ship, and pitched her here and there, now on the top of waves mountainhigh, now down in the trough of the sea, and tore off her spars, and rent her sails, and sent her scudding to the nearest port to get refitted ; then the strange cities, their walls beaming out through tropical foliage, and the long ranges of mountains behind them-not like the hills he used to look at so wistfully, but mountains breathing fire and smoke, and sometimes shaking the earth till it rocked. Only this much can be told, that Miles was always faithful to his duties, and a favourite with every one on board; and when at last the voyage was over, and Miles rushed one evening into his mother's farm-house, and caught her around the neck and covered her with kisses, it was the same affectionate, warmhearted boy come back to her who had left her three years before.

"But where is my brother ?" asked Miles.

The mother burst into tears and made no answer, and Miles knew that his brother was dead.

"Yes, he died a year after thou didst go away to sea-the last two years I have been all alone. wilt not go away again ?"

Thou

Miles felt that he could not go away again. He must stay and take care of the farm; he was seventeen years old now-it was late to turn farmer, but he must try, and he did try.

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Mother," he said, one day, everything goes wrong with me on the farm. I do not know how to And he spoke manage anything."

truly, for his farming was just about as bad as might be expected from a sailor. "If I could only plough as well as I can run up and down the ropes, and hoe as well as I can take in sail, then things would go better," and Miles laughed at his own awk. wardness. "Is there no one hereabout to help me ?" added he.

is rich old Ellis; he could help you, but I doubt if he would; he never will help anybody: he lives quite alone in that great house yonder; his daughter lives with her aunt in the city; but you may try him."

So Miles went to him; but neither help, nor advice, nor anything else, could be got from the old miser, only the assurance that he " had enough to do to mind his own business, an other people might mind theirs. So Miles returned home, and trie again his best to get on alone. A willing heart makes a quick learner even the first year of Miles's farming he improved marvellously; and the second year, by dint of hard study and hard work, the neighbours who came to see him declared his was the best farm in the country,

About this time old Ellis fell sick. He had been always unfriendly to his neighbours; now they retaliated. His field lay unploughed, unsown; no one, even for liberal wages, would do anything for him. 'He has always minded his own business." said they, "so let him keep on minding it."

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'Miles," said his mother to him, one day, "nobody will help old Ellis; thou hast time enough to spare little for a neighbour; go and see if thou canst do something for him; 'tis a pity his crops should be spoiled."

Miles looked at his mother sur prised. "Why, he refused to help me when I was in want of help-he never helps anybody-why should I trouble myself about his crops?"

The mother looked into her sons Who face seriously and sadly. has taught thee this lesson," said she, "to ask how thy neighbour has treated thee, before thou canst decide how to treat him? Is this Christian? Love thy neighbour a thyself. The commandment does not add, when he has treated the well.' Now, go and do thy best for old Ellis, as if he had been thy kindest friend."

Miles had a noble, generous heart, at scorned all petty feelings of reEntment. When he first objected

going, he was only echoing what erybody else said, without much dection upon it; so now he gladly arted off, and amazed old Ellis, o lay wrapped up in flannels, by offers of assistance.

First, the old man was suspicious; could not understand a disinterested act of kindness. 66 Why dost thou want to help me?" he aked, quite curtly.

Miles might have replied by reeating to him the precepts of love of our neighbour; but this might seem like a rebuke to old Ellis, who certainly had never acted from any such motive, so Miles contented himself with saying, "Since I am a farmer, Mr. Ellis, I feel interested in farming, and I do not like to see those fine fields going to waste."

Old Ellis would have liked nothing better than to refuse Miles's offer, and turn him out of the house; but he thought of his fields-there was no help for it-Miles must take charge of them, and he did; he divided his time and labour between his own farm and old Ellis's, so that, by the time the old man had recovered so that he came out to take look at things, he saw them flourishing finely.

WAS

The autumn came, the crops were gathered in, when one day, as Miles departing, he said, "Now the winter is coming, Mr. Ellis, you will not see so much of me; but next ammer, whenever you need help, you know you can depend upon your eighbour Miles."

I

But I can't spare you, even if it winter," replied the old man. "I do not know how it is, but it is so, Lever felt the house lonely before, ad never felt the want of young гоправу; but since you have been fing here I feel lonely without you Shall I tell you what I have doing? Writing to my daugh

sen

ter; a good girl she is, too; and she is coming to spend the winter with me. You must come and see us often in the long winter evenings."

And Miles did go very often indeed in those long evenings. The old man's heart seemed softened by having the young people in the house; and in the spring he took Miles into his room one day, and said, "Miles, I know you love my daughter, and she likes you, and you do not like to ask me for her, because I am so rich. Do not mind that. You are rich in having a generous, good heart; so we will have a grand wedding to brighten up the old house."

Miles and his wife lived part of the time with the old man, and part of the time with his mother in her

cottage. The old man grew 80

cheerful and kind that he became a universal favourite with the very neighbours whom his harshness bad so long repelled. And often, in the midst of his happy children and grandchildren, he would laugh and say, "All this came about by a man's going to plough his neighbour's fields!"

A CANDLE AS A BEACON.

IN one of the Orkney Islands there is a huge rock, called the "Lonely Rock," dangerous to navigators.

The long time ago of which I mean to tell, was a wild night in March, during which, in a fisherman's hut ashore, sat a young girl at her spinning-wheel, and looked out on the dark driving clouds, and listened, trembling, to the wind and the sea.

The morning light dawned at last. One boat that should have been riding on the waves was missingher father's boat! and half a mile from his cottage her father's body was washed up on the shore,

This happened fifty years ago, and fifty years is a long time in the life of a human being; fifty years is a long time to go on in such a course as the woman did of whom I am speaking. She watched her father's body, according to the custom of her people, till he was laid in the grave. Then she lay down on her bed and slept, and by night got up and set a candle in her casement, as a beacon to the fishermen, and a guide. She sat by the candle all night, and trimmed it, and spun; then when the day dawned she went to bed and slept in the sunshine.

So many hanks as she had spun before for her daily bread, she spun still, and one over, to buy her nightly candle; and from that time to this, for fifty years, through youth, maturity, and old age, she has turned night into day, and in the snowstorms of winter, through driving mist, deceptive moonlight, and solemn darkness, that northern harbour has never once been without the light of her candle.

How many lives she saved by this candle, or how many a meal she won by it for the starving families of the boatmen, it is impossible to say; how many a dark night the fishermen, depending on it, went fearlessly forth, cannot now be told. There it stood, regular as a lighthouse, steady as constant care could make it. Always brighter when daylight waned, they had only to keep it constantly in view and they were safe; there was but one thing that could intercept it, and that was the rock.

However far they might have stretched out to sea, they had only to bear down straight for that lighted window, and they were sure of a safe entrance into the harbour.

Fifty years of life and labourfifty years of sleeping in the sunshine-fifty years of watching and self-denial, and all to feed the wick and trim the flame of that one candle! But if we look upon the re

corded lives of great men, and jus men, and wise men, few of them car show fifty years of worthier, certainl not of more successful labour. Lit tle, indeed, of the "midnight of consumed during the last half cem tury so worthily deserved the trim ming. Happy woman-and but fo the dreaded rock her great charity might never have been called int

exercise.

But what do the boatmen and th boatmen's wives think of this? D they pay the woman?

No, they are very poor; but poo or rich they know better than that. Do they thank her?

No. Perhaps they feel that thank of theirs would be inadequate to ex press their obligations, or, perhaps long years have made the lighte casement so familiar, that they look upon it as a matter of course.

Sometimes the fishermen lay fish on her threshold, and set a child to watch it for her till she wakes sometimes their wives steal into her cottage, now she is getting old, and spin a hank or two of thread for he while she slumbers; and they tenel their children to pass her hut quietly and not to sing and shout before he door, lest they should disturb her That is all. Their thanks are no looked for scarcely supposed to b due. Their grateful deeds are mor than she expects, and as much as sh desires.

How often, in the far distance o my English home, I have awoke in: wild winter night, and, while the wind and storm were rising, have thought of that northern bay, with the waves dashing against the rock and have pictured to myself the casement, and the candle nursed by that bending, aged figure! How de lighted to know that through her untiring charity the rock has long lost more than half its terrors, and t consider that, curse though it mas be to all besides, it has most surely proved a blessing to her!

Few persons, like this woman, let their light shine" so brightly good.

THE KING'S SON.

FOR THE YOUNG.

"I WISH I were a king's son, that I do!" cried little Mat Johnson, as he finished his dry crust in a wretched cellar, and rose from the straw which served him and his sick mother for chair, table, and bed: "I wish I were a king's son!"

Why do you wish that, my boy?" inquired Mr. Thorn, the Sunday-school teacher, who had entered unobserved with a basket of good things for Mrs. Johnson.

"Oh, sir, I did not see you!" said the boy, somewhat abashed at the sudden question.

Mr. Thorn laid down the basket, asked Mat's mother how she was, then, turning to little Mat, he repeated his question, “And why do you wish to be a king's son, my boy P

Why, sir, I was standing by the palace gate this morning to see all the grand folk going to Court. Oh! but it was a fine sight! Such gay carriages, with two footmen behind them with nosegays in their hands, and people inside all splendid,ladies with white feathers and sparking things in their hair. And I thought how happy they must be to be allowed to see the King, and enter the fine palace; and then I thought that the little prince must be happier still, as he always lives in it, and wants for nothing, and las nothing to do but to enjoy him

Melf."

"Ah! but you are wrong in supposing that. The prince has to learn A great many things; to study from morning till night, that he may be fit to govern; and if he live to be a king, he will have many cares, and

troubles, and temptations, which you know nothing about. If you knew everything, you would perhaps pity those whom you envy now."

"Still," said Mat, "I wish that I were a king's son!"

"What would you think if I told you that you might be one, if you choose, this very moment?"

"Oh, sir! here, in this cellar ? " "Yes, Mat, and perhaps obliged to live for years longer in poverty, and to learn many lessons that, left to yourself, you would not choose to learn; but still be loved by the King your Father; with the promise that you obeyed him here, you should one day be called to live in his palace, and to share his happiness and glory!"

if

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That would be famous news, indeed!"

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What would you do if you knew that this was really the case?"

"I should not sleep for joy, sir! I should be singing and dancing with delight! but no! I should be busy with the work which my father gave me to do; I should obey him, and long for the time when he would send for me, and take me home."

"You would not idle away all your time with Dick and Sam, and such boys who swear, drink, and lie ? "

"Oh dear, no, sir! They would be pretty company for a king's son, indeed!

"And if some one, envious of your lot, came and said to you, 'It may be a long time before the King sends for you-sell me your title to a crown for a few shillings now'?"

"Oh, sir!-Mr. Thorn, I would never listen for a moment to such an offer! but I am not a king's son; I shall never have a crown to lose!"

Mr. Thorn drew a little Bible from his pocket, and read,-" He came unto his own, and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to

them that believe on his name (John i. 11, 12). "Here," said he, "you see God tells us that all who 'receive' Christ, who open the door of their heart to him, and say, 'Come in, thou blessed of the Lord,' because they believe in his name,' that is, believe him to be what his name tells us he is-Jesus, the Saviour-all such have power to become the sons of God.' Can you say, after hearing this, that you may not be a King's son? And hear, again, what the Saviour has said to his people, who, in the midst of temptation, had kept his word,' and 'had not denied his name:' Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom' (Luke xii. 32). Hold fast that which thou hast, that no man take thy crown' (Rev. iii. 11). Can you say, after hearing this, that you have no crown to lose?

"Oh, yes; you mean in heaven, sir; but I shall never be worthy to enter heaven."

"No one could enter it," replied Mr. Thorn," had not the Lord Jesus died for our sins. He left the throne of heaven that we might be permitted to wear crowns there; he became Son of man, that we might become sons of God; he died a death of torment, that we might live for ever!"

"I know," said Mat's mother, "the blood of the Lord Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.'

"But I sin over and over again," cried Mat. "It seems as if I did not think at all about such a crown, or even wish to be the King's son. Something comes in the way, and I forget all about it."

"Yes, Satan tries to make you prefer some paltry pleasure here. He envies you; he wishes that you may never enter the palace of the Heavenly King. But 'give your soul to Christ to keep,' and Satan will never be allowed to draw you from God.

"He will tempt you every d and every hour to do wickedly, b if you cry to the Lord he will gi you strength to walk as becomes King's son, and you will daily ha cause to say, 'Thou art my Fathe my God, and the rock of my sa tion' (Psalm lxxxix. 26)."

"I find it hard to pray. Son times I pray with my lips while am thinking of something else. a sometimes I forget to pray at all."

"If you were certain that (thou you could not see Him) yo Heavenly Father were in this pla at this moment, and that he woul grant whatever you asked, wh would you say?

?"?

"I should say, 'O Lord, make m mother well again! O Lord, give plenty of food and clothes, and e devery thing that we want!'"

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The Lord has commanded us t pray, Give us this day our dail bread,' ,'" said Mr. Thorn; "so it quite right to do so. But we mus remember that God knows, far bette than we do, how much comfort really good for us; he has not see fit to give all his own people abun ance of food or fine clothes. Yo remember the verse you learned school last Sunday? God hat chosen the poor of this world ric in faith, and heirs of the kingdo which he hath promised to the that love him.' But would you pra for nothing else, Mat ?".

After a little pause, the boy added "I would say, Heavenly Father forgive my sins, and make me never lose my crown.''

That is a very good prayer, my boy, only I would have you add som things to it. Pray thus: Heavenly Father, make me thine own child forgive my sins, and give me thy Holy Spirit, that I may never los my crown; for Jesus Christ's sake. The Holy Spirit alone can make you live as God's child-can make you live holy and ready for heaven; and everything that we ask, we must ask