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THIS I find to be the beginning of a piece in the GLEANER of March, and it led me to inquire, Who is the seller of the world? Is it the man who rises early and sits up late, who eats the bread of carefulness, that he might heap unto himself riches ? Is it the young lady whose only thought seems to be," Wherewithal shall I be clothed, that I may appear gay and pleasing to my fellowcreatures"? Is it he who looks for the applause of man, who thinks himself so far above others as to demand to be honoured by them, and almost worshipped? Is it those who attend (or wish to attend) all the plays, theatres, pleasure-parties, &c. In a word, is it those (whether old or young, rich or poor) who are saying continually, "Who will show us any good?" Are these the people who wish to sell the world? Oh, no! The God of this world hath blinded their eyes, and deluded their hearts, so that they are become like the horseleech's two daughters, who are still crying, "Give, give!" and never say, "It is enough!" They will not, therefore, sell what they have; for the toys and vanities of this present world are as dear to them almost as life itself. Who, then, is the seller of the world? A person to be willing to part with this world must be one who has had his eyes open to see its emptiness and vanity-to see with one of old, that all is vanity and vexation of spirit; one who can say with the poet


Empty, polluted, dark, and vain
Is all this world to me!"

One who is weary of earth, himself, and sin, one that knows it to be an evil and bitter thing to sin against God, and, finding the earth to be full of sin and iniquity, he cries out, "Woe is me, that

I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar!"

"May I that better world obtain

For there I long to be!"

But, though he knows that the earth and the fashion of it will pass away, he finds to his sorrow that he is of the earth earthy, and that he at times cleaves to the earth still, which makes him to say feelingly

"My soul lies cleaving to the dust-
Lord, give me life divine;

From vain desires and every lust

Turn off these eyes of mine."

There is something working in his breast that makes him willing to

"Tread the world beneath his feet,

And all that earth calls good or great."

There is some good thing in his heart towards the Lord God of Israel, but to whom can he sell the world? Those that would buy have nothing to give in exchange for it. What sinners value he resigns, and those that have anything worthy of acceptance will not part with it. The reader of these lines may be one who is so blessed with faith in the Son of God that he can believingly see him bleeding on the cross for him, dying to atone for the sins that he had committed, so that he can say with Thomas, "My Lord and my God;" but will he part with this faith for a vain and transitory world? Oh, no! "It is enough, Lord," says he, "that Thou art mine." Again, he may be one who has a hope of salvation, who cannot say, "The Lord is mine;" but hopes in Him, and can say, "The vision is for an appointed time, and, though it tarry, he will wait for it," hoping that it will come in God's

own time. This hope he will not part with for a thousand worlds. Some there are that have a desire that they may be found

"Among the favoured band,

That they with them God's praise may sound,
Throughout Immanuel's land."

These will not buy the world, for there's nothing there can satisfy

"Nor gold, nor house, nor land!"

Seeing, then, that this seller can meet with no one to buy, and that he is bound by it as Lazarus was by the grave-clothes, he comes in with the poet and says:

"Dear Jesus, set me free, And to Thy glory take me in, For there I long to be."

He is compelled to leave it with those that would buy (even though he can get nothing in return), and say:

"Let worldly minds the world pursue—

It has no charms for me;

I once admired its trifles, too,

But grace has set me free."

And the Lord will in His own time take him into that city, wherein is joy unspeakable and full of glory.

Reader, where are you? Are you following the course of this world? Do you enjoy the company of the world more than the people of God? Are you lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God? Would you, at the expense of a woeful eternity, buy the world? Oh, may the Lord give you wisdom and grace whereby you may be enabled to say, We buy not the world, but the truth, for What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul ?" A READER.



A WRITER in the Fireside Companion moralizes as follows upon the above topic :

"I have long been an observer, as I am a sympathizing lover of boys. like to see them happy, cheerful, and gleesome. I am not willing that they should be cheated out of their rightful heritage of youth-indeed, I can hardly understand how a high-toned, useful man can be the ripened fruit of a boy who has not enjoyed a fair share of the glad privileges due to youth. But while I watch with a very jealous eye all rights and customs which entrench upon the proper rights of boys, I am equally apprehensive lest parents who are not forethoughtful, and have not habituated themselves to close observation upon this subject, permit their sons indulgences which are almost certain to result in their demoralization, if not in their total ruin; and among the habits which I have observed as tending most surely to ruin, I know of none more prominent than that of parents permitting their sons to be in the streets after nightfall. It is ruinous to their morals in almost all instances. They acquire, under cover of the night, an unhealthful and excited state of mind, bad language and practices, criminal sentiments, a lawless and riotous bearing; indeed, it is in the street, after nightfall, that boys principally acquire the education for the bad capacity of becoming dissolute, criminal men.


Parents should adopt a most rigid, inflexible rule that will never permit a son, under any circumstances whatever, to go into the street after nightfall, with a view of engaging in out-of-door sports, or of meeting other boys for social or

chance occupation. A rigid rule of this kind, invariably adhered to, will soon deaden the desire for such dangerous practices.

"Education begins with life. Before we are aware, the foundations of character are laid, and no subsequent instruction can remove or alter them. Linnæus was the son of a poor Swedish clergyman. His father had a small garden, in which he cultivated all the flowers which his means or his taste could select. Into this flower garden he introduced his little son in infancy, and this little garden undoubtedly created the taste in this child which afterwards made him the first botanist and naturalist of his age, if not of his race."


THE choosing of proper names by sound belongs to civilization. It was not so with nations in their infancy. They went by sense. They fixed on a name that described the child, that referred to its personal characteristics, that was an outlet for their piety and thanksgivings, that was owned already by something that they were grateful for and loved. The Jewish mother as long ago as the days chronicled in the Bible-rocked her baby on her breast; and as she sat among the flocks and birds and flowers called it Susanna, lily; or Hadasseh, myrtle; or Zophar, her little bird; or Deborah, the bee that buzzed so closely it made her little one open its eyes and smile. Or, joyous and poetic in her luxuriant land, the timid sheep were bleating by, and she called her babe Rachael, in their memory; or the rich fruit of the pomegranate overhung her, and gave her food, and she

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