if the boys were having a good time. He would open the door and go to them as soon as he dared. But while he was thinking and wondering, waiting until he was sure his father and mother were asleep again, the old clock rang out the hour of twelve. Midnight! It was of no use to go then; the boys would be gone. And so Burt crept upstairs to his room, cross and dissatisfied, feeling that the fates were against him. He was late to breakfast the next morning. His mother laughingly inquired if the weight of his bedclothes had affected his hearing. "Yes'm-No'm. I mean-I guess not," he replied absently. It was a rainy morning, and the weather was disagreeably warm. After breakfast, Burt sat in the shed watching his father as he mended the old harness. "What sort of a boy is that Ned Sellars ?" inquired his father at length. Burt started. "I don't know. I think he's a pretty good boy. Why?" "I passed the house this morning. Some one was getting a terrible flogging, and I think it must have been Ned." "What for? Do you know? "Yes. They spoke very loud, and I couldn't help hearing. It was for running off last night. Going swimming, I believe." Burt's eyes flashed. "That's just like his father," said he indignantly. "He never wants Ned to have any fun." There was no reply. Some hidden feeling, he could hardly tell what, prompted Burt's next question. "Would you flog me, father, if I went swimming without leave ?" my "That depends upon circumstances," replied his father, looking searchingly into his face. "If boy was mean enough to skulk out of the house at night, when I supposed him to be abed and asleep, it How Burt's cheeks burned. He had never looked at the matter in just that light before. Never be a sneak, my son. It is cowardly and disgraceful." Burt made no answer, but his thoughts were busy. Was he not every whit as mean and cowardly as if he had really gone with his unfortunate friend? Yes, verily. And then he thought of his father. How good he was-never denying him any reasonable pleasure; nay, often denying himself for his sake. Burt seemed to realize his father's goodness now as never before. As he thought of all this, two large tears rolled slowly down his sunburnt cheeks. "What is it, my boy ?" He brushed them away hastily. 66 Father,' ," said he, "I've been a sneak; but I won't be a coward. I was going with the boys last night." "Ah!" "Yes. I should have gone if it hadn't been for the dog, and the cat, and-all the rest of them. 'Twasn't any goodness of mine that kept me at home." His father was silent. "I wish you'd say something, father," cried poor Burt impatiently. "I s'pose you don't think I'm worth flogging; but "My dear boy," said his father, "I knew your footsteps in the shed last night. I knew perfectly well who was hidden in the old closet." "Why didn't you say so?" inquired astonished Burt, tremblingly. "Because I preferred to let you go. Ithought, if my boy wanted to deceive me, he should, at least, imagine that he had that pleasure.' O father!" "Yes, you should have gone, Burt. Very likely I might have gone with you; but you would not have known it." Burt hadn't a word to say. "I pitied you, too. I knew that after the fun was over there must come the settling with your conscience. I was sure you had a conscience, Burt." The boy tried to speak, but no words came. "I was disappointed in you, Burt. I was very much disappointed in you." Down went Burt's head in his hands. running to meet him, and Prince barked with pleasure at his approach. Billy whistled and sung in his cage above, and old Snow's melodious voice was heard in the field close by. Burt loved them, and they knew it. It was some minutes, however, before he noticed them now; and when he did, he was not in his accustomed merry way: "Just like the monitors at school, for all the world," said he seriously. "But now," continued his father," Making such a fuss that a fellow placing one hand upon his shoulder -"now I have my honest boy again, and I am proud of him. I do consider you worth a dozen floggings, Burt; but I have no disposition to give them to you." Burt wrung his father's hand, and rushed out into the rain. Cuff came can't go wrong, if he wants to." And he took Cuff up in his lap, and patted Prince's shaggy coat. Burt's monitors still watch him with affectionate interest; but never again, I am happy to say, has he felt the least inclination to disturb their midnight slumbers. THE RETURNING DOVE. BY THE REV. THEODORE L. CUYLER, D.D. "THEN Noah put forth his hand and took her, and pulled her in unto him into the ark." The poor dove had found no rest for the sole of her foot. Weary with her flight-finding not a tree or bush to light on and not a grain of food to eat-the tired bird flies back to her old home. Noah watches her as she flutters toward the open window. So he puts forth his hand and catches the weary bird, and draws her in unto him into the ark. As we look at the pretty creature, eating its seed or curling its head under its glossy wing, we fall into a meditation about that bird. It represents to us an uneasy wandering soul. Perhaps it is a picture of your soul, kind reader. You have long been looking for rest. You have flown a great way after it. You have tried one pursuit after another, one place after another, or one pleasure after another; but none of them gave you a solid and substantial repose. None of them satisfied you. Perhaps you have tried money-making; but a full bankbook still left the soul empty. Perhaps you tried to draw one gill of pure happiness out of a cask of sensual pleasure; but tried in vain. Perhaps you flew up on a perch of political ambition; but found yourself to be as sadly off as that eminent British statesman, whose friends wished him a "Happy New Year!" "It had need to be a happier one than the last year," replied the disappointed man; "for I did not see one happy day in it." Perhaps you sought in a bright home and hearthstone for a genuine heaven upon earth; but the angel of death alighted on the couch or the crib which held your household treasures, and you discovered that you could build a house, but could not find a rest. Even a sorer uneasiness still may be troubling you. Not only are your coveted treasures of earth unsatisfying, but your religious hopes hang on a spider's web. You do not feel safe. You have no clear, well-grounded hope of final salvation, such as God's inspired Word approves. You do not feel any confidence that your present mode of thinking, believing, or living is securing for you the highest usefulness, or can promise you a peaceful death and a glorious hereafter. "Do you feel at rest for time and for eternity?" I see you shake your head doubtfully. Then you are not at rest! Let me tell you in one word just what you need. You need CHRIST! "Lord!" exclaimed that gifted young genius, Arthur Hallam-" Lord! I have tried how this thing or that thing will fit my spirit. I can find nothing to rest on, for nothing here hath any rest itself. Oh, centre and source of light and strength! Oh, fulness of all things! I come back and join myself to Thee!" "He heard the voice of Jesus say, Come unto Me and rest; Lay down, thou weary one, lay down And Hallam's soul found rest only when it returned to the Divine Satisfier, the Divine Surety, and the Divine Support. When Noah's dove found no rest for her weary foot, what did she do? We read that she "returned into the ark." Here is your duty. God says: "Return unto Me!" This is both the command of the Divine authority and the invitation of the Divine love. When the dove returned, she brought nothing but herself. So you can bring nothing to Jesus except one poor, guilty, dissatisfied sinner. Do not bring excuses; bring yourself. Do not bring your suit. Do not bring your self-righteous merits; they will not pay for the transportation. Jesus only wants you. And you want Jesus. Then come to Him just as you are, and just what sin has made you-a weak, crippled, and unsatisfied sinner. Remember that there was only one ark for Noah's dove to fly to. Beneath it was a drowned world. Around it spread the devouring deep. So God has provided only one ark for your weary, wandering soul. "There is none other name given under heaven whereby you can be saved." "Neither is there salvation in any other." God has not provided a variety of religions, and left us to take our choice. He leaves us no alternative. To the prince and the peasant, to the genius and the ignorant boor, God offers alike everlasting life, through the atonement of His well-beloved SON. Jesus saves! This is a faithful saying, and worthy of your acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save lost sinners. And the winsome word of love He speaks to you is: "Come unto Me, all ye who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Observe, too, that Noah's ark had only "one window." All the light and air came in through that one open casement. Beautifully does that single open window testify unto us the illumination of the Holy Spirit. Beautifully does it teach us that every soul which flies unto Jesus must come in through the drawing and the renewing influence of the Divine Spirit. Regeneration brings a sinner unto Christ; and regeneration is by God's Spirit, and by Him alone. now. The window is open, my friend! The blessed Spirit is drawing you He is striving with you. Co-operate with Him. Go whither He leads. Whatever He bid you, do it. Quit the sins you have loved, and with eager, determined faith hasten to Christ. In fact, the coming in through that open window into the blessed fulness and grace and strength and love of the crucified Son of God is saving faith. It is not the opinion, but the act, that saves your soul. When you do what the poor, weary dove did-when you give over everything else in the wide universe, and just betake yourself to the one only ark of safety, and settle down there-your first vital duty is done!! The infinite Love will put forth His hand and draw you in! Into union with Christ! Into renewing grace and supporting grace! Into peace! Oh! wondrous peace; oh! sweet, satisfying peace; oh! peace of God that passeth understanding! No fears of death and hell invade the soul, for perfect love hath cast out fear. To every soul that enters this ark comes the assuring voice of Jesus: "Let not your heart be troubled. My peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth give I unto you." A MERRY CHRISTMAS. HATTIE Went out to take a walk on Christmas morning, and as she reached the door-step on her return, she saw a poor, ragged-looking boy leaning upon the railing and looking wistfully into the kitchen-window, where the cook was preparing the dinner. "I wish you a merry Christmas," she said brightly. "Thank you, miss," said the boy, lifting up his torn cap, and trying to make a polite bow; "but I'm afraid it won't be a very merry Christmas at our house." "Why not?" said Hattie: "I thought everybody was happy on Christmas-day." "Well; there won't be any good time at our home, for father's been sick for three weeks, and mother has had to work so hard to get us something to eat, she's all tired out. We only had a slice of bread a piece for our breakfast this morning, and there isn't even a crust left for our dinner. Hattie's blue eyes opened with wonder at this sad story, and her bright face was clouded with sorrow. "Wait till I come back again," she said; and she flew up the steps and over the house to seek her mamma. At length she found her, and seizing her by the arm, exclaimed, "O mamma, there's a poor boy on the steps who says his father is sick, and they haven't a morsel in the house for dinner; please, mamma, give him some money to buy one, and I will add the florin that uncle While Mrs. Allen was speaking with him, her servant-man returned with some parcels, and as he passed the boy he recognised him as the son of a poor man whom he well knew. The lady was quite satisfied that Johnny's story was true; and calling him into the kitchen, she filled a basket with good things, and Hattie, who stood by with a smiling face, slipped in an envelope inclosing her florin. Johnny's mother went about her work that morning with a sad heart; her husband was growing weaker every day for the want of nourishing food, and now they had actually eaten their last crust. "What will become of us?" she asked herself again and again, as her little ones came crying around her for food. Just then Johnny burst into the room, his face aglow with pleasure, and setting the well-filled basket upon the table, he exclaimed, "Cheer up, mother, we'll have a Christmas dinner yet! only see what I have here!" Mrs. Morris examined her treasure as well as she could through the tears of joy that filled her eyes. There were two fat chickens, some vegetables, two or three pies, and some nice jellies for the sick man. While his grateful mother emptied the basket, Johnny told her how it came into his possession, and that it was through little Hattie's influence, who had wished him a merry Christmas, that all these good things had come. Mrs. Morris found the envelope containing Hattie's florin, and also another inclosing a sovereign, with these words : 66 Accept these gifts for the sake of Him whose birth we celebrate to-day; and may you all learn to love Him and trust Him in your hour of need." How changed was everything now in that humble home! One of the chickens made nourishing broth for the sick father, and the other was roasted for dinner; and the Christmas was indeed a bright and happy one, where all was sadness before. How many of the little ones, whose bright eyes read this sketch, will, like Hattie, be the means of making a merry Christmas for others, by sharing some of their good things with them? THE ART OF STOPPING. THE art of stopping is one of the fine arts. Few seem able to acquire it. One thought links on to another, or calls it up from the vasty deep, and the speaker waits for his thoughts to run out before stopping. You might as well wait for a river to run by. A man needs to learn the delicate art of knowing just when to snap off; or, to keep the figure, just when to dam up. Reason must be called in to regulate and stay proceedings, instead of trusting to exhaustion of the subject. They tell us, in casting Bessemer steel, one half-minute too soon, or one half-minute too slow, that, instead of well-tempered steel, fit for keen blade, or delicate wire, or strong bar, you get a brittle or granulated mass utterly useless. It needs almost as delicate judgment in precipitating a speech, sermon, remarks, or prayer. "Ah!" |