disappointed, the malignant, may utter harsh words, or occasion or propagate injurious suspicions. But if a man be thorough true to the backbone his character will emerge again with unsullied lustre, neither dimmed nor tarnished by the momentary obscuration. No man, perhaps, was ever generally suspected, condemned, or shunned, without more or less deserving it. The man who walks by the light, and is animated by the impulses of religious faith, will strive to live so as to "please God," and as the result of this, but without living for it, he will secure the respect and confidence of his fellows. In a land like ours,-in which public opinion, the general moral judgment of society, is quickened, purified, and elevated by the Gospel, as the secondary result of the existence among us of Christianity and the Church-this is the rule. There may be some real and many apparent exceptions to it, as things go;-but we repeat and we maintain that such is the rule.

I trust that my young reader will find it to be so in his own case. Acting, as I will suppose him to do, from the motive power of a true religious spirit, he will secure confidence, acquire reputation, have a secure standing as a commercial man, and be highly esteemed for his personal excellence. The Scriptures themselves, which elevate his views, and purify his motives, by revealing to him the fact, and affecting him by the influences of another world, will encourage the culture of their own religious virtue in this, from secondary considerations of their natural and immediate beneficial effects-especially as connected with good reputation. "He that in these things among others, the commercial virtues "he that in these things serveth Christ, is acceptable to God, AND approved of men." "By well doing put to silence the ignorance of foolish men." "Who will harm you, if ye be followers of that which is good ?" "Abstain from the appearance of evil

let not your good be evil spoken of."

"Let no man despise you." Let any "contrary" to you "be ashamed, having no evil thing to say of you."

What people say of you, observe, is to have its importance. Not to care about that, may be the greatest heroism of principle, or the greatest hardihood of folly-the magnanimity of a martyr, or the stupidity of an ass. If you are nobly devoted to the right and true, go on, not heeding ridicule or reproach; do your duty, and let the world talk; never mind what for public opinion, because you are lost to all regard for character, and are determined to take your own course, in spite of anything that may be thought and said; why, then, you are just one of those fools that might be "brayed in a mortar without his folly departing from him.” Let me hope you know better than to feel or to act so. You know that your New Testament often mentions the value of "a good report—" an honest report"-being "well reported of." It even says that a bishop should not only be "blameless" in himself, but have "the good report of them that are without"-general, and even Gentile society, the world as distinct from the Church. As to other assurances of the connexion of reputation with desert and worth, and the ultimate emergence, without injury, of real character from temporary misconception, you will find many sayings to direct and to encourage you. "The path of the just is as the shining light, shining more and more unto the perfect day." "The righteous also shall hold on his way, and he that hath clean hands shall wax stronger and stronger." "Fret not thyself because of evil doers, because of the man that bringeth wicked devices to pass. Trust in the Lord and do good; commit thy way unto Him; wait patiently, and He shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noon day."

people say. But if you "don't care ""

T. B.

THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN GUIDE.

WE were born, all of us, not far from this; you may see the house on the side of the mountain there-those old walls, they are blackening now from time; but then they were scented with the roses, and the woodbine, and the clematis that we trained up them; and we had our gardens there, and many a struggle we had to see whose garden should look best. But somehow, Tom's ever seemed the most beautiful to every one but himself; not that he was discontented with his own, but he had learned a secret, though he was very young; he had learned to be humble, for he knew even then, that "God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to the humble;" and this led him to think, that others did even such little things as we then could do, better than he.

It was then, as it is still, the habit of the ladies and gentlemen for many a mile round, to come and climb the mountain, for the sake of the glorious view they got from it; and it was our delight to go with them. We loved to show them every spot which varied the scenery. We loved to hear them praise it, for it seemed our own, and we were proud when it was admired.

In a party of this kind, at one time, came a young lady, and it fell to Tom's lot to lead her donkey; and so much interest did she take in everything she saw, that Tom was doubly eager to show her all. So, while they were deeply intent on this object they got separated from the others, and then they began to talk more freely.

"Tom," said the lady, "this is very beautiful."

"Aye miss," said Tom, quite delighted, "look at the lake there, and the white sails upon it like swans."

"And those dark trees, Tom, and the beautiful blue sky over all."

"But miss, is it not strange to see the snow on the top of the mountain such a day as this?"

"Does it ever melt ?"

"No miss, or at least it is never off that peak."

"It is strange that that frail thing which melts at our breath, should continue so lastingly there. As it looked on those who admired the beautiful vista in years long past, so does it look on us now; and yet you would think, Tom, that we were less formed to wear before the hand of time; but wear we shall, and that cold, pure veil will cover the mountain still, when we shall be remembered no more."

Tom was silent. He had never thought in that way of it before. He had indeed wondered, that summer after summer there stayed the snow, while the sun shone brightly and beat hotly

upon his head; but there his musings had ceased. Now a new subject had been opened to him, and though he did not speak, he thought upon it.

And well did the place suit his thoughts, as they stood there. The hushed stillness, broken only by the bee sweeping by, or the boatman's distant call echoed from rock to rock; there was the sun in his unclouded splendour, the lake with her misty mantle of blue, the trees, the snow, the mountain; all began to say to him, "How brief is the life of man! We are to day as we were thousands of years ago-man after man has come and looked upon us, and gone, and we have seen him no more! And so shall it be with you, here now, succeeded by another to-morrow." Such was the silent tale recorded in the heart of Tom.

The stillness was at length broken, but not the harmony of Tom's thoughts, by the young lady saying in her softest tones, "You are sad when you think of leaving so much beauty.”

"Yes, miss," was the simple answer, for the heart of the answerer was full.

"But you know that there is a brighter and a happier land than this; have you not heard that God has prepared for us such things as we cannot imagine, even when we have such types of loveliness before us ? "

"Mother has told me so," said Tom; but how do I know that God has prepared them for me?"

"Your mother has told you too of Jesus, and that He has bought that land for you; that you have nothing to do but to accept it at his hands. Tom, is your father alive ?”

"No, miss."

"Was he sorry when he was dying?

"No, miss; but then he was so good, there was no fear of his not going to that good land."

"Did you ever hear him say that he would go there because he was so good ?"

"Oh! no, he never said he was good at all, but I used to see it." "And did he never tell you what made him sure of going

there?"

"He used to say, miss, it was on account of what Jesus did." "But what did Jesus do ?"

"He died for us."

"And why ?"

"Because we were sinners."

"But what did He do for us by his death ?"

"He bore the curse we should have borne."

"And there is no sin too great to be washed clean in his blood ? "

"No, miss."

"Well Tom, why, when you know so much, do you hesitate to accept what Christ offers to you?

Now, Tom had been well taught by our mother, and our father during his life; but somehow, up to this moment, he had only spoken these things with his tongue, without feeling them in his heart. But at length the Spirit of God put forth his power and touched his heart, and he felt waking within him those principles which he had always been hearing and talking of.

You know dear reader, that it is all in vain to think of doing ourselves any good in the sight of God. Until He sends his Spirit, we are all dead; and the first thing when we feel really anxious about our souls, is to ask Him for that Spirit which He has promised to give, much sooner than our earthly fathers and mothers give us the bread with which they supply us every day.

Now, as I said, this day for the first time, Tom felt the Spirit of God working in his heart, and the work that day begun was never abandoned. Tom had been always a good-natured and kind boy, more thoughtful about the happiness of others than his own; but, as he often told me afterwards, there was a new principle, a new motive to action, now implanted in him. The sole end he proposed to himself now, was the glory of God, and he learned from the Bible that zeal for his glory shows itself in love to our fellow-creatures. He knew that his Father willeth not the death of a sinner, and therefore he was anxious, he was earnest, that all whom he knew should learn the happy truth that he himself had been taught.

But Tom's little course was nearly run. He had not been long on earth, and yet he was soon to leave it; always slight and delicately formed, he had a fine, apparently healthy colour; but neither he nor those around him, knew how treacherous was that brilliant hue.

And it brightened, but Tom did not strengthen; and that cough came which never respites its victim; and too soon it told us that we were not to have him always with us.

Tom did not often now climb the mountain to show its beauties to visitors; but while he could, he crept to that one spot where he had thought those thoughts, where he had heard those words of one who had brought to him glad tidings of great joy. He loved to sit there and look around him, and hear that same tale again which the mountain, and lake, and trees had before poured into his ear. But there was one thought absent now; he felt no sadness, though he knew that it was but a little while and all should be to him as though it were not. It was beautiful; but there was a scene more beautiful far, in the presence of the Lamb who had washed him from his sins in His own blood; thither he was hastening, there he longed to be.