hearts, He puts His work into our hands. Real Christians are earnest labourers. It is their business to go about doing good, and thus be like their great Master. They must tell others of Him. They must teach the ignorant and unsaved. They must spread His word of life. This employment is high and holy. It is above kingly honour, for it makes us fellow-workers with God. Never does a man look so noble

as when he is helping a poor friend on, or teaching some one the way to heaven. Young Christians have this work Christ helps and works in them. He has given them

too.

His service, and He will give them His reward.

It is to be early wise. Men strive to get knowledge. They search books for it. They study nature that they may find it there. They gladly undergo a long course of learning, and often of danger, if they but grow wise at last. And if mere earthly wisdom is so precious, how much more the

heavenly. How can we tell the price of that knowledge which makes wise unto salvation! Human learning is but foolishness to this. It is the knowledge that saves. It

enlightens and blesses. It is "the most excellent of the sciences." It helps us to live when life's sorrows are around us; it teaches to die when the sorrows of life are over. Early religion has all this promise too.

It is to be early rich. Many a man grows old labouring for riches, but never gains what he seeks. And many a man is rich in fortune, who in happiness and in heart is poor. Both chased a shadow. Riches have wings-they have stings too. Without the love of God they will be thorns in a dying pillow, and witnesses against their possessors in the judgment day. But heavenly riches are good. They are from God's treasury. Rust cannot corrupt these ; thieves cannot steal. God preserves them for His people, and He keeps a part for His young people as well.

It is to be early safe. We are sailing over a stormy sea, and many a danger lies in our course. Some pleasant sin may deceive us, and fill our conscience with woe. Sickness may come and lay us among those who have lost our life's charm. Some sorrow may come and make young years dark. Many a foe is watching to overthrow us. And on many a temptation we would overthrow ourselves. The Spirit of God alone is our safety. One with the Lord Jesus by a simple faith, none of these things can move us. When a true Christian dies he goes home. The blow does not hurt. He is God's son. Well for the young people who are safe from the fears of sin and sorrow and dying.

Dear young reader, what choice will you make? You must choose. Even while you put off, or only intend, you are deciding still. Will you choose like Mary of Bethany? Or will you, like a young lady I heard of, say, "I have chosen the world"? Do not put the question off. Do not put your one life and hope away. Go to your heavenly Friend. Remember the promise of Him who loved children, "They that seek Me early shall find Me."

W.

BY THE REV. JAMES GILMOUR, M.A.,

Author of " Among the Mongols."

HE Mongols tell a strange story—a wild, staring fable of some traders who were wrecked on an island and kept in slavery there. At last a

winged horse came to them and offered to convey back to their own country any who were willing to go. All, or nearly all, declared their willingness to go, and the company started. They had not gone far, however, when some of them began to long for the comforts and luxuries of the place of their captivity, and these were promptly dropped off. Where did the Mongols get this story? It seems almost Christian in its origin. It is Christian in its teaching. When a wave of revival visits a place, how many men are swayed by good impulses, how many are ready to close with the offers of salvation. But after a little many begin to look back and long for things they enjoyed in the world before, and which they are unwilling to go without now. They look back and fall away. Perhaps all the Israelites were ready and willing to leave Egypt, but they had not gone far before some of them began to be tired of desert marching and desert fare, and to long for the flesh-pots of Egypt. Their carcases fell in the wilder

ness.

There are many men who never reach the peace of salvation simply because they refuse to give up some pleasure of sin, and, in such a case, all that Christianity can do for a man is to make him uncomfortable. Do you wish to be saved? Christ is willing and able to save you, but to be saved you must be willing to give up every known sin. Christ saves His people from their sins, not in their sins. Looking back is fatal, and it is curious to find a Mongolian fable illustrating and enforcing the same warning against half-heartedness, with which we are familiar in the case of Lot's wife and the disheartened Israelites.

Briny Breezes.

No. IV.

THE BRIGHTER OUR HOPES, THE BETTER OUR PRAYERS."

HIS is not the common doctrine. We are generally asked to believe that trials are the best vehicle of prayer, and that rain agrees better with our soulgardens than sunshine. But, in sober experience, is it so? When do words of thankful praise or earnest supplication well forth most readily from our full hearts? Surely it is when some genuine gush of deep personal joy has flooded our little landscape with unwonted brightness. And this truth is only one of the sweet harmonies of Heaven. Our God is a lover of all things glad and beautiful. Why are we so ungrateful and ungenerous as to try and persuade ourselves of the contrary? Wherever our lot may lie we have but to lift our eyes and see how He expresses His manifold tenderness and love. And are not these some of His best blessings? Does not His tenderness exactly understand our thoughts, and does not His love soothe with mother-comfort? If we are dwellers in the fresh, free country, each changeful season tells aloud the happy lesson conveyed by our maxim. We walk abroad amid the thousand charms of dawning spring, and our heart beats a cordial response to the universal jubilee. The renewal of the emerald grass, the gushing of the emancipated brook, the budding and the blooming of each pencilled leaf and flower, the pipings and harpings which make vocal the balmy air, all prompt our grateful lips to utter forth our bountiful Maker's praise. And when summer has glided over the changeful scene, when autumn, unperceived, has spread "a common feast for all that lives," or when winter has brought a sense of repose and lively appreciation of home-comforts, we still feel that it is the "goodness" of God which leadeth us to repentance, and that it is far easier to pray when joy is our happy portion. Our maxim

says, "the better our prayers," that is, the more sincere, simple and child-like. And what of the denizens of the busy city? Ah, they too may rejoice in their share of bright hopes. Their world is replete with thrilling interest, and wherever souls are there is room for hope. The home over there is a city, and its holy occupants ten thousand times ten thousand. "Now abideth Faith, Hope and Charity." All three are everlasting. Strange that we should measure the good Lord by our own standard, and fancy He is better pleased with the exceeding bitter cry of sorrow than with the trustful outpouring of some great gladness. The present is ours, and perhaps it is flying on gossamer wings. Let us not clog them with vain forebodings. Let us give Him our gratitude in all its freshness, and acknowledge that we pray better in sunshine than in gloom. And supposing our earthly hopes have done their work in us, by failure or fruition, supposing we are caring little now for this life, with its unexpected variations, there is a hope, golden with immortality, and we shall do wisely to kneel before the open window of the soul and often take a lingering look toward Heaven. Here disappointment can never enter, nor prayer be ever quenched amid the mazes of faithless uncertainty. Yet, should any of us say there is no hope on earth? Not while sunrise and moonrise remain, and manhood, all enthusiasm, and womanhood, all purity. Let us beware of conveying a false idea of the Master we serve, and of the goodly land whither we hasten. Nothing so helps and strengthens youth as the sight of calm assurance in those who have long since passed that way. Let us cultivate in ourselves a cheerful gladness in passing pleasures, and an habitual disposition to give thanks for hourly mercies. And then our prayers will be fragrant with the acceptable incense of praise, and our rule will be joy, while sorrow proves our exception.

A. M. V.