to manhood, a faithful, earnest Christian, from Sabbath to Sabbath, proclaims the wondrous story of the Saviour's life of toil and death of agony. How fondly does he cherish the recollection of the day when he heard, through the crack of the door, his mother's petition for pardoning mercy. Many souls has he been the means of leading to the Ark of Refuge, both by the truth and believing earnestness of his preaching, and the beautiful faith mirrored forth in his daily life.

That sort of Eyes?

ARRY often wished he could sec Jesus. Often he looked up and down the street in the hope that He might be coming along. He would like to have been one of those children who got into His arms and received His blessing. He would like to have been in the ruler's house when Jesus raised his little girl from death.

Harry was a little boy who thought a great deal about his Saviour. When he was naughty he was sorry, because he knew his conduct would not only grieve his mother and his father, but his Saviour in heaven; and he tried not to be naughty-he tried very hard. He prayed for the Holy Spirit to make him willing, to make him desire above all things to be God's child; and he thought if he could only see the Lord Jesus, it would be much easier to be a good boy always.

One day the superintendent of the Sabbath-school, talking to the scholars, said they could see Jesus with the " eye of faith." Harry, who was listening, was very much taken by that-" could see Jesus with the eye of faith. Oh, what

sort of eyes are they?" the little boy thought. He forgot everything else the superintendent said. Perhaps he told what they were; but Harry was thinking out the matter himself, and not arriving at anything clear, he pushed up to his teacher and asked,-" Are they big eyes, or black ones? Are they spectacle eyes?"

His teacher could not answer then, because she was hearing the lesson; but after it was through, she called Harry to her side, and asked him "whom he was named after." My uncle Henry," answered the little boy with some surprise in his face.

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"How do you know you

further.

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have such an uncle?" she asked

66 You never saw him."

Oh, I know it," said Harry; "I know it because he sends me things."

"How do you know that he sends them?" asked Miss Jay.

"Oh, I know, because he writes me,' answered the little boy, "and his letters all say, 'From your affectionate uncle Henry.'

999

His teacher looked as if, after all, the proof were somewhat doubtful. He saw the look.

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Oh, I know," persisted the little boy,

"because folks

Oh,

have seen him there, and they told me; and if I grow up a good boy, he's promised to take me and do for me. I'm just as sure-as sure as if I'd seen him ;" and Harry did look as sure as could be.

"You never saw him with your two bright blue eyes," said Miss Jay. Harry shook his head. "But you believe in him just as fully as if you had." Harry nodded. "Well, that is seeing him with the eye of faith," said his teacher. Harry's face flushed with a strange new thought. "That

.6

is the way we see Jesus Christ," she said. 'Jesus sends us things. He gives us the sun to warm and light us, bread to eat, and clothes to wear. He has written to us; the Bible is his word. Other folks have seen him. Peter

saw him, and John and Matthew, and they tell us what he did and said. And he promises to take us to himself in heaven, if we trust in him, and do his will."

Harry listened with his heart as well as his mind. They were both wide open to receive instruction; and his teacher spoke slowly, that he might take it all in.

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Eyes of faith is seeing things with your heart," said Harry at last-" making you feel and believe just as if you're sure."

"Yes," answered his teacher, "that's it; believing, it sees God, and takes God at his word."

The little boy carried home with him a new and precious thought from the Sabbath school that day. It was a seed thought, which he kept in his bosom; and he kept it so warm, and prayed so often over it the little prayer, " Open, O Lord, my eyes of faith to see and know thee, and love good and hate wickedness," that, like the Son of God when he was a little boy in Nazareth, he "waxed strong in spirit, and the grace of God was upon him."-Selected.

Christ in the Boat.

It

OME time ago, a little class in a Sabbath-
school, having finished their lesson, were
looking earnestly at a print in a Child-
ren's Paper they had just received.
was that touching scene representing the
disciples with Christ on the Sea of Ti-
berias. The wind had risen since they

left the shore, and was swaying the sail almost into the water. A very high wave was dashing against the prow of the frail boat, and threatening the next moment to sweep over all.

One of the boys said earnestly,-" What a dreadful

storm.

You can almost hear the thunder. How glad I am that I was not there."

Little Ally looked up from the paper and said, "I should like to have been in that boat."

"You would like to have been in such an awful tempest?" asked the first speaker in surprise. "Why?"

Ally replied simply, " Because Jesus was there."

It was a sweet reply. I have never forgotten it. I hope you will never forget it. To love to be near the Saviour, even in a storm! To love to be near him, because his presence can make us forget the tempest, and trust in him that when he thinks best he will hush the angry winds and waves. One of our charming hymns says,—

With Christ in the vessel, I'll smile at the storm. Those who love the company of Christ he will take, sooner or later, to be with him for ever. Ally did not have to wait long. A few days of violent suffering from fever, and last week he went to be with Jesus. That the blessed Saviour was with him in the heaviest storm that ever broke over this dear boy, we may learn from his dying words, "I love Jesus."

My dear child, would you like to have been in the boat with Jesus? Are you in the ark with him now? Do you love to think that he is near you? If you do, no storm, nor tempest, nor thunder, nor lightning can ever really harm you. The harder it blows, the sooner it will bring you to the shore.

There anchored safe, your weary soul
Will find eternal rest;

Nor storms shall beat, nor billows roll
Upon your peaceful breast.

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Helping Mother.

you want me to help you stem the currants, mother?" said little Mary Miller.

"Do you want to work at the currants, or do you want to help me?" said Mrs. Miller, smiling.

"Why, mother, isn't it the same

thing?"

"Not quite. Once I knew a little She put

girl who wanted to help her mother set the table.

things on all wrong, because she could not attend to what she was told, and then ran away, and left her mother to put matters right again."

Mary blushed and hung down her head.

"And another time, this same little girl wanted to dust her father's books; and when she had got them all strewed about the floor, she sat down, and read a story all the morning, and then left the books and dust-pan on the library floor, and went off to play with another child. Her father had to put away the books before he could sit down to his sermon. Do you think she really wanted to help, or only to amuse herself?"

"O mother?" said Mary, almost crying, "I know it was mean and selfish; but if you will let me try now, I really will help; I truly will."

And she really did; for when the work was done, her mother said she had been of great assistance, for she had done just as she was told. In what way do you help your father and mother?-Child's Paper.