But if to the land where is no more pain,
His spirit shall wing its flight,

Our grief will breathe an odor as sweet
As the flowers we send him to-night.

SUNDAY-SCHOOL SPEAKER.

PRESENTATION OF A VASE OF
ROSES.

[To be recited by one of three little girls, who advance together to the Pastor, bearing the gift.]

Dear pastor, from our grateful hands

A simple token take,

This little vase of summer flowers,

Oh, prize it for our sake!

"And let it say to you each day,
Better than words may tell,
The reverent love we feel for Him,

Who loves the children well.

"Oh, be our guide through years to come,

And lead our willing feet

Along the road whose windings end

Where all God's children meet."

S. S. GAZETTE.

A PRESENTATION ADDRESS TO A

Dear Pastor :

PASTOR.

(For a young lady.)

We feel that this season of gifts and congratulations ought not to pass without some token, however slight, of the estimation in which you are held by your Sunday-School. You know, already, that we love you; but we want to put our love, if possible, in tangible form. And so, to-night, we tender you this We have tried to select something which shall be attractive, useful, and, above all, personal-something for you, and not for your good wife, whom we love as dearly as you, but to whom we are not making a present just now. We ask you to accept it and prize it, not for its intrinsic value, but as a token of our love as a memento of those whom you have lead to Christ, and who will ever remember you as their Pastor of Pastors as a slight recognition of the weary hours spent by you in the sick-chamber and by the dying-bed.

You needn't make a speech, dear Pastor. We know already what you would say; and, if you had not spoken already in those actions

which "speak louder than words," and thus proved yourself the Young People's Pastor, be assured we discriminating young folks should never have dreamed of making you a present.

A PRESENTATION ADDRESS TO A

SUPERINTENDENT.

(For a young man.)

Mr. Superintendent:

We young folks think we know a live man when we see him. Moreover, we think that a live man is worthy of all honor. Still further we think that we have found our live man in you. During the past year, you have been at the head of our Sunday-School, and we can't see that the Sunday-School is any the worse for it. Indeed, we can hardly conceive where the Sunday-School would have been, but for you. What with these unruly boys here and the unruly men and women, yonder in the audience room, who think that the Sunday-School is of no particular account, you have had a pretty hard time of it; but pluck and grit and the Grace of God have carried you through, and the Sunday-School

still lives and means to live. For its free and generous life we are largely indebted to you; and, as a token of our recognition of that fact, permit me to present you this Its

intrinsic value is not great-not half what we wish it was; but if it serve to remind you in after years that when you were Superintendent of the Sunday-School, we all loved you, it will answer the purpose for which we procured it.

A PRESENTATION ADDRESS TO A

TEACHER.

Dear Teacher:

Your class desire to-day two things: Publicly, to acknowledge their appreciation of the faithful service which you have rendered them.

Privately, to remind you, by some tangible expression of their good will, of the love you have won from every heart.

They wish me, therefore, to tender you this

, asking you to associate it forever with the names and faces of the donors. We are sure you will; for many of those who give it you have been led by you to Christ, and must

be grouped around you at the last great day just as they are here in this Sunday-School when you say: "Lord, here am I, and the children whom thou hast given me."

+

THERE IS A TEETOTALER.

(This piece should be spoken by a spirited boy, and as he goes upon the stage, some one should cry out, "There's a teetotaler!")

I've got on

Yes, sir, here is a teetotaler, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. teetotal boots, too, that never will walk in the way of a drunkard. The other day a man asked me about our Band of Hope. He wanted to know what use there is in making so many promises. I told him the use was in keeping the promises more than in making them.

The boys which belong to our Band have something to do besides loafing at the corners of the streets, and smoking the stumps of cigars they pick out of the gutters. It makes me sick to think of it!

Some boys are dreadfully afraid of losing their liberty, so they won't sign our pledge. I saw four or five of them the other day.