sang the children in Miss Curl's school, that bright June day, when the sunshine was like a golden shower, and the birds sang as if winter and storms were gone for ever! And "Make a heaven of this world Like the one above!" sang the happy voice of little Ella Moore, as she ran down the schoolhouse steps and tripped across the grassy yard to her own home. Down went Ella's books as soon as she entered the kitchen, and presently up went the sleeves over her dimpled arms, for our little Ella was a busy little bee, and it was dinner-time now, so mamma needed her daughter's help. More especially, as mamma herself was engaged in the preparation of a big basket, which stood, covered with a white cloth, upon a side-table. Ella was interested in the preparation of this basket, also; and all over the village a good many other little girls and boys, and some who were not so little, were interested in the preparing of other such baskets; for that sunny afternoon Miss Curl's school were to have a gay picnic in the green woods west of the village, and a bountiful supply of good things must be provided for the rustic feast. I expect there were other little girls helping mamma to get dinner; any how, our Ella was, so she set the table, and washed the crisp lettuce, and pulled the scarlet radishes from the garden, while her mamma took from the oven golden loaves of cake, and daintily-browned pies, which emitted a most savoury odour as they were consigned to the keeping of that same mysterious basket. After a little, Ella's sister Mattie came in also from school. Generally, little Miss Mattie was so lively and so constantly in motion that her household names were "Witchie " and 'Mischief," but to day she seemed uncommonly quiet. 66 66 Mattie, something is the matter. Ma, I believe Mattie is sick." "Are you sick, Mattie ?" asked her mother. "No, mamma, I'm just tired," said Mattie. Now it was pretty well understood in the household that whatever might be the matter, Mattie's complaints never got beyond being "tired;" so when they heard that, they knew that at least the little girl was not very well. "Oh, you mustn't get sick now! you can't go to the picnic if you do!" said Ella. "I ain't sick. I'm just tired, and I can go anyhow," said Mattie, and with that she took her arms off the table, and went into the sitting room. When dinner was ready, her mother called her two or three times, and, receiving no answer, went into the sitting-room, and found her lying upon the sofa, asleep, with flushed cheeks, quick pulse, and hot breath which told of fever. She woke at her mamma's voice, but when she got up, only sat up for a moment or so, and could not be prevailed upon to taste any dinner. So the fact was pretty clearly established that Mattie was sick, and would certainly not be able to go to the picnic. Little Ella wore a sober face all through dinner-time, and while she was helping to wash the dishes. When they were done, she went into the room where the pretty white dress she intended to wear was spread out upon the bed, and gravely looked at it a moment. Then she went back to the kitchen, and softly up to her mother's side. "Ma," said she, " do you think Mattie would like to have me stay at home with her?" "But you cannot give up the picnic yourself, can you?' "asked her mother. "I would like to go," said Ella, "but I know Mattie will feel bad because she can't go, and if it will make her feel better, I'll stay with with her. May I?" "You may go and ask her if she wants you to stay, and then do as you please," was her mamma's answer, thinking it wisest to leave this matter to the little girl's own judgment. Ella went into the sitting-room, and stooped over little Mattie as she lay upon the sofa. "Do you want me to stay with you, Mattie?" she asked. "You wouldn't, would you?" said the little one. "Yes, indeed I will, if you want me to. I'm so sorry you are sick, and cannot go. Maybe if I stay and amuse you, you will get better." "But all the things in the basket?" said Mattie, doubtful but smiling. "Oh, Will can go and take the basket, and there'll be plenty out there to eat the good things," said Ella. and when they all go by, I'll help you up to the window to see them. And then I'll tell you stories, and maybe make a new dress for dolly, and we'll have a good time at home." So Ella ran out to busy her little hands sweeping the kitchen, and remained firm to her sacrifice, against the pleadings of half a dozen of her schoolmates, who came in to see if she was ready to start. Pretty soon Miss Curl herself, hearing how affairs stood, ran over for a minute to see how Mattie was, and express with her sweet face as well as her lips, how sorry she felt at the disappointment of her little pupils. And as she hurried back to the impatient groups who waited for her, she stopped to give Ella a kiss, and say, "Never mind, dear, I love you better for your kindness to your sister, and I'll bring you something nice when we come back." Ella heartily returned the kiss, and in her beloved teacher's approval felt already half repaid for giving up the delightful anticipations of the picnic. When the school marched by, she stood with Mattie at the window to see them, and merrily returned the smiles and words of her gay companions. After they had gone out of sight, she laid Mattie comfortably back upon the sofa, and curled up on the floor beside her to tell stories. She told every one she knew, and made up two or three new ones for the occasion. When they wearied of that amusement, mamma was called upon to furnish the prettiest piece she had, to make dolly a dress, in the manufacture of which both the girls became deeply interested. The afternoon passed so quickly. that Ella was exceedingly surprised when the clock struck five, and the sound of voices and laughter announced the return of the first of the picnic party. "Why!" she cried, "I didn't think it was so late! Mattie, we've had a good time, too, haven't we ? " "I have, any how," sighed Mattie, hugging her dolly with a satisfied smile, and shutting her eyes for a nap, while Ella stole softly away, so as not to disturb her. Miss Curl, true to her promise, remembered the little absent ones, and when brother Will came home, he brought his sisters a little basket filled with the very choicest dainties, from their teacher. The little girls were delighted, of course, and when Ella went to bed that night, and thought over the day, before dropping to sleep, she concluded that she was just as happy as if she had gone to the picnic in the green woods with the birds and the sunshine. And I think she was happier, for you remember the little song she sang "Little acts of kindness, Little words of love. Like the one above." Ella had kindly sought to make her little sister happy, and lo! some sweet drops of the perfume of happiness had fallen back upon herself. OUT OF TUNE. MANY Christians are troubled with a sense of something wrong They are not what they wish to be. They have lost their peace of mind and their lively interest in the cause of Christ. If called as public labourers, they see the work languish under their hands. They know that a God of changeless grace and mercy rules in heaven, and that souls are perishing around them for the bread of life, and they wonder why so much of their labour is in vain. They may seek to account for the condition of the Church and their own hearts by this or that untoward circumstance or influence, and yet none of these seem to satisfactorily explain the difficulty. While outward circumstances have more or less influence upon all, yet we may well ask if it would not be better to look oftener for the causes of our darkness and failures within ourselves. There may be much against us in the world, but have we not more to fear from within? The elements of discord may seem to be in everything about us, but had we not best inquire if we ourselves are not out of tune? The most perfect instrument, in the hands of the most skilful player, can give but discordant notes if out of tune. A human heart, set to the gospel harmony, is an instrument of the most exquisite sensibility, and under the hand of the Great Master can be made to pour forth a mighty volume of the melody of hallowed praise to God, and of joy and blessing to men; but if this harmony is destroyed, even the Master's skill can produce nothing but discord until the evil is remedied. A sudden jar, a rude blow, a little dust, may change the sweet tones of a fine instrument to harsh and grating sounds. How watchful the Christian needs to be, lest, amid the toil and strife, the care and dust of earth, he find the heavenly melody of heart and life which grace inspires, changed to the discord of worldliness and woe! If Christ occupies the first place in the heart, His grace is sufficient to keep the chords obedient to the touch of His skilful hand. It is only when the world and self come crowding in, that danger threatens. But if the mischief has been wrought,-if the joy of early love, the power and assurance of early faith, have been forfeited,-how shall they be restored? If a costly instrument needs repairing, it is not trusted in the hands of an inexperienced workman who might only make the evil worse, but we secure the aid of one who understands his business. If the heart is wrong, it will not do to trust the case with this or that Christian brother, nor will it answer to expect relief and cure in our own good works. The counsel of some humble saint may be of benefit, but all he can do is to lead us back to Christ. Our troubles begin with our wandering from Him; our only help is in coming back. He understands our case perfectly. He who fashioned the wondrous instrument is the only One that can restore the harmony which has been so marred by error and sin. The being in condition to answer the Master's touch with responsive melody, is the privilege of every Christian. No one has a right to be a worthless instrument. What is not right is wrong, A little bird, singing in the air five hundred feet above our heads, has put in complete vibration a solid sphere of the aërial fluid one thousand feet in diameter, before the sound reaches our ear. The music of that little heart has filled all that space, and touched at last a responsive chord in your breast. So, however humble the sphere in which we move, we are to fill it with music and with blessing. The gladness with which the love of Christ fills our souls is to vibrate all about us. Though we are weak and small, if His hand sweeps the strings, other hearts and other lives will be led to join the strain. Let, then, everything discordant, everything that separates us from Christ or unfits us for His service, be guarded against with prayerful care. Let our lives be a hymn of praise to Him who has purchased us with His own blood. Soon earth's " songs in the night "shall be exchanged for the anthem of redemption's morning. "Yet a little while, and He that shall come will come," and then the voice, so often choked with weeping, will join the swelling chorus of those who shall inherit the land of tearless, fadeless joy and beauty, evermore. "LET YOUR LIGHT SO SHINE." OFF the western coast of Scotland, Among these western islands, Yet looms thereon no Eddystone, One widow's lowly cottage Stands near that wave-washed shore, The lamplight from whose window-pane Looks out the waters o'er : For there her husband used to sail,- So night by night this widow, Storm-tossed on Minch's waters, Ten thousands have the widow blessed That lowly light, they tell us, Has saved a thousand lives, Has saved from tears and widowhood A hundred loving wives. And still that cottage lamp burns on! That widow still survives! Lord God of ancient Shunem, Go, Christian, learn the lesson, |