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thought of death is no longer a fear and dread to him, for to depart is to be for ever with his best and dearest Friend, with Him who, for his sake, left the glory of heaven to live the life of a working-man amid cold, hard, ungrateful companions, and then for their sakes laid down His life, a penalty for their sins. Having lived, He knows all your trials, and you may tell them to Him as freely as to your brother, for He can sympathise; having died, He can take your fear of death away, for the sting of death is sin, and your sin was laid on Him; but remember, it is he that forsaketh sin that shall find mercy.

"Repentance is to leave

The sin we loved before,
And show that we in earnest grieve

By doing so no more."

You think, perhaps, that a life of religion is a gloomy thing; but a Christian's life is far happier than that of the worldling, for his pleasures leave no sting behind.

"When on the poisonous breeze
The seeds of death like thistle-down are borne,
And strong men fall around like summer corn,
'His soul shall dwell at ease.'

By night on raging seas,
When waves white-crested gleam amid the gloom,
And in the whirlwind's pause the storm-bells boom,

• His soul shall dwell at ease.'

And when on bended knees
The weepers ask his life with changing fear
And hope, while death in solemn march draws on,

'His soul shall dwell at ease.' " 1

Reader, would not you have your soul thus at ease?

1 " Songs of Heaven and Home."

Suffer % fittle Cfcxtown to come unto Hfc"

"1\/T0TheR' * am B°1nS to Jesus."
IVi Said a little boy one day,
As upon a bed of sickness,
Faint and worn with pain, he lay;
"Heaven, mother, you say is fair;
How soon now shall I be there!"

"Do you wish to leave, darling,
Papa and me, and go away?
What will baby do without you—
He will miss you when at play?"
"Give him my toys, and tell him I
Have gone to live up in the sky."

His mother kissed his fevered brow
- As he laid down his head,

She smoothed the pillows under him,
Then sat down by the bed;
Her heart was full, sad tears she wept,
And watched her darling while he slept.

'Twas some time ere he spoke again,

And then his voice was low.

"I'll make a will of all my things,"

He said, "before I go;

And give to each as I think best;

Then I'll lie down again and rest.

"My money, dear mamma, divide

Amongst the poor around,

There's eighteen shillings in the box,

I think—or else a pound;

My dog I give to dear papa,

My 'dickie' must be yours, mamma.

"And baby shall have all my toys,

My rocking-horse and top,

The box of soldiers, and the gun

He likes so much to pop;

And he must have my Bible too—

There Jesus tells him what to do. "'Let little children come to Me,'

He says in that sweet book;

His lambs He carries in His arms,

And soothes them with His look;

He gives a crown to all His own,

Who stand around the great white throne.

"Oh, mother, I shall soon be there,

The angels won't be long;

They'll take me up, and I shall then

Have joined the happy throng

Where children sing of Christ who died,

'Worthy the Lamb once crucified !'"

As night came down an angel passed

From out the gates on high,

He freed the spirit from its cage,

And bore it to the sky;

And when the eastern clouds shone red,

The little suffering boy lay dead.

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It is said that little pitchers have long ears, by which I suppose is meant that children hear more than is intended for them to notice. This they certainly do, and what is more, they often ask very inconvenient questions on what they hear. An illustration of this lately occurred where I was visiting, and made me feel uncomfortable in the presence of two dearlyloved friends; but the lesson the unconscious child taught me has left so deep an impression, that I should feel culpable were I to bury the incident in oblivion.

Visitors were announced at a house where I was also a caller, and, as became Christians, the conversation quickly turned to the subject dearest to all of our hearts—the love of God—when my host, with unusual earnestness, besought

a young friend, who had accompanied the older friends, to keep close to the Word of God as the only safe guide for a consistent walk in the paths of godliness. It had either escaped observation that " the mite, Dora," was still present, or else she was supposed to be too busy fitting a new dress on her doll to notice anything else passing in the room, when, just as Mr. A. had raised his voice to repeat for the third time, " Keep close to God's Word," we were all startled by a small voice asking in equally earnest tones, "Does you, papa?"

A pause ensued, during which we all had time to scan each other's faces with an inquiring expression; as though the "Does you?" rang through each mind demanding a reply. At last the dear child's father said in a rather confused manner,

"I hope so, my love!" and on Dora's merely saying, "For torse you does," an uncomfortable silence again fell on the party, and we were all greatly relieved when the lady of the house appeared. But the relief was not for long, for when, at another turn of the conversation, this lady was sending a message of condolence to a neighbour in sorrow, beseeching her to recollect that the Lord does not willingly afflict, and that if we would only call to remembrance His former mercies,1 we should not faint under His corrective hand, little Dora again broke in on us with the home-thrust, "Does you, dear mamma?"

"I hope so, my darling," was again the unsatisfactory answer.

And unsatisfactory it was, at any rate, to the little girl, for turning back to her doll she lisped, with a shake of her pretty head, "I soud say, 'F«r, my darling,' right out."

It was impossible to pass this second remark over without notice, not so much for the sake of vindicating my friend, but because, young and unreasoning as the child was, it might injure her unformed Christian principles, were the wavering "Hope so" to take precedence in her young mind of the firm and beautiful "I do" of the believing soul . Calling her, therefore, to his knee, her father asked, "And why should .my little girl say yes to this"

1 Psa. lxxvii. 10, II.

Without a moment's hesitation she looked artlessly up into his face, and said,

"'Cos I is quite sure dear mamma doesn't forget. She taught me my pretty text; 'Forget not none of His ben'fits,' and she says ben'fits is the mercies we have evely day; so she soudn't say, 'Hope so;' soud you, mammy dear?" and the sweet young face smiled round to " mammy dear" for a corroborative word. But her eyes were full of tears, and her voice too quivering for speech. Presently, howev-er, she replied to us all:

"How marked is the difference between hope and. faith! Even this dear babe perceives it . Hope may anchor the soul to the rock, but faith climbs and stands safely . Hope looks forward to the promised land, but faith, enters it at once, and takes full possession."

"All. the difference between ' There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God,'1 and 'We which have believed do enter into rest,'"2 I ventured to remark, when my friend (the child's father) exclaimed heartily:

"Do not let us be cowards! Hope is a blessed Christian grace, and supports as we walk through the deep waters; but faith—ah, what does faith do? it divides the waters, and enables us to pass over dryshod. Oh no, my little babe is right, the Christian should have no 'I hope so;' it should all be joyful, earnest certainty in matters ' touching his God.' How much happier should we be if in' both of these two cases which have elicited this conversation we could firmly say, 'I do take God's Word as the rule of my life, and I do trust Him in the darkest dispensation that hides even Himself from my sight.'"

Here little Dora's wondering eyes fixed on her father, as if she would like to speak, induced the invitation to do so, when she leaped from his knee, and folding her hands, said reverently, ".I can sing it to you, if I may."

1 Heb. iv. 9. 'Heb. iv. 3.

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