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and had been looking forward to for a long time, that he might take the little girl safe home at once, and not let her cry, or make her papa and mamma cry when they came home, and could not tell what had become of her. would you have said, Harry?

What

"Little Frederick gave one more look at the beautiful Christmas-tree, and then took hold of my hand and said, 'Don't cry any more; we will go directly and take you safe home to your papa and mamma, and they will be so glad.' So Clara put me into the coach again with good little Fred, and got in herself; the two little girls being left behind to sleep at their grandpapa's; and soon we stopped at the gate of my own dear home. My dear old nurse was half wild with delight when she got me again all safe, though she had supposed the same coach would have gone back to fetch my papa and mamma, and that I had only been taken back to them. I was in bed, though not asleep, before my papa and mamma came home. I heard them come in to look at me, but they would not disturb me, till I called out that I was awake, and begged for a kiss; and then I had a thousand kisses, as Minna would say. So that is the happy end of my Christmas story."

"But what became of the good, kind little boy?" asked Minna.

"And kind Clara, too?" said Harry.

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Little Willie just at that moment called out Papa!" Not a fair guess; for he says papa on every possible occasion. However, I could not but say that dear little Willie was quite right, and that the little Fred who was so kind to auntie when she was a little girl was now Harry's and Minna's and Willie's papa."

"But Cousin Clara can't be your big Clara ?" said Minna. "No; but my big Clara is Cousin Clara's mamma, who lives a long way off, in India, but who hopes to come home to Cousin Clara before next Christmas Day.

"Now auntie has always something to say at the end of her stories, besides her kiss, has she not?

"She hopes her Harry and Minna will try to be happy this Christmas, not only by enjoying all the pretty things they may have to amuse them, but by trying to make one another happy, even if they have, like little Fred, to give up some of their own pleasures. And this will seem quite

easy, my own darlings, if Christmas Day makes you think of Him who gave up more than we can possibly do, because He loved us so much, and came down from heaven to be a little child on Christmas Day, and at last died for us that we might be happy, not for one day only, but for ever, with Him in heaven."

A. P.

Looking Forward.

ow many people there are for ever dwelling on the future. You would think that to them to-day was of little consequence; they seem to (speaking in homely terms) look down upon the present, and intend throwing all their energies into the great future. Then, again, others are so full of doubts, anxieties, and care, not about the present, but the future. They lose so much present happiness, and frequently the dreaded evil never comes. Have you not often seen the invalid live much longer than the seemingly healthy and strong? Yet how often that strong one has pictured the wrench that death would make when the failing one was taken; and many misgivings have they had.

There is something so like sweet repose in true religion. Our Saviour tells us to cast all our care upon Him. Let us believe He cares for us then. He tells us, we must become like little children; possess their simple faith, be trustful and happy; not only leaving our soul's welfare in His keeping, but all our earthly concerns there too; daily striving to please Him, and to do our best to help ourselves and others. Children would scorn to sit down and fret about the future life seems full of enjoyment; and if their

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thoughts look into futurity, 'tis only to fancy themselves grown wise, great, or good-at any rate, of some consequence in the world; and they never mar their present by thinking their future is going to be a miserable one. Children, too, have faith in the good and true, unless they have been brought up under most unfavourable cir

cumstances.

Christmas is a time looked forward to by many; the young maiden and the aged mother, the schoolboy and the master, the rich and the poor. The benevolent have plans which will make many a heart rejoice. Cold winds may blow, and all nature look dreary, but how bright is the fireside, the warm welcome, and kindly sympathy. The gift given with such cheerfulness and delicate thoughtfulness, making the giver blessed.

The keeping Christmas-time as a festival is a good thing; and when we consider the Saviour's life, it is only consistent that on His natal day we should rejoice, and help others to do the same. I heard a poor woman say with gratitude," "Tis so pleasant to be remembered, even if only on that day." Truly did an aged Christian say, "All things here are crumbling." His comfort was found in God alone, for he was looking forward to an eternal rest. Life's battle had been hard; his path had not been strewn with flowers, though he had often gathered a sweet posy to refresh and cheer him by the way. His future was to be bright, sinless, and happy in His home above.

Christians do well to look forward; it will help them to bear more patiently the crosses that will come, and they will be more cheerful under adverse circumstances; for religion, to make it a reality, must be lived, rather than talked about. The holy consistent life is a sermon not easily forgotten by children or servants. The son praised by our Saviour was not the one who said he would do his father's will, but the one who repented, and did it. Let not another year pass away without our giving this most important of all matters our deepest concern.

Life, we all know, is so uncertain. What folly-nay, madness-to think that the future will be one of joy, while we spend the present in sin! The Christian's death is termed sleep; but with the unbeliever 'tis eternal death. "Why will ye die?" says Jesus. "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life." Turn unto Me, and live.

Listen, then, careless one, and, ere it be too late, repent, and angels who sang of "Peace on earth" will wing their way rejoicing. Perhaps a sainted mother, or wife, will find this Christmas one of the most joyful, because another loved one has given his heart to God.

When we contem

Pause and think of the love of God. plate Him as a Judge, we tremble, for we are all guilty before Him.

But there is no power so marvellous as love; it melts, subdues, humbles and softens; and when the Holy Spirit shows us what we really are, what we might have been, and what we shall be, we are constrained to say, "Thou knowest all things: Thou knowest that I love Thee !"

"Come to me through life's varied way,
And when its pulses cease to play,
Then, Saviour! bid me come to Thee,
That where Thou art Thy child may be."

H. W. P.

Heaven.

IN what part of the universe does that world shine in all its glory, glow in all its rapture, and exist in all the boundlessness of its extent, and in all the magnificence of its splendour? Where are its pearly gates, its golden streets, its many mansions, its flowing rivers, its sunny climes? We know not in what part of the universe it exists; but we know that it is the metropolis of Jehovah's empire, the chief seat of His illimitable dominion, where His throne is erected, and where He

reigns in the supremacy of His authority, the omnipotence of His power, and the splendour of His glory. In that world of radiant light and unsullied holiness and immortal joy there are countless myriads, redeemed from the nations of the earth, clothed in righteousness, bright with joy, and beautified with salvation, adoring before the throne in the presence of God and of the Lamb once slain. It is a happy and a glorious world. Its holiness is its glory. Its services are services of holiness, and the Triune God who is worshipped there is the God of holiness. Am I looking to Jesus Christ, and praying for the sanctifying influences of the Holy Spirit, and walking in the way of holiness-the only way which leads to heaven?

B

"How About the East Line ?"

UT you see it does not prove."

My little pupil looked at me with surprise. He had brought up his slate with a sum in

addition worked upon it, upon which much pains had evidently been spent; and if the reward for which he hoped had been promised for carefully-drawn figures and well-ruled lines he would certainly have gained it; but the reward was for correct addition, and the sum was wrong; for the last line of the three reckonings did not answer to the first; and with tears of disappointment in his eyes the boy went back to his desk, to go all through his work again, and find out where he had been wrong in his reckoning.

And afterwards, in that strange way wherein sometimes the little objects and happenings of daily life kindle a train of thought touching things of deeper interest, I found myself pondering on the momentous sum which is being worked out in every human life: wherein, whatever be the pains, the industry bestowed upon it, the last line alone is the test of success. The one question of importance is this: "Does the sum prove?"

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