Switzerland, and the bleak hills of Scotland, have we found that this man yet lives.

Into what strange worlds of mystery and holy thought might this simple blossom lead us. To the present thinker it ever suggests thoughts of those who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Here we must stay, and conclude this homily with the words of a poet, unknown to fame

"All holy things grow from the dark

Up through a starless night,

That sanctifies them as they pass,
And fits them for the light."

S. G. J.

THE SHADOW ON THE WALL.

DEAR little child! with thy golden hair,
With thy rounded cheek and thy brow so fair;
With thy ringing laugh and thy sparkling eye,
Of a brighter blue than the cloudless sky,-
As thou dancest about, in thy childish glee,
Thou seemest an emblem of Joy to me.
But now as thou playest-upon the wall
I mark that thy shadow doth softly fall;
Quickly thou runnest, yet, near thy side,
Still doth that darkened outline glide.
It follows thee closely from spot to spot,
And thou canst not move where it cometh not.

Oh joy! sweet joy! it is even so;

There is ever some shade on thy path below:

Some thought of gloom where thy hours are brightest;
Some grief that comes when our hearts are lightest;

Some sadness that will on our spirits fall,

As the shadow is thrown on the sunlit wall.

Should it not teach us to look away

From this world to the land of fadeless day!
Where sin and sorrow no entrance find,
And pleasure leaves no regret behind;
Banished for ever are clouds of care,
And joy is without its shadow there!

ANNIE.

MINNIE SUTHERLAND.

BY ALICE HAWTHORNE.

Chapter III.

Varieties.

WHEN Minnie awoke the next morning, she found that Edith was already up and dressed. She was seated by a little table at the other end of the room, with a Bible open before her, which she was intently reading. And as she bent over its pages, many a silent prayer went up for instruction and guidance from above; for never perhaps in her life had Edith more felt her need of Divine counsel and assistance than she

did now. Blest from her earliest years with the affectionate teachings of a pious father, and beholding in him a lovely example of Christian consistency, her youthful heart had been gradually and gently drawn to the service of the Saviour, and she found as all who try will find-that religion's ways are ways of pleasantness and its paths are paths of peace. How happy and how sheltered had her past life been!

But now she was thrown into new and responsible circumstances. Her grandmother and uncle belonged to that numerous class who are neither immersed in the follies of the world, nor yet decided for God. They lived simply and quietly; were moral, upright and amiable; they attended seriously to all the externals of religion, but had never realized their individual need of a Saviour, nor manifested the desire for the extension of his name and glory which springs from attachment to Him. Edith knew therefore, that there could not be any real sympathy between them and herself upon the dearest and most important points. She felt that she was alone. And this was a painful feeling to

one who was naturally timid and sensitive, and had been accustomed to lean for support on others. And then, in addition to this, there was the fear, lest by any unwatchfulness or inconsistency on her part she should prejudice them against evangelical religion, and cast a stumbling-block in their way to the Cross.

Oh, how thankful Edith was, that she could carry all her difficulties and apprehensions to Christ! He could both comfort and uphold her. She had only to trust in Him, and follow Him, and then she would be safe herself and useful to others. "His Providence has placed me here," she said to herself, " and therefore his grace will sustain and direct me. He has severed me from all Christian friends, that I may learn to rest more entirely upon Himself. I have been wont to depend too much upon human aid; now I must look to Jesus only."

And Edith thought, and read, and prayed, until her heart grew light again, and the future wore to her a brightened aspect.

Minnie was surprised and vexed that she had slept so long and allowed her new guest to rise before her. She was just going to speak, when she observed how her cousin was engaged, and she was struck with the calm and cheerful expression of her countenance. Edith's face was an index of her mind, and that mind was at peace with God and in harmony with his will; and the sunshine of her spirit reflected itself on her features. Minnie thought it was almost worth the trouble of reading the Bible every day if it made one look so happy and peaceful; but then it must be very dry and tedious work; though Edith certainly seemed to like it. But it was natural to some persons to be religious Minnie considered; they could no more help it than other persons could help being gay and thoughtless, and this was no doubt the case with Edith. But with one so lively and merry as herself, Minnie fancied that religion would be a sort of incongruity;

it would not accord with her habits and tastes; besides, she was too young to concern herself about it yet. She had read, it is true, of many pious children; but then, their piety seemed to be a necessary preparative for their early death. Minnie regarded it much in the same way as she did remarkable genius, or uncommon attainments in learning, with admiration and respect; she was charmed with it, but it was of course too far beyond her reach for her to attempt to copy it. There are many persons twice or thrice Minnie's age whose ideas upon this point are not much clearer than her's

were.

The closing of her cousin's Bible roused Minnie from her meditation, and released her from her silence.

"Oh, I am quite ashamed to have slept so soundly,' she exclaimed," and to let you get up first, when you had a long journey yesterday, and ought to be so tired this morning. I quite meant to bring you up your breakfast."

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Oh, I don't feel at all tired, thank you," said Edith, smiling, "I usually wake early when I am well; but I hope I have not disturbed you ?"

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No, indeed," answered Minnie, "I wish you had; but I will make haste now. But you will be tired of waiting for me; would you like to go down into the garden until I come? You will easily find your way through the glass-door at the end of the passage."

Edith followed this direction, and soon found herself in the nice, well-laid out garden; where a large, handsome, dignified cat offered himself for her companion. He walked closely beside her in the most amiable of moods, purring, and rubbing himself against her dress, as if he recognized in her an old acquaintance. Edith was still stroking him, when Minnie joined her.

"Oh, I am so glad you like cats!" she exclaimed, taking it for granted that Edith, like herself, took a warm interest in the whole feline race; "is'nt he a beauty ?"

"He is a very fine cat," said Edith; "and his skin is so soft and glossy. How sociable he is with strangers." "He is not always so," said Minnie; "but he has taken a fancy to you. He is a very discriminating cat; are you not, Mosie ?" continued Minnie, changing her assertion into an appeal to her favourite.

"Are you paying compliments ?" asked her cousin, laughing. "But what is your cat's name?"

"Oh, his proper name is Moses," said Minnie, gravely, "but he is always called Mosie, because that sounds so much better for a cat."

"Moses!" repeated Edith; "how could you choose such a name ?"

"I will tell you," remarked Claude, who had just approached them, "because Minnie ought not to be her own historian. Once upon a time then, as the old story-books begin, that is, about four or five years ago, Minnie was trundling her hoop some distance down the lane, when a most piteous mew burst upon her ear. It was repeated, amidst the shouts and laughter of boys, and Minnie, guided by the sound, hastily ran round the corner of the nearest turning, and beheld two or three rough-looking urchins clustered by a small pond, into which they were throwing a luckless little kitten. It was good sport to them, but a most distressing sight to my humane little sister. Forgetting her usual lady-like timidity, she sprang forward, rescued the miserable, dripping little animal from its critical position, and showered a torrent of indignant reproaches upon its cruel tormentors. They were astonished, as they well might be, at so unlooked-for an interference, and Minnie was quietly walking off with her prize, when one, bolder than the rest, shouted out, Give us our kitten; it's our kitten; it do'nt belong to you!' 'It's mine now,' said Minnie, in the belief I suppose, that possession is nine points of the law, and I shall keep it.' She soon however found that this was a point likely to be disputed by her rude