Now gently down the open of the afternoon weary heavens, Softer than silk, and mute; for with finger on lip, comes the The sweet brown sister of Dawn, and like him so calm and silent. Look! through the forest the Sun glances his red farewell. I feel the breath of the Night; star-crowned, sleep-breathing, mighty, Oh, my God! may my life be like the Dawn and the Evening, W. A Skylight in a Man's Head. BY THE REV. B. P. POWER, M.A., Author of "The 'I Wills' of the Psalms," "The Oiled Feather," &c. CONFESS this idea seems a funny one at first sight; but the man from whom it came had real sober meaning when he put it forth, and nothing could be farther from his mind than fun at all. And the more I reflect upon this thought of a skylight in a man's head, the more does it seem to set forth a truth of the greatest importance. The man who said this was seventy years of age, and two good friends had been taking the trouble to read and explain the Word of God to him; and now he says, “I tell you what, sir, you and your brother have put a skylight in my head." A skylight in his head! What did the man mean? I began to think about it, and gradually one thought after another gathered round this curious saying, until at last I thought it an excellent one-so good, indeed, that it seemed to me that it would not be at all a bad thing if other folk besides myself thought over it for awhile. What is a skylight? A window in the roof, the very highest part of all; looking out, not on the world around but on the sky-on the blue and sunshine of the heavens, on moon and stars, the myriad worlds of light, the vast expanse, so different from the narrow crowded street below. The world is full of people who have no skylights, either in their heads, or in their hearts. They see plenty all about them as regards the things of this world, and they love such things too; but they neither see, nor love, the things of God and heaven. They are like people in a street, who have basement, ground floor, first floor, second, third, fourth-floor windows, from which they can see one thing and another, and especially the houses opposite; but they have no straight up view of the heaven itself. There was once a great statesman, who, when he was asked whether he had seen an eclipse of the sun which had just taken place, answered that "he was so busy on earth, that he had not time to look up at the heavens." And that is the way that millions live, with no upward look at all. There is a man who can see every little thing that is for his worldly advantage, he is "in his generation wiser than the children of light." Here is another full of knowledge of this science, and that. Here is yet another who looks just at the gainful side of religion, and has no higher thought about it than "how good it would be to get to heaven, and to escape hell"; but the knowledge of all these things is not the knowledge of God, even the last a man may feel, and not know God at all. These things many see, but they do not see what God is— how tremendously just He is. How thoroughly He hates sin-their sin; how surely He will punish them for it unless they repent, forsake it, and come to Christ. They do not see at what a price they have been redeemed, how surely if they come to Christ they shall be saved; how utterly vile they are in themselves, and incapable unless aided by the Holy Spirit. They have made a heaven of their own, where there will be all sorts of beautiful things, but it is not God's heaven of holiness, and because of holiness of happiness too. My friend, unless you see yourself a poor sin-stained creature, unable to be saved except by the blood of Jesus, unable to turn to God, except by the help of His Spirit, you want the skylight in your head. Don't go away fancying you know a thing or two, perhaps thinking you know a good deal. If you do not know these things, you will be like those spoken of in the Scripture, who, "professing to be wise, became fools." Do not think you have plenty of light. Do not say, "I will not have my house broken up. I am comfortable now. Rain and wind may get at me if I meddle with my roof." No, it will not. Let God's Holy Spirit put the real "skylight" in your head and heart; and you shall find that His work will be so done as to give you all good, and not expose you to any ill. I Say, "Lord, I want light. I want a heaven prospect. want Thee. Do to me what and how Thou wilt, only open a new way into my head and into my heart, that I may think of Thee, and feel to Thee aright, a way to look straight into heaven while I live, and straight into heaven as I die." Elizabeth Prentiss. STORY published a few years ago in England and America, which had a wide circulation and was translated into several European languages, was 'Stepping Heavenward.' This book was useful to many who were longing to advance in the Christian life, yet felt burdened by the petty cares of life, or were saddened by fancying themselves misunderstood by those they loved. The natural way in which the struggles of its heroine, Katy, were depicted, and her bright living faith, went home to the heart. Some details of the life of the authoress of this book may be of interest. Mrs. Prentiss was a daughter of the Rev. Edward Payson, of Portland, Maine, U.S., whose memoirs were largely read about fifty years ago, and who was remarkable for his devout spirit and eminent piety. Elizabeth was the fifth of Mr. Payson's eight children, and was born October 26th, 1818. He died when she was nine years old. The little girl was devotedly attached to her father, and never lost the impression made on her by his spirituality and his devotional habits. She was very delicate even from infancy, and throughout her life was subject to distressing pain in her side, sick headache, and attacks of faintness, but in spite of these drawbacks she was a bright and lively child. In 1830 her widowed mother removed to New York, and here, at the age of twelve, Lizzie made a public profession of her faith in Christ. She was a child who craved to be loved, and was very vehement in her friendships. She early showed great facility with her pen, letters to her friends abounding in passages of mingled pathos and humour. When only fifteen she was asked to become a regular contributor to the 'Youth's Companion,' and wrote many articles, some of them in verse. Her contributions were sprightly in style, full of feeling and fancy. While, however, she loved to study and to write, she never neglected to help her mother in domestic duties. The family had now returned to Portland, and a friend of her early days thus speaks of Lizzie :— "I saw a good deal of her home life at this time. It was full of filial and sisterly love and devotion. Amidst the household cares by which her mother was often weighed down and worried she was an ever near friend and sympathiser. To her brothers, too, she endeared herself exceedingly by her helpful, cheery ways, and the strong vein of fun and mirthfulness which ran through her daily life." When her household duties were lightened by a young relative coming to reside with them, she took pupils, and was fairly idolised by them. The Rev. Dr. Condit became pastor of the church in Portland to which Mrs. Payson belonged in 1838. A revival of religious life took place, and Lizzie shared in the blessing. Not only was she full of joy in Christ herself, but she was helped to guide many of her beloved Sunday scholars to the Saviour. A singular reaction, however, arose afterwards, and for a time she became cold and careless in her religious habits. followed by a period of deep conviction of sin and terrible despondency. For four months she endured agony of spirit. She then heard a sermon on Christ's ability to “ save to the uttermost." "While listening to it," she says, “my weary spirit rested itself, and I thought surely it cannot be wrong to think of the Saviour although He is not mine. With this conclusion I gave myself up to admire, to love, and to praise Him; to wonder why I had never done so before, This was |