me on the coach-box who showed little interest in the surrounding landscape. They both seemed absorbed in thought, and soon I discovered that the only outward objects which interested them were the mile-stones by the roadside. These had two faces, one of which bore the name of Mullross, the town whence in the early morning the coach had started; the other, the name of Kirkninian, the town at which our long day's journey was to end, and beneath each name was marked the number of miles which lay between us and that place, so that as we passed one after another of these mile-stones the number on the forward side lessened in measure as the other increased. It was evidently with quite different thoughts that the above-mentioned travellers were noting the progress of our journey. The face of one grew sadder mile by mile, that of the other more and more content. Presently, on our coming to the foot of a steep ascent in the road, the coachman asked the gentlemen travellers to relieve the horses by walking; and it happened that, as we toiled up the hill, I found myself side by side with the two youths who had thus attracted my attention, and we fell into conversation. Their interest in the mile-stones was soon explained, for, on my making a remark as to the slowness of our journey, "It's much too fast for me," said one; "the mile-stones tell me a sad tale, for I'm leaving behind all I love best, to go to a foreign country, and I grudge every mile that carries us further from Mullross." "That's not your case, I think ?" said I, turning to my other companion. "No, sir," he replied; "I've been five years away at sea, and my home is at Kirkninian. I wish we passed the milestones faster." {} What a parable is here," I thought to myself when left soon after to my own reflections, on our resuming our seats upon the coach. "How suggestive of the journey we all are taking along life's highway! We are just approaching a fresh mile-stone in that journey, a mile-stone which is two sided like those on this Scottish road. Surely there can be no truer test as to where our heart's home is to be found than the look we cast on these mile-stones. Do we look more longingly towards the years whose ever-increasing number points back to the past, or to the on-looking side where the number is lessening in like degree? Are we travelling away from what is most dear to us, or nearing it?" I remember hearing an elderly man say, speaking of a young relative who was going through a hard struggle to make his way in life, "I don't pity any one who's young. The one thing that seems to me enviable is the having life before you." The speaker's life had not been a happy one. He had missed his way in the life that now is, as men so often do who seek not first the kingdom of God and His righteousness; but such as this passing world was to him, it was all he had, and he was leaving it behind. His feeling was like that of my sorrowing companion when he said, "I grudge every mile that carries me on ;" and gladly would he have stayed the flight of years. But he could not stay it. Even as the coach went forward as certainly as the milestones were reached as fast with the traveller who was leaving all he loved as with him who was homeward bound, so surely do we all "bring our years to an end as a tale that is told," "like as a dream when one awaketh ;" and if the centre of our interests, our hopes and affections is in this present world, our poverty is coming year by year upon us as one that travelleth," keeping pace with our rapid course; for each mile-stone of our journey is telling its sad tale of "leaving behind." 66 Not so if our citizenship is in heaven, in a "better country, that is, an heavenly." Then our happiness lies before us, and the quick passing of the years should be an unmixed source of gladness. Those who have accepted Jesus as their Saviour have through Him "a better and enduring inheritance" in the kingdom of His Father, and for these there is no sad clinging to a fading past, their home is beyond, and they could wish they "passed the mile-stones faster." And why should not this be the portion of every traveller now drawing very near to the mile-stone of another year? There is no lack of love and joy and home-happiness for all in the Father's house. Jesus is longing to receive there each one of the "all" for whom "He gave His life a ransom." Perhaps you say, "These heavenly hopes are so unreal;" this is because your eyes are holden. Only the Spirit of God can open them to see Jesus, but God will give the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him. Then the passing of the milestones will be a cause of joy, and the sad sense of leaving behind be felt no more, for the Saviour's finished work of redemption, and the home where He is gone to prepare a place for you, will be more real to you than all. And is there then no leaving behind for the believer in Jesus as he passes the mile-stones which tell of a lengthening past, a shortening of the way before him? Yes, thank God, he, too, is leaving behind. He can sing, as he journeys on, "Well pleased I find years rolling o'er me, For each New Year's Day speaks to him of another year's cares and sorrows, falls and failures, perplexities and disappointments, left behind, and for ever; nothing of them all remaining but the lessons they have taught of a Saviour's power to cleanse and heal, to raise up, to comfort and to guide; and thus each mile-stone of the journey bears for him on the one side and on the other a blessed record, even "experience that worketh hope," and "hope that maketh not ashamed." A. J. T. EAR old Christmas, with smiles will we welcome you; and if these hearts of ours have been locked up by the key of selfishness thy magic spell shall undo the same, and the love that has been chilled and lying dormant shall awake; and at this joyful season of the year we will not foolishly remain idle regretting the past and not doing anything to improve the present, but with renewed courage and hearts overflowing with love seek out our lonely friends and poorer neighbours, doing as much as in our power lies to add to their happiness and comfort, not only giving of our abundance, but doing it in such a manner as to win their hearts. One cold, wintry Christmas Eve, in a clean but barelyfurnished room might be seen sitting around a few dying embers three little children poorly clad; they were nestling close together to obtain as much warmth as possible. The eldest was a girl with large brown eyes, patient looking, and of a very slender figure, about twelve years of age; the two boys were fair, and some years younger. On a low bed lay the poor widow and mother, still young, but suffering from over-anxiety, sorrow, and care. She had, since her husband's death, toiled hard, and bravely worked to maintain herself and children, but over-work and cold upon cold had at last done its cruel work. "Mary," she cried, in a low voice, "count the church clock; it must soon strike." Presently a deep, low chime was heard, and Mary said, "Mother dear, 'tis eight o'clock; I wonder if she will come." "God bless her," said the woman, "she never breaks her word: something has happened. Oh, that I could see her kind young face once more, and hear of that land she so often talks to me about!" The words were scarcely uttered before a gleam of joy came across Mary's face, and the boys went to the door: such a noise was heard on the stairs, it seemed like a box being sent up from stair to stair; and so it was, and a good large one too. Presently an old man peeped in, saying, "Does Mrs. Field live here ?" "Oh yes," said Mary, in haste. "What do you want ?" Only to leave this here," said the old man, wiping the forehead that time had made sad wrinkles in. "It is heavy. I'll wish you a merry Christmas, and be off, for my poor old woman will wonder where I am. I got a good bit for bringing this, and she will be so glad to see me back." Mary, who was naturally a gentle, kind little girl, took down the remains of a candle and lighted it, seeing the old man safely down the stairs. When at the bottom she whis pered, "Did she send it ?" "She?" laughed the old man; "how do I know? A lady, nicely dressed, and very beautiful, saw me looking into a cookshop, and she gently touched my shoulder and said, 'Are you too old to carry a trunk?' 'Not I, miss,' said I; but when I followed her and found out its weight, I began to know John Stokes was not what he once was; but I managed it. And look here," said he ; "this is a Christmasbox for my old woman," showing five shillings, "Oh, I am glad!" said Mary, and shutting the door after him she went up to her room with a lighter heart. Mother," she said, "it must be her that sent it; no one else could;" and with trembling fingers she tried to undo the cords; Tommy and Willie looking on in wonder. After a good deal of trouble the lid was opened. "Oh," cried the children, with one voice, "oh, mother! there's the blanket you wanted so," and all three helped to take it out. It looked lovely, thick, woolly, and snow white with bright red border. The poor mother's strength seemed to return, for she sat up a little looking at it with admiring eyes, then lay down while her dear children placed it nicely over her. Mary's curiosity led her to the box again, and out she took a warm dress, her own size, two little coats, and many under-clothes neatly darned. Poor little girl, it seemed almost too much for her. Presently a thick coarse sheet |