn out to our profit. I have learned a lesson that I trust, by His grace, I shall never forget. It has taught me that every godly man has a part assigned to him for others as well as for himself, to show forth the great salvation that Christ brought upon earth. You are diligently fulfilling your part. You have prayed for work, and our great Master has mercifully provided it for you. You are laying up treasure for yourself in heaven, while many of those who would be inclined to pity your worldly position are wasting their lives in idleness and sin, neglecting the work they might do, and burying in the earth the talent committed to their charge. Numbers there are in the world who are attempting to secure to themselves a memorial among posterity, by erecting hospitals and schools, while you are consecrating this little hovel to God in a way that might never have been known in this world, but which will not be forgotten by the Lord 'in the day when He maketh up His jewels.'"

As he said this, Alfred cast his eyes round the hut, and fixed them upon an open chest which stood in one corner, supported upon one or two short beams of wood, to preserve the contents from the damp.

"You are not unprovided with books, I see, besides those that lie on the table."

"We have indeed a little library there, sir," replied Gervais. "It is very small, but quite equal to our wants. You would find there 'The Histories of the Old and New Testaments,' 'The Imitation of Jesus Christ,' 'The History of France,' 'Robinson Crusoe,' and a few others. Would you like to look at the writing of these boys, sir?"

Alfred examined some copy-books lying on the table, and could not help expressing his surprise at the progress the lads appeared to have made in three short months. Then, looking at his watch, he said—

"I fear I have overstayed my time, but before I go I have yet a duty to perform. While I congratulate you most sincerely on the success with which God seems to have blessed your endeavours in behalf of these destitute youths, I must add that the interest which the idea of your isolated situation excited among the party I left in the plain below was such that they said I ought not, without some good reason, to intrude upon you, and desired me to bring this little offering to you, begging of you to accept it, in token of their good-will."

Vainly, however, did the young man press the offering upon the charcoal burner. He absolutely refused it.

"Money!" said he; "for what? From whom does it come? Excuse me, sir, but you must recollect that you are quite a stranger to me. I do not even know your name."

Alfred looked greatly disappointed, but replied that his name was Alfred de Blénal.

"What! the son of Madame de Blénal, of ——?"

"The same."

"You are no longer a stranger, sir. Your excellent mother's piety and benevolence are well known to all the country around. Well, sir, as you seem distressed by my refusal, I will accept your liberal offer, but not for myself. I will only take it as trustee for these three boys, to be applied to their future maintenance, till they are able to support themselves."

"Excellent man!" replied Alfred, deeply affected. "This sum will hardly be sufficient for your benevolent purpose, and it will give us pleasure to make it up to such an amount as may be required. I have promised to return to the persons who are expecting me by midnight, and I fear they will be uneasy at my prolonged absence. Take it, then, Monsieur Gervais, and whenever you require a little more money for the good works you may find occasion to perform in your neighbourhood, do not fail to put me under contribution. I shall tell my friends all I have seen and heard, and be assured that they will envy me my good fortune. Farewell, and remember that, by applying to me when you want anything, either for yourself or others, you will only prove that I have inspired you with sentiments of esteem and friendship."

Saying this, Alfred gave the charcoal burner a cordial embrace, and departed.

The thoughts of Michel, the guide, as he descended the mountain, were very different from those with which he had gone up. He was an altered man from that night.

Midnight had passed. The supper was waiting at Madame de Blénal's. The guests were beginning to be impatient, some from hunger, some from curiosity, but more from anxiety. Had he miscalculated the distance? Had he mistaken the way? Had he met with an accident? The former conjectures were spoken aloud; the latter was only whispered by some who were not within Madame de Blénal's hearing. She herself remained silent, but perfectly calm. We do not say that the mother's heart was free from anxiety, but there was a remedy within it which served as a preventive against all idle and unnecessary fears. The eye of God was upon her son, and she knew that his own trust was fixed upon His saving arm. She knew, too, that, although full of the spirit and buoyancy of youth, he would avoid the sin of running into needless danger. If an accident had detained him, it was permitted as a trial of her faith, and she was prepared to submit.

The impatience of the party was just beginning to reach its height, when the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard. Every eye was turned to the door, which was soon opened, and Alfred stood before them, smiling, cheerful, and uninjured, though in a condition that at first occasioned some alarm, but soon excited a burst of laughter.

"Here is ocular proof," cried one, "that he has seen the charcoal burner."

"And been at close quarters with him," said another. "He is covered with soot."

"Why, Mr. Alfred," said a young lady, "one would think you had embraced him!"

"I have, mademoiselle, and I am not ashamed of owning it. Had you seen what I have, you would have done the same, without considering your dress."

"Why, what have you seen?" was asked by more than one.

"I have found a preacher of righteousness, 'a teacher of babes,' in the forest—one who is an example to us all—and I have learned that, whatever our station in life may be, we may do good service to our Lord."

Alfred then gave a full detail of his adventure.

"So then," said the old lady who had decided the question about the money, "while we were indulging in foolish conjectures, and idly jesting about this worthy man, he was engaged in the pious task of teaching young boys to read God's holy Word, and the eye of that God was upon us all. My dear young friends, this is a lesson which I trust you will never forget. I see by your looks that it has produced its effect, and given birth to serious thoughts in your hearts. God has caused your inconsiderate frolic to turn out well, and I suspect that this will be a happy day for the pupils of Gervais. The orphans will not want protectors. Now let us go to supper. Our friend Alfred must be hungry after his ride, and he has well earned his meal."

These words, together with the circumstances that gave rise to them, made a deep and salutary impression upon the hearers. The supper passed cheerfully, and the conversation turned upon what could best be done for the charcoal burner and the poor orphans. Many plans were proposed, and at last one was suggested which met with general approbation.

The young men, in consequence, all visited the mountain forest and the hut, which, under their exertions and superintendence, soon disappeared, and a comfortable châlet rose in its place, in which Gervais continued for many summers to pursue his useful labours, and more than one or two successive generations of boys owed their teaching to him, and their establishment in the world to the care of the patrons whom Alfred's visit had, by God's mercy, raised up for them.

In a conversation with the late Richard de Courcy, John Berridge observed that he had, for many years, been preaching up self, but not Christ Jesus the Lord:—

I was a length of time in Arminian fetters. John and Charles Wesley got me into their cradle, and the devil kept rocking; but the Holy Spirit, in a most remarkable manner, delivered me from the sleep of sin by slaying the legality of my heart. I used to lament the unprofitableness of my preaching, and though I was a dealer in fire and brimstone, I could make no impression on my hearers.

One day, my man Thomas was sawing a sturdy piece of oak, and, as I was standing by him, he threw down his saw, and turning to me, said, "Master, I must give this job up; it is so knotty." I took up the saw, and said, "Tom, let me try"; and to work I went, and, being of muscular strength, I soon overcame the difficulty.

It occurred to me, when leaving the field, that my preaching resembled Tom's sawing, and these words were impressed on my mind—"Who art thou, O great mountain? before Zerubbabel thou shalt become a plain." I returned to my chamber, and poured out my heart to the Lord. A conviction arose in my mind that the work that God alone can perform I looked for the creature to produce. On reflection, I found the drift of my preaching for twenty years had been to tell the sinner to put the key into the lock of the door, so as to open it. I never thought of my Beloved putting His hand by the hole of the door, nor of applying to Him who has the keys of David, who "openeth, and no man shutteth; and shutteth, and no man openeth."

On the Sunday following, I took my text from Isaiah—"Ye also made a ditch between two walls, for the water of the old pool; but ye have not looked unto the Maker thereof, neither had respect unto Him."

From that time God the Holy Ghost has given me better tools for my workmanship. In addressing those whose hearts are unrenewed and unchanged, I make no propositions or calls. I cry aloud, and lift up my voice, and show my people their transgressions and their sins. I then turn from the unconverted, and implore my Master to take the work in hand, to convince of sin, and to lead them to Christ. With uplifted eyes and outstretched arms I cry, "Lay hold of these rebels, O Lord, as the angel did of lingering Lot, and overcome them by Thy omnipotent power, so as to lay down their arms to come in, that Thy house may be filled." John Berridge can do nothing but say, "Awake, O arm of the Lord!" This is my province; a step further I cannot, I dare not, go.

For the last twelve years the Lord has, in a most wonderful manner, displayed the riches of His grace in giving me innumerable seals to my ministry, both in town and country—trophies of mercy, as studs in the Mediatorial crown of my dear Redeemer.

[Oh, that there were more such preachers in the present day!]

When bold, presumptuous men stand up,
And fain would make believe
That they are teachers sent of God,
And thus poor souls deceive,

They should, by every God-taught soul,
Be faithfully withstood,
If aught they bring to us as truth
But Jesus and His blood.

Such men as these the Word declares
Shall come, and shall deceive;
But sinners, truly born of God,
Will not such men receive.

If possible, we know they would
Deceive Thine own elect;
But, bless Thy precious name, dear Lord,
Thou wilt Thine own protect.

How solemn is the thought to me—
Such men may think they're right,
Yet their profession will, if left,
End in eternal night!

"Depart, ye cursèd!" will be said
By lips that cannot lie;
"Since you have hated Me and Mine,
Your doom is now to die.

"You see, though now it is too late,
The oil-less lamp won't do;
The door against you now is shut;
There is no passing through."

My soul, reflect! How stands the case
With me, a helpless sinner?
I cannot hope to win the race;
But Jesus is my Winner.

I never should have sought to Thee,
Dear Lord, Thou knowest well,
If Thou hadst not first callèd me,
And plucked my feet from hell.

B. W.

Feb. 5. Commit to memory Ruth ii. 7.
Feb. 12. Commit to memory Ruth ii. 8.
Feb. 19. Commit to memory Ruth ii. 9.
Feb. 26. Commit to memory Ruth ii. 10.

Put heart in your work, whatever it is. If it be the lowliest, simplest little task, it will be ennobled by your doing it well and cheerfully, and taking real pleasure in it.

(Zechariah iv. 10.)

The second temple was much smaller than, and very inferior to, the first, and from it were wanting the ark, the Shechinah glory, the sacred fire, and the Urim and Thummim. Hence we read that, when it was erected and dedicated, the older men that had seen the former temple wept (Ezra iii. 12). Compared with that, the second temple saw but a "day of small things" (Hag. ii. 3).

And thus do we sometimes speak of the days of childhood and youth, and rightly so. Young people are small in stature and little in ability. Their minds are not much cultivated at present, their faculties undeveloped. Their views of things are narrow and circumscribed. They have seen and know but little of the world, or, indeed, of anything at all. But children are not to be despised on that account. We who are older must not think depreciatingly of them, nor should the young depreciate themselves—their abilities, their time, their opportunities. Do not waste your precious moments, for yours is a golden age, which will quickly pass away, and can never return.

Do not imagine that you are too young to exert any influence over others for good or harm. You may, and do, influence not only your companions, but many older people also. As children and youths are old enough to sin, they are old enough also to be impressed by the Spirit of God—yea, even savingly converted, if God so will it.

Not long ago, a very little boy, dying, was heard to say, "Oh, Lord Jesus, please make room for a little boy!" and I doubt not, his prayer was as real and as acceptable to God as was that of the dying malefactor, "Lord, remember me," &c. Another dear little fellow said, "If I ever get to heaven, I'll go straight up to Jesus, throw my arms around His neck, and say, 'I'm come! I'm come!'"

Very little things are not without their importance or value. The earth is nourished all summer by tiny dew-drops. The greatest mountains, even huge Chimilari, towering five and a half miles into the clouds, and all the other peaks in the Himalaya and Andes ranges, are formed of tiny molecules of earthy matter.

Take a lesson from the coral formations. These are the work of a very little creature called a polype, or sea-anemone. Recent research has led to the discovery of much that is highly interesting respecting these little creatures. One polype, fixing its minute body to the rocky bottom of the sea, discharges a chalky secretion, which gradually grows up a branched trunk. The end of each branch is terminated by another polype; and thus it divides and multiplies itself, until a huge mass of red coral is formed. The more common white coral is similarly produced.

Beware of what are called "little sins." Do not think them mere trifles. Bad in themselves, they likewise extend and grow into habits. These, once acquired, will hold you down with the force of a mighty chain.

Of late years vine-stocks have been imported from America into France and Italy. Upon these a tiny insect, called phylloxera, has been found—so small that thirty-three of them placed lengthwise would not measure more than an inch; and yet so destructive have these tiny things proved, and so rapidly have they been known to spread, that they have been the destruction of more than a million acres of vines.

"HER FATHER'S BAD WAYS MADE HER LIFE HARD." (See page 38.)

One has well observed that "a great sin committed once shows where the devil has been; but petty sins, nourished into a habit, show where the devil lives."

One of the discoveries of modern medical science is, that the disease known as cholera may be produced by a microscopic insect (the Conina Bacillus) being taken into the stomach inadvertently with our food. This minute creature propagates with enormous rapidity in the blood, until that terrible malady is the result. Thus many great things are developed from the very smallest—not only great evils, but great blessings also.

In doing good, we must not despise "the day of small things." The beginnings, though imperfect and weak, are not without their own peculiar value, and ultimately they lead on to excellence.

Travellers on the continent are often struck by the contrast exhibited between two paintings which are shown in the museum at Rotterdam. The one is exceedingly poor—a mere daub. The most enthusiastic connoisseur cannot discover in it any mark of genius. The other painting is a grand work of art, almost priceless in value. Yet, strange to say, the same painter executed both—the celebrated Rembrandt. The first illustrates the commencement of his career as an artist; the other is a masterpiece, while many years of earnest, patient toil intervened.

There must be a beginning to all things, and many dear Sabbath scholars have been instrumental of good to their parents and friends. I will mention one instance of this, selected from scores which have come under notice at different times.

In a miserable home there once resided a drunken father, with one girl, his only child. Of course, he took no particular interest in her welfare, either body or soul. But some kind friend got her to attend a Sabbath School. There she was brought to know and love the Saviour, and often during the week, while attending to the house, she was known to sing the sweet hymns she had learned. This was her only comfort, for her father's bad ways made her life hard.

One day, when she was thus occupied, her father was in another room, sleeping off his drunkenness. On awaking, he heard the little maid singing—

"There is a happy land,
Far, far away."

The Lord was pleased to use these words for another awakening. The grace of God touched his heart, and he said to himself, "Yes, it must be far away for her, poor thing; it cannot be here with me." That thought came from God. It melted his frozen heart, brought him to his knees, caused him to utter strong cries for mercy, led him to ask his little daughter to explain the way of salvation, and ultimately he was enabled to rejoice in pardoning mercy.

Dear young Gleaners, may the Lord thus be pleased to bless the reading of the Little Gleaner, and the instruction imparted in the Sabbath School, first to your own soul, and then make you a similarly honoured instrument of good to others.

Dunstable.

God never wrought miracles to convince atheism, because His ordinary works convince it.

A sunny, happy face naturally, is worth a world of recipes upon cheerfulness. Only let one possessing it come into a room where there are a number of melancholy souls, and see how soon the magnetic influence begins to relax the lines of care around the mouth and eyes of the burdened ones, and the light of forgotten smiles to illumine the dark faces! The very breath of summer has blown through the room, bringing the breath of meadow sweets on its wings.

My grandmother was always looked upon by those who knew her as a good Churchwoman, a dutiful wife, an affectionate mother, and a good neighbour. She attended the services and partook of the Sacrament regularly, visited the sick, gave alms to the poor, and was generally regarded as a very religious, upright, consistent, and exemplary person. Yet, notwithstanding this outward goodness, her mind was not at rest. Her religion yielded no joy, her service brought no satisfaction. Nor could it be otherwise, for, instead of it being the spontaneous outflow of a heart constrained by love, it was as a task imposed—a duty performed in the hope of pleasing God, and meriting His favour, and in this way obtaining peace and rest to her soul.

Poor grandmother! These were "deadly doings"; but she knew it not, for her eyes were blinded by the god of this world (Satan), and her unsuccessful attempts to procure peace by these means often left her depressed in spirit and cast down in mind. But God had better things in store for her, although it was by no ordinary means that He was pleased to make known to her His more excellent way.

One Sunday, she went to church as usual, and took part in the singing and prayers, which were performed in the same mechanical order as at other times. It was not until the text was read out that her attention was particularly aroused; but this so arrested her that it all seemed to be intended for herself. The words, "Ye must be born again," uttered by the lips of an unconverted preacher, were made the message of God to her soul, but not as yet the message of peace. Her conscience was troubled, and as the words of the text were revolved in her mind, and the necessity of the new birth laid hold upon her heart, she trembled in her seat, and all her fancied goodness fled away; for here was Nicodemus, a good man, a teacher of religion, a pattern of morality, being told by the Lord Jesus that he must be "born again," or he could not enter heaven. She could see now that her almsgiving and church-going would not satisfy the righteous claims of a just and holy God.

She had made a most blessed discovery—that she was a lost sinner, "having no hope, and without God in the world." She returned home in great distress of mind, and so continued until the next day. These painful exercises then showed no signs of abatement, for the words of the text kept ringing in her ears; so, on the morrow, as early as convenient, she sought an interview with the clergyman, in the hope that he might be able to minister relief to her troubled heart.

But "woe unto you, ye blind guides!" The only counsel he could give was, to remind her of her good deeds, her consistent life, her regular attendance at church, &c., urging her to be calm and to banish from her mind these distressing thoughts, as there was not the slightest foundation for her fears. But this only increased her trouble, and she cried out, in great anguish of soul, "Tell me how I can be 'born again'! Tell me over again what you were telling the people yesterday." As she earnestly entreated him thus, he became greatly perplexed, for, alas! the sermon he had preached the day previous was borrowed, and had since been returned to its owner; so, in much confusion, he had to confess his inability to help her; but said he, "You must get into cheerful company, read lively books [at the same time offering to lend her some of Shakespeare's plays], and these impressions will soon wear off." But the solemn words from John iii. 7 were fastened in her mind by the "Master of Assemblies," to bring forth their fruit in due season.

My grandmother left the minister in great despair, which continued and increased to such an extent that eventually it became necessary to remove her to an asylum, and her cries of distress were heartrending, her incessant and unchanging cry being, "I must be 'born again'! Tell me how I must be 'born again'!" But strange as it may appear, this was God's way of bringing her both mental and spiritual relief. A Christian lady who visited the asylum became acquainted with her case, and learning that there were times when grandmother was quieter and more herself, she resolved, if possible, to enlist the co-operation of a godly minister of her acquaintance; and having made it a matter of prayer, the way was soon open for him to see her, and the visit was made with the happiest results.

As the glorious Gospel message was set before her, in simple and earnest language, she listened with rapt attention, and drank in the blessed truth which was soon to become the power of God unto her salvation. After this visit she was a little restless at times, but as the truth entered her soul, and she was enabled by "precious faith" to lay hold upon Christ, her fears all vanished, and she gradually became more calm and peaceful. She was led to see that peace was made for her by the "blood of the cross," and not by her works; and, "being justified by faith, she had peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ."

She had now known and experienced the blessed change so long sought, and which might have been set forth at her first awakening had a wise counsellor been at hand. The change wrought in her soul was very real, and acted so beneficially upon her mind that shortly afterwards she was able to return to her home and friends, to tell "what great things the Lord had done unto her." The remainder of her life was one of settled peace and joy, fruitful in good works, and abounding in thanksgiving and praise to God.

Dear reader, how is it with you? Have you experienced this great change? Remember, nothing but reality will do for God and eternity. Neither education, morality, reformation, nor religious profession, can take the place of the new birth. "They that are in the flesh cannot please God." There must be a new life and a new power communicated, in which to love and serve God; and this can only be "by the washing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy Ghost." "Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God" (John iii. 3).—Selected.

As the anniversary of the defeat of the Spanish Armada is to be celebrated this year, the following anecdote may not be uninteresting to our readers, as showing a like providence in the case of New England Christians.

Dr. Wisner remarks that the destruction of the French armament, under the Duc D'Auville, should be remembered with gratitude and admiration by every inhabitant of America. This fleet consisted of forty ships of war, and was destined for the destruction of New England. It sailed from Chebucto, in Nova Scotia, for that purpose. In the meantime the godly people, apprized of their danger, had appointed a season of fasting and prayer to be observed in all their churches.

While Mr. Prince was officiating in Old South Church, Boston, on the fast day, and praying most fervently that the dreaded calamity might be averted, a sudden gust of wind arose (the day till then had bean perfectly calm)—so violent as to cause a loud clattering of the windows. The pastor paused in his prayer, and, looking round upon the congregation with a countenance of hope, he again commenced, and, with great ardour, supplicated the Almighty to cause that wind to frustrate the object of their enemies.

A tempest ensued, in which the greater part of the French fleet was wrecked. The Duc D'Auville, the principal general, and his second in command, both committed suicide. Many died from disease, and thousands found a watery grave.

A late President remarks—"I am bound, as an inhabitant of New England, to declare, were there no other instance than the above to be found, the blessings communicated on the occasion now referred to would furnish ample proof, concerning answers to prayer, to every sober and intelligent man."

In writing upon the education of the young, a thoughtful writer has made the following observations:—

"The little triumphs and successes of the young mind should never be lightly passed over without a token of just and fitting praise from the lips of its parents. The love of approbation is one of the strongest incentives to improvement and industry which the Creator has implanted in the human mind. In the child, this feeling is very predominant; and, if disappointed of its justly-earned tribute, will be checked, and the child disheartened and mortified.

"Benjamin West relates that he owed his success in life to the fond kiss of delighted approval bestowed on him by his mother, on his bringing her a rude production of his pencil when quite a little boy. 'That kiss,' said the great artist, 'made me a painter.'

"Praise, then, when merited, should never be withheld. It is the chief—indeed, generally the only—recompense to which children look; and it is a bitter and injudicious cruelty to deprive them of it. The approval and the censure of its parents and teachers should, in this sense, be the guiding stars of a child's existence. But care should be taken that neither should be bestowed carelessly or with partiality, so as to induce vanity, or, on the other hand, bitterness of feeling."

An Apostle employed as a messenger.

The son of Zephaniah.

A disciple called "the chamberlain of the city."

A place whence gold was brought to the temple.

An idol of Damascus.

He who arrested a prophet that was put into a dungeon.

Who said, "The Lord is good, a Stronghold in the day of trouble," &c.?

A disciple who dwelt at Troas.

A sorcerer struck blind.

The name given to the sockets for fastening the stones in the ephod.

That without which it is impossible to please God.

The place where one was struck dead for touching the ark.

Aaron's wife.

The Syriac name for "Father."

The Epistle where the words are—"Ye are not your own," &c.

The place to which Samson gave a name, where he quenched his thirst after slaying the Philistines.

Total—one of the titles of Christ, used prophetically.

Low expense is the highway to fortune.

Year succeeds year and marks the flight of time, and, in its flight, leaves the impress of many changes, proving to every thoughtful mind that "here we have no continuing city." But, amid the changes of life, the Lord encourages His people to wait upon Him; and none need to do so more than they who are engaged in the work of spreading His truth, whether among old or young; and when the spirit of prayer is kept alive in their midst, they are not without testimony that "the Lord is with them." These thoughts were in the minds of some who witnessed the assembling of the scholars of this school on December 27th, and they marvelled how any God-fearing man or woman can feel indifferent to the welfare of the young, or look on unmoved as they assemble together. To some of us these gatherings are as "the solemn assembly." We see an eager, expectant throng, seeking for that which shall please them—for the most part, seemingly unconscious, for the time at least, that they have immortal souls that must live in eternal happiness or eternal misery, and, therefore, without a knowledge of their state before God. We see our own children, and yearn over them in prayer before God, and, like Ezra, we would "afflict ourselves before God" to seek a right way for ourselves and our little ones.

The scholars assembled in the chapel, as usual, at half-past two, when the proceedings were opened by a short address from our Pastor and President, Mr. T. Hull. Many friends encouraged us by their presence, though the severe weather considerably influenced their number.

As soon as a hymn had been sung, Mr. Hull read and expounded the first Psalm, showing the character of that man whom God had pronounced blessed. He then earnestly besought the Lord's blessing, and followed it by a few words on the preciousness of truth.

The report was then read by the Secretary, Mr. Ellis, and again proved to be of a most interesting and encouraging character. The steady increase that marked the earlier years of this school has been continuous, the number on the register now being 250, showing an increase of sixteen during the year. The average attendance has been 153 in the morning, and 194 in the afternoon, as compared with 135 and 169 in 1886. The highest single attendance was 223. Two scholars have been lost by death, and one teacher by removal.

We give an extract from the report, as expressing the earnest feeling of those engaged in the work—"To record an increase in numbers is pleasing, as showing outward success; but the success we desire is, that our scholars may be brought to a knowledge of the Lord, that God's truth may be established in their hearts, and that many that meet with us now may bless the Lord for the instrumentality of Ebenezer Sunday School."

The financial statement showed a balance in hand of £5 16s. 7d. This would be to December 1st, the date to which the accounts are made up, and, therefore, leaves the expenses of this day, with the prizes, to be met by the balance in hand, which, of course, is quite inadequate. But the executive feel sure that the same kind thoughtfulness that has put them beyond anxiety in the past will not be wanting in the future. The expenses of the year have been £34 11s. 4d.; the income £32 10s., which, added to the balance brought forward from last year, makes £40 8s.

Several addresses were next given, and listened to with marked attention. The Superintendent, Mr. J. Trimming, spoke of his own feeling in the work, and how earnestly he looked for the blessing of the Lord; the anxiety he felt for the young, and the vast importance of putting a right value on the Word of God.

Mr. R. Funnell, who is in his seventy-eighth year, was most enthusiastically received. He is a pattern of diligence and earnestness in everything connected with the welfare of this school and Church. He very nicely used the illustration of Elijah gathering the people on Mount Carmel, as showing his thoughts on Sunday School work. Though we may build altars, yet, if no living fire comes down from heaven, no saving work will be accomplished.

Mr. Poole enforced the importance of taking heed to both what we read and what we hear, and to treasure up the Word, that it might be of profit.

Mr. Ellis, the Secretary, followed with a few affectionate and earnest words, at the close of which, Mr. Hull proceeded to distribute the prizes—the most interesting event of the afternoon. Before distributing to the scholars, Mr. Hull called on three teachers, namely, Miss P. Funnell, Miss M. Funnell, and Mr. Jesse Vine, to receive a present from their respective classes—a proceeding most heartily received by the whole school. And now, class after class filed past the President to receive the book prize awarded to them; and though the list was long, and the recipients many, he had a kindly word for all. Mr. Hull does not spare himself on these occasions, and by his pithy remarks and enforcement of precepts, suggested by the proceedings, contributes in no small degree to the success of the gathering.

Tea was now announced, the arrangements for which—both for scholars and friends—were excellent, and most heartily did the assembly respond to the invitation.

At the close of the tea, the scholars again took their places in the chapel, and proceeded to carry out a plan wholly devised and arranged by the Superintendent. In introducing the subject, Mr. Trimming spoke of the importance of the study of the Word of God—a study which he had reason to fear was sadly neglected; and with a view to show the Word of God as a harmonious whole, and to bring into prominence the Book of Proverbs, he had prepared a subject, or a series of subjects, which he called, "The Crown of Glory." He read Proverbs iv. 7-9, as the basis of his plan. In a crown there are precious stones, the precious stones in this crown being—first, the fear of the Lord; secondly, repentance; thirdly, seeking God; fourthly, shunning evil; fifthly, obedience to instruction; sixthly, waiting upon God; seventhly, acknowledging God's sovereignty; eighthly, truthfulness and honesty; ninthly, guards for the temper; tenthly, guards for the tongue; eleventhly, God's power over all hearts; twelfthly, true friendship.

To illustrate and bring out into bold relief each of these precious stones, each class had prepared portions of Scripture, hymns, or poems to recite as each subject was announced. It must have repaid the Superintendent for all the trouble he had taken, and given the friends much pleasure to hear the manner in which the different classes acquitted themselves, the Young Men's Bible Class especially. Throughout the entire proceedings, hymns, specially selected for the occasion, were nicely sung by the scholars, and contributed much to the heartiness of the gathering.

The school-room was decorated in the usual manner, namely, with garments destined for distribution among the deserving poor. These garments have been made, as in former years, by the scholars and friends—in fact, the School Dorcas is now an established institution, and shows what may be done by kind hearts and nimble fingers.

The meeting was brought to a close, shortly before nine o'clock, with the usual acknowledgments, the singing of "Shall we meet beyond the river?" and prayer, every one feeling that another pleasant and profitable meeting had been held.

PSALM XXXII.

With our Bibles open before us, dear young friends, we will try to make a few comments on this portion of Scripture. But let us first turn to Psalm li., for there is the sad confession of sin which went before this joyful song of "Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven." This first verse is a shout of joy and gratitude. Oh, the happiness—the indescribable happiness—of the forgiven sinner!

Four words are used to describe wrong-doing and guilt: transgression, or trespass—a venturing on forbidden ground; sin—a failing, or falling short of goodness; iniquity (second verse), wilfulness, rebellion; and guile—deceit and falsehood.

And here are four pictures of God's saving love. Forgive means "forth give." Pardon flows forth freely and fully from the heart of God to all who truly confess their sins and entreat His mercy. Sin is covered, for Christ is the Propitiation for His people's sins, and these two words carry us back to the tabernacle's most holy place, and bring to view the covering, or lid, of the ark, the mercy-seat, sprinkled with atoning blood and bright with the divine glory. Jesus has died, and His blood cleanseth from all sin. To Him David looked, and was saved, and faith now looks back to His perfect Sacrifice, and rejoices in Him alone.

Then iniquity is not imputed to the pardoned one, for "it is God that justifieth." "Impute" or "reckon" reminds us of an account book, with its columns of debt and credit entries. God will not charge His children with iniquity, for Jesus paid their debts, and Christ's goodness and merits are reckoned in their favour, and they shall receive all blessings for His sake.

And then these blessed ones are made as well as "reckoned" righteous. In their "spirit there is no guile." They, through God's Spirit, become honest and sincere. Oh, how blessed are these forgiven ones!

Then David, for the sake of contrast, presents another picture—his own attempts at covering his sin. What clumsy, miserable failures! He tried to cover one stain by another blot, and then threw the cloak of falsehood over all. But the weary months passed on, and brought him no relief from the unspeakable wretchedness that filled his heart and wore out his body by day and by night, till Nathan, the prophet, was sent by God to reprove him, and then, with a full heart, David acknowledged all, and received the free pardon of his Heavenly Father.

Now, David would be useful to others, and warn sinners against the evil ways they are pursuing (see ver. 10, first clause), and would encourage all who are seeking the Lord to hope in His mercy, who had been so merciful to him. God had often been his Hiding-place (ver. 7) when he fled from Saul into rocks and caves of the earth. His sure defence was the Lord Himself. He preserved him from death; and now he had afresh experienced His loving-kindness. And as we read this verse, are we not reminded of the sweet lines—

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee"?

The Lord Himself is the great Instructor and Leader of His people, and He guides them with His eye always upon them, watching and protecting the objects of His care (ver. 8). But David would tenderly exhort all who heard, and still hear him, to dread sin, and be afraid of all wayward, self-willed feelings. "Be ye not as the horse, or the mule, that have no understanding" of their owners' will sometimes, but will, if possible, get their own way, and need to be steered and restrained. "I have been like them," David seems to say, "and I was allowed to take my own course; and oh, how fearfully I went astray! Be warned by my fall, and learn, with me, to pray, 'Hold Thou me up, and I shall be safe.'"

"Many sorrows shall be to the wicked, but they that trust in the Lord," though they are weak, and foolish, and imperfect, "shall be compassed about with mercy." Therefore, "be glad in the Lord, ye righteous: and shout for joy, all ye that are upright in heart," for He is good and faithful, and will preserve you; He is gracious, and will forgive; He is holy and almighty, and He will cleanse you from all unrighteousness, and fill and crown you with His glory for ever.

May we be kept by the power and providence of God from falling into sin and evil, but since we have sinned and come short of His glory—since we need pardon and cleansing—may we be led to pray, with David, "Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." Like him, may we know the joys of divine forgiveness, and then be helped to show forth our Saviour's praise, not only by our words, but in our lives, by walking in the way of His commandments, and "cleaving to Him with purpose of heart."

Our next subject will be, John xvii. 22.

Do those things that you judge to be good, although, after you have done them, you may be disesteemed, being regardless of the praise or blame of the vulgar.—Pythagoras.

God accepts that service which is prompted entirely out of love to Him with greater pleasure than any other. If we obey our parents and serve God only with a view of being praised by men, He does not accept our service, and we may be compared with the scribes and Pharisees washing the outside of the platter and of the cup, but leaving the inside unclean. Jesus says, "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye make clean the outside of the cup and of the platter, but within they are full of extortion and excess" (Matt. xxiii. 25). Jesus means by this that the scribes and Pharisees gave heed to all the outward ceremonies of religion, and were, to all appearance, good and upright; but they did not really love God in their hearts. God looks upon the motive which prompts any little kindness to any one. He does not look so much at the action. He says, even a cup of cold water, if given for Jesus' sake, will be remembered and rewarded (Matt. x. 42; Mark ix. 41). Jesus says that even the widow who put her farthing into the treasury, gave more than the scribes and Pharisees, who put in large sums of money. He means by this that the widow put in all she had. She must have had great love to God to give her last farthing for the use of God's house, and the Pharisees were really prompted to put in their large sums of money because of the praise of man. In obeying our parents, and in whatever we do, we should do it as unto the Lord.

Paul says, "Not with eye-service, as men pleasers; but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart; with good will doing service as to the Lord, and not to men" (Eph. vi. 6, 7).

"Only a kindly action,
Done to a child of God;
Not done to cause attraction,
But as unto Christ the Lord."

When Mary poured the precious box of ointment on Jesus' head, and anointed His feet, and wiped them with her hair, she did it out of love to Him, and Jesus accepted her service; and when some were angry at what they termed the woman's waste of ointment, Jesus reproved them, and said, "She hath done what she could."

Oh, that we may have our sins forgiven through the blood of Jesus, and be enabled to serve Him acceptably, so that we may have the joy of hearing Him say, at the last day, "Come, thou blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world" (Matt. xxv. 34).

"Search me, O God, is my desire,
Nor let me from Thy ways depart;
To love and serve Thee I aspire,
Enriched with Mary's better part."

197, High Street, Hounslow.

[We have received several good Essays this month, especially those from E. B. Knocker, Jane Bell, Margaret Creasey, L. Rush, and P. Rackham. We hope all of them, as well as the very young friend who wrote the above, will feel encouraged to persevere.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of The Sower for 1887.

The subject for April will be, "Who are they that will Stand Perfect in the Day of Judgment?" and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of "The Life of John Newton." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of March.]

Does the injunction to Timothy and Titus respectively—"Let no man less despise thy youth," and "Let no man despise thee"—give any sanction to self-assertiveness? Let it not be thought so. Am I eccentric for the sake of eccentricity, or for the sake of attracting notoriety? Am I tenacious of my own rights, while sublimely indifferent to the rights of others? Do I try to pass myself off for better, wiser, richer, or nobler than I am? Then I deserve to be despised. But if, in the vindication of unpalatable truth, or in the steadfast and unostentatious discharge of duty, I encounter scorn, be scorn my portion. The sum of the matter seems to me to be this—While, on the one hand, I must be willing, for conscience' sake, to endure reproach, opposition, buffeting, and contempt, I must be equally concerned, on the other, to avoid every questionable act or thing that, with any show of reason, may cause me to be despised, and may thus materially mar my influence for good.

Herein does the poet of the "Night Thoughts" hit the mark—"Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise." Let self be "of no reputation," but, at the same time, do thou faithfully and prayerfully pursue intrinsic worth, and let not "a good name" be of no account in thy regard.

Egotism and self-assertion are unamiable traits.

A correspondent of the Echo calls attention to the fact that, at Dr. Lee's church, in the New Cut, on Sunday night, January 1st, the Te Deum was sung in thanksgiving for the Papal Jubilee, and wishes to know what is to prevent it. "Nothing," replies the editor.

According to the Charity Record, the amount of money bequeathed in great sums for charitable purposes during the year just closed was more than £700,000; and if bequests under £1,000 be added, the total would at least reach £1,000,000. This is exclusive of the money given to several religious and book-publishing societies.

A Thieving Elephant.—The contents of a clothes-chest, belonging to one of the people recently employed in the carnival in the Waverley Market, Edinburgh, disappeared in a rather amusing fashion. The chest had been lying near the performing elephants, and in the morning it was observed that one of these animals was particularly lively, and apparently in the very highest spirits. Later on, the owner of the chest discovered that the whole of the contents had been abstracted. Subsequent examination satisfied the searchers that one of the animals was responsible for the disappearance of the wardrobe, and as none of the articles could be discovered hidden away in its vicinity, the only conclusion that could be come to was, that the mischievous animal had swallowed the whole lot—boots, brushes, trousers, shirts, and several other articles of wearing apparel.

The Baku Naphtha Springs.—Although within the last two years intelligence has frequently reached Europe of extraordinary outbursts of mineral oil on the Apsheron peninsula, near Baku, nothing has yet equalled the astonishing outbreak which the Northern Telegraph Agency telegraphed a few days ago. Their telegram was to the effect that, near the petroleum works of a certain M. Arafeloff, a fountain of oil was throwing out over 2,400 tons daily, that this had been continuing without intermission for four weeks, and that more than the half of this enormous output was going to waste. It is to this loss of the oil that attention is now being directed. Not only at Arafeloff's fountain, but at almost every large fountain in the Balakhan-Sabuntchin district, the waste of this most valuable product has been enormous. Millions of poods of oil have been lost owing to the inefficient way in which it is reservoired and stored. It is now understood that the Government will take immediate steps to prevent this ruinous waste, and to compel the owners of oil-springs to adopt more scientific methods of boring, collecting, and storing.

An Irish Cabin Paved with Gold.—The Irish Ecclesiastical Gazette of December 31st contains the following:—"A few weeks ago, the writer was in a bank office in a country town in the south of Ireland, when a very common-looking, roughly-dressed man passed out after a conference with the manager. The latter said, 'Did you see that man? Well, some time ago, there was a run on the Bank of Ireland here, and he withdrew (receiving it in gold) £700 which he had there on deposit. That sum he informs me he still has at home, "under the kitchen flure." He has also more than £400 on deposit here with us.' Is it not hard to know 'what is truth' in Ireland? Here you have the floor of an Irish cabin literally paved with gold at a time when the payment of rent is impossible. It may be said that this is an exceptional case, but we believe such cases are not at all so rare as some suppose."

The Roman correspondent of Le Paris of January 5th states that, at Florence, Mr. Gladstone was heard to express a desire to see Leo XIII. This being repeated at the Vatican, the Pope sent word to Mr. Gladstone that nothing would delight him more than to have a visit from him. It is therefore arranged, says the correspondent of the Paris, that he is to go to Rome, and when he calls at the Vatican, is to be received according to the ceremonial adopted there when non-Catholic visitors are admitted to audiences. The correspondent thinks that anxiety about the Irish question moved Mr. Gladstone to manifest the desire above mentioned, and that the Pope's celerity in reciprocating it sprung from the same cause. The Pope has been urged to stand out against the Land League; but, feeling what a momentous thing it would be to do this, he is, we are told, delighted to talk over the matter with Mr. Gladstone. Thus we see Salisbury and Co. and Gladstone and Co. are in perfect agreement as to giving their power to the Pope. It is only a keen competition between them as to which shall be first, and do it most effectually. Since Salisbury and Co. have encouraged the Queen to despise her coronation oath, we need no longer wonder that they are so quiet about Mr. Bradlaugh. Perhaps Lord R. Churchill's expressions on the subject were anticipatory of the whole matter. We find that neither party is worthy of being entrusted with our Protestant interests.

Nine hundred thousand dog licenses were issued for the past year. The duty amounted to £340,000.

Christmas at the London Post Office.—From statistics it would seem that never before have the Post Office officials had their energies so severely taxed as on Christmas Eve last, during which day no fewer than 15,000,000 letters and newspapers were forwarded to their destination. In all some 3,000 supernumerary men were engaged, these being in addition to the regular staff. At Coldbath Fields, where the Parcel Post is now conducted, some 65,000 inland and 5,000 foreign parcels were disposed of during the day, for the conveyance of which to the various railway termini more than 800 vans were brought into requisition.

An Atlantic Wave.—An immense wave recently fell upon the steamship Umbria with a deafening roar when a thousand miles from Queenstown, bringing the ship to a standstill, and causing much damage to the decks. Stout brass rods, an inch in diameter, that formed the railing about the bridge, were twisted and bent like straws. An eye-witness, who has made thirteen ocean voyages, thus describes the occurrence:—"The look-out saw the wave coming, and the course of the vessel was altered so that she met it obliquely, while the speed of the engines was slackened. As I saw the huge wave, it looked like a black mass of water with white waves on the top, and it rolled higher and higher as it neared the vessel. When it struck her she shivered from stem to stern, and the combing of the wave fell with the weight of tons on the deck. The wood cover of the forward hatch was splintered in pieces, while the water poured in torrents into the hold, but the bulkheads were closed. The bridge was broken, and the iron stanchions were twisted with enormous force, while the turtle-back was flattened by the tremendous weight of the water. There was also a panic among the passengers, most of whom were sleeping in their berths. When the force of the wave was felt, they thought the ship was going to the bottom, and many in their night-clothes rushed into the main dining-room. Of course the danger was past, as the wave rolled by, and the excitement subsided."

Zion Sunday School, Herden Bridge, Yorkshire.—The friends, teachers, and scholars connected with the above place celebrated their annual Christmas tea festival on Christmas Eve, December 24th, 1887. The school-room was very tastefully decorated with evergreens and mottoes in touch with the season; also the tables, so richly laden with all sorts of nice and dainty things, had not escaped the eye of the decorators, for at intervals luxuriant exotics were placed, thereby contributing a very pleasing appearance. The children's features were lightened up with the thought of their happy treat; also the older people seemed to wear pleasant countenances, and apparently enjoyed the time, notwithstanding their thoughts were in a much loftier strain. The tea was served by the young ladies of the place to about one hundred and forty. After tea, a public meeting was held in the chapel, presided over by Mr. John Smith, of Halifax. The meeting was opened by singing a Christmas hymn, after which Mr. T. Barritt, senior deacon, offered prayer. Mr. E. Hargreaves presented the prizes to the scholars for good attendance. Addresses were also delivered by Messrs. T. Smith, Jos. Smith, and T. Barritt. Hymns were sung. The report was read by the Secretary, which showed an increase of eight during the year, the present number on the books being eighty-two. Recitations were given by the scholars, and a very good meeting was brought to a close a little after nine o'clock.

Albert Street Chapel Sunday School, Oxford.—The prizes were distributed to the scholars on Tuesday, December 27th, 1887. The meeting was opened by singing, "I thank the goodness and the grace"; this was followed by prayer. Owing to the indisposition of Mr. Newton, the friends, teachers, and scholars were greatly disappointed in not having the usual address they look forward to every year from the Superintendent. There were twenty-eight boys and girls who said pieces, and they, one and all, deserve great commendation for the capital way in which they recited. One girl, aged twelve, rehearsed the story of "Giving Away a Child," in prose, from Volume IX. of the Little Gleaner. Another scholar, aged twelve, repeated in a very perfect manner a lengthy piece containing seventy-nine verses, entitled "The Little Pilgrim." This too was taken from an early volume of the Little Gleaner. A boy, aged eleven, rehearsed very nicely a difficult piece called "The Two Brothers, and what Echo said to them," and he imitated the echo capitally. Then followed, perhaps, the greatest attraction of the evening, namely, the distribution of the prizes. The first prize in the boys' class was awarded to William Tombs, and in the girls' class to Elizabeth Leech. As usual, a prize was given for the best essay—the subject, "The History of Joseph." This prize was awarded to a boy, who received a nicely-bound book, entitled "Pebbles from the Brook." The meeting was closed with prayer.

CARING FOR THE LITTLE ONES

The faithful guardians of our cities have many and varied duties to perform, but perhaps in none of them does the kindness of their hearts shine forth as it does in their tenderness to little ones who have lost themselves in the winding streets of a great city. In wet or wintry weather they treat them tenderly, and take them home, or to the warm fire at the nearest station, till their parents claim them. This incident may well call to mind the kindness of Jesus to the little ones when on earth, as we read—"And they brought young children to Him, that He should touch them: and His disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, He was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. And He took them up in His arms, put His hands upon them, and blessed them" (Mark x. 13, 14, 16).

The mothers came, in days of old,
To Jesus, that He might enfold
Within His arms their children dear,
And then His kindness did appear.

Disciples thought it waste of time;
Rebuked, as though it was a crime;
But it was ne'er the Saviour's way
To turn poor coming ones away.

Therefore the Lord was much displeased,
And thus the happy moment seized;
Them in His arms did take and bear,
Showing His love and kindly care.

His loving voice could never say—
"Oh, take these little ones away!"
And though the parents' hearts might fear,
He loved to see them coming near.

His blessed words, "Forbid them not,"
Are with much heavenly comfort fraught;
And "Suffer them to come to Me,"
Gives forth a welcome kind and free.

In Him sweet rays of mercy shine—
So tender, harmless, yet divine;
Upon them He His hands doth place,
And blesses them in truth and grace.

Displeased with what His servants did,
And having their unkindness chid,
He makes His pleasure shine so bright,
Causing the mothers much delight.

Oh, tell it out, to heal the smart
Of many an anxious parent's heart—
He hears the sigh, He sees the tear,
And each poor pleader welcomes near.

Oh, tell it out, that children dear
May seek His face, and never fear,
That He will hear their feeble prayer,
And give them in His love to share.

He speaks of heaven and glorious things,
And is so meek, though King of kings;
Of children says, to cheer and please,
"The kingdom is of such as these."

Oh, eyes that saw with kindly look!
Oh, arms that thus the children took!
Oh, hands, parental-like, thus laid!
Oh, words to bless, what grace displayed!

Lord, fix our youthful eyes on Thee;
Grant us Thy love and grace to see;
Cause us to love Thy blessed name,
And tune our tongues to speak Thy fame.

The proud, the lofty, all defiled,
Must be made as a little child;
Must all their sins and vileness own,
And seek for mercy at Thy throne.[1]

Oh, Saviour, may Thy love so free
Encourage souls to come to Thee;
And may they, finding all they need,
Confess that they are blest indeed.

B. B.

The biggest lies are told for the least cause.

Dear young readers of the Little Gleaner, how very true and solemn are the words of the poet—

"The moment when our lives begin
We all begin to die."

And at what age death may take us none of us can say. From among the large number who read the Gleaner, we every now and again hear of one being taken away by death.

Lizzie Winchester, of Cross-in-Hand, was a constant reader of the Gleaner, and of other good books, but not to the neglecting of her Bible. She was a scholar in the Sunday School at Ebenezer Chapel, Heathfield, where she was always very quiet and attentive, and she was also very fond of her teacher. When she left school, she regularly attended chapel with her sisters, sitting where she could see the school children, and would complain when she got home if she saw any that did not behave themselves properly. She had a great reverence for the house of God and for the servants of God. She had but few companions, but was much beloved for her little acts of kindness in sending to one and another small presents. Some little time before her death she sent "The Sack and its Treasure" to a young friend at Eastbourne, as a birthday present; and who can say how much real good may result from such little gifts as that? I should not think that any one could point out a flaw in her moral character. But this was not grace; and although she needed no outward reformation, yet if the heart be not changed, there can be no entering into the kingdom of God.

The last time that she walked to chapel, a distance of three miles—making six miles both ways—was on August 21st. It was not then known that anything was the matter with her. First her throat was sore, and she felt poorly, but she still kept about. On Wednesday, September 14th, she was out, and gathered half a gallon of blackberries. She was up on Thursday and Friday, and put her clothes on on Saturday, but could not get down stairs. Towards night she was much worse, and it was found that her affliction was diabetes.

On Sunday she was very ill, and the doctor said she could not last long. Her Sunday School teacher, Miss C——, was sent for, and when she arrived, she saw that Lizzie was sinking fast, and found that she could say but little.

I am not going to set her up, and positively say she was a partaker of grace, for the very few words she uttered are not of themselves sufficient evidence for that. About five o'clock, during her mother's absence, she said, in a very low tone of voice, "I hope Jesus will heal my soul," or, "Perhaps Jesus will heal my soul." Miss C—— could not distinguish the words so as to be sure which.

Early on Monday morning, the 19th of September, 1887, she died. Had she lived till the 26th, she would have been eighteen years of age. Just as she departed there was a beautiful smile came over her countenance; and as Miss C—— afterwards went with several friends to see the corpse, these words came into her mind as if some one had spoken them to her—

"Not a wave of trouble rolls
Across her peaceful breast."

Mr. Mockford buried her on the following Saturday; and, among other things, he spoke from these words—"If the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth there it shall be." He spoke of the departed as being toward the south—toward the house of God, the people of God, and the ways and Word of God; and as she was so far joined to the living, there was hope that she would be found among that people at the resurrection morning.

On Sunday morning in the school, one of the teachers read that chapter where the same words stand, and, though not at the funeral, some very similar remarks were made, and the same hope concerning the departed was expressed. I am sure of this—that, if she had that good thing in her heart toward the Lord God of Israel, namely, faith toward Jesus and His blood, she is now joining

"The host of virgin saints
Made to salvation wise."

The question may arise, "Why say anything about her, since there is no more ground for hope than this?"

It is to the living I want to say a few words, hoping the Lord will make use of this feeble account to lead the young readers of the Little Gleaner to consider how matters stand with them before God and for eternity.

"Reflect, young friend, I humbly crave,
Thy sins, how high they mount!
What are thy hopes beyond the grave?
How stands that dark account?"

Oh, how solemn your case, if you are in an unpardoned state! Death may come upon you speedily, and then what will you do? All who die without repentance and forgiveness must hear that solemn word from the lips of Christ, "Depart from Me!" Are you blessed with a good hope, through grace? Then you certainly have something to be thankful to God for. Or are you in some doubt as to whether you have a living hope in Christ? And do you fear that, if called to die, you could say no more than Lizzie Winchester did? Then my prayer for such an one is, that the Lord may stir you up to real, earnest, wrestling prayer and importunity respecting your salvation.

"If hellish foes beset thee round,
And would thy way withstand,
On Jesus call, nor yield thy ground,
And He will help command."

It is no small mercy, reader, if your moral character will compare with Lizzie Winchester's. She was a model in this respect, and I hope you may be found in every way as consistent as she was, and, above all, may you be found in Christ Jesus, living and dying.

I had thought of saying more, but, as I wish to be brief, I will conclude by telling you that, notwithstanding her reservedness, several friends, with myself, had a good hope of Lizzie. We do trust she is now

"completely blest;
Has done with sin, and care, and woe,
And entered Jesus' rest."

[We hope our readers will bear in mind the motive our friend has in writing, and we in giving, this brief account of Lizzie Winchester; and may the Holy Spirit cause the reading of it to make them feel the importance of the new birth, and stir them up to seek clear and certain evidences of their salvation, so that, when they come to die, they may be able to confess, "I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him."—Ed.]

Mar. 4. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 23.
Mar. 11. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 24.
Mar. 18. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 25.
Mar. 25. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 26.

The first character of right childhood is, that it is modest.

Dear Reader,—The following account being "an authenticated fact," it is put before you with the hope that you may be thereby led to solemnly consider the subject of a future state. God's truth does not require fiction to make it effectual; therefore, the net of truth should only be weighted with words of truth.

The awful, but true, narrative now put before you takes us back for something like a century, to the city of Glasgow, where, at that time, was a club of gentlemen of the first rank in that city. They met professedly for card-playing; but the members were distinguished by such a fearless excess of profligacy as to obtain for it the name of "The Hell Club."

Besides their nightly or weekly meetings, they held a grand annual festival, at which each member endeavoured to "outdo all his former outdoings" in drunkenness, blasphemy, and licentiousness. Of all who shone on these occasions, none shone half so brilliantly as Archibald Boyle. Educated by a fond and foolishly indulgent mother, he was early allowed to meet in society with members of "The Hell Club."

One night, on retiring to sleep, after returning from one of the annual meetings of the club, Boyle dreamt that he was still riding, as usual, upon his famous black horse, towards his own house—then a country seat embowered by ancient trees, and situated upon a hill now built over by the most fashionable part of Glasgow—and that he was suddenly accosted by some one, whose personal appearance he could not, in the gloom of night, distinctly discern, but who, seizing the reins, said, in a voice apparently accustomed to command, "You must go with me." "And who are you?" exclaimed Boyle, with a volley of blasphemous execrations, while he struggled to disengage his reins from the intruder's grasp. "That you will see by-and-bye," replied the same voice, in a cold, sneering tone, that thrilled through his very heart. Boyle plunged his spurs into the panting sides of his steed. The noble animal reared, and then darted forward with a speed which nearly deprived his rider of breath. But in vain—in vain! Fleeter than the wind he flew, the mysterious, half-seen guide still in front of him! Agonized by he knew not what of indescribable horror and awe, Boyle again furiously spurred the gallant horse. It fiercely reared and plunged. He lost his seat, and expected at the moment to feel himself dashed to the earth. But not so, for he continued to fall—fall—fall—it appeared to himself with an ever-increasing velocity. At length this terrific rapidity of motion abated, and, to his amazement and horror, he perceived that this mysterious attendant was close by his side. "Where," he exclaimed, in the frantic energy of despair, "where are you taking me? Where am I? Where am I going?" "To hell!" replied the same iron voice, and from the depths below the sound so familiar to his lips was suddenly re-echoed—"To hell!"

Onward, onward they hurried in darkness, rendered more horrible still by the conscious presence of his spectral conductor. At length a glimmering light appeared in the distance, and soon increased to a blaze. But, as they approached it, in addition to the hideously discordant groans and yells of agony and despair, his ears were assailed with what seemed to be the echoes of frantic revelry.

Boyle at length perceived that he was surrounded by those whom he had known on earth, but were some time dead, each one of them betraying his agony at the bitter recollections of the vain pursuits that had engrossed his time here.

Suddenly observing that his unearthly conductor had disappeared, he felt so relieved by his absence that he ventured to address his former friend, Mrs. D——, whom he saw sitting with eyes fixed in intense earnestness, as she was wont on earth, apparently absorbed at her favourite game of loo. "Ha! Mrs. D——! Delighted to see you! D'ye know a fellow told me to-night he was bringing me to hell! Ha! ha! If this be hell," said he, scoffingly, "what a —— pleasant place it must be! Ha! ha! Come now, my good Mrs. D——, for auld lang syne, do just stop for a moment, rest, and"—"show me through the pleasures of hell," he was going, with reckless profanity, to add; but, with a shriek that seemed to cleave through his very soul, she exclaimed, "Rest! There is no rest in hell!" and from the interminable vaults, voices, as loud as thunder, repeated the awful, the heart-withering sound, "There is no rest in hell!" and he who, in his vision, walked among them in a mortal frame of flesh and blood, felt how inexpressibly more horrible such sounds could be than ever was the wildest shriek of agony on earth.

He saw Maxwell, the former companion of his own boyish profligacy, and said, "Stop, Harry! stop! Speak to me! Oh, rest one moment!" Scarce had the words been breathed from his faltering lips, when again his terror-stricken ear was stunned with the same wild yell of agony, re-echoed by ten thousand thousand voices—"There is no rest in hell!"

All at once he perceived that his unearthly conductor was once more by his side. "Take me," shrieked Boyle, "take me from this place! By the living God, whose name I have so often outraged, I adjure thee! Take me from this place!"

"Canst thou still name His name?" said the fiend, with a hideous sneer. "Go, then; but, in a year and a day, we meet, to part no more!"

Boyle awoke; and he felt as if the last words of the fiend were traced in letters of living fire upon his heart and brain. Unable, from actual bodily ailment, to leave his bed for several days, the horrid vision had full time to take effect upon his mind; and many were the pangs of tardy remorse and ill-defined terror that beset his vice-stained soul, as he lay in darkness and seclusion—to him so very unusual. He resolved, utterly and for ever, to forsake "The Hell Club." Above all, he determined that nothing on earth should tempt him to join the next annual festival.

The companions of his licentiousness bound themselves by an oath never to desist till they had discovered what was the matter with him, and had cured him of playing the Methodist; for their alarm as to losing "the life of the Club" had been wrought up to the highest pitch by one of their number declaring that, on unexpectedly entering Boyle's room, he detected him in the act of hastily hiding a Book, which he actually believed was the Bible.

Alas! alas! poor Boyle! Like many a youth, he was ashamed to avow his convictions, and his endless ruin followed.

From the annual meeting he shrank with an instinctive horror, and made up his mind utterly to avoid it. Well aware of this resolve, his tempters determined he should have no choice. How potent, how active, is the spirit of evil! How feeble is unassisted, Christless, unprayerful man! Boyle found himself, he could not tell how, seated at that table on that very day, where he had sworn to himself a thousand and a thousand times nothing on earth should make him sit.

His ears tingled, and his eyes swam, as he listened to the opening sentence of the president's address—"Gentlemen, this is leap year; therefore, it is a year and a day since our last annual meeting."

Every nerve in Boyle's body twanged in agony at the ominous, the well-remembered words. His first impulse was to rise and fly; but then—the sneers! the sneers!

How many in this world, as well as poor Boyle, have dreaded a sneer, and dared the wrath of an almighty and eternal God, rather than encounter the sarcastic curl of a fellow-creature's lip!

The night was gloomy, with frequent and fitful gusts of chill and howling wind, as Boyle, with fevered nerves and a reeling brain, mounted his horse to return home.

The following morning, the well-known black steed was found, with saddle and bridle on, quietly grazing on the road-side, about half-way to Boyle's country-house, and a few yards from it lay the stiffened corpse of its master.

Reader, the dream is horrible—truly horrible—yet not half so horrible as the reality. Ah! no. No dream can picture the full, long misery of "the worm that dieth not," "the fire that is never quenched," the woe that never ends.

Oh, reader, if, under the poison of infidelity, you have been led to doubt the existence of hell, I pray God you may believe the awful reality ere you are in it!

If God did not punish sin, His indifference to it would encourage it. If God did not punish sin, where were His holy abhorrence of it? If God did not punish sin, His kingdom would be a moral chaos. But His Word declares that "we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad" (2 Cor. v. 10).

Reader, as in the days of Noah, so now. Death threatens all who are out of Christ, and, therefore, in their sins. There was then only one place of safety; there is only one place of safety now—that is, in the Ark, Christ. "Ye must be born again." The horror you have felt in reading this dream will be no benefit to you if it is not made, in the hands of the Spirit, the means of your flying to Christ for refuge.

Oh, that in some hearts, the reading of this sad narrative may prove the means of producing the earnest cry, "Deliver me from going down to the pit!" and "What must I do to be saved?" To such God's free invitation to the heavy-laden sinner to come to Christ for rest is given, and Jesus Himself declares, "Him that cometh to Me, I will in no wise cast out" (John vi. 37).

Why the Scots chose the thistle for a national insignia is told in this legend. It was at the time of an invasion, when the destinies of Scotland hung upon the result of a battle soon to come. The invaders knew that the Scots were desperate, and availed themselves of a dark, stormy night, and planned to fall upon the Scottish army on every side at the same moment. Had they been suffered to execute their plan undetected, they would certainly have succeeded in destroying the Scots; but a simple accident betrayed them. When near the Scottish camp, the foremost of the invaders removed the heavy shoes from their feet, so that their steps might not be heard, and thus stealthily advancing barefooted, a heavy, quick-tempered soldier trod squarely upon a huge thistle, the sharp point of which gave such sudden and exquisite pain that he cried out with a bitter curse. His cry aroused the outlying Scots, and apprized them of their danger, and meeting the foe widely divided for the purpose of encompassing the camp, they were enabled easily to overcome them with great slaughter. When the Scots discovered that it was to a thistle that they owed their victory, they adopted the prickly plant as their national emblem.

We have often wondered why any one should believe that a bit of consecrated bread was the true body and soul of the Lord Jesus, and that, as such, it should be reverenced and adored. But our surprise abates, though our sorrow increases, when we trace the steps by which a Roman Catholic reaches that point of folly and superstition, as the interesting narrative of Father Chiniquy brings them to our view.

When he was eleven or twelve years old, he met with a class of lads about the same age, to be prepared for his first communion; and there he was taught that, just as his mother punished him more seldom and less severely than his father for his faults, and just as his mother often interceded for him and saved him from punishment altogether, so Mary was more pitiful, more tender, than Jesus, and when He was righteously angry, His mother—the mother of all who pray to her—turned away His anger, and averted the strokes He was about to inflict on the sinner.

The thought of this Christ—terrible, angry, unapproachable—was dark and chilling in the extreme. He seemed a Being to be feared, but not beloved.

And then the false Church presented another Christ to view—a god made with hands, not of wood or stone, but of wheaten flour. The priest's servant girl or attendant takes the dough, bakes it between two heated irons, on which are graven the letters, I. H. S., and the figure of a cross. These wafers, about four or five inches large, when well baked, are cut with a pair of scissors into smaller ones, about one inch in size, and then the priest, taking them to the altar, and pronouncing Latin words for "This is My body," is supposed to turn each of these into the Christ who lived and loved and suffered here, a gentle, tender, loving Saviour; and the poor deluded creatures who tremble before Christ in heaven, bow down and adore, when they do not eat, the paltry wafer which the priest has blessed.

Chiniquy himself passed whole hours, in biting wintry weather, in a church never warmed by a fire, worshipping this wafer god. He was yearning for divine sympathy and love, and hoped he had it then.

And yet, though he tried to "believe a lie" so earnestly, his faith was often shaken by what he saw and heard.

In a company of priests, a strange story was told of a drunken curate and his deacon, who, called to go a long journey in snowy weather, to carry the sacred wafer to a sick person, had a dispute with a traveller as to which should lead his horses into the deep snow, the cleared path being too narrow for the vehicles to pass each other. A terrible fight took place. The priest's horses took fright and returned home, breaking the sleigh all to pieces, and the little silk bag containing their "god" was lost in the snow. It was carefully sought in vain, and not till the month of June was it found, and then the wafer inside the little silver box had melted away! And the priests laughed boisterously when they heard it. Did they believe what they taught the people?

At another time, a blind priest had been adoring the bit of bread he had just consecrated, but when he went to eat it, it was gone. In alarm, he sent for Chiniquy, who was hearing confessions not far away, and as it could nowhere be found, he knew that a rat had taken it, for the rats were both numerous and bold in that place. The old priest was inconsolable, though he blessed another piece and then concluded his devotions. But his lamentations were so deep and long that Chiniquy at last lost patience, and said a word or two which greatly shocked the superstitious priest, who severely rebuked him, and ordered him for a penance to kneel every day before the fourteen images representing "the way of the cross," and say a penitential psalm before each for nine days, and on no account to tell the story of the rat to any one. He complied with these requests, and received a very gracious absolution. But on the sixth day he pierced the skin of his knees while kneeling, and the blood flowed freely, causing him great pain whenever he knelt or walked, and all because he for a moment had doubted the right of Rome to call that a god which a priest could professedly create and a rat destroy!

Alas! for those who follow such pernicious teachings! Let us pity and pray for them, and more than ever cleave to that Gospel which tells us that "there is only one name given under heaven by which we must be saved"—"one Mediator between God and men, the Man Christ Jesus," who lives in glory, no more to suffer or die, but who is "Jesus of Nazareth" (Acts xxii. 8), still tender and loving as when He dwelt below, while He is eternally mighty to "save to the uttermost all that come unto God by Him."

Oh, that all our hope and confidence may rest on Him—entirely on Him alone!

And ought the Queen of England's land
A gift to send by Norfolk's hand
To the old Pope of Rome,
His Jubilee to celebrate,
With Popish pomp, in grandest state,
In his Italian home?

Chalice and basin, richly made
Of shining gold; to him conveyed
By one of his trained band.
He used them both at his High Mass,
And proud of such a gift he was
From our dear native land.

Our own Victoria should be free,
True to "the rights" she swore when she
Sat in the abbey old;
And crown was placed upon her head,
And coronation oath she said
Over God's Word, we're told.

Up, English men and women all!
To the red beast[2] ne'er bow at all,
But leave him to his fate;
For Babylon will surely fall,[3]
And with her, nations great and small,
Who follow in her wake.

In days of yore she sat a queen,[4]
On seven hills,[5] so vile, unclean,
And shed the blood of saints.
"Come out of her, My people"[6] all,
Nor of her plagues receive at all,
Or listen to her plaints.

The Ritualists are helping fast
To bring us now, as in times past,
Beneath the sway of Rome.
You silly men and (silly) women[7] all,
Oh, why take heed to them at all
Who creep into the home?[7]

Alas! alas! for England's Queen,
And English nation too, I ween,
If e'er the Pope gets sway!
True Christians ne'er will bend the knee
To kiss Pope's toe so impiously,
Nor pence to Peter pay.
N. P. W.
Southsea.

Nothing doth more hurt in a State than that cunning men pass for wise.

Captain Adams, of the whaling steamer Maud, which lately arrived at Dundee from Davis Straits, has related a few interesting incidents of his voyage.

When in Exeter Sound, Captain Adams was informed, by a native, of an island which was a favourite resort of the walrus, and where the animals could be often found asleep. He accordingly determined to try and secure an old specimen, and sent out four boats, with twenty-four men, to effect a capture. On arriving at the island, a large number of walrus were seen basking on the shore, and a landing was attempted, with the result that the colony soon showed their tusks, and made a deliberate attack on the boats. Ten of the foremost animals had to be shot to prevent mischief, and after a severe struggle a female walrus was lassoed. A number of small ropes were then fastened about it, and the huge animal was, after immense labour, hoisted into an empty boat, to which it had to be secured, to prevent it smashing the planks. On being towed to the ship, the boat and the walrus were hoisted on board, and suitable quarters were then found for it. It is fully eighteen months old, and Captain Adams is hopeful that it will survive. A young live bear has also been brought home.

One of the noteworthy incidents of the voyage was the landing of Urio Etawango (the Esquimaux whom Captain Adams had staying in Dundee over last winter) at Durban, the residence of his tribe. For several days previous to the arrival of the Maud off Durban, Urio was moody and disconsolate, but he did not reveal his mind, so that the crew were ignorant of his thoughts. The conjecture was, that he was sorry to return to the rude life of an Inuit, after his experience of civilized life. When the ship first arrived off Durban, there was a long stretch of ice running out from the land, and Urio and one of the officers travelled about fifteen miles, and lighted a fire as a signal to the tribe of his return. The signal was soon recognized, and ere long the whole tribe were seen making their way over the ice. Meantime Urio had returned to the ship, and he was taking a nap in his berth when the news was communicated to him of the arrival of the tribe, with his wife and child amongst them. The Inuits are a very impassive race, and it was amusing to see the cool way in which Urio and his wife shook hands, as though they had been parted twelve days instead of twelve months. Urio showed more affection towards his child, with whom he rubbed cheeks in the manner peculiar to the Inuits. But if the young wife was undemonstrative at meeting with her husband, she got into transports of joy at the sight of the numerous presents which friends of her husband in Dundee had sent out to her. One of these was a pretty melodion, and the young woman's eyes sparkled when she beheld it. To the astonishment of the ship's company, she lifted the instrument and played "There is nae luck aboot the hoose," finishing with "The Keel Row." It was subsequently ascertained that she had learned to play several tunes on the concertina whilst resident at the American settlements on Cumberland Gulf. When the other presents were laid out, the delight of Urio and his wife and friends was unbounded. Several of the gaudy petticoats were seized, and the women put them on above their sealskin dresses, being so fond of display that the most showy articles are always worn outermost. Owing to the distance of the ship from the shore, only a few of the lighter presents were removed at that time, but a month later the ship got near the land, when the remainder of the articles were put ashore and taken possession of by Urio.

Captain Adams gives the Esquimaux chief the character of an honest, hard-working, warm-hearted fellow. He proved a good sailor, was beloved by all the crew, and he was a dead shot while seal-hunting. It is evident that his experience of civilized life has given him a distaste for his former mode of life, for he pleaded with Captain Adams to promise to take himself and his wife and child to Scotland next year.

Captain Adams is of opinion that the whaling at Davis Straits and Greenland is virtually exhausted. He saw only seventeen whales throughout the season.

On Friday, January 13th, Mr. Wynne E. Baxter held an inquiry at the London Hospital, Whitechapel, respecting the death of Moses Raphael, aged thirty-two years, a commercial traveller, lately residing at Bromley-by-Bow, who died on the previous day in the above hospital. About six weeks previously he complained of pains in his head and also of shivers, and eventually it was decided to remove him to the hospital. Until the last few weeks the deceased had been in apparently good health. He was a wonderful brain-worker, and had kept a set of books most accurately.

Henry Muir Doyle, house-surgeon, stated that the deceased, on his admission, appeared drowsy, and complained of a pain in his head. He continued in that state till the 10th, but at times appeared quite clear-headed and rational. On the 10th, symptoms of apoplexy appeared, and deceased expired at twelve o'clock the same night. Witness said that, since death, he had made a most searching examination of the head and brain. On opening the former, he discovered an abscess in the brain. It was about the size of a turkey's egg, and had evidently been there some time. On removing the abscess, a penholder and nib were found protruding from the top of the right orbital plate. This had produced the abscess, and the abscess had caused death. The holder and nib must have entered the brain by way of the right eye, or through the right part of the nose. It was probable that they had been in there for a considerable time, as the bone had grown over them, and it was with difficulty they were separated. He had examined the eye, but had failed to detect any injury. It was, however, quite possible for such a thing to enter beneath the lid of the open eye, and the wound to heal up, showing no signs of the entry.

The widow of the deceased man was called in, and said that her husband never mentioned to her anything about being hurt by a pen.

The coroner said that the case was the most extraordinary that had ever come before him.—Times.

(Page 41.)

"The Prince of Peace."—Isaiah ix. 6.

T ychicus Colossians iv. 7.
H en Zechariah vi. 14.
E rastus Romans xvi. 23.

P arvaim 2 Chronicles iii. 6.
R immon Joshua xv. 32.
I rijah Jeremiah xxxvii. 14.
N ahum Nahum i. 7.
C arpus 2 Timothy iv. 13.
E lymas Acts xiii. 11.

O uches Exodus xxviii. 11.
F aith Hebrews xi. 6.

P erez-uzzah 2 Samuel vi. 8.
E lisheba Exodus vi. 23.
A bba Romans viii. 15.
C orinthians 1 Corinthians vi. 19.
E n-hakkore Judges xv. 19.

John West

Biggleswade. (Aged 9 years).

That always entertaining writer about birds and animals, J. G. Wood, has a pleasant paper on "Foxes" in the Child's Pictorial. The author of "Homes without Hands" says:—

Many foxes have been known to climb trees, and hide among the branches, where no dog could smell them. Only a few months before these lines were written, the East Kent foxhounds met near Dover. The master of the hunt had been told that foxes had been seen to run up a tree, which was pointed out. A man was sent up the tree, and out came a fox, which was hidden among some ivy about twenty feet from the ground. The animal was chased, but after a while the scent failed and the fox escaped. The hunt then returned to the tree, and again sent a man up it. Presently a second fox came tumbling out of the ivy, but mistook his distance, and jumped into the middle of the hounds, which tore it to pieces before it could recover from the fall. The man continued to search the tree, and a third fox leaped out, and was killed close to the South Foreland.

In December, 1885, a fox was found near Oswestry, and after being chased for some time, it ran up a tree, to the height of at least forty feet, and hid itself among the ivy with which the tree was clothed. It was soon turned out of its shelter, and, after running for about half an hour, got away from the hounds, probably by some equally clever trick.

There are foxes known which have been hunted for several seasons and never taken; and those who have seen them run, say that the animals do not seem in the least afraid of the hounds, but trot on quite gently for some time, knowing that, in the end, they will give their enemies the slip.

Mr. Webster relates an amusing story about a cunning old American fox. It had been chased over and over again, and always escaped near the same place, namely, a wooden fence outside a plantation, which led into a thick forest. Hounds were brought from great distances in order to catch this fox, but never succeeded. The fox always made its bed in the middle of a large field, and did not try to hide, but gave the hounds a good run, and then disappeared at the fence.

Now, in America there are no hedges, the fields being divided by railed fences. Westward, where wood is almost valueless, the "snake" fence is used, but in the more cultivated parts the fence is made by fixing two strong stakes in the ground, so as to cross each other like the letter X, and nailing them together where they cross. Long poles are then laid on the crossed stakes, so that the fence can be made to any height which is most convenient, the poles being seldom nailed, but held in their place by their own weight.

THE FOX SEES THE EAR, THE RABBIT SEES THE TAIL.

Now, foxes often run along a fence, or the top of a wall, as far as the end. Then they go back for some distance on their own track, and leap off the wall as far as they can, so as to mislead the hounds. Knowing this trick, Mr. Webber took the hounds all round the fence and the plantation, but could find no signs of the fox. At last he determined to hide himself near the place, when the hounds were again set on the fox, and try to discover the trick. After a while the fox came quite slowly until he reached the fence. Then he jumped on the top rail, and ran along it for about two hundred yards, until he came opposite a dead tree, nearly sixteen feet from the fence. He paused for a moment, and, with a tremendous jump, leaped upon a tree, alighting on a large knot on the side of the trunk. Then he ran up the trunk, which was slightly sloping, and entered a hollow at the top, he lay hid, no one even suspecting that he could leap from a fence to the tree, much less run up it. This feat was the more wonderful, because ivy does not grow out of doors in America, so that there seemed to be no foot-hold. Indeed, had it not been for the knot, the fox could not have climbed the tree.

Mr. Webber was so pleased with the cleverness of the fox that he would not betray the trick, but amused himself on many occasions by watching the fox baffle the hounds.

Sometimes the mother fox chooses a hollow tree, instead of a burrow, for her nursery.

In April, 1868, a strange discovery was made in Warwickshire, seven dead cubs having been found in the top of a pollard oak. It was clear that the mother had been killed, and that the poor little cubs had died of hunger.

The cubs, when very young, are odd-looking little creatures—not in the least like their parents. They are pale brown in colour, have short, snub noses, like those of pug dogs, and little, short, pointed tails, not at all like the beautiful "brushes" into which they will grow in course of time.

The courage of the fox is wonderful. A fox was on one occasion sent to Mr. Bartlett for the purpose of being stuffed. It had only three feet, and, on opening it, Mr. Bartlett found the missing foot in its stomach! The animal had clearly been taken in a trap, and had freed itself by biting off the foot by which it was caught. We can understand why it should bite off the foot by which it was detained, but why it should eat its own foot seems rather puzzling. I am inclined to think that it did so by mere instinct, which made it eat any morsel of bleeding flesh that came between its jaws.

[If foxes are only fit to be hunted down, why are they preserved for that cruelty?—Ed.]

Two masons were working together on the rear wall of a church, when one stopped the other just as he was putting a stone in its place.

"Don't put in that stone," he said; "it is flakey, and will soon fall to pieces."

"I know it isn't a very good one, but it is so handy, and just fits here. Nobody will see it up here, and it is too much trouble to get another."

"Don't put it in. Take time to send for another. That stone won't stand the weather, and when it falls the whole building will be damaged."

"I guess not. It won't hurt us, so here goes."

Then he lifted the stone into its place, poor, and loose-grained, and flakey as it was, covered it over with mortar, and went on with his work. Nobody could see the stone, and none knew of its worthlessness but the two masons, and the church was finished and accepted.

But time and the weather did their work, and soon it began to flake and crumble. Every rain-storm and every hot, sultry day helped its decay, and it soon crumbled away. But that was not all, nor the worst. The loss of the stone weakened the wall, and soon a great beam which it should have supported sunk into the cavity, a crack appeared in the roof, and the rain soon made sad havoc with ceiling and fresco; so a new roof and ceiling, and expensive repairs, were the result of one poor stone being put in the place of a good one.

Each one of us, young or old, is building a structure for himself. The structure is our character, and every act of our lives is a stone in the building. Don't work in poor stones. Every mean action, every wrong act or impure word, will show itself in your after life, though it may pass unnoticed at first. Let every act and word of every day be pure and right, and your character will stand the test of any time.

It is pleasing, during the bright summer time, to rise early and, if our lot is so cast, to stroll into the country lanes and breathe the pure air of heaven, inhale the sweet scent of the hay, and gaze upon God's beautiful creation around us, and, if possible, learn some of the many lessons which even a tiny flower or a feeble insect may be able to teach us.

One Monday morning during the last summer, when staying in Hampshire, we had such a walk, the memory of which, and its profitable lessons, are still fresh upon our minds.

Leaving the town where we were staying, we quickly found ourselves between the hedgerows, and our first impulse was to turn at once into the green fields, but another feeling led us to keep to the lane.

Was that change of plan the result of chance? Nay; the great Ruler of all things, who guides the flight of a sparrow, as surely orders the footsteps of His children.

John Knox had a usual seat at his table, with his back to the window. A sudden impulse led him to take another seat. That night the assassin's bullet came through the window, and but for an overruling Providence, Knox would have lost his life.

How many such instances might be related, which shows that even more surely than the smallest wheel of some vast machinery is as readily controlled as the largest, so surely does Infinite Wisdom control all the great machinery of life, from its most momentous events down to the smallest circumstance, such as the movement of a leaf. "If a pestilence stalk through our land, we say, 'The Lord hath done it.' Is it not also His doings when an aphis creepeth on a rosebud? If an avalanche fall from the Alps, we tremble at the will of Providence. Is not that will also concerned when the sere leaf falls from the poplar?"

Pursuing our walk, we soon found that we were in the most delightful of country lanes, with high hedgerows and overhanging trees, that formed a most delightful shade from the fierce burning sun, which, even at that early hour, was almost unbearable. What must be the sufferings of a traveller in the desert, with the fierce orb of day beating down upon his head, as mile after mile he traverses the burning sand without shade or water? How grateful to him must be "the shadow of a great rock in a weary land," or some delightful Elim, with its seventy shady palms, and its twelve refreshing wells of water!

But there is yet another person to whom a shade is more delightful than even this desert traveller, and that is, a poor sinner upon whom is beating down the threatened wrath of an offended God.

When Thomas Bilney, as a young man, was feeling this, he endeavoured for a long time to find a shelter in some of the foolish and deceptive lies of the Romish Church. He gave his money for Masses and performed his penances till his purse was empty, and his body reduced to great weakness, and yet no shelter could he find in these from the wrath of God. At length he purchased a Greek Testament, and there he found the blessed shade, for with delight he read therein, "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief." Well might he exclaim, as he sat down under the shadow of the cross, with great delight, "Oh, blessed saying of St. Paul! Oh, blessed saying of St. Paul!"

Dear young reader, have you felt your need of this precious shade?

Presently we noticed in the hedge a rose-bush, a large portion of which was hanging down broken—doubtless the work of some thoughtless person, who had plucked the flowers in such a reckless manner as to leave a sad memento of his thoughtless action. But people who live in glass houses must be careful what stones they throw at others. That little boy, for instance, was just as thoughtless who played with his ball in so careless a manner as to break two windows in one week. That little girl, too, was equally thoughtless who, when left at home to take care of baby, carelessly left it on the bed while she went up the street to see some dancing dogs, and who found, on her return, that the baby had fallen on the floor, and had so injured its head as to nearly result in its death.

Ah! and how many are now in our workhouses or prisons who would have to confess they were brought there because they did not think what trouble their thoughtless actions would bring upon them! Yea, we fear that there are many among the lost who would have to make the same sad confession. May the Lord cause each of our young readers to think of what will be the sad consequence of seeking only after earthly pleasure. It will be worse than a destroyed rose-bush. It may be destroyed health—destroyed reputation—destroyed prospects in life—yea, and, if grace prevent not, destroyed happiness for ever.

As we proceeded further up the lane, we noticed that the hedges on both sides were blooming with wild roses, which were truly charming to behold. Our first thought on seeing them was of the dear ones at home (many miles away), and how we should like to transport them to this shady bower, to enjoy what we were beholding. But, as this desire was impracticable, the next thought was, to gather some of these roses and take them home, that they, too, might, in some measure, share in our pleasure. Henceforth our endeavours to please others made our walk doubly pleasant.

A selfish person, young or old, can never be happy. But find one who tries to share his pleasures or comforts with others, and he is surely happy—like the little girl who stretched her small cloak round her young brother to shelter him from the wintry blast, although, strictly speaking, the cloak was scarcely big enough for herself. And how happy was that little girl who nursed a sick cat in the garret, and shared her meals with it, till pussy was quite well again!

Boys and girls, share your pleasures with others.

The next thought was, to look after the little roses, knowing they would last longer than the big ones.

Yes, fellow-teachers, look after the little rosebuds just blooming into life. Who can tell but what the Master may use you to gather them from the world, that they may, by His grace, be prepared for His mansion above?

But the thorns! Not a single little rosebud without a thorn, yet so beautiful in other respects. Before Adam's fall, roses grew in Eden without thorns. Thorns are a badge of the curse, and even the smallest child has the thorn of sin. And how often we see it manifest! The thorn of pride, the thorn of self-will, the thorn of temper, the thorn of deceit.

But, dear young friends, are these thorns a trouble to you? Would you like their power destroyed, and guilt pardoned? Listen, then, to God's way of salvation.

As we gathered the roses, the thorns pricked our hands. But never mind that. We love them too much to mind a few pricks.

Have you ever thought how the thorns (as long as your finger) were plaited into a crown, and pierced the head of Jesus? Yes, He loved His children so much that He willingly endured even the "nails," as well as the thorns, that they might be for ever saved from the wrath to come.

A child once cried for fear when a wasp was near, but his mother said, "Don't fear, my child! It has left its sting in my hand. It won't hurt you."

Yes, Jesus has been pricked and stung by sin that His people may for ever be delivered from its fatal power.

May you, dear young friends, from a living faith, be enabled to commit your soul into His keeping who is able to "save unto the uttermost all that come unto God through Him."

But how easily many of the roses scattered! We only touched the branch, and they were gone. Such is life! We may be in full bloom one day, but in a moment we may be carried into eternity. "We all do fade as a leaf." The longest life is but brief. Then well may we pray—

"Prepare me, gracious God,
To stand before Thy face;
Thy Spirit must the work perform,
For it is all of grace."

On a wild spot on the coast of Cornwall I fell in with Will Treherne. He was as sound an "old salt" as ever manned a lifeboat or went aloft in a gale of wind. He was getting an old man when I used to see him sitting on the beach, when his day's work was done, smoking his pipe and gazing at the evening star. He told us boys stirring stories of sea life and adventure. One evening he narrated the following:—

"Thirty years ago, in just such a night as this, the wind whistling as it does now, with the sea rising, and with as crazy a craft as seamen ever sailed in, I found myself drifting along a dangerous coast.

"Our captain was an experienced one, and, when he saw what weather we were threatened with, he took his place at the wheel, and did his best to keep our courage up. He was in terribly poor health, but his spirits rose above his bodily weakness, and he gave his orders with a pluck and decision that made men of every one of us.

"'Will Treherne,' he cried, 'stand by me if you can be spared. My strength is going. Do you see that star right ahead?'

"'Yes, sir.'

"'If my strength should fail, steer right ahead for that, and you are safe. And oh, remember, Will, that there is another Star you must always keep in view if you are to get safely into port at last.'

"I knew what he meant. He was pointing me to the Lord Jesus Christ, for he was as good a Christian as he was a captain, and he never lost a chance of saying a word that might steady us youngsters, and make us think of our souls. I have heard many a sermon since that night in the storm, when he told me to keep the star ahead, but none took more hold on me than that one that night, when I lost my truest and best friend."

"Did you lose him that night?" I asked.

"Yes, my lad," the sailor answered, sadly. "His hour was come. When he could stand the gale no longer, he shouted as loud as he could, 'Keep the star in sight, my lads; keep the star in sight!' Then he was helped down to the cabin, and I never saw him alive again. I was lashed to the wheel, and though the spray well-nigh blinded me, yet I managed to keep the star in sight, as the first officer gave his orders for the working of the ship.

"After two hours of steering through a narrow and dangerous channel, we found ourselves in a friendly sea. The star had guided us right.

"When the ship was in safety, and my turn of work was over, I went down to the captain's cabin. A flag was thrown over his body, but his manly, resolute face, which even death had not much altered, was visible. I knelt down there and prayed God to guide me through the storms of life; and I believe I can say that, from that night, in spite of my faults and failings, I have kept the Star in sight. Now you will know why I am such a star-gazer; and if I may give you a bit of counsel, my lad, let me advise you to seek grace to begin and steer your course by the Star of Bethlehem; and, if your eye is fixed on that Star, you will come safely through the dangers of life into the port of peace at last."—Chatterbox.

My Lord,—I am one of those that respect an oath. I have firmness sufficient to quit my throne and retire to a cottage, or to place my neck upon a block on a scaffold, if my people require it; but I have not resolution enough to break an oath—an oath I took in the most solemn manner at my coronation.

[God grant that the legislators of the present day may feel speedily the justice and wisdom of the noble sentiment of this illustrious monarch.]

"It is an open secret," says the Christian, "that the Queen insists on exercising her right of private judgment on all ecclesiastical affairs in which she has to act. Before giving her assent to the selection of a golden Mass bowl as her Jubilee present to the Pope of Rome, the fact possibly escaped Her Majesty's memory that the late Prince Consort's opinion of Romanism was summed up in Adam Smith's statement, as follows—'The greatest conspiracy ever hatched against human liberty, civil and religious, is the Roman Catholic Church.' This quotation appears on the title-page of the 'Prince Consort's Speeches,' edited by His Royal Highness himself."

It was an old Bible, a family Bible, a well-worn Bible—the Bible of an old lady who had read it, and walked by it, and fed on it, and prayed over it for a long lifetime. As she grew older and older, her sight began to fail, and she found it hard to find her favourite verses. But she could not live without them, so what did she do? She stuck a pin in them, one by one; and after her death they counted 168.

When people went to see her, she would open her Bible, and feeling over the page after her pin, would say, "Read there," or "Read here"; and she knew pretty well what verse was stuck by that pin, and what by this pin. She could indeed say of her precious Bible, "I love Thy commandments above gold; yea, above fine gold; they are sweeter to me than honey and the honey-comb."

The father of a blind man.
An ancient musical instrument.
A measure of time.
An immense fish.
A non-believer.
A foreign language.
A relation of Jacob.
An animal.
One of Joseph's sons.
A domestic animal.
A very valuable stone.
A particular time in the day.
Another word for a letter.

Joseph Smith
(Aged 12 years).

Two more fatal accidents were, some time since, reported from the Forth Bridge works, making thirty-four since the work began. One of the engineers of the bridge, Mr. Benjamin Baker, recently gave a lecture in Dundee, descriptive of the work, in the course of which he gave the following account of the dangers of the undertaking:—

Much of the work, he said, required men of exceptional hardiness, courage, and presence of mind. In August last, six men were standing on a few planks hanging by iron hooks, at a height of about 140 feet above sea level. One of the hooks gave way without any warning, and in a fraction of a second the planks slipped away from under the men's feet. Short as the time was, with the lightning quickness of thought, three of the six men saved themselves by springing at and clutching hold of pieces of the steel work. Another man plunged headlong down twice the height of the Tay bridge into the water. His hardiness was such that the terrible flight through mid-air and shock on striking the water—a shock which he had seen break planks like matches—did not incapacitate him from grasping the rope which was cast to him, or from resuming work after he had recovered from the immediate effects of the shock.

As regards courage, two of the men were left hanging by the arms with a clean drop of 140 feet below them. Although presumably unnerved by seeing their comrades take that terrible flight, the first man reached by the rescue party said, "I can hold on. Go to the other man; he is dazed." Such workmen upheld the best traditions of their fellow-craftsmen in the past.

"And the glory which Thou gavest Me I have given them; that they may be one, even as We are One."—John xvii. 22.

"The glory of the Lord endureth for ever"; and in this sublime prayer Jesus speaks of the glory that He had with His Father before the world began, and asks that He may be glorified in finishing His saving work.

But what is the "glory" spoken of in our text? Two thoughts must guide us to its meaning—first, the Father had given it to His Son; secondly, Jesus had given it to His disciples.

Christ is God, and, as God, is, and ever must be, glorious. But this glory was not given Him; it was His own. Christ is the one Mediator between God and men—the only Way to heaven and happiness—the all-sufficient and only Saviour of sinners, who redeemed them by His blood, and saves them by His life. But His glory, as Mediator and Saviour, He will not give to another. He received it, and is crowned with it, alone.

Yet He says, "I have given My disciples"—"the men Thou gavest out of the world"—"the glory Thou hast given Me." He is the Truth. His words were always divinely full of heavenly meaning. Let us try by other Scriptures to understand this one.

In Isaiah xl. 10, we read, "Behold, the Lord God will come with strong hand"—or will come as a Mighty One—"behold, His reward is with Him, and the recompense of His work [see margin] is before Him." In Hebrews xii. 2, we are told that, "for the joy that was set before Him, He endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down," now and for ever, "at the right hand of God." This recompense, this joy, is Christ's glory. And what is it? In one word, it is salvation—the satisfaction, the honour, and delight, of rescuing, and eternally enriching, the people whom He loved from eternity, and will for ever love. As Cowper sweetly sings—

"Of all the crowns Jehovah wears,
Salvation is His dearest claim;
That gracious sound well-pleased He hears,
And owns Emmanuel for His name."

In this—His joy, His glory—He makes His people share here in this world, and in this present time—

"Before they reach the heavenly fields,
Or tread the golden streets."

They are interested in His salvation, and on this word we may reflect a little, for "interest" has a two-fold meaning. It means, benefit or profit; and it also means, friendly, loving concern for a person or an object. If I am interested in a paying business, I share in its profits, and am benefited by it; but I am interested in many things that bring me no money, and I gladly give them all the help I can, because I long for their success and prosperity.

And in this double way believers are interested in Christ's salvation. They are for ever benefited by it. His death secures their endless life; His sorrow yields them joy and peace; and His poverty has made them rich for evermore. "Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable gift," is the glad cry of all who know that this precious salvation is their own.

Then comes the other form of interest—loving, prayerful desire that Christ may be glorified; that "the kingdom of God may come"; that sinners may be brought to the Saviour. The burdened heart, longing for peace, may be too full of its own sorrows to think much of others; but the forgiven child of God, rejoicing in Jesus as his own dear, almighty Friend, says, or desires to say—

"Now will I tell to sinners round
What a dear Saviour I have found;
I'll point to His redeeming blood,
And say, 'Behold the way to God!'"

Thus the apostles laboured to carry the Gospel wherever they could travel, though, by so doing, they were exposed to persecution, suffering, and death. But they longed to spread the joyful news abroad, and to be the means of leading their hearers to Jesus; and when they "saw the grace of God," they were glad with an unspeakable joy. And, so far as we are animated with Christ's spirit, we, too, shall seek after the same blessed results.

And Jesus has given His glory to His people that they may all be united together, even as He and His Father are One—one in heart, and mind, and aims.

We hear a great deal just now about the "unity of Christendom," or the "Christian world," and some would like to blend the Greek and Roman with the English Church. Now, what sort of union would that be? Others do not go quite so far, and yet they would unite together a variety of creeds and people by dropping every important difference, and giving up whatever was not generally acceptable. But let us never forget that there can be no Christian union without Christ; no holy unity unless founded on God's Word. Gas jets affixed in a certain way to our ceilings are called "sun-lights." They are only artificial lights, after all; and whatever name it may assume, unless Christ is the Centre of unity, the union is not Christian, for "if any one have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His." But union to and in Christ is very real and true even now, and those who follow Jesus can hold sweet intercourse together in this world. "Grace be with all them that love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity."

We are, at best, imperfect in the present state. We know but in part. Our love is often cold, and sin still dwells in the heart; but in the glory that is yet to come, we, if we are His, shall know, even as we have been known of Him. Perfect love will cast out all distance and coldness, and perfect holiness will possess every saved one.

"Beloved," wrote the same Apostle who recorded the Saviour's prayer, "now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is." May this glorious prospect be ours, through His grace.

Our next subject will be, Matthew vi. 22, 23—Mental Eyes: Darkened and Illuminated.

I would not lead the selfish life
That never seeks to throw
A pleasant ray of happiness
On other people's woe.

I scorn the folks who will not strive
To lessen want and care;
Nor lend a helping hand to those
Who have so much to bear.

Is there not misery enough
On this terrestrial ball
To spring some sympathetic chord
Within the hearts of all?

Oh, ye who only seek your own—
Who hold yourselves so dear
That ye can never give the sad
One simple word of cheer—

Believe me, if ye wish to spend
A life of happy ease,
Seek not your own, but how ye may
Your weary brothers please.

And He who marks each gentle deed
Of loving sympathy,
May whisper His approving word—
"Ye did it unto Me."

Carrie Light.
Brighton.

There are six important heads which this subject may be placed under, viz., Industry, Patience, Perseverance, Cheerfulness, Courage, and Prudence.

Industry.—This is a very important thing in life, and you will never be any good to the world without you possess it. There have been men who, by their patient industry, have done their country a great deal of good by inventing engines and machines to mitigate the labours of men; and some of these men have been mobbed and nearly killed by their townsmen, who thought their work would be taken away instead of enlarged, and very often their inventions have been broken to pieces.

Solomon, in the Book of Ecclesiastes ix. 10, says, "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might"; and in Proverbs vi. 6—"Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways and be wise."

Patience.—Patience is a very needful thing to self-help, for without it you will not be able to do anything that requires time and trouble. You have need of patience when you are waiting for a thing which you are in great haste to obtain.

David says, in Psalm xxxvii. 7, "Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him."

Perseverance.—There are some people who, if they start a certain thing, have not the necessary perseverance to finish it; while others, who persevere, succeed. Great men you read of in history would never have been so distinguished had it not been for their perseverance. Bernard Palissy, who discovered the white enamel for pottery, had a great many trials to bear, and was years before he perfected it; but he persevered, and at last succeeded.[8]

Oh, that we may be taught to trust in Christ, and pray, with the poet—

"Lord, hast Thou made me know Thy ways?
Conduct me in Thy fear;
And grant me such supplies of grace
That I may persevere."

Cheerfulness.—This is a very essential thing to self-help. If you have a task, and you have somebody to cheer you up, your task feels lighter, and the time passes better. People who are dull, and not cheerful, find the time pass slower, and the work seems heavier. There have been men who have been cheerful even when they have been in great difficulties.

Christ said to the man sick of the palsy, "Son, be of good cheer; thy sins be forgiven thee."

Courage.—Moral courage is one of the most important features in this subject. You will be more likely to succeed if you are bold and courageous. It is right to be courageous in a good cause, but not in a wrong one. It is real courage, when wicked persons try to entice you to drinking, gambling, and other vices, if you boldly answer, "No."

Solomon says, in the Book of Proverbs xxviii. 1—"The wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the righteous are as bold as a lion."

Prudence, or Foresight.—It is wise to consider what the consequences of your actions will be. Some people do not stop to do so, and thus run needlessly into danger. You cannot rightly practise self-help without you are prudent. It is very imprudent to risk life or anything unnecessarily, or to leave things to the last minute or two. If you are imprudent, you will regret it in after life.

In Proverbs xvi. 21, it says, "The wise in heart shall be called prudent."

Self-help is not a spiritual thing, but a temporal one; but you cannot truly succeed in these things without God's help and blessing. May we, in the things of daily life, and especially in spiritual things, be led to say, like David, in Psalm cxxi., "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth," remembering that He does not approve selfish living, but says, "To do good and to communicate, forget not."—(Abridged.)

1, Tavistock Terrace,
Upper Holloway, London, N.

[Lilly Rush, W. E. Cray (age not given), A. M. Cray, E. B. West, A. Pease, and Margaret Creasey have sent fair Essays, especially the first-named, and we hope they will still persevere.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of "From the Loom to a Lawyer's Gown; or, Self-Help that was not all for Self," presented by a friend who reads the Gleaner.

The subject for May will be, "How to be Useful in the World," and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of "Notable Workers in Humble Life." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of April.]

One good mother is worth a hundred schoolmasters. In the home, she is the "loadstone to all hearts, and loadstar to all eyes." Imitation of her is constant—imitation which Bacon likens to "a globe of precepts." But example is far more than precept. In its instruction is action.

The Elephant's Strength.—The ordinary strength of an elephant is calculated as equal to that of 147 men.

A Fight among Lions.—A fearful struggle took place recently between eight lions in a cage at the menagerie at Liverpool Exhibition. One lion, valued at £150, was killed.

The red-wood forests of California, Oregon, and Washington Territory are, perhaps, the most wonderful of the world. The average yield per acre is 100,000 feet lumber, or 64,000,000 feet to the square mile.

Sir John Coode's scheme for the protection of the foreshore at Hastings, by means of two stone groynes and an extended breastwork at the east end of the town, was completed last August. The total cost has been £30,000. Sir John remarked that the beach was accumulating at the rate of 40,000 to 50,000 tons per annum.

Extraordinary Case of Strangulation.—An extraordinary case has occurred at Howick, near Preston. A little boy named Fisher, the son of a farmer, was climbing an apple tree, when he slipped between two branches. His jacket turned up fast round his neck, and as he could not get a button undone, he was strangled.

A Monster Dogfish.—A gigantic dogfish, weighing ten cwt., has been hauled ashore by a fisherman at Mazargues, in the Department of the Bouches-du-Rhone. The animal made a desperate struggle on the bank, and its head had to be battered in with a club before it could be mastered. A monster of a similar kind, some time ago, ate up a boatman and his boy, whose boat had been capsized in the river.

It has been calculated that, after Prince von Bismarck's recent great speech, 1,218 telegrams, containing 194,296 words, were despatched to 326 different places on the world's surface. Two hundred and thirty-five telegraph clerks were employed at sixty Hughes' apparatus, 155 Morse's, and seven Estienne's, to carry out the work; and the number of words in the Chancellor's speech is computed at 10,997.

A Peculiar Case.—Captain Russell has had under treatment a valuable and favourite cat, belonging to a resident of Spittlegate, Grantham. The poor animal was taken with a choking sensation about three weeks ago, and, as it could not eat, soon grew very thin, and appeared to be going "the way of all flesh." After vain attempts at restoration, pussy was taken to the afore-named veterinary surgeon, who prescribed for her. She was fed with a spoon for some days, and at length a substance was discovered to be forming by the side of the neck. Supposing it to be a boil, he lanced it, and found it to contain a piece of metal, which he at once extracted, in the shape of a sewing-needle with a piece of cotton attached. The cat is now recovered, and but little the worse for the painful operation.—Grantham Journal.

The Emperor of China, who is about to be married, is doing the thing handsomely. His wedding gifts to his young bride include a gold seal richly inlaid with jewels, the handle being formed by two gold dragons; ten piebald horses with complete trappings; ten gilt helmets and cuirasses: 1,000 pieces of satin of the first quality, and 200 pieces of cotton material; 200 ounces of gold; 10,000 ounces of silver; one gold tea service, and one silver tea service; twenty horses with complete trappings, and twenty without. The parents of the lady receive also 100 ounces of gold; one gold tea set; 5,000 taels of silver; one silver tea set; 500 pieces of silk; 1,000 pieces of cotton material; six horses, completely harnessed; a helmet and cuirass; a bow and a quiver, with arrows; each parent one Court dress for summer, and one for winter, one every-day dress, and a sable coat. The brothers and servants of the bride also receive rich and costly presents.

From Dover to Calais in Twenty-five Minutes.—A novel ship has recently been invented by Mr. Thomas Hitt, of Brandon, Suffolk. She is somewhat of a semi-twin type, one-third wider than the ordinary sailing ship, but not so wide as a paddle-steamer. Between the supposed divided halves, which ascend to about eighteen inches above the water-line, is a wheel-race, extending from bow to stern. In the centre of this wheel-race a pit is formed, into which the lower part of the periphery of the wheel descends. The wheel, when rotating, drives the water through the race, and out at the stern, with great velocity. The maximum result of experiments indicates that a ship of 500 tons, with a wheel of 50 feet diameter, making 50 revolutions per minute, will attain a speed of 56 knots an hour, after allowing one-fourth for slip and other contingencies. Although the wheel is described as making 50 revolutions per minute, it may reach 100, more or less. This excess of power may be utilized for the production and storage of electricity, to be used either for illuminating purposes, or for propelling the ship when becalmed.

A Faithful Mastiff.—John Templeton is a blacksmith, who owns a fine specimen of the English mastiff. Recently Mr. Templeton was working at his forge, putting a new steel in the point of a pick. The steel was slightly burned in the heating, and, instead of welding, flew into half-a-dozen pieces. One piece struck the blacksmith above the right eye with such force as to fasten itself in firmly. He staggered and fell backwards. How long he was unconscious he does not know, but when he revived, the dog lay in the middle of the shop, crying almost like a human being, and rubbing his jaws in the dust of the floor. The piece of steel which had struck Mr. Templeton lay a short distance from the dog. The faithful animal had seized the hot steel with his teeth, and drew it from the frontal bone of Mr. Templeton's head. The dog's mouth was badly burned.—Albany Journal.

The Discoveries at Pompeii.—A Naples correspondent says—"The waxed tablets found, together with silver vases, &c., at Pompeii, all belong to one woman, Decidia Margaris, and are contracts precisely similar to those found twelve years ago belonging to one Lucio Cecilio Giocondo; but unlike those, which were enclosed in a strong iron box, and had undergone a process of carbonization which preserved their legibility for eighteen centuries, the present ones were only folded, together with the vases, in a thick cloth, which the rain-water had penetrated, reducing the wood to pulp, and wearing away the wax on which the characters are impressed, so that only some fragments preserved the writing; and a few days after the discovery these too were lost, the wax separating from the wooden tablets and breaking up into minute particles. There remains now only one tablet, which has been naturally preserved by being impregnated with oxide of copper. It is the contract for the sale of young slaves to Decidia Margaris."—Daily News.

A Genuine Fast of Twenty Days.—An extraordinary case of prolonged fasting is reported in connection with the severe weather. On December 22nd, 1887, a peasant woman from Opergrabern, near Vienna, went to receive some money that was owing to her at a small village a few miles distant. The amount was not paid, and the woman had only four kreutzers in her pocket, with which she bought two rolls of bread. On the way home she was caught in a heavy snow-storm, and took shelter in a small hut in a vineyard. The storm continuing, she decided to spend the night where she was, and divested herself of some of her upper garments to wrap up her feet. The next morning, when she awoke, she could not rise, being partially paralyzed by the cold. Her cries for help were unheard, and it was only on the 11th of January she was found by a woodcutter's wife, having been twenty days without food. She was in a precarious condition, but there is some hope of her recovery.

Youthful Heroines.—The Royal Humane Society have awarded their highest honour—a silver medal—to a young lady named Fanny Rowe, only fifteen years of age, daughter of the Rev. J. G. Rowe, vicar of Topcroft, Bungay, for saving the life of a lad named Franchs, at Neuchatel, under circumstances of great gallantry. The lad was playing by the jetty with his brother, when he fell into deep water. His brother jumped in to save him, but, not being able to swim, was soon in difficulties. A number of men ran about crying out "Who can swim?" but no one attempted a rescue until Miss Rowe came up, kicked off her shoes, but otherwise fully dressed, without a moment's hesitation rushed into the water, swam to the place, dived, and caught the younger brother, but could not keep hold of him, his hair being so short. She dived again and caught him, this time by the ear, and brought him to the jetty, where he was lifted out, and then she returned and saved the elder brother. The bronze medal was also unanimously bestowed upon Miss M. Strachy, aged seventeen, daughter of Her Majesty's Consul at Dresden, for saving Miss Taylor at Sandy Island, Heligoland.

Zion Chapel, Folkestone.—The New Year's Meeting of the Sunday School took place on January 16th. After doing justice to the tea, the children and friends met in the chapel, where Mr. Weeks, of Tenterden, opened the meeting with the reading of the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah and prayer. Some of the children repeated the Epistle of James, having learned various portions of it. Mr. Brown, of Tadworth, spoke on the beginnings of true religion, using the alphabet—A for attention to various good things, and not to wickedness; B for the Bible; C for conviction, which he described as a sure and certain knowledge of our sinful state, not fancies floating in the mind, and he illustrated it by a condemned convict's knowledge of his own sad case. Mr. Weeks then sought to encourage the children in the ways of obedience to parents and storing Scripture in the memory, of which latter no enemy could rob them. He also spoke to the teachers and friends, giving a word of encouragement. Mr. Smith spoke of the need of Jesus Christ being formed in the heart as the only hope for lost sinners, after which the yearly prizes were handed to their respective owners, also the gifts of clothing by an old friend of the children. A few words of prayer closed a happy meeting.

"ARE YOU SURE THAT NOTHING IS LEFT UNDONE?" (See page 74.)

I was engaged in my study one morning, when a client of mine, a Mr. B——, was introduced. He was in a state of great excitement, having heard that the Lord Chancellor was to pronounce judgment on his case that day.

"Are you sure," he inquired, "that nothing is left undone? If judgment is given against me, I am a ruined man. All my hopes are centred in its results. On the issue hang the prospects of my darling wife and children. Oh, tell me, can anything further be done to, if possible, ensure success?"

I endeavoured to calm him by saying that we were fully prepared, and that counsel's opinion was in his favour. This assurance having appeased him a little, he left me, appointing to meet again in an hour at the court. The Chancellor had just taken his seat as I entered, and was proceeding to give judgment in my client's case.

Casting my eyes around, I observed poor Mr. B—— seated on a bench, immediately opposite his lordship. He did not recognize me, for his entire attention was riveted on the oracle from whence was to proceed the eagerly wished for, but dreaded decision. To look upon that man was painful indeed; and although many years of professional experience had familiarized me to such scenes, yet I could not behold him without emotion, and trembled to think of the awful effect an adverse decision would have on a mind so sensitive as his, and wrought to the highest degree of painful suspense. My fears were but too soon realized. After an elaborate and carefully considered review of the case, a final decree was awarded against my client. Never shall I forget the agony of despair depicted on his countenance at that moment as, rushing from the court, he hissed into my ear the fearful words, "Oh, I am undone!"

It was a damp November day on which the circumstance above narrated occurred. Wending my way homewards through Chancery Lane, the words of my unfortunate client recurred to me. "Will my case be called on to-day?" thought I; "and is nothing left undone to ensure me a favourable decree at the hands of that eternal Judge before whom I must stand, sooner or later?"

Dear reader, you and I have both a case of vital importance, the judgment of which will be eternal happiness or eternal misery. If we have no Friend at court, no skilful Advocate to plead, anything of our own—any pleadings based upon our own works or performances—will most assuredly fail. A form without the power will not stand the test of that tremendous, awful day. All false coverings will then be stripped off. Naked, ruined, and undone for ever must we be unless found clothed with the righteousness of Jesus Christ, the God-Man. The lines of one of our poets have aptly described the case—

"A debtor to Jehovah's law,
My soul by nature stood,
And Justice was about to draw
His sword to shed my blood.

"'Stand forth! Stand forth!' he sternly cried,
'And pay me what you owe!'
"'Tis done,' said Jesus, 'for I died;
Loose him, and let him go!'"

What a solemn consideration it is that I who write and you who read will stand in one case or the other—"Loose him, and let him go!" or, "Bind him hand and foot, and cast him into outer darkness!" I ask myself—and may I ask you—Does it cause you any searchings of heart, any anxious thoughts, any tossings to and fro upon your bed? "How stands the case, my soul, with thee?" Are matters right between God and thy soul? Have I any reason to hope that I shall be acquitted? Or are you, Gallio-like, caring for none of these things, "dancing the hellward road apace"? This we are sure of—that the judgment of God will be according to truth, and those who die in their sins, destitute of an interest and hope in Christ, will have to confess that the Judge of all the earth has done right. Your debts are great—too great for you ever to pay. Are you trying to wipe off part of the score, endeavouring to do your best, and trusting Jesus Christ to make up the rest? Hopeless case, for—

"Could thy zeal no respite know,
Could thy tears for ever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Christ must save, and Christ alone."

But if, from a sense of your true state and condition, your entirely bankrupt state, with no hope or help in yourself, you have fallen down at Jesus' feet, crying, "Lord, save, or I perish!" you are on safe ground. Thy Surety paid for thee; and thou shalt know it in His own time, to the joy of thy heart.

There are two modes of travel in Persia, caravan and chappah. The former is slow, at the pace which loaded mules can follow, say twenty-five miles a day. To travel in caravan means not to go with a large company, but in this leisurely manner. Hence our word "caravan," because large trains in the East must necessarily travel in caravan style.

Chappah travelling, on the other hand, means rapid going, at an average of eighty to a hundred and fifty miles per diem. This can only be done by riding at a steady gallop—horses rarely trot in the East—and changing horses at short intervals. The post carriers invariably travel chappah.

The method of measuring distances in Persia is by farsakhs, a farsakh representing four miles. Post stations are placed four farsakhs, or sixteen miles apart, and more rarely five farsakhs. Fresh relays of horses are kept in readiness at these stations. The post carriers, accompanied by a single attendant, both heavily armed, and wielding a fierce whip of hide, carry the mail in saddle bags. On arriving at a station they dismount, take a hasty cup of tea which is in readiness, and a few pulls at the kalian, or water-pipe. Then the horses are led out, and the postman starts for another sixteen-mile gallop over the mountain and plain, through forest and waste. These postmen are, so far as I could learn, very faithful and courageous, as they must need be, for they are sometimes attacked and killed, especially when it had leaked out that they are carrying money. Thus they go through Persia, and through life, on horseback. In summer, they have to rest during the heat of the day, but, summer and winter, they gallop all night, and practically have no rest until the end of the journey. The post rider from Teheran to Bushire goes nearly seven hundred miles before he can take a solid sleep.—S. G. W. Benjamin.

Earn your own bread, and see how sweet it will be! Work, and see how well you will be! Work, and see how cheerful you will be! Work, and see how independent you will be! Work, and see how happy your family will be! Work, and, instead of repining at Providence, you may, perhaps, find yourself offering up thanks for all the numerous blessings you enjoy.

"The tree is known by its fruit."—Matthew xii. 33.

Mr. Chiniquy died very suddenly, when his little son Charlie was only twelve years old. The boy had been fetched home from the house of a relative who lived at a distance, and where he had attended a good school, kept by a Protestant gentleman. He had gone through various lessons with his father, and delighted him with the progress he had made. They had read the fifteenth chapter of Luke, and retired to rest full of joy; but before the next day dawned, the boy awoke to his mother's heartrending cry, "Oh, my dear child, you have no more a father! He is dead!"

Poor child! He felt he could not believe it. He ran to his father's bed, kissed him, pressed his hands, and prayed that he might live. But it was too true. The breath had fled, and only a lifeless corpse remained.

After such overwhelming sorrow, surely they needed the tenderest sympathy; but only a few days elapsed before the parish priest (who had, years before, tried to get their Bible away) called on them, and, after a few cold words, he said that something was owing for the prayers that had been offered for the departed, and he would be glad to receive it! Poor Mrs. Chiniquy assured him that, although her husband had received a considerable income as a notary, yet their expenses had been so heavy that he had left her little besides debts. The house he had had built, and the piece of land he purchased not long ago, were only half paid for, "and I fear," said she, "I shall lose them both. I hope, sir," she added, "that you are not the man to take away from us our last piece of bread."

"But, madam," was the cruel answer, "the money for the masses offered for the rest of your husband's soul must be paid!"

For some time the widow sat shedding silent tears. At length she raised her tearful eyes, and said, "Sir, you see that cow in the meadow? Her milk, and the butter made from it, form the principal part of my children's food. I hope you will not take her away from us. If, however, such a sacrifice must be made to deliver my poor husband's soul from purgatory, take her as the payment of the masses to be offered to extinguish those devouring flames."

"Very well, madam," said the priest, rising, and walking out.

They anxiously watched to see what he would do; and, to their horror, he went straight to the meadow and drove away their useful and cherished favourite. Poor Mrs. Chiniquy nearly fainted; and when able to speak, she said—

"Dear child, if ever you become a priest, never be so hard-hearted towards poor widows as are the priests of to-day."

Those words were never forgotten, as our next story will show.

Many years had passed. The child had become a man and a priest, when he was invited to preach a course of three sermons in the church of a rich curate. On the second day, walking with him to the parsonage, a very poor, ragged, and miserable man took off his hat, and tremblingly addressed the curate, saying—

"You know, sir, that my poor wife died, and was buried ten days ago; but I was too poor to have a funeral service sung for her, and I fear she is in purgatory. Almost every night I see her in my dreams in burning flames, and she cries to me to help her. Will you be so kind as to sing that high mass for her?"

"Of course," answered the curate. "Your wife is suffering in purgatory. Give me five dollars, and I will sing the mass to-morrow morning."

The poor man replied that his wife had long been ill, and he was too distressed to pay the money, and begged that five low masses might be said for her. The priest told him he must pay five shillings for them, but the wretched man declared he had no money, and that he and his children were starving.

"Well, well," said the curate, "I saw two beautiful sucking pigs before your house this morning. Give me one of them."

"Those pigs, sir," said the man, "were given me by a charitable neighbour, that I might raise them for my children's food next winter. They will surely starve if I give my pigs away."

Chiniquy could not wait to hear the conclusion of the shameful bargain. He hurried away to his room, refused to take tea, and spent a sleepless night wondering whether the Church of Rome could be the Church of Christ. Next morning, he gave five dollars to the poor man, and went breakfastless to church.

After preaching, he was led by the curate to his dining-room. The long fast had made him very hungry, and the foremost dish was a delicious sucking pig. He had cut a piece, and was just about to eat, when the scene of yesterday flashed across his mind, and he inquired, "Was this that sucking pig?"

"Yes," replied the curate, with a hearty laugh, "it is just that. If we cannot take the poor woman's soul out of purgatory, we will, at all events, eat a fine sucking pig."

The priestly guests all joined in the laugh except Chiniquy, who, with a burst of righteous indignation, pushed his plate away, and in a few thrilling words told them what he thought of the whole proceeding. Of course they were very angry; but the sucking pig was untouched by any one.

Thus were Chiniquy's eyes gradually opened, and he "saw men as trees walking," until the final touch gave him to "see all things clearly."

Lord, open Thou our eyes, and give us clearer and yet clearer light, that we not only may forsake every evil way, but may follow Thee with full purpose of heart.

What is earth, sexton? A place to dig graves.

What is earth, rich man? A place to work slaves.

What is earth, grey-beard? A place to grow old.

What is earth, miser? A place to dig gold.

What is earth, schoolboy? A place for my play.

What is earth, maiden? A place to be gay.

What is earth, seamstress? A place where I weep.

What is earth, sluggard? A good place to sleep.

What is earth, soldier? A place for a battle.

What is earth, herdsman? A place to raise cattle.

What is earth, widow? A place of true sorrow.

What is earth, tradesman? I'll tell you to-morrow.

What is earth, sick man? 'Tis nothing to me.

What is earth, sailor? My home is the sea.

What is earth, statesman? A place to win fame.

What is earth, author? I'll write there my name.

What is earth, monarch? For my realm 'tis given.

What is earth, Christian? The gateway of heaven.

We cannot say when, or by what means, the Lord first implanted the seed of eternal life in our sister's soul; but as in nature, so in grace—there is first the dropping of the seed, then the blade and the ear, and after that, the full corn in the ear; the full corn in many, as in our sister's case, not appearing until they are laid down by a fatal disease.

By letters which I received from her the last few years, I had a hope the seed was sown from the love which she manifested to the truth and people of God. At the same time, many of her words and actions manifested much impatience, showing that she was a child of fallen Adam, and that she was under another influence than the Holy Spirit of God. This was a trial to us, giving us many errands to the throne of grace, not knowing what the end might be; and not only was it a grief to us, but also to herself.

Some months ago, writing to me, she said, "I feel so very unhappy. I wish I had never been born, for I do not feel fit to live, nor yet fit to die."

Her sister, with whom she lived, says, "Once or twice before her last affliction have we found her weeping, after she returned from the house of God—once especially, when Mr. Oldfield spoke from the words, 'Thou shalt preserve me from trouble,' at which time she seemed sorely tried; and referring to it on her dying bed, said, 'Satan did tempt me so then; but what a mercy God preserved me! I felt that, if I had died then, I must have been lost.'"

At another time she found her in great distress, and, inquiring the cause, she said, "I feel so ill! I do not think I shall live long, and I know I am not prepared to die."

About three weeks after this, she went to St. Ives' anniversary, and heard Mr. Hull preach from the text, "In this place will I give you peace." The words seemed to have an abiding-place in her heart, and proved a promise to her in her affliction. They were as "bread cast upon the waters, found and enjoyed after many days." When she returned from St. Ives, she looked quite ill, and said, "It seems as though I am not to go anywhere and enjoy myself."

A few weeks after this, she took to her room, which she never left again. But, as her bodily strength decreased, she became more and more anxious about eternal things, and said to her sister and one of the members, who were sitting with her, "I do not think I shall get better. If I was sure I should go to heaven, I should not mind dying; but I keep thinking of all my past sins, and all that I have done and said. Do you think the Lord will forgive?" and with great earnestness she exclaimed, "Oh, do tell me—do you think He will forgive all my sins, and take me to heaven?" They told her they felt sure, if the Lord had made her sins a burden to her, and enabled her to beg of Him to cleanse her in His precious blood, He would, in His own time, answer her petitions, and they encouraged her to give Him no rest until He spoke home peace and pardon to her soul.

On Saturday, November 12th, Mr. Oldfield called to see her. She asked him if he thought the Lord would forgive her. He assured her that, if the Lord had made her long for His pardoning love, He would appear for her. He had sweet liberty in prayer on her behalf, and, having read at her request the twenty-seventh Psalm, he inquired if she had any favourite hymns. She replied, "Yes—'There is a fountain filled with blood.'" He remarked, "The dying thief felt he needed that fountain, and so do you and I, Mary." She answered, "Yes, we do."

In the evening, two of her sisters came to see her, and she exclaimed, "What! are you both come so far to see me? I am not worthy," and burst into tears.

On Sunday, November 13th, she said but little during the day, but still kept begging of the Lord to forgive her all her sins, and take her to heaven; and in the evening He answered her prayer, and sweetly spoke home peace and pardon to her heart. She exclaimed, "Jesus has pardoned all my sins! Yes, yes, He has told me so! I am so happy! Oh, so happy! Jesus! Jesus! Thou art precious to my soul! Oh, come and take me! I long to be with You, dear Jesus!" and, with solemn sweetness, she added, "'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.'

"Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared,
Unworthy though I be,
For me a rich, a free reward,
A golden harp for me.

"Jesus is 'the Chiefest among ten thousand, and the altogether lovely.'" Thus she laid, blessing and praising His dear name till she was completely exhausted.

Early the next morning she said, "I am still on this bed of affliction. The Lord has spared me one more day, but I hope He will soon come and fetch me. I do so long to go, but

"I must wait a little longer,
Till His appointed time,
And glory in the knowledge
That such a home is mine.

"Yes, 'that such a home is mine!' I shall wear a white robe there, and sing 'Hallelujah! Hallelujah!'

"Yes, loudest of the crowd I'll sing,
Whilst heaven's resounding mansions ring
With shouts of sovereign grace."

On Monday, November 14th, I and my brother visited her for the first time. She was at first overcome, but soon revived, and said, "I am so pleased to see you both. I asked the Lord to spare me to see you all before I died. How kind He is to hear me!"

I spent, altogether, the greatest part of four days with her, and those will be reckoned amongst the happiest days of my life, though mixed with sorrow at the thought of losing one made doubly dear by the sweet manifestation of the spirit of Christ in her. We could but look on and say, "What hath God wrought!" she herself saying, "I am not the one I was once, but am a new creature in Christ Jesus, for the Lord has heard my prayers, and forgiven all my sins, and now I know I am going to heaven," her countenance at the same time beaming with joy.

On Tuesday, November 15th, she asked her eldest brother to read to her—

"When languor and disease invade
This trembling house of clay,
'Tis sweet to look beyond our cage,
And long to fly away,"

which she much enjoyed.

On Wednesday, November 16th, she said to me, "Oh, Joseph, I feel Jesus is all around me, and I know He is soon coming to take me home. I am so happy, and waiting to go to my home of eternal rest."

Turning to those present, she said, "You do not mind parting with me, now you know I am going to heaven, do you?" and, seeing us in tears, she said, "I cannot think what you have to grieve about. If I were not going to heaven, then you might grieve."

At times she seemed completely lost to all around, and was in sweet communion with God, and laid blessing and praising His dear name. The following are only a few of the sweet words that fell from her lips—"Oh, Jesus, I am so happy! Thou art precious to my soul. I long to be with Thee, dear Jesus—not that I wish to leave my brothers and sisters, only to come to Thee. I can leave everything to come to Thee, dear Jesus. Come and fetch me. Fetch me soon, if it is Thy will; but if I must wait a little longer, give me patience to wait Thy time."

At other times, she would repeat with sweet feeling her favourite hymns and chapters, amongst which were, Psalms xxiii., xxvii., and ciii.; and hymns, "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds," "There is a fountain filled with blood," and "Father, whate'er of earthly bliss." The last verse of the latter seemed particularly precious to her—

"Let the sweet hope that Thou art mine
My life and death attend;
Thy presence through my journey shine,
And crown my journey's end."

One morning, she wished her books, &c., brought to her, that she might give us each a parting gift, saying, "Keep them in remembrance of me, when I am gone to heaven to be with Jesus."

On Wednesday, November 16th, in the evening, Mr. Oldfield again saw her. She spoke very freely to him, and said, "Won't it be nice to depart and be with Jesus?—much better than remaining here. I think He will soon come and fetch me. He has pardoned all my sins. Yes, He told me so." He read John x. at her wish, and spoke in prayer, which she much enjoyed and spoke of afterwards.

When I was about to leave her, she said, "I want you all to sing, 'How sweet the name of Jesus sounds,'" which we did, she joining with all the strength she had, her face being radiant with joy.

Another morning she awoke, and commenced singing several sweet hymns. Truly she experienced the words of Isaiah, "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee."

One Sunday she said, "How I should love to get to chapel! If I ever went again, I should like to be baptized; but I do not think I shall have strength to go any more. No; Jesus is going to take me to Himself. How kind of Him! Don't you think so? I do."

On November 26th, being her eldest sister's birthday, she wished us to get a card for her. One being selected with the words, "The Lord will bless His people with peace," she said, "Yes, that is the peace Mr. Hull spoke of at St. Ives, and God has given me that peace."

In presenting the card, she said to her sister, "Take it from me. It will be the last present I shall give you on your birthday. Before another I shall be in heaven.

"Yes, I shall soon be landed
On yonder shores of bliss;
There, with my powers expanded,
Shall dwell where Jesus is."

During the night she remarked, "How good Jesus is in taking me away so gently! I thought, after all I have done and said, I should suffer much more. My sufferings are nothing to what Christ suffered on the cross."

The next day Mr. Oldfield came, and she wished him to read Psalm ciii.—"Bless the Lord, O my soul"—and the hymn commencing, "My hope is built on nothing less." He commented on the last verse, and spoke of the robe prepared for her, and the glory that awaited her in heaven.

On Monday, November 28th, with deep feeling, she said—

"E'er since by faith I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die."

One day, her doctor said he thought her a little better. When she was told, she burst into tears, and said, "Oh, I do not want to get better! Dear Jesus, do come and take me!

"Weary of earth, myself, and sin,
Dear Jesus, set me free!
And to Thy glory take me in,
For there I long to be."

Another time she said, "I think I shall soon reach my journey's end now. Won't it be nice when my last day comes? I did not think I should be taken first, but I do now. I wonder who will be the next? Jesus knows. I should like to have on my tombstone, 'To depart and be with Christ is far better,' and I hope Mr. Oldfield will bury me; but it little matters about my body. I shall be singing in heaven when they are putting my poor body in the grave."

The last time Mr. Oldfield visited her she could say but very little to him, her cough being so incessant. He read Psalms cxv. and cxvi., and remarked, "The heathen have no God to cry to in their affliction, but you have. What a mercy!

"When your poor, lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave,
Then, in a nobler, sweeter song,
You'll sing His power to save.

"You have had a foretaste of heaven here, haven't you?" She answered, "Yes, I have."

At times her sufferings seemed more than she knew how to bear, and caused her to become impatient; but afterwards she would express much sorrow for it, and beg earnestly of the Lord to forgive her, and enable her to bear all He should see fit to lay upon her, adding, "My sufferings are nothing to what Christ suffered."

On Sunday, December 18th, she said but little during the day, but in the evening she wished the hundredth Psalm to be read, and the hymn, "Oh, bless the Lord, my soul."

Between eleven and twelve o'clock at night she said to her sisters, "I think I shall go to-night. Yes, I feel sure I shall." They asked her if she still felt happy, and if Jesus was precious. She answered, "Yes! yes!

"My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus' blood and righteousness."

Turning to them, she said, "Good-bye, good-bye. Say 'Good-bye' to all for me. I am going home! home! home! I am going home!"

She then fell asleep, to awake in a happier world, "where the inhabitant shall no more say, I am sick; and where they that dwell therein shall be forgiven their iniquity."

She was interred at Godmanchester on December 26th, 1887, many of the friends and scholars of the Sunday School being present.

Truly, "the memory of the just is blessed."

April 1. Commit to memory Psa. xciv. 1.

April 8. Commit to memory Psa. xciv. 2.

April 15. Commit to memory Psa. xciv. 21.

April 22. Commit to memory Psa. xciv. 22.

April 29. Commit to memory Psa. xciv. 23.

A Chinaman applied for membership in a San Francisco Baptist Church. In answer to the question, "How he found Jesus?" he is reported to have answered, "I no find Jesus at all; He find me." There is a great deal of theology as well as evidence of religion in his answer.

In 1779, a young dog, who apparently had no master, came, no one knew how, to Caen, France, and met there a regiment of grenadiers starting for Italy. Urged on, apparently by destiny, he followed them. He was, to all appearance, a common street cur, dirty and ugly, but he had such a bright expression and seemed so intelligent that they did not hesitate to take him.

His new companions forced him to act as sentinel, to obey orders, to keep step, to become accustomed to the sound of fire-arms, to obey roll call, and all other duties the soldiers were called upon to perform. He received and ate his rations with them, and lived in every respect as his regiment was commanded to do.

In going to Italy, Moustache crossed St. Bernard, at the cost of unknown hardships, and encamped with the regiment above Alexandria. It was here that he was to accomplish his first great feat of arms. A detachment of Austrians, hidden in the Valley of Balbo, advanced in the night to surprise the grenadiers, and was heard by this vigilant dog as he was making his rounds. The soldiers were awakened by his barking. In a moment every one was on foot, and the enemy dislodged. To reward Moustache, the colonel had his name inscribed on the regimental roll, and ordered that he should have every day the ration of a soldier. He ordered that there should be put on his neck a collar bearing the name of the regiment, and the barber was ordered to wash and comb him every week.

Some time afterwards there was a slight engagement, and Moustache conducted himself very bravely. He here received his first wound—a bayonet thrust in the shoulder. It must be said here that Moustache was never wounded except in front.

About this time he quarrelled with the grenadiers and deserted, because they had left him tied in the garrison. Taking refuge with a company of chasseurs, he saw a disguised Austrian spy enter the French camp. Moustache, forgetting the insult he had received, welcomed the stranger by springing at his throat with much fierceness. This action astonished all at first, but they had time for reflection, and then remembered the sagacity of the faithful dog. The stranger was arrested, searched, and found to be a spy.

Moustache continued the series of his exploits. At the battle of Austerlitz, seeing the colour-bearer surrounded by enemies, he flew to his rescue, defended him as well as he could, and when the soldier fell, pierced with bullets, enveloped in his colours, Moustache, seizing with his teeth that part of the glorious flag which he could get, fairly flew past the enemy, and brought back to his company the blood-stained remnants. It must be said here that a charge of musketry had taken off one of his legs. This saving of the flag brought him merited honour. They took off the collar he wore, and Marshal Lannes ordered that they should put on him a red ribbon, with a copper medal, bearing this inscription on one side—"He lost a leg at the battle of Austerlitz, and saved the colours of his regiment." On the other side it read—"Moustache should be loved and honoured as a brave French dog."

As it was easy to recognise him by his ribbon and medal, they decided that, in whatever regiment he should present himself, he should receive the portion of a soldier.

He took part yet in several battles, and among others that of Essling (1809). He made with the dragoons two campaigns, and the brave dog fought every time he had the opportunity. He always walked in front on the alert, barking when he heard any noise, and could not find out the cause. In the Sierra Morena mountains, he brought back to camp the horse of a dragoon who had been killed. It is said that at several times he showed this same act of intelligence.

He made his last campaign with the artillery, and was killed at the battle of Badajoz, on March 11th, 1811, at the age of twelve years. They buried him on the spot where he fell, with his medal and his ribbon. On the stone which served as his monument they wrote—"Here lies Moustache." These simple words are more eloquent than the most pompous epitaph.

It is said that there are about a hundred kinds of flesh-eating plants all the world over, and of these, three—the sundew, butterwort, and bladderwort—grow in this country.

The member of this species best known to British botanists is the sundew. The leaves of this plant resemble in shape a flat spoon, and the surface of their blades is covered with stout, erect, hair-like objects, each with a roundish head, which is surrounded with a sticky fluid. Flies are the usual prey of the sundew. When one of these insects touches the blade of a leaf of the plant, the sticky points detain it, and the edges of the blade begin bending towards the centre, and continue to so fold themselves until the fly is entirely enveloped by them. After remaining in this position for many hours, or even days, the leaf gradually resumes its original shape, and an examination will show that nothing remains of the fly but the hard parts—as the wings, outer skin, &c. The rest of the insect has been dissolved in the sticky secretions, and absorbed by the plant.

Several of these plants have been placed near one another, and some have been covered by fine gauze, so that no flies could be caught by their leaves. The superiority of the plants that have been left in their natural state has clearly proved that a supply of animal food is not only advantageous, but almost necessary to them. (See Psalm civ. 24.)

"No man can come to Me except the Father, which hath sent Me, draw him."—John vi. 44.

"Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out."—John vi. 37.

"I am the Door."—John x. 9.

"Draw me, we will run after Thee."—Solomon's Song i. 4.

Oh, draw me, Holy Father,
For in Thy Word I read
That they who go to Jesus
With all their guilt and need,
Are certainly attracted
By Thy almighty power,
To find a happy entrance
Through heaven's Living Door.

The world, which once did furnish
The trifles I desired,
Now gives no satisfaction;
There's something else required:
The devil would allure me
With charms by him designed
To cry, "Peace! peace!" but cannot
Relieve my troubled mind.

I see no place of refuge
To which I may retreat;
No home, or kindly shelter,
To rest my weary feet.
Where shall I go? where can I?
Dear Saviour, hear my plea—
"Draw me, and I'll run gladly;
Yes, draw me unto Thee."

A. B.

It is only within the last few weeks that particulars have been published in the Swiss papers of a brave rescue effected on Mount St. Bernard on the night of the last Sunday in November.

While a violent snow-storm was in progress, Grand, the manager of the hospice, noticed that his own special dog that was alone with him in his room became very restless, and made signs to him to go out. He took the lantern and fog-horn, and went out on the mountain, the dog leading him. In a very short time he heard a call and groaning, and, helped by the dog, dug out of the snow an Italian, whom he carried on his back into the hospice.

The rescued man stated that his father, two brothers, and another Italian, all journeying home with him over the pass, lay buried in the snow. He had pushed on to obtain help, but had been overpowered by the storm. Grand made ready and went out again. This second search was more tedious, and led him further away, but at last the barking of the dog announced a discovery. It was the Italian stranger who was now saved and carried up to the hospice. A third time Grand and his dog sallied out into the tempest, and after a quarter of an hour's search found the others, near where the second man had been discovered. They were quite buried under the snow, and almost insensible. He took the most feeble on his shoulders, and with difficulty conducted the others to the hospice. It was now past midnight, and his toilsome task had occupied Grand over four hours, in a blinding snow-storm.

A recent telegram from Geneva states that two avalanches have fallen on the above famous hospice of St. Bernard. The church has been almost entirely buried in snow. No loss of life is reported.

A new Egyptian labyrinth was some time ago discovered at a place named Deyr-el-Baharee by M. Maspero, an orientalist of French nationality, who found in one of the underground galleries, hollowed through a mountain of granite, three sarcophagi of the Mosaic period. They resembled somewhat our modern coffins, except that they were much larger and rather clumsier in shape. But they were beautifully adorned with images of Egyptian gods and sacred animals, painted in colours that were still of admirable freshness, on a dark-brown ground. They bore numerous inscriptions in hieroglyphics and the demotic character, wherefrom the clue was obtained as to their identity.

The sarcophagi, with their contents, were transported down the Nile to Boulag, at the gates of Cairo, and were opened in the presence of the Khedive and several pashas. The coil of thick cloth in which the first mummy lay was ripped open; then a narrow linen band of about eight inches in breadth, that went round and round the body several hundred times from head to foot, was unwound; after that, a second winding sheet of the finest linen was with great care cut open with scissors. At last a head appeared, totally unlike that of any modern human being. The description of it is given by M. Maspero in his report:—

"The head is long and small in proportion to the body. The crown is utterly bald; the hair is scanty about the temples, but grows in thick, lank tufts on the nape. It was white before death, but has been stained light yellow by the sweet essences with which the body was embalmed. The ears were almost round, standing out from the head, and are pierced like those of a woman. The mouth is small, and bordered with thick, fleshy lips, behind which is a row of white teeth that were kept clean with evident care. Whiskers and beard are thin. They were shaved during lifetime, but grew in the last illness, or may-be after death. The low forehead is narrow, and the brow prominent, and covered with white hairs. The eyes are small, and set close to one another; the nose long, thin, aquiline, and slightly flattened at the tip by the pressure of the bandages. The temple is hollow, the cheek-bones are prominent, the jaw is strong, and the chin very underhung. The face of the mummy is certainly not an intelligent one, and almost appears bestial; but it has an unmistakable look of pride, doggedness, and majesty."

RESCUE BY DOGS OF ST. BERNARD.

As regards the body, it is that of an aged man, who was singularly vigorous and robust, and must have lived to nearly a hundred years of age.

From the inscriptions on the coffin, it appeared that the body it held had reigned over Egypt for sixty-seven years, during which time the country had attained the pinnacle of national greatness. The Hebrews groaned under his oppression, and hundreds of thousands, while employed to build the city of Ramesis, had died under the taskmasters' lash. This mummy was the greatest among the Pharaohs—Sesostris. He was found in a wonderful state of preservation, after having remained in that coffin for thirty-five centuries.

The second mummy proved to be that of Rameses III.

The third mummy became putrid from exposure to air, and was accordingly buried by M. Maspero. It turned out to be that of a queen named Nofritari, of the eighteenth dynasty.

When thy hand hath done a good act, ask thy heart whether it is well done.—Fuller.

(Psalm cxix. 9.)

Wherewith shall the inquiring youth
Attempt to cleanse his way?
This question asked the lips of Truth,
And many since that day.

The answer's ready for the meek,
And easy to be found;
No far-fetched knowledge need you seek
On false, on foreign ground.

Take heed unto your steps, dear friend,
The Bible does declare;
May you unto God's Word attend
With energy and prayer.

"Take heed unto thyself," wrote Paul,
"And to the doctrines, too";
Young Timothy obeyed the call,
And God's salvation knew.

Friend, you may study well the law,
And try to do your best;
Remember, you will have to know
This lesson with the rest.

But if you find yourself at last
A guiltier sinner still,
The Gospel is revealed for such—
"Come, whosoever will."

Yes, there the secret is made known—
The remedy you need—
The precious blood of Christ alone
Can cleanse thought, word, and deed.

M. E. S.
Corby.

"George," said a big boy, winking hard at his curly-headed little comrade, "you may pick me some of those apples. Your father has fallen asleep over his book in the study." George raised his fearless, honest eyes to the older lad's face, and replied, "My Father is father's Father too, and He neither slumbers nor sleeps" (Psa. cxxi. 4). George's Father was the all-seeing God.

After passing through several parts of the Alps, and having visited Germany, I thought I could not return home without visiting those dreadful subterraneous caverns, where thousands are condemned to reside, shut out from all hopes of ever seeing the cheerful light of the sun, and obliged to toil out a miserable life under the whips of imperious task-masters.

Imagine to yourself a hole in the side of a mountain, about five yards over. Down this you are lowered in a kind of bucket to a depth of more than one hundred fathoms, the prospect growing still more gloomy, yet still widening as you descend. At length, after swinging in terrible suspense for some time in this precarious situation, you reach the bottom, and tread on the ground, which, by its hollow sound under your feet, and the reverberations of the echo, seems thundering at every step you take. In this gloomy and frightful solitude you are enlightened by the feeble gleam of lamps, here and there dispersed, so as that the wretched inhabitants of these mansions can go from one place to another without a guide; though I could scarcely discern, for some time, anything—not even the person who came to show me these scenes of horror.

From this description, I suppose you have but a disagreeable idea of the place; yet let me assure you that it is a palace, if the habitation be compared with the inhabitants. Such wretches my eyes never yet beheld. The blackness of their visages only serves to cover a horrid paleness, caused by the noxious qualities of the mineral they are employed in procuring.

As they, in general, consist of malefactors, condemned for life to this task, they are fed at the public expense; but seldom consume much provision, as they lose their appetites in a short time, and commonly, in about two years, expire, through a total contraction of all the joints.

In this horrid mansion I walked after my guide for some time, pondering on the strange tyranny and avarice of mankind, when I was accosted by a voice behind me, calling me by name, and inquiring after my health with the most cordial affection. I turned, and saw a creature all black and hideous, who approached me, and, with a piteous accent, said, "Ah! Everard, do you not know me?" What was my surprise when, through the veil of this wretchedness, I discovered the features of a dear old friend. I flew to him with affection, and, after a tear of condolence, asked him how he came there. To this he replied that, having fought a duel with an officer of the Austrian Infantry, against the Emperor's command, and having left him for dead, he was obliged to flee into the forests of Istria, where he was first taken, and afterwards sheltered by some banditti, who had long infested that quarter. With these he lived nine months, till, by a close investiture of the place in which they were concealed, and after a very obstinate resistance, in which the greater part of them were killed, he was taken, and carried to Vienna, in order to be broken alive upon the wheel. However, upon arriving at the capital, he was quickly known, and several of the associates of his accusation and danger witnessing his innocence, his punishment of the rack was changed into that of perpetual banishment and labour in the mines of Idria.

As my old friend was giving me this account, a young woman came up to him who at once I perceived to be born for a better fortune. The dreadful situation of this place was not able to destroy her beauty; and, even in this scene of wretchedness, she seemed to have charms sufficient to grace the most brilliant assembly. This lady was, in fact, daughter to one of the first families in Germany; and having tried every means to procure her husband's pardon without effect, was at last resolved to share his miseries, as she could not relieve them. She accordingly descended with him into these mansions, whence few of the living return, despising the splendour of opulence, and contented with the consciousness of her own constancy.

I was afterwards spectator of the most affecting scene I ever beheld. In the course of some days after my visiting the gloomy mansion I have represented to you, a person came post from Vienna to the Idrian bottom, who was followed by a second, and he by a third. The first inquiry was after my unfortunate friend, and I, happening to overhear the demand, gave them the first intelligence. Two of these were the brother and cousin of the lady; the third was an intimate acquaintance and fellow-soldier of my friend. They came with his pardon, which had been procured by the general with whom the duel had been fought, and who was perfectly cured of his wounds. I led him, with all the expedition of joy, down to this dreary abode, presented to him his friends, and informed him of the happy change of his circumstances. It would be impossible to describe the joy that brightened upon his grief-worn countenance, nor were the young lady's emotions less vivid at seeing her friends, and hearing of her husband's liberty.

Some hours were employed in mending the appearance of this faithful couple; nor could I, without a tear, behold my friend taking leave of the former wretched companions of his toil. To one he left his mattock, to another his working clothes, and to a third such utensils as were necessary for him in that situation. We soon emerged from the mine, where he once again revisited the light of the sun, that he had totally despaired of ever seeing again. A post-chaise and four were ready the next morning to take them to Vienna, where, I am since informed by a letter from himself, they are returned. The Emperor has again taken him into favour, his fortune and rank are restored, and he and his fair partner have now the pleasing satisfaction of feeling happiness with double relish, as they once knew what it was to be miserable.—Selected.

["What a happy deliverance!" say you. Ah! but it is only a faint emblem of that deliverance which Jesus wrought. These people were delivered from sufferings which would only have been for a short time, but Jesus died to deliver His people from the wrath to come—the fire that shall not be quenched.

Reader, have you been brought to Him? Can you say, "He loved me, and gave Himself for me"? or are you without hope of eternal life? Oh, that you may seek to win Christ, and be found in Him!—Ed.]

(Page 66.)

"Thy will be done."—Matthew xxvi. 42.

T imæus Mark x. 46.
H arp Genesis iv. 21.
Y ear Leviticus xxv. 4.

W hale Job vii. 12.
I nfidel 2 Corinthians vi. 15.
L atin Luke xxiii. 38.
L aban Genesis xxix. 10.

B ehemoth Job xl. 15.
E phraim Genesis xli. 52.

D og Exodus xi. 7.
O nyx Genesis ii. 12.
N oon Solomon's Song i. 7.
E pistle 2 Corinthians iii. 1.

Harry Frederick Forfeitt
(Aged 10 years).

Thong, near Gravesend.

The twelfth annual meeting of the Sunday School, Devonshire Road Chapel, Greenwich, was held on February 8th. The singing of a hymn was followed by the reading of Psalm xix. by Mr. Boorne, the Pastor, and prayer by Mr. Joseph Whittome.

Mr. Boorne, in his remarks, referred to Pharaoh's desire to keep the children in Egypt, even if the God of Israel compelled him to let their parents go. But they also had to come out from bondage.

He said a phrase was sometimes used to hinder the planting of Sunday Schools, namely, "that they are often only a nursery for the Church." His opinion was, that a Sunday School might be put to a much worse use. He thought it a good and desirable thing when it was so; and scholars taught of God, as well as by their teachers, passed from the Sunday School into the Church.

The Secretary and Acting-Superintendent, Mr. Samuel Boorne, then read the report. He noted four encouraging facts. The increase of numbers—twenty new scholars, making 140 in all. That the infant class, the feeder of the school, was increasing. The manifest interest taken in their school by many of the scholars, for, though it was twelve years old, some of the original scholars were still connected with the Bible Classes. Her Majesty's Jubilee year was commemorated by the gift to each child of an ornamental card, on which was printed the Coronation Oath, taken by Her Majesty on her accession, to preserve the Protestant liberties of her country. It was put into a gilt frame, and was much appreciated by the scholars. The collecting cards for the Aged Pilgrims' Friend Society, issued this year by request, and always a voluntary effort on the part of the children, resulted in £6 10s.

Mr. Marshall, of Clifton, then interested many by his pleasant and solemn remarks. The possibilities for the future represented by such a gathering of boys and girls formed a fitting theme. He hoped there were none present who would be the means of breaking their parents' hearts. A page from the life of a youth who really did do it, and who traced the beginning of his evil doings to drink, was pointed and solemn, Mr. Marshall saying it was his conviction that children should never be allowed to acquire a taste for so dangerous a luxury. He said he was a total abstainer himself, and did not think—and probably the audience agreed with him—he looked any the worse for it.

His concluding words will be remembered. After fifty years' experience of the love and ways of God, he testified to young and old that there was no happiness in anything but the knowledge of God in Christ. It surpasses and eclipses all. "He will do everything for those who are His."

He then addressed a few words to the teachers, advising them to stick to the Word of God. The Holy Spirit was able to teach even children. He once baptized a girl of fourteen, of whom he could say he knew she was a vessel of mercy; and why should he keep her out of the privileges of the Lord's people? He would not hesitate to baptize a child of ten if he or she gave sufficient evidence that they knew something of their own sinfulness, and something of the Lord Jesus. "Can any man forbid water, that these should not be baptized, which have received the Holy Ghost as well as we?"

Mr. Wilmshurst then began his address by reminding his young friends of the many happy Sundays they had spent together. What pleasant gatherings they were! He had not forgotten them, if they had. But now he wished to speak of a most remarkable gathering of people. He referred to the four hundred men who gathered to David in the cave Adullam (1 Sam. xxii. 1, 2). The remarkable points were these:—

First, they were all remarkably poor—"in debt"—and bankrupts in those days were liable to be taken for bondmen, or slaves (see 2 Kings iv. 1). We are all in debt to God, and have "nothing to pay." We add to it hourly, and unless the heavy debt is paid by us (which is impossible), or by Another, we shall be shut up for ever in prison with Satan and his angels.

Secondly, these men were remarkably discontented—discontented with Saul, the reigning king, his service, and his rewards; and they came to David, an uncrowned king, with no apparent advantage to offer them. True type of those who, like Moses in a similar case, have "chosen rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season."

Thirdly, they were in remarkable distress. So are all those who come to King Jesus—a distress which others cannot understand, and often cannot account for. "What must I do to be saved?" is a strange trouble to many.

Fourthly, they had remarkable desires. They wished to find David, to dwell with him, and have him for their leader and captain. And David himself was a fugitive, hunted by Saul—poor, powerless, and hidden away in a cave in a mountain, where, probably, it was very difficult to find him. So there are some (only a few compared with the number of the people of the land, like David's four hundred) whose hearts are set on finding Jesus. They wish to be near Him always. He (like David) is difficult to find. He must be usually searched for "as for hid treasures" (Prov. ii. 4), but when found, He becomes their Captain.

Fifthly, these men had a remarkable reception. They had no good characters—nothing to recommend them—but they were received. So Jesus also "receiveth sinners and eateth with them." As the Pharisees despised Jesus for keeping such company, so Saul and his servants despised David. Jesus says, "Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out."

The reception of the four hundred was also remarkable because they were uninvited. But here the type fails. Jesus has invited those who "come" to Him (see Matt. xi. 28).

Sixthly, the men made remarkable soldiers. Their doings are recorded in 2 Samuel xxiii., and the doings and victories of the good soldiers of Jesus Christ are to be found in Hebrews xi. David's soldiers did not live idle lives in the cave, nor do Christ's soldiers have peace always. They have to "fight the good fight of faith" with "the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God," and the bow of prayer. They fight, however, with their Captain's eye upon them (see Psa. xxxiv. 15).

Lastly, they were remarkably rewarded. When David came to the throne, they were put in positions of honour. The visible reward of Christ's followers is yet to come (Dan. vii. 22, 27; Matt. xix. 28; Luke xxii. 29, 30). He has promised also to give them "manifold more in this present time," as well as "life everlasting" (Luke xviii. 28-30).

The prizes were then distributed by the Pastor, and after a concluding word of prayer, this encouraging meeting was brought to a close.

(Matthew vii. 24-29.)

This is a wilderness of sand,
With driving winds on every hand;
How many build their houses here,
Nor seem the coming storm to fear!

There is a sure Foundation-Stone;
May I be builded thereupon!
Then shall I stand the last dread shock,
Safe on the Everlasting Rock.

The name of a river.

A place where all Jews were commanded to depart from.

A king to whom the children of Israel sent a present.

What did Abimelech take with him when he went up Mount Zalmon?

What did the Lord say the strong shall be as?

A mighty man of valour.

One of David's children.

Name one of Jacob's sons.

A brother of Tubal.

One of the cities which the children of Reuben built.

A mountain.

What did Jesus say a disciple should be called?

That which was to be burned always.

A place where David dwelt.

One of the cities which the children of Gad built.

Of what tribe was Hiram?

What did the Lord say should not cease while the earth remaineth?

The name of a thing declared to be a mocker (spell it backwards).

One who slew, in the valley of salt, eighteen thousand.

That which remains to the people of God.

A place where the children of Israel provoked the Lord to wrath.

A wicked king.

The place where the father of Gideon dwelt.

One whom the Lord blessed.

A bird that found no rest save in one place.

The initials and finals will form a prayer.

Alice Cole.
Basingstoke.

The law of love requires us to sacrifice our own comfort to promote the happiness of others.—Albert Barnes.

(Matthew vi. 22, 23.)

Light sometimes means that which gives, sometimes that which receives or reflects, light; as the sun is the light of the world, and the windows through which he shines are the lights of the room and the house. Our eyes are the lights, or windows, of our body. Through them we look out upon the world around us; and light, knowledge, and pleasure come in to us from what we see, as well as what we hear.

Jesus here refers to the eyes of the mind—the understanding. How often, when a difficult matter has been explained, we say, "Oh, yes; I see it all now!" and yet the eyes behold no new object. We mean that we now understand what puzzled us so much before.

Thus, in these two verses we are told about minds that are darkened, and also about understandings that are enlightened with the light of life.

"If the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!" If the windows are bricked up, no ray of light can force an entrance, even at noonday, into the darkened rooms; or, if the casements are thickly curtained, or closely shuttered, how dark the house must be! So sin of some kind—pride, prejudice, or superstition—darkens the sinner's understanding, shuts out the light of heavenly truth, and lulls him to sleep in the arms of the wicked one—the sleep of death.

People often tell us that we can do something to enlighten our own understanding. We can unfasten the shutters, or draw back the curtains, and let in the light. Alas! unless the grace of God has reached us in its almighty power, we do not want the light. Our deeds are evil, and the light that makes them manifest is hateful (see John iii. 18, 19). The thief, the murderer, the coiner of bad money, and all who are knowingly guilty of wrong-doing, love darkness, secresy, and concealment "rather than light"; and this is our "condemnation," as fallen creatures—we love the darkness, and we shun God's holy light. "Having the understanding darkened, being alienated [or estranged] from the life of God through the ignorance that is in them, because of the hardness of their heart" (Eph. iv. 18). Such was our state by nature. What are our feelings now?

Saul of Tarsus, as a Pharisee, was learned, intelligent, and moral; but how dark, how blind, he was in those days! Jesus, God's beloved Son, was the Object of his hatred. The altogether Lovely One had no beauty at all for him, and the children of God he viewed as enemies whom he felt bound to conquer and destroy. How great his darkness was—the darkness of prejudice and pride!

Chiniquy, the Romish priest, of whom some of us have heard so much, was blinded by superstition for many a year, and even the light of the Bible, as he read and studied it, could not remove that darkness till God Himself said, "Let there be light," and made the night of superstitious error flee away.

Then minds are blinded as was Balaam's of old, and the Pharisees, to whom Christ said, "If ye were blind"—that is, if they had not heard His words, and seen His works (see John xv. 22, 24)—"ye had not had sin"—you would have been comparatively free from blame—"but now ye say, We see; therefore your sin remaineth."

They hated the light they had, and closed their eyes against it. As the proverb says, "None are so blind as those who will not see."

But "God, who commanded light to shine out of darkness [at the world's creation], hath shined in our hearts," wrote the Apostle Paul (2 Cor. iv. 6), "to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ."

The once blinded Pharisee could see now, and how different were all his feelings! His own righteousness was cast away. Jesus was precious to his heart, and Christians were his "own company," his beloved friends.

No darkness is too dense, no barrier too strong, for almighty grace to remove. Has the Sun of Righteousness arisen in our hearts? How may we know? Jesus tells us (John iii. 21)—"He that doeth truth cometh to the light." God is Light, and His Word is a light that makes all things manifest. It shows sin, how black it is. It reveals the hollowness of the world, the glory of Christ. It points out our dangers, our disease, our wants, and our foes; while it sets forth the remedy of all our ills, the great Refuge and Deliverer who can save unto the uttermost all who confide in Him.

Do we try ourselves by the Scriptures? Abraham compared himself to "dust and ashes"—worthless. Job said, "I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth Thee, wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes" (Job xlii. 5, 6). David, king of Israel, said, "I am poor, and needy." Are we anything like these saints of God? God says, He "will give strength to those who have no might," will "fill the hungry with good things," and for His own name's sake will bless those who feel themselves unworthy of His favour. Do these promises suit us? Are we glad that God's mercy is so free? And do we, like the Psalmist, "esteem all His precepts concerning all things to be right, and hate every false way"? (Psa. cxix. 128.) If so, we are children of the light, and, while we examine ourselves, we shall pray God to search and try us, and lead us in His everlasting way.

Jesus said, "He that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness" (John viii. 12), yet they who fear the Lord, and obey His beloved Servant, may, for a time, have no bright shinings on their pathway (Isa. l. 10), just as sometimes a change of wind, or some other cause, may make a sudden darkness overspread the sky. But day-darkness generally passes off again before long. So "light is sown for the righteous," and the glad harvest shall certainly be reaped, for "the path of the just is as the shining light, which shineth more and more unto the perfect day" (Prov. iv. 18). The morning twilight in nature may be dim and clouded, but when once the sun has risen, the light grows clearer and brighter till noon is reached; but then it begins to decline, and evening gradually comes on. But the spiritual day ends in noontide glory, the everlasting ending of all sorrow, sin, and fear; and to His people the Saviour says, "Thy sun shall no more go down, for the Lord shall be thy everlasting Light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended" (Isa. lx. 20).

May He "open our eyes, that we may behold wondrous things out of His law." May the "Sun of Righteousness arise upon us, with healing in His wings," that "in His light we may see light," and follow Him who has "redeemed us from all evil" to the realms of endless day.

Our next subject will be, God's Independence of All, and His Declared Need of Some of His Creatures. Compare Psalm l. 12, with Matthew xxi. 3, and other passages.

The Word of God records a potent test
By which a true possessor may be known—

The Pharisee will smite his fellow's breast;
The grace-taught publican will smite his own.

Those who will stand perfect in the day of judgment are those who, by the grace of God, have been enabled to trust in, and wait on, the Lord for salvation from sin and its consequences; for, by the Holy Spirit working in them, they see their sin, and feel the anger of God.

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?" (Jer. xvii. 9); and, when we see and feel a little of our wickedness, we despair, and Satan begins to torment us, and say, "You are too wicked to go to heaven." But Jesus says, "Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out" (John vi. 37); "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest" (Matt. xi. 28).

Jesus says "heavy laden," showing that, no matter how wicked, how laden, His word to all those who are weary of sin, and "heavy laden" with sorrow for sin, is, "Come, and I will give you rest"—rest from Satan and his temptations, rest from the world and all its busy cares.

His rest is so different from all other, for He says, in John xiv. 27, "Peace I leave with you; My peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

Those who will stand perfect are those who have been chosen by God as vessels of mercy, for Peter says, "Elect according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, through sanctification of the Spirit, unto obedience and sprinkling of the blood of Jesus Christ."

Then, when sprinkled by the blood of Jesus Christ, they are perfectly free from sin; as the hymn says—

"There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel's veins;

And sinners plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains."

And this is how God's people stand before Him—

"Dear, dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power
Till all the ransomed Church of God
Be saved to sin no more."

And when the final judgment is pronounced, those whose names are not recorded in the book of life will hear those awful words, "Depart from Me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels" (Matt. xxv. 41). But if our names are written in God's book of life, how sweet to hear, "Come, ye blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world" (Matt. xxv. 34).

Oh, that we may be found at God's right hand, perfect in Christ's righteousness, singing and praising God through all eternity! "Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and His Father: to Him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen" (Rev. i. 5, 6).

"But can I bear the piercing thought—
'What if my name should be left out
When Thou for them shalt call?'

"Let me among thy saints be found
Whene'er the archangel's trump shall sound,
To see Thy smiling face:
Then loudest of the crowd I'll sing,
While heaven's resounding mansions ring
With shouts of sovereign grace."

Grace Annie Osmotherly
(Aged 12 years).

45, Cutmore Street,
Gravesend, Kent.

[We have received many tolerably good Essays for this month, among which the following claim special notice—E. B. Knocker; Lilly Rush; Margaret Creasey; J. E. Wright; P. Rackham; Jane Bell; Florrie Rush; Claude Rush (aged 10 years); Laura Creasey; E. Wightman; E. B. West; D. Newbury; B. M. Dennis; A. M. Cray; W. E. Cray, &c.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of "The Life of John Newton."

The subject for June will be, "What Marks do the Lambs of Jesus Christ Bear?" and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of "The Dairyman's Daughter." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of May.]

The following lines are printed on a board over a watering-trough in Holloway, Bath:—

A man of kindness to his beast is kind,
But brutish actions show a brutish mind.
Remember, He who made thee made the brute;
Who gave thee speech and reason, made him mute.
He can't complain, but God's all-seeing eye
Beholds thy cruelty and hears his cry.
He was designed thy servant—not thy drudge.
Remember his Creator is thy Judge.

He acts but a fool's part who aims at heaven, but lives at random.

The Deepest Running Stream.—The deepest running stream that is known is the Niagara river, just under the suspension bridge, where it is seven hundred feet deep by actual measurement.

Sabbath-Breaking.—On Sunday afternoon, March 4th, at Sheffield, a little boy, whose name was Thomas Haigh, was drowned in a dam, caused by the breaking of the ice. He was sent to the Sunday School by his parents. Instead of going there, however, he and another boy went to what is known as the Little London dam. The ice was not safe, but they ventured on it, and ultimately both fell in. Haigh was drowned, and his body has not yet been discovered; the other escaped. Children, beware of disobedience and Sabbath-breaking.

Great Snowstorm in New York.—Every one declares it to be the worst storm they have ever known. Saturday, March 10th, was a balmy, spring day. On Sunday evening some cold rain fell, changing at midnight into a freezing sleet. On Monday there was a veritable Dakota blizzard. The air was filled with snow flying before the wind at the rate of sixty miles an hour. It was impossible in the street to keep the eyes open, and almost impossible to walk. Those who did venture out of doors were to be seen clinging to trees for support against the gale, or turning breezy corners upon their hands and knees. Vehicular traffic was totally suspended. Huge snow-ploughs, drawn along the tramways by a score of horses, had to be abandoned in the streets. The tram-car drivers unhitched their teams of three horses, and left the cars wherever they happened to be. Unbroken drifts, as high as the hips, or even in some cases up to the shoulders, filled nine-tenths of the shop doors along Broadway. The storm is believed to be without a parallel. It extended all along the Hudson River and around New York.

Death of the Emperor William of Germany.—Berlin has been a city of mourning, and Germany a nation of grief, in consequence of the death of the Emperor William, who closed his long, eventful, and successful life in his palace there, Unter den Linden, about half-past eight a.m., March 9th. Just before he died, when Dr. Kogel, the Court chaplain, repeated to the Emperor the words of the Psalmist—"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me," the Emperor observed, "That is beautiful." His last words are said to have been those with which he replied to a question from his daughter, the Grand Duchess of Baden, as to whether he was tired, and would like to rest. "I have no time at present to be tired," responded His Majesty. Sometimes, when his thoughts were wandering, the dying monarch would think of his afflicted son and successor far away on the Mediterranean shore, and murmur, "Fritz, lieber Fritz." The Emperor was a man who acknowledged God, and God prospered his work, as in the case of the Franco-Prussian war, for instance, although many of his enemies sneered at that acknowledgment. A special funeral service was held on Saturday, the 10th ult., in the mortuary chamber of the late Emperor, at which the Dowager Empress, the Grand Duke and Duchess of Baden, the Crown Prince and Princess of Sweden, and other Royal personages were present. The deceased monarch lay in the same position as that in which he expired, having a crucifix on the breast, and holding an ivory cross in the right hand. [What Popery!]

The Berlin Telegraph Office.—Friday, March 9th, will long be remembered as the busiest day on record at the Central Telegraph Office of Berlin. The pressure was great on Thursday, when 29,878 telegrams, aggregating 799,926 words, had to be sent off. But this record, was eclipsed by the following day, no fewer than 36,615 telegrams, containing together 1,115,551 words, being despatched to all parts of the globe, and in different languages. All the Government telegraphists fit for duty had to be called in to meet the pressure, and all the available instruments were worked. It was a fortunate circumstance that the Berlin Bourse was closed, as this enabled the authorities to make use of the instruments there for the work. During the busiest hours of the day, no less than 346 telegraphists were at work at the same time in the great instrument room of the Central Telegraph Office, and 230 instruments were operated.

Epping Baptist Sunday School.—On Wednesday, February 1st, a lecture was delivered by Mr. William Hazelton, of College Park, Lewisham, entitled, "Wit and its Uses." The lecture was listened to with great interest. Pieces were sung by the teachers and scholars, conducted by Mr. G. Nokes. The chair was taken by Mr. C. Cottis. There was a good attendance, and collections amounted to over two pounds. On Tuesday, February 14th, the children, with their teachers and friends, had their annual tea, after which short addresses were given by the teachers, and recitations and singing by the children. The prizes, consisting of books, were then distributed by the Superintendent, Mr. William Cottis; and singing the Doxology and prayer brought a very pleasant meeting to a close.

Siddal, Halifax.—On Shrove Tuesday, the annual tea in connection with the Strict Baptist Sunday School took place, when about 160 sat down to tea. The meeting was presided over by the respected minister, Mr. D. Smith, who gave a short address on "Stealing." A few suitable recitations by the young children followed. Mr. H. E. Greenwood gave a short address on "Prizes," and said how necessary it was for young people to have something to aim at, and also on the value of a good name. Mr. James Moss, Superintendent of Hebden Bridge Sunday School, exhorted the children to obedience to their parents, and related instances where disobedience had been punished in a remarkable way. Mr. Thos. Smith, Mr. Jos. Smith, and Mr. M. H. Robinson also gave short addresses. Mr. John Smith presented the certificates for attendance and good conduct, and gave excellent counsel to the recipients. After the singing of the Doxology, a very encouraging meeting was brought to a close.

Southsea.—Salem Street Sunday School.—The annual distribution of prizes took place on Sunday, February 12th, 1888. After the opening services, Mr. Lowe spoke to the scholars respecting regularity and punctuality, trying to impress on their minds that these things would be a good recommendation for their future life. He also gave a hint that teachers should set the example. He then spoke of love as being the mainspring to win the affections of the scholars, for if love will not, the reverse will not do so. He also spoke affectionately to the young men present. He felt surprised that they came so regularly to school. He was brought up to the Sunday School, but as he grew older, he left and sought worldly amusements; but, as he remarked, being a vessel of mercy, God sought him out in His own time. He felt there was nothing in the school to attract young men, but if they were seeking the one thing needful, they would not desire such amusements as those by which many congregations seek to draw the minds of youth. Mr. Hitchens, the Superintendent, then remarked that it was twenty years since he first became connected with the school, and that he had seen many changes during that period; but still he could say, "having obtained help of God, he had continued until the present day." Then came the distribution of prizes. One received a book about the sagacity of animals, and his teacher also gave him a Bible for his good attendance and punctuality, as he did not remember him being away once through the year. The service was ended by singing and prayer.

Cirencester.—Park Street Chapel Sunday School.—Dear Mr. Editor,—I am one of the readers of the Little Gleaner. We take a lot of them in our Sunday School, and the girls and boys like them very much. I have been pleased to read about the treats which have been given at other Sunday Schools, and thinking other children like reading about such things too, I send you an account of our Christmas treat, held on January 26th. If you think it worth putting in the Little Gleaner, I shall be very pleased to see it there. Ours is not a very large school, there being only about fifty; but I think it is very nice to go there. Mr. Barnard tells us that some of the ministers who give us an address tell him that ours is a very nice school, for they go to some schools where the children are not so nicely behaved and attentive as we are; but I expect we are not any better than we should be. But I must tell you about our winter treat. We have a summer outing as well. About last October, some of the lady teachers and friends who attend our chapel, knowing that the poorer children of our school would be glad of some warm clothes for the winter, got some money together and bought flannel, serge, and stockings, and had a sewing meeting every week, and made shirts, dresses, flannel petticoats, and skirts; and by Christmas time they had a big box full of all these sorts of things, which were brought and given away at our treat. The children began tea at four o'clock, after singing grace. We had a beautiful tea, and we each had an orange given us; and then, after the visitors (and we had a chapel full) had had their tea, we sang a hymn, and then our minister, Mr. Barnard, gave a nice, interesting address. Several of us recited pieces, and after some more singing and one or two other friends had spoken to us, the best part of the evening came for us children, for Mr. Barnard gave us our prizes—some beautiful books. Mine was a lovely one. Then the big box was opened, and the garments were distributed; and after a vote of thanks to the ladies, and to Mr. Barnard for presiding, the meeting was closed with prayer. I enjoyed myself very much, and I think every one else did. I have not had much practice in writing letters, as I am only a little girl, ten years old, but I have sent you the best account I can of our treat. I remain, your young friend, Mercy Risely. P.S.—Perhaps you don't know me, but I have seen you ever so many times at our chapel.

"THE CAPTAIN NEVER SAW ANY ONE LOOK HAPPIER." (See page 98.)

There were not many passengers on board the vessel in which I was going to Belgium, which rendered our intercourse more intimate. While I was conversing with two elderly persons from Holland, I saw a respectable looking young man, passing backwards and forwards, who seemed to listen to what I said. In the afternoon, as I was seated among some bales of goods, the same young man placed himself beside me, and made some remark as to the fineness of the weather.

"Yes," I answered, "it is a proof of the goodness of God to us; but to be sensible of His goodness is a far greater blessing. Has not a Christian double cause for happiness, since all he receives comes from the hand of his Father?"

He answered, "The captain and I were just now speaking about you. The captain said he never saw any one look happier, and he thought you must have some especial cause for it. I wish, sir, I frankly confess, to be told what your secret is; for, in truth, I am not free from anxiety."

He then proceeded to relate how he had gone from place to place, in order to practise his profession as a painter, and yet all his calculations had been disappointed. He was a native of Belgium, and a Roman Catholic. "But," he added, with a sort of contempt, "all my religion has given me no consolation. What do you think is the use of all these rites and ceremonies? They are wearisome, and that is all."

"My secret," I answered, "which is not one in reality, is of a very different character. The Bible, sir, by the mercy of God, has rendered me happy, not only for this world, but, above all, for eternity. Perhaps you never read it?"

"The Bible, sir? Do you not know it is denied, and even forbidden, to us Catholics? I have heard, indeed, that some priests allow their parishioners to read it, but they are very few; and the truth is that, if any of us were to read the Bible, he would be forced to do penance, and to give the Book up to our priest. I have never read it, I own."

"Here is a part of it," I said, producing my New Testament. "This is the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ."

"The Gospel!" said the young man, with surprise. "Is it all contained in that small Book? I should never have supposed it."

"This small Book," I said, "contains, in our language, all that God has said to us by Jesus Christ, and costs only one franc" (tenpence).

"Only one franc! Is it possible? I will have one, and read it, you may be sure. I promise you, as soon as we arrive at Brussels, the first thing I do will be to get that Book."

"But, sir, you say that your priest will not allow you to read it?"

"No, sir; our Church does not permit us to do so. But if you wish to know my own views, I must say I feel sure that we are prevented from reading the Bible only because it is exactly the reverse of what our priests tell us. They say that the Bible is obscure, and not easy to be understood, and that, if they comprehend it, it is different with the common people. But I do not believe this, especially after something that happened to one of my friends, which I will tell you.

"You know, perhaps, that Belgium is full of Jesuits, and the people dislike them. A certain abbé, who was only a Jesuit in disguise, was confessor to a friend of mine, who, like many others, had been guilty of some imprudence, and he confessed it to this same priest, who imposed rather a heavy penance on him, particularly requiring him to make a rich offering to Our Lady [the Virgin Mary]. Well, on his way home, my friend met one of the colporteurs, who sell Bibles and other religious books. He bought one, and began to read it, and the result was, that he discovered, as he told me, that he must seek the forgiveness of his sins from God, through the Saviour, and that to make an offering to the Virgin for his faults was at once to lose his pains, his money, and his soul.

"Three months had passed, when the priest met my friend, and asked if he had done all he was directed, and especially, if he had made the offering. My friend answered, 'I have got a Book which has shown me that God alone forgives sin, and that to give money for a fault is to mock the Holy Spirit.' 'That is the Bible,' exclaimed the Jesuit. 'Wretched man, from whom did you get it? Unless you give it up to me this very day, woe be unto you!' My friend refused, and there is no sort of annoyance or vexation which the priest has not made him suffer. However, he was firm. But hitherto, I confess, I cared very little about the matter."

"Then," said I, "you remain in ignorance as to whether God loves you or not?"

"I am not worse than others," he replied; "and since God is good, I do not suppose He hates me."

I explained, with all simplicity and freedom, the glorious doctrine of the salvation of God in Christ, and I saw that no thirsty traveller hastens to springs in the wilderness more eagerly than this young man seemed to turn and hearken to the record of divine love. At length, with much earnestness, he cried out, "Sir, how wonderful is the love of God to man! We did not deserve that He should give His Son to die for us. This was surpassing love. The thought of it overpowers me."

"Will you not, then," I said, "read the Bible, which tells us this glorious news?"

"Be assured that I will read it," he answered. "In less than a week I will have one like that which belongs to my friend. It is twice as thick as that lady's work-box, but this one Book contains all that God has said to man; and the print is so clear."

"But if some Jesuit should see your Book, he may take it from you."

"Shall I tell you what I will do, if any one of them meddles with me?" he said. "I will read some of its excellent contents to him, and ask him what he thinks of them. Then I am sure he will not come again, unless he takes a liking to them; and then he will not hurt me."

The late Mr. Edward Parsons, of Leeds, frequently supplied the pulpit of the Tabernacle, Tottenham Court Road, London.

Walking out one Monday morning, he was accosted by a stranger, who expressed a wish to accompany him. On arriving at a certain house he said, "This is my home, sir. Will you walk in and rest yourself?"

Having done so, his host told him he had a design in thus treating him, and then related the following remarkable facts:—

Many years before, himself and wife had come from Scotland to London, where, as a mechanic, he had for a time full employment; but when his work became slack, he was obliged to part with some of his furniture and take a smaller house. His circumstances growing worse, his health also failing, he was obliged to part with more of his furniture, until he found himself, wife, and family driven to reside in a wretched cellar in St. Giles'.

One day, being without food, or the means of obtaining any, he resolved the next morning to drown himself in the New River, and accordingly started to carry out his terrible intention.

It was the Sabbath morning, and as he passed through Tottenham Court Road, on his way to the New River, a little before seven o'clock, he observed a throng of people entering the Tabernacle. In a sullen mood he joined these early worshippers.

Mr. Parsons was in the pulpit, and gave out his text, which was—"When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I, the Lord, will hear them; I, the God of Jacob, will not forsake them" (Isa. xli. 17).

It seemed so truly for him that the poor, starving man could not help remaining through the sermon.

At its close Mr. Parsons inquired, "Have you put the God of Jacob to the test?" The poor man at once said to himself, "I have not put the God of Jacob to the test"; and consequently, with a half-resolution to do so, he returned to the miserable cellar.

There sat his wretched wife, and there were his starving children, crying for the food he could not supply. A short period of pensive sadness, and then he said to his wife, "I think we might read a chapter."

Poor woman! The remark opened up the well-spring of her heart, and she burst into tears. The thought of her early religious training at once rushed on her mind. She looked for their Bible, but it had been pawned. She, however, found part of an old copy, out of which her husband read a chapter.

"We have not put the God of Jacob to the test. Shall we pray?" said he. This more surprised the poor wife, but at once they knelt down, and did then "put the God of Jacob to the test."

Still the whole day passed without their being supplied with food. The next morning, however, the postman, who very seldom entered that poverty-stricken street, brought the man a letter from a former fellow-workman who had heard of his ill-health and loss of work. The letter contained information concerning a large firm in London which had an extensive contract, and was requiring a number of hands, and advised that he should apply to it for employment. It also contained a one-pound note as a loan, which he immediately employed in obtaining food for his family and in delivering his best coat from the pawnbroker's.

He then applied to the firm named, and obtained employment, and, being a clever workman, his services were secured for a permanency. At length he was appointed foreman, and, after a few years, was made a partner in the business, and eventually, his former master retiring, he gave up the business to him.

With grateful acknowledgments to the Lord, he then told Mr. Parsons that he had also been enabled to "put the God of Jacob to the test" with reference to the wants of his soul—that he had been led by divine grace to seek and find salvation; so that he could set to his seal that God was true, and that, "when the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, the Lord will hear them; the God of Jacob will not forsake them."

There are two ways of coming down stairs—one is, to fall from the top to the bottom; and the other is, to come down step by step; but both will take you to the bottom. So also there are two ways of reaching hell—one is, to fall into it by the committal of one great and terrible sin (comparatively few do this). The other is only too general—to go downward by the steps of little sins. Beware of the treachery of little sins.

"Godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that also which is to come."—1 Timothy iv. 8.

When some notorious Canadian robbers were arrested, Chiniquy was chosen by several as their confessor, and he constantly attended the prison, instructing them, and trying to teach them how to die.

But, after all his efforts, a terrible fear that they were not converted would come over his mind, and doubts of the real efficacy of Popish ceremonies to prepare a sinner to meet God troubled him so much, that he made a final attempt to rescue the doomed men after sentence of death was passed upon some of them. His tears and prayers were successful, and the Governor of Canada changed the death-doom to life-long exile in Botany Bay. They, with a number of other prisoners, were therefore transported to the penal settlement, and good Father Chiniquy gave each penitent he visited a New Testament when he took leave of them.

Forty years passed away, and Mr. Chiniquy, the Presbyterian minister, was lecturing on "Romanism," in Australia, when he saw an elegant carriage driven up to the house at which he was staying, and a venerable gentleman, alighting from it, knocked at the door. He went himself to open it, to save trouble, and the stranger asked, was Father Chiniquy there, and might he see him privately?

"As I am Father Chiniquy," was the reply, "I can at once answer that I shall feel much pleasure in granting your request."

He led the way upstairs, and, when alone, the stranger asked—

"Do you remember the thieves who were sentenced to death in Quebec, in 1837? Well, dear Father Chiniquy, I was one of those criminals.... My name was A——. God has blessed me in many ways, but it is to you, under Him, that I owe my life, and all the privileges of my present existence.... I come to bless and thank you for what you have done for me;" and, with tears of joy and gratitude, he threw himself into his benefactor's arms.

They knelt together to thank God for His mercy, and then the visitor continued his wonderful story.

He said, "After you had given us your last benediction, when on board the ship that was to take us to Botany Bay, the first thing I did was, to open the New Testament you had given me.... It was the first time I had had that Book in my hands. You were the only priest in Canada who would put it in the hands of the common people....

"The only good I derived from the first reading was, that I clearly saw why the priests of Rome fear and hate that Book. In vain I looked for Mass, indulgences, purgatory, confession, the worship of Mary, &c., ... and for some weeks I became more of a sceptic than anything else.

"But, if my first reading did me little or no good, I cannot say the same of the second. I remembered, when handing us the Book, you told us to read it with prayer to God for light to understand it. I was tired of my former wicked life. I felt the need of a change.

"You often, when speaking to us, used the words of the Saviour, 'Come unto Me, all ye who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest'; but, like all the other priests, you mixed with them the invocation of Mary, confidence in signs of the cross, and confession, so that your sublime appeals to the words of Christ were drowned by absurd and impious superstitions.

"One morning, after a sleepless night, and feeling so pressed down with the weight of my sins, I opened my Gospel Book, after praying for light and guidance, and my eyes fell on the words, 'The Lamb of God, that takes away the sin of the world.' These words fell on my poor guilty soul with a divine power. I spent the day in crying to the Lamb of God to take away my sins. Before the day was over I felt and knew that my cries had been heard. The Lamb of God had taken away my sins. He had changed my heart, and made quite a new man of me.

"From that day the reading of the Gospel was to my soul what bread is to the poor, hungry man, and what pure and refreshing waters are to the thirsty traveller. My unspeakable joy was, to read the Holy Book, and speak to my companions in chains of the dear Saviour's love for poor sinners; and, thanks be to God, a good number have found Him altogether precious, and have been sincerely converted in the dark holes of that convict ship.

"When at work in Sydney with the other culprits, I felt my chains to be light when I was sure the heavy chains of sin were gone; and, though working hard beneath a burning sun from morning till night, my heart was full of joy when I was sure my Saviour had prepared a throne for me in His heavenly kingdom.

"About a year afterwards, a minister of the Gospel and another gentleman came to me and told me I was pardoned, at the same time handing me a document signed by the Governor, and a hundred dollars, adding, 'Go and be a faithful follower of the Lord Jesus, and God Almighty will bless you in all your ways.'

"All this seemed like a dream, but it was a reality, and I spent several days and nights weeping for joy, and blessing the God of my salvation.

"Some years after that, we heard of the gold mines, and I started, in company with several others; but I separated from the others, for I wanted to be alone, and pray to my God as I walked along.

"After a long march, I came to a beautiful spot between three small hills, whence a brook was running to the plain below. I sat down to eat my dinner, and, while doing so, my eyes fell on a stone by the brook about the size of a goose's egg. The rays of the sun shone on it like a mirror. I picked it up, and found it was nearly all gold of the purest kind....

"With the money I gained from that place I afterwards bought a piece of land, and became one of the wealthy men of Australia. I married and settled here; ... and it is to you, after God, I owe my life and all the privileges I now enjoy."

They wept and praised God together in the beautiful language of the 103rd Psalm. Both could say, with a full heart, "Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless His holy name."

The next day Pastor Chiniquy dined at the house of his unexpected visitor, and felt warmly interested in the family and all that he saw and heard, and the two separated, not expecting to meet again on earth, but confidently hoping to meet around the throne of God, to praise the wonders of redeeming love for ever.

May we also be glad, and rejoice in His salvation, and join to sing the heavenly song with heart and voice, even now—

"Till sweeter notes our bosoms swell,
In yonder world above."

Wise work is cheerful as a child's work is.

"God speaketh ... in a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, in slumberings on the bed; then He openeth the ears of men, and sealeth their instruction."—Job xxxiii. 14-16.

Superstition attaches much importance to the night wanderings of a disturbed mind, and augurs good or ill, according to the nature of the dreamy imaginings. Thousands have dreamed themselves to ruin, by following the empty speculations of a fervid imagination, and neglecting the path of prudent industry.

The text above does not teach that God speaketh in all dreams, but that He is pleased sometimes (and the writer believes very occasionally) to communicate instruction by such means. He that made the soul can approach it by any avenue He pleases, and is shut out from none.

Winters and summers, as many as fourteen, have rolled over my head since the night made memorable by "a brother's dream." Thirteen years have likewise passed since my arms were placed beneath this dying brother—since the glad angels conveyed his sweet spirit to the paradise of God.

Oh, the heavenly smile—oh, the beaming eye he cast upon me—as he gently subsided into endless rest! Never shall I forget that scene. Never will be erased from memory's tablet that chamber, and all that there I felt, and saw, and heard.

"Friend after friend departs;
Who has not lost a friend?"

Come, then, all sympathizing hearts; come, ye who know what sorrow is; come, all who

"feel an aching void,
The world can never fill,"

and listen to "a brother's dream."

Brought up to attend public worship, and under religious instruction, the period when spiritual life first animated his soul is not known to any survivors; nor, also, what were the peculiar exercises of his mind during the first year or two of his Christian life.

Up to the time of his dream, he was associated with many of those whose religion consists chiefly in name and show, carnal excitement, and flesh-pleasing formality; and, being of a very cheerful disposition, and generally beloved by all who knew him, it needed no small effort—nothing short of divine power—to sever the confederacy.

As will always be the case where the life of God is, his soul began to languish and starve under the "Yea and nay," "Do and live," orations to which he from time to time listened. He could not feed on husks. Distressed, hungry, and thirsty, his soul at last fainted. Then he cried unto God in his trouble. Full of vexation and perplexity, not knowing where to go or what to do, he dreamed.

He saw, as he thought, an old woman with a cross-handled basket crying her saleables. "Who wants to buy any religion? Who wants to buy any religion?" she repeated again and again. Gladly, eagerly he vociferated, "I do! I do!"

He bought a large supply. It consisted of a great number of props, which supported him all around, and on each prop was written something which he was to do—some deed or good work he was to perform.

Almost as soon as he was in possession of his purchased religion, he saw, at a great distance, a fire raging, which soon increased, so that it seemed to compass the whole sensible horizon. But what was more fearful, it burned still nearer and nearer to the spot where he stood, consuming everything as it approached. Alarmed, amazed, terrified, his horror was increased as he beheld his props already on fire.

Everything had been destroyed as the burning ocean approached, and could he escape? Alone and helpless, how could deliverance be effected? Power and hope were alike gone, and into the infinite fire he was just sinking, when, lo! the mighty Jesus, before unseen, stretched out His gracious arm, and with words of promise, instantaneously performed, said, "I'll hold you up!"

Forthwith the fire was quenched, and he sang delivering grace.

These solemn scenes, so visibly portrayed in his imagination while asleep, became a subject of serious consideration when awake. Who could explain the matter to him?

Not long he lacked a teacher. The Gracious Interpreter sent a messenger to blow the Gospel trumpet in the neighbourhood. He went; he heard. Oh, what a sermon! Never had such statements fallen upon his ears; never had such light shone into his mind. And what a text!—"The hail shall sweep away your refuge of lies, and the waters shall overflow the hiding-place."

One after another, the preacher described the vain hopes on which he had rested, and showed their frailty and destruction, in the way he had felt. And then his refuge, his hiding-place, his props, away, away they go, just as he saw, exactly as he felt. In short, the preacher's sermon was a map of the path—a verbal unfolding of the secrets of his heart.

What was the consequence? The meshes of the devil's fishing-net were broken; free-will, creature-dependency, were gone; and hope—Gospel hope—"good hope through grace"—filled his anxious bosom. He had been down in the horrible pit; he had been sinking in the miry clay. Now he is brought to the verge of deliverance. Now he sees, he hopes in, the boundless prospects of covenant grace.

Not many miles distant in another direction, lived and preached a servant of the Lord, lately taken to his everlasting home. He bent his steps to hear the words of truth and grace from his lips. "Wonderful! Astonishing! Was it an angel I heard before—one who had assumed a bodily shape, to bear those joyful tidings to my soul, and now appears again with other features and with another voice? No; he was a man; and this is a human voice I hear. But how astonishing! He seems to know all the other told me, and to begin where the other left off. Their sermons seem like two following pages of a book, in which I read the secrets of my life, and behold in legible lines those things I never breathed to human friends. 'This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in my eyes.'"

It was the Lord's doing; for not only was his whole Christian pathway mapped out, but his soul sweetly delivered from legal entanglements, from slavish fear and anxious doubt, and brought into that liberty with which God makes His people free. He was made "wise unto salvation, through faith in Jesus Christ." Moreover, by continuance in that Word, he gave unequivocal demonstration that he was a disciple indeed; one who was a learner and follower of Jesus; and so, knowing "the truth as it is in Jesus," he rejoiced in hope of the glory of God. Nor did he have long to wait, for, sinking under the merciless hand of pale consumption, in a little more than a year he was suddenly removed to that land of peace and love where

"Jesus sheds the brightest beams
Of His o'erflowing grace."

Reader, the dream was instructive to the dear departed; but was it given for him alone? It can no longer benefit him, for with him all is reality—no shadowy emblem, but everything substantial. May not we therefore derive instruction?

Let us look at some of its prominences. Standing out with towering majesty and grandeur, like a cloud-capped mountain, appears

Divine sovereignty—the sovereign mercy of the Lord, who "hath mercy on whom He will have mercy." You will not see this through reason's misty glass (which perverts and confuses all things beheld through it), no more than the loftiest eminence is discernible in the darkness of midnight. But in the light of God's truth it is clearly visible. There are many with whom he was associated when he "sought the living among the dead"—when he was entangled in the carnal schemes of a false religion—who remain where he could not stay, and seem contented, too. There have been but comparatively very few brought to seek what he sought, and to know what he was taught. "Who hath saved us, and called us with an holy calling, not according to our works, but according to His own purpose and grace, which was given us in Christ Jesus before the world began."

We also discover the danger of false religion. Behold that burning flame! Thus burns God's wrath against sin. No human efforts can quench it or check its progress. All creature performances, like the PROPS, will be consumed by it. The best of human works are but as stubble to the fire of wrath divine. Indeed, when God tells of that dreadful day which shall burn as an oven, the self-righteous, or proud, are put before "those that do wickedly," as objects of God's displeasure, and doomed to that dreadful burning.

Oh, could I make my words thunder and lightning, to peal and flash this solemn truth from hill to hill and from vale to vale!

All false religion begins on the outside, and attempts to alter principles by renovating practice; but all true religion commences within. The Spirit produces a change in the practice by implanting new life and holy principles. "Ye must be born again." Religion is not a new patch on an old garment, but a new fabric entirely. "If any man be in Christ Jesus, he is a new creature."

We see, likewise, the trouble and anxiety which are felt when one is soundly convinced of his sinful life and state. Salvation is then a matter of life and death. "Life, life, eternal life!" is the earnest cry. Conviction of sin, when it merely penetrates the skin, is soon soothed and forgotten; but when the arrows from the bow of God's Word pierce the heart, no hand can withdraw them but His who directed them, and no balm can heal those painful wounds but that administered by Jehovah-Jesus.

It may be seen also that, till He who is "the Way, the Truth, and the Life," was proclaimed to his eager soul, he found no solid satisfaction, no stable peace.

"In vain the trembling conscience seeks
Some solid ground to rest upon;
With long despair the spirit breaks,
Till we apply to Christ alone."

He is the only Antidote to our sin, ruin, and disease; and He is freely set forth in the Gospel as the gracious, willing, almighty, and everlasting Saviour of the lost and undone. Until we are brought sensibly to feel our sin and destitution, we are ready and willing to try everything but that which God has provided; but when we are brought before His infinite holiness, and see the "filthy garments" in which we are clad, no arm is long and powerful enough to reach our case but His, who is "able to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him." The blessed Spirit will always glorify Jesus by His teaching, and will lead the soul to Him as the All in all of salvation.

Here are exhibited, likewise, the gracious operations of His power and wisdom who says, "The ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion, with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads." Had his soul's salvation rested on his believing, as some would tell us, he had not have been where he is. Grace begins, grace carries on, grace performs, and finally completes, the grand work of eternal redemption.

In this brief narrative appears, moreover, the peace and joy a knowledge of sin forgiven and peace secured produces in the soul. Oh, the blissful truth, "Redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace." To taste this, to know this, exceeds ten thousand worlds of sordid treasure—transcends the highest delights of this terrestrial sphere. How did his happy soul rejoice "with joy unspeakable and full of glory"!

But he has long entered his rest. He has forgotten to mourn, and loudly sings the praises of the Lamb.

Where is my reader? Is he pursuing the wind, and hunting after the shadowy trifles of earth? Is he attempting by creature works to make his peace with God?

Doomed to total disappointment and eternal condemnation are all those who die in such hostility to the way of peace and Heaven's declared will! Oh, delusion! worse than madness! "He that believeth not shall be damned!" No salvation but by a living faith in the Lamb of God and His all-perfect work.

The fact that we are too apt to suppress our kindest emotions for loved ones, and withhold our words of approbation, is but too frequently apparent. This is often done with the best intent, fearing that more cordial expression and warmer approval may savour of flattery, and very frequently it is the outcome of pure carelessness or indifference. In this connection it is well to consider the words of Horace Mann. Says he:—

"Do not keep the alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up until your friends are dead. Fill their lives with sweetness. Speak approving, cheering words while their hearts can be thrilled and made happier by them. The kind things you mean to say when they are gone, say before they go. The flowers you mean to send for their coffins, send to brighten their homes before they leave them. If my friends have alabaster boxes laid away, full of fragrant perfumes of sympathy and affection, which they mean to break over my dead body, I would rather they bring them out in my weary and troubled hours, and open them, that I may be refreshed and cheered by them while I need them. I would rather have a plain coffin without flowers, a funeral without eulogy, than life without the sweetness of love and tenderness and sympathy. Let us learn to anoint our friends beforehand for their burial. Post-mortem kindness does not cheer the burdened spirit. Flowers on the coffin cast no fragrance backward over the weary way."

An unknown king.

A place from which the Canaanites were not driven.

One of the dukes of Edom.

A Shuhite.

A place built by the sons of Elpaal.

Where were they once who are now made nigh to God?

The Hebrew name for "pavement."

A name which means "the tower."

Something which God used to give a sign to encourage a king.

The initials and finals form two titles of Christ.

Clara Ellis
(Aged 14 years).

In the summer of 1852 Colonel B——, on an excursion to the snowy range of the Himalayas, had proceeded into the mountains some twenty miles beyond any known habitation of civilized man, when the natives told him that, in a village near by, a white man was living in concealment.

Incredible as it appeared, Colonel B—— followed his guides to a little native hut with mud walls and roof of grass. Taking a peep in at the low entrance, sure enough, there he spied an elderly person with a white face, but in the most shabby dress of the natives, who, on catching a glance of the intruder, rushed into a dark corner of his miserable hovel, out of which the most earnest entreaties and assurances of good intentions scarcely brought him.

He was the son of an English gentleman who, like thousands of the high-bred youths of England, had come to India to procure a title to a Government pension, and, after remaining here ten or twenty years, return home and live in ease. Like not a few who come to this land, supposing he could scarcely avoid becoming rich, he had run recklessly into debt, until he was threatened with a term of years in close confinement unless he should immediately cancel his liabilities, to do which he was totally incapable. He fled beyond the limits of the British territory to the place where Colonel B—— found him, where he had subsisted for some fifteen years, in the manner of the wild natives around him, not excepting their revolting vices.

Colonel B—— told him of a debt he owed, which, if not discharged, might consign him to chains and darkness, not for a term of years, but for eternity; begged him earnestly to seek to escape that everlasting imprisonment in the dungeons of the unutterably miserable; prayed with him, and gave him a few tracts, which, like many good men, Colonel B—— is in the habit of taking with him wherever he goes.

Two years after, he again visited him, and found that the seed he had been permitted to sow was springing up. On reading the tract, "It is the Last Time," he could have no peace of mind until he found assurance of his greatest debt being cancelled by the blood of Christ.

His brother, who was receiving a large salary in India, was delighted to be permitted to meet his earthly liabilities, and requested him to return to England and live the remainder of his days in comfortable ease. But no; he said he had opposed and reviled the Christian religion in India, and here he wished to do what he could to counteract his past evil influence.

He is now at S——, daily assisting a missionary in proclaiming to the heathen the only way of eternal life. May He whose grace has raised him thus far out of the loathsome den, lead him still onward, and make him an eminent aid and ornament to the faith which he so long despised and reproached.

In what various ways does God enable him to do good whose heart is set upon it! The author of that tract probably never thought of its floating over the waves fifteen thousand miles, fluttering on the breeze another thousand miles into the heart of a heathen country, amidst the bears and wolves and wild men of the Himalayas, lighting upon a poor degraded immortal, "twice dead and plucked up by the roots," and proving him a son and heir of the Lord God Almighty, a being to reign on the throne of the universe for ever with the King of kings. "O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!"

It is the glory of Englishmen to stand up for the defenceless, and to scorn the cowardly oppression of the weak. Surely, then, those who own and those who use ponies and donkeys will be willing to give a fair hearing to a pleader for the helpless, dumb creatures.

If they could speak for themselves, would they not say—"Give us some rest one day in the week, and we will do all the more for you the other six, and last the longer for it. You yourself work the better, and live the longer, for one day's rest.

"Don't beat our sore sides so hard and so often, and we shall be stronger and better servants to you. You know how oppression only makes you set up your back, but you will do anything for a kind master.

"Don't ride and race us about till we are ready to drop, and our wind is almost broken, and we are reeking with heat and rough usage.

"Pray let us have a little more water when we stand weary and thirsty, with our poor dry tongues unable to ask for it. You have felt the suffering of thirst.

"And for pity's sake," the ponies would say, "loosen this torturing bearing-rein. We toss and shake our heads, or we try to keep them still, and nothing gives us a moment's ease. You, master, would suffer severely if your head were held in such a position, and we could do more work, and much better, without it.

"Please remember that we can always hear your voice, and shall understand what you want us to do so much more quickly, if you speak to us quietly, than if you roar at us, and drag our tender, worn mouths about. We get so puzzled and frightened when you're in a rage with us, that we only flounder and plunge, and make you more and more angry.

"Our last entreaty is that, when we get old and past our work, you will not let our poor, wasted bodies stagger along under some load, when our lives have been spent in your service, but that you will reward us by having us immediately put out of our pain."

Think how much you owe to mercy yourself, and remember, "The merciful man doeth good to his beast."

Take the pillows from the cradle
Where the little sufferer lay;
Draw the curtain, close the shutters,
Shut out every beam of day.

Spread the pall upon the table;
Place the lifeless body there;
Back from off the marble features
Lay the auburn curls with care.

With its little blue-veined fingers
Crossed upon its painless breast,
Free from care, and pain, and anguish,
Let the infant beauty rest.

Smooth its little shroud about it;
Pick its toys from off the floor;
They, with all their sparkling beauty,
Ne'er can charm their owner more.

Take the little shoes and stockings
From the doting mother's sight;
Pattering feet no more will need them,
In and out with such delight.

Parents faint and worn with watching
Through the long, dark night of grief,
Dry your tears, and soothe your sighing;
Gain a respite of relief.

Mother's care no more is needed
To allay the rising moan;
And though you perchance may leave it,
It can never be alone.

Thus a golden link is broken
In a chain of earthly bliss—
Thus the distance shorter making
'Twixt another world and this.

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. (See page 108.)

Our earliest recollection of Emma was as a child in our Sunday School, which she was led, in a very marked way, to attend. Her sister was persuaded by a companion to go with her to our school just for one afternoon, and she was so interested that she became a regular scholar. Emma was at that time attending a school in connection with a General Baptist cause, but hearing her sister speak in such high terms of the school at Zion Chapel, she was soon persuaded to go with her. Like her sister, she felt so at home that she also became a scholar. They each became so very much attached to both school and chapel, that they had no desire whatever to leave it; and we have good reason to believe the Word was made a blessing, and that the seed of divine grace was sown in each of their hearts by God the Eternal Spirit.

Emma was of a very quiet turn of mind, and for the last two years was the subject of great soul-trouble. All who knew her could testify to the deep sense she had of her sinnership before God. Her great fear was, that she was too great a sinner for the Lord to look upon; but her whole desire was, to be found right with Him.

To a friend she said, "Oh, I should not mind waiting, if only I knew I should obtain the blessing; but I am so afraid I shall never have what I am seeking after."

Her love for the house of God was so great that no weather would prevent her from attending the means. Being of a delicate constitution, her mother often reproved her for going so much; but she could say, with the poet—

"I love to meet amongst them now,
Before Thy gracious feet to bow,
Though vilest of them all."

Truly, she prized the company of the Lord's people, and looked upon them as the excellent of the earth; and many times has said, "I want the Lord to assure me that I am one of His family, redeemed by precious blood."

For the most part she was very dark in her mind, but had rays of light, being often encouraged under the preached Word.

It was about a month before her last illness that the Lord seemed to completely wean her from the world. She seemed like one that was indeed taking the kingdom of heaven by violence. The things that belonged to her soul's happiness were eagerly sought after, while the things of the world were only a plague and a burden.

She said to a friend, "Oh, how I long for the Christmas holidays—not for the mere holiday, but that I may get away from my work, and be with the dear people of God."

About a fortnight before her illness, our dear minister spoke from the words, "My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me." It seemed to completely cut her up, as she feared she was only a hypocrite, and not a true follower, which caused her great sorrow of heart. But during the week the Lord was pleased to shine upon her once more with these words—"I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with loving-kindness have I drawn thee." But the words were so great she feared to take them, and yet she could not put them away.

On the following Sunday, our dear pastor took for his text, "Even to Him shall men come" (Isa. xlv. 24). That day was indeed a Sabbath to her; for, as the character was described, the Lord sweetly made it plain to her that she was no longer to cut herself off, and she felt sure that she was the character described. She earnestly begged of the Lord that day that Mr. Hazlerigg might be led to take the same text in the evening. To her great joy the same words were again given out, and the sermon was attended with the same sweetness to her. She was indeed full. A friend who walked with her from chapel said afterwards, that she seemed in a most heavenly frame of mind. She could do nothing but speak of the favoured times she had had in hearing.

The next, and indeed the last, time that she was permitted to meet with us on earth, was at our prayer-meeting on the Monday evening, and then she seemed again to be much favoured.

She was taken ill on the Wednesday evening. On the following Friday, the writer, being sent for, went and found her very ill, but her mind seemed stayed upon eternal things. I said, "Do you think you shall get better, Emma?" to which she replied, "I do not know. If the complaint is not stayed, I must sink; but I do not mind." I asked her if she feared death. She replied, "No; I only want the Lord to reveal Himself to me more, and then I do not mind whether it is life or death." She said, "I have only one wish, and that is, that the affliction may be sanctified." She said that verse had been so blessed to her—

"Fenced with Jehovah's 'shalls' and 'wills,'
Firm as the everlasting hills."

I said, "Oh, Emma, how good of the Lord to give you those words. He knows how full of fears you are, and how Satan would cast his 'buts' and 'ifs' at you; but the Lord has given you those words to quench Satan's darts with." I told her I believed the Lord was either preparing her for His Church below, or His Church above. She smiled, and said, "I hope it is so."

A friend, to whom she was much attached, called to see her, and said, "Emma, should you like me to read to you? I am afraid you are too ill." She said, "Oh, do! I should so much like you to do so." The twenty-third Psalm was read, and a few words of prayer offered; and to a friend, who afterwards went in, she said how very much she enjoyed it.

We did indeed feel it good to be with her; but the affliction was of such a painful nature that she could not talk much. The doctor said that all that could be done for her was to keep her very quiet, and give her support, so that we often refrained from conversing with her, hoping very much that it might be the Lord's will to restore her.

On Saturday morning our hopes were raised very high. She was quiet in her mind, Satan not being permitted to harass her. Her only fear seemed to be that she was ungrateful. She said, "I have so many friends, and they are all so kind." But we always found her to be truly grateful for every little act of kindness shown to her.

Towards evening a change for the worse took place. Convulsions seized her, and, for about twelve hours, it was most painful to witness her struggle with the last enemy—so much so that her dear sister, who was devoted to her, was led to beg of the Lord to release her.

About six o'clock on Lord's Day morning her spirit took its flight, to be "for ever with the Lord." Truly, we could say it was her gain, though we felt the loss most keenly. The Lord had been so good in supporting her through her painful affliction, that we felt we could justly say, with the poet—

"Her mind was tranquil and serene;
No terror in her look was seen;
Her Saviour's smile dispelled the gloom,
And smoothed her passage to the tomb."

On the summit of Washington mountain, overlooking the Housatonic Valley, stood a hut, the home of John Barry, a poor charcoal-burner, whose family consisted of his wife and himself. His occupation brought him in but few dollars, and when cold weather came, he had managed to get together only a small provision for the winter.

This fall, after a summer of hard work, he fell sick, and was unable to keep his fires going, so, when the snow of December, 1874, fell, and the drifts had shut off communication with the village at the foot of the mountain, John and his wife were in great straits. Their entire stock of food consisted of only a few pounds of salt pork and a bushel of potatoes. Sugar, flour, coffee, and tea had, early in December, given out, and the chances for replenishing the larder were slim indeed.

The snowstorms came again, and the drifts deepened. All the roads, even in the valley, were impassable, and no one thought of trying to open the mountain highways, which even in summer were only occasionally travelled, and none gave the old man and his wife a thought.

December 15th came, and with it the heaviest fall of snow experienced in Berkshire County in many years. The food of the old couple on the mountain was now reduced to a day's supply, but John did not yet despair. He was a Christian and a God-fearing man, and His promises were remembered; and so, when evening came, and the north-east gale was blowing and the fierce snowstorm was raging, John and his wife were praying and asking for help.

In Sheffield village, ten miles away, lived Deacon Brown, a well-to-do farmer of fifty years old, who was noted for his consistent and godly deportment, both as a man and a Christian. The deacon and his wife had gone to bed early, and, in spite of the storm raging without, were sleeping soundly, when, with a start, the deacon awoke, and said to his wife, "Who spoke? Who's there?"

"Why," said the wife, "no one is here but you and me. What is the matter with you?"

"I heard a voice," said the deacon, "saying, 'Send food to John.'"

"Nonsense!" replied Mrs. Brown. "You've been dreaming."

The deacon laid his head on his pillow, and was asleep in a minute. Soon he started up again, and, waking his wife, exclaimed—"There, I heard that voice again—'Send food to John.'"

"Well, well," said Mrs. Brown. "Deacon, you are not well; your supper has not agreed with you. Lie down and try to sleep."

Again the deacon closed his eyes, and again came the voice—"Send food to John." This time the deacon was thoroughly awake. "Wife," said he, "who do we know named John who needs food?"

"No one I remember," replied Mrs. Brown, "unless it be John Barry, the old charcoal-burner on the mountain."

"That's it!" exclaimed the deacon. "Now I remember, when I was at the store in Sheffield the other day, Clark, the merchant, speaking of John Barry, said, 'I wonder if the old man is alive, for it is six weeks since I saw him, and he has not yet laid in his winter stock of groceries.' It must be old John is sick, and wanting food." So saying, the good deacon arose and proceeded to dress himself.

"Come, wife," said he, "wake our boy Willie, and tell him to feed the horses and get ready to go with me; and do you pack up in the two largest baskets you have, a good stock of food, and get us an early breakfast, for I am going up to the mountain to carry the food I know John Barry needs."

Mrs. Brown, accustomed to the sudden impulses of her good husband, and believing him to be always in the right, cheerfully complied, and after a hot breakfast, Deacon Brown and his son Willie, a boy of nineteen, hitched up the horses to the double sleigh, and then, with a month's supply of food, and a "Good-bye, mother," started at five o'clock on that cold December morning for a journey that almost any other than Deacon Brown and his son would not have dared to undertake.

The north-east storm was still raging, and the snow falling and drifting fast; but on, on went the stout, well-fed team on its errand of mercy, while the occupants of the sleigh, wrapped up in blankets and extra buffalo robes, urged the horses through the drifts and in the face of the storm. That ten miles' ride, which required in the summer hardly an hour or two, was not finished until the deacon's watch showed that five hours had passed.

At last they drew up in front of the hut where the poor trusting Christian man and woman were on their knees praying for help to Him who is always the Hearer and Answerer of prayer; and as the deacon reached the door, he heard the voice of supplication, and then he knew that the voice which awakened him from sleep was sent from heaven.

He knocked at the door. It was opened; and we can imagine the joy of the old couple when the generous supply of food was carried in, and the thanksgivings that were uttered by the starving tenants of that mountain hut.

"Call upon Me in the day of trouble, and I will answer thee."—Lantern.

Never think that you can make yourself great by making another less.

(Page 91.)

"Create in me a clean heart, O God; renew a right spirit within me."—Psalm li. 10.

Thomas Tyler
(Aged 14 years).
Potton, Beds.

(Proverbs iii. 13-15.)

True wisdom doth my soul admire,
And would before fine gold prefer;
For all the things I could desire
Are not to be compared with her.

While earthly things fill earthly minds,
Attracted to their native clod,
Happy the man who wisdom finds,
And holds her in the fear of God!

An electrical machine was in the window of a scientific instrument maker's shop, and a youth stood looking at it with eager eyes. He was observing every part with intense curiosity. At length, after a long, absorbing gaze, a neighbouring clock struck. He started like one awakened from a sleep, and ran with all speed to his master's workshop.

The boy was the son of a working man—a smith, and was intended also for a working man, but not quite so laborious a trade. Perhaps the boy was not strong enough for his father's manly trade, so he was apprenticed to a bookbinder in Blandford Street, Marylebone. He was a very diligent lad, fond of work in hours of business, and fond of a book in hours of leisure. His master noticed this, and gave him leave to stay in the workshop during the dinner-hour.

Whilst his fellow-workers were drinking and smoking, the orphan boy was storing his mind with useful knowledge. In particular he loved books on scientific subjects. He liked to read about the wonders of chemistry; still more about electricity—that wonderful power that flashes out of the thunder-cloud, that dwells unseen in the dew-drop, that, at a touch, thrills through the startled nerves, and, like an invisible but mighty spirit, pervades all things, from the clouds of heaven to the clods of earth.

One day he found out the shop window with the electrical machine, and at every spare moment he haunted that window, taking the shape and measure of every knob, and wire, and wheel, and plate, with earnest eyes. Then he resolved to try and make one for himself; so by the light of the early summer mornings, he was up and working away at his machine.

In time he completed it, and found it would act. He touched the knob, and the shock that went through him was as nothing compared with the joy that throbbed through his heart at seeing his work complete.

He showed it to his master, who, being a kind and sensible man, was pleased and surprised at the ingenuity of the lad. The master was fond of showing the electrical apparatus of his industrious apprentice to every person likely to be interested in a clever youth. Amongst them were some Fellows of the Royal Society, who might, perhaps, have an admission ticket to give.

Some few years after, the lad, now a young man, was again gazing with wide open eyes, and laying up all he saw in his mind. This time it was not through a shop window that he looked. It was from a seat in the Royal Society's lecture-room that he witnessed Sir Humphrey Davey making some beautiful chemical experiments.

The youth did not know which most to admire—the beautiful apparatus, the wonderful experiments, or the eloquent lecture. All was so new to him—so interesting. But the lecturer himself was, above all the rest, the object of his admiration. Our youth, having been a reader, knew that Sir Humphrey Davey was not born of rich parents, though his kindred and his breeding were virtuous and respectable. In the remote town of Penzance, in Cornwall, from the most western extremity in England, the great man had come. He had taught himself nearly all he knew; and now the youth saw him standing before the mighty and the noble of the land, the light of genius in his flashing eyes, the words of wisdom on his eloquent lips. "Oh, if I could but follow the steps of such a master!" was the involuntary wish of the youthful hearer.

This thought soon produced action. Promptness was a leading part of the young man's character, so he resolved to write to the great chemist, and state that he wished to follow some other trade than that to which he had been apprenticed; that he loved science, and would think himself happy to be employed in any way in the laboratory of so great a man. It was a bold step, but the request, though urgent, was full of the noble humility of real worth. His letter was not neglected. Inquiries were made. The good master had no wish to prevent the youth entering on a career for which his talents and studious habits fitted him. The electrical apparatus was another aid to him, so the wish of his heart was granted. He entered the laboratory of the great man, and had ample opportunity to study and to improve. There is no need to say he did not waste his time or neglect his opportunities.

Sir Humphrey Davey died, leaving a name dear to the philanthropist, as well as the man of science; but his place was not long vacant. Who filled it? He whose youth we have feebly sketched; he whose lectures at the Royal Institution were listened to by the Prince Consort and the Prince of Wales—the celebrated and much-beloved Professor Faraday.

"Seest thou the man that is diligent in business? he shall stand before kings."

Professor Faraday was not only one of the greatest scientific authorities that ever lived, but he was a companion of humble-minded Christians. His weekdays he devoted to science, but on the Sunday he might be heard telling the story of redeeming love to delighted listeners.

Christ's time was largely taken up in making people happy. We do well to remember that, and to do our best in ministering to the happiness of all around us.

(Psalm l. 12, and Matthew xxi. 1-3.)

That God is independent the Bible everywhere declares. All beings beside Himself are His creatures, and He is Lord of all. He needs nothing, for He possesses all things.

No supplies, for, though He ordained sacrifices and planned His temple, heaven is His throne, and earth His footstool, and His own hand gives life, power, and sustenance to all (Acts xvii. 25).

No tribute. The free-will offerings of David and his people, for the building of the temple, were a sweet sacrifice to God; but David truly described matters when he said, "Of Thine own, O Lord, have we given unto Thee" (1 Chron. xxix. 14).

He needs no information or guidance (see Isa. xl. 13-15). "Who hath directed the Spirit of the Lord? or being His counsellor, hath taught Him?" The question is not asked of angels, but of men; and "all nations before Him are as a drop of a bucket"—the little drips that fall from it as it is drawn up from the well—while "He taketh up the islands as a very little thing"—a light thing, lifted easily with the fingers.

No creatures can give their Creator a single new thought, or any help of any kind (Rom. xi. 34-36). "For who hath known the mind of the Lord?" Who then could have been His counsellor? Or who hath first given to Him? This can never be, "for of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things, to whom be glory for ever. Amen."

Therefore He needs give no explanations to any of His creatures. "Who can say unto Him, What doest Thou?" (Dan. iv. 35.) Thus God is above all, and independent of all.

Yet Jesus "needed" the ass and colt (Matt. xxi.). We read of "coming to the help of the Lord against the mighty" (Judges v. 23); and Paul spoke about "working together with God" in teaching His people.

The Bible is full of these contrasts. God is so high, and yet so condescending; full of majesty, yet "plenteous in mercy to all who call upon Him."

There is no contradiction in the contrast; but God's needs are never necessities. Our needs arise out of our nature. We need food, clothing, and comforts, friendship and sympathy; but all God's needs come from His will and His love.

How beautifully this appears in the life of Jesus! He came to earth as a little Infant, needing a mother's care. He grew up in humble circumstances, and when He went forth, at thirty years of age, to preach the Gospel, "the Son of Man had not where to lay His head." He also needed the many ministries of love His devoted followers rendered to Him. And when He died, others must provide the grave-clothes and the tomb, for He had none of His own.

"Though He was rich, yet for our sakes He became poor, that we through His poverty might be rich."

"For our sakes!" This is the keynote to all the needs of the Almighty.

The Father of the Lord Jesus Christ chose His people in His Son before the foundation of the world, and the father of a family needs his children because they are his own, and he loves them.

The shepherd needs his sheep to be safe, and will not willingly lose them. Jesus is the Good Shepherd, who bought His sheep with His own life and blood, and must needs gather and keep them every one.

The physician needs patients whose healing shall proclaim his knowledge and skill, and the Great Physician of sin-sick hearts will glorify Himself by bringing perfect health and cure to all who are led to Him by the Holy Spirit.

Do we feel our need of Him? Have we discovered that we are fallen, lost, guilty, and diseased? Then He needs us, and has shown us our need, that He may relieve, supply, and bless us with His great salvation.

In the same way He needs His people's services for their own sakes.

By fighting the Lord's battles of old, His servants were interested in His cause. By working with Him now, in preaching, teaching, warning, and comforting others, Christ's followers still are honoured and blessed.

When Saul of Tarsus, breathing out slaughter and bitterness against the sheep of Christ, was hastening like a wolf to Damascus, Jesus stopped Him, made him a new creature, and caused him to utter that cry of anguish, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?" Like the jailer's question, "What must I do to be saved?" it came from a convinced and burdened heart.

Saul suddenly discovered that his life had been one terrible mistake—that Jesus of Nazareth was the Lord of heaven—and tremblingly he wondered, "Could there be pardon for such a rebel as he now felt himself to be?"

Could not the same almighty voice have spoken peace to that troubled conscience? Certainly; but Jesus required Ananias to be His messenger to the humbled Pharisee; and, after three days of suspense and blindness, while his tears had been his only food, Ananias arrived with the message of peace.

How tenderly it was given! He put his hands on him, and said, "Brother Saul, the Lord, even Jesus, who appeared to thee by the way as thou camest, hath sent me unto thee," and comfort, sight, and joy followed, while the believing penitent was baptized in the name of his Lord.

How gracious and wise was all this! How closely it drew Ananias and Saul together as brethren—children of the same heavenly family. Paul always lovingly remembered his first Christian friend (Acts xxii. 12, 13), and we are sure that Ananias never forgot that memorable day.

And in the same way Christ still needs the loving services of His people to one another; and those who are taught and helped, love their Christian helpers, while the helpers feel a double love towards those to whom they have been made useful.

Thus the great and glorious independent and almighty King condescends to make use of feeble worms. And which should we most admire, His majesty, or His tenderness? We cannot tell. He is all-wise and all-powerful, and—

"With heaven and earth at His command,
He waits to answer prayer."

Therefore, "blessed are they who hunger and thirst after righteousness," for the time is coming when "they shall hunger no more, neither thirst, for the Lamb in the midst of the throne" shall fill them with all good, and there will be no more "need" on either side. Jesus shall see His people fully saved, and "shall be satisfied"; and they, "beholding His face in righteousness, shall be gratefully satisfied, when they awake, with His likeness" (Psa. xvii. 15).

May this joy unspeakable be ours.

Our next subject will be, The Good Shepherd Gathering His Sheep (John x. 16).

May 6. Commit to memory Rom. viii. 31.

May 13. Commit to memory Rom. viii. 32.

May 20. Commit to memory Rom. viii. 33.

May 27. Commit to memory Rom. viii. 34.

There are five heads under which this subject may be placed—Love, Truthfulness, Obedience, Cheerfulness, Peacemakers.

Love. If true love is inspired in our hearts, our chief aim will consist in trying to be a help to others, which is very useful and needful, even in our own homes. The power of love is of such value, that those who know it esteem it as a precious gem set in gold, for without it, our life would be a path of misery and woe—two of the most terrible burdens in the world. Love is the true spring of usefulness.

Truthfulness is always needful. He who is tempted to tell a lie should consider that he may be struck dead while doing so; and then, where will his soul awake? Truth will out, if it be a long while hidden. It will stand like the mountain against the roaring sea—nothing can move it; for with it, is a clear conscience in the sight of God. If truth were spoken more freely and carefully, we should be far happier. Its preciousness cannot be sufficiently prized.

Obedience is often the root of cheerfulness. An obedient child has this motto in view—"Thou, God, seest me." Obedience is useful in preserving us from many dangers, which our elders can often foresee, and which might prove the ruin of our immortal souls if we were to be disobedient. Thus it brings happiness into the homes and hearts of children and parents, and so produces cheerfulness.

Cheerfulness is sure to arise, in due course, from godliness. If we have trials, we should not give way to despair, and make those about us unhappy; but we should try to attend to our work, and look at the brighter side of our troubles, and encourage those whom we often find in greater difficulties than ourselves; at the same time, not forgetting to take our crosses to God. We may cheer many a saddened heart by cheerful words, and sometimes entice the young revenger to forget and forgive.

Peacemakers are thus spoken of—"Blessed are the peacemakers; for they shall be called the children of God" (Matt. v. 9). Christ teaches us this in His sermon on the mount; and He also set us the example. A little child may be a peacemaker, if it is only to say a word of love, and so stem the rising tempest. In time, it may develop itself more fully, and we may thus honour our holy Master by treading in His footsteps, and proving a help to all who know it, in speaking His truth boldly and sincerely.

For an example of usefulness, we must consider the precious Jesus, and pray for grace to imitate Him in all His ways; then we shall not willingly do wrong, for He is superlatively good.

Sydney House, Sleaford.

[Our young friend tells us her age will not admit of her writing the Essays in future, but we hope she will not forget us, and we pray that the Lord may give her grace to live a useful and honourable life as a disciple of Jesus.

We have received several creditable Essays this month, those from E. B. Knocker, Jane Bell, Lilly Rush, Florrie Rush, and W. E. Cray deserving special mention as giving signs of approaching success.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of "Notable Workers in Humble Life."

The subject for July will be, "The Difference between 'Uncertain Riches' and 'The True Riches'" (see Tim. vi. 17; Prov. xxiii. 5; Luke xvi. 11; Prov. viii. 18, &c.); and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of "The Story of the Spanish Armada." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of June.]

We insert the following to show what even very young children can accomplish by trying, and with a desire to encourage our young friend and others to try again:—

Little children can be useful in many ways. First, learn to be useful at home. Lay the meals, and do the dusting; go on errands, and be kind to brothers and sisters. Always speak the truth, and obey your parents; and if you are sent out on an errand, or with a message, and any other little children try to persuade you to go with them, mind and obey your parents. Be gentle in your manner and duties, and be careful with little children, if you have to see to them, and with your brothers and sisters, and in all your duties. We should be very careful to do what we are told to do, and also very careful not to do what we are told not to do. Be kind, not selfish; dutiful to parents; and do little things willingly; try and persevere at school; be strictly honest, whatever occupation you may be in; always be just, and if you do this, people will feel they can trust you; but if you do not, people will say they cannot trust you. Set an example not to be cruel to anything or any body, but to be kind to all, and love and obey your parents.

Lindfield, Hayward's Heath.

Over 10,000,000 eggs now arrive in New York city weekly. One recent Canada train had thirty-one cars, with 200,000 eggs in each. The chief supply to the New York market comes from Canada and Michigan.

United States' Flour Exports.—The United States now manufacture yearly 70,000,000 barrels of flour, and of this one-seventh part is exported. The great bulk of this flour is sent from eight Atlantic ports to Europe.

Among the "fowls of the air" are three, the eagle, swan, and raven, which live to the age of one hundred years or more. The paroquet and heron attain the goodly age of sixty years. The sparrow-hawk, duck, and pelican may live to be forty, while the peacock and linnet reach the quarter century, and the canary twenty-four years.

A Sagacious Dog.—Just recently a dog, of the black and tan terrier species, entered the Bolton Infirmary unobserved, and forced itself upon the attention of the house-surgeon, who found one of the animal's legs broken. With the aid of nurses he set the limb, the dog meanwhile licking the surgeon's hand. It refused to leave the institution, and was installed as an in-patient. How the dog got into the infirmary is unknown.

We understand that the hall which, for the last nearly sixty years, has been appropriated in Glasgow to caricaturing religion, and where mockery of the Sabbath, recitations, comic songs, dancing, and all sorts of diabolical devices to entrap weak souls, were revelled in, where many Sabbaths Mrs. Besant and Mr. Bradlaugh gave vent to their mockery and blasphemy of God, is henceforth to be used for the worship of the Almighty.

Origin of the Word "News."—The word "news" is not, as many may imagine, derived from the adjective "new." In former years (between 1595 and 1730) it was a prevalent practice to put over the periodical publications of the day the initial letters of the cardinal points of the compass, thus—N E W S, implying that those papers contained intelligence from the four quarters of the globe, and from this practice is derived the term of "newspaper."

A telegram states that the body of Alexander the Great has been found among the sarcophagi lately unearthed at Saida, in Syria. It is stated that the body can be positively identified by its inscription, and other particulars. Alexander is known to have died at Babylon, and on his death-bed he is stated to have told his sons to convey his body to Alexandria, the city he had founded at the mouth of the Nile. Although the monarch did not live thirty-three years, or reign thirteen, he did more than all before or since his time.

Amongst the most curious of recorded wills is that of a Mr. Thomas Tuke, of Wath, near Rotherham, who, dying in 1810, bequeathed a penny to every child that should be present at his funeral. Another provision of the will ordered a shilling to be given to every poor woman in Wath, whilst to his own daughter he only bequeathed the pittance of four guineas per annum. An old woman had for eleven years attended him. To her he bequeathed the munificent sum of one guinea only, for, as he expressed it, "tucking him up in bed." A further whimsy of the selfish humourist was a bequest of forty dozen penny buns to be thrown from the church tower at noon on Christmas Day for ever.

One day, a gentleman's attention was attracted by an unusual commotion in his stable, where two carriage horses were kept. Looking in, he saw that one of the animals had got out of its loose box, and was helping itself to a bucket of mash which the coachman had left at the door. The other horse was neighing loudly, evidently demanding a share in the feast. What was the gentleman's surprise to see the first horse fill its mouth with the mash, and then push its nose through the bars of the loose box, for its imprisoned companion to take the relish from its mouth. This was repeated several times. The horse which was thus fed had often been seen to push over some of his hay into his companion's rack, when that was emptied first.

A Submerged Forest.—During the late violent storms in the Channel, the sea washed through a high and hard sand-bank near St. Malo, nearly four metres thick, laying bare a portion of an ancient forest which was already passing into the condition of coal. This forest at the beginning of our era covered an extensive tract of the coast; but with the sinking of the land it became submerged and covered up by the drifting sand. Mont Saint Michel once stood in the middle of it. The forest had quite disappeared by the middle of the tenth century. Occasionally, at very low tides after storms, remains of it are disclosed, just as at present. It is believed that, some centuries ago, the highest tides rose about twelve metres above the level of the lowest ebb. Now the high-water level is 15.5 metres above the lowest.

Preaching at Kensington the other week, Cardinal Manning said that there are labouring in London no less than 350 Roman Catholic priests and 1,000 nuns.

A Snake that Understood English.—It is related that some Americans recently going through the Jardin des Plantes of Paris, stopped to look at a big rattlesnake in a cage. It lay motionless, apparently asleep, but when two of the party who lingered behind began to speak in English, it moved, lifted its head, and gave every sign of interest. They told their companions that the snake understood English. The whole party then returned to the cage. The snake was apparently asleep again. They conversed in French, but the snake made no movement. Then the ladies began to speak in English. The snake started, lifted its head, and showed the same alertness as before at the sounds. The rattlesnake proved, on inquiry, to have come from Virginia.

The South African Gold Fields.—The Natal Mercury says:—"The gold exports for January, 1888, from Natal were £31,447, and from the Cape £26,115, making a total of £57,562. This is a capital opening for the first month of the year, and if continued in the same ratio, will mean the handsome total for the year of £690,744. Glowing reports continue to come in from the Waterfall, at the Kantoor. A number of buildings are going up. Last week a seven-ounce nugget was brought into Barberton. Two Portuguese are said to be making, on an average, four ounces per day, say £100 per week, and their ground is described as a regular 'bank.' Of course they and a few others are exceptionally lucky ones; but all are said to be making a good living."

St. Patrick's Day in New York.—The following "open letter" has been addressed to the Mayor of New York:—"69, Wall Street, New York, March 19th, 1888.—My dear Sir,—While coming from Washington yesterday on the limited express, my eye caught the telegram printed in a Washington paper announcing your order forbidding the display of the Irish flag from the City Hall on St. Patrick's Day. I could not repress an audible and emphatic 'Amen,' quite to the surprise of the ladies and gentlemen in the car. For many years I, in company with thousands of Americans and adopted citizens from England, France, and Germany, have been outraged and scandalized by this annual insult to our intelligence, our pride of country, our religious belief. In the minds of many others besides the writer, that banner represents in a large degree the worst elements in our body politic—ignorance, vice, bigotry, and crime. It is displayed on the 17th of March in nearly every rum shop, gambling hell, and thieves' den in New York. It was borne in the ranks of the murderous mob that held possession of the city in the July riots of '63. But, aside from this, no legal or other right exists for the display of that flag or any other, except the ones you indicate, from the City Hall of the great metropolis of a land whose people are by a large majority consistent Protestants, on a day set apart to honour the memory of a fabulous Roman Catholic saint. Furthermore, this is literally a rum-sellers' and a rum-drinkers' procession. The wholesale rum-seller rides on horseback, the retail rum-seller rides in a carriage, the drinkers walk, until many of them, overcome by rum, fall in the gutter, are gathered up by the police, cared for in the station houses and the penitentiary, cleaned, and clothed, and fed at the expense of the long-suffering taxpayer. I respect the honest, right-living Irishman or woman, Catholic or Protestant, and would not deny them a single right to which I, a native-born American citizen, am entitled; but I enter my indignant protest against the steadily increasing attacks upon our most valued institutions by this largely foreign-born and most turbulent portion of our population. It is high time to call a halt and compel obedience to decency and law. You will certainly receive the heartfelt thanks and unanimous support of every lover of our city, our country, our institutions, our laws.—I am, my dear sir, very respectfully yours, George Shepard Page. To his Honour A. S. Hewitt, Mayor of the City of New York." [We say, All due honour to the noble Mayor of New York, for such a common-sense decision.—Ed.]

Keeping Warm.—It may not be generally known that, when exposed to severe cold, a feeling of warmth is readily created by repeatedly filling the lungs to their utmost extent in the following manner. Throw the shoulders well back, and hold the head well up. Inflate the lungs slowly, the air entering entirely through the nose. When the lungs are completely filled, hold the breath for ten seconds or longer, and then expire it quickly through the mouth. After repeating this exercise while one is chilly, a feeling of warmth will be felt over the entire body, and even in the feet and hands. It is important to practise this exercise many times each day, and especially when in the open air. If the habit ever becomes universal, then consumption and many other diseases will rarely, if ever, be heard of. Not only while practising the breathing exercise must the clothing be loose over the chest, but beginners will do well to remember, in having their clothing fitted, to allow for the permanent expansion of one, two, and even three inches, which will eventually follow.

"SHE NOW FELT THAT SHE HAD LOST HER WAY." (See page 122.)

Little Janet Bruce lived in a pretty village in Scotland. Near to her home was a large wood. If you were to go into it without a guide, you might go on for miles before you could find your way out of it. In some places no path is to be seen, and tall trees and creeping plants cast a deep shadow over the ground.

Janet was the only child of a poor widow. Her father had come to the village from a distant part of the country in search of work; but he had not been there long before he fell ill and died. It was a sad loss to Janet and her mother, but God, who looks in pity on the widow and fatherless, raised up for them many kind friends.

It was one evening, late in the autumn, that Janet sat at the door of her mother's cottage. She had been told never to go far away from the house, lest she should be lost. But on this evening, as she looked over the fields, she saw some bright blue flowers near a bush; and as she was very fond of making little nosegays of wild blossoms, she thought she should like to pluck them. When these were gathered, there was still further away a hedge with shining buds. "Oh," said she, "I should like to have them to put with my blue flowers." In a moment she sprang towards them, when a little bird was startled from its nest in the hedge. "What a pretty creature!" she cried. "How I should like to see where it will fly to!" And so she ran towards it, but the bird could fly much faster than she could run. Soon it flew into the wood, and Janet followed after it.

Thus we see how one wrong step leads to another. Dear children, beware of the first temptation to acts of disobedience.

It was a cool evening, and the wind blew among the trees. A little rain had begun to fall, and there were signs of a stormy night. Where had little Janet wandered to? and where could she find a shelter should there be a storm?

The sun now sank behind the hills, and night came on. Then it was dark—quite dark; and her young heart beat quickly as the wind moaned among the trees. She now felt that she had lost her way, and then sat down to weep. She thought what a naughty child she had been in not obeying her mother.

At last she cried herself to sleep. As soon as the daylight came again, she awoke, and felt very hungry. But there was no nice breakfast ready for her, and no loving mother to kiss her. She was alone in that great wood.

Janet thought that it was no use for her to sit still, so she rose up, and walked on, but not so fast as before, for her feet were cold, her legs were stiff from lying on the damp ground, and she was weak from want of food. Yet the more she went forward, the further she was from home, for she was going quite another way from that path which led to her mother's cottage.

After a time she came to a place where she saw some dark-looking people seated on the outside of a little tent or camp. These were gipsies. At first she was afraid; but what was a little girl to do in that wide wood? So, thinking that they might be kind to her, she went to them, and told how she was lost.

They told Janet to sit down by their fire, and then they gave her some food out of a large iron kettle that hung from three upright sticks. The poor girl stopped with them all that day, and at night she cried, and asked them to take her home to her dear mother. But the gipsies looked at one another, and then spoke in a whisper, so that she might not hear what they said.

At last, the men and women took off Janet's nice frock, and put on her an old ragged dress. They also rubbed her face, neck, and hands with a dark juice, and then they told her that she must go with them, and she should be in the place of one of their own little girls who had died.

The tent was now packed up, and put into a little cart, and all went forward into a part of the country Janet had never seen before.

Now, poor child, all days were alike to her. She did not know Sunday from any other day. She had no Sabbath School to go to, nor any good books to read. Instead of the sweet hymns she used to hear sung, she now only heard the vain and foolish songs of the gipsies. The Bible, which her mother used to read to her every night and morning, was a Book unknown to these wild people.

In what state of mind was Janet's mother all this time? The people of the village, when they first heard of her loss, went in search of the child. They took with them lanterns, and torches, and tin horns, to sound as a signal, should they find the lost one. Onward they went; some along the fields, and others into the wood; but hour after hour passed away, and the little girl was not found.

Oh, what grief filled the widow's heart! "My child has fallen into the river, and is drowned," she cried; "or has strayed into the woods, and will be starved to death."

When all the people had come back with the sad tidings that no trace of Janet could be found, she wept aloud.

Nearly twelve months passed away, but Janet was not happy with the gipsies. "Take me to my mother," she often said with tears. "Oh, do let me go home again!" They tried to please her with their wandering ways of life, but she could find no pleasure in them. She used to sit on the side of the road wherever they went, and look on every passer-by, to see if she could find any one she knew. But no, all faces were strange. She did not know that she was many miles away from her mother's cottage.

As time went on, the gipsies saw that Janet became very pale and ill. She was so weak that they thought she would die. They then told her that, in a few weeks, they would go back to the woods where they first met with her, and that she should again see her mother. How did Janet count the days and hours till the time came; and when they once more reached the woods, she clapped her hands for joy.

It was again the autumn of the year, and the reapers were at work in the fields. They were very busy, for they were afraid that a storm was coming on. It was just such a cloudy evening as that when Janet was lost. They had cut down all the corn at the lower part of one of the fields, and had just reached a corner which lay against the entrance to the wood, when who should they see but a little gipsy girl. She ran as well as she could, for she was very feeble, towards them, crying, "I am Janet! My name is Janet Bruce. Oh, carry me home to my mother!"

The reapers stopped in their work, and one of them caught the girl up in his arms, and looking for a moment in her face, shouted out, "Yes, it is she! It is Janet herself!" There could be no mistake, for though she had grown taller, and her dress was ragged, and her face was brown, they knew her again in a moment.

The work of the day was soon over, and a seat of boughs of trees was quickly made, into which they put Janet; then two of the strongest men raised her upon their shoulders, and carried her towards her own dear home. Some went before—men, boys, and women—and some followed after; and as they went they sang aloud for joy.

The glad tidings soon reached Janet's cottage, and the mother rushed forward to meet her child. But we cannot tell you what were the feelings of the poor widow as she clasped Janet once more in her arms. The gipsy dress was taken off, and better clothes put on, and like the father in the parable, the widow said, "This my child was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found."

And so it is when a sinner is brought by the Holy Spirit to return to God. With shame and sorrow he says, "Father, I have sinned." But God, who is rich in mercy, is ready to forgive. He will, for Christ's sake, hear prayer. Through His precious blood He will pardon sin. He will take off the ragged garments of sin, and put on the white robe of Jesus' righteousness, and receive coming sinners as His children. Then what sounds of joy are heard in heaven, when those who were lost are brought home to dwell for ever in their Father's house!

Dear child, through the fall you are lost. Have you been truly brought as a penitent to Christ? If so, you are found.

Do not forget this—all the while any one knows not what it is to come to Christ for mercy and pardon, he is lost. But the moment a sinner is truly brought to the cross of Christ for salvation, he is found. Are you among the lost or among the found?

It is interesting to look over household and personal accounts of, say, a hundred and fifty years ago. Some of these, which deal with the expenses of Mr. Gervase Scrope, and of his son Thomas, both of Cockerington, Lincolnshire, lie before me; and from them I find that "my dark-coloured cloth suit, trimmed with silver buttons and loops, was made November 21st, 1730, and cost in all £17 17s. 6d."

This included two pairs of breeches. The cloth for the suit cost 18s. a yard; but Mr. Scrope had a cloak in 1732, the cloth of which cost £1 2s. a yard. In 1729, however, he procured a cheap knockabout suit of clothes for £9 0s. 6d.

Economy seems to have been necessary, for in 1731, "Tommy had a pair of breeches made out of an old scarlet riding-coat of mine."

Boots and wigs were both dear; so also were hats. The squire's window-tax in 1748 amounted to £2 17s.

Only in the matter of certain articles of food were the old days cheaper than the new. In 1754, eight lbs. of veal cost 2s. 4d., or 3½d. per lb.; a tongue cost 1s. 10d.; 31 lbs. of round and rump of beef cost 12s., or about 4½d. per lb.; a leg and saddle of mutton cost 4s. 7d.; a quarter of lamb cost 1s. 6d.; 22 lbs. of pork were bought for 5s. 6d.; and rabbits ranged from 6d. to 1s. a couple, according to size. But coffee was 6s. a lb., and lump sugar was 10d. Soap at this time cost 7s. 6d. a stone.

Bread was sometimes cheap, but whenever war broke out, the price always went up to a terrible height, and much misery and distress must have resulted.

In 1886, the average price of wheat in England was 39s. 4d. per imperial quarter; in 1810 it was 106s. 5d.; and in 1801 it was 119s. 6d.; or more than three times as much as it was two years ago. Those were indeed dear old times.—Cassell's Saturday Journal.

P unctual be throughout the day;
O bedient to superiors;
I ndustrious in every way;
N ot haughty to inferiors:
T ruthful in word, and trim in dress;
S hun folly, and for wisdom press.

J. B.

All who now colour for show will hereafter be shown in their true colours.

"After the working of Satan with all power, and signs, and lying wonders."—2 Thessalonians ii. 9.

In the autumn of 1836, the Marine hospital of Quebec, in Canada, was filled with patients suffering from ship typhoid fever, and so deadly was the disease that, by the following spring, a number of the officials and servants of the institution had also been smitten, and died. Chiniquy had hitherto been spared, although in constant attendance on the patients, but in May, 1837, he was attacked with the fearful disease. His life was despaired of, and the last Sacraments were administered to him. He could not speak. His tongue became like a piece of wood, and all that could be given him was a little cold water, dropped with much difficulty through his teeth.

On the thirteenth night of his illness, he heard the doctors whisper, "He is dead, or nearly so," and they left the room. A deep horror seized him. An icy wave seemed to creep over his whole frame, and a terrible vision rose before his mind. A pair of scales stood before him. His sins were in one scale; his good works and penances in the other; and all his righteousness seemed but a grain of sand compared with a mountain load of guilt, and to God he dared not cry for mercy. But he thought of two saints—St. Anne, who was believed to have cured hundreds of cripples, and St. Philomene, who was just then the favourite saint of Rome. To these he cried, with all the earnestness of his failing soul, and soon a bright vision came before him of an aged, grave lady, and a young and beautiful one, the latter distinctly saying to him, "You will be cured." The vision then disappeared, but the fever had gone also. The crisis was over. He was hungry, and asked for food, which was at once given him, and he ravenously ate the dainties prepared, while the friendly priests gathered round him joyfully, and sang a hymn of praise.

Of course they believed that the saints had cured him, and the Roman Catholic doctors shared their idea; but a Protestant physician denied it altogether, and in a kind manner he tried to prove that no miracle had been wrought, but that returning health came from natural causes, by the will and blessing of God.

Chiniquy was unwilling, however, to change his mind on the subject, and, true to the vow he made in the hour of fear, he got a splendid picture painted, at a cost of £50, representing his vision as he lay seemingly on the bed of death.

Three months later, he was in the house of the curate of St. Anne, a cousin of his, and he showed him the picture he intended to exhibit in the church next day. But, to his surprise and grief, his older relative, instead of sharing his belief, laughed heartily at his folly, asking him how he, as a man of sense, could possibly believe in such a miracle. Chiniquy reminded him of all the crutches hanging in St. Anne's Church, belonging to the cripples she had cured, which remark gave rise to another burst of laughter on the curate's part. But, sobering down, he seriously declared that, having carefully watched these so-called cures, he had found that ninety-nine out of every hundred were impostures, the hundredth one being an honest belief, but a superstitious and fancied one.

These pretended cripples were nearly always lazy beggars, who knew that their seeming lameness would get them pity and money, and, when tired of that game, they would make a begging tour, telling all their helpers that they were going to the church of St. Anne, to pray for the use of their legs.

They at last arrive there, pay from one to five dollars to have a mass said for them, and then, in the midst of the ceremony, just as they receive the wafer, there is a cry of joy. They are cured, and they leave their crutches behind as witnesses of their cure. They then return, and tell all who will listen as they go along, receiving fresh gifts from them until they get home again, to take a farm and settle down with their dishonest gains.

"Such," said the curate, "is the true history of the ninety-nine miracles. In the hundredth case the man is really cured, because he was really afflicted; but his nerves were wrought upon just as I was once cured of a dreadful toothache by seeing the dentist put his instrument on the table. I took my hat and left, and the dentist laughed heartily every time he met me afterwards.

"One of the weakest points of our religion is the ridiculous miracles said to be wrought by the relics and bones of saints. For the most part, they are the bones of chickens or sheep; and were I a Pope, I would throw all these Pagan mummeries to the bottom of the sea, and would present to the eyes of sinners nothing but 'Christ and Him crucified' as the Object of their faith, just as the Apostles of Jesus do in their Epistles!"

They talked together in this strain till two o'clock in the morning, and then Chiniquy was too puzzled and sad to sleep.

Next morning, multitudes came to see his picture, and hear about his cure, which he long afterwards believed to be a miracle. Soon after he had finally left his priesthood, however, he again caught the fever, while visiting a dying man, and again on the thirteenth day the malady took a favourable turn; but this time he had felt happy in the prospect of dying, and the vision he saw at the crisis of the disease was not St. Anne, or St. Philomene, but a dozen bishops, dagger in hand, rushing on him to take his life. He thought he turned on them and slew them, and with this the fever left him. He asked for food, and speedily recovered, and then he knew that it was the Lord who had forgiven all his iniquities, who had also healed his diseases, without the aid of any of the saints of Rome, and the snare which had long held him captive was broken. He no longer sought the aid of departed saints in heaven, any more than he thought of again praying for souls in purgatorial fires. The Word of God was henceforth his only guide. May the religion of the Bible only, be our religion also.—Jottings on "The Life and Work of Father Chiniquy," by Cousin Susan.

There are some curious stories respecting Fra Rocco, the celebrated preacher of Naples. On one occasion, it is related, he preached a penitential sermon, and introduced so many illustrations of terror that he soon brought his hearers to their knees. While they were thus showing every sign of contrition, he cried out—

"Now, all of you who sincerely repent of your sins, hold up your hands."

Every man in the vast multitude immediately stretched out both his hands.

"Holy Archangel Michael," exclaimed Rocco, "thou who with thine adamantine sword standest at the right of the judgment-seat of God, hew me off every hand which has been raised hypocritically."

In an instant every hand dropped, and Rocco, of course, poured forth a fresh torrent of eloquent invective against their sins and their deceit.

[True repentance is given by Jesus Christ, the exalted Prince and Saviour. All other is but mere show, and unavailing before God.—Ed.]

A heart without a gift is better than a gift without a heart.

The subjects of these memoirs—Ann Jane Woolford, George Woolford, and Hephzibah Woolford—were born in the beautiful town of Cheltenham, August 20th, 1840, January 28th, 1842, and February 14th, 1846.

The names of their parents were George and Ann Woolford, both members of the Church assembling for worship in Bethel Chapel, Cheltenham.

In all, four children shared their affection, interested their solicitudes, listened to their counsels, and knelt at their domestic altar.

Upon three out of the four the grave closed in comparative infancy; and, believing the "kindness and love of God our Saviour toward man" appeared to them, the bereaved mother, partly to indulge in a subject of mournful interest, and partly to record the gracious dealings of God, drew up, with her own hand, the subjoined narrative:—

George.

"My eldest child, George Woolford, was attacked by scarlatina on October 16th, 1851, from which he partially recovered, but died the following month.

"Perceiving his soul 'drawing nigh unto the grave, and his life to the destroyers,' I remarked, 'It will do you no harm to think of death, seeing we must all die.' With tears in his eyes he exclaimed, 'Oh, mother, I am afraid I shall not go to heaven.' I asked why he thus feared. His answer was, 'I am afraid the Lord will not forgive me.' I said, 'My dear, the Lord is ready to forgive all who from their hearts are sorry for their sins; and I hope the Holy Ghost will enable you to pray for divine forgiveness.' He seemed much affected by these remarks, but said he was too ill to talk or listen to me.

"In great earnestness (and I believe under divine influence) I entreated God to grant me the great favour of informing me whether my dear boy was interested in the everlasting covenant, which is 'ordered in all things, and sure.'

"About two or three days after, he commenced a conversation by saying, 'Mother, I am afraid I shall not go to heaven. I have been such a sinner. I am afraid I am so great a sinner that the Lord will not save me. I have done so many things that are sinful, and they come into my mind and make me grieve.' I repeated several portions of the Holy Scripture, to which he listened in great earnestness, and then inquired, 'But, as I have not long to live, will the Lord forgive me after putting it off so long?' I answered in the affirmative, and mentioned the dying thief, assuring him the Lord was as willing to pardon him as He had been to pardon that malefactor. This relieved his mind, and he asked for his Testament to read.

"A few days after, while I was gazing intently on him, he meekly exclaimed, 'Do not look at me so, my dear mother. It almost breaks my heart.' I said, 'My dear boy, do you ever pray?' He answered, 'I try to do so; but do not know that I pray aright.' I remarked, 'If it is from your heart, the Lord will answer it in His own time, for the prayer of necessity is that in which He delights.'

"On the Lord's Day before his death he appeared much better, ate a hearty dinner, and remained up till between four and five in the afternoon, when he exclaimed, 'Oh, mother, I am afraid my breath is getting bad again.' After several hours of great suffering, he cried out, 'Dear Lord, take me—do take me!' Hearing him thus call upon the name of the Lord, I approached him softly, and in soothing terms expressed my gladness at finding he was not afraid to die. 'No, dear mother,' he said, 'I am not afraid to die. I am happy now.' I inquired, 'Do you love the Lord?' 'Oh, yes,' was his ready answer, and immediately ejaculated, 'Dearest Lord, take me—take me—take me!' a great many times.

"His pains becoming stronger, he said, 'Dear mother, do pray the dear Lord to take me!' I did so; and when risen from my knees, he said, 'Thank you, my dear mother. I hope the Lord will answer your prayer,' and then added, 'Oh, my dear, dear Lord, do take me! Take me from this world now. I do not want to live here. Take me with my next breath. This moment, dear Lord, take me.'

"Observing the state of his mind, I put this question to him—'My dear boy, do you think the Lord has washed you in His blood, and clothed you in His precious righteousness?' 'Oh, yes, I do, mother,' was his prompt reply.

"His pains abating, he remarked, 'How kind the Lord is to me! I shall never be able to praise Him enough.' I said, 'My dear, you will have the countless ages of eternity to praise Him in.' He said, 'I want to go.' I answered, 'Pray for patience, that you may wait the Lord's time.' 'I am not impatient, but my pains are great,' was his meek reply, and he began entreating the Lord to remove him from this sinful world.

"A short time after this, he exclaimed, 'Oh, that precious Book, the Bible!' I answered, 'It is indeed a precious Book. It tells us of a Saviour, who washed you and me in His precious blood!' He said, 'Yes'; and added, 'Pray for Him to take me soon. Do, dear mother,' &c.

"Expressing a desire to kiss my hand, I gave him one. He held it very tightly, and kissed it several times. I asked him if he thought he had been a little sinner or a great one. Surprised by this question, and apparently hurt, he replied, 'Oh, mother, a great one—a great one.'

"Overhearing a part of my conversation with his aunt, he said, 'Oh, mother, do not ask the Lord to let me live. I want to die. I would not live half a second.'

"Shortly after, he repeated a similar prayer, wished to see his father, kiss him, and take his leave of him, which he did in an affectionate manner. He then inquired what o'clock it was, and being disappointed, cried out in a tone of thrilling solemnity, 'O Lord of Hosts, come and take me!' Shortly afterwards he exclaimed, lifting up his eyes and hands to heaven, 'I think I am dying. Pray again, dear mother, that the Lord may take me.' Persuaded of his interest in Christ, I was enabled to resign him, and much as I loved him, actually entreated the Lord to fetch him away. When this was over, he said, 'Thank you, my dearest mother. I hope the Lord will answer all your prayers before long.'

"At another time, he remarked, 'How good the Lord is to me, is He not?' And again, 'My sufferings are great, but they will soon be over, for I shall soon be with the Lord'; and in a manner I cannot describe, exclaimed, 'Oh, dear Lord Jesus Christ, and Holy Ghost, come and take me.'

"Not long after, he remarked, 'I shall soon go now. Something has broke in my head. You may send for some one to lay me out.'

"After a short interval he complained of shortness of breath, and proceeded to call upon the Lord in a sweet manner, but in a short time suddenly exclaimed, 'Now I know I shall soon be gone, for two things have broke within me. Does not my voice get weaker?'

"After giving directions about his books, he again complained of his distresses, and I remarked, 'The way to the kingdom was through much tribulation.' He requested that I would pray for patience; and upon being reminded that the Lord loved him too well to detain him one moment beyond the appointed time, he said, 'Oh, why is He so long in coming? Dear Lord, come now!'

"Referring him to some of the Lord's children who had suffered fire and sword, but were now in glory, I added, 'You will soon be with them, and have ten thousand smiles from your Redeemer, with love in every smile.' This seemed to refresh his spirit, and I continued, 'One moment with Christ will more than recompense for all your pain.' He said, 'Oh, yes. Come, dear Lord, and take me!'

"Heart and flesh failing, his father was called into his room. The patient sufferer looked calmly at him, gently moved to the other side of the chair, said 'Mother!' and resting his head on his arm, and with a pleasant countenance, and without a groan, quietly fell asleep in Christ, November 17th, 1851, at five o'clock a.m."

Thus died George Woolford, aged nine years and nine months.

"Those that sleep in Christ will God bring with Him."

"'I take these little lambs,' said He,
'And lay them in My breast;
Protection they shall find in Me;
In Me be ever blest.

"'Death may the bands of life unloose,
But can't dissolve My love;
Millions of infant souls compose
The family above.'

"His words the happy parents hear,
And shout with joys divine—
'Dear Saviour, all we have and are
Shall be for ever Thine.'"

Hephzibah.

"My dear Hephzibah was taken ill on the fifth of November, and though I have not many sayings of hers to record, I nevertheless believe that there was 'some good thing in her toward the Lord God of Israel,' and therefore, in solemn pleasure, rehearse the memorials of His grace.

"On the fourth day of her illness she said, 'Mother, I am very ill, but I am not afraid to die, mother. No; I should like to die, and be with the Lord, for I do love Him, mother, that I do, better than every one besides.' 'But do you not love your father and mother best?' I inquired. Her answer was, 'I do love you both very dearly, but I love the Lord most. Ought I not to love Him most, mother?' I said, 'Yes, my dear.' She replied, 'And so I do. I want to go to heaven, to be with Him. And I should like my dear father, and mother, and Ann Jane, and George, and Rhoda to go with me. Would not that be happy, to meet and never part again? There we should have all we want.' I replied, 'Yes, my dear, "for the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of water, and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." "And there shall be no night there."' 'Oh, will not that be happy, mother?' she exclaimed. 'I want to die, that I may see the Lord. He is so good and kind to me.' I asked, 'Would you not like to get well again?' and her reply was, 'I would rather die and go to Jesus.'

"The frequency of her expressed desires to 'depart and be with Christ' excited a trembling apprehension in my mind of her speedy dissolution, an apprehension fully verified by the event.

"She now sunk into a state of unconsciousness, in which she continued for more than a week, suffering very much, indicating the speedy disrupture of all earthly ties, and inducing a perpetual vigil.

"To my surprise she suddenly rallied, seemed to get better, and 'hope told a flattering tale'; but it disappointed us, and rendered the separation more trying.

"The sensitive vigilance of my child's conscience was very remarkable. For instance, when any little delicacy had been declined, she remained inflexible, remarking that to alter her decision would be to 'tell a story,' which, she said, 'would be very wicked.'

"On the day she died, she said, 'Mother, I am very ill. I think I shall die. My throat is so bad.' Shortly after, she said, 'Mother,' and was silent. A few minutes after that, she lifted up her dear eyes and hands to heaven three times, clasping her hands and letting them down again.

"None but a mother knows a mother's heart. I saw the stroke, clasped my loved Hephzibah, and impressed the farewell kiss on her dying cheek. She looked at me, gave up the ghost, and was 'carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom' on November 28th, 1851, in the sixth year of her age."

"One gentle sigh their fetters breaks,
We scarce can say, 'They're gone!'
Before the willing spirit takes
Her mansion near the throne.

"Faith strives, but all its efforts fail
To trace her in her flight;
No eye can pierce within the veil
Which hides that world of light.

"Thus much (and this is all) we know—
They are completely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Saviour rest."

[The memoir of the third child, Ann Jane, will appear next month.]

A blind tortoise lived in a well. Another tortoise, a native of the ocean, in his inland travels happened to tumble into this well. The blind one asked of his new comrade whence he came.

"From the sea."

Hearing of the sea, he of the well swam round a little circle and asked—

"Is the water of the ocean as large as this?"

"Larger," replied he of the sea.

The well tortoise then swam two-thirds of the well, and asked if the sea was as big as that.

"Much larger than that," said the sea tortoise.

"Well, then," asked the blind tortoise, "is the sea as large as this whole well?"

"Larger," said the sea tortoise.

"If that is so," said the well tortoise, "how big, then, is the sea?"

The sea tortoise replied, "You having never seen any other water than that of your well, your capability of understanding is small. As to the ocean, though you spent many years in it, you would never be able to explore the half of it, nor to reach the limit, and it is utterly impossible to compare it with this well of yours."

The well tortoise replied, "It is impossible that there can be a larger water than this well. You are simply praising up your native place with vain words."

How many people there are like the tortoise in the well!

Though 'tis not seen, yet it is known,
For oft it makes e'en strong men groan.
The proud and bold have shook with fear
When they have felt this strong one near.
Yea, monarchs have before it fell,
And feared that they should sink to hell.
But oft the sad have felt this power,
And found, in trouble's darkest hour,
Such friendly help that they have said
They never more should be afraid.
And such as felt condemned to die
Have been released and filled with joy.
Now, reader, search your Bible through,
And tell us where these things you view.

The greatest happiness of the creature is not to have the creature for his happiness.

Sir John Lubbock, M.P., some time since, delivered an address in Queen Street Hall, Edinburgh, to the members of the Edinburgh Philosophical Institution, on "The Sense and Senses of Animals." In the course of his remarks the lecturer said that one would gratefully admit that the dog was a loyal, and true, and affectionate friend, but when we came to consider the nature of the animal, our knowledge was very limited. That arose a good deal from the fact that people had tried rather to teach animals than to learn from them. It had occurred to him that some such method as that which was followed in the case of deaf mutes might prove instructive if adapted to the case of dogs. He had tried with a black poodle belonging to himself. He then went on to relate several experiments he had made with pieces of cardboards, with different words marked upon them. He had taken two pieces of card, one blank, and the other with the word "food" upon it. He had put the latter on a saucer containing some bread and milk, and the blank card he put on an empty saucer. The dog was not allowed to eat until it brought the proper card to him. This experiment was repeated over and over again, and in about ten days the dog began to distinguish the card with the letters on it from the plain card. It took a longer time to make the dog realize the difference between different words.

In order to try and discover whether the dog could distinguish colours, he prepared six cards, marking two of them blue, two yellow, and two orange. He put one of each on the floor, and tried to get the dog to bring to him a card with the same colour as one which he showed the dog in his hand. After trying this for three months, he found that his experiment in this direction was a failure.

He had always felt a great longing to know how the world appeared to the lower animals. It was still a doubtful point whether ants were able to hear. From experiments which he had made, he had come to the conclusion they had not the power of addressing each other. His impression on the whole was, that bees and ants were not deaf, but that they heard sounds so shrill as to be beyond our hearing. There was no doubt about insects seeing. He then went on to relate several experiments he had made with the view of discovering whether different insects could distinguish different colours, and had any preference for particular colours. The colours of objects must present a very different impression upon insects to that on human beings. The world to them might be full of music which we could not hear, colours which we could not see, and sensations which we could not feel.

A hand encased in leathern glove,
One pensive autumn day,
Gathered some pretty wayside flowers,
To make a bright bouquet.

With kind intent the flowers were culled,
To please a loved one's taste;
But ah! unconsciously, some thorns
Were with the blossoms placed.

The hand that grasped the welcome gift
Soon felt the piercing smart,
And pain dispelled the grateful smile
That rayed out from the heart.

Would we to spirits bowed and sad
Convey a transient joy?
Let not the lack of tender skill
Our kindly deed alloy.

E. D.

If you pursue sin for profit you will never profit by your sin.

A bright Sabbath morning in August, a young minister was on his road to a distant parish, where he had engaged to take the services. He overtook a group of lads, evidently bent on an excursion of amusement. A boy, coming from the opposite direction, was being alternately persuaded and chaffed to give up for once going to Sunday School, and join the pleasure-party instead. Just then an old man, of venerable appearance, who had watched the group from his garden, came forward and addressed the boys in the following words—

"Lads, you may think lightly now of what you are doing, but Sabbath-breaking leads to ruin—has led to the gallows. Ben"—turning to the boy on his way to Sunday School—"don't be ashamed of doing right. The Lord saith, 'Them that honour Me I will honour, and they that despise Me shall be lightly esteemed.' Ah! boys, be warned in time. You cannot reckon the cost of a broken Sabbath."

Ben, strengthened thus, went on his way, regardless of the jeers of the other lads, who, turning over a stile, were quickly out of sight and hearing.

The minister also went on his way, but the earnest tones and sad expression of the aged man had made a deep impression on him, and he pondered if some personal experience lay behind that solemn warning, "You cannot reckon the cost of a broken Sabbath."

The evening of that day found him coming through the fields by a path which led hard by the door of the cottage of the old man. It had been pointed out as shorter and pleasanter than the dusty high road which he had travelled in the morning. The day had been hot, and an offer to go back to the rectory for refreshment had been declined, as it would lengthen the walk considerably; but now, tired and thirsty, he resolved to test the hospitality of the owner of the cottage.

The old man sat outside his doorway, with his big Bible on a round table. The wayfarer asked for a little water to drink. He was courteously requested to enter in and rest, and a draught of milk proposed instead, unless he could wait for a cup of tea. The kettle was boiling in the back kitchen, and the little table, covered with a snowy cloth, was already set for a solitary meal, which the visitor was invited to share. He accepted the kindly offer, not sorry to have an opportunity of converse with one whose words had lingered with him through the day.

Having explained how he had been occupied since passing in the early morn, he remarked—

"You live alone?"

"Yes, sir, I am alone in the world, but yet not alone, for the Saviour is often with me in my humble dwelling, and I hope in a little while He'll come and take me to His home above."

"That is a blessed hope to cheer and make you patient to wait His time, my friend," was the rejoinder. "Have you been left long alone?"

"The last went home twenty years ago, come Michaelmas," said the aged host. "It has been whiles a weary waiting-time, but it's sinful to repine. His time must be the right time."

Whilst the old man went to fetch the tea, the guest looked round and observed some articles of carved wood—boxes, flat rulers, and leaf-cutters—and was struck with the frequent recurrence of short words of Holy Writ on the Sabbath. Some little books lay on the window-sill, many of which were on the same subject.

After impressively asking God's blessing, and whilst partaking of the simple meal, the visitor remarked—

"I see the sanctity of the Lord's Day is a strong point with you. I was struck this morning with the expression you used to those lads—'the cost of a broken Sabbath.'"

"THE OLD MAN SAT WITH HIS BIG BIBLE." (See page 132.)

No response came for some minutes, as if the host was debating some question with himself; and so it proved, for at last he raised his head and said, with a vast depth of pathos in his tones—

"None have had greater reason to know the bitter cost, sir, than myself. It is not often that I speak of the past, but it may be the Lord has brought you here for a purpose to-day, and you may be able to use it as a warning to some within your influence."

"If your story will not be too painful to you, my friend, I should indeed feel grateful to you for it," was the response.

"I do not belong to these parts, sir," he began, "but I've been here over a quarter of a century. I lived in a large village in a midland county, where some extensive mill-works were carried on, and rose from a lad's tasks there to fill the place of foreman. I married happily, and had a home of comfort and peace with a loving, godly wife. Four children out of six born to us grew up—two sons and two daughters—and after the toil and din of the week, Sunday was a day of quiet enjoyment, in the midst of my family, spent in God's house and our home, with the aid of books and singing, for we all had fair voices. It had never been counted a dull day by the young folks. The lovely flowers and birds, and the wonders of the book of creation and the Book of grace, made the day of holy rest seem all too short. But our circle did not remain unbroken. First, our eldest girl, poor Maggie, left home to take a situation in a neighbouring town, and soon after, our first-born, David, who had never taken kindly to mill-work, obtained employment in an office in the same town, within five minutes' walk of his sister. This seemed well for both, being much attached to each other. Ned and Mary still clung to the old home, and the other two frequently spent the Sabbath in our midst. David almost always walked over in the early morn, or late on Saturday night, returning, if alone, on Monday morning, or, if Maggie accompanied him, the same evening, as she was not allowed out at night. She could only, of course, take turns with her fellow-servants; but, unless weather prevented, we could surely reckon on the flown birds coming, when able, back to their nest on the Sabbath.

"But at last came just such a lovely summer day as this has been. We lingered before starting for church till long after the bells had been chiming, but neither of them came. We looked to find them on our return, and dinner waited long; but the night came, and we had not heard or seen aught of either. I overheard Ned in the garden speaking to Mary—

"'I shan't feel easy till I've run over to the town to-morrow, after work-hours. I hear there was to be a river excursion from the town to-day—a steamer calling for a lot of folks.'

"'But, Ned, you don't believe Davie or Maggie would go?' said Mary, half reproachfully.

"'I don't feel comfortable about it,' replied her brother. 'Maggie could be persuaded to go anywhere with David, and he and I had a talk not long ago on Sunday trips. He said folks could thus get out into pure country air, for a few pence, who were cooped up all the week in the smoke of the town, and those who desired it could go to a place of worship even twice, and get tea, before they had to start on the return voyage.'

"The fear expressed was, alas! too well grounded. David's master's son was one of these habitual pleasure-seekers, and had long tried to persuade him to join him. He had also become acquainted with Maggie, through meeting her out with the children to whom she was nursemaid, and often fell in with her on the Sundays she spent in the town. In vain had he tried to induce her to join the steamer trip, till one day he said—

"'If David went, you could not scruple about going under his care.'

"'Oh, I'm safe enough not to go at that rate,' was her reply.

"But she was mistaken. David had been persuaded to put his conscience to sleep by the resolution that it should only be for once, just to see for himself how it worked really, for good or evil. He was more than half inclined to retract his consent, when he learnt that his sister was to be of the party, but the tempter having got his victims into the net, did not let them off.

"David and Maggie found a church near the river, and went to morning service. Their evil adviser accompanied them on condition that the afternoon should be spent in the woods.

"It was not difficult to get separated in the many paths, and when the steamer's warning bell was heard, amid the hurried rush onboard, David did not discover till too late that, amongst several missing, were Maggie, and also his master's son. No entreaty could induce the captain to put back.

"Some fresh passengers had come on board, showing views and engravings, and David, glad to divert his attention from self-reproach, amused his mind with looking through their collection, for he now repented bitterly that he had ever come—still more that he had brought his sister, and then allowed her to slip out of his charge. One of the new comers was especially friendly, explaining the views to 'cheer up his spirits.'

"When within ten minutes of landing, a boat came alongside with two or three police in plain clothes, and soon arrested, as well-known pickpockets, two of the fresh passengers, whilst all were advised to see what they had lost. Much of the booty was found on the prisoners, but not all, which led to a general search of the passengers. On my poor son, in his coat-pocket, was discovered the rest of the missing plunder, which had doubtless been slipped in by his friendly entertainer when he saw the police on board. David's protestations of innocence were all unavailing. The contents of his pockets were then and afterwards deemed conclusive proof of his guilt. All efforts to save him were in vain. He never breathed free air again in this life. His sentence placed him among convicts at Portland, where his health broke down under grief and disgrace. The tidings of his death reached me after I had moved here, in a kind letter from the chaplain, sending this precious relic [taking a well-worn Testament from his breast], with its marked verses of comfort and a few lines from my poor boy—all I have left of him."

A folded sheet of paper, yellow from age and tender from frequent handling, lay between the leaves of the little Book. The old man handed both to his guest. In the touching farewell to his father were the words, "You and mother know I've suffered innocently, and it's now nearly over, and I shall soon be free and with Jesus, whose precious blood has cleansed me from all sin. But, dear father, never cease to warn the young of the fearful cost of a broken Sabbath."

The aged man wiped away some falling tears.

"I shall see my boy soon," he continued. "I've tried to keep his injunction, and, by tract given or word spoken, not to let a Sabbath go by without some warning. His mother scarcely held up her head after his trial, and did not survive her first-born many weeks, and I was left alone with our youngest—my Mary. That broken Sabbath had lost Maggie her place and character. The doors were locked against her that night, and no explanation would be accepted next day. She wrote us word she'd got another situation at a distance through a friend. We never saw her more in the old house, and lost all traces of her. Our other boy, Ned, came to us soon after his brother's trial, and, asking our consent and forgiveness for going away, said he could not hold up his head in the village, and must go to sea. We let him go, hoping time and change of scene would heal the wound, and he'd come back to us to a fresh home, for I felt like himself, that I could not stay on in the factory, and resigned my post and came here, hoping our Davie might soon be free to join us also; but the Lord set him free to go to a better mansion in the skies.

"Four years after we came here, I had a letter from a neighbour who lived hard by in the old place. What Mary had often secretly feared, came to pass. Maggie had come back, to find no home left; but the widow over the way had seen in the dusk a woman go and return, repulsed from the old door, and sit down to weep by the road-side. She brought the wanderer to her own fireside. I fetched her away, and we nursed the poor, worn, wasted one tenderly, but she had only come home with the prodigal's cry, to die—'Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee.'

"That broken Sabbath was her first step to ruin, but the blessed Lord, in His rich mercy, and by the Holy Spirit's gracious leadings, led her to the fountain which makes crimson sins white as snow, and she is gone before me too.

"The doctor—a good, kind man—shook his head, and bade me keep my Mary in the fresh air, and give her plenty of new milk. He feared she had taken the seeds of disease in that long nursing, and so it proved; but, with the hopefulness of consumption, she did not believe she was going to leave me desolate, and I deceived myself, and hoped against hope, as I looked on the sweet face and lovely bloom as she lay on this bench, enjoying the sight and breath of the flowers.

"By my carving, which went to a London house, we were kept from want, and Ned sent us home, with sailor generosity, supplies of money.

"'If he'd only come himself,' said my Mary, 'it would be better than all the gold.'

"'Write and tell him so,' I said; and so we both did, and I told him of the fading away of his favourite sister, hoping it would draw him back over the sea, if anything would; but the brother and sister were not to meet here again. My Mary left me one early morn, as the sun's first streaks were gilding the sky. No answer came from my sailor son, but the good pastor who had ministered to us in our hours of sore need, came one day, and gently told me, as I sat alone, that his ship had gone down in one of the wild Atlantic storms. My boy is now safe in heaven, where there is no more sea."

The aged man ceased. His eye was on the sunset cloud, but his heart was in the spirit land. His guest, rising up to depart, took tenderly the wrinkled hand, and said, "The ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion, with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away."

Then he hastened homewards, his own heart full with this touching record of the cost of a broken Sabbath.—From a Tract, published by S. W. Partridge and Co.

If the pillow be too hard, it is very unlikely that the sleep should be sound. Yet this mainly depends upon circumstances. If the conscience is easy, the pillow will be comfortable, even though a block of stone. Jacob slept sweetly at Bethel, when the Lord appeared to him and told him that He was his God. If, on the other hand, there is guilt on the conscience, though the head is laid on the softest down, the pillow will not be altogether easy.

Mrs. Le Pla was a French lady, who came over to England in the younger part of her life, with much of the vivacity for which the French nation has been remarkable. She was particularly under the eye of a grave, Pharisaic lady, by whom she was persuaded to go to church, but the dull manner in which the clergyman performed his office disgusted her so much, that she withheld her attention, and fell asleep. At this, her English friend was exceedingly angry, and reproved her sharply.

On another Lord's Day her friend took her to hear Dr. F——, but his excessive action provoked her to such a degree that she burst into a loud laugh, and she was desired to walk out of the place of worship, where she had certainly shown too little regard for the Divine Being and His worshippers.

On returning home, she was very properly and severely remonstrated with, at which she was much hurt. She replied, in broken English, "What can I do, madam? I go to church to please you, and there I fall asleep. I go to meeting, and there I laugh; and to tell you the truth, I begin to think my own religion is not the right religion, for that teaches me to worship images, and God says, 'Thou shalt not make any graven image.' If, therefore, madam, I go to any place of worship, it shall be to hear a Mr. Whitefield, for I have heard great things of him."

"Well," said her English friend, "we will inquire where he preaches."

The good man was then dead. The ladies therefore went to the Tabernacle, Moorfields. Mr. T. Knight was the preacher, and the native of France, enraptured, cried out—

"This is the good and right doctrine! Here I will attend."

"Yes," said the prudent, self-righteous lady, "it is my opinion that they believe in predestination here, and you cannot think it right that God made any of His creatures to be damned?"

"Oh, no," said Mrs. Le Pla; "but I will certainly inquire for myself."

The next opportunity was eagerly embraced, and the zealous inquirer, seating herself by a good old woman of the congregation, whispered—

"Pray, madam, do they believe in predestination here?"

"Why, predestination," said she, "how can they avoid believing it? The Bible is full of it."

The querist was thunderstruck. She hastened home.

"Do they believe in predestination there?"

"An old lady told me they did," was the reply. "But," said the French lady, "I am determined to ask the minister myself."

Not long after, she had an interview with Mr. Knight.

"Pray, sir," said she, "will you allow me to ask you a few questions?"

"By all means," said the good man.

"Then you must know," said Mrs. Le Pla, "I was brought up a Roman Catholic, and I think that is not the right religion, because they worship images, and I come to hear you with pleasure, sir. But my friends tell me you believe in predestination, and a good old lady, one of your congregation, confirms it. I have therefore taken the liberty to ask yourself about it."

Mr. Knight said to her, "Do not believe what every old woman says to you. Do you believe you are a sinner?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"Do you feel the want of Jesus Christ?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"Then," said Mr. Knight, "continue to hear the Word of God, and search the Scriptures to see whether I preach the truth or not."

She took his advice, and some little time after, he preached on the subject of predestination, and desired his hearers to compare what he had to say with their Bibles. The French lady did so, and was quite overcome with conviction of the truth. The question now was not with her, whether predestination was a truth of God or not, but whether she was one of the happy number appointed to salvation.

She afterwards became established in the truth, was joined to Mr. Brewer's Church, died in the Lord some years since, and was interred in the adjoining burying-ground.

On Monday evening, April 23rd, 1888, we were present at the twenty-second Annual Meeting of Gower Street Chapel Sunday School, and, although the weather was most unfavourable, the attendance was good, which must have been very encouraging to Mr. Cooper, the Superintendent, and the teachers. The meeting was presided over by the senior deacon, Mr. Link.

The proceedings were opened by singing, and the Chairman read the fourth chapter of Malachi, after which Mr. Gray engaged in prayer.

Mr. Link, in the course of a few weighty remarks, said that they were gathered to thank the Lord for His goodness. He felt that the children were surrounded with many temptations to ensnare them. He spoke of the shortness of time, and the solemnity of the day of judgment, and said that he often meditated upon these things, and thought about the Lord's servants and people, whom he had loved because they were the Lord's, and whom he hoped to meet again when he had done with time things.

The report for the past year was then read by Mr. Hale, the Secretary, from which it appears that there are 222 scholars on the books, which is a slight decrease during the year. The library numbers about 1,030 books. The report of the Sick and Benevolent Society was also read.

Mr. Boorne, of Greenwich, in addressing the teachers, referred to the works, Word, and worship of God. He said that the grass, moss, plants, trees, flowers, and fruits showed the sovereignty of God. Then there were the various animals for the use and food of mankind, and the internal treasures—metals, oxides, salts, &c. God's wise provision of the sea for cleansing and purifying the earth—all declared the sovereignty, wisdom, power, and goodness of God.

"Great God, with wonder and with praise,
On all Thy works I look;
But still Thy wisdom, power, and grace
Shine brightest in Thy Book."

He then spoke of the Book of revelation, the Bible, and the need that the scholars should be taught the value of it, and what it has cost to procure it to us—what a privilege it is to be able to read it, and of the mercy of understanding it.

He mentioned an instance of a Bible, consisting of nine volumes, being sold for £33 6s. 8d., in the thirteenth century, which would represent about fifteen times that sum now. To-day a Bible might be bought for a few pence.

He referred to the rigid laws of the time of Henry V., to prevent any from reading the Bible in the mother tongue; yet still the Book lives.

He referred to the vulgar idea of the "three R's" in education, and said that there were three R's which he wished them to oppose in their teaching, namely, Romanism, Rationalism, and Ritualism. How many worshipped something short of God in the setting up of candles, crucifixes, music, and other things. We must "worship in spirit and in truth."

He concluded by exhorting them not to grow weary in well-doing, for their labour would not be in vain in the Lord.

Mr. Hazlerigg, of Leicester, said he had the difficult task of speaking to the children, and he wished to put before them four prizes. But they were not tangible—nothing to eat, nor yet anything to see—yet all, he thought, might have them, and he recommended them all to aim at getting them.

The first thing he wished them to prize was, their Sunday School. He said it should be the endeavour of all to keep up the honour of the school, and, when any were tempted to do wrong, their first thought should be, "What would they say at the Sunday School?" When he was formerly in the army, they had what was termed "esprit de corps," i.e., a pride in keeping up the character of the regiment. He hoped none of his audience would ever buy sweets on Sunday, or it might be said, that "It is one of the Gower Street Sunday School children."

The second prize was, their Bibles. If they prized and were led by their Bibles, they would be good children. It would make them submit to all lawful authority. How different it would be if the command, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," was better learnt and practised than it is!

In the third place, he wished them to prize their chapel. He spoke of the blessing attending the hearing of the Word of God. He said that some children go to school, and then slip off without going to chapel. He hoped none of those before him ever did that.

Fourthly, he hoped they would prize their Superintendent and their teachers. What a labour of love and self-denial was theirs! They liked the work, and their desire was, the glory of God in the children's good—in the salvation of their souls, and their prosperity—and they sought for this reward—the good of their scholars.

The "touchable" prizes for the past year were then distributed by Mr. Hazlerigg, and after Mr. Link had concluded with prayer, the children each received a bun and orange, the gift of Mr. Prior, one of their teachers.

For the sake of brevity, a vote of thanks was proposed to the latter, associated with the names of the visiting ministers and the President, which was heartily responded to. Mr. Hazlerigg replied for all in a few witty words, which brought the evening to a genial and timely close.

Tom was a poor, ragged boy. His home was an old house in a narrow court. A stool, a deal table, an old bed in one corner, and a bag of shavings in another, were all the goods contained in the room where Tom, with his father and mother, lived.

Tom's hands and face were generally very dirty; his hair matted; his clothes were in rags, and his feet were without shoes. He often had nothing to eat, and no fire to warm him, however cold the day. Many were the blows and kicks the poor boy received from the rude men and lads who lived in the court.

It was well for him that a Ragged School was established in the neighbourhood, and he was invited to go. He then learned that he had three enemies of which he had not hitherto thought much. These were dirt, ignorance, and sin.

He speedily vanquished the first at a pump. The second he overcame by patient effort at the school. Then Tom became a respectable, happy, and useful young man. Best of all, he sought mercy and help from God, and lived to prove that he had God's smile and blessing.

(John x. 16.)

In the city of Jerusalem, at the Feast of Tabernacles, a few months before His death, Jesus set forth this beautiful parable of the Good Shepherd. He had given sight to a man who from his birth had been blind. The Pharisees, as usual, had shown their hatred of Him, and He then described Himself as the true Leader, beloved and honoured of all believing, obedient souls, declaring that His enemies did not believe Him, because they were not His sheep.

"My sheep hear My voice; I know them, they follow Me, and I lay down My life for them." "And other sheep I have that are not of this [Israelite or Jewish] fold; them also I must bring; and they shall hear My voice, and there shall be one fold and one Shepherd" (John x. 16).

The Jews who listened to those gracious words were much divided in their opinions about them, some declaring that Jesus was mad; others, appealing to the great miracle He had wrought in opening the eyes of the blind; and three months later, at another feast (see ver. 22), their controversy was renewed, and Jesus concluded His striking allegory by saying, "I and My Father are One, and no power shall ever be able to snatch My people from My hand or from His" (ver. 29, 30).

Returning to our text, we find Jesus declaring that all His people are His before they know or love Him.

Up to that time the Jewish Church had been the only earthly fold of believers in the living God, and all the Gentiles who were taught by the Holy Spirit were led to unite with the house of Israel or the people of Judah.

God was Israel's Shepherd (Psa. lxxx. 1). He led His people "like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron" (Psa. lxxvii. 20). They were regarded as "the sheep of His pasture" (Psa. c.), and the world around them were strangers and foreigners, "aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenant of promise."

But among these outcasts Jesus had many sheep. He gathered some in olden times. He came to lay down His life for a great multitude, to be drawn to Himself from every kindred, and tribe, and nation, and tongue. He spoke of them as being already His own—"Other sheep I have, and them also I must bring," or lead. "The Son of Man came to seek and to save that which was lost." "All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way"; and He who paid the ransom price of His wandering flock, goes after every one for whom He shed His blood.

"He finds them wandering far from God,
And brings them to His chosen fold."

"As many as are led by His Spirit"—the Spirit of God—"they are the children of God," the sheep of the Lord Jesus Christ.

He brings them to feel that they are lost—that they are far off by wicked works—that they are guilty, and weak, and helpless—and thus they are drawn to the Good Shepherd, who can and will deliver them from all evil, and fill them with all good.

And having brought near, He leads in green pastures, beside still waters; and even when the way is less pleasant, He always "leads in the way of righteousness, in the midst of the paths of judgment" (Prov. viii. 20).

"They shall hear My voice," He said, and it is by His voice—His Word spoken to the heart—that He ever leads His people. Three thousand heard it on the day of Pentecost, and were pricked in their heart. Wounded, and imploring forgiving, healing grace, they heard again with gladness, and followed their Lord in baptism (Acts ii. 37-41).

Lydia's heart was opened to receive the glad tidings, and she followed the Good Shepherd; and Jesus leads His disciples all the way home. "In all thy ways," the wise man says, "acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths" (Prov. iii. 6). "These are they that follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth" (Rev. xiv.).

Happy are they who know the sound of that heavenly voice! Have we heard it? It may not be recognized at first, as Samuel heard, but did not know who called him, until his name had been again and again repeated, and Eli had "perceived that the Lord had called the child." But as surely as He speaks, we shall, sooner or later, know His voice, and long and love to hear it.

Then Jesus promises that all His people, of all nations and all ages of time, shall become one flock—one in Jesus; one in heart, and mind, and judgment—and the whole redeemed and gathered flock shall at last dwell in one fold—the fold of heavenly, eternal life and glory.

"From sorrow, care, and pain,
And sin they shall be free,
And perfect love and friendship reign
Through all eternity."

"And there shall be one Shepherd." "Jesus only" shall be seen, acknowledged, and followed. Now He is loved and honoured as the great Chief Shepherd of the sheep, and the ministers of the Gospel are pastors, or shepherds, serving under Him. Christ brings them forth, gives them their work, and blesses their careful labours. But He removes them one by one. He alone abides for evermore. And in the fold above, the pastors appear no more as shepherds, but as sheep, the redeemed and saved people of the Lord.

Yet, wonderful to relate, the one divine Shepherd is called "the Lamb" (Rev. vii. 9-17)—"the Lamb of God," all-seeing and almighty, yet the Lamb that once was slain.

"His life and blood the Shepherd paid,
A ransom for the flock."

And this wonderful work is to be remembered while the years of eternity roll, therefore it is "the Lamb in the midst of the throne that shall feed them, and lead them to fountains of living waters; and God shall wipe away tears from all eyes."

Shall we be among them? Let us rather ask, Are we asking Him to be our Leader now? Are we "hungering and thirsting after righteousness" now? And are we mourning over sin, and after Him? If so, our Leader in this world will be our Leader still.

"He that hath fed will feed;
He that hath blessed will bless;
He that hath led will lead;
Can He do less?"

And we shall hunger and thirst no more in that blessed fold, where "in His presence there is fulness of joy, and at His right hand are pleasures for evermore." This is the life He gives His ransomed ones. May it be ours.

Our next subject will be, Elisha and the Shunammite (2 Kings iv. 8-37; viii. 1-6).

June 3. Commit to memory Prov. x. 27,
June 10. Commit to memory Prov. x. 28.
June 17. Commit to memory Prov. x. 29.
June 24. Commit to memory Prov. x. 30.

A sanctified heart is better than a silvered tongue.

True Christians may be known by their walk and conversation. They are anointed ones, and they walk in the narrow way, following in Christ's footsteps. They look unto Jesus, who is "the Author and Finisher of their faith." They are a despised or persecuted people, as true Christians have been in all ages.

The lambs of Christ have always a great deal of trouble, and are tried and tempted in many ways, but it is for a token of their eternal salvation, if God sanctifies the trouble. If their affliction drives them to God, it is a sanctified affliction, and is for their souls' good.

An infallible mark of a regenerated character is, when he begins to hate evil, and where there is the Spirit's work, there is the panting after God.

A child of God looks within, and feels that there is no putting away sin but by the blood of Jesus Christ, and no pardon for poor sinners but by His sacrifice.

We cannot make ourselves clean, or walk in the right way in our own strength, but God will help us if we ask Him in the right way.

The lambs of Jesus Christ are "poor in spirit" and "pure in heart." They "hunger and thirst after righteousness." Although they are often "persecuted for righteousness' sake," yet Christ's righteousness is imputed to them, because He has atoned for their sins. In speaking of truly good men, Mr. Gadsby said—

"Life, light, and holiness divine
From Jesus they by faith receive;
The Spirit makes His graces shine,
And gives them power in Christ to live."

Sydney House, Sleaford,
Lincolnshire.

[Very creditable Essays have been received from Eleanor Saunders, Lilly Rush, A. Pease, W. E. Cray, and Laura Creasey. We hope our young friends will follow up the various subjects, as the study of them may do them good.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of "The Dairyman's Daughter."

The subject for August will be, "Contrast the Lesson Taught by the Conduct of Solomon and of Rehoboam, at the Commencement of their Reign"; and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of "The Life of George Whitfield." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of July.]

(Page 106.)

"Lamb of God."—John i. 29. "Lord of all."—Acts x. 36.

Clara Ellis
(Aged 14 years).

Many wish to be like Christ in bliss who seek not to be like Him by grace.

Dairying by a Duchess.—The Duchess of Hamilton has opened a shop in Ipswich for the sale of butter, and is crowded with orders, at 1s. 7d. per pound.

Telegraphing from a moving train has now become a practical success in America, and the messages have been successfully transmitted by induction through twenty feet of air.

A Powerful Pneumatic Gun.—A pneumatic gun, which is to throw a shell containing six hundred pounds of dynamite four miles, is being constructed for Italy in Philadelphia.

The Queen has presented to St. George's Chapel, Windsor Castle, a very handsome silver gilt altar cross, in commemoration of her Jubilee. The royal gift, which has, it is said, cost about £300, was displayed upon the table next the reredos for the first time on April 1st.

The Brighton Hotel, on Coney Island, has been successfully moved one hundred and twenty feet further inland, in order to escape the encroachments of the sea. The building was raised in one mass and rested on trucks made to run on rails. Six locomotives were then attached to the cars, and dragged the hotel for the distance named. It is intended to move it still further.

A Spanish Protestant clergyman, Senor Vila, has been condemned to imprisonment for two years four months and one day, and to a fine of two hundred and fifty francs and the costs, by the Criminal Court at Malaga, for having discussed and condemned the dogmas of the Roman Catholic Church in a pamphlet which he published in answer to the attacks of a Catholic priest from Paris, who came to Malaga, and published a pamphlet against the Protestant religion.

The Oldest and Youngest.—The oldest Cabinet Minister is Viscount Cranbrook, Lord President of the Council, aged seventy-three; the youngest is Mr. Balfour, Chief Secretary for Ireland, aged thirty-nine. The oldest member of the Privy Council is Viscount Eversley, aged ninety-three, who is also the oldest peer of the realm; the youngest member is the Duke of Portland, aged thirty. The youngest duke is H.R.H. the Duke of Albany, aged three. The Right Hon. C. P. Villiers (South Wolverhampton), aged eighty-six, is the oldest member of the House of Commons; and the youngest is Lord H. Cavendish-Bentinck, aged twenty-four. Mr. Justice Manisty, aged seventy-eight, is the oldest English judge; and Mr. Justice Charles, aged forty-nine, is the youngest. The oldest bishop is Dr. Durnford, of Chichester, aged eighty-five; and the youngest is Dr. John Wordsworth, of Salisbury, aged forty-four.

A Military Heroine.—A handsome marble memorial has been erected in the cemetery at Southsea in honour of the late Mrs. Fox, whose death was, by special order of the Duke of Cambridge, signalized by a military funeral. The inscription on the memorial is as follows:—"Sacred to the memory of Mrs. George Fox, wife of Quartermaster George Fox, 2nd Connaught Rangers (94th Regiment), who died at Cambridge Barracks, Portsmouth, on January 22nd, 1888, from the effects of wounds received in the action of Bronker's Sprint, Transvaal. For her heroic and unselfish conduct on that occasion in nursing the wounded—desperately wounded though she was herself—she was decorated by Her Majesty with the Order of the Royal Cross. This monument is erected to her memory as a token of affection and esteem by the officers (past and present), non-commissioned officers, and men of the 2nd Connaught Rangers. 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant' (Matt. xxv. 21)." The inscription is surmounted by the regimental crest—a crown, an elephant, the word "Seringapatam"—and "2nd Battalion the Connaught Rangers."

A return, just prepared at the War Office, of the religious profession of non-commissioned officers and men of the British European troops and Colonial Corps (exclusive of Indian troops), shows that, at the beginning of the present year, there were 158,414 Protestants of various denominations on the roll books, of whom 132,537 belonged to the Church of England, 15,072 were Presbyterians, 9,437 Wesleyans, and 1,369 belonged to one or other of the smaller Protestant bodies. The total number of Roman Catholics was 40,775; and there were 274 who were either Mahometans, Hindoos, or Jews; while the religion of 1,044 was not reported. The proportion of Church of England soldiers per thousand (not reckoning the Colonial corps) was 668; of Roman Catholics, 205; of Presbyterians, 76; of Wesleyans, 46; of men of the smaller Protestant denominations, 5; there being thus in all 795 Protestants per 1,000, to 205 Roman Catholics. The inquiry has not been so complete in the line cavalry as in other branches of the service, there being 675 men out of 17,354 whose religious profession has not been reported; whilst amongst the 129,599 men of the line infantry, only 272 were not reported.

Watch Glasses.—Of watch glasses, 50,000 gross, or 7,200,000, are sold annually in the United States. Most of these are imported from England.

A memorial window is to be placed in the Bristol Royal Infirmary to commemorate the heroic deed of a young surgeon, William Conner, medical officer, who lost his life in a noble and daring effort to save a poor patient who had undergone the operation of tracheotomy while suffering from diphtheria. A false membrane having formed in the throat, and the patient being in imminent danger of his life, young Conner applied his lips to the throat tube, and succeeded in removing the obstruction. The window is in three panels, representing incidents from the parable of the Good Samaritan, and healing the sick, and it will be inscribed, "To the glory of God, and in affectionate remembrance of William Conner, who was born May 7th, 1851, and died July 4th, 1887."

A Great Log Raft.—Not satisfied with the former experiment and catastrophe, the Nova Scotians are putting together another huge log raft, to be floated to New York in July or August of this year. This raft will be 650 feet long, and will have six masts, and a great spread of sail. Confidence seems to be placed in the usual fine weather of July and August; but storms are by no means unknown over the course that the raft will traverse; and should this huge area of floating timber encounter a storm, the chains which will hold the logs together will snap like packing-cord, and leave the crew to shift for their lives in their boats, or by endeavouring to cling to their logs. These experiments, like attempts to swim the rapids of Niagara, should be prevented by some law or regulations, since the common sense of those concerned is conspicuous by its absence. It is quite possible that the raft may be favoured by fine weather, and reach its destination successfully; but it is true, nevertheless, that the enterprise is hare-brained, and undertaken at great risk of life and property.

Great Storm at Madagascar.—Particulars have been received, viá the Cape of Good Hope, of a terrific hurricane which raged at Tamatave on February 22nd, which will long be remembered by the inhabitants as one of the most disastrous storms that have visited the island during this century. Eleven vessels at anchor in the harbour were totally wrecked. Some of them foundered at their anchors, others parted their cables, and were driven on the reefs. The damage done to the town was very great. Not a house escaped more or less destruction, numbers of them being utterly swept away. The British Consulate, a large new building, only erected some months ago by the British Government, was almost totally destroyed. Large fragments of this building were carried by the wind for hundreds of yards, and for acres around the ground presented an extraordinary and melancholy spectacle, being strewn with doors, windows, beams, and other pieces of twisted wood and iron, besides clothes and furniture. The Consul's wife, Mrs. Haggard (the Consul himself was at Mauritius), and those in the Consulate had a narrow escape with their lives. Most of the trees were blown down, and all were smashed to pieces. Several lives were lost on shore in addition to those drowned, but their numbers were few in comparison to the almost incredible damage done in so short a time, the hurricane only lasting seven hours. A remarkable circumstance in connection with the hurricane is, that it was not felt forty miles to the northward of Tamatave, nor its full strength sixty miles south.

The Chinese Almanack.—The great value which the Chinese attach to their almanack is shown in many ways. Recently the Chinese residents at Lhassa, in Thibet, implored the Emperor to cause arrangements to be made which would enable them to receive their copies of the almanack at the earliest possible date in each year. A writer in a recent issue of the Chinese Recorder says that the most important book to the Chinese is the almanack. Its space is far too important to be occupied with the matter which fills Western almanacks. It contains astronomical information, which is useful; but its great mission is to give full and accurate information for selecting lucky places for performing all the acts, great and small, of every-day life. "And as every act of life, however trivial, depends for its success on the time in which, and the direction (i.e., the point of the compass) towards which it is done, it is of the utmost importance that every one should have correct information available at all times, to enable him to so order his life as to avoid bad luck and calamity, and secure good luck and prosperity. Consequently, the almanack is perhaps the most universally circulated book in China." The writer speaks of it as a terrible yoke of bondage. It is issued by the Government, and the sale of all almanacks but the authorized one is prohibited. Quite recently the new Chinese Minister to Germany refused to sail for his post on a day which the almanack declared to be unlucky, and the departure of the German mail steamer was consequently deferred at the request of the German minister to Pekin.—[What a pity but these poor deluded creatures were blessed with Bible truth and Jesus' grace!—Ed.]

"A TROOP OF DRAGOONS CAME UP AT FULL GALLOP." (See page 146.)

On the 16th of April, 1685, Peden made a narrow escape. Being then at the house of John Nisbet, of Hardhill, a little before nine o'clock in the morning, a troop of dragoons were observed by the servants, who were working in the fields, coming up to the house at full gallop, upon which the servants ran to conceal themselves. Peden, and those who were with him in the house, had fled for shelter to a moss nearly two miles distant from the place where the servants were working.

The way to this moss was by a very steep ground, and at the edge of the moss there was a morass about seven or eight yards broad, and altogether the place was well adapted for concealment, as well as for protection from military on horseback. Here, however, Peden and his companions were discovered. James, the son of John Nisbet, a young man about sixteen years of age, had been with the servants in the field when the troop of dragoons came up, and in his flight, being chased by some of the party, made his way accidentally to where Peden and about twenty more were lurking, which occasioned their being discovered. The whole party of dragoons were quickly informed of the prize within their reach, and about three hours after, they were joined by another party who aided them in the pursuit. Peden and his friends, observing the enemy dismounting their horses to take the moss on their feet, for the purpose of securing them, after some firing on both sides without effect, drew off, and kept in the midst of the moss. When the dragoons, on seeing this, mounted their horses again, and pursued by the side of the moss, the Covenanters always kept themselves on such ground as the horses could not approach.

They were pursued during the whole of that day, and ran about thirty miles without receiving any refreshment but moss-water till night, when they got a little milk. Peden then left his friends, and went away by himself.

During this year, and especially the first part of it, great numbers of the persecuted witnesses were murdered in the fields. Peden, therefore, to escape the hands of the military, after this wandered from one lurking-place to another; and from his minute acquaintance with all the tracts and haunts of the desert, of which he may be said for years to have been an inhabitant, he succeeded in eluding the enemy.

In such circumstances, we need not wonder that he was sometimes weary of life, and envied his fellow-sufferers who had gone to death before him, and were eternally at rest. At length, Peden's bodily infirmities increasing so much as to render him unable to travel, being almost worn out with fatigue, and suffering from the many hardships he had undergone, he arrived at his native parish of Sorn. He came to his brother's house, in the neighbourhood of which he caused a cave to be dug, with a willow bush covering its mouth. His persecutors getting information where he was, searched every part of the house on many occasions.

At last, one day, early in the morning, leaving the cave, he came to the door of the house. His brother's wife warned him of his danger, advising him to return to his place of concealment. He told her it was needless to do that, since it was discovered.

"But," said he, "there is no matter, for within forty-eight hours I will be beyond the reach of all the devil's temptations, and his instruments in hell and on earth, and they shall trouble me no more."

He had not been in the house above three hours when a party of soldiers visited the cave, and not finding him there, they searched first the barn, and next the house, stabbing the beds, but they did not enter the place where he lay.

Peden died on the 28th of January, 1686, being upwards of sixty years of age, and was privately buried in the church of Auchinleck, in the aisle of David Boswell, Esq., of Auchinleck. But his ashes were not allowed to repose in peace. Though he had never been condemned by any jury, yet the enemy, being informed of his death and burial, sent a troop of dragoons, who pulled his corpse out of the grave after it had lain about six weeks, and having first broken the chest, exposed his remains to contempt, and then carried them to the gallows foot at Cumnock, two miles distant, and there buried them. The design of the soldiers in lifting the body was to hang it in chains upon the gallows at Cumnock, but this they were prevented from doing. The Countess of Dumfries and the Lady Affleck, shocked at this barbarity, earnestly interceded that the body might be again buried; and when the savage commander of the dragoons, determined to have it hung in chains, proved unrelenting, they applied to the Earl of Dumfries, a Privy Councillor, then at home, who, yielding to their request, went to the gibbet and told Murray that it was erected for malefactors and murderers, and not for such men as Mr. Peden. The corpse was accordingly reinterred at the foot of the gibbet, now within the wall of the common burial-ground of Cumnock parish, and a suitable memorial erected over the remains, on which was inscribed an appropriate epitaph.

The amount of work some people get through is simply enormous. Few people are harder worked than a London physician in active practice. We know a doctor who seldom gets more than four hours' sleep out of the twenty-four. He says that it is not that he couldn't do with more, but it is as much as he can get. Many busy men are constantly at work of some kind or the other from eight in the morning till past twelve at night. Some, of course, break down, but others can do this year after year, apparently without any detriment to their health. Instances are known of professional men who have not slept for five days together, and who have not been in bed for three weeks at a time. These sound almost like travellers' tales, but they are true, although, of course, they are exceptional cases. It is astonishing what interest and energy will do in enabling a man to dispense with rest. It has been said that the twenty-four hours might be advantageously divided into three equal parts—eight hours for sleep, eight for meals, exercise, recreation, &c., and eight for mental work. Few men really require more than eight hours' sleep, but the majority of us have to do considerably more than eight hours' work in the day. It is not so much that a man wishes for the work, as that it is forced upon him. He, perhaps, is the only person who can perform a certain duty, and when, as is often the case, it is a question of life and death, it is almost impossible to refuse. Many people can never force themselves to do more than a certain amount of mental work; they get nervous and headachy, and then it is all over with them. Forced work, as a rule, tells on a man much more rapidly than purely voluntary work, for in the former case it is usually associated with anxiety. Real overwork gives rise to loss of memory, a general sense of fatigue, and particularly of discomfort about the head, poorness of appetite, lowness of spirits, and other similar symptoms. It is worry that injures more than real work. Some people are so happily constituted that they never worry much about anything, whilst others are in a fever of anxiety on every trivial occasion.—The Family Physician.

(Concluded from page 130.)

Ann Jane.

My dear Ann Jane was an affectionate child, but naturally timid, and frequently expressed a hope that she should not be taken ill. Yet she too was destined to be borne far, far away.

On November 12th, 1851, it pleased God to indicate His intentions by placing upon her His afflicting hand. But He who "mingles mercy with His might," set His bow in the cloud, answered in the secret place of thunder, and revealed His love in the bosom of the storm.

Ann Jane gave pleasing proofs of a work of grace in her soul, the progress of which was visible to by-standers and friends.

A short time after the attack, she expressed a wish to die; and upon being asked why, she answered, "Because I believe I shall go to heaven. I believe the dear Lord has pardoned my sins." She would often say, "Pray for me, my dear mother, and I will pray for you, and myself too"; and would then address herself to God in a sweet, devout manner.

Observing me to be in great trouble, she thus spoke to me—"Do pray the dear Lord to take me to Himself." I answered, "How can I do so, seeing I cannot give you up?" She replied, "Oh, mother, put your trust in the Lord. He will provide. Do ask Him to take me out of this world. Oh, mother, there is nothing here worth living for"; and engaging sweetly in prayer, uttered, with many other sentences, the following—"Pardon all our sins, dear and precious Lord—past sins, present sins, and sins to come. Wash us in Thy precious blood, for Thou knowest how sinful we are, and Thou rememberest we are but dust. Oh, make us love Thee more! Thy love is an everlasting love. Take us, dear Lord, take us to Thyself, and then we shall love and serve Thee better."

The second Lord's Day of her affliction, she inquired what day it was. I informed her, and asked, "Would you not like to spend a Sabbath in heaven?" "Oh, yes, mother!" was the rejoinder. "That would be a Sabbath of Sabbaths."

With pleasure I remember some particular times when my precious child seemed almost overpowered by the sweetness and glories of Immanuel, who is "God with us," not only in our nature, but in our condition. At these times, with uplifted hands, she would exclaim, "Oh, my precious Jesus! Oh, my precious Christ!"

One day she said, "Mother, my pains are very great. Can you do anything to give me relief?" What an appeal to maternal tenderness! What a moment of agonizing weakness! I reminded her of the divine sufficiency, and she poured out a copious argumentative prayer, not like the prayer of a child, pleading the Lord's own Word, and the merits of Christ, as the only ground of her expectation. "I know," she would say, "I am not worthy. I am a guilty sinner. Oh, wash me in Thy precious blood! Give me patience to endure my pains, and to wait all Thy will; and take me to be where Thou art, for ever and ever. Amen."

Seeing me weep very much, on one occasion, she exclaimed, "My precious mother, I do love you! Why do you grieve about me? I am not afraid to die. I want to go to my precious Lord, and be with Him for ever." I said, "My dear child, why do you believe you shall go to heaven? Do you think you have merited it?" "Oh, no, mother," was her immediate reply. "I am a guilty sinner. It is through the Lord Jesus, and for His sake, that I hope to be saved. Do you not think, dear mother, He will pardon me?" I said, "Yes, if you feel your need of Him." She answered, "I believe He has pardoned me."

After the prayer previously mentioned, and partly recorded, she said, "How good the Lord is to me! Oh, my precious Jesus," &c. "Oh, mother," she said, in reply to a question, "I know I love the Lord. Yes, I do; better than everything else in the world."

At another time she cried out, in a loud impressive tone, "Oh, mother, what is there in this world worth living for? It is all stuff and vanity—it is, mother. Oh, I do not want to live here! Pray the dear Lord to take me to Himself. Oh, how blessed to be with my precious Jesus for ever!"

When informed of the death and burial of her brother, she appeared excited, but at last said, "Dear boy! I hope I shall soon be with him, and then we shall meet to part no more." She then asked me to pray again that God would take her. How could I? "Nature has soft but powerful bands," and the ligaments were not yet severed. She seemed my earthly all. Could I surrender her to the arms of the destroyer? Could I look up and say, "Thy will be done"? What grace we need to glorify God in the fires!

Nine days after her illness she raised herself up in her bed, and, looking at her departing sister, said, "There is my dying sister. Where is she going? Where? Why, to the realms of bliss? And who of us next? Why, myself, I believe, mother. But I am not afraid of death," &c.

At another time she said, "Do read to me, dear mother"; and upon my asking her where, she replied, "Read about the sufferings of Christ" I did so, and she afterwards engaged in prayer.

At another time the nurse heard her, during the night, earnestly praying for both her parents and herself.

Once she requested me to read the seventeenth chapter of John, remarking at the time, "That is sweet reading." After listening for a time she fell into a short sleep, and I laid the Book down. When she awoke she exclaimed, "Won't you read to me, my dear mother?" I said, "You dropped off into a sleep, my dear." She then tried to read herself, but failing, returned the Book, immediately adding, "Give it me again and let me kiss it, for I love it very much."

At different times she expressed earnest desires to go to her brother and sister, and for her father and mother and sister to go also; and would try to sing a part of that Sabbath School hymn, chorusing—"Oh, that will be joyful," &c.

Two days before she died she exclaimed, with sweet simplicity, "Suffer the little children to come unto Me"; and shortly after, "Precious Bible! what a treasure," &c.

The night on which she died, a friend coming in, she seemed pleased, remarking that I could then take some rest. Shortly after this her voice began to fail. She called for "Hephzibah," looked at me wishfully, exclaimed, "Mother," and talked earnestly for some time; but her voice was "thick in death," and language failed as an interpreter of "the thoughts and intents of the heart." In vain she laboured to make me comprehend her ideas. The bridge had been broken down; the fortress was dismantled. Only a word or two was distinct enough to be understood, but from these I found her discourse was of a spiritual nature. Overcome by the scene, I burst into tears, and said, "My dear child, how I wish I could understand you! It almost breaks my heart." At this she looked at me so very affectionately, and exclaimed, "Heaven! heaven! heaven!"

She spoke not again, but for twelve long hours "her spirit struggled with her clay," when the conflict mercifully ceased, and all was peace, and righteousness, and quietness, and assurance for ever. She exchanged worlds on December 14th, 1851, aged eleven years and three months.

"May death conclude my toils and tears;
May death conclude my sins and fears;
May death, through Jesus, be my Friend;
May death be life when life shall end!"

Thus ends the interesting memoirs of three happy children; and as reflection should follow reading, we proceed from narrative to reflections.

Reflections.

1. From these memoirs we learn how greatly the Lord sometimes tries the righteous. In little more than a fortnight, three out of four children were borne to their long home. The father had been previously afflicted with paralysis, and was at that time unable to follow his employment, having lamed himself.

2. We learn that human affliction may consist with divine affection. Lazarus sickened and died, though Jesus loved him. "And what son is there whom the Father chasteneth not?"

3. We have another lesson upon the inscrutable providence of God. "I beheld," says Solomon, "all the works of God, that a man cannot find out the work that is done under the sun; because, though a man labour to seek it out, yet shall he not find it; yea, further, though a wise man think to know it, yet shall he not find it." No man knoweth divine love or hatred by the distributions of providential good and evil.

4. But if the events of life are so complicated, and if no application, however skilfully conducted, nor any human capacity, whatever its range, can fathom the "mysteries of God," then, how unseemly is immoderate grief or unmeasured joy! How premature our decisions, and how utterly senseless all those infidel cavils against a system which the most enlightened, philosophical, and Spirit-taught mind can neither understand nor deal with!

5. Nevertheless, we read that "the righteous, and the wise, and their works, are in the hand of God" (Eccles. ix. 1), from which we conclude that the people of God, wherever located, and however circumstanced, are protected by His power, sustained by His agency, supplied by His mercy, are under His special care, and safe in His approbation. Let this suffice. We walk by faith.

6. We see here the sovereignty of God, both in His providence and grace. We read of one being taken and another left; but here three are taken, and only one left.

7. Does not God, sometimes, put peculiar honour upon His professing people, however He sees fit to try them? If He takes one of a Gentile city, He takes two of a Christian family, and brings them to Zion.

8. We observe, too, the earliness and efficacy of His work on the minds of some, so that "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings He perfects His own praise."

9. Attention, however, may be called to the value of early and maternal instruction. These children were instructed for the most part by their mother, who watched over them with incessant care, keeping them separate from the masses, and attending to their education as an important duty.

"There is not a grand inspiring thought,
There is not a truth by wisdom taught,
There is not a feeling pure or high,
That may not be read in a mother's eye.

"There are teachings on earth, and sky, and air;
The heavens the glory of God declare;
But more loud than the voice beneath, above,
Is the voice that speaks through a mother's love."

W. P.

Louisa Ann Jeeves, of Pewsey, Wilts, died on March 24th, 1888, aged twenty-four years. She sat under the truth until she was about twenty, when she left the place for a short time. But, when taken seriously ill, it appears that the Lord laid the weight of her sins upon her, and she felt that she had slighted the means of truth, which was a trouble to her. The clergyman called, and wished to administer the Sacrament to her, but she refused, and told him she dare not, for she had not felt the pardon of her sins. From this time she sank very low, and felt her sins to be a heavy burden. She now eagerly read her Bible, in which she marked many portions. Her bodily sufferings were very great, but she bore them without a murmur. Her sins, and the state of her soul before God, seemed always uppermost.

I had known her from a child, and hoped there was some good thing in her; but when she left the place of truth, I was afraid my hope was vain.

I visited her often after my return to Pewsey, and found her in great concern about her soul. She said she knew that nothing but an application of the blood of Christ could suffice for her great sins, and this she longed to feel. She asked me to read and pray with her, which I was enabled to do, believing the Lord had given her true conviction of sin. Each time I called she was greatly distressed, and seemed without hope; and this went on until the last week of her life, when she begged me to stay with her altogether, and whenever we were alone she wished me to read and pray. She would cry out in agony, "Oh, what shall I do if I don't get to heaven?"

On the Tuesday, when she had been greatly tried, this word was brought with comfort to her mind, "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee." I said, "If the Lord has given you those words, He will, in His own time, bless you with pardon and peace"; and, as she was drawing near her end, I said, "When He comes, if you are unable to speak, raise your hand." But the next day the Lord was pleased to bless her soul with joy and peace. She called for her mother, and when she came, she said, her face at the time beaming with joy, "Oh, mother, I am so happy! I am going home to be with Jesus! He has put away all my sins by His own precious blood, and you will come, too." She would have us sing some hymns, herself joining in while able—among others, "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds," and "Rock of Ages." When we had finished one she named another, and said, "Beautiful! beautiful!"

She gradually sank, but the fear of death was taken away. She was quite conscious to the last, and turned her head to look at the clock several times. The enemy of souls was not permitted to harass her in her last hours, and just before she breathed her last, she raised her arms and clapped her hands three times, evidently remembering what I had said to her. It may be truly said, she died in peace. She was a constant reader of the Little Gleaner.

To lay the salve of our services upon the wound of our sins is as if a man who is stung by a wasp should wipe his face with a nettle.

"For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, saith the Lord."—Isaiah lv. 8.

Father Chiniquy had been for some years lecturing on teetotalism, in addition to his usual priestly labours, and his success had been so great that he had received the title of "Apostle of Temperance" in Canada, and the gift of a splendid medal and crucifix from the Pope of Rome; and his reputation as a popular influential priest was therefore well established, when he was requested to become the leader of a great movement.

Emigrants were constantly leaving Europe and Canada for the United States, and many of them became connected, on their arrival there, with Protestant associations. Some far-seeing bishops consequently felt that, if they could divert that tide to places of their own choosing, under the direction of their own loyal priests, a splendid triumph would be gained for Popery, and in the course of time they would secretly, yet surely, rule the United States of America.

Some small colonies had been already formed, and the whole of the Mississippi valley and the adjoining country was so fertile and rich, even in its wild state, that Chiniquy's warmest hopes were kindled, as he saw that beautiful land; and, sitting down, he wrote a glowing description of it, and invited intending emigrants to come and see for themselves. The result exceeded all anticipations. In a very short time fifty families arrived at the chosen spot, and pitched their tents around his own. They soon set to work to build small, strong wooden houses under their priest's directions, then a larger one for a parsonage and school; and, as fresh emigrants were continually arriving, they soon became a flourishing, happy community, and objects of the bitter jealousy of surrounding priests. Many difficulties arose. When his wooden church was just finished, it was maliciously set on fire the very night after the first services were conducted in it. A new bishop came into power, whose tyranny and greediness were unbearable, and Father Chiniquy appealed against him to Napoleon, the French Emperor, and the Pope, getting him at length removed from the position he had so greatly abused.

But the crowning difficulty, which was designed by God to be the crowning blessing of His servant's life, was yet to come, and thus it came to pass that the Bible-loving priest forsook his false position, and "came out of Babylon."

When Rome's new doctrine, the perfect holiness of the Virgin Mary, was first published in 1854, a farmer called on Chiniquy to ask him whether the Scriptures taught such a thing, and he honestly confessed that they did not, but rather said the opposite, and that the holy fathers had not believed or taught it either, but it was with the greatest pain that he, as a priest, said this.

On another occasion, the immoral conduct of a priest caused many to ask our friend whether the Word of God really forbade the ministers of Christ to marry, and he replied, "I will put the Gospel in your hands, that you may see for yourselves what the Holy Book says about these matters." He accordingly ordered a large number of New Testaments, which had been printed by the sanction of one of their own archbishops, and soon they were being eagerly read and studied by his large congregation.

And now the decisive hour drew near. Another bishop, who had taken the oppressor's place, kindly asked and accepted Chiniquy's submission to his authority. But, as that document contained the words, "According to the Word and commandments of God, as we find them expressed in the Gospel of Christ," the Jesuits found fault. The bishop demanded the withdrawal of the words, and upon his refusal to alter them, angrily said, "If it be so, sir, you are no longer a Roman Catholic priest." "May God Almighty be for ever blessed," was the brave reply, given in a loud, determined voice.

But the wrench was a terrible one, and when alone in his hotel, the full consequences of his words came forcibly before him, and he felt alone and desolate. But God, who had thus mysteriously led him into liberty, did not forsake him now. He spoke to his heart, and confirmed him in the determination he had made; and when all his sins seemed like a mountain to rise before him, Jesus appeared as his perfect, all-sufficient Saviour, and the troubled heart was filled with joy unspeakable, so that he could and did exclaim, "O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together!" as he hastened home to tell his dear people all that he had experienced of the wrath of man and the love of God.

May we, with him, be favoured to "taste and see that the Lord is good," and we also shall say, "O Lord God of Hosts, blessed is the man that trusteth in Thee!"—Jottings on "The Life and Work of Father Chiniquy," by Cousin Susan.

A gentleman advertised for a boy, and nearly fifty applicants presented themselves to him. Out of the whole number he selected one, and dismissed the rest.

"I should like to know," said a friend, "on what ground you selected that boy, who had not a single recommendation."

"You are mistaken," said the gentleman; "he has a great many. He wiped his feet when he came in, and closed the door after him, showing that he was careful. He gave his seat instantly to that lame old man, showing that he was thoughtful. He took off his cap when he came in, and answered my questions promptly, showing that he was gentlemanly. He picked up the book which I had purposely laid on the floor, and replaced it upon the table; and he waited quietly for his turn, instead of pushing and crowding, showing that he was honourable and orderly. When I talked to him, I noticed that his clothes were brushed, his hair in order. When he wrote his name, I noticed that his finger-nails were clean. Don't you call those things letters of recommendation? I do; and I would give more for what I can tell about a boy by using my eyes ten minutes than all the letters he can bring me."

Little things show character, and frequently determine a boy's whole career. It is the boy who does the kind, polite, and thoughtful acts unconsciously that wins his way to employment and success. And success does not mean wealth and fame. A man is valued according to his faithfulness and reliability, and these chiefly determine the measure of his true usefulness.

It is not always those who are most conspicuous in the eyes of the world who are really the most useful. A man who takes money at a ferry gate is seen by thousands, but he only does what any one of a thousand could do equally well; while a thoughtful and conscientious writer, who may be personally known to very few, may have great influence for good. True success means the development of a character that is worthy of example—a character that is honest to every duty, faithful to every trust, and that is unselfish enough to find time for kindly acts that are not forced, but the simple expression of a warm and generous principle. True success is fidelity to every relation in life.

"Have you nothing to thank God for?" asked the mother of a little girl named Helen.

"No," said Helen; "you and papa give me everything."

"Not for your pleasant home?" asked mother.

"It is my papa's house; he lets me live in it."

"Where did the wood come from to build it?" asked mother.

"From trees," answered Helen, "and they growed in big forests."

"Who planted the big forests? Who gave rain to water them? Who gave the sun to warm them? Who did not allow the winter to blast them? Who kept them growing from little trees to trees big enough to build houses with? Not papa, not man; it was God."

Helen looked her mother in the eye, and then said, "Papa bought nails to make it with."

"What are nails made of?" asked mamma.

"Iron," answered Helen; "and men dig iron out of the ground."

"Who put iron in the ground, and kept it there safe till the men wanted it?" asked mother. "It was God."

"We got this carpet from men," said Helen, drawing her small foot across it.

"Where did the carpet-men get the wool to make it from?" asked mother.

"From farmers," answered Helen.

"And where did the farmers get it?"

"From sheep and lambs' backs," said the little girl.

"And who clothed the lambs in dresses good enough for us? for your dress, I see, is made of nothing but lambs' wool. Where did the lambs get such good stuff?"

"God gave it to them, I suppose," said the little girl. "It is you that gives me bread, mother," said she quickly.

"But," said her mother, "the flour we got from the shop, and the shopkeeper bought it from the miller, and the miller took the wheat from the farmer, and the farmer had it from the ground, and the ground grew it all itself."

"No," cried Helen suddenly, "God grew it. The sun and the rain, the wind and the air, are His, and He sent them to the corn-field. The earth is His too. And so God is at the bottom of everything, isn't He, mother?"

"Yes," said mother; "God is the Origin of every good and perfect gift which we enjoy."

The little girl looked serious. She looked thinking. "Then, mamma," she said at last, "I can't make a prayer long enough to thank God for everything."

"Oh, that men," even as the creatures of God, "would praise the Lord for His goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of men!"

For the first time for a number of years the Sigiri Rock in Ceylon has been scaled by a European, the feat on this occasion being performed by General Lennox, who commands the troops in the island. It is said, indeed, that only one European, Mr. Creasy, ever succeeded in reaching the summit. The rock is cylindrical in shape, and the bulging sides render the ascent very difficult and dangerous. There are galleries all round, a groove about four inches deep being cut in the solid rock. This rises spirally, and in it are fixed the foundation bricks, which support a platform about six feet broad, with a chunam-coated wall about nine feet high. The whole structure follows the curves and contours of the solid rock, and is cunningly constructed so as to make the most of any natural support the formation can afford. In some places the gallery has fallen completely away, but it still exhibits flights of fine marble steps. High up on the rock are several figures of Buddha; but it is a mystery how the artist got there, or how, being there, he was able to carry on his work. The fortifications consist of platforms, one above the other, supported by massive retaining walls, each commanding the other.

Owing to the falling away of the gallery, the ascent in parts had to be made up a perpendicular face of the cliff, and General Lennox and four natives were left to do the latter part of the ascent alone. The top they found to be a plateau about an acre in extent, in which were two square tanks, with sides thirty yards and fifteen feet respectively in length, cut out of the solid rock. A palace is believed to have existed on the summit at one time, although time, weather, and the jungle have obliterated all traces of it. During the descent the first comer had to guide the foot of the next into a safe fissure, but all reached the bottom safely after two and a half hours.

It is said that the amount of work expended on the galleries is incredible, and the writer of the account of the feat doubts if all the machinery of modern times could accomplish the stupendous work that was achieved here in old days by manual labour alone.

Monkeys and apes are (remarks a writer in Harper's Young People) always amusing creatures, and it is great fun to watch their tricks. But there is one ape, a native of the island of Java, who outdoes most of his relatives in the way of being ridiculous, especially when he amuses himself as a fisherman. This ape is very fond of shellfish, and there is a certain kind of sand-crab that suits his palate exactly. These crabs dig little homes for themselves deep in the sand, and thither they retire when they want a quiet rest, or when any danger threatens. When all is well, they spend their time sunning themselves at the entrance of their holes, or hopping along the water's edge in search of food. The apes know their ways, and while the crabs are looking for a dinner they also are bent on obtaining one for themselves. Apes, you know, can move very quickly. They wait until they see a party of crabs apparently unconscious of danger, and busily engaged in discussing a bit of seaweed, or devouring the insects they are so fond of. Moving stealthily forward, as close as they dare, the ape gives a sudden leap, and seizes as many as possible of the poor, unsuspecting crabs, which are speedily crunched into a shapeless mass by his strong jaws, and devoured. But the crabs are very active too, and it often happens that they will take alarm in time to scamper quickly to their holes, and so cheat the ape out of his anticipated meal. When this occurs, the ape has recourse to a stratagem which proves how intelligent he really is, and which makes him appear, as I have said, one of the most amusing and ridiculous of creatures. The ape of Java, unlike others of his species, possesses a very long tail. He moves quietly up to the hole into which he has seen the crab disappear, thrusts his tail into it, and awaits events. The crab, indignant at such an intrusion, makes a spirited attack, and fastens upon it. This is precisely what the ape wants. He gives a sudden spring forward. The crab, having no time to collect his ideas, is drawn to the surface, and in a moment the ape has him in his claws. Poor crab! victim of his anxiety to punish the invasion of his home.

One traveller tells us that "there is a comical look of suspense on the ape's face as he thrusts his tail into the hole, and waits for the crab to seize it."

Agreeably to your wishes, I send you the following account of W. B——, who had lived a dissolute life for nearly forty years.

He was notorious for drinking and Sabbath-breaking, and his general deportment was so abandoned that he was wicked even to a proverb.

On Saturday evening, March 4th, he attended a funeral, and from the place of interment he immediately betook himself to a public house, where he became so intoxicated that it was with some difficulty he reached his own habitation. No sooner was he laid down upon the bed, and composed to sleep, than the words of Eliphaz were verified in his experience—"In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon man, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to shake," for he dreamed a frightful dream. He thought he saw a serpent of the hydra kind, with nine heads, ready to seize him. Whatever way he turned, a head presented itself, nor could he, by all the methods he devised, extricate himself from the baneful monster. He awoke in great distress. Though it was but a dream, it made a strong impression upon his mind, and he was afraid it portended some future evil.

The next morning, one of the members of our meeting, as he was going to the house of God, observed him in a pensive posture, and asked him if he would go with him and hear a sermon upon the old serpent. The sound of the word serpent arrested his attention, and excited his curiosity to hear what I had to say upon such a subject. But for this expression, probably the poor man had remained unmoved. Why the person used it he could not tell, nor why he invited him to accompany him that morning—a thing which he had never done before. But He could tell who, in the days of His flesh, "must needs go through Samaria," and whose providences are always in coincidence with the purposes of His grace.

As soon as prayer was ended, I preached from Genesis iii. 13-15, "And the Lord God said unto the woman, What is this that thou hast done? And the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat. And the Lord God said unto the serpent, Because thou hast done this, thou art cursed above all cattle," &c.

As I was explaining who that serpent was, and the methods he took to beguile sinners, the Lord opened the poor man's eyes, and the Word had free course and was glorified. From that moment he gave every demonstration of a real change of heart. About four or five months he continued in the pangs of the new birth. The anguish of his soul was great indeed. He perceived the number of his sins, and felt the weight of his guilt. For some time he was tempted to despair—I may say, to put an end to his existence—but while he was musing on his wretched condition, these words were applied as a sovereign remedy to his afflicted soul—"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." This administered all the joy and comfort he stood in need of. Now he was enabled to believe that Christ was as willing to forgive as He was mighty to redeem. The burden of his guilt dropped from his mind, as Pilgrim's did at the sight of the cross, and immediately he "rejoiced with joy unspeakable and full of glory."

I was with him a little while after, and with a heart overflowing with gratitude to God, he showed me the place of his Bethel visit, where the Lord had opened to him His bleeding heart, and manifested His forgiving love. He seems to be, as the Apostle expresses it, "a living epistle of Christ, seen and read of all men."

"ONE OF THE MEMBERS OBSERVED HIM IN A PENSIVE POSTURE." (See page 156.)

The sky at night in the vicinity of Apple Creek, in Dakota, a few weeks ago, was red all around the horizon, and the people knew that the prairie fires were burning. Every evening, as darkness fell, the farmers saw the glare becoming more and more distinct, and during the day the smoke increased until it was nearly suffocating.

Not far from Apple Creek is the little village of Sterling, and near Sterling lived the Stevens family. Mr. Stevens was away from home on the day that the fire approached the house, and it so happened that his wife was sick in bed. Their children were a girl of eight years and a boy of eleven. The boy had heard that it was a good thing to plough a furrow across the path of the advancing flames, and about noon of the day in question he tried to protect the property in that manner. With the two-horse team and plough he cut a trench around the house and sheds, and then another trench around the stacks of unthreshed wheat. He was not strong enough to plough the trench to a great depth, but the wide line of damp earth thrown up would be hard for the flames to leap across, especially since his little sister followed him around, carrying away all trash that would add to the fury of the flames.

That night the fire was so near that the poor woman thought of getting out of bed, with the purpose of attempting to escape, but she was too ill to try such a thing. Moreover, she knew that if her husband could reach the house he would come, and she watched and prayed as the light came to her room from the crimson skies without.

When the flames, running before the wind, came down upon the Stevens' place, they licked up the fences in an instant, swept away the shocks of grain in the fields, and then rolled suddenly up to the furrows ploughed by the boy. The wheat stacks fell a prey, and numberless sparks were scattered around the house; but the brave boy and his sister ran all about, trampling out the fire wherever it caught.

The little workers were desperate, for they knew that, should the house burn, their poor mother would surely perish in her bed. They fought with brooms, shovels, and water. Wherever they could they dug up fresh earth, and for a quarter of an hour they did not pause for a single moment. Once the house caught, and the wood began to add its crackling to the rush and roar of the vast prairie fire; but the children dashed bucket after bucket of water upon the burning spot, and so put it out. They carried the day. The great fire swept past, and in its wake came the father, half frantic with joy to find that his little hero and heroine had saved their mother's life.—Examiner.

If I were a boy again, and knew what I know now, I would not be quite so positive in my own opinions as I used to be. Boys generally think that they are very certain about many things. A boy of fifteen is a great deal more sure of what he thinks he knows than is a man of fifty. You ask the boy a question, and he will answer you right off, up and down. He knows all about it. Ask a man of large experience and ripe wisdom the same question, and he will say, "Well, there is much to be said about it. I am inclined, on the whole, to think so-and-so, but other intelligent men think otherwise."

When I was about eight years old, I travelled from Central Massachusetts to Western New York, crossing the river at Albany, and going by canal to Syracuse. On the canal-boat a kindly gentleman was talking to me one day, and I mentioned the fact that I had crossed the Connecticut River at Albany. How I got it into my head that it was the Connecticut River I do not know, for I knew my geography very well then; but in some unmistakable way I fixed it in my mind that the river at Albany was the Connecticut, and I called it so. "Why," said the gentleman, "that is the Hudson River." "Oh, no, sir," I replied, politely but firmly. "You're mistaken. That is the Connecticut River." The gentleman smiled and said no more. In this matter I was perfectly sure that I was right, and so I thought it my duty to correct the gentleman's geography. I felt rather sorry for him that he should be so ignorant.

One day, a short time after I reached home, I happened to be looking over my route on the map, and lo! there was Albany standing on the Hudson River, a hundred miles from the Connecticut. Then I did not feel half so sorry for the gentleman's ignorance as I did for my own. I never told anybody that story until I wrote it down on these pages the other day, but I have thought of it a thousand times, and always with a blush for my boldness. Nor was it the only time that I was perfectly sure of things that were not really so. It is hard for a boy to learn that he may be mistaken; but, unless he is a dunce, he learns it after a while. The sooner he finds it out the better for him.

In the life of Mary Pryor, well known among the Quakers a hundred years ago, the following incident occurred on the occasion of her visit to the Quakers in America.

She visited several of the best ships of the period, but did not feel easy to take her passage in any of them. At length, on sitting down in an inferior vessel, called the Fame, she said she felt "so comfortable" that she must go in that ship. Her friends endeavoured to dissuade her, one of them saying he would not trust his dog in it. But having sought the Lord's direction, she saw no light on any change of plan, and she set sail in the Fame. She was now sixty years of age.

The voyage occupied three months, and was miserable in the extreme. The old vessel sprang a leak, and for weeks crew and passengers had to work at the pumps to keep her afloat. At length, when all prospect of rescue seemed hopeless, and the men were on the point of giving up in despair, Mrs. Pryor, who had maintained her calmness and encouraged the sailors all along, came out of her cabin one morning, saying she had good news, for she had seen in a dream a vessel coming to their help that very day. She had forgotten the name of the ship, but if the female passengers would mention their maiden names, it would be recalled to her memory. One of them said her name had been "Archibald." "That," said Mrs. Pryor, "is the name of the ship that will save us." The men were cheered, and turned with new energy to the pumps; and that evening, just before the vessel foundered, they were rescued by a small Halifax schooner, named the Archibald.

The crew and passengers attributed their deliverance, under God, to the influence of Mrs. Pryor; and here was the explanation of the guidance she believed herself to have received to sail in the Fame, contrary to the wishes of her friends.

"The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord."—Lantern.

If Christ be not a refiner's fire in you, He will be a consuming fire to you.

God can give a pardon to the greatest sin, but He cannot give a patronage to the least sin.

A few years ago, a poor girl in London, to whose soul the Spirit had spoken peace through the blood of Jesus, was very anxious to impart the knowledge, and tell some other soul of the dear Saviour she had found. She was too poor and ragged to take a class in a Sunday School. She especially longed to tell children of Jesus. She thought, if she could only be instrumental in the winning of one little child, how blessed it would be, so she used to speak to any little child she saw standing about in the street.

One little boy, about seven years old, often went to her to hear her joyful Gospel tidings. One day she missed him, and searched until she found him. Poor little fellow! He was lying in great agony upon a miserable bed of straw in a wretched dwelling, and was quite alone.

The kind girl, full of pity for him, and anxious to relieve him, called the attention of neighbours to him, but they declined to take any step in the matter. At last she called a policeman. He made the case known to the authorities, and the little sufferer was taken to the workhouse hospital. Here he remained in great suffering, the doctors being unable to do anything to relieve him.

In training him for an acrobat, his parents had treated him so severely, in order to make his tender little limbs supple, that there was not a bone in his body seemingly in its proper place, and his agony was most intense. Six doctors, including Queen's physicians, had his case under consideration, but their skill could not avail. He was unable to lie on his back or side. A frame was made to support his head as he leaned forward. His poor little hands were wrapped in cotton-wool steeped in morphia, to allay the pain.

When he had been in the hospital about four months, a lady went to see him, from whom I heard this most touching and true account. She said she should never forget his face when he raised his head to speak to her. Such a beautiful face, with sweet blue eyes and placid expression, met her gaze. He so frequently said, "Thank you." It was, "Thank you, I am not suffering quite so much to-day"; or, "Thank you. You are so kind."

One day, she asked him if he loved Jesus. He looked at her so reproachfully that her heart smote her for having asked such a question; then he said, "Jesus loves me." She saw then the meaning of his reproachful look. How could she ask him whether he loved Jesus when Jesus loved him? The dear little sufferer had grasped the secret of power. It was not his love for Jesus, but the love of Jesus to him, that was the solid rock on which he stood.

Another time he said, "Oh, I don't mind bearing a little pain for Jesus. He died for me."

The language of some in the hospital was very dreadful. Such blasphemy—such cursing and swearing—even when dying. But the clear voice of the young sufferer often rose high above all others. It distressed him beyond all measure, and he called out, "Oh, don't, don't! Jesus hears you." Rough men, touched by the sight of his pain, would stand by him, listening to his words, silenced by his entreaties. Truly he was "out of weakness made strong."

Not long after the visit of the lady to whom I have referred, God released the loving little soul from its tenement of suffering, and revealed to him, in the "eternal weight of glory," how fully He loved him. His brief tale of life on earth, with its pain so bravely borne, and its knowledge of love so faithfully testified, is now changed for the song and the crown, and the exceeding bliss of being for ever with Him who loves him, "whom to know is life eternal," and "in whose presence is fulness of joy."

A fourth, and happily a successful, search by Her Majesty's ships has just been made for a reported rock towards the southern end of the Red Sea, on which two steamships, the Avocet and Teddington, are supposed to have struck during the year 1887, both ships afterwards foundering.

Owing to a considerable error in the position given by the former vessel, the first search was mainly over ground too far to the westward, and operations were suspended until more accurate information could be obtained. The loss of the second ship, in a position given five miles north-east of the first, caused a second and careful search to be made on a more extended area, still with no indication. A surveying vessel was then sent two thousand miles in order to institute a rigorous examination; but six weeks' close search—though under great difficulties of strong wind and heavy sea—bore no fruit, and various theories were started to account for the loss of the two steamships.

The fourth ship, Her Majesty's surveying ship Stork, has been more successful. Guided by some slight indication afforded by an insignificant rise in the sea bottom, the rock has been at last found. It is a small coral patch, only fifteen feet under the surface of the sea, and stands in twenty-eight fathoms of water, in latitude 14 deg. 22 min. 8 sec. N., longitude 42 deg. 41 min. 32 sec. E. It lies midway between the two best positions that critical cross-examination had finally settled as most probable for the respective vessels that were lost. Though it is between five and six miles from the direct straight line of track, the existence at times of strong currents transverse to the axis of the Red Sea, causes the danger presented by it to be by no means insignificant, though it is a matter for marvel that it has never been struck before.

The difficulty of finding such a small rock may be appreciated from the fact that one of the searching ships was at anchor within four hundred yards of it, with her boats sounding round her, without its being perceived, though she was driven from her anchorage by a gale before the spot was passed over by the boats.

Seeing the enormous British trade, valuable both in lives and property, that passes down the Red Sea, it is a matter of general congratulation that the Admiralty refused to discontinue the search until the last hope of finding a rock was dispelled, and that the efforts to discover it have at length been crowned by success.

Willis, the American traveller, in his "Famous Persons and Famous Places," observes that, when visiting Kenilworth, he noticed with surprise that in one place the swelling root of a creeper had lifted one arch from its base, and the protruding branch of a chance spring tree (sown, perhaps, by a field-sparrow) had unseated the keystone of the next. And so perish castles and reputations—the masonry of the human hand, and the fabrics of human thought—not by the strength which they feared, but by the weakness of trifling things which they despised.

Little did John O'Gaunt think, when these rudely-hewn blocks were heaved into their seats by his herculean workmen, that, after resisting fire and foe, they would be sapped and overthrown at last by a vine-tendril and a sparrow!

A lady once, a Protestant, in ignorance was led
To think she might with comfort live, though to a Papist wed:
But Rome decrees no peace they'll have who marry heretics,
Until their households have been made submissive to her tricks.

It sorely grieved this husband that his wife would not comply
To join the "mother Church" of Rome, and heresy deny:
Day after day he flattered her, but still she held it good
That man should never bow his knee to idols made of wood.

The Mass, the priest, and miracles, were made but to deceive;
And transubstantiation, too, she never could believe.
He went unto his clergy, and told him his sad tale—
"My wife's an unbeliever, sir; try if you can prevail.

"You say you can work miracles—she says it is absurd—
Convince her and convert her, and great is your reward."
The priest went with the gentleman—he thought to gain a prize—
He says, "I will convert your wife, and open quite her eyes."

So when they came unto the house, "My dear," the husband cried,
"The priest is come to dine with us." "He's welcome," she replied.
The dinner being ended, the priest to teach began,
Explaining to the lady the sinful state of man.

The kindness of the Saviour (which no one can deny),
Who gave Himself a Sacrifice, and once for sin did die.
"He by His priest still offers up Himself a Sacrifice."
The lady only answered this by expressing great surprise.

"I will return to-morrow—prepare some bread and wine—
And then dispense the Sacrament to satisfy your mind."
"I'll bake the cake," the lady said. "You may," replied he,
"And when you see this miracle, convinced I'm sure you'll be."

The priest returned accordingly—the bread and wine did bless—
The lady said, "Sir, is it changed?" His reverence answered, "Yes,
It's changèd now from bread and wine to real flesh and blood;
You may depend upon my word, that it is very God."

Thus, having blessed the bread and wine, to eat he did prepare.
The lady said unto the priest, "I would have you take care;
For one half ounce of arsenic I have mixed in that cake,
But as you have its nature changed, it can no difference make."

The priest stood all confused, and looked as pale as death;
The bread and wine fell from his hands, and he did gasp for breath.
"Bring me my horse!" his reverence cried; "this is a cursèd place!"
"Begone! begone!" the dame replied; "you are a cursèd race!"

Her husband sat confounded, and not one word could say.
At last he spoke—"My dear," said he, "the priest has run away;
Such mummery and nonsense can never bear the light;
Apostate Rome I must denounce, and quit it I will quite."

Heresies are views discordant to the truths of God.

A gentleman spending his holidays in Scotland was fishing for trout. He had fishing-tackle and appliances of the best description. He threw out his bait all the morning, but caught nothing. Towards afternoon he espied a little ragged urchin, with tackle of the most primitive order, nipping the fish out of the water with marvellous rapidity. Amazed, he watched the lad for a while, and then went and asked him if he could explain the reason why he was so successful, in spite of his meagre outfit, while the expensive apparatus could catch nothing. The boy promptly replied, "The fish will no bite, sir, as lang as ye dinna keep yersel' oot of sight."

Well has it been said that "fishers of men need not wonder at their want of success, if they do not keep themselves out of sight,' and uplift the brazen serpent on the Gospel pole, while studiously keeping themselves hidden behind the pole."

The deacon of a Church lay dying. He had been a successful merchant, and he was about leaving this world to give an account of his stewardship. When he was near his end, he asked his wife to bring him his title-deeds. The lady went to his private drawer, and drew out some musty papers relating to his property, which she took to him. As soon as he saw them, he said—

"No, no; that is not what I mean. Bring me the New Testament."

It was brought, and he had it opened at Romans viii. 33—"Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect?"

He shortly after closed his eyes in death, his finger continuing to rest on the verse.

(2 Kings iv. 8-37; viii. 1-6.)

As the Prophet Elisha carried God's messages, and did His appointed work among the Israelites, he passed through Shunem.

"A great woman," or, as we should say, a rich, influential lady, lived there with her husband and servants, and in her heart "some good thing toward the God of Israel was found," so when the Prophet passed her door, she invited him and his attendant to rest and refreshment; and since he often came that way, she induced her husband to have a room built upon the wall of the house, which she got furnished in a simple way, and this was set apart for Elisha's special use. His heart was deeply touched by the kind sympathy so freely shown him, and he offered to do anything she might ask to show his gratitude. But the good woman was not ambitious. "I dwell," said she, "among mine own people. I am well content with the blessings I enjoy, and ask no more."

This Shunammite was doing good not for the sake of reward. She honoured the Prophet because she perceived that he was "a holy man of God"—a beautiful proof that she also loved and served the Lord, for "we know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren." In honouring His Prophet she honoured God, and He has said (and He is true), "Them that honour Me I will honour."

The Shunammite's honour belongs to all who love God's people for His sake, for Jesus also declared that "whosoever shall give one of His little ones a cup of cold water to quench his thirst, in the name of a disciple, shall in no wise lose his reward" (Matt. x. 41, 42).

The loving services rendered to the Saviour's friends—even to those who are most closely connected with us, or who often come in our way—are accepted by Jesus as done unto Himself. We may not be able to accomplish great and notable things, but, like this woman of old, may we do good as we have opportunity, and receive His word of acceptance, like Mary, "She hath done what she could."

But the Shunammite was to be rewarded in a very unexpected way. She had no children, and Gehazi mentioned this fact to his master, who, in the spirit of prophecy, assured her that, in due time, a son should be given her. Her joy is described in her reply to Elisha. The news seemed too good to be true. But "God is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think." The promised blessing came, and doubtless the mother felt that her cup overflowed with happiness.

But earthly hopes are always insecure. The child had grown; and at harvest-time he went to the field with his father and the reapers, when suddenly what we should call a sunstroke fell upon him. "My head! my head!" was all he could say, and the father had him carried to his mother. She tended him with loving care, but at noon he died. She took the lifeless form upstairs, and laid it on the Prophet's bed, and then announced her intention to go and find the man of God, saying, "It shall be well," or "peace."

Did she think her child would be restored to life at the Prophet's word? Perhaps so. She had received him at first in a miraculous way, and by a miracle he might be restored to her. At all events, her words and conduct illustrate the divine encouragement, "Trust Him at all times, ye people; pour out your heart before Him; God is a Refuge for us."

They saw her in the distance, and Gehazi ran to meet her, with the question, "Is it well with thee, thy husband, and the child?" And she answered, "Well." She would not tell the servant her sorrow. She hastened on to his master, and in her grief she caught hold of his feet, as if to hold him fast. Elisha, though a prophet, did not know what had befallen her. Perfect knowledge belongs to God alone, and He had not revealed this matter to him yet. He heard her story, and sent Gehazi with all haste to lay his staff upon the face of the child. But the mother refused to leave Elisha, and they together followed Gehazi, who, first reaching the chamber of death, laid the Prophet's rod upon the dead, but in vain. "There was neither voice nor hearing." A solemn picture of spiritual death—no voice to cry to God; no ears to listen to His Word. Are we alive or dead?

Elisha next entered the chamber alone, and, shutting the door, he prayed to the Lord; and in the end, the child was perfectly restored to life and health.

And this wondrous miracle was no doubt intended to foreshadow the general resurrection of the last great day, and to show that "with God all things are possible."

Here, too, we see a figure of "Him that was to come." The Shunammite prayed to God through Elisha, from whose lips she had at first received the promise; and in the name of Jesus we are to seek all blessings from heaven.

"He ever lives to intercede
Before His Father's face;
Give Him, my soul, thy cause to plead,
Nor doubt the Father's grace."

Time rolled on, and other sorrows came upon the highly-favoured mother. A terrible famine raged in Samaria, and at Elisha's bidding she and her household left the land of Israel for seven years (see 2 Kings viii.); and then, peace and plenty having been restored, she returned and went to the king to ask for her house and land in Shunem. Behold here the wonder-working providence of the Lord. At the very time of her visit, Gehazi was telling the king of Elisha's miracles, especially that of raising one to life; and as the woman presented her appeal, Gehazi, recognizing her, exclaimed, "My lord, this is the mother, and this her son, whom Elisha restored to life." Deeply interested at once in her case, the king granted all her request with the utmost readiness.

So "all things work together for good to them that love God," and Jesus always sympathizes with His people's sorrows, and helps and comforts them, so that "they who wait for Him shall not be ashamed." May we, in every time of trial and difficulty—

"Wait for His seasonable aid,
And though it tarry, wait;
The promise may be long delayed,
But cannot come too late."

Our next subject will be, The Parable of the Labourers in the Vineyard (Matt. xx. 1-16).

One is in Adam, but not in Moses.
One is in Jesus, but not in Daniel.
One is in Peter, but not in Aaron.
One is in Eden, but not in Spirit.
One is in Pharaoh, but not in Matthew.
One is in Israel, but not in Abdon.

My whole, when arranged, will be found in the Book of Psalms.

Laxfield.

July 1. Commit to memory Daniel ii. 19.
July 8. Commit to memory Daniel ii. 20.
July 15. Commit to memory Daniel ii. 21.
July 22. Commit to memory Daniel ii. 22.
July 29. Commit to memory Daniel ii. 23.

In Proverbs xxiii. 5, the wise man says, "Riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away as an eagle toward heaven"; and in chapter viii. 18, he says, "Riches and honour are with me; yea, durable riches and righteousness."

In these two verses may be seen one difference between the "uncertain riches" and the "true" ones. The first passage of Scripture refers to the uncertain or earthly riches, which "make themselves wings" and "fly away." The second riches spoken of are the true ones, which Christ gives to His people, and which are durable, inasmuch as they last for ever and ever. This verse is spoken by Christ under the name of Wisdom.

In Christ's parable about the rich man and Lazarus (Luke xvi. 19-31), both kinds of riches are spoken of. The rich man had the uncertain riches in abundance, and was selfish, and kept them to himself, but the beggar, though destitute of this world's goods, was one of God's children, and had the true riches.

A man may be very rich, and be looking forward to a long life in which to enjoy his riches, like the rich man in the parable (see Luke xii. 16), when he may suddenly die, and then what good can his wealth do him? What Paul says in his first Epistle to Timothy is quite true. He says, "We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out" (1 Tim. vi. 7); and the Psalmist says, in Psalm xlix. 16-18, "Be not thou afraid when one is made rich, when the glory of his house is increased; for when he dieth he shall carry nothing away: his glory shall not descend after him. Though while he lived he blessed his soul."

But it is not so with those who have the true riches. They can never be disappointed in having to part with them, for, as before mentioned, they are everlasting. Christ said, in His sermon on the mount, "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal" (Matt. vi. 19, 20). Our riches are, as we know from experience, never really safe from harm and damage, as articles of apparel, however costly they may be, are, if very careful measures are not used, subject to being eaten by moths. Other things are spoiled by rust gathering on them, whilst money is never secure, because thieves may steal it; and even in banks the managers or clerks may be tempted to steal the money entrusted to them, or the bank may fail. Daniel Herbert says, in one of his hymns—

"Should all the banks in Britain break,
The Bank of England smash,
Bring in your notes to Zion's bank;
You're sure to get your cash."

One of Christ's gifts to His people is spoken of in 1 Peter i. 4. It is "an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away," reserved in heaven for those who are "kept by the power of God, through faith, unto salvation."

Christ also gives His people "a crown of glory, that fadeth not away" (see 1 Peter v. 4). This crown is called, in Timothy, "a crown of righteousness"; and, in 1 Corinthians ix. 25, Paul calls it an "incorruptible" one; and James says, "Blessed is the man that endureth temptation; for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love Him" (James i. 12).

In conclusion, we might compare the two kinds of riches to the Lord's parable about the wise man who built his house upon a rock, and it stood firm, "for it was founded upon a rock," and the foolish one, who built his upon the sand, and his house "fell, and great was the fall of it." The first instance resembles those who do not set their hopes on the uncertain, but on the true riches; and the second like those who think only of earth, its uncertain pleasures and riches (Matt. vii. 24-27).

South Hill House,
Tunbridge Wells.

[Very good Essays have been received from Nellie Nunn, Laura Creasey, Eleanor Saunders, Jane Bell, W. E. Cray, J. Rowbottom, Alice Creasey, Rose Holloway, Annetta Hargreaves, E. R. Harris, &c. Their efforts are very encouraging.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of "The Story of the Spanish Armada."

The subject for September will be, "The Blessings Conferred on England by the Accession to the Throne of William of Orange, and by the Protestant Succession thereby Secured to Us"; and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of "The Reformation and its Heroes." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of August.]

Erratum.—Through an oversight, the name of the sender of the Enigma was given last month instead of the sender of the answer. It should have been—Nellie Nunn, aged twelve years.

The number of Bibles printed during last year in England alone amounted to nearly four millions.

A Birds' Nest in a Railway Truck.—A water wagtail's nest, containing four eggs, was found at Norbiton Station amongst some coal in a truck which arrived from Derbyshire, a few weeks ago. The old birds had evidently come too, for they were seen flying about the station.

The death is announced of Mr. Norman Macdonald, of Big Bras Dor, Cape Breton, at the reputed age of 110 years. It is stated that he was a survivor from Waterloo. He was a man of great activity and endurance, and up to about two years ago was able to work on his farm at Cape Breton.

A Quiet Rebuke.—An old minister one Sunday, at the close of the sermon, gave notice to the congregation that in the course of the week he expected to go on a mission to the heathen. One of the deacons, in great agitation, exclaimed, "Why, my dear sir, you have never told us one word of this before! What shall we do?" "Oh, brother," said the parson, "I don't expect to go out of town."

There are more beggars in London this year than I ever remember before—female beggars, crossing sweeper beggars, and singing beggars. And no wonder, if many of them earn as much as one of the fraternity who was before a suburban magistrate recently. This man confessed to earning 5s., 10s., and 15s., and on one occasion as much as £1 1s. 6d. He has earned his living by begging for thirty years, and made a very good living too. He was sent to prison for fourteen days, and when out will doubtless resume his lucrative profession.

A Clerical Miser.—The Rev. John Trueman, of Daventry, possessed an income of about four hundred pounds per annum clear; and, by his self-denying management of it, he contrived to amass fifty thousand pounds. There were few things too mean for him to do in order to save money. He would steal turnips out of the fields as he passed along, on the pretence of visiting the farmhouses, and then beg bits of bacon to boil with them from the good wives in the parish. Sometimes he would quarter himself, without any invitation, in a farmhouse, and in the room in which he slept, he has been known to pull the worsted out of the corners of the blankets, and take it away with him, in order to darn his stockings.

In India we have a few peculiarities because of the great heat. Our houses are, generally speaking, on the open ground, no upstair rooms, and the doors are left wide open. There was an English mother who had the habit, when probably half asleep, of handing out her baby before daybreak to the ayah, to administer to its wants and cares. One morning, this poor mother, all but asleep, felt, as she thought, the cold touch of the ayah (the native nurse), and handed out the baby; but it was a wolf that was there. We are asleep, my friends. That mother lost her reason when the dear little infant was thus destroyed; but in our sleep and in our slumber we lose one child after another by handing them over to Rome—to the wolf that destroys them. Oh, let us awake!—W. Ayerst, M.A.

Steel Lace.—A new branch of industry is going to revolutionize the lace trade. A New York dealer in laces is exhibiting a specimen of lace of an extremely delicate pattern, and so light that it can almost be blown away by a breath of air. This lace is made of steel rolled as fine as the point of a cambric needle. It is not woven, but stamped out of a sheet of low grade steel, so that it should not be too brittle. It was turned out of a small Pittsburgh mill, and sent to the dealer to show what could be done in that line. In the course of time other patterns will be made—heavier, perhaps, but certainly more tenacious than this piece. There is said to be no question as to its durability, and its cheapness would make it the most saleable of all laces in the market. It may create a revolution in the lace market, if rust can be guarded against.—Iron.

Sulphur for Sore Throats.—The value of sulphur in throat difficulties is but little known among families, though most physicians prescribe it in some form. An ordinary sore throat will be relieved by a gargle of sulphur and water—one tablespoonful to a glass of water, and use frequently. In every family the flour of sulphur should be always kept ready for use, and at the appearance of irritation or cankered spots, a gargle should be given, or the powder blown through a paper tube directly into the throat. At different times we have seen the throat trouble relieved in a few hours by the simple use of this valuable remedy. A sore throat is no trivial thing, and no time should be lost in the matter. If, after discovering it in a child, it does not improve in a few hours' time after the use of sulphur, a reliable physician should be called in without further delay.

The Queen Regent of Spain opened the International Exhibition at Barcelona on Sunday, May 20th, in the presence of a distinguished assemblage, including the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, and Prince George of Wales. Perhaps this was done as a set-off against our Protestant commemorations.

Oh, England! England! blush with shame!
Thy princes stoop to foul thy name.

The present spring has been remarkable for the number of rare birds that have appeared in this country and on the Continent. These include the golden oriole, pied flycatcher, sand-grouse, dotterel, hoopoe, short-toed lark, moustached grass-warbler, and rose-coloured pastor. In spite of the Wild Birds' Protection Act, many of these visitants are shot immediately upon their arrival. It is only in rare cases that the police interfere, even when the killing of the birds is a matter of notoriety.

Hay Fever.—Sir Morell Mackenzie has opportunely published a lecture he delivered some time ago at the London Hospital Medical College on hay fever, which he defines to be a peculiar affection of the mucous membrane of the nose, eyes, and air passages, giving rise to catarrh and asthma, almost invariably caused by the action of the pollen of grasses and flowers, and therefore prevalent only where they are in blossom. With regard to the treatment of this disease, Sir Morell Mackenzie believes the first thing to do is, to remove the patient from a district in which there is much flowering grass, a sea voyage being probably the most perfect satisfactory step that can be taken. Patients unable to go to sea should reside near the coast, while dwellers in towns should avoid the country, and those who reside in the country should make a temporary stay in the centre of a large town.

Extraordinary Raffle for Bibles.—A curious custom was observed in the Parish Church of St. Ives, Hunts, on May 23rd. Dr. Robert Wilde, who died in August, 1678, bequeathed £50, the yearly interest of which was to be expended in the purchase of six Bibles, not exceeding the price of 7s. 6d. each, which should be "cast for dice" on the Communion table every year by six boys and six girls of the town. A piece of ground was bought with the £50, and is now known as "Bible Orchard." The legacy also provided for the payment of ten shillings yearly to the vicar for preaching a sermon on the occasion "commending the excellency, the perfection, and divine authority of the Holy Scriptures." This singular custom has been regularly observed in the church since the death of the testator, but representations having been made to the Bishop of the diocese, the practice of throwing the dice on the Communion table was discontinued some years ago, and the raffling now takes place on a table erected at the chancel steps. The highest throw this year (three times, with three dice) was thirty-seven, by a little girl. The vicar (the Rev. E. Tottenham) preached a sermon from the words, "From a child thou hast known the Holy Scriptures."

Antiquarian Discovery.—During some excavations on the premises of Messrs. Walker and Sons, Otley, Yorkshire, a mass of human and other bones, bears' claws, flint, charcoal, and burnt slates or tiles, was turned up with the subsoil, and among the débris, at a depth of nearly eight feet from the modern soil level, six copper and bronze coins and a lead seal were found, several of the coins being in a good state of preservation. Some of the letters on the coins are worn, but it appears certain that some of the coins are of great antiquity. The seal is of more recent date. Seals like the one found were attached to the Papal bulls, and as this specimen has the usual aperture through its diameter to allow of the connection of the bull with the seal being made, there is no doubt that this was so attached to a document of this character. In years past the archbishops had a palace at Otley, and it is conjectured that this is one of the many seals used in the manner indicated. The seal in question bears authority from Pope Innocent IV., who occupied the Papal chair from 1243 to 1254. On the obverse are the Roman capitals "SPA., SPE.," standing respectively for St. Paul and St. Peter. Immediately below are the heads of those saints in relief, a cross in the middle dividing them. On the reverse are the letters "INNOCENTIVS PP IIII."

Colchester.—St. John's Green Chapel Sunday School.—The anniversary services in connection with this school were held on Sunday and Monday, May 27th and 28th. The sermons on the Sunday were preached by the Minister, Mr. W. Brown. On the Monday, the usual gathering of teachers, friends, and scholars was well attended, when suited addresses were given, and prizes awarded to many of the scholars for regular and punctual attendance. Sixteen gained prizes for good essays on "The Life of Joseph." The balance sheet for the last year showed the receipts to be £18 14s. 1d., and the expenditure to be £23 10s. 3d., leaving £4 16s. 2d. due to the treasurer. The amount received on Sunday and Monday was £11 6s. 9½d. There are now 187 scholars and 15 teachers in the school, 23 scholars and three teachers being added during the past year.

THE WOUNDED DRUMMER-BOY.

During the American War, Dr. Rossvally was surgeon in the army, and after the battle of Gettisburg, among hundreds of wounded soldiers, a drummer-boy was found entirely helpless on the field. The case seemed almost too bad for treatment, but as the lad opened his large blue eyes, the doctor felt he could not let him die there, so he ordered him to be taken to the hospital, and found that an arm and a leg required amputation. The assistant-surgeon wished to administer chloroform to the young sufferer, but he refused, and when Dr. Rossvally himself remonstrated with him, he replied—

"Doctor, one Sunday afternoon, in the Sabbath School, when I was nine and a half years old, I was brought to believe in Christ. I learned to trust Him then. I have been trusting Him ever since, and I feel I can trust Him now. He will support me while you amputate my arm and leg."

The Jewish doctor's heart was touched in spite of himself, and he thereupon asked Charlie a question he had never asked a soldier before—would he like to see the chaplain? "Oh, yes, sir!" was the quick response; and after seeing the minister, by whom he sent a loving message to his mother and the superintendent of his Sunday School, he told the doctor he was ready for the operation, promising that he would not even groan if no chloroform were offered him. He kept his promise, only putting the corner of his pillow in his mouth during the most painful part of the process, saying, "Oh, Jesus, blessed Jesus, stand by me now!"

That night the doctor could not sleep. Those soft blue eyes and that gentle voice seemed to meet him continually, and he could not help returning to the hospital in the middle of the night to inquire about the lad. He found him sweetly sleeping, and one of the nurses told him how two friends had visited him, and had sung "Jesus, Lover of my soul" by his bed-side, and Charlie had joined in the sacred song.

Five days afterwards, he felt he was dying, and sending for the doctor, he thanked him for all his kindness, and begged him to remain and see him die, trusting Jesus to the last moment of his life. He tried to stay, but it was too much for his Jewish feelings to see that dying youth rejoicing in the love of the Jesus whose very name he had been taught to hate, and he hurriedly left the room.

Twenty minutes after, he was again summoned to that bed, and, asking him to take his hand, Charlie said, "Doctor, I love you because you are a Jew. The best Friend I have found in this world was a Jew, Jesus Christ, to whom I want to introduce you before I die; and will you promise me, doctor, that what I am about to say to you you will never forget?" The doctor promised, and the lad went on—"Five days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed the Lord Jesus Christ to convert your soul."

These words sank into the doctor's heart. How could that sufferer, in the midst of such intense pain, be thinking only of his Saviour and an unconverted soul? and he could only answer, "Well, my dear boy, you will soon be all right." With these words he left him, and a few minutes later the youth fell asleep in Jesus, at seventeen years of age.

Dr. Rossvally followed him to the grave, and for some months the impression his patience and faith had made upon him still remained. Gradually it wore off, however; and for ten years longer he remained a despiser of the Saviour, when God, in mercy, sent another message to His wandering child.

At the close of the American War, Dr. Rossvally had been made inspecting surgeon, with charge of the military hospital in Texas. Returning one day from an inspecting tour, he stopped at an hotel in New York, and going to be shaved, he found the barber's shop hung around with beautifully framed Scripture texts; and what was more, the barber began to speak to him of Jesus in such an attractive way, that Charlie Coulson's happy death came vividly before his mind. The doctor's mind was deeply moved, and when he reached Washington, where he resided, for the first time in his life he went to hear an address in a Christian place of worship, and he could not restrain the tears that would flow while he listened; and when the service was ended, an elderly lady spoke to him before he could escape. He told her he would pray to his God—the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—but not to Jesus. "Bless your soul," was the earnest answer, "your God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is my Christ, and your Messiah!"

He went home full of conflicting feelings, and then for hours he wept and prayed, while many prophecies concerning the Messiah came to his mind, and at length the conviction came that Jesus was the Christ, that He was his Saviour, and that God had forgiven him for the sake of His beloved Son.

He hastened to tell his wife of his newly-found joy, but it only enraged her, and leaving home, she went to her parents' house, who forbade her to have any further intercourse with her husband, and took the two children under their care. So true is it still that a Jew must be prepared to forsake all when he follows Jesus.

He went away with a sad heart on his next commission, but regularly wrote to his wife, praying that she might read at least one of his letters. For fifty-three days each one was destroyed unopened, but one night their daughter dreamed that she saw her father die, and next morning she determined to take his letter in and read it. She did so, and after a while showed it to her mother, who, having secretly read it again and again, was overcome with strange new feelings, and she also was led to trust in that long-despised but now precious name—Jesus, the Son of God.

Husband and wife were now united in the Lord, and their daughter also became a new creature. Their son, however, long refused even to acknowledge either of his parents, and his mother died without seeing or hearing from him, but it is hoped that her prayers for him may be answered. Mrs. Rossvally's end was peaceful and happy. Some friends sang, "Jesus, Lover of my soul," and when they reached the line, "Thou, O Christ, art all I want," she said, "Yes, this is all I want! Come, blessed Jesus, and take me home!" and so she "fell asleep."

Dr. Rossvally still lives, and like a well-known ancient trophy of divine grace, preaches the faith he once laboured to destroy, and "Christ and Him crucified" is his hope and joy.

Dear reader, whoever you may be, may you reflect upon the fact that there is salvation in none other than the Lamb of God, who died to put sin away, and ever lives to save all who come unto God by Him. And may His Holy Spirit impress the truth upon your heart, "He that believeth on the Son of God hath everlasting life, but he that believeth not the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him" (John iii. 36).—From a Tract, published at Leeds by Dr. M. L. Rossvally, a converted Jew.

A worthy Quaker thus wrote:—"I expect to pass through this world but once; if, therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again."

Sir,—At two o'clock this afternoon, at the address below, I had the honour to receive from Mr. Edison his "perfected phonograph," which, on the authority of Mr. Edison's own statement, in his own familiar voice, communicated to me by the phonograph itself, "is the first instrument of his latest model that has been seen outside of his laboratory, or has left his hands," and is consequently the first to reach this country.

At five minutes past two o'clock precisely, I and my family were enjoying the at once unprecedented and astounding experience of listening to Mr. Edison's own familiar and unmistakable tones here in England—more than three thousand miles from the place where he had spoken, and exactly ten days after, the voice having meanwhile voyaged across the Atlantic Ocean.

"His first phonogram," as Mr. Edison calls it, tells me, among other things, that this instrument contains many modifications of those which, a few weeks ago, were exhibited at the Electrical Club in New York, and so widely reported by the Press.

In the several long phonogramic communications to me (no single word of which had to be repeated in order to be clearly and easily understood by every person present, including a child of seven years old), Mr. Edison mentions that he will send me phonograms by every mail leaving New York, and requests me to correspond with him exclusively through the medium of the phonograph, humorously remarking in this connection upon the advantages he will himself derive from the substitution of phonograms for a style of writing not always too legible.

Next to the phonogram from Mr. Edison himself, and before all the remainder of the deeply interesting contents of the "phonogramic cabinet" sent me, is an exquisite poem entitled, "The Phonograph's Salutation," composed by the well-known and gifted American poet and preacher, Horatio Nelson Powers, D.D., of Piermont, on the Hudson. This poem makes the phonograph tell its own story of what it is and what it does, in a style and with a power that must add not a little to the already high reputation of its author. It was spoken by him into the phonograph, so that we cannot fail to read it as he would have it read—a privilege of no small importance to both the poet and those who hear him.

Perhaps the highest justification of the phonograph's description of its own power in its "Salutation" is found in the fact that to several members of my family who are familiar with the Doctor's style of oratory, from having sat under his preaching in former years, the voice of the author is perfectly recognizable, even by my youngest child of seven years, who had not heard the voice since he was five years old.

Besides the above, Mr. Edison has sent for our amusement numerous musical records of great interest and beauty—pianoforte, cornet, and other instruments, solos, duets, &c., many of which, he tells me, have been very frequently repeated—some, several hundred times.

Altogether, our experiences of the day have been so delightful and unusual, not to say supernatural, that it makes it difficult to realize that we have not been dreaming—so interesting withal as to make it seem a duty, as it is a pleasure, to communicate the above to your widely-read paper, which I have so frequently observed to chronicle the works of the author of this unparalleled triumph of mind over matter. All honour to Edison!

I have the honour to be, sir,

Little Menlo, Beulah Hill, Upper Norwood, Surrey, June 26th, 1888.

P.S.—It may be interesting to add that the above communication was spoken by me into the phonograph, and written from the phonograph's dictation by a member of my family, who had, of course, no previous experience of the instrument.

"Whilst we were conversing with a man named Joachim," says a missionary to Syria, "in the city of Nazareth, a sudden but violent storm arose, and terrific peals of thunder rolled over our heads. The brow of the hill whereon the city was built was every moment gleaming as the lightning flashed. The rain fell in torrents, and in the course of an hour a river flowed past the convent door, along what lately was a dry and quiet street. In the darkness of the night, we heard loud shrieks for help. The floods carried away baskets, logs of wood, tables, and fruit-stands. At length a general alarm was given. Two houses built on the sand were undermined by the water, and both fell together, while the people in them escaped with difficulty. It was impossible not to pity these poor, houseless creatures, and, at the same time, to thank God we were in a secure building."

The power and meaning of these words spoken by our Lord was thus made plain—"Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of Mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock; and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock."

A lady was wakened up one morning by a strange noise of pecking at the window, and when she got up, she saw a butterfly flying backwards and forwards inside the window in a great fright, because outside there was a sparrow pecking at the glass, wanting to reach the butterfly. The butterfly did not see the glass, but it saw the sparrow, and evidently expected every moment to be caught. Neither did the sparrow see the glass, though it saw the butterfly, and made sure of catching it. Yet, all the while, the butterfly, because of that thin, invisible sheet of glass, was actually as safe as if it had been miles away from the sparrow.

Poor, fearful child of God, it is when our Protector is out of sight that our hearts fail us. Elisha's servant was in great fear when he awoke in the morning, and saw the city of Dothan encompassed with horses, and chariots, and a great host; but when his eyes were opened, at the prayer of the prophet, his fears vanished, for he beheld the mountain full of horses and chariots of fire. "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee." "The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth and even for evermore."

"Though now unseen by outward sense,
Faith sees Him always near;
A Guide, a glory, a defence:
Then what have you to fear?"

—Waymarks for Pilgrims.

(Page 130.)

The omnipotence of God is, in some measure, made known to the heart of every individual on the face of the earth. We cannot cast our eyes around us without seeing, in some way or other, the wonderful power of God in the creating and ordering of all things. Only what God has purposed to do will take place; and, on the other hand, whatever God has ordered He has power to bring to pass, although to us such things may seem utterly impossible, "but with God all things are possible" (Matt. xix. 26). If we look through the Bible, the power of God prevails in every book, chapter, and verse. Was it not with a mighty hand that He brought the Israelites up out of Egypt? and their enemies, who were much stronger than they, when they knew the Lord was on Israel's side, feared greatly, and were all overthrown and destroyed (Exod. xii. 33; Joshua x. 2). David, too, realized that wonderful power. He says, "But I will sing of Thy power; yea, I will sing aloud of Thy mercy in the morning: for Thou hast been my defence and refuge in the day of my trouble" (Psa. lix. 16). David was often brought very low (Psa. xviii. 4, 5; cxvi. 3), but the Lord did not suffer him to despair, for he was one of His most precious jewels. Job, too, felt, in a remarkable way, during his affliction, the power of the Lord, and he endeavoured to show and explain it to his friends, but he had to finish up by saying, "Lo, these are parts of His ways, but how little a portion is heard of Him!"

The omnipotence of God is so vast that it is quite impossible for us to fathom it. Look at the history of Jehoshaphat. He heard that a great army was coming to fight against them, and the army of Jehoshaphat, being so small, he knew they must be defeated and slain. But, in his extremity, he cried unto the Lord, saying, "O Lord God of our fathers, art not Thou God in heaven? and rulest not Thou over all the kingdoms of the heathen? and in Thine hand is there not power and might, so that none is able to withstand Thee?" (2 Chron. xx. 6.) Was any able to withstand the Lord? No! Read the twenty-seventh verse—"Then they returned, every man of Judah and Jerusalem, and Jehoshaphat in the forefront of them, to go again to Jerusalem with joy; for the Lord had made them to rejoice over their enemies." Before, they felt condemned to die, but now they were released, and filled with joy.

Such are the numerous instances in which the Lord, in His power, has raised up the cast down, relieved the oppressed, and comforted mourners, and such as are of a sad heart.

Corby, Grantham.

[This is the best answer we have received, therefore we give it as embodying the secret of the Enigma.—Ed.]

A giant.

One of David's wives.

A disease.

A piece of money.

A prophetess.

A garment worn by the priests.

A judge.

A brother of David.

A king of Judah.

A brook.

A colour.

The name by which the penitent Israelites were to address God.

A son of Jacob.

The mother of a friend of Paul's.

The initials form something which the Saviour said.

Carrie Foord, the subject of this memoir, was born at Tunbridge, in Kent, on 27th September, 1867. At the age of six years she lost her mother, and at eight her father, leaving her sister Kate and herself to the care of their stepmother, who was in every way most kind to them, which kindness they returned with much affection. It was Mrs. Foord's wish to keep a home for them to grow up together. Man proposes and God disposes. The home had to be given up, Kate going to her grandfather's, and Carrie, in the providence of God, brought to live with us at Hailsham, much against her inclination, as she neither liked us nor our religion. This continued for some time, but

"God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform."

She was brought, through divine grace, to see her state as a sinner in the sight of God by hearing the third verse of the 666th hymn of Gadsby's Selection given out one evening, as she took her seat in the chapel. The arrow of conviction went home to her heart. Well do I remember, on her return, finding her alone, and crying. Putting her arms round my neck, she said, "What shall I do? I am such a sinner! I'm so wicked!" although at the time I did not know what had caused her distress.

At another time she was much impressed by a sermon our dear Pastor, Mr. Nunn, preached from Hebrews xiii. 14—"For here we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come." From this time she became an earnest seeker, very regular in her attendance at the house of God, nothing but duty keeping her away. Ultimately she was baptized, and became a very useful teacher in the Sabbath School, where she was much loved.

Early in 1886 she caught a severe cold, which settled on her lungs, causing the rupture of a blood-vessel. Some scattered sayings, spoken at different times during her illness, were recorded, of which the following are a few:—

"Oh, I do wish he did not think so well of me, and call me good!" alluding to a remark of a very dear friend. "He does not know how wicked I am, or he would never say I was good. What a mercy I was ever brought here, under the sound of the Gospel! But then, God is not confined to places, is He, auntie? If I am His child, He would be sure to reveal Himself to me, in His own good time; but I do thank Him for bringing me here. My dear uncle, how kind he is! How earnestly he has prayed for me, and our dear Pastor too! I believe their prayers have been answered. What a mercy!"

After a bad fit of bleeding, I said, "Did you think, dear, you should die, when bringing up the blood?" She said, "No, auntie; I never once thought I should." Our hopes were raised as she got better so quickly, and we thought it might have been only a lodgment. She frequently said, "I don't mind if it is not my lungs." But when she grew rapidly worse, and we called in another doctor, he only confirmed what our own doctor had said—that her case was hopeless. After they were gone, she said, "What did they say, auntie?" I told her it was the lung. She very quietly remarked, "People often live a long time with their right lung gone, don't they?" I said, "Yes," not having the heart to tell her, in her case, it would not be long.

One day, turning over the leaves of a hymn-book, I came to the one on the safety of believers, which I read. The first verse is—

"There is a safe and secret place,
Beneath the wings divine,
Reserved for all the heirs of grace;
Oh, be that refuge mine!"

She said, "I do like that hymn so much, auntie. I have had such sweet times in my little room. Often when you have sent me up to study for my class, I have had such sweet enjoyment that I could not study."

On awaking one night, she said, "Oh, auntie, I have had some beautiful words come with such power, and I keep saying them—'Thou art Mine, as the apple of Mine eye.'" I said, "You could not have a more precious portion. That will do to go to sleep on, won't it?" She said, "Oh, yes!" and soon fell into a peaceful slumber.

One night she said, "Auntie, do you ever feel your prayers to be very formal, as if it was merely a habit, and no heart in it?" I said, "Yes, dear; too often." She said, "Do you?" "Oh, yes," I said; "I wish I did not."

One morning, going into her room, she said to me, "I have had a nice time. The sun shone brightly in at the window, and those words came, 'So shall the Sun of Righteousness arise with healing in His wings.'"

One day she said, "I used to cry so when I was at Gravesend. Do you know what for?" I said, "No; why did you?" She said, "Because I was coming here. I did dislike coming so, and for a long time after I was here I would go and pray, as I thought, very earnestly that mother would send a letter to fetch me away; but that letter never came. No, it never came; and what a mercy it did not! God knew what was best for me. How we can look back and say, 'All was for the best.'"

We felt that we should like her to know the state of health she was in, but felt quite unfit to tell her. During a visit, a friend asked her if she wished to get better? On referring to me, after they were gone, she said, "Is it wrong, auntie? Don't you think it is natural for me to wish so, who am young?" I said, "Yes, dear, quite natural." She said, "But I know the Lord will do what He thinks best."

Previous to her nineteenth birthday (September 27th) she had a return of the bleeding, which again confined her to her bed for a time. We all felt her end might be very near, and would perhaps come suddenly by the rupture of another blood-vessel; therefore we were very anxious she should know what a precarious state she was in. It was, therefore, quite a relief when she said one day, "Auntie, I did not think at one time I should be alive now. I did not think I should live to see my birthday." I said, "I am very glad to hear you say this. I quite thought you were under the impression you would get better. What were your feelings when you thought this?" "Oh," she said, "I felt I could leave it all in the Lord's hands. He would do what was best." There was a sweet resignation to His will at this time; but, after a little while, her bodily strength increasing, she was gradually buoyed up with a hope that she might get better. Knowing from the faithfulness of our doctor that her case was hopeless, we could not participate in that hope. She was most honest in her principles, and could not bear to deceive any one.

One day, as we were sitting alone, she said, "Oh, auntie, you never thought I could deceive you or uncle, did you? But I did." I said, "I am glad you have spoken of this, dear, although I think in your case it was different from many" (knowing that what she alluded to was a private matter). "At any rate, you have our pardon." She said, "What stings of conscience I have had through it! It has quite taken away any feeling of pleasure I may have had; and yet my will was so strong to have my own way, I could not give it up.[10] I have not deceived you in anything else, auntie. You believe me, don't you?" I said, "Indeed I do."

A very dear friend calling to see her one afternoon, who had not seen her since she was called by divine grace, said in the course of conversation, "Well, my dear, there are times and seasons, I have no doubt, when you can say you would not have it otherwise, but that it was good for you to be afflicted?" She turned very red, paused, then said with her usual candour, "I cannot say that, Miss G——." After her departure, she said, "Auntie, I wish to be submissive to the will of the Lord, but I felt I could not say that I have ever had a time when I would not have it otherwise."

A friend calling one evening, spoke in a very solemn manner of those who had a false enjoyment, and put some close questions to her. She said little, but after he was gone seemed much put out, and said, "I know I cannot talk like those he visits. I expect he thinks there is nothing in me. What do you say, auntie?" I said, "He was certainly very searching, my dear, but I don't think you understood him. He is so afraid of any one resting on a wrong foundation, and knowing what a very delicate state of health you were in, he was anxious to know if you were resting on Christ, and Christ alone, for salvation." "Well," she said, "I felt dumb. I expect he thinks very badly of me."

Her strength seemed to go daily. As Christmas drew near, she said, "Auntie, let everything go on the same as it has done other years. Make no difference for me. Invite your friends for the day as usual." But we felt it a very solemn time, and hard work to put on the appearance of cheerfulness, feeling sure, ere another Christmas came, her place would be vacant, and she in eternity.

Her dear little cousin was a great sufferer at times all through her illness, and it became apparent that she, too, was fast hastening home. I said to Carrie one day, "I used to feel, dear, that I should have you to leave to see after our dear Flo, if we were taken, but it seems the Lord's will to take you, and I sometimes think she won't be long." She answered, "No, I don't think she will; but she will be safe whenever she goes."

We could have but few quiet times together after this, through the serious illness and death of her dear cousin, but she was wonderfully buoyed up at this time with the assurance that nothing was too hard for the Lord, and apparently rested upon it, for when I was alluding to her sad state of health, she said, "I know I am beyond the power of earthly physicians to cure, auntie; but, you know, nothing is too hard for the Lord."

After the death of her cousin, she was most anxious to have her mourning made, which we felt sorry for, as it seemed such a clinging to life; but we found it was only a natural desire to show her love for her dear little cousin. At any rate, the wish gradually left her, and all things of an earthly nature lost their charm.

One day she said, "I have no wish to join in anything now. I don't feel to want to go and witness anything. That is a blessing the Lord only can give, isn't it?" I said, "Yes," knowing what great delight she used to take in many things, and how active she had been, especially in anything connected with the chapel or Sabbath School.

After this darkness set in. The Word of God was as a sealed Book, and she had no spiritual enjoyment, which she much deplored; also, the visits of our dear Pastor and her uncle failed to give any comfort.

One day, after a doze in the easy chair, she said, "Was it not strange? It seemed as if, when I was sleeping, a little boy came to me, and said, 'The Lord hath not forgotten thee, so live in peace.' It did seem so strange to see the little boy come up and say this. What do you think of it?" I said, "I cannot tell."

She grew rapidly worse, and our dear nurse thought it advisable to ask the doctor to call, as he had not been for a few days. He came, and said she might be gone in twenty-four hours, or might linger a few days, but the beginning of the end had taken place. Our dear Pastor went and spoke a few words to her ere he left, and said, "Ah! dear, it is well with you," and other words of comfort. But after he was gone she was much cast down, and said, "Oh, why did he say that? I don't feel it will be well." Then, after a little while, she said, "Do you think I am much worse?" "Yes, dear," I replied. "Do you think I shall die?" I said, "I fear you will." Then she said, "Oh, auntie, what trouble I am in! I fear I have deceived you and myself, and that I shall go to hell." I replied, "But, my dear, you have had some sweet promises applied with power, haven't you?" "Oh, I've thought so, but if I have been deceiving myself?" I said, "You have had a desire after these things, have you not?" "Oh, yes!" she replied. "Then," I said, "I feel assured, my dear, you would not have had a real desire if you were a deceiver." She said, "Auntie, what shall I do? I feel I can't die like this; but I can't do anything, can I?" Wringing her hands in agony of mind, she cried, "Do, please, Lord, come! Do come! Oh, dear Lord Jesus, do please come!" She continued in much distress, until I felt quite unequal to talk to her, and said, "My dear, shall I send for some one?" She replied, "Oh, no, auntie; don't send for any one. The Lord must do it all" (laying great stress on the all); "but do pray for me, that He will appear." Her distress of mind was very great. No words or texts of Scripture named gave her any comfort. I left the room for a short time, leaving her in the care of our dear nurse (of whom she was very fond), and on my return, found she had had a nice sleep. Going up to her, she said, "How can I thank you enough?" I said, "Don't say a word about that, dear. My earnest desire is, that you may get a word from the Lord." Her countenance looked so placid, and she said, "I have, auntie." I said, "Is Jesus precious to you as your Saviour? Can you trust Him?" She replied, "Yes. These words came—'Fear not; I will be with you,' and I think He will. Yes, His promises stand good. 'He'll never, no, never, no, never forsake.'" She then dozed again. I saw her lips moving, and caught the words, "With Christ in the vessel I smile at the storm," having evidently been repeating that beautiful hymn of Newton's, "Begone unbelief, my Saviour is near."

After this she had a little time of peace. The next morning, on being asked if the Lord had again given her comfort, "Yes," she said; "He has promised that, when through fiery trials He'll cause me to go, He will be with me."

Darkness again took possession of her mind, and she was often saying, "Oh, to be a castaway!" She said she would like her uncle to come, which he did. On his approaching the bed, she said, "Oh, uncle, what will become of me if I am a deceiver? I shall be lost!" He took her hand, and said, "Jesus came to save the lost, so you see, dear, you are one. 'The whole need not a physician, but those who are sick.'" After a few words, he engaged in prayer. She then dozed, and was never again so harassed by the enemy of souls.

On Friday morning she was much favoured with the Lord's presence, and longed to "depart and be with Christ," saying repeatedly, "Do, dear Lord Jesus, take me to-day! I do so want to go!" I said, "We must wait His time." "Yes," she replied—

"Till He bids, I cannot die;
Not a single shaft can hit
Till the God of love sees fit."

Her throat and breathing at this time were very bad, and she asked the doctor when he came if he could relieve her at all. He said he was afraid he could not, but it would not be long. After he was gone she again said, "I do so hope the Lord will take me to-day. Do come, Lord Jesus; do come! Oh, how I long to go! What a glorious meeting it will be for me, if I am right!" Then clasping her dear hands together, she said, with such a sweet smile as nurse and I shall never forget, "Oh, blissful home! What a glorious meeting! I shall see Christ in all His beauty!"

In the afternoon her breathing altered, and she seemed gently passing away. Looking up so sweetly, she said, "Am I dying, auntie?" I answered, "Yes, dear; it won't be long now. You want to go, don't you?" "Oh, yes," she replied. Her difficulty of breathing returned, and she suffered much through the night. In the morning she said, "You thought me dying yesterday, and the doctor too; but the dear Lord did not, did He? It was not His time." She continued very ill through the day—scarcely able to speak. Towards night she slightly rallied, and looking up at the clock, said, "Oh, the night!" She had often during her illness dreaded the nights. I said, "You know that beautiful hymn, dear—'Sun of my soul'?" She took it up, and said—

"Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near;
Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise,
To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes,"

after which she did not say any more about the night.

Her dear Pastor and others bade her "good-bye," but her breathing was too bad for her to speak, until about two o'clock, when she startled the dear friend who was sitting up and myself by turning round, calmly putting her hand in mine, and, with a kiss, said, "Good-bye." Then turning to Mrs. T——, she did the same to her, and then very quietly remarked, "You don't hear it now, auntie?"—alluding to the rattles. I said, "No; the conflict will soon be over, darling." Still, it was not yet ended—not until a quarter to four on the 8th of May, 1887, was her soul permitted to "depart and be with Christ," whom she had longed to see in all His beauty.

One step and then another,
And the longest walk is ended;
One stitch and then another,
And the largest rent is mended;
One brick upon another,
And the highest wall is made;
One flake upon another,
And the deepest snow is laid.

So the little coral-workers,
By their slow but constant motion,
Have built those pretty islands
In the distant, dark blue ocean;
And the noblest undertakings
Man's wisdom hath conceived,
By oft-repeated efforts
Have been patiently achieved.

Then do not look disheartened
O'er the work you have to do,
And say that such a mighty task
You never can get through;
But just endeavour, day by day,
Another point to gain,
And soon the mountain which you feared
Will prove to be a plain.

"Rome was not builded in a day,"
The ancient proverb teaches;
And Nature, by her trees and flowers,
The same sweet sermon preaches.
Think not of far-off duties,
But of duties which are near;
And having once begun to work,
Resolve to persevere.

C. Swain.

Among the many anomalies presented by Nature, that of a flying mammal has seemed strikingly incongruous, and has always left an impression on the popular mind generally the reverse of the truth. The fox-bats are an example in point. Superstition has gathered about these strange creatures the wildest fears; and their uncouth and weird looks have strengthened a foolish credence in the stories of the vampire. They, it was declared, settled at night upon the wearied sleeper, and sucked his life-blood, or with a malicious bite involved the souls of the virtuous in the terrors of their own lost estate.

The examinations of the naturalist long ago put to flight these romantic tales; but in their haunts, among the woods of Southern Asia, in Africa, Australia, Java, and Sumatra, their black swarms and flying movements yet cause dread and disgust.

The flying foxes are ranged under the order of the Cheiroptera, or hand-winged mammals, and are grouped together in the sub-section of the fruit-eating bats, as distinguished from those feeding mostly upon insects.

Their depredations upon orchards and vineyards are notorious. Sailing through the air at sundown, and guided by an acute sense of smell, they will enter the plantations containing some plant upon which the fruit has reached maturity, and, covering it in crowds, will revel in the delicious repast, leaving the tree or vine at dawn stripped of all its precious wealth. They fly rapidly, but never at any great height, and sometimes will traverse considerable spaces, migrating from island to island over intervening arms of the ocean. On the ground they are agile and curiously active. They climb trees with ease, and during the day hang by their hind limbs, their wing membrane wrapped around them, from the loftier boughs. So densely are they sometimes congregated that the tree seems a solid mass of black, motionless bags.

The species is distributed over East India, and finds also a favourable habitation in Madagascar. It lives in immense colonies, and its swarms have been compared with those of gnats, while the branches they infest sometimes break down with their great weight. They feed on dates, bananas, the guava fruit, and also eat insects, the young and eggs of birds, and apparently at times snakes. Their flesh is edible, and esteemed immensely by natives, who catch them in nets in the trees, and kill them on the ground.

In flight, they can be brought down by a blow delivered on the expanded arms, covered with the flying membrane (patagium), as these are very weak.

This species is seen more often in captivity than any other; and Brehm, from whose admirable Thierleben these notes are taken, speaks with characteristic enthusiasm of his observations made upon one. The "fox" slept nearly all day, though regularly he devoted some time to the cleansing and preparation of his "flying machine," and occasionally bestirred himself for the enjoyment of a cherry or a sip of milk. At the approach of night he became restless and excited, stretched his wings, and vainly attempted to escape. He displayed temper, and would bite sharply any one whose familiarities he resented. The combats of these animals with one another are very relentless, and generally terminate with the death of one or both contestants.

The head in these bats is long and pointed, the ears moderately large, the nose without the appendages seen in the insectivorous bats, and the jaws armed with incisors, canines, and molar teeth. They form in their habitat interesting spectacles; and their whirring progress through the air at night, or the pendent throngs they present by day, alike astonish the visitor to Ceylon and India. The bats are naturally regarded as one of the most distinctly marked groups of animals; and among them the flying-foxes (Pteropidæ) are easily identified. They have long been known in literature, and the ancient Herodotus spoke of them in Arabia, and said that the inhabitants protected themselves against them in dresses of leather. Later classic authors referred to them, and many naturalists have in the East carefully observed their habits.

FLYING FOXES.

Dear Mr. Editor,—As a warning to any of our young friends who, when they leave home to take part in the battle of life, may be thrown amongst revilers and blasphemers, I will relate a sad occurrence which took place in the next village to this on Monday, June 25th, 1888.

A club is held in the village of Birdham, where this took place, and on the evening previous, being the Sabbath evening, the stall-keepers, swinging boat proprietors, &c., were drinking at the village inn, and one of the company, a young man of twenty, was swearing and flourishing his hands over his head, saying he did not care for any one. God might strike him blind if He liked.

The next day, about noon, a heavy thunderstorm burst over the village. This young man had gone into the field with the horse, a little boy being beside him, when a flash of lightning darted down, cut his hat to pieces, and left him a corpse. One ear was split, and one hand and the face were black.

Thus it was not long before God dealt with this young mocker in a manner more awful than he probably expected. This was so sad that it impressed many with solemn thoughts, and led to the following similar sad story being again related.

Some years since, in the next village, Earnley, a man being accused of taking some money, declared that, if he had it, he hoped his legs and arms might be burned off. A storm arose, the lightning darted athwart the heavens, fell on the barn wherein he was, burned the barn, and his body was afterwards found with legs and arms burned off.

This was related to me by a woman named Shepherd, now living within a short distance of where the barn stood, and who saw it on fire.

Still another sad tale. On Sunday last, four young men left Bognor for Selsey—a few miles' trip by boat on the sea. At Selsey they took too much drink, and, on their return, the boat capsized, and they were in the water for an hour crying for help; but although many heard them one and two miles away—it being a still night—no one seems to have known whence the sounds came. Thus all four Sabbath-breakers perished. One of the poor fellows wore the knees of his trousers quite away in his attempts to climb on the overturned boat.

Sidlesham.

P.S.—Selsey also joins this village. I saw the boat rowing towards it about half-past four.

["The wages of sin is death." Reader, how are you living? How shall you die, and where shall you go? Remember that all who are out of Christ are exposed to the wrath of God, while all who, by faith, flee to Him for mercy, are saved from the wrath to come. Beware of mocking God, of despising His Word, and of desecrating His day. "The way of transgressors is hard," but "whoso confesseth and forsaketh his sin shall find mercy."—Ed.]

The highest visible form of Christian life is self-denial for the good of others.

An aged pilgrim of seventy-two years, recently made a pensioner of our Society, has lately come under our notice, and as an example of courageous faith, it may interest our readers and others to know something of this poor old man.

Having faithfully served our country for fourteen years as a soldier in the 14th Light Dragoons, and having been severely wounded during the Crimean War, in which he served in all the special engagements, he was paid off as unfit for further service, receiving a pension for only ten years, as he was unable to complete the full term of service (twenty-one years) which would have entitled him to a pension for life.

After leaving the army he worked as a labourer, whenever he could find employment, and was brought to a saving knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ about twenty years ago, after which he was soon engaged in carrying heavy loads at Cotton's Wharf, in Tooley Street, London.

After seventeen years of this work, he one day, unhappily, stumbled whilst carrying a load, and fell backwards some distance, the back of his head being split open. This brought about paralysis on the left side, and some two years afterwards it resulted in the loss of his sight. For three years he has been stone blind, and has suffered at times most acutely from pain in the head; but his indomitable energy, and strong faith in his "dear Heavenly Father," have kept him from falling to the level of a pauper; and rather than gravitate to the condition of an inmate of one of our Unions, he has bravely endeavoured to make a living by playing a musical instrument in the streets.

To add to his affliction, his wife, in 1883, was run over in the streets of London, and died in an hospital under amputation of both legs. Thus, left without relation or friend, this poor blind man had to face this cold and unheeding world alone; and yet he is never alone, for his faith is so bright that he goes out, walking long distances, trusting to God to preserve him in his way.

On one occasion, he was taken by a constable before the Lord Mayor of London, charged with playing an instrument in the streets, and having been questioned as to what he did, answered that he played a small instrument by which to keep himself. The Lord Mayor asked him to play a tune, which he accordingly did, and he at once took the part of this aged pilgrim, gave him five shillings, and reprimanded the constable for arresting the poor old man, and told him to look after those who were doing really wrong things in the streets, and not to bring poor, helpless men to him like that. This poor man, hearing the severe words addressed to the constable by his lordship, immediately began to beg that no punishment might be meted out, quietly remarking, "My lord, very likely he is a young constable, and has not quite learnt his duties. Don't punish him; don't punish him." Thus did he show the true Christian spirit of love for his enemies.

To illustrate the marvellous energy of will and courage of heart in this old veteran, on one occasion he was badly bitten by a ferocious dog, which left a terrible wound on his leg. No sooner had it got well enough for him to crawl, than he walked four miles in awful agony to see one of his friends, taking four and a half hours over the journey. Such men are worthy of our support.

Our readers may ask, "How is it that Government does not look after this old soldier?" But it is explained when we learn that he married "off the strength," i.e., without leave, and so is now left to do the best he can, unaided by his country.

From town to town this poor man, literally a pilgrim, wanders, seeking the "wherewithal" to keep body and soul together. Often would he have been starved, but for friends whom the good Lord has raised up for him in the most unexpected ways.

Wherever he goes he carries the savour of Christ with him, and boldly witnesses for his Saviour, abominating the awful language and behaviour which he has to put up with in the houses where he lodges for the night; and has even been pushed and struck because he has spoken out against the evil by which he was surrounded. Thus actually from day to day dependent upon his "Father in heaven" for his "daily bread," he lives by faith; and thank God we know that, not having "his portion in this life," there awaits him in due time the sweet rest of heaven, where he shall be for ever "comforted" and owned in his Father's kingdom.—H. J. K., in Quarterly Record of the Aged Pilgrims' Friend Society.

It was a cheerful chapel above ground, filled with seats, wide enough apart to kneel down between them, if one wanted to do so, well warmed and well ventilated.

At the time fixed for the meeting, first of all came Brother Punctuality. His watch and actions are always regulated to the minute by the town clock. Once he and the minister came together. They waited one minute for others who came not, and then each prayed, talked, and sang. They spent fifteen minutes thus, and then left.

On their way home they met the rest coming, who said, "Why, are we not to have a meeting?" "Oh, we have had one," was the reply. That cured all, except the most incorrigible, of their delay. Some people are chronically tardy. You can never change them. They are always too late for work, too late for dinner, too late for church. What a mercy if they are not at last among those who come when the door is shut! They disturb the devotions of others. Not so Brother Punctuality; only he has one troublesome fault. When the hour is done he opens that inevitable hunting-watch of his, and snaps it to with such a nervous jerk that it says very plainly to all, "Now, shut up and go home." This is bad enough in ordinary and dull times, but when hearts are warm, and prayers are strong, and the current of love flows fully, let there then at least be a little more latitude.

Congenial with this brother is Brother Promptitude. When the leader opens the meeting, he is always ready to rise. He shudders at these pauses. They are to him as ice-cakes clogging the current of love, hindering the wheels of prayer. Yet he would not rush things. I have known him to count seven, the mystic number of the Scripture, and then, if no one rose to speak or pray, he did. He is thus a minute man, ready for action in a minute, and hating to lose the minutes. Slower natures than his complain that he does not give them time to think. No matter; they may learn at last not to be so slow.

In the other seat sits Brother Brevity. He has something to say, and having said it he sits down. When some overstocked divine or some thin-laid layman drags wearily along with a chain of dull platitudes, he is very twitchy, wondering why people will waste so much good breath and use so many poor words in saying nothing.

Brother Pointedness deeply sympathises with him. He wants to see people take good aim at the mark, and hit it—not try to see how near they can come and not do it.

Brother Round-the-Circle greatly distresses him, who, if he has a fact, an incident, or an illustration, has so many minor details to dwell upon that he smothers the infant-truth under his mass of old clothes.—Selected.

[Perhaps this curious sketch may yield useful hints to some who read it.—Ed.]

The late Duke of Portland was a nobleman who contrived to pass through life without much noise, but reaped happiness and respect in abundance, and, while gratifying his taste for rural occupation, conferred the most lasting benefits on the country. The following, among many stories, is told of him:—

The duke discovered that one of his tenants, a small farmer, was falling, year after year, into arrears of rent. The steward wished to know what was to be done. The duke rode to the farm, saw that it was rapidly deteriorating, and the man, who was really an experienced and industrious farmer, totally unable to manage it, from poverty. In fact, all that was on the farm was not enough to pay the arrears.

"John," said the duke, as the farmer came to meet him, as he rode up to the house, "I want to look over the farm a little."

As they went along, "Really," said he, "everything is in very bad case. This won't do. I see you are quite under it. All your stock and crops won't pay the rent in arrear. I will tell you what I must do. I must take the farm into my own hands. You shall look after it for me, and I will pay you your wages."

Of course, there was no saying nay. The poor man bowed assent.

Presently there came a reinforcement of stock, then loads of manure, at the proper time seed, and wood from the plantations for repairing gates and buildings. The duke rode over frequently. The man exerted himself, and seemed really quite relieved from a load of care by the change. Things speedily assumed a new aspect. The crops and stock flourished; fences and out-buildings were put into good order. In two or three rent-days it was seen by the steward's books that the farm was making its way. The duke on his next visit said—

"Well, John, I think the farm does very well now. We will change again. You shall once more be tenant, and, as you now have your head fairly above water, I hope you will be able to keep it there."

The duke rode off at his usual rapid rate. The man stood in astonishment; but a happy fellow he was when, on applying to the steward, he found that he was actually re-entered as tenant to the farm, just as it stood in its restored condition. We will venture to say, however, that the duke himself was the happier man of the two.

He that doeth good enriches his own heart with unspeakable blessings.

"Better a fountain in the heart
Than a fountain by the way."

(Page 165.)

"Praise."—Psalm cl. 1.

P is in Peter, but not in Aaron.
R is in Pharaoh, but not in Matthew.
A is in Adam, but not in Moses.
I is in Israel, but not in Abdon.
S is in Jesus, but not in Daniel.
E is in Eden, but not in Spirit.
Joseph Hugh Willerton
(Aged 6 years).

Corby, Grantham.

[A correct answer has also been received from Maggie Nunn, aged nine years.—Ed.]

The Sunday School children of the above place of worship met together for their annual meeting on Sunday afternoon, May 20th, when our kind friend, Mr. Daw, of Hailsham, presided.

The service commenced by our old friend, Mr. Izard, giving out Hymn 59, Clifton Hymnal, after which Mr. Daw commenced by saying, as there were a goodly number of friends present, as well as children, he would try to make it as much like an ordinary service as possible. He then read 1 Samuel iii., then engaged in prayer, after which Hymn 212 was sung, the last line of the chorus being, "What can we give in exchange for the soul?"

He said that, when he was about one year old in divine things, he thought, if that text was written up on his house in big letters, so as people could see it as they passed by, it would convert them, and he actually went out one day to see if there was a place where it might be put up. That was when he had been quickened into life about one year. He said he did not feel very old now. He remembered asking some little girls if they could tell him how old he was, and one little girl said thirteen; and he thought she was very near right, for he felt sure he was not more than fourteen now.

He then said he should preach a short sermon from 1 Samuel iii., and the last clause of the eighth verse—"And Eli perceived that the Lord had called the child." He said he had tried to preach to children before, but this was to be a special trial, so we should see how he got on.

He said, in referring to the Lord calling Samuel, that his mother Hannah was of a sorrowful spirit, and prayed and made vows to the Lord that, if He would give her a man-child, she would give him to the Lord all the days of his life; and the Lord granted her request, and she called his name Samuel, because she had asked him of the Lord. So when Samuel was very young, she took him up to the temple; and one night, when he lay asleep, the Lord called him, and Samuel thought it was Eli that called him. But Eli said, "I called thee not; go and lie down again." But the Lord called him the second and third time, then "Eli perceived that the Lord had called the child."

The Lord called David to be king—the most unlikely one of the lot, for all his brothers passed before Samuel first. Great, strong men they were, to all appearance—far before David. But no; David, the shepherd boy, was chosen to be king, for God often "chooses the foolish things to confound the wise."

He said he used to be a teacher in the Sunday School, and he often wished he was one now, for he thought he liked talking to children best; and when the Lord called him out to preach, one of his greatest trials was, to give up the Sunday School, for he thought out of his class the Lord had called four boys and four girls.

Some boys and girls, after they have been to a Sunday School a few times, will return home and tell a fine tale to their mother, and say, "I shall not go to that school any more." "Oh, why not?" "Because they don't give such good treats and prizes as they do at other schools." But their mothers never ought to encourage that.

He once saw a girl at Polegate Station, and he thought, "That girl is going off to service." He was sure of it; and whenever he saw a girl at the station, with a box or two and a parcel, going off to service for the first time, he generally said to himself, "That girl will have a good cry to-night, when she gets into bed." So when he saw this girl, he thought he would write her a letter; and he did so—that being five years ago—and he saw her only last week, when she said she had cause to thank him for that letter, and he quite hoped that letter was the means used by the Lord in calling her.

Then he said he wanted to say a word to parents and teachers. He did not know who he had before him, because he did not live in the neighbourhood. If he did, he should know more about them, and if the children did not come to school pretty regularly, he should often call on them to know the reason. He said he did not wish to offend them, but he often thought that parents sent their children to school, and never went to the house of God themselves.

And as to teachers—what a self-denying work theirs was! If there were any that needed sympathy, it was the teachers; and if they could not get it from the parents, they would draw it from some other source, for we read, "Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days" (Eccles. xi. 1).

The children then repeated several hymns and passages of Scripture, which they had learned for the occasion, after which Mr. Daw proceeded to distribute the prizes—which consisted of Bibles, hymn-books, and other good books—those receiving the best who had the most marks for attendance and good behaviour. In presenting a nice Bible to a little girl, he made the remark, "I have a Bible in my pocket which is not quite so good-looking as yours, but I prize it beyond any Bibles here, because it was given to me by a girl that is now in heaven; and there are marks in it, against various portions of Scripture, which had been blessed to her through my ministry." As they came forward to receive their prizes, he addressed each one in a very affectionate manner. He, indeed, had a kind word for all. He also wished each one to learn a hymn, which he named. After singing another hymn, Mr. Daw concluded with prayer.

"Am I called, and can it be?
Has my Saviour chosen me?
Vilest of the vile am I;
Can I lift my thoughts so high?"

The sixtieth anniversary of the Sabbath School in connection with this place was held on Sunday, June 24th. Special sermons were preached by Mr. B. C. Turner, of Southport, and the scholars sang specially-selected hymns in the evening, at which service the chapel was crowded.

The text in the morning was Ruth iii. 1, and in the evening Mr. Turner spoke from Ecclesiastes xi. 6, "In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand." In discoursing from these words, he spoke many encouraging words to the teachers and parents, and gave good advice to the children.

After the sermon, three girls and four boys were promoted to the Senior Bible Classes, each of whom was presented with a handsomely-bound Bible, and Mr. Turner spoke a few appropriate words to them.

The collections at the two services amounted to £15 1s. 3d. The school now numbers 240 scholars, forty teachers, and two superintendents.

Aug. 5. Commit to memory Prov. iv. 1.
Aug. 12. Commit to memory Prov. iv. 14.
Aug. 19. Commit to memory Prov. iv. 25.
Aug. 26. Commit to memory Prov. iv. 18.

What could Jesus do more than die for us? and what can we do less than live to Him?

(Matthew xx. 1-16.)

Jesus had left Galilee for the last time, and He and His disciples were on their way to Jerusalem, where He would be condemned to die. They had rested in a house on the road, and He had embraced and blessed the little children that were brought to receive His gracious touch. He had been met by a rich young man as He resumed His journey—one who wanted eternal life, but sorrowfully left the only Giver of that blessing because he could not bear to give up his wealth to follow the meek and lowly Saviour; and as the youth turned away, Jesus had said to the disciples, "Children, how hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God" (Mark x. 24). A conversation followed (Matt. xix.), in the course of which Peter asked, "What reward shall we have, who have forsaken all, and followed Thee?" to which question the Saviour replied by a promise and a parable—the promise that all His followers should gain a hundred-fold by their losses for His sake, and inherit everlasting life; but He added, "Many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first," to illustrate which fact, He told them a parable. "For the kingdom of heaven is like unto a householder, who went out early in the morning to hire labourers into his vineyard." With those whom he first engaged, a penny a day was the wages agreed upon, and they went at once to work. A penny a day, young friends, was not such a little as it seems to us. It meant about eightpence halfpenny in our money, and would buy a great deal more than we can get for eightpence halfpenny now. You could live, in a careful way, at "an inn" for a great deal less than a penny a day; and when the good Samaritan took the wounded Jew to one of these humble places of rest and refreshment, he gave the innkeeper "two pence" to take care of his guest, and provide for him, and promised to pay any more expense should it be incurred.

The terms were very fair and liberal for a full day's work; but more hands were needed, and the master went out again at nine o'clock in the morning, then at noon, at three in the afternoon, and yet again at the eleventh hour, five p.m.; and finding still some unemployed, he asked, "Why stand ye here all the day idle?" "Because," said they, "no man hath hired us." "Go ye also into the vineyard, and whatsoever is right, that shall ye receive." Such were the terms on which all except the earliest labourers were hired.

The working day of twelve hours is ended; the men are called to receive payment; but, strange to say, the latest comers are first called, and each one receives the full amount—one penny. The whole-day workers are now dissatisfied. They have got all they were promised, but why should those latecomers have as much as themselves, who had been working all the time? "Friend," said the good man of the house to one of the complainers, "I do thee no wrong. Didst thou not agree with me for a penny? Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own? Is thine eye evil, or envious, because I am good?" "So," said the Lord Jesus, "in My kingdom the last shall be first, and the first last." And has not He, who is your Lord and Master, a right to do what He will with His own?

The disciples were thinking that Jesus would reign on earth, and make the Jews a free, prosperous nation, and they, as His first followers, wanted to be great men in His kingdom (see verses 20, 21 of this chapter). Christ, on the other hand, was thinking of a spiritual, heavenly kingdom, where He would reign for ever, ruling His people's hearts by love. In this kingdom God has always blessed His servants according to His own good pleasure.

Abraham, Isaac, David, and a host of others who served the Lord for many years, looked forward to dwelling with Him in blessedness for ever. The dying thief, whose day of life was spent in worse than idleness, in the service of sin and Satan, received, in answer to his earnest prayer, the wonderful assurance, "Verily I say unto thee, To-day shalt thou be with Me in paradise."

Prophets laboured, and Apostles reaped the fruit of those labours (John iv. 37, 38). John the Baptist was great and honoured as the herald of Jesus, yet the least one in Christ's kingdom is equal with, and in some respects even greater, than he (Matt. xi. 11).

The Gentiles, in time past, were not a saved people; but now multitudes of them have been gathered to Jesus, and become the people of God, while the Jews (God's ancient people) have to a great extent despised the Gospel, and been shut out from its blessings; so the last have been first, and the first have become last.

Among the twelve Apostles, Andrew first found Jesus, and brought Peter, his brother, to Him; but Peter afterwards became far more noted than Andrew, especially on the Day of Pentecost, and in his Epistles; while Paul, the very last of all, the persecutor of Christians, became the first and greatest of the apostolic witnesses of Jesus. And Paul took no credit to himself for this. "Not I, but the grace of God which was with me," he delighted to say was the cause of all the good works done; and when he joyfully looked forward to the crown of righteousness laid up for him, he gladly adds, "and not for me only, but also for all them that love His appearing."

This parable is quite different from the one in Matthew xxi., where faithful and unfaithful servants are contrasted. All the labourers in this vineyard worked. None are accused of laziness or unfaithfulness. None are blamed for the way in which their work was done. Those who laboured longest were still well paid, while the late comers were rewarded by sheer generosity. So, in the kingdom of God's grace, each favoured servant of the Lord "knows in all his heart and soul that not one thing has failed of all the good things the Lord his God promised him." He never gives less than He said He would. He often gives more than we either ask or think.

Does the end of the day in this parable mean the evening of life, or the end of the world? And did Jesus represent the feelings of some of His people when dying, or at the last day? Oh, no! I do not for one moment think so. But you know we sometimes show a pouting, cross little child a picture of one like itself, to let it see how ugly it looks; and in the same way Jesus, by this parable, taught His disciples and us that when we are jealous and envious of others, we are finding fault with God's kindness and bounty.

And let us remember that, whether we are rich or poor—whether our labours in Christ's cause seem very successful or not—yet, if we have been called to serve Him at all, the highest honour has been put upon us. Far better to be employed in His vineyard than to be loitering outside; infinitely preferable to be "a doorkeeper in His house, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness." His "ways are ways of pleasantness," and "in keeping His commandments there is great reward."

May we be His servants, loving and faithful, and receive at last that great reward which none but Jesus can deserve, "the free gift of God, eternal life," through Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour; and our song of humble gratitude will be, "Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thy name be glory, for Thy mercy and truth's sake. Amen."

Our next subject will be, Ananias and Sapphira (Acts v.).

The chief lesson taught by the conduct of Solomon at the commencement of his reign is, humility. We know this by his choice when God asked him, in a dream, "What shall I give thee?" He made answer that the people he had to rule were as the dust of the earth for multitude, and that he had no more power to act as a king than a child. He therefore wished for wisdom to help him to do right, and for God to be with him, as He had been with his father David.

This incident shows the gracious nature of Solomon's character; and the reward that God gave him ought to make us remember that "he that humbleth himself shall be exalted."

With Rehoboam it was different. The lesson taught is, that his conduct should be shunned by all. Shortly after he was made king, those who had lived the greater part of Solomon's reign came and asked him if he would be kind to them, and ease the servitude that his father had put upon them. He sought to man instead of to God, and chose the counsel of foolish young men. After the people had been kept waiting three days, he told them that he would add to the yoke that they formerly had borne, and as his father had "chastised them with whips," so would he "with scorpions." At the time that Rehoboam made that rough and haughty answer, he probably had forgotten that the majority of the people had most power, but so it was here, for ten of the twelve tribes revolted.

The first lesson taught by Solomon, and the second taught by Rehoboam, contrast deeply with each other. The first, if imitated by every one, would work a wonderful change in the world. There would be fewer quarrels, fewer wars, and, in a word, less sin. The second is the cause of many evils with which the earth abounds. The former the Lord is delighted with; the latter is an abomination. If Jesus Christ was once "made lower than the angels" for our sakes, surely we ought to put away all haughtiness, and remember that we are on a level with our fellow-creatures by creation, and that all who are saved are saved by free grace, through faith in Christ.

Pearl Cottage, Carlyle Road,
Forton, Gosport, Hants.

[Good Essays have been received from Jane Bell, Laura Creasey, E. B. Knocker, Alice Creasey, B. Stroud, Annie Judd, Alice Pease, G. A. Osmotherly, E. Saunders, M. E. Denly.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of "The Life of George Whitfield."

The subject for October will be, "Charity," as commended in the Scriptures; and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of Foxe's "Book of Martyrs." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of September.]

The cross is the distinct announcement to us of that wonderful law, that "through much tribulation we must enter into the kingdom of heaven." Perfection through suffering—that is the doctrine of the cross. There is love in that law.

On July 15th, after two sermons by Mr. Hull, at Rochdale Road, Manchester, £44 9s. 5½d. was collected for the Sunday School there.

Sale of Pictures.—The Chester Chronicle states authoritatively that Lord Tollemache has sold two of his pictures by Sir Joshua Reynolds for £15,000 each, and one by Gainsborough for £14,000.

In addition to the present from a London banker of 10,000 books, a lady in the City has sent a van load, about one and a half tons, to the Mariners' Mission, Burdett Road, London, E., for free distribution among sailors and others.

Low Rental for Land.—Eight hundred acres of arable land in the Isle of Sheppey, well known for its productive nature, have just been let to a new tenant at the unprecedentedly low price of 1s. 2d. an acre. The tithe on the land is 12s. an acre.

On June 1st, 1883, a toad was placed in a cavity hollowed in a large stone, and the opening was sealed up with cement. On the 1st of June, this year, the stone was broken open, and the toad was found alive, and strangely enough, it had grown considerably.

Mr. John White, of Nuneaton, Warwickshire, erected a highly horrible scarecrow in a field. Three weeks afterwards he went to inquire after its health, and found that a robin had built her nest in one of the pockets, and a tomtit had utilized a sleeve for the same purpose.

A Maiden Session.—There were no prisoners for trial at Cambridgeshire Quarter Sessions, July 13th, 1888. Mr. Sperling, the chairman, who was presented with a pair of white gloves, said that, during an experience of over thirty years, he did not remember a previous maiden session.

The Dundee sealing steamer Esquimaux arrived the other week at St. John's, Newfoundland, from seal fishing, with a catch of 23,000 seals. The Aurora, another Dundee vessel, followed, with a cargo of 25,000 seals. The seal fishing off the Newfoundland coast has this season been a great success.

Artificial Ivory.—A substance resembling ivory of creamy whiteness and great hardness is made from good potatoes washed in diluted sulphuric acid, then boiled in the same solution until they become solid and dense. They are then washed free from the acid and slowly dried. This ivory can be dyed, and turned, and made useful in many ways.

Dr. Gordon Stables, the well-known author, spends the summer in going about the country in a caravan. His handsome home on wheels is called "The Wanderer." It is drawn by two capital carriage horses, and is fitted in most luxurious fashion. He takes a man-servant with him, and has a tricycle attached to the vehicle. He stops at night by the roadside.

New Gold Field.—A rich gold field has been discovered between the two rivers, Lava and Papanahoni, in Surinam. It is an open question whether this district of 20,000 to 25,000 square kilometres belongs to France or Holland. M. Condreau, the French traveller, who has been closely investigating the district, considers that it will be as productive as the gold-fields of Australia and California.

Mr. George Le Fèvre, of the Huguenot Church at Canterbury Cathedral, writes thus—"A large and valuable oil painting of a scene in the history of the Huguenots has been presented to the French Church. The subject is exceedingly appropriate this year, being the tercentenary celebration of the defeat of the Spanish invasion of England. The picture has been hung up in that part of the Crypt known as the Chantry of the Black Prince, and has been much admired by tourists, who are now visiting in considerable numbers."

By the steamship Oonah, which is the latest addition to the fleet of the Tasmanian Steam Navigation Company, there arrived at Melbourne on Saturday, April 28th, from Tasmania, the largest shipment of fruit for the London market which has left the Australian colonies—about 13,000 bushels of choice apples. The fruit will be transhipped into the cool chamber of the P. and O. mail boat Oceana, leaving on the 4th of May, and will be followed by another shipment by the Britannia, leaving on the 18th of May. This, we understand, closes the operations of the shippers for this season. Should the outcome of these shipments be as encouraging as the telegraphic news already received seems to indicate, there is every prospect of a very large export trade in this industry being established. We are informed that the parcel now arrived could have been very much increased had there been more room in the cool chamber of the Oceana. No doubt next season all the boats of the P. and O. and Orient Companies will make arrangements to take fruit, so that shipments can be forwarded every week.—Launceston (Tasmania) Examiner, May 2nd.

Further particulars of the floods in Mexico show them to have been of a most serious character. It is stated that, in the town of Silao, where the river overflowed its banks on the 18th of June, 1,500 persons perished. At Leon, over 2,200 houses were destroyed. In some districts it is declared that bodies were floating about on the waters as thickly as driftwood.

Dread of Comets.—A story is related showing the dread with which comets were regarded in the early part of the last century. A renowned astronomer predicted that a comet would appear on Wednesday, October 14th, 1712, and that the world would be destroyed by fire on the Friday following. The astronomer was correct, so far as the comet was concerned. A number of persons got into the boats and barges on the Thames, thinking the water the safest place. A captain of a Dutch ship threw all his powder into the river, that his ship might not be endangered. A number of clergymen, it is said, were ferried over to Lambeth, to request that proper prayers might be prepared, there being none suitable in the Church service. Sir Gilbert Heathcote, at that time head director of the Bank, issued orders to all the fire offices in London, requiring them to keep a good look-out, and to have a particular eye on the Bank of England.

A Millionaire Inventor.—We have more than once pointed out how simple inventions (observes a writer in Invention) often realize large sums for the fortunate inventor. Here is another illustration. The discovery of the perforated substance used for bottoming chairs and for other purposes has made its inventor a millionaire. George Yeaton, the inventor in question, was a poor Yankee cane-seater in Vermont. He first distinguished himself by inventing a machine for weaving cane, but he made no money out of it, as some one stole his idea, and had the process patented. After a number of years experimenting, Yeaton at last hit upon this invention, which consists of a number of thin layers of boards of different degrees of hardness glued together to give pliability. Yeaton went through a number of bitterly contested law-suits before he got his invention patented. He was wise in not paying others to manufacture his device. He formed a company, and to-day he has a plant valued at half a million dollars, and is in the receipt of a princely annual revenue derived from this invention.

The Fastest Train in the World.—The fastest train in the world is without doubt the "Flying Dutchman," which for many years has succeeded in knocking off the seventy-eight miles between London and Swindon in an hour and twenty-seven minutes. This is at the rate of fifty-three miles an hour. Exeter is 194 miles from Paddington, and is reached in four and a quarter hours, or an average pace throughout, including stoppages, of forty-five miles and a half per hour. The Prince of Wales has made some remarkably quick journeys on the Great Western. Not very long ago the North Western took him from Manchester to London in three hours and fifty-five minutes, but the Great Western had previously beaten this by conveying him from London to Swansea (216 miles) in three hours and fifty-three minutes, the average speed throughout that remarkable journey being almost fifty-six miles an hour. English trains are much quicker than those of the Continent. The speed of the American expresses is from thirty-five to forty miles an hour. The Chemin de fer du Nord runs its expresses at an average of thirty-seven, and the Paris and Mediterranean at thirty-four miles an hour. Some of the German expresses cover thirty-six miles an hour.

A Terrible Situation.—Mr. Ballou, in his recent wanderings under the Southern Cross, has found one more unpleasant item for reptile literature. In Sydney he heard the following snake story, the facts of which occurred not long before, near the town of Parramatta. In the family of a settler, who resided some half a league from the town, there was an invalid daughter, she being of an extremely nervous temperament. She was sleeping, one summer afternoon, in a hammock swung between two supporting standards in the shade of the piazza, when she was suddenly awakened by feeling something cold and moist clinging about her throat. She put her hand to the spot, and clasped the body of a snake just at the back of its head, and, with a horrified cry, wrenched with all her strength to pull it away. This was the first instinctive action of the moment, but so great was her terror that she speedily lost all consciousness of the situation. Her hand, however, still grasped the snake where she had first seized upon it, and with such a convulsive force that the creature was rendered powerless. The cry of the terrified girl brought the father from within the house, who instantly came to her relief; but in the fit which her fright had induced, her hand slowly contracted about the creature's throat with a force which she could not possibly have exerted when awake, and before her fingers were unclasped, by the aid of a bit of hammock cord, the reptile was completely strangled. Fortunately, the creature had not bitten the girl before she seized it, and after that it was unable to do so. It is said to have been four feet long, and of a poisonous species.

"I GAVE MYSELF UP TO READING THE BIBLE." (See page 194.)

My dear wife,—Before these lines reach you, grim death will have swept me off the stage of time. No more shalt thou repose in these arms; no more shall these eyes behold thy lovely person, or gaze with delight on thee or my dear infants.

Yesterday we had a bloody and obstinate fight, in which we had great numbers killed and wounded. I received one ball in my leg, another in my breast. I am now so weak with the loss of blood that I can hardly write these few lines as the last tribute of my unchanging love to thee. The surgeons inform me that three hours will be the utmost I can survive. Alas! too true was the dire presage in my mind that we should never meet again on this side eternity.

On our passage here, I gave myself up to reading the Bible, it being the only Book I was possessed of. The Almighty was pleased to draw my heart to Him by the sweet attractions of His grace, and at the same time to enlighten my mind.

There is in the regiment a corporal who is a Christian. I had no knowledge of him till one night when I had been earnest in prayer to God to guide me in the way of peace. During my sleep I dreamed of this same man, and was directed to him by name, Samuel Pierce. The dream made so strong an impression on my mind that the next morning I inquired if there was such a person in the regiment, and was greatly astonished to find him. I told him my dream, with which he was much pleased. We soon contracted a strong friendship, and he was pleased to explain to me the amazing love of God in giving His Son Jesus Christ to bleed and die for sinners. He unfolded to me the mysteries of salvation, the nature of the new birth, and the great necessity of holiness of heart and life. In short, he became my spiritual father, and to him, under God, I owe much that I am now acquainted with.

Soon after we landed, God was pleased to speak peace to my soul. Oh, the bliss, the unutterable joy, that I then felt, through the blood of the Lamb! How I longed to tell the whole world what Jesus had done for me! But how did I long for thee, my love, to taste and know the love of God in Christ Jesus! I would have given the world to have been with thee, to have told thee of "the pearl of great price." And as we shall never meet more in this vale of tears, this is my dying wish and advice—read the Bible and good books, frequent the preaching of the Gospel, and the Lord will guide thee in His way. And oh, endeavour to bring up the dear little ones in the fear of God. Oh, never fix thine heart upon the vain and unsubstantial things of this world! Heaven and the love of God are the only things that demand our hearts, or are worthy of engrossing them. I have been a worthless husband to thee, and a vile rebel against my God. "God be merciful to me a sinner!" I die in peace. I die in a full assurance of eternal glory. A few moments and my soul shall be ranged in the "general assembly of the Church of the First-born who are written in heaven."

And now, my dear infants, the God who blessed Jacob and Joseph will bless you. Seek Him, and He will be found of you. Call upon Him, and He will hear and bless you. Learn, then, my dear children, when you grow up, to seek for permanent happiness in God through a crucified Redeemer.

"The world recedes, it disappears;
Heaven opens on my eyes, my ears
With sounds seraphic ring.
Lend, lend your wings; I mount, I fly!
'O grave, where is thy victory?
O death, where is thy sting?'"

Dear wife, more would I say, but life ebbs out apace. Bright angels stand around the gory turf on which I lie, ready to escort me to the arms of Jesus. Bending saints reveal my shining crown, and beckon me away. Yea, methinks my Jesus bids me come. Adieu, adieu!

Being called to preach the Word in a parish where there is no resident minister, it frequently falls to my lot to visit those who are afflicted.

A singular instance, both of ignorance and mercy, appeared in the character of a person almost unknown to me till the following circumstance took place.

A poor woman, about the middle of August last, was taken very ill with pleurisy, and was much alarmed. This being the Sabbath evening, she sent for one of the people who usually attend my preaching to come and read with her. He accordingly went, and she was much pleased with what he read. Before he left her, she solicited him to ask me to come and see her. Being out preaching, upon my return home I met this person, who told me the request of the poor woman. I immediately went, and found her in a helpless, miserable state, both as to body and soul. Her husband being gone to harvest, she was left without money to procure any of the comforts of life. The marks of poverty appeared in every part of the habitation, and the poor creature laid stretched out upon a bed of sorrow, being in a languishing state through the violence of the fever.

After condoling with her for a few minutes upon her external situation, I began to converse with her pretty freely upon the more important affairs belonging to her never-dying soul. The first topic of conversation was upon man as a sinful creature, and the enmity of the heart in the unconverted. I endeavoured to show that, although some might be a little more refined as to gross acts of immorality, yet by nature we "are all the children of wrath even as others." I next spoke of salvation by Jesus Christ, that it was all of grace.

The woman listened to every word I uttered. The tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and at last she said, "I know nothing of the Man of whom you have been speaking," immediately adding, "I was never brought up in the way of religion—never taught to know a letter of a book, nor yet attend any place of worship." After I had engaged in prayer with her, I left her.

The next day I made her another visit, and found the fever increased, the cough very troublesome, and the pain in her side very acute. I began to discourse upon the suitableness, the ability, and willingness of Jesus to save perishing sinners, and then she put this question—"And do you think, sir, He will save such a wretch as I am?" I observed, "The promise runs thus, 'Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out,'" &c.

Her knowledge of divine things rapidly increased, and her earnest devotions seemed now to be the perpetual breathings of her soul.

The third visit I made her, she lamented her former state of ignorance and sin, and expressed great fears lest her sins should be too enormous to be forgiven.

The poor woman continued in this state about six weeks, soliciting the company of all Christian friends to converse and pray with her.

The last visit I made to her produced a very affecting scene, both to her and me. I talked to her as one actually dying, and prayed for her as one who must soon appear before the Judge of all the earth. While I was engaged in prayer, she repeated the words after me in the most affecting manner, and after I had finished supplicating the Father of mercies, she added, "Oh, Lord, hear! Oh, Lord, forgive such a wretch as I am!" A few hours after this, she breathed her last, without either sigh or groan.

Of late years we have had in Britain almost a surfeit of exhibitions, of one sort or another, chief among which have been the splendid series which so many witnessed at South Kensington, and which have given to many of the inhabitants of these isles a far better ideal of the empire's resources than otherwise they would have had, besides having contributed not a little to the stimulation of commerce, while furnishing agreeable entertainment to the sightseer. That the day of the exhibition, as we understand the word, as an educational and profit-raising medium, is not yet gone, is proved by the holding of the Irish, Italian, and Anglo-Danish Exhibitions in London this year, and the popularity of the more general display at Glasgow, not to speak of minor shows which have found favour elsewhere.

The forerunner of all these magnificent spectacles was the Great Exhibition of 1851, held in Hyde Park, on the initiative of the late Prince Consort, who borrowed the idea from the State-supported Expositions at Paris. The Prince proposed that an exhibition of colossal proportions should be held in London, in a building specially designed for the purpose, and that it should be open to competitors from all nations, so as to form a veritable "world's fair." The scheme was entered into with alacrity by the public. All sorts of representative men cordially supported the Prince. A big banquet was given by the Lord Mayor of London in the Mansion House, on March 21st, 1850, to the municipal magnates of the kingdom, at which the success of the undertaking was practically assured; and later on a similar feast was given in the ancient city of York, at which the Prince again eloquently and effectively pleaded for the accomplishment of the task to which he had set his hand. A Royal Commission was appointed to manage the undertaking. Hyde Park was fixed upon as the most appropriate site for the building, and Sir Joseph Paxton, though not an architect, was honoured with instructions to design the fabric—that magnificent Crystal Palace, which was subsequently removed to a permanent and commanding position at Sydenham, and which is familiar to every London resident and visitor. It was formed chiefly of iron and glass, being 1,848 feet long, 408 feet broad, and 66 feet high; crossed by a transept 108 feet high, and also 408 feet in length, for the purpose of enclosing and encasing a group of noble elms. Within, the nave presented a clear, unobstructive avenue, from one end of the building to the other, 72 feet in span, and 64 feet in height. The wings, exterior to the centre or nave on each side, had also galleries the same height, the wings themselves being broken up into a series of courts each 48 feet wide. The number of columns used in the entire edifice was 3,230. There were 34 miles of gutter for carrying off the rain-water to the columns, which were hollow, and served as water-pipes; 202 miles of sash-bars, and 900,000 superficial feet of glass, weighing upwards of 400 tons. The building covered about 18 acres of ground, and, with the galleries, gave an exhibition surface of 21 acres, with eight miles of tables for laying out goods. The building cost £176,000; and though the plan was not accepted until the 26th of July, and the first column not fixed until two months later, the edifice was virtually completed by the 1st of the following January, on which date it was delivered over to the Exhibition Commissioners to be fitted up for its destined purpose. The Crystal Palace excited universal admiration for its wonderful combination of vastness and beauty, and when it was fully furnished, and opened to the public, on the 1st of May, 1851, the visitor felt as if he had entered a fairy-like scene of enchantment, a gathering-ground of grace, brightness, and delight.

It was a splendid sunny morning, and the assembled multitude was brilliant in the extreme. The Queen, accompanied by the Prince Consort, walked in procession through the immense aggregation of treasures, followed by an imposing array of eminent British and foreign notabilities. It has been truly said that within the giant palace of glass were then massed representatives of all the people and productions of the earth—a grand presentment of wealth, intelligence, and enterprise. There were over 17,000 exhibitors, some 3,000 of whom received medals of merit. The Exhibition remained open until the 15th of October, altogether 144 days, during which it was visited by 6,170,000 persons. The greatest number present in any one day was 109,760, on October 8th. On one occasion 93,000 were within the palace at the same moment, which surpassed, it is said, in magnitude, any number ever assembled together under one roof in the world's history. The charges of admission to the Great Exhibition were practically the same as those obtained at the recent South Kensington "shows," and the whole affair was so well managed and successful in every point that at its close a surplus of £150,000 remained, after paying all expenses.

Mr. John Burns contributed to a recent number of Good Words a paper entitled "Something about the Cunard Line," which contains some interesting facts with regard to the equipment and working of ocean steamships. Taking the Etruria as a sample of the present vessels of the Cunard fleet, he states that her consumption of coal is 300 tons per day, or twelve tons per hour, or 466 lbs. per minute. For a single passage across the Atlantic (which takes seven days) she requires the following provisions—12,550 lbs. fresh beef, 760 lbs. corned beef, 5 320 lbs. mutton, 850 lbs. lamb, 350 lbs. veal, 350 lbs. pork, 2,000 lbs. fresh fish, 600 fowls, 300 chickens, 100 ducks, 50 geese, 80 turkeys, 200 brace grouse, 15 tons potatoes, 30 hampers vegetables, 220 quarts ice-cream, 1,000 quarts milk, and 11,500 eggs. The groceries for the double voyage include 650 lbs. tea, 1,200 lbs. coffee, 1,000 lbs. white sugar, 2,880 lbs. moist sugar, 750 lbs. pulverized sugar, 1,500 lbs. cheese, 2,000 lbs. butter, 3,500 lbs. ham, and 1,000 lbs. bacon. The quantities of wines, spirits, beer, &c., put on board for consumption on the double voyage comprise—1,100 bottles of champagne, 850 bottles of claret, 6,000 bottles of ale, 2,500 bottles of porter, 4,500 bottles of mineral water, 650 bottles of various spirits. Crockery is broken very extensively, being at the rate of 900 plates, 280 cups, 438 saucers, 1,213 tumblers, 200 wine glasses, 27 decanters, and 63 water bottles in a single voyage.

The Cunard ships, it is further stated, traverse yearly a distance equal to five times that between the earth and the moon.

In the course of a year the fleet consumes 4,656 sheep, 1,800 lambs, and 2,474 oxen, besides 831,603 eggs; and among other articles of consumption are 1½ tons of mustard, 1¾ tons of pepper, 7,216 bottles pickles, 8,000 tins sardines, 15 tons marmalade, 22 tons raisins, currants, and figs, and so on through a long list, finishing with 930 tons potatoes, 24,075 fowls, 4,230 ducks, 2,200 turkeys, 2,200 geese, 31,312 tablets Pears' soap, 3,484 lbs. Windsor soap, 10 tons yellow soap. The coal burned during the year amounts to 356,764 tons, which, if built as a wall four feet high and one foot thick, would reach from Land's End to John o' Groats.

I am sure that most of our young friends know the meaning of the word "orphan"; and perhaps among the numerous readers of the Little Gleaner are some that are orphans themselves. But if some of the younger ones do not understand what is meant by the word, we must tell them that, when children have lost both parents by death, we call them orphans. Very sad indeed it is to lose both father and mother while young, for no earthly friend can really fill their place. It is of such a child that I am writing a few words, and I trust that our little readers will indeed feel thankful to God if He has spared them both parents, and granted them happy and comfortable homes.

It is more than ten years ago since I first saw her whom I now call Orphan Bess, and her baby sister. The first great shadow had then fallen upon her home, and I had to attend the funeral. This was in March, 1878. A very pale, fragile child our little maid was then, and her baby sister was more delicate still. She then sat on the floor, wondering at the tears of her mother, frightened at the strange faces and people that came to bear her father away, and trying to still the baby, which was wailing in the saddest tones. Oh, how unfit to be thrown on the world—the cold, rough world—without the strong arm of the father, and only the mother to shield! But a Greater Arm than the earthly father supported and maintained, and they were not left alone.

A few months later the baby died, and Bess and the mother were left again.

Years rolled on, and the mother and child struggled on together, and the promise of Him who cares for the widow and fatherless was proved faithful and true in their needs.

But a darker cloud than ever now came, when the mother laid down and died. Ten years had rolled away, and in March, 1888, this great blow came upon Bess. These years had made a great change in our little maid, and when we saw her on the day of the funeral she seemed much altered—still pale and thin, small and fragile, and very deaf. I have seen many affecting sights and many sorrowful cases in my journey through life, but as we stood around the grave of the departed mother and father of Bess, in St. Thomas's churchyard, at Woolwich, on the 17th of March, 1888, I saw the saddest sight of all. The open grave, containing the remains of the father; the coffin ready to be lowered into it, containing the dead mother; and the pale, thin, deaf orphan, standing alone in the world. The blinding snow fell around, and the wind blew piercingly through the graveyard. A large crowd of strange faces, and the chief object of interest the orphan child. What wonder, then, that the child, frightened and trembling, should turn her face away from the coffin and crowd, and hide her sobs in the dress of a kind woman near? Alone in the world now, yet not alone.

The hymn commencing, "For ever with the Lord," is sung softly, and as the strains are heard, we remember that "the Lord liveth." Though father and mother are dead, yet "the Lord liveth," who has promised to look to the orphan, and whose eyes are ever upon the needy. What a position to occupy! No father, no mother, no home, unable to hear, a helpless orphan girl cast upon the world! The words of the poet came into my mind at the moment—

"What is home without a mother?
What are all the joys we meet,
When her gentle smile no longer
Greets the coming of our feet?"

I have omitted one matter, and that is, Bessie's mother was my sister; and the thought came with power into my mind, while I stood at the grave, that while the Lord blessed me with ability and strength, we could share our bread with Bess sooner than see her want.

Father and mother may die, and they must die, but there is One that cannot alter and that cannot fail.

I trust our young friends who read these few lines are interested in our little maid; and if any are living in St. Leonards or Hastings, they may sometimes see a thin, pale girl of twelve years, small for her age, with dark hair, cut short, sharp nose, and keen grey eyes. This is Orphan Bess. Not without friends now, for the Lord has already raised up kind friends and strong arms to help her, and made room for her in many hearts. May the Lord show her further favour by granting her His grace is our sincere prayer, comfort her on earth "as a mother comforteth her children," and be her everlasting Portion in heaven.

Gleaners, you that have fathers and mothers, remember they are your best earthly friends, and think of desolate Bess. Gleaners that are orphans, remember "the Lord liveth," and that He careth for you.

The well-known verses beginning, "Mary had a little lamb," were founded on actual circumstances, and the heroine, Mary, is still living. About seventy years ago she was a little girl, the daughter of a farmer in Worcester County, Massachusetts, United States.

One spring, the farmer brought a feeble lamb into the house, and Mary adopted it as her especial pet. It became so fond of her that it would follow her everywhere.

One day, it followed her to the village school, and, not knowing what else to do with it, she put it under her desk and covered it with her shawl. There it stayed until Mary was called up to the teacher's desk to say her lesson, and then the lamb walked quietly after her, and the other children burst out laughing, so the teacher had to shut up the little girl's pet in the wood-shed until school was over.

Soon after this, a young student, named John Rollstone, wrote a little rhyme about Mary and her lamb, and presented it to her. The lamb grew to be a sheep, and lived for many years, and when at last it died, Mary grieved so much for it that her mother took some of its wool, which was "as white as snow," and knitted a pair of stockings for her to wear in remembrance of her darling.

Some years after the lamb's death, Mrs. Sarah Hall, a celebrated woman, who wrote many books, composed some verses about Mary's lamb, and added them to those written by John Rollstone, making the complete rhyme as we know it.

Mary took such good care of the stockings made from her lamb's fleece that, when she was a grown-up woman, she was able to give one of them to a bazaar in Boston. As soon as the fact became known that the stocking was made from the fleece of "Mary's little lamb," every one wanted a piece of it; so the stocking was ravelled out, and the yarn cut into short pieces. Each piece was tied to a card on which "Mary" wrote her full name, and these cards sold so well that they brought the large sum of £28 towards the bazaar fund.

Lord, I have tried how this thing and that thing will fit my spirit. I can find nothing to rest on, for nothing here hath any rest itself. O Centre and Source of light and strength—O Fulness of all things—I come to Thee!—Arthur H. Hallam.

It is true that there are tubes beneath the London streets, but with one exception, they are not used for the transmission of letters, but for telegrams only. This exception is a tube between Euston Station and the General Post Office, through which a few day mail-bags to and from towns on the London and North-Western are sent. The Post Office authorities find that these tubes are quicker than carts, but their speed is not so great as is usually supposed. From seventeen to thirty-five miles an hour is the average, but with more powerful engines it is believed that eighty miles an hour could be attained. The longest tube in London is two miles three hundred and thirty-nine yards in length. Originally there were only seventeen pneumatic tubes in operation, the longest being that which went to Fenchurch Street, namely, nine hundred and eighty yards. The second in length was that to Leadenhall Street—six hundred and fifty-nine yards. The diameter of the tubes varies from one and a half inches to two and a quarter inches. The telegrams are placed in little leather cases, called "carriers." The time taken in transmission to Fenchurch Street is, by atmospheric pressure, one minute five seconds; by suction the speed is somewhat slower—one minute twenty seconds.

The steam engine used at the General Post Office is forty horse power. For sending one of the carriers from forty to fifty yards not more than four or five seconds is necessary. The most complete tubes in London are those under the streets between Temple Bar and the General Post Office, a distance of 1,333 yards. The tubes form what may be called a pneumatic railway, with an up and down line. In these tubes telegrams are sent which sometimes are not sent by electricity at all. Thus, if any one wishes to wire from Cheapside to the Temple, his message is placed in a carrier and sent under the streets.

"Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep."

When childhood's joyous voice resounds
With innocent delight,
Check not the infant mirth, nor put
Those happy smiles to flight.

Add to the joy while it remains,
For on in riper years
Those eyes, now beaming with delight,
May be suffused with tears.

When on the ocean's stormy deep
The voyagers are tossed,
And seem, in that one stormy hour,
To think all hope is lost—

If they secure the haven reach,
And lose their fears and cares,
While they rejoice their homes to gain,
Mingle thy joy with theirs.

And is thy neighbour mourning now
The loss of kindred dear?
Then give thy sympathy, and drop
Upon the grave a tear.

Or knowest thou an orphan, left
To tread this world alone?
Speak words of comfort, lend thine aid,
Or take the wanderer home.

Tell of the loveliness and bloom
Of Nature to the blind;
Tell of the joys of heaven, and thus
Shed light upon the mind.

Then sympathize with every one,
And the commandment keep—
"Rejoice with them that do rejoice,
And weep with them that weep."

M. E. C.

When Father Chiniquy reached his much-loved people, after he had left the Church of Rome, it was on a Sabbath morning, and they were assembled for worship. The bishop had telegraphed to them to turn away their priest, but when they saw him, they received him joyfully, and crowded round him to know what the bishop had really said. Entering the chapel, he told his large congregation how and why he was a priest no longer, assuring them that he would leave them, but not until they bade him depart. All were deeply affected, but no one spoke, and when he again appealed to them to bravely rise and tell him to go away, he saw their countenances beam with love and joy more eloquent than words; and when he offered to remain with them—the free Christian minister of a Christian people, united by the love of God and His Word—they all arose in token of their approval, and a thousand people left the Church of Rome on that eventful day. And still the movement spread, till nearly all who had loved and followed him as he had gradually taught them the truths of the Gospel, followed him seeking the full light and liberty of God's Word, leading him, and all who heard of it, to exclaim, "This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes."

As might have been expected, they did not see everything at once. There was a splendid group of statues, representing the Virgin Mary learning to read at the feet of her mother, and before these statues both priest and people had often prayed. Chiniquy longed to remove them, with the pictures and crosses which hung on the walls of the chapel, but was afraid to do it too quickly. One Sunday, however, after preaching from the text, "Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image," he remained behind to pray, and, looking up at the images, he said, "My good ladies, you must come down from that high position. God Almighty alone is worshipped here now. Your reign has come to an end." A thin, strong, silken cord secured them on their pedestals. He cut the cord, and, as he expected, the very next Sunday, when the people knelt to pray, the images gave a couple of jerks, and then fell down, and were smashed to fragments on the floor, the people laughing, and saying to one another, "How foolish to pray to these idols to protect us, when they cannot take care of themselves!" The other images, crosses, and pictures were soon cleared away.

The most of the people soon learned to reject purgatory, but some still clung to their old belief, and Chiniquy would not too suddenly disturb it. When "All Souls' Day" came round, and collections were usually made for those in purgatory, two boxes were provided—a white one to receive contributions for the widows and the fatherless children, and a black one for offerings for the dead. But those who put money into the black one were asked kindly to say how their gifts could be conveyed to their dead friends, as in every case he had yet heard of, the priests had kept them for their own bread and butter. A general smile followed that announcement, and thirty-five dollars were put into the white box for the living, and nothing at all into the black one for the dead.

So, one by one, all the false doctrines of Rome were renounced, and a few months after, six thousand were banded together under the name of "Christian Catholics."

Rome, however, would not thus easily lose so many of its children, and another bishop thought he would try to win them back again. He appointed a day to visit them, with a number of priests, and found a strong, large platform prepared for his reception, and a great number of people assembled together to see and hear. As he approached, the American flag was hoisted over the chapel, and the people shouted, "Hurrah for the flag of the free and the brave!" This alarmed the priestly visitors, but Chiniquy hastened to assure them that they would not be injured, but they, on the contrary, would be received in the most courteous way.

The bishop then alighted from his carriage, the priests gathered round him, and his grand vicar told the people to kneel down and receive their bishop's benediction. No one moved. He repeated his request still more loudly, when some one answered, "Do you not know, sir, that we no longer bend the knee to any man? It is only before God we kneel"; and all the people said, "Amen."

Forbidding their own beloved Pastor Chiniquy to speak, the bishop then tremblingly addressed the crowd. He was evidently staggered by the people's courage. Having abused the "wicked, rebellious priest" who had led them away from Rome, he concluded by begging them to return to their holy Mother Church, and asked who would guide them in the ways of God if they forsook the Church of their fathers? After a solemn silence, an old farmer, raising his Bible over his head, exclaimed, "This Bible is all we want to guide us in the ways of God. We do not want anything but the pure Word of God to teach us what we must do to be saved. As for you, sir, you had better go away, and never come here any more."

The bishop having failed to gain the people, tried to forcibly prevent Chiniquy from speaking. This was too much for the congregation, and it was only for his sake, and at his urgent request, that they allowed the unwelcome visitors to depart unmolested. They retired, defeated and annoyed, and the bishop soon afterwards became a lunatic.

Thus God preserved His servant and His people in the hour of trial, and though many other difficulties arose, His Word continued to accomplish His purposes of love and grace; and like another Luther, Pastor Chiniquy, though often in peril and doomed to death, has lived on to a ripe old age, covered and shielded by the shadow of the Almighty. There may we also live and rest.—Jottings on "The Life and Work of Father Chiniquy," by Cousin Susan.

The special feature at the recent sale of the Earl of Crawford's library was the disposal of old and rare editions of the Bible in various languages. The most important lots were as follows:—

The "Bishops'" Bible, a revision of the "Great Bible" undertaken by Archbishop Parker and eight other bishops, black letter, folio, 1568. It is sometimes called the "Treacle" Bible, from the words, "Is there no tryacle [instead of 'balm'] in Gilead?" £70 [sold to] (Quaritch). Second edition of the German Bible, circa 1466, £86 (Quaritch); first edition of Luther's Bible, £51 (Quaritch); the Mazarin Bible, or the Gutenberg Bible—the first edition of the Bible, and the earliest book printed with movable metal types; a rare and much-sought book, two volumes, printed by Gutenberg and Füst about 1450, £2,650. This book was put up at £695, for which price this particular copy was sold thirty years ago. The book will remain in this country. Sir John Thorold's copy, a few years ago, fetched £3,900. Another Latin Bible, two volumes, first edition, with a date beautifully printed upon vellum, folio, 1462, £1,025 (Quaritch); Biblia Slavonica, the Ostrog edition, 1581, £73 (Quaritch); the Virginian Bible, by John Eliot, with Psalms in metre, two volumes in one, quarto, 1685 and 1680, £40 (Quaritch); first edition of the Welsh Bible, from the Wepre Hall Library, 1588, £60 (Quaritch); Block Book, Apocalypsis Sancti Johannis, forty-eight leaves printed from wooden blocks, in colours, and the xylographic text in brown ink, bound up with other matter in the old oak boards, folio, circa 1430. This rare and curious volume is generally considered as being the second attempt in xylographic printing, the priority being given to the Ars Memorandi. Block books are supposed to have preceded by nearly twenty-five years the discovery of printing with metal types, and the workmanship is attributed to the press of Laurence Coster at Harlem. This specimen was put up at £100, and after a keen competition between Mr. Ellis and Mr. Quaritch, it was secured by the latter for £500. The day's sale realized upwards of £7,000.

The Times Paris correspondent describes some telephone experiments between Paris and Brussels with a new apparatus known as the "microtelephone push-button," which he believes to be the most perfect yet produced. As its name indicates, it has the form of an ordinary electric push-button. When the button has been pushed in, and has made a sound at the other extremity, it is taken out, and is found to be attached to a long electric wire. There is thus exposed the telephonic plate, which is extremely sensitive, so that when it is necessary to speak at short distances, it is not necessary to come close to the instrument. For communications in the same street, or the same house, the operator places the upper part near himself, and without changing his position he can speak with the correspondent at the opposite extremity. He is not obliged to put his ear to the part which contains the button and brings back the reply. Thus, for short distances, those who make use of this apparatus speak in their ordinary tone, without changing their customary attitudes. They may sit or walk about, and speak just as if those they are addressing were present. When great distances intervene, in which the speakers and hearers are separated by two hundred miles, it is necessary to come nearer to the apparatus, but without being obliged to speak quite close to it. What makes this apparatus the most successful of telephonic instruments is, that it can be made for half-a-crown, that is to say, for not more than the price of the ordinary push-button. As it can be fitted to the electric wire of the ordinary ringing apparatus, it follows that it introduces a complete change in our ordinary modes of intercourse. The railway companies are making experiments with this apparatus as a means of communication between compartments of carriages, and it is being fitted up on trial in hotels. The inventor is Dr. Cornelius Herz.

(1 Kings ii. 20; John xiv. 13.)

I hear "a voice from heaven"—
I hear my Sovereign say—
"Ask on" (He speaks to me);
"I will not say thee nay."

I would not doubt His word,
For truth in Him abides;
I would not doubt His power;
In Him the Godhead hides.

And since I know He gave
Himself, Himself, to move
Jehovah's curse from me,
I would not doubt His love.

And so I'll breathe my wish
To Christ, my King, to-day;
And rest me on His word—
"I will not say thee nay."

Isa.

"Bacon! bacon! bacon! always bacon! Why don't we have eggs sometimes, like we used to?" was the discontented question of a little boy, one morning, as he surveyed a rasher of bacon on his plate.

"May you never get anything worse to eat, my boy, than this nice streaky bacon," remarked his father, looking up from his newspaper.

"Little boys should eat what is put before them, and be thankful that they have food to eat," observed a severe-looking maiden aunt.

"Ralph is not very well to-day," said his sister Nellie, in a low tone. "His appetite has not been so good lately as it used to be. He never seems to get on with bacon; and there have been very few eggs brought in for some time. Do you think the fowls have left off laying, papa?"

"Hardly, my dear; this is just the time of year they lay most freely. I suspect they are hiding them, and making nests for themselves in some secret place."

"I suspect, John, that the stable-boy takes them. It is not at all likely that fourteen or fifteen fowls would hide their eggs, whatever one might do," said the severe aunt.

"Hens choose curious places to lay their eggs in sometimes," said Mr. Thorn,[11] laughing. "I remember one fine Spanish bird that invariably laid hers on the top of a wall."

"What a queer place, papa! Did not the eggs get broken?"

"They did, my dear, to the great distress of the poor fowl, who no doubt wished to make a nest in that strange, out-of-the-way place. I used to listen for her cackling, in order, if possible, to save the egg; but it always tumbled off the wall before I could get to it. Another, a Cochin-china fowl, laid hers on a heap of stones, and——"

"Those must have been very badly managed fowls, John," interrupted Miss Thorn. "Now, yours, on the contrary, are well cared for, and properly housed."

This was quite true, for Mr. Thorn's fowl-house was large and airy, and well supplied with every necessary convenience. Indeed, so true a fancier was he, that his extensive fowl-house was partitioned off, so that his Brahmas, Cochin-chinas, Houdans, and other breeds should be in no danger of mixing.

It was Mr. Thorn's custom always to collect his eggs himself, the first thing after breakfast; and he never allowed any one to go into the fowl-house on any pretence whatever, unless in his company. Owing to this precaution the fowls were all very tame, while some would testify their pleased sense of his presence by stretching out their necks and uttering a little note of welcome. He was the more surprised, therefore, on the morning on which our story begins, to notice that all the fowls were in a state of intense excitement. To his astonishment, he found some of the doors communicating with the various sections of the house wide open, and the cocks, that he had supposed were safely guarded from each other, fighting together fiercely. Evidently his sister was right. Some other hand had collected the eggs.

"WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT MR. THORN'S EGGS?" (See

As he was coming out, after having with some difficulty restored order, his little boy came running up to him, with his bag of books on his back, on his way to school, saying eagerly—

"I don't want to be dainty, papa, only it is tiresome to have nothing but bacon, when there are such lots of eggs."

"How do you know there are lots of eggs, my boy?"

"Because I hear the hens cackling every day, papa. This morning there was such a noise before I got up."

"Where did the noise come from, Ralph?"

"From the hen-house, papa."

"Are you quite sure, Ralph?"

"Quite, papa! Oh, I know they don't lay anywhere else, for I have looked so often to see if any of them laid their eggs in the garden. I looked this morning before breakfast."

"Very well, my boy; run off to school now. Perhaps we may find out soon where the hens do lay their eggs; but you had better not say anything about it to your schoolfellows."

"I tell you what it is, Bob—I don't believe you come honestly by that money. You never do any work to speak of, and yet every now and then you bring in a lot of money," said a pale-looking young woman to her husband, one morning, as he slouched in to breakfast, and threw a handful of silver on the table.

"A deal you know about it, Jane! If I get odd jobs that bring me in an odd shilling or two, what business is it of yours, I should like to know? If you and the little 'un have enough to eat, that's all you need trouble about."

"'Taint no concern of mine, Bob, and yet I can't help feeling a bit uncomfortable when I hear folks say that Mr. Thorn gets no eggs now."

"What do you know about Mr. Thorn's eggs?" asked her husband, roughly.

"Well, that gossiping Mrs. Smith told me that Mr. Thorn said as how his hens had taken to hiding their eggs of late. She said he thought they had nests somewhere, but he couldn't find them, and then she looked at them eggs I was frying for dinner so suspicious-like that I got quite red, for fear you had taken 'em."

Bob made no reply, but ate his breakfast in sullen silence. As he went out, his wife called after him—

"You try to get a reg'lar job, Bob, and don't go loafing about."

That evening Bob came in earlier than usual, and going up to his wife, who was rocking the cradle, said in a husky voice—

"Jane, my gal, I'm goin' to turn over a new leaf."

"Bless the man!" exclaimed Jane in alarm, as she saw unwonted tears in her husband's eyes. "Are you took bad, Bob?"

"No, Jane," he replied gently; "but I've been bad. Listen, old gal, and I'll tell you all about it. You were right when you said the money I brought you lately weren't all honestly come by."

"Oh, Bob!"

"Hush, my gal; don't interrupt me. It's hard on a fellow to have such a tale to tell. You know, Jennie, how long I've been out of reg'lar work, and how hard I tried to get some of the farmers round to take me on; but they all said they had nothing for me to do. Well, when you was took bad, I got desperate like; and one mornin', when I was doin' an odd job o' digging in Mr. Thorn's garden, I heard his hens a-cackling; and as I knowed when he collected the eggs, I got up early next day, and managed to slip in afore he was about; and as I wasn't found out, I did it again and again; and as I had nothing to do after the diggin', I walked to Market Littleton and sold 'em; and so I did many a time. Well, this morning I met Mr. Thorn in the village. I tried to skulk out of his way, but he walked up quite friendly-like, and says he, 'I wish I had known you were so fond of eggs. I'd have given you some,' says he, 'and welcome.' Well, I tried to brave it out, and swore I knew nought of his eggs, but he went on quite friendly in his funny way. 'Bob,' says he, 'you shall have as many as you like, only let me have the pleasure of getting them for you. It's a pity for you to get up so early, and have all the trouble of getting over the fence, and opening the door with a bit of wire, when I could send them to you without any fuss.' Well, Jane, I went down on my knees then, and I said, 'If you'll forgive me this time, sir, I'll never do it again; only don't send me to jail. 'Twould break my gal's heart, it would'; and then he puts half-a-crown into my hand, and he goes with me to a friend of his, and gets me taken on with the horses."

"Oh, Bob, how could you?" said Jane, crying; "and Mr. Thorn such a nice, kind-spoken gentleman! And oh, if anybody else knows, you'll get the name of a thief!"

"No one else does know, my gal, and I am sure that Mr. Thorn will keep it close. He said he 'spected me the day afore yesterday, when he seed me at Market Littleton sellin' some eggs, and says he, 'I didn't like to 'spect you, Bob; but after my 'spicions was roused, I watched yesterday mornin' and this mornin';' and as I was a-coming out of the hen-house this mornin', he seed me, and says he, ''Tis an ill deed that has to be done in the dark, Bob.'"

A night or two afterwards, as Bob was passing a building where services were being held, he fancied that he heard Mr. Thorn's voice, and he went into the porch to listen. Yes, it was John Thorn's voice. He was praying, and it seemed to Bob that he was praying for him. He prayed for those who were sorely tempted, and who had no strength to resist—who had never savingly heard the voice of the Lord, and who never used His name but in oaths. "That's me," said poor Bob, with a groan. After the prayer, the hymn, "Just as I am," was sung, and then a short address was given by the preacher.

"Needy sinners, come just as you are," said the preacher. "Jesus died for sinners. Come with all your sins upon you. Don't try to wash off some of the biggest ones; you will only make the dirty stains worse. Come just as you are. You perhaps think of others—your old companions who will laugh at you, and so you are ashamed. Were you ashamed of that mean act you did in the dark the other morning?"

"He knows all about it," thought Bob, and he covered his face with his hands. At that moment of supreme misery, some one touched him on the shoulder, and looking up in terror, Bob saw the man whom he had robbed gazing down upon him, with his kind eyes full of pity and compassion for the poor sorrow-stricken man.

"You've bin and told him," hissed Bob.

"My poor fellow, I have told him nothing. God forbid that I should tell any one of the sin which you have confessed to me. Come in, Bob."

"I am so bad and so dirty."

"Your clothes are dirty, Bob," replied Mr. Thorn, glancing at Bob's soiled and shabby garments. "I wonder that you go on wearing them. They are too dirty to be washed."

"Too dirty to be washed, sir!" exclaimed Bob in amazement. "I have no others to change with, or my gal would very soon have them in the wash-tub."

"Very true, Bob. You have no clothes to change with, but if I gave you a clean coat, you would soon put it on, aye?"

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Thorn."

"Then, if you by faith come to Christ, in your filthy rags, just as you are, He will wash you in the fountain of His blood, and will cover you with the robe of His righteousness."

And Bob came. He felt his guilt and misery, and like a little child he asked for mercy. Need we say he found it? We do not pretend to fix the exact day and hour of his conversion, but this we know—the once dishonest man is now, and has been for years, a man of the strictest probity; the blasphemer now worships the Saviour whom once he despised; and among that little band of Christians in L——, there is none more devoted to his Master's service, none more loving and gentle to wife and children, and to all within the sphere of his influence, than Bob.

"And under God, I owe it all to Mr. Thorn," he would say. "Had he, a professing Christian, sent me to prison then, could I have believed what he said of God's mercy? Mr. Thorn was to me the living witness of God's mercy in Christ."

"For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you."

"Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come!

"Just as I am, and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot,
To Thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God, I come!

"Just as I am Thou wilt receive;
Wilt strengthen, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
Because Thy promise I believe;
O Lamb of God, I come!

"Just as I am—Thy love unknown
Has broken every barrier down;
Now to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come!"

—From a Tract.

Success.—There is a glare about success which is apt to dazzle men's eyes. When we see a man rising in the world, a foolish high opinion is formed of his merits. It is said, "What a wonderful man this must be to rise so rapidly!" forgetting that straw, dust, and feathers—things without value or weight—rise the soonest and easiest. It is not always the good and great man who rises rapidly into wealth and notice.

The following notice, headed, "To the Workmen of Stoke Works," was recently issued by Mr. J. Corbett, M.P.:—

"It has been to me a matter of great pain and regret to receive from time to time complaints from grocers, bakers, and other tradesmen, that the men employed at the works ask for credit, and then refuse to pay their lawful debts, thereby bringing a bad name upon the works, and no good repute upon me as an employer. Now, considering that the men employed here obtain higher wages than at any other salt works in England, and receive their wages weekly, I consider such conduct simply disgraceful, particularly when evidence is brought before me that the money which should go to pay tradesmen for provisions for the wife and family is expended in drink, too often leading to drunkenness. I contend that workmen who receive their wages weekly should never get into debt, and tradesmen ought to know that if men who regularly have their wages every Saturday cannot pay one week, they are in no better position to pay the week after. I am determined to try to remove this stigma from Stoke Works, and hereby give notice that any man or men who expend their wages in drinking or otherwise, instead of paying their lawful debts, are no men for these works; and I do hope that any such men will take advice intended with the best feelings for their good and the comfort of their families. A copy of this notice will be sent to the tradesmen of Stoke Prior, Bromsgrove, Droitwich, and other places. This is, of course, only intended to apply to those men who are guilty of the conduct herein complained of.—(Signed) John Corbett, Stoke Prior Salt Works."

It is better to be nobly remembered than nobly born.—Ruskin.

The enemies with which they had to contend were three—the sea, the lakes, the rivers. They dried up the lakes, imprisoned the rivers, drove back the sea.

In order to drain the lakes they made use of the air. The lakes and ponds were surrounded by dams, the dams by canals. An army of windmills put pumps in motion, which turned the water into the canals, which conducted it to the rivers and to the sea. Thus vast spaces of land buried under water were transformed as if by enchantment into fertile, smiling plains, populated by villages. From 1500 to 1858 the amount of land reclaimed was 355 miles.

By the substitution of steam instead of windmills, the great lake of Haarlem was dried, the furious tempests of which threatened the cities of Haarlem, Amsterdam, and Leyden with destruction; and the Dutch, in 1883, seriously contemplated the prodigious undertaking of reclaiming the land buried under the Zuyder Zee.

The rivers did not cost much less labour than the lakes, but the most tremendous struggle was with the ocean. A great part of Holland is below sea-level, and the land has to be defended by dykes. If these wonderful bulwarks of earth and of wood and granite were not there as monuments to attest the courage and perseverance of the Dutch, no one would believe that the hand of man, even in the course of centuries, could accomplish so great a work.

Holland is an impregnable fortress. The mills are the towers of its immense bastions, the cataracts the gates, the islands the advanced forts; and she shows to her enemy, the sea, only the belfries and roofs of the edifices.

Holland is a fortress, and the Dutch, like people in a fortress, stand on a perpetual war-footing with the sea. An army of engineers, dependent on the Minister of the Interior, spy upon the enemy continually, watch over the state of the internal waters, provide for ruptures in the embankments, advise and direct new works of defence to strengthen and support the old.

The danger is constant, the sentinels ever at their posts. At the first assault of the sea they give the cry of alarm, and Holland sends arms, materials, and money. Even when there is not a great battle raging, there is always a slow, silent struggle. The innumerable mills are never quiet, always pumping the rain-water into the canals. Every day the cataracts of the canals and rivers shut their huge gates against the rising tide, which struggles to precipitate itself into the heart of the country.

But Holland has done more than defend herself from the sea, and master it. The waters were her scourge, but she has made them her defence. When a foreign army invaded her territory, she opened her sluice-gates, unchained the sea and the waves, and let them loose on the enemy, defending internal cities with a fleet. The water was her poverty; she made it her wealth.

"Nature," says a Dutch poet, "refused all her gifts to Holland. Men had to do everything in spite of Nature."

It is enough to look at the monuments of the great struggle with the sea to understand that the distinctive characteristics of this people must be firmness and patience, accompanied by a calm and never-failing courage.

You can outlive a slander in half the time you can out-argue it.

The soul that cannot entirely trust God, whether man be pleased or displeased, can never long be true to Him; for, while you are eyeing man, you are losing sight of God and stabbing religion at the very heart.—Manton.

Clifton Sunday School Anniversary.

Special services in the above place, on behalf of the Sunday School, were held on Sunday, July 22nd.

Two sermons were preached, in the morning and evening, by the Pastor, Mr. Frederick Marshall; also an address was given by him in the afternoon. Text in the morning, Deuteronomy vi. 6, 7. He spoke of the good of Sunday Schools in the cases of many that have left them and gone out into the world to earn their living. It was his prayer that the Lord would bless the labours of the brethren and sisters in the good work, and that they might not be weary in well-doing, for they have the promise, "they shall reap if they faint not." He could rest assured that what was taught in the school was according to the Scriptures. He warned the young people to flee from temptations and from the appearance of evil, and directed them to diligently search the Scriptures, and take them for a guide.

In the afternoon, in the presence of a goodly number of parents, teachers, and scholars, he spoke from the little word "One." He said that there must be a oneness between teachers and scholars, or the school could not succeed. He also said that each boy and girl, as well as the teacher, had his or her individual duty to do, and he said that they all ought to try to do that duty well, out of school as well as in.

In the evening, the text was Romans xvi. 26. The sermon was listened to very attentively by a good congregation. Suitable pieces for the occasion were sung by the children.

On the following Thursday the children had their annual treat. On account of the previous wet weather, it was feared that not a very enjoyable day was in store; but He who is still the Answerer of prayer was pleased to stay the rain, so that a very pleasant day was spent by all present.

Providence Chapel Sunday School, Burwash.

The first public meeting took place on Wednesday, August 8th. The meeting was opened at two p.m. by singing, and then the Superintendent read Proverbs iv. 1-13, and spoke in prayer. The children then amused themselves for a time in the adjoining field. They were called in again at four o'clock, and after reading and prayer, eight of the senior scholars recited from fifteen to thirty verses each of Scripture, and some hymns, for which they were presented, six with the Clifton Hymnal, one with "The Sack and its Treasure," and the other with "The Morte Stone," kindly presented by Mr. J. Wilmshurst, of Cranbrook. Three of the junior scholars also said a few verses, for which they were presented, two with a New Testament, and one with the Psalms.

At five o'clock about thirty persons sat down to tea, most of whom were children.

In the evening Mr. J. Jarvis, of Mayfield, preached a very impressive and encouraging sermon from Hebrews xii. 24.

The Sunday School was opened on the last Lord's Day in April with three scholars. It now has eighteen, and we trust that the Lord will still prosper the good work.

Carmel Chapel, Fleckney.

The anniversary of the Sabbath School in connection with the above place of worship was held on Sunday, July 29th, when two sermons were preached by Mr. Read, who has now preached on these occasions for thirteen years. Both school-rooms and chapel were crowded. Special hymns were sung by the scholars, and at the close of the sermon in the evening, twelve handsomely-bound Bibles were presented to six girls and six boys, it being a custom to give one to each scholar at the age of sixteen. Mr. Read spoke very appropriate words as he presented the Bible to each scholar.

Collections were made at the close of each service, amounting in the whole to £16.

The school, which now numbers 190 scholars, was commenced about thirty years since, when our esteemed Superintendent, Mr. J. Garner, was the only teacher, with five scholars.

The preaching of the truth of God in our village was begun by our beloved minister, Mr. Deacon, thirty-four years ago, in a cottage, which has given rise to the building of two chapels, and it is thought that the present one, which has only been built ten years, will have to be enlarged. We are constrained to say, with one of old, "What hath God wrought?"

A person went to the late Mr. Longden, of Sheffield, one day, and said, "I have something against you, and I am come to tell you of it." "Do walk in, sir," he replied. "You are my best friend. If I could but engage my friends to be faithful with me, I should be sure to prosper. But, if you please, we will both kneel down, in the first place, and ask the blessing of God upon our interview." After they rose from their knees, Mr. Longden said, "Now, my brother, I will thank you to tell me what it is that you had against me." "Oh," said the man, "I really don't know what it is. It is all gone; and I believe I was in the wrong."

(Acts v. 1-16.)

In the second chapter of Acts we learn how the Holy Spirit was, on the Day of Pentecost, just after Christ's ascension, poured out upon the apostles, how they preached the Gospel in languages they had never learned before, and how three thousand of their hearers were led to confess their sins and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. These were baptized according to His commandment, and added to the company of disciples at Jerusalem, partaking of the Lord's Supper as He had bidden them, and continuing in fellowship and prayer. But besides all this, they made a rule for themselves which Jesus had not actually laid down for them. The richer members gave up their money and goods, and all shared alike. Thus beautifully did they obey the spirit of His new commandment, "Love one another, even as I have loved you" (John xv. 12).

But this happy state of things did not long continue. Satan and sin soon interrupted its trustful, unselfish course, and we never find again that they that believed had all things common, after the events recorded in Acts v.

A man named Ananias and his wife Sapphira joined the Church, and seeing that others parted with their possessions, they also sold a piece of land, and laid a portion of the price at the apostles' feet, pretending that they had given up the whole of the money received. Peter, being divinely inspired, detected the falsehood, and Ananias fell down dead at his feet, was carried from the place of meeting, and buried immediately. Sapphira, ignorant of the dreadful fact, came to a later service, and repeating the lie to Peter, she also was struck with death in a moment, and was borne to her husband's grave.

His seems to have been an acted, hers a spoken lie. In each case the falsehood was partly true, but the intention was to deceive, and this is the very essence of a lie. It was hypocrisy. They "played a part," like actors on the stage. They pretended to be different people from what they really were, and they wanted to be thought of as loving, sincere, and generous Christians, while they were false-hearted and hollow all the time.

May we never try to deceive others, to make a false impression—to seem better than we are. God sees and knows us altogether. May it be our chief desire to have our hearts and lives right with Him.

But why did such a terrible doom fall upon these two false ones at the very beginning of the Christian era? In the olden time God's judgments fell upon transgressors in a sudden and fearful way, but under the gracious reign of Jesus we might scarcely have looked for such a display of wrath. Yet, though "God is love," He is also "a consuming fire," and there is not all that difference between the old dispensation and the present one which might at first appear. David was forgiven ages before, and these sinners were destroyed in Gospel times. Then, "God was greatly to be feared in the assembly of His saints," and still He must "be had in reverence of all them that are about Him."

But what were the effects of this awful occurrence? "Great fear came upon the Church, and upon all who heard these things." This is just what we should have expected. "And of the rest" (of those who were not true and whole-hearted) "no one dared to join that company." So much the better, just as the disciples were better off without Judas Iscariot. A decaying corpse in the house injures the health of the living inmates, and false professors have never done good, but rather harm, to the true Church of God.

Yet another result followed which we might not have hoped for—a large increase of believing converts. "Multitudes of men and women, believing on the Lord, were the more added to the Church." "The more." Yes, for this very reason—they saw and felt that "the Lord was there," and loving Him, they wished to dwell in His presence, and enjoy His protection and care.

Oh, how important motives are! A thief in the company of innocent people may, like them, offer to be searched, in order to avoid suspicion, as Judas asked, "Lord, is it I?" when all the disciples had first put the question to Jesus, but he could not thus escape the searching eyes that read his heart, or the words of condemnation that fell upon his ears. Are we willing to be searched and tried by God?

But, if we do desire to belong to Jesus, and follow Him, need we, should we, hesitate to unite with, or remain among, His people? Oh, no! Though He is angry with the wicked every day, and terrible to the hypocrites, He is gracious and full of compassion to all who seek His grace. "Will He plead against me with His great strength? No, but He will put strength in me," said Job (chap. xxiii. 6). And while He burns up all who rebel against Him, as the fire consumes briars and thorns, they who would be at peace with Him shall find peace by His own strength (Isa. xxvii. 4, 5) and love.

Yes, and not only so—it is a blessing for us that He does know us altogether. We are sometimes afraid to confess some secret fault to an earthly friend, lest we should be loved less when the wrong thing is known; and if we could hide ourselves from God, how we might shrink from telling Him some of our thoughts and feelings, and this secrecy might ruin and destroy us. But He does know all, and knowing, loves His children still, so that we may pour out all our heart before Him; and while it will be an unspeakable relief to us, it will be no news to Him. A sense of our own unworthiness will only precede the joyous assurance of pardon and blessing. Peter once said, "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!" and Isaiah cried, "Woe is me, for I am undone" (Isa. vi. 5); but Peter's fear gave place to the clinging words of love—"Lord, to whom shall we go [but unto Thee], for Thou hast the words of eternal life?" (John vi. 68); while Isaiah's cry of sorrow changed to the gladsome song, "Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and not be afraid" (Isa. xii. 2).

Oh, that we may be helped to cast ourselves by faith and prayer entirely upon Him, and, like Peter, say, "Lord, Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee." Amen.

Our next subject will be, The Good Shepherd, His Lambs and Sheep (Isa. xl. 11).

An officer of Pharaoh.
A city built by Cain.
A son of Solomon.
A precious stone.
The mount where Joshua built an altar.
A queen of the Ethiopians.
The land of Haran's nativity.
One of the seven Churches of Asia.
A duke of Edom.
One whom the Lord raised up to
deliver Israel.
A daughter of Zelophehad.

The initials of the words do show
What Christ on earth had to pass through;
And all His people may prepare,
While in this world, to have their share.
Thomas Tyler
(Aged 13 years).

Potton, Beds.

Adversity borrows its sharpest sting from our impatience.—Bishop Horne.

The blessings conferred on England by the accession of William of Orange ought long to be remembered by all those who love to worship God in the way their conscience tells them is right.

He came to England at a time in its history when it was especially in need of help. He restored liberty, both civil and religious, and backed up Protestantism. The Protestant people were greatly burdened by the cruelties of James II., who, it is said, had a mind more devoted to the infliction of pain than had been since the Romans conquered England. Here he persecuted those who held fast to the "common prayer," and in Scotland put to death as many as would not adopt it. He had two women tied to stakes and drowned in the Solway Firth, because they would not repeat the Apostles' Creed.

By these incidents of his cruelty, we plainly see the great blessing of liberty which God, through William III., bestowed on England, and the great blessing which Protestantism is to the land.

James having thus shown himself to the people, and his cruelties being so great, it is naturally to be expected that they would readily accept this new sovereign, who was a good man, and who had supported the Protestants of Holland all his life. He had a right to the crown by his marriage to Mary, the daughter of James II.

England received a great blessing in the year 1701, the Act of Settlement being passed by the consent of William and his Parliament, which shut out from the English throne all persons who were Roman Catholics, or persons married to Roman Catholics.

The successor to him was Queen Anne of Denmark, and when she died, leaving no child, another agreement was formed, placing the crown on Sophia, Dowager-Electress of Hanover, and her posterity, if they were Protestants. Since this Act was passed there has been no Roman Catholic on the throne. If it had not been passed, several Romanist sovereigns might have reigned.

The Protestant religion is a great blessing, and the main cause of the prosperity of our nation. Romanism greatly impoverishes all countries which are its victims, such as Ireland, where Popery predominates. Never has the accession to the throne of a Protestant king been more needful than it was then.

It is since then that England has won a name as a great nation and a brave people. If Protestantism is such a standing religion, which "has been through the water, and not been overflowed," and "through the fire without being burned," surely we ought to labour hard for the overthrow of that false religion which is the main curse of many nations in the world. By the important incidents we plainly see God's overruling providence guarding us and our religion, and, as Wickliffe said, after one of his trials, so say we again with still greater force, "The truth shall prevail."

Pearl Cottage, Carlyle Road,
Forton, Gosport, Hants.

[We are sorry that no more of our young friends have sent Essays for this month, but our young friend has thereby the advantage of taking a second prize.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of "The Reformation and its Heroes."

The subject for November will be, "Lessons to be Derived from the History of Daniel," and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of "Cowper's Poems." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of October.]

A little boy, whose father desired to see him a good child, was told one day that a nail should be driven into a post whenever he should do an act that was wrong; and when he should do a good deed, he might pull one out.

The little fellow tried to be good, and, though there were a number of nails driven into the post, after a while not one remained.

How happy must Benny have been when he saw the last nail disappear from the post!

His father was greatly pleased, and was congratulating his son, when he was surprised to see that he was weeping; and very touching was the remark he made—"Ah! the nails are all gone, but the marks are left!" Was not this contrition?

Sept. 2. Commit to memory Isa. viii. 12.
Sept. 9. Commit to memory Isa. viii. 20.
Sept. 16. Commit to memory Isa. viii. 13.
Sept. 23. Commit to memory Isa. viii. 14.
Sept. 30. Commit to memory Isa. viii. 17.

"God save the Queen" is now sung in eighteen languages.

The cost of making a bank-note for any amount is less than one halfpenny.

Eight million baskets of peaches are expected from Delaware and Maryland this season.

The Pool of Bethesda has, according to the quarterly statement of the Palestine Exploration Fund, been authoritatively discovered.

In the whole sky an eye of average power will see about 6,000 stars. With a telescope this number is greatly increased, and the most powerful telescopes show more than 60,000,000. Of this number, not one out of each hundred has ever been catalogued.

The oldest newspaper in the whole wide world is the King Pau, or Capital Sheet, published in Pekin. It first appeared A.D. 911, but came out only at irregular intervals. Since the year 1351, however, it has been published weekly and of uniform size. Now it appears in three editions daily.

On an average each Englishman writes forty letters a year, each Scotchman thirty, and each Irishman sixteen. The average Italian only posts six, and the American twenty-one. It must be remembered that in the country letter-writing is a rare pursuit, and that the bulk of letters are written by business men.

The tomato is, perhaps, used more as a relish than for its nutritive value. Uncooked, it forms the prince of salads, and it is one of the most appetising, palatable, and popular vegetables we have. Violent heat destroys the delicious flavour of this half fruit, half vegetable, so when you cook them, be most careful to use only moderate heat.

Saving the Buffalo.—The buffaloes on the American prairies were thought to be nearly extinct, thanks to the reckless destruction of big game in recent years; but a happy find has been made of a herd nearly one hundred strong in a remote and uninhabited part of Texas. To prevent any danger of their annihilation, an expedition of trained huntsmen is being sent to Texas to drive the buffaloes into a given enclosure, where the breed will be carefully preserved.

Thirteen thousand boxes gone astray, thirteen thousand umbrellas left in railway carriages, sixty-seven thousand different items of property lost on the railways of the United Kingdom during the single month of August, 1887! The railway companies are not responsible for this property, but to their credit be it said, they afford every facility for its recovery.

Popery in Portugal.—A correspondent in Oporto describes the Romish ceremony of washing an image of Christ in Lisbon, and adds—"If those who are drifting Romewards could only see the depths of greed, hypocrisy, and deceit to which the Church descends in these countries where she holds sway, and how immorality, infidelity, and spiritual darkness rule among the people, from high to low, they would surely hesitate to introduce Popish mummeries into free England."

To Cure Feathers.—The following recipe gained a premium from the Society of Arts. Mix a quantity of lime-water in the proportion of one pound of quicklime to a gallon of water, mixing well, and pouring off the clean lime-water for use as soon as the undissolved lime is precipitated. Put the feathers in a tub, adding enough of the clean lime-water to cover them to a depth of three inches. Stir them about until well moistened, when they will sink. Leave for three or four days, and then pour the whole through a sieve to get rid of the foul water. Wash well in clean water, and dry upon nets in a room where the air can be admitted. Cabbage nets will do well, the feathers falling through the meshes as they dry. About three weeks will finish the feathers, which will only need beating afterwards to get rid of the dust.

Curious Custom at a City Church.—The following extract from the last will and testament of Peter Symondes, mercer, dated April 24th, 1586, refers to a curious custom still observed on Good Friday at All Hallows Church, Lombard Street:—"The parson and churchwardens shall every year, upon the same Good Fryday, divide the same raisons into threescore parts in papers, and when the children of Christ's Hospital shall come upon Good Fryday as aforesaid, then the said parson and churchwardens shall give unto every child a part of that so appointed; and although this gift may be thought very frivolous, yet, my mind and meaning being hidden, may, notwithstanding, be performed, praying God to make all those children happy members of this Commonwealth. Amen." Under directions in the same will, each of the sixty boys also receives a new penny. An Easter card is also given by the churchwardens from the parish funds.

The Earwig.—The old-fashioned idea of the much-dreaded earwig is little more than a fallacy. The original English word "ear" signified an undeveloped flower-bud, especially among corn, and "wic" commonly stood for a hiding-place; so that familiar insect (formerly written "ear-wig"), through seeking its favourite dwelling beneath the closely-shielded bud "ears," has been universally accredited with propensities so deadly injurious to mankind of which it naturally stands wholly innocent. In this manner popular superstition has often thrown a mantle of evil and dread upon surrounding objects, harmless in themselves; and so long as the vulgar lend credence to ill-founded traditions without instituting intelligent inquiry, so long must such discrepancies continue to hold sway over the public mind.

Sheep-Shearing by Machinery.—A public trial of Mr. P. W. Wolseley's "Patent Sheep-Shearing Machine" was recently made in the presence of a number of gentlemen interested in sheep-breeding and wool-growing. The result—says The Australasian—was a complete success. The first test was upon a crossbred sheep with an average fleece. The animal was closely shorn in four and a half minutes. The second animal was shorn in the ordinary way, and then operated upon by the machine, with the result that, in addition to the cut of the old-fashioned shears, nine and a half ounces of wool were obtained. It is claimed for the invention that it works faster than hand labour, leaves no second cut, does not injure the skin in the slightest degree, and can be so regulated that the fleece can be removed of any length desired.

A Monster Trout.—A monster trout was captured the last week in July in the river Itchen, at Winchester, weighing 16 lbs. 2 ozs., and measuring 32 inches in length and 21 inches in circumference. The bait was a live minnow, and he was not landed till two hours after he was hooked. He had haunted the stream for years, was almost as well known in the city as Queen Anne's statue in the High Street, and had acquired quite a reputation for the number of rods he had broken, and the quantity of fishing tackle he had carried away. His captor was a labourer named Turpin, who disposed of him for £1 to a fishmonger, on whose slab it attracted almost as many visitors as a monarch lying in state. He was in splendid condition, and has now gone into the hands of a taxidermist for preservation.

A rather curious episode in natural history occurred the other day on board the French steamboat Abd-el-Kader, during the passage from Marseilles to Algiers. Just as the vessel was about two hours out, the skies became quite black with swallows. It was then about six o'clock in the evening. The birds alighted in thousands on the sails, ropes, and yards of the Abd-el-Kader. After a perky survey of the deck from their eminences aloft, they descended coolly on deck, hopped about among the sailors and passengers, and eventually found their way into the cabins, both fore and aft. The birds were evidently fatigued, after a long flight, and allowed themselves to be caught by the people of the ship, who gave them a welcome reception, and provided them with food, which they enjoyed heartily. The little winged strangers remained all night on the vessel, and in the morning, at seven o'clock, the head look-out bird had, no doubt, sighted the Balearic Isles, for the whole flock made for land, after having spent a comfortable and refreshing night on board ship.

Facts about London.—London is the greatest city the world ever saw. It has an influence with all parts of the world, represented by the yearly delivery in its postal districts of 295 millions of letters; it covers within the fifteen miles' radius of Charing Cross nearly 700 square miles; it numbers within these boundaries four million two hundred thousand of inhabitants; it contains more country-born persons than the counties of Devon and Gloucester combined, or 37 per cent. of its population; has, on an average, four fires every day amongst its 500,000 houses; has a birth in it every four minutes; has a death in it every six minutes; has 230 persons every day and 84,000 annually added to its population; has nine accidents every day in its 7,000 miles of streets; has 55 miles of new streets opened, and 17,000 new houses built in it every year; has a vast network of 2,184 miles of sewers and pipes for its drainage, and 2,000 miles for its gas supply of 55,000 lamps; has 1,000 ships and 9,000 sailors in its port every day; has upwards of 89,000 persons annually taken into custody by the police; has more than one-third of all the crime in the country committed in it; has 25,000 persons living in its common lodging houses; has 43,286 persons annually arrested as drunk and disorderly. It is further estimated that it comprises 100,000 foreigners from every quarter of the globe. It contains more Roman Catholics than Rome itself; it contains more Jews than the whole of Palestine; it contains more Irish than Belfast; it contains more Scotchmen than Aberdeen; it contains more Welshmen than Cardiff; it has as many beershops and gin-palaces, the frontages of which would, if placed side by side, stretch from Charing Cross to Chichester, a distance of 62 miles. It has nearly as many paupers as would occupy every house in Brighton.

"WHO SHALL HAVE IT?" (See page 218.)

Burt and Johnnie Lee were delighted when their Scotch cousin came to live with them. He was little, but very bright and full of fun. He could tell curious things about his home in Scotland, and his voyage across the ocean. He was as far advanced in his studies as they were, and the first day he went to school they thought him remarkably good. He wasted no time in play when he should have been studying, and he advanced finely.

At night, before the close of the school, the teacher called the roll, and the boys began to answer, "Ten." When Willie understood that he was to say ten if he had not whispered during the day, he replied, "I have whispered."

"More than once?" asked the teacher.

"Yes, sir," answered Willie.

"As many as ten times?"

"Maybe I have," faltered Willie.

"Then I shall mark you zero," said the teacher, sternly; "and that is a great disgrace."

"Why, I did not see you whisper once," said Johnnie, that night after school.

"Well, I did," said Willie, "I saw others doing it, and so I asked to borrow a book; then I lent a slate pencil, and asked a boy for a knife, and did several such things. I supposed it was allowed."

"Oh, but we all do it," said Burt, reddening. "There isn't any sense in the old rule; and nobody could keep it; nobody does."

"I will, or else I will say I haven't," said Willie. "Do you suppose I would tell ten lies in one heap?"

"Oh, we don't call them lies," muttered Johnnie. "There wouldn't be a credit among us at night, if we were so strict."

"What of that if you told the truth?" laughed Willie, bravely.

In a short time the boys all saw how it was with him. He studied hard, played with all his might in play time; but, according to his account, he lost more credits than any of the rest. After some weeks, the boys answered "Nine" and "Eight" oftener than they used to. Yet the school-room seemed to have grown quieter. Sometimes, when Willie Grant's mark was even lower than usual, the teacher would smile peculiarly, but said no more of disgrace. Willie never preached at them or told tales; but somehow it made the boys ashamed of themselves, just the seeing that this sturdy blue-eyed boy must tell the truth. It was putting the clean cloth by the half-soiled one, you see; and they felt like cheats and story-tellers. They talked him all over, and loved him, if they did nickname him "Scotch Granite," he was so firm about a promise.

Well, at the end of the term, Willie's name was very low down on the credit list. When it was read, he had hard work not to cry; for he was very sensitive, and he had tried hard to be perfect. But the very last thing that day was a speech by the teacher, who told of once seeing a man muffled up in a cloak. He was passing him without a look, when he was told the man was General ——, the great hero.

"The signs of his rank were hidden, but the hero was there just the same," said the teacher. "And now, boys, you will see what I mean when I give a little gold medal to the most faithful boy—the one really the most conscientiously perfect in his deportment among you. Who shall have it?"

"Little Scotch Granite!" shouted forty boys at once; for the child whose name was so "low" on the credit list had made truth noble in their eyes. "A poor man is better than a liar."—The Lantern.

The sweet-scented pink hyacinth which had been brought me was beautiful indeed. It had not yet reached maturity, nor as yet shown all its resources of vigour and of beauty, but we took great pleasure in watching its gradual unfolding. Some of its beautiful double bells did, in fact, come out, and gave forth their delicious perfume. But one day there came a stop to its development, which made us anxious. Some of the blossoms faded before they had fully displayed their lovely hues, and the buds remained stationary in their leaves. Water, sunshine, soft spring air, were not lacking to them. The earth in the flower-pot was good, and there was sufficient space for the roots to expand, but it was speedily evident that the plant was dying. "At all events," I said, "I'll save the bulb." So saying, I raised the plant out of the base, using great precaution, that I might not break the beautiful white-red threads, which I shook, in order to loosen them from the earth. They had become wound together, and formed a sort of nest, in which crawled, twisting themselves as they went along, as many as eight worms.

It was certainly not to be wondered at that, with eight worms at the root, the poor flower should not have been able to thrive. I removed the enemy at once, and planted the hyacinth again under more favourable conditions; but it is to be feared that the sap had been too much impoverished for it ever to thrive again.

I seemed to see a parable in the history of my plant, and I could not avoid sighing. Why did I sigh? Because I have known so many young men and women who have disappointed the hopes felt about them in their childhood. The careful culture these young people have had from tender and anxious parents has not succeeded. These promising plants have been blighted because some gnawing worm, which their friends had not remarked, was at the root. It was vanity—the desire to shine—it was deceit—untruthfulness—it was pride—rebellion of the will against all authority—it was covetousness—it was selfishness—it was——But why should I continue the melancholy enumeration? It is God who alone knows the secret enemies of our happiness. "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked," says the voice of Scripture; "who can know it?" "Out of the heart come evil thoughts," says Christ; therefore how needful for all of us is the prayer, "Create in me a clean heart, O God!" and how cheering the promise, "I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit within you."

One of our party greatly needed some elder-flower water for her face, upon which the sun was working great mischief. It was in the Italian town of Varallo, and not a word of Italian did I know. I entered a chemist's shop, and surveyed his drawers and bottles, but the result was nil. Bright thought—I would go down by the river, and walk until I could gather a bunch of elder-flowers, for the tree was then in bloom. Happily the search was successful. The flowers were exhibited to the druggist; the extract was procured.

When you cannot tell in so many words what true religion is, exhibit it by your actions. Show by your life what grace can do. There is no language in the world so eloquent as a godly life. Men may doubt what you say, but they will believe what you do.—C. H. Spurgeon.

It is a great shame to a man to have a poor heart and a rich purse.—Chaucer.

"He overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground."—Genesis xix. 25.

The following extract from "Word Pictures from the Bible," by G. H. Taylor, furnishes a good specimen of pictorial teaching, and will serve to illustrate the lesson on the above subject:—

In the southern part of Palestine, and about thirty miles south-east from Jerusalem, stands the Dead Sea. It is a lake of about forty miles in length, with an average breadth of ten miles. On the east and the west, steep, rugged, and barren mountains of limestone rise up to the height of two thousand feet, and enclose the waters as in a huge cauldron. A death-like stillness prevails all around, unbroken save by the scream of the wild fowl on the bosom of the lake, or the footstep of some daring and solitary traveller. Its shores are deserted. No human habitation exists within miles. Even the wandering Arab approaches it with superstitious dread. Nothing can exceed the gloomy grandeur of its scenery. Rocks piled upon rocks, like ruin upon ruin, look down from the east and the west, and are reflected in its sluggish waters. In its immediate vicinity all vegetation languishes and dies, and the shores are covered as with a coat of salt. In the waters themselves no living thing exists. Everything contributes to the ideas of solitude, silence, sterility, mystery, ruin, and death.

Now there was a time when the Sea did not exist—when the ground which it now covers formed part of a lovely, extensive, and fertile plain. So lovely was this plain that it was likened to the garden of paradise, on account of its fertility. Everything which was pleasant to the eye and good for food grew there. There was one valley in this plain which was beautiful beyond all others; it was the vale of Siddim. In this vale were built the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, Admah and Zeboim, and some others. Now, the fertility of the ground caused the inhabitants of these places to be very rich and very idle. They forgot the goodness of God in placing them in such a lovely spot; and instead of thanking Him for His kindness towards them, they gave way to such a beastliness and licentiousness of conduct as one cannot think of without shuddering. Their very name lives to our times to designate all that is filthy and abominable in the conduct of men. They were not only licentious, they were proud; not only proud, they were greedy and uncharitable. Although they possessed in such abundance all that was necessary for the happiness and sustenance of man, yet would they not give anything to assist the poor and the needy. The Prophet Ezekiel says, "Behold this was the iniquity of thy sister Sodom; pride, fulness of bread, and abundance of idleness, was in her and in her daughters; neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy, but was haughty, and committed abomination before Me." All the worst of sins in the greatest excess were to be found among these inhabitants of the cities of the plain.

At this time there was living among them a man of the name of Lot, the nephew of Abraham. One evening, as Lot sat in the gate of Sodom, two angels, in the form of men, appeared unto him. "And Lot, seeing them, rose up to meet them; and he bowed himself with his face toward the ground; and he said, Behold now, my lords, turn in, I pray you, into your servant's house, and tarry all night, and wash your feet, and ye shall rise up early, and go on your ways. And they said, Nay; but we will abide in the street all night." They did not wish to enter; but Lot pressed them, and they went in, and he gave them some refreshment. That very night the angels communicate to Lot the intelligence that the Lord had sent them to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, and all the cities of the plain, for the sins of the people had become so great that they were an abomination in the land. And the angels said unto Lot, "Hast thou here any besides? son-in-law, and thy sons, and thy daughters, and whatsoever thou hast in the city, bring them out of this place." This awful news must have made Lot very anxious for the safety of his family, and accordingly he goes out and tells his relations, and bids them get up and leave the place, for the Lord is about to destroy the city. "But he seemed as one that mocked, unto his sons-in-law." Lot entreats them like a kind father who desires the safety of his children; but they only mock him in return—"Why should to-morrow differ from other days? Who ever saw it rain fire, or whence should the brimstone come? Or, if such showers must fall, how shall nothing burn but this valley?" "And when the morning arose, then the angels hastened Lot, saying, Arise, take thy wife, and thy two daughters, which are here; lest thou be consumed in the iniquity of the city." How destruction hunts the wicked! As soon as it is morning, Lot is told to hurry out of the guilty city, lest he should be consumed in its iniquity. Lot looks upon it, and thinks, perhaps, of his property which he must leave to perish. He looks, and lingers; but the angels "laid hold upon his hand, and upon the hand of his wife, and upon the hand of his two daughters; the Lord being merciful unto him: and they brought him forth, and set him without the city." No sooner are they beyond the walls of the city than the angels say unto him, "Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed." The command terrifies Lot. "Escape to the mountain—to a wild, barren, desert spot, where I cannot find food to eat, and where the wild beasts may destroy me? I cannot escape to the mountain, lest some evil take me, and I die. Behold now, this city is near to flee unto, and it is a little one. Oh, let me escape thither, (is it not a little one?) and my soul shall live." The prayer of Lot is graciously accepted. "See, I have accepted thee concerning this thing also, that I will not overthrow this city, for the which thou hast spoken. Haste thee, escape thither; for I cannot do anything till thou be come thither. Therefore the name of the city was called Zoar." As Lot enters the little city of Zoar the sun is shining. Everything was as usual. The sun is shining upon the cities and the beautiful vale of Siddim. The inhabitants, heedless and careless as before, are wantoning and revelling. Suddenly the windows of heaven are opened, and floods of fiery rain pour down upon the guilty cities and all within them. The ground takes fire; the wicked inhabitants fly, shrieking, from place to place, but all too late. The swift devouring flames follow them, and in a short time the cities, the people, all that was fair to look upon in the vale of Siddim, even the solid earth itself, are in a blaze! Presently a noise like that of thunder is heard. The earth, like some huge animal, opens wide its mouth; the cities sink into its jaws and are swallowed up; floods of water, filled with sulphur, rush over the place where they stood, and nothing is seen but a thick cloud of smoke rising from the water. That water is the Dead Sea.

These were not all the horrors of that dreadful day. Lot escaped into Zoar, but his wife, who was behind him, looked back, and she became a pillar of salt. The angel had told them not to look back. God was at that time showing her the greatest mercy, yet, contrary to His commands, she looked back, and became a pillar of salt. It may be that the swift flames overtook her as she loitered, or that God, offended at such ungrateful disobedience, punished her on the spot by immediately turning her into a pillar of salt. It matters not to us which way it was. In either case it was the result of disobedience.

I do not know whether you have seen Mr. Smiles' life of our late friend George Moore, but in it we read that, at a certain dinner-party, a learned man remarked that it would not be easy to find a person of intelligence who believed in the inspiration of the Bible. In an instant George Moore's voice was heard across the table saying boldly, "I do, for one." Nothing more was said. My dear friend had a strong way of speaking, as I well remember, for we have upon occasions vied with each other in shouting when we were together at his Cumberland home. I think I can hear his emphatic "I do, for one." Let us not be backward to take the old-fashioned and unpopular side, and say outright, "I do, for one." Where are we, if our Bibles are gone? Where are we if taught to distrust them? If we are left in doubt as to what part is inspired and what is not, we are as badly off as if we had no Bible at all. I hold no theory of inspiration. I accept the inspiration of the Scriptures as a fact. Those who thus view the Scriptures need not be ashamed of their company, for some of the best and most learned of men have been of the same mind. Locke, the great philosopher, spent the last fourteen years of his life in the study of the Bible, and when asked what was the shortest way for a young gentleman to understand the Christian religion, he bade him read the Bible, remarking, "Therein are contained the words of eternal life. It has God for its Author, salvation for its end, and truth, without any admixture of error, for its matter." There are those on the side of God's Word whom you need not be ashamed of in the matter of intelligence and learning; and if it were not so, it should not discourage you, when you remember that the Lord has "hid these things from the wise and prudent, and revealed them unto babes." We believe, with the Apostle, that "the foolishness of God is wiser than men." It is better to believe what comes out of God's mouth, and be called a fool, than to believe what comes out of the mouths of philosophers, and be therefore esteemed a wise man.—C. H. Spurgeon.

It is a mistake to labour when you are not in a fit condition to do so.

To think that the more a person eats the healthier and stronger he will become.

To go to bed at midnight and rise at daybreak, and imagine that every hour taken from sleep is an hour gained.

To imagine that if a little work or exercise is good, violent or prolonged exercise is better.

To conclude that the smallest room in the house is large enough to sleep in.

To eat as if you had only a minute to finish the meal in, or to eat without an appetite, or continue after it has been satisfied, merely to gratify the taste.

To believe that children can do as much work as grown people, and that the more hours they study the more they learn.

To imagine that whatever remedy causes one to feel immediately better (as alcoholic stimulants) is good for the system, without regard to its after effects.

To take off proper clothing out of season, simply because you have become heated.

To think that any nostrum or patent medicine is a specific for all the diseases flesh is heir to.

The Right Hon. H. C. Raikes, her Majesty's Postmaster-General, has issued the thirty-fourth annual report on the working of the postal services in the United Kingdom for the year ended March 31st last. The record starts with a table, the figures of which convey some notion of the magnitude of the task undertaken. It is estimated that during the year the number of letters entrusted to the department for delivery was 1,512,200,000, in addition to 188,800,000 post-cards, 389,500,000 book packets and circulars, 152,300,000 newspapers, and 36,732,000 parcels, making a gross total of 2,279,532,000. Compared with the previous year these figures show an increase of 3.6 per cent. in letters, 4.8 in post-cards, 5.6 in book packets and circulars, 0.8 in newspapers, and 11.8 in parcels, the increase in the total being 3.9. It is calculated that the average number of letters addressed to each person was 41, of postcards 5, of book packets and circulars 10, of newspapers 4, of parcels 1; or a grand average of 61. The distribution of these figures over given areas was marked by the usual disproportion. Of the total delivery about 85 per cent. was in England and Wales (28 per cent. being in the London postal district), 9.0 per cent. was in Scotland, and 6.0 per cent. in Ireland. The total number of letters registered was 10,814,722, being an increase of 0.3 per cent.

The constantly growing work of the department necessitates an increase in the numerical strength of the staff. The Postmaster-General shows that the permanent establishment consists of about 56,460 persons, being an increase of 1,609 over last year. Of the 3,872 females employed, 751 are engaged as clerks in the central offices in London, Dublin, and Edinburgh, and 3,121 as telegraphists, counter-women, sorters, &c., throughout the kingdom. In addition to this staff about 48,900 supernumeraries are employed in the country to assist in the general work of the Post Office. Of these 16,000 are females.

The Parcel Post continues to be much used for the transmission of flowers, game, &c. It is calculated that over 12,000 parcels, containing upwards of 45,000 grouse, were received in London last autumn, and in the month of March vegetables in considerable quantities arrived in parcels from Algiers, while it was also noticed that in one week 3,787 parcels containing hats were posted in London alone. As an illustration of the use made of this service by certain firms, it may be mentioned that two firms in London each posted 70,000 parcels at one time, while a third posted 5,000 parcels. The total postage paid on these parcels amounted to £1,875.

The "Dead Letter" department, as it is popularly known, has been called upon to deal with 13,436,600 letters, newspapers, postcards, packets, and parcels. These figures mark a decrease of 785,387, which is attributed firstly to the absence of a general election, and secondly to the progress of education, "which causes letter writers to exercise more care and accuracy in addressing letters." The report continues:—

"Of the total number received 412,122 were unreturnable; 175,408 were registered or contained enclosures of value, and 25,726 were wholly unaddressed. Of these unaddressed letters 1,553 contained money and cheques, &c., amounting to £7,111. The careless and insecure manner in which the public send articles through the post is shown by the facts that no less than 24,727 articles of all sorts, including 289 coins, were received, having escaped from their covers or wrappers, and that the addresses had become detached, through insufficient fastening, from 4,578 parcels, many of which contained matter of a perishable nature, which was thus lost to the owners.

"During the year ended December 31st, 1887, the deposits in the Post Office Savings Bank numbered 6,916,327; the amount being £16,535,932, as compared with 6,562,395 deposits, amounting to £15,696,852 the year before, being an increase of 353,932 in number and £839,080 in amount. The sum credited to depositors for interest was £1,244,074, an increase of £74,484 over the previous year. The total amount standing to the credit of depositors at the end of the year was £53,974,065, being an increase of £3,099,727 over last year. This total is exclusive of the sum of £3,345,106 Government Stock held by depositors. The number of new accounts opened during the year was 794,592 as compared with 758,270 in 1886; and the accounts closed were 574,252 as compared with 562,499."

Dealing with the Telegraph business, it is shown that the number of messages forwarded during the year was 53,403,425, being an increase of 3,159,786. A reminiscence of the Queen's Jubilee is fittingly recorded. The events connected with the celebration caused an immense increase in telegraph work in London, amounting to nearly 60 per cent. over the ordinary average, and on the day preceding the Jubilee ceremony no less than 30,597 local messages were transmitted through the central station, the total number of messages dealt with on that day in the Central Office being 124,291.

The most valuable, pure, useful, and durable of all metals, is tried gold; so is tried faith, among all the Christian virtues.—Jackson.

It is not enough in this world to "mean well." We ought to do well. Thoughtfulness, therefore, becomes a duty, and gratitude one of the graces.

Equally worthy of admiration, and all but equally complex, is the process by which Nature repairs a fractured limb, especially when the injury is such that the broken ends of bone cannot be brought exactly into their proper positions. It is remarkable, too, how she adapts her process to the different habits of her patients. In the case of a simple fracture, if the parts that have been disjoined are set close together in their normal line—if it be the leg of a dog, for example—there is first a hard sheath, called a "callus," formed round the fracture, and this "callus" permits a restricted use of the injured limb, even before the two parts have grown together. It is, however, only a temporary provision, necessitated by the natural restlessness of the lower animals. After the fracture has completely healed the "callus" gradually disappears. A human case is treated differently. Here, unless it be a broken rib (which requires the provision in consequence of its incessant motion in respiration), the healing takes place ordinarily without the formation of any outer "callus." Sometimes the broken ends cannot be—or at all events are not—brought into their proper relative positions. Is it possible, it may be asked, that Nature can provide the means for meeting such an emergency, when, that is to say, the two portions of bone to be joined are all awry, and something quite new—in fact, a kind of bridge, and a bridge not merely serving the purpose of a solid connection between opposite banks, but like the bridges which carry the appliances of modern civilization, connecting the nerves, which answer to the telegraph wires, and the veins and arteries corresponding to our water and other conduits, has to be constructed? Nature's engineering is equal even to this task.—Quiver.

Some boys seem to think that it is manly to swear. Passing along the street, one is shocked to hear oaths from well-dressed, intelligent boys, who evidently belong to cultivated Christian families. I am going to tell the boys a true story about swearing, which I trust will influence them to break themselves of this ungentlemanly and wicked habit.

"When I was a young lad," said a gentleman, "I learned to swear. I had a good Christian mother, and she had taught me what a heinous sin it is to use the name of God in vain. But I heard other boys swearing, and I thought it was very manly to swear as they did, and I tried it too. At first the words of an oath came stumbling along, and I felt all the time I was using them that God would strike me dead. But after a while I could swear as easily and fearlessly as some of my companions. But I never swore before my mother. I used the Lord's name in vain so often that it seemed as if He had forsaken me, and left me to my sins. I became wicked and reckless.

"When I was fifteen years old I went to sea. My mother reluctantly gave her consent, only because she knew that I would go without it if she did not. My father was dead, and I was her only son. I had no idea then what my mother's feelings must have been; now I realize what she must have suffered in parting with me.

"When I went to sea I swore in the worst manner. In fact, I scarcely spoke a word that was not accompanied by an oath. After a three years' voyage I came home. My mother met me with great kindness and affection. She had prepared a most tempting supper for me. My trunk was being brought into the door, when a misunderstanding between myself and the man who had brought it, about the pay, aroused my anger, and, forgetting where I was, I swore as only a rough seaman can swear. When oath after oath had passed my lips, I chanced to look at my mother, who stood near me in the hall. Her face was as white as the face of the dead, and an indescribable expression upon it that I can never, never forget. I saw that she was falling, and I put my arm around her to support her. She shrank away from my touch, and fell senseless to the floor. I paid the man the price he demanded, closed the door, lifted my mother up, and laid her on the lounge. I thought I had killed her. Oh, the feelings of remorse that filled my heart at that moment! But she opened her eyes, and seeing me standing before her, said, 'Oh, my son, you have broken my heart!' I assured her with tears and kisses that I would never swear again, but the habit had taken such strong hold on me that I found myself swearing unconsciously many times a day. My mother did not enjoy the long-anticipated visit of her only son. Her spirit seemed crushed, and I know she felt that she had lost her boy, and a reckless, wicked man had come home in his stead. With many tears and kind words of pleading she bade me 'good-bye' when, in a few weeks after, I started on my second sea voyage. At the first port at which we stopped after leaving home, I received a letter from my aunt, containing the sad news of my dear mother's death. Instantly that mother's face, as it appeared to me on the evening I returned home, was before me. I threw myself on my knees in my cabin, and pleaded for forgiveness. I resolved with God's help to lead a different life. But habits of sin, that begin in cobwebs, end in iron chains. It was not easy to break away from them. But every time I began to use an oath, my mother's face, as it looked that night, came before me. I shall never forget it to my dying day. With God's help, I have overcome that terrible sin. I would give everything I possess could I only speak to her once more, and tell her my sorrow and remorse. But she is silent in the grave."

When the gentleman had finished his sad story, he said, "When you are writing something for the children, tell the boys this story I have told you, and tell them always to remember that a sinful habit may begin as a cobweb, but it will end as an iron chain about their souls."—Baptist.

"Jesus, who lived above the sky,
Came down to be a man and die.
And those kind hands that did such good,
They nailed them to a cross of wood.
And, out of pity, Jesus said,
He'd bear the punishment instead."

An aged woman sat alone by the fireside, when Mr. —— came in, and simply exclaimed, as he looked out at the window, "The Lord said, 'I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance' (Mark ii. 17). 'Not the righteous.' What a mercy that is." No more was said, and Mr. —— left the room, but at night, when in bed, the aged one said to her sister, who occupied the same room with her, "Mr. —— came into the room below, and, as if speaking to himself, uttered these words, 'I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. Not the righteous. What a mercy that is!' and he went out, and said no more, but they made the tears roll down my face. There is hope for me."

"A word in season" the Lord alone can give to be effectual. Then, "how good it is." Bless His holy name, He shall have all the praise, for ever and ever.

August, 1888.

A fountain fulness still remains
Of pardoning blood from Jesus' veins,
Though millions have its virtues tried,
And from its riches been supplied.

And yet it ever is the same
To all that come in Jesus' name;
Not one that to it shall repair
Will ever perish in despair.

It makes the filthy sinner clean,
Though vile as I or Magdalene;
Here David lost his crimson sin,
And thousands more as well as him.

Manasseh here lost all his crimes,
And now in glory brightly shines;
Also dear Paul, of sinners chief,
From this dear fountain got relief,

And writes so sweetly of its power
To save e'en to a dying hour;
Yea, all the while he travelled here,
This fountain was to him most dear.

No savèd sinner ever knew
Better than Paul what blood can do,
For he himself its power had tested,
And on its efficacy rested.

And all the hosts around the throne
Bear witness to what blood has done;
Their holy joy and heavenly bliss
Is concentrated all in this.

Oh, may this joy and peace be mine
When called to leave the things of time!
To sing of Jesus' love and blood,
And dwell for ever with my God.

B. W.

A friend had been sitting a little while by the bed-side of a poor woman—rendered utterly helpless from paralysis—reading the Scriptures to her, when the door was gently opened, and three neatly-dressed little girls entered the room, each carrying a small basket. One of them approached the bed, and after a few simple and kind inquiries, held up the little basket she had in her hand, saying, "My mother sent you this, and hopes soon to come and see you." The poor woman thanked the child gratefully, and said, "Put it away, my dear, for me."

The little girl seemed quite used to the employment. She went over to a cupboard, emptied carefully the contents of her basket, and with a modest "Good-bye," the three children withdrew.

The poor woman then gave an explanation to the friend who was present. "These little girls," she said, "are the children of a very respectable butcher, and every Saturday afternoon their mother employs them to carry about to poor people scraps of meat and bones. They are nice children, and take quite a pleasure in doing it, and they have given me, and many others, many a good dinner."

Now, who can calculate the amount of good resulting from the thoughtful charity of this mother? We read thus of God's redeemed people—"their works do follow them"—not to heaven for recompense, as some vainly imagine, but on the earth. Continually we see the truth of this in the effects produced, after the lapse of years, from works done by those whose bones have long been turned to dust. Who can tell the influence this weekly act may have upon these three children, if spared to grow up to womanhood? And thus, when their mother's place knows her no more, her "works will follow her."

I give the following from the lips of one who was well acquainted with the facts:—

A frost had been raging for thirteen weeks. The consequence was that out-door labourers, for the most part, were stopped in their employment. Among these was a poor gardener who had a wife and five or six children. He was at length reduced to great straits. He had spent all but his last penny, and had not the slightest prospect of more.

Passing down a certain street one day, he happened to see a poor man standing in the lobby of a church or chapel. His heart yearned over him, and he thought, "How I should like to help him; but I have only a penny left for myself and family." Still, he felt that he could not resist the inclination. He instantly turned round, stepped back, and gave the man his last penny. Immediately there came a peculiar light and gladness into his soul. Instead of being burdened by his destitution, he was relieved by it. He was rich in his poverty.

That very night the long frost broke, and in the morning he resumed his work. He had not been long in the garden before his employer appeared. Addressing him, he said, "I am sure you must have felt the effects of this long frost very much. Here is a sovereign for you." The poor gardener felt amazed, and, to use his own words, it was as though the Lord said to him, "Here's a sovereign for the penny you lent Me last night."

Reader, it is written, "He that giveth to the poor lendeth unto the Lord"; and again, "There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty."

Bad men excuse their faults; good men will leave them.

While occasionally serving a destitute Church, between three and four months ago, I was requested to visit a dying woman. I found her in the most distracting agony of bodily pain, but rejoicing at the same time in the consolations of the Gospel. My visits afforded me much pleasure and edification. Being informed that she had been once a most abandoned character, I solicited a friend to collect from her own mouth the history of her life, and since her death have been favoured with a very interesting and circumstantial account of this monument of mercy.

When young she was deprived of both father and mother, but by friends was introduced into a genteel family, where after some time she fell into shameful sin. Her friends abandoned her in her disgrace, but after she had endured much suffering, privation, and want, they were persuaded to receive her once more, and at length provided another eligible situation for her. Thus restored, she might have lived in respect, but a particular circumstance which should operate as a warning, especially to servants, led her into a more dreadful course of iniquity than ever she had been guilty of before.[12] On the Lord's Day, instead of going to any place of worship, she contracted the habit of spending those sacred hours at the house of an acquaintance. Here she formed her most fatal connections, and to this sin of Sabbath-breaking she especially attributed her ruin. A bad man persuaded her to accompany him to London. Here for some years she lived a most profligate life, the circumstances of which cannot be detailed here, further than that sin which brings its own reward found her deserted, and in the Lock Hospital. After a dreadful operation she somewhat recovered, and went out, but only to follow her old sinful course. She was scarcely known to be sober for six years together. Her wretched course of life was a continual burden to her. She often prayed, if such an one could be said to pray, that God would deliver her from it, and accompanied her prayers with resolves to forsake it; but all her resolutions were ineffectual till God's time of deliverance was come. At length she determined to return into the country again. She met with many distressing circumstances by the way, and upon her arrival, her friends would not receive her. She was therefore obliged to apply to the parish, being incapable of getting her living through her disordered state of body. The overseers provided her a room in a house with another woman, where, soon after she arrived, her complaint assumed an alarming nature, and threatened speedy dissolution. In the awful prospect of death she was seized with the most distracting horrors. Calling to the woman with whom she lived, she cried, "I shall soon be gone, and hell will be my doom!" The woman told her she was mad, but she replied, with earnestness, "I am not. I know it will, for I am not prepared to die"; and immediately asked her if she knew where any minister lived? She had heard some whom they called "Methodists" while in the hospital at London. Even then she could not laugh at them as many of her unfortunate companions did, but was often much affected by their prayers and sermons, and looked upon them as men living in the fear of God. The recollection of this suggested the eager inquiry after them now. But the woman said, "They cannot save your soul."

"SHE PROCURED A LODGING WITH A SERIOUS FEMALE." (See page 230.)

"I know they cannot," she replied, "but they can pray with me and for me to One who can. Go instantly and fetch one, for I am going to hell."

The woman still continued to laugh at her, and told the neighbours she was deranged. One of them, however, more compassionate than the rest, coming in, said she knew a good man who lived near. He was not a minister, but she would go and fetch him.

"Make him promise to come," said the poor creature, "before you leave him, and then, if he be a good man, he will come." While the person was gone, she cried to the Lord to send him.

He came and found her in the greatest agonies of mind. She told him that she was the vilest sinner that ever lived, described the course of life she had led, and concluded by saying she saw hell before her eyes, and that she should be lost for ever. He pointed out the way of salvation by Christ, told her it was free for the vilest, spoke of the encouragement there was for the chief of sinners who came to Him, prayed with her, and left her a little more composed. She made him promise to come the next day, which he did twice. In a short time after, her sorrow was turned into gladness, and she was enabled to rejoice in Christ as her Saviour, whilst the young man who visited her was reading the verse—

"Look as when Thy grace beheld
The harlot in distress;
Dried her tears, her pardon sealed,
And bade her go in peace.
Foul like her, and self-abhorred,
I at Thy feet for mercy groan;
Turn and look upon me, Lord,
And break my heart of stone."

Soon after this, God removed the violence of her complaint, and thereby gave her an opportunity of proving the reality of her conversion. As soon as possible she went to the meeting, but oh, the persecution she now met with from her former companions! She was obliged to remove from place to place to escape their violence. They pelted her with stones, broke her windows, &c., because, as they said, she was a hypocrite. But she was enabled to endure it with patience, and after a time procured a lodging with a serious female. Now she seemed almost in heaven. She could now go in and out, none daring to make her afraid, and could meditate in peace on the gracious dealings of God with her soul. She became a member of the Church in which she continued as long as she lived. She seemed to grow daily in an affecting discovery of the evil of sin and of her own vileness, and was often quite overwhelmed with a sense of the goodness of God, both with respect to her temporal and spiritual concerns. She was frequently enabled to rejoice in the Lord with exceeding joy, though labouring under the most dreadful pain, being literally full of wounds, the sad fruit of her former life. She occasionally experienced great conflicts with Satan, but the Lord graciously interposed, and brought her off more than conqueror. Several months before her death she was grievously afflicted, but in general very comfortable. On the Saturday preceding her dissolution, a friend called to see her, and inquired after the state of her mind. She said she was happy in God, longed to depart, and could scarcely contain herself. She was so filled with love to her blessed Lord, for His unbounded goodness to her. On the Monday, the person with whom she lodged said she was very comfortable in her mind. Her spirit soared beyond the fear of death; but through extreme weakness she could not speak much, and on Tuesday she departed, we trust, to sing the praises of that miraculous grace which snatched her as a brand from the burning.

Conduct is the great profession. What a man does tells us what he is.

Admiral Pye having been on a visit to Southampton, and the gentleman under whose roof he resided observing an unusual intimacy between him and his secretary, inquired into the degree of their relationship. The admiral informed him that they were not related, but their intimacy arose from a singular circumstance, which, by his permission, he would relate.

The admiral said, when he was a captain he was cruising in the Mediterranean. While on that station he received a letter from shore, stating that the unhappy author of the letter was by birth an Englishman; that, having been on a voyage to Spain, he was enticed while there to become a Papist, and, in process of time, was made a member of the Inquisition; that there he beheld the abominable wickedness and barbarities of the inquisitors.

His heart recoiled at having embraced a religion so horribly cruel and so repugnant to the nature of God, that he was stung with remorse to think that, if his parents knew what and where he was, their hearts would break with grief; that he was resolved to escape, if he (the captain) would send a boat on shore at such a time and place, but begged secrecy, since, if his intentions were discovered, he should be immediately assassinated.

The captain returned for answer that he could not with propriety send a boat, but if he could devise any means to come on board, he would receive him as a British subject, and protect him. He did so; but being missed, there was soon raised a hue and cry, and he was followed to the ship.

A holy inquisitor demanded him, but he was refused; another, in the name of his Holiness the Pope, claimed him, but the captain did not know him, or any other master, but his own sovereign, King George. At length a third holy brother approached. The young man recognized him at a distance, and, in terror, ran to the captain, entreating him not to be deceived by him, for he was the most false, wicked, and cruel monster in all the Inquisition. He was introduced, the young man being present, and, to obtain his object, began with the bitterest accusations against him; then he turned to the most fulsome flatteries of the captain; and, lastly, offered him a sum of money to resign him. The captain treated him with apparent attention, said his offer was very handsome, and, if what he affirmed were true, the person in question was unworthy of the English name or of his protection.

The holy brother was elated; he thought his errand was accomplished. While drawing his purse-strings, the captain inquired what punishment would be inflicted upon him. He replied that it was uncertain; but as his offences were atrocious, it was likely that his punishment would be exemplary. The captain asked if he thought he would be burned in a dry pan. He replied, that must be determined by the Holy Inquisition, but it was not improbable.

The captain then ordered the great copper to be heated, but no water to be put in. All this while the young man stood trembling, his cheeks resembling death; he expected to become an unhappy victim to avarice and superstition.

The cook soon announced that the orders were executed. "Then I command you to take this fellow," pointing to the inquisitor, "and fry him alive in the copper." This unexpected command thunderstruck the holy father. Alarmed for himself, he rose to be gone. The cook began to bundle him away. "Oh, good captain! good captain! spare me, spare me!" "Have him away," replied the captain. "Oh, no, my good captain!" "Have him away. I'll teach him to attempt to bribe a British commander to sacrifice the life of an Englishman to gratify a herd of bloody men." Down the inquisitor fell upon his knees, offering him all his money, and promising never to return if he would let him begone. When the captain had sufficiently alarmed him, he dismissed him, warning him never to come again on such an errand.

What must have been the reverse of feelings in the young man to find himself thus happily delivered. He fell upon his knees, in a flood of tears, before the captain, and poured a thousand blessings upon his brave and noble deliverer.

"This," said the admiral to the gentleman, "is the circumstance that began our acquaintance. I took him to be my servant; he served me from affection; mutual attachment ensued, and it has inviolably subsisted and increased to this day."—From Cyclopædia of Moral and Religious Anecdotes, with Introductory Essay by Dr. Cheever.

"Mother, just look what I've come upon! I found the small board at the back loose, and beneath it, this."

Thus spoke Julia White, who was engaged in scrubbing out the single cupboard of their one room, and as she uttered the words she held up a paper with two sovereigns wrapped in it.

"Why are you so prying, child?" said the mother. "You would have been so much better without the knowledge of my secret. Now, if your father should come home tipsy to-night, you will be forced to tell him where the money is, and I shall lose the whole of it. Wherever to hide it away from you, I don't know."

Poor Julia looked frightened enough, for she was only eleven years of age, and her dread of her father, who frequently showed himself a ferocious ruffian, was extreme; but there was no help for the case now. The mother had to leave in little more than an hour to watch a patient to whom she was night nurse, and there was no time to find another hiding-place. To carry the money with her where she was going would scarcely have been safe, so, after seeing little Nancy, with the baby, safely returned, and giving the latter its meal at her breast, the good, hard-working woman departed to fulfil her engagement.

The children left alone, the terror of the elder one could not escape the notice of the younger, although she was only a little over seven; and she at length said—

"What can be the matter with you, Julia?"

"I know where mother's money is, and am afraid father will come home and want it."

"Tell him you know nothing about it. He always believes you."

"Nancy!"

She had been rightly taught by a good mother, and young as she was, realized that this was not the course to take, so, kneeling by the side of her child sister, she offered the following simple, but heartfelt, prayer—

"Dear Jesus, please don't let father come home to-night and want mother's money; but if he should do so, please help me not to tell him where it is."

The strength she had thus gained was soon put to a cruel test, for into the neat, cleanly room there quickly rushed the brute who represented all that she had ever known of father. The scene that ensued was of a character not unfrequent in low London districts, but none the less worthy of record. Poor little Nancy, dreading what might follow, caught up the baby, and fled with it into a corner of the room, as the safest place of refuge, for we ought to have stated that the ruffian had locked the door upon his entrance. Catching his eldest daughter's arm, he said, in not an over loud voice—

"Get me your mother's money."

Meeting with no reply from the white-faced girl, he next said—

"Do you know where it is?"

But still there was no answer. What followed seems dreadful to relate, suiting better with the nature of South Sea or African cannibals than with the natives of Christian England. First twisting the girl's arm round, and causing her dreadful pain, he next bestowed upon her with his brute strength a succession of awful blows; but, though she could not keep back her cries, she did not yield to him in the least.

Wearied at length, he flung her from him on to the wall, and during the ensuing five minutes, with bursts of terrible oaths, threatened that, if she did not acquaint him with her secret, he would kill her; but, mercifully, the neighbours were enabled at the end of this time to break into the room, or there is no telling what mischief might have followed.

But we cannot finish without describing the heroism of poor little Nancy, which almost equalled that of her sister. Dodging from side to side during the struggle, now in this corner and now in that, and shielding the baby with her youthful person, she, with wonderful activity and courage, kept it from harm.

It seems something like divine retribution that this dreadful father this very evening received a terrible beating in the public-house, and his system being unhealthy, as the result of drinking habits, he died in hospital of his injuries.

There is a pre-established harmony between the voice of the Shepherd and the heart of the sheep. "If ye abide in Me, and My words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will and it shall be done unto you."

For the intercourse of social life, it is by little acts of watchful kindness recurring daily and hourly—and opportunities of doing kindnesses, if sought for, are for ever starting up—it is by words, by tones, by gestures, by looks, that affection is won and preserved. He who neglects these trifles, yet boasts that, whenever a great sacrifice is called for, he shall be ready to make it, will rarely be loved. The likelihood is, he will not make it, and if he does, it will be much rather for his own sake than for his neighbour's. Many persons, indeed, are said to be penny wise and pound foolish; but they who are penny foolish will hardly be pound wise, although selfish vanity may now and then for a moment get the better of selfish indolence, for Wisdom will always have a microscope in her hand.

I leave to society a ruined character, a wretched example, and a memory that will soon rot. I leave to my parents, during the rest of their lives, as much sorrow as humanity in a feeble and declining state can sustain. I leave to my brothers and sisters as much mortification and injury as I could bring on them. I leave my wife a broken heart, a life of wretchedness and shame, to weep over my premature death. I give and bequeath to each of my children, poverty, ignorance, and low character, and the remembrance that their father was a monster.

We may as well attempt to bring pleasure out of pain as to unite indulgence in sin with the enjoyment of happiness.—Hodge.

"And we took all his cities at that time: there was not a city which we took not from them," &c.—Deut. iii. 4, 5.

Sixty cities in one small province! Can it be true? Has not the copyist erred in his arithmetic? Should it not be sixteen, or six? Does it not appear improbable? The province mentioned, Argob, is not more than thirty miles by twenty; and that within so limited a space there should be sixty cities, "besides unwalled towns a great many," can scarcely be accepted literally.

Now, it is a great blessing, for the confirmation of our faith in the truth of the Bible, and the silencing of those who delighted in making others to be of a doubtful mind, that the literal truth of the statement is fully established—not by a comparison of parallel passages; not by a new translation of the text; not by the testimony of ancient historians; but by the remains of the cities themselves. There are they in Argob, the oldest specimens of domestic architecture in the whole world.

English travellers have visited the wild land of the giants; they have penetrated into the rocky recesses of Argob; they have slept in the deserted homes of the Rephaim; and have come back to tell us that the stones reared by those ancient idolaters bear witness to the truth of the living God.

The Rev. J. L. Porter spent a considerable time in exploring the cities of Bashan. At Burak he lodged in a city of several hundred houses, all deserted, but all in good repair, though built two or three thousand years ago. The walls of these houses were five feet thick, formed of large blocks of hewn stone, put together without lime or cement of any kind. The roofs were formed of long blocks of the same black basalt, measuring twelve feet in length, eighteen inches in breadth, and six inches in thickness. The doors were stone slabs hung upon pivots formed of projecting parts of the slabs, working in sockets in the lintel and threshold; the windows were guarded with stone shutters—everything was of stone, as if the builders had designed each edifice to last for ever.

The cities have endured, but the inhabitants have fled. You pass the ruined gateway where stern warriors kept watch, and from whose towers the watchmen swept the country and signalled the coming of the foe. All is hushed. Rank weeds and grass, brambles and creeping plants, have overgrown the well-made roads; and in the massive houses, where once on a time happy groups assembled, and children shouted with joy, the fox and the jackal make their dwelling, while owls and daws take possession of the roof. Here is a city that must at one period have contained at least twenty thousand inhabitants. Once its streets were noisy and bustling, and the dealers made their shrewd bargains in the markets, while the grandees dwelt in their stone palaces, haughty of spirit, as if the slaves who waited on them were of another flesh than theirs. Here dwelt the giants, and after them Jews, and Greeks, and Romans, Saracens and Turks, each leaving memorials of their presence; but all gone—the whole abandoned to the wild birds and the beasts of prey. There are palaces with thorns and thistles growing in the chief room; there are temples with branches of trees shooting through the gaping walls; there are tombs festooned with the rich luxuriance of nature; there is everything to tell of desolation and decay.

You remember that we read in Joshua that the kingdom of Og, the giant, included all Bashan unto Salcah; and the Israelites took and occupied the whole land, from Mount Hermon unto Salcah. This is the frontier city of Bashan, and is one of the most remarkable in Palestine. There are about five hundred houses still remaining, a number of square towers, a few mosques, and a great old castle on the top of a hill. But the city, held at first by the giants, and at last by the Turks, has long been deserted, and the tread of horses on the paved street disturbs only a fox in its den or a wild bird in its nest. The castle hill is about three hundred feet in height, the base encircled by a moat. The building itself appears to have been of Jewish foundation, though it is probable that the site was occupied by a still older fortress. There is Roman masonry in the work, and the Saracens have added to the beauty, if not to the strength, of the structure; but though the exterior wall remains, the interior is choked with rubbish. The summit of the castle commands an extensive prospect—a varied, romantic, but wild scene of rugged rocks and luxuriant verdure, comprising no less than thirty deserted cities. On the right stretches Moab, on the left Arabia; behind, in terraced slopes, the hills of Bashan—a sad and solemn scene of utter desolation.

A son of Gideon.

A king of Moab.

An untruthful woman.

A man slain by God.

The son of a persecuted woman.

What did the Israelites once desire?

A God-fearing man.

An officer of a king.

One of the Apostles.

The initials will form a passage of Scripture.

Reigate.

(Isaiah xl. 11.)

We know that Jesus is the Person of whom our text speaks, because His herald and forerunner is described in the third verse, and John the Baptist applied the prophecy to himself, when the Pharisees wanted to know who he really was—"The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord."

He came to teach the necessity of repentance, to reprove the pride of the Pharisee, bringing low the hills and mountains of their self-esteem; while the despised tax-gatherers and soldiers were taught how to rise, by the grace of God, to the position of honourable and useful members of society, and thus the valleys were exalted (Luke iii. 6-14). God, according to His promise, sent His Prophet to turn the hearts of the people in some measure before Jesus Himself appeared (Mal. iv. 5, 6).

And then, though in a human form, the "Lord God came with strong hand," "mighty to save." His "reward was with Him, and the recompense of His work was before Him," and He did then, and does still, "feed His people like a shepherd." It was the Lord God who came among men; but how did He come? Not with earthly pomp and glory, and His heavenly majesty was but dimly seen.

I thought of this on July 17th last, when the Prince of Wales went with the Princess to open the Great Northern Hospital at Upper Holloway, London. The Royal party were attired in deep mourning, on account of the recent death of the Emperor Frederick of Germany, and so quietly did their carriage pass along that many scarcely recognized them, and nearly all who were looking expectantly for the Prince's coming were greatly disappointed at the absence of a showy retinue. Yet he fulfilled all that he promised, and more, for he, with his wife and daughters, visited all the patients in the hospital, speaking kindly words, and doubtless giving real pleasure to those afflicted ones.

So, when that infinitely greater One, the Prince of Peace, came, He did all that had been predicted of Him; and though even His own disciples expected grandeur which they did not find, and for a while were grieved and perplexed, yet when, by the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, they better understood His mission, they perceived that He had finished His work most gloriously, and had "done all things well."

The Shepherd of Israel, then, is the Lord God, of whom David sang, "The Lord" (Jehovah) "is my Shepherd: I shall not want," which Jesus followed up by saying, "I am the Good Shepherd, and am come that My sheep might have life, and have more abundantly all the blessings My people enjoyed before I came into this world" (see John x.).

"He shall feed His flock like a Shepherd." Jesus here appears as a King as well as a Shepherd, for good kings care for and defend their subjects, but none can do as He does, who is "over all, blessed for evermore." All other shepherds must lead their sheep into green pastures, or procure them food in some other way, but Jesus supplies His people from Himself. All the fulness of love, grace, and blessing are His own, and as the poet sings—

"On a dying Christ I feed;
This is meat and drink indeed."

Christ once crucified for the redemption of His loved ones, but now alive for evermore, is the life and joy of all who believe on His name.

And these sheep are divided into two classes—lambs, and their parents. Those who are young, inexperienced, and weak, like Christ's followers were when He was on earth, how gently He "carried" them, guarding, supporting, and instructing so gradually until they became able to lead others in the ways of God. And still He tends His feeble ones with special care. He is kind and full of compassion, and they who most need His protection are most sure to have it, for He fully knows the need.

But the older sheep need the shepherd's consideration as much as the lambs of the flock. Those who have young ones to nourish and care for must be gently led.

The Apostle Paul said that "the care of all the Churches of Christ pressed daily upon him" (2 Cor. xi. 28), yet he could tell how the Lord comforted both himself and his fellow-workers in all their trials, so that they were enabled to comfort others; and speaking from his own experience, he could encourage his friends to "cast all their care upon Him" who ever cares for all His people.

And it is Jesus only who can really lead and feed His flock. Ministers of the Gospel are called "pastors," "shepherds." As Christ's servants, they may be, and often are, the means of leading their hearers into green pastures, and of restoring the wandering and the weak; yet every true pastor is a sheep after all, and all spiritual, heavenly power and blessing must proceed from Him alone.

I was much interested, some time ago, in a pretty little poem, illustrated by the picture of a splendid ram, standing beside his wounded little one, calling loudly for the help he could not render; and the shepherd, hearing his cries, hastened to the spot, and carried the helpless little thing to the fold. And methought, "Is not this a beautiful parable for us?" If we are longing to help and heal the feeble, the straying, and the sin-sick, and feel how little we can do, let us seek to follow this sheep's example, and call upon our Shepherd—

"Whose ears attend the softest call,
Whose eyes can never sleep."

He is the Good Shepherd, for He gave His life for the sheep; the Chief Shepherd, possessing all the amiable and winning attractions that charm and draw the heart; and the Great Shepherd, almighty and unchanging, "able to save to the uttermost all who come unto God by Him."

Oh, that we all may know His love, which never can be fully known on earth, and enjoy the sweet privilege of commending all our loved ones to His gracious care, assured that He is able to do all that His heart desireth, and that—

"With heaven and earth at His command,
He waits to answer prayer."

Our next subject will be, The Glory of Christ, as described by Himself in John xvii.

Elihu Burritt, speaking of the power of kindness, says, "There is no power of love so hard to get and keep as a kind voice. A kind hand is deaf and dumb. It may be rough in flesh and blood, yet do the work of a soft heart, and do it with a soft touch. But there is no one thing that love so much needs as a sweet voice to tell what it means and feels; and it is hard to get and keep it in the right tone."

Oct. 7. Commit to memory Rom. ix. 25.
Oct. 14. Commit to memory Rom. ix. 26.
Oct. 21. Commit to memory Rom. ix. 27.
Oct. 28. Commit to memory Rom. ix. 28.

Paul says (1 Cor. xiii. 4) that "charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up"; and in the thirteenth verse, "And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity."

Now, this shows that charity is a very great and good thing, and that we ought to desire to have charity above all things. "If we have not charity, we are nothing."

Charity means "love," and that is the greatest of all good gifts. Love supplies all other wants, however hard they may be; and so, if we have not it, we are not by any means complete, for "above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness" (Col. iii. 14). This teaches us that charity is perfect above all things, and that we are to "love our enemies, and pray for those that despitefully use us"; also, we are exhorted to "let brotherly love continue."

"Brethren, let us walk together
In the bonds of love and peace;
Can it be a question whether
Brethren should from conflict cease?
'Tis in union,
Hope, and joy, and love increase."

There would be fewer quarrels and less sin if every one had charity. "Charity," or love, "covers a multitude of sins." "Flee also youthful lusts: but follow righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with them that call on the Lord out of a pure heart" (2 Tim. ii. 22).

In 1 Corinthians xvi. 14, it says, "Let all your things be done with charity," which means that all our actions are to be done in love. "God is love." Jesus had charity or love when He was on earth. His love knew no bounds. When God sent His only Son Jesus Christ down into the world, it was done thoroughly out of love to sinful man.

Jesus Himself was full of love, for He prayed for His persecutors when He was on the cross, and said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

"High beyond imagination
Is the love of God to man;
Far too deep for human reason;
Fathom that it never can:
Love eternal
Richly dwells in Christ the Lamb."

"If God so loved us, ought we not to love one another?"

Charity is being kind and loving to one another, and helping one another when we can. If we are not kind and gentle to them, we have not charity, and do not love each other. When people do ever such great things, if they do it for self-praise, and not for love, it does not profit them anything. If we love our neighbours as ourselves, we shall never do them any ill, but rather "kill them by kindness," even if they are inclined to resent our charity, or love.

19, Platt Street, Pancras Road,
London, N. W.

[Very good Essays have been sent by Ada Dudley Mote, E. B. Knocker, A. J. Wells, H. F. Forfeitt, K. E. Thomas, W. E. Cray, C. Bowman, B. E. J. Noakes, A. Judd, C. Lack, Winnie Langman, and F. Lawrence.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of Foxe's "Book of Martyrs."

The subject for December will be, "The Disobedience of our First Parents and its Results"; and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of "The Loss of All Things for Christ." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, before the twentieth of October, in order that the Volume may be completed for binding.]

(Page 213)

"Persecution."—2 Timothy iii. 12.

P otiphar Genesis xxxvii. 36.
E noch Genesis iv. 17.
R ehoboam 1 Kings xi. 43.
S apphire Ezekiel i. 26.
E bal Joshua viii. 30.
C andace Acts viii. 27.
U r Genesis xi. 28.
T hyatira Revelation i. 11.
I ram Genesis xxxvi. 43.
O thniel Judges iii. 9.
N oah Numbers xxvii. 1.

Minnie Legg
(Aged 12 years). Edinburgh.

A correspondent says that in his great-grandfather's house, as he has heard his mother tell, there was a clock on which was the following inscription—

"Here I stand both day and night,
To tell the time with all my might;
Do thou example take by me,
And serve thy God as I serve thee."

The old clock remained in the family for many years, but the time of which it told so faithfully at last conquered it, as it conquers all things on earth.

The National Sunday League lament a deficit of £110 as a result of the band performances in the three parks.

The oldest and biggest tree in the world is at Mascoli, near Mount Etna. The trunk is seventy yards round, and a flock of sheep can take refuge in it.

Jerusalem is rapidly becoming again a veritable city of the Jews. In 1880 there were probably not more than 5,000 Jews there; now there are more than 30,000.

The "threepenny-bit" may well be regarded as the "church coin." At the collection at Dr. Parker's Sunday evening meeting in Queen Anne Street Church, Dunfermline, there were no fewer than 1,400 threepenny pieces.

Phonography, as a system of shorthand, is the best, simplest, soundest, and most scientific of any in existence. Ninety-nine out of every hundred shorthand writers use it, and none other should be learned.

The buttercup blooms in unwonted places. A horse belonging to a farmer near Belford was having an old shoe removed, when a buttercup was found to have taken root between the hoof and the shoe, near the toe. It was in full bloom.

This is the day of rapid travelling. A through railway service has been organised to run from Charing Cross to Constantinople in seventy-six hours. Thus, in three days and a half, one will pass from the city of the Queen to the city of the Sultan.

In England and Wales the receipts for first-class railway season tickets last year amounted to £720,862, for second-class season tickets the receipts amounted to £665,203, and for those of the third-class (including workmen's weekly tickets) the amount was £358,142.

Among the rarities in Dr. Williams' library in Grafton Street, London, is a tiny shorthand Bible, exquisitely written, which is said to have belonged to an apprentice, who, suspicious of James II.'s intentions regarding Protestantism, wrote the whole for himself, fearing that he might be deprived of his printed copy.

Drs. Chauvel and Nimier now announce that, in future warfare with the Lebel rifle, the surgeons will not be perplexed by having to extract balls from wounded soldiers. These projectiles pass through the body, bones, and all, even when fired at a distance of from 1,800 to 2,000 metres (1,980 to 2,200 yards).

A Fortunate Cobbler.—It is announced that a Blackburn cobbler has just come in for a windfall in the shape of property valued at £40,000. He saw an advertisement some time ago with regard to some property in America, to which he has proved himself sole heir. He has left for the New World to take possession of his unexpected wealth.

One day last August a boy, nine years old, went to a school treat, and ran in several races. On returning home he complained of headache, and next morning was seized with pains and became insensible, dying an hour afterwards. The post-mortem examination showed that death was the result of syncope, brought on by fatigue and excitement.

A statement was made at the Spanish Armada Convention at Exeter Hall, recently, to the effect that, during 1878, "in the poor country of Ireland there had been bequeathed to the Roman Catholic Church no less than £750,000 for masses for the souls of the departed." Doubtless Mr. Isaacs had proof of this, for he referred to it as "an ascertained fact."

A papyrus of extraordinary beauty and completeness, of the fourteenth century before our era, has been added to the British Museum. It contains certain chapters of the "Book of Death," carefully copied out by a scribe of Thebes. Its remarkable feature are the illustrations. The colouring of these is as vivid as if the work had been done yesterday, instead of more than thirty centuries ago.

An interesting discovery has just been made by Dr. Tschakort, Professor of Church History in the University of Konigsberg, who has found in the library there numerous manuscript sermons and commentaries by Luther, hitherto absolutely unknown. They were written in the years 1519 to 1521—that is, at the very culminating period of Luther's work as a Church Reformer, after the burning of the Papal bull, and before the Diet of Worms.

Strange stories occasionally come from the Black Country, but few are stranger than that which is related of a man living at Bilston. A collier lost his eyesight in December through the explosion of a blasting cartridge, and the other week, as he was being led home from a neighbouring village by a brother, a terrific thunderstorm commenced. Simultaneously with a flash of lightning, he experienced a piercing sensation from the eye to the back of the head and his sight was instantly restored.

Mildewed linen may be restored by soaping the spots, and while wet covering them with powdered chalk.

The Dead Sea, at its northern end, is but thirteen feet in depth, but at the southern end it is thirteen hundred.

Chiswick Cemetery.—The Home Secretary has ordered that a large tract of ground which has been recently acquired and added to the Chiswick Cemetery should be set aside for the use of the Roman Catholics of the district.

A Catholic total abstinence society has been brought into court in Philadelphia under the laws against gambling. They pleaded that a benevolent enterprise such as theirs, though using lotteries, could not be regarded as a swindling speculation. "If such things are allowed to be carried on by professedly good people," said Judge Biddle, "it is inconsistent to call upon us to convict other people." The relation between the grab-bag and the gaming-table is not inconceivable.

On June 8th last, a correspondent at Shepherd's Bush despatched a post-card from London, viâ the Brindisi and Suez Canal route, to Hong Kong, with the request that it might be forwarded to the addressee viâ San Francisco and New York. The card was duly received by the original sender a short time ago, the time taken in its transit round the world being exactly seventy days, which is about forty days less than the time taken ten years ago. The card was franked for 3½d.

A Thanksgiving Day.—Dr. Franklin says that, in a time of great despondency among the first settlers of New England, it was proposed in one of their public assemblies to proclaim a fast. An old farmer arose, spoke of their provoking Heaven with their complaints, reviewed their mercies, showed that they had much to be thankful for, and moved that, instead of appointing a day of fasting, they should appoint a day of thanksgiving. This was accordingly done, and the custom has continued ever since.

Diphtheria.—An American medical journal gives the following remedy for diphtheria, and says that where it has been applied promptly, it has never been known to fail. It is simply as follows:—"At the first indication of diphtheria in the throat of the child, make the room clean. Then take a tin cup and pour into it a quantity of tar and turpentine, equal parts. Then hold the cup over a fire so as to fill the room with the fumes. The patient, on inhaling the fumes, will fall asleep, and, when it awakes, it will cough up and spit out all the membranous matter, and diphtheria will pass off. The fumes of the tar and turpentine loose the matter in the throat, thus affording the relief that has baffled the skill of physicians." As the remedy is so simple, parents would do well to cut this out and preserve it.

An extraordinary affray took place at Manchester on Sunday, July 8th. The members of several prominent Orange lodges in the city were proceeding to a church, where special services were to be held, when they encountered in a narrow thoroughfare, inhabited chiefly by Irish Roman Catholics, a band of men and women, who rushed upon them with hatchets, knives, pokers, and bottles. Two men were seriously injured, and, but for the timely arrival of thirty policemen, the affray would probably have had a fatal termination.

How the Collie Reached his Home.—The following is a true story about a collie who took a hansom. He was lost in Oxford Street, London, so, after having spent some time in looking for him, his mistress went home, and what was her surprise, when she arrived, to see him in the hall. The butler told her the story, and it was this. After the dog had been lost, he saw an empty hansom, which he got into; and the cabby could not get him out, for he showed his teeth. He called a policeman, who could not move him either, but with some difficulty they read the name and address on his collar, and settled that it would be best to drive him to his home. They shut the doors, and drove him home. When he arrived, the cabby rang the bell, and asked for his fare (which he of course got), and then the butler opened the doors, and the dog jumped out as if nothing had happened.—From Little Folks' Magazine for August.

Walking from Edinburgh to London.—Mr. Ross Fraser, who, accompanied by a collie dog, started from Edinburgh on August 15th to walk to London in eight days, an average of about fifty miles per day, arrived in London on Sunday evening about eight o'clock. The pedestrian was awaited by a large concourse of people at Shoreditch Church, and heartily greeted. The route taken was from Edinburgh viâ Berwick, Newcastle, Durham, Darlington, Northallerton, Boroughbridge, Wetherby, Doncaster, Retford, Newark, Grantham, Stamford, Huntingdon, Royston, Ware, and Edmonton. Mr. Fraser seemed somewhat footsore on his arrival, but the dog appeared in no way the worse for the journey. The walk has not been accomplished in the time originally laid down, as Mr. Fraser's feet gave way owing to the unsuitability of his boots for the task he had taken upon himself. After a rest on this side of Berwick he resumed his walk, and finished the journey in excellent health.

WILLIAM, PRINCE OF ORANGE.

The great events which occurred in August, 1588, and November, 1688, are worthy of our remembrance and grateful acknowledgment before God, therefore we bring before our young readers, in a special way, the subjects of the Spanish Armada and the accession of William of Orange, which are of the greatest importance to all true Englishmen.

The following extracts, taken from an address, by Lord Robert Montagu, at a commemoration meeting at Leicester, will give our young readers an interesting and truthful account of the great historical facts referred to, in a very concise form.

He said there had been many commemoration meetings throughout the country, and why did they hold them? What were those meetings? Well, if he were asked that question, he should say that that meeting was a protest, and it was a commemoration. It was a protest against a conspiracy which had extended throughout the country, and had lasted a great number of years—a conspiracy to introduce one Romanizing practice after another into the worship of the Church of England, and endeavouring to assimilate, by all means possible, the Church of England to the Church of Rome. It was a protest against an attempt to reduce this country again, and bring it under the domination of Rome. It was a protest against the attempts that all Governments in recent years had had in hand, and made—no matter whether Liberal, Whig, or Conservative—to establish diplomatic relations with Rome. It was, lastly, a protest against an attempt, now a few centuries old, to ruin the backbone of Protestantism in Ireland—he meant the Protestant landlords, who were the chief friends of the union between England and Ireland. On all those points they protested.

But then that meeting was also a commemoration. Commemorations, it was true, might be good, or they might be bad. No one would ever think of merely commemorating bloodshed and slaughter, but they often commemorated the deeds of daring and prowess on the part of their ancestors, and they did so in the hope that others would follow their example. He knew not whether that kind of thing was good, because such commemorations tended to increase and foster national pride; but there was one kind of commemoration which was absolutely and naturally good—he meant the commemoration of the signal mercies which God had vouchsafed to the land. In doing so, they were merely taking the advice of King David, who, speaking of his own people, said, "They remembered not the mercy of the Lord, and so they provoked Him at the Red Sea." And so also the Apostle said, "We have received mercies, and therefore we faint not." Therefore, what he (the speaker) proposed to do that evening was to ask them to consider the mercies God had shown to this country—great and signal mercies—in the year 1588, in the year 1688, and in the year 1788; and, in doing so, he hoped he should be able to bring this thought into their minds—that, having received mercies, they should "faint not."

Now, first, with regard to 1588, the commemoration of the Spanish Armada—the invincible Armada, as it used to be called. They would remember, doubtless, from reading history, that King Philip of Spain was one of the most powerful monarchs that ever existed. The historian, Macaulay, had told them that on his empire the sun never set. King Philip counted upwards of one hundred millions of subjects, and he was by far the wealthiest sovereign that had existed since the days of Darius, and he was also a cruel and bloodthirsty sovereign. They knew how many thousands he killed in the Netherlands; how many poor Protestants he had slaughtered there. He had burnt at the stake every one he could in his dominions who dared to study the Bible.

Well, he it was whom the Pope commissioned to make a crusade against this country, to conquer it, and reduce it, so that it might again come under the domination of Rome. He was like Pharaoh of old; he had let the children of Israel go, and he repented himself of having done so, and sent an army to bring them back to the slavery of Egypt; and so the Pope, not having an army of his own, told Philip, who had the most powerful army and navy in the world, to pursue those English who had escaped from the tyranny of Rome and become Protestants, and to bring them back again under the domination of the Pope; and the Pope, in order to encourage the monarch, promised him certain indulgences and two hundred thousand golden crowns as payment at the beginning of the expedition, and the payment of another two hundred thousand golden crowns as soon as he set foot in England. And the Pope also, in order to make the task easier, set the Jesuits in this country to stir up disaffection in England and Scotland, and with the same object sent a special messenger to Ireland in order to cause a rebellion there, and so call off the forces of England.

Philip at once sent to the Duke of Parma, his governor in Belgium, instructions to prepare an army and fleet to co-operate with the Spanish force as soon as the Armada should arrive in the English Channel. The Armada consisted of 136 galleons, and forty smaller vessels, manned by twenty thousand marines; and there was also something else sent. What was that something else? The Chief Inquisitor, and 150 other inquisitors—Dominican monks—to act together, and to use every possible engine of torture, and in that way to convert the people of England to Rome. Besides these, Philip sent the very pick of his army, thirty-one thousand men and four thousand officers, over-land to Dunkerque to assist them in England as soon as he arrived. Here was the invincible Armada, and it was thought that such an Armada could not be withstood by that little puny England, for England was then but a small State, and had no colonies. The whole population of England then was not much larger than the population of London at the present time. Now, as for the Royal Navy, it consisted of twenty-eight ships; and how were they to cope with the 176 ships which composed the Spanish Armada? Why, it was impossible, unless the hand of God should come down to protect the Protestantism of England.

Well, on the 30th of July, the Armada appeared off Plymouth, and Drake and Frobisher, and Seymour and Hawkins, and Lord Howard, High Admiral of England—who was not a Catholic, whatever might be said to the contrary, but a Protestant—determined to oppose the Armada.

It was on Sunday, the 7th of August, that the Armada anchored in the roadstead of Dunkerque, and there waited for Parma's fleet. In the night, a light southerly wind sprung up, and eight ships were selected from the crowd of volunteer vessels that followed the fleet; their masts were smeared with pitch, and their hulls filled with powder and all kinds of explosive and combustible materials. These ships were set fire to, and sent down on to the Armada. What the Spaniards ought to have done, and what could have been very easily done, would have been to cut their cables and allowed the fire-ships to pass them; but the Spaniards seemed to have lost their presence of mind.

However, at length they cut their cables and ran into the North Sea; but the English followed them, and there was a tremendous battle. The Spanish ships were so full of soldiers and sailors that every English shot told ten-fold. Five thousand of the Spanish were killed and not one hundred English wounded. A hasty council of officers was held on the Duke Medina's ship as to whether they should return to their anchorage off Dunkerque, or go back to Spain by way of the Orkneys, and they determined, like craven cowards, to run round by the north of Scotland and Ireland, and so on to the coast of Spain, because they dared not face the English in the Straits of Dover. Admiral Seymour watched them. They could not all pursue the Armada. A small squadron only went, and when they came to the Firth of Forth, Seymour ran short of ammunition. Now what he wanted to show them was, that it was not Seymour that was protecting England, but the Almighty Himself. Seymour had no sooner put into harbour than a hurricane rose up, and subsequently the shores of Ireland were strewn with the bodies of the dead, and the wreckage of the galleons. Only a few reached Spain to give mournful tidings of the disaster, and then it was found that there was not a family in Spain that was not in mourning for the loss of relatives. As the Egyptians were overthrown in the Red Sea, so the Spaniards were overthrown in the North Sea; and it was God that did all. Queen Elizabeth and the English people knew that well, for Queen Elizabeth struck a medal in commemoration of the event, and the motto on the medal was, "God blew upon them with His winds, and scattered them." She took no credit to herself, no credit to her navy, no credit to the English people; for it was God who did it all. From that day the power of Spain had dwindled and waned, until Spain had sunk to a fifth-rate power, and nobody thought of Spain in the councils of Europe. But what was the case with little England, then with hardly any colonies? God said, "Thou hast been faithful in little things; be thou ruler over ten great cities"; and now we had ten great colonies.

And now they would pass away from that subject, and see what happened at the end of the next hundred years—in 1688. He must first remind them what was the state of things in 1687. There was then a Roman Catholic king upon the throne of England. He was not only a Roman Catholic, but was an avowed and sworn Jesuit—James II. There was then, also, a conspiracy all over England—favoured by some of the bishops and many of the clergy—to introduce the ritual of Rome into the English Church. There was then, as there is now, attempts to open up diplomatic relations between the throne and the Vatican. There was then an attempt to ruin the landlords of Ireland, so as to get rid of Protestantism, and separate Ireland from England. To whom did England look at that time for help? There was then no great Protestant Germany; but there was a small State, smaller than England—he meant Holland—but it was not similarly yoked. It was here that the hand of God first began to show itself in the year 1685. On account of the action of Louis XIV., who was the mainstay of Roman Catholicism in Europe, all the best soldiers, generals, and artisans in Paris left France and went to Holland. In England James II. gradually deposed Protestants and substituted Roman Catholics in all positions of importance and influence. The people, becoming alarmed, sought the aid of William, Prince of Orange, who had married a member of the English Royal family; and on the 1st of November, 1688, William sailed on his mission to this country. A strong wind was blowing, which took him gaily on his journey; and that wind not only sent him gaily on his mission, but prevented Lord Dartmouth, who was on the Thames, from getting out. God was determined to show that success had not been arrived at by man; and on November 6th, in a fog, William and his friends arrived at a distance beyond Torbay. When the fog lifted, and the sunshine beamed forth, William gaily sailed into Torbay. Then there were two days of calm weather, during which William landed his army and his stores, and James's forces could not attack, owing to the stillness of the wind. Still James might have struck a blow, as his troops had converged at Salisbury; but God struck fear into his heart. He dressed himself as a fisherman, got into a fishing-boat, and went to France. But our forefathers did not say to William, "Please take the crown and govern." They said, "We have certain rights; will you promise always to observe those rights? If so, you may sit upon the throne." And William promised that he would do so, and, as they knew, they had now the Act of Rights. One of the clauses of that Act was that, if the sovereign became a Roman Catholic, the throne should be instantly vacated. It was settled that no communion should be held with Rome; that was to say, that no diplomacy should exist between England and Rome. That Act was passed, and remained the same to this day. He would read them what Lord Macaulay said of the two events to which he referred:—

"The weather had indeed served the Protestant cause so well that some men (e.g., Bishop Burnet), of more piety than judgment, fully believed the ordinary laws of nature to have been suspended for the preservation of the liberty or religion of England. Exactly a hundred years before, they said, the Armada, invincible by man, had been scattered by the wrath of God. Civil freedom and divine truth were again in jeopardy; and again the obedient elements had fought for the good cause. The wind had blown strong from the east while the Prince wished to sail down the channel, had turned to the south when he wished to enter Torbay, had sunk to a calm during the disembarkation, and, as soon as the disembarkation was completed, had risen to a storm, and had met the pursuers in the face. Nor did men omit to remark that, by an extraordinary coincidence, the Prince had reached our shores on a day on which the Church of England commemorated, by prayers and thanksgiving, the wonderful escape of the Royal House, and of the three Estates, from the blackest plot ever designed by Papists."

Now they had seen God's mercy in 1588 and in 1688, and now let them turn to 1788. It was not so striking, he would allow, as the other events, but it was not less real. And why was it not so striking? In former days men knew very well what the Government did, as there was no secrecy about it. In these days nobody knew what were the views and the intentions of the Government. It was all done underhanded, secretly, and no one knew anything about it. They gathered a little from the newspapers and tried to put it together as well as they could; consequently, that system having been in vogue in 1788, they did not know exactly what took place.

In the year 1787, Charles Edward Catesby was a pretender to the throne, and the Pope was again anxious to bring England under him, and he made secret allies of all the Roman Catholics to put this Charles on the throne of England. A body was to land in Scotland, and £20,000 was to be given to the Highlanders to rise in rebellion. The French had an army ready, and they were to land on the south coast of England and march to London, so as to prevent the troops going forth to put down Edward.

In that same year the Prince Regent did that thing which, according to the Act of William, made him vacate the throne for ever. He married a Roman Catholic in 1787. Notwithstanding the fact that he tried to keep it a secret at first, it afterwards leaked out through the indiscretion of a member of the House of Commons. Pitt said at first that the Prince Regent had denied it stoutly; but there were those present in the Roman Catholic Church at the time he was married; and when it was proved, Pitt then said the Act of Parliament prevented any one of the Royal family being married without the consent of Parliament, and argued that the Prince was not married. He married a German princess, and put her away, and came to the throne as George IV.

Then came 1788, when God struck that Charles with death; and then an alliance was made between Protestant England and Russia to support each other against any Roman Catholic emperor. This was not so striking a display of God's mercy as was shown in the case of the Armada; but in them all they saw the hand of God. They saw great mercy in 1588, in 1688, and in 1788, for the protection of Protestantism; and what cared they whether in 1888 ministers should try to bring them under the domination of Rome? They knew that God was a tower of strength, and that they could rely on Him. Let them think and meditate on His mercies, and then they would not fail.

"Now the Lord had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah. And Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights."—Jonah i. 17.

Upon the question as to what was the fish that swallowed Jonah, Dr. Raleigh remarks ("The Story of Jonah," p. 148):—

"The Bible does not say that a whale was the prophet's jailer. The infidel has said that, and then has enjoyed the easy triumph of proving the natural impossibility of it. Jonah says 'a great fish' swallowed him. Our Lord uses a phrase exactly similar. He uses a generic term, which includes the whale, but is never applied to the whale particularly. The dolphin, the seal, the whale, the shark, are all included in the term that is used, and there is strong probability in the supposition that the white shark is the creature designated as the 'great fish.' Sharks abounded in the Mediterranean at that time. They have been found there ever since, and are found there still. In length some of them have attained to thirty feet and upwards, of capacity in other ways sufficient to incarcerate Samson of Zorah, or Goliath of Gath, as well as the probably attenuated prophet of Gath-hepher.

"It is related that a horse was found in the stomach of a shark, and there are many instances of men being swallowed alive—not fabulous and doubtful stories, but instances well authenticated. One, of a soldier in full armour. One, of a sailor who fell overboard, and, was swallowed in the very sight of his comrades. The captain seized a gun, shot the fish in a sensitive part, which then cast out the sailor into the sea, who was taken up, amazed and terrified, but little hurt.

"Every one knows that the shark is a most voracious creature. Its teeth are only incisive. It has no power of holding. It can snap and sever limbs, or trunk, or head, sheer and certainly as though its jaws were a guillotine. But in that case it secures only what is within the jaws. The rest is apt to be lost. Its habit, therefore, is to swallow the prey alive, that it may lose nothing. Thus God made the voracity of the fish the means of protection and safety to His servant."

Heart-work must be God's work. Only the great Heart-maker can be the great Heart-breaker. If I love Him, my heart will be filled with His spirit, and obedient to His commands.—Baxter.

The great design, both in judgments and mercies, is to convince us that there is none like the Lord our God; none so wise, so mighty, so good; no enemy so formidable, no friend so desirable, so valuable.—Matthew Henry.

The longest wire in the world extends from 18, Old Broad Street, London, E.C., to 29, Cable Street, Calcutta, over seven thousand miles. A telegraphic expert, who visited the London end of the wire, says:—

We have often heard of the wonderful line between this country and Teheran, the capital of Persia, a distance of three thousand eight hundred miles, but we scarcely realized the fact that good signals were obtainable through so great a length of wire until recently, when we availed ourselves of an invitation from Mr. W. Andrews, the managing director of the Indo-European Telegraph Company, to make a visit of inspection.

It was between seven and eight o'clock when we reached the office. In the basement of an unpretentious building in Old Broad Street we were shown the Morse printer in connection with the main line from London to Teheran.

The courteous clerk in charge of the wire, Mr. Blagrove, informed us that we were through to Emden, and with the same ease with which one "wires" from the City to the West End, we asked a few questions of the telegraphist in the German town.

When we had finished with Emden, we spoke with the same facility to the gentleman on duty at Odessa. This did not satisfy us, and in a few seconds we were through to the Persian capital, Teheran.

There were no messages about, the time was favourable, and the employés of the various countries seemed anxious to give us an opportunity of testing the capacity of this wonderful wire. T.H.N. (Teheran) said, "Call Kurrachee," and in less time than it takes to write these words we gained the attention of the Indian town. The signals were good, and our speed must have equalled fifteen words a minute.

The operator at Kurrachee, when he learnt that London was speaking to him, thought it would be a good opportunity to put us through to Agra, and to our astonishment the signals did not fail, and we chatted pleasantly for a few minutes with Mr. Malcolm Khan, the clerk on duty.

To make this trial of telegraphy complete, Agra switched us on to another line, and we were soon talking to a native telegraphist at the Indian Government Cable Station, Calcutta.

At first the gentleman at the other end of the wire could not believe that he was really in direct communication with the English capital, and he exclaimed, in Morse language, "Are you really London?"

Truly this was a great achievement. Metallic communication, without a break, from 18, Old Broad Street, London, to the telegraph office in Calcutta! Seven thousand miles of wire! The signals were excellent, and the speed attained was no fewer than twelve, perhaps fourteen, words per minute.

(Page 235.)

"Jesus wept."—John xi. 35.

J otham Judges ix. 5.
E glon Judges iii. 14.
S apphira Acts v. 1, 2.
U zzah 2 Samuel vi. 7.
S amuel 1 Samuel i. 14.

W ater Exodus xvii. 3.
E noch Hebrews xi. 5.
P otiphar Genesis xxxix. 1.
T homas Acts i. 13.

Ruth Crowhurst
(Aged 9 years).
Hastings.

"Around the throne of God in heaven
Thousands of children stand;
Children whose sins are all forgiven—
A holy, happy band."

Of the truth of these lines there can be no doubt in the minds of God's people, and a very blessed truth it is. There is a heaven of joy and love, and in this heaven there is the throne of God, and many dear children are standing around this throne, singing praises unto God and the Lamb. Their sins forgiven, their sorrows gone, their sufferings ended, death past, joy, and peace, and glory eternal now begun, who is there that could not desire to be with them, and to be as they are? Among this happy band we hope the two young ones—brother and sister—Ellen and Henry, whose names are at the top of this page, are now standing; and to give some reason of this hope is now our object in writing these few lines.

Many, alas! have hopes of salvation and heaven for which their life and testimony can afford no solid ground for them to rest upon, and whose hope will one day make them ashamed, and, like the flickering lamps of the foolish virgins, will go out when the Bridegroom comes.

Ellen and Henry were the children of praying parents, and, both of them being members of the Church at Bodle Street, their children attended the Sabbath School connected with that cause. The mother died in 1882, of consumption, and some of the children soon manifested symptoms of the same disease. An elder sister kept house, and as the younger ones grew up, they had to go out to earn their bread.

Ellen was sent to service soon after she was twelve years old, and not living far from the school, she was permitted still to attend; and certainly she was a girl that needed no constraint in this matter, for if her duties kept her on Sundays until too late for the lessons, she would even then take her seat with the class while she listened to the sermon.

How often children manifest a dislike to the house of God, and how soon there is an enmity appearing against good things! To many, attendance both at school and the house of God is a burden, and when they grow older they cast off all restraint and run wildly into sin. To such, parental control is hateful; the wise counsels of father and mother are scorned; the family altar, if possible, avoided; and their inward idea is that, when they leave home, they shall then go on as they like, and have their fill of pleasure. If any such children are reading these lines, let them pause and tremble, for there is an Eye watching their every thought, and an Almighty Arm that can reach them; and, sooner or later, there will be a bringing into judgment, and who can say how soon?

But certainly, with Ellen, it was her delight to go to the house of God. The writer has met her many times on Sunday mornings on her way, her face bright and happy, a stronger bond than duty binding her close to God's people.

In the autumn of 1887, the fatal languor that often accompanies consumption appeared in Ellen, and, though she bore up bravely for a little time, she had at length to leave her place and go home. Going home to die seems hard for young ones like Ellen to think of, yet there is no staying the Hand that strikes. The summons must be obeyed. In such a case the great question arises, "Are we ready, or are we not?" Ellen's earthly home had no mother to welcome the child, or to soothe her in her dying hours; and no one can truly fill the mother's place at such a time. But it was not to be long. Soon she was beyond the reach of mortal aid, and want, pain, and care had passed away for ever.

The father gives the following particulars of what he witnessed in Ellen, and it is well indeed when parents can give such testimonies of their children:—

"She was a very dutiful girl, and very quiet—so much so, that I seldom had to rebuke her; always very attentive at school, and, when out at service, she would attend the house of God if possible. All this was very good; but I wanted something further, and when she first came home ill, I wanted it made manifest that the Lord had begun a work of grace in her soul, and that she had been truly 'born again.'

"One morning, as I went home from chapel, Ellen said to me, 'Father, Mr. D—— has been to see me.' I then asked her, 'Did he talk to you? and did you like what he said?' She answered, 'Yes, very much, and I should like for him to come again.' Then, bursting into tears, she said, 'I should so like to be able to answer him better, but I cannot. I should so much like to go to chapel again.' And when her sister asked her if she thought she should get better, she said she did not know, but should so like to go to school once more.

"The night before she died, I saw a great change in her, and I asked her if she ever prayed to the Lord for mercy. 'Yes,' she said, 'sometimes I wake up in the night and pray to Him. I should not mind death if I knew my sins were pardoned. There is nothing to stop here for if I knew this.'"

The writer has seen her weep much, when speaking to her of the certainty of death and the judgment, the sufferings of Jesus, and the abundance of pardon through His blood. Can there be a more touching sight than to see a child fourteen years old weeping and praying in sincerity for mercy, as a guilty sinner before God?

Ellen died so suddenly that nothing further was gathered from her lips, but we believe her end was peace. She quietly passed away on February 10th, 1888, aged fourteen years.

In connection with her and her prayers and tears, these lines seem very sweet to me—

"Did ever mourner plead with Thee,
And Thou reject that mourner's plea?
Does not Thy Word of truth remain,
That none shall seek Thy face in vain?"

Henry was two years older than his sister Ellen, and, like her, had to commence work early, and bear the yoke in his youth. He had been a regular attendant at the Sabbath School, and was truly a promising boy. Quiet and serious he went on his way, and read his Bible, which, through faith in Christ Jesus, is able to make wise unto salvation. He was, in the leadings of Providence, called to labour at a place where he had some work to do on Sunday mornings, and it was noticed that he seemed put out in his mind if he was ever prevented from attending school.

In the spring of 1888 the same disease that cut down his mother and sister appeared in Henry, and he had to leave his place and go home. The teachers of the school and the friends around could see his days on earth must now be very few, and that he too, like Ellen, had come home to die. Yet he went to school a few times after this, and in May went to Hailsham to spend a few days with some friends. Here we had an opportunity of observing him closely, but he was scarcely able to say a word about himself. He was failing fast at this time, and truly it was sorrowful to see how feebly he moved about. When visiting the field on Whit Monday, where the Sunday School children were having their treat, what a contrast we beheld between the bright, healthy, happy children, and the poor, pale, languid, dying boy looking on!

Soon after this he went back home, and went out but little afterwards. He gradually wasted in body and strength, and could no longer attend the school, though living but a few yards from it.

And now came the time of testing the matter, whether there was anything of the work of the Holy Spirit in him, or whether it consisted in merely coming and going to and from the house of God.

Let our readers reflect, this time of testing is coming to every one of us, and we shall soon be brought where our young friend was—to lie down and die, and thus appear before God.

We will now give some particulars of his last words and exercises, and thus let our readers think for themselves what ground we have for our hope that this dear young lad is now in heaven.

His father writes thus of his concern—"I had watched him for some time, thinking I could see some signs of concern, and that he was different from what he had been. I was almost sure he had been at times trying to pray, but he would not let me see him if he could help it. According as his illness came on he took more to his Bible and hymn-book, and they were his daily and hourly companions. The friends in the school were much concerned about him, and talked to him about his soul, but could not get anything from him. Yet he seemed to like to hear them, so I asked him if he did not enjoy what they said. He said 'Yes,' but did not wish to say anything wrong, though he hoped that some of the things spoken were the workings of his mind. I was very much concerned about him myself, and my desire was, that the Lord would make it manifest that He had a favour toward him. Once, when about my work, I could not help asking the Lord for this, when these words came with some sweetness, 'At evening time it shall be light'; then I had a hope that the Lord would appear for him. Soon after this he had these words come with some power, 'When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee'; and then he expressed the hope that the Lord would be with him in the river of death.

"When he was confined to his bed he seemed very restless, and being in great exercise of mind, he folded his hands, and we could see his lips move, but could not hear the words.

"Once, when I came home late from my work, and went into his bed-room, he called me to him and said, 'I have had a blessed afternoon, for the Lord has been with me, and I can leave you all now, and everything of earth; and I believe that I shall go to heaven. I have prayed for you all.' I told him I was very glad—more so than if any one had given me gold, and asked him how it came to pass—whether it was by any word coming with power or otherwise? He said, 'No, but it was a sweet, humbling influence which so softened my heart, and drew my affections to the Lord Jesus. It enables me to bear my sufferings better, and I lie more comfortable.'

"A great change was seen in him after this. His mind seemed much brighter, and he laid more calm and quiet. I told him that he perhaps might feel after this comfort some distress of mind again, and he said, 'I have been in distress of mind, father, and the Lord has blessed me.' This was about a week before he died. We thought he would have been taken away sooner, and he felt so himself, for soon after his deliverance he called us all around him, and shook hands with us all, and gave each one something to keep in remembrance of him. I asked him then if he felt the Lord was with him. He said, 'Yes, I fancy I can see Him coming.' But he recovered from this, and I then said to him, 'The Lord did not come as soon as you expected?' and he answered, 'No; but I must wait the Lord's time.'

"He asked once that I would pray to the Lord to come and take him, and then asked his sisters to sing the hymn commencing, 'How sweet the name of Jesus sounds.' He then said, 'Oh, now I could sing!' I asked him if he could sing that hymn. He said, 'Yes, if I had breath.' Mr. Reed asked him if he could say that Jesus had done all things well. He answered, 'Yes, I have said so, and I can say it again.' He was then asked what his hopes for eternity were. He soon replied, 'Nothing but the blood and righteousness of the Lord Jesus Christ.'

"Speaking to one of his sisters, he said, 'I hope that you pray to the Lord to be your Saviour, and that you read your Bible. Once I did not like reading it, and when father made me come in to read, it almost made me cry, but now it is the best treasure I have on earth.'

"I asked him if he had anything to tell Mr. Daw, 'Yes,' he replied, 'the first Sunday after uncle was buried, June 24th, 1888, when he was preaching from this, "I know that my Redeemer liveth," I felt blessed then, and the tears ran down my face, but the feeling was soon gone.'

"The hymn commencing—

"Awake, ye saints, and sweetly sing
The ascended Saviour's love,

was very much blessed to him, and he asked for it to be sung when he was once suffering much for want of breath; then he said, 'I feel as though I could jump into the arms of Jesus.'

"About half-an-hour before he died he cried out, 'Oh, what a mighty Saviour! I shall soon be before the throne, and sing the praises of the Lamb. Don't sorrow.' I said, 'Not for you,' and he replied, 'No.'

"One remarking how ill he seemed, he said, 'I hope I shall soon be better.' 'When you get to heaven,' I whispered, and he said, 'Yes.'

"At another time a remark was made about his pillow being hard. He said, 'It will be soft in heaven.'

"The last audible words from his lips were, 'Rest, father!' and so he died on the 22nd day of August, 1888, aged sixteen years."

Here the father's narrative ends, and truly we can hope that he went right to heaven, and that for him to die was gain. Brother and sister now lie side by side in the pleasant burial-ground at Bodle Street, awaiting the resurrection morning. Can we not, to close these few lines, also say the last verse of the hymn of which we have given the first—

"On earth they sought the Saviour's grace,
On earth they loved His name,
So now they see His blessed face,
And stand before the Lamb"?

When Augustine, in his home at Carthage, resolved to visit Rome, his mother wished either to prevent him from going, or to go with him. He would listen to neither proposal, and resorted to a trick to carry out his plan. One evening he went to the sea-shore, and his mother followed. There were two chapels dedicated to the memory of the martyr Cyprian, and he pressed her to spend one evening in the church of the martyr, while he would accompany a friend on board a ship, there to say farewell. While she was there in tears, praying and wrestling with God to prevent the voyage, Augustine sailed for Italy, and his deceived mother next morning found herself alone. In quiet resignation she returned to the city, and continued to pray for the salvation of her son. Though meaning well, yet she erred in her prayers, for the journey of Augustine was the means of his salvation. The denial of the prayer was, in fact, the answering of it. Instead of the husk, God granted rather the substance of her petition in the conversion of her son. "Therefore," said he, "O God, Thou hadst regard to the aim and essence of her desires, and didst not do what she then prayed for, that Thou mightest do for me what she continually implored."

The following interesting incident was related to the writer by a gentleman, who had the narrative from the merchant himself to whom it occurred.

When a youth, the latter obtained a situation in a provision store in one of the great mercantile cities of the United States. On the first Saturday evening, he was told by his employer that he would be expected to be at his business post the next day, the same as usual. On the lad respectfully replying that he could not do so, as he had always been taught by his friends to honour the Lord's Day, he was bluntly told that, if he would not do what he was asked, he might come on Monday morning and get his wages, as there would be no further occasion for his services.

We may imagine how such a notice was calculated to discourage the youth; nevertheless he kept to his resolution, and, after a Sabbath spent in a right manner, proceeded on the Monday to get his discharge.

It was his duty to open the store, and as he was on his way to it, he noticed a man, as the morning was dark, trying to make out the inscriptions over the warehouse doors.

Asking him what he wanted, the man replied that he was a ship-captain, and was looking for a provision store in order to get supplies for his vessel, which was coming down the river with the tide. The youth willingly, forgetting his employer's unkind threat of dismissal, at once told the stranger that if he would go with him to his master's premises, he would be sure to find there the articles he was in search of.

On getting to the stores, the captain selected a large supply of provisions, for which he paid well. In short, it was an excellent commercial transaction. When he came to pay the money, the chief clerk, who had now made his appearance, made out the account, and saw that the notes given in payment were those of good banks—a point of no small importance in those days of unsound American currency. By this time, too, the stranger's ship had arrived at the wharf attached to the store, and the goods were placed on board of it, when it proceeded on its voyage.

At a later hour the youth's employer came to business, and the clerk told him that the new lad had been doing an excellent stroke of business before others were astir that morning.

"A very good price, too, he has got for the goods," said the master, as he looked at the invoice. "But," he continued, "depend upon it, he has been taken in, and got bad notes."

"No," replied the clerk; "that's all right. I attended to that myself."

Presently the youth came up to his employer's desk.

"Well," said he, good-humouredly, "what do you want?"

"Oh, sir, you told me I was to come to you to-day, and get my wages and my dismissal."

"Nonsense!" rejoined the master; "go to your work, and let me hear no more of that."

So to work he went, and kept his situation, and a good conscience. When our informant heard the anecdote from him, he had become a successful trader, God having blessed his youthful conscientiousness.

This incident reminds us of another of somewhat the same character, which was told us by a gentleman, now dead, who at the time held a very important position on the staff of one of our great religious societies.

"When I was a youth," so his narrative ran, "I was sent by my friends to one of the principal towns in an island in the West Indies, to be apprenticed as an articled clerk to a firm of solicitors there. My connections at home, although not Evangelical Christians, respected religion, and when I left, they counselled me to be always particular in observing the Lord's Day and reverencing it.

"WELL, WHAT DO YOU WANT?" (See page 252.)

"On getting to my new situation, the managing clerk, at the close of the first week, told me that I should be expected to put in my appearance at the office on Sunday. I told him that I had been always taught not to do any work on that day, and that I meant to go to church. To church I accordingly went. On the Monday, when I returned to the office, one of the partners, a lively little man, looked hard at me, but said nothing. The next Sunday and the next I pursued the same course, without any objection being made to it. There were other articled clerks in the office, and they, seeing what I did, gradually did the same, without any opposition from the principals. In course of time, some of the partners ceased to come, until at last the little man I have named was the only one who came, and that for an hour or two. Even this in time ceased, and the office was shut up on the Sunday. Then, more curious still, the other solicitors in the town followed the example that our office had set, till, ere long, no business at all was done on the Lord's Day by any solicitor in the place."

A third anecdote connected with the Lord's Day may here also appropriately be given. The incident occurred to the grandfather of the gentleman who narrated it to us.

The late Lord L—— was well known as a brave warrior during the Peninsular War. His lordship, on his return to Scotland, was anxious to have some timber on his estate cut down, that he might discharge certain pressing debts. Without giving any notice of his intention, he called one Sunday morning upon my friend's grandfather, just as he was preparing to go with his family to church, and asked him to walk with him over the estate, that they might together see what timber was fit for cutting.

The grandfather respectfully replied that that day he had another Master whom he must serve, but that he would be ready at any hour on a working day to be promptly at his lordship's service. His lordship merely said, "Very well," and named another day, when the agent attended him, and did the work that was wanted of him, apparently to his lordship's satisfaction.

The matter seemed to have blown over, when shortly afterwards the agent, who had been many years in his lordship's service, received a notice that he was wanted to meet Lord L—— at the office of his man of business on a particular day, and in a neighbouring town. The request was an unusual one, and much surmising took place among his friends as to what could be the meaning of it.

"Depend upon it," said some, who pretended to see farther than others, "his lordship, though he said nothing at the time, has taken offence at your refusal to work for him on Sunday, and, now that the business is finished, intends to give you notice of dismissal."

The day came, and the agent kept the appointment, when, to his joyful surprise, instead of giving a notice of dismissal, his lordship told him, with expressions of esteem, that he desired to show his sense of the conscientious manner in which he had so long discharged his duties, and that he had asked him to attend in order that he might settle a pension upon him.

The reader may imagine his happiness when he found all his fears at an end, and had this proof of the approbation of his conduct by a divine and an earthly master. The worthy man lived long to enjoy Lord L——'s bounty, having died at the age of 102. On the anniversary of his hundredth birthday, some of his neighbours, by whom he was much respected, entertained him at a public dinner, and gave him a Bible, accompanied with the hope that he might have to the end of his pilgrimage the guidance of Him who had guided him "a hundred years."—H. M., in Friendly Greetings.

Shall I vex your patience, Johnnie,
If I write again?
Would you rather I should leave you
Brooding o'er your pain?

Does your little heart grow tired
Of the outside noise?
Will you never tell your sorrows?
Must you hide your joys?

Then I'll go to Jesus, Johnnie—
Go to Him, and say—
"There's a weary child, Lord Jesus,
Needs Thy love to-day.

"Listen to his father's praying;
See his mother's tears;
Speak, oh, speak to little Johnnie!
Speak, and hush our fears.

"He was born a wretched sinner;
Does he know it, Lord?
Thou hast promises for sinners,
In Thy precious Word.

"Speak, oh, speak to little Johnnie,
That our aching hearts
May be comforted about him
When his soul departs.

"We have told him of Thy mercy,
Told him of Thy wrath;
Told him of the untold terrors
Of the second death.

"But the voice that wakes an echo
In the silent one,
And the hand that opens heaven,
Jesus, are Thine own.

"Lord, we cannot help repeating,
Speak to him to-day;
Hope, nor prayer, nor mercy cometh
To the mouldering clay.

"Now the heart and flesh are failing,
Now the need is true,
Hell beneath, and heaven above him,
Stoop, Lord, lift him through."

I have said all this to Jesus,
Johnnie dear, for you;
Tell your mother if He answers;
She is praying too.

Oh, if you but hear Him whisper,
"Guilty sinner, come!"
Break away to Jesus, Johnnie;
He will take you home.

M. A. Chaplin.

Galleywood, Chelmsford.

A king of Israel.

A king of Moab.

Absalom's general.

The son of Ham.

A river.

A son of Jacob.

A king of Israel.

A priest.

Abram's brother.

A precious stone.

A king of Bashan.

Something sent to various kings by God.

A servant of Ahab.

An animal mentioned in the Bible.

Winnie Langman
(Aged 10 years).

Battersea.

Nov. 4. Commit to memory Ps. cxxvii. i.
Nov. 11. Commit to memory Ps. cxxvii. 2.
Nov. 18. Commit to memory Ps. cxxv. 2.
Nov. 25. Commit to memory Ps. cxxv. 3.

"The Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire."—Genesis xix. 24.

Sulphur is one of the most inflammable substances known, and will melt in fire but not in water. The meaning of the word "sulphur" is, the burning or fiery stone. This substance is obtained in most parts of the world, but is very abundant in volcanic regions. It doubtless helps to feed those terrific fires of the earth which occasionally burst forth in all their fury, pouring liquid lava upon the valleys beneath, and overwhelming cities in destruction. The smoke which issues from the craters of volcanoes is impregnated with sulphur; indeed, this substance is often found encrusted round the mouths of these burning mountains.

Italy and Sicily produce the best sulphur in a native state, and in very large quantity. This is imported into England, is refined, and in its respective processes produces the roll brimstone, rock brimstone, and flowers of sulphur, all so well known in commerce. Sulphur also exists in some of our mineral springs, as that of Harrogate, in Yorkshire. It is found in the combination of several metallic ores, such as pyrites or sulphuret of iron, and sulphurets of zinc, copper, and lead. In some of its forms it exists in some plants. This may be proved by leaving a silver spoon in mustard; the colour of the spoon will soon be changed to a blackish tinge. It is the presence of this principle in assafœtida which causes it to smell so disagreeably. Silver put into the same pocket with sulphur soon loses its brightness.

Sulphur is applied to a variety of purposes. It is largely used in the manufacture of sulphuric acid, and forms about a tenth component part in the manufacture of English gunpowder. As a medicine it is very useful.

There appears to be an allusion to its appropriation for gunpowder in Revelation ix. 17, 18. Many eminent expositors of the Revelation agree in supposing that the flashes of fire, attended by smoke and brimstone, "whereby men were killed," which seemed to proceed from the mouths of the horses, were really the flashes of artillery. The heads of the horses alone would be seen through the sulphureous smoke, while in reality the flashes and smoke proceeded from the cannon. The whole appears imagery of a battle scene, and is thought to refer to the Turks, who first turned to account the invention of gunpowder in carrying on their wars.

"The Lord rained upon Sodom and Gomorrah brimstone and fire" (or burning brimstone). As these cities were situated in the vale of Siddim, which, as the sacred writer informs us, was full of bitumen pits, many learned men are of opinion that it does not detract from the supernatural character of this awful visitation to suppose that the wonder-working God saw fit to employ natural agencies in effecting the purposes of His will; and it is thought that, as sulphur exists in the neighbouring hills, it might have been ignited by lightning, and poured down like rain upon the vale below. The quantity of pitch already existing in the vale would be set on fire, and thus the cities would be destroyed, and the character of the valleys thereby changed.

Be this as it may, the statement of the sacred writer is clear, and we may safely interpret it as implying a shower of inflamed sulphur or nitre. At the same time, it is evident that the whole plain underwent a simultaneous convulsion, which seems referable to the consequences of bituminous explosion. In accordance with this view, we find the materials, as it were, of this awful visitation near at hand, for, at the present day, sulphur is found on the shores of the Dead Sea, which occupies the site of the cities of the plain; and the Arabs obtain enough from the cliffs to make their own gunpowder. Irby and Mangles collected on the southern coasts lumps of fine sulphur, from the size of a nutmeg up to that of a small hen's egg, which it was evident from their situation had been brought down from the neighbouring hills by the rain.

Life is before you, friend of mine;
What it may bring we cannot divine;
The path outspread is all untrod;
Unknown are its windings to all but God.

The sun will shine with its gladsome ray,
And sometimes clouds overshadow the day;
Your heart may be lifted with joy untold;
But remember the same is not yours to hold.

At your bidding it comes not, nor does it stay;
But when One speaks it flies away;
And why is this? That One is Love,
And seeks to lead your heart above.

Were earthly happiness all your own,
You never would wish a heavenly throne;
So joys are given, they come, and end,
As seemeth best to our Lord and Friend.

Then let us entrust them to His care,
And of thinking them ours to keep, beware;
Let us seek in the gift the Giver to see,
And trust to His love and wise decree.

Should sorrow and sadness our path attend,
And dark seem the way to our journey's end,
Let us look above to the Hand that guides,
And trust His love whatever betides.

No sorrow is sent with purposeless aim,
But each has its destined end to gain;
He loves us so dearly, and shed His blood
To lead us up to the throne of God.

And think you that He would afflict His child
With needless pains in this desert wild?
No; though all that's sent we can't understand,
Let us never distrust the guiding Hand.

His wisdom is perfect, His love divine,
And changeth not with the flight of time;
To the trustful heart that resteth in Him
He has promised joys that never shall dim.

A quiet peace surrounds its path,
Surpassing all that the worldling hath;
May this be yours in that winding way;
May it lead you up to the "perfect day."

Lewarn Clayton.

"They that sow in tears shall reap in joy."—Psalm cxxvi. 5.

The farmer in Palestine had frequently to sow with an armed man attending him, to prevent his being robbed of his seed. A similar state of danger appears still to prevail. Tristram, in his "Land of Israel," says:—

"In descending the hill from Bethany we saw an illustration of the wretched insecurity of the country, in a drove of donkeys laden with firewood for Jerusalem. Each ass was attended by a man armed to the teeth with pistols, sword, and a long gun; and in one little valley—the only one beyond Bethany where there was any cultivation—each ploughman was holding his firelock in one hand while he guided the plough with the other."

"A ship ashore! A ship ashore!" was the cry which rang through the streets of St. Andrew's, Scotland, one fearful winter's day some years ago. This thrilling cry roused every inhabitant. Citizens, University students, and sailors, rushed with pale faces and rapid steps along the street towards a bay to the eastward of the town. Standing on the shore, the crowd was terror-stricken and paralyzed through beholding a vessel stranded on a sand-bank but a few rods from the beach. She was shrouded in surfy mist; the waves dashed furiously against her, and broke over her decks with irresistible fury. Yet, through the thick air and the driving sleet, the people on the shore could now and then catch glimpses of the doomed crew clinging, with the clutch of despair, to the rigging of the wreck. There were many bold, brave men in that sympathizing crowd of spectators, but none who dared to venture through the mighty surges to save those ill-fated sailors. It seemed, indeed, to the stoutest heart, too mighty a task for mortal man to attempt. All could sympathize with the wretched ones; none but God, they thought, could save them.

But there was one heroic soul in that eager, wistful crowd who thought that man, with God's help, might snatch those perishing men from the door of doom. He was a young man—a University student—strong in body, but still stronger in spirit. "Bring me a rope," he cried; "I will try to save them." A strong rope was brought, and fastened about his waist. Followed by the prayers of many and the good wishes of all, this chivalric youth struggled, with desperate courage, through the terrific surf into the deep water beyond. Then, with the strength of a young giant, guided by the skill of the experienced swimmer, he slowly worked his way towards the vessel's side. He had nearly reached it when his friends, alarmed by the length of time and slowness of his progress, began pulling him back. Then his courage rose to the sublimest height of self-sacrifice. He forgot himself. He would save the men clinging in desperation to yon vessel's shrouds, or perish in the attempt. Grasping the knife that he carried between his teeth, he cut the rope by which his kind-hearted friends were drawing him to shore and safety. He buffeted the rough waves successfully. He reached the breaker-swept deck of the stranded sloop. After a word of cheer to the crew, he took a fresh rope, plunged anew into the surging waters, and swam back to the beach. But four days of starvation, unrest, and exposure had robbed those poor creatures on board the wreck of both courage and strength. Not one of them dared attempt to escape by means of the rope. What! then must they perish? Nay, not yet. The brave student will risk his life again in their behalf. Many speak harshly of their lack of pluck. He pities their weakness; he rushes into the surf once more, struggles through the crested waves, boards the sloop, and brings off a man to the shore. Six times he makes the perilous trip, and saves a human life each time. The seventh time his charge is a boy, so weak and helpless that he loses his hold upon him twice, and twice he dives for him into the seething depths and brings him up. Finally, he reaches the beach with a limp, corpselike lad—the last of the rescued crew.

The crowd, which had hitherto watched the gallant young hero's movements with breathless stillness, now break forth into a loud, triumphal cheer, which neither the roar of the wind nor the thunder of the waves can drown—they recognize the presence of a genuine hero.

The name of this noble young scion of true chivalry was John Honey, one of the college friends of the celebrated Dr. Chalmers. His efforts on that memorable day cost him his life—not directly, however, for he lived a few years, but the seeds of a mortal malady were sown by his humane exertions on that grandest day of his life.—Great Thoughts.

It is the duty of brothers and sisters to take a delight in each others' society, and readily to share their comforts with each other. The kindness of the heart beams in a sister's smile, and speaks in a brother's praise. The heart must be sadly corrupted, if the remembrance of the scenes that passed under a father's roof ceases to interest. It is the duty of brothers and sisters to admonish one another for their faults. There are failings in the temper and defects in the manners which are concealed with care from the eyes of the world, but which are apparent amidst the freedom of domestic life. If follies are not checked at home, or by strangers, they will grow into habits. The indolence from which the young were never roused has kept them all their after days in poverty, and the pride which was never repressed has rendered them odious. Never let affection make you blind to the deformity of sin.

It is the duty of brothers and sisters to sympathize tenderly with each other. The heart is so framed that it requires the aid and comfort of sympathy. How soothing to a sufferer's heart are the attentions of a sister, and the word spoken by a brother in season! Let sisters consider how much the persuasive language of mildness and affection is adapted to transform the roughest and most impetuous temper into meekness and wisdom, and that their remarks may direct a brother's attention to sentiments full of beauty and feeling, which he has overlooked.

Brothers and sisters should vie with each other in promoting the comfort of their parents. Every one should cultivate respect for their parents' authority, compassion for their infirmities, attention to their wishes, and be solicitous to give them all necessary aid, and reverence, and love, undiminished as they witness the decline of their faculties. How delightful it is to hear parents say of their children, "I cannot tell which is the kindest to me." What peace such children are preparing for themselves when their parents shall have passed away!—Portia.

It is related of the late Emperor of Germany that, when passing through a pretty country village once, he stopped to visit the village school. Taking up an orange, he said to the children—

"To what kingdom does this belong?"

"To the vegetable kingdom," answered a little girl.

"And this?" continued the Emperor, holding out a gold coin, which he had taken from his pocket.

"To the mineral kingdom," was the answer.

"And to what kingdom do I belong?" he said, expecting the little girl would answer with her former promptitude, "To the animal kingdom." But after a pause and many blushes, she replied—

"To God's kingdom, sire."

Thereupon the Emperor, greatly moved, and with a tear in his eye and much solemnity in his tone, replied—

"God grant, my child, that I may be counted worthy of that kingdom."

(John xvii)

In the large, upper room of that house at Jerusalem, where Jesus had eaten the Passover with His disciples, and instituted His own new feast, "The Lord's Supper," He had been speaking, and they hearing, most wonderful truths. "Arise, let us go hence," He had said (John xiv. 31). Yet He arose not, and they lingered still, held fast in solemn wonder while He spoke the parable of the vine, and warned and encouraged them concerning their future course when He had left them. And then, having assured them that He had overcome the world, and bidden them rejoice in Him, He lifted up His eyes to heaven, and prayed for Himself, for them, and for all His people to the end of time.

A wondrous prayer! He was just about to enter into His deepest sufferings; yet He says not a word of pain or sorrow. "The glory that should follow," "the joy that was set before Him," fill His heart and tongue, and all His prayer breathes of that reward—that crown of all His labours—the everlasting life of all His beloved ones.

He thought of His ancient glory, "the glory which I had with Thee before the world was" (ver. 5); and that glory was connected with His dear people, as we read in Proverbs viii. 23, where Christ, speaking as Wisdom, says, "I was set up from everlasting, from the beginning, or ever the earth was"; and "Then I was beside Jehovah, as One brought up with Him: I was daily His delight, and My delights were with the sons of men" (ver. 30, 31).

"The sons of men," as yet unborn; but "His gracious eye surveyed them" as they should in future days appear, and He was then their "Elder Brother," "the First-born among many brethren," and in His image Adam was formed as a man, "a little lower than the angels, crowned with glory and honour," and the lord of God's earthly creation (Psa. viii.). And Jesus looked on to the glorious time when all His people, though they have fallen, and become sinners, shall be purified and fully saved, and be "presented to God without spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing." It was His glory, before time, to think of this; it shall be His glory, when time is ended, to see all His desires fulfilled, and all His wishes accomplished.

Next, Jesus thought and spoke of "the glory His Father had given Him" (ver. 24)—given Him in the world, in the sight of His people. In Revelation xiii. 8, He is called "the Lamb that hath been slain from the foundation of the world"—slain in pictures and shadows; "the firstling of the flock" that Abel offered; the paschal lamb, and all the numberless sacrifices slain of old by God's command, pointed always to the Lamb of God; and He was glorified when His people, in by-gone times, like Abraham, "saw His day," His coming, and His work, and were glad in His salvation.

And Jesus prayed that all whom His Father had given Him might behold His glory. When? Not only in heaven, but here. As we read in Paul's wondrous description of this sight, "we all, with unveiled faces, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord" (2 Cor. iii.), do not simply gaze upon it as on a lovely picture, but are transformed as we gaze—are changed, until we become like our Lord, and bear His image, and reflect His glory, as the face of Moses shone when he came down from God on Mount Sinai, and he did not know it until he found the Israelites could not look at him unless he veiled his face, for true holiness makes us humble and lowly, and

"The more His glories strike our eyes,
The humbler we shall lie;
Thus while we sink, our joys shall rise
Immeasurably high.",

And if now we see Him thus by faith, we shall see Him as He is, and be like Him for ever.

"Oh, that with yonder sacred throng
We at His feet may fall;
Join in the everlasting song,
And crown Him Lord of all."

But the prayer of Jesus began with the earnest request for another kind of glory—"Father, the hour is come; glorify Thy Son, that Thy Son also may glorify Thee." "The hour" for which I came into the world—"the hour" of deepest woe, yet most glorious victory. Glorify Thy Son by strengthening and sustaining Him, that He may glorify Thee by accomplishing Thy will, and destroying the works of the devil.

Was not the prayer answered? Hear the dying Saviour cry, with a loud voice, on Calvary, "It is finished!" and we behold Him gloriously conquering in the very moment of His death, and departing to receive the Victor's crown, and the grateful worship of all the redeemed, as they sing, "Worthy the Lamb that was slain!"

Lastly, Jesus says of all His glory, "I have given it to My people, My followers, My friends" (ver. 22). "My glory, My joy, I share with them." He is "anointed with the oil of gladness above His fellows" (Psa. xlv. 7); but to every "good and faithful servant" He will say, "Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."

Is His joy, His glory, ours? Do we delight in His salvation? Do we desire to follow Him, and, like Him, do good to others? Do we long to see God's kingdom come, and His will done on earth as it is done in heaven? If so, He has given us a share in His glory, and we shall meet with all His saints around His throne on high—

"And with one heart, and voice, and soul
Sing His redeeming grace."

Then will His glory be complete. Oh, that we may behold and enjoy it, too! Amen.

Our next subject will be, Gleanings from the Book of Ruth.

Captain John Lewthwaite, of Maryport, has just returned to England, bringing with him a present for the Queen from the inhabitants of Pitcairn Island. Captain Lewthwaite is master of the Cairmont, of Glasgow, and on his homeward voyage from Vancouver Island he called at Pitcairn. He found that the descendants of the mutineers of the Bounty had received papers containing particulars of the Queen's Jubilee. They said they were anxious to make Her Majesty a Jubilee present, and in the absence of anything more valuable they decided to send some straw hats of their manufacture. They also sent other goods made of straw, which they manipulate with a great deal of skill. The presents were handed to Captain Lewthwaite by M'Avoy, the Governor of the island, and grandson of one of the mutineers. The box containing the presents has been lodged with the Vicar of Peckham Rye, who acts as agent for the islanders, to forward to the Queen.

There are now one hundred and twelve persons on the island, two-thirds being women. They use no strong drink, tobacco, or money. Some time ago a harmonium was taken out to them, and Captain Lewthwaite says one woman plays it remarkably well.

A man that cannot mind his own business is not to be trusted with the king's.—Saville.

The principal lessons to be derived from the history of Daniel are—faith, moral courage, patience, perseverance, and the value of prayer. Daniel's faith was steadfast in God, for, in spite of all opposition, he stood firm to his purpose. This also shows his moral courage, in standing alone before his God when all others were against him. He truly manifested the feeling, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." Envied and persecuted by many, he knew that God was for him if men were against him. It is a dreadful sin to conspire against a child of God, for Christ will say to such in the day of judgment, "Depart from Me, ye cursed." And again (Mark ix. 42) He said, "Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones that believe in Me, it is better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea." Daniel knew, too, the efficacy of prayer, for he was taught by God Himself; and where God gives faith and a true spirit, He is sure to call it into exercise. Daniel possessed an excellent spirit, and was preferred by King Darius, who did not worship the true God, and was prevailed upon to establish an idolatrous decree. But Daniel openly prayed to God. This showed his confidence in Jehovah's omnipotence and faithfulness, and he was enabled to leave all in His hands, feeling sure that all things would work together for his good. It has been wisely said that "not one spark of real saving faith can be kindled in our hearts but by God Himself," and if He does this, He will give us the supply we so much need. As a weak limb often grows strong by exercise, so will our faith, if it be of God, be strengthened by the very effort we make in stretching it out towards things unseen. Daniel's chastening afterwards yielded "the peaceable fruit of righteousness" when the angel Gabriel was sent to tell him he was greatly beloved, and that he should "stand in his lot at the end of his days." Oh, what comfort this message must have brought to poor Daniel! Happy shall we be if the Lord speaks thus to our hearts.

Sydney House, Sleaford,
Lincolnshire.

[Good Essays have been received from Charles Southon, Kate M. Bond, Alice J. Wells, E. W. Cray, Martha Ramsay, Sarah Hicks, E. B. Knocker, and E. R. Harris.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of "Cowper's Poems."

The subject for January will be, "What is the Most Desirable Thing to Possess in the Spring-time of Life?" and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of "The Life of Whitfield." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of December.]

Deeper than the love of home, deeper than the love of kindred, deeper than rest and recreation, deeper than the love of life, is the love of Jesus.—Hamilton.

Nothing is easier than fault-finding. No talent, no self-denial, no brains, no character is required to set up in the grumbling business. But those who are moved by a genuine desire to do good and benefit their fellows have little time for murmuring or complaint.

The length of the Thames from source to mouth is 220 miles.

The greatest height yet reached in a balloon is seven miles and a quarter.

In 1707 it took two days and a half to get to Oxford, a distance of fifty-five miles.

The number of Bibles sold by the British Bible Society up to 1881 was 100,035,933.

Two millions and a half is the number of persons who are said to be slaves to Sabbath toil in America, and they generally receive no more than six days' wages for seven days' work.

Anna Swan, the Nova Scotia giantess, who, with her husband, Captain Bates, the Kentucky giant, was an earnest member of the Baptist Church, is dead. She was seven feet nine inches in height.

A great improvement in Sunday observance in the army and navy has, it is said, taken place. But there are old officers, like the gallant admiral, who deplore the fact that "the service is going to the dogs," because there is not so much pipeclay used on a Sunday as there was when they joined the service.

Lord Sudeley, of Toddington, near Cheltenham, has the following fruit trees planted in his grounds—Gooseberry trees, 93,000; plum trees, 20,083; black currant trees, 167,000; apple trees, 2,919; pear trees, 852; damson trees, 8,845; cherry trees, 532; red currant trees, 10,000; raspberry trees, 25,000; cob nut, 100; strawberries (acres), 52. In addition, 100 Scotch firs and 10,000 poplar trees.

The Hampton Court Vine.—This noble vine is more than a hundred and fifty years old, and nearly as many feet in length; its stem is thirty-two inches in circumference. In a good season it will yield more than two thousand bunches of fine grapes, weighing on an average seventeen ounces each bunch, or, in the whole, nearly one ton. They are of the finest black Hamburg kind, and are said to be reserved chiefly for the Queen's table.

Running Away with a Ritualistic Crucifix.—It is stated that a crucifix adorns the eastern end of Bourn church. Many of the parishioners are opposed to certain Ritualistic practices, and have shown their disapproval by leaving during divine service. During the week the church is left open, and on Monday, September 17th, a young lady entered and took away the crucifix. The lady, having secured the crucifix, proceeded to Bytham Station, and thence to Essendine. Arrived there, she went into a friend's house and had a cup of tea. In the meantime, the Vicar and the young lady's brother started in pursuit, discovered the missing ornament, and brought it safely back and replaced it in the church. The event has created great excitement in the village, and we understand that legal proceedings will be taken.

Wolves and Telegraph Lines.—It is believed in Norway that wolves are frightened away by telegraph lines. While a vote was pending on a grant to a new line, a member of the Storthing remarked that, while his constituents had no direct interest in it, they would support the grant because the wires would drive away the wolves. It is stated as a remarkable fact that since the first telegraph line was established, twenty years ago, wolves have never appeared in its neighbourhood. Wolves, it is known, will not enter a roped enclosure.

In connection with the Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen, a hospital ship was launched from the yard of Messrs. Fellows and Son, of Great Yarmouth, on September 29th. She is 100 feet in length, and of 152 tons register. She is to be fitted up as a hospital ship, for the treatment of accident and illness among the fishermen of the North Sea. She is named the Queen Victoria, and Her Majesty, who takes much interest in the Mission, subscribed £50 towards the cost of the vessel. The launch was witnessed by a large number of people. The Queen Victoria is the same type of vessel as those already in the Mission service.

A New Alpine Railway.—A railway from Visp to Zermatt is about to be built, an undertaking that has for a long time been considered impracticable. From the year 1891 travellers will be able to reach the El Dorado of Alpine tourists in about two hours and a half from the main line in the Rhone Valley, and step out of the railway carriage almost at the foot of the mighty Matterhorn. The line is already marked out, and follows pretty closely the present bridle path. It is to be narrow gauge, without cogwheels, and will cross the Visp torrent five times. The curves will be rather sharp, and there are to be six small tunnels. The capital for building the line is said to amount to six million francs, and work is to be commenced this autumn. The length will be twenty-eight miles, and as Zermatt is 3,160 feet higher than the starting point, the incline will be over two per cent.

An Ancient Document.—According to a telegram received from Lloyds' Signal Station at St. Catherine's Point, Isle of Wight, a letter, supposed to have been written 103 years ago, was picked up on the beach, at Rock End, on October 3rd. The following is a copy of the document:—"Office of Ordnance, 11th July, 1785. Gentlemen,—His Majesty's ship the Trusty, being ordered to be paid off at Portsmouth, you are, by the Board's directions, to cause her powder to be taken on shore, and lodged in His Majesty's magazine, under your charge.—I am, gentlemen, your humble servant, Aug. Rogers, Secretary. Respective Officers, Prondy's Hard, W. A." There is a memo, on the back of the letter—"11th July, 1785. Aug. Rogers, Esq. Trusty paid off."

The number of preserves in Austria alone, not counting those in Hungary, is stated at 15,764. and on these there were shot, in 1887, 32 bears, 113 wolves, 24 lynxes, 9,490 stags, 60,252 roebucks, 7,709 chamois, 2,998 wild boars, 26,411 foxes, 9,729 polecats, 1,055 otters, 2,672 badgers, 333 marmots, and no fewer than 1,439,134 hares. Wild rabbits are scarce in this country, and are not counted in the general record, but 27,797 were shot in Bohemia, where there are most warrens. The totals for feathered game are—4,498 grouse, 1,300 wild geese, 102,748 pheasants, 1,336,934 partridges, 34,448 quails, 12,652 woodcock, 7,614 snipe, and 28,914 wild ducks. The birds of prey shot were 561 eagles, 38,610 owls, 1,365 horned owls, and 106,353 hawks, kestrels, kites, and vultures.

The Rabbit Pest in New Zealand.—The United States Consul at Auckland, in a recent report, describes the extent to which New Zealand has been economically injured by rabbits, and the cost incurred in endeavouring to exterminate them. Nothing, he says, could so overrun a country since the locusts in Egypt. The rabbits have so eaten out the ranges that the capacity for maintaining sheep has greatly lessened, and the flocks have fallen off in numbers. At the Stock Conference of 1886, it was stated that rabbits reduced by a third the feeding capacity of land, and the weight of fleeces had decreased by 1 lb. to 1½ lb. each. The number of lambs decreased from thirty to forty per cent., while the death-rate increased from three to thirteen per cent. Since 1882, when the Rabbit Act became law, Government has expended £7,000 on Crown lands alone, and it is estimated that during the last eight years private persons have spent £2,400,000 in extirpating rabbits. The methods generally in favour were fencing, poisoned grain (generally phosphorized oats), and ferrets, weasels, and stoats. Large numbers of men have been hired from time to time to make war upon the rabbits, and it is said that these "rabbiters" encourage the vermin in every way, and have been caught killing the stoats and ferrets. The bonus system has been found objectionable and expensive. Notwithstanding all that has been done, in some localities the rabbits have continually increased, and the damage has continued. It is hoped, however, that as the country becomes more populous, and the large tracts of land are occupied and cultivated, the numerous herds of rabbits which now roam over the land will disappear.

One Thousand Men Drowned.—It is reported from China that the whole of the new embankment of the Yellow River, which was commenced last autumn at the spot where the old embankment gave way, has been completely swept away by the summer floods. It is said to have cost about £2,000,000 sterling (9,000,000 taels). As the floods rose, it was seen that the strain was becoming dangerous, and Li Hang-tsao, the high official in charge of the work, was sent for in hot haste, but before he could arrive the whole bank went down before the flood, and of the eight thousand feet of river wall lately completed, not an inch remains, and the waters are pouring unchecked through the immense gap into the Honan province. From eight hundred to one thousand labourers, who were on the bank, were also swept away and drowned. It is reported from Peking that all the officials concerned are being severely punished.

A Shark Story.—Sir,—The following story may be of some interest to many readers of your valuable paper. The sailing-ship Grassendale (registered 1,800 tons, and classed A1 at Lloyds'), with a crew of about thirty-five hands, on its voyage from Sydney to San Francisco, met with great numbers of sharks, about twenty of which the crew killed. One shark, in particular, had a quantity of young ones with her. By some means the little ones were frightened, and swam into its mouth. Naturally the crew were curious, and tried to hook it, which they eventually did. When they cut it open on deck, imagine their surprise to find no less than forty-two little sharks, measuring from twelve to fifteen inches in length, all alive, and capable of swimming as well as ever—a most remarkable incident, not heard of before, even in America, being, to all appearances, a shark's wonderful way to shelter their young. This information the writer has received this week direct from his brother, who is chief officer of the said ship, and he can, therefore, vouch for its truth.—Yours truly, H. H. White. Rye, October 10th, 1888.—South Eastern Advertiser.

"IT WAS AGREED THAT SOME ONE SHOULD READ THE BIBLE TO HER." (See page 266.)

"Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days."—Ecclesiastes xi. 1.

Recollecting the feelings of discouragement and sadness which often oppressed my mind during the first months of our employment as district visitors and Sunday School teachers in a retired village, and the many instances affording cause for joy and thankfulness which occurred during the latter years of our residence there, I am led to record one of them, with the hope of encouraging my fellow-labourers in this interesting occupation.

One of the first cases which came under my own observation was that of a blind, aged widow, who lived a few steps from the church. Her husband, who had been dead at this time about seven years, had led an ungodly life, and had fallen a victim to the habit of intemperance. She was left with one son, who was a lad at the time of his father's death, and was soon after bound as a parish apprentice to a good neighbour, a blacksmith, with whom he afterwards lived as servant. I think he was a good boy. He had remembered and taken pleasure in what he had learned at the Sunday and National School. He was constant in his attendance at public worship, and showed much dutiful affection and attention to his widowed mother. In his spare hours he took care of her little garden, drew water, and tended the nursery of beautiful geraniums which adorned her windows; and when he could, he would come and read aloud to her on Sundays out of the Bible or some good book. All the poor widow's happiness centred in Henry. It was her delight to do all she could for him; and many a time have I seen her, blind as she was, bestowing her cheerful labour in making his shirts as white as snow. She had one other son, older than Henry, who had accompanied an uncle to the West Indies, and as she had never heard of them since, she thought they had very likely both of them died in that climate, so unhealthy to English constitutions.

Mrs. Worthington was, I think, naturally an amiable woman. Many sorrows had subdued and broken her spirits, for she had once lived near London in very good circumstances. Though in some degree acquainted with the leading doctrines of Scripture, and believing them to be true, she was, it seemed, quite destitute of any hope towards God, or true faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, as her Saviour and her Friend. To use her own words, "she had long ago given up herself for lost." When I asked what led her to do so, she replied that she knew she had not led a good life, and that some neighbours had told her it was no use for such a person as she was to think of going to heaven. In this sad state she was lingering on in a painful earthly existence, without one hope of anything better beyond it.

There was a kind woman who lived in the next house who, when able, would lead her to church and back again. There she paid attention, and thus had many interesting Scripture histories stored in her memory, for she had never learned to read.

At length, with her own consent, it was agreed that some one should read the Bible to her every forenoon. She listened with earnest attention and much interest, and at length found, to her great joy, that she was not excluded from hope in the mercy of that gracious God and Saviour whose loving-kindness and tender mercy towards a lost and fallen race it reveals and declares. She discovered with delight that she was one of those very characters that had moved His heart to pity, and for whose redemption and happiness He had sent His only-begotten Son into the world, and spared Him not, "but delivered Him up for us all," that He might make satisfaction for fallen sinners, and lead such back as reconciled children to their Father and God. She received the gracious message with a sense of her own extreme need of its blessings, and welcomed it with her whole heart, as sent to her by the God of love.

I think the first word of promise which was fixed in her mind was the engagement which God makes, in Luke xi., to give the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him. She felt that her mind was dark, and her heart cold and dead towards God. She wished it were otherwise, and prayed for the Holy Spirit. It was delightful to observe the heavenly light dawn in her once benighted soul, and to behold the altered state of all within. Humility, thankfulness, hope, and love all appeared in their loveliness, and in various ways did she give incontestable evidence that old things had passed away, and that all things had become new.

I remember calling one morning, and finding her much out of spirits. On inquiring the cause, I found that, it being the wake season, some of her former friends and acquaintances had visited her. It was their conversation which had grieved her, consisting very much of scandal and detraction, and she was greatly distressed at being obliged to hear it, and felt that she had done wrong by listening to it, so truly had her mind become conformed to the principles of the Gospel of peace.

Before her change of heart she was much disposed to murmur, but when enabled to apprehend the love of God to her, her spirit was filled with gratitude to Him for all His undeserved mercies; and however depressed her circumstances on earth might be, she had the comfortable hope of eternal bliss in that world where all tears will be for ever wiped away, and there will be no more want and pain, for "the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters" (Rev. vii. 17).

One morning, to my great sorrow, I found her very ill. She was suffering from an attack of paralysis, which took away the use of her left side, and very much affected her speech. She was suddenly rendered almost helpless. At first she was greatly distressed, knowing that her own means were insufficient to pay any one to help her, and that the only alternative was a removal to the workhouse, a prospect which to her mind was full of terror and disgrace. It became, however, quite needful, for there was no prospect of amendment; and in about a fortnight she was obliged to quit a home endeared to her by a long residence, and the honourable independence with which she had occupied it, for though often obliged to take only bread for her breakfast and supper, she invariably paid her quarter's rent. Her faith in Christ, however, soon gained the ascendancy over her natural regret and sorrow, and she received this painful dispensation as her Heavenly Father's will, and submitted to it with quietness.

The workhouse was about nine miles from our village. It was a well-conducted one, and favoured with the visits of some Christian friends and a good clergyman. The matron was a kind person, and treated our blind friend with much consideration. Her son visited her as often as he could, and paid her every dutiful attention, so that her home there was, I think, more comfortable than the one she had left. I never saw her afterwards, but I occasionally heard of her. She was almost entirely confined to her bed, but quite able to enjoy and profit by the kind visits and Christian conversation of some persons who visited the workhouse. She found her God was present with her there, and He fulfilled to her that beautiful promise made to His people of old—"Even to your old age I am He; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you; I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you" (Isa. xlvi. 4).

Two seamen, named John G. Crone and James R. Wilson, late of the Scotch barque Henry James, arrived a short time ago at the Liverpool Sailors' Home, and gave information of the loss of that vessel, through which they underwent an extraordinary experience.

The Henry James struck a coral reef near the island of Palmyra, in the Pacific Ocean, and became a wreck. In an hour the crew had to abandon her, experiencing the greatest difficulty in getting away. The shipwrecked people only saved what they stood in, even the ship's papers and the captain's instruments being lost. They were in a sad plight. One boat containing provisions was swamped and the food lost. The captain nearly lost his life by being thrown into the sea. Fortunately a box of matches was got ashore dry, and with these a fire was lighted.

The island of Palmyra was found to be uninhabited, but a search next day revealed a number of small huts made of boards and leaves. The island is about nine hundred miles from Samoa. The mate, who had saved his sextant, volunteered to go in a small boat to Samoa to seek for aid, and a boat was accordingly manned, the mate having for his companions the boatswain and three seamen. These poor fellows were three weeks in the open boat, in a tropical climate, and their sufferings were very severe. They traversed about thirteen hundred miles, and some days before arrival their food and water gave out. Their sufferings were then terrible, and when they reached Apia, their condition plainly showed what they had passed through. Had their voyage been lengthened but a couple of days, it is likely all would have either gone mad or perished from starvation. The shipwrecked people on the island were in the meantime living on wild birds, birds' eggs, and on cocoa-nuts. They had no arms with them, and the only means of catching the birds was by sticks, the men having to get within reach of the birds before they could be caught. In the first days the only water the people had was what they caught by spreading out the leaves of trees. The matches at last got wet, and the poor people could not make their accustomed fire. A powerful telescope glass then furnished a burning glass, and enabled them to get fires once more. Altogether they were on the island six weeks. At the end of this time the mail steamer Mariposa called at the island, and rescued the people from their island imprisonment. The party included two ladies (passengers) and six children.

The Board of Trade have awarded a piece of plate to Captain Hayward, of the Mariposa; a gold medal to Mr. Hart, first officer; and a silver medal and a sum of £2 each to seamen Barpark, Erving, Allan, and Driscoll, in connection with the rescue of the castaways. Captain Hayward, who was bound to San Francisco with mails and passengers, voluntarily incurred the risk of a heavy fine for breach of contract, and set off with the above-named crew in an open boat, and rescued the unfortunate people.

Dec. 2. Commit to memory Ps. xc. 2.
Dec. 9. Commit to memory Ps. xc. 4.
Dec. 16. Commit to memory Ps. xc. 10.
Dec. 23. Commit to memory Ps. xc. 12.
Dec. 30. Commit to memory Ps. xc. 14.

On Sunday afternoon, August 26th, 1888, Mr. Carr, of Leicester, gave an interesting address to the scholars attending the Zion Sunday School, Trowbridge. After singing and prayer, Mr. Carr took "The Prodigal Son" as his subject, which he explained in a most interesting manner. He said:—

"Once upon a time there were two brothers. One of them ran away, but he got into no end of trouble. But while he was so wretched, something occurred with him, and by-and-bye he was brought back in peace to his father's house, and was happy for ever afterward.

"Most of you know that this is the outline of the parable of 'The Prodigal Son,' and I am going to try and tell you the details of it. I shall divide it into four parts. The first one is Ruin; the second, Repentance; the third, Return; the fourth, Reception. He was ruined. By grace he repented, returned to his father, and was joyfully received by him.

"First, then, Ruin. Now, there are steps leading to ruin. You find the prodigal was happy at home at first. Like Adam, in the garden of Eden, God gave him a great many good gifts, as He has given you. He has given us life, hearing, eyesight, and intellect. The prodigal had a large portion of good gifts, but what did he do? He wandered away from his father, and went into a far country. Do you like to be away from home? Remember this—if you do, it is the first step to your ruin, as it was with the prodigal. He took his journey into a far country, where he was far away from his father; and so we, in our natural state, are far away from God. Do you ever think what a dreadful thing it is to be far away from God? The prodigal wanted to be far from Him. But when there, at a distance from his father, he had no God to go to in his troubles. He doubtless did not like the text, 'Thou God seest me.' If you are like this, remember that every sin you commit is written in His remembrance book. But the prodigal made up his mind not to trouble about that. Have you thus done so? If so, you will have to trouble about it some day. There is a day coming when we shall all have to stand before God, and it is a dreadful subject for those to think of who, like the prodigal, are now at a distance from God. Therefore, we see that Distance is the first step.

"The next one is Dissipation. He wasted his substance—put his gifts to a wrong use. Have we wasted the good things which God has given us? If so, it is the road to ruin.

"After he had thus wasted his substance by riotous living and falling into bad company, there came another step, namely, Destitution, which we all have come to spiritually, and ere long we who have life, health, bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and busy hands, shall be going to the grave. By-and-bye we shall have spent it all, and we shall be nothing but a heap of dust and ashes.

"But you find that, when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine, and he began to be in want. He then fell into disgrace, and went to a citizen of that country to see if he could help him. He went into the fields to feed swine, and he had not a friend to speak to—none to help him. The hand of God had gone out against him, and all his friends forsook him.

"That is just the state of the ungodly. But when he was in the very heat of this ruin, something happened to him. He was brought to Repentance. What was his first step to repentance? He was brought to himself—that is, a right understanding was given to him. What had the prodigal a right understanding about? About himself. Sin had made a madman of him, but now he began to consider the extent of his misery. How many of you have considered what you are in the sight of God? You may be dead before next Sunday. Where would you be? In heaven or in hell? The prodigal began to consider what his sin had done for him. He said, 'How many hired servants of my father have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!' He knew he was perishing; and we are, if Christ has not saved us.

"The first step was, a right understanding. Now comes the second step, knowledge of the extent of his misery, thirdly, a felt sense that he was perishing; then, fourthly, a wise resolution—'I will arise, and go to my father.' He had been trying to make himself more respectable, but found he could not, but that he must go to his father just as he was. Thus he was brought to himself. Grace did this, and if grace works in us there will be a willingness to go to God. Either you want to be near to God, or, like the prodigal, you want to shun the very thoughts of God. We are either on the road to ruin or salvation. What did the prodigal say to his father? 'Father, I have sinned.' He knew he was a sinner, and that he had sinned, and he confessed his unworthiness. He said, 'I am no more worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants.' He was brought to repentance, and he made up his mind to return to his father. But his father was a long way off—too far for him to see him. But his father saw him while he was yet a great way off, and had compassion on him. He did not say, 'I see that naughty boy that wandered from me, and got into so much trouble and sin, and now I will punish him.' But he had compassion on him, and did not say a word about his wicked ways. 'He ran.' Now, look, here was the prodigal creeping to his father, but the father 'ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.' No doubt he had a dirty face, but the father did not wait till his face was clean. Just as we are as sinners, so the prodigal here was in all his rags. He said to his father, 'But, father, I am a vile sinner. I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight.' Thus he told his father just what he was.

"Now then comes the fourth part—his reception by his father. When his father met him he took no notice of his sins, did not answer him a word, but he said to his servants, 'Bring forth the best robe.' That was the robe of righteousness. Here were manifested the riches of divine grace. The prodigal had nothing but sin and grief, but now his father gave him a better robe than he ever had before. His first robe was not the best. It was one of creature-righteousness, but now he had lost it; and when he was brought back by grace he had a better robe given him. A robe of righteousness is better than one of creature-righteousness. The best robe was brought forth, and a ring was put on his finger. A ring is something which has no beginning nor end, and the ring is a most blessed emblem of eternity. It has neither beginning nor end. And a ring denotes love—love of the giver to the receiver. This ring denotes a Father's eternal love. His father loved him, all the time the prodigal was sinning against him, with an eternal love. And they put shoes on his feet—shoes of the preparation of the Gospel. They were shoes that would wear well. The saints have a rough road to travel, and therefore they need shoes of iron and brass. Then the fatted calf was brought and killed, and they had a great feast and were merry, and we do not read that they ever left off. There is no end to the rejoicings over repenting, returning sinners. Oh, that we all may know what it is to be redeemed by grace! This parable teaches us man's ruin, Christ's redemption, and a Father's eternal love."

[This, and three other pieces of poetry, including the one given last month, were written for a boy who recently died. After long and severe suffering he was seized with a fit. He held up both arms, and, as the struggles ceased, he looked up and said, "Come! Come!" His mother asked him if he thought he should go to heaven. He replied, "I'm sure of it. Jesus told me He would take me, and He wouldn't have said it if He didn't mean it."—Ed.]

Hang out the toys for the little ones;
Pile up the raisins, and take out the stones;
But nut, and pudding, and Christmas tree,
Says little Johnnie, are not for me.

If the children frolic I have to start,
With a bitter pain at my silent heart;
And my throbbing head is afraid to move
At sound of the voices which most I love.

It is nice to feel, though sitting here,
That mother is with me, and baby dear,
For some of my little friends have lain
On a hospital bed, in lonely pain.

Oh, God, my Friend, Thou art surely kind,
And we, poor sinners, are weak and blind;
Little we think, and little know,
Of the love that suffered for human woe.

We hail Thy birth with a gladsome song,
But Thou hadst sorrow life's journey long;
And Thou hadst power Thyself to free,
Yet chose to suffer for things like me.

Oh, come to my heart this Christmas Day!
I am weak and weary, and far away;
Since help and mercy are Thy delight,
Oh, come to my father's house to-night!

Bring rest for my mother, and joy for me;
My head will not throb as I listen to Thee;
And my heart, though too weak for a footfall below,
Will bound, without aching, Thy coming to know.

Thou callest the children, and I am a child;
Thou callest the guilty, and I am defiled;
They gather about Thee in joyful array;
Oh, put me among them, Lord Jesus, to-day!

Put one of my hands in that right hand of Thine,
And hold out Thy wounds to Thy Father divine;
He would not, He could not, say nay unto Thee,
And I should for ever Thy diadem be.

M. A. CHAPLIN.

Galleywood, Chelmsford.

(Page 255.)

"Peace be unto you."—John xx. 19.

P ekah 2 Kings xv. 25.
E glon Judges iii. 14.
A masa 2 Samuel xvii. 25.
C ush 1 Chronicles i. 8.
E uphrates Deuteronomy i. 7.

B enjamin Genesis xxxv. 24.
E lah 1 Kings xvi. 8.

U rijah 2 Kings xvi. 10.
N ahor Genesis xi. 26.
T opaz Exodus xxxix. 10.
O g Psalm cxxxvi. 20.

Y oke Jeremiah xxvii. 8.
O badiah 1 Kings xviii. 3.
U nicorn Numbers xxiii. 22.

Ann Pickworth
(Aged 11 years).

Sydney House, Sleaford.

It was on the 31st of August, 1688, that John Bunyan left the Valley of the Shadow of Death, Doubting Castle, Vanity Fair, and all those other stages of the progress of a soul in its efforts to find rest and peace, to cross the dark river that, in his immortal dream, flowed under the walls of the Celestial City. This is how Mr. Froude describes the closing scene of his great life:—

"His end was characteristic. It was brought on by exposure when he was engaged in an act of charity. A quarrel had broken out in a family at Reading with which Bunyan had some acquaintance. A father had taken offence at his son, and threatened to disinherit him. Bunyan undertook a journey on horseback from Bedford to Reading, in the hope of reconciling them. He succeeded, but at the cost of his life. Returning by London, he was overtaken on the road by a storm of rain, and was wetted through before he could find shelter. The chill, falling on a constitution already weakened by illness, brought on fever. He was able to reach the house of Mr. Strudwick, one of his London friends, but he never left his bed afterwards. In ten days he was dead."

Mr. Froude thinks that the exact date is uncertain; but Southey and other biographers generally fix it upon the 31st of August. He was buried in a vault belonging to the Strudwick family, in the famous old Nonconformist burial ground of Bunhill Fields, where his monument—restored of late years by admiring and appreciative friends—may be seen any day by the passer-by, on which runs this inscription—"Mr. John Bunyan, Author of 'The Pilgrim's Progress,' ob. 31st August, 1688, æt. 60."

John Bunyan wrote sixty books, and lived sixty years. His chief work, "The Pilgrim's Progress," has been translated into seventy-two distinct languages and dialects, and thus has had a wider circulation and been more read than any book next to the Scriptures. More than fifty years ago Macaulay spoke of it as "the only book of its kind that possesses a strong human interest—that, while other allegories only amuse the fancy, this has been read by thousands with tears." What was true then is no less true now.

A Queenstown correspondent telegraphs that the National Line steamer Spain, from New York, which arrived at Queenstown recently, brings intelligence that an aged gentleman, named Murtagh, residing in Brooklyn, received a letter on October 11th, from one of the uninhabited islands of the South Sea group, Ojee, written by a friend of his, named Captain Green, who was supposed to have been lost at sea in 1858, in a vessel commanded by him, called the Confederation. She sailed from New York, in February of that year, for Australia, and not having been heard of afterwards, it was presumed that she had foundered with all on board, numbering sixteen, including two women. The letter, written on a soiled leaf of a ship's log, was dated July, 1887, and had been put aboard a whaling barque which passed near the island about that time. The writer observes that no doubt all hands aboard the Confederation had been given up as lost. He then relates how the vessel foundered in a gale after being nine weeks at sea, and how her crew, including himself and two women, having taken to the boats, after forty days, landed on the coral reefs of the Island of Ojee, there being no signs of habitation, but an abundance of game, fish, fruits, and water. No vessel came near the place until one evening in December, 1862, when eight of the crew put off in a boat to intercept her. The weather being very stormy, they never returned to the island, and Captain Green thinks they were lost. He further states that the women became the wives of two of the remaining castaways, and that although there had been several deaths on the island, the population at the time he wrote consisted of twelve persons, who felt quite contented. They were, however, badly in need of clothing. During thirty years, they had communicated from the island with only three vessels, and this letter had been four years written and ready to be sent by some ship. Captain Green adds that he is sixty-eight years of age, and in good health.

(Ruth i. 16.)

"Intreat me not to leave Thee," Lord;
What is this world to me?
No happiness can it afford,
O God, apart from Thee.

Thou art the joy of my delights;
The Life of life to me;
The comfort of my darkest nights;
Yea, All in all to me.

Dark were this world without Thee, Lord,
But, lighted with Thy love,
Thy watchfulness, Thy tender care,
More fully here I prove.

More subject for my song above
I gather day by day;
Deeper experience of that love
Which guides my pilgrim way.

Oh, give me grace to serve Thee, Lord,
Each swiftly-passing day,
That I the approving word, "Well done,"
At last may hear Thee say.

A Sower.

During the reign of that Popish King, James II., the law in Scotland was, that no clergyman might preach, and that no bookseller might sell, any book that reflected on the Romish Church.

One of the Royal messengers entered a bookseller's shop in Edinburgh.

"Had he any books in stock written against the Roman Catholic Church?"

"Yes, he had a Book that reflected very severely indeed against that Church. Might he sell it?"

"Let me see it," said the messenger.

The old bookseller went to his shelves and took down a volume—a Book which does certainly speak very emphatically against Romanism—the Bible!

My 1, 11, 7, 6, 9, 5, a governor of the Jews.
My 2, 10, 5, 14, 6, the father of Joanna.
My 3, 13, a king of Bashan.
My 4, 6, 14, 10, 9, 11, a disobedient queen.
My 5, 8, 11, a priest.
My 6, 4, 11, 9, 10, the city of Hadad.
My 7, 3, 9, 6, 12, the brother of Timna.
My 8, 5, 4, 11, one of the twelve tribes.
My 9, 3, 7, 6, a son of Issachar.
My 10, 5, 12, the son of Zephaniah.
My 11, 14, 2, 6, 5, 8, the surname of Jacob.
My 12, 3, 1, 10, a city threatened with a plague.
My 13, 11, 10, 3, 12, a river of Eden.
My 14, 11, 4, 6, 12, a Jewish month.

My whole is a precept given by an Apostle to a Christian Church.

Thomas Tyler
(Aged 13 years).

Potton, Beds.

The Little Gleaner no doubt is read and welcomed as well by the aged and middle-aged as the young, for whom it is especially intended. In the southern counties, the readers of the Little Gleaner, of all ages, are more or less familiar with "the last pole." In the counties more north, where we hope the Little Gleaner is read with equal interest, many dear children have never seen that lovely and charming sight of Nature in cultivation, the hop garden. To us who, by the hand of Providence, are located in these hop-growing districts, the hop gardens in the months of August and September are always interesting, and share largely in our love and admiration for the products of Nature and industry combined.

For the information of those not so familiar as ourselves with the hop plant under cultivation, we would say that many hundreds of poor people find employment for a few weeks in the autumn at hop picking, by which they are able to earn a little money, which is useful in helping them to pay their rent and provide the necessaries of life. This time is looked forward to, year by year, with deep interest by such.

Among the customs and ceremonies of the hop gardens, at the time of picking, or gathering, there is generally a little ceremony in pulling and picking the last pole. In September, 1886, the writer of these lines was one of the pickers in a very lovely hop garden in Kent, and witnessed the pulling down of many thousands of these heavily-laden hop poles, in all their fresh and lively beauty. But lo and behold! it came not only to the last day, and the last hill (or stool of three poles), but to the last pole, which was selected beforehand, and remained standing until all the others were picked. Then comes the master himself, and takes down this last pole, amid the waving of hats, and shouts of "Hurrah! Hurrah!" But was this all? No, no! There were sad hearts that sighed as they remembered the days of adversity endured by them, and as they wondered what was to be their next employment, and how their table was to be supplied during the coming winter, should it not be their turn to be gathered in like the poles that had passed under their hands. But one poor, trembling heart among the rest could not help thinking of that last great day, when the last stone of that great temple not made with hands should be carried up with shouts of "Grace, grace unto it!" and the following lines came softly into the mind—

"The moon and stars shall lose their light;
The sun shall sink in endless night;
Both heaven and earth shall pass away;
The works of Nature all decay.

"But they who in the Lord confide,
And shelter in His wounded side,
Shall see the danger overpast,
Stand every storm, and live at last."

What! those poor bruised reeds who fear that they shall never hold up their heads again—shall they outlive the moon? Shall they outshine the sun?

However, let us return to our subject—the last pole—and reflect.

"We, like the crowded poles, all stand,
And all are sure to fall;
The dog and hook[13] are in God's hand,
And soon will reach us all."

Yes, my dear young readers, whatever may be those delightsome games of which you are so fond, the last game will soon come. Yea, how soon will be the end of all our earthly pleasures none of us can tell. If we look forward to any day or time of some kind of pleasure, it may seem to approach us very slowly, but how soon do we look behind us, and say, "Alas! that too has gone, never, never more to return."

In like manner also we miss a dear brother or dear sister, a friend, schoolmate, or teacher; perhaps a dear, loving mother or father. "Ah!" we say, "they will never return again." Sometimes we reflect with sorrow upon some unkind words or actions towards them—some pain and grief that we caused them. Perhaps we were too proud or too stubborn to ask their forgiveness while they were with us, so we let the sun go down upon our wrath, and now we can never forgive ourselves. Though they are gone, we see them still—

"We see their smiles, we see their tears;
The grave can never hide them;
A few more days, or months, or years,
A few more sighs, a few more tears,
And we shall lie beside them."

Seeing that it is quite uncertain which of us will be the next to have our earthly ties cut, and all our bloom and beauty stripped off, may I ask my dear young friends what are their thoughts on the subject? Whether it is passed over with indifference, presuming you shall be as well off in the end as other people, or are there moments when thoughts arise like these—"Oh, if death should overtake me as I am—so careless, so unconcerned, so thoughtless, and yet unpardoned! Oh, if my name should be left out—and how can I expect anything else—so prayerless as I am, for the most part, and my performance so unlike prayer when I do make the attempt? Oh, if I could but know that the dear Lord had a favour towards me! Why, if all the world were mine, I would lay it all down this minute to be sure that Jesus died for me"? And is there sometimes a little thought stealing from thine heart, and a tear like a drop of the morning dew trickling from thine eye, which says, "Oh, if ever I should be able to say, 'Bless the Lord, O my soul,' how I should leap for joy to be thus quite sure of being the Lord's"? Then, if this is your feeling after Christ Jesus, I will tell you how it will be with you some day. The Lord, who has said, "Seek, and ye shall find," will give you the desire of your heart, even pardon and peace through faith in His blood, and at last—

"When shivering in the arms of death,
When friends shall watch thy parting breath,
Though then thy lips can no more speak,
Though deathly paleness clads thy cheek,
Glory shall fill thy soul."

The Book of Ruth is supposed to have been written in the reign of her great-grandson, perhaps by his own pen. It is a beautifully interesting story. As a fragment of history, it is connected with the birth of David and of David's Lord. As a record of God's providence, it shows how "all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose."

The two chief personages in this Book, the hero and heroine of the narrative, are Boaz, the near kinsman of Naomi, "the mighty man of wealth" in Bethlehem, and Ruth, the Moabitess, the stranger and foreigner, who left her own people and her father's false gods, and came to put her trust beneath the shadow of Jehovah's wings.

We will look at the hero first, because, though the Book is called by Ruth's name, all her honour was derived from her connection with Israel, the chosen nation, to which Boaz naturally belonged, and because, as we think of his riches, his faithfulness, and his kindness, we cannot help exclaiming, "Surely a Greater than Boaz is here!" He was the near kinsman of Naomi's husband, and the same Hebrew word is called "redeemer" (Job xix. 25). And how often we speak of Jesus as "the Redeemer," who "gave Himself a Ransom for many." The ancient "goel," or "near kinsman," had many important rights and responsibilities. Abraham was nearly related to Lot, and when the latter was taken prisoner, his uncle took all his servants with him and went to the rescue, because he was his near kinsman, and he redeemed him by conquest, through the help of God, in whom he trusted (Gen. xiv.).

If a man of Israel died, leaving no children to take his property, his "near kinsman," if unmarried, was expected to marry the widow, and the children that they might have afterwards were to be called by the name and take the lands of the first husband.

If a Hebrew became poor, and sold his land—or, still worse, sold himself for a slave—his kinsman was expected to redeem him and his possessions if he could (Lev. xxv. 25, 47-49).

Thus Boaz, as Naomi's kinsman, redeemed her inheritance, and married the childless widow of her son Chilion, the woman who was no longer to be called a stranger and a foreigner, but a fellow-subject of Israel's God and King.

So Jesus—who redeemed His Church, His bride, His people, and secured to them the rich inheritance they had lost by sin—was, and is, the Near Kinsman of His beloved ones. They were, and always will be, "a people near unto Him" (Psa. cxlviii. 14). His own kindred He called them when He came to redeem them (Matt. xii. 50). His Father loved them, and He loved them also, and the kindness of God the Saviour was shown when He came down from heaven for their sakes. "Kindness!" Sweet word! It means the act of a kinsman, and God's kindness is "loving-kindness," the sweetest description we can possibly have of the tender pity and grace of the Lord.

But the kindness shown by Boaz was only a dim shadow of the love of the "Great Redeemer from above." He did not make much sacrifice apparently when he purchased Naomi's inheritance and made Ruth his wife, but "ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich."

And more, far more, than this—He suffered scorn, and shame, and death itself—the bitterest of deaths. He gave Himself—He laid down the life that was so dear to Himself, so precious to His Father—that He might redeem, buy them back to God by His blood. He endured their punishment, He paid their debts, and then, since Satan had made them his slaves, like Abraham, Jesus fought for His kindred, only He fought alone. He conquered the strong one, and set the captives free, and Satan still must yield up his prey at Christ's command. The Redeemer ever proves Himself "mighty to save" those for whom He died.

Then Ruth furnishes us with a striking picture of one who is seeking Jesus.

She was not a native of the promised land—not born of Israelitish parents. She reminds us of what Paul says—we all are, as sinners, "children of disobedience," "children of wrath," "far from God by wicked works." But a change came over her mind and spirit. "The Lord opened her heart to attend unto the things spoken" by Naomi. A new, a heavenly light dawned upon her, and she saw the evil of idolatry and sin—the beauty of holiness and God—so that, like Moses, she "chose rather to suffer affliction with His people than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season." She would sooner "lodge" with Naomi in poverty, than dwell in comfort among her former companions; and before she thought of being enriched and made happy by Boaz, she had "chosen that good part" which shall never be taken away from those who seek and find it.

The diligent shall be made prosperous, and Ruth gleaned in the fields of Boaz before she knew anything of the relationship he bore to her late husband's family. She was not ashamed to labour as a poor and needy woman, and she gained a good supply of corn from her work by the special favour of Boaz.

There is a remarkable little word connected with her choice of that field. It was her "hap" to light upon it—a word not very often found in the Bible, which always traces everything, great or small, to the will and permission of God. Yet this syllable of three letters came "of purpose" into the record, and teaches us that all the "accidents" of our lives, pleasant as well as painful, are directed and overruled by the Lord. Things "come to pass," and we are filled with wonder, but it is because "He doeth all things well."

About thirty years ago, one Sabbath morning, a group of youths were starting from Clerkenwell, intending to spend the day gathering blackberries in Highgate Woods. It so happened that a dispute arose just outside the chapel where my late dear Pastor preached, and one lad refused to go any further with his companions. To while away the time he peeped into the chapel just as the hymn, "When Thou, my righteous Judge, shalt come," was being given out, and he ventured to slip into a seat in the gallery. He was so much impressed by what he heard that he came again, was savingly converted to God, was baptized, and remained for many years an honourable member of the Church. His "hap was to light upon" a field of Gospel corn, and he received a rich blessing, but his steps, like Ruth's, were directed by the Lord.[14]

And we learn the benefit of wise, Christian counsel. Ruth needed Naomi very much, poor and lonely though she was. From her she learned the good news of the rich man's kinship; from her she received instructions how to act so as to ensure his protection and care. Her conduct, strange as it would be to-day, was in those early times quite in harmony with the behaviour of a virtuous, modest woman, but it has its chief charm when we see in it a picture of one who is seeking Jesus.

Some dear Christian friend, like Naomi, encourages and instructs the youthful seeker by telling of the love and grace of the Saviour, and saying, as a beloved minister once said to a young person, "I cannot give you the blessing; He can." Naomi wanted the help of Boaz as well as Ruth, and all God's people, old or young, strong or weak, need and crave the loving care of Jesus, but it is a privilege and joy to commend one another to Him, and tell of His goodness and grace "who is rich unto all that call upon Him."

In seeking Ruth's happiness Naomi found her own great joy (see chap. iv. 14). In dutiful consideration for Naomi, Ruth obtained a hundred-fold more than she could ever have hoped to find, as an honoured wife and mother favoured with both earthly and heavenly prosperity. Those who honour God He will honour. Those who water others shall be watered themselves. May we receive from the Lord that spirit of love which seeks the welfare of others, and the glory of God, as well as our own happiness.

Our next subject will be, Isaiah xxxv. 8—The King's Highway, and its Travellers.

Dear young friends,—We are nearing the close of another year, and we may be nearer the close of our mortal career than we think. What a mercy if we belong to Christ! If so, we are blessed indeed, for those who are His are forgiven their iniquity, are justified from all unrighteousness, are reconciled to God, and made "accepted in the Beloved." Oh, that you, dear reader, may enjoy that blessed portion! Then, come poverty or wealth, sickness or health, life or death, all will be well with you. All such are the children of God, and none besides. To those who love Him, He will say, "Come, ye blessed of My Father"; but to those who are "without Christ" He will say, "Depart, ye cursed!" Which will be your lot? God grant that you may be taught to flee as sinners to Him who "died for the ungodly," and who has said, "Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out." We trust you will never find rest and peace only in coming to Christ. If our feeble labours in sending forth the Gleaner are but blessed to this end, we shall be amply rewarded, and we wish the Lord to have all the glory.

Dear young friends, we do not ask you to join the "Salvation Army," so called, but we hope you may be an army yourselves, seeking to spread abroad good reading among both young and old; and we believe that the Gleaner and Sower will be found most acceptable and adapted for such a purpose, therefore we ask you to join the "Try Army," and shall be glad to receive the names of any who are willing to enlist, to whom we will send sixteen Magazines, post free, monthly, for one shilling and twopence. The postage rate, however, will not allow us to send a less number at a reduction, but a larger number can be sent in proportion, for schools. The Almanacks are nicely got up, and will be found useful to put on walls in bed-rooms, &c. We hope that you will get orders for as many as possible. We will send fifteen for one shilling, post free; no less number can be sent at a reduction. This we do to encourage our readers to obtain subscribers, and to spread abroad the Magazines. The Yearly Volumes are very nice books for presents. Gleaner, picture boards, very attractive, three volumes, four shillings; Gleaner, cloth, also Sower, cloth, three volumes, five shillings, post free.

Now, dear young friends, we hope you will become a "Try Army," and that we shall see pleasing results arise from your efforts. We hope, too, if spared, shortly to greet you again with "A Happy New Year," and may the Lord bless you each and all with the best of all blessings, that we and you may rejoice together in His mercy, and live to show forth His praise.

Trusting you will not forget us, and that we may still be helped to pray and labour for your good, we remain,

P.S.—Scatter abroad our Friendly Words, 1s. 6d. per hundred, post free. All are pleased to receive them.

AN EXPLANATION.

In inserting the article, "The Fish that Swallowed Jonah," in last month's Gleaner, we had no idea of controverting the testimony of Scripture, but merely to show that the quibbles raised by sceptics, as to the truth of a whale being able to do so, are at least very silly. God could very easily prepare a whale for such a purpose. But, as sharks are included in the term used in the original by Christ, the word "fish," as in Jonah, would be quite as correct.

In the Bible it is said that Adam was formed before Eve, and that they were both placed in Eden, where there was one tree of which God said they might not eat. It is also said that Adam was not deceived, but the woman, being deceived, was first in the transgression (1 Tim. ii. 13, 14).

Probably the woman was by herself when the tempter came to her in the likeness of a serpent, and told her that she would not die if she partook of the fruit which God had commanded her not to eat; but if they took of it they would be as gods, knowing good and evil. With this saying the tempter succeeded in getting the woman to take the fruit of the tree of which God told her not to eat, for she looked upon it as "a tree good for food, pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise" (Gen. iii. 6), and she wanted to be as God. All this was instilled into the heart of the woman by the tempter, and God being left out of her thoughts, she now takes of the fruit of the tree, eats of it, and gives to her husband, and he also eats of it.

Such was the fact of disobedience, which was most heinous in the sight of God. Thus they both fell from that happy state by this one act of disobedience, and were no longer allowed to remain in paradise. Their life was forfeited. Man became dead in sin, and was placed at a great distance from God, no more in paradise, but under the power of the prince and ruler of this world. The result of this act of disobedience has filled the earth with pride, self-will, and violence; for all the vice and misery that have ever been known in this world, have been the result of disobedience. All that descend from Adam are born in his fallen image, are sinners against God, and judgment has come upon all men to condemnation. But "where sin abounded, grace has much more abounded," since Christ, the Seed of the woman, has come, as God said, and has bruised the serpent's head, that as "sin has reigned unto death, even so might grace reign, through righteousness, unto eternal life, by Jesus Christ our Lord" (Rom. v. 20, 21), who hath abolished death, and "brought life and immortality to light by the Gospel" (2 Tim. i. 10); and by His act of obedience unto death, even the death of the cross, believers are made righteous in Him—"For if by one man's offence death reigned by one, much more they which receive abundance of grace and of the gift of righteousness shall reign in life by One, Jesus Christ" (Rom. v. 17).

Commissariat Office, Cork.

[Very good Essays have also been received from Ada Cannings, Leonard Lucock, Bessie Hills, E. B. Knocker, W. E. Cray, W. A. Tooke, and R. A. Stevens.]

[The writer of the above Essay receives a copy of "The Loss of All Things for Christ."

The subject for February will be, "Why was Saul Rejected of God?" and the prize to be given for the best Essay on that subject, a copy of "The Life of John Newton." All competitors must give a guarantee that they are under fifteen years of age, and that the Essay is their own composition, or the papers will be passed over, as the Editor cannot undertake to write for this necessary information. Papers must be sent direct to the Editor, Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings, by the first of January.]

IF aught good thou canst not say
Of thy brother, foe, or friend,
Take thou, then, the silent way,
Lest in word thou shouldst offend.

M. de Lesseps declares that the Panama Canal will be opened in July, 1890.

Since the beginning of her reign, Queen Victoria has been paid approximately £30,000,000 by her subjects.

The daily consumption of needles in America is said to be 4,200,000, most of which come from Redditch, England.

There are 3,100 Smiths enrolled in the city directory of Philadelphia. There are 250 John Smiths and 310 William Smiths.

Capture of a Sword Fish.—A specimen of the sword fish was captured, a week or two ago, in Long Reach, Milton Creek, Sittingbourne, by a bargeman. The fish measured 5 ft. 2 in. from end of tail to tip of sword.

Caroline Herschel, the accomplished partner of her brother's astronomical labours, never could remember the multiplication table, and always had to carry a copy of it about with her.

There are now in the United Kingdom 1,350 workmen's retail stores, with nearly one million members, and a capital of £9,000,000, besides some millions on deposit. The sales last year to members were over £25,000,000, with £3,000,000 profits.

Valuable Remedy for Erysipelas.—One handful of sage, two handfuls of elder leaves, one ounce of alum. The whole of the foregoing to be boiled in a quart of iron water from the blacksmith's forge, until reduced to a pint. To be used as a wash.

Thomas Emmitt, a man employed on the permanent way of the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway, has received intimation that a gold medal will be presented to him for his bravery in jumping on to a runaway engine at Blackburn, and stopping it.

It is said that, in 1887, no fewer than 22,131 human beings died from snake-bite in India, and the number of cattle killed by snakes was 2,514; 417,596 snakes were destroyed, and 25,360 rupees were paid by the Government as rewards for their destruction.

The question of the Sunday opening of libraries is being excitedly agitated in Bolton. A week or two ago Lord Hobhouse addressed a meeting, presided over by the Vicar, in favour of opening, and quoted a letter in support from the Bishop of Manchester. The clergy of the diocese have organized an opposition, the Vicar standing alone in support of the opening, and recently, at a large gathering, a resolution against opening was carried with the wildest enthusiasm, an amendment by a leading Socialist being defeated.

The probabilities of there being large coal deposits under London are discussed at considerable length by a correspondent of the Times. The speculations of geologists on the subject have recently been much assisted by several deep borings, the principal of which have been those of Kentish Town.

A boat drifted from its moorings off Camia; a fishing village nine miles from Boulogne, on Tuesday evening, October 16th. An old fisherman, named Charles Coffier, was the only person on board, and he had nothing to eat for four nights and three and a half days, when the boat was driven by a breeze into Hastings.

The Queen reads, or rather, has read to her, the Times and the Morning Post every morning. Copies are sent direct to her, printed on specially thick paper. Her secretary goes through them, marks with a blue pencil all the important items, and these are then read to her by the two ladies who officiate as readers.

Sunday School Anniversary, Milton Street, Hollinwood, Lancashire.—This was held on October 14th, when two sermons were preached, morning and evening, by Mr. D. Smith, of Halifax, and an address was delivered by Mr. J. Holgate, of Burnley, special hymns being sung by the scholars. The congregations were good, and the services were much appreciated. The collections amounted to £13 14s. 11d.

Roman Catholic Pilgrims in Westminster Abbey.—On Saturday, October 13th, the "Feast of St. Edward, King and Confessor," was celebrated in all the Roman Catholic churches in London, and with more than ordinary pomp at that of SS. Peter and Edward (which is dedicated to his memory) in Palace Street, Westminster, where a Pontifical High Mass coram episcopo was sung by Dr. J. L. Patterson, "Bishop of Emmaus." At the conclusion of the Mass, the congregation, which included several persons who had come from Preston and other parts of Lancashire and different counties of England for the occasion, formed a procession and wended their way to the Abbey, where they offered up prayers at the shrine of St. Edward, King and Confessor. No opposition was offered to the pilgrims and devotees by the authorities of the Abbey. Where is our Protestantism gone to?

Chinese is spoken by 400,000,000, Hindostani by something more than 100,000,000, English by more than 100,000,000, Russian by more than 70,000,000, German by more than 58,000,000, and French by about 40,000,000.

Will Spain ever be tolerant? The Supreme Court of Madrid has confirmed the decision of a provincial tribunal condemning a Spanish Protestant to five days' imprisonment, with a fine of one pound and costs, for having persisted in remaining with his hat on when he met a Catholic procession.

An Army of Spiders.—A dangerous spider that is found on the pampas of Central America, and belonging to the Lycoss species, is thus described in a letter:—"When a person passes near, say within three or four feet of its lurking place, it starts up and gives chase, and will often follow for a distance of thirty or forty yards. I came once very nearly getting bitten by one of these savage creatures. Riding at an easy trot over the dry grass, I suddenly observed a spider pursuing me, leaping swiftly along and keeping up with my beast. I aimed a blow with my whip, and the point of the lash struck the ground close to it, when it leaped upon and ran up the lash, and was within three or four inches of my hand, when I flung the whip from me. The gauchos have a very quaint ballad which tells that the city of Cordova was once invaded by an army of monstrous spiders, and that the townspeople went out with beating drums and flags flying to repel the invasion, and, after firing several volleys, they were forced to return and fly for their lives."

The Whale Hunt at Spithead.—The little coast villages of Bembridge and Sea View, in the Isle of Wight, were thrown into quite a commotion on Friday, September 21st, by the appearance of a huge whale, between thirty and forty feet long, off the mouth of Brading Harbour. It was observed to be swimming about early in the morning, and the little steamer Island Queen, which runs between Southsea and Bembridge, had an unpleasant meeting with the creature. Much to the alarm of the passengers, the whale would "keep company," and for some time it was dangerously close to the little vessel. It furiously lashed the sea with its tail, and commenced to "blow," the result being that the captain, who was on the bridge, and many of the passengers were deluged with water. No harm, however, was done, and the steamer eventually got clear, the whale swimming out to sea. Later on it again put in an appearance, but by this time the islanders were ready for it, and a large number of fishing-boats, watermen, and others put out. The creature was surrounded, and was at length shot. It was then towed on to Sea View beach, where it has been visited by some hundreds of people. At high tide the whale was partially covered. Its dimensions are as follow—length of fish, 35 ft.; girth, 20 ft.; length of mouth from point to top of jaw, 7 ft.; length of fins, 4 ft. each; width of tail, 8 ft.; supposed weight, 10 tons. Estimated value of a sperm whale, £100. The whale has been purchased by Mr. G. Drover, of Cowes.

Chimneys.—In the year 1200 chimneys were scarcely known in England. One only was allowed in a religious house, one in a manor house, and one in the great hall of a castle or lord's house; but in other houses the smoke found its way out as it could. The writers of the fourteenth century seem to have considered them as the newest invention of luxury. In Henry VIII.'s reign the University of Oxford had no fire allowed, for it is mentioned that after the students had supped, having no fire in the winter, they were obliged to take a good run for half an hour to get heat in their feet before they retired for the night. Holinshed, in the reign of Elizabeth, describes the rudeness of the preceding generation in the arts of life. "There were," says he, "very few chimneys; even in the capital towns the fire was laid to the wall, and the smoke issued out at the door, roof, or window. The houses were wattled and plastered over with clay, and all the furniture and utensils were of wood." In 1639 a tax of two shillings was laid on chimneys.

Behind the Scenes in the Post Office.—"How can one get admitted to the General Post Office, and what departments are best worth seeing there?" asks "A Country Cleric." Admission to that remarkably interesting building, the General Post Office, can be had on application to the Secretary. A banker's reference is necessary. The sight is one well worth seeing, and should on no account be missed by country visitors to London. Visitors are admitted at six in the evening, and are shown over the telegraph department. Here may be seen the pneumatic tubes, through which messages are received from many parts of London. Into this office run wires from Belfast, Edinburgh, and all parts of the United Kingdom, and the whole system is explained by an expert. Crossing the road one then enters the Post Office itself. Here one sees the "blind men," as they are called, at work deciphering illegible addresses; and men and machines stamping postmarks at the rate of from one hundred to three hundred a minute. But in order to see the Post Office properly, two or three visits should be made. Not one person in a hundred has any notion of the peculiar experiences of a letter between the times of its postage and receipt.

Published on the first of every Month. Price One Penny.

An Illustrated Monthly Magazine of Religious and General Instruction for Children.

The Editor seeks as much as possible to make this Magazine both interesting and useful to its readers, and hopes that all true friends of the young will try to secure for it a still wider circulation.

Published on the first of every Month. Price One Penny.

Is well adapted for general circulation, since it aims to spread abroad the pure truth of the Gospel of Christ.

Seeing how very industriously the abettors of error sow their tares, lovers of truth, with equal or greater industry, should sow that truth which is "able to make wise unto salvation, through faith which is in Christ Jesus."

The Editor earnestly solicits all who desire the spread of Bible truth to help him in this work by increasing the circulation of The Little Gleaner and The Sower.

Two, four, six, or more copies of the above Magazines post free of the Editor,
117, High Street, Hastings.

London: Houlston and Sons, Paternoster Buildings.

This is a little work of four pages, Gleaner size, which we publish monthly, for the purpose of supplying friends with a sheet of short readings, which will suit many who do not care to read page after page of a magazine or lengthy tract. It has a front-page illustration, which renders it very attractive in general distribution. We hope our friends will spread them freely everywhere. "Wherever I distribute Friendly Words, I find they are most heartily welcomed and eagerly read. I hope they will be widely circulated, and that the Lord will make them very useful among the masses.—L. T." "I am pleased to see how eagerly Friendly Words are received and read where I distribute them. I only wish that all who desire the good of souls, would spread them abroad wherever they can do so.—S." Will other friends kindly try this plan? They can have a good assortment at a small cost.

Price 1s. 6d. per 100; 3d. per dozen (assorted packets at the same price). Post free from the Editor, 117, High Street, Hastings.

These Volumes are acknowledged to be most admirably adapted for Presents, where sound and interesting books are desired.

Sent, at above prices, post free, if ordered of the Editor, Mr. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings.

Fact Superior to Fiction.

These little Volumes contain a collection of interesting narratives, setting forth the good old truths of the Gospel, and will, we believe, help to meet a want greatly felt in our families and schools, as they supply sound Scriptural reading in an interesting form, without resorting to fictitious tales. We earnestly commend them to all who seek the good of the rising race, as books which may, with the Lord's blessing, be of great spiritual use among the young.

Price One Shilling each, or eight volumes for 6s. 6d., post free, if ordered of the Editor,
Mr. T. Hull, 117, High Street, Hastings.