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That widow oft, with streaming tears,
The touching story will repeat;
With grateful pride the mother hears
The praises of her son so sweet;
For all who know him prophesy
That he a noble man will be.

Yet lovely as these actions be,

LOUIS XVII.

What pleases God and man the most, Is Edward's sweet humility

He never once was heard to boast;
Unconscious he, as floweret fair
That with sweet fragrance fills the air.
A loving, meek, and lowly child

Our blessed Lord will not despise ;
Those who obey his precepts mild

Are truly noble in his eyes. Though poor on earth, to such are given A crown of glory up in heaven. If we our neighbour's sorrows share,

And soothe his woes with all our skill, Then we each other's burdens bear,

And thus the law of Christ fulfil; That holy law, that blest command, A little child may understand.

ARNOLD'S WATCH.

A. M.

OLD Arnold sat in the porch. A group

of children stood round him, gazing at his experiments with a watch he held in his hand. Arnold prized the watch very highly. It was the gift of a dear friend; and he was grieved to think that, do what he would, he could not get it to tell the right time—it was always losing or gaining. Until he suddenly bethought him that the balance-wheel had, by some means, been subject to electricity. He took a magnet, and found that his suspicions were correct -the wheel was immediately attracted by the magnet, showing that this was the cause of its failure to keep the other parts of the watch in proper working order. You know that in a watch all depends on the balance. If this gets out of order, the whole watch will be wrong.

Arnold explained this to the wondering boys and girls at his knee; showed them the uselessness of his trying to mend his

watch while the balance-wheel was out of order or off its balance. Then he applied the lesson to themselves.

'Boys and girls,' said he, 'you see this balance-wheel? The position it takes in my watch is the position taken by conscience in us. Should conscience be wrong, all else will be wrong. You may read your Bibles, you may pray, you may go to church and Sabbath school, but if your conscience be not at rest-if it be disturbed by the knowledge that all is not right within-that you have little sins and little follies which should no longer exist if you are a child of God-then I say you can not keep the human watch going steadily as it should: the balance-wheel wants looking to. No use in trying to set the other wheels to do the principal duty-they wont. Perhaps some of you may have told a lie to-day; you feel uncomfortable about it at least, if you do not, you ought to-nothing goes right: the balance-wheel is wrong; conscience is not at rest. Do you know who can set this right for you, dear young friends? Jesus Christ. He will take away all the old faults in your watch; He will regulate the balancewheel; He will set it to keep right time for ever. Only you must put your watch into His hand, and tell Him where it is wrong; you must say, "Create in me a clean heart, O God": and then, with a clean conscience, there need be no fearthe balance wheel will be correct.' M. B. G.

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FAMOUS BOYS.

THE AMIABLE BOY-LOUIS XVII. HE life of Louis XVII. was a short one, extending only to ten years; but it was long enough for him to show qualities which older people often lack. Children and princes,' says the author who writes his life, are generally full of themselves; but this prince had the selfishness neither of princes nor of children, who are kings in their own way. He always thought, not of himself, but of others; he was tender towards those who loved him,

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glory. Convinced of his error, Louis took his mother's hand, and kissing it, said:

Well, dear mamma, I will make it my glory to follow your counsels and to obey you.'

Thus, at an early age, he had learned the importance of the commandment, 'Honour thy father and thy mother.'

To show his affection for his mother, every morning when the weather permitted he gathered a bouquet for her. When unable to do so, he would say, 'I am displeased with myself; I have not this morning earned mamma's first kiss.' Children, never be ashamed to show your love for your parents. Boys sometimes talk with contempt of being tied to a mother's apron strings; but there is nothing more worthy of a manly boy—a boy of really noble character-than attachment and loving obedience to a mother.

On another occasion he took a flute belonging to a page, and hid it in a tree. The queen heard of this, and in order to teach him he had done wrong, shut up his dog in a dark closet. The whining of the dog excited his pity; and going to his mother declared that he and not the dog should be punished, as the dog had nothing to do with the fault. So having got the dog released, he underwent the punishment for teasing the page. On getting out again, he took the flute and returned it to the owner. We should learn from this never to let others, not even dumb animals, suffer the punishment for what we have done.

When busy one day with his flowers, a poor woman came to him and asked him to carry her petition for help to the queen. Next day she came back eager to hear the result of his mission. Handing her a piece of gold, 'That,' he said, 'is from mamma, and this'-giving her a bouquet-'is my present.'

In company with his mother, he visited frequently the hospitals. There he delighted in cheering the patients with gifts. He gathered his pocket-money in order to have more to give away. The king, not

knowing the reason, one day came upon his stock of money.

'What,' he asked, 'are you hoarding like the misers?'

'Yes, papa,' he answered, 'I am a miser, but it is for the poor foundlings. Ah! if you were to see them, they are truly piteous.'

The king of course expressed his approval of the object.

Misfortunes at length befell the king. The people rose against him. He, the queen, and his family were imprisoned. The rebels went still further; the king was brought to trial, condemned, and executed. The party who supported the government declared his son ruler; and thus the prince was made king, under the name of Louis XVII., when he was only eight years old. He, however, never had the real power, as his foes were stronger. They kept him in prison and ill-treated him in many ways. He bore his hardships with a noble spirit.

'If set at liberty,' asked one who had been very cruel to him, 'what would you do to me?'

'I would forgive you,' was the answer.

He was forced to endure greater trials still. His mother, Marie Antoinette, was condemned and executed also; so that now he was left an orphan when only eight years old, in the hands of his enemies. Release came at length in the form of death. The ill-treatment he received made

his health give way. On the last day of his life, the attendant said:

I hope you are not in pain just now.' 'Oh, yes!' he answered, 'I am still in pain, but not nearly so much—the music is so beautiful!'

'From what direction do you hear the music?'

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LETTERS FOR THE MONTHS.

surely find it so; and as the early flowers die in the valleys, the late flowers will bloom upon the hills.

Have you joy in the meadows-in the windy and long grass? Then come, little one, this glad summer day.

St. Asaph is a quiet little city, not very far from the sea, yet gathering round its cathedral with a dreamy, forgotten look. And if you go there, you will not linger long till you go to St. Mary's in the meadows, three miles away.

Have you a long summer day? Then be content to walk, and gather without grudging the wealth of the hedgerows as you go. Sweet with a tangle of sweetness they are on this pleasant wayside.

The wild-flowers, familiar and dear, greet you like happy friends. But here and there a strange, bright presence shines up amidst the green leaves. One of these, if 'tis early autumn, is a straight, tall spike of berries, of glorious crimson colour, on a stem of vivid green. It gleams out in bold, bright beauty among the soft, fading things. You see it once, and never forget it more.

You wonder and ask for its name. You are told it is the arum, or perhaps the cuckoo-pint, or the wake-robin it may be. For all these names it bears--a strange and bright thing, which is sure to greet your eye as you go to St. Mary's in the meadows. Trace of leaves you find none; yet, in the early summer time, quaint and curious leaf and flower spring up where the red berries grow. And had you been rash enough to taste it, the scorching pain of lip and tongue had made you remember unpleasingly this plant of such vagrant form.

Yet it held a serene place in the herbals of the early time, and was said to hide many virtues in its spathe of quiet green.

You lift your face from the arum berries. You turn and look back. You see on its low, rising ground the tower of St. Asaph's Cathedral. The trees are between you and it. But they part with a kindly grace, to leave a glimpse between their branches of the square old tower.

Many a page of history has been lived there. But you love the meadows better, do you, little one? Then, pass on.

There, beneath yon elm, is an old man leaning on his staff. He looks out wistfully on the yellowing fields of corn. He knows every field, you are sure, and every meadow and tree, like a song that is learned in youth, and rings on till the resting time. You ask him shyly and gently, with respect to his gray hairs:

Are we near St. Mary's?

Is the chapel

in the meadows far off?' He answers quaveringly, and points with his withered hand.

Then you know he loved these sunny meadows in his boyhood far away.

You

That is

Down some quiet, leafy lanes. have reached your journey's end. the river Elwy, and these the meadowlands, and yonder the cluster of trees which screens the ruined chapel.

The river, in a pure, blue bend, scarcely whispers under the trees, and the sunshine floods the daisied grass with such a glorious loveliness. And deep here among the daisies, and there among the long, meadow grass, you press to that bower of trees where the leafage gives deepest shade.

As you near it, wet cresses touch your feet; and when you bend down to gather them, the tiniest little melody greets your ear, if you are still.

Is it some faint, lingering echo of the psalms and hymns of long ago? Some note of sweet music dropped down for the ages to keep evermore, that the glad childheart may be softened when it hears, and the worn old heart be calmed?

It is surely meant here we should 'drink of the brook in the way,' and, bending over it, think of the 'river of the water of life'; of the river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God.'

For this low, perpetual hymn is the voice of a little stream that gurgles out from beneath the chapel wall, and broadens among the sweetnesses of wet forget-menots and cresses, blessing, like the peace of God, whatever it touches there.

You follow it nearer its source, and

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