my poor dear mother, and help me to say, 'Thy will be done!" "

He ceased, and the visitor, opening the door, approached the bedside of the poor woman.

"Your child has been praying with you," said he; "I have listened to his prayer."


"Yes," said she, making an effort to rise, he is a dear child. Thank God, he has been sent to a Sunday school. I cannot read myself, but he can, and he has read the Bible to me, and I hope I have reason to bless God for it. Yes, I have learned from him that I am a sinner; have learned from him of Jesus Christ; and I do-yes, I do, as a poor sinner-put my trust in Him. I hope He will forgive me; I hope He has forgiven me. I am going to die, but I am not afraid. My dear child has been made the means of saving my soul. O how thankful am I that he was sent to a Sunday school!"

Such was the hope, full of immortality, with which the sufferer awaited death; and thus, in the providence of God, this dear child, educated at a Sunday school, became the spiritual parent of his mother.

A LEAF FROM A ON a dark and stormy night, off Cape Horn, two watchmates were talking of the pleasure of being homeward bound, and by some means they commenced to talk of the strange similarity between the two words "death" and "home," each of four letters, different, and yet alike.


ANOTHER little wave

Upon the sea of life: Another soul to save,

Amid the toil and strife.

Home is a magic word. The sailor endures hardship, and lightens his toil with the thought that he is homeward bound; and in the stillness of a tropical night, when lying in port, rough, weatherbeaten men have been moved to tears by the simple air of "Home, sweet home," played by some one in a neighbouring ship, bringing up sad thoughts to the mind of one long exiled from his home. To the Christian, to be dead is to be at home. Home, after the long and dreary voyage of life, with its storms of adversity, and calms of prosperity, as an old and pious sailor once said, when dying,

Two more little feet

To walk the dusty road; To choose where two paths meet, The narrow and the broad.

The Fragment Basket.

Two more little hands

To work for good or ill; Two more little eyes,

Another little will. Another heart to love,

Receiving love again; And so the baby came, A thing of joy and pain.


after calling his shipmates around him, "Good bye, shipmates! we've sailed a good many miles together, but my anchor is a-trip, I'm homeward bound!" pointing upwards at the same time. "Home," said he, "in the ship Faith, with Christ for the pilot, and no danger of getting wrecked. Home, to the harbour where the weary are at rest!" S. T. 0.

THE FULNESS OF CHRIST. The happiness we derive from creatures is like a beggar's garment; it is made up of pieces and patches, and is worth very little, after all. But the blessedness we derive from the Saviour is single and complete. In Him all fulness dwells. He is coeval with every period. He is answerable to every condition. He is a physician to heal, a counsellor to plead, a king to govern, a friend to sympathise, a father to provide. He is a foundation to sustain, a root to enliven, a fountain to refresh. He

is the shadow from the heat, the bread of life, the morning star, the sun of righteousness; all, and in all. No creature can be a substitute for Him; but He can supply the place of every creature. He is all my salvation, and all my desire; my hope, my peace, my life, my glory, and joy. Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee? My flesh and my heart faileth, but thou art the strength of my heart and my portion for ever. I cannot be exposed, I cannot be friendless, I cannot be poor, I cannot be fearful, I cannot be sorrowful, with thee.Rev. William Jay.

MATERNAL AUTHORITY. "Come away; come instantly, or I will call your father," I heard a mother say to her child, who was playing in the street, before her window. I did not stop to learn the result, but I pitied the poor mother who had not power enough within herself to control her child, and who so unhesitatingly declared her inefficiency. A mother should never thus appeal to the father's authority to strengthen her own, nor should she admit, by thought, word, or deed, that her power is inferior to his. God never made it inferior; and He requires as prompt obedience to the one as to the other. The mother who allows herself thus to appeal to another, is continually weakening the authority she should exercise over her children. She is herself teaching them to disobey the "commandment with promise"-for what child can honour a mother too weak to govern him? During the first years of life, the mother is both teacher and ruler; it is then her authority ought to be established, and the father should then, and ever after, uphold it in its full supremacy. T. P. FOLLOW THE RIGHT.

No matter who you are, what your lot, or where you live; you cannot afford to do that which is wrong. The only way to obtain happiness

and pleasure for yourself, is to do the right thing. You may not always hit the mark, but you should, nevertheless, always aim for it, and with every trial your skill will increase. Whether you are to be praised or blamed for it by others; whether it will seemingly make you richer or poorer, or whether no other person than yourself knows of your action; still, always, and in all cases, do the right thing. Your first lessons in this rule will sometimes seem hard ones, but they will grow easier and easier, until finally doing the right thing will become a habit, and to do a wrong will be an impossibility.


Do not confound difficulties with hindrances. They are often sent by the Lord, to exercise and try our faith; hindrances, I think, never, although permitted through Satan and our own evil hearts. Difficulties are not necessarily hindrances, because the race is not to be run with speed, but with "patience;" and so, while difficulties are exercising faith, and drawing out energy of purpose and character, a man may be making great strides in his Christian race, and the difficulty be the very occasion of his progress. - J. W. Reeve.


If He prayed who was without sin, how much more is the sinner bound to pray? And if He, watching through the whole night, prayed with continued supplications, how much more ought we, night and day, to watch in frequent prayer ?— St. Cyprian.


Let us acknowledge with shame and contrition that we have not hitherto lived up to our light. How rarely have we heard the Gospel like men in earnest, or read the Bible as if we were feeding on it, and prayed as if we wanted it!Ryle.


WE sing and part, and shall not meet Till leaves are brown beneath our feet

If so, the leaves we chance to tread,
For haply they may fall, instead,
In silence on our lowly head!


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Our pilgrimage is nearly through-
We've passed life's mountain brow;
I thought I loved her years ago-
I know I love her now.

Her face was hovering over mine,
Her warm tears on my cheek;
Her whispered prayer of thought di-

Rose fervently, but meek,
Her bosom rested on my arm,
I felt its tremulous throe;
I knew the cause of its alarm,
And felt its source of woe.
And then the blood my system through
Came pressing on my brow-

I thought I loved her years ago-
I know I love her now.

Thus watched that tried and patient


By night as well as day;
In sadness and almost alone,
Till weeks had passed a way.
Bereft of sleep-deprived of rest-
Oppressed-borne down with care,
Till, oh, her labours have been blest,
For God has heard her prayer.
Her cheek resumes its wonted glow,
And placid is her brow-

I thought I loved her years ago-
I know I love her now.



MAN weigheth gold; each fragmente slight,

Each atom of its glittering dust, He in the well-poised balance lays, And marks with unforgetful trust. Man weigheth words; the fleeting


That's coined within this mortal frame, May waken anger unto death, Or kindle love's exulting flame. God weighs the spirit; oh, beware, Ye who by guile your sins would shroud;

There is an eye you cannot 'scape,

A sun-ray rends the darkest cloud. And when the gold the rust shall eat,

The tongue be silent in the tomb, The motives of the secret soul

Give verdict in the day of doom. MRS. SIGOURNEY.

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Personal Religion.


"Bless the Lord, O my soul," &c.—PSALM ciii. 1, 2.

THE book of Psalms is the Christian's handbook of devotion. It
has hymns of praise for the soul's festivals, and strains of lamen-
tation for its fasts-an appropriate psalm for every season and
occasion of life. So you will find different psalms favourites
with different persons; and the same person will feel this pre-
cious, or that, as his personal experience happens to vary.
Luther, the champion of a rising church, surrounded by enemies,
called the 110th psalm his psalm. Every broken-hearted peni-
tent appropriates the 51st. The care-worn and troubled spirit
finds comfort in the 37th, which bids us roll our burden upon
the Lord. The 23rd is a favourite with every child of grace,
setting out on life's eventful path, and needing a Shepherd's
care. Those who feel the shadows of declining years, and the
chill airs of death cooling the ardour of their vigour, find solemn
sympathy in the psalm of Moses, the man of God. The medita-
tive spirit, seeking strength from God, delights in the 119th, which
magnifies God's Word above all His name. Anxious fears seek
surest solace in that celebration of God's providential care numbered
in our Bibles the 139th. This kind of remark might be extended
to other portions of this precious book, but this 103rd psalm may,
I think, be entitled "Everybody's Psalm." It has the power of
expressing our highest gratitude and joy; and yet is so full of
Divine sympathy and comfort, that you may read or sing it to a
troubled spirit, and never be charged with the heartlessness of
singing songs to a heavy heart. Its opening verses are like the
sounding of the silver trumpets, with which the priests of God's
ancient worship summoned the congregation to His praise. I
desire to give distinctness to their strain by detaining your atten-
tion upon their meaning. Perhaps we may find opportunity to
go all through the psalm, and open up some of its treasures of
wisdom and grace on our way. Everybody should be familiar
with everybody's psalm, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that
is within me, bless His holy name."



his; no power in earth or hell can tear it off; the TRUTH of the strength of Israel makes it his-for ever his. It is strong. Everything that adds to its beauty conduces also to its strength. Every fibre is proved. It has stood the sturdy pull of mighty heroes, who have drawn it tightly about them, as they have gone forth to do battle for God.

We all need it as much as they. And it must be put on, too, if we are to walk off vigorously, making good speed, and fainting not by the way. Let the tension of its every thread be felt, and as we march along we shall renew our strength, treading the verge of Jordan with a firmer, bolder step than when, feeling first the drawing of Jesus' love, we ran after Him.

Truth, then, to drop the figure, is that which inspires the Christian with courage, and endows him with energy. The more firmly faith grasps it, the more power there is in all his actions. Zeal that is not according to knowledge may blaze up now, and so attract more attention, but it will soon die out for want of fuel. Truth alone-a progressive knowledge of truth alone-can give directness, force, and constancy to our efforts, whether for our own advance in holiness, or the upbuilding of Christ's kingdom around us. The individual believer and the Church are strong only when they are begirt with the power of God and the wisdom of God, embodied in the truth as it is in Jesus. Forgetting this, we let our beautiful garments trail in the dust, and keep on our way, if at all, with but a weary, faltering pace. ROCKLAND.


THERE is not a young man in many thousands who rightly estimates the value of time. He says, if he had days or weeks he could do something with them, but mere minutes ard hours are worth nothing. Fatal mistake! The busiest youth in England, if he would husband his time, in the course of seven years might largely cultivate his mind, and lay up a very considerable store of knowledge. Neglect is universal, and hence one rarely meets a really well-informed man. Even they who seem busy are not putting forth half their strength. Take, for example, Calvin the Reformer. What shall I speak of his indefatigable industry, which, paralleled with our loiterings, will, I fear, exceed all credit? It may be the truest object of admiration how one lean, worn, spent, and wearied body could hold out. He read, every week of the year, three divinity lectures; every other week, over and above, he preached every day; so that I know not whether more to admire his constancy, or theirs that heard him. Some have reckoned his yearly lectures to be one hundred and eighty-six, and his yearly sermons two hundred and eighty-six. Every Thursday he sat in the Presbytery; every Friday, when the ministers met to consult upon difficult texts, he made as good as a lecture. Besides all this, there was scarce a day that exercised him not in answering, either by word of mouth or writing, the doubts and questions of different churches and pastors; yea, sometimes, both at

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