too has a story-a story of a different kind. It goes back to the early times before the Reformation in England, when so many things were named for the Virgin Mary. She was our lady' to all the poor people, who, in their ignorance and superstition, named their common flowers by her name, and so, without thinking of its meaning, people name them still. The dodder was the lady's-lace, and the harebell the lady'sthimble. The large round-leaved ladymantle has none but the Catholic name still.

I must not linger over names, yet must speak of the ground-ivy, which you know well to be no ivy at all. What a bright enamel it is along the shady waysides, among the wild parsleys and the daisies, and the first blue, faint, speedwells. No one has ever told us who first called it an ivy, nor why the name has clung to it; its untruth notwithstanding. For it is a lipshaped flower, purple and bright, and its rounded leaves nestle in the grass, red tints often blend with their green. It has no resemblance to the ivy except in name.

Another flower you are sure to gather is the Celandine or swallow-flower, which has its name because it was said (although wrongly said) to come with the swallows. It comes before the swallows. Whenever the winter is past, you have found the gleamy golden blossoms rising from its heart-shaped leaves. And the green leaves are gleamy as the yellow flowers. 'Tis a bright and sunny thing. In itself a sort of light. Yet meek as all fairest flowers are. It is only if you love flowers that you know the Celandine.

I meant to tell you, little Maud, of one who loved flowers just as you do, who lived very long ago, and of whom I am sure you never heard. He was called Cybo, of the Golden Island:

was.

The island, which was called the Golden, lies in the Mediterranean sea, near the sunny shore of Italy, where Cybo's home Cybo served God with all his heart, and he loved God's beautiful world. Its beauty filled his heart like a passion. As each Spring and Autumn came, he left his

home and retired alone to this lovely island, the haunt of bright birds and flowers. Here he lived among them till their loveliness became as his own thought. He brooded on their beauty-they were God's revelation to him-tender, delicious tokens of His love-earnests of cternal loveliness. He could draw and paint in a wonderful manner' the old books say-so with joy and reverence he sat day after day among the spring flowers. He copied with a delicate, devout hand, every leaf and spray, every warm flush of colour, every pearly shade. He prayed in the flowershadows, and sang His praises with the birds.

I have wondered, little Maud, if he died there. But I do not know. He walked with God among the earthly flowers. I do not know when God took him.

The flowers were God's ministers to him, as every common thing may be to us. Little Maud, we have more than he to draw us close to God. For all our common loves and duties may be purer and sweeter than flowers, tokens more divine of His love who infinitely gives.

Cybo of the Golden Island who knew the truth but dimly, worshipping God among the flowers, is a vision fair to keep.

Thank God for the beauty of wood and blossom and stream; but most of all for the beauty and love and sweetness of home; for its dear ties, for its duties and even its For these are the heart-flowers, whose fragrance outlasts time.

cares.

H. W. H. W.

TH kind on the window near to which Harry Nelson's bed was, and he could plainly see, as he lay there one night, the heavy clouds rolling in dark masses beneath the sky as the moon shone out in fitful gleams, while ever and anon came the beating of the rain against the window panes.

HERE was no blind or screen of any

Although it was the month of November, there was no fire, or light of any kind, to

throw a cheerful appearance through the room; and little Harry, after eating a piece of stale white bread and drinking a draught of cold water, said his prayers and went to bed, but he could not sleep. His thoughts went back to the pretty little cottage he

used to live in with his father and mother, when he heard the lark sing as it mounted higher and higher, while he remembered how delightful a thing it was to feed the pretty white rabbits with their pink eyes, and to have a romp afterwards with Carlo, through the hay-scented meadow, near to which the silvery river ran.

But now all was different; his mother whom he loved so fondly, and who used to kiss him, and hear his prayer of 'Now I lay me down to sleep,' had left him and gone to her heavenly Father. And now he was in a little confined garret in a busy town, while his father was quite changed, and was often drunk with the liquor he obtained at the public house, filling Harry with terror every time he saw him in that condition, which, alas! was pretty frequent.

Harry hated the sight of strong drink, and had often spoken to his father urging him to to give it up, but in vain. No wonder the little boy was feeling lonely, and in a

41

sudden recollection of the happiness of former days, burst into a fit of weeping. Rut suddenly his sobbing ceased, for he heard the well-known tramp, tramp, of his father's footsteps as he came up the wooden stair, while he crouched lower down among the scanty bed clothes as his father entered, and after several attempts managed to light a candle, which he stuck in an empty bottle and set it on the wooden table.

Harry looked at his father and could perceive he was not in a very good humour, for you know, children, 'strong drink is raging' (Prov. xx. 1). 'Come, get up, you lazy fellow,' cried his father, approaching the bed; and Harry quickly jumped up and hurriedly put on his clothes. His father then ordered him to go for some whisky, at the same time giving him a small coin and a bottle.

'But, father, there is no bread in the house,' said Harry, in a pleading voice.

'Off with you at once!' and Harry was glad to retreat down the stair, and soon emerged in the busy street. He could not bear to enter a public house just now, and as he was wandering slowly along in the middle of the road-there was a sudden cry, and ere the driver of the approaching van could draw in the horse, he was thrown down and run over!

Harry did not regain consciousness till he found himself in the infirmary, lying on a bed, of which there were a great many. He felt a peculiar feeling about his leg, and found to his consternation that the left one had been cut off a little above the knee, as the doctor told him afterwards, 'It had to be done to save his life.'

Harry awoke one morning, and on looking at the bed next his, found, that instead of having its usual occupant, it was tenanted by an older man; and imagine his surprise when he found out it was his own father! In a drunken fit he had missed his footing and toppled down stairs, bruising himself severely and cutting his head, and SO was taken by kind hands to the infirmary. He remained there several days and had time for reflection, and through God's mercy and the attendance of

the earnest minister who prayed and spoke with him, he resolved to give up his evil course, and do without drink. Of course it would require hard fighting and strong, to conquer its thirst, but it must be done; or he felt he would be lost for ever, for no drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God' (1 Cor. vi. 10).

It brought the tears to his eyes as he saw Harry walking about, trying how he could manage with his wooden leg; for his conscience smote him as he felt that had he not sent him out for whisky, the accident would never have occurred.

However, they both got better; and through the help of friends his father obtained a situation as gardener in a country place where there was no temptation to drink, and he and Harry became as loving as formerly when his mother was alive; and and Harry felt although he had only a leg and a half, it was better to be in that condition than have his father come home intoxicated. Harry grew strong again under the influence of good, food and fresh air, and has been enrolled a member of a Band of Hope, with his father as superintendent; who has learned by past experience, that the best way to make sober men is to train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it' (Prov. xxii. 6).

Is He come to you? Your heavenly Father has promised to give the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him. So, if you ask, He is sure to give. Then ask that the Holy Spirit may come into your heart, and dwell there always.

Is He come to you? Are you not quite sure whether He has come yet, or not? The rest of this verse tells you how you may know. Jesus said, When the Comforter is come, He shall testify of me.' That means, He will tell you about Jesus; He will put thoughts of Jesus into your mind, and love to Jesus into your heart, and He will make you see and understand more about Jesus than you did before. If you are thinking about Him, and glad to hear about Him, and trying to please Him, I think the Comforter is come, and is beginning to testify of Jesus in you.

Is he coming to you? Then you will never be without a Comforter, whatever troubles come; if they are little vexations or disappointments, He can make you see the bright side, and be patient, and trustful, and happy; if they are great troubles, perhaps illness or some dear one taken away from you, still He can comfort you, that you will wonder and find out for the first time what a very precious gift He is, and what sweet peace can hush your sorrow 'when the Comforter is come.'

'Our blest Redeemer, ere He breathed
His tender, last farewell,

A Guide, a Comforter, bequeathed.
With us to dwell.

'And His, that gentle voice we hear,
Soft as the breath of even,

That checks each fault, that calms each fear,
And speaks of heaven.'

(From 'Little Pillows.') FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL.

father, had a private fortune of nearly £300 (present value £1,000) a year besides his business; while his mother, Elizabeth Steward, was related to the royal house of Stuart. Their son Oliver was born on the 25th of April, 1599.

When quite a child, Oliver's career was nearly brought to a speedy termination by drowning. He fell into a river, but was saved, just in time, by a clergyman called Mr Johnson. There was work for Cromwell to do, so God did not suffer him to drown. Many years afterwards, he met this clergymen, and asked him if he remembered the good service he had rendered. 'I do,' replied he, 'and I wish I had let you drown, rather than see you here in arms against your king.' Cromwell smiled and passed on.

The bold, determined character of Oliver was shown on several occasions. When nine years of age he committed some fault which required to be severely punished. His father was from home, so his mother gave him a severe caning and sent him early to bed. Mrs Cromwell loved her son very dearly, and he loved her in return; so Oliver's misconduct made them both very miserable. His mother was sorry to punish him, but she knew it was for his good to teach him when he did wrong. You know when our parents punish us, it is not because they do not love us, but just because they love us that they do it. They want us to grow up good men and women; and so try to keep us from doing what is wrong by punishing us when we do it. Well, on this particular occasion Oliver lay sobbing in bed, when a servant who happened to come into the room mentioned that his mother had gone to visit a sick friend, and was intending to return by a road across some fields. Immediately he remembered that a fierce bull had been put into one of the fields that day, and that it might attack his mother as she had on a red cloak. As soon as the servant left the room, up got Oliver, dressed quickly, escaped by the window, armed himself with a light spade, and hurried to warn his mother. He met

her in time, told her of her danger, and proud of his position as guard to his mother, led her safely past the animal.

Another anecdote illustrates the same determined fearlessness of character. On one occassion when he was spending his school holidays with his father, a terrible disease, called the black fever, broke out in the neighbourhood. It was such a terrible pestilence that people were afraid to help sick neighbours lest they themselves should catch the infection. At the back of his father's brewery were several cottages, and in one of these lived the foreman, who had been very kind to Oliver when a child. The pestilence entered this cottage, and laid upon a bed of sickness, first the mother, next some of the children, and lastly the foreman himself. The neighbours, in alarm, would afford no assistance. Nurses were got, but one caught the infection and the others fled from fear. There seemed to be nothing left for the family but to die. A friend however appeared in young Oliver. When he heard the foreman was sick, he

set the disease at defiance and went to attend him. His parents tried to hinder him, but he replied, 'That not a sparrow could fall to the ground without the Lord's special permission, and that he wished to make himself worth many sparrows.' And so he proceeded, cooking their meals, sharing them himself, and trying to be useful in every way. At last the woman died, followed by one of her children. Encouraged by Oliver's example, two neighbours came to help the family, and the dead were decently buried. The father and rest of the family recovered under young Cromwell's nursing, and he was able to leave his friend on the fair road to recovery. Oliver never took the disease. There was One who saw him doing his duty, and shielded him from infection. He learned the truth of the psalm, Thou shalt not be afraid for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noon-day. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall

เ