thoroughly neat and respectable; but you can be all that without being wasteful and extravagant.' And missus told me she wanted me to think about giving a little away sometimes, because, if I learned nothing from her but saving, it would make me very selfish indeed. And I think she's right, Harriet," continued Mary. "We're ready enough to receive favours from rich folks; look at all the trouble and expense the mothers' meeting is to Mrs. Maudsley, and think of the free sittings in places of worship that are put ready for us; and when we've a chance of sparing a little for them that's worse off than ourselves, we shouldn't think it a trouble but a pleasure."

"You're right, Mrs. Todd; very right," exclaimed a voice behind them, and, as both women started and turned round, they saw the town-missionary. "Now, Mr. Davis, how can you tell she's right, when you've scarcely leard a word she's said!" cried Harriet.

I

"I heard enough to know that she thinks the poor ought to give, according to their power, as well as the rich," replied Mr. Davis; "and I say she is a wise woman. have had my own thoughts on the subject for some time," he continued, "but the other day a book was lent to me, in which they are set down so plainly and clearly, that I should like to read you a few words. I have it in my pocket now; will it be interfering with any work if I come into your house for five minutes, Mrs. Todd, and then Mrs. Russell can hear for herself?" In another minute Mary Todd had unlocked her door and put chairs for her visitors, and Mr. Davis, taking from his pocket a lecture "On the Duty of Giving," read as follows: But, at all events, you would not apply your rule to the poor. Certainly not to the destitute. But, rising above those who need help, upon whom do you fix as poor? The man who can afford to spend money on whiskey or tobacco, is he poor? The woman who can afford to spend money on needless fineries, | is she poor? It would be no small blessing if some of those who are continually telling the poor that they are too

poor to do any good, would stand out of the way of the poor. It is the worst thing you can do to pauperise a man ; it is a great service to teach him to save something and to give something. When one sees how the poor tax themselves by waste, by hurtful luxuries, by ill-spent time, how often, then, spare money, not pre-engaged for good ends, is the cause of their ruin, one feels indignant at those self-constituted friends of theirs, who would protect them from the calls of generosity. There was One who had Did he think it a pity that

known poverty from the manger. the widow should give away her two mites? or did he tell Mary that the exceedingly costly box of ointment was too much for one of her means? He who delights in mercy has never yet denied to the poor the joy of giving. Who dare degrade the working men by telling them they are to look on themselves as meant only to feed their own wants ?"

"It's very pretty reading," said Harriet, "and I'm sure one thing's right that it says, and that's about people taxing themselves; it does put me about to see our Thomas burn sixpennyworth of baccy every week, for that's no good to anyone."

"No good, indeed," said the missionary, "but a great deal of harm. Now could you not tell him about what I have been reading, and say to him that you are willing to deny yourself some little indulgence, perhaps in dress," and Mr. Davis glanced significantly at a bunch of bright flowers which very much disfigured the front of Harriet's bonnet-"if he will give up his pipe; then you would have a little fund both for saving and giving. I know a poor widow who spares a penny a week to the missionary-box, and she has told me many times that she is never any poorer for what she gives to the Lord. But then she has given her own self to him first. She has found the Saviour to be, in her deep poverty and widowhood, a sure Comforter and Friend; and she puts her gratitude to him into practice by trying to do a little for his cause; will you not follow her example?" We hear of Christ's wonderful kindness in giving

up all his riches for us, how is it that we often grudge him the smallest gift in return. Dear friends, especially those who profess to have been bought with this costly price, let us determine, for one year, to taste the sweet pleasure of denying ourselves for his sake, and for the sake of those who are worse off than ourselves. We could not easily return to the unsatisfying, cheerless life of those who live unto themselves.

Best and Peace.

"The Lord direct your hearts into the love of God."-2 Thess. iii. 5.

HOU hidden love of God, whose height,

Those depth unfathomed, no man knows;

I see from far Thy beauteous light,
Inly I sigh for thy repose:

My heart is pained, nor can it be
At rest, till it finds rest in Thee.

'Tis mercy all, that Thou hast brought
My mind to seek her peace in Thee;
Yet while I seek, but find Thee not,
No peace my wandering soul shall see;
O when shall all my wanderings end,
And all my steps to Thee-ward tend!

Is there a thing beneath the sun

That strives with Thee my heart to share?
Ah! tear it thence, and reign alone,

The Lord of every motion there;

Then shall my heart from earth be free,
When it hath found repose in Thee.

O Love, Thy sovereign aid impart,
To save me from low-thoughted care;
Chase this self-will through all my heart,
Through all its latent mazes there;
Make me Thy duteous child, that I
Ceaseless may Abba, Father, cry!

TERSTEEGEN.

Listening to the Tempter.

URELY in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird." But what if the bird won't see the net? Or, seeing it, does not heed it? Or, heeding it, does not understand it? The net, indeed, may be spread in the sight of the bird: but what does the bird care? The tempting bait is there; and the bird will have it. The net itself is despised and disregarded. What bird of spirit will care for that? The twine of which it is made is so weak, and the meshes are so large, that escape will be easy. The birdcatcher, indeed, when he is in sight, is a hindrance; but when the net is set and the fowler gone, what is to prevent the bird from flying down, cautiously at first, then more boldly, then settling on the convenient twigs placed for this very purpose, then attacking the bait; and then, oh, poor fluttering captive! How, too late, it strives to be once more free! Too late too late!

But we think ourselves "of more value than many sparrows;" and so we are. We think ourselves wiser than the cunningest bird that ever cleaves the air: and so we ought to be. God has "made us wiser than the fowls of heaven;" and shall we then be as stupid as they?

As stupid? Wonderfully more so are we too often: