Arthur took his half-crown, and ran to the poor widow, and gave it to her, and came away before she had time to thank him.

At night his father asked him if he had put out his money. "Yes, sir," said Arthur. "Whom did you lend it to ?"

"I gave it to a poor, starving widow in Mr. Harvey's house." There was a frown gathering on his father's brow as he said, "Do you call that lending? Did you not ask my permission to lend it? Have I a son that will deceive me?"

"No, sir," said Arthur; "I did lend it." He opened his Bible that he had ready, with his finger on the place, "He that hath pity upon the poor, lendeth to the Lord." I lent it to the Lord, and I call that written promise good security."

"Lent it to the Lord! Will He ever pay you?"

"Yes, father, He will; it says He will pay again."

"I thought you had more sense," said his father; but this was not said in an angry tone. The truth was, the old man was pleased with the ingenuity, as he called it, of his boy. He did not wish to discourage that. So he took out his purse, and handed Arthur half-a-crown. "Here; the Lord will never pay you; I must, or you will never see your money again."

66

"Thank you, sir," said Arthur. In my way of thinking," said he to himself, "the Lord has paid me much sooner than I expected, too; I hardly expected He would pay me in money. The hearts of all men are in His hand, and the gold and silver are His; He has disposed my father to pay it to me. I'll lend it again."

Arthur kept the habit of lending his spare money to the Lord all his days; and he was always satisfied that he was paid fourfold, and often several times over.

MANY

"I LOVED HER!"

years ago, a beloved friend lost a very beautiful and promising

child, about ten years of age. Little Alice had been her father's daily

companion in long rambles among the hills, through the branching Woods, and by the lovely lake-shore; in fact, it seemed as if there was no spot around his home that was not hallowed by some delightful remembrance of the beloved one.

But the Master had come, and called for the dear daughter to leave her pleasant haunts and pleasant home, and enter into His presence and the unspeakable glories He had prepared for her.

The grief of the parent at his bereavement was almost insupportable; "though he knew whom he had believed," yet the blow had come with such a crushing weight that it almost overpowered him. She was laid to rest within the shadow of the purple hill,—the calm lake at her feet, and the wild birds and humming insects sang all day long the song of peace to the little slumberer.

One evening, like Mary of old, the afflicted father had "gone to the grave to weep there;" he had kneeled by the turf-clad mound, and

earnestly prayed that this affliction might work out for him "an ex ceeding weight of glory;" and in his deep grief he fervently prayed that the Lord would send him some sweet assurance that all was wel with the child.

As he arose, he looked around upon the shadowy hills and the rip pling water, and then once more his eyes rested upon the grassy be of the precious sleeper; and, clasping his hands involuntarily, he ex claimed: "Oh, how I loved her!" He started; a soft voice echoe from the hills,-" I loved her!"

"It is the voice of God," he exclaimed. I asked for an assurance that all was well with my child; and now He has spoken from the everlasting hills those blessed words of comfort, I loved her.' Yes the Lord has indeed loved her, and taken her to dwell with Him, and He bids me, the sorrow-stricken one, to place all my hopes in Him." It seems that, hidden among the hills was a most beautiful echo, and i the father had ever known of its existence, he had quite forgotten it a the time; and in the moment of deep distress the touching words," loved her," coming to his ear after his earnest exclamation, filled hi with the sweet assurance he had longed for, that all was well with th child.

By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab

There lies a lonely grave.

THE BURIAL OF MOSES.

And no man knows that sepulchre,
And no man saw it e'er,

For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.

That was the grandest funeral
That ever passed on earth;
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth.
Noiselessly as the daylight

Comes back when night is done,

And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great sun-

Noiselessly as the spring-time
Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills
Open their thousand leaves;

So without sound of music,

Or voice of them that wept,

Silently down from the mountain's crown,
The great procession swept.

Perchance the bald old eagle,
On grey Beth-Peor's height,
Out of his lonely eyrie,

Looked on the wondrous sight;
Perchance the lion stalking

Still shuns that hallowed spot;
For beast and bird have seen and heard
That which man knoweth not.

But when the warrior dieth,

His comrades in the war,

With arms reversed and muffled drum,
Follow his funeral car;
They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,

And after him lead his masterless steed,
While peals the minute gun.

Amid the noblest of the land

We lay the sage to rest,

And give the bard an honoured place,
With costly marble drest,
In the great minster transept
Where lights like glories fall,
And the organ rings, and the sweet choit
sings

Along the emblazoned wall.

'his was the truest warrior
That ever buckled sword,
This the most gifted poet
That ever breathed a word;
And never earth's philosopher
Traced with his golden pen,

On the deathless page, truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.

And had he not high honour,--
The hill-side for a pall,

To lie in state while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall,

ind the dark rock-pines, like tossing
plumes,

Over his bier to wave,

And God's own hand in that lonely land,
To lay him in the grave?

In that strange grave without a name,
Whence his uncoffined clay

Shall break again, O wondrous thought!
Before the Judgment-day,

And stand with glory wrapt around
On the hills he never trod,

And speak of the strife that won our life,
With the Incarnate Son of God.

O lonely grave in Moab's land!

O dark Beth-Peor's hill!

Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still.

God hath His mysteries of grace,
Ways that we cannot tell ;

He hides them deep, like the hidden
sleep

Of him He loved so well.

THE FAMILY LIBRARY.

We are glad to announce the appearance of the third volume of Mr. Spurgeon's Treasury of David. It extends from the fifty-third to the seventy-eighth psalm, and is compiled on precisely the same principles as those which directed the composition of the previous volumes. Mr. Spurgeon speaks of this volume as having" cost more labour" than either of the others: we are not sure that it is not more valuable than either of them. At any rate, it is a worthy companion to those that have preceded it; and we doubt not that it will, for many years, be deemed, like them, a precious gift to the Church. How Mr. Spurgeon can find time, amidst his other multifarious labours, to issue every few months such volumes as these, we confess passes our comprehension.

Westbourne Grove Sermons, by William Garrett Lewis,† is the production of our excellent friend, the editor of the Baptist Magazine. Even if these sermons were not as good as they are, it would ill become the youthful Church to speak otherwise than respectfully of what springs from the sanctum from which proceeds every month the venerable Baptist Magazine; but we are glad to report that they are, like their author, sound, solid, and substantial; and that they are in all respects a worthy memorial of the twenty-five years' ministry of which they are the result. Such sermons cannot fail to be useful. As we read them, we have no difficulty in accounting for the popularity of the preacher, who, every year since his ministry began, has grown in the estimation, not of his own people only, but of his brethren and

* Passmore & Alexander.

Yates & Alexander.

friends throughout the country. May our friend be long spared to preach such sermons, and to carry on the useful work with which his name is so honourably identified!

Heavenly Laws for Earthly Homes,* is the title of a new work by our friend, Mr. Dennett, of Lewisham. It deals with the relations between wives and husbands, children and parents, servants and mas ters, sisters and daughters, and, indeed, between the members of the family as a whole. It is thoughtful, practical, and useful. No mem ber of a family could read it without pleasure and profit. It is a worthy successor to the author's other work, "A Manual for Young Christians," which we had pleasure in lately reviewing.

How many volumes have been published on the Lord's prayer And yet, The Lord's Prayer, a series of sermons by our friend and helper, Mr. Lance, of Newport,† proves itself, by its excellence, by no means superfluous. The volume is an excellent one. Our readers know the author's style, and here he is at his best. There are nine sermons in the volume, one on each clause of the prayer. Such ser mons it is a pleasure to read, and must be a privilege to hear. The author tells us, in his preface, that the discourses were delivered extemporaneously, and were taken down by a hearer in shorthand. We congratulate the congregation at Newport on the services of a minister who can preach such sermons extemporaneously.

We can only notice further this month, Enthusiast !—a sermon preached before the Baptist Missionary Society, by the Rev. Charle Stanford. A capital sermon, and one eminently worthy of the exten sive circulation which we trust it will have. The text is Gal. ii. 20.