`It treats the soul-destroyers as it treats the red-handed criminal whose guilt is murder, and accuses them of being stained with the blood of souls. It tells us not only that genius is mere insanity when separated from high and noble service, but that it is allied with responsibility, which insanity is not. Christ came to seek and to save that which was lost. The destructive forces of a godless age were then in full force, and society as such was perishing at the roots. The gospel reached the heart to save the man. It renews his taste, restrains his will, and regenerates his soul. Let us press on in the good work, for the gospel is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.

Young man, let me say to you, "One sinner destroyeth much good." Yes, the impression made, you can reverse it; the sermon over, you can, by one wild jest, drive the sacred Dove from the heart of your friend. Many can sigh sentimentally when the tenor singer is putting pathos into the words, Woodman, spare that tree." Yes, the inanimate oak is dear to your thought if it has been the shelter of childhood's days. But to spare men's souls-oh, how little you have thought of that! It is recorded in Roman history that in the early Christian centuries, when the terrible scenes of the Coliseum were beginning to appal the awakened conscience of the nations, one man threw himself in between the gladiator and the dying victim, and that from this moment the scenes were stayed. It suggests that bold action on our part as Christian men might aid in shaming the destructionists. Amidst the evils of the day the Christian church and the Sunday school are shielding the young, and helping to arm them against the enemies of their souls. Let us not rest, brethren, whilst one sinner remains unsaved. For one dead soul spreads corruption everywhere; one betrayer can harm the Master's cause; one sinner, only one, can destroy much good. Blessed the church that is not only the restful home of redeemed men, but the birthplace of unregenerate souls. Let us be instant in season and out of season; let us preach the word; let us warn, rebuke, exhort, persuade, if by any means we may save some, for one sinner destroyeth much good."

E

Unpromising Boys.

BY G. HOLDEN PIKE.

VEN though he were promising in himself, a soldier's son whose father died on the field of battle in Egypt, and who in early life received no education beyond what was given at the Sunday school, could not be said to occupy a promising position. Such, however, was the case with

John Smith,

the celebrated missionary to Demerara, and friend of the negroes, whose untimely death in 1824 produced a profound sensation in this

country. Destitute herself, his widowed mother was unable to do anything for him in the way of a start in life further than apprenticing him to a biscuit-baker, at which time John's ignorance was such that he could not write his own name. If he must learn to write at all, he saw that it would have to be after business hours, when he was already fatigued with the toils of the day. In a usual way, according to our conventional ideas, a youth in such a plight has a very unpromising outlook; and if progress is made at all he is not likely to do much for the world or for himself outside of the confined boundaries of his hosen trade. At the same time, if on that account we were to withhold our hand by relaxing our endeavours, how should we lose our opportunities! The heart and the soul may contain germs of sterling promise while the outward surroundings are depressing. It was SO with John Smith. His advantages were as small and as unpromising as his capacities for improvement were great, and while these were in course of being discovered, he was little else than an unpromising, commonplace waif on the world's highway, for whom no one might have cared. As it happened, the kind-hearted biscuit-baker, who tested the metal of which his ignorant apprentice was made by giving him a copy-book and imparting other instruction, was doing service to the Church at large, and his action was the more commendable because he did not wait to be stimulated in his duty by any unusual, promising manifestations of precocity. What followed is sufficiently well known; John Smith advanced from one stage to another in a preeminently unselfish course, until he became both a hero and a martyr in the mission-field. Looked at from the standpoint of eternity such lives are the most profitable of any passed on the earth; and what at present chiefly concerns us is the fact that the basis of the man's grand success was laid in the Sunday school.

What we would impress on the mind of the reader is the known and the unknown value of sterling teaching. A great deal may be done with an unkind soil by careful and persevering culture; while, on the other hand, the richest acres in the world will bring nothing if left to themselves. We all know how luxuriantly weeds, briers, and thistles will spring up in the neglected soil, and how surprisingly a diligent cultivator will develop qualities in the land which others less enterprising and determined never suspected to exist. It is precisely similar with the human material: a bright-eyed boy, with a genial nature and gifts of genius, may actually run to waste for lack of proper teaching; and, on the contrary, another of ordinary talents will come more than nature seemed to promise if taken in hand in time by a judicious tutor. It would almost appear that more depends on he teacher than on his charge. In other words, many a lad in a ragged or Sabbath class has found in his teacher the God-appointed door of escape from the ills and perils of life.

be

t

Led by a Child.

BY MRS. SKINNER.

CHAPTER III.-LINNY.

LL unconscious of the dying gaze that had rested on her, and of the fact that she was now an orphan, Linny, poor little child went on with her play. The other children were standing in a circle, and she was in the centre, a fair-haired, delicate-looking child.

Two women came into the yard and passed near where they were; one of them was talking in a rather low key. The eldest of the children, Liz Trapples, overheard her say, "She died about half an hour ago."

"What wor her name ?" asked the other.

'Attenborough; that's her little un in the middle there."

Liz was one of those who never could keep anything to herself, or ever reflected before speaking. As soon as the women were out of sight she exclaimed,—

Well, I never! Lin's mother's dead. I just heard old Bess say so."

The child in the centre of the group heard every word; it was impossible that she should not, and in a moment the colour had faded from her cheek, and the light from her eye.

"What do you mean ?" she cried, running towards Liz; "what have they done to my mother?" Young as she was, she knew those words meant something dreadful.

Liz, like the generality of impulsive people, was very affectionate. She folded her rough red arms round the child's trembling form, and essayed to quiet her alarm.

"Don't you know, ducky, that everybody dies?"

"Won't they let me go to her? I do so want my mother!"

"Ay, bless you! but she's dead."

The child began to cry.

kiss me again?"

"Will they put her in the bury-hole? will she never

Liz's eyes grew moist. "O' course they'll bury her, and she'll kiss you in heaven, ducky, when you get there, so don't cry; let's play again. Do you know 'Duck's under water?""

"I want my mother," still sobbed the little one.

"Well, let's go in, and we'll ask somebody if you can't see her." So saying, she took the child up in her arms, and being but young and weak herself, staggered with her burden through the door which led to the schoolroom. Linny had put her arms round Liz's neck, and was still sobbing, and Liz trying to pacify her, not seeing whither she was going, managed to run up against the schoolmistress. "Whatever are you about, children?" she asked, sternly.

"Oh, please, ma'am," said Liz, putting down her burden and Lastening to drop the customary courtesy, "Linny's mother's just dead, and she wants to see her; may she, if you please ma'am?" dropping another courtesy, in the hope thereby her request would be furthered.

The governess looked at the children with a searching glance, believing it quite possible they were enacting a false part; but the sad tear-stained face of Linny could not be doubted.

"There, there," she said, "don't cry any more, and I will ask the matron to let you see her to-morrow."

The children passed on towards their dining-room in nowise comforted.

morrow was so far away to Linny, it was now she wanted her mother.

"To

Liz began to think Linny was entertaining a false hope; and, indeed, the little one was imagining that if she could but see her mother her trouble would be almost at an end.

"You know, Lin," she said, "if you wor to see her she couldn't do nothing; she wouldn't kiss you, or speak."

The child looked at her with questioning eyes.

"You know she's dead, as dead as a door-nail, just like that cat was we saw yesterday."

"But the cat had never known me."

"You think because your mother knew you she'd speak, do you? Well, that's good. Don't you know that what was in her that made her speak 'as gone out of her, up to heaven among the stars?"

"Where father is ?"

Yes, suppose so. Perhaps you'll go there soon, for you don't look very sound." "That will be nice," said the child, and a smile came into her face. For a few minutes her sorrow seemed to have become less, but very soon the same sad loneliness returned, and when the time came to go to bed the poor little thing seemed too frightened to go.

"Now, Linny, come on," said Liz. "I am going to sleep with you, gran said I might, and I'll cuddle and squeeze you like anything, if you won't cry. You never see me cry after my mother."

But it was a long time, in spite of all Liz's cuddling and squeezing, before Linny slept. She still cried after her mother. The idea of the one who bad loved her so being put under the dirty grass made her shudder; every time she shut her eyes she saw the dreadful scene, and when the room grew dark she hid her face beneath the clothes.

The next morning as soon as she opened her eyes the same cry was heard, "I want my mother; but there was no one near save untutored Liz to soothe the weary child. Even the governess had forgotten all about her promise.

But soon after ten o'clock there was quite a commotion in the schoolroom. Linny was wanted directly.

"She cannot come," said the teacher to the messenger. "I wonder you should dare to come for her."

"Please, ma'am, the matron sent me." "You should have said so before."

"Perhaps it is to see your mother," whispered Liz to Linny as she was leaving the room; and it was this thought that made her face glow when Mrs. Watson and Anthony Rogers first saw her, they having met by appointment there.

"This is her," said the attendant to them.

"Come here, child," said Mrs. Watson.

But Anthony Rogers went up to her, and after stroking the close-cropped head and looking into her innocent blue eyes, he took her up in his strong arms, and caressed her like a woman.

"Are you going to take me to see my mother?"

He felt afraid to answer; and while wondering how best to tell the poor child of her loss, she spoke again.

"You know she died yesterday;" then there came a sob, and Linny hid her face on his shoulder.

"Did she, little one? and should you like to see her?"

"Yes, for they are going to put her in the bury-hole."

"I don't think it is well for the child to see her," said Mrs. Watson.

The child turned to look at her, and from that time Linny always shrank from her. "She shall see her if I can manage it," said Anthony, firmly.

"You'll have to ask the porter," said the attendant.

"All right." He put down the child, telling her to wait till he came back, and was at the porter's door before Mrs. Watson had time to extract a peppermint from her bag to coax Linny to her with, and before she succeeded he was back, accompanied by the porter.

So Linny was shown the dead form of her mother; but she was not allowed to stroke the white face, or kiss once more those tender lips. The body lay in what to her appeared like a black box with a little window in it, through which the face could be seen.

They did not stay in the deadhouse more than a minute, for Rogers felt that the child was trembling violently.

"That is not my mother," she said to him when they reached the room again where they had met.

“No,” said Mrs. Watson, "she is in heaven; that is only her body." "Yes, she is in heaven," said the child, absently, "but why did she leave me here? I can't do without her ;" and again the little heart grew big with grief. "God wanted her, and would not let her stay," said Mrs. Watson.

"And does no one want me ?" and Linny turned instinctively towards Anthony Rogers for sympathy.

He put out his arms, this strange-looking, reserved man, and said, "I want you, little one, to be my little girl, and I will be your father."

She ran into his arms, and while locked in their embrace Mrs. Watson heard her whisper, "I like you; shall I call you dad ?" and Mrs. Watson turned away her head. No one had ever loved her like that; no child had ever said to her, "I like you."