and we have found it something of a pull up-hill as yet. It will be long before I can squeeze the money for a trip to the old country," he added, with a smile. "My master is a right good-hearted man; he knew how I wished to cross the Irish Sea, and when it came my turn for a holiday, he handed me three pounds over and above my wages, and bid me go to Ireland, and spend it there. It was very generous, wasn't it, sir?"

"Yes; but you did not go?

"I told him I could not leave the wife and the children just then; but he bade me keep the three pounds all the same. Very kind, he was!"

"Well, Dillon, if you ever do reach our country, come and see me. Here is my address, and you shall have a hearty welome. I should be proud to do the honours of our land to such a true son of Old Ireland."

His swarthy face had flushed as he noticed, me putting my hand in my pocket; but when he saw that I offered him not silver, but a slip of cardboard, he took it eagerly. I could not have offered him money after what he had told me.

"Bank!" shouted the conductor, and I prepared to descend from my perch. "Good-bye, Dillon," I said, shaking hands with my new friend heartily.

"Good-bye, sir, and God bless you!" Somehow, those words sounded very differently from what they had done half-an-hour ago. They had been only a form then, they were uttered like a prayer

That omnibus drive took place three years ago. A little while since I received a letter, written in an illformed hand by one evidently unaccustomed to the task of wielding a pen. It was signed, "Ellen Dillon." The writer told me she was the wife of the man to whom I had talked during a journey from the "Royal Oak" to the Bank; she said she wrote according to a promise made to her dead husband.

"He bid me say, sir, that he never forgot your words. He will never be able to meet you in Ireland, but he has claimed to enter the other country you spoke about; and he found your words were true about God being at hand to listen to us if we turn to Him in prayer. This was his message, sir; he made me learn it by heart, so that I might write it out to you. He was killed by an accident sir, quite sudden--but he bid me say he leaves me and the children comfortably off."

That was the letter. There were splashes, as of tears, upon the last page. There was no address, so that I could not reply to it, and I was sorry that it was out of my power to see if my friend's meaning as to the words "comfortably off" was the same as mine. It would have been a pleasure to me to give aid to those Bob Dillon had loved.

But though all links are broken between us here, I shall look to meet him, washed and purified from the stain of his once wild life, in the "other country". the land that is very far off, and yet so near.

DANIEL'S ESCAPE.

HE greatest heroisms are wrought in silence. Young men and maidens, old men and children," in quiet places, unnoticed by the public eye, unchronicled in the gazettes of earth, are fighting the fight of faith, resisting evil, working righteousness, ready to suffer rather than to sin. The battle-field may be in a cottage, a workshop, on shipboard, in a company of friends.

In doing the thing that is right we must expect and be willing to run risks. There can be no true courage without it. That life only is truly beautiful and successful which God approves and heaven crowns.

Daniel saw very clearly that no way could risk be avoided. If he fell in with the customs of the court it would be at his spiritual peril. It was easier to hold back from the first step than the second. He would not take the first.

It is well, too, for us to ask in time of temptation what, if yielded to, will be the end of it? With one little step may begin the downward course whose end shall be the engulfing darkness. Walk with the ungodly, and soon you may be "sitting in the seat of the scornful." Have you cherished your first impure thought? uttered your first falsehood, which, however plausible, is false to fact? muttered your first oath ? taken your first tiny coin? Whither is this tending? Can you calmly, comfortably think of the end of these things? Did not the man who "works uncleanness with greediness;" the open and shunned liar; the foul-mouthed blasphemer; the felon, a penal outcast from society, begin where you began? Think you that if Peter had never fouled his lips with an oath he would, in his life-crisis, have sworn ignorance of his Lord Think you that if Judas had resisted the temptation to steal the little coin from the bag which he bare he would have come to the unutterable crime of bargaining to death the Lord of life? Then look on to the end. Avoid the beginnings of evil. cannot look on to the end with satisfaction, hold back -turn back! Daniel an idolator? Never! Then he will decline food and drink consecrated to idols. The first step shall not be taken.

If you

Daniel's courage influenced others. The resolution personal to himself became the resolution of others. Made known to his three friends, they said, "We also go with thee." He kindled them to courage. They could easily follow if they could not lead. Had he been faithless, how hard for them to have been faithful! But now that he is faithful, it would have been hard for them to have been faithless. He is their mouth-piece. To him they look; by him they are willing to be led. What he does, they would do. He had influence and used it wisely. And every man has some influence in the world, and is helping others, some one at any rate, to be coward or hero in the battles of the Lord. The hero multiplies heroes; the one heroic act is the parent of many heroisms. Daniel's example spoke strength unto his friends.

And that recorded example has quickened many in all ages to an imitation of his fearless conscientiousness.

He knew not what he did. Little could he have imagined that the courageous stand of his youthful piety would be spoken of centuries and millenniums after he had " slept with his fathers." That that act would help others-men of many lands-and on to the last hour of time-to do the right and fear not. His example is a stimulus and inspiration to us. And our example-though not so far-reaching as his-may be a heavenward stimulus and inspiration to others. Are we truthful, upright, considerate, pure? Then we are aiding others to truthfulness, integrity, tenderness, purity.

home to be true. We can "walk in truth" and speak in life to neighbour, friend, or kindred. We can reach and influence the "little flock" if not the great worldcongregation. We are, whether we heed it or not, influencing others. How? Making it easier for them to do wrong or to do right? "None of us liveth to himself." Daniel's heroism helped to make his friends heroic and so it is with us.

His courage was victorious. He was settled in his mind. "He would not defile himself." He would suffer first. But he gains his point without suffering. He secures the permission he seeks. He is allowed to live on the plain diet of his choice. Nor to his loss of physical comeliness. After the ten days of trial there was a sparkle in the eye, a glow upon the rounded cheek, a beauty in the healthy lip of the

Consecration beautified his youth.

This is the spirit in which to do the Rudeness is right.

no true part of religion. Violence is weakness. Work for Christ is commended or discredited by the spirit of the worker. We are to be "wise to win souls" to a truer kinder opinion of Christianity by the gentle mind of Christ that is in us.

Daniel, by his early stand for conscience, was committed to a life of piety. He was known in that heathen court to be

66

on the Lord's side." A captive-he was

the Lord's free man. He grew in favour with God and men, became, in the quaint word of old Master Trapp, "the Jew's jewel and the world's darling," because when temptation came he was ready to resist it; because faithful in that which was least he was prepared to be faithful in much."

Let conscience be your captain. Obey it. Do the right. Fear no evil. "Dare to stand alone!" Then alone you shall not be alone. Christ will be with you. Battles will be victories. And at last, and for ever, in the heavenly kingdom, you shall "stand before the King."

THE DOG OF ST. BERNARD'S.

REAT numbers of people have to travel through the St. Bernard Pass over the Alps, some having to make the journey even in the winter-time, when the snow is many feet deep. The snow covers the roads, and it is almost impossible to find the way over the mountains without a guide. People ascending stop at some distance from the summit (on which the monastery stands) and take shelter in a little house. After waiting a while, they see one of the dogs coming towards them. They know why he comes, and, following him, they soon find themselves in the comfortable hospice.

Some travellers, however, do not wait for the dog, but try to ascend alone; and many a poor half-frozen traveller have these dogs discovered, and, with the assistance of the monks, restored to warmth and life.

In the year 1825 an avalanche, or immense fall of snow from the mountains, buried the whole of the dogs and three men, all of whom were found after life was extinct. Fortunately two of the animals which had been given away, were returned, or else the race would have entirely disappeared. The incident narrated in the following poem, by Miss Fry, happened some years ago:

They tell that on St. Bernard's mount,

Where holy monks abide,

Still mindful of misfortune's claim,
Though dead to all beside;

The

weary, way-worn traveller Oft sinks beneath the snow;

For where his faltering steps to bend

No track is left to show.

'Twas here, bewildered and alone,
A stranger roamed at night;
His heart was heavy as his tread,
His scrip alone was light.

Onward he pressed, yet, many an hour
He had not tasted food;

And many an hour he had not known
Which way his footsteps trod;
And if the convent's bell had rung
To hail the pilgrim near,

It still had rung in vain for him-
He was too far to hear;

And should the morning light disclose
Its towers amid the snow,

To him 'twould be a mournful sight-
He had not strength to go.

Valour could arm no inortal man

That night to meet the stormNo glow of pity could have kept A human bosom warm.

But obedience to a master's will
Had taught the dog to roam,
And through the terrors of the waste,
To fetch the wanderer home.

And if it be too much to say
That pity gave him speed,
'Tis sure he not unwillingly
Performed the generous deed.
For now he listens and anon
He scents the distant breeze,
And casts a keen and anxious look
On every speck he sees.

And now deceived, he darts along,"
As if he trod the air-
Then disappointed, droops his head
With more than human care.

He never loiters by the way,

Nor lays him down to rest,

Nor seeks a refuge from the shower
That pelts his generous breast.
And surely 'tis not less than joy
That makes it throb so fast,

When he sees, extended on the snow,
The wanderer found at last.

'Tis surely he he saw him move,
And at the joyful sight

He tossed his head with a prouder air,
His fierce eye grew more bright;
Eager emotion swelled his breast

To tell his generous tale

And he raised his voice to its loudest tone
To bid the wanderer hail.

The pilgrim heard-he raised his head,
Beheld the shaggy form--
With sudden fear he seized the gun
That rested on his arm;

"Ha! art thou come to rend alive
What dead thou might'st devour?
And does thy savage fury grudge
My one remaining hour?"

Fear gave him back his wasted strength,
He took his aim too well-

The bullet bore the message home-
The injured mastiff fell.

His eye was dimmed, his voice was still,
And he tossed his head no more-

But his heart, though it ceased to throb with joy,
Was generous as before!

For round his willing neck he bore

A store of needful food,

That might support the traveller's strength,
On the yet remaining road.
Enough of parting life remained

His errand to fulfil-
One painful, dying effort more
Might save the murderer still.
So he heeded not his aching wound,"

But crawled to the traveller's side,
Marked with a look the way he came,
Then shuddered, groaned, and died!

OPPORTUNITY.

OME one says, "Opportunity is the cream of time." And another writer says, "To improve the golden moment of opportunity and catch the good that is within our reach is the great art of life."

These are wise sayings that all will do well to consider. Every disciple of Christ should watch for opportunities of doing good, as well as improve those that readily present themselves. If wise he will make more than he finds. "If we observe providences," it is said, "we shall have providences to observe;" and if we improve opportunities and watch for them, and strive to make them, we shall find opportunities on every hand to improve.

No one should wait for an opportunity of doing some great thing-accomplishing some great good, while he lets slip many an opportunity of doing little things. He should not forget the widow's offering, or the cup of cold water. The adage says, "Many littles make a mickle," also "Little strokes fell great oaks."

If a disciple sees no opportunity just now to speak a word that will be "in season," to those with whom he is connected, on religious themes, he may show such an interest in their worldly concerns as will disarm them of prejudice and prepare. them to receive his words of exhortation when the fitting occasion presents itself.

If the teacher finds not the golden moment of opportunity to-day for a special address to the heart and conscience of his class or an individual scholar, he should not neglect the favoured moment to speak a word that may improve his mind, or his manners and general conduct at home and among his associates. Such a word may win their confidence and fit them for more serious instruction on another occasion; it may prove a word that shall help to shape their whole future life. Even a casual word by the way, at home or among strangers, "fitly spoken, how good it is!"

But there is another view of this subject. A proverb says, "Opportunity makes the thief." The Italians say, "Where a chest lies open a righteous man may sin;" and the Spaniards have a similar saying, "The open door tempts the saint." And a quaint divine says, "With opportunity at one hand and Satan at the other, and the grace of God removed, who would not be tempted?" Now, if opportunity for doing wrong may be so fascinating, even to the righteous, how earnest should every one be to break the charm by finding and making opportunities for doing right. May not such opportunities possess equal power of fascination Instead of wasting time in vain regrets over the neglect of opportunities or other mistakes in the past, as many do, would not the time be better employed in efforts to prevent occasion for all soul regrets in the future?:

Let no one repress any desire of doing good from a vain fear of what may be the results. Duty is ours, results we must leave with Him whom we serve.

Opportunities for charitable labours of all kinds, no one can fail to see, and they were never more numerous and urgent than they are now.

The sun gives ever; so the earth

What it can give, so much 'tis worth;

The ocean gives in many ways,
Gives paths, gives fishes, rivers, bays;
So, too, the air, it gives us breath;

When it stops giving, in comes death;
Give, give, be always giving;

Who gives not, is not living.

The more you give, the more you live.

God's love hath in us wealth unheaped;

Only by giving it is reaped;

The body withers and the mind,

If pent in by a selfish rind.

Give strength, give thought, give deeds, give pelf,

Give love, give tears, and give thyself,

Give, give, be always giving;

Who gives not, is not living.

The more we give, the more we live.

THE OLD YEAR.

RIFLERS, hush! the year is going,
It has raised its wings for flight;
Come away from passing follies,

Be alone with God to-night.

For this year, so soon to leave us,

Has beheld most awful things; What a record it is bearing

To the holy King of Kings!

Famine, sorrow, strife, and bloodshed,
Dreadful deeds, too dark to name,-
God forgotten, man exalted,

Mortals! can ye bear the blame?
Yet, thank God, His own dear people,
Though in shame upon their knees,
Looking up, can say sincerely,-

"We have never sanctioned these. "Rather have we done our utmost

To assuage the grief and pain,
And have lent our weak endeavour
To restore earth's peace again.
"Still, O Lord, we kneel in sorrow,
Knowing what the year has seen,
How below the Master's standard
Our discipleship has been!

"How half-hearted was our service;
How we failed from fear of man;
How we tarried on our mission;

How we walked, whilst others ran!"

To all this the year bears record,

And our hearts would almost break,
If we did not hear Thee whisper,-
"All is pardoned, for My sake."
Blessed Jesus, we believe Thee,

And Thy peace is ours to-night,
Breathing o'er our saddened spirits
Sweet assurance all is right!

Charlotte Murray.

MILNE, THE CHINESE MISSIONARY.

ILLIAM MILNE was

born in the parish of Kennethmont, in Aberdeenshire, in 1785. He was but six years old when his father died, and his education was that of a Scottish peasant. Until he twelve

years old, he was proverbially wicked

an amateur in blasphemy, often launching his herdingstaff with furious curses after a straggling sheep or cow.

Whilst travelling at mid-day between two cornfields, the thought of hell drove him to prayer for the first time; when about thirteen years of age he became partially reformed, and soon afterwards began to attend a Sunday evening school which was opened in the neighbourhood. "Sometimes," he says, "I used to walk home from the school alone, about a mile, over the brow of a hill, praying all the way. At this time I began the worship of God in my mother's family, and also held some meetings for prayer, with my sisters and other children, in a barn that belonged to the premises." "But," he adds, "notwithstanding this change in my outward conduct, I fear that I was all this time acting under the influence of self-righteous principles."

Unable to obtain a place of retirement elsewhere, young Milne often knelt on a piece of turf in a sheepcote, and many were the hours spent in this rustic oratory. It was his lot to live at this time in a family where religion was ridiculed. His employment, however, had some advantages, not the least of which was that it allowed him to make books his constant companions. Often did he sit on the brow of a hill, reading the Lives of the Covenanters, and longing to be honoured to bear a like testimony to that of these Scottish martyrs. He fell into deep distress of mind, and prayed, as he tells us, "ten or fifteen times a-day," in the hope of attaining to that peace which he soon found. Retiring to a solitary amphitheatre amidst the hills, he dedicated himself to God. He was an earnest Sunday-school teacher, and he also established winter-evening prayermeetings in the destitute parts of the parish. With a few young men of like mind, he visited from house to house, praying and conversing with the poor.

William Milne had spent hours in the winter evenings in prayer for the coming of Christ's kingdom, before he thought seriously of becoming a missionary.