Eadie's face as he read the marked verses. He scarcely needed the few words and the date written at the end of the book to tell him that it was the gift of a lover now dead. Putting the volume carefully back into its place, he began to pace the school-room from one end to the other, thinking over the discovery he had just made. So Miss Cope had had her love story. Well, its ending, sad as it seemed, was happier than that of many a tale that takes longer to tell. Of all kinds of partings, death is, perhaps, the least painful. He almost envied the governess her secret treasure of sweet memories. And then, for the thousandth time, he pitied himself for his own bitter experience. It generally takes us a long while to see that we do not deserve half the compassion that we lavish upon ourselves; and it certainly did not strike Graham that it was his own fault that he had no sweet memories. If a man deliberately chooses a scentless flower, can he complain that no perfume lingers about its withered leaves? The little sprig of lemon-plant, shrivelled and dry, gives us its faint sweetness for many a long day; but what of the camellia that was worn in the ball-room? There may be dead friendships—ay, and dead loves-whose fragrance will stay with us to the end of our lives; but then they were very sweet in their lifetime. He quitted the school-room and went out into the open air, eager to shake himself free from sad thoughts. A group of damsels had gathered near the old Norman gateway of the castle, and many a shy glance was turned in his direction. There was a little flutter as he approached; unsuccessful attempts to appear unconscious; open smiles, and general satisfaction. Half an hour later he was strolling through the village by the side of a sprightly fair one who had cleverly contrived to get rid of all her rivals. The governess and her charges, coming home laden with wild flowers, encountered the pair. Alison Cope was looking young and bright as she talked to the little girls; and they, listening eagerly, had only a hasty nod for Graham. As to Alison's greeting, he was wise enough to know that its brightness was not specially intended for him. The smile had been called into her face by the children, and it shone upon him simply because he happened to cross her path. But his companion looked at Miss Cope with other eyes. "What a sparkling glance, Mr. Eadie !" she said. "How nice it must be to be beamed upon! Do you get such a smile every day?" No," replied Graham shortly. 'Ah, she won't indulge you too often! Quite right," continued the young lady, trying to hide female spite under a thin veil of pleasantry, as women sometimes do. "I'm very glad I'm not a governess," she added complacently. "Poor things! I always pity them; don't you, Mr. Eadie?" Graham smiled. It amused him to think of this girl pitying Alison Cope. As well might the poppies have pitied the golden wheat-ears amid which they grew. But he gave another turn to the conversation. Long have we waited, and the springs of hope The turbid waters swell And overflow our souls. Is there on earth no joy for pilgrim man? Or must our life be sorrow to the end? Cold, grey, and cheerless still? Is it dim unbelief, unholy fear, Or stubborn waywardness, or, worse than all, Which binds us to our woe? But in the anguish of our loneliness ONE pleadeth with a sweet, resistless might, His comfort to our souls. Yet may we still refuse the Charmer's voice, Our own self-chosen grief. But rather let us heed the Spirit's call, "Oh, harden not your hearts, hear me to-day;" Bid welcome to His grace, And see what it will do. His freshening life descends; the breath of God We trust Him for the rest. Not suddenly, but gently, as at first He moved upon the waters of the deep, So shall our storms subside Into His wondrous peace. While high above our heads the clouds shall break, And let bright glimpses of the blue shine out, To gladden us below With thoughts of God, and heaven. In penitence and meek obedience brought Of God, unto Himself. SUNDAY EVENINGS WITH THE CHILDREN. BY THE REV. R. H. SMITH AND A. C. BERNARD. FIRST EVENING. Opening Hymn: "How kind is the Saviour." Lesson: observes this fact, but gives us the reason: 'knowing that He came from God and went to God." This was the secret of our John xiii. 1-i,. Concluding Hymn: "Sun of my soul, thou Lord's life; the meat He ate, of which the Saviour dear." world knew nothing. Knowing that His hour was come, that before Him was the cross, that one of His disciples would betray Him, that all would forsake Him, our Lord was not only self-possessed, but He was so peaceful as to speak of His peace; even more, He talked of His joy and His glory. There have been those, and we have known them, mothers fa Lord's parables. We may, very fairly, about this illustration, adapt о u r Lord's words and say, "It has been said ΟΙ thers, sis ters or brothers, who have lived sweet and holy lives, and they have died time, The world is a wilderness, and all have to make their way through it; but, I say unto you, We come from God, and are going to God." Thoughts of God cheer us. And as we look at life as it is shown to us by our Saviour— "The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad, Our Lord brought life and immortality to light. And the light of life shines at its brightest in our Lord's own life. Now, in the record given to us of the night in which our Lord was betrayed, which is very long and very full, there is one fact which evidently greatly impressed the disciples. That fact was our Lord's quietness, peace, and joy. He was troubled, exceeding sorrowful, but He was still the same that He had ever been. The apostle John not only calmly and happily. But 1 One have lived, We have or have died, like our Lord. listened to last words, and shall never forget some last actions. We have wished, as we have looked through our tears, that our last end might be the same. But our people can only leave us their memories, not their spirit. Now the preciousness of our Saviour to us, lies in this. Our Lord is so related to us that He can give us the mind that was in Him. He can, for instance, make us know and feel that we come from God and are going to God. But is not this too good to be true? We can never be like our Lord. We cannot live as He lived. We cannot die as He died. This is a dream, a delusion. Well, if it is not true, it ought to be. It ought to be true of some lives, for they are so full of pain and trouble. It ought to be true of some deaths, for they seem to be so sad, so shocking. If this is not true, how is it that the heathen have said that we come from God? "For we are also his offspring." How is it that little children have died, saying that they were going to God? If children do not come from God, why do we take them as if they had just come from Him? How is it that the babe is crowned king or queen as it comes to us? Why do we hush our tread, and our voice, as we enter its room? And why do we bend at its cradle? If children do not come from God, then what did our Lord mean when He said, "Of children is the kingdom of heaven "? No, no. The gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ is the glorious gospel that He was made like unto us. He took upon Him our nature, and therefore we may see what that nature is. Our Lord is thus the light of the world, the true light, lighting every one coming into the world. His life is the light of men. And we are to be as He is. And that is our redemption, and the salvation of our soul. He came to show us our Father. And showing to us God as our Father, to show us to ourselves, what we are, what we can be, and what we shall be. And Christ is able thus to redeem us, thus to save our souls, for not only through Him we have the forgiveness of our sins, but He is able to give us His spirit. Our Lord is our Saviour because He can be in us, working in us to will and to do the will of God. and foolish, that it comes from God, as you do. A happy childhood is the first portion that falls to you from your Father in heaven. Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, "That you come from God, and are going to Him;" act as if you remembered them, and your happiness you will find will last longer than childhood. Presently, when childhood is over and gone, other gifts besides running and singing will be given to you. School will be left, playthings will be put aside, and the time for your work will come; and with the time for work, then will come eagerness, energy, and hope. Remember that you come from God, that you are the children of God, and you will find all things in this old world made new for you. Renewed year after year, however old you get, daily life and common things will retain their first interest and freshness. And when the tide beneath you turns, you will find some fresh, strange power possessing you. For death as well as life is of God. Death and life are after all one. For we come from God, and we go to God. In Him we live, and in Him we die. And thus it is that we may remember all life through, the truth that will be always able to save our soul. "For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord; whether we live, therefore, or die, we are the Lord's. For to this end Christ both died and rose and revived, that He might be Lord both of the dead and the living." R. H. SMITH. SECOND EVENING. John xvii. 1-11. Concluding Hymn: "Sun of my soul, thou Opening Hymn: "And is it true, as I am told?" Lesson: Saviour dear." Children run. Children sing. Why do you run? Why do you sing? You say, you do not know. You have never thought about it. You cannot tell. People call you "happy, thoughtless things." Now Christ, who is the Last Sunday I spoke to you of Life, let light of men, is the light of children. The me speak to you now about life which is entrance of His words gives light. He speaks past, and my text shall be Paul's words: that we may know. You are happy, though "Forgetting the things which are behind." you do not know why you are happy. Christ We are all alike; life is the same to all. would make you more happy, for He comes We have, each of us, a past, a present, and a to tell you that | your happiness is not childish future. A babe of a week old has seven |