Well, you are a real good girl, you are," said Rob, falteringly, and after a pause added, "I'll take it "Oh yes, I will!” he answered. all back, Bess, what I said this "It needs a wedge, doesn't it? morning. You are twice as honest Robert, run to the barn and get as I am."

"Oh no, Rob! but you did give me some good advice," said Bessie, mischievously.

"Don't, Bess," pleaded Rob. "I'm so ashamed of myself."

"Well, I won't ever say a word about it." And she kept her promise; but Rob never forgot that Saturday's lesson.

AIDS TO COMMUNION; OR, SACRAMENTAL

MEDITATIONS.

BY THE REV. W. P. BALFERN.

VI. OUR DUTY IN SORROW.

"Watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation."-Mark xiv. 38. ALL the words of Christ are pregnant with a divine meaning, and are worthy of the Christian's most prayerful, constant, and reverential attention; but even in reference to them we may say that the circumstances under the influence of which they were spoken invest some of them with a peculiar sacredness, and must ever carry them with a touching influence and power to the Christian's heart. And this is pre-eminently true of the few words of love and warning we have quoted above. They fell from the lips of incarnate and unchanging Love when quivering with the agony due to our sin; they fall upon the ear of faith in the solemn hush and stillness of night; they form part of the midnight eloquence of that great sorrow which healed our grief from that Gethsemane, that oil-press of crushing sorrow, which made even the lips of the Son of God exclaim, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me." We see a form, moving backwards and forwards amid the shadows of the garden; the city sleeps silent in the distance, and, while all is calm and quiet around, we hear the voice of the great Intercessor, as with strong crying and tears He grapples with our sins and sorrows; yet from out of all this terrible conflict He turns away from His own anguish to seek His sleeping disciples-and thrice with weary feet, burdened and exhausted beneath the weight of their guilt, He approaches them with words of love and warning on His lips. He knew it had been written, "I will smite the Shepherd, and the sheep shall be scattered abroad." The hour had arrived, and He felt the point of the sword touching His heart and draining His strength; but this led Him but to draw nearer to the sheep to protect and preserve them in the dark and cloudy day. He had said just before, "The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling and careth not for the sheep. I am the good Shepherd, the good Shepherd giveth his life for the sheep." And so now that He beholds the danger coming near and His foes and theirs approaching, He turns aside from His own grief and approaches them again and again with, "Watch ye and pray, lest ye enter into temptation." Our suffering Lord in His extremity teaches us that times of overwhelming sorrow are pre-eminently times of temptation and danger. Such times

are often connected with great weakness and exhaustion; "the spirit may be willing, but the flesh is weak.” Fear and its attendant precipitation will often seize us, under the influence of which we often say and do rash things, wounding ourselves and others, and doing injury to the cause we desire to serve. Of this weakness and fear, too, Satan will take advantage, striking us hardest when we are down, as he did the Master, and tempting us to turn aside from our fidelity, and even to forsake our best friend. Our Saviour knew all this, and hence on the night of His grief as the watchful Shepherd of Israel He kept near to His sheep, knowing that the wolf of hell would seek through their fears to scatter and destroy them. And hence from out of the thick darkness of His anguish, with tender and touching solicitude, the Master comes forth and thrice exhorts His slumbering disciples to watch and pray.

Watch! Oh, how the lips which uttered these words should emphasise them! "Watch!" says the holy One, the strong One, the loving One, the perfect One, the anointed One, the unchanging One, watch! The Christian's life is a life of watchfulness; he is like a man passing through a thicket full of wild beasts watching to devour him; like a soldier passing through an enemy's country, where foes constantly lie in ambush seeking to wound and destroy him at every step. Heavy sorrow, too, often seizes him, handling him very severely, and producing for a time great weakness, in which lies hid great danger. An eloquent preacher says men are afraid of breaking down where they are strongest, but are seldom afraid of their weaknesses. If a man is hard, he fears mellowness; a proud man watches lest he should let himself down; a selfish man is vigilant against being unduly tempted by profuse kindness; and no man has more fear of a rash generosity than he whose pores are sealed so tight that all the suns of prosperity cannot open them. Men are apt to guard themselves where it is impossible for them to be overcome; but they are quite careless of those open avenues through which temptation comes and goes, through numberless weaknesses of which they are scarcely conscious. 66 Watch and pray," said the great Master, "that ye enter not into temptation; the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak."

"Pray!" said the suffering One, the sinless One, the mighty Onepray! And what force does His own example give to His words— "Watch and pray -Himself the best and sublimest illustration of the meaning of His own words. "Prayer without watching," says one, "is hypocrisy, and watching without prayer is presumption." Prayer calms the mind, clears the judgment, strengthens faith, inspires hope, and so brings strength. By watchfulness we are apprised of danger, and by prayer prepared to meet it. Oh then, let us pray, clothed in the armour of watchfulness, and watch surrounded with the atmosphere of prayer!

"Take care of prayer," said one, "and prayer will take care of

everything else."

This is to bring the philosophy of holy living into a nutshell, and transmute life itself into one scene of divine worship.

"More things are wrought by prayer

Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice

Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

For what are men better than sheep or goats,

That nourish a blind life within the brain,

If, knowing God, they lift not the hands of prayer,
Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
For so the whole round world is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God."

Brighton.

At home, abroad, in sickness or in health,
'Mid scenes of poverty or smiling wealth,
In silent room, where sickness robs by stealth,
Everywhere watch and pray.

Thou needest help where'er thy steps may tend,
Thy foes for ever watch thy heart to rend;
Therefore that God may keep thee to the end,
Everywhere watch and pray.

Where'er thou art, thy God is ever nigh,
To count thy tears and hear thy feeblest sigh,
Therefore be this thy purpose, strong and high,
Everywhere to watch and pray.

"I CAN'T AND I WON'T!”

THE sharp contrasts of life are and torn pieces of paper in the road, continually brought before our eyes. gave it at once an untidy appearance, Riches and poverty, health and which was further increased by the sickness, the funeral hearse and the round holes which the swarming wedding chariot, jostle each other children had dug in it for the purin the public ways. The squalor pose of their games. Doubtless it and the workhouse of St. Martin's was their only playground, for the touch the National Gallery and the small tenements that lined the side splendours of Trafalgar Square; had but scanty court and no garden while Buckingham Palace itself was behind. And these tenements combacked by some of the lowest slums pleted the evil picture. There was of London. The same singular juxta- the greengrocer's shop, with unposition is found in other towns, and glazed window, in which earthy so it happened that, though I was potatoes, withered cabbages, coals, lately walking in the busy high- and firewood seemed the principal street of Cheltenham, I passed the stock. There was the public-house, débouchement of one of its most with yellow and fly-stained placards vile and disreputable alleys. A little of cheap cider and home-brewed quarrel between some poor children beer. There was its close companion, who were making dirt-pies in the the pawn-shop, which did not rise road stayed my steps for a moment, to the watches, silver spoons, and and I was taking note of its pecu- other valuables that are pawned in liarities. The ragged brick edging richer neighbourhoods, but seemed of the pavement, the muddy straws filled with stockings, shirts, and

Lord?" they will do a great and noble act; and it may be that even a little heat and sharpness may be forgiven if the refusal carries it. And herein may be found our first lesson from the girl's words. In the time of temptation it does not do to parley or enter into long arguments. "Will you not do this? Why not say that? Surely you can go there?" is the temptation. But is it wrong to say it, or to do it? Do you know that you have been forbidden to go

other linen garments; and there too were dirty houses, with broken windows mended with paper or filled with rags. I was looking at a particular door, and observing how the cheap dirty blue paint harmonised with all the surroundings, when the door opened, and a young woman rushed out of it, and, in an evident rage, slammed it to behind her, shouting out as she did so," I can't and I won't, and there's an end of it!" She had no bonnet on her head, her hair hung about her there, or that you have something shoulders, her gown was slit up nearly a yard on one side, and she had odd slippers on (though it was late afternoon) and both were down at heel. No one troubled to follow her, and, opening another door a few houses down the street, the wretched and untidy creature disappeared.

else to do, or somewhither else to go first? Then short and sharp let the decision come," I can't and I won't!" And if you have already said something like this, and still the tempter would strew his baits or pretend your scruples are childish or unnecessary, then sharper and with holy anger may the response come,-"I can't and I won't, and there's an end of it!" And let it be the end; refuse further parley on the subject, and fly from the temptation and the sin. But I fear the words, as I heard them, were not thus spoken; and, though hardly knowing why, I rather believe that they were the disobedient and angry refusal of a bad daughter

As I proceeded on my way, uncompanioned, I let a busy fancy dwell on the words I had thus overheard. Whom were they spoken to ? Was it to a father, or a mother; or, young as she was, had she a husband, and was this the end of a domestic quarrel, or was it merely a rough and angry denial to some friend's request; and if so, what had the request been? It was easier to do some parental command. to start these questions than to get certain answers; but the words seemed to have something in them that suggested reflections suitable to the young readers of this magazine. They are words which, in their exact form or in their spirit, are too frequently uttered-"I can't and I won't," and that spirit is one of angry obstinacy. There is indeed one time when they not only may be excused, but when they are worthy of all praise. If in these or similar words my young friends will resist and conquer any entreaty to We have all of us read when Troy disobey parental commands, or was taken and in flames, and the temptation to sin of any kind; if, Greeks permitted to Æneas to take like Joseph of old, they stand firm away whatever he valued most, how, and cry, "How can I do this great neglecting everything else, he raised wickedness, and sin against the his aged father Anchises on his

There was a defiant, dogged ring in the tones, and in the very closing of the door an expressed wish to get it between herself and some authority. Perhaps it was an unreasonable command. Perhaps reasonable, but harshly or untimely spoken. Perhaps the fault was wholly in the girl and inexcusable. I could not and did not make any inquiries, but it appeared to me another example of a growing fault-of an increasingly prevalent sin disobedience to parents.