though "praise is comely for the upright," a crooked and perverse generation call it weariness. This Rose of Sharon drooped under many a storm, and was wounded and torn by those whom He came to enlighten and to bless. The thorns

were about His head, and their points were turned in to pierce Him, that we might escape torment. Such little helpless buds as my Louisa, cannot study too often the history of the Rose, the Lord Jesus Christ, whom they must be like upon earth, if they would blossom in the heavenly garden, where all his glories and beauties are now expanded. We cannot love Him too much : we cannot rise too early to seek after him, nor visit Him too often in prayer and praise. We cannot be too anxious to root up every thing that would prevent His spreading in our hearts; nor ought we to rest, till he reigns there in every affection, pleasure, and hope. Many beautiful things surround us, for which we are bound to return continual thanks to God; but He is "the chief among ten thousand, and altogether lovely.' More welcome than the snow drop, He appears in the wintry season of sorrow, to tell us that there is yet life in the world, and brighter days

will come. More sweet than the violet, He invites us to search for Him in retirement, and overpays us a thousand fold by His beauty and fragrance. More pure than the lily of the valley. He is found among lowly shrubs; and if the rich and great receive Him, he shows the loveliness of humility, and puts pride to shame. More fruitful than the vine, He overspreads the land that owns Him with rich clusters: and says to His branches, "Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit." Nay, He is more precious than the tree of life in paradise, for to Him no flaming sword forbids approach: but in the voice of tenderest invitation, He bids us draw nigh, and proclaims, "He that eateth me, even he shall live by me."

Childhood like a budding rose,

In the world's wide garden grows;
But how often hateful sin,

Like a canker dwells within;

All unseen by mortal eyes,

While the rose-bud droops and dies.

Men behold the outward deed,
God the inward thought can read:

From our God we cannot hide
Envy, anger, secret pride.
Clear as in the noon-day sun,
God can read them every one.

To the Saviour let us pray-
Lord, these cankers take away!
Let thy Spirit dwell within,
Guarding us from every sin,
'Till gathered by thy tender hand,
All thy buds in heaven expand.

1

THE BIBLE

THE BEST BOOK.

THOMAS and his sister had been busily employed all the morning at their lessons. Ellen finished her piece of sewing just as her brother began the last line in his copy; and by the time that her little work-box was neatly put up in its place, Thomas had wiped his pen, exclaiming, "There now business is done, and as it rains so fast, we are sure of a nice story from Mamma."

To Mamma they went; and having satisfied her that their tasks were indeed properly done, claimed the reward. "What story shall it be?" said Mamma. "Oh, a pretty history out of the Bible, if you please, Mamma," replied Ellen. "Yes," said Thomas, "there are many beautiful histories in the Bible. I do love it best of