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LESSONS FROM THE BOOK OF NATURE.

cage has to be padded in order to prevent the poor thing from injuring its wings. There is also a peculiarity in its mode of flying. It mounts as though drawn upwards by some law more powerful than the gravitation that tends to keep it down. This is so different from the darting movement of the linnet, the skimming gait of the swallow, or the heavy flapping wing of the crow.

On one occasion I was walking through a crowded and dirty part of the city, weary and perhaps a bit discontented in spirit, when suddenly there broke overhead the familiar song of the lark, calling to mind irresistably the green meadows and clear skies of the country. Far up in the many storied building, a cage hung from the window explained the mystery. Poor little warbler, you are far from home, but you have read me a lesson. Who had brought the bird there? Possibly some one to whom the song of the lark brought back sweet memories of the unforgotten past, and so I forgave the owner of the tiny prisoner. But as a rule it is cruel to keep larks in captivity: they, of all birds, should have freedom.

In order fully to enjoy the singing of the lark, we must seek him in his native haunts. Out by the pleasant meadow or in some quiet country road, while the sun shines brightly, and the soft south wind blows, the lark will often rise suddenly from your very side, and with a perfect burst of melody he soars away up, up into the clear blue sky, till he seems a mere speck in the heavens, which finally disappears altogether from our view. Where has the bird gone? Has he left this world for some serener clime? Have patience for a time, sometimes not very long, and you will see Mr Lark descending rapidly, almost like a stone falling, until he is within a short distance from the ground, when he will spread his wings and fly like any other bird. The lark delights in extremes. You seldom find him sitting on a tree; he is either up amongst the clouds or near the earth. They build always on the ground; a nice tidy nest, but by no means the

elaborate structure of the chaffinch: just as though they did not mean to tarry long so low down. But come and let us get behind a hedge, so as unobserved to watch for the exact spot where the nest is, for Mrs Lark is wise. She alights a few yards off from her home and then runs rapidly amongst the tall grass till she disappears behind thickish tuft of bent or grass. Oh, the pleasure of such a discovery after having sought in vain for days! But we wont raise the bird just when she has got comfortably settled in her nest. Some other time, now that we know the exact spot, when she is not at home, you and I may take a peep at the neat little home, with its pretty brown eggs lying so cosily.

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The male lark does not stop his singing during the breeding season, but is often to be found in the neighbourhood of the nest soaring up in the sky, although he does not go quite so far away then; for like a good husband he considers it to be his duty to assist his wife in the management of their young family, feeding them and teaching them to fly, and so set up in life for themselves.

There is a very beautiful line from an old song that says:

'Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings.' That is a fine idea, isnt it? Let us in this seek to imitate him, and rise above the cares and sorrows of earth to sing at heaven's gate. We can only do this by rising from sin, getting free of it; for that is it which clogs our wings. Sorrow and sadness will, I expect, remain with us all the time that we are outside 'heaven's gates,' but still we may sing like the imprisoned lark when we are able to rise in spirit nearer to God; and so like it we may thereby cheer some footsore and weary traveller, on the pavement far below, engaged in a turmoil of care and trouble even greater than our own.

Sing on then, sweet bird, by meadow or moor; and in thy upward flight take with thee the hearts of the children of men, up, up into the presence of God, where all is purity and joy and love,

A. W

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Y DEAR HARRY,

MY

Epping Forest. LETTERS FOR THE MONTHS.

So still a place; yet you would love it I think, for it is in the heart of a forest Not whose name has a charm of its own. real forest land that is long gone; but shady delicious vestiges, lying miles apart.

The villages which dot it here and there And the are sweet as England holds. great trees bear themselves with a venerable state as trees that had shadowed the chase when queen Elizabeth reigned.

Down its long green arcades queen Elizabeth often rode, with the pomp of her

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lords and ladies making gay contrasts in the solemn forest gloom.

And centuries before queen Elizabeth another queen stood there; the poor, proud, heroic Boadicea, with her Druids and her soldiers round her.

'When the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods
Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods.
Sage beneath the spreading oak,
Sate the Druid hoary chief,
Every burning word he spoke,
Full of rage and full of grief.'

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And there still stand patriarch oaks, whose gnarled boughs look old enough to have sheltered queen and Druid in that ancient tragic counsel in the forest. It was among the oaks of Epping forest Boadicea gathered her people to meet the Romans who invaded her island realm.

The oaks are still pre-eminently the monarchs of the place. Let his majesty's forests and chaces be stored with this spreading tree,' wrote a writer on sylvan England in a generation past. But you, my little bright friend, do not need to be told its praise.

Have you not learned long ago its bright sweet various tones? The green and the yellow and the red and the brown which blend in one tender harmony? Have not its torn mossy branches been to you as ancient friends? How gentle and warm was the greenness that clasped the old rugged bough?

And you have thought as you looked on it how it had a history somewhere. Every old oak of England has such, unwritten and unread.

You have thought of the Druids, have you? I too have thought of them when the wind makes a soft inarticulate song through the deep summer green. And you have half wondered how men who loved the tree so well could have had rites so cruel, and beliefs so dark and stern.

The oak was their sacred tree. It was in the oak forests, as you know, that their sacred ceremonies were performed-those cruel ceremonies performed in the name of God.

Happily for us many gentler memories make poems of the oak trees for us. The wierd tales of the Druids we can forget now. Their human sacrifices, their stern counsels, their relentless rule-these pass, and a softer touch of story comes over the forest oaks.

There is the Shire oak, whose branches touch three counties with their shadowthe oak where Charles second hid; the oaks of queen Elizabeth.

And many a quiet tree there is, with its lovely village story, known only to those who played beneath it in their youth, or

mused beneath its shadow when the evening time drew on.

A gentle pleasure you may find in talking with the old oak trees-in listening with quiet heart to the songs that are sung through their leaves-in letting their music fall through your cares like the hush of a gospel story.

For the leaves of the forest trees sing sweet and constant psalms. Upon an instrument of ten strings, upon the psaltery, upon the harp with a solemn sound.

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Praise Him with the psaltery and harp. 'Praise Him with the high-sounding cymbals.

'He bringeth forth the winds from His treasuries.'

When you have read such words have you thought of the cedars of Lebanon, and how, perhaps, through their great spreading boughs David first had learned his psalms?

Did you ever chant them to yourself low beneath some old oak, and hear their rhythm rung back to you in the music of the green leaves?

Try to learn the sweetness of listening for God among the trees, and answering His presence with the glad praise.

'Thou hast made summer!'

The afternoon shadows are stealing long and quiet down the forest glades. I must feel the sunshine in them. Good-bye, my

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OF

F the many famous men who have risen by their own genius and industry, few hold so high a place as James Ferguson. The story of his boyhood is most interesting, and well fitted to encourage those who have difficulties to face.

The parents of James Ferguson were poor; and as they had a large family to support, they could give their children a very short education. James, in his eagerness to learn to read, listened to his father teaching his elder brother, and then, when a quiet opportunity occurred, he would take the book and go over the lesson for

JAMES FERGUSON.

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himself. Any difficulty he took to neighbouring old woman, who gladly explained it to him. In this way he learned to read before his father began to teach him. His father was both surprised and pleased when he found how far his son was on. He gave him higher teaching along with lessons in writing. This education at home, along with about three months in the grammar school at Keith, was all the preparation James had for making his way in the world.

When seven or eight years old, James saw his father using a lever in making some repairs on their house. The power which this instrument gave his father excited his wonder, and led him to make experiments for himself, not only with the lever, but with pulleys and weights. This was the beginning of his love for science.

Ferguson was early sent to work, in order to support himself. A neighbour engaged him to watch sheep, a situation which he kept for several years. In the daytime he busied himself making models of mills and other things, and at night he studied the stars. His mode of studying astronomy was original and interesting. As he advanced in his work he was not occupied at night; and then was the time he chose for study. He tells his own story as follows. Talking of his master he says, 'I found him very kind and indulgent, but he soon observed that, in the evenings, when my work was over, I went into a field with a blanket about me, lay down on my back, and stretched a thread with small beads upon it till they hid such and such stars from my eye in order to take their apparent distances from one another; and thus, laying the thread down on a paper, I marked the stars thereon by the beads according to their respective positions, having a candle by me. My master at first laughed at me, but when I explained my meaning to him, he encouraged me to go on; and that I might make fair copies in the daytime of what I had done in the night, he often worked for me himself. I shall always have a respect for the memory of that man.' After a time of service with a gentleman

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who took an interest in him, Ferguson tried attending to a mill, thinking occupation of this kind would give him time for study. His master was unkind, and after a year he left. His next master was still worse, so with injured health and an empty pocket he was forced to return home. While recovering his strength he made a wooden clock, the bell on which the hammer struck being the neck of a broken bottle. He also made a watch, of which the wheels were wood and the spring was whalebone. The case, also of wood, was the size of a large cup.

A neighbouring gentleman, pleased with Ferguson's cleverness, engaged him to clean his clocks. In this way he began to make a little money in the country round, making this gentleman's house his head-quarters. Two large stone balls, about the size of geographical globes, stood at the gate of this house. These Ferguson painted with oil colours: the one a map of the terrestrial globe, the other a map of the celestial. When the sun was shining, he could tell by them the time of day, and also the places in the world where the sun at that moment was rising or setting.

The next move he made was to Edinburgh. There he started portrait painting, at which he was very successful. Not only did he support himself, but also his parents, now in their old age. Children, when your parents grow old, think of the care they took of you when you were too young to take care of yourselves, and do your best to make them comfortable and happy, showing in this way your gratitude.

Ferguson is now passing into the man, so we must leave him. In after years he followed out his favourite study of astronomy, and made himself famous by his discoveries. He was elected a member of the Royal Society without paying for admission-a very rare honour to natives of Britain. His works were translated into several languages, and after a long and useful life, he died in 1776, leaving behind an honoured name. Learn the lesson of his life: A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold.'

J. M'M.

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GLIMPSES OF THE NEW HEBRIDES.

GLIMPSES OF THE NEW HEBRIDES.

PROGRESS ON ANEITYUM.

HE ship, John Williams,' the gift of THE the children of England to the London Missionary Society, arrived at Samoa early in 1845. This vessel, so suitable a memorial of the noble missionary whose name it bore, was an invaluable aid to Polynesian Missions. Dr. Turner, who sailed with her on her first voyage to the New Hebrides, writes: It is delightful to be in such a vessel. Captain, mate, carpenter, and two seamen, pious, and all the rest in regular attendance at family worship, morning and evening. It is a heaven upon the sea compared with many a ship.'

When the ship came to Aneityum, the missionaries learned that one of the Samoan teachers and his wife who had been placed there in 1841, had died, and that the lives of the other two teachers had been repeatedly in danger.

At that time only one native of Aneityum, named Umra, had renounced heathenism, but eleven others were coming to the teacher's house at night to receive instruction. A chief named Nohuat, had promised to befriend teachers, and so two were stationed in his district.

Dr. and Mrs. Geddie from Nova Scotia, reached Samoa in 1847, and when the 'John Williams' arrived in 1848, Dr. Turner accompanied them to the New Hebrides, to assist them in selecting a field for their future labours. The Rev. T. Powell and Mrs. Powell went with them to aid in founding the new mission. Faté was the island first thought of, but as the teachers there had met with great opposition-one of them having been killed-Aneityum was fixed on as the most favourable spot. Accordingly, Dr. Geddie began his life-long labours on that island, Mr and Mrs Powell assisting him for the first year. Umra had been at Samoa for a time and returned with the missionaries. His glowing accounts of all he had seen and heard at Samoa, delighted his countrymen, and inclined some of them to listen to the message of salvation.

For a time Dr. and Mrs. Geddie endured many hardships and laboured under great discouragement. Their property

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stolen and their lives were in constant danger from the clubs of the savages who accused them of bringing hurricanes, diseases, and death. The mission premises were set on fire at midnight, in Nov. 1851. When Nohoat saw the smouldering roof he wept, and determined to protect the missionary. Other friends joined him, and from that day the cause of Christ advanced steadily.

On the 18th of May 1852, when the 'John Williams' was in the harbour and a deputation from the London Missionary Society was present, thirteen native converts were baptized and the Lord's Supper was observed. Thus the first Christian church on Aneityum was formed. On the 1st July following, the Bishop of New Zealand's mission vessel arrived, bringing Mr and Mrs Inglis. They were stationed at Aname on the opposite side of the island, the place where the Samoan teachers had been at first located.

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From this time wonderful crowned the labours of the missionaries. The letters received from them were such as to draw tears of joy from the eyes of their friends at home; reminding them of the labours of the apostle Paul: So mightly grew the Word of God and prevailed.'

In 1859, Dr. Turner again visited Aneityum in the John Williams,' and he thus describes what he saw at that time.

'Aneityum, 5th October.-This morning we anchored in the harbour of Aneligauhat. Found Mr and Mrs Geddie and family well, and the affairs of the mission making progress in the right direction. The walls of a new stone church are rising, beautifully figurative of the steady advance of the cause of Christ on this island; and, I was struck also with the fact, that the place on the beach where the natives were digging up the sandstone for their church, was about the very spot where Mr Murray and I had our meeting with the chief Nohoat and some of his people. I spoke a few words to them expressive of my great joy in in seeing what God, by the gospel, had done for them; reminded them of our struggle with

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