for prosperity and recklessly flinging awaythere is no other word for it-the money that his drudgery and toil had procured; the next day forced to borrow for a dinner, or, as often as not, go dinnerless altogether. It was from no want of literary genius that he suffered poverty and want. The author of "The Vicar of Wakefield" and "The Deserted Village" was no common writer. The man who could win the esteem and the affection of Johnson and Reynolds was no common literary hack; though his improvidence and recklessness forced him to do hack work for bread.

"Both Johnson and Goldsmith," says Washington Irving, "had struggled from early life with poverty, but had struggled in different ways. Goldsmith, buoyant, heedless, sanguine, tolerant of evils, and easily pleased, had shifted along by any temporary expedient; cast down. at every turn, but rising again with indomitable good humour. Johnson, melancholy and hypochondriacal, and prone to apprehend the worst, yet sternly resolute to battle with and conquer it. Goldsmith had an unfortunate facility for borrowing, and helping himself along by the contributions of his friends, no doubt trusting, in his hopeful way, of one day making restitution. Johnson never hoped, and therefore never borrowed." And thus was it all through life with poor Oliver. Always the same-kindly, careless, hopeful and yet improvident and extravagant, marring his own efforts, staying his own progress, and with perhaps more sorrow in his heart than those who knew him ever gave him credit for. There are some

"Is your mind at ease?" they asked as they bent over him; and there came the sorrowful answer" No, it is not!" Those were his last words. Who can tell whether or not the spirit, striving to escape, saw but too clearly, in that supreme moment, how, in some respects, life had been wasted, opportunities had been lost, powers had been misspent? Who can gauge the depths of sorrow into which the mind might sink ere life and toil were done?

They told Johnson, and he sank into gloom and sorrow, as one who loses a dear and valued friend. They told Sir Joshua Reynolds, and he threw aside his brush: "I can work no more to-day." Burke, when the news came to him, burst into tears; and a lowlier friend, one Dr. McDonnell, whom, when a poor student, Goldsmith had befriended and employed, tells us that he wept bitterly when the tidings came. blank," says McDonnell,

66

66

came over my heart as if I had lost one of my nearest relatives."

So he passed away, and even the exact spot where he was laid remains unknown; but it is sufficient to be sure that it was in the Temple where he had dwelt so long, where the grey old church could cast its shadows over his last rest

tions that bear out such a view :

"In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs-and God has given my share

I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,
Amid these humble bowers to lay me down:

To husband out life's taper at the close

And keep the flame from wasting by repose.

I still had hopes-for pride attends us still,
Amid the swains to show my book-learned skill.
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt and all I saw:

And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from which at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return-and die at home at last.

One can scarcely help thinking that, had his means and position permitted, a quiet domestic life would have improved and steadied him. So affectionately and kindly a nature as his surely would have been happiest in a pleasant home.

of warrior, monk, or haughty baron, might securely rest. Turn away from the stones. Leave them where they lie, too often unknown and unnoticed. Leave the silent dead where

Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them;

Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and for ever;

Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy ;

Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labours;

Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey.

The men of action-chieftain, soldier, monk have done their work, have passed away, and are forgotten. The poet never dies!

R. STANSBY WILLIAMS.

LL the false and deceptive systems of merely human religion have had this one certainty about ⚫ them the certainty of destroying all who embraced them, and of perishing at last themselves. New delusions are constantly rising. Old ones are as constantly passing away. The priesthood of error taught one falsity yesterday; they teach another to-dayto be followed perhaps by a worse one to-morrow. The man who seeks to put his trust in any of these earth-born religions is tortured and mocked by their uncertainty, their utter want of anything stable in themselves, or anything to guide and sustain those who embrace them.

Like the treacherous signal-boats that are sometimes stationed by the wreckers off an iron bound coast, these shifting systems are continually changing their places. Like them, they attract only to bewilder, and allure only to destroy. The unwary mariner follows them with a trembling uncertainty, and only finds out where he is when he feels his ill-fated vessel crashing into a thousand fragments on the beach. But how different from these floating and delusive systems is that unchanging Gospel of Christ which stands forth like the towering light-house of Eddystone, with its beacon-blaze streaming far out over the midnight sea! The angry waves, through many a long year, have rolled in, thundering against its base. The winds of heaven have warred fiercely around its pinnacle; the rains have dashed against its gleaming lantern!

But

there it stands. It moves not. It trembles not; for it is "founded on a rock." Year after year, the storm-stricken mariner looks out for its starlike light, as he sweeps in through the

British Channel. It is the first object that meets his eye, as he returns to his homeward voyage-it is the last which he beholds long after his native land has sunk behind the evening wave.

66

So is it with the unchanging Gospel of Christ. While other systems rise and change, and pass into nothingness, this Gospel (like its immutable Author) is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. While other false and flashing lights are extinguished, this the true light, ever shineth. The Christian goes to his Bible, and finds it always the same. The life-giving doctrines of the Cross which first brought peace to his soul are still his solace; the precepts of the Divine law are still his delight. They have never lost their ability to guide him, or their power to console him.

He has seen the hope of the hypocrite perish like the spider's web; he has seen the man who trusted in some infidel error sinking under the agonies of remorse; he has seen one delusive system fail after another, but the Gospel of his Master yet abideth, the "wisdom of God and the power of God unto salvation." His own riches may have taken to themselves wings and flown away, but nothing can rob him of that priceless treasure, his Gospel-hope.

The friends of his early years have gone down, one by one, "to darkness and the worm;" but that Almighty Friend whom the Gospel reveals yet remaineth "closer than a brother." Upon this Gospel his fathers rested their hopes and pillowed their dying heads. Upon this he himself means to rest when his heart and flesh fail him; and he trusts that it shall be the precious heritage of his descendants, long after his own corruptible body shall have mouldered into dust.-T. L. Cuyler.

BY A BOOKWORM.

F making many books there is no end. If Solomon the wise could so write when the world was young, in what terms can one fitly speak of the book manufacture, which proceeds at such a prodigious rate to-day. Dominie Sampson's adjective does not seem to be expressive enough; though if this "Bookworm" had that dear old character's facile expression to bear it company it would stand for something considerable. "Thick as leaves in Vallambrosa," is a well-worn comparison, and as the number of printed leaves is beginning to outstrip in number the leafy treasures of any forest, classic or otherwise, it is beginning to lack strength as an illustration. The rush of books which has set in from Paternoster Row and otherwhere is so great and so rapid that the reviewer needs a pair of seven-leagued boots and a magic pen to keep pace with it. A bookworm, however, has such a quiet, persevering, industrious, and incisive fashion of getting through his work (and other people's) that he quickly gets a taste of the quality of the books which he operates among, and may to that extent be trusted as a guide to opinion. One thing the reader may be assured of-the " Bookworm will honestly taste what he talks of, and will honestly talk of what he tastes. It is not likely that books that are either insipid, unpleasant, or deleterious, will find much mention here, and simply for this reason; that "Bookworm" has too much respect for his palate to concern himself much with them, and that time and space are too limited to admit of the introduction of such works as have neither the properties of food nor a pure and pleasant flavour to recommend them.

As usual, the enterprising firm of Hodder and Stoughton is amongst the foremost and most successful caterers for the literary public. In an admirable biographical series of "Men Worth Remembering," Andrew Fuller, written by his son, takes a worthy place. As one of the founders, if not the actual founder, of the Baptist Missionary Society, Andrew Fuller will more and more be remembered among the roll of the good and great as one whose indomitable energy, indefatigable industry, and high capabilities were devoted to pure philanthropy and the extension of the kingdom of the Messiah. This cheap and handy volume is eminently readable. The Story of Naaman, by A. B.

Mackay, a Canadian minister, is told in eight chapters, in which the well-worn but ever-new episode of the great captain's leprosy and cure is told in a very fresh, graphic and instructive fashion, and should be largely read. Herein is Love, by H. D. Brown; clearly and simply written. Its theme is Divine love, which is reverently and impressively discoursed upon in a way calculated to uplift the thought and touch the heart. Origin and History of the New Testament, by James Martin, B.A.; with Preface and Critical Notes, by Rev. David Brown, D.D. The work of a painstaking and thoroughly capable scholar. It is thoroughly interesting, and contains in small compass a clear, full record of the history of the Book. Faithful to the End; or, the Story of Emile Cook's Life: a heart-stirring memoir of a noble and holy evangelist. Charles J. Finney, an Autobiography. The zeal and ability of this vigorous minister and intelligent theologian have long been known and acknowledged in two continents. His life-story is calculated to give nerve and stimulus to all who are engaged in evangelic work, and will be read with great interest by all who have been familiar with his long, useful career. G. F. Pentecost, D.D., a Biographical Sketch, with Bible Readings. The life and labours of Dr. Pentecost are arousing considerable interest in America; and there is no question that his methods of presenting evangelic truth are eminently fitted to succeed. The Bible readings are really good, and have a freshness about them which is in itself refreshing; notably his wise talk on Worldly Amusements. The Innocents, a Poem in Three Books, by Samuel Wray, will have special value, as it has a special mission to parents, and those who are engaged in the training of the young for Christ. A better book for a present to bereaved parents, it would be difficult to find. From end to end it breathes for them solace and comfort and hope. It is characterised by true poetic force; witness the following lines:

"She passed away. She did not lose
The life her Maker gave.
She shakes not in the chilly dews,
That settle on her grave.

She sleeps not on the windy knoll,
Where love has made her bed.
She recks not of the storms that roll
And riot o'er her head.

She is not lost. She does not lie
Beneath the light of day.
She is not dead. She could not die.
She only passed away."

as

The Pioneer Boy, and How He Became President, by W. M. Thayer. This charming life of America's martyred patriot, Abraham Lincoln, from the deft and skilful pen of the author of From the Log Cabin to the White House, is a noble book for young people. The life of James A. Garfield, under the above title, is now published in a cheap shilling edition. God's Light in Dark Clouds, is by Dr. T. L. Cuyler, of Brooklyn. It is only necessary to say that Dr. Cuyler's pre-eminently attractive pen is here as evident as ever.

Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton, too, are always to be trusted in the matter of fiction. If that kind of literature bears the name of this firm, it may be taken for granted that the young folks will not only be none the worse for it, which is saying much, but better, which is saying more.

Of this class are Friar Hildebrand's Cross; or, the Monk of Tavistock Abbey, by M. A. Paull; James Braithwaite, the Supercargo, by the late lamented Mr. Kingston; Nettie and Kate; or, the Onward Heights of Life; Yensie Walton, by S. R. Graham Clarke; and Links in Rebecca's Life, by Pansy. Each of these is beautifully, even handsomely, got up; and having passed each of them through that strait critical sieve-the judgment of readers in their teens, it must be added that they are interesting, some of them notably so, and highly instructive, too.

From James Nisbet and Co. we have received A Noble Vine; or, Practical Thoughts on Our Lord's Last Parable, by J. Jackson Wray. In this small volume the author has sought to extract life-lessons for Christian faith and conduct from the "Parable of the Vine." The Vine, the Branches, the Fruit, the Husbandman, are the principal divisions. Each of these is dealt with in a short chapter. Under "The Husbandman," for instance, we have Property, Culture, Training, Pruning, Protection, Results. It will scarcely do, in these pages, to pass any encomium upon it, seeing the relation of the author to GOLDEN HOURS. But the opinion of the Christian World may be quoted: "Brief chapters, lighted with poetry, which many hearts will find very helpful." We hope it may not be forgotten during the season of Christmas and New Year's presents. The same firm have now republished Chronicles of Capstan Cabin, by the same author. It contains nearly eighty stories for young folks, in prose and verse. is lavishly illustrated, and of it the Christian says, "It is a perfect store of instructive and entertaining reading." From these publishers we have also, With the Prophets Joel, Amos, and Jonah, by A. C. Thiselton. We have

It

here a series of racy, warm-hearted, and useful lectures on subjects from these three minor prophets. It is a capital book.

From Elliot Stock comes The Vision of Patmos, by Rev. W. R. Stephens, M.A. We are told that the profits of this book are to be devoted to a fund for building a new English church at Brussels. It is to be hoped, therefore, that these earnest pages will find many readers; also Comfort, a Book for the Cottage, which is little and good, and calculated to do good. We wish it may be sown broadcast among those for whom its pages are mainly intended.

My Neighbour's Windows, by Emilie Searchfield, F. E. Longley, 39, Warwick Lane, is a collection of short stories, told with a good purpose, and told very well. From Houlston and Son we have a new edition of Enquire Within upon Everything. It is a marvel of cheapness, of usefulness, and of comprehensiveness. Nearly 900,000 copies have been sold, and it would not be surprising if the sales reached 900,000 more.

Mistaken Signs is the title of an unusually clever and useful little book, by the Rev. W. L. Watkinson. Its contents comprise a series of thoughtful and practical papers on Christian life and experience; and the various topics are treated in a vigorous and manly fashion. Crisp, nuggetty sentences are strewed along its pages in pleasant plentifulness, and the tone and tenor of the whole book is excellent. Space will not admit of lengthy quotation, but a few very short ones will give the reader a taste of its quality. Speaking of "vapour" as an emblem of life, the author says,

"If our life is to be beautiful and blessed, we must place it on a right basis. Look at the vapour, when it trails along the earth-cold, ashen, bewildering, unwholesome, choking, deadly! But see the same vapour drawn up into heaven, see it glowing with the coloured brightness of gold and beryl, topaz, chrysolite, and sapphire, and you might think it the holy city that John saw, having the glory of God, and whose light was like a jasper stone, clear as crystal. Human life is nothing until you lift it into the sky. Our great fault is that we live too near the ground, and therefore is our life full of perplexity and sadness. Let us mount nearer heaven, and the rich and strange shall become familiar; our soul shall be pure, our path luminous, our hope sublime, our joy full." Here is a lesson on Caution :

"Narrow escapes gender presumption in foolish man, but the wise are admonished. It is silly to imagine we bear a charmed life. Our presumption has not rarely been the

occasion of our danger. Naturalists tell us that amongst birds and butterflies the swiftest, strongest flyers approach man much nearer than those with weaker wings, feeling confident that they can dart away from any threatened danger, and this misplaced confidence brings them into the net of the collector. How often have we indulged a confidence similarly inspired and misplaced, being betrayed into the very shadow of doom."

In a masterly paper on "The Wealth of Life," we come upon the following :

"Annually, when the ice breaks up in Russia, the Czar goes in state to drink of the River Neva, and having drunk, it was long the custom for the Czar to return the cup to his attendants full of gold; but year by year it became so much larger that at length a stipulated sum was paid instead of the old largesse. But however large the vessel we bring to God, and however much it increases in capacity with the discipline of years, God shall make it to overflow with that peace and love, and love and joy, which is better than rubies and much fine gold." Mistaken Signs is published by T. Woolmer, 66, Paternoster Row.

From Kegan Paul, Trench and Co., No. 1, Paternoster Square, comes Cadmon's Vision, and other Poems, by Sarson J. Ingham. This writer, whose superior talent is familiar to the readers of GOLDEN HOURS, and who has made a name for herself in the walks of literature, shows her customary cunning in this choice selection of poems from her own pen.

"Cædmon's Vision," which gives the title to the book, exhibits the true poetic afflatus, though, to our thinking, it is surpassed by some of the minor poems, notably that entitled "A Sleeping Poet," and "A Birmingham Hero." One short extract from this attractive volume must suffice:-.

VOICELESS PRAYER.

Times there are with us, when we cannot word
The prayers which mount from the perturbèd heart
Up to God's throne. Are, then, such prayers unheard?
We are like Hannah when her lips were stirred,
The while no sound escaped. The inward smart
Was witnessed in their tremor. Yet, white-stoled,
Her heart's desire stood after in the fane,
Which was the world's sure wonder. Awed, yet bold,
Let us bow silent heads, nor think that vain,
E'en though the agony remain untold.
God needeth not for praise cathedral strain;
Nor reckoneth He our thanks by gifts of gold.
The songless bird, if loving, God doth love-
Not more His lark's loud-singing than His dove.

:0:

A POCKET EDITION of the PARALLEL NEW TESTAMENT has just been published by the Oxford University Press, at 1s. 6d. It gives the Revised and Authorised Versions side by side, and few things are more interesting than to follow down the column, and to see at a glance where the wise men of to-day have improved upon the translation of two hundred years ago. An edition of the OXFORD BIBLE FOR TEACHERS has now been prepared with the two Versions arranged in this manner, and it forms the most complete repository for the teacher that can be imagined.

INTELLIGENCE IN ANIMALS. About twelve years since, when I was living at Richmond, I had a fine black retriever. She was an exceedingly docile, tractable animal with people, but always shunned animals, even those of her own species. One day, walking with her through the streets of the town, she was persecuted by a large, coarse, ill-bred, bull-dog; she snapped at him several times. Presently I turned down to the water-side; to my surprise, here she began playing with the dog, and soon after she gambolled about in shallow water with him, occasionally swimming. All at once he got out of his depth, and, to my astonishment and dismay, she got him by the nape of the neck and kept his head under water. I shouted "Down, Prin, down!" but of this she took no notice, until she had almost suffocated him; then she let him go, and he dragged himself out of the water, and slunk away with his tail between his legs, and went his way, a sadder, and I hope a wiser dog.-J. Browning.

THE THICKNESS OF A HAIR.-The microscope shows the variation in the thickness of human hair from the 1-250th to the 1-600th part of an inch; but, notwithstanding such fineness, it is a massive cable in comparison with some other fibres. Thus the thread of the silkworm is many times finer, being from the 1-1700th to the 1-2000th of an inch. This, however, is nothing to the slenderness of the spider's thread, which has been found in some instances to be no more than 1-30,000th of an inch in diameter. The fibres yielded by the vegetable kingdom are also of astonishing minuteness. Thus every fibre of flax is found to be composed of a bundle of other fibrils which are about 1-2500th of an inch in diameter. Similar fibres obtained from the pineapple plant have been ascertained to be no more than 1-5000th or even 1-7000th of an inch in diameter. A MILLION YEARS.-Here is one way of conveying to the mind some idea of what a million of years really is. Take a narrow strip of paper, an