Take courage, then, and press forwards. Hope on, hope ever!

me,

"The darkest day,

Live till to-morrow, will have pass'd away;" and though weeping may endure for a night, yet joy cometh in the morning. Others have found it so, and why should not you? "All these things are against ," said the bereaved patriarch; but he discovered his mistake when he saw his beloved son ruler over all the land of Egypt, and spent the closing days of life in peace and prosperity beneath the shadow of his influence. Overwhelmed by the accumulation of personal and relative affliction, the sorely-tried dweller in the land of Uz exclaimed, “I loathe myself; I would not live alway; what is my strength that I should hope, and what is mine end that I should prolong my life ?" but ere long the Lord turned his captivity, and gave him twice as much as he had before; and Job lived a hundred and forty years, in comfort and affluence, and saw his children's children to the fourth generation. "I shall one day perish by the hand of Saul," was the mournful conclusion of the youthful fugitive; but his prediction was falsified, for he outlived his enemy, and had the monarch's crown placed upon his own brow. The prophet, too, under the juniper-tree, who deemed himself not only a persecuted but an isolated man, was cheered in his despondency by the surprising information that there were seven thousand in Israel who had not bowed the knee unto Baal. And look at Jonah, in his fearful prison, where the depth closed him round about, and the earth with her bars seemed about him for ever; he said—and surely if any one ever had occasion to say it he had "O Lord, I am cast out of thy sight;" yet he presently stood unhurt upon the dry land; and brought, by his preaching, a whole nation to repentance. Or turn to the weeping Mary, in the garden, sorrowing because she could not find the Saviour, and observe how soon her sorrow was ex

changed for joy, as the Saviour's thrilling tone fell upon her ear, and she recognized Him as her loving Master.

These instances are but samples of the happy reverses which the pages of life unfold. From the earliest period to the present, our world's history is thickly studded with them; and this song has been chanted by myriads of voices through successive generations, "Return unto thy rest, O my soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee; for Thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling." Therefore, seeing that we are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us shake off our despondency, and instead of refusing, like Jacob, to be comforted, let us believe with the simple, childlike confidence of David, that we shall yet see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Light is sown for the righteous, and joy for the upright in heart; and though it is wintertime now, and every scene looks barren and unpromising, we shall reap the harvest by-and-by.

Do you still doubt this, dear reader? Do you still persist in thinking that the sun of your happiness has set for ever; and in asking with touching emphasis, "Why is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul?" Just consider, then, that there is possibly some other object to be achieved through your existence than that of your own personal gratification. There may be some work for you to do, if there is not some pleasure for you to receive. You may be useful, if you cannot be joyous; you may benefit others, if you do not enrich yourself. No one who lives is intended to live in vain. All are meant to labour, and there is labour apportioned to all. Therefore, be not weary in well doing.

Shall I tell you a story, dear reader, about a sprig of moss? You wonder what that has to do with my remarks—you will perceive presently.

Between sixty and seventy years since, there lived

in Munich a poor weakly youth, named Alois Senefelder. One evening he was hastily dismissed from his precarious employment with the small wages due to him; and at home his father was lying dead in the house, and his mother and five little brothers and sisters were depending upon him for bread. Poor fellow! he was well nigh distracted; and the next day, after his parent's remains were interred in the cemetery, instead of returning home, he strolled through the streets, pursued by the fearful perplexity, what shall I do? what shall I do? All day he wandered on, and, wrapped up in his own dreary thoughts, he noted not its decline.

Night came. He now began to think of going home, and of the anxiety his absence would occasion to the family; but on raising his head to look round, he was surprised to find himself in a part of the country with which he was totally unacquainted. All around was hushed in silence, save the murmuring of a river which flowed past, and which he approached. Fatigue and want of nourishment forced him to sit down on the first stone which he saw; and there, resting his elbows on his knees, and his head between his hands, he sat gazing at the running water. The little flowers which the waves bore on their bosom were meet emblems of life; then to the flowers succeeded floating branches and shoots of herbs. All these were apparent by the light of a thousand stars, which shone down in the blue, limpid water, but were unheeded by Alois. Suddenly an idea struck the wandering brain of the forlorn one. There, at the bottom of that water, shall I find the end of all my misfortunes," said he; and for awhile he endeavoured to conjure up every plausible reason likely to encourage him in his wicked and cowardly thoughts. "I am good for nothing," said he to himself; "and instead of being a help to my family, I shall only become a burden. My poor mother has to-day another mouth to fill; if I die, then all that will be ended."

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Happily for Alois, he had been reared by Christian parents, and now all their pious teachings rushed into his mind. He could not conceal from his conscience that he entertained the thought of a great crime; and he knelt down by the river-side to ask the forgiveness of his Creator. A few incoherent words escaped him, but gradually his ideas became less and less distinct, and in a few minutes he was asleep.

The day was beginning to dawn before he awoke. He got up, and poured forth his spirit in thankfulness to his Maker, and a wail of bitter repentance for his recent sin. Suddenly, while his eye roamed from side to side, he saw very near him a little calcareous stone, very smooth and white, upon which was traced the delicate design of a sprig of moss, with its pretty little flowers and their roots. He recollected that on the previous evening he had moistened that stone with his tears, and had even taken a strange kind of pleasure in drowning with them the little sprig of moss, which some bird had probably dropped in its flight. The little sprig was now gone, the wind had carried it away, but its imprint was delicately encrusted on the white smooth surface of the stone. "It is not without design," thought he, "that God has conducted me here. I have lost my situation, it is true; but, who knows, perhaps I am reserved for some other thing." Taking the stone under his arm, he retook his path to the town. On drawing near the gates of the city he met his little brother, who had been sent in search of him. The child told him that, on the day of the interment, an old uncle had arrived from the country to see his mother, and, on beholding their misery, had left a sum of money to assist them in passing the winter. "Thank God!" ejaculated young Senefelder; and many a time afterwards did the same aspiration rise in his heart, in gratitude for the stone and the sprig of moss so wondrously placed under his eyes. At first he employed his discovery only by

printing the sprig of moss on watch-cases and snuffboxes, till one day the idea occurred to him of taking impressions of such little designs as could be obtained by pressing flowers and herbs upon the stone. This plan succeeded admirably, and the art of LITHOGRAPHY was discovered.

Alois patiently plodded on, elaborating his discovery; and, after many disappointments, he acquired a sufficiency for all his wants-attained the royal notice, and the approbation and gold medal of the Royal Academy of Sciences-and, what was still more dear to his heart, he lived to see the widely-spread extension of his art, and its introduction into England, France, Berlin, St. Petersburg, and even Philadelphia and Astracan, in all which he beheld it flourish.

It was always with a shudder of horror that Alois Senefelder recalled to memory the evening when he entertained the idea of throwing himself into the water. How changed, indeed, would have been his lot, if his prayer had not arisen to the sky, and God bestowed his benediction in a long and sweet sleep. "What do we know?" he would frequently exclaim. We say we are glad, or we are grieved; but as Jesus changed the water into wine, so also does God, in His infinite wisdom, change our pains into pleasures, and our joys into sorrows.'

Dear reader, will you learn the lesson which the sprig of moss teaches you? Life's prospects may appear to you dreary and uninviting; life's realities may be painfully oppressive to your sensitive feelings; but, with trustful confidence, believe that He who made a way through the Red Sea for his redeemed ones to pass over, can easily light up your path with sunshine, and strew it with fairest flowers. He who forms the night creates also the day; He who directs the course of the storm-cloud, also sends the fair weather out of the night. Hope on!