Paisley: J. AND R. PARLANE.]

[London: HOULSTON AND SONS.

62

MY OWN GARDEN.

SPRING is come now,' said Mary

Morton. I must attend to my own garden. Richard has been seeing to the greenhouse plants, and laying out the beds all round the lawn; but he will not get leave to meddle with my garden: I must do that myself.'

So in the spring days, bleak and cold as they sometimes were, Mary worked away, hoeing and sowing, putting in sticks here and there to show where the seeds lay buried; and many a time did she watch to see if they were coming up, and the flowers making their appearance.

Summer came, and with it came the weeds in abundance among the annuals reared with such care.

"These provoking things!" said Mary, 'they will quite choke my beautiful plants. Look at that mignonette, it will be worth nothing if that chick-weed is not got out of the way.'

So now it was rooting up, not sowing, that had to be done; and weeding was the order of the day.

'How pretty my garden is now!' said Mary, as she raked and smoothed over the earth, when the chick-weed had been pulled up, 'I dont know if the gardener himself has any finer beds than these. Look here, George and Lucy,' she added, 'dont you think we may get quite a nice bouquet for mamma's birthday next Wednesday? These pansies will be out by that time, and so will this Indian cress.'

Mary's brother and sister were too much taken up with their own affairs to answer her question; and indeed she herself was so intent on her raking that she hardly noticed their silence. She was enjoying the fruit of her own labour and care, and felt happy in her success.

Every child has not such a garden of his own as Mary had; but every one has a heart, in which truth, love, and obedience must be cultivated and cherished, and whence all that is evil-pride, lying, and unkind feeling-must be rooted out. If you turn to Galatians chap. v. and 22nd verse, you will see what a beautiful cluster

·

of fruits may spring from God's Spirit ruling in the heart-love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness.' I wonder if these grow and flourish in the hearts of my Dayspring' readers. Depend upon it, if they do not grow up, evil fruits will come in their stead. Every child's own gardenthe heart-must be kept with all diligence. Out of it, says the Scripture, are the issues of life. For the young, as well as the old, were the well-known words written :

'A charge to keep I have,
A God to glorify,
A never-dying soul to save,
And fit it for the sky.'

GERTRUDE'S REPENTANCE.

K.

'I CAN rely upon every word my Gertrude says; I believe nothing would tempt her to be guilty of an untruth.'

It was my dear mother's voice, and I knew it was of me she was talking. I was not more than eight years of age at that time, yet I have never forgotten the shock that kind loving speech gave me; every word sent a sharp pang through my heart. And why was this, do you ask? It was because conscience told me, O how loudly! that I did not deserve it. That very day 1 had committed an act of dishonesty, and what was far worse, had told a lie to hide it; I who had always rather prided myself in my truthfulness. How true it is that 'Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.'

But I will tell my story, in the hope that every child who reads it may lay it to heart, and carefully avoid whatever conscience tells them will be displeasing to that Holy One who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.'

While in school that afternoon, I had. noticed a little picture tract on the floor close to where I sat. I picked it up, fully intending to ask my little class-mates if it belonged to any of them. But when I saw that it was a story about a little girl, and one that I had never seen before, I thought I would like so much to take it home and read it. Thus I yielded to the sin of

64

impress upon the minds of her children the beauty and necessity of honesty, and warned us so often never to take or even covet the value of a pin that belonged to another. O children, she would say, remember, those who begin by stealing little things, very often end with greater. And though she always finished by telling us that no sin is a little sin in the sight of God, and how much it grieves our kind heavenly Father to see His children

naughty, I am afraid I thought of nothing then but the shame of confessing my fault to my good mother.

I did not venture to take it out till after tea. When my mother took her sewing, I sat down with my back to her, hoping that she would be too busy to notice me.

Presently, however, I was startled by her voice, saying, 'What have you got there, Gertrude? wont you read it to mother?'

'It is a little tract called "Sally Adams, or the useful girl," I answered, commencing to read aloud. When I had finished, my mother said, 'that is a pretty story; where did you get it?'

I answered readily enough, 'I found it.’– 'Where did you find it?' said she; 'I hope you tried to discover who had lost it.'

I could not raise my eyes to mother's face as I replied, I found it on the road coming home from school.'

I repented the moment the wicked words were uttered, but it was too late then; I could not recall them. O, how unhappy I had made myself! Dear little ones, I hope none of you will ever have cause to feel as I felt then. The very sight of the tract was now hateful to me. Thief, liar, seemed to stare at me from every sentence. I will hide it in the bottom of my drawer, I thought, and never look at it again; but then, how could I bring the unclean thing' in contact with my much-valued, carefully-treasured, Sunday school prizes? I could not do it.

Just then my mother was called out to go and see a neighbour's sick child. No sooner was I left alone, than I threw the thing for which I had sinned into the fire,

saying to myself as I watched it burn, Now, I will forget all about it.' But though I had got rid of the stolen article, I found that not so easily could I get rid of the miserable guilty feeling. 'O!' I thought, I have laid upon myself a burden heavier than I can bear.' But with this thought came to me the words of a hymn I had just learned, commencing,

'I lay my sins on Jesus'—

I dare say you all know it—and straightway I determined to tell Jesus how wickedly I had acted, and ask Him to forgive me. For that purpose I hastened to a retired spot, by the side of the stream that flowed past the village. I rose from my knees somewhat comforted, yet I could not feel happy till I had gone to my mother and obtained her forgiveness also.

It was while I stood with my hand on the latch of the door, trying to summon courage to go in, that I heard the words with which this story commences. But, if the task I had set myself was difficult before, the speech I had just overheard rendered it well-nigh impossible.

How could I grieve and disappoint the mother who loved me so well, and reposed such confidence in me! it would be too cruel. And then, too, I thought, if I tell her this, she will never, never trust me again. Perhaps, I thought in my deep self-abasement, she will not be able to love me any more. For many days I remained unhappy and undecided, but at length I could bear to deceive my dear mother so no longer, and one evening I hid my face in her lap, and, as well as I could for my sobs, told her all; but instead of spurning such a naughty child from her presence, she folded me to her bosom, and mingling her tears with mine, told me how thankful she was that I had confided in her, and how

freely she forgave me. And mother,' I said, do you think God will have forgiven me?'-'I am quite sure He has, my dear Gertrude,' she answered, 'for has not Jesus said, "Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out"? He is more ready to pardon those who are heartily ashamed and