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Go from the presence of a foolish man, when thou perceivest not in him the lips of knowledge, Prov. xiv. 7.

My young friends, attend particularly to these words. Have no communication with an ungodly world but what is unavoidable. Some you must have, none can deny that: but, as you prize your own souls, as you value your eternal hopes, have no unnecessary intercourse with such as know not the Lord Jesus Christ. We are always injured or benefited by every society into which we enter, and by every individual with whom we hold communion. It is a natural propensity, ever inherent in man, to he unceasingly desirous of engraving his own image on the heart of every one he associates with, and of delineating his own mind in the mind of his companions. Do not, I entreat you, meddle too much with the world. Act with regard to it as you would do in a shower of rain, when you put on your great coat and button it close, and take your umbrella, and, having protected yourself as well as possible, go through your business with all the speed you can. You never go out into the rain to loiter about for amusement or pleasure. 2 Cor. vi. 14-18; 1 Cor. xv. 33.—Bowels.

Unnecessary connexion with the wicked is forbidden for a moment; how much more then for life! There are many who are now smarting beneath the consequences of being united to one who is irreligious.—Ibid.


jEStrs in thy memory keep,
Wouldst thou be God's child and friend:

Jesus in thy heart shrined deep-
Still thy gaze on Jesus bend.

In thy toiling, in thy resting,

Look to him with every breath,

Look to Jesus' life and death.

Look to Jesus, till, reviving,

Faith and love thy life-springs swell;

Strength for all things good deriving
From him who did all things well.

* By Franze'n, Bishop of Hernosand, Sweden, from "The Voice of Christian Life in Song."

Work, as he did, in thy season,
Works which shall not fade away:
Work while it is called to-day.

Look to Jesus, prayerful, waking,
When thy feet on roses tread:

Follow, worldly pomp forsaking,
With thy cross, where he hath led.

Look to Jesus in temptation:

Baffled shall the tempter flee;

And God's angels come to thee.

Look to Jesus, when dark lowering

Perils thy horizon dim;
By that band in terror cowering.

Calm 'mid tempests, look on him.
Trust in him who still rebuketh
Wind and billow, fire and flood:
Forward, brave by trusting God.

Look to Jesus when distressed:
See what he, the Holy, bore:

Is thy heart with conflict pressed?
Is thy soul still harassed sore?

See his sweat and blood, his conflict;

Watch his agony increase;

Hear his prayer, and feel his peace.

By want's fretting thorns surrounded.
Does long pain press forth thy sighs?

By ingratitude deep wounded,
Does a scornful world despise?

Friends forsake thee or deny thee?

See what Jesus must endure,

He who as the light was pure.

Look to Jesus still to shield thee

When no longer thou may'st live:
In that last need he will yield thee
Peace the world can never give.
Look to him, thy head low bending:
He who finished all for thee
Takes thee then with him to be.




Many years ago, in a yery lonely and sequestered part of the country, lived a pious farmer. His house was at a considerable distance from any other habitation; and the place of worship he constantly attended on the Lord's day was some miles from the farm.

The usual practice of the farmer was to require the whole of his household to accompany him to public worship

August, 1862".

every Sunday, with the exception of one member of it, who remained at home to keep house and attend to a few necessary duties, which, however, he took care should be as light as possible on the day of rest. This duty was taken in turns by himself, his wife, his servants, and his children, when these were old enough to be trusted by themselves.

In addition to, or rather as a setoff against, its loneliness, the farm was situated in a district remarkable for the simplicity and honesty of its scattered population, and for the peaceful quiet which reigned around. Deeds of violence or flagrant wrong-doing were almost unknown and unheard of, so that it never even entered the thoughts of the simple-minded farmer that there was the slightest danger to his property in leaving it, through the greater part of a whole day, so indifferently protected.

One summer's Sunday, the only remaining occupant in the farm was the farmer's younger daughter, Mary, who was now thought old enough to be left. She had stood at the farm-yard gate, watching the departure of the other members of the family as they drove off to the sabbath services, in the l.ight wagon, drawn by a strong horse, which, we may observe, had been exempted from work on the previous day, that he might not be deprived of his weekly day's rest. When she had taken the last glance at them as they wended their way over a neighbouring hill, she returned to the house to occupy the hours of her solitude in reading the Bible, and other books of a serious cast, with which the single book-shelf of the old farm-house was scantily furnished.

It was the first Sunday that Mary had been left in this

important charge; and we may very well believe that she

was too elated at finding herself in this position of trust,

• to be overcome by her present loneliness and unprotected

ne s.

Possibly the child would have demurred at the idea of loneliness and unprotectedness. She had been brought up {n the full assurance and belief that God is everywhere present; how then could she be alone? She was as firmly persuaded that he takes care of all who put their trust in him; what, therefore, had she to fear?

We are incorrect, moreover, in saying, that Mary was either altogether lonely or unprotected. Were there not tfie fowls and cattle in the farm-yard, with which she had a friendly understanding? And was not the great dog, Rover, left with her as a guard of honour?

And eo, feeling neither lonely nor timid, Mary quietly sat herself down before the old family Bible and employed herself a full hour in reading some of its old-world marvellous histories, with a belief in them so firm and strong, that it would have put to shame the weaker faith of many an older Christian. She knew nothing of the modern scepticism which attempts to reduce these histories to myths or fables.

The sun was shining brightly through the diamondshaped windows of the room in which the child sat; and, somewhat tired of inaction, she put on her bonnet, and went into the garden beyond, carefully closing the gate against Eover, who was following her close behind, because of a bad habit he had of scratching up the flower borders. How long she remained there she had not a very exact idea afterwards; for, after walking to and fro on the garden paths, thinking, among other things, of what she had been reading, she sat down in a shady arbour, and fell soundly asleep.

It was past noon, 'certainly, before she awoke; Mary could tell this by looking at the sun, and, surprised at the rapid passing away of time, as well as reproaching herselt for her waste of it, she hastened back to the house. She felt hungry too, and remembered that her usual dinner hour was past.

She had spread a little table, and was about to sit down in solitary state to her simple meal, when, looking through the window, she saw two strangers approaching the house through the farm-yard. They were not prepossessing in appearance, as the child afterwards described them; for they were dirty, unshaven, and haggard. But Mary only gathered from these signs that the two men were probably poor and tired and hungry; and, though she was rather surprised that any person, however poor and distressed, should choose the Lord's day for travelling, her compassion was excited; and she was glad to exercise the customary hospitality of the country, for which her parents especially were distinguished. Hastening to the door, therefore, she threw it wide open, and invited the strangers to enter. She knew that her parents would have done this, for it was a standing motto with them which they religiously observed, "Be not forgetful to entertain

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