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close them, and in doing so of course shut out the brightness and filled the room with darkness. Then he grew uncomfortable and frightened, and began to cry, until his parents came and again let in the light.

It was just the action of a foolish child, we say; he cried for the light, and yet there was plenty of it to be had if with his own hands he had not shut it out.

But the child, foolish enough no doubt, was quite as sensible as his fathers are. There are thousands of people who are supposed to have arrived at years of discretion who live in darkened rooms simply because they have themselves shut out the light. They do not like the change; they grumble if they do not cry, they are uncomfortable and vexed if they are not frightened, and yet if they had only been wise enough they might be living all the time in sunlight instead of gloom.

Those who walk about the world with observing eyes see very frequently when people are closing shutters. How often the young who are growing up into life, and who love the light, are making it impossible that they should hereafter live in it. They wish to have a good old age, to live many years in comfort and health, and enjoy the evening of life. But they are wasting the morning. Instead of being diligent and prudent they are idle and extravagant. Instead of working now that they may rest then, they are allowing the golden hours to pass unheeded and unimproved. They are young and strong, their hands might be made swift and skilful if they chose; but all that they seem to be doing is closing the shutters and shutting out the light.

Health is joy, but how many are by their own acts preventing themselves from enjoying it! Habits of selfindulgence, which are in direct opposition to all the laws of health, are being formed, and become so strong that they will shortly gain the mastery. And then? Oh, then it will be very dark, and the mistaken creatures will mourn in their sufferings and discomfort, feeling all the more sad because they will remember that they themselves shut out the light whose absence they regret.

How many people there are in the world who feel lonely and friendless. How is it? Are there no spirits who could respond to theirs? No other hearts that could give

sympathy, and love, and even help? If not, at least there are plenty to whom sympathy, love, and help would be great blessings, and who would gladly give in exchange for them very sincere gratitude. But very often lonely people have themselves darkened the rooms in which they live. Some time or other they had the opportunity of winning friends, but they have been cold and repellant, they have spoken hard, harsh words, and the hearts that were turning to them, and would have clung to them, making the whole earth more beautiful for their sakes, have been alienated for ever. Some rooms are very dark, and sad spirits inhabit them, but they have themselves shut out the light.

How often a life is darkened by sin. God makes His sun to shine, but wrong-doing brings only darkness. Is it not mournful when the spring comes with its sunlight and joy, and all is hidden by the thick wall of remorse that keeps the soul in gloom? If people only knew in time what terrible penalties have to be paid for breaking God's commandments, they would surely be more careful not to do so.

We close the shutters, but it is good to know that He "who delighteth in mercy" can open them and let the light in again. No soul is so dark but that He, the Light of the World, can send all the shadows away.

"Save me from mine own undoing" is a prayer that the Lord will hear, and though we have made our own night He can give us the morning of joy.

Sometimes indeed He sends the night. We are in darkness, not because we have excluded the light, but because He has done it. Then it matters very little. All the nights that need trouble us are those of our own making. As for the others they are perfectly safe. Even the last that shall come will be very short, and then we shall hear a voice: "Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light."

Jesus Enly.

TELL them of Him-always of Him. You are never weary of that name, neither will the people be. There is music in the very sound of it. It will fall upon their hearts as none other can. If you want them to be tender, tell them of Jesus, for He will teach them how to love; there is no tenderness like that which is learnt at the foot of the cross; there are no hearts so soft as those which are moved by the Saviour. If you want them to be truthful, and honest, and upright, tell them of Jesus, for there can be no meanness, or prevarication, or deceit in the souls which He has made His own. If you wish them to be noble, and brave, and self-denying, tell them of Jesus; for if they learn of Him they must be greater and nobler than anything beside in the whole world could make them. Oh, tell all to whom you have the opportunity of speaking Inuch of Jesus.

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Nor heart can think, nor tongue can frame,

Nor can the memory find

A sweeter sound than Thy blest name,
Oh, Saviour of mankind."

Yes, tell your friends of Jesus. The years are swiftly passing on. Those who are with you now will leave you soon. Those who make you so glad with the bright beauty of their youth will very soon have to go forth to the battle of life, in which it may be they will become soiled and stained and injured. The lips so ready to smile now will be drawn and white with pain, the unclouded eyes that dance and sparkle now will become dim with tears, the hearts that are bounding so joyously now will soon be heavy with care and sorrow. And then? Oh, then, none but Jesus can do them good. Then they will turn away from all the friends and pleasures of time, and one only cry will come from them, "Oh, that I knew where I might find Him!" Tell them now. Set Him so plainly before them now, that when that time comes they will know where He is, and how they may come near to Him.

Tell them of Jesus. Tell them so often, so simply that they cannot misunderstand. Tell them earnestly and lovingly, too. Let your own hearts speak. Tell them what you have found Him to be. Tell them how the same Friend, the same Saviour may be theirs. There will come a time when in sorrow and loneliness they weep because there is none to pity and none to help, a time that shall make them grow rapidly old and worn because of suffering, a time when for them there is no light or gladness anywhere, nothing but darkness, and dread, and despair. Tell them of Jesus now that they may remember Him then, and turn to Him who says, "Come unto Me; him that cometh I will in no wise cast out." Let them know Him as the "Light of the world," and the hope of all who trust in Him.

Tell them of Jesus. They have sad sights to see those who are now so blithe and gay. They will watch the light fade from faces that they would fain have hidden from the destroyer. They will stand at the open grave, and see forms that were unutterably dear to them put down into the narrow bed, while upon their shrinking ears fall the words, sadder than any funeral knell, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

Oh, lest their hearts should break with sorrow, tell them of Him who says, "I am the Resurrection and the Life. He that believeth on Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live."

There will come to them a season more solemn than all the others, when all the things that they have been used to will become indistinct, and pass away, and they will be summoned to meet the eternal; when they will stand on the shore of the river of death, and hear the roll of the dark waters, and feel a power urging them on, while they cannot see whither they are going. What will they do then if you have not told them about Jesus? How they will start back and shudder and lift up helpless hands in vain if they do not know the Saviour! But if they know Him and love Him they will not be afraid to die. They will stretch out their eager arms to Him, and cry even with the last breath, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly."

Tell them of Jesus. Who should if you do not? You

were weary, and He gave you rest. and He took your burden.

You were heavy laden

You were thirsty, and He gave you the water of life. You were lonely, and He came to you, and loved you, and was your friend.

Unreasonableness.

Most

THERE have always been unreasonable people in the world. We have them to-day, as our fathers had before us. Indeed, it may be that we are all more or less unreasonable, if not in one respect then in another. of all are we so in our wishes. It is quite wonderful how each wishes to appropriate to himself all the good things he can get, and how earnestly he desires and even prays for many things which if he were reasonable he would know he cannot have.

No

Of course there have been people before us who have done the same. "And James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came unto Him, saying, Master, we would that Thou shouldst do for us whatsoever we shall desire." doubt! Plenty of people feel the same, though some are a little more modest in their speech! If persons said these words now, in the presence of many others, what polite raising of well-bred eyebrows there would be among the listeners! James and John must be hardened indeed if they would dare to say such a thing in this present year of courtesy and refinement. For true etiquette prefers others before itself, and is not anxious for the best places and the most enjoyable things.

Only we must remember that this most unreasonable request was spoken to the Master. "And when the ten heard it, they began to be much displeased with James and John." They saw the indelicacy and the unreasonableness of the spirit which their brethren exhibited. But the patient, tender Saviour knew how to rebuke lovingly, and so teach without wounding. And though the disciples were justly indignant, He was, as ever, merciful even to their faults.

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