'Tis winter in the city;

The streets are throng'd to-day
With people in rich warm garments,
With faces glad and gay.
Now comes the sport for skaters—
Over the ice they wheel,
Cutting fantastic figures,

With their swiftly flying steel.

'Tis winter in town and country;
But beside the rich and gay,
There are many poor and wretched-
Many who starve to-day.
There are many little children
Dying from want and cold,
Or begging a poor subsistence,
In garments torn and old.

'Tis winter in town and country;
'Tis God sends winter here,
He makes it for rich folks joyous,
For poor folks sad and drear;
But He gives to us a mission,
To succour those in need,
And He showers His richest blessings
On all who His wishes heed.

'Tis winter in town and country;
Let each child give his mite,

And strive with best endeavour

To make some dark home bright;
And let him when at night-fall
He seeks his little bed,

Pray thus—“O Heavenly Father,
Give them their daily bread!"

The Little Pilgrim.

WHAT DID THE CLOCK SAY?

THE clock upon the tower of a neighbouring church tolled forth slowly and solemnly the knell of the departed hour.

As the last sound died away, Willie, who was sitting on the carpet at his mother's feet, lifted his head, and looking earnestly in her face, asked

“Mother, what did the clock say?"

"To me," said his mother, sadly, "it seems to say, gone-gone-gone-gone!”

“What, mother, what has gone?" "Another hour, my son.

A white-winged messen

ger from our Father in heaven, sent by Him to inquire of you, of me—what we are doing? what we are saying? what we are thinking and feeling?"

"Where has it gone, mother?"

"Back to Him who sent it, bearing on its wings, that were so pure and white when it came, a record of all our thoughts, words and deeds, while it was with us. Were they all such as our Father could receive with a smile of approbation?”

Reader, what record are the hours, as they come and go, bearing up on high for you?-Selected.

DISCHARGED FOR HONESTY.

A COUNTRY gentleman placed a son with a merchant in Street. For a season all went on well. But at length the young man sold a dress to a lady, and as he was folding it up, he observed a flaw in the silk, and remarked, "Madam, I deem it my duty to tell you

there is a fault in this silk." This spoiled the bargain. The employer overheard the remark. And what did he do? Did he say, "Well, my business is safe in the hands of such a clerk; a young man that will not cheat my customers will not cheat me; my till is safe my goods are safe"? No; he said no such thing. He wrote to the young man's father to come and take him home; for, said he, “He will never make a merchant.”

The father, who had brought up his son with the strictest care, was surprised and grieved. He hastened to the city to inquire in what his son had been deficient. 66 Why," said he, "will he not make a merchant?"

Merchant. "Because he has no tact. Only a day or two since, he, without being asked, told a lady who was purchasing silk that the goods were damaged; and so I lost the bargain. Purchasers must look out for themselves. If they cannot discover flaws, it will be foolish in me to tell them."

Father." And is this all the fault?"

Merchant. "Yes; he is very well in other respects.' Father. "Then I love my son better then ever. I thank you for telling me of this matter. I would not have him in your shop another day for the world."Christian Treasury.

LITTLE SINS.

THE way of ruin thus begins,—
Down, down, like easy stairs;
If conscience suffers little sins,
Soon larger ones it bears.

THE NIGHT STORM.

"O MOTHER," cried a little child,
"I cannot sleep to-night;

Hark, how the storm grows fierce and wild--
It fills me with affright:

I hear the wind roar through the trees,
And howl above my bed;

I tremble when it comes so near,
And cover up my head.'

"And why?" the mother gently said;

"Why need you fear to sleep?

Why hide that little timid head?

God will my darling keep.

What though the wind blow fierce and loud?
It can do us no ill;

We're in our Father's hand, and He

Can bid the storm 'Be still.'

"Trust Him, my child, and peaceful rest,

Safe in His tender care;

But think of others more distress'd,

And breathe for them a prayer.

Think of the little sailor boy,

Tossing upon the deep;

Think of the wandering, homeless poor,

Oh, pray for them-and sleep."

-Early Days.

"EVEN a child is known by his doings, whether his

work be pure and whether it be right.”

CHAPTER III.-NANCY HILTON.

"CAN you tell me who lives in that old thatched cottage on the shore, near the crags?" inquired Mr Garner of his landlady, one morning as she was removing the breakfast things.

"Their name's Hilton, sir; and a rough set they are," replied Mrs Dale.

"Hilton, Hilton," repeated Mr Garner, as if trying to recall the name; "that can't be Jack Hilton the sailor?"

"No, sir, he's been dead this many a day; this is his son Dick; you may remember him-he was always a wild lad, and now he has got a son that's as bad as himself."