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The Multitude of Littles.

THE MULTITUDE OF LITTLES.

REV. NEWMAN HALL.

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HERE is no pleasure like the pleasure of doing good. Oh! the joy of being instrumental in leading some poor sinner from the error of his ways! How much of our work perishes! How much there will be in a year's time, when we think of it, that we will wish we had not spent any money or time or labour upon it! But nobody will regret the work he has done for God and his fellow creatures. No one will ever regret any sacrifice of money or of time expended in restoring the poor prodigal, and leading into the way of righteousness those who have erred and strayed from it. Let us all try and do something, and do not let us be deterred from doing anything because we can only do a little. The great ocean is made up of little drops. The most beneficent agencies that visit our physical world come in little things. The rain that fertilizes the earth, in what little drops it comes! and so God compares with these the inestimable blessings of His grace. "My doctrine shall distil as the dew. My speech shall come down as the rain, as the small rain upon the tender herb, as the showers upon the grass." Do not despise the day of small things. Our influence, if not exerted for what is good, may be exerted for what is bad; and our little influence may go to augment the greatness of something that is bad, as well as that which is good. We may not be able ourselves to do some great thing, but we may put forth a little effort toward accomplishing a great result, which is only achieved by the multiplication of littles; and so, by our neglect, we may do a little toward the propagation of enormous evil. What a little thing is a flake of snow! Watch it, flying backward and forward, long before it can settle. Look up yonder on those mountain slopes, where some of you love to wander. The snow falls there during the months of winter, flake by flake, each so small and gentle; but the avalanche is gathering, and that vast snowfield is falling. Now as the spring advances, the sun gets a little hotter, and the snow gets a little looser; at the bottom there is some little influence added to preceding influences. Now the avalanche is in motion, slowly at first, and now, with rapidly accelerated speed, it descends-it overleaps the chasm, sweeps away the pine forest, thunders down the glen, and overwhelms the village. That avalanche was made up of single flakes of snow. So it is with the avalanche of drunkenness and irreligion which is sweeping through the world, and destroying tens of thousands of precious lives, and the souls of immortal beings-the eloquent man, the cunning artificer, the

prattling child, the daring youth, the delicate maiden, and the tender woman! Oh! what multitudes are being hurried down to destruction by this terrible avalanche of drunkenness that is made up of little things!—the single glass of the moderationist, as well as the twenty glasses of the drunkard; champagne as well as gin; the polite banquet, as well as the rude revel; the approving smile of the virtuous lady, as well as the drunken shriek of the abandoned outcast! I call upon you, my friends, to unite your energies, however feeble they may be, not to augment the murderous avalanche of intemperance, ignorance and wickedness, but to come down as the small rain and tender dew of temperance and godliness.

POOR TOM AND THE DOCTOR.
BY WILLIAM HOYLE,

Author of "Hymns and Songs."

N fair London city, of honoured renown,

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There lived close to Regent Street one Doctor Brown;

He loved his profession, was cautious and clever,

And won public favour by honest endeavour.

The sick and the lame came in crowds to his door-
He took but a trifle from folks that were poor;
His fame spread abroad, and the rich came to try
The good doctor's skill, but his charges were high
When the big folks were ill, yet they often confessed
He deserved every shilling, his plans were the best.
He was always obliging, but fond of plain speaking
When others' true good he was honestly seeking.
The follies of life he pourtrayed with such terror,
Each patient confessed to some weakness or error;
Thus showing how man by discretion survives,
He cured their diseases and saved many lives.

Not far from the doctor lived one Thomas Roper;
Tom bore all the signs of a regular toper;
A round burly figure, a foot marked with pain,
A nose large and ruddy, a weak maudlin brain.
For weeks on the spree Tom would carry his folly,
And treat all his mates, who of course thought it jolly.
He kept a good table and gathered them round;
Such jovial companions never were found;
They ate and they drank till Tom's cellar was dry,
Then made fine excuses and bade him good-bye.

Poor Tom and the Doctor.

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For years Tom had lived a deplorable life;
His business he ruined, he killed his poor wife,
And now he was living with one only daughter,
On two hundred a year, which he drew every quarter,
Left by a kind brother, whose prudent investing
Came in handy for Tom, who was given to wasting.

Now the doctor and Tom had been old friends for years;
Were playmates when boys, and at college were peers;
No wonder that, living so near to each other,
The doctor behaved like a kind-hearted brother.
When Tom was on spree it was little use calling;
His conduct uproarious, such shouting and bawling
Repelled sober people; but when Tom got better
The doctor would quietly write him a letter,

Or pay him a visit, when Tom, fond of chaffing,
Would crack some new jokes and then burst out laughing.
But the gout in Tom's toe was so terrible after,
It soon put an end to his jokes and his laughter.
The doctor saw plainly Tom's ruin would come,
And told him the truth when he found him at home.
But habits were formed like a terrible cable:
Tom took to hard drinking and grew quite unstable.

One night, as the doctor lay sleeping in bed,
He was roused by loud knocking and voices, which said
"Tell the doctor Tom's dying! he will soon be no more,
And wants to say something before it's all o'er."
The doctor dressed quickly, with heart filled with gloom,
And reached just in time for a last talk with Tom.
When Tom saw the doctor, he burst into tears;
He thought of old times and the friendship of years;
He started in bed, then he waited for breath:
The doctor drew near, for he saw it was death.

He stooped down to wipe his old friend's clammy face,
And bade Tom good-bye, with a last fond embrace.
"I'm dying!" cried Tom, "you warned me all through;
I was mad with the drink and would never heed you.
Tell all my companions my terrible fate-

Pray! pray for me! doctor-too late! 'tis too late!"
His spirit departed. The doctor went home,

But in dreams he was pleading and praying for Tom.
They bore him away to a quiet green spot,

But the doctor Tom's last parting words ne'er forgot.
'Twas a sorrowful wail from a dying man's breath;
O God! save us all from the drunkard's sad death.

"DID I NOT LEAD THEM STRAIGHT?"

T. J. GALLEY.

At the struggle at Tel-el-Kebir there was a midnight assault. The British had no sufficient plans of the ground, and yet the Highland Brigade had to be led by the light of the stars round a dangerous circle, in order to be at their post. Lord Wolseley selected a young naval officer. He knew he was somewhat of an astronomer, that he had studied the stars, and that he had taken the bearings of the enemy, and he said to young Rawson, "I leave you to guide the Highland Brigade by the light of the stars, to the very post where they will be wanted at such an hour." The brave young fellow put himself at the front of these hardy men, and there in silence led them round the enemy till he got them to the position where Lord Wolseley wanted them to be; and then the enemy's fire opened, and men fell all around, and Commodore Rawson was the first to fall. When the cry of victory went up, Lord Wolseley in the midst of all the responsibility and excitement of his position, was told that Rawson lay dying. He left his men, left his honours, left the place, and galloped across the field to the spot where the dying man was laid, that he might have one word with him before he passed away. Entering into the little tent that they had drawn over him, the dying man knew him, and a smile came over his pale face as he held up his trembling hand to the general, and looking him in the face said, " General, didn't I lead them straight?"

HE day was o'er, and in the silent night,

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The British soldiers stood, afraid of nought;
The order given, all were prepared to fight,
Their flag to place on Tel-el-Kebir's fort.
A small brigade of bold Highlanders then

In breathless silence left the British host;
A naval youth was leading these brave men
Around a dangerous circle to their post.
"Rawson," the general said-“I trust you'll guide
These soldiers to their post, 'tis in your power."
The young man heard, and answered back with pride,
"I'll lead them straight, and certain to the hour!"
Fearless he led them by the feeble light

The stars shed round upon their dangerous way;
Safely they reached the place where they must fight
The treacherous foe, and waited for the fray.

A moment's calm,—and then the din of war
Re-echoed round, and shook the earth beneath;
The cannons roared, the sabres flashed afar,
Spreading on every side despair and death.

Then with a cheer, the Highlanders bravely bore
Upon the foe, obedient to the call;

But as they charged, some fell to rise no more,—
And gallant Rawson was the first to fall.

A Hideous Fiend.

When victory's cry arose upon the air,

'Twas told the General that brave Rawson lay With mortal wound, and Wolseley hastened there To speak a word before he passed away.

In haste the General entered the small tent,

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Poor Rawson knew him, with a smile they meet; Clasping his hand, Sir Garnet o'er him bent,"General," the dying said, "did I not lead them straight?"

He thought of duty in his latest hour,—
And from the dying soldier we may turn
To those brave words so full of truth and power,
And from them we may all a lesson learn.

For there are some beneath our special care,
Who look to our example for a guide;
Oh! are we striving now these to prepare
The treacherous foes to fight on every side?
Oh! are we guiding in the way of truth

The children to us by the Master given?
And leading straight in days of early youth,
Through Hope's bright paths, to righteousness and
heaven?

Soon, soon will end the bitter fray of life,

And we at last before the Judge must meet: Can we say then, that in the world's keen strife We did our best to lead the children straight?

A HIDEOUS FIEND.

DAVID LAWTON.

HIDEOUS fiend with baneful breath

Stalks through our land and scatters death,

Disease and misery, want and woe,

As wide-spread e'en as winter's snow;

And as the snow makes all things white
The earth he darkens into night.

New forms of sin he doth create,

Thus rendering worse our fallen state,
And adding to man's awful guilt,
Which needed not to be upbuilt.
Alas! so dreadful are his deeds,
His curses grow like summer weeds;