By attending to them we may better understand how silk and other fibrous substances are made into different kinds of clothing.

The bold contrast between the producing worm and the precious product, especially when the silk has been woven and made into garments, has been a favourite theme of moralist and poet. Milton asks

"Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth

With such a full and unwithdrawing hand,
Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks,
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable;
But all to please and sate the curious taste,
And set to work millions of spinning-worms,

That in their green shops weave the smooth-haired silk,
To deck her sons."-(" Comus.")

OUR SUNDAY-SCHOOL ALBUM.
BY ENOCH GRATTON.

(Continued from page 246.)

XXII.-MR. READYMAN.

E should have been very sorry if our album had not been favoured with a likeness of this worthy friend and devoted worker. He has won for himself an honourable place in the school and church; not because he has sought honour and distinction, but because every body felt that he deserved it. Like that sensible stone of which the proverb speaks, he has shown himself fit for the wall, and therefore he has not been allowed to lie in the road. If the superintendent has a post of great difficulty to fill, a class of rough and headstrong boys to manage, a matter of any kind requiring promptitude, delicacy, and energy, he turns right to this friend for help, and finds, as he has often found before, that he is the right man in the right place Mr. Readyman is like a soldier, who, when the moment for action has arrived, has his armour adjusted, his sword keen, his arm strong, his heart brave. When the cry is raised "The Bridegroom cometh!" he is not seen rubbing his eyes, yawning, and stretching himself like a half-awakened man. He is prepared for the coming. He has not to trim his lamp and seek oil; his lamp is trimmed and burning brightly. Who ever saw him hurriedly seize his Bible just five minutes before the time for school on Sunday morning to look up his lesson, ignorant until that moment what it was, or where it was? Who ever saw him cast a vacant look upon his class, and heard him ་་ say, Boys, what lesson shall we have to-day?" The superintendent does not need to tell him from the desk what is the lesson in the "Notes" for to-day. He knows it, has read it, read about it, prayed it into his own soul. He has not only thought about, he has

thought it into his brain, into his conscience and will. It has become part of the life-blood of his moral being. As the flowers drink in the dew and sunlight, so his faculties and graces have drunk in the truth he has to teach to others. The lesson comes not simply from the "throat outwards; "he is no mere phrasemonger, a mere dealer in words and sentences. What he utters has the ring of reality and the "accent of conviction." His thought about his class is not limited to the time he spends in the class; throughout the week, and month, and year he is gathering truths and facts to interest and nourish the minds of his scholars; and, being a thoughtful man, a diligent reader, a careful thinker, a keen observer, he picks up many a precious lesson which others miss, and makes a capital use of points

which to others are useless. He neither tries to shuffle out of his work, nor to shuffle through it in loose and slovenly fashion. One article of his creed is, that what is worth doing at all is worth doing well. He covets the best gifts; and the best gifts he has he wishes to use and cultivate for the glory of Jesus, and the good of his scholars. Dr. Gutherie once uttered words, the splendid spirit of which Mr. Readyman has largely caught. They are these: "I resolved to spare no pains, no toil, no time in careful preparation, in making my statements lucid, my descriptions graphic, my appeals pathetic, and in filling my discourses with what would strike and stick."

Temptations to neglect the school which are quite irresistible to Mr. Tardy and Mr. Wavering, have no power at all over Mr. Readyman; like shells hurled from an enemy's camp, they may fall at his feet, but before they can burst he picks them up and flings them away. If a teacher is really without a lesson in his brain and soul, although there may be many in the "Notes" and in the "Hive" and "Sunday-school Teacher," it needs no strong temptation to keep him away from his class: a slight cold, the call of a friend, a headache, a shower of rain, will be enough. The fact is, it is hard work talking when you have got nothing to say.

XXIII.-MASTER DICK RUDELY.

This is the likeness of a big, bold lad, whose boast is that he does not fear anything and does not care for anybody. He glories in being rough and troublesome. He scorns the idea of being even a bit polite; although he is only a boy, he has more cheek than half-a-dozen men ought to have. His face, as you may see, has upon it an expression of daring, his speech is rash and reckless, his manners are insolent and rude. It is almost impossible to shame him; he has a notion that it is large and manly to defy his father, to insult his mother, to annoy his teacher, and to create confusion and tumult in the class. He often does wrong knowingly; and while doing it he will look his teacher in the face in the coolest and most impudent style. On entering the class he gives no sign of respect for his teacher, makes no bow, utters no word.

If anybody is in his way, he does not say "Allow me to pass, please," but pushes them aside in the roughest fashion. If he sees a lady or an aged person standing, he does not rise from his seat and kindly ask them to take it—his maxim is "first come, first served." If he is at the table, he does not hand the plate first to his sisters or brothers; he believes in looking after Number one." His attendance at school is not willing and cheerful. In fact, I know that he once said that he wished he could not read, for then he might not have to go to school at all. While the singing is going on I have been pained to see how the attention of others is diverted, and the sweetness of the singing impaired, by Dick's rudeness. While the most beautiful and solemn hymns are being sung he will laugh and talk, make foul faces and queer noises. The teacher is utterly at a loss what to do with him; certainly any man who has charge of Dick needs the patience of Job, the wisdom of Solomon, and the tenderness of John. It is certainly no easy thing to say what is to be done with this lad, or what he will do with himself. The promise is not bright; and it is no use shutting our eyes to the fact that many who were like Dick when they were lads have become really bad men, not only daring, but drunken, wild, and shameless. True, some who were not a bit better than Dick years ago have since turned out well; they are clever and courageous, and in every sense really splendid fellows; they display a bulk of manhood, a strength of purpose, a mindful, generous, noble disposition, which inclines us heartily to forgive their past rough and impudent behaviour. Let us hope, and pray, and labour that the lad whose carte you now see may throw off his uncouth and ugly habits, and become a gentle and heroic Christian. In spite of all his faults, there may be, yea, there is something good in Dick; he is like a nut with an exterior rough and prickly, but with a kernel sweet and sound.

If Dick's teacher should happen to read this sketch, I should like to say a word to him. Pray don't crush and bruise the nut-don't treat Dick harshly and bitterly. If you really can't manage him, and if there is in the school a teacher with more tact, more sympathy, more power than you possess-like an honest man, more concerned for the lad's good than for your reputation, ask the superintendent to put Dick into that teacher's class. But if you keep him in your class, don't beat him, don't pull his ears, don't awaken the demon of hate and revenge. By your gentleness try to make him great and good; think of the worth of his soul, of the price paid for its redemption, of its limitless capacity for good or evil, of the misery into which he may sink, of the harm he may do. Talk to him alone, try to win his respect, notice anything good that you may see in him, pray for him often and fervently, and do your very best to save him.

If Dick himself, or any of Dick's cousins, should read this sketch, I hope they will permit me to say a word or two to them. Be assured that to be rude and insolent is not the way to be manly and great; it is rather the way to be mean, and small, and hateful. The

greatest heroes have ever been gentle and kind; in them, courage and tenderness have met and mingled. They did in David, the noble youth who rescued his lambs from the grasp of the lion and bear. They did in the three Hebrew youths, who quailed not in the presence of an enraged king and at the sight of a burning fiery furnace. We like to see a lad with plenty of pluck, and spirit, and energy; at the right time, and in the right place, we delight to see lads romp and play, and we are rather fond of romping with them. But in the school do try to be attentive and steady; to the aged and deformed, especially try to be gentle and considerate. And at all times, and in all places, try to act like intelligent Christian lads. If you cannot be rich and famous, you can be true, and loving, and pure. Will you really try?

BAND OF HOPE PAPER.

AN ADDRESS FOR A BAND OF HOPE MEETING.

DEAR parents and friends, I am glad you are here
At our Annual Band of Hope Meeting;

On behalf of our members and officers dear,
I'm requested to give you fair greeting.

We are not to explain how our meetings are held,
And the objects we strive to attain ;

And in this way your sympathy, interest, and prayers
We hope ere we close to obtain.

Our object's a good one, and you will agree

With our principle; for I feel sure

That none can dispute the old adage's truth

That "prevention is better than cure."

'Tis our wish to be kept from the drink and its curse,
And the increase of drunkards to stop;

Now there's only one way that is perfectly sure,
And that is not to take the first drop.

It is certainly clear if we keep to our pledge,
We can ne'er become drunkards at all;

And teetotalers are safe from full many a snare,
Which with others results in a fall.

And besides their own safety much good has been done
By what Band of Hope children have said;

Wretched fathers and mothers have given up the drink
By the words of their little ones led.

Then parents look kindly on our Band of Hope,
And don't keep your children at home;

They may learn something now that will keep them from harm
In many a long year to come.

You teetotal parents can have no excuse
For declining your children to send ;

If you'd have them grow up strong in temperance rules,
Oh, let them our meetings attend!

And if you, who yourselves do not wholly abstain,
Of the risks of the habit once think,

I feel sure you'll consent to your children being trained
To shun and avoid all strong drink.

Let them come then and join us, there's nothing to pay,
They are welcome no matter how poor;

All we ask is that they shall be tidy and clean,
And we turn away none from our door.

Our meetings are cheerful, and not at all long,
The children take part in them too;

We sing and recite, and the grown-up folks talk
And tell tales of what children may do.

To you who have no little ones of your own,
But agree with our objects and aims,

I would say, come and join us with hearty goodwill,
And this evening pray give in your names.

There is plenty of work for each one if you'll come,
Do not leave it to fall on a few;

There is something perhaps that requires to be done
Can be only done rightly by you.

And remember, if only one home you reform,
One man by your efforts reclaim,

The good that results shall eternally live,

Though forgotten by men be your name.

For you know Jesus said, what's for little ones done,
Though the least one, is done for their Lord,
And at last, when His servants are all gathered home,
"Good and faithful" shall be your reward.

TOM BROWN,

RUTH'S GOOD FORTUNE.

HE day was a very hot one in July. No one had felt it more than Ruth Warford, for she had been toiling all day at her sewing-machine in a close suffocating room at the warehouse. Tired, weary, and almost worn out, she was now dragging her weary limbs homewards, but only to a poor miserable home. Not that it was her mother's fault. No. Mrs. Warford did her utmost to make things look comfortable, but then, poor old body, even when she had done