It has been so dark, they would have you There are few whose

live it over again for all the world. so dreary, so utterly desolate, that believe there has been no joy in it. opinion leads them to say heartily, "Surely goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life."

Then it is wonderful how one-sided almost all our opinions are! One idea is adopted by us, and all the thoughts that others bring must be wrong, we say. And perhaps this conceit, which is mostly exhibited in highly self-opinionative persons, might do no harm besides making them very narrow and bigoted if they kept their thoughts to themselves; but as at all times they are eager to express them, there is no doubt that much mischief is done, and many minds are unsettled and thrown into confusion that would otherwise have been at rest.

Let us, then, be careful what we think. Opinions which are of such importance should not be, as they too often are, hastily formed. And since so much depends upon them, let us pray for wisdom not only to speak and act, but to think aright.

Led.

66

WE cannot but feel, in our best moments, a kind of gladHe leadeth me.' It ness as we sing the pilgrim's song, is sweet to be led. It is pleasant to be relieved of all care and anxiety, and to feel that we have put our hands into those of a trusty guide who knows all about it, and who for very love of us will choose the best place for our feet. There is still so much of the child-nature in us that we sometimes feel very clinging and dependent, and as if the worst thing that could happen to us would be to be left to pursue our journey alone. We are apt to get frightened

to start at sight of suddenly looming be quite afraid of climbing precipices and And even when the way is smooth and winds are blowing, and the warm sun is

shining, we feel that it is good to have a companion to whom we can say what is in our hearts, and who will speak back to us just that which we most long to hear.

Only the worst of us is that we are so apt to be discontented with the path. When we have walked along a little way with satisfaction we do not like to turn corners and go into fresh roads. We look up at our guide with very questioning eyes, and are far too prone to say, “No, no, not that way: the other is the right." As if we knew! How would you, yourself, act in such a case? One comes to you and says, "I do not know a step of the way. It is all new ground to me; I have never been here before. Do you know it? And will you show me?" "Oh, yes," you say, "I know it perfectly. I have conducted people through it thousands of times. Come with me, I will guide you." And you go together, stopping now and then to rest or to admire the beauties of the way, while you do everything to ensure the safety and pleasure of him who says he has committed himself to you. But if frequently during the journey this stranger stops to cavil and question your knowledge or wisdom, if he declares himself unwilling to go through some paths which you know lead the right way, and particularly desirous of entering others which are full of danger and in a wrong direction, how long will your patience last? When for the dozenth time he demurs, would you not leave him to himself?

"I thought you said you did not know the way. But if you are so much wiser than your guide, choose for yourself. Go where you please, only do not again ask me to direct you."

It is a blessing for us that God's thoughts are not as our thoughts, nor His ways as our ways. He is patient still, and bears with our murmurings and rebellions in the wilderness, and still leads us forth by a right way, not dropping our reluctant hands, but holding them still until we again feel glad to have Him near, and clasp His strength, rejoicing to find it made perfect in our weakness. But we should not complain so much, and we should at our Guide better if we knew Him well. For then should more completely trust Him. As it is, we are to give up ourselves entirely into His hands, though

that is the only safe thing to do. We are timid about unseen paths, and want the light to be always shining. We want to know what the way is like before we have been through it, and thus indeed we are like children who cry for impossibilities. We ought to be content to know, as we do know really, that it is most certainly the right way. Some treasure lies in every path through which our Guide leads us. In one path it is strength, in another experience, in another wisdom, in another joy. He is not leading us about aimlessly, of that we may be very sure, and also that though the paths seem to be very winding, they are the nearest way to the celestial city.

Oh, since we cannot but be glad and thankful to be thus led, let us leave off grieving our Father by our discontented spirit, and go gladly on until He shows us first the white towers, and then the open gates, of our Home.

Being Happy.

If at any time it might be expected that everybody should be happy, it is surely when warmth and beauty are upon the earth. Because nothing is more contagious than joy, and there is so much of it in the world, that unless we shut ourselves up in a very inner chamber indeed, we are certain to get a little of it. "The time of the singing of birds is come," and everything seems to be awakening from dreams of sadness to a time of light and gladness. Every created thing around us seems to be singing the same song, "Thy beauty has made me glad." Thousands of flowers lifting up their eyes toward heaven sing it. The fruit trees blossoming into new life, the hedges with their multitudes of beauties, say it. It is sung in the secret shades of the wood, where birds and bees make melody. And it is the wordless thought of many a weary heart which rejoices in while it wonders at the beauty of the world.

Sometimes, indeed, there seems to be quite a delirium

of joy about. We cannot watch the sky-lark go up into the deep blue, and hear the wonderful songs he drops down to us without thinking of the "drunken lark." Is he not mad with pleasure? He is so happy that he cannot control himself, and so he goes on singing, and careering, and still ascending, until we poor plodders down below are compelled to either wish we could be beside him, and have a share in his bliss, or slightingly wonder what he has found to make such a fuss about!

But really one cannot much wonder at the lark! Do not some of us feel very much the same? We have only to take advantage of the early sunny days, to stand upon some hilltop, and look down into the valley's below, covered with the beauty of bud and blossom, and wonderful sunlight, to feel as if it would be good to be larks, that we might sing too, or at the least boys, that we might toss up our caps and "Hurrah!" in order to relieve our pleasure-burdened hearts. There are some moments full of ecstasy, moments that in a measure atone for months of sorrow, moments in which we seem to come thirsty to a fountain and drink our fill of joy, and such moments must surely come to those who are privileged to look upon the wonderful beauty of God's world.

And yet, strange to say, we meet as many sad-looking faces now as at any other time. It is borne in upon us, however we may try to resist it, that, after all, the world is not so full of joy as of sorrow. It is true the earth is passing beautiful, that on every side there are sights to make the heart throb with delight. But it is also true that it takes something more than grand scenery to make our happiness. Sometimes indeed the blessed sunlight seems only a cruelly blinding brightness, and even the scent of flowers overpowers us with faintness, and, turn which way we will, there is nothing but the crowding together of most unsatisfactory things. In our hearts is something more to us than mountains and rivers, and the pain there can never be healed by any number of beautiful pictures.

What, then, shall we do that life may be a happy one? Oh, if there are those who are sick, and sad, and so weary that they do not care even to look upon blue skies and green fields, let them know that there is something else provided for them. There is a Friend whose love can

satisfy, there is a rest even here for those who are tired out by the troubles and perplexities of life. Let them only come to Jesus, and trust in Him; let them once feel themselves safe in His loving arms, and they will find that it is indeed the spring-time with them.

And are all Christians really happy? Let them stand forward, that we may see their faces and judge for ourselves. Ah, there is too little likeness between them and the birds and the flowers. They do not keep their eyes upward; they do not let the sunlight abide upon them. How is it? Jesus said, "Come unto Me," and they have come. What business have they to labour and be heavy laden, when He has given them rest?

It is because they do not abide in Him, because they are not always looking unto Jesus, nor always coming to Him. When the Sun of Righteousness arises with healing in His wings there cannot be darkness, there must be

summer.

Oh, let our life be glad because we spend it with our Saviour.

Things that are Taken.

"WHY has He taken it away? I should never have had it if He had not given it to me." This is the thought that comes unbidden to us all at some time or other. It is so strange, we think, that we should be called upon to give up the very things which we are certain came from God Himself. Even although we may be kept from murmuring, we cannot help wondering when we find our hands so empty that were so full, and know that our treasures have been stripped from us in love as tender as that which enriched us with them at the first. It is mysterious; and when we have puzzled ourselves trying to solve the problem as to the reason for such experiences, we can find only one answer which has any power to quiet us, "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, saith the Lord."