J^ ^rs> rP^ /^^ ^ 0^=" Gi,^ re .(•t^ p DuTToi ^,' IWITERSITY OF WORTH CAROLINA (Shool of LibfS^ry Seienee ' ly . j^nmftetJ^ m ^ i iW ■ : ^ CHILD l\e)^f Jo Cowe ujJTo <;i?€. SUNDAY. 188 5. Reading for Young and Old. WITH UPWARDS OF Two Hundred and Fifty Original Illustrations By G. L. Seymour, P. Thumann, Helen Miles, T. Pym, AND OTHERS. NEW YORK: E. p. BUTTON AND COMPANY, 89 \VEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hilh http://archive.org/details/sundayreadingforOOseym 60Kf 1-MTi A BoU Effort Rowardea . A Boy Poet A Boy's Hnlf-holiday A Brave Girl A Cat Story . . . A Cockchafer School A Cruel Invader A Dog's Despair A Doer's Power of Reasoniiig; A Father's Treasures A French Conscript . A Horse Audience A Lie A Little Hero . A Little Maiden's Reply . A Man of Peace . Au Arab's respect for Bread An Eastern Beauty . An Elephant Anecdote . An Enemy Turned into a Friend An Odd Spelling-book An Old Proverb Aloae .."... A Parable .... A Persian Fable . • A Pet Monkey . . ■ A Quaker's Charity . A Scripture Alphabet A Son's Devotion A Story of Christmas Eve A Story of Pots and Kettles Association A True Sayins At the Scaflord Annt Lonsia's Gold Beads, 302, 306, 322, 330, 338, 350, 354, 362, ■ht, 118; ■nions A Village Genius A Young Housekeeper Bad Company . Bible Woeds : — Thou Hipocrites, 205 ; Quater Birds Peck the best Fruit Borrowed Plumes Buried but not Dead Carl's Hunting Espedition ■ Caught, my Friend ! ' Character . Chinese Thermometer Choosing a Husband Christmas Greeting . Clusters Cripples Deeds and "Words Dejected Ned Does God see ? . Docility and Patience Do what you Say Earthly Greatness . Eastern Life in Tents Eight Golden Rules . Ella's Protector Enid .... Even Kings must Work Everybody's Corner :■ a r^au li. -.air ^ ' TL-^ the Zodiac,38 ; Eastern Reverence. 50; Jehovai, 86; Quintain, 102; "What One Printing-press may Do, no ; A Roman Soldier's Gear, 186 ; Russian Markets, 223; Tlie Two Scribes, 310 ; Tears and Tear-bot- tles, 333 ; Emblem of the Trinity 374, Pass . 335 . 66 . 4,2 . 263 18,26 . 395 . 287 . 191 . 247 . 373 . 93 . 215 . 8t . 274 . 251 . 170 . 31 . 410 . 299 . 118 . 247 . 315 . 279 . 331 . 366 . 226 . 213 . 155 . 366 106, 130 . 253 . 215 74 377, 390, 394, 403 203 Charming Uj of 258 379 357 207 86 31 242 226 47 28 187 410 381 374 286 271 279 143 263 162 399 11 239 356 28 403 Evy's Lesson 119 Faith and Sight . . . .107 Talsehood ... .08, 111 Fetters or Fi'eedom ? . . .114 Eoxy's Advice 399 Freddie's Birthday . . . 90 Fritz and Father Stork . . .397 ' Get Out, you Brute ! ' . . .78 Gobble-up ! 405 God's Eternity 146 God's Providence .... 79 * God's Providence is mine Inheri- tance' . .... 291 Page Good and lU News . . . .359 ' Go to the Ant ' .... 371 Great Ends and Little Beginnings . 270 Grandfather's Lesson . . . '107 Ham-ti's Triumph .... 343 Hindoo Servants . . . .202 History of the Penny ... 63 Honesty 251 How Some People Travel : — Europe, 172 ; Asia, 317, 323 ; Africa 347 How the Jfatc Saved the Tide . . 102 Hubert and DoUy . . . .387 Human Kindness .... 27 Idleness means Poverty . . . 343 ' If you Please ' .... 366 'I'm here' 170 Innocence 134, 255 In the Northern Snow . . . 390 In the Upper Room . . . .238 ' It is an 111 "Wind.' . . . .118 Jacko's Tormentors .... 218 Jack Tar's Match . . . .186 Jerusalem and Olivet ... 53 Johnny's Pocket-money . . 336 Jules and Jidie 362 Knowledge and Rest . . . 286 Lan-y's Ambition .... 354 Lazybones 189 Leaves from Noble Lives:— Francis Joseph Campbell, 54, 70 ; John Howard .... 142 Life 399 Life's B.attle . . . . 63 Lion Habits 231 Lisa's Birthday Party . . - 359 Little Prayers for Little Things: — While Dressing, 301; On Waking in the Morning, 315 ; On Receiving Praise, 357 ; At Noon, 366 ; At Meals . . 399 Little Rules for Daily Life . . 331 Little Rides for Little Folk . . 383 Marg.aret's Waif . . . .327 Marion's Geese 15 Maxim of Confucius . . . . 23 Men of God 58 Missing 79 Mixed Pickles, 5, 12, 20, 29, 34, 43, 60, 61, 66. 74, 83, 91, 99, 107, 114, 125, 133, 138, 147, 158, 165, 182, 187, 194, 202, 211, 219, 237, 243, 253, 258, 266, 277, 286 More Frightened than Hurt . . 398 Nature Gives and Takes . . 127 Nature's Child, Boy and Man . . 98 Newspapers 131 Nina's Afternoon .... 167 No Beggars Allowed .... 146 No Evil 199 No Return 28 Only a Halfpenny 1 . 135, 138, 150, 166, 174, 178 Only a Little Boy . . . .358 Only on Sundays .... 99 Otlier People's Feelings . . .207 • Onr Cousin Winnie ' . . 78, 87 Uuit L/i>M.ti TEACHjiRS : — Socrates, 123 ; Faithful in Small and Great, 1-16 ; Affection in Birds, 234 ; Memory in Elephants, 322 ; Kind- ness and Gratitude . . . 333 Onr Princesses' Dinner-parties . 307 Outside and Inside .... 266 Outside Heaven .... 36 Oxen in the Bible .... 28 Perseverance 350 Play-gardens 210 Please! 19 Precious as Gold .... 371 Proverbs Old and New, 66, 155, 190, 203 Queen "Victoria and her Minister . 346 Ragamuffin Tom, 205, 314, 321, 229, 235,246, 260, 269, 275, 282, 293, 30O, 307, 314, 326 Revenge 3 Saint John's Day . . . 282 School 382 Seedlings 371 Self-praise ' Setting the Thames on Firo ' . Shoes, or No Shoes ? . . . Signs of the Zodiac: — The Water- bearer, .15; The Fish, 76; Aries, 109 ; Taurus, 149 ; Gemini, 213 ; The Crab, 252 ; Leo, 268 ; Virgo, 316; Libra, 341; The Scorpion, 364 ; Sagittarius. 380 ; The Goat . Sirrah! Sir Walter Scott's Dog ' Camp ' Small Things Somebody Cares for You . Stilpon Straws Strong Minds Sundays in Quarantine . 231, 298, Sunny Sue Sunshine Sylvia's Sacrifice . . . 406, * Talking to Jesus ' . . . Tame Tom Tempted of the Devil The Alhcyt Edward Lifeboat The Animals of the Bible : — The Lion, 46, 58 ; The Fox, 82, 94; The Elephant, 190; The Goat, 198; The Sheep, 250; The Dog, 290; The Wild Boar .... The Arab and the Lord's Prayer The Battle of Agincourt . The Beginnings of Conscience The Best Attitude .... The Blind Basket-girl The Boy who Remembered what he was Taught The Death of Polycarp . The Depths The Dog and the Pasties . The Dying Soldier .... The Engineer's Pattern . The Fall of the Holy City The First Steamer .... The Hindoo's Honesty The King in his Garden . The Lady Una The Lost One's Return The Midnight Climb The Old Man's Difficulties The PUgrim Fathers The Prisoner of War The Red Man's Home The Riddle of the Year . The Roman Slave .... The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain . The Smuggler's Grave The Star The Story of Nunnia The Three Degrees of Comparison . The Three Little Pigs, 151, lot, 162, 170, The Tinker Preacher of Elstow The Tongue The Tower of Repentance The True God . The Truest Charity . The Turning-point in a Life Tue value oi a i'iirLniim . The Way to Get Knoivledge The Way to Succeed at La.st The Wealth of Poverty . Three Ones Through the W.aves . Time and Eternity . Treasui-e Trove . Tried as by Fire Time as Steel True Riches True Worth Truth .... Twenty Years Ago Washing of Feet "Wliat is Happiness ? . What will you give up ? . Which Motto is Yours ? . Wonderful Escapes : — Samuel Proctor, 102 ; The Seal-hunters . Working for Good and Evil Page 314 237 94 404 71 3S8 58 102 350 274 301 370 199 114 411 239 47 286 334. 318 223 228 333 234 163 287 287 50 207 3t2 194 186 374 314 231 332 335 315 381 111 101 349 155 38 310 123 301 179 93 102 277 90 221 SO 118 407 3S 62 87 243 299 7 210 335 23 119 166 ,10 255 205 7 218 213 859S37 CONTENTS. POETRY. Page ABC Saw 1^3 Across Life's Sea . . . . 7i Angels 29-5 A Sunday Acrostic . . . 170 A Winter Scene .... 8 Baby Muriel 327 * Baby's Toys ' 403 Bells' 32, 33 Blossomini:^ Time .... 82 Buz and Carlo .- a Fable . 83 Calmness So") Canty Bay 36i> Charlie 95 Christmas Carol .... 33 Evening 3li Evening Twilight . . .319 Eventide 373 Everything has Something 156 Father's Return .... 140 Friendless! 370 Page Give 6S Glitterin? 318 • Godly Quietness ' . . . 223 H^ymakin-j-tiras .... I?.') Human Greatness . . . 277 Humility is Safe .... lOJ Joy in Heaven 410 Life's Footsteps .... 193 Lost 3 Man's PLissions .... 37^ Meadow-sweet .... 29-5 Memories 147 Miss Mariirold's Love . . (j3 Morning Pi-ayer .... 7 Morning Sunbeams . . . 379 My Sins 301 Ned and the Bee . . . .201- Nellie's Kindueis .... 127 Pa^a One Year Old ilO Only a Piece of Amber . 46 Other Lands across the Sea 23 Praise the Lord .... 60 Ram among the Hills . . 343 Seaside Whispers .... 55 See-saw ! 292 Song of the Fishermin . 12 Sundays 271 The Blackbird's Nest . . 282 The Children's Harvest Fostiv.il 325 The Cottager's Orphan Babe 383 The First Wild Rose . . 332 Tbe Fisherman's Daughter 122 TUe Four Sweet Months . 184 The Homes of England . 185 Tae Lily's Lesson . , . 116 PaK9 The Little Star .... 162 The Ministry of Angels . 310 The New Year 37 The Old Home 23S The Old Year 411 The Organ Boy .... 101 The Primrose and the Violet 315 The Rescue 334 The Rose of Sharon . . . 31S The Squirrel and the Rooks 219 The Swing 255 The Village Oak . . . .357 Three Little Daisies . . 302 Time Lost 279 * Toby ! ' 393 Two Little Buds .... 187 Two Little Duckies . . .247 Two Little Ferns. ... 90 What Little Things and Little Folks can Do. . 31 ILLUSTRATIONS. COLOTJ^iEID :FI^OISrTIS:PIECE. Page ABC Saw Ja3 A Brave Girl Afraid . . 264 A Boy's Half-holiday . . 41 Across the Bar .... 121 Across the Common . . 312 A Desperate Moment . . 176 A Father's Treasures . . 372 A Horse Audience . . . 216 An Eastern Beauty . . . 409 An Israelite of Old . . . 57 Anxious Expectation . . 137 A Pair of Love- Birds . . 233 A Picture of Patience and Docility 144 A poor Dog's Despair . . 193 A Rainy Day on the Hills . 3 14 A H.ide down Hill . . . 352 A Russian Gameilealer . . 224 A Story of Pots and Pans . 105 At the Edge of the Forest 15i At the West End .... 129 A Winter Scene .... S A Young Housekeeper . . 257 Bella 32, 33 Better than a hundred Sheplierds 72 Borrowed Plumes ... So Brave Baby 3d7 Bunyan's Wife pleading for him 93 Canty Bay 365 ' Caught ! ' 225 Charlie 96 Christmas Day .... 4 Conrad and the Cockchafer 393 Dead Beat in the Snow . 3S9 Dejected Ned 272 ' Don't you be afraid' . . 3ri2 * Dressmg-up ! ' .... 405 Erdmann in Trouble . . 360 Evening Rest . ... 345 Eventide 373 Evy's Fright 120 Father's Return .... 141 Floral Borders 60, 69, 116, lo6. 184, 204, 332, 3S3 Friendless 36J Fritz and the Stork . 397 Page Gobble Up 405 Going for a Swing . . . 256 Grandfather's Lesson . . 40i Happy Sunday Afternoons 28, 101, 189, 212, 253, 2:15. 333, 358, 3S1 Harold tumbles pretty often 368 * He trudged valiantly back, a ^-ain ' 241 He watched her going to Leeward 104 How some People Travel 172, 173, 174, 317, 318, 323, 324, 347, 348, 349 'I'm here!' 169 In his Glory 97 Jacko's Tormentors . . . 217 Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives 53 ' Johnny dived to the bot- tom of his pocket ' . . 3S5 Johnny's Harvest . . . 117 .lules and Julie .... 3'U Just in Time 17/ Larry Practising .... 353 Looking across the Sea . 24 Lost— and JSight coming on 3 328 16 81 296 392 Margaret's Waif .... Marion's Geese . . May's Blossoms .... Meadow-sweet Meg playing with the Beads 'Merrily switching his rod, was his Sou' 273 ' Mike startled the whole Hou=elioia' 24S Mixed Pickles — Vignettes 5, 13, 15, 20, 21, 29, 31, 35. 3o, 44, 51, 01, 68, 75, 84,92, 100, 30.^, 125, 126, 134, 140, 14a, 15:;, 165, 18:i, 196, 203, 223, 228, 243, 244, 259,267,277 More Frightened than Hurt 297 Mrs. Bbi'-kie's Visitors . . 17 Muffin Morning , . . 329 Page Newspaper^ — Laying-on . 132 New-Year Day .... 37 Nina's Afternoon in the Gardens 168 Now, young Ladies, atten- tion, if you please ' . . 35S On the Edge of the Forest 164 On the Lonely Shore . . 73 One Year Old 110 Our Dumb Teachers . . 124 Outline Pictures to Colour 157, 181, 245 Outside and Inside . . . 265 Outside Cairo 400 Paley's Turning-point . . 49 Paul nearly thrown off the Plank 281 PLaymates 240 Polycarp before the Pro- Consul 161 Ponto and his Friend . , 337 Poor Cupid's Feelings . . 208 Pursued 180 Ragamuffin Tom— Vignettes 205, 214. 221, 223. 239, 230, 236, 237, 260, 261, 269, 276, 284, 293, 294, 300, 301. 307, 308, 309, 326 Salcombe Days .... 9 See-saw and Boat . . . 29J ' She had fallen asleep ' . 33(: ' bhe let the Child place the beads about her throat '. 315 ' She was just in time.' . 153 Signs of the Zodiac : The Water-bearer ... 45 Pisces 76 Aries 109 Taurus 149 Gemini 213 Oancer 252 lico 2o8 Virgo 316 Libra 341 The Scorpion .... 364 Sagittarius 380 Capricornus 401 Sulci's First Introduction. 145 Snuny aue 200 Page ' Sunshine's Bow * . . . 113 Susie at the Window . . 376 ' Susie ran to the front door' 340 Susie's Repentance . . . 377 Sylvia's Sacrifice .... 413 The Aitimals of the Bible : A Royal Captive . . .193 The Goat 197 Sheep 249 The Dog 289 The Wild Boar .... 320 The Beginning of a Great Man 64 The Biscuits gone ! . . .209 The Cat was bewildered . 28a The Children's Harvest Festival 325 The Elephant remembers . 321 The Family Heirloom . . 401 The Fishing Boat ... 12 The Haymakers .... 160 The Homes of England . 185 The Lady Una . , . . 31S The Lost One Found . , 232 The News arrived at the Nursery 77 The Old Cat's Story . . . 25 The Old Churchyard . . 40 The Old Priory .... 1 The Poet's Sunny Comer . 65 The Pussy's New Home . 128 The Red Man's Welcome . 112 The Seaside 66 * The Twins could hear what she said ' . . . . 280 The Unfortunate Slate . 304 The Unwelcome Guest . . 48 The Village Oak .... 357 The Young Coi-poral . . 80 ' Toby ! ' 393 Tommy with the Raven and Frog 396 Treasure Trove .... 7 * True as Steel ' ... .335 Uncle Fred's Shadows . . 8S Was it Curiosity, or Fear ? 136 Will Somers at Work . . 201 'Woa! Woa!' 89 The Old Priory. Sunday Reading for the Young. TWENTY YEARS AGO. ' WENTY years is a long time ; „^j- _ ■ w yet I remember it all as if it ^3f='S^|^ L were only yesterday — the event ■which turned the cm-rent of my whole life, and changed my future. It was a simple acci- dent in itself, yet, as it shows how Providence shapes our ends, let us rough hew them as we will, it is worth telling. I was then a young fellow, just entering manhood, had passed my college examination successfully, and having in addition obtained a very good appointment under Government in one ■of the colonies, was paying a round of good-hye visits to my friends before sailing for my distant ■work in the steamer that was to start from Plymouth on the very day before my birth- day — a horrid day to start, but needs must, and there was no help for it. At that time an unole lived at a dear old place on the Thames, that had once been an abbey, but for many years had been tised as a private residence, and under the name of ' The Priory,' had been my uncle's home for a long period. A men-y party were gathered there, and a •week passed very pleasantly, in spite of my prospect of a long voyage. My uncle and •some of the elders were out driving nearly every day, while some of us youngsters marched off to bag a few head of game in the home covers, or had a spin in somfe of the quiet •deeps for the wily jack, or, what was even more fun, took charge of a boatload of ladies, cousins and friends, and made a sort of autumn |)icnic, rowing a few miles up the river and back, and taking our lunch in the boat. The lidies, wrapped up in shawls and fm's, did not feiel tlie cold, although the season was pretty swell advanced. One evening, when my visit was drawing to an iend, — we had all been romping in high spirits, jplaying at round games till we were hot and very excited, — one of my cousins, whom I will call Clara, happened to lift the blind, and looked with one's enemy ; in passing it over, one- is far snporior. LOST. IT is only a lost child — nothing more — With little bare feet On the cold hard street ; Her eyes full of tears, Her heart full of fears : Will no one take pity, and open his door ? But the hurrying feet pass on, pass on. No time to pity In this great city. Only a child. With her blue eyes mild, Wistfully gazing as the crowd moves along. It is only a lost child — nothing more — Going astray Far away, far away. With love in our heart, Let us do our part, And pity the homeless, and op3n our door. Joanna McKisan. Sunday Reading for the Young. Sunday Reading for the Young. MIXED PICKLES. By Lousia F. Kelt), Author of ITic TTrnj ThifJiei-. ) \^\ CHAPTER I. IDLE HANDS. \ ^^/"'^ ' — / ^^® ^^''y ■'°^®-^y ' ^^ ^^^ iiot \^_ ^ lonely because she was alone, for she was rather fond of wandering off by herself, away from every one else, and talking to herself and to the birds and flowers, and still more to any little stream that came in her way. But then to be alone because you fancy it, and to be alone because there is no one to play wth, are two very different things, and the last was Bryda's case. ' If I had even a kitten,' she said aloud, standing before the sun-dial in her grand- mother's old-fashioned garden, and looking at the shadow that did not seem to move at all. Bryda had read of King Hezekiah, for whom the shadow moved backwards; she wished it would move a little forwards for her, and bring tea-time, after which meal she might go and sit by the couch of her invalid cousin, Salome, who had soft fingers that rested soothingly on her rumpled hair, and a soft low voice that told pleasant stories pleasantly, and good long ones, too. ' If I had only a kitten I ' Whj', only yesterday, before Uncle Jack went away and took all the brightness of the house with him, he said he thought there were Ivittens in a loft over the stable, and he would try and catch one for Bryda. But he had gone off on a shooting expedition and would not be home for days and days. And he did not know how lonely Bryda was. You see her father and mother had gone abroad a fortnight before this lonely day, and had left her in charge of grandfather and grand- mother. They were very kind, but they were so old, and so fond of going to sleep in their chairs \\A\h very grave books before them, always open at the same place, that Bryda thought they looked • more like two wax figures from Madame Tus- saud's, put one on either side of the fire in winter and of the big window i]i summer, than like real people. Thej' had lived so long, probabl}', that they could not care much about anything. If you told any striking piece of news to grandmother she only said, ' Say it again, my dear. I'm a stupid old woman. Sit down beside me, speak slowly, and always remember to wipe your shoes on the mat." If you had just rushed in full of the great news that the robin's blue eggs in that dear little nest by the garden door were gone, and four gaping, featherless darlings were there in- stead, you felt that it was not much worth while to try and make grandmother enter into the delight of the surprise. And when you had told her, she would only say, ' Very nice, my dear ; very charming, I'm siire. Now run out again, and don't get freckled.' After which she would smooth do-^^-n her heavy watered silk gown, and doze over the big grave book again. And grandfather was worse. He had long white hair, and a very long white beard, and busily white eyebrows ; so that there were only two round spots on each cheekbone, and a very narrow strip of forehead — unless you included his nose — on which to Iriss him, without burying your face in white hair dusted with snuff. For grandfather took a great deal of snuff, and if you — that is, if Bryda — went to talk to him, he G Sunday Reading for the Young. ■\Tfmld say, when he was awake enough to listen, ' Yes, yes, my dear, quite so, exactlj' so. Give nie a kiss, my dear ; give me a kiss. I want a . bi l:e from those clierries on your cheeks.' And then came the difficulty of kissing grandfather (who did not like to be refused) without kissing the white, snuff-scented beard, which was only to be avoided by a sudden and rapid peck at the two rosy circles on his cheeks, or the little bits of forehead between the long locks. When Bryda's mother v.'ent away her last words were, — ' Be good to the grannies, my darling, and do all they tell you ; and don't forget father and mother.' Here the mother'.s voice trembled and broke, and she got very quickly into the carriage. Forget ! Oh, no, Bryda could not forget. And she tried ' to be good to the grannies' by Ivissing grandfather whenever he wished, much as she disUked the operation, and trying to remember all grandmother said about dry shoes, and sitting in draughts, and eating slowly, and putting on pinafores, and various other little matters we are all familiar with. Uncle Jack was quite different. We shall hear more of him. But perhaps the house was a little too quiet for him, he was so often away. The dullness did not matter to Cousin Salome. She lay in bed all the morning, and was carefully wheeled into a little sunny sitting-room in the afternoon ; and there, when the pain was not too bad (for she had hurt her back and would never be well again), she was always ready to ■welcome Bryda with that quiet smile on her ■white, loving face, that w'as like moonlight on a sea that sings low and sadly on a summer night. Uncle Jack was away, and Cousin Salome ■worse, and the governess who was to come and teach Bryda had not arrived; and so, as we have seen, Bryda was veiy lonely, and very much in want of a kitten. She looked herself rather like a kitten that has got wet, for a kitten never looks so forlorn as she did unless it is quite wet, and perhaps muddy, too. But in two minutes after this bright idea had struck lier Bryda looked much like the same kitten, when it has been dried by a nice warm fiiv, and fed on creamy milk, and has licked its paws and washed its face, and is ready for the next ball of wool that some one will be kind enough to throw ou the floor for it to play with. Gathering some ripe summer pears, and hastily stuffing them into the pockets of her pin- afore, Bryda hurried off to the sttble. It was locked, but the key was in the door, it turned easily, and she found herself as she entered rather near the heels of the fat old carriage- horses, Gog and Magog. But they would not kick ; they were, or seemed, as old and sleepy as their master and mistress. Gog in particidar would really rather be stung by a horse-fly than take any particular trouble about brushing it away. They were not animals suited to Bryda's taste, however much grandmother might appre- ciate their steady ways. They were Idee those horses of whom the little girl in the poem could find nothing more interesting to tell than that ' The tails of both hung- do-nm behind. Their shoes were on their feet.' And John, the coachman, was as fat, and old, and lazy as they were. Altogether the family coach, when the dear old folks were in it, was quite a curiosity. They went for a short drive every day, one day along one of the roads out- side the lodge gates, and the next day along the other, turn about, and always to the same dis- tance, which Uncle Jack called ' gomg to There - and -back -again.' Only on Sunday they went to church, which was a very short way indeed, only just outside the gates in fact, and on that day they did not sleep in the carriage as they did on the other six days. But if Bryda was, as a treat, taken for a drive, it really was a little dull. Both the grannies went to sleep and nodded so, that poor Bryda was really afraid their heads might come off; and John the coachman looked as if he were asleep ; and Gog and Magog went along at such a slow, solemn trot, that they might well be wallving in their sleep, too. So Bryda was not much afraid that either of these grave old horses would take the trouble to kick her. But she had not the same confidence in Uncle Jack's high-spirited hunter, Paddy, who lived in a big stall with a bar at the end, called a loose box, in which he could wall^ about ; and now he put his handsome head with the wliite star on the forehead over this bar, and looked at Sunday Reading for the Young. Brytla as iitocIi as to say, ' What business have you here ? ' Next to Paddy's loose box there was a ladder, which went np through a hole in the ceiling into the loft where hay was kept, and where Uncle Jack said kittens lived. (To 6e continues,^ TREASURE TROVE. EAR little Trottie toddled out into the stable one morning to talk to the horses, and William, the coachman and gardener ; and there, in the empty stall among the nice clean straw, she found a family of dear little puppies. Such sweet little noisy things ! and Hilda, the loving old mother, seemed very pleased that Trottie should fondle them, and admire them so much, for she ran round and round, and sniffed as each little one was lifted from its bed, as if to make sure that aione were carried off. Dear Hilda, she was quite happy with her ■children in the warm corner that William had given her, and appeared to imderstand that as soon as the little dogs would be old enough to run about they would become the favourites of the household. WHAT WILL YOU GIVE UP? MRS. HARPER called her four bright little children to her one day, and told them a sad and touching story of distress. A poor woman in the village had lost her husband, and had nothing left to live upon — and five children 1 All the little Harpers were very sorry when they heard their mother's tale. ' How can we help ? ' said Janie, the eldest. ' We've no money at all.' Mrs. Harper smiled and said, ' No ; you have no money ; but if you would like to give up some of your pleasures, you could earn some.' ' How, mother?' ' You might give up having sugar in your tea, for one thing.' ' But it's so nasty without, mother.' ' Well, perhaps you can think of something else. All of you go into the garden for half an hour, and come and tell me what you fix upon.' Off ran Janie, and Harry, and Sybil, and wee Johnnie, hand in hand, and walked solemnly round the garden for just half an hour. W'hen the clock struck twelve they ran in again, helter- skelter. ' Well ? ' said their mother. Janie spoke : — ' We've thought of everything all round, mother, and, if you please, we should like to give up our lessons 1 ' But tliat mother could not agree to. E. M. L. MORNIN"G PRAYER. A LITTLE child was kneeling. One morning bright and fair. She loved to lisp her Father's name, And thank Him for His care. He slumbers not, nor does Ho sleep. Who keeps His little one Safe through the hours of darkness. To wake with morning sun. And then through all the coming day She loves to think of Him Who for her sake gave His dear Son, Whose blood shall cleanse her siu ; And keep her humble, true, and mild. Her Father's happy little child. Joanna McKeas. Sunday Reading^ FOR the Young Sunday Reading for the Yovnc. SaLombe Days. 10 Sunday Reading for the Young. her TWENTY YEARS AGO. [Concluded from page 3.) UT tlisugli twenty years li a v e Ijassed, that scene is not forgistten. With one silent thought and cry to God for help, I caught two of my cousins and called out, — ' Don't clutch each other! Here, George I Hariyl' But Harry had already pushed Aunt Julia towards the bank, so that Captain Marldiam could pull her out. It was such confusion that I can only re- member getting my cou- sins safe, and then calling to Clara to hold up, I sprang back and threw my arm round Then the next minute, I heard George cry frantically, ' One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, who's the eighth ? ' 'Amy, — Where's Amy? Who's seen her?' Every one was aghast. Amy gone I It was but a moment's pause, and then there were two sf)lashes, as George's friend, Captain Markham, and myself dived head first into the etream together.' I remember nothing more until I felt some •one chafing my hands and limbs ; and opening my eyes in a dazed fashion, I asked, ' Where am I ? George, Harry, what has happened?' ' Thank God for this 1 ' I heard a voice ; and then the moonlight faded, the trees seemed to grow dim, my limbs lost all feeling, and I remembered no more. That was an eventful night. But now for the sequel, and how it turned the current of my life. God was very merciful — none of us were drowned, though two of us had a very narrow escape. Captain Markham dragged Cousin Amy to the bank just in time, and in a very few minutes later they succeeded in rescuing me, already senseless and stiff with cramp, as it turned out afterwards. They wrapped me in shawls, and got me home as fast as strong arms could pull in the first boat, and put me to bed ; but the cramp and chill brought on an illness from which I was long in recovering, and the Palermo steamer went without me, for at the time she sailed I was lying in bed too weak to move ; and, alas ! more than that I the Government could not keep my appointment open ; it was filled up, and my suc- cessor went in my berth in the Palermo. A fortnight out from England, she went down with every soul on board. I did not know this till long after; — my illness had saved my life. It was many months before I was able to think of the future, — before they ventured to tell me of God's providence in keeping me at home ; and in the meantime my uncle had taken a small house at Salcombe, where he gathered a family party, to enjoy the fresh sea breeze, and try to regain the health and spirits some of us had lost. It was very pleasant in the spring sunshine, lying in a sheltered nook on the beach with a book, or toying with the pebbles and making ducks and drakes on the wavelets as they lapped the shore, while almost daily excursions were made in a capital boat which uncle had hired, together with the services of a couple of ex- perienced boatmen, for the time of our sojourn in Salcombe. It happened, however, that my spirits \\-ere not quite equal to the fishing and sailing in which the others indulged ; and often, when the party were shoving off, I preferred to remain with Clara and Amy for a quiet stroll along the shore, or a few chapters of whatever book was in the way. One day I watched them off, — watched th- two men while they launched the cutter, and then carried the whole party, big and little, one by one, through the shallow water to the boat, for it was dead low tide ; and when they had started I strolled away to think — always to think and think. Amy was sitting under the lee of a fishing- boat, working, as she always was — workinf; something, as usual, for somebody else, not herself. Sunday Reading for the' Young. 11 I could not pass, so I sat. myself clown. I shall not tell all tliat ^Yas said, but tlie con- versation was something like this :■ — Amy remarked how strange it was that I never went with the others, or seemed to care to bestir myself. ' Strange do you call it '? ' said I ; ' hardly so, if you think how my life is blighted — my appointment lost, pros].)ects gone, and con- stitution ruined, and all by one unfortunate accident. I think it very hard lines.' 'Do you?' she said quietly; 'who was to blame '? ' ' Llame I no one. I never used the word.' ' But you are surely blaming some one ; if none of us, God.' I saw what she meant, and, rebid^ed, was silent. She continued, ' On the other hand, have you never thanked God for saving you from that fatal voyage, even at such a cost ? Oh, Charliel life has been very difl'erent to me since that night, when we were both so nearly drowned. I have learned to thank Him over and over again for it all.' I was dumb. I saw Amy was light. Brave little soul I She went on : — ' Don't you think, Charlie, that God did not in- tend you to die ? Don't you think there is a work somewhere in the world He wants you to do? and don't you think He w'ill show you what it is if you ask Him? I dol' ' I never thought of it so,' was my answer. ' I never thought about it being His doing, or His will. Perhaps you are right, Amy.' 'Perhaps I' she repeated vei'y solemnly. 'I never did understand these things deeply, but it seems to me so many of our troubles come from our not letting God do just as He likes with us : we want to carve out our lives our own way ; and then He stops us, as He stopped you and me.' ' I see,' said I. ' What, then, do yoii think is my lesson ? what am I to do with myself? and what is my future to be ? ' ' Ah 1 that I cannot tell ; but if you ask God, He will : ' I said no more, neither did Amy ; but the silence was more expressive than words. God was talking to us both; and soon we rose and silently walked side-by-side to the house. We understood each other. Twenty years have passed since then, twenty su]umers have come and gone : and it is all as^ yesterda)-. Am}', dear child I has had her dearest wish, and she has gone to serve Him there. Whom she learned to cling to here. For ten years she- worked among the crowded poor in the fevered dens of one of our largest cities, sometimes in hospitals, sometimes in the homes of vice and want ; but always and everywhere an angel of mercy, sent of God. Then the frail casket which' held her pure- spirit broke, and released the jewel it had held r. the seeds of delicacy, sown on that sad night by chill and wet and shock, bore fruit in the disease which her life of self-sacrifice fostered, and before those who loved her so, suspected how near the end was, she was gone. And we who are loft, still at work in the- dear Lord's field, some of us have learned her lesson. He answered my prayer, and showed me what there was for me to do ; and still as I go my daily rounds among the waifs and strays of the- gi-eat city, carrying Christ's message of pardon and peace to the benighted ones, hfe has a. different meaning for me. I seem ever to have the scene before me : I stilf can shut my eyes and hear the crashing of the boat, and feel the rush of water in my ears ; and then I hear a soft voice, long since stilled in, death, ' Don't yon think God did not intend you to die ? Don't you think He will show you what your work is if you ask Him?' Sigsa. EIGHT GOLDEN RULES. 1. Adhere to the truth. 2. Engage in nothing in which you cannot ask God's blessing. 3. Never speak an unkind word. 4. Strive to forgive as you ask daily to be. forgiven. 5. Watch against anger, and the like- pnssions. 0. Try to bo pure in every thought, word, and act. 7. Live every day as if to-morrow were- eternity. S. Pray that you may bo ready, and that yoUi may be ready — pray'. 12 Sunday Reading for the Young SONG OF THE FISHERMAN, Behold: beiioia: the moon is up, It shines o'er yonder mountain, Its tender sheen spreads o'er the green. And sparkles on the fountain. It is the hour to launch our bark And speed across the billows. Where mermaids play amid the spray, And make the waves their pillows. Awayl away I the moon is up, Its light is all surrounding. Across the foam, afar from home. Our bark should now be bounding; 1 Behold I behold I the moon is up, The stars are faintly shming, And far away each beam of day Is rapidly declining. The shades of night now gather round, And point with warning finger, 'Tis time that we were on the sea, We may no longer linger. Away! away', the moon is up. Its light is all surrounding, Across the foam, afar from home, Our bark should now be bounding I Edward Oxekfoed. MIXED PICKLES. (Contimtedfrom 2}age 7.) CAREFULLY closmg the stable door, Bryda, with her heart certainly beating unusually fast, climbed the ladder without stop- ping to think, what grandmother would say, and was soon up in the loft — a delightful place, with a. raftered roof, and little windows with sprays of ivy pushing their way in, as if to remind the ecented hay that it ouce grew outside, and was called green grass. It was a nice place ! and, oh, joy ! from a dark corner came the soxmd Bryda longed for, a Idtten's ' mew 1 ' It was not the voice of an elderly cat, but the plaintive little ' mew ' of a kitten ; and Bryda, as she went towards the sound, could see a pair of very round, bright eyes. Carefully, not to frighten the little creature, she went towards it : but, alas I kittens born in lofts are apt to be wild and shy, and in spite of all her coaxing, 'Pussy. Pussy I Come here. Puss!' the round, bright eyes went further off, and finally the kitten took refuge in the darkest corner of all. But Bryda was not going to be beaten by a kitten. Treading carefully and Sunday Reading for the Young: 13 slowly, she came nearer ; one step more and she would reach the soft furry thing. Another moment and it was in her arms ; and Bryda, dehghted, sat down on a heap of hay and hugged it, saying, ' Now, Kitty, let's pretend.' "VMiat fun the games are that begin ' Let's pretend ! ' ^^Tiy, we can all he kings and queens, judges and lords chancellor. We can grow up in two minutes into happy people, who do no lessons, and can order exactly what they like ijie messenger, a pear should he the goose. Bryda had just read this story in her English History. Hay makes a capital throne ; Bryda piled one up, and had just sat down wth much dignity, when Have you ever heard people say, when some- thing awkward happened, they would Uke to go through the floor '? Poor Bryda did I She suddenly tumbled right tlirough the scattered hay, — right through the ceiling 1 for dinner every day, and need not go to bed at the dreadfully early hour we young folks must. Then merely to eat a pear is so dull I Grown people have parties to amuse them at dinner, the very dogs growl and jilay with their bones, and the cats act a httle pilay over every mouse they catch. So Bryda would be Queen Elizabeth seated on a throne, dining off goose on that Michaelmas Day when the news came of the defeat of the great Spanish Armada. The kitten should be She was not really hurt, only a little bruised after all ; for she had fallen into a sort of deep cage with strong wooden bars, in which hay was pushed down from the loft, and the bottom of this cage was inside the loose box, close to the manger. So that the first thing Bryda knew, when she recovered herself enough to look , round, was that Paddy was standing looldng at her, and seemed very much sur- prised; as well he might be, for little girls were not generally kept in the loft along with 14 Sunday Reading for the Young. tlie hay, or poked into liis stall for him to malce his dinner off. In fact it is very lilcely that, if she had only known it, the big beautifnl creature was much more afraid of her than she of him. Indeed she was very much afraid, and grew more and more frightened as the horse, finding she did not move, came a few steps nearer, and then began snnffing at her. If she were to try to climb into the loft again, whicii did not seem very easy, he might — he probably would — bite her long black legs. It would not be very easy to climb into the loft either ; the cage was so very deep. What was the unfortunate child to do '? Paddy kept on sniffing at her too, the real reason being that he could smell the pears in her pinafore pocket. Bryda could smell them too, and a bright idea struck her. She remembered a fairy tale about a princess who softened the hard heart of a lion by feeding him with cake. Perhaps this nice juicy fruit wo\ild have the same good effect on Paddy. Perhaps, too, while he was eating it she might escape. Cautiouslj- she drew one out, and it went into the horse's big mouth as a gooseberry would have gone into her own, and was as quickly swallowed. That was a bad ])lan ; he wanted more at once. The next she throw on the ground ; and while Paddy stooped his sleek curved neck to pick it up she made a desperate effort to escape. In vajn 1 Hardly had she risen from her cramped position and made a struggle to got her hands up to the floor of the loft, when the bright eyes and big mouth were back again, and dreadfully near her legs ! 'Oh, don't 1 doiit! Paddy'.' cried Bryda. ' Here, you may eat all my pears, but really I know I should not taste nice ; so please don't bite me 1 ' The remaining pears were soon gone ; but when they had come to an end the difficulty still remained, and Paddy could not be brought to see that he could have no more simply because there were no more. So he sniffed and sniffed, poking his nose more and more between the bars, and showing those dreadful teeth. He only wanted pears ; but Bryda grew perfectly wild with fright, and finally, when Paddy actually touched her hand with a hot nose, she could bear it no longer, but gave first one w'lhl shriek and then another, and another, till the spirited horse, terrified by the noise, plunged about in the loose box, adding still more to her dismay; and even Gog and Magog pricked up their ears, and looked round, as if they would say, ' Please don't spoil our digestion by this dreadful screaming.' To Bryda's joy, however, the stable-door opened, and old John tottered slowly in. ' Oh, John I John I save me 1 don't let me be eaten up I' miplorcd Bryda, as soon as she saw him ; while Paddy became more composed, and stopped prancing. Old John scratched his head : that was natural. Then he very deliberately walked to- wards the ladder, muttering, — ' Well, I'm blessed if this 'ere ain't the rummiest go ever I seen I ' Which, you will observe, was not the sort of English one finds in the Dictionaries ; but then John was born before the days of School Boards. 'Oh, John! make haste I' cried Bryda again. But really it was a terribly long time before John climbed the ladder and gave his hands- to the frightened child, who was soon safe on the floor of the loft. ' Be you hurt, miss ? ' asked old John, looking at lier as if she were a china figure that might have lost an arm or a leg in the fall. But Bryda was not hurt; only she trembled from head to foot, and, after thanking John,, turned away and walked with a grave face into- the garden again and to the foot of the old sun- dial. The shadow had only moved on half an hour. Bryda tried to hold her -hand in such a w-ay as^ to make another shadow, that should come- fm'ther over the dial. But that was a bad imi- tation of the real thing, and made her think of one evening when Uncle Jack had told her, with such a serioijs face, to take a candle, and go to see the time by the old sun-dial ; how she- had actually gone, and had only remembered when she got there that the sun was in bed, and therefore could not tell her what she wanted to know. Up the pillar on which stood the dial two very large snails were crawling — oh, so slowly 1 They seemed to go even more slowly than tho long, hot hours. How amusing it would be to make thoia Sunday Reading for the Young. 15 run, or rather cra-\^-], races '. Brytla gathered a uice fresh Isaf, and put it at one edge of the dial. Then she started tlie two snails at the other end, and for the next iiour or so was happy watching them, and starting them again and again. IJut at the end of that time the biggest and fattest gave up the game in disgust, finding he never could enjoy his leaf quietly when he had got it, because a giant hand always came, and would put him back at the starting-place. So he drew in his horns first, and then went bodily. iuto his house, which those gentle- men conveniently carry on their backs. There he sulked, and would come oiit no more; so Bryda threw him into a cab- bage - bed and went indoors. Bryda had so many funny ways of amu- sing herself, that Uncle Jack, who was very fond of making III jokes, declared she 'lived in a jar of mixed pickles.' In- deed, these same amusements often ended by becoming small scrapes, which he called Lryda's pickles ; and we shall see that they were of all sorts, and really ' mixed.' None are very wise at eight years old, and many of us are, like my little Bryda, very anxious to do right and be of some use in the world. So we will follow her as she goes into the house. (To be continued.) MARION'S GEESE. MAEION'S geese would not be good. Every morning they required letting out of the poultry-farm, and as sure as evening came round some would be missing, or some would try to escape being shut up by hiding in the farmyard or among the stacks. Marion herself used to get very angry. 'I can do nothing with the nasty things,' said she, ' and I have a good mind to beat them, and see what that will do.' However, it never came to beating. The birds were a little stubborn, and would hiss and cackle at Marion's little sister Ruth, who shrank from them, half frightened at their dreadful noise ; but, as geese go, they were not worse than the average. All day long they amused themselves by clipping tlie short herbage of the common that bordered the farm, and at evening waddled back in stately procession to the yard-gate, to be fed and put to bed. . Never was there such a hissing and gabbling as when there was no food thrown down i-eady for them ; then, indeed, Ruth stood a chance of being gobbled up. But as the summer days drew ou she grew bolder and more fauuliar, and was able to help sister Marion a great deal with her poultry, until Marion used to say she did not know what she should do without her. 16 Sunday Reading for the Young Marion's Geese. SuNDA r Reading for the Young. 17 Mrs. Bladiie's Visitors. D 13 Sunday Reading for the Young. A CAT STORY. FOR VERY LITTLE CHILDREN. BEAUTIFUL large gray cat was sit- ting before the Idtclien fire, but with lier back to- wards it, so that she could keep watch over her two kittens, who were at play un- der the table. They had got the cook's new reel of cotton down on the floor, and were having such fun with it 1 Sometimes they would pretend it was a mouse, and then they would crouch down and look at it very fiercely, just as they had seen their mother do, and at last spring upon it all of a sudden. And away would roU the reel, and away they went after it ; and the cotton kept winding itself round the legs of the table and chairs imtil it got into such a tangle that I don't know what poor cook would say wheu she came to see it. , But now the cat called them to her. ' Child- ren,' said she, ' Mrs. Blackie has asked mo to supper, and she says I may take you with me.' ' Oh, mother 1 ' screamed both the kittens, and they turaed on their backs and kicked up their for joy. ' Ahl but you must behave very nicely. You mustn't put your paws in the milk, and you mustn't take the best pieces out of Mrs. Blackie's mouth, as you do out of mine.' 'No, mother. We will be very good httle kittens indeed.' ' Then come and let me make you tidy.' So then their mother washed them carefully all over, and when they were quite ready she thought she had never seen two sweeter kittens than those. Then she just gave a finishing touch to her own beautiful white chest, and they all set 01 It. little leg BIrs. Blackie lived three doors off, so they had not far to go ; but it seemed to the kittens a long way, and very dangerous, for it was all on the top of high walls; and when at last their mother jumped down, they were afraid to follow her : but she turned and looked up at them, and mewed so gently to encourage them, that at last they ventured, and came scrambling down in a great fright, but not a bit hurt. There was Mrs. Blackie, sitting on a nice green grassplot, with a lilac-tree in the middle ; and under the tree was a large saucer full of milk, and by its side were some delicious her- ring heads, which scented all the garden, and a plateful of scraps besides. Mrs. Blackie was a very kind, good-natured old cat, with beautiful shining black fur all over, except her feet, which were white, and the tip of her nose and the tip of her tail, which were white too. She made her visitors sit down and eat heartily of all the good things she had prepared for thenv and scarcely ate a bit herself, so that there might be plenty for them. At first the two kittens were very quiet, and only looked about them; but presently they for- got, and began to tumble about as they did at home. Then their mother said, ' Children 1 children!* but Mrs. Blackie only laughed, and told them ta go and have a good run on the gravel. So away they scampered, for the autumn wind was blowing the dry leaves aU about, and it was capital fun to rush after them, and to leap up into the air and catch them between their paws. When they were tired of this they ran races round and round their mother, and finished by jumping on the top of her back as she sat gravely talking with her friend. ' Now, children, say good-bye, and thank Mrs. Blackie for her kindness.' ' Oh, mother ! ' said Popsy, the gray kitten, ' do let me catch my tail first I' And off she set, spinning round so fast that you could scarcely see where her head was. 'You silly child!' said her mother. 'Come home with me, and learn how to catch a mouse. There will be some sense in that.' ' And there's very good practice in this,' said Mrs. Blackie. ' Must you go ? ' Sunday Reading for the Young. 19 ' Yes. I give them a lesson in mousing every evening, and now it is just time." ' Oh, let the poor things enjo}' themselves. They'll catch mice fast enough by-and-by.' But the old cat shook her head. So they all said ' Good night,' and the little kittens and their mother went home. ' I heard cook scolding about a mouse in the pantry this morning,' said the mother, ' so we will go and watch that little hole behind the door. Mmd you don't stir, or make the least noise, but do exactly what you see me do.' Then Popsy sat down opposite her mother, iind imitated her so well that she looked just like & very tiny old cat. But "VYopsy, the black kitten, was cross, and would not look, but kept walking about, and at last sat down with his back to the mouse-hole. ' You foolish fellow I ' whispered liis mother, ■* how can you see the mouse if you sit so ? ' ' Well, Mrs. Blackie said you ought to let us «DJoy ourselves,' grumbled the cross kitten. But he didn't turn round. ' Hush I ' whispered the old cat ; and for a long time not a word was spoken. They sat watching — watching — watching — until at last two bright little eyes showed themselves at the hole in the wall. A little mouse wanted to come out and look for some crumbs for her young ones' supper. But her mother had taught her never to come out of the hole without first looking to see what was outside. So when she looked all round, and saw the old cat and her kittens ready to spring upon lier, pop ! her head went back again into her safe hole, and she lauglied to see how disap- pointed old Puss looked. Are you not glad the poor little mouse was not hurt? But Pussy was not naughty for trying to catch her, because cats are made to catch mice ; iind if they did not catch them we should soon have so many that they would eat up all our bread and cheese. ' Come, children,' said the old cat, ' it's no use to stay any longer. She won't come out again to-night.' And they all three walked into the Ivitchen, and settled themselves comfortably on the rug before the fire. [Concluded in our next.) PLEASE! HE who can please nobody is not half so much to be pitied as he whom nobody can please. EVERYBODY'S CORNER. CHAUMING A RATTLESNAKE. )OST of US have heard of ths Indian jugglers and snake- charmers ; but it is not often that a vs'hite man has the opportunity of testing the mu- sical tastes of serjients. A famous traveller, however, relates the following anecdote. ' Uue day a rattlesnake entered our encnmp- ment. Among us was a Canadian, who could play the ilute, and who, to amuse us, marched out with his music. ' On his apprcich the rattlesnake curled himself into a spiral line, with flattened liead, inflated cheeks, and sliowiug his venouied fangs, while his tongue flashed like fire, and his body, swollen with rage, rose and fell like the bellows of a forge, and his tail vibrated with the utmost rapidity. ' Tlie Canadian began to play upon tlie flute, when the snake seemed struck with surprise, and drew back his head ; as the magic notes flowed on, his eyes lost their fierceness, the rattle became weaker, the circles of the erect body sank one after another to the ground, and his skin regained its bright colours of green and gold, while with head on one side he remained motionless in an attitude of pleasure. ' The amateur charmer then made a few steps in advance, still playing a few sweet and simple notes. ' The reptile, inclining his beautiful scaly neck, opened a passage with his head through the high grass, and crept after the musician, stopping when he stopped, and beginning to glide forward as soon as he advanced. ' In this fashion he was led out of the camp, attended by a great number of savages and Europeans, who could scarcely believe their eyes, which beheld this wonderful power of harmony.' 20 Sunday Reading for the Young. MIXED PICKLES. (Continued from p. 15.) CHAPTER II. A PRINCESS. COUSIN SALOME would see lier now, and so Bryda went to tte invalid's room. ' You look very miserable, darling,' said tlie soft voice compassionately, as Bryda, after Irissing lier cousin, stood looking dolefully out of the window. said Cousin Salome, smiling, and drawing the little girl nearer to her. ' Tell me what was the last piece of mischief.' Bryda told all about her adventure with Paddy, and ended, — ' Oh, Cousin Salome, I've nothing to do 1' ' That's the beginning of all mischief, I am afraid, darling. Do bees and birds get into mischief? Not they, they are too busy.' ' Well, I would make honey or a nest if I ' I am very miserable, Cousin Salome,' she answered, feeling that she had good cause for misery. ' Very miserable, when you can run about and be out of doors with the sunshine and the birds and the flowers I There must be some- thing veiy bad the matter. Come and. tell me all about it.' Bryda knelt by the couch, a little ashamed of herself. Cousin Salome might well be miserable, so ill that she could never again hoije to walk in the sunny scented garden. ' It's easy for you to be good, I suppose, cousin,' she said. 'You lie here all day and don't find any mischief to get into.' The last words were said as if mischief was a sort of thing that came to you, and asked you to get into it, — in the same way as roast pigs run about in the fairj' countiy, holding out a knife and fork and crying, ' Eat me, do 1 please ! ' ' So mischief is the cause of the great misery I' knew how,' said Bryda, laughing. ' If I could paint a pictm'e like this, I should be quite happy.' Cou.sin Salome had been painting. She could only do a little at a time, and that with difficulty ; but she had dra\A'n a very beautiful figure of a young girl in a rich, old-fashioned dress, sitting bj' an ojien window, through which could be seen a great plain and a large town some way off. The girl's face was full of wonder, and rather sad, and she looked away at the sunset sky, as if she were thinking of something very puzzling. Brj'da took up the jncture and looked at it. ' That is Princess Isabel of Montenaro ; she is doing what vou are doing now. Bryda. Sunday Reading for the Young\ 21 ' What I am doing, cousin ? ' Yes ; wondering what slie ought to do. Do you see the \.q\w\ beyond the green park? That was her father's capital, and a dreadful siclmess broke out there, so that people died by hundreds. Bnt the King was a hard-hearted man, and spent the days in feasting and him ting, and paid no heed to the people's sufferings.' 'Oh, do tell me the story!' cried Bryda, eagerly. Cousin Salome smiled. ' The story, as I have it, is in verse. You would not hke that, Bryda ? ' ' Oh, yes, yes \ Please read it.' 'Can't you read it yourself?' asked Salome, slily. ' Oh, no ! ' with great energy. ' Eeading is quite different from being read to. Why, the story tastes quite ten times nicer when you Usteu to it ! ' So Cousin Salome opened a book thatjlay near, and began to read in her gentle, tired voice^ the story of the little picture she had painted of the Princess Isabel. ' ISABEL. ' The Princess sat in her stately bower ; The shadows grew deeper on vale and liiU The vesper bells through the twihght hour Eang softly, but she sat silent still. Her jewelled fingers were closely twined. Her brow was clouded with discontent ; She sat alone while the day declined, And soft winds of eventide came and went. In her father's hall there is mirth and song. The hearts of the high-horn throng are glad ::. But siu-ely to-night there is something wrong. The fairest and blithest sits lone and sad. Sunday Reading for the Young. In the hush of twilight she raised her head ; Her eyes were full of a troubled light, Like the e3'es of one who beholds the dead And who fain would follow the spirit's flight, \ Aloud she spoke in the silent room, Of all her maidens not one was near ; But a marble Christ, in the deepening gloom, Seemed to bend a compassionate face to hear.' And for many more verses the soft tones of '■Cousin Salome's voice soothed tlie childish •spirit. ' Thank j'oia,' said Bryda, and drew a long breath when the story was finished. She had perhaps not understood it all, hut one thing was •clear. ' The Princess was never idle. Cousin Salome. -So I expect she never got into mischief. But I don't think it was nice for her to have no playtime.' ' She could wait for her playtime, dear,' .{inswered Cousin Salome, gently. ' She would •enjoy it all the more, perhaps, becau^se she had worked so hard.' The sick lady turned a little and looked out :at tlie quiet evening. Noisy rooks were flying home to roost, meek cows slowly walking off to he milked ; on a large tree a peacock and his two wives were settling themselves for sleep. Bryda looked out of the window, too. ' I think the stars are afraid of the great big sun. Cousin Salome. Do you see^ the way they first poke out their heads, and look to sec if he is really gone, and then come right out to do their little shining ? ' Cousin Salome laughed, and the deep lines that sickness had written seemed to grow fainter, and make her face younger and rounder. ' Their little work-time is jirst beginning. They look as if they came out smiling, with clean bright faces, ready to do as they are bidden.' ' Poor Cousin Salome I ' said Br3'da, stroking ;the thin white hand that lay weak and idle on ithe soft coverings. ' You can't work or play either. You must be very unhappy. I should he: ' When I was your age, darling, I built myself grand castles in the air. Oh, how many nice •things I meant to do when I grew up I But I was given a different sort of work, a much harder one to me, dear child, — the work of doing nothing patiently.' Bryda looked sorely puzzled. ' Never mind,' went on Cousin Salome. ' You are not set to that work, Bryda, nor to a great work like Princess Isabel's. Just now you will find there are plenty of little works ready for you to do, little crumbs to make a great loaf.' ' Picking up grannie's stitches when she drops them?' asked Bryda. Grandmother's knitting was often in that sort of state. ' That may be one thing. There are plenty more. Shall I tell you an old German story, about the use of httle things?' ' Once upon a time some people lived in a plain, at the edge of which there was the sea. They lived here long and happily ; but one sad day the sea began to rise and overflow the plain, creeping every day a little nearer the prosperous village. ' So the people were sorely frightened, and tried to build earthworks ; but the sea washed away at night what they had done in the daj'. ' These were days very long ago, when, according to the old stories, God would answer men from heaven when they called to Him. ' So the people prayed and asked God to send them His great Angels, that they might make hiUs for them to protect their homes and fields from the dreadful waters. 'But God answered, "]My Angels have already their work, they cannot help you in this. But to-morrow, at sunrise, I will send to you an army of My labourers; they shall make you sand- hills." ' So the villagers were very glad, and next morning they rose early, before the sun, won- dering much what sort of labourers these would be. ' " Perhaps the happy spirits of our fathers will come back to help us ; perhaps men from the south country — a kind and friendly people — will be sent to work for us. Perhaps " ' But all their wonder was in vain, and it was changed to surprise and dismay when, as the sun rose, they saw coming swiftly from the east an army of what do you think Bryda ?' ' Lions and tigers ? ' asked Bryda, with wide-open eyes ; ' elephants ? people ? giants ? Sunday Reading for the Young. 23 ' No, indeed ; neither great, strong animals, nor clever men, but hundreds and hundreds and thousands of antsl' ' Ants, cousin ? What use would they be ? ' ' You shall hear. Each ant carried one grain, or what seemed to be one grain, of sand. On and on they came, and the ground was quite black with their hosts. The people looked, and gradually their munnurs grew to one great roar of discontent. But God's little labourers paid no attention. They had their Master's will to do, and so long as that was done they cared for neither the praise nor the blame of His other creatures. So all day long they worked, each little ant carrying his Httle load ; and when the sun set there ■^vas a great line of sand-hills, so high that no waves could wash over them, so thick that no storm could break them down, between the happy villagers and the sea.' ' Then the people stopped grumbling, I suppose.' ' We will hope so. And perhaps they learned that God can use the smallest things to do His work with. The little ants were as useful in their way as the noble, unselfish Princess Isabel. Now, dear, I am getting very tired; will you sit quietly and look at pictures, or run away and see the grannies ? ' Bryda chose the pictures, and sat as still as a mouse in the window, looking first at a picture and then out of the -uindow, and saying to her- self that she, too, would be of some use. (To he continued.) MAXIM OP CONFUCIUS. From the Chinese. PONFUCIUS, visiting the Go- vernor of a distant province, found him in the company of a yoking lord, whom he had taken into his favour, and who was re- markable for his handsome appearance. The Governor said, laughingly, to the philosopher, ' Confucius, if features could be exchanged, I would give you wil- lingly those of my friend here.' ' Witli your permission,' replied the sage, ' I would refuse the gift, for this outward beauty is of no use to the world at large.' ' What do you wish, then ? ' continued the Governor. ' I should like to see in all the members of the- Empire,' said Confucius, ' that just proportion of right and honest principle which makes the glory of true government, and prevents the- body of the State from being deformed.' TRUE RICHES. A DYING Christian, in a far land, made his will, and in it were the following words : — ' I have now disjiosed of all my property to my family. One thing more would I give them, that is the Christian faith. If they had that, and I had not given them a shilling, they would be rich ;. and if they have not that, and I had given them all the world, thej' would be poor.' O' kVER the sea Are lands that we would like to see. The countries where scented oranges grow, And the breezes of the south winds blow ; These are the lands we would like to know. Over the sea. OTHER LANDS ACROSS THE SEA. Over the sea Are lands we might not like to seo, 'VSTiere the Ice-king reigns through a long, dark night; For six dreary months there is no simlight ; With the wild birds' cry in their homeward flight,. Over the sea. Over the sea Are lands that we would like to see, Where the birds with plumage so bright and gay, _ . _ Like a flash of light in the sun's bright I'ay Dance and quiver the livelong day, Over the sea. Over the sea Are lands we might not like to see, ^Miere the ground lies white under wreaths of snow. And the stormy gales, and the cold winds blow. In the lands that we might not like to know. Over the sea. .,. ,r t- JOANXA iAlclVEAN. -24 Sunday Reading for the Young. Lookino- across the Sea. SuxDAV Readixg for the Yol'xg. 25 .Ni, i^^|V (^ 11 ii;ir,'R.«r_^-. (1 7-^ ^^>^ -^ 'V,/^.' i, !'/ ,1 The Cli Cat's story. E 2G SuA'DAV Reading for the Young. her A CAT STOKY. (Concluded from p. 19.) ?ELL me, now, what made you so naughty ? ' asked the old cat, looking at her black kitten. Wopsy turned his head this way and that way, and winked his eyes, and pretended not to hear. But he knew very well that his mother was looking at him, and that he must answer and at last he said, in a very low tone, ' I was idle.' ' Ah I ' said the old cat, ' I remember I was idle too once — a long time ago.' 'Were you, mother? Do tell us all about it.' ' It was when I was a beautiful dark gray kitten, with bright blue eyes and a snow-white chest, and as full of fun as you are.' ' Then I must be very pretty too, mother, because you know I am just like you,' remarked Popsy, looking very pleased. ' Well,' said her mother, ' perhaps you are. But hear what came of it. People made a great fuss with me because of my beauty, and because of my blue eyes, which very few cats have. And when I was able to eat meat they took me away from my poor mother and put a smart red collar on my neck, and shut me up in a basket, and sent me as a present to little Miss Minnie, the Squire's daughter. Oh, how I cried, and strug- gled to get out I And how frightened I was when they did take me out, and I found my- self in a large, grand room, with two noisy boys shouting and trying to catch me, and no dear mother to run to 1 ' But soon a gentle little voice called " Pussy ! Pussy 1 Kitty 1 Kitty ! no one shall hurt you. Do let me catch you, there's a dear little kitten 1" ' Then I stood still, and Minnie ijicked me up and laid me in her lap, and stroked me and kissed me, till I began to feel comforted. ' She w"as a very kind little mistress and never teased me or hvu-t me, but she petted me so much that I became very idle and dainty. ' And sometimes, when visitors came to the house, she would say, " Did you ever see a cat with blue eyes ? " And when they said " No," she would run upstairs to the nursery to fetcli me. And then the peo[)le would say. "Oh, what a beauty ! Oh, what a love I Did you ever see such a darling little kitten '? " ' This made me feel so proud that I used to think I was the finest cat in all the world, and when nurse beat me off ^Minnie's bed I used to say to myself, " Disagreeable old thing I " and as soon as her back was turned I used to jump on again. ' I had not any work to do, not even to keep myself clean, for Minnie kept a soft brush and a comb in a little bag, and every morning and every evening she used to comb and brush me all over. ' So I just walked about in the sunshine, or lay before the fire, and got u]) and yawned and stretched myself, and ate my food and lay down again. ' But I was so proud, that if any one except Minnie touched me I would put out my talons and scratch them. So nobody loved mo but Minnie. ' When nurse was very cross, indeed, Minnie used to sing, — " If you jiunp in my lap Nvu'se will give you a slap, And say you should keep in your place : For cats that are nursed, She say.9, are the worst, And won't look a mouse in the face." ' One day I heard nurse say, " She's a good-for- nothing creature ! She never does anything for her living I I don't believe she knows how to catch a mouse." ' " Let's try her," said Mary, the housemaid. ' " Very well," said nurse. Then she took down my darling Minnie's garden cloak from its peg, and before I had time to think what she was going to do she had smothered me up in it, head and a;;. ^" kicked and screamed, and stmck out my sharp talons, but they could not go through the thick cloth, and nurse and Mary only laughed the louder the more I tried to get OlTt. ' The}- ran downstairs with me into the larder, tossed me out of the cloak, and locked the door upon me for the night. ' Oh, how angry I was I But I knew it waa of no use to cry out, for Minnie was not at home. She ^^•as staying with her aunt. And nobody Sunday Reading for the Young. 27 else in the lioiise cared one bit about me, because I had always been so cross and disagreeable. ' jVs I sat, very cold and sorrowful, a nice smell seemed to come just across my nose. I began to wonder what it was and to snitf about all round. ' There was scarcely any light in the larder, but there was just enough for me to see something hanging up over my head. I jumped on a shelf. The nice smell was stronger there. I jumped on a higher shelf, and stretched out my paw to feel what it could be that was hanging up). It was a bird : '"Ah, ]\[rs. Nurse'." thoughtl; " whata nice supper I shall have!" And I sprang at it in such a hurry that we all came tumbhng down together. But I was not hurt. And a fine supper I made on two plump birds, picking a little bit out of one and then of the other, until I could not eat any more. 'Then I felt very sleepy; so I looked about till I found in one corner a sack of flour, which riiade a beautiful soft bed. ' Next moi'ning I was awakened by a sharp voice calling out, " "Where is she '? The wicked creature I If she hasn't been and eaten up both the partridges I And do just look at my jioor cake ! " ' It was the cook. She might well Lie vexed, for she had some friends coming to tea that evening, and now there would bo no cake. The mice had eaten it nearly all up while I had been fast asleep on my comfortable sack. '"Didn't I tell you so?" said nurse. " I knew she couldn't catch a mouse — not she!" ' Then they all scolded, and called me names. I tried to steal out at the door, but they caught me and gave me such a beating ! ' " Now Miss Minnie's away let's got rid of her," said nurse. " She's always in my way upstairs." ' " Very well," said the housekeeper. " I'll tell missis what a dreadful thing she is, and then she won't be angry. I know where to get a pretty white kitten for Bliss Jlinnie, that she'll love better than this one." ' " Oh, no ! oh, no ! " I mewed : " don't send me away from my dear mistress I I will be good ! I will be good ! " But they didn't understand mewing. ' So I was sent away to a poor cottage, where the children teased me and hurt me, and where I had so little to eat that I was glad to catch a mouse now and then, or even a black-beetle to make u]3. ' One day the clergyman called there, and noticed me, p,nd patted me, and praised my blue eyes. ' " You shall have her, sir, if you like," said the woman. ' " Thank you. But is she a good mouser'? for my house is overrun with mice." ' " Oh, j'cs, sir ; that she is." ' " Then I shall be very pleased to have her. I will take great care of her." ' That is how I came here. I soon cleared the house of mice, and now there is scarcely one to be seen. Bly master, has been very kind to me. ^Yhen you were born he gave me a nice hamper, lined with warm carpet, for your nursery, and let me have it in one corner of his study, so that nobody should tease us. And he lets me sit on the table in the sunshine when he is writing, and if he is ever so busy he always finds time to give me a stroke of the hand and a kind word. And I always know which is hi? plate after dinner, for he is sure to leave me some nice little bits on it. But be sure you never go up into the bedrooms or into the drawing-room, for that makes him angry.' The old cat stopped, and both the kittens thanked their mother for her nice story, and Wops}', with tears in his eyes, said he was very sorry he had been naughty. So then she kissed them both, and they all three cuddled close to- gether and went fast asleep. IlAItUIET PiiCKER. HUMAM" KIITDNESS. ALPHONSUS, the king of Naples and Sicily, justly celebrated in history for his leniency and mercy, was once asked why lie was so lenient to all, even the most wicked men. ' Because,' said he, ' good men are won by justice, the bad by mercy.' On another occasion some complained that ];e was too kind, even for a prince. ' What then,' cried the King, ' would yott have lions and tigers to I'eign over you '? Do you not know that cruelty is the property of wild beasts, mercy that of man ? ' 28 Sunday Reading for the Young. CHINESE THERMOMETER. A MISSIONARY, writing home from China, says that the Chinese use very Httle fire, and measure cold by the thickness of jackets. Three jackets' cold is moderately cool : six jackets' cold is keen ; and from ten to fifteen jackets' cold is extremely severe. NO RETURN. A WORD and a stone thrown away do not return. HAPPY SUNDAY AFTERNOONS.— No. I. WHAT DOES THE BIBLE SAY ABOUT OXEN? An easy Exercise for little learners to write or say from memory. OXEN IN THE BIBLE. THE references to Oxen, under the different names of cattle, bull, heifer, are common in the Bible. There were domestic cattle, large herds of which formed the riches of the pa- triarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. They were used in agriculture, as by Elisha ; and for sacrifices, as by Elijah. Among ancient nations cattle were used as money, by way of barter : hence the word ' pecuniary,' from pecus, the Latin word for 'ox;' and when Jeroboam led the people into idolatry it was under the form of a golden calf that he set up the idol, imitating the Egyptians, who worshipped a sacred bull. EVEN KINGS MUST WORK. ALFEED THE GEE AT wiU ever be re- membered as one who, in days when learning and literature were rare things even among the nobles, raised himself to the front rank of those who devoted themselves to such arts and sciences as were then known. In his childhood he was not a brilliant scholar, he had even reached his twelfth year before he had learned his alphabet ; but he had the energy and determination which in after life made him ' the great.' His mother one day showed her little sons a small book, illuminated in various places with coloured letters and beautiful borders, such as Sunday Reading for the Young. 29 were tlien in fnsliion ; and seeing that tliey admired it verj' greatly, she promised she would give it to the boy who should iirst learn to read it. Alfred, though the youngest, was the only one who had spirit enough to attempt the conditions. He immediately sought out a teacher, and in a very short time was able to claim the promised reward. In after years, when he came to the thi'one, in spite of all the duties he had to perfomi, and a painful disease which scarcely allowed him an hour's rest, he employed all his spare time in reading or hearing the best books. He invented a method of measuring time by candles, marked off in divisions to burn an exact time ; he laid the foundation of the English Navy by bi;ilding ships of war, and so great was his regard for the best interests of the people that he established a code of laws, so just and bene- volent that they are the groundwork and basis of the laws by which justice is administered in the present day. Even kings, like Alfred the Great, cannot do their duty without labour. .iElfrida. MIXED PICKLES. {Coiitiimed from p. 23.) CHAPTER III. ANOTHER DREADFUL SCRARE. HE next morning Bryda was awakened by a strange sound from her pleasant morning sleep. Her window was partly open, but something struck against the upper sash ; it was not a bird that had lost its wa}', nor a wasp come to look for jam. for as Bryda raised her head something that could only be a handful of light gravel or shot struck the window again, and at the same time a clear, shrill whistle sounded outside. Bryda hastilj' sprang up. One does not care much about dress at nine years old, so in white nightdress and dark twisted hair she fearlessly put her head out of the window, and saw, to her delight, her cousin, Maurice Gray, a boy some two years younger than herself, with his queer, ugly, little Scotch terrier, Toby, standing on the lawni. She need not be sad for want of a play- mate to-day. ' Get up and dress,' cried Maurice. ' Aren't you ashamed, my Lady Lie-in-bed ? Come out directly ! ' Bryda did not need a second invitation. A very short time indeed passed before she was by Maurice's side. His father had brought him over, he said ; his father wanted to see grandfather about some business, so he had started off very early. Maurice was dreadfully hungry, and, as the grannies never breakfasted till ten. he and Bryda each got a thick slice of bread and jam from the good-natured cook, and then went off to the garden, Bryda running races with Toby, who mostly had the best of it — you see he had four legs to Bryda's two. They went to the vinery and acted a little play, which, however, wanted a few more actors sadly. It was so puzzling for Bryda to be both the imprisoned princess and the ogre at once : and when Maurice, the valiant knight, slew Toby for a dragon, and stejiped ov?r his corpse 80 Sunday Reading for the Young. (or wonld have done if Toby had been a little more dead, and not run away .every other minute), it got really puzzling, and it was well that the hreaki'ast-bell rang at that moment. Breakfast was rather a long, dull affair. Uncle James, Maurice's father, explained to grandfather a great deal about a drainage scheme, and grandmother every five mi)mtes asked her maid, Martha, who stood behind her chair, to tell her what it was all about, which Jlartha had to do in very loud whispers over and over again. Maurice and Bryda were very glad to run out again, with special directions from grand- mother to Iceep off wet grass, and not get into mischief. This, they thought, could not possibly hnppen. This time they rambled into the farm-yard. Bryda would not look for more kittens, but tried to make friends with some small balls of fluff, which meant some day to be turkeys. At one corner of the yard was a deep tank, or little pond, full of a dark-brown, rather thick fluid, which was used in the garden and fields, and had a great effect in the way of making things grow. Bryda and her cousin stood looking at it. ' I declare,' said Bryda, ' it's like the Styx I' ' I don't see any sticks,' said ignorant Blanrice, who had never learned that the old lieathens believed the souls of dead people went in a ferry-boat across a dark river called the Styx, and that the old man who rowed the boat was called Charon. Bryda thought it would be capital fun to act this little scene. Certainly the treacle-coloured stuff in the pool looked nasty enough to do very well for this dark river. As to Maurice, he was younger than his cousin, and when they were together she always invented the games, althougli he had been to school already, and thought girls generally were very little use. So when Bryda explained what she wanted to do, he only said that he did not know how to act a story that he had never heard ; to which Bryda only answered (piietly, and as if it were a fact no one could think of doubting for a moment, ' You don't know anything about any- thing, Jlaurice. Sit down there — no 1 not on a cabbage, but on the wheelbarrow — and I ^'\ill tell you all about it.' So she told him the story, in the middle of which the wheelbarrow upset, because Maurice laughed. So he sat on a log of wood, and Bryda picked up the wheelbarrow, got into it, and began in the words of one of her lesson-books, with a little alteration to suit the occasion. ' Friend I Roman I Countryman 1 bnd me your ears I I am Charon ' ' What ? ' asked Maurice. ' Don't spoil my speech ! You may only say " Hear, hear I " as they do in Parliament.' ' But suppose they don't w-ant to hear V ' Bryda had no notion of what they would do under such unlikely circumstances ; so, after thinking a little, she merely said, ' Don't be silly, Maurice I ' and that sort of answer puts an end to any argument quite easily. ' This is my dog Cerberus, with three heads,' went on Bryda, pointing to Toby. ' My ! what a lot of bones he would eat I ' said his master. Bryda suddenly jumped down from her ratter unsteady pulpit. ' Oh 1 we will have fun ! Here, Maurice, put on my white pinafore. You shall be a ghost, and I will get into the tub with my dog Cerberus, and ferry you over in it.' ' It won't hold two,' said jMaurice, looking rather doubtfully at the rotten tub Avhich BrycUx pushed into the filthy waters, making a splash and a most horrible smell as it went in. ' Oh, ghosts don't want much room I Now, Cerberus, in you go 1 ' and in the poor dog went, hastily and ungracefully ; being, in fact, thrown in head foremost. After one howl he resigned himself, and lay down at the bottom of the tub, into which un- ■ steady boat Bryda, armed with her own small spade, followed with JMaurice's help. Having balanced herself by crouching down, so as to bring the centre of gravity to the right place, she proceeded to paddle, or, as she called it, to row with the little w'ooden spade, splashing a good deal, and, of course, making the tub turn round and round, and wriggle very un- comfortably in the pool. 'Well, it doesn't matter,' said Charon, giving up in despair, and looking very red in the face. ' We can piretend I crossed the Styx to fetch you. Now I must speak to the soul in Latin, SowDAY Reading for the Young. 31 Lecanse, of course, Charon and Cerberus talked Latin always.' 'I suppose Cerberus barked in Latin — all three mouths at once,' said Blanrice ; ' what a, horrid row it must have been !' ' Now talk away," said Eryda. • But we don't know Latin ; I've only just begun at 7j/V, li(Tc,linc' ' That doesn't matter ; we must make it up, of course. If w-e put ' us ' or '-o ' at the end of every word, it will sound exactly like the stuff Cousin Eonald learns. Now : Poor- iis soul -us. do-us you-us want-o to cross over-o?' ' Yes-o,' replied -Maurice, promptly. • Thcn-us come-o oh I oh I ' screamed Bryda, making- the last word very long indeed ; for she trod on the one tail of the dog Cerberus, causing that remarkable animal to jump up howling. Cha- ron's ferry-boat was not built to allow of athletic sports on board, so it went over, and Bryda went in. (To he continued.) WHAT LITTLE THINGS AND LITTLE FOLKS CAN DO. LITTLE flakes of snow, soft fallmg Through all the night. Cover all tlie groiuid quite over, Thick ami white. Little stars so brightly shining In heaven's high dome, !May lead some weary traveller To rest and home. Little seeds dropped in the earth, That look quite dead, With breezj and sunny shower soon lift A tiny head. Stroke after stroke of sharpened axe On the thick bough \Yill bring its lofty head soon down. And lay it lov\". The sunny breeze that fills the sail. And gently fl(jats, INIay change into the gale, that wrecks A fleet of boats. And little cMldren good and true Make home so bright. With little deeds of kindness done. That keep hearts light. JoAX^'A MoKean. BURIED BUT NOT DEAD. A BULBOUS root, found in the hand of one of the mummies discovered in the great ]-)yramid of Egypt, was placed in the earth, and it grew into a beautiful plant, and bloomed, — o, wondrous, unknown flower, — after having lain buried out of sight for long centuries. So good deeds, and holy influences, though long hidden, will in God's time bear fruit for heaven. AN ARAB'S RESPECT FOR BREAD. THE Arabs have the greatest respect for wheat in any shape. If a little morsel of bread falls to the ground the Arab will take . it with his right hand, kiss it, touch his forehead with it, and place it on a wall or branch, where the birds may find it.; for they say, ' We must not tread under foot the good gift of God ; ' and every one, in every station, Moslem and Christian, unites in showing reverence for bread. Sunday Reading for the Young. ARK ! the railway bell is clanging, Trucks are rolling, doors are banging Voices loud. Oil, how different the feeling, ']\Jidbt the rushing and the reeling, Of the crowd '. Happy children, home returning. New released from school and learning ; Oh, what bliss ! Ah ! what hand can paint the blessing Of the loving, fond, caressing Mother's kiss '? To a death-bed some are flymg, summoned where the sick are lying. By that be ^^nd, in spite of hope's wild flutter, btill to them it seems to utter, — 'Tis a laiell I Siiunds far different from that wail Are borne out upon the gale. From village tower ; 'Tis the call to prayer and praise, In the peaceful summer days. At morning hour 1 And again at evening time, How the curfew's plaintive chime Strikes the ear 1 And the sheep -bells' tinkling sound Comes across the verdant ground, Sli.up iiud clear! In the heavy-ladened wain. As it rolls along the lane 'Neath the moon, Sound the waggoner will sleep. Whilst the jingling horse-bells keeji Their cheerful tune. But if they should stop or stay Once upon the tedious way. His sleep is o'er ; When the ringing of the team. Like a fairy-bell in dream. Sounds no more. Sunday Reading for the Young. 33 y ^ BELLS. HAEK ! the mule-bells' tones that cheer The way-worn mnleteer ; So he tells. Then the reindeer faster goes, O'er Lapland's frozen snows. Decked with bells. So, too, the coalman's jingling bells. And the man who muffins sells Rings his say. But if the Bellman's voice has died, Not so all bells beside Have sileui -i 81 Sunday Reading for the Young. MIXED PICKLES. (Continued from page 31.) ^ II, dear I wliat word can describe the filthy mess into which Brj'da was plunged up to her waist ! the smell of it, and the chill, horrible feehng I Fortu- nately, she had just taken Maurice's hand, to help in the ' soul,' who, indeed, felt very lucky to escape such a voyage I Maurice was able to help her, but, soaked to the waist and ready to cry, she scrambled up to dry land. By way of mending matters, the dog Cer- berus, who rnay be supposed to have become Toby again, had gone in altogether, and was rather pleased with himself. So he came and ]iad a good shake close to Bryda, so as to splash all the rest of her small person, and then ran round and round, expressing his delight by all sorts of queer noises. But, oh I here was a mess I And this after the trouble of yesterday and all Bryda's good resolutions I It was too dreadful, and tears came fast to her eyes. But kind Maurice, instead of laughing, pitied her. ' Don't cry,' he said : ' can't you wash ? ' ' I might !■!(»,' said Bryda, dolefully, remem- bering what dreadful things happened to frocks that ' ran.' ' That stuff might run off,' said Maurice ; ' come on.' And she followed meekly to the nearest greenhouse, where was a large tub of fresh water, and beside it a big S(|uirt or syringe used for watering plants high uj) in the greenhouse. ' Oh, Maurice dear, I never ^^dll call you stnpid again ! ' cried Bryda, delighted, as Mam-ice filled the syringe and set to work upon her. "What fun that was ! It was almost worth the fright of that horrid splash, and almost — not quite, perhaps — worth the disgrace Bryda would certainly be in with nurse. Such peals of laughter followed each shower that the quiet cows in the fields beyond lifted up their great heavy heads and stared with brown eyes of mild astonishment. Can you imagine the sort of figure Bryda was when grandmother came out in her wheel- chair to take a turn in the sunsliine ? Soaked from head to foot ; streams of clean water, and others of the horribly smelling stuff into which she had plunged, pouring off her in all directions! She did indeed look a miserable little guilty thing, hanging her head wdiile grandmother looked at her through a gold eye-glass, evidently so surprised and shocked that she could find no words for a few minutes, and at last could only tell her she must never I never I never 1 do such dreadful things again. If she did the conse- quences would be ***** This row of stars must stand for those dreadful consequences, for Bryda never heard them I Uncle James and grandfather had come up by this time, and she fled as fast as wet, clinging clothes would let her to the house. It was ' out of the fryingpan into the fire though, for nurse's wrath was really something too dreadful ; and the way in which she ended, by saying that she supposed Miss Bryda would like better to make mud pies in the streets than to play with other Christians, hurt the child's feelings dreadfully. I am sorry to say she walked out of the nursery Avith damp, smooth hail- and a clean frock, but with her head so very much in the air that her namesake. Saint Bride, or Bridget, would have been quite shocked. ' You see, Cousin Salome,' she said after- wards, ' it was such a dose of disgraces ; and I meant to be so wise, and clever, and useful.' ' Did you aih to be made wise, and clever, and useful ? ' asked Salome, gently. Bryda hung her head. She had forgotten that. I am afraid she dressed so quiddy in the morning to join Maurice that she never remem- bered to ask the Helper of tlie helpless to make her what she would like to be. ' I have been so miserable. Cousin Salome,' she added ; ' I don't believe Mary, queen of Scots, conld have been more WTetched if she had had her head cut off three times running.' How this was to be managed did not seem to strike Bryda as isuzzling. She and Maurice had so often acted the execution of Mary of Scotland, with an arm-chair for the block and an umbrella for an axe, that they were quite used to the Queen having ]jer head cut off very Sunday Reading for the Young. often without minding it in the least, or Leing any the worse for it afterwards. But, certainly, it is very tiresome when our most amusing games end in some mischief that we never dreamt of doing ! It was not so veiy long before this dreadful accident in the tub that Brj'da, who had been reading English history, told Maurice they would act Canute and his courtiers on the sea-shore. So she put two chairs, and collected all the water she could from every jug and water-bottle way up the legs of their chairs, and they had already been sitting with their knees up to their noses. But here Bryda, trying to get herself into thia graceful position, lost her balance, and rolled off her chair, falling on the edge of the bath; which, of course, upset, and made a higher tide in the nursery than had ever been seen there before, for the water flowed in every direction, and the children, ashamed and frightened as they were, could not help laughing at the way in she could find, so as nearly to fill a bath in front of the two chairs on which she and Maurice sat. ' So they put chairs close by the sea-shore as the tide came in,' related Bryda, ' and the little waves came nearer and neai'er. And the cour- tiers said, " King, let us move a little higher up." But Canute said, " Why should we ? Did you not say I was such a great king that no doirbt even the sea would obey me ? " And the courtiers held their stupid tongues, for they knew very well that they had said so. But the tide kept on coming, and jsresently the courtiers got up and rdn away, for the water was half- which a pair of Bryda's shoes floated about like little canoes, till one that had a hole at the side turned over and went down. This happened at Bryda's own home, before her father and mother went away. Mother was not pleased, of course ; but still, she was not quite so dreadfully shocked as the grannies were at the adventure in the old tub. CHAPTER IV. WHAT CAN I DO ? It was in a penitent frame of mind that Bryda awoke on Sunday morning. She would be really good and keep out of mischief all day long. 36 Sunday Reading for the Young. Cousin Salome was better tMs morning, and Bryda went in to see lier after brealdast. ' No, dear, I cannot go to cliurch.,' she said, ■when Bryda asked if she would go that morniQg ; ' but, I dare say church will come to me. I shall read to myself, and think of all the people all over the world who are saying the same words of prayer, tiU my little room seems to grow • into a piece of a great church.' And Sa- lome's white .thin face grew so bright and sweet, that Bryda thought it looked lilie an angel's face in a picture she had seen. The idea helped her to sit much more still than usual in the old family coach, oppo- site the two dear old grannies. Grandfather was a very polite old gentle- man, and thought people now-a-days too free and easy. Especially he held that no gentleman ever ought to drive with ladies with his hat on ; BO, as soon as he got mto the carriage, he always took off his very-weU-brushed tall hat, and fixed it by the brim in two ribbons fastened for the purpose along the carriage ceiling. Grand- mother always wore a bonnet of the shape that was in fashion when she was young, a curious coal-scuttle affair, which generally set Bryda wondering how the wi-inkled old face looked when its pink cheeks were round, and whether, if she were to go to work with a piece of india- rubber, she could rub out the deep lines and get the young look back again. Grandmother's eyes were dim, and she liked to have the lessons and the hymns found for her. Bryda sometimes did not care to do this ; as, if the hymn were a short one, it was sometimes half over before she had found her own place, and was able to join, as she dearly liked to do, in the singing. But to-day she really did want to be of use, so she did this small duty cheerfully, and was rewarded by the happy way in which the old lady smiled and nodded over the big printed book. The sermon seemed to have to do, in a most curious way, with the very things of which Bryda had been thinking, and she quite started when the Eector's voice said suddenly, ' Nothing to do 1 ' and there stopped. ' Nothing to do,' he said, ' when the whole world is full of things that want doing I The harvest ripe, but the labourers idle I The people hungry, and those who have the loaves and fishes keeping them, wasted, unused ! ' (To he continued.) THE "WAT TO SUCCEED AT LAST. NOT to be daunted with difficulties is the way to succeed ; and there are many ex- amples to illustrate the truth, none more to the purpose than that of one William Carey, who in after life became famous as a missionary to the heathen. 'VSTien he was a boy he was one day climbing a tree ; he slipped and fell to the ground, and broke his leg. This accident kept Master William in bed for some weeks, and it was stiU longer before he could walk without assistance ; but the very first thing he did, when he regained his liberty and was allowed to go out, was to go and climb that very tree. He was not going to be conquered. No wonder he became a famous man. OUTSIDE HEAVEN. A GOOD man, trying to conviiice an un- believer, repeated the passage from the Psalms, ' The wcked shall be turned into hell' ' Yes ; but where is hell ?' asked the scofier. And the reply came, short, sharp, and telling : ' Anywhere outside Heaven.' SuNDA\ Reading for the Young. :v "Ye THE NEW TEAR. FALLEN leaves and winter snows, And tlie stormy wind that blows, Tell us that the old year's gone And a new one draweth on. .Little children then may sing Of the mercy of their King, Who has led them day by day, And wiU keep them all the way. BeUs are ringing o'er the snow. Chiming sweetly, soft and low ; And the happy children dear Dance and sing with voices clear. Fnll of glee, and fnll of song. What a merry little throng I Singing of the heavenly Child, Holy, loving, meek and mild. Oh for thankful hearts to love Him who came from heaven above Who His precious life laid do's^Ti, Chose the cross, but gives the crown This will be a glad new year If the Lord we truly fear ; This is wisdom's safest road, And will keep us near to G-od. Joanna McKean. 38 Sunday Reading for the Young. CHRISTMAS CAROL. IjNCE on this fairest earth of outs, Under tlie moonlit skies, The flocks Liy sleeping, and the flowers Had closed their starry eyes. The sliepliords watched and guarded, lest iSome evil beast of prey Sliould steal amongst the sheep, and take The helpless lambs away. 'Twas then the heavenly Babe appeared, God's own appointed Lamb, And angel songs resoimded till Heaven's lofty arches rang. He came as gently as a shower Of soft and fleecy snow, No wealth or pomp to cradle Him, Only the manger low. And there He lay, God's only Son, For us so fi'eely given : He lived a little child on earth. The sinless child from Pleaven. He knows what little children need. He knows how weak they are ; And if they trust Him, He will be Their ' bright and morning star.' For, as the star of Bethlehem led The shepherds to His stall. He'll lead the trusting children on, And guard them one and all. Joanna McKean. EVERYBODY'S CORNER. THE SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC. THE wonders of Astronomy are very diffi- cult to explain to little folks ; but we must try and do our best with regard to the signs of the zodiac, as they are called. The Earth, in its revolving round the Sun, does not keep on its axis, upright or perpen- dicular; but the North and South Poles are inclined slightly, or obliquely, and this peculiarity causes the various changes in the seasons, by bringing tlie different parts of the world in direct line with the sun. Were it not so, the middle of the earth would always have summer, and the parts nearer the poles perpetual winter. The oblique path, which the sun appears to take in the heavens, but which is really caused by the earth's journey round the sun, is called the zodiac, and has been divided into twelve parts, each marked by a sign and pictorial figure representing a constellation or group of stars. These signs are known by their Latin names, and their use is to indicate the apparent position of the sun in the heavens at any particular time of the year. We thus read of the sun entering Aries, and so on. Here is a list of the Constellations, with the number of stars in each, and their English names. Latin Name. English Name. Ndhbee of- Staes, Aries. The Earn. 46 Taurus. The Bull. 109 Gemini. The Twins. 94 Cancer. The Crab. 75 Leo. The Lion. 91 Virgo. The Virgin. 93 Libra. The Balance. 51 Scorpio. The Scorpion. 44 Sagittarius. The Archer. 48 Caprioornus. The Goat. 58 Aquarius. The Water-bearer. . 93 Pisces. The Fishes. 110 The first six are called the Northern signs and the last six the Southern. As children we used to learn the following rhyme to fix them in our memory : — The Eam, the Bull, the heavenly Twins, And next the Crab the Lion shines. The Virgin and the Scales. The Scorpion, Archer, and She-goat, The man who holds the watering-pot. And Fish with glittering tails. THE SMUGGLER'S GRAVE. LANDSLIP : a landslip ! Such a. jolly one I Part of the church- yard tumbled down ; and all the trees and bushes on it going on gromng as if nothing had hap- pened ! Fatlier is going to drive us over to St. Martin's to see it, so be quick, girls, and get ready.' Such was Charlie's announcement, as he burst into the schoolroom one morning. Sunday Reading for the Young. What he coukl find 'jolly,' as he called it, in part of a churchyard falling down, we did not stop to inquire. Hats and mantles were soon put on, and before the waggonette was brought round we all stood waiting on the steps. The parish of Christchurdi, of which my father was rector, lies in the middle of an island off the east coast of England; and the neigh- bouring parish of St. Martin is bounded by the sea, which, in one part, is continually encroaching on the land. Not very long ago there were fields and a road between the edge of the cliff and the ■churchyard, but the hungry w-aters had washed away the fields and devoured the broad road ; ■and now they liad taken their first step towards swallowing up the churchyard, by undermining a considerable portion of it, and causing the earth to sink to a level with the high-water mark. And, as Charlie had said, there were the trees and shrubs upon it, growing in the earth as if nothing had happened, although it had sunk a distance of many feet. We were not a little curious to see how the graves had been affected by the change of level. There were not many of them in this part of the ■churchyard, and the few there were were mostly simple mounds, and did not seem to have been at all disturbed by their sudden descent. This was not the case, however, with one grave, across the centre of which the earth had divided. The coffin had fallen out and burst open, disclosing, not a human skeleton, but a mass of bricks, stones, and other rubbish. ' Why, look I ' said my Httle sister Ethel, in a tone of disappointment (Ethel had a great liking for the horiible), 'look at that coffin I it has no bones m it. I thought old coffins always had bones in them.' 'Not always, Ethel,' said my father, 'some- times only a little dust ; but I cannot understand how this one came to be filled with rubbish. If I remember rightly, the grave was covered with a flat stone, on which a man's name was engraved, w'ith his age, and the date of his death.' ' Was not this the smuggler's grave?' inquired Charlie. 'I am not sure, my boy ; though I have heard that a noted smuggler was buried in this church- yard, and his grave was somewhere near the edge of the cliff. Here comes Mr. Charlton ; he, no doubt, will be able to tull us all about it.' And as my father spoke, the Vicar of St. Mar- tin's came towards us. After greeting us all in his kindly, genial manner, he said, — 'It may be interesting to you, children, to hear that this landslip has brought to light a curious secret. It has always been supposed that a celebrated smuggler, named Charles Boone, better known on this part of the coast as " Slip- noose Charlie," was buried in the grave that you see has been broken open. This man gave the officers of excise more trouble than any other smuggler on the coast, w-hich is saying a great deal, when we consider what a large share the inhabitants of this island formerly took in the contraband trade, and it would seem that in the end he must have contrived to baffle them, though they thought him safely dead and buried.' 'How could it have happened?' asked my father. ' That I cannot tell,' said the Vicar. ' But the story goes, that on one occasion Boone had a terrible fight with two coastguardsmen who had been for a long while on the look-out for him. After a fierce struggle he escaped, wounded mortally as they supposed, to a neighbouring cottage. The coastguardsmen were too seriously injured to go in pursuit of him at the time; but, as soon as help had been procured, the cottage was entered, and the officers were shown -what they believed to be the dead body of Boone ; and the corpse was placed in a coffin that was subsequently bm-ied in this grave.' 'Do you think the body was stolen from the coffin after it was buried?' suggested Ethel. 'No, my dear,' answered Mr. Charlton; 'if that had been the case, the coffin would have been left emptj^, instead of being filled ^vith heavy rubbish. I think it is more likely that Boone, after successfully feigning death, left his friends to go through the ceremony of a funeral with the coffin, which was fiUed with heavy materials in order to deceive all who were not in the plot, and that he escaped to France, or the Low Countries. Indeed, it is not unlikely that he was identical with a celebrated smuggler w^ho had been missing for some years, but who, about that time, reappeared on a part of the coast much farther north.' F. C. 40 Sunday Reading for the Young. The Old Churchyard. Sua DAY Reading for the Young. A Boy's Half-holiday. 42 Sunday Reading for the Young. A BOY'S HALF-HOLIDAY. I HE sun was briglit over tlie mea- dows, and lit up the gay colours of the briglit wild flowers ; the stream down by the mill si)arkled in its stony bed, and showed in the sunlight where the speckled trout darted in and out among tlie shallows. It was half-holiday for the boys of Childerton School, and right merrily did they use it. Some went off to bathe ; others took off shoes and stockings, and poked about the big stones and pools for millers' thumbs and minnows, and sometimes an un- fortunate troutling. Bob Burton and his chums. Alec and Sweyne, went off butterfly -hunting among the lanes and meadows of Squire Ridway's farm. They were enthusiasts in the science, and although they knew little more than the names of a few, they managed to pass for clever fellows among their schoolmates, and exchanged away their surplus admirals and jjainted beauties for stamps, and rabbits, and all the thousand-and-one odd things that go to form a schoolboy's stock-in-trade. The air was bright and clear, and the tlu-ee friends entered into their chase with zest. Breast-high almost was the tall rye-grass and meadow-sweet as they ran in and out of the fai-mer's fields. ' Here's au admiral I ' one would shout, and all ran as if demented, here, there, and every- ■whero. ' There goes a sulphur 1 ' and away they went in an opposite direction. By-and-by the running and warm sun told its tale. ' I vote we sit down and rest,' said Alec. ' Not a bad idea, is it, Sweyne ? We'll get in the shade under the bank ; only let's keep the roadside. That's the field where the old red bidl is ; and he nearly tossed old Simmons the other day — so they say.' ' I am not afraid of the Squire's bull,' cried Alec, ' tliough he's big enough to eat me. But if he runs after me, I'll just Oh 1 look ! there goes a peacock I ' and before you could say ' Knife,' up jumped the lad, never finished his sentence, and away after the gaudy butterfly among the clover grass, then through the hedge, and into the very field where the red bull was grazing at the far end. Alec did not mind ; no, not he. The bull sniffed the air, and tossed his head. Still the boy ran, here and there, zigzag, and back and fro. Bull roared ; Alec ran ; tlien waved his butterfly-net at bull — he would not bo done I Oh, dear 1 Next thing he caught his foot in a tuft of grass, and down he went full sprawl on his face, where he lay, out of bi'eath, exhausted and done — and too frightened to move, for Bull walked up leisurely and smellcd him all over. He was not very savage, but he did not like boys intruding in Mi field, and waving their strange sticks at him. Why, there I There were two more of these audacious urchins just coming over the gate, as if one were not enough to spoil a bull's temper; and off he galloped towards the gate to see what they wanted. Poor Alec I he had been frightened enough, but he did not wait for the bull to return. Up he jumped, and ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the hedge, and was over in a trice, thankful enough not to have lost anything more than his butterfly. ' Hanged if I go into iliat field again, Bob,' said he. ' Well, we thought the best thing to do was for us to show ourselves ; we thought the old beast would make for us, and so give you a chance.' ' Ugh I how he did blow in my ear I ' said Alec ; ' his hot breath quite gave me a shudder. Let's go and find the other fellows, and get up a game. That bull has quite spoiled my half- holiday, besides barking my knee when I came down.' The other fellows found, a round game was soon in full swing, and by the time the sun went down, and it was time to go indoors, even Alec had forgotten that his half-holiday had been spoiled. H. "WHICH MOTTO IS YOURS? A VAIN man's motto is, Win gold and wear it. A generous man's „ „ Win gold and share it. A miser's ,, „ Win gold and spare it. A wasteful man's „ „ Mln gold and spend it. A covetous man's „ „ Win gold and lend it. A gambler's „ ,, Win gold and lose it. A wise man's „ „ Win gold and use it. Sunday Reading for the Young. MIXED PICKLES. [Continued from 'p.a^.') THE clergyman went on to speak of works that men and women might do, and Bryda nestled close against grandfather's shoulder and thought sadly, ' When I am grown np I may Le some nse, but what a long time off that is 1 ' JBut presently she looked up again very brightly as the kind old Rector went on, — ' And now, what shall I say to the little ones? Just this, that the Father needs them quite as much as their elders. They may not be able to do great works, to reap the harvest- field, but they may help with cords of love to bind the sheaves, they may glean the scattered ears and make a little sheaf of good corn. The Lord took a " few small fishes " to serve His gi-eat pin-pose ; He will take little hands and feet and hearts, and make them do His will. Only the little ones must be roilUng.' Yes 1 But he had not told Bryda what she might do, and how to set about doing the Lord's will seemed to her very puzzling. She wondered about it the whole way home, and made a little plan, which she determined to carry out at once after luncheon. When grown- up people were very good Bryda knew that they were fond of caring for the poor, and that then they generally carried soup to those who were sick, and read the Bible aloud in cottages. In her o\n\ town home she had never been into the houses of the poor at all ; indeed, these houses were so hidden away behind the handsome streets in which the rich lived, that she hardly knew there were such places. But here, in the little village outside grandfather's lodge-gates, she Imew poor people lived, mostly in neat cottages with honeysuckle climbing over their trellised porclies. There were most likely nice old women there, who sat linitting in their tidy room, with spectacled eyes, and caps as white as snow. It would be nice to go there, and surely to visit them would be useful, and would please Him who made use of a ' few small fishes ' to do His work when He was on earth. Full of this happy thought, Bryda descended to the kitchen. The servants'-hall dinner was just over, the kitchen-maid was washing plates in the scullery, and cook was sitting by the kitchen window with a very clean apron and very smart cap, while by her stood a tall young shepherd, in his Sunday best, and a flower ia his coat. Bryda made her request to cook, namely, that she might have a little soup in a jug. ' Whatever do you want it for, Miss ? ' asked' cook, evidently ill-pleased by the interruption. ' I want 10 do good to the poor,' answered she,, looking up seriously at the cross face. ' Dear, Miss ! What an old-fashioned child you are 1 ' cried cook. But she fetched the soup, and Bryda was much surprised to see that it was a cold bright jelly, very nice to carry, as there could be no fear of spilling it on her fresh Sunday frock. So off she started, and walked quickly down the avenue and out into the pretty village, with her soup and her Testament. But now came a new puzzle, — Bryda knew none of the people in the village. To which house should she go ? Looking round, she saw that one of the houses- looked much poorer than the others. The little garden was full of weeds, the porch shaibby audi broken, with creepers that sadly wanted nailing, hanging loosely from the wall, one poor rose- quite bent to the earth with heavy blossoms. , Everything looked neglected, and Bryda thought the people must be very poor indeed, since their home looked so \^Tetched. Timidly walliing up to the door, for her courage began to fail her a little, she tapped gently. ' Open the door, Betsy,' said a gruff voice inside : to which another voice answered, grumbling, — ' Can't you do it yourself, you stupid old . woman ? ' Then the door opened suddenly, and Bryda saw a rough-looking girl of about fifteen, with a very dirty face, shock head, and imtidy, torn dress, whose voice was as rough as her look holding the door. ' Now then, what do you want ? ' she said, frowning fiercely at her trembling visitor. 'D'yer want to know the way, or to ax a gfess of water ? That's all folks like yoir ever troubles folks like us for, 'cept when v>'e're ill, and then yer brings us tracks.' By which she probably meant tracts. ' If yon please,' said poor Bryda, ' I thought some one might be ill here, and so I brought some soup.' 44 SuNDA Y Reading for the Young. ' Come in, my dear, come in,' said the old woman from her corner, and began couglaing and wheezing very loudly, groaning so dread- fully between her attacks that Bryda was more frightened than ever, and thought she was going to die. Perhaps some soup would do her good; so she timidly entered the cottage, the girl immediately shutting the door behind her, set down her little basket, and began to open it. ' That's a nice bit o' chain round yer neck,' eaid the rude girl, coming behind her. ' I wonder if it wouldn't look better on me.' So saying, she quickly unclasped the pretty silver chain that hung round her visitor's neck and put it on her own neck before Bryda had time to object. The old woman had, meantime, stopped coughing; she got up quickly and seized the jng of clear soup-jeUy, and began poking her shrivelled old fingers in and so eating it. But the girl, seeing this, caught the hand that held the jug, while the old woman was eating and muttering all the time. ' Soup for the sick I Oh, yes, I am very iU 1 Bring me some soup, my dear ; bring me plenty of soup.' The rough girl caught the jug and tried to put her own fingers in, on which a struggle followed ; the pitcher fell to the floor and broke, while the jelly was scattered everywhere, and poor Bryda, frightened almost out of her wits, left the two dreadful women to fight, opened the door, and ran as if they were after her, leaving locket and chain, and her basket, and feeling as if she were fortunate in escaping at all. Eushing blindly on, she hardly knew where, only feeling that she must run, her foot caught in the root of a tree, and she fell violently to the ground, striking her head against the trunk. Stupid as she felt, in a moment she was trying to struggle up, when a hand was laid on her shoulder ; and, thinking it must be the dreadful girl who had so frightened her, the poor child screamed aloud. 'Hush, hush! don't scream that way!' said a kind, soothing voice; an arm gently raised her, and Bryda, looking up, saw an old man, -nnth cheeks like a winter-apple, white hair, and a pair of the kindest, friendliest old eyes that ever looked through spectacles, standing beside her. ' Come into my cottage here, and rest a little bit, and tell me what frightened thee, little missy,' he went on. Bryda looked round her, feeling that for this time she had had enough of the inside of cottages. ' Do now,' went on the old man. ' Don't be afeard, missy I Thy grandfather and old Roger were young together: ah I and good friends they were too, for all I could beat him at wrestling ; he never took it amiss, did Master George — that's your grandad, little missy. Come in now and welcome.' Bryda gained a httle courage at this speech, and followed the old man into his cottage, close to which she had fallen. As she went she could see the rude girl looking out of her house and making ugly faces ' Which she need not have done,' said Bryda, afterwards ; ' she was hideous already I ' (To he continued.) Sunday Reading for the Young. 45- 46 Sunday Reading for the Young. ONLY A PIECE OF AMBER. AMBER is an exndation from trees of the pine family of a very remote period; ■\vliole forests are now submerged below tlie ocean. The insects, which are sometimes seen imbedded in it, are of an extinct species. On the sea-coast of Prussia there are large mines for working the amber, and it is picked np on the shores of the Baltic Sea. It is sometimes also found on the coasts of Norfolk, Essex, and Sussex, in England, but in very Email quantities. A little piece of golden amber Some one sent to me, Found lying out upon the shoreland Of a stormy sea. I wondered if it had a storj^, Whisp'ring in my ear Of whence it came, and where its homeland. In the ages drear. I asked it, Could it tell me this I so wished to know, Of where it had its first beginning, In times so long ago ? It answered softly, 'Where great forests Waved in sunshine briglit ; Now tlw ocean holds high revel In its stormy might. ' Then as a little forest tear-drop From a mighty tree, I came trickling down the rough stem, Drojiping full and free. ' When, lo I upon my gummy surface Came a tiny fly ; It stmggled hard to gain its freedom, But it had to die. ' Tlien another drop of resin Closed it aU around. And, becoming loosened from the tree-stem. Fell upon the ground. ' Thus lying there, through long, long ages. Hardened me quite through ; At last, a lovely piece of amber I now come to you.' Joanna McKean.. THE ANIMALS OF THE BIBLE. The Lion. IN introducing these papers I would like to say to ray yoimg readers that my wish is to throw a ' side light ' on the Book that is so very precious to us. The importance of natural history in its bearing on the Bible — that Book which contains so many allusions to various animals — will be recbgnised, I am sure, by all. It is by our study of the natural history of the East, Oriental customs, and subjects of that kind, that we give new life to the Old Book, and bring its narratives, yes, and its teaching also, more vividly before us. In treating of the Bible animals, we shall not take them in the order found in the Bible, but shall commence with the lion, because he is tlie ' King of beasts.' The lion is first mentioned in the forty-ninth chaj)ter of Genesis, where the dying Jacob bids- farewell to his sons. ' Judah is a lion's whelp.'' And then, if we skip over all the rest of the Bible and go on to the last book, we find our Saviour is called ' the Lion of the tribe of Juda ' (Rev. y. 5). There are five different words in the Hebrew for the Hon, expressing different stages of its history. They signify a little lion, a young one growng up, one just in its full strength, one having young of its own, and one very fierce and savage. At present lions do not exist in Palestine, but there can be no doubt tliat at one time tliis- animal was to be found in most parts of the Holy Land. We read of their dens in the mountains- of Lebanon, of their coverts in the low ground Sunday Reading for the Young. 47 ■near the Jordan, whence, when the river over- •flowed its banks in the spring time, they were driven to the hills, where they often committed great ravages. They also occupied the plains of Tabor, and were found in the fields of Bethlehem. The gradual disappearance of the lion from Palestine is said to have been occasioned by the making of new roads, under the Roman rule, for which purpose woods and thickets were cut •down. The lion has an insatiable appetite, and re- quires a wide area over which to hunt for his prey. In proportion, therefore, as the population ■of a country increases, his hunting-grounds grow less and less, and he is driven by hunger nearer to the dwellings of men, who kill him in defence ■of their homes. The lion is now confined to Africa and the jparts of Asia east of the river Euphrates. It used to range over Syria, Asia Minor, and even Tm-key in Europe. It is long years, lio\Yever, since its roar has been heard in Europe, save from an iron cage. The lion of Palestine was in all probability 'the Asiatic variety, distinguished by its short curly mane, and by being shorter and rounder in shape than the African lion. Those we see in England are mostly brought from Africa, there- fore they have long manes. Africa has always been productive of lions ; and its vast plains and dense forests yielded to the Romans those crowds of lions of which we read in history, and wonder how they were -caught. Hundreds of lions were exhibited at -one time in the Grand Circus at Rome ; it is said even as many as six hundred. And Mark Antony, about whom schoolboys often have to read more than they care for, did, we are told, ■drive about the streets of the city drawn by lions — a not very probable story, yet it may be true. (To he contimied.) CHARACTER. ONE'S real character generally shows itself in httle things, just as the light seems most bright which shines through narrow •chinks. TAME TOM. is not often that hedgehogs can be tamed ; generally they live wild in the hedgerows and thickets, and feed upon the fruits and berries of the copse-sides, with an occasional feast of snails and beetles, or, better still, a nest of eggs, either of game birds like the pheasant or partridge, or from the roost of the nearest farm. The subject of this little story, however. Tame Tommjr, was quite a contrast to the timid, wild animals of the field. Instead of rolling himself up in a ball for the winter, and going to sleep, he was as lively as a kitten all through Decem- ber and Christmas, and made his home by the kitchen fire, only retreating to the scullery, where there were dinner-plates to be cleared of scraps, or the poor hungry cats to be hunted about. Ah, these cats 1 When Tommy was first brought in, a living wonder, a real, live, wild hedgehog, the cats all fled ; they could not make out the new-comer, and their anger and fright were not lessened when one of them giving him a smack with her paw found the prickles on Tommy's back too sharp for her, and rushed off with a bleeding foot. It was a long time before friendship and peace were restored in the kitchen, aiid to this day Tommy remains master, always has the best bone, the first turn at the saucer of bread and milk, and, when his high spirits get the upper hand, drives the cats away from their warm corner, and rolls himself up in a ball on. their bit of carpet. In ancient days the hedgehog seems to havo been a very sagacious animal, and is celebrated in history as having obtained for an observant citizen of Cyzicus the reputation of being a clever mathematician. It was in this way. A hedgehog generally forms openings in its burrow at various points ; when instinct warns it of a change in the wind it stops the opening in that quarter, and so has always shelter. The Cyzician discovered this habit, a^id, from a close observance of the burrows of a colony of hedgehogs, was always able to predict the quarter to which the wind would next shift. H, 48 SuNDA V Reading for the Young. The UiTO'elcome Guest. Sunday Reading for the Young. 49 Pale3''s Turning-point. II 50 Sunday Reading for the Young. THE TTJRliriNG-POIWT IN A LIFE. IT is stated of Pale}', the great theologian, that when at college he was thrown into the society of a Avild set of young fellows. One morning, whilst Paley was j'ct in bed, one of these entered his room, and reasoned with him on the folly of continuing the course upon which he had entered. 'As for me,' said the speaker, ' it is not a matter of such importance. I was born to large estates and independence, whilst you have to depend entirely upon your own exertions for your advancement in hfe.' Paley listened without replying to all that his friend had to say, and as soon as he was gone began to tliink seriously of what he had heard. He remained in bed all that day pondering deeply. The next morning he rose at five o'clock, and set himself to study. He gave up all his wild companions, and continued the habit of early rising throughout the remainder of his career ; it was the turning-point in his life. EVEEYBODYS CORNER, EASTERN EEVEREXCE. THE eastern nations take off their slippers when we should remove our hats. They never uncover their heads any more than we our feet. Everyn'here in Oriental coimtries, whether among Christians, Moslems, or Pagans, it would be considered an irreverent outrage for a person to enter a church, temple, or mosque, with feet covered ; and even the priests perform their duties ■with bare feet. And this form of showing respect enters the common intercourse of life : an Oriental would see Avith disgust any one entering his room with shoes on, and look upon it as an insult and IJollution. So we can understand the command of God to Moses to take his shoes off, because he was standing on holy ground, and Moses at once knew aU that was implied in the words. THE DYING SOLDIER. THERE was a terrible storj' told in a daily paper in the hght of the hajipy Christmas fires not long ago. It was the year of the Franco-German war, and in one of the provinces of fair France, there was in one of the tem- porary military hospitals a poor German soldier, mangled and maimed, whose fevered brain ^s-ss full of home, and wife, and children, and in the delirium that followed the cutting off of a limb he crawled out of the hospital, and was found in the village street trying to drag his poor bleeding body over the frozen gi'ound. A kind Frenchwoman ran to him and put the- cooling di-aught of water to his burning lips. ' No, no : ' murmured he ; 'I am only thirsty for home and Httle ones.' And with that thirst- unsatisfied, and the sad longing in his heart, he- turned upon his face and died. Oh I how terrible is the grief that war brings, as if death were not cruel enough Avithout it I MIXED PICKLES. {Co}itimied from page 44.) CHAPTER V. OLD ROGER. Ir^ IPvECTLY Bryda was inside the old man's cottage she was able to collect her scattered wits, and look round at her kind friend and at his dwelling. The httle room into which she had come served as the old man's sitting- room and kitchen both; the door into what would natu- rally have been his little parlour was open, and she could '~ ^^ I '- see tools hanging '''^. ■ ' — ~^ up on neat wooden racks, li.alf-fiuished chairs and boxes lying about, and in the centre of the room a carpenter's bench and turning-lathe. The carpenter himself wore a very old - fashioned dress, long blue knitted stockings, strong low shoes, with buckles, a scarf woimd roimd and roimd his throat, so that two little j)oints of very white collar came just under his chin, and a funny old brown coat -with peculiar-looking buttons. Sunday' Reading for the Young. 51 He drew a chair for Bryda near the hearth, on which burnt a small wood fire, and above which were a great many memorial cards in frames — wonderful worlcs of art with a very black background and a very white tomb, over ■which leaned in exhausted attitudes drooping female figures, supposed to be lamenting the departed in the tomb, with, usually, a large weeping willow in one corner of the picture. The carpenter himself sat down, where he had evidently been sitting before, at a small table, on which was a very large Bible with pictures in it. As he did so his eyes rested on the opposite wall, on which was a quaint old woodcut, re- presenting the Christ in Joseph's workshop at Nazareth, with a glory round His head, busily making a table. Bryda saw it too, and could not help noticing the look of pleasure that came into the old man's face, as if he had suddenly seen a very dear friend. ' You're a carpenter, Mr. Eoger?' said Bryda, trying not to feel shy. ' Ay, ay,' answered the old man, turning his spectacled eyes slowly from the picture to her face. ' I make chairs and tables, and all else that I've strength for, just as He did,' pointing to. the picture. ' He made them for thirty years, but I've made them now for twice that, and more. Nigh on to eighty years I've done the same work as He did ; and whenever I do a real neat job, missy, I say to myself, " That's right, Roger ; do 'em better and better still, and some day you'll do one that He needn't a-been ashamed of.' ' Do you think the Lord made the best chairs and tables?' asked Bryda, wondering. She had been so much more used to think of our Redeemer as He taught, and worked miracles, and went about doing good, than as the car- penter who worked quietly in a little out-of-the- way village. ' I dunno about the best, missy ; maybe He never had the best teachin' ; leastways, not to make grand folks' furniture. But I know every nail He drove was put in true and straight, and never a bit of bad wood used, or a place people •wouldn't see left unfinished. All the work He ■did was the best He knew to do — that I know right well, missy.' Bryda sighed. She had come out to try and •do some of the Lord's own work — to help the poor. And she had failed so horribly, with the best intentions. The old carpenter heard her sigh. ' Tell old Roger how you got into trouble, missy,' he said ; ' and maybe a cup of tea would , freshen you after all's done.' f It was only half-past three, but the old man ' got up and bustled about, laying tea on the '' clean deal table, with a still cleaner cloth, for Bryda and himself, a big loaf, and a little bit of countr}' butter. Then he put the kettle on to boil, and sat down opposite Bryda to watch it, while she told all the story of her adventure to her new friend, beginning with the scrape of yesterday, and Cousin Salome's story, and ending by saying sadly that it seemed as if there was no use for her in the world. 'Don't fret, my dear; don't fret,' said the kind old man ; ' the Lord has a use for every- thing and everybody, if they'll ask Him to show the way. Why the dear Lord had need of a donkey once, and He sent to ask for it. Didst ask Him what to do, little miss, before thou went ? ' Bryda hung her head. That she had not done. ' That's where the fault was,' said Eoger, thoughtfully. ' What dost think 'ud happen if I tried to do squire's work, or parson's ? They wouldn't thrive witli me, for sure.' At this moment the cottage door opened, and the object of Bryda's terror, the shock-headed girl, entered. In one hand she held Bryda's locket and chain, in the other her basket, both of which she thumped down upon the table, so that all the tea-things rattled, merely saying, ' There, take yer things, and don't come near us no more 1 ' She bounced out again, and banged the door behind her. 'So it was Moll Dawson as freckened ye 1' said Rogei', when she was gone ; ' she's a real bad un, that girl. I'm thinking she's one of those lambs that run further off because they hear the Shepherd calling.' ' I shall never dare to go near her house again,' said Bryda ; ' but I am glad she did not steal my locket and chain. And I wish I could help somebody who is sick or very poor,' she added, returning to her first idea. The old carpenter leant his elbows on his knees, and looked at Bryda very earnestly. 52 Sunday Reading for the Young. ' When I were a yottng rni,' lie said, ' and lived in a part of the country far away from here, there was a cold, clear spring as btihbled up by the roadside, with the best water in all the country round, that never dried up. And they called it " The Child's Well," and told a pretty story aboiTt it.' ' Oh, do tell me 1 ' said Bryda, eagerly, roused at once by the idea of a story, like a dog at the scent of game. {To he conthmed.) Jerusalem is built, according to the prophecy of Jeremiah, on her own heap. It is supposed to have been founded two thousand years before Christ, and to have re- mained for ages only a fortress of the Jews, till it reached its greatest splendour as the capital of Palestine imder King Solomon, David's son. After his time and the revolt of the ten tribes Jerusalem declined, and was a prey to the attacks of the Kings of Egypt, AssjTia, and Babj'lon. Then came the Captivitj', and after S^CSW/' JERUSALEM AND OLIVET. * HE place where our Blessed Lord spent His last days, and breathed His last prayer for the human family, must ever be dear in the sight of those who call themselves His followers. Christians. Its history has often been written, and its final destruction is one of the most awful pages in the annals of the world. No city of like antiquity has been taken and retaken so often as Jerusalem ; it has been be- sieged no less than twenty-seven times, and it is owing to this fact, perhaps, that the ground of the present city is thirty feet above the old, and the valleys nearlv filled with ruins and rubbish. seventy years the return of the Jews and building of the second Temple, so far inferior in beauty to the first that the aged Jews wept when they beheld it. Babylon, Persia, Greece, all in turn oppressed the city of Palestine, till, about sixty years e.g., it was conquered and taken by the Romans. Then came the most deeply interesting portion of its history, when Jesus Christ came to dwell amongst His peojile, and walked in and out amongst them. Outside the city is the Mount of Olivet, hal- lowed by so many tender memories to the lovers of our Saviour. Still are the ancient walls to be seen in ruins, where, even now, in the place of wailing, the Jewish people go yearly to pour out their laments for their ruined and desolate country before Jehovah, thus witnessing to the literal fulfilment of Christ's verj"- words when He described the destruction of the Holy City, which event took place in the year 70 A,D. ' ,Terii?alem and the Mount of Olives. m Sunday Reading for the Young. LEAVES PROM NOBLE LIVES. FRAN'CIS JOSEMI CAMPBELL. 1. PERHAPS you have never before heard of the man of whom I write, yet none ^the less lias his life been a noble life ; aye, and yet continues to be so, for, thank God, his ser- vant still lives, doing his work in this our world quietly, faithfully, steadily as ever. To begin at tlie beginning, however : about the year 1838 an active little American boy was jjlaying near his father's house in Franklin •County, Tennessee, when he ran an acacia thorn into his eye, thereby (after much suffering) ■entirely losing the sight of both eyes. His parents, honest, loving, country people, grieved ^terribly over this cloud on little Joseph's life. The mother, as sight day by day faded from ]ier little boy's eyes, tried to impress on his mind for future recollection the beauties around, tlie .blooming orchard trees, and the stars in the night sky ; the father, nay, all the family, in- dulging and petting jDoor blind Joseph till it seemed likely that the boy would grow up a spoilt, helpless creature. At six years old, hoAvever, little Joseph found ■out for himself how selfish he was becoming, and it was not very long before his own active mind devised a way out of the weary desert of idleness and indulgence through whieli the child's path seemed to lead. The Campbells fell into comparative poverty .at this time, and all the children had to do their best to help in the small farm left to their parents ; only Josejjh need not work, and could not go to scliool Avith the rest. He was very dull in his blind leisure, this poor little lad, and one ilay, when his father was out, he set to work to ■ cut up firewood, cut it fairly well, and packed it up neatly, as the custom was. When his father came home he praised the big brothers for their industry, and they pointed out the worker, little blind Joseph. The glad father at once bought the boy an axe of his own, and taught him how to execute other light farm-work; it was a joy to him to find that Joseph could do something in the world. By-and-by a school for blind children was ■opcn-jd in the neiglibourhood, and half pleased, half frightened, Joseph was sent there ; he longed •to learn, but was naturally afraid to leave his home and loving relatives. His alarm, how- ever, did not last long. When his teacher put the New Testament in raised characters into his hand, and began to teach him his letters, Joseph felt a thrill of eager joy run through him ; he learned the whole alphabet in three quarters of an hour. School days were happy days to blind Joseph ; difficulties he did not mind, his eager nature found pleasure in overcoming them. The blind are generally fond of music, apt in learning the art; but Joseph did not know one tune from another, and was considered too in- capable to learn : so he was told it was useless for him to take piano lessons like the other boys, lie must just stick to his basket and brush- making. Wliether the boy's pride rebelled at this placing of him in a lower grade to others, or whether he really felt the dormant p-wers within him, I cannot say ; I only can put down the fact that he paid a boy to instruct Iiitn in music, and worked so hard himself in secret that, before any one was aware of it, he had learned as much of music as the other boys. The music-master (also blind), coming sud- denly into the room one day, asked, 'Who is that playing the new lesson so well ? ' ■ 'I, sir.' 'You, Josiel you cannot play I Conio here; what have you learnt ?' ' All that you have taught the other boys, sir.' The master laughed. ' Well, then, sit down and plaj' the instrnction-book through from the be- ginning.' Josie did it. Fifteen months after he gained the prize for pianoforte playing, a medal with the motto, ' Musica lax intenehris.' Work, however, did not altogether take the place of play ; this blind boy loved active sports, riding, hunting, fishing : he was an ex- pert mountain - climber, too. But little time could be given to these amusements ; his friends were poor, and if Joseph wanted a university education he must earn the money for it liimself. But how ? By teaching music. Yes, that was his best hope. Yet the boy felt, that though he had learned well himself, he did not yet know how to teach people with the blessing of sight. In this dilemma two young ladies offered themselves to him as pupils. Longing, yet not daring to accept the charge, Joseph (only a lad of fifteen) walked off to the cemetery, and sat down on a tombstone to consider the matter. Sunday Reading for the Young 55* The evening was chill}', the city hells chimed mournfully, the boy felt depressed. ' Suddenly,' he tells US, 'I thought of General Carroll, on ■whose tomb I sat ; he was once a poor boy like me, yet for twelve years he was the idolized governor of Tennessee. I sprang to my feet, my mind made up.' Young Campbell, conquering shyness, went off straight to one of the best pianists in America, and aslcod him to give him a lesson in teaching, ■which the man good-naturedly did. The next day he faced the two Miss Aliens, and gave them their first lesson successfullj'. A year later, when he was just sixteen years old, young Campbell was appointed teacher of music in the very institution where ho had iirst been told he could never learn music I So much for steady perseverance. I must hurry over the next few years of his college career, and come to the moment when he really began the great work of his life, the education of the blind. Fully convinced that blind children need education as much as seeing ones, and that they can be taught not only to ■ read and write, but also to be self-supporting members of society, it distressed young Campbell that the school in which he was a teacher was EG sparsely supplied with blind pupils ; perhaps their parents were like his, and had been afraid to let the blind children leave their side. The chil- dren must be sought out and persuaded to come. Tennessee is a large place, full of mountains, rivers, and forests; but nothing alarmed at this, Mr. Campbell mounted his sturdy little pony, and, accompanied by a friend, set out on a tour of discovery. The census had already told him of many blind children in the State, but others} he discovered in his own jJersevering search. Boys and girls he himted up, winning over the parents by kindly assurances of the care that ■would be taken of their children, and then in many cases taking the little blind girl or boy up on the saddle before him and riding off ^^"ith it. A certain little Lizzie, going eff quietly at first ■with her new friend, soon began kicking and screaming till it was all the schoolmaster could do to hold her on his _good steed Nelly. Happily, wearied with fighting against cir- cumstanecsj the child soon fell asleep, and thus, wi-apped in a sheepskin and strapped to Mr. Campbell's waist, she finished her journey. Nolly and her master had other difficulties- to encounter in their way besides refractory children — swollen streams to cross, rattlesnakes' to avoid, and mountains to scale ; but the ex- pedition proved successful : a group of the neg- lected little ones was gathered into the Blind School, and Blr. Campbell was satisfied. ' My little girls did well,' he writes in later days. 'Years afterwards, Lizzie Kelton andl Nelly Hammondtree sent me tokens of re- membrance. Each had prospered in life, and,, moreover, each had reclaimed the drunken father who tried to prevent her going to school. In 185G Mr. Campbell married, and not long after was established at Boston as teacher in &> celebrated institution for the education of the blind. Here he pursued his own ideas on the subject of work and play for blind children. ' Their bodies,' he said, ' needed strengthening as- much as their minds. So he made his boys row and swim, and fish, and skate, besides learning thoroughly the theoi'y and p)ractice of music. Eleven years the hard-working master watohed over his scholars, and then, his own health brealc- hig down, and his wife being a confirmed in- valid, he gave uj) work for a time, and by the- advice of his friends he resolved to take- a holiday in Europe. ^lole continucA^ SEASIDE WHISPERS. IKOAMED along the lonely shore. Which Nature, with a lavish hand,. Had sprinkled shells of beauty o'er. Like jewels on the golden sand. The rippling wavelets seemed to say, ' We revel in the silvery spray '. ' I gathered up a simple weed That lay upon the ocean's brink. And it was very fair indeed, A rival of the coral's pink. The rippling wavelets seemed to say, ' The blossoms of the sea are gay '.' I listened to a hollow shell, And heard the sound of music there :. Methought, ' Perhaps the fairies dwell In palaces so bright and fair 1 ' The rippling wavelets seemed to say, ' Thy dreams are all of us to-day '.' 5G Sunday Reading for the Young. I gazed upon the jasper sea, And tlionght of those who sail afar, How they, returning, hail with glee The surf on yonder harbour-bar I The rippling wavelets seemed to say, ' They love their homes though far away ! ' Edwakd Oxenfokd. Sunday Reading for the Young. An Israelite of Old. 58 Sunday Reading for the Young. MEN OP GOD. T is almost impossible to read or liear the life of any of those ■wonderful men whose stories are {A,L written by Crod in the pages of ^ the Bible, without trying to fancy to ourselves what each one looked like, what was his peTsoaal appearance — tall or short, handsome or the reverse. And very often grown-up people, as well as little childi-en, fancy the person of the saint, apostle, or prophet, according to the character drawn in the sacred page. We often muse upon Elijah, the man of God, and we seem to see a tall, commanding figure, whose very presence inspires awe and respect; black and flowing hair and beard, half covering the rough mantle of coarse camel's hair, a deep and clarion voice, and a mien full of power. Or, we think of St. John, the disciple wliom Jesus loved, and helijed by the pictures that great painters have given to the world, we call up a j'oung, smooth, and loving face, with fair hair and a womanish expression of devotion that makes the long and flowing eastern robe appear the most natural thing possible. Then at the thought of Judas we shiver, and the character of him who w-as ' the Son of Perdition,' pictures for us a forbidding and scowlmg look, a face of rough and coarse ex- pression, and a presence which portrays the traitor. These things may have been, but it is likely enough that the prophets and men of God of olden times were very different from what we are wont to imagine. St. Paid we are sure, from his o'wii letters, was little in stature and not likely to command respect by a handsome presence. The zeal and impetuosity of St. Peter, we may feel certain, as surely showed itself in his face as the love of St. John did in his. And then the Israelites of old, when it was not the custom to shave the face, and when nature's hand was not spoiled by cutting the hair which God gave for use and ornament, as well, as in the case of Samson, for other pro- vidential ends, must have been a handsome and commanding race of men ; and we might easily make a very long list of the men whose history the Bible gives us, who, we are quite sure, were well-favoured in countenance, and goodly to look upon — Saul, David, Absalom, Moses, Samson, and Daniel, to say nothing of those described in the New Testament. One lesson we may all learn from such thoughts, it is to copy the hves of God's saints ; to try to be like them in our prayers, to give our lives to God as they did, to count everything but loss, except so far as it and all will help us to glorify the dear Lord who so loves us ; and that the truest beauty after all is not that of our feeble body, which is so subject to pain and suffering, and must one day die and decay, but the beauty of a holy life, the never-fading loveliness of a saintly character, which will end in the perfection of heaven, the home of the saints, the presence of their God Himself. iELFRIDA. SMALL THHiTGS. A SMALL wound may be mortal. A small shop may have a good trade. A small leak will sink a great ship. ANIMALS OF THE BIBLE. The Liox. [Contimied from p. 47.) THE Asiatic Hon, it is said, has not the courage of its African relative. When he would seize his prey he has recourse to cunning rather than force ; he crouches among the reeds which border the Tigris and Euphrates, and springs upon all the feeble animals which come there to quench their thirst ; but he dares not attack the boar, which is very common there, and flies as soon as he sees a man, or woman, or even a child. If he catches a sheep he makes off with his prey, but he abandons it to save himself when an Arab nms after him. If he is hunted by horsemen he does not defend himself, unless he is wounded and has no hope of safety by flight. In such a case he will fly on a man and tear him to pieces with hia claws, for it is courage more than strength that he wants. Sunday Reading for the Young. 59 Now, tlie fact that the Asiatic lion is a less dangevous animal than the African variety will help ns to imderstand more easily those joassages in the Bible which record instances of shepherds attacking lions single-handed. The stripling David bravely fonght with and conquered a lion that attacked his flock ; and Benaiah, one of liis warriors, was also famous because he had killed a lion single-handed. The instances are but few, however, in which the lion was attacked single-handed; it was more common for hunters, with horses and dogs, to surround one after it was driven out into some open place, and then try to pierce it with spears, while the dogs, who hate the lion, held it down. Or else men would rush in upon a lion from two or three directions with firebrands, and, putting his tail between his legs, he would slink away as if frightened, and so be easily conquered — for of all things the lion dreads fire. The commoner way of catching the lion was by digging jjits or laying traps and nets, and this often formed an amusement to the Eastern kings. The nets must have been made very strong indeed to inclose such animals ; and how they got them out of the nets and into dons or cages to keep them securely, one does not exactly see — frequently, no doubt, they were killed at once. Sometimes young lions, or cubs, might be caught, and these would be more manageable. Several things I may mention that give the lion high rank among quadrupeds. He looks grand when he is moving along, and grand when he is standing still, and grand, too, when he is crouching or lying dowm.. Though large and formidable, he is not unwieldy or clumsy, but possesses a beautiful, compact, symmetrical form ; strong, yet agile; muscular, but not unnecessarily fat. The length of the large lion is between eight and nine feet ; its height being about four and a half feet. The lion is counted a noble animal, because he has fits of generosity, and does not always make use of his power. A lion in the Tower of London once spared a little spaniel, which had been thrown to him for a meal ; and the two lived together for three years in love and friendship. Another lion there was never happy unless he had a dog to share his cap- tivity. Once he seemed to be pining away, having lost his companion ; but when another was found for him he speedily recovered his health and spirits. The lion makes its den in some cave of the mountains, or in some dense thicket of the forest. It has generally two chambers, which are kept very clean and neat. Only think of the lion being so tidy 1 you would hardly have given it credit for setting such an example. Here it lies snug and quiet in the daytime, but when night comes it sallies forth for its food. It may have to go a long way, but thirty or forty miles are only a pleasant walk for a lion. Its loud roars tells the trembling animals that their enemy is abroad, and they are often so terrified that they lose their self-control, and run. towards it instead of from it, and then, with eyes glowing like fire, it has nothing to do but spring upon its prey. Many of the Persian kings kept a menagerie of lions, either for amusement or that they might throw prisoners or criminals to them. Every reader knows the story of Daniel and his night among the lions, how the hungry lions forgot their fierceness, and refused to touch the man ' who believed in his God.' ' My God hath sent His angels, and hath shut the lions' mouths, that they have not hurt me.' Considering how great the lion is in its nature, it is not to be wondered at that it should be frequently used i"u the Bible to symbolise great things. As a nation the Israelites are compared to a lion. Take your Bible and read what Balaam says on the mountain-top as he beholds the encampment of Israel (Numb, xxiii. 24 ; xxiv. 9.) In the New Testament the lion is the emblem of Christ, who ' prevailed to open the book and loose the seven seals thereof (Rev. v. 6). On the other hand, the fierceness of the lion rendered it an appropriate metaphor for a fierce and malignant enemy. So is it employed by St. Peter to set forth the enemy of mankind : ' Your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour.' These are onljr a few of the many instances in which the lion is referred to, and it will afford you interesting employmeijt to search out other passages in wliich mention is made of the ' King of beasts.' T. S. 60 Sunday Reading for the Young. SuNDA Y Reading for the Young. 61 MIXED PICKLES. {Continued from page 52.) ELL,' continued the old man, ' they say that once, long years ago, there was a little lassie troubled i' mind like you, missy, and wanting to do a bit o' work for the dear Lord. So every day, when she left her little white bed, she knelt down and prayed summat like this : " Dear Lord," says she, "give me a little bit of Thy great work to do." And all day long she was kind and gentle, and always doin' a hand's turn for some one, if it was only miudin' a babby while the mother went out. But she didn't understand, ye see, missy, that such bits o' things could belong to the Lord's work. Till one day, as the story goes, when it was a holiday, all the chicks went out, and were going some way off to play. Just as they got a little way out of the village, on the dusty, hot road, they met an old man, very footsore, and old and tired-lookin'. ff'iil So he says, " For dear pity's sake, little uns, give me a little water." But the well was some way back, and the childer in a hurry to go and play, so they one and all told him to go on furder, and he'd find what he wanted. All but this little maid : she stayed, looking wistfully at the old man, though the others called to her to ( come on. "Sit down," she ) says, " till I fetch you _ ( some water," and off she runs back to the village, fills a cup, and brings it back steady, not spillin' a drop. But when she came where she left the old man sitting, there was a beau- tiful figure, all in a white dress with gold about it, and such a face as she had never seen before. And He took the cup and put it to His lips, and then with a voice like a sound of many waters — so she told the people after — He told her, " Even a cup of cold water, given to the very least, shall have its re- ward." And he poured out the rest of the water, and where it fell this spring rose up. And while the little maid looked at it, all on a sudden He was gone." ' ' Was it an angel that she saw ? ' asked Bryda, in an awe-struck tone. ' Some say it was an angel, some say it was the dear Lord Himself,' said the old carpenter, bowmg his head reverently. ' But I don't rightly know, missy ; I don't rightly know.' Here the kettle made a distraction by boilmg over, and old Roger took it off and made tea. Then his little visitor, who had now quite recovered her spirits, suggested that it would be ' awfully nice ' if they had some buttered toast, and in two minutes he and Bryda were on two stools by the fire, each with a slice of bread at the end of a fork, the old man and little girl as happy as it was possible to be. They were just going to turn their pieces and toast the other sides, when suddenly the door opened, and Bryda's nurse entered like a whirlwind, and stood horror-struck on the threshold. ' Oh, Miss Bryda, you naughty, ' naughty girl ! Whatever do you think 62 Sunday Reading for the Young. your poor dear mother would say, seeing j'oii sitting there, for all the world like a vulgar child, and every one up at the house running about distracted, because you're lost ? Come away this minute 1 ' Bryda had nothing to say for herself. She meant to do good; hut it was very naughty to slip away ' unknown,' as nurse would say, and frighten every one. The old carpenter had tea alone after all, and Bryda went sorro\^'fuIly home with her scolding nurse. CHAPTER VI. UNCLE JACk's STORY. Uncle Jack came home next day, and Bryda's spirits rose from freezing to a very high point indeed when she saw him come into the garden, where she was sitting rather sadly, with knitted hrows, very busily thinking, and staring hard at nothing. Slie was trying to think how it was that she could not manage to be of more use ; and that is a very deep subject to think about when you are only nine years old. ' Though, after all,' said Bryda to herself, "lessons may do me some good. When things are disagreeable, like doses and lessons, people say they are for your good : but I don't see how tliey can do any one else good.' Just as she was thinking this a merry whistled tune came through the trees. Nobody could whistle like Uncle Jack. ' \'Mi:at's the matter, maiden all forlorn?' asked his cheery voice. ' Here comes the man all tattered and torn to rouse you up 1 ' ' Oh, Uncle Jack I ' said Bryda, sorrowfully, °I am no use.' ' No use I who cares about that ? Perhaps you were made for ornament, like the roses, and butterflies, and nice little singing -birds.' ' Ornament's no use,' went on Bryda, sadly still. ;( ' Isn't it ? If the world had no birds, and no \ flowers, and no butterflies, and no children, only ; hard-working men and women and cart-horses, what sort of place would it be ? ' ' Very dull,' said Bryda, quickly. ' So I should think. And supposing the birds were all harnessed to carts, and the flowers mown down for hay, and the children set to work in offices all day long, would that be nice ? ' Bryda laughed. ' No, indeed, Uncle Jack.' ' Well, then, Bryda's work is to look merry and good-tempered and happy, as if she was a tame sunbeam that the grannies kept to anmse them.' Bryda laughed still more. ' Uncle Jack, do you know you are horribly nice?' she said, dragging him do«^i to a seat. ' Horribly nice ? What sort of niceness is that? Like raspberry jam, or pet kittens, or troublesome children ? AH these are nice, and horrible too. Jam is horrible when it makes you ill, kittens when they scratch, children when they behave badly.' ' I wish I could grow up all at once,' said Bryda, with a sigh ; ' and then I should never get into scrapes again, and have grandmother calling me Bridget.' This was Bryda's idea of the worst thing that could be said to her ; when she was naughty her own mother, and the grannies too, called her Bridget, instead of using her pet name. ' Would you like all other children to grow up too, and have only men and women in the world ? Oh, poor Bryda ! how dull you would be 1 Supposing I were to tell you a story about a country where something of the sort happened?' ' Please, i^lease do 1 ' cried Bryda ; ' only please. Uncle Jack, don't let it have a moral. Miss Quillnib used to tell me stories when it was too wet to go out after lessons, and there was always a moral — something about me, you know. And that spoilt the story, just the way powders spoil raspberry jam.' (To he continued.) THE WEALTH OF POVERTY. A POOR woman and her two children, with- out a bed to lie upon, and scarce clothes enough to cover them, no friends to go to in the whole world for help, crouched down to sleep in the corner of the room they called ' home.' It was winter, and the freezing wind whistled round the wretched dwelling. The poor mother took a cellar door off its hinges, and placed it as a sort of screen before the corner to keep off a little of the biting blast ; but she complained of their hard lot even while she did it. ' iMother,' whispered one of the children, ' what do those poor children do who have no cellar door to put in front of them?' Sunday Reading for the Young. 6S MISS MARIGOLD'S LOVE. ISS MARIGOLD and Poppy Bold Were growing side Ijy side ; Miss Marigold had promised slie "Would be his blooming bride. Miss Jliirigold was tall and straight And just a litlle prim ; Poppy, with his scarlet coat, Had quite a martial trim. He was a soldier, but whene'er He spoke of going to fight, His JMarigold would weep and say. Her heart was breaking quite. So Poppy had to stay at home. While sword and spear grew rusty; You will not be surprised to hear This made him rather crusty. He Grosser grew, and yet more cross, Until one summer day Miss Marigold, oft sighing said, ' No longer you shall stay. * You vex me so, that all my leave? Are falling off from weeping ; No rest have I by day nor night. When waking or when sleeping.' So Poppy donned his coat of red. His buckler, sword, and spear, too ; He said good-bye to Marigold — I think he shed a tear, too. But while in speaking last fond words The cruel time was slipping, A step adown the garden path With gentle tread came tripping. Nearer came it — nearer still — Beside the flowers it stopped ; The scissors went snip, snap, snip. And down poor Poppy dropped. Snip, snap, snip yet once again. And on the ground Miss Mary lies : So there's an end of Poppy's fighting And Mary's sobs and sighs. Yet, after all, they were not parted. In one nosegay they were tied. And when withered, still together In one book they both were dried. LIFE'S BATTLE. EVERY man at the battle of Agincourt fought as if the success of the day de- pended on him alone. If we fight thus we shall conquer. HISTORY OF THE PENNY. -According to Camden and Spelman, the ancient English penny was the first silver J., coin struck in England, and the only one current among W our Saxon ancestors. In the time of Ethelred it was equal in weight to our threepence. Till the time of King Edward I, the penny was so deeply indented that it might be easily broken, and parted, on occasion, into two parts — these were called half -pence ; or into four, these were called four things, or farthings. THE BEGINNINGS CONSCIENCE. OP WHEN Matthew Hale, the future great Lord Cliief Justice, first entered as a student for the Bar, like many of the students of his time he lived a life of utter recklessness. Being one day in a tavern near the Temple together, with some of his companions, one of them was suddenly taken with a fit. When he had been in some measure revived, Hale went into an adjoining room, and throwing himself upon his knees, prayed earnestly to God that the life of his companion might be spared, at « the same time vowing to change his own wild course. God heard his prayer, and his friend was restored to health. Hale immediately gave up the society he had hitherto frequented, and became remarkable for that devotion and piety which so distinguished his career as one of the most famous of the Lord Chief Justices of England. 64 Sunday Reading for the Young. Tl e BiA'inninp: of a Great Man. Sunday Reading for the Young. 65 The Poet'a Sunny Corner. 66 Sunday Reading for the Young. A EOY POET. ISTOEY tells tliat three hundred years ago, when a great persecution for re- ligious opinions was being carried on in what are now the Belgian and Flemish towns, a poor family, named Vondel, moved from Antwerp to Cologne, in order to escape the severities of the governing au- thorities. While there a little son was given them, and in the last days of 1587 little Joost von '' ill Vondel received his name, his i^arents little dreaming that he was destined to become the famous boy-poet of Holland. His first years were spent amid all the hard- ships of a life of exile : the father gained a precarious living by making poems and selling hosiery, the mother had enough to do to care for the wants of the household and little ones, and Joost was permitted to educate himself as best he could in the streets ; the utmost his father could do was to teach hini to read and write. There is an old motto, ' Where there's a will there's a way.' So it was with this lad. The burning thoughts of his growing yoimg mind found vent amid his companions : he would sit in a sunny corner and scrawl his boyish verses on stray bits of jiaper, and read them afterwards to his playfellows, and some- times even stop in the midst of a game to recite his poetry to them at the corner of a street. Then, when his parents moved to Amsterdam he had a new audience, and he would startle the passers-by by his theatrical displays and stirring verses, as he recited to his playfcUovv's in the market-place. At thirteen his parents could no longer disguise from themselves that their boy was born to be a poet and a writer ; the neighbours wondered how he had learned to compose, and where he had got Buch ideas, far too deep for a boy. But at thirteen he was old enough to help his father in trade, and his proud spirit had to bend itself to hosiery and yarns for some years to come. Not until he was twenty-six years old did he begin to study Latin, but the rapidity with which he leamt the language, and the improvement it worked in his ideas, style, and composition, was amazing. In 1G25 a patriotic poem brought him fame and distinction, and though prosecuted and fined for publishing what was deemed a treasonable production, it brought him into the first rank of poets, as a patriot and a writer. From that time success and calamities attended him in turn. His writings have been likened to Milton's ; his greatest work, of which the Emperor Constantine the Great was the hero, was nearly completed, when, in 1632, his wife died, and the blow nearly killed him. He de- stroyed the MSS. and gave himself to business ; but his straits grew worse and worse, increased by the conduct of a spendthrift son, that at the age of seventy-two he was glad to accept a situation in a Bank, which he kept for ten years, and then was pensioned by his employers. Ten years longer did he live to enjoy the bounty, a very partriaroh of art and letters, and at length died, in 1C79, at the ripe old age of ninety-two. H. PEOVEEBS OLD AND NEW. A CLEAR conscience can bear any trouble. MIXED PICKLES. (Continued from page 62.) UNCLE JACK laughed at his little niece's fancies, then settled himself comfortably on the garden seat, lit his pipe, and went on talking between the puffs, telling his promised story. UNCLE JACK'S STORY. ' Once upon a time,' began Uncle Jack, ' since we know no fairy stories are worth hearing un- less they begin with "once upon a time." ' Once upon a time there was a counti'y ruled over by a King and Queen who had no children. Having no children of their own, these sove- reigns thought other people's children a nuisance. I am afraid they were like the fox, who said the Sunday Reading for the Young. 67 grapes were soiar because lie could not reacli them, for it was well-knovrn that they wanted some of these " torments" very badly themselves. ' Don't call ns tomrents, Uncle Jack,' in- ton-ui3ted his little niece. ' Well, yon see, madam, historians mnst be trnthfnl. I am bound to say that the King and Queen passed a law in which the children were described as '■ Pickles, Torments, Plagues, Bothers, Nuisances, Worries," and by twenty- four other titles of respect which I have forgotten. Tliis law enacted, — ' First. — That the children were to be seen and not heard. Wherefore all children under the age of sixteen were to speak in a whisper and laugh in a whisper.' ' They couldn't, Uncle Jack !' broke in Eryda; ' they could only smile 1' ' Or grin,' said Uncle Jack. ' So you think /* i .<^ ^•^ L THE PISH. PISCES, whicli is the Latin word for a Fisli, is the sign for February, IjecaTise on the eighteenth of the month the sun enters the sign Pisces in the zodiacal belt. It is an appropriate emblem, because fish multiply more than any other created beings, one hundred thousand young being a small family for a big fish ; and so it aptly indi- cates the approach of spring, when all nature is about to burst forth into new life. The Saxons used to represent this month as a vine-dresser pruning trees, or, in some instances, warming his hands by beating them across his body, thus picturing the coldness of the early year. When in the Zodiac the Fish wheel round, They loose the floods and irrigate the ground. Then husbandmen resume their wonted toil, Yoke their strong steers, and plough the yielding soil ; Then prudent gardeners seize the happy time To dig and trench, and prune for shoots to climb. Inspect their borders, mark the silent birth Of plants, successive, from the teeming earth. Watch the young nurslings with paternal care, And hope for ' growing weather' all the year. Yet February's suns uncertain shine. For rain and frost alternately combine To stop the plough, with sudden wintry storms — And often fearful violence the month deforms. SuNDA Y Reading for the Young. 77 The News arrhed at the Nursery. 78 Sunday Reading for the Young. 'OUR COUSIN" WINNIE.' UST think liow delightful, Floi'i'ie I' cried both Etliel and Ted in one breath, as they ran into the nursery. Martha, the nurse, was sit- ting calmly at breakfast with the two younger children, Florrie and Baby Nell, Ethel and Ted Iiavlng been pro- moted to the honour of break- fasting downstairs. In a mo • ment the nursery was in dire confusion to hear the wonderful ne^^■s. Nurse scolded ; baby laughed ; w'hilo the otlier three kept dancing round the room clapping their hands, Florrie exclaiming, ' "What is it, Ethel ? What is it, Ted ?' till at last, in breathless haste, Ted said, with an air of importance, ' Well, father got a tek'gram this morning, saying that Winnie and Uncle Fred are to arrive on Saturday night. This is Thursday, so father is to set off at once for Southampton to meet them ; and still better, Florrie. What do you think? Mother says, that as "VN'innie is coming from a warm climate she is sure to feel London rather cold at first, so we are all to go to the Isle of Wight at once for a change. Hurrah I hurrah I hurrah 1' Here Ted's uproarious mirth was suddenly checked by what he thought a grim look on the face of Martha. So in a more subdued tone he repeated his last words. 'Yes, nurse, we are all to go. I am not to be sent to school yet, though yon think I am big enough — don't you?' Nurse answered kindly, ' Oh, well, Master Ted, if you are as good at the Isle of Wight as you have been here for a week past, it will be much nicer to have you Avith us ; you are not nearly such a tease to your sisters as you were.' Ted was comforted by this kindness of nurse's, and began talking of what they would do in their holidays. ' Here's a grand chance,' he said, ' of sailing the large boat I And, Florrie, what a chance for you and baby gathering primroses in the woods I for mother says the primroses are beautiful there.' Florrie, however, seemed to be troubled about esmething, and at last she said, 'But, Ted, how old is Winnie ? Will she think us babies, or will she love all our dear dolls ? Perhaps she will always sit in the schoolroom with JMiss Weston.' Ted could hardly answer her for laugliing, and said, ' Just listen, Ethel. Florrie thinks Winnie is a young lady. No, no, Florrie ! ' he quickly said, seeing the tears gather in her broTSTi eyes ; ' Winnie is exactly the same age as j'ou are. And pray, what may that be?' 'Oh I' cried Florrie, brightening up, 'five years old next month. So Winnie and I shall be twins, and keep our birthday together.' Florrie was not the least jealous of any one sharing her birthday ; it was only an extra pleasure for her to have a companion. The little Grays were the merriest, happiest children, and it seemed to be because they were not selfish, that every one in the Gray's house was happy, down to the little message-girl in the kitchen ; many a kind word she got, and little gifts from Ethel, that made her forget she was not at home. Winnie's father was Sir. Gray's eldest brother, a judge in India, and his youngest brother, dignified by the name of ' Uncle Fred,' was coming home on leave, bringing Winnie with him. So on Saturday night everything was in readiness for the travellers. Baby was holding the slippers warm and cosy, and ready with a kiss for them all. The other three ' pickles,' as nurse called them, were jieeping over the stairs in breathless anxiety. {To he continued.) 'GET OUT, YOU BEUTE!' ANY j'cars ago, at Boston, in America, a jiarrot that had been taught to whistle in exactly the manner of calling a dog, \A-as sitting on his cage outside a shop-door. As he was amusing himself with his whistle, a large dog happened to be passing, and he, imagining that his master called him, turned sharp, and ran towards the place whence the sound came. Polly ^^'as not prepared for this, and at the critical moment screamed, ' Get out, you brute '.' The dog, astonislied, retreated at once, leaving the jiarrot to enjoy the joke, which Poll did. with several chuckles at his own cleverness. Sunday Reading for the Young. 79 GOD'S PROVIDENCE. THE wheels of a watch or clock do not all move tlie same way, some go contrary to each other, yet they all serve the original pur- pose of the maker, to show the time, or stiike the hours. So in God's world : Providence seems some- times at cross-purposes, sometimes even against God's promises ; yet, in truth, it is all working out His will, the great ends and purposes of the ffood Creator. MISSING. HE 51st were ordered out at twenty-four hours' notice for foreign service ; the war was likely to he a big one ; more troops, and more troops still, were wanted, and one fine morning the 51st got their marching orders. It was a busy time, just twenty-four hours, ^nd the actual service kits and baggage had to be :served out, the men paraded, good-byes said, and as no time was left for marching by road, "Waterloo Station at 7 a.m. saw the regiment anustered in companies, whence they were dis- patched as fast as was possible to Portsmouth, Avhere the work of embarking was soon com- pleted, and by sunset the white smoke in the •distance between the forts was all that v.'as left to tell of the gallant 51st on their way to Egypt. Corporal Tyson was among them, he was only ■one of many who had left his wife and bairn behind him, and though it was sad work the -.saying good-bye, there was hope beating high that the campaign, if sharp, would be short, and he would soon be home again to comfort Mary. Poor Mary 1 she felt as if the sun would not .shine, and all her happiness was gone. ' Ye'll just tak' cai-e of her, mither,' said the brave lad, when he wrote to his mother to say his wife would come and stay with her a few weeks, with her babe ; and the mother took her son's wife to her home and heart, for did not they both mourn one far away ? The sun shone, and the birds sang, but Mary 'Tyson's heart was sad ; she could take little ^pleasure even in her boy, and most days when the weather was fine, the youngster was entrusted to some of the neighbours' children, to play in the grassy meadows or shady woods of Home- de.an village, where the widow Tyson lived. The young corporal was no trouble, the cliildren said, and it gave tliem an excuse for a lioliday. Then came a dark day indeed, and news was flashed along the wires that a great battle had been fought and won, and that the war would soon end. The fortress had been taken \-\'ith very small loss on our side — a mere nothing ; but, small as the loss was, some would have to mourn, and vv'idow Tyson was among the number. Not in the list of dead or wounded was his name, but below in the official roll came the words, — ' Blissing — ^Corporal Tyson, 51st Foot.' The days passed on, but no tidings came. Fears became certainty ; the field of battle had no hiding-places; the dead were buried, the wounded carried to hospital, and the missing — nowhere. He must have jDerished imaided and alone. Two widows instead of one, ahd.thi corporal's boy an orphan. ".*;, '\ Months after there came to Hoinedean village one of Dan Tyson's old comrades, to see poor Mary and comfort her. She looked sad in her black gown, and started visibly at tlie red-coat : it was almost like Dan himself. But while they sat and chatted of the old times, and the chances of the war, and Harry Smith was teUing of the fatal days, another red-coat passed np the cot- tage path. Yes — it was the corporal himself 1 and in another moment she was sobbing on his neck, her dead one given back to life. Then the story was told, too strange not to be true, how he was wounded in the first rush, struclc down and trampled on, and how he was carried off a prisoner by the flyurg rebels, and thus appeared as ' missing ' in the lists. How he had known nothing of this until he had arrived home in one of the hospital transports, and his old comrades told him of his reported fate, and how Harry and he had got leave and planned to go home to Homedean together, so as not to frighten poor Mary too much I Tlie war medal, with its teUing clasp, looks handsome enough on Serjeant Tyson's breast, for he has got his step, and Mary has put a few smart bows to her black dress to match the roses that have come back to her cheeks since he is no longer ' missing.' H. 80 Sunday Reading for the Voua ■NO. The Young- Corporal, Sunday Reading for the Young. 81 May's Blossoms. 82 Sunday Reading for the Young. T" ITTLE May, witli sunny liair, \ J Eyes so lull of glee anil gladness ; Hap]iy she beyond compare, Little doss slie know of sadness. May Las Leen in Durdnn Wood, Uh, the beanty of the flowers! She'd liave lingered, if she could, All tlio golden summer hours. The hedge, a sheet of snow-white bloom. The buttercups, a golden spangle. And tlie nut coppice b}' the stream, A wilderness of leafy tangle. BLOSSOMING TIME. A thrnsh — oh, sweet, entrancing sight! Was softly piping in the hollow, And as it took its airy flight, • Thought May, ' Oh,\vonld that I might follow !' Mabel's heart is beating high, With mirth her face is beaming over, As the little footsteps fly Homeward tln'ough the springing clover. Homeward to the tiny cot With her fragrant blossoms laden. Who is gay, if she is not ? Happj'-hearted little maiden'. D. B. McKean. THE ANIMALS OP THE BIBLE. TuE Fox. ' In the rujged copse, in the ferny brate, The cunning red fox his den doth make ; In the ancient turf of the baron's land, "Where the gnarled oaks of the forest stand ; In the widow's garden lone and bare ; On the hills which the poor man tills with care : Then ages ago he made his den. And there he abideth, in spite of men.' THE Fox. and its near relation the Jackal, are both found in Palestine. It is very evident, however, that the Hebrew word shual, which in the Bible is in every instance rendered ' fox,' very often refers to the jackal. The same word was applied by the Jews to both fox and jackal. There are not many foxes in Syria, but a great number of jackals, as in other Eastern lands. That the jackal is meant instead of the fox in various places of the Bible may be gathered from the fact that these animals are spoken of as going about in companies, which the foxes never do, thoug'li it is the jackal's habit. It is a remarkable story which first introduces us to the fox in the Bible. In order that Samson might be revenged on the Philistines he caught three hundred foxes, ' and took firebrands and turned tail to tail, and put a firebrand in the midst betweentwo tails. And when he had set the brands on fire he let them go into the stand- ing corn of the Pliilistines.' Jackals hunt in packs, and Samson might readily have captured as many as three hundred of these animals : there would have been great The difficulty in procuring as manj- foxes, animals meant here were clearlj- jackals. It was an artful action on Samson's part to fasten them together in twos, for had he only tied firebrands to single animals they would have run oft' to their holes, and would not have doiie much mischief. But as the jackals were in pairs they would straggle and pull different ways, and so go over a great deal of ground. Tliough the Philistines had treated the Israelites badly, Samson ought not to have done a deed so spite- ful and cruel, for, of course, the poor animals must have been burnt. We never hke to see- unkindness shown, especially to animals. It is far better and nobler to be generous and forgiving to those who wrong us, and tender to the dumb creatures that need our pity. A little boy said to his brother, 'Eddie, I'll be a minister, and preach you a sermon.' ' Well,' said Eddie, 'and I'll be the peoples.' Harry began: 'My text is a short and easy one : "Be Kind." There are some little texts in the Bible on purpose for little children, and this is one of them. These are the heads of my sermon. First, Be kind to father, and don't make a noise when he has a headache. I don't believe you know what a headache is ; but I do. I had one once ; and didn't want to hear any one speak a word. Second, Be kiiul to mother, and don't make her tell you to do a thing more than once. It's very tiresome to say, "It is time for you to go to bed" Sunday Reading for the Young. 83 half-a-dozen times over. Third, Be kind to baby.' ' You have left out be kind to Harry,' in- terrupted Eddie. ' Yes,' said Harry ; 'I didn't mean to mention my own name in my sermon. I was saying be kind to little Jlinnie, and lot her have your red soldier to play with when she wants it. Fourth, Be kind to Jane, and don't scream and kick when she washes and dresses you.' Here Eddie looked a little ashamed, and said, 'But slie pnlled my liair with the comb.' ■'People mustn't talk during sermon,' said Harry. Fifth, Be kind to Kitty. Do wliat will make her purr, and don't do what will make her cry.' ' Isn't the sermon mo.st done ? ' asked Eddie ; 'I want to sing.' And without waiting fov Harry to finish his discourse or give out a hymn he began to sing, and so Harry had to stop. The application to Harr}''s boyish sermon is to urge you to try the magic influence of kind- ness, and see how imiversal is its sway. (To he continued.) A: BUZ SPOILT little doggie, AND CARLO: A TABLE. With long, curly hair, Came running one day Adown tlie hall-stair. Pie was combed and well brushed, A picture to see. Quite ready to walk With his ladies tliree. But having some time On Ids hands to spare, He went to see Carlo, The dog who took care ■Of the house and gardcn> To keep from disaster, From wicked, bad men, Who'd rob his dear master. 'Old Carlo was lying. Just nibbling a bone That Mollie the coo]<: So kindly had thrown. So Buz, fine doggie, Looked scornfully on At Carlo content,edly Eating his bone. He said, ' My dear friend, Do you not envy me, Walking grandly about With my ladies three '? I get such nice food, Slado ready by Sue, Tlie housemaid I love, And the bones come to you.' Then Carlo just listened, And said, with a wink, ' Our lots are more equal Than you'd really think. You're kept for mere show, And barking and noise. While I guard my master Prom bad men and boys. Who'd spoil his fine trees With many a stone ; And good Mollie knows I love a fine bone. So don't pity me. And I won't envy you. While each of us can To our duties be true. Joanna McKean. MIXED PICKLES. [Continued from page 75.) THEN the Queen proceeded to try the pri- soner, and told the whole court to act as jury. It was a very sad case of youthful de- pravity—the criminal had carefully kept this ■one book, " Somebody's Arithmetic," or "Mang- nall's Questions," to gloat over in secret; and «ven now was not at aU penitent, but declared. when asked what he had to say for himself, that it was " stupid, and a bore," to play games all day long, and he was sick of them. ' The jury could not agree as to what was to be done with such an offender, so he was allowed to go, and bidden "not to do it again;" and the Queen went on to th(. next difficulty. Here the throne- room became quite full of children, all in great lierplexity ; for the matter was this, that the food supplywas running short. The confectioners' 84 Sunday Reading for the Young. shops were nearly empty; tlierewas jDlsnty of jam, but Very little bread ; and one or two boys, who had breakfasted on jam out of a pot, eaten with a spoon, said, " They didn't know how it could be, but, somehow, they thought it did not quite agree with them." ' This was really very serious. Could no one cook ? 'Well, several had tiied to make puddings; but, somehow, though they ought to have been quite right, something was wrong, and no one would eat them. One girl had bravely made hildren and baked them she could not apple in, so balls, and at all. some apple-dumplings, quite brown ; but then find out how to get the they were a sort of hard not real apple-dumplings ' '• What are we going to do?" said Queen May, sorrowfully. ' A dead silence reigned, ' " I know I " said a boy, called Eric, starting forward suddenly, and all eyes turned to this owner of a bright idea. " I know ! " he said, and brandished a many-bladed knife ; " I'll kill a iHg !" ' A murmer of horror rose from all the girls. ' " Oh, no! " said Queen May, politely; " my faithful subject, we will not let you make your- self so miserable." '"Oh, /don't mind!" cried Eric; "really, you know, I should liJce it ! " ' " I'll hold him for you 1 " cried several boys eagerly. ' " Quite as if they liked it," whispered the girla. ' But Queen May interposed, and said the court should break up and go to blind-man's- buff. At the same hour next day any one who had a bright idea should come and tell it. For the rest of the day she, at least, did not mean to bother her head. If a pig were killed, it would have to be cooked. And shaking her curls, which were like a cro'\^'n of gold, Queen May jumped off her throne and ran out into the park. ' Presently the Fairy Set-'em- right came flying over the town, and saw all the children running about and shrieking with laughter. ' " Bless my broomstick I " she said, for she had borrowed one from a witch to fly upon, saying she had rheumatism in her left wing. " Bless my broomstick, this won't do at all I " 'She did not notice that a great many were standing out in groups, whispering what they dared not say aloud — that they were getting tired of games all day, and of nothing but sweet cakes and jam at meals. '"I should really, really and truly, like some boiled mutton," eaid Master Archie, who was known to have a special dislike to that dish. '"I know what I shall do," said the fairy ; " I shall make these children feel like grown-ups, and then I shall fly off to the moun- tain, and make the grown-ups feel like children ; and if tliat doesn't bring them to their senses, I am sure I don't know what will.'" At this exciting point, a servant came to tell Uncle Jack that grandfather wanted him, and he went off whistling, promising Bryda the rest of the story ' next time.' But as she did not know when 'next time' would be, that was rather provoking. (To he continued.) « A LIE, A LIE is like a fine cloak over shabby and dirty under-garments ; it may do in calm weather, but cannot avoid exposure in a gale. 66 Sunday Reading for the Young. BORROWED PLUMES. YOUNG Mflster Birkett is a pickle, I declare I ' cried Nurse Simmons to lier fel- low-servant, BIrs. Grace, wlio was tus^v pre- jjariug dinner, wliicli was ordered for half- past six, in one of those comfortable big liouses, sometimes called mansions, in Eussell Square. ' I can well believe he's a handful,' said cook. ' He's always up to mischief when he comes ilown here, and I'm thankful when he gets back again to the upper regions without cutting his own or somebody else's head off. Such a young Turk for knives I never saw.' jMaster Birkett's father was a very successful barrister, with plenty to do, and Q.G., which stands for Queen's Counsel, after his name, though I cannot tell very well Avhat that means. At any rate, J. Hayllar, Escj., Q.C., was looked ujJ to b_v all the profession as a rising man, and his time was so fully occupied that the little folk at Eussell Square saw very little of him. The nursery was imder the control of Sim- mons, the head nurse, and sometimes JMrs. Hayllar came in and tried to teach some of the cldei's a lesson ; but the noise they made soon had its effect upon her delicate nerves, and drove her back to her own room, for she was an invalid. ' Julia, my dear, do not scream so. Oh I Birkett, you should not be rude to your sisters ; you must be obedient. Come, now.' These were the usual strains in which tlie morning's half-hour of work began. One fine morning young Hopeful was missing. His father was away, busy with a gTeat trial going on at a northern assize. Mrs. Hayllar more than usually unwell, and lying down. Nurse trying to keep the children quieter in consequence, and succeeding very well. Master Birkett being out of the way. 'Where is he?' said Simmons, and she begged the children to play quietly while she went to look. Jane had not seen him, Clarke the man- servant declared he had not been downstairs at all. The thought flashed across poor Simmons, Perhaps he had fallen out of window 1 No ; none were open. Or the waterbut I But no, no Master Birkett there. Where could be his hiding-place ? She dare not go to mistress's room, for fear of distressing lior and making her worse. The only thing was to go through the rooms in regular order, and search. Dining-room? Library? — No. Smoking-room? Ah I there's the outer entry, or lobby, used as a sort of cloak-room. Nurse afterwards told cook she thought she should have gone into roars of laughter, and only the thought of mistress ill upstairs kept her quiet. ' You never saw such a young image '. I pushed the half-open door wider, and there my gentleman sat, as grave as a judge, if you please, in master's gown and wig, and lawn bands put on as properly as if he'd been going to West- minster Hall, and with one hand on each ai-m of the chair. " Now, nurse," says he, with not a muscle of his face moving, " Now, nurse, have you come for judgment ? I shall be very sorry to punish you, but you will have to jjay. The law says so, and the law is always right." And he wouldn't move until I had fetched all the young ladies down from the nursery, to act as jury and see justice done.' 'That's your six-j'ear old young gentleman', and I shouldn't wonder if before he's half as old as master, he's Lord Judge of her j\lajesty"s Court of something or other, as large as life.' ' You must pay the fine, you know, nurse,' cried all the children, as they returned upstairs. ' Well, if you won't make a noise, I will this once; but never again, mind you.' And she paid the penalty with a paper of sweets and a plate of raisins, which enabled the chil- dren to play endless games of courts of justice, and to pay coimsel's fees, and fines, and com- pensation for imaginary law-suits, until dinner- time came. Sigsa. EVERYBODY'S CORNER. THIS great name of God, signifying ' I am that I am,' was always invested with a peculiar sanctity. It is thought that the Jews kept it as a wonderful and mysterious secret among themselves, and never used it in their intercourse with the heathen. There is a tradition that it was heard but once a-year, when it was uttered by the High Priest in the Holy of Hohos on the great day of Atonement. Sunday Reading for the Young. 87 In the public reading of tlie Scriptnvcs it was ■never pronounced; but another Divine name, less awful and august, was uttered in place of it. Tliis reverence entered into the scribes' work of copying the Scriptures, for when they came to the sacred name of God, Jehovah, having written the word they cut the pen in pieces that it might never write another. THREE ONES. OsE hour of to-day is worth tv/o of to-morrow. One wrong step may give j'ou a great fall. One might as well be out of the world, as be loved by nobody in it. 'OTJB COUSIN" WHSriTIE.' (Concluded from page 78.) T last the can-iage drove up to the door, the bell pealed through the house, and ' Uncle Fred ' dashed upstair^ with a bundle of wraps and fur in his arms. Mr. Gray followed, and all the children began cla- mouring for lasses, till all at once it seemed to dawn upon them that Uncle Fred's bundle was moving ; and sure enough, when the wraps were taken off by degrees, there was Winnie, wakened out of a sound sleep, looking at them. 'Oh'.' cried Ted, 'she is a darling 1 ' ' See ! ' ciicd Etlicl, ' she looks so like Florrie 1 ' And then they all tried to kiss her, till the poor little damsel was almost alarmed. But she opened her heart at once to their endearments, and was soon at home with them all. Next week they set off for Sandown, Mr. Gra}' having secured a house there qiiite close to the sea ; and day by day the colour came into "Winnie's pale cheeks. The days seemed far too short for all the pleasures they had. One day it would be a picnic into the woods, to gather primroses and «.n . ferns, ending with a gipsy tea; then another day Uncle Fred would take tliom all in a boat to see' the large vessels coming up the Channel. One evening, just before bed-time, Ethel took out a box of figures, which Uncle Fred had given them, and they had great fun with the shadows on the wall, and this proved an endless amuse- ment to the children when the lamp was lighted. There was just one thing that made them sad for a time ; but as it only serves to bring out the- usually loving character of the little Grays, I must tell it. The laundress, who did up all the- linen for their mother, was an old servant of hers, and lived in a cottage not far from them. She was a hard-working, good woman, with ai delicate husband and many little children. Her- eldest daughter, Fanny, a very dear girl, whom all the little Grays knew and loved, was in a. place in London, and one morning a letter came telling her mother that she was lying sick of fever at the hospital. Her mistress was very kind in sending things for her, but was not. allowed to see her. One evening Mrs. Curtis, the laundress, was- ■up speaking to Mrs. Gray about her, and the children had heard her say how much she would, like to go and see Fannj', but could not afford it ; so, after a little consultation amongst themselves, they came to their mother, and said that they wished to give all the pocket-money they had if father would make uj} the sum to piay Mrs. Curtis's fare to London and back. Father was- only too glad, so next morning saw Mrs. Curtis- off in the train, looking so happy, and smiling to the children. She found Fanny very ill, biit the doctor had' great hopes she would get well, and said, when quite better, a change home would be the best thing for her. So before the Grays left San- down they had the pleasure of welcoming Fanny back, and seeing her getting stronger day by day. The children had given up a good many- plans they had formed by parting with their- money ; but it was done in such a sweet, loving- way, they seemed to think it a real pleasure. Their dear mother must have told thei-n of the self-sacrificing love of Jesus, and that loving- all His creatures is the doing of His will.. Winnie had found a very happy home, and asked Uncle Fred to tell her mother so when he- went back to India. Joanna McKean. 88 Sunday Reading for the Young. Uncle Fred's Shadows. Sunday Readixc for the Young. 89 iW 1 ^ I JlBPlIi* Wca! W'oa!"' N 90 Sunday Reading for the Young. FREDDIE'S BIRTHDAY. FREDDIE lived in a lieautiful house, with a garden, orchard, and lawn. The grounds were entered by a fine old gate, which had hriglit green ivy grow- ing np over it. Then on the outside there was a nice gravelled walk^ which led round the margin of a lake full of white water- lilies. Two swans sailed mojestically on the surface, and a number of little water- hens paddled up and down, and built their nests on the edge, or on the island in the middle of the late. The day Freddie was six years old his mother said he might have a holiday, and invite his two little friends, Eosie and Maud Verner. The long-wished-for day arrived at last, and as the sun shone brightly, they were allowed to have their games out-of-doors, and enjoy the fine weather. As it was Freddie's birthday, he got his choice of what he would like to do, so he thought he would tie the two little girls together, and drive them like a pair of horses, like he had seen his father's coachman do. Eosie and Maud were delighted, and they chose to run round the gravelled walk by the lake. Off they set round and round. 'Woal woa 1 ' cried Freddie, for he was beginning to be tired; 'Woal woal' But on they ran hand in hand, laughing with glee that they were such disobedient horses. Freddie cracked his whip, to see if that would frj jliten them ; but not a bit. Off they wont again, roimd and round, till at last, quite tired out, they stopped obediently at the gate. The afternoon was still bright and warm, and Ealph the gardener was ready to take Freddie and his little friends out in a boat on the lake. This was a great treat to Eosie and Maud, who had never been in such a tiny boat. They were to land on the island, and perhaps might see the nest of a little water-hen. They fed the swans,, who followed them for the biscuits which they flung to them in the water. Then they landed on the island, and Eosie looked about, with her bright keen eyes, to try and be the first to see a nest. 'Ohr she cried, 'I am sure this is one.'' Bnt Ealph said, ' It was only a heap of rubbish.'' When he was touching it, he said, ' Miss Eosie,. here is a real nest quite near, and it has five oi- six eggs in it.' Oh, how anxious they were to put it in their hands, which they did very gently 1 And wliat a cosy, warm nest it was, built among loose stones and water-weeds 1 They did not stay long, in case of friglitening the mother bird. So they gathered some lilies and tall bulrushes to take home, and had much to tell of their happy time in the boat. J. McK. TWO LITTLE EEBHS. NESTLING close together Upon the castle wall. Two tiny ferns put forth their leaves, So tenderly, so small I Unseen, unnoticed, there they grew. Two little j)lants, of sweet ' Wall rwe.' They did not pine to be Admired and praised by all, If only left to beautifj^ The grim old castle wall ; And, peeping o'er the dizzy height. They flourished in the glad sunlight. Each of us in our place Can help to do God's will. And, though unnoticed by tlie world. We shall be happy still, Contented with our lot, and glad If we can cheer the poor and sad. JO.A.NNA McKeau. THE TRUE GOD. TWO gentlemen were once disputing about Jesus Christ, as the Son of God, being God Himself. One who argued against it said, 'If true and intended for us to understand, it would have been; stated more clearly in the Bible.' Said the other, ' Suppose you were told to- Sunday Reading for the Young 91 tsacli it, and allowed to use your ffwri language, liow would you express the truth iu words so that there should he no doubt about it at all?' ' I should say that Jesus Christ is the true God.' ' You are happy.' replied he, ' in your choice of words, I'or you have happened upon the very expression which the Bible gives. St. John, speaking by inspiration of the Eternal Sou, says, ' Thh is the true God, and eternal life."' I.IIXED PICKLES. (Continued frovi page 84.) CHAPTER VII. EEPPO. > RYDA sat still where Uncle Jack had left her, thinking over his story. ' You see,' she said to herself (Brj-da had a funny way of calling herself ' my dear ' when she talked to herself, and often told herself " stories, or read herself little moral lectures as Miss Quillnib her governess used to do) ; ' You see, my dear, the thing is this, When any one tells a story they can make things happen so that there shall always bo a good moral. Now I am sure that town in the story would be a very nice place, but Uncle Jack is sure to make everything go wrong 1 ' Here nurse came and carried Miss Bryda off for a walk. They went through the village, and old Eoger was at his work. The house- door was ojjcn, and he nodded a pleasant ' Good- day.' Bryda lingered a moment. ' Isn't this a nice day, Eoger ? ' she said. ' Ay, ay, little Miss,' answered the carpenter, 'it's one of the Lord's own days. He doesn't give us too many of them, for fear we'd get too fond o' this ]ilaco, and not be in a hurry to go to our Father's House.' I^urso had stopped to talk to the blaclcsndth. It was funu}', but she always had something special to tell the blacksmith; and he would keep a horse waiting ever so long to be shod while they talked, though really they never seemed to say anything very interesting. However, Bryda knew she would have some time to herself, so she walked into old Roger's cottage, and sat down on a bench among saw- dust and shavings. ' I suppose you are very poor, aren't you, Roger ? ' she asked, after watching him silently for some time. ' Poor, missy ? Well, maybe some folks 'ud think so, but there's no man in the village richer for all that I ' ' Then why don't you live in a grander house?' ' I'll go to my grand house by-and-by, missy,' he answered, fixing a screw carefully. ' Ah I a grand house that is indeed '. It's making ready for mc all this time ; but when once I go, I'll not come back liere again 1 ' 'I should think notl' answered Bryda, looking round the poor cottage. ■ Is it a jjalacc, Roger?' Bryda's idea of a palace was something very splendid, — golden tables, and silver chairs, and everything else to match. ' Ay, you may well call it a palace ! There's no house hereabouts would match that home,' answered Roger, in his cheery voice. ' Does any one else live there ? " ' Plenty 1 All my brothers and sisters, the children of the King.' 'MissBrydal MissBrydal Yoii troublesome child 1' called the nurse's voice. ' Come along this minute I wherever have you got to ? p>oking in them low places.' Nurse did not think the forge a low place though, but Bryda was obliged to go. ' Nurse,' she said, when that worthy person had done scolding, ' do you know, I am sure I may go and see that old carpenter, for he is not a common man at all, but a prince in disguise. Only fancy I Just like a fairytale'.' ' Fairy grandmother ! ' said nurse, who was not in the best of tempers ; and they went on for some way in silence through the village. A little outside the village stood a neat white house, in which the doctor lived, and in front of this a woman in an Italian dress was turning the handle of a barrel-organ, whilo a hand- some boy of five or six, or perhaps older, for he seemed small, but had an old look in his face, stood holding a little tin mug to collect pennies. There were no pennies in it ; the woman looked dreadfully pale and ill, and coughed without stopping, and the child's big, black eyes looked very sorrowful. ■ The doctor's sei'vant came out of the white house, and roughly ordered them away, with abuse which shocked Brj'da to hear. Evidently the kind doctor was not at home. 92 Sunday Reading for the Young. for he would have been sony for the poor sick woman, who was tiying to earn a few pence, when any one who was better off would have been in bed, carefullj^ nursed. Bryda had a pennj^ ; she meant to buy sugar- candy, but she dropped it into the little tin, and was rewarded by a bright smile on the little face, and ' Tank you, Signorina ;' by which the little boy meant, 'Thank you. Miss.' That was nicer than sugar-candy. ' I can't abide furriners,' said nurse. ' Aren't there any little white children for you to give your money to. Miss Bryda, and not encourage those outlandish folks to beg ? ' Bryda did not answer ; she was wondering if the Lord would think her penny of any use for His poor. It was a very little coin, but it was all she had then. It would buy a bit of bread, and, perhaps, one of the ' few small fishes ' was not worth much more. As they came home again, Biyda saw the same woman and child toiling along the road in front of them, entering the village again. The woman staggered under the weight of her barrel-organ ; she seemed very faint and weak ; either she must be very iU, or she had had no proi">er food. Perhaps both misfortunes were hers. A baker's man went riding by with some loaves in a basket. As he passed the Italian woman the horse seemed frightened, either at her white sleeves or at the instrument she carried, andBryda saw him bound violently and throw one of the loaves out upon the road. The baker did not miss it, and rode on faster, beating his horse. But the little Italian boy sprang at it ; and Bryda felt sure he was cruelly hungry from the- way in which he seized the bread and put it to his mouth. He did not bite it though, but changed his mind ; but ran to his mother and held it out. ' Madre mia, pane 1 ■■ he cried. (My mother, bread'.). [To be continued.) THE TINKER PREACHER OF ELSTOW. THE Pilgrinis Progress is a book that few children do not know, and the more they get to know and understand of that wondrous picture in words, the greater will be the plea- sure in hearing and reading something about the man who wrote it — ^John Bunyan, the tinker's son. He tells 113 himself, for he wrote his own history, that he was a very wicked young man' and knowing only how to read and write, he grew up from childhood caring for little but what was bad. Then he married a good young woman, who tried to lead him to a better life ; and her influence, together with some merciful escapes from death which he experienced, wrought an entire change in him. Sunday Reading for the Young. 93 Bunyan's Wife pleading- for him. 94 Sunday Reading for the Young. Even when he was only seventeen, in 1645, lie was a soklier in the wai's of the King and Pavlianient, and at the siege of Leicester he, ■\-ery httle more than a boy, was ordered out for sontiy duty. One of his comrades was anxious to go instead of Bunyan, and was permitted to ilo so. He was shot down tliat very day at his sentinel post. This and other circumstances so impressed the young soldier, that by the time peace had dawned upon the land he was a changed man, and went about preaching from 1653 to 1G60, when he was cast into Bedford prison, y.nd re- mained there for six years a prisoner for con- science sake, supporting his wife and family by making tagged laces, when not at work or preaching to his fellow-prisoners ; for even then lie was writing those books which have made his name famous — the greatest of all being the Pilgrims Progress. While lie was in prison, his poor \\\(e never ceased her endeavours to procure his release. Several times did she present a petition dra\Mi up by her husband to her husband's judges, and once even she threw herself before Chief Justice Hale to implore him to do vvliat ho could for the jirisoner, whose only fault was tliat of preaching the Gospel. John Bunyan had a little blind daughtei', and we can picture the scene in Bedford jail, where the happy tinker would receive his wife and children, and hear all that they had to relate to him of their efforts to effect his release ; and with liis little girl's hand locked in his, would read portions of the wondrous story of Christian pressing onwards towards the heavenly city, undaunted by the treacherous Slough, or the hill Difficulty, or the giant Despair. And we can think how the little child's face would light up, as she listened, with those i-.pturned, sight- less eyes, to drink in her father's voice. Having been released from prison, he con- tinued to minister for sixteen years amongst tliose -who loved him well ; and his last act was a deed of kindness for a friend, in which, having to ride to London in heavy rain, he got a chill, which brought on fever, and in ten days John Bunyan ^\■as dead. But his name \\\\i live in the Pilgrim's Progress, which has been trans- lated into more languages than any other book, except the Bible. H. SHOES, OB NO SHOES? MISSIONAEY in one of the American States got together a number of the poor children of the district, and formed a Sun- ■Ci^^^^Si)' ^^^ School. He tried hard to get Sa-wvste^ Qjjg pQQj. couple to let their son come to school, and after niucli persuasion the utmost they would jaromise was to leave it to the boy himself. ' I've got no Bible,' said he. ' We'll give you a Bible.' ' But I've got no coat.' ' We will give you a coat,' added the good man. ' But I've got no shoes.' ' Well, you can go barefoot, can you liot?' ' I will if you will,' quickljr rejoined the boy. ' Done 1 it's a bargain,' was the reply. The next Sunday, walking to school, boots on as usual, the missionary spied the youngster, who called out as soon as he saw him, ' Ah 1 I knew you'd go back, master I' Quick as thought the missionary drew off his boots, then his stockings, tucked them into the boots, and then led the boy, fairly won over, into the school. But the happy scqiiel is better still. Twenty- five years after there came a letter from the Sandwich Islands. It was from the early mission scholar, now preaching to ths natives of those Southern isles ; and the old missionary, bent and gray with the weight of years and toil, was made glad by the words of love 'and hope from him he had rescued when r. boy. THE A2TIMALS OF THE BIBL3. Tub Fox. (Concluded from p. 83.) YOU have seen a fox stuffed, if not alive, and you Imow it is something like a dog, but more slender, and-\Aith a pointed nose; and a tail — sncli a tail! It is called a brush, because it is so thick and bushy. And what is more, it really does what a brush or broom might have to do. The fox is not without his enemies, and on sandy or snowy ground he would often leave his footprints behind him, and in this way would Sunday Reading for the Young. ' 95 easily bo traced Ly his pursuers. But tlie "brr.sh. as it sweeps along the ground after him, sweeps away the footmarks too, and so nobody knows which rlirootion Foxy has taken I At least oidy one creature has any chance of Icnowing — the dog can trace the fox by its scent. The common fox of our own country is, doubtless, a l-'alestine species, and its cunning- is A famili:iv trait to everybody, insomuch that it has passed into a proverb, ' Sly as a fox.' Our Lord sets forth the duplicity of Herod by comparing him to a fox : ' Go ye and tell that fox ' (St. Luke, xiii. 32). Such language, which may seem strange to us, is very usual in the East, their customs allowing great freedom of speech. And we learn from history that Herod was a sly and deceitful prince, who might well be said to be fox -like. Another passage in which the burrowing habits of the fox are alluded to, we can hardly read without feeling deeply how much Jesus endured for our sakes, for He Himself said, ' Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests ; but the Son of man hath not where to lay His head.' It is a well-known habit of the fox to have a hole, also called an ' earth.' To this hole the fox runs when alarmed, always taking care not to go straight to it, and here he rests when not in want of food. In this, too, the mother fox hides her cubs or puppies, making for them a snug nest of leaves and grass. All day, unless disturbed, master fox lies snug and quiet in his den, but when twilight comes he begins to think about his supper. So he peeps out, and then creejDS stealthily along under tiie hedge, and under the paling, jumps over the lowest part, finds a broken board in the hen-house, and helps himself to the best and tenderest of the chickens. Hear what a favourite authoress says about this habit of Master Foxy: — ' He skulks like a creature of ill, And comes out when midnig-lit is dark and still; When the dismal owl, with his staring- 63-6, Sends forth from the ruin liis screeching q.\\. And tliy bat on his black leathern wincfs goes by; Then out comes the fox with his thievish mind, Looking this way and that, before and behind. Tlien running along, thinking hut of the theft, Of the one little hen the poor widow has left ; And he boldly and carelessly passes her shed. For he knows very well she is sleeping ia bed, And that she has no dog to give notice of foes ; So he seizes his prey, and home leisurely goes.' There is one other point we may mention in connexion with the fox, and that is its great fondness for fruit. Allusion is made to this in the Song of Solomon (ii. 15), ' Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.' The vineyards of Palestine were well protected on purpose to keep out the foxes. Sometimes, however, a tiny hole would not be noticed by the vineyard-keeper, and then the fox would be sure to find it out. But, per- liaps, he is too big himself to get through such a small gap, so he sends for one of his little ones and puts him up to the idea, and the ' little fox' creeps in and spoils all the tender grapes. Ah 1 beware of the 'little foxes' — I mean 'little sins,' as you might think them; 'little' sulky fits, 'little' hasty words, 'little' turnings from the right path — tlie path cf duty. These are the things which creep in and spoil the tender fruits which your young hearts were about to bring forth. Pray to God to help you to drive out the 'little foxes,' and then you will never be troubled with the larger ones. T. S. CHARLIE. CHARLIE sits like grandpapa In his own high chair. Wondering what is in his mug With a serious air. The big, big C that's painted, Charlie's meant, that's clear : A present on his birthday From his sister dear. Charlie is not always still Like a little mouse, But romps and gallops wildly Up and down the house. Then his bright eyes close in sleep. Till the morning sim Wakes him up to merry play, Full of glee and I'un. Joanna McKeajt. 96 SuNDA Y Reading for the Young. Charlie. Sunday Reading for the Young. 97. In his glory. 98 Sunday Reading for the Young. IfATTJHE'S CHILD, BOY AND MAN. ANY years ago there lived with his parents on the borders of one of the northern counties of England, a child who was a puzzle to father, mother, school- master, clergyman, and the village generall}'. ' I cannot make anything of John,' his mother said one day ; 'he's never happy unless he's at play, and he never plays like others, it is always at some- thing too old for him.' 'There never was such a boy for sport,' they remarked, when he was a little older. 'There's nothing that he doesn't know. He can tell a hare sitting in her form at the other end of a field. He knows how to set a trap for a mole, and can find a partridge nest, or a trout-pool in the river, better than any ; and he's never more happy than when the farmer is breaking in his colts that he maj' watch the fun, and learn all the points of a horse. But books I ah I books were never intended for John. No I he never learnt a lesson out of books ; never could, and never did.' Yet John was not ignorant ; he managed somehow to listen to other people, and retain what he beard, and so he was not exactly a dunce. See him at six years old, with a lot of other boys down at the brook to fish. They couldn't catch thoni, even if there were any there ; but Johnny coidd, and Avhile their bottles and cans were empty, his sticklebacks and millers' thumbs were as tine and as lively as could be ; and plenty of them, too, to be kept alive in the waterbutt at home for weeks. John was Nature's child, hers was the book he best could read ; see him later on, lying on his back in the meadow by the church, counting the stars, and mapping them out with beads and bits of cotton in a regular plan, while he listened to the nightingale in the neighbouring copse. See him later, when he should have been at school, scouring the hedgerows for eggs; scaling the church tower for jackdaws' nests ; with the best collection of butterflies and birds" eggs to be found for miles around, and thoroughly well up in the art of stuffing a stoat or a bat, or, indeed, anything else in natural history that he could come across. Yet one peculiarity belonged to Jolm, neither bird nor beast was ever held captive by him ; he would rollick as a boy with the cattle in the clean farm-yard straw; he would run miles as a youth to get a fresh specimen of a moth; he would sit for hours, still as a mouse, to watch the rabbits playing, or a bird building her nest, but never in cage did John keep one. No wonder at twenty he was to be found breaking in horses in the plains of South America. Still less that at thirty he should be coming home with a collection of natural history specimens, worth manj' thousands of pounds. Perhaps before he dies he will be a famous man, this little Johnny of ours, and we in Dovedale shall be proud to own the boy, who never could leani anything except out of Nature's book-^Nature's child, boy and man. Xav. A FRENCH CONSCRIPT. I HEN Napoleon I. was Emperor, a Conscription was made for the army, and a poor fellow, with a wife and family, who was drawn, was fortunate enough to procure a man to tiike his place ia the ranks as his substitute. The latter went to the field of battle, and was killed in the very first ; ction. kiuuu after this another draft was ordered, and the name of the same man was drawn again. He, however, refused to go out. Said he, ' I am free from the Conscription ; I sent a sub- stitute into the army, and he was killed, therefore I am as a dead man.' The case was disputed, and went before the French judges, ^^•ho decided that in law the man was free. The Emperor ha;l accepted I'.is substitute, and could not, thtrefore, enforce a second claim upon him. Sunday Reading for the Young. 90 ONLY ON SUNDAYS. A BOY and girl stood opposite a city churcli, and peered in at the entrance gates. Boij. ' I should like to go and play in that church.' Girl, with the I-know-everything tone of voice. ' No I Nobody niay do that.' Boy. 'Why not?' Girl. ' Because that's where people go to church. God comes there 1 ' Boi/, w'ith a decided accent on the words, ' Why, God only comes there on Sundays ! ' This conversation was heard by the writer, and the speakers" ages together could not have been more than ten years. Many older folks fall into the same mistake. MIXED PICKLES. {Continued frovi page 92.) fHE lad's mother looked at the loaf of bread for a moment — only a moment ; then she sbook her head, and spoke to the child in Italian. The baker had stopped at a house by the roadside ; the boy was off like the wind, and soon came up breathless, and handed him the loaf. The bal-ev was a kind-hearted man, and gave the child a roll, with which he ran back to his mother. Then he tore it in two and offered her the large half, beginning at once to munch the other himself. The mother took a little of the piece he had given her, but she seemed too faint and weak to eat more than a moutliful. By this time Bryda and her nurse had over- taken them. ' Little boy,' said Bryda, shyly, all her pity being roused by the scene, ' where do you live '?' The child was not shy ; he looked her full in the face with his big black eyes and pointed to the village. 'In honse-yesterday-next day,' he said in his broken English. ' You are living there for a few days, are you ? ' asked Bryda, puzzled. The boy nodded. ' Do tell me your name ?' she asked again. ' Beppo, Signorina.' Here nurse again interposed. She was a cross-grained ^vonlan, very faithful to her duty, but had little sympathy to spare, and did not at all approve of ' Miss Bryda's notions,' about caring for the poor. ' When you get your governess and plenty of lessons to do, you won't be so anxious about them low creatures. Miss,' she told Bryda. ' Learn to play times on the piano, and paint pictures like other young ladies, that's what you've got to think about.' But poor little Bryda, though she often, as we have seen, got into trouble and mischief (for she was not at all a model little girl), did really want to serve the Lord Jesus, of whose great love she had learnt, and her great wish was to know what a little girl could do for Him. The Lord Jesus was always heljiing the poor, and she knew His faithful servants did the same, so it was a sad puzzle to her to find such treat- ment as Moll Dawson's, when she tried to do some good. Perhaps Uncle Jack was right, and she ought not to have tried to do what was only grown people's work. But here was this little Italian boy. He looked sad, and seemed hungry and. very poor, and his mother was so ill. How sad it all was I Bryda knelt by the window when she came home, and looked up at the beautiful blue sky, where a happy lark was singing so high up he ought to be nearly at the doors of heaven. ' Our Father,' she prayed, 'let me help Beppo a little, for Jesus Christ's sake.' And the little prayer of ' one of His little ones' went straight to the ear of the loving Eather, Who is always more ready to hear than we to pray ; and very soon it was answered. God has so much work for hands, and brains, and tongues, and feet. In this world a child who loves ' helping mother ' can do many a little thing for her, and the work is sooner done, because of such small helps. And so the great Father, Who uses the little dewdrops to water His world, will give to every happy willing- worker something to do, little w'orks for the little ones, more to His great angels, and at last His heaven shall be full of ' servants ' who ' serve Him ' and see His face, and are never sorrowful, or stupid, or tired, or disappointed ia anj'thing any more. 100 Sunday Reading for the Young. When BryJa had asked God to let lier lielp Beppo she felt much happier. She would talk by-and-by to Cousin Salome about him. Meantime she had the greatest of all treats, for in the afternoon Uncle Jack was going to drive in his dog-cart, with Paddy in the shafts ; and the pace at which Paddy went was what Uncle Jack called ' greased lightning.' Any- how, it was something very different from the solemn jog, jog, jog, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, of Gog and Magog, when the grannies took her out, and old John dozed on the box. ' It's so dull to have to drive alone,' said Uncle Jack at lunch, with a heavy sigh, but with a queer twinkle in his eye. ' Call for Captain Tomkins, and take him out,' said grandmother. ' I'm so shy,' answered Uncle Jack, sadly. ' But if I could find a young lady, a very young lady of about eight or so, to come with me ' Oh ! Uncle Jack, take me .' ' burst out Bryda. And go she did ; and best of all, when they were fairly started. Uncle Jack lit a big cigar, and between the pitffs went on with his fairy tale. This was how he told it : — • CHAPTER VIII. THE REST OF THE STORY. ' So the Fairy Set-' em-right waved her hand over the troop of children. " You shall all feel like grovsai-up people," she said. ' In a few minutes a strange change began to come over them all. A great game of "blind-man's-buff" was going on, when suddenly several of the girls put themselves into veiy stiff, solemn attitudes, just like .old maids, and said, ■' Really, they thought, they were almost afraid they could not play any more. Such games, especially at their time of life, were hardly quite proper." So they would not go on. Others, again, declared that there was nothing they so thoroughly enjoyed as watching people playing at these kind of amusements ; but for themselves — well, if the others did not mind, they would like just to sit quietly and watch. So they did, and presently some of the boys began stroking that part of their faces where a moustache might some day grow, and remarking that "Haw! don't Iniow, you know — a — this sort of thing was all very well for schoolboys, but really — a — we could not, you Imow." ' This sentence Uncle Jack brought out with a veiy funny drawl, the boys being turned into dreadfully fashionable fellows. {_To he continued.) HUMILITY IS SAFE. As the storm. That makes the high elm crouch and rends the oak, The humble lily spares. A thousand blows That shake the lofty monarch on his throne. We lesser folk feel not. Keen are the pains Advancement often brings. To be secure, Be humble ; to be happy, be content. ^t ^'•' HURDIS. Sunday Reading for the Young. 101 THE RIDDLE OP THE YEAR. THEEE is a father with twice six sons; these sons have thirty daughters a-piece, partly coloitred, having one cheelc white and the other black, who never see each other's face, nor live ahove twenty-four hours. This riddle, which is so easy to guess, is attributed to Cleobulus, one of the seven wise men of Greece, who lived about 570 years before the birth of Christ. Riddles are of very ancient origin, the oldest of which we know anything is that in Judges xiv. We are told by Plutarch, that the girls of his time worked at netting or sewing, and the clever ones made riddles. HAPPY SUNDAY AFTERNOONS.— No. II. WSAT DOES THE BIBLE SAY ABOUT THE HORSE? An easy Exercise for little learners to write or say from memory. THE ALL day I play my tunes, . Wearied though I be Of the harsh discordant sounds : No one cares for me. Little ones in happy homes, Think of me to-day ; From my sunny Italy Banished quite away. From the mother's gentle kiss, Pressed upon my brow: ORGAN BOY. From the tender loving words, Hushed for ever now. Still the same unending clang. No soft music's voice. Like the home song that I love. Bidding me rejoice. Though I can no sweet sounds bring, Give me, pence I pray ; Pit}' still the organ boy Whom you drive away. Reho. 102 Sunday Readixc for the Young WONDEBFUL ESCAPES. SAMUEL PEOCTOE. i\HEN quite young Samuel Proctor enlisted as a gren- adier of the 1st Regiment of Foot Guards. He was a God-fearing man, and, with others of the same regiment, rnet together to read and pray. Samuel always carried a Bible in one pocket and his hymn-hook in the other. On the plains of Waterloo, in ISlo, the English army were encamped. The 1st Regiment of Guards on the IGth June was ordered to ad- vance and dislodge the French from a wood which they had taken, and whence they kept up a galling fire upon the Allies. Samuel went forward with his regiment, and suddenly was thrown a distance of three or four yards by some object striking his hip, but which he could not explain at the time. However, as soon as he drew his Bible from his pocket, he discovered that a musket-ball had struck it, and gone more tlian half way through the book. He was overwhelmed with gratitude to the great preserver of his life. All who saw it said he must have been killed had it not been for the Bible, which acted as a shield. He kept that book as a sacred treasure, and laid it up in his house, like the sword of Goliath in the tabernacle. ' That Bible,' said he, ' has twice saved me ; first from death in battle, and next from eternal death.' I EVERYBODY'S CORNER. QUINTAIN. N the days of chivalry there was a curious exercise, in which the player tilted with his lance against a great wooden figure with out- stretched arms. If he struck it fairly in the centre, all was well ; but if the blow was on either side, it swung round and hit the rider as he passed beneath. This quaint amusement was called 'quintain,' and was very fiopular in chivalrous times. SOMEBODY CARES FOR YOU. CARE for nobody, no, not I I and nobody cares for me I ' A good many peo]jle are tempted to say so truly, and it is very true that love begets love. There is indeed nothing to make us so sad as the despairing feeling tliat no one cares about us ; as if we ought not to remember always that God cares, and God loves, even when there is no one else. An old woman who gave wa}' to tliis temp- tation lived in a northern town. She was very poor and very wretched, poverty and old age had made her as wrinkled and sour as she could be. One day she came hurrying along as fast as her stiff joints would let her, her face had lost half its wrinkles, and her eyes were actually bright with gladness. ' What can have hajipened ? ' said everybody. ' Bless ye,' she cried, ' I've got a letter from my boy in California, and I thought he was dead years agone. And he's doing well, and says I mustn't fret, for he'll care for me as long as I live.' She had lost her care, since somebody cared for her. Somcbodij cares for you. THE TONGUE. The tongue is like a racehorse, which runs the faster the less wei"iit ir carries. ,HOW THE ' KATE ' SAVED THE TIDE. WILL she do it, think you?' ' Aye, sir, I can hardly tell : but if the wind, what there is of it, would only veer a point or two in her favour, she'd make short miles of it.' I had been watching the vessel a long time from the top of the cliff, and even a landsman could guess she was trying to get into the harbour which lay below us; but she had been at it all the morning, and the wind was just so much against her, that she had to tack and tack again and again, and sail ever so many miles, in order to go really one. I was interested in her movements, and wlicn I saw a young fisherman, with his little child on liis shoulder, come sauntering along the cliff, and after looking long at the ship through his glass, sit down on a rock with his little one to wait, I took upon myself to find out all about it, and glad am I that I did. . Sunday Reading for the Young. 103 'What is she?' I asked, while he watched the sails shaking in the breeze, as they kept her a little too close to the wind. ' Why, sir, she's the Kate, from Sunderland, and she's beat all the way down Channel dead against the wind ; there's only two hours more for her to get into harbour, and if she doesn't do it in that she'll have to wait nine days to get water enough ; this is the last tide that she'll get over twelve feet ; and she'll hardly do it.' ' What a pity I ' I said half aloud ; ' and they seem to know what they're about, too.' ' That they do, sir, though I say it. The skipper is my father, and he's been to sea now, man and boy, for nigh fifty year, so he ought to know the way to handle a craft by this time ; and if anybody can save the tide, he will I know. It'll be forty pounds in his pocket ; but you see, sir, every board they make carries her to leeward.' I had been interested before, now I was doubly so, and leaving the fisherman and his little one to watch the Kale, I wended my way into the town and down the hilly back-streets, till I reached the little tidal harbour, with its jetty, and miniature lighthouse on the point, stretching out into the sea, that on this occasion broke in little ripples on the rocks that formed tlie bed and foundation of the pier. Leaning against the sea wall I found an old Customs man. He, too, was looking through a glass, and I taiew at what — the Kate, was not far off. ' Do you think she will save the tide ? ' asked I, as he moved liis arm. ' Well, sir, it's touch and go if she does ;' and he turned to look at those big white figures painted on the wall of the harbour mouth, xiii, xiv, XV, and so on up to xxiii, xxiv — these marked the depth of the water in feet ; and he shook his head ominously. ' One point more S. and W. in the wind would give it him ; but the tide you see, sir, is dragging him down Channel ; and if he were to stand in now he would just miss the pier head. He has worked for it bravely, too, ever since daylight, and tried everything a good sailor dares, to save his port, and it's vexing to be shut out.' Even while he spoke, the vessel veered round to stand on the other tack. She was not more than half a mile distant, and looked like a living thing as she parted the green waves right and left. Quite a little crowd had collected at the harbour head, and watched every movement on board the Ijrig. ' He's trying all he knows how, isn't he, John ? ' said one old salt. ' Aye, Martin, and it's my mind he'll stand right in and get a rope on the pier-head, and then try and slip her in ; if he does, he'll save his men's wages for ten days, by about ten minutes.' There was quite an excitement amongst us all, and we were overjoyed to see that the wind at last favoured the gallant skipper on board the brig, who was clearly to be seen by this time, standing in the after-part of the ship, with the helm in hand ; he was steering her himself, so that he might take advantage of every little puff of wind to sheer her to wind- ward. On she came ; and when not a hundred yards from the sliore beyond the harbour a boat dropped from the davits, with a couple of men in her; the helm went down sharp, round went the brig, and from the sharp clear tones of the captain's orders even the landsmen could understand what had to be done. The men in the boat rowed their hardest, with a light line on board, and no sooner reached the harbour wall than willing hands passed it along, and a dozen of us ran away with it, and the thick hawser to which it was attached. It was an anxious ten minutes that we all had, while the brave fellows on board turned the capstan hand over hand, and the brig glided nearer and nearer, in through the narrow entrance, then hung on the sandy bar that lay just between the outer sea and the harbour ; it looked bad ; but everything held as the sailors say, and the next wave that rolled quietly in lifted her gently to the strain of the cable, and she moved again. The danger was past. Half- an hour later every one was congratulating the skipper on having successfully brought his vessel in. He had saved the tide ; nine days' wages to his crew ; and by the time he would have been able to enter the harbour he will have unloaded his ship, taken in his ballast, and be ready for sea again. It was touch and go, but he did it. " Xav. 104 Sunday Reading for ThE Young. fK Sunday Reading for the Young. 105 ntiinfiTitriMii !■ A Story of Pots and Pans. 106 Sunday Reading for the Young. A STORY OF POTS AND KETTLES. /PiOONTIDE, a fierce snn shining down, hot and magnificent ; vil- lage children playing about under the shade of the house ; troops of youngsters, with scarce any clothes on their Lacks for the heat, cooling them- selves in the rapid, rushing stream of water that scramhled over the clear stone causeway of the hill- side street. Suddenly, a scream and a hubbub among the youngsters in the gutter — some one being- killed, that's certain ; nothing less. ' Odds, bobs, and buttercups ! ' cries a portly dame as she emerges from a cottage doorway, * whatever is to do now ? ' ' Oh, Mrs. Salter, here's Johnny Maze been and thrown a lot of water over my sister Susan, and then, when I gave him a smack, he's hit me with his hoopstick, and I'll go ' ' That is a story,' broke in Johnny, the cul- prit; ' you hit me first, and I only splashed her with three little drops that wouldn't drown a fly ; and you tell stories, yon do 1 ' ' Hush, hush 1 you two ; children shouldn't quarrel so. Don't you know you should be Hnd to one another, and not scratch, and bite, and fight like dogs and cats '? Here, here comes a man wth a barrow, run and see what he has got to sell.' The children forgot all their quarrel in the novelty of the sight. A man driving a machine on wheels in front of him, and a fire smoking away underneath ; it was funny to them, and yet it was only the wandering knife-grinder. Bobby was just going to ask him, ' What do yoTi sell?' when he was stopped by the tinker's cry, ' Knives to grind, scizzors to mend ; any old pots or kettles to-day?' Not many customers did he get that sunny noontide, it seemed as if it was too hot for folks to trouble about pots and kettles and frying- pans ; umbrellas and wash-tubs seemed more the sort of tiling. But the tinker got under the shade of the schoolhouse wall, and there he did the few odd jobs that came to him, while the children watched his wheel whizzing round and round, with its grating whirr, spurr-r-r-r-r, spurr-r-r-r-r. How the sparks flew from Mother Jansen's knife ! and what fun it was to watch the wheel going round like an engine 1 ' Mother,' said Johnny, ' may I be a tinker ? I should like it.' ' I think you're one already,' said Mrs. Maze ; ' you're black enough for one.' ' Oh I but I mean to mend real pots and kettles like him.' ' And have a machine on wheels,' adds Bobby. 'And a real Lion and Unicorn painted on it, like his,' added John. ' Yes ! ' cried his mother, ' and be tinker to the Royal Family, I suppose, like yon gentle- man,' and she laughed again and again at what she thought was a clever speech. The children watched the grinder till the knife was done ; then they watched on while he seated himself under the wall witli his brazier's fire, and pots and pans, and Johnny could not resist. ' Were you a tinker when you were a little boy?' 'Eh?' said the man. ., ' Were you a tinker when you were little ? I should like to be a tinker, I should.' The man had hardly noticed the first ques- tion, but at the words that followed he looked ' up sharply from his work. ' You would, would you ? Well, I don't think it's the best of trades, though I say so. But when I've done these here,' and he nudged a saucepan with his elbow, ' if you like I'll tell you a story. You'd like to hear a story, wouldn't you? — a tinker's story.' ' Oh, yes I ' cried his listeners. ' 'Specially if it's true,' added Margery. ' Well, I'll tell you my story, and then when it's done you shall tell me if you'd like still to be a tinker. It's worth listening to.' What the story was we shall, perhaps, hear later on ; but it was interesting enough to keep the children quiet more than an hour that hot afternoon in the shade of that high school wall ; and more than one slice of bread, and bread -and- Sunday Reading for the- Young. 107 clieese, was tlic tinker's reward from the cottage doors that opened on the street. ' I'd Letter turn nurse, and set up a chiklren's home,' said lie. (To he contimied.) FAITH AND SIGHT. A LITTLE anecdote is told which helps so vividly to illustrate the difference betweeji seeing and helieving. Tlie master of an infnnt school told a boy to move a stool so as not to be seen by the little ones himself. Then he taught them this lesson. ' You cannot see anj' one moving the stool ; is it not alive?' ' Oh, no, sir I it never was alive. Some one must be moving it.' ' Bnt you cannot see anybody ; perhaps it moves itself.' ' No, sir ; though we don't see anybody, that makes no odds. It cannot move itself.' Tlien he told them of the sun, moon, and stars, which, though we see no one move them, yet it is certain they do move, and no one conld do it bnt God, whom we do not see. ' Yes 1' they said ; ' it must be God.' ' But then we cannot see Him.' ' Please, we must believe it.' ' You do believe it, then V ' Yes, sir I' ' Then this is Faith.' And they could under- stand it. He added : ' If you have Httle faith, what will you do tlien ?' ' I'll shut myself up in a coiner,' said one little mite, ' and pray for more.' MIXED PICKLES. (Ccmtimied from "page 100.) HE crowning point,' continued Uncle Jack, ' was reached when the blind man, pushing down his bandage, stood still, and ad- dressed this altered crowd very seriously indeed. " What miser- able folly is this?" he asked. " Shall we mortals waste our precious flying moments in — in what, my brethren ? " ' You see he had turned into a preacher,' explained Uncle Jack. ' " In what a miserable, frivolous occupation ! catching eaeh other I — nay, only trijing to catch each other I Poor fools and blind 1 let us cease, I say •" But he had no one to say it to, for the whole audience had gone off in different directions, and the preacher had only his little brother of five left to listen to his wise word.s. " Come along. Tommy," said he, " I will try and find some one for you to play with, little man." '" Play with V answered the little brother in a tone of utter surprise. " My dear, I have no time to play. Letters, telegrams, appoint- ments by scores, fill my time. Let me tell you, sir, thei'e is no busier man than your humble servant in the whole country." ' With which he turned about and strode off with the longest strides his little legs in their blue sailor trowsers could take ; for he had be- come a man of business. '"This is too absurd," muttered the elder, and went off to look for the church of which he was vicar. ' The same remai'kable change came over all the children. One little brat who was busy teasing an unfortunate kitten stopped suddenly, and rnslied off in search of jien and paper, wit'n which he returned, and began at once to compose an ode '' To Tabitlia." " Fairest Pussy ever seen ! "With thine eyes of clearest green, Fly nie not." That was how it began, for he had become a poet.* ' I thought poets wrote about knights and ladies, and green fields and the moon,' remon- strated Bryda. ' So the)' do. But sometimes they want a new siibject, and this young genius thought he had found one. ' Well, all the children, without losing their child-faces and figures, turned into the sort of peo}ile they would be when they were grown uj). So of course tlieir games seemed very dull, and they wanted grown-up occupations. But not knowing quite how to set to work, they were all 108 Sunday Reading for the Young. lotinging vaguely atout, wlien the clear notes of a bugle sounded through the city. ' This was the well-laiowii signal for the assembling of the whole population in the park, and off went all these queer gro^^^l-up children to the place of meeting. Here they were met by Queen May, who sat on a garden-chair with her Court around her, all looking very solemn. '"My faithful subjects," said the Queen, "I have sent for you to consider a very grave question. I regret to state that the affairs of this kingdom are in a condition which 'will, perhaps, be best described as \msatisfactory." ' " Hear, hear I " said a gentleman of four, bowing gravely. ' " Hear, hear 1 " echoed many voices. '"Perhaps the most unsatisfactory point is," went on Queen May, who, you see, talked in very grown-up language, " is, I say, the banish- ment of a large portion of the population ; that portion, in fact, which we were fomierly accus- tomed to call our elders and betters." ' Cries of " No, no I " ' Queen May went on to expilain that after all they got on badly without these elders. With all their efforts the young folks had not strength or skill to do a variety of things, without which the round of life seemed likely soon to come to a standstill. So she proposed that she and all who would go should start at once for the moun- tain and fetch home the exiles. ' There was some murmuring at this. The old law might be carried out, and the children made ^vretched again. '"And — why, bless me," said an elderly person of nine, as he fixed on a double eye-glass with gold rims, "they might actually want to send me, me I to bed at eight o'clock 1" ' " Proper conditions would be made," the Queen said. ' One after another all the objections were overcome, and a long procession started, with Queen May, momited on a white pony, at its head. ' On arriving at the mountain they were greatly surprised to meet the King, that stern tyrant who wanted to stop all fun, running as hard as his legs could carry his fat body, with his cro-\vn on the back of his head, and a green net-bag tied on to the end of his sceptre, chasing a white butterfly. ' " Please, your Majesty," began Queen May, shyly ; but the King only .looked round for a moment and ran on, then tumbled over a furze- bush, so that his cro\Aai rolled far away, and the butterfly escaped, while he lay there kicking. ' The children were very much surprised at this, and thought the King must have gone mad, and, in fact, they felt very penitent, for they supposed his hurried flight must have been too much for the brain, so they were to blame for this terrible alteration. ' A little further on, however, they were still more surprised to see a circle of the most serious old maids in the whole capital, ladies whose time was mostly spent in making flannel garments for the poor, or sitting at neat tea-tables with neat curls on each side of their faces, and a neat cat, curled on a neat cushion, in a neat chair, close at hand, and these old ladies were all screaming and laugh- ing like children. [To he continued.) Sunday Reading for the Young. 109 ARIES. (HE Ram is the celestial sign for tLe month of March, as the sun enters that sign in the Zodiac on the twentieth of the month. Perhaps this emblem was chosen because, in ancient times, the increasing power of the sun's rays was expressed by the horns of animals. In old paintings this month is portraj'ed as a man of a tawny colour and fierce aspect, with a helmet on his head — a type of Mars, the heathen God of War ; but, in order to make the emblem appropriate to the season and the labours of the fanner, he is made leaning on a spade, holding blossoms in one hand and a basket of seeds on his arm. no Sunday Reading for the Young. ONE YEAR OLD. ONE ye;ir old to-morrow ; Little stainless feet, Set am life's rough jMthway, Dainty, fresh, and sweet. One year old to-morrow : Eyes so glad and bright, Trying hard to fathom Every wondrous sight. One year old to-morrow ; Tiny, pink-hued hands, Holding all onr heart-sti'ings In luve's slender bands. Lips of dewy sweetness. Fresh as any flower, Keeping all your secrets Till some golden hour. "Will the feet just started On the way of life, Some day faint and falter In the cruel strife ? \Till the eyes just opened Sometime, m long years. Have their dancing gladness Drowned in bitter tears ? Darling little rosebud. Fair, and fresh and sweet, God alone can guard you From the ills you meet I Darling little sunbeam, Dancing free and bright, May God always fill you With His own glad light 1 One year old to-morrow ; May God guard you, dear ; Keep you pure and stainless Through each coming year '. Agnes Neale, Adelaide. EVERYBODY'S CORNER. WHAT ONK I>l:lNTING-rnESS HAY DO. ALEXAJ^DEE DALLAS was first a sol- dier, and then a clergyman at Winston in Hampshire, wliere he worked for many years with untiring energy. In 1S28 the printing-press was ver^' far from what it is now ; but this devoted man, finding the woi'k of copying good papers for his jieople to reaxl took too long, set up a printing-press of his own, and spent the greater part of every niglit over it. By this means, and the help of his schoolmaster, he diffused good reading amongst his parisliioners for five-and-twenty years, and the good old printing-press was afterwards sent to an industrial school at South- am j)ton. Sunday Reading for the Young. Ill THE RED MAN'S HOME. \ WAY in the Far West of North America is the land of the lied Man. Once they were only two principal races, divided into many tribes, and spread over the whole continent ; bnt the march of civilisation has driven them fnrther and further back, until it is only in the extreme "West that the Red Indians are left in small bauds, of from two hundred to a thousand each. In that Western -.-vorld there was a settle- ment of Chipeways on the banks of a broad river, the shore of which was fringed with rude huts, canoes, and fishing-nets spread out. Back from the river the bush extended for many a mile, dotted here and there with a log- hut, or a bark-tent or wigwam, and a small dearing, with its rough road and deep ruts, only serving to show up more clearly the back- ground of the forest saplings. Here, many years ago, the white missionary came te teach the red man how to pray to the Great Spirit, of whom he had such a very dim notion. History they had none ; only a tradition existed among them that they came originally from another country where dwelt very wicked people, that their ancestors had crossed a great lake which was narrow, shallow, atid full of islands, where they suffered much misery, for it was always winter, with ice and deep snow. At the Coppermine River, where they came to the first land, the ground was covered with copper, over which the earth had since collected to the depth of a man's stature. They believed, too, that in those ancient times their ancestors lived till their feet were worn out with walking, and their throats with eating. There had once been a deluge, when the waters Eprea»l over the whole earth, except the highest mountains, on the tops of which those then living preserved themselves. This was the history of the tribe as related to the white man when he settled among them to teach them better things, and lead them to a new and a better life. In time the influence of the white man spread ; the Indians learned to know hiui as a friend, so that in a veiy little while they were willing to help in building a church where they might meet the Great Spirit of whom they now heard the truth. It was a busy day when the ch\irch was raised, and the old chief made a feast of wel- come for the man of peace ; and still more striking must have been the scene a few months later, when on New-years Day another feast was made in the red man's settlement, and the chief received the missionary and his wife, and gave them native names of honour, by which they might ever be known among the tribe. He said, as he took the white man's hand : — ' The name selected for you is one we all respect and hold in fond remembrance, for it is the name of an old and beloved chief of our tribe many years ago, a name we wish to keep; and, as you come as a missionary to the Indians, it is mj' desire, the desu-e of us all that your name shall he his. So we call you Puhguhkahbun — Clear Light.' Then taking the lady by the hand, he added, ' With pleasure, too, I give you also a Chipeway name; it is that of one of our sisters, long since gone to the Great Spirit Land, and it is the wish of my people that you should be called, as was our dear sister, Nahwegeeshgooqua — Lady of the Sky ; and we shall always look vipon you as a sister, for you will bear a name very .dear to us.' Then the whole assembly rose, men and women too, and welcomed their new brother and sister. Once upon a time these red men \\'ere a ter- rible and warlike people, who thought of little else than fighting, and measured their esteem for a man by his bravery in battle, and the number of enemies he had slain. Their Braves were those who possessed the most scalps. Now the angel's message has reached even theni, and those that are left are at peace among them- selves, and bear goodwill to the white man. FALSEHOOD. AN nn*i'uth is a coiniterfeit coin; it may pass current for a while, but when dis- covered it ie nailed to the counter for what it is — s. deception, a shame. 112 Sunday Reading for the Young. The Eed Man's Welcomet Sunday Reading for the Young. 113 " Simshine's Bow." Hi Sunday Reading for the Young. SUNSHINE. HAT would the Lriglit sum- mer be without parties and picnics, and what would the children do without the bright June days, and the flowers, and the happy, joyous woods and fields'? What, indeed 1 It was only last week that two little friends of mine, IMinnie and Harold, were invited to a children's picnic, and where, I should like to know, would have been their pleasure if there had been no sunshine, no country, and no picnic? Well, these two little ones went — went to the picnic ; but, first, they were dressed all in their best, and nurse gave up a great deal of her time to make them look as neat and tidy as, let me see — as — well — new pins ; though I do not know why new pins are said to be tidy, unless it is when they are stuolj up in rows, on a paper. Well, Minnie and Harold looked as nice as could possibly be, and Minnie was to take great care of her little brother, and see that he neither spoiled his clothes nor hurt himself. And they tell me she did it very well, quite like a little mother; for when nurse left them at the lady's house, who gave the picnic, she took him by the ^,and, and walked through the entrance-hall into the garden, where the guests were waiting ready to start, cpiite like a little lady, and then made a courtly curtsey, while she said to him, ' Make your bow, Harold I ' They called her Sunshine, she was so merry and good ; and a most happy day they all spent among the beautiful ruins of an old castle, with a lovely drive there and home again. No one was naiighty ; not one mishap ; no one but enjoyed everytliing, and tried to please all the rest. That's the way to make sunshine. TETTEBS OR EBEEDOM? Ji TETTERS do not always mean a prison, _JL and the slave has been more free than his jailer. All, exiled king found this out, when James the Second, on his deathbed said to his son, ' There is no slavery like sin, and no liberty like God's service.' proper i Catch it 1 catch it 1 ' cried one MIXED PICKLES. (Coniimied from page 108.) *HESE very respectable old ladies now looked anything but neat 1 Their curls were flying in all directions, and they were screaming with laughter, pinch- ing each other, and making all sorts of silly jokes over a furious game of " hunt the slipper." For you see ihey had gone back to what they used to like when they were children. ' Queen May looked at them gravely. '"Dear friends," she said, "at your age, is this decorous ? Is it proper ? la it even ladylike?" '" There it isl of the old ladies. '" Come and play with us 1" cried another. ' None of the rest paid any attention to the serious looks of the grown-up children, who went sadly on towards the fort, hoping to find some one more reasonable. ' The next person they saw was the Lord Chancellor, a bald, stout old gentleman, who was sitting on the woolsack, which, you remem- ber, he had carried away on his back. He was very busy with a pipe, and the children thought he was smoking, and grew more hopeful. He might have some trace of good sense left, they thought, if he could care for such a grown-up pursuit.' Here Uncle Jack offered his cigar to Bryda politely, but she made a face and turned her head away. ' I don't wtxnt to be so grown-up as that,' she said. ' Oh I ' said Uncle Jack, with his funny face, that he always put on to tease Bryda. ' Oh, I thought you wanted to grow up all of a sudden.' ' Well — oidy for some things,' answered she, feeling that Uncle Jack was taking a mean advantage in remembering her sayings, and bringing them up again. ' Please go on,' she added, hastily. Uncle Jack winked at her very slowly and solemnly ; then took a good puff at his cigar, and went on. ' When they came up he was found to be blowing soap-bubbles 1 Sunday Reading for the Young. 115 '"A-alil" he sjriluttered, tiying to talk -with the pipe in Lis mouth. " D-don't break it, please 1 There I" as the bubble burst and vanished ; " it's too bad, I declare I Directly I get a really good one. big and bright, that always happens. Have a trj'," he added, offer- ing Queen Ma)' the pipe. '"I say, my lord," said the Major-General commanding the royal army, coming up at the moment, " can you tell me how to mend lead soldiers ? I've tried gum and glue, and one of the maids of honour tried to sew one, but some- how they don't join properly. It's a horrid bore, and that fellow the Si>eaker won't let me have a ride on his rocking-horse. I'd punch him, only he's six feet three, and as broad as he's long. So I don't know what to play at." ' •' It h slow," answered the Lord Chancellor, pityingly. " Never mind, old cliap, come up to the fort and we'll make some toffee." • So the elderly gentlemen went off arm-in- arm, and Queen May shook her golden-curled head sadly. ' " They ai-e all mad, poor things I What are we to do ? " '"Hil hi I" ci'ied a voice, and looking round they saw that tall, handsome nobleman, the Master of the Horse, running towards them as fast as he could. At last, perhaps, they had found some one to speak sensibly to. '" Hi I you fellows," he cried, breathlessly ; " stop a minute, will you ? Is that a circus pony ? and can he do tricks ? Sit up with a hat on, and drink out of tea-cups, I mean." '"Certainly not," replied Queen May, with her utmost dignity. '• I hardly understanti. Lord Mo5'ers, how you can ask such a strange question. Did you ever see a lady, especially if she were a crowned queen, riding a circus pony ? " 'Lord jMoyers giggled, and turned head-over- lieels on the spot, after which he rushed off again to join the rest of the House of Lords, who were playing " hi 1 cockalorum," close by. ' The procession went on very sorrowfully towards the fort. It grieved them to see this ft'ivolity in those to whom they had been taught to look up. ' " Alas, my country I '' sighed Eric, the boy who, j'ou remember, had proposed to kill the pig before he was touched with the fairy wand. ' Perhaps it was on arriving at the gates of the fort that tlie very strangest sight was seen. The Queen was a very stout and middle-aged person, of rather stern countenance, and here she was busy with a skipping-rope — her hair loose, her royal robes tucked up, and her crown on one side. " ' It's the best fun and the finest exercise in the world," she gasped. " If I could only skip twice to one turn of the rope 1 " ' And on she went, while the children watched But there was something so utterly ridiculous about the sight, that Queen May and her followers, after various vain efforts to suppress their mirth, burst into one peal of laughter,' whlcii rang merrily through the old fort, and over the hill-side. 'It broke the charm, and in a moment the children became children again, and the grown people became as they were before. ' Thei'e was a large flat field on the moimtain top, in front of the gates of the old fort, and here all the exiles were in a few minutes assembled. ' The King was about to address them, when in a moment, no one knowing how she came there, the Fairy Sot-'em-right stood among them, close beside his Majest)'. ' " You have all learnt a lesson, and I will put it into words for you," she said.' ' Oh, dear I ' interrupted 'Bryda, ' here comes the moral ! Don't make a very hard one, Uncle Jack, please I ' He laughed. ' I must finish this truthful story truthfully. Miss. ' She said, turning to the King and Qneen, — ' " Your fault was that you forgot you once were young yourselves.'" Bryda nodded her head very wisely. ' " And you, children, forgot that you could not do without old people. That wicked law is at once repealed." '"Certainly, ma'am," said the King, bowing. ' " Children are to be children, and behave as such, and be treated as such. Parents are parents, the children are not to forget that. Now go home all of you, and don't forget this one caution, I've got mi/ ei/c on you." ' With these awful words the Fairy vanished. And that's the end of the story.' ' And a very nice ending, too I ' said Bryda. {To be continued.) 116 Sunday Reading for the Young. \3f |J|S*4t|l THE LILY'S LESSOW. WITHIN the garden's deep calm shade A tall sweet Lily grew, And many other flowers besides, Of every beauteous hue. Ent none in loveliness excelled That Lily pure and white. Fairer than snow in ■winter-time. Than stars more dazzling bright. And by the gardener's tender care It lovelier grew each day. And shed its radiance all around, From many a petal gay. It was when life was growing drear. Earth's pleasures seemed but vain, And I longed for something higher To lead me on again ; Then I wandered in the garden. Where the Lily grew, Saw, and marked its dazzling beauty, Its purity of hue. Long I gazed upon its petals. Life seemed different then ; Upwards I could look to heaven ; Onwards march again. From the whiteness of the Lily I a lesson learned, That even earth was sweeter, If heavenward we turned. By the Author of ' Tales 0/ Utopia', &c. Sunday Reading for the Young. 117 Johnny's Harvest. 118 Sunday Reading for the Young. 'IT IS AW ILL WIND.' JOHN S5IITH was out of work, trade was slack, labour was plentiful ; and in the dreary yellow November days no one iu London wanted to employ fresh hands, errand boys were at a discount. Poor Johnny, he did not know what to do, -when the morning dawned one day towards the end of the month ; ' as black as black could be,' as Mrs. Brown, the baker's wife, said. It was in fact a yellow London November fog ■ — night made dismal, and it seemed as if another day of disappointment fw Johnny had come, for if he could not get a job on a fine day, no one would employ liim when they could not see an arm's length before them. Siiddenly he remembered tlie liuk-boj-s, and an idea came. ' It's an ill wind,' tliouglit he, and away he went. It was indeed a harvest-day for Johmiy ; the fog deepened, and grew thicker as the day went on, and the lad, who knew every turning and court, was able to guide many a passenger in the right direction, thankful enough to give him a cojiper or two when he had steered them clear of the horses' heads and carriage wheels. Cheapside and St. Paul's Churchyard were in gloom like midnight, gas alight everywhere; but gas was of no use at all, and only glimmered here and there like dim yellow streaks; and even the electric light failed to pierce the midnight gloom that had settled on the crowded city way. Poor Johnny was as brisk as brisk could be, and when one linlc had burned out he ran off and invested a few of his well-earned coppers in another. ISure enough, it's an ill wind that blows no one any good. The nasty yellow fog that got down people's throats and nearly choked them brought a capital day's wage to Johnuy, sent him home with three shillings in his pocket, and such a smiling, happy face, that next day he got a situation — just the one he wanted. People were ready enough to engage a lad who seemed so smilincc and cheerful. BIBLE WORDS. THOUGHT. THIS word was often used for anxiety, and is so intended in St. Matt. vi. 34 : ' Take no thought for the morrow.' ' Do not be over- anxious.' Bacon writes of one Harris, an alderman of London, that lie ' was put in trouble, and died with thought and anguish befwe his business came to an end.' And Shakespeare too : ' If lie love Cffisar, all that he can do Is to himself take thought, and die for Caesar.' THE VALUE OF A EARTHING. IN 1834, on Sunday, October 5, the anni- versary of the Sunday School there, a collection was made at Copt Hall, a vilkge in Essex, and a little boy seven years old brought a rather heavy bag and placed on tlie plate. Examining its contents afterwartls, the col- lectors found it contained two hundred and eighty -five farthings, or five shillings and elevenpence furthing. Further inquirv showed that the lad was often employed on errands for his mother, and was allowed to keep all tlie farthings he received in change. These he had carefully treasured up for the Sunday tichool, at which it may bo guessed he was a 'happy and regular attendant. It was a singular testimony to the value of ' littles.' 'Tis easy to fall into a traj). but hard to get out airain. AN ENEMY TURNED INTO A ,-. FRIEND. ^^|) .^N the year 15G7, a poor Protestant "*" «-"i:i'|- in the Low Countries, as Holland IP was then termed, was condenmed to death for his religious ojiinions. Diclv AYillemzoon made his es- cape, and fled for his life; pursuetl, however, by one of the officers of justice. A frozen lake lay in front, and it was just tliat period when the ice becomes unsafe; but he ventured on, and though it cracked and shook beneath his steps, he pressed forward as he thought of the terrible death tliat would be his, if he were taken. So he ran over the unsafe ice, till at last his ^1 Sunday Reading for the Young. 110 feet stood on the fii-m shore beyond ; then a cry of terror startled him, he looked back and saw the officer sink through the rotten ice, and heard the plunge as the dark waters closed over him. No one was near; he might leave the man to perish, and none would be ever the wiser: but Dick was a Christian, and had been taught better. He went back over the ice, step by step, till he could succour the drowning man, and at the risk of his o«-n life succeeded in rescuing his pursuer, and together they reached a place of safety. His heroism deserved reward, and we are not surprised that he escaped the doom intended for him, and that the officer became his friend for life. TRUE WORTH. WHAT signifies a man's trade?' said the King, George III., to one who spoke of a ' mean ' trade. ' A man of any honest trade may make himself respectable if he wiU.' EVY'S LESSON. iVY MAITLAND was a little spoilt girl, wlio was allowed to have too much her own way, and who was a tyrant over the whole household, from father and mother down to the dogs and cats, who fled from her in dismay whenever they saw her coming. Like most spoilt children, she was a pretty little thing, and would have been most lovable if she had not been wilful and selfish too. Her father lived in a large and handsome house, with gardens, and flowers, and terraces, where there was everything to please the eye, and give one pleasure. There were carriages too, and Evy very often went for rides with nurse ; but being an only little girl she was spoiled, and needed coiTecting very sadly, and correction came in a very odd way, when least expected, and from a very strange teaclier. It was a lovely day in June ; the birds were singing as if to render thanks to Him who sends the bright sunshine and the brilliant flowers. Evy had been allowed to run in the garden and gather some flowers for niirse, and Fido, her pet, was with her. Fido was a little doggie, and, like his mistress, much spoiled. Still, he was a pretty little fellow, with his velvet collar and tassel, and thought a good deal of himself, I can assure you. Evy's good old nurse always accompanied her in her walks, because her father had large grounds, and Evy might lose herself, ' Miss Evy, dear, come this way, and we shall be able to ask the gardener if he has any spare flowers that will do for us. Come along.' ' No, not that way ; I want to go here,' and she turned to go down a path with shrubs over- hanging both sides. ' Come with me first, dear, and then we can go back that way. Besides, you have nearly enough flowers now, your basket's full.' 'No, I won't 1' said the wilful child; and nurse could see she would try to get her own way, which was naughty ; so nurse, without speaking, walked away from her. Evy stood still for a moment, the good and the evil battling within that little heart, and then she turned to look after nurse, when oh I dreadful sight 1 there was a large beetle on her shoulder, and she could not possibly reach it. She fancied she could hear tlie black thing say, 'You naughty child, what was it yon said? " I won't ? " now I shall bite you.' At least, that is what poor Evy thought as she stood there trembling, and Fido looking up at her without understanding her trouble. Evy was too frightened to scream ; she trembled very much, and the tears were just beginning to come, when happily nurse returned to her wayward charge, and in her terror little Evy clung to her, and sobbed as if her heart would break. ' Oh 1 nurse, nurse, do take it away I I will never be naughty so again I I will not, in- deed.' And nurse had to soothe her for some time before the tearful face regained its wonted looks. There are a good many little Evy's. We will hope that as they read of her they will learn the same lesson. 120 Sunday Reading for the Young. / ^-i. ^^wi^i^v .^. ./"■ ?;Wh\\ # a' -^:ri Evy's Fright. Sunday Reading for the Young. 121 Across the Bar. 122 Sunday Reading for the Young. THE I-ISHERMAN'S DATJGHTEH. DOWN by the sen, in the twiliglit cool, She stands in the evening light ; Her father's boat's expected home In harbour before the night. Slie shades her eyes from the setting sun^ And, gazing round and far, Oh! when will his good boat appear, Safe o'er the harbour bar 1 Her brave old fatlior, loved so well, For he's her only stay ; Brother and lover lie beneath The ocean's stormy way. But now she sees a sail appear, And then another one : The fleet is coming into sight, Lit by the setting sun. And now her eye descries his boat — She'll see him by-and-by ; But surely something's MTOug aboard? The flag's just half-mast high I "VYitli beating heart and eager haste Down to the pier she flies ; 'Oh I do you see the good Jane Anne, My father's boat?' she cries. Alas I too well they all had seen. Her friends and neighboiirs kind ; For now the fleet draws near at hand, A landing-place to find. The stauncli old boat across the bar Comes slowly on apace, And stricken men now tell their tale. Tears streaming down each face. The brave old sailor lies at rest, Down 'neatli the silent -wave : The ocean moans his funeral dirge, The seaweeds round his grave. 'Wild Tom' fell overboard, and he Leaped after him, to save ; And for that man's bad, worthless life, His precious life he gave. And is there not another ' One ' For sinners such as we, — Left His bright home, and came to earth. And died upon the tree ? Oh ! what a debt of gratitude We owe to Him above, Who gave His life. His precious life. In Love — pure, perfect, Love. Joanna McKean. THE STORY OP NTJNNIA. N Georgia, on Mount Caucasus, there is a tribe of people living who were anciently called Iberians. In the fourth century they were at war with a neighbouring people, among whom Christianity was just becoming known, and in one of their successful battles they took cajitive a Christian maiden, and sold her into slavery. Poor little maiden I many sad tears were shed by her ; but she took all her troubles to her dear Saviour, and in Him she found comfort and strength to perform willingly all, and more than all, that was required of her. One day it happened that, according to the custom of the country, a sick child was being carried about from door to door, iu the hojie that some one woidd suggest a successful remedy and cure for its ailment. It happened that Nunnia was standing near. She was only a slave, but the)' thought perhaps in her countr}' a remedy might be known ; they would ask her. She answered that she was only a poor girl, and knew not how to advise them ; ' but,' she added with a beautiful smile, ' I can direct you to One Who is able, not only to restore the child to health, but Who has more than once re- covered the dead to life.' They implored her to fetch Him. The maiden retired to kneel in praj'er to the dear Lord Jesus; and, returning with the joyful assurance in her heart that He had heard her petition, behold, the child opened its eyes, sniii;-^ and got better from that time. Sunday Reading for the Young. v>i The report of this soon spread through the country and reached the ears of the queen, who, not long after falling sick herself, thought at ■once of the little slave, and determined to visit her. The little captive maiden was greatly touched at seeing her, and prayed again that God would liear her petition, and grant the queen health. The queen, returning home, recovered slowly ; and Miraus the king was so overjoyed, that he proposed to send very rich and costly presents to her who was thought to have performed so gi-eat a miracle. His wife assured him, however, that this would he unwelcome to the mysterious child, who despised all wealth and fame, and only- desired for reward that tliey should worship the one true God with her. The king was astonished, but did nothing, and the impression soon ap- peared to fade from his mind and memory. Not long afterwards, however, the king hap- pened to lose himself in a forest, and, while separated from his courtiers, a dense fog arose which served to entangle him still more until lie liecame weary and faint, and despaired of escape from the maze of thickets that held him prisoner. It was then he remembered the Christian Nunnia, who had said that there was no limit to the power of her invisible King and God, Who, though His throne was on high, j'ct was jiresent everywhere with those who sought Him ; and, as the thought rose up, he bent his knees in the forest glade, and prayed to the unknown Deity : ' Thou \Ylioni tlie stranger calls her God I Jesus, if Thou art, and art alniiglity, oh, show it now, and recover me from this danger and perplexity I If Thou wilt open for nie escape, mv heart, my life, my all shall be Thine." The kiug roused to action by the effort of praying renewed his efforts; and the mists clearing away, he was rejoiced after a short time to recognise where he was ; and he reached home in safety without further adventure. Deeply affected, he related ■what had befallen him to his queen, and tliey no longer doubted that the God of the littie Christian slave was the true and living God, Wiio had shown Hini- iielf to be tlieir pi'otector too. Tiiey rightly thought tliat Nunnia herself should hear what things had come to pass. And from that time the royal jjair might be often seen, like teachable children, sitting M'ith and learning from tiie lowly slave ; and she was rejoiced to tell them all she knew of her loving Saviour and His wonderful life and death. Then happened a still more strange and wondrous thing. Both king and queen thouglit they could confer no greater benefit on their subjects than to proclaim to them that God whom they themselves believed. So the king preached to the men, and the queen to the M'omen and children ; and thus was Christianity first embi-aced among the Iberians of the fourth century. Krummacheu. OUR DUMB TEACHERS. SOCRATES. SOCRATES is a very learned fellow, deeply versed in the world of nature. ' Of course he is !' says the reader of these lines. ' Of course he is I He is that celebrated one of all the old Philosophers that we liave to grind up at school; the friend of Xenophon, the wisest of his time and age, tlie martyr of his country.' Stop, stop, stop, my young friend ; not so fast, if you please. We liave no notion of taking you back to ancient Greece, though it is a capital tiling for us all to read the histories of those kingdoms dead and gone. jMv Socrates is a very different object of admiration. My Socrates is a goose I Compared with yours. . . A goose ? Why, yes, a- goose ; and a very funny, learned, clever fellow he is, I can assure you. But you shall judge. Soc lives at a big house on the top of a hill. The children are very fond of him, and he of them. Very often in the summer their father takes them out in a boat, and although the water is about a quarter to lialF a mile from tlie house, Soc follows them down the hill, waddling as fast as he can after them, and when the boat is reached, bounce he goes into the water, and as they row he paddles away in their wal:G, evi- dently delighted to be of the party. If they land anywliere for a stroll, Soc lands too, and amuses hinisslf in the most friendly way, turning his head knowingly from side to side, and making little sounds of pleasure, such as only a goose can make. He has lately taken it into his head that the 124 SuNDAV Reading for the YouiXG. responsibility of protecting liis master's premises devolves on liim ; Lut his experience is not yet sufficient to teach him to know friends from enemies on suspicious occasions. One morning the gardener and one of the ■workmen about the place had orders to go on the top of the house, and to clear leaves and rubbish out of the gutters. Both the men were Sunday Reading for the Young. 125 well known to Socrates, and generally good friends with liini. As soon, however, as they began to place a ladder against the house he flew at them, and refused to allow the work to go on. \^'hen they went away to ask how they should proceed he ceased his attacks, but kept watch over the ladder, talking to himself all the time in a low voice. On the men again approaching the ladder lie again made ready for battle, and had to be coaxed by one of the children going out and petting him, and explaining the matter to him. His suspicions, however, were not even then entirely lemoved, and lie^kept a watchful eye on the workmen, until the ladder was taken right away. H. =-,V'''v. .. !31*ih,.,„„ ^\h':j MIXED PICKLES. (Continued from page 115.) CHAPTER IX. A PRINCE IN DISGUISE. )ORE good-tempered than usual next morning, nurse was easily persuaded by Bryda that the village would be quite the nicest direction for a walk. She wanted to see that nice old Roger again, and perhaps they might even meet Beppo. She begged a roll left from breakfast, and put it, wrapped in a sheet of old copy-book, with some pennies, in her pocket. The blacksmith was in his forge, and had some very important news for nurse, and Roger was outside his door, busily weaving the cane seat of a chair he had made, for he was a Jack- of-two-trades, if not of all trades, and made chairs from beginning to end. ' Good morning, Roger,' said Bryda, as she came up. ' Good morning, missy. A good morning it is, though not like yesterday. That was a sort 12G SuxDA y Reading for the Young. o' wedding day, with the world in a green dress ■covered with jewels made of dewdrojis, while the hirds sang a hymn, and the great gold sun came in his Lest blue dress to marry her,' answered the poetical Roger. ' And to-day, Roger ? AYhat's that like ?' ' Ah 1 to-day's a good honest workin' day, iiiis6}% made for the busy bees and all the Lord's workin' folk.' ' Cats aren't working folk,' said Bryda, stroking Roger's sleek Tabby. ' Maybe cats' work is to keep lone folks company, missy,' said the Disguised Prince, for as such his little friend always thought of liim. ' Shall you have cats in your palace '? ' she asked. ' That'll be as the King pleases, missy. I do hope so, for I be main fond o' cats.' ' Is Tabby very old ? she's very lazy.' ' I don't rightly know how old she is. Yon see, missy, nigh on two years ago my house-cat died. Well, I sujipose the village cats told each other when they met on the house-tops at night Anyhow I never could ojien my door of a morning that there wasn't one cat, or maybe two and three cats, ajiplying for the situation, each one with a lirst-riite character from his last place.' Bryda laughed heartily. ' IIow did they tell yon?' ' How '? AYhy, bless you, little ^liss, it's often easier to know what God Almiglit}''s brutes mean than wiiat men mean, for all we call the brutes dumb. Tell me all about it they slid, rub- bin" against me and purrin', how the master of one had gone away, and the mistress of another was dead, and how one was a real good monser, and another was that honest lie'd rather starve tlian steal. ' Well, the long and short of it is, missy, I took Jlrs. Tabby for a month on trial, to see if she'il make a good housekeeper. An' we suited, she and I, and she's never given me warning yet, nor I her, so I don't think we'll part company till I go home.' ' When are you going, Roger? ' asked Lryda. She could nut help puzzling a good deal over this story of the old man's, about his palace home ; bnt he spoke so simply and natnvallj' that she could not doubt that he spoke the truth. ' I don't rightly know," ho answered slowly ; ' I'm tliinking when it's ready they'll letme know. But I'd be main glad to staj' a little longer now, iNIiss Brida, for all I've often wearied to be there. Shall I show you why ?' ' Please do.' The old carpenter got up and opened a door opposite to that which led to his own littla room, and there Bryda saw a touching sight. The poor Italian woman was sitting propped up with pillows in a straight-backed old arm- chair, with Beppo in her arms. The child seemed to have grown sleepy after play, or perhaps, like his countrymen, he was accustomed to take a na]i at midday. At all events, he was sleeping, and the poor sick mother was gently rocking the heavy boy, and singing a soft little Italian cradle Bong. ' Ninni, niuni, ninni, nanna, Ninni, nanna, ninni, nolu, AUegrezza di la mamma, Addormentati, oli figliolu.' That is,— ' Joy of ihy mother. Fall asleep, oh, my little son ! ' How white she looked and howwearvl She laid her fingei- on her lij), and looked at the curly black head on her knee. Roger closed tlio door softly, and went back to his scat on ti2>toe. ' I think, missy,' he said, ' it won't be long before the Everlasting Arms are put round her. Sunday Reading for the Young. 127 to soothe her gently to sleep, as she do the little 'un; ' Is she dying, Eoger?' asked Bryda, in an awe-stricken voice. ' Ay,' answered the carpenter wiping his spectacles, which had snddenly grown dim. ' That little black head '11 not long have a mother to lean against ; though she'll want for''nothing as I can get her, and Doctor he sent her full two phits o' stuff, all for nothing. But he shook his head, he did, and I know what he means by that only too well ; he did it to my Liz iive-and- tweuty year ago, come jMarch next.' Bryda felt very sorrowful. Her own mother had gone to India, but then she wrote letters, nice long ones, everj' week. And she would come back. But poor Beppo would liave no letter from his mother if once she went away, as .she knew lioger's loved wife Liz had done, for there was an old gravestone by the old church door with that one little word roughly cut upon it — ' Liz.' And on it last Sunday she had seen the old man lay a bunch of fresh flowers, as he 2)assed in to pray. ' Will you share your riches with her, Roger — that money you told mo you had stored away T she asked. ' My hid treasure, missy ? Ah, that I will \ There's so much o' tliat — ah, so much I — that I might share it wi' every soul as passed tlie door and he none the worse oft' mysel'.' ' You won't want it in your palace, will you ? Or is there more of it there? Chests and chests of precious things all the palaces in fairy tales have in them. But they are only nian, B is a baby Without any shoes ; When he touches the ground His balance he'll lose. Babies all three, Brimful of glee. Between you and me. The game's ABC. S. A. C. If MIXED PICKLES. (Continued from page 127.) 1) OGER, are all the King's sons as rich as JL \j you are ? and his daughters ? or are you the eldest'?' ' There's enough for all alike, missy. No one's too rich or too poor in our Father's house. But our Elder Brother, missy, there's none like Him — none. The only wonder is as He isn't ashamed of His sisters and brothers, so far as He is above them, and so much greater than ever since His work was finished.' ' Oh, do tell me about Him ! Oh, nurse don't go on yet, please I' implored Bryda, as nurse came up the little garden-path with hasty step. But nurse would not stay. She always said she ' couldn't abide that old Methody carpenter ;' and the real reason of her dislike was that once before, when she had brought Bryda to stay with the grannies, old Roger had said something she did not cave to hear, because she had helped to 134 Sunday Reading for the Young. spread a cruel miscluef-maldng story about the village. So Bryda left her roll and her pence with Roger, and went on witli nurse. Eryda bad not seen the last of Beppo for that day. There was a private walk through the grounds, which led to the churcli. The grannies could not walk so far, and the old carriage always came to take them to church. But this afternoon, as Bryda was wandering in the garden, it struck her that she would like to take some flowers and put them on the grave of Eoger's dear Liz. It would please the old man to see them there. Bryda, of course, had never seen Liz. ' But I know exactly what she was like,' she told herself. ' She was not very tall, but just nice ; and she had violet eyes and long black lashes, and pretty rosy cheeks — not too red, but pink hke a peach. Oh, I know she was nice ! And she always wore a brown gown and a red handker- chief ciossed on her chest. And I don't wonder Roger loved her. I shoiild too, for she always spoke gently, not like nurse.' So Bryda grew quite fond of the Liz she had thus invented while she gathered her flowers. ' I wonder what flower Liz was like? Cousin Salome says we ought all to be like flowers in God's garden. If we are, I'd rather be like some flowers than others. Here is a tall orange lily. Oh, you great, showy tiling ! how stiff and proud you are ! And I teU you you're not so verij pretty after all,' said Bryda, severely. The orange lily did not seem to mind in the least, but stood up just as proudly as ever. ' You popples, red and white,' went on Bryda, ' you have much nicer manners : you're like ladies who are polite as well, and say nicely, " How do you do, Mr. Jones '? \YiIl you sell nie some chickens, please?" You yellow flowers — I don't know your name — you're very nice till one comes close, and then you smell horrid. I think you are like people who are very polite to strangers, but are nasty and cross at home, and slap when they play games.' ' You, dear roses,' she went on, talking to aU the flowers in turn, ' you are really too lovely 1 But I mustn't put you on Liz's grave, because the grannies don't like you gathered; you are like beautiful la.dles in pictures, who get prettier and prettier if you go on looldng at them. ' Here are pansies — heart's-ease, nurse calls- them. That is the right flower for Liz I She was so gentle, and good, and kind, that she made evei-y one happy. If you fell down and were hurt, or if you had that horrid ache all over, that comes of being naughty or unhappy, and you told Liz, she would make you all right in no time. She shall have heart's - ease on her- grave and nothing else, ex- cept a little mignonette, for that is quiet and sweet like she was.' So Bryda twisted up a pretty wreath of heart's- ease and mignonette, tO' take to the grave of this Liz, whose looks and cha- racter you see she had in- vented for herself, for you know if the carpenter was. really a prince in disguise, of course his wife and daughter were princesses. Bryda would take the first possible chance of asking old Roger more about his Brother and about the palace, and if he would not be sorry that Liz could never go there with him. Meanwhile she set off down the pretty shrubbery walk with her simple little wreath to lay on the princess's grave. ' Xo one would call her Princess Liz. I sup- pose she was Princess Elizabeth,' she said to- herself. [To he continued.) INNOCEJNCE. Innocence is like polished armour — it adonis even while it protects. Sunday Reading for the Young. 135 ONLY A HALFPENNT ! ?E was but a crossing-sweeper, poor fellow I Who could be expected to take notice of him? No coat or hat, a few tattered garments, and a wretched, half- worn broom — these were all his worldly possessions. Yet, that quiet Sunday evening, when none were thinking of him, a figure crept softly up to the open church door, and from the dark shadow outside peered in at the kneeling worshipjiers. What was it ? Curiosity ? awe ? devotion ? fear ? A mixture of all, perhaps ; and yet it was a halfpenny did it — only a halfpenny I The curate of St. Mark's had passed his crossing the day before, and had spoken to him. ' Will you come to our school, lad, if I give you a ticket ? What ? no clothes ? Never mind, perhjips we may find a way out of that difficulty if you come, and we'll try and teach you what is right and good. Think it over, and come.' And as he reached the pavement a halfpenny dropped into the boy's hand. He knew the gentleman, he was curate at St. Mark's. This Sunday evening he has a look at them through the open door. Next Sunday — who knows ? — he may find his way to school. One kind word has done its work already, and a half- penny — only a halfpenny is not much, but it may work wonders if God blesses it. And about that crossing-sweeper ; who knows ? His was a hard lot, though a common story enough. Almost before he knew the meaning of those loving words, father or mother, the lad was a waif and a sti'ay at ten years old, with all the battle of life before him, and not one friend to watch over him. Yes ! stay, Sammy had one Friend, who never fails to know and to see. God was watching over him, though he knew it not. A loving Father it was who ordered it that the curate should pass Sam's way, and sow the little seed which was to tear fruit. Sam stood at the half-open door, and peeped in ; there was an air of comfort in the well- lighted church that was tempting enough, but he dared not go in. ' Fancy,' thought he, ' what the grand folks would say to me if they saw me, the crossing- boy, walking into their dmrch with bare feet and a broom I' But though he did not go in, he stayed there outside to listen, and listen he did ; he could hear some of the prayers, tliough he did not understand them ; he liked the organ and the sound of many voices in tlie beautiful hynm, though it was the music and not the words that reached his heart; and then the curate's clear voice — very sharp and clear — came down the vaulted church, and Sam felt drawn in a mysterious way which he could not explain, but which clearly moved him, towards that young man, who could be so grand and clever amongst the rich people, and yet' had a thought and a halfpenny to spare for him. Monday afternoon, at the old crossing, tlie curate passed again ; this time he nodded. ' Well, lad, coming to school ? I hope so.' An- other nod — no halfpenny. He was not going to bribe the boy. Wednesday morning he came tliat way again, this time a friend with him. Sam got only a nod, he was evidently busy. Thursday, no curate came, and Sam missed him. There was a want somewhere. That night as he lay on his rough bed of straw and counted his little hoard of coppers, put away in a chink in the floor, Sam was counting the cost of an important stej) — becoming a scholar in St. Mark's Sunday School, and the necessary pur- chase of a pair of boots to that end. Friday came, and he could not rest. The crossing for once was neglected, and Sam. marched along in the dii-ection of St. Mark's, with his broom over his shoulder, a thoughtful expression on his jiinched face, and an eager longing to see the curate. Once again he peeped in at the open door, this time of an empty church. No ; a woman was there, busy at work dusting the cushions and chairs. Sam j)hicked up courage to enter. Mi's. Meekin looked up from her work and saw him. ' What is it, lad ? Are you looking for the clergyman ? ' ' I want to see tlie gentleman who preached last Sundajr,' timidly answered he. ' I can't tell when he may be down here. You'd better go to the schools and find him there,' she replied. ' You go and ask for the curate, and ' 'Who wants me?' said a quiet vojce behind them. (To U conHnued.) 136 Sunday Reading for the Young. Was it Curiosity, or Fear ? SUNDA V ReADIAG FOR THE Yo UNO. 137- Anxious Expectation. T 08 Sunday Reading for the Young. ONLY A HALFPENNY 1 (Coiitimwd from page 135.) HERE was no mistaking the voice, and they turned, quite startled, to see the curate himself. ' Why, it's my young friend in the street I You want me ? Well, come along,' and he led the way into the vestry, and listened to Sam's stammering story, as he said how he would like to come to school to learn, hut had no money to pay, scarcely enough to buy a pair of boots to make him decent as to his feet. The clergyman heard him to the end, the glad 3ook on his face deepening as the boy went on. ' You have done well, my boy ; better than I should have thought. God helps those who ■do their best to help themselves, and we must try and cojiy Him in His dealings. You have given me much to think of, but you may come,' he added, as he wrote something on a piece of paper ; ' you may come to me to-night to this address, and then I'll tell you what I have managed about the school.' Sammy's heart was very light as he trudged along after dark to his ajjpointment ; he felt quite important, and all day long at the crossing he had been constantly feeling in his poor old waistcoat-jjocket if the piece of paper was quite safe. He was evidently expected at the curate's lodgings. An elderly woman, with a pleasant motherly look on her face, opened the door. She knew who he wanted before he spoke. ' Come in,' she said ; and, leaving his broom outside against the area-railings, it seemed to Sam as he stepped over the threshold as if he were leaving his old life behind him. It was so, the crossing and the broom went together ; hence- forth he was to touch neither aa;ain. The next morning's sun rose bright and clear over the calm, blue waters of the Solent, and the wooded heights of the Hampshire Coast. The sea was as still as a mill-pond, its surface dotted over with the sails of the yachts that spread .their white wings like gulls in everj' direction. On the pier at Kyde, in the Isle of Wight, sat a lad in sailor costume, and every now and again he got up and paced to and fro with an im- patient air, eagerly scanning the opposite coast and the movements of a j'acht in the distance. ' I wish they would come,' he said to himself. ' How late they are 1 and the Gazelle seems as lazy as the rest.' Presently he was joined by a lady and two bright-looking girls. ' No signs of them yet, mother I What can have kept them?' ' We cannot tell, Arthur dear. Your father was not certain what he would have to do when he was suddenly called to London, but his letter tells us all is well, and that we may expect him to-day, so you must curb your impatience for awhile.' (To ie continued.) MIXED PICKLES. {Continued from page 135.) CHAP. X. BEPPO'S FRIEND. WAY went Miss Bryda, with her head full of Liz and her charms, the flowers in her hand, to the churchyard. -^ ^ jp-^ It was peaceful there in the "piyM ~ quiet September sunshine, and Bi\dT felt sorry to think that the dead people could not see how pretty their quiet resting- place looked. It was a large churchyard, with some old vaults, and white crosses over newer graves ; indeed, many generations of old and young were asleep there. It was a citj' of rest, with the gray old church for its temple in the middle ; and its streets were mossy paths, as unlike as possible to the great, noisy, restless streets of the big towns of the living. Bryda put her green wi'eath with its purple and yellow stars on the humble grave, where there was no grand inscription like that to Sir Jocelyn de Wraymont close by, with all his virtues in capital letters after his name ; but only that one word 'Liz.' Then she went and tried the door of the old church. It was open ; the vicar never allowed the building to be closed, unless there was some urgent reason, so that any one who wanted to think or to pray quietly might come in there. At first the village people thought this an odd idea, but after a little time, first Sunday Reading for the Young. 139 one and then another found out this qniet refuge and slipped in. There was always service moniiug and evening for those who conld spare time to attend ; and though the worshippers were alwaj's few, yet, as the vicar said, ' they could pray for everybody, and the Father was so gracious, that if oaly two or three were met together it would please Him.' When Bryda went in there was nohody in the building but an old man, who had just risen and was going out on tip-toe, with the sunshine from a painted window on his bent, white head. Bryda felt sorry for him, he seemed so old and feeble : she would have been still more sorry had she known that it was the evil doing of his two sons, and even of his daughter, for he was Moll Dawsou's old father, that made him look old- and bent before his time ; sounds of quarrelling were so often heard from the uncomfortable cot- tage he called home, that he often escaped to the quiet church. There he would sit by the hour, sometimes with tears rolling slowly down his furrowed cheeks, and then go home very weary, for when we are young we are not much the worse for ' a good cry,' but old people's tears are few and bitter. Bryda watched this old man go out, and then stood still, wondering whether she should go in herself, when her attention was attracted by a low sound, like that of some one sobbing quietly. She listened ; the sound stopped a moment, then began again. It was certainly some one crying, and for a moment she felt half I'rightened, for she could not .see any one. Then a better thought came. Perhaps she could try and comfort some one who was un- happy, and that might be a little hit of the 'Lord's work.' She had once heard her mother say that a child was sometimes the best of all earthly comforters. So very quietly she stole up the side-aisle, and there, behind a pillar, she found — Beppo '. Yes, poor little Beppo I Crouched on the ground, half kneeling, leaning against the cold ]iillar, the poor child with passionate sobs seemed to be pouring out all his heart. His great black eyes were fixed on a beautiful painted window opposite. This window had been put in to the memoiy of a very good and charitable j'oung lady, whose early death had been deeply mourned by every one who knew her, and it showed a lovely figure, with angel's Avings, and a face of pit}', gently raising a sick child, and looking at him tenderly. Poor little Beppo, alone and lonely, had crept into the church, and gazing long on the beautiful window had presently thought the kind face was watching him with pity. He was in bitter grief for his dearly-loved mother had been trying to tell him she would soon go away never to return. She had suc- ceeded only too well, for the poor child, when at last he understood, brushing past land old Roger, rushed fronr the house to the church where he could be alone. In his own countrj' the church is a refuge for the sorrowful, always open for any one who will enter, so in this strange land he naturally sought the old gray building. Poor little boy I he was very young and very ignorant, and he had been taught to ask for, and to hope for, the help of saints and angels. The doctor coidd do little for his mother ; Roger, kind as he was, could not save her ; and poor little Beppo, wild with grief, and in the midst of strangers who could scarcely understand what he said, threw himself before this lovely figure- in the window, and thoiight that at last he had found a friend to help him. All this Bryda learned, but really it wasrather difficult. She could not ' make up' Italian that Beppo would understand, in the easy Avay in which she and Maurice Grey made up Latin to talk to each other when they played at Charon's boat. Then Beppo's English was very odd, and his- story was so often interrupted by sobs, that quite a long time had passed before the little comforter was able to make out the youngei- child's trouble, and to understand that lie had been talking to the angel in the beautiful window when she found him. Little Bryda was sadly puzzled. How was she to comfort Beppo ? What could she say ? She could not tell him to hope his mother would get better. That the doctor said could never be. Could she conjfort Bejipo with a lie ? No, never I She could not say the angel would do the poor dying woman good. The angel was very beautiful, but after all she was only made of glass and paint. 140 Sunday Reading for the Young. So, after looking sadly at Beppo's tear-stained face and little drooping figure, all she could say was, — ' Oh, Beppo I I am so sorry I ' And with that she threw her arms round him, and together the two children cried, till Bep2:io's sobs came more gently. This little English girl was sorry because he was unhappy. After all he was not 60 lonely I ' Children I ' said a voice near them, so near that both started and looked up. Bryda sprang to her feet, and held Beppo by the hand, feeling as if they were both likely to be scolded for making the church a place to cry in. But there was no an- ger on the loving, kind face of the old Vicar, who .stood before them, only great '"' pity for whatever trouble had caused these tears. The Good Sheplierd, liis Master, cares as much for the pains of His lambs, as for those of His most prized sheep, and His messenger would give as much care to these two children as to the greatest people in the land. Beckoning them to follow, he went quietly down the aisle and qut into the churchyard ; there, taking a hand of each, he led them to a seat that was placed under a spreading tree among the graves. ' Now tell me all about it,' he said, kindly ; and Bryda forgot to be shy as she looked into his face, and soon told all Beppo's story, while the little boy looked with wide black eyes, that had no tears in them now, I at his new I friends, the old clergy- man and the little girl. ' I see, I see ! ' said Mr. Joyce, for that was the Vicar's name. y 'And now, =-^ Beppo, can you under- stand if I speak English ? because then, if I talk to you, this young lady will understand too.' Beppo nodded his head. {To be continued.) PATHEB'S EETURIT. FAE over the sea. When father comes home. In the morning light, Then that's the nice time ; Dear father sets sail He tosses up baby. Away out of sight, And sings off a rhyme. To catch the bright fish That dart through the sea, And win daily bread For babv and me. With oar on his shoulder, His heart full of glee, He's glad to come home To baby and me. Joanna McKean. TrT^ Sunday Reading for the Young. 141 Father's Return. U2 Sunday Reading for the Young. LEAVES PROM NOBLE LIVES. JOHN HOWAED. N the year 1755 tliere was a ter- rible ■upheaval across the middle of the earth, affecting manj' countries near the equator. North Africa, the West Indies, Spain, and Por- tugal, all felt it, and the greater part of the city of Lisbon was in five short minutes laid in ruins, and 00,000 of its people destroyed. This is laiown in history as the Great Earth- y since the clay -when lie came to ns in a little tiny tiny hamper ; and we all thought him such a funny little ohject — just large enough to fill the palm of a h.--J — as he turned his great c^ss from side to side in a strango ?iome. Yes ; he missed his playmates — his brothers and sisters, and, above all, his mother, »:i.d the games that they played in the straw v.'i; '••x not cuddled down to sleep. And no wonde , for he was only a little puppy, and it was his first journey out into the world since he was born. Never mind, we must be good to him, and make liim love us all. ' And then, who Icnows,' said a child, ' who knows but when he's grown to a big dog he'll save us -from robbers, and prevent the house teing broken into ? ' ' Or perhaps from drowning ?' added another; for we then lived at the seaside, within the sound of the waves as they rolled on the shingly beach. .Years have gone by since then, when there ■was a general half-holiday given for the naming of the dog, and after mTich thought, and more talk in the children's parliament, he was called ' Suleiman the Magnificent,' and dressed and un- dressed in all the finest doU-cloilies that could be found, until his little bones must have ached I am sure. They were children then ; now all are grown up. He was a puppy, a wee little helpless thing ; now an old dog, getting qiiite gray in the muzzle, stately and sedate, and big enough to frighten all strangers away. And, oh 1 how faithful and true 1 ^Yhat honest payment he has given for all the love and care lavished upon him ! — not one day of separation from us in all those years. And never once has he shown temper, or sulked, or done anything but love us all, and watch for us, night and day. Can we ever repay the dear old dog for his fidelity and devotion '? He was only a puppy, when, on the Cambridge railway -platform with cue of the boys, a gentle- man offered twenty pounds for him; many times since then money has been offered, but were he ten times as ugly as he is handsome, I do not think any of us could part with him for gold; he- is one of the family, and in it he must live to the- end. He is true to those beautiful instincts planted in his nature by the loving Creator of all, and a pattern of affection and devotion, even for a dog. How can we ever have unkind thoughts for the dear dumb creatures who minister so mucb to our comfort and happiness 1 how can we bear to beat a cat or dog, or cruelly treat a pony or donkey I They cannot retaliate, nor can they speak, except by their reproachful eyes, to tell us how cowardly it is to be cruel to those dumb creatures that are in our power for good or ill. H. GOD'S ETERNITY. PUPIL in the Institution for the Deaf and Dumb at Paris was- asked to express his idea of the- Eternity of God. Thinking for a moment, he wrote on the slate : — • It is Duration without beginning or It is Existence without bound or dimension. It is Present without Past or Future. It is Youth without infancy or old age. It is Life without birth or deaths It is To-day without yesterday or to-morrow.' Another child, in the same home, on being asked the question, ' Docs God reason ? ' wrote, ' God knows and sees everything. Reasoning implies doubt and uncertainty, therefore God does not reason.' NO BEGGARS ALLOWED. A GRECIAN Genera], Pisistratus by name, when walking through some of his fields, was accosted by several persons who begged his charity — even the smallest coin. ' No ! ' said he ; ' if you want beasts to plough your land, I will lend you some ; if you want land, I will give you some ; if you want seed to- sow your land, I will give it you ; but I will encourage none in idleness.' In a yery short time there were no beggars- to be found. Sunday Reading for the Young. 147 MEMORIES. ^XLY a OTrl of golden liair And tattered ball Lying together, long forgotten ; And that was all. Only a faded flower -bud And fern-leaf small — Scentless, withered, dead, forsa!;en; And that was all. Only a well-loved name or two. Scratched on the wall By little liands, so long ago ; And that was all. Only those scorning worthless things, So very small ; Bnt, oh 1 what heart throbs do they bring Unto us all I Joanna McKean. MIXED PICKLES. {Continued from pa/je HO.) ME. JOYCE went on : ' There was once a little boy, no matter how long ago, ^yllose little sister was very ill — so ill that the doctor said there was no hope that she ■could live many days. Now in the country where these children lived it was always believed that if any mortal could get one leaf from the Tree of Life, that grew in the garden of God, •every illness would be cured at once. Bnt no one had ever tried to get this leaf, because the journey was steep and rough to the gates of the garden, and because an Angel stood there to keep ithe gate and would let no one pass. Bnt this little boy loved his sister so well — as well I think ^as Bepi3o loves his mother.' Beppo's dark eyes fiUed with tears again, and ■tbe Vicar laid a hand gently on his shoulder. ' So well that he could not have loved her more if lie had tried \A-ith all his might. And, when all other hope seemed gone, he said, " I will go, I •vs'ill beg of the Angel at the gate to let me in for •one moment, or to give me a leaf, only one leaf, from the Tree." ' So lie went by the long, rough way, till in the ■golden sunset 'he stood before that great Angel, and trembling made his request. ' " jS'one can enter this garden but those children of the King for whom He has sent, that they may be with Him. I can let no other enter," answered the Angel. ' " But one leaf," prayed the child, " one little 'leaf to cure my sister. The King will not be angry!" ' And as he spoke he could hear, though he -could not see into the garden, the Tree rustling .gently, and the birds among the branches, ■warbling the praises of the King of Glory. ' Only one leaf, and there were so many on the tree 1 " The King, the loving Father, cannot wish that my jjoor little sister should have to suffer so, and then die and leave me all alone '. Have pit}^ upon me, great Angel, it is such a little thing I ask ! " entreated the child. ' But the Angel looked down upon him with deep love and pity in his eyes. '" The King has sent my brother, the Angel of Death, to bring j'our sister to Him. She shall dwell for ever in the light of His smile. If you are allowed to keep her, will yon promise me to take care that she shall never again lie tossing on a sick bed V " ' ''How can I?"' said the child, wondering. " Not even tlie wisest physicians can always heal diseases at once.' "■ Then will yon promise that she shall never be unhappy ? never do wrong, and suffer shame and sorrow? never be cold, hungry, tired? thnt.no one shall speak to her harshly ? " asked the Angel. '" Not if I can help it," answered the child. " But perhaps I could not always make her hapjay, even when I am grown np." ' " Then the world where you want to Icecp her is rather a sad ].ilac3," the Angel said gently. " Now I will open the gate a little, and you shall look in for a moment, and if you still wish it, my child, I will ask myself that yon may have a leaf from the Tree of Life, that j'our sister may stay upon earth with you." ' So the Angel who kept tlie golden gate opened it a very little way, and as the might}' door rolled back for a moment, the child could see into the Land Avhore by the river stands the Tree of Life, and where those who are counted worthy walk 148 Sunday Reading for the Young. for ever in white — where they need no can lie, neither hght of the snn, because the smile cf G )il is the light of that wonderful place, and Hs servants shall serve Him, and no tongue can tell the happiness tliat is theirs for ever and ever.' ' Did the little boy see right into Heaven 'i ' asked Bryda, iu a low tone. ' Oh, do tell us what he saw I ' ' I cannot tell you what he saw,' answered the Vicar ; ' you and I, little Bryd i, have to wait a while, .0 it may be for nie a very little bed at home lay her body, white and still, but he knew that it was only t'.ie dress she had worn in the world. And the child was comforted.' And Beppo was comforted too. As the Vicar spoke, he imagined a country more beautiful than his own Italy, where golden oranges hang in the dark green leaves, and the wonderful blue sea sleeps un ler the blue sky, but where people are tick and sorrowful as they are everywhere in the world. His dear mother would go to that wonderful pi ice, so beautiful that even this wise while, trusting that the Father will in His mercy, for His Son's sake, give us a place there. But this I will tell you, that the child turned towards the beaiitifnl Angel with eyes full of wonder and sur]iri8e. '"I will not ask it now," he said ; "I think there is no friend so Icind as tlie Angel of Death, who seems to us so dreadful. Oh, I wish he would take me, too I " And the Angel answered, — ' " When all the less(jns which the Father desires you to learn in His school, which is called the Earth, are learnt ; when the little piece of His great work that is meant for your hands is finished, then the Angel will come for you too, my child, if only you are faithful." ' And the child turned away and went back under the stars, that were like eyes of angels watching him, back from the golden gates to his home in the world. And as he went a golden ray shot once across his path, and brought a sound of wonderful music, such as he had never heard. And he knew that the golden gates had opened, and his sister had pnsscd in. On a little gentleman could not tell him exactly what it was like. She would never cough, nor be tired nor hungry again I But the bells began to ring for service. ' Come, Beppo, I will take you home,' said Mr. Joyce ; and Bryda said good-bye to both, and went slowly home along the shrubbery path. This has been a sad chapter; but you see there are sad parts even in the lives of children, and if Bryda was not in quite such wild spirits as, usual, she certainly did not feel unhappy that evening, when sitting by Cousin Salome's couch she told her all that had happened. ' Don't you think,' said kind Salome, ' that if you were to bring Beppo here in the afternoon, Bryda, you and I could teach him a little about a better Friend than his angel in the window, a Friend Who can and will help him and Who will never die and leave him, never change and forget him ? ' And Bryda very gladly promised to bring Beppo next day. {To he continued.) Sunday Readjnc for the Young. 149> urus. TAURUS. r I THE month of April wa3 anciently pictured as a a ga ^L^y In one hand he had primroses and violets ii-^J the bull, or celestial sign Taurus, which 1 C L!' I _L yonng man clothed in green, and crowned with \^'^ I a garland of hawthorn buds, intermixed with myrtle. in the other the sun enters on the 19th of the month. The Anglo-Saxons called April Easter month. And as March is esteemed most propitious when dry, so April is most fertile when wet, and hence the old adage, — ' March winds and April showers Bring forth May flowers.' Under the genial showers of April, and the sun's increasing warmth, the buds begin to unfold and burst, and all nature seems to wake up to new life. 150 Sunday Reading for the Young. ONLY A HALFPElfNY! (Continued from page 138.) UST as the sailor - lad wna becoming impatient, the Gos- port steamer, which no one appeared to have noticed, came in s\Yiftly and almost silently, and so cleverly was she nm alongside, and the gangways put down, that almost before they had found out that he was on board Mr. jMassey was on the pier, greeting his wife and children. ' I have been looking out all the morning Jn the other direction,' said Arthur. ' We thought you'd come in the Gazelle — see, she's there,' and he pointed to the yacht that lay, with sails flapping, where he had watched ■eagerly before. ' I thought the steamer quicker, my boy, and I knew you would all like to go out sailing so ;iine a day, so I hastened on, and the Gazelle will stand in for ns at once. Now let us get liome for a few minutes, for I have a surprise for you all.' They walked into the town, to the house that Mr. Massey had take i for the yachting season ; the children Avere delighted at their father's re- turn go soon. He had received a letter only the day before from our friend, the curate of St. Mark's, whom he was always ready to help with counsel and money in all good works, and in whose parish he himself lived when in London. You can guess what the clergyman wanted with Mr. Massey : it was about poor Sam and his future. The two gentlemen met, and from the curate the banker heard the story of the crossing- sweeping lad. ' Now what is to be done with him ? is the main question,' said the first. ' We can clothe him, and bring him to the school ; but we can- 5iot keep him from evil influences, unless we get him employment and a home ; and who will take a lad from the streets ?' ' I will ! ' said the banker. ' You '? No I no 1 Your servants would not have him among them ; and the temptations in such a sudden lifting up would be too much for the poor lad. No 1 iio 1 we must think of some- thing else than that.' ' I have thought of it,' replied the elder man, ' while you have been talking. This is my plan : You procure him some clothes, and get your good housekeeper, IMrs. Brownlow, to act the part of a mother to hira for one night. Give him a bed somewhere. To-morrow I can take him with me, and place him on the Gazelle, where he can do little wrong, if he is vicious ; and my own men will look after him, and keep him straight, if he's right. And if he is the lad j'ou take him to be, your halfpenny will have been the saving of him.' ' And your own good heart,' added the clergy- man aloud; and then, to himself, ' Ah ! if only more of our rich men would carry out the Master's wishes as literally and truly as this one 1' ' Well, good-bye till seven this evening.' And they parted. Sam looked round the curate's little sitting- room with astonishment when the housekeeper showed him in. There was no one in the room, so he was at liberty to feast his eyes on the beautiful books in shelves against the \yall, the splendid chairs Avith leather seats, and handsome carpet, such as he had only seen in shop- windows. Tlie truth was, the room was plainly but well furnished; but to poor Sam, the comfort he saw was magnificence, it was a palace to him. He felt that he must not sit down, it was almost too bad to stand on that beautiful carpet with his bare feet. And while he was thus thinking, the outer door opened and admitted the two gentlemen, whose intentions with regard to Sam have already been told. Mr. JMassey seated himself in an arm-chair and listened, \vhile the clergyman drew out from Sam all his story — all that he knew about himself. The banker was taking the lad's measure, and his eye dwelt with evident satisfaction on the frank and earnest face, as he gave short, but straightforward answers to the questions put. Sam was on his trial; how would he come out of it? [To be continued.) Sunday Reading for the Young. 155 THE THEEE LITTLE PIGS. ALONGr time ago, at a period so remote tliat 110 one knows %oken, in a country far away, on the borders of a forest, where the only dwelling was a woodcutter's cottage, there lived an old mother pig and her three little ones. They had made themselves a comfortable dwelling in the hollow trunk of a great chestnut- tree, and if ever pigs had a merry, pleasant life, these had, for the woodcutter was always at work, and his old wife never ventured into the dark wood that lay beyond and all around their cottage. The forest supplied the roots and vegetables upon which they fed, for, unlike the animals in farmyards, wild pigs are not only cleanly in their habits, but they would refuse to eat the coarse food their domesticated brethren devour so greedily. During the autumn their own chestnut -tree supplied the most luxurious meals, for whenever a breeze rustled through the branches down came showers of big nuts, so ripe that as they touched the ground the husks burst open, and out rolled the crisp, sweet brown fruit. Could little pigs wish for more tempting delicacies V The hole they inhabited, thickly spread with fems and leaves, made a warm and secure dwelling, especially as the entrance was so small, that should an unwelcome visitor, a bear, a wolf, or a fox, approach too near, the old Diother would put her head out of the hole, and opening wide her enormous mouth, would gnasli the enormous tusks it contained, and give so fierce a grunt, that the intruder would take liimself off quicker than he had come. These three happy little pigs were quite pictures of pigs — so fat, so round, and so pink. The eldest was the fattest and the pinkest of the three. He was so round and smooth that it was difficult to tell where his body ended and Lis head began. He was like a tightly stuffed pincushion, with a little nose, a little tail, and four little legs. As for his eyes, they were so small they could scarcely be seen at all. One felt he ought to be called ' Dumpy,' and dumpy lie was. Perhaps on account of being so fat, he was rather lazy, and liked nothing better than to lie in the sun, and let the chestnuts tumble almost into his mouth. The second had longer legs, a longer tail, and a much longer nose. Quite an inquisitive nose, that poked itself into every hole and corner ill came near. The sharp little eyes were always oa the watch for something for the nose to do ; and such restless thoughts were for ever chasing each other through little Peaky-Nose's brain, that unless he had eaten as energetically as he ran, he would speedily have become a mere skeleton of a pig. No sooner did he arrive in one place,, than behold I in a twinkling he was off again to . another. The old mother felt sometimes quite- tired with the energy of her second son. Sometimes, it is true, he might be seen deeply- engaged digging away at some root, but such, sober moods rarely lasted more than a few seconds. Some new thought would enter the active little brain, and then away he would go- with headlong speed, as if his very life depended upon his reaching some distant spot -ftdthin a» given time. Half way there another idea would probably occur to hini, and back he would come, in greater hurry, if possible, than he went, the little legs galloping so fast they could scarcely be seen, and the little tail swinging lilte a, pendulum out of time. It may safely be said, there was not a hole im the neighbourhood that the inquisitive nose had; not visited. Like most curious persons. Peaky -Nose- thought himself wiser than anybody else, and would often remonstrate with his mother about" what he considered her troublesome care in, obliging them to go home before nightfall. ' I very much doubt,' said he, ' whether bears,. wolves, and foxes, are really dangerous animals.. Were we friendly to them,' continued the con- ceited little fellow, ' it is by no means improbable- that we should find them pleasant neighbours- enough. They are aware that we susjiect them, and of course, therefore, they resent our reserved and haughty manners. I cannot but think our dear mother allows herself to feel needless alarm.' ' Well, my dear child,' returned the old pig,. ' so long as I am with you, I consider it my duty to take care of you. When I am gone, and I foresee that time is not far distant,. you will then have to look after yourselves, and can do as you like.' (To 6e continued.) 152 Sunday Reading for the Young. At tl:e eclse of the Forest. SuNDA Y Reading for the Young. 153 " She was just in -time." X 154 Sunday Reading for the Young. THE THREE LITTLE PIGS. (Continued from page 151.) FEW nights after, Pealcy-Nose liaving obstinately lingered in the forest as late as jiossible, vras preparing to trot off to the tree, ^\'hen a cunning old fox, -u-ho had heen watching him for some time with hmrgry eyes, and who only waited for the darkness to seize his prey, made a siidden dart at poor piggy. Pealcy-Nose was, however, too quick for him, and scampered off towards the hole as fast as his legs could carry him. His shrill cries alarmed the old pig. She darted out, made a furious onslaught on the enemy, and was just in time to save her foolish little son from being devoured. Peaky-Nose, however, did not altogether escape, for, quick as he was, the fox caught hold of the flourishing little tail, just as it was about to disappear into the hole, and bit off a piece of it, so there, was poor Peaky-Nose with a great increase of wisdom, but with a sad decrease of tail. Need it be said, that the loss of such an ornament was not only a trial to his feelings but also a severe blow to his pride ? To those who understand pigs, the youngest of the family, Curly-Tail by name, was quite a fascinating creature. He had little gray eyes that twinkled good- naturedly, a little nose that rather turned up, and as for his little tail, it curled so tightly that you woiild have thought one twist more and Curly-Tail's hind legs would be up in the air. The summer and autumn of the year to which our story belongs were imusually sultry. Rain had not fallen fur weeks, and the ground became scorched and cracked from the bm'ning heat of the sun. Even the dew that ^"isited them at niglit could not give sufficient moisture to the little flowers. One by one they faded and died, and even the leaves of the great trees hung drooping from their branches. Dumpy thought the weather very jileasant, the heat made him sleepy, so he half-buried himself amongst the fallen leaves, and ate all the chestnuts that dropped within his reach. Every day he became fatter and more sleepy. Peaky-Nose discovered a small stream whoso waters kej)t him tolerably cool, so he passed his time in exploring its banks, thrusting that in- quisitive nose of his into every hole he could find. One day he put it into a rat's nest, and the rat being at home, and naturally feeling in- dignant at such an intrusion, gave poor Peaky so sharp a bite that he had to run home in a hurrj', and did not forget the pain for many days. However, even this second misfortune did not cure his curiosity nor check his desire to inquire into his neighbour's affairs. So besides the loss of half his tail, and having his nose bitten by the- rat, he got pecked by jackdaws and crows, scratched by cats, and once nearly lost a foot by putting it into a trap that had been set for a. badger. You could always tell where Peaky-Nose had, been, from his habit of tearing at the ground and uprooting plants to see what was underneath them. Though Curly-Tail was very small he had a. great deal of wisdom in his little head, and es- pecially gave proof of it by attending to the- advice of his mother. ' Alas 1 dear child,' said the old pig one day,. ' I feel convinced that I shall be summoned by our chief to join the herd that are now on the other side of the forest. The journey would be much too long and fatiguing for you and your- brothers. Besides, there is the river to cross, and for such young creatures the stream is too rapids You had all better remain here until the spring, when I will return, and in all probabilitj' bring- you some companions. ' Before I leave, however, I am anxious t* see you established in a secure dwelling-place. I fear our old tree is no longer a safe abode- Peaky-Nose, in the course of his researches,, has made so many holes about the roots, that I cannot but think their strength has been greatly lessened. ' This sultry weather is sure to be followed hy severe storms, and I doubt whether the old chestnut will survive a heavy gale of wind. The ground around it is cracking in various- places, and last night I heard such ominous noises that my heart misgives me as to youi- safety. ' My advice is, that you make a snug little- house amongst that heap of stones. AYe could Sunday Reading for the Young. 155 so arrange tliem that you would te protected not only from storms but also from tlie attacks of our enemies. ' I am told that the wicked old fox who bit off Peaky-Nose's tail has come to live very near us ■ — on the hill near the woodman's cottage. Of all the cunning foxes I have ever met with, he is the most deceitful and the most daring. I camiot but feel anxious, for I fear any advice I may give them will be thrown away upon your brothers, for they both think they know better than I do.' The result showed that her fears were correct. "VAlien the old pig spoke to Dumpy, he was so nearly asleep that lie merely turned himself round amongst the leaves, jfawned several times, and then said in a drowsy voice, ' Thank you, mother, for your kind offer, but I am so com- fortable that I think I will stay where I am. There is plenty to eat here, and I dare — say — the — fox — will — not — come.' The last words were very nearly inaudible, and were scarcely spoken before Dumpy was again fast asleep. As for Peaky-Nose, he protested he saw no necessity for taking such exceeding trouble. ' I have satisfied myself,' said he, 'after careful examination, that there is nothing more soothing to the skin of a pig than mud. It is cool in summer and warm in winter. I have resolved, therefore, to make myself a dwelling of mud, into which I can creep and close the entrance, should I find occasion to do so. Such a house is so easily made, that I shall be able to change my lodging whenever I may wish to do so.' Finding the two eldest pigs required no help, the mother and Curly-Tail set to work amongst the stones, and in a short time they had made the snuggest Httle place that ever was seen. There was a nice little door, and a nice little window, and even a nice little chimney in case it should ever be advisable to make a fire. The new house was scarcely finished ere the summons to the old pig came. It made her very sad to go, but delay was impossible. She' was boimd to obey the orders of her chief, so she prepared to leave her young ones, and set forth on her long journey. Before she went she gave them much good advice, and especially warned them to beware of the cunning fox. (To lie coritimied.) THE SHEPHERD OF q4 SALISBURY PLAIN. AVID SAUNDEES, who is the original of Hannah More's beautiful Sheplierd of Salis- bury Plain, once gave the fol- lowing account of himself to a gentleman who visited him : — ' Thanks to God I through His mercy I learned to read when I was a boy. I believe there is no day, for the last thirty years, that I have not peeped at my Bible. ' If I can't find time to read a chapter, I defy any one to say I can't find time to read a verse ; and a single text, well followed and put in practice every day, would make no bad figure at the year's end ; 365 texts, without the loss of a moment's time, would make a pretty stock, a little golden treasury, as one may say, from New-year's Day to New-year's Day ; and if children were brought up to it, they would come to look for their text as naturally as they do for their breakfast. ' I can say the greater part of the Bible by heart. I have led a very lonely hfe, and often, have had but little to eat, but my Bible has been meat, drink, and company to me ; and when want and trouble have come upon me, I don't know what I should have done, if I had not had His promises in this Book for my com- fort and support.' PROVERBS OLD AND NEW. A MAN in a passion rides a horse that runs away with him. — Anger punishes itself. A SON'S DEVOTION. HISTORY tells us that the guard of Pomponius, having determined to re- volt, fled by a certain way to Cinna, his enemy. His son, who afterwards became Pompey the Great, having heard of this, went in haste, cast himself on the ground before the soldiers, and declared that they should not revolt without treading him to pieces. He was a great favourite with the army, and this action was the means of turning them from their purpose, so that they returned to their duty. 15G SuNDA Y Reading for the Young. EVERYTHING HAS SOMETHING. THE snail slie lias her little lioiise ; A soft, warm skin lias clothed the mouse ; The sparrow she has feathers light The butterfly has wings so bright. The eagle he has pinions strong ; The fish has fins to swim along ; The little plant has flowers so fair; The flower itself has perfume rare. Sunday Reading for the Young. 157 A TEXT TO COLOUR. 158 Sunday Reading for the Young. MIXED PICKLES. (Continued from page 148.) CnATTER XI. DREADFl'LLY FRIGHTENED. vISS BRYDA; said Uncle Jnclc at breakfast next morning, ' if you Ivnow what I know yon wouki be a good deal wiser than you are now.' ' I dare say I should, Uncle Jack,' answered Bryda, poutin pose you mean if I knew all the dates of all the Norman Kings, and could speak French with- out any mistakes, and — and — several other things.' ' Such as how many teans make five ? and that useful kind of thing to know, I sup- pose ? But if I were a little girl, and any one told me the very nice piece of news which I •Jhiuk I had better not tell you, why, I should really and trulj', I do believe, be obliged to get up and give the person a kiss. Espe- cially if he was young and very handsome I' added Uncle Jack, twirling his moustache, and looking very seriously at his niece. Evidently the only chance of getting this news was to get up and give him a kiss, which Bryda did, and both she and Uncle Jack were promptly scolded by grandmother, who said that in her young days' she used to sit still at breakfast till every one had finished. Uncle Jack begged her pardon at once, very politely indeed, and then told Bryda his piece of news. ' I know a field, a very little way off, where there is a hedge simply crawling vith black- berries.' Grandmother was a little deaf, so she did not hear what he said quite rightly, and with a little scream she said, — ' Crawling with black -beetles ! Oh, John I for ]iity's sake have them all killed at once!' ' I will, mother dear, and they yhiill be ma savage foe came near the tree. Sunday Reading for the Young. IGS^ TLe "tliree little pigs were therefore very happy, ■sacli in his own waj^, and each thought, ' I really znust lie very clever, all goes so well.' At last, as the old pig had foreseen, a sudden •change of weather took place. Tlie sun ceased 4o shine ; dark lowering clouds ohscured his rays. 'Then the forest hegan to moan, m answer to the autumnal gales, and soon the equinoctial storms .-arrived in all their dread magnificence. The wind howled through the trees, tearing off great branches, and scattering the leaves far and wide. Even the mighty oaks, those monarchs of the wood, had to bend before the terrible strength ■of the blast. The tempest one night reached its height, ^nd on every side ^-esounded the crash of falling ^;rees; at last there came a heavy blow that .seemed to shake the very earth, a great bolt of fire rent the forest, and lighting on the grand old chestnut, the noble tree was riven into many pieces in an instant, and fell in ruin upon the :gronnd. The terror of the poor little pigs may be imagined. They were so frightened that they ■could only run round and round. Tliey never thought why they ran ; they never thought -why they went so fast. Lucidly for them, the storm had kept even the beasts of prey in their dens, otherwise they would certainly have been ■eaten. The next day, however, they were more composed, and though they were very grieved to have lost their comfortable tree, they set to "work to settle themselves in a new home. Directly his fright was over, Dumpy felt QBore hungry and more sleepy than ever, and he had no sooner made a good meal of chestnuts -than he rolled himself up in the nearest heap of leaves, and was fast asleep. Peaky-Nose repaired to his stream, which had been much swollen by the rush of water. The banks in several places had been washed away by the violence of the torrent, so he found many new holes and crevices, which he set him- self to explore with his accustomed diligence. Mud there was also in abundance, with which he speedily made himself a dwelling that he -thought admirable. Curly-Tail, to his great satisfaction, found that his house was none the worse for the storm. The stones were so big, and had been so well put together, that neither rain nor wind had done them any injury ; and when the owner went in he felt himself as comfortable and ealo as a pig could wish to be. In the meantime, the crafty old fox LaJ not forgotten the nice little pigs who lived dcWB in the forest. Whilst the old mother was there he had not dared go near them again. Her great tusks were too alarming. An expedition against a distant hen-house had also occupied him for some days. His delight was great when he learnt on his return home that the old pig had gone away ' Now is the time for me,' said the fox to himself. ' I dare say these three little pigs are as silly and conceited as most yomrg thmgs are. The very thought makes me hungry. It is so long since I have had a really good supper that I am convinced I am growing thin.' One evening he trotted through the forest, severely frightening an old woman who was gathering sticks to light her fire, and creeping cautiously through the bushes, he stole up to the place where Dumpy, who had as usual indulged in a too plentifid meal, was sleeping soundly beneath the heap of leaves with which he had covered himself. Before he knew where he was — before he had time to utter more than one sharp cry — the fox was upon him, and had fastened his sharp fangs in the j)oor siUy little pig's throat. In a very short time Dumpy was dead, and his foe was eating him for supper. Some good people will say, ' How cruel ! better not relate such things.' But then we must be true in -wi-iting stories of wild animals, and the fox was acting only after Ins natural instincts. Having once found out how very nice these pigs were, he could not rest until he had tasted another; so, not long after poor Dumpy's sad end, Mr. Fox went down the hill again on a similar errand. Peaky-Nose, however, was not going to be so easy a prey as his brother had been. He had piled up such a quantity of mud that he had made himself quite a strong house, and it was not possible to get at him. In vain the fox bit and scratched at the walls. They were too strong to be torn dov\'n in that way, so the fox had to go back as hungry as ha came. [To u continticd.) 164 Sunday Reading for the Youag. On the eds'e of the Forest. Sunday Reading for the Young. 16& MIXED PICKLES, (Contmmd from X'a3e 159.) LEFT alone, tlie two children were happy enough, and their tongues wagged very fast indeed. Beppo told his little companion about his own country, where oranges, hanging on dark green trees, might be had for the trouble of gathering ; and about beautiful vineyards, mth clusters of white and purple grapes, and the merr3', merry vintage - time. Ah I if they could go back to Italy again, he was sure his dear, dear mother would be quite well again ! His father was dead, and the mother grew poorer and poorer in her own country, and at last she dreamt night after night that if she would go north to England she would be able to get money for herself and her boy, and come home quite rich. But it was not so ; peoi^le did not seem to like barrel-organs much, and the little money his mother had, 'had all gone to buy this instniment. Often they had been sent from houses with angry words ; often they had nowhere to sleep ; often they had nothing to eat. Bryda had never known real hunger. She had Imown how pleasant it was to come in tired and hungry after a long expedition, and how delicious- bread-and-butter tasted then, and jam I but to ache with hunger, and, when ready to faint, not have any food, how terrible that must be ! But very soon both Bryda and Beppo forgot that there ever had been any troubles in the world, they were so busy and so happy with the blackberries. What a dehghtful amusement blackberry- hunting is ! To see the basket filling fast with the fat, sweet, well-flavoured berries ; to eat one after another, because this one is crushed or that one is too nice to part with, or a third may have a different flavour since it grows on another hush — how nice it is ! We eat, and chatter, and eat again, till fingers and mouths are stained a dark red colour ; and how we laugh and make fun I Only one thing vexes us — that is, that the very nicest, finest fel- lows always ^oill grow right up at the top of the hedge, just out of reach even of our longest stick ! They would be so nice ; but very often, after straggling a good deal, scratch- ing faces and hands, and get- ting wet feet by slipping into the ditch, we have to give it lip and own ourselves beaten, we have generally quite enough for the jam or the puddings we want to make, and in great triumj)h we go home, each boasting of having gathered most ! So Bryda aijd Beppo amused themselves, and wandered on at last to the other end of the field. Here there was a gate leading into another field, where was a very high hedge with what seemed to the children the best blackberries they had seen. In a moment they were through the bars of the high gate and in the field. Just as they entered it a loud shout came from before them. Never mind I 16G Sunday Reading for the Young. and Bryda, looking across the field, saw the terrible Moll Dawson -waving her hands and shouting to them. Terrified, she caught Beppo's hand, and dragged him further into the field. On the side where the blackberries were, there were also some trees, and bej'ond was a little wood. They might hide in this and be safe. If Moll Dawson foimd them, what would she not do ? She might take all their blackberries. She jmight ill-treat them in some dreadful way. She was so big and strong, and there was no Jielp near. What might she not do ? So Bryda and her companion, poor Beppo ! '%vho was frightened because she was frightened — though he did not in the least know why— ■these two fled further into the field, while Moll Dawson still beckoned and called. Bryda, seeing that the girl did not come into the field, took courage a little, and looked about her. Oh, terror 1 if she was frightened before, she was now, as if rooted to the ground with fear. Sullenly coming towards the poor children, sniffing violently as he came, and glaring at "them with wicked eyes, was an immense bull ! ' Rim, Beppo 1 ' screamed Bryda. Beppo looked at her a moment. ' Run 1 I am coming 1 ' she cried ; and Beppo was off like the wind towards •the gate where Moll Dawson beckoned. Bryda, looking round a moment, saw a great board, with ' Beware of the Bull 1 ' nailed against a tree in the middle of the field. Only for a moment she looked. Was there any hope of her being able to climb a tree ? Which gate was nearest ? The dreadful animal ■was some little way off. If Bryda ran with Beppo she might escape. In a second she was off; but, alas I alas I the bull was after her. He came on bellowing and roaring. Beppo was safe. He reached the gate before Bryda ; but she, rushing half-blind with terror, tripped as the fierce animal was close behind her, and, with a wild shriek, fell flat on her face a yard or two from the gate I (To he continued.) TRUTH. TRUTH is like a sohd cube : no matter bow it is thrown, it is sure to fall and to stand ■fu'm. ONLY A HALPPEWNT! (Continued from page 150.) OD was watching over Sam. The ques- tions ended, Sam's new - found friend paused a moment, and then addressing the boy, said- — ,, ' Now, Sam, I told you I would see what I conld do for you, and I will tell you my plan. Yon wish to learn, and I am sure you would like to be helped to get aa honest hving, in a better way than, sweeping a crossing. Instead, then, of taking you into St. Mark's School, and leaving you still to your garret and your broom, this gentleman will take you into his service, if you are willing; and every chance will be given to you of learning, not only to read and write, but also to get a good character as an industrious and honest boy. Will you go?' Tears stood in Sam's eyes as he faltered out, ' Oh I sir, I can't thank you enough for giving me a chance in life. You shall never regret speaking for me, though you can't tell whether I am honest or ' ' One moment, Sam, before you thank lis, for I am really powerless but for Mr. Massey's kindness. I have not told you what sort of life yours will be — it will be to go on board a small ship, called a yacht; and though not always at sea, if you think you would be afraid, or not like a life on the water, it would not do.' ' I wouldn't mind what it is, sir, but I think I shijuld like the sea best of all ; and I hope I may live to prove my gratitude to you— and to you, sir, too,' turning to Mr. Slassey, and touching the place where his oap would have been. IMr. Massey nodded his head in silent approval, and tapped the ends of his fingers together as he feat ; his smile reassured Sam. The curate rang the bell. 'Mrs. M will give you some clothes, Sunday Reading for the Young. i6r and yoTi can have a good wasli, and see how spruce you can make yourself, and then come to us again.' And the housekeeper appearing at this moment, Sam followed her from the room. ' He will do ! ' said Mr. Massey. ' This is the turning-point in that boy's life. He has an honest face, and with training will soon learn his work; while it will he a delight to us to lead him to the better life, of which he has too probably never heard.' ' It is by far the best for his future welfare, that he should leave for ever his old haunts and those he has known.' Sam looked a different being when he appeared in his new rig-out; and held his head up with an honest, independent air, which made him look half a head taller than he really was. The banker arranged to call for him on the way to the station in the early morning, and took his leave ; and then for an hour the clergy- man tallied to the lad, telling him the simple facts of God's dealings with the world ; speaking of sin and sorrow, and the wonderful story of Him who, though God's Son, came to live on earth to teach men how to live, and died upon the Cross to open the gates of heaven to them. It was all new and strange to the young soul, yet seemed familiar, and as if in the dim past he had heard it before. And when his kind friend taught him what prayer is, and how to pray, and made him kneel with him, while he poured out earnest words and desires for the young soul's welfare, that youthful heart was a-glow with gratitude to God, and his friend, God's servant, of both of whom he knew so little, and of both of whom he longed to know more. The ' good-night ' of the curate, and the pressure of his hand upon the lad's shoulder, vrere no mere formal things ; they were a prayer for His blessing upon what had been begun. 'I have given you enough to think of to-night, Sam ; go to sleep, and trnst yourself with one thought of prayer to the Saviour, who will be your friend through life, if you will let Him I Good-night.' CHAPTER II. . Sam's new life on hoard the Gazelle was a very happy one ; he soon fell into the way of his duties, and learned readily the names and uses of the strange things that belong to a ship, and he soon found a way to evince his gratitude to- Mr. Massey for all he had done for him. All through the summer days the banker and his family were constantly on board the yacht, scarcely a day passed that they did not go for a sail somewhere. And before long it was a settled thing for Sam to go up to the house every morning that was convenient, to receive a lesson in reading and writing from Miss Mabel, who had willingly undertaken the task of teaching him. So liis friend the curate's wish was fulfilled. He did go to school, though not to St. Mark's, and the halfpenny was doing its work well. Sam's busy young life was quite filled, and what with pot-hooks to write, and words of spelling to learn, and the ropes and spars of the yacht to get by heart, he had very little time for looking back, even if he had wished : but this he did not ; he was hapj^y as the day was- long, and made himself so handy and generally useful, that very soon there was nothing coidd go on, on board, without Sam having a hand in it. Especially in the season, when yacht races and regattas were going on, was his usefulness- and honesty jjroved. Mr. Massey kept much company, and the Gazelle was nearly always- filled with friends, to see the racing. (To be continued.) TfllTA'S AFTERNOOH". was at the beautiful Grosser Gar- ten, in Dresden, that little Nina passed her summer afternoon with mother. Dresden is famous for its beau- tiful sights, and mother and father had spent several pleasant weeks there, making holiday-time among the museums, and concerts, and gardens, of the Saxon city; and Nina, too, was haj)py with nurse, for there was always something new to see and hear for the little English child, who delighted more than all in the bands of music everywhere to be hoard. But Fraulein, the nurse, had gone to see some German friends this fine sunny day, so mother and little Nina paid a visit to the Zoological 168 Sunday Reading for the Yolng. Nina's Afternoon in the Gardens. Gardens and beautiful grounds around them, paradise, and Nina was sori'y when the slantmg And Nina was charmed with the birds and rays of the sun gave notice that it was time to animals and flowers. It was almost like a go home to father and tea. SuNDA y Reading for the Young. 1G9 'Tm here! ' z 170 Sunday Reading for the Young. 'I'M HERE.' EOSSING a London West-end street one day ia the bright sunshine, I came sud- denly on a sight that made a lasting- im- pression on my mind. On the steps of a large mansion sat a httle child, looking as if he had wandered far from home and lost his way, only that by his side, and bolt upright, as much as to say, ' Don't be afraid ; I'm here 1' was a dog. There was no mistaking that dog's character. He was an in- dependent fellow, who not only Imew his way home, but if his friend Tommy had lost his ■way he meant to take him back all safe and sound. 'I'm here," was written as plamly as possible on doggie's face, and a perfectly capable guardian he was. As I passed he gave me a look in return for my stare which was intelligent as words ; and I cannot help the belief that he could reason as •well as some of us — a friend to be proud of, and, better still, once a friend always a friend. A STJTTDAY ACEOSTIC. S UMMEB has come, with its sweet wild flowers U nder the hedgerows green ; N eath bracken and fern the dew drop Ues, D azzHng in silver sheen. A way, away to the woods to-day ; Y outh is the time to be blithe and gay. A MAH OF PEACE. E was asked one day how he kept himself from being mixed up in quarrels ? He replied, ' By letting the angry person always liave tke quaiTel to himself.' THE THEEE LITTLE PIGS. {Continued from page 163.) MR. FOX next thought he would try what a little cunning might do, so, knocking gently at the door, and maldng his voice ■ as soft as he could, ' My dear young friend,' he said, ' will you not let me in to say good evening? I have called also to express my regret at that unfortunate little occuiTence about your tail. I was admiring its shape, and the grace with which you waved it ia. the air, when you gave that unlucky start. I tried to detain you, to assure you your alarm was needless, when, somehow, the tail came off. I trust you will accept my apo- logies, and do me the favour of accepting a few hairs from my brush. We shall doubt- less be able to arrange a substitute for that you have lost, and your good taste will ere long set the fashion in tails to all the- learned societies of pigs. We have a charm- ing little select club of animals on my hiU,, and at the next meeting I shall have the- honour of proposing you as a distinguished member. Wo are such near neighbours ; also we might often have a friendly chat together. I was very well acquainted with your dear- brother.' ' Oh, yes 1 ' said the pig from within, ' I am. quite aware you were very well acquainted witli my late dear brother : you devoured him. I do- not desire such friendship as yours. Begone, and trouble me no more.' These words made the fox very angry ; like-^ bad people who tempt others, and try to vic- timise them, he was in a rage when he perceived he was found out. His cmming had been of no avail, so he snapped his sharp teeth viciously together and snarled out, ' Very well I you re- fuse my friendship ; you will not let me in. I now feel it a duty to revenge myself. Wait a little, and you wiU find I shall get hold of you some day.' But as neither cajoling nor angry words could ^ induce Peaky-Nose to open the door, Mr. Fox: had to depart as hungry as he came, and exceed- ingly cross besides. Foxes prefer the night for their expeditions, so Peaky-Nose felt fairly safe during the day, and as he really was a very clever little pig ha , Sunday Reading for the Young. 171 Tesolved to make liis dwelling (as lie thouglit) quite secure. He put more and more mud therefore upon Ids house, and made the door ■smaller and of double strength. It was well he did so, for whenever the night was dark down would come the fox, and prowl round and round the hut, scratching and biting at the walls in the vain hope of finding a weak place. Then the little pig inside would laugh, and say, 'Ha, ha, Mr. Fox! I told you that you should not get in. You see I am cleverer than you. Yoa think yourself very cunning, but you will be IdUed before I am. The hounds are in the forest ; I heard their baying this morning. The hunters will be upon you very soon.' This piece of news rather alarmed the fox. Still he trusted to his o^vn crafty sldll to escaj^e. ' Men are so stupid,' thought he ; ' and so are the hounds. The men gallop along close after the hounds, and the hounds run with their noses close to the ground, and seldom think of using their eyes. Should I be closely pursued I run to the water, and ten to one they never find out where I am. At any rate, if I am only to have a short life I will have a merry one, and eat this j)ig I WILL. The clouds are gathering, we shall have rain soon, and then good-bye to piggy's fine mud hut.' The rain did come, but the mud walls were so thick that even the heavy storms did not shake their strength; but, unhappily, poor Peaky-Nose, "with all his cleverness, had not calculated on the effects of a flood. Higher and higher rose the stream. .The rivulet changed to a river. The fierce yellow waves dashed foaming down the bed of the tor- rent, bringing trunks of trees, and even great stones, in its headlong course. Peaky-Nose lay trembhng in his little house, listening to the threatening roar of the water on one side and to the savage snarls of his deadly enemy on the other. At length, to his hoiTor, he saw a tiny stream trickling across the floor. He knew then his last hour had come. A hole, how- ever small, was fatal to the safety of the entire building. His forebodings were but too well founded. The stream grew rapidly broader and stronger, and a very few minutes after the first drop had entered the walls tottered — ^feU, and there was 130or piggy half-buried under the ruins, and at the mercy of the cruel fox. Peaky-Nose was so bruised and in such pain that he could make no struggle. He saw his enemy preparing to dart upon him, and could make no effort to escape. He could only utter the most ear-jjiercing cries that ever came out of the throat of a pig, and we all know what pigs can do in this way. The fox opened his mouth ; his sharp, white teeth, gleamed in the moonlight. But at that moment, whirling and foaming do\\ai the river, came a great wave, bearing in its headlong course a great mass of wood. A projecting piece caught our little friend. In a second he was carried away by the resistless torrent, throA^^l against the stones, half- choked by the water, but still shrieking lustily. Happily for liim, the stream ran beneath the bank on which Curly-Tail had built his secure home ; and the o^iaier, recognising at once the voice of his beloved brother, hastened to the door to see what could be the matter. To seize Peaky-Nose and drag him up the bank was the work of a moment, but barely had they time to hurry into the house, shut and bar the door, before their enemy was upon them. At first, the fox had been struck with as- tonishment at seeing his supper thus torn, as it were, out of his mouth ; but he did not long remain inactive, and speedily galloping after his prey, arrived at the stone house just in time to see the door shut. In vain he raged and stormed ; hunger and disappointment having made him quite mad with anger. He tore at the walls, yelping, barking, and snarling, until the poor little pigs within were almost dead with terror. At length, wearied with so many useless efforts, he slowly dejDarted, growling viciously to himself, and threatening cruel ■ vengeance against the pigs as soon as he should get at them. How much the little ones mshed the old mother had been with them in such an emer- gency ! However, as wishing was of no use, they must do the best they could for themselves. (Concluded in oxir next.) 172 Sunday Reading for the Young. HOW SOME PEOPLE TRAVEL. EUEOPE. ^ _-" -' ■ A LL our readers laiow how we travel in England,. XJl. where we have our choice of carriages of every description, from the tramcar, holding its twenty or thirty full-grovra passengers, down to the goat's chaise — which we can use if we like, and are small enough. But all countries have not these advantages, and in many the people are wont to get about in a very remark- able manner. In the colder parts of Europe, as in Russia, where there is plenty of snow nearly all the year round, the inhabitants are of necessity compelled to do part of their travelling in sledges, as the snow would cling to any wheeled vehicles and make the work for the horses very hard indeed, if it did not altogether stop their progress. So we have here a party of Russians travelling after this fashion. With three good horses har- nessed to the sledge they glide noiselessly along as far as their carriage is concerned, though the air resounds with the cries of the driver, the cracking of his whip, and the jingling of the hells attached to the harness. Sledge-driving is a most enjoyable way of getting about under favourable circumstances, but it is not so pleasant when the distant howl of the hungiy Sunday Reading for the Young. 173 — or, rather, the trees are so scrubby that they are scarcely worth mentioning. This country is called ' Les Landes,' and here roam great herds of sheep. The district is full of ditches, and partly for this reason and partly because of its flatness, the peasants walk about on great stilts, aided by which it is said they can travel as fast as a horse, and being raised so high they can, of course, overlook a much larger wolves is heard upon the wind ; and it becomes very terrible as the howl grows louder and louder, and the unforttmate occupants of the sledge have to use their firearms against the pack, and some- times sacrifice even some of the horses to the fierce creatures. Occasionally a sledge party is overcome by the wolves, and next day a heap of bones and a torn and dismantled sledge mark the spot where the last terrible fight for life was made. Very touching are the stories of self-sacrifice that come to us from these Russian plains, of those who gave themselves to the wolves in order to save their friends. It was the Lord Jesus who said, ' Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay doAATi his life for his friend.' The Laplander is fond of sledging ; in fact, he is obUged to be fond of it, for he can use no other vehicle. He gets on very well though, with his swift reindeer harnessed to his carriage, the reins tied each around one horn, instead of a bit being used, as is the case where a horse is concerned. The reindeer serves him in every way as a horse, and in fact is even more useful. For it draws his sledge in life, and after death its skin makes a wai'm covering for the sledge or a coat for the owner's back, and boots for his feet, whilst its horns are put to a variety of uses, and its sinews serve him in the place of thread and string. Its flesh, too, is very acceptable to the Laplander, whose keen appetite is made keener stiU by the sharp winds which are constantly blowing. In the south-west comer of France there is a very curious cormtry. It is flat and almost treeless 174 Sunday Reading for the Young. portion of tlie land. Tlie aheplierd in these dis- tricts can'ies a long crutch. When he wslies to stand still, he places this under one arm, draws his stocking and needles from his helt, and goes on Icnitting as calmly as if he were on the groimd instead of being five or six feet ahove it. In strong contrast with this is the gaily- dressed Spaniard with his sister, or, perhaps, his wife, seated behind him on the steed, also decked in gay costume, on their way to one of the holiday festivals common to the sunny south ; and stiU more curious is the mode of travelling in Malta, the island in the Mediterranean Sea, which, though in possession of the Eughsh, retains many foreign customs and ways. There the people go about in extraordinary carriages, which look like gigs tiying to spread themselves. The motion is said to be very like a see-saw, but many of the Maltese gentry prefer this to any other form of carriage. ONLY A HALFPENNY! {Continued from page 167.) Sam was now attached to Mr. Massey's boat, he be- came general messenger between the yacht and the shore. He was a favourite with the men, too, who on spare days might be seen teaching him how to knot and splice a rope, bend on a sail, and do the thousand-and-one things that a sailor oiTght to have at Hs fingers' ends. At the end of each yachting season Mr. Massey and his family left Eyde for their country home, Melton Hall, iu Somerset- shire, and the Gazelle was laid up for the winter. Sam had proved his mettle, and so pleased his employer and benefactor that Mr. Massey determined to take him -nitli them ; and accordingly aiTangements were made that Chapman the butler should have Sam with him, and teach him as much as possible of the duties of the pantry. This was just what Sam most wished, and he looked forward with the greatest pleasure to the country hfe before him, and especially as he would not be separated from the family, to whom he had become attached. It must be remembered that a life on board ship, even on a yacht, throws servants and their masters much more together than life on land, and so Sam and Mr. Massey's children had seen a great deal of each other. The little ones hked Sam because he always did everything they asked him, and the elders, because he was respectful and attentive, and yet always willing to be taught any lesson, and to have his deficiencies and en'ors explained to him. Sea View, the house that Mr. Massey had taken at Eyde for four months, stood some SuNDA Y Reading for the Young. 175 distance back from the sea, but overlooking it — a nice situation, bnt, like all snob bouses, finished rather as if for letting to visitors for the season, than to a permanent resident. The children occupied the upper rooms with the two nurses, and the rest of the family and visitors the bedrooms on the first floor. The evening of the last day of their stay bad come — like all last days it had been a busy one ; there bad been the luggage to clear from the yacht, the packing up at the house, and for Mr. Massey more important matters to attend to, so that the children were all in bed before the family dinner was served ; and Sam was on his way with the last load of trunks that were to come from the Gazelle. The head- nurse had gone out for Mrs. Massey to pay some bills, and Mary the mider-nurse, having seen the little ones safe in bed, was down in the kitchen speaking to cook, who was not going with them on the morrow. It seemed curious to Sam, as he toiled up the steep bill with the two men and their load of luggage, that there should be such a gleam of light from behind the house — the front of Sea View, straight before them, was iu darkness, but behind it appeared to be lighted up in a mysterious way. Suddenly, Sam thought he saw a drift of smoke ; his heart almost stood still ; could it be iire ? The dread almost took from liim the power to move — only for a moment, how- ever. Then he called to the men to make haste to the house, that they would be wanted, and ran on as fast as he could through the front gates, and round to the back. It was but a hundred yards, yet it appeared to him as if he bad been a week running the distance, when, as he reached the back-yard, be saw a volume of smoke rolling from an upper window, and at the same moment a woman screamed ' Fire ! ' from the back of the bouse opposite. ' Fire I fire 1' shouted Sam with all his might, and the cry was taken up, and echoed again and again. The alarm was given. The lad's hesitancy was gone now, he rushed through the outer door and up into the front ball, nearly upset Chapman as he was coming out of the dining-room with a dish in his hand, and burst upon the startled party seated at the dinner-table ' Please, sir, the house is in flames I I saw the reflection coming up the hill, and all the upper rooms will be a-blaze by this time.' There was a cry of agony from all — ' The children. May, Ethel, Wilfred!' Before that cry had reached his ear Sam was half way up the stairs, and before Mr. Massey and bis elder children could collect their senses he was coming down with Wilfred and Baby May, one in each arm. Chapman was by this time rushing up, followed by Mr. Massey : the alarm bad reached the whole house. 'Take these, Chapman, no time to lose; I know where Miss Ethel is, I can reach her.' And he almost dropped the two children into Chapman's arms, and turned back again on the stairs, which were fast filling with stifling smoke. Mr. Massey assisted the butler with the little ones, who appeared too terrified, or rather too nearly suffocated, to scream, and they were soon in safety ; then he ran back to aid Sam in his rescue of the other little girl. The firemen were arriving, the servants in the lower part of the house crying and wringing their hands ; all confusion and distress ; and as Mr. Massey entered, be saw by the anxious faces that Sam bad failed to return. ' Give me a blanket, a table-cloth — anything;' he cried, and while he spoke some one tore the woollen cover from a table, which he wrapped closely round his face and mouth, and ran quickly up the stairs. It was a deadly peril, but then there were two lives in the balance — his own little child, to say nothing of the brave deliverer of his other two. Could it be that God would allow them to perish ? A half-smothered prayer escaped his lips as he cleared the stairs two at a time, and tried to reach the top landing. Twice did be strive to pierce the dense volume of smoke which now rolled through the doorway in a thick mass, twice was he driven back. With a desperate effort and a long breath be made a third attempt, and got through the doorway, with eyes shut and held breath, only to stumble and almost fall over what he knew to be the Iboy. It was a desperate moment, bnt that moment a draught of air hfted back the cloud of smoke, and he saw a little form lying on the floor with Sam's fingers tightly clutched round its arm. [Concluded in our next. ) 176 Sunday Reading for the Young. A Desperate Moment. SuADAY Reading for the Young. 177 Just in Time, A A 178 Sunday Reading for the Young. lifted carry dragged ONLY A HALFPENNY! (Concluded from page 175.) SHO cnn tell tlie father's agony at that moment I It seemed death to the three ; but a father's love is strong, and in that strength Mr. Massey his child from the floor, and nnable to both, grasi:)ed Sam's collar tight and them both towards the free air and open staircase. He reached the head of the stairs in safety, then the firemen met him, and with their aid all reached the open air, where A'^'ilhng hands used every endeavour that medical skill could devise to bring the breath of hfe once more into action. It was long before they succeeded in recovering little Ethel and the brave Sam to consciousness. The other two children were more frightened than hurt — they had been rescued before any injmy was done ; but at these two, even when they did once again open their eyes, the doctor's face looked very grave indeed. ' They must have the utmost care,' he whispered to Mr. Massey ; ' both bad cases. Let us get them to bed as cj[uick as may be.' And a kindly neigh- bour at once offered his house to Mr. Massey, an offer accepted for the two sufferers in the spirit in which it w^as made. For many hours the fire raged, and next morning, wlien the traveUers were to have been starting, their late home was a heap of smoulder- ing embers within four gaunt walls; all their belongings were ashes, Mrs. Massey was prostrate with the shock, and Ethel and Sam in a very critical state. Money may do much, but it cannot bring freedom from danger, and though to Mr. Massey his loss was trifhng as far as the cost of what was burnt went, the danger in which Sam and his little one were caused him the gravest anxiety. He was a good man, a man who really loved God, and so he was not afraid to take his gi-ief to Him and ask for comfort, and comfort came. The sufferers got better, by very slow degrees it is true, but they recovered, and though for many months under the doctor's care, the ill-effects of that dreadful night at length wore off. As soon as possible the whole family moved to Melton Hall, and change of air did much for them all. But what of Sam? How did he bear himself amid all tlie praises showered upon him as soon as he could bear the excitement ? Every one was ready to shal^e him by the hand I But there was one scene between Mr. Massey and his ' lad," as he called Sam now, over which a curtain of silence must be drawn ; it was in the hbrary at Melton some weeks after the family had been settled in there, and though neither Mr. Massey, nor Sam himself, ever spoke of what had passed, or alluded to that interview, it is certain it was one of gratitude on both sides — gi-atitude outspoken, and aclmowledged — and that an understanding and a confidence henceforth existed between them which is rare in real life, though real life abounds with stranger things than fiction. A year passed by, and the crossing-boy is again with the banker's family in their yachting season. This time his position is an altered one, he has been learning navigation under Mr. Lewis, the sailing-master of the Gazelle. Lewis is getting old now, and looks forward to retiring to a snug little cottage beneath the hills at Cowes, and every one tliinks that in three or four more seasons Sam is to be the sailing-master, — who knows? it may be. Meanwhile he manages much on board, and manages with dexterity and success. So cleverly, indeed, that little ever goes wrong. He is a fair scholar now, can read, write, and do arithmetic with a good many, and take an interest in deeper studies, while the curate's parting gift, his pocket Bible, is never far away from him ; perhaps therein lies the secret of his success, for Sam has learnt to ' seek first prin- ciples;' he tries to do what is right, and leave the rest to God. The curate has been Mr. Massey"s visitor once since the fire. ' You must come and stay with us at Melton for a few days,' the banker had said. ' I want you to see w"hat sort of a fellow your bo}^ has grown. You won't know him.' And the curate went, and saw with his ovra eyes to what Sam had gi'own. Many a talk they had, too ; and Sam was en- com'aged to ask questions on matters which had been puzzling him — things far too deep for a common boy, most people w'ould have said; not Sunday Reading for the Young. 179 too deep though for a thinking, earnest soul, striving first to know God's will, and then struggling to do it. The curate of St. Mark's was pleased ; he saw that God had blessed -what he had done, and that for once he had acted wisely in his treatment of the crossing-sweeper, against the dictates of common sense and what is due to societ}', but in exact keeping with the instincts of human kindness, which teach that golden rule of conduct, that we should ' do to others as we ■would they should do unto us.' And it was ' only a balfpemiy began it,' though he knew it not. SiGNA. THE THREE LITTLE PIGS. {Coitcluded from page 171.) PEAKY-NOSE'S narrow escaiDe, and the pain which he was suffering, had quite broken down his courage. He lay on the floor trembUng and silent, and for the first time in his life was ready to take advice. Curly-Tail brought all the power of his sen- sible little brain to consider what was to be done. ' I tell you what it is,' said he, wrinkling up his small nose in a series of anxious puckers, 'thanks to our good mother, the door and win- dows of this house are so strong that the fox might beat against them for years without being able to break them open ; but I am sure I heard him mutter something about a ladder, and I am Tery much afraid he means to try to get in by the chimney. I have a big j>ot here, supjDose we make a fire and set the pot on it full of water? The smoke and the boiling water -will so frighten him that he will not dare venture down.' This was an excellent plan, but, unfortunately, it could not be carried out, for when the pot came to be examined it was found that there was a hole in the side, so that the water ran out as fast as it was poured in. There was nothing to be done but to get a new pot. But this was a service of great danger. Curly-Tail, though he had a very little body, had not only a great deal of sense but a great deal of courage, so he bravely said, ' The fair is still going on in the village at the top of the hUl. I will go there early to-morrow morning and get a new pot. But while I am away. Peaky-Nose, keep a good watch. I must start at dawn, for it is a long way to go, and I do not wish to be out after nightfall. So good night, brother, for I must go to sleep now.' Curly -Tail here crept amongst the straw, and was soon sleeping the happy sleep of all good little pigs. The sun had scarcely risen ere the courageous fellow set forth on his hazardous expedition. He trotted along as fast as his four short legs could carry him, keeping steadily to the path for fear of being tempted to delay. Even some inviting truffle-mounds could not beguile him, though the keen morning air had given him an appetite, and he knew how good and crisp they were. His safety depended upon his being able to get home before nightfall. He arrived at the fair, and bought a nice large pot with a stout cover. Then, dragging his purchase behind him, he started on his journey home. Curly -Tail set off very quickly, but soon found he had overrated his strength. It '^vaa exceedingly hard work, and before half the toil- some way was accomplished he perceived by the lengthening shadows that the day was nearly spent. Alas, for poor piggy 1 By the time he had arrived at the borders of the forest the sun was sinking behind the trees. Great streaks of crimson and gold illumined the sky. The hills- were bathed in a flood of light, and the last bright rays gave a ruddy glow to the upper branches of the trees. But the glorious radiance above only made the gloom of the great wood still more weird and terrible to the poor traveller. He knew that amongst those deep dark shadows lurked danger, and perhaps death for iiim. Before going down into the wood he paused for a few minutes, doubtful whether it would not be wiser to turn back. But the village was now at some distance. The fox had probably by this time left his lair, and he prudently re- flected that such a course would only involve loss of time and increased danger. So he toiled on resolutely, trundling his heavy burden as noiselessly as he could manage, and casting wary looks on every side. It was now very nearly dark ; but he knew he was not far from the edge of the steep hill, below which lay his snug home. 180 Sunday Reading for the Young. Pursued. Sunday Reading for the Young. 181 AN OUTLINE TEXT TO COLOUR. 182 Sunday Reading for the Young. At last lie thoiiglit he could smell the smoke of the fire that Peaky-Nose was so carefulh' to keep burning ; and then, joy 1 he saw a tiny speck of light that could only come through his own little window. Piggy's heart bounded within him with de- light. He felt himself safe, and was on the point of uttering an affectionate squeak, in order to announce to his brother that he was ap- proaching, wlien his quick ear detected a faint rustle amongst the bushes behind him, and then the snap of a dry, broken twig. He turned Cjuickly, and even through the darkness coidd see amongst the leaves a pair of cruel bright eyes. Even in so terrible a moment Curly-Tail re- tained his presence of mind, and his courage did not desert him. Exerting all his remaining strength he rushed madly forward, uttering at the same time, mth a true pig's instinct, the most piercing and heart-rending shrieks. The yells startled every night-bird in the neighbourhood, bats flew wildly round, the owls hooted, the night-jars added their discordant voices to the din, but little cared the fox. He galloped on, feeling sure of his prey, and giving every now and then a savage yelp, as he thought how he would tear and rend poor little piggy, and what an excellent supjxjr he would afterwards make. So unequal a race could not last long. In a very few seconds the unhappy Curly-Tail found himself completely exhausted. Panting and breathless he could neither run nor scream any longer. He stopped, but the pot seemed still inclined to roll on. Suddenly, a brilliant idea flashed through Curly -Tail's brain. No sooner thought of than executed. In an instant he had jumiDed into the pot, prflled close the lid, and downi the pot went, dancing from side to side of the ravine. Bumijing and tumbling it was thrown from rock to rock, but always going down faster than the fox cordd follow. Peaky-Nose, aware by the noise that im- minent danger threatened, was watching with eager anxiety. Scarcely had the pot thumped against the door, than it was quickly but cautiously opened, and in rolled Curly-Tail in her singular con- veyance. The rage of the fox, when he, the craftiest of animals, found himself thus outwitted by a small pig, may be well imagined. Not only did he bite at the stones, but he bit his own legs in his mad fury. Finding, however, that he only hurt himself and not the pigs, he prepared to scale the roof. After many desperate efforts and painful struggles, he at length arrived there, and com- menced throwing volleys of stones down the chimney in order to put out the fire. These, however, did little harm, as they fell into the' pot. Finding this attack of no avail, he then tore off small branches and leaves from the trees close by, and cast them down also, in hopes of thus extinguishing the flames. This might be very cunning, but, like most cunning, it was a very unwise proceeding ; for the wood and leaves being damp, such a. cloud of thick smoke and steam came up the chimney that the fox, who was peeping do-\Air it to ascertain the result of his stratagem, was not only blinded, but was also half-suffocated by the- hot vapour. His head turned dizzy, he lost his balance, tottered, and slipped down the roof, grasping frantically at each stone as he fell. Then rolling over the side of the house, and down the steep^ bank, he pitched head foremost into the river^ and its rapid current bore him swiftly away. Perhaj)s he was drowned, perhaps he reached another country. At any rate he never showed himself in the forest again. The two little pigs- lived ever after very happily. A. S. H. MIXED PICKLES. (Continues, from page 16G.) CHAPTER XII. SOME USE FOE MOLL. ^ LAT on j'our face, and a raging bull coming after you 1 That is a terrible position I It is never wise to run races with a bull, or a horse, or ai greyhound, or anything else that has four legs — except, perhaps, a very fat prize pig, or the kitchen table. What can you, with two legs, do against four legs ? Besides, poor Bryda felt that there was no one to help her ; there was only iMoll Dawson near, of whom she was nearlv as much afraid as she Sunday Reading for the Young. 183 Avas of tlie bull ; and poor little helpless Beppo, whose eyes grew, like those of the dog iii the fairy tale, as big as saucers mth terror ,as he «tood, panting but safe, on the right side of the gate. Stay 1 there was one Friend, to whom Bryda had long ago learnt at her mother's knee to look for help. She had, indeed, never been in any -such danger before, but mother liad, and many a time she had told Bryda of the time of peril when the ship was said to be about to go down •on the broad Atlantic, and no help was near, — no human help, at least. And the chaplain gathered together all who could or would come, and cried to Him Who holds the seas in the hollow of His hand. ' In the midst of life we are in death : of whom may we seek for succour, but of Thee, Lord ? . . . Thou knowest. Lord, the secrets of our hearts ; shut not Thy merciful ears unto our prayer ; but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, lioly and merciful Saviour 1 ' So the chaplaia prayed, and the sea went •down, as once did the waves of GaHlee when the Lord of winds and waves wiled it, and mother •and all the ship-load were saved. And so Bryda cried to the loving Saviour as she fell, and to her, too, came help in the way she least expected. For as the bull with angry red eyes and dreadful sharp horns had nearly reached her, when all hope seemed gone, and she had not strength to try and rise, a shawl deftly ithrown fell right over the furious animal's heacl, maldng liim stop and then turu round, bellowing frantically, as if he meant to ask who dared to interfere in this way with his great will and pleasure, which was to toss an insignificant child. There were plenty of children in the world, pray why should he not toss one if he so pleased ? he seemed to ask. While his majesty was expressing something of this sort very noisilj', a strong hand rather roughly seized the fallen Bryda, picked her up, and dragged her over or through — she never Imew which — the great, strong, five-barred gate, where Beppo stood already, and watched, white with terror, having had time to take breath. Jjryda was not white, she was red-hot and breathless, and it was several seconds before she could collect her scattered wits enough to see the buU tearing the shawl to pieces, with a strong wall and gate between himself and her, and also to see that her preserver was no other than that great object of her terror, Moll Dawson. ' Now then,' said J\Ioll, roughly, as she tried to pinch Bryda's liat into shape again. ' You're a foolish one, you are. Why didn't you stop when you heard me screechin' ?' 'Because — I — because — ' stammered Bryda, who felt she could not tell Moll that the ' screechin' ' had made her run as fast as pos- sible in the other direction from that MoU intended. The girl burst into a loud laugh. ' You're a softy, upon my word 1 So you thought I'd eat yer blackberries and yer blessed selves arter them ! But it was out of the fry in' -pan into the fire this time, and no mistake. Oh, I see ye blushing ! Tell Moll Dawson no stories ; she's too 'cute for the likes o' you.' ' I don't want to teU stories,' said poor Bryda, with tears in her eyes. ' Indeed, indeed I am grateful. That bull would have torn me to pieces, as he is tearing your shawl.' And Bryda turned quite sick at the sight of the great brute stamping on fragments of the shawl, then tearing them afresh with his horns, bellowing all the time as if it was quite an amusement to destroy something. ' I shall ask grannie to give me a new shawl for you, Moll,' said Bryda. ' Don't trouble your head, child ; it's only a 'old rag, bless you. So soon as I can earn a bit o' money I'll have a jacket wi' beads all over like a young lady. Not as that they'll takeme for a lady — not even the boys at the factory. Give me that pretty blue silk handkerchief on. your neck,' went on Moll, with a sudden change of tone. This was a command rather than a request, to judge by the tone in which it was spoken ; but Bryda hesitated a little — mother had given it to her just before she Avent away. The girl, seeing she hesitated, laughed again loud and bitterly — a laugh without merriment. ' Oh I keep your things to yourself I I want none of them I Silk handkerchiefs are not for the likes of me, nor nothin' else that's good — only sharp words and crooked looks.' Here Moll threw herself down on the nearest bank, and tore some white queen- daises to bits. {J!o 1/e continued.) 184 Sunday Reading i-or the Young. THE FOUR SWEET MONTHS "[JIIKST April — she, with mellow showers, Opens the way for early flowers ; Then after her comes smihng May, In a more rich and sweet array. "Next enters June, and hrings us more Gems than those two that went before ; Then lastly July comes, and she Moie wealth hrings ia than all those tliree. Sunday Reading for the Young. 185 SuNDA Y Reading for the Young. JACK TAR'S MATCH. YOUNG fellow, only a mecliaiiic, tut a steady and reapeetatle cha- racter, who was a passenger on hoai'd a vessel on her outward voyage, was shocked by the constant use of bad language a- mongst the crew; and at the breakfast-table he approached the subject with great -care and judgment, and apipealed to the cajatain for j)ermission to try to put an end to the pro- fanity of the sailors, and in doing this with tact he took the best means to reprove the captain for his own sin in this matter. Immediately he went on deck, after breakfast, and saw one of the oldest and most profane among the crew seated on the fore-deck, en- joying his pijae. The young man soon got him into conversation, drew him out, launched him on the story of his own life and adventures, and lured the old fellow into a yarn, after his own heart. Jack is never averse to spinning a yarn, and this Jack spun his ; from a boy, he had lived on the sea, he had seen many a tempest, had voyaged among the Islands of the Pacific and the icebergs of the Northern Seas, had landed missionaries in the far-off Eastern Colonies, and seen the Indians of the Par West on the war- path in their savage life. Proud of his achieve- ments, prouder still of his nautical skill, he at length boasted that he could do anything that could be done by a sailor. ' I doubt it,' said his companion. ' I can,' rephed the tar, ' and will not be out- done : take my word for it.' ' Well, when a sailor passes his word he ought to be believed. I know a sailor who re- solved to stop swearing, and he did so.' ' Ah ! ' said the old sailor, ' now you've anchored me. I'm fast ; but I can do it.' ' I know you can,' answered the passenger, ' and you can anchor all your shipmates' oaths with yours — will you do it? ' Not a word of profanity was heard, at any rate in public, on board the vessel after that; and day by day, as the earnest, honest passenger talked to the sailors one by one, he gained the hearts of them all, and although he was but a striphng beside the giants among the crew, Jack was fain to confess that he had met his match at last. Let aU bad words be anchored at the bottom of the sea. EVERYBODY'S CORIfER. A ROMAN soldier's GEAR. THE old Romans had to carry a very heavy load when in fuU marching trim — much snore than soldiers now-a-days have. Their infantry were armed with breastplates and lielmets ; they carried a sword on each side, that ■on the left much longer than the right, which was not more than a span in length. The select bodyguard of a general were armed with lances and bucklers, and the rest of the phalanx had a spear and shield ; besides which all carried a saw, a spade, and a hatchet, also a cord, a siclde, a chain, and three days' provisions ; so that a Eoman foot-soldier was very little better than a beast of burden wth his marching load, which has been estimated to weigh about 90 lbs. They had to endui-e hard- ness in those days. THE HINDOO'S HONESTY. A TOUCHING story is told in the life of an Indian officer, of the staunch honesty to his principles of a native soldier, a Hindoo of high caste. To make it clear to the little ones, we must explain to them that the Hindoos, by their religion, are divided into castes, and that no one will have anything to do with those of a lower caste — it would be pollution of the most dreadful kind; and thus for a Brahmin or Hindoo to drink out of a cup with a European, or even to take water from the hands of an im- believer, as they would call white men, would be to degrade him at once to the lowest caste, the Pariahs, or outcasts. On one occasion when a wounded Soobahdar of one of the native regiments was lying woimded and nearly dead on the field of battle. Sunday Reading for the Young. 187 one of tlie European officers wlio commanded that day came upon him, faint with thirst and loss of blood, and offered him a drink of water. The poor fellow thought, even in dying, of tlie pollution, and said faintly, ' Aly caste, sir I my caste I ' The officer pressed him to take some, he was suffering so greatly, saj'uig, ' We are alone, no one will see you.' The Soohahdar shook his head, and said, ' God sees me I ' Brave man that he was, he would rather die than betray his principles. TWO LITTLE BUDS. TWO little buds were opening, One was a blossom rare, Pure were its dainty petals, Guarded with loving care. One in a comer blossomed, Where there were few beside ; No one cared for the flower, \Miether it lived or died. Two little hearts were opening, One to a life so fair ; Joy of a loving mother. What did it know of care ? One little heart was lonely, Saddened by poverty, Hungry for love and pity, No one to heed its cry. Two little white-robed angels Wait in the golden land. Two little fragile blossoms. Plucked by the Master's hand. Saved from a world of sorrow. Borne to a Home above. Where the rich and poor are ever One in the Saviour's love. Marian Isabel Hurrell. CHOOSING A HUSBAND. TWO suitors applied to Themistocles for the hand of his daughter : one was very rich, but a coxcomb ; the other a sensible, worthy fellow, but poor. Themistocles wisely preferred the latter, for he said, ' I value a man without riches rather than riches without a man.' MISED PICKLES. [Continued from page 183.) I EKE, take it, Moll I' said' Bryda, as she snatched oiT her handkerchief. ' I am sure you're welcome to it, and 1 'UTT vfctT-suEi anything else I have;' and ^«, ,i«f^^''>^ ^^'^'^ ''' geiitle coaxing way she tied the scarf round Moll Dawson's neck. The rough girl looked more gracious ;- slie bent her neck to try and catch a glimpse of this bit of finery, then looked up at Bryda again. ' You've got a gran, too I I've seen her. Does she beat you often'?' was her next re- mark. Bryda and Beppo both stared open-mouthed at this question. Grandmother would as soon. think of ' Never 1' said Bryda at last, very decidedly. ' I suppose she's Icind, then ? ' Bryda nodded expressivel}'. ' Well, my gran ain't,' pursued poor Moll.. ' Beats us with the poker, for all she pretended, to be so ill and weak when you brought soup o' Sunday, missy. We're a bad lot, we are, all but father ; he'd be good if he could, I know.' ' Oh, Moll I ' said Bryda, answering the girl's miserable tone as much as her words, ' why don't you try and be good '? ' ' I suppose you're good ?' said the girl ; ' it is not hard for such as you to keep straight.' ' Indeed, I'm not good,' cried truthful Bryda,. remembering a great many faults at once. 'I'm so often in mischief or some trouble that Uncle Jack says I live in a jar of mixed pickles. But I do want to be good for all that.' ' So you will some day, when you're a fine- lady. And, I warrant, you're not real bad now. And you'd not be frightened of me any more?'' added MoU, sadly, looldng up at her. ' No, indeed ; Ave'd be fond of you — wouldn't we, Beppo?' said Bryda, eagerly. Beppo nodded and said, ' Yes, yes.' He was- proud of his knowledge of English, such as it was. ' No one's fond of me,' said Moll, still more- sadlv. ' Jim used to be, iu a fashion, but he- 188 Sunday Reading for the Young. ■wouldn't give Lis little finger to aave me from drowning. An' I'm too -vvicked for father to love me — or any one else either.' Bryda's eyes filled watli tears. ' God loves you, Moll,' she whispered gently. But Moll shook her head. ' No, He don't. God Almighty may care for the gentlefolks — seems like it. But He don't care for such as us.' ' Indeed He does,' said Bryda, earnestly, quite sure this time that there was no doubt of what she said being true. ' See how He has cared for Bepj)o and his mother'.' "^^f / '^^^^'^Z ^^&=^ ' Did He tell the old carpenter to be good to them '? ' asked Moll, thoughtfully. ' "VYell, it's not much a poor man like him can do.' ' Oh I he's not a poor man,' burst out Bryda. ' He's a prince really, he told me so. And his Father's a very great King, and will take him to live in a palace some day soon.' ' And he have gold, much gold, hid safe from de tieves,' added Beppo in his broken English. He and Bryda were sitting on the bank now beside Moll Dawson. ' Eh I ' said Moll : ' whoever would Lave thought it'?' ' It's quite true,' said Bryda, and went on to tell all about old Roger's inheritance. She was just going on to tell about his cat, and the funny story of all the cats with excellent ' characters,' when Uncle Jack's voice was heard in the blackberry-field calling her. At this sound Moll Dawson sj^rang up, nodded a hasty farewell, and scrambled through a small breach in the hedge behind, vanishing in a moment, in spite of Bryda's entreaties to her to stay, and let Uncle Jack Lear Low she had saved them. Uncle Jack's cheerful brown face grew very white when he heard the story. ' Say notLing to tlie grannies, Bryda,' he said. ' Not because it is rigLt to have secrets, little maid, , ,y .-, but because grandmotLer is too old and weak to Lear about anything that would frigLten her. But you and I will see what we can do for Moll Daw- son, and we mil ask -y.- lis Cousin Salome's advice. ^''■^M Eh?' ' ~ Poor Moll Dawson I SLe Lad done one good deed tliat day. It was a pity tLat in the afternoon she should do, though not intentionally, some sad harm. Her brother Jim worked as garden -boy with Mr. Seymour (that was the name of Bryda's grand- father). Moll, roaming idly about, met him as he came from work in the evening, and in Ler careless, gossiping way, began to tell Lini all tLat Bryda Lad said about old Roger's store of treasure, which Moll said was money he had hidden away somewhere in his poor little cottage, hke a miser. For Bryda did not yet understand, what is perhaps plain to any one reading this, that the old man, accustomed as he was to live alone, thought so much of the heavenly country where he hoped to go, and of the many mansions in the Father's House, that he talked of them in a way that seemed to the child to mean tilings on earth. So the precious treasure of the love of Christ, and of the hope that is in Him, seemed to little Bryda to be perishing SuNDA Y Reading for the Young. 189 treasures of earth, money, and jewels. And what Bryda had told Moll, Moll repeated, with unprovements of her own, to her bad brother. 'Ah I ah!' said Jim; 'he's a chicken worth plucking — eh, Moll '? A knock on the old boy's head, if he objects, and then share and share alike for you and me.' ' You leave him alone, Jim,' she answered; for the longing to be better was working in the poor girl's darkened mind, even as the Spirit of God rested on the earth when it was ' without form and void.' Christ, Who died for poor Moll, was calling gently, and the hard heart softened a little. 'Boo,' said Jim, with a hideous grimace. ' You're afraid o' being found out. Split on me and tell the police, will you ? Yah, that's like a woman.' ' I'll not have it, Jim,' went on Moll, steadily. ' I'm not afraid, that you know right well : I'm a better tliief than you by a long way, and never was caught yet; but I'll have nought to do with this — nor you either.' ' We'll see,' said Jim, and held his tongue. {To ie continued.) MAPPY SUNDAY AFTERNOONS.— No. III. WHAT DOES THE BIBLE SAY ABOUT THE ARK? An easy Exercise for little learners to write or say from memory. LAZYBOlSrES. WHEN I was yoimg, my brothers and sisters used to call me Lazybones, be- cause I would not get up when called in the morning. There are, no doubt, many thousands of children and young jjeople who are, as I was, lazy and indolent, and slow to see the value of rising early to the duties of the day. I have grown wiser since then, and have learned how many things can be accomplished by getting up early, which would be impossible without it. Many a celebrated man has begun life by being a lazybones. Yes, and would have been lazybones to the end, but for a little bit of moral courage to tackle the failing. Very amusing is Bnffon's account of how he cured himself. Buffon was the celebrated 190 Sunday Reading for the Young. natiiralist wlio wrote many volumes on Natural Hibtory. ' In my youth,' says lie, ' I was very fond of sleep ; it robbed me of a great deal of wry time ; but my servant Joseph helped me at last to overcome it. I promised to give liini a crown every time he could make me get up at six. ' The next morning he did not fail to wake and torment me ; but he received only abirse. ' The day after he did the same, with no better euccess ; and I was obliged to confess at noon that I had lost my time. ' I told Joseph that ho did not know how to manage the business, and that he ought to think CI my promise, and not mind my threats and hard words. ' The day following he employed force ; I begged fur indulgence — I bid him begone — I stormed — but Joseph persisted. ' I was, therefore, obliged to comply, and he ■was rewarded every day for the abuse which he sufi'ered at the moment when I awoke by thanks, accompanied by a crown, which I gave him punctually at noon. ' Ah, yes I I am indebted to poor Joseph for ten or a dozen of the volumes of my work.' This is all very comical, but it shows how lazy even clever jjeople can get, when once they give way to bad habits. And there are plenty of instances of men who ov.re all their success and fame to getting up early : Bishop Burnet, Dr. Paley, Bishop Jewell. hir Matthew Hale — to saj' nothing of Homer, Horace, and Virgil. We might make a long list. Sir Thomas More says, in the preface to one of his books, that he completed it by stealing the time from his sleep and meals. The celebrated Lord Coke divided his time thus, in rhyme : — ' Six hours to sleep — to law's grave study sis ; Four spent in praj'er — the rest to nature fix.' But Sir William Jones mapped out a wiser economy of life's fleeting hours, and amended the famous lawyer's lines : — • ' Seven hours to law — to soothing slumber .seven ; Ten to the world allot — and all to heaven.' PROVERBS OLD ATfD NEW. A woED and a stone let go, cannot be called back. THE ANIMALS OP THE BIBLE', THE ELEPHANT. ' Elephant I so old and vast, Thou a kindly nature hast ; Grave thou art, and strangely ■wisej With observant, serious eyes ; Somewhat in thy brain must be Of an old sagacity. Thou art solemn, wise, and good ; Livest not on streaming blood. Thou, and all thine ancient clan, ■Walked the world ere grief began, Preying not on one another, Nourished by the general mother,. Who gave forests thick and tall, Food and shelter for you all. Elephant ! if thou hadst been. Like the tiger fierce and keen, Like the lion of the brake. Or the deadly rattlesnake, Eavenous as thou art strong, Terror would to thee belong ; And before thy mates and thee All the earth would desert be. But, instead, thou yield'st thy ■will. Tractable, and peaceful still ; Pull of good intent, and mild, As a humble httle child ; Serving with obedience true. Aiding, loving, mourning too ; For each noble sentiment In thy good, great heart is blent ! ' Ifii^HE Elephant is by fsr the larges->! of land animals, and for this rea- son one of the most interesting ;: but even ■without this superiority he possesses qualities that entitle him to rank among the curious- objects of creation. In ages long gone by there were elephants- upon the earth — or animals resembling elephants - — as much larger than the existing species as- these are superior in size to other cpiadrupcds. Such were the mammoths and mastodons, the skeletons of which are occasionally found buried' beneath the surface of the soil in different parts- of the world. The Elephant is not distinctly mentioned ii^L the canonical books of the Bible, but is found as- the marginal reading to Behemoth, in Joo, xl. 15. 'Elephants' teeth' is the marginal reading for ivory, in 1 Kings, x. 22 ; 2 Chrou. ix. 17. Elep)hants, however, are repeatedly mentioned in the Apocryphal books of the Maccabees, wher& Sunday Reading for the Young. 101 ■^■e read that Lysias, wlio liad been intrusted with the government of Sonthern Syi'ia, employed many of these animals in his wars against the Jews. We also read that Antiochus Epiphanes ■entered Egypt with a great multitude, with chariots, and elephants, and horsemen, and a great navy, and made war against Ptolemy, kuig of Egypt (1 Mace. i. 17, 18). Elephants are also mentioned in other passages in the books ■of the Maccabees. In the battles of the ancient world the elephant plays a considerable part; the elephants an army could muster being con- •■sidered an important element in its strength. Many of our young readers will probably remem- l)er how Alexander, in his campaigns in India, w-as opposed by tame elephants, which the natives ihad trained to war ; and the Greeks ultimately introduced these animals into their own armies. The Carthaginians also used them; and Pyrrhus, ■when he attacked the Romans, brought a num- ber of these unwieldy beasts to help him in gain- ing his expected triumph. Elephants were also -exhibited in the Eoman amphitheatre ; and in a magnificent spectacle given by Pompey, the ..general, to the brutal populace, a number of these majestic creatures were driven into the circus, and slain with darts for the amusement of the spectators. As an elephant costs a considerable sum -of money, even in India, they are eagerly hunted ; and their capture is accomplished by inclosing a large space with palisades. Into "this space the natives drive a number of the '■elephants, and there keep the furious captives until famine renders them tractable. In other ■ cases a noose is thrown round the hind leg of the •wild animal ; to this noose is attached a long .rope, the end of which is wound many times 3'ound a tree. The elephant rushes on at a ■ clumsy trot until the rope stops him with a jerk, generally throwing him doAvn. After a time his :Struggles, which are at first frantic, become fainter, and he is quiet from mere exhaustion. Then two tame elephants, trained to the work, are brought upon the scene. They take up their position, -one on each side of the captive, and escort him to his future home. If he should attempt to resist they beat him with their trunks until he submits. Elephants are also used as decoys, to lure the wild elephants into the inclosures made ■by the Cingalese. In captivity the elephant is tame, docile, obedient to his keeper, and ready to exert his huge strength to the utmost in fulfilling the tasks imposed upon him. In confinement, however, he is liable to sudden fits of madness, during which he rages furiously ; and in such cases there is nothing for it but to put an end to his life. Chunee, the elephant in the menagerie at Exeter Change, in London, was thus destroyed, being shot by a file of soldiers when an access of rage rendered him dangerous to all around him. The sagacity of the elephant is very re- markable. He can be trained more highly even than the dog, and is accordingly employed in all kinds of duties. A traveller in India relates how he once saw two elephants, with their trunks covered in leather panoply, employed in pulhng down a wall, while their keepers sat by, urging the sagacious brutes to greater exertion by the promise of food and ghee — a kind of spirit — when their task should be accomplished. The manner in which they perform various tasks is marvel- lous. They seem really to exert almost human reflection and foresight. Thus an elephant will deposit cai-go in a boat in such a way that the balance of the vessel is maintained. It will push a heavy cart, or waggon, or cannon along a road, and pause occasionally to remove obstacles that lie in the way. A 'sense of honour and of shame is also com- mon among elephants ; and a case is Imown in which one of these animals, indignant at hearing an order that he should be sent awaj^ and another set to accomplish a task which seemed too hard for him, renewed his eftbrt with such frantic force that he fractured his skull and fell dead. The tusks or teeth of the elephant are very valuable as an article of commerce. They are six or eight feet long, and rather curved ; one of them sometimes weighs as much as eighty pounds. Solomon was the first Jewish king to introduce ivory into Judea, as he was the first to use it. He had at sea a navy of Tarshish ; once in every tha-ee years it came bringing, among other things, ivory, or, as it is in the Hebrew, 'elephants' teeth.' And we are told that Solomon 'made a great throne of ivory, and overlaid it with pure gold.' Later on, Ahab made for himself a 'house of ivory" — that is, a house ornamented or inlaid with ivory. T. S- 192 SuA-DAY Reading for the Young. A Pvoyal Captive. Sunday Reading for the Young. 193 A poor Dog's Despair. c c 194 Sunday -Reading for the Young. A DOG'S DESPAIR. )APPILY there are very few instances on record of clogs displaying the darker pas- sions, but the following anec- dote was related in a London paper of 1875, and the names and places given as voncliers for its truth. A dog belonging to a gentleman living in the su- burbs of Rochester delibe- rately drowned himself. Ho had been suspected of showing symptoms of madness, and, as a precaution, A\'as kept away from the family and household for some days ; getting loose, he went off to a friend of his master's, where, also, he w-as refused admission. It -would seem as if this treatment was too m\icli for his sensitive nature; despair appeared to overtake him, and he ran do^vn to the river, where, after turning round and uttering a dismal howl, the poor beast walked into the stream, and held his head mider the water imtil he rolled over, dead. He had deliberately drowned himself. \^'e cannot measure the sufferings of the brute creation, but it is evident that bodily pain is not the only anguish permitted to cume upon them. THE FIRST STEAMER. MANY of the steamers that cross the ocean to go to America are built at Glasgow. It was here that a ship called the Comet was launched in 1812. Now this Comet was the first boat in Europe that was proitcUed — that is, pushed — through the water by steam. Fancy all Europe with onh' one little tinv steamboat! Now, all the rivers and seas are dotted ovi.r with these ' fire-boats,' and we need not wait for a favourable wind to take our ship to where we wish to go. If there is no wind, w"e need not w-ait idl}"-, as people need to have to do when there were only sailing-vessels ; we heap the coal on the engine fire, we ' get up steajn,' and away we skim through the waves, let the wind blow as it likes. ' Great Britain for Little Britons' MIXED PICKLES. (Continued from -page 189.) CHAPTER XIII. JIOIiE ABOUT BEITO. BRYDA was not allowed to go alone to the village again, since her nurse had told granny she was missing on that unfortunate Sun- day afternoon, when the whole household had turned out in jjursuit of her. She had therefore jjromised Beppo to meet him in the church or churchyard at half-past-five, and take him to Cousin Salome. For the second time she found the poor little Italian in bitter grief. It happened that a great dark bank of clouds had covered the sky for a great part of the day. and the church inside was so dark that the sexton thought it well to light up the building before the short service, which Avas every evening during summer at six, and in winter much earlier. To-night the choir were practising before service, so when Beppo came to the chm-ch at half-past-five, to meet his little friend, the building was lighted up. He came to see his beautiful angel again to tell her, whom he still thought a great and powerful friend, all that had happened to him. But with the darkness outside and the bright lights within, all the colours had faded out of the window, so that, as any one who goes into a lighted church by night can see, there was only a dark blank space where the beautiful angel liad stood. And the j)as- sionate little southern boy said to himself that his friend had forsaken him, that she was gone and would never come back again. Bryda felt that he was somehow quite wrong, but how was she to explain, or to comfort him ? First she told him his angel was not gone, but had only faded from liis sight, and that with daylight he would find her again. But as at this he only sobbed afresh, and said she icas gone, he could not see her, so she must be gone, Bryda tried to explain that his friend W'as no real person, but only a beautiful picture. This only made him very indignant; he knew angels took care of people, his mother had often told him so ; did Bryda mean to tell him there were no angels '? Then Bryda, not knowing how to meet these questions, proposed that he should come with her at once to Cousin Salome, and hand in hand the Sunday Readixg for the Young. 195 two children went up tlio long slirulibery walk to find her. Salome greeted them ^.•ith her own bright smile, and made Beppo sit on a low stool by her side. Soon the black eyea grew very bright and round, when the child found that this English lady had seen his own beautiful Italy and seemed to love it nearly as well as he did. Then, when Cousin Salome began to speak to him in Italian, Beppo fairly jumped off his stool and dapped his hands with delight. Here was a friend for him I Until one has gone to a strange country and tliere been very lonely and sorrowful, like poor little Beppo, it is not easy to understand the delight that he felt at hearing his own la]iguage spoken again. After a little time Bryda began to tell Cousin Salome all about Beppo's troubles, and especially the last, which seemed to the jjoor little boy a very great one. ' No, Beppo, your beautiful angel is not gone,' she answered; 'she is only hidden from you for a time by the darkness. But I will tell you both, dear children, what this little grief of Beppo's is like, and we can make it a sort of jiarable. Bryda, you know what a parable is ?' ' A story that means something, isn't it ?' said Bryila. ' \ OS, dear. "Well, when we are j'oung, our life is like a bright painted window, very lovely to look at. But, supposing our sky gets dark and some great trouble comes up like the night ' ' Something like your illness, cc said Bryda, gently. Cousin Salome smiled. ' Yes, perhaps, dear. Or like Beppo's great trouble, when his motlier told him she must go and be with God, and leave liim alone. Tliat makes life seem very dark — doesn't it, Beppo?' Beppo nodded his head, he could not speak, because a great lump came up in his throat and made him feel as if he must choke. ' ^Yell, when the night is over,' went on Salome, 'and the kind, bright sun comes back again, our life looks boantil'nl again. But what do people do when the church gets dark, Beppo '? ' ' Light de lamps,' said Beppo, quick!}-. ' Ah, yes ! that is it 1 Light the lamps, and then we forget all about the darkness outside. Inside there is warmth and light and bright- ness, and sweet hymns go up to the Great White Throne of God. And life is beautiful after all, though it is a little more sad and solemn, as Bep)io feels it now.' Then Cousin Salome went on to talk to Beppo in Italian about a Friend \'\'ho would never forsake him, and Who was always neai-, though the dim eves of men cannot see Him ; of One far more lovely and loving than the angels, v.'ho Avere only servants in that great House of the Father's, in which heaven and earth are contained. Only servants; but He — this Friend Who was willing to be always Beppo's ft-icnd, if the child would look to Hin\ and trust Hini- — -He was the Son of the House, and all things were His. Bryda listened, thongh she could not under- stand the language, and as she listened she thought she knew the use of lessons. ' Lessons and doses,' she had said, ' were sup]iosed to do people good,' and now she saw at all events one use of lessons. ' If I could talk Italian to Beppo, how nice it -would be ! ' And mentally she resolved that when the new governess came — it was to be very soon now — she woidd work harder than ever before, even over lists of dates. After all she might find o\Tt some daj' that there was a use for those, too I Beppo listened as to one who told him some strange new thing. He had been taught by his mother much about angels watching over him with beautiful shining wings; but very little, almost nothing, about the loving Saviour Who was once a little boy like himself, and Who grew up to be the Friend and Hcljier of any one who was in distress, and to Whom the little troubles of His little children were as important as the great and bitter griefs that crush the hearts of men. Poor little boy ! he drank in every ■\\'ord, \\\&i great eyes fixed on Coiisin Salome's face, and it seemed to him, as it had seemed to Bryda while she listened to the Vicar's sermon, that there never could be anything half so sweet as trying to please this loving Lord Jesus, Who was such a kind Friend. But the invalid began to grow tired, and Bryda saw that she could not talk much longer. So she got up suddenly, and carried off Beppo, and Cousin Salome was left to her needful rest. It was settled first of all though, that Bryda should give Beppo lessons in reading every day. ' Eeading and weeding '. ' said Uncle Jack. 196 Sunday Reading for the Youac. ' I have made love to Hayes the gardener, and he has promised to let Beppo come and weed in the garden; and so the little chap can earn something, and not feel qnite such a burden on old Eoger.' Beppo's mother was not to be long a burden on any one. One night, while Beppo slept, and while it seemed that she slept too, old Roger stealing in on tip-toe, found that she was indeed asleep, wrapped in that last long Bleep which no evil dreams 'disturb. She would never be himgry, or thirsty, or tired again, for God had taken His child, who, though ignorant enough, had been faithful to Him, to that rest of which ^\■e say, ' He giveth His beloved sleep.' Close by that grave witli the one word ' Liz,' they made another, and on that there was only one word too, — ' Speranza. Very few of the village people knew what Cousin Salome told Bryda, that the beautiful name of the poor Itahan meant ' Hope.' (To he continued.) LIFE'S FOOTSTEPS. TWO little feet, by the meadow sweet. Starting upon life's way. Never a thought of the journey's end. Or of the weary day. Guarded and safe in a mother's care. With sunshine and gladness everywhere. Two steady feet in life's busy street, Firm with an object true. Meadow and streamlet now passed by, A noble end in view. A maiden dreams of eternal flowers, The peaceful shade of the fadeless bowers. Two wearij feet in the noontide heat. Tired of the journey's length ; Upward and onward striving still, Ever from strength to strength. A heart is filled with a peaceful joy, That the shades of life can ne'er destroy. Two resting feet in the golden street. That erst in the highway trod ; Now are they cleansed from the travel stains, And safe in the Home of God. Doubting and sorrow for ever past, A pilgrim rests from her toil at last. Marian Isabel Hurrell. Sunday Reading for the Young. 197 The Goat. 198 Sunday Reading for the Young. ANIMALS OP THE BIBLS. The Goat. HE goat is not an animal that we deem of any particular value ; bnt in the estimation of the Hebrews in Eible times it was of great imjsortance. There are numerous allusions to the domestic goat in the Eible, while references to the wild goat, as inhabiting the roclcs and the i'\'<\ high hills of Palestine, occasionall}' occur. Many of the fables of ^Esop make mention of the goat; and the goatherd was an important personage among the ancients. AYho does not remember the story of the foolish goatherd, who, having taken shelter with his goats in a cave, and finding a numljer of wild goats already in possession there, gave the food of his flock to the wild goats, in hope of making a prize of them ? The consequence of which proceeding was, that his own flock perished through hunger, while the wild goats escaped at the first oppor- tunity, and thus he returned home without wild goats or tame. The common, or domestic goat, is so well- known an animal that its appearance need scarcely be described. The horns are generally cm-ved backwards, and most species are pro- vided with a beard. The domestic goat is fwmd in nearly all parts of the world, but the moun- tains suit it best. The wild goat has a great love of change, and 60 it has a great tendency to wander. Its con- stitution is hardy, which renders it insensible to cold and heat, and enables it to browse on almost every herb. It loves standing, climbing, and even sleeping, on rugged eminences. It will find its food in places inaccessible to almost all other animals, and live and thrive by cropping the scanty herbage which they furnish. In the mountain ranges of Europe, on the Alps and Pyrenees, the goat is found at a great height, approaching as near the line of perpetual snow as it can find its scanty sustenance ; and it feeds on numy plants ^yhich to other animals are dis- tasteful and even poisonous. An amusing storj' is told of two goats which met face to face on a narrow ridge ovcrhanguig a great depth on the ramparts at Plymouth. The ledge was too narrow for them to pass one another, nor could they well retreat ; but one of the goats sagaciously solved the difficulty by lying down and allowing his fellow to walk over his back ; and then efKih pursued ' the even, tenour of liis way.' That the goat is botli sagacious and teachable is proved by the fact that it is often used as a ' performing animal,' and carried about to excite the wonder of amused audiences. Of this useful animal there is an endless list of varieties. Every country has its kind. We shall only mention several of tlie more noted and valuable sorts. The Cashmere, or Thibet, goat of the Himalaya IMomitains, is, perhajis, the most celebrated of the tribe, and will probably maintain its position so long as Gashniere shawls are prized as costly and beautiful articles of apparel. The Cashmere goat has flat, spu'al, curved horns. Its bodj- is covered with long, straight, shining hair, aiid imder this outward covering grows a soft down or wool, from which the exquisitely fine Cash- mere shawls ai-e made. Among other varieties may be named the Angora goat, of a snowy white colour, with long silky hair ; and the Piocky Mountain goat of North America. The Syrian goat is a near relation of our English goat, but it has longer ears — ten or twelve inches long ; and now and then a wild beast, making a siidden dash at a goat, will happen to seize it bj' the ear, and tear that ofl"; and perhaps then, by making a run for it, the poor animal may escape. It seems to bo of such an event that the prophet Amos writes. The jMohair goat, seen oidy in the north of Palestine, is a kind witli rather longer hair than the common Sj-rian goat, and most likely it was goats of this kind which supplied the hair for the coverings of the tabernacle. This hair could be easily divided into two sorts : one was long and coarse, and so did well fur the outside of tents ; the other was soft and silky, more like what we call ' alpaca.' The ancient Jews kept large quantities of goats as well as sheep, and the present inhabi- tants of Palestine still rear a great number in Sunday Reading for the Young. 1'99^ some districts. The Lilly district, which extends from Hebron up the centre of "Western Pales- tine to the Lebanon, is that most adapted for goats; and there tliey have been reared from the earliest times. The sheep and goals are there always seen to- gether under the same shepherd and in company, yet they never tresjjass on the domain of each other. The sheep as they traverse the hillside graze closely the tender herbage and the grass which carpets the soil ; the goats, generally tiling in long lines a little above them, skip from rock to rock, and browse on the tender twigs and the fohage of the tlij'Uies and dwarf shrubs. Yet, though the goats mingle with the sheep, there is no disposition on either side for more intimate acquaintance ; when folded together at night they may always be seen gathered in distinct groups, and round the wells they appear in- stinctively to classify themselves apart, as they wait for the troughs to be filled. This separa- tion, is referred to in St. Matthew's Gospel, •chap. XXV. 32, in that solemn description of the judgment-day which came from the lips of Jesus Himself. In the East the milk from the goat was thought very valuable, and we are told by travellers that the cheeses made from this milk are now much esteemed in, Syria, because of a finer flavour than those made froni the mUk of the cow. The flesh of the goat, especially that of the tid, was prized as food. A kid is still common food in Palestine. Kids are oftener killed for food than lambs. When we read of bottles in the Bible we must not think of glass bottles such as we have. Eastei'n bottles were prepared from the skins of goats, each skin forming a bottle, and the hair "was allowed to remain. Kids, under the law of Moses, were often •sacrificed with lambs, or instead of them, but they must always be without blemish. On the great Day of Atonement two goats were specially •brought forward, one to be offered up as atone- ment ; the other, the ' scapegoat,' was sent away ' by the hand of a fiit man into the wilderness, imto a land not inhabited,' and was seen no more. It taught the people how their sins "might be borne away by the great Sin-bearer, •and would never come into God's sight again. But, dear children, we live in better and happier times. What the scapegoat was to the Israelites, Christ is really to us ; what the scape- goat pictured to them, Christ has done for us ; for ' the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.' These Jewish sacrifices teach us that God hates sin, that He has so loved us as to provide a real sacrifice, and that He will receive every dear child who comes to Him, sorrowing for his sin, and resting upon Christ for sal- vation. Dear young reader, thus act, then you may say, — ' Saved ! saved ! I shall not be doomed when my earthly life is o'er ; The angels will wait as my eager soul neareth the shhiing shore ; I have a home in the holy land; and with earnest, huoj'ant feet, I shall spring upon the pleasant hills, and walk the golden street.' rp g^ NO EVIL. Hear no evil of a friend, and speak none of au enemy. SUNNY SUE. ONLY want a needle a few minutes,' said httle Sue ; ' may I take one, mother ? ' ' What is it for, child ? ' ' To mend baby's doU ; all the sawdust is coming out, and the poetry book saj's " she'll bleed death." ' ' Very well, Sue ; take the needle thimble too : but don't lose them, there's a good child.' Sue was mother's right hand, and helped famously with all the little household duties — playing with the little ones, minding baby, and keeping the boys quiet when they rushed in from school, or tidiying the place up after them, whea they made a litter of chips on the floor. It mattered not whether it was the doll or the boys' buttons that required sewing, Sue was equal to it all, a famous ray of sunshine to keep all straight and smooth at home. Just what all children may be, if they only determine to be so. 200 Sunday Reading for the Young. ffl w 'iMlft'pil Sunny Sue Sunday Reading for the Young. 201 >Vr-; Will Somers at work. D D ■■20-2 Sunday Reading for the Young. A VILLAGE GENIUS. WILL SOMERS was not a dull lad, oli, no I the very reverse : lie was always disking inquisitive questions, and seeking to know the ins and outs of things that puzzled his 3'oung hrain. He took after his father thej' said. Ah I his father was a clever fellow — only a common ordinary workman, and j^et skilful enough to mend and clean all the watches and clocks in the parish, in his spai-e time ; and when the Squire's hydraulic engine, for pumping water up to the Lig house, broke down, Wiirs father was able to put it to rights again without the help of the engineei-'s men from the next town. Yes, "Will took after him ; he was always building bridges, or cutting out patterns of •wheels and windmills, boats and engines ; he thought more of a canal barge than of all his lesson-books ; and the only stories which held his attention were those that told, not of military or martial enterjirises, but of inventors, and en- gineers, and the pioneers of discovery. One day, last summer, his mother missed him from the window where he had been cuttuig and carving bits of wood with his knife. •'Where can ^Yill be '? thought she ; and she went to find liuu. yhe found him in the yard, with one of liis newly invented Taachines fixed on the edge of a water-tub, from which he was drawing the contents : it was a pump, that was to beat all the big ones he had seen at work, and no leaky ship need sink if they only had one of these on board. So thought "Will, and so he said, \\iien his mother asked him what he was about. ' I suppose they want men to work it ? ' said Mrs. Somers. ' Oh I yes, of course; only most of the ship- wrecks happen because they spring a leak, and the crew cannot keep do'^ATi the water, and I don't care so long as I can invent something useful.' Perhaps some day he may do so. He is on the right track. HINDOO SERVANTS. ONE great inconvenience arising from 'caste' among the Hindoos falls heavily upon European residents in India, by obliging them to have a very large number of servants, for the ■simple reason that each will only do one thing, .and they will not help each other. The bearer will not take a tea-cup off the table, nor the khidmutgar pull the punkah. One lady was asked by another, recently .arrived in the countrv, how many servants she had. She replied, ' I am not sure, but we are very moderate people. I can soon reckon.' They were nearly thirtj^ in number — a wait- ing-maid, an under-woman, a sweeper, a head- bearer, a mate-bearer, six imder-bearers, a khan- saman or house steward, three table attendants, .a cook, a gardener, and a water-carrier, a washerwoman, a tailor, a coachman, two grooms, two grass-cutters, a man to tend the goats, and two messengers. And all these servants will only wait on their own employers, so that every one visiting must take his own. All, when out of doors, wear shoes of yellow or scarlet leatlier. with the toes turned up, but they never enter the house ^^•ith them. Indeed, no man could show more disrespect than by enter- ing the presence of his master with covered feet and bare head. This accords with Eastern customs for long ages back, and the putting off the shoes from the feet on holy ground is spoken of in the Bible as a mark of reverence from the earliest times of Moses. MIXED PICKLES. [Contimicd from page 196.) OLD Eoger wotdd not jiart with Beppo. He was a lonesome old man, he said, and it would be a charity to let the boy stay with him. Beppo could weed and learn to read for the present, and as soon as he knew the language better he could go to school in the village. Every one was well pleased with the plan, for, though some of the village people thought old Roger rather odd, from the wa}' he had of talking about heaven as if it were quite near, Sunday Reading for the Young. SOS?- and of Bible people as if they were still alive, yet no one donbted his goodness ; and kind Cousin Salome promised to pay for Beppo's Ecliooling. So it seemed that the poor little boy, after his long wanderings, would have a happy home and kind friends, and woirld soon forget all his troubles. Bryda was at first very patient with her pupil, who, to do him justice, was not stupid ; but what puzzled her most was that it did not Boem natural to the Italian child to say the English words as she did. Uncle Jack, coming one day into the room where these lessons were going on, found Beppo with tearful eyes, while Bryda appeared to have at that moment throAvn the reading- took to the other end of the room, wliere it lay looking like a book in disgrace in the corner, gaping wide open with a leaf or two scattered on the way, for it was an old one. ' What is this noise about '? " said Uncle Jack, with a face of amusement ; ' what's the matter now ? ' • Beppo's too stupid, Uncle Jack- — and I — I lost ]3atience.' ' Lost, a valuable temper,' said Uncle Jack, with a serious face; 'at least I mean "Lost, a good temper, of no value to any one but the owner. Is very cheerfvd, and marked \y\A\ a capital B. The finder, if poor, shall be handsomely re- warded on bringing it to " ' '■Don't, Uncle Jack!' Bryda stood on tiptoe and put her hands over his moiTtli, while Beppo picked up the book and put in the scattered leaves. ' But really I can't malce him understand BOme things. He spells c-a-t, and then calls it "cart," and when at last I get Mm to say "cat," lie goes on m-a-t, " mart I" ' ' I suppose Miss Quillnib never had any sucli worries in teaching Bryda'?' said Uncle Jaek,. slyly. Bryda looked a little ashamed. ' But do you know that it is natural to him to say cart and mart instead of cat and mat, and you will have to teach him gradually that English does not sound like Italian, Bryda? Now suppose^ by way of va- riety, that yow say this simple little sentence- alter me : — '"Aldibo- rontiphosco- p h o r n i I — where left yoii Chrononhot(.>n- thologos ? " ' '" Aldibo- ronti'' — I don't k n w a n y more I ' That's not English, Uncle- Jack : ' ' Well. I as-^ sure you it: comes out of an English play. So, naturall}',. Trv something say it. the actor has to easier, — " Peter Piper piclted a peck of picliled pepper ; A peck of pielded pepper Peter I'iper picked. If Peter Piper picked a peck of picJcled pepper, Wliere's the peck of pielded pepper I'eter Piper- picked Y " ' Which of us thi-ee will say that veiy fast throB- times without a mistake ? ' They all tried, and all failed, and the lcssf)n ended in such shouts of laughter, that both the grannies hobbled in — helping each other — to. see what the fun was. {To he GOiitinucd.) PROVERBS OLD AND ITEW. A SLIP of the foot may be soon recovered, but that of the tongue perhaps never. %t,0 sA/- »'«> -®- -»o«- -j®- <&!'€) /fN **'i® ED AND THE nEE The water clear and cool, Was always gushing there, And in that sweet and pretty pool They laved their faces fair. HUMMING o'er the nodding clover, In the bright sweet summer day A little dancing restless rover Wings his happy way; His work hegun so early 'Twas very nearly done, When the golden fields of barley Gleamed in the setting sun. As now he homeward flies, Laden with honey sweet, Packed tightly on his slender thighs, So dainty and so neat, A heavy laden hummer, He'd tapped at every door Of the sweetest flowers of summer — Tasting their dainty store. But now 'tis sad to tell, It chanced upon his road. There lay a lovely sparkling well Within the lonely wood. 'Twas a little sparkling well, The children often went Into that pleasant mossy dell. Where happy hours they spent. # m A Sunday Reading for the Young. 205 But the lieavy-laJen Lee, Dashed by the summer rain, Fell I splashing in quite hopelessly, Nor could get out again. Now, children, what d'ye think ? A friend was on his track. For little ' Ned ' had been to school And now was coming back ; So running to the well His chubby hands to lave. He saved the little struggling bee From an early watery grave. Ned handled him so tenderly, Drying him in the sim. That very soon he flew away With a merry, happy hum. Even to save a bee, And treat it gently, too. Is the sign of a loving heart, Happy, kind, and true. Joanna McKean. WHAT IS HAPPINESS? A SHADOW always moves, or remains still, with its original ; and so Happiness is truly the shadow of Contentment, for where this is you will always surely find the other. BIBLE WOEDS. HyPOCRITES. HYPOCRITES, who ' pray standing in the corners of the streets ' — this is the well- known expression of the Gospel of St. Matthew. The word hypocrite signifies men wearing masks, as stage-players did — seeming to be what they really were not. The practice of praying in the streets is still common in the East. The Turk who, at the hour of prayer, is on the road, or from any reason unable to attend mosque, never fails to attend the duty of his religion, whatever he may happen to be doing. Immediately the bell sounds from the mosque he spreads his handkerchief on the ground, seats himself cross-legged upon it, and says his prayers, even though it be in the open market- place ; and having finished, he jumps up briskly and is away to business again, as smart as ever for a bargain. RAGAMUFFIN TOM. By F. E, Partridge. CHAI'TER I. A MUDDY BATH. MR. LUCAS and his two little girls, Mar- garet and Kate, had just paid a visit to Westminster Abbey, and were on their way to the pier near the bridge. There they were to meet Mrs. Lucas and little sister Polly, who with Aunt Susan were to join them, when all j'-,^.<\i'n. woidd proceed together in a steamer to Green- wich, there to spend the rest of the day — a great treat to the children. The old pier has given way to the embank- ment, and many changes have taken place since that day, so no one need look for the pier, up and down which Mr. Lucas and the two child- ren walked, watching the steamers as they passed to and fro, and looking down into the muddy water, so different now from the days, long ago, when salmon abounded in the Thames. 206 Sunday Reading for the Young. 'Look at tlie nrad-larks 1 ' said Mr. Lucas. ' Where ?' aslceJ Kate, gazing into tlie air. ' I never heard of tliem, and I don't see any birds.' Her father lauglied and said, neither did ho ; moreover, slie would not find them mentioned in any hoolc about birds. Kaie and Margaret were quite puzzled; they knew that the; 210 Sunday Reading for the Young. PLAY- GARDENS. , H, Hans, it really is too Lad of yon,' sobbed little Gretclien; 'yon promised to keep the bisciiitrt auntie gave you, and you've eaten them every one, and now we can't play shop I Oh I oh: oh!' Hans felt veiy much ashamed of himself; he had not meant to be greedy, but he and Dash between them really had finished the whole bagfull. There was not one left I He thrust bis hand in to make sure, and though the fingers came through tlie paper, no biscuit came with them. ' Don't cry, Gretchen,' said he at last, sorrow- fully; 'I can't think how I forgot: I won't do it again.' But Gretchen had set her mind on the bis- cuits for a shop, and would not be paciiied, until at last her mother came out to know what the terrible sobs \yere about. Hans spoke up like a man, and at once confessed his fault. ' Auntie gave me a bag of biscuits for repeating my poetry so well, and Gretchen and I settled we would play shop with them ; but on the road home I quite forgot about the shop, and I eat son>e, and threw some to Dash, and some to auntie's pigeons, and they're all gone 1 ' And Hans showed the empty bag. ' Could you give Gretchen some biscuits, mother?' he said, in his coaxing way. But mother did not think it wise to give Gretchen biscuits just because she cried for them, and yet she was sorry for the little girl's disappointment. ' Mind you keep your promises next time, little Hans 1 Now I am going to show you how to play a far more interesting game than sho() — a game I used to play when I was a little girl. Find two flat boards — the sides of that deal box you use for your shop will be just the thing, Gretchen.' Gretchen forgot her tears and ran to fetch the boards. ' Now each of these boards is to re- present a pleasure-garden : we will plan the walks first. Get your little wheelbarrow full of nice dry sand, Hans. Now arrange a straight wide path down the centre — so 1 ' And mother made a little path along the boards with th& sand. ' Now we will mark out a round flower- bed on one side and a grass lawn opposite it; then, lower down we must have different shaped beds — heart-shaped, and diamond-shaped ; and then a long bed at tlie end of the garden, run- ning all along the board. These beds must be- made ef wet sand, because the flowers will stand better in it. I will make the beds if you will- pick me a few flowers, red, and blue, and pink.' This was really interesting I the boards were- rapidly covered, and really looked like a newly dug garden in early spring before anything had come up ; but when the children returned with their flowers the empty beds were quickly con- verted into brilliant masses of colour. The petals of flowers were generally used instead of the whole flowers, as the garden was on so small a scale. The long bed at the end was made to slope, and it was most startlingly effective as a ribbou border — made from scarlet geraniums, yello-w calceolarias, and pink sweet-williams. ' It's a beautiful game 1 ' declared both the- children, as they gazed with raptxirous eyes at the transformed boards. ' It's a game you can play in all sorts of ■ways,' said mother, as they -walked towards the- house, each child carefully carrying the garden- board to show father. ' You can arrange forest scenes with tiny bits of fir, or you can even have lakes, by putting water in the lid of a tin. box, but of course you must hide the sides with moss ; and you can make a field with moss, and rail it in -with bits of matches. But you will be able to think of plenty of new ar- rangements, no doubt.' ' It's the best game in the -world 1 ' said Gretclien, decidedly ; ' and I'm glad Hans ate the biscuits, or mother might never have shown it us.' ' I won't do it again, though/ said Hans, in a low voice. E. A. B. TRIED AS BY FIRE. A GILT object may appear as good as a gold one until it is tried in the fire ; and it is the furnace of temptation that proves of what metal we are made. A. L. 0. E. Sunday Reading for the Young. 211 MIXED PICKLES. {flontinued jrom i>agc 203.) OIIAPTER XIV. BEPPO IN TROUBLE. FAR worse tronble than ' cat ' or ' mat ' came to poor Beppo a few days afterwards. He worked away diligently and steadily in the garden, and was always delighted to bring home his little earnings — six silver shil- lings every week, — and give them to old Roger. Hayes, the gardener, was kind to him, and so was every one, except Jim Dawson, who also worked in the garden. But then, Jim Uawson was kind to no one, not even to his sister iNIoll, for whom he seemed -to have a sort of rough affection. Still, Jim Dawson did his work well enough; he was very strong and got through a good deal, if he did idle sometimes when Hayes's back was turned. So Hayes was glad to have him. Now Hayes had a peach-tree, of which he was particularly proud. It was like his child to him, for he had grown it from a very little thing, and had watched it day- by-day in the spring, when its beautiful pink buds became pinky -white flowers, and then dropped, and gave way to little hard balls, green and round, that would one day be peaches. He had taken off some of these, so that the rest might be finer, and now there were just four beautiful velvet iseaches on the little tree. Such beauties they wei-e I and soon would come the fruit -show; and how delightful it would be to see in the county pajier, that ' Jlr. Hayes, head-gardener to Mr. Seymour, had the first prize for a splendid dish of peaches grown •out-of-doors 1 ' Every morning and every evening, and several times in the day, came Mr. Hayes looking after those treasures of his. Can you fancy what Mr. Hayes's good- tempered face looked hke when one day, about twelve o'clock, he came past, having already paid ' his babies' a visit once that morning, and found only three '? Only three! The finest of all Tvasgone; neatly gathered from the tree: so that there could he no suspicion of accident in the matter. It was too bad. Stooping down, Jlr. Hayes carefully ex- amined the ground to see if there were any traces of footsteps by which he could discover the thief. In one or two places, the ground looked a little disturbed, as if some one had hastily covered over the traces of steps with some loose earth. Certainly, a cunning thief had been at work, and Mr. Hayes's rage grew more and more violent ; but his rage was quite useless. Storm at the two boys, Jim and Bepi>o, he coidd, and he did ; question all the other gardeners, and the grooms, and John the coachman, and the kitchenmaid, and the laundrymaid, and the girl wdio fed and plucked the fowls ; all this he did, but nothing could bring back his peach, and every one seemed equally innocent in the matter. Mr. Hayes was very angry, and for two days he remained so, spending much of his time in walking about that part of the garden, with his sharp eyes very wide open, ajnd a thick stick in his strong hand. M'oe betide the unlucky thief who had gone near the peach-tree on those days 1 But by the third day Mr. Hayes's wrath had cooled a little ; besides, he had very good news from a brother in Australia by the morning post ; and so on that day he took a look at the three peaches that were left, and then went away whistling ' Rule Britannia I ' It was about the only tune he knew, and he whistled it whenever things went well. It was a pity that a dark cloud should come up again that day over the sunny landscape of Mr. Hayes's broad red face; but it is a fact that, on coming again to visit liis darlings, he found no longer three, but only two; and under the brick wall were again traces of steps carefully dusted over with earth, as before. If Mr. Hayes had been angry before, he was now simply beside himself with passion. He did not storm, neither did he stamp this time, he was too angry for that. Striding along the garden -walk, without any distinct idea of where he meant to go or what to do, Mr. Hayes encountered Beppo, who rose up from his weeding, and looked as if lie were about to speak. But the child shrank from the fmious face that looked down at him — shrank away, and grew pale with fear. 212 Sunday Reading for the Young. Hnyes looked at tim steadily for a moment, then spoke fiercely, tliough quietly, trying to control himself. ' Well, boy, what have you to say for A'our- self?' Guilt was clearlj' painted on Beppo's face, and in every line of his trembling figure as he stammered out, ' P'ease — Mr. Haj-e — I — so sorry. Not — mean — do it, sir I ' ' Not mean I ' answered Hayes in a voice like suppressed thunder. ' Sorry I what can your sorrow do, I'd like to know ? Do you know what you have done ? mischief that can never be mended I ' ' Yes, sir,' said Beppo, humbly. ' Yes, sir I No excuse I You little foreign brat ! you come along o' me, and get the best thrashing you ever had. Come on, I say ! ' He seized Beppo by the collar, and marching him in front, strode towards the garden tool- house. There were plenty of sticks there that would answer his purpose of severely punishing the wretched little criminal, whose cries more- over would attract less notice there, he thought. {To he continued.) HAPPY SUNDAY AFTERNOONS.— No. IV. WHAT DOES THE BIBLE SAY ABOUT GATEWAYS? An easy Exercise for little learners to write or say from memory. A QUAKER'S CHARITY. A POOR man passed a store kept b)' a Quaker, and asked of him a job of work, or a Httle money — it would be a real charity. The Quaker replied : ' Friend, I do not know what I can give thee to do. Let me see : thou mayest take my wood that is in the yard up- stairs, and I will give thee half-a-dollar.' The man was glad enough to do it, and when it was finished he came and told his. employer, and asked if there was anything else he could do. ' Why, friend, let me consider. Yea I thou mayest take it all down again, and I will give thee another half-dollar.' THE Zodiacal sign for May is Gemini, an old Latin word mean- ing ' twins,' and it is this figure among tlie heavenly bodies that the sun enters on the twentieth of the month. May has always been thought a pleasant month. Coming just between spring and summer, it is held as an emblem of the early or joyous part of life, and so in ancient times was pic- tured as a youth with a lovely coun- tenance clothed in a robe of white and gi-een, embroidered 'with hawthorn and daffodils. On his head was a garland of roses, in one hand he held a lute, and on the forefinger of the other sat a nightingale. The Saxons used to call the month Tri-miUvi, or Tri-michi, because the juices of the young spring grass in the meads were so nutritious that the cows yielded milk three times in a day. 7l': ^^/fe^V^^^.^ -Y r214 Sunday Reading for the Young. RAGAMTIPFIN TOM. (CoHd'nHfd/j-ompaje 206.) CHAPTEK II. TOM. soon as it was possible, Jlr. Lucas sought out the boy ^Yho had been the weans of saving PolI3^ He had some trouble in finding him, for ' Tom, liiver Alley,' was not a very easy address. At last, however, he was suc- cessful. It was astonishing how many boys answered to the name of Tom, as soon as it was known that a gentleman was seeking for •one without any intention of punishing liini for the various faults which were only too common among the hoys of the neighbourhood, the con- .sciousncss of which made them, as a rule, fight shy of inquiries. The Tom in question bore a good character in Eiver Alley, where evidently good characters were rare, an old woman an- ^swering a remark of Mr. Lucas by saying, "* That Tom was a power too honest to get on.' The boy had no belongings of his o^^'n. His ■father and mother having died long ago, he had been adopted by some people almost as poor as -people could be ; and such being the case, Mr. Lucas did not hesitate in offering to take him home and train him up to gain his livelihood in a better manner than he coidd do among his present associates. Tom was very willing to go with his new friend, who, on the way home, stopped at an outfitter's, where he purchased the clothes neces- .-sary to make the lad look respectable. They ■were done up in a parcel, which their new owner •carried on a stick over his shoulder. He felt proud and happy as he trudged along beside Mr. Lucas. Arrived at The Hollies, as the house in which the Lucases lived was named, the question was, what to do with Tom's rags ? It was solved by Mrs. Lucas, who proposed that a tub of water should be put in tke outhouse, where, after a good wash, Tom should array himself in -liis new garments, a bonfire being made of the -old ones. So it was arranged, and Tom came .forth so changed that Mr. Lucas said he was sure his old Westminster companions would not know him. Tom was very quick in learning to do many things about the house and garden, and made himself most useful. Mrs. Knox took him imder her special protection. She offered to teach him to read and ^v^ite ; an offer he very gratefully accepted, for he was reallj^ anxious to improve. There was much discussion as to what name >/.J^, Tom should bear, as he had never known any but Tom. At length it was decided that Lark would be just the thing for a surname, in remem- brance of Mr. Lucas's joke on the day of Polly's tumble into the nmd. So Thomas Lark he was called. Sirs. Knox was in her element. She was so interested in what she called her training of ' the boy,' that it quite absorbed her, and she for- . got to rail at the rest of the household. This was such a relief that no one ever thou.'^'ht of Sunday Reading for the Young. 21£ investigating the cause, and Tom being so clever jit Lis work, there seemed but httle she could find fault with : not so, however, thought Mrs. Knox. She preached to him about the sins she felt sure he had committed, or would commit^ until he hardly knew what to think of himself. In this manner passed many weeks, and the summer was at its height. Tom began to feel the burden of his wickedness as depicted by Mrs. Knox too much for him. He had begvm to hate the mere sight of her. She would attack him while at his work in the garden, and, after making him thoroughly miserable, would walk away looking the very picture of souff self- conceit. As soon as her back was turned Tom would relieve his mind and temper by making faces at her retreating figure ; the more hideous the grimace, the better he felt. One fatal day she suddenly turned and caught him in the act I Mrs. Knox could hardly beUevc her eyes, and for a moment she stood silent with disgust and anger. She did not choose to realise that she had brought the insult on herself. After a moment of silence the storm burst forth, and the amount of wickedness of which Tom was accused would have fitted out a dozen pick- pockets handsomely. Ingratitude was the least fault which he possessed, according to her verdict. Poor Tom I He knew how naughty he had been, and like many another who has rashly given way to temper, he would have been only too thankful to recall the past hour. How differently he felt he would act if the time could come over again '. It seemed to him now that there really had not been any relief to his M-ounded feelings in the faces he had made. He could not make it out, so, after standing thinking the matter over for a moment or two, and endeavouring to assist his ideas by Bcratching his head, he gave it up. Ungrateful he truly was, for he felt that he could not stay. What would his master and mistress think of him when they heard of what he had done? It did not occur to him that they might take his part. No, he made up his mind that he must take his chance of a welcome at River Alley if nothing better tm-ned up, but he thought that he should be sure to find some Baeajia of making a living. Why not ? He was strong, willing to work^ and he knew he was honest. This quality of his had been considered a misfortune among his^ former associates, but he knew now that the un- taught inward feeling he had always had that fair dealing was the right thing was his best chance of success in life. How he had come' by this, his only inheritance, he knew not, nor had he ever thought about the matter ; it was a natural strength of character which had kept him honest among thieves and ruffians. Now he had learnt to pray, and had been gradually stormg in his mind many valuable rules for his life. Alas I all this was stopped by the outbreak between jMrs. Knox and himself. ' He must go, he must go.' That was the one thought which forced itself into his mind and excluded, all others. (To he contintied.) A TRUE SAYING. Obedience is much more seen in little things^ than in great. A HORSE ATJDIEK"CE. A PRUSSIAN officer relates that, shortly after the retaking of Orleans by the Germans, he happened to be passing through a deserted street, and on coming in front of what had formerly been one of the most popular cafes of the town, but which was now supposed to be closed, he heard the deep vibrating tones of a grand piano, played apparently by some master-hand. There was also heard in the intervals a. trampling as of many feet, betokening a large- audience., Curious to know how such a thing could, happen so soon after the confusion into which; the town had beeii thrown by the recent battle,, he entered, and found seated on the music-stool, a Prussian train soldier, while all around him ia the vast audience hall — which had been bril- liantly lighted up — and pressing close up to the' platfomi, were the chargers of his troop, a large number of horses that nearly filled the- house, standing -with pointed ears and erect heads, eagerly listening to the music. 216 Sunday Reading for the Young. A Horse Audience. Sunday Reading for the Young. , i 218 Sunday Reading for' the Young. JACKO'S TORMENTEES. ,0011 Jacko was fond of sitting in the sunshine — ' basking,' as we call it. It reminded him so mnch of the warmth of liis sunny home in the Eastern land that he remembered so well, before they put liim on the nasty noisy ship, and brought him across the sea. But Jacko was constantly tormented with flies. They would not let him alone. Just at the happiest moment, when dozing off to sleep, he would feel the horrid little things from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, and he re- quired to be very nimble to catch even one of them. They made him very angry, and in the hot glare English sunshine poor Jacko sadly missed the leafy glades of his native forest, where it was easy to drive away these pests with a branch, or, by leaping from tree to tree, find a fresh resting-place, secure from their assaults. WONDEEFUL ESCAPES. THE SEAL-HUNTERS. THE Greenlanders catch seals by tlirowing harpoons at them, to which are attached by pieces of cord, large bladders filled with air, that serve as floats, and point out the direction the wounded seal has taken, and when killed serve to keep it near the surface. Two men, connected with the Mission Station, went out seal-hunting together. Nathaniel had been before ; but his brother knew nothing about managing a kayak, as the Greenland boats are called. Nathaniel soon killed a Neitsersoak, one of the largest kind of seals ; and he then saw liis brother on an ice-floe, in some danger from a large seal which he had wounded. He left his own dead seal, kept floating by the buoyant bladder, and went to help his brother, and when they had secured the second seal they looked round for the kayaks at the edge of the ice, and were horrified to find that the Avind had hlowa. them off to sea, alid also the piece of ice upon which they stood. The poor fellows had learned to pray; they thought of the Great Saviour, about whom the missionaries had told them, and they knelt down on the ice and prayed that He would make a way of escape for them, from what now seemed certain death. Suddenly, they perceived that the dead seal was floating towards them, and as it came- nearer and nearer, hope sprung Tip that they AA'ould be saved ; but how '? Even now, when they had secured it, how could a dead seal de« liver them ? At last, Nathaniel resolved to trust himself astride upon the seal, and by the help of his- paddle, which he had kept in his hand when be- lauded on the ice, set out and try to discover the- kayaks. The waves often went over him, yet he kept his seat, and the exertions he made in paddling^ served to keep him from being frozen by the icy- water. After much toil, he was overjoyed to see his boat afar off, and manfully he renewed his- exertions till he reached her, when, having suc- ceeded in creeping into her, he paddled off after the other, and found that too. He had kept hold to the seal, and with both prizes he returned to the ice-floe, on -which his brother anxiously waited his fate. Having regained his kayak, the brother fastened his seal in tow, and both at length, reached home in safety. It was a dangerous adventure, that few would care to experience ; but Nathaniel in relating it ever looked upon their preservation as a signal answer to their prayers, not to be ascribed to- their o-wn skill or daring, but to the providence and mercy of God alone. WORKING FOR GOOD AND EVIL, THE Bible tells us that ' All things work together for good, to tliose who love God.'' Yes I but those very same things work to- gether for evil to those who do not love God. The sailor who trims his sails, and steers his- ship with the winds, is brought to the harbour and haven where he would be ; but if he tries to beat against them, the very gales, which would have carried him to safety will over- whelm him. F. "\V. R. Sunday Reading for the Young. 219 THE SQUIRREL AND THE ROOKS. THERE was a fine squirrel tliat lived ia a tree, A happier squirrel there could not be ; He ran u]i and down as the ripe nuts fell, With liead over lieels, in such a pell-mell. He had a fur tail, so hushy and thick, That curled o'er his back with many a flick ; So bold and so cunning, his meiTy eyes briglit. Kept dancing and sparkling, brimful of delight. But, quite discontented with all his good fare, This bold little squirrel did one day dare To go and peep into a rook's nest near. And to take up the eggs without any fear. But, alas, Master Squirrel might have seen with one eye The old rooks just hovering around close by, Quite ready to pounce and devour him outright. To punish him well, and give him a fright. So down jumped the squirrel, and off flew the crows. Determined to catch him and give him a dose Of pecking and screaming and such' a great noise, For his robbing them of their maternal joys. But they just caught his tail, of which he was proud. And gave such a peck, he screamed out quite loud ; So he made up his mind, some day, without fail. He'd punish these rooks for pulling his tail. But he went home and thought o'er what he had done. And felt quite ashamed of taking his fun By robbing these rooks. And I am glad to say He's never done such a mean thing to this day. Joanna McKean. MIXED PICKLES. (Gontinxiei. ft JI^OMIISrGr towards them, the angry man and his prisoner met Bryda, singing merrily. Her song soon stopped when she saw the poor little criminal in the strong grasp of Mr. Hayes, who was policeman, judge, jury, lawyers, gaoler, and executioner, all at once. ' "What ii the matter ? What has he done ? ' she gasped, quite frightened. Hajrp^ stopped. 'Done! the little varmint'.' giving Beppo a shake as he held him still ; ' done. Miss Bryda I Will he dare look you in the face again ? Stolen my peaches, two of them, one after the other, heartless, greedy, thankless little monster as he is ! Stolen my peaches that I hoped would get the prize- — aye, he can't deny it!' 'I not stolen theml' cried Beppo, in bitter distress. ' Oh, Miss Bryde I I not, — I never done that I I often bad boy — never stole I never I no I no '. no I ' Bryda remembered the baker's roU, and quite onifage. 212.) believed him. He was hungry then, but he did not steal. ' Oh, Hayes I indeed, indeed I am sure he is telling the truth 1' she said, earnestly; 'please don't be angry with him till you are quite sure, at least.' ' Lor, Miss Bryda,' said the gardener, im- patiently, ' you're that taken up with the sly little rascal you don't believe butter would melt in his mouth. But he spoke up and said he was sorry when I taxed him with it first. It's only the sight of you makes him bold, thinking you'll take his part through thick and thin. A snealdng, lying little thief I Never does he do another day's work here ! ' ' Bliss Bryde,' said Beppo, with flashing e)'es in which there were no tears, ' I not — I never did — not could — think I — steal — tell lies I I speak de truth now, and then, both, only I did think Mr. Hayes found something else, and I did want tell him ' Here Jim Dawson, who had been looking on at the little scene, stepped up to Beppo suddenly, slipixjd his hand into Beppo's pocket, and drew out a peach-stone. 220 Sunday Readixg for the Young. Silence fell on tlie little group. Bryda, distressed beyond words, looked from one to the other. Beppo, with a strange expression efface, looked at Jim, who stood grinning : and Hayes, after looking at the stone for some seconds as if to be perfectly certain of Beppo's crime, pushed his hand more firmly into the boy's collar, strode to the garden-house, put him in, and said before he closed the door. ' Now, my lad. it's for your good. You bide there and think of the flogging you'll get so soon as I've time to give it you I ' Locking the door on the outside, he strode away -with the key in his pocket, leaving Beppo to his miserable expectations of the flogging that he would get : no light punish- ment it would be from the heavy hand of an angrj' man. If Beppo was guilty, then miserable enough he was likely to be, with the burdens of a theft and a lie on his mind, and the prospect of punishment to come. If, as he said, though appearances were against him, he was innocent, then he need not be very miserable, for a good conscience would be his companion, and the Friend of little children would send him comfort. Crouching down in a wretched little heap on the floor, he remained so for some time, not crying, not trembling, but apparently thinking. Then slowly rising, he knelt down in a corner ; and, clasping his hands, looked through the little window up to the blue skj'. He need not look to any beautiful angel now, whose help he used to hope for. He had another — better Friend, and quietly he said half aloud, ' Kind Lord Jesus, don't for- get Beppo. I in great trouble, Lord Jesus ! ' Was he guilty, or not '? We shall see. CHAPTER XV. UP A TREE. What did Bryda do when her little playmate was in such trouble '? Quite as miserable as if she herself were the criminal, she stood still for a few minutes in the garden-path. Would there be any chance of coaxing Hayes to for- give Beppo ? That was not very likely. Mr. Hayes, with a face that was simply one frown all over, had walked off in the other direction, and his very back frowned as she looked after him. No, she coiild not appease Hayes ; but some one else might persuade him that Beppo was not guilty. Who could do this ? Should Bryda go indoors and tell the grannies all about it ? That would not be of much use. It woirld take so long to make them understand, and perhaps even then they would not ■\\ish to interfere. Uncle Jack ? He had gone out. Cousin Salome would be very sorry ; but she could not come out and talk to Hayes. There was old Eoger I Bryda would run ofl' to him and soon get him to come up with her and talk to the angrN- Hayes. But she must be quick ; she did not know how soon Hayes might carrj'' out his threat of coming back to punish the poor little prisoner. Bryda firmly believed he was innocent. She did not understand why Mr. Hayes said he had confessed to having stolen the peaches ; if he had done so she was sure it was from fright. ' And I am sure Hayes's face was enough to frighten any one,' she said to herself. {To be continued.) SuADAY Reading for the Young. 221 THE TETJEST CHARITY. A LAWYER, who always sought to make peace among his clients, placed a sort of charity-box in his office. His first effort, after hearing the one side, was to try and re- concile the conflicting parties, and he always said this was the pleasantest part of his duty : and, if successful, he never failed to induce his clients to give a donation to his peace-maker's box. In this manner, in one year, he obtained nearly sixty pounds for the poor, a sum no less surprising than ho;iourable to the worthy lawyer M. d i\(^ BAGAMTJFFIN TOM. (Continued from page 215.) CHAPTER III. AUNT SUSAN. WITH the exception of Mrs. Knox, the family which Tom was intending to quit was a very happy one. The children were fond of each other, and although sometimes a feeling of jealousy as re- garded Polly would enter Kate's mind, on the whole she was good to her little sister. All three dearly loved their father and mother, and all three feared and disliked their aunt on account of her unfortunate love of scolding and ungoverned tongue and temper. There had been great consternation among the household when Mrs. Knox had proposed herself as a visitor for an indefinite time, while her husband journeyed to Africa on business. Mr. Lucas would have declined to receive her, but his wife did not like to refuse the request of her only sister, and so it was arranged for her to come. During the few days that Mr. Knox also had been there, everytliing went smoothly enough, for the bustle of preparation for his long journey took away the thoughts of his wife from fault- 222 Sunday Reading for the Young. finding ; moreover, lie was the one person in the world whom she really loved, and she was giieved. and subdued by the contemplated part- ing. The shopping necessary on account of his journey was a great amusement to the two elder girls, and they were very useful to both uncle and aunt. Mr. Knox was very fond of the cliildren, and left strict injunctions with their aunt that she was to make a present, in his name, to each of them. One day she went out alone, and was absent an unusually long time : on her return she announced their uncle's wish in the following manner, — ' I dare say yoxi have all wondered at my remaining out so long ; but I have spent the whole morning in hunting about for some suitable as well as useful presents for the children. Their uncle desired me to give something to each ; and I must say that I have been agreeably dis- appointed in both Jlargaret and Kate, wlio have made themselves much more useful than I expected, and therefore I have been less reluctant than I mighthave been to carry out my husband's wish. I do not consider that presents are at any time necessary, but as it is, I hope tliey will like the trifles I have selected. They will arrive this afternoon.' What would the presents be ? Kate's thoughts ran upon this interesting subject all the morning : she found herself writing ' Present ' in the midst of a French exercise, and was altogether so inattentive that she got several bad marks. During their afternoon leisure the little girls could speculate ^^ithout danger, and speculate they did. Everything was thought of, from a large doU's-house, which they would very much like, to a small work-box or a set of crochet needles in a neat little case. When the parcels arrived the children happened to be in the garden, and were much struck with their shape and size. One was large and almost square, another, large, flat and oval, while the third was small and of no particular shape. Each was carefully done up in brown paper, which did not allow a glimiase of the contents to be obtained. They were taken, by 3Irs. Knox's orders, straight to her room, where no child would have dared to intrude without per- mission. All tea-time the children were on the tiptoe of expectation. Mrs. Lucas quietly smiled to herself when she found that the slices of bread and butter did not disappear as fast as usual ; she remembered her own childish daj-s, when her appetite went away at the thought of any pleasure. Directly tea was over, Mrs. Knox summoned the whole party into the clrawing-room, where she had placed her gifts. Polly clung to her mother ; the child was so shy of her aunt that she lost all her spirits when in her presence, and to-day, instead of running on laughing and skipping as was her wont, she held tight to her mother's hand. As they all entered the drawing-room Mrs. Knox said, ' It is so entirely against my princijiles to waste money, that I have endeavoured to give my nieces things that will be useful, and I hope also ornamental, though I must say I have thought more of the former than of the latter qualitj'.' Every one looked on the table, naturally ex- pecting to see the presents there, but nothing new met their eyes. Mrs. Knox pointed to tlie hearth-rug on which was placed a neat brown coal-box; leaning against a chair was a plain oval tea-tray with a line of gilding round the edge ; and, from under her a]jrou, Mrs. Knox drew forth a small light pair of coal-tongs, resembling a gigantic pair of scissors. ' These three articles,' said she, ' will be of use to you, my dear Lucy, as well as being remem- brances for my nieces from their uncle.' For a few moments there was a dead silence, which was broken by Mrs. Lucas saying quietly, ' Thank you, Susan.' Mr. Lucas had beaten a hasty retreat, to conceal the laughter he could not repress. • Margaret was the first of the children to recover from her astonishment. She gravely thanked her aunt, and lifted up the tray, sanng it would look very nice at tea-time. Kate showed her disappointment only too plainly, and her thanks were but feeble. Mrs. Knox had put the tongs into Polly's hand ; the child loolced at them for a moment wonderingly, then gave them a toss ; being heavy for her little hand, they flew across the room, striking the lamp which stood on a side-table, and breaking the shade into a thousand pieces. Mrs. Knox slightly tossed up her head, giving Sunday Reading for the Young. 223 fi sniff at the same time, an old habit of hers ■which indicated a coming stoi-m. ' My presents, or rather my choice, do not seem to give mnch satisfaction I ' ' Tliey will ho very nseful I am sure, Susan,' said ilrs. Lucas, hoping to avert a portion of her sister's anger from the children. ' But perhaps they are hardly what such httle folks would ex- pect. All the same, I am sure they will appreciate your Idndness and that of their uncle.' ' You spoil your children, Lucy. Their heads are fidl of vanity and nonsense.' Mrs. Knox did not wait for an answer, but walked back to the dining-room, where she re- mained for some time in offended silence ; she cast a chill over the whole party, and every one was glad when bed-time came. \^To le continued.) THE ARAB AND THE LORD'S PRAYER. TWO travellers passing through Barbary arrived one evening near an Arab camp, and were about to pitch their tent for the night. A crowd of the Bedouin wanderers surrounded them, cursing them as ' rebels against God,' and unbelievers, infidela. One of the travellers, who spoke Arabic, turned to one whose dress showed him to be a priest, and said, ' Who taught you that we are disbelievers ? Hear my daily prayer, and judge for yourselves.' He then slowly repeated, with reverence, the Lord's prayer. All stood amazed and silent, till the priest exclaimed, ' I will never curse again those who hold such belief! Nay more, that prayer shall be my prayer till my hour be come. I pray thee, Nazarene, repeat the jsrayer, that it may be remembered and written among us in letters of gold.' EVERYBODY'S CORNER, nUSSIAN MAKKETS. IK Bussia, where the cold is very intense, the markets are very curious things. The meat is frozen ; the carcases of dead animals, as sheep and pigs, stand upright outside the stalls ; everything, even game and poultry, requires to be thawed before it can be cooked ; and the market-people's dress is as picturesque as it is warm and comfortable. It would not do, in that cold climate, to venture out without plenty of fur, and even the poorer people are obliged to have protection of 'jiis kind. Then the rivers are frozen over all the winter long, and so thick is the ice that every one can skate, anywhere and any time. Stalls are put upon the ice and busy markets held there. In the Asiatic part of Russia the people live chiefly by hunting and fishing, and. the fur of the Russian animals is very beautiful — the ermine, fox, sable, sea otter, and others. At the end of winter, when the snow melte, the huntsman pursues a kind of deer, called the Elk, wearing long snow-shoes, in which he can glide over the snow very quickly, while the poor elk sinks into the snow deeper and deeper every step, and is at last overtaken and killed. 224 Sunday Reading for the Young. A Russian Gamedealer. Sunday Reading for the Young. 225 "Cauprht!" 2i'G Sunday Reading for the Young 'CAUGHT, MY PillEND!' FARMER BULOW could Lear footsteps crackling amongst tlic twigs and brauche.'- on the oilier side of the orchard fence. He could not see who it was, but a thief was there, cer- tainly : and he leaned down nnder the high palings, trying to catch a glimpse of the rohber. Yes ! there he was, sure enough — a boy with liis smock half full of beautiful rosy ajiplef : but his face — ah I lie could not see that : the boy's back was towards him, and coming nearer ami nearer to the fence. Good gracious I he leans liis back up against it, whistling away as if the orchard belonged to him. ' Now, my young friend, the hour of puuisli- iiient has come I' thought the enraged farmer. And putting his great brawny fists through a rent in the fence, he cauglit the culprit by Ijoth ears, and held him so. ' Now I've just caught you, my young sir ! Now I'll trouble you for an explanation : what do you mean by this ?' The ears were twisted suffi- ciently tight to make the boy Avincc. 'Do you hear '.•'' cried the farmer: vwh.-if dn ■j'ou mean bj- stealing apples ? ' ' I wasn't stealing,' cried the other: ■ \ wasn't stealing. I\Iotlier sent mo to get scuiic fnr the dumphngs.' Something in the voice strack the ear i>f Farmer Billow, and he let go his hold, and turn- ing round, the lad pee])ed tlirough the hole in the fence to see his father covered with some- thing very like confusion. ' Johnny, bov I AMiv, I didn't know- you I V\c mustn't tell mother I caught the wrong thief; she will laugh.' ilother, however, found it out. and teased them about it, which caused merriment enough. Farmer Billow says it was not to be su])poscd that he could recognise Johnny's w'histle, while Johnny says that it was lucky his eare were on tight, or he would have lost them both that morning, he's sure ; and it's quite a saying Iiu^^" down at the fann, when there's fun going on. Caught, my young friend '? Oh, no I it's only apples for the dumplings.' morning and evening, and would not go to sleep ■• quietly without it. Her favourite fond was boiled rice and bananas.;:, but scarcely anything came amiss to her. A raw n'S,^ was a dainty inorsel : when one was given to ■ her, she broke one end by gently knocking it on the floor : then picking off the broken bits of shell and putting in one long, slender finger, she would throw back her head, and, holding the egg erect, . soon suck out its contents. When anything was given her too hard fnr her teeth she always looked about for a stone. . and, lifting it with one hand, would attempt to • crack it : if unsuccessful, she would .'find a larger stone, which she would hold in both hands, and rising erect, would let it fall, leaping back- ■wards at the same time to avoid any injury to her toes. Then, if any small object happened to be a llttli' tieyond her reach, if she could lay her hand upon a twi.n' or switch, she would stretch herself" out as far as her cord would allow, and continue working at the object till she got it within her reach. Jenny was accustomed to ride on the back of ' a large mastiff dog, and in this way om-e accom- plisheil a journey of many miles. The two were greatly attached to each other, and often jilayed together in a droll way. Before startmg. the dog used to go every mornin.y tn the place where Jenny "-i- tied, .ind. wait till she was put ujionhis back anil her cord made fast to his collar. Having started, she was. not at all particular whether her face was toward.-- the head or tail of her steed, except w-hen going urring state of happiness, and, rolling over and over each other, a yard away, a couple of the finest young kittens to be imagined. ■ It quite startled Susan, but the old cat seemed, as pleased as possible, as if to say, ' See what I have done for you I We shall keep the mice down bravely now. Here's !i fine addition to- the family, and Horley Farm may well be proud of its cats.' Susan was delighted ; a dish of new nulk was forthcoming, and we can imagine how the mico scampered away to find other and more secure homes, when they found themselves hunted by three cats instead of one. •2?r2 Sunday Readia'g FOR the Young. The Lost One Found. Sunday Readixg for the Young. ??■?. A Pair of Love-Birds. II H 234 Sunday Reading for the Young. OUB DUMB TEACHERS. AFFECTION IN BIRDS. TRDS htive a tliou^^aiid little ways of showing afi'ection for one another and for those who tend them. The woods in summer resound with varied notes of joy, and all hesijeak those feelings we are used to think of as only human, — tenderness, fear, hope, or expectation ; from the sweet melody of the lark or nightingale to the tender cooing of the dove, love breathes through all. Perhaps the little love-parrots, or love-birds, are the prettiest examples ; even in captivity, should one die, its mate pines av>ay, and seldom survives its partner long. A pair of these little things were confined in the same cage. The female falling sick, her mate showed the fondest attachment, carrying food to her from the bottom of the cage, and feeding her on the perch. When slie died, he went round and round her in greatest distress, trying to open her bill to give her food. Then he grew sad, pined away, and died in a few months. THE BOY WHO REMEMBERED WHAT HE WAS TAUGHT. I READ once about a boy (and I wish I could remember his name, for it is a true story) who had been to school on ene of the training-ships, and when he was about sixteen he was engaged as a sailor on board a small ship which carried oranges from Spain to England. WMle tlie ship was at sea the cap- tain fell ill of a fever, and the mate (that is, the man next in command to the captain) caught the fever too, and there was no one on board but a few ordinary sailors and this boy. The sailors could run up the rigging, and could draw in the sails, and haul up the anchor, as well as you could wish men to do it ; but as to knowiiig how to steer a ship ia the right course, I dare say 3'ou know as much about it as these men did. But this boy had been well' taught on his training-ship, and he had not only been taught, but he had learned as well. This he certainly proved, for he steered the ship- across the Bay of Biscay to the mouth of the English Channel, and safe into Portsmouth harbour. How surprised the people were when they found that the captain was a boy of sixteen 'Great Britain for Little Britons.' SUNDAYS IN" QUARATfTINE. I. TTUGH. Bother this scarlet-fever 1 I wish it were a hundred miles away ; I'm so tired of staying indoors. It's bad enough on a week- day, when I can have the nursery-floor for you girls to bowl to me on, but on Sundays it's- as bad as Uncle Jack's experience of quarantine. Lina, do suggest something to make this endless afternoon pass more quickly. Lina. It is long, Hugh ; I feel it too, for \ve- know aU the Sunday books by heart, and we can't expect mother to let us have any out of the drawing-room, as all we have touched are to- be burnt by-and-by for fear of infection. Hugh. Infection I Why, somebody must have- infected us, to begin with, so what does that matter ? For my part, I should lilce to nm round the town and give the fever to all the sneaks and bullies I know of. Mary. I don't think that would be very kind,, Hugh ; remember what trouble mother has had nursing all of us, and how horrid it was having such dry throats. I am quite glad we have had measles and whooping-cough, too, for now I hope we have done with powders for a bit. Ot,. dear, I know Mr. Burrows must be getting nearly through those allegories. '\Miat a jolly sermon that was he preached the last Sunday we were at church I that one about the boats crossing the sea, I mean. Hugh. That's the sort of sermon I like^ When I grow up, I shall always preach like that to the youngsters. Don't you remembei- before those services began we used to be allowed to take a book to read during sermon time 'i' But Mr. Burrows' sermons are jollier than books, I diink. Lina. Hugh, I have an idea; let's have- Sunday Reading for the Young. 235 sermons of our own. There is no cliance of our going to clmrcli for months ; people run miles from scarlet-fever, and would dread us coming so near to them, as we must, in church. Hii^h. Our own sermons I Wliat do you mean, Lina '? If you think any of us are going to string a lot of texts together for you to listen to, you're finely mistaken. Lina. I mean nothing that you won't like, Hugh. What I was going to suggest, only I •could not get the words out — you snapped me up so — was that we should tell Story Sermons every Sunday afternoon, like those Mr. Burrows gives us. Mary. Oh, Lina, that would be nice I Is ■everybody to tell one each time? I know a story to begin with, but I can't think of a second good one all in a minute. Lina. Why, Mary, you have galloped ahead ■of all of Tis I You will certainly have to lead tlie way, for I have few ideas yet, except that the stories ought to be of good people, or brave actions. Hugh. Mine will always be of soldiers. I