But I must tell you children to be very careful when you go on the water to sail. There are some things which it is necessary for you to know, as a great many accidents occur on the water for the want of right management. When you go to sail, be sure and have persons with you who understand all about a boat, and how to manage in the time of a squall. Always keep your seats in the boat, and not be running about in it. Never get to rocking a boat in the water. A great many people have lost their lives by so doing. Sailing on the water may be very pleasant and agreeable to you if you go with those who understand all about the harbor, and are skilled in guiding the boat on the dangerous sea.



* * * * *

THE SAILOR BOY.

Yarmouth is the principal trade sea-port town in the county of Norfolk. Fishermen reside in the towns and villages around, and among the number was a poor man and his wife; they had an only son, and when ten years old his father died. The poor widow, in the death of her husband, lost the means of support. After some time she said to her boy, "Johnny, I do not see how I shall support you." "Then, mother, I will go to sea," he replied. His mother was loth to part with Johnny, for he was a good son and was very kind to her. But she at last consented on his going to sea.

John began to make preparations. One day he went down to the beach hoping to find a chance among some of the captains to sail. He went to the owner of one and asked if he wanted a boy. "No," he abruptly replied "I have boys enough." He tried a second but without success. John now began to weep. After some time he saw on the quay the captain of a trading vessel to St. Petersburg, and John asked him if "a boy was wanted." "Oh, yes," said the captain, "but I never take a boy or a man without a character." John had a Testament among his things, which he took out and said to the captain, "I suppose this won't do." The captain took it, and on opening the first page, saw written, "John Read, given as a reward for his good behaviour and diligence in learning, at the Sabbath School." The captain said, "Yes, my boy, this will do; I would rather have this recommendation than any other," adding, "you may go on board directly." John's heart leaped for joy, as, with his bundle under his arm, he jumped on board the vessel.

The vessel was soon under weigh, and for some time the sky was bright, and the wind was fair. When they reached the Baltic Sea a storm came on, the wind raged furiously, all hands were employed to save the vessel. But the storm increased, and the captain thought all would be lost. While things were in this state the little sailor boy was missing. One of the crew told the captain he was down in the cabin. When sent for he came up with his Testament in his hand and asked the captain if he might read. His request was granted. He then knelt down and rend the sixtieth and sixty-first Psalms. While he was reading the wind began to abate, (the storms in the Baltic abate as suddenly as they come on.) The captain was much moved, and said he believed the boy's reading was heard in Heaven.

* * * * *

THE BRACELET; OR, HONESTY REWARDED.

At St. Petersburgh, the birth day of any of the royal family is observed as a time of great festivity, by all kinds of diversions. When the vessel in which John Read shipped arrived, he was allowed to go on shore to see the sport on that occasion. In one of the sleighs was a lady, who at the moment of passing him lost a bracelet from her arm, which fell on the snow. John hastened forward to pick it up, at the same time calling after the lady, who was beyond the sound of his voice. He then put the bracelet into his pocket, and when he had seen enough of the sport, went back to the ship.

John told the captain all about it, showing him the prize which he had found.

"Well, Jack," said the captain "you are fortunate enough—these are all diamonds of great value—when we get to the next port I will sell it for you." "But," said John, "It's not mine, it belongs to the lady, and I cannot sell it." The captain replied, "O, you cannot find the lady, and you picked it up. It is your own." But John persisted it was not his. "Nonsense, my boy," said the captain, "it belongs to you." John then replied "But if we have another storm in the Baltic," (see story preceding.) "Ah, me," said the Captain, "I forgot all about that, Jack. I will go on shore with you to-morrow and try to find the owner." They did so; and after much trouble, found it belonged to a nobleman's lady, and as a reward for the boy's honesty, she gave him eighty pounds English money. John's next difficulty was what to do with it. The captain advised him to lay it out in hides, which would be valuable in England. He did so, and on arriving at Hull, they brought one hundred and fifty pounds.

John had not forgotten his mother. The captain gave him leave of absence for a time, and taking a portion of his money with him, he started for his native village. When he arrived there, he made his way to her house with a beating heart. Each object told him it was home, and brought bygone days to his mind. On coming to the house he saw it was closed. He thought she might be dead; and as he slowly opened the gate and walked up the path and looked about, his heart was ready to break. A neighbor seeing him, said, "Ah, John, is that you?" and quickly told him that his mother still lived—but as she had no means of support, she had gone to the poor-house. John went to the place, found his mother, and soon made her comfortable in her own cottage. The sailor boy afterwards became mate of the same vessel in which he first left the quay at Yarmouth.

* * * * *

NO PAY—NO WORK.

"Little boy, will you help a poor old man up the hill with this load?" said an old man, who was drawing a hand-cart with a bag of corn for the mill.

"I can't," said the boy, "I am in a hurry to be at school."

As the old man sat on the stone, resting himself he thought of his youthful days, and of his friends now in the grave; the tears began to fall, when John Wilson came along, and said,—"shall I help you up the hill with your load sir?" The old man brushed his eyes with his coat sleeve, and replied, "I should be glad to have you." He arose and took the tongue of his cart, while John pushed behind. When they ascended the top of the hill, the old man thanked the lad for his kindness. In consequence of this John was ten minutes too late at school. It was unusual for him to be late, as he was known to be punctual and prompt; but as he said nothing to the teacher about the cause of his being late, he was marked for not being in season.

After school, Hanson, the first boy, said to John, "I suppose you stopped to help old Stevenson up the hill with his corn."

"Yes," replied John, "the old man was tired and I thought I would give him a lift."

"Well, did you get your pay for it?" said Hanson, "for I don't work for nothing."

"Nor do I," said John; "I didn't help him, expecting pay."

"Well, why did you do it? You knew you would be late to school."

"Because I thought I ought to help the poor old man," said John.

"Well," replied Hanson "if you will work for nothing, you may. No pay, no work, is my motto."

"To be kind and obliging, is mine," said John.

Here, children, is a good example. John did not perform this act of kindness for nothing. He had the approbation of a good conscience—the pleasure of doing good to the old man—and the respect and gratitude of his friends. Even the small act of benevolence is like giving a cup of cold water to the needy, which will not pass unnoticed. Does any body work for nothing when he does good? Think of this, and do likewise.

* * * * *

THE TREE THAT NEVER FADES.

"Mary," said George, "next summer I will not have a garden. Our pretty tree is dying, and I won't love another tree as long as I live. I will have a bird next summer, and that will stay all winter."

George, don't you remember my beautiful canary bird? It died in the middle of the summer, and we planted bright flowers in the ground where we buried it. My bird did not live as long as the tree."

"Well, I don't see as we can love anything. Dear little brother died before the bird, and I loved him better than any bird, or tree, or flower. Oh! I wish we could have something to love that wouldn't die."

The day passed. During the school hours, George and Mary had almost forgot that their tree was dying; but at evening, as they drew their chairs to the table where their mother was sitting, and began to arrange the seeds they had been gathering, the remembrance of the tree came upon them.

"Mother," said Mary, "you may give these seeds to cousin John; I never want another garden."

"Yes," added George, pushing the papers in which he had carefully folded them towards his mother, "you may give them all away. If I could find some seeds of a tree that would never fade, I should like then to have a garden. I wonder, mother, if there ever was such a garden?"

"Yes, George, I have read of a garden where the trees never die."

"A real garden, mother?"

"Yes, my son. In the middle of the garden, I have been told, there runs a pure river of water, clear as chrystal, and on each side of the river is the tree of life,—a tree that never fades. That garden is heaven. There you may love and love for ever. There will be no death—no fading there. Let your treasure be in the tree of life, and you will have something to which your young hearts can cling, without fear, and without disappointment. Love the Saviour here, and he will prepare you to dwell in those green pastures, and beside those still waters."

* * * * *

Every neglected opportunity draws after it an irreparable loss, which will go into eternity with you.—-Doddridge.

* * * * *

YOUNG USHER.

You have read of that remarkable man, Mr. Usher, who was Archbishop of Armagh. I will tell you something about his early childhood. He was born in Dublin, in the year 1580, and when a little boy he was fond of reading. He lived with his two aunts who were born blind, and who acquired much knowledge of the Scriptures by hearing others read the Scriptures and other good books. At seven years of age he was sent to school in Dublin; at the end of five years he was superior in study to any of his school fellows, and was thought fully qualified to enter the college at Dublin.

While he was at college he learned to play at cards, and he was so much taken up with this amusement that both his learning and piety were much endangered. He saw the evil tendency of playing cards, and at once relinquished the practice entirely. When he was nine years old, he heard a sermon preached which made a deep impression on his mind. From that time he was accustomed to habits of devotion. He loved to pray, and felt that he could not sleep quietly without first commending himself to the care of his Heavenly father for protection. When he was fourteen years old, he began to think about partaking of the Lord's supper. He thought this act to be a very solemn and important one, and required a thorough preparation. On the afternoon previous to the communion, he would retire to some private place for self examination and prayer. When he was but sixteen years of age, he obtained such a knowledge of chronology as to have commenced the annals of the Old and New Testaments, which were published many years after, and are now a general standard of reference.

When his father died, he being the eldest son, the paternal estate was left to him to manage. But as he feared it would occupy to much of his time and attention, he gave it entirely to his brother and sisters, reserving only enough for his books and college expenses. At the age of twenty he entered the ministry, and seven years after was chosen a professor in the University of Dublin. In 1640, he visited England at the time of the commencement of the rebellion; all his goods were seized by the popish party, except some furniture in his house, and his library at Drogheda, which was afterwards sent to London. He bore his loss with submission, but he never returned to Ireland. He had many trials to endure on account of the troublous times in England, (it being the time of civil wars.) In 1646 he received a kind invitation from the Countess of Peterborough to reside in one of her houses, which proposal he accepted and lived in one of them till his death, in 1665. By the direction of Cromwell he was buried in Westminster Abbey.

* * * * *

A GOOD ACT FOR ANOTHER.

A man was going from Norwich to New London with a loaded team; on attempting to ascend a hill where an Indian lived he found his team could not draw the load. He went for the Indian to assist him. After he had got up the hill he asked the Indian what was to pay. The Indian told him to do as much for some body else.

Some time afterward the Indian wanted a canoe. He went up Shetucket river, found a tree, and made him one. When he had finished it he could not get it to the river; accordingly he went to a man and offered to pay him if he would go and draw it to the river for him. The man set about it immediately, and after getting it to the river, the Indian offered to pay him. "No," said the man; "don't you recollect, so long ago, helping a man with a team up the hill by the side of your house?" "Yes." "Well, I am the man; take your canoe and go home."

* * * * *

A BOY REPROVED BY A BIRD.

The sparrows often build their nests under the eaves of houses and barns. A young lad saw one of the sparrows conveying materials for her nest, which she was building under the eaves of a cottage adjoining his father's house. He was told not to disturb it. But birds eggs form a temptation to many boys. At a favorable opportunity the lad climbed up to the roof of the cottage and carried away the nest with the eggs in it. Among the materials of which the nest was composed was a piece of paper with some printed verses on it. The boy pulled it out and found it to be a page of one of Dr. Watts' hymns, which had been picked up in the yard by the poor bird for strengthening her nest. The boy unfolded the paper and read:——

"Why should I deprive my neighbor Of his goods against his will? Hands were made for honest labor, Not to plunder nor to steal."

The lad says, in his after years, "I never forgot the lesson presented to me by that leaf of paper which had been fixed to the nest of the poor sparrow." Let young people remember that when they do wrong they will get reproved, and it may be by the means of a bird.

* * * * *

THE ECHO.

Little Charles knew nothing about an echo. As he was playing by himself in the field, he cried out, "Ho, hop!" and immediately a voice from the woods near by answered, "ho, hop!" Being surprised at this, he called out, "who be you?" The voice answered, "who be you." Charles thought this very strange, and cried out "you're a stupid fellow," and "stupid fellow," was the reply from the woods.

Charles began to be much displeased, and called several abusive names, and every name he called, came back to him. "I never met with such insolence," said he, "but I'll revenge myself;" and he ran up and down among the trees, trying to find the supposed offender, but he could see no one. Vexed and disappointed, he hastened home and told his mother that a bad boy had hidden in the woods and called him all sorts of names.

His mother smiled and shook her head. "Now you have been angry at yourself, Charles, for you must know that you heard nothing but your own words repeated. As you have seen your own face reflected in the water, so you have now heard your own voice echoed." Had Charles spoke kind words he would have heard kind words in return. It is often true that the behavior we meet with from others, is but an echo of our own. If we speak kind words we shall have kind words in return.

* * * * *

LIZZY AND HER DOG.

I wish to relate to you a very affecting story about a good girl who died when she was thirteen years old. She was an interesting young girl, and possessed great intellectual powers. She was also very fond of the works of nature, especially of flowers, and would often say, "How good God is to make these beautiful flowers for us to enjoy." Soon it was very evident to her friends that disease was preying on her delicate constitution. She bore all her sickness with calm submission, and when she died she appeared to all who knew her to be prepared for heaven. While she was sick, her parents did every thing to make her comfortable and happy. They had a dog which Lizzy set a great deal by, and with him she used to play in the house and in the garden. When Lizzy was so sick that she could not play with him, he would come and lay himself down at her bed side, and appeared to be very sad on her account. When she died [and] was buried, the dog followed with the parents in the funeral, to the grave-yard where Lizzy was laid away. One day, about five months afterwards, I went with her father to see the grave of Lizzy.

As we went into the grave-yard, we walked slowly along, reading the names of persons buried there, while the dog followed us. We soon missed the dog, supposing he had wandered into some other part of the cemetery. But when we came within a few yards of Lizzy's grave we saw him sitting at its head, leaning against the stone which was erected in memory of the lovely daughter. It was a very affecting scene—the attachment of the dog, as well as the power of his memory. Dogs are faithful creatures, and we can never bear to see them abused. Be kind to them and they will be kind to you.

* * * * *

JULIA'S SUNSET WALK.

It was a beautiful June day, just at the sun's setting, when Julia Eastworth went to visit the resting place of a dear grandmother. While she was in the grave-yard, meditating on the loss of one of her best earthly friends, she saw a lady dressed in mourning busily engaged in doing something near a rose bush that grew at the foot of a little mound, at a short distance from where she stood. Julia walked along and came near where she was, and laid her hand gently upon the woman and said, "Madam, is this your little mound?"

"Oh, no, my child; it is my dear Elise's grave."

"And is it long since you laid her here ma'am?" said Julia.

"Only a few weeks," was the reply; "there were buds on this rose bush when I brought it here."

"And was it her's?" asked Julia, as she stooped down to inhale the rich fragrance of the beautiful flower.

"Yes, my child, it was a dear treasure to her. My Elise was a good child, she was my Idol, but my Heavenly Father has seen best to remove her from me. I only cared to live that I might be useful to her in giving her such instructions as might be a blessing to her. I almost adored her, but she is gone from me, and I am alone. I know she is happy, because she was good."

"And have you always lived here in our town?" asked Julia.

"Oh, no! I am from Italy. When my child was but two years old, I left my native shores, and with my only relative, my father, followed my young husband, who is an American, to his own land. We settled in the State of Virginia, and a short time ago he died and left me with a charge to take care of our dear Elsie. She had her father's hair and complexion, and inherited his delicate constitution, We were poor, and I labored hard, but I cared not, if I could only make my child comfortable and happy. She was not like me; her mind was full of thoughts of beauty; she would often talk of things with which I could not sympathize; the world seemed to her to be full of voices, and she would often say, 'How beautiful heaven must be.' Her nature was purer and gentler than mine, and I felt that she was a fit companion of the angels. But she is now gone to be with them, and I hope soon to meet her."

Julia bid the lady good bye, and went towards her home. As she walked slowly along, she thought to herself, "Elsie with the angels!" and she dwelt upon the theme till her mother, seeing her rather different in her conduct, asked her the cause, when she replied, "Oh, mother! I want to dwell with the angels."

* * * * *

FLORA AND HER PORTRAIT.

"And was there never a portrait of your beautiful child," said Anne Jones, to a lady whom she met at the grave where her child had been lain a few weeks.

"Oh, yes! but I may never have it," replied the woman as she stood weeping at the grave.

Anna did not understand the mother's tears, but in a few moments she became calm, and continued to explain.

"Not many weeks before my child's illness, as we were walking together in the city, an artist observed my daughter and followed us to our humble home. He praised her countenance to me, and said her beauty was rare. In all his life he had never seen face to compare with it, nor an eye so full of soul, and begged to have me consent to his drawing her portrait. After many urgent entreaties, my dear child consented. For several mornings I went with Flora to the artist's room, though I could ill afford the time, for our daily bread was to be earned. When he was finishing the picture, Flora went alone. One day she returned, and flinging into my lap her little green purse, she said: 'The picture does not need me any more, and I am very glad, for my head aches badly. They say the portrait is very like me, mother.'

"I resolved to go and see it the day following, but when the time came that I first looked upon it, my dear child began to fade in my arms, until she died. And here she is buried. Since then I go to the artist's room to see her portrait, and there, full of life and beauty, she stands before me, and I have permission to see it every day.

"But I am about to leave this country for our native land. My aged father has long wished to return to his own country, and we shall soon sail with our friends for Italy. I must leave the dear child here. But if I can purchase the picture of the artist, I shall be happy. We are poor; but by the sale of some little articles, we have raised money enough to buy the picture, at the price which the artist demands for a similar picture.

"When I went to buy it, you know not how I felt, when the artist, notwithstanding all my pleadings, denied my request. His apology was, that he had taken it for some purpose of his own; some great exhibition of paintings; what, I could not fully comprehend. He would not sell it. Day after day I have been to him, but in vain. And now the time of our departure will soon come, and duty demands that I must go with my father, and I must leave my dear Flora, and portrait too."

She then laid her face upon the grave and wept. Anna's eyes were filled with tears, and for some moments she did not speak. At last she thought—"I know the artist." And then touching the mother, who was almost insensible, she said, "Madam, it may be that I can do something for you; describe to me the picture. I think I must have seen it at this same artist's room."

The mother then gave the description, and after Anna had gathered from the mother all needful information, her name, and residence, and time of sailing, then giving her own address, and speaking to her words of consolation and hope, she arose and left the stranger at the grave of her child. The next story will tell you how the picture was obtained.

* * * * *

THE PORTRAIT OF FLORA PURCHASED.

Anna started for her home, and when she had arrived, she slowly ascended to her room, flung herself upon her couch, and buried her face among its cushions.

"Edgar," (for that was the artist's name, and Anna knew him,) "Edgar is cold hearted." She did not meet the family at tea that evening, but when her mother came to inquire if she was ill, she related all the sad story of the childless mother, and asked what could be done. The next morning, Anna and her father went to see the artist. He was not in attendance, but one to whom they were well known brought forward the picture, at Anna's request, and which she had before seen. While they were looking at it, the artist came in.

"Pardon me, sir," said Anna's father, "for examining your beautiful picture during your absence, but my daughter has a very earnest desire to possess it. Is it for sale?"

Edgar replied, "I have painted this picture for the coming artist's exhibition, and, therefore, I have made no design as to its disposal, but it would be an honor to me to have you and Miss Anna its purchasers. I would wish, however, previously to its being given up, that it might be exhibited, according to my intention, at the rooms, which open on Monday next."

Mr. H. hesitated: the vessel, which was to carry away the sorrowing mother, was to sail in a little more than two weeks: they must have the picture at that time, if ever; and he said to the artist, "I am aware that this is a beautiful painting, and I will pay you your price, but I must be allowed to take it at the expiration often days, if at all."

Edgar reflected a few moments, and being well aware that, in the mansion of Mr. Hastings, his elegant picture would be seen by persons of the most accomplished manners, and of excellent taste, concluded to sell the picture. The bargain was made and Anna and her father departed, leaving the artist somewhat elated at the thought of having Mr. H. the owner of his picture.

That night Edgar dreamed that Flora, who had been buried a few weeks, and of whose image his picture was the exact resemblance, stood before him, pleading him to have pity on her lonely mother: he dreamed her hand clasped his, and he awoke trembling.

He raised himself upon his elbow, and pressed to his lips some flowers which were left on his table, and then rejoiced that the ocean would soon be between him and the wearisome old woman who had so long annoyed him about the picture.

The Monday morning came and with it the portrait of Flora, which had been admired at the exhibition rooms the previous week. A simple frame had been prepared for it, and for a few moments Anna gazed on the picture, and with a love for the buried stranger, looked for the last time into the deep dark eyes which beamed on the canvass.

The ship Viola, bound for the port of Naples, lay at the wharf, the passengers were all hurrying on board, the flags were flying, and all wore the joyous aspect of a vessel outward bound. A carriage drawn by a pair of horses came down to the vessel. Mr. Hastings and Anna alighted, and were followed by a servant, who took the safely cased portrait in his arms, and accompanied them on board the ship. They soon met the mother of Flora, and Anna took the picture and presented it to her, and promised to care for the rose buds which bloomed at Flora's grave. Mr. H. received from the gallant captain a promise to take special charge of the Italian widow, and her aged father, and to care for the valued picture of Flora. Thanks and farewells closed the scene, when Anna, with her father, returned home. There she found a note from Edgar, the artist, requesting permission to call on Anna that evening. She wrote a reply, saying that a previous engagement would forbid her complying with his request, at the same time enclosing a check for $200, saying, "My father requests me to forward this check to you in payment for the portrait of Flora Revere."

* * * * *

THE SAINT'S REST.

We've no abiding city here: This may distress the worldling's mind, But should not cost the saint a tear, Who hopes a better rest to find,

We've no abiding city here; We seek a city out of sight. Zion its name; the Lord is there; It shines with everlasting light.

Hush, my soul, nor dare repine; The time my God appoints is best; While here to do his will be mine, And his to fix my time of rest.

* * * * *

A GOOD MOTHER.

Mrs. Savage was the eldest sister of Matthew Henry. When she was a child she had a great many advantages for the improvement of her mind. When only seven years of age, she could translate the Hebrew language, and when ten years old, she could write out her father's sermons. She possessed a very amiable disposition, and was very kind and benevolent to all who needed the comforts of life. She was a Christian, and when she became a mother she began the work of educating her children herself. She had a large family of nine children, and as she had treasured up in her memory many hymns and verses which she had learned when a child, she was able to teach the same to her children. She was so kind and affectionate that every body loved her. Her children took much pleasure in hearing their mother repeat to them the hymns and texts of Scripture which she had learned.



Some children are very careless, and indifferent to their parents' advice; such ones will regret it in their riper years. But Mrs. Savage's little boys and girls loved their mother, and were very obedient to her commands. When evening came, before they retired to bed she would call her little children around her (as you see in the picture,) and they would kneel down and say their evening prayer. A pleasant sight, indeed, to see our dear children remembering their Creator in the days of their youth. Mrs. S. was "useful, beloved, meek, humble, and charitable." She lived a happy, cheerful life; she was an ornament to her Christian profession, a "good mother." She died suddenly at the good old age of eighty-eight.

* * * * *

MOTHER'S LAST LESSON.

"Will you please teach me my verse, mamma, and then kiss me and bid me good night," said little Roger, as he opened the door and peeped into the chamber of his sick mother. "I am very sleepy, but no one has heard me say my prayers." Mrs. L. was very ill, and her friends believed her to be dying. She sat propped up with pillows and struggling for breath, her eyes were growing dim, and her strength was failing very fast. She was a widow, and little Roger was her only darling child. He had been in the habit of coming into her room every night, and sitting in her lap, or kneeling by her side, while she repeated some Scripture passages to him, or related a story of wise and good people. She always loved to hear Roger's verse and prayer.

"Hush! hush!" said the lady who was watching beside the couch. "Your dear mamma is too ill to hear you to night." And as she said this, she came forward and laid her hand gently upon his arm as if she would lead him from the room. "I cannot go to bed to night," said the little boy, "without saying my prayers—I cannot."

Roger's dying mother heard his voice, and his sobs, and although she had been nearly insensible to everything around her, yet she requested the attendant lady to bring the boy and lay him near her side. Her request was granted, and the child's rosy cheek nestled in the bosom of his dying mother.

"Now you may repeat this verse after me," said his mother, "and never forget it: 'When my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up.'" The child repeated it three times—then he kissed the pale cheek of his mother, and went quietly to his little couch.

The next morning he sought as usual for his mother, but she was now cold and motionless. She died soon after little Roger retired to his bed. That was her last lesson to her darling boy—-he did not forget it. He has grown to be a man and occupies a high post of honor in Massachusetts. I never can look upon him without thinking about the faith so beautifully exhibited by his dying mother. It was a good lesson.

* * * * *

THE GOLDEN CROWN.

A teacher once asked a child, "If you had a golden crown, what would you do with it?" The child replied, "I would give it to my father to keep till I was a man." He asked another. "I would buy a coach and horses with it," was the reply. He asked a third. "Oh," said the little girl to whom he spoke, "I would do with it the same as the people in heaven do with their crowns. I would cast it at the Saviour's feet."

* * * * *

EARLY AT SCHOOL.

One Sabbath evening a teacher was walking up and down in the porch before his house, in one of the South Sea Islands. The sun was setting behind the waves of the ocean, and the labors of the day were over. In that cool, quiet hour, the teacher was in prayer, asking a blessing on his people, his scholars, and himself. As he heard the leaves of the Mimosa tree rustling, he thought the breeze was springing up—and continued his walk. Again he heard the leaves rattle, and he felt sure that it could not be the wind. So he pushed aside the long leafy branches of the trees, and passed beneath. And what did he find there? Three little boys. Two were fast asleep in each other's arms, but the third was awake.

"What are you doing there, my children?" asked the teacher. "We have come to sleep here," said the boy. "And why do you sleep here; have you no home?" "Oh, yes," said the lad, "but if we sleep here, we are sure to be ready when the school bell rings in the morning." "And do your parents know about it?" "Mine do," said the lad, "but these little boys have no parents; they are orphans."

You know the nights in the South Sea Islands are not cold and damp like ours, but as the teacher thought a heavy rain would fall in the night, he roused the orphans, and led the three little boys into the large porch of the house where they might rest in safety. He was happy to find that they were some of his scholars, and that they loved their school. What would these little Islanders think if they could look from their distant homes into some of our schools and see how many late comers there are!

* * * * *

THE PLUM BOYS.

Two boys were one day on their way from school, and as they were passing a cornfield, in which there were some plum trees, full of nice, ripe fruit, Henry said to Thomas, "Let us jump over and get some plums. Nobody will see us, and we can scud along through the corn and come out on the other side."

Thomas said, "I cannot. It is wrong to do so. I would rather not have the plums than to steal them, and I think I will run along home."

"You are a coward," said Henry, "I always knew you were a coward, and if you don't want any plums you may go without them, but I shall have some very quick."

Just as Henry was climbing the fence, the owner of the field rose up from the other side of the wall, and Henry jumped back and ran away. Thomas had no reason to be afraid, so he stood still, and the owner of the field, who had heard the conversation between the boys, told him that he was very glad to see that he was not willing to be a thief. He then told Thomas that he might step over the fence and help himself to as many plums as he wished. The boy was pleased with the invitation, and soon filled his pockets with plums which he could call his own. Honesty will always get its reward.

* * * * *

THE FIRST DOLLAR.

I will tell you an affecting story about a young lad by the name of Emerson Terry, who lived in Hartford, Ct. He was very kind to the poor, and could never see the sufferings of his fellow beings without making an effort for their relief. Here is one instance of his kindness and liberality:

While he resided in Bristol, his father, Dr. Terry, took little Emerson with him to ride into Hartford that he might see the city. Emerson had one dollar, and it was the first dollar he ever earned. He took the dollar with him, thinking to buy something with it in the city. While they were riding along on the way, they overtook a poor fugitive slave seeking his freedom in the North. Mr. Terry kindly took the wayfaring man into his carriage when the poor man related to him his sufferings and poverty, and also his trust in God. Young Emerson's heart was touched, when, of his own accord, he drew out his first and only dollar and gave it to the poor fugitive. When he returned home he told his mother what he had done, with a satisfaction that indicated his pleasure in being able to relieve a suffering stranger. How noble was this act. He felt willing to forego the pleasure of spending his dollar for himself, for any pleasing toys that he might help a poor wanderer on the earth. When he was fifteen years of age, he was drowned in the Connecticut river. He was beloved and respected by a large circle of acquaintance. He was noted for his kind disposition, tender feelings, and lovely spirit. He sleeps in peace, and we all hope to meet him in heaven.

* * * * *

THE SHEPHERD AND HIS BIBLE.

A poor shepherd, living among the Alps, the father of a large family, for whose wants he provided with great difficulty, purchased an old Bible from a dealer in old cloths and furniture. On Sunday evening, as he was turning over the leaves, he noticed several of them were pasted together. He immediately began to separate the pasted leaves with great care. Inside of these leaves he found carefully enclosed a bank bill of five hundred dollars. On the margin of one of the pages was written these words: "I gathered together money with very great difficulty, but having no natural heirs but those who have absolutely need of nothing, I make thee, whosoever shall read this Bible, my natural heir."

We cannot promise our young friends that they will find money in the leaves of their Bibles, but you may be assured that if you study its pages, and follow its precepts, you will find wisdom, which is better than silver, and the gain thereof than fine gold.

* * * * *

REVELATION OF GOD'S HOLY WORD.

Ye favored lands, rejoice Where God reveals his word: We are not left to nature's voice To bid us know the Lord.

His statutes and commands Are set before our eyes; He puts the gospel in our hands, Where our salvation lies.

His laws are just and pure, His truth without deceit; His promise is for ever sure, And his rewards are great.

* * * * *

PLEASANT PLAY.

There are many plays in which children may amuse themselves so as to benefit both the mind and body. Exercise is very essential to the health, and all children should accustom themselves to such exercise as will give elasticity too all the muscles of the body. Some children often play too hard, and others, before they get through playing, get to quarrelling. Children never appear so badly as when they quarrel with each other. Joseph and William, Jane and little Susan, are out in the garden playing "hide and seek," around the summer house. William became a little contrary, because everything in the play did not suit him, and declared he would run away. Children should never let anger rise in their bosoms because of some small mistake on the part of others. They should always overlook all mistakes, forgive all injuries, and learn to love each other when at play, as well as when at school. Good children will play together, without getting angry, and it is a pretty sight to see such children all happy in each other's society and enjoying their pleasant pastimes with cheerful and happy hearts.

Our evil actions spring like trees, From small and hidden seeds; We think, or wish some wicked thing, And then do wicked deeds.

Whoever dares to tell a lie, Whoever steals a pin, Whoever strikes an angry blow, Has done a deed of sin.

* * * * *

GEORGE AND HIS GUINEA.

Little George Ames went with his aunt to attend a missionary meeting. After the minister had ended his sermon, as he sat in the pew he whispered to his aunt, saying, "I wish you would lend me a guinea and I will give it to you again when we get home." His aunt asked him what he wanted of his guinea; he told her he wished to put it in the box when it came round, to assist in sending the gospel to the heathen children. She replied, "a guinea is a great deal of money, George; you had better ask your mother, first." As George's mother lived very near the church, he went home immediately, and said, "Mother, will you let me have my guinea to give to the mission?" George's mother saw that he was very much interested for the heathen children, and says to him, "supposing you give half of it." "No," said George, "I want to give it all." "Well, my dear, you will remember you cannot give it and have it too." She then gave him a one pound note, and a shilling. But George said he would rather have a guinea. "Why," said his mother, "what difference can it make? it is just the same amount." "Yes," said George, "but that one pound will seem so much for a little boy to give. If I had a guinea, I could put it in between two half-pence and nobody would know anything about it." His mother was pleased with his proposal, and George having got his guinea returned to the church and put it in the box as he intended.

Little George is now dead, and there is no danger of his being puffed up by what he has done. You may learn from this act of George, how to do some good to poor heathen children. You should be willing to deny yourselves some pleasures in order that you may benefit others. And if you do good out of a pure motive you will be blessed in the deed.

* * * * *

THE JEW AND HIS DAUGHTER.

A Jew came to this country from London, many years ago, and brought with him all his property. He had a lovely daughter of seventeen; with her he settled in a charming retreat on the fruitful banks of the Ohio, in the Western part of Virginia. He had buried his wife before he left Europe, and he knew no comfort but the company of his beloved daughter. She possessed an amiable disposition, and was well educated; she could speak several languages, and her manner pleased all who knew her. Being a Jew, he brought up his daughter in the strictest principles of his faith.

It was not long after that his daughter was taken sick. The rose faded from her cheek, her strength failed, and it was certain that she could not live long. Her father was deeply affected. He tried to talk with her, but could seldom speak without weeping. He spared no expense to have her get well. One day he was walking in the wood near his house when he was sent for by his dying daughter. With a heavy heart he entered the door of her room, and he saw that he was now to take the last farewell of his daughter.

"My father," said the child, "do you love me?" "Yes," he replied, "you know that I love you." "I know, father, you have ever loved me. You have been a kind father, and I tenderly love you. Grant me my dying request."

"What is it, my child? ask what you will, though it take every farthing of my property, it shall be granted. I will grant your request."

"My dear father, I now beg of you never again to speak lightly of Jesus of Nazareth; I know that he is a Saviour, and that he has made himself known to me, since I have been sick, even for the salvation of my soul. I entreat you to obtain a Testament that tells of him and that you may bestow on him the love that was formerly mine." She now ceased speaking, her father left the room, when her soul took its flight to God who gave it. After her decease the parent purchased a Testament and read about Jesus of Nazareth, and is now a devoted Christian. Good children may be made blessings to their parents and friends.

* * * * *

ANECDOTES.

TRUE BENIFICENCE.—Mark Antony, when very much depressed, and at the ebb of his fortune, cried out, "I have lost all, except what I have given away."

WASHINGTON AND THE SOLDIER.—A British soldier said, "It was once in my power to shoot Gen. Washington." "Why, then," said an American, "did you not do it?" "Because," he replied, "the death of Washington would not have been for our benefit, for we depended upon him to treat our prisoners kindly."

YES AND NO.—John Randolph, in one of his letters to a young relative, says: "You must expect unreasonable requests to be preferred to you every day of your life; and you must endeavor to say no with as much facility and kindness as you would say yes."

OSCEOLA.—It is said that the name of Osceola was given to that famous chief by an old lady in a frontier village, who had newly arrived in the country, and had never seen an Indian. When she seen him she burst forth in utter astonishment—"Oh see! Oh la! What a curious looking man!"

SIGISMOND.—This Emperor was once reproached by some courtiers for being favorable to his foes—to whom he replied, "Do I not effectually destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?"

* * * * *

CHINESE PROVERBS.

What is told in the ear is often heard a hundred miles.

Riches come better after poverty, than poverty after riches.

Who aims at excellence will be above medirocity; who aims at medirocity will fall short of it.

No remedies can revive old age and faded flowers.

A truly great man never puts away the simplicity of a child.

He who toils with pain will eat with pleasure.

A wise man forgets old grudges.

* * * * *

Those that dare lose a day are dangerously prodigal; those that dare misspend it, desperate.—Bishop Hall.

Truth enters into the heart of man when it is empty, and clean and still; but when the mind is shaken with passion as with a storm, you can never hear the voice of the charmer, though he charm never so wisely.

* * * * *

COMFORT AND SOBRIETY.

Let me here give you a few maxims to commit to memory:——

Avoid and shun the sources of misery.

Be sure not to indulge your appetite.

Strong drink excites a person to do wrong.

Remember you are never out of temptation.

A life of virtue and temperence will secure to you money and time; will give you health, and prosperity, peace, character, respect, and usefulness.

PLEDGE.

Our hands and our hearts we give To the temperance pledge, declaring That long as on earth we live, All its bountiful blessings sharing,

We will taste not and touch not the bowl That burns with intoxication, And will lend our assistance to roll The temperance ball through the nation.

* * * * *

THE TRUSTY DOG.

I am glad to introduce to you, the noble dog whose picture is before you. He was an old and tried friend of mine, and I could tell you a great many things about him. He was more trust-worthy than many a little child that I have known; for though circumstances have thrown me in the way of many beautiful children, some of the little ones with whom I have met, were not so truthful and trusty as they ought to have been.



But I must not forget the work I commenced; and run off into telling you stories of bad children rather than of the good dog. I know that you are already interested in this noble fellow, by this fine portrait of him. Hasn't he a beautiful face. It is as kind and good natured a dog as you ever saw. Now you want to know his name; and, perhaps some of you are feeling curious by this time, to know what he is doing with that great basket which he holds in his mouth, I will first tell you his name, and then come to the question of the basket. His name was "Erie." Mayhap you never knew a dog by this name. It is very peculiar to call a dog "Erie," but, as this was an extraordinary wise dog, he deserved a name somewhat different from ordinary dogs.

Now I will proceed to my story which is true, and may be believed as well as wondered at.

"Erie" had great many wonderful tricks. He seemed to understand what was said to him, and would obey promptly any person in whom he had confidence, when they told him to do anything which was in his power to do. You could trust him to carry any article which he could hold in his mouth, He would take it to any place you might name, where he was accustomed to go, and give to the person you told him to give it to, and never to any other, under any circumstances. If he could not find the person to whom the article was sent, he would surely return it to you with a knowing look which seemed to say, "I tried to do my errand but couldn't." He was usually very good natured, but on such occasions, when he was entrusted with the care of anything; he did not like to be interfered with, and if any one attempted to touch anything which he held in his mouth he would growl at them in a most ferocious manner, as if he would say, "Take care, this is not yours, and I shall treat you harshly if you undertake to carry off what belongs to another."

His master used to love hunting very much, and "Erie" almost always went with him. At such times he was very fond of carrying the game bag in his mouth. There was a closet in the house where his master kept his guns powder, flasks, and all things necessary for hunting. One day Mr. A. left for [the] woods with his gun, while the dog was absent from home. He had gone about a mile, when he thought of his powder flask which in the haste of leaving home he had forgotten. He turned back regretting that he had taken so many unnecessary steps, when his eye fell upon "Erie" running toward him with great speed holding the powder flask in his mouth. The dog had returned home and finding his master gone, had examined the closet, the door of which had been left ajar, and found the gun gone while the flask was left; he seemed to know this ought not to be, and seizing the flask in his mouth he pursued his master and carried him the important article.

Mr. A. taught him to carry meat home from the market, and he was never known to eat it, or allow any other dog to take it from him.

This was very convenient for the family. Often when Mr. A. was in haste, he would write a note telling the butcher what meat to send him for his dinner. This note he would put into the bottom of the meat basket, and give the basket to "Erie," telling him which market he was to go to, and reminding him to be sure and come back quickly. In a few moments the dog would return with the dinner as safely as a child could have done.

One day as he was going home from the market, the basket was heavy, having in it a large piece of meat. "Erie" grew very tired and set the basket down on the pavement to rest his mouth a moment. At this moment a large black dog was passing, who, smelling the meat, thought he would like a piece for his own dinner; so walking up to the basket he attempted to thrust his nose in and help himself. "Erie" gave one of his ferocious warning growls, which said as plain as words, "Take care, take care." At first the other dog retreated a little, but being very hungry he again approached the basket.

"Erie" seemed really to reason about the matter. He knew that the other dog was determined to steal the meat which was especially entrusted to his care. It was as if he thought to himself, "Now if I stop to fight with this dog, some other dog may come and run away with my meat, my only safety is flight," so seizing up the basket he fled as fast as his legs could carry him toward home. The large dog pursued him a little way, but "Erie" out-ran him and reached home in safety, As soon as he had deposited the basket in the hands of his mistress, he turned and ran down street again as fast as he could, in search of the thieving dog, whose dishonesty he seemed to think he must punish. After searching a long time he found him playing with a number of other dogs, and I never saw a dog take a worse whipping than "Erie" gave him.

Now my dear children as you read this story, ask yourselves if you are as honest and trustworthy as this noble dog was. You know that you may be much better than he; for God has made you wiser and given you power to do much, more than any animal.

* * * * *

THE UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE.

Josiah Martin was a young man of whom any mother might have been proud. He was an only child, and had been the support of his widowed mother for five years; though at the time when we first knew him he was not twenty.

And this was not all. He was so frugal, and industrious, that he was able, besides providing for himself and mother, to contribute largely toward the support of his aunt Eleanor and her daughter, who were very poor, and without his help, might have suffered oftentimes for want of the necessaries of life.

In return for his care, he had a wealth of love bestowed upon him by mother, aunt and cousin, who often said, and often felt in their hearts, that Josiah was as good a boy as ever lived. He enjoyed perfect health, and had naturally a merry heart, so that every day of his life, he was as happy as the birds. He expected to continue so, through many long years: and never thought of dying until he got to be an old man.

One pleasant summer morning, he rose early and prepared to leave home to be absent a week. He had agreed to go and help Mr. Brown about harvesting, and the farm being five miles from where his mother lived, he could not come home before Saturday night. He bade his mother an affectionate good morning, and started cheerily on his way. The road ran by aunt Eleanor's door, so he thought he would just peep in, and see how she was and tell her that he should not see her again for several days.

The old lady did not seem as well as usual, and "wished heartily," she said, that Josiah wasn't going away.

"Why, I shall be back," said he "in six days, and can come sooner, if any of you need me."

"You should not speak so positive about it," said aunt Eleanor, "you may never come back again."

"Oh fye, auntie, you've got the blues this morning! I shall be back just as sure as Saturday night comes."

"Don't be too certain my boy; life and death are not in our hands; you may be called any hour."



"Now auntie, don't get gloomy about such a hale stout boy as I am; who never saw a sick day in his life, and don't know what pain is. Why see how strong I am," and laughingly he bent down, and lifting his cousin with one arm and his great dog with the other, he tripped lightly over the threshold. "There, auntie," he cried, "I could carry off your whole establishment, almost as easy as Samson did the gates of Gaza."

Though the old lady smiled at the moment the cloud came back again to her face, and through the open door she watched him as long as her misty eyes could distinguish him in the distance.

As merry, as strong, and as full of life as ever, the young man went to his work that morning. Arrived at the harvest field, he took off his coat and went in among the laborers, saying that he thought he could outwork them all that day, he felt so vigorous. The sun was exceeding hot, the air sultry and close, and the laborers, in spite of their determination and strength, grew very weary when the sun was high in the heavens. About eleven o'clock, a boy came from the house and brought them a jug of cold water. Josiah took it first, and drank of it until they all called to him to stop. He did not heed them, but being very thirsty, drank until he was satisfied; then stooped to set the jug on the ground, and fell down beside it a corpse.

Thus suddenly, in the prime of his young life, was he called into eternity. In a moment from perfect health, he passed to death.

I seem to hear you saying, little reader, "This was very sudden; but surely such unexpected deaths are rare, I shall not die in that way." That you cannot tell, you must go in the time that God appoints, it may be before another sunset. But whether it be sooner or later that you are called home to heaven, would you not love to leave with your friends the memory of as good a life as this of which you have been reading. On the neat white slab that shows where Josiah sleeps it says, "Here lies a good boy, who blessed the world while he lived in it." Go ye little readers and do likewise.

* * * * *

'Tis well to walk with a cheerful heart Wherever our fortunes call, With a friendly glance, an open hand, And a gentle word for all. Since life is a thorny and difficult path Where toil is the portion of man, We all should endeavor, while passing along, To make it us smooth as we can.

* * * * *

THE FIRST DECEPTION.

When I was a boy, and attended school, I was like a great many other boys, more inclined to play and read story books than I was to study my lessons; it was a rule at our school to carry a book home every night and study the lesson for the following day; but I would avoid this by some deception, and of course the next morning my recitation would be very imperfect.

One morning I awoke quite early, and I remembered that we were to have a very difficult lesson on that morning, and I had neglected it that I might join in a game of foot-ball. It was too late then to commit it to memory, and I felt ashamed to go to school without it, for I knew that I should be punished, and be obliged to remain in at recess to make up the lesson. I did not want to play truant, for I was fearful of detection, so I went to my father and feigned headache, and plead that I might remain at home that day. The wish was granted, and for a moment I felt relieved, but at breakfast or dinner, I was not allowed to eat anything; I was obliged to remain in doors all day, although the sun was shining brightly out of doors, and with a conscience restless and reproving me all the time, I passed a wretched day.

My father, always kind and attentive to his children, would lay his hand upon my head and pity me, so that my heart ached when I thought how wickedly I was deceiving him. The day passed, and I went to my bed, but I could not sleep. I had told my father a lie, and the thought of it lay like a weight upon my heart. I slept a little, but it was a troubled and unhappy sleep. When I arose in the morning, I went to my father, and with tearful eyes confessed my deception. He was surprised and grieved. I stood before him with my head hung down, feeling thoroughly ashamed. I asked forgiveness of him and it was granted. I was then told to go to school and tell the teacher of my fault, and promise never to attempt such a wrong again.

I have grown a man since then, but the memory of that error is still fresh in my mind. It was the last time I ever attempted to deceive my father. I have no father or mother now, but the lesson which that day I learned, will guard me through life from any attempt at deceiving those to whom I am indebted for kindness and love. If any little boy should read this story, let him be mindful and avoid all temptations, which, if yielded to, will cause him in after years many bitter pangs and hearty remorse.

THE END