THE NARROW WAY AN EASY WAY.

Here there is an apparent contradiction. It is written that the Christian life is a cross, which every one must lifta race, in which every nerve of effort is to be tasked- -a path, rugged and hilly-a battle, calling into requisition every power of the soul. Again, it is written that Wisdom's ways are pleasantness, and her paths peace; that Christ's yoke is easy, and his burden light. Solve the enigma, some one says. It is easy of solution.

A man and wife, in London, quarrelled a short time after their marriage, and for a day would not speak. The next day neither would speak. The next day neither would give in. They were both spoiled children; both proud as Lucifer. A week passed and not a word was interchanged. The husband said to himself, "So help me God, I will not speak first.” The wife said, “So help me God, I will not speak first." A month passed; not a word. A year; not a word. And thus for twenty years, this man and woman, until one of them was on the bed of death, occupied the same dwelling without speaking to each other.

Now could anything be easier than for that man to take the hand of his wife, and say, "Wife, I am ashamed of myself. Forgive me." A man with the least particle of magnanimity in his soul would probably have said this before the first hour had passed away. And yet can anything be conceived of harder than for that proud man, with all that was brutal in his nature roused to intensity of action, to give up beaten, and confess himself in the wrong? Think of the struggle in his mind. Fool that I am," he says. "How is this to end? Are we to live thus till we die? I'll give up and speak first. But then she will say she has conquered. I shall feel humiliated. No! I will not give up. I will die first." Is it easy to give up? He had rather grapple a lion. Is it not easy? It is but to say, "Wife, I am sorry," and the trouble is all at an end. Peace

comes.

And think of the wife, that haughty mulish woman who has always had her own way, whose will has never been subdued, who had rather lie down on burning coals than say, “Husband, I am wrong." Is it easy for her to give up? Yet how easy. The moment she utters the words, "Husband, I am sorry," all her troubles are at an end. The

moment she touches the burden to lift it, it becomes a crown upon her brow. The moment she bows her head to the yoke, it becomes easy and light, a necklace of pearls.

This is the solution of the riddle. The cross of Christ becomes a diadem; his yoke a decoration and a joy. The way, which seemed so rugged, when entered becomes a path of flowers. The proud heart finds it hard to say, "God be merciful to me, a sinner." But when once said, the same heart is amazed that it ever could have appeared hard. To confess Christ before men is a cross, until it is done. Then it is a crown, and we wonder that it ever seemed a cross. Sent by H. J. A.

"BROTHER, YOU MUST SQUEEZE."

Lately, a church made a resolution that their minister must be satisfied to live upon what they should collect at the end of the month, let the amount be little or much, and that they would not from that time forward bind themselves to make up any particular sum. This resolution they communicated to their pastor with this solemn advice-" Brother, you must squeeze; the times are hard." He replied that he would think of the matter, and see how the plan was likely to answer.

In a few days he called upon the owner of his house, who was a member of his church, and told him he could not promise to pay him any specific sum for the house from that time forth; that the "times were hard, and he must squeeze," but he would pay for it as circumstances would permit. The landlord stared at him in astonishment, and replied, "Man! who lets houses in this manner-to give as much as you please for it? Did any one ever hear of such a thing? I thought to advance the rent a pound next year. You shall not have my house, I am sure, for one penny less."

He next went to the miller and asked for a sack of flour. "Certainly," said the miller, "but do you know that the price of flour has advanced since you purchased the last ? " "I was not aware of it," replied the minister, “and indeed it is of no great consequence, as the order of things is changed; I am to give what I can for it. Brother, you must squeeze; the times are hard.'" "Good or bad,"

answered the miller, "I must have according to 50s. per sack for it. Hearken, man, who sells flour upon such terms?"

He next proceeded to the farmer, and asked for a bushel of wheat. The farmer said he should have it, but it would cost him 88. 6d. "No, no, brother," replied the minister, "you must squeeze; the times are hard.' I will give you as much as I can at the end of the month, after seeing what the collections will be." "What has that to do with the price of wheat?" exclaimed the farmer. "I have a great rent to pay next month, and I do not know how to bring this to bear, between the wages, the tithes, and the payments." This brother kept a large farm, and paid specific wages to his labourers, except Jack, the half-witted boy, who was at hand to fetch the cows for the women, clean the outhouses, &c.

The minister next called upon John, the shoemaker, who, after hearing his terms for a pair of shoes, began to put the snuff into his wide nostrils, which were as black as two chimney-flues, and talk very sarcastically respecting such terms. "He would not put a patch upon a shoe under 3d." The butcher treated him in like manner; his meat was "so much à pound." And the tailor insisted upon having a regular price for his commodities.

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On his way home, the minister went into the shop of his principal deacon, and asked him for some small articles necessary for the use of his family, such as a pound of soap, a pound of sugar, a pound of candles, two ounces of tea, a halfpenny worth of soda (but no tobacco). After packing the things neatly, the grocer began to count their cost. "You need not waste your time in reckoning," interrupted the minister, “I am to pay for them as circumstances wil permit. 'Brother, you must squeeze,' as the times are very hard with me at present, but I will give conscientiously for them what is in my power." "Squeeze!" said the shopkeeper, with pious surprise; "what do you mean? Give what you please-how much will that be?" "I cannot say at present," replied the pastor, "but you shall know at the end of the month, when I see how much the collection will be," "That will not do for me," said the shopkeeper," I am obliged to pay a certain price for every article, and I have a great amount to make up next week."

"So, indeed," exclaimed the minister. "Well, I see there is no one but myself to squeeze, and that I am out of the reach of hard times. If I was able to perform miracles, like our Saviour with the loaves and fishes, your plan would answer. I have called on all the members that sell anything for the use of man, to see how your plan was likely to answer, but you must all have a 'particular price' for your goods-the owner of my house, the miller, the shoemaker, the tailor, the butcher, and yourself likewise. You will not let me have a pound of sugar or an ounce of tea out of your shop, unless I pay a stated price for it. How, then, do you expect me to pay my way without a stated salary, and that, too, proportionable to my family? Before I can agree to receive what you collect monthly for me, you and others must be willing to receive that between you, in proportion to what I may have had from each, and I will promise to live quite moderately; or, if you prefer it, I am willing to live on the money wasted weekly by the members in liquor, snuff, and tobacco."-Welsh Baptist Magazine.

Sent by H. J. A.

THE COBBLER AND THE LORD'S DAY.

IN one of the most densely-peopled parts of New York, a gentleman lately visited the house of a poor, hard-working, infidel cobbler. The man was busy at his last, and had scarce time to look up at his unwelcome visitor.

"That is hard work."

"It is, sir."

"For how many hours of the day have you to labour here -twelve ?"

"Yes, and more, sir; I am never off this seat under a fourteen or fifteen hours' spell, sir."

"That is sore toil for a bit of bread."

"Indeed it is, sir; and very thankful am I when the week's end comes. What would become of me, and the like of me, without that rest ?"

"And who, friend, think you, gave you that rest? Came it by accident, or arrangement, or how ?"

There came no answer to that. The cobbler hung his head. The man was honest-the sceptic was ashamed.

Jesus when he left the sky,
And for sinners came to die,
In his mercy pass'd not by,
Little ones like me.

Mother's then the Saviour sought,
In the places where he taught,
And to him their children brought,
Little ones like me.

Did the Saviour say them "Nay,"
No, he kindly bade them stay,
Suffered none to turn away,
Little ones like me.

'Twas for them his life he gave,
To redeem them from the grave.
Jesus able is to save,

Little ones like me.

Children then should love him now,

Strive his holy will to do,

Pray to him and praise him too,

Little ones like me.