"Oh! father," I exclaimed, "one need be perfect to have all this."

"Let our daily motto then be, 'Higher,' and our aim, perfection: 'Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect.'

"Yes," said my brother, in a low voice, as if thinking aloud rather than actually speaking, "we may do all things through Christ who strengtheneth us.”

"Through Christ," repeated my father. "Yes, that is the great thing to be remembered. Without him we can do nothing. And now what

say you, my boy?" added he, addressing me;

"will you not try and turn over a new leaf?" "Yes, father, I will try."

"And pray?"

"It is of no use trying without praying." "I am glad that you have been made to feel this."

Say over the list again, father, please. Surely I must possess some of those qualities mentioned by the apostle-love, for instance."

"But this does not mean merely the natural love of kindred and friends, but love to ChristJoy in the Holy Ghost, the only source of real cheerfulness-Peace, the peace of God which

passeth all understanding - Longsuffering, the patient endurance of protracted trials and afflictions, or of wrong-Gentleness, not easily provoked Goodness, the doing of God's willFaith, perfect trust in him, through Christ, not only for the life which now is, but also for that which is to come-Meekness, another name for gentleness-Temperance, self-denial.”

Observing that I continued silent, my father asked me if I had come to a hard page.

"Worse still," I replied, "there is nothing but a blank disfigured by crosses, which look all the blacker for my vain attempts to rub them out."

"You cannot blot them out," said my father, "but God can; for the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.' Turn over a fresh page, my boy, and begin again in his strength, seeking the help of the Holy Spirit, and resting always on the same atoning blood."

"I will begin from this day," replied I. "No more vain dreams, no more idle wishes. You shall see, papa. But I had better not say too much about it; only that I do mean to try with all my heart."

The following morning, as I stood by the open

casement listening to the pleasant twittering of the birds, who were busily arranging their plans and preparing for their long journey, the old feeling came over me, and I could not help saying, "Oh! mother, I wish I was a fieldfare."

William held up his finger with a warning gesture. My mother laughed.

"What makes you want to be a fieldfare, John ?" asked she.

"Because I should like so much to see the Holy Land, and fly back to Norway, and Sweden, and visit the shores of the Baltic; and then come home again in the autumn, as papa says the fieldfares do."

"I am afraid you would not be in a hurry to come back again, my little adventurous boy," said my mother.

"Yes I should. I do believe that would be the best part of it. After all, there is no place

like home, and no

one in all the world like

my own dear mother. Thank you, William, for reminding me."

"What does it all mean?" asked my mother, glancing from one to the other.

"It means," said I, "that I promised my

father last night not to indulge in any more vain wishes-if I could help it--but to try and be not only contented but cheerful in that station of life to which it has pleased God to call me."

"That is a good resolution, John, and I trust that you will be able to keep it." She kissed me as she spoke, but I could not help noticing the heavy sigh with which she turned away. It may be that she knew far better than I did then, how very difficult it was.

Every day of our lives, morning and evening, we keep on repeating over and over again those solemn words, "Thy will be done." Now if we mean nothing when we pray thus, it is a mere mockery, and we may as well give it up. If we mean what we say, we should endeavour to feel and realize it, and having once learned by heart these four little words, "Thy will be done," they will make all life's after lessons comparatively easy.

CHAPTER X.

DAILY TRIALS.

As already mentioned, my mother always took care to have a good dinner on Sunday—or at least, what we thought a good dinner, although it was plain enough, and generally cold, at my father's request, in order that she might not be hindered in her attendance upon public worship. I do not think he had any idea how poorly we fared at other times. Men generally think little of these matters; and my dear mother was very careful to spare him all the anxiety she possibly could. She was a good manager, but there were many of us, and something was always wanting.

I used to envy my brother for being able to partake with so much relish of those coarse and simple meals which I seldom cared to touch. I did not complain. If I could not eat I went without. But I made no effort to conquer this