without shoes on her feet, to reach a place of shelter; her hair dishevelled, her scanty garments torn, her bare feet bleeding, and looking, as she adds with cheerfulness," for all the world like the queen of beggars." Olympia, at the palace of Ferrara, used to ride in gilded coaches, or to be carried in those luxurious conveyances called litters. Now she thanked God for being able to walk barefoot, while so many she had left behind would gladly have done the same. Her mind, however, was stronger than her body: her constitution suffered more than it could recover from. She never was well again.

At the well-known and beautiful city of Heidelberg, on the river Rhine, Olympia and her husband were afterwards peacefully settled. She devoted much of her time to the education of her little brother, whom she had brought with her from Italy when only eight years old; and to share his studies, she took the orphan daughter of one of her early tutors; thus occupying herself in perhaps the most useful manner in which a woman can be engaged-the education of youth.

But disease worked in her frame, and she gradually sank a victim to consumption. While in this state, she wrote as follows: "Here everything is in a state of warfare, and everywhere the saints are pressed down by many cares; but this portends that the happy day is at hand, when we shall commence our everlasting life. Meantime let the word of God direct us to live here righteously and piously." Some learned persons, with some booksellers at Frankfort and Basle, restored to Olympia the books that had been lost at Schweinfurt, though her writings could not be replaced; but Olympia was going where all these are not wanted: she was going to heaven. She died at Heidelberg; her monument is still there.

In this truly noble lady, who, after such a trying life, died at nine and twenty, we have an example of what the grace of God can effect. Neither the allurements of a gay life, the splendours of a palace, the charms of learning, the society of poets and men of science, were in her estimation worthy of being compared with the glory of being a child of God, and a disciple of Jesus Christ. Her husband and little brother followed her to the grave in the same year, being unable, says one of her biographers, to survive her. In one of her latest letters, she said to her friend, "I sincerely wish I was able, by my death, to be of service to others in the things that belong to salvation." Nearly her last words to her husband, spoken with a smile, were: "I am all gladness."

S. B.

CHRISTIAN SCHRIVENER'S PARABLES.

THE DIAL-PLATE.

On a church tower there was fixed as usual a dial-plate, the golden numbers on which showed the different hours by means of machinery within.

Gotthold saw this on New Year's day, and said, "Rightly are the hours marked with golden numbers, that by them. every one may be reminded of the value of time, and that it cannot be bought with gold."

Chrysaurus, an ungodly nobleman, when on his death-bed, thought he saw evil spirits standing around him, waiting for his soul; and cried in an agonized voice, "Ah! time till tomorrow! give me time only till to-morrow!" But it availed not, his hours were numbered, the day of grace was passed. What think you would this man not have given for a few hours in which to repent? Alas! how little is this kept in mind! How is our time triflingly wasted! We sleep, we eat and drink, we trifle away the greater part of our time, and those hours often appear to us the most tedious, which are spent in prayer, in the reading of God's word, in serious meditation, in scrupulous examination of our consciences, or, in fine, in anything which should be for our soul's benefit. The hand of this clock is going round continually, and passing from hour to hour. It will at length point to that which is to be your death-hour and mine, when it will be said of each of us, "In such an hour he departed." Time will then be no more for us; we shall have entered into eternity. Therefore let us be careful so to employ all our hours, that none may pass without our having gained something for eternity. And let every stroke of the clock remind us that another portion of our time is past, for which we must give an account to God.

As we have opportunity, let us do good, Gal. vi. 10.

O God! impress these words upon my heart, and enable me so to commence the coming year, that I may not repent of it in eternity. From the German.

THAT LONG ETERNITY.

TIME rolls on! Centuries glide away. Ere long, we shall look back from our remote position in the eternal world, as the associates of Noah now look back to the scenes they witnessed while on earth. Think of those spirits now in prison; think what must be their reflections when looking at the fact, that they have bartered eternal joy for the sins of a moment on earth. Oh! how must remorse prey upon them as they at

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this moment lift up their voices in woe, exclaiming, The harvest is passed, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.” And is it so? Have thousands of years already elapsed, while they still continue the victims of sin? So says unerring truth. They wearied out the longsuffering of God, and grieved away his Spirit. And shall eternity still roll on while they remain in their abode of sorrow? Nothing can be more sure. Their own hands have planted thorns in the pillow upon which they will for ever in vain seek repose.

And is this our danger? Are we exposed to such a fearful doom? "Verily," saith the Scripture to us, "except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." Yes, very soon the graves, in which our bodies have mouldered to the dust, will disappear under the influence of time. Centuries will pass away, and not an individual shall know our names; not a vestige shall remain of our ever having existed. The world shall be busy; the hum of business and the notes of pleasure shall be heard. The sun shall shine; the rain shall fall; the storm shall rage; but we shall be far, far away; the veteran souls of many centuries. Oh! what is life, when we look forward to explore those regions where we must for ever dwell? What are earth's joys, when we think of heaven's undying glory? What are earth's trials, when we think of banishment eternal from the presence of God? But heaven's gates are now open wide. Heaven's smiling fields now invite our steps. The angels' cordial welcome now bids us enter. The Father pleads; the Saviour invites; the Spirit strives. Oh! let us all hear, and accept, and live.

THE SNOW STORM.

"OH, it snows! it snows!" said William, as he rose from his bed and went to the window, and looked out upon the fields, which were white with the first snow that had fallen for the season. He dressed himself hastily, and came down to the breakfast room, saying as he entered, "It snows, and I am glad. I hope it will snow all day, and keep on till it is over my head."

He wished to go out immediately and play in the snow, and was rather inclined to be displeased when his mother told him he must not go out till after breakfast and prayers.

His appetite for his breakfast was not very good, nor were his thoughts always where they should have been during the offering of the morning prayer. With one part of it he was

not well pleased. It was a petition for an abatement of the storm in reference to the condition of those who had not the means of guarding themselves against its inclemency.

After prayers, he put on his great coat, and tied down his pantaloons, and fastened the lappets of his cap over his ears, and put on his mittens, and went out into the storm.

The snow was falling fast and the wind blew fiercely, throwing it into heaps. Into these William plunged, sometimes sinking up to his arms. When he had been out about half an hour plunging and rolling in the snow, his mother thought it was best for him to come in, and accordingly called him. He started immediately, but took occasion on the way to roll over several times, in order that as much snow might adhere to his clothes as possible. He thought he looked well when he came in, white with the snow, and stood before the fire.

His mother did not happen to come into the room till it was nearly all melted, and in consequence his clothes were almost as wet as if he had been out into the river. She reproved him for his folly, made him change his clothes, and told him he must not go out again that forenoon.

After he had changed his clothes he took his station by the window, and watched the falling and driving snow, earnestly desiring to sound the banks which were forming in an eddy caused by the position of the house and the wood-shed.

The time passed slowly; he began to think that his mother was unjust in keeping him in for wetting his clothes, and foolish in thinking his wet clothes would do him any harm. As he stood indulging these thoughts, which were just as bad in the sight of God as if he had spoken them, the sun suddenly shone out, and the storm appeared to be about to cease.

"Oh dear," said he, "I am afraid it is going to stop snowing."

"I hope it is," said his mother. "There is snow enough for good sleighing.*"

William was almost angry with his mother for expressing a desire that the storm should cease. He contented himself by saying to himself, "I hope it will not stop." He was not aware that by so doing he was guilty of the sin of disrespect towards his mother.

"Our wishes will not make any difference with respect to the continuance of the storm," said his mother.

*Sleighs are used in America, that slide along on the snow and frozen ground.

"I know it," said William; and if we could have looked into his heart we should have seen that he was a little vexed with the good Lord because his wishes were not consulted in the matter.

His father came in at this moment, and saw from the expression of his son's countenance that he was somewhat out of humour.

"What is the matter, my son?" said he.

"It is going to stop snowing," said William, in a tone which one would naturally use in describing an injury received. "You regard it as a great calamity, do you?"

"I do not want it to stop."

"Why not?"

"I want the snow deeper to play in."

"You would have the Lord change his plans to suit your fancy, I suppose."

William felt the rebuke and was silent, though he was not convinced of his sin and folly.

In about an hour William's father had his horse and sleigh brought to the door, and told his son that he might ride with him. He drove to the outskirts of the village, and stopped before a lonely hut.

"What are you going to stop here for, father?"

"I have business here."

William wondered what business he could have in such a house. They entered. On a bed in one corner of the only room in the house there was a sick woman, who had her knitting in her hands.

There were openings and cracks in the walls, through which the snow had blown in great quantities. There was quite a little heap at the foot of the bed. The poor woman was suffering from a paralysis of her lower limbs, and hence could not remove the snow.

There were a few sticks of green wood in the huge fire place; they smoked, but did not burn. The room was very cold. The water-pail that stood on a table in the middle of the room was frozen over hard.

"Where is John?" said William's father.

"I sent him to the shop to get a little meal for breakfast." "Have not they had any breakfast yet?" whispered William to his father.

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"He was ill yesterday," said the woman, so ill that he could not hold up his head, but he is better to-day. I did not dare to let him go out till the storm was over. I hope