provided, and gongs and drums are beaten to give notice to the hungry ghosts that the feast is ready, and that they are welcome to feed on the savoury fumes. In order to send money to them, they burn paper covered with gold and silver leaf, which they say is thus turned into real money, passing with the smoke into the invisible world. They also cut paper into the shape of coats and other garments, houses, chairs, tables, fans, pots and jugs, and various other things, which they burn, and seem quite satisfied their friends receive the benefit of what is sent them. The dishes of food which they offer them seem full to overflowing: but, in reality, the middle of each dish is filled with coarse paper and stalks of vegetables, with the provisions thinly scattered over the top. When a missionary asked them why they tried to cheat the spirits of their departed friends, they said that the ghosts knew no better, and by this means they made a little go a great way. TO ALL YOUNG PEOPLE. "The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagle shall eat it."-PROV. XXX. 17. CHILDREN AND YOUTH OF ENGLAND! Mark this terrible threatening against the disobedient. Their crime is very great. They mock at their parents with a scornful eye, looking with disdain upon them because of their bodily infirmities, or putting on sour and dogged looks when they instruct or command them. God sees this with peculiar indignation, and will reckon with them for the leering look and the casts of an evil eye, as well as for bad language. God takes particular notice of those children who despise to obey their parents, thinking it a low and mean thing to be dutiful to them, especially to a tender and loving mother; they refuse to be managed by her, and so fill her heart with great sorrow. There are many children of this description, but they are very wicked; and if they continue impenitent, their punishment will be fearfully great. The figures employed here are terrible indeed. They are to be set up as monuments of God's vengeance. Like the greatest criminals, they are to be hung in chains, for the birds of prey to eat their flesh and pick out their eyes-those cruel eyes with which they looked so scornfully on their kind parents. If men do not punish undutiful children, God himself will do it, and will load those with the greatest disgrace that conduct themselves haughtily towards their parents. Many who have been hanged on the gallows for their crimes have confessed that the wicked courses that brought them to it began in contempt for their father or mother. Now, we love you very much, and have chosen two beautiful pieces of poetry, for you to learn by heart, containing rules of duty. If you observe these rules, God's blessing will attend you all your days. THE MOTHER. CLING to thy mother; for she was the first To know thy being, and to feel thy life; The hope of thee through many a pang she nurst; Was all forgot, for bliss of loving thee. Be gentle to thy mother; long she bore Thy cradle pray'd, and taught thy lisping truth. She carried, fed thee, lull'd thee to thy rest; And, now her steps are feeble, be her stay May be that she will claim the care she gave : Be tender with thy mother; words unkind, Of venom'd srpent. Wound not her strong trust, O mother mire! God grant I ne'er forget, BETHUNE. THE FATHER. AH! grieve him not whose silver hairs His tottering steps with reverence aid,- And let his deafen'd ear be made The harp where filial love shall breathe. What though his pausing mind partake Still with prompt arm his burdens bear, And with affection's watchful care Know'st thou how oft those powerful arms Grieve not thy father till he die, Lest, when he sleeps in earth's cold breast, The record of his latest sigh Should prove a dagger to thy rest. For if this holiest debt of love Forgotten or despised should be, He whom thou call'st thy Sire above Will bend a Judge's frown on thee. SIGOURNEY. GEORGE AND THE KNIFE. GEORGE was only a little younger than his eldest brother. He was a well-behaved child, and generally obedient to his parents. But George had one fault; he was cunning. Some boys think this shows smartness: but it is very hard to be cunning and truthful at the same time. George could not see this; his parents tried in vain to convince him that the little tricks by which he outwitted his companions were all founded on deceit, and partook of a lie. So it came to pass, that though the schoolboys all thought George was very smart, they called him a slippery fellow. True, there is great probability that the character a boy has at school will go with him as long as he lives. Pray, then, children, that you may begin right. When George was almost nine years of age he was sent to a neighbouring shop for some thread which was wanted in the family. When he went in there, he found two or three persons who were to be served before him. As he was looking about, he saw a nice double-bladed knife on the shelf. It was just what he wanted; he had been wishing for such a knife a long time, and the price was only twentyfive cents. He had exactly that sum in his hand. His brother John would have been likely to have bought the knife without thinking, and then run home to tell all about it; but George never did things in John's way. He did not forget that he had been sent for two hanks of thread; but he looked at the handsome knife till he could not see anything else. You know that we can think very quick; it was but a little while that he stood by the counter, but many thoughts passed through his mind. First he thought, "I do want that knife" then conscience said, "You must not buy it with this money, for it is not yours.' Then an evil thought came, "I can tell mother something:" said conscience, "That will be lying as well as stealing; wait and save your spending money." George was almost persuaded by this last thought, and was turning away, when his heart suggested to him, perhaps the knife would be gone before he could get money enough; so he asked the clerk to let him see it. Conscience is a faithful friend; but if we will do wrong, it will stop warning us. George bought the knife; but after he had it in his pocket it felt as heavy as lead. Oh, how he wished it was in the shop again! Why," said he to himself, "do people hang things up to tempt us? If only I had never seen it!" Many a one has asked this question before George; but we must be tried, how else shall we know what we are? If this boy had remembered God's holy commandment, and prayed to him for help to keep it, the desire of having the knife would have gone out of his mind. " "My son, you have staid long," said his mother: "why, what is the matter?" for George was pale,, and trembled. "Oh, mamma, you know the old shed at the corner of the fence: as I was going past a drunken man came out and ran after me, and made me fall down, and the money dropped in the sand; so I lost it." "Oh," said the servant-girl, little thinking that she was helping George out in his lie, that must be the same man that I saw asleep under the fence this morning." George felt relieved; but so far was he from enjoying his dear-bought knife, that he put it away in the bottom of his box, whence he might not see it. He could not help thinking of it, however. The Bible says, "A lying lip is but for a moment;" and again, "Be sure your sin will find you out." So it fared with our cunning boy. To make his story more sure, he had said to his father that Mr. Benton, a neighbour, had seen the drunken man, and made him go away. One lie, you know, makes twenty. Mr. Benton was not in the habit of coming to the house of George's parents; but it happened that his cart broke down near their gate, and he stepped in for assistance. The father said, "I thank you, neighbour, for helping my little boy the other day." As you may suppose, the good man knew nothing about the affair; and thus George's sinful conduct was all exposed. Was he punished? Yes, severely; but who can tell how grieved his parents were? They shed more bitter tears over his sin than they did over the corpse of the baby that they had lost. Do you ask if he repented? In one sense he did: he sincerely regretted that he had behaved wrong, and made himself liable to punishment; but whether that was the right sort of repentance, I leave you to determine. Soon after this George lost his father. What a loss is a pious father, especially to a boy who needed so much guidance and control as did this one! As you sail away off to the right rises a gloomy building, it is the Penitentiary. Among its miserable inmates is a youth of respectable appearance, sad, pale, and degraded: it is poor George. N.B. Boys! When you are tempted to steal, think of poor George ! THE BEAR AND THE TEAKETTLE. Emboldened by fa THE bears of Kamtschatka live chiefly on fish, which they procure for themselves from the rivers. A few years since the fish became scarce. mine and consequent hunger, the bears, instead of retiring to their dens, wandered about, and sometimes entered villages. On a certain occasion, one of them found the outer gate of a house open, and entered in, and the gate accidentally closed after him. The woman of the house had just placed a large tea-kettle full of boiling water in the court. Bruin smelt of it, but it burnt his nose. Provoked at the pain, he vented all his fury upon the tea-kettle. He folded his arms round it, pressed it with his whole strength against his breast to crush it; but this, of course, only burnt him the more. The horrible growling which the rage and pain forced from the poor beast now brought the neighbours to the spot, and Bruin, by a few shots, was put out of his misery. To this day, however, when anybody injures himself by call him like "the bear with the kettle." his own violence, the people of the village N B. Passionate children, this is for you. When your little hearts kindle into a blaze of irrational violence pause, and remember the bear of Kamtschatka! Cabinet of Things New and Old. THE WAY TO PROSPER. TO DEACONS AND INFLUENTIAL MEMBERS OF CHURCHES. THE Holy Spirit is exhibited to us as "the Spirit of grace and supplication, as making intercession for the saints according to the will of God, and with groanings which cannot be uttered." Those, then, who live without prayer, and also those who neglect it on any occasion in which it is their duty, are despising, or at least slighting, the express command, the gracious promises, the condescending invitations, the awful threatenings, and the glorious character of Jehovah revealed in its most interesting forms. How vast the importance attached to prayer by professing Christians of almost all denominations! What strong expressions do they employ on this subject, especially from the pulpit, and at the public meetings of their religious societies! How solemnly do they profess their entire dependence on the blessing of God for success in their various undertakings, and the futility of all their efforts unless He accompany them with the influence of his Spirit; and how earnestly, apparently at least, do they exhort one another to abound in prayer; and what confidence do they express, that, if the churches would, so to speak, put forth their strength, and perform their duty in this particular, visible, glorious success would be realized! It is also generally allowed, that while "the effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much," special importance may well be attached to united, social prayer, and hence to what are called prayer-meetings. church should be found whose members entirely neglect these, all would immediately conclude that it must be in a languishing condition-that its piety and usefulness were at a very low ebb. If a Now, what might naturally and rationally be expected from all these premises?from all these promises, commands, and threatenings, and examples contained in the word of God?-from all these allowed principles and solemn exhortations and avowed convictions and hopes? Might it not be confidently concluded that prayermeetings would be crowded?-that efforts, and, if necessary, sacrifices, would be made by all truly pious persons, in order that they might enjoy those privileges, and unite in those fervent appeals to the God of heaven, that so they might share in the blessing that would be secured, and in the honour of the good that would be effected? Could it be thought possible, reasoning merely from allowed principles, from public professions, and from what consistency evidently requires, that there would be any members of churches, especially any deacons, who are scarcely ever seen at prayer-meetings from the beginning of the year to the end of it? and that they would be left to the minister, to a few pious females and aged persons, and to two or three males, who generally engage in prayer, without whom the devotional exercises could not be carried on? Is not this, however, only too exact a representation of what is actually the case in many churches? and if so, must there not be something radically wrong, at least very defective, in the religious state of these persons? To all to whom these remarks will apply, and especially to deacons and the more influential members of churches, I would affectionately address the following considerations: Have you not left your first love? Was it thus with you when you first felt the power of Divine truth, and gave yourselves to the Lord, and then to his people by joining the church? And was your love too ardent then? or is it too cold now? Did you attach too much importance to prayer-meetings then? or do you undervalue them now? Examine the Scriptures, listen to the voice of God as addressed to you by them, and you will hear him saying to you, as he did to the church of Ephesus, (Rev. ii. 4,) "I have a few things against thee, because thou hast left thy first love: repent, therefore, and do thy first works." How often is it the case that when persons, especially the young, wish to be proposed for membership, and for a time after they have been received, they are punctual in their attendance at prayer-meetings as well as on all the other means of grace; but ere long their places begin to be occasionally vacant; the minister looks for them in vain; his fears are excited lest they should be imbibing the spirit and imitating the example of too many who have first raised and then disappointed his hopes; and, alas! too soon and too certainly the thing which he feared comes upon him. The attendance of these persons becomes less and less frequent, until they almost entirely "forsake," in this respect, "the assembling of themselves together.' And, were all to act like them, these exercises would be entirely deserted, and the voice of social prayer would never, in the interval betwixt sabbath and sabbath, ascend to the God of heaven. And if it is our duty to pray with "all prayer and supplication;" if "where two or three are met together in the name of Christ he is in the midst of them;" would not this be a deplorable state of things? Could that church be expected to flourish? O that those deacons and members of churches who have entirely, or almost entirely, forsaken prayermeetings, would ask themselves, Are we not acting in a way that is calculated to reduce the church with which we are connected to this deplorable condition, or at least very much to impede its spiritual prosperity? I will not insult your judgment and piety by asking whether you believe that prayer, in all its stated and usual forms, is a duty?— that God is the hearer of prayer?-that he requires frequency, earnestness, and perseverance, in application to his throne, in order to success?-whether coldness and indifference, with regard to this exercise, are displeasing to him, as arising from undervaluing and |