besides contributing a large amount of valuable matter for publication in America and in England.

"Melville B. Cox.-Need we call our people to the memory of this young man, whose dying utterance has not ceased to ring along the ranks of our Israel: 'Let a thousand fall before Africa be given up!""

How animating and how encouraging are such examples! With similar ardor of love for Christ, unceasing prayerfulness, and patient perseverance in labors for good, it may be within the reach of the reader of these words to be as blest and honored as were they.

A PENITENT'S PLEA.

BY PHOEBE CARY.

Like a child that is lost

From its home in the night,
I grope through the darkness
And cry for the light;
Yea, all that is in me
Cries out for the day-
Come, Jesus, my Master,
Illumine my way.

In the conflicts that pass
'Twixt my soul and my God,
I walk as one walketh

A fire path unshod;
And in my despairing
Sit dumb by the way-
Come, Jesus, my Master,
And heal me, I pray.

I know the fierce flames
Will not cease to uproll,
Till Thou rainest the dew
Of Thy love on my soul;
And I know the dumb spirit
Will never depart,

Till Thou comest and makest
Thy home in my heart.

My thoughts lie within me
As waste as the sands;
Oh make them be musical
Strings in Thy hands!
My sins, red as scarlet,

Wash white as the fleece

Come, Jesus, my Master,

And give me Thy peace!

WHAT MONEY CANNOT DO.

Mr. Beecher, in his last "Ledger " Ledger" paper, says: Many, many things can money do. It can transform the wilderness, drain the morass, cover the desert with blossoms, rear up suddenly splendid dwellings where only hovels were before, fill them with sumptuous furniture, fill them with delicacies, fill them with flattering friends. But though money can do almost all things, it cannot make young trees old, nor old folks young. Here am I surrounded with old, old elms, huge in trunk, with vast branches, each large as a tree, stretched out afar, to gain some light and liberty, and yet all feeding by the same root. One looks up into this vast canopy as into the nave of a cathedral; yet no cathedral was ever so beautiful. What architect would dare stretch out stone as these branches do? With their immense weight, they lie upon the air as seemingly light as a feather spray. Run your eye from their summit back to the trunk. What immense leverage! Upon these huge arms winds play and storms have wrought. Out of these rude and shapeless things storms have even evoked music. All along the weather open spaces, moss in green patches lie along the rugged boughs, poor and weak in itself, yet able, of its mere beauty, to add grace to the giant tree. It is too high for singing birds, which love lower trees and shrubs; but squirrels live here, having homes in the holes left in the branches where storms have broken off former companion boughs.

Mighty as this tree is which throws its protecting arms over the house, it was once a riding whip, which when used for an hour was stuck in the ground, took root, and behold, here it is! I look enviously upon this and its companion trees. No money can build such as these. Nature cannot be bribed to furnish them to order. While waiting for them we die! One should have ancestors. No matter about what they put in their wills, if only they will plant enough trees, which when we come along shall be old and huge!

Young trees and young men are got up too nicely-trim and snug! Only when a tree opens its top, and lets the sunlight clear into its very centre, does it begin to be noble. Old trees! unlike old men, they have no infirmities. Their strength does not depart, and their glory abides! Happy are they who frolic under them in childhood, and who sit in old age calmly beneath their shadow. We give out something of our life to the things which surround us. And trees, water brooks, beetling rocks and dwellings register our thoughts of sorrow, or our great joys; and, in after years, we recall much of our inward experience from the voiceless teachings of im animate things!

TIRED MOTHERS.

BY MRS. ALBERT SMITH.

A little elbow leans upon your knee,
Your tired knee that has so much to bear;
A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly

From underneath a thatch of tangled hair.
Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch
Of warm, moist fingers, folding yours so tight;
You do not prize this blessing overmuch,
You almost are too tired to pray to-night.

But it is blessedness! A year ago

I did not see it as I do to-day-
We are so dull and thankless; and too slow
To catch the sunshine till it slips away.
And now it seems surpassing strange to me,
That while I wore the badge of motherhood,
I did not kiss more oft and tenderly

The little child that brought me only good.

And if, some night when you sit down to rest,
You miss this elbow from your tired knee;
This restless curling head from off your breast;
This lisping tongue that chatters constantly;
If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped,
And ne'er would nestle in your palm again;
If the white feet into their grave had tripped,

I could not blame you for your heartache then.

I wonder so that mothers ever fret

At little children clinging at their gown;
Or that the footprints, when the days are wet,
Are ever black enough to make them frown.

If I could find a little muddy boot,

Or cap, or jacket on my chamber floor;

If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot,

And hear it patter in my house once more;

If I could mend a broken cart to-day,

To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky-
There is no woman in God's world could say
She was more blissfully content than I.
But, ah! the dainty pillow next my own
Is never rumpled by a shining head;
My singing birdling from its nest is flown;
The little boy I us d to kiss is dead!

THANKING GOD FOR FLOWERS.

A thoughtful little girl, not four years old, was riding one day with her mother. Katie-for this was her name-sat a long time in silence, looking at the flowers which grew along the roadside. After a while she turned her eyes full on her mother's face, and said, "Wouldn't you like to kiss God?" Her mother wondered why her little daughter had asked such a question. Katie replied, "Because He's so good to give us such pretty flowers."

I think the great God was pleased with that dear child's question and answer. She saw His skill and goodness in the flowers, which gave her so much pleasure. It was in her heart to thank and praise Him. She loved Him for the beautiful things He had made, and as she showed her love to her mother by a kiss, she thought this a good way to show her love to her heavenly Father. I knew little Katy very well, and I always loved her more after I heard that she wanted to kiss Him, who has covered the earth with flowers.

God might have withheld them. He might make the spring come, and the summer, and the autumn, without a single flower to gladden our eyes.

"He might have made the earth bring forth

Enough of great and small;

The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,
Without a flower at all."

season, if How glad For my

But how sad it would be without them! How lonely and barren it would seem in the country, through all the warm these sweet and beautiful things did not smile upon us. we are to see them come with the return of each spring. part, I always feel like kissing the first flower I find, after the cold and snow of winter has left us.-Messenger.

THE BOY ON THE PLANK.

We once heard of a mother who, while on a little ship, was wrecked, and cast upon a rock some distance from the shore. While the vessel went to pieces, she saved her little child, and was left with others some time waiting for a boat to come and take them off. But no one saw them, and they had to contrive to reach the shore with planks from the breaking up of their large boat.

This mother would not trust her darling to any one but her own

arms.

She at length saw the storm hushed, although the groundswell still sent its waves gently rolling past the rocks and the wreck. Impatient to reach the land, the mother, grasping her child with a firm hold, seized the plank, and began to float her boy on the water to the shore.

He saw the waves come along, sprinkling him with their spray, and said, "Ma, make these naughty waves be still." What faith had this dear child in its mother? His was stronger faith than the disciples had in their Lord. Amid all our trials and fears, we too can call on our Heavenly Parent to hush the waves and calm the storms which destroy our peace. By and by, if faithful, we shall reach that happy world where "there will be no more sin." That little child had not a doubt but that a single stroke from his mother's hand would hush those saucy billows. Happy, happy soul that can thus feel a calm trust in the love and power of Him who said "Fear not, I am thy God.".

THE ORPHANS' HOME AT WOMELSDORF, PA.

We owe it to the friends of this institution to report a brief statement of its present condition. Our receipts for the last ten months have been considerably less than those of the corresponding months of the year preceding, and the expenditures of the Home have likewise been less. The larger orphans perform the greater part of the farm and house work, so that, outside of the teachers, we need but little hired help. The land has been well improved,. and will yield more and need less to make it productive hereafter than it did heretofore. Still, at the present rate of our income, the receipts will not be adequate to meet our current expenses. There are three remedies within reach :

1st. To contract a debt. 2d. To reduce the number of orphans in the Home. 3d. For the friends of the Home to increase their contributions for its support.

The first the Board of Managers will not consent to do. Under no circumstances will they allow a debt to be contracted by a deficiency of means for the current expenses. The second they will be compelled to do, unless the third is promptly done. We now have ninety orphans in the Home. Some of these will be old enough to leave the institution in a few months, so that, unless others shall be received, the number will be reduced to eighty or eighty-five. For the last six months four-fifths of the orphans applying for reception had to be rejected. In the future we shall have to receive none, unless the friends of the Home will increase their contributions. Every pastor or superintendent of a Sunday