thousands who will never hear the songs of Scotland. An American voice started a grand, stirring melody, with words which answered to the melody, describing how 'three hundred thousand more' had responded to Abraham Lincoln's call for men. The chorus rang out with such glad alacrity 'We are coming, yes, we're coming,' that it did not seem strange, but only right and natural (since all best things should be consecrated to His service who gave us all), when he who had spoken with the old man before we began our journey suddenly exclaimed, 'Why doesn't some one make Gospel words for that tune? It would go round the world.' No one answered then; but a day or two afterwards, he who had led the singing of the tune that evening laid his hands on the organ, and began once more to sing the melody which had so stirred us. But the words are changed. The response is no longer to the call of 'Father Abraham,' but to the call of the Lord Jesus Christ; and the number of the army is no more three hundred thousand, but a great multitude whom no man can number, out of every nation and kindred and people and tongue.

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Oct. 26.-FAITH AND WORKS.

James 2. 14-26. Memory verses: 14-18. Golden Text. For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also.

Jas. 2. 26.

Whether are we saved by faith or by works?
Eph. 2. 8, 9. Rom. 4. 3-5.
What fruit does saving faith produce? James
2. 18. Titus 3. 8.

What is God's judgment concerning such faith as does not produce obedience? James 2. 19, 20. Mat. 5. 13; 7. 21-23. 1 John 2. 4. How can a dead faith become a living principle in the soul? Ezek. 37. 9; 36. 26, 27.

PRIZE ESSAYS.

THREE Prizes are offered for the Best Essays on the following subject:

'What evidence have we that the Bible is the inspired Word of God?'

The competitors must not be above 15 years of age. The Essays not to exceed in length three pages of the Dayspring'; and the MSS., accompanied with a sealed envelope, giving the name and address of the competitor, must be addressed to the Rev. JOHN KAY, 2 Cumin Place, Edinburgh, and reach him not later than the 29th of Nov., 1879.

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MY CHILDHOOD'S DAYS.

LONG, long ago—for I am an old

woman now, and I was a little girl then-I lived in a pretty cottage, with honey suckles round the porch, and Sweet William and London pride in the small garden. I think I see the trim, neatly kept borders, and I seem to smell the sweet flowers once more, as I think of my early home. There is the sound, too, of a little brook in my ears; it ran at the foot of the garden, watering the willows that drooped over it, and the blue forget-me-nots that floated by its banks. Many a happy day, as you may believe, I spent in that cottage; and many a run I had in that little garden; the summer days seemed very long then, and sound sleep made me quite ready for next morning's enjoyment.

But far more than in-door or out-door pleasures, do I remember the unfailing love of my father and mother, who never wearied in their kindness to their only child. One special time is in my mind, which I think you might like to hear about; it stands out clear and distinct, as I look back on life's long journey, just as the tall poplars behind the cottage used to do, when I saw them against the clear western sky, as the sun was going down.

I had been very ill. A low fever, as I was afterwards told, had been prevalent in the village; and one of my little companions had been taken away, and I saw her no more. I recollect mother telling me, that she could hardly believe it, when the young parish doctor said to her, the first day he came to see me, that I had got the fever. She little thought, as he tied his white pony to the garden gate, that ere he set off on his rounds again, she would be wondering whether her darling Mary was to live or die. I have a dim remembrance of anxious faces bending over me, of kind friends bringing grapes and jelly, and mother moistening my parched lips-all that is like a confused dream. But one afternoon, I shall never forget; it comes always back to my mind, and I like to recall it when I think of these bygone days. I was sitting on father's knee, his strong arm tenderly

supporting me; and I can see even now the anxious, only half hopeful expression of his care-worn face. What pleasure it gave him, when he saw I had all the wish, though not the strength, to play with pussy, as I used to do! She seemed to understand the state of matters; and after wistfully looking up in my face, and as if sadly acknowledging that I was not quite my own self yet, she quietly curled herself up at father's feet, hoping, I suppose, that her young mistress would be more ready for sport some other day. Then what joy to both father and mother when I actually swallowed about half of a small supper, which had been made as tempting as possible. Thanks were given to God that night for His goodness; and although, afterwards, I had many ups and downs, as mother called it, I slowly recovered from that day. Before summer was over (I can remember the corn was quite green when I took the fever), I was able to run in the garden with pussy, to her heart's content and mine too.

Can you guess why I have told you this story? I think you could find out one reason, if you were really to try. My father and mother died long ago; they were laid side by side in the village churchyard; and the little brook I have told you of, is rippling over its white pebbles not far from their grassy bed; but your father and mother are with you still, their kindness watches over you, and no care is grudged by them to make you happy. See that you return their affection, and grieve them not by disobedience and disrespect. Remember, too, that their is a love far greater than theirs. 'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him.' The affection of earthly parents is but a poor picture of the love of our Father in heaven. Yet He deigns to make use of it, to teach us a little of His tender compassion. 'As one whom his mother comforteth,' He says, 'so will I comfort you.' Be sure you despise not His lovc. 'He is good to all; and His tender mercies are over all His works;' but He offers Himself specially to the young, saying, 'My son, give Me thine heart.' 'Wilt thou not, from this time, cry unto Me, My Father, Thou art the guide of my youth?'

K.