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derives additional interest from the attempts which have been made to destroy it. No book has excited so much opposition as this; but it has survived every attack which power, talent, and eloquence have ever made on it. Now, we do and we should feel an interest in anything which has survived repeated attempts to destroy it. The remnant of any army that has survived a battle, and that successfully resisted great numbers in the conflict of war; the tree that has stood firm when all others in its neighbourhood have been prostrated; the ancient castle that has sustained many a siege, and that remains impregnable; the solid rock that has been washed by floods for centuries, and that has not been swept away-all excite a deep interest. We love to contemplate these, and we should deem ourselves destitute of all right feeling if we should pass them by without attention. But no army ever survived so many battles as the Bible; no tree has stood so long, and weathered so many storms; no ancient bulwark has endured so many sieges, and stood so firm amid the thunders of war and the ravages of time, and no rock has been swept by so many currents, and has still stood unmoved. It has outlived all conflicts, survived all the changes in empires, and come down to us, notwithstanding all the efforts made to destroy it; and while the stream of time has rolled on, and thousands of other books have been engulphed, this book has been borne triumphant on the wave. It has shown that it is destined to be borne onward to the end of time, while millions of others shall sink degradedly to the bottom.

"I COME AS I WENT."

Ir was a touching incident which fell under the notice of a Christian lady lately at a railway-station. She saw a husband bear his invalid wife in his arms from the train. As, clasping his neck, she was thus borne to a carriage, she remarked to a friend who stood near, in tones of unexpected cheerfulness, "You see, I come as I went." Weak and helpless she had gone, weak and helpless she had returned; but, alike in going and coming, she had rested within the strong arms of him who loved her. And is this not the daily experience of every saint? How feeble in himself, yet how upborne of Christ! "Without me ye can do nothing," says the voice of Jesus. "I can do all things through Christ who strengtheneth me!" exclaims the Apostle. "When I am weak, then am I strong."

DELIVERED FROM EVIL.

Two little hands clasped fondly in my own,
Two dimpled feet that could not go alone,
Two rose-bud lips against my faithful breast,
A bird-like voice within my household nest,
A broad, deep forehead, white as drifts of snow,
Eyes like blue violets where wood-fountains flow,
And hair as soft and fair, as clear and lustrous too,
As fine-spun gold my fingers wandered through;
And model form, rounded as sculptors do,
Threaded all o'er with veins of purple hue-
These made the outside beauty of my baby-girl;
But what fond hand could tenderly unfurl
The folds of flesh that shut so softly in

The dear white soul, so free as yet from sin,

And show the budding beauty and the growing grace
That yet should blossom through her baby-face?

A baby first, and next a merry child,

A maiden then, so cheerful and so mild,
While I grew daily more her worshipper,
Till all my future was filled full of her.
She made the glory of our summer hours,

And filled our winters with the breath of flowers,
Our autumn-harvests had a richer bliss
From the sweet beauty of her happiness.

Her gentle hands were full of tender deeds,
Her feet went swiftly to another's needs,

Her loving heart prayed through the darkest night,
'Keep me, sweet Christ, until the morning light!"
That was her prayer, but mine was always this,
Folded down softly with each loving kiss,

Breathed fondly o'er her every night and day—

"Keep her from evil, Father, all the way!"

And so He answered, and my heart grew still,

To hear how strangely spoken was His loving will,
For through it all I saw His great love shine,

Because it was His answer, and not mine.

Mine would have been that, through long earthly years,
She should have known no sorrow and no tears,

Within her path should hide no sharpened thorn,
But round it hang the brightness of the morn,
And everything of earth, and air, and sky,
Should minister to her as tenderly as I.

But in His answer lay a voice more sweet,
And sometimes, trembling for her little feet,

A brighter halo for her golden hair,

Angelic beauty round her everywhere,

Till, when I kissed her face, grown now so wondrous fair,
I felt the sweet fulfilment of my pleading prayer,

For He had led my darling from all storm and cold,
Out through the shining gateway, to the happy fold!

"OF NO USE."

Two men were drawing a truck, with a long heavy piece of furniture a sideboard it looked like-on it. In turning a corner the sideboard slipped out of its place. The men stopped to

set it right, but found themselves in a difficulty. The one who was drawing the truck in front was afraid to let it down; the one who was behind dared not take his hand off the sideboard. If either of them moved, it would most likely slip off altogether. They wanted another hand.

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Oh, here comes Joe Skittles," cried one of the men; "he'll lend a hand."

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He's of no use but to

Joe Skittles, indeed!" said the other, in a tone of great contempt, "what's the good of him? drink."

So nothing was said to Joe Skittles. And indeed he did look as if his help would not have been worth much. For he shuffled along the pavement, with his hands in his pockets, pale and thin and miserable, looking as if he had nothing to do, and could not have done it if he had. He went right past the truck without so much as turning his head that way; and when he got to the next public-house, shoved the door open with his shoulder, and disappeared.

Another man came by almost directly, and gave the help that was wanted, and the truck and its load went on again.

Do

"Of no use!" "Of no use, but to drink!" What a character! What a life! Alas! such men are not uncommon. we not all know the look of such a man? Look at him. There he goes. He is just like Joe Skittles hands in his pockets, head down, slouching along. By his look he may once have been a shoemaker perhaps, or a carpenter; but it is hard to tell, for he looks as if it was long since he did a day's work of any sort. And so it is. He never works. He only lounges about and drinks. And all his thought is how to get more drink. It is drink that has brought him so low, and yet drink is the only thing he cares for. His wife is a hard-working woman, and goes out washing. She is the bread-winner, not he. But the poor children meanwhile are neglected, and the home, with no woman there, is a miserable home. Yet this is a man—a man, with a mind, with a soul—a man made to live for ever! "Of no use!" There are others who are of no use, besides such as these. Joe Skittles had neither the will nor the

power to be of use. He did not care to help a neighbour; he cared for nothing but drink. And if he would have

helped, I do not suppose he could. With his feeble strength, all wasted away by drink, what could he have done with that heavy sideboard? But there are many who could be of use, if they would. They are not drinkers. They are just idlers. They live all for themselves. They never do anything to further God's cause, or to help their fellow-men. They do not seem to think they have any concern with that. They eat, they drink; they sleep; they do indeed work to earn their bread, if such be their station in life; but, apart from that, nobody is the better for them. The world would go on just as well, if they were not in it. They are "of no use."

Is this right? Is this what God means? No. God calls every one to be of use, and gives to all some means of being useful. For all that has been said, even poor worn-out Joe Skittles might have been of some use, if he had had a heart for it. Everybody may be of use, and everybody is called to be of use, and everybody will have to give account to God hereafter of what he has done with his time and his means of usefulness. Are you of any use? Do you do any good? Is anyone the better for you? Or do you live only for yourself, a selfish and useless life? If so, does not conscience whisper sometimes that God made you for something more than this?

Perhaps you want-nay, I am almost sure you do, if such is your life—perhaps you want the great thing of all to make you useful-a changed heart, a knowledge of God's love in Jesus Christ. Perhaps, in short, you are a Christian in name only, with no faith, no love. Ah! you would not lead a useless and selfish life, if you loved Jesus. He died for you. And now He calls you to believe in Him, and to love Him. Oh, what a helper He is to poor sinners! Will not seek him for your helper, you your Saviour? Will you not pray God to teach your heart by His Spirit to know and love Christ? Once learn that, and you will no longer be "of no use."

THE LAW OF KINDNESS.

THE most effective working force in the world in which we live, is the law of kindness; for it is the only moral force that operates with the same effect upon mankind, beastkind, and birdkind. From time immemorial music has wonderfully affected all beings, reasoning or unreasoning, that have ears to hear. The prettiest idea and simile of ancient literature relate to Orpheus playing his lyre to animals

listening in intoxicated silence to its strains. Well, kindness is the spontaneous music of good-will to men and beasts. And both listen to it with their hearts instead of their ears; and the hearts of both are affected by it in the same way, if not to the same degree. Volumes might be written, filled with beautiful illustrations of its effects upon both. The music of kindness has not only the power to charm, but to transform both the savage heart of man and beast; and on this harp the smallest fingers in the world may play heaven's sweetest tunes on earth.

Some time ago we read of an incident that will serve as an illustration of this beautiful law. It was substantially to this effect:-A poor coarse-featured old woman lived on the line of the Baltimore and Ohio Railway, where it passes through a wild, unpeopled district of Western Virginia. She was a widow with only one daughter, living with her in a log-hut, near a deep, precipitous gorge, crossed by the railway-bridge. Here she contrived to earn support for herself and her daughter by raising and selling poultry and eggs, adding berries in their season and other little articles for the market. She had a long weary walk of many miles to a town where she could sell her basket of produce. The railway passed by her cabin to this town; but this ride would cost too much of the profits of her small sales, so she trudged on generally to the market on foot. The guard came finally to notice her walking by the side of the line or between the rails; and, being a goodnatured, benevolent man, he would often give her a ride to and fro without charge. The engineman and brakesmen were also good to the old woman, and felt that they were not wronging the interests of the railway company by giving her these free rides. And soon an accident occurred that proved that they were quite right in this view of the matter.

In the wild month of March, the rain descended and the mountains sent down their rolling, roaring torrents of melted snow and ice into this gorge near the old woman's hut. The flood arose with the darkness of the night, until she heard the crash of the railway-bridge as it was swept from its butments, and dashed its broken timbers against the craggy sides of the precipice on either side. It was nearly midnight. The rain fell in a flood, and the darkness was deep and howling with storm. In another half-hour the express train would be due. What could she do to warn it against the awful destruction it was approaching? She had hardly a whole tallow candle in her house; and no light she could make of tallow or oil,

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