viders distribute the liberal provision; where parental love lavishes itself upon its tender objects; and where the children not only have their bodies nurtured, but their minds and manners cultivated?

A prayerless family-meal is a most unchristian, a most ungodly, thing; and seldom does that graceless spirit whose plainest name is fashion, show her impiety more plainly than when, at a social entertainment, she whispers that, as the familytable would be too narrow for so numerous a company, so the family-custom of giving thanks at table is too homely for so splendid an occasion: just as if the larger and costlier provision did not need the Divine blessing, and did not call for thanks, as much as the ordinary meal; and just as if a meal, partaken by a numerous company scattered through the ample spaces of a parlour, were any less a bounty to be received with thanksgiving than the same thing at an ordinary table.

Nor is it only at table that families should worship. Sheltered by one roof, the family have laid them down in peace and slept, and awoke in safety, because the Lord hath sustained them. Coming from their several chambers, they meet and exchange their affectionate salutations, glad to feel, "We are all here." It is a common protection they have shared. They have together been kept from the assassin, from the fire, from "the pestilence that walketh in darkness." Should not they kneel together, and give thanks to their heavenly Guardian? They are going forth, too, to duties and to dangers, and they need a common guidance: shall they not ask for it together? And at the close of the day, have they not equal reasons for united prayer and thanksgiving? They have all been led and kept by one Providence; and they all need to commit themselves to one Divine Guardian. On both occasions it is appropriate, besides the prayer, to read the Divine word together, and to unite, if they are able, in sacred song.

There will, of course, be mornings when all have not come from their chambers in the glow and the joy of health; there will be evenings when the family will sadly gather, returning from a new grave. Thenceforth, at the table and at the fireside, there will be " one vaçant chair."

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All families must have these days of sorrow. What shall they do with this sorrow? To whom shall they tell it? On whose friendly strength shall they lay it? There is no such other place for a bereaved family to soothe and comfort themselves as their family-altar. Is it the father that is gone? Nowhere else will they find such comfort as kneeling, in their tears, at the family-altar, and pouring out their prayers from their broken hearts, through the channel perhaps of a feebler and softer voice than that to whose manly tones they were accustomed.

Or has one of the little ones been taken? The table must henceforth lack the light of his happy face; the house will no more ring to his merry laugh: but there is no sweeter memory, when you see the white hands laid together on the still breast, than that you had seen them folded on the ledge of the table at the giving of thanks, or on the chair by your side at the daily worship.

In joy and sorrow, amid all the varieties of domestic experience, they who live together may most appropriately and beneficially worship together.

"SHOULD IT BE ACCORDING TO THY MIND?"

Ir may be "according to thy mind” to pass into spiritual life without deep sorrow for sin; but it may be the "mind" of God, by exquisite distress to lay open the plague of thy heart, and to lay the foundation of personal piety deep in previous mental anguish.

It may be "thy mind" to prescribe great and deep discipline of repentance; it may be His, to prevent Pharisaism, by saving thee more speedily and directly by faith.

It may be "thy mind" to obtain prompt victories over temptations, and the evils of a corrupt nature; it may be His, that thou shouldest have severe and protracted struggles ere the conquest is won.

It may be "thy mind" to have rich and uninterrupted spiritual joys; but it may be His, to throw thee more upon principle, and personal effort.

It may be "thy mind" to be much employed by God, in extending the interests of religion both at home and

abroad; but it may be His, that thy days should be in a great measure spent in retirement and solitude.

It may be "thy mind" to be saved from surrounding evils by hope; it may be His, thus to save thee by fear.

It may be "thy mind" to glorify God by public and active zeal; it may be His, to place thee in affliction and silence, to glorify Him by the passive graces of the Christian character.

Or, the reverse of all this may be His mind.

The question still is, "Should it be according to thy mind?" that is, the mind of an erring and fallible creature; or the mind of God that cannot err? The answer to this question your own hearts will give. It becomes not a fallen creature, who deserves nothing but hell, to dictate to the all-wise God.-Watson.

SAINTS.

IN the New Testament the word "saints" is used to designate the followers of Christ. It was a word in common use among Christians of that day. In modern times the meaning has changed. We use it to designate a Christian of peculiar devotedness. Of one we hear it said, "He is a saint;" meaning, that he is an unusually devout and consistent follower of Christ. Of another it is said, "He is a good man, but he is not a saint;" meaning, that while his piety is unquestioned, there is something wanting to the completeness of his Christian character. This change in the meaning of the word indicates a sad

OLD MILTON.

falling off from the standard set up by Christ and the Apostles. With them all Christians were saints. It ought to be so now. The term "saint" ought not to be applicable to a few only: it ought to be applicable to all. All Christians are redeemed, and called to be saints, and nothing else.

Christians are sanctified for Christ; set apart for His service. It is proper that they should bear a name indicative of the fact the reality should correspond to the name. There should be no incongruity between the sign and the thing signified.

What an influence would be wielded by the church if all her members were saints! Let the term be applied to many of her members, and the world would laugh. Let it be applied to others, and the world admits the propriety of the application. Now, if the characters of all were like the characters of those last mentioned, what a change would there be in the aspect of the church, and how much more rapid would be her conquests for Christ! Why should there be such a difference among Christians? Have they not all been bought by the same blood, converted by the same Spirit, the same heavenly Father? Why should there then be a difference which causes a scandal to the cause, and proves a stumblingblock in the way of sinners? Why should not all be worthy of the name given them by the Spirit of inspiration? Why should not all be saints indeed?

Reader, would it do to apply the term to you? I do not ask if you think you are worthy to be called a saint; but would the world sneer if you were called one?

other day. Here was an unexpected trial of her Christian firmness. What should she do? Should she timidly compromise her principles, and yield to the wishes of her companion? It was easy to see that there lay beneath his gentlemanly bearing a quick and somewhat haughty spirit. Alone, in a strange land, should she run the hazard of offending her only protector by what would seem to him fanatical obstinacy?

Though sensitive and shrinking, Miss G was a Christian; and she felt there was but one simple course to be pursued, namely, to do right, and leave the results with Him who overrules all. She expressed her unwillingness to travel on that day. The gentleman appeared somewhat irritated, and announced an intention of going on himself, to which she modestly but firmly replied, "I am not afraid to travel alone; but I am afraid to break God's law, and must remain here till to-morrow."

The firmness of this answer struck him; and he was, years afterwards, heard to say, "From that moment I felt a genuine respect for Miss G. I was sure that one so true to her religious convictions would be equally true to any trust reposed

in her."

Miss G- afterwards filled a large sphere of usefulness in one of our northern cities, and has recently passed to the gracious reward reserved for the faithful disciples of Jesus. If, like her, all Christians were firm in the hour of trial, even worldly men would respect their consistency; whereas the vacillating, yielding spirit so often exhibited by professors of religion, receives the just reward of contempt from those they most wish to propitiate.-American Messenger.

HOW THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE-TRADE COMMENCED. Ir is just seventy years since the ViceChancellor of Cambridge proposed, as the subject for a Latin Prize-Essay, the question, "May one Man lawfully make another Man his Slave?" A young Bachelor of Arts had won a similar prize in the preceding year, and had the privilege of competing again. He resolved that he would win the second, if he could; and,

knowing nothing of the subject, was at a loss for books. In a friend's house (accidentally again, as men say) he lighted on a newspaper advertising a "History of Guinea." He hastened to London, bought it, and there found a picture of cruelties which filled his soul with horror. The more he inquired and investigated, the darker grew the shades of crime and suffering. "All my pleasures were damped,” he wrote afterwards, "by the facts which were now continually before me. It was but one gloomy subject from morning to night. In the daytime I was uneasy; in the night I had little rest. I sometimes never closed my eyelids for grief." He wrote with a burning heart, and happily put his indignation into good Latin: so the prize was won. As he journeyed shortly afterwards to London, the subject engrossed his thoughts. "Coming in sight of Wade'sMill in Hertfordshire," to quote again from his own narrative, "I sat down disconsolate on the turf by the road-side, and held my horse. Here a thought came into my mind, that if the contents of the essay were true, it was time that some person should see these calamities to their end." The young prizeman was THOMAS CLARK SON; and he did see the evil to the end, and lived, moreover, to see the remedy.

SABBATH-OBSERVANCE.

Ar a respectable boarding-house, in NewYork, a number of years ago, were fifteen young men. Six of them uniformly appeared at the breakfast-table on Sunday morning, shaved, dressed and prepared, as to their apparel, for attendance on public worship. They also actually attended both forenoon and afternoon. All became highly respected and useful citizens. The other nine were ordinarily absent from the breakfast-table on the morning of the Lord's day. At noon they appeared at the dinnertable, shaved and dressed in a decent manner. In the afternoon they went out, but not ordinarily to church; nor were they usually seen in a place of worship. One of them is now living, and in a reputable employment: the other eight became openly vicious. All failed in business, and are now dead. Several of them came to an untimely and awfully-tragic end. Many

a mán màỹ saÿ, as did a worthy and opulent citizen, "The keeping of the Sabbath saved me." It will, if duly

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observed, save all. In the language of its Divine Author, "They shall ride upon the high places of the earth."

"WE'RE BEHIND TIME."

A NEW YEAR'S MEDITATION.

"All promise is poor dilatory man,

And that through every stage: when young,
indeed,

In full content, we sometimes nobly rest,
Unanxious for ourselves; and only wish,

As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise.
At thirty man suspects himself a fool;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.
At fifty chides his infamous delay.
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve,
In all the magnanimity of thought,
Resolves, and re-resolves, then dies the same."

My study was on the second floor, the window of which overlooked the great western road which stretches from Exeter to Plymouth, through the beautiful scenery of South Devon. It was in the days of coaches that the event occurred of which we write. The steam-whistle had not riven the air of those lovely valleys, nor had the steam-horse terrified the unfamiliar natives by his frightful snortings; but coaches in gay colours, with crack whips, and gentlemanly-looking guards, which travelled at the rate of ten miles per hour, were the means of public transit offered to His Majesty's liege subjects in those days.

Like the steam-horses of more modern times, those old stages bore very significant names; amongst which were, I well remember, the “Estafette,” the "Telegraph,” and the " Nonpareil." This Nonpareil could boast of an amusing and clever guard, who, by the music of his key-bugle and his ready wit, made himself very agreeable to the passengers who patronized his coach, and also to the inhabitants of the towns and villages through which he made his daily passage. On one occasion the Nonpareil had halted on its journey for the change of horses, just opposite to my window; and I was attracted to it by the clatter attendant upon that operation. The horses were all fairly adjusted, the coachman had seated himself on his box, the leaders were pawing with their fore

feet, as if impatient of delay; when, on a sudden, the guard ran out, and, eyeing his watch, suddenly exclaimed, "We're behind time! Make haste, gentlemen." In an instant there was a rush to the seats; crack went the whip, the horses' hoofs clattered, the wheels rumbled on the pavement, and the Nonpareil was soon out of sight and hearing. But for some time I stood riveted to the spot, as by some supernatural influence; and the words, "We're behind time," echoed on my ear long after the guard's horn had melted away in the distance. "Behind time." I felt as though I had been disturbed in a profound slumber by something very startling, and a number of persons and scenes rushed before my vision, in illustration of the guard's rallying-word, "Behind time."

A schoolboy with his satchel passed, panting for breath, and sobbing at intervals; for he had been crying. He had lain too long in bed, and was too late for school. He was "behind time."

I then saw a youth, pensive and sad, returning to his home which he had left in the morning joyously. I asked him the cause of his sorrow. He replied, "I have been to seek a lucrative situation, which The Times' paper announced this morning; but I was behind time at the office. Another had stepped in before me."

Scarcely had he passed, when I espied amongst the crowd a man of respectable attire, who had reached the meridian of life's day. His countenance bespoke intelligence and capacity to accomplish something great; but he was dissatisfied with the slow process of rising by degrees, and had been waiting in the expectation that some golden opportunity would open up, in which he might display his talents, and seize the coveted prize of distinction and honour. But it had never come; and he was "behind time,”