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did so.

that the writings of Kitto should be knotrn and valued by rich and poor, in distant lands as well as in his own ; that the Queen herself should honour him with a pension ; that he who drew the little label for the window should become an author who would direct thousands and tens of thousands to the blessed narrow path which he walked in himself.

I need hardly tell you that Kitto, even when a boy, was full of industry and perseverance. It was his delight to improve his own mind, and under every disadvantage he

He studied when in the poor-house; be studied when labouring hard to earn his bread as a shoemaker's apprentice. But amongst the many volumes which he eagerly read, that which he most studied, that which he most read, was the words of God, which makes men wise unto salvation. It is written of Kitto, that, when quite a child, "the book he most valued was an old Bible."

Dear children, could this be said of you? You may, perhaps, never be learned or famous like Kitto ; but if, like him, you give your hearts unto God, and remember your Creator in the days of your youth, a richer blessing will be yours than all the prizes of men, or the wealth of the world, Kitto was poor, but the true riches were his ; he laboured hard; but he laboured not in vain, for he looked forward in humble faith to that blessed day when “the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped," and the first sound that breaks the long silence may be the welcoming voice of the Saviour.



A wonderful stream is the River Time,

As it runs through the realm of years,
With a faultless rhyme, and a musical chime,
And a broader sweep, and a surge sublime,

And blends with the ocean of tears.




There's a musical isle in the River of Time,

Where the softest of airs are playing ;
There is a cloudless sky and a tropical clime,
And a song as sweet as a vesper chime,

And the Tunes with the roses are straying.
And the name of this isle is the “ Long Ago,"

And we bury our treasures there-
There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow,
There are heaps of dust—but we loved them 80,-

There are trinkets and tresses of hair.
There are fragments of songs that nobody sings,

And a part of an infant's prayer ;
There's a lute unswept and a harp without strings,
There are broken vows and pieces of rings,

And the garments she used to wear.
There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore

By the mirage is lifted in air
And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar,
Sweet voices we heard in days gone before,

When the wind down the river is fair.
Oh! remembered for aye be the blessed isle,

All the day of life--till night;
When the evening comes with its beautiful smile,
And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile,

May that Island of Souls be in sight;

RAGGED TOM, THE SURETY. ONE Sabbath afternoon, a big boy stood at the door of a Sabbath School. He was so bad that he had been turned out of school the Sabbath before. His father and mother 88




had brought him, and begged that he might be received again. The superintendent said, “We should be glad to do him good, but we are afraid he will ruin all the other children. It is very bad for a school when a big boy sets a wicked example.”

We know he is a bad boy at school, sir," said the parents, “but he is ten times worse at home; he will be lost if you do not take him back.”

“We could take him back, if we could secure his good behaviour. I will see," thought the superintendent.

So he stepped back into the school, and rang his bell for silence. All listened while he said, “ That boy wants to come into the school again; but we cannot take him back without making sure of his good behaviour. Will any one be surety for him ?"

A pause followed. The elder boys shook their heads.

They said, “They knew him too well.” The others did not care for him. But one little boy pitied the big bad boy, and was very sorry that no one would be surety. The little boy went by the name of “Ragged Tom.” It was not his fault that he was ragged, for his mother was very poor. The superintendent soon heard his little voice, saying, “ If you please, sir, I will, sir.”

You, Tom! a little boy like you! Do you know what it means to be surety, Tom ?”!

“Yes, sir, if you please ! it means that when he is a bad boy again, I'm to be punished for it.”

“And are you willing to be punished for that big boy ?' “ Yes, sir, if he's bad again.”

“ Then come in," said the superintendent, looking to the door ; and the big boy, with a downcast face, walked across the floor. He was thinking as he walked, " I know I'm a bad boy, but I'm not so bad as that! I'll never let that





little fellow be punished for me, never!" I think God had put that thought into the big boy's mind. He was graciously helping Tom's work as the surety.

As the children were leaving school, the superintendent saw this big boy and little Tom walking and talking together. He said to himself, “ I am afraid that boy will do Tom harm. I must go and look after them."

When he reached the cottage where Tom lived, he said to the mother, “ Where is your son Tom ?"

“Oh! he's just gone up stairs with a great boy that he brought in with him. I don't know what they are doing."

• May I go up ?" “Oh, yes, sir.”

The superintendent went slowly and gently up the stairs, and as he reached the top he could see through the door that Tom and the big boy were kneeling together. He soon heard Tom's voice, saying, O Lord, make this boy that has been the worst boy in the school, O Lord make him the best boy."

The superintendent knelt down by Tom's side, and they all prayed together.

God heard them, and made the big bad boy to become one of the best boys in the school. And he raised up friends for “ Ragged Tom,” who put him to school, and, after that, sent him to college, so that he was able to go as a missionary to the heathen.

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THE DYING IRISH BOY. A OLEROYMAN had for some weeks seen a little ragged boy come every Sabbath and place himself in the centre of the aisle, directly before the pulpit, where he seemed very 90


attentive to the service, and as if eating up his words. He was desirous of knowing who the child was; but he never could see him, as he vanished the moment service was over, and no one knew whence he came or anything about him. At length the boy was missed from his usaal place in the church. At this time a man called on the minister, and told him a person, very ill, was desirous of seeing him, but added:-" I am ashamed to ask you to go so far; yet it is a child of mine, and he refuses to have any one but you. He is altogether an extraordinary boy, and talks a great deal about things that I do not understand.”

The clergyman went. The rain poured down in torrents, and he had six miles of rugged mountain to pass. On arriving where he was directed, he found a wretched cabin, and the man he had seen in the morning was waiting at the door. He was shewn in, and found the inside of the hovel as miserable as the outside. In a corner on a little straw, he beheld a poor creature stretched out, whom he recognised as the boy who had so regularly attended his church! As he approached the bed the child raised himself up, and stretching forth his arms, said, “ His own right hand hath gotten him the victory!” and immediately expired.


YEAR. MR. THORBURN was once a very popular writer, and has delighted many with his interesting books. When you read the following letter you will say he can write pretty well yet. See what a thankful, happy old man he is— rejoicing in the hope of heaven :

Men are fools, Mr. Printer, who are continually grum

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