So many things are taken from us as life wears on that it is almost strange that we do not get more used to the discipline, and learn to hold our pleasant possessions with looser clasp. But it seems so much more natural to receive good things than to give them up again when they are taken, that it requires a very long time to master the lesson of really glad and contented submission. What we need to feel, and what we may all most certainly feel, is that our Father is doing it, and therefore it must be well, and that, instead of leaving our hearts and homes empty He will assuredly give us far more than He takes away.

It is not pleasant to have our comforts taken, and to miss just at the time when we fancy we need them most the solaces and enjoyments of life. And yet how many have this trouble among others. The things that were so good and seemed indeed almost necessary are taken away. Why? May it not be that when these earthly dwellingplaces become less bright and cheerful we may look forward with a greater longing to the home above?

It cannot be other than a sore trial when health is the thing that is taken. It is so good and enjoyable to feel strong and free from pain, to be able to walk about with elastic step, and clear eyes, and leisure and inclination to take in all the pleasure that can be derived from the visible beauty of the world. It is a very sobering thing to feel the constant pressure of sickness, and to be always languid, and anxious, and feeble. And yet health is one of the things that is surely at some time taken from us, making us sad with the contrast of former and present times. He must have received grace from God who is able to give up this treasure into His Father's hands with a smile. For we never know how precious health is until we have to give it up. It is a blessing that "brightens as it takes its flight;" and to resign it cheerfully just as its sweetness is felt is very difficult. And yet it is wonderful that it can be, and often is, thus yielded without a sigh or a tear. It must surely be because as health goes the Physician Himself supplies the loss, proving His ability to heal the sick of whatsoever disease the sufferer has in a higher than a literal sense, and making Himself so precious that the change is felt to be a very good one.

Few things are taken whose loss we feel so much as

human love. Friends abound in youth, but we do not make so many new ones as the years go on, while from many causes and in various ways the old ones pass away. We miss them painfully; we do not like the feeling of poverty that comes over us as we look into their empty places. God gave us love, and we delighted in it, and now He gives us instead loneliness and the longing for the old smiles and the names by which we used to be called, and the hidden affection which spoke through word, or look, or touch.

Perhaps our wonder is the greatest when the thing that is taken is our ability to be useful. We loved so well to work for the Master, and He gave us some to do; and when we felt that it was progressing the most He took it away, and left us feeling sad and useless. But we have this thought to comfort us even in this—it may be that He is only giving us rest before He commits to us better, higher, more glorious work.

There are indeed many things taken away, and they are those which we loved the best and held the most precious. And yet we should surely be very thankful that we have had them so long, and say as one has beautifully written

"He gives us what He finds our souls too poor in prayer to ask,
He gives us, lest we sink in sloth, some gracious overtask;
He takes away the boons He gave, and why I know not yet,
But this I know, when most He takes, I'm deepest in His debt."

In Darkened Rooms.

A LITTLE child was once left alone to amuse himself as he might. It was in the spring, and the time of the day was noon. The sky was cloudless, and the bright clear sunlight streamed through the windows and flooded the room, and the child rejoiced in the strength and beauty of the light. But presently in his play he discovered the shutters, and after variously moving them contrived to

close them, and in doing so of course shut out the brightness and filled the room with darkness. Then he grew uncomfortable and frightened, and began to cry, until his parents came and again let in the light.

It was just the action of a foolish child, we say; he cried for the light, and yet there was plenty of it to be had if with his own hands he had not shut it out.

But the child, foolish enough no doubt, was quite as sensible as his fathers are. There are thousands of people who are supposed to have arrived at years of discretion who live in darkened rooms simply because they have themselves shut out the light. They do not like the change; they grumble if they do not cry, they are uncomfortable and vexed if they are not frightened, and yet if they had only been wise enough they might be living all the time in sunlight instead of gloom.

Those who walk about the world with observing eyes see very frequently when people are closing shutters. How often the young who are growing up into life, and who love the light, are making it impossible that they should hereafter live in it. They wish to have a good old age, to live many years in comfort and health, and enjoy the evening of life. But they are wasting the morning. Instead of being diligent and prudent they are idle and extravagant. Instead of working now that they may rest then, they are allowing the golden hours to pass unheeded and unimproved. They are young and strong, their hands might be made swift and skilful if they chose; but all that they seem to be doing is closing the shutters and shutting out the light.

Health is joy, but how many are by their own acts preventing themselves from enjoying it! Habits of selfindulgence, which are in direct opposition to all the laws of health, are being formed, and become so strong that they will shortly gain the mastery. And then? Oh, then it will be very dark, and the mistaken creatures will mourn in their sufferings and discomfort, feeling all the more sad because they will remember that they themselves shut out the light whose absence they regret.

How many people there are in the world who feel lonely and friendless. How is it? Are there no spirits who could respond to theirs? No other hearts that could give

sympathy, and love, and even help? If not, at least there are plenty to whom sympathy, love, and help would be great blessings, and who would gladly give in exchange for them very sincere gratitude. But very often lonely people have themselves darkened the rooms in which they live. Some time or other they had the opportunity of winning friends, but they have been cold and repellant, they have spoken hard, harsh words, and the hearts that were turning to them, and would have clung to them, making the whole earth more beautiful for their sakes, have been alienated for ever. Some rooms are very dark, and sad spirits inhabit them, but they have themselves shut out the light.

How often a life is darkened by sin. God makes His sun to shine, but wrong-doing brings only darkness. Is it not mournful when the spring comes with its sunlight and joy, and all is hidden by the thick wall of remorse that keeps the soul in gloom? If people only knew in time what terrible penalties have to be paid for breaking God's commandments, they would surely be more careful not to do so.

We close the shutters, but it is good to know that He "who delighteth in mercy" can open them and let the light in again. No soul is so dark but that He, the Light of the World, can send all the shadows away.

"Save me from mine own undoing" is a prayer that the Lord will hear, and though we have made our own night He can give us the morning of joy.

Sometimes indeed He sends the night. We are in darkness, not because we have excluded the light, but because He has done it. Then it matters very little. All the nights that need trouble us are those of our own making. As for the others they are perfectly safe. Even the last that shall come will be very short, and then we shall hear a voice: " Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light."

Jesus Only.

TELL them of Him-always of Him. You are never weary of that name, neither will the people be. There is music in the very sound of it. It will fall upon their hearts as none other can. If you want them to be tender, tell them of Jesus, for He will teach them how to love; there is no tenderness like that which is learnt at the foot of the cross; there are no hearts so soft as those which are moved by the Saviour. If you want them to be truthful, and honest, and upright, tell them of Jesus, for there can be no meanness, or prevarication, or deceit in the souls which He has made His own. If you wish them to be noble, and brave, and self-denying, tell them of Jesus; for if they learn of Him they must be greater and nobler than anything beside in the whole world could make them. Oh, tell all to whom you have the opportunity of speaking much of Jesus.

"Nor heart can think, nor tongue can frame,

Nor can the memory find

A sweeter sound than Thy blest name,
Oh, Saviour of mankind.”

Yes, tell your friends of Jesus. The years are swiftly passing on. Those who are with you now will leave you soon. Those who make you so glad with the bright beauty of their youth will very soon have to go forth to the battle of life, in which it may be they will become soiled and stained and injured. The lips so ready to smile now will be drawn and white with pain, the unclouded eyes that dance and sparkle now will become dim with tears, the hearts that are bounding so joyously now will soon be heavy with care and sorrow. And then? Oh, then, none but Jesus can do them good. Then they will turn away from all the friends and pleasures of time, and one only cry will come from them, "Oh, that I knew where I might find Him!" Tell them now. Set Him so plainly before them now, that when that time comes they will know where He is, and how they may come near to Him.