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he hands of the righteous Judge the due reward of the deeds done in is body! “Take heed and beware of covetousness !" -Jesus. " The love of money is the root of all evil, which while some coveted ifter they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through yith many sorrows.”—Paul. "Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap.”—Paul. “They shall eat of the fruit of their own ways."-Solomon. {"The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth from all sin."'--John.

STUPID SUNDAYS. PERHAPS I ought to say Sunday

chairs in line for stage-coach, or afternoong. The morning is lively have blind-man's buff, puss in the enough what with breakfast just a .corner, or the other lively sports little late, dressing for chapel, and that a rainy day allows to shut-up getting the youngsters ready, look

little ones.

Perhaps a Scripture ing over lessons, etc. But, after we story or a picture-book may content have come home from chapel and them a little longer, and then-and Sunday-school, and have eaten our then-do

you hear a whispered mutdinner (I think we eat rather more tering over in the corner? than on week-days), and have spent “I think Sunday's a really stupid a comfortable hour before the fire day; don't you?” with our favourite religious news- “ Yes; I do. You can't do this, papers-we elders, I mean, of course and you can't do that, and you can't -there comes a change over the have anything nice as on other days. spirits of the family. Hitherto we I'm glad when it's over.” have been brisk and lively, but now “So am I.” à certain dreaminess creeps over Something wrong here?

Yes, 18-a tendency to lean back in our there is; and what is more, there chairs

, close our eyes, and indulge seems no ready means of righting in—thought. About this time some it. By reason of the popular system of us are generally missing from the of morning and evening services, room, and if sought for in our closets, and the consequent popular system would not, I fear, be found engaged of staying indoors during the inter

vening time, there is an inevitable The children, too, have reached a reaction upon the spirits of grown very uneasy stage. Dressing, chapel, folks and children, stupefying the school, dinner, have kept them busy, one, and fretting the other. Sunday

now there comes a level stretch schools give but a partial vent for of time that it frets their impatient repressed spirits. spirits to traverse.

Possibly the I'll tell you what I have found head of the family, mindful of pa- out,” said Neighbour Ringway, to rental duty, reads aloud to them, or whom I said something like the catechises them upon the lesson of above."A young house-painter in the day; but these exercises cannot our village fell from a ladder last well extend over an hour, and there summer, and paralysed the lower remains one or two more before tea- part of his body. He lies, and will time. There can be no gleeful rush- lie, for long months to come, helpless ing out of doors for frolic and play;

on his bed.

He has a wife and it is hardly admissible to range the child. Of course their means of

in meditation or prayer.


living are cut off. I, as well as others, have aided the poor fellow, and mean to look after the family this winter.

“I have a little boy, active and restless, to whom Sunday afternoons are a sore burden. One Sunday, when he was fretting about the house, teasing his mother and plaguing the baby, I said to him, Harry, how would you like to go and see poor Mr. Glazier?' The boy's face brightened, and he said, 'Of course I would, papa.' He hurried to get his things; mamma gave him a little basket of fruit to carry. I put some papers in my pocket, and we started out. The fresh air seemed to blow away Harry's ill-humour, and he went skipping along, gaily chatting.

We had a pleasant call at the Glaziers, and they seemed glad to

Harry played with the child, and listened to Mr. Glazier's

account of his accident, and took h first lesson in practical doing 900 I felt a hundred per cent. bett than if I had stayed at home dozin over a newspaper.

“We came home and (by-the-wa mother had a ‘nice quiet time' whi we were gone) had a pleasant lit Bible lesson, then some singing, at when my little fellow went to bed, heard him say, “Mamma, I thin Sunday's really nice.'

“I tell you, neighbour, to get i full benefit of Sunday, we must git as well as take; get hold of som body that needs help and sympath and after your soul has been fed hearing and reading the gospel, and talk it out with them, and ta your children with you. You won complain of stupid Sundays an more."

I believe neighbour Ringway right.




BY THE REV. B. P. PRATTEN, B.A. We see a man ascending a lofty mountain. He is an old man. I is alone. His manner is indicative of unusual thoughts—unusui emotions. We are prompted to ask: On what is he intent?

Men have gone up mountains on various errands: one, to behol the glorious spectacle of Nature spread out before him; another, for the rare plants or minerals he may expect to find there ; another, for the simple sake of the adventure. Some have gone up for religiou purposes. The Persians in olden time were found at early dawn 01 mountain-tops, waiting to greet the expected Lord of Day. Jesu Christ went up that He might pray, remote from the sights and sound that distracted Him below. The three favoured disciples were taken u into a mountain to witness the supernatural glory of their Lord Moses himself had on two memorable occasions before this that he might hear the awful voice of the Great Lawgiver.

Moses is going up for a very different purpose now: he is goin up that he may die. "We behold him taking his last journey abou to take his last look on the world; and having already had his last ir terview with men-an interview of unusual significance, doubt. Here is a man going to the place of his deathand knorrin it. None of the usual harbingers of dissolution have appeared upor him: “his eye is not dim, nor his natural force abated." To humar

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res he is a man for life, not for death. But he has received the cisive summons to quit the world, and he prepares to obey. We in imagine what solemn thoughts swell and agitate his mind, as we se him slowly measuring his steps up the acclivity. The eye follows him awhile. Gradually his form becomes less disnet. By-and-by be is lost to the view. He travels slowly onward, ad at length arrives at the summit. There he takes up his position, ad awaits the closing scene.

And now we can well believe that the thoughts which have been truggling in his mind during the ascent have become more clearly efined, as well as more intense-not to speak of the new impressions nade

upon him by the actual arrival at the solemn spot. And it need not be any idle exercise of the imagination to endeavour to enter into his emotions as he stood on the place which was soon to be the scene of his death.

His thoughts would naturally be of two kinds. One class of them would make him reluctant to die; the other would tend to reconcile him to death.

(1.) He would be unwilling to die, because he had nearly, but not quite, accomplished a great work.

Forty years before he had been honoured with the most important commission ever entrusted to man. His countrymen had sunk to the lowest depths of degradation. They were a herd of slaves, and had all the debasing marks of slavery upon them-in body and soul. The work of Moses was to give them liberty, and political existence, and laws, and the knowledge of God, and á land" to dwell in; to lead them to that land and settle them in it. A great work this, considered only in its secular aspects, and in simple relation to themselves ; but greater still when we remember that it was God's plan thus to train and bless this one nation in order through them to bless the whole

Moses has done much towards the execution of his commission. He has spent the whole forty years in training and watching over this people—the greater part of it in conducting them, amidst enormous difficulties, towards the land in which they are to dwell. And here they are on the very borders of it. A few more marches, a few more hostile encounters, and they will be able to set foot upon it

, and call it their on. Suppose they should not enter it—they will in all probability 80on perish by the hand of their enemies, or relapse into idolatry again, or be scattered abroad and disappear as a distinct people : and thus all his labour will

have been in vain. Was it not natural that he should wish to live a little longer, so that he might put the finishing hand to so important a work ? Simeon was willing to die so soon as he saw the Blessed One for whom he had so long waited—but not before. Bede was reluctant to leave the world until he had finished the translation of the Gospel of Jobn, on which he had already expended so much labour. Washington, we may well believe, would have thought it a hard thing to die before



he had accomplished the liberation of his country. Many a patriot many a philanthropist, many a leader of thought, has felt that life wa of value to him only as it enabled him to carry to completion, or t place on a secure footing, the one work of his life. So has a man God often felt, who has devoutly resolved to leave his mark of useful ness on an age, or a country, or on some narrower sphere assigned his labours. How many parents have hoped that they might not di before their plans for the good of their children have reached a saf maturity! Naturally, then, might Moses have desired that he migh not have to die just then.

(2.) He was, moreover, still in the possession of health and vigour This would make him still more reluctant to die : for there seemed ni reason why he should.

People, even in advanced life, are usually unwilling to die so long a there appears any natural probability of their continuing to live They dread death, and yet they shrink from a quick departure

, which the distressing sense of death may be so largely, perhap entirely, avoided. They would die gradually. They would undergo, process of feebleness and decay, even though it were accompanied with pain. Life must ebb away, step by step, wave by wave. It mus become worthless or distressing, before they will consent to part with it; and even then they give it up reluctantly. Vigorous old people especially refuse to entertain the idea of death. They feel as if they had a right to live on—as if long possession gave them a sound title Why should they die ? They seem to have all the faculties belonging to life: they can still enjoy its pleasures; they can do its work With the maturity which long experience has given, they seem fitter to live than they ever did before. For their own sakes, and for that o others, there seems every reason wl chey should live on. desire, perhaps, is to spend life for the best of purposes; and the good and the useful are not so numerous in this world, they think, that they can readily be spared.

No man ever had a greater right to say this than Moses. The work he had in hand was of the noblest order.

He seemed to be the only man capable

of doing it. And he felt himself still adequate to its demands : adequate physically-for " his eye was not dim, nor had hi natural strength departed;" * more adequate than ever mentally and spiritually, after all the discipline and experience of a hundred an twenty years, especially of the last forty. It must truly have beer an unwelcome command to him that he should die now-should be, a

cut off in the midst of his days.” (3.) Think, too, of the prospect that lay stretched out before him, and judge what death must have seemed to him at such a moment. Never had he seen this earth so fair or so glorious. Old man as he was traveller as he was, familiar with the beauty and fruitfulness of the land of the Nile, with the grandeur of Horeb and Sinai, with the

Abated,” as in the A. V., is more than is said in Deut. xxxiv. 7.


it were,

Comp, also

ch. xxxi. 2.

vely valleys of the Peninsula among which he had spent so many of s latest years,-never had he seen landscape like this. From the ountain-top, looking through that clear atmosphere, and aided by he supernatural vision that God gave, he takes in at one glance the hole of that good land towards which he has so long been journey. g. "The Lord showed him all the land of Gilead, unto Dan, and I Naphtali, and the land of Ephraim, and Manasseh, and all the land

Judah, unto the utmost sea, and the south, and the plain of the alley of Jericho, the city of palm-trees, unto Zoar” (Deut, xxxiv. 3). This land was not simply beautiful at a distance-made only for the ainter and the poet. It would bear a close inspection. It" flowed rith milk and honey.” Fertile as was Egypt, this far exceeded : For the land whither thou goest in to possess it, is not as the land of Egypt, from whence ye came out, where thou sowedst thy seed, and rateredst it with thy foot, as a garden of herbs; but the land, whither e go to possess it, is a land of hills and valleys, and drinketh water f the rain of heaven; a land which the Lord thy God careth for: be eyes of the Lord thy God are always upon it, from the beginning f the year even unto the end of the year (Deut. xi. 10–12). It

was also a land of most blessed associations : the land of the athers—in which Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, had dwelt, and in hich their bones rested. It was the land of promise, recalling the lemory of the man of whom God had used the wonderful words, Abraham, my friend”: it was the gift and the memorial of that ublime friendship—“ to thee and to thy seed will I give it.” It had, moreover, a strong personal interest for Moses. It was to ve the goal of his labours. He had looked forward to it as his reward

. All through those many years of conflict it had never been long absent from his thoughts. "Imagination had often pictured it before his eyes. But the half had not been told.

And now that he is on the very borders of this goodly land, is he to be forbidden to enter it ? After all the toils and perils of the vilderness, is he not to grasp of the prize the hope of which had so trengthened him to bear them? Shall he die in the very sight of he hills

, and valleys, and streams, and fruitful plains ?

a one has known what such disappointment means. It has been felt to be hard to die young, when the springs of life are gushing up and the prospects of the future are smiling on every hand. People fare thought it hard to die in spring, when so many do die, with all be sights and sounds of nature seeming to call to new life. It is listressing to have to die in some land of beauty to which one has nigrated in hope to live. It is a hard thing to have to close one's Fes on friendship, and home, and congenial labour, and usefulness. t is not so that men would die. There were seasons when Moses was willing to depart--when he ven desired it. But he has passed through those seasons of conflict : nd here is their recompense just before him. He has but to descend


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