this happy combination of physical force and moral influence never failed to make him a better boy, for the eye of his father was sure to haunt him many a day thereafter; and no man could wonder at this result who has ever seen that eye flashing in the heat boys for misconduct, he summoned him The Fragment Basket. DON'T REPEAT IT. Some persons have a most unhappy propensity to repeat all they hear, be it good, or be it bad; and the consequence is, that the ears of their friends are often annoyed: but this is the least part of the nuisance,-their minds are distressed, if not defiled, by some of the things which are thus repeated. For instance: some half-wit makes a parody or jest on a verse of a hymn, or on a passage in the Sacred Volume, and the person who heard it retails it to his wife, or children, or friends, meaning to show the shrewdness of the author, or to excite a smile; but perhaps a wound has thus been inflicted that will never be healed. I call to mind a clergyman, who, some years since, heard a parody upon part of the Litany; and he said he never repeated it but the remark came to his mind, to his injury. Surely the injunction of God's Word demands attention: "Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth." We should, therefore, be unwilling to repeat the corrupt words of others. I write as a father and a friend upon this subject, often having deeply suffered in my mind from the abominable expressions of others, or some foolish jest that I have been compelled to hear, and which I would not repeat for worlds; and most respectfully and earnestly do I entreat others to abstain from repeating what is so calculated to do harm to the mind. Should this meet the eye of any one who has accustomed himself to this kind of employment, I beseech you to pause, and reflect upon the consequences of such a practice. You would not willingly injure your relation, friend, or neighbour in his body or temporal affairs; then do not inflict an injury AMICUS. upon his soul ! DELIRIUM TREMENS. One scene of morbid imagination previously present with him he described thus: "There, as I lay in my bed, no sooner were my eyes closed, than the room seemed filled with beings of the most horrid appearance; they were searching around the room, and talking one to another; all appeared to have some design upon me. I heard one say, 'He'll soon be dead; we shall soon have him with us.' Then a large black horse came tearing down some hills, making straight for the bed, whilst I trembled and the perspiration ran off me." In the day he was harassed by the most extraordinary delusions, as he walked, as he sat, everywhere. A man cf much muscular power was being worn to a skeleton, and to the weakness of a child, beneath the result of this terrible effect of drunkenness.Vanderkiste's "Mission to the Dens of London." TURKISH PROVERBS. Those who sow thorns can reap only prickles. There are two things which no man can fixedly regard-the sun, and death. That which the pen of destiny has written, all the arts of men cannot efface. God alone is above all. A thousand robbers are not able to strip an honest man naked. The hand that gives is always above that which receives. Is it ill with thee? Imitate the traveller, who, amid the discomforts of a bad khan, reflects that he has only to pass the night there. An egg to-day is better than a thou remind him to throw them at thy chicken to-morrow. It is easier to be wise for others than for ourselves. We have all sufficient strength to bear the evils which befall others. head. There are no accidents so unfortunate that discreet men may not turn to advantage, nor any so fortunate that imprudent men may not turn to Speak not of stones to a fool, lest prejudice. RELIGION-WHAT IS IT? Poetry. 'Tis not to go to church to-day, LIFE. [The following is taken from a small volume of Hymns from the German of Dr. Martin Luther, by the Rev. John Anderson, of the Free Church of Scotland.] THE cross to bear, with want and care, Thy lot through life must be, At every time and everywhere, Thy daily bread here see! Till death thy days and duties end, With fearful foes must thou contend. Satan, that old malicious one, Shall seek thy soul to slay; He never leaves his work undone, He keeps no holiday! With ceaseless rage and cursed spite, He roams the world by day and night! In thine own members e'en a law Shall war against thy mind; Since thou must tread such dangerous ways, Be wise, then, and beware! Know where thy safety lies-always In watchfulness and prayer. For prayer and pains shall keep the field, Fight till the day be done; Be thou but faithful in the strife, THE FLOWERS. THE HELIOTROPE. THROUGH all the changes of the day, THE VIOLET. A lowly flower, in secret bower, For blessing made, without parade, THE LILY. Emblem of Him in whom no stain The eye of Heaven could see; In all their glory, monarchs vain Are not array'd like me. THE ROSE. With ravish'd heart that crimson hail THE PRIMROSE. When Time's dark winter shall be o'er, THE GARDEN. Thy thoughts from heavenly things shall The bower of innocence and bliss draw, And with its chains thee biud! Against the soul, with all its might, The flesh shall wage unnatural fight. Sin caused to disappear; Repent, and walk in faith and love; You'll find an Eden here. BISHOP HORNE. HOWARD WILEY is now about twelve the cushioned rocking chair, the only years old. He is his mother's only child, and she is a widow. Ever since he was a babe, he has been her first thought and care by day and night. She is very poor, but still, by hard work and great saving she has managed to keep Howard as comfortably, if not as handsomely, clothed as most of the boys in the village. Almost all she earns is spent upon him; and after her day's work is done, and he is soundly sleeping in his bed, she sits up till very late, to make, and patch, and knit for him, that he may not be ashamed to appear at school among the boys whose parents are much better off than she is. Howard has had two or three severe fits of sickness, and his kind, devoted mother watched him then unceasingly. She sat by him all day, and was at his side the moment he stirred or spoke at night; and she has been known to go without necessary food for herself, that she might purchase little delicacies for him, such as a sick person craves. Once, when he expressed a desire for an orange, she took her last sixpence and went to the shop to get it for him, when she was so weak from hunger and watching that she could scarcely drag herself along. And O what a good, kind mother! what a grateful, dutiful son Howard should always be. But is he so? Step with me into his mother's cottage this cold December evening; I have heard that Mrs. Wiley is not well, and I would like to look in and see how she is getting on. The snow has fallen fast all day, and the air is now thick with the flakes, as they are driven about by the keen winter wind. There has no path been shovelled to-day from the gate to the door-no path to the woodhouse or to the well. Strange, when there is a stout boy of twelve years old about the house, that these things should be neglected. We will open the door and enter. There has been a bright fire on the hearth, but it is dying out now. Master Howard is seated in comfortable chair in the room, as near the chimney corner as possible, with the only candle drawn to his side of the table, reading intently a book full of pictures; while his mother, who looks thin and feeble, sits on a hard wooden chair, trying to see by the dim light to mend Howard's clothes. She remarks that the fire is going down, and there ought to be more wood brought in. Howard sits still and says not a word. Then she asks him gently if he will go out to the wood-house and bring in an armful of wood. He shrugs his shoulders, and says gruffly that "it is too cold ;" and he actually allows his sick, feeble mother to go out through the snow that stormy evening, and bring in wood to keep him warm. As you might suppose, she is worse the next day, and is obliged to keep her bed. She needs care and attention, but it is Saturday, and Howard wants to play, and he is out in the snow with the boys all day, never reflecting that his sick mother needs him at home; and were it not that some of her kind neighbours look in upon her, she would suffer for want of care. And in this way, day after day, Howard repays his mother's unwearied kindness to him. "Oh, wicked, ungrateful boy!" you all exclaim in horror. What would you think if I were to say to you, "Little boy and little girl, thou art the child!"" What had Howard's mother done for him that can at all be compared with what God has done, and is daily doing, for you? Who watches you day and night? Who takes care of you when you are sick, and raises you to health again? Who gives you every blessing and comfort you enjoykind parents, comfortable home, clothing, and food? Who gives you all these? And what sacrifice did Howard's mother make for him, that can at all compare with the sacrifice God has made for you? He gave his only and dearly-loved Son, who had always dwelt in his bosom, to come to this cold and cruel world, and live a life of suffering, and die a death of most cruel agony, to save you from going to everlasting punishment. And all the blessings and comforts you enjoy were purchased for you by the death of that same blessed Saviour: "There's not a blessing he bestows, But cost his heart a groan." And what does he ask in return for all this kindness and all this sacrifice? Simply that you should love him, trust in him, and obey him. He says kindly and sweetly to you, "My son, my daughter, give me thy heart." It is your love he wants in return for his great love and kindness to you. And if you love him you cannot help working for him. And the service of every little girl and boy is needed in the church of Christ. Now remember, if you do not give your heart at once to the Saviour, you are a thousand times more ungrateful than Howard Wiley is to his mother. Never dare to condemn him as wicked and undutiful, till you have attempted to do something for your Saviour, in return for all he has done for you. Far from her hearth, and then they turn'd Had left their home that morn, Food to procure; but wife and babes With her dear babes she tried to escape; They laid on stripes, because she tried The babes were from their mother's arms And up the river borne. And then her bonds she broke, Plunged in the water, swam away, And reach'd a distant rock. But soon, too soon, these savage men Their victim caught again, And scourged her back until the blood Left on the rock its stain. With manacles more tightly bound, They dragg'd their prize away Unto a ruin'd cabin near, To wait the coming day. She freed herself once more, Though more than threescore miles away, All dangers overcome; And ere the third morn's sun had risen, Ere these hard-hearted men Her soul by grief o'ercome, Oh, may the time ere long arrive JOHN DORE. The Cabinet. A QUESTION FOR THE TIMES.-WHAT SHALL I DO FOR JESUS? By James Smith, Cheltenham. We live in stirring times: everything almost is in motion. Mind is especially active, either for good or evil. We have many active spirits in the Church, but all are not active. We have many in our congregations who throw their energies into the Lord's cause, but there are many who do little or nothing. They have no idea what they could do. They never suspect how useful they may be. They have settled down with the opinion, that the cause of God will go on very well without them. Some of these excite our concern, some grieve us, and some get in our way and hinder us. Here is a question for every one such especially-a question for us all: What shall I do for Jesus? Reader! did you ever put this question to your conscience? Are you willing to do so now? It can do you no harm; it may do you good. But first ask, Did I ever do anything for Jesus? There are many things done in the Church, and by professors in the world, but they are not done for Jesus. There is some other object in view. The eye is not single. The heart is not true. The motive is not pure. Did you ever give yourself to the Lord? This is the first thing to be done. Jesus will not accept anything from you until you have given him yourself. His first request is, "My son, give me thine heart." Withhold from him the heart, and you withhold from him all. He will approve of nothing that you do. He will receive nothing from your hands. You are his enemy. You are in rebellion against him. You refuse to acknowledge his claims. You withhold his just rights. You grieve his loving heart. If you have not, let me beseech you to go to his throne, present yourself before him in the attitude of a suppliant, offer him your heart just as it is, saying, "Take my poor heart, just as it is, Set up therein thy throne; So shall I love thee above all, And live to thee alone." Having given him yourself, you may ask with Saul of Tarsus, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" And be sure that he has something for you to do, and something that no one will do so well |