This idol used to be always kept by the high priest of the king. He pretended to learn from it at what time the people should go to battle; and when they met their enemies, he held it up before their eyes, to encourage them in the midst of the fight. Their war-songs are full of the praises of this god. When the idols were destroyed in the Islands, an old chief, who had great reverence for the feathered wargod, and was not at all willing to have it perish, took it and hid it away. He has preserved it nearly ever since with great care, worshiping it in secret with a few others, who would not give up their vain idolatry. At last, finding that he could conceal it no longer, he sold it to the captain of a vessel, who brought it to this country. And now it is to be seen as a specimen of what the Sandwich Islanders once called God.

Those

How different from the God they worship now. poor naked savages have listened to the heralds of the "Prince of Peace." Wars and fightings have ceased among them. Their swords have been beaten into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks. No altars now smoke

there with human sacrifices. Many thousands of them have been seen sitting, and clothed, and in their right mind at Jesus' feet. Many of them, too, have gone to a world of peace above, where they will sing the praises of redeeming love forever and ever.

A HINT TO BOYS.

In one of the towns of Ohio is a boy who spends some of his leisure time at work in a tan-house. In this way he occa sionally earns a calfskin, which he cuts into strips and braids into whiplashes. By this means he is able to lay up six dollars a year for the missionary cause. He and a young friend of his have lately agreed together to give up every

Saturday afternoon to Foreign Missions; and to raise, if possible, within the year, the sum of twenty dollars. At the end of two months they had kept their resolution, and had on hand five dollars and thirty-seven cents.

Well done, boys. Go on in the good work you have begun. While trying to bless others, you will yourselves be blessed. Follow these efforts with your prayers that God will prosper the missionary cause; and when you become men, if you are called to so high and holy a work, go yourselves to the heathen, to preach to them Jesus Christ and him crucified.

MY FIRST PENNY.

Early one morning, a little boy, about five years old, on awaking from sleep, looked up, and, on seeing his father, said, "Papa, I am going to put my penny into the missionary-box." Papa said to his little son, "Who told you to put your penny into the missionary-box?" "Nobody but myself," was the ready reply of the juvenile subscriber to the mission fund. But what penny was this that he called his own penny? I will tell our dear little friends something about it. It was the first penny that this little boy ever gained by his industry. But you would like to know what he worked at to get a penny for his wages? Well, here is a copy of a bill given him by his teacher: "Master Ehas merited the sum of one penny. Payment on demand!” He had worked hard at his lessons, and so kept at the top of his class for a certain time, for which he obtained a penny; and this penny he gave to God, to help to make him known to the poor heathens, who know him not, and are dying in their sins. It was but a small sum; but, like the widow's two mites, it was ALL he had in the world that he could call his own; and he gave it of his own free will, and with evident pleasure: and you know "the Lord loveth a cheerful giver." You may be sure that his papa and mamma were delighted with what their little boy did. And so will you make the heart of your papa and mamma glad, if you follow his example, and go and do likewise.-Wesleyan Juv. Offering.

Here you have an engraving of the great Temple of Tanjore, in the south of India. It is sacred to the god Siva, and one of the handsomest in that country. The grand tower,

which rises above the trees on the left, is nearly as high as Bunker Hill Monument, and is in the form of a pyramid. In the covered porch of the Temple is the image of the bull Nandi, on which Siva is said to ride. It is carved out of black granite, sixteen feet long and about thirteen high, and executed with much beauty. In some of the religious processions, a sacred bull is led through the streets of the city. The Hindoos place rice and other articles before their door at that time, thinking that if the bull stop to taste, the blessing of Siva will rest upon them. Such a blessing is very easily obtained, and is good for nothing when you get it.

At one of the festivals in honor of Siva, his worshipers first wander round the streets with horns and drums, making most shameful noises. Then two posts having been set up, on the top of which is a strong bar, these poor idolaters hang themselves by their feet from the bar, with their head downwards. A fire is kindled underneath them, into which rosin is thrown to make it burn more fiercely, and thus the head is completely wrapped in smoke and scorched by the flame. The next day the worshipers dance and roll themselves on thistles and other prickly plants. They also throw their bodies on beds of sharp knives, and walk among burning ashes, and torture themselves in other ways.

And what is all this for? In their foolishness they think they shall thus gain the pardon of their sins, and a ticket which will carry them safe over the Jordan of death and into the gate of heaven. Miserable men! How mistaken will they find themselves at the last. Burning and cutting the body cannot make the heart holy. Only the blood of Jesus can save us, and that will wash away our vilest sins. But these heathen know nothing of Jesus. They have no Bible. They had no mother to teach them in infancy. They are in a land of the shadow of death. O children, pity them. Pray for them. Ask others to pity and pray for them. Let it not be that so many millions of them should go down to ruin, when they might rise and be happy in heaven and dwell with God forever.