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prayer. On that Sabbath evening, grandpapa knew that the minds of the children were filled with thoughts of the coming new-year and its expected pleasures, and he had no desire to damp the happiness of his little friends. But he wished to guide their thoughts to Him who is the only source of true and everlasting joy. He knew that

Joy is a fruit that will not grow
In nature's barren soil;

All we can boast, till Christ we know,
Is vanity and toil.

But where the Lord has planted grace
And made His glories known;
There fruits of heavenly joy and peace
Are found, and there alone.

'Can you tell me, children,' he said, 'of what great event new-year's-day should remind us? As none of the children seemed able to answer this question, grandpapa added, surely you know what great event occurred in the world's history 187 years ago.'

'Jesus was born in Bethlehem 187years ago,' Willie replied, 'Is that what you mean, grandpapa?

'Yes, Willie, you are quite right. The coming of the Lord Jesus to save sinners, is the most wonderful and the most joyful event, which ever took place in our world. That period is called the Christian era, because we count our years from it.'

'I thought Jesus was born on Christmasday, grandpapa. I did not know that newyear's-day was a memorial of His birth?'

We do not know on which day of the year Jesus was born; the Bible does not tell us, and learned men have not been able to find it out. But though we do not know on which day Jesus was born, we count our years from that event, and surely we should not allow the close of one year and the beginning of another to pass, without remembering that joyful morning when angels sang, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good

will toward men.'

'I wonder if little Maggie can tell me anything else we should remember, when the year is just going away?'

'Mamma says we should think of how

many good things God has given us, since last new-year's-day, grandpapa.'

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Yes, Maggie dear, and can you tell me some of these good things?'

We have had food and clothes and a house to live in, and papa and mamma to take care of us, and you, grandpapa, to come and see us, and I dont know how many more good things.'

'I was sure you could not count them all, none of us could do that, we receive so many mercies from God, but you have answered very well, and I think Katie will be able to tell us some more of the many good things God has given us, since last new-year's-day.'

We have all been strong and well, grandpapa, and then we have had a nice school to go to, and mamma to help us to learn our lessons.'

'These are all great blessings for which we should feel very grateful to God, for you know we do not deserve one of these mercies. I would like you to read David's words, in Psalm cxvi. 12, 13, and make them your new-year's motto.'

I have found the place, grandpapa,' said Katie, and she read, "What shall I render unto the Lord, for all His benefits toward me? I will take the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of the Lord."' 'Do you know what the cup of salvation means, Katie?'

'I think it means Jesus Himself.'

"Yes, my dear, Jesus Himself is the cup of salvation, and the best way in which we can shew our gratitude to God for all His goodness toward us, is by receiving Jesus Himself into our hearts as our own Saviour.' 'Would you like to sing a song with grandpapa now, children?'

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We would like it very much,' the children replied, and the old man began, 'Such pity as a Father hath, &c.'

When the song of praise was sung, the good old man talked of that blessed land to which he was soon going, and entreated each one of them to give their hearts to Jesus now in the days of their youth, assuring them that He would not forsake them in their old age.

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HAVE AVE you thought of these beautiful words with their promise of unsetting day, when the night has darkened round you here in gloom and chill and fear perhaps? Has the vision of the nightless city been fairer than lips could say, to little hearts that love the sunlight, and fear the frown of the dark?

This is a story of night-night with a sunrise in it.

It is not told of Conrad in what clime or time he lived. It is said that the corn was golden about his way as he went; but the corn grew golden in the days of Ruth, as golden as to-day, and we know they were fields of Bethlehem which this same kind Ruth gleaned. So we learn neither time nor place, though they tell us Conrad went through the corn.

They tell us he came among the corn fields, many a weary foot, and with a very weary heart towards a great town. As he drew nearer the town, the trees grew blacker and dimmer, and the little flowers grew fewer, but still he went on his way. Then, instead of the pleasant corn fields, and the milky odour of cows, there came the low, straggling houses that lay on the skirts of the town, then chimneys, chimneys, everywhere, and black smoke falling down, for in that still summer twilight there was no wind to carry it away.

Conrad went on and on, looking with hungry, weary eyes at the people who passed through the streets. The houses grew closer together, and the streets grew narrow and high.

And every one looked happy but Conrad. The mothers laughed to their babies, and the brothers and sisters played. Conrad was very weary, but he still went on. Nobody spoke to him; they did not know his need. Some compassionate glances were bent on the little, lonely boy; but he did not ask for anything, so the kindest passed on.

Then the twilight grew deeper and deeper, till all the town was dark; the lights gleamed like stars in the blackness of the long dreary streets. And above the countless chimneys the kinder stars came out-those constant heavenly watchers, each like an angel's eye. Conrad watched with a lonely wonder the broad milky way, that path through the dark sky where the stars are thickest strewn, that path which girds the earth as if the feet of the angels had left a shining track.

But the angels seemed far away to Conrad; and he had no home. And he was frightened for the dark, the poor little homeless boy.

All the people were gone. All the sounds were hushed. The babies were

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sleeping in their cradles. The brothers and sisters lay, arms locked in arms, with bright cheeks touching each other, on the same soft, nightly pillow. But poor little Conrad had no one to clasp with warm hands; and cowering close to a doorway he sank down and cried. The angel of love and peace touched the little boy's weary eyes, the lids drooped heavily, and he too was asleep.

Then there came a dream to the childa quiet and fair dream.

He saw a great crowd pressing on; and he saw himself in the crowd. And he looked at his own face and saw it eager and worn, but a light was shining round him, a light he knew not from where. And he asked a stranger by his side'Sir, what light is this?"

"The light of the love of God.'

The stranger's voice was soft; yet like some grand low music, so that Conrad whispered when he spoke

'And where are the people going?
'On to eternity.'

'Shall we follow them?' asked Conrad. Then the stranger took his hand. But soon he forgot the crowd and saw only his own eager self pressing onward, onward, and the shining light round. There were many dark places before him; and Conrad shuddered sometimes to see his own form come against some blank wall of rock, or stand still on the verge of a chasm torn up in the dark; but always as he came close the light showed him some little path, which served as well for his feet as the broadest king's highway. And thus he went on and on, till he came to a broad stream, rolling deep and dark; but beyond, in sudden glory, flashed a glad, regal city, which shone like one pearl. And the stranger, with shining finger, pointed beyond the stream; and his voice spoke joyfully like a clear silvery lute, 'Behold the city of God; the city of the Great King.' And then in letters of gold, which seemed to shine against the sky, little Conrad read deathless words; strange, sweet words; familiar, and yet new. 'The nations of them which are saved, shall

walk in the light of it; and the kings of the earth do bring their glory and honour into it. And the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day; for there shall be no night there. And there shall be no more curse; but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and His servants shall serve Him. And they shall see His face. Blessed are they that do His commandments, that they may have a right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city.'

...

'Twas then the loud ringing music from a great belfry near, woke the little weary Conrad from his heavenly, quiet dream. He thought 'twas a burst of music from the pearly city of his dreams; and smiled a joyous smile as he opened his blue eyes.

But the dark church-shadow loomed over him; and the lights shone cold and far along the deserted streets; and the watchman, going his rounds, spoke grimly to the child, and roughly bade him go home-home to poor homeless Conrad! But the last words he read in his dream rang through the heart of the boy, and he smiled in the dark street, though no one saw his smile. Blessed are they that do His commandments; through the gates into the city.'

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Conrad could not forget those beautiful words in his dream; nor how he had seen himself there, with that garment of love around him; finding always some safe, narrow path while he pressed to the city gates.

Conrad found kind friends. He never slept again out homeless in the night. It is not told of him whether he was rich or poor. It does not matter indeed, for wealth of itself can bring neither honour nor happiness; and Conrad in later years was honoured and happy too. But often, all his life, he would remember that midnight under the shadow of the church. And often when the quiet night stole over him as then, and he saw the broad milky way, and the faint stars trembling through the blue, he thought of his dream, and prayed, 'Make me to go. the path of Thy commandments; lead me to the city where is no more night.'

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THE WISHING GATE, GRASMERE. EST some of our young readers may not know about Grasmere and the Wishing Gate, I will tell them a little about them, that they may the better understand the poem.

Grasmere is one of the loveliest of our English lakes, with its little island, and hills all round, tempting the traveller to linger amid its beauties. Overlooking the lake there is a gate, called by the

people the wishing gate,' on account of an old tradition which says, that if any one wishes anything, while standing at the gate, he is sure to get it.

Now, my dear young friends know that this is only a fancy thought; but a minister from Scotland was standing by the gate one day, and he thought, Ah! I know. of a true "wishing gate where we can indeed get all we wish, if it is good for us

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These verses below were written after hearing the sermon, and as you read them you may fancy yourselves at Grasmere, looking over the top bar of the gate.

Dear young friends, this new-year time is a wishing time; let us take all our wishes to the dear Lord Jesus, both for ourselves and our dear ones, remembering that He is the same loving, tender Saviour now, as when He stopped on His journey to grant the wish-in other words, the prayer-of a poor, blind beggar.

THE WISHING GATE.

gaze upon a lovely scene,
Of hill, and dale, and lake;
As, leaning on the 'Wishing Gate,'
A moment's rest I take.

Many a mark and notch are there,
Telling a wishful tale,
That many such as I have leaned
And wished without avail.

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Dear children, there's a Wishing Gate,'
Where you and I may stand;

A trysting-place, where Jesus meets,
And grants with loving hand.

He knows the wishes of your heart,
The longing of your soul;
He's waiting at the trysting-place,
He waits to make you whole.
While standing at the 'Wishing Gate,'
The Saviour passes by;
Jesus! have mercy upon me.'
Must ever be our cry.

And when in tender, loving words,

The whisper meets our ear, "What wilt thou that I do to thee? What is it brings thee here?' Our longing wish is known to Him Ere yet we speak the word,'Lord, give me now the inward sight To see Thee as my Lord.

'I wish to have the Wisdom

That comes alone from God;
I wish for constant cleansing
In Thy most precious Blood;
'I wish to have the Beauty
Of holiness in Thee;
I wish to have the Glory

Of endless years with Thee'
Dear children, at this 'Wishing Gate'
No wish is breathed in vain;
And often as the Tryst we keep,
We still may go again.

M. A. L. F.

OUR MISSIONARY PAGE.

EROMANGA-THE MISSIONARY MART YR.

OUR young readers who have taken an

interest in missionary work must have heard of Eromanga, on which fell John Williams one of the noblest Missionaries of the cross. Eromanga forms one of the New Hebrides group of islands, an account of which you will find in the November and December numbers of the Dayspring. Eleven years ago the Rev. Mr Gordon and his wife were murdered on this island by the natives, and last year the Rev. J. D. Gordon, brother of the preceding, was barbarously murdered by an Eromangan chief. The following letter from a native Christian, describing the sad scene will interest our readers:

'I am Soso. Love to you, Misi Paton. Why this word of mine to you? Because the Eromangans have killed Missi Gordon, and he is not here now. A man named Nerimpon struck Missi in the month of March, the 7th day, Thursday. There was one servant with Nerimpon, named Nare. He (Nerimpon) cut his forehead with a tomahawk one time only, and I buried him there at Potuuma (Portinia Bay), according to the word which he had spoken, namely, "If I die, bury ye me here, afterwards send word to the missionaries,' and I do so. And I assembled the young men, and the children, and the women, and remained there on Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday. I saw Naling and part of the young men from Dillon's Bay. The carpenter sent them to bring us from Potuumha. And I asked them

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