Among others, he mentioned a case which came under his observation as a Sabbath school teacher. The subject of the lesson was the Lord's prayer. Some of the scholars expressed the opinion that many prayers were unanswered. The teacher thought so too. They thought that some prayers offered in faith were unanswered. The teacher doubted that. A little boy who had listened in silence said he doubted it too, for he had tried it. He mentioned several instances in which he had proved God to be the hearer of prayer, and, among others, that a while before he had lost in the grass a ring, his sister's Christmas gift, his choicest earthly treasure. After repeated, vain search, and many tears, he went to a retired spot, kneeled, and prayed. "And did you find it?" the boys eagerly enquired. "No!" "Then God did not hear your prayer." "Yes he did. He made me happy to lose it." "That little boy," said the speaker, had gone deeper into divine things, understood better God's method of dealing with his children, than many a professed christian of threescore and ten." The simple story, with its unexpected termination, touched many hearts in that little assembly. One at least was stirred to its depths, and shaken with strong emotion. Rapidly, almostly instantaneously, the analogy was drawn between that child's experience and her own. She, too, had lost her choicest treasure,-her idol, her first-born. How vividly came before her now the first overwhelming agony, contrasted with the quickly-succeeding and abiding " peace which passeth understanding." She cherished his memory still with sacred tenderness, often with tears; but there was no bitterness in those tears, for she could trust him with her God. Never had He so clearly revealed Himself as her friend and Saviour, as since he had so sorely chastened her. With unfaltering trust she could now say,

"The same dear hand that strikes the blow
Was smitten once for me."

God had not restored her treasure; but he had made her happy to lose it!

Brothers and sisters in affliction, let us lay this lesson to heart. Thus only can our afflictions be to us what they are designed to be-blessings. Thus only can we be comforted in them. God cannot comfort us so long as we refuse to say, "Thy will be done." Oh, to say it once and forever, with our whole hearts and irrevocably! Henceforth to "know no will but His!" Let us not, in the weakness of our faith, say that this measure of grace is unattainable. Rather let us say with Paul, "I can do all things through Christ strengthening me." It is not in human nature to strive earnestly for anything which we yet believe wholly beyond our reach. This is the one lesson, our Master has given us to learn. This is the meaning of all His dealings with us, of none more than of our afflictions. Happy he who so understands them. What though there be about us some, who, like Job's friends, tell us our repeated trials prove that our hearts and lives are specially displeasing to God; and regard themselves with secret self-complacency, as more favoured of heaven. Thrice happy he with whom, under these circumstances, abides the "secret of the Lord;" to whom He graciously whispers another interpretation of His repeated strokes, encouraging him to regard them as special tokens of his love; to whom they are unfolding every hour as answers to prayer for grace and faith. Those prayers breathed in darkness and distress, when faith was weak and hope almost extinguished; those intense longings of the soul for something, it scarce knew what, above and beyond what it had yet experienced, or could discern in professing christians generally. To be baptized with the Holy Ghost.-to be filled with the fulness of God,-to be able to say with Paul, I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me!" Blessed beyond all description such fruit of affliction. Joyfully may one thus blest say, "Thy will be done."

EFFORTS FOR USEFULNESS.

A society was some years ago established to distribute tracts by post in the higher circles. One of these tracts, entitled " Prepare to meet thy God," was not long since enclosed in an envelope, and sent by post to a gentleman well known for his ungodly life and his reckless impiety.

He was in his study when he read this letter among others.

"What's that?" said he, ""prepare to meet thy God.' Who has had the impudence to send me this cant?"

And with an imprecation on his unknown correspondent, he arose to put the paper in the fire.

"No, I won't do that," he said to himself; on second thought, I know what I will do. I'll send it to my friend B-; it will be a good joke to hear what he'll say about it."

So saying, he enclosed the tract in a fresh cover, and in a feigned hand directed it to his boon companion.

Mr. B was a man of his own stamp, and received the tract, as his friend had done, with an oath at the Methodistical humbug, which his first impulse was to tear in pieces.

"I'll not tear it either," said he to himself.

"Prepare to meet thy God;" at once arrested his attention and smote his conscience. Like those of whom the poet says,

"They came to scoff,

And remained to pray,"

the arrow of conviction entered his heart as he read, and he was converted on the spot "from darkness to light, from the power of Satan unto God."

Almost his first thought was for his ungodly associates.

"Have I received such blessed light and truth, and shall I not strive to communicate it to others ?"

He again folded the tract, and enclosed and directed it to one of his companions in sin.

Wonderful to say, the little arrow hit the mark. His friend read. He also was converted, and both are now walking as the Lord's redeemed ones.

There can be no doubt that the happy man who first sent out this blessed messenger of grace, had accompanied and followed it with much prayer. And may this strange instance of success stir us all up to be more diligent in circulating tracts, and more earnest in praying for a blessing on them, which, if not always seen immediately, will doubtless be granted in the end.

"Let us not be weary in well-doing, for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not."

THE LESSON OF THE STREAMLET.

See that little fountain, away yonder in the distant mountain, shining like a thread of silver through the thick copse, and sparkling like a diamond in its healthful activity. It is hurrying on with trinkling feet to bear tribute to the river. See, it passes a stagnant pool, and the pool hails it.

"Whither away, master streamlet ?" "I am going to the river to bear this cup of water God has given me."

"Ah, you are very foolish for that,you'll need it before the summer's over. It has been a backward spring, and we shall have a hot summer to pay for it: you will dry up then."

"Well," said the streamlet, "if I am to die so soon, I had better work while the day lasts. If I am likely to lose this treasure from the heat, I had better do good with it while I have it."

So on it went, blessing and rejoicing in its meandering course. The pool smiled complacently at its own superior foresight, and husbanded all its resources, letting not a drop steal away. Soon the midsummer heat came down, and it fell upon the little stream. But the trees crowded to its brink, and threw out their sheltering branches over it in the day of adversity, for it brought refreshment and life to them, and the sun peeped through the branches and smiled complacently upon its dimpled face, and seemed to say, "It is not in my heart to harm you;" and the birds sipped its silver tide and sung its praises; the flowers breathed their perfume upon its bosom, the beast of the field loved to linger near its banks, the husbandman's eye always sparkled with joy as he looked upon the line of verdant beauty and its course through the fields and meadows; and so on it went, blessing and blessed of all.

And where was the prudent pool? Alas, in its inglorious inactivity, it grew sickly and pestilential. The beasts of the field put their lips to it and turned away without drinking; the breezes stopped and kissed it by mistake, but shrunk chilled away. It caught the malaria in the contact, and carried the ague through the region; and the inhabitants caught it and had to move away; and at last the very frogs cast their venom upon the pool and deserted it, and heaven in mercy to man smote it with a hotter breath and dried it up!

But did not the stream exhaust itself?

Oh, no! God saw to that. It emptied its full cup into the river, and the river bore it on to the sea, and the sea welcomed it, and the sun smiled upon the sea, and the sea sent up its incense to greet the sun, and the clouds caught in their capacious bosoms the incense from the sea, and the winds, like waiting steeds, caught the chariots of the clouds, and bore them away,-away to

the mountain that gave the little fountain birth, and there they tipped the brimming cup, and poured the grateful shower down.

And so God in heaven saw to it, that the little fountain, though it gave so fully and so freely, never ran dry. And if God so bless the fountain, will he not bless us his creatures, if, "as we have freely received we freely give?"

THE WHITE SPARROWS. "Sleep is the worst of thieves; He steals half our lives."

were

No more common complaint is to be heard now-a-days, from the lips of housewives, than that of the laziness and unthrifty habits of domestic servants. Mothers and grandmothers are often wont to tell the young housekeepers that matters etherwise in their day; and it has sometimes occurred to us, whether the fault may not lie as much in the degenerated habits of the masters and mistresses of the present generation, as from any fault peculiar to their dependents. Were the mistress of the house more frequently to rise at five or six in the morning, as in the "good old days of lang syne," perchance she would not so often have to complain that rooms were carelessly swept, that work was left undone, or fires lighted too late.

In most country parts of Germany there passes current among the people this proverb:

"He who would thrive,

Must the white sparrow see."

The meaning of the proverb is not at first sight so apparent as that of some others which circulate among us, such as, "Early habit makes the man," or, "Honesty is the best policy," &c.; but the moral significa tion it is intended to convey is not the less true and important. I will, therefore, here relate the story connected with its origin, even as I received it myself from the lips of an old friend.

There was an old farmer, with whom everything seemed to grow worse from year to year. His cattle died one by one; the produce of his land was not half of that which it ought to be; in fact, all his property was, to use a familiar expression, "going to the dogs." Scarcely a week passed by that either the tax-gatherer or

the pawnbroker did not come to his window and, addressing him with a courteous bow, say, "I am really very sorry, Herr Ruckwart, to be obliged to put you to inconvenience; but I am compelled to do my duty." The old friends of Herr Ruckwart also tried to do their duty towards him, they advised, they entreated, and they helped him, but all in vain; and one after another gave him up in despair, declaring, with a sigh, that, "as for poor Ruckwart, there was no use in trying to help him-he was past being helped."

He had one friend, however, whose heart was in the right place, and who was not only a good man, but a very prudent and clear-sighted man. This friend thought he would not give Herr Ruckwart up altogether, without making one more attempt to save him; so one day, as they were drinking their glass of beer together, he led the conversation, as though accidentally, to the subject of sparrows, relating many anecdotes of these birds, and observed how much they had multiplied of late, and how very cunning and voracious they had be

come.

Herr Ruckwart shook his head gravely in answer to this observation, and said, "They were indeed most destructive creatures; for his part, he had not the least doubt, that it was entirely owing to them. his harvest had been of late years so very unproductive."

To this conjecture, the good friend made no rejoinder; but after a moment's pause he continued the conversation by enquiring, "Neighbour, have you ever seen a white sparrow ?"

"No," replied Ruckwart, "the sparrows which alight in my fields are all quite grey."

"That is very probable," rejoined his friend, "the habits of the white sparrow

are peculiar to itself. Only one comes into the world every year, and, being so different from its fellows, the other sparrows take a dislike to it, and pick at it when it appears among them. For this reason it seeks its food early in the morning, before the rest of the feathered tribe are astir, and then goes back to its nest for the rest of the day."

"That is very strange!" exclaimed Ruckwart; "I must really try and get a sight at that sparrow, and, if possible, I will catch it too."

On the morning which followed this conversation, the farmer rose with the sun, and sallied forth into his fields; he walked around his farm, searched his farm-yard in every corner, examined the roofs of his garner, and trees of his orchard, to see whether he could discover any traces of the wonderful white sparrow. But the white sparrow, to the great disappointment of the farmer, would not show itself, or stir from its imaginary nest. What vexed the farmer, however, still more, was, that although the sun stood high in the heavens by the time he had completed his round, not one of the farm-labourers were astir,-they, too, seemed resolved not to leave their nests. Meanwhile, the cattle in their stalls were bellowing with hunger, and not a soul was near to give them their fodder.

Herr Ruck wart was reflecting on the disadvantages of this state of things, when suddenly he perceived a lad coming out of the house, carrying a sack of wheat on his shoulders. He seemed to be in great haste to get out the precincts of the farm, and Herr Ruckwart soon perceived that his steps were not bent towards the mill, but towards a public house, where Caspar had unhappily a long score to pay. He hastened after the astonished youth, who believed his master to be still in the employ. ment of his morning nap, and quickly relieved him of his burden.

The farmer next bent his steps to the cow-house, and peeping to see whether the

white sparrow had perchance taken refuge there, he discovered to his dismay, that the milkmaid was handing a liberal portion of milk through the window to her neighbour, to mix with her morning cup of coffee.

66

A pretty sort of housekeeping this is !" thought the farmer to himself, as he hastened to his wife's apartment and roused her from her slumbers. "As sure as my name is Ruck wart," he exclaimed in a somewhat angry tone, "there must be an end to these lazy habits; every thing is going wrong for the want of somebody to look after them! So far as I am concerned, at all events," thought the farmer to himself, "I will rise every day at the same hour i rose this morning, and then I shall soon get my farm cleared of those who do not intend to do their duty properly. Besides, who knows but some fine morning or other I may succeed in catching the white sparrow.

Days and weeks passed on. The farmer adhered to his resolution; but he soon forgot the white sparrow, and only looked after the cattle and his corn-fields. Soon everything around him wore a flourishing aspect, and men began to observe that "Herr Ruckwart (Backward) now well deserved to be called Herr Vowart (Forward.") In due course of time, his old friend again came to spend the day with him, and inquired in a humorous tone,

"Well, my good fellow, how are you getting on now? have you succeeded in catching a glimpse of the white sparrow ?*

The farmer only replied to this question by a smile, and then holding out his hand to his old friend, he said, "God bless you, Herder! you have saved me and my family from ruin."

Often, in after years, when Herr Ruckwart was a prosperous man, respected by his neighbours and beloved by his wellordered household, he was wont to relate this history of his early life, and thus by degrees the saying passed into a proverb, "He who would thrive must the white sparrow see.”

but which is precious in the sight of the great God, because there Jesus the Saviour is known and loved, and dwells in the hearts of many of its peaceful inhabitants. Let us look into one of these cottages.

Upon the bench, near the stove, the grandfather is seated, holding little Lina on his knees, who is amusing herself by playing with the old man's long white hair. Henri, the eldest little boy, is seated at the table, near his father, reading to him from the Bible. At a little distance the mother is seated, busy with her knitting. Out of doors, the wind is blowing hard, and great drops of rain strike against the windowpanes. No one heeds this ; for all are listening to the good things they hear from the Word of God. They are now hearing the interesting history of Naaman, who, by the advice of the little Hebrew maid, went to meet the prophet Elisha, to be cured of leprosy. The cottagers speak of the goodness of God in giving the Syrian general the happiness of returning to his own country cured of his disease, and are about to kneel down for prayer, when an old man enters the cottage. It is their neighbour, old Rudolf. The father gives him his hand, and says, "You are welcome: kneel down with us, and thank God for all the mercies we have this day received." Rudolf kneels down, and offers up to God a short and fervent prayer, which comes from his heart.

The mother now prepares to take her children to bed; but Rudolf, calling the little Lina to him, said, "Before you go, you must sing me one of your pretty hymns."

Lina ran to the old man, who lifted her on his knee, and then, with her childish voice, she sang a hymn she had learned at school :

"Jesns, tender shepherd, hear me,
Bless Thy little lamb to-night;
Through the darkness be Thou near me,
Watch my sleep till morning light!

"All this day Thy hand has led me,

And I thank Thee for Thy care;
Thou hast cloth'd me, warm'd me, fed me,-

Listen to my evening prayer.

"Let my sins be all forgiven;
Bless the friends I love so well;

Take me, when I die, to heaven,
Happy there with Thee to dwell!"

When Lina had finished, the old man kissed her rosy cheek, and said to her, "I have a new sou (penny) for you, Lina, to buy a cake with." She took the bright copper coin with great pleasure, and cried, "Not for a cake: may I do what I like with it?"

Yes, do so, my child," said Rudolf,

"Thank you," said Lina, as she ran to show her mother the piece of money.

The two children were now going away, when Rudolf called Henri, and said to him, "You, too, shall have a sou."

The little boy was well pleased to receive it, and, as he ran to his mother, cried out, "I know what I will do with it."

came.

Thus passed the evenings of winter in this peaceful cottage; but soon spring The rays of the sun shone into the valley, the first flowers appeared, and the inhabitants, young and old, rejoiced together. The children were taken long walks by their dear schoolmistress, and were taught by her new hymns of praise to God.

One Sabbath morning, wheu Henri and Lina went with their parents to the village chapel, the minister took for his text that passage in the Gospel which tells of the Saviour, on the Sabbath, curing a man born blind. The pastor spoke with great earnestness of the duties belonging to the christian Sabbath; the works of love in which we may engage on that holy day, and the importance of abstaining from all unnecessary labour. Even Lina understood, and was interested by what he said.

"Well, Lina, were you not very tired ?" "No," said the little girl: "I liked to be at chapel very much; and I should like to go every Sunday."

"Let me see first," said her father, "if you understood what our good pastor said." "He told us," said little Lina," that we must not work on the Sunday, but think of our Saviour's love, and try to do like Him."

"Well, Lina, you remember well, and I hope you and your brother will love your Saviour, who died for you, and keep His day holy."

In the afternoon, the two children were sitting near the cottage, on the bank of a small stream, when suddenly, Lina looked serious, and said, “ Henri, do you remember what the minister said ?"

"Yes, Lina, that we ought to love the Sabbath more than any other day, and do no work on that day; but that we may comfort any one in trouble."

“Oh, Henti, to-day I saw blind Joseph making baskets; but perhaps he does not know that the Sunday belongs to the Saviour." The little girl stopped, and appeared to reflect for a few moments: then she continued, "Henri, let us go and tell