The more the Christian enjoys of his God, the more he is concerned to bring others to enjoy the same.

Every trial says, Go to Jesus: go now.

The Lord may lead you round, but he will lead you right.

Go to God as a sinner, if you question your right to go in any other character: he always receiveth sinners.

In every company, remember you profess to be a member of Christ, a son of God, a temple of the Holy Ghost.

Christ left the cross and went to glory, that you might take it and follow after him.

Growing Christians are little in their own eyes: grown Christians are less than nothing.

He that thinks much of himself is standing at a great distance from God. Out of self, into Christ.

We generally think better of ourselves than we are willing to acknowledge.

Say not, I have no right to the blessings of the gospel. Do you desire them? If so, God says, Take them.

A desire to love Christ springs from the love of Christ to us.

Whatever you do for the Lord, do in the name of the Lord; that is, referring to his authority, expecting his blessing, and seeking his honour.

Wait on the Lord, he will supply you: wait for the Lord, he will deliver you.

The Lord thinks nothing too good for you, if it will make you holy; or too great, if you can use it to his praise.

When you are quite content to bear what God has laid upon you, he will soon remove it, or show you that it is a real blessing to you.

M

The Patchwork Quilt.

ORNING school was over in a large village in the north of England, and the teacher was about to dismiss her pupils. More than a hundred girls were present, with various tempers and disposi

tions, of which the teacher had some experience.

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Children," said she, "the lady at the Mount has sent to ask if we can make a quilt for her. We have no work on hand just now. Who volunteers ?"

The children knew what "volunteers" meant; it is a pleasant word everywhere, and never more pleasant and pretty than on the forms at school. Up went every hand.

"All!” said Miss Gardner; "that is, of course, all who can work. A quantity of chintz and print has been sent to me, and I have spent many of my evenings in forming a design for the quilt, which, when done, I think you will like. I have also selected your different portions to work up, each numbered according to your places and abilities as I have been led to understand them. Keep all neat and clean in your bags until each piece is finished, and then let me have them."

The girls then went up to receive each her roll of material; and to soothe the disappointment of younger ones not yet able to sew neatly enough, Miss Gardner announced to them her ability to teach the knitting of a pretty fringe, which, if they chose, should adorn the edges of the quilt. This was satisfactory, and Miss Gardner's stock of knittingpins was soon in use. Of course the girls took the first opportunity of examining their pieces. There were many colours, shapes, and sizes, with papers cut in curious forms, on which the chintz was to be tacked before sewing together. Various exclamations might be heard as the rolls were compared.

"Dear, dear! what pretty flowers!-what a lovely rose !" "What curious pieces mine are!" "What dingy bits I've got!" "Why mine are such shabby old things I'm sure they

can't be any good.

There's Fanny with the best and nicest

of them all-what a shame!"

"No, no, teacher knows best," said little Kate Blythe; "mine are not very pretty, to be sure, but they want to be done very carefully, I can see; so the work must make up for the ugliness, you know." And the little maid, laughing merrily, scampered off with her bag.

"Here, Janey, look at these nasty dingy bits," said Lizzy Grumble to a girl who stood by swinging her bag, and looking defiant and mischievous.

"They're like mine, something," said Janey, contemptuously; "as if bits of brown stuff like this could make anything fit to be seen. I shan't do it! Mine will get lost, I expect, before they are wanted." And Janey Careless

made her way home.

"Here, Lizzy, lend me a needle, will you? Where's your school-bag, child ?" And in a minute or two the school-bag was being searched for the needle-book by Mrs. Grumble's not over scrupulous hands.

"Well, I do say she makes you keep things in their proper places," said Mrs. Grumble, threading a needle with the school cotton: "I want scissors too. But what's them bits of stuff for ?" And she tossed out the roll of patches.

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"Don't, mother," said Lizzy, peevishly, scrambling them up; they're for a quilt. Annie Scott and ever so many of the girls have got such pretty flowers to do, and I've only got these old bits. I don't care to do them."

"Why have they got pretty bits and you ugly ones ?" said the mother. "Are they favourites? 'Cause no teacher oughtn't to show favour and make a difference amongst her girls. If she does, I wouldn't put up with it if I was you." "She'll be angry if I don't do them,” said Lizzy. “I wish I needn't go to school."

This was a view of the case not at all acceptable to Mrs. Grumble, for she knew that it was to her interest, in many ways, to send her children to school.

"Well, p'r'aps it's a mistake," suggested she.

"You can take them back to her, and say she's given you the wrong ones."

Lizzie agreed to do so rather than take the trouble of making the best of her work.

"Please, teacher," said she, boldly, "mother thinks you've made a mistake, because these aren't fit for patchwork. I should like to do some of the pretty flowers, like Fanny's."

"You often think I make mistakes, I fear, Lizzie,” said the teacher; "but they are all right, and I hope you will think so too when finished."

"They're so ugly," muttered Lizzy.

"We are not all pretty," said Miss Gardner, smiling; "but I hope we may find our right place, and fit into it, for all that."

Lizzy said she hated ugly things, and privately suggested to Janey Careless that of all ugly things Miss Gardner was the ugliest in the world.

Mrs. Grumble had enough to say upon the improper partiality of the teacher, and added it to her list of grievances, with a strong inclination to "speak her mind” upon it.

She was an ill-used person, this Mrs. Grumble. She was not rich, like Mrs. Hart of the Mount; nor "looked up to," like the parson's wife; nor loved like Mrs. Dale, the mission nurse, whom everybody was running after-though those who needed and valued her most were just those who could not run, but who longed for a sight of her cheerful face and the touch of her kind hand in their pain and weakness. And yet Mrs. Grumble was as good as any of them! Why should she be trodden down instead of being looked up to? she wished to know. Why should she be only a poor woman-a Mrs. Nobody-while other people, not half so deserving, were Mrs. Somebodies? she would like to ask. And she did ask very often, but seemed to get no particular light on the subject. The mystery was descending to her children, who were always in some way the victims of other

people's want of discernment; and they were gradually forming the idea that some great injury and injustice had been inflicted upon their family, of which somebody ought to be ashamed, though the real offender could never be exactly pointed out. If any one had suggested to Mrs. Grumble that she was really quarrelling with God, she would have been shocked; or if told that her own ways might contain the secret, she would have been indignant.

Time passed the patchwork was handed up; and all, excepting those who took a holiday, worked together to combine the whole, which, as yet, could only be seen wrong side up on the teacher's large work-table. Janey and Lizzy took holiday.

"You shall see it entire to-morrow, dear girls," said Miss Gardner to her busy little workwomen, "and can help me to sew on the lining, which is to be of pink gingham.”

When the school assembled the next afternoon the quilt was hanging by one side across the room suspended to a cord, and a general exclamation of surprise and pleasure arose. In the centre was a beautiful group of flowers, excepting, as a closer inspection showed, that, strange to say, a large hole came next to a white lily. Then a wreath of smaller flowers surrounded the group, excepting that it was short of something which should have united a bunch of "forget-me-nots" to a flowing fuchsia, the corresponding portion on the opposite side showing that the vacancy should have been filled up with ivy leaves. Here and there a square was missing from the white ground of the quilt; and the border, a broad, handsome pattern, formed of brown, blue, and gold colours, was short of a corner.

The young workers looked at the quilt and at each other, and at their teacher.

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Something is wrong, we can all see," said she. "Now I will call the names, point to each girl's work, and we shall find out whose is missing." Pointing with her long wand, she began: "Fanny Dale, roses and green leaves." "Yes,