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11. Name four instances in which a soft answer reconciled offended brethren?

12. Name four instances in which grievous words stirred up anger ?

13. Give one verse which tells us what such grievous words are like, what evil they do, and from whence they come?

14. On what occasion did a word fitly spoken pacify an angry man, and lead to his conversion?

15. In one verse give a beautiful picture of the common conversation af a good woman?

We had thought in the end of last month, that it would be a simple matter to have given the initials and addresses of all our young correspondents; but as these amount to a hundred, it would occupy too much of our space. We take another plan: giving the correct answers for January and February. Each competitor will thus be enabled to compare his or her answers with ours, and to keep their own marks. Answers have been forwarded from Tunbridge Wells in the south, and from Little Dunkeld, Perthshire, in the north; and some of the letters accompanying the answers have gone far to encourage us in our work.

JANUARY. 1. Enoch (Jude 14); 2. (Genesis 5. 24: Heb. 11. 5); 3. (Heb. 11. 5: Gen. 5. 24); 4. Noah (Gen. 6. 9); 5. Ezekiel 14. 14).

FEBRUARY. 6. (1 Chron, 4. 9, 10); 7. (Prov. 30. 7, 8); 8. (Phil. 4. 11); 9.* (Phil. 4. 6); 10. (2 Kings 4. 13).

*Heb. 13. 5, and Matt. 6. 33, together with one or two other passages, form also correct answers to No. 9.

All communications for the Editor of 'The Dayspring,' to be addressed to REV. JOHN KAY, Greenbank Cottage, Coatbridge.

All business communications to be addressed to Messrs J. & R. PARLANE, Publishers, Paisley.

MARCH

SABBATH MORNING BIBLE READINGS

FOR FORENOON SERVICES.

Mar. 3. GENESIS 6. 5-22-The Ark built. Memory text-Heb. 11. 7. Psalm 46. 1.

Mar. 10. LUKE 2. 22-52-Jesus in the temple.

Memory text-Prov. 6. 20-22. Psalm 26. 8.

Mar. 17. GENESIS 17.-The Flood. Memory text-2 Peter 2. 5. Psalm 91. 8.

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'A bell and a pomegranate, a bell and a pomegranate,' Exod. 39.26
Jesus, Thou art our High Priest,
Calling to Thy gospel feast;
Wafting o'er our prison cells
Music of Thy golden bells.

Sweet and solemn was their voice,
Sinners, come!' they said, 'Rejoice,
'Lo! we break your prison spells-
'We are Jesus' golden bells.

'Lift your heavy-lidded eyes,
'Come, behold your Sacrifice.'
Then were Death's dissolving knells
Silent for Thy golden bells:
Ringing notes of glad release-
God's own melody of peace;
Joy through all our spirit wells-
Wonder at Thy golden bells.
Music of the inner shrine !
Music sweet in ears Divine;
Clear amid the glory swells,
Living voice of golden bells.

Hand of faith, and breath of prayer,
Ye may touch them, even there!
Lord, we come, Thy love impels--
Lead us on, sweet golden bells!'

CODA, to be sung after the first and last verses.
Lord, we listen while we sing :
Let Thy golden bells ring!

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LITTLE ALBRECHT-LOST AND FOUND.

PRAYER: A WORD TO MOTHERS.

AN the eye rest anywhere upon a more CAN touching, solemn sight than a child at prayer? Life, with its joys and sorrows, with its trials and blessings is just beginning to open up its many-coloured pages to the eye of the suppliant, and the Being to whom the child comes is the Great I AM to whom all lives are known in their past, in their present, and future. Look at it from another side. This little one, so helpless, so touchingly helpless, casts itself upon the power and love of the Heavenly Father who is at the same time the Almighty God. Now, what I wish mothers to do is, to impress by all means on their children the need for reality in prayer. I have sometimes wondered if this be not overlooked. Are there not mothers who feel quite satisfied if the child can be got simply to say 'our Father which art in heaven?' The question becomes with me every day a more pressing one, how far it is right to offer the language of prayer in any case unless the heart is first brought to feel some need in connection with it. I know I am touching on a difficult point; that is how far the mere habit of uttering the language of prayer may, in the case of children, conduce in after years to the reality. I confess to having my fears lest the one thing, apart from the other, should have evil consequences. Would it not be well that we encouraged our children more to express in their own words, their own wants to approach the Great Father even as they would approach their father on earth with the unstudied appeal in reference to felt needs? No doubt the child will sometimes ask for things that suppliants more advanced would never dream of asking, but, all the same, that thing which they do ask is simply what they feel they must have or be unhappy. Encourage them, therefore, to approach God with their own words. The mistakes into which they fall will afford you many opportunities of setting them right, and of pointing out the true nature of prayer in its manner and subjects. You have gained everything, if you succeed in teaching the child to be natural and truthful in its dealings with God.

LITTLE ALBRECHT-LOST AND FOUND.

I.

DRIP, drip, drip came the showerpatter, patter; through the heart of all the forest fell the great summer raindrops; fell on the broad shiney leaves, fell on the heavy flowers. But the castle in the woods was a home, and the clouds could not make it dark-not dark to the little child whose mother's arms were round it.

She was speaking very low; she was saying, 'God is love-God cares for my little Albrecht, He will always care.'

And sleepy little Albrecht clasped his fat arms closer round her, and lifted his great wondering eyes to the darkness that gathered beyond.

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"Say "Our Father," said the mother, and little Albrecht whispered the prayer, reverently, dreamily, and then he fell asleep-his red cheek pressed close to hers, and her lips warm upon his hand.

And when little Albrecht woke, all the rain had passed; the sunshine lay bright across his pillow, but his mother was far away. There had come a message from his father, who was wounded in the war. the mother kissed the boy while he slept, and left him to his nurse's care.

And

Albrecht played in the woods, heard the thrush and the blackbird sing, saw the violets blowing, and coyed with the sunbeams that slid down among the great oaks. He was but three years old, but he had learned to pray. And when he clasped his hands, so dimpled and tiny, and in half-formed, infantine speech, scarce knowing what the words could mean, said, 'For Jesus' sake' -over his baby face a gentle reverence would steal, for the good God was near him -He speaks to the little children.

And his mother had taught him often, 'The good God in heaven is our Fatherand He loves little Albrecht, and He hears him when he speaks.' And thus he dimly learned of God, and heaven, and prayer. For, holding his hand in the woods, she said, 'God cares for the lilies.' And when the birds built among the elms, she had said, 'He hears the ravens when they cry.' She taught him, 'He has made summer.' She

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LITTLE ALBRECHT-LOST AND FOUND.

taught him, The day is His.' And when the quiet, clear stars twinkled far up in the skies, and little Albrecht wondered, she would say to him again-The night also is His.' And thus he was taught in his babyhood of the God to whom he prayed. Happy careless little Albrecht, dreaming never of fear!

II.

One day it happened that Albrecht's nurse sat sleepily under a tree. And the child, unnoticed by her, went chasing the butterflies and bees.

Now, it happened often in these woods that bands of gypsies would stray. Little Albrecht himself had seen his mother once talking to a gypsy here. And the woman had looked very kind, and showed her white teeth in smiles, those teeth that looked like rows of pearls, under the brown gypsy skin. Albrecht had not been afraid of her, and the little gypsy children looked happy; he had seen them playing with their laps full of nuts and leaves. And so when he strayed from his nurse after the heavy laden bees, and a gypsy woman came to him, Albrecht did not cry nor run away.

Albrecht let her hold his hand. She said she would show him bees that were yellower and bigger than these, and butterflies of a brighter blue-butterflies that would come to his call. And so he went with no fear, and when he grew a little tired, the gypsy took him in her arms, and walked very fast and far till they came to a covered waggon where many other gypsies were. The woman went into the waggon, and Albrecht still in her arms.

Then he began to be afraid because of the dark, strange faces; and he cried to go back to his nurse-he did not care for the butterflies. But it was no use now to cry, for the gypsies had stolen Albrecht.

They took off his fine clothes, and dressed him in gypsy tatters. And they stained his face with wild juices, till even his mother's eyes could not have known her little son. Albrecht for many a night and day would cry himself to sleep, and put out his little hand in his dreams to cling to his mother

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or his nurse. And sometimes he would wake in the night and find only the gypsy beside him, and his little baby heart would almost break for sorrow.

The gypsy tried to be kind to him. She sang him her gypsy songs, and taught him her gypsy speech, and would get him the sweetest bits out of the big boiling pot, and she would get him new milk, and carress him as gently as she could. So that Albrecht at length began to think less of his home, and to cling to the gypsy Miriam who was trying to be his friend.

And always when the stars came out, he would clasp his little hands and say, Our Father-for Jesus' sake.' The poor little wandering child knew scarcely more words to say. But the angels take care of the children, and teach them silently perhaps, in the wind and the night, and the flowers, and keep in their heart the good words of those who are no longer near to teach them.

And in the little Albrecht's 'Our Father -for Jesus' sake,' there was doubtless truer prayer than in many longer sentences framed with more knowledge and art. Because prayer is always but the lifting ot the heart to God-the little child-spirit asking the Father's help-asking by that sweet pledge which His own word has given as unfailing-asking for Jesus' sake. And so the Father hears. And surely he heard the little wanderer who knew no more to say.

III.

Years passed away. Albrecht was a baby no more. He had grown a gypsy boy -matted-haired, brown-skinned, but his eyes would not change, they gleamed still, the Saxon blue, milder, quieter eyes than those of his wild-wood friends.

They had taken him far away from the castle and the woods-to a foreign land they had taken him, and taught him the strange gypsy tongue. He had forgotten his own name. He had never heard it once since the day he was stolen from his home. 'Covey,' they called him in the camp; 'twas the only name he knew. And he

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