reading, writing, and arithmetic. And perhaps it is also well to teach them how to earn and save money, and increase in riches. But that is not all that they should learn. All refining influences should be brought to bear upon them, and they should be all taught to become gentlemen and ladies in the best sense. Is there not rather too much hardness in the world? Would not a little more softness and tenderness be an improvement? There is also too much selfishness, and not enough care for the claims of others. Let us teach our children to be chivalrous and courteous, brave and gentle. We think it is good that in our infant schools, even where no sectarianism is allowed, the principles of Christianity are early taught. In the grand time coming, among the new men and women, if Jesus be known and loved there will be far better days in the future than have ever been known in the past. Education will do much; but let it be remembered that beside Christianity even that is a small thing. If the children are to be really great and good men, let them learn greatness and goodness at the feet of Christ. Elimbing. MAN is a climbing animal. Let whoever doubts it watch the young at their play. Running along on level ground is very well, but it is poor sport compared with that of mounting. Only let the opportunity come to a playground full of boys for a trial of climbing skill, and see how eagerly they will avail themselves of it, and how rapidly they will be doing their best to excel each other. What a boon is a long, strong pole well fixed in the gardenground! What convenient things are street lamp-posts! Only let there be a clear course with regard to policemen and other persons in authority, and a little audience of envious boys and admiring girls, and what a delightful sensation has the heart of the boy who has succeeded in reaching the top and placing himself about the lamp. And what fascinating things are rooks'-nests! So bewitchingly and tantalisingly high, so out of reach, and yet so provokingly tempting are they, that a boy needs to pull his cap over his eyes and run out of sight to escape them. And if the tops of trees seem to be crowded with beckoning hands, what are the tops of mountains? Who has not felt that "Hills draw, like heaven ?" Who has not toiled on, and on, higher and higher yet, weary and footsore it may be, but still resolutely determined to gain the top if possible, and utterly unable and unwilling to disregard the cry Excelsior which is spoken by varied voices. But why should it be so? Why is climbing so pleasant an occupation? Is it curiosity to see the view from the top which lures the boy up? It is not so much that, everybody knows, as the desire to excel his fellows, and gain a greater height than they can hope to reach. It is the spirit of emulation that makes people climb. But what a world full of climbers this is! Everybody wants to get above everybody else. To be first, or at least higher than their neighbours, seems to be the great desire of the people. If we could only read what is written in invisible ink we should find this resolution, “I will surpass my fellows," in very strange places, in the shop of the tradesman, in the counting-house of the merchant, in the drawing-room of the lady and the dressingroom of the maiden, in the study and the studio, and even the pulpit and platform. With some natures indeed it seems as if life is one perpetual climb; and some hearts are full of eager unrest because they have not yet attained all that they wish. To be first in society, first in popularity, first in wealth, first in position, seems to be a craving from which there is no escape, and so people climb on and on in weariness and failure, although they might certainly know that they will die before they reach the top. Is it necessary? Is it worth while? Half the heartburnings of the world are caused by this. With all our climbings others get above us; and therefore we are jealous, and envious, and unloving, and miserable. Does it matter so very much as it seems? Could we not be more content with the side of the hill, or even with the valley, than we are? It would save a good deal of strength, and some pain and disappointment. It is possible to be just as happy lower down as are those at the very top if people would only believe it. It has its uses, no doubt, this climbing mania, but it has its abuses too; and it may be that these outnumber those. There is a climbing, however, which will pay for the toil. "Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect; but I follow after, if that I may apprehend that for which also I am apprehended of Christ Jesus. Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended; but this one thing I do, forgetting the things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus." There are no heart-burnings after this climbing, for this Excelsior there is no after regret. Every step of this upward way is bright and glad, and at the summit there is heaven. Stars. THEY are only little points of light to us, whatever they may really be. Even if they are great worlds, with mountains all Andes, and rivers all Amazons, and inhabitants all giants, still to us they are just little drops of light, placed in the deep, dark skies, to make our nights less dreary. And small as they are, and comparatively insignificant, when compared with the sun and the moon, still we would part with a great many things rather than our stars. They are such bright, beautiful little things, we are never tired of gazing upon them. And it is something to be able to look at them at all. The sun is quite too strong for us, unless indeed we choose the times of his weakness-his morning infancy, or his evening old age; but the stars are never so bright as to dazzle us, and the longer we look at them the more we love them. And they have their uses, these stars. Not to speak of the sentiment they inspire, of the tender thoughts they invoke, of the delicious sensation experienced by those who know that "other eyes" look at the skies, and see the gems of light, there are plenty of reasons why we should value these lesser lamps that God has hung up to cheer us. Those who have had a long journey on a dark night have known what it is to give thanks to God for the companionship and aid of one of those bright eyes. Those who have stood trying to pierce the unfathomable darkness, when the skies have been inky black, and the host of waters, foaming and tossing, have been heard, but could not be seen, know how even the light of a single star changes the dark and sullen face of night, and makes it often like the countenance of a relenting friend. How often, when things have been against us, when head and heart have been weary, and we have been almost disposed to sink into cowardice and despondency, has the twinkling of the stars brought better impulses and stronger resolves! How often, when faith has been drooping, and hope has spread her wings for flight, these stars have looked like the lanterns of God lighting our way to the shores of peace. If only we were half as useful as they-we who speak so patronisingly about them—if we did the good they do, we should be much better than we are. They do make the nights less dark. How many nights are any the brighter for us? Who feels any the less lonely, and desolate, and uncertain, because we are pretending to hold up our lights above them? Is there less stumbling in the intricate way? Is there less fear in timid hearts? Is there less sadness, because of our shining? How many of us are showing the way to heaven? How many of us are lights in the darkness? "And they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever." Alas! if that is what makes us like stars, it is little wonder that we are never mistaken for lights. Dark, indeed—so dark, that we cannot be distinguished from the clouds are many of us who ought to be bright and shining lights. If we understood this as we ought we should be quite ashamed to look at the stars, they would be so many accusing eyes looking down into ours with their sad and silent eloquence. But if we cannot be stars we can at least press forward into the light of the bright and morning Star. We cannot shine, but He can shine upon us. We cannot enlighten the world, but we shall be less dark if His light fall upon us. We may not be able to relieve the loneliness or shorten the night for one faint and weary traveller, but we may point to Him, and thus shall the darkness be broken, and soon the day shall shine. August Sabbaths. AMONG the many beautiful things of the summer time is a Sunday in August. It seems to fall upon this earth as softly and as refreshingly as the dew from heaven, and to make all hearts still and glad. The sun is so bright, the air is so sweet, and there is such a look of calm repose everywhere, that all things seem in keeping with the sacred engagements of the day. Even the early morning appears different from the other mornings of the week, it is so much more quiet and restful. "The eyelids of the morning are awake; The dews are disappearing from the grass; The shadows of the twilight fleet away." As the day wears on its characteristics are still more marked. The Sabbath harmonies are soothing and sweet to the tired ears that have listened long to the discords of the world. The matins of the birds, the music of the bells, and the happy hum of voices that have leisure for kindly talk, are pleasant sounds, and hearing them the heart gets ready to listen to the better and more serious music which thankful souls sing to God. |