again be directed to make a circuit so as to avoid touching the trembling limbs of the village patriarch. His body rests under the shadow of the ivied ruin; his soul is, we

have every reason to hope, in the paradise of God.

HEN I visit a Sunday-school, I look with deep interest at the class of elder boys, who can read well, and can say their collects and gospels without difficulty. Those lads have attended perhaps for many years in that room, and have risen from the lowest to the highest class. I think to myself, "poor fellows, the battle of life will soon begin, the flesh will war against the spirit, the prince of the power of the air will strive to rule in you, making you children of disobedience, and religion will drop out of your minds, I fear."

Thank God it is not always so; here and there a fair-haired or dark-browed lad listens,

again be directed to make a circuit so as to avoid touching the trembling limbs of the village patriarch. His body rests under the shadow of the ivied ruin; his soul is, we have every reason to hope, in the paradise of God.

ked at the differs I was going to ng their collects, eir new teacher; anxious-looking

ay; one of the shrewd, clever ked him, as he d then wheeled d laugh with his this boy's name

t down, and the 'se garment was of His head like vas like the fiery ng fire. A fiery rth from before ministered unto es ten thousand ment was set, and

1. 20

your

prays, and resolves to choose the Lord for his portion, and is kept from youthful sins, and is good and happy here, or removed to enjoy the presence of God.

These wise boys are, alas! few in number; the great proportion, when they leave school forget their Creator, their Redeemer, their teacher, their Bible, and rush head foremost into folly, trying also to forget "that the wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the people that forget God."

I will tell you the story of Bill Gale and Ted Wicks, both Sunday-school boys.

Ten years ago, I was visiting in a village in Somersetshire, and on the Sunday morning went into the boys' school, to take the upper class. Nailsea parsonage, church, and schools are close together; the fine tower of the church cast its shadow into the playground, there being only the churchyard and village road

between.

When I went in, the boys were singing their morning hymn, and the classes looked full, forming squares round their teachers. I joined in the hymn and then seated myself in