GOLD! GOLD! GOLD!

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money; not but what I believe that money in the hand of a man who has sanctified his life with some high and noble purpose, may be the means of achieving much good; but it's the having nothing else in view but the getting of money that I dislike; the passion for which absorbs all purer and loftier aspirations, and in time turns the heart into a metal as hard and unimpressible as the gold itself.

"No, no; boys ought to have higher aims than mere money getting; yet in these days that is the meaning of success in life, and for that end boys are educated. They are not educated to become better, but that they may 'get on. If the two things can be combined, all good and well; if not the first, let the second come when it can. Now this is not as it should be. Youth is full of generous impulses and instincts which ought to be educated into convictions and principles, and in my humble way of looking at things, to stifle and repress them is a great sin, yet I am afraid it is done every day.

"You have most likely heard of the fable the ancients tell us-wise men those old fellows were of a certain man named Midas who entreated the gods for gold, gold, nothing but gold; the gods heard his prayer, and granted him his wish, so that everything he touched turned into gold; he would caress his dog, and lo! it turned into gold; he would pat his horse, and it would be suddenly transformed into yellow metal; he would tie on his sandåls, and find when

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TREACLEY BOB.

he had accomplished the feat that he must carry about something heavier than leather; he would throw on his mantle, and discover it to be more weighty than cloth of gold; and, worst of all, every morsel of food he attempted to eat became gold in his mouth-an indigestible kind of diet that. Of course the man died. The gods granted his prayer, but the gift proved his destruction; so I greatly fear that the power of acquiring wealth is given to many who desire it intensely, and to the exclusion of all other gettings, and in the end it proveth their destruction.

“What labour and toil men will go through to get money! Years ago I knew a man, a journeyman pianoforte maker, whose great aim was to become rich. This was the sole idea that possessed him; he thought of it all day, and dreamed about it at night. He drank nothing stronger than water-tea was too expensive a luxury, he would not indulge in that.

ate nothing but bread and treacle; never expended a farthing in purchasing either cheese or butter, so that in time he became generally known by the name of 'Treacley Bob,' and sometimes Cold-water Bob."' scraped and saved in every possible way; and after work hours were over, toiled at home on his own account, and the day which is given us for rest he turned into a day of labour, wasting the hours which ought to have been devoted to God in work at the bench. He heeded not the sin, neither did he ever recollect the proverb which runs-'Nothing is profit

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AN UNDESIRABLE OLD AGE. able which is dishonest,' and all Sunday work is robbing God.

"After a time' Treacley Bob' was enabled to set up on his own account and have an apprentice: and by degrees, going on from step to step, he finally became a man of considerable wealth. But what good does his money do him? He is so shattered in health and ruined in constitution that he cannot enjoy it now he has it, and spends a little fortune every year in purchasing dinner pills, which he has to swallow before he can digest a bit of dinner.

"I saw him a little while since, and found him to be a cross, peevish, and snappish creature, with no one to love him, suspicious of everybody, never receiving a blessing from the poor, for I suppose he never gave away a farthing or a kind word all his life long; but, hated and despised by all who know him, he drags out a life which has become a burden to him, and which he is afraid to lay down because he is terrified at the very mention of the word death. When he dies, no one will shed a tear for him or plant a flower upon his grave, but the truth of the proverb will be illustrated which says—' The miser does good only when he dies.

"Yes, yes, getting money is all very well, but recollect The chief end of man is not to get money'—a true proverb that, and one which it would be well for those to bear in mind who make money the aim and end of life. Money does not make a man better, it does not im

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A LITTLE SUNBEAM.

prove him even, although it might be used as an aid towards such an end. If you cover a stone with gold it will still be a stone, and a bad man covered with wealth is a bad man still.

"The proverb says, 'A rich man has many friends? If you were to rub a man well over with treacle or honey, and stand him in the middle of a field on a hot summer's day, he would not remain long without having plenty of company, such as flies, wasps, and insects of different sorts. Indeed, I once read of a man being put to death in that way-worse punishment that, than being tarred and feathered by the Yankees and money is sure to attract numbers of human flies and wasps. After all, it is a true proverb which says that 'Money won't do everything.' It can't create a clean heart-it cannot prevent us from suffering pain and sorrow-it cannot banish care-it cannot drive away death from our door.

"You all know Farmer Bloomfield, over there at Black Notley; and knowing him, you also know what a kind and noble-hearted fellow he is. Well, he married late in life, and was well up in years when his fireside was brightened by the presence of a little daughter. How he and his wife loved the little creature! They lavished upon her all the love of which their hearts were capable, and that was not a little. And certainly she was deserving of their love. A pretty, bright little thing she was, to be sure-the merriment and sunshine of her home, a sunbeam that

"ONLY SAVE her, DOCTOR."

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warmed the hearts of her parents. And with all their fondness for her, and their way of petting her, and procuring her everything for which she expressed a fancy, she was not spoiled. On the contrary, it seemed to make her more loving and loveable.

"It was a pleasant sight to see her tripping by the side of her old father, as he walked about his fields looking after his labourers, or to see her darting in and out of every room in the house after her mother; while on market days her bright little face might be seen between that of the old couple, as they drove to market in their old-fashioned chaise; and never was the journey made alone by either father or mother without their returning with pockets filled with presents for their Maggie. In short, nothing could exceed the love they cherished for their bright-eyed darling.

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One day the dear little thing sickened with scarlet fever, and grew worse and worse. All the doctors in the county were sent for, while the poor parents were beside themselves with grief and apprehension. But nothing could do the child good. God wanted her in His own beautiful home-to be a flower in His own garden.

"I was with her on the day she died, and never shall I forget the grief of the old couple as every hope of keeping their darling gradually faded from their mind. In a moment of despair the poor father pulled out his cheque-book, and, laying it before the doctor,