Not a word as yet! But old Father Time slowly raised his right arm and began to work. Darker grew the room, and suddenly there flashed upon the wall a picture. A lifelike picture, for the figures moved and spoke. Bright were the colours, but soon they faded, and the picture changed into another-and another and another. Something of reality about them all, yet something of fancy also. A strange artist indeed is Father Time, and how quick, how wonderful the changes wrought by his skilful hand. Listen while I tell you briefly what I saw. A schoolroom, one of the old-fashioned kind. Bare walls, broken windows, hard benches devoid of backs, and plain, unpainted desks. On a raised platform the teacher, a tall, thin man, young, yet nervous, with a fearful frown upon his brow. At a desk near by, a little boy scratching his slate with his pencil, and sighing, almost sobbing. Poor little fellow! -so little that his feet can hardly touch the floor-kept in at recess, and in such a dreary prison. Out of the open window he looks, he cannot help it, and sees his comrades chasing each other up and down the clover meadow, or climbing the old oak tree near by the singing brook. A brilliantly lighted parlour, filled with gaily dressed men and women, who are loudly chatting. Tones from the piano mingled with tones of laughter until a subdued cry runs through the room, "Hush! here they come," and in sweeps the bridal party. The bride decked with the flowing veil, fairer than a poet's dream, and the groom so proud, so happy, so full of manly beautywhy, is it possible? Something which calls back the picture of that sighing schoolboy. But oh! how changed as he now utters calmly, yet with feeling, that little phrase, "I will," which will make or maroh! no, not mar-his future happi ness. A pretty picture, and the colours bright beyond description, but soon, too soon, they faded. A quiet, home-like scene. A room whose carpet and rich furniture show the abode of elegance and wealth. A little table spread, with the hissing tea-urn on it. A cradle with its sweetly-sleeping tenant. A man, with the evening paper at his feet, and face half-hidden in his hands, silent with grief. A little woman, still young and fair, standing near with a puzzled look, scarce knowing what to fear or dread. "Black Friday - speculation — bankrupt ruined," these were the words he uttered until he gathered courage to tell the story briefly. O brave-hearted little woman Only a sympathetic crying spell for a few minutes, and then,— Cheer up, my husband. Wealth is gone, but we are rich-rich in each other's love, and rich in ou darling child. You have health and can work, and I,” lightly laughing as she spoke, "I have helped you t spend, but I can help you to saveonly try me. So let us trust in God so let us trust each other, and allI know it—all will yet be well." A private business office, with the door opening into a long room, with workmen at the tables, and turning wheels and flying bands above them. At his desk a stout-built man, about fifty years of age, deep in the study of a ponderous ledger. He glances upward, and his face shows lines of anxious care. Rather a harsh expression; and yet those twinkles about the eyes show the man can laugh, and therefore is kind-hearted. But life to him, since evil speculation threw him, has been one long, hard, bitter struggle. A sick room, and on the bed a dying man. Not so old with years as with cares and trials. A man whose stream of life is ebbing away. Weeping friends are near, and try in vain to catch his feeble words. "His mind is wandering. Never there, and a glory and a splendour above the noonday sun. A floating cloud above the throne, and from it rang a herald's voice, so loud, so clear, so musical: "Open wide, ye pearly gates, and let a ransomed soul pass in.' Then a noise like that of angel's wings, a sound like that of many waters, and strains like those which breathe from many harps, swelling grandly into high, triumphant notes of joy. And so, seeing, listening, and rejoicing, I awoke - roused by the town clock pealing forth the midnight hour of twelve. PAUL AND PHILEMON. BY THE REV. F. TRESTRAIL. NO. III. Ir is very interesting to observe how often, in this short epistle, Paul's affection for this converted slave manifests itself. He felt for him a regard so strong, that he would, had it been right and good, have kept him, in order to have that kindly attention which he suggests that Philemon himself would have shown, if their relative places had been changed: "Whom I would have retained with me, that in thy stead he might have ministered to me in the bonds of the gospel." It is very plain that Paul felt that his friend was under an obligation to succour and help him; this feeling is still more strongly expressed, as we shall see when we get a little farther on. An important practical lesson is here suggested. The members of a Christian Church are bound to co-operate with the pastor in promoting the interests of the cause of Christ. It is both their duty and their privilege to do this. Our brethren are by far too much disposed to throw all the labour and responsibility of church work on their pastors. If there be no encouraging prosperity, not many sinners converted, there is a proneness to lay the blame on the ministry. But every member of a Church is bound to do all the good possible. And where there is a hearty co-operation of members with their pastor, there will be prosperity and peace. To do good, is to get good. The effort will be beneficial, not only in promoting the growth of spiritual life and in checking the too prevalent tendency to illnatured fault-finding, but in advancing the general knowledge of Divine truth. "For if any man will know of the doctrine whether it be true, let him do the will of My Father who is in heaven." It is not needful to go into any detail as to the way in which this co-operation may be best maintained. Let a few hints suffice; and, foremost of all, a prayerful remembrance of them and their work. This great apostle felt the value of this kind of help, and he asks for it in tones of mingled earnestness and pathos. Brethren, pray for us. If needful in his case, much more in ours. A readiness to act with them in any plans of usefulness which may be deemed expedient will not only be most encouraging, but will greatly stimulate their ardour and zeal. If the manifested sympathy of an audience invariably excites the orator, rouses his faculties to their highest efforts, and kindles his emotions as with a holy fire, so, in like manner, does this alacrity of a spirit of co-operation, on the part of the members of a Church, act on the mind of the pastor. There are also many loving, courteous acts which may be done almost continually, which are most refreshing. They indicate a kindly thoughtfulness that inspires confidence. We rely at once on people who are habitually considerate and kind. Manifestations of this lovely temper, however trifling, and however limited it may be by circumstances, are wonderfully helpful. Like sunbeams, they lighten up a path, always arduous and toilsome, and often gloomy and dark. Nor should a generous provision for their temporal wants be forgotten. Very rarely can our Churches supply an adequate income to their pastors. But if it be comparatively small, it may yet be generous. Giving to the cause of God ought to be regarded as much an act of worship as prayer or "the service of song." Churches should feel it to be an imperative duty to do their very best to enable their pastors to live honourably, to practise hospitality, and to have something to give to him that needeth." It would be well if pastors would enforce this duty more frequently, and with more courage. It may be a delicate topic, yet delicate topics may be handled with wisdom and force. But above all, let our members see to it that they "adorn the doctrine of God their Saviour in all things." Holy and consistent lives are powerful supports to ministers. In prayer, in preaching, in private intercourse, and in the assembly of the saints, the fact that those with whom they are associated in Christian fellowship are striving to attain to a higher spiritual life, will call forth all the energies, and secure the thorough devotion of their pastors to the promotion of their highest interests. In these, and in many other ways which might be specified if it were needful, the members of our Churches can co-operate in doing good, and thus cause their "profiting to appear to all." 66 The apostle lays aside all authority, and desires that whatever is done by Philemon should be his own act. Acts done on compulsion are never graceful. When Christians help each other, not moved by the exhortation of another, but by genuine kindness and love, how pleasant and refreshing such acts of benevolence are! Religion, to be of any real value, must be voluntary throughout. Even the Almighty invites us to seek Him. Divine Redeemer entreats the weary and heavy-laden to come to Him that they may find rest. "The Spirit and the Bride say, Our Come." The employment of force in any form, or the infliction of pains and penalties, to sustain the kingdom of Jesus Christ, is not only contrary to its genius and spirit, but never really succeeds. It may for a while appear successful, and may gratify the love of power, and foster the pride and ambition of those who would "lord it over God's heritage "; but it ends, for the most part, in generating hypocrites or formalists. Religious life, and a sense of individual responsibility in matters of faith, will ever rebel against it. "My kingdom," says our only LORD, "is not of this world, else would my servants fight." And this cardinal truth is finely illustrated by Paul, when describing the character and function of the heralds of the gospel. "Now, then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you, in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God." Thus we learn that however just our title may be to the beneficent acts of others, they are not to be forced to perform them. They must be voluntary, and they will then be, not only most pleasant to the recipient, but will be acceptable to our Divine Master, as done to Himself. So here, the apostle did not wish that the kindness he desired Philemon to show to Onesimus should be by constraint, but willingly. Had he been kept at Rome, and pardoned by his master, the favour would not have appeared so spontaneous and free as it really was, when he returned and was received again, as a brother beloved," into the family from which he had dishonourably fled. He was therefore sent back, that his reception, in this new character, might be Philemon's own act: "But without thy mind would I do nothing; that thy benefit should not be as it were of necessity, but willingly.' Notice the new relation in which these parties stand to each other. How often does the providence of God overrule evil for good! Joseph said to his brethren, when they were overwhelmed with terror and remorse at seeing their brother, whom they had sold to the Midianites, standing before them in the plenitude of his power as chief ruler over all the land of Egypt, "Now, therefore, be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves that ye sold me hither: for God did send me before you to preserve life." "But as for you, ye thought evil against me, but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass as it is this day, to save much people alive." One is at a loss which most to admire,-Joseph's magnanimity towards his cruel brethren, or his lofty view of the providence of God. Just so in the case before us. The flight of a bondsman from his master becomes the means of his conversion; and a man once degraded, worthless, and dishonest, is transformed into an intelligent, ardent, devoted disciple of Christ, and the personal and beloved friend of the great apostle. How remarkable the way in which this is placed before Philemon: "For perhaps he therefore departed for a season, that thou shouldest not merely as a faithful servant for life, for that he is sure to be, whether as a slave or a freed man- "but above a servant, a brother beloved." Death rends asunder all human ties, receive him for ever; whether of master and slave, or of relatives and friends. But those which bind Christians together survive the stroke of death. Their relationship to each other will never terminate. The love which unites them to Christ and to each other, and Him to them, nothing can extinguish. So Philemon would regard Onesimus as standing in a new relation to himself. Once he was simply a slave. Now he is a new man. He has been lifted up out of a condition deeply degraded by igno rance and sin, into that of a child of God. As if the apostle had said, "Philemon, in all that pertains to the kingdom of God, Onesimus is thy brother." And that Philemon might not be displeased with a statement so unexpected, he tells him that Onesimus is also a brother to himself. And this relation was both in the flesh and in the Lord. We are thus taught that kindly regard is due to persons, even in the meanest condition of life; and if they have, by the grace of God, attained to eminent piety, they are worthy of "double honour." Without any disparagement of intellect, culture, wealth, or social rank,-for they are all of great value in their proper place, yet in the estimation of all Christians, character should hold the foremost place. That is enduring, for with whatever character a man leaves this world, he carries it with him for ever. All else he leaves behind. As Christ is the object of the Christian's highest and purest love, then those who most resemble Him will be most loved by us too. Let it be, then, our most earnest endeavour to imbibe His Spirit, imitate His example, obey His commands, and we shall not only have the consciousness of advancing in a meetness for the inheritance of the saints in light, but we shall be "living epistles of Christ, known and read of all men." THE THREE HANDFULS OF GRAIN. FOR THE YOUNG. 66 It was one day in the early spring 'your uncle Bernard, having at of the year that Gerard Steimer called his three sons, Adolphus, Henry, and the little Bernard, to his side. In his hand he held an open letter. The tears shone in his eyes, and his voice was very sad as he addressed them. You have often heard me speak, my children, of my brother Bernard, who left home many years ago to go into business in a distant country.' 66 Yes," they replied, and they gazed wonderingly at their parent. 'Well, my sons," he continued, 66 last amassed a considerable fortune, had determined to return to his native village and take up his abode with me; for we are the only two that remain of a happy family of seven brothers and five sisters," he added, as he drew his hand hastily across his eyes. "And is uncle coming soon? "inquired Henry in an animated tone. "He should have been here by this time, my son," replied his father, "but an all-wise Providence has ordered it otherwise; and now," he added, "I fear that you will |