troubles I most feared never came, and that those which did come were what I never expected.”

“ Well,” said Colville, “I think I have found that too.” "I like to take short views of things," said Peter.“ If God sends me a prosperous time, I try to enjoy it ; and if He sends me trouble, I ask Him to help me to bear it, and, if it be His will, to take it away. But I don't like, in either case, to anticipate troubles that only may come. That was a wise word which the Lord Jesus spoke, ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' Let us bear the morrow's troubles when they come. God will give us grace if we ask Him.”

Peter knew his friend Colville's failings, and he could scarcely have given him sounder advice.

“I think,” said Peter, after a moment's pause, “if we had only the Lord's love and peace in our hearts, we should not trouble ourselves so much about what might come. Let us live nearer to Him, James, praying more, reading the Bible more, and trying to do all His will. There is no telling how happy we might thus be, if we only would. And then let us be sure of this—that, whatever the way along which God leads us, it will bring us safe to heaven."

After a little more talk Colville took his leave.

Next Sunday morning-the first Sunday in the year-James Colville was in his place at church, but Peter was still an invalid. Who has not noticed that very often when his mind has been led in a particular direction, something has occurred to deepen the impression already made upon him? That was how it happened to James Colville. The minister's text was: "For ye have not passed this way heretofore." The sermon was on the very subject about which Peter and he had been talking together. They did not know, he said, what would befall them in that year and in future years; but the same gracious God who had led them hitherto would guide them still; whatever the way along which they were led, they might still enjoy the blessings of His salvation and the comforts of His love; and though the way might be altogether different from any way along

which they had ever walked, it would still lead them to their heavenly inheritance. That being true, they were first of all to make sure they were under the guidance of God. They could be sure of that only as they repented of sin and believed in Jesus, and, depending on the grace of His Spirit, endeavoured to do all His will. If they wanted God's loving providential guidance, the preacher said, they must take His Word as the guide of all their conduct.

Perhaps there was nothing in the whole sermon which struck James Colville more than a quotation from the writings of good old John Newton. This was it:

"Sometimes I compare the troubles which I have to undergo in the course of the year to a great bundle of fagots far too large for us to lift. But God does not require us to carry all at once. He mercifully unties the bundle, and gives us first one stick, which we are to carry to-day, and then another, which we are to carry to-morrow, and so on. This we might easily manage, if we only took the burden appointed for us each day. But we choose to increase our troubles by carrying yesterday's stick over again, and adding to-morrow's burden to our load before we are required to bear it."

James Colville went to see Peter in the afternoon, and told him about the sermon.

"Why," said Peter, "that's just what we were talking about on New Year's morning."

"Yes," said Colville; "but now tell me-did you tell Mr. Cranston what we had been talking about ?"

"No," replied Peter. "I have not seen him since." "That is strange," said Colville.

"So it is," said Peter; "but is not this the way to look at it Mr. Cranston's sermon, especially coming after our talk, was it not God's own message, leading us to a more hearty trust in Him for all our life ?"

Said James Colville, in reply, "I think it was.

WH

That from the stately mountain's brow
Looked once upon a land of glory?
How thinly scattered now they stand,
A small and melancholy band,

Recorders of their own sad story!
They tell us of those pillared domes,
Where princes had their costly homes,
With gems, and gold, and ivory,
Wrought by the famed artificer;
Alas! they only live to stir

The bitter thought, the fruitless sigh!
For who can look on Lebanon,
Nor sigh to see its glory gone?

Or see unmoved that front of snow,
That wont to wear a verdant crown,
Dart through the misty air its frown

Upon the howling scene below? Mourner of Israel! take thy stand Upon that height, and there command

All Sharon's vale and Bashan's plain,
Where once a blooming surface smiled
And Summer spread his banquet wild,

And Autumn stretched his golden reign.
There from those cedars might be seen
Unnumbered rills, and forests green,
And cities in the distant blue,
With terraced Tabor's beamy crest,
And Carmel for her vintage drest,

All bursting on the conscious view.

What hand hath laid that circuit bare,
And scattered thorns and thistles there-
Apostate Earth's too natural dress?
What spell upon that scenery
Hath made it interdicted lie,

Mocked by its claim to fruitfulness?

Little Dot.

THE SIMPLE MADE WISE.

CHAPTER IV.-LILIAN AND HER WORDS.

or took a very great interest in "her little girl's grave," as she called it. She was up early the next morning, and as soon as her mother had washed her, and given her her breakfast, she ran to the quiet corner in the cemetery to look at the new-made grave. It looked very bare, Dot thought, and she ran away to gather a number of daisies to spread upon the top of it. She covered it as well as she could with them, and she patted the sides of the grave with her little hands, to make it more smooth and tidy. Dot wondered if the little girl knew what she was doing, and if it made her any happier to know there were daisies above her.

She thought she would ask Solomon; so when she had finished she went in search of him. He was not far away, and she begged him to come and look at what she had done to her little girl's grave. He took hold of Dot's hand, and she led him to the place.

"See, Mr. Solemn," she said, "haven't I made my little girl pretty ?"

"Ay," he answered; "you have found a many daisies, Dot."

"But, Mr. Solemn," asked Dot, anxiously, "do you think my little girl knows?"

Why, Dot, I don't know-maybe she does," he said, for he did not like to disappoint her.

"Mr. Solemn, shall I put you some daisies at the top of your grave ?" said Dot as they walked away.

Solomon made no answer; Dot had reminded him so often of his own grave, that he had sometimes begun to think about it, and to wonder how long it would be before it would have to be made. He had a vague idea that when he was buried he would not come to an end. He had heard