Wherefore he saith, "Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee life."- Ephesians v., 14.

HAT the souls of men and women are not so strong and well as they ought to be, anyone can tell who has noticed things at all as they are in the world. People quarrel, fight, hate one another, tell lies, disobey laws, commit acts of uncleanness; and they would do none of these things if their souls were well and strong. When we see them acting in this manner we know that their souls are diseased; and as they grow worse and worse as they get older, we can be certain that they are dying very fast.

There are some persons, it is true, that are not so bad as this, but they have the same disease, though they have it more mildly. Thousands of years ago the prophet David discovered what all men since have found to be true-" that there is none righteous, no, not one." The disease of sin attacks some men more than others; but all are sick with it, and there is no way that any man can cure himself of it.

No. 20. AUGUST, 1873.

This disease is a fatal one- it leads to death. It is incurable by man. Our souls grow weaker and weaker, sicker and sicker, till at last they die eternally. This dying life every child born into the world is afflicted with; and if there were no remedy known, men, and women, and children, would be indeed most miserable. But the text calls upon men to rise up from this dead state, and receive new life from Christ. Many people whose souls are dying seem afraid of this new life-seem rather to flee from it than to seek it. Life is quite opposite to death; and when the new life enters into the soul, there is a dreadful battle with all those forms of spiritual disease which are destroying it. Some people would rather avoid this conflict, and let sin go on destroying their souls, than let Christ's new life enter into them, fight with it, and destroy it.

And yet, what a beautiful thing the life of Christ is! It leads to health and happiness, and joy and peace. A child is not happy when he disobeys his parents, or uses unclean words, or steals, or tells lies, or wishes for things that belong to somebody else. But the more a child receives of this life of Christ, the happier and stronger its soul is. There is nothing he is afraid of, not even the death of the body. The essence of life is love; the essence of death is hatred. Any child can tell if he has this life of Christ by asking himself does he love God, and his brothers and sisters and neighbours. He can tell whether he loves them by asking himself what he is prepared to do for them. If we love God, we shall be ready to give up our will to do His will; if we love our neighbours, we shall be ready to suffer ourselves in order to help them.

Now, as a tree is known by its fruits, so we can tell this life of Christ by its results. "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance."

This new life also which Christ gives will never die. Thousands and thousands of years will pass, and it will never grow old. It will utterly destroy the disease of sin, and so will be strong, peaceful, and happy. Have we not, therefore, reason to

pray

Oh may this dying life make haste

To die into true life at last :

No hope have I to live before,
But then to live, and die no more.

,

The Idiot Boy.

PART I.

'IS_eight o'clock, a clear March night,
The moon is up, the sky is blue;
The owlet, in the moonlight air,
Shouts from nobody knows where ;
He lengthens out his lonely shout,
Halloo! halloo ! a long halloo !

Why bustle thus about your door?
What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
Why are you in this mighty fret?
And why on horseback have you set
Him whom you love-your idiot boy?

Scarcely a soul is out of bed;

Good Betty, put him down again !
His lips with joy they burr at you,
But, Betty, what has he to do

With stirrup, saddle, or with rein?

But Betty's bent on her intent,

For her good neighbour, Susan Gale-
Old Susan, she who dwells alone-
Is sick and makes a piteous moan,
As if her very life would fail.

There's not a house within a mile—

No hand to help them in distress;
Old Susan lies a-bed in pain,
And sorely puzzled are the twain,

For what she ails they cannot guess.

And Betty from the lane has fetched
Her pony, that is mild and good,
Whether he be in joy or pain,
Feeding at will along the lane,

Or bringing faggots from the wood;

And he must post without delay

Across the bridge, and through the dale,

And by the church, and o'er the down,
To bring a doctor from the town,

Or she will die, old Susan Gale.

There is no need of boot or spur,
There is no need of whip or wand,
For Johnny has his holly-bough,
And with a hurly-burly now

He shakes the green bough in his hand. And Betty o'er and o'er has told

The boy, who is her best delight,. Both what to follow, what to shun, What do, and what to leave undone, How turn to left and how to right.

And Betty's most especial charge

Was, "Johnny! Johnny! mind that you
Come home again, nor stop at all;
Come home again, whate'er befall,
My Johnny do I pray you do!"

To this did Johnny answer make,
Both with his head and with his hand,
And proudly shook the bridle, too;
And then his words were not a few,
Which Betty well could understand.

But when the pony moved his legs,
Oh, then, for the poor idiot boy!
For joy he cannot hold the bridle;
For joy his head and heels are idle;
He's idle all for very joy.

And while the mother at the door

Stands fixed, her face with joy o'erflows: Proud of herself, and proud of him, She sees him in his travelling trimHow quietly her Johnny goes.

The silence of her idiot boy,

What hopes it sends to Betty's heart!
He's at the guide-post-he turns right-
She watches till he's out of sight,
And Betty will not then depart.

Burr, burr, how Johnny's lips they burr,
As loud as any mill, or near it.
Meek as a lamb the pony moves,
And Johnny makes the noise he loves,
And Betty listens, glad to hear it.

His steed and he right well agree,

For of this pony there's a rumour That, should he lose his eyes and ears, And should he live a thousand years, He never will be out of humour.

But then he is a horse that thinks,

And when he thinks his pace is slack.
Now, though he knows poor Johnny well,
Yet for his life he cannot tell

What he has got upon his back. ́ ́

So through the moonlight lanes they go,
And far into the moonlight dale,
And by the church, and o'er the down,
To bring a doctor from the town
To comfort poor old Susan Gale.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

The Birdcatcher and his Canary.

N the town of Cleves, in Prussia, an English gentleman was living with a Prussian family during the time of the annual fair held in that town. One day, after dinner, when the dessert was on the table, a band of German musicians presented themselves, and received permission to play. Just as they had stopped playing, and were about to leave, a birdcatcher, who was famous for educating and calling forth the talents of birds, made his appearance.

The musicians, who had often heard of this birdcatcher's fame, asked permission to stay, and the master of the house, who was very good-natured, indulged their curiosity.

The birdcatcher brought forth a canary, perched him upon his forefinger, and spoke to him thus: "My jewel, you are now in the presence of persons of great wisdom and of high rank-take care you do not disappoint the good opinion they have formed of you from the report of the world. You have won golden opinions; beware of losing them. In a word, conduct yourself like the jewel of the canary birds, as you certainly are."

The little bird seemed to listen with all his might, inclined his head to the ear of the man, and nodded twice when his master had done speaking-nods which promised that he would do his. best to carry out his master's wishes.

"That's good," said the master, taking off his hat to the bird.