THE PROTESTANT BOY AND
{CATHOLIC PRIEST.

A PRETTY Irish boy, of mongrel breed,
The fruit of Protestant and Catholic seed,
To mother's church an inclination had,
But father unto mass would often force the lad;
But still the boy to church on Sunday stole,
And evidenced some value for his soul.
The recter eyed him, and his zeal approved,
Gave him a Bible, which he dearly loved.
This made the enraged father storm and curse,
Lock up the book, and use his son the worse;
But still the boy to church on Sunday stole,
And showed concern about his soul.
At length, one Sunday morn, it came to pass
The father dragged the struggling boy to mass,
The zealous papists helped to force him in,
And begged the priest to pardon all his sin.
No, by the mass," he said, "I cannot bless
Nor pardon till the culprit first confess."

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"Well," said the boy, "supposing I were willing, What is your charge?" "I'll charge you but a shilling." And must all men pay, and all men make confession?" "Yes, every one of Catholic profession."

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"And who do you confess to?" Why, the dean.”
"And does he charge you?" Yes, a white thirteen."
"And pray, sir, do your deans confess and pay-to
whom?"

"Yes, boy, they do, and pay the Church of Rome."
"Well," says the boy, "all this is mighty odd.
And does the Pope confess ?" "Oh, yes, to God."
"And does God charge the Pope to give him rest?"
"No," said the priest, "God charges nothing."
then, God's the best.

"Oh,

God's able to forgive, and through His Son He's willing; To Him, then, I'll confess and save my shilling."

THE SEA.

I SUPPOSE children far from the sea often look at the great oceans on their maps-the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the Indian-and think how far off they are, and how little they have to do with them; and quite likely many of them say, "The first thing I shall do when I grow up will be to visit the sea-shore, and look on those great waters, where the big ships sail and the great whales live."

They do not know that the sea has blessings in store for them, which they could not live a day without; nor does it wait for them to visit its shores-it goes to them. They do not know, perhaps, that the sea is all about their far inland homes, as much as it is about those by the sea-side. It runs in the little brook through their farms. It overflows in the spring by their door. The cattle drink it, and the little dogs lap it, and all thirsty ereatures slake their thirst from its cool waters. It is the sea which rolls down their rivers, and turns the mills which grind their corn. The sea is in the sparkling dew-drop, and it falls in the summer shower. It makes the grass grow, and the flowers unfold their gay banners--red, white, and blue. It ripens the peach and the apple, and loads the fields with the yellow harvest. It spins our thread and weaves our cloth. It is harnessed to mighty engines, and does more work than hundreds of men and horses. It saws our timber, lifts up our coal from the bowels of the earth, and steams in the iron horse. So that you eat the sea and drink the sea; and the sea clothes us and cools us, and carries us and works for us. All the water in our rivers, lakes, fountains-in the dew, fog, snow, sleet, or rain -comes alike from the sea. That fine waterfall, represented on the opposite page, comes from the sea.

There is a river in the sky many hundred times bigger than the largest river on earth, and not only one, but many. These rivers come to us in the spring rains, the summer showers, the nightly dews, and the winter snows. The water which falls from the sky every year would cover the earth, if it were level like a field, fully five feet deep-far overhead of all the children. Where did the sky get so much water?

It all comes from the sea. The sun pumps it up. All the waters of our mighty rivers and lakes were once clouds, and the clouds are but vapour lifted into the sky from the sea by the secret enginery of the sun; and the winds, by the flapping of their mighty wings, drive it over the lands to the hills and the mountains and the thirsty fields; and there the clouds pour their blessings upon the farms and pastures and orchards, and the dusty roads and the wayside grass, bringing greenness and gladness everywhere.

So, you perceive, the sea is the nursing-mother of us all. Every tree and herb, and beast and bird and man, would wither and die without it; and distant as any of you are, you live under its perpetual ministry.

The Bible says of God, "The sea is His, and He made it." Nor is the sea His more than the land. For though the land is cut up into farms and pastures, and gardens and orchards, and these are owned by different persons: and we build on them, and plant them, and mow them, and reap them, and gather the fruit that grows on the land we occupy: their boundaries are all carefully fenced off by hedges, or stone walls, or wire fences, so that each man knows his own yet all belongs to God.

The sea is more obviously the Lord's. Nobody lays claim to an inch of sea. We cannot build a house or

pitch our tents on the sea. We cannot parcel out or fence off the sea. We cannot so much as put a stop on the sea. There is no rest on its watery bosom. The noblest ship and the largest fleet are at its mercy. Who can say that the storms of to-morrow may not sink them for ever from our sight? And we can raise no tomb-stone and build no monument to the memory of the dead on its tossing waves. God will not go "The sea is

into partnership with man on the sea. His, and He made it."

DIARY OF RHODA NOBLE.

(Afterwards Mrs. Bidwell, of Paxton.)
(Continued from page 244.)

October. Let me contemplate the bright perfections of God as shining in his once suffering Son. Look how His grace and justice join at Calvary to form the never-failing basis of my safety. Let love eternal, as fixed on the chosen race in Jesus, be the subject of my thoughts, with the headship of Christ and the union subsisting between Him and His members; the glory of His person, and the efficacy of His blood and righteousness to justify and save all the objects of distinguishing favour. These are the noblest things on which my thoughts can dwell or my mind enjoy.

Lord's Day.-Heard a good sermon to-day on these words," And I will be a Father to you." I trust, by the minister's description, I can say, "God is my Father." Oh, what a mercy! Then He loves me with an everlasting love, and with loving-kindness has drawn me even to Christ for life and salvation; and if He is my Father, He will provide for me what