friend lives two miles the other way; but after a little painful indecision he sets off to find him. The school, meanwhile, is assembled, every teacher is in his place but our warm-hearted friend; the superintendent looks anxious, but not surprised, and the boys watch the door eagerly, for they do love their teacher. But the clock strikes, the service commences, and concludes; and for once, Mr. A. is undisturbed; when just as the superintendent is about to bolt the door, a quick, heavy step is heard, and in rushes our friend, his face beaming with exercise and good humour. "I feared, Mr. B., that you were ill." "No, my dear friend," he replies, glancing uneasily at the clock, "but the truth is, I hoped to get a new teacher to our ranks, and have been all the way to Street, but he had the toothache, and could not move out."-To lose no more time, he hurries to his class, and with no little bustle, begins the lessons. When he comes to the scripture lesson, he feels for the notes, which he was too conscientious to neglect; but, alas! he put them in his pocket on Saturday night, and there left them; his change of dress was not accompanied by a change of the contents of his pockets, and now he must trust to his memory; there is no help for it, and to do him justice, the excellencies of his character now shine through his failings, and as I stand behind his class, I hear him enforcing a solemn truth, (though quite unconnected with the real subject of the appointed lesson,) with all the mingled earnestness and liveliness that he can command. He has not half done by the time the clock strikes for close of school, but his boys as they go home repeat to themselves some remark that has reached their hearts. Now let us take a peep at the Teachers' Meeting; and here A. and B. are in constant opposition; A., cautious to excess, thinks every thing new, a change for the worse; B., sanguine to a like fault, wishes to try every new plan that can find a strong advocate; and unless the teachers in general are sound-headed men, the school is kept in continual confusion, by the adoption of measures which are rapidly thrown aside. Now, were we to measure these two characters by each other, B. would, without question, far outweigh his fellow teacher in usefulness. But why will teachers take each other for a standard? No! dear readers, let us aim higher, let us look up to our Great Model Teacher, Christ Jesus, and avoiding the two extremes I have endeavoured to describe, follow his example, of whom on the one hand it is said, "The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up," and on the other, "The Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon me, the Spirit of WISDOM and understanding. C. S. J. THE INFLUENCE OF LOVE. "LOVE is of God," "God is love." The love which is of God can no more be compared to the love which is in the heart of the natural man, than the warm invigorating sun-light, can be likened to the pale cold rays which the moon reflects to us, after she has absorbed those which are required to carry on the purposes of her own existence as a planet. In nothing is the departure of man from God more painfully seen, than in the absence of love in its real essence, and the hideous and subtle forms of selfishness, which we are contented to admit in its stead. Selfishness does not always show itself in taking or witholding in thought, word, or deed, from our fellow men; it sometimes means a noble aspect of self-sacrifice; but as the unconverted man "lives unto himself," the outward act will be marred by the secret worship of the self of his most elevated moments. To "walk in love," we must be "followers," that is, imitators of God; we must "know and believe the love that God hath unto us." It is a love which it never entered into the heart of man to conceive, "flesh and blood cannot reveal it" the utter vileness and unworthiness of the objects of this love, is the element in it which is divine. "Love," seeking its object out of itself, flowing down in a living stream of infinite compassion and long-suffering, in a height and depth which passeth knowledge. "For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet, peradventure, for a good man some would even dare to die." "But God commendeth his love towards us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." What but a secret consciousness of the lurking element of selfishness, could cause instances of pure disinterested love to be so distrusted by the world. We lay it down among our prudential maxims to the young, that they should beware of the unlooked for kindness of strangers. If a man be loaded with unexpected benefits, however great his need, we find him anxiously inquiring into the motive of his benefactor. What parent has not been asked the question in one shape or other, "Did Papa love me yesterday when I was naughty ?" An excellent minister buys potatoes when they are cheap and plentiful, keeps them in store for his people, and sells them at cost price when they cannot be bought for double the money. "Poor gentleman," says one of these objects of his care, "I'm afraid he did'nt make much by it." It is true, when it is manifest to men's consciences, that we do act upon a higher principle than is common to all, a degree of enmity, secret or avowed, is generally called forth; but let us remember for our encouragement, that in this particular of love, we have a happy exception. No man was ever yet irritated by the consciousness of being loved, and in proportion as the principle is rare, its influence is great wherever there is a conviction of its reality. Among those unhappy inmates of Newgate upon whom Mrs. Fry bestowed such unremitting labours of love, there was a young woman, who at the early age of seventeen, was polluted by crime of every description, and who had arrived at a state of such awful depravity, that the lowest of her companions in guilt shunned her society. But Mrs. Fry stood still when she came to the place where poor Margaret sat alone in her degradation and wretchedness, and addressed her in the same tone of encouragement as the rest. She remained a considerable time in the prison; it pleased God to bless the means used for her instruction, and the glorious gospel of His grace, became to this unhappy victim of sin and misery, the power of God unto salvation. She was afterwards liberated, and died of consumption, exhibiting throughout very satisfactory evidence of the saving change which she had experienced. One of the ladies associated with Mrs. Fry in her self-denying work, ventured to ask this poor penitent, what it was that first led her to hope that there might be mercy in store for her; she meekly replied, "Mrs. Fry's look of love." Dr. Browning, after relating the wonders wrought by the grace of God in the hearts of the most desperate and hardened convicts committed to his care, exclaims on a review of his labours, "Oh how God blesses prayer, christian instruction, and kindness.” It may not be an easy thing for a Sunday school teacher to make all the children of his class believe, that he loves them with a pure disinterested love; but the task once accomplished, he will assuredly attract and not repel them. What opportunity has he of giving undeniable proofs of this love? What is likely to put it to the test? Careless levity in some, repeated acts of wilful disobedience in others, sullen silence in return for affectionate earnestness; the discouraging blank of perpetual forgetfulness, the rude vacant stare, instead of respectful attention, reckless impertinence, perhaps a tone of utter defiance. Now, whenever there is a positive outbreak of any such forms of sin in a class, those who are not immediately guilty, have their attention roused, they feel that a conflict is at hand; the presence of the rest swells the pride of the offender, whose object it generally then becomes, to baffle and humble the teacher before the whole class. What is our Sunday school teacher to do? We cannot tell him what to do; we must tell him that every thing will depend upon what he is. He may have studied the most carefully framed rules of conduct; he may have suitable words at his command, but as "he looks round about" upon his class, it is the spirit within, the "man in the eyes," (as the rude Indian beautifully expresses it,) who speaks to the spirit of the children. It is a solemn thought, that there is an individuality about us, from which we cannot escape, when we try to influence others; as surely as every tree casts its own shadow upon the ground beneath it, so is the influence of the teacher determined by the state of his own soul. Is he living to himself or to God? is the flesh dying the prescribed death? or was he a happy man once, and has a sleepy or a bedridden conscience betrayed its trust, and suffered the old man of sin to "regain the vitality which seemed completely extinct," so that he is ready to intrude in all his hideous completeness, into that which is the work of God, and so to make the word of God of no effect? Before we can use the constraining influence of love to win others from the service of sin, we must have received it ourselves from God; we must come as it were, fresh from the steady contemplation of it in the glass of the word. It must be shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost, as we rest, with the simple faith of a little child, upon the free promises of God in Christ Jesus for mercy, with a firm persuasion of heart, that God is a reconciled Father to us in the Son of his love. And then, not with the veil of Moses, but with the bright beaming countenance of peace and joy in believing, let the teacher come among his little flock, "affectionately desirous of them longing to impart to them the same blessed gospel, "gladly to spend and be spent for them," though "the more abundantly he love them, the less he be loved." Thus minded, he will take no thought for his own dignity, or his own popularity, with his class, he will love them as Christ has loved him; he will bear with them for the Lord's sake; their sin will be treated as a common enemy; it will humble him and make him watchful, for it will be to him a reflection of his own; and he will be able to reflect to them the "love which is of God," though he will have cause to mourn in secret, over the feeble, imperfect, wavering image. Some may be disposed to say, and is this all? No practical suggestions! No advice for sudden emergencies! no ingenious modes of punishment! or infallible methods for commanding attention! We have heard that Pestalozzi reduced to perfect order and silence, a room full of noisy undisciplined children, (assembled in school for the first time,) by holding up his finger, and asking them all to look steadily at it. Very true, but it was Pestalozzi's finger, and Pestalozzi's look was a "look of love." And now let us imagine the teacher suddenly called away in the midst of his holy happy work, to serve his master in the courts above. He may have had knowledge, talents, zeal, and these may perchance be dwelt upon in our busy world, in a few passing words of admiration and acknowledgment, but "if he have loved with a pure heart fervently," he leaves that behind him which abideth for ever; the eyes which met his with a kindling look of love, will fill with tears of grateful heart-searching recollection. In the case of some, it may be a secret pervading influence, like the gentle dew drop, which presses upon the drooping plant when the sun which warmed and cherished it, sinks to his rest; in the heart of another, swelling with a riper and deeper grief, it may rise up like a wave, powerfully constraining to "follow him as he followed Christ." In the home of his tried affections, in the circle of his chosen friends, all whom he taught by his example how to love, though they "long after him for the exceeding grace that was in him," will wipe away the mourner's selfish tear, and rejoice that he is perfected and glorified. A. THE DYING CHILD. A SKETCH. It was a quiet summer's eve; the air Murmured its gentle music; lovely flowers Drooped meekly to the earth; and busy scenes The golden rays of the declining sun, Gleamed through a narrow casement, and illumed Looked bare and comfortless ;-and wind and rain, By many a crevice, ready entrance found. Yet through that poor abode a glory shone, |