Those who are well, often think that we invalids have nothing to do with the outside world, and are, therefore, much less exposed to temptation. It is true, indeed, that many things which excite and affect those in health do not reach our quiet sick-room; but if life, with its various events, passes us by, on the other hand, we have battles to fight, and duties to perform, which they know nothing of. For invalids, things assume unnaturally large proportions. We are so easily dismayed by any misfortune. How helplessly we sink when our props fail us! In our weakness, any duty to which we are unequal seems doubly trying. Small efforts appear great to us who are always ill, and great ones impossible. And yet these very duties and temptations, which are entirely removed in cases of acute illness, are most salutary for chronic invalids. Those who have only a few weeks' illness before them can afford to give themselves up entirely to suffering. But it is otherwise when we have to spend a whole lifetime in a sick-room. We want to gain strength of mind; and for this end the various events of life are the best tonic. We should become too sensitive, and too much taken up with ourselves, if we had only to bear our bodily pains. The battle of life nerves the heart. We do not wish to avoid it, nor to be shielded from every excitement, but to have one steady aim before us; and by a firm, quiet trust in God, to keep our souls wide open to His influence; then He will pour His strength into our hearts, and we shall become so strong and brave that our friends will have no need anxiously to spare us the news of any sad events. No, they can tell us everything, and we can be a support to them, through God's strength, which is mighty in our weakness. "The Son of God goes forth to war, Who best can drink His cup of woe. 、 II. "Calm in my hour of buoyant health, Be calm, and again be calm! I should like to repeat to myself and all invalids. Be calm, not only amid great events, but amid small ones also. If we once give way to excitement, in joy or grief, we are undone. Strained nerves and throbbing veins get the better of us, and we can no longer control ourselves. How hurtful may even smal pleasures and surprises be to us, if we do not keep quiet and still; and what grievous pain we may often suffer from trifling causes, such as noise, want of fresh air, and simil discomforts. If these things cannot be remedied, we must make up our minds to bear them quietly and cheerfuly, and not become unhappy or sentimental over our sad state, else we shall never be able to endure it. "Fretting cures no ills, they say; III. "Do it, and it will be done." If anything is required of us sufferers, which is difficult for us, either bodily or mentally, we must attack it at orca with spirit and energy. An upward glance, a silent prayer, will help our weakness and supply the necessary resolution, and readiness to do or suffer the will of God will give us the cheerfulness of spirit which we so much need. Al delay and reflection on our incapacity make the task douby ↑ hard. Even a painful bodily movement is easier to make, if we do it with courage and decision, than if we hesitate anxiously. What a help is good courage, for every und-?taking, to us chronic invalids who cannot escape all the changes and chances of life! If we dare something now and then, without being too anxious about the consequences, even taking into c account increased suffering, we may make possible much that is apparently impossible. I need not say we must LA neglect necessary precautions. "Awake, our souls! Awake our fears! Let every trembling thought be gone; IV. "The wasted cheek will oft assume A hue that rivals health's fair bloom. When visitors enter our sick-rooms, we chronic invalils do not give them such an impression of suffering as one who is passing through an acute illness; the quick frå rises to our cheeks, our eyes sparkle with pleasure at seeing our kind friends, and the more the visit excites us the more bright and cheerful we appear. Then people say, with astonishment, "You do not look at all ill! you seem so we and blooming!" That hurts our feelings. Ah, we think, they do not suspect how exhausted we shall be afterward, a=! with what pain we shall pay the penalty of this exertion We bear it willingly enough; we call it happy pain, and it brings its own healing balm in the fresh interest and slight mental stir which the intercourse with our visitor has brought; but it wounds our feelings when we hear ourselves spoken of as being so well, while illness is pressing so heavily upon us. Let us have patience, however, with these people. Ther know no better, and mean well-perhaps think they ar saying something cheering to us. Their misunderstanding is natural, for they are deceived by appearances, because w try to show them a happy and cheerful face, even when in pain, and, not liking to talk much of our sufferings, are careful not to complain. But they will more willingly come us, if we give them pleasant impressions, and we can easily bear to be misunderstood, while we can flee to our Saviour and whisper to Him, "Lord, Thou knowest." There are many other things in which we who are sick appear riddles to the strong and healthy. The fetters of sickness sometimes bind us so fast that not even the loving heart can break them. For instance, we may happen to receive the visit of a dear friend just at a time when we are feeling quite unequal to the exertion. We grieve, indeed, over these fetters, but we must bear them submissively. I must say, however, that we invalids are apt to be too reserved and too easily cast down, and to think we are misunderstood or forgotten, when this is far from being the case. The better we understand people, and the more justly we think of them, the better shall we be understood and judged by them. Let us, with child-like confidence, put away all anxious fears and bitterness, even though we may have had şad experiences and illusions in this respect. We will still love, for we live in the love of our God. "My God, whose gracious pity I may claim, "From human eyes 'tis better to conceal So the breath of Spring returning RELIGION FOUND IN AFFLICTION. THERE are those to whom a sense of religion has come in storm and tempest; there are those whom it has summoned amid scenes of revelry and idle vanity; there are those, too, who have heard its "still, small voice" amid rural leisure and placid contentment. But perhaps the knowledge which causeth not to err, is more frequently impressed upon the mind during seasons of affliction; and tears are the softened showers which cause the seed of heaven to spring and take root in the human breast.-Sir W. Scott, in "The Monastery." PRAYER AND HOPE. That brings my Saviour's help and power; But should His plan of love for me FOREST TEACHINGS. WHAT solemn stillness reigns around, While trembling leaves on every sid Repeat, through all the sunless air, "We keep the holy Passion-tide." But lo beneath the April shower, The trees put forth a tender green, With smiles of violet's eyes between; New beauty clothes each tree and flower. The forest now hath found a voice, The choir of birds sing loud o'erhead; Rejoice, ye sons of men, rejoice! Christ hath arisen from the dead. PASSED BY. THE Angel of Death hath passed me by, Too gently he kissed my brow, alas! As with outstretched wing I saw him pass; Yet why too soon should I covet rest, EARNEST LONGING. Now the breath of Spring returning, LITTLE FOXES. SPEAKING of Solomon's "little foxes that spoil the vines," as illustrative of the character of small sins, Grosart says: "Except to those who know their habits, the Eastern fox, especially the young or 'little fox,' never would be suspected to be such a depredator. I remember that when I was shown one, it was with the greatest difficulty I could persuade myself that the little, very little creature-not larger than a jerboa, or our common kitten-playing with the deft football about its cage, and with its intelligent eye, really was the destructive spoiler represented. It so happened, however, that the keeper of the gardens where it was, on coming round to arrange its crib, made a discovery that satisfied me of the character, or no character, of the very 'little' deceiver before me. Lifting up the floor straw he discovered a deep-burrowed hole that went right beneath the separating wall of the adjoining den, a tiger's; and with a start, examining it, the peeper found that another hour of secret working would have overthrown the wall, and let loose the fierce beast of prey. The whole had been done within a few hours. Those 'little' grayish-white feet, licked pure and clean of all betraying soil, and that little' sharp nose, so innocent and pitiful-looking,' had done their stealthy work, and appalling might have been the issue. I remember well how, as the littered concealing straw was raised, the consciously guilty 'little' hypocrite slunk back with drooped brush into the corner." ANY spiritual blessing is worth more than the most costly temporal good. A devout thought, a pious desire, a holy purpose, is better than a great estate or an earthly kingdom. In eternity it will amount to more to have given a cup of cold water with right motives to an humble servant of God than to have been flattered by a whole generation.-Dr. Plumer. FALL IS COMING. BY MRS. T. C. FEREBEC. SEE! the Winter pinks are budding, And the sweet-gum leaves are turning Rusty brown and winey purple on the ground, And the bright breast of the robin 'Mongst the holly leaves is shining Close beside the crimson berries clust'ring round; While the balmy breeze is fragrant With the breath of Autumn roses without being pendent; the teeth generally fine and regular; the growth of hair comparatively luxuriant. The greater part of the men shave a portion of the beard, and some them are totally destitute of beard. The women are generally small, with delicate hands and feet. Men and women go naked to the waist. The women ornament their necks with rows of beads, and display much taste in the selection of colors. "The villages of the Mpongwé contrast strongly with the usual filthy condition of African towns. The huts, Opening fresh, 'mid frost-drops glitt'ring like a bead; built of a kind of palm-tree called enim ba, present a reguHung with mosses gray the laurel, While the trumpet-vines are tangled 'Neath the weight of clust'ring pods of poison-seed. Yet we welcome Indian Summer, With its dreamy, hazy weather, And its long and lingering shadows reaching o'er Fields of ferns and fennels faded Under clouds all neutral-tinted Autumn's grasses grown are gathered into store. Now the partridge calls together All his scattered brood, and leads it In the nearest fleld of yellow-crested corn; And she seeks anew for shelter 'Neath the grasses bent, a cover From the chilly, frosty winds of night and morn. All in Nature seems assenting To the general neutral-tinting Of the many mixing colors scatter'd round; For the very smoke that rises Is so satisfied and sober That it soon returns and settles on the ground. Fall is coming! Fall is coming! For the crimson leaves are falling, And are blown and whirled and heaped in many a mound; And we note that, 'mid the beauty, In all of Nature's gathering God's own finger-touches everywhere abound. THE MPONGWES OF THE GABOON. THE river Gaboon (or, as the natives at its mouth style it, the Mpongwé) falls into the Atlantic almost under the equator. At its mouth, and for some forty miles upward, it has a breadth of nine or ten miles, and a depth of from ten to sixty feet. It seems probable, however, that it is an estuary rather than a long and powerful river, as it was once supposed to be. Some forty-five years ago the French established a fortified factory near the mouth of the Gaboon, and by 1867 had obtained from the native chiefs a cession of about 8,000 square miles of territory. There were at this time 1,000 French troops at the post; but these were withdrawn during the Franco-German war; and in 1874 there were no French authorities there except the naval officers on the station, whose commander acted as Governor. The settlement is especially interesting as a missionary station, there being French, English, German, Portuguese and American missionaries there. The American missionaries at Gaboon are especially active. They have reduced the Mpongwé language to writing, and it is taught grammatically in their schools. Our illustrations of the Mpongwés belong to a period a few years ago rather than to the present. We abridge an account of them given in the French Revue Coloniale: "The Mpongwe is generally tall and well-proportioned, his well-developed muscles betokening great strength. The eyes are fine and expressive; the nose small and flattened; the mouth moderately large; the lower lip thick, lar and cheerful appearance. One or two large couches, made of the branches of the palm-tree, serve for both seats and beds. Chairs, European crockery, chests, and a variety of boxes, complete the furniture of a comfortable house. Upon entering this building the master of the house is generally found stretched upon the couch, either smoking or fast asleep. He will perhaps raise himself to pay respect to his visitor, or even offer him a seat, with a certain air of politeness. "If, however, he is a chief, he knows his own worth, and does not disturb himself. Scated in Turkish-fashion, with one of his legs bent under him, he offers one hand to his visitors-the only hand that is free, for with the other he invariably strokes the foot upon which he is seatedand at last, with a dignified gesture, he invites his visitor to place himself at his side. This is a mark of honor on his part; and he who recognizes it by some valuable present, will thereby gain credit in the village. Any European article will please the chief. A few pipes of tobacco will completely overcome him, and for a bottle of brandy he he will sell any of his wives or children." Of course, there are differences among these chiefs, or kings, as they all call themselves. The same French artist who furnishes the picture of the common Mpongwés, gives portraits of King Denis and his royal consort. His Majesty, who, we presume, has before this been gathered to his fathers, is thus described: "King Denis, who lives on the left shore of the bay, is the most influential chief of the region. He is an old man, held in reverence by his countrymen, and much respected by Europeans. He speaks, more or less perfectly, French, English, Portuguese, and Spanish. He has had transactions with all the people who trade on the Gaboor, and to all he has had opportunity of rendering some little service. He facilitated the establishment of the French by his personal influence over his tribe, and has always used it in their favor. The French Government in return rewarded him with the cross of the Legion of Honor. The English have presented him with a medal and with several splendid suits of uniform. France, in like manner, has not forgotten to add to his wardrobe, and few persons are in a position to dress so magnificently. "When the question was agitated whether French authority might not be extended over the inhabitants of Cape Lopez, the task of negotiating the treaty was intrusted to him; and on this important occasion he was able, for nearly a fortnight, to appear each day in a fresh European dress, and each day more splendidly attired than on the preceding one. One day he would be attired as a French general, another day as an English admiral, and so on. But on all occasions he wore a wig, a part of his costume by which he sets especial store, probably for the reason that few other chiefs hereabout can boast of one. Accustomed as he has long been to European habits, he knows how to wear his magnificent costumes easily and without embarrassment. The expression of his countenance is quick and lively, combining at the same time cunning and good-nature. His deportment is marked by |