THE FIRESIDE.-THE PENNY POST BOX.

is a curious contrivance to represent the water, which rises and falls, lifting some ships at high water tide as if they were in motion, and as it recedes leaving them high and dry on the sands. The clock shows the hour of the day, the day of the week, the day of the month, the month of the year; and in the day of the month provision is made for the long and the short months. It shows the signs of the zodiac; it strikes or not, and chimes or not, as may be desired; and it has an equation table, showing the difference between the clock and the sun for every day in the year.

The Fireside.

THE LAW OF SLEEP.

WHAT superior virtue is there in sleeping by instalment to sleeping in the lump? Some people are called lazy because they take a nap after a noon-day dinner; but the efficiency of their waking hours is a sufficient justification for their midday repose. Sleep anywhere and everywhere is good. So for Napoleon and the others who are brandished over us as having wrought their great deeds on four hours' sleep, in the first place, I do not believe a word of it; and, in the second place, if they did, it was but an exception, and we might just as well put our eyes out because Homer wrote "Iliad" without any, as to rub open our eyes at four o'clock in the morning because Napoleon slept four hours in the saddle. One man's need is no rule for another man's life. There is but one infallible rule for sleep, that every one sleeps till he wakes himself; and for the awake, that they shut the doors softly, so as not to disturb those who are asleep.

If one should desire a few little secondary rules, it might be well to warn him against self-glorification. Neither rising early availeth anything, nor rising late. The wise man who used to rise with the sun, or before it, in our copy books, may have been foolish in so doing, but must have been foolish if he based his wisdom on his early rising. The question is, What does he do after he is up? The early bird has been catching the worm for many generations, but I never heard that the late bird starved for want of worms; and what of the owl and bat, who do not get up at all till honest folks are in bed? Ah, no! Solomon's sluggard was doubtless a worthless fellow, who slept as lazily as he wrought, and did everything by halves.

The Penny Post Box.

WILL YOU BE MISSED?

ARE you cedars planted in the house of the Lord, casting a cool and grateful shadow on those around you? Are you palm trees, fat and flourishing, yielding bounteous fruit, and making all who know you bless you? Are you so useful that, were you once away, it would not

FACTS, HINTS, GEMS.

be easy to fill your place again; but people, as they pointed to the void in the plantation, the pit in the ground, would say, “It is here that the old palm tree diffused his familiar shadow, and showered his mellow clusters?" Or are you a peg, a pin, a rootless, branchless, fruitless thing that may be pulled up any day, and no one ever care to ask what has become of it? What are you doing? What are you contributing to the world's happiness or the church's glory? What your business?-Rev. Jas. Hamilton.

Facts, Hints, Gems, and Poetry.

There is nothing like taking all you do at a moderate estimate, it keeps mind and body tranquil; whereas grandiloquent notions are apt to hurry to

both into fever.-E. Bronte.

Every person complains of the badness of his memory, but none of their defective judgment.

POETIC SELECTIONS.-THE CHILDRENS' CORNER.

Poetic Selections.

THE COMING OF THE LORD.

"At even, or at midnight, or at cock-crowing, or in the morning."

Ir may be at the closing day,

When, from the golden west,
The sun's gleam slowly dies away,
Bringing the hour of rest,
And the twilight shades are slowly
Gathering round thy home,
And a silence calm and holy

Sweetly pervades thy room:-
Then in the stillness, watch and pray,
At the closing day

Thy Lord may come.

It may be at the midnight hour,
When earth is hushed in sleep,
When clouds of darkness round thee lower,
And angels vigil keep;

When the lights are out, the fire's faint glow
Scarce piercing through the gloom,
Although no footstep, soft and low,
Is heard within thy room,
Watch and pray, at the midnight hour,
Though the darkness lower
Thy Lord may come.

It may be when the herald of dawn
Sounds forth so shrill and clear;
When dewy night is almost gone,
And day is drawing near;

When the waning moon is sinking low,
And stars are growing dim;
And fitful slumbers come and go,
While quiet reigns within:-

In that calm hour, oh! watch and pray,
Ere the dawn of day
Thy Lord may come.

It may be in the morning bright,
When shades of night are gone,
And the sun's early slanting light
Gleams over hill and lawn;
When the birds are gaily singing
Their songs around thy home,
And the morning air is winging

Sweet fragrance in thy room:-
Watch and pray in the early light,
In the morning bright
The Lord may come.

The Childrens' Corner.

DON'T MAKE EXCUSES.

CHILDREN, do not form the habit of making excuses. If you have done wrong, be willing to confess it. Do not try to hide it, or throw the blame on another. A person who is quick at making excuses is not likely to be good at anything else. Be honest, be frank, be

truthful.

THE VENERABLE BEDE.

ON the sea-coast, at the extreme north of the county of Durham, lies a village called Jarrow. It is a quiet, somewhat desolate spot, with a low sandy beach, on which the waves of the German Ocean have encroached by degrees. There is little in the neighbourhood to attract the notice of visitors, yet Christians must always be interested in it for the sake of the good old man who was born there.

In the year A. D. 673, Bede was born, and he was educated partly in his native village, and partly at Wearmouth, in the monastery schools, the only places of instruction then in existence. When he was an old man, he used to say of his young days, "I applied myself wholly to the study of Scripture, and to singing in the church. I always took great delight in learning, teaching, and writing." Books were far less common then than now, but Bede made good use of all which came in his way. Besides studying history, astronomy, rhetoric, and poetry, he gained a knowledge of the Greek and Latin tongues, and learned something of Hebrew.

His piety and learning were so great that the Bishop of Hexham (there was at that time no Bishop of Durham) ordained him deacon at the early age of nineteen; but he continued his studies till he was thirty years old, and only ventured all that time to teach children and young people. Then he was ordained priest and began to write and publish books for the use of Christians. He translated the Psalms and New Testament into his native Saxon tongue, and he wrote a history of the English Church from the days of Augustine, as well as Homilies and Commentaries on Scripture, and other books, altogether forty-five in number, before he had finished his fifty-ninth year. In fact as an ancient writer said of him, "To see him pray one would have thought he left himself no time for study; and when we look at his books, we wonder he could have found time to do anything but write."

These books were read throughout England, and were even sent for from Germany; but their author lived on quietly at Jarrow, the home of his youth, till his friend and pupil Egbert, the nephew of the King of Northumberland, was made Archbishop of York, and begged him to come and help him in the care of his diocese. Bede complied, and travelled to York, where he gave the Archbishop as much assistance as he could, especially by opening a school and teaching in it. Having set things in order, he returned home; but Egbert missed him so much that he sent to

THE VENERABLE BEDE.

him again the next year. This time Bede was not able to go, so he wrote a letter of advice to him instead, in which he used these words" Above all, avoid useless conversation; apply yourself to meditate on the Holy Scriptures, especially on the epistles of blessings of Paul the apostle to Timothy and Titus."

Time passed on and Bede became an aged man, though he was still a busy and useful one. In the opening of the year A.D. 735, his health began to fail, and he was troubled by shortness of breathing, though without much pain. One of his pupils writes, "He daily read lessons to us, his disciples, and spent the rest of the day in singing Psalms. He passed the night also in holy joy and thankfulness, unless a short slumber overtook him, on awaking from which he would repeat his accustomed exercises, giving thanks to God with uplifted hands. Of a truth, I declare I never saw with my eyes. or heard with my ears any man so earnest in giving thanks to the living God."

Looking forward to Ascension Day, Bede used to repeat a prayer much resembling our collect for the Sabbath after Ascension "O King of glory, Lord of Might, who didst ascend in triumph above the heavens, leave us not orphans, but send down upon us the promise of the Father, the spirit of truth." When he came to the words, "leave us not orphans," he would burst into tears; but recovering himself, repeat the prayer again. Often he would give God thanks for the cross which was laid upon him, and comfort himself with the text, "He scourgeth every son whom He receiveth." And all this time he laboured on with the translation of St. John's gospel. On the Tuesday before Ascension Day, though suffering a great deal in his breast, he worked hard at it, dictating to his scholars while they sat writing. Go on quickly," he would say from time to time, "for I know not how long I may be here, or when my Master will take me away."

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He passed the next night for the most part in thanksgiving, and at dawn he called his scholars around him to go on with their writing. At nine o'clock of the Wednesday morning one of these boys, being left alone with him, said, "There is still one little chapter wanting, dearest master. Do you feel it troublesome to be asked any more questions?"

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"No," he answered, "it is no trouble; take your pen and write, only do not lose any time."

Wilbutt, the boy who had spoken before, said, "Dear master, there is still one sentence not written."

"Write quickly.”

The boy wrote, and then said, "Now the sentence is written ; it is finished."