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his travels in Ireland. I copy it for the sake of the piece of good advice with which it ends, and hope my young friends will attend to it:

Mr. Moore, riding along one day, overtook a little boy, with a package of old books under his arm.

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B. "Why, Sir,—why, Sir,— I expect to be a Cardinal."

M. "Very good indeed; but what do you expect to be then?"

B. (colouring deeply) "O, Sir, I am ashamed to tell you!" M. "O! do tell me what you expect to be next?”

B. "Why, Sir,-why, Sir,

Moore. "Well, my fine boy, I expect I might be the Pope." where are you going? M. "Well, my fine boy, and Boy. Going to the large what do you expect to be next?” house yonder, Sir." B. The boy looked at Mr.

M. "What are you going to Moore earnestly, his countenance do there ?" fell, and he answered, "O, Sir! I B. "Going to learn. I go to can then go no higher,—nothing school there." else that I can be."

M. "And what do they teach you, my fine boy?"

B. "They teach me Latin, and Greek, and various things." M. "And what do you expect to be when you shall be educated ? What do you expect your education to do for you?" B. "I expect to be a priest, like themselves."

M. "Then you must die; and if you love God, and serve Him, you will rise higher, and be happy with Him for ever. But you might die before the time you expect to be priest, and cardinal, and Pope; but if you love God, all will be well. If not, what will you do then? And if you get the love of God in

M. "And what do you expect your heart, if you become a priest to be then?" it will make you a good priest; B. (smiling) "I expect to be if bishop, a good bishop; if a dean, Sir."

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cardinal, a good cardinal; if Pope, a good Pope. And if you have it not, you would not be happy, be what you may. But you may live and never rise to be what you desire; but if you love God, you will be happy in whatsoever station in life your

lot may be cast, and happy for Sabbaths in gambling, rude


They parted, and Mr. Moore saw the little boy no more.


"WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY." FACTORY girl, who had no position in the world, nor money in the bank, and who was not remarkable for her strength of mind, had what is better far, a large heart-a kind, loving, Christ-like spirit. Seeing very many poor boys employed in the foundries who, early corrupted by lessons of vice, could say, "No man careth formy soul," she had compassion on them. "I am but a poor working girl," she said to herself; "but I will try, in a loving spirit, if I can win them to God and to what is good."

A noble resolution! So soon as formed, she sought to carry it into practice, asking for and obtaining the use of a room below the factory where she wrought. She opened it on a Sabbath in June, 1862; and ere

long had gathered in some forty lads, with ragged clothes and dirty faces, from smokingclubs and the back courts where they were wont to spend their

play, and wild merriment. For two years she continued in this course, nor abandoned a work she loved so well till failing health compelled her to resign it into the hands of others.

Her efforts to bless and save those boys were not confined to Sundays only. They engaged her spare time throughout the week. This noble girl, SO soon as the day's work was over, took her way to the homes of the boys-if homes many of their lodgings could be called. She knew them all-their sad histories, their dangers and hardships; and by her Christian principles, her winning ways, and overflowing kindness, she gained an influence over them which was followed by the happiest results. God owned her labours. Several underwent a saving change. Some of those whom this poor factory girl turned from the error of their ways are now teaching Sabbathschools, and adorning the doctrine of God their Saviour.

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God keep you safe in your gentle O, cry to God now! your prayer


I, too, must sleep now, goodnight! good-night!

Beautiful flowers in the garden and mead,

That love to look up to the skies of light,

I am sure you must all be weary indeed,

Your eyes are all closing,-goodnight! good-night!

Beautiful world, with your waters fair,

Your trees of green and your

clouds of white,

Your golden sunshine and balmy air,

Good-bye for awhile, -good

night! good-night!

Father and mother, and sisters fond,

He will hear

For the sake of Jesus;-goodnight! good-night!

-The Rev. G. T. Coster.


R. MORRISON, the wellknown Chinese Missionary, was once a poor boy, but he rose to do a great work in the world. His father, who belonged to the Great Market Presbyterian congregation in Newcastle, was a last-maker, and brought up little Morrison to the carpentering trade. When a young man he had to work twelve to fourteen hours a day, but he still managed to redeem

And brothers I love, may your time from sleep for study and

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prayer. On Saturday evening he might have been seen putting in order the little shop, which was afterwards to be used for a prayer-meeting. The desire to

Sailors and fishermen out on the be a minister-especially a


Widows and orphans in sad, sad plight; To each may Jesus a Comforter be! O, He can comfort!-good-night! good-night!

And ye, with never a friend a-near, Who think that joy has taken its flight,

missionary to the heathen-grew on his mind, and, after proper training, he was sent forth, the first Protestant missionary to the teeming millions of China.

The following incident in his journey, when he first set out for China, is worthy of record. He

travelled by way of America, and the first night he stayed in New York he was placed, we are told, in an apartment where a little child had already gone to sleep. Awaking in the morning, she turned as usual to talk to her mother, but seeing a stranger where she expected to find her parents, she raised herself with a look of alarm, and, fixing her eyes steadily on his face, she said, “Man, do you pray to God?" "O, yes! my dear," the reply, "I pray to Him every day. God is my best Friend." She then laid her head back on her pillow and again fell asleep, as if she felt there could be no danger, even in her being alone in the room with the traveller, if he prayed.



T does not take long to go across from London to the Continent; a few hours' voyage by steamer, and you are there. But how different at once from England is all around you! The style of the buildings, the dress of the people, and their speech, all tell us that we are no longer at home. This novelty and freshness make the

first visit to a foreign country always charming, and the visit is rendered all the more interesting when the places to which you go are so full of celebrated works of art, both in painting and architecture, as the old city of Antwerp. Some time since I made, in company with some friends, my first visit to this city, with the intention, after a short stay there, of going on to Cologne for a trip up the Rhine, so renowned for the beauty of its scenery.

It was early in the afternoon that we left London, in the steamer

"Baron Osy," for

Antwerp, and slowly steamed down the Thames under charge of a pilot. As the day closed we left the land behind us, and began to feel the motion of the open sea. Most of our party were pretty good sailors, so that we stayed on deck and enjoyed the sea-breeze until it was quite dark. Next morning found us entering the River Scheldt. Antwerp is situated some miles from the mouth of the river, and the view from the vessel as we proceed up the stream is by no means picturesque. Indeed, in the dull gray of the early morning it is quite cheerless. The banks are very low, and the country generally flat,

with very few trees, and these often but straggling poplars. The only objects which enliven

the scene are the numerous windmills, whose sails are slowly moving round as they are caught by the light air of the morning.

The first sign of our nearing Antwerp is a distant view of the spire of its celebrated Cathedral. For some time before reaching? the city this beautiful and lofty object can be seen towering like a great landmark above the level country. At length we round a sharp bend of the

river, and enter the busy port. The steamer threads her way among the shipping, and comes alongside the quay.


Before landing we are obliged to submit our portmanteaus and boxes to the inspection of the Custom House officers. This done, we are free to go on shore. We had breakfasted on board the steamer, while coming up the river, so that after leaving the luggage at our hotel we immediately sally forth to see the town.

One of the first things that catch the attention of the English visitor to Antwerp, is the quaintness of the Flemish costume. The women here wear curiously-shaped caps, with lace borders, and straw - bonnets which put me in mind of the tall hats worn by the Welsh. The white caps and singular bonnets give the wearers a striking appearance. Here is a


sketch of two Flemish women, showing varieties of head-dress. You will see that one has a very

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