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Some ten days ago, our little boy, while assisting to carry in the coal from the sidewalk, accidentally dropped the basketful, and it struck his ankle, and subsequently it was discovered that he had received a sprain. Two or three days after he complained of lameness, and took to his bed. He was carefully and constantly attended both by Mr. Turner and others and his little boy bed-fellow. A few days before he was sent to the Hospital, one of the servant women met him in the hall, and seeing the evidences of suffering in his face, endeavored to cheer him with anticipations of speedy relief from the pain. “It won't be long," said he, “ for I am going home.” Where did he receive the impression ?

With tearful eyes and many an affectionate kiss, he bade adieu to the Superintendent, nurse, and companions, and was conveyed with all tenderness to the Hospital. During his brief but painful illness there he was visited by his friend Mr. T. and the Superintendent. It was very touching to hear that little sufferer wish for the permission to die and

“Why, Brownie,” said Mr. T., "why do you wish to die ?"
“Because I shall go to heaven," he replied.
“What reason have you for thinking that you will go to heaven ?"

Jesus said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for such is the kingdom of heaven," he replied, repeating the whole

“He loved me on earth, and he loves me now." There came a paroxysm of pain, and Mr. T. said no more to him at the time.

Said his friend to me subsequently, “I have doubted the benefit of repeating these simple passages of Scripture over and over so often as we do in the House, but when I heard the little fellow quote them with so much satisfaction, I could not doubt any more.” No; and no christian would, if he could see child after child receive them in childish faith in the truthfulness of the speaker, and as it were pillow their dying heads upon them, and die rejoicing that they were going to see Jesus.

I said to the child on one occasion, “Willie, my dear boy, you are very sick, I know, but now in your pain and languishing who seems to be your best friend ?"

« God.” “Do you feel that God loves you, and that you love him ?" Yes, sir." At another time I said, "Do you wish for anything, my dear boy ?" “ I want to die." I was surprised at such an answer from so young a child, and said, “But you are a very little boy—why, my child, do you wish to die ?"

“Because then I shall not sin any more?” he replied, clearly and promptly. Had not the little lamb been taught by the Good Shepherd ?

After a while, I said, “Willie, the children are all anxious for you. They pray to God to take care of you. We all do.

Have you any message to send to them ?

He looked at me, and said, “I want to go the prayer-meeting.”

This was the last I saw of our poor but happy boy. No parent or brother stood by his dying bed, to soothe his pains or speak a word of kindness. But, literally, his father and mother had forsaken him, but

the Lord had taken him up,” and stood over beside his dying couch, and his last moments were free from pain, and his gentle spirit fled away to be at rest in the bosom of that Saviour who loved him when on earth and loves him now.” He, like his sister, has “a good home,” only inexpressibly more glorious.

It may be well to say that, on Saturday evening, when the news came that there was no hope of his living until morning, our family of children were deeply and tenderly affected, and that night each little head was bowed by the bedside in prayer for the gentle sufferer.

Christians, everywhere, Remember the children! poor or rich. Store away in their minds and memories line upon line, precept upon precept, from God's holy Word, for you know not what a harvest may be reaped from so good a seed, to the glory of God and the salvation of souls.

THE PRIVILEGE OF PRAYER. The man who, from his prayerless awaking, bounces into the business of the day, however good his talents and great his diligence, is only galloping on a steed harnessed with a broken buckle, and must not marvel if, in his hottest baste or most bazardous leap, he be left inglorious in the dust; and, though it may occasion some little delay beforehand, his Deighbor is wiser who sets in order before the march begins. Most persons when at first spiritually enlightened, are in the case of the blind man at Bethsaida when bis sight was half restored—he saw men like trees walking. He had no clear perceptions, no definite ideas. But, another touch of the same miraculous finger !-he looked again, and the men walked, and trees stood still, and the boats gleamed over Genesaret, and Bethsaida smiled back to the summer sky. In the outset of a spiritual earnestness it is not the warm and radiant Gospel which glads the exploring vision, but a cold and hazy version of it. It is not a Gospel over which the love of God sheds its flood of endearment, but a Gospel in a mist, a Gospel of couficting attributes, a Gospel of dim love, and doubtful kindness. And it is not till a power from on high imparts clearer perceptions and intenser vision that, like the joyful scenes which rushed on the fully opened eyes of the Bethsaidan, the scheme of mercy stands out in assuring distinctness, and then melts in upon the soul in its genial beauty and overwhelming glories. Now, my friends, if any of you are in this case—if you have for some time wished a clear theology and a soul-satisfying religion, this is the way to get it. You have, perhaps, sought it in books and in sermons. Perhaps you have sought it in the Bible, and in close thinking, and have not found it. Seek it from above”-seek it in prayer. Don't shut the Bible and forsake the sanctuary-don't fling away the book, or cease to reflect and meditate; but seek the wisdom from on high. It is not plainer preaching-certainly it is not a clearer Bible, that you need ; but it is a clearer eyesight, a power of sharper discernment, and a more perspicacious insight in yourself. This “ opening of your eyes,” this exaltation of your faculties, God alone can give; but he will give it. You lack wisdom? Ask it of God. With your reading, hearing, meditation, mingle prayer ; and in the brighteuing of your views, and the strengthening of your faith, you will find that God is sending out his light and truth, and by the illumination of his own spirit, is making you wiser than all your teachers.

FASHIONS FOR SUNDAY. A POOR widow with several children, who supported her family with her needle, unable to afford the style of dressing to which she had formerly been accustomed, and which was common among church-goers, *staid away from the house of God. Another widow has recently assigned a similar reason for never going to church. And an entire family of six persons—respectable people--live near the writer, who absent themselves from the sanctuary because, in the depth of their poverty, they have to dress in the cheapest attire.

Probably every one who is at all acquainted with the annals of the poor, knows of instances of the same kind. The feeling of aversion to appearing at church in their cheapest garb, is especially strong in those “who have seen better times.” It is readily granted that the feeling is a wrong one; but it does exist, and it does keep many persons, especially women and children, from the house of God. Now, what is the best way of removing the difficulty which keeps, perhaps, several thousands of persons in our country from attending church, though they live quite near enough to go? In a few instances, the hand of benevolence might give the clothing desired, but to many, such a gift would be offensive. The best way of meeting the difficulty is that adopted in one of the cities south of us. The fashion of dressing very plainly for the sanctuary is being introduced.

Some of the ladies “of the first circles" go up to worship dressed in plain calico. How appropriate such a style as this (which the poor and the rich alike can adopt) for the house of God, before whom all classes are on a level! How much better suited to the sanctuary, where we go to confess that we are spiritually poor and needy, than the richer attire which is so often but the exhibition of pride and vanity. How much more delicately and truly do we express a brotherly and sisterly feeling for God's poor, by adopting the style which poverty compels them to adopt, than by sweeping by them in costly plumes and flashing silks to our pews.

Should this plain, cheap style of dressing for the Sabbath become general, it will be comparatively easy for the poor to provide themselves with Sabbath clothing, without making them the recipients of charity. And if those in easier circumstances should give to the treasury of the Lord the difference between their present wardrobe expenses and what their expenses would be on the plan suggested, a large army of missionaries might be sustained from the funds thus saved. We recommend the whole subject to the prayerful attention of Christian ladies.-English paper.



The Mount of Olives stands just without Jerusalem, over the little stream of Kedron. Its height and magnitude would not entitle it to the name of mountain as we use the word; but being called such in the Bible, it belongs among the “Sacred Mountains." In moral grandeur it towers above all the preceding summits that rise along the horizon of history.

It is difficult to recall any scene vividly that has been so often described and so long familiar to us as that which transpired on the Mount of Olives. The mind is prepared for every event in it, and hence cannot be taken by surprise or held in suspense. But there are moments when the heart forgets all that it has ever heard, and seems for the first time to witness that night of suffering. The indifference which long familiarity has produced, disappears before rising emotion, and that lonely hilltop-that midnight prayer—that piercing agony, with its bloody testimonial, and the rude shock of Roman soldiers, all, all swim before the swimming eye, with the freshness of first sight, till the heart thrills and throbs at the solemn spectacle.

But morally grand and moving as that scene was, it caused but little talk in Jerusalem. The streets of the proud city were filled with careless promenaders-parties of pleasure were assembled-dissipation and revelry were on every side; and the quiet of the staid citizen's home was not interrupted by the tragedy Mount Olivet was to witness. Everything moved on in its accustomed way, when, in an obscure street, in the upper chamber of an inferior dwelling, a group of coarse-clad men sat down to a table spread with the plainest fare. The rattling of carriages and the hom of the mighty city were unheeded by them, and you could see by their countenances that some calamity was impending over their heads. Few rds were spoken, and those few were uttered in a subdued and saddened tone, that always bespeaks grief at the heart. At the head of the table sat one whose noble countenance proclaimed him chief there. He had won the love of those simple-hearted men, and now they sat grouped around him, expecting some sad news; but oh, they were unprepared for the startling declaration that fell from those lips: This night one of you shall betray me." Is it I ? " Is it I ?18 ran from lip to lip in breathless consternation. At length all eyes centred on Juĝas, and he rose and went away.

I will not speak of the conversation that followed; but amid words that thrilled every heart, was heard such language as This is my blood, shed for many;" and as the bread crumbled beneath bis fingers, “ This is my body;"_strange language, and awakening strange sensations in the bewildered listeners; and a mournful sadness rested on every face, As through the silent chamber rung those tones of tenderness.

Gradually the great city sunk to rest, the noise of wheels grew less and less, and only now and then a solitary carriage went rambling by. It was midnight, and from that solitary chamber arose the voice of singing. The victim at the altar—the sufferer by the wheel, struck up a hymn at the moment of sacrifice. Was there ever before a hymn sung under such circumstances ?

Through the darkened streets those twelve forms are slowly passing toward the walls of the city, cared for and noticed only by the police, whom the betrayer has put upon the track. Kedrou is passed, and they reach the garden of Gethsemane. “Sit you here," says Jesus, "wbile I go and pray yonder," and taking with him only Peter and James and John, he ascended the slope of Olivet. As they paused on the solitary summit, the human heart threw off the restraint it had put on its feelings, and burst forth in tones of indescribable mournfulness,“ My soul is ecceeding sorrowful, even unto death ; stay here and watch with me.Every prop seemed falling beside him, and in the deepening gloom and dread that surrounded him, he reached out for sympathy and aid. Then, as if recollecting himself and the task before him, he broke away even from those three remaining friends, and they saw with speechless grief and amazement his form disappear in the darkness.

Jerusalem is sunk in slumber and security, and nought but the tread of the watchman is beard along the streets. The disciples in the garden of Gethsemane are quietly sleeping below, and all is still and solemn, as night ever is when left alone ; and the large luminous stars are shining down in their wonted beauty. Kedron goes murmuring by as if singing in its dreams, and the olive trees rustle to the passing breeze as if their leaves were but half stirred from their slumbers. It is night, most quiet night, with all its accompaniments of beauty and of loveliness.

But bark, from the summit of Mount Olivet rises a low and plaintive moan ; and there, stretched on the dewy grass, his face to the earth, are seen the dim outlines of a buman form. All is still around, save that moan which rises in a deep, perpetual monotone, like the last cry of helpless suffering. But listen again ; a prayer is ascending to heaven; and what a prayer, and in what tones it is uttered! Such accents never before rung on the ear of God or man : Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me." It is still again, and Nature herself seems to gasp for breath ; and lo, there arises another voice, in tones of resignation sweeter than angels use : Father, not my will but thine be done." Oh, what inexpressible tenderness is poured in that word “ Father"the very passion and soul of love is breathed forth in it. Wearied and worn, that tottering form slowly rises and moves through the gloom toward where the three friends are sleeping-going in its humanity after sympathy. The pressure is too great-the sorrow and despair too deep, and the human heart reaches out imploringly for help. “What, could you not watch with me one hour ?" falls on their slumberous ears, and the lonely sufferer turns again to his solitude and his wo. Prone on the earth be again casts himself, and the wave comes back with a heavier flow. Bursting sighs and groans, that rend the heart again startle the midnight air, and down those pale cheeks the blood is trickling, and the dewy grass turns red, as if a wounded man were weltering there. The life-stream is flowing from the crushed heart, as it trembles and wrestles in the grasp of its mighty agony. Wo and darkness, and horror inconceivable, indescribable, gather in fearful companionship around that


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