wields a sceptre of fear and might. We should hardly call him by such a pleasant name as Jack Frost, when he is swelling the ocean waves into shining mountains called ice-bergs, which float about in those gloomy seas, and often dash in pieces mighty ships. It was amid this Arctic ice, that the brave sailor Sir John Franklin and his ships and their crews, were lost about fifteen years ago; and though many ships have been sent out to look for them, yet very few remains of them have ever been found. We may be thankful that we live in a more genial land, and that our frosty times are few and far between. . And yet it is very strange; it makes us think of the wisdom and care of Almighty God, that four or five miles above us, frost reigns even in the hottest summer-time, as Mr. Glaisher found when he went up in his balloon last June, and very narrowly escaped being frozen to death. Bitithink it must have been English boys, who gave the grand and terrible Frost-King the name of Jack; for indeed he does find much sport for them. To say nothing of the way in which he catches the rain-drops as they are coming down from the clouds, and turns them into those feathery flakes, which bake into such splendid snow-balls, or can be moulded into a giant snow-man. What would the Christmas holidays be, without the skating and the sliding, which Jack Frost alone can give? For though some cunning men have made skates with wheels, for using on the floor, and boast that they have floored Jack Frost; yet it could only be in some tropic clime where real ice has never been seen, that such imitation skating could be enjoyed. May all our boy-readers have health and strength for some pleasant days upon the ice, if Jack Frost visit us this month, and the good news is shouted from lip to lip, that the “ice is bearing.”

He casteth forth his ice like morsels: who can stand before His cold 1 (Psalm cxlvii. 17.)

JACK FROST.

LIDE, slide,-the ice is strong:

Merrily, merrily, slide along— All with our cheeks as fresh as roses, And our fingers as blue as our noses; As for our feet we hardly feel them, And our chilblains, the snow must heal them. Merrily, merrily, slide along; The sun shines bright, but the ice is strong. Ice so smooth, and solid, and black, With never a weed, or hole, or crack There go the skaters, tall young men, Cutting our slides up now, and then; Don't I like to see one of them fall, Just for a little harmless sprawl Then, up again, and away they go– When I'm a big fellow, I'll do just so, Never minding the jeers or the pain, Tumble up, and be at it again! Now then, lads; for the slides are long, The coast's all clear, and the ice is strong.

Slide away—for there 's snow in the air,
And the wind keeps shaking the willows bare;
When the wind drops, down comes the snow,
Then, what of our sliding, I'd like to know;
Who cares! with a broom—and a will and away
We'll keep the ice clear—at least, to-day.
Merrily, merrily, slide along,
The north-wind's sharp, but the ice is strong.
MIss MULoch, in Our Year.

TURKISH HUMANITY.

ONE little trait of the Turkish character

struck us as being very interesting. Just as we were quitting the fair there came up an old man riding on an ass. He seemed exhausted with heat and fatigue, and drew up under the branches of a tree which overshadowed the roadside well for rest and enjoyment. Before he indulged himself with one drop of the cool and sparkling water he threw himself on his knees and bent his head to the earth, and we could hear words of thankfulness escape his lips; then, before he thought of himself he led his ass to the stone trough, washed the creature's mouth, and allowed him to drink as much as was proper for him, and then he satisfied his own wants. The Turks are of all nations the most humane to the brute creation, and the action of this old man was but what is common to all his class.-Professor Christmas.

HERBERT'S DREAM. A STORY FOR ADVENT SUNDAY.

ONE dreary afternoon in November, a little boy was sitting near an upper window in a dark and narrow London street. The great city was quieter than it had been during the busy week, for it was Advent Sunday and the bells of the many churches had just ceased ringing for afternoon service. All outside was cold and gloomy, but inside the small upper room, where the little boy was reading to his mother, there was a home-like look of comfort. The fire was burning brightly, and in an arm-chair by its side sat a thin, delicate-looking woman, dressed in deep mourning. Her son had been reading to her in the gospel for the day the account of our Saviour's triumphal entry into Jerusalem, when, suddenly, looking up from the book, he exclaimed with sparkling eyes, y: O mother, how I should have loved to ...be there and to shout “Hosanna in the highest 1” She answered earnestly,– “Do you remember, Herbert, that those very people who thus welcomed our Lord as their king were the same who as soon afterwards cried, “Crucify Him Crucify Him!'” Herbert was silent, and his mother went on to say,+ “It is a fearful thought, but are not we like those Jews, when we, too, honour the Saviour with our words, but are ready at the first temptation to yield to those very sins which nailed the Lord Jesus to the accursed tree ? What does the collect for to-day teach us to pray for, my boy 7" He replied slowly and reverently,– “For grace to cast away the works of

darkness and to put upon us the armour.

of light.” “Even so, my Herbert. Never forget that we have need of that armour of light, the shield of faith and the sword of prayer, to give us the victory in the long battle against sin, which must last until the day of our death. Only thus can we hope, at our Lord's second coming, to join in

the glorious song of praise to the Lamb of God in the heavenly Jerusalem.” Herbert's heart was too full to answer, and his mother's words rested in his memory as he lay that night awake on his bed. At length he fell asleep and had a beautiful dream, which seemed to make all clear to him. A bright and glorious being, clothed in white, whom he knew to be an angel, touched him and said, “Come with me.” Then it was as if he were flying through the air till he came to a broad, open country, in the midst of which was a great castle. Before the gate stood a o of soldiers ready for battle; they were clad in uniforms as white as snow, and each one had a broad silver shield and a sword of polished steel. Above them waved a white banner with a large red cross. There was a perfect silence, and an aged man, who seemed to be one of their captains, stood forth and spoke to them in thrilling tones:— “Soldiers of the living God Ye have sworn to serve the great King and never to make peace with His foes. Trust not in your own strength, for it is no easy task to keep that noble vow; and in the hour of danger call upon your Master's name; keep your shields bright; let no stain ever remain upon your white garments; and, above all, beware that your good swords become not rusty from want of use. To you it is given to defend this castle from all enemies; be ye therefore ever watchful, for your Lord will come in an hour when ye look not for Him; and happy is that servant whom his Master ...}. cometh shall find watching.” The soldiers answered with a shout of triumph, and Herbert felt his blood boiling in his veins as he longed to be one of that noble army. Then he turned to look at his guide, and lo! the angel was weeping. Herbert wondered much, and said timidly,– “Why do you grieve over this glorious sight? Are not all the soldiers brave and faithful ?” The angel replied sadly,– “I weep because I know what dark trials and temptations await them, for