OUR CROSSING-SWEEPER.

Он, no, the crossing-sweepers are not all good-for-nothing boys, Many of their parents are bad enough, I dare say, but the boys are not to be blamed for that. There's the boy that sweeps the crossing at our street end for instance. He has now kept that post for nearly three years, and I have taken pains to know as much about him and his upbringing as I could gather. He is far from being a bad boy, though nearly all the chances have so far been against him. His father is a drunkard, who works little, and spends most of what he earns in driuk. His mother is a weakly, sickly woman, who, though not given to anything very bad, has little energy, and allows things in her family to drift as they please. With such parents, you may well believe my young friend has had a hard time of it. For want of food and clothing he has many a time been brought about as low as he could well be brought, not to be killed outright. And yet, in these hard and unhappy circumstances he has all along had something good in him, and been anxious to do what he could for his poor mother. Every penny he gets he takes home to her, and though hunger often tempts him to buy something for himself out of his earnings, he steadily resists the temptation. He is a remarkably fine lad in many respects, and when you see him of a morning with his clean-washed face, you can't help thinking him a nice-looking lad, in spite of his ragged dress; and when you get into conversation with him you cannot help being struck with his intelligence. I have been speaking to another gentleman about getting him into an occupation where he will be able to make a pretty fair wage, and be in the way of advancing himself to a good position afterwards, and I hope to be successful in this before long.

THE SHEPHERD AND HIS SHEEP.

If I were to ask you, What is there peculiar in this picture? I fancy you would say, the shepherd is going before his sheep instead of after them, and is leading instead of driving them. This would be a correct answer, and it shows that the picture represents a scene in Bible lands rather than one in our own country. Here in England you don't see shepherds at the head of their flocks leading them, but behind driving them. In the lands we read of in the Bible it was and is just the

reverse. Now as in the olden times shepherds go before their flocks, and lead them where they want them to go. The relations between the shepherd and his sheep in Eastern countries are very intimate and affectionate. Usually he knows each sheep of his flock from all the rest, and has a name for it, and when he wants any one he just calls it by its name and it at once comes to him. And when he wishes his flock to remove to some other place, he just puts himself at their head, gives a sign of what he wants, and then they all follow him. How finely this illustrates the words of Jesus: 'My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.' If we are the sheep of Jesus we will hear His voice and follow Him.

'NEP,' THE SCHOOL DOG.

It is a curious fact that dogs have the faculty of adapting themselves in the most thorough manner to the circumstances under which they happen to live.

At a grammar school in Norfolk some fifty years ago, there was a dog who thoroughly identified himself with the boys. He constantly came into the school with them, and remained in durance vile the whole time lessons were going on. A certain place in the room was allotted to Nep,' and in this place he was expected to stay. On one occasion, being tempted by a little boy out of his place, both the boy and the dog were promptly caned by the head master.

At twelve o'clock, when the word 'go' was given, 'Nep' would join in the crush at the door, and almost invariably getting out first, would make the playground ring again with his joyous bark. In very truth, the dog was as pleased to get out of school as the boys; and it is no wonder that the boys of those days hated their books, for education then was by no means so attractive as it now is; and the system of teaching-if such it can be called-in this school at all events, was barbarous enough.

On the playground 'Nep' was useful to the boys in many ways. Breaking bounds was an offence visited with severe punishment, and accordingly when a ball was hit or thrown over the fence, Nep's' services were at once called into requisition, and the lost ball was soon recovered. Every now and then the football would be kicked over the hedge, and this of course 'Nep' could not pick up in the

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same manner as he did a cricket or hockey ball. Some ingenious youngster, however, hit upon the plan of leaving a long end to the lace with which the football cover was fastened, and Nep' soon learned to seize hold of the bit of lace, and in this way he could get the ball along pretty well.

If by chance any small boys from the town happened to be loitering round the playground gate, on the look-out, may be, for any stray top or ball that might reach the road, 'Nep's' bristles were soon up, and with an assumed appearance of surliness he would scatter the intruders, barking defiance as they fled right and left.

When the boys went home for the holidays 'Nep' was disconsolate, and used to wander about the well-nigh deserted premises with such a dejected look on his expressive old face, that told as plainly as possible how melancholy he was.

But with the first boy who returned to school after the holidays, back came 'Nep's' spirits, and back came the life into him again. He knew each boy as he arrived, and would bark him a much heartier welcome than the home-sick youngster received from the dreaded head master.

To all new boys 'Nep' was introduced in the most ceremonious manner, and he not only at once recognised them as members of the community, but was friends with them immediately.

Poor old dog! He died of dropsy at last, but he was a thorough school-boy to the very end.

His death caused the deepest sorrow throughout the school, for the boys, one and all, looked upon him as a sympathising friend, and many an eye, from which the severest thrashing could not draw a tear, was wet from genuine grief as it gazed upon the body of old 'Nep' for the last time. SAXON.

A CHILD'S FAITH.

MANY children think that 'Faith' is a hard word. Is it? Let us see. God is our Father. He loves us, and sent His Son, Jesus, to tell us so. If we believe what Jesus says-and real belief is believing with the heart, that is, obeying why, we have faith! It is all simple and easy to the heart that wants to obey.

This is the child-faith that saves little people and big alike. The

simplicity of it is sweetly illustrated in the story of Luther's dying child. She had learned to say 'Yes, Father,' to her father on earth and to her Father in heaven, and it was easy to let go her hold upon the earth, and go into the other world, since she knew that a real, loving Heart was waiting to welcome her there. Here is the tender little story :

He approached the bed, and said to her, 'My dear little daughter, my beloved Margaret, you would willingly remain with your earthly parents, but if God calls you, you will also go to your heavenly Father?' She replied, 'Yes, dear father, it is as God pleases.'

'Dear little girl,' he exclaimed, 'O how I love her!-the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.'

He then took the Bible and read to her the passage, 'Thy dead men shall live, together with my dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in the dust, for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead.'

He then said, 'My daughter, enter thou into thy resting-place in peace.'

She turned her eyes toward him and said, with touching simplicity, Yes, father.'

WHAT AILED OLIVER.

'GET up, little boy! You are lying in bed too long; breakfast will soon be ready. The canary-bird has taken his bath, and is now singing a sweet song. Get up! get up! or I shall throw this pillow at

you.'

'Don't throw that pillow at me!' cried Oliver. 'I'll promise to get up in five minutes.'

'If you would be "healthy, wealthy, and wise," you must rise early, little boy,' said Charlotte.

When Oliver came down to the breakfast-table his father said: 'How is this, Oliver? you are late again.'

'I went to sleep and forgot all about it,' said Oliver.

'Come here, my boy, and let me feel your pulse,' said his father. 'I should not wonder if Oliver were suffering from a disease which is very common at this time.'

Oliver gave his hand to his father, who, after feeling his pulse, said:

Yes, it is as I thought. Poor Oliver has Slack's disease. Take him up to bed again. Put his breakfast by the side of his bed, and when he is strong enough he may eat it. He may stay at home from school to-day.'

The little boy went upstairs with his sister and was put to bed. He could not sleep, however. He heard children playing out-of-doors, he heard Ponto barking, and Tommy, the canary-bird, singing a sweet - song.

Then Oliver called his sister, and said: 'What is Slack's disease? Is it dangerous?'

'I rather think not,' said Charlotte. 'You dear little simpleton ! don't you know what father meant? He meant you were troubled with laziness-that's all.'

Oliver saw that a trick had been played on him. He jumped out of bed, dressed, ate his breakfast, and ran off to school, where he - arrived just in time.

Since that day Oliver has been the first up in the house. longer troubled with Slack's disease.

'THE MILK-MAIDS OF DORT.'

He is no

IF any of you ever go to Holland, the land of wooden dikes and windmills, it is quite possible that you may find yourselves some day in the ancient town of Dort, or Dordrecht. It is a grand old city. Here, among these antiquated buildings, with their queer gables and great iron cranes, many an interesting historical event has taken place.

In the centre of the great market-place of Dort stands a fountain; and if you will look close you will see upon the tall pyramid a relievo representing a cow, and underneath, in sitting posture, a milk-maid. They are to commemorate the following historical facts :—

When the provinces of the United Netherlands were struggling for their liberty, two beautiful daughters of a rich farmer, on their way to the town with milk, observed not far from their path several Spanish soldiers concealed behind some hedges. The patriotic maidens pretended not to have seen anything, pursued their journey, and as soon as they arrived in the city insisted upon an admission to the burgomaster, who had not yet left his bed. They were admitted, related what they had discovered. The news was spread about. Not