FACTS, HINTS, GEMS, AND POETRY. stem of our social talk. Dull were the life in which there was no laughter, and as bad, too, I fear. Men of guilt do not often laugh, or if they do, it is a laugh that searches and sears them to the quick. But with most men it is the childish rompings of the spirit within, the riotous outbreak of pleasure, delight, and sympathy. Facts, Hints, Gems, and Poetry. Facts. NEGRO SCHOOLS IN THE SOUTHERN STATES OF AMERICA. The number of schools, of every description, is nearly six thousand. These contain about two hundred and sixty thousand scholars. The number of teachers is between nine and ten thousand. Out of the whole of the scholars, nearly two hundred thousands were once slaves. Last year Virginia added fifty schools to those already existing; North Carolina, eighty-three; Georgia, one hundred and five; Mississippi, fifty-seven; and Tennessee, ninety-five. Öther states in the South show some increase; but Alabama is behind all others. Hints. The preacher who divides his discourse into too many heads, will hardly find ears for them all. Men will wrangle for religion, write for it, fight for it, die for it, anything but-live for it. It is observable that in general those who have least religion to lose are most ready to thrust it into danger. "I never go to church," said one; "I spend my Sunday in settling accounts." "The day of judgment will be spent in the same way," was the reply. Men's lives should be like the day, more beautiful in the evening; or like the summer, aglow with promise, and the autumn, rich with the golden sheaves, where good works and deeds have ripened on the field. Good temper is like a sunny day; it sheds its brightness on every thing. The Christian, gays Cecil, will find his parenthesis for prayer even in his busiest hours. The only rule of life to the Christian, and the only safety to the sinner, is in looking unto Jesus. There is no sin we can be tempted to commit, but we shall find a greater satisfaction in resisting than in committing. Gratitude is the music of the heart when its chords are swept by the breezes of kindness. God hath two dwelling places-the highest heavens, and the lowest hearts; that is the habitation of His glory; this, of His grace. Gems. God values men according to what men have had to walk through. When a church is faithless to its duties, the real church is outside. All the sobriety which religion needs or requires is that which earnestness produces. God puts the excess of hope in one man, in order that it may be a medicine to the man who is despondent. The man who throws his plans into the current of Divine Providence, will never want room to float his hull. Troubles are often the tools by which God fashions us for better things. POETIC SELECTIONS.-THE CHILDREN'S CORNER. Poetic Selections. IN THE SHADOW. WAIT calmly in the shadows, Trusting thy cares to Him Who watcheth o'er His children From dawn to twilight dim; For in these deep'ning shadows Thy truest work is done; Amid dim doubts and longings The brightest crowns are won. Strive faithfully 'mid shadows, Tho' the prize for which you long And meet well-earned success; Work earnestly 'mid sorrow, In hours of doubt and pain, Far down the misty future The sunshine gleams again. With the dim shadows round us, Life's path is often dreary; Yet there is one who giveth rest, And comfort for the weary. Endure, for time is fleeting, And the seed must be sown to-day, Though you may not reap the harvest For which you wait and pray.— Still work 'mid doubt and sorrow, And when thy toil is done, Ye shall see how, in darkest moments, The angel crown was won. GOD'S COMFORT. WHEN the world no solace gives, Leave me with my grief alone; Fainting for the rocks and springs, Overshadow me, O Lord, With the comfort of thy wings. When my heart and flesh shall fail, When I yield my mortal breath, When I gather up my feet, Icy with the chill of death; Strengthen and sustain me, Lord, With thine all-sufficient grace; Overlean my dying bed With the sweetness of thy face! When the pang, the strife, is past, Freed from sin and freed from death, With the glory of thy love. The Children's Corner. THAT'S HOW. AFTER a great snow-storm, a little fellow began to shovel a path through a large snow-bank before his grandmother's door. He had nothing but a small shovel to work with. "How do you expect to get through that drift?" asked a man passing along. 66 By keeping at it," said the boy cheerfully; "that's how !" That's the secret of mastering almost every difficulty under the sun. If a hard task is before you, stick to it. Do not keep thinking how hard it is; but go at it, and little by little it will grow smaller, until it is done. THE FOG-BELL. ONE evening in August I stood upon the deck of a late steamer in the Straits of Mackinaw. All day a haze had filled the air and obscured the forest-covered shores. The trees, suffering from a long-continued drought, were like tinder. On every side fires were blazing, set by some careless or malicious hand, or kindled by a casual spark. At the Sault St. Marie the villagers had kept watch night and day, beating back the advancing fires with whips of brush and pails of water. On one long point of land the flames, driven by the wind, had swept down like an irruption of barbarians from their forest hiding-places, and carried off in an hour a little hamlet of fishermen's huts. The half-amphibious creatures who occupied them, Canadians and half breeds, chiefly, had barely escaped with their lives by taking to their boats or plunging into the waters of the lake and waiting till the fury of the conflagration was past. As evening drew on, the fall of smoke settled heavily over us. A dense fog, creeping up from the surface of the lake, mingled with it. The lurid lights of distant forest fires gradually were veiled beneath this thickening gloom. The sun went down as red as though it were itself in conflagration. No stars could pierce the heavy veil which wrapped the earth. The rocky coast of Mackinaw, which for half an hour had been dimly discernible, could be seen no longer. With the setting sun the cloud which enwrapped us grew dense. The very objects on our steamer's deck loomed hazily through the thickening smoke and fog. Our cautious pilot put the steamer on half speed. Every ten minutes the line was thrown. We could no longer see half our boat's length before us. We were approaching the rocky and dangerous coast of Mackinaw. But though we were now close upon it, we could see neither the lights of its shipping in the harbour nor those of its lighthouses on the two points of its crescentshaped bay. Hark! Indistinctly, muffled by the thick fog, which obscures sound as well as sight, we hear the tolling of a distant bell. The pilot's trained ears have caught the sound long before his passengers have done so. Unable to see shore or light, he steers towards the fog-bell. Louder and clearer it rings through the night air. Suddenly, at one side, there looms up the ghostly spectre of a ship. Another, another; they are all around us. Then our engine wheels stop their revolutions. Lights shine dimly through the fog; red lights, yellow lights, lights stationary, THE FOG-BELL. lights gliding to and fro. Then the dim outline of a bold rocky shore is just discernible, frowning upon us like a darker cloud through the cloud in which we are enwrapped; then the form of curiously shadowy houses with their twinkling lights. Then voices. loud and hoarse mingle with the tolling of the bell, and we are, to our surprise, already at our pier. I have often thought since of that evening and its lesson. Often we sail through thick darkness. Often we can see no lights. But we can always steer for the fog-bell. 66 It is often said that this is an age of scepticism. It is, at all events, an age of reluctant scepticism. Its cry is, “Lord, help mine unbelief." Men fight against doubt. It overcomes them, conquers them, carries them away captive despite themselves. "I wish," said one such reluctant sceptic to us the other day, “that I had your Christ. But to me Christ is dim, distant, intangible.' "I would be glad," said another, "to believe immediately. I want to believe. I do not disbelieve. But I have no assurance." Many a sail comes to anchorage out in the fog simply because it cannot see the lights which guide to the harbour. If scepticism is sometimes a fault, it is oftener a misfortune. Now for such reluctant sceptics there is always the ringing of a fog-bell. It is happier, doubtless, to come into God's harbour through fair weather and beneath blue skies. But even the most constitutional doubter may come thither by following the fog-bell. Listen to its message: "If any man will do His will he shall know of the doctrine." "Oh! taste and see that the Lord is good." Doctrines are doubtful, but duty is plain. Christian experience does not wait on Christian understanding. There is a better way out of scepticism than that which investigation affords. Philanthropy is the road to piety. "He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him." How often to the Christian there come these experiences of doubt! Everything which seemed true seems uncertain; everything which seemed clear grows dim. Landmarks disappear. The light of men seems to burn dimly and more dimly, and at last is quite beclouded. The soul can no longer see Jesus. It goes even to Calvary in vain. The thick darkness which envelops the cross hides it from view. "But oh! when gloomy doubts prevail, I fear to call Thee mine; The springs of comfort seem to fail, MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. Yet still, in his darkest hours, the Christian can steer for the fog-bell. When he can no longer see his Lord, he can still hear His voice. Through the thick darkness which settles over the soul there still may be heard, though with muffled sound, the sweet words, "What is that to thee? Follow thou me." "Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely." At last life draws to its close. The aged Christian nears the "blessed harbour of God's saints." But often, because flesh and heart faints, and the eye grows dim, faith also waxes feeble. The shores of the heavenly country are but dimly discernible. A heavenly fog hangs over Jordan. Hopes that have accompanied and befriended the pilgrim from the wicket gate grow dim and disappear. But even then, though the light cannot be seen, the fogbell can be heard. An aged Christian came to me in my study. "Do you ever doubt," said he, "that you are a Christian? Do you ever doubt that heaven will be yours at last? I can no longer see anything clearly, but I trust my Saviour. At least I want to trust Him. But am I His or am I not? Who can tell?" If there ever was one who had a right to say with Paul, "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness," it was this aged father in Israel. And yet, all was dark. But when death came, as it did a few months later, he met it with unfaltering cheerfulness, and entered the ford, not seeing the Lord who waited to receive him, but cheered and guided to the harbour by the ringing of the fog-bell. "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." "When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee, and through the rivers they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire thou shalt not be burned; for I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour." MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. SHE laid her crucifix on her chair. The chief executioner took it as a perquisite, but was ordered instantly to lay it down. The lawn veil was lifted carefully off, not to disturb the hair, and was hung upon the rail. The black robe was next removed. Below it was a petticoat of crimson velvet. The black jacket followed, and |