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Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film6s 6 des taux de reduction diff6rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6, il est film6 d partir de I'angle sup^rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 y keprinted Stories %i^^ r ■■ ^■'jiuii'igwwijwjK ' j ii wat] ass 'e^r!^S.'Sfc~jSSH»a^)!«SSi3 For the Young. "«?;-^ . ' Moalreal. JOHN DOOGALL & SON, '^Witness"' OITiCe. / . • ♦ • • wmm "^ '"M^m miimm^mmm'immfi^mfmi'mgi 1/ •«- f I , \ w i ^^ y 1 Beprinted jStories FROM THE NORTHERN IVEESSENGER. y FOR THE YOUNG FOLKS. MONTREAL: JOHN DOUGALL & SON. I88& ^»^ f^lMt-* «R-5^ V* ^ .H r>. 1 f r;;i-l(''' ;>/ JOY ^HT >f()'l f'».- 2: 5? ] Tl El PAOI. Chriitie'i Chrutmai 1 A burae that counU. 3 Monkey pockeU. 10 Soldier anil thiitle 10 A apider'a wob. 12 The might of the pracioui lead U Anocon him 113 A shattered Testament 113 Ways to do good 113 Engraved eggs 114 Drowning the stjuirrel 114 The Cape buffalo 114 How pins are mode ....115 r INDEX. FAOK M.ikiiiM gluhv* I lA lln..v» lift Tl.. kitcli..|i K'"I n.n A |'iii<'.ii|i|i|c lirlil III IhrniiiiU I Itl I iillllli;; till' iM'liiilli 117 Till' \ irtiii' of II rliiM-rdil fare 117 A |ilui'ky Imui iniMtrii tor 117 A l>inl llint liul|M itwK tr a luii-ii miiiiufiii'turor 120 T..in'*K'"l'l«lu»l 120 Till' liiliui'l iinwownry 121 Til.' arlill.rv fi'iii 121 M-rn Clirislnm», nmniiiia 122 Tililf uuiiiiiirK 122 A (ainily niiMicumn- sucioty 122 lli.w I iiilly li-ariii'il her leiwm 12.1 Kailli . 123 Willie's luniiT-iiigecm 124 Instant in iH>a»>n 1 24 A prayiT 124 I'ray, ami ImnK on 124 Sli.lU 12.') ( "liarliti'ii prpxent 12.% Till' Imikfii window 12.'5 Till' •liM'.nery of tho niunimoth 126 Tlir..' Iil.i.k raU 126 !.fj;fn.l of lliu ilfphant 127 Wliat i> the use of snakes. 127 (jiu.er fruit of an oak 128 The wisliiii); stone, ami liow it was loat 12H Turtle .128 lVe]i sea wonilers 129 Kurs useit for ladies' clo&ka 129 1 I'Aill. Olluloid 129 Thn ele|iliRiit and lliv a|ii- 139 Cnxiil nianner* 129 How to Kel rich ISO It ni.iy Ih. fun for lh« d«lhy 1:1" A lly's nioutU 1.10 A llohle reply l;lO Kindly loiideseBniion 1.10 l>aiiKerelitr. 131 If not, why iiotl 131 Seeing the (liMi|M'l 131 The swean'r lUred 131 Another don story 132 I>niwiiiK li'HHon 132 (.'areli'ss Toiniiiy 132 Captain lloxall's suxxeation 133 How iharai'ter (,'rowii 133 Haniel WehstiT 133 Wroim-doiiiK 133 Twol.lue pencils 131 No weiwhts 134 How I.] 1.0 ^oihI and happy 131 True iKiliteneiw 1 3.% The lailor-hird 135 A horse whieh made a aciiaation LI.") IntelliKent hona 13.1 Over the (alls 13r, A tliorou)lmll he satisfiwl 37 I Ihwanl, Christian aoldiere 99 If you have a pleasant thought 137 • I'oETBT. The prodigal son 12 The friend at midnight 22 Lines (jii giving 73 The rats ami the meal 90 I'lKir, sad humanity 92 Itriice anil the spider 106 C.randpa, you do look sweet 123 llo it now 130 The SulUn of the l-j«t 131 Rest follows lalxir 131 The Mind Iwy 1.1.1 Tw.> and one H4 inlK'l T. iroml in »[ villul rulilil iiij,''') Willi f clllpl IlKHttT iiig:li miul.l pitcll P4IIIC. ItO .HO III) 141 III . 1 1-.' . 1 »;i I i.'i III III .III III III III li:> ins I .IN ins . 10 . 37 09 137 . 12 00 . 73 . «0 . 92 .106 .123 ,130 .131 .131 .135 144 f I Beprinted Stories. •«•-#- TUM LOVIOKINS lUiTlIUN. Mr. niid Mth. Ldvi-kin luul nuich Iroulilc Willi llu'ir noii 'rmn. Tom l^ovi'kiii Imd lifcii rcctiirni/.t'tl Iroin IiIm fiiriy youth iin ilio Icadrr in ull iiiiHi'hiovoiiH (lectin in liin villuKi'. Wiw tliiTc iin orrliiml rol)l)cd ill u i)i'ri/.cd Hidii-rcs during the nijrht, Tom Lovckin, it would he mud, paid it a visit ; wan ihvrt' a pitchi'd hattlu on tlio wtri'i't he- cniiNOorhiN hi'iiin {rt'al that thi! whoU- villaKi- wan in arinit. The lioyN t'liKa^cd in the loray to do thfir licMt could not cat ull they hud Htiilcn, uiid huviiig no iiicuiin ol' hiding it, Tom L«vckin'» recep- tacle under thu lied wum thought or and utilized lor the occasion. >Sliortly ulter the udveiituro Scjuire liich Hcoidcntly culled on Mr. l.i(ivekin to examine Kome pluim thul thu luttcr hud been propoMud to carry a car through j the uir ul the rate ol u mile a minute, — " more or Ichn," ho used to add when Npeakiiig on tliiN Nuliject. "Voii cannot meusure the Kpeed and power ol ihene in- veiitionti in the head, Mr, iiki- thoNc which huve long lieeli j worked out. The Nlight advan-l tage which might lie gained liy lexhening u crunk or eiilurging the circumlerence ol u wheel might luuke u dillereiice ol thirty iiiiIcn an hour. The air in nut like the ruilroud, sir; we huve no hills to decreuNU our Hiieed, no ruili* to "dp in^my rl(llIre, with u sly chuckle to hiniscll, "and then we cull tiee how he pructmcs Hying." Iween the boys of the rival schools, Tom Lovekiii's strategical inove- ments were discussed lor weeks nlterwards by the pence-loving neighbors, who could not under- stand what had got into the lioys since they were young, preventing them from meeting and parting in good friends. And although when Tom Lovekin was question- ed on such subjects his face bore every sign of innocence and sur- prise, it might be remarked that after nearly every loray under- neath Tom's bed there was to be found the most luscious melon, the roundest, reddest cheeked apple, the finest pears, or perhaps he carried home the blackest eye in all the country side. These ull were trophies of which Tom was not a little proud. But his great success in these forays were the ^ — i \ working on lor some time to dis- cover perpetual motion, lor Tom's lather's attention was so taken up with his machines and inventions that Tom's home education and training was coniined to his mother. But his mother had enough to do with her manifold duties, for more fell to her share than should have done, through her husband's vagaries, and lor the most part Tom's home training wus left to himself, and us we have seen the elfects were not the most satisfactory. But to continue our story, when Mr. Kich had examined the diller- eut attempts to get a wheel, or a lever, or a bull, or a magnet, to move forever, he was not ullowed to depart. Mr. Lovekin had many years before endeavoured to make a flying machine, by which he break and shake a man ull to bits, ill the uir, no bridges to iro over slowly, re(jiiire no brakesnu'ii to slacken 81 eed or nothing of that sort; we have only currents in the air to contend willi, and this I propose to overcome by mak- ing ;" let this dusli represent the rest of the learned disquisition on wheels, and crunks, uiid wings, and tails, by which the currents of the uir were to lie overcome. Of course Mr. Kich could not be allowed to go away w itliout seeing the wonderliil machine, and Mr. Lovekin unlocked the box in which it wus packed, but no muchiiie was to be seen. " Tom ! Tom ! ! Tom ! ! ! " " Ye-e-s, Sir-r-r", from a distance. Tom arrives. "Tom where is my flying machine ?" "It's MO dillercnce." said Tom, who saw the old man's schciiie ; "1 call lly here Just as well " "lint it would be too much trouble to liiiiiir it down ; but neviT mind, h.we it your own ! way." j 'I'om went up rejoicing, not iiiiiigiiiing that the f^quire and his father were lnjlow ilig at his heels. Ills surprise can be imagined wlu'ii just as he was dragiringthe iiiuchiiie Iroiii his never-l'uiliiig receptacle under the bed the old men entered the room. "Dear me ! what u perfuiiii" you have here, "I'ears, 1 declare!' father. "I'iuins and apples, apricots too, ' said M r. Rich. " U hat a rich boy you must be to have all of these I Come give us one, Tom."«j delicious Tom." said liis II -|>^@ ffiH^ \ II 4 'I'nin'ii fnrt" i?rov¥ red, •nil nil hiHut'ir-poiiHfBHiim lofl liiiii. "Tom! 'roiii '" mini 111* JHlhtT, "wlieri-'n lhi> iiiiir|iiiii''ii liiil ^' "I know," hiikI ihi< iH|nir«',")ron rnn liinl it linii'/niir on my null. I wontliTi'il how iinvboily I'oiiM )^i>t ovt-r win-n I liiiil it newly itpiki'il II iiiontli iku'o Let iix »ff your tifii»iiri'N, Tom " Tom proiiiiri'il tlicm, anil out thi'v rojli'il in uri'ui iiriihiiiion \Vliiil wii.s lohi-iloni' Willi liim f " Miiki> It Hiiilor of liiiii." Kiinl tin- Si|uiri' ; "I'll iri-t liini i lirrtli on till- ' \ iiriliint.' IIi-'ll I'omo Itiii'k II lii'lliT lioy;"iinil lui uiriMnxl IiIk mollii'r'x proti xiiitionx unil ti'iirH 111- wiiM di-nt to siTVi- ao a Nciiiiiiin in Hit Mai<'>ty'it Nnvy. Many vi'iirN lia.s ln' Ih'i'Ii iiwiiy, unil 111- hiiM provi'il u i;>>o );rown olil ill till' iii<-iiiiiim<' ; ili>-ir only romrort in an iiiloptcil cliilil who hi'iriii" lo rriiiiml ihi-Mi of Tom ami wciirs hi« name. Tom is all Ihi' talk ilav aiiil niuhl. The KKI'UINTKI) MOKIKS. KIIOM TIIK •• NOUTIIKHN MKSSKN(JKU I thai I li-ll Very ilitairoiiN to h«i> liovv It waa <'oiii|iirti-i| in Ihiit lamily For in all my viniiN I hml oliHi-rvi-il II rrniarkahly kiiiil ili-- iiiinnor lifiwi'i-n th« varioUN iiK-iiilti-rx, ami wiim il to lh>-ik till' Itihli-li-MNoiiii wi-ri' Miiilioil with Hoiiii' ifooil ri'KiillN. Thi> i-v-'iiini; iiii'al lii'lnu- nvir. all wild coulil mill took a llilili'. wliili- Ida, Mi'atliiu' liiTNi'lr at the im-loi|iMin. roiiiin<'iiri'>l a liyniii, ill the NiiiifinK III wliii'li all jiiitn-il. It WHS alioiil thi> I'liihl .'^Jiiniii'l, anil that wat tlii> niiIiJitI of tlii> IrMMiii Till' fathi-r ri'iiil lln- piia- Mitfi' Irom tin- llibh', nIowIv iiml in an inipri-KHivi' nuiniiiT. Ili' llii>n naiil, ■ Now Irl i-arli om- ;fivi' Noim'lliiiiK wliirh lhi>y liavn li'ariii'il V.I rri;aiil to tlio Ii-hhoii or ri'pi-at a text." Ilol tlii'ii saiil lii>r viTNi', in haliy ai'r-niN, " till' I'hiUl (lid miniHtt>r unto ilii> Lord." " What in minititiT, my littli^ one ! " aaki-il hi-r falhi-r. Doinir thill's for mamniii, and fatluT has ifivn up bin search for papa, too, I doss." Thon dimhiiig pi-rpetual motion and hiRtinkeriiitr into hor mother's lap and neatlin^ at the llyinir marhine, and inatead , her ourly head in her hosom she devotes his spare time to makinir ! added, " And for the dood Popa ship models and other nautical articles. Now he is reading Ihe news- paper a few "lavs old, and his eve coines arross the notice, " The ' \ iifilaul' isonlereil home and is expected ni'Xt week." "Then we may expect Toin in a few ilav.s," says the mother. " I Wonder liow he looks .' He must lie twi'nty-six now. Ten years is a lonir, long time to lie away." " Is'l'oin I oiiiiir home, mamma ? Then vou won't talk so much aliout iiim will you ?" said Tom junior. The door opens and a broad. in heaven." " The child has cautrht the spirit of the text," said Mr. W , | " Now, Archie." | Aichie, the live-year old boy, ■ snid, "There was another little boy who w.^nt into the tetiiple, who never wannauffhly too. But he did not live there like Samuel. .And he \v. IS always ifood.Just as ^ Ifooil an can be It was .lesus." "Oh, please, (lapa. that was | mine," said little Dora. " Hut never mind, Archie dear, you did I s.iy that so nice. I'll say two j verses: ' And Samuel ifrew and the Lord WII.S with him, and did let none of his words fall to the ' bronzed, smiliiiL' face, the index of j irround.' ' And Jesus increased in I a stroiiir, lieariv frame, peeps in. | wisdom and stature and in favor It is fallowed l.y the body itself, j with (jod and man.'" ] and Iheie is in the room a sailor. "Very well8aid,liltledauj^hter," , The lather look.s lip from hi-, paper , remarked Mr. W . To which with nil astonished look, but the ' Dora replied, " Oh ! but, papa, I mother's eye ha.s rerocrnized her son and he is clasped in her arms once airain. THK LKSSON AT IIOMK. IIY M\U\ v. ll.VI.E. '■ It is lesson-iiii;lit ilon't trotill alter ten," said a little frienii, with whose parents I liail recently become aci(uaiiited, and on whose mother I wa.s inakin<; a call. " Lesson-niirht ! And what do you do, Dora ? " I asked. " ( Ih, we have little stories and Bible text.s thiiiirs ; and lid not lind them myself. Mamma found them ; but when we talked over the li sson with her, I wanted to tell that which Archie just said." After some remarks by Mr. W , an older boy alluded to the fact that Samuel rose immedi- ately upon beinir called, each time, sbowin!; his rendiness (o obey. He added, " I should think tin- sons of lili would have felt reproved bv Samuers attention to their father." Mr \V made some reply, and pa explains and then Ida irave a brief state- it's so nice. But we ment of the duties of the liiirh all brinij somethin!r. and Ida — ' priest, and in what manner Samuel that's my older sister— calls it n probably aided him. And as a lesson-picnic Kven Dot, the dar- further help, Mrs. W .showed lintr, says a little verse. Dostay," i a picture of the sacred furniture urired Dora. in the holy place, callinir to mind And biHntr cordially solicited by some things which had been Mrs. W , my youns friend's ; learned in previous lessons. mother, I remained. Indeed, a It^asan unconstrained, familiar Sunday-school lesson, studied at i exercise, the father takini; notice home by parents and children, is ' of each child's part by some litting W) so rare a thing in these busy days ; response or question. And when tiach one had spoken, all roiitinued to talk or ask iiuestions upon the stlbjeclN of the lesson A brief appropriate story was usually told for the beiielil of the youilirer ones " Nothinir helps better to fa- iiiiliarixe our minds with Scripture truth in my opinion," said .Mr. \V , " than this slmlyinu' the lesson to^rrther And we think It has a t{ood inllueiiie upon the daily life ol bolli parents and children." — S. S. Time: I CAN'T II KU* IT That was what Harry Day always said when he was told of any of bis bad liabils : " 1 can't help it;" which really meant, "I don't Irish to help it;" because We know Well enoiittli that we can every one of us " liel|i"doinif wroiiif if we try in the riulit way. Once Harry came u|Min an old story in a worn, soiled book which he routed out of a chest in the lumber-closet, and this story set him thinkinir, as it may, perhaps, set some other youiuf folks think- illi( about the reason why it is necessary lo resist what is bad in its earliest beij^iiininir. " Long ago there lived an old hermit who had left the busy world for a cell in the desert, and who was reputed to be learned and wise. "Many people used lo visit the loiieiy man that they miirhl receive his advice, and once a youth came lo him who begired to stay with him for a time as Ins pupil. " The hermit consented, and the iirst day hi> led his young com- panion into a small wood near to their humble dwelling. Look- ing round, he pointed to a very young oak tree Just hhooting fiom the ground. " ' I'ull up that sapling from the root,' said he to his pupil, who obeyed without any difficulty. They went on a little farther, and the old man pointed to another tree but also a young one whose roots struck deeper. This was not so easy to pull upas the Iirst had been ; but with several ell'orts it was accomplished. " The third had grown quite tall and strong, so that the youth was a long lime before he could tear it up; but when his master pointed to a fourth, which was still larger and stronger, he found that, try iih he might, it was impossible to move it. " ' Now, remember and lake heed to what you have seen,' said the hermit. ' The bad habits and passiona of men are just like these trees of the wood. When young and tender they may bo easily overcome, but let them once gain lirm root in your soul, and no human strength is sufficient to get rid of them. Watch over your heart, and do not wait till your faults and passions have grown strong before you try to uproot them." That was the end of the story ; m Harry I can t lips he So he but, as I have said, it set Day thinking, and when " help it " was rising (o Ins was ashamed lo utter it. set himself to the Work of master- iiig his lein|ier, his idleness, and all that I'onsrieiiee told him was amiss Tlioiiirh this Is a work that IN not done in an hour or a day, or even a year, it will be eU'eeted al last (perliaps alter many failures! by prayer and perse- veranee ; nay, it must be done unless we \\iNli lo I ome the servants and the slaves of bIii. — ^f. Y. Ohntrver. - ..-♦■ AFUAID OK TIIK DARK Hell was a sweet child of three or four years. She was briifht pleasant by day, but having and been once friglilened by a nurse about " the dark " she would cry, if she woke in the nii;hl, to be taken into her inolliei's bed. But her mother said, ' No, |{e||, you must lie still in your little crib ; but you may hold my hand whenever you wake up." So very often t' '' -l" r mother would be wakened by the touch of a Nilken hand. She would clasp it I . • erown. and very soon the dear baby would be oil' again lo the land of dreams Bell had never been separated from her mother a single nielli But the lady took heron her knee one day and told her that dear grandma was very ill and was goinu: lo die, and that she must iro away for a few days to be with her. " Are you willing I should go and comrort her ' " she asked Te.irs lilled the blue eyes of little Bell, and she choked so that she could scarcely speak : " Yes, y es, mamma; I want you to go and comfort grandma, but — but— who'll hold my little hand when I'm afraid of the dark ? Papa don't wake up as you do ! " " My dear baby," said the kind mother, " il is Jesus and not I, who keeps you from harm by day and night He is always beside that little bed, and if you wake and miss me, He will take your hand." "Then you may go, juamma;'' said Bell, smiling through her tears. That night when Bell's lather went to his room, he turned up the gas a little, that he might see I the dear baby face in Ihe crib. There was a smile oyer the rosy lips, and the little hand was stretched out as if foi the grasp of some protecting hand. Perhaps in her dreams she was reaching out her hand to Jesus. He who said " Of such is tin kingdom of her yen," has all the dear little ones in His keeping day and night ; and they are salVi with Ilim." — Watrhman. Thk Seeds of Gun Punishment are sown when we commit sin ; j the punishment itself is sure to I come, sooner or later, as the inevita- ' ble haryestof our sowing. — Hesiod. •^ r ^i I, it net Hurry wlliMl " I run t let llIN li|IN llll lli-r II. So li«< 'iirk (if iiiiiNltir- i lllll'llrNN, IIMll llllll llilll WIIN iIh In ji work I Jill lioiir or n iir, it will 1)11 ii|ii itlicr iiiiiiiy T llllll (HTNIt- lUnt lie tloilf I Imtoiiii' the lnvt'ii of liii. — III': DARK chilli III' lliri'c II' wiiH liriirht ly. lint linviiii^ I'll liy Ik iiiirmi sill' woiilil rry, ■ iiiiihl, to Ik; Iii'i'n Iti'd. .iii.l, ■ No, Hi'll, ill voiir Hull' liolil my hiiiiil I' U|>." ' '1" r mother i liy I he toilrh I. She woiil'l , mill very hodii III III' oll'iii^iiiii UN lieeii Ni'|>nriili'il II Niiiule iiiulil ler on her knee her thai deiir y ill mill WIIH ml nIii' iiiUKt IT" VN to tie with lliiii; I nHoiiIiI ! " mIu' nskeil 1)1 lie eyeN of :hokeil HO tliiit Hpeiik : " Yen, vunt yon to fjit nil, liut — hut — tie hiiiul when k? Pupa don't I " ' said tho kind UN and not I, in hiirin hy day lilwayB henide 1 if you wake will lake your go, mamma ;'' rouijhher tears. n Uell'H lather he turned up t he might tiee CO in Iho crib. over tho rosy tie hand was i'oi the grasp of ind. Ireains she was and to Jesus. Of suoh is tho n," has all tho n His keeping d tlioy aru safe hman. m rilNISHMKNT re commit sin ; tself is sure to 3r,astheinevita- )wing. — Hesiiid. KKIMUNTKI) SI'dJllKS. |."IH)M rili: • NOHTIIKUN MKSSKNdKn" ClIUIHTIKS OIIHISTMAH 9^^ NT rAIMT. CIIAPTKR I It bhriiitiiiii« wero funned. They were all out under llie i;real elm-tree in the hack yard, .it work trying to keep cool , an Karl laid, who had hm torn HliMW hat I'ur a Ian, and waa lyiiii; at lull length under the tree. ('liriHiie waa aewiiig, tak- OllUlSllli WAH 8KWINII. inir ({iiick little businesg-like gtiti'hPH on a long seain, the haliy was pulling lirst at her work, and then at Karl's hat ; Nettie was under tlie tree, loo, hut fast anleep, one chuhliy hand supporting her red cheek. Tho mother nf all these little Tuckers was there.too, ■ewing another long seam. There was ever so much to do in the Tucker family, and when any of them sat down to rest, there was sure to ho long seams to sew, patches to set, or holes to darn. ■' Knrl," tho mother said, " keep the flies off Nettie, can't you V they are eating her up." " I must go," said Karl, but he arose on t<;ie elbow and began lazily to tan away the flies ; " I guess my half-hour is up ; father said I was to rest for half an hour, because my cheeks got so red be was afraid 1 would be sun-struck ; it is awful hot out in the Held. I'll tell you where I wish I was this minute ; I'd like to be in uncle ilaniel's ice-house. What a thing it must be to have ice-houses and everything you want." " We can have an ice-house just as well AS not, by Christmas time," said Christie, biting otf her thread; " If I had a chance to be at uncle Daniel's a little while, I'd take care to see something difiier- ^ ent from ice-houses — something j I that we can't ever hare." As she apok», she drew a long breath, like one whoan heart was full ol thliiua that she inlvht say, if she would. Karl wnlehod tier onri- ounly rroiii Im'Iii'hI hm hat "What ihiiig* are there at uiK'U Uaniel'ii that yiui never ex- pert !o hariiy he aHked at laat. " LutHof thein.earpelii, and nice furniture, and inetiireN. ami hooka, and a piano, oh my !" She caught her liruatli auain. and aeenu'd to think it lieHt to Hlop, lent alie ahould aay too inueli. " 1 wouliln't earo a lig lor Ihe rariiels and luriilture, but I'd like well enough to have some of the books. A history or two, maybe, and, like enoiiiiih, a jihyHieai ^reo'.rraphy : but ihoHi' lliinuH I iiii'an to have touio day, willioiit ijoiiig to UIH'le Dalllel'ii Wliiit good would It do to look at thinva, if you didn't own tliein I" " I think it would be nice ' hiive Olio goo. I look V ;hem all ; you eouxl iliiiik out liow other lolks live a great deal eaiier alter that. ' " Well." xaid Karl, after a tlimiglillul pauHe, " may- be you will have a clinU'e Rome day ; it ihu'I ho awlul far '> uncle Daniel's, now that liie ' il- iy is done. How do you know nut you will go and make them n viiil V' Over this nild BUguoS' lion, Christie laughed, and broke her thiead in her nervoiiBiies.'* ; but the mother looked up with a Hignilicaiil nod of her heai? " I mean you shall, child," she said deeideilly ; " 1 ineant it for n sur- piise, but mayho you will like thinking it over, and planning for it, better than the surprise. Your father and I miide up our minds that wii would have you go and Bpeiid a whole day at your uncle Daniel's, and see all the things J hat you want to see so much ; they've invited us often enough and we mean to do it" Karl sal upright, and his cheeks were nearly as red as Christie's and both the children »aiil '•When?" ill KUch loure one lay llllll oiiirlit to come lirst " Coiu.'e,"" said Karl sturdily, but he Hhaded IiIn fare entirely wilh hiH hat, and let the Hies bite Nettie in pence lor about a inimile. What a tliiiii.' it vonjil bo to take a ride on the steam ears' No, he hid never been on them ill lii.^ life. Neither had Chrisiio but then sli" wiio a '.;irl ; he wondered if il could bo so hard lor girls as for IiOvh. '•lint, inolhor," said ChiiHtie timidly, "it costs an awi'nl lot of monev to tide on the cars." " 1 l .h his great coat and heavy mittens. " You will have two passen- f. ers, my boy, this morning," he said cheerily ; "oh, yes, I'm going. I couldn't let my girl start out in world alone." "Now, do be careful," said mother, following her treasure out of the door, and down the snowy path to the great wood sleigh, where the can of milk wos already tucked in among bags and blankets; "don't open the window to look at anything, and mind you don't put your head out ; I've heard that it is dangerous ; and remember all I told you to tell Louisa iind the rest ; and mind and wrap the big shawl around you well, when you ride to the station. .\iid don't you let them coax you to stay all night for anything in the world. I shouldn't sleep a wink if you did, and I guess may- be I'd start on fooc to see what was the matter." TUB BAiiv SAT DOWNONTiiK Between these sen- (IRASS AND LAUaiiED. tences, Christie was kind motherly eyes ; " but then, you are a boy, and buys are ex- pected to take care of themselves, and look after t'ae girls besides." Karl's dark cheeks flushed over this, and he answered cheerily, " Well, I'll take good care of her ; I'll go on the cars and pick her out a seat, and settle all her bas- kets and bundles. If the whole truth were told, Karl Tucker looked forward to this performance almost as eager- ly as Christie did to the journey, livery morning he drove to the depot and sent a can of milk into the city by the early train. And every morning Wells Burton, a being kissed and hugged, until what with the bundling up, and the frosty air, and a feelitig as though she was going away off into a great cold world, and might never see any of the dear people in the little old farmhouse any more, she felt as though she should choke, or may- be cry ; and that would be almost worse ! At last they were off! The mother came in and held the baby up at the window to watch the sleigh as it turned the corner,and slipped out of sight, and then she said: " How Mrs. Burton stands it to let her little girl go to the city every day to school, I don't see! Seems to me I should fly away with anxiety ; but there is nothing like getting used to things Dear me ! It doesn't seem right to have the child go off on Christmas day ; but then it was her birthday, and all ; and she'll be back to supper and be hungry enough, I'll war- rant ; thnre'll be so many dishes, and silver, and things at Daniel's, that she can't do much eating. I'll have stewed chicken, and bis- cm s smothered in cream gravy, and hot apple sauce, to surprise her ; see if I don't ! Come, Nettie dear, you're the only little girl mother has to help her to-day, and we must fly around. What should I do if I hadn't Christie to help every day, is more than I can think.' And, thank the Lord, I haven't got it to think. But she wiped away the tears as she hurried to her work, for Christie had never been away from home before a whole day in her life. What, not even to school ? No, not even to school. (To be continued.) A HORSE THAT COUNTS. A certain horse in Sayreville for twenty years has been a cart- horse in a brick-yard, and the ha- bit of going through a certain round of duties day after day for eight months in the year has en- abled him to do things which seem to itidicate possession of mental faculties similar to some of those possessed by the human race. It is an old saying among the farmers that crows cannot count more than three, but this horse has the ability to count sixty-five. His routine of Ijibor is to cart sixty-five loads of clay from the pit to the spot where the clay is mixed or ground and then go for a load of coal dust; and now, without atiy thing being said or done to indicate the fact to him, when he has deposited his sixty- fifth load, he turns away from the clay pit and goes to the dock for a load of dust. This is not the only peculiarity, for when he goes to the pit, he backs the cart up to the right place, atid will take only what ho conceives to be his proper load. If more is put on, he backs and kicks and rattles the cart about until the load is re- duced to what he considers a pro- per quantity. Having such an intellectual capacity, it is not sur- prising to learn that he will not be driven. As soon as the reins are touched he becomes fractious and uiimana^ -able, but a gentle explanation of what is required usually has the desired eUect. — Children's Friend. Good Men have the fewest fears. He has but one who fears to do wrong. He has a thousand who has overcome that one. Hk 18 NOT "nly idle who does nothing, but ho is idle who might be better employed. m 1, I doii't see! 3uld fly away tere is uothing things Dear i right to hare 'hristmas day ; birthday, and tack to supper ough, I'M war- many dishes, gs at Daniel's, much eating, icken, and bis- cream gravy, :c, to surprise Come, Nettie nly little girl p her to-day, round. What In't Christie to I more than I lank the Lord, hink. way the tears her work, for r been away I whole day in not even to iven to school. inued.) r COUNTS. I Sayreville tor been a cart- d, and the ha- igh a certain y after day for year has en- things which possession of lilar tosorae of y the human saying among crows cannot hree, but this ility to count itinu of Ijibor is loads of clay le spot where •r ground and 1' coal dust; and ling being said the fact to him, iited hi.s sixty- away from the .0 the dock for his is not the • when he goes the cart up to ind will take eivcs to be his ore is put on, and rattles the tie load is re- >nBider8 a pro- ving such an r, it is not sur- al he will not II as the reins omes fractious , but a gentle it is required sired ellect. — ^e the fewest one who fears las a thousand that one. idle who does lie who might w RKPRINTKI) STORIKS. FROM TirK " NORTIIKRN MKSSENC.KR." -mm H CHRISTIE'S CHHISTMAS. BT FANST. CHAPTER I.-Con/inw'. It is time I told you a little more about the Tucker family. They lived away "out West. " That is, if you live in New York, or Brooklyn, or Maine, or ISoston, or New Haven, or even in Cleve- land or Cincinnati, you might call it away "out West," for it was in Kansas. lived an entirely different life from the Tuckers. He was Mrs. Tucker's youngest brottjer, was a merchant, and had one of the finest stores in the fine little city, and was what the Western peo- ple called a rich man. The Tuckers saw very little of them, for the reason that twenty miles in a country where there are no railways, are not easily gotten over, especially by busy people ; and it was not yet quite a year since the branch railway came within a mile of the Tucker's farm. Since then, the country around had begun to hold up its head. A good school had been started, a neat little church had been built, and to the church the Tuckers tramp- ed every Sabbath day. But the school they had not suceeded in getting time to attend. "By next year," Mr- Tucker had said, " we must try hard for it." He said it again that very morning, on the road to the depot. Chapter II. It was very pleasant rid- ing to the depot in the early light of the win'er morning. A ride of any KAUi, swi'NH OFF A.M0NO THE BOUGHS. soTt was a treat to Christie. There was always so much to do in the little home in the morning, and when evening was closing in, that she conid rarely be spared to ride to the station with Karl ; so that, really, for the third time in her life, did she ex- pect to gaze on the cars ! " It isn't your first ride after the iron horse, by any means," her father said to her. " 'lore than a thousand miles yon rode, and y 'U stood it well, too ; were just as gO"d as you could be, and gave mother and me no trouble at all ; in fact you seemed to be anxious to amuse Karl, and help him to have a good time. But you were such a little dot I don't suppose you remember anything about it." " Why, father," said Karl, " she wasn't three years old then! How could she remember it?" "Well, I don't know ; seems to me I remember my mother, and I wasn't quite three years old when she died ; but then folks remember mothers, I s'pose, longer than they do anything else. They ought to. Well, Christie, my girl, keep your eyeo open to-day, and , see what you can learn. My New England home, had been : father used to tell me— your old the best reader and speller in the | grandfather, you know, who died whole school, had tanght them in j before you were born— he used both these branches very care- 1 to say to me, ' Learn all you can, fully And so, though they had John, about anything and every- not many books to read, what thine ; there is no telling when a they had were very carefully j chance may pop up for you to use read, and very well understood, what you thought you never Uncle Daniel lived in the hand- would use.' It's a good rule. I some city that had sprung up practised on it once when I saw twenty miles further east, and he I a man making a waggon ; I The Tuckers wont there from New England when Karl was a baby, and had been working away on th'eir bit of a farm ever since. A city had grown up about twenty miles from them, but it had not grown where Mr. Tucker thought it would, when he bought his little farm, and not even a school had come with- in five miles of them until lately. I am not so very sure that it would have done the Tucker children muoh good if there had ; the truth ' ..s, there was such hard work, .nd so much of it, to feed all Ih', mouths, and clothe the stout little bodies, that both Christie and Karl had had to work hard all day long. You need not suppose that on this ac- count they did not know any- thing. I fancy they were almost as good scholars as some who go to school year after year. Mr. Tucker had taught them, in the long winter evenings, to cipher, and had studied geography with them on a big old map of the United State8,thathe had brought with him from New England. And Mrs. Tucker, who, in her watchad just how he fixed the wheel and the holes for the nails, and everything, and I said, right out loud, ' It isn't any ways likely that I shall ever make a waggon, but then I might as well know how you do it.' And it wasn't a week after that we broke down going across the prairie, your mother and me and two children; and if I hadn't known just how to fix that wheel we would have frozen to death likely enough be- fore we could get anywhere." "Well," Christie said, laughing a little, "I don't suppose 1 shall ever make o train of cars, but I'll learn how if 1 can." " There's no telling," her father isaid, 'what will come of one day ; 'they are curious things, days are; !like enough you may see some- I thing to-day that will help you I along all your life; and for the matter of that, yoxi might see 'plenty of things to hinder you all [your life; that's what makes such : solemn business of living. Only there's one comfort ; you can shut your eyes to the evil things, and say : I won't remember one of them; I'll have nothing to do with them. And the good things yon can mark and lay away in your mind for future use. Well, here we are, I declare. Old Sam has trotted along pretty fast this morning. Now, my man,you may help Christie out, and get her ticket, and put her on the train all right, and I'll stay here and take care of Sam." Then did Karl's face glow ! But he made a pretence of objec- tion: "Why, father, I can take care of Sam if you want to go." " No, no, my boy, I can trust yon to look after Christie ; you'll have plenty of time ; they've got a lot of freight to load this morn- ing, and yon can go in and find her a seat, and do it all up like a man. Sam and I will tend to each other out here. I'll just set the satchel on the steps there, so yon can reach it easy, and then I'll drive around to the shed." Good, thoughtful father ! Putting quiet- ly away his own de- sire to see his little gir safely launched for her first journey; putting back with resolute hand the vague foarthat Karl might not help her properly, or might not get off the train in time, and so harm might come to one or both of them. Well he knew that a vchole array of "mights" and " might nots" lay all along life's journey with which to make himself miserable, and there was nothing for it but to seize the doubts with resolute hand and hold them back 80 that thi y need not cripple the youii!.^ lives under his care. Ho remembered how, when Karl climbed the tree and swung off in a daring way among the slender-looking boughs, he had to shut his eyes and ask :ist them! Everything " Yes, there is ; he can't walk, i seemed to be afraid of them, and only on crutches, and looks pale hurrying to get out of their way. lew years older than himself to boiraer, mother said you and 1 would possibly ruling around on the cars fur the fun of it, as he some- times rode a horse to water ! As if in explanation of his wonder- ment. Wells Burton spoke to the lady who had addressed him. " No, ma'am, our people are all walk over that way and see all around it. Do you suppose they will be there in the sum- mer ?" "Of course," said Karl, "they built the new house lor the summer. They didn't tneati (o stay hero in in town; went in yesterday to! the winter at all. Nick told me fip' says they jtist came lather's. 1 was to have none there down to settle it, and see to last evening but 1 didn't get my things ; and the sick young man j)»p.i'H message in Itino, and so took a fancy to stay ; so they all came home as usual and had to stayed slay here all night. Well, no, not alone, exactly Nu'k said he i The servants are all at home, you knov/ ; but it seemed rather lonely. didn't think it would last long, but he iriu'^si'il maybe they would stay all winter." " Is there a sick young man'?" Christie's voice was chang- and weak ; and when he goes in to the city, Nick says some great strong man takes him right in his arms and lifts him into the cars ; and he is twenty years old." " Poor young man ! " said Christie. And she envied the Burton familr no more. "There's the train I" said Karl, his voice full of suppressed ex- citement. " Now, Christie, don't you touch one of those bundles. I'll tend to them all; and, Chris- tie," — this in a lower tone — "if anything should happen that uncle Daniel shouldn't be there, and you shouldn't see the con- ductor, this boy would help you olf if you should just ask him,and he could tell you just where to go to wait; he knows all about the city, you see." "Oh," said Christie, shrinking back, and clinging to Karl's tip- pet, " I couldn't speak to him, Karl; I couldn't indeed. I'd rather get off alone a great deal ; and I'm most sure uncle Daniel will be there." "So am I. Don't worry I Now come !" And the great moment had arrived. Karl shouldered the bundles with the air of one used to carry- ing many things, set them skill- fully on the steps of the p) a tfo rm, then came down again for Chris- tie, piloted her safely through the car, found a seat for her, d i s covered that there was a convenient little wire house above the seat where shawls and parcels were placed, arranged hers for her, and in fact did everything that an experi- enced traveller could have done for her comfort. He had not used his eyes for nothing. Hut now a brakesman was snouting " All iiboard !" and he must leave her to herself. He bent down for one last word just as Wells Bur- ton sauntered iu with the air of an old traveller who had lingered outside until the latest moment : "Remember, Christie, if any- thing should happen — which there won't, it isn't likely — I shouldn't be afraid to ask that THEY WEEK REALLY OFF. What a queer noise the cars made ! And they shook so r As though they were angry, Christie thought. She and Karl had of- ten tried to imagine what riding on the cars felt like, but they cer- tainly had never succeeded. By degrees, as she became accustom- ed to the strange motion, our lit- tle traveller gained courage to look about her. She had a greaiL desire to act like other people, and in order to do this, it would be necessary to find out how other people acted. Opposite her sat a man with fray hair, and gold spectacles, and a very large gold watch. I liri.'-tie liked to look at him. " He is good," she said to her- self '• I know ho is. I wonder if he's somebody's grandpa going homo for Christmas. I suppose he doesn't look like my grandpa out in New York, but 1 wish he did. 1 suppose he is taking his grandchildren some nice pre- ents ; books, maybe. I wish he would come over here and sit, and tell me about them." This thought made her look di- rectly in front of her, to see who had the seat which she wanted for her old gentleman. It was a young man with a pale, dis- contented face. He seemed to be in a great hurry, for he looked at his watch three times during the few minutes that Christie watched him ; yet when a lady who sat in front of him suddenly turned and asked hijn to please tell her what time it was, he started as though he were not used to being spoken to, and said : " What ? I bog your pardon. Oh, the time ! I really do not know, but I'll see." And out came the watch again. How could Christie help gig- ling ? It did seem so funny to her. She did not mean he should hear her, but ho did, for he dart- ed at her a quick, annoyed look, which, however, softened when he saw what a shy, ashamed little thing it was. Now Christie was not used to strangers, and felt almost afraid to speak ; but she had been brought up to be careful of other people's feelings, and she was afraid she had hurt this young man. She slipped forward on her seat and touched his arm. Her voice trembled a little : •'If you please, sir," she said, " I hope you will forgive me for laughing. I couldn't help it; it seemed so funny to look at such a lovely Watch as that without boy about things ; ho looks good- ' knowing what it said. But I did natured. And, Christie, mind and come home to-night, even if you ' have to walk." i There was a sudden clanging of the bell, a final howl from the locomotive, a jerk which almost threw Christie from her seat, and they were really off. How swift- ly the trees and barns and fences, manneni. — Swift not mean to bo rude. Mother would be ashamed of me." {To be rinUinned.) A Man is known by his com- pany, and his company by his I -^^i% ^.f^ Everything of thorn, and of their way. liso the cars hook BO r As iiSfry, Christie Karl had of- what riding , but they cer- coeeded. By imo accustom- lotion, our lit- L courage to 10 had a greaik other people, his, it would lid out how Opposite hor tiair, uiul gold ■ry larjre gold I'll to look at a said to her- is. I wonder nindpa e:oiiig s. I suppose J my grandpa ut 1 wish ho is taking his e nice pre- I wish ho •0 and sit, and .6 her look di- r, to see who \ she wanted in. It was a a pale, dis- u seemed to for he looked times during that Christie when a lady aim suddenly Un to please it was, he were not to, and said : our pardon. ally do not And out help gig- funny to ■iui he should for he dart- noyed look, ftened when hamed little not used to I most afraid had been till of other d she was this young forward on 1 his arm. little: " she said, give me for help it; it ok at such a at without But I did Mother me." ed.) >y his com- iny by his «! m^m UEIMUNTKO STOUIKS. I-'IIO.M 'rill'; •• NOHTHKRN MKSSKNCIKU." i CHRISTIE'S CHRISTMAS. BT 7UIBT. CHAPTEK II.— CoiKtniKd. If the young man had been be- wildered when the lady spoke to him, he was too much astonished now to say a word. He just stared for a minute at the burning cheeks, as though he felt like say- ing: " What in the world can you be talking about ?" At last he spoke. " There is no harm done, my little friend. I had already for- gotten that you laughed. My thoughts were too busy about other things, and too sad to pay much attention to watches, or to think of anything but getting over the ground as fast as pos- sible.'' " Wo go very fast," said Chris- tie earnestly. She wanted to comfort the young man, his voice sounded so sad. He smiled faintly. "Do you think soV It seems to me that we almost creep." Christie caught her breath to keep from expressing too great surprise. It seemed to her that they almost flow. He saw the astonishment on her face, and explained : " A hundred miles from here I have a very sick friend. If I could get to her in time, I think I might help her. Do you won- der that the train seems to me to move very slowly ?" "No, Sir;" said Christie, with great sympathetic eyes. "If mother were sick, I should want to fly." She sat back after tliat, and the young man took a telegram from his pocket, and seemed to study it. Then he took a newspaper, and seemed to others to be read- ing it ; but Christie saw that part of the time it was upside down. She felt very sorry for him, and could not help glancing at him occasionally with a tender smile on her face; especially as he smiled back, and seemed to like her sympathy. Chapter III. Christie had other travelling companions who interested her very much. At the first stopping- place a lady with a little fellow hardly out of babyhood came and took the seat just behind her. She had to twist herself around to get a view of the baby ns he sat in a corner of the seat ; but he was so pretty that she could hardly keep her oyos away from him. He had wonderful large blue eyes, and a laughing face, and he kept bobbing up and down, and making pretty little sounds out of his rosebud mouth, and once he smiled on her as though he hadn't the least objec- tion in the world to being better acquainted. But Christie ilid not dare to go near him. for he was beatttifully dressed, and his mam- ma looked as though she might be very parti- cular about his friends. So the little girl who had left a baby at home, looked the other way and trii'd to for- get how much she wantt'd to kiss the baby behind her. The cars were quite full, but Christie thought that most of the peo- ple looked as though they had been obliged to get up too early, and had not had a good breakfast. " They feel cross," she said to herself, "or else they feel afraid. I wonder if there is anything to be afraid of." Thinking which, she looked over at Wells Burton, the boy who went on the train every morning to the city. He surely ought to know by this time whether there was any cause for fear. He had his hands iu his pockets, and was looking oat of the window and whistling. He did not look in the least afraid, neither did he look cross. What a thing it would be to know him, have him about all wonders he saw in and tell the that the HARDLY OUT city every day ! He had been to the State House, she had beard, and Kari said the stag e-d river said that the Governor was a great friend of Mr. Burton, and had been out to see him. How much Christie would like to hear something about the tJov eriior from one who had actually heard him talk. She knew quite a good denl concern- in;; this Governor. Her father admired him very much, and said ho was one of the grandest tem- perance men in the State. And once when he went to the ciij' to see about selling his corn, he had a story to tell about having seen the Governor standing in the door of his home, and a fine-looking man hor father said he was. Christie had a burning desire to see a real governor ; or, failing |iu that — as of course she expect- ed — to hear things about him : BABYHOOD. ALL 8WUNU TlIKll! ll.\TH A.M) (liKEHED. how he acted, and what h" sniu, and all those nice pleasant ihings which she believed she could tell about people if she ever had any chances. But she must not grumble on this morning, of all others in her life, she told herself, letting the sober look go out of her face, and bringing back the happy one. Here were plenty of cliances What a long story she could toll Karl about these people on the cars. And there was that baby cooing and jumping, and — why, yes, the darling was actually throwing kissoK at her. The train stopped again. It was a voryaccommodaling train; it si'cmeil tostop every fi'W minutes to pick up piissengiTs along the road when there was no station in sight. Some junction was yelled out, but tlie brakesman talked in Choctaw, and of course Christie did not uiulerstuiid him. A gentleman caino in, glanced up and down the well-filled car, then dropped into the scat beside Christie. " I suppose you will let me sit with you ?" he said, and his voice was very plea.saiit, and his face was bright with smiles. She made hasto to say, " Yes, sir." Thon he began to talk vi-ith hor, or rather to hor. for Christie said very little. He pointed out a log cabin as they flew i>ast it, and told her the queerest little history about its being built there by a boy less than sixteen years old, for his mother. And how he worked day and night, and earn- ed money enough to send away to Maine for her, and how he supported her. And how they lived in a nine pleasant house, and had cows and horsi's, and the mother made butter, and sold it at the highest price in market, and how she said " It can't help but be good butter, I have such a dear srood boy." Christie listened and exclaimed and enjoyed. What a thing to tell lather and mother and Karl! She lelt that she was piling up stories to last all the rest of the winter evenings. She was very sorry when her pleasant friend arose at the very Jext station only a mile away, and bade her good-niorniug as politely as though she had been a grown-up liidy. She wished so much tliat she knew his name. It would be awkward to be al- ways calling him " thcgi'iitlcman with bright eyes that looked right through you. ' That seemed to be the only way she could de- scribe him. She noticed that he stopped at Wells Burton's seat and shook hands with him. It was quite likely that Wells knew who he was." "Now, if I only knew Wells Burton," she told herself, " I might ask him ; Imt then I don't, and it isn't likelv that I ever shall." The pretty baby hud gone to A f.-iH® II REPRINTKI) STOKIKS, FROM TIIK "NORTHERN MESSKNGER.' ■leep ; she conid not amusn her- ■elf with him, and su she turned to the window again jnst as they were passing a country road down which was flying a sleigh filled with a merry party, who, realizing that the train was beat- ing them, all swung their hats and cheered them on. That was fnn for a little time, and then as they whizzed along, she espied a comical sight that entertained her still more. But as the on-flying train left all these interesting scenes in the rear, Christie at last thought of her father's advice, and she began to see if she could learn to make a car. She twisted her head about,and looked up and down and around her in so many ways that at last the sad-faced younsr man began to watch her. She was studying the long rope that ran through the top of the oar, wondering v/hat it was for, when he spoke to her. "That rope is to be pulled to atop the train. If you should chance to want it stopped for any reason, all you would have to do would be to give that a violent pull ; but I earnestly hope you won't do it, for it seems to me that we stop quite often enough." " I am sure I won't," Christie ■aid laughing a little, though really she felt somewhat startled over the bare idea of her stopping a train. Not ten minutes after that it ■topped again. What for ? Nobody seemed to know. There was no station, not even so much as a ■bed ; there was nobody to get on or oiT; yet there that ridiculous train stood, as though it had reached the end of its journey and did not care how soon the passengers hopped out in the snow. Then you should have heard the people grumble. Chris- tie was astonished ; she did not know that grown people were ever so cross. It made her laugh to see the watches bob out, while the faces which looked at them seemed to grow crosser every minute. " What in the world are we stopping here for?" asked the pale-faced young man with such anxiety in his face that Christie felt very sorry for him. " What is the matter, sir?" This ques- tion he asked of a gentleman who had been on the platform looking about him. "Don't know sir; can't find out. If the ofricials know they mean to keep it to themselves. Still, 1 guess we are going on soon , I saw signs of moving." However, tliey did not move. The next person who thought it j WHS his duty to attend to matters, was Wells Uurton. How he hap- 1 peuod to sit still so long, I'm sure I don't know. He sauntered out ' and looked about him. Christie | turned herself in her seat to get a^ view from the door. What a long level stretch of road lay behind : them! How queerly the track | looked ! Two long black snakes surrounded on every side by snow. She wished she could get a nearer view. She had been charged not to step off the train, and on no account to put her head out of the window. But what was to hinder her stepping down to that closed door, and get- ting a nearer view of the snakes? She slipped quietly from her seat and went It looked fully as queer as she thought it would. Wells Burton stood on the lower step of the car, also gazing about him ; not at the track, but at the train-men, who seemed to be trying to decide whether it was worth while to go on. Suddenly they concluded that they would. The engine gave a snort to ex- press its approval of the plan, several passengers who had been standing on the track jumped back again on the car, and came in to see about their seats. Then ground and (he train was scud- ding on. and nobody but she, Christie Tucker, knew anything about it. She had just once thought in her mind — What if it were Karl ? She gave one little squeal, which the engine swal- lowed, so that nobody heard, and the next second she did what made all the people in the car think that the quiet-faced well- behaved little girl had suddenly gone erazy She gave a quick little hop, very much as she had done many a time to reach the lowest boagh of the apple-tree, and caught that rope whose use she had just learned, and never surely was harder pull given to it than her stout little body man- aged at that moment. In an in- stant the car was full of excite- ment. " What — what — what does that mean ?" asked the fat man who had been the last to enter the train. The handsome old gentle- 8HE aPIGD A COMIOAL SIGHT. the wheels began to turn around. Still Wells Burton stood on that lowest step with his hands in his pockets. Christie looked at him, and a little shiver ran through her while she thought if that were Karl she should curely be tempted to reach out and pull at his coat. How could the boy be so foolish ? Why did not his mother make him promise not to do so ? He was cominginnow;andit was quite time, for the train was well underway. How did it happen? Nobody know. Wells Burton least of all ; and Christie, who stood looking on all the while could never give a clear account of that part of it. She only knew that the boy she was watching with such anxiety, turned care- lessly on his heel, hands still in his pockets, and the next instant was lying a dreadful heap on the mni) looked at her gravely through his gold spectacles, and the pale-faced man who had taught her about the rope said hastily : " Why, my child, you ought not to have done that. What in the world do you want?" All this happened, of course, in a few seconds ; and before Chris- tie could catch her frightened breath to explain, in came the conductor, looking like a summer thunder cloud. " What does all this mean ?" he asked grulfly. " Who pulled that rope ?" Christie took time to be glad that the train was actually stop- ping, before she explained in a quick, frightened voice, " Oh, sir, he fell off just as he was stepping on the train again, and he lies in the road. Do you think it killed him ?" " Who fell ? What are you talking about ?" said the conduc- tor, his quick eye roving over the car in search of missing passen- gers. " AVas it the boy who sat in that seat?" But before Chris- tie could think of stimmering out a " Yes, sir," he had turned from her and rushed out of the car, and the train which had almost stop- ped, began to move slowly backward. I'm sure you can imagine better than I cair tell you how they all acted then. How they crowded around that end door, and all tried to see out from a space that would accommodate only two; and there was nothing to see ! How they crowded arottnd Christie, and asked ques- tions! "How did it happei- ?" Christie did not know; she was still trembling over the thought that it had happened. " What was he out there for?" Christie did not know. In her heart she believed it was because he was a very foolish boy ; bntthat she did not like to say. " Was he hurt much?" Christie did not know; she wished very much that she did. " Is he your brother, my child ?' This the handsome-faced old gentleman asked her. "No sir," said Christie; she knew so much, at least. Then she told who he was. " Ah, in- deed !" the gentleman said. " A son of Warren H. Burton," he supposed. He had heard of him. Then there was a sudden bustle, and a scurrying to get out of the way,and a turning over of car seats to make a bed; for they were bring- ing the poor fellow in. Christie was relieved to find, as they passed her seat, that his eyes were wide open, and that though he looked very pale, he gazed about him like one who was curious to see what the people thought of all this, and seemed just a little vex- ed over their curiosity. "Oh, no; he isn't badly hurt," the conductor said, as having fix- ed the boy into a seat, and made him as comfortable as . possible, he came down the aisle on his way out. " He has a sprained ankle that will shut him up for a few weeks, and a bruia.) or two; nothing serious, I think. How he escaped so easily is more than I can imagine. I thought of course he was killed. It is a bad habit, this standing on the car steps; I wonder his father doesn't forbid it." (To be conlinued.) Animals show a deal of in- stinct in caring for themselves and for each other when ill. A dog that has lost his appetite eats grass known as dog's grass. Sheep and cows seek out certain herbs, and cats hunt for catnip. An animid with rheumatism will always keep in the sun as much as possible. — CongregalvmaliU. Without economy none can be rich, and with it few can be poor. — Dr. Johnson. w laid the condao- * roving ovi>r the missing piissen- 10 boy who sat at before Chris- stnmmering out lind tnrned from nt of the car, and had almost stop- more slowly sure yon can an I can tell yon ted then. How round that end I to see out from Id accommodate ero was nothing they crowded and asked ques- id it happei-?" know; she was ver the thought Dpened. " What for?" Christie in her heart she ecause he was a but that she did " Was he hurt ie did not know ; mnch that she ur brother, ray I handsome-faced ked her. id Christie; she at least. Then 3 was. " Ah, in- eman said. " A H. Barton," he lad heard of him. a sudden bustle, to get out of the g over of car seats they were bring- ow in. Christie id,a8 they passed eyes were wide kough he looked ikzed about him >8 curious to see thought of all just a little vex- iosity. in't badly hurt," id, as having fix- seat, and made as possible, he sla on his way sprained ankle m up for a few bruis.j or two; I think. How ;ily is more than thought of course t is a bad habit, the car steps; I r doesn't forbid intinued.) \ a deal of in- r thcmselvt'sand hen ill. A dog IS appetite eats IS doit's grass, seek out certain hunt for catnip, rheumatism will the bUii as much gregalinnaliil. >my none can be few can be poor. w REPRINTED STORIES. KRO.M THE OHEISTIKS CHRISTMAS. NOKTIIKRN ME.SSENGER." -®H© i t BT PANBT. CHAPTER III.— C, ^C'jiowi'np' " The ankle will keep until we get to the city. We are half-way there by this time, though wo seem to have plenty of hinderances this morning. I say, how many trains of cars have you stopped in your life?" " I never did such a thing be- fore," Christie said, her eyes dancing now, "and I had just promised that I wouldn't stop this one ; but you see there wasn't anything else to do." peculiar sound to hit voice, tha* Christie turned from the window to look at him. "The switch!" she repeated, " what does that mean ?" " It means that the express train passes ua here, and that just about now she is rushing over those rails where I lay a few min- utes ago. Here she comes !" Chapter IV. A roar of machinery, • succes- sion of diiszymg flashes past the window, then sudden relief from the deafening noise, and the ex- press train had gone on its way. Christie looked at Wells Bar- ton. His face was very grave, and she thought it a trifle paler than before. " Did you know that? he ask- ed, nodding his head in the direc- tion of the departed train. " Did I know what ?'' " That the express train was al- most due, and would come thun- dering over me so soon?" Christie shivered. "I did not know anything about the express train," she said. " Well, you could not have done any quicker work if you had known. It is queer I didn't think of it. I thought of al- most everything else while I lay there ; it was the queerest thing that ever happened to me. I can't think how it hap- pened. I've stood on that very step filty times this winter, and never thouirht of such a thing as slipping. I suppose there was ice on my boots. Nice-looking boot, isn't it?" he said, glanc- ing down at it. "The conductor made short work of getting it otI,with that sharp knife of his. Look here, I don't know why I keep talking about boots and things, instead of trying to thank you, and show my gratitude in some way. Boys don't know how to do that sort of thing, anyhow You ought to see my mamma, or, she ought to see you. Mothers know how to say what they feel." " I don't want to be thanked," said Christie, her cheeks flushing, " I didn't do anything." " No, only saved my life, and showed more pluck and common sense and quick wit than any fourteen girls put to- gether ever had before. You see, if you had wast- ed twenty-five seconds, this train couldn't have run back to pick me up, without running into the express ; and I should just have had to lie there and be crushed. I couldn't move, any more than if I had been dead ; in fact, \^ was dead when they picked me up ; fainted, you know. But before 1 fainted, I knew just what had happened, and where I was, and what was likely to hap- pen next. I didn't think of this express that has just rushed by, but I thought of the up-train,due in half an hour, and I knew there wasn't a house nor a shed within a mile. Did you ever come to a i ^4® m^- m li- UKl'KINTKI) STORII'N. l-'ltOM THK •' \(H!TIIKI plaee where yen thought yon conld ice protty plainly thnt \on were not goin^r to live but a lew minutes more?" "Once I was very sick indeed," Chrislio said, "and the doctor fave me up, and mother Ihoufi^ht was dying; and they told mc that I couldn't live but a few minutes." " And what did yon do ?" The blood rolled in waves over Christie's face and nock. It was rather hard to talk to a strange boy who mii^ht laugh at her, about one ot the most solemn experimces other life. She was not used to talking with boys, only Karl, and hn never asked such straiirht-out ques- tions about thin^, and waited for answers. Somethin!» must bi> said; and what should Ix) said but the truth? Was she ashamed of it ? Christie wondered. She dropped hor fray eyes, and her Vdne was low but clear as bhu said : "I prayed." There was no sound of a laugh or a sneer in an- swer. " Yon," he said, nodding hia head ns though ho understood, "so did I. 1 wonder if they all do when they get into downright trouble? I have heard that people did ; had men, you know, and ail sorts of people. It seems sort of mean, nn'I — well, I don't BuppoRo girls use sueli words, but what we boys would call sneaking. Don't you think so?" But ChristiL-, in her coniusion, did not under- stand 111 in. Did he mean that hoys would call it "sneaking" to pray? "What is?" " Why, living alon!» all your life without thinking of such a thing as pray- ing ; until just when you get into trouble, and then praying with all your might, and getting helped out, and going on Just the same as you did before." " Oh," said Christie, re- lieved, " why, yes, I think that would be mean ; but then real honest people don't do it." "They don't? What do they dothen? Weren't ■youlionest ?" " Yes," said Christie gravely, "I was, but I didn't go on just as 1 did before ; everything was just as different as could be." "What do you mean? What was different?" " Why, I myself. I didn't feel the same, nor do the same. I don't think I can explain what I mean." " Didn't you pray to get well ?" " A little ; and 1 prayed to be made ready to die if I was to die, and to^not to be afraid, you know." "Well?" " And pretty soon the feeling afraid all went away, and 1 didn't think it made much difference whether I got well or not ; and for days and days nobody thought I would." "But you did get well ?" " Oh, yes, I did, of course, or else I should not be here now." And at this point Christie could not help giving a little lauj^h. so of coarse things were difl'ur- ent." "You got it!" " Why, yes. All in a minute everything seemed changed. I (MUi't tell yon how; bnt then 1 know it was so." " When was that?" " That I was sick ? It was a year ago last December, just a little bit before Christmas," " And the difference lasts?" " Oh, yes ; it lasts," said Chris- tie, with a curious little smile. " Every day when I'm working wonld come along that lonesome road on Christmas day in time to save mo, mul I meant to be hon- est; but I didn't think of such a thing as it's lasting if I got out of the scrape." Chrislio looked puzzled. " How could it last to take yon to Heaven, if it wouldn't last any when you were not to go to Heaven yet ?" she asked. And then Wells llurton laughed, though the pain in his ankle im- mediately made heavy wrinkles come back into his face. " It looks like playing ,i very poor game, I'll own," ho said ; "but 1 thought I meant it." "But if you really did mean it, you gave your- self away to Ilim, and, if you are honest, how can you take yourself back ? " To this ho made no an- swer for sever.il iseconds, and, indeed, wliat he said next can hardly bo called an answer : " Then you are a Chris- tian ! " The red came back in swift waves to i hrislie'.s cheeks. She had been so interested as to hardly remember that the talk was partly about herself; but this plain question which was also an ex- claiiialion, brouifht back her embarrassment. " f think I am," she sai y*v CKarlle eKclalTnsf"Now Meve'f a oof i'Mcl Jeot- tittle iel/cfo^J^oJiloJil WHY WE CAT • CALL THE PUSS." Wells did not laugh at all. He looked grave and perplexed. "That is just what I said," he repeated. " You prayed to bo gotten out of trouble, and you got out, and then things went on as before." " But things didn't go on sis be- fore," persisted Christie. "I asked not to bo afraid to die ; to have a heart given to me that could trust Jesus anyhow, whether he wanted ; see any other me to live or die. And I got it ; seem probable it all comes back, yon know, in a quick littlo think." She began to think that this was the strangest boy to talk she had ever heard of He was even stranger than some of the boys in story books. " Well, " he said, after .■\ few moments of silence, " I prayed to be made ready to die too ; for when this train rattled off! didn't way. It didn't that anybody Did you ever think why we call the cat " puss?" A great many years ago, the people of Egypt wor- shipped the cat. They thought the cat was like the moon, because she was more active at night, and because her eyes change, just as the moon changes, which is sometimes lull, and sometimes only a bright little crescent, or half moon as wo say. Did you ever notice pussy's eyes, to see how they change ? So these people made an idol with a cat's head, and named it Pasht, tho .same nam ; they give to the moon ; lor the word means the face of tho moon. That word has been changed to pas or puss, the name which al- most every one gives to tho cat. Puss and pussy cat are pet names for kitty everywhere But few know that it was given to her thousands of years ago. — Horper'i Young Pno/ile. 11 (p«^ H that lonosonin s (liiy in tiiim to i"aiU to l)i> hon- think »l' Htioh it ig if I gut out of pn/.zlod. last to take you v'ouUlu'l last uny not to go to I! asked. Burton lauirhod, in his iinkli^ im- hi-avy wrinkK's is lace. ksliku playiiij/a/ tm UUir kimg."—T%. 144 1 •, HA-mi t, ButLL. an. Ri*. John R. Suhmaium. ^*E3 ^^^^^^m cu. 1 Mt TathBrt own Son, who mitoo m from un. On w wandered on urth M tbo pooraat of men i But now Ho !• reigning forerer on high. And wlU giro ma a homa with Himaell hy^naBJ. S I onoo waa an ontcaat atraneer on earth, A ainner bj choico. an " alian" by birth ; But Ito been " adopted," mj name'a wnttaB flow*. An heir to a manaion, a robo and a oiowa. 0»». 4 A tent or a eottage. why ahould I 0M«1 Thoy're building a palace for me over than; Though exiled from homo, yet my heart atlll may aingi All gPory to Qod, I'm tha ahUd of • King. Oha. ami^M, iMi. *T "W^ a "•• • Fim Qua OUB lioaawa, by poralaaloa tt Bmlaw * Ham.* went down just after we crossed it; if that is so, we don't know when another train will get over." Then you should have heard the exclamations of dismay. " Wiiat ! the h'^h brind, who had beenamuaing them all day, off on his journey. At length a porter, whose heart evidently was warm toward little folks, allowed them to slip in and remain. All the otEcials felt the attrac- tion of that window , and the stoker.with smiles upon his grimy lace, openly addressed the little monkoy as "mate." Even the slation-mastei as he paased, I noticed, cast a sly glance toward the monkey, although he could not, of course, be seen to join tha crowd of admirers. A cheer was raised when the train was sot in motion, and the monkey glided slowly away from big and little spectators. I heard the other day of a pet monkey called Hag, a creature no larger than a guinea-pig whoae master once found in bis cheek pockets a stool thimble, his own gold ring, a pair of sloevo-links, a farthing, a button, » shilling and a bit of candy Monkeys, 1 am sorry to say, are given to stealing, and they use these pockets to hide the articles which they have stolen. — Harper's Young People. SOLDIER AND THISTLE. Little Minnie, in her eagerness after flowers, had wounded her hand on the sharp prickly thistle. This made her cry with pain at first, and pout with vexation afterwards. " I do wish there was no such thing as a thistle in the world," she said pettishly. "And yet the Scottish nation think so much of it they engrave it on the national arms," said her mother "It is the last flower that I should pick out," said Minnio. " I am sure they might have found a great many nicer ones, even among the weeds." " But the thistle did them snch good service once," said her mother, " they learned to esteem it very highly. One time the Danes invaded Scotland, and they prepared to make a night attack on a sleeping garrison. So they crept along barefooted, as still as possible, until they were almost on the spot. Just at that moment a barefooted soldier stepped on a great thistle, and the hurt made him utter a sharp, shrill cry of pain. The sound awoke the sleepers, and each man sprang to his arms. They fought with great bravery and the invaders were driven back with much loss." " Well, I never suspected that so small a thing could save a na- tion," said Minnie, thoughtfully —Selected. If S! i ^H» •» tlura's day'a work W W perched up on tha n»g« window, he upper from those :kcts of hii, and I munch it with it. Several timea d to be cleared of 9ys who had come i friend, who had hem all day, off on ,t lenfjth a porter, idently wan warm >lks, allowed them emaiii. aU felt the attrac- rindow , and the los upon hi* grimj Idressod the little nato." Even the as he paosed, I sly glance toward Ithough he could be seen to join the rers. A cheer was 10 train was sot in he monkey glided from big and little other day of a pet Hag, a creature no guinea-pig whose >und in his cheek I thimble, his own ir of sleove-links, a tton, II shilling and Monkeys, 1 am given to stealing, these pockets to » which they have r's Young People. \ND THISTLE. e, in her eagerness had wounded her arp prickly thistle, cry with pain at It with vexation there was no such tlo in the world," e Scottish nation of it they engrave fial arms," said her ast flower that I out," said Minnie, thoy might have many nicer ones, e weeds." stle did them snch once," said her learned to esteem One time the Scotland, and thev ike a night attack rarrison. So they refooted, as still as they were almost ust at that moment >ldier stepped on a nd the hurt made arp, shrill cry of :)nnd awoke the kch man sprang to hey fought with and the invaders :k with much loss." ret suspected that could save a na- inie, thonghtfnlly V. n RKl'RINTKD STORIKS, FROM THK "NORTHERN ME.SSKNOER OHBISTIE'S CHRISTMAS. ar TANiiT. CHAPTKH V.-Conlinuid. Dear! di>nr! what a state of things Diiiht'artoning as it all was, ilhristio could lint hp|p b<>- ing astonished to soo how cross the pi'ople were. " Thoy set exactly ss though thoy thonorht the ronds and the hridf;)<8 had dono it on purpose just to vex them," she told Wells ns Hho obeyed the motion of his hand nnd hrnusht thn baliy to the turned seat in front of him. "Do you suppose they really know of somebody who is to blame !" " Why, no," said Wells thought- fully, "I presume not; they just fret and say 'it is a pretty busi- ness!' and all that sort of thing, because that is the natural way to act when folks are disappointed. Isn't that the way you do when things don't go to suit you ? ' Christie's heod drooped a little and the pretty pink flush began to come on her cheek. "Oncol used to do it to thinirs," she said sluwly, with a marked emphasis on the word " things." " I would slam the door when I was cross PKVVY, AND THAT. Wells said good-natun dly, but the tone said that ho wi\8 very much interested, and should really like to understand Greek if he could, "What possible harm could thero be in slamming a ahoutBomething,ttndI wouldscold'door,or growling at a fire, so long the kitchen fire for not burning, and I would put the wood down on the hearth with a great bang ; as nobody heard ^'ou? I should say it was a saiu and comfortable way of working ofT ill-humor ; but onco I lost a penny under the , I m sure I wish some of the pep- pery folks I know would try that fashion. What made you think there was anything bad about it?" " I didn't find it out myself," Christie said, her eyes drooping again. " You see I got into trouble. I wanted some things that I couldn't have, and I wanted to do some things that I couldn't do, and I thought about them un- til they made me feel cross half the time. I slammed all the doors I could, and thu fire needed scolding every time I went near it, and 1" — here there was a little hesitation and the cheeks grew carpet and I scolded about that but that was when I was alone. The minute Mrs. Briggs came in to see mother, or even the mar- ket man stopped to see if wo wanted anything, I would shut the door gently, and lay the wood on the hearth just as soltly as I could, and I worked half an hour once helping Susan Briggs open her desk, and never thought of being cross, because 1 was ashamed, you know, to havo them see me do any other way. Now shouldn't you think these people would feel kind of ashamed to grumble before one another?" But the only answer that Wells seemed to havo ready for this was an absent-minded laugh ; ho was thinking of one part of Christie's sentence that he wanted to have explained. " Look here," he said, " you say you used to be cross at things. Do you mean that you've given even that up?" Christie gravely bowed her head. " I'm most cured of it," she said soltly. " I think it is only once in a long while now that I forget. I was so in the habit ol it that it was dreadfully hard work. You seo this was after I had beguti to try to do right ; and I thought if I kept pleasant before people, thero wouldn't bo anything wrong in slamming doors a little — when nobody was there to see — and in scolding the fire because it couldn't hove its feelings hurt, you know ; but when I found out that it was almost worse to do that than to be cross to people I tried hard to give it up." "Tou are talking Greek to me,'' pinker — " I even got to scolding at the baby when she was most ■he A ■imploton. Nevortheleaa meant to tell just tho truth. " Yus, I did," she said steadily. ' One day ho came to see us, and mother wasn't at home. The baby at Hriggs had burnt himself and they sent for mother, and father had ifono to the mill, and there wasn't anybody at home, only just baby and me, and I had been real cross to her; I shook her a little speck, not to hurt, you know, but then it was horrid ; I felt so ashain< d of myself that I cried ; and justthtMi fho minister came. Ho asked me right away what was the matter, and that mado me cry again, and then, you know, I almost hod to tell him. It was something ho said that has helped mo ever since." " Do you mind telling mo what it was?" Wells Bnrton's voice was so gentle, that she gave up the fancy that he was making fun of her. " Why, it was something that I knew all the time, and I've often asleep and 'couldn't hear me; real wondered that I did not think ol hateful things I said to her, about!'"'"'" mvse"- • '"'J hira that I being the hardest baby to get to had no trouble in being pleasant sleep that ever was born and about | before people^ becauso I would be taking all my time so that I couldn't study, nor knit, nor any- thing. I never would have said it to her if she had been awake, and I used to kiss her as soon as I had tucked her in the crib, but for all that, I grumbled at her a great deal. At last it got so bad that I knew I was getting to be cross all the time, and I couldn't seem to stop it ; and one day told the minister about it." "You did!" Wells Burtons exclamation had a good deal of admiration in it ; the truth was, he began to think that Christie must be a very brave girl. He told him- self that ho would rather stop twenty trains of cars than to go to the minister and have a talk about his faults ! But Christie believed he thought she was I HSLPED SUSAN BRIOOS OPEN HER DESK. «IH^ so ashamed to havo them see mo looking cross. And that I kept my words pretty near right, but I couldn't manago my thoughts. And he asked mo how I thought I should act if .Tesus should come to our house, as ho used to, at Mary and Martha's. I told him that I knew then I should aet just as well as I could ; then he asked me if I did not remember that .Tesus had come to our house, and was staying thero all the time, and heard all my thoughts, as well as my words? You don't know how it mado me feel for a moment; I just felt scared. It seemed to mo that I could re- member all the times that I had banged tho door, and rattled the wood, and Jesus looking at me ! What made mo most ashamed, was, that I had tried to behave myself before Mrs. Briggs, and tho other neighbors, and never minded how I behaved before Jesus. Just as though I thought more of them than I did of him !" " Humph I" said Wells. " I don't pretend to understand. I don't see how that helped yon a bit. Of course if a fellow could realize that Jesus was listening to what he said, it would make a big difference all tho time. There are fiity thousand things a fellow says and does that he wouldn't do for the would ! But the trouble is you can't realize it. A person that you can see and hear is very dili'erent from one that you can't see and hear ; now that's the truth, and I don't seu how anybody can say it isn't. Do you mean to have me understand that you are as sure of Jesus being near you as you are that I sit on this seat talk- ing to you?" " I'm'' just as sure of it," Chris- tie said with a quiet positiveness that went a great way toward n RKPItlNTED STORIES, FROM THK "NORTHERN M1*>44KN(}RR." proTinf the trnth of her word*; any to me do yon think? I might but iken it ia » difieroiit fMlinir, take him for • walk np and dttwa of ronra*. I can't eipiain it to you; I don't know how. I anp- poae if you were to talk with onr miniater he would make it all plain. But [ know thia : the more 5 on pray, the aurer you get that eana alaya right b«aide you, and liaicnatoallyoa *ay. I'm a good deal aiirorof it than I naed to be, and it keepa growing aurer all the time." Meantime.yon are wonderins what that baby waa about, and why heendur)>d ao long a con* Teraation that he did not under- atand. The truth ia, that in tell* ing yon about the converHstion, I nave left out the number of- timea that Chriatie lilted him from one ahoulder to the other, and the aweet cooing wordaahe continually put in, between her anawera, and the number ot times Wella snapped bis lingers for Kaby's benefit, and how he took his watch from its chain, and gave it to ChriKt.io to hold, 8o that the baby could aeu it but at laat baby's palienoe waa entirely gone. Ho wonid have nothing more to do with the watch, and he pushed Christie's hand away '..vagely, when she tried to pal his cheek. He had occasionally given aome very' loud yells, aa specimens of what ht> could do, and now he went at it in earut'st. In vain Christie tossed, and cooed, and patted. He yelled the louder. The lady with the " Seaside" story was very much annoyed. She shot angry glances over at the perplexed little maid, and at last she said, " I should think if you cannot keep that child quiet, it would be well for you to let him alone." " Perhaps the lady will take him for a while.your arms must be very tired." This was Wells' suggestion, and he enjoyed the look of dis- gust on her face, as she said : " I know nothing about babies ; bat 1 think it is an imposition on the travelling public to have one screaming in this fashion." "Then," said Wells, "would you in this case recommend chok- ing, or what would you advise us to do?" " You are a very impudent boy ! " the lady said, and she went back to her book, with red cheeks. Christie could not help laugh- ing a little, though she was not sure but the lady was correct. And the baby yelled! Not another ladv among the passen- gers. The last one had left the car at that unfortunate station where the poor mother stopped. "The pale-faced young man came forward neit; he did not look cross, only sorry. " Poor fellow !" he said to the baby, " yon think yon are having a hard timie, I sup- pose, but there are worse trials in Ul'e than yours. What would he the car and rest your arma." But the perrerae baby yelled like a lunatio the moment the thing waa attempted, and utterly refused to leave his small proteo* tor's aide, Then the nice old gentleman decided to show his akill. " What would he aay to a augar-plum, do Tou suppose? ' he asked, bending kindly overChristio, aiidahowing a round, white candy. " He'll be aure to approve of that," Wells said, but Chriatie He shows good taste," said hesitated, and a lovely color the pale young man with a wan glowed on her cheeks. " If you smile; ** he probably sees that I please sir," she anid timidly, "I know very little about babiea." don't know whether his mother =1 THR PRODIQAL SON. Whoae name endotiM thii iweat stoTy, And sukranteM thin picture true t Ah, louk, it is th« Lord' of Olor j. Who spwiu thau woidi to jrou. We liaten, end are loat in wander, li man su vile, is Qod lo kind t We look again, and written under, >Tii"JeeU8Chriat," we and. Mo ain aecsped Hia aearchina TUon, Uia eyei men'a inuuoat tboughta eonld aoan, Uie langoage nerer lacked preoiiion — " Ue knew what waa in man." He came to ihow Hia Father'a feeling. And breathe it o'er the earth abroai Qod'i lore by word and sign revaalifig— He knew wliat waa in Ood. Ah, Lord, we make a tn» confeaion ; Aa in a glaaa aaraelTea we view ; In every action and expieaioa The prodigal ia traik But trom thia piotoM may w* gather An imaue aure of God above t la he that fond forgiving Father, And ia hia heart all iove I Tea, though ooi feet lo far have wan- dered In baae delight* and miry waya, And though Hii auluunce we have aquandered And wasted our beat days ; Until by Ood and man forsaken. Our pleasures gone, our wishes cioat, By sudden angauh overtaken, We feel that aUU loat; TUen in that hour of darkaet aonow The Spirit calls us from ahr. And from the thought of Ood we borrow A brightness like a star. And we arise, and lo ! He meets us With loving look and hutening feet ; We fall Itafore Him, but he greets ua With lienediction sweet. He feels. He shows, a Father's yearning. He lavishes a Father'a lov«. And celebrates a son's tetanung 'Mid angel hosts above. O Father, send us Thr good Spirit, Since Jeeua deigned loi ns to die, Draw us, and fit us to iabarit Thy glorious Home on High 1 RicaaBD WiLTOH, H.A. would like it ; they don't let some babies have candy at all ; mother thinka it bad for them. " ■' Ah * yea," he said, " I ought to know it by thia time; I'm al- ways getting into distj^raoo with my daughters by bringing the stuff to their babiea; they don't allow it at all, and yon are a wise little woman to think ot it." (7b be eoHlinueJ.) ' m A SPIDER'S WEB. The Kpider'a thread is made npoi iiinumerabla small threads or fibres, one ot these threads being estimated to be one two- millionth of a hair in thickness. Three kinds of thread are spun : One of great strength for the radiating or spoke lines of the web. The cross lines, or what a sailor might call the rat- lines, are finer and are tena- cious,, that is, thoy have upon them little specks or globules of a very sticky gum. These specks are put on with even in- terspaces. They are set quite thickly along the line, and are what, in the first instance, cntch and hold the legs or wings ot the fly. Once caught in this fashion the prcy is held secure by threads flung over it some- what in the manner of a lasso. The third kind oi silk is that which the spider throws out in a mass or tiood, by which it suddenly envelops any i)rey of which it is afraid, as, fur ex- ample, a wasp, A scientiiic ex- perimenter once drew out from the body of a single spider 3,- 480 yards of thread or spider silk — a length a little short of three miles. Silk may be woven of spiders' thread, and it is more glossy and brilliant than that of the silk worm, being of a golden color. An enthusiastic entomologist secured enough of it for the weaving of a suit ot clothes for Louis XIV. — Prof. Wood. A Little Uirl who has noticed the absence of seeds in bananas, wishes to know how the fruit is grown. From cut- tings or shoots which first send up two leaves rolled tightly to- gether until the green roll is two or three ieet high, when the blades unfold. At the end of the nine months a purple bud ap- pears in the centre, followed by yellow blossoms which mature to fruit, growing in bunches of seve- ral hundred. The plant dies down as soon as the fruit is formed, but the rootstock soon be- gins to send up new leaves again. Bananas are found in all tropical countries ; a piece of ground of a size to grow enough wheat to feed one man will, il planted with bananas, raise fruit enough lor twenty-five. — Ex. If You cast away one cross you will doubtless imd another, and perhaps a heaviei one.— Thomas li Kempit. ^t* y don't lat MUie y at all ; mother for them. " aaiil, " I ought ii* titnu; I'm •!• diai^raoo wilh Y briiii^ing th« >iea; (huy don't i yoa are a wiie link ol it." n/i'mmi/.) R'8 WEB. thrf ad is mad« hluamall threads >i th»ae throada 1 to bu one two- lair in thicltnesB. of thread are reat strength for r spoke linea of croaa lines, or ight call the rat- and are tena- they have npou ks or globules of gnm. Tliese on with even in- y are set quite he line, and are it instance, catch egs or wings of caught in this y is held secure ig over it Bomo- inner of a Iasho. I ot silk is that or throws out in d, by which it ops any prey of raid, as, I'ur ex- A scientiiicex- drew out from single spider 3,- tread or spider a little short of Silk may bu rs' thread, and it nd brilliant than worm, being of An enthusiastic cured enough of iug of a suit of lis XIV.— Pro/. iiRi. who has ence of seeds in to know how n. From cut- hich first send lied tightly to- reen roll is two gh, when the t the end of the urplo bud ap- re, followed by hich mature to mnches of seve- he plant dies 9 the fruit is tstock soon be- w leaves again. 1 in all tropical ot ground of a mgh wheat to it planted with lit enough tor way one cross IS iiud another, heaviei oue. — REPRINTED ST0RIE8. FROM TIIK "NOKTIIKKN MKSSKNOKR." CHRISTIE'S CHRISTMAS. ST rmiT. OBAPTKR VI. Von have no idea what a life that baby led them, unless you have a little brother or sister at home, I suppose yon have but little idea how a baby nan cry, who is very tired, and hungry, and a good deal frightened ; for by this time he began to think it the strangest thing in life that his mother did not come and attend to him. Christie took a hint from the pale young man, and began to walk up and down the car, with baby in her arms ; but he was much heavier than the baby at home, and it took very little of this exercise to make her young back ache. Wells looked on sympathetically, as well as a little indignantly, fjnablo to take a step, or even to twist himself about, so that he could take the baby in bis arms, he told himself that if ho were that young man he would see if ho could not carry that baby a while, and not let o little girl tug with it all the time. Suppose ho did yell, what of it ? That was no more than ho was doing now.every time he thought of it. Ho should like to see him- self scared away by the crying of a baby ! As for the literary young lady, words could not express his contempt for her ; he showed it by curling his lip most expressively whenever ho looked in her direc- tion. But she, having onco more buried herself in her Dook, lost all this. " I know what the poor little fellow wants," said Christie, re- turning to Wells, during a lull. "He is so hungry that he can't help crying. Ho keeps stuffing both his little hands into his mouth ; they are always hungry when they do that. His mother had some milk in a bottle for him, in that little satchel she carried in her hand. I saw her otfer him some once, but he wasn't hungry just then, and pushed it away. I just wish she had left the bag when she went away ; but she carried it on her arm." ' Probably it had her pocket- book in it as well as a bottle of milk," Wells said ; and then : " I'm sorry for the poor little chap, if he is hungry ; we all stand n fair chance to be in the same fix if we stay here long " " I have cookies, and thiuffs," said Christie thoughtfully ; " l>ut they won't do for babies, you know " " I don't know a thing about it," declared Wells. "But I should think that folks would rather have them eat cookies than starve." There was no denying this, so Christie only laughed; but aa yet she did not resort to cookies. She thought of the rows of milk pans ranged on the shelves at home ; if she only had one of theai ! She thought ot the milk can that had started from home with them ; what a pity that itaalopping-place I shoulder and take a nice little had been one station bark. Away I nap 1 Then perhaps the train over in the fields, no other house I wonld go on in a few minules,and near H, stood what looked like a bit I maybe the bridge isn't down at ofafarmhnuse. ('hrislin wondered all; nnd innybe the nine o'clork whether they haiin|( it waa to go offon a Chriat' •'*» ride ! It waa a lont^ walk, much longer than it had auemod Irom tho car window. With every atup the diffinnlty of getting on increaaed, and once ahn had really to lean againat a friendly poat that aeemed aet up to mark the lot, and try to dig the mud from her ahoea How ■urely they wore ruined ; and they were to have been her Sunday beat for a year I foB, but aba want orar to tho old MBtlaman, with a gravely gentJ* faoe.and made known her petition " Eh, what t" he aaid, coming back from aomo day-dream with a aigh. Oh, yea, certainly he would keep the poor little follow from rolling otr. " But if ho criea," he aaid anxionaly, " I ahall not know what to do; 1 never could do anything with babiea when they cried." Chriitie could only hope that thia one would not cry ; and hav- ing catabliahed tho guard where ahe wanted him, ahe prepared to aet otf. By thia time Wella had another idea. He had been fumbling in hia pocket, and now drew out his handsome Rusaia leather pocket- book. " Just let me furniah the fnnda for the youngater, wont yon ? aiuce I can't help in any other way " " Will I need money ? " Chriatie aaked, stopping with a startled air, to lock into hia face. Her mother lived in a little houae back in the tielda, but she would never think of taking money in return for a little milk to be given to a hungry baby. " Why, of course," said Wella. " That is, if yon get any milk, which I doubt ; the house doesn't look like it from here, liut yon will have to buy a pitcher, or something to put it in ; they won't trust you, they'll think you are a tramp, you know. Offer to pay them well, and the Utile chap will fare a good deal better than he will if you ask a favor." As he spoke he held out a crisp bank note Christie took it slow- ly, with a bright glow on her cheeks. It was a five dollar hill. She had never had so much money in her hands before ; and to tell the truth, she did not quite like to have this in her hands. She had to remind herself that the milk was not for her, and that she certainly had not money enough of her own to pay for it, and get hack home with Just then — wise little woman that she waa — came into play some of the good sense which her guod mother had tried so hard to teach her. She handed back the crisp new note. "U-ive roe something smaller, please," she said pleasantly,"! don't like to carry so much, nor to offer it; they would think I was a very suspicions tramp ! Milk is only ten cents a quart, | and a pitcher or a tin pail does not cost much." It was Wells' turn to blush now ; he plainly saw that she had falling as they rushed into her been the more business-like of the j eyes. But she shut them back re- two, aud crumpling the bill in , solutely and said aloud " I know his hand, he produced some shin- j I am doinir right That baby will iug silver pieces in its place, aud get sick if he don't have his miik ; Christie wont. j and a baby is worth raore than Oh, but that mud was deep ! , ten pairs of shooh and a new dress How quickly were the trim new besides " shoes oesmeared all over with a Now she waa fairly at the gate thick yellow plaster? Worse than j of the little ugly-looking houae. that, they were getting too heavy In a minute more ahe would be to carry ; it waa aa much as she | inside. M Mo, ak* wouldn't Bow, wow ! wow I Hare wu a fallow who diapatud tho way with har, and came aiiddnnly bowing at hor, a* if the least that he should think of doing waa to awallow har at once. Now it hifl>pened that Ohriatie, unusually brave about moat thinga, was droadAiHy afraid of a dog, She gave a pitiful little ahriak, and tho next thing ahe know, she waa picking herself out of the meanest-looking mud hole ahe had seen in her trip. The dog had retired to a safe distance, and with hia head hung down, aud his silly little tail between his legs, waa receiving a lecture from a woman with a froway head.and sleeves rolled up ai the elbow, who appeared in tbo door of the FORCED OPEN QROWINO TREE. There was another sad thought little house. ' connected with all this : What a of yourself * plight she would be in by the time she reached uncle Daniel's. And mother had taken such pride in having her so neatly dressed, with a new-fashioned jacket and all ! What with the mud, and the weariness, and the anxiety, she could hardly ktop the tears from Aren't you ashamed she said, shaking hor head ; " a decent dog you are to be cutting up such tricks ! Come along, child what do you want ? There'a no kind of need of yonr being afraid of that there dog; there ain't a bigger coward in all Kansas than he is. Mercy on me! What a fix yon are in ! I guess your ma, whoever ahe is, will give you something to make yon remember Bose. You've jnat ruined your dress. Where did you come from, anyway ?" (To be continued.) A Life grandly holy is only the adding together of minutes scrn- pnlonsly holy. THB MIGHT OK THU Clous SEED. Near Mary atreet, in llanorer, which ia becoming a flourishing mercantile centre of Northern Uerm;»iiv,is the old Qarden grave- yard. Once in the oulikirti, now the ruah of tralHo and rattle of street cars disturb the quiet of the old oometery. For many a vear ita rusty galea have never been swung bacK to receive any new tenants. Tho gravea are overshadowed by large treea ind overgrown by weeds, and ne- gleet marks the spot everywhere. Quite near the entrance, in the shadow of tho old church, lie the remains of a lady who belonged to tho old nobility and who waa buried here during the middle of tho last century. Her grave ia covered by two maaaive blocks of sandatono on which lies another double their aine. The latter ia ornamented in relief by an ex- tinguished torch, the ayir 1 of death. The immense blocks are .list- ened together by heavy iron- clamps, showing the intention of the owner not to have the place diaturbed This is atill more em- phatically pronounced by the in- scription which ia hewn in large lettera opposite to the name of the occupant and tho date of her death. On one of the lower atonea, " This grave, bought for all time, must never be opened." But what is man's will in a uni- verse ruled by an Almighty Creator ? Where the two stones are joined together, a passing wind, not long after the monu- ment waa erected, carried a tiny seed. No one observed it but the eye of God. But there it took, and aa sum- mer showers and winter storms followed the course of the sea- sons it grew, ita roota finding nourishment in the soil beneath, till now an immense birch-tree spreads out its silvery and grace- ful branchea over the moaa- covered stones, and the sparrows build their nests iu it. But in getting its present growth and expansion its great roots have gone clear through the grave, and the dust of the dead baa nourished them, while its mas- sive trunk has lifted the ponder- ous stones out of their places, turning them on edge and rend- ing the iron clamps that held them together. And there the leafy branches, high in the air, nod to the sculptured legend below, as if in quiet mockery of the man's vain command, "This grave, <>ought for all time, must never be opened." It is the triumph of life over death. — Selected. A Great Step ia gaiued when a child has learned that there is no necessary connection between liking a thing and doing it. — Guetnesat Truth. God's Almanac has but one day , that is to-day. «H» A ^ OK TllK PHK 9 HEBi), treni, in lUnorer, ttiitf • llourivhlng tru of Northern oldQardvnfrravv Iho ouUkirli, now iflo tml ratllu ot urb the quint of rjr. For manf a laiea haru novnr K to fKceivo any The graves aro y large troea ind weetla, and ne- •pot ovorywhore. entrance, in the d church, lie the y who belonged ty and who waa ng the middle of Her grave ia maaaive blocka of hich Ilea another n. The latter ia relief by an ex- , the ayip 1 of blocka are >aat- by heavy iron- the intention of > hare the place ia atill more em- inced by the in> ia hewn in large ) the name of the lie date of her > of the lower ive, bought for iver be opened." »'b will in a nni- an Almighty 9 the two stonea her, a paaaing ifter the monn- carriod a tiny ibserved it but ik, and oa anm* winter storma rae of the aea- roota finding >e aoil beneath, enao birch-tree ery and grace- 'er the moaa- id the sparrows in it. But in t growth and lat roots have rh the grave, the dead has while its mas- ed theponder- their places, dge and rend- that held them lere the leafy the air, nod to end below, as ot the man's This grave, must never he triumph of lected. gained when that there is !tion between doing it. — 1 f y OHBISTIB'8 0HBISTUA8. ' BT rA«if. OUAPTKR VI.-UmlMMd. Poor Christie, her face in a deeper glow than had boen on it during thia eventful morning, limping a little in one foot, and wondering whether this was another aprain, made her way aoroas the stretch of mud that atill lay between her and the honae, and began her atnry. The open door gave her a view of quite a good-aised kitchen in which all aorta of houaehold work aeemed to bn going on at once. A amell of cabbage came from the big pot on the atove ; a amoU of Singurbread came from the open oor of the oven, where a young woman knelt to examine it, a pan of ap- plea partly pared aat on the table, and quite cloao to them tied into a chair, aata yellow-headed baby, in a pink calicodreaa, and wearing a pug noae, waihod-out blue eyea, and a soiled face. He looked utterly un- like the baby in the cars, and did not once sugg>>st the baby at home. Yet Christie was glad to see him. Probably thoy had milk, and they would have tender hearts for other babies. "If you please,'' she began in a iientle explana- tory tone, tlie woman still standing in the door, holding it partly open, "I came from the cars over here: the train is stopped by some trouble, and there is a poor baby whoso mother ' ' — here she gave a little squeal and sprang past the woman in the door, quite into the kitchen. "For the land's sake! I believe she's craay !" Thus much the woman said, before she saw what was the matter; and really by the time she saw there was nothing the matter the danger was over. It was just one of those things that happen in a second, or else they do not happen at all. There was a girl about the size of Christie whose business it evidently was to at- tend to the restless, tied-up baby, and who had been so occupied in staring at Christie that she hi>.d entirely forgotten her duty. Baby thus left to employ his wits, discovered that by a sudden tilting motion hecould tiphischair backwards, and give himself a ride REPRINTKD NT()R|»X KKOM TllK •NOUTIIKKN MI<:SHKN(JKR." was exactly behind it' In reality the baby's head did not touch the stove at all, tMteauae he held it up and yelled. At leaat that waa one reaaon ; the other waa that in leaa than aquarturof aaeoundthe chair waa righted by Chriatie heraelf; for juat one apring brought her from the door to the chair. But, dear m*'! you ahonld have aeen the excitement which prevailed in Iho lilllu log houae then. That baby was just as important as any other buby in the world. His mother untied with nervous fingers the string that bound him, and hunted, and kissed, and crii^d over him, and praised Christie, and scolded sobs came deeply drawn, as aha vaniahod by the woo.Ubed door. I'hratia felt aorry for her, and indignant with her mother. There waa a very great tlilFerenue in mothera, certainly, ureater than ahe had ever aupposea. The indignation gave her cour- age to tell lier atory rapidly and well. There were a great many exolamaliohH over it, a great many queilioiiN aNki-d and answered, and Chriatiu had to kiaa the baby could u d'led when ahe reached llie train, and concluded to be meek; eap«ciaMy sinrn they did not know her stall. Mow could they be sure ,'. \tshe did not want to run away with Josiah's boots f On her arm ahn hiul a pail nf milk which looked rich and y out had been. 8he discovered that day why boyi wore boolit, a thinif tlnil ahe had never uiulurslnod be- fore. They certainly made their way tbrougn the mud much better than shoes. There stood the train, without apparently hav- ing had u thought of going. I way to leave her. She set down her pail, and carefully oulleil off the boots and laid them in a Nort of gully ai the side of the track, then slipped into her own wet ones, and climbed ir.to the train. None too soon, for bi'by was shrieking wildly. The old gentleman looked reliev- ed when he saw her. " Well, little woman,'' he said, "our hopes all rest on you. If you can quiet thibslorm, we shall owe you a debt of gratitude." " We've been having a first-class circus here," said Wells, "ever since you went. You hudn't jumped the first mud puddle wh(;n he opened his eyes and looked around him and begaii. That Seaside Library woman over there is going to have him sent to the house of correction as soon as ever we reach the city. I see it in her eyes." "Poor fellow !" said Christie ; but she did not mean the old gentleman in spectacles, nor yet Wells Burton. CHAPTER VII. Do yon imagine that the train soon started ? Nothing seemed farther from its thoughts. The baby eagerly drank his milk from the bright tin cup, much occupied, it is true, as soon as his first hunger was appeased, with gazing at the queer shapes in its sides, bntneverrecognizing, apparently, his own beautiful face ; but after each gaze, he would seize the cup and take another long draught. £ ^H9 A^ f^i is- le REPRINTED STORIES. FROM THK " NORTH F.RN MKSSENGER." " I tell you he was hungry and snre I don't know. The next thirsty both, I shonld think!' Wells said, watching him with interest; "his mother onght to give you a great many thanks for this." "Poor mother !" said Christie with a sigh, and she drew the baby closer, He settled back in her arms at last, satisfied and smiling. "Tamed," Wells called it, and he and the old gentleman who had returned to his own seat exchanged smiles ol admiration, as' Christie "mothered" the baby, cooing him presently into quiet, restful slumber. The shawl did duty again as a pillow, and this time, genuine sleeping was done. Longp.ist nine o'clock now, and no train either came or went. The officials seemed all to have departed, and someof the passengers. The old gentleman kept his seat, so did the pale-iaced man, so did the disgusted young lady who had iinished her book, and had now no other occupation to indn.lge in but grumbling. " How far are we from the city'?" Christie questioned. " Why, not more than a dozen miles." " I should think some of the men who are in a hurry would try to hire a waggon to take them in." Wells shook his head. " I shoull like to see a waggon that could get through this mud !" he explained. " You see there is no waggon road ; the old roadstrikos otf atthat junction down below, and winds around, I don't know how many miles. I don't suppose it would be possible to drive direot from here to the city, and (he regular road is used so little out this way now, that it must be horrid after these rains." " Well, shouldn't you think that man over there, who is so anxious, would try to walk ! 1 think 1 could walk twelve miles if mother or the baby was sick." " Not in this mud, I venture. I doubt if you ever took many long walks in such mud. Why, in some places it is knee deep ! Besides, don't you see he would stand a chance of seeing this train whisk by him when he was aljout half way. No ; his best plan is to sit still and be patient." '' He doesn't look patient," said Christie. " I never saw any- body's face look less patient than his ; and I am so sorry for him I don't know what to do. I keep thinking I wish I could do some- thing to help him. I wonder if it is his mother who is sick." Wells studied him for a few minutes, and then gave it as his opinion that it was .he lady whom he meant to »»." Christie meekly explained her fears the baby might fancy him- self hungry when he awoke ; and at fast, with a disgusted sigh, the lady took the doliciU china pitcher from iti nest and p'>.ssed it into Christie's koepic^. "Hei-'j," she said, "Yen will brcik it, I presume, the next thing ; and it belongs to a set. I was a simpleton to bring it, but how was I >-■: 'now there would be such a nuieanca of a time ?" THE GREAT ANT-EATER. Next the pail must be washed. For the first time in her life, Christie made her way to the water cooler, which stood in a corner of the car, and managed to learn how to make the water flow. Washing the pail was an easy matter. It was a relief to come to something that she knew Just how to do, and had often done before. She was soon at her work, a nc-\t handkerchief doing duty as a bathing cloth. The sock was caTefulIy, tenderly drawn from the poor swollen loot — not with- out help from Wells' knife, for the Water Is real w -"uderful," said Christie. " Mother says that half the people in the world don't know what a splendid doctor it is. Sometimes she us- s it real hot, and it will stop a pain in a few minutes. Hot water would be good for your foot if we could get some. I wish we could, for I am most sure that it would make this swelling go down faster." " Wo might split some pieces ofT the side of the car, and start a fire. I could whittle fome ofT, maybe, or the old gentleman ' would. No, he can't leave his pitcher of milk. But the young man hasn't anything to do; we might try him. 1 have some n.>atches in my pocket." By this time he had to stop and laugh over the bewildered j look on the little nurse's face. I "I beg your pardon,' he said, ] seeing the flushed cheeks. " I'm afraid it sounds like making fun of you, nnd that is the last thing i I am thinking of, I can tell \ou. , I wa.s only thinking thi t you had i done so many things to-day that sesmed impossible, perhaps you would manage a fire, to heat water. You can't think how I iiiee the cold water feels. I I hate to have you down there muscling over me. You are getting drops of water over your pretty dress, I'm afraid among u? we shall manage to spoil all your clothes. But my foot feels fifty per- cent better. I can tell you somebody who will be very much obliged to you for this morning's work, and that's my mamma." r^aid Christie, " Isn't it nice that the baby sleeps all this while ? If he should waken before I get your foot bandi:ged, 1 don't know what I should do !" The distressed tone of inotheily anxiety in which she said ttiis, set Weils off into another laugh. He thouubt her the strangest little girl he had ever seen in his hie. The truth was, that he was not acquainted with any liltl.' girls who knew how to do things which are supposed to belong to women. But Christie had been her mother's oldest daughter, and her only helper in the home foi so many years, that she had learned many things, and had a tashionof planning be- forehand, very much as her mother did. " Bandaged !" repeated Wells when his lauirh was over. " Why what will you bandage it with I I should say that was about as hard to m;inage as a lire." "Oh, no ! I didn't know what you meant about mak- ing a lire. I'm sure there is fire enough in th« stove ; if I could make a place on the stove to set this pail I could nave hot water ; but I really can't do that. ,\. bandage, though, from somewhere we must have. You see the foot must be banaged now that it has been v,-et ; mother thinks they swell more after wet- ting, unless they are bound up pretty I rht. I have one other handkerchief, but it is small ; still it would make a beginning, and I suppose you have one, and the old gentleman maybe has two, men often have ; I think wu can get enough to make quite a nice ■andaire." ■' Are vou really going through the car to take up a collection of C»4e 18 REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE " NORTHERN MESSENGER." handkerchiefs for my benefit !" Wells was so amused thitt he could hardly speak the words, bnt Christie looked x)0'''*)(^t'y sober, "Why HOt?' she said. "Any- body who had one would give it for such a thing, yon know. And it is really necessary. Mother was very particular about it when father had a sprain." " 'Well ! I suppose you will do it. I think you would do anything that it happened to come into your head ought to be done ; but I beg you to ask each of the contributors for their ad- drebses, for I shall want to ex- press a few handkerchiefs to them, if this train ever does reach the city." In due course of time Christie did just that thing. She went timidly over to the old gentle- man and told him her plan. She did not like to do it, but it seemed the next thing to be done, and as ■he walked along, she remember- ed that she had not liked to do one oi the things that had come to her since she stopped the train ; yet they had all turned out well, so far. Even the china pitcher was doing its duty as nicely as though its owner had been willing to lend it. The old gentleman was delight- ful. Ho shook out two of the largest and finest cambric hand- kerchiefs that Christie had ever seen. It did seem a pity to tear them, bnt he gave them up as though it was a pleasure to him to think of their being torn in bits. The young man was equally ready, and more able, for he open- ed his case, and produced three or four, which Christie saw with joy, for she need not go to the owner of the pitcher. " How are yon going to fasten the pieces ?" he asked as he spread out the handkerchiefs and prepared to help tear them. " Pins will scratch, and besides wili not make a smooth bandage. Take care, you are getting that one too wide ; bandages are nuisances unless they fit nicely. What shall we do about the sewing? I sup- pose you haven't a workbox with yon? ' " Not quite," said Christie, laughing, amd feeling as though she were acquainted with him, '- but I hare something that will do to sew bandages. I had a necktio to hem for father, and I took it along for work to-day at my uncle's. The only trouble is it is black silk, and I ought to have white thread, but it will do." " Of course it will do," her new friend said heartily. Did you ever read fairy stories ? There is one about a little woman who had in her pocket, or in her month, or her shoes, somewhere about her, just the thing that wad wanted next. I didn't know that fairies travelled on the cars, but I 8 believe you mnst be her coasin at least." •» " I wonder if yon should like does, for instance ; but suppose some help in putting this bandage on ? 1 have done such things before now, and I think perhaps my hands are a little than yours." you knew that her sister was very sick, and that she was anxious to get to her; if you could wouldn't stronger , you make this train go on as fast IIS possible, so as to give her a " Oh !" said Christie, relieved, ohance to get to the city ? and smiling, " I am so glad. I " Yes, sir," said Christie un- didn't know how it would get on, hesitatingly, "I would of I tried once to bandage father's foot, and I did not do it well at all ; but I thought I must do the best I could this time, and maybe it would last until he got to the city. Are you a doctor, sir ?" " Not quite ; I am only study- ing, with the hope of being one sometime. You did not know yon were a teacher as well as a fairy, did you ?" I ?" said Christie, looking greatly astonished, course. " Then you are better than God ? You see he doesn't do it." Christie considered this for a moment, then said : " But I might make a dreadful mistake. Perhaps two trains would run into each other, or it might be all wrong in some way. Yon see, God knows how to do things, audi don't." " Ah, bnt if you knew how to « T I. L _ i. I.- do things, yon could plan so that You. Ihave_been watchmg jt would be best. This is what you all the morning, and I con eluded just now, that it was time I Toosed myself and began to think of something besides my own great disappointment I sup- pose I shall reach the city just as soon if I help to bandage that foot as though I sat here and looked at my watch, and longed for the train to start." The sentence ended with a little sigh, and the anxious look came back to his pale face as he skil- fully rolled the bandage into a hard little ball. " I am very sorry for yon," said Christie gently ; " I do hupe you will get to the city in time ! and I can't help thinking that you will." There was such a confident little note in her voice that he glanced at her curiously " Do yonr fairy jiowers reach in that direction ?'' he asked, smil- ing just a little "Conid ^on wave yonr wand, do you think, and make this train start on its way ?" She shook her head, smiling, yet with a serious mouth " Nobody ever thought of such a thing as calling me a fairy ; I'm only Christie Tucker ; but I prsy. ed to God to let yon get fo the city as quick as he could, and to let yonr friend get well. And I can- not help thinking that he will do it. I know he will if it is best," " How did you find that out ?" " Why," said Christie, puzzled how to answer this, yet feeling that it ought to be answered, " of course He will. He said so, you know. Or, well, he said so about some people. Are not you one of them, sir ?" " One of whom?'' " One of the people who love God V Ho said he would make everything come just right to the people who love him. And he never breaks a promise, you know." " Look here, little woman that lady over there who is tearing a letter into bits, has not been very polite to you I have noticed, and I suppose she doesn't love you nearly as well as your mother you say God does for those who love Him, and I am showing you that you would do it for those who don't love yon, and are therefore making yourself out to be better than God. Don't yon see?" Christie looked distressed. What she saw, was, that this man needed to have somebody explain things to him. He did not disturb her faith, but how was she going to show him that God was good to all? She thought it over in silence, while he still rolled at the band- age, which showed a perverse desire to twist, and needed care from her watchful fingers all the time. At last she said timidly, " I know there is a way to explain, but 1 don't know how to do it. If you knew our minister, he could tell you. Don't you think, though, that some people won't let God do the best for them ? He wants them to choose to love him, and then he can take care of them and see that everjrthing comes out all right. Oar mmister told me about it. There was a little boy living at Mr. Briggs', that came all the way from the Home for LittleWahderersinNew York. Mr. Briggs tooV him to work on the farm. His name is Johnnie, and our minister said : 'What if Jo'nnnie should run away, and refuse to live with Mr. Briggs, conld he be taken care of as he would have been if he had stayed with the man who had promised him a home ?' He said a great deal more, and made it real plain. Ifyon could talk with him, I know he conld make you understand ; bnt I am only a little girl." " You are a very good little girl," he said gently, " and whether I understand things as you do or not, I thank you for praying for me. That will not do me any harm, I am snre. Now we will go and see about fitting the bandage to that sick foot." (7b be continued.) THE GREAT ANT-EATER. Whatever else we may say for the Great Ant-eater, wo certainly cannot c.ill him handsome. The long snuut, and those prominent claws, art! dccidely ugly ; but ho would be sorry to part with them, for they help him to secure his food. Let us take n peep at him, not as he is at the Zoo, — as shown in our picture, — but in his native land. Far away in Brazil and in the swampy savannahs of Souih America the ant-eater is at home. What are these little mounds on the ground ? These are the lumuli eta the nouses of the white ants are called. Very well built and substantial residences they are. But that does not secure them from destruction by one scratch of the ant-eater's formida- ble claw. Then as the ants lun hithiTiind thither in dismay, they are quickly caught on the long tongue of their foe, and gobbled down, multitudes of them being eaten at one meal. Well, they can be easily spared, for they are most destructive little things. A gentleman once tamed a young female ant-eater, and taught it to eat meat and fish, which had to be chopped up very small, as ant-eaters have no teeth. It was an affectionate pet, and would run about after its master, or any one to whom she had taken a fancy, with its long nose close to the ground, so as to find them by the scent, for its sense of smell was remarkably strong, though the eyesight was weak. The poor little creature did not live to grow up. It always seemed bitterly cold, though it was kept wrapped np in a blanket; and at length it pined away and died. The Prater may be short, bnt if it come hot from the heart oi one in the thick of the battle; will it not reach the ear to which it is sent ? A few words — Lord save us ! we perish — roused up the Redeemer to save his dis- ciples from the devouring sea. Ah ! these prayers of men that struggle are dear to Him that hear them ; they consecrate a life, they make a man's heart a very church or temple in which wor- ship is continually offered. These are not days when the more use- ful minds can find leisure for much retirement and self-com- muning. But to carry the praying heart about with us into all that our hands find to do is the special need of our time. — Archbishop of York. To Delioht in giving nnto the Lord is as mnch to be cultivated as to delight in prayer or in speak- ing for Jesus in a season of revival, or in knowledge of the precions promise and truths of God or to be fervent in spirit, serving the Lord, — North Carolina Pretbylerian. r ANT-EATER le we may say for jater, wo certainly I handsome. The d those prominent ilely ugly ; but ho to part with them, [lim to secure his iko n peep at him, he Zoo, — as shown —but in his native ly in Brazil and in ivannahs of South iit-eater is at home, iicso little mounds ? These are the ouses of the white Very well built al residences they t does not secure ^struction by one ant-eater's formida- m as the ants run her in dismay, they lught on the long r foe, and gobbled ides of them being meal. Well, they spared, for they are re little things, an once tamed a B ant-eater, and eat meat and fish, )e chopped up very aters have no teeth. Hectionate pet, and »nt after its master, whom she had taken its long nose close , so as to find them for its sense of smell bly strong, though as weak. The poor did not live to grow ys seemed bitterly t was kept wrapped et; and at length it ad died. 2; IR may be short, hot from the hear t thick of the battle; ,ch tke ear k> which A few words — we perish — roused mor to save his dis- the devouring sea. ■avers of men that dear to Him that ley consecrate a life, man's heart a very iple in which wor- ually offered. These when the more use- lu Hud leisure for nent and self-com- to carry the praying ith us into all that to do is the special time. — Archbiihop of T in giving unto the oh to be cultivated n prayer or in speak- iB in a season of knowledge of the mise and truths of le fervent in spirit, ord. — North Carolina 4* REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." 19 T CHRISTIE'S CHRISTMAS. CHAPTER Vn-Cmlinutd. Skilful fingers soon had the foot moro comlortable than it had been since the accident. Weils submitted to the new helper meekly, though he made a wry face at Christie behind the piece of handkerchief that was left from the bandage. " I don't know about liking that man," he said to Christie when the foot was nicely done up and resting on the cushions of the turned seat. " Ho might have walked up before and helped you IT 18 S.\RAH ANN !" with that baby. He must have seen that it was a tug for you." " Men don't know about babies," Christie answered gravely, " but I am ghid that he knows aboui-. handajjos. How nicely ho did that ! It looks just ns though a doctor had been here, Well, he is a doctor." " The mischief, he is ' Then I oui^ht to have offered to pay him." " Oh, no!" said Christie, dis- tressed, " I don't believe he would have liked that. Ho did it lor kiudnrss, not lor pay. He is very pleasant, but just as sad! He gives very long sighs, right in the midst of his talk. I am sorry for him ; sorrier than before he helped us." " Why ?" " Because I am afraid he doesn't believe in God. He is not one of Hod's people, I'm most sure : because thi^y never talk in that way, and it makes things a gri'at deal harder to bear." "Talk in what way ? How do yon tell people of that kind?" " Why, he almost iound fault with Ood ! Talk.'d as though he did not buliuvo that God woald do the best for everybody. And you know his children never say such things." " Don't they ? I'm sure I did not know it. I guess I am not acquainted with many of them. I'll tell you what it is, Christie, I have a brother whom I would like to have yon make understand things if you could. Ho is sick and lame, and will never beany better ; and he got so by helping somebody else : doing his duty, you know. It would be hard work for you to make him believe that things are just right in this world. He thinks it is awful that he doesn't get well. And I must say it seems most too bad. Ho was a splendid scholar, you see, led his class in college and was going to make a great man, people thought; now it is all spoiled, and he suffe.s all the time, and will have to, as long as he lives.'' " What hurt him ?" asked Christie, her eyes full of sympathy and sor- row. '" Why, a house wos burning, and he climbed a ladder when nobody else would, and went in- side and saved a little babv: and part of the wall fell on him and hurt his back. The doctor says he will never beany better." Christie's tears came outright now. "I'm so sorry for him!" she said ; " but if he only knew God, it would be a great deal easier to bear. What a long, long, morning it was! The baby had his nap out, and awoke and fretted a good deal, and cried outright for his mamma, and drank some more milk, and played with the old gentioman's gold headed cane, and went over to the pale-faced young man and was entertained for a while, and cried some more, and was given a cookie, and t>t last fell asleep again. And there that train stood immovable. It began to be certain now, and there was serious trouble. Word came, through railway men, that the track was injured a long distance ahead, and lor that reason no train could get from the city to relieve them. To add to the dreariness, it began to rai«i; a iii>rci», driving storm, and ofcourso tiie mud grew deeper every moment. "Dear, dear !'' said Christie "I hope they don't know about it at home. Mother will be so worried that she won't know what to do." " It's most a wonder that your people let you start out," said Wells. " I suppose the morning papers gave an account of the mischief done by the rain in the night : but our Iblks are all away, and I, like an idiot, never looked at a paper." Then Christie, her cheeks some- what red, explained that they did not take a daily paper, that father couldn't quite afford it yet, and so they had known nothing about trouble on the railway. " There is always some trouble with this road, "said Wells, feeling cross. " First it is a freshet, and then a landslide, or a washout, or the engine gives out, I don't know how many times we have been detained, but never so long as this. I should like to know what we are to do for some dinner ? I know I am as hungry as a wolf. I didn't eat much breakfast this morning ; it was so sort of stupid to be silting in that groat dining-room ail alone." It was after twelve o'clock when this remark was made. The patience of everybody in the car was exhausted, and Chris- tie was beginning to look anxious- ly at the dribble of milk left in the pitcher. What should she do if the train did not start soon, or the mother come ? " That doctor of yours will have to plunge through the mud and get us some more milk, or some- thing," said Wells at last, trying to raise himself on his elbow to get a view of the rainy world. "What object is that!" he said as he drew back his head. " Look, Christie, there are two of them, and they are dragging n basket between them that must be decidedly heavy. How are they ever going to get I'uioughthat puddle of water ? And where are they bound for, do you suppose?" Said Christie, "It is Sarah Ann !" CHAPTER Vni. Sure enough ! there she came, ploughing through the mud which had grown much deeper since morning. The large basket that she car- ried seemed to weigh her down, and she made slow progress. "Deal, dear!" baid Christie. " One of them ought to have had .Tosiah's hoots. Idon't know how they will ever manage to get through the puddles. Look, ftM baby ! If you were a man, yl/if you would go right out an^ try to help them, wouldn't you?" Nobody took this hint, and the two floundered along, and climbed the high step of the car platform ; then Sarah Ann set down her basket, and looked curiously in at the doo.'. "What do you want?" asked a brakesman who ap- peared just then, sticking his head out of the door. Surah Ann spoko up boldly : " We want the girl with the baby, who saved .Timmy from getting burned to death; mother sent her dinner, and some things for the rest, if she's a mind to give 'em to 'em." This was bewildering news to the brakesman. He looked from the girl to the woman, with a puzzled face. He understood the word "dinner," and there was certainly a baby on the train ; but who was Jimmy, and when was he saved from burning to death ? However, Wells Burton under- stood, and came to the rescue : " It is all right, brakesman, sev- erol things have happened since you went for a walk. The party to whom that dinner belongs is here, and I'm inclined to think that a good many people who feel the pangs cf hunger, wish they were i'ribnds of hers." Such fun as it was to unpack that basket ! Christie did not know before that so many things could be crowded into a basket. Bread and butter, piles of it, a soup plate piled high with slices of ham, thin, and done to a crisp, and smelling, oh, so appetizing ! sheets of gingerbread, great squaresofcheese, a bowl of dough- nuts, another bowl of quince sauce, and a pail full of milk. "Mother said you could give some to anybody you pleased," explained Sarah Ann, who seemed to have recovered her spirits ; " she said father wouldn't grudge anything to the girl who saved Jimmy from gettinsj hurt. My ! but I was scared!" she added confidentially. " Whoso baby is that ? Isn't he your little brother? What makes him so good with you if he don't belong? Jimmy would yell awful if a strange girl took him. My sakes! I hope his mother will find him. Do you mean to keep him always if she doesn't, and bring him up for yours?" Wouldn't that bo funny, lor a little girl like you to adopt a baby ! Oh, wouldn't it ? " What a tongue Sarah Ann had ! Wells was laughing im- moderately, and [>retending that it was a violent cough, to save Sarah Ann's feelings, and no peony was ever so brilliant as Christie's cheeks. She tried THE OTHER OIRL PEEPTNO IN. !? 20 REPRINTEli STORIES, FROM THE " NORTHERN MESSENGER." -®(4i ' to thank the girl for her kind' neBs, but no words seemed to oome at her call. However, Sarah Ann was toomach interested in ail that she saw around her, to mind whether she was thanked or not. She next gave attention to Wells. " Is that your brother ?" and then without waiting for an answer, " why didn't he come after the milk ? oh, my ! a sprain is a real mean thing, sometimes. Jed Barker sprained his foot, last summer, and he had to have it cut off." After this cheering bit o( news, the girl who had had her head in the oven when Christie was there, and who had been standing at one side of the door, peeping in in an abash- ed way, now found voice : " Sarah Ann, you'd ontrht to be ashamed ! Your ma toid you not to let your tongue get to running. Come out here, and lot her eat her dinner, and then you can get the dishes." "I ain't said noth- ing," declared Sarah Ann, looking aggriev- ed. However, she turned quickly and went out to the platform. " There's a rare specimen of a girl for you !" said Wells. 'She's a genius, I should say. DoeH Jimmy look like her? If he does, I don't wonder that you saved his life." "I don't think she means to do anything wrong," said Christie, hesitatingly, " It is just because she doesn't know any better. It must have been very hard work to carry this basket througli the mud." "Wrong !" exclaimed Wells, " I should say not ! On the contrary she is the only one of this crowd, yourself excepted, who has done anything right since we started. Does your mother enjoy having you say, 'this crowd, when you mean half a dozen people ? Mine considers it slang, and I never say it any more, except on special occasions." " I never say it at all," answer- ed Christie lau-rliing. Daring this time she had been engaged in unpacking the basket, and now had the contents arrang- ed neatly on a large clean towel whicU she brought out of the ilowered carpet sack. How nice it was that mother had wrapped the cookies first in a towel! What would she think ifsheknew it was doing duty as a tablecloth, and that her Christie was serving dinner for half a dozen hungry strangers ! I don't suppose that bread and butter and ham ever tasted better. The old gentleman declared that he was sure there never was any so good before, and the pale young man ate quite a large piece of bread, and smiled in gratitude ; and beveral men, who with gloomy faces, and hands in their pockets, strayed in from the person aa she never eats anything more solid than a bit of ice-cream, and a little pound cake, you may be sure." But Christie did not laugh. In- stead, she looked troubled, and af- ter a while thoughtfully laid aside a delicate bit of ham, and a thin slice of bread and butter. Diving down into her satchel again, she brought ojit a piece of an old tablecloth, beautifully clean and white ; the seed cakes for uncle Daniel's baby had been wrapped CHINESE SWALLOWS. different cars, accepted Christie's off'er of a ham sandwich with sur- prise and thanks. " Would you oiler some to the lady V Christie asked in a whisper of Wells, glancing doubt- fully in her direction. " What ! the Seiuide Library in it. On this white cloth she laid the bread and butter, two of the seed cakes, a delicate piece of gingerbread, and a fragment of cheese. "I'm going to carry these to her," she said to Wells, inclining her head as she spoke in the creitture ? I beg that you will direction of the lady, not misuse language so badly as to call her a lady. I should say that 1 wouldn't do any such thing. You would probably get refused for your pains. Such a delicate Rhe won't take them." "I can't help it. I shall feel ashamed of myself if I don't offer them, and I don't like to feel ashamed of myself," '* There is something in that," Wella said, laughing, yet with a look in his eyes, that said he was proud of Christie. " Go ahead ; I'll keep watch and be ready to dpe- fend yon,if she is inclined to bite." (To be ennUnued.) BIRD'S NEST SOUP. Every one has heard of the famous bird's nest soup, which is known to be such a luxury among the Chinese. We give here a very clear picture of the birds which build the nests and the nests themselves. The birds, you will see, are species of swallow. They in- habit the coast of China and neighboring coun- tries and build their nests on the walls of the caves along the shore, sticking them against the fiat wall in precisely the same way as our chimney swal- lows do. The nests are about the size of a goose egg and resem- ble isinglass. For a long time people did not know how these were built. One theory was that the bird made them from a kind of seaweed upon which it fed. Butthey feed upon insects just as other birds do. They have however, a set of glands corresponding to the salivary glands at the side of the mouth, and these secrete the gelatinous material used by the birds in building their nests. The nests when brought to market are of three qualities. The new nests, in which no young ones have been reared, looking clear like pure gelatine and almost white, the second quality of a dincy, brown color and looking generally dirty, and the third those in which little ones have been reared and all stuck over with feathers and covered with filth of all sorts. The soup in which the nests are used has a gelatinous look and feeling, somewhat like diluted jelly, and is considered by the Chinese a very great dainty. Of coiirso the best soup is made from the nests of the hrst quality, but we Ifiir that in this, as in other thincfs, the second and third qualities are not entirely ignored. 01 The Lord is the strength of my life ; of whom shall I be afraid ? — Psa. 27: 1. ^ MV thing in that," ig, yet with a at said he was "Qo ahead ; be ready to de- clined to bite." linued.) T SOUP. heard of the ionp, which is .Inzary amon^ I givo hero a ar picture of B which build and the nests ■es. The birds, see, are ppecies iw. They in- ! coast of China hboring couu- d build their the walls of !8 along the iticking them be flat wall in ' the same wa; :himney swi >. The nests t the size of a fg and resem- lass. For a long ople did not )W these were )ne theory was e bird made om a kind of upon which it ;they feed upon just as other 3. They have ', a set of corresponding alirary glands side of the and these the gelatinous used by the building their way ival- n REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THK ' NORTHERN MESSENGER." nests when to market are {ualitius. The , in which no nes have been looking clear gelatine and white, the quality of a own color and eneraily dirty, bird those in ttle ones have reared and over with and covered h of all sorts. in which the used has and feeling, itcd jolly, and 10 Chiiit'se a Of courso the rom the lu'sts but Wd li'ar ler ihinirs, the lalities are not itrengthof my I be airaid ? — CHRISTIE'S CHRISTMAS. CHAPTER Vlll-Continufd. And Christie went. She had done her best, t :id the food certainly did not look uninviting, but the lady had worked herself by this time ip' such a state of disgust, that ink it would have been ver. rd for her to be good. She gave one disdainful glance at the ragged edges of the piece of table cloth, then shook her head : " No, thank you. I am not reduced to that state yet." Then, seeing the flaming color in Christie's* cheeks, she seemed to struggle to make herself be- have better. " I'm not afraid of you, child," she said, "yoit-look noat, I am sure ; bat alter seeing the hands and hair of the girl who brought the basket, I could not eat a mouthful." Not a word said Christie. She carried her bit of tablecloth back, and laid it on the seal, covering the food irora the dust ; her eyes, meantime, swimming with tears. " How long does it take people to starve?" Wells asked fiercely of the old gentleman who was in the act of oiting a huge piece of ham. Evidently he understood Wells' meaning, and smiled. But Chris- tie could not smile. Baby, meantime, was in rol- licking humor. Apparently he had resolved that his mother was not worthy of any more tears, or frettings, and he kept one pretty arm around Christie's neck, and ate seed cakes, and drank milk, with delight On the whole, it was a very nice dinner, and the different people who came from the other car, and shared it, all agreed that ■'Sarah Ann" ought to have a vote of thanks. " I'll tell you what will be better than that," said the old gentle- man, pnting his hand into his iwcket; "at least we can add it to the thanks, and make her happy. Let us take up a nice little collection for her to get her- self a pair of rubber boots to climb through the mud in," and he dropped a shining gold bit into Christie's hand. " And a comb to comb her hair with," added Wells as he laid aj silver dollar beside the gold piece; "you advise her to l>ny one, Christie, that's a good girl." The rough-looking men seemed equally pleased with the idea, and dropped their fifty cent pieces into the eager little hand, and the pale young man actually added another gold piece. I wish you could have seen Christie's eyes, as her hand began to grow full ! It seemed to her that she was never so hap^>y in her life. It was so splendid to ;iye people things ; she had never lad that pleasure before. " I haven't any money," she 1^ said softly to Wells, " but I am so glad that the rest of you have ; and it is so nice in you to let me give it to her. Just think what a lot of nice things it will buy her ! I know they are poor by the looks of the kitchen. I think it was real good in them to send us dinner." " So it was ; and it was real good of the woman to be such an excellent cook. I haven't had a better dinner in a long time ; hut I say, Christie, what are you saving that choice bit in the cloth for? You don't mean to relent and let the baby have it after all!" " No ;" said Christie laughing, " baby must be content with seed cakes, and milk ; I know his mamma does not let him eat ham, and I am not going to ran the risk ; but I thought I would keep that, for a little while." The remainder of the milk had been carefully poured into what Wells called " the company pitcher," to be kept for baby ; and Christie went with basket and money out to Sarah Ann on the platform. Just as she came back with her eyes full of the story of the girl's dumb surprise, a lady was open- ing the opposite door and coming down the aisle. A middle-aged lady, elegantly dressed, and with a placid smile on her face. " I thought I must come and look after the little fairy who so kindly famished us with a dinner," she said brightly. " Is this the one ? My child, you did not know I had some of your dinner, did you ? but that patient brakesman out there, shared his slice of bread and ham with me, and told me the whole story. I want to see the baby. If I had heard of him before, I should have come and tried to help. Yes ; I have been sitting in that Doxt ear all the time ; but I was t!0 stupid as to go to sleep and lose most of the excitements. Why, Wells Burton! I wonder if you are hero ?" " Yos'm ;" said .Wells briskly, I'm hero, Mrs. Havihiud ; but I did not know that you were." Did you go to sleep before the accident and the stopping of the train ?" "No, indi'cd ! I stayed awake for that excitement, and heard all about it, and the forethought of this little woman, but you see I did not know it was you, and there seemed to be so many crowding in, and nothing to do but stare, that I thought I wouldn't join them. And so it was you who were hurt? My dear boy, how distressed your mother must be !" exclaimed Mrs. Haviland, bending over him pityingly. " Where is she, and all the rest of them, and how is it that you are spending Christmas day on the cars ?" 'There seemed no end to the questions that the handsome lady had to ask Christie meantime, was engaged in watching the " Seaside library woman," as I am afraid that the lady will have to be called for the rest of the story. The moment (hat the stranger had ezclamed: "Why. Wells Burton !" the lady had given a sudden surprised start, and her lace had flashed deeply. At least she knew the name, if she did not the boy, and for some reason, the knowledge seemed to disturb her. Just than the stranger turned in her direction, and bowed slightly as some people do when they know persons a little bit, and do not care to know them any better. Wells noticed the bow, and was ready with questions. " Mrs. Haviland, I wonder if you are acquainted with that creature. Who is she ?" " My dear boy, have yon been travelling with her all day, with- out knowing who she is ? Did you ever hear of a person by the name of Henrietta Westville ?" " I should think I had ! You don't say that she is the one ! " That is her name, my boy." " Well ! I wonder that I had not thought of it for myself. The name fits her character pre- cisely, of all the cantankerous, disgusting creatures that I ever saw, she" — " Softly, softly, my dear Wells, what would ' moiJier' say to such language as that ?" " I don't care," declared Wells, " the language doesn't begin with the subject. Mamma is rea- sonable. She knows that a fellow has to boil over once in a while. Why, Mrs. Haviland, you never heard the like of the way in which she has conducted herself to-day." And then Wells launched out in a description of the conduct of the "Seaside library creature," and Christie took the sleeply baby to a seat on the other side of the car to coo him to sleep, and to wonder who this lady was, and why Wells cared because the young woman was named Henrietta Westville, and what he was telling the stranger about herself, for at this moment she overheard her own name. CHAPTER IX. The baby went to sleep, and the strange lady continued talk- ing with Wells. So Christie, feel- ing a little lonely after so much excitement, looked about her for amusement, and discovered that the nice old gentlemam was motioning to her. "Come and take care of me a while, little woman," he said, making room for her. " Between us we can catch the baby before he makes up his mind to roll away. You must be tired look- ing after him. I wish his mother knew what good care he had." " I am used to it," exclaimed Christie. " I take a great deal of care of our baby ; but I am sorry for his mother r Christie meant the mother of the baby on the i-ars, not the baby at home. The old gentleman understood her. "It is a bad busineso, he said cheerly ; " but not so bad but it might have been worse. Suppose, for instance, you had not been on the cars, what would baby have done then ? Forthat matter,whaf would any of us have done with- out oar dinner ? That was an excellent dinner you got up for us. ow have you enjoyed the day, on the whole ?" " Why," said Christie laughing, " I haven't had time to think. It isn't a bit such a day as I had planned." " I imagine not. Mine isn't, I ' know. Let us hear what you had planned, and see if your ex- pectations were any like mine." "Oh, no!" said Christie; "they couldn't be! Why, in the first place, I was to take my first ride on the cars. Well, I have done that, though we didn't ride very far before We stopped." " Just so ; and we seem to find it hard work to get on again. I wonder if this is your first ride ! Well, well ! you will not be likely to forget it, will you? And where were you going?" " Why, I expected to spend all this day at my uncle Daniel's in the city! I have never been there, you know, and he lives in a nice house, and has a great many things that I wanted to see." " Do you mind telling me the thing that you wanted to see the most ?" A shy little blush came into Christie's face, and she droope'd her head. " It was very silly, I suppose, but I wanted to see the carpet in the parlor. It is what they call Brussels, and has ferns all oyer it, so natural that mother says you could most pick them ; and some berries like what mother lised to gather in the woods where she lived, away off East. I never saw such a carpet, rmd I can't think what it would be like. It doesn't seem to me that they could make natural-looking ferns out of threads of v/ool ; and I wanted to see if I should think so. Then ' she has pretty furniture in her room, all painted in flowers — roses, you know — and pansies, and oh ! a great many flowers and vines, just lovely ! I never saw anything like that, either; and I- couldn't think how they would look." The old gentleman got out his only remaining handkerchief,' and drew it across his mouth, to hide hiu smile that he did hot want Christie to see; and then drew it across his eyes, for sc>me- thing in her voice seemed to make the tears start. " I understand," he said, his voice full of kindly sympathy ; " and so these were the things that you most wanted to see ?" AH^ U 22 REPRINTED STORIES. FROM THE " NORTH KRN MESSENGER.' 1 A " No, «ir," said Christie ; " not quite. I thought a good deal about them; but there was one thing that I thought I should look at more than anything else, and mav be touch." There was a curious little note of awe in her voice as she said these last words that made her listener bend his head curiously, and question iu tones of deepest interest : " What was that ?" " A piano." She spoke the words almost under her breath. " My dear child ! did you never see a piano?" "Oh, no, sir. My mother has, often. She used to play on one when she was a girl, and she has told mo about it often and often. 1 think I know just how it looks. I can shut my eyes and see it; and I on think a little how it sounds ; at least, it suems as though I could. It isn't like the carpet. I can't im- gine that; but the music is easier. Father has a flute. We have a carpet, oi course." she added, drawing herself up with a bit of womanly dignity, *' but it is made of rags, and looks very diii'ereut from lirussels, mother says. And I can't imagine a very great difTerence in carpets; but I can imagme things about music, you know." " I know," nodde I the old gentlcm in ; and he thought to himself that lie knew several things which she didn't. After a little ho sai I : " And so you are missing all these wonders ; but a good many interesting things have happened, I should think ?" Then did Christie's eyes sparkle. " I should think there had!" she said. "I was thinking just a little while ago that I should have enough to tell mother and father and Karl all the rest of the winter. Wo have only a few books and wo have to tell things to each other, instead of reading. Father said I was to keep my eyes open to-day, and I guess he will think I have." This last she said with a happy little laugh. " I gui.'ss ho will," declared the old gentleman, "Mid I hope he will understand to what (rood purpose you have done it. What (lid you expect to see in the city that would interest you? ' "Oh, I didn't know. A very great many things. I suppose ; but I coulf'n t imagine them. Only one : Ono day father, when he was ill (ho city, saw (he Oovcrnor of (ho Stale ; you know ho lives there. And to go tu uncle Daniel's, wo ride past his house ; and I thought, may be, he might be in the door, as he was when father went by, and I would see him. Father says he is a splendid-looking man, and he is a grand temperance man, you know, and I wanted just to have a glimpse of him ; but I don't suppose I shall." Then the old gentleman took out his handkerchief and used it vigorously on nose, and eyes and even mouth. "He isn't at home to-day," he said at last. " Isn't he ?" There was real disappointment in Christie's voice. It was evident that she had not quite given up her glimpse of the Governor. "No; but you needn't care now, after having had such a nice chance to look at him, and even talk with him." You should have seen Christie's face then. For a moment she was quite pale with bewilder- ment. " 1 don't understand you." she said timidly, and iu her heart she wondered whether the nice old gentleman was a little crazy. I THE FRIKND AT MIDNir.HT ] OB, THE UEWARD Or IMPOBTUKIIT. (Luke xi. 0-13 ) At midnight to Ilia sleeping friend Hu tiirttp, ami knoclcinL; at the door, Iluhcgg aijra)8 that ho will lend Threa luave« to liim from out his store. ■' For at my gate e'en now there stands A friend of mine, nil travel-worn And unexpected, who demands Comfort and food hefoie the mom." Llis lialf-waked friend, within, replies "Trouhlo nie not, my door U barr'd, lly children pleip, I cannot rise." Buvh his refusal cold and hard. But he, without, quits not the door : Mt)rui*lronply prPKsiny hin riMjuest, He knocks still louder tlian Itefure, And gives his churlish friend no reet ; Till, through the window, from iihovo. The liiaveii are granted to his pUa, Orf iKingly ttranted — not (or love, But fur hi« importunity. We have a Friend, who slumbers not. To all our needs and cares awake ; At midnight dark, or noonday hot, To Him our sorrows we may take. Whene'er wo humbly aik He hears. Or earnest seek, lie marks our cry. And when wo knock witli sobs and tears, He opens to us instantly. The bar of sin, which closed the door, Himself has taken clean away ; The gate flies open ever more To all who trust iu Him and pray. In every pressino wan or woe, Which weighs on us, or those we love, To our true Friend, O let us go, And Ue will help us from above. lie is not troubled with our prayer, Or weary of our urgent plea : He bids us cast on him our care. Ue loves our importunity I Richard Wiltok. " Why, my dear child, it is a good while since morning, I know, but my memory is good, and I distinctly remember seeing you sit up straight in that seat over there beside the Governor of the State, and heard him talk- ing to you in what seemed to be a very interesting way," Christie sat up straight now, her eyes glowing like two stars, her small hands clasped together, and her voice with such a ring of wondering delight in it that Wells stopped in the middle ^f his sentence to look over at her, " Really ond truly ?" That was all she said, " Really and truly, I saw it with my own eyes. And a grand man he is; worth knowing." N'lt another word scid Christie for the space of two minutes. Then slie drew a long, fluttering sigh of delight, and murmured : " What a thing to tell father and mother and Karl." " You like to see people of importance, do you ?" tho old gentleman asked, after watching her face in amused silence for a few minutes. " Oh, 60 very much ! People who are grand, and splendid, a id worth know- ing." Then I suppose you would have been interested in one of the Governor's children, for instance, even if you did not know the boy ; just lor the sake of his father ?" "Yes. indeed, I should. Bui he didn't have any boy with him this morning." "No; I was thinking of myself, and of my father, and wondering whether yon would not bo interested iu me for his sake." Christie thought to herself that she was interested in him fur his own sake, but she did not like to say this, so she waited expectantly for what would come next. "Tho truth is, I belong to a very noble family : old and grand iu every wcy. It would bo impossible to get any higher in rank than my brother is." Christie heard this with wondering awe, and looked timidly into the pleasant face beaming on her. She saidtoher- selfthrtt she had thought all tho time there was something per- fectly splendid about him. but it had not occured to her that ho belonged to such very grand people. {To be cnnlinued.) GoDT,iNi!ss consists not in a heart to intend to do the will of God. but iu a heart to do it. — Junalhun Edwards, Live in (ho present, (hat you may be ready for the future. Charles Kings/ey t -®H9 dear child, it is a siiico morning, I y memory is good, \y remember seeing traight in that seat esido the Governor ind heard him talk- what seemed to bo a ng way." up straight now, her like two stars, her lasped together, and ith such a ring of Jightia it that Wells the middle 6i his lok over at her. ly and truly ?" vas all &ho said, ly and truly. I saw ny own eyes. And man he is; worth [mother word enid lor the space of two . Then she drew a (luttering sigh ol and mnrumred : \ thing to tell father her and Karl."' like to soe people of lice, do you ?" the tleman asked, after g her face in amused lor a few minutes. 60 very much ! who are grand, and I, a id worth know- I suppose you would !en interested in one Ltovernor's children, mce, even if you did 5W the boy ; just lor I of his father '?" , indeed, I should, didn't have any boy m this morning." I was thinking of ind of my father, and nir whether you not be interested in lis sake." tie thought to herself was interested in his own sake, but not like to say thiB, waited expectantly t would como next. truth is, I belong to oble family : old and in every wcy. It >o impossible to get her in rank than my is." heard this with awe, and looked the pleasant face ler. She said to her- had thought all the was something per- id about him, but it red to her that ho such very grand >e cnnlinued.) IIEPRINTFD STOUIK.S. KHOM TUK •' NOHTHKIIN MKSSENtJKR." consists not in a nd to do the will of n heart to do it. — nurds, 10 present, that yon ly for the future.— uley CHRISTIE'S CHRISTMAS. BY PAN8T. CHAPTER IX-CoiKinwd. " My brother is a king," he said, Btill smiling. Then Christie's heart began to beat loud and fast. A king ! What a wonderful ex- perience was this ! She, Christie Tucker, talking with the brother of a king! In wnat country, she wondered ? And oh, what wonderful stories he could tell her if she only dared ask ! Why didn't ho wear something that would show his rank ? She thought they always did. She was burning with eagerness to have him go on, yet dared not question. " Are you surprised ?" ne asked her, and then the next thing he said almost took away her breath. "Do you know I believe yon are a relation of mine ? I have been watching you all day, and I see a strong likeness to onr family. There are certain thmgs about ns which are very much alike, and as we are scattered all over the world I often find relatives. I believe you are one. In iiict, anless I am very much mis- taken, you are a little sister of the King. Do yon know what I mean; and isn't it so?" Down went Christie's head, drooping lower and lower, until her face was buried in her two hands and she was wiping away the tears. Wells stopped again, and looked over some- what fiercely at her companion, but the face that was raised in a moment was bright with smiles. Christie understood. ' • "I didn't, at first," she said ; " but now I do. Oh, you mean King Jesos! Yes, sir, I belong. I thought yon truly meant that you had a brother who was a king." "And I certainly truly mean it, and glory in it, as I could not in anything else. Yon cannot think how pleased I have been to find a new little sister, and to see that she was copying my elder brother so faithfully, that she be- gan to look like Him. It is all very well to be a governor, and I am proud ot our ^od one ; but after all, what is he compared to the King whose subjects we are ? Did you ever think, my dear, how many relatives we have whom we have never met? What a wonderful getting acquainted there will be when we all meet in the palace !" ' I never thought of it in that way,'" said Christie; "It is beautiful." " Then there is another thing : the family resemblance issostrik- ingthatil you watch lonir enough, you are almost sure to loam who belong to it. Do you think that pale young man is a member of our family?" Christie looked over at him thoughtfully, then shook her head. "No, sir, I don't think he i.s. Why, from some things he has said, 1 know he isn't." " Poor man ! Do you suppose he has been invited to join us ?" " Why, yes, sir, I suppose so a good many times." " And has refused ! That is strange, isn't it ? Look here, he will accept somebody's invitation, won't he, if he ever gets home to the King's palace ? What if it should be yours ? That would be a thing to tell the King, some day, wouldn't it?" Christie's face glowed, but she made no answer. " Then there is that handsome failed of ever making His ac- quaintance." Whereupon the baby awoke, and Christie went with haste to save his precious head from the bumping thathe seemed determin- ed to give it; but she could not get away from the words of her old new friend. What if she ought to invite the pale young man, and the dis- agreeable young lady, to join the family circle ? She did not mind talking with Well8,now, but these others were different. By and by Mrs. Haviland bade Wells good-by, and went back to her car, and he motioned Christie to his side. " I've discovered something about my fine lady," he said, a fierce look in hiseyes; "I'll tell you about it, and you will see that it is not strange that she is so hate- ful ; it belongs to her nature. You know I was telling you of my sick brother? Well, before he was 23 Y —ap*^. ^ ,. -.Ki^ UNCLE DANIEL'S HOUSE, r. -S«H"fc'iT:>- ^»_, .73, v-^ , ., very cross and ugly, and they can t seem to help it. One time when Karl was sick, and I was afraid he was going to die, I felt cross all the time. Maybe she likes your brother very much, and feels eo sorry for what she has done, that she cannot be good and happy." " She may be as good as she likes," Wells siid, sourly, "but I am sure she deserves never to be happy again." "She must be very hungry," said Christie thought luUy. " By and by I mean to otfer her a seed cake. The dirty-faced little girl had nothing to do with that, mid I know it is clean ; maybe she can eat it." "You're a queer party," Wells said. "Ifl had been treated once as you have, 1 think I should dislike her enough to keep my distance." " Oh, it isn't that ! I suppose I dislike her — well, a good deal. But I want to get over it, and what you told me helps me to. I want to feel sorry for her, and ask her to be a Christian. You see she isn't a Christian, and that makes all the trouble. If she would get right about that, it would make everything else straight. Anyway, I onght to invito rher, be- cause Jesus told me to, Tou know ; andif >give her a seed cake, maybe I can do if better." " Humph !" said Wells, twisting liim- self around until he hurt his foot, and made deep frowns come on his forehead. He really did not know what to think of Christie. .-.-■.T CHAPTER X. boy. I have been thinking about him. I am not sure, but am al- most afraid that be does not belong, either." " No, sir," said Christie, " he doesn't." " There is certainly a great deal for you and me to do right in this car," the old gentleman said, and added, "what about the young lady ; is she acquainted with Him, do you think?" " No, indeed," said Christie, a touch of scorn in her voice. " It is easy enough to see that. I think she shows it all the time." " Ah, I don't know ! Hare yon never disguised yourself for a whole day so that nobody would have imagined that yon were a member of the royal family ?" " Yes, sir," said Christie irnmbly, "I have." " Still, I am afraid, as you sar, that she does not know Him. It would be dreadful if, through any neglect of yours or mine she. injured, he was engaged to that very hateful young woman over there. Isn't that horrid ? After the fire, and it was found that he would be a cripple all his life, what did she do but write that she was sorry for him, but she never could think of marrying a crip- ple. " Yes," he said in an answer to Christie's look of horror, " she did just that Why my brother cared, is more than 1 can imagine ; but he did: it made him sick again, and he has never been so well, and . never will be. I never saw her before, and don't want to agrin, I have heard enough abont her, and I am sure her actions all match." But this story had a very different effect on Christie from what Wells had supposed. " I am sorry for her now," she said. " I think, maybe, she feels unhappy all the time, and that makes her cross. When things goal) wrong, it makes some people ®HSPW»- Little by little that weary afternoon wore away. The rain fell steadily, and the mud grew deep- er every minute ; and the grumblings of some of Ibe people grew louder, thongh all the while their courage was kept up by having an official appear occasionally, to say that he " guessed they would get on now, pretty soon."" Baby waked, and frolicked, and fretted, and drank milk, and was trotted, and carried, and petted, as well as Christie and the old gentleman could manage it ; and Ihe swollen foot was bathed, and all the seed cakes wereeaten, and the the paleyoung man walked miles, just going up and down the car, " like a caged lion," Wells said. Christie pitied him so much, that she went over to him at last as he stood by the further door o'' the car, and said timidly : " 1 think, sir, if yon would make up your mind to pray to God, you would feel so much better ! He can make it all come out right, j, «C4S S\ * » Ton REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MES SENGER." yon now, even now. Why won't yon aak him ">" The young mBU turned toward her a (feapairing face "If your inother chould die to-day, while you are sitting hero in a mud hole, waiting to get out, would it be all right?" he asked. " I nave asked him to take care of her," said Christie, with quiver- ing lip, " and I mean to trust him; I know he can do it. and I know he will, if it is the best thing Perhaps the lady that you want to get to, ib better now." "Perhaps my staying here in the inud all day helped to make her better" He said this with a very sarcastic tone, but Christie who was busy wiping her eyes, did hot look at him just then, and answered himgravtily; "Yes, sir, perhaps so. Uore you know Jeius Christ and go to heaven. He can make you very happy." It sounded almost rude to poor Christie, now that she had said it, but she did not know how else to put the thought. Ever since her talk with the old gentleman, she had felt that she ought to invite this lady ; and she had prayed about her until she felt very sorry for her. " You are a strange child," said the lady ; but her voice was not hard any more, and she murmur- ed under her breath, that she was sure she needed happiness if any- body did. Christie slipped softly away ^/oaf of hrom bnad. Tfm looXs lik^.h mt. , /I bandit end sj9ou.i maks ajioljor our ita. . n lint or hoo in ort. JhakiS ourftafiot look /< unn "J loid /itlps fts To finish. Our nui- f racking ^unnu' anythintr, It came un very slowly, and finally made a dead stop just below them. The passengers could be seen, getting out in the mud and rain, and making all haste to the train which was a few .eet ahead of thom. " Then the bridge wasn't down?" said n passenger to a brakesman. " No, there was a broken rail just this side of it, and the begin- ning of a washout, that has kept them back." Just then the car door opened with a sudden jerk. A shrill voice was heard to say in tones divided between a scream and a groan, " Where is he?" and then. " Oh, my darling, my darling !" A DRAWING LK8S0N FOR THE VERY LITTLE ONES, after that ; but the two seed cakes and Christie, who was standing were eaten, every crumb. I with her back to the door, with And now there began to be a the baby in her arms, felt herself bustling of train men through the j almost tipped over, in the dash cars ; ropes were pulled, and bells which a richly-dressed lady made were rung, and a general air of something about to tiappen stole over things. " Some train is coming or going," said Wells. " I hear the rumble in the distance." Sure enough it drew nearer. . " It's coming up behind us," said Wells. "Now I wonder if the next thing on the programme is to be smashed into by the after- noon express ?" And. said Christie : " Oh, I wonder if baby's mother can be on that train ?" It was not trying to smash into to get baby No sooner did he have a glimpse of her than the ungrateful fellow set up shouts of delight, and was in such a hurry to get away that he scrambled wildly over Chris- tie's shoulder, taking a pieceofher delicate ruffle in his eager hand. Oh dear me! such a time as there was! I couldn't think of trying io describe it to you. That mother behaved herself in such a manner as to nearly drive the lookers-on frantic. She laughed, and she cried, almost both at once She hugged the baby until he rebelled and scratched her for it. She kissed him until ho cried. Then she hugged Christie, and kissed her, until her face was too red to grow any redder. And all the time she tried to teJl her wild story, and to ask a dozen questions. I thought there would be a despatch waiting for me at that office, and I went to see ; and that dreadful telegraph clerk kept me waiting, and the first thing I knew the train was gone! Oh, I thought I should die ! I screamed and shout- ed ; it seemed to me that the very engine would be sorry for me and stop ! Mamma's poor darling ! Did he cry dreadfully ? I saw you, little girl, this morning, and saw you look at baby with a pleasant face, and I wondered if you would try to take care of him. O baby, baby! I'll never let you ontof my armsagain fora minute!" such a day as tnis has been ! Whereupon, baby at that moment, as if to prove to his mother how false and foolish was her promise, gave a sudden delighted spring and landed in Christie's arms again, hiding his pretty roguish head on her shoulder. So eager were the people over all this, and such long stories had they to tell the questioning mother,that they forgot to take note of the bustle going on in the train. Suddenly Wells waked up to it. "I really believe we are going on again '" he said, as he watched the rapid movementsof the brakes- man. " Halloo, Brewster ! Do you mean to take us into the city in time for bed, alter all ?" " Looks like it," said the brakes- man, smiling good-naturedly. " We had to wait for the mother, you know ; now we've got her, we think of going on as soon as the up-traiu passes." "The up-train ;<"' said Wells. " Is it time for that ? When does it come ?" " It will be along in five minutes ; we are going to switch for her to pass, then on we go." " The up-train !" echoed Chris- tie, a sudden new dismayed thought in her heart. Why, isn't that the six o'clock at our station?" " The very same. This interest- ing day is about done." "Well, but— that's the train I am to come home on, and father will be at the depot to meet me. " Why I've got to go home !" "Oh, no I They will never expect you to do such a thing as that! Less than an hour now will take us into the city. We'll go kiting, when we do start. Of course your people will expect you to go on and make your visit. Have the conductor trlegraph your father that you are a .1 right ; I'll see to it for you ; and if your uncle is not at the depot I'll take a carriage and go there with yon. 1 wouldn't give up my Christ- mas in this fashion." (7b be cnntinued.) ®H^ ked her for it. til ho cried. Christie, and face was too ler. And all tell her wild Ic a doaen wonld be a ' me at that see; and that lerkkept me thins I knew )h,I thought I ed and shout- that the very ;y for me and )or darling ! illy ? I saw Horning, and taby with a wondered if e care of him. ever let you fora minute!" las been ! >y at that i>rove to his 1 foolish was I a sudden id landed in n, hiding his !ad on her people over ig stories had questioning otto take note I ill the train, aked up to it. we are going 18 he watched oi the brakes- ewster ! Do into the city all?" d the brakes- >d-naturedly, the mother, vo got her, n as soon as said Wells. When does ing in five ig to switch )n we go." hoed Chris- dismayed Why, isn't ck at our ?his interest- the train I , and father to meet me. iorae!" will never 1 a thing as hour now city. We'll io start. Of will expect e your visit, trlegraph ■re a 1 right ; and if your pot I'll take •e with you. my Christ' led.) REPRINT^:D STORIES, FROM THE "NOHTIIKRN MESSENGER." 25 CHBISTIB'S CHRISTMAS. BT PAtlllT. OHAPTEn X-Omtinvd. Christie thought a moment, a the mud, a strong hand springing her to the plaiform of imoiher train, a kind voice saving, " Gouil- by, liltio womikii ; I'll not forget !" And Christie hud parted from nil her friends and ncquaiiitnnct's world of pprpii'xiiy on her face, ' whom she spcmt'd to have known then presently h it face cleared: so long and well, and was in a "No, I thuiik you, I must go strange car, surrounded by ' stninge and ralht>r cross-looking pi'o- pie, anl IVlt grown- up and loiu'iy. " Why, is it pos- sible that she has gone L>xclaiint>d ABBIE. home ; mother said, *- be sure to come back to-night." S>he didn't say a word about what I was to do if I didn't jret to uncle Daniel 'a at all. She .just said : " And, Christie, you be sure and come home to-night, what- ever happens. Don't you let them coax you to stay ; tell them mother expects you. So, you see, I must go back on that very train." " Of course she must," said the old gentleman, who had been listening attentively. " &ho is not the sort of n woman to keep her mothor waiting and vvalchiiig, while she goes and makes a visit." "Well, I declare!" grninbled Wells, not coiiviiiceJ, and much disgufted at the thought of part- ing with his nurse, " that is the queerest way toinuko a Christmas visit that I fverh'Mirdof! Here's the tram! You'll have to hurry, if you're really going to be so foolish 08 to <:o. That train doesn't stop at places long enough for a (l'IIow to wink." "I'll help her oil," said ino pale young nan, and be had his nmbrelU raised bei'ureshe reached the platform ;ber flowered satchel waaou his arm,aiid there was noth- ing for Christie to do but to smile her good-bye to her friends in the car, and step down into the night and the darkness. A few steps in the mother of the baby, takinirin the chunv'o of plan just as the cur-doi>r closed after Chris- tie. " I thought she was going to the city. Whv, I wanted to talk with her, and take care of her. Whatshull I do? I must hit ve the child's add less who knows her?" Then up started the old gentleman : "Bless my heart ' I have let her slip away after all, with- out getting her address. That is too bad." " I can help you about that," said Wells, waking out of his ill-humor to be interested. "Her name is Christie Karl stayed at home to do the clinres. Don't talk any now, my girl, only wrap up close, and duck yuur head down outof the driving ruin, and we'll get home in no time. Supper's waiting. A regular Christmas 8uppi>r, too: though it ain't much like your dinner I s'pose," A silvery little laugh rang out to him from liehind thi^ oldsh.iwl, and u mutlk'd voice said she didn't believe it was. And they drove home with all speed, the raiii coming thicker and faster. How the tea-kettli> sang on the brijlit stove, and what a supper that was! Stewed chicken, and potatoes stewed in cream, ond hot apple sauce are not bad to eat at any time, if one is hungry. But when one has bad only a small slice ot "Sarah Ann's" bread for dinner, niid has given away every one uf her seed-cakes, I cannot be- gin to tell von hnw good it tastes. Then think oi the story that there was to tell. " I don't believe I can finish it before next Christmas," declared Christii>, laughing, and kissing the baby for the tenth time. " \ou see I have only told you the liiudR of chapters, just as Karl always reails the index of his book ; but when I begin to put in the little bits, it will takcdaysand days. (>, father, what do you think ! I saw the governor, and sat with him. and talked with him!" '• Well," said father,alter having heard dashes at that wonderful part of that wonderful story, " I Tncker, and her | guess you saw lots of things to father is Mr. Jonas Tucker, a day, and it's my opinion some farmer who lives about two miles 'other folks saw some things too. from Pi 'rpoint station, where 8t»e It is a great day, I think. •Im took the train this morning. She iplad she was there to take care of is a friend of mine," he added: that boy," — ond hero he put his proudly. |arm around Karl, —" and that I suppose Karl Tucker would baby, eh, mother ? ' and here he have been very much amazed, kissed the baby, could he have heard that. The I " And you never went to uncle world had moved much laster that Daiiiel's at all!" said Mrs. Tucker, day than Karl Tucker dreamed |\viih her elbow on the table, and of Or Karl Tucker's father, (orj the matter of that. He waited in: the rain and the darkness, for his little girl. He had spent a bu.xy day about the tarm, and had heard no news. The two men whom he had met and talked wiih, a lew minutes on hie way to the cars, neither knew, nor kiiowing.would I have cared, thiit there had been confusion <>ii the rhilway all day. So Mr. Tneker, us lie waited anxiously on the inilk-|ilaiforin lor the coining of the uptruin, only knew that it was daik and rainy, and that railway cars wiTe "f-kiitish" things, and hoped that "Daniel had put his little girl in a ^ood seat, uud that she wasn't scared." "Htt!" he said \viih a relieved siiih, as at last h" folded lier in his arms and kissed her, "I'athoi's got you again. It's l>een u long day lor Chli^tlna8. Come in here and let ine wrap you up. We'll hurry, for ii's goiiisr to lain hard, and yuur mother will be anxious. her hand on the teapot handle. "Well, I am tical !" And so, iit last, Christie's Christ mas was ended. 1 THE END. HOW ARR BOYS' MARBLES MADE. Almost all the " marbles " with which boys everywhere amuse themselves in season and nut of sea.soii,oii pavement and on shady spots, are made at Ober- stein, Germany. There are lar'.^e agute quarries and mills in the neigh))orhood, ami the refuse is lurned to good account in |,rovid- iiiu: the small stone ba Is for ex- perls to "knuckle" with. The stone is broken into small cubes by blows • of a lisiht hammer. These small blocks of stone are thrown by the shovelful into tho hopper of u small mill, formed of a bedstone, having its eurlace grooved with concentrated fur- rows; above this is the "runner," which is of some hard wood, hav- ing a level lace on its lower sur- face. The upper block is made to revolve Ta,iidly, water being delivered upon the grooves of tho bedstones where the marbles are being rounded. It takes about fifteen minutes to finish half a bushel of good marbles, ready for the boys' knuckles. One mill will turn out lOK.iiiiU marbles per week. The very hardest " crack- ers," as the boys call them, aro made by a slower process, some- what analogous, however, to the other, — Children's Friend. The story of ".Tack the Giant- Killer" was first printed in 1711, but the children in Kngland and Germany had heard it then for hundreds of years. No one knows how old it is, or where or how it started. ".Tack and the Bean- stalk" was first told in Iceland, where it was believed to be true. Ions, long ago. •»- o 1 Life. 1 2fi THE WATEU WAIFS A Story of Canal Barge BY KMMA LGSIilK. AuOur of " KlUrilU Hoim," tit. Chaptkr I.— Bau'b Home. " You'll be kind to her, Molly, when I'm gone, and take care o'poor Bab, won't yer ?" and (ho glaring eyes of the dyin^ woman were lifted anxiously to the girl atanding beside her. " Yea, yes, I'Ji look arter her," ■aid tha girl, hastily brushing a tear away, and glanoinG: at hor lit- tle sister, who lay curled up at the foot of her bed. " Sho ain't like no other boater I erer seed," said the poor woman, fondly ; *' she picks up things and talks about 'em better nor a par- son She's brought to my mind thini^s as I'd learned when I was a gal and hadn't set eyes on a boat — l)out Jesus and the poor woman what was a sinner. Sho warn't so bad as me, for she warn't a boater; but little Bab there, she's told me as now J^sns'll forgive all sin, and BO I ain't afraid toventure it bad as 1 is, and if I could take Bab wi' me, I dnnno as I wouldn't be glad to go; but Pm feard for the child, Moll, for she'll never be no ?fOod lor a boater, and yer ather knows that, and it jest makes him mad and he'd like to leave her behind at some wharf; so yer'U have to look sharp arter her when the boat's a-leaving that wharf, Molly." " AH right ; don't yer be afeard, mother I '11 see she ain't left behind.and I'll keep her pretty hair clean." This promise seemed to comfort the poor woman. She closed her eyes, aud a look of rest and peace stole over her hard, careworn face. Molly, thinking her mother wanted to sleep, turned from the bed and let down the little cup- board door which serves for a table in all barge cabins, and began to get the tea ready. In a minute or two a rongh, bnrly-looking man put his head in at the door, and ask- ed, with an oath, how much longer she was going to be getting tea ready. *' Don't make such a row ; can't yer see mother's asleep ?' ' said the girl, in a suriy tone " Well, she's got all the day to sleep as well as the night, ain't she?" said the man. "Give us the tea;" and he took the basin from the girl's hand and went out again, grumbling as he went. "Is mother asleep?" asked a sweet voice in a gentle whisper, as the man disappeared. " Yes, Eab, she's fast asleep so come and get your tea;" and Molly lifted her sister from the REPRINTKD STORIES. FROM THK "NORTHKRN MESSENGER." bed to a box where she could reach the table. " If a stranger had been there he would have been surprised, perhaps, to see Bab lifted so care- fullv by her sister, for she was evidently about seven or eight years old, and sitting, on the bed, looked as well able to help her- self as other children of her ago; but now, as she was placed on the box, it was evident that sho was hopelessly lame — one leg looked so small and shrunken that it could scarcely have grown since she was a baby. I " Bah, I'll brush yer hair arter i tea," said her sister. " Yer can't ; but never mind, Bab, I've promised I'll take care on yer, and I will. I'll begin arter tea, and let mother see. I'll wash yer face and do yer hair, Bab." Poor Bab had not had her face and hands washed for two or three days— not since her mother had been obliged to lie in bed all day ; for Molly rarely noticed her little sister, unless it was to beoanse of this ; and so it is not surprising that she rather shrank from being washed by Molly now. " I can wait till mother gets bet- ter," she said, trying to creep bad; to her place at the foot of thi' bed. " No yer can't ; I want mother to see as how I nan wash yer n . well as she can." " Oh, Molly, don't," whimpereil it** *' V her bi needn't be afraid, I ain't a-going to cut it off, as I said I would, though what good such hair is to a poor little boater, I dnnno. If yer was a lady, now, yer pink and white face and shiny yaller hair, all twisting and curling like it does, 'ud bejust the thing ; but it ain't no good to us boaters." Bab pushed back her wealth of golden curls and sighed. " I wish I'd got hair like yours, Molly," she said ; " then, maybe, my legs 'nd be like yours too, and I could run on the towing-path like you and Jack." " Ah ! it's a pity yer utter some cruel or jealous words ; the child, as her sister pulled he and 80 the child was almost as back. But it was of little us<' alarmed as she was surprised resisting. Molly had made n;' when Molly proposed to wash her her mind to wash her face ami face, for washing was a luxury | comb out the tangled, curly hair, not often indulged in among the and she scooped up some water boaters. It was considered a I from the canal, and was rubbin^r away at the dirty little hands before Bab had time to say any more. The child cried a little nnderthe combing operation, for Molly was not very gentle, and quite unused to such a task. She combed her own hair about once or twice n week, but she had never done Bab's before, and gentle- ness was something quite be- yond Molly's comprehension at present. She rather look- ed down upon it as a weak- ness, especially in boater girls, who had to hold their own oji the towing-path and at the wharfiUnless they were ready to be put upon by everybody else, like \iQot lit- tle Bab was. Bab winced, and the tears silently ran down hercheekr after one of Molly's vigorous pulls at her hair ; but she would not cry out, for fear ol disturbing her mother who still seemed to bo in a pro- found sleep. When the washing and combing wore done, Molly lifted the child on the bed again, where she could look out of the tiny window on to the black canal or the towing- pnth, and having done what sho could to make the dirty, stuiTy little cabin tidy, slie went outside to see when they were likely to tie up for the night. This would give her aud Jack the only chance they ever had of " a little fun,'' as they called it. Very often, however, they were so tired with their long day's tramp on the towing-path, that they only cared to lie down and go to sleep. But for a wonder, they were not so tired to-day, and so, when their father had gone, as he usually did, to spend his evening at one of the low beer-shops near the bank, Molly and Jack, with two or three other girls and boys from neighboring barges, made up their minds to have some fun before going to bed. It was a bright moonlight night. What with play ing.quarrelling,' and fighting, the time passed quickly enough, and Molly never thought of either Bab or her mother, until, hearing a clock strike ten, sho called to THE CHILD CRIKD A LITTLE UNDER THK COMBING OPERATION." waste of time, as children always made themselves dirty again. Molly had often heard this remark from her mother, until Bab came with her sweet, fair face and love- ly, golden hair, which seemed to awaken her mother's love for cleanliness and a passion of jealousy in Molly. "Why should this helpless little sister," she ask- ed, " be washed and combed, and kept clean, and made altogether so nnlike her filthy surround- ings." Many a sly slap and pinch had Bab received from her elder sister Cl^- w\ ^4Sl ^H8 1 to it is not rather «hrani< )y Molly now. her gota but- to croop bad; I foot of the want mother I vvaah yor a . ," whirapert'il er pnllcd ho- of little uii< ad made u;> ler face an* shti's gone to God, ami f\w'n tell- ing Him about me, niid how I ain'tiitto be a boater, and lie's going to takecaru o'me as well as mother," " Bless the little 'un, how she do talk !" said the woman, glanc- ing at Molly. " Eh, sliu's a rum 'un — she alius was, ' said Molly, " But yur can't go in there now, yer know, Bab," she added. " But I must, I muHt ; God is a-going to take ore o'me as well as mother, and I must be there ready, don't yer know. ' " Be where ?" asked Molly, " In there, on mother's bed ; she ha' said she was a going to die, and not make all this bother about it ? " He forgot that he had scarcely done more than put his head into the cabin to ask for his meals since the poor woman had been taken worse, for fear she should make any complaint, or ask for a doctor; but his neighbor seemed to under- stund all about it as well as though she had lived with them, and told him so in no very choice lan- guage. It came to high words between them at last, and might have resulted in a fight, despite the presence of the dead, had not one DK. DODDRIDGE, UIS HOTBEB, AND THE DUTCH TILEa. she's telling God about me now, I know, and He'll, may- be, send for me to-night, nnd if I ain't there ready, mother wouldn't like it." Molly and the woman look- ed at each other, and then at Bab. " Ifou are strange," said Molly. " I don't think I shall ever undor- stand you, Bab." " I'd lot her go and sit on the bed, if she likes," said the woman ; " it can't hurt, yer know ; it's jett consumption the poor thing had, I should say, and that ain't like fever — 'tain't ketching." " Will yer go then, Bab ?" asked Molly. " Oh yes, yes ; do take me to mother. I won't cry and make a noise if yer'll let nie sit aside o' mother, " sobbed the child. " I'd let her go, thnuirh she'd bo a deal better lust asleep with my young 'uns." " Oh no ; I mustn't go to sleep," said Bab. " ! must keep awake till mother's talked to God, and he sends forme ;" and once more the begged her sister to tuke her into the cubin. " Oh, I can't go in there," said Molly. " Here, I'll take her in," said the woman ; and she carried Bab into the cabin and seated her on the bod, whore she could hold her mother's hand and see her face, for this was what she wanted. {To be continued.) he asked the woman, stood near the cabin- doctor ?" who still door. " Why, yer ought ter had a doctor to the poor thing afore she died," said the woman. " Who was to know she was a-going to die ?" said the man, glancing at the bed, and speaking iji an injured tone. " Well, yer'll have to go and get one now, for there's the baryin' to be thought about." The man scratched his head, " It's jest like her," he said, in a grumbling tone ; " why couldn't of the woman's children run up to tell her mother that Bab was crying so much they could do nothing with her. " Go and fetdi her here, Moll, while 1 go and look tor a doctor, ' said the man, glad of the interrup- tion to get away. Molly went and fetched her little ^sister, and sat down on the cabin steps with her in her arms. But this did not satisfy Bab. " Take me in to mother," sne sob- bed; "she wants me. I know." " No, n«, little 'un ; yer mother! instruction he frequently recnm- don't wanfyer now ; she's dead, | mended to parents. PICTURE LESSONS. " I have heard Dr. Doddrige relate," says Mr. Job Or*on, his biographer, " that his mother taught him the history of the Old and New Testaments by the assistance of some Dutch tiles in the chimney in the room where they commonly sat ; and her wise and pious remarks upon the means, by God's blessing, of making many good impressions npon his heart which never wore out, and therefore this method of r » — 28 THE REPIUNTKI) STOKIKS. FROM TI?K "NOUTIIKRN MKaSKNO \7ATBR WAIP8: A Story of Canal Barge Life. BY KM MA btBI.IK. AuUxw »/ " KlUnlU llmm," tU. ClurTBR l—Cimltnutft. What thonhild oxppctvd wonld tako plaro, thev diako care of Rah, and havhiff done thia, ihn had dontt all that waa ri>(|iiired nf hor, ahn thoiiKht, and ar tfurful blue content, now iho waa near her mother Bifain; and Hnilinjf that 'only tea lervice. leyea full npou her iiiiler. "I've ihe had left otr crying, Molly woi But one day, abouC a month after' been a-waiting," ihe laid i "I latiifled. 'her molher'a death, Hab laid! Ihoufrhl miiybu He'd leiid agin 8he waa itill keeping her lilent, I* Did I 'leep very long that night 'if I joat itopped here and wait- •olitary watch, when her father .mother died, Moll y" returned with tho doctor. She would have hidden heraelf ander the bedclothea ifahe could when ihe heard them coming, for ahe waa afraid her father would drag her away, aa ho would have done but for the appealing gnzDwith which Bah looked at tho doctor, and the agonising tone in which she •aid, " Do let mo itay aaide o* mother a bit longer Ood'i a-going to take care o' mo as well as mother, •nd Ho won't be long now" " Poor little girl, you •hall stay beiido mother if Ton like," said tho kind- nearted doctor, looking tenderly at Bab's tear-stain- ed face and swollen blue eyes. •' Were yon here with mother when she died?" he asked ; for one glanco at the ashy-grey face on the bed told him plainly enough that the woman had been dead some hours, al- though the man, on his way to the boat, had assured him that she was " only just took bad." But Bab seemed to know nothing of when her mother had died ; sho only knew that she had gone to ask God to take care of her, be- cause she was no good for a boater. And so after a few minutes her father and the doctor went away, and Bub was left to watch until sleep overcame the tired blue eyes, and sho slipped down across her mother's feet and slept until the morning. Chaptkb II.— Molly. Tho poor boatwoman's funeral was soon over, and the barge went on its way as usual. Molly took her mother's place as well as she was able and the poor woman was soon forgotten by all but poor little Bab,and for her time seemed to brmg no consolation, but as the days and weeks went on her grief seemed to increase. Atfirst Molly took little notice of the child beyond washing her face onco a day, and combing and curling her hair occasionally. This was what she htMl understood her mother to ' mean when she asked her to Why, yer slept till themorin,' ed. Molly scratched her tangled KR." and letrh her away. Soineh'tw •he conld not nller the roiii;!) wordi, " Don't he a fool. Bah, although they were upon net lips; she only said,' Never iniml, Bab ; I'll take earxoii yer for a bit, and maybe 11 wehaslontayn!! } yer to swear, thoug:h He likes boaters," said serious lone. "Oh, boaters ain't got no time to think about C?od or what Ho likes ; why, they ain't got time to tie up of a Sunday, 'ceptwhen they're loading up and can't cret away from tho wharf. No, Bab, them thini;s ain't for boaters," conclui'it|ictin kii'iiv nu •I I" can " 1 km: a boater,' the Booni better, aboard tl: " Oil, let 'em m noiiHi-nse drew thi oioser to ' It's that 'ere can't afl'ii less mou help woi go-" " Whni go /" dt'u " Aiiyv o' places, where sh much wl her up I hair and ' some fin' f temptuou How I having tl that made other boat whispered " No I angrily, ai toherfathi wont on, ' this boat G me to lool^ Yer can't I I likes Bal us long as mako no r saying th into the ce the bed in near tho ' felt, and d protect he it would b of sight as sight of t hud alway and often ] and it won his anger, in one of t of temper, board. H it often em Bab, yer ai o' father, t bit; yer shi and I'll loo shall have keep the c I've got m I often geti of her asse tie bottle and poure pot, and gi y. Somehow ir tlio roiii/ii ik tool, lUh, upon her Nt'VtT miriil, 1 ynr for iiltit, ontayall Muii I'll lako ytlllKi « »iH;lit of li(>r L'o UK ho snt I tillor, in»(li> til un(l<>lliu>(l Hho cluli'h- hikiid luid YiT'll take nil, tlionifh I lor rtboiiti'ry" don't yiT l)i> iko ffood ciirt' lolly, utttTJiifif lior promiio whisprtTi'd, , Molly ; Ood to Bwenr, th« 1 told mother ied. " What T !" nho Bdid; Idn'tho much ' didn't swonr Iher hisstdl." lon't like yer ngh Ho likes I Bab, in a s ain't sot no dbont clod or s ; why, they to tie up of a hen they're d can't nret wharf. No, us ain't for uded Molly. an faid they innn nt the k n o w, JiU .leHUsand hat waH a her liked to i!^hc snid as t war true, rd about it, gal, and she ine iibout it, all I could at I'd heerd oving poor IV He wanted right square t swear, nor onkeys." the don hey can look ; they're Yer don't d looks arter shako her he said, " I ore; the man B on us, and ler, but why in't no good there ; yer in', as I can RKPRINTKI) SroUIKS, KIIOM TIIK "NOKTHKllN MK.SSKN(;KR.' see," inid a ron^fh, surly voicn ; and loukinif round, Molly saw h«r liilhttr Hlandiu:^ dose by. liut iMHir litllit Hub WHH frii(hliined to [o.)k at her lather ; she cowered close down to he(. sister, and whispered, " 'I'aki) me out o' the way, Moll." Hut Molly was not at all al'niid ol her lather, and resolved lo let him see it She put her arms round lt,ih 1>i'>M>ctinirly. undsaid, " Yer don't .ii'>iv nuliin' about Uuh and what sli" (.an do. " i know she ain't no ijood for a boater," growled the man, " anil ihi) sooner she takes lierHelfoli'the butter, for no body wants her aboard this barge now." " Oil, don't they though ; I'd let 'etn Keo if anybody comes any noiiHense wi' Hab ;" and Molly drew the poor frightened child closer to her as she spoke. " It's no good coming any o' that 'ere nonsense wi' me, 'cos I can't ali'ord it. I can't fill use- less months; and them an can't help work this boat has got to go" " Whore do yer wan't her to go i'" demanded Molly. " Anywhere ; she's got a pick o' places, and she can go ashore where she likes ; it don't matter much where ; somebody'll pick her up afore long, Her yaller hair and white face ought to do someKn' for her," he added con- temptuously. How Bab hated herself fur having this bright golden hair, that made hor look so unlike all other boaters • " Cut it off," she whispered, clutching at her curls, " No I won't," said Molly angrily, and turiMnp: a defiant face toiler father. "Now look here," she wont on, " as long as I'm aboard this boat Bab'll stop. Mother told mo to look arter her, and I will. Yer can't do without mo now, and I likes Bab.andshe'll stop hero jest as long as I do, so yer needn't make no more row about it, and saying this, Molly carried her into the cabin, and seated her on the bod in her accustomed place near the window. Brave as she felt, and determined as she was to protect her little sister, she knew it would be best to keep her out of sight as far as she could, for the sight of this " useless mouth" had always annoyed her father, and often put him into a passion ; and it would be best not to rouse his anger, she knew, for he might, in one of these violent outbursts of temper, throw the child over- board. He had threatened to do it often enough. " Now look here, Bab, ver ain't no call to be afraid o' father, though he may swear a bit; yer shall jest keep outo' sight, and I'll look arter the rest, and yer shall have a drop o' something to keep the damp off yer stomach. I've got mother's bottle now, and I often gets a drop ;" and, in proof of her assertion, Molly took a lit- tle bottle from its hiding-place, and poured some gin into a tin pot, and gave it to Bab. But the rhild shook her head. " No, no, Molly, I ean't ; mother told me mil Id toueh the drink agin, 'cos thiit 'ud made her wus than the woman whit was a sin- ner, and she said, Moll, I wor to yer ashore, if yor like, to hear the ax ver to give it up too." preaching, if there it any." liut Molly looked half offended ' " Uh, Molly, will yer really!" " Who could live in this place exclaimed liai) ; and a faint color without a drop o' something to stole into her pallid cheeks at the keep the damp out 'o yer sto- thought of hearing more about maoh ?" ^hl• sitiil, irlancing at the ,Ichuh, the friend of boaters and the rei'kiiig floor of the cabin, where woman who was a sinner, the black mud came oozing Having hettled her sister on her Ihrouirh lliK crai'ks and joints; ami grassy seal, Molly went olf in she drank olf the gin herself, and . seaiuh of a little amusement on liid the liollle agiiiii. Molly was j her own account; but she kept her why, yer like a hit of another world to me, and I want yer to talk to me like yer did lo mother Jack says we're sure lo tie up at the wharf a Sunday, and I'lluke lice hen Molly, will Hal) ; and a only thirteen, but she felt herself a woman now. She had been used to stealing sip:< from hi>r mother'sbottlo aslong as she could remember, mi that it was not sur- prising that she should take po.s- session of the bottle, and get it replenished whenever sht> could eye on Itab.tosee that the boys and girls from the other barges did not lease hur, for, as shu whispered to herself again, Bab wot not like other boaters. Ui'ten and often she had used these words as u reproach or dis- paragement, but now Ihey were abstract a few pence from the beginninglonieansomethingquite money entrusted to her to buy bread and groceiies with. Bab had seen her sister more than onco overcome by hor frequent sips of gin, but she had felt afraid to say a word about it now ; and glancing at her sister's angry face as she put the bottle away, she was shivering with fear lest Molly should go and tell her father ho might do ns he liked about putting her ashore. In this, however, she did her sister injustice. Molly was certain- ly offended, but she would have protected her little sister against anybody now, and was resolved to do what she conld to make her life pleasant, although she had refused many a boater's great luxury and only consolation — a drop of gin. That evening, after the barge was tied up for the night, and her father had gonu to the public- house, Molly came to the cabin, and said, •' Now, Bab, I'll take yer out a bit. Father's gone, and Jack too, and there's a nice piece o' grass near the towing-path, and yer can sit there and look about yer for a time." Of coarse Bab was willing to go. She had not been further than the cabin steps for weeks now, and to sit on the gross was a treat indeed. As Molly carried her on shore, the child put her arms round her sister's neck, and whispered, "Won't yer let me love yer, Molly ?" " 'Deed Bab, you are a rum 'un," said Molly, kissing her little sister as though she was half ashamed of doing it; "you ain't no boater, sure enough," she added, with a short laugh. " But yer'Il love me, Molly, won't yer, though I ain't no boater ?" whispered Bab. " Why, yer makes me, Bab ; I can't help it ; and somehow I'm glad now yer ain't like other boaters." ' No, I ain't no good," sighed poor Bab,glancingatherBhranken little legs. " Oh, but yer are, though, Bab ; different to Molly. Babwa-~' I- patient, lovwif^ words and were conquering thejealouny and dislike that Molly had so long felt towards her little sister. She was ready to do battle for her now against anybody and everybody, and when she saw some of the children from the other barges pull- ing Bab's curls and teasing her,she swooped down upon them in a manner they were not likely to forget for some time, " Well, she ain't no boater," said one who had pulled at Bab's bair. " No ; she's a deal better nor any of you boaters," said Molly ; " and if I ketch yer anigh her agin, I'll pitch yer all inter the cut ;" saying which, Molly drove her sister's tormentors to a dis- tance, and Bab felt no small pride in her protector's prowess. Of course Molly did not really mean that she iris better than a boater, thought liih : she had only said that to tease the other girls ; but still it pleased Bab to think that her sister cared so much for her. Molly privately determined that Sunday should oe spent at the wharf if she conld possibly manage it, and she talked to Jack about this, promising to get a " jolly dinner," for Sunday if he would hurry ttfe donkeys along, so that they reached the wharf on Satur- day night. Jack readily promised to dothis,for a whole day to lounge about the other wharf, or play pitch and toss with the other boys, was always pleasant io him ; and so, by cruelly using the stick a little more frequently to the over- worked donkeys the journey was accomplished in tima and they tied up at the wharf on Saturday night, to Bab's great delight. " Now yer can go and near the S reaching and singing to-morrer, ab," said Molly. "I'll get up 20 T n yer hair and lake yer ashore all day, ami iiiavb>t tlicre'llbe two lota o' singing for yer" " Oh, ain't It nice !' laid Dab. " Yer'Il come too, won't yer, Moll 7" " Well, I dunno bout that. Preaching ami Miiigiiig ain't much ill my way , but yoii likes it, and yor shall have it if yer can gel it, and yer ctii tell mo bout it after- warils, like yer did mother. I hope it's a-uoing to lie fine," added Molly, looking anxiously out at the evening sky, where the clouds seemed to be gathering But Sun on the cabin steps. But when she reached Bab this lime, she saw that the child had been crying. " What's a matter. Bah ?" she asked, quickly. " Are thorn boaters been at yer?" and Molly seized the stick that lay NORTHERN MESSENGER." was carried back to her cosy seat on the logs ; and Molly herself sat down to watch and wait for somebody to come and teach Bab something about God. and whether He would tak>> care of her as she supposed. But the afternoon passed, and no one came except the men and women from the boats, and they sat or lounged upon the logs smoking, gossiping, or quarrelling, until at last Molly carried Bab tack, feeling as dis- appointed as the child herself. It ivas evening now, and her father would want his tea; so MoUv got it as quickly as she could, promising to run ashore and quarrel, and to hurl oaths at each otner BAB sitting on THB LOOS WAITINU FOR MOLLY. that time, /er know, but this ain't the same wharf. Ain't there a lot o" bargaa here, Moll, and a lot o' froung 'uns too?" added Bab. " Tea, it's a big wharf, and I've heerd there's often forty or Kfty lie up here, loading or unloading. Oh yes, Bab, there's sure tu be preaching here; so mind yer pick up a bit to tell me, 'cos I'm going to cook the dinner now;" ana Mollv ran back to the barge ; for she knew her father and Jack would eipeot a good dinner to- day, and she hod made up her come I near, and prepai'ed to make a de- i scene upon the groups of dirty, hall-naked children play close by. " No, no, Molly, they ain't done nothingto hurtrae: they only says there ain't no singing nor nothing here ; and it miide mo cry a bit." " Well, yer shouldn't cry, then," said Molly, taking her up in her arms and turning towards the barge; "they dunno nothing 'bout such things, how should they ? I'll bring yer back this arternoon, and yer'll see if the man don't come." Molly was as good as her word as soon as it was over, and see if there was anybody there likely to help Bab. Molly herself fi>lt angry against some one, although she could not tell who was to blame; but surely somebody who knew about these things might come and speak a few words to poor boaters who hao no other means of learning but what they could pick up on a Sunday when they happened to tie up at a wharf She then looked round at the noisy groups of men, women, and childfnn, who found nothing else to do this fine Sunday even As soon as dinner was over, Bab ing but to smoke and gossip,iight Itdid notshock Molly ,she was too much accustomed to such scencH, but she was vexed that Bab should be so disappointed, and in her dis- content she wandered away from the groups of noisy people to the other end of the wharf, where a high, open fence only separated it from the street. Peering through these railings, Molly saw a few people go into a building nearly opposite, and as the door opened she could distinctly hear the sound of singing, and the next minute a daring thought had en- tered her head. She would take Bab to hear it too, and she began to look round for a gate at once. It was some time, however, be- fore she could find one, and when it was found she was practically no nearer her object for the gate was looked. Then, glancing at the respect- ably-dressed people who were passing along the street, Molly remembered that neither she nor Bab could mix with these ; for they had neither shoes nor stockings, and their clothes were little better than a bundle of dirty rags. So she slowly sauntered back to the barge, feeling very dis- appointed and very bitter against everybody. She could not say much now even to comfort Bab. " Ain't nobody coming to sing to-day, Molly?" asked the little girl, as MoUy went into the dull, dreary little cabin. " I s'pose not," said Molly ; " they likes singing for themselves best. Look here, Bab, I never did think much o' what yer told mo, and now ii 6 pr«tty certain it ain't for boaters at all, or else why don't somebody come and tell us about it?" " But the man on the other wharf said as how God did care for poor boaters ; he said Jesus loved 'em like He did the woman wot was a sinner," protested Bab. Bat Molly shook her head. "No, no; gin is the only comfort boaters as got. I've heerd mother say it lots o' times, and I b'lieve it too." "But mother told me gin'ud just been her ruin," said Bab quickl) " She told me so afore she died, and I b'lieve that." " I don't," said Molly ; " we c&n get the gin, but yer know now we can't get the preaching and singing, even if we wanted it, and I'm not sure a3we do. As I said afore, it ain't for boaters, and don t suit boaters, 'cos why — 'cos boaters ain't like other folks." I' HI*- to hurl oaths at $ 1 .olly.she was too to snch sconps, that Bab should , and in her dis- ired away from f people to the wharf, where a nly separated it 'eering through •liy saw a few uilding nearly he door opened :tly hear the and the next hought had en- She would hear it too, and to look round : once. It was however, be- 9uld find one, it wai> found practically no object for the looked. Then, ; the respect- 1 people who ng along the y remembered r she nor Bab with these ; for neither shoes igs, and their re little better ndle of dirty she slowly back to the ing very dis- ind very bitter srybody. She ay much now ifort Bab. obody coming day, Molly V" little girl, as into the dull, cabin. not," said y likes singing OS best. Look I never did o' what yer tnd now ii i it ain't for or else why dy come and it?" man on the said as how are for poor said Jesus ko He did the was a sinner," b. shook her in is the only as got. I've t lofs o' time*, mogin'ud just Bab quickl} ore she died, illy ; " we cwi er know now reaching and wanted it, and lo. As I said boaters, and 'cos why — like other REPRINTED STORIES, PROM THE "NORTHERN MKSSENGER." This argument appeared to be unanswerable under present cir- cumstances, and Bab turned her sad little face to the window, while Molly took out her bottle, aa she had so often seen her mother do when some disappoint- ment or misfortune had befallen them. Molly half hoped, half dreaded, that they would have to spend another Sunday at the wharf, for there was no cargo ready for them when the barge npon what she had then heard. 8he had little else to think of, sit- ting there in the dreary cabin all day ; and in spite of her dis- appointment, she secretly in- dulged the hope as the days went on that another Sunday would be spent at the wharf. But she was not destined to spend another Sunday of suspense and hope de- ferred, for by midday on Satur- day the cargo was nil stowed on toe barge, and they set off at once was unloaded, and several days on their journey. Sunday was were wasted waiting for a fresh i like any other day when they cargo. This always put her father i were travelling. They heard the out of temper, for delays like this church tn'.> the smell and the rats that 'un about this "ere cabin. There's 'ather alius gnimbling about omething, os though it wor my I lult he could get no cargo. " "Shall M'e b? here another Sun- day ?" Bab ventured to ask. '• Well, maybe we shall, and maybe we sha'n't ; but wot'e the good if we are? I tell you it'« all a mistake about yer thinking o' that singing and preaching being lor boaters. If it wor, why o' course there 'd be 8om<{bodv con e to tell us, such a hi-', nuart At> this IS, wi' fifty and p.»y be sixty bariif" tying up. No, lio ; ai' I saic* ...ore, these things ain'i .v^r 'is loalers, tiut for them as hus *.' u govins and bonnets and b> ' tn'iigs. borget all about >t, TJa',. uni' uav a drop o' gin now in' n\en. V\. give yer a drop when I (.. i spare it— that's the thing foi' boatert, yer know." But Bab shook h> 'his, for sometimes they caugk c glimpses of corn- lieldt an'' ^ees, with their yel- lowing '' ., and little patches of grass near the towing-path ; and it v/as vt.easanter to look at these things than the black slug- gish waer of ihecanal.that always remind' .'d her of the tinnelswben sue locked at it long, although they It ight be mii.-^s away from one. Bab always bad a creeping, si'.koning dread of tunnels, for if 'iiei father was cross he would make Jack help him leg tlirough ; and there was always thj dread- ful thought that Jack or herfather might slip and be drowned before the other end was reached. This "'^...ult and dangerous task is performed by two men or boys lying flat m their backs upon btafis p'.aced near the head of the barge, something like wings, and pressing their- bare feet against the sides of the tunnel, thus propelling the barge. Hun- dreds hud been drowned in tbts sent io her, and Jack would not i asked, in a triumphant whisper ; have to leg through the tunnels | "they said plain enough as Jesus now, because there would be no 'loves us, didn't they?" useless mouth to fill. | •• Ah, but we dunno whether So the autumn passed away, 'it means boaters though," said and the dull, cold days of winter j Molly, as she hurried panting came, when Jack and her father along the towing-path io where were always cross and out of the light came streaming from the temper ; for tramping along the sloppy towing-path in the frost and sleet, with scarcely a bit of shoe to the foot, and only a rag of a jacket, that was wet through in five minutes, was very trying, especially for a boy who worked as hard as any man on the towing- path. Jack often grumbled about this, and when Bab heard it she always felt he was complaining of her. During these dreary weeks and months there had been several Sundays spent at various wharves; but the weather was too cold now for open-air services, so Bab had never gone to the logs since to watch and wait for some- body to tell her that God cared for poor boaters. But one Sun- day evening towards the close of the winter they tied up near a lock where some dozen other barges were fastened, and going to the towing-path to look round after her father and Jack had left the boat, Molly saw lights in a little building close by, and in- stantly ran to peep in at the win- dow and see what was going on. But she h.id not reached the place before some one inside opened the door and looked out, and with the opfinitig of the door came a Hood of light and the sound of voices singing. Molly stood spell-bound for a minute, listening as the \ oices rang out, "Jesus loves me ! Jesus loves even me!" Molly did not wait to hear any more ; she darted back to the boat, call- ing " Bab ! Bab !" as she picked her way along the cargo to the cabin stairs. " Bab, there's preaching and singing here," she said, as she rushed into the little cabin. "Come on; I'm going to put mother's shawl on yer, and take yer right in there ; I don't care for any on 'em, or their fine bon- nets eith6r. windows of the little building. When she reached the door, Molly opened it, and stagyored in with Bab ; and seeing a vacant seat near, she sat her little sister down, and then turned to look round. The singing was over, and a man at the other end of the room was speaking ; but Molly did not pay mnch attention to what he said, she was so amazed to find that the little congregation were almost all boaters. Some ol them were as poorly clothed as she and Bab, but they were listening with the greatest atten- tion to what the man was saying. Molly was too much occupied in looking round at the bright, cheery, little mission-room to listen at first, but at last her ear was caught by the words — "Yes, my friends, Jesus wants to be your Friend, if you will only let Him. He was the Friend of fishermeif when He was on this earth, so that He knows all about the trials and temptations of boat people, boys and girls, men and women ; and it is because He loves you that He asks you to give up drinking and swearing and fighting." Bab looked at Molly and nodded. The sad little face was almost glorified with its look of gladness. •' It's true, it's true," she whispered. " Yer won't drink any more gin now, will ver, Molly?" (To U Oonlinuid.) Ihe grass withcreth, the flower fa6eth, but the ^ wot6 of our i5o6 shall ^ staitb foreuer. IsA. 40 : S. ^ r -At II a2 REPRINTED STORIES. FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." -®«4(Sj she had heard, and theru would be an end of this ; for she had often Baid that boaters drank gin becaosa there was no other com- fort for them, and nobody cared whether they drank or not; but ing forthem,8he would ihrowthe bottle away. Molly, indeed, real- ly promised to do this by-and-by. " But can't yer do it now, Molly," whispered Dab, in acoaz- iii(^ (one. •* Why, what's the hurry ? the bottle won't bite yer," said her sister. '■ I won't forget what we're heard, and I'll ask Jack not THE WATER WAIFS: A Story of Canal Barge Life. BY EMMA IjKSI.IE. {AvUur cf " KiUnlu Houu," tU.) Chapter IV. LEFT BEHfND. After that Sunday evening little Bab seemed to blossom into a new life. She would ^it and sinjf sottly toherselt as she sat in her corner by the cabin window, " JosuB loves me, Jetus loves me. " She knew no more ihan this, but it was enough for Dub. Her problem was solved, and she was content. While Molly was looking about her, taking slock of the room and (bote who were there, Bub wns listening' with all (he urtgeniessol a hungry soul, and whut she heard seem- ed like a me.-^aue sent direct irom God to her. " Perhaps, my friends," Bai') the misMonary, " yon may have thought that if Qod hated sin so much He would surely take us from a world where sin altounds. It woulil be easy lur Him to send a inesi-enger for each one ol us to-night, and carry us lis^ht out of (his (roublevoine world, lint Gud does not take care of his people in thai way. He wishes ihem tu stay hero that they may teach olhi-rs what they iheinselvetihave learued. The poorest and youngest may do some- thiiiir it (hey aie willing. Each can (ell a sister or a brother of the love of God, and help ihem lo over- come some sin. If one sees aiiothrr giviiisr way to temper, or atroiig drink, or crunlty lo (he poor hoises or donkeys, a kind, gentle word will olteii prove a check, and so God's work will he done, for it is in (his wny that lie desires us to v.i;k lor Ilim." Molly hi'ard nothing of this, fur rhe was sluiiiig in oj'eii-cyed wi^nder at the tr'ciipture prints and text hung ruumi the room ; but Hal) heard evi'ry word, nu.d tender, combing and curl- ing her hair as gently as her mother did, and taKIng al- most 08 much pride and pleasure in doing it. Any- thing she could do to please Bab was done without a murmur, so that it was not strange that the little girl fancied her victory over the bottle would be an easy one ; and for a little while sho thought it had been gained, for she saw no- thing of it, and hoped that Molly haa kept herpromise and thrown it into (he canal. But as the spring advanced, and that Sunday evening at the mission- room seemed to grow iuto a dim memory, Bab saw with surprise and ais- appointmen'. that the bot- tle was brought out of its h'ding' place once more ; and ' areful as her sister we- tocc, 1 the fact from ber, i'lab 1- " w that she had recomp't.iv.ec' the dreadful habit of drinking. Ball .--poke Ouco niorc, veiy yii.i )y and coaxingly, but Molly tun jd cross and denied it. Agnia the little sister begged and implored her to throw away the bot- tle, untilatlast Molly grew soansrry thatshethreatened to leave her behind on the towing path or wharf, a.sherrather wanted, ir she said anything about the bottle again. She did not mean to carry out this thnat, but it vexed her that B.I) should be sharp enouLii to f what sho thought was hidiien from everybody, and she resolved tu indulge herself only when Bal) was safely ploy- ■ Lor. it ain't no good telling boater, bni maybi« yer'd be good NOMioni: rise if yer only father 'bout thit; boaters can't | for do wi'out swoniiiiLr." slid Molly ; know. d .^ot it wor.' " but III try and leave off, if it'll pl'-ase yon and I'll spe.ik lo Jnck about the d nkev-, if ver like." •• Oh yes. ilo, M >lly." snid Bib, " 'cos yer know (hat's why God didn't send for me when mother nx.'d Him that iiiuht. I know she ^ only have to rcaiind Moliy of \vhat| did ax Him, and I .s'poso He said, often cirried her now. One inorniiiir in May, Molly came rnnniiig into (ho cabin, cx- clniminn. •• Here's n lark, Bab, (he steam-tug can't take us through the boat, and that wor me he meent. I'm glad I'm good for somelin'," concluded uab. " Why, course yer good for somelin'. I dunno wot I'd do stop hero all doy, Jack says." " Won't they " leg through ?" asked Bah. " The lock tender says they can't ; they're certain sure to gut '. onuf yer ain't no good lor a j ing on the towing i)alh, where she Ye.'i, the man said the poorest little 'mis could help work for God if they couldn't help work the tunnel, and we shall have to \ ^Hm REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." 33 w. Why, yor later gal— 'ccw so quiet and iws and grum- a little bit o' boaters never I't part wi' yer " said Molly, t down Bab's toseethelittlo ys Molly had r sister lately, world she was iter girl, ready with anybody sputo her right •path, or have nn everything But to Bab she and kind "\d bing and curl- as gentlyasher and tilling al- ach pride and loiug it. Any- ald do to please one without a that it was not the little girl victory over the id be an easy >r a little while it it had been ■ she saw no- and hoped that :ept herpromiso n it into the : as the spring md that Sunday ; the mission- id to grow into nory, Bab saw rise und ois- '. chat the l.ot- mght out of its once more ; as her sister 1 the fact from w that she had et' the dreadful inking. ^e Oi.ce more, and coaxingly, an id cross and Agniii the little -d and implored V away the bot- ast Molly grew shothrt'atened ?. hor behind wing path or Iher wanted, iiiylhin? about ;iiin. She did carry out this it vexed hor bo sharp it she thought verybody, nnd dulpfH herself js siifely ploy- lath, whore she ow. Mny, Molly the cabin, ex- a lark. Cab, the ;e us through shall have to Jack says." g through ?" Jer says they in sure to gut i drowndod if they tries, and so Jack says he won't try — he'll run away fust; so we're a-going to tie up, and I'm a-going to take yer to a lovely field jest t'other side o' towing path, where there's but- tercups a-growing, and yer can pick 'em, too, if yer like." Bab cla{>ped her hands with delight at the thought of picking "real flowers," and was dressed in her mother's old cotton sun- bonnet, and carried to the towing path. A high fence protected the field tiom the marauding little boaters in a general way, and when Bab saw it she said, ' ' But I can't get in there, Molly." " Not by yourself, but yer can go if I puts yer in ; and that's what I mean to do," said Molly, So saying, she seated Bab on the towing-path while she went to look lor a gap or a loose rail that she could pull away and slip Bab through. But the side next the towing-path was firm and com- pact everywhere, and it was not until she had walked some distance up the lane skirtin? another side that Molly discovered a weak place. Here a rail could be easily pushed aside, leaving ample room for a little mite like Bab to slip through. Molly saw this, and ran back instantly for her little sister. " Now, Bab, yer'll have a jolly time," she said, as she carried her up the lane ; " there's nothing but grass and flowers, and yer can crawl about or sit still and pick the daisies, or lay down and go to sleep. I'll bring yer dinner by- and-by, and I'll fetch yer as soon as the tug comes." " Yer won't forget me, Moll, will yer?" said Bab, a little apprehensively, as she looked back and saw how far they were from the canal. " Forget yer ? do I ever forget yer when I brings yer out 'o the boat for a bit ?" said Moll v. in an injured tone. Bab kissed her sister, and stroked the coarse tow-like hair. " Yer werry kind to me, Moll," she said ; " I wish mother could see how kind yer is. No, yer won't forg'et me, I know, and yer won't let father go away wi'out me." "Rightyerare, Bab. Don't I ali- us sticK up for yer ?" said Molly. " That yer do, Moll, and yer won't forget me now, will yer ?" repeated the child. " Course I won't — 'cos why — 'cos, I couldn't stop aboard the boat wi'out yer now, Bab ;" and she kissed the little pale face in a way that quite assured poor little Bab. " Look, here we are. I can push this bit o' wood out o' the way, and then yer can slip through as easy as anything." " I wish yer could com too, Moll," said the little girl, t uer sister gently pushed hor th; h the broken fence. " I will if I can, by-and-by, but I must go and look arter the din- ner fust. There now, yer can pick the flowers and roll in the grass, and do what you like," said Molly, putting her head in .to look round. " It is a fine field," she added ; " good-by, Bab !" she called, as she turned away. " Good-bye," answered Bab ; " come back soon ;" and in antici- pation of that coming, she began to pink the golden buttercups. " I'll get a big bunch for Molly," she said half aloud — " a big bunch o' the very best in the field ;" and the little girl carefully selected the finest flowers that grew with- in her reach. But very soon she saw, or fancied she saw, that those a short distance ofl" were much better than those close at hand, and so she shiiffled herself along in a sitting posture — her only mode of locomotion — and soon began picking these. But near the middle of the field she saw some beautiful red-tipped daisies, and the golden buttercups were forgotten in her eagerness to reach these choicedaisics. White ones she had seen before grow- ing sometimes on the edge of the towing-path, but never such large pink-tipped beauties as these. Bab was in raptures of delight. She sat and looked at them ; then stooped and kissed them ; and when at last she began to pluck them, she diditmost carefully ana gently, for fear of spoiling the lit- tle fringe of delicate pink and white leaves. But after gathering a bunch of these, the unwonted exertion and fresh air made Bab feel so drowsy, she was glad to lie down on the grass, and before she had time to do more than place hor flowers carelully beside her, &ho was fust asleep. How long she slept she did not know ; she was too much astonished when she first woke to think of anything but her strange surroundings, until it slowly dawned upon her that Molly had said she would bringher dinner,and she suddenly became aware that she was very hungry. Then she picked up her flowers, and was surprised to sec how they hung down their heads. Had she only known it, this would have been sufficient to tell her she had been asleep several hours ; but she did not understand why they had withered. She did wisli, however, that Molly would bring her dinner, and at la.%t gathered up her flowers, ant^ began to shuffle towards the fence again, that she might put her head through the gap, and look down the lane for her sister. But it was not easy to find the place where she had got into the field. The rail had slipped back into its place, and one looked exactly like another, so that the poor child soon grew quite bewildered in her eflbrts to find the loose rail as she scudled up and down the side of the field, pushing first one and then another, and trying to squeeze hor head between the bars to get a peep down the lane. At last she grew so utterly weary of her fruitless effor's that ' she burst into tears, crying, j " Molly ! Molly ! why don't yer | come?" Then she looked all' round, growing more frightened] every minute.nntil she remember- [ ed that through the rails at the bottom she could see the canal and boat, and this gave her fresh courage ; she would make her way to the bottom of the field, and call Molly, and if she could not make her sister hoar, some- body else would be on the tow- ing-path, and go to the barge and tell her. So drying her eyes, and gathering up her flowers once more, she set off" on hor weary scuffle to the other end of the field, pausing mar.y times to rest on her way, and wondering all the time why Molly had not come to bring her dinner, and fetch her back to the boat. At last, after a journey that seemed very long indeed to poor Bab, unaccustomed as she was to moving about by herself, the fence ac the bottom of the field was reached, and dragging horself up on her knees, she looked eagerly through at the canal ; but to hor dismay, there was not a barge to be seen, and the towing-path was quite deserted. Poor Bab dropped back on the grass, too terror-stricken to cry at first. What she had lived in dread of for so long — what Molly had so often promised to protect her from —had happened at last : her fathei had left her behind ; the boat had gone away without her. She looked around the wide green field in helpless bewilderment ; then peeped through the fence once more, unable to believe as yet that Molly— her Molly, who had been so kind to her— had really forsaken her. But there was no room left for doubt as she gazed once more at the black sluggish water of the canal, for there was neither barge nor steam-tug to be seen ; and at last, wildly crying, "Molly! Molly ! Molly ! " poor Bab sank down upon the grass again, and burst into agonizing tears. She cried for some time, now and then calling, " Molly ! Molly !" but she grew quiet at last, except for an occasional seb, until she fell asleep from weariness and exhaustion. She slept for some time, and, when ehe woke she knew by the look of the sun that nighi. was drawing near ; yet she no longer felt so terri- bly afraid of being alone; astrange sweet peace came over her. All she had heard at the mission-room that Sunday evening came back to her mind with renewed fresh- ness, and she sang softly to her- sell, " Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me." And then some words she had heard that night, but which she had scarcely thought of since until now, arose in her memory. The missionary had said if any one was in trouble, and wanted God to help then. He would al- ways be willing to do it if they would only ask Him ; and then he had explained in a few simple words what prayer was. Bab remembered it all now, and sitting there on the grass, she put her lit- tle hands together, and added, " Please .lesus take care on me and let Molly come back soon Mother axed God to look arter mo the night she died, but He couldn't then, 'cos He wanted me to 'member things for Molly and Jack ; and I want ter be God's gal, and do His work for Molly and Jack and the donkeys, though I ain't good enuf for a boater, 'cos o' iny legs. Please, Jesus, take care on me somehow, for I'm hungry, and it's getting dark, and I don't like being out in the dark ; so please let Molly come soon, and take me back to the boat." Bab did not know what more to say, so she sat quietly looking round the field, as if expecting to see Molly at once. She was used to sitting still, and she sat and waited for half an hour without moving. Then, with a little sigh, she loolfed once more at the canal, saying softly to her- self, " The boat's gone, but Molly'll come back for me ; so I'll go and find the place, and be all ready for her when she comes." There was no doubt in her mind about her sister coming back now. She had done wha^ siie had been told to do — she had ask- ed God to take care of her — and of course Molly would come and tell her how it was the boat had gone without her. The daisies had shut up their sleepy eyes by this time, and Bab had no heart to keep what she had gathorod ; so she loft them behind as she started off once more in search ut the loose rail where she had got into the field. (To b4 Cjntinued.) HOW TO BECOME HAPPY. Many young persons are ever thinking over some new way of adding to their pleasures. Ihey always look for chances for more " fun," more joy. Once there was a wealthy and powerful king, full of care and very unhappy. Ho heard of a man famed for his wisdom and piety, and found him in a cave on the borders of a wilderness. " Holy man," said the king, " I come to learn how I may become happy." Without making a reply, the wise man led the king over a a rough path until he brought him to a high rock, on the top of which an eagle had built her nost. " Why has the eagle built hor nest yonder ?" " Doubtless," answered the king, " That it may be out of danger." " Then imitate the bird," said the wise man. " Build thy home in heaven, and thon thou shalt have peace and happiness." f n •» 34 THB WATER WAIFS REPRINTKD STORIES. FROM THK " NOTrrilEI{N MKSSENGER cido A Story of Canal Barge Life. BT EMMA LESLIE. (AmUut of " EUt>$Ut ifbuM," etc.) Chapter V, new friends. The slanting rays of the setting snn were shining into a pleasant little room where a lady sat with her hands folded and her eyes resting on a pair of soiled faded blue shoes — baby shoes, that no little feet wore now. The tears fell silently from the lady's oyes as she gazed at them, murmuring, " My darling would have been seven years old to- day if she had lived. Five years has she been with Ot d now, and no little feet will make music in o'- home again ;" and the lad^« covered her face with he: hands, and her tears fell faster than ever. She did nof hear the door open, but the next minute a voice said — " My wife will not grudge giving up her sweet flower when she knows it is but transplant- ed to God's garden above." " I am afraid I do, I am afraid I do," sobbed the lady. "There are so many children in the world that could be better spared than ours — our only one." " Hush, hush, my dear, we know not yet why God has taken our darling from us, but we may rest assured that it was done in tenderest love — love to her and love to us. But, come now, my dear, I want you to put on your bonnet and go with me for a drive this evening. I have a putient at the other end of the town I must see again to-night, and as it is such a pleasant evening, the drive will do you good." The lady looked once more at the little shoes be- fore she folded them in the silver paper to put away ; then, having carefully locked them up, she went and put on her bonnet. The gig stood at the door when she came down, and her husband was waiting to help her in, and soon they were driving through the town, and out by the canal, which was a mile or two beyond. " How beautiful that field of buttercups looks," said the lady. " Yea, that ' canal held' always makes a good show," remarked the doctor, as he gazed across at it. " Why, there's a child there!" he suddenly exclaimed, " How can she have got in ?" " I don't see any child," said Mrs. Ellis. " Whoa, ' Jennie,' " said the doctor, drawing the reins. " Look 1 1 there, my dear, down by the fence, m-^ at the cido, there's a child lying on the grass " " Suppose we go and see abcut it, then," said :ae lady ; "perhaps the poor little thing cannot get out." So Jennie's head was turned towards the lane, and when they were near the spot where poor iSab was lying, the doctor got down and went close to the fence. " What are yon doing there, my child ?" he asked, in a gentle ton .ja started, and sat up, her ct bl '■yes filling with tears as sho said—" God ain't sent field and left you here ?" asked tly doctor. Bab nodded. " She went to get my dinner and she'll come soon now." "Poor child, poor child," said the gentleman, stepping back to speak to his wife, who still sat in .he chaise. "My dear, the poor child is deserted, I feel certain. She belongs to some of those barge people, and they have put her in- to the field and gone off and left her." " Oh, how dreadful !" exclaimed the lady. " What will become of her ? She cannot stay there all "'STAND UP AND COME TO ME," SAID MBS. ELLW.' Molly yet." " Who is Molly ?" asked the doctor. " She's Molly, and she's gone away in the boat , but I's axed Uod to take care on me, and so Molly'U come soon," said Bab. " Is Molly your mother ?" ask- ed the gentleman. Bab opened her eyes at the question. " Mother's gone to ax God to take care on me," she said. " But Molly is a boater, ( sup- pose ?" " Yes, she's a loat-raie boater," said Bab. " And she brought yon to this night." " No, certainly not. My dear, I wish you would iret down and speak to her," said the gentle- man. Mrs. Ellis soon made her way to the fence, and put her hand through, thinking the child would come to meet her. But Bab only opened her large blue eyes a little wider at the unwonted spectacle, for sho had never seen a lady be- fore, and Mrs. Ellis' gloves and pretty spring bonnet were things almost incomprehensible to Bab. " Sund up and come to me," said Mrs. Bllis, still holding out her hand. But Bab shook her head. "My legs ain't no good," she said. " I ain't no good neither, only to help God." " What does the child mean ?" said Mrs. Ellis, turning to her husband. " Are you lame, little one ? Can't yon walk ?" asked the doctor. Bab again shook her head. " Molly carried me here," she said. " And we must get you out somehow, that's certain," said the doctor, speaking partly to himself and partly to his wife. " Do you know where the gate is?" he ask- ed Bab. She shook her head. " There ain't no gate ; Molly found a hole — one o' these things moves, " said Bab. " There is a rail loose, she means," said the doctor. " Do you know where the hole is V he asked. Bab shuffled along for a little distance, with her eyes fixed upon the fence, the gentleman keeping pace with her on the other side. " I was going to see if there was another barge come, but I found the hole fust," said Bab ; and in a minute or two she spied the loose rail again, and exclaimed, " There it is, there it is !'' Mr. Ellis pushed it aside, and said — " Now we will soon have you out. Come along, 'little one ; I'll lift you over." But Bab drew back as the doctor held out his arms. " Molly'll come presently," she said — " I'm a-waiting for Molly." The doctor shook his head. "Poor child," he said, " I'm afraid you won't see Molly any more, for she's gone away in the barge and left yon." " But the man said as God 'ud take care on me, if I axed Him," said Bab; " and I did, an' I'm wait- ing for Molly now." " But suppose God has sent me to take care of you instead of Molly ?" said the doctor, glancing at his wife, who stood close by his side. " God has sent us to you, dear child," said the lady, hastily wip- ing away the tears that had gathered in her eyes ; and gently pushing aside her hus'band, she stooped down and held out her arms through the gap in the fence. " Come to me dear," she said ; " Qod. has xent me to you, I am sure." " But why didn't He send Molly ? I axed Him to send Molly," said Bab, beginning to whimper. " God does not always send as x the very thing we ask for, but He j | -«HB| jH9 ir head. "My she said. " I r, only to help child mean ?" ning to her , little one? ' asked the k her head, e hete," she get yon out tain," said the rtly to himself fe. *' Do you teis?" heask- k her head. I't no gate ; . a hole — one « moves," said a rail loose, ," said the )o you know hole is 1" he ed along for a ce, with her )on the fence, lan keeping !r on the other u going to see another barge found the hole lab ; and in a wo she spied il again, and " There it is, ushed it aside. Now we will Come I'll lift >u out. one ; tr 1, Irew back as beld out his olly'll come e said — " I'm Molly." shook his child," he afraid yon 5lly any more, e away in the 't you." man said as care on me, said Bab ; an' I'm wait- now." )ose God has ie care of you lolly ?" said ancing at his by his side. to you, dear hastily wip- s that had ; and gently usband, she leld out her in the fence. " she said ; to you, I am t He send im to send eginning to /ays send us for, but He m* REPRINTED STORIES. FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER.' \l often gi\'eg us somethip<; better, though we may not think 80 at the tim«. Ton are disappclnted, dear child, that Molly has not come to you ; but you will come to us, and let UB take care of you instead ?" " Did Qod really send you ?" asked Bab. " Yes, dear, I feel sure He did ; and you will come with us, won't you r Bab nodded. "Till Molly comes," she said; andsheshuflSed forward to the gap, and allowed herself to be lifted through with- out any further demur. " We must take her home with us," said the lady, turning to her husband, and speaking quite decidedly. " I feel as though God had spoken with an audible voice, and said, 'Take this child and nurse it for Me.' " " Then we will take her home at once, dear," said the doctor ; and helping his wife into the chaise.-he wrapped his light over- coat round Bab, and lifted her up afterwards. Poor Bab was too tired and hungry to wonder much about all this. She lay still in Mrs. Ellis's arms occasionally opening her eyes and looking up at her new friend's gentle face ; but she scarcely moved until the town was reached and she caught sight of a baker's shop. Mrs. Ellis, who was watching her little pale face, saw the look that came into her eyes at the sight of the bread, she whis- pered, " Are you hungry, dear." ' Not much ; I can wait," said Bab patiently. "To be sure the child is hungry," said Mr. Ellis, stopping the horse. " I remember she told me this Molly was to bring her some dinner, so of course she ha9 had nothing to eat all day." " What shall I get for her, my dear ?" " Some light biscuits and milk will be best. If she eats a little now we may give her a proper meal before she goes to bed." So the biscuits and milk were bought, and poor Bab would have eaten them much faster than was good for her, for she was very hungry ; but when Mrs. Ellis told her she must eat them slowly at first, just a little bit at a time, she did exactly as she was told, although she >vould have liked to have put the biscuits into her mouth one after the other as fast as she could, she was so hungry. Before they reached home Bab had finished her meal, and was fast asleep, and Mr. and Mrs. Ellis were discussing what they had better do with the child Tho first thing to be provided was clothes ; for the lady had noticed that those Bab had on were very dirty, as well as ragged, and she had made up her mind to burn them at once ; but the doctor said, " No, no, my dear, the clothes must not be destroyed. Her friends mav come in search of her, and the clothes might prove useful in identifying her." " Do you really think they will to take her away from us?" the lady, anxiously. " She has beer to wofully neglected, you see."' " No, I don't think her friends will ever trouble themselves about her again. Her mother is dead, you see, and the child being lame would always be a burden upon the father. I am almost certain I have seen the child's face before somewhere. Her pathetic blue eyes struck me as familiar the moment I saw them, but I cannot recall where I have seen her. No, dear, we had better keep her old clothes ; but what will you do about getting new ones ?" " I think I will go and speak to Mrs. Wilson as soon as I get home. She may be able to lend me a few of Lena's old things, until she is claimed or I can buy her new ones. Oh, I do hope no one will want to take her from us again, for I have learned to love her already ; she is such a sweet little thing." " Very unlike most boaters' children, certainlj," said Mr. Ellis, " and I don't think she is likely to be claimed ; but still, we must leave that in God's hands, and do what we can for her while we have her. I wonder where she has learned that God would take care of her ; for these barge people are such a dreadful set, and so ignorant that they have seemed Myond hope of reclaiming." "Well, somebody has taught this poor little mite to believe that God loves her, and will take care of her, and I am glad of it ; and it maybe the rest are not so hope- lessly bad as they seem. Here we are at home !" exclaimed Mrs. Ellis, as Jennie stopped at the doctor's gate. He jumped down and took the child from his wife's arms, and then helped her to descend. " I'll walk on to Mrs. Wilson's at once, if you will take her in and put her on the sofa, I won't be fone long, and when I come back will give her a bath before I put her in clean clothes." Mrs. Ellis would not ask her servants to do this for Bab at first, for they might not like it, and moreover, she w'anted the child to feel that she had taken a mother's place towards her. She soon came back from her friend's with the requisite change of clothes, and Bab was undressed, Mrs. Ellis ex- pecting to find her very dirtv ; but to her surprise she found she had been well cared for in this respect, dirty and ragged as her clothes were, and that there would be no need to cut off her hair. Molly had washed her and comb- ed and brushed her hair she heard, and she was more puzzled than ever, seeing this evidence of Molly's care, to account for her being left in the field. Bab was puzzled, too, that Mollv did not come; but she was so much occunied in looking at all the strange things around ker, she had not much time to think about Molly now. After her bath she was arrayed in a pretty white- frilled nightdress that to Bab was such a marvel of beauty that she did not like to go to bed in it, for fear of spoiling it. Then the house itself seemed a wilderness of rooms, and each room so much beyond anything Bab had seen be- fore, that the whole was like what a palace in fabled fairyland would be to an ordinary child. When she was ready for bed a servant brought a basin of bread and milk for her ; but Bab could scarcely eat it for looking at the wonderful things around her, all so unlike the dirty little cabin that had always been her home. Mrs. Ellis certainly expected to see her kneel down, or put her hands together in prayer, before going to bed; but the child evidently knew nothing about this, and looked up in her friend's face in wondering amazement when she said, " Won't you say your prayers, my dear ?" "What are prayers?" asked Bab. " My dear, you know quite well, for you told me yon nad been praying to Gh>d to take care of you when you were in the field." But Bab shook her head. "I don't know what prayers is,'' she said. , "But, my dear, you told me you had been asking Gtod to take care of you when you were in the field," said Mrs. Ellis. " Oh yes ; the man said as Jesus loved us and 'ud take care on us, if we only axed him ; and I did, and then He told you to come and get me out." " Well, my dear, asking God for anything is praying," said Mrs. Ellis ; " And God likes us to ask Him every day for what we want." " But I ain't in the field now, and I don't want nothing, only Molly," argued Bab. •' Well, dear, but wouldn't you like to thank God for taking care of you, and bringing you here ?" " I dunno yet ; but I want Gt>d to take care o' Mollv and Jack.and the donkeys. God loves donkeys as well as bioaters," added Bab. " Then you should ask God to take care of these friends;" and Mrs. Ellis taught the little girl how to kneel and put her hands together, but let her use her own words of prayer, for she felt they would be more real to her than any form of words that she could teach, at least for the present. (To bt Gontmued.) 35 T BEFORE PENS. The chisel vraa employed for inscribing on stone, wood, and metal. It was so sharpened as to suit the material operated on, and was dexterously handled by all early artists. "The style, a sharp- pointed instrument ofmetol, ivory, or bone, was used for writing on wax tablets. The style was un- suitable for holding a Unid,hence a species of reed was employed for writing on parchment. These styles and reeds were carefully kept in cases, and the writer* had a sponge, knife and pumice stone, compasses for measuring, scissors for cutting, a puncheon to point out the beginning and the end of each lino intc columns,a glass con- taining Ban*d, and another with writing fluid. These were the chief implements used for centuries to register facts and events. Reeds continued to be used till the eighth century ,though quills were known in the middle of the seventh. The earliest author who uses the word penna for a writing pen is Isadorus, who lived in that century ; and toward thn end of it a Latin sonnet, " To a Pen," was written by an Anglo- Saxon. But though quills were known at this period, they came into general use very slowly ; for in 1433 a present of a bundle of quills was sent from Venice by a monk with a letter in which he says : " Show this bundle to Brother Nicolas, that he may choose a quill." The only other material to which we would refer is ink, the composition and colors of which werevarious. The black was made of burnt ivory and the liquor of the cuttle fish. We are not prepared to say what other ingredient was used, or how it was manufactured, but these ancient manuscripts prove that the ink was of a superior descrip- tion. Red, purple, silver, and gold inks were used. The red was made from vermilion and carmine, the purple from the murex, and the manufacture of these, especially the gold and silver varieties, was an extensive andlucrative business. — Chambers' Journal. m A REMARKABLE NEST. The cow-bunting of New England never builds a nest. The female lays her eggs in the nests of those birds whose young feed like her own on insects and worms, taking care to deposit but one egg in a nest. A cow-bunting deposit- ed an egg in the nost of a spar- row, in whigh was one egg of the latter. On the sparrow's return what was to be done ? She could not get out tho egg which belong- ed to her, neither did she wish to desert her nest, so nicely prepared for her own young. What did she do ? After consultation with her husband, they fixed on their mode of procedure. They built a bridge of straw and hair directly overthe two eggs, making a second story in the home, thus leaving the two eggs below out of tho reach of the warmth of her body. In the upper apartment she laid four eggs, and reared her four children. In the museum at Salem, Mass., may be seen this nest, with two eggs imprisoned below. — Evangelist. ^ 36 REPRINTED THE WATER WAIFS ; A Story of Canal Barge Life STORIE S. FROM " To m* THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." sing ?" " To the towing-path, my dear !" exclaimed the lady. " Wh«t do vou mean ?" " Why, there's lots of boaters that want to learn hymn8,only they can't," said Bab ; nnd then she told Mrs Ellis of that Sunday she spent at the wharf waitint^ and watching for some one to come nnd teach her a hymn, or tell her that God would take care of her, The tears rose to the lady's eyes as she listened to Bab's account ot how Molly had coaxed Jack Knives and forks, to hurry.the donkeys on, that they saucers, spoons and might spend the Sunday at the lay the " But, my dear," said Mrs. Ellis, " you can learn to sing hymns here, and we are going to take you to church with us next Sunday. I was talking to the doctor about it only yesterday, and he thinks you may go with us now." " But I want to go to the tow- ing-path as well," said Bab, '■ 'cos Molly is going to be there." The lady looked at tlie child, wondering whether she could have seen or heard from her sister lately, but judging that such a thing was quite impossible she said — " My dear, your sister is not J^^i^\ ^.1-,/ BT EMMA LESME. {Author of " ElUnlic Hmm," tic.) Chapter VI. BAB'd FAITH. My readers may perhaps expect to hear that Bab was wonderfully happy in her new home, but it was not so. She felt lost and be- wildered by her strange sur roundings. cups and plates, were a burden to poor Bab, I wharf, and how bitter the disap-j likely to come to this neighbor who had been used to make hcrlpointmentwas when noonocamt hood — come near here, I mean." own fingers do duty for all these. So also were the chairs and couches, for •he had been used to crouch in the corner by the cabin-window, and keep her unfortunate little legs out of sight as much as possible ; but now she was told she must not double her legs under her, bni 1 flat on her back as mr<' as possible, for the doctor hoped that with care she might outgrow tlie \"eak- ness that had caused T 'i lameness, as there was n. malformation of the limbs. Then Bab's different clothes were anything but an unmitigated pleasure to her, not that she delight- ed in dirt.bnt the few loose rags she had always worn were to her far more com- fortable than the pretty, neat little frocks, that fitted her so closely, and which she was in constant fear of spoiling. But, by degrees, this uncomfortable sense of having clothes on, began to wear off, and then the doctor and Mrs. Ellis were so kind that Bab at length commenced to enjoy some things in her new life. She liked learning to read and to sew, but her especial delight was to lie on the couch, listening to Mrs. Ellis when she play- ed the piano, and sang some simple hymns. Bab was very quick at learn- ing these, too. She had soon learned all the words of " Jesiis loves me," and several others, and would join Mrs. Ellis in singing them to sing or preach. "Oh dear, whenever they were by them- how shocking ! I will talk to the selves, for she had soon lost all doctor about it as soon as he comes fear of the gentle lady, who was home," said the lady, ^^^^:W, .^,^i.^«r I CAN'T- J CANT UO AWAY FROM YOU. so kind and loving to her,although she was still rather shy of the doctor. In this way some weeks nossed. Nothing was heard of Molly, and Bab so seldom mentioned her now, that her friends began to But couldn't we go now ?" said Bab ; " there's sure to be a lot of boats tied up, and it's sing- ing boaters like best." " I'll tiilk to the doctor," replied Mrs. Ellis, " when he comes home, and I fi.'el sure he will go himself hope she was gradually forgetting .or get sombody to go next Sunday her old life, until one evening, | and have a service for the when they had been singing as. boaters." usual, Bab started up all at once, "And you'll ask him to take and exclaimed—" Couldn't we go me, won't you ?" said Bab, coax- down to the towing-path and'ingly. "Oh, yes, she will !" said Bab, confidently. " You told me to pray to God about Molly, and I have, and He's sure to send her to mo soon ; so I must go to the towing-path, and be ready for her." Mrs. Ellis looked a little disap- pointed OS Bab said this. "My dear Barbara, are you not happy here ?" she asked, anxious- ly. " Would you like to go away and leave me now ?" This view of the matter was apparently a new one to Bab. She had never thought that to go with Molly she must leave her new friend. She raised herself from the couch where she had been lying, and held out her arms towards Mrs. Ellis ; and when the lady seated herself beside her, she flung her arms round her neck and burst into tears. " I can't — I can't go away from you, "she said; " and maybe father wouldn't let me go on the boat now, 'cos he always was wanting to lose me. But I must see Molly— oh, I must see Molly ?" " My dear, you shall see her if we can find her," said Mrs. Ellii^, scarcely knowing what she said, in her anxiety to comfort the poor child. " You'll take me to the towing-path, or else to the field, won't you? 'cos. Molly is sure to come and look for me there." " Who is that wants to go back to the held again — not my little Barbara, surely ?" said the cheerful voice of the doctor, who had entered the room in time to hear Bab's last words. " I want Molly, please ; I want you to take me to Moll y," said the little girl, in an im- ploring tone, but still clinging fast to Mrs. Ellis. "Why, what is this ? we have not heard anything about Molly for a long time," said the gentleman, seating himself on the sofa beside his wife. " I've been asking God all the time to bring Molly back, and I know she'll come spon, if we go and sing on the towing-path, 'cos she likes singing, Molly does, and she wanted to hear the man at the wharf, like I did." Then Mrs. Ellis told her husband what she had heard from Bab about her and Molly waiting all day for some one to hold a mission service at the wharf, and how they had watched and waited in vain. 'Poor little Bab! If I had only known it, I would have come myself and talk- ed to you, and sang to you," said the doctor.kissiug her. " There's a lot more boaters left," said the child. " Not many like you, my little Barbara, I think." " I ain't no good for a boater ; but there's lots that ain't heard about Jesus loving them. Won't you go and singtnem that hymn what tells 'em about it ?" asked Bab, anxiously. "She wanted me to go tonight and sing to these poor children," said Mrs. Ellis, smiling. " Well, we can hardly go to- night, my little Barbara, but I will certainly see if anything can be done for these poor barge children, and without delay, too. I think I ; , ^ ik. ^- ink I \\\ REIMUNTED STORIES, FROM THK -NORTHERN MKSSENOER." raised herself rhere she had d out her arms 8 ; and when self beside her, round herneck I. " I can't— I yea, "she said; r wouldn't let ; now, 'cos he ig to lose me. ly — oh, I must shall see her if laid Mrs. Ellis vbat she said, imfort the poor ake me to the , or else to the OH? 'cos, Molly ime and look that wants to he field again little Barbara, d the cheerful ( doctor, who 1 the room in ar Bab's last Molly, please ; 'ou to take oil y," said irl, in an im- le, but still to Mrs. Ellis, tiat is this ? we eard anything Y for a long he gentleman, elf on the sofa ife. in asking God .0 bring Molly know she'll f we go and towing-path, singing, Molly ) wanted to at Ihe wharf, Ellis told her lat she had lab about her aiting all day le to hold a vice at the ow they had waited in ittleBab! If I Kn it, 1 would self and talk- sang to you," ir.kissing her. lot more said the ou, my little for a boater ; ain't heard hem. Won't n that hymn it ?" asked ogo to night lor children," ardly go to- ra, but I will hing can be rge children, |>o. I think I have heard that a good muuv boats stop here on Sunday. I will make inquiries, and if so, I will certainly try a little Sunday- school or mitwion service down there. Good-night, mv darling," said the doctor, as the servant came to carr>y Bab to bed. " We will have a Sunday-school for the little boat-children very soon." And long after Bab was asleep, the doctor and his wife sat talking of this, and the little water waif that bad been so strangely brought under their care. Mrs. Elli?' greatest dread was that Bab should be claimed, and the child's passionate longing for Molly disturbed her a good deal ; and when tile plans for beginning a Sunday-school on the canal bank had been discussed for some time, she came back to this trouble once more. " I should like to know what sort of a girl this Molly is," said the lady. " We have not heard anything akoutherforsometime. Ithoug.it our Barbara had forgotten all her relations," said the doctor. " She has thought about the an, I fancy, although she has not talk- ed of them," said Mrs. E'.lis. " But now about this girl— this Molly. I'am afraid the child will never be happy until she h'.ars of her." " But, my dear, I thoug it your greatest fear was lest our little waif should be claimed." said Mr. Ellis. " Well, yes, it is; and somehow I feel sure this Molly did not leave her in the field, intending to desert her. She loved the child, I am certain, and I should like her to know she is safe and well cared for." " That she might come and take her away from us— she would have the right, you know, my dear," said the doctor. " Yes, I do know, and I am afraid she would want the little darling back," said Mrs. Ellis ; " but still I have been thinking of it all, and — and I do think we ought to try and find her. She loved our little Barbara be- fore we did, and she will grieve for her loss, perhaps as much as I should, and I think she ought to know where she is. Perhaps she would let her stay with us, for Bab says her father wanted to lose her, she knows." Mr. Ellis sat thinking for a few minutes, and at last he said, " I believe yon are right, my dear, and I will make inquiries abont this Uolly. Perhaps we ought to have done so before." " I think we ought ; I am sure it is right we should do so now, although it is hard to think we have to give up the child to go back to such a life ;" and the lady sighed as she thought how much Bab had improved already in looks and speech, and how doubly painful the dirt and misery of her former lot would be to her now, if she should have to go back and live on the barge. "This is the hardest thing I ever had to do, I think," tfce said, after a minute's silence ; " It seems like pushing her back into misery, with my own hands ; and yet it is right, I feel sure it is right." " And being so, our duty is plain, and we muse trust in God for the rest," said the doctor, yet scarcely able to repress a sigh him- self, as he thought of poor Bab ; for if this Molly really loved the child, she would certainly wani to take her from them. " What will you do ? where will you make inquiries?" asked Mrs Ellis, after a pause. " I will try and ses the mon who has charge of the lock to morrow, and ask him if he has heard anything of a chilit being lost — ifa girl has 'uc^n rjakingin- qniries for one." " And you will tell him where we found our little darling ?" asked Mrs. Ellis. " Certainly, my dear ; I must tell him the whole affair, and where the child may be found, if any of tier friends should come and inquire for her. We must do that ; it ought to have been done before ; and then, whatever the result may be, we must believe it will be for the best — the best for Barbara as well as ourselves," said the doctor. He did not think much of poor Mollv in the affair, as to what would be best /or her ; but Bab thought little of anybody else except Moll^, and prayed for her night and morning, that God would take care of her and bring her back soon. She did not know of the in- quiries that wore being made by the doctor, until one day, when she was sitting on Mrs. Ellis' knee, the lady said, " Barbara, my dear, we have heard some- thing about Molly." " Oh, where, where is she?' asked Bab, tossing her curls back, and looking round towards the door, expecting to see Molly there. " We have not seen her, my dear, but we havb heard about her," said the lad/, tenderly smoothing back the long fair curls, and kissing the little eager, upturned face. " She came back to. look for you in the SpUI, and " " I knew she would, I knew she would." interrupted Bab, eagerly. " I knew Molly would come. Where is she now ?" she suddenly asked. " She went back to the barge, we think. She asked the lock- keeper if he had seen a litiio girl —her little Bab she called you, so that we know it must be Molly." 37 V i m\ ht ^mmi •• I ttakll iMMtUflad, whaa I awmlM, with Ukj lUunMa."-Pii. IT ; U El. Nathah. Jambs McORAnAHAS. ^^^^^m 1. Bool of mine, in carth-Iy tem-ple, Wliy not here con - tent •• bidef 2. Soul of mine, my heart is cling-ing To the earth's fair pomp and pride; 3. Soul of mine, ninst 1 sur • ren-der, See my-self aa em - ci - fied ; 4. Sonl of mine,con- tin-lie pleadine;Sin re-bnl(e, and fol - ly chide: , , -r' r- r- rr -r^ ■ ■*■ ^ -r U r'. -r t r . t r-jgy . -=^ Why art thou for • er - cr pleading? Why art thou not sat ■ is - fled? Ah, why dost then thus re-prove me? Why art thou not sat - is - fied? Tnmfromall of earth's am - bi-tion, That thou may'et be sat - is-fled? I ac-ceptthe cross of Je • sns, That thou may 'st be sat - is - fled. I Bhsll be sat-is fled, I shall be aatiified, I shall be Bal-is-fled, I shall be aliiM, I shall be satisfied, < When I a-wake in his likeness, I shall be sat-isfied, I shall be sat-iBfied, ft* I shall be satis-ficd, When I awake in his like I shall be satis-fled. I shall be satis-fled, • Tba suthor hsn rsatorss this ekonii la in eriUBal Isna, wbloa ha racatds ss much Iwtlss. " When did shs f^me ?" asked the child. " We think it must have bien ihe day after we found you," said Ihe lady. " And I wasn't there— oh, why wasn't I there, why didn't Molly come here ?" and poor Bab burst into tears at the bitter thoi.;jht ol having missed her sister when she came to search for her. " Don't cry, my darling ; you will see Molly some day soon, for the lock-keeper has promised to toll all the barge-people that a lit- tle girl named Bab was found here, and then when Molly hears of it, she will come and ask him again where you are, and he will tell her where to find you." Bab smiled through her tears. " God will takecar« ; '''>"y, and bring her to .-ne, . /'iv ' she said ; " a'ld I'll o, > ,at a dear mama you Hi" iien, IE another thought 0'.'»i ' '■ sr, she threw her arrp; i . • .. t ts. Ellis' neck, and ex dauei » • ' I can't go away with' t ^ -i t Molly takes me, you';! cOia .ic won't you ?" Mrs. Ellis smiled as shv i '. t^e I the eager little face. lU dea . you forget I never ivt- on j barge," she said. "And you wo d i.-^i >t /i., !> no, you woulun't lil .^ v,' • ( , Bab, all .at once riimeni^ ••.■..g something of the miisery of that almost forgotten time. "And you would not li! i it now, my darling, I think,' said the Itidy, a little anxiously. Bab shook her head. She was beginning to apprecin te the com- forts and refinementfi of her new home, and the thoug.'it of the dirty, close little cabin made her shud- der, as she thought of going back to it. " What shall I do V" she said. " Molly will want me to go back, I know." "We will ask God about it,dear, and he will tell us what we ought to do. We must do what is right, you know, not what will please us best." Bab nodded, and then, after a pause she said, " I wish Molly wasn't a boater, and then she could stay here ; but she's a first rate boater, you know, and so she wouldn't like it." Bab eviiiently thought the occupation of a boater superior to till others, and Mrs. Ellis did not attempt to correct this notion, for she bad no idea of taking Molly into her heart and home, as she had taken this helpless little waif and she could not raise hopes of this, even to pacify Bab, so she said " Now, my dear, we will ask God to take care of us, and manage this difficult business as He sees to be best. Only I thought you would like to know that Molly had not forgotten you, as we feared." "I knew Molly hadn't forgot- ten me. Molly won't forget poor little Bab," said the chud, con- fidently. ITo h* Oontinvtd.) ^t49 m^ i^ REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE " NORTH KRN MESSENGER." THE WATER WAIFS: A Story of Canal Barge Life. BT KHHA LESLIE. ^Aulhor of " EUarilit Hoim," 4U.) Chapter YIL— holly's re- turn AND REFOBUATION. Early in the aatamn a boat- man's misaion-room waa opened near the lock, for Dr. Ellis had very soon interested some friends in the neglected condition of the poor boatera, and an effort was at once made to do something to remedy this ; and it was arranged that the doctor and a few other friends should in turn con- duct a Sunday evening service, tw well as an oc- casional service during the week, at the mission-room. There was to be a Sunday- school also for the children, which Mrs. Ellis readily agreed to manage, and she promised that Bab should go with her sometimes, to help her with the singing ; for the little girl was al- most wild about this, and could talk of little else now than singing to the boat- ers in the new school- room. Bab was so happy and so excited that she could scarcely keep herself from ringing aiond, "Jesus loves me," as they drove alon<^ the road ; and she scarcely saw anything they passed, in her eagerness to reach the new school-room and witness the delight of the boat children at her dear mamma's singing ; for Bab always called Mrs. Ellis mamma now, and no one seeing them together would ever imagine they could be anything else. Bab was now so oc- cupied in looking up into her dear friend's gentle, loving face, and forward at the road along which they were going, that she never glanced aside at the field where she had last parted from Molly ; or else she must have seen the crouching figure of a girl, dirty, unkempt, and miserable-lookinii, close to the fence where Molly had found the broken rail. Bnt the ragged heap by the fence saw the chaise ap- proaching, the bright, sunny-hair- ed little girl between the lady and gentleman, and a pair of shining, eager eyes, looked out from the tangles of unkempt hair, and fixed their gaze upon the happy little face. " It cant be, it can't be her," muttered the girl, yet still keeping her eyes fixed upon the child ; and when the chaise passed she got up and went after it as fast as she [ was able. She did not try to run up with it, but managed to keep it in sight, until it stopped at the raiasion-room, and she uw the little girl carried in ; and then the gentleman drove away again, the ragged girl atill following, until the atreets of the town were reach- ed, and she aaw a poor man touch hia hat t(Tthe doctor as the chaise stopped. She followed the man then down a side street for a few yards, and touching him on the shoulder, she said, " Do you know that man in the little cart ?" She spoke in an eager, anxious whisper, and the man thought she must he ill, and said so. " Bnt that's the doctor, anre only nodded her head and hurried up the street and back b#the way she had come, until she' reached the miaaion-room. As she drew near she could hear them singing inside, and stopped to listen for a minute ; then went on again, un- til she reached one corner where a window waa open, and here ahe placed herself where she could see and hear all that was goinv on without herself being seen. How bright and eager her eyes grew as ahe peered cautiously into the room, until at length her whole face seemed to change with ita glad look of wondering aurprise and joy as she clasped her hands, MOLLY LOOKING IN AT THE DOCTOR'S WINDOW. enough, and a kinder man never lived than Dr. Ellis ; so yer need not be afraid of speaking to him," added the man, in a kind manner. " Where does he live ?" asked the girl eagerly. " Yer going to see him at his house, I s'pose? Well, yer go right straight through the town to Spring Road, and then yer'U see his name on a brass plate on the gate. ' Dr. Ellis, surgeon. ' Yer can't mistake it," said the man. The girl did not tell him that she could not read, and there- fore the doctor's brass plate would be of little service to her ; she murmuring — " Yea, it ia Bab ; it is my Bab !" and completely overcome by the joyful recogni- tion, Molly sank down upon the ground and burst into tears. " I don't care for nothing now," she murmured half aloud, looking up when the singing began again, and listening for BaVs sweet little voice ; they've took her and made a lady of her, and that's just all poor Bab was fit lor ; and ^ow I know she's safe, why, V'! go away and look arter somefin' for myself." But Molly did not go away. She seemed, however, to become suddenly aware of her deplorable appearance, and after watching Mrs. EUia and Bab drive away in the gig, ahe went down to the canal bank, and contrived to waah her face and smooth her hair, and ahake a little of the dust out )f her clothes ; ao that when the evening service began ahe alip- ped into the miaaion-room with the other boatera without exciting any attention. The doctor conducted the simple aervice, bnt of course ho knew nothinff of Molly, and took no notice of her ; bnt Molly was greatly disappointed that Mrs. Ellis and Bab did not come, she had promised her- self the pleasure of having one last \ona look at her little sister liefore she went away, and she could not pay much at- tention either to the prayers or singing for thinking of this. When the service was over she crept out, and the next morning started on her travels ; but the day- following she was back again, and before the end of the week Mr. Ellis heard from the lock- keeper that Molly waa about the neighbourhood again. " Then send her to me," said the gentleman. But, to the doctor's sur- prise, another week pass- ed, and he had heard no- thing of Molly. T n e weather had changed during the last few days, and was now so cold and wet that no one ventured out of doors, un- less they were compelled to go ; and when Dr. Ellis entered his gate about dusk one evening, and saw a crouching figure close to the drawing-room window, he thought some thief was taking advantage of the darkness and the weather to make himself acquainted with his do- mestic arrangement pre- paratory to breaking into the house. It was there- fore with no light hand that he seized upon the intruder, but saw to his astonishment, as he dragged her from the shelter of the shrubs to the gravel path, that it was only a poor half- drenched girl, instead of a man, as he had supposed. She was evidently astonished at being dragged from her hiding- place, and with an oath she wrenched herself from his hold, demanding who hs was, and raising her hand in a threatening attitude, as if to strike him. Seeing her wretched, woe-begone condition Mr. Ellis' heart was in- stantly filled with pity, and he said in a gentle tone, " What are you doing at my windows such a W REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE " NORTHERN MESSENGER." her deplorable '^ kfter WKtching drive away in down to the Ltrived to wash 1 her hair, and le dust out >f hat when the 9gan she Blip* ion-room with ithout exciting ondncted the t of course ho ^olly, and took t>nt Molly was 3d that Mrs. d not cume, >romi8ed her- pleasnre of last lonff look e sister liefore iway, and she pay much at- Iher to the singing for this. e service was :rept out, and lorning started ils ; but the day she was back before the end »ek Mr. Ellis n the lock- nt Molly was neighbourhood snd her to me," itleman. le doctor's sur- ter week pass- tiad heard no- >lly. eather had uring the last nd was now so et that no one It of doors, nn- ere compelled when Dr. £llis gate about evening, and ucbing figure drawing-room thought some ;ing advantage cness and the make himself with his do- ngement pre- breaking into It was there- to light hand ed upon the lut saw to ment, as he he shelter of gravel path, poor half- id of a man, as ly astonished m her hiding- in oath she rom his hold, i» was, and a threatening strike him. , woe-begone heart was in- pity, and he " What are idows such a night as this? Do yon want me?" <• Are you Dr. Ellis ?" asked the girl, her hand suddenly drop- ping at her side. " Yes ; yon had better come in- side, and tell me what you want," said the doctor taking the key from his pocket, and leading the way to a side door. But the girl did not follow. " I don't want nothing," she said ; " I only wanted to have a look at the little gal inside there." And she was moving towards the ^ate, but " When did your mother die ? Was it about a year ago in this neighborhood ?" " It warn't far from this lock," said Molly. " Then I had seen little Barbara before. She cried to sit beside her mothev when I came." " YfS, that she did. She'd took n notion thnt Uod was going to send a messenger for her that night, and thought she'd lost her chance 'cos she went to sleep and didn't see him." " Poor little mite ; I am afraid her.' " Bab thought that Qod wanted her to do some work for Him fast," said Molly ; " and if it was worth His while to look after a poor boater gal like me, why I think He did.^' " Why should you speak of yourself like that?" asked the doC' the doctor's hand was laid upon 'jt was the messenger's fault, for I her shoulder | might have seen that night that " Do you know the little girl in ghe needed some one to befriend there ?' he asked, guessing at i—- ■< once that this was Molly come in search of her sister. " Have you seen her ?" The girl nodded. " Yes, I've seen her afore to-day," she said ; " but I'll never come no more if y er'll promise to take good care o' Bab always." " Then you are Molly, that our little Barbara is so often talking about. Yon must come in and see her now, and let her know you are safe." But Molly only tried to drag herself away. " No, no, I've seen her," she said ; " and I'll go away now, and never come back any more." " But why should you do that my girl ?" said the gentleman. " 'Cos Bab is happy, and I couldn't do nothing for her like you can, and so I don't want her to know about boaters and me any more." '' But Bab is very anxious to know about you, and now you are here you must come in and see her. I am glad you do not want to take her away from us." " Take her away — take Bab away when she's so happy, and yer so good to her?" Molly spoke almost with a sob, but she allow- ed herself to be led into the house, and followed the doctor into the little surgery. " Now, my girl, I should like you to tell mo whether any one else is likely to claim our little using God's precious gift to you as He would have you use it." " Why, what can I do i" said Molly. " Only tell me, yer'll see whether I won't do it, just for the chance o' seeing Bab some- times, so as she won't be ashamed on me." " Very well, then, I will see what can be done for you. And now yon shall come and see Bab ; or, stay, I will ask Mrs. Ellis to Hnd you some dry clothes first, and then I will bring Bab to yon '' And Mr. Ellis went and called his wife, and explained to her as shortly as he could who was in the surgery, and how she came there. " And she does not want to take the 'child Irom us !" exclaimed the lady, in a tone of relief. "Oh, I do hope Wo shall be able to help the poor girl herself, if only for that." " We must certainly do some- thing for her, for she has the mak- tor. " Boaters are as dear to God ! '»« "^ " ^of^ "J"^ »»*''« TT"""" "J as any one else. The Lord Jesus ! !>"• »" «P''« "^ »J" roughness and Christ died for you, as much as \ Jffno"nce. But now go and hnd He died for me or any other per- ^" «»"»« «l°t''«»- "Py ^«"' 2"*^ son. And now tell me about vour- self How can I help you ?" " Help me !" exclaimed Molly. " Why, I'm a boater ; I ain't like Bab." " You are not certainly ; but still take her to the kitchen fire, while I go and tell Bab who is here." A change of clothes was soon found for Molly, and a meal was spread for her in the kitchen ; but before she had sat down Bab came so helpless, in, and the sisters were left to if you have themselves for the next hour. le t your father s barge, and are ; gab's first words, after her tear- all alone in the world, you must U^, greeting, sounded a little need some help. I am sure, for ''^^^ful, for she said "Oh, you are a young girl " But I ain't fit for Bab, and I never was, and the only thing I can do is jist to go right away, and let Bab forget mo ; and then yer can make a lady on her, withiout any fear of the folks talking about her being a boater." " But God did not give Bab to you and to us for that. He sent her here among ns to help us." Yes, that's what she says, and Molly , why did you go away with- out me that day, and leave me in the field?" " 1 never meant to, Bab. Yer know I never meant to, don't yer ?" said Molly, imploringly. " I know yer didn't leave me there on purpose. But how was it, Molly ?" " Well, I'm most ashamed to tell yer, 'specially now ; but I tell yer this, Bab, I' ain't never touch' she has helped me. You can tell j ed it since, and I ain't a-going to, her I never touches the bottle i for it was all through mother's old now," said Molly. " You shall tell her yourself, Barbara. Does your father know ! Molly. You know she is where she is ?' " Not a bit of it, and he don't care ; he'll never trouble hisself to ask about her now he's got rid of her, for that was all he wanted." " And you have not told him where she is ?" " It ain't likely, for yer don't want ter have a lot o' boaters bothering yer ; and I've left father now, for he don't want me, 'cos I grumbled and kicked up a row at the way he'd served me and Bab, locking me in the cabin, and going off leaving Bab in that field.*' " That is how she came to be left behind then ?" said the doc- tor. " Yes, father he was always looking out for the chance o' doing it. Mother told me that afore she died." your your sister, and will always be sister." For a moment there was a gleam of joyful triumph shining in Molly's eyes, but the next moment they filled with tears, and she said, almost angrily, " Yer know I ain't fit to be Bab's sister ; I can only go away and not let her see me no more !" "My girl, that is not what God intended when He gave you such a sweet little sister. Now listen to me. You are not fit to be Bab's sister just now, perhaps, and I should scarcely like you to come and sec her often as you are." " Didn't I know it-didn't I tell you so ?" " Hear what I have to say, my firl. You know this yourself, but believe — I am sure — that by God's help yon can make yourself fit, and in this way yon will be bottle yer got left behind.' " Tell me about it," said Bab, '* didn't the boat stop all day ?" " Why, it didn't stop an hour. Jack fold me. I went back, arter putting you in the field, and had a bigger sip than usual,wotmade me sleepy, I s'pose, for I went to sleep, and when I woke the cabin door was shut and locked, and we was going as fast as we could go. I hammered and screamed, but it worn't no good, they wouldn't let me out till night, and then we was miles away from here. But I started and walked back to look for yer next day, but nobody hadn't seen yer in the field or seen yer took out, and at last I went back and found the boat agin ; but father wotddn't let me go aboard then, so I come off agin and helped one and another with the boats when I could and begged when I couldn't till I got here agin, and seed yer go to that boaters' school one Monday, and I've seed yer a gowl many timi'B since." " And what are you going to do now ?" asked Bab " Yer a fust-rate boater, Molly." " Yes, but that ain't no good now, and so I'm going to do something that I can come and sue yon sometimes." Bab clapped her hands at this announcement. " I am so glad." she said, " 'cos I didn't want to go back to the boat, Molly." " I should think not," said Molly. " Why, Bab, I never thought that God could do such things for boaters as He's done for me and you, for yer see the doctor's a-going to help me be something decent now." Of course Bab, and Molly too, had unlimited trust in the doctor's pov er to do " something" for Molly, but the gentleman him- self was puzzled to know how to help this second water wait he had undertaken to provide for, and many anxious consnltutions were held before anything suit- able could be decided upon. At last it was arranged that Molly should go to the institution for training servants, that she might learn to do housework and cooking, and to fit herself to take a respectable situation by-and-by. Mrs. Ellis told her before she went that she would probably find the confinement to indoor work rather trying at first, and also the con- forming to rules and regulations somewhat irksome ; but Molly declared she was willing to do or bear anything for the sake of see- ing Bab ; and she was as good as her word. Mr. Ellis received an excellent report of her conduct after she had been there a few months, the matron saying she was willing to learn, truthful, and obliging, and no one but her- self knew what a hard battle she had to fight to keep the rules of the house, and always do as she was told. But the battle was fought and the victory won, i'or Molly could believe now that God cared for her, poor as she was, and she constantly sought grace and help from Him to do her duty. The greatest joys of her life were in the visits she paid to little Bab. To go and see her sister neatly dressed wasa pleasure look- ed forward to by Molly through all the working days of service ; and Mr. and Mrs. Ellis had the satisfaction of seeing their most sanguine hopes fulfilled in the after life of these water waifs. THE END. I Expect to pass through this world but once, any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to a human being, or any word that I can speak for the good of others — let me do it now. Let me not neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again. — R. H. McDonald. Ct i V- 40 REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." «• " NOBLESai? OULIUE." I'ABBAOK ROBIN IN TIIR MKK DKVEUKUX. or (ChatlmlHM ) " Tli oniT noblt to !«• uoo'^-' —Tfiinumn," "NoblpMcObligo!" That was yuuiiir Robin Dot- orenx'a favourite motlo, and it was often on his lips, beinir, as he thou}(ht, specially suited to him- self. Robin was very proud of his birth and descent ir'om a ^oodold family, but his little sister Lily (who was two years younger) sometimes thou(fhtit a doubtful benefit to be born a llovcreux, seeing that Iho name seemed to entail so much upon its owners. Poor Colonel l)ev- ereux could leave his children no inheri- tance except an in- convenient stock of lamily pride, and at his death they might have fared badly but for the kindness of their father's brother- in-law. Mr. Thorpe, a wealthy corn-factor, who generously took in the poor orphans and brought them up with his own chil- dren. This nrrang"- ment was not entirely t(i Robin's ta«te, al- I houi;h his new home was as ha|.py a one HH liis uncle and aunt's loving care, and the merry com- panionship of a host ol young cousins, rould make it. He chiilVd and fretted at what h« called his humdrum life in Laiiestniry. How lould his uncle bear i!'? What a prospect ior himself and his eldest cousin Charles! Lessons from morn- ing till night now ; and when that was .loiio with, drui;dery oi It svorso kind iu his nil cl u's connting house ! " Stick to your books, Robin," Mr. Thtirpe would say clieer>ily, " and some day we sUhII find a seat in the coiintiiig- house. for you. I don't mean to iiittke any difference between you 1111(1 my own boys, and who knows but that Hume day it may be Thorpe and Dovoroux over the ofTice-door ?' "Thorpe, and Uevereux, corn- lactors'" liobiii hated the thought. Charles Thorpe, however, who took things in a matter-of-fact \'. :iy, wished for nothing better that to repeat his father's busy, uprigiit life, and could not under- stand his cousin's dreams for the future. But then hu was a Thorpe and knew no better, thouitht Robin disdainfully, and he con- fided to Lily his ambitious plans of doing some grand work in the world worthy of the name of Dov- ereux. His views as to the best way of attaining this object varied from ' and day to day, somewhat confusing poor Lily. Now he was to be a soldier, like his father, and carve his way to fortune ; now he would bo a second Warren Hastings, and buy back the alienated familv ready manner, betrayed his yeo- man origin; but Itobin, tall, lithe, and active, with Hashing eyes, was a Uevereux all over. The cousins, who were now both about fo:tr- teeii, went every day to a neiarh estates ; now ho was to go into Parliament and become nothing less than prime minister. ''Noblesse oblige ! you know, Lily," he al- ways euaedup. But meantime, in all their studies, Charles Thorpe wasslovv- ly but surely getting ahead of his more brilliant cousin, whose quick I by common rules, wits could not make up for his S^i it seemed, for shortly after- idleness and inattention. The ] wards Robin was found guilty ot two boys were unlike as in ap- such a flagrant act of disobedience pearance as in disposition. ' that his tutor not only gave him a Charles, in his lumbering figure, severe imposition, but also made a plain though kindly face and un- formal complaint to his uncle. Mr. Thorpe, justly angry, con- demned Robin lo stay in his own room except during suhool-hours, and bade him consider hiinselfin disgrace until further notiue. , ^ Tj - This imprisonment was a great boring village about two miles hardship to the active boy, but I distant, where they read with the ' 'on't think he felt it half so much Vicar's son, who acted as their 'as Lily, who wandered about the tittor. But ]{obin's love of play passage outside his door and was high spirits were always thoroughly miserable. At first lirinflring him into some scrape ; Robin worked hard at his task, .tnd iilthough the good-natured but then he grew tired and rest- Charles did his best to shield him, less, and began to cast about in his nothing eould keep his cousin ! mind for some way out of his dis- from frequent disgrace. In vain i grace. On the third day an idea his aunt looked grave, and Lily joccured to him, which seemed so very tempting that ho carried it out the next morning. He rose early and packed his school- satchel with a few necessaries in the way of wearing- apparel, adding a lunch ofbread, which he spared from his breakfast. He count- ed up his little stock of money — eighteen pence exactly — and stored it safely in his pocket. Then he got pen and paper, and, after the fashion of intending run- aways, he wrote a few lines : — 'Dearest Lilt. " I can't aland thii any longer, and mean to fio out iutu the world and make uijr fortune like a gentleman and a Uevereux. Keep your apirite untilysu aeo uie again. " Your loving Uobin. ' By way of best attracting notice, he pinned this letter with an old knife on to his dressing-table. As he did so his heart sank. No thought of the ingratitude with which ho Was repay- ing his uncle and aunt's kindness dis- turbed him. His tenderness was all for Lily. 'What would she do with- out him ? How could ho bear to leave her ? Well, it was only for a little while ; all should be made up to Lily when he had made his for- gently urged that hard work and j tune Then he would come in his steadiness now might help him to|coach-and-lour,withthe Devereux become a great man sooner than | arms upon the panels, and bear anything else. jLily away to live with him at Dev- "Stufl", Lily!" he answered, ereux Court. So jolly and hap- " It's all very well for a fellow ^py they two would be together ; like Charles, who has no ambition, I and Lily should do just as she but a Devereux can't be bound | liked, and always wear velvet and satin— never less than satin. ROBIN E8CAPINO FROM THE VAN. . . But as he dreamed, the hall-clock, striking eight, awoke him to the fact that his fortune was still unmade, and that it was time to start for school. The key of his door was turned S REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER" 41 ly niiijrjr, con- Hliiy ill hii own ly Nchool-houra, liUvr hitnaallin htir notice, tint was a vreat ilivo hoy, but I it hnlfno much lured tibout the a door and waa ib!e. At tirat rd at hiH task, tired and reat- cust about in hia r out of hia dia- rd day an idea lich 8t>emed ao tiMnpting that rrifd it out the in the loct from the outside : he waa at liberty for a few houra.and Oharlea waa calling from the hall below,— " Make haate, Robin ! we ahnll be late!" " No. Oo on, old fellow ! I'll catch you up." Charlea aet out in hia methodical way. Robin gave him atart aaincient to turn the corner half- way down the lane, and then, catching up hia aatchel, prepared to follow. At the top uf the ataira atood Lilv, waiting as usual to bid him good-bye. Robin threw an extra amount of fervor into hia embrace that morning, giving hia siater, in addition, an apparently needJeas oantion to take care of heraelf. Then he ran down the garden ; but instead of following his cousin along the winding lane to Kyne- ton, turned short oiT, leaped a stile upon the right, harried acroas an intervening field into another lane beyond, and scarcely drew breath until he had put full two miles between himself and Lancsbury. Then he went more soberly, bnt still at a brisk pace, till he heard the wheels of some conveyance coming along the road behind him. Prompted by hia guilty conscience, he acrambled up the bank, and congratulated himaelf upon hia precaution, when hidden, behind the hedge at the top, he saw his uncles dog-cart Dowl swiftRr past below. Mr. Thorpe himself was driving, and talking to his companion in his usual loud voice about harvest prospects. The lane, so near home, was clearly unsafe. After this ex- perience, Robin struck into the Relds again, and found his way across country to a hamlnt eight miles from Lanesbury, where he rested and made a spare midday meal off his lunch of bread and a draught of imik procured at a neighboring farm. He had no particular plan, except to get as far as possible from Lanesbury be- fore beginning the process of mak- ing his fortune. So, as the first stage in his journey, he turned his steps toward Horton, a large town about thirty miles away. A third only of the distance he walk- ed that day, and when evening came he spent a few of his pence in a night's lodging at a roadside cottage. The next afternoon he had al- ready walked some miles, and was beginning to feel weary, when he waa overtaken by the van of an it- inerant basket-mender, which was apparently bound in the same direction aa hiiyself. Just as it reached him something went wrong with the rotten harness, and Robin stepped forward to help in iratting it right. In return, the owner of the van offer- ed him a lift, which Robin gladly accepted, and climbed up to the vacant outside seat The basket- maker's wife with several small children occupied the vacant space inside the cart. The pace of the old horse was not fast, but Robin liked the rust, andso easily got over the few more miles between him and the next village. Here the van was left in charge of the tramp's wifn, while hu himself tried to dispose of some of the many baskets and other rough wickur articles dang- ling ot the aidea of the cart. Robin, too, got down to atretoh hia legs, and walked apart, not anxious to betray hia connexion with the other travellers. As he loitored along waiting while the basket-makers stopped to hawk his wares at every open door. Robin came upon a bill- sticker pasting some notice upon a black wall. He had the curiosity to stop and read one printed in large capitals—" Twenty Pounds Re- ward!" It gave an accurate description of his own person and appearance, adding that whoever would give information to Mr, Thorpe, of Lanesbury, which would lead to the safe recovery of his missing nephew, should receive the above mentioned sum. Robin passed on hastily, determined to wait at a safe distance a-h«ad for the slow conveyance which formed his present home. He could almost have fancied that curious glances were cast at him by one or two passers-by ; but he stepped on, bold and defiant, till he reached the outskirts of the village. A price upon his head ! Robin thought there was some- thing delightfully romantic and outlaw-like in the idea. Never- theless, he was not sorry when he found himself once more in the van, safe from observation beneath the shelter of the dangling baskets. Their owner netnrned in high good-humor, after an unuauuly Buccessfnl sale, and told Robin, who made himself useful in Lslp- ing to picket the horse, that he was welcome to his supper and night's lodging if he chose to remain with them .. 3 quart- ers were not exac* " Robin's taste, but for lack oi better he accepted the offer, and settled himself as best he could at the back of the van, where two or three children were already sleep- ing. Robin was tired, but the novelty and excitement of his position, to say nothing of its discomforts, quite chased sleep from his eyes. He lay awake an hour or more, listening to the murmur of talk between the basket-maker and his wife on the farther side of the partition dividing the van, but at last fell into a sort of doze, from which he was roused by the rust- ling of paper and the two voices growing eager. " Twenty pounds reward, I tell you !" said the man's rough tones. That's better than basket-selling. It's him, sure enough. " Gray suit, dark eyes, tall ana slim." I thought all along as how he had a high-aiiil-mii^hty look about him." " Runaway, i 'suoai'," auid the woman ; " though it's atranvu that gfutk'folk born should like our life bettor than their'n." " Well, Uotay, first thing in the morning we'll just turn tail, and take him home again. It will be n bit of charity, and worth our while besides." He chuckled so loudly that the woman hushed him with a reminder of the sleeping children; and after this the voices grew more subdued, ceased and finally loud snores told that both speakers slept. But lon^ ere this Robin had made up his mind. Liberty was too sweet to lose again so soon. Very quietly he drew on his boot* and moving with the utmost care, that he might not disturb the sleepers, passed quietly through the van door, slipped down the steps, and vanished in the dark- ness. (7b be coHtinued.) HOW OUN BARBELS ABE MADE. The beantiftil waved lines and curious flower-like figures that appear on the surface oi gun barrels are really the lines of welding, showing that two dif- ferent metals — iron and steel — are intimatelv blended in making the finest and strongest barrels. The process of thus welding and blend- ing steel and iron is a very interesting one. Flat bars or ribbons of steel and iron are alter- nately arranged together and then twisted into a cable. Several of these cables are then welded together, and shaped into a long, flat bar, which is next Bpirally coiled around a hollow cylinder, called a mandrel; after which the edges of these spiral bars are heated and firmly welded. The spiral coil is now put upon what is called a welding mandrel, is again heated and carefully hammered into the shape of a gnn barrel. Next comes the cold hammering, by which the pores of the metal are securely closed. The last, or finishing operation, is to turn the barrel on a latho to exactly its proper shape and size. By all the twistings, weldings and hammerings the metals are so blended that the mass has some- what the consistency and tough- ness of woven steel and iron. A barrel thus made is very hard to burst. But the finishing ot the inside of the barrel is an operation requiring very great care and skill What is called a cylinder- bored barrel is where the bore or hole through the barrel is made uniform size from end to end. A choke-bore is one that is a little smaller at the muzzle end than it is at the breech end. • There are various ways of "choking" gun barrels, but the object of all methods is to make the gun throw its shot close together with even 1111(1 regular distribuliuu and with great i'orcii. —Manii/'aduref and Builder. TWO WAYS OF LOOKING AT IT. An ox, feeding, aa is the manner of oxen, upon gross, and being therefore of a placid nature, was much shocked at the conduct of a serpent of its acquaintance, when it saw the serpent first staru at it with its baleful eyes, and then proceed to swallow a poor frog. " How could you be so cruel 'i" said the mild-eyed ox. " My dear friend, " replied the subtle serpent, " if the frog had hopped one hop away from me, or made a single croak, I would not have eaten it for the world; but, as you saw, it had not the slight- est objection, and there is no injury where there is consent." The ox, though a thoughtful, is not a Bwii'tly thinking, animal. It had browsed for some time, and the serpent had slipped away for its noontide sleep of digestion, be- fore the ox bethought itself oi the reply that it might have given to the serpent — " Yes, fear is often mistaken, or pretended to be mistaken, for con- sent." A horse who had heard the conversation between the serpent and the ox made a much shrewder remark; but with the shrewdness that is gained from suflering, he made it in soliloquy, as is the cus- tom with that patient creature, the horse — "That is the way with my master; because I am silent he thinks, or pretends to think, like that hypocrite of a serpent, that I do not suffer when he is cruel to me."—Breria. ADVANTAaK OF LEARNING A Trade. — The advice of Benjamin Franklin, to give every child a trade by which he can earn a living, if necessary, comes of a human experience older than his. In some countries this has been the law ; in others a common custom. St. Paul, though educated in the law at the feet of Qamaliel, also acquired the important Oriental handicraft of a tentmaker, by which he was able to earn his living while prosecuting his mission. It is a good and wise thing to do. You may be able to leave your children fortunes ; bnt "riches take to themselves wings." You may give them finished educations, and they may be ^ft- ed with extraordinary genius; but they may be placed in situations where no education and no talent may be so available as some humble, honest trade, by which they can set their Ining and be useful to oUiers. — Ex. Purity, sincerity, obedience and self-surrender, are the marbLa steps that lead to the spiritual temple. ' ' 11 v/ REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE " NOUTIIKKN MESSENGER." ■•H©|j|.»ff NOBLRSSE OBLIOE" A PAMHAHK IN THE I.IKK OP KOBIN DKVEKKUX. {Vkall0rku ) " Tl> only nobi* to Im %t3oA:' - Tii*hv*^»." Chapter II. It ii not difiicalt to ima^ne tho tensation which Robin'i tlight cansed at Laneabnry. Poor Lily waa heartbroken at his desertion, and, aa the days went on and brought no tidings of him, pined so much that her kind atint was quite concerned. Charles, too. with hare fan> nn. paler and paler, droop- " ■ ing day by day with the sickneu some work he had undertaken at themums arranged with dark evergreen loaves. These he olfer- ed to tho little girl, raising his cap respectlnlly. The child look pleased, and the lady thanked I graciously. '' A good-looking lad, uud well- mannered," she said to herself. THE LAIIDLASY DEUAMDINO HEB B£NT, of hope deferred, till she seemed more than ever like her lowly namesake, the lily ot the valley. Meantime Robin, the object of so much care, tared passably well through the pleasant summer weeks, enjoying the fri^e out-door life, and feelmK like some merry outlaw of the olden time. In hay and harvest season the farmers were often short of hands, and Robin managed in a pleasant way «|a to earn enough to keep himself, i I though he must needs live hardly. a distance, and returned to help his father , and then Robin's services were no longer needed. On the last aay of his work with the old gardener, it happened that a lady with a little girl came to speak to Robin's master about some shrubs which she wished transplanted, and before leaving he walked through the hothouses, as was usual, with his customers. The little daughter, warmly wrap- ped in cosy fur, followed behind, and passed close to Robin as he Then, as she lingered admiring this and that in the ordinary garden,a thought seemed to strike her. She turned, and spoke a few words to Mr. Strupp in a low voice. Robin could not catch wnatshe said, but he heard the answer in the old gardener's louder tones : " Yes, my lady. He's a good lad. He leaves me to-night ; and no doubt but he'd be thankful for such a chance." The ladies had almost reached the garden-gate ; but at this the elder turned back, and called Robin who came up wondering " What is your name, my boyy " Robin," he answered simply " Well then, Robin, I hear that youi work with Mr strupp is iinishcd, and perhaps you may like a chance of bettering your- self t I am pleased with yonr manner .tnd appearance.' (Robin wondered what was coming. Would she offer to adopt him, as "^ple did in books, and take him : to a life of luxury again V) .dy present page isleavinv m»," the lady went on. " I will take you in his place, and with a little traininv you will do well. Your work would be easy — to run errands and wait on my daugh- ter, to wash my poodles and take them out for exercise. How should you like to live with me, and wear a suit of livery like that V" with a wave of the hand towards the boy in buttons who stood at her carriage- door. Poor Robin ! What a climax alter his am- bitions hopes ! All the blood of tho Devereux welled up, and died his face crimson, and he stood there, speechless with shame. Buttons ! A Devereux in bottons I " Of course it would be a rise in life for you ; but I hear you are a good boT, and would deserve it," continued the visitor, kindly. But Robin could bear no more. " Thanks, my lady ; it wouldn't suit mo," he managed to stammer out. And rushing away to the farthest corner of the garden, he gave way to his long pent-up feel- ings, and watered the asparagus beds with Hoods of tears. Robin's misery ttad reached its crowning- point. Somehow this last experience damped his ardour more than all which had gone be- fore. Weary and dis- pirited, he went about seeking work in vain. The remnants of his earnings dwindled away. poor ,- His clothes had become ragged and threadbare : yet he could not replace them, for tJiie lew shillings he now and then earned by a chance job scarcely sufficed to buy him food and shelter. Often in these days Robin knew what it was to feel both cold and hungry, and at such times so^nething familiar would come into his head about a home where was " bread enough and to spare ; " and, like another poor prodigal long ago, he thought regretfully of his lost II \l m-*^ $ n •H® salleU U, my irered ■imply II, I hoar that !r Htrupp in ip» vou may tteriiiif your- J with yoar ICO.'' (liobiii I'M cominif. idopt him, aa aud take him nry again V) ileaviiiKm»," ' I will take 1 with a littli^ 'oa will do r work would irnn errand* n my daueh- li my poodlea hem cat for Howahould live with mc, •uit of livery ' with a wave I towards the inttona who ler carriage- >bin ! What niU'r hia am- >e8 ! All the he Devereux and died hia Bon, and he e, apeechlcER e. Buttons! ,z in bottons ! irae it would . life for you ; ir you are a and would continued kindly. obin could ire. ray lady ; suit mo," he tu stammer nshingaway est corner of he gave way pent-up feel- watered the beds with Etrs. misery had crowning- mehow this nee damped more than ad gone be- ry and dis- went about ik in vain. nts of hia died away. ome ragged he could not cw shillings arned by a sufficed to slter. Ofton new what it and hungry, BO.nothing nio his head was " bread " and,liko 1 lona; ago, y of his lost ^ l\ ^Ht V *' IP' hleMingt Yet he could not bring bimtelf to go back and humbly own hia failure. Ho could never bear to meet bit uncle's ■oora, his auut's reproaches. 80 Robin went out again into the streets, uid made one more attempt to find work, no mutter how bumble He otTered himself i\» errand-boy and baker's lad ; he I'ven looked enviously at a cross- ing-sweeper But boys seemed plentiful and labor scarce. There was no place in all the bustling town for Robin. He went bsck to his wretched lodging in a back-lane ; bufatthe door liis landla!«, composed of lava from Mount Veivuvius, aro occasionally sold, bnt rather as curiosities than for real Htllily, bi mg, froiu the extrvmo bnttlouess of the lava. CHIP 43 thimble Is then trimmed, polished nnd indented arouixl iln .mtor surface with tiny holes It is next converted into steel by a process called cementation, tncn very easily broken. I hear also | ti>mnered, sconred and brought to of thimbles made of asphaltum a blue color. After til this is from the Dead 8oa, and of one | completed, a thin sheet of gold is composed of a fragment of the old introduced into the interior and elm tree at Cambridge, Mass., fastened to the steel by a mandrel, under which OeneralWanhington while gold leaf is attached Hrmly stood when taking couund of the by pressure to the outside, the edges being seamed in a small groove made to receive them. This completes the thimble that will last for years. The steel used in its construction will scarcely wear out in a long life- time, and the gold, ifworn away, is easily replaced.— Dorcai Magatint, United States Army in July, 1776, but I do not suppose that any of these were ever intended to be used in sowing. In the ordinary manufacturo of gold and silver thimbles thin plalue of the metal AND A NOBLE DOO CANARY. A lady had a pet canary, while her brother was the owner of a retriever that was also much petted. ( )ne day the canary escaped from the house, and was seen flying about the grounds for a few days, and when it perched it waa generally on high elm- trees. At last it vanished from view, and this dear little pet was mourned for lis lost or dead. But alter the interval of another day or so the retriever came in with the canary in hia montlb carrying it most delicately, and went up to the owner ot the bird, delivering it into her hands without even the feathers bein^ injured. Surely iiothmg cop.Id illustrate more beautifully faithful love and gentleness in a dog than this. WEALTH IN THE SEA. Seldom or never has the enormous importance of the harvest of the srpe wonld band kindly y 's head, she guessed g of her that even- the poor looked on at tnngry eyes. foracrnmh He felt that get speech , hare one rd before he th again into iry, pitiless and looking itently, he to see some in Lily as led her face and again her merry She was er, surely , Was she for htm ? Lily! He ) Lily for one before he Bat the night old— so cold; Nn was get- mmb ana and his e dim with len he miss- from her the fireside : stolen softly room. His taction was Robin slip- itly to the What was |e? started nsly, and ack into the dow of the loor gently ill, muflled- itarlit night lo\'est stop, king Touiul ent, wistful g what It lorrowluilr, sigh, "Ob, >laoe heard, onger. He hand upon !; f m he Zi REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE « NORTHERN MESSENGER." 9hm 46 ROttly. "Hash! Don't tell any one." Bat as thongh it were the most iiataral thing in the world to see him there, Luy attered a jorful little cry, and clasped him close, and kissed him, and drewhim in across the threshold, ricrht into the warm hall, poor, cold little wanderer ! " He has come back !" she cried, joyfully " Robin has come back at last !" The parlor-door flew open at the cry, and all carae harrying out. Robin penitent and ashamed, hid his heaid on Lily's shoalder, and could not face them. Bat Lily interpreted his silence. " Oh, ancle — aunt—forgive him ! I know he is sorry, poor Robin !'" " What, Robin ! You have not made your fortune then?" cried his uncle. But the kind aunt came for- ward, p.nd patted his head. " Robin has been very wrong and foolish ; bat we most forget and forgive ' at Ohristmas-time," she said pleasantly ; " He will be wiser in future." And then she led him in to the cheerful fireside, and warmed his numbed hands, and brought him food and drink, until soothed by all her care and kindness, Robin at last forgot his troubles in a long and dreamless sleep. * * * * * * * * Robin's place in the family cir- cle remained empty many weeks yet. Sometimes the anxious watchers by his bedside wonder «d sadly would it ever be tilled up again. The weariness and exposure of that Christmas Eve, and the hard days which had gone before it, brought on an attack of low fever, which was slow in yielding to the good nursing he received. One day when he was slowly recovering, being already promot- ed from bed to an easy-chair in his room, Lily, who was always devising something to give him pleasure, brought him a card- board scroll, on which she had il- luminated the words, "Noblesse oblige." Qreat was her disappointment when Robin, usoally so grateful, pushed it away from him, saying almost impatiently, " Oh, no, Lilv! I never want to hear those words again. They are the cause of all my misfortunes." Lily was humbly :etreating with the despised present, when her uncle, who was just entering and had overheard Robin's speech, etopped her "Nay, Robin," he said, kindly, "the little maid meant well; and the words" (taking the scroll from Lily) " are good words, as I under- stand them. The inheritance of A noble name from good, and wise, und brave fertfathers, does oblige n man to take care and keep it untarnished; but doing with ^M might and main whatever work comes to your hand won't soil it. You despise trade, my boy ; yet honest barter of one man's goods for another man's money is no shame. It's the mean tricks, and double-dealing, and craspiuff avarice of those who wilt be rich at any cosi which degrade and debase. Deal honorably, Robin. Let vonr word be as good as your bond ; and whatever your calling in life may be, never fear that yon will disgrace the name of Deve- reui. THE END. LITTLE JAPANESE. Here is something interesting I found about the habits and dress of the children in Japan. In the Japanese children is the same as that of an adult. The sleeves are open on the inner edge, with a pocket on the outer side. Thedress is very simple, easy av.d free, with tucks to let down as the child grows,so that,as the fashions never change and the dross is made of strong silk brocade, or silk and cotton, it will last from ten to twenty years. The children's shoes are made of blocks of wood, secured with cord. The stocking resembles a mitten,having a separate place for the great toe. As these bhoes are lifted only by the toes, the heels make a rattling sound as their owner's walk, which is qaite stun- ning in a crowd. They are not worn in the house, as they would OUTLINE DRAWINd LESSON KOE THE TOUNO, (B.y Harrison Weir.) first place the character of the Japanese houses saves much trouble about children. There are no stairs to tumble down, no furniture for them to tumble over, no sticky food with which to bedaub themselves. So there is seldom need to reprove them. They are rarely heard to cry ; but when they do break forth, they make a tremendous racket, yelling with great fierceness. In his travels through the country. Prof. Morse only once saw boys fight- ing ; and then they wore only slap- ping aach other. The dress of the ininre the soft straw mats with which the floor is covered. The Japanese shoe gives perfect free- dom to the foot. The beauty of the human foot is only seen in the Japanese. They have no corns, no ingrowing nails, no distorted joints. Our children's toes are cramped until they are deformed, and are in danger of extinction. The Japanese have the full use of their toes, and to them they are almost like fingers. The babies are taken care of on the backs of the older children, to which they are fastened by loose bands. Yon wil ! see a dozen little girls with babies' asleep on their backs, engaged in playing battledore, the l>abies hetuis bob- bing up and down. This is better than crying in the cradle. The baby sees eveiytuing, goes everywhere, gets plenty of pure air ; and the sister who carries itgots her shoulders braced back and doubtleRS come lessons of patience. Itisfitnny tosee the little tots, when they fgin to run alone, carrying their doi. on their back. Where we have one toy the Japanese have athousand. Every- thing in art and nature is imitated in miniature. Toys can be bought for half a cent, and elegant ones for eight or ten cents. There are stands on the streets kept by old women, where little girls can buy a spoonful of batter and bake their own top cakes. Then, along comes a man with a long bucketful of soap suds, of which he sells a cup- ful for the hundredth part of a cent (they have coins as small as that;, to children who blow soap bubbles through bamboo reeds. The babies make mud pius and play at keeping house just as ours do. They are taught always to be polite, and say, " Thank you." If you give a child a penny, he will not only thank you at the time but whenever he meets you again. — Ex. I BCiYS, READ AND THIS. HEED Many people seem to forget that character grows : that it "is not something to put on ready-made with womanhood or manhood ; but day by day, here a little, and there a little, grows with the growth, and strengthens with the strength, until, good or bad, it be- comes almost a coat of mail. Look at a man of business — prompt, reliable, conscientious, yet clear- headed and energetic. When do you suppose he developed all those admirable qualities ? When he was a boy ? Let us see how a boy of ten years gets np in the morning, works, plays, studies, and we will tell you just what kind of a man he will make. Tho boy that is too late at breakfast, late at school, stands a poor chance to be a prompt man. The boy who neglects his duties, be they ever so small, and then excuses himself by saying: "I forgot; I didn't think!" will never be a reliable man ; and tho boy who fiiidspleasure in tho suffering of weaker things will never be a noble, generous, kind man — a gentleman. If people wore more carefulof their character than they are of their reputation, thev would soon be more pleasing to (iod and more useful to their fellow-aian,T— S. S. Messenger. ,|, j „j:.^... In private, watch your thoughts; in the family, watch your temper , in company, watch your tongue. .^1. .1 46 I THE FOBCBPS CRAB. Tho strange looking cieatnre ropresented in the accompanyinff engraving, aays VTood's " Natural History," is a good swimmer. It roams the ocean as freely as a bird roams the air, shooting through the waves with arrowv swiftness in chase of prey, gliding easily along jnst below the snrface, hang- ing snsiMjnded in the water while reposing, or occasionally lying across some floating eeaweed. The chief pecnJiarity of the forceps crab is the structure from which its name is derived, the wonderful length of the first pair of limbs, and the attenuated for* ceps with which they are armed. Though not possessing the for- midable power with wliioh some crabs are armed, the forceps crab is y«t a terrible enemy to the in- habitants of the sea, for itcan dart out its long claws with a rapidity that almost eludes the eye, and grasp its prey with unerring aim. No one who has not watched the crabs in their full vigor while enjoying their freedom, can form any conception of the many uses to which the claws are put. Their bony armor, with its powerful joints appears to preclude all delicac) of touch or range of distinc tion, and yet the claws are to the crab what the proboscis is to the elephant. With these apparently inadequato mem- bers the crab can pick up the smallest object with perfec- tion and precision, can tear in pieces the toughest animal substances, or crack the skull of other cinstaceans as a par rot cracks a nut in his beak It can direct them to almost ovary part of his body, can snap with them like the quick sharp bite of a wolf, or can strike with their edses as a boxer strikes with his fists. As may be seen by reference to the engraving the paddle legs are broad and well de- veloped, so as to insure speed, the front of the carapace is sharply and deeply serrated, and the sides are drawn out into long pointed spines. It is a native of the West Indian seas, and is represented about the size of an ordinary specimen. REPRINTED STORIES, PROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER.' but he came home one dby, at last, and said : " Mother, I've got a place." "What sort of a plac«?" asked his mother. factory," said Dick mother shook her "In the cheerfully. But the head. "I don't half like it my boy," she said. " They are dangerous places, these factories. Some day you'll be going to near the big wheels, or the bands, or some- thing, and then — " She stopped and shuddered; but Dick only laughed. " Well, what then, mother ?" he said. " What do you think is go- ing to happen to a fellow with a cool head and a steady hand ? Al- most all the accidents that you hear of happen because the peo- ple are careless, or because they get frightened, and don't know what they are about ? I'm not By the time he had been there for a month or two, he had for- gotten all about the danger, and even his mother began to think that he was as. safe there as in his own house. That is always . the way when you are used to things, you know. People who live under the shadow of a volcano forget that the burn- ing lava ever streams down its sides and desolates the country around. Some day it does so, though, and sometimes accidents happen even to the most confident boy. Was Diok careless that day ? I don't know, and neither did he. He thought that he was doing his work as steadily and as carefully as usual; but suddenly he felt something — just a lit ^itch at his sleeve ; nothing i .1 to mind if you are playing ^-ith your school-mates, but then Dick was not playing with his school-mates. II PRESENCE OF MIND. This is a true story, about a real lioy. The boy's name is Dick. This is not a very uncommon name, and his last name is not an uncommon one either. I am not going to tell you what it is though, for perhaps he would not like it. Dick's father died when his son was jnst able to toddle. After a while Dick grew to be a pretty big boy. Then he began to be anxious to get something to do to help his mother. It was a good while before he found anything ; FOBCEPS 8WIMHINU c&jLB.-'(Lupa forcepy) going to be careless and I'm not There was no one near enough to going to get frightened. And mother, even if anything very bad did happen to me, I shouiid be doing my duty, shouldn't I ? You wouldn't have a great fellow like me staying around here idle for fear of getting into danger, would you ?" " Well, no, I suppose not," said his mother, remembering what a bad thing idleness is for anybody, and how surely it leads boys, as well as men, into mischief So the next day Dick was at his post in the factory. I cannot tell what sort of a factory it was, nor exactly what he had to do there. Nobody ever told me that part of it. All I know is that he spent tho days among the great, whirring machinery, and that he did his work steadily and well, in spite of noise, and confusion, and dust, and fatigue, and dan- ger give him that twitch.and he know in an instant what it meant — that the fingers that gripped him were iron fingers, and that the pulse that beat in thom was the cruel, merciless pulse of steam. Most boys would at least have looked around in sudden surprise — would have yielded for a mo- ment to the twitch and then — tho horror, and agony, and death. What did Dick do? Quick as a flash the thought came : " I am caughtin the machinery I can't help that, but I drawn in. I won't ! I won't ! I WON'T ! " It was hardly a thought, you know, only a swift, wordless in- stinct. Then he set his teeth, and clenched his fists, and braced every nerve and muscle to stand like a rock, while the machinery did its work. " Crack ! crack !" That was his shirt, pulled 08 him like tho husk of an ear of corn. "Crack! crack!" That was his merino shirt, and Dick stood rigid and motionless still, with not an atom of clothing from his waist up. The men around him had not been so quiet as he, yon may bo sure. There had l>een shrieks and cries enough when they saw what had happened, but the ma- chinerjr could not be stopped all in a minute let the engineer try as he would. It seemed a century to the men though it was only three or four minutes before the great wheels shivered and stood still. Some of the men had covered their eyes, fearing to see— what? Splashes of blood on the floor and walls, and a horrible, mangled mass, tangled and brok.fthe Royal ve had very the Royal a vision of I before his d to don an id boots in ur, and rnsh- ong. as crowded ; jostled oiiu I found he ything at all, i towered far ntly he turn- ut to get a sarriages ap- surroundiiig I angrily be I Jarvis with "'Tain't no I mean to eman seized ing him in- purse, yon him ! Stop led and be- tovement to ight hold of iman's voice \e\ Police!" member of iDave down jng oat his ithin they |le, a dirty purse ! didn't, sir," the gentle- is useless loods now; ,pon you ;" ,e discover- [>oliceman," is gone ; Ireigns and Dk out his I said ; " ha I is in with Ives us the Ichap must Iney, and ns pals." ■ting and pping from I' said the |had called tried to tentloman other, img," sat am REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." Dave, looking half blindly from the one to the other, wondering why Jarvis was not there to help him, yet with a sadden sickening revulsion of certainty that Jarvis had used him as a tool for the then. "Will you charge him, sir?" asked the constable. " Certainly ; it will be a warn- ing to him," answered the gentle- man; and after a moments vio- lent resistance on the part of Dave, the three proceeded to- frether to the police-station, fol- owed by a small crowd of juveniles. The magistrate was sitting in court, and the evidence was laid before him, added to which Davie was charged with severely as- saulting the policeman, whom, in trying to escape, ho bad kicked with nis hobnailed boots. Sentence was passed upon him for the theft and assault — three weeks in all ; and the red head disappeared from the dock, and Dave waa a prison-boy. He went down to the gaol in the van, feeling as though he " didn't care now what became of him — not he ;" and he came out three weeks later a desolate child, int.'/ the shrouding fog. Chapter ll. SUNNTSIDB. Cold and hungry and friend- less, Darie wandered on to a Sretty village on the outskirts of [erenam ; many an artist loved to linger at Bankside, on account of its beautiful river scenery, and others stayed there in fine weather for the sake of boating and fishing. The fog was clearing now, and Davie could see the shining river spanned bv an ornamental bridge, and the handsome villas with their spreading lawns and con- Bervat«ries full of rare choice flowers. "How fine it mast be to be rich !" thought Davie, gazing at the gleam of the firelight upon crimson curtains and plate-glass wmdows ; " there's food to be had in there — they don't know what it is to be all over cuts and chil- blains, and not a bit of bread a- lying about anywhere to be pick- ed up, that I can see." Slowly and hesitatinglv (for Davie was thoroughly frightened of all this grandeur) he entered the opened gate of one of the finest of the mansions, intending to make his way to the kitchen entrance, and beg for a little food. But the approach to " Sunnyside" was rather perplexing, and he found himself instead oefore the deop bar window of a laree, comfort- able room, into which he could look quite plainly from the gravel path outside. Something like envy filled the heart of thalittle outcast as he gazed upon a boy, attired in warm black velvet, who lay upon a conch, comfortably wrapped in a handsome skin rug. This child of luxury seemed about his own age, but oh! what a difference there was between them I "He's had dinner, I reckon," thought Davie, miserably ; "maybe plum duff, and gravy 'taters. There ain't no shivering for him, neither. Ain't he just snug, and ain't ho a-langhing Jolly like with them there kittens, and don't that 'ere lady seem fond of him just?" A gentle-faced lady, who had been sitting in the arm-chair by the fire reading aloud to the little bov, here rose and settled his sofa pillows for him more comfortably. " Guess ijl's good to have a mother," thought poor Davie, turning gloomily away; he did not know that in one respect he and Wilfrid Joyce were alike, tor they were both motherless ; but Dr. Joyce's sister in Wilfred's case, tried hard to supply the place of a mother to her little nephew. " Hallo, youngster ! lost your way, eh ? You mustn't come tramping about the front garden." The speaker was a good-natured man in coachman's livery; in Davie's eyes he was very impos- ing, and the frightened bov falter- ed out, that he \f as very hungry. " Well, yon won't get food, star- ing at mistress and young Master Willie ; come round here to the kitchen, and I'll warrant cook can find you some broth." Davie opened eyes, ears, and mouth; it was good fortune enough to be addressed so kindly, but to be promised broth, and actually to detect a warm savory smell as he neared the cook's do- mains! But, unfortanately, just at that moment a side cate opened, and in walked a gcnucman, at sight of whom Davie would have taken to his heels and fled, bat that fright seemed to chain him to the spot. "How often shall I have to order tramps away from the stable-yard ?" he asked sternly ; and then, seeing Davie's face, he exclaimed, " Why, this is the young thief who stole my purse last month — the daring rascal to come prowling aboat my house! I'll take care you lay hands on nothing here, you good-for-noth- ing fellow ! Be off, or I will send for a policeman." *' Please, sir," pleaded Griffiths, with the privilege of an old ser- vant, " he's such a little chap, and mistress said as how the broth was to be given away at the door this bitter weather." But Davie was already out of the front gate, and a long way down the road, and Dr. Joyce passed in to toaet himself at the fire, and take an hoar's rest before tea with his idolized child, Wilfred. Mrs. Joyce had died when her little boy was born ; ihe waa a sweet Christian woman, and though ahe coald scarcely get sufficient brsath to speak, yet when they laid her little one be- side her, she tonched the tiny ' Thine own. babe, saying faintly, dear Lord. Her last words were thus a prayer that her little Wilfred might belong to God ; as yet it seemed as though her dying pravcr had been unheard, for though little Will heard plenty of fairy-tales, and wonderful adven- tures of heroes real and unreal, no one had ever told him the sweetest story of all — how Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. And yet he was nine years old, and could read quite well. You will wonder still more when I tell you that it was by his father's orders that the subject of religion was kept as an avoided one in Wilfred's presence ; Dr. Joyce said that he himself did not believe in God, and he would not have a lot of nonsense put into the boy's head. Miss Joyce, a kind, gentle lady, who prayed, in secret that the Lord would move her brother^ heart to let her teach little Will of the Saviour, took good care of the child, who was by nature sweet-tempered and obedient ; but often and often when the poor little fellow was in pain with the croup and asthma that so sadly afflicted him, she longed to hear h& little voice falter a prayer to the loving heart of Him who pities His little ones in their pain and trouble. But her brother, to all save Wil- fred, was a hard stern man, and Miss Joyce was frightened that if she disobeyed him, he would re- move her from the care of her dearly-beloved nephew. How often she thought of the times when the doctor and his sweet wife went to the house of God to- gether, and when morning and evening the doctor used to open the Bible, and read aloud from it, and then offer prayer to God. But since his wife's death he had seemed completely changed. Ho had loved her passionately.and none but himself and the Lord knew how hard he had prayed that her life might be spared. But God, in His wisdom and mercy, saw it fit to call her to him- self, and from that time the doc- tor seemed utterly turned against religion. I wonder what you would think of a child who turned against his mother, and would have nothing to do with her, be- cause she had denied him some- thing he was determined to have ? You would call such a child fool- ish and wicked ; ' could he not trust his mother's love to choose and decide for him ? But Dr. Joyce wss acting just in this way ; first of all he said, " God is cruel," and then, like the fool mentioned in the Bible, " There is no Gt>d," and then, as if to revenge himself against the Lord of Hosts, he decided to turn religion out of his house entirely. dying breath, and the Lord \i' whom she trusted had not Jorgtot- ten little Will. In envying the young master of those pretty white kittens, Davie had only judged from ap- pearances; he did not hear the hacking cough, he did not know how many months little Will had lain upon that couch day by day, and how hard the father strove to persuade himself and others that the child was not growing weaker, and wearing away before their eyes. He looked up gladly as his father came in, with the loving smile and dark blue eyes of his lost mother. "Papa! we've got snow-cake for tea, and we had chicken for dinner, only I couldn't eat much because auntie gave me such a biff cup of beef-tea at lunch." id some thought of the hungry face of the little tramp cross the doctor's mind ? If it did he dis- missed it with the remembrance of Davie's guilt as a thief. And have you been busy, papa dear ? Have you been to any little boys who cough as bad as me?" " Oh, what grammar !" cried his aunt, playfully ; then she added, " But you have not coughed quite so much to-day, darling." " Of course not," said Dr. Joyce, drawing the little golden head tenderly to his shoulder. " I be- lieve that medicine will fatten him up out of all knowledge,. This dull weather is against the strongest constitution ; when the roses come you'll be quite well, my boy." But I have never been quite well, you know, papa ; somehow I never seem to have played about like other boys." Oh, your chest has been a little weak," said the doctor, hastily, " but you will grow out of it ; it is nothing at all. You've got that wool next to the skin ?" "Oh yes, papa; auntie takes care of that ; but, papa dear, I've been thinking— suppose I don't get better, papa. Cook had a lit- tle nephew who had the croup, and he died" Cook is a gossiping idiot," said the doctor angrily ; then he added, touching the little frail hand to his lips, " There's no fear for you, my boy ; cook's nephew very likely had neither doctor nor nursing. I think we are able to insure your life for a good many years to come." "Oh, I do hope so, papa; I don't want to die. Fancy going away from yon and auntie, and everything nice and being put in the cold, dark ground." "The flowers don't mind the cold dark groand," said his aunt, in a trembung voice. " No, auntie ; but they come np out of it, and look beautiful ; 1 shall have to lie there for ever and ever and ever — shan't 1 papa? But the dewr mother's praver p**. »» d»" lHght*n me so.' had gone . up to heaven with her| (Tb bi continued.) REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." BED DAVB"; Or, " WbaX wUt Thou htw m* to do r iDrom l/U AiKUy fHtud.) OHAPTER II. — OmluMwil. For answer, hia father lifted him gentiy on to his knee, and put hii atrong arms aronnd him, aa though to defy even the thooj^ht of Death to touch his preoiona boy ; and when the tea' thinga came in, Willie woke up from a coay nap, lively and smil ing ; but hia amilea could not baniah from hia father'a mind the thonght that, for the first time in his life the child had appealed to him for help in vain. Willie had turned to him, hoping his clever father would relieve him from the fear of lying for ever underground; but what could his father tell him, since he had de termined the child should never hear of Him who says, " Whoso* ever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die" ? Ghaftbb III ** » OOB »THBB !" Intenae hunger often preventa aleep, and though Davie felt tired and faint, he waa still wide awake that evening when he crept away from an approaching policeman to rest within one oftbe recesses made by the seats upon the bridge. Away in the distance he saw everywhere the lighted windows of homea, but he — like the King of earth and heaven — "had not where to lay his head." It was cold and damp, curled up on the stone seat above the river, and some might even have pre ferred the warm, safe prison cell ; but to the street boy liberty waa next to life. He was free — free to look up at the golden stara, and wonder vaguely concerning their calm, sacred beauty ; free to look down at the flowing watera, and think of a boy he h»i aeen drawn up out of the river drowned. "Anywaya he ain't hungry," thonght Davie ; " I mind he were often abort of cash like me, before he got drownded ; wonder what'a come of him now !" The next moment he waa con- aoiooa of a faltering atep beaide him, and the atarlight showed him dimly the bent fig^ure of an aged woman, with a little baaket on her arm. He aaw she was poor and feeble, so he felt there was no need for him to make hia escape. " Why, my lad !" said a weak, quavering voice, " ain't this a blessing that we've got into this cosy place out of the rain ? It's just beginning to come down, but we shan't feel it much if we creep under that there shelter." •' The bobby will be by," said Davie. " I 'spects I can give him the slip, but he'll see you, and he'll turn you out, sure enough." " He's turned his light on here a while ago," said tne woman. " I don't think he'll look right in again, and if it rains hard, he'll turn into the cabmen's ahelter at the top ; I hope he'll let bm' alone luat thia one night." "They'll take you in at the Union," auggested Davie, " if you hain't got no tin." " Why ain't you there, child ?" ahe aaked. "Oh, 1 couldn't— I wants to feel free." " And ao do I, lad; I've lived off the pariah, and I hoped to die off the parish, but our Father- He knows better nor 1 do May- be I've got stuck-up of late, for I'm over seventy, and I've earned my living, and nursed my good man till he went to glory ; and what with charing and needle- work and washing, I never want- ed no parish relief ; but I've got the rheumatic this throe month, and ] couldn't do no work nor pav the rent, and I'm two month behind, ao the landlord he sold no appetite to eat a moraei. So here it it dearie, and do you eat every bit of it ; dear now ! where'a your mother, to leave you alone, and you such a little wee boy ?" " Haven't got no mother,'^ said Davie, snatchine at the food, " and I ain't little ; Iin bigger than 1 look in the dark. But I say, you'll be hungry maybe to-mor- row, and then you'll want this." " No, lad ; it ain't no good keep- ing up my pride— the Lord knows better nor I do, and since He sends me there, I'll go there ; He'll come along of me I know. I'm a-going to apply there in the morning, only I just wanted one night more to feel free like afore I goes to the Workhouse I likes being out here better than being shut up there, so I «aya to OLD BETTY AND DAVIE ON THE BBIDOK. me out to-day, and told me to go.myaelf, ' Betty, yon shall say one to the Union. ' more prayer out of the Union, and " What a shame f cried Davie ' then you goes in to-morrow !' ' I'd " I'd like to shoot the old fellow.' . a-hoped to have died out of the " Te mustn't talk like thai, House, but sure and I ain't no child ; I ought not to have been ' call to be discontented and to behind with my rent, but thia poor grumble — it's nothing to what handgot terrible bad a while ago." the jLord went thruugh.'" Won't it get worse if you stay here ? the rain is getting in to us now." ■ It don't feel over bad to-night ; I feel somehow stiff and chilly, but I'm not in pain, thank the Lord !" Well, I'm glad you're come," said Davie. " I likes company, and I'm that hungry I can't sleep." " Well now, that's queer. I've got half a loaf as a neighbor give me — poor dear I ahe wanted it bad " Who's the Lord 1 do you mean the Lord Mayor ?" ^..ked Davie, with his mouth dangerously fuU. " Why, laddie ! our Lord— our Lord Jesus." " He ain't our Lord," said Davie, " I ain't heard nothink on Him." "Not heard of Jesus! why, there's nobody loves you like Jesus does, laddie." " Nobody loves me at all," said Davie, "nor I don't want them to ; Jarvis pretended to care a lot for enough herself— and I can't gel < me. and he got me in gaol Reckon you wouldn't sit ao cloae tome, if you'd a-known I'm out of gaol to-day." " I don't know about Jama," said Betty ; " but whether you've been in gaol or not, I know the Lord does love yon. Why, He used to touch the lepers — ^poor creaturea nobody wouldn't nave about them, and who had to get out of the way of everybody." "Just like me," said Davie, " Qneaa He wouldn't touch me though ; I'm horrid dirty, but I meana to wash in the morning." "You don't know my Lord Jesus, you don't know nothing of Him if you think He wouldn't touch you ; why. boy, we touch Him when we pray to him." "Pray— what'a that?" " Talking to Jesus ; He likes us to tell Him all we feels, and all we wants." " All we wanta ? my eye !" cried Davie, " I wants something more to eat, and a new suit, and iiit- tens, and lots. Where does He live ? Guess if I go to Him, some one will drive me off." " No, nobody can," said the old woman , " there ain't nobody can drive us off from God." " Gx>d ! is it Him as you means ? —I can't get to Him.'* "Tes you 'can, and He will hear you and help you " "Tell me how.'* The boy crept close vp to hei. his face up- turned to hers in the darkness " I can't tell you much, laddie ; I'm only old Betty, and don't know nothink. But God did teach us one prayer, and I knows that right enough. You say it after me — say it quick, 'cause something queer's come to my tongue, and 1 feels a bit sleepy. Our Father." "Our Father." said Davie, in wondering, hushed tones " Our Father," came again more feebly from old Betty, and again the boy spoke it after her But she did not speak again, only leant back aeainst the wall, and her basket rolled from her hand, "She's gone to sleep, sure enough," said Davie. " Guess I'd like to tell Him all I wants. But it don't matter about me; I'm used to sleeping out of doors; but she's too old for it ;" and then his face looked up to the sky where the dark cloud hid the stars, and Davie uttered his first prayer — Our Father, can't you nnd a place for old Betty to-night?" He dropped fast asleep by her side, so sound asleep that he was not conscious when in the gray dawn of morning a policeman flashed his lantern into the recess, and found a little ragged boy asleep on the seat, wrapped round in Betty's shawl. But the old woman slept more deeply 8till,for though she had been turned from her earthly home, One whom she loved had drawn nigh unto her in the darkness, a^ lifted her away to our Father's house, where the many mansions be " (7>/ be continued. I l\ m^ A «H9 REPRINTED STORIES. PROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." "BBD DAVB"; Or, " What wilt Thoa h*T« m* to do f* Itfrom Ou ritmttp IHtnd.) Ohaptkb IV. DR. IIKiDOWS. " Darie, I want yon to go np to Snnnyside this morning, with this new medicine for Master Wilfred. HiB father haa consented to try it at last, bnt he ought to take U be- fore dinner, so make ha%i.e." "Tes, sir ; IVe left ail the medi- cine yon pnt out iu the sargery.' " That's a good boy ; and I finri yon mixed those powders as we' 1 as I conld hare done them vof self. I shall make a doctor of you yet." " You'd make any thins of .my body," said Davie, with so.-ne thing like a sob in his voice ; " there ain't not a boy in the market-place would know me now." " No, you don't look much like the little chap I found lying asleep under the glare of the policeman's buU's-eyo." " He were a-going to take me to the work'tts, weren't he ? " "Tes, but I told him that I could get you into the Royal Home, so he gave you up to mn, but the Home was full, and I could not turn yon adrift, so I had to trust you as my errand-boy, and I shall trust you no longer unless vou hurry now to Sunny' Bide." Davie rushed off with the bottle ; he loved goins to Sunny side, for little Wilfred was quite a hero to him, and the strong, healthy boy was no less a won- der in the eyes of poor Wilfred. When Dr. Joyce's partner, Dr, Meadows, brought the outcast in- to the surgery at Mereham, and told how he had found him asleep beside a dead woman on the bridge. Dr. J uyce at once declared he was a gaol-bird, and said he should not be employed in that surgery. * But Dr. Meadows had taken a fancy to the little red-haired fel- low, which was not at all surpris- ing, since he always did take a fancy to anything or anybody helpless, and he declared he meant to befriend the lad. " Since we share the surgery," Baid he, " let him do his work at my end, and you can get another hd to carry out your prescrip- tions." Davie, however, had been at his post more than a year.and both partners knew him now as a sharp, trustworthy boy ; Doctor .Toyce had ceased to treat him slightingly, and though always stern, he sometimes praised his quickness and ability. But Dr. and Mrs. Meadows — he said it was his wife, and his wife said it must be the baby- between them had done a Ghrist- like work towards the little out- cast Who would have recog- nized in their smart, bright-faced " buttons" the little gaol-bird who looked to the darkened sky and Mid, • Our Fatheft" Doctor Meadows believed in Davie's innocence of the theit.and Davie knew he believed it. 'This was the first sonrc« of the great influence he possessed with the child; in Davie's eyes. Doctor Meadows was nearly perfect. He it was who clothed, fed, and housed him when the managers of the Boys' Home found their rooms so, crowded that they were compelled to refuse another in- mate ; he it was who conquered Davie's fear of Dr. • Joyce, and who taught the lad to read, write, and work sums for an hour every evening ; he it was above all who gave Davie a place in his Sun- day-school class.and bv word emd ezAriple led him to the Saviour who had shown him the evil of he p^st, and tjUcen all Davie's w iHa- and Master Willie was lo feared of the coffin." "No talk of coffins here, and no talk of Jesus," said the doctor, striking his fist on the table, and making Davie shake in his shoes. " I don't believe in Him, and I don't choose to have religion brought into my house. Yon must not go near my lad unless you promise to avoid the subject altogether." " Not talk of Jesus, sir !" cried Davie, blankly. " Not a word." " But, please, sir, I must ; I loves Him best of all." " See here, Davie — the bov frets after you— it's only a little thing I ask. Ai; ! ii you please me in this, I'll give yon half a crown." Now Davie had tried long to hit ' AND NOW THE HTMN, DAVIB DIAR." poor little heart for His own for ever and ever. When the boy reached Sunny- side, he was told that Wilfred was so ill as to be in bed, and he was turning sadly away, when the doc- tor called him saying, "Willie likes to chat with you ; go up and have dinner with him ; I'll tel Meadows I kept yoii." " Oh, thank you, sir !" cried the boy in great delight. *' But mind, not one word of church talk ; I hear you've been putting all sorts of notions into my lad's head, about things that wjU frighten him to death." "No, indeed, sir; I wouldn't frighten him for all the world. I only told him as how Jesus wouldn't never let us keep in the coffin if we trust in Him. Doctor Meadows says we go to heaven ; purchase a pair of tiny bfne shoes for Dr. Meadows' baby girl, but was yet some distance short of the price ; the money therefore seem- ed a temptation at first, bnt only for a moment. " Please, sir, — it's no good promising— I couldn't help talk- ing about Jesus. - And Master Wilfred— I does love him, too — suppose he was to get lost, and me know it was for the want of me telling him ?" " You telling him ! you teach a gentleman's son !" " I know he's a gentleman, sir, but nobody hain't told him about Jesus." " You are an impudent fellow ; get out of the house." " Please, sir," said the frighten- ed voice, " I didn't go for to be imp'dent, please, sir." Away down the garden he went, bnt ere he reached the te, the doctor's voice came after im. " Here, you young chatter- box, go and keep my lad com- pany, while 1 see my patients, and don t let him push off the bed- clothes." A happy boy was Davie when Wilfred's little white handi lay in his own after dinner, and the child learnt from him some of.the texts that the doctor had taught him at the Sunday-school. Willie never talked now of get- ting well ; he understood better than any one else did that he would soon leave his dear home of Snnnyside ; but now that he had heard of the Friend " beyond all others," his little voice framed many a secret prayer to the Lord who was able to take care of him all along the dark valley. " And now the hymn, Davie dear," said he ; "I showed father the hymn-book you gave me, and all he said was, ' Don't sing too much— it wiil hurt your chest ! ' But what do you think 1 Mother had a Bible, like yours, for auntie has been keeping it all this time ; I heard her talking about it to papa, and he savs I may have any book of hers I like, so I'll have a Bible of my own. " And you c«kn read so beauti- ful. Master Willie! I wish I could read like you." " Oh, you can do lots more than I can, but I'll be strong whnn I go to Jesus, won't I Davie ? Now do sing to me once before you go ;" and the doctor, opening the door of his consult- ing-room,heard two boyish voices, one strong and clear, and the other, oh, now feeble ! blended in the low sweet hymn — "There Ii a freen bill far »iraj, Wlthont Hour wall, Where the dear Loitt wai omctfled, Who died toeavanaall. • ••••• He died that we might be fort iTaD, He died to make ne food. That w Aalgbt go at laat to beaTen, Bared by Hie precloui blood.'* Chaptsb V. OOINO HOME. It was a beautiful afternoon in early spring ; the river danced in the sunlight, the trees were bud- ding into sweet, fresh green, and tUe sky was of a deep cloudless blue. By the river-bank went Davie, whistling for gladness of heart; Kood Dr. Meadows sent him every day now, when his morning work was done, to the Board School at Bankside, and thouffh at present in a very low class, the master said that it he continued to work as well as he was doing at present, he should soon be quite proud of him as a pupil. The Board School was not very far from Snnnyside ; Willie could hear the boys shouting in the play-ground, and the voice of the master who drilled them He lay listening to the sounds of life and health very patiently on his bed ; this mild, fair weather hsMl made no ohange in little Willie's health. u y "62 i* Srer REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE " NORTHERN MESSENGER." H»« iwhi wel 1^ BTcry one — save Dr. Joyce— 3oald eee that the darling of the honae was " wearing away to the land of the leal" ; but the dootor himself either could not or wonld not admit that Wilfred waa worse. He sent for an emi- nent physician from London, be- sides getting Dr. Meadows every day to see the boy, for, skilled doctor though he was, he would not trust his own ability alone for his son. Dr. Meadows had long since told him very gently that lung disease had set in hopelessly, and all the physician said was, "While there is life, there is hope." But Dr. Joyce called them a pair of croakers, and bade his sister keep up Willie's strength with jelly and beef-tea and new- laid eggs ; she noticed, however, that he hung about the boy with a very anxious face, and he would suffer none but himself to under- take the night-nursing of the little invalid. As the school was so near, Davie often called to ask «fter Willie, who never failed to invite him to stay to tea ; he liked to hear of the boys' classes and games, but oh ! how much more eagerly did the dying boy drink in the sound of the " Name to sinners dear." This afternoon Miss Joyce was watching at the garden gate for him. " Doctor Joyce is in Mere- ham," she said, speaking in an agitated voice ; " do find bim for us, Davie. He went to some pa- tient who has had an operation in the workhouse infirmary, but he may have gone elsewhere now, Run, Davie — Willie is so ill." The whistling stopped, and tears filled Davie's eyes, as he rushed forward as though pos' sessed of wings ; he loved Willie so dearly that he had often felt as though he would like to bear his weary pain so as to give him ease The infirmary was at the other end of Mereham, and to Davie's relief, the doctor's caifiage was standing at the door. " I must not frighten him," he thought, trying to frame his mes- sage gently; but just then the doctor came out, and seeing the breathless boy, his face went ghastly white. " Willie !" was all he could say ; and Davie nodded, for the doc- tor's agitation frightened him out of speech. The doctor tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and wrote on it. " Dr. Meadows is in there," said he ; " give this to him ; when he is done with the young man, he must come at once." The carriage rolled away, and Davie asking for Dr. Meadows was shown into a large ward, where the doctor stood beside the bed of a youth, whose leg was to have been removed, but the doc- tors had found to-day that there was^ope of saving it. "He ain't of much account," said one of the male nurses in a whisper to Davie, whom he knew well by this time : " hurt himself in breaking into a hoose ; he ought to be in the prison infirm- arr by rit^hta, but it waa an old laay'i house, and she wouldn't prosecute him 'cause of hia leg be- Ingwounded." Davie gave the note to Dr. Meadows, and turned towards the patient Their eyes met. Jarvis did not recogniie the doctor's page, but Davie knew him di- rectly. Davie had prayed for this ; ever since he had learnt to love Jesus, he had prayed for Jar- vis, as the one who had " despite- fully" used him, and he longed to do good to the evil associates of the life from which he had been rescued. Many a little wander- er had Davie brought within the influence of the ragged- school and Sunday-school, but he nurse ; I'd knook down ten of " Ob yes, I know her, it's Mrs. yom, but for this leg." I Bryant, a great friend of my mis- " Does it hurt yon very much, tress. I'm so glad, dear Jarvis, Jarvis?" " Why I its ' Red Dave,' I de- clare ; to think of seeing ' Carrots' in buttons; your master don't know as how you was in the lock- up, do he ?" " Yes, he does, Jarvis ; I'm Dr. Meadows' boy, and he k^ows all about it !" " Blessed if he does I you don't know all about it!" " I think I do, Jarvis ; butwon't you have a drink of this milk ?" Jarvis drank it feveririily. " Something queer has come over you, Davie ; I suppose you're too grand to go to the ' penny gaff' now r "Glrand, Jarvis! Fancy cali- DATIE AOOOSTINQ DR. JOTOS. had never been able to see Ben Jarvis, though he had even sought for him once in the " penny gaff." " Doctor," said he, " it's Jarvis." " Bh, what ? he gave his name as Jones." " Well, it is Jarvis," whispered Davie, " and he don't know me." "You can remain hero with him awhile if you like ; I don't want him to sleep just yet, for his wounds are to be dressed when Mr. Drew come° round. I must go up to Sunnyside ; don't you come there, for Willie will want to see you, and he ought to keep quiet." The doctor moved awav, and Davie sat down quietly by the bed ing me grand ! No ; but, Jarvis I never go there. I've signed a paper never to touch strong drink, and that's about all they does there. But I did go once — ^I wanted to find you out." " Look here,' said Jarvis, sud- denly, "if it will make you squarer with your master, you can tell him as how I knows you never took that purse. I slipped it into your jacket, Dave ; but I didn't leel like being locked up. They've caught me twice since then, though, and irthat old girl hadn't begged me off, I'd have been in prison now. Ain't she a brick, Dave? Blessed if she didn't send me some sponge cakes and oranges yesterday. Tho folks I say, young buttons ?' cried . say as how she comes and reads Jarvis, peevishly, " you're a nice J to them here once a week." and oh! so glad yon confessed ebout the purse. I knew you must have done it, and I have asked Jesuii to forgive yon." " Don't Tou feel like punching my head, though ?" "No, Jarvis; but do ask Jeans to forgive yon." "What's the sood? It ain't only that— I've done a sight of bad things ; it's only one like you as could forgive me." " But, Jarvis, Jarvis, I forgive Jou because I want to be like esus; oh, do try Him! There ain't nobody forgives like Jesus." "They learnt me about Him when I was a little chap,and lived with grandfather; but when he died I was turned out in the streets, and I've forgot everything, I think. Oh dear ! how this leg hurU " " Shall I ask Jesus to make it better, Jarvis? There ain't no- body minding us." " Tain't no use, lad; Jesus'd think it served me well right ; iiie bobbies si>i J 30 When they picked me up." " Jesus never says that," said Davie ; " it ain't in the Bible no- .where ; I believe He pities you all the time, and I'm a-going to tell Him sU about it ;" and putting his head down beside the pillow of the astonished Jarvis, Davie whispered — "Saviour, our Sav- iour, save Jarvis, and make Him sorry he has done wrong things, and take this pain away, and show him how "rhou dost forgive him, much more than I do —and I forgive him with all my heart — for Thy Name's sake. Please Jar- vis, say ' Amen.' " " Amen," said Jarvis ; but no- body didn't listen to you. How could God hear you a-whispering like that?" " 1 don't know bovr He can, but He does," said Davie firmly ; " I feels it inside my heart." Here the dresser came up to at- tend to Jarvis, who looked at Davieeagerly.andsaid, "Come and see a chap sometimes won't you ?" " Indeed I will, whenever mas- ter can spare me. And I'll tell mistress what ward you are in ; she brings the children here sometimes. I wish you could see our baby, little Miss Daisy. Good- bye, Jarvis ; I hope your leg will leave off hurting you." But ere he left the ward he re- turned, and laid silently on Jar- vis' bed his chief treasure — a little Testament that had been found in the basket of the old woman who died on the bridge, and that Dr. Meadows had secured for him, writing the names of the two out- casts together, first "Betty" and then "Davie." tt was very hard to part from it but very sweet to give up some- thing precious for Jesus Ohrist'i sake {To be^AntiHued.) f^ "RED DAVE"; Or, " What wUt Thou h«T« m« to do f* (From tk» Famil) f>'f«iid.) Chapter V. The two doctors stood beside lit- tle Willie'i bed, aa the sottiiifr sun sent iti iMt raya of glory into hia room. The child aeemed fast asleep ; his open Bible lay beaide him — the one that had been his mother*!; for he had bean readingr in it ere he broke the blood-vessel which waa the fatal sign. No eonnd waa in the room ; Miss Joyce was titterly worn out, and waa lying down on the sofa at the foot of the bed, for Dr. Meadows said Willie might continne ancun- scions ior hoars. Dr Joyce had dren no opinion, bat the little hands were clasped tightly with- in his own. At last there was a movement, and the father pressed a morsel of refreshing ice between Willie'a lips. He opened his eyes. " Father I" said he, " I can t see — is it night?" A sob barst from the strong man's lips. "Don't cry, papa," and the little hands felt for his face, " I'm so safe — Davie told me aboat Jesns— I'm so glad Jesus has got me tight." '■ Don't talk, darling," said Dr. Meadows; "it will make you congh." "J won't talk maoh; I want papa Kiss me, papa — kiss me good-night" "Try to sleep again, Willie," said his aant. " Yes, anntie, when I've said my hymn." And then the little fellow tamed his face towards the window, thongh he could see the sunset sky no longer, and said his evening hymn — • Jmoi. Mnd«r SIMphnd. brar in«, BI«M Thy mu* lamb to-nt(bt | ^Tbroagb tht darkooM be Tboa noar ma, Keep ma lafa till morninf light." * « . * * When Dr. Meadows left the house, his partner had locked himself into that room alone, and Miss J jyce was in the deep sleep of sorrow. Davie waa standing at the gate, watching eagerly for news of Villie. " I didn't let him hear my voice, sir, I've been waiting outside all the time; ia Master Willie any better sir?" And the doctor said gently, "Yes, Davie; Jesus has taken away t^l his pain." CHAPTER Vt " FATHSB !" Sterner and harder than ever teemed Dr. Joyce during the few days that a little flower-strewn coffin lay atSannyside ; he scarce- ly spoke to ttaj one ; but his partner waa moat anxious about him, for he scarcely ate or slept, and Dr, Meadows knew that an- REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE " NORTHERN MESSENGER.' leia he gave way to his grief hia life waa in danger. He did not attend the f\ineral service — a critical case at some distance demanded bis attendance. The good clergyman, however, souffht him that evening, where he knew he would surely find him, and pressed his hand in silent sympathy. Dr. Joyce pointed tn the new- made grave. " For ten years, sir," said he " I have planned and schemed and saved for the future of my only child ; and this is the end." ''Nay," said the clergyman, earnestly, " but rather the begin- ning, "the strongest man living has powers less wonderful, the happiest heart on earth ia leaa happy than little Willie now. For when we see our Lord, we shall be like Him, as He is." Dr. Joyce made no reply ; he when the boy eould no longer visit him, because of Hying at Snnnyside, he became very de- spondent, and declared he was ?roing to die, and should be lost or ever. In this state of mind he con- tinued a longtime ; nothing seem- ed to give him hope, till one day the good Christian lady, who re- venged his burglary by visiting his sick-bed, knelt down in the ward, and besought the Lord to have mercy upon that poor dark soul, and, when she arose, Jarvis said, " He loves me, me — ain't it wonderful ?" His kind friends did not lose sight of him again ; the doctor got him to attend a night-school, and at last succeeded in getting him to.sign the pledge ; and now, in all the shoeblack regiment, it I would be difficult to find one more civil, honest, and obliging turned slowly away and went up than Ben Jarvis; for he is "on to his room where one little bed ' the Lord's side," and the Lord stood emi*ty beside his own. | has strengthened him to resist The next day he lay helpless temptation in whatever form it with brain fever, and for a time ' may come to him. hunv between life and death ; his | One day when Dr. Joyce was kind sister nursed him ceaseless- getting better he called Davie to ly, and even when he regained his side, and said, " Davie, I hear his senses, he waa weak as a little I you want to become a doctor." child, and needed constant attend- " Yes, sir, please, sir ! and I'm ance. They were discussing one' a-learninir how to make some day the plan of getting an attend- 'sort of pills." ant to help Miss Joyce, when the j " But it will want plenty of doctor beckoned his partner to money to make yon a clever doc- tor.' Will it, sir ?" and Davie's face grew clouded ; "then I can't get I'd have liked to him, saying, " Lxt Davie look af- ter me." So Davie came to the sick-room; and trod softly and carefully, and ' to be one, sir ; ministered to the doctor's comfort make folks' pains better, but it as tenderly as his kind little heart i don't matter. Perhaps I'll drive proRipted him ; though when he a tram." saw Willie's bed his chest heaved " But, Davie, do you know I and he could not speak, which owe you something ? I don't Dr. Joyce noticed though he said meat, for attending to me now, or nothing, By this time Davie could spell out a text here and there, and of- ten, when the doctor seemed asleep, he conned over his Sun- day lesson, word by word, till it sank into his memory, and into the heart, too, of the listening man. And one day, when the patient had been left alone.and Davie was bringing in some chicken broth as quietly as a mouse, the boy's heart gave a bound of joy — for he and Willie had prayed for this— the Bible, hers and his, was open in the doctor's hands, and Davie heard him murmur in a broken, faltering voice — " Black, I to the fonntaln fly ; Watb me. Saviour, or I die." Meanwhile, Jarvis was steadily making progress towards recov- ery. Dr. Meadows promised, if he tried to live honestly, to set him up in a good station as shoe- black, for his leg would never be quite well, so he could do no active work. Jarvis was so full of jokes that nobody could find out whether he really meant to do better or not; but every one could see that ho was really fond of Davie, and for you' work for my child— God bless you for all you did for him — but I hear you were put in prison unjustly, and I must try to make that up to you." You do know I'm not a thief now, sir?" said Davie, flushing red. " Yes, my boy ; poor little fel- low ! I suppose Dr. Meadows has not told you what I want to do for you?" " Yes, sir," said Davie simply ; " he told me you was a-goinr to get me my next pair of boots. " Not your nexi only, but many more pairs, I hope. Since he did not tell yon, listen tp me. I am very lonely, Davie, and there is none to succeed me in ray name or in my profession. Will you come to me as Davie Joyce, and bo my son ? I will do all for you that 'I hoped to have done for my angel boy." l)avie opened his eyes, turning redder still. " I— I can't leave Doctor Meadows," said he; "I likes my room over the stable, and that'ere baby will bo wanting me back ag{un now." "You are frightened I shall keep you by force, I see," said the doctor, with a sad smile ; " but. hard aa I seem, I will you against your own will. Re- member, thouqh, that instead oi service you would get a first- class educaiion, and instead of bread and cheese, plenty of good food, and your room over the stable would be changed for Sunnyside. I have learnt to love you, lad, and I know this is what my Willie would have liked. " I\l likn to please him," said Davie, hesitating ; " but I does love Dr. Meadows ; please mayn't I talk to him about it?" Dr. Joyce nodded. " You may go now," said he ; " and you may take a week to decide." But Davie did not need a week to make up his mind. Dr. Meadows saw that money and comfort could not tempt Davie away from his service ; but he ap- pealed, and not in vain, to the boy's sense of self-sacrifice. " I have a wife and children," said he ; " Miss Joyce is going to live with her sister, and Dr. Joyce has nobody to love him, and take care of him. It makes me very sad sometimes to see that lonely, broken-hearted look in his eyes ; I think this may be the call of Jesus to you, to bless and bright- en that desolate life." Davie had not thought of it in this manner before, and his eyes grew very radiant with a light caught from above. "For Jesus' sake." This thought entirely altered the case ; for a few minutes ihe little fellow knelt down in his garret above the stable, and asked that the Lord would lead him aright, and then he went to say " good-bye" to the baby. ' But I shall see you many a time," said he ; " so don't fret af- ter Davie ;" which did not seem at all likely to be the case, since Miss Daisy was quietly intent on the contemplation of her wee pink toes, which had just been bared ior Slnmberland. In the calm of the evening, Davie again left Mereham for Sunnyside ; the moon gMted quietly out from betweerffithe clouds, and as he looked up to%e silver light, he thought of little Willie safe at home in the pain- less land. The gas was not burning in Dr. Joyce's room ; he lay in the dark, wondering whether Davie would return to him at the end of the week or no, and thinking, too, of his dear ones whom God had called above. Just then, when the tears rose to his eyes, and his heart grew sad and heavy, a boy's step sounded up the stairs, a boy's hand touch- ed his own, and a loving voice said earnestly, " I've come to stay with you, father !" THE END " The daily use of beer shortens lifetromten to fifteen years." — Dr. Daoii. ^^m 64 REPRINTED STOKLES. FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." FRBDDIB WRAT^ DBNT. ACOI- \; Poor Freddie Wrty had no father or mother to care for him, and wonld have felt very dall and miaerable in hit little bed if ^aok had not given up his play to sit bv his side and read to him. JaoK waa not his brother; he was an orphan like himself, bat ever ■inca Vred-then a little half- ■tarT'.d fellow with tattered olothea and bare feet, used to sleeping under arohwaya and gattlnff money to buy food in all sorts oftuoertain ways— had been brought to the Children's Home, Jack had helped and stood . by him. In the middle of the reading Mr. Hilton, the superintendaut of the Home, oamo into the room. "Freddie," he said, "I wtrit you to tell me again, as simply and plainly as yon can, how it all nappened. ' " I was going that errand to Captain Harper's," Fred answered, " and I caught sif ht of Jim, on the other side of the road, and I was so afraid he'd get away before I could catch him, I ran across directly. Jim waa the one friend Freddie had had all his life before he came to the Home, and he had cried for him many a time, thoueh Jim wa( a big, rough lad, in whom no one else ever found any good. "There wasn't a cart or anything near, sir ; it must have come round the corner of Granville Street, and it came tremendously fast, and I inat knew it was coming and couldn't get out of the wav, and there seemed to be such a row all round, and 1 saw the horse's hoofs, looking more like elephants'; th|M something gave me a gir^ailcnock, and there I waa, aaddidn'tknow no more till I was here; I think he might haveseen me, the man in the cart, if he'd looked out ; I do, reallr, air." " »> some other people say who saw it happen, Fred, but the man had too much to drink and didn't know what he was doing. He will be brought up at the police court to-morrow morning, and be punished, and perhaps lose his situation alao. He ia very sorry now, especially to have hurt you, because he has a little boy at home just your age, and it might have been that little boy instead of you." "Jack," said Fred, when Mr. Hilton had gone, "Don't you think it would have been fairer if it had been hia own little boy instead of me? He'd have been sorrier then." " Perhaps his boy wouldn't have been so comfortable as yon hM are here," Jack suggested. "Ho I time if it's to do any good, but I wouldn't havp had Mr. Hilton (o go and see him." But don't you think," began Freddie again, speaking much more slowly this time, "it's very hard, Jack 7 1 wanted to see Jim so much, you can't guesa how much. People say he's bad, but he's not really, and if I Qould see him and talk to him, and tell him how Uiuoh nicer it was to learn things, and try to be good and all that, I know he'd soon be very food. Ho waa always good to me, aok, and " Freddie was so near crying, he had to leave otf talking, can't think why (iod didn't let me apeak to Jim.' " I suppose if yon knew whv, that wouldn't be trusting," said Jack. " Perhaps you naven't trusted enough; perhaps you've been— what does that text say 7 — leaning unto your own under- standing." "I don't know what that means," Fred answered. •■ Well, I shouldn't wonder if it moans thinking you knew best how to talk to Jim, when Ood had some better way." There waa a little silenoe, Then Jack went on with the reading. JACK READING " I expect it will all come nght, " Jack said, soothingly. "You'll see Jim some other time. There 's that text I was reading when Mr. Hilton came in tells you not to fret—' Trust in the Lord with all thine heart.' You ask God to look after Jim and trust him to do it. Perhaps your accident is going to make the man that ran over you leave off drinking " "But Fve been asking for so long, and nothing has happened. I knew just exactly what to say, FBBDDIB WBAT. It was a long time before Fred heard of Jim again, and his trust was a good deal tried, but he kept that text Jack had read to him, not only in his memory but in his heart. One day, however, avoungman came to the Home and asked for Freddie Wray, and after a long stare, Fred found that the neat, smiling lad who shook his hand so warmly was actually Jim. "Rather a difference. Fred, my boy, isn't there?" he said, da* and he wouldn't mind anybody lighted to see Fred's amaiemeni so much as me. I wouldn't have I've got a place at Dr. Rot>erts,' to minded being run over another look after hia horaea, and perhapa V\\ be Ml ooaohmaB ieiB* day; but if I am you'll never find me, please God, taking too much drink and running over anybody." " Why, Jim what do you mean 7 Did you know?" cried Fred. " Iknow vou were nearly killed for me. I'd seen yon, my lad, b«- fore you oroaaed, but I'd have dodged you rather than hava apoke. I waa kind of mad with ▼on for staying in this place and leaving mei, and I said Pd never forgive Ton till tou ran away from them all. Ana I thought, too, you'd be proud and lord it ovai a lellow like me, when yon had inoh swell elothaa on." * "Oh, Jim!" "Wait a bit. When that cart knocked you down, I turned round and waa mad with the chap that drove it, and I hoped he'd losa hia place and get into priaon for ever so long. • I went and hung about the court to find out what was done to him, and when I saw him come out fVee, I waa fit to knock him down. I went up and asked him how he'd manased it, and he waa thinking or it all so that he nsver noticed my way of aaking. Well, he said it waa all along of you ; you'd sent a gentleman to speak up for him, to say you had crossed the street in a great hurry because there waa a friend you wanted very mnoh to see, that you were glad it wasn't his little boy, and hoped because of him that he wouldn't lose his place. " So," he aaid, ■ my master agreed to pay the fine, and take me place if I'd sign the pledge, and I'm going atraight away to sign now, so as it shan t be my boy next time.' Well, that came over me ao, I didn't ki\ow what to think I be- gan to aae all at once that it wasn't the clothes only was different about us. And I kept on talking to the man, and thinking, and thinking, and — there, the long and short of it is I made up my mind there and then, that next time you saw me there shouldn 'tbo such a difference; I'djuat try the experiment I went on with this chap and sionad with him— they must have thought me a queer Sort of fellow to put my hand to it, it took me such a time to write— and he did all he could for me juat be- cauae it was me you'd been want- ing to see. So I went baok with him to his maater, half aa a joke, and asked if he wanted another hand in hia stable^ t can't think what made him give me a job, but he did, and tiler a bit took me on regular; and the other fellow stood by me, and took me to see his missus and the boy that waa your age, and then they got me to church with them. And I needn't go on any mora now. Ton !! 1 U4»\ r RKI'RINTKI) STORIKS. PROM TIIK •' NORTIIKRN MKSSKNOKR •in't Mhunsd to Ulk to me tboagh, are yoa, Freddie? I'm not quite the unie Jim I wm. "And JMk was right," aaid Fred. " Why, what did Jack aay ?" " He read me what the Bible aays— ■ Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.'" — Hand of Hope Review. BOY INVBNT0E8. The invention of the valve motion to the steam engine was made by a mere boy. Newoome's ungine was in a very incomplete condition, from the fact that there was no way to open or close the valves, except bv means of levers operated by the hand. He set up a large ennne at one of the mines, and a boy^nmphrey. Potter, was hired to work these valve-leaders ; although this was not hard work, yet it required his constant at- tention. As he was working the levers, he saw that parts of the ongine moved in the right direo- tion, and at the same time he had to open or close the valves. He procured a strong cord, and made one end fast to the proper part of the engine, and the other to the valve-lever; and the boy then had the satisfaction of seeing the engine move with perfect regularity of motion. .A short time after the foreman came round, and saw the boy playing marbles at the door. Looking at the engine, he saw the ingenuity of the boy, and also the advantage of so great an invention. The idea suggested by the boy's in- ventive genius was put in practical form and made the steam engine an automatic working machine. The power loom is the invention of a farmer's boy who had never seen or heard of such a thin^. He whittled out one with hu pocket-knife, and after he had got it all done he, with great enthusiasm, showed it to his lather, who at once kicked it to pieces, saying he would have no boy about him who would spend his time on such foolish things. The boy was sent to a black- smith to learn a trade, and his master tookalively interest in him. He made a loom of what was left of the one his father had broken up, and showed it to his master. The blacksmith saw that he had no common boy as an apprentice, and that the invention was a valuable one. He had a loom constructed under the supervision of the boy. It worked to their perfect satis- faction, and the blacksmith furnished the means to manu- facture the looms, and the boy received half the profits. In about a year the blacksmith wrote to the boy's father that he should bring with him a wealthy gentle- man who was the inventor of the celebrated power-loom. Ton may be able to iudge of the aatoniah- ment of the old man when hia son Was 'presented to him as the inventor, who told him that the loom was the same as the model that hi) had kicked to pieces but a year ago. — Selected. JESSIR'8 OOOD DAY UY MKH. M'OUNAUOUY, "I don't think it has been a 'good day' at all, Jessie Umury," said Cousin Pansy. " The sun- shine has molted the snow, so we can have no fun on our sleds, and the streets are so bad mamma will not let us go out. The snow is so deep it will be wet and muddy for a week, most likely ; and here we are all shut up in the house. I think it is just miserable." put stamp* on »*o\\, as papa told me I might draw on his desk for all the postage I needed for such a good worlc." " I saw you fussing with those old papers au'l I was most sorry I let you lease away two of my nice magazines to put with thom." " Oh, you wouldn't be. Pansy, if you could see the poor little fellow they went to. Ho has not walked for seven years, and ic always in pain ; sometimes very great. H^ is ten years old, and can read. The magazines will be such a feast to him. Now, I know you are glad I sent them." " You must have had a dozen of those packages, Jessie. It would take a lot of money." ■it t^^apid \\Vc ft^toiiu. and uncflmwttx\u\tan. ISnM^tviHVm an. tow* 1^ VSlvAdA n se uvt\u\ \u Voo\;\tv5 a\)ouV.. \ ni mviit ^uvt. •v(ii\V\«ul- \aA I OlVtVv o\\tT mi 0^ 'nxw. ft \»vv aW CuyAu "^fcVY . Untiv glvi Vim "iouT ^ti\ . Q.tt) ucu. Tvavt oi-wntVt ipil |l^« Can icuaWUViVtoS 1)1 ^t\\\\\t.ovVxl. DRAWINO LESSON FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. Pansy had not been a bit of a | " No ; I only had nine. T did heart 's-ease" to anybody that ! wish I had a dozen. But then, it day . : makes me happy to think of giving The day has not been long so much pleasure to nine people, enough for me," said Jessie, for all of these are people who brightly, as she threaded a needle have but few papers. Likely the CO take a few more swift stitches '. whole family will read them, before the light quite faded. |Now I think. Pansy, it was a very " I can't see what you have I good morning's work." done so pleasant." ' " What did you do with the " In the first place, I assorted a others ? I saw you put on your pile of papers papa gave me to do ! rubbers, and run out somewhere with just as I pleased. I laid with as big a parcel as a news- aside those I wished to send away, in n pile by themselves, and then cut wrappers for them and sealed them up. I directed all the parcels, and weighed each on papa's poatage smIm. Then I boy." " Those left over ones I assorted again, and took a largo bundle across to Becky Maurice. She always wants a large paper to out a pattern for somebody. She is so obliging ; and she likes to keep her shelves as tidy aa a pin. She puts on clean papers twice a week if she can gel them. You should have seen how pleased she was with that bundle. She will read them all first, she says." " Well, I must say it has been 'paper day' with you What were you doing so Ions up stairs when I wished yon to play a game with me V" "Just fixing up the closet for mother, putting new papers on the shelves, and arranging boxes. Miss Becky's fine order made me fuel a little ashamed." " Well, I think you have had a happy day of it, just mousing about among old rubbish the whole time. Reading this story hook in this easy chair has been too much for me. Most of the time I looked out of the window at the miserable streets, and the miserable people wading through thom." " You may not believe it. Pansy, but the very surest way of being happy yourself is to do something for some one else. It makes yon happy at the time, and when you think of it afterward. Now.ifyou really think it over, I believe you feel better pleased about those two magazines than about any thing else you have done to-day. Just try my way to-morrow, and see if it does not work well." " I don't sepwhat I could do." " Only make your mind up in earnest and you will find ways enough. The trouble will more likely bo you'll not know which to do first. It often puzzles me." It was likely that Jessie saw more than Pansy about s^me things, because she had learned to see. There is a great difierence in people about this, yet any child with aheart for the work can begin right away the blessedness of doing good to otherB.— Exchange. WHICH IS WORSE. Ill-natured deeds are very rare when compared with ill-natured words It would be a shrewdly good bargain for the world to agree that ill-natured deeds should be multiplied by ten, if only the ill-natured words were to be diminished by one half ; for though the deed may be a much larger and more potent thing than the word, it often does not give nearly as much pain. Depend- ents could gain very much by this bargain, for they seldom suffer much from deeds, but a great deal from wordi Many fi, man goes through life scattering ill-natured remarks in all directions, who has never to his knowledge done an ill-natureddeed, ajid also probably considers himself a very good- natured fellow ; but one, however, who takes a knowing view of all human beings, and of all hnmCi affairs, and is not to be imposed upon, as he takes care to say, by anything or anybody. — Author of " Friends in Council. a ' ' f\\St UEPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE " NORTHERN ME8SENQER." ONE BITE OF A CHERRY. " Uptn your noutli tml t^ut jruur tjri^ Ami 1 II i!>v> y'>u •uuirtlilng tn mak* yuu wU»." Sttiil Tommy Ureeii to hi* little filter Bva. Eva was Nitliiig on her grandma*! knee. Shu had Icen very aick but waa now get- ting qnite well and brother Tom- inv waa. very good to ht*r. He seldom oamu npme from work without bringing her lome- thing. One day it would be a bunch of wild flowora that grew on the wayiide, the next a line bunch of awoeldinelling graaaea or porhapa a branch of " palm." He had not much lo bring her, poor boy, but hu did all ho could, and every day before he came home Hhe would ask, " VThat timu ia it, grandmam- ma?" Now oiii« day Tommy planned a great aur- prido for her Every- day he used tu pass a great orchard on his way to work, and saw in it one tree full of fine cherries. He said to himselij " When these cherries are ripe, I will get some for sister." But ho was a very poor boy and he had no money to buy them, and they soon began to look so nice that he thought they must cost a great deal Every day as he passed the tree they grew red- der and redder, and riper and iiper, but he had no more money to buy them than before. At lost one day he heard the gardener say to the owner, " We must pick these cher- ries this afternoon." TiiiN frightened Tom- my, and all the day at his work he thought of how he might get some lor his sister. " Steal them !" That never entered his mind, Tom- was always a very good boy. At last he made up his mind. At noon he went to the garden- er and asked him if he could not du Homething to earn the cherries he wanted for his sister. The gardener looked at him and said, " You are the boy who pusses here every day, are you not? and you never touch the fruit. I tell you what I'll do with you. Come and help us pick fruit all the spare time you can and we will Ity to «pare you some for your sister." Tom went back to his work whistling, and that night was late HI getting home. His sister had fttked hei grandmamma where Torn was. nearly a hundred times liL'toie sho h-ard liiin runiiiui? as hard as he could. U<'loro he got to the door he stopped and then walked quietly, a smilo all over hia face. Alter his kiss, he snul, "Nov*, 0|ten ruur inoutlt and thiil your t^yiMi, Aiiil I II kIvi* you •omt'thliig Ici tuakv ynn She knew something good was coming, and laughed and clapped her handa and opened her mouth and kept her eyes open too. But that would not suit Tommy, but she would keep her little eyes MAY-HAVBM AND MUST- HAVES The things wo decide that we must have, in distinction from those which we feel we may have if we can, are very significant. Eliza must hnveanewdresa. The new dross must be of silk, thick and shining; and it will make necessary an elegant wrap, a tasteful bonnet, dainty laces, and fresh aa well as costly gloves and shoos. If our young lady ia to be th« familiar haunts of their youth and the little churchyard where their precious Urst-born waa bur- ied. Such a trip would smooth out some of mother's wrinkles, and impart a new elasticity to father's dragging step, but it would be wild extravagance to suggest anoh a thing to the dear unseltiah pair. Eliza's outfit would put a tMrclopiedia on the bookahelvea. That would wonderfully as- sist the boys in their studies, and amaiingly broaden the horizon of the whole family. It would as* sist conversation by adding to the general fund of information, and would help the young folks to read the newspapers for more intelligently. But to spend so qp^h money at once, for such a pur> pose, sends at the bar^ mention a thrill of ter- ror to the maternal heart. We may have » cyclopaedia by-aud-by. We must array our daughter fashionably to-day. Eliza's oullH would support a Bible- reader for a whole year in India ; hut, dear me, what could one Bible- reader more do to stem the tide of heathenism? Besides, who ever heard of one family of mode- rate means, setting up a whi)le missionary, all by ilu-niselvos! The notion ih Quixotic and ridiculous. Away with it ! O, the good things, the beautiful things that may be thought of among our may-haves. And alas, blind bats that we are, we let them all go, and choose for mnst-huves a new ''k dress for Eliza, ..'le in the latest style — Chrittiuii Intelligen- w UOLL'S WORK. A lady missionary writes from India: — " I cannot be too thankful for the lolls. They excited i. reat deal of admiration, es- pecially among the Shindh women and girls. At their request open until grandma at last put i dressed with attention to style, ' I had a ' show day,' whenrum- her hand over them and Tommy | wo cannot neglect any detail of|bers came to see the wi i(I,.rful put a rich, red, ripe cherry into, her toilet. In fact the things |' white woman'. Among them her wide-open mouth. what a which it is decided she must have ^ was an old blind woman who at time they had then. After that [come in a short time to an tends my Bible class. She fondled there was no trouble in keeping amount which would do a great, the dolls so tenderly, and said her eyes shut aa she took one ' many other good aiifl delightful; what a comfort one would be to after another, and then the garden- things, if a different idea of econo- her lonely life, that I felt sure you er's boy came in with a nice my prevailed. Eliza's outfit; would have given her one, sol basketful for Tommy and grand- would enable father and mother, chose a small one with (aa she ma too, and that evening they if they would but think they ^ called it) real hair, and gave it to had a great time I can tell you, could thus employ the money, to her. It has been the meana of all because Tommy so loved his take a trip to the country and see , bringing three new women to my ( \ sister. the old homestead, the old friends, i Bible-class.— 0o«p«; in all I^ndt. j * #Hy =^lr cnANOIVO RABIES BT BTDNKV DAVRK Un • bright, w*rm day, Ru- • y lar-riva hi>r Im-lijr broth-rr •lilt toth»gr«>«l liirin-y»rd. It w m • vcr-y |ilf*-MntpUci>. A Inrge barn i>l(>o«l at one HJd« of it, and iioxr thii waa ii |i»ul-try-honac The ohiok>pu», il It e k • and gi'fM na«d to i-oine ont of it to atray a-bont the large graa- ly lot. And iu one oor-ner waa anif^i- ulrar pond, Sn-ay knew ahe nhonld find ma-ny prot-ty thinKn out here, and that Ba-by would like to see them too. She walked a-round till the iit-tle pet got aleep-y, and laid hia head on her ahonl-der. Then ihe car-ried him to a long, low shed, where the aheep and cat-tin were fed in Winter. There waa some hay in a man-ger ; ahe laid him on it, and, tit-ting bc-iid« him, sang ■oft-ly. Thia ia what ahe anng: KKPiyNTUU 8 T0RIE8, FROM THE ^'JIORTHERN MKSSKNOER/; ^ " What will you give, Wliat will rou give, For mj liutle ba-by Mr f Nothing il bright u hia buii-ajr bluu tyn, Or suft M hia curl-ing hair. ;■ What wiU you bring. What will yiiii brine, Tu trade for my trwu^-iire her* I No on* can ibow me a thing m nwrut, A-nt 'Wh«l^ br or near," "Moo, moo-oo !" aaid sonie-lhing not far from Sn-ay. " You think that'a ao, do rou ?" and Mad-am Jer-aey Cow looked ver-y douht- lul-ly at Ba-by. Said ahe : " Can he kick nn hia heels, and Irol-io all o-var the yard ?" "Why, no," aaid Su-sy; "He can't walk yet." " Ah ; how old is he ?" — "Near- ly a year old," aaid Sn-ay. " Near-ly a year ! My child walked be-fore ahe wae two days old !" The cow gave a scorn-ful sniff, and walked off with-out an-oth-er look. " Baa-aa," aaid an old aheep, walk-iutr up with a snow-white, down-y lamb. " Let me aeo. He is a nice Iit-tle thing, aure e-nough. Dnt haa he only two legs?" — " That'a all." aaid Su-sy. " Then mine is worth twice as much of course. If you had two babies, now, we might make a bar-gain. But he seems to hare no wool r " No, ma'am,'' said Su-sy, " but see what pret-ty cnr-ly hair he has."— "I don't think I would wish to trade, thank you," and she an<| her lamb trot-ted a-way and went to eat grass. " Quack ! quack ! quack I Let me taka a look," and Mrs. Dock flew up on the edge of the man* ger. " Hia feet don't look aa if he'd 1 1 make « good awim-mar," ah« aaid. , looking at Ita-by's pink dim-plaU 'toea. " Uh, h)> eau't swim at all, ' said Sn-ay. "Good-bye," aaid Mrs. Duck. " All my dar-lings can awim." '(■hip! chip! chip!" was the I neit sound Su-sy heard. From its nest in an old elm tree which atood near, a rob-in llew down, and perched on Ihe end of a pitch- fork. She turned her head from side to side, gai-iug at Ba-by in a ver-y wise way. " What can he singY" said she. " Oh, he can't slug at all yet, ' aaid Su-sy ; " he's too Iit-tle." " Too Iit-tle !" ezolaimad Mrs. Red-breaat. "Why, he'a tre-men- dona ! Can't he sing, ■ Fee—fee - lil-ly— Hl-ly— weet— weet ?' " " No, no," aaid Su-ay. " All mr chil-dren aang well at four montna. Haa he iTttle red feath-era on hia breast ?" "No," aaid Su-sy. " I shouldn't like to hurt your foel-ings, but you see how much I shoiud lose on an ez-change, and I m sure you would not wish that." " No, I ahonldn't," aaid Sn-ay. And Mrs. R. R«d-breaal flew a- "Cluck! cluck! duck !" "Peep! peep !" Mra. White Leg-horn Hen came a-long with her down-y chicks. No won-der she fussed and fumed and cack-led at audi a rate, Su-sy thought, with twelve ba-bies to look af-ter I " 1 haven't much time to look," said the hen, "and I should hard- ly be will-ing to trade. Can your ba-by say 'peep — peep' when he'a hungry Y" " When he'a hungry he cries — but not 'peep — peep,' " said Su-sy. " I see his legs are not yel-low, ei-thor, so I'll bid yon a ver-y good af-ter-noon." OR ahe went, ruf-fling her feath-ers, and cluck- ing and scratch-ing till i>ln-8y laughed a-loud. "1 don't won-der you laugh," purred aome-thing near her. Su- ay turned in great sur-prise. "There, at the oth-er end of the man-ger, in a co-zy cor-ner, waa her old gray oat. That waaat all.' There wore throe Iit-tle kits ; a white one, a black one, and a gray one. Su^y had not tern Ihem be- fore, und ahe fond-led theiu lov-ing-ly. " She's so proud be- cause she has twelve! said Mra. Puss, look- ing al-ter Mrs. W. L Hen. "Now I think a small fam- i-lyismuoh better — three, for in- ttance. Don ' t you think three nough 7" "In-deed," aaid Su- ay, " I think one'a e-nough , if it's teeth-ing." " Mine nev-or have trou-ble with their teeth. And per-hapa 1 can nev-er teach your ba-by to Cnrr or to catch mice. Still, I e-lieve I'll take him, and let you hare one kit-ten, aa I have three." " Oh, no ; you don't un-der- atand me," cried Sn-sy. " I don'l want to change at all. I'd rath- er have my Iit-tle broth-or than a-ny-thing else in the world." But Mrs. Puss took hold of him aa if .to car-ry him off. Ba-by gave a acream, and then Su-sy— a-woki^ ! Then she looked a-round with a laugh, aa ahe thought of all she had seen and heardln her dream, aince she had anng her-self to sleep be-aide the ba-by. Mad-am Pnaa sat by a hole watch-ing fo>' rats. There wasn't a kit-ten a-ny-where. Mrs. Hen was fnm-ing and cack-ling and Bcratch-ing liard-er than ev-er, but Puss did not aeem to care wheth-er she had twelve chick- ens or a hun-dred. The calf waa feed-ing quiet-ly by its mam-ma, and the she^p and her lamb lay un-der the old elm. And up in the branch-es Su-sy could hear Mra. Red-breaat teach-ing her bird-ies to sing. n So then Su-sy run up to inn house and found sup-per wait-ing. Ba-by held out hia arms and waa soon on his moth-er's lap, as hnp-py as could bo. Susy locked at him and said : Qod has made e-ver-y-bod-y and e-vor-y-thing love their own ba hies best,haan't he, Mani-ma ?" " Yes. We would ralh-er lake care of our own ba-by than a-uy oth-cr, wouldn't we?" " Yea, in-deed," said Su-sf. And aa she rocked the ba-by 's era- die that night, she fin-iahed her lit- tle song in this way : " Nulh-ing will do, Nuth-ing will do ; V»u may trar-el tlio world a-rouml, And nev-er, in earth, or tea, or air, Will a lai-by lika him lie found. — ». Niehala: CONCERNING PRAYER. The Lord ia nigh unto all them that call upon Him. — Psalm cxlv. 18. He will be very gracious unto thee at the voice of thy cry ; wheu He shall hear it. He will answer thee. — Is. XXX. 19, Verily, Verily, I say unto you, whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in My name He will give it you. — John xvi. 28. Every one that askethreceiveth.and he that seeketh findeth, and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. — Luke xi. 10. What things so- ever ye desire when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye ahall have them.— MarK zi. 24. 1 1 ye shall ask anything in My xiv. 14. hteous err. and the Lord heareth, and all their troubles. — Pa. diaciple word then are ye my 1 yiii. U. REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER. WATCH CRYSTALS. Onr'illnstration shows a hollow sphere of glass now in poaiesaion of L. Boyer, in Paris. The diameter is not stated, but the size can be judged from the fact that th: e hundred watch crystals have been cut out of it. The cut is taken from Ackermann's Oew- erbr Zeilung, and is from an actual photograph. The same paper gives thofollowinginteresting account of the manufacture of watch crystals. The first pocket v\ atches in use in Germany were oval in form, and hence called "Nuremberg eggs" (like our "bulls eyes") Only a few of them had a glass cover over the hands. These cpvers were flat or slightly convexed pieces of crystal cut out and polished on a primitive kind of grindstone. Of course they were very expensive. These oval watches were suc- ceeded by flattened spheres, and the glasses had the form of seg- ments of a sphere, or spl rical caps, made as follows: jmall glass bulbs were blown on very small gas-blowers' pipes, and from each bulb two of these caps were cut with the aid of two red hot iron rings, the sudden expansion causing a circular crack. The edges of these glasses weife polished either on a grindstone or with sand on a cast-iron plate. This process was very expen- sive, owing to the necessity of blowing as many bulbs as they wanted crystals, for 'wo could be rarely cut out c' one sphere. Moreover, the glasses, owing to their spherical shape, were very high in the middle, while the ends of the hands near the edge of the dial had a very narrow space to move in. As the thick watches of the last cen'ury gave place to thinner ones, and the high convexed glasses became inconvenient and unhandsome, flat glasses were made which were but shghtly curved near the edges. They were made from thick, flat glass hollowed out in the centre and rounded off aroand the edges. Owing to their high price, they were only used on fine watches The concave watch glasses ol the present day are not hollowed out on a grindstone, but made by a method invented in 1791 by a Bkilful watch-glass m-'cer in Paris named Pierre Royer. The Geneva manufacturers imitated his method, and succeeded in de- veloping it into an important branch of industry. Before Rover's process had been perfected and came into general use, various interesting experi- ments ware mado in the glasshouse ip Goetaeubruth, in 1880. Little phials were blown, each with a slightly curved bottom, and this bottom when cut off formed a concave glass; bn* as it required a new phial fc every watch I crystal, this made them too ex- i pensive also. . One improvoment followed an- other until finally tliey al'e mad* in wonderful perfection and with surprising rapidity, which ia due principally to the skill of the glass-blower, so that now verv thin glasses of enormous size can be made. The glass-blower takes up several pounds of prlass on the wide endof his pipe in that plastic state in which it can be worked like wax, and rounds it off by roiling it on a damp block of wood and first blowing into it gently. He then blows a little harder and swings it to and fro, which lengthens it out, and with proper tools he gives it a long pear-shape. Having acquired the approximate form required, it is re-heated in the furnace, and then blown out to a larger size, a steam blast being employed to finish the blowing. The finished ball, which resembles a balloon, is cut from one hand, the other draws a little white hot tube around the edge of the pattern. This circle is immediately moistened with cold water, and the sudden contraction that followsthe previous expan- sion causes the piece to crack ofi", forming a more c less hemispheri- cal crystal. This process has, however, been superseded bv the so-called lour- nette, a tool that resembles a car- penter's compass (dividers), one leg being provided with a diamond. First, ten circles are cut on the ball with the point of the diamond of this little instrument. As these little scratches do not go through the glass, the next and most tedious part of the operation is to break loose one of the separate crystals. This is accomplished by little strokes or taps all around the circle. After on? has been taken out, the workman can put A. OLABS GLOBE FBOU WHICH THREE HUNDRED WEBB ODX WATCH CRY8TAL8 rapid, and only the edges need polishing. This is done on grind- stones of hard material, which produce the bevelled, sligbtlypro- jecting edge that holds it in the case. It is finely polished with cork. The last method has been still further simplified by grinding the disks as soon as they are cut out with the diamond. The bevelled edge is formed on sandstone wheels, and then the glass is put in a mulSle without polishing to give it the arched or curved form. The ground edges are rounded by the heat, and rendered smooth and brilliant, and at the same time are harder and firmer, so that they can be set more easily. At the watch crystal factory of Trois-Fontaines in Lothringen, there are 62 gross (74,880) manufactured daily, •^ach glass passing through thirty-five dis- tinct operations. After the watch glasses have acquired the requisite shape by pressing the warm and softened glass on to or into moulds, they are taken to a large room fitted with grinding and polishing lathes. The grinding is of three kinds. The first consists in grind- ing away the convexed portion so that the outside is nearly all flat, and the glass is thin in the middle, but n&r the rim retains its original thickness. The second is similar to the first, but only the centre is ground, forming a sirall circular spot that is sligntly ,on- cave. The third is grinding the edge to a proper bevel, so ihat it will fit into the crease of the case ac- curately, which is absolutely necessary for holding it securely This operation is performed on lathes driven by steam, and one man can tend eight or ten of them, as it is only ntcessary to put them on and take (hem off. After a final polishiug with pumice, measuring, sorting and inspecting they are ready for packing ancl shipping. the pipe and placed on a wooden work - bench upside down. In some glasshouses they have succeeded in blowing balloons from 12 to 82 inches in diameter with t'ase. Sometimes they exceed 40 Inches, and the walls of such colossal balls do not exceed 1-25 or at most 1-16 of an inch in thick- ness. TI.ese enormous balls can be designated as truly industrial works of art. About 6ii0 watch glasses can 1 e cut from one such sphere, by a method whicu we will describe below. As these large balls, owing to their great size, are liabl ^ to break, and tan- not be handled rapidlv, it is customary to make smaller oues and cut them in two. First a metallic pattern of a wato.. ja made, and either pressed on the sphere or on a strip cut out of it. While this is held in place with his thumb through the opening into 'h J sphere; and then taking the next one between the thumb and fore-finger, he liiresses gently outward, and thus separates the second, after which the rest are taken out in the same way. After they have been cut out, and before thoy are ground to the proper form, the glass must be subjected to another operation, the object of which is to improve and shape the rim so thnt it may fit accurately into the crease around the watch case. The glasses are put into mufHes of refractory clay hi-atcd with coke. When snfTiciently heated, they are placed on a cast-iron plate in front of the muffle and pressed down on the moulds with a wooden lid of conical form. The projecting edge of the glass getting heated first is softer, so that i» alone is pressec' down by and his sense of right l.ad Deeu the hd This method is moTti\orxinged.~ ChHsfian InieihiteHcer A Boy of thirteen came to New York to sppk his livelihood. The first opportunity that offered was a position in a drug store. For a few days every thing seemed satisfactory, but after a few weeks' experience, he ex- claimed earijestly : " I can't stay in that place, I am willing to work all day, to work nights, and to work hard ; but to work Sundays, that's what I wont do. If people only came in to buy medicine, that would be one thing; but to stay there and sell perfumery, and soda water, and mineral water, thing.t they don't need at all ! i never felt so mean in all my life " It was only by a strong effbn that the brave littlp fellow kept back the tears as he felt ihit his moral nature had received ashock and his sense of ^Hb'i^- «Hi ■at, '>e or 1 on tl 59 ■▼ REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE " NORTHERN MESSENGER." SHADOW-PIOTURES AND SILHOUETTES. Ever sines there have been home walls for sunlight, fire-light, or lamp-light to fall upon, au of us children have been interested I in shadow-pictures, and shadow- pictiires nearly always have seemed glad to oblige us in all sorts of pleasant way*. Some> times they give us Grandma's head and cap, showing sharp and clear upon the wall; sometimes dear little Bobby's curly pate and rollicking movements; or perhaps a big shadow-puss, gracefully waving a blurred shadow-tail on the white surface opposite the glowing fire-place ; oi, possibly, a shadow looking wonderfully like something that isn't in the how impossible it is to keep the original quiet while the rest are merrily enjoying the picture. He or she is sure to turn to see what it looks like, and so spoil it all. Now, if you wish to obtain a shadow-picture buy sheets oi paper, black on one side and white on the other, which may be found at any stationer's and pin one of these sheets of paper upon the wall, opposite a lamp, with the white surface outward ; then, after providing yourself with a well pointed pencil, place your sitter in such a positioir that a clear, strong shadow of the profile is thrown upon the paper. If your sitter (or stander) can now remain absolutely still, you have only to trace the outline of the shadow carefully with your pencil, taking care to work as rapidly as practicable. When the outline is all thus traced, you ..Z^''- room at all, just because someboay has flung a coat, or a bnt, or a huiidle, or what not, on table or um chair. No matter what it may be, one thing is certain. If any substance, living or inani- ni:itt>, comes between a strong liirhi and a wall, it must oast a sliiiilow, and we ci\n make some- (liiiig out of it or no* just as we please. All of you have some- limos seen the grotesque likeness ot a person in the shadow which selves by making comical hand- shadows upon the wall. A very little practice enabled them to represent the heads and bodies oi he or she unconsciously casts up on the wall, and have noticed various animals, and to set these one by one to snapping their jaws or talking little leaps upon the wall. In the accompanying pictures you \''ill find designs, some new and BotL>e old, on which to practice your dexterous in- genuity. — Ex. THE FATE OF A HERD OF BUFFALOES. An army ofiicer who aboat four years ago arrived in Chicago from the Yelllowstone Valley, tells a story of what happened to a herd of buffaloes as they were migrat- ing southward. The herd num^ ,->!/ a- /srx y bered 2,800 head, and had been .^SC -A- -29«<. jyj^g„ ^^t „f ,hg Mji,j jjiygj country by the Indian hunters be- can go back and repair any part longing to Silting Bull's band that seems incorrect. This done, release your sitter and take the paper from the wall Now you have only to cut out the picture close to the pencil-mark, and as the other side of the paper is black, you turn over your picture and paste it upon a sheet of white paper, and you can show your silhouette portrait in triumph to your obliging sitter, the whole thing having been ancomplished in about five minutes. Many boys and girls become very ex- .^, ^, i. j lu • .i. pen in making these pictures. When they reached the river they *^ D 1 ' ventured upon the ice with their customary confidence, coming upon it with a solid front, and be^ ginning the crossing with closed ranks. The stream at this point was very deep. When the front file, which was stretched out a quarter of a mile in length, had nearly gained the opposite shore, the ice suddenly gave way under them. Some trappers who were eye-witnesses of the scene said it , , ., , , seemed as if a trench had been and, by seizing every available opened in the ice the whole length opportunity lor tracing shadow- of the column. Some-four or five pictures of their Irienus, in time breh«lil. $H9 ;; 60 REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE " NORTHERN MESSENGER." ABOUT POISON-IVY. At this season of the year, when no many of our youn^ folks are gatherinff wild flowers, ferns, berries, leaves and mosses in the woods and along the hedges, I c innot think of a more useful les- son in wood and field botany than that which teaches how to know and distinguish two of the most poisonous vegetable substances to be met with in the woods. I moan the poison-ivy, poison-o^, and mercnry-vine, which are the common names for one and the same vine found climbing up the trunks of trees, on rail, board and stone fences, over rocks and bushes, in waste lands and mead- ows. In fact everywhere and anywhere it can secure a foot oi ground, no matter how poor, or how mach exposed to the scorch- ing rays of the sun, thif ivretched vine prospers, happy and conten- ted to spread out its poisonous arms hidden beneath itsarlossy and graceful foliage. In Fig. 1 is shown a close study from nature of a specimen growmg at the sea side. When the ivy has a chance to climb up a tree or bush, up it f;oes, throwing out its aerial root- etsin all directions. But when growing away from any support, in the sand which ia being con- stantly displaced by the strong ocean winds, it then grows stout, erect and bush-like. Under these peculiar circumstances of growth it has received the name of poison- oak, and was supposed by many botanists to be a separate variety, though in fact the poison-ivy and oak are one and the same thing. When the stem of the poison-ivy is wounded, a milky jnice issues from the wound. The leaves after being separated from the vine, tarn black when exposed to the air. The stem of the vine is nearly smooth in texture ; the aerial rootlets (Fig. 1, AAA), which start from all parts of the stem, are of a bright browu colorwhen young. The masses of berries when un- ripe are of a light green color : FIO. 1— POISON-IVT. heavy bloom. In the fall of the year the leaves turn to a deep red and brownish-red color. The poison-sumac, swamp-su- mac, or dogwood (Fig. 8) is ten times more severe in its poisoning qualities than the poison-ivy. It grows from six to ten feet in height, in low marshy grounds. The berries are smooth, white, or dun-colored, and in form and ■mm when ripe, of an ashen gray. Be- low the mass of this year's berries are generally to be found those of last year The leaf has a smooth and somewhat shiny tex- ture, and curves downward from the midrib. To many people the slightest contact with the leaves of the ivy will produce poisoning. I have known of instances where persons in passing masses of ivy- vine, particularly when the wind was blowing from the vine to- ward the passer-by, became severely poisoned. Une of our most beautiful native vines, the so-called Virginia creeper, which frequently grows side by side, r »c ■ i with the ivv, is often mistaken for wreaths and bunches of artiBcial it. and blamed for the evil doings flowers inside and outside of of its neighbor, and yet is so in- ladies bonnets The flower- uocent and beautiful a vino that makers, being hard pressed for I have figured it in full fruit ( Fig, material, inade use of dried 2), The Virginia creeper has a ffrasses, seed-vessels, burrs, and leaf consisting of five lobes, which are distinctly nptched, and which of villanoua berries on the top and sides of the head, and a few of the sprays about the ears and on the forehead. Stepping into the store, I addressed the pro- prietress, and asked her if she knew that the bonnet was trimmed with the berries of one of the most poisonous shrubs known in the country. After staring at me in a sort of puzzled way, she informed me that I was mistaken; that she had received those flowers from Paris only a week aso. " Madam," I replied, " there must be a mistake somewhere, for those aie the berries of the poison-sumac, which does not grow in Bnrope." 8he gave me one angry look, asked me to please attend to my own business, and swept away from me to the other end of the store. A few days after this I read in the daily papers an account of the poisoning of a number of small girls employed in a French arti ncial flower manufaotory in Greene Street. I at on ('>> guessed the causew I visited the factory mentioned, introduced myselfto the proprietor, told him what 1 knew about the poison berries — and was rudely requested to make myself scarce. After these two adventures I made up my mind to keep my botanical knowledge (poisonous though it might be) to myself. When poisoned with ivy or sumac (they are all sumacs). Size closely resemble those of the , jf t^^^ ,„^ g^ij^g medicines are ^^y- I taken, the poison will slowly ex- This suiUHi' is terrible in its ef- ! haust itself ; but it is a tedious fects ol'teii causing temporary and slow operation. — Harper'i blindness. Some years ago it be- came the fashion to wear immense curve r>V>/' no. 2. — VIHOINIA CBKKPI I . upward from the midrib, Instead of aerial rootlets like the ivy, it has stout K^^ tendrils more or '"^ " less twisted and curled, often as- suming the form of a spiral spring. These tendrils are provided with a disk by means ol which an attach- ment JN inado to any object within reach (see Fitr 2. 13 B ) The stem has the appearance ot be- in-r jointed. The berries are lurire and grape-like in the form of the duster, and when ripe are of a deep blue color, with catkins ; these were painted, dyed, frosted and bronzed to make them attractive. I became greatly in- terested in the business and the ingenuity displayed, and spent much time examining the con- tents of milliners' win- dows. On one oc- casion when standing before a very fashion- able milliner s window on Fourteenth Street, I was horror-stricken on discovering that an immense wreath of grayish berries which constituted the inside trimming ol' a bonnet, was composed eniirely of the berries ol the poison-snmac just as they had b ( p n ^ra'heied, nota panicle of varnish, bronze, or other material coating them. The bonnet, when worn, would bring this entire raaaa Youn)^ People. There is no Soil which, un- der proper tillage, may noc be made a garden. So there is no heart orlife, however barren, that may not, by cultivation under the inspiration of Christ, be made productive of every good word and work. FI0.8.— P0180N-9UM Ar n m the top and a few e ears and >ping into the pro- ber ir she nnet was ies ofonu as shrubs try, Al't«r of puzzled that I was d received ris only a Bd, " there lomewhere, ies of the does not ngry look, ttend to ray wept away end of the is I read in count of the ter of ^mall •"rench art!- ifactory in n(;<^ guessed the factory d myself to lim what I tn berries — sted to make r these two p my mind I knowledge night be) to vith ivy or ill sumacs), adicines are 1 slowly ex- s a tedious n — Harper'i , which, un- may not be there is no barren, that 3u under the it, be made good word -eMW J A TRUE REPRINTEn STORIES, FROM T HK " NORTHERN MESSENGER.';^ fil Tears pa|$edaway,and I sought to prove that, to become great, a Q HISTORY BOYS. OF TWO II BY THE REV. R. U. CRAIQ, They attended the same school, sat side by side on the same seats, vied with each other in the same classes, played the school-games together, and were to each other ns brothers. They were am bitions, and often spoke of the future "when they would be men ol distinction," and even in boy- hood began to plan about the best way of obtaining a classical education, which they considered indispensable tu success. Their lathers were men of limited means, having to work hard for the support of their child- len, and never dreamed of giving their boys an education higher than that furnished by the common schools. In the village school, how- over, these boys hud an excellent teacher, who taught them more than how to read and write and do sums. He in- spired them with the idea ot" workiii!^ for themselve8,and lostered their ambition to rise in the world without Ihe help ot others, by using for that purpose all honorable means with perseverance and a will. Already each had got hold uf a Latin grammar, and they were conning oviT " penna, pennie, pi'Miiro," to the utter as- tonishment of their fel- low-pupils, while the still more puzzling my- stery was declared that the angle A. B. C. is equal to the angle D. E. F. D. and that z is equal toanythingin this world. While quite younir the boys left school, taking charge of schools of their own as teachers, hut still pursuing the path which to each seemed to point out the way to the object of their ambition. John had the credit of being just a little brighter than his li'llow. but James had the reputation of being n young man of excellent character ; and it was a matter of some amuse- ment to his rival to learn that when he became a teacher, wish- ing to mould the character of his scholars, he had openly espoused the canse of temperance and re- fused to touch, taste or handle that which could hurt the body or mind of others. John claimed to be as temperate as James, but said he would not run to such foolishextremesby tiikingpledges, joining Rechabites, and nil tlint sort of nonsense. And so these two young men struck out in difTorent directions. John taught his school and reatd his Virgil and Homer, and, when fatigued with close study and late hours, sometimes he refreshed himself with a glass of wine. " Pugh ! " said he to the expos- tulations of his friend, James, when they happened to meet after two or three years' separa- tion, " if I never do worse than to take a glass of wine, I do not think much harm can come to me." " That may be," said James, " but so many do come to harm that I would not run the risk for all the good it does." the two young men. I knew where to find one of them, but was not certain about the other. After many enquiries I knocked at the door of an obscure house in an obscure street, and in re- sponse there came to the door a man, John, who had the reputa- tion of being a Hue scholar, know- ing Latin and Greek, Hebrew and Arabic, French and German ; but I noticed that he had hard work to stand steadily on his feet for the few moments I spoke to him, and his tongue was evidentl/too large for distinct communication. AHMED AT ALL POINTS. " Nothing refreshes me so much after a hard night's study as a glass of sherry," responded John, with earnestness ; " and I think if you but knew the value of it you would try it. Young men like us have no much study to do that we must have something to keep up our strength ; and I hope we are not foolish enough to hurt ourselves." " I think my strength will last as long as yours," said James ; " besides, when I do not feel the need, I do not care to risk the danger. I can get along well enough without such helps." man must rule his own spirit and shun the very appearance of evil. " But what i^ecame of the other young man ? " you ask. The question can be answered in a very few words. About six months after I last saw him he died suddenly in a fit of aelirivvi tremens, and was laid in a drunk- ard's grave. And so the history of these two boys comes out in perfect har- mony with the principles of char- acter which each planted for him- self. There is little difficulty in predicting results ; "For whatsoever a man sow eth that shall ho also reap. Forhe that soweth to the flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption ; but he that soweth to the spirit shall of the spirit reap life everlast- ing." — .iVfto York Ob- server THK LION HEART. King Richard I. of England was surnamed Coeur de Lion from his great bravery and gr-at physical strength. In his youth he fought against his father and his brothers, and after coming to the English throne joined the crusade to fight for possession of the Holy Land. He delighted in war and bloodshed, and as a con- sequence always had plenty to fight against. His subjects who fought under his banner ad- mired and loved him, but the rulers who fought with him against the Saracens could not stand his temper and as- sumptionsol superiority. This,more Ihananything else, caused Ihe want of Kuccessofthe crusade, On Richard's return home he was shipwrecked in the Adriatic sea, and whileseekingto continue his journey by land was captured by Leopold DukeofAustria.whomhe had grossly insulted, and was surrendered by him to the Emperor utter wreck at] Henry VI, who confined him in of age, and I several castles. Hewasfinally liber- sorrow and in i ated by ransom, returned to Eng- land, which he found was being He seemed an thirty-live years turned away in shame. I sought the lodgings of James, i ruled by his brother John whom he He was a college graduate and forgave, and then began war with was busy preparing to stand a Frnnce. While attacking the city special examination for a high of Chains in 1199 he was shot by academic degree. He showed | an arrow and the wound was so me a "call" which he had recent-! unskillully treated that he died, ly received from an important I The picture we give of him may church, urging him to become ' not be a very good likeness but it its pastor, and ne told me that he illustrates the manner in which probably would accept it. He the knights in those days dressed was still a temperance man — a j themselves for war, with chain- man of sterling principle and 1 armor, sliield and lance, a load in splendid mind; and he still '-ves| themselves. iH9 f^HBP ;; ^2 REPRINTED STORIES, FRQM THE "NORTHERN METAMOBPHOSIS OF THE DEER'S ANTLERS. Every year in March the deer loses it ant- lers, andiresh onesvnmediately begin to grow, which exceed in size those that have just l)i>en lost. Few persons probably have been able to watch and observe the habits of the animal after it has lost its antlers. It will, therefore, be of interest to examine the a<> companyine drawing, by Mr. L, Beckmanii, showing a deer while shedding its antlers. In the illustration the animal has inst lost one of its antlers, and f rii^ht and pain have caused it to throw- its head upward and become disturb- ed and uneasy. The remaining ant- l)>r becomes soon de- tached from its base, and the deer turns — as if ashamed of having lost its orna- ment and weapon — lowers its head, and sorrowfully moves to the adjoin- ing thicket, where it hides. A friend once observed a deer losing its ant- lers, but thecircum- .stances were some- what different. The animal was jumping over a ditch, and as soon as it touched the further bank it jumped high in the air, arched its back, bent its head to one Hide in the manner of an animal that has been wounded, and then sadly ap- proached the nearest thicket, in the same manner as the artist has represented in the accompanying picture. Both ant- lers dropped off and foil into the ditch. Strong antlers are generally found to- gether, but weak ones are lost at inter- vals of two or three days. A few days after this loss the stumps upon which the ant- lers rested are cover- ed with a skin, whichgrowsupward very rapidly, and under which the t'renh antlers are formed, so that by the end of July the bucks have new and strong ant- lers, from which they remove the line hairy coverinEr by rubbing them against young trees. It is peculiar that the huntsman, who knows everything in regard to deer, and has seventy-two signs l)y which he can tell whether i\ male or female deer J. through the woods, i I know METAMORPHOSIS.OF DEER 8 ANTLERS, its first antlers and how the ant- lers indicate the age of the animiil. Prof, Altum, in Ehers- walde, has given some valuable n formation in regard to the rela- tion between the age of the deer iMid the forms of their antlers, but in some respects he has not ex- passcs I pressed himself very cloorly, and does not 1 1 think that my observations giv- at what age the deer gets | en in addition to his may be of importance. When the animal i.s a year old — that is, in June — the burs of Ihe antlers begin to form, and in July the animal has two protuberances of the size of wal- nuts, from which the first branches of the antlers rise ; these ©H» MESSENGER.;; ' branches are formed, which are considerably ' longer and much rougher at the lower ends than the first. The third pair of antlers is diflerent from its predecessors inasmuch as it has " roses," that is, annular ridges around the bases of the horn, which latter are now bent in the shape of a crescent. Either the antler has a single branch (Fig. 8, a), or besides thepoint it has another short end, which is a most rare shape, and is known as a " fork" (Fig. 8, b), or it has two forks (Fig. 8, c). In the following year the antlers take the form shown in Fig. 4, and then follows the antler shown in Fig. 5, a, which generally has " forks" in place of points, and is known as forked antler in contradis- tinction to the point antler shown in Fig. 5, b. which retains the shape of the antler, Fig. 4, but has additional or inte rmediate prongs or branches. The huntsman de- signate the antlers by the number of ends or points on the two antlers. For instance. Fig. S a is a six ender ; Fig. 6. b shows an eight ender, etc. ; and ant- lers have been known to have as many as twenty- two ends. If the two antlers do not have the same num- ber of ends, the number of ends on the larger antler is multiplied hf two and the word " odd" is placed before Ihe word designating Ihe number of ends. For instance, if one antler has three ends and the other four, the antler would be termed "odd" eight ender. The sixth antler shown in Fig. 6 is a ten ender, and appears in two dif- ferent forms, either with a fork at the upper end, as shown in Fig. 6, a, or with a crown, as shown inFig. 6, ft. In Fig. 7 an antler isshown which the animal carries from its se- venth year until the month of March of its eighth year. From that time on the crowns only increase and change. The increase in the number of points is not always .IS regular as I have described it, for in years when food is scarce and poor the antlers are weak ind sninll, and when food is pleii- branches having the length of a lil'ul and rich the antlers grow ex- linger only, or being even shorter, I ceedingly large, and sometimes as shown at 1 in diagram. Af-lskip an entire year's growth.— ter the sacond yeisr more Karl Brandt. (iM^- ^H» r REI'RINTKr) STOHIKS. h'ROM Till', ' NORTHERN MKSSKNCJER" I THB TIN SAVINGS'- BANK. Charles Lynford was a clever journeyman fitter in one of our large iron works, in good work and earning good wages. At the age of twenty-six he married Oaro- line Eustice, the daughter of a neighbor, who, although she had no money dowry, yet brought him many personal qualificationB.com- bined with habits of thrift, learn- ed under a clever. God-fearing mother in an economical house- hold under the stern teachings of necessity. It was well perhaps that Charles Lynfordobtained a wife of this character, since he himself found it very difficult to save any- thing from his weekly Wages. Caroline s«on became acquaint- ed with her husband's failings. She was uneasy on finding that they were living fully up to their income. She looked forward also to a time when their family ex- penses would grow larger, and possibly her husblmd's wages might become less. After much thought,and praying lor God's guidance, she purchased of a pedler who came to the door a little tin safe, such as children commonly use as the money-box. This she placed in the front of the mantelpiece, where Oharles would be sure to see it. On entering he called out, " Hello, Carrie, what's that?" " Only a little purchase that I made to-day," said his wife. " But whatever is it meant for ?" he asked. " Let me explain it to yon, Charles," said his wife, playfully. " Have you sixpence in ^our pocket?" Charles held oat a sixpence. His wife took it from his hand and gently dropped it into the box throash a slit in the top. Charles laughed. " So you have taken to hoard- ing, Carrie. Has my little wife become a miser?" " No, only a little prudent. But, seriously, Oharles, that is just what I want you to do every week-day night." "What! drop sixpence into this new-fangled invention of yours?" " Exactly." " Very well, that will be easy enough ; sixpence is no great sum. But may I ask what you are going to do with this newly- commenced hoard ?" " Lay it by for a rainy day," answered Caroline. Charles laughed heartily. " And what will sixpence a day amount to ?" he inqnired. " In a year it will amount " commenced his wife, seriously. " Oh, never mind — spare me the calculation I" " But you don't object to my plan, Charles, do you ?" " Not in the least, I have no doubt it is very prudent and commendable; but you know, Carrie, I never was gifted with much foresight or prudence." " Yes, Charles. I am well aware that what you say is true," said his wife, smiling. This ended the conversation for the time. # * * # * The plan inaugurated by the yonng wife was steadily carried out. Caroline was not one of those who eagerly enter upon a new plan and soon tire of it. No ; she was thoroughly satisfied of the wisdom of her purpose, and resolved by God's blessing to car- ry it through. Every morning she asked her husband for six- pence, which was forthwith add- ed to the accumulation. Some- times Charles had not sixpence in change, but he had shillings. One of these he would then toss to his wife instead ! And she would assure him, laughingly, that this would answer her purpose equal- ly as well ! More than once Charles would banter his wife on the subject of her tin savings' -bank, but this she always bore with significant smiles. The sixpences and the shillings of the husband were not the only accessions that the tin box re- ceived. Charles had early ar- ranged to make his wife an ample allowance for dress, but, like a wise better-half of a working man, she made her own dresses, and thus provided herself with a de- cent wardrobe at a mnch less cost than some women not so well versed in the science of household management could have done. After considerable thought and calculation, Carrie came to the conclusion that out of her allow- ance for dress she could make a daily deposit equal to that which she exacted from her husband ! Of this, however, she thought it best at the present time not to in- form Oharles, enjoying in antici- pation the prospect of being able at some future time to surprise him with the unexpected amount of her savings. At the close of every month, Caroline opened her tin box, and carefully transferred the contents to a Sarings'-Bank of higher pretensions, and where .interest was allowed. Of his wife's mode of manage- ment of the money, the husband remained in complete ignorance. Nor did he ever express any de- sire to know where it went to. He was an easy, careless fellow, spending as he went, enjoying the present, and, like too many men, alas I not feeling any particular concern about the future. At the end of eight years, da- ring which Charles Lynford had been favored with constant work and uninterrupted health, his ac- count books showed that his ex- penses]) had not exceeded his in- come for he saw that there was half a crown on the credit side ! " That's running pretty close, isn't it, Carrie?" he said, laughing- ly. "I take credit to myself for keeping on the riffht side of the line. But then I suppose that you have saved up a good snm ?" "How much do you think?" asked his wife. "Oh, perhaps twenty -five pounds," said Charles. His wife smiled, but did not volunteer to enlighten him as to the correctness of his conjecture. So things went on, until there came a panic in the iron trade^ a panic so severe that tens of thousands of working men and their families were afiTected by it ; and amongst them w«i8 Charles Lynford and his wife ! One eveningCharles came home looking very sad — s rare thing with him. Caroline, who had watched the signs of the times, was not unprepared for her hus- band's sad look. She had expec- ted that the trade of the great iron works would be afiected. " What is the matter, Charles?" she asked cheerfully. " The matter is, Carrie, that we shall have to economize greatly," he replied. " Anything unfavorable at the works, Charles ?" "I should think there was. I shall be put on ' half-time ' next week, and I am afraid that even that will tail before long. Yoa have no idea, Carrie, how dull business of every kind has be- come, and especially in our trade. " IHhink I have, Charles," said his wife quietly. " I have read a little in the paper lately, and have been looking ont for something of this kind." " Do you think we can reduce our expenses one half?" asked the husband doubtfully. I do think we shall be able to do so," said Caroline. " But, suppose my work should entirely fail, I imagine that, clever as you are, you couldn't reduce our expenses to nothing at all, could you ?" " That certainly surpasses my power, Charles," said Carrie smil- ing ; " but even in that case there is no ffround for discouragement. You nave not forgotten our tin savings'-bank, have you ?" " Well, now, I didn't think of that," said her husband. " I sap- pose that would keep the wolf from the door for a fe a weeks ?" His wife smiled ! " And in those weeks," after a pause, she added, smilingly, " business might revive. ' " To be sure," said Charles. " Let us hope that it will be all right. " I'll try to ' trust and not be afraid,' and I'll thank God more and more for my clever and thoughtful wife." The apprehensions to which Charles Lynford had given ex- pression, proved to be only too well founded. In loss than a month from the day on which the above conversation took place, the large iron works were " closed," and Oharles, with two thousand other hands, was without work or wages. Although Charles Lynford had anticipated this, yet it was a fear f.3 J ful blow when it came, and he again returned home in deep sor- row. He briefly explained to his wife the terrible calamity which had come upon him. "And the worst of it is," he added, " there is no hope of better times until spring. However ■hall we get through the winter, Carrie ?" "Do you think, Oharles, that business will revive in the spring ?" "Oh, yes, onr masters said they had every hope that a change for the better in our trade would take place in the spring, but then there are frooi five to six months between now and then. I don't know how we are to live during the winter months." " I do, Charles. Let ns kneel down and thank God that it is possible for me to say, 'Idol' " " You !" exclaimed her astonish- ed husband. " Yes, I do, Charles. We can live on fifty pounds for six months." " Of coarse we can, but wher- ever is that large sum to come from ? I don't want to run in debt, and if I did, I shouldn't know where to borrow such a sum as that." " Fortunately there is no need of that, Charles. Yon seem to forget our little tin box !" " But is it possible the contents can amount to fifty pounds ?" ex- claimed Charles, in surprise. " Yes, and one hundred pounds more," replied the delighted wife to her astonished husband. "Impossible, Carrie !" " Wait a minute, Charles, and 1 will prove it." Caroline withdrew with a light step for a few moments, and then reappeared with her Savings'- Bauk book. She opened it, and pointed to a sum of over One Hundred and Fifty Pounds standing to her credit ! " Are you quite sure, Carrie, that yon haven't had a legacy left you ?" demanded Charles, in amazement. " Surely sixpence a day has never produced this ?" "No, but a shilling a day has, with a little extra deposit now and then. I think, Charles, that we shall, if God be pleased to spare our lives, be able to ward ofi" starvation for a time." " All this I owe to your pru- dence, my dear Carrie," said Charles, gratefully. " How can I repay you?" Charles Lynford remained out of employment until the spring. but then, as anticipated, trade re- vived, and he was again in re- ceipt of his old wages. More than two-thirds of Carrie's fund was still left, and henceforth Charles was no less assiduous than his worthy wife in striving to in- crease its contents. The little tin savings'-box still stands on the mantelpiece, and never fails to receive a deposit daily — Britith Workman. iH^ «4» 64 REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." ANOTHER TALK WITH UNCLE PHILIP. BT E. V IfOBBT. A little hnrried knock was heard at the door, and Uucia Philip, on opening it, found a group of children, with evea tparkling and oheeka rosy with excitement. " O Uncle Philip !" cried Annie eagerly, "what do you think Charlie haa ?" "A bird, I expect," said Uncle Philip, smiling. "Oh, yes, a lovely little hum- ming-bird," answered three or four voices in chorus. " He shot him with water from his pop-gun, and stunned him." . Uncle Philip took the tiny- half a walnut-she|l, and they are 'could scarcely see them beyond beantiful, cup-shaped little homes, tho feathers ? Its wings, too, are often placed in the fork of a so long and narrow that they branch. Tho outside is exauisite- ' seem to go by you like a flash of ly decorated with pieces of lichen, colored lisht; and the long slendur and the inside is lined with the | bill and fiorous tongue seum to bo finest silky fibres, a lovely bed ; perfect for exploring iiower-cnps. ^ m^/7//w RUBY AND TOPAZ HTT.W MINO-BIRD. winged creature tenderly in his hand and laid it on a little cush- ion of down in a large empty cage covered with fine wire, which hung in the sunshiny window, among the honeysuckle flowers. "There he said, "your little captive will soon get over his shower-bath and his fright, and you can look at him for a while — and then, Annie, what shall we do with him ?" " Uncle Philip, we will set him free. Oh, I would not keep him in a cage !" " But we could do it," said Johnnie, " and feed him on syrup or honey." " No," said Uncle Philip, " he would not live on that. You would have to give him ants to cat as well as honey, or some meat and egg chopped very fine. The honey of flowers is not his only diet, if he does look so dainty and fairy-like. But we must not keep him in prison, for I think he has a little nest of his own." "Oh!" exclaimed Annie in de- light. " Did you ever see a hum- ming-bird's nest ?" Tell us how large i t is, and of what i t is made." Some are no larger inside than for their one or two tiny white egn ; but all their nesta are not alike, for you see there are no less than four hundred different species of humming-birds, and of course their homes are different too." " Four hundred !" repeated Johnnie. " I am surprised that there should be so many ! I would like to hear about some of the nests made by the others. What little house-builders they are !" " Some of them hang their tiny nests to creepers and vines which grow over the water, or even over the sea; and a Pidunclea hum- ming-bird is said, by Mr Wallace, to have fastened its nest to a straw- rope hanging from a roof. Others build theirs like miniature ham- mocks attached by spider's web to the face of the rocks ; while the little creatures, that dart here and there through the green forest shade like living gems, fasten their nests on the under side of palm-leaves or tree branches." " These humming-birds are so swift and brilliant, their throats and breasts glow with sucIAich, warm, shining colors, that I can- not fancy them as living any- where but in a land of flowers, a tropical forest or a southern island," said Annie's older sister. " Do you ever find them in cold countries ?" "There is an Antartic humming- bird that has been seen in Terra del Fuego, haunting the fnschia flowers ; and in the summer there are two kinds of humming-birds, the ruby-throat and the flame- bearer, that visit Canada and the Northern part of America, and build their little nests and bring up their young birds here, but at the approach of winter they are on the airy road to the sunshine and blooming fields of Mexico." He walked to the cage where the bird sat uneasily turning its little head quickly from side to side, and fluttering against the fine wires. He opened the door with a smile at the children's eager faces, and soon the bright wings had flown past, and were flitting through the flowers outside, and swiftly speeding away far out of sight. " That tiny wanderer and his companions have been known to travel three thousand miles to- ward the South. Think what visions of flowers must stir in the little birds' throbbing hearts in all that long journey ! Not of flowers alone, perhaps, but of great forest trees, and the small insects on their leaves and stems, and the rapid dart and dive through the air by which they catch them !" " They seem to be made for a life in the air. Uncle Philip," said Katie. " Did you notice the deli- cate little feet, so short that yon But and seizing their tiny prey while they are circling over and above in flight." ' V es," said Uncle Philip, " I am glad, dear child, to see that you noticed it so closely, there are some of this family so small — their bodies are h«rdly larger than a bum- ble-bee — that when they they are whirling by you, you can scarcely perceive their shape.'' " Their colors are differ- ent, aren't they. Uncle Philip?" " Oh, yes. See, here are some colored prints of them. Almost all have some green, shining like metals, but there ate rich blues and purples, and glowing red hues. I cannot fancy any- thing so perfect as this rnby spot, or this glittering gold- en-green, or this melting sapphire-blue. And look at their crested heads — tho frills and rnfls around their necks — and their tails, some pure white, and pointed like a star, some long or round and with the richest colors imaginable. These bright hues are on their breasts and tails and heads, so that as they dart down, they gleam and disappear, and then shine out again and change their color as they move, with the most startling and beautiful ef- fect." " What a funny little one this is," said Annie, holding up a print ; " he has a crest and a beard. And here is one with a crown on his head, and a breast like a burnished shield ; and there is a little bird with long feathers from his neck." "Did you notice the sound, the humming of the wings, when the humming-bird was near you ?" asked their uncle. " Yes, I have often listen- ed to it ; but he whirls away so quickly he doesn't give one much time to make ob- servations," said Johnnie with a laugh. " He shoots away , like a skyrocket, then presently here he is again, pirouetting around the honeysuckle like a waltzer, and again he is whizzing and buzzing away over the far- thest flower-beds.' " They do not move like other birds, and this swift, whirring flight secures them so well from attack that they are not usually timid, and will come neater to you than any other bird, some- times approaching within a yard or two of your face. I often have them come to these honeyraokle flowers while I am sitting beside the window reading or writing, and I have several times seen the passionate little creature tear the flower entirely open with his keen, sharp bill if he could not get the honey as quickly at he wished, and then with an impa- tient whirr shoot away in anothw direction." " It seems as funny as if a fairy were in a rage," said Annie. HLKKDER SHEAR-TAIL HUMMINO-BIRn. SWORD-BILL HUMMINQ-BIRD. " Uncle, I should like to see them at home and quiet for a little while like other birds." " I think we ought to go now," said Katie, hesitatingly ; " but, Uncle Philip, we may come again some time, may we not ?" " Yes, indeed," he replied with a smile. " I shall be glad to see you." " Oh, thank you. Wo have had such a happy time," added Annie, with a warm embrace and kiss 4s they departed. — IUutt,ated Chrif Ua» Weekly. #Hi gm to ae« them for a little to go now," gly; "but, 7 come a((aiu lot r replied with glad to Bee Wo have hi» it -^^^^^^^ 1^^^^ *s ^^^^^^^^^ « t THE OAMBLKB'S BBFOBMATION, mm\ was conquering him. He had tried and tried to be moderate, or to l>eatotal abstainer ; but he found himself weak, unable to break the habit Heknew,a8ev«rydrnnkard I everywhere knows, that he I must have help, or miserably pern knees breaking to pieces some dice. He is a gambler. He has been drawn gradually into the fascinating game, until at last, reckless in his plays, he has lost everything. He comes to himself and sees that he must give up at 65 V once this cursed habit, and, to, dream This hard-working farmer make it sure, he offers this picture lies sleeping nndcr his heavy of himself to his god. In the origi- 1 comfortabl.', with his head on his mil picture his wife and child wooden pillow. In his dream ho stand behind him, adding their sees these frisky foxes jumping prayers to his that the god will joyfully ucrosshisbed and through A BAILORS TIIANK-OFFEBINO. hear his vow. Sometimes in these votive pic- tures of reformation there is a sly reservation written on one side, " good for five years." And I have been told that while the memory of former sufiering is keen, and the superstitious fear remains, the vow will be kept. But as the old desire grows strong'er with con- tinual temptations, the reformed man will sometimes say, " I've kept my vow a year : four years are left. That will make eight years of days, and leave me the nights for drinking and gamb- ling." Wo come next to two pictures of thanksgiving. A sailor hashad a prosperous voyage. The Rising Sun has daily greeted him, and favoring breezes have filled his the air — their tails out straight and their mouths splitting with fox-laughter. When the farmer wakes up he too will laugh, for the fox is the messenger of the god of rice and to see a messenger of any of the gods is a sign of good luck. There are cart-loads of such pic- tures in these temples — dreamers with monstrous snakes crawling around them, dreamers with poisonous centipedes in their bosoms ! Then instead of wak- ing thankful that it wasn't true, as we should, they awake glad to have been honored with a dream of the messengers of the gods. And I think, too, that these dreamers of beasts and reptiles are waking up out of this nonsense of ages. They are already beginning to laugh at THE farmer's dream. sails. Ho thinks it a duty and privilege to acknowledge the favor of his god with this picture ofhisjnnk. Theie are thousands of these hung in the temples of Ja- pan. Last of all comes a picture of a themselves. And when they onto use the reason God has given them, their repentance, their gratitude, and their desires will find a truer and nobles ex- pression than by Yema. — Mission- ff I ary Hetaid. ' * 66 REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER. naturalist Cuvier (rave the name of the Megatherum, the ffiaut Sloth of the early ages of the world. Its skeleton is not as large as that of an elephant, it is true, but it surpasses in bulk those of the hippopotamus and rhinoceros, and therefore it is not probable that it lived such a simply arboreal life as its smaller successors, climbing from branch to branch, and rocked in their leafy cradle by the wind. It was, however, so formed as to possess every means of self- support in its great forest world, and also of self-defeuco, though a monstrous tiger called the " sabre- tooth," on account of its long, sharp teeth, was often its assail- ant. But the tiger found its match even for these in the three long, large, curved, sharp-pointed and consequently we find him possessed of two might v hind legs, which were not so long as those ot the elephant, but were twice as thick and massive, and a tail which was sufficiently firm- jointed, long, and heavy to form with the heavy hind legs a sub- stantial tripod which could well assist the Megatherium in his work. The front limbs, which wore used for seizing the tree, plex in development, being al- most as perfect as the arms and hands of man for the purpose for which they were designed. We can, in imagination, see this gigantic animal raised on its power- ful hind legs, and tugging, riving, and swaying the root-loosened AN OLD-FASHIONED ANI- MAL. BT HISS X. F. MOSBT. In the forests of South America, ages and ages ago, there lived enormous animals which are now extinct, and are known only by their bones which have been dis- covered embedded in the soil. But although they lived so long ago, and were so different in size from the creatures that now pos- sess their ancient haunts, there is a likeness and a kinship existing between them. When the little French visitors to the Jardiu du Roi (the garden of the king), in PuriN, crowd to see the foreign animals that are on exhibition there, they are filled with amuse- ment and wonder at a strange quadruped which seems incapa- ble of using its four long legs claws v.'hich the great Megather- j tree until it fell with a loud crash, either to run or jump, or even ij-ium used in its combats. The its wide-spreading branches tear- walk. It looks lazier than a grub ' present ant-eater of South Amo- jing into the soil beneath or rear- er a beetle, and its name — the 1 rica has no ot'ier weapons than Jing tlu-niselves still high in the Sloth — seems a very appropriate I similar sharp claws, and yet these I air. Then the feast began, and title, for it only crawls along upon the earth in a weak and helpless fash- ion, its hands and feet, which are armed with sharp claws, stretched out aimlessly on the ground. The trees in South America grow^ in the valleys of the great rivers in the greenest luxuriance, every branch rustling thick with leaves, and the trunk buried knee- dei'p in long grasses. In the air the vines, heavily laden with foliage and blossoms, form aerial and swaying bridges that throw their strong arms from bough to bough. Here the diminutive .'^loth of to-day has its home, and it no longer looks inert or awk- ward when it has reached its true habitat. This is not on the earth's surface, nor on the water's, ! own against the jaguar and the long muscular and flexible but in the forest that rises in " the puma. When it has once seized tongue, more like a rope than any- aerial ocean." The creature can | a foe, no matter how desperate its ; thing el.se, having the same shape neither run nor swim nor fly; but I own hurts or injuries may j as a giriifTe's.^ but twice as big, it can climb, and it is indeed a bo, it will cling until death if that were true, the Megather- ium could escape being crushed to death or killed by a blow from some of the falling trees Y It now appears that, although these ani- mals became doubtless trained by experience to dexterity in dodg- ing such collisions, they did not always escape unhurt. In a skeleton of the Megatherium dis- covered on the banks of the Vi\o Platta the skull had two distino pulling it roughly to and fro un- fractures, one completely healed, til it gave way, and then hauling and the other, a more serious in- it down, were powerful and com- jury to the back of the akull, evi Gently the cause of the animal's death. Each of the scan indica- ted a stunning blow, which must for a time have completely pros- trated the huge creature ; and as the first was cured and the last had by no means caused instant death — since sufficient time had elapsed for the bone to begin a new growth — neither could nave been inflicted by a tiger's paw or a hunter's club. Such enemies would have finished their work while their prey lav defenceless. The blow waH without doubt Trom somepassive or inanimate body.like the fall- ing trunk or bough of some large tree. — Il- lustrated Christian Weekly. SKELETON AND OUTUNE OF A MEQATHERIUM. climber par excellence. Each limb being terminated by two or three long and strong hooks, with these it could securely cling to the branches, along these it mov- ed, often rapidly; there was nothing slothful in its arboreal mode of progression. Suspended always with its head and trunk downwards, it so traversed every branch and part of the tree yielding food by leaf or fruit. In that clinging attitude it rested, suspending itself to sleep. Amid the bou'.fli8 it so lived and bred, the mother carrying her suckling young securely clinging to her neck. In this same wild, sylvan coun- try of South America there were dug lip the fossil remains of some enormous animal, to which the Near the city of Washington little gray lizard. s are plenty. They grow lour or live inches long, are clean tothetoucli, and make amus- ingpets. A writer for Our Li' ing crashed a blow from u8 ? It now h these «ni- 88 trained by ity in dodg- heydid not lurt. In a theriam dis- 8 of the Uii> two dittino Btely healed, eerious in- le akuU, eri- the animal's car* indica- which must >let(ily pros- tore ; and as and the last used instant nt time had to begin a r conld naro ger's paw or ich enemies their work s their prey defenceless. blow was DTit doubt somepassire n a n i m a 1 ,like the fall- trunk or h of some tree. — i/- tled Christian \ly. lAR the city Washington gray lizards lenty. They r lour or five B8 long, arc I to the touch, mako amus- iets. AwriliT htr LiHIeOiiis "You wi 1 :hem sittinu- le walls and tsin the buu. easily, if you 1st go up to If you maki' ley are oil. tiough,gra.s|i ) the lizard'.s on the spot II oi\ly cntch Now a lizard isily as a boy ; so if you d's tail, you zard. , . . e lizard, and Ih the end ol' 3on be tame. n the table, md take in- I" The liz- ■e green, ami purple, and They are and may bo y cousins in itimes they Brce." al patience." ABOUT SPIDBBS. The spiders belong \o the great family of " Articulata," and in the group are called " Arachnida." I do not know how long ago this niime was given to the spiders, but it seems to have come from Grecian mythology. Arachne, it RKPRINTKD STORIKS. FROM I first spun a long thread, and let the wind blow it out length-wise, in hope it would tind lodgment on the shore. After having tried this method of escape in vain, find- ing the wind not strong enough to aid him, ho resorted to another ingenious experiment. Olimbing to the top of the pole, he com- ,s satd, was a arecian lady in the ^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ ^ -^.^^^^ Walloon; '""*ntS» "rnrZ V« lit !!} ^h"" «^<^^' »>« attached it toth; spmnmfr So proud was she of| , ; ^ ^ , ^^t i„to it, and nerart tbat she aspired to com.|g„ji^g ^^ too small, constructed a larger one. Then seemingly poto with the goddess Minerva ; but her presumption was punish- ed by her being transformed into A spider. But though so humili- atod, she yet retained her skill, niid wove webs of wondrous hiMiuty ; and so it comes to pass that tne spider family are known to naturalists as the Arachnida, or " children of Arachne." Now if our young readers hap- pen to be so far advanced in their studies in Natural History as to be interested in the classincation of the Arachnida, we will briefly say that Linnoons and older na- turalists used to call the spider an "insect." But since Lamarck they have been separated into a distinct class. They have articu- lated skeleton ; usually eight legs, consisting of seven joints ; they have from two to seven eyes — fix- ed, not movable, but placed in different parts of the head in the different species to accommodate their varied habits. They have " falces," or mandibles, to seize their prey, and maxillae, or what might be called a mouth, to squeeze and eat them. Now we have done the scienti- lie. Let us study one or two species of the spider But before we do that I would like to tell you about the " web " Most of the Arachnida live by catching insects in nets which they weave in bushes, on fences, in outhouses, and not infrequent- ly in our homes. This web is a wonder of light- ness, elasticity, and strength. It is the strongest material of its size known It comes from the spin- neret, located in the rear of the ibdomen of the animal, and is composed of thousands of distinct threads blended into one. Thii satisfied he cut the guy-rope and sailed away to land. Is not that wonderful ? We sometimes call the nets the spiders weave in our houses cob- webs. This comes from the Dutch word for spider, " coppe." Good housekeepers don't like to acknowledge having seen them in the corners of their rooms, but rilK "NOHTHKRN MKSSKNG like to describe in brief three varieties of the Arachnida that have always seemed to us very interesting specimens of the fam- ily. First, the Trap-Door Spider. " JUt/ifulenittulaiis," I'lmnd not only in the West Indies, but in Cali- fornia. This spider lives in the ground, does not spin iv web for catching insects, but clmses and captures them upon the ground. His home is a marvel of skill. He digs a perpendicular hole in the earth where there is a slope, so that water may not interfere with him. He then lines it with a silk- en web more beautiful than any regal tapestry. He constructs a door of earth on the upper side, made to look just like the ground about it, while on the inner side there is the same silken lining and hinges of the same material, so T •In THE WEB AND ITS VirTI.Mfl. a spider can weave one blending accounts for its great in the night, it ought not always strength This apparatus and in- , to be a sign of untidiness, stinctwere furnished the spider Hogarth, in one of his pictures, re- longago,long before men thought presents neglected charity by of twisting together many strands sketching a spider-web over the of wire to make a strong and ; aperture of the collection-box ; pliant rope • These webs are also and one of our modern poets, m elastic, and yield to the strain of describing the peace that has the wind or "the spider's weight. The strands are also covered with a viscid humor or paste, that not only keops the intersections of the web glued fast, but, like birdlime, fastens the prey to the meshes These webs o*" the spider are not only used as nets and air-sieves to catch its prey, but sometimes his spinnerets afford him the means to escape from danger. Seth Q-reen, the fish-raiser, tells us of an observation of his. He placed ^ a pole in the middle of a little ! • pond, and put a spider on it. m^ peace fratricidal It the followed our Iratncidal war, weaves a spider's web over the cannon's mouth ; and among the Jewish legends I read that when David entered the cave of Adul- 1am, a spider quickly wove a web across its entrance, that Saul passed it by, convinced that the fleeing David could not have en- tered it for refuge. We have in the illustration the webs of the common spiders with some poor victims of their snares vainly endeavoring to ex- tricate themselves. We would that its lid when raised will fall back to its place. From this door he "merges at night to search for his piey. The lid closes after him. Having secured his food, he lifts his portal with his strong feet, and passing in, the door clos- ing after him, he enjoys his meal in security. Another interesting species is the Water Spider, " Ar^/zronefa Aqualica." Ho lives in the water, and yet is an air-breathing insect. Some amphibious animals, like the porpoise and seal, though they can remain under water for a good while, yet are forced to the surface every few minutes ; but this little fellow can live for weeks beneath the water. The explanation is curious. He takes the air down with him. First, ho builds a little gossamer home down at the bottom of the pond KR." f.7 between some water-plants • ho coats it with glue to make it water-tight, leaving an apertnre at the bottom for a door. It is as yet filled with water. Ho now makes a little bag of his web, goes to the surface, lills it with air, and going down eiiiptii's it in- to his house ; it bubbles up to the roof and stays then', di-pliiyiiig the water. Again and uiiiiin ho does this, until ho liii.s an air- castle in which ho ciin breathe and rear his family, the open door beneath keeping tho air pure. This home of our veritable water nymph resembles aglobule of quicksilver. As tho little fel- low gets his food from insects that live on or in the water, he is thus wonderfully provided. Another species has alvviiys ex- cited our admiration — tho Rait Spider, " Dnlitmeiti'S /iinhrin/iis." This spider subsists upon the in- sects that skiiu upon the surface of ponds and (dronins; and while his feet are so conslructed that ho can run very swiftly for a short distance upon the water, he cannot entirely live upon it, so ho constructs a raft of leaves, lashing them together with tho silken cords that his spinneret affords, I and pushing out from shore, is drifted by the winds or currents to where his prey is disporting it- self. The dead leaves conceal \ the spider, tho insects imairining no danger, when suddenly tho fierce and hungry littliy fellow loaves his raft and gives chase ; returning with his prey, ho leisurely devours it. Oh, how wonderful is all this ! It seems raoro like reason than instinct. It is as if, seeing that leaves fallen from tho bushes and trees and ffoated out by the wind and cur- rents do not frighten the insects that sport upon tho water, he j uses one, as the sportsmen do our sink-boats when wo would ap- proach a flock of ducks. But wo must not fail to notice how the Creator makes every faculty and function of his creatures in har- monious adaptation to the end of their being. Unlike tho web- weaviug spider.his feet are formed so that ho can run swiftly upon the surface of the water, and his eyes are so constructed that ho can discern his prey at long dis- tances, both of which aro neces- sary that he may bo able to pro- vide for his sustenance. There is another lesson. All these creatures use their know- ledge, skill, and functions in do- ing just that, andthatonly, which their Creator intended them to do. I wonder if we are always found using our faculties and powers just in those directions in which they were wisely intended to be employed ? — Il/uslrated Christian Weekly. As THE night follows tho day, so surely and naturally does an irreligious and a corrupt man- hood or womanhood follow ai' irreverent childhood. . - -.- n,., JBn.. -©e«^ AM e» 68 HOW THE OOSPRL TO ONO. Tho former character of the inhabitants ot tho Fiji iHlaiuls is too well known to need any extended description. Canni- Wism was iw part of their re- ligion, and to one of their gods REPRINTED CAME CANXIBAL F0KK8. every basket of roots offered was accompanied by a human body. The chiefs sometimes killed their inferior wives to supply this horrible demand. On Ono, one of the smaller islands of this group, it is par- ticularly interesting to nolo the first beginnings of the true re- ligion. This island is 150 miles from that of Lakemba, to which it is tributary. In 1835 it was visited by an epidemic, which so dimin- ished their numbers as greatly to alarm the people. They made large offerings of food and pro- perty to their gods, and practised their religious rites with the greatest zeal, but all their efforts to stay the ravages of disease were unavailing. Just at this time ono of the chiefs, Wai, went to Lok- emba to carry the customary tribute, and wnile there met a chief who had visited some of the Friendly Islands and had become a Christian. From this man VTai heard of the true God, though little more than that Jehovah was the only God, and that all ought to worship him, Perceiving that there was no deliverance through their gods from the pestilence, tho Ono chief and his companions resolved to forsake them and pray to the Being of whom they had recently heard, and a few others joinod them. The late visitors, wnilo at Lakemba, had heard something ofthe Sabbath, and so dotermined that they would sot apart ono day in seven for their worship. They accordingly prepared their food oil tho day previous, dressed in their best, and anointed them- selves more profusely with oil. But when assembled they were at a loss how to proceed. They had always been accustomed to invoke their deities through the medium of a priest. In this dil- emma they had no other resource STORIES. FROM He came, and was induced to aid them, beginning his prayer some- what after this style : " Lord Je- hovah, hero are thy people ; they worship thee. I turn my back npion thoo for the present, and am on another tack, worshipping another god. But do thou bless these thy people ; keep them from harm and do them good." Such was tho first act of worship ren- dered to the Almighty on the far- ofl iJand of Ono. In 1836 a canoe, having on board a number of Christians bound for the island of Tonga, missed her course, and drifted away to an island about fifty miles from Ono. Hero they heard of the longing for light and help at the latter place, and a young man, baptized Josiah, who had conducted religious services during the voyage, hastened thither. Great was the joy of tho little company at Ono on the arrival of a teacher. The old priest was at once dismissed, and daily Josiah led their devotions, in- structing them more fully on the Sabbath, while some learned to pray for themselves. By this time their number had increased to forty, and they set about building a chapel which should hold a hundred people. By 1839 three other teachers had boon sent them, and the num- ber of converts had increased to a hundred and sixty-eight men and a hundred and sixty women. All wori> most anxious for instruction, and greatly desirous that a mis- sionary should visit them and administer sacraments and marry them with religious rites. • Among the directions received by tho Wosleyan missionaries in referoncc to polygamy was that it must not be countenanced. No THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER." to go, after due training, to preach tho gospel in other parts of Fiji. Two hundred and twenty-three persons wore baptized and sixty- six couples married. Among tho candidates for ba|>- tisin was a young woman named Tovo, of the highest rank, who had been in infancy betrothed to the old king of Lakemba. She had now learned to read well — wa:4 most active in teaching, in visiting tho sick, and in other good works. The missionary could not bap- tize her unless she refused to be one of the thirty wives of Tui Nayan. On her part she declared her firm resolve to die rather than fulfil her heathen betrothal. In this decision, the chief, her father, and all the Christians sustained her, and were ready to sulfor any- thing rather than give her up. With this understanding she was baptized — taking the name ol Jemima. Upon the return of the mission- ary, Mr. Calvert, to Lakemba, he informed the king that Tovo could not now become one of his many wives, as she had been baptized. Kncouraged, however, by his chiefs and the heathen party at Ono, ho set about manning a fleet of canoes with fighting men to go and demand her. Hearing of this, Mr. Calvert went to expos- tulate with him, but the king re- plied that he was going to collect tribute — pearl shells, etc, "Then why take warriors in- stead of sailors?" " Oh, the warriors would make very good sailors." " Ah," replied Mr. Calvert, " so say your lips — I know not what is in your heart. I love you, therefore I warn you. God's people are as the apple of his eye. On the sea and on all the islands FIJI CLUim, SPEAKS, AND PlLIjOWS. man or woman living in this state should be admitted to church membership or even be a candi- date. In the latter part of this year a missionary of Lakemba had an opportunity of visiting Ono, and found most wonderful and cheering progress; the people leading blameless lives, the Sab- bath observed, schools well at- tended, and several young men than to send for a heathen priest_ ' offering themselves as teachers. between Lakemba and Ono the Lord Jehovah reigns supreme. Take care what you do." For a time the voyage was quite prosperous. They stopped sending on in advance leveral * canoes of deiporadoea to do tho king'i bidding incaseof reiintance, which, with about a hundred souls, were never more heard of. At length, a favorable breeze springing up,the ex pedition moved on; but ere long the wind shifted, and though they came withinsight of Ono they could not reach her. Their endeavors were continually bafllod. ^)oon all chance of mak- ing the island was gone. The canoes pitched and labored ter- ribly in tho violence of the waves. Thus thoy drifted about in great fear, well knowing that if they escaped the angry billows, they might be cast upon some shore whore a miseranle fate would await them. As night came on the king gave up all hope. He thought of tho warning words of the missionary and made up his mind to die ; call- ing upon his gods, and promising great offerings if he should return home iu safety. But thoy weathered the gale, and the dawn ofthe morning found one of the other canoes quite near. Great was the delight of the crews at mooting, and, the wind being now favorable for their homeward course, they set sail for Lakemba. On arrival, the king begged that Mr. Calvert's warning words might never follow him again. He was henceforth very kind to him, thus acknowledging that ho regarded hisdoliyerauceas a favor of tho missionary's God. Ho oven consented to give up the object of hisdesire aud accept a gilt instead. Accordingly suitable articles werti sent him irom Ono, but after hav- ing received them, the king re- turned an equivocal answer. The missionary then sent him fresh gifts, but like a king of old his heart was hardened. Evil coun- sels prevailed, and he intimated that Jemima must be brought. Nothing now remained for the poor girl but compliance or death. But her people refused to bring her to Lakemba. Then a chief was despatched for her, but such was the firmness of her Christian friends that he had to return with- out her ; and tho king, after his narrow escape, feared to imperil his life again upon the deep on such an errand. Though there had been no missionary settled among them, by 1848, tnirteen years from tho introduction of Christianity into Ono, there were among the con- verts nearly fifty whose faith and ardentzeal fitted them to carry on the work at homo, and to go hrtU to plant the gospel on disliiijt shores. By the latest accounts wu hear thatnolofsthan OOOchUrolu s at various islands, but at tho one , may be scon, in which tho truo nearest Ono all disguise was | God is reverently and Icringly thrown oil', and they wantonly worshipped, destroyed food and property to Tnus truly in the Micronesinii punish the people for becoming j groups have tlie words of Holy Christians before their king. i Writ been verified, "Purely the Here, to make sure of a fair , isles shall wait for me. — Iltu,. wind, they remained some days. ! Christian Weeicif/. s: >i^ «Hi 9m rnrnl *• ' anoe lovernl )oii to do thu jof reiJHtanco, a hundred laoro heard >rablo breeze ulitioii moved windahifled, uwithiiuighl lot roach her. ■e continually auce of mak- I gone. Thi' labored tur- ofthowavo8. •out in greal that if thoy i>illowR, they some shoro fate would he king gavn iwght of tho ) missionary 1 to die; call- id promisiiiir boold return But thoy nd tho dawn 1 one of the lear. Great the crews nt d being now homeward 3T Lakemba. '"? ^>ogged rning words him again, ery kmd to ^ing that hu CO as a favor d. lie even ho object of gilt instead, rticles Wert) after hav king re- er. The him fresh of old his il coun- intimatod brought. for the or death. to bring 1 a chief but such Christian turn with- after his imperil deep on Ev 1 > 3d en to been no ng them, from thu nity into the con- failh and carry on go fortli 1 di.sliiiit onnts Wo chUrchcH the trui' lovingly roncsinii of Holy reJy tho —lUu.. «H9 REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER.' webbed purpose it during (light as |irovidod with immensr^ jiint that servo the lamn ill sustaining il 1)01 tho membrane ol'^tho draco ('>r flying-lizard). Thoy launch tliomselves fearlessly from a liraach, their feet hold flat and toca stretched apart, and swoop down, then rise a few foot, linnlly alighting safely at their oxpooiod iltistmation. Sonietinies loui' or live are bo< n darting awuy, to- f.'othor, looking like a lluck ot winged frogs or toads. In tho sea there are throo flyers that really, from the extent of I heir flights, dosorve tho name. Those of our readers who Imvo been at sea, especially in tho South, may have soon Ihn com- mon flyinfi-fish, with its brilliant lilue-and-Bilver body and laco-liko, Bheeny wings. From tho crost of a blue wave they dart, singly or in flocks, fluttering along, rising and i'.tUing, turning in curves, and rotuming to the water with r splash— perhaps to fall a (Motim to some watchful honito (or dol- phin) that has been closely follow- ing them beneath tho wator. These privatoors of the soas aro their greatest enemies, as thoy rise in the air following thorn un- der water, and emerging ju.st in time to catch the luakles»i llyors IIS they descend. The dolphins will take leaps of twenty or thirty foot in following tho poor flying- lish, which, notwithstanding their loni? wings and wonderful i)owors, often fall victims to thoir tireless pursuers. They frequently fly aboard vessels at night, perhaps iiltracted by the lights, or, it may lio, caught up by tho wind from I lie crost of some curling wave, and carried high in air against the sails. Tho gurnard, though it has also long, wing-like fins, presents otherwise a totally different ap- pearance. Its head is inclosed in iv bony armor, from which project two sharp spines. Some of these lish are of a rich pink color, while others »ro mottled with rod, yel- low, and blue, and as they fly iilong over the water, and the Kunlight falls upon their glittering Noales, they seem to glow with a (Tolden lustre. With such hard Ill-ads, it will not be surprising information that they aro dis- au'reeable fellows to come in con- tact with ; at least so thought a .'^ailor who was standing at dusk upon the quarter-deck of aressi 1, iioar one of the West India islands. Suddenly, ho found himself lying upon his back, knocked over by il monster gnnard that, with a score of others, had darted from the water, this one striking the man fairly in the forehead. The frunards are also chased by the flolphins, and they are frequently H^nx to rise in schools, to escape Irom the larger fish, while hover- ing above them are watchful gulls nud man-of-war birds, ready to i>teal them from the jaws of their onemiesof tho sea. In company with these flying- m^^ flah may often be aoen curiona I blaspheming His holy name?" white bodies, with long arms and i " No, I did not." blnik oyps. Thoy are Hying- ' " Then I am afraid yoo norer aqunls, •nombors of tho cuttle-Han pray at all ; for no man ran swear family, and the famous bait I tho as you do, and yot koop up the Nowmundliind cod-fishermen. On habit rfprnyingto God." the ItankM tlioy are often soen in Aa wo now rode along he vast nIumiIn, and during storms seemed thoughtful, "('oachman, I tons of Ihoni are thrown upon tho wish you would pray now," I said. shore. When darling Irom wave 1 " Why, what a time to pray, Hir, to wave, thoy resemble silvery when a man is driving a conch." arrows, often rising and boarding " Yot my friend, God will hear shins in thoir headlong flight. Ido ' yuu." valuable 69 I and daughter hav« also been brought to .Teana, Stop not in your good work, sir, of speaking to poor sinnuraoa you spoke to ma on tnai I'oacn ; but for your re- I nrool and instruction I might still liiivo boon in Ih broaid road which leads to dostruotioii. are thoy for bait, that four or live hund r oil VOBHols at St. I'lorro are onifag- ed in catch- ing thorn bymoansof jigirors.* Many of tho squid f a m i 1 y leave the water when pur- sued. Even tho largest of them, often forty or fifty feet long, have been seen to rise ten or fifteen feet in tho air, and sail away as if propelled by some mysterious loruo, thoir hideous arms dripping and glistening They are certain- ly the largest and strangest of the flyers without wings — St Niilw THE COACHMAN'S PRAYER. I had taken, says a gentleman, tho box-seat of a stage-coach Tho driver soon began to swoar in a most fearful manner. "Coach- man, do you ever pray ?" I quiet- ly said. FLYING TRBE-TOAD. He was some what moved at the appeal. "What shall I pray for/ h e askod, in a 8 u b u c' tone. " 1' r a y t h e H o words ; ' O Lord.grant me Thy Holy Spirit for Christ's sake, a- men.' " Ho hesita ted, but in a momenthe re pea tod them : and then, art my request, a second and a third time. When I arrived at the end of my journey, I parted from him, never expect- ing to meet him again on earth. Some months passed, and being in another part of tho country, a man looked intently on me, and said, with a smile, " Don't you know me, sir ?" I replied I did not. " Ah, sir, I have much rea- son to be thankful that ever I know you." He then recounted the parti- culars of our first meeting, and A FLYINO FISH ANU FLVINO SQUIDfl. He seemed displeased, and, whipping the horses, he sat as il he wished not to reply to me. I repeated the question. " If you want to know," said he " some- times I go to church on a Sun- day ; I suppose I pray then, don't ir " Did you pray this morning that God would keep you from 'A]linterlimsdebT(un>ln«>larg*namber oC Sih-hookt togtlhvr In * Iwll, polnMoutwud. added, " I bless God I ever travelled with you. Tho prayer you taught me on that coach-box I believe was answered. I saw myself a lost and ruined sinner; but now I humbly hope, through the blooil that cleauseth from ail sin, and by tho power of the Holy Spirit, I am a converted man." After some explanation, he went on to say, " Both my wife DOING Til INGM WELL. " There aaul Harry, throwing down the s "e-i,ruah; "there ! that'll do. My shoos don't look vory bright, but no matter. Who caroN '." " Whatever is worth doing is worth doing well," .said his father, who had hoard the boy's careless speech. Harry blushed, when his father continued : "My boy, your shoes look wretchedly. Pii k up tho brush and make them shine when you have finished come into tho nouMo." As soon as Harry appeared with his well-polished shoes his fathor said ; "I have a little story fo tell you. I oiieo knew a poor boy whose mother taught him tho ))r verb which I repeated to yoi a few minutes ago. This boy went ou to servico in n gontlema sfioor boy once ?" asked Harry. " Yes, my son — i-o poor that I had to go out to service,and black boots, and wait at table, and do any menial service which was re- quired of me. By doing little things well, I was soon trusted with more important ones.- Young Reaper. ilio loveliest, sweetest and the " Humility flower That bloomed in Eden, first that died. Hath rarely blossomed since on mortal soil. It is so frail, so delicate a thins;. It doth not bear to look upon itself. And he who ventures to esteem it his Proves by that single thought ho hath it not." God never promised us happi- ness here in any perfect form ; and they who complain most of its absence aro commonly tLose who have least deserved it, ar.d havo done least to secure it foi them- selves and to provide it for others. — George Batchelor, m^ I 70 RMrEUOR AND III tho i^rny of an oitrly morn- in^r. (luring the rpif^n of good Juieph II. ol Auatritt, n NtrnnKc dci'iin occnrrod in one of thi' atriH'ti of thi< (>M i;ity of I'rcuhurg. Wo can forgivM hiiilory iiiiich of ilN dry dutail and Htill formality whiMi it bIbo records for uh heart- ti)uchiii)f ini'idontH of rt>nl lifi>liku thislhul we have hero to tell. Tho iit'urly Hiloiit Ntrt>ot tiankod by its two rows of tall hoUMOM, most of the hIindB and BhntliTN Htill chming tho windows at tluit early hour, was beinj? swept liy a gaiiir III t'onvictH brought euoh morning through the priNon gates for tho purpose. In tho line of prisoners was an old man whoso hair and beard were white as silver, and whoso ugly uniform did not wholly hide a certain stateli- iiess of bearing, which ho, however, did not allow to hinder his work. Rut in spite of his prepossesBing look and manner, it was to be noticed that only he of all his wretch- ed companions dragged at his leg a chain, weighted by a heavy bullet. Yet it seemed impossible to believe that he excelled in crime the repulsive - looking wretches about him. As the work of cleaning the street progressed, tho tho- roughfare, in spite ol the early hour, came at last to have one passer-by. A tall, olileily man, very plainly dressed, but wearing a kind of uniform, advanced along 0110 of the pavements, and as he looked at the gang of sweepers his eye (juickly singled out the old prisoner. This observer seemed soon to notice that although tho white-haired, aged man, in spite of having the chain and ball to drag, managed by sheer exertion to keep up with the others in his work, the over- seer was nearly always shout- ing at him in anger and find- iiiif fault without cause. Tho spectator stepped into tho road to the old man's side " What," ho asked, " is your orime, that you aro treated in this way ?" The old prisoner, at the sound ol a voice which had in it a tone of pity, looked up and stood still, resting his broom up- on the stones. It was a terrible story of persecution and cruelty that he had to tell. Ho belonged to a distant province, and his po- sition there answered to the class ill England called " yeonion," he having been owner of a small property of his own. But, most unfortunately for him, the farm lay on the skirt of the great estate of Count , and this nobleman had fixed an envious eye upon its scanty fields, as King Ahab long before did on Naboth's vineyard. [ Their owner, prizing the spot as ,rfS*e- ItKIMilNTKI) STDKIKS PRISONER. FHOM TIIK 'NOKTIIKUN MKSSKNCKH having been the homo of his fore- prisoner, "is my history." fathers, relused lo sell it to thoi " lint how < an thin norientition count. From that hour began be poNRible?" asked nil sympa- his porsecntion. One leu.il pro- thixing listener, "why is your cfess was served upon him after oraperor not informed of it /" another, costs being run up at " Oh," sighed tho old man, get- every stage. In tho end he was ting his broom again into motion, fairly ruined, and was forced to " the emperor is far away ; and agree to sell ihu farm to the ra- pacions nobleman, but ho bar- gained that ho was to remain in the house for one year more, tine day soon after this be was stand- ing at his gate, deep in griet at tho prospect. A wounded hare unexpectedly ran bv, and, with- out thinking what he was doing, ho instinctively raised his sticK besides, in aijuarrel with a no'ble- man a poor manlike raysoll must be in the wrong." " I will see the governor of your prison," was tne next re- mark. " Nay, nay, sir," tho prisoner hastened to say in a trembling voice ; " pray, do not try to inter- fere in my favor. A person once' DRAWING LESSON. Oatllna DrftWlDg by HnrrlloD Weir, u a drawlns leuon tor the voans. and put the poor creature out of its pain. At that moment the count's servants came up and ar- rested him on tho spot, and al- though lion him with rage, tore out his , eyes, and so wouirded him that he soon lay dead. These were Mandarin ducks, I "summer-duck" for its chiefest This extensive family of water- so called on account ot their beau- ! adornment, and "among other i birds is represented in our coun- ty and remarkable conjugal tideli- gaudy feathers wi.h which our try by more than thirty species, ty. They are often carried in ^ Western tribes Tnament the cal- To catch them is often a diffi- ■vedding processions in China. 1 umet, or pipe of peace, the skin , cult matter ; but in marshes where 'T'he Chinese are fond of laud- ' of the head and nock of this beau- [ they congregate at low water, a ingL'ieof this family, now ex-!til'ul bird is often used to cover tight hogshead is sunk, tufts of tinct — having passed awny, it is ^ the stem ;" and so gentle is the long, coarse grass, reeds, and said, in the halcyon days ol Con- pretty creature in its woodland sedge are arranged with care LI fucins; and wonderfully en- dowed the creature must have been, for the legend tells us that "it would not peck or injure living insects, nor tread on growing herbs ; that it had the throat of a AN EPICURE HUNOUy FOR DUCK swallow, the bill of a fowl, the neck of a snake, the tail of a lish, the forehead of a crane, the crovvn of a Mandarin duck, the stripes of a dragon, and the vaulted biii;K of a tortoise; that the feathers had five colors, named for the live cardinal virtues : that it was five cubits high, hnving the tail gra- duated like Pandean pipes ; and that its song had live modula- tions." Among Indians, royalty itself disdains not the plumage of the haunts that a few affectionate ' over the upper edge so as to ap- words crv'i effectually tame it. pear like a natural growth ; then Another family of cousins, the | a sportsman takes refuge within Tadorna Vuljmnser of the Orkney the hug« barrel, and has a rare Islands, have fashions of their j chance for collecting the unsus- own touching the courtesies of pecting creatures In China the sportsman cov- ers his head with a sort of gr a 8 s-m a d e hood, and from " eye-holes " is able to detect and, almost at leisure, to en- trap many of tiiese simple- hearted birds. Decoy ^ucke, made of wood and painted a r 3 success- fully used ill our own coun- try. Lead is nailed to ■■ho bottom, so that they will float easily; these gliding over the water, at- tract the living sailers, who, im a gi n i n g Ih (! m 8 e 1 V e s surrounded by attentive rela- tives, alight, and at once be- come a prey to cruel strategy ! The " Pi n- tail duck" of our picture, is noted for its delicate, slen- der neck, is of a social turn, and has richly variegr. ted plumage ; it is a bird of rapid flight, and its tones are softer and sweeter than some others of its kin. They are fond o f beech-nuts, but in the spring society. They, it seems, wisn never to be "at home" to disagree- able guests, and if by chance steps are heard near its nest where the baby-ducks lie sleeping. Madam makes pretence of sufl'ering from a broken wing, waddling off with most distressing indic-.'ieir; of pain, trailing t sup'.., -fl ".- Jured member on th.; ^ o-.iiul. After the intruder has iol'.owed for some time, she as suddenly takes to flight, leaving the outwit- ted follower gaping with wonder. gladly feast upon tadpoles, while lor autumn and winter fare they seek mice and insects. — Illus. Chris. Week/ 1/. •' After the ■ toil and trouble, cometh the joy and rest ; After the ' weary conflict,' peace on the Saviour's breast; After the ' blightand sorrow,' the glory of life and love ; After the ' perilous journey,' the Father's hoate above," iHH^ ^<4a) m^ * LINES ON GIVING. The sun gives ever ; so tho earth — What it can give, so much 'tis worth ; The ocean gives in inony ways — Gives paths, gives iishes, rivers, bays : So, too, the air, it gives us breath — Whjn it stops giving, comes in death. Give, give, bo always giving; Who gives not, is not living. The more you give. The more you live. God's love hath in us wealth up- heaped ; Only by giving is it reaped. The body withers, and the mind. It' pent in by a selfish rind. Give strength, give thought, give deed, give pelf. Give love, give tears, and give thyself. Give, give, be always giving, Who giveu not is not living. The more we live, The more wo give. Anon. WILLIAM WILBERFORCE. Who has not road " Uncle Tom's "Cabin," and who could listen with at tears to the tale of tho sufferings of the poor negro slaves in the plantations of the south. One hundred years ago the slave trade was carried on not only bv the United States, but by England and many of the other nations of Europe. William Wilberforco was born at Hull, Kiigland in 1759 and at a very early age became interested in the subject of slavery. While still atschof! he wrote a letter to a newtpape. published in York stronglv co.-'iemning " the odious traffic in human ilesh." At the age 01 twenty-ono ho entered par- a. jnt and about seven years afterward a society was formed in Loiuion composed almost entirely of Quakers the object of which was to prevent iny slaves being brought from Africa and sold in the British colonies. The suffer- ings of the negroes in the ships while crossing the Atlantic wore liorrible. They wore crowded down ill the dark hold of tht; ves- M'l and did not receive half the I'are that would have been given to cattle. A bill was passed regulating the number that each KJiip should carry, but little atten- tion wu.s paid to it. Then a bill was passed forbidding any British subject to engage in the trade, but it was still curried on under lover of the Spanish or Portuguese flag, The slaves wen- treated more cruelly than ever Often when a slave ship w.is being pur- sued, and in danger of being cap- tured, tho whole cargo of slaves would bo thrown into tho sea. In 1811 a law was passed by which any person found engaged in tho slavo trado would be imprisoned from throo to five years with h;ird labor, or transported for foarteoii years. Thirteen years WH^ REPRINTED STORIES. FROM THE " NORTHERN MESSENGER. afterward a bill was passed de- claring the slave trade to be piracy and as such punisl^able by death, but in 1837 this was altered and the penalty became transpor- tation for life. But there was still more work to be done. Although no one was allowed to bring any more slaves from Africa, there were a vast number of them already in the colonies, And the next step was to set these free. About 1825 Mr. Wilberforce through failing health had to retire from Parlia- ment, but the work still went on. In 1833 a bill was passed making the slaves free, but providing that they should be apprenticed for twelve years to their former masiors, and out of their earnings to pa; a sum for their release. But this was not approved and it was at last determined that they should be apprenticed for only six years, and that the Gov- ernment should pay to the slave owners in return for the loss they sustained tho sum of X20,000,000. bad marks, and tho keeping in, and the teacher's reproof," said tho mother very sorrowfully. " Milly, why are you so often troublesome at school , you are a good girl at home." " I hate rules," said Milly. open- ing her blue eyes v y wide. " So do the Co.ivicts in the great stone prison, where papa goes on Sundays to teach the Bible, Milly. One of them said last Sunday afternoon, that if the law hadn't been so strict he wouldn't have broken it. It is hating rules which has brought m3ftt of those poor men to their gloomy cells." Milly looked serious. She had never thought of comparing her- self with the prisoners. " Unless we keep rules, dear, and love to keep them, we are always unhappy. Only those people who learn to mind, ever become fit to command. By-and- by, if you overcome this opposi- tion to law, you will find that the law and you are so friendly, that you will never think about it at WILLIAM WILBERFORCE The health of Mr. Wilberforce failed fast, and on the 29th of .Tuly 1833, just three days alter the Emancipation Bill was passed he died, and was buried in West- minster Abbey. MILLY'S HARD PLACE. " Mamma," said Milly, coming in from school with a flushed face, and eyes which bore the traces of tears, " I wish you'd let mo leave Miss Mathew's school. I'vo been kept in again, and my diary is disgraceful. Miss Susie Mathews says she's ashamed of me." Mamma put down the work she was busy with and gathered her little lirl into her lap. " What have you done that is naughty to-day ?" she said tender- ly- " O," said Milly sobbing, " I whispered in my g'ography class, and I wrote Mary Haywood a note, and when I missed my gram- mar lesson I pouted, and said I didn't care." "So my little girl deserved the all. In the meantime you have some hard places before you, and the best way is to try to overcome their difficulties." " Will you help me, mamma ? " " Surely I will, my child ; but there is One stronger than I. and you must seek his aid." Together the mother and child knelt in the twilight, praying to Jesus for pardon and peace. Milly rose from her knees, feeling that though she had done wrong, the Lord would help her to do better. — Christian Inlelligemef. DOGS IN GERMAN MENTS. KEGI- Dogs are tolerated in German regiments, though they are usual- ly the properly of officers, who are naturally responsible for their good behavior. At least one Ger- man regiment, moreover, belong- ing to tho First or East Prussian Army Corps, used during tne war of 1870-71, to be preceded, whenever the band accompanied it, by a dog of solemn and shaggy appearance, who dragged the big drum after him. This strange animal, however, had not been recruited in the ordinary manner; and at that time he already seemed to have seen enough service to entitle him to honorable retire- ment. He had begun his military career in the service of Austria, where tho big drum was in his time harnessed to a moderately- sized dog in every military band ; and ho was captured by tho East frussian regiment at the battle of Sadowa. Perhaps because dogs form no recognized part of the Prussian military forces he had never been exchanged , though it is difficult to understand on what principle he could have been compelled, after the cessation of hostilities, to remain in tho ranks of the enemy. This dog in any case, marched with the troops of General Nanteuffel from the east of Prussia to the west coast of France ; and if he is now dead he basin all probability had a monu- ment erected to his memory. — St. James Gazette AURORA BOREALIS Gassendi, a French philosopher, contemporary of Lord Bacon, first arave the classical name of Aurora Borealis Others have called it Aurora Polaris, for there is also an Aurora Australis, similar phenom- ena being witnessed in the Ant- arctic regions The Portuguese navigator, D'Ulloa, is the first who describes the Southern Lights, about 1743 ; and Captain Cook also beheld them in 1777. Sir James Ross, in his famous Antarct''; ex- ploring expedition, vv'itnessed magnificent displays. Many of the accounts in old chronicles and histories, describ- ing armies in the sky meeting and contending w'th fiery spears and datts, sometimes attended with waves of blood, can only refer to unusual displavs of th.) Aurora Borealis. Such references are frequent in the meditcval chroni- cles. But before those days, Aris- totle, Pliny, and other classical writers, alluded to the same mys- terious lights. They were usual- ly regarded as portents of evil foreboding. But the Shetland people called them "The Merry Dancers. ' The North American Indians thought they were tho spirits of their departed people roaming throngh the spirit-world. — Neiv York Observer. •^■- Ali. Which Gou Asks of boys and girls i.s that they be boy and sjirl Christians, and that is all which we have any right to ask, and it also is something which we have a right to expect and labor for, — Ciiiisireiiiilionalist. We Havk Nkver Known Init one ibing that has been p>tential enough to bring all the railways 01 the country to terms -in fact to an unconditional surrender. This thinn' is— tobacco smoke. — Mellnulist PnilestanI, t 74 REPRINTED STORIES, FROM THE "NORTHERN MESSENGER THE CHIPMGNK.' Whf^u Noll came homo irom school one day, she found her fa- vorite kitten with a little chip- monk in her mouth. It was the chipmonk wh^ih had lived in the hollow tree in the garden. He had paid flying visits to the piaz- za nil summer, and was almost as well known as the kitten herself. It was plain that puss had mis- taken him for a mouse. Nell gave chase across the garden, in among the tangle of rose-bushesj »*'»^™ f°'" y°^'i The boy shook where the kitten fled with her booty. She found it hard to fol- low, though she could see the bright eyes of the chipmonk. They were full of pain and pleading, as if he begged her to take his side. At last Puss was caught and shaken till she dropped the chip- monk. He could only limp away and hide himself. Nell hoped his friends would take care of him. But at night the poor, hurt fellow hobbled to- ward th« piazza, and seemed to want comfort. He was too feeble to keep himself from the cat's paw, if she had come near. Nell made a little house for him in the garden ot a small box. She raised it upon four stones at ihe four coriiiTs, so as to give him air. She slipped water and chestnuts underneath for his supper. A good doctor came to the house and looked at his wounds. He said the chipmonk could get well, with care. I wish I could tell you that, thanks to Nell, he was able to leave his hospital at last, and be still a resident of the old hollow tree. But somebody, passing through the garden after dark, overturned the box. When Nell went to feed her chipmonk in the morning, she found nothing but "mpty nut- shells, and puss wastiiiiar her face close by,— 0«r Lifl/i' Folh-s. shep- FAITHFULNESS. Gerhardt was a German herd boy, and a noble fellow ho was, although he was very poor. One day he was watching his flock, which was feeding in a val- ley on the borders of a forest, when a hunter came out of the woods aiid asked : " How far is it to the nearest village?" "Six milo.s, sir," unswered the boy ; " but the road is only a sheep track, and easily missed." The hunter looked at thi; crooked track, and said : 'My lad, I am very huntrry and thirsty, I hav(> lost my companions and missed my way. Leave your shei')) and show me the road, and 1 will p.iy you well," " I cannot leave my sheep, sir," rejoineil (rerhardt; "they will stray into the woods, and may be eaten by wolves, or stolen by iol)ber8 " " W(!ll, what of thatV" (|ii(>ried the hunter, " they are not your sheep. The loss of one or two wouldn't be much to your master, and I'll give you more than you have earned II tiift>^- in a whole year." " I cannot go, sir," rejoined GerharUi very firm- ly ; "my master fays me for my time, and he trusts mo with his sheep ; if I were to sell my time, w'lich does not belong tome, and the sheep should get lost, it would be the same as if I had stolen them." "Well," said the hunter, " Yov will trust your sheep with me w'lile you go to the village, and gf t mo some food and drink, and a guide ? I will take care of his head. "The sheep," said he, " do wot know your voice, and ." He stopped speaking. " And wh'.t ? Can't you trust me ? Do I look like a dishonest man?" said the hunter angrily. " Sir," said the boy, " you tried to make me false to my trust, and tried to make me break m^- vord to my master ; how do I know that you would keep your word ?" 'The hunter laughed, for he felt that A SHOCKING EEL. " Captain John," said I, " didn't you tell me that you sometimes brought wild animals in your ship from South America?" " Oh, yes," said he, " I brought one ol the first electric eels that was ever carried to New York. I got it in Para, Brazil, and I bought it of some Indians for twelve milreis — about six dollars of our money. We had lots of trouble with this fellow, for these eels live in fresh water, and, if we had not had plenty of rain on thii voyage, we couldn't have kept him alive, for the water he was in had to be changed every day. We kept him on deck in a water-barrel, which lay on its side in its chocks, with a square hole cut through the staves on the upper side to give the creature light and air. When we changed the water, a couple of sailors took the lad had fairly answered him. He said : " I see, my lad, that you are a good, faithful boy. 1 will not forget you. Show me the road, and I will try to make it out myself" GerhardI then offered the con- tents of his scrip to the hungry man, who. coarse as it was, ate it gladly. Presently his attendants came up ; and then Gerhardt, to his surprise, found that the hunter was the Grand Duke, who owned all the country around. The duke was so pleased witii (he boy's honesty that he sent for him short- ly after that, and had him educa- ted. In after years Gerhardt be- came a very grea* and powerful man ; but he remainedhonest and true to his dying day. hold of th(> barrel and turned it partly over, while another held a straw broom against the hole to keep the eel from coniiliLr out. We woidd always know when the water was nearly run out, lor then the eel lay against the lower staves, and even the wood of the barrel would bo so charged with electricity that the sailors conld hardlv hold on to the ends of the barrel. They'd let go with one hand and take hold with the other, and then they d let go with that and change again. At first, I didn't believe that the fellowsfelt the eel's shocks in this way ; but, when 1 took hold myself one day, I found they weren't shamming at all. Then we tnrni'd the- barrel back and filled it up with Ire.sh What a beautiful sermon is thisj water, and started the eel olf for on the words of Christ, " Thou \ another day. hast been failhlul over a few j "Ho got along first-rate, and things, 1 will make thee rult^r over, kept well and hearty through the many things ; enter thou into the whole of the voyage. AVhen we joy of the Lord." — Advocate. 1 reached New York we anchored at Quarantine, and the health- officer came aboard. I knew him very well, and I said to him: 'Doctor, I've got something aboard that perhaps yon never saw be- fore.' 'What's that?' said he. 'An electric eel,' said I. 'Good'' said he ; ' that is something I've always wanted to see. I want to know Just what kind of a shock they can give.' ' All right,' said I ; 'you can easily find out for your- self He is in this water-barrel here, and the water has just been put in fresh, so you can see him. All you have got to do is just to wait till he swims up near the sur- face, and then you can scoop him out with your hand. Youneedn't be afraid of his biting you.' The doctor said he was'i't afraid ol that. Ho rolled up his sleeve, and, as soon ns he got a chance, he took the eel by the middle and lifted it out of the water. It wasn't a very largo one, only about eighteen inches long, but pretty stout. The moment he •ilted it he dropped it, grabbed his right shoulder with his left hand, and looked aloft, 'What is the niiit- ter?' said I. 'Why, I thought something fell on me from the rigging,' said u\ 1 was s^re my arm was brc Lcn, ! never had sxich a blow in i.iy :iU'.' 'It was only the eel,' said I. ' Now you know what kind of a shock he can give.' " — From " The Mi/slrrioiis DiirrrI," by Ptiid I'arf, in St. Niclio- las for Aii'j:iixI. FATHER'S KNEELINt^- PLACE. The I'hiidven were playinir "Hide the haiulhercliicf." I sat and watched them a lonar while, and heard no unkind word, and saw scarcely a rough movement ; but after a while, 111 tie .Tack, whose turn it was to hide the handker- chief, went to the opposite end ol the room and tried to secrete it under the cu^shion of a big chair. Freddy immediately walked over to him, and said, in a low, gentle voice, "Please, .Tack, don't hide the handkerchief there, that is father's kneeling place," " j'ather's kneeling-place I'' It seemed like sacred ground to me as it did to little I'reddy ; and by- and-by, as the years roll on, ami tills place shall see the father no more forever, will not the memory of lliis hallowed spot h'ave an iin piession upon the young hearts that lime ami change can never elf'ace, and remi'in as one of the most ))recious memories of tin' old home? Oh, if there were only a "lather's kneeling-place" in every family' The mother kneels in her chamber and teaches Ihe little ones the morning and even- ing prayer, but the lather's pre- sence is oi'teii wanting ; business and the cares of life engross all his time, and though the mollier longs for his assistance and co- operation in the religious educa- tion of the children, he thinks it is a woman's work and leaves all to her. — Exchange, the health- I knew him laid to him : ithing aboard ever saw bu- t?' said he. II. 'Good'' nethinir I've '. I want to d of a shock right,' said I ; oHt for your- water-barrol las just been can see him. do is just to near the siir- m scoop him You needn't ? you.' The 'I't afraid of I his sleeve, jot a chance, 1! middle and water. It e, only about ■, but pretty t he 'illed it ed his right It hand, and is the mat- ■, I thought le from the 'vas sure my : never had fe.' 'It was ' Now you .shock he ciin ; Mi/sterioKS in St. NUIw- UELINd- ro playing liicf." I silt lonsr while, word, and moveiiicnt ; iTiu'k, wluisi' he hiindkcT- >ositi' end ol lo PiHTote it I big chair. tvalked ovor low, gentle , don't hide re, that i.'* hi -place!" It round to me ily ; and by- roll on, and 10 lather no the memory leave an iin mng hearts can never one of the tries of thi' there were ngplace" in other kneeli- teaches the g and even- atlier's pr>- r; bu.sillc.'-'- engrops all the mother we and co- ious educa- he thinks it id leaves all «*4® FLYING WITHOUT BY C. F. HOLDER. As I write, there is a curious little brown-eyed creaturodarting about the room, now perched upon my shoulder, anon nibbling at my pen, balancing upon the edge of the inkstand, or sitting on its hind-legs upon the table, where it sportively tosses about a huge walnut. Now, spread out like a parachute, it is clinging to RKPRINTED STORI KS, FR OM WINGS. THE " N'OHTHKRM MESSENGER." 75 sailor's adventure OUXAI: !),•}. WITH tlie window-shade, and now like a Hash it springs into the air. com- inir down lightly, only to dart to some other elevation, thence to repeat its antics again and again As you must by this time sus- pect, my pet is a ilying-squirrel ; one of the familiar examples of a large number of animals that can move through the air without wings. If we closely examine this pretty little creature, we find that between the fore and hind leirs there is an expansion of the skin, which, when the legs are spread out, offers a decided resist- ance to the air and buoys the ani- mal up exactly as though it car- ried a parachute. When our tiny l>laymate is in mid-air, notice how careful it is to hold its feet and hands (for it certainly uses its lore-feet as hands) out as far as jiossible, to catch all the air it can. If we look closely, we shall find iitlached to each of the hands a ilclicate bone, which, when the ^ ,..irrel is in flight, act as booms lor the curious sail in front. lint it is in the woods, in their native haunts, that thes(> beauti- liil animals make their most won- iIitIuI leaps. From the tops of I he tallest trees they launch them- ^'■Ivos fearlessly into the air, com- i:iLr down with a graceful swoop loi' a hundred feet or more; then, liy a movement of the head, < hanging their course to an up- ward one, they rise ten or twelve ii'ct, and linally alight upon the Iri'p of their choi(!e. They im- mi'diately scramble to the top to airaiu soar away into the air, thus ii.ui>lling through the woods I I "111 tree to tree much faster than you can follow thi.'m. IIow like they are to birds, building nests for their young, and moving through the air with almost eijual freedom ! One of the most curious of this family is the sugar-squirrel — a beautiful creature.with large, curl- ing ears of a delicate ash-color above and white beneath. Like many squirrels, it is a nocturnal or night animal, lying concealed in its nest in some hollow tree until the sun disappears, when it comes out, and spends the night in wonder- ful leaps from tree to tree, in search of food and per- haps amusement, When descending from a great height, it seems as though they must inevitably dash headlong against the ground, so precipitate is their flight ; but this never happens. That they are able to change the direction of their flight while in mid- air seems a very natural and reasonable supposition, though only on one occasion has this feat been observed. The incident is related of a squirrel, which was being brought to England fromits home iu New Holland. The sailors had made quite a pet of the little creature, which was a sourcf of great amusement to them on account of its aston- ishing leaps from mast to mast One day the squirrel climbed clear to the top of the mainmast of the vessel, and seemed to be afraid to come down again, so one of the men started after it. But pist as he was about to grasp the truant, it expanded its broad, wing-like membrane, and shot off into the air. At the same moment the ship gave a heavy lurch to port. It seemed to all that their favorite must inevitably fall over branches of trees, head down- ward : but as evening comes on, they sally forth, olten doing great harm to the fruit on the neighbor- ing plantations. In some parts of /ava they are so numerous that it is found necessary to protect the fruit-trees with huge nets. The extent of their flights through the air is something astonishing. They sometimes drop to the ground and hop along with a shulBing kind of leap, but if they are alarmed, they spring to the nearest tree and in a moment reach its top by a series of bounds. Out upon the branches they dart, and with a rush are off into space. Sailing t'lrough the air like some great bird, down they go obliquely, swift as an arrow, a hundred and lifty feet or more, rising again in a graceful curve and alight- _ ing safely on a distant tree. In these great leaps they carry their young, which cling to them or sometimes follow them — in their headlong flight, utter- ing hoarse and piercing cries. The colugos live almost exclu sively on fruit, preferring plan- tains and the young and tender leaves of the cocoa-palm, though some vi'riters aver that they have seen them dart into the air and actually catch birds. The flying-lemurs are perfectly harm- less, and so gentle as to be easily tamed. They have lovely dark eves and very intelligent and knowing laces. In many old natural histories, — especially those of Aldrovandus and Gesner, — strange pictures are shown of dragons, with terrible heads, breath like steam, the feet and leirs of a bird, and serpent- like skins. In the days of chiv- alry these dragons were very 'ommon, if we may believe the tail's of the time, and every knight or gentleman with any writers of past centuries. The dragons are small lizards that live among the trees, and though they have no wings, they move about through the air in graceful curves, with almost the freedom of birds. When they are upon a branch, you would hardly notice anything peculiar about thera ; but, let an insect pass by that they are particularly fond ol',and, with a rush, several of them fly into the air. Between their legs w loard; but, evidently seeing its pretensions to valor, seems to have danger, it suddenly changed its followed in the footsteps of St. course, and with a broad and : George, according to the old ro- graceful curve sank lightly and I mancers. But, in these days, th safely upon the deck. In the forests of the islands constituting the Indian Archi- pelago is found a curious flying animal that forms the con- necting link be- tween the lemur and the bat. The natives call it the colugo, and also the "flying- fox," but it is inovc^ like a Hy- ing monkey, as the lemurs are cousins of Iho^i. monkeys. Like"' the bats, these (^ animals sleep in'' the day-timr,| hanging from the limbs mid FliYlNO LIZARDS. world has been sowelltravelled over that the dragons have been linally sifted down to one or two beautiful little creatures that live in India and the islands of the Indian Archipelago. Save tor their harmless aspect they have very much the ap- pearance of the dragons of the olden time, and we suspect they wer the or- iginals of Uie ta' 3 that were [certainly be- lieved by the natural- history THE FLYINO-SQDIRUEL. is a curious memnrane, encirc- ling them like a parachute, banded and crossed with gorgeous tints of red and yellow, which glisten in the sun like molten gold. They seem to float in the air a second while snapping at the ob- ject of their pursuit ; then they sink gracefully, alighting upon the trees or branches. The seem- ing wings are membranes — really an expansion of the skin of the flank, held in place by slender, bony processes connected with the false ribs, which shut up, as it were, when the " dragon " is resting, the wings appearing to be folded at the sides They live upon insects, and dart after them from tree to tree with amazins rapidity, their long tails lashing the air like knives. According to the naturalist Brontius, the common flying- lizard inflates a curious yellow goitre, ormembranc>, when it dies, thus rendering it lighter, and re- minding us again of the birds, with their hollow bones. Thus assisted, they cross intervals of space as much as seven hundred feet in length faster than the eye can follow them. In darting across small streams, sometimes they fall short and come down in the water, when of course, they are obliged to swim the remain- der ot the distance. Sometimes they are found in large streams, so it is not improbable that they go in swimminuf for the pleasure of it. Equally curious as a. flyev with- out wings is the Rliaritjthorun- tree-toad found in New Ilollan It also lives in the trees, and > enable it to move from n <, another with safety and b; w ««-» !: 76 ' THE GREAT K. K. R. R. There was a wonderful stir on tho big plav-ground of Ur. Thwackem's school during the noon recess. Nobody was play- ing base-ball or foot-ball, but the running and rushing, the whoop- ing and general racket and riot, were 6ora(!thin^: uncommon. " Who ever heard such a noise !" exclaimed Dr. Thwackem himself, putting his head out of an uppur window. " What in the name of common-sense have those boys iound to play at now ? " Dr. Thwackem soon discovered. It was Erasmus Jackson's new game. Erasmus Jackson was the pride of the whole Insti- tute for the invention of new games, and this was his latest effort. Erasmus had organ- ized tho one hundred and twenty-three other boys into the Great Royal Kamtsobatka Railway. Erasmus was its President, of course. The play. ground of the In- stitute happened to be a pretty good-sized plot of unoccupied town grou'.id adjoining the school. It ran clear through from street to street. Across this from corner to corner ran a d'jublo track marked out with sawdust. Along it could be seen rushing, with an ap- palling whooping and signal- ing, strings of boys, ten at a time. These were the pas- senger trains. Freight trains, consisting of ironi hfteen to twenty boys, alternated with these; they moved more slow- ly, but with a wonderful pull- ing and letting oli of steam. Every few minutes a loud hurrahing and the blasts of a certain cracked tin horn warned everything ahead up- on wheels (legs) to clear the track for the lioyal Moscow Lightning Kxprei-s. Moscow is not in Kamt.schatka, but Erasmus Jackson said that that didn't make any diil'er- once The " general office'' of the company was at Moscow. As the Doctor looked on, amused, tho brakes were ap- plied to the express with a ; ; Budiienness that nearly threw i it heels over head. That, however, was to avoid a colli- sion with a freiirht train, and a purse of marbles was immediately made up and presented to the express engineer by the pas- sengers, who owed their lives to his presence of mind. " Upon my word," exclaimed Dr. Thwackem, chuckling, "it's truly quite shocking to tliink of so narrow an escape.' All at once a new idea entered the good Doctor's \\ hiti^ head. Ho looked down to the southeast corner of tlii> jilay-irround ; there was located 1 inibiictoo, tlie other terminus of the railway Tim- REPRINT El) ST^jRIES. FROM THE looked to sec if NORTHERN MESSENGER.' The Doctor close to its imaginary towers lay a great pile of cut cord-wood. Yes, there it was; just as some- body had thrown it from a wag- gon. " I've a good piece of mind to suggest it," said the Doctor to the sparrows chattering on a bough close by. " It won't hurt their fun. It'll do them good, and her good." Ho pulled his head inside the window, and left the sparrows to chatter. Taking his hat, he walked down stairs, and out upon the steps. rather long name of the company. He contini^.ed : " On observing your splendid system of road management, a thought has oc- curred to me. I wish to respect- fully submit it to you. Do you see that red cottage, which no- body lives in, down by your flourishhig city of Timbuctoo? Good. And now will you kindly turn and perceive that other red cottage, rather larger, not many yards from your noble railway depot of Moscow? You will notice that they are just diagonally across from each otho^. Very well. Oar old acquaintance ^^^fi^frz=5?^!^^ OUTLINE DUAWINO I.E.SSON. — THE FISHERMAN fl RETURN. ' Boys ! boys ! " he called in his kind, clear old voice. The Royal Knmlschatka Rail- way rollins stock resohed itself quickly into a circling group of one hundred and twenty-lour boys, closing around the Doctor oil the steps. The Doctor's eye twinkled. He made a low bow. " 1 should i)erhaps have said Mr. President, Stoctkholders, and Officers of the what— what is it?" "(Ireat Royal Kaintschalka j Railway." came the deafening an- b\ii loo isn't in Kamtschatka any i swer. Thank you," responded the moil' that Mosi'ow, l)ut Krasmus Ja<:kson said th:it it sounded just ,\s Weil as if it was. II €SH^ Widow Pitcher, who sweeps our school-room so thoroughly for us, bought two cords of hickory from Farmer Mee yesterday, and told .his boy to dump Ihem at her red cottage on the h'tt sidi^ of the school play-ground upon Si)nMg Street. What did Farmer Mce's boy do but come to town early this inornini;, and diiinp every stick of tlie liiekory alopgside the red cotlaire to the riyht siilc — Summer Street. Poor Mrs. Pilclier woki^ up, and liniked aiioss lo the other sidewalk, and tlnTe it was. She told nie before school-time that she didn't know how in Ih'' all Doctor, slipping politely out of world she was going to get the necessity of repeating ihc that wood over to her yard, where it ought to be. Don't you think that the freight trains of the— Royal Kamtschatkn Railway could solve her difficulty for her,especi- ally if I should give them half an hour's extra recess to accomplish it?" Instantly the whole throng of Institute boys might have been discovered rushing across the broad play-ground to Tim- buctoo. which became at once tho great freight centre of the G.R. K. R. R. Erasmus Jack- son, Guy Merrill, and Lee Holmes laid aside loftier dig- nities, and became hard- worked freight dispatchers " Three cheers for the Royal Road !" shouted out some one, as the first freight train, each boy carrying half a dozen thick hickory billets, set out for Moscow. All passenger trains went off for the day. Line after line laden with the mis- delivered wood steamed off hot and fast for the distant back fence, where their bur- den was tumbled over into Mrs. Pitcher's yard. The hooting, switching, whistling, and calling grew so loud that the passing towns-people halt- ed before the boundaries of the Institute play-ground, and asked each other " if Dr. Thwackem was deaf." As he was leaning composed- ly out of the upper window, laughing to himself at the quick work the railway was making \yilh their job, and commenting upon it to the sparrows, it is lo be supposed he countenanced the racket. The last stick was finally tossed over into Mrs. Pitcher's domain. The last Great Royal freight train disjointed itselfin the middle of the i)lay-ground- The boys came thronging iii> the narrow staircases, laughing and chaffing, and not without secret i)leasure at having ae- coin])lished a kindly act even in play. The Doctor stood up as they resumed their seats, lie looked around and down upon them with an eye whose moisture gave a hint at his pride in tlieie . _l "Mr I'resident, Stockholders, Directors, Luirines, and Cars of the (ireat Royal Tiin — Kaint- schalka liiilway, I thank you. You havc> turned sport into a generous deed, and an' only twenty minutes ovi'r the usiial recess hour. Again I thank you — Now,l)oys,l()books. " And to bjoks they went. \\'\vn live Franklin Institute canii' li'Liether the next niurnini;- then', printi'd in husre uneven let- ters uiion the l)la(kl)unr(l, in front of wliuh stood Mr. Thwackem. the l)(iys nad "MKS I'iTelieU'- tHiMiKS and (loD nieSS tllK Hale RoDe.' Its name hi* . evidently been too much lor .tlrs Pitcher's edu irttional resources. — Iluij/cif , Young Ptiii ii:. • W' you think I of the — Iway could her.pspeci- cin half au iccomplish throng of fht have ing across d to Tim- e ut once tre of the mus Jack- and Leo oftior dip- le hard- )atcher8 r the Royal t some one, train, each lozen thick ?t out for ■nger trains day. Line th the mis- teamed off the distant 1 their bur- over into -ard. The ■whistling, loud that people halt- imdaries of ground, and r "if Dr. af." ir composed- er window, self at the ailway was ir job, and it to the 10 supposed he racket, was linally rs. Pitcher's Great Royal ited itsellin ilay-ground- ironging up ert, laugliiiii; not without having ao- ily act even 1 up as they lie looked \ipon them ise ni<)i»ture jile in till 11'. toekliolilev>, iiid Cars oi fini — Kanit- ikyou. Ydu ( a generou.s iity mmuteh loiir. Again ys.to books. " unt. n Inslituli' xt niiirnini;' uni"ven bt- ird, in frinii Thwackem, HmiKS anil [MJe RoDe." lently been tihi'i's I'du IJiii/ji'i-' ;; 1 REPRINTED THB BOY THAT DREW THE BABY'S PICTURE. There was once a little Ameri- can boy named Benjamin West ; when he was only seven years old he was watching the beautiful baby, daughter of his eldest sister, in her cradle, when she seemed to him to be thu most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he ran and got some paper and drew the picture in red and black ink. The likeness was siiid to be an excellent one and from that time forth his mind ran on nothing else than being an artist. His father was a Quaker farmer and had not the money, even if he had the wish to give his son the education necessary for an artist ; but still Benjamin West worked on making his first paint brushes out of the hairs of a cat's tail, and painted away from his seventh year of age to the time ofhisdeath. His birthplace was in Springfield, Pennsylvania, and he went from there to Philadelphia where he reeeived some instruction in his art and there and in the neighboring towns and New York, practised it chiefly as a portrait painter. In 1760 when twenty-two years old he went to Italy where he remained for three yi'ars.sriiiiiing very remarkalilo succi-ss, and then went to dwell for the rest ol his lifetime in London, Eng- land. Here he received the highest honors that can bo given all arli.st, being made president of the Royal Academy, and for iii'arly forty years he was the friend of King Gi'oigo the Third who was proud ol being his |)atron. But still Benjamin West made one great mistake as an artist, which Samuel Smiles in St/j Ilr'/i, a book that everybody should read.refers to in those words; " AVest miijht have been a greater painter, hail he not been injured by tooearlv success ; his fame though greiit, was not purchased by study, trials, and difhcnlties. and it has not been enduring." THE PARROT'S MEMORY. A parrot was once the pet of ;i beautiful Spanish lady, who laressed him daily, and taught him her musical tongue. At last she sold him to an English naval officer, who took him home :is a present to his wife. For some time the parrot seemed to be melancholy beneath the icray skies of England, where men and birds spoke a tongue unknown to him. By degrees, however, he learned some English sentences, forgot ap- parently all the Spanish he ever knew, and regained health and .-spirits. Years passed away, and the I>arrot still lived as the pet of the whole family ; he grew to be very old, could only eat pap. and cnild scarcely climb his pole, but nobody had the heart to destroy ilim, and so he grew weaker and STORIES, J'ROM weaker. One day a Spanish gentleman called, and was shown to the room where the parrot lived. A lively discussion arose in Spanish between the visitor and his host. It was the first tiifne since his arrival in England that the bird had heard his native language, and it must have re- minded him of his sojourn on the Peninsula. With wild delight the parrot spread out his wings, repeated hurriedly some of the Spanish phrases learned in his youth, and fell down dead. The 1'oy of hearing the sweet accents le had learned when he was the senorita's companion was more than he could bear. — Harper's Younf^ People. rilK "NORTHERN MESSENGER.' 77 5? him, " My boy, yon must trust God first, and then you will love Him without trying to at all." AVith a surprised look he ex- claimed, " What did you say ?" I repeated the exact words again, and I shall never forget how his large, hazel eyes opened on me, and his cheeks flushed as he slowly said, " Well, I never knew that before. I always thought that I must love God first before I had any right to trust Him." " No, my dear boy." I answered, " God wants us to trust Him ; that is what Jesus always asks ns to do first of all, and He knows that as soon as we trust Him we shall begin to love Him. This is the way to love God, to put your trust T IK HOY THAT DREW THE HAUV S I'lCTlIKK. HOW TO LOVE GOD. In a beautiful New England village a young man lay very hick, drawing iic»r to death, and very sad. His heart longed for a treasure which he knew had never been his, and \vhich was worth more to him now than all the gold of all the we,>?(eru mines. One day 1 sat down by hiiu, took his hand, and, lo<;king in his troubled face, asked him what made him .so sad. " lit, do," said he, " 1 want to love God. Won't you tell me how to love God ? " 1 cannot describe the piteous tones in which ho said these words, and the look of trouble which he gave to mo I said in Him first of all." Then spoke to him of the Lord Jesus, and how God sent Him that we might lielieve in Ilim, and how, all throucrh his life, He tried to win the trust of men ; how grieved He was when men would not be- lieve in Ilim, and every one who believed came to love without trying at all. He drank in all the truth, ;\nd4(im)>ly saying, " 1 will trust Jesus now,' without an ellort i put his young .soul in Christ's! A Christntii man, working hard hands that very hour ; and so he for GoJ, was told by the doctor came into the peace of God that he must give up all work if he which passeth understanding, and would save his life, lived in it calmly and swcn>tly to j His answer was, "1 would theend. None of all the loving i rather spend two or three years in frii'iuls who watchec! over him doing good than exist lor si Uiriim the remiuwing weeks ol idleness. his life doubted that the dear boy had learned to love God without trying to. — Word and Work. ONE STEP AT A TIME. Many there are who stand hesi- tating on the threshold of a Chris- tian life, unwilling to commit themselves by taking a first step lest they should not prove able to hold out in the new way. To such the following narrative from Early DexB may prove a hcfpful suggestion. We give it as we find it, commending it to their earnest attention : " George Manning had almost decided to become a Christian, one doubt held him back. ' How can I know,' he said to himself, 'that even if I do begin a re- ligious life, I sh>>.ll continue faithful, and finally reach heaven?' He wanted to see the whole way there before taking the first step. While in this state of indecision and nn- happiness he one evening sought the house of his favorite pro- fessor — for he was a college student at the fime — and they talked for several hours upon the all absorbing topic. But the 1 onversation ended without dispelling his fears or bringing him any nearer the point of de- cision. " When he was about to go home the professor accompanied him to the door, and, observing how dark the night was, pre- pared a lantern, and, handing. It to his young friend, said, "•George, this little light will not show you the whole way to your room, but only one step at a time ; but take that step and you will reach your home i'l salety.' " It proved thu word in sea- son. AsGeorge walked secure- ly along in the path brightened by the little lantern the truth Hashed through his mind, dis- pelling the last shi.dow of doubt. " ' Why can I not trust my heavenly Father,' he said to him- self, 'even if I cannot see my way clear to the end, if he gives me I lie light to take one step? I w ill trust him ; I do trust him.' "He could hardly wait till be reached his room to fall on his knees and thank God for the peace and joy that filled his soul. Early next morning the professor was summoned to the door. There he found George Manning. With beaming face he looked up to his teacher, and as he bunded him the lantern said signilic'intly ; ■ ' Doctor, your little lamp lighted me all the way home last mght.' ■ A CHRISTIANS CHOICE. 1 o 1 1 1 X in4| 78 IlKlMllNTKD STORIES. FllOM TIIK •< NoHTIIKHN MKSSENOE '." A MOTHER'S LOVE. One Huminer, somo years ag'o, a large river in thi' south of France, over(lo>ved its lianks, carrying destruction i'arand wide, washing away whole villaijies, and large portions of towns, and send- ing numbers of souls into eter- nity, with scarcely one moment's warning. Parents saw their chil- dren, and children their parents, drowned before their eyes ; hus- bands had no power to save their wives, nor wives their husbands, and whole families, who when BAD BARGAINS. Once a Sabbath-school teacher remarked that he who buys the truth makes a good bargain, and enquired if any scholar recollected an instance lu Scripture of a had bargain. " I do," replied a boy ; " Esau made a bad bargain when he sold his birthright for a mess of pot- tage." A second said, "Judas made a bad bargain when ho sold his Lord for thirty pieces of silver." A third boy observed, " Our It was with great pleasure that we heard him say one evening, as with beaming face, he turned to his friend Lord Shaftesbury, who occupied the chair — " Why, my lord, some people coiiinlain that they cannot understand the repeated efforts to grasp the i>ridle in his mouth, each time falling heavily to the road, and narrowly escaping injury Irom the horse's feet. lUit ho at last made an extraordinary spring in the air, and, grasping the bridle II glorious G-ospel of the Lord .lesus ' firmly in his teeth, pulled the the sun vj-ent down, thought only Lord tells us that he makes a bad of peace and safety, were, before bargain who, to gain the the whole morning engulfed in the pitiless world, loses his own soul." flood Among the inhabitants of this part of the country, was a mother with her twin babes, whom she loved very dearly ; and when the dreadful waters came dashing round her house, rising higher and higher every minute, you may be sure that she tried her best to think of some way of saving them. First she l)ut them into a tuli of the kind in which French people wash their clothes, hut this soon began to leak, and she saw that tlu^re would be no safety for iln'ni there. There was a tall tree grow- ing near the house, and into this she climbed with her two baby-boys. But the \ipper branches, to which the ivater was driving her, were too slight to bear the weight which was on them, and she telt them crackinir beneath lier. As (juickly as possible, she tied her children as high in the tree as she could, and then, being obliged to let go lier hold, she dropped into the wat.ir, which closed over her lie.id, and she was drowned. And now, of what i.s this mother's love a faint, but only II faint, picture? You ali know, I am sure, who has .said; "A mother may for- aet, yet will 1 not foi net thee.'' < >. have you trusted in that love, or are you .still careles.s about it, going on as il it were nothing to you, whatever it might be to others 7 Tln' story of His love ha.s been often, olten told, but it will keep its freshness to all eter- nity ; and those who are saved will never be weary of sii:;; inn "Worthy is tii<' Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and slrensith, and honor, and glory, and bless- ing " It is pleasant to havi- to tell you tiiat the babes were soon saved by a j);iS8ing boat ; and it is i" be hop(Hl that 'he lives thus spared may not be wabtef Gospel Sermon was perhaps one 1 of his happiest utterances. A DOG STOPS A RUNAWAY HORSE. .A horse attached to a cart, be- coming unmanageable on upper Ciiurch street Wedne.sdiiy, started oli'ona run, leaving the owner sitting in the road where he had fallen when the animal started. The horse was heading thi! street named, and putting on more steam with every bound he made, until the corner of (reorge street was reached. Here a large New- foundland dog suddenly appeared in the road and rushed toward the horse's head. The dog made A KIND HORSE. A gentleman owned a fine horse which was very fond of him, and would come from the pasture at the sound of his voice and follow him about like a dog. At one time, the horse became lame, and was obliged to stay in his stable and not be used for many weeks. During this time, an old cat made her nest upon the scaffold just above the horse's manger, and placed there her little family of live kittens. She and the horse got on nicely for some days. She jumped down into his manger and went off for food, aiidthen came back andleaped up to her kittens again. But one morning she rolled off into the manger with her foot bleeding and badly hurt, so that she could scarcely crawl, she managed to leap away on three feet and get her break- fast, but wh"ii she came back, she was entirely unable to get to her kittens ; and what do you think she did '? She lay down at the iiorse's feet, and moved and looked up several times till, at last, pony seeming to understand her wants, reached down, took tlie cat in his teeth, and tossed her up on the scaffold to her kittens, who, I doubt not, \vere glad enougti to see her. This was repeated morning alter morning. Kit would roll off into the manger, go out and iret lier breakfast, come back, and lie tossed up to her family by the kind horse,-- Ife.s/ecrt Chrislian Ad- rnrnte. Tempeijantk Liteh.\tttre.— - The Rraiuc well says: — ' All tem- perance work that takes no measure to