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LITTLE ANNIE;

OR, 'THE LORD WILL PROVIDE.'

'WHAT will become of me? where shall I go? or what shall I do?' said little Annie, as she was told that Mr Morton her dear old friend was no more. Annie was eleven years old; a pretty blue-eyed, brown-haired child, with a pleasant bright expression in her face that might have led one to think that she had not known much sorrow, and that when it did come, friends would not be wanting to help her to bear it. But this was not the case; no kind father or mother had watched over her in her short life; companions she had in plenty in the 'home' to which she had been brought, but it was not such a home as many of my young readers can rejoice in. Annie had been deserted when she was but a little child, and one cold winter day Mr Morton had placed her in an Institution where there were a great many destitute ones like herself, and had paid for her there. She had felt sorry at first when left amongst strangers, but soon she began to love the house-mother and many of her little friends, who were taught to be kind and helpful. Then her old friend often came to see her. Many of the children had nobody who seemed to care about them, but it was different with Annie; and I dare say sometimes she was a little flattered by the attention she received; but she was not selfish, and was bright and happy. One day Mr Morton made his appearance at the Home, with a beautiful large doll, and his pockets filled with cakes and sweetmeats. The doll was of course for Annie, and the other good things were to be shared with the merry group of girls, who were sure at such a time to crowd round their fortunate companion.

It was Christmas time; Annie had been nearly a year in the Institution, and she was daily expecting a visit from her kind friend. The days were passing slowly by. Each morning as she got up, she thought,

Surely he'll come to-day;' but ah! he was never to come again—his last presents had

been given, his last good bye taken, when weeks before he had brought the doll, promising as he left to come soon again. Suddenly death had called him away; and while Annie had been looking out for him and wondering when he would come, the snows were falling on his newly made grave.

'I don't know how I shall ever tell Annie what has happened,' said the housemother to one of the ladies who visited the Home. Little does she think that her friend is gone; it will take her a long time to get over this-and who is to pay for her, or take a lift of her now?'

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You must do the best you can,' said the lady. Tell her she has kind friends still, who will not cast her off, and that we are sure God will provide in some way.'

And so little Annie heard the doleful news; and although she was very sad at first, and wondered, as you have seen, what would become of her, she gradually got accustomed to her loss, and by and by her old cheerfulness came back. Sorrow treads with a lighter step in childhood than in mature years, and its footprints on the sands of life are sooner washed out.

Now neither the house-mother nor the lady knew where friends were to come from, or how she was to be provided for, but they remembered some texts that were promises for little Annie, and which they all three could trust. Man's promises often turn out to be false ones: sometimes they are made by people intending to deceive; sometimes those who make them are not able to perform, however anxious they may be to keep their word; but this cannot be the case with God. He cannot possibly deceive, and there is nothing too hard for Him to do. I shall tell you some of the promises or sayings of God, that they could pray Him to remember on Annie's account; and then I shall shew you how faithful He was to the trust reposed in Him. 'When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.' 'A father of the fatherless is God in His holy habitation.' 'God setteth the solitary in families.' 'He shall deliver the needy when

he crieth; the poor also and him that hath no helper.' The Lord preserveth the stranger, He relieveth the fatherless,' and many more. These are but a few; if you like, you can search in God's book, and see how many more you can find.

Now, how in Annie's case did God keep His word? Two young ladies in whose hearts He had implanted His fear and a desire to serve Him by helping others, were cagerly anxious to see some way in which they could be of use. Well, though you may not think of it, God has a plan, a purpose in every one's life; and it is for us to watch and wait and ask Him to shew us what that purpose is. There is a text which says, 'The secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him, and He will show them His covenant.' Now this shewing, so far as our outward life is concerned, means that God points out by His providence, as well as by His word and by the promptings of His Spirit within our hearts, what He would have us do.

Georgina and Mary (these were the young ladies' names) had compassion, as Jesus had, on the poor and helpless. They read in God's book these texts I have mentioned, and saw by them what God had promised. When compassion is real, it will shew itself in deeds as well as in words. These two friends did not stay at home reading and thinking; but they went out regularly and visited the poor in whom they were interested. One place they went to every week was the Home where little Annie lived; and you may be sure they heard the sorrowful tale. They had wished for an opportunity of doing a kindness to some needy one, and here was a friendless child. God's plan in her life was that she should be helped; Georgina and Mary resolved to be the helpers. Annie is their special charge now. They pray for her at the Home, and you may be sure they think of what she needs, plan for her, and above all, ask God to bless her and make her His own. What a happy thing for the poor child that she has found such friends! But there are needy, helpless ones all around. Jesus said, 'Ye have the poor

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BENJAMIN FRANKLIN-THE THOUGHTFUL BOY.

FEW stories are more suggestive than

one of the earliest in connection with the boyhood of Benjamin Franklin. One day his parents gave him some coppers, possibly the first he ever had at his own disposal, and told him he was at liberty to buy what he liked. Feeling as rich as a king, he went out to examine the shops, wondering whether he would patronise the toy-maker, the confectioner, or the baker. Before he had gone far he met a boy blowing a whistle. What a fine thing that is,' thought Benjamin, 'I will try to get one of these;' so off he went to the toy-shop. Any whistles?' he asked. 'Plenty of them,' replied the shopman, and showed him a number. I will give you all the money I have for one,' said Benjamin, never asking the price, and only afraid he would not have enough to get one. All you have?' said the shopman; perhaps you have not so much as I ask for them. You see these are very nice whistles. I know it,' replied Benjamin,

and I will give you all the money I have for one.'- How much money have you?' asked the man. Benjamin told him the amount; an exchange was made, and in high glee he started home, blowing his new purchase. On returning, however, he found his bargain was not such a good one. His mother pointed out that he should have asked the price instead of giving all he had, his brother and his cousin teased him about being cheated, till at last poor Benjamin burst into tears. My readers will perhaps wonder why I should call a boy who made such a stupid mistake a thoughtful boy; but the difference between

that he should work with him till he was twenty-one, without wages till the last year. The bargain however was made, and for the first few years he was happy enough, as he got full scope for reading, which was his favourite employment. A rich gentleman in Boston took a kindly interest in him and gave him the use of his library, at the same time advising him as to what books he should read.

His

Benjamin's first publications were some sea ballads, which his brother printed for him and sent him out to sell. All the pence he received were given up to his brother. His father told him to stop such work and cultivate a good prose style. Following his advice, he studied the 'Spectator' as a model, and at last resolved to make an attempt at authorship. brother published a journal called the 'New England Courier,' the literary department of which was very weak. Benjamin knew his brother was too jealous to admit his papers if he knew whose they were, so he resorted to the following plan:-After the office was shut, he slipped his articles on science and philosophy, with his hand-writing disguised, below the door. All the articles offered in this way were published, and soon the unknown author was talked about

everywhere. Pleased at his success, Benjamin made himself known; but, although he was praised on all sides, his brother became more jealous than ever.

So miserable was his existence made by his brother, that Benjamin resolved to take advantage of an alteration in their bargain and leave. He met with great changes of fortune, but at last was able to set up as a printer on his own account. His success was great, and he ultimately became a statesman, a philosopher, and a man of science. Among other things he invented the lightning conductor, after seeing an accident in a thunderstorm. And what was the secret of it all? He trained himself to think about things, and so found out the best way of doing them. If my readers think, they will find that they get on far better in life.

J M'M.

LETTERS FOR THE MONTHS.
March.

DEAR LITTLE ONE,

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The winds are keen; the violets are still in their hiding. God keeps all the lovely things in His hand: He bringeth forth the wind from His treasuries'afterwards the flowers. They must wait their resurrection a few little weeks more. Listen to the prelude on the wind-harp. How long and wild it plays!

Dear one, let us sit by the fire. Let me hold your hand. You do not know how soft and warm is the thrill of your little hand. Shall we talk sweetly togetherwhispering you and I? You shall help me, perhaps, more than I you. For there is gentle grace in a little child's eyes which sometimes comforts those who are older, like a message from the Father in Heaven.

Shall I tell you a story which the wild music of the wind-harp brings back to me to-night? The story is of 'John the Singer who came into Britain to teach.'

It was very long ago,-before the Normans came-scarcely seven hundred years after Christ,-while England and Scotland were still wild and lonely places. They were covered with fen and wood, great waste marshes, and forests of oak and fir. But the Saxons, as you know, were living here, a kindly and busy people, and the first missionaries had come to the little island and preached the gospel of Christ.

The Saxon churches were spread over the land. There are fragments of them still here and there little bits left in the great abbeys and cathedrals;-a Saxon doorway with the Norman masonry round it, and the still later masonry of the times when the Tudor kings reigned. You may learn of this among other beautiful things which wait you in the years.

At the mouth of the river Wear one of these churches was built by a good man named Benedict. When the church was finished he took a journey into Italy, that that he might listen to the words of other good men there, and have his faith strengthened, and perhaps learn something