THE "FOUNTAIN" AND THE "OIL.' "IN one of my early journeys in South Africa we came to a heathen village on the banks of the Orange River. We had travelled far, and were hungry, thirsty, and tired. For fear of lions, we thought it best to go into the village and tarry for the night, rather than go on our journey; but the people seeing us, roughly bade us stop at a distance. We asked for water, but they would give us none. I offered the three or four buttons still left on my jacket for a little milk; this also was refused, and we had the prospect of another hungry night at a distance from the water, though within sight of the river. Our lot looked hard, especially when, in addition to these rebuffs, the manners of the villagers aroused our suspicions.

"When the twilight came on, a woman drew near from the height beyond which the village lay. She carried on her head a bundle of wood, and had a vessel of milk in her hand. Without speaking, she handed us the milk, laid down the wood, and went away. Soon she came back with a cooking-vessel on her head, a leg of mutton in one hand, and water in the other. She then kindled a fire and put on the meat. We asked her again and again who she was. She said not a word until we begged to know why she showed this unlooked-for kindness towards strangers. A tear stole down her black cheek as she answered, 'I love Him whose servant you are, and surely it is my duty to give you a cup of cold water in His name. My heart is full, therefore I cannot speak the joy I feel to see you in this out-of-the-world place.'

“On learning a little of her history, and finding she was a Christian, a solitary light burning in a dark place,

I asked her how she kept up the life of God in her soul without Christian society. She drew from her bosom a copy of a Dutch New Testament, which she received from a missionary while at his school many years since, before her relations took her away to this distant region.

""This,' she said, 'is the fountain whence I drink ; this is the oil which makes my lamp burn.' I looked on the precious volume, and you may conceive how we felt when we met with this disciple, and mingled together our sympathies and prayers at the throne of our heavenly Father."

This story was told by a great and good missionary, the Rev. Robert Moffat. How it should cheer and encourage all who are engaged in sending the gospel to the heathen, teaching us the necessity of "sowing beside all waters." Perhaps the good missionary who gave this poor woman the Testament never knew the good it had been the means of doing-the comfort it had given to her weary spirit; but he will know on the resurrection day! Reader, is the word of God a "fountain" of sweet "oil" to you? Has it softened your heart, and made you love all God's people, as it did the heart of this poor woman?

KIND WORDS.

KIND Words are looked upon like jewels on the breast, never to be forgotten, and perhaps to cheer, by their memory, a long, sad life; while words of cruelty, or of carelessness, are like swords in the bosom, wounding and leaving scars which will be borne to the grave by their victim. Do you think there is any bruised heart which bears the mark of such a wound from you? If there is a living one which you have wounded, hasten to heal it; for life is short-to-morrow may be too late.

NOW IS THE TIME.

"Not yet," said a little boy, as he was busy with his trap and ball; "when I grow older, I will think about my soul."

The little boy grew to be a young man.

"Not yet," said the young man; "I am now about to enter into trade; when I see my business prosper, then I shall have more time than now."

Business did prosper.

"Not yet," said the man of business; "my children must have my care; when they are settled in life I shall be better able to attend to religion."

He lived to be a grey-headed old man.

"Not yet," still he cried; "I shall soon retire from trade, and then I shall have nothing else to do but to read and pray."

And so he died: he put off to another time what should have been done when a child. He lived without God, and died without hope.

I MUST TELL OF JESUS.

A GIRL, only thirteen years old, who belonged to a mission school in Ceylon, was converted to the Saviour. After some time she wished to go and see her mother, who was still a heathen, to talk with her about the salvation of her soul. When she came to the house, her mother, who was much pleased to see her, spread a mat on the ground for her to sit down upon, and said she would go and boil some rice for her; for in that country, if a person wishes to show that he likes you very much, the first thing he should do is to give you something to eat. The daughter answered, "I am not hungry, and

do not want anything to eat, but I do very much wish to talk with you." "Well," said the mother, "you can do that when I have got the rice ready." The child again said that she was not hungry, but that, as her mother worshipped idols, and therefore might lose her soul, she wished to speak to her about Jesus Christ. The mother was not at all pleased with what her daughter said, and as the child still wished to speak on the subject, she threatened to beat her. "Mother," replied the girl, “if you do beat me, I must tell you of Jesus," and she began to cry. The mother's heart was softened; she sat down by her side, and her daughter talked to her, and prayed with her. This dear girl was so anxious for her mother's salvation, that she might have been heard all night long praying for her. The effect was, that the mother gave up her gods, became a Christian, and was the means of persuading several others to give up idol worship too. Does not this story teach you that it is worth your while to help in sending the gospel to the heathen?

COMMON SENSE.

SHE came among the gathering crowd,
A maiden fair without pretence,
And when they asked her humble name,
She whispered mildly, "Common Sense."

Her modest garb drew every eye,

Her simple cloak, her shoes of leather;
And when they sneered, she simply said,
"I dress according to the weather."
They argued long and reasoned loud,

In dubious Hindoo phrase mysterious,

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NEVER YIELD TO DISCOURAGEMENT.

While she, poor child, could not divine
Why girls so young should be so serious.
They knew the length of Plato's beard,
And how the scholars wrote in Saturn;
She studied authors not so deep,

And took the Bible for her pattern.

And so she said, "Excuse me, friends,
I find all have their proper places,
And Common Sense should stay at home
With cheerful hearts and smiling faces."

NEVER YIELD TO DISCOURAGEMENTS.

IN a remote field stood a large tulip-tree, apparently of a century's growth, and one most gigantic. It looked like the father of the surrounding forest.

On the top of the tree, for years, an old eagle, commonly called the fishing eagle, had built her nest every year, and unmolested raised her young. What is remarkable, this tree stood full ten miles from the sea-shore. It had long been known as the "Old Eagle Tree.”

On a warm, sunny day, the workmen were hoeing corn in an adjoining field. At a certain hour of the day the old eagle was known to set off for the sea-side to gather food for her young. As she this day returned, with a large fish in her claws, the workmen surrounded the tree, and by yelling, and hooting, and throwing stones, so scared the poor bird that she dropped the fish, and they carried it off in triumph. The men soon dispersed ; but little Joseph sat under a bush near by to watch, and to bestow unavailing pity. The eaglets at once set up a cry for food, so shrill, so clear, and so clamorous, that the