Imatges de pàgina
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One evening, as the twilight came on, I saw the old sparrow seek her nest in the peach-tree, and I heard the little ones welcome her. The gentle winds swung the limb to and fro, and rocked the birds to sleep. I sat alone in my study, and thought of the superintending providence of my kind heavenly Father. 'Can it be,' thought I,

that the great and eternal God, on whose arm hangs the universe, stoops to notice these little birds?' Yes; the Bible tells us that He hears the young ravens when they cry; and the blessed Jesus said that even a sparrow shall not fall to the ground without the notice of our Father which is in heaven. What a thought! He who sits upon the circle of the heavens, whose presence fills the universe, whose hand guides the planets in their course, whose word of power called unnumbered worlds into existence, and whose breath could extinguish the fire of every star-He, the high and mighty One, condescends to notice the smallest bird that breathes its plaint upon the breeze.

With thoughts like these I sought my repose for the night, feeling that He who takes care of the sparrows would not be unmindful of one endowed with immortality, redeemed by the blood of an incarnate God, and destined to an eternal state of existence beyond the boundaries of time. After midnight I awoke, and a storm had gathered and was raging with violence. The lightnings were blazing along the darkened heavens, and the thunder in deafening peals seemed to rend the solid earth. The winds were howling, and in fitful gusts driving the rain-drops like leaden bullets against my windows. In the momentary pauses of the fearful storm I heard in the peach-tree the chirping of the sparrows, and the thought came sweetly over my heart, 'The God that cares for the sparrows cannot forget me.' And while for an hour the storm raged, the drenching rain descending in torrents, and the winds howling, I felt that I was secure beneath the sheltering wing of God.

The storm had Here and there a

The morning opened with resplendent beauty. ceased; nature everywhere wore a smiling face. tree was prostrated, a house partially unroofed, a chimney blown down; but there stood the peach-tree with the sparrow's nest upon the swinging limb, and the little ones as cheerfully chirping as if no storm had been abroad during the night. The God that takes care of sparrows cannot forget His people. That sparrow's nest in the

peach-tree at my window taught me a practical lesson in reference to God's providential care over me that I had failed to derive from every other source.

THE THREE SIEVES.

'O MAMMA!' cried little Blanche Philpot; 'I heard such a tale about Edith Howard! I did not think she could be so very naughty. One-'

'My dear,' interrupted Mrs. Philpot, 'before you continue, we will see if your story will pass three sieves.'

'What does that mean, mamma?' inquired Blanche.

'I will explain it. In the first place, Is it true?'

'I suppose so; I got it from Miss White, and she is a great friend of Edith's.'

'And does she show her friendship by telling tales on her? In the next place, though you can prove it to be true, Is it kind?'

'I did not mean to be unkind; but I am afraid it was. I would not like Edith to speak of me as I have of her.'

And, Is it necessary?'

'No; of course not, mamma; there is no need for me to mention it at all.'

Then put a bridle on your tongue. If you cannot speak well, speak not at all.'

WE SCATTER SEEDS.

WE scatter seeds with careless hand,

And dream we ne'er shall see them more,

But for a thousand years

Their fruit appears,

In weeds that mar the land,

Or healthful store.

The deeds we do, the words we say,

Into still air they seem to fleet:

We count them ever past;
But they shall last—

In the dread judgment they

And we shall meet!

UNSELFISH CLARIBEL.

CHILDREN, listen while I tell
Of sweet, gentle Claribel :
Yesterday, so I am told,
Claribel was five years old;
When mamma, you may surmise,
Gave her daughter a surprise;
And upon the waving green,
Soon there spread a festive scene.
There were little girls and boys,
Each one bringing treasured toys;
Some were rolling hoops and balls,
Some were making party calls;
While a group was at the swing,
Others too played with a string;
All on pleasure were intent,
None the day could e'er repent.

Tables with sweet fruits were spread,
Claribel as hostess led;

And the children, hand in hand,
Round them formed a happy band;
Then with fruits of every kind,
Bount'ously their plates were lined.
As they feasted all around,
Suddenly, with nimble bound,
'Cross the lawn, and through the gate,
With her large and well-filled plate,
Down the lane, into a hut,

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Even yet this afternoon;
So, dear friend, good-bye till then,
I shall see you soon again.'

Off she skipped, back to her friends,
With excuse-her leave amends;
From the tables they had gone,
And were playing on the lawn;
Not one knew what she had done,
(That refreshments she had none,)
Then she joined with them the sport,
When as final last resort,
Every child, with one accord,
Shouted loud the herald word,
• Spread the laurels on the way,
Claribel is Queen to-day.'

Then they crowned her with a wreath,
And each kissed the face beneath:
Happy were the hearts and gay
When at even closed the day.
In her arms, mamma that night,
'Neath the moon's clear, placid light,
Took her darling little girl;
And she smoothed each golden curl,
Then she said, 'My Claribel,
Dearest child, I love thee well
For thy sweet unselfishness;
And the God in Heaven will bless
All such deeds of kindly love,
For He watches from above.'
Then she kissed her sweet good-night,
And she slept till morning light.
Was not she a lovely child?
Always gentle, kind and mild:
Then let each remember well
Sweet, unselfish Claribel.

THOMAS DANKS, PRINTER, CRANE COURT, FLEET STREET, LONDON.

THE

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LONDON RALPH FENWICK, 6, SUTTON STREET, COMMERCIAL ROAD, E.

WHAT THE FLOWERS ARE SAYING TO US. 'You don't hear the flowers speak, don't you?' I am afraid you don't listen. All things in the world-the mountains, and seas, and forests, and rocks—all things have a voice, and are speaking to us, and if we don't hear them, it's because we don't listen. 'And what are the flowers saying?' you ask. Well, they are speaking to us of their Creator, and saying, 'You admire our beauty, don't you? You can't help admiring it. But we want you to think of Him who made us what we are. God gave us the life we have, and made us to grow, and fed us with the rains and the dews, and painted us with the sunbeams. For all we have and are we are indebted to Him. And if we lead you to love Him and trust in Him, we shall fulfil the end for which we were made. As you look on us, think of what Jesus said, “Consider the lilies of the field; they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of them. And if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall He not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith."

'EGGS TURNED INTO SILVER.'

A CHINESE STORY.

Ir was a cold morning. A cross old woman was sculling a boat on the grand canal, some fifteen miles north of the city of Su-chau. She entertained herself alternately in scolding her husband, who was meekly engaged in poling the boat along, and in bewailing the heavy duties collected by the custom-house officers at a barrier some five miles farther on.

They were passing a bend in the canal, when they were hailed by a man on the bank, apparently a peddler of some kind, with a pack on his back, who, with a marked northern accent, asked how far it was to Su-chau.

'Fifteen miles!' said the old man.

'Dear me !' replied the stranger; 'how shall I ever get there? I am so tired! Won't you give me a lift?'

'No,' shrilly replied the old woman; 'it's not convenient.'

'How much money will you give?' asked the old man.

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