Prompt obedience has led to many a grand scene in the history of both boys and men. When called upon for an errand, be like young Samuel, ready to say, "Here am I." No shrugging of shoulders, no hesitation, no pretending not to hear, no slyly getting out of the way; remember that Jesus was in His early life "Subject unto His parents." There may occasionally be cases where disobedience is right; as when Adam Clarke refused to stretch the cloth, so as to make it measure more than it really did; and when parents or masters bid you do things in themselves sinful. These are rare cases; not once in a thousand times but obedience is the best course. A Sad Death-Bed. OFTEN find myself thinking of the boys who once gathered round me in my Sunday School class. I seldom see a class of boys looking up into the face of their teacher, and listening attentively to what he is saying, without recalling one and another of the lads whom I used to teach, and wondering what has become of them in the great roadway of life! The histories of some, however, are well known to me, and they may, perhaps, be told for the interest and instruction of my young friends. To-day, the sight of an accident in the street vividly brought to my mind the story of a little fellow who was in my class for more than two years and a half. Edward, as I shall call him, gave nothing but trouble from first to last. He was one of those upon whose mind no good impression would ever last long. Occasionally you might hope from the interest he took in the lesson of the day that a nail had been fastened in a sure place. But, in a little while, by some wickedness or other, he would soon dispel any hope you might have cherished concerning him. I spoke to him alone, very seriously, more than once; for I liked the lad notwithstanding all his waywardness, and he liked me. Whatever hopes I might have had of the seed which had been sown in his heart one day bearing fruit to the glory of God, were suddenly and very sadly crushed. On the first morning that the tramway cars began to run from Aldgate to Stratford he met with an accident which necessitated his immediate removal to the hospital. I was called in to see him, and found him in a lamentable condition indeed. The accident he had received had made it absolutely necessary to cut off both legs above the knee. There was very little hope of saving him at all, but without amputation even this faint hope could not have been cherished. He was put under chloroform to deaden the pain of the operation; but he did not become wholly unconscious. While the surgeons were quickly doing their work, he screamed aloud, "I CANNOT DIE! I CANNOT DIE!" The poor boy knew me in the midst of his sufferings, and doubtless the sight of me revived many memories of the Sunday School class, and the manner in which he had been frequently urged to prepare for death. Now the solemn hour of which he used to hear was actually at hand, and he was not ready to meet it by faith in Jesus who has conquered death, and opened the kingdom of heaven to all who believe in Him. I said what I could by way of encouraging him to cling to the Saviour, and to rely upon Him whatever the nature or the number of his sins. Alas! my words might as well have been spoken to the deaf for any impression they produced in Edward's mind; and ere long he died, as utter a stranger to the true peace which comes of simple faith as ever it has been my pain to witness. I place this first in the Memories of my Sunday School class, not only because it is very frequently in my mind, but because it teaches a lesson that cannot too soon be learnt,-the importance of immediate decision for Christ lest the opportunity now given to us by God, should pass away and leave us unprepared to stand before our Holy Judge. Remember, young readers, the words of the invitation—“Seek ye the Lord while He may be found, call upon Him while He is near!"-DR. BARNARDO. fertile territories. They have made but little attempt to improve their position. Their numbers now are not estimated at more than 1,500,000. They are scattered over a vast region, and consist of a great variety of nations, as they term themselves, from the fact of their speaking a variety of languages. In describing the manners and customs of the Indians, Mr. Catlin says, that there is no idolatry found amongst them; all worship or acknowledge one Great Spirit. They have little government, though each tribe has a chief, who has, however, little real authority, and is, in fact, only a leader in war. They have no established laws beyond the few penalties established by custom, and their punishments when inflicted are cruel. War is decided on by the chiefs in council; the chief's pipe, coloured red, is sent through the country by messengers, and every volunteer draws the smoke once through its stem, and thus pledges himself to serve. The Indians are of average size; and are more formed for fleetness and strength. They have the virtues and vices of most savage tribes, hospitality and protection to strangers who trust them, revenge against enemies, want of prudence and intemperance. In some parts of North America many of the Indians have become Christians through the labours of devoted missionaries. Currant Cake. ERY tempting it was, to be sure; brown, and crisp, and sweet, creamy of tint, and luscious with many currants. The morning glories were looking in at the dining-room windows one July morning, when Marion hopped into her chair next her papa's. "I'm glad we have currant cake," said she, as the blessing was asked. Nobody doubted her statement, as piece after piece found its way into the little lady's mouth. "No more, Marion,” said her mother, as she asked for yet another. "Not this morning, dear. I am afraid you have eaten more than you ought already." Marion submitted quite cheerfully to her mother's opinion, and followed the family into the parlour, when breakfast was over. She was hardly seated, however, when "ding" rang the bell at the back door. "It must be the butcher's boy," said Mrs. Appleton. "Will you go to the door, Marion ? Bridget has gone upstairs." Out flew Marion, and taking the parcel from the boy, laid it upon the kitchen table. On the way back to the parlour, however, she passed through the dining-room, though the shorter way lay through the back hall. In a second the little girl had thought ever so many things, and the last thought was, that she must have another piece of that splendid cake. It needed but about two minutes to divide one of the blocks yet remaining upon the plate, butter the halves, and lay them one upon the other. But what shall she do with her treat? The little girl thinks very fast, and running into the china closet, she hides the spoil under the cover of a large dish. "Marion," calls her mother from the parlour. "Yes, ma', I'm coming right away!" and in she flies, her cheeks red with confusion and haste, and a strange, troubled look in her usually honest eyes, which makes her mother say, "Why, dear, what is the matter? and why were you gone so long?" What should she say? Her eyes drooped, and if mamma had thought it possible that her dear little girl should tell a lie, she would have noticed that her voice trembled a little, as she said with a slight hesitation:"The butcher's boy asked for a drink of water." "that was "Oh, very well," said mamma, quite right, dear.” Was Marion a happy child, as she sat in her chair by her papa, while he read in the Bible that morning and then knelt by his side when he asked God's blessing upon the day? There was a tumult in her little soul. Her heart was beating quickly, and she felt a strange unwillingness to meet the eyes of her parents, but when she thought of the cake, safely hidden under that cover in the dining-room closet, then Marion couldn't help feeling glad. It was so good. What a grand lunch she would have by-and-bye; and so, with all the miserable uneasiness, there was a small feeling of pleasure. Prayers were over at last. They seemed very long to Marion this morning, for she was in a hurry to make sure of her lunch, and run down to a pretty place by the brook in the garden, where she might eat it and nobody see her. But it seemed as if she was to be disappointed; for as she was leaving the room, her mother said:" Marion!" "What, ma'?" "I would like you to dust the parlour. You know this is Monday morning." Marion's heart gave a great beat. Sure enough she had quite forgotten that this was washing-day, and she did the dusting on Monday mornings. "I am going right into the dining-room," continued Mrs. Appleton, "and here is the duster." Marion took it silently. She had not a word to say, but a trembling took hold of her fingers as she began her work. "What if mamma should find the currant cake? What would she think?" thought the little girl. |