And do we still take so much anxious thought for the future days, when the days which have gone by, have so trangely and uniformly deceived us? Can we still so set our hearts upon the creatures of God, when we find by sad experience, that the Creator only is permanent? Or, shall we not rather lay aside every weight, and every sin which doth so easily beset us, and think of ourselves henceforth as wayfaring persons only, who have no abiding inheritance, but are sustained during our pilgrimage with the hope of a better world.

The Washer-Woman.

A LADY Some time ago, in her daily pursuit of objects on whom to bestow comforts and blessings, derived from the resources of a large fortune and benevolent heart, found on a miserable pallet, in a miserable dwelling, a wretched female in great bodily agony, and, as it turned out, a few hours only from dissolution. She learned with grief, that this poor woman was a victim of intemperance, and that a course of drunken habits was dragging her into a premature grave. After a few solemn words to the dying creature, the lady was surprised that she turned round and feebly said, "Madam, do you not know me ?" So altered, however, were her sunken and emaciated features, that it was some time before she recognized the changed countenance of one who had been her laundry servant. Much moved at the sight, the lady exclaimed, "Ah! is it you-in such a place, in such distress, and oh! in such perilous circumstances, as regards your immortal soul?” "It is," replied the dying woman with firmness and composure, "here I am, and it is you, who have brought me to this." If a beam out of the wall had spoken the sentence, Mrs. could not have been more confounded. "Oh, Madam," continued the departing sinner, "dinna you mind how often I refused, how unwilling I was to taste-I mean the whiskey at the washing? Oh, and how you pressed me till't and gart me do't. Oh! dinna ye min' that? How sair I pled wi you, that you wud na gar me do't?"

The Scotch Baker in London.

A rotund, full-priced baker, who was in the habit of bringing his miserable debtors into "Westminster Court of Requests," one day stepped into the plaintiffs box with papers and ledger in hand, to make good his claim for twenty-five shillings, for bread supplied to a Mr. John Howard.

A tall young woman, wearing a handsome fur mantilla, and evidently careful to exhibit the externals of gentility, presented herself to answer the demand. Her age might be either eighteen or twenty-eight; the hollow cheek and spare form, produced by early sorrow or privation, or both, prevented a closer approximation to the truth.

A Commissioner.-Is the amount disputed?

Young Lady.-Certainly not. I have only to say, on the part of my father, that he sincerely regrets his inability to settle the amount at once.

Chairman. How will you pay it?

Young Lady.-I have five shillings to offer now, and my father wishes to have the indulgence of paying the rest at half a crown a week.

Commissioner. The bill is for bread, and it has been standing for some time. Judging from your appearance, I should think your father cannot be in such circumstances as to make it difficult to procure the few shillings left unpaid on this bill.

Young Lady.-Appearances are often deceitful. It is equally distressing to my father and myself to ask even for one day; but unexpected sickness in our family has totally exhausted our little means.

Baker, (pocketing the money).-Twa and saxpence a week is not enough. Ye gang about toon wi a grand boa, and a fine silk dress, while my wife maun wear a plaid shawl and a cotton goon, because the likes o' ye will eat an honest mon's bread wi'oot paying for't. That fine tippet ye hae gotten on maun hae cost, may be sax gowden guiueas.

"It is true," said the young lady coloring, "my dress may appear rather extravagant, and if I could with prudance dress at less cost, I would do so; but upon a re spectable exterior, on my part, as a teacher of music, de

pends the subsistence of a sick father and two young sisters. (The baker shut his book abruptly, and thrust his papers into his pocket.) As for the boa you allude to, that was pledged this morning to raise a few shillings to pay you the five you have just received, and to provide food for those who have tasted little else beyond dry bread for the last week. The tippet I have on was kindly lent me by my landlady, as the day is wet and cold."

"Well, Mr. Baker," said the Chairman in a tone of compassion, "perhaps you will agree to the young lady's terms?"

"Oh, aye," said to baker, "twa and saxpence a month. Pit it down if you wull."

Chairman. Two and sixpence a week was offered. "Mak it just what ye lik," said the baker.

The order was made and handed to the young lady As she was leaving the court, the Baker stopped her. "Gie me haud o' that bit paper," said the baker. The request was complied with. "Noo," said the baker, thrusting some silver into her hand, "tak bock your croon-piece, and dinna fash yoursel at a' wi' the weekly payment. Ye shall hae a four pund loaf ilka day at my shope, and ye may pay me just when ye're able, and if 1 niver git the siller may be I'll niver miss it; but mind, young leddy," said he angrily, "gin ye deal wi' ony ither baker, I'se pit this order in force agin yere father."

The young lady looked her gratitude. The baker had vanished.

The world has often been pronounced cold and selfish, and the experience of thousands has confirmed the truth of the declaration. But, as in a dark and cloudy night. now and then a star peers out to cheer the lost wanderer, so among the selfish multitude, there is here and there a heart, which, like the "Scotch Baker's," can feel and flow forth in tenderness and sympathy, in view of the wretchedness and penury of others. I love to contemplate such instances of kind hearted generosity, even though they may spring from no higher source than natural sympathy They show what man sometimes is, even in his ruins What may he not become.

"When Grace hath well refin'd his heart?"

There is room enough for the exercise of kindnes every where. But, how many modest, virtuous and sh nking beings, in our large cities, whose sufferings and depriva tions the world never knows, find themselves obliged to toil by day and by night to furnish food for a father-and that father may be one, who has sunk himself by intemperance and vice to infamy and want-but who is still a father; or, for a mother, pining under wasting consumption; or, for orphan brothers and sisters, while hundreds around them feast on the richest viands, and sleep on the softest couch.

Oh! when will this winter, which locks up the generous affections of the soul have ended? When shall we return from our aphelion state within the warming influence of that world, where all is love, and where each one finds in every one he meets, a friend and brother?-May those who read the foregoing simple, but touching tale, learn a lesson of kindness.

O may our sympathizing breasts
That generous pleasure know;
Kindly to share in other's joy,
And weep for other's woe.

When the most helpless sons of grief,
In low distress are laid,

Soft be our hearts their pains to feel,
And swift our hands to aid.

Christian Firmness.

WHEN the Rev. Mr. Baird was once pleading the cause of France, he related the following, which he received from the lips of one of the Evangelists, employed by the Missionary Society of Paris. This evangelist was preaching in one of the towns of France, and a lady, the wife of one of its wealthiest citizens attended at the chapel, and became deeply interested in the subject of her soul's salvation. Her husband, who was an infidel, opposed her, violently; and, at length, when she become a decided christian, told her that if she went to the chapel again, he would take her life. Knowing well the character of the man, and firmly believing that he would execute his threat, she called upon the minister to ask his advice. I know not, said he, what to give, but we will pray to

God for wisdom. They kneeled, and prayed together. She arose from her knees; and, without saying a word, eturned home. The next Sabbath, she was found in the house of God, listening as if for the last time on this side of the eternal world. At the close of the service she returned, and upon entering her house, her husband met her, when the following conversation ensued; "Have you been to the chapel?" "Yes." "Did I not tell you, that I would kill you, if you went again? How dared you to go?" "Yes, but we must obey God rather than man." Perceiving that he hesitated, she embraced the opportunity of expostulating with him. "Why," said she, "do you intend to kill me? Have I been a worse wife to you-a worse mother to your children, since 1 became a christian ?" "No," replied he, letting his weapon fall from his hand, "no, and I promise never to oppose you any more. And now," continued he, "I wish you to pray for me." They bowed before the mercy seat, and she poured out her soul in prayer for him. He is now one of the most active members of the church.

Our Father in Heaven.

THE Bible, says Bonnet, in his meditations on the Lord's Prayer, insists much upon this comparison of an earthly Father, and our Father in Heaven; and it challenges the tenderest affections of a parent's heart to surpass in any respect the love and care of our Heavenly Father. "What man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven, give good things to them that ask him." Does a suffering or an erring child meet with assistance or compassion from his father? "Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him."

The Bible does not stop even here; the experience of the christian contains still richer treasures of consolation. If there be found a father so unnatural as to abandon his own child, or if death, striking a beloved father, leave his