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eyes, showed him that he was a lost sinner in danger of an eternal hell, and that all his learning could not help him. It also told him of One who was able and willing to save, who had died for him, and was waiting to have His great love returned.
What years of Christian labour by the missionaries had not done, was now brought about by the penny tract. The strong man bowed in penitence and humble submission at Jesus' feet, and became a sincere Christian. The missionaries to whom he went praised God for the change which had sent them a godly teacher. Those who put the tract in his hand were overcome with joy, for “ there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.” So you see how little Willie's penny made heaven rejoice.
though an angel had blessed TOWN PUMP.
it. A rosy-cheeked girl, There is near our house an half hid in a flood of golden old pump-a kind of town curls, came bouncing by, pump—which every one may driving her hoop, just as the use, and whose wet and be. old, decrepit apple woman spattered base speaks plain- at the corner, whom everyer than sign-boards could body knows, was trying to do of water for man and
get a drink.
She had set horse and a very excellent down her basket, but bent pump it is, too-never out nearly double by the weight of order, easily worked, and of her years and troubles, furnishing some of the pur- she was still compelled to est, clearest, coolest water lean upon her staff. The in the world.
little girl saw the difficulty, Not long since the old and was in an instant at pump was honoured the handle. Holding the
THEY NEVER SPEAK
ladle till it was filled, she Portsmouth, it is said, can raised it steadily to the lips be heard at Ryde, in the of the old woman, whose Isle of Wight, a
distance warm, grateful thanks called
of four or five miles. The the crimson to the child's
echo in Woodstock Park is eheek, which, as she hur
repeated seventeen times by ried away, was deepened by
day, and twenty by night. finding that her kind deed
The artillery at the siege of had been observed.
Genoa, by the French, was heard at Leghorn, a dis
tance of ninety miles. The I was walking lately with firing at the battle of Watera young, unconverted friend
loo was heard at Dover, at in whom I felt a great in- a distance in a direct line terest, and in the course of of one hundred and forty conversation I said,—“How miles, of which one hundred many of your companions and ten were over land, and do you think are Chris- the remainder over water. tians?"
In reply, she gave me the names of four: J. F., A.L.,
Boys, rely upon yourselves. M. M., and S. L.
Don't lean upon your fathers, I said, “Why do you
or your uncles, your think they are Christians?”
friends. If you have marked Because,” she replied.
out an honourable path in they never speak roughly.” life, take up your staff and Is not this a lesson to any
go ahead and not wait for children of God, of the deep | anybody to give you a push. importance of “words?” Don't wait for help. The
best and richest men in this In a still night, the voices of country
had rich the workmen in the distill- fathers to help them. They ery at Battersea may be
have gained their positions heard at Westminster by self-reliance, perseverBridge, an interval of three ance, and high-toned noble miles. The watchword at lives.
I WANT TO BE AN ANGEL.
I want to be an
an - gel, and with the an-gels
stand, A crown up-on my fore-head, A harp with
in my hand. There, right before my Saviour, So
glorious and so
bright, I'd wake the sweetest
mu - sic
and praise him day and
Some of our Sunday School friends, ignoring the incident that records the little child's wish, and thinking tor self rather than the little ones, have altered the beginning, and commence it thus.
“I would be like an angel,”
Nor ever know a sorrow, nor ever feel a fear;
And with ten thousand thousands praise him both day and night. 3 I know I'm weak and sinful, but Jesus can forgive,
For many little children have gone to heaven to live;
O send a shining angel, to bear me to the sky.
THE LITTLE WHITE LIE. I was in trouble beyond any doubtI was in trouble--and how to get out? “ Tell a white lie,” said the devil to me. “ Tell a lie ! Oh ! how dreadful! But what would it be If I should ?—though I never shall tell one," said I. “ Don't be frightened,” said he, we won't call it a lieA few words, in their way quite as good as the truth, And for this occasion far better, forsooth.”
little white lie, when I'd told it grew black ; Then, oh! how could I hide it or how get it back ? For it never would do to be caught in a lie, For 'twas known that a very good youngster was I. I must manage in some way to keep it from sight: “ Tell one more," said the devil; “ 'twill make it all
right." But my two grew to three, and my three were soon four, And my four
gave rise to a dozen or more ;
s—it is always the way with a lie-