these words, and she could scarcely contain herself for the joy they elicited-Harry, not lost, but only gone before. Ah! this was not grief, not even pain—only God taking him first a little time, because God knew best, and God spared Harry further trial of his faith. Dear, generous, loving brother, God would keep him now-would just take him into His own fold, and never let him stray again. Oh! it was good news; and so all felt it. And though he rapidly declined, and died on his birthday for heaven, yet the old phrase has a mystical and very sweet significance for some of them still, altogether apart from the usual birthday joys, which are not enough tinctured, perhaps, with the eternal ones.

And now to take it to pieces once more. "Many happy returns of the day." Well it is to wish for many years for our friends; for who can have too long a life, if its chiefest incense is offered to its Author? But happy-say how few of those who respond to the wish receive the benefit! Happyone here, one there, one in ten, in twenty, may be-in fifty, perhaps; but how few know the only true happiness as a reality! We laugh, and sing, and dance, and work, and play, and God is not in all our thoughts; and so it is a farce to wish us happiness-a delusion to pretend that we enjoy it. True, it may be so. God gave sunshine, bright flowers, joyous birds, and pleasant things, and never meant us to go weeping through the world; but then the happiness He meant us to enjoy is not at all like the actual we do. Oh! for God's many happy returns; for, as they succeed each other, they should grow in intensity of happiness. No matter what the cares may be, if we can say, Christ is with me—yes, He is mine. He'll lead me through the desert land, the pleasant land, the vale and cedars

“Ah, through all

He'll guide His people. If they fall,

He'll raise and bear them in His arms;

And then no foe may cause alarms."

And so, after all, it is a good old wish; and though it cause sadness in its retrospect, yet, if it be a prayer-wish, it

will be a true joy in its future. Birthdays should be fingerposts, surely, on the great highway of life; and as we turn to look at them, and notice at the same time the four crossroads before, behind, the right, the left-oh, let us pray that on our birthdays we may pause awhile and note the wish so often uttered! Let us again afresh begin to make our own the happy past; and glad returns, such as before we dreamt not of, will surely then be ours; and for others, as we utter the time-honoured courtesy, let the words be invested with a sacred charm.

Just Wait a Bit.

ROCRASTINATION has been truly called the thief of time.

Many have known to their sorrow the truth of this old proverb, for the golden opportunities stolen away by lost time have never been returned. Let us peep into that pretty cottage near the old church. The little garden, with its sweet-smelling flowers, welltrimmed hedge, clean muslin short curtains, all tell the passer-by that order is by no means a stranger in that home. Sitting around the tea-table we see as pleasant-looking a family as one could desire.

Mother, in her gingham dress; Lizzie, the eldest girl, as trim as a daisy; two boys, nice and clean about the throat and hands; and lastly, baby, in her pink cotton and white pinafore, looking quite inviting, No doubt grandfather thought so. He usually came to tea on Mondays, and every one did everything to make things comfortable.

After tea it was grandfather's custom to take Miss Baby on his knee, while she watched mother wash up the teathings (for no one but mother ever had the privilege of putting away the best tea-things), and she generally seemed

Babies love noise and bustle, so dear, kind grandfather The boys are playing, and he hears

takes her to the door.

Tom call out to Fred,

"Help us stick these beans, they are straggling about so." "Just wait a bit, old fellow," says Fred.

"Oh yes. That means, 'I'm not coming.' Why don't you say so at once?"

Now, Tom was not ill-natured, but he knew from experience that what he said was true. Fred loved to put off things; his bird had died from want, only on account of his thinking the next morning would be time enough to feed it. The little fish had all died, too, in the new glass bowl his father had given him, because he said fresh water would do in the morning, and then forgot to fill it. In summer his little garden was the shabbiest plot, because he always said, "The rain was coming, and there was no need for him to water the ground." Flowers drooped their heads, borders looked in a fading condition, and desolation was written over everything, all for the want of a little care.

Fred was clever enough, much quicker than his brother, who had to plod on to make his way at all. Yet it was Tom who was rewarded for his pains, for he generally suc ceeded; and most people, even the master himself, was surprised at the half-year to find he had gained a prize.

"Why, Fred," said some boys, surrounding him, "how is it you did not get the prize?"

"Just wait a bit," said Fred, "and I will get a beauty at Christmas."

Tom held his well-bound book tightly in his hand; and never did he feel the truth more that "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

Now, it was this very day that Tom's grandfather had come to tea; he had praised Tom, and of course greatly admired the book. Fred did not grudge his brother either the book or the praise, for he felt Tom deserved both; and he was certain if he only waited a bit, the next prize would be his.

"Fred," said grandfather, calling the boy from the garden, after hearing him converse with Tom about the beans, "look well round this room.".

Fred was surprised, but obeyed, wondering what his grandfather was thinking of. He well knew everything that was in that room, from the cradle to his mother's best tea-pot.

"that your father

"Do you think," said the old man, would have had this pleasant home if he had folded his hands, or worked negligently, spending a good part of his time in the public-house, and always intending to do some fine thing, saying to himself, 'Just wait a bit '?"

"No," said Fred, beginning to think he was in for a long lecture.

"Well, then, my boy, if you want to be like father, you will have to turn over a new leaf. Stick to what you are doing with all your might, and then you may succeed-not without. Think of what I say, and try to break off that bad habit of yours of always putting off."

The old man drew the boy to him, and would have patted his head tenderly; but Miss Baby, seeing the boy she so loved, kicked up her heels in delight, and Fred, just stopping to give her a hug, looked slyly at grandfather, and got out of his way as quickly as he could. He went round

to Tom, who was struggling with some pea sticks, and helped him. Then he sat a while under the old apple-tree, looking at the new book. When he passed his garden, what a contrast it was to Tom's and Lizzie's! Great ugly

weeds hid the few flowers that had managed to live. He stooped down and pulled many of them up (having, of course, taken Tom's book in first).

Now, no one likes weeding. It is not a pleasant thing, and the old habit was going to tyrannise over him; but after what grandfather had said, he felt he had had enough of it, so he pulled away, watered his ground, and hoped for better things.

Not a word did Fred say to any one; but his mother saw

a change in her boy, and, upon his return to school, so did his master; and in after years Fred had good reason to thank grandfather for his kind advice.

Delays are dangerous, and the wisest are those who go on in the path of duty quietly, yet surely, not rushing headlong at something, then soon growing weary and giving it up.

There is one thing certain, "Time waits for no man." Another year has passed away; all our deeds lie buried, only to be brought to light at the judgment-day.

The past we cannot recall; let us not foolishly boast of the future, but remember the rich man our Saviour spoke of.1 He provided well enough for this world, and, had he made his peace with God, all would have been well.

The great object of our life, then, is to lay up treasures in heaven, so that our Saviour may not have to say unto us, Thou fool. In plain English, to care more for our soul's welfare than our bodies.

What had this man put off for the sake of this world's passing pleasures? Only imagine his feelings when the command came to him that very night to leave all; and what for? Not God's smile, and a home with the redeemed and angels, but everlasting punishment. Jesus said so; and His word is enough.

The new year comes to us fresh and cheering; may we never say with regard to our soul's salvation, "Just wait a bit." Neither when our kindly sympathies would lead us to help any in trouble; for if we do, our generous impulses may come too late.

"Act-act in the living present,

Heart within and God o'erhead.

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And departing leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time."

1 Luke xii. 19, 20.

H. W. P.