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Like childhood's simple ryhmes,
Said o'er a thousand times,
Age in all years and climes,

Distant and near.
Sweet thoughts can never die,

Though, like the flowers,
Their brightest hues may fly

In wintry hours;
But when the gentle dew
Gires them their charms anew,
With many an added hue,

They bloom again.
Our souls can never die,

Though in the tomb,
We may all have to lie,

Wrapt in its gloom;
What though the flesh decay,
Souls pass in peace away,
Live through eternal day,

With Christ above.

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BE KIND TO THE FOLKS AT HOME.
Be kind to thy father, for when thou wert young,

Who loved you so fondly as he?
He caught the first accents that fell from thy tongue,

And joined in thy innocent glee.
Be kind to thy father, for now he is old,

His locks intermingled with grey,
His footsteps are feeble, once fearless and bold-

Thy father is passing away.
Be kind to thy mother, for now on her brow

May traces of sorrow be seen,
Oh, well mayest thou cherish and comfort her now,

For loving and kind hath she been.
Remember thy mother, for thee she will pray,

As long has God giveth her breath ;
With accents of kindness, then, cheer thou her way,

E'en to the dark valley of death.
Be kind to thy sister, not many may know;

The depth of true sisterly love;
The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below

The surface that sparkles above.

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THE VISITATION OF PUBLIC HOUSES. During the past year the London City Mission has increased its number of public-house missionaries from two to six. One of them in making his annual report, says:—“As many people seem perplexed to think how a missionary can go into such places, and wonder what he does when he gets in, it seems needful to say a little on the nature of the work. On entering the tap-room we see, perhaps, ten, twenty, or thirty men, smoking, drinking, and playing at cards or dominoes. We apologise for intruding into their company and begin at once to distribute our papers, telling them our object, and weaving into our remarks as much Scripture as prudence may suggest. We then

go into the parlour. The men here are more respectable in appearance. On that side sit a group playing at cribbage, while a group on this are warmly discussing the pugilistic merits of Mace and King, who are to fight for the championship. On the right stands a bagatelle-board, where others are playing. The boy at the board is only twelve years of age. He keeps the chalks for the players, and will, no doubt, become a skilful player and ruin himself, if God prevent not. We here again make an apology for intrusion, and give them tracts. Some are silent, some are thankful; one man will ask, who is your favourite of the two pugilists ?' We then speak of the good fight of faith, and urge them to engage in it. On coming out of the parlour, we perceive a door at the back. We open it and find it leads to the skittle-ground. Here are several men playing. We speak to them and give them tracts. At the same time they invite us to play the game; but we tell them of the game in which the reward is an incorruptible crown. Possibly they answer us with some abuse. If so, we warn them and leave. We proceed to the front of the bar, where many people are congregated. We have to speak to each one separately. We get on quietly till we arrive near the door, where some four or six men try to quarrel with us, swearing and threatening to kick us out of the house. The landlord looks as if he would like them to do so.

In our visits we meet all forms of infidelity-men who advocate Voltaire, Volney, Paine, Hume

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and others; men who deny the very God that made them, and thus outstrip the devils in sin, for they believe and tremble.' Then, again, we now and then find a poor backslider, who, like the Galatians, once seemed to run well, but has fallen into sin and is trying to stifle the voice of conscience with the cup of intoxication. Here also we meet with fallen females, from the thoughtless unsuspecting girl of sixteen, to the well-worn, weather-beaten, confirmed slaves of sin, on whose guilty brows fifty summers' suns have shone.” Speaking of the results of these public-house visitations, several pleasing instances of spiritual blessing are recorded. One of the missionaries says : -"One morning an old enemy stopped me in the street. He used to keep a coffee-shop, and to let a room in it to a club of infidels, to which he was treasurer. For years I contended with him and his friends, and testified to them of Jesus. At last, I gave him up in despair. Think, then, how great was my joy when he accosted me with, “I am no longer an enemy of the cross of Christ.' He attributed much under God to my, often faithless, efforts. Another, a young man, spoke to me as I passed his shop door. He also had received the truth, and thanked me for efforts long past. Only the other day the wife of one of the brethren told me that, being taken ill, she sent for a doctor who lived just by. When he heard that her husband was a missionary, he told her that one night he had been in attendance for some hours upon a poor patient at a distance. As he returned home late, he felt cold, and went into a publichouse in the Marylebone-road for refreshment. He then heard me speaking, and he added, “I never till then felt anxious about the salvation of my soul; but through that circumstance, I was led to seek for mercy. Praise the Lord, for He is good.” These events are very encouraging, because it is exceedingly difficult to get at the result of any given year. To be overanxious about results partake of sin. To the Lord belongeth the increase.” Another of the missionaries advocates the great desirability of introducing religious journals into coffee and eating-houses, with a view of counteracting the bad influences of some of the licentious and corrupt periodicals which are generally found in these places.- The Revival.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN ROSA AND ADA.

By ISABELLA WORMS, of the Band of Hope, amark Street. Rosa. Well Ada, dear, where are you going in such a hurry this fine evening?

Ada. I'm just going to the Band of Hope meeting, Rosa ; perhaps you would like to come with me.

Rosa. No thank you, Ada, I want to have none of your teetotal nonsense ; I hear enough of that every day from Mary King, who is in the same class with me at school, and who I believe belongs to the same Band of Hope as you do.

Ada. Yes, Rosa, she does belong to the same Band of Hope as I, and I am very glad to hear that Mary speaks on Temperance whenever she has a fitting opportunity. I wish all girls and boys belonging to Bands of Hope would do the same, we should then make greater progress with our work than we have hitherto done.

Rosa. Well, Ada, I don't think it right for girls and boys to be signing the pledge, just as if they took more than would do them good; my mother says it's all very well for men and women that get drunk and neglect their families, but for children, mother

says, 'tis quite absurd. Ada. O, Rosa, I wonder your mother calls such a good thing absurd ; don't you know there is a good old adage that says, prevention is better than cure? And then you say children do not take more than will do them good ; you must know that if you take ever so little it cannot do you any good, but most probably would do you harm.

Rosa. (), Ada, I have no patience to listen to you; I declare you are just as bad as Mary King.

Ada. Rosa, I am very sorry to hear you speak thus of good Mary King ; I only wish I were as good as she.

Rosa. Do you really mean what you say, Ada ? I thought you were very good.

Ada. O no, Rosa, sometimes I have very wicked thoughts, and I say

with all sincerity that I wish I were as good as Mary, for not only does she teach the drunken man or woman to become sober, but then tries to make them look up to God, and thank him for their safe deliverance from the tempter's power. O Rosa, I do wish you 'd become a teetotaller.

Rosa. Ada, it is of no use your trying to persuade me to belong to your Band of Hope ; I dont like teetotallers, and I hope I shall never become one.

Ada. O Rosa, how can you say such a thing ? You would not, I am sure, like to become a drunkard.

Rosa. No Ada, I should not indeed like to be a drunkard, but I know I shall never be that; I do not like the drink well enough.

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Ada. If, as you say, you do not care much for the drink, it is so much easier for you to give up the little you now take.

Rosa. No, Ada, I cannot see this matter in the same light as you do. It is because I take so little that I do not give it up; I would not have it thought that I am weak-minded enough to become a teetotaller, when I can keep sober just as well without signing any pledge.

Ada. You have taken a wrong view of the case altogether; it is we who are the strongest in making up our minds to totally abstain from that which does so much harm in all countries. And I think it is much better to sign while we are children, for we all know it is much easier to throw off any habit before it has grown upon us, than it is after it has grown with our growth, and strengthened with our strength.

Rosa. Ada, I tell you it is no use your arguing this matter with me; I cannot see it in the same way in which you do, and therefore I shall wish you good bye.

Ada. I cannot, Rosa, will not leave you thus, until I point out to you the wrong opinion you have formed. You have had the case sadly misrepresented to you, and I must try and set you right.

Rosa. Well, Ada, I assure you, you will have a fruitless task, and therefore

you

had better not attempt it. Ada. No, Rosa, I cannot think of giving up so easily, it would be unworthy the love I bear you were I to do so.

Rosa. Well, Ada, please proceed with your lecture; I am listening now, and am quite ready to hear anything you may have to say, though I do not hold out any hope to you that I shall be convinced.

Ada. Well, Rosa, I shall do my best to try and convince you of your folly, and I am sure if you only think of that happy time when you and I went to school together, yon will remember that I urge you thus from motives of

pure

love. Rosa. Yes, Ada, I know you always loved me, and tried to lead me right, but I really think in this case 'tis you who want setting right, and it is my task to do it. In the first place, if you go to a school-fellow's house to tea, and in the evening are asked to take a little wine, see how foolish it makes you look to say you are a teetotaller!

Ada. O, that argument is easily got over, for I never feel so happy as when I have the opportunity of telling people I belong to the Band of Hope, for then sometimes I get asked many questions about what we do there, and that is one of the oppor

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