Dudley with his book, saying, "Mother, I don't like to call g-o-d G.o.d here; I want to call it d-o-g, for I don't think it is right to call such a thing by that great name."

Perhaps Willie will some day be a missionary, and preach the glad tidings of salvation to those who are now sitting in darkness, and in the shadow of death. But if he is not a missionary himself, I trust he will never forget to do what he can for those who, far from their homes and their friends, are fulfilling Christ's last command, to "go into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature."

All Christians cannot be missionaries, but they can all do something to spread a knowledge of true religion throughout the world. They can contribute of their property to this n.o.ble purpose. Our heavenly Father accepts the smallest gift, offered in love. We, surely, who live in comfortable homes, and are surrounded by so much that is pleasant, should never forget those who, in foreign lands, are preaching the "unsearchable riches of Christ."

If our Saviour were now upon the earth, I suppose dear children, you think it would be a great pleasure to minister to his wants, and provide him with food or clothing, or any thing he might need. It is delightful to know that what we do for those who love him, he accepts as done to himself. In his Holy Word he says, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

THE BOY WHO STEALS.

Mrs. Dudley was sitting at her dining-table. The dessert was before her. There were fine, red water-melons, rich and juicy, with glossy black seeds peeping out from their hiding-places, and musk-melons, fragrant and luscious, which grew in her own garden. They had been gathered early in the morning, by George and Willie, and placed in the cellar, that they might be cool and refreshing. The boys had a.s.sisted in planting them in the spring, and with their little hoes they had worked about them during the summer, and subdued the weeds. They had watched their growth, and every day they examined the vines to find those that were ripe. They carefully gathered them, and sometimes there were so many that their wheelbarrow was quite full. Then they had the pleasure of carrying some to their neighbours. Mrs. Dudley did not consider good ripe fruit injurious, but much more healthy, in summer, than meat, puddings, and pastries, so that melons formed quite an important part of the family dinner. The children enjoyed them particularly, because they had raised them, in part, by their own industry.

George asked to be excused from the table. Not long after he left, Mrs. Dudley heard a cry, as if some child was in trouble. She looked around. Mary, and Willie, and Eddie were there. The sounds of distress could not come from George, for he never cried in that way. Mr. and Mrs. Dudley immediately arose and went out upon the lawn. The children followed. They looked here and there, and soon saw a boy near the house. He had a small bundle in his hand, and a little tin pail. I should think he was ten or eleven years old. He was crying, and calling to a boy who stood at the gate. Mr. Dudley inquired of him,

"What is the matter?"

"John won't let me go home."

"How does he prevent you? What does he do to you?" asked Mrs. Dudley.

"He won't let me alone."

"Does he try to make you fight?" she again inquired,--for she had frequently seen that large boys often love to tease and torment smaller ones, and she thought perhaps this little fellow was abused by a tyrannical companion. She thought of going to speak to the boy at the gate, but Mr. Dudley made further inquiries, and the child's answers were not very satisfactory.

Mary Dudley now came near her mother, and, speaking in a low voice, said to her, "That is the boy who steals."

While they were talking with him a larger boy came up, and said his teacher had sent him and the boy at the gate to take Jimmy back to school.

"Why, what has he done?" asked one of the group which surrounded him.

"He has been stealing the children's dinners. He stole yesterday, and he has been stealing to-day."

This was a sad account to hear. Jimmy begged to be permitted to go home, but Mr. Dudley told him he had better return to the school. He then very reluctantly walked down to the gate with the largest boy, and I suppose was led back to his teacher.

Mrs. Dudley had never heard of this child before, but Mr. Dudley said he had known him as a very bad boy. She asked Mary how she happened to know any thing about him. Mary told her that he attended Sunday-school, and that, a few Sundays before, one of the children could not find his cap. A thorough search was made for it, but it could not be found. The superintendent thought some one must have taken it. He suspected Jimmy, because his reputation was so bad, and followed him on his way home. Jimmy had it on his head, and his own cap was hidden under his sack!

The superintendent of the school talked with Jimmy, who said he would never steal again; but, alas! he soon forgot his good resolution.

Although he carried a dinner for himself in his tin pail, he took whatever he liked from the baskets of his companions.

Mrs. Dudley has seen this boy several times since she heard him crying on the lawn. She says it always makes her feel sad to meet him, for she cannot avoid thinking,--"that is the boy who steals." She has learned that he has no father or mother, but lives with his grandparents. I fear he "will bring down their gray hairs with sorrow to the grave." He has allowed himself to steal small things, and as he grows older he will probably take articles of more value. He may become a housebreaker or a murderer.

It is dangerous to indulge in the least sin. It hardens the heart, and stifles the whisper of that still, small voice, which so often tells children, when they are tempted to do wrong, "That is not right; you should not do that."

In some Catechism the question is asked, "What is my duty to my neighbour?" and a part of the answer is, "To keep my hands from picking and stealing." I suppose "picking" must mean, secretly taking little pieces of cake, or sugar, or any thing of the kind, of small value. I presume Jimmy was in the habit of "picking," at his grandmother's before he ventured to steal at school.

I could tell you several very sad stories of people who have stolen when they were children, and who have grown more and more wicked, as they have advanced in years, till they became a curse to society and themselves. "The way of transgressors is hard." These people have no true enjoyment. There is always a fearful looking forward to the future.

It is not pleasant to me to write about bad children, and I should not do it if it were not to warn the dear children I so much love against the formation of wrong and sinful habits.

How much better it would be for Jimmy if he had learned to "touch not, taste not, handle not," that which does not belong to him!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

LOOK AT THE BIRDS!

October, with its golden and crimson hues, its "gentle wind," and its "fair sunny noon," has pa.s.sed away. November has come. The sun shines brightly, and the sky is almost clear of clouds; but the chill wind blows roughly, and the leaves are rudely torn from the trees where they have gladdened us through the spring and the summer by their refreshing shade, their modest beauty, and their sweet music, as they sung to the gentle breeze which played amid the branches. They lie now, most of them, beneath the trees, wrinkled and faded, or scattered here and there, far from their fellows, wherever the cold blast has wafted them.

The birds have been taught by their unfailing instinct that summer has departed, and winter is near. They no more warble their rich melodies, or flit in and out of the bowery recesses of the honeysuckles or peep with knowing look under the eaves, or into the arbour. Other purposes prompt to other acts, and they are taking their farewell of the pleasant summer haunts, where they have built their nests and reared their young.

This morning, soon after sunrise, Willie was standing on the lawn, contemplating the beauties of nature, and thinking, I suppose, of the changes of the seasons, when all at once I heard him shout, "Look at the birds! Look at the birds!" We threw open the window, and there were thousands and thousands of them almost over our heads. Their wings made a noise like the rushing of a steam-engine as it cleaves the air in its speed. They were calling to each other with a short, quick sound. It seemed as if they were giving and receiving orders. We watched them till they disappeared over the tree-tops.

"There are more! There are more!" shouted Mary. We again looked towards the rising sun, and up over the eastern hills came another immense flock, calling to each other as the first, and they too disappeared behind the western hills.

"There is another flock!" and so indeed there was. Up from the meadows and over the hills they came, swaying up and down in their flight, and so near that we could see each bird distinctly. Almost simultaneously they alighted on Clover Hill to rest for a moment. I can never forget their motion so full of grace and beauty, waving and undulating like the gentle swell of the ocean. Soon, another company followed in the same direction, and when they were over Clover Hill, up flew the others, and away they went with them beyond our sight. Flock after flock appeared, each taking the same general direction, and some of them so large that they stretched from the hills which bounded our view on one side, as far as our eye could see on the other. They looked, as Willie said, like bees swarming, only they were much larger. Occasionally a few stragglers could be seen, hurrying on to join their party, which was in advance of them. Perhaps they had delayed to take a last farewell of their pleasant summer homes, or, may be, they were dilatory in their habits, and did not make their morning toilet in season. I hope they will be more prompt in future, for it is a bad habit to be late, and occasions, often, much vexation and inconvenience.

I never before saw so many birds together, although I have frequently been startled by the peculiar sound made by large numbers flying in company, and have looked at them with wonder and admiration.

The migration of birds is one of the most remarkable phenomena in natural history. "The stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times, and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their coming," and so do all birds of pa.s.sage. Their Creator has endowed them with a wonderful instinct, which, in some way, unknown to us, teaches them to guard against the severity of the season by seeking a warmer climate, and when "winter is past," and "the flowers appear on the earth," and "the vines, with the tender grape, give a good smell," then "the time of the singing of birds is come," and their voice is heard in our land. Some of them return, not only to the same country, but to the same place, where they have previously built their nests, and, year after year, raise their broods in the same friendly tree.

It is said that, to enable birds to fly with ease, and to continue long on the wing, they must fly against the wind. I observed, this morning, that there was a brisk wind from the west, while the birds were flying a little south of west. Perhaps they had been waiting several days for a favourable wind, and that may have been the reason of the great number of flocks we saw.

"Behold the fowls of the air," said our Saviour, in his sermon on the mount; "for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?" At another time, when he was talking with his disciples about the persecutions they should endure for his sake, he said to them, "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not, therefore; ye are of more value than many sparrows."

Not one of that immense number of birds, which we saw flying to a warmer country, can perish without G.o.d's knowledge. He sees every one of them. During the summer, he has fed them on the meadows near the sea-sh.o.r.e, and now that winter is approaching, he has taught them to seek other localities, where their appropriate food can be found.

Whenever G.o.d's children are tempted to yield to despondency, and to fear that they shall suffer from want, let them remember that they are of more value than many sparrows, and that if they trust their heavenly Father, their bread shall be given them, and their water shall be sure. He who feeds the birds will feed them. May he

"Fill" our souls "with trust unshaken In that Being who has taken Care for every living thing, In Summer, Winter, Fall and Spring."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE LOST CHILD.

It was a Sabbath morning in November, clear, bright and frosty. Mrs.

Dudley's family were preparing for church. They heard Carlo bark violently, and knew a stranger must be near. Carlo is a faithful watch-dog, but his habit of barking at visitors is so disagreeable, that he is usually kept chained in the day-time. On Sunday, as no company is expected, he is permitted to go at large. When Mr. Dudley heard Carlo, he immediately threw open the window, and spoke to him.

He saw a gentleman, who was evidently much alarmed. None of the family knew him. The stranger soon made known the occasion of his call, by inquiring,

"Have you seen any thing of a stray child?"