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Is the Bible on our side ?


of a reformed drunkard going back to his sin, and thus reformed drunkards are often prevented from taking the Communion.

MR. F. W. I agree with you there, I have known instances of reformed drunkards not taking the Communion for years rather than place themselves in danger by touching the wine: yes, I will vote for the unfermented wine at the Communion. Now just allow me to ask one more question : what did Paul really mean when he advised Timothy to take a little wine ?

MR. J. T. You must admit I think, sir, that Paul gave his friend a medical prescription; wines are often used in the East for medicine, and no doubt the pure juice of the grape has many medicinal qualities. But because Paul gave Timothy advice on some derangement of his stomach that can be no argument that we should carry out the same advice; we might just as well start off to Troas to bring the cloak left there by Paul, because he told Timothy to do so.

It was a local command, and can have no possible reference to ourselves.

MR. F. W. Thank you, thank you very much. You have given me facts to ponder over which I have never thought of before. I have had many thoughts on this matter, and I can. not do better than at once determine to give up the use of alcohol. Send me six dozen bottles of your wine without alcohol, and if you have a bit of blue ribbon in your pocket you may as well put it in my button hole. (Knock. "Enter servant).

M. H. Masters Mowbray wish to see you, sir.

MR. F. W. They have just come in at the right moment. Send them up, and come in with them, Mary. (Exit Mary. Enter W. M., T. M., and M. H.)

W. M. We have brought you a ticket, sir, for the first meeting of the Blue Ribbon Mission.

MR. F. W. Thank you, I shall be there ; you will be pleased to see Mr. Thompson pin on my coat the blue ribbon.

T. M. And if, sir, you will honour me by writing your name in my pledge book I shall be still more pleased. (T. M. takes pledge-book from pocket, M. H. brings pen and ink, MR. F. W. signs, and MR. J. T. pins on the blue ribbon.)

W. M. I am sure, sir, you will not be a worse Sunday School Teacher, now that you are an abstainer.



Dead in the Street.


NDER the lamp-light, dead in the street,

There she lies,

Face to the skies,
Starved to death in a city of plenty.
Spurned by all that is pure and sweet,
Passed by busy and careless feet;
Hundreds bent upon folly and pleasure,
Hundreds with plenty of time and leisure,-
Leisure to speed Christ's mission below,

To teach the erring and raise the lowly.
Plenty in Charity's name to show

That life has something divine and holy.
Boasted charms, classical brow,
Delicate features, look at them now;
Look at her lips,-once they could smile ;
Eyes,-well, nevermore shall they beguile ;
Nevermore, nevermore words of hers

A blush shall bring to the saintliest face.
She had found, let us hope and trust,

Peace in a higher and better place.
And yet, despite of all, still I ween
Joy of some hearth she must have been.
Some fond mother, fond of the task,

Has stooped to finger the dainty curl ;
Some proud father has bowed to ask

A blessing for her, his darling girl.
Hard to think, as we look at her there,
Of all the tenderness, love and care,
Lonely watching, and sore heart-ache,-

All the agony, burning tears,

Joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, Breathed and suffered for her sweet sake.

Fancy will picture a home afar,
Out where the daisies and buttercups are,
Out where life-giving breezes flow,
Far from those sodden streets, foul and low;
Fancy will picture a lonely hearth,
And an aged couple, dead to mirth,
Kneeling beside a bed to pray,

Don't despise the Children.


Or lying awake o' nights to hark
For things that may come in the rain and dark,-
A hollow-eyed woman with weary feet:

Better they never know
She whom they cherished so

Lies this night lone and low,-
Dead in the street.



ON'T despise the little children !


Flowers in the world's great garden,

Train them, then, with tender care.
Let the sunshine of your kindness,

And the showers of your love,
Rain upon them and prepare them

For the blooming time above.
Don't despise the little children !

Do not call them useless toys;
Many a noble glorious spirit

Dwells in little girls and boys ;
Teach them, then, to follow after

Noble deeds and glorious ways-
Do not check their childish laughter,

Do not hush their hymn of praise.
Don't despise the little children !

Let them have their fill of joy;
For the greatest man amongst us

Once was but a tiny boy.
Children will be men and women

When we all have passed away;
They will have to fight life's battle

As we're fighting it to-day!
Do not then despise the children-

They have souls as well as you !
Help to train them up for heaven,

'Tis a glorious work to do!
He who came from heaven to save us,

Took the young ones on His knee,
And His bright example gave us,

Saying sweetly, “Follow Me!"


Beginning of Evil.


IT Wne slighe twist of crimson string ;

was such a little

But 'twas stealing all the same!
And the child that took it knew
That she told what was not true

Just to screen herself from blame;
First a theft and then a lie-

Both recorded up on high.
It was but a little sip,
Just a taste upon the lip;

But it left a longing there;
Then the measure larger grew,
And the habit strengthened too,

Till it would no curbing bear.
So the demon Drink decoys;
Soul and body both destroys.
It was but one little word,
Softly spoken, scarcely heard,

Uttered by a single breath;
But it dared to take in vain
God's most high and holy name,

So provoking wrath and death.
Soon the lips, once fresh and fair,
Opened but to curse and swear.
It was but one little blow,
Passion's sudden overflow,

Scarcely heeded in its fall;
But, once loosed, the fiery soul
Would no longer brook control;

Laws it spurned, defied them all ;
Till the hands love clasped in vain
Wore the murderer's crimson stain.
Ah! it is the foxes small,
Slyly climbing o'er the wall,

That destroy the tender vines;
And it is the spark of fire,
Brightening, growing, curling higher,

That across the forest shines.
Just so, step by step, does sin,
If unchecked, a triumph win.

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Patient Mercy Jones.



THAT an enormous interest the drink-traffic has built up.

estimate upon how much money is sunk in it. And yet see how the law deals with it. You know that scene in “ The Pilgrim's Progress”; it has a very beautiful spiritual meaning, and I am almost ashamed to take it out of its connection for the purpose for which I mean to employ it. You remember when Christian is in the house of Interpreter, and he sees a great blazing fire, and there are men trying all they can to put it out, but it blazes on in spite of all their efforts. He can not understand it; but interpreter takes him round to the other side of the wall, where men are pouring in the oil, and then the whole thing is plain. That has a wonderful significance in the spiritual life; but do you not see the application of it here? Here are the licences issued continually year by year for men to keep the fire up. Is it any wonder, therefore, that policemen, city missionaries, Bible-women, Scripture-readers, and temperance societies should all be frustrated in their attempts to put it out? Here we are all labouring to put out the fire, and the licensing principle is doing everything it can to pour in oil upon it and keep it up. How long is this anomaly and inconsistency to continue in the midst of us? As long as the people permit it, and no longer. The responsibility is yours.




Let us venerate the bones
Of patient Merey Jones,

Who lies underneath these stones.
THIS is her story as once told to me

By him who loved her, as all men might see,-
Darius, her husband, his age seventy years,
A man of few words, but for her many tears.
Darius and Mercy were born in Vermont;
Both children were christened at baptismal font
In the very same place, on the very same day
(Not much acquainted just then, I dare say).
The minister sprinkled the babies, and said,
“ Who knows but this couple some time may be wed,

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