by it-let us improve it! Let us turn aside from all else, and visit this place; let us retire a little from the world and all around us, and, in solemn thought and devout meditation, watch with Him who there so agonized, so intensely suffered for us! To this we are assuredly called, if we will; yes, assuredly, in spirit and truth, it is said to us, and said by Him who once so spake to the favoured three, "Tarry ye here, and watch with Me."

See our prospect! For that garden points on to another. Eden abused led to Gethsemane; Gethsemane improved leads back to Eden,-yes, and to a better garden than Eden itself could ever boast. So was it in Christ's case: the anguish of Gethsemane opened the way-over Calvary, it is true, but opened the way to the glory of paradise. Trod, as it was, in patient endurance and uncompromising submission to His Father's will, it introduced this "Man of sorrows," at last a mighty Conqueror, into the realms of endless bliss; and trod, if it be, by us in a like spirit—a spirit of humble resignation, a spirit of simple faith in the agony there endured, and heartfelt devotedness to Him who there preceded us-without doubt to the same end shall we at last be led, to the same "building of God" shall we at last be brought! Yes, fellowship with Him in suffering, and then fellowship with Him in glory; followers of Him in His earthly pilgrimage, and then followers of Him in His heavenly heritage, as He said, "If any man serve Me, let him follow Me; and where I am, there shall also My servant be." Paradise then, oh! what a paradise, then, awaits us! There are "rivers of pleasure, and joy for evermore ;" for there is "the pure river of the water of life, clear as crystal ;" and there is "the tree of life," which beareth its fruit month by month; "and there shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and the Lamb shall be in it; and His servants shall serve Him;" and there "shall they see His face, and His name shall be in their foreheads;" and there shall be "no need of candle, or even of light of the sun, to shine therein; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign for ever and ever!" But is this paradise the garden to which Gethsemane points, and into which Gethsemane's sufferings and Gethsemane's sorrows have opened the way? Oh, then, let us be visitors of the latter, if by any means thus we be travellers to the former; let us be content, indeed, to know, and sympathize too, in all that is possible of the one, if so be that it only help us forward towards the attainment of the other. Yea, let us, at any conceivable cost of sacrifice and suffering, seek to be included among those to whom Jesus will say, at the great and quickly coming day, "Ye are they which have continued with Me in My temptations ;" and to whom will then be fulfilled the promises, that, having "suffered with Him, they shall be also glorified together."

He was our pet. I used to think

My husband so proud of Charlie!

When the dark shadow cross'd his brow,

And he put me aside with a quick" Not now ;”-
When my thoughts were sad, and my heart would sink,
To whom could I go but Charlie?

How soon he learnt to read my heart,

My thoughtful, loving boy, Charlie!
I have seen the fiery flash in his eye

At the harsh word causing his mother's sigh,-
Ever so ready to take my part-

My brave little champion, Charlie.

I clung to the hope through all, so long!
That he loved me and loved our Charlie,

That the blow came sudden and hard when I read
That he, my darling, my husband, had fled;
The thoughts of my mind and heart went wrong-
I had cursed him but for my Charlie.

"Bless you, my boy, for coming now

I have only you now," I said; "Charlie,
See there!" and he read, "To a happier shore
I am gone with the woman I loved before
You wrote despair on my heart and brow."
I should have gone mad but for Charlie.

He stole his hand into mine, and said

(Like some sorrowing angel spoke Charlie),
"Mother, forgive for Christ's sweet sake-
Mother, let God the vengeance take,-
Pray for our enemies, we have read ;"-
So I tried to be good like Charlie;

And my soul was led to the spirit-land
By the simple teachings of Charlie;
My grief was calm'd by the peace of Heaven,
I forgave as I hoped to be forgiven ;—
Yet I could not fathom or understand
The gentle heart of my Charlie.

They said he was dying. It could not be!-
My life, my comfort, my Charlie ?

I would not hear-in my scorn I smiled—
Did I not best know my own sweet child?
Yet in doubt-in fear-and in agony

I watch'd the face of my Charlie.

My fears were still'd as the time went by,

And I thought of the future of Charlie;
How good, how useful, how great would he
In those long future years come to be!
I pray'd I might live to hear the cry
In praise of my noble Charlie.

My God! my God! I have lived to see

The dying glance of Charlie!

Have seen those dark eyes close in death-
Have heard the last long painful breath
Of the only being dear to me,

My angel boy-my Charlie.

Long years have pass'd, and my hair is grey,
Since the day I parted with Charlie.

One summer eve I went to see

The grave beneath the cedar tree

In the old churchyard, where buried lay
My hopes in this world with Charlie.

With the sweetest flowers and the fair fern leaf,
I strew'd the ground where lay Charlie:

His memory was dear as himself had been,

Though for twenty years had that grave been green.
The world said my heart was broken with grief,-
Yes, it died in the dying of Charlie.

I knelt in the dusk, 'neath the cedar tree,

By the quiet grave of Charlie;

As I rose, by my side stood a beggar-man,―

He look'd worn and spent, and his cheeks were wan;
But I did not hear what he said to me,

For his voice was the voice of Charlie.

Then I look'd again in the man's dark face,
And I knew him-the father of Charlie.
He knew me too." Grace Harvey," he said,
"God has heap'd His coals of fire on my head."
He knelt down before me: "Now curse me, Grace,
For the woe I have caused you and Charlie.”

Like a breath from heaven the childish words
Long, long ago spoken by Charlie
Came to my mind; the slighted wife,
The shame and grief of her sadden'd life
Came o'er me too,-but gentler chords

Had been touch'd by that memory of Charlie.

I had no curse, no reproach to give

To the suffering father of Charlie.

"God bless you, Grace; if you have forgiven
I may hope for mercy from even Heaven.
'Tis not long that I have to live.

Grace! Let me see him-our Charlie."

I look'd at the flowers and leaves at my feet,
Scatter'd over the green grave of Charlie,
But I could not speak, for I seem'd again
To be suffering over the killing pain

That had crush'd all things joyful, and young, and sweet,
From my heart with the death of my Charlie.

He guess'd the truth by one look at me,

And he fell by the grave of Charlie.
Christ save his soul-may his rest be sweet!
He begg❜d to be laid at my darling's feet.
There are two graves now 'neath the cedar tree,
That I go in the evening dusk to see,-

They are those of my husband and Charlie.

THINGS NOT WORTHY.

How many things there are in the world which do not seem at all adapted for the position they occupy!

These things cannot be said to be vile in themselves, for verily there is little or nothing under the sun of which it can be said that there is no proper place where it can lie, dovetailed, as it were, in the peculiar spot marked out for it in the economy of nature, or jurisprudence of man.

But when we see certain things, albeit very good of themselves, so misplaced, either by casual and fortuitous circumstances, or by gross errors of judgment, there is ever excited in our minds a strong revulsion of feeling, which, according as our sense of propriety and. good taste is worked upon by the palpable incongruity before us, disturbs the harmony of our ideas, and practically would set us to work to begin forthwith and put things to rights.

This powerful realization of the unfitness of multifarious objects for the situations in which they have been allowed to fall must not be confounded with those old-maidish notions of primness, order, and regularity, which are quite shocked if a chair be out of its place in a room; and which would dispose of all things, either ornamental or utilitarian, with such a formal and geometrical precision, that all ease and comfort must be ever unknown anywhere in proximity to the atmosphere of frigid propriety surrounding their august yet unlovable personality.

Man himself that being who was made in the image of One who embodies all perfection-is now, by comparison, but a poor, unworthy object; no wonder, then, that so many of the things he meddles with should be unworthy too.

It is noticeable in children, when they are just big enough to toddle about and get into mischief, that they, more or less, damage almost everything they touch. They cannot well improve anything they come in contact with, and so they are told to put one thing down, to let another thing alone, and not even to look at a third, till the poor little ones think they are in evil case, and long for a removal to a situation where they shall be under less restraint, and where their maltreatment of furniture will produce less evil result. So man, when he meddles with the works of creation-things of themselves very good-often maltreats but not beautifies the mate