THE SABBATH MORNING.

SCHOLARS GOING TO PUBLIC WORSHIP.

"In decent order and in neat array."

BLESSED be God for Sabbath Schools! I never gather up my thoughts to think of them, and of all the good they have done and all the good they may yet do, both to children, parents, and teachers, but I bless God for Sabbath Schools.

I have sometimes on a Sabbath morning, about nine o'clock, indulged in musing on the multitudes of dear children who were then hastening, all clean and neat, to their various schools. And then I have thought of the numbers of pious young men and women, all fresh, and lively, and vigorous, who were also hastening to their beloved employment as teachers of these young immortals. And as I have thought of these, notwithstanding there is yet much ignorance and sin in our land, I have thanked God and hoped for better days. At all events, had it not been for these we should have had worse. Of this there can be no doubt, I think. A certain great man once said "the schoolmaster is abroad," meaning that education was spreading. We wish it may; but if it is to do good, real good, it must be religious education. And I seriously believe that the good instruction imparted by pious teachers in our Sabbath Schools to millions of children has been the means of preserving our country, more than once, from disorder and confusion.

Blessed be God then for Sabbath Schools!

If it be pleasing to see a single scholar or teacher repairing joyfully to his own school, how much more pleasing is it to see a whole string of the dear little ones "in decent order and in neat array" proceeding through the streets of the city, or the lanes of the village, from the school-house to the place of public worship. Everybody must admire such a scene. And often have I seen a poor dirty drunkard stand and

stupidly stare at the lovely sight, bringing, perhaps, to his recollection the days when he was not a sot and a a sabbath-breaker, but a sabbath-scholar. What thoughts and what feelings might follow who can tell. I always look on one of these sabbath school processions to worship as a living and lovely testimony in favour of the holy day. And I would rather see such a spectacle than a Lord Mayor's show any day.

But I believe it quite possible that our Sabbath Schools might be much improved, and made much more interesting to teachers, and profitable to the children. Separate religious services for children, such as they can understand, are now beginning to be talked about. I hope they will be attempted. For although it is right and proper that children be accustomed to attend public worship with grown-up people, yet such services are generally so conducted that many children do not feel much interest in them. Let them have a little chapel as it were of their own too, and hymns and prayers and a sermon just suited to their capacities, and then see if you would not have all their attention, and if they would not understand all about it. And thus much greater good might follow than ever has yet. I shall say more about this some day, but now I end as I began, saying, "Blessed be God for Sabbath Schools." And may every Sabbath Scholar who reads this, sing:

Now ador'd be the Lord our all-gracious Saviour,
Who gives friends to teach us in wisdom to grow;
While children partake such unmerited favour,
Shall we e'er be ungrateful? ah never! ah no!

Oh! how precious the Bible, which to us is given,
To warn us that sin leads to death, hell, and woe,
While it marks the true way through Jesus to heaven;
Should we e'er be ungrateful? ah never! ah no!

May the spirit of Jesus enable our teachers

To bear with our weakness till wiser we grow ;
While blest with such friends, benefactors, and preachers,
Should we e'er be ungrateful? ah never! ah no!

THE LITTLE BLIND GIRL.

Let me tell you who was the happiest child I ever

saw.

She was a little girl whom I once met travelling in a coach. We were both going on a journey to London, and we travelled a great many miles together. She was only eight years old, and was quite blind. She had never been able to see at all. She had never seen the sun, and the stars, and the sky, and the grass, and the flowers, and the trees, and the birds, and all those pleasant things which you see every day of your lives but still she was quite happy.

She was by herself, poor little thing. She had no friends or relations to take care of her on her journey, and be good to her; but she was quite happy and content. She said, when she got into the coach, "Tell me how many people there are in the coach: I am quite blind, and can see nothing?" A gentleman asked her, "If she was not afraid ?" "No," she said, "I am not frightened; I have travelled before, and I trust in God, and people are always very kind to me."

But I soon found out the reason why she was so happy; and what do you think it was? She loved Jesus Christ, and Jesus Christ loved her ;-she had sought Jesus Christ, and she had found him.

I began to talk to her about the Bible, and I soon found that she knew a great deal about it. She went to a school where the mistress used to read the Bible to her; and she was a good girl, and had remembered what her mistress had read.

You cannot think how many things in the Bible this poor little blind girl knew. I only wish that every grown-up person in England knew as much as she did. But I must try and tell you some of them.

She talked to me about sin; how it first came into the world, when Adam and Eve ate the forbidden

fruit, and how it was to be seen everywhere now. "Oh!" she said, "there are no really good people. The very best people in the world have many sins every day, and I am sure we all of us waste a great deal of time, if we do nothing else wrong. Oh! we are all such sinners! there is nobody who has not sinned a great many sins."

And then she talked about Jesus Christ. She told me about his agony in the garden of Gethsemaneabout his sweating drops of blood—about the soldiers nailing him to the cross-about the spear piercing his side, and blood and water coming out. "Oh!" she said, "how very good of him to die for us-and such a cruel death! how good he was, to suffer so for our sins!"

And then she talked about wicked people. She told me she was afraid there were a great many in the world, and it made her very unhappy to hear how many of her school-fellows and acquaintances went on. "But," she said, "I know the reason why they are so wicked; it is because they do not try to be good—they do not wish to be good-they do not ask Jesus to make them good."

I asked her what part of the Bible she liked best. She told me she liked all the history of Jesus Christ, but the chapters she was most fond of were the three last chapters of the book of Revelation. I had got a Bible with me, and I took it out and read those chapters to her as we went along.

When I had done, she began to talk about heaven. "Think," she said, "how nice it will be to be there. There will be no more sorrow, nor crying, nor tears. And then Jesus Christ will be there, for it says, 'The Lamb is the light thereof,' and we shall always be with him; and besides this, there shall be no night there; they will need no candle nor light of the sun."

Just think of this poor little blind girl. Think of her taking pleasure in talking of Jesus Christ. Think

MY MOTHER PRAYS.

of her rejoicing in the hope of heaven, where there shall be no sorrow nor night.

Dear children, are you as happy and as cheerful as she was ?

You are not blind, you have eyes, and can run about and see everything, and go where you like, and read as much as you please to yourselves. But are you as happy as this poor little blind girl?

Oh! if you wish to be happy in this world, remember my advice to-day-do as the little blind girl did "Love Jesus Christ, and he will love you-seek him early, and you shall find him.”—Rev. J. C. Ryle.

MY MOTHER PRAYS.

WHAT thoughts crowd around the heart at the mention of these words! Years may pass away; mountains, rivers, and oceans, may intervene between us and the spot where first we heard a mother's prayers, yet they cannot be lost to memory. Sickness, sorrow, and neglect, may be suffered, and even the heart may seemingly become callous to all good impressions, yet at the sound of a mother's, a praying mother's name, a chord is touched which thrills through the soul, and rarely fails to awaken better feelings. Does danger threaten ?—we hope and perhaps fondly anticipate that a mother's prayers, which have been offered in our behalf, may be answered.

Never did I see this more forcibly illustrated than in the case of a weather-beaten sailor who resided in one of our coast towns. I had the narrative from the lips of the mother. In making his homeward passage, as he "doubled the stormy Cape," a dreadful storm arose. The mother had heard of his arrival "outside the Cape," and was awaiting, with the anxiety a mother alone can know, to see her son. But now the