NEW SERIES. DECEMBER, 1886. VOL. XVIII, No. 12.

SCHOOL

J. M. FREEMAN and J. L. HURLBUT, Associates.

[Entered at the Post-office at New York, N. Y., as second-class mail matter.]

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SCHOOL JOURRAL SURDAY SCHOOL

NEW SERIES.

YOUNG PEOPLE

DECEMBER, 1886. VOL. XVIII, No. 12.

Don't Let It Pass.

DON'T let the old year pass away without a direct appeal to your scholars upon the subject of their personal duty to God. This is the month when the Christmas-glory descends again from the skies, and covers the hill-tops of Bethlehem. Heaven reaches down to earth. The mind of youth is tender, like the soil softened by the rains of spring. Then the old year is about to give way to the new. It is a moment when the soul retravels the paths of the past, and there is regret for wanderings. It is a time when the soul, confronting the future, with all its possibilities of loss, trial, sickness, and death, shrinks from this unknown country. Heaven comes near, and beckons with its lights, while earth has its wakings. At this impressive juncture of God's providences, at this turning-point in the way, with wise, tender, faithful appeal, may you meet your class. Your words may be like the angels meeting them in blessing.

Still Echoing On.

O THAT strange, ecstatic, jubilant burst of music out of the Christmas heavens when the golden host in vast, ascending tiers sang above the Bethlehem hills! Looking reverently up, they cried, "Glory to God in the highest!" Looking compassionately down, they wished peace to earth and good-will to men. So seraphic and yet so short! Dying all away in a brief minute, and nothing but empty, voiceless skies above and frightened shepherds below, still we seem to hear that music echoing on. That benediction of peace still leaves its hush in our hearts. Peace on earth, good-will to men! It is the Golden Rule set to music. It is Calvary anticipated. It is the religion of Jesus compressed into a single sentence. It is the great, triumphant, rapt Amen of heaven to Christ's declaration, "By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, VOL. XVIII.-12

if ye have love one to another." Do our scholars appreciate this? At the Christmas festival, we must lead them out in thought to the Bethlehem hill-tops, bid them look up to that host like the stars in number, like the sun in splendor, and then listen to the anthem of adoration toward God, of good-will to men. Emphasize the first lesson, that we must adore and worship God, but let us not pass over the second, that we must love our fellowcreatures. It is the latter we would emphasize now. Have we been injured? Let us forgive. Is there a need in another's life to be supplied? Let us give. To give and forgive, that is Christian. How good it is to have this hard, fault-finding, selfish old world roll round into the Christmas atmosphere and be immersed in it! To give self away, to keep giving in the name of Jesus, that is Christianity. He is a Christian who is Christ-like, who is self-sacrificing, walking in the footsteps of the Master. We can never add one note to the Christmas anthem, but we may echo it back. Tell your scholars that in a life breathing out the utterances of love and selfdenial they do stand, as it were, on Bethlehem's hill-tops and give back an echo to the Christmas anthem. If that sounds sweet to human listeners, sweeter to the divine car is the response of his children.

The Sunday-School Journal for

1887.

"THE king is dead;" "Long live the king," were the cries which followed each other in olden times when one monarch died and his successor took his place. The December number of the JOURNAL closes one volume, only to be followed by another, new and fresh, beginning with January. We expect our readers to hail its advent, and to rejoice in its progress. The same care will be taken as in former years to maintain its standard of excellency,

and, if possible, to surpass it. We shall try to get the best thoughts of the best writers on topics bearing on the work in which we are engaged, and hope that our monthly visit will be a blessing to every Sunday-school teacher who reads and studies our

pages.

Our "English Teacher's Notes."

WITH this number of the JOURNAL appears the last of the notes by our English teacher, Miss Stock. Our readers will doubtless bear witness that her notes have been sensible, pertinent, and suggestive. They have been highly commended in various quarters, and have been found helpful to many of our teachers.

We do not feel that in writing this we are taking our leave of this accomplished Christian lady, but trust that now and then the pages of our JOURNAL may be enriched by some of her excellent thoughts on various topics connected with Sunday-school work.

Thankfulness.

WHAT a happy people we should be if we were more largely imbued with a spirit of thankfulness. How it would brighten our eyes, beautify our faces, and warm our hearts! And we have very much to be thankful for, in spite of all the evils that may fall to our lot. We may be poor in health, but rich in friends. We may not haye much money, and yet be better able to enjoy our small allowance than those who count their wealth by millions.

Whatever burdens we may bear, we can always find some who are worse off than ourselves, and if we make it a habit to "remember our mercies," we shall find ourselves wonderfully strengthened and sustained. And, besides, our corner of the world will be a far more cheerful and attractive place for loving graces to cluster around thankful hearts.

always patronized the exhibitions, and concerts, and fairs and festivals which were held to raise money for the necessary expenses of the school; and once when a deficit had to be provided for by the congregation, Wriggles's father actually put a quarter of a dollar into the basket. He therefore felt that he had some rights in that Sunday-school.

It ought to be said, just here, that Wriggles was a nickname which had been given to this little fellow when he was a baby. As soon as he was on exhibition for the gratification of his admiring friends an old bachelor uncle called among others to pay his respects. He happened in just as the parents were trying to settle the important question of the child's name. Being, by reason of his business (that of a wholesale fish-dealer), more familiar with the denizens of the deep than with babies, and noticing the continuous motions of the little chap, reminding him of the flopping of fish and the squirming of eels, he said, "Call him Wriggles, sister," and Wriggles it was, for the uncle was rich, and it was thought best to honor him, since he might remember the boy in his will. The child's baptismal name, however, was George Washington.

Never was a child more aptly nicknamed than this same Wriggles. He was never still, from the time he opened his eyes in the morning until he closed them at night; and even at night he often tossed about in his sleep as if he were trying to solve the problem of perpetual motion. It was the same in the Sunday-school. It was impossible to keep him still. He could no more remain motionless for any length of time than a jack-in-the-box can when the lid is taken off. He was naturally as restless as if set on wires and springs; he could not help it, and was not to be blamed for it. But, all the same, he had been a torment to some of his teachers, and was an object of great solicitude to his friends. How his case was managed we shall see farther on.

At the close of the year, while we look on the past, we shall find much cause for thankfulness, and, being thankful, we shall be the better prepared What Can be Done with for what may befall us in the years to come.

“Wriggles.”

A SCHOLAR in the infant class, was Wriggles. His affectionate parents sent him there every Sunday afternoon because, by reason of his restlessness, he interfered with their after-dinner nap. They had often heard their preacher declare that "the Sunday-school is the nursery of the Church," and, as they wanted Wriggles out of the way while they slept, what better place for him than "the nursery?" There he would be tenderly cared for, his infant mind expanded, and his young heart led in the way of righteousness. They felt, too, that they had some claim on the Sunday-school, because they

gles?"

"Wrig

WHAT to do with Wriggles was the great question which the new teacher of the infant class had to solve. There were several methods which might have been adopted. She might have boxed his ears, or filliped his forehead, or shaken him by the shoulders; she might have scolded him, calling him "a very, very naughty little boy," or threatening to send him home; she might have stood him up in the corner with his face to the wall as an objectlesson on depravity.

But she did none of these things. She was wise enough to see that the restlessness of the little fellow was an infirmity for which he was to be pitied rather than blamed. She had seen full-grown people who were so nervous that in spite of that so