gone, and I longed to be away from the object of my envy and from the observer of it. Every day I envied, and often was reproved, especially by my great aunt's picture. At length the day came for my departure; Rosie had left the day before, and remembering my aunt's fond parting with her, and the great regret expressed by this family of friends on her departure, I was very much hurt to find that the same feelings were not aroused for me, nor the same degree of sorrow felt at losing me. I came down stairs ready equipped for my journey, and my aunts, after kissing me, informed me that they had got a present for me.

"Which we think will be acceptable," said my aunt Mary. "Because, my dear Millicent," said my aunt Phoebe, "we have noticed that you really cannot keep your eyes off it; you are far more attracted by it than by anything else in our little house." "What is it, dear aunt ?" said I half frightened.

My dear," she replied, "it is your great aunt's picture." I was obliged to accept it.

ORRIS.

THE WAY TO THE HILL.

A CHILD, walking with his father one fine sunny morning, asked that they might go to the top of a distant hill, in order that he might behold the beautiful prospect which was to be seen from thence. His father promised to comply with his request, and they went on. But the way which led to that hill was long and tedious; the sun's rays were very powerful, and there were no trees to afford a welcome shade; the ground was hard and stony, and hurt their feet; and when they came to a winding part of the road, they lost sight of the hill altogether.

The boy's patience was quite exhausted, his courage failed him, and, sitting down upon the ground, he began to cry, and to complain that his father, instead of gratifying his wish, had led him along such a hot, dusty, wearisome path-a path which appeared interminable. "It is very unkind," he murmured, "to

disappoint me in this way. I asked you to let me look at the lovely scenery which stretches around that lofty summit, and you have only brought me here where all is dull, and dreary, and vexatious."

"My child," answered the father gently, "this is the way to the hill; you cannot realize your desire without travelling to it by this road."

Now, there are some young Christians who may see in this unreasonable and disappointed child, a picture of themselves. They make petitions for certain things to their Heavenly Father; right petitions; and petitions which he promises to grant. So far it is well; but when He sends down to them the answer to their prayers, it is both unexpected and unwelcome; they murmur at his conduct towards them; and think, if they do not say so, that it is very hard they should be thus treated. The fact is, they do not like the wayindeed they do not believe it is the way-by which they are to reach the hill. They want to sit on the soft, grassy mountain, that they may gaze on the fair fields, and silvery streams, and peaceful villages which stud the landscape; but they do not want to toil on through miry lanes, and tangled grass, and uneven paths.

One of the pupils in a school in Germany came to his master one day in great trouble, because, as he said, God would not answer his prayer. "And what did you pray for?" I prayed to God that he would give me an humble heart." "And why do you think that He has not heard you?" The child said with tears, "Since I prayed for this the other boys have been so cross and unkind to me. They teaze me, and mock me at every turn, so that I can hardly bear it." "My dear boy, you prayed that God would give you an humble heart, and why then should you be vexed, if the other boys are the means of humbling you? Here you see that God does really answer you. It is in this way He sees fit to send you an humble

mind." The poor child had not thought of that. He had fancied that God would have taken some other way with him, and thus he was mistaken in thinking that his prayer was not answered.

Perhaps, dear reader, you are making the same mistake. You pray for faith, or hope, or love, or some other Christian grace; and then, when God puts you under the course of discipline necessary for the attainment of those graces, you give way to doubt and despondency, and suppose that He has not heard, or that He refuses your prayers. You ask, for instance, that you may rest more simply upon Christ as your Saviour, and the Holy Spirit convinces you of sin for the very purpose of leading you to a heartfelt reliance upon Him. But you fail to see in this closer self-acquaintance, this deeper consciousness of internal evil, the compliance with your earnest request, and you are therefore filled with gloom when you ought rather to be incited to gratitude.

Now, you are not insincere in your prayers; you really and heartily desire that for which you plead; but you want God to grant it you in your own way instead of his; you expect the crown without the cross; you wish to reach the mountain's summit without toil, or trouble, or discomfort.

But, dear reader, these are vain wishes and expectations. God promises to give you all spiritual blessings for which you ask in the Saviour's name; therefore, do not doubt that you will receive them; but He does not pledge Himself to bestow them through the channels to which you would limit them; therefore leave to Him the means of their transmission. Indeed you must leave it to Him, for He is too wise and too regardful of your ultimate benefit to allow you to choose for yourself. He knows, if you do not, that his plans are the best; and that the joys for which you sigh are only to be attained through labour and conflict and self-denial.

Have you counted upon this? Have you considered what is involved in the supplications which you offer? Have you anticipated the painful, and often protracted process by which Christ's people are conformed to his image? I think not; for had you done so, you would not have yielded to despondency and despair, when God was answering your prayers for the further development of your christian graces, by placing you in circumstances which demanded their increased exercise. Are not these lines descriptive of your past feelings and experience ?"

"I thought that the course of the pilgrim to heaven

Would be bright as the summer and glad as the morn;
Thou show'dst me the path; it was dark and uneven,
All rugged with rock and all tangled with thorn.

"I dreamt of celestial rewards and renown;

I grasped at the triumph which blesses the brave; I asked for the palm-branch, the robe, and the crown;

I asked-and Thou show'dst me a cross and a grave."

Learn then, dear reader, to submit yourself to God's guidance; to recognize, in his trying dispensations, some of the answers which He returns to your prayers. If you study the records of christian biography, you will find that He teaches all his children as He is teaching you.

A christian friend, calling upon a poor old woman in Scotland, found her in great pain, and expressed sorrow at seeing her suffer so much. Oh,” said Jeanie, "its just an answer to prayer. Ye see, I've lang prayed to be conformed to the image of Christ. And since this is the means, I've naething to do wi' the choosin' o' them. That's the end I seek. It is ours to aim at meetness for his presence, and to leave it to his wisdom to take his ain way wi' us. would rather suffer than sin ony day."

I

Or look at one of the lambs of Christ's flock. "I

often think," said dear Ellen R——, in her last illness," I often think that we do not sufficiently perceive and acknowledge the answers to our prayers. You know, dear C, impatience is my besetting sin. I pray for patience, and God gives me pain and suffering; and that is his answer to my prayer, that I may exercise patience."

Dear reader, think before you pray. Ask your own heart whether you really wish God to answer your request for spiritual blessings; whether you are willing that He should give you what you desire? Ah, if you bear in mind how inestimably precious such gifts are, you will not shrink from the process, should it be a painful one, through which they are imparted to you.

66

Look onward and upward, young Christian, not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; and then you will rejoicingly infer that your "light" inward trials and outward afflictions, which are but for 66 a moment," are working out for you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." In the world of perfected happiness and holiness, with what deep gratitude and heartfelt thanksgiving will you contemplate many an answer to prayer, which is now either scarcely discerned or reluctantly received!

C. C.

TRUE REPENTANCE.

THE difference between true and false repentance is as great as that between the running of water in the paths after a violent shower, and the streams which flow from a living fountain.