for beings that are capable of satisfying thy love, is God's revelation in thy heart of thy mission in this world.

Yes, it is a great fact; the love and clinging we naturally feel for the good, the generous, the true, the gentle, the pure, is one of the greatest testimonies that goodness, nobleness, generosity, truth, gentleness, and purity, are the most beautiful and exalted things-the things which God himself must love, and which He wants us to help Him to bring about.

And, thus, in another way, is the lesson taught us by the life and death of Jesus. No being who has ever lived upon this earth has awakened towards him such love and veneration as have been, age after age, given freely and gladly to him. Every one feels that if Jesus were here with us again to-day, such as he was once on earth, speaking, working, looking, as once he spoke, and worked, and looked, we could hang upon his words, we could look up into his face with unspeakable love, we could sit at his feet, and bow our heads, drinking in his words. Oh, it would be an unutterable benefit to have such a being by us, to love, to be able to call him our friend and our Master, to have him sit down at the same table with us, walk in the same fields, worship, kneeling by our side. And if there were around us a few, a very few, such beings as Jesus, oh, how much brighter and richer life would be.

God has put up this one beautiful being, with his most beautiful life, as his divinest picture, and He has made us love it in spite of ourselves, in order to show us what it is He wants human beings to be brought to, and in order to draw us on to help to make what He desires.

Now this great fact,-I mean the gathering of the deepest intensest love of the human heart around the being of Jesus, is set forth to our minds in innumerable ways, but in none more than the picture given us in the Gospels, of the wonderful love which Jesus did draw forth, even while on earth, from his friends and reverential disciples. There is nothing more sweet and touching in history than these little glimpses which we thus get of the child whose sayings the mother kept in

her heart, of the companion to the mild and heavenly John pouring his high thoughts and desires into his ear, until it seemed to the young apostle it was no earthly being who spoke with him, but a very angel from heaven, of the friend who, though only the son of a carpenter, was welcomed to the rich home of Lazarus and Martha and Mary; and Mary, though probably a refined lady, sitting at his feet, drank in his words,—of the repentant woman who for that he was the only one who could have redeemed her from her sin, bedewed his feet with her tears, and wiped them with her hair,—of the apostles gathered round the board of the last supper, and weeping as if their hearts would break at the beautiful words he uttered, and the thought of his departure, and lastly, of that group of women, among whom was Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the less and of Joses, and Salome, who also, when he was in Galilee, followed him and ministered unto him; and many other women which came up with him unto Jerusalem, and who were present suffering with him in unutterable anguish at his crucifixion, and who, when Joseph of Arimathea received the body of their murdered Lord and friend, gathered round it and gave one more burst to their deep and affrighted love, over the beloved image of him who had been to them lately the very light of life.

Such, then, is the meaning of the picture of the "Three Maries" (as it is usually called) by the great painter, Annibale Caracci, which every one who went to the exhibition must have noticed. By it the artist has helped us to present to our minds one of the scenes which shew with what passionate earnestness and veneration Jesus was loved on earth. The deep grief in the faces of the women, is but love suffering disappointment. And who can look at that agonised love without sympathising with it-without feeling how grand and beautiful must have been the life calling forth such intense devotion. We see the greatness of Christ reflected in their faces, as in the face of that little child looking up so reverently in Ary Scheffer's picture of Christ teaching humility. And so we turn from the picture with this conviction, that it is good

ness after all that calls forth the deepest, intensest love upon this earth, and so goodness is the highest, noblest thing.

NOVEMBER.

NOVEMBER, the commencement of winter, has, to the lover of nature, many pleasant sights and sounds; for although the trees have lost their leaves, a few still green, yellow, or red, flutter in the hedgerows, and the downy seeds of thistles, ragworts, golden-rod, and clematis remain in sheltered spots. The acrocarpi, (mosses that bear their seed vessels from centres) so dull and brown during the summer heats, are fresh and green with new stems and leaves, and their slender urns shoot up like fairy lances, the jungermannias and marchantias, so nearly related to the mosses, are also reviving in the fogs and ruins of autumn. The distant hills and woods are seen through a veil of grey mist, that softens, without hiding the landscape. In lanes or woods, on fine days, the squirrel may sometimes be seen, looking for a few more nuts to complete his winter stock before he finally shuts himself up in his snug nest. When disturbed, he runs up the nearest tree, where, if you continue to watch him, he chatters and stamps with anger at your intrusion on what he considers his own dominion; or the golden-crested wren may be seen glancing from bough to bough in lonely lanes; or a butterfly, the last of autumn, will flit before you in the sunshine.

November sunsets are frequently very gorgeous, as well as grand, when a dark lowering cloud overhangs the soft, warm, orange and green tinted sky, that surrounds the fast disappearing sun, and the whole landscape glows for a few minutes as through a scarlet haze; soon to fade to a chilly purple and blue: thus warning us to return from our pleasant and bracing walk, to our warm, comfortable fireside. But let us not take there with us the chill of the out-door evening. Let gratitude to the great Giver of all innocent enjoyments,for out-door pleasures, and fireside comforts,-fill our

hearts with love and thanksgiving to Him, the kind AllFather, and love and desire to make happy all the dear home circle.

The garden has yet some lovely flowers-strangers from distant lands-and made yet more beautiful by skill and care. The chrysanthemums of many sizes, tiny, round, and compact, to the large and elegantly fringed kinds, from the purest white, through pink or yellow, up to the darkest, richest crimson.

But November has other scenes and sights than these lovely ones. Its storms are sometimes very awful. The wind rises and howls around our roofs and chimneys, tears up noble trees-trees long the pride of the forest, dashes the sea waves against each other, aud drives the ships, with rent sails and broken masts, against the rock-bound coast. Or the rain pours in torrents through the dark, dreary day; or, thick fogs hide the face of heaven from our sight for many days. How sad must winter and its storms have been to the rude inhabitants of this country, before Christ came on earth, bringing the new, the glad tidings of a good, a universal Father, who ever overrules all events. We all now know that every storm, tempest, earthquake, will result in the general good of His children.

Yet, when the sky is darkened by the cold, thick fog, the heavy rain descends and the storm howls around our home, we need not make the fireside dreary, chill, or stormy, by unkindness or ill-temper. Innocent mirth, sweet songs, kind, loving deeds, springing from. kind, loving hearts, may, and ought, to cheer and enlighten the domestic hearth.

HOARY November is the year's old age.

The woods have faded from their autumn tints,
And stand in almost winter's leaflessness;

Yet breaths a balmy softness in the air,

And wood and hill and vale are faintly seen

Through the grey haze, that, as a veil enwraps them.

The dimness of its beauty most resembles

That beaming from the good man's countenance,
When, resting from a useful, active life,

He tranquilly awaits decay and death.
The daily, hourly actions of the just

Seem lost, forgotten, like November's leaves;
Yet neither are forgotten, neither lost.

The leaves-what if the traveller tread them down,
Or wintry blast sport with them-are not lost!
They but return to earth and nourish her,
That, from her fruitful bosom, other leaves,
Fresh budding, may arise. And the good deeds
Of honourable age are garnered up

In God's own treasury-under His care-
Where neither rust corrodes, nor moth devours,
Nor robbers enter.

DECEMBER,

J. A.

Winter is now come, and our gardens have little beauty except that of neatness, and nicely dug ground; but there are evergreen shrubs, the laurustinus, and red-and-yellow-berried hollies, and the aconite or Christmas rose, with its snowy petals, for a Christmas garland.

Fields and lanes have lost their summer glories; but the forest trees have their trunks and limbs clothed with grey lichens, the usneas, and the ramalinas, and physias. Many of the hawthorn hedges have their boughs bright with the fronds and urns of the yellow parmelia parietina; and if closely observed, we may often find on the smooth bark those curious lichens, the apegrapha and graphis, so called from their resemblance to oriental writing. The frozen ground rings with the footsteps of such as are not afraid of those little "lions in the way," cold fingers, feet, or noses; and they will meet the reward of courage by returning with glowing cheeks, cheerful tempers, and frames warmed and strengthened by healthful exercise; they may have heard, in the pauses of their merry converse, robin's song to the parting year, or gathered a daisy, remembrance of the past and of the coming spring.

66

17

Pleasant it is that Christmas, dear, merry, happy Christmas comes, with its warm fire-side, its family meetings and greetings, in the darkest, dreariest season of the year. Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you,' said he, whose birthday we celebrate, when he exhorted his disciples to pray and work earnestly. "Seek, and ye shall find" pleasures around your daily path of duty. In every season, if we seek, we shall find the love of our heavenly Father towards us, filling the