where; but we need not go far. It is found in the fact of Abel being a believer, and Cain an unbeliever. Abel sought and was saved by Divine grace; but Cain was an utter stranger to its reviving and sanctifying power. The same grace which made so great a difference between those early worshippers is free for us. And the same faith which secured acceptance to Abel, and the want of which occasioned the rejection of Cain, we may have by seeking it. Let us seek it now, my young readers, remembering that without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he that cometh to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him. Shun the conduct of Cain, and copy the example of Abel, that you may avoid the curse which fell on Cain, and share the reward of Abel. Amen. R. BRICKWOOD.

VARIETIES.

A VERY LITTLE STORY FOR LITTLE BOYS.

OH! mamma, mamma!" said little George, as he came softly in, his face glowing with delight, "there was a little bird lighted on the bough of the lilac-tree, and he sang a long time to me, and when he had finished, I said, "Thank you, little bird, for your song.' Was that right, mamma ?"

"Oh, yes," said his mamma; for she thought she would not tell her little boy that the bird was not singing to him particularly, or that it could not understand him when he replied; for she had taught him to say, "Thank you," to those who did him any kindness, and was much pleased with this childish proof of his remembering her lessons, and of his interest in the little birds.

A few days after this, his little sister, who was scarcely three years old, came dancing in like a little sunbeam as she was, saying, "Oh, mamma, the little bird sang to me on the lilac-bush this morning, and I said, 'Thank you, little bird, for your song.' Was that right, mamma ?"

Her mamma did not suppose she had noticed what George said, as she was playing on the floor at the time,

and scarcely looked up when he came in. But when she heard the bird sing, it probably reminded her of what her little brother had done, and thinking the song was for her, because the bird was on the lilac-bush close by, her little heart said, "Thank you," too.

Dear little creature! her own songs were scarcely less sweet than the bird's, as she hopped as gracefully from room to room; but only a few mornings afterward, she was called away to join the cherub choir in heaven. Often the same little warbler comes to sit upon the lilac-bush, and pour forth its own thanksgiving notes; but mourn fully they strike upon the hearts made desolate by the cold hand of death.

I tell the story to remind little boys how gentle ther should be, and careful in all they say; for the little sisters who are sitting on the floor catch all their words; and they are sweet and kind, as little Georgy's were that day they will do much toward making those who are around them sweet and kind.

If, instead of loving the little bird, and thanking it for its song, he had tried to shoot it, or find its nest that he might rob it of its eggs, I should have known that he had not a gentle heart, and his little sister might have learned from him something evil, instead of this pretty lesson, which I thought one of the prettiest I ever heard. It always beautiful to see little boys and girls loving the birds and flowers.-Independent.

ILLUSTRATION OF THE ATONEMENT.

IF I should compare the natural state of man, I should conceive an immense grave-yard, filled with yawning sepulchres, and dead and dying men. All around are lofty walls, and massive iron gates. At the gate stands Mercy sad spectatress of the melancholy scene. An angel, flying through the midst of heaven, attracted by the awful sight exclaims, "Mercy! why do you not enter, and apply ta these objects of compassion the restoring balm ?"-Merey replies, "Alas! I dare not enter; justice bars the way." By her side a form appeared like unto the Son of man

"Justice," he cried, "what are thy demands, that Mercy may enter, and stay this carnival of death ?"-" I demand," said Justice, "pain for their ease-degradation for their dignity-shame for their honour-death for their life!" "I accept the terms; now Mercy enter."-"What pledge do you give for the performance of these conditions ?" "My word! my oath !"—"When will you fulfil them?” “Four thousand years hence, upon the hill of Calvary." The bond was sealed in the presence of attendant angels, and committed to Patriarchs and Prophets.

A long series of rites and ceremonies, sacrifices and oblations, were instituted to preserve the memory of that solemn deed. And at the close of the four thousand years, behold, at the foot of Calvary, the incarnate Son of God! Justise too was there; in her hand she bore the dreadful bond; she presented it to the Redeemer, and demanded now the fulfilment of its awful terms. He accepted the deed, and together they ascended to the summit of the Mount. Mercy was seen attendant at his side, and the weeping church followed in his train. When he reached the summit of the mount, what did he with the bond? Did he tear it in pieces, and scatter it to the winds of heaven? Ah! no: he nailed it to his cross; and when the wood was prepared, and the devoted sacrifice stretched out on the tree, Justice sternly cried, "Holy fire, descend and consume the Victim," "I come! I come! and when I have consumed this sacrifice, I will burn the universe." The fire descended, and rapidly consumed his humanity-but when it approached his Deity, he expired. Then did the heavenly hosts break forth again in rapturous strains-"Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, and good-will towards men!"

CRISES OF LIFE.

EVANS.

A LATE traveller in South America tells us that in ascending the Andes, he often crossed the head waters of the Amazon. When he reached the summit, the springs trickled forth beneath his feet, and shot away down the sides of the mighty range, gleaming afar like bands of

silver. A short distance farther, he passed the crest of the Sierra, and came upon waters which flowed to the west, bearing the melted snows to the Pacific, which lay on the distant horizon. How suggestive the proximity of these widely parting waters! Here, on the same mountain-top, were the sources of mighty rivers,-near and yet divided, -starting from the same point, yet flowing in opposite directions, and emptying their waters into far distant

oceans.

This is an illustration of what often occurs in human life. Two persons that start from one domestic circle, from the same paternal roof, in a few years diverge to opposite points of the horizon. At first they are divided but by a hand's-breadth; but their ends are as far apart as the east is from the west. Two brothers start in the race of life together. One becomes a merchant, the other a missionary. The former dies at home, the latter in India. How wide the contrast presented in their separate careers! Yet not greater than is often found in the characters of members of the same family. One child is mild and gentle, and easily persuaded to good; another is violent and self-willed, and defies control. How far apart will they be at the extreme points of life!

What serenity will crown the old age of the one; what a gulf of despair will yawn beneath the other!

At the same family altar may kneel a brother and sister, who, when they pass that threshold, shall meet no more, neither in this world, nor in the world to come. Thus are mankind divided, by nature, by disposition, by course of life, and by future destiny. One is taken, and another left.

But this dividing line applies not merely to different individuals, taking each his separate way, but to the turning-points in the same personal history. In the pilgrimage of life, there is many a peak which the traveller climbs,-mounts of vision on which he stands, and looks far behind and before, and decides which way to turn, and where he can make an election of his own character and fate. There are points to which he comes

!

as to the shore of an ocean, or the brow of a precipice, where the action of an instant, the step of a foot, may decide the question of life or death. The act is done in a moment, but the consequences last for ever.

This decisive step is sometimes taken in childhood. The character is fixed, never to change. Or the turningpoint may be a little later, when the child passes into youth, or when at last he steps upon the stage of active life. The farther he advances, the more definite and pronounced his character must become.

So even in later life. There are certain marked crises, at which the interests of years, or of a lifetime, seem to converge, and on which to depend,-points where, though the slightest impulse may turn the mind in either direction, years may not suffice to recover its position.

We do well to mark these turning-points in life, for tremendous issues may hang on an instant's decision. The influence of a moment may be felt through life; the influence of time through eternity.

THE OLD TOMBSTONE.

Sacred to the Memory of

Yes, those are the only words legible on this old tombstone. It had a long inscription once, but you cannot make it out now, for time has worn it all away; there is not even the name left! Many, many years have rolled past since this stone was put up; and no one in the village, I dare say, but myself, could tell whose remains lie beneath it.

Shall I relate to you the story which I heard from my grandfather about it? It is a short one, and a very simple one; but it may, perhaps, do you good.

My grandfather was a woodcutter. His name was Ralph Price. He was a truly good man, and had received a better education than his neighbours, so that he was much looked up to by them all. And he was a great favourite, too, at the Grange, where Squire Belton lived. Squire Belton was the master for whom he worked, and a kind master he was; one who knew how to value a good servant. But it is his son, Master Harry, as he was called, whom I am going to