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dition of your body; and who putting you in a way for a present cure breaks down your health in other respects, thus curing the disease by killing the patient. But a friend who is fully acquainted with a man's estate will beware, by furthering any present business, how he dashes upon some great inconvenience. Rest not, therefore, on scattered counsels; which will distract and mislead rather than settle and direct. Following these two noble fruits of friendship, (peace in the affections and support of the judgment,) is the last, which is, like the pomegranate, full of many kernels-that is, the aid and participation in all actions and occasions of one's friend, The manifold use of friendship is best perceived by inquiring how many things there are, which a man cannot do himself; and then it will appear, that the ancients expressed themselves moderately, in saying, "That a friend is another self;" because, a friend is far more. Men have their time, and die, often, while desiring somethings which they principally take to heart;-the bestowing of a child, the finishing of a work, or the like. If a man have a true friend, he may rest almost secure that those things will be well taken care of, when he shall have gone; so that he has, as it were, two lives in his desires. And though a man's body is confined to the place it occupies, yet where friendship is, the offices of life are as it were granted to him and his deputy; for he may exercise them by his friend. How many things are there, which a man cannot with any face say or do himself! A man can scarely allege his own merits with modesty, much less extol them; a man can seldom brook to supplicate or beg, and many things of the like kind-but all these things, which would be uncomely in him, are graceful in a friend. Again, there are relations incident to every person of which he cannot divest himself. A man cannot speak to his son but as a father; to his wife but as a husband, to his enemy but upon terms of ceremony; whereas a friend may speak to them as the case requires. But to enumerate these things were endless. The rule has been given, where a man cannot decently play his own part; if he have not a friend, he may quit the stage.




I WISH to spend at least one week with my dear old father. His advanced age and perceptible decline quicken the filial chords that bind me to him, and make me desire daily to sit by his side. Christian parents are among the precious gifts for which I can never sufficiently thank our Heavenly Father. I have a mother in Heaven, whose saintly face, fervent prayers, and pure words and life linger pleasantly in memory, and weave themselves into my dreams both when I sleep and wake.

Father is hastening his tottering pace to join her up there, and this sometimes makes me feel sad, though perhaps it ought not. But so it is with us poor mortals. When our hearts are vitally bound up with the hearts of others, it is painful to have them unbound. It seems to me that a man and wife who train up their children in the simple faith and practice of the Gospel, are more to be revered and admired than the heroes of a hundred battles. And when I sometimes remember the constant care which my parents had for our spiritual good, my poor heart fills up with sorrow and joy-sorrow that I have so poorly requited their goodness to me-joy, for being the child of such parents. They were unlearned, but somehow they had a theology of the heart which has kindled a thousand beauteous thoughts of purity and love in my spirit. And the sight of the old time-worn and prayer-worn Gebet Buch from across the sea, and of the old Family Bible with metallic clasps, awakens memories of nameless value to me. In them are bound up the tender history of my childhood, embalmed with prayers, tears and many, many hours of sweet and solemn devotion.

But this is not what I intended to write about. Pardon the digres sion. Sometimes our hearts fill up with something which must be poured forth before we are fit to say anything else.




WE pilgrims on life's toilsome way.

Are pressed by ills on either hand:
But sorest is his state and stay,

Who's exiled from his Native Land.

One favoured hour, soft balmy sleep.

Holds o'er his grief its magic wand;
But when he wakes, he wakes to weep
His absence from his Native Land.

Forgetfulness the exile seeks;

But vainly, on a foreign strand,
Of home and friends his memory speaks,
And fresh recalls his Native Land.

With generous soul, and noble heart

He may each fear and foe withstand;
Yet secret loyal tears will start-

Brave tribute to his Native Land.



IN the Acts of the Apostles there is recorded a saying of our Saviour which is not to be found in any of the Gospels. It was no doubt handed down by tradition. The saying is this: "It is more blessed to give than to receive." What a kind Providence has watched over and preserved this beautiful and touching saying of our Lord, so that it should not be lost. It is not easy for us to receive this saying. We are so in the habit of thinking that it is more blessed to receive, that it is hard for us really to believe this saying. And yet let us be sure that what our Saviour says is true.

Let me relate an incident to illustrate the principle involved in this saying. A rich young student of a European University and his professor were one evening taking a walk. As they were going along, they noticed by the side of the road a pair of shoes belonging to a poor man who was engaged in ploughing in a field close by The student was bent on mischief. "Let us hide th old man's shoes," said he, "and then see what he will do when he finds that they have been taken away." "No," says the Professor, wishing to teach him a useful lesson, "that would be wrong; but you are rich and can afford it; put a dollar into each shoe, and then let us conceal ourselves from his view, and see what effect that will have on the poor man when he makes the discovery. The student carried out the suggestion of the Professor; and then they concealed themselves. It being time to retire from work, the old man soon came to look for his shoes. He slipped his foot into one of them; and feeling something under his feet, emptied it out and behold, a dollar fell to the ground. Then he took up the other, doing the same, and out fell another dollar! Then, filled with the pious thought that the money was in some way sent to him from God, he fell on his knees and thanked his heavenly Father for bestowing upon him such a blessing. It further appeared that it was just the sum he needed to pay a debt for which he was hard pressed just at the time. "Ah, said the student, but that makes one feel good! I am much happier now than if I had played that trick on the poor old man. Can so small a sum, which was as nothing to me, make a fellow being so happy, and bring him on his knees in gratitude before God! He is happy, but I am sure I am happier than he." This is an illustration of our Saviour's saying, that “it is more blessed to give than to receive." No doubt some of you have had similar experience of the blessedness of giving; seeing others made happy by your gifts has made you happy. If any of our readers does not as yet believe this saying true, let him prove it and be assured for himself of its truth.

If we look over the natural world, we see that there are inequalities

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in nature. There are high mountains and deep valleys. It is sometimes asked why is this so? Why is the world not made a perfect plain? A wise God has wisely made it as it is. The mountains are necessary even as the plains; for from their sides flow down the rills that water the valleys and render them fruitful. Besides, mountains and valleys give variety to the scenery and thus please the eye. So in the human world. One is rich, another is poor One occupies a high position; has the purse; has power; another is found in the humbler walks of life. Why is this difference? For the same reason that there are inequalities in nature. God has elevated some that they may rain down blessings on the poor. And when this is done the hearts of rich and poor are mutually bound together in dependence and love. The rich are blessed in giving, and the poor in receiving. By this arrangement of Divine Prov. idence the rich are preserved against debasing selfishness and the poor are kept from envy and jealousy of the rich. And do we not see in this that God is good-good to the rich, and good to the poor-good in giving and good in withholding?

But why should we give?


From a sense of gratitude for the gifts we have ourselves received. "Bless the Lord, O my Soul; and all that is within me, bless his holy Bless the Lord, O my soul and forget not all his benefits." In such a noble strain David expresses his gratitude to God. But it is just here where we so often come short. We forget God's benefits. Joseph and the butler were in the same prison, and shared together the same sufferings. The butler had a dream which Joseph interpreted, informing him that he would be restored to his former position in the king's household. When about to leave the prison Joseph. said to the butler: "Think on me when it shall be well with thee, and show kindness, I pray thee, unto me and make mention of me unto Pharoah, and bring me out of this house. But it is recorded that in his prosperity the butler "did not remember Joseph, but forgot him." So we often act. When we can go to church, hear the word of God, sing the songs of Zion and enjoy the Sacraments, we often forget our brethren who are less best.

The truth which we have thus endeavored to present is further illustrated by a little poem which escaped from us some years ago, and now asks to bear its testimony to the beautiful grace of charity:



Give me answer if you will,
Whither goest thou, little rill?
Leaping, laughing, night and day,
Like a happy child at play.
Cooling bere the parched tongue;
Flowing there the herbs among,
With a gurgling, babbling flow,
Ever cheerful as you go
"Through the meadow, field and wood,
On my mission, doing good."


Busy wanderer, going still;
Now it turns the heavy mill;
Now upon its bosom wide,
Puffing boats of commerce ride.
First it spoke in murmurs low,
"Doing good-for this I flow."
Now the deep, the rolling flood,
Echoes louder, "Doing good."


In the ocean's trackless deep,
Idle will its water's sleep?
No; on sunbeams rising high,
Cloud-borne, floats it on the sky,
And in rain descending, yields
Blessings to the parched fields.
Over grass and flowers strewed,
In rills gathered, doing good.


Thus, as erst, it speeds away,
Sports again like childhood gay,
Babbling, singing as it should,
"On my misssion, doing good."
Oh that he who his life long
Idles time, would catch its song;
And like it become a flood,
Earth to bless by doing good.

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ON a late trip through the west I frequently saw on the prairie what is familiarly known as the compass plant. It grows only on the prairies. In appearance it is not unlike our common thistle, though it has not its thorns. It comes up at first with a single stem, with leaves directly opposite one anothor a few inches apart, and these are united by a kind of half-leaf running along the stem between the leaves joining them. The leaves do not hang horizontally as leaves generally do, but stand perpendicularly, so that the whole stalk is flat as if pressed. When the plant is vigorous it puts forth other similar branches, and at length a

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