pages of pictures and stories, of quarto size, with spirited woodcuts, at a third of a penny, and eight pages of pictorial pages, same size and similarly illustrated, for a halfpenny. The spirit of the editor in undertaking the works is good, the sentiments they contain are evangelical, their intention excellent, and the woodcuts beautiful. But this is all we can say about them. The matter is, on the whole, not well adapted to little children, a deal of it beyond their reach, and very little of it written in a style likely to attract and interest them. Most of the articles want re-writing, and not a few omitting altogether. Who, for instance, that knows anything of what children can understand, would think of putting in Dirzhaven's magnificent poem on GOD? And yet there it is, in all its glory, and enough it is to crack any little fellow's brain that tries to comprehend it.

We exceedingly regret that the works are not more such as we could heartily commend, and trust that future numbers will be more distinguished by that style of writing and selection of subjects which will make them all they should be, and may be as cheap pictorial periodicals for the children of our land.

THE INFANT CLASS IN THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. An Essay to which the Sunday School Union adjudged the First Prize. By Charles Reed. London: Sunday School Union.

By some oversight this work has never been noticed by us, but has lain over until now; though two

years have passed since it came from its worthy author. As a practical essay on infant classes in our Sunday schools, it is by far the best we have seen, and one we could with confidence commend to the notice of those of our teachers who have charge of these interesting classes. It is mainly the result of the author's personal observation and experience of the working of infant classes, added to his general information as a useful, thinking, Sunday school teacher. Its counsels are plain, judicious, and practical, such as must commend themselves to men of common sense, and of a kind that seem to us fitted to raise the character of the teaching ordinarily given in our infant classes. In some things we differ from him in opinion, and could not subscribe to several things he says; but these we leave, and, taking the book as a whole, sincerely thank its honoured author for it.

A WARNING CRY FROM NIAGARA.

By the Author of "Come to Jesus," "It is I," &c. London: John Snow.

A stirring little book, taking up the tale of two men borne over the terrible Falls of Niagara, while a third is saved by the exertions of friends on shore sending out to him a lifeboat. The tale is brought in well, and made subservient to a picture of the sinner's position by nature, and a practical and powerful appeal to lay hold at once of the lifeboat Christ. The work is singularly fitted to interest and arouse careless souls.

HELP ONE ANOTHER.

A traveller, who was crossing the Alps, was overtaken by a snow-storm at the top of a high mountain. The cold became intense. The air was thick with sleet, and the piercing wind seemed to penetrate his bones. Still the traveller for a time struggled on. But at last his limbs were benumbed, a heavy drowsiness began to creep over him, his feet almost refused to move, and he lay down on the snow to give way to that fatal sleep which is the last stage of extreme cold, and from which he would certainly never have waked again in this world.

Just at that moment he saw another poor traveller coming along the road. The unhappy man seemed to be, if possible, even in a worse condition than himself, for he too could scarcely move; all his powers were frozen, and he appeared to be just on the point to die.

When he saw this poor man, the traveller, who was just going to lie down to sleep, made a great effort. He roused himself up, and he crawled, for he was scarcely able to walk, to his dying fellow-sufferer.

He took his hands into his own and tried to warm them. He chafed his temples; he rubbed his feet; he applied friction to his body. And all the time he spoke cheering words into his ear, and tried to comfort him.

As he did thus, the dying man began to revive, his powers were restored, and he felt able to go forward.

But this was not all, for his kind benefactor, too, was recovered by the efforts which he had made to save his friend. The exertion of rubbing made the blood circulate again in his own body. He grew warm by trying to warm the other. His drowsiness went off; he no longer wished to sleep, his limbs returned again to their proper force, and the two travellers went on their way together, happy, and congratulating one another on their escape.

Soon the snow-storm passed away; the mountain was crossed, and they reached their home in safety.

If you feel your heart cold towards God, and your soul almost ready to perish, try to do something which may help another soul to life, and make his heart glad; and you will often find it the best way to warm, and restore, and gladden your own.

NOVELS AND INSANITY.

The most abundant proof has been furnished of late years, that excessive novel-reading has produced many cases of insanity. It is philosophical that the education of fictitious sentiments at the expense of real feeling that the undue excitement of the imagination and of the passions, at the expense of the reasoning faculties and the exercise of real benevolence, should tend to insanity.

It has often been charged to religion, that it has made people crazy, insane, and melancholy. This is a

baseless charge. True religion never makes a man insane. Fanaticism, superstition, error, lust, and passion, have produced insanity; but true views of God never did, and never can, produce either mental or moral derangement. We are thoroughly persuaded, that the numerous works of fiction, with which the press is so prolific of late years, and which are sown broadcast over the land, have vitiated the taste, and corrupted the hearts, and ruined the peace of more individuals than any other one cause of evil known amongst us. It is heart-sickening to see how much precious time is spent over the vile ravings of hothouse feeling, that the novelists of our day pour out upon the reading community.

REMEMBRANCE OF PAST BENEFITS.

I called on a neighbour who was watering an old stump of a geranium, which seemed to me to give very little promise of either green leaf or flower. "Neighbour," said I, "your labour will be lost."

"Perhaps so," said she, "but I can hardly part with my old tree for all that. I cannot help calling to mind what it has been, and how often it has made my window look cheerful with its fresh green leaves, and its fine scarlet flowers."

This reply completely silenced me, for I thought in my heart my neighbour was right, and I was wrong. It is a good sign to remember past advantages.

I called on a friend who was giving a mouthful of oats in a sieve to an old horse, grazing in his paddock. "You may corn your horse," said I,

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'as much as you will, but it is not at all likely that he will ever be able to work again."

True," replied he; "but I have no wish to forget the work he has done for me. Many a weary day has he been my companion, carrying me safely on his back, or drawing me in my gig; and while old Dinger lives, I hope never to grudge him a mouthful of grass or corn."

"Right," thought I;" and the feeling is a creditable one; but it is not always, nor often, that a poor brute falls into such good hands. I shall think the better of you for your humanity."

I called on a relation who was waited on by a very old servant, who made sad blunders; indeed, the old man was almost blind, and very feeble. "Old Peter's day is over," said I; "sad blunders he makes, and sad blunders he will make, for his day is gone by."

"I know it," replied my relation; "but if his day is gone by, mine is not, and while I live Peter shall have a home under the roof of the master he has so faithfully served. He has been a good servant to me, and to my father before me, and right little do I expect from him now in the way of service. Peter, I say, has served me, and it is now my turn to serve Peter."

OUR PRAYERS DO NOT DIE WITH US.

Though we die, our prayers do not die with us; they outlive us, and those we leave behind may reap the benefit of them when we are turned to dust. For my own part, I must confess, before the world, that I have

a high value for this mercy, and do, from the bottom of my heart, bless the Lord, who gave me a religious and tender father, who often poured out his soul to God for me; and being full of love to his children, often carried them before the Lord, prayed and pleaded with God for them, wept and made supplications for them. The prayers and blessings left by him before the Lord, I esteem above the fairest inheritance on earth.

Oh! it is no small mercy to have thousands of fervent prayers lying before the Lord in heaven for us. Oh, that we would all be faithful to this duty! Surely our love, especially to the souls of our relatives, should not grow cold.-Flavel.

THE CHURCHYARD.

"Shun not the village churchyard,
It is no place of gloom-
Thou'lt read a wholesome lesson
Upon each lowly tomb;
It may indeed remind thee

How brief this life must be,
But that's no sad memento-

Oh, far from sad to me!" On a pleasant Saturday of the first week I spent in Oberlin I visited the silent land, which is a little to the south of the village. As I was approaching one grave, two goldenwinged butterflies flew up almost perpendicular above the grave heavenward. Not far from this and over another grave was a marlbe slab, which bore upon its face a very striking device, namely, a small shroud or casement was represented upon a leaf where a worm had had its home as in a coffin; but the coffin was burst and its tenant was

no longer there. But look above, and what do we see! It is not a worm, for it is soaring on wings towards the skies. How remarkable that God should give a crawling worm, a grovelling creature, a new and higher form of existence after spending its brief day in the dust! "Shall life revisit dying worms,

And spread the joyful insect's wings, And, oh! shall man awake no more To see Thy face, Thy nameito sing?" -Traveller.

FARMER JONES AND THE BOYS.

Boys. Mr. Jones, you promised to tell us a secret-how to be always prepared for the Sunday school— what is it?

Farmer Jones. To bed, my lads, when weary, and up when you awaken. No soaking! There is no time spent so stupidly as that which inconsiderate boys pass in a morning between sleeping and waking. He who is awake may be at book or at play; he who is asleep is receiving the refreshment necessary to fit him for action; but the hours spent in dozing and slumbering are wasted, without either pleasure or profit. In particular, rise early on sabbath morning, and proceed at once to pray and study for the class.

EVIL AND GOOD.

Do ill with pleasure, this is all your gains

The pleasure passes soon, the ill

remains.

Do good with pain, and pleasure in

it find

The pain's soon past, the good remains behind.