and stunned natures. To some extent, indeed, the incompetence of the latter to understand or resist was their protection. Like blades of grass they bowed their heads before the volleys which would have lodged with effect in sturdier foes, and, the terror over, returned in happy elasticity to their former position. But in the more tender and thoughtful this method produced distressing and paralyzing effects. Their struggles after good were discouraged, their apprehensions increased; in their religious feeling fear predominated. The fear of God it might be, but not necessarily a godly fear.

All this is over, but not without some occasional suspicion stealing over us that we may be running into an opposite extreme. Be this as it may, there is a class of virtues absent from this method or found there too sparingly which is yet the very essence of the most successful teaching. Seriousness we have discovered to be quite compatible with cheerfulness, with cheerfulness too as a leading element. The unprincipled statesman is light-hearted before the plunge into. war, dumbfounded when disaster comes. But men who feel beforehand the weight of their undertaking may rise to the occasion when the actual labour comes. Even a Mark Tapley's determination to carry Martin through his troubles is not less earnest, and is much more efficient, because he maintains what he calls his "jolliness" throughout.

And nobler souls than his-nobler because they take more spiritual views of life, its evils and its issues-may bring to their life work a serene, prophetic joyousness of demeanour. The presage of victory is on their open brow as, realizing the greatness and the distractions of the work, they feel beneath them the strength of the Almighty and approving God. This serene, well-founded exuberance and elasticity of temper is what specially affects the young. They can rarely appreciate struggling, sombre sincerities. They rally to the strength which, like that of the summer sea, can throw up its energies in sparkling hues and graceful forms. To them, for the most part, sorrow, deep and crushing, is something in reserve. They have to grow to it in experience as well as in time; they have not as yet had history enough to furnish its deepest ingredients. They are happily ignorant, and though they are sure to know by-and-by, it is not ours to introduce this uncongenial tone. From us should come a joyousness akin to their own, only more sober and less fluctuating.

Surely there is provision for this in the peculiarities of the teacher's work. Is not the Gospel, as the word implies, a message of gladness? Does it not come to us historically as a boon, heralded by song, triumphant in resurrection? Did it not cost Christ so much in order that it might be offered as a free gift? Is not His very death the life of men? Is it not ours to dwell in the heavenly places, and, like the trees in the rich soil, are we not rooted and grounded in love that we may be full of the beauty of leaf and blossom, and be happy in the bearing of abundant fruit, in characteristic, ripe, ruddy fruit, pleasant to the eye, alluring to the taste, rewarding to the eater?

And whatever may at times be our personal sorrows and depressions, by what right do we bring them with us into the class? We cannot perhaps deny their existence, or divest our lives of the facts from which they come, but they must not interfere with our bearing, only as they add depth to our sympathy and

sweetness to our serenity. Before the eyes of the young the ways of the Divinest wisdom should ever be exhibited as ways of pleasantness, and her paths as paths of peace. And in all this there need be nothing put on. We need but to connect them in our thought with the special attitude towards them of the Great Master and His apostles, and straightway encouragement comes.

We need but to think of the many and signal successes which are recorded in the annals of Sunday schools, and of the innumerable but not less decisive results which as yet remain unrecorded, to fill us with a cheerful confidence and a measureless hope. Nor is it necessary, in order to preserve this buoyancy, that any principle either of truth or of order need be sacrificed. On the contrary, the wisdom that is purest is thereby also the most pleasant. The atmosphere of true holiness is full of serenity, and its airs laden with joy. And in like manner obedience to rules firmly administered is directly conducive to the happiness of the class.

It is perhaps, after all, like taking coals to Newcastle, or adding fuel to fire, to say to the teacher of the present day,-"Be as happy with your children as you can." The whole tendency just now is in this direction, and it is right that it should be so. The association of pleasant feelings and habits with religious teaching is an immense gain to the young nature. Sorrow will come soon enough. The world's battlefield is only a little way ahead. Coarser temptations and heavier cares than those which now appeal to them will ere long present themselves. Perhaps they may wander awhile from the true way, and sin and misery enter their life. But to-day the sky is bright overhead, the hours are propitious, the opportunity is here.

Shed as much as possible into these young impressible hearts the brightness of a happy religion, of the tender, merciful spirit of Him whose face was never averted from such as these, who never, in all His indignation against evil, frowned on the young, but answered their tears and smiles alike with benignant glances and hopeinspiring words. Help them to lay in, if you can, a store of pure joys, so that in the days that are to come, memory and feeling may come to their rescue from dreariness and danger, and bring into their hearts the living, helpful Christ. So that, should even death come, the dark hour may be cheered by some rays of that celestial brightness whose glory has not dawned on land or sea.

Coleridge shall close for us this brief paper with these words, which should live in the memory and renew the courage of every Sunday school teacher:

"O'er wayward childhood wouldst thou hold firm rule;
And sun thee in the light of happy faces ?
Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces,
And in thine own heart let them first keep school,
Oh, part them never! If Hope prostrate lie,

Love too will sink and die.

Yet haply there will come a weary day,

When overtasked at length
Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way.
Then with a statue's smile, a statue's strength,
Stands the mute Sister, Patience, nothing loth,
And, both supporting, does the work of both."

THE NEW YEAR'S MOTTO.

A SUNDAY SCHOOL INCIDENT.

Ir was in Manchester, and on the morning of the 1st of January, 18—, that Isaac Bourne first chose for himself a new year's motto. A queer fellow was Isaacpleasantly queer out-of-doors, and disagreeably queer at home. He was, indeed, so comical and entertaining in every circle but that formed around his own fireside, that his fellow-workmen at the factory, after an experience of some sixteen or eighteen months, pronounced him "jolly." When his wife, burdened with the care of a large family, heard of compliments like this, such a smile flitted across her face as left behind it an indescribable sadness. Yet Elizabeth Bourne never complained. Was not Isaac her husband, and the father of her children? and was she not praying, hoping, even labouring, for his conversion to that faith which, subsequently to their marriage, had, in a time of sorrow, become her own? Nearly two years had passed since, in hard times, they had come to Manchester from their native city of Stockport. In a few weeks which had elapsed before Isaac obtained regular work his wife had felt almost sure that he was seeking after happiness in the only right way. But no sooner had he obtained a superior position and high wages in one of the larger factories, than he threw off the restraints of that outward piety, which only a desire to be respectable had induced him to adopt, and became a reviler of God's holy Word, a Sabbath-breaker, and, so far as he could, without losing caste, a drunkard too. On this first day of January, he awoke without remorse to the reflection that another year had gone for ever. Yet he had wasted every single day of the three hundred and sixty-five which made its sum! He was one of those men who use their utmost efforts not to think about matters so insignificant as the flight of time, the nearness of death, and the necessity of preparation for eternity. About business, and the selfish enjoyments of this life, he was "sharp" to excess; but concerning Ged, heaven, judgment, and his prospects for eternity, he was a fool.

It was seven o'clock on the New Year's morning, and, as usual, Isaac's breakfast was on the table before he came down into the "house-place," which was parlour, kitchen, wash-house; play-room, too, sometimes (in "father's" absence), to the little ones and their mother; but, to him, a mere eating-room, to be used at mealtimes only, and even then for as brief a space as possible. Mrs. Bourne, with a smile on her pale and thoughtful face, sat at one end of the table, waiting; and, on either side, between her chair and her husband's, three bright-eyed, healthylooking children listened eagerly for the well-known footstep upon the stair. It was not often that Isaac was waited for by his family. As a rule, they began their breakfast just as soon as it was ready; but to-day was the first of a new year, and the three elder ones had each a text of Scripture to repeat; and as "father was seldom so churlish as to despise an exercise of memory, they, for once, were apparently, if not really, losing time.

Full ten minutes passed, and still they waited. Isaac had, indeed, been out so late the night before, "seeing," that is to say drinking, "the New Year in," that

he was scarcely able to get up at all. When at last he appeared, it was with illhumour written on his face, and a rough, uncourteous sentence on his lips.

"What a set of fools you are not to begin!"

"We are waiting"-began one of the boys; but, at a sign from his mother, he stopped suddenly.

"Go ahead!" cried his father, "I won't eat ye! You are waiting for what? Some tomfoolery, I'll bet a thousand."

“No, indeed, father," interrupted his little daughter, with grave dignity. “We were told at school last Sabbath to choose texts for our New Year's mottoes, and we wanted to say them to you first thing this morning."

"Well, go on!" exclaimed Isaac. "Let's hear what you've chosen, will ye? He was eating his porridge now, and at the same time recovering, after a fashion, his lost temper. As the children obeyed, their mother's silent prayer for a blessing rose to heaven. Who would dare to say that God's truth should return unto Him void, or fail to prosper in the thing whereto He sent it?

Lizzie spoke first. She was serious, and yet cheerful withal-in this closely resembling her mother. Her portion, like the others, was simply that appointed for her birthday in a sixpenny text-book, which had been given to her at the Sabbath school. "Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. Honour thy father and thy mother, which is the first commandment with promise; be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth."

that it may

Very good," said her father. "Hope you'll keep to it, that's all. Now, Ike, what's yours ?"

The boy looked at his mother, and receiving her nod of encouragement, repeated slowly, "See, then, that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise; redeeming the time, because the days are evil."

"Humph!" said Isaac. "That one don't seem so plain; let's have another." The next boy had a passage from the same epistle: "Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamours, and evil-speaking, be put away from you, with all malice; and be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake has forgiven you."

"Ah!" cried the father with a sneer, "that's for folks that have been 'forgiven,' Dick, as you call it; and you know I'm not one of them!"

Elizabeth looked up quickly, and her eye glistened in the light of their one candle as she exclaimed, "Oh, Isaac, don't, before the children!"

"Why, it's quite true; I am not forgiven. Where's the harm in their knowing it?"

He was mocking still; and Elizabeth, who was by this time almost ready to doubt her own wisdom in allowing the children to repeat their texts before him, thought it best to be silent. In the pause which followed, all the little ones began their breakfast; and their father, having finished his oatmeal, asked for tea and a slice of bread, which he toasted as he sat by the fire. Losing some of his ill- · humour presently, he inquired of Lizzie who selected her motto, and on being referred to the little text-book, asked to see it.

"I've a birthday too, sometimes," said he, with pretended gravity. "Wife, what day of the month was I born? Do ye remember ?"

Mrs. Bourne named the day, and her husband took the little book from Lizzie with a laugh. "We shall see now what it says to me," he cried, as the little girl leaned timidly upon his shoulder; "I don't see why I shouldn't choose a motto's well's the rest. So here goes-twenty-fifth March- -now I have it." And he read aloud, "Be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap!"

As these solemn words passed the scoffer's lips he strove hard to despise them, but in vain. They were stronger than he, simply because God Almighty used them as His sword; and although he said nothing, poor Elizabeth began to hope -I had almost said to believe-that her husband's conscience was at last awoke.

She was right. Conscience was aroused; and more than that, conviction followed. The man went strangely through his work on that New-Year's Day, thinking, almost without interruption, of that terrible text; mechanically performing his usual round of duties, and returning home earlier than was his wont, to sit again by the kitchen fire, and read secretly in his hitherto neglected Bible. Coming down stairs quickly, when the children were in bed, Mrs. Bourne surprised her husband with the text-book in one hand and the Word of God in the other. He had been trying to find out that there was some mistake, but it would not do. There it stood, plain and true, and forcible as right words always are-" be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."

"Be not deceived!" He had been that, ah, how long? Wilfully blind, perverse in his stupidity, besotted in his ignorance! And now at last, after all these years, when his eyes were opened, was it not too late? "God is not mocked!" He had forgotten that, too, all his days! Fool that he was, he had supposed that he could even, by his clever wit, cast ridicule on the Most High! In the way of the scorner he had openly and profanely walked, kicking evermore against the pricks." Was it not useless to expect a pardon for such vile offence as this? Could the blood of Jesus even wash away a sin so great? Surely not! Did not the text say, "Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap"? Sitting down by her husband, Elizabeth Bourne looked steadily into the fire, and waited. All that day she had been praying for him, sometimes even with tears, and her heart's desire was to be made useful to him now. But still she waited. If he wished to keep his emotions secret, she would help him to do so; but if, on the other hand, he sought her sympathy, she would be ready and most glad to give it. Hours went by, and the clock struck eleven. Mrs. Bourne laid aside the needlework which, on finding that her husband would not talk, she had taken in hand, and according to custom, prepared to read a chapter.

"Shall I read aloud, Isaac, to-night ?" she asked a few minutes later.

"As you please," was the reply; and Elizabeth, opening at the first Epistle of John, read without interruption till she came to the words, "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness."

"Is that true, do you think?" asked her husband suddenly.

"Surely yes. It is God's own word," replied Elizabeth, "and His word is truth." "But my motto-the text I read this morning—says that a man reaps what he sows!"