"I asked him if you sent them; and he Bald, I rather think your pa don't know anything about it."

"Who did send them, then ?" said I.

"Oh," said he, "I mustn't tell, but you may say to your father that they are a present."

But to what instrumentality they were indebted for the relief was a mystery. And what particularly interested Deacon P―was the character of the anonymous presents, that the very things so much needed, and no others, should be sent; and he was sure he had mentioned his want of them to no human ear.

He questioned the children anew. They described the man who knocked at the door, the horse, and the truck he drove. A new thought struck him. "Why," said he, that team belongs to my old enemy, Graff. Can it be possible he is the donor? If so, surely the finger of God has touched his heart." Deacon P. was, however, so Convinced that he was their benefactor, that he resolved on an immediate call on that gentleman.

But who was Mr. Graff?

Some years before, the sacredness of the Sabbath was openly violated by a brisk trade in fish. The hundreds of boatmen, ,sailors, and their friends, engaged in this desecration, were so potent in influence that nobody thought of risking interference. Deacon P —, though a man of peace, was also a man of moral courage. He determined to put a stop to the iniquity. His friends warned him that his life would be endangered, but at first alone, and afterwards with a brother deacon, he would take

walk along the wharfs of a Sabbath morning to ascertain who broke the laws by traffic on that day. Men swore at him like fiends, fired his dwelling at several different times, and at last "bound themselves with an oath" to kill him, Yet they feared his presence, and at his approach stores would be deserted of customers and closed with great celerity. This species of Sabbathbreaking was at length broken up, after various hair-breadth escapes on the part of Deacon P- and his compatriot, the authorities being shamed into action by their fearless zeal.

The brutal drunkenness of the sailors, and the degradation and suffering of their families, with which Deacon P- was in this enterprise brought into contact, opened his eyes to the evils of the liquor traffic; and,

turning over his Sabbath reform to the legal authorities, he became known as a temperance advocate. This also brought him enemies, sometimes changing even friends into foes. Distiller Graff was among the latter, from a warm friend becoming bitterly alienated. In vain did the grieved deacon strive to conciliate by explanation and personal kindness. Even the trifling civility of a bow was rudely unnoticed by Mr. Graff.

Deacon P entered the distillery of his old friend.

For the first time for years its proprietor looked up with a nod and smile of recognition. It was evident something unusual had softened his heart.

"I have called," said the deacon," to ask if you can tell me who sent some coals and candles to my house to-day ?"

Yes, Sir, I sent them."

"You are very kind; but pray, tell me how you came to do so?"

"But first let me enquire if you really needed them ?"

"Oh, I cannot express to you how much!" "Well, then, I suppose I must explain," said Mr. Graff. "It's all very singular. and sometimes seems very foolish. This morning, about ten o'clock, as I was busy at my work, suddenly a voice seemed to say to me, 'Send some coals to Deacon P-;

he is in want!' I was astonished. I could not believe you needed it. And I could not send it to you of all others. I tried to banish the thought, and went to work again more earnestly. But the voice, it seemed within me, said again, with painful distinctness,Send some coals to Deacon P; he is in want!' I scouted the idea as weak and silly,-a mere phantasy of the brain; but it was of no use; I had to suc cumb. The more I ridiculed and fought it, the more vivid and irresistible was the Impression, until to purchase peace, and in some awe, I confess, I hade John load his team with wood, and leave it at your door.

"For a moment I was at rest; but only for a moment. The imperative whisper came, Send some candles!' Said I to myself, This is too absurd; I will not gratify this whim. But again I was so beset with the mandate, and so distressed and baffled in repelling it, that as a cheap way to get out of torment, I handed John a package of candles also.

"This matter has been in my mind ever since. Sometimes I have thought it almost

a freak of insanity, and then again, such was the strange character of the impression, 80 unexpected, so solemn, and powerful, and such the singular peace following compliance with its dictates, that I almost believe it to be supernatural."

"It is indeed the doing of Him who is wonderful in working," replied Deacon P. "It was about ten o'clock, I well remember, that I pled with God for the very articles you sent me. It was then, too, that my soul was filled with the conviction that my prayer was heard and relief would come."

Since hearing a venerated relative relate this incident in his own life, we have often wondered how the sceptic can dispose of such occurrences. While it would be presumption for the believer to expect to live by prayer alone, to be fed without his own co-operation, as was Elijah, yet are there not events happening all along the history of the church, in the experiences of individual members, to be accounted for only on the ground of a special Providence, regardful of the emergencies of the believing, suffering people of God? Surely, "light is sown for the righteous," and to them,

"The deepest dark reveals the starriest hope."

"LEFT!"-WHY?

This little word is suggestive of very melancholy reflections to every superintendent of a Sunday school. Whether it be found opposite to the name of a scholar or teacher, it makes us very sad.

With regard to Sunday school children we do not propose to say much of them. Some leave because the poor in large towns are continually changing their residence, and of course their children must go with them; some because they are led away by bad companions; others because they get tired of the teaching and the task. Our principal concern now is with the teachers, for whom this paper is directly designed, and opposite whose name from time to time this word is found.

"Left!" Why? Because the work was commenced in his own strength, and he very soon became tired. In this case the person entered unthinkingly into the responsible position of a Sunday school teacher; he did not think it required any particular exertion; it never occurred to him that for such a little work as teaching a few children, so awful an instrumentality

1

as the energy of the Holy Ghost was required; and so he soon found himself unequal to what he had undertaken, aud dropped away. And what else are we to expect? We cannot hope that men will thrive apart from God, or that he will honour the toils or the intentions of any who do not put him in his proper place. As you commenced teaching without consulting the Lord, so you are very likely to leave off, also, without seeking what is his will; and, having put your hand to the plough, and not only looked back, but even left it altogether, is there not too much reason to fear that you will be pronounced "unfit for the kingdom of heaven "?

"Left!" Why? Because he grew tired of the sameness of his work. Sunday after Sunday there were the same dull and heavy boys. Very little progress did they makes very little variety was there in the school routine; our teacher first grew discon tented, then tired, and at last he went away. And yet the children were no altogether so dull but that he might have not only succeeded in interesting them, bus in interesting himself with them. Some of those boys have turned out very well under a teacher who took pains to bring out their faculties, who did not spare himself for he had a right good heart for his works but this teacher had neither patience no energy, and so he left. And should these few lines meet the eyes of any one who is now beginning to get tired from any cause, I would entreat him to pause and reflect before he makes up his mind to leave his post. If a man gets tired of his profession, is that considered a sufficient reason for his leaving it? Does not the sheer force of necessity make many a man continue m a position which in itself he does not like? Want stares him in the face if he gives up his means of bread; and, forasmuch as employment for God is higher than any employment for self, can we suppose that so miserable an excuse will be accepted, that we have such a right over ourselves as to leave because we feel tired? Think dear friends; you cannot surely intend, when God calls you to account for deserting his work, to tell him that you were tired of it! The bare thought of being obliged to make such an acknowledgment makes you instinctively shrink back; and yet if you leave because you are tired, you mus say so, you must speak the truth. What future anguish may be involved in the

record, in the simple Sunday school roll, of the little word, "Left!"

"Left!" Why? Because he was offended. Some of his class were moved up; he was not consulted in such and such an arrangement that was made; he thought that some one was put above him, ard so his pride was hurt. And because of this he left; to gratify his own vanity he deserted his Lord's work, and by trying to make himself something, he became worse than nothing. It never struck such an one that the interests of the school were to be placed infinitely above all others, and espedally above all personal considerations; that the Lord's people are in service, und should therefore think of their service, and not of themselves; that in the school as well as elsewhere, a christian must be content to take the lowest room. Think, dear reader, if you ever feel inclined to become a deserter on this account, how very sad a spectacle you must present in the sight of God. He sees you as one who prefers a position of honour amid his fellow-men, to one in the vineyard and the sight of the Most High; as one who would rather allow souls to perish, than abate one jot or tittle of his dignity; as one neither knowing nor practising the example of the bumble Christ. What have we, as hard working men in the vineyard, to do with earthly honour, or earthly praise? If our work were of the world, or for it, then, indeed, there would be some sense in striving for a foremost place; but our work is not of the world, the world has nothing to do with it; to the future, and the future alone, should we look for position and reward, for then shall every man have praise of God. Never, then, think even for a single moment of deserting the army of the Lord, because your self-love, or your pride, or vanity, is wounded. Have you not received infinitely above your merits in being allowed to do anything for Christ at all? To leave for such a cause as this is to put self above Jesus, and the

gratification of one's vanity above the salvation of immortal souls; we can imagine few things more awful than for such a cause as this, to have written after any teacher's name this one word, "Left."

"Left!" why? Because he got married, and thought his wife had more claim upon him than God. Until he was married he was a most excellent and regular teacher; but after that, he first became irregular in the hour of attendance, then he was absent about once in three weeks, and then he "left." How can we hope to be blessed in our new relationships of life, if we allow them to make us less active for the Lord than we were before? Is there not too much reason to suppose that the Lord will reckon with us in the very quarter in which we sin, and that we shall have no real, no abiding blessing, in that which we are making a curse to ourselves, by allowing it to keep us from his work? We cannot forget what was said of one who made this very excuse" I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come."

And thus we might go on, giving reason after reason for all these melancholy entries in the rolls of our Sunday schools; but we forbear. Let us earnestly hope that what we have said may help to keep some of our readers steady to their post and work, when the tempter comes and tries to tear or seduce them away. We would affectionately remind you, dear friends and fellow-labourers, that you are not your own, but bought with a price; that you possess no inherent power to discharge yourself from the warfare in which you have engaged; that it is he who endures to the end that can hope to receive the promised crown. We remind you, that however voluntary your work may be, your responsibilities are not voluntary, but are on you, whether you will or no; and we would pray you to take all this into account before you finally determine to have appended to your name, in the Sunday school `roll, this word "Left!"

much with "modern things" ourselves, we Can scarcely be expected to unite with him in this opinion. There is much in the old divines, including such men as "glorious John Howe," and Bunyan, and many more, that no one can read without increased vigour both of intellect and piety: and there are too many "modern things," no doubt, which are poor, feeble, and "twaddly." But it must be remembered that of the "old divines," most of the poor and feeble has long since gone the way of all poor and feeble things, while the good and strong only, for the most part, remain to us. We are disposed to think, that for vividness of illustration and vigour of thought, to say nothing of polish. of style and adaptation to present circumstances and tendencles, modern divinity, by which we mean modern sermons, would compare favourably with the similar productions of any former age. Let us beware of thinking things good and great simply because they are old. We will not part with the great works of the "grand old masters" on the one hand: neither will we disparage the works of our own friends and brethren on the other. There are hundreds of sermons preached every Sunday,-aye, even in village pulpits, and by men unknown to fame,-that John Howe and John Bunyan would have Пistened to with delight and profit. EXCELSIOR: HELPS TO PROGRESS IN RELIGION, SCIENCE, AND LITERATURE. Vol. 2. London: Nisbet & Co.

The second volume of this periodical well falfils the promise of the first. It contains much beautiful writing, adapted to the more cultivated minds amongst us. It is just the

thing for our better educated and more thoughtful young men and women, and will help them in the attainment of higher views of divine truth and of human life and duty. The six volumes, which are to complete the series, will, if edited as well as the first, furnish a library for which many will have cause to thank the accomplished editor.

THE THREEFOLD CORD; OR, MUSINGS ON FAITH, HOPE, AND LOVE. By JAMES BUTTFIELD. Pp. 144. London: Houlston and Stoneman.

This little volume, as is intimated in it's title, consists of three poems on the three cardinal virtues of Christianity. We cannot say much for the poetry, which is rather too prosaic for our taste: it is, in fact, prose put into rhyme: but the prose would be very good; and it will be read at least for the spirit which it breathes, and the pleasing sentiments it expresses. The, writer, who is evidently a modest man, deserves com mendation for his effort to extend the prac tice of virtues, the value of which he has himself experienced, and the power of which he has evidently felt.

Two ROADS TO HEAVEN; OR, THE O

ROAD, AND THE NEW AND LIVING WAY. By HUGH ANDERSON. Pp. 32. London: W. Allen, Paternoster Row.

A very forcibly-written little tract, calcu lated to give clear views of Gospel truth, and adapted to impress that truth upon the mind and heart. The Religious Tract Society could not do better than get the excellent writer's permission to print and circulate it in thousands over the land.

CHAPTER 11,

The Christmas I have told about was my first and last with cousin Lucy; and since then I have seen many more, but none happier or so fraught with gentle influences as was that one long bright holiday.

When spring came, we planted a beautiful little flower garden in the midst of grandpa's, and in this small enclosure were gathered the prettiest and choicest varieties which we could find. Grandpa built us, too, a fine and substantial swing, and we

would sometimes, accompanied by some older person, take a lovely sail on the beautiful river which ran directly through Whitefield. Once that stream had for me a thousand charms, both on account of its own beauty, and for the delight which had often filled my heart as I sailed on its beautiful bosom; but now, even to this day, I cannot look upon it with just that pleasure, and why, I am going to tell you.' One afternoon in the heat of July, accompanied by our man-servant, Tom, we prepared for our usual sail. Ry some ac