to take the love of the World out of your heart. Tamper not with convictions, or they will become more and more faint, until the cold, calculating cares of advancing years will deaden them altogether. Take God's holy Word in your hand. Pray for an honest mind to bow to its declarations.

Ask for such a 66 preparation of heart” as will enable you to choose the path of obedience, cost what it may; and God's heavenly light will shine upon your path through life, and gild your dying hour with the bright hope of the “glorious inheritance of the saints in light." Your passage to the grave will not then be darkened by the gloom of uncertainty or of despair, as was the case with poor Florence L. Your spirit will pass calmly and confidingly, if not triumphantly, into the arms of Him who gathers into His bosom every loved one whom He has ransomed with His blood and called by His grace.

You will not then have to say, "I am called· but I am not ready!"

PEACE AT LAST.

"Have I not under these whispering leaves
Woven such dreams as the young heart weaves?
Shadows, yet unto which life seemed bound;
And is it not, is it not haunted ground?"

N the autumn of the year 185-
I was appointed to the charge of
a parish in one of the southern
counties of England. The country
in which my parish was situated
had at one time been open, un-
cultivated downs, but wealth and
It is now

industry had changed its character.
beautifully wooded, but here and there may be seen
fields of great extent, betraying in their softly un-
dulating outlines something of the original aspect
peculiar to down scenery. Many happy hours have
I passed in that quiet parish, surrounded by beau-
tiful woods and green lanes. Very sweet was it
on a bright sunny day to listen to the soft sighing
of the wind, as it seemed to die away amongst the
lung avenues of the woods. It seemed like those
soft, sweet voices of nature, by which God is ever

speaking to the heart. Then, too, how beautiful were the shadows as they swept over the undulating fields! how forcibly did they remind one of life! Some were large, like the great ones of this world, called to positions of eminence on the stage of life. Some were small, like those who pass unnoticed through the world, but still have a place and a work allotted to them. Years may pass away, leaving behind them their traces, but the memory of that quiet woodland parish will ever be fresh and distinct, hallowed as it is by associations very dear.

One evening, returning home very late, I passed a poor woman, whose face was not at all familiar to me, although I was under the impression that I was acquainted with all my parishioners. There was something in her face that attracted me, wearing as it did an expression of resigned sadness that told its tale of suffering, either of mind or body. I stopped and put to her some simple question, and then learned that she lived in a remote part of the parish, so distant that I was always under the impression that it belonged to a neighbouring district. She said to me, "Oh, sir, I began to despair of ever receiving a visit from you, and to wonder why I was the only person on whom you had not called." I explained to her why I had not done so, and promised to visit her as soon as possible.

More than once during visits subsequently made she spoke of a dear child who had been taken from her, but who was now in the enjoyment of an eternal