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Mr. Raikes very soon saw himself surrounded by such a set of little ragamuffins as would have disgusted other men less zealous to do good and less earnest to spread comfort, exhortation, and benefit to all around him than the founder of the Sunday-schools. children now began to look up to him with such a mixture of respect and attention as endeared them to him and interested him still more and more in their welfare.

To prevent their running about in wild disorder through the streets during the rest of the day was the great purpose which he had in view, and to place them under the care of proper persons to instruct them in their Christian duty was the prevailing object of his wishes.

He lost no time in communicating his ideas to those of his friends who were as sensible of the need of some reform in this respect as himself, and a sufficient sum of money was speedily raised to procure masters and mistresses for a large number of children of both sexes to be educated in the principles of Christianity. The city of Gloucester soon began to wear a very different aspect on the Lord's Day. Instead of loitering about the streets in a state of indolence as painful to the observer as it was to themselves, they were now seen in decent regularity frequenting the places of public worship, evidently much happier in themselves than in their former state of irreligious idleness.

The labours of the teachers were much assisted, and their success was promoted, by the unwearied attention of Mr. Raikes to these children on every Sunday morning.

When the early service was ended, it was his constant practice to inquire minutely into their conduct, and even to inspect their persons, to reprove such as came dirty and slovenly, and to commend those that were neat and decent, however homely, in their apparel. The distribution of little rewards, and the slightest expression of displeasure from the man they loved, had each its proper effect; and even the external appearance of the children demonstrated their advancement not less in civilisation than morality.

THE CLAM-SHELL PREACHER.

HE late Dr. Beadle, of Philadelphia, was not only eminent as a preacher, but also took much interest in science, especially in conchology, he having a very large collection of valuable shells. The following little incident which occurred when he was a minister in the city of Hartford shows how he could find sermons in shells as appropriate as any that men find in "stones" elsewhere.

There was a mission-school in Hartford, in a garret room of a rickety building, in the earlier days of such schools in America. It was what in England we

should call a should call a "ragged school," made up of boys and girls of the very lowest class in the community, out of homes of squalor and of vice along the river-banks in one of the poorer quarters of that city. It was not an easy matter to catch and hold the attention of that motley assemblage. There was rarely a visitor who was equal to the emergency. But Dr. Beadle won the eyes and ears of all who were there when first he came to that school. Standing in front of the superintendent's desk, before the school closed for the day, he held up a common fresh-water clam-shell and called out, "Boys, what is that?"

"A clam-shell," cried a hundred voices.

"Yes, it's a clam-shell-a rough, coarse, clam-shell; just such a shell as you could pick up any day by the bank of the river, or back in the country by a brook in the wood."

Then turning the shell quickly in his hand, he showed the other valve, beautifully polished, its iridescent colours reflecting the light attractively.

"And what is that, boys?" he said.

"That's a clam-shell, too," was the answer.

"Yes; but see how much prettier this side is. What makes the difference?"

"It's been rubbed down," said one.
"It's been smoothed off," said another.
"It's been polished up," says a third.

"Yes, that's it. And, boys, do you know that's just what we are trying to do with you in this Sunday-school? We've brought some. of you in here as rough as the other side of this clam-shell; and now we are trying to rub you down, to smooth you off, to polish you up, so that you'll shine like this side of the shell. This polishing business is hard work, boys, and it takes time; but it pays."

Then he pressed home the need of soul-polishing in words which were never forgotten by his young hearers in that humble room.

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says, "Now, Susie dear, you have done enough for today; put up your work;" and then he seizes bright little Charlie with a shower of kisses; and we often sit side by side and chat in the cool evening breezes. What woman in the world wouldn't make such a husband a good wife?

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OFTEN see articles about the good wife, and what she must do to make her husband happy, but rarely anything about a good husband, and what he must do to please his wife. I have been a wife and mother for nearly twenty years, and I believe have done all in my power to make my husband and children happy, and I must say that nothing so much adds to my happiness as a kind word from my husband, a kind look, a kind act.

Oh, how cheering, after a hard day's toil at the wash-tub, or the wheel, or the loom, or the hot fire cooking for harvest hands, or a sleepless night with a sick babe-how cheering is a kind word and a sweet kiss and a smile from the husband and father. But to think of bitterness, angry looks, enraged temper, scolding, and complaints of everything around him, makes my very blood run cold.

Now, gentlemen, if you see defects in your good wives, try kindness, and see if it won't do them more good than all the unkind words and cross looks you ever gave them.

I often think I have the best husband in the world. He is good and kind to me in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow. We are happier than when we were married nearly twenty years ago. He never scolds me or brings a long catalogue of complaints; but he comes in from his daily labour in good humour, with a smile on his lips and a sweet kiss for me, and

JESUS IS VERY PRECIOUS.

OME weeks since I watched by the bedside of an old friend who had long been a consistent Christian. He was a man highly respected and of unblemished character, and much beloved in the village where he lived. But as the "death shadow" was rapidly closing over a long life, and the suffering consequent on a painful disease gave him little rest or quiet, the faith of this aged and devoted Christian grew brighter and stronger.

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Repeat to me," he would say, "a hymn or psalm when the pain is severe, and I can think of my Saviour and bear it."

"Have you," I asked, "no doubts or fears to trouble you?"

"Doubts! he exclaimed, "I have trusted my Saviour for twenty years; do you think I would doubt Him now? He is my comfort, my support! I die trusting all with Him."

At another time he said, "In looking back over my life, though I have been always called a moral man and a good citizen, yet it is like an old attic, the sins hang about it like cobwebs from every beam and corner; but Thanks be to God for His unspeakable gift,' 'the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth

us from all sin.'"

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exclaimed; "but think of the glory waiting for me: eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived the glory God has laid up for me; for me Jesus died. I will be patient to wait my Father's time, but I long to be with my Saviour."

As his weakness increased, and his sufferings became more severe, he said, "This is my great comfort: I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.' Jesus is very precious to my soul. Tell my friends who inquire for me, the hymn, Rock of Ages, tells

better than my feeble words can the hope and faith which support me in this dying hour;" and he added, "Of all who have had this faith in the Redeemer, not one was ever known to regret it on a dying bed; and oh, how many have felt the need of a hope in Christ!"

Thus, with the "everlasting Arms" beneath him, and the comfort of a "present Saviour" while he passed through the cold waters, this aged saint entered upon his rest.

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Watch her to-night for me, Thou dear Redeemer; Give her Thine own best gift of sweet repose; Let angel-guards surround the little dreamer

With folded wings, and eyes that never close.

Thy blessing maketh rich, nor addeth sorrow:
Thy love can turn life's darkness into day.
Be with my child when she shall wake to-morrow,
And keep her feet from every evil way!

Then when the last grey shadows have descended.
Over the lonely valley, still and deep,
Let angels whisper, "Lo! the toil is ended;
Good-night, He giveth His beloved sleep."

Sarah Doudney.

HOME, SWEET HOME.

ou may be far away,

a great ocean and thousands of miles between, but you cannot separate yourself from the thought of home.

Your memory may be weak, a vast portion of the past may have slipped from your recollection, but in spite of time and distance you cannot forget your home. You may deem yourself to have been hardly dealt with in

learned something of Him lately. When down with the yellow fever in a West Indian hospital, and well nigh given up, it was wonderful how the truths I was taught in childhood came back to me-the truths my mother used to teach me with such infinite pains. Little did I think, as I slunk away by night, with my little bundle under my arm, and a few shillings in my pocket, that I was carrying away with me deep and solemn truths which thirty years afterwards would spring up into life and lead me to the feet of my Saviour. Yes, the little texts and hymns came back to my soul with such wonderful clearness as I lay stricken, as I then thought, by the hand of death, that I am fully convinced God's own Spirit did it all.

I tried at first to forget them, but they would come back again, until at last I let them have their way and fill up my thoughts as they would.

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"My sins! my sins!" was my cry, and loud and bitter it was. your childBut by God's goodness it soon gave hood, your wishes place to the joyful shout, "My Saviour! my Saviour!" thwarted, your inclina- And now there stole over me a strange longing for tions checked; and as home. I had never forgotten it in all my wanderings, you think of what hap- and could never overcome the tender thoughts which pened years ago, hard it invariably awakened. and bitter thoughts may steal into the heart, but the very mention of home will bring a tenderness over you, and perhaps force a tear from the eye.

How sweet, as the vessel rocks idly upon the glassy sea, or in the midst of the raging storm when all is taut and trim, to dream of home. How swiftly the time passes! And what a rude awakening when from the thoughts of home the stern, perhaps desolating, present forces itself upon your consciousness.

Home what changes have taken place since as a boy I left it. Marriages, births, and alas! deaths. What a fool I was ever to have left it; I, who might have done so well in my native land.

And I was wanted there, too. They could ill spare me. The only lad, the only hope of my parents in their old age, how much I was counted, I have realised bitterly since. What could the old man do singlehanded? And what wonder the neglect of the farm brought poverty into the old homestead? Had I been at home my strong arm would at least have warded off something of their misery.

My poor father! My poor mother! How it pains my heart to recall what they suffered in their last days! My sisters could not do much. They did what they could. "Married well," the world said. But what availed the money when it was only permitted to be lavished on themselves? True, the old people had house room extended to them and their food supplied, but it was grudgingly done, and served up with the bitter sauce of complaint and accusation. Oh! it makes my blood boil at the hardness of those so-called sons. It was a happy release for the poor old folks when they were called away to be with the Lord in glory. Yes, I can speak of the Lord now, because I have

"Home! I must go home; I must see the old place again. There is a tomb in the old graveyard where two loved forms are lying. I must see it ere I die." Before long my yearning was gratified in the midst of the old familiar spots.

Driven between the well-known hedgerows, past the little cottages by the roadside, I alighted at the old homestead; the same, and yet not the same; like, and yet unlike. There had been improvements which had deprived it of all its charms for me. It was not the home I had fled from when a lad.

Was it for this I left the spot so quickly, and drove back within less than an hour? Or was there some other and stronger cause? Let me draw the picture as it is written upon my brain, never more to be erased, I think; the picture of my home-coming.

A sister's hands outstretched in warmest greeting, a sister's face upturned for the brother's kiss! I love to dream of this. But I love not to think of the gloomy, sullen man leaning against the door-post from whose lips no word of welcome fell. What he said and looked I care not to recall. I try, by God's help, to banish it from my memory. Why should I dwell on things which can only embitter my soul, and impel it to anger and sin? And when after visiting the grave in the old churchyard, I drove away, shall I tell you what my thoughts were?

Thank God, I have a home still, a sweet home"where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary be at rest." And now that my hopes of an earthly home are shattered, I will think the more of the home that is above.

What a welcome I shall have there from my Saviour! He is now making it ready for me. He died that it might be mine. What a welcome I shall have from the dear ones gone before! They could not welcome

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CEASE WORKING-TRY BELIEVING.

W

THAT must I do to be saved?" "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." Christ Jesus can do all for you, my friend. Is the burden of sin heavy? You cannot make it lighter; but Christ has borne your griefs and carried your sorrows. Only believe in Him. Lay down the load of your sins; you need carry it no longer. Christ will give you rest. Believe on Him, and He will save you. Cease working for salvationtry believing.

Do you say that you are not good enough to come to Christ? He says to you, "I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." God is just, and sin must be punished; but the holy Son of God has suffered for your sins. If you will only believe on Him, "though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." These words are for you. Come to Christ now, all weak and guilty as you are. Fall down before Him, and ask Him to receive you just as He will hear your prayer. Christ will clothe you with His robe of righteousness, and your sins will be forgiven. Believe this-that will be faith. Cease working for salvation--try believing.

you are.

But you say, Must not I do anything? must not I read the Bible? must not I pray? must not I lead a holy life?

Yes, you have much to do. You must read the Bible to find out what a strict law you have broken, what great danger you are in, what a great Saviour the Lord Jesus Christ is, and what wonderful things God is willing to do for you. It is the only book that can tell you how to be saved; and if you wish to be saved you will study it carefully. But reading the Bible cannot save you; learning it all by heart cannot save you. You must believe what it tells you, and act as if you believed it. Do not wait to read the whole Bible before you begin to believe. If you know only this "Christ died for our sins," and ask Christ to save you, and give yourself up to Him; He will Faith in Jesus Christ is all. Cease work

one verse,

save you.

ing for salvation-try believing.

If you wish to be saved, you must pray. You cannot help it; you will cry out to God for mercy. But the words of prayer are nothing without faith; prayer is the voice of faith speaking to God. Christ says, "Whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall

receive." Every day you must believe; and every day that you believe you will pray.

You must lead a holy life. If you truly believe, you cannot help hating your sins: they will be so hateful to you that you will try to conquer them. If you truly believe in Christ you will wish to be like Him, and to imitate Him. This you cannot do of yourself; Christ only can make you holy. Believe on Him: you cannot lead a holy life without faith.

Being sorry for sin will not save you. Reading the Bible will not save you. Praying will not save you. Good works will not save you. These are only

marks or proofs of faith in Christ. Christ alone can save you. "God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through Him might be saved." Believe this, cast your perishing soul on Christ, and you will know what faith is.

Faith will open your eyes to understand the Bible; faith will make prayer sweet; faith will make it easy to serve Christ; faith will give you strength to resist sin. Then cease working for salvation-try believing.

Faith will take the things of God and heaven, and show them unto us, till " we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory."

Try believing now, before it is for ever too late. God's Spirit speaks to you; wait no longer, but obey His kind voice.

M

THE CHRISTIAN'S REST.

Y rest is in heaven, my rest is not here;
Then why should I murmur when trials
are near?

Be hushed, my dark spirit-the worst that can come
But shortens my journey, and hastens me home.
It is not for me to be seeking my bliss,
And building my hopes in a region like this;
I look for a city which hands have not piled,
I pant for a country by sin undefiled.

The thorn and the thistle around me may grow,
I would not lie down upon roses below;
I ask not my portion, I seek not my rest,
Till I find them for ever on Christ's loving breast.
Afflictions may damp me, they cannot destroy;
One glimpse of His love turns them all into joy;
And the bitterest tears, if He smile but on them,
Like dew in the sunshine, grow diamond and gem.

Let trial and danger my progress oppose,
They only make heaven more sweet at the close;
Come joy or come sorrow, whate'er may befall,
A home with my God will make up for it all.
A scrip on my back, and a staff in my hand,
I march on in haste through an enemy's land;
The road may be rough, but it cannot be long,
And I smooth it with hope, and I cheer it with song.

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