wends its way, a loving gift from one as tiny and as destitute as any in the troubled land.

G. M. S., Chardstock.

TWO STORIES OF TWO CAPS. a sox's LovE stroNGER THAN DEATH.

Not long ago when some lads who had been rescued by a London Society were making ready to go to places that had been found for them in the country, one boy was seen folding up his old cap with great care, after he had taken out the lining, which was a piece of faded calico. “John,” asked the teacher, “whatever are you going to do with that greased calico?" -“Please, sir, it's not greased; it's all I have to remember my dead mother by: it's a bit of her gown I cut off when she lay dead in the garret.” Poor John could not hold up when he thought of that sad time, and putting the strip of calico under his shirt, next his breast, he buried his face in his hands, and wept bitterly. Ah! lads who have * mothers, may you love them as t . as this poor orphan loved his d mother, and may you show your love by gentle and kind behaviour.

A MoTHER's LovE STRoNGER THAN DEATH.

IN a bale of clothing sent to Lancashire for the suffering .* a boy's Scotch cap was found. the cap there was a letter addressed “For an orphan or motherless boy." . On opening the letter a shilling was found and this note: “May the youthful wearer of this cap meet the late owner in heaven. He was beautiful and good, and was removed by an accident from this world to a better. A weeping mother's blessing be on the future wearer of her bright boy's cap. Nov. 22, 1862.”

OUR LIFE.

THERE are about 1000 millions of people in the world. Of these, 80 thousand die every day, 3 thousand die every hour, 60 persons die every minute, 1 person dies every second. The average of man's life is twenty-eight years. One quarter of mankind die before the age of seven. One half die before the age of seventeen. Only one in a thousand lives to a hundred

years. Only one in a hundred reaches eighty.

“THE DEAD SHALL NOT RISE.”

MR. MOFFATT, the missionary to Africa, was once preaching about the resurrection, when a chief, named Macaba, was present, who was a fierce and noted warrior. “What are those words about the dead?” he cried, starting to his feet. “Do you say that the dead are to rise to life again " “Yes," said the missionary, “all the dead shall arise." “Will my father arise?” “Yes,” answered Mr. Moffatt. “Will all the slain in battle arise?” “Yes,” was again the teacher’s reply. “Will all that have been killed and eaten by lions, and tigers, and crocodiles arise 2" “Yes, and come to judgment.” “Hark!” shouted the excited chief, turning to the warriors, “ye wise men, did your ears ever hear such strange news? Did you ever hear such news as this?" he asked, turning to an old warrior, the wise man of the tribe. “Never," said the old man. Then the chief turned to the missionary, and said, “Father, I love you much, but the words of the rising again are too great for me; I do not wish to hear about the dead rising. The

A FEARFUL LEAP.

ON the 18th of July, 1860, our party, consisting of five, set out from Chamounix. We rose early to enjoy the glorious view of the morning sun upon the snowy summit of Mont Blanc. By eight o'clock we were ready to start; the driver mounted his box, and set out at a brisk pace to our great satisfaction, for we i. previously suffered much from the tediousness of Continental drivers. For the first few miles the road, though not dangerous, is very rough, and the jolting was the first thing slightly to diminish the pleasure we had in our driver's conduct. But after a while the road winds in sharp curves, and skirts on one side at intervals fearful precipices, often without parapet or railing. It was at this point of our ride, after we had descended a few shoots, and turned the sharp bends in the road at the bottom of them at the same rate of speed at which we had started along the level, that some of our party began to suspect that the driver was excited by drink, and wished to speak to him. But whilst we were all agreeing that something must be done, the man had already mounted the next hill, and before we had agreed to stop him, had begun to urge his horses on to their utmost trot down a steep incline. It was too late to speak—too late to stop ; the carriage swayed from side to side; and as we held on by the seats and by one another, we prayed, rather than hoped, that by some good chance we might get safely round the dreaded bend which we could see before us. The moment came at last, and our hearts sank within us as we felt that the drunken wretch had lost all control over his horses and missed the turn, and that there remained nothing except an awful plunge to death and eternity. For a second the horses seemed to pause upon the brink; in that second some of us lived a life and died a death.

I placed my hand on my dear wife's shoulder, and said, “For God's sake sit still !” She sat motionless as a statue, and we both mentally breathed a prayer for our poor orphaned children at home. I have been in many accidents by road and field before. I have been in an express train when it has run off the line at forty miles an hour, but I never seemed to sit so face to face with death as at that second. Skill and presence of mind were unavailing; there was but one thing left to do—to sit still and die. But the good hand of our God was upon us; for at that turn a small meadow intervened between the road and the edge of the precipice, with a deep drop into it of about eight feet. At the moment we were unaware of this, and believed, without question, when we felt the horses make their spring, they had jumped with us over i. brink to a frightful and certain destruction. Even as it was, we owed our lives, under the great mercy of God, to the wonderful pluck and sagacity of our good steeds. They both faced the leap, and took off at the same instant, in the same direction, and with the same power, landed, straight as a line, no less than fourteen feet from the edge of the road, taking the carriage with them without upsetting it, and without breaking it. Had they swerved or bungled in their leap, or jumped unevenly, the carriage must have been overturned and smashed to pieces. The driver, and one of our party who sat with him on the box, were both thrown off in different directions, many yards, by the force of the descent, and the horses, almost instantly recovering their footing, started off again in the trot towards the precipice, when one of the four inside sprang out of the carriage over the door, without waiting to open it—providentially alighted on his feet—and without the loss of a second ran to the heads of the horses, and stopped them within a few yards of the edge. So, by

Toys began to improve. Mr. Stanly came constantly to see him, and taught him in those quiet hours together to look for strength and comfort to Him who only is able really to give them. It was on one of his first visits that Mr. Stanly heard from the poor lad a true account of what moved him to act as he had done at the shipwreck. He said, after telling him all he had gone through, “Oh! sir, if I had died without a return of reason, what would have become of me? It was all selfish pride and shame that made me do it. I was wicked enough to wish rather to be drowned than to live if I was to be pointed out as a coward all my life. I do repent of it, and feel God has punished me by this illness. Maggie told me to think of Christ in my fear, but I only thought of myself—what she and all the world would say if I was brave. When the child fell in, this all passed through my mind in a minute, and I dashed in to save it ! no thought of my soul and God, whom I might see, if drowned, the next moment—only earth, vain-glory, and pride, filled my mind. Oh if I had died then l’” Tom buried his face in his hands, as if to shut out the sight and remembrance. Mr. Stanly told him firmly, though very kindly, that a life of much prayer and active good ought to be his as the slightest return he could possibly make to his heavenly Father for His goodness in not cutting him off from the land of the living in such an unprepared state. “I can't help believing, Tom,” ended Mr. Stanly, “that

that night's work may have been the best you ever did. §. have had almost a glimpse into another world, and know now how necessary it is to be always ready. Let me entreat you, when you get about again, not to let the good resolutions you have made on this bed fade from your mind. There is a wise old proverb which says, “The river passed—God forgotten.’ You little think now how soon your repentance may vanish away; once out of the danger, you are so likely to forget the Fatherly hand that led you through. I pray God you never may.” When Mr. Stanly reached his home after this talk with Tom he found his old friend and schoolfellow, Dr. Leslie, arrived by the train to spend a day or two with him. It was a pleasant surprise, for they had much to tell and talk about to each other. Dr. Leslie was a physician in the Cathedral Town of Southbury, where he had gained the love and esteem of all who knew him by his benefits to the place and people. Mr. Wilson must of course be ...] to dinner to meet him, and as the talk of the three gentlemen related partly to our friends the Allens, we must record it. Dr. Leslie, amidst other inquiries about his friend's parish, asked particulars about the late wreck, and the young man whose name was so well spoken of for bravery. Mr. Wilson told him how that he had been nearly dying since from the effects of the terror of that night: “For, strange as it may seem to you, doctor, the poor lad is a dreadful coward about the sea; in fact, his fear of it is almost a disease, and his