sistently, is sure to do good in time. Why should the poor South Sea Islander, who is accustomed to wear a thin "pareu" round his waist, and green leaves on his head, and green leaves round his neck, take to European garments? The moment he is discomfited by the latter, his mind is so taken up and absorbed in outer appearance that he feels it is enough, and it is impossible for him to give his whole heart to the essence and spirit of the thing. Everything depends on keeping him bent on a pure inner life, and not over Europeanising him. Let him retain his native extern and " "pareu; he will have more confidence if the change be not too sudden. When

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he sees we respect his good points, let him continue all his harmless climatial non-essentials. The change of the old man in him is what is wanted, and no external revolution will accomplish that. It may be an uncomfortable fact, but civilisation creates wants; the Bible simplifies and sanctifies them.

Such was "Bora-Bora," as sketched before the French assumed the protectorate of the Leeward Islands. One would like to know whether there is a clause in the recent treaty guaranteeing to the natives the full enjoyment of their Protestant faith.

I

WAS awfully tired an' worried,
The week had been full o' care;

So, over my work I hurried

An' went to the house o' prayer.

My poor husband's health was failin';
It was little that he could earn:
An' young Jackie, in climbin' a palin',
Had given his ankle a turn.

The weather was hot an' broilin':
It was washin'-week with me too :
An' I guess my temper was boilin',
For it rose as seldom it do.

I'd spoke sharp to my daughter Mary,
Who'd tried all my labours to share.
So, although I was tired an' weary,
I crept to the house o' prayer.

'Twas the regular week-end meetin',
An' old Deacon Weston led.
(He mostly did the leadin',

An' was looked up to as the head.)

He read a long psalm o' rejoicin' By David o'er vanquished foes. (But that I felt I'd no voice in,

Though 'twas all very good, I suppose.)

An' then the good Deacon he led us
In prayer in his usual way-
Thankin' God that His wisdom had made us,
An' guided us up to that day.

He thanked Him for "peace like a river,"
For "
grace given," by which we'd "been kept."
(An' I sighed as I thought, with a quiver,
How my anger o'er reason had leapt.)

He praised Him for "store above measure,"
For "bounties that strewed all the way."
(The Deacon, they say, at his pleasure,
Could buy half the town any day.)

He prayed a long spell for the Pastcr,
For "souls as his hire an' seal,"

An' that "he, in the steps o' his Master,"

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Might press on" with courage an' zeal.

An' endin' his num'rous petitions,

Finished off with a double "Amen!"

We'd more singin', an' then Deacon Warren,
Au' several more brethren prayed.
(But the words so familiar seemed barren :
I was quite out o' tune, I'm afraid.)

We'd to "draw from the wells o' salvation";
The Scriptures "search line upon line";
An' overcome "strong bulls of Bashan,"
"Like giants refreshed with new wine."

We'd to "mount up on wings like the eagle,"
"An' never grow weary or faint";
"Our high callin'" was priestly an' regal,
Nought less was "becomin' a saint."

An' now the last singin' was finished,

An' shortly the meetin' must close:
An' my troubles an' care undiminished
Forbade hopes of peaceful repose.

I had eagerly watched for some token,
But nought seemed just suited to me;
An' I felt sad an' almost heart-broken,
An' as wretched as wretched could be.

I felt I'd been hard on dear Mary:
An' yet, somehow, I couldn't say why-
It was things goin' cross an' contrary,
Seemed to more deserve blamin' than I.

"If I say it again, perhaps little Wren can," answered Silver rather eagerly. It suddenly seemed to him as though it would be a very meet and pleasant thing for him to hear his little daughter repeat the favourite sayings of her mother.

Quite unconsciously he took the two small hands, and clasped them together in one of his own, as the mother had done with the baby hands before, and repeated gravely: "Bless the Lord for His loving mercies. May He give us grateful hearts."

Tom Silver passed his hand up over his forehead and shook his head.

"Not I, child. I never had rightly no learning that way. I did begin to catch a sort o' kind of sight of it from your mother, but she were took, and so there were the end of it all. I'm too took up now with seeing you, to give thoughts to aught else."

Silence for a few moments, then the little face turned round enough for the soft lips to be pressed to the rough face.

"I do love you, oh, so much, father, and I should like to say Bless the loving Lord for His mercies,' when you come home and light the lamp, and make the fire, and we have our tea. Is it then that mother would have said it?"

"Ah! I expect so," was the quiet answer, and then he said not another word, until tea was finished. Tom Silver had a slow brain. He was neither clever, talented, nor learned, but he had one grand possession, the power of an enduring love. He had loved and reverenced Jenny's mother in the past, and, although it was more than two years since he lost her, he still loved her as deeply as when they lived together in their simple home on earth. It gave him a strange thrill of mingled pain and pleasure henceforth, as evening by evening, Jenny's prelude to their favourite meal would be her mother's oft-repeated thanksgiving prayer. The fire burning up cheerfully, the lamp lighted, the tea all prepared, and Jenny established according to custom, on her father's knee, she would fold her hands together as her father had folded them that night, and repeat in her clear, earnest voice, "Bless the Lord for His loving mercies, and give us grateful hearts.”

It was the only prayer said in that one-roomed home, and neither father nor child had any very distinct thought or understanding as to the meaning of that. But there was at least this-that it was said with reverence, and from a heart full of thankfulness.

The days were sad and oppressive enough to the child, but she had her happy evenings with her father, and you know the text, do you not, dear readers—“Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, Thou hast perfected praise."

NEW YEAR'S ENIGMA.

New hopes, new promises, new blessings cheer
Our hearts while entering on the opening year;
Come, search out all the Holy Scriptures say
About "new" things this happy New Year's Day.
At Pentecost the pious Hebrew brings
A new meat offering to the King of kings.
New wine, in bottles new for safety stored,
Furnished a parable for Christ the Lord,
And none, says He, will put new cloth to old,
(Find where St. Matthew has the story told).
The Lord's compassions every day are new—
"A new commandment give I unto you"-

From a new cruse a holy prophet's hand
Took salt to heal a waste and barren land.

A giant wore a new and mighty sword;
The tomb was new wherein they laid the Lord;
New tongues were promised for the preacher's aid;
A new and living way has Jesus made-
"This cup shall be a covenant ever new;

My blood," said Jesus, "which is shed for you!"
From Samson's arms new ropes were snapped like thread.
"They chose new gods," the mighty Deborah said.
"There rose a new king over Egypt's land
That knew not Joseph." Heathen priests command
The Philistines, the Ark of God to take,

On a new cart which they were told to make.
Solomon writes of fruits both new and old,
New heaven and earth did captive John behold;
New things to Israel does Isaiah show,

Things which were hidden "which thou didst not know."

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Purge out old leaven, let the lump be new." Writes Paul, "for Christ is sacrificed for you!" John saw a new Jerusalem come down, Jesus' "new doctrine" gained a wide renown. Who dwell in Christ, and all His words obey, New creatures are, "old things are passed away"; Put off the old man and put on the new, A nature which is righteous, pure and true. A new name, written on a pure white stone, May we receive from Jesus as our own; And join in heaven's new song with holy mirth,' Which those may learn who are redeemed from earth. Find out each reference now, till, one by one, The twenty-four are all correctly done; Set in a long and nicely even row, Each chapter, book and verse must clearly show; And if this strange enigma has perplex'd, Then add up all the chapter numbers next,Subtract thirteen, and then divide by eight, And now the figures left behind will state In which long chapter you must closely look Among the pages of Ezekiel's book,

2. It contains a word only mentioned in two other places in the Bible, once in Ecclesiastes, and once in Romans. 3. It bears reference to Jehovah and His power to give earthly prosperity.

4. It is an appeal to one far from his home.

5. The younger daughter of the speaker is mentioned by Jeremiah.

6. The eldest son of the hearer put the lives of his own children in danger.

7. The speaker had thirteen grandchildren.

8. Of one of them it is said that he "became a servant unto tribute."

9. One of the two men mentioned in the verse afterwards said to the other, "What is my trespass? what is my sin?"

10. The one was servant to the other, but the name of the servant is the more honoured.

11. It contains an earnest request, and an acknowledgment of benefits received.

12. It consists of 32 words, and is in a chapter containing more than 32 verses.

L. T.

G

OD only knows the sorrows of the poor,

The dull monotony of care and pain, The heavy hours of toil for scanty gain, The weariness that slumber cannot cure. Behold, we count them happy which endure ! But oh, the tension of the life-long strain, The sad, pathetic striving to attain

Some foothold for the future, safe and sure!

God knows it all-their labour unto death,
Their patience when by chastening tried and proved;
Their kindness to each other freely given.

And in the poor of this world, rich in faith,
He hath a people chosen and beloved,
Heirs of a kingdom kept for them in heaven.

The discipline of care and poverty,

Even here shall bring them blessing in disguise, And well prepare them for the glad surprise Of rest and riches where no want can be. From furrowed field or narrow street set freeThrough humble paths of toil they shall arise, To tread the golden highways of the skies; Eyes that once feared the morrow's need, shall see The gracious plenty of the marriage feast; The toil-worn hands, long used to spade and loom, Shall clasp a sceptre years may not destroy. And for the true brave souls earth reckoned "least," The King at His own table shall make room, And bid them share His everlasting joy!

MARY ROWLES.

THE

HE problem of the poor is ever with us, and our efforts to solve it meet with such scant success that many fear we are ill-advised. We are told, notwithstanding, that destitution is proportionately less than it used to be. It may be so. There is much in the view that so long as we restrict our studies to the doings of our monarchs, and the records of the battles in the struggle of nation against nation, we skim the past at its best; and that when we explore below the smiling surface of the school-book, and learn how our forefathers lived, the misery of merry England is manifest. It is probably true that the misery has been reduced by a percentage; but there is little comfort in percentages when the bulk increases. Ten in a thousand may be less than two in a hundred, but the average mind sees only the fivefold increase, and refuses to reduce it to its statistical value.

And no friend of his race is likely to be satisfied with this percentage balm. If the misery has been reduced, let us reduce it faster; if the reduction is at the rate of arithmetical progression, let us increase the rate to that of geometrical progression! Whether it be better than it used to be or not, the present state of the poor, physically, mentally, morally, is appalling. It cries out to us; it is a scandal to us. What is to be done?

We hear much of the efforts made in London; but is there nothing we can learn from other great cities? Take Glasgow, for instance, the second city in the Empire. Those who know best, speak with praise of the work going on

there in ameliorating the condition of the youthful poor. "Religion and charity go hand in hand; the physical and spiritual needs are in due order ministered unto." Is there no detail here worthy of adoption?

Let us see. "The most striking thing in Glasgow is the poor children's dinner; it is the key of the position." Free meals are not peculiar to Glasgow; but they may have different developments. Let us go to the Sunday afternoon dinner and judge for ourselves. There is not much difficulty in finding the way to that thickly-populated neighbourhood into which the railway to St. Enoch's lets so much beneficent daylight. The main road is clean and clear enough, but the wynds and closes on either hand teem with the dirty, the callous, and the miserable. Past the Tron kirk, we turn into the Saltmarket, and are but a few steps from the Green, when we reach the handsome new hall in James Morrison Street. There is a crowd at the doors and in the road; but this we avoid as we make our way at once to the kitchen.

Around us are preparations for feeding on a large scale, and all is quiet and orderly. Three huge cauldrons there are, each holding about ninety gallons, and full of simmering rice and milk. A table is pushed close to them, and at one end of it is a well-cleaned wooden washing tub. Some half dozen young fellows are bringing in scores of quart mugs, and stacking them round the tub.

The lid of the cauldron is taken off, and one of the lads dips a huge ladle as big as a hand bowl

pudding and transfers it

At the same time two one in each hand, and dip d fill them. Two others ngs and lay them side by waggons. Twenty-four When the layer is complete, ready with a sheaf of ch mug with such dexterity n the packing. The work k; the ladling from the e dipping of the mugs, the r layers in each waggon. eeled away and another is soon the three cauldrons en waggons are full. On gon a thin iron cover is ut a large basket of bread, each mug. The loaded

- row ready to be run into

repair to-day, and the called tent, whose wooden floor give every help to and song. The area is ildren. As seen from the to the left, the boys to the ee columns of forms; the idth of the wings. These eight boys and eight girls, ends is a "monitor." At form is also a monitor, so the gangways, with small right or left of them. dren are singing

make no delay:

He has shown us the way;
e is standing to-day,
Come."

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leader and enjoy themselves in his way; and the thought comes to us that in but a little our children differ from these, and may at any time become as they are. How have these come to this? What can be done to lift them from it? The book of poverty lies open; the faces are its pages. Many there are sickly and weak; some even with the hollow cheek and bluish bones showing through the thin flesh, and telling the bitter tale of starvation. Some there are with delicate features refined by suffering; a few are coarse and aggressive, telling unmistakably that the failure cannot be entirely charged to others. Many would be beautiful were it not for the shifty look of the outcast. Many have good faces, pure and true, such are safe to keep to the right road if only the chance be given them. A few are in rags, openly and boastingly; but most have their shawls or jackets held or pinned tight, so as to make the best show they can. Bareheaded are most of the girls, and barefooted are many of them, though not from choice, for the crippled toes tell of ill-fitting boots. There sit the children, a thousand and one odd possibilities, samples of thousands more amongst us. What

are you going to do with them? Are they to be your friends or your enemies? If you cannot lift them all, how are you to sift them?

Now they are thinking but of the moment, carried away by the music of their own voices, with eyes keenly watching Mr. Mackeith as he times and leads them; and when the hymn ends, listen as the voices follow his to the Lord's Prayer, "every eye closed, every head bowed." It is not often that the petitions so strike home.

Then there is another hymn sung with as much vigour as the last; but in the middle the boys get ahead, and have to be pulled up. Another start is made, and all goes smoothly; then, for a few minutes, Mr. Mackeith talks to his little folks of their last Sabbath lesson, which they are supposed to have remembered, and cheerily come the answers back from dozens at a time, though most of the correct ones hail from the girls. Sometimes there are over two thousand children—a large class to manage; and yet it is done in a style that is truly masterly. For an example of unfailing tact and quiet power, let the student go to the United Evangelistic Hall, James Morrison Street, on a Sabbath afternoon, and see how Mr. Mackeith, without apparent effort, keeps in hand the roughest of the waifs and strays of Glasgow.

After the address, of which we will say more anon, another hymn is sung, a one-verse hymn suiting well the little voices in words and air.

Two little eyes to look to God,

Two little ears to hear His Word;
Two little feet to run in His way,
Two little hands at His work every day;
One little tongue to speak His truth,
One little heart to trust Him in youth.
Take them, my Lord, and let them be
Always obedient and true to Thee.

And while this is being sung each monitor has an apron given her, which she unrolls and ties on; and the waggons appear from the back, and are

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