a time, there was a small acorn seed lying asleep in the ground, a little below the green grass. It lay there for a good while dreaming, till it thought of doing something, so began by pushing tiny roots downwards and raising a slender stem towards the light, and happy it was when the sun shone on it, and birds sang sweetly around. As months went past it grew the stronger, and after a great many summers and winters had passed by, it stood a strong and stalwart oak, with large outspreading branches-a very king of the forest.

'One summer, however, men came with sharp axes and cut it down; and as it lay on the ground it may well have imagined its usefulness was over. But it was not so. 'The timber was carried to a yard, when a shipwright cut it into planks, and they were put beside a number of others of the same kind. Soon a lot of carpenters cominenced working on them and, as time passed, one oak tree was fashioned and added with others, till at last, one fine day, a beautiful stately vessel was launched upon the waves ready to go wherever its captain desired.

Well, I was very young at the time and was only a common seaman, but for all that I took quite a pride in our "Sea Foam," because she was as trim a vessel as could be met with anywhere. The crew were rather a reckless class of men. The only one I liked was Jim Marment, an oldish man who had spent nearly forty years of his life on the sea. When duty permitted, many a quiet talk Jim and I had, while I gained many a useful lesson from him.

'We voyaged about to various countries, and after having been to India and another time to China, we turned our faces homewards, which we expected to reach in safety. Our vessel sped merrily over the waves for days, but when within two hundred miles from port a gale came suddenly upon us.

The sails were torn to shreds, and the masts creaked uneasily. The gale increased and the wind grew stronger and stronger, while the rain poured down incessantly for

hours at times, and the spray lashed over the deck of the vessel. For three days we battled successfully against the storm, but one night, when Jim Marment and I were on deck together, I asked him if he thought we would weather the storm?

'Jim shook his head and said, “Ah! Tom, only God knows that. But remember, lad, there's One who watches over us on sea as well as on land, and that we must go when the Captain calls us aloft. As for me, I am ready.'

I was afraid to die then, for I was young; and even while I was uttering a prayer a vivid flash of lightning gleamed over our vessel, a shiver ran from stern to stern, and our barque struck on a halfsubmerged rock and soon became a wreck! The sea came tumbling over the sides; the timbers gave way, and the vessel parted in two. All was still dark. I could not see Jim nor any of the crew.

I seized hold of

a plank. How long I clung to it I cannot say, but I was picked up safely by a passing vessel and brought safe to land.'

'And was Jim drowned?' asked Mary, who has listened with breathless interest to the tale.

'Yes, he must have been, for I never heard tell of him, but I can show you a piece of the vessel still;' and, all rising, went out of doors together into the front garden, and their uncle showed them, in the gloaming, three green sticks, supporting rose trees.

Seeing their looks of surprise he said, 'I kept firm hold of the log which had saved me, and had part of it cut up for the purpose you see, so that still the wood of the oak is yet useful. And I hope, girls,' said their uncle, as they returned to the fireside, that although you may not do great things in this world, you will strive to be as useful as you can, and use all the talents God has given you, for

"Little drops of water, little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean and the pleasant land; Thus our little actions, humble though they be, Make the mighty ages of eternity."'

D. C.

Consider the Lilies.

VIOLETS.

THERE is a beautiful little German song called Violet Blue.' It is written by Theodore Koerner, the young soldier-poet, whose sad fate is itself a story in last century wars. The song is all in praise of the lovely hue of the violet. But perhaps it is too long to find room in these little sketches of flowers. The red and blue, which blend to make the colour of the violet, are the love and truth in the song which make the heaven-perfectness. And the dear symbol is hallowed wherever the flower blows, and loved in the perfect loveliness of the wild violet-blue..

Is Koerner's song a conceit? Have you found other symbols in the violet? Keep them, little one; we must all make symbols of our own. Yet surely this one is dearfealty to God and trust-and beneath it the perfect love which casteth out fear.'

Long before St. John wrote these words which we make our motto for the flower, the Pagan Greeks also had found the strange sweet sacredness of it. Violets were burned upon their altars in fragrant sacrifice. Violets were worn at their festivals; violets were scattered on their tombs. By the Athenians especially they were loved with peculiar love. The fragrance of the dear flowers followed them through all their lives; it was an

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earnest of happiness to find them on the graves of their dead. Their faint ineffable sweetness seemed to breathe of the blessed fields the spirit-immortality to which they dimly turned.

One speaks of the sweetness of violets and turns from the old Greeks-one remembers the violet-stones with their odorous mystery. Violets by no means they, but rocks on the Hartz mountains, coated with some greyish substance which is fragrant of the wild-wood flower. The stone may be broken and carried where the traveller will, but it refuses to part with its mysterious sweetness. No violet-flower ever touched it, but the scent of violets is there.

One knows not how many analogies the beautiful phenomenon suggests. But we linger too long, little botanist. Here are our own violets.

And first you must know there are many kinds of violets. If you consult a book on botany, you may find eight English species named. They are not hard

to remember. Why should you not learn them all? With at least two or three kinds you are certainly familiar. The others may yet become your friends. Here are the names of them:

The Sweet Violet (viola odorata)
The Dog Violet (viola canina).
The Pansy (viola tricolour).
The Marsh Violet (viola palustris).
The Mountain Violet (viola lútea);
The Cream-coloured Violet (viola lactea).
Dillenius' Violet (violet púmila).
The Hairy Violet (viola hirta).

The violet is not like the daisy, 'whose home is everywhere.' Each kind has its own favourite haunt, where you must seek it if you wish to have it for your friend.

The Sweet Violet is quite unknown in most parts of Scotland. You may find it in the neighbourhood of Slateford, near Edinburgh; near the Castle Rock of Stirling; in some localities on the Clydeamong these certainly in Cumbrae.

But

its home is in the milder south-in the English woods and lanes.

A fragrant, hidden thing-deep purple, lilac, sometimes white-it betrays itself by its sweetness in the early days of Spring. Its leaves are broadly heart-shapedsometimes almost round; it exceedingly loves the shade.

Another stranger in Scotland is the Cream-coloured Violet-Haller's violet, it is sometimes called. If you should chance to wander in that lovely place, the banks of the Tweed, near Peebles, you may find its white or pale blue flowers, but it scarcely is a Scottish violet.

For poverty in those two species, Scotland has compensations. Very rich are the compensatians of floral, as of human life.

Do you know the Mountain Violet, which loves the mountain land with the same peculiar passion as the Sweet Violet loves the south? Large and sunny and sweet it blows on the high uplands, a delicious harmony of contrast with the purple of the heather and the thyme. Usually its whole colour is a pure, delicate sulphur, but sometimes the two upper petals are lovely lilac blue. And its large, fair flowers, half hid in the roots of the long heather, or, trembling ever so lightly on the windy side of the knowe, are a charm which nearly every hill of Scotland offers to the seeker.

Nearly as common is the Marsh Violet, which is little known in the south, but is found all over Scotland on moors and

mosses, high and low. Its leaves are heart-shaped or round-veiny underneath; the flowers very pale blue, streaked with purple.

But the two violets known everywhere are the Dog Violet and the Heart's Ease.

The Dog Violet, or Gerrard's Violet, is the lovelier of the two. Its leaves are broadly heart-shaped; its flowers blue or purple, sometimes almost white. The violet of wood and hedgerows, a very lovely flower-you are certain to know it, almost as well as the daisy.

The Heart's Ease is the Tricolour Violet; it is called also Love-in-idleness, yet notwithstanding its poems of names, is the

least lovely of the violets. It is nevertheless a cheerful little thing, almost as common as a weed, and blowing all the summer long. Its bright eye greets you without fear in the least flower-like of places. You can always make certain of it by its oblong leaf, edged with teeth so deeply rounded as to cut it almost into parts.

Now farewell, our violets. Be sweet to us all the years. God gave us your loveliness surely to make us glad. He surely meant our prayers and praise to be fuller because of the flowers. Let us keep the 'Violet-Blue' for a symbol of love and

THER
HERE are two classes of poor people

in the world-those who have made themselves poor by their own misdeeds; and those who have been made poor in God's holy providence. The Prodigal Son made himself poor, for when he left his father's house he was rich. He had fine clothes and a large sum of money, but by his 'riotous living,' he very soon brought himself into such a state of poverty that he had not as much as buy him a loaf of bread, and so hungry was he, that he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat.' And that is how many bring themselves into need. They cultivate bad habits. They sow what is called their wild oats,' and the result is

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rich relatives to support him, he had to beg. It was not a pleasant thing. But it was his lot in life. God so willed it, for holy purposes to lift his heart above the world, and make him long and seek to get ready for heaven, and give to those around him opportunities of doing good. through the history of the world, God has made and kept some people poor, and why? Just to give you and me the privilege of helping them. The poor ye have always with you,' said Jesus; and therefore, let us see who they are, how we can help them, and why we should do it.

Pity a poor blind man, who cannot work for his daily bread, because he cannot see. What a loss! Perhaps he has to be led by some little girl, or by a little dog. He never sees the stars, nor the flowers, nor the faces of his friends. He lives in perpetual night, deprived of many pleasures to which others have access. Occasionally I make a visit to the Royal Blind Asylum in Edinburgh, and every time I look upon the inmates, and hear them sing, I feel as if the springs in my head were opened, or as if a lump had come into my throat. It is very touching to see the blind, and fitted to make us thankful for sight, and lead us to pity them, and do what we can to cheer them.

Once a blind man was sitting by the wayside, begging, holding out his hat, when a little boy passing, thought he would give him a surprise. And what did he put into his hat? Did he put in a shilling, or a penny? No. He tossed in a Scotch thistle, which so pricked and pained the poor blind man's hand, that he had to cry. It was sport to the boy, but it was at the expense of the beggar. And we should never do that. If we cannot help a blind man, let us take care not to do anything to increase his pain. Remember how it fared with those that made sport with Samson, when he was blind; for though some eyes be closed, God's eyes are always open, beholding the evil and the good.

Then, there are poor imbeciles, on whom we should have pity; those who are weak, whether in body or mind, and so weak as

to be quite unfit for the. business of life. They are prisoners within large hospitals, or within their own homes, and many of them are not even prisoners of hope.' For they are so diseased as to be quite beyond the power of man to heal them; and therefore all that we can do in their case, is to try and soothe their suffering, and cheer them in their trouble.

'Who is that lying on the chair?'

'O, that is our little brother,' the sister said. He is now fourteen years of age, and he has never been able to work." And when I looked at the 'wee man' I saw that he was all covered over with sores, and yet, though suffering much, he seemed as patient as Job; while from the little comforts and presents I saw lying around, I could not but notice how kindly his friends were seeking to sympathise with him.

And then there are what may be called the unfortunate poor, or those who, by untoward circumstances over which they had no control, have been reduced to a condition of need. As, for example, the other night I saw a hundred widows at a meeting, whose husbands were sailors, and who had either died on land or had been lost at sea. And how many there are who are fatherless or orphans, not to speak of the multitudes who are like old ships that have been dismantled and disabled amid the storms that often meet us on the sea of life. All these need our pity, and whatever help we can give them in kind words and loving looks and generous deeds.

PITY THE POOR

Because it is God-like. He pities us. He provides for us. He sends His rain and other blessings on the just and on the unjust. Look how the dew-drops glisten on the thorns and briars as well as upon the sweet-smelling flowers; and how the sun shines upon the barren rocks as well as upon the fruitful fields. As if teaching us that we are to do good unto all men as we have opportunity, but especially unto those who are of the household of faith.' And when there was no eye to pity and no hand to help, see how God pitied us in our low