The Pastor's Gift.

THE GOOD OLD WOMAN.

WHEN I was a little boy, and went to school, I generally passed through a street, at the bottom of which was a large river, and beyond it I could see the hills in the country, and the beautiful green trees. Often I have walked that way with my satchel on my shoulder, admiring as I passed, the blue water and the pleasant view, on the opposite side of the river. This was many years ago, but the pleasure I derived

from these walks I can never forget. A large part of the river has since been filled up, but I love to go there now in the morning, and recall the days of my boyhood; and at night, and see the bright stars reflected on the water. There are no recollections so pleasant in after life, as those of childhood. You are too young now to realise this, but when you are old, I hope you will find it true. It was not long since that I visited this spot at the close of the Sabbath. The moon shone bright, the bells were calling people to church, and I could distinctly hear the village bell, as its sound came softened over the water. I walked there a few moments, and then thought I would join the multitude, and go to the house of God. On reaching the church I went in and had

sat but a few moments, when I discovered that all around me were of a humble class in life. The women sat on one side, and the men on the other. Presently I saw some sailors come in; indeed, I observed by the dress and appearance of those around me, that nearly all were sailors, and that this was a sailors' meeting-house. Their countenances were hardy and rough, and their dress coarse, but they appeared very serious and attentive.

The exercises commenced with singing a hymn, in which all united, and the little chapel resounded with the song of praise. Soon the minister arose; he was a venerable-looking man, and devout, as became his profession. His sermon consisted of a simple and impressive exhortation to his hearers to

seek above all things, those treasures which do not pass away, but are eternal as their Giver.

The sermon being finished, a hymn was sung. As they were singing, I saw an old woman sitting in one corner of the church-her hands were clasped, her eyes closed; she appeared insensible to all about her, and seemed to hold sweet communion with her God. I wish you could have seen her humble and devout posture; and her face, which expressed so well a resigned and faithful soul. I could distinctly hear her voice, and she appeared deeply to feel the parting hymn they were singing.

I would that I could give you an idea of this old lady, her manner, and humble, devout appearance. I wish you had seen the tear fall over her furrowed

cheek when she arose.

The benedic

tion was given, and I left the church, and separated from the crowd, many of whom, no doubt, returned to their vessels, and are now perhaps rocking on the ocean; as their sturdy hearts are called to brave its dangers they behold the wonderful power of that Being, whom they went up that evening to worship. As I walked home, I could not help reflecting on the old woman I had seen, and indulged myself with drawing a picture of her situation. She was evidently poor, and I followed her to some lonely apartment where she wanted perhaps all those comforts age needs; but faith cheered that abode, and she did not feel alone, for God was with her. During that evening service, her thoughts had been with her Father.