or spontaneously. If a band of men spring upon a lonely traveller, demanding his life or his money, he may think it advisable to hand over his purse, to save them the trouble of taking it from him; but under such circumstances, he would hardly deserve the name of giver, and certainly could not be styled a cheerful giver. Nay, it is more than probable that, if opportunity were afterwards afforded him, he would compel them to restore that which they had thus gotten from him. And although what is contributed to God's cause may not be so evidently taken by force as that illustration supposes, we believe it is because they are compelled to do so, that some persons professedly give to that cause. Perhaps the person who pleads with them on God's behalf is as importunate as was the widow woman mentioned in the Gospel, and to get rid of him, those with whom he pleads give him something about as graciously as the unjust judge acceded to the widow's request, when he said within himself, "Though I fear not God, nor regard man; yet because this widow troubleth me, I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me." Or it may be that the fear of being singular causes some to do about as others are doing; while, if they considered their inclinations only, they would act very differently. We would have such consider, that what is given to God's cause must be given cheerfully, or it cannot be accepted by Him. It is not enough to give, or even to give all we have to God's cause; but it must be given by reason of the promptings of our love to Him, or it is of no account in His esteem. to our Again, this form of expression seems to imply that we should give without hesitation, or promptly. How many a gift is marred by a want of promptitude! With reference to our dealings with each other, this fault is thus rebuked by the wise man, "Say not unto thy neighbour, Go, and come again, and to-morrow I will give, when thou hast it by thee;" and how strikingly is the conduct of some persons portrayed in that passage! But this need not be restricted dealings with each other, but especially in God's service should all we give be given readily. We may not stay to show the bearing of this observation upon those who always come late into the house of God, whose tracts are usually distributed a little behind the proper time, or whose faces are seldom seen in the Sabbath-school until the first hymn has been sung; but we may observe that we shall do well to fancy we constantly hear the voice of our Saviour, saying to us, "That thou doest, do quickly;" for it is in the very nature of cheerfulness to be quick and active in all its movements. Next, in order to give cheerfully, we must give without stint, or freely. He who gives but little, compared with what he might give, either to God's cause or to any other cause, assuredly cannot be styled a cheerful giver. Plentiful giving is not all that is meant by cheerful giving, but it is certainly included therein. And this passage also implies that we should give without sorrow, but on the contrary, gladly. Although we should, from a sense of duty, give all we could to God's service, yet if we felt sorry it was our duty to give so much, we should not be giving cheerfully; while, on the other hand, though we should not give much because we had not much to give, yet if we gave our little gladly, and wishing it were more, we should be acting according to the spirit of this word. What is wanted to cause us to give cheerfully is, that we should look upon it, as we well might look upon it, as a great privilege to be permitted to bring our offerings to God. If we felt rightly upon this matter, we should consider whatever we gave to the service of God disposed of in the best possible manner. It is infinite condescension, on His part, to receive anything from us: and it is honour well-nigh infinite conferred upon us, that we should be permitted to give anything to Him. Most gladly, therefore, should we bring our offerings to His footstool, esteeming ourselves most highly honoured when we were enabled to bring the most. Nearly all our shortcomings here may be traced to a want of reflection upon this particular point, that, when we are asked to contribute to God's cause, it is not so much a fact that a favour is asked from us, as that we are asked to receive a favour. Let us endeavour to keep this always in view, we may be moved to give, and to give cheerfully, all that we can to the Lord our God. that III. We have now to touch upon our last inquiry, WHY SHOULD WE THUS GIVE TO GOD AND HIS CAUSE? Many reasons for this cheerful giving might doubtless be brought forward, upon which it would be out of place to enlarge from this particular passage of God's word. It would be easy, for instance, to show that it is for our own advantage to act in this way; seeing that God never fails to honour those who honour Him, and we never give up anything for His sake without being rewarded a thousandfold for the sacrifice. But it is more to our purpose observe the perfectly sufficient reason for cheerful giving to God and His cause, brought forward in the words, "God loveth a cheerful giver." to It should always be our desire to do that which is well-pleasing to God. The will of God concerning us should be the rule of our lives; and whatever in us would be lovely in His sight, it should be our endeavour to cultivate and manifest. And His love will be a perfectly sufficient reward for all that we can do for Him. Only think what an honour is involved in being beloved of God, and you will desire no greater recompense for any labour you may perform, or any suffering you may endure, in His service. But His love will not fail to bring with it substantial proofs of His delight; hence all that could be desired seems to be included in that one expression," God loveth a cheerful giver." Yes; though it be but a cup of cold water given from a principle of love to Him, God's love will light upon the giver, and be to him in itself, as well as bring with it, eternal blessedness. We have left no room for special application, but we entreat the reader to think over what has been advanced, and apply it to himself from henceforth; and giving to God first our best affections and then all we have beside, may our whole lives be as one continued act of obedience to the Saviour's command, "Freely ye have received, freely give!" Middleton Cheney, Banbury. CHARLIE'S LESSON. A STORY FOR BOYS. Ir was a lovely day in autumn; the sun shone so brightly, the birds warbled so gaily, and the flowers nodded their heads so encouragingly to the little breezes, that of all the days of the week, the village schoolboys declared, none better could have been chosen for their half-holiday. Various were the plans as to how the afternoon should be spent; and groups of eager little pleasureseekers were gathered here and here, proposing-some, a walk over the common to the market-town of !—; some, a visit to the cornields, where the rich, golden grain low under the reaper's sickle; thers, a nutting or blackberryicking expedition. Our little story has to do with one only of these little groups. Standing separate from the others vere three of the younger boys, erry, mischief-making little felOWS, whose plan for the day, and nost intense desire, was to take walk to the river side, with the hope of catching little fishes with their rough home-made rods. Dispersing then, to reassemble after their midday meal, we will follow them as they bend their steps the water's edge. First, we must ake our walk right through the ong street, composed of straggling ouses, to the lower end of the illage; then, over a rustic style, ad down through fields of turfy rass and waving corn, to the little ppice, at the foot of which flows e broad, calm river. Here the boys stopped, threw themselves down on the long grass, and began to arrange their fishing tackle. A lovely scene lay around them. The river was deep down in the valley; on the hill behind them lay the village, with its white cottages dotted among trees and gardens in picturesque style; on the slope were fields of many hues, and orchards laden with ruddy and golden fruit. After an hour spent in fruitless endeavours to get a "bite," our little friends-whom we will call Tom, Frank, and Charlie-began to think of varying their occupation with a game of "hide-and-seek." This was speedily ended by an accidental blow which Frank gave to Tom, and some unkind words ensued. At last Charlie, by way of restoring the good-humour of the two, made a proposal, which very quickly leads me on to the saddest part of my story. Charlie was a restless, daring boy, whose rash, impetuous spirit often brought him into trouble and disgrace. His proposal was, that they should visit the orchard on the opposite bank of the river, there to get some of Farmer Bond's apples wherewith to regale themselves; and, I am sorry to say, his persuasions soon induced the others, who were his juniors, to join in the scheme. Ah, boys! never be tempted to do what you know to be wrong; sad, indeed, may be the consequences. Leaving their rods and wallets in a secure place, the boys set off along the bank to the spot where the river was crossed by a bridge. Over this, then down the lane, till they reach a gateway just opposite where they had been fishing. Climbing the gate-now, there they are in the orchard. Snatching the fruit which hung so near them, devouring eagerly what they could, and putting more into their pockets, they were suddenly surprised by a shout from a man in the field above them, who came running towards them. "Conscience makes cowards of us all," you know, boys; so never doubting that the man was pursuing them, they scrambled out in too great a fright to think soberly. Here, Tom, here's the quickest way, across the ford," cried Charlie; "if we make for the bridge, we shall be caught." The river, being shallow in some parts, was easily fordable; so in they went, jumping from stone to stone, and where this was impracticable, wading across. And now, as I write, the whole scene comes so vividly before me, that I can scarcely bear to think of it. As I said, the river was shallow in many places, and Tom and Charlie crossed to the other side in safety; but why did not Frank come? "Make haste, Frank," they shouted; "make haste!" but in vain; he did not move, but stood transfixed in the middle of the stream. For a moment or two they waited, doubting why he hesitated; then Charlie, with a wild cry, sprang into the river, closely followed by Tom; for Frank seemed to be sinking from their sight. Poor little Frank! In his eagerness to escape, he had missed the ford, and had turned aside, where he had waded in deep water; then had stuck on the soft mud in the bed of the river. And now he was sinking, sinking before their very eyes, but utterly beyond their reach, for neither could swim. "Keep up, Frank; keep up, my boy," shouted Charlie, as, with a heart full of agonizing fears, he jumped into the lane to scream for help. His cries at last attracted the attention of the man whose fancied pursuit the boys had so much dreaded. Leaping over the hedges, as soon as he saw the danger; running, clambering, he soon reached the bank, just in time to see Frank disappear. Boys! he never came up again alive. Fully a quarter of an hour had elapsed before help arrived, and by that time he was beyond help. With the aid of another man, who was passing, the little corpse was found, and carried quickly to a neighbouring cottage, where it was rubbed with hot blankets for hours. But all in vain! The spirit had taken its flight; and the body remained stiff and immovable, cold and white. As the clothes were removed, there fell from the pockets five apples! For these little poor Frank had lost his life. It appeared afterward that the man whom the boys thought to be chasing them, had no idea that they were in the orchard, and was running towards the hedge, not to catch them, but to secure a strayed sheep, which was hidden by the slope from their sight. And so my sad story is ended. You ask, What of Charlie? Poor boy! he learnt a bitter, bitter lesson that day, a lesson which he has never forgotten, and which he never will forget. He had presented the temptation, and encouraged the others; and now he felt as if he were the poor drowned boy's mur derer. A few days after, a mournful procession passed through the vil lage. All the Sunday-school boys Frank's former companionswalked with the little coffin which contained all that was left on earth of their dearly-loved little schoolellow; and as it was lowered into the grave, deep sobs broke the solemn silence. Dear boys, learn Charlie's lesson. Beware of leading others into temp tation; beware of falling into temptation. Pray daily, in the words of the beautiful prayer,-" Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,”—and you will be heard. PRAYER IN EVERYTHING. LET me relate an incident which came to my knowledge some years ago, occurring in the life of a minister's wife who now dwells with the angels. She told it to me herself when I was a young housekeeper, and perplexed, as both old and young housekeepers are apt to be, on account of her domestics. "You will have to apply where I did," said she, after learning my trouble. "Where was that? I eagerly asked. Said she, "I had been very seriously tried and annoyed for some time with poor help, and with the difficulty at last of obtaining any at all; and had been compelled to do without. That was seemingly impossible for any length of time, with my large family, my frequent company, and the many calls upon my time and strength for parish work. "One Friday evening, I walked to the usual weekly prayer-meeting alone from choice, and took the time as I went for making that subject one of special prayer. It was, at the moment, my greatest care; and I felt that I must, and that I could, cast it upon Him who careth for us. I was wholly occupied in this way, till, as I came in sight of the church, my thoughts turned to the meeting, and I asked that my mind might be freed from this anxiety during the hour, and that i might enter into and enjoy its devotions." not one She added, that from the moment she took her usual seat, she had thought of her home-cares, and felt herself rested and refreshed by the exercises of the meeting. At its close, as she stood near the door waiting for her husband to join her, a young girl hesitatingly approached her, and asked if she was the minister's wife. On being told she was, she said: "Then, ma'am, perhaps you would help me about getting a place, as I'm a stranger." A few questions led to a partial engagement; and the next day she commenced a service in the minister's family, which only ended with the death of my friend-a service singularly faithful, whole-hearted, and satisfactory. Maggie was a Scotch girl, already a true Christian; and she afterwards told to her mistress her side of that evening's experience. She had come from her country home to find in the city a household where her labour would have a money-value, and had been staying at a friend's house till she feared her welcome was wearing, yet day after day disappointed in her search. Coming in at the close of a weary |