very great importance in regard to conduct, namely, habit.

That we may see clearly to what extent habit influences conduct, let us call to our minds two well-known characters in every school. We will suppose that we have the school register of attendance before us. From the pupils who have attended most regularly we select one, and from those who have attended least regularly we select another.

The first we will call John Commendable, and here is his moral photograph. A quiet, steady fellow, regular as the clock. His lessons are always well done; his writing and style neat and regular. When he reads or answers, he does so quietly and without hurry; and, as a rule, he is correct in what he says. Impositions and punishments are almost unknown quantities to him. His books, his person, and his dress, are alike clean and well kept. He is a living example of the rule,—a place and time for everything, and everything in its place and time.

And now for his schoolmate. Let us call him Harry Meanwell. He is unpunctual and irregular at school, frequently he omits his lessons altogether; at other times he does them, but forgets to bring them with him. Often, when about to commence them, he finds one of his books missing, and knows not where he put it. Well, we will not finish his portrait; it is not a pretty one, and we all know him only too well.

So far, two pictures can hardly be more unlike, and yet, look a little further, and you will find that the difference is rather in what is acquired than in what is natural. They were walking together one day by the canal side, when a little fellow fell in, and was like to be drowned. Harry Meanwell, although a very poor

swimmer, was the first to plunge in after the poor boy, and at some risk got him out. Another time, his little brother was looking very "down in the mouth," because he had lost all his marbles; Harry flings him the little remnant of his own pocket money, telling him not to "snivel," but to go and buy some more.

These and other such things that might be told of Harry, go far to show us that he has stuff in him far too good to be lost or wasted. And yet he is always in scrapes, gets many stripes but little praise, and never knew what it was to gain a prize. John, on the other hand, has gained prize after prize; and yet, for all that, few, if any, love him better than they do his schoolmate Harry.

Now, what are these two boys brought forward to show? This that habits formed in very early years, slowly but surely acquire power, and go far to form the character. These boys, in fact, represent two different sets of habits; that is, two different characters; for character has been truly defined as a bundle of habits.

And if we were to trace back the personal history of our two selected characters, we should probably find something of this kind: that the one had from infancy been trained to strict obedience, regularity, and neatness; and hence now, in boyhood, to rise early, to keep himself and his belongings neat and clean, to set himself at once to any required task, are all comparatively easy things, and are done as a matter of course. In the other case, it may be from the early death of his mother, or other circumstance, no such habits were cherished; and hence, a natural disposition, kind and genial, has acquired an overgrowth, as it were, of bad habits, that cannot but endanger his future career.

It is therefore clear that while the natural disposition of each individual remains, it may yet be greatly modified by the habits formed in early life. And in this fact lies the importance of early home and school education.

Let us take an illustration of this in the matter of obedience for example. Suppose two pupils in the same class at school. It is the first day of a newly appointed teacher. The girls are told to take their usual class places. Emily does this promptly and cheerfully, as she has done it hundreds of times before. Having acquired a habit of obedience, no thought of resistance or evasion so much as suggests itself. Margaret, who has formed no such habit, takes no notice of the command, and continues her previous occupation. The teacher notes the disobedience, but wisely withholds any immediate notice. The work proceeds, and in course of time the delinquent falls in, and joins in the class work.

At the close of school Margaret is asked why she did not obey the teacher's first command. No reply is given. Does she dislike learning? No. Did she

wish to offend her teacher? By no means.

The reason

simply was, she had not formed the habit of obedience. We see, then, that the province of habit is in the little and everyday things of life. Every day, and all day long, we are called upon to give earnest heed or attention to the person or duty before us, to show respect for the feelings of others, to speak truthfully and kindly to all about us, and to be neat and orderly in all our ways. As these and other such duties are constantly operating, we are of necessity forming habits with regard to them. A boy at school, as a rule, enters his sum in a slovenly manner, not because he likes slovenliness, nor even to save time (for he knows well it nearly always ends in loss

of time), but simply, because he has got into a habit of hurried and slovenly work. On the other hand, another turns out nothing but neat and accurate work, not as the result of any very special effort, but by virtue of a previously acquired habit.

But while, as we have seen, habit has a very wide range in respect of our conduct, we must bear in mind that its region is limited. Our belief and trust, our action in all great events and crises of life, lie beyond its province. Thus, when Moses offered to give his life as an atonement for the sins of an ungrateful nation, it could not have been the result of habit, for such a position hardly occurs more than once in an age; its motive therefore has to be sought for elsewhere. So again, those who have died as martyrs for a cherished faith, have done so, not from habit, but from principle. Yet even here it may be well to note that, "he that is faithful in least is faithful also in much." Had Moses been habitually the selfish boy, well content to enjoy the luxuries of the Egyptian palace, and heedless of the poor down-trodden slave boys of his own race about him, he would probably never have become the selfsacrificing deliverer and legislator of the children of Abraham.

And now, to sum up, we should like all young persons to remember well these three things:

1. That good and bad habits are very easily formed in early life.

2. That although habits once acquired have a strong hold upon us, yet they are not all-powerful; good habits may be lost by neglect, and bad habits may be cast off by resolute and continued effort.

3. That to be led captive by evil habits is, of all forms

of slavery, the most degrading and tormenting, because self-imposed.

EXERCISES.-I. Define,-Disposition, selected, promptly, penalty, operating, obedience, and habit. 2. Show the effects of good and bad habits in the two assumed characters. 3. Name your own good and bad habits. 4. Say how you may strengthen your own good habits, and get rid of the bad ones.

SONG OF OLD TIME.

ELIZA COOK.

Ermine, a costly fur worn by sovereigns.

Purple, the colour of royalty. Patriarch, a father and head of a tribe.

Shell-proof, not to be destroyed by weapons of war.

Courtier, one who frequents a

court.

Chime, the sound of a set of bells.

Furrows, long lines cut in. Battlements, protecting walls, with openings for firing from.

I wear not the purple of earth-born kings,

Nor the stately ermine of lordly things;

But monarch and courtier, though great they be,
Must fall from their glory and bend to me.

My sceptre is gemless; yet who can say
They will not come under its mighty sway?

Ye may learn who I am,-there's the passing chime,
And the dial to herald me, old King Time.

Softly I creep, like a thief in the night,
After cheeks all blooming and eyes all light;
My steps are seen on the patriarch's brow,
In the deep-worn furrows and locks of snow.
Who laughs at my power? The young and the gay;
But they dream not how closely I track their way.
Wait till their first bright sands have run,

And they will not smile at what Time hath done.