How dared those two disciples thus to "talk," who had but so lately witnessed the tremendous scenes of Calvary, when with the last expiring breath of the Son of God most holy, the earth quaked, the rocks rent, the graves were opened, and all who came together to "that sight," smote their breasts, and returned?"

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How did they not rather walk on their way in solemn and contemplative silence, than thus violate and ignore the sanctity of those awful subjects? How would the young man of whom we have been speaking have withdrawn in displeasure from their companionship! Yet Jesus Himself drew near, and talked with them!

How would Edward Hall have approved of the spirit of the age when "they who feared the Lord spake often one to another?" Yet "the Lord hearkened and heard," and remembered them, and "a book of remembrance" was written for them; and they shall be His in the day that He maketh up His "jewels."

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"My mouth shall show forth Thy righteousness and Thy salvation all the day; ""I will make known Thy faithfulness to all generations!"

How can he who "never was one to talk," sympathise with these fervent expressions of the royal psalmist? How do they understand the meaning of the promise that God's people shall "abundantly utter" the memory of His great goodness, who "disapprove" of speaking on such heavenly themes?

Reader, we seek to impress upon you this truth: that it is your duty, if you are indeed a believer in Jesus, to speak sometimes of your Saviour's love, of the concerns of the soul, and the "things of the Spirit." According to the grace and ability which God hath given, as opportunity offers, and as circumstances require, it is your duty to instruct the ignorant, to guide the wandering, to warn the thoughtless, and to comfort the desponding soul. And, however weak your faith, however poor your attainments, neither may you claim exemption from that obligation which rests upon every

believer, as a member of Christ's mystical body, to respond at least with kindly interest when your fellow-believers speak to you of the things of the kingdom.

But, reader, if you are among the number of those who "care not" for these things, God forbid that you should affect to care! Only do not attempt to cloak your want of spirituality of heart under a vehement profession of zeal for practical religion, while conscious that the spring of your actions is not the love of God; and remembering that a day is coming when you will wish you had cared more for those high and holy subjects in which now you take no interest, oh! pray, pray that you may care for them ere it be too Late!

And in the meantime be content that others should know you as you really are, and be willing to know yourself. Whatever be your spiritual condition, the true Christian will not despise you, but will love you and lead you in the way.

Then, when you have indeed found the Saviour, and felt Him to be "precious," you will not only "act" uprightly, but thus act for His sake; the practical duties you love, and without which religion were indeed an empty name, will be more faithfully, more earnestly performed, and you will feel a glow in your heart towards your Saviour that shall make you delight to hear of Him, and constrain you to unite with His people in speaking good of His name, and testifying to the blessedness of His service.

Pleasures in Religion.

HE pleasure of the religious man is an easy and portable pleasure, such a one as he carries about in his bosom, without alarming either the eye or the envy of the world. A man putting all his pleasures into this one, is like a traveller putting all his goods into one jewel; the value is the same, and the convenience greater.-South.

Miss Pratt and her Story.

HEN I was a tract distributor I often encountered odd specimens of character, and curious incidents among the poor, which only a personal intimacy will reveal. Every young distributor will sympathise with me when I say that, while I had many warm friends in my district whom it was a pleasure to visit, there

were several houses which I would willingly, had it been possible, have omitted from my list. I may add, however, that in every case I was afterwards thankful that I had been unable to yield to my first impulse.

In the case of every one-but, I think, especially in that of the poor-one's early judgments are apt to be mistaken. A constant struggle for existence--a continual wear and tear of anxiety and hardship-stamps the outward appearance and manner; and often it is only after long and patient intercourse that the real man or woman is reached.

In my district there was a little shop-a poor, miserable sort of place, where, in a small window, reposed balls of cotton, onions, marbles, dried herrings, sweets and small groceries, with a few limp envelopes and sheets of paper. Within stood a tall, gaunt woman behind the counter, whose emaciated face made more conspicuous the large piercing eyes that always seemed to look through me when I entered. She was a person of few words, and those few abrupt and decided. She was not uncivil, nor, for a person in her station, ignorant or ill-educated, nor did she object to receiving a tract as some did-one old man always shutting his door sharp when he saw me approaching, but generally relenting before I had passed, and calling out, "I say, miss, you can leave one if you like, you know" evidently considering he was bestowing a favour upon me; and a woman who took hers with a protest, observing, "I think they'd do more good further on.”

These were disconcerting; but still I did not mind them so much as Miss Pratt, who said so little and looked at me so hard, and whom I thought I should never get to know. She was my bugbear; the sight of that little shop-window depressed my spirits, and I confess to having walked very slowly, and even to have stood waiting outside before I could make up my mind to go in and face those great eyes.

This went on for many weeks, during which time my acquaintanceship with Miss Pratt had not progressed;

indeed, beyond a few necessary words, I had not spoken to her, fancying she would dislike it.

One day, however, having finished my duty and visited each house except the little shop, which I usually reserved for the last, I found on entering that Miss Pratt was serving a small child with a quarter of a pound of cheese. So I waited, and presently observed, to my surprise, that, after weighing it, she tore a leaf out of an old book to wrap it in, and that book the Bible! My indignation overcame my timidity, and I exclaimed warmly,

"I do not like to see that, Miss Pratt !"

"To see what, miss ?" she asked, in no way disconcerted, and fixing her eyes upon me.

"Why, you are using God's Holy Word like common waste-paper! You cannot think that right!"

Without moving her eyes from my face, but suspending her operations and leaning both hands on the counter, she asked,

"Please, miss, what do you call yourself?"

I being too much surprised to reply at once, she explained, "With them books, I mean."

"A tract-distributor, certainly," I then said.

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And, please, why do you distribute them tracts ?"

Though feeling annoyed at the woman's questions, I had my answer ready: "To do good, and to teach the poor that God is their friend, and perhaps to show them the way of salvation."

"And don't you think, miss," she said, "that there's more and better on one of these pages than in all them bits of books put together?" And she laid her hand reverently on the Bible, and glanced somewhat contemptuously at my little bundle, as I fancied.

"Not but what there's good in them," she added, “and you do right to distribute them; and I distribute leaves from the best of books. And let me tell you, miss," she concluded, bending a little more forward on her hands, and opening her eyes wider at me, "there's a many who will