122

'PUSSY, DID YOU DO THIS?'

USSY! did you do this?' Such were the words that greeted my ear on entering my snug parlour one afternoon in autumn. The speaker was my dear little Molly. Molly was one of a many childed house, and yet you may say she was an only child. Her father was a very favourite nephew of mine; and, by common consent, as years passed, bringing many children with them to brighten his home, Molly was handed over to me; and then she was my Molly, my own dear Molly, without whose ringing laugh and joyous song through the house, I should have been dull indeed.

The question was addressed to our sober, serious cat Prissy, as she sat hemmed in and puckered up there, on the highest chair she could find; and the evil deed in question was the breaking of a jug, the fragments of which lay strewn round the child as she sat mourning on the floor.

Now, it didn't need Molly's half wrathful, half tearful tones to let me know the struggle that was going on in her breast. Prissy and she were fast friends, and many a time had she come in between her and a harsh push from Martha in the kitchen. But then, if there was one thing that was dear to Molly's heart, it was that same broken jug, the handle of which she held in her hand. With this she tripped daily, through our rustic garden, to the sweet spring well on the quiet road, with its fern lined sides, and the constant flow of water guided into it from the heathery bank. This was for our mid-day meal; and her old aunt felt the water all the fresher and cooler for knowing that Molly's pretty chubby hands had gone dipping into the clear, shady hollow for the draught. And now the dearly loved, dim, rough, icy jug was gone, and there was an end of it. So thought Molly. No need of going to the well with any other.

And there sat Prissy. As I looked, I thought there was answer enough in every bit of her body. No indignant sticking up of her back in defiance of the charge. No! penitence and remorse in every hair. She looked as if she would fain have drawn in feet, tail, and even head itself into the recesses of her fur. But there was no doing that: there she must stick; no getting past her little friend now-this evening become her enemy. Prissy was in for it! and couldn't get out for anything.

A minute more, and Molly's hand, already raised with the handle of the jug in it, would, with a cruel blow, have left poor pussy's chair empty.

Molly,' I said, and the sound of my voice made her turn; 'Molly, did I hear you ask Prissy a question? Well, I think she has answered it. I should be glad indeed did my little girl, when she has done wrong, tell me so as frankly with her lips, as pussy has done just now with her back. Just look at her; does she not say as plainly as cat can speak, "Yes, I did it; I'm very sorry; I was so thirsty, and was looking for some milk, and my paws, that I would like to hide now, upset it, and then it rolled off the table"?' But Prissy, in the little interruption I had caused, had whisked away somewhere else, and was nowhere to be seen.

Yes, auntie; but do you know what jug it is? my own dear well jug?'

Yes; and I suppose if it had been some small dish of Martha's, Prissy would have been in no danger of a blow? It wasn't that Prissy had done wrong, but that Molly's jug was broken.'

Then we had a right good talk; for if Molly had one special fault, it was being careless; and many times had I warned her about this very jug; for it was her own particular charge.

'So, Molly,' I said, 'I think you broke the jug yourself."

This made Molly's soft gray eyes, from which the tears had been fast flowing, open wide indeed. Then I told her how I believed that nothing was too small for God to take notice of, that had to do with

the happiness of His children; and that knowing how she, and I too, suffered from this carelessness of hers, He thought He would let Prissy break the jug, that I might come in and speak to her at a time when she was likely to remember what I said, from the grief her fault had caused her. I ended by telling her that God never took away anything without giving us something better. That is, offering us something better; for of course we must look about, and see what it is. This time I thought it was the cure of this sad carelessness of hers, and I begged of her to let this lesson teach her; and every time she took a common jug to the well (for I had not money enough to replace the pretty one) to resolve she would not again suffer herself, or let others suffer through this fault of hers. She listened very sweetly, and we had a nice time.

The quarrel with pussy was soon made up; and I think my little girl did try to cure herself, and asked God, as I told her, to help her to do so. You know Christ says, without Me ye can do nothing'; then Paul says, 'I can do all things through Christ that strengtheneth me.' Now this was one of Molly's all things'; and though with many failures, when she forgot to seek this strength, she did do much, and was more careful in the future.

It was many months after this, as the time of year came round when Molly most delighted in her trips to the well, every thing wearing its loveliest green, and the early, delicate ferns trembling so prettily under the sparkling spray, that my younger brother came to see me. This was Molly's great uncle. He always gave her something by which to remember his visit; and this time, as he talked with me about it, I proposed another jug like the one that had been broken. So it was got and given, to Molly's great joy.

She and I lovingly remembered the talk we had had months before, and asked God to continue to help her to keep her resolution. Nor did we forget to thank Ilim for all the good that He had sent by means of the broken jug.

н.

THE BRAVE PRINCESS.

123

IN Hawaii, one of the Sandwich Islands,

there is a volcano, of which the natives had a superstitious dread. They believed that it was the residence of their god Pele; and their fear of this god was a great hindrance to the spread of the gospel among them.

Kapiolani, the chief woman on the island, was one of the first who received the gospel. Though she was advanced in life before she ever heard the glad tidings, she at once believed in Jesus, and determined to do all in her power to spread the knowledge of salvation among her people. In order to shew them the folly of their superstition, she walked one hundred miles to visit the crater of the volcano. missionaries at Hilo came twenty-five or thirty miles to meet her; and, accompanied by about eighty natives, they stood on the black ledge at the rim of the crater.

The

There, Kapiolani calmly addressed the assembled company thus: JEHOVAH is my God. He kindled these fires. I fear not Pele. If I perish by the anger of Pele, then you may fear the power of Pele. But if I trust in Jehovah, and He shall save me from the wrath of Pele when I break through her tabus, then you must fear and serve the Lord Jehovah. All the gods of Hawaii are vain. Great is the goodness of Jehovah in sending missionaries to turn us from these vanities to the living God, and the way of righteousness.' After singing a song of praise and joining in prayer, Kapiolani, with her companions, went down into that dreaded, fire-eaten pit, and came out unharmed.

The spell was broken, and the people no longer feared the god Pele. Idolatry had received its death-blow in Hawaii.

Next day the brave princess, wearied and footsore though she was, went on to the mission station at Hilo, and told the missionaries that she had come to strengthen their hearts, and help them in their work.

Kapiolani died in peace May 5th, 1841. She was a true patriot, and her good works still live on Hawaii. Does not her story

remind us of that of Elijah and the prophets of Baal? and does not her solemn appeal to her people recall Elijah's words, If the Lord be God, follow Him; but if Baal, then follow him '?

OLD STORIES RE-TOLD.

M. T. S.

E who are old enough to tell stories to others may be forgetting that the stories which are old to us may be new to you. And, besides, every age has its own way of telling a story, just as every man has his, and it might be a good thing if the Editor of the Dayspring' would allow me to tell you some of the old stories which delighted my boyish fancy, only putting them in a modern dress, and drawing from them some modern reflections.

One of the oldest stories I remember, is the story of George Washington and the cherry tree. George had got the present of a little hatchet when he was a boy, and he went about trying its edge on everything that came in his way. Among other places he went into the garden, and chipped the bark off some of the trees there, quite unthinking all the time of the mischief he might be doing. Some short time after, his father came into the garden and found a favourite cherry tree with the bark so cut that it would die. 'Alas,' he cried, 'who has killed my cherry tree? I would not have lost it for a great deal.' Little George looked up in his father's face and said, Father, you know I cannot tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet.'-' Run to my arms, my boy,' said his father, 'I would not give you for all the cherry trees in the world, though their leaves were silver and their fruit were gold.'

George Washington became in after life

such a man as was in keeping with such a boy. Americans revere him as the founder of their country's independence, and we Britons revere him too, as one of the good and great men of the earth. One of the things, however, I used to wonder at in this story, was the very thing in which its point lies: 'I cannot tell a lie.' If he had said, I will not tell a lie, or I must not tell a lie, or I dare not tell a lie, I could have understood him, but to say, 'I cannot tell a lie,' was a little above me. It shewed a feeling I had not at that time, and which some people, in fact, never have. And yet it is a feeling every Christian boy and girl ought to have. Paul says he preached the Gospel because necessity was laid upon him, and George Washington told the truth for the same reason. He could not help it. Necessity was laid upon him to speak truthfully.

But George Washington does not stand alone in this matter. There was a good minister in England who died not long ago, named Frederick William Robertson of Brighton, of whom his mother used to say with pride, 'I never knew him tell a lie.' Is not that a grand certificate of character? And I remember reading a story of a celebrated Arab, named Abdelkader, how, when he was once caught by robbers when he was a young lad, and asked whether he had any money about him, replied that he had some sewed up in his robe. The robber chief asked him why he told this. He said it was because his mother had warned him never to tell a lie. The chief was so struck with the answer that he set the boy at liberty. Would not every one of you then like to rise to the height of these fellows of yours, who thus in early life could yet say-not 'I will not tell a lie,' but I cannot tell a lie: there is that within me which is stronger than any temptation, and compels me at all times and under all circumstances to speak the truth?' May God grant us all this power for His name's sake, so that when tempted to speak falsely, even tempted strongly, we may yet look up to our Father in heaven and say, 'I cannot tell a lie.' R. L.