come home; but to a lady, who visited her in the hospital, the nurse made this remark, "The girl you come to see, ma'am, must be a very good girl; there isn't one in the ward that makes any profession of religion, but every night and morning that girl kneels down to say her prayers, and, weak as she is, it must be a great exertion."

Surely that confession of Christ was not disregarded,―certainly not by Him who has promised, "Whosoever, therefore, shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven," nor yet, perhaps, by those to whom she commended religion both by profession and practice.

"Thank you, very much," she wrote, "for sending me so many grapes. I had enough to give some to every one in the ward, and they were so pleased, and thought them such a treat."

In a state of great weakness, she, at last, returned home; but more than patience, happiness, and peace were in the smile which always greeted me. "What do you do," I once asked, "now you can neither read nor work?" "I think about Jesus," was her reply; and, passing with Him through "the dark valley," she feared no evil, for truly He kept in perfect peace the mind which was stayed on Him. This unruffled calm was attributed by some to her ignorance of her extreme danger; but it was with the same composure that, at last, she asked her mother to send for the clergyman, that, for the last time on earth, she might partake of the Lord's Supper, a feast at which she had been a constant guest. Strengthened and refreshed by communion with Christ, she passed so peacefully into his presence, that the watchers could scarcely tell the moment of her departure.

My first Sunday scholar in heaven! Lord, I thank thee for this unspeakable gift! May those, also, of my scholars who have set their faces Zionwards, "continue Thine for ever;" and when Thou numberest Thy jewels may every Sunday school teacher exultingly exclaim, "Father, lo I am here, and the children whom Thou hast given me."

All Saints.

E. W.

PAST OPPORTUNITIES.

THERE is a natural sadness engendered by the circumstances attending the giving up of long-continued labours, in which we have found alike pleasure and profit-in breaking ties and associations

with fellow-workers in a good cause, whose example and sympathy have been so great an encouragement and support to us-in the uncertainty as to how the future may be occupied, in contrast with the happy past, and in the regretful feeling that the longcontinued opportunity of usefulness has been taken from us.

If any of my readers have known, by their own experience, what it is to separate themselves from Sunday school associations, long and happily continued during many years, they will not accuse me of exaggeration, when I say that all these feelings, common to every thing to which long habit has made us attached, become intensified in the case of the Superintendent or the Teacher, who may, from circumstances beyond his own control, suddenly find himself removed from the faithful band of servants of the Lord who have met him week by week, to carry on together the blessed Sabbath work of making Jesus known as the only Saviour, to the children gathered around them in their classes. There is the same hallowed influence at work in all-a bond of sympathy stronger than any earthly tie of interest or friendship,-the communion of the Holy Spirit, the love of Christ constraining them to seek to win souls to Him. The employments in which they all take part are so hallowed in themselves, that they shed a kindred influence over the workers-the kneeling together in prayer for blessing on their efforts, and on the children committed to their charge; the hymn of praise in which those infant lips so gladly join; the reading and teaching of God's Holy word; the public worship in which all engage, these bind together the little band of Sunday school teachers by chords of christian love so tender, that they cannot be broken without a bitter pang.

And then comes the consideration, as the teacher parts with his class, for the last time, what will the future of these children be? will they continue to grow up in the fear of the Lord? or will it be that all they now know will quickly be forgotten, and the seed of the word of God thus early sown be withered before it springs forth? It is sad to part with a single scholar in the uncertainty as to what may be his future career; for although we may trust to the promise that the word once implanted shall not return void, and that those led into the way of life will be guided and preserved to the end, if they seek the help ready for them, yet we are not ignorant of Satan's devices; and our mournful past experience enables us to recall many who did run well, but who have been tempted to enter upon the broad road of worldliness and sin. How much more sad to bid farewell to a whole school-wherein were many who seemed indeed to be seeking to find the pearl of great price, some who appeared to have given their hearts to God, and others who hitherto were

uninfluenced by any living faith, but yet were not far from the kingdom of heaven.

Unhappily, it is not only such considerations that depress the spirits, on these occasions of parting from fellow-workers and Sunday scholars. It may perhaps be inevitable, in the case of all

of us, in our weak, finite and corrupt state, to find every thing we do tainted with imperfection, folly and sinfulness; but yet, how much of this marred work might have been better done, if we had only shown more faith and love, and more zeal and self-devotedness? How many more might have been hopeful disciples of the Lord if we had been more constantly endeavouring to lead them to Him, instead of simply teaching them interesting and useful truths? How many, now apparently indifferent to vital religion, might have been quickened to a new life of faith, if we had been more prayerful in their behalf, and more earnest in our Master's cause ?

In the case of a Superintendent, these thoughts become painfully multiplied. His opportunities are more numerous, his influence greater. How much could he have done to support and stimulate the teachers by his example and his council; how much to give a tone of piety to the whole school; how many words in season might he have spoken, here and there among the scholars, if he had watched for the occasion so to do; what good might he not have done, by addressing all the scholars so earnestly, that the class-teaching might have been strengthened by his application of it to all who had heard the truths thus enforced; how many ways of usefulness, and plans for good, might he not have been the medium of suggesting, if he had had more love, more devotedness, and less of self-indulgence and weariness in well-doing?

All these thoughts follow quickly upon each other, in that quietude which succeeds cessation or retirement from an accustomed sphere of labour; but alas! they come then, too late! and it is to save my readers some of the self-reproach which they may some day feel under similiar circumstances, that these experiences are here recorded, in order that they may not defer till a "more convenient season," as they may think, something which should be done for their scholars now. We would not intentionally leave them, without having tried to draw each one into the fold of the Good Shepherd; but if we do not try at once to fulfil this first object of our work, some event may occur, in our case or in theirs, which may prevent it ever being done at all. We may think of many ways in which, by home-visiting, by praying for and with our scholars, by more careful study, or by some special effort,-we may hope to do good to our little ones; but we may fancy that

we shall have plenty of time to effect all this, by degrees, by and bye; but alas! it may be "now or never!"

To be in earnest,-to be vigilant,-to be careful to do now, all that can and should be done, as faithful teachers of the lambs of Christ's flock,-is the only course which will give us peace at the last, when we look back on work done, and past opportunities, when our labour, at least, in that one sphere is over, and we desire to recall some proofs of blessing on our work, and to feel the assurance that our labour has not been "in vain in the Lord."

W. S.

A DREAM, AND THE THOUGHTS IT SUGGESTED.

A FEW evenings ago I retired to rest, quiet in mind and in good health, and I can in no way account for the remarkable distinctness of that night's dream, which I will endeavour to relate as precisely as possible.

I found myself wandering about a large mansion, just in the way that people, for curiosity' sake, wander over handsome houses which are to be let or sold; everywhere I encountered without surprise, many persons, strangers to me, who appeared to be on the same aimless wandering. At last I met with the owner of the place, a stout, benevolent-looking, middle-aged, gentleman, who, with a pleasant smile and bow to me, and to a few others who were near, invited us to continue our investigation of his premises, and proceeded himself to lead the way to some of the more important portions of the building.

The lofty rooms, with their magnificent gilding, carving, and furniture, called forth our constant admiration. It was not long before we reached a superb drawing room, and, being rather fatigued, we gladly acceded to the owner's suggestion, that we should rest a little here; so, following the example of my companions, I threw myself upon one of the most luxurious couches ever invented, and began to muse. Just then our guide was called away, and, begging us to excuse him, he hastily left the apartment. For a while we all

scanned one another timidly and in silence, until a person lounging very near me, said, "Do you know who that person is ?" "O yes," I replied, "he is Satan; but he seems so harmless that I am not in the least afraid of him." "No," said another, "nor I;

indeed I think he has been greatly maligned; we came into his house of our own accord, and, when we shall have well explored it, we can again depart, without having been in the slightest degree harmed by thus innocently gratifying our curiosity." "But," said I, "perhaps there are places in the building which it might not be so pleasant and safe to visit, though certainly hitherto we have met with nothing to wound the most fastidious, and I really wonder the sight of that benevolent person can inspire any one with terror." "Perhaps," remarked a young girl, "beneath this beautiful carpet the boards are rotten, and may give way at any moment under us." What followed this remark was lost to me, for a smart tap at my room door, startling away sleep, abruptly brought my dream to a close.

It is not to this unimportant and unfinished dream that I am desirous to draw attention, but to the thoughts it suggested. It struck me that Sunday school teachers are sufficiently careful to point out the obvious dangers and difficulties, which all followers of Christ must more or less encounter on their road heavenward, while they say far too little of that powerful and subtle enemy, who is ever on the watch to ensnare the unwary.

To many, as to myself in the above dream, Satan, (or his emissaries), frequently appears in harmless guise, until, after a while, he, ceasing to inspire with dread, throws his victims off their guard, and at leisure draws them on and on, allowing them only to be roused to a sense of their danger when they are completely in his power, and unable to trace back the starting point whence they had first been led astray. Is it not a most important subject for teachers to enter on and fully discuss with their scholars? Should the children be any longer permitted to retain the vague idea of the Evil one, and his cunning devices, which most of them have hitherto held? It is true that even the smallest children are told that the devil is trying to make them naughty, so that he may have them in his great fire in hell; but there the information ceases, and they all get (when first this fearful picture is drawn) an awful dread of being left alone, especially in the dark, and a fear of everything ugly or black. As their minds enlarge, this feeling fades, and finally, as the love of God is gradually brought home to them, with all the attendant impressive truths of the Gospel, this bugbear of infancy ceases to appal, they can no longer realize it, because, though the fact remains uncontradicted, they never hear it discussed. They are taught, in every variety of way, to avoid evil and to do good; in other words to love God and to keep his commandments; they are told that while they watch and pray they are safe; but are they warned, with sufficient emphasis, to guard against the wiles of their powerful spiritual en