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MYSIE-A TRUE STORY.

Pleasant are the meadows
Where our darling strays,
Where the flickering shadow
With the sunbeam plays.
There grow gold-eyed daisies,
Woodbine clusters rare,
Fragrant hawthorn blossoms
Snow down on his hair.

Every night his Mother
Bendeth o'er his bed,
Praying for a blessing

On the golden head.
Every morn his Father

Holds him on his knee, Listening to his prattle, Sharing in his glee.

Shade of care has never

O'er his soul been cast; Happy time of childhood!

How long will it last? What will be his future? Well-our sight is dim, Only God can tell it,

We can trust to Him. Very pure His heart is,

Free from thought of guile, He has tears for mourners,

Smiles for those who smile. Oh, our bright faced darling, "Tis not hard to see Why the heavenly kingdom Is for such as thee!

KATIE THOMSON.

MYSIE A TRUE STORY.

ONCE knew a little girl whose pet name was Mysie. She had good kind parents and brothers and sisters who loved her very much and made a pet of her. Mysie loved her papa and mamma and brothers and sisters dearly, and so she was generally very happy in her home. Perhaps some little reader will ask, was she not always happy when she had so much to make life pleasant?' No, she was at times very unhappy, because she was sometimes naughty and did bad things. Neither children nor grown people can be happy when they do wrong. One day Mysie took a book out of her papa's book-case, and put it in a place that she ought not to have done. A few days after this her

mamma wanted the book, and when she did not find it in the case, she asked Mysie if she knew where it was. The little girl was ashamed to tell what she had done, and so she said, 'I don't know.' This was a far worse fault than taking the book out of its place; it was telling a lie, which is a very great sin. Mysie's face told her mamma quite plainly that she was not speaking the truth, for children who are not in the habit of telling lies cannot do so without being found out at once. The good mother was very sorry to think that her child had been guilty of so great a sin. She spoke to her kindly and seriously about her fault, read her some texts from the Bible, which show how much God hates lying, and gave her a hymn to learn which begins

'Oh! 'tis a lovely thing for youth

To walk betimes in wisdom's way;
To fear a lie, to speak the truth,
That we may trust whate'er they say.'

She next told Mysie that Jesus had died that our sins might be forgiven, and that she must pray to God to pardon and cleanse her for Jesus' sake.

It is very likely that Mysie would soon have forgotten this lesson if she had not been punished for her fault, as well as told the evil of it. The wise mother knew this, and did not allow her to get to table beside her papa for any of her meals for two days. This was a severe punishment to the little girl, for she liked very much to sit beside her papa and to get on his knee to have a ride. She felt it very hard to sit in a corner alone, instead of being beside her own dear papa. But this made her remember, all her life, her good mother's lesson about the sin of telling lies; and she never again needed to be punished for this fault.

Long years after that tender mother had gone to be with Jesus, and Mysie had grown to be a woman, she often thought how thankful she ought to be to God for having given her such a wise loving mother who took so much pains to sow the seed of truthfulness in her heart in the days of her childhood.

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CONSIDERING THE POOR.

If any such glad little ones read this, I would like to make them think of the 'poor wee things' who hardly ever know what it is to meet a mother's smile; who, when they open their little eyes in the dull grey morning light, find that mother has gone, and perhaps the only protection left but a child; a child in years, with no child spirit, but with a sharp, sad, care-worn little face. The poor little things, deprived of mother's love and care, get through the long and weary days as best they can; taking what food they can get, no one to cook it nicely for them; no one to soothe and fondle them when they meet with hurts and troubles. Then when night comes, and their mother's day of labour over, she returns to them worn out in body, and depressed in spirit; it is but little she can do to make her children comfortable. The poor little things, after a scanty supper, are put unwashed into their miserable beds. Sleep is kind; in her arms they forget their ills, and perhaps dream of pleasures that they never taste.

Such is the life of thousands of little ones amongst the poor. And yet we live on forgetful of them, if only our dearest are provided with all we can afford of comfort or of luxury. And yet Christ's special charge to his people is to care for the poor, and afflicted, and destitute of earth. How sadly we fail in love and obedience to our acknowledged King, when such multitudes around us are uncared for, unhelped, left to struggle on alone through life's most rugged and most gloomy paths.

But there are many kind men and women to whom God has given riches, who do not forget the poor. Edward Murray, now a rich man, always remembered his homeless, desolate infancy. Well he obeyed good old Mrs Murray's dying charge, to consider the poor. And with a very tender father's heart beating within his own bosom, it was natural that his sympathies should first flow out to the little helpless children in the homes of the poor. Home is not the word for such dreary abodes; and a home Edward resolved to provide for all whom he could reach.

After Mrs Murray was left alone in the world, the husband of her youth removed from her side,-in the midst of her sorrow her heart melted in tenderness over the woes of those poor widows, who are left not only to mourn over the joy of their life departed, but, to battle with pitiless poverty, to gain a daily morsel of food for themselves, and their helpless, fatherless, little babes. She considered these poor ones, and the Lord helped her in the hour of trouble. In ministering to their wants, the balm of heavenly consolation was poured upon her own bleeding heart. During all these long years of widowhood, she gathered round her every Sabbath evening a group of desolate women, and their little children. Their bodily wants were first most generously provided for. With what bright faces did the children enter the large kitchen, and look around the richly provisioned table! One hearty meal a week did they enjoy, and perhaps for the most of them it was the only one. And then what kind and motherly counsel and instruction followed. Women and children loved their friend, who so earnestly cared for both their souls and bodies.

When Mrs Murray died, Edward and his wife did not let the weekly gathering break up, but strove to do all they could to fill the place of her who had entered into rest. When they talked with poor mothers, they found how many of them were out all day at work, away from their little ones who so much needed their care. So Edward, the first Sabbath evening that he had taken part in this meeting, said to his wife when she and their little ones were gathered alone together around their comfortable fireside, 'We must provide a home for these little ones, where they will spend their long days together, well fed, well cared for, and clothed. At night they can return to their mothers. The poor women will gladly bring them, and pay for them too as far as they are able. What do you think of it, Jane?' Such was the beginning of a conversation that ended in the taking of a roomy old house in a poor district of the town. The services of a

THE TWO-FOLD LIGHT.

good faithful nurse were secured, and with another woman to assist her, the Nursery Home' was opened.

The first morning six little infants, under two years old, were brought; wonderfully clean they were, though dressed in almost rags. Twenty other children, mostly under nine or ten, came also with their mothers. A plentiful breakfast of porridge and good sweet milk was set before them. Their empty bowls soon told how much they had enjoyed their well-made simple meal. Some of the little ones went to school. Old nurse saw that they were clean, and, as far as their clothing would allow, comfortable. Then her little baby charges got all her care, and every comfort thoughtful love could provide. When school was over the elder ones came back again, had supper, and learned their lessons. How thankful and pleased their mothers looked, as they came dropping in one by one to receive their precious burdens. Most of them had been home first, to have their poor houses as cozy like as possible before taking the little ones away from where

they were so comfortable, and well tended. All of them, as they went out, slipped a copper or two into the box that stood at the door. Edward did not wish to destroy their sense of independence, but to foster and encourage it. Almost daily does his wife pay a visit to the Nursery Home;' often some of her own children with her, who delight to carry many a comfortable little article of clothing, and many a nice little baby toy.

It is wonderfel how much improved the houses of the poor mothers have become, since they are daily witnesses of the order, and cleanliness, and comfort that reign in the Nursery Home.' Their children are there so happy and smiling, that they cannot bear to bring them into any unpleasantness at home. Cheerfulness goes far towards making people industrious; and now that the weight of care does not press so overwhelmingly upon them, they are freer in spirit to look around their homes in the evening to do what is necessary for their welfare. Many a nimble finger now

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plies the needle busily, where before all was inert, lifeless; because hopeless. But now, in Edward Murray, they have found a friend and helper; one who does not spare himself or his substance to make them happier and better. His life shows how deeply he feels his obligation to Christ, who gave Himself for us. If we are the followers of the good kind Saviour, we should seek to follow His steps, although it can only be afar off. There may be few who can do what Edward Murray does; but it is accepted according to what a man has, and not according to what he hath not. Christ said of the poor widow who threw in her two mites into the treasury, 'She of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.' None of us are too poor or too little to do something to help those who are in trouble and need; even a cup of cold water shall in no wise lose its reward.

WH

THE TWO-FOLD LIGHT.

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HEN a person goes on a journey there are two things he must keep steadily in view-the place where his journey is to end; and the road, step by step, as he goes along. The Bible sheds a two-fold light upon the path of the Christian. As a lamp,' it illumines the path he is at the time treading, showing him present duty; as a light,' shining upon the path before him, it reveals something of the glory God has in store for those that love Him. In the darkness the sailor requires not merely the lamp to shine upon his compass to show him the direction he is sailing in at the moment, he requires to have the 'light' shining from afar from the friendly lighthouse. The child who walks with God receives from God's Word not merely daily guidance, but, occasionally, the eye of his faith is so strengthened that he gets a glimpse of the good land, and sees

'Around the throne of God in heaven
Ten thousand children stand.'

My dear children, try constantly to get this two-fold light from your Bibles, that,

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POOREE AND KOREMAN.

as you walk day by day with God, you may have your hearts also enlivened by seeing the good land to which God is leading you.

G. J.

OUR MISSIONARY PAGE. POREE AND KOREMAN.

PERHAPS you would like to hear more

about the Indian orphans Pooree and Koreman.

It was sad that Koreman could not be with her sister Shodah. But it takes £4 4s. a year to support a child, and the English scholars had to work hard to get enough for Pooree. They got bundles of wood, and sold them. They gathered quarts and quarts of blackberries. One lady in London sent for thirty quarts. Then one energetic teacher helped her class to get up fifty pounds of dandelion roots, to sell to a chemist. Some children weeded gardens; and some sowed mustard and cress, and sold it for their new sister. (The children will be very glad if any one

would order blackberries or dandelions this year.)

One day a lady heard about Koreman, and she said, 'I will pay half the money for Koreman.' So the teachers and scholars agreed to work harder to support a sister and a half; and many other friends and children took boxes. For four years we have just got enough; but now the kind lady is dead, and who will pay for Koreman?

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The school where Pooree and Koreman live is called the Agurparah Orphanage.' It is in a village of that name, situated on the river Hoogly, a few miles from Calcutta. This school is one of the oldest in India. It was established by Miss Cook, afterwards Mrs Wilson, about 1821. It contains about eighty children, and there is room for more if there was money to support them.

Miss Neele writes: 'It would draw tears from many eyes to hear the sad stories of some of these poor children. One will tell of father, mother, brothers, and sisters all dead during the famine, while she alone is

left of the family, or left perhaps with the charge of a little brother and sister. Another, whose story is still sadder, weeps while she tells the last time she saw her mother; a loving mother probably, and yet she has deserted her child; leaving her while sleeping in the house of a stranger, to whom she has sold her, thus making one mouth less to feed, or to ensure her child getting food. One such little one, when hearing of the love of Jesus to the sick and sorrowful, said, while the tears ran down her cheeks, "Ah! if there had only been such a person on earth now, we should not have had all these troubles." It was sweet to tell her of His ever-present sympathy and help. And some of these orphans soon learned to see the loving providence of God in their trouble; that He had saved them in famine, and brought them, by means of it, to a happy home, where they might hear of Him.'

After some months news came of Pooree and Koreman.

'You will think you were never going to hear anything of your Indian orphans. The delay has been owing to the difficulty of removing them from the Hospital to Agurparah. Last month they arrived. Your little Pooree is looking better and happier already. She had a severe illness of brain fever. Her head, being partly shaved, gave her a queer miserable expression. She is a very silent child, but appears an affectionate little thing.

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Koreman is bright and hopeful; she is about nine years old. She is not at all like her sister Shodah, who is fair and pretty, and Koreman is so black and ugly; but then she is intelligent, and one who will get on well. She will be baptized, and called Mary Koreman, according to your wish.'

More than a year passed away, and news came again from Miss Neele at Agurparah.

I have only time for a very hasty note, but I must not let the mail go without writing to you. I am very sorry to tell you it has not seemed well to our Heavenly Father to answer my prayers for little Pooree, at least in the way I had hoped

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