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66 HE NEVER TOLD A LIE."

"But we were awoke before daylight by her groans. When I went to her, she said, 'Mother, Satan has been troubling me, he is fighting hard for my soul, but I have the victory in Jesus; and I am going, I am going through the golden gates with Christ's robe of righteousness on. She then stopped speaking, her lips moving as if in prayer. I said to her, ‘Are you happy in your mind?' 'Yes,' she answered, 'very happy. I go unto him that hath loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests.' Then she spoke no more, and we saw that she had entered heaven. -More like a lovely sleep than death. I thought it a hard thing to lose my poor child, but now I thank God, for her death will, with his grace, save alive our souls. I cannot now do as I once did, let the Bible lie unopened, and go to bed always prayerless. I had a hard struggle with Satan for prayer: for some time I could not pray, but I knelt down and persevered in trying, and the devil, finding I resisted him, fled."-The Book and its Story.

"HE NEVER TOLD A LIE."

MUNGO PARK, the traveller, relates that when he was in Africa, a party of armed Moors made an attack on the flocks of a village where he was stopping: a youth of the place was mortally wounded in the affray. The natives placed him on horseback, and conducted him home, while his mother went before the group proclaiming all the good qualities of her boy; and by her clasped hands and streaming eyes showed how she suffered. The quality for which she chiefly praised the boy, formed of itself the epitaph, so noble that even civilized life could not aspire to a higher: "He never," said she with pathetic energy, "he never, never told a lie!"

A FATHER'S LESSON.

A GOOD Countryman was taking a rural walk with his son, little Thomas. As they walked slowly along, the father suddenly stopped.

"Look!" he said, "there is a bit of iron-a piece of a horse-shoe; pick it up, and put it in your pocket."

"Pooh!" answered the child, "it's not worth stooping for."

The father, without uttering another word, picked up the iron, and put it in his pocket. When they came to a village, he entered the blacksmith's shop, and sold it for three farthings, and with that sum he bought some cherries. Then the father and son set off on their ramble. The sun was burning hot, and neither a house, tree, or fountain of water was in sight. Thomas soon complained of being tired, and had some difficulty in following his father, who walked on with a firm step. Perceiving that his boy was tired, the father let fall a cherry, as if by accident. Thomas stooped and quickly picked it up, and devoured it. A little further, he dropped another, and the boy picked it up as eagerly as ever; and thus they continued, the father dropping the fruit, and the son picking them up. When the last one was eaten, the father stopped, and turning to the boy, said:

'Look, my son! If you had chosen to stoop once, and pick up the piece of horse-shoe, you would not have been obliged at last to stoop so often to pick up the cherries!"

IMPUDENCE.

You have no more right to say an uncivil thing, than to act one; no more right to say a rude thing to another than to knock him down.-Johnson.

THE JUVENILE

REPORTER.

THERE is the picture of a girl on the first page of this Messenger, to whom the Reporter wishes to direct the attention of all his young friends. She is a poor needlegirl, with a piece of work which must be finished before she goes to sleep. While she plies her needle busily, the thought all at once enters her mind, "I must make haste. This work must be done; my candle is fast burning down into the socket, and I have'nt got another;only this one."

This poor girl was right. There was no time for her to waste. She must finish her work while the candle burns, or not at all. She could not sew in the dark, And so, my young friend, is it with you. Your life is like a candle. It will burn for a little while, and then go out. You have work to finish-work for God, and for your own soul. Make haste! Perhaps your candle is near the socket. You have only one. Don't waste it Therefore," what thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might."

GNAWING A FILE.

THERE was once an old house, and in that house lived an old rat. By means of cracks and knot-holes, and sundry other holes of his own making, he had an extensive circuit through the whole. From front to back, and from cellar to garret, wherever there was anything that would minister to the comfort of the outer man, he was sure to find it and help himself. One room was used as a granary, and the door was kept carefully closed. The old rat used to hear the sound of the grain as it was poured upon the floor, or into the barrels, and had a strong desire to know, from personal observation, what was in the room. But there was no way for him to gratify his desire but by making an NOVEMBER, 1857. M

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GNAWING A FILE.

entrance through an oak-board partition. So, one night, after all was quiet in the house, he set himself vigorously about the undertaking; and though he found it rather a jaw-aching operation, yet he kept up such an incessant nibbling, that long before daylight his task was accomplished, and his hard toil was rewarded by a plentiful repast at the pile of grain. For some days and nights he passed in and out at pleasure, and enjoyed high living without let or hindrance. But the proprietor at length discovered the hole which he had made through the partition, and at once concluded that he would lay an embargo upon that sort of fun; so he thrust a file into the hole.

The next time the old rat essayed to pass in, he found a slight impediment in his way; and he tried in vain to remove it. At length said his ratship, "I know what I can do; for I know what I have done. I can gnaw off that stick; for it isn't half as thick as the oak board through which I gnawed the hole."

So at it he went again. He thought that the file was a good deal harder than the board; but he was determined not to give it up. Indeed, it was a prominent article in his creed, never to back out. "Ah, a workman is known by his chips," said he, as he looked and discovered quite a little pile that looked very much like ivory sawdust, though he wondered that his chips should be so light-coloured. "I shall fetch it yet," said he; and he applied himself with renewed vigour.

But at length he discovered some blood on the file where he had been gnawing. He instantly clapped his paw to his bleeding mouth, when behold! he made this discovery that instead of gnawing the file, the file had actually gnawed his teeth quite down to the gums.

For