The messmates of Captain Hedley Vicars sneered at him as a Methodist and a fanatic. A British soldier once told me that Vicars was a spiritual power in his regiment. We had just such Christian soldiers in our army during the war. In every school the difference is clearly marked between the boy who has moral pluck and the boy who is mere pulp. The one knows how to say, NO! The other is so afraid of being thought "verdant" that he soon kills everything pure and fresh and manly in his character, and dries up into a premature hardness of heart. I well remember the pressure brought to bear in college upon every young man to join in a wine dinner or to take a hand in some contraband amusement. Some timber got well seasoned. Some of the other got well-rotted, through sensuality and vice. The Nehemiahs at college have been The boy was father of the man.

Nehemiahs ever since.

The only motive that could hold back the brave “ nonconformist" at Jerusalem was a godly conscience. "So did not I, because of the fear of God." This ever fresh -principle held him firm when temptation struck him as the undercurrents strike against the keel. Christ must be to you a pattern, and He must be to you a power. It is not enough to believe in Jesus. You must add to your faith "courage." Then, with Christ as your model, and Christ as your Inward Might, you will always be able to face down temptation with the iron answer, " So will not I."

THEODORE L. CUYLER, Feb. 17, 1894.

A PREVENTIVE "NO."

ENTER not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men.

Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away.

Proverbs of Solomon.

19. BETTER THAN GOLD.

BETTER than grandeur, better than gold,
Than rank or titles a hundredfold,
Is a healthful body, a mind at ease,
And simple pleasures that always please;
A heart that can feel for a neighbor's woe,
And share in his joy with a friendly glow,
With sympathies large enough to infold
All men as brothers, is better than gold.

Better than gold is the sweet repose

Of the sons of toil when their labors close;
Better than gold is the poor man's sleep,
And the balm that drops on his slumbers deep;
Better than gold is a thinking mind,

That in realms of thought and books can find

A treasure surpassing Australian ore,

And live with the great and good of yore.

Better than gold is a peaceful home,
Where all the fireside charities come,
The shrine of love, the haven of life,
Hallowed by mother or sister or wife;
However humble that home may be,
Or tried with sorrows by Heaven's decree,
The blessings that never were bought or sold,
And centre there, are better than gold.

Better than gold in affliction's hour

Is the balm of love with its soothing power;
Better than gold on a dying bed

Is the hand that pillows the sinking head.
When the pride and glory of life decay,
And earth and its vanities fade away,
The prostrate sufferer needs not to be told
That trust in Heaven is better than gold.

ALEXANDER SMART.

20. WISDOM AND WEALTH.

I ONCE saw a poor fellow, keen and clever,
Witty and wise: he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever
Gave him a welcome.
is it?"

"Strange!" cried I.

He walked on this side, then on that,

He tried to introduce a social chat.

Now here, now there, in vain he tried;
Some formally and freezingly replied,

"Whence

And some by their silence said, "Better stay at home!"

A rich man burst the door,

As Croesus rich, I'm sure.

He could not pride himself upon his wit;

And, as for wisdom, he had none of it.

he had wealth.

He had what some think better,
What a confusion! All stand up erect;

These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in eager duty and respect;

And these arrange a sofa or a chair,

And these conduct him there.

"Allow me, Sir, the honor!" then a bow Down to the earth. Is 't possible to show Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?

The poor man hung his head,

And to himself he said,

"This is indeed beyond my comprehension!"

Then looking round,

One friendly face he found,

And said, "Pray tell me, why is wealth preferred

To wisdom?"

"That's a silly question, friend,"

Replied the other. "Have you never heard

A man may lend his store

Of gold or silver ore,

But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?

KHNEMNITZER (Ivan Ivanovich)

21. THE WORLD WOULD BE BETTER FOR IT.

IF men cared less for wealth and fame,
And less for battle-fields and glory;
If writ in human hearts a name

Seemed better than in song or story;
If men, instead of nursing pride,
Would learn to hate it and abhor it;
If more relied on love to guide,

The world would be the better for it.

If men dealt less in stocks and lands,

And more in bonds and deeds fraternal;
If Love's work had more willing hands,
To link the world to the supernal;

If men stored up Love's oil and wine,

And on bruised human hearts would pour it;
If "yours" and "mine" would once combine,
The world would be the better for it.

If more would act the play of life,
And fewer spoil it in rehearsal;
If Bigotry would sheathe its knife
Till Good became more universal;
If Custom, gray with ages grown,
Had fewer blind men to adore it;
If talent shone for truth alone,

The world would be the better for it.

If men were wise in little things,
Affecting less in all their dealings;
If hearts had fewer rusted strings
To isolate their kindly feelings;

If men, when Wrong beats down the Right,
Would strike together and restore it;
If Right made Might in every fight,
The world would be the better for it.

М. Н. Совв.

22. THE WORTH OF FAME.

Oн, who shall lightly say that Fame
Is nothing but an empty name,

While in that sound there is a charm
The nerves to brace, the heart to warm,
As, thinking of the mighty dead,
The young from slothful couch shall start,
And vow, with lifted hands outspread,
Like them to act a noble part?

Oh, who shall lightly say that Fame
Is nothing but an empty name,

When but for those, our mighty dead,
All ages past a blank would be,

Sunk in oblivion's murky bed,

A desert bare, a shipless sea?
They are the distant objects seen,
The lofty marks of what has been.

Oh, who shall lightly say that Fame
Is nothing but an empty name,

When memory of the mighty dead,
To earth-worn pilgrim's wistful eye,
The brightest rays of cheering shed.
That point to immortality?

JOANNA BAILLIE.

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