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FACTS, HINTS, GEMS, AND POETRY.

Gems.

WHAT A GLORIOUS GOSPEL is the gospel of man's salvation, in which Father, Son, and Holy Spirit all unite to accomplish the great work. The Father loves us, and gives up his own Son to die for us-the Son pays for our ransom with his own blood-and the Holy Spirit convinces us of sin and leads us to that only Saviour! Glorious Gospel!

HOLINESS IS THE SAINT'S ELEMENT; and if for a while seduced from it, he struggles to get back again, like as a stranded fish tries to bound back into the water, or a wounded bird to rise into the air.

MEN MAY MEASURE the heavens and sound the depths of oceans, but who can measure the breadth or sound the depths of the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord? is higher than the highest, deeper than the deepest, and broader than the broadest of all our thoughts.

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IN MERCY TO US, we find that our Heavenly Father often disappoints the hopes we had placed in man, in order that we may learn to trust in

Him alone.

SECRET SINS.-To confess these to men might do harm to others. Tell them to God, and ask him to forgive them. He knows them, for they are already in the light of his

countenance.

RULING AND SERVING. - More than half the misery of the world comes of men loving to rule over others; hence war and slavery. Those who try by love to serve others bless the world.

CLOUDS WILL COME; not only rain clouds, but clouds of tribulation too. In both cases we should remember that there is a sun above. Christian pilgrim, walk on by faith. That sun will shine again.

Poetic Selections.

A GERMAN EVEN-PSALM.

Now o'er the earth's wide breast Each living thing doth rest, Both man and beast; the very woods are calm;

But thou, my soul, awake,
The solemn silence break,
And praise thy Maker in a thankful psalm.

Sun, whither art thou filed?
Has Night thee banished?
Night, gloomy rival of the joyous day-
Then go; a sun more bright,
My Saviour, my delight,

Shines in my soul with purer, holier ray.

Darkens the evening air

The golden stars are there, Serenely walking in their home of years; And shine like them shall I, When to my home on high

My God shall call me from this world of

tears.

Soil'd garments of the day,
I put ye all away,

Meet emblems of the spirit's mortal dress.
And when from death I wake,

My Lord shall bid me take

His spotless robe and crown of righteous

ness.

Head, hands, and weary feet,
Ye go to slumber sweet,

Rejoicing in your work-day labour past;
Thou too, my heart, rejoice,

Thou from earth's strife and noise
And sin's dark bondage shalt be free at last.

Ye toil-spent limbs lie still,
And thankful take your fill
Of needful rest, so tranquil and so deep,

Yet think the hour is nigh,
When calmly ye shall lie

In the cold earth, and there as soundly sleep.

LIVING WATERS.

THE fountain in its source

No drought of summer fears; The further it pursues its course The nobler it appears.

But shallow cisterns yield

A scanty, short supply; The morning sees them amply fill'd, The evening sees them dry.

THE CHILDREN'S CORNER.

The Children's Corner.

MY HAPPY SABBATH-SCHOOL.

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C. J. H. says, "I am sixteen, and as you sometimes let boys of my age say what they think in the Pioneer, I have tried to put some of my thoughts about "My Happy Sabbath-school" into verse. call it so, for it has been a happy place to me. I have here been taught that I am a sinner; and feeling this, I have sought and found the mercy of God in Jesus Christ to my soul. I have to thank you, too, for the many good things you tell us in your Pioneer, and I do what I can to get others to take it."

Should any ask me just to say,

Where I was taught to praise and pray,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?

My answer is, on God's good day,

AT SABBATH-SCHOOL.

When very young I did begin
To wander in the ways of sin,

And knew not I a crown might win,

Until at last I entered in

THE SABBATH-SCHOOL.

My teacher taught me Jesus died
For me when he was crucified;
And will that crown of life provide,

If I in faith and love abide.

OH, HAPPY SABBATH-SCHOOL!

Saviour! to thee alone I fly,

Oh! to me be thou ever nigh;

From thy rich grace my wants supply,
And I will praise thee till I die,

FOR HAPPY SABBATH-SCHOOL.

Father of mercies, God of love!
Send thy good Spirit from above,
To guard and guide me by his power,
And I will praise Thee evermore,

FOR MY HAPPY SABBATH-SCHOOL.

THE HIGHLAND WIDOW.

A HIGHLAND widow left her home early one morning, in order to reach, before evening, the residence of a kinsman who had promised to assist her to pay her rent. She carried on her back her only child, a boy two years old. The journey was a long one. I was following the same wild and lonely path when I first heard the story I am going to tell you. The mountaintrack, after leaving the small village by the sea-shore where the widow lived, passes through a green valley, watered by a peaceful stream which flows from a neighbouring lake; it then winds along the margin of the solitary lake, until, near its further end, it suddenly turns into an extensive copse-wood of oak and birch. From this it emerges half-way up a rugged mountain-side; and, entering a large glen through which a torrent rushes amidst great masses of granite, it at last conducts the traveller, by a zig-zag ascent, to a narrow gorge, which is hemmed in upon every side by giant precipices; overhead is a strip of blue sky, while all below is dark and gloomy. From this mountain-pass the widow's dwelling was ten miles off, and no human habitation was nearer than her own. She had under

taken a long journey indeed! But the rent was due some weeks before, and the sub-factor threatened to dispossess her, as the village in which she lived, and in which her family had lived for two generations, was about to be swept away, in order to enlarge a sheep-farm. Indeed, along the margin of the quiet stream which watered the green valley, and along the shore of the lake, might even then be traced the ruins of many a hamlet, where happy and contented people once lived, but where no sound is now heard except the bleat of a solitary sheep, or the scream of the eagle, as he wheels his flight among the dizzy precipices.

The morning when the widow left her home, gave promise of a lovely day. But, before noon, a sudden change took place in the weather. Northward, the sky became black and lowering. Masses of clouds rested upon the hills. Sudden gusts of wind began to whistle among the rocks, and to ruffle, with black squalls, the surface of the lake. The wind was succeeded by rain, and the rain by sleet, and sleet by a heavy fall of snow. It was the month of May-for that storm is yet remembered as the " great May storm." The wildest day of winter never

THE HIGHLAND WIDOW.

beheld flakes of snow falling heavier or faster, or whirling with more fury through the mountain-pass, filling every hollow and whitening every rock! Weary, and wet, and cold, the widow reached that pass with her child. She knew that a mile beyond it there was a mountain shieling which could give shelter; but the moment she attempted to face the storm of snow which was rushing through the gorge, all hope failed of proceeding in that direction. To turn home was equally impossible. She must find shelter. The wild cat's or fox's den would be welcome. After wandering for some time among the huge fragments of granite which skirted the base of the overhanging precipices, she at last found a more sheltered nook. She crouched beneath a projecting hedge of rock, and pressed her child to her trembling bosom. The storm continued to rage. The snow was accumulating overhead. Hour after hour passed. It became bitterly cold. The evening approached. The widow's heart was sick with fear and anxiety. Her child-her only child-was all she thought of. She wrapt him in her shawl. But the poor thing had been scantily clad, and the shawl was thin and worn. The widow was poor, and her clothing could hardly defend herself from the piercing cold of such a night as this. But whatever was to become of herself, her child must be preserved. The snow, in whirling eddies, entered the recess, which afforded them at best but miserable shelter. The night came on. The wretched mother stripped off some of her own clothing and wrapped it round her child, whom, at last, in despair, she put into a deep crevice of the rock, among some dried heather and fern. And now she resolves at all hazards to brave the storm, and return home, in order to get assistance for her babe, or to perish in the attempt! Clasping her infant to her heart, and covering his face with tears and kisses, she laid him softly down in sleep, and rushed into the snowy drift.

That night of storm was succeeded by a peaceful morning. The sun shone from a clear blue sky, and wreaths of mist hung along the mountain-tops, while numerous waterfalls poured down their sides. Dark figures, made visible at a distance on the white ground, might be seen with long poles, examining every hollow near the mountain path. They are people from the village, who are searching for the widow and her son. They have reached the pass. A cry is heard by one of the shepherds, as he sees a bit of a tartan cloak among the snow.

THE HIGHLAND WIDOW.

They have found the widow-dead! her arms stretched forth as if imploring for assistance. Before noon, they discovered her child by his cries. He was safe in the crevice of the rock. The story of that woman's affection for her child was soon read in language which all understood. Her scanty clothing revealed her love for her babe.

Many a tear was shed, many an exclamation expressive of admiration and affection were uttered, from enthusiastic sorrowing Highland hearts, when on that evening the aged pastor gathered the villagers in the deserted house of mourning, and, by prayer and fatherly exhortation, sought to improve for their soul's good an event so sorrowful.

More than half a century passed away! That aged and faithful pastor was long dead, though his memory still lingers in many a retired glen among the children's children of parents he taught the way of life. His son, whose locks where white with age, was preaching to a congregation of Highlanders in one of our great cities. It was on a communion sabbath. The subject of his discourse was the love of Christ. In illustrating the self-sacrificing nature of that "love which seeketh not her own," he narrated the above story of the highland widow, whom he had himself known in his boyhood. And he asked, “If that child is now alive, what would you think of his heart if it did not cherish an affection for his mother's memory, and if the sight of her poor tattered shawl, which she had wrapped round him, in order to save his life at the cost of her own, did not fill him with gratitude and love too deep for words? Yet what

hearts have you, my hearers, if, over these memorials of your Saviour's sacrifice of himself, you do not feel them glow with deeper love, and with adoring gratitude?" A few days after this a message was sent by a dying man requesting to see this clergyman. The request was speedily complied with. The sick man seized the minister by the hand, and, gazing intently in his face, said, "You do not, you cannot recognise me. But I know you, and knew your father before you. I have been a wanderer in many lands. I have visited every quarter of the globe, and fought and bled for my king and country. came to this town a few weeks ago in bad health. Last sabbath I entered your church-the church of my countrymen-where I could once more hear, in the language of my youth and of my heart, the gospel preached. I heard you tell the story of the widow and her son here the voice of the old soldier

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