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A TRUE SAD STORY. A YOUNG man and his wife were preparing to attend a party at the house of a friend some miles distant. “Henry, my dear husband, don't drink too much at the party today; you will promise me, won't you ?" said she, putting her hand upon his brow, and raising her eyes to his face with a pleasing smile. “No, Millie, I will not ; you may trust me.” And he wrapped his infant boy in a soft blanket and they set out. The horses were soon prancing over the turf, and pleasant conversation beguiled the way.

“Now don't forget your promise,” whispered the young wife as she passed up the steps. Poor thing! she was the wife of a man who loved to look upon the wine when red. But his love for his wife and their babe, whom they both idolized, kept him back, and it was not often that he joined in the drunken revelries.

The party passed off pleasantly, the time for parting drew near, and the wife descended from the upper room, to join her husband. A pang shot through the trusting heart as she met him, for he was intoxicated-he had broken his promise.

Silently they drove homeward, save when the drunken man broke into snatches of song, or unmeaning laughter. But the wife rode on, ber babe pressed closely to her grieved heart. “Give me the baby, Millie ; I can't trust you with him," said he as they approached a dark and somewhat swollen stream. After some hesitation, she resigned her first-born, her darling babe, closely wrapped in the great blanket, to his arms. The horses safely bore them through the water, and when they reached the bank the mother asked for the child. With much care and tenderness he placed the bundle in her arms, but when she clasped it to her bosom, no babe was there! It had slipped from the blanket, and the drunken father knew it not. A wild shriek from the mother aroused him, and he turned round just in time to see the child rise one moment above the waves, then sink for ever.

What a sight! the idol of his heart gone-gone for ever-and that by his own drunkenness. The anguish of the mother, the remorse of the father, are better imagined than described. This is no fiction, but plain truth.- American Temperance Herald.

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LUKE IX. 61.

Young people, let this be a text for you. Our Lord had been teaching, that when he calls we ought at once to obey ; but a man in the company wished a little delay. Now, a little delay is often Satan's wedge for getting into the soul some great and insurmountable hindrance; and, therefore, our Lord in reply, said again, that there must be no delay, no hesitation, no excuses, no asking for more time to consider, when he was calling. The truth is, in almost all cases when any one seeks delay, a little delay, he is not willing, not really intending to give up what he is at present occupied with,—he just wishes to get quit of the troublesome pressure of the friend that is dealing with him,—“Just suffer me first to go and bid my friends farewell.” Have you never dealt thus with the gospel call? What say you ? Have you never put it aside by pretending that you wished only a little time to consider ?


In New York there has been formed a Young Men's Early Rising Association, all the members of which are pledged to be up at a certain hour. It began with about half a dozen men, who, having kept up this habit for some years, were surprised at its good effects, and at the marked success in life of their companions.


That is not a bad memory which does not remember an injury. Some people are too fond of remembering one. They nurse their wrath to keep it warm.




A BABY is called by the Red Indians of North America a papoose. Their little ones are, soon after their birth, tied with care on a flat piece of carved or painted wood, which has a wide band or hoop to protect the child's head.

It is the pride of the mother to ornament this cradle with ribbons and beads. From the loop some little jing. ling ornament is generally suspended, to attract the child's notice. A carrying-strap is fastened to the top of this cradle, by which the mother can carry it on her back safely through the plain or forest. Indeed, she can thus hang it, when she is resting, on the branch of a tree; and the cradle is so constructed, that, if it falls, the child cannot be hurt.

Meantime, the little thing, tied up in its bag, looking more like a little mummy than anything else, is perfectly contented, and rarely cries. In this confinement it learns its first lesson of Indian endurance.

Sometimes, when the Indian mothers are attending divine service in our mission churches, the its cradle, is hung up on the palings of the churchyard

papoose, till the service is over.- Quarterly Token.



A HINDOO was lying upon his bed, expecting soon to die. He was full of thought where his soul would go after death. A priest came to see him, and the dying man said, “What will become of me?” “Oh,” said the priest, "you will live in another body." “And where shall I go then ?

“ Into another, and so on through thousands of millions.” The thoughts of the dying man darted across all that period, as if it was but an instant, and he cried, “ Where shall I go last of all ?” The priest could not reply, and the unhappy idolater died with no one neac him to answer bis anxious question.

A little Burman girl was near dying. Lifting her dim eyes to a kind lady who was her teacher, she said, “I am dying, but I am not afraid to die ; for Christ will call me up to heaven. He has taken away all my sins, and I wish to die now, that I may go and see him. I love Jesus more than any one else."

What made the difference between the little Burman girl and the dying Hindoo ? One had heard the gospel from the lips of the missionaries, and had received it into her heart : the other lived and died an idolater, for none had told him of “the only true God and Jesus Christ whom he has sent.”—Juvenile Missionary Herald.

“ALWAYS SOMETHING TO BE DONE." When the missionary Elliott was very old, and almost dying, he was found one day by a friend trying to teach a young Indian his alphabet. His friend said: " It's time for you to leave off now."

“No,” said he, “there's always something to be done."

This is the sort of spirit that is wanted. We could not well be too young, and we could never be too old to engage in such a work.



My pulse is the clock of my life ;

It shows me my moments are flying;
It marks the departure of time,

And tells me how fast I am dying.


“Thy Kingdom Come.”

Marash, Turkey in Asia. This place is indeed a missionary wonder, Twelve years ago there was not a Protestant here; and the people were proverbially ignorant, barbarons, and fanatical. Six years ago the Evangelical Armenian Church was organized, with sixteen members. The congregation at that time consisted of 120.

On the last Sabbath, I preached to a congregation of over a thousand ; and in the afternoon, at the communion, I addressed nearly or quite fifteen hundred people, when forty new members were admitted to the church, making the whole present number 227! Nearly one hundred of these have been added since Mr. White came here, two years ago. Previous to the late communion, one hundred und sixteen persons were examined, but only forty were admitted to the church. One old woman, of seventy-five years, was admitted, who was converted only four months ago. She was previously an ignorant and bigoted opposer and persecutor; but now she seemed completely full of the love of Christ. Her emotions almost overpowered her on approaching the table of the Lord. When I saw the tears freely rolling down her furrowed cheeks, and heard her half-suppressed sobs, I wished that our dear friends could all see the sight.

“ One thing struck me in the Marash native brethren, namely, that their thoughts are far more upon the spiritual than the temporal. The burden of conversation

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