do; I attended the funeral the other day of a lady fifteen years younger than that. Thirty? How will that do?" "I'm not sure it would do to wait quite so long," said Caroline. "No, I do not think so, either; something might happen. See now, twenty-five, or even twenty, if we could be sure we would live so long. A year from now; how would that do?" "I don't know, sir." "Neither do I. The fact is, my dear young lady, the more I think of it, and of how many young people, as well ap HEAVEN'S STARS. parently as you are, do die suddenly, I am afraid to put it off a moment longer. Besides, the Bible says, Now is the accepted time.' We must take this time. What shall we do? Had we not better kneel right down here, and ask God for mercy through His Son Jesus Christ?" The young lady, perfectly overcome by her feelings, knelt on the spot. In a day or two she by grace came out rejoicing in hope, finding she had far from lost all enjoyment in this life.-Records of S. V. Wilder. POETIC PIECES. "SUN, STAND THOU STILL!" "STAND still, refulgent orb of day!" The Jewish victor cries: So shall at last an angel say, And tear it from the skies. A flame intenser than the sun Then, with immortal splendour bright, On the bright ranks of happy souls Oh let not sordid, base desire, The soul's dark, rayless night, Unfit us for heaven's sacred choir, Or God's eternal light! BUTCHER. ILLUSTRATIVE TEACHINGS. HOW MY PIGEON HELPED ME TO GET MY LESSON." I shall never know this long lesson," said George Nelson. "I wish there were no such book, then I wouldn't have to get lessons from it." "What's the matter, George?" asked his grandma, who then entered the room. "Oh, this lesson!" said George; "I'm sure I can't learn it. Just look! both these long columns, and I don't know one word!" Well, never mind that; you will soon know every word if you only keep patiently at it. And then, only think how much more you will know! I wonder if my white pigeon wouldn't help you. "Your pigeon, grandma! I didn't know you had any pigeons." "I haven't now; but when I was a little girl my brother had a pair of beautiful pigeons given him. One was white, and the other black. He told me I might call the white one mine. They were both very tame, and would eat corn from our hands. What pleased us most was, that they seemed to know us both; for my brother's pigeon would go and take the corn out of his hand, while mine always came to me. Well, I was going to tell you how mine helped me to get my lesson." "Did it really help you, grandma ?" "Yes; and it will help you just as it did me.' "I'm sure I wish it would," said George. His grandma smiled and continued : "One morning I was sitting near the window trying to get my spelling lesson. It seemed so long, and the words looked so hard, that I was sure I could not learn it. I sat there a long time, wishing I knew it, so that I could run out and play. The sun was shining bright, and it looked so pleasant out of doors. All at once I saw my pigeon fly up to its house, and then in a short time it flew down again to the street. I watched to see what it was doing. It picked up a piece of straw, and flew up as it had done before, and then returned to get another. It did so for a long time." "It was building its nest; wasn't it, grandma ?" asked George. "Just so; it would fly up with a little piece of straw, sometimes with quite long pieces, and when it would get about half way up to the window the straw would drop down, and then it would go right down after it and pick it up again. I saw it try to get one piece up three times, and the third time t reached the window safely. Just then my eyes fell on my book. I thought how much my pigeon had done while I had been doing nothing; and yet it took only one straw at a time. My lesson did not seem so long now. I very soon knew the whole of it." "My lesson looks easier already, grandma. I shall only have to learn one word at a time, and I'll soon know all of them." George set to work in earnest, and in a short time he had learned it perfectly. "Now, George," said his grandma afterward, "do you think you will remember the pigeon?" "Oh, I'm sure I shall," said George, laughing; "and when I come to the longest words, I'll do as the pigeon did when the straw fell, I'll go at them again!"-Children's Treasury. THE RIGHT PERSUASION.-In terrible agony, a soldier lay down in the hospital. A visitor asked him, "What Church are you of?" "Of the Church of Christ," he replied. "I mean, of what persuasion are you?" then inquired the visitor. "Persuasion!" said the dying man, as his eyes looked heavenward, beaming with love to the Saviour; "I am PERSUADED that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate me from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus." 66 FAITHFUL TO OUR CAPTAIN.-A steamboat was sailing across Lake Erie; the pilot at the wheel was old John Maynard, honest John Maynard, faithful John Maynard. When about ten miles from land, the captain cried out," What's all that smoke there coming out of the hold!" 'It's from the engine-room I guess," said a sailor. "Down with you, and let me know," replied the captain. He returned exclaiming, "The hold's on fire, sir." Passengers and sailors set to work, filling buckets with water and dashing it on to the flames. "How's her head ?" shouted the captain. "West-sou'-west, sir," said Maynard. "Keep her south and by west," cried the captain. Presently the fire began to blaze up furiously, the captain or dered all the women to the fore part of the vessel, the engineer put on all his steam, the flag of distress was put up. Still John Maynard stood by his wheel guiding the vessel; but he was now cut off by a sheet of smoke and flames from the ship's crew all was excitement, a few moments and all might find a watery grave; passengers were throwing off their coats and waistcoats, and preparing for one bold struggle for life. They are now only a mile from shore; if only they can manage another mile! See, boats are coming to assist them. "John Maynard," shouted the captain. "Ay, ay, sir," said John. "Can you hold on five minutes longer?" "I'll try, sir!" Noble fellow, and he did try. The flames came nearer and nearer, a sheet of smoke at times almost suffocated him, his hair was singed, his blood semed ready to boil with the heat. Crouching as far back as he could, he held the wheel firmly with his left hand till the flesh shrivelled up and the muscles cracked in the flames. Then he stretched forth his right hand, and bore the same agony with that. It was enough for him that he heard the cheer of the sailors to the approaching boats and the cry of the captain, "The women and children first, then every man for himself, and God for us all." At that moment the vessel struck, the boats were at her side; passengers, sailors, and captain all leaped into them, or swam for their lives, and came "all safe to land," all except one-John Maynard, who had been the means under God of saving them. The brave helmsman had met his fate, either by the flames or by falling overboard; he was seen no more. What do you think of old John Maynard? You will readily agree that he was faithful to his earthly duty, faithful to the last. Well, that is the kind of devotion our Divine Captain expects when He says "Be thou faithful." THE DYING LITTLE GIRL.-I am sure you would have loved Edith C if you had known her. She was always in her place at the Sunday-school; a sweet smile played upon her countenance when she entered her class; and then, how diligent to learn, how quiet, how serious and affectionate! But Edith was taken very ill, and soon she died. In her dying moments she said she wished to speak to her father, a father who sometimes came home intoxicated! When he came, he drew near to her bedside: the little Sunday scholar told her father she was very happy--she was going to be with Jesus in heaven! And then fixing her dying eyes upon her father, she said, "But, father, there are no drunkards in heaven!" Oh, how keenly did he feel! "no The father wept-Edith died. Her schoolfellows, teacher, and minister, were very sorry when she was taken away; but what she said has not been forgotten. Her father could not forget what she told him,—that there were drunkards in heaven!" He repented of his sins; he fled for refuge to Jesus; and has now become a member of the Church. He often speaks of his dying little girl with tears, and hopes to meet her again with Jesus in heaven. WHAT SHALL I Do?. -"Whatsoever thy hand findeth," of all the varied forms of kindness and good. Stand in your circle, and work around you; in your own home; in your own neighbourhood; in your own town or county; and if God enlarges the ability and opportunity, "break forth upon the right hand and upon the left; " but don't wait for a large field; cultivate the spot you have, and help your neighbours. Remember that to put a sound gospel tract into a family is like giving them a draught of the water of life; to put there an evangelical volume is like furnishing them with "a water pot, of two or three firkins; nay, some volumes might rather be likened to a reservoir; but to supply them with the Bible is to open a fountain of living waters by the very hearthstone. It is like digging an inexhaustible well in the traveller's track across the great Sahara. Do any, or all of these; and a blessing shall return unto you, and God shall be glorified in you. THE SUNDAY TEACHERS' TREASURY. “A MERRY CHRISTMAS." How many of us shall have offered | and received, towards the conclusion of this present month of December, the kindly, brotherly wish expressed in the brief words "A Merry Christmas!" How universal seems the feeling that Christmas is a time of great rejoicing; that yearly, as the time returns when we celebrate the anniversary of our Lord's birth, all sad thoughts should be cast aside, and congratulations fill every mouth, brightness light up every eye, gladness fill every heart. And in some sense we suppose the feeling is a correct one. For an angel's voice declared the tidings he announced to be "tidings of great joy;" and many more-yes, "multitudes "-thereupon broke forth into song as though unable longer to restrain themselves. The song of the angels indeed was of glory to God; but also it was of peace to man: and peace after long unrest and keen warfare is tidings of great joy. And oh, good tidings, tidings of great joy the celestial song was, and must ever be, to a world lying in wickedness, estranged from God; for how else, without that Saviour's birth of which the angel told, should estranged man ever be brought back to loving fellowship with God? How that world be raised from its wickedness? So it is a time for thankful joy at all events. DECEMBER, 1868. And yet we pause to inquire, Is it indeed so ? Is it really quite the time for greatest joy, even joy of the deep kind the Christian feels? Does it never seem to grate somewhat upon us to be called on to feel so very happy at Christmas time? Is there no feeling, increasing in strength the more deeply we love the Saviour, that it is more a time for adoring gratitude and thankfulness indeed, but yet also for a tender grief rather than bounding joy? Let us go and stand beside that lowly cradle awhile, and consider. Let us gaze upon that heavenly Babe, and ponder all that lies before Him. Let us think of the poverty, the toil, the loneliness of heart, the long absence from His home of glory; the weary, painful years that lie between Him and His return thither ; the unsuitableness of earth and sinful man to His pure, holy nature. Let us imagine the sorrowful thoughts that will crowd into that Infant's mind as soon as intelligence dawns within Him-how that sorrow will deepen and intensify, as infancy advances to youth, and youth approaches to manhood; and shall we not feel, as the long, weary, toilsome space of three-and-thirty years rises before our mind's eye, that we cannot wholly rejoice for ourselves just now, because of deep sympathy for His M M suffering? Suffering, too, all caused by us; all to be borne that we might be free. Should we not feel most thankful also that our lot has been cast in times subsequent to the Saviour's appearing, inasmuch as it is placed within our power in some degree to show our sense of the greatness of that Divine Sacrifice which was to propitiate an angry God for a world's sinfulness ? Would any truly generous, loving heart have consented to purchase immunity by God's purposed way of redemption, so faintly revealed beforehand, had he fully understood what it would cost? At least the struggle would have been intense. This by the way. But oh, if we live beside that Child as He grows, if we follow Him in loving thought through all His progressing years, and, as we come to the later ones, accompany Him day by day in His labours, His watchings, His weariness, in His continually increasing suffering as He saw the final hour draw nigh,—shall we not, if we deeply love Him, be more inclined to rejoice at the time for His return to the Father than we were at the hour which first brought Him amongst us? As the last awful week, with its deepening agony, passes, will not the thought arise, 66 Ah, dearest Lord, it will soon be ended now! not much longer shalt Thou stay here"? and as Good Friday draws to its close, will not a sigh of relief arise as He cries "It is finished!" and our lips reply, "Yes, Lord, it is finished now, and Thou art at rest." Peacefully, gladly, we shall lay Him down in the grave, conscious that now the over-burdened One is at rest. Does not Jesus Himself imply that we should feel thus ? Does He not say, "If ye loved Me, ye would rejoice, because I go to the Father"? Oh surely it is more satisfactory to lay Him down in Joseph's tomb than to watch Him in Bethlehem's manger! May one say that Easter should rather be "6 a merry Easter" than Christmas "a merry Christmas"? Perhaps happiest of all the Church's seasons should be the day which saw Him bodily return to His Father and His home in heaven. Why is not Ascension Day more joyfully observed amongst us? Why are we content to let the celebration of His return to glory pass amongst us with less gladsomeness of heart?-that hour of such joyful satisfaction to Him! If indeed we love Him, can -may one ask-we content ourselves with considering the commencement of His sufferings "A Merry Christmas " "? ALEPH. LOVE. LOVE is a gentle, tender flower, Yet only scales perfection's height Love is the tear that dims our eyes, Love binds us to our fellows here In one harmonious whole; |