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heaven with such mocking ridicule, and pillow, sir; if you're to read to me.' Mr họw unkind to their dear Lord who had M- took the book, and on opening it given them such a beautiful example of godly reverence and love. Several of the "You are Tom Esplin, and I see you boys looked penitent, but Tom laid down got this Bible from Mrs. K-, as a prize his head on his hands and sobbed aloud. when you were a boy.' This tender conscience of his invariably Aye, that I did. Do you ken her? shewed itself when any direct appeal was If she only knew hoo the things she made to try and persuade them to be explained at that time a' come back to me gentle, and yet brave with the Christian lyin' here, tho' I forgot a' about them at boldness of young soldiers in the Lord's the time!' service. Tom's parents were hard working Then Mr M- explained that the lady people, and at that time Bibles were not was his married sister; and he knew how by any means cheap; so, as he had only a it would rejoice her to know that the little small New Testament, I gave him a Bible Bible she had given him had lain beside as a reward for his regularity and attention. his pillow, and brought comfort to his Soon after this the Esplin family left the heart in the quiet infirmary ward. parish, and only now and then did I Months after, I met my brother, who remember my blue-eyed friend, Tom, who told me of the unexpected meeting, and had so often looked at me in the quiet gave me Tom's message. It was very country church, and quietly said his precious; for by that time the poor lad verses' in the class.

was at rest, and had been laid in his lonely Fully ten years after, I heard very grave in the church-yard by the sea. unexpectedly of my favourite scholar. Thirty years have passed since then, but He had gone to a large seaport town as a when the minister's class meets in the old carpenter: and, after a neglected cold, he country church, and I see the earnest began to show signs of consumption. He brown faced lads, I look back and worked on poor fellow-long after he remember the boy who used to sit there, ought to have had rest and medical care; and liked the bonny psalms.' so by the time that he was compelled, by his distressing cough and pain, to remain in his humble lodging, the doetor plainly

IS THAT ALL ? said to him, there is no hope.' Then Tom X YOUNG man, dying in a tent, sent begged to be taken to the infirmary, for he A for a Christian friend, and told him had no home. His mother had died soon he had been very wicked; he could not after she went to live in town; and, the die so, his parents were Christians.' Said father soon marrying again, the family he, I have read and prayed a great deal. became scattered. A benevolent gentleman, The great, great question is, what shall who used to go and read to the Infirmary I do to be saved? I cannot get hold patients, found Tom the day after he was of it.' taken there. The nurse introduced him All you have to do is to believe. Just as a fine lad and a good listener.'

trust all to Jesus.' When Mr M- expressed sympathy for Is that all?' the sufferer, he was much pleased by the Yes; can you do that?' polite and cheerful thanks of the young Waiting a moment he answered, “Yes, I man; who, apparently, was near the • Happy can.' Land.' On offering to read a few verses of Soon his confidence in Christ became a psalm, if he wished, Tom said:

very strong, and at last he said, "Yes, if I 0, I like the bonny psalms, an winder had a thousand souls, I could trust them I can mind sae mony o' them I learned all to Jesus ;' and he sank away and lang syne. You'll get my Bible below my |

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LETTERS FOR THE MONTHS.
ST. ANDREWS.

February. M Y DEAR LITTLE JEAX,

! through the masses of colourless mist, I We live in an eyrie of a house, which never showed an edge of beauty, but perched up so steep and high. All day and hung, with a fierce persistence, on the night the waves break and shriek down verge of the horizon. below. Always we see the seamour I suppose you know the story of St. beautiful, stern, changeful friend—and Andrews; how it was named in the early sometimes the little, far-off ships upon it time—the fourth century, I think; how a passing to and fro.

Greek monk was driven on shore with a But the sun we see rarely. How I relic of the bones of the Apostle—driven, wished he would break, some days ago, { by a fierce wind, over many seas of the

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20

THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN.

world ; and how, at last, his little boat was | it, and then dense bars of blackness. Then blown into the windy bay, driven deep into they passed, and the light of the moon lay some cove of sand which lay among the ! a long track upon the waters. rocks; and how the weary monk was glad, Perhaps it was a waking dream_but a and how he thought he would rest here, sweet spirit stole through the moonlight. and how he buried the Apostle Andrew's It had no form: I only felt its presence. bones on the lonely sea-shore.

But it had a clear, sweet voice, and it St. Regulus, or St. Rule, was the name spoke through the pauses of the storm. of the monk. To-day we climbed the It said: The storm must come; but the old Saxon tower which still bears his name. storm is in God's hand-the storm and the For he lived here all the rest of his life, night and the dark. It was on the stormy and here he died and was buried.

water that Jesus walked of old. Through You see St. Andrews was a stormy bay, the storm He comes still; His sweetness even then as now; unsafe for little ships, breaks through the dark.' which kept far off it when they could.

Yet why should I write thus to my Two nights ago the storm was wild. young and happy Jean? What though We heard it shrieking through the little the wind whispered it: it was only for my city, shrieking along the shore. For the ear. waves of the German Ocean were breaking, It said: The storm will come in life for with fierce fight, on the old brave battered you and for Lucy and for Jean; but if your cliffs, and drifting in long clouds of foam sails be set heavenward, every wave will along the moaning sand.

bear you more swiftly home.' The poor ships!' said little Lucy Home.

Then came a long shriek of wind, and a She is a fair-haired little child with a rush of waves on the sea-tower, and it wondrously sweet voice. Her eyes have a | seemed as if the very sky were torn to kind of music in them-soft, like caressing shivers by the blast. words.

Again spoke the clear little whispering We sat, a quiet circle, round the blazing voice:- God is as the wings of the storm. fire, Lucy beside my knee. At each wild Meet Him in the storm; meet Him in the shriek of the wind she nestled closer and mystery of darkness : for God is surely closer, now and then with trembling tears here.' shining in her dark fearful eyes.

Lucy had slipped from the window-she We did not speak much because of that was curled upon the rug by the fire; and, wild storm. Through the darkness we saw lulled by wind and water, she was soon fast the white crests, like storm-birds, on the asleep. waves, and the waves that came in unbroken And when the morning broke, the bay on the shore in great dark walls of water. lay all in sunshine. And I heard, from my Soon our quiet circle broke up.

high window, a child's voice singing a psalm. Let us go down to see the storm,'said one. Is this worth writing in a letter? I do "I too shall go,' said another.

not know, little Jean, and I have not asked And I.'

Lucy-who perhaps would say 'no.' PerSo we were left alone, Lucy and I, in haps when I write again, I shall have the dark. Lucy went to the window, and something more to tell-meanwhile I bid pressed her face against it, looking out you good-bye. through the fearful blackness; I close

Lovingly, H. W. H. W. behind, watching the racking storm with the same child-like helplessness. While we looked, the moon broke

THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN. through the clouds, and gleamed down on THIS little picture tells its own story. the sheltered castle and the old sea-tower. 1 The wandering Ishmael_his hand Strips of torn, ragged clouds floated over against every man, and every man's band THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN.

against him-is a type to all time of those | an end. The storm broke, and with who leave a father's loving home to go drooping wing he was dashed to the ground out to the far country, in whose desert to find no shelter from the pitiless blast wastes it is often hard to find a cup of which bore him to destruction water to cool their parched lips. Desolate Of all the friends that gathered round him and sad at heart they wander, till like in the heyday of prosperity, not one would Hagar, they hear a voice from heaven which help him now. At last he sank down to recalls the father's home and assures them the lowest depths. For very want he took of a father's love. And so, returning, they the only occupation that was open to him. find that love unaltered and become like He became servant to a hard master, who Ishm el, heirs of a goodly heritage.

sent him to feed his swine, and in whose It was so with this younger son. When he service he was often so hungry, that he grew up to manhood, he turned his back on would gladly have eaten some of the beans his father's house, and went to the far which the swine eat, but they were kept country, carrying with him only the portion from him. It was God's own mercy that of goods which would have been his when in this extremity he remembered his his father died. Ile left behind him the father's house. Even the servants there precepts and lessons which he had learned had plenty to eat. “My father would not at home. He forgot the prayers which grudge me a portion of their food, and I long before he had learned at his would gladly now be servant to one so mother's knee, and in the gay and merry good. With downcast look he treads the life he now sought to lead, he tried to weary journey back. But when he draws forget the father whose love still yearned nearer to the old home-while he is yet over him. There can be no doubt that a afar off-the old inan sees hiin and great shadow fell on the old home, when, hastens to meet him. He runs to his son as the years rolled on, no tidings were heard and falls upon his neck and kisses him. from the younger son who had gone away. The son had feared a father's frown, but llope died at last even in the father's heart: when he looks up he sees his father's smile. the brightness of his home was gone. He It is the old kind voice that bids the missed the merry laugh and kindly smile of servants bring the best robe and put it on the child of his affections, and the hardest , him, put a ring on his hand, and shoes on part was that the boy whom he had loved his feet, and bring hither the fatted calf so well, seemed to have forgotten him. that they may eat and be merry. Nor does He could not know the whole truth; he | he ever remember sweeter tones than those could only fear that all was not well. How in which his father sings the glad song that many years went by we know not; but at celebrates his return: For this, my son, last his father settled in his own heart that was dead and is alive again; he was lost, his child was lost, and considered his son and is found.' dead.

This loving story, or parable, was And so he was, although he didn't know intended by Jesus Christ to teach us that it. The old, good life, of his early days God is our Father, and that He loves us was left behind, and the strange new life with an everlasting and unfailing love. on which he had entered, was a living death. "There is joy in the presence of the angels A wise man once said, "he that liveth in of God, over one sinner that repenteth. pleasure is dead.' And this young man | May God our Father draw the hearts of all lived for nothing else. For years, life was who read this story to Himself. Clothed to him a perpetual sunshine, and he with the spotless robe of His righteousness dreamed that like the gay butterfly he had may they abide forever in the house of His only to wing his way from flower to flower,

love. and to enjoy himself. But at last the Sin took off my garments, every kindly fold, sun went down, and the dream was at | Leaving me to perish in the bitter cold.

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VIA DOLOROSA. THE Via Dolorosa, or the Way of Sorrow, I this His last journey was the most sorrowiul 1 is the name of one of the streets of of all. But even while bearing His cross Jerusalem. It is so called because it is along the Via Dolorosa His thoughts were said to have been by this road that Jesus for others, not for Himself. There followed was led from Pilate's Judgment Hall to Him a great company of people, and of Calvary. The road along which Jesus bore women, which also bewailed and lamented the heavy cross, till, sinking under its | Him. But Jesus turning unto them, said, weight, Simon the Cyrenean was compelled Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for Me, to bear the one end of it after Him, was but weep for yourselves and for your truly a way of sorrow. Jesus was a man children. of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and | Truly this was a sorrowful procession,

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