"NEW CREATURES" IN LONDON.

"WELL, I bless God for the preaching in the Garrick Theatre," says a man of the lower class, "I had a good, praying, pious mother, but I didn't care for her, and went bad; oh, so bad I can't tell you all. A little while ago I heard Mr. Carter at the Surrey Theatre speak about a young man who had a pious mother, and I felt very unhappy and cried much; but I didn't change; and a few Sundays ago, I came to the Garrick, and there I got a blessing, and found that the blood of Jesus had cleansed me, and I felt that he loved me, and I was his child. I'm happy now from day to day; but I have to work among a lot of ungodly, wicked mates, and they laugh, and jeer, and mock; but when they do that I look to God and sing some hymns, and he helps me."

"Ah, sir, as for me," says a middle-aged man, “you don't know what I have been; why, sir, I suppose I have been the greatest drunkard and blasphemer out of hell, for years; but I've got the pardon of all. I think now Christ has saved me. He can save any one.

The night I heard Mr. while he was speaking, all my drunkenness and sins came upon me and pressed me like a great load. Yes, sir, I felt I had a load upon me, but glory be to God, I left it all behind. Jesus took it all away, and now I can't tell you how happy I feel. I feel that I want all to love the Lord Jesus, and I want to be among the Lord's people, so I go to all your meetings I can." His wife, who had been seeking, found peace the same night as he did, and a most joyous picture do the two now present.

A young man about nineteen rises; his face is beaming with joy; his eyes sparkle again; and with positive rapture he makes a noble confession of faith:-" A few Sundays back I came to the neeting, and after it was

over, Mr. came and spoke to me, and I felt I was a sinner. He pointed me to the cross, and I saw the cross of Christ my God, and I got the pardon of all my sins. And oh, you can't tell how I love Christ! I feel the love of the Saviour burning within me, and I must speak. Oh, I'm different and changed altogether. I work in a place where there are eighty others, and I speak to them all, and tell them what Jesus has done for me, and how happy I am in the Lord.”—The Revival.

NED.

OPENING the door of a friend's house one day, I made my way through the entry to the small back court, where Ned, the only son, was crying bitterly. "Ah, Ned, what's the matter, boy?

"Mother won't let me go fishing. Harry and Dick and Tom are going down harbour, and I want to go. Father ain't willing, but I want to go. Here Ned kicked his toes angrily against the post, to the great danger of his new boots.

"Ah, whose little dog is this?" I asked, as a little brown spaniel came bounding up the garden walk.

"It's mine," cried Ned in an altered tone. "Didn't you know I had one ?"

66 'No, indeed. What a fine little fellow! Where did you get him, Ned?"

"Father bought him for me. He's so knowing, and I teach him lots of things. See him find my jack-knife;" and Ned, wiping away his tears, threw his knife into the clover. There, Wag," said he, " now go and find my knife." Wag plunged into the grass, and after a great deal of smelling and wagging, he came triumphantly forth, knife in mouth, and brought it to his young master. "Give it to him," said Ned, pointing to me; and Wag laid it at my feet.

"This is a knife worth having," said I; "four blades." ""Tis a real one," said Ned; "father gave it to me on my birthday; and he gave me a splendid box of tools

too." Ned looked brightly up, and quite forgot his crying. "Was it this knife that you

"Let me think,” said I. hurt your foot so with?"

"Oh, no," cried Ned, "that was done with an axe; but I've got well now.'

"What cured you so soon? I was afraid you would be laid up all the spring."

"Well, it was mother's nursing, the doctor says. Mother and father took all the care of me. It was real lonesome staying in the house so; but mother used to leave her work and read to me, and father stayed with me nights; so I got along nicely.'

66 By your own story, I should think you had very kind parents, Ned." The boy looked down on the floor, and a slight pout puckered his lip. "I suppose there are none who have your interest and happiness so much at heart."

"But I want to go fishing," muttered Ned.

"And can't you trust them, Ned, and cordially acquiesce in their wishes? You may not indeed see or feel the force of their objections to your going; but from all your experience of their kindness and wisdom, are you i not sure that they would not cross your wishes without good reasons for doing so? And surrounded as you are by so many proofs of their love, will you sit here and murmur and cry, and fill your heart with angry and stubborn thoughts against them, because of this one little denial of your wants? Is not this a poor and ungrateful return for all their kindness? It is little enough that a child can do for a parent, but that little ought he not to do most cheerfully? I suppose the best return a child can make to parents is a cordial acquiescence in their wishes. How small that seems! And will you grudge giving that, Ned?"

Ned looked sober. Tears started in his eyes. "Oh, sir," said he humbly, "I didn't think of all this-I didn't think of it."

"Didn't think" is at the bottom of a great deal of our ingratitude and murmuring against both our earthly parents and our heavenly Father.-American.

THERE was a poor boy who came to school with a large patch on his knee. One of his school-fellows, who was a "great tease," began to nickname him "Patch," and sometimes "Old Patch."

"Why don't you fight him? Give it to him," cried the boys. "I wouldn't be called names so; I'd give it to him."

"Pooh !" answered the boy with the patch, "you don't suppose I'm ashamed of my patch, do you? For my part, I am thankful for a good mother to keep me out of the rags. I honour my patch for her sake."

There was "no getting the better of Patch," the boys said; "not a bit of false shame about him." And how the boys honoured him for it!

A NOBLE BROTHER.

IN the school were two boys, Paul and James, brothers, from eleven to twelve years old. One of them had, after repeated admonition, manifested a determined obstinacy and sulky resistance. Mr. Kilpin told him that the result of such conduct would be a chastisement not easily to be forgotten.

He was preparing to inflict it on the still hardened child, when his brother Paul came forward, and entreated that he might bear the punishment in the place of his brother. Mr. Kilpin remarked, "My dear Paul, you are one of my best boys, you have never needed chastisement; your mind is tender; I could not be so unjust as to give you pain, my precious child."

The dear lad said, "I shall endure more pain to witness his disgrace than anything you can inflict on me; he is a little boy, and younger and weaker than I am; pray, sir, allow me to take all the punishment; I will bear anything from you. Oh do, do, sir, take me in exchange for my naughty brother!"

Well, James, what say you to this noble offer of Paul's?"

He looked at his brother, but made no reply. Mr. Kilpin stood silent. Paul still entreated for the punishment, that it might be finished, and wept. Mr. K. said, "Did you ever hear of any one who bore stripes and insults to shield offenders, Paul?"

"Oh yes, sir, the Lord Jesus Christ gave his back to the smiters, and his cheeks to them that plucked off the hair. O sir, pardon James for my sake, and let me endure the pain. I can bear it."

"But your brother does not seek pardon for himself; why should you feel this anxiety, my dear Paul? does not he deserve correction ?"

"Oh yes, sir, he has broken the rules of the school, after repeated warnings. You have said he must suffer; therefore, as I know you would not speak an untruth, and the laws, must be kept, and he is sullen and will not repent, what can be done, sir? Please to take me, because I am stronger than he."

The boy then threw his arms round his brother's neck,