which are again subdivided under suitable heads and each chapter is supplemented by Exercises, in the form of Questions for Examination. The style appears to be simple, and more attractive than in some similar volumes, and the facts are carefully arranged and accurately stated. We consider the work very well suited "for the use of Schools and Families;" and a careful perusal of it would be of great advantage in removing that ignorance of Sacred History which the engrossing nature of other studies is making but too common among young people now-a-days. "FEED MY LAMBS;" A DISCOURSE DELIVERED AT THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE STOCKPORT SUNDAY SCHOOL. BY THE REV. O. T. DOBBIN, LL.D. Pp. 40. London: Simpkin, Marshall, & Co. A Sermon full of beautiful, earnest thoughts, and crowded with eloquent pas

sages. The propositions unfolded are: 1. That a life of active duty is alone acceptable to our Lord. 2. That benevolent effort for the soul is the most acceptable form of social duty. 3. That special concern for the young is demanded at once by the interests of society, and the commands of Christ.

CHRISTIANITY AS APPLIED TO THE MIND OF A CHILD IN THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. A SERMON, BY THE REV. ALBERT BARNES. Pp. 44. London: Benjamin L. Green. Those who have used Mr. Barnes's Commentaries will be glad to read a Discourse by him. The one before us manifests much of that strong practical sense which he so generally displays in his Expositions. Even those who do not quite hold the popular view of Mr. Barnes's excellence as a critic, will, we are sure, be pleased and profited by him as a preacher.

A STORY OF TEMPTATION.

Happy, gentle, lovely, and beloved, was little Mary Edwards. Ever glad to give others pleasure, ever willing to sacrifice her own wishes and comfort to do another a kindness, modest and obedient, it is not strange that her heart was light and joyous, and that she was beloved by all. Perhaps, my little readers, you think she must have had a great many things to make her happy, and very few things to trouble and annoy her, and therefore was she so sweet-tempered and amiable. No-not-so: on the contrary, she had fewer external sources of enjoyment than children usually have. Her father could not afford to buy her many toys and story-books, nor did he often take her to places of amusement.

She very rarely had any money of her own to spend, and never more than a penny or two at a time.

Those gratifications, however, which were occasionally afforded her, I believe she enjoyed with far greater zest than if they had been frequent. A single visit to the menagerie was a thing for interest and wonder during many weeks afterward. Every plaything in her baby-house was of peculiar worth, because she had so few, and

most precious was the care she took of every article. When, at one time, a lady sent her a pretty little chair for her doll, made and painted just like a real, large chair, Mary truly was happier than any princess with a hundred fine toys. As to her books, they, too, were few in number, yet Mary read them again and again, always with fresh interest and pleasure. A little volume of Æsop's Fables, in verse, and the "Child's Book on the Soul," were treasures indeed, in her estimation; and her enjoyment of these little books gave her a taste for reading, which proved a source of great pleasure and improvement as she grew older. With such a disposition as this, finding recreation and enjoyment with very small means and in little things, with a heart full of love and kindness towards every one, Mary was grateful for her blessings and contented with her lot. Not by any means, as you will presently see, was she exempt from the trials and temptations of daily life. These come to all; to children as well as to older people; to rich and poor; to high and to low; though they are of many kinds, and presented under every variety of circumstances. Little Mary had her portion. The same temptations from a sinful heart and from an evil world beset her, that now beset you, my little friends. She would sometimes give the

hasty, thoughtless answer, or the sullen look; and at other times she wanted very much to do just as she pleased, instead of doing as her mother or teacher pleased. It was not always easy for her, more than for others, to tell the exact truth, even though it should prove her in fault. She occasionally felt mortified that her father was not as rich as some other girls' fathers were, and troubled because she was deprived of some advantages and pleasures that they enjoyed. Yet the better feelings would quickly return to her heart, and the peaceful expression of contentment to her face; while, with sincere repentings for her faults, she was ever striving as hard as any little girl I know, to overcome them all, and to do right continually. The still low voice within, which chides us when we do wrong, and which approves when we do right,-that little guardian spirit that is always faithful to us, so long as we heed its teachings-you know well what I mean, dear children; the injunctions of this friendly voice, little Mary understood, and usually obeyed. Happy, indeed, for us all, to heed this friend, to regard its counsel, to cherish it with watchful care for our guidance and comfort through life. Let me tell you how, on one occasion, when Mary was tempted to commit a great sin, she was saved from the deed by listening to the urgent voice of her conscience, warning her of her guilt and danger.

Mr. Edwards was treasurer of a certain religious Society, which held its meetings every year in different towns of the county. A treasurer is a person who receives and takes care of the money that people pay to a Society. At one time, this Society held its meetings in the place where Mr. E. lived, and some of the gentlemen attending it were invited to his house, Mary, returning from school one day, found company in the parlour, who were to remain to dinner. When her father came in, she observed a curious little bundle in his hand, of which he seemed to take very special care;-with good reason, she thought, when she found it to contain money; the money which, as treasurer, he had received that morning from different members of the Society. Mary watched him, with childish interest, as he untied the parcel, and emptied the money into a little basket. "Oh, father," she exclaimed "a basket full of money! How many, how many pounds there must be! Please tell me, father, how much there

is here?" "I do not know, my daughter," said he, "I am going to count it after dinner, and then I will tell you." "Is it yours, father?" she asked eagerly. "No, it is not mine, it belongs to the Society; but I am to take care of it, and see that it is used for good and benevolent purposes." Mary wanted her father to tell her more about it, but he began to talk with a gentleman, and in a few minutes the dinner-bell rang, and they all went into the dining-room, except Mary, who was to wait, there not being room for her at the table.

For some time she remained standing by the little basket of money, taking up the bright pieces, one after the other, reading the dates of the different coins, and examining the faces with the deepest interest. She had never in her life before seen so much money together, and it seemed to her that here was enough to buy everything one could desire. She wished her father might have as much-she was sure he would give her some; and next she wished she had as much. What could she not do with such a vast sum? "But it isn't mine, and it isn't father's-not a penny of it," said she; and turning away, somewhat reluctantly, she went out into the garden. Her thoughts, however, kept turning back to the money, the basket full of money that could work so great things, and she could not resist the feeling that it would make her far happier to have plenty of money.

Just then, Ellen Morris, a little schoolmate who occupied the seat next to hers, passed the garden, and seeing Mary, she exclaimed, "Oh, Mary, I want to shew you something. See what a beautiful slate father has bought me, with all these pic tures to draw, and this set of pencils. Are they not nice?" "Yes, indeed," said Mary, in a tone as animated as Ellen's; "it is a transparent slate, isn't it? Oh, what pretty, pretty pictures, and so easy to draw, too Don't you like to draw, Ellen? I do, almost as well as to read;" and the little girls sat down together upon a green bank, and examined slate, pictures, and pencils, in every part, with delightful satisfaction.

"I wish I had a transparent slate," said Mary.

"Oh, I'll lend you mine sometimes," said the generous little Ellen, "I am sure you would be as careful of it as I should be."

"Thank you," returned Mary, but I would so much rather have one of my own, to use all the time."

"Ask your father to buy you one, I'm sure he will," said Ellen, gathering up her treasures carefully. “I must hurry home, now, to dinner. Come to school early this afternoon, Mary, and we'll draw together a little while."

Mary closed the gate after her friend, and then, with a light skip and jump, hastened into the house. The company had not quite finished dinner, and were busily engaged in conversation. So Mary stayed in the parlour, and going up to the table again, began to amuse herself with the money.

"Ah," thought she, "this money would buy slates enough for all the little girls I know," and as she handled over the bright sovereigns and half-sovereigns, the pretty shillings and sixpences, she wished more than before, that a part, a small part of it, was her own-just enough to buy a transparent slate, like Ellen's, and she would ask no more. This new, beautiful shilling," thought she, taking up one of the pieces and clasping it tightly in her hand, "oh, if this were only mine, I have no doubt it would buy me a slate."

All the other pieces she put back again in the basket, but this she kept out, to look at, and she turned it over and over in her hand, until the desire to possess it became overpowering.

"Father will not miss it-just this one lit"He doesn't tle shilling," thought she.

Yes. I do

know how much there is here, for he told me he hadn't counted it. I am sure there doesn't seem any less in the basket if I take out just this one piece. Nobody will know it; how can they? and I shall have a beautiful transparent slate of my own. think I may as well take it;" and with a tighter grasp she held the money in her little hand. "But then," thought she, "it isn't mine, and I ought not to keep it. It is stealing, to take what belongs to others." Oh, I cannot steal;" and she opened her

take that money

to

while she heeded would be stealing; and it, she felt strong t withstand, and said, "I cannot steal."But the sight of the money again, and the desire to possess the slate, overpowered the voice of conscience, and once more she seized that shining coin with a quick, resolute motion, pushed the basket farther on the table, and said, "Why need I be so afraid? Surely no one can ever know it ?"

And does she indeed commit this deed? Is little Mary Edwards a thief? Oh, it cannot, must not be.

Mary had put the money into her pocket, and thought she would buy the slate on her way to school. If she had been practised in arts of deception, she would have questioned how she should manage to keep her slate out of sight all the time, that no one of the family might know she had it; but Mary had never committed an act of this kind before, and had never wished to conceal anything, so she did not, now, consider the consequences of her dishonesty.

For several minutes she sat by the window, thinking intently of the pleasure of possessing the beautiful slate, upon which her heart was set; yet, with all the pleasure, there was mingled a feeling of such uneasiness, such a consciousness of guilt, and such a fear of discovery, that she trembled violently. Again the hidden monitor arose within her, and now its tones were louder, and its words more impressive than before. "Yes, I have taken this piece of money for my own," thought she, striving, though in vain, to justify herself; "but in doing this, what have I become? A thief? Yes, a thief. I, a Sabbath-school scholar, studying the Holy Bible, wherein God says, Thou shalt not steal;' I, who have been taught the sin of taking what belongs to others, ever since I can remember. What would my father say if he knew what I had done

treasure that she held, intending to return it directly to the basket. Yet still she gazed-unsatisfied, uncertain, hesitating.

Ah, Mary, Mary, we tremble for her! She is endangering her dearest interests to trifle thus; the temptation is so strong! Oh, will she yield? Where is now the voice whose warning she has ever before been ready to hear? Is it still and silent within her?

No; it does speak. It is that same faithful voice which now tells her that to

she could see all that is in my heart? Oh, how ashamed I should be if they ever should find it out! Well, even if they should not, God would know it all the time. He sees me always-yes, even now, this very moment. Oh, I cannot take it? 1 must not steal, how very wicked I have been!"

Mary took the money quickly from her pocket, put it into the basket, and left the room. A feeling of relief came over her, which it would be impossible to describe. She seemed like one who had been tightly

held by some powerful hand, and forbidden to move, suddenly set free; free to breathe, to will, to act for herself; while the thought of the sin she had permitted in her heart, struck her with a horror from which she shrunk. The single half-hour since Ellen left her seemed like a long period of time; so various, so deep, so conflicting, had been the workings in her breast.

When summoned to dinner, Mrs. Edwards observed something unusual in Mary's appearance, and asked tenderly, "What ails you, my daughter ?" "Me, mother?" said she, looking up suddenly, then blushing and dropping her eyes again, for it seemed to her that every one, and especially her mother, could read her inmost soul; "nothing ails me, only I cannot eat my dinner; please excuse me, dear mother;" and she burst into tears, before she could escape from the room. Mrs. Edwards wondered much what had so affected her cheerful little girl, but forbore to press her with questions just then.

"Have you asked your father for a slate, Mary?" was Ellen's first question to her friend, in the afternoon.

"No, Ellen, it is no matter about it. I do not care so much about it as I did at first, and I will watch you while you draw, and I can do some of the pictures on my common slate, which will do very well."

"Oh, but I wanted so much that we should both have them alike," said Ellen.

"I should be very happy, it is true, to have a transparent slate, but I can also be happy without it, Ellen," said she, in a low voice; and she felt at that moment such a calm, quiet assurance that she had done right and had overcome temptation, that the sacrifice of every pleasure in the world

247

seemed to be a very small matter. Truly there is no happiness like that which a good conscience affords.

A few days after this was the Sabbath. Mary prepared her lesson with careful diligence, and attended all the services of the day with unusual interest. Her mother observed it, and she also noticed how happy, and cheerful, and contented she appeared; how obedient and kind. Really it made her love her little girl very much to see so sweet a spirit actuating her. After tea they were in the garden together, enjoying the beauty of the scene at that still hour. Mary drew closer to her mother's side and attempted, two or three times, to speak. Finally, with a greater effort she said, "Mother, may I tell you something? It is very, very bad. You will be grievedoh! so grieved, for I am sure you would never have thought it; but I feel that I ought to tell you."

;"

"Certainly, my darling, tell me whatever you wish, without the slightest fear. and Mary related every particular of the events of that day when she had been so fearfully tempted to steal. Mrs. Edwards listened with a hearty interest, and the tears fell on little Mary's hand-tears of sympathy, of gratitude, and love.

"Thank God, my child," said she, fervently, "that you were saved from doing that deed of sin. Oh, may the suffering you have experienced, and the lesson you have learned, with his blessing added, strengthen you to resist future temptation. Listen carefully to your conscience, Mary; do nothing which it forbids, obey what it requires, and with God's willing grace to help you, you shall not be overcome of evil."

A..

MR. JOSEPH ROO,

OF HORSFORTH.

Beneath the shadow of the cypress-under the influence of affliction-the heart is frequently more profited than in any other position in which we can be placed. The words of the wise man are full of meaning, "Sorrow is better than laughter, for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is ~made better." Our moral nature is never more easily roused to renewed consecration

to God than when the heart is made by sorrow softer and more susceptible; bending over the tomb of a relative or dear friend has often been the means of producing thoughtfulness, and there resolutions have frequently been formed which, in their practical development, gave a sweeter tone to the conversation, and shed round the whole demeanour a brighter and a holier lustre.

Deploring the loss of those we loved, it

tyields us a melancholy pleasure to review their history, and to trace those excellencies by which their character was adorned, and in so doing may we not hope to profit, may we not be led to imbibe their spirit, to follow them as far as they followed Christ?

The subject of this brief narrative possessed, in no ordinary degree, those christian qualities, the remembrance of which will be long cherished in the memory of those who knew him. He was born at Horsforth, April 4th, 1801. From his childhood he was industrious, economical, and steady. Being blessed with an early religious education, he was preserved from the follies to which all young people are prone. At the age of twelve years, he was called to sustain a heavy loss by the death of his father, upon whose earnings he and all the other branches of the family had depended for support. Necessity obliged him, young as he was, to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. The business in which he was employed was that of a stonemason, an arduous calling indeed, and one which is surrounded with many dangers. But the Lord was the guide of his youth. No doubt one cause of the strength of his moral bias may be traced to his great taste for reading. After the toils of the day, his evenings were chiefly spent on the social hearth with his widowed mother, reading to her the scriptures, which, under God, eventually made him "wise unto salvation." From the time of his earliest recollection, he was led by his father to the house of God. In connection with the Baptist chapel, Horsforth, where his father attended, a Sabbath school was formed in the year - 1814. Our friend Joseph was one of the first scholars there. In the sixteenth year of his age he left the Sabbath school; but not to wander in the fields, and lanes, and streets, and break God's holy Sabbath, but to become a pew-holder in the chapel; and from that period to his death, he was one of the most regular and punctual in attendance there. In addition to his taste for reading, we may mention the art of music, for which he had a great fondness; his extreme modesty, however, prevented him from giving publicity to this talent.

In 1826 he was united in marriage to Maria Smith of Horsforth, daughter of parents long identified with the Baptist church at Rawden. This union was one of unbroken harmony from its beginning to its end. Marrying into a pious family,

and having mingled so much with the excellent of the earth as he did previously, our friend had now acquired a tolerable acquaintance with the theory of the plan of mercy, but as yet the gospel had produced no saving impression upon his heart. But in 1827 the Lord in his mercy passed by him. The Rev. and highly respected John Yeadon, then pastor of the Baptist church, Horsforth, preached a sermon from that striking passage in Hebrews iv. 9: "There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God;" and the word was clothed with almighty energy and reached his heart; it led him as a lost and helpless sinner to seek salvation through the Lord Jesus, in whom he was accepted, and through whom a meetness was wrought in him by the Holy Spirit for that rest, to inherit which he henceforth felt so desirous. After this change became manifest, he was urged, again and again, to give himself publicly to Christ. His notions of what a professor of religion ought to be were of such a cast as to keep him back for some time from yielding himself fully to the Saviour's claims. But in March, 1834, a revival broke out in several of the churches in the neighbourhood, and many under its influence decided for Christ, and amongst them was our friend, who with fourteen others was baptized by Mr. Yeadon in the river Aire. After his baptism, the grace of God was exemplary in his conduct. Combining so many worthy properties as he did, he soon gained the respect and confidence of his brethren in the church. In 1838, he was chosen to the office of deacon, which office he filled up to his death, with credit to himself and great satisfaction to the church. As a friend he was faithful and generous; as a neighbour he was peaceable and kind; in short, he won the esteem of all who knew him.

We had rejoiced had it been the will of Providence to have spared his valuable life a little longer, but God had decreed his speedy removal to the world of spirits. About six months ago, he was threatened with consumption, which rioted upon his system till he sunk beneath it. His illness was tedious and painful, but he bore it all with patience, and was often heard to say, "thy will be done." Even when his debility has been almost unbearable, he would retire into his closet and wrestle in prayer for Zion's welfare. A month previous to his death his endeared wife asked whether