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trict, until two-thirds of the ratepayers shall be in its favour.

It is not easy to conceive of a measure more popular and more equitable than this; so that it is hoped it will meet with public approval, as soon as its provisions shall be generally understood.

These two modes of operation, it will be perceived, are quite distinct in their nature; and yet they work harmoniously together. They have a common object in view, and that is, to save society from the lamentable effects which flow from intemperance and drunkenness. By intemperance I mean that state in which men are partially, but not entirely, deprived by alcohol of their reasoning powers-that state which leads a Captain recklessly to run his ship into danger, and often to destroy the life of his passengers; that state which causes the railway driver to dash on also recklessly, regardless of the signal which would otherwise tell him to go cautiously forward, and which neglect is frequently the cause of horrible death and ruin to many. By drunkenness, I mean that condition which deprives men of all sense and reason; and which is indeed a deplorable condition, but by no means so destructive to life and property, as that unnatural condition of the brain which intemperance denotes. Herein we witness the mischiefs resulting from what is called moderate drinking.

This terrible poison, alcohol, flies to the brain; and there, when taken even in what men call moderation, it does its deadly work, such as I have described. But it does even worse than this; it destroys the moral sentiments, and it annihilates religious feeling. It sends the man, whom it has turned into a demon, to his dwel ling to ruin the happiness of his wife and children; and it obliterates all his sense of responsibility to his family, to his country, to his God. All this mischief it creates, and it gives us no good in return. Its damnable mission in the world is evil and only evil. There is no "silver lining" behind this dark cloud.

Let Temperance reformers, looking to their past year of labour with some degree of gladness, pursue their useful course in the coming year, in the fond hope that, ere its close, brighter visions of glory, radiating from the Son of Teetotalism, may be vouchsafed to them from God, in whom is all our trust, and from whom all blings tow; but whose will it is that the human race shall conform to those laws of life and health which He has laid down for their government, before we can secure that bargainess which is placed within our reach, if we be best to those laws

It is were printal in letters of gold across the firmamom Alobal is the enemy of all that is buy and GRAMA —A JÕUzy to banish it for ever, would scarcely be sure okay ported out to us than it now is in the mowey and desolation it creates alt arvend us. I thereSure say do all Dumperance reformers, have faith in Gwork in this de artesty and per SERVEURE V NE The coming year, in farið and hope that a rich reward will crown your abours.

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Selections for the Poung.

WILLIE, THE RUNAWAY. ONE moonlight night, when all the house was still, Willie Nichols rose softly from his bed. He dressed himself quietly that he might not disturb his sister, or his little brother Bennie, who slept with him. Through the window of the attic room the moonbeams shone softly, and they threw their beautiful light on Fanny's pale face, and on Bennie's curling hair. They showed Willie the seams and cracks in the old wall, the trunk which his father had carried with him on his voyage years ago, and the little Bible on the stand. Precious little Bible! His Sabbath-school teacher had given it to him as a token of love, long before Willie had thought of ever being a runaway. Out of the window the same moonlight was falling softly on the old mulberry tree in the little garden, and making fantastic shadows of its leaves and branches upon the ground. It fell, too, upon the squire's white house, standing so proudly among the old stately trees, and upon the long, winding road that led to Farmer Benson's.

Willie stood trembling and irresolute, as he gazed upon the still world outside. For a moment his good angel whispered; "Stay, Willie! Do not leave your widowed mother and her little ones, and your dear home." But a whisper on the other side was louder still; and saying, “I can never go to Farmer Benson's," the boy dressed himself, tied up his few things. and his Bible among them. Then, with a last fond look at brother and sister, he stole out of the room and down the stairs. At his mother's door he paused, and put his hand upon the latch, but he did not venture to go in. His mother might awake, and Willie did not dare to meet her tender gaze, and ask a blessing upon his purpose.

Willie's mother was poor. Her husband's ship had been wrecked on a distant coast, and he had gone down with it. A hard struggle had Mrs. Nichols to procure food and fire for her little ones, though many of her neighbours were kind, and would have helped her if they could. But they were poor themselves and could give but kind wishes and a day's work, nw and then, to the widow. Meanwhile, by various means, sewing, washing, nursing the sick, and, in fact, everything that a woman's ready hands could do she had made both en is meet, til her three dinest children were of enoegh to help her. Robert and Maths were learning trades, and Wille was to be bound out to

farmer.

Before noon

Willie's home was near a seaport town. of the next day, he was on the deck of a ship bound for the south Pacific. When again the moon shone on the water, his native land was fading away in the distance. Willie did not find a sailor's life so free as he expected. There were hard words and hard blows to bear. There was coarser fare than he had been used to. There was climbing up the rigging when the waves were lashed by storms, and the ship rolled at her will. Many an hour of pain and home-sickness came to Willie, and sometimes his little hammock was wet with tears. Still it was not so hard for him as for many others. His prompt obedience and cheerful industry, his fearlessness and agility, made him a favourite on board; and there was not a man on the vessel who would not have risked life and limb to save the little fellow had he been in danger.

Eighteen months went by. They had touched here and there at different ports, and now and then they had spoken a vessel bound homeward, or perhaps bound still further away than they were themselves.

One day, the second mate, who was standing on deck, said suddenly to the boy—

"Willie, where did you come from?" "From Lime, sir, near N

"Did you run away?"

A tear gathered in Willie's eye, and his head drooped. No need of an answer.

"Have you a father and a mother?"

"A mother at home, but my father is dead." "Does you mother know where you are, my boy?" "No," said Willie; "I wouldn't let her know for the world. It would break her heart."

"Far worse to her to be in susper se. Twenty thousand miles from home, and your mother not know of it! No, Will! the first vessel we speak must carry a a letter to your mother. Remember, my boy!"

Willie promised, and began, in his leisure moments, a letter.

A few days afterwards, they were chasing a whale. This is very dangerous sport, for the huge creature, when wounded, strikes dreadful blows with its tail, and often capsizes boats, or breaks them to pieces. The boat which held Willie and four or five of the sailors had the bottom knocked out of it by a blow of the monster's tail. Pale, and dreadfully bruised, the boy was lifted up the ship's side, and laid in his hammock.

That night the mate watched by him till twelve o'clock. He had fallen into a gentle sleep, saying he would be all right in the morning. Bidding two of the men watch if he wanted anything, the kind mate, who had always been his friend, left him, that he might himself seek repose.

Morning came in its first gray light, and the mate returned to Willie's bed. The watchers, overcome by weariness, had fallen asleep. "Willie, how do you feel?" But Willie did not answer.

"He must be asleep," said his friend, surprised that no reply was given. He laid his hand on the boy's forehead. It was as cold as marble. He lifted the little hand. It fell pulseless and cold from his grasp. Alone, all alone, in the drear dead of night, without a mother's soft caress, or a sister's loving whisper, the little runaway boy had been called to die-alone, in the swinging ship, on the wide, wide sea. And, next day, as the sailors stood around in a solemn, silent circle, and they brought the little white form on deck. It was sewed up in the hammock, with only the face left uncovered, that all might see, for the last time, the beautiful features, and the brown wavy hair. The captain read the burial service; and then the canvas was sewed up, the weights put in at the feet, that it might sink more quickly to its ocean grave, and the body of Willie Nichols was let down into the waves. And, as the ship went faster and faster on its way, the little sailor-boy's form sank deeper to the botton of the sea, there to rest until the resurrection.

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The unfinished letter, and a curl of the brown hair, were placed in Willie's Bible, and sent home to his mother. But she had gone before; and we can but hope that little Willie had been, even at the last, led to repent and believe in Jesus, and so had met his dear mother in the heavenly home.

RESOLUTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.

1. I will rise early in the morning, and make it a rule not to be out of the house after ten o'clock in the evening.

2. I will have a regular place of worship, where I will attend, forenoon and afternoon. on each Sabbath, unless prevented by sickness; and will never engage in business or amusement on that day.

3. I will endeavour to promote the interest of my employer as if it were my own.

4. I will not play with cards, nor gamble inany way,

even for the smallest amount.

5. I will not drink wine, nor any other intoxicating liquor, as a beverage, under any circumstances.

6. I will carefully avoid all profane languages, and will not, voluntarily, associate with those who use it, or with those who are intemperate, or dissolute in their habits.

7. I will employ my leisure in such a manner as will have a tendency to improve my mind or health.

8. I will keep an accurate account of all the money I spend, and carefully avoid a habit of prodigality in my expenditures.

A REMEMBRANCER.-Not long since, when some forty boys, who had been rescued by a Juvenile Society of New York, were preparing to go to situations procured for them in the country, a boy was observed folding with great care his old cap, having previously taken out its lining, a small piece of faded calico. "John," called a friend, "what are you going to do with that greased calico?" "Please sir, it is not greased; it is all I have to remember my dead mother by. It's a part of her dress, which I cut off when she lay dying in the garret.” The question and answer were too much for him, and putting the strip under his shirt, next to his breast, he buried his face in his hands, and filled the room with sobs. Ah, boys, may you who have living mothers have as tender a regard for them as this poor orphan had for his dead mother.

TOUCHING INCIDENT.-A lady had two children, both girls. The elder was a fair child; the younger a beauty, and the mother's pet. Her whole love centred in it. The elder was neglected, while "Sweet" (the pet name of the younger) received every attention that love could bestow. One day, after a severe illness, the mother was sitting in the parlour, when she heard little childish footsteps on the stairs, and her thoughts were instantly with the favourite. "Is that you, Sweet?" she inquired. "No mamma," was the sad, touching reply, "it isn't Sweet; its only me." The mother's heart smote her, and from that hour "only me" was restored to an equal place in her affections.

EVIL COMPANY.-The following beautiful allegory is translated from the German :- Sophronius, a wise teacher, would not suffer even his grown-up son and daughters to associate with those whose conduct was not pure and upright. "Dear Father," said the gentle Eulalia to him one day, when he forbade her, in company with her brother, to visit the volatile Lucinda;

dear father, you must think us very childish, if you imagine we could be exposed to danger by it." The father took in silence a dead coal from the hearth, and reached it to his daughter. "It will not burn you, my child; take it." Eulalia did so, and behold, her beautiful white hand was soiled and blackened, and, as it chanced, her white dress also. "We cannot be too careful in handling coals," said Eulalia, in vexation. "Yes, truly," said the father; "you see, my child, that coals, even if they do not burn, blacken; so it is with the company of the vicious."

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Chapters in Natural History.

THE HOUSE FLY.

The favourite position of this insect, so common in England, is the window, on the panes of which it may be seen constantly walking up and down. The power which it possesses of walking on smooth, upright surfaces has, in consequence, been a frequent theme of conjecture, and of not a small amount of observation. Some have thought that these creatures have sponges on their feet, filled with a sticky substance, which enables them to adhere to such surfaces; and others, that this is done by the feet being beset with small bristles. Sir Everard Home found, however, that they have flat skins, or flaps, like the feet of ducks and other web-footed animals, and towards the back part or heel, but inside the skin or flap two very small toes, so connected with the flap as to draw it close down on the glass or wall where the fly walks, and to squeeze out the air between the foot and the glass or wall. The pressure of the external air would, therefore, hold it fast for a time, as a boy's sucker of leather adheres to a stone; and as he lets in the air that it may be detached, so would the fly when it wishes its foot to be disengaged.

Mr. Hepworth, who has recently examined the structure of the fly's foot, says :-" The flap varies in form in different species, from an irregular circle to that of an irregular triangle; and, viewing it from one side, it is somewhat thicker at the base (near its attachment), the under surface being, when isolated, convex, but perfectly flat as a whole, when applied to a surface of that form. It appears to be composed of an upper and an under layer of areolar tissue, or something similar to it, between which a bundle of tubes, along with the fasciculi of a large muscle, pass. These are placed at its base, and (sometimes protected by a coat of mail,' formed by long scales, overwrapping each other as a Venetian blind, or in alternate ones, as the scales of a fish, &c., but more frequently wanting) expand in a radiated form. Each tube, as it passes along with its fellows on each side, gives off a number of tubules alternately with them. These dip downwards from the under surface, and become expanded into trumpet shaped extremities, the flap becoming thinner and thinner as it approaches its margin, which sometimes terminates in an irregulary serrated edge, and at others by finely-pointed hairs.

"The fly has the power of attaching itself to smooth surfaces by these trumpet-shaded extremities, and also of secreting a fluid from them, when vigorous, and it has occasion to make extra exertions; but in a partially dormant state (the best for making observations) it does not appear to be able to give out this secretion, although it can still attach itself; indeed, this fluid is not essential for that purpose. When it is secreted, it is deposited on the glass with great regularity. I have often attempted to preserve these markings by applying colouring matter whilst they were moist, but have not yet succeeded. The tubules are often seen protruding from under the margin of the flap, in a semi-arch-like form, giving it a fringed appearance."

"How does a fly buzz?" is a question more easily asked than answered. "With its wings, to be sure,' hastily replies one of our readers. "With its wings as they vibrate upon the air," responds another, with a smile, half of contempt, half of complacency, at his own more than common measurement of natural philosophy. But how, then, let us ask, can the great dragon-fly, and other similar broad-pinioned, rapid-flying insects, cut through the air with silent swiftness, while others go on buzzing when not upon the wing at all? Rennie, who has already put this posing query, ascribes the sound partially to air; but to air as it plays on the "edges of their wings at their origin, as with an Eolian harp string," or to the "friction of some internal organ on the root of the wing nervures."

Poetry.

OUR MISSION!

BEGIN! The day-dawn of a better time
Has long been looked for, and not all in vain ;
That dawn is breaking, and the morn sublime
Will come when truth has universal reign.
Though War make desolate, and Want should pine
In the dark chamber, weary and forlorn;
On earth mild Charity and Love divine
Remain to usher in the better morn.
Change marks creation. Time, as evermore,
Presents the evil and the good at strife;
Some labour on an Eden to restore-

To make all earth a scene of holy life-
To raise our fallen nature, to bestow

New hopes and aims to custom's feeble slaves,
And lift the yearning soul, with love a-glow,
Beyond the spray of Passion's angry waves.
The Tempter sits upon the rock, and calls
The youthful voyager to come and share
Abounding pleasure in her fairy halls,

Where song and music load the perfumed air;
Her voice is like a lute, her form has power

To lull the soul into a dream of bliss;
The boy is charmed: he yields, and in that hour
Slides 'er the crater of a dread abyss.
Oh! there is work to do: the busy town

And hamlet fair-o'er all the pleasant Isle-
Are filled with men, who wander up and down,
Chained to a habit terrible as vile.
Little by little-lured from day to day

By friendship false and gradual desire,
They drink a poison, waste their lives away,
And like the hopeless suicide, expire.

Oh, how restrain them? "Tis for earnest men,
Who love the truth, to battle for the right;
To drag the monster vices from their den,

And try to crush them in the open light.
Be this our task; and while our hearts expand
With hopeful effort, may we seek to share
From all the good and virtuous of the land,
Their generous aid, their countenance and prayer!
Belfast.
T. H.

THE PAUPER'S BURIAL. BENEATH a cold and lonely roof

A pauper child lay dead;

No friends were mourning near the place,
Nor tear of grief was shed.
Upon his breast no flowers were laid,
No lights were burning by:
He lay as if he ne'er had seen
A mother's watchful eye.

His shroud-if so it could be called-
Scarce closed around his breast;
His eyes were glazed, and open stil ;
His icy lips imprest.

No ribbon bound his slender limbs,
Nor lawn lay o'er his face;
It was a heart-appalling sight
To see him in that place.

His hand lay loosely by his side,
His head low on the clay;
No one was near that cared for him,
As pass'd his life away.
The snow was wreathing everywhere;
The wind was whistling round;
Within that dreary charnel-house
No soothing voice was found.

Above him all was dark and damp;
No pleasing thing was there;
For sunbeam seldom enters it,
Or breath of vernal air.

A sigh burst from my bosom when
I looked into his face,

And found it like a withered flower In some deserted place.

THERE came a wife to the Temperance Hall,
With sad and solemn look;
She hung her head-her tears they fell
Upon the old pledge book!

While joy beamed in her languid eye,
The sacred pledge she took:
Thousands can date their happiness
From that dear old pledge book!

I saw a young man take the pledge,
Determined was his look;
Oh, may his name ne'er be erased
Out of the old pledge book!

I heard him say his drink would be
Clear water from the brook :

It has brought joy to many a home!
God bless the old pledge book!

"See! see! these snakes," the drunkard cried, His frame with horror shook;

But now he is a sober man-
His name is in that book!

Some now are in the silent grave,

The pledge they ne'er forsook; They're far away o'er the ocean wave Whose names are in that book.

I saw a man-oh! fearful sight!
Through drink his life he took:
Oh, would that he had faithful been
To that dear old pledge book.

Teetotalers, to the cause prove true,
Onward and upward look;
And ye who have not joined the cause,
Come sign the old pledge book!

Belfast.

Literature.

:

J. M'K.

PROCEEDINGS OF THE INTERNATIONAL TEMPERANCE AND PROHIBITION CONVENTION. Belfast Irish Temperance League Offices, 5, Donegall Street. Condensed reports of all the meetings in connexion with the great Convention held in London last September, the speeches of the Presidents of the several sections, and the admirable papers read on the important occasion, will be found in this splendid volume, which will be hailed with delight by all Temperance Reformers. We anticipate for the beautifully printed volume a very wide circulation, and those who desire to possess the work, without which no Temperance Library will be perfect, should at once send for it to the Irish Temperance League Offices.

THE STAR OF HOPE. Dublin: Murray, and Co. We wish this useful monthly all success. The editor, we are glad to perceive, has enlisted the facile pen of

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one of our own most esteemed contributors-J. W. Rumsey, Esq., B.A., of Trinity College, Dublin. The "Life Scenes" of this gifted young writer are truthful and telling, and will add much to create deep and widespread detestation of what he justly calls "the hideous drink traffic."

SIR B. BRODIE'S BENEVOLENCE.-In the year 1845 or 1846, I sent him a valuable old servant, who had been with me for close upon twenty years, and who had lived with a relative of mine for fifteen years antecedently. This excellent woman had deeply cut her finger with a chopper; the wound being neglected, she had sent for a surgeon-apothecary, under whose care inflammation extended. A surgeon was called in aid by the apothecary, and the inflammation continued to increase day by day. In this emergency I sent her to the late Sir Benjamin, who advised speedy amputation of the finger, which he was ready then and there to perform. To this the old creature obstinately refused to consent. "Well," said the great surgeon, "I will save your finger, but it will be a slow business, and never of any use to you." For six weeks he saw the patient twice a week at his own house, saving the finger, though it was a useless member. On the evening of the day after Sir Benjamin dismissed his patient, I called at Saville-row, about seven o'clock, in the month of June. The old servant, who had known me for fourteen or fifteen years, at once showed me into the dining-room, where a single cover was laid for Sir Benjamin, who had not yet returned from his rounds. Presently a carriage arrived at the door, and the master entered. "What! you here, sir; I hope you don't want my aid personally!" "Certainly not," I said, "but I want to write a cheque for your kind services to my cook." "Write a cheque," said the humane and generous man; "indeed you shall do no such thing. Go home strait to your dinner, and leave me to mine." Saying this, he began to quickly disembogue his pockets of a quantity of gold, with which they had been freighted between one p.m. and seven p.m.-Fraser's Magazine.

GRECIAN GUIDES.-These poor agoyates, or guides, have a hard life of it. They sometimes journey for fifty days by the side of mounted travellers. They are the first to rise, to look after their horses; they lie down to rest after other people are fast asleep. They often keep watch over their charge all night long, when they are traversing a suspicious neighbourhood. They live at their own expense, themselves and their horses; they sleep in a cloak in the open air; they are exposed to the sun and the rain, to the cold of the mountains and the heat of the plains; and after all this fatigue, "their lords," as the call them, give them just what they think proper, for they can claim nothing beyond the hire of their horses. The agoyate travels on foot without tiring: he goes through the water without getting wet, and frequently he takes his meals without eating. He provides for everything he carries about him nails, thread, needles-in short a complete haberdasher's and druggist's shop. He shoots game, when you have a gun to lend him; as you jog along, he gathers by the wayside wild plants wherewith to season his bread. On approaching your resting-place, he plucks a fowl, as he trots by your side, without seeming to be aware of what he is doing. The agoyate has friends in every village, acquaintances on every road. He knows by heart the fords of the streams, the distance of the villages, the good paths and the bad ones. never looses his way, rarely hesitates, and, to make assurance doubly sure, he shouts to the peasants when he passes,Brother, we are going to such a place; is this the way?" The term brother is still in universal usage, as in the good old times of Christian charity, although it has lost somewhat of its force; for it is not uncommon to hear say, "Brother, you are a scoundrel! Brother, I will give you what you won't like!"

He

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NO ROOM FOR CHRIST IN THE INN.-As for the Inns in Modern Times-who would think of finding Christ there? Putting out of our catalogue those hotels and roadside houses which are needed for the accommodation of travellers, what greater curse have we than our taverns and pot-houses? What wider gates of hell? Who would ever resort to such places as we have flaring with gas-light at the corners of all our streets, to find Christ there? As well might we expect to find him in the bottomless pit! We should be just as likely to look for angels in hell, as to look for Christ in a gin-palace! He who is separate from sinners finds no fit society in the reeking temple of Bacchus. There is no room for Jesus in the inn. I think I would rather rot or feed the crows, than earn my daily bread by the pence of fools, the hard-earnings of the poor man, stolen from his ragged children, and his emaciated wife. What do many publicans fatten upon but the flesh, and bones, and blood, and souls of men? He who grows rich on the fruits of vice is at best preparing for the slaughter. Truly there is no room for Christ among the drunkards of Ephraim. They who have anything to do with Christ should here him say-"Come out from among them, and be ye separate; touch not the unclean thing, and I will receive you, and be a father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters." There is no room for Christ now-a-days even in the places of public resort.Rev. C. II Spurgeon, Dec. 21, 1862.

DISTILLATION AND FARMING PROFITS.-It has been customary for farmers to look upon distillation as beneficial to them from the ready market which it affords for barley, and more especially for the lighter qualities of this and other grain crops. But this is a very short-sighted view of the matter; for careful calculation shows that, when the labouring man spends a shilling in the dram shop, not more than a penny of it goes for the agricultural produce (barley) from which the ginor whiskey is made; whereas, when he spends the same sum with the butcher or baker, nearly the whole amount goes for the raw material and only a fraction for the tradesman's profits. And not only so, but the man who spends a part of his wages upon strong drink, diminishes, both directly and indirectly, his ability to buy wholesome food and good clothing; so that, apart from the moral and social bearings of this question, it can abundantly be shown that whiskey or beer, is the very worst form for the farmer in which his grain can be consumed. Were the £50,000,000 at present annually spent in Great Britan upon ardent spirits (not to speak of beer), employed in purchasing bread, meat, dairy produce, vegetables, woollen and linen clothing, farmers would, on the one hand, be relieved from oppressive rates; and, on the other hand, have such an increased demand for their staple products, as would far more than compensate for the closing of what is, at present, the chief outlet for their barley-From "British Farming," by Mr. Wilson of Edinton Mains

"When the Tabernacle of the Lord of Hosts had been reared up in the wilderness by the children of Israel, and when God had instituted Aaron and his sons as priests to minister in His sacred habitation, he gave Aaron this express command: "Do not drink

wine nor strong-drink, thou, nor thy sons with thee, "when ye go into the tabernacle of the congregation, "lest ye die: it shall be a statute for ever throughout 'your generations."

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"The Lord thus communicated his dislike to be served by men whose senses should be troubled by the use of strong-drink. He intimated His will that the priest, standing in the Divine presence, should be in the full possession of all his mental faculties, and truly represent the image of God, in which man is created. The manner in which the priest was to appear before the Deity may surely be taken as a prototype for man to appear in his most dignified position. God calls the Israelites a kingdom of priests.' He wills that He

should be worshipped, not only by those whom He especially appointed to offer sacrifices and burn incense, but all should be priests worshipping their Creator, in the temple of the universe, all the days of their lives. Where then is the place, I ask, when is the time, that we may consider ourselves dispensed from the duty of Divine service? Should we not strive, therefore, at all times to be worthy of standing in the presence of our Creator. Should we ever allow ourselves to be carried so far as to disavow the stamp of divinity which the Almighty has set upon us, and to degrade ourselves below the brute creation ?"-Jewish Perseverance, or the 2nd Jew at Home and Abroad. By M. LISSACK. Edition. 1851, p. 124.

LICENSED DRINK SNARES.-We must get rid of the temptation, banish the system, and sweep the snares away. They are disgraces to our country. It is strange that our Government should not see their duty in this great matter. We read that the pelican-perhaps it is fabulous-tears her own breast to distil her blood that she may nourish her offspring; but our own beloved land is reversing the picture, and instead of giving her own blood to nourish her young, is enriching her revenue by the life-blood of her children. A more suicidal act it is scarcely possible to conceive. Is it revenue solely that they want? Why, I would pledge myself that in ten years after they have passed this act (the Permissive Bill of the United Kingdom Alliance), they will get five times more revenue, and get it not from the demoralisation and degradation, the ruin, temporally and spiritually, of persons, the noble working classes; but by their elevation, dignity, moral majesty, and by their Christianity. Then would the trade of the country be in all the legitimate materials of social comfort; our shoemakers and tailors would be engaged; then we should have no coats out of the elbows, and no stockings undarned, and no children barefoot or in clogs, but all have good comfortable shoes, and husband, and wife, and children decently clad. Why, the revenue would come in ten-fold, because of the increase of legitimate traffic and commerce.-Speech of Canon Stowell, at a great meeting in the Free Trade Hall, Manchester. HOW TO GROW BEAUTIFUL.-Persons may outgrow disease and become healthy by proper attention to the laws of their physical constitution. By moderate and daily exercise men may become active and strong in limb and in muscle. But to grow beautiful, how? Age dims the lustre of the eye and pales the roses on the beauty's cheek, while cowfeet, and furrows, and wrinkles, and lost teeth, and gray hairs, and bald heads, and tottering limbs, and limping, most sadly mar the human form divine. But dim as the eye is, and palid and sunken as may be the face of beauty, and frail and feeble that once strong, erect, and manly body, the immortal soul, just fledging its wing for its home in heaven, may look out through those faded windows as beautiful as the dewdrop of summer's morning, as melting as the tears that glisten in affection's eye-by growing kindly, by cultivating sympathy with all human kind, by cherishing forbearance towards the follies and foibles of our race, and feeding day by day on that love to God and man which lifts us from the brute, and makes us akin to angels.-Dr. Hull.

DIAMOND DUST.

The despised enthusiast of to-day is often the honoured prophet of to-morrow.

Take care that your thoughts be well ripened ere you pluck and preserve them.

Don't be too readily familiar with people from whom animals instinctively, and children intuitively, shrink with dislike.

Whether a sovereign is to be real or nominal, a monarch or a puppet, depends not on his parchment prerogative, but his mental constitution.