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THE LOT OF LIFE. DEAK AiPORO. I know not if the dark or bright Shall by my lot; If that wherein my bop* delight Be best or not. It may be mine to drag for years Toil's heavy chain; Or day and night my meat be tears On bed of pain. Dear faces may surround my hearth With smiles and glee; Or I may dwell alone, and mirth Be strange to me. My barque is wafted to the strand By breath Divine; And on the helm there rests a Hand Other than mine. One who has known in storms to sail I have on board Above the raging of the gale v i • • I bear my Lord. He holds me when the billows smile, I shall not fail; If sharp, 'tis short; ifilong, 'tis light; He tempers all. Safe to the land, safe to the land, The end is this; And then with Him go band in hand Far into bliss. THE GUESTS OF THE HEART. Soft falls, through the gathering twilight, The rain from the dripping eaves, And stirs with a tremulous rustle r The dead and the dying leaves; While afar, in the midst of the sbadpws, I hear the sweet voices of bells Come, borne on the wind of the autumn, That fitfully rises and swells, They call and they answer each other, They answer and mingle again, As the deep and the shrill in an anthem Make harmony still in their strain As the voices of sentinels mingle In mountainous regions of snow. Till from hill top to hill tnp a chorus Floats down to the valleys below. The shadows, the fire-light of even. The sound of the rain's distant chime, Come, bringing, with rain softly dropping, Sweet thoughts of a shadowy time The slumberous sense of seclusion, From storm and intruders aloof, We feel when we bear, in the midnight, The patter of rain on the roof. i4J When the spirit goes forth, in his yearnings, To take all its wanderers home, Or, afar in the regions of fancy, Delights on swift pinions to roam: I fluiety sit by the fire-light, The fire-light so bright and so warm; For 1 know that those only who love me Will seek me through shadow and storm. But, should they be absent this evening, Should even the household depart, Deserted, I should not be lonely: Theretitill would be guest* in my heart; ) The faces of friends that I cherish, The smile, and the glance, and the tone, Will haunt me wherever I wander; And thus I am never alone. With those who have left far behind them The joys and the sorrows of time, Who sing the sweet songs of the angels In a purer and holier clime I Then darkly, 0 evening of autumn, Your Tain and your shadows may fall; My loved and my lost ones you bring me; My heart holds a feast with them all. APROPOS -OF THB Icr WSEATHER.—•The tffijspery pavements are very trying to all classes. Acrobats tum- bled for nothing; bankers lost their balance;; formers grazed their shins; soldiers embraced the flags.; tailorlt measured their length; and travellers tripped in all di- rections.' THE IOCEASORIES OF THE PULPIT. Who of us has not felt, when in the bright -stillness of a svoataer Sab- bath morning we had taken eur place in soiaeMjuiet old countryparieh church, where through the open door the eye fell on the greed sesounds of the churchyard, beneath which, after an tmeventful life, many a former worshipper has found a restiwg place, or perhaps oaught a glimpse of the soft outline of far-away hills and mea- dows and on the ear tbepe come, indistinctly blended, the hum of summer sounds, the bleating of distant flocks, the soft rustle of leaves, the occasional gust of the sumsaer breeze, lüdea with the fragrance ot bidden woods and fields-who of us, as he sat surrounded by simple yet reverential listeners, has not fait that there was a sermon in the scewe ere the preacher's lips were opened, fend that all the surroundings were in exquisite accordance with the fetSHngs which it was his vocation' to prodtMe ? Or again, in a sanctuary vbtdh modern or ancient art had done its utmost to dignify—where the dim shaddows play around fretted roof, anfl-soaring arch, and long-drawn colonnade; where Waasoned windows pour aroond us a mystic splendour of lights.; where the; memories of a hundred generations haunt us, and the hymn praise, as it swells up through vault and cloister, seems but the echo of voices cf l»ng-departed worshippers lingering round the scene of their high eolemnities-in euah a place of worship where art has consecrated her purest, noblest resources rte the service of religion, does not the preacher riee to address an audience whose minds are not only free from all dia- turbing influences, but, so far as external accessories) can effect them, already toned into susceptibility to de- vout impression ?' ,I THE LIME LIGRTK—The arrangements for sup- plying Perth Barracks with the lime light are being;! rapidl.y proceeded wit&, and before long we hope to see it demonstrated there that this beautiful illu-i minatiom is as applicable to private buildings. and, in a small wajj," as it has hitherto proved to be on;1 an extended scale. Its principle is exactly the' same as that knowtta as the Drummond light, but some slight improvements have recently been'! introduced into its working. Three substances I are concerned in the production of the light—viz.,1 two gases, ox j gen and hydrogen, anda«olid—lime.' The mode in which-these are used is ag follows A jet of hydrogen beisg lighted, a jet .ot. hydrogeu is turned Qa so as to mix with it, and the solid in- combustible lime being so arranged as to be exposed' to the intense heat it .emits a light tic) pure and so i powerful that it is cnily rivalled by that of the sun. The method of using and lighting the jet is precisely the same as with a common gas burner; so that no special knowledge or instruction is requisite for its management. Where the consumption of the lime- light gases does not exceed one foot and a half per hour, the light produced is equal to four gaslights, each burning five feet per hour. Three feet per hour give a light equal to fifteen gaslights, each burning five feet per hour. Six feet per hour give a light equal to sixty gaslightf, so that six feet are equal to three hundred feet of gas. Tbe two gases may be easily produced, and a very small main would be sufficient to carry them through the streets for the lighting of dwelling houses, a purpose for which this is singularly well fitted, as its products of combustion are quite innoxious, and have no tar- nishing effects. Another advantage is that it ex ercises no changing influence on colours, every tint being as distinctly observable by its assistance as in the light of the sun. 'Various towns in Scotland are adopting the light, and if, as will doubtless be the case, the experiment at Perth proves satisfac- tory, it is expected that the lime light will gradually s upersede to use of gas,—London Scotsman. j