nature into a nature strong, powerful, pure and God-like, and well may we rejoice even under trials when we realize that every blow borne in patience will but help in the work of the great transformation. We have learned one of life's truths when we can feel that "sweet are the uses of adversity."

Oliver Wendell Holmes has given us a beautiful thought in beautiful language. There is in the tropical seas a little creature called the nautilus, which as it grows vacates successively parts of its shell, closing them up as he leaves the "past year's dwelling for the new." The poet, gazing upon the little "ship of pearl," hears ringing through the "deep caves of thought" a voice that says:

"Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!

Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unrest-
ing sea!"

The words are inspiring. They sug gest growth, development, improvement, progress. "Build thee more stately mansions, Oh my soul!" Be more to-day than you were yesterday; intend to be more to-morrow than you are to-day. Find the "low vaults" of the present too narrow to contain an expanding mind, a growing character, a new creature, daily increasing in stature as it approaches perfection, its final freedom; and, having left "thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea," find thyself "clothed upon by that house which is from heaven."

Shall we ever awaken to come forth with bodies "fashioned like unto His glorious one," unless we have wrought into our characters the strength, the firmness, the steadfastness of truth, and into this warp have woven the shining threads of mercy, and love, and goodness? Are not all the promises of blessing for the merciful, the peace-maker, the pure who are like Him in spirit? It is greatly wise in us to pause at times and examine ourselves to find out just our condition; for it is possible even to be deceived in ourselves. "Watch!" was the word of warning left to us, "and pray, lest ye enter into temptation." We need to watch and pray and work,-for God has entrusted to us no power, no talent for the use of which we are not held responsible; and

while man's arm is too short to save himself and he must accept eternal life as the gift of a Savior, yet it will require all his energy, it will tax all his powers to "fight the good fight," to detect and overcome evil in its manifold disguises.

Before man enters heaven he will have made every effort of which he is capable to raise himself. Is it not reasonable? The very use of his powers strengthens and increases them. Only that which we cannot do will be done for us. How truly does the poet tell us that "only in dreams is a ladder thrown from the weary earth to the sapphire walls." He would have us wake from our dreaming; he would have us realize and learn patience from the grave, solemn thought that "We rise by the things that are under feet;

By what we have mastered of good and gain; By the pride deposed and the passion slain, And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet."

Oh, the battles in the human soul! Who knows them,who guesses the result except that the life itself tells of the march of a victor onward and upward, or the retreat of the vanquished, the overcome? Imagination can paint for us no happier picture than man (be his condition in life what it may) who passes along the great highway, ever true to the right, who might say to kings, "My crown is in my heart, not on my head." And imagination paints no sadder picture than of one who has "run well for a season,' but has wearied of the race; than of one who pressed forward into the fray but falls back, a coward; than of one whose heart once glowed with high hopes but now beats heavily with remorse, with shame because he has been "overcome of evil." Overcome! Terrible word! Well worth the solemn warning, "Watch ye and pray always, lest ye enter into temptation."

Think of the career of Solomon, to to whom "God gave wisdom and understanding exceeding much, and largeness of heart, even as the sand that is on the seashore, whose wisdom excelled the wisdom of all the children of the east country, and all the wisdom of Egypt." What did the enormous wealth of this merchantmonarch profit him; what did it signify that his ships were on the seas, his caravans on the deserts, that in his magnificence and luxury he was able to entertain kings and queens when they "and all the

earth sought him to hear his wisdom"? Sad, sad his condition when he forgot the God who had put the wisdom in his heart and had given him his riches and honor! Sad is it that it is recorded of him that when he was old "his heart was not perfect with the Lord his God."

The old year is passing away. How "the swift seasons roll"! 'Tis such a little while since we ushered it in with good resolutions and earnest thoughts. And now already it is fading into the past, and its opportunities are gone by. Have we used them as we might have done? If not, what shall we do? Shall we renew the good resolutions in which

we have failed? Shall we begin just where we stopped? Plainly there is no other way; but let us pause to ask ourselves what the end must be if we use our time to

"Resolve and re-resolve, then die the same."

Oh, no! Let us rise and with the Master's help make our "new temple nobler than the last." Let the narrow circle that bounds our view widen and widen each succeeding year, as we grow in the knowledge of good things, "till we at length are free," leaving our "outgrown shell by life's unresting sea."

MARGARET.

'Twas evening, and before my eyes
There lay a landscape gray and dim,
Fields faintly seen, and twilight skies,
And clouds that hid the horizon's brim.

I saw or was it that I dreamed?—
A waking dream?-I cannot say;
For every shape as real seemed

As those that meet my eye to-day.

Through leafless shrubs the cold wind hissed,

The air was thick with falling snow,
And onward through the frozen mist
I saw a weary traveler go.

Driven o'er that landscape bare and bleak,
Before the whirling gusts of air,
The snow-flakes smote his withered cheek,
And gathered on his silver hair.

Yet on he fared through blinding snows,
And murmuring to himself he said:
"The night is near, the darkness grows,
And higher rise the drifts I tread.

"Deep, deep each autumn flower they hide, Each tuft of green they whelm from sight,

And they who journey by my side

Are lost in the surrounding night.

"I loved them; oh, no words can tell The love that to my friends I bore; We parted with the sad farewell

Of those who part to meet no more.

"And I, who face this bitter wind,

And o'er these snowy hillocks creep, Must end my journey soon, and find A frosty couch, a frozen sleep."

As thus he spoke, a thrill of pain
Shot to my heart; I closed my eyes,
And when I opened them again

I started with a glad surprise.
'Twas evening still, and in the west
A flush of growing crimson lay;
I saw the morrow there, and blest
That promise of a glorious day.

The waters, in their glassy sleep,
Shone with the hues that tinged the
sky,

And rugged cliff and barren steep Gleamed with a brightness from on high.

And one was there whose journey lay
Into the slowly gathering night;
With steady step he held his way
O'er shadow vale and gleaming height.
I marked his firm though weary tread,
The lifted eye and brow serene,
And saw no shade of doubt or dread

Pass o'er that traveler's placid mien.
And others came, their journey o'er,
And bade good-night with words of
cheer.

"To-morrow we shall meet once more;

'Tis but the night that parts us here." "And I," he said, "shall sleep ere long

These fading gleams will soon be goneShall sleep, to rise, refreshed and strong, In the bright day that yet will dawn,

I heard; I watched him as he went,
A lessening form, until the light
Of evening from the firmament
Had passed, and he was lost to sight.
-Willlam Cullen Bryant.

"JUST

three weeks to-day till Christmas," thought Carrie Bell, as her fingers flew and the needle went in and out on a tray-cloth she was working in outline stitch for mamma. She sat curled up in the big chair by the parlor window, her favorite seat when she wanted to read or do fancy work, and of this she had done a good deal-neat little bits for her mother and the aunties-besides darning her own stockings, sewing on buttons, and sometimes helping with the mending.

Carrie had passed her twelfth birthday

the Summer before and she was a natural little needlewoman; or, perhaps she seemed so because her mother had helped her so carefully ever since she began to use a needle.

She had pieced a stove holder for Aunt Ida, when she was only five years old, with a diamond of red flannel in the center and the corners of black broadcloth, and the stitches were quite fine and even too. Since then she had gone on learning and improving, and she really took pleasure in seeing how well she could do her work.

Last Christmas, mamma gave her a pretty workbasket with cushions and pockets, and a pair of scissors for her own, so that she need not be borrowing of her, and this year she was to have a silver timble. It was of this that she was thinking as she worked, on that day three weeks before Christmas. She had a Germansilver thimble that had been given her the year before, but she did think it would be so nice to have a silver one. When she received this one mamma had said that if she could keep it a year she would get her a silver one. How she had watched it for fear she might lose it before the year should be over. Sometimes she forgot and left it where she had been using it, but soon she had remembered to go and put it away in its little pocket in her basket. Once or twice she thought it was surely gone, but patient searching, with careful thinking as to where she had had it last, had brought it to light. I think all this was teaching her so she would be more thoughtful with a silver thimble, and mamma thought so too, when she wanted to try her for a year.

Carrie

Now the year was almost over. worked faster than ever, as if she would hurry the days along with her stitches.

"All the girls have silver thimbles," she thought, "and I shall be so glad to have one too. Of course this one is good, but it will be convenient sometimes to have two; and then this will do for little Sister Addie before she gets old enough to have a silver one. Mamma hasn't said anything about it lately, but I know she won't forget; she never does if she promises anything. Perhaps she thinks I have forgotten and she will surprise me. haven't though. I have thought more about this than anything else I would like for Christmas; maybe because I have tried so hard to earn it by being careful of my old thimble."

I

A few days before Christmas Carrie's mother said to her,

"My dear, I want to ask you to make a sacrifice."

"What is it to make a sacrifice, mamma?"

"It is giving up something we want ourselves for the sake of someone else." "I don't know of anything," thought Carrie, "that I want so very much, except my silver thimble."

And it was just this of which her mother was going to speak.

"I have thought for sometime," she continued, "that at this Christmas I would like to get a silver thimble for Aunt Evaline. You know she sews so much, and she has only an old brass thimble. I have not forgotten about yours, but, with other things that I have been getting, I do not think that I can get both. I will keep my promise to you, unless you are willing that I should get the one for her and let you wait for yours a little longerperhaps another year. What does my little daughter say?"

A shade of disappointment passed over Carrie's face as her thoughts ran back over her year of anticipation, forward to doing without the long expected treasure, to the girls with their silver thimbles and to Aunt Evaline with her brass one. She considered it all; but presently her face cleared up and she said,

"You may get the one for her.”

Then her mother kissed her and said,

"I am very glad that my little girl did not give way to selfish feelings, but decided to act generously. I will get the thimble and you may take it out on Christmas morning."

So.

Aunt Evaline was Carrie's great aunther mother's mother's sister. Cousin Ella was her only daghter. She was married but still lived at the old home. She had for years worked at dressmaking, and though Aunt Evaline was growing old, she too did a great deal of sewing, making nearly all the buttonholes and helping with other parts of the hand sewing. She was a lovely old lady--not, perhaps in looks but in other ways. Her hair was not smooth and glossy; for she had had a great deal of sickness, and pain in her head, and it had caused her hair to be dry and rough. She had so often said that she admired smooth, shining hair, especially for an old lady. She had always hoped hers would be so when she grew to be old, and she felt sorry that it was not But no one else who knew her minded, for they forgot her looks by becoming interested in her wise counsel, and loving her for her just and generous soul. And she was such a friend to all the boys and girls. In her busiest times she could always get them something good to eat, or tell them where to get it-a doughnut, or some bread and jam, or a piece of ginger bread. Years ago she was a capital story teller, but now she did not often feel able or have time to instruct and amuse her little friends in this way. She could always give them good advice, though; and she knew how to talk in just the right way so that no one ever took offence at what she said. She seemed to know everybody's weak points and just where they needed help the most. Her heart was always tender for the ones who were not doing right, and she was always interested in anyone who was sick or poor or troubled, even if only with childish troubles.

So you see there were more reasons than one why Carrie was willing to make this sacrifice for her.

Christmas morning came at last and Carrie was a very happy little girl. Her stockings were filled with pretty and useful presents, her brothers and sister fared as well, and each enjoyed his own and all the others'. Carrie had made for papa a pen-wiper, for mamma the tray-cloth, for her older brother a bag for his skates,

for the younger a marble bag, and for the little sister a crocheted dolly cap and cape. She was glad in seeing the pleasure with which these were received, glad in everything around her; and still it seemed to her the best was yet to come, and she could hardly wait till time to go with the thimble.

Breakfast time came, and you would have thought it a pleasant sight could you have looked in at the happy, orderly family group gathered around the table in the cheery dining-room where a bright fire glowed and the plants drank in the sunshine at the window. It was a rule in this home that on Christmas morning they should all be dressed and washed and their hair combed before they came down stairs to look at their stockings. Papa and mamma thought they could all enjoy the time better this way; and then if they lingered long over their presents no one would be taking cold from not being wholly dressed, and there would be no scurrying around to get ready just at breakfast time.

After breakfast some of the neighbor children came in, and of course they had a merry time chatting and looking at all the new things. When they had gone the boys went out to play, papa was reading to Addie from her new book, mamma was busy up stairs, and with her consent Carrie started on her errand.

The air was cold and the wind blew, but she did not mind that. Her wraps were warm, and the wind only sent her long curls dancing around and brought a little more red to her cheeks and brightness to her eyes. It was quite a long walk; but she went skipping along, now and then putting her hand to her pocket to be sure the thimble was there. Other presents for the family had been sent the night before; but this was a special one and it could not go with them.

Carrie found the family in the sittingroom, all except Aunt Evaline; she was busy in the kitchen. So Carrie passed on through, after stopping a moment for the Christmas greetings.

Aunt Evaline was attending to something in the oven and did not see Carrie, who came in softly and stood still behind her. When she did turn around it was a very happy face she saw before her and and a very cheery voice that said,