such as no human education could discover or devise. The accounts in the Book of Genesis of the Deluge, the confusion of tongues, the history of Abraham, show God ruling in the moral, social, and political world as well as in the physical. The remaining Books of Moses again exhibit God's parental dealings with Israel His "first-born." The Book of Joshua presents them as the appointed executioners of God's righteous indignation against the cruel and unholy inhabitants of Canaan. In the Book of Judges, God still further represents, in large letters, the educational processes of His moral government of our fallen race by the example of His chosen people. The succeeding historical Books of Samuel, Kings, Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther carry it forward for the space of more than six hundred years. The Books of Ruth and Esther especially set forth, with great power and beauty, the duties, the prerogatives, and the true strength and nobleness of woman. The Books of Job, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and the Prophets form a magnificent chorus to the great drama of patriarchal and Jewish history, and enable us to fill in the details of social, domestic, and religious life. Then come the Gospels, bringing us close up to Him to Whom all sacred history had been tending and preparing, and all prophecy been pointing. In our Lessons for next year we purpose to begin with the account of the Creation in the Book of Genesis, and that of the Birth of Christ in the Gospel of St. Matthew; and to pursue consecutively the Old and the New Testament histories in parallel lines, the one in the morning, and the other in the afternoon, of every Sabbath in the year. SHINING HOURS. IT is a shining hour when the sun rises. At first, there is only a faint glimmering of light in the east; but, by degrees, it spreads over all the sky, gilding earth, mead, and tree. It is a shining hour when the sun, seated upon his midday throne, throws his beams directly down upon everything; drinking up the vapour, and infusing life throughout creation. It is a shining hour when the glorious ruler of the day doffs his crown behind the western hills, bathing them in splendour. But there are also shining hours of a very different character to those caused by the reflection of the natural sun upon our earth; shining hours emanating from social and domestic enjoyments. And how many of these beam brightly upon us, as we journey on through life! those sweet and precious seasons, when as links in the family-circle, when as parents or children, brothers or sisters, we cluster round the hearth, sharing in the cherished pleasures and privileges of home. Then are not those shining hours which are derived from friendship, which are spent in the society of one whose esteem and regard we prize with an ever-increasing fondness, and whose words and ways we treasure up in our hearts ? The meeting with some dearlyloved one, who has been separated from us, perhaps for years, the hour when we look once more upon that face, and feel again the warm pressure of that hand,—is indeed a shining one. There are likewise a number of other such, which both space and purpose here exclude from enumeration. with him a shining hour; when, disburdened for a moment of the weight of worldly care, his soul rises above the things of earth, and basks in the sunlight of God's countenance. Again, the Christian enjoys his shining hours in the sanctuary, where God speaks to him through the voice of His ministering servants, bidding him go forward, and blessing him with a delightful consciousness of His presence. Then are not all opportunities, whether of receiving or doing good, so many shining hours; the improvement or neglect of which we shall have to give a strict account in the day of final reckoning? And yet how many of these we abuse, forgetting their intrinsic value; forgetting that, once lost, they are lost for ever! Then let us each, hourly and daily, like the little busy bee, of which the poet sings so sweetly, "Improve each shining hour;" knowing that "the night cometh, when no man can work." a large Ragged Church and School, where a thousand and more of the "flotsam" and "jetsam" of society, in all their miserable wrecked appearance, are preached to by earnest, educated gentlemen. But our pair take no part in this service. In a smaller room than suffices for the large congregation, they find a little flock of perhaps a hundred, ranging from one year old to thirteen or fourteen. Smiles greet them on entry, and immediately, after shaking the hands of one or two of the elder children, they begin their morning's business. The daughter marks down the principal names, and while she is doing so the father walks round, speaks to, and recognizes, the children individually, shaking their hands, or patting them on the shoulder according to their age. By the time this is over every face smiles like the sun in winter. The father knows how the sick ones are, and he has received two or three requests for prayer for "mother," who is ill; "father," who is out of work; or "little Nelly," or "Tommy," who has had no breakfast; or "Johnny," who wants shoes. Now, for the first time, a small biscuit is given to each "babe" under five years of age. likely to be useful in after years, as well as comprehensible now. This is rehearsed three or four times, line by line, by the whole congregation; then those who know it come forth, and repeat it to the preacher. The address is simple, and the illustrations suited to the capacity of the hearers. Another hymn succeeds, of a spirited measure; then the father prays, and the doxology, sung, closes the service. The remaining biscuits (the smallest babes having, perhaps, received half-a-dozen in the course of the service, to keep them quiet) are then distributed to the audience, those who said the text receiving two extra; and the happy congregation depart; having, it is believed, spent a profitable hour. The audience is very fluctuating; (only about a moiety being regular attendants;) so much so, that it is believed above six hundred different children appear from time to time during the year. Not because they do not wish to come, but because "father" or "mother" will not be disturbed from his or her Sundaymorning slumber: sometimes an extra indulgence for hard labour during the week, but more often the result of intemperance on the Saturday night. Although these labourers, father and daughter, are amply rewarded in their own souls for what they do, they often get doubly blessed. Within the last few months three of their lambs went to heaven one between five and six years of age, with such a sure and certain hope of everlasting bliss, that her family could not but admire her patience, and wish to meet her "around the throne of God in heaven," where "thousands of children stand," as she told them in her last hymn of praise on earth. Service begins. A simple hymn of praise, repeated verse by verse by the children, is led by the daughter; then prayer, suited to the children's capacity, follows, it being repeated line by line, as it comes from the mouth of the father. This prayer of praise, thanks, and solicitation, though not long, embraces all their little interests; and that it is appreciated is proved by the fact that one day, when the daughter was ill, and the father had to take part in the "large" service, a stranger being appointed for the "lambs," a chorus of voices complained afterwards that they had not been allowed to pray. The other instance was more singular. Another hymn follows, then biscuits A father who boasted of "making no to the babes again, and the " "" sermon professions," had a boy of five summers begins; the text chosen being one ill. The child had never been to any school. At midnight he told his sorrowing parents he was about to die, and asked them to read of Jesus, and to pray. The father loved his boy, though he did not care for his Saviour or his God. So, to ease his suffering child, he drew forth the great familyBible and the prayer - book, dusted them, and father and mother read alternately until the little, loving, longing spirit departed, between three and four o'clock in the morning, to be "for ever with the Lord." The father had studiously kept the child ignorant; but a little playmate only a year or so older, and a Sunday-school scholar, though he could not bring the child to school, had brought him to Jesus by following in the footsteps of the teacher he loved. More we could relate, but we think we have shown enough to prove that even an hour devoted to "one of these little ones" brings its reward. TREASURES. F. THERE is an amazing inclination in the human heart to set a high value on little things. Indeed we often esteem valuable articles, less for their intrinsic worth, than for the associations that linger around them. Little things! ah! they are not to be despised as we look at them, or as we recall them. It might be only the warm, affectionate pressure of a hand, but it was when our hearts yearned for sympathy, and that touch spoke it; it was, perchance, only a glance from an expressive eye, but it told its tale, and how we dwell on it; it might be a petition offered in some earnest prayer, but it was for us, and the remembrance is valuable, for it leads us to wait patiently on the Lord, and rest on His promise; or it might be a book brought to cheer a lonely hour, or a bunch of flowers to decorate our sick-room; it might be only "the " but little word in kindness spoken: what matters ? The thought manifested, the attention shown, the kind affection of the bestower, ever lives in memory; and many, many a loving thought we send after him, and many a prayer we breathe for rich blessings to rest upon his head. Then, too, what tokens we keep and reckon amongst our treasures. We should hesitate to expose them to the view of a stranger, who would but smile at our supposed folly, or consider the collecting of such a strange medley the sign of approaching dotage. And yet likely enough he himself has some drawer in his escritoir, or some box in his cabinet, that contains what to him is inestimably dear, but what to us would be worthless as the dust at our feet. And what makes the difference? It is nothing but the power of association. What memories arise at the sight of these trifles! each has its little history, each brings to recollection some one who formerly moved in our circle, with whom we had daily or occasional intercourse; in whose society we delighted, but who is no longer with us; yet will their names never die, for here is their token. In these modern days, the fashion extensively prevails of exchanging photographs. This is pleasant; but, after a few earnest looks, (perchance a sigh to the memory of the hours of communion now ceased,) and with a starting tear, we place it in an album, proud and grateful to add it to our "collection," and valuing it for the sake of the giver; yet nobody thinks it a breach of politeness to open our album. But who would presume to unlock our desks, or turn over our drawers? These trifling treasures are more exclusively our own. The likenesses in the album many may recognize; they have seen the same faces, been associated in the same circle, and possibly fancy they have as much real interest in the originals as we have ourselves but let any one take from our collection this withered spray, and they would scarcely gather from it that it was once a pretty bunch of forget-me-nots; or, if they distinguished that, what would they know of its history? They never saw the laughing, merry child whose tiny hands plucked it, and brought it as a bribe wherewith to coax a story; neither would they know how the little one was "broke by sickness in a day," and, ere the flower she plucked had withered, the happy spirit was with the "thousands of children” “around the throne of God in heaven." But we are not going to display all our treasures at present, yet would we linger over one. Can you picture it? It is a tiny book-marker, bearing only the words, "Jesus wept." The card is spotted and broken, the scarlet silk with which it was worked is faded, the ribbon at the back (once pure white) is now yellow with age, yet is the little thing highly prized. It was the gift of a Sunday-scholar to her teacher; it was the first gift that teacher had so received. She had been labouring in the Master's service for some few years; her affections clinging round the members of her class,-her whole soul in her work,-her heart's desire and prayer was that the children 66 'might be saved." But when ?-she did not know, she had no expectation of present results; when, one Sabbathmorning, a girl, the most quiet and reserved in the class, one who seldom answered a question, and never volunteered a remark, at the close of the chapel-service, stayed behind the rest of the scholars, and, approaching her teacher, said, "Teacher, don't think it a liberty, but I have made this for you; I did it myself, for, O teacher, I'm so sorry, but I'm going away!" and then a flood of tears checked her utterance. Controlling her own emotion, the teacher at once made an arrangement for a private interview with her pupil, and for the first and only time was made the confidant of the child's joys and sorrows. The young heart had been touched with the story of the family at Bethany; the love and sympathy of Jesus seemed uppermost in her thoughts: "How very nice to have Him for a Friend," she said: and again, "I hope I shall never forget that I may tell Jesus all my troubles; He is such a kind Friend." Then, taking hold of the black dress of her teacher, she added, "I put those words on the marker, because I thought they might sometimes comfort you, and I should be so glad!" Dear child! the next Sabbath her place in the class was vacant, and against her name in the class-book was written the one word, "Removed." A few Sabbaths passed, and a new scholar occupied the seat; a few more, and the page of the class-book was turned over, and the names of the members of the class were re-written; and, as the secretary handed the teacher her book, it was not without a tear she noticed that the name of "Margaret" was omitted. But the place she filled in her teacher's heart was never occupied by another: against her name there was written, "Cherished;" and amongst the names inscribed on the pages of her memory, that name of "Margaret" has never been omitted; no, rather "memory has turned it down." But we must close the treasurebox: another time more of the histories contained there may be brought to light. To cheer a lonely hour, encourage a fellow teacher, or comfort a mourner, and, above all, to glorify God, we would no longer hug them in secret, gratifying ourselves by once and again "bedewing them with tears," or "embalming with sighs," but "to do good and to communicate" would forget not." LILLIE. |