to read. The first use of the vernacular Scriptures, therefore, was only to aid the clerical orders to teach the laity. To meet this ignorance the good teachers practised the duty of preaching or singing the stories and lessons of the Best of Books.

Cadmon, the earliest English poet, was a grazier, living in Yorkshire. By a dream he was convinced of his ability to make poetry. He went to the alderman. of Whitby and related his dream. The alderman took Cadmon to the abbess, who recommended him to enter the monastery, which he did, and there the priests taught him the histories of the Bible, which he turned into verse.

He could neither write nor read. Bede tells us : "And he, all that he could learn by hearing, meditated with himself, and, ruminating, turned into the sweetest verse; and his song and his verse were so winsome to hear, that his teachers themselves wrote and learned from his mouth."

The leaders of the Anglo-Saxon clergy exhorted their brethren to study the Scriptures, in order that from them they might teach their flocks. To promote this object they provided numerous part translations, and this, in the state of universal ignorance of letters by the common people, was all that could be done.

Aldhelm, the first Bishop of Sherborne, translated the Psalms. He commends the nuns, to whom he wrote, for their industry in daily reading and studying the Holy Scriptures. It is pleasant, too, to read of this same Aldhelm, disguised as a minstrel, stationing himself on the bridge over the river Ivel, attracting a crowd by sweet music and song, and then, having gained their attention, turning from secular strains to spread the glad tidings of the Gospel.

William of Malmesbury says of Wulfstan, Bishop of Worcester, that it was his custom to recite whole psalms on his journeys to his attendants, to keep them from vain talk, and adds of him, that "lying, standing, walking, sitting, he had always a psalm on his lips, always Christ in his heart."

As showing the value the Saxon clergy put upon the Word of God, the words of Alcuin, the teacher of Charlemagne, may be quoted. He thus writes to his friend: "Study Christ as foretold in the works of the Prophets, and as exhibited in the Gospels; and when you find Him, do not lose Him, but introduce Him into the home of thy heart, and make Him the Ruler of thy life. Love Him as thy Redeemer, and thy Governor, and as the Dispenser of all thy comforts. Keep His commandments, because in them is eternal life."

Surely, no better advice could be given now-a-days, to peasants as well as princes, for the words of truth are ever fresh and full of power.

"MY BONNIE CHRIST."

N a darkened room an old Scotchman lay dying. Friends and relatives stood beside him, waiting tearfully to hear the last word or sigh of their father and head. For many years they had looked to him for advice and comfort; their joys had been shared and heightened by him, and their sorrows were always lightened by the ready sympathy which sprang from a kindly heart. But now his labours of love were ended, and the angel of death stood on the threshold bidding him "Come home." His children spoke to him, but he did not hear them, and at last they relinquished their efforts, to wait sadly for the end.

The minister present resolved to make one more

trial, and putting his lips to the ear of his suf fering friend, asked him if he knew him; he feebly shook his head. He then asked him, "Do you know Christ ?"

The dying man opened his eyes, and rallying his strength, whispered, "My bonnie Christ." And with the last word his eyes closed and his spirit returned to God who gave it, to be for ever with that Saviour whom he loved most on earth.

ROCK OF AGES.

ow we love the beautiful hymn which begins

"Rock of ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee." It has been murmured by dying men, women, and children, and said and sung for more than a hundred years.

The writer of it, Augustus Toplady, did not learn to love Jesus until he reached the age of sixteen.

He was staying at a place called Codymain in Ireland, and strolled into a barn one day to listen to the preaching of a man who earnestly served the Lord Jesus Christ. His text was taken from the 2nd chapter of Ephesians and the 13th verse: "Ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ," and the simple address which followed was not lost on the young man.

The good seed thus sown ripened as years went on, and Toplady became a minister of the Gospel. He did not live to be an old man; he wore himself out at the age of thirty-eight. He has been compared to a "racehorse, all nerve and fire."

Toplady tells a curious story about himself which is worth recording. He says, "I was buying books in the spring of 1762, a month or two before I was ordained, from a respectable London bookseller. After the business was over, he took me to the furthest end of his long shop, and said in a low voice: 'Sir, you will soon be ordained, and I suppose you have not laid in a very good stock of sermons. I can supply you with as many sets as you please, all original, very excellent ones, and they will come for a trifle.'

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My answer was-'I shall certainly never be a customer to you in that way, for I am of opinion that the man who cannot, or will not, make his own sermons, is quite unfit to wear the gown. How could you think of my buying ready-made sermons? I would much sooner buy second-hand clothes.'

Toplady wrote "Rock of Ages" a year or two before his death. His last days were very peaceful, and his one desire was that Christ might be all and in all to him. An hour before he died he called the members of his household round his bed, and asked if they were

content to part from him. "Yes," was the answer he "God's will be done!" received;

"Oh, what a blessing it is that you are made willing to give me up into the hands of my dear Redeemer," murmured Toplady. "It will not be long before God takes me, for no mortal man can live after the glories which God has manifested to my soul."

Soon after uttering these words he fell asleep in Jesus, and realised the truth of the last lines of his own beautiful hymn

"When I soar to worlds unknown,

See Thee on Thy judgment throne!
Rock of ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee."

MORNING STUDY OF THE BIBLE.

T

HE best time for Bible reading is in the morning. Then mind and body are fresh, after the repose of the night, and the highest powers of thought may be brought to bear upon the chapter selected. But, with most people, each recurring morning brings its own pressing tasks. Business cares, the daily toil, and the duties of the household, are the first and most engrossing concerns. Some hours must pass, with very many, before they can find time to sit down to any quiet reading.

I would plead, however, with every one that the plan be honestly tried, of taking some words from God's book for the first meditation of the morning. If you have a fire to light, or breakfast to prepare; if you must hurry forth in the early grey of dawn to take down shutters and sweep out a shop; if you must hasten to dress little children, or start off for a long journey to your work, or the school in which you teach, still you will be wiser, richer, and happier, if you are resolute about this.

A good plan is to take one of the "silent comforters," or other delightful arrangements of texts for every day in the month, and have it hanging where your eye will fall on it as soon as you awake. The large, clear type in which they are printed, and the care with which the verses have been selected, make all these collections of Scripture appropriate and helpful. They are almost indispensable to all who love the Bible so much as to want it for their daily food. If you cannot sit down to read a whole chapter, you can seize one of these texts in passing, and ponder it in your heart.

But to the many whose mornings are more within their own control, I would say, Make for the next month a fair, steadfast trial of the plan of studying the Bible when your thoughts are clearest. Very often there is pressing work on hand; the little dress must be finished, the cake must be made, the dinner must be ordered, the sweeping must be attended to, or the letters must be written. By-and-by will do for the Bible reading. Thus we argue, and before we are aware of it noon comes, unexpected affairs crowd upon us, and there is no room anywhere for the still hour

SATURDAY NIGHT.

ND is the thought a mournful one,
That now another week is gone
Of this life's fleeting span?
When the dark sojourn here is o'er,
Is there no fairer lot in store
For never-dying man?

Is there no country of the blest,
Where toil will be exchanged for rest,
Where mourners never weep?
Where this poor weary, sinking frame
No care will need, no respite claim,
Nor ever ask for sleep?

Oh, as I tread my heavenly path,
'Tis sweet to realise by faith

The thought of such a home!
And when the spirits droop and fail,
To cast a glimpse beyond the veil,
And thus dispel the gloom.

My days and weeks and months succeed
With noiseless, yet unceasing speed,
But this is joy to me:
That they are bearing me with them,
O'er silent Time's fast-rolling stream,
On to eternity.

These days and weeks, like favouring gales,
Smile on my bark, and fill my sails,

And waft me towards my home;
Nor is there one but lends a ray
To guide my course, and bless my way,
Pointing to joys to come.

This week has closed; its toils are o'er;
Let earthly thoughts intrude no more;
The Sabbath morn is near:
Then to my soul, oh, be it given
To rise from earth and visit heaven,
And join the worship there.

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HANS KELLNER'S CHANGE;
OR, "GOD IS GOOD."

Na small German village there lived a man, one Hans Kellner, who was known among his neighbours as the most passionate and quarrelsome man for many a mile round. But if he was the terror of little children, and the tyrant over all who were in any way under his control, I could not tell you the misery he made in his own house, nor the sorrow he brought to his thrifty pious wife.

Perhaps I may say, before I go further, that Hans would have been a better man, a better husband and father, had he not been so frequent a visitor at the inn of the village, "The Golden Stag," as it was called; poor Anna Kellner often wished that no such place existed.

But she had a great trust in God, so great that she felt He would surely hear her prayers that Hans might be converted from his evil habits; and never did day dawn nor night come but she made little Anna, and Max, and Lotta pray too, that the Father in heaven would bless and take care of their father on earth. Max, though often suffering from the passion of his father when he was excited by drink, was very dear to the man's heart. The man was proud of the big

handsome boy, and in his sober moments would declare that something great must be made of him; he must not remain unknown and obscure in a little village.

There came a day when Max was dangerously ill, and then Hans Kellner uttered oaths and curses in his rage. The child must

not, should not die, he said! The poor mother prayed fervently, but resigned herself to God's will, as the doctor told her there was but little hope for Max, who lay tossing in his bed crimson with fever, and his breath hurried and painful. The village pastor came to the house, and, after speaking a few words of comfort to the child's mother, went to Hans, who sat smoking outside.

But vain was his attempt to utter a word. With terrible threats did the man order him off, shouting execrations after his retreating figure, in so angry a tone, that even Anna Kellner crept away from the side of her boy, and stood trembling in the doorway. She shuddered at the curses Hans was calling down on the head of one who wished to be to him a friend. This over, the wretched man betook himself to the "Golden Stag," there to drown his misery in drink.

But God was full of goodness and compassion, and He was about to spare Max that he might save his father from ruin of soul and body. It was a terrible night; it was the crisis of the illness, and Anna prayed and watched with throbbing heart and anxious eyes. Towards morning she saw a change for the better, the peaceful sleep taking the place of restless tossing, and with all her heart she gave thanks. She could not leave the child, but she bade a neighbour carry the news to her husband.

"Hans Kellner," said this messenger, "God has been good to you; for Max lives, and will recover." The simple words struck upon his ear with an unaccustomed sound, "God has been good to you."

And then he thought of what he had been to God. From that time a purpose seemed born within him to begin a different life, because the boy who was his heart's pride had not been snatched away by death. With quiet tread he sought the chamber where he had not dared to enter, and witness the sufferings of little Max. As his wife raised her weary but happy face, it seemed as if at a glance she knew that Hans was different-again like the Hans who had stood beside her in the good pastor's presence

nine years before, and promised to be faithful to her till death.

"He will live," she whispered, pointing to the sleeping boy; and then the great rough man, who had been the plague or terror of the village, fell down on his knees and said (as had been said to him), "God is good!"

I wish I could find space to tell you of the happiness which shone like the sun over this once unhappy home. I may only add that the "Golden Stag" has lost one of its best customers. If Hans Kellner is wanted, the place to find him is at his cottage door with his good wife and happy children round him.

Very often the pastor, who once was driven from the place, may be found in the Kellners' home. And when he or they refer to the time when Max was thought to be dying, Hans will sigh and smile as he murmurs, "God is good!" Perhaps he loves the boy all the more, since the little life was spared to become his own deliverance from his great snare.

"God is good!" Do we not all see it in His patience as He bears with our neglect, our forgetfulness, our wandering? Then let us give to Him all He asksour lives, our hearts; and happiness will take up its dwelling within us, as it did in the heart and home of Hans Kellner.

DOING AND TRUSTING.

SCHOONER was being towed out of Chippewa Harbour, on the Niagara River, not very far above the Falls. On a sudden the hawser parted, and there went the vessel drifting off towards the fatal Falls. Intense excitement seized upon the spectators as they witnessed the accident, and saw the perilous situation of the vessel and its crew. What could they do?

Providentially there was a strong breeze blowing up the river; and as the spectators on the shore gazed upon the vessel, they saw the crew hastily hoisting the sails. They filled with the wind. The downward course of the vessel was arrested. She stopped, wind battling against the current for the mastery. Slowly she began to make headway, till at last, gathering way, she made off on her course, and was out of danger.

Doing and trusting rescued her. Had there been nothing done by the crew, had they not hoisted the sails, they could not have been rescued; they would have drifted over the Falls, and been lost. The wind was blowing, but had they done nothing, had they not sought to avail themselves of it, had they not had faith in it, they would have been lost just as surely as if the wind had been blowing towards the Falls, or not blowing at all.

On the other hand, had there been no wind, it would have done them no good to hoist the sails. It was not their action that saved them; it was the wind; but their action was necessary, indispensable. The one must be united with the other.

How striking is the analogy in this to the case of the penitent sinner. He sees his danger; he sees that he is fast drifting to destruction. How shall he be saved? God provides the means. The breath of His