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IF

A RIDE ON PATIENT PEGGY.

I wished to give my young friends a lesson on Patience, I think I could not do better than tell them about Peggy, the pony at the Hill Farm. I once told you something about Joe, the boy of all work up there; and I think I may call Peggy the pony of all work,-for it is nearly all work and not much play with her. One gets used to anything; and I dare say Peggy, in her early days, has got used to the great variety of labour she goes through, and has learned to do it patiently, as any one may see who looks in her quiet face.

The Hill Farm is about two miles from the village, and Peggy has trotted over these two miles so often that I am sure she knows every stone on the road. Whenever there is any extra message to do (sometimes in the early morning), Joe thinks he has quite a right to saddle Peggy, and away he goes on her back. She can guess pretty well where they will stop; for she knows the post office, the bank, the baker's and the butcher's shops, and the little repository for small wares and ladies' work-for she has trotted there too, often enough, for her young mistresses, Alice and Jessie. The railway station is about half a mile beyond the village, and it has sometimes to be visited for parcels to be called for,' and these all find their way to Peggy's back, and are safely carried home. Later in the day there may be small duties for Peggy about the farm. She is willing to draw the cart full of turnips from the field, or a load of firewood from that part of the wood where Mr Smith has lately been cutting down a good many trees. Alice and Jessie know that spot well, and often join Peggy while she is at work there. They have quite an establishment of their own, it would seem, in this cleared spot, calling one long log the dining-room of their abode, and the other, where they sit in state, the drawing-room.

While Thomas, the wood man, is cutting up the branches into convenient sizes, and Peggy is standing patiently by, the two sisters will often speak to her, stroking her

shaggy mane, and tell her she is a dear, good, old Peggy, and that they would not part with her for all the smart, sleek ponies at the Hall. Peggy, I am sure, knows their voices, and slowly turns round her honest face, as if to answer their kind

caresses.

'I wonder what Peggy is thinking of,' Alice will sometimes say; poor thing, I wish she could speak-I dare say she would tell us she is glad to come down to the wood in the afternoon, for she will meet us there.'

'Yes,' Jessie will say, 'I am sure she likes us, for we like her.'

After all, this is the secret of Peggy's patience; those around her are kind to her, and she likes to serve them.

'Now for a ride upon Peggy,' Alice sometimes says, when her lessons and the pony's labours are pretty well over for the day. Peggy pricks up her ears at the voice, tired though she may be, and both sisters mount, not very particular as to how the pony is saddled-they know they are safe with her, and away they go in this fashion, up by the duck pond, past the poultry yard, down the avenue, and along the high road, just a little way, to a point from which they can see down to the village church, the school-house, and the green.

The school children are quite familiar with the sight of the young ladies from the farm, seated on the well-known pony. Not one of the village boys would, at any time, venture to teaze poor Peggy; but I think some of them have learned lessons of kindness to poor, dumb animals from the example of Alice and Jessie.

One day two or three boys were tormenting a cat, one of them proposing to have some fun by drowning her in the stream close by, but the appearance of Peggy and her young mistress saved puss, for the time at least; shame made the cruel boy slink away, letting the trembling prisoner free. Little did Peggy think, or Alice and Jessie either, how their example of kindness to the pony, which these rough boys had often seen, was holding them back from cruelty. But neither children nor grown

FIVE little fledglings, all unfeathered, Lay in a nest by the south wind weathered,

Brooded o'er by their tender mother; There she taught them to love each other.

O'er them were sunshine and leaflets twining,

Under them feathers and downy lining,
Far around them were broom and heather;
There she fed them for weeks together.

Wings of her love that were never weary, Strove with the wind and the rain so dreary,

Filling ever with zeal unabating

Five little bills that were always waiting; So she laboured from morn to even, Then she taught them to fly in heaven.

II.

So does our Lord from far above us
Come, as on wings, to save and love us;
Hungry and cold He could not leave us,
Under His wings He will receive us;
Though we are poor He will not abhor us,
Home is the nest He has furnished for us.

Deep in our hearts He hears us praying-
Hark! you may hear Him softly saying:
'Open thy mouth and I will fill it,
Give me thy heart and I will still it,
Over your nest I brood and hover,
Under my wings is kindly cover,
This is my joy-to love and cherish-
Those whom I keep shall never perish.
Storms will come, and your nest be shaken,
Not by me will you be forsaken;
Storms will come and your nest be riven,
Fly with me to My home in heaven.'

R. B. M.

'Jesus saith unto them, Yea; have ye never read, Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise.'-Mat. 21, 16.

I boy I once knew, whose name was George. He was a peculiarly gentle child. I once saw him, when he unintentionally hurt one of his playmates, put his arms around him, lay his cheek to his, and cry with sympathy. By the sweetness of his disposition, he won the love of all with whom he came in contact, while his strict adherence to truth commanded their admiration. If a pane of glass chanced to be broken, or a garden-bed trampled, and none of the other boys seemed willing to bear the blame, those who knew him best would say, 'Ask little Georgie; he will be sure to tell the truth, even though himself is in fault.'

WILL tell you a true story of a little

Is not this a beautiful character? Georgie was a helpful child too. When only five years old, his mother could trust him to carry 'father's tea' to his workshop, two streets off. He never loitered by the way, but walked steadily along, that dear father' might have tea while it was hot.

One evening, when he came home with the little empty can, he said to his mother, 'I have carried father's tea for the last time.' Those words, so quietly spoken, struck a sudden pang to the mother's heart. For months scarlet fever had been making sad havoc around them. Scarcely a family but had lost one or two of their children. Well might the mother tremble. Next day both George and a sister two years older than himself were down with the fever. Their mother nursed them carefully till the crisis was over; but while Alice daily gained strength, little Georgie seemed to get weaker and weaker.

One day, when their mother was busied about her household duties in the room where the children were lying, she heard him say to his sister,

Alice, do you know? I am going to die soon.

'O Georgie!' sobbed she, don't say that. If you die, they will put you in a box, and bury you deep, deep in the ground.'

Yes, I know,' replied he, quite composedly; but they cannot put my soul in: my soul will fly to heaven.'

How do you know that you will get to heaven?' asked his sister.

With a sweet smile he answered: 'I know; because Jesus died that I might get there.'

After a few moments silence, Georgie spoke again.

'Mother,' he said, 'when we come back again with Jesus, will it be to this town?'

All this time the mother's tears had been falling fast; and now she could scarcely command her voice to reply.

'Listen, darling, while I answer you from God's own word. "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea." "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."

As George made no reply, but appeared to be thinking deeply, his mother thought it best to leave him in quiet for the present; but as she sat by his bed, she wondered greatly at such language from so young a child, and the more so as she had never heard him speak of these things before: he had always been so shy and reserved. He had listened quietly to reading and talking both at home and at school, but never asked questions like most of the other children; yet all the while the good seed had been taking root in his young heart, to spring up unto everlasting life.

6

'Truly,' said the thankful mother to herself, this little one has been taught of God.' More than ever now she saw the force of the words, They that seek the Lord understand all things.'

Little Georgie lingered for many weeks; but he was very patient, and loved to talk about Jesus and the home he was going to.