creatures are shivering in the cold, which pierces through their ragged clothes! or lying down to sleep with only a few straws to cover them, while the pitiless blast howls through the broken windows and ruined walls of their miserable cottages! See the benighted traveller wading through the snow in his journey homewards; a fierce storm overtakes him; he tries to support himself against its fury; he endeavors to proceed; he sees a faint light glimmering from his little cottage; he thinks of his expectant wife, and fancies that his children are crying for their father's return; he struggles again and again; his efforts grow weaker and weaker; his limbs are benumbed; he trembles, he falls, he expires, and quickly is wrapped in a snowy shroud. Behold the sailors on the tempestuous sea! "God raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof; they mount up to heaven, they go down to the depths; their soul is melted because of trouble;" torrents of rain descend from above, and the lightning with its terrible splendor only serves to show them their dreadful situation. Vast numbers of our countrymen are every winter buried in a watery grave. While we thus contemplate the sufferings which others endure, let us feel thankful for our mercies, and praise the Lord continually.

Surely we should be grateful because God has spared our lives nearly to the close of the year: many, who began it as young and healthy as ourselves, have been called to meet their God. We should not only consider our present enjoyments, but our past mercies, as incentives to gratitude. We have been blessed with health, food, clothing, friends, means of gaining wisdom and piety, sabbaths, Bibles, and privileges too numerous to mention. O, let us feel grateful, and remember that we are responsible for all the mercies and privileges of the past year.

you open your books, to prepare for your recitations; whenever you meet your class; whenever you have opportunities of doing a little kindness for any scholar, however inferior she may be, or of saying a kind word, or making any one happier in any lawful way. May we both be enabled to feel, at all times and every where, that we are not our own; that we are the Lord's,-bound to obey his commands, to feel and act as he desires.

Your friend,

MARIA."

[Ellesa.]

THE PEACH AND THE POCKET-PIECE, OR TRUE AND FALSE REPENTANCE.

It was a pleasant Sunday morning, and the number of Sabbath School scholars assembled in the vestry was rather larger than usual. After the prayer had been made, and the hymn sung, the Superintendent told the scholars that he hoped they would be very attentive, while a gentleman from a neighboring school addressed them.

The gentleman then rose, and, after making a few remarks, showing the difference between true and false repentance, told the following story, in order to illustrate the difference he had pointed out. I will try to repeat it, as nearly as I can, in his own words.

Some time ago, I paid a visit to a friend in the country, whom I had not seen for several years. I arrived at his house late in the evening, and was cordially welcomed by my friend and his family. He had two sons, both intelligent-looking boys; but it was so late that I had little

opportunity to converse with them, or to notice particularly their characters.

The next morning, I rose very early, and, being unwilling to disturb the family, I walked out into the garden.

It was a delightful morning, and I could not look upon the scene before me without feeling forcibly the presence and the goodness of God. As I was thus meditating, I heard some one approaching very cautiously; and, looking around, I saw Charles, the oldest of my friend's two sons. The path in which he was walking, was separated from the one in which I was, by a few trees and shrubs, so that he did not observe me; he looked around him at every step, and started at every noise, and was so evidently about some mischief, that I stopped to notice him. He paused under a peach-tree, upon which were hanging two very fine peaches-here he again looked around him, to see if any body was near, and then, with a guilty look and a trembling hand, he picked one of the peaches, and devoured it as quickly as possible. He then turned to go away, but after once tasting the fruit, the other peach looked too tempting to be relinquished, and he returned and took that also, and then hurried away.

At breakfast, I noticed him particularly, but I saw no signs of guilt or repentance upon his face. He seemed to eat with his usual appetite, and talk with his usual spirits; and I could only conclude that so long as he escaped detection, he was not sorry for the fault.

The next morning, I was again in the garden at an early hour, and in passing through the same path in which I had walked the previous morning, I saw my friend at the peach-tree. I was just going to join him, when he stooped, and took from the ground a little silver pocket-piece. He examined it carefully, and then read aloud the name Charles, which I suppose was cut upon it. I shall never forget his look when he found that his

own son was the author of the loss he had been lamenting. I turned away, for I would not intrude upon him at that moment.

At breakfast, my friend said to his wife, with his usual tone and manner, "I have been to look at my peach-tree this morning"-I looked at Charles, but could see no change in his manner excepting that he was eating very fast; his father continued, "and I find that my two peaches have been stolen."

"What a pity!” exclaimed James, but Charles said nothing.

"I found this piece of silver at the foot of the tree," said my friend, taking it from his pocket. "Charles, I believe it belongs to you."

Charles now saw that he was discovered, and he burst into tears, and with many expressions of repentance, and promises of amendment, begged his father not to punish him. His sorrow was evidently occasioned, not by the fault, but by the detection.

A few days after, we all noticed that James, the younger son, looked very uneasy-he ate little, and he did not engage in his sports with his usual interest. At length he came to his father and said, “Father, I have done something wrong. I am very sorry for it, and I want to tell you what it was." This, thought I, is true repentance.

WINTER.

THE LAST SABBATH OF THE YEAR.

"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved." JER. viii. 20.

THESE words, originally, applied to the children of Zion in the period of calamity. They had been looking a long time for deliverance in vain, and at length they cried out with despondent sorrow, “The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved." To apply this subject to you, my young friends, in relation to your souls, I fear many of you might make a similar declaration. Let, then, the season of winter, the concluding sabbath of the year, and the subject we have chosen, teach us,

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I. To be thoughtful. Young, lively persons are apt to be thoughtless and giddy. They think seriousness may very well become those whose hoary heads, in the winter of old age, appear like venerable oaks, blanched on the top with snow and icicles; but, as for them, they are in the spring of life, and the bloom of youth. "Surely," say they, "we may be gay, and merry, and thoughtless."No, my young friends; for though your pious friends delight to see you cheerful and happy, yet they are commanded to exhort you to "be sober-minded." Indeed, true pleasure, while it is far removed from levity and mirth, is not incompatible with sobriety and religion. You can possess no real happiness, unless it be founded on reflection. O, think seriously. Winter is the time