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THE GRACIOUS INVITATION.
Matt. xi. 28.

WHEN the heart is bowed with anguish,
When bright dreams and hopes are o'er,
When in deepest night we languish,
Weeping, mourning, oh! so sore;
Then, like strains of sweetest music,
Thrilling every weary breast,

Comes the precious word of Jesus

"Oh, ye weary, heavy laden! come to Me and rest." Earth looks dark, and heaven looks distant, Tears bedew our weeping eyes,

In the spirit's utter weakness

Faithless fears and questions rise;

Then, like holy benediction

To the soul by troubles pressed

Comes the gracious invitation

"Oh, ye weary, heavy laden! come to Me and rest."

When we're weary with the journey
Up life's hillocks, hard and steep;
When, in dark and gloomy hours,
Ceaseless watch our spirits keep;
From those lips of rarest sweetness,
To each weary soul addressed,
Comes the gracious invitation-

"Oh, ye weary, heavy laden! come to Me and rest."

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Sweetest words, oh, blessed Saviour !*

Are those words of love and power,

Comforting in deepest sorrow,

Cheering e'en the darkest hour.
Softly, gently, through earth's tumults,

To the soul by care oppressed

Comes the gracious invitation—

Oh, ye weary, heavy laden! come to Me and rest."

Sweetest rest for weary pilgrims!

Sweetest rest for aching hearts!
From the bosom of the Saviour
Loving pity ne'er departs:
Ever in life's cares and troubles,

Tenderly, to souls distressed,

Comes the gracious invitation—

'Oh, ye weary, heavy laden! come to Me and rest."

Not till life on earth is ended
Must the weary spirit wait
For that rest so sorely needed:
Long before we reach the gate
Of the bright celestial city,

To the weary, saddened breast,
Comes the gracious invitation-

Oh, ye weary, heavy laden! come to Me and rest."

D.

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ETHEL RIPON; OR, BEWARE OF IDLE WORDS.

CHAPTER I

THOSE are very solemn words of our Saviour," I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment." And, excepting that of covetousness, there is perhaps no sin of social life more sternly reproved than that of evil speaking. What, for instance, can be more severe than such declarations as these- "The tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity: -it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell?” There is something fearful in this description of a false or mischievous

JUNE, 1863.

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tongue; for who does not feel brought under the rebuke of the apostle, and compelled to adopt the prayers of the psalmist" Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth; keep the door of my lips?" The consciousness of our guilt in the sight of God in this respect, as well as in many, many others, should surely enhance in our estimation the value of the gospel and the sacrifice of Christ! It is his blood, and his blood alone, that can cleanse from all sin-the sin of the tongue included.

I have been led into this train of thought by the remembrance of certain circumstances, the narration of which may serve as a warning and an example to be avoided, to those of whom better things might be expected, but who are thoughtless and careless in speech. Let me put the story into the mouth of one of the actors in the little drama, and tell it as it could have been told by herself in the later years of her life.

I was once the cause of great sorrow by speaking idle, tattling words. I trust that God has mercifully forgiven me; and I shall ever thank him for enabling me in some measure to remedy the mischief I had wrought,—not so much, I hope, from want of heart, as from want of thought. But the remembrance of my folly and its immediate consequences still weighs heavily sometimes on my mind. I tell my story, therefore, not for my own gratification; but in the hope that it may do good to those who hear or read it.

I must go back to my school-girl days to begin my story aright.

It was at what was called a "select boarding-school," a long way off, in the country, that I first became acquainted with Ethel Ripon. She was one of the ten pupils who received instruction from Mrs. Franke, the widow of an officer in the army. Mrs. Franke was an excellent lady in her way, I have no doubt; and she was exceedingly well educated. Thus far, therefore, she was fit to teach. But there is no harm in saying that she was a very strict disciplinarian, and inflexibly severe. I think that, long after I left this lady's care and protection, my tone with relation to those around me was in some degree the result of the influence her teaching and example left upon my mind. But I am not sure of this,-I know only that, in the earlier part of my woman life, I was more like the

proud and self-righteous Pharisee, with his "God, I thank thee that I am not as other men," than the contrite publican, who could only smite on his breast and say, "God

be merciful to me a sinner."

Ethel Ripon was about my own age, and that was twelve years and a few months when I was first sent to Mrs. Franke's school. Ethel entered as a pupil at the same time; and thus our acquaintance commenced. She was pretty, high-spirited, and rompish; she was also almost untaught. This was to be accounted for by the fact that she had never known a mother's care, and had been brought up under the culture of an ignorant nursemaid. Her father was a merchant, who was too much engrossed in money-getting, or in endeavouring to get money, to take much heed of poor little Ethel.

I liked Ethel very much; that is to say, I liked her as school-girls occasionally are fond of one another. It was a selfish kind of love, I am aware, and not of the sort to last any length of time: but I suppose this is characteristic of most school attachments. I liked Ethel none the less, I think, when I found that comparisons were soon made between us in my favour by our lady-governess, who recommended me to Ethel as an example of propriety and right behaviour which she would do well to follow. This flattered my vanity, which needed no such promptings; and caused me to put on grave airs of condescension and patronage towards my child-friend, which only made her laugh at me, without withdrawing her friendship.

But I must not make my story a long one, especially not this part of it; so I shall only say that when a year had passed away, Ethel and I were still at school together. Our first fondness for each other had, in part, cooled by this time: at least, mine for Ethel had cooled; for I had found another favourite. I think she still loved me, or liked me; but I did not much care whether it were so or not.

The year that had gone had wrought some changes in Ethel. She was quick in learning. She had, in fact, made wonderful progress in all the common items of school education. But she was as rompish as ever, and could never be drilled into the strict proprieties required by our governess. On this account she was not unfrequently in disgrace. As to the higher proprieties of Christian ethics, they were little thought of by any of us. Certainly,

Mrs. Franke professed to give what she called "religious education:" but she sadly failed in this. The religion consisted in forms and ceremonies which left the heart untouched; and everything connected with religion was so made a task as to leave an unpleasant impression upon the minds of the learners. Even the Bible-the best of all books-was made disagreeable to us by its association in our minds with punishment and lessons:-we had to learn psalms and chapters for impositions when we did anything amiss.

Our school life was not an unhappy life, however; at least it was not so to me: for I had gradually become Mrs. Franke's prime favourite, and received many indulgences which very much sweetened my daily cup. Being sufficiently decorous in my conduct, I rarely got into disgrace; and only twice had a psalm set me to learn as a task, and those two psalms were short ones. I therefore did not dread our governess as some of the others did: indeed, I got to like her pretty well, though I could have dispensed with some of the fatiguing forms and ceremonies which were inflicted on the whole school under the name of religion. I don't know how it was that my schoolfellows were not jealous of the place I held in Mrs. Franke's estimation. I never detected any signs of this feeling in them, however.

In

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We were none of us very unhappy, I think. many respects, our lady governess was kind to us. hours of study were not fatiguingly extended; our domestic comfort was well cared for; our food was of superior quality, and we were not "allowanced" in the use of it; and we were permitted, for recreation, free access to a very fine shrubbery and garden attached to the schoolhouse.

Free access to the garden; but not to the garden produce. Throughout the summer and autumn, ripe and delicious fruit grew in profusion around us. Large red strawberries, only half hidden by their broad shining green leaves, coyly invited us to stoop and gather. Then came currants and gooseberries, red, white, yellow, green, and black, according to their species-vulgar berries, we were told, and fit only for tarts and preserves, but sorely tempting, nevertheless, to unsophisticated girlish palates. Great apples and pears, some golden-hued, some rosystreaked, bent down the branches on which they grew, or

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