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THE SAILOR-SON.

MOTHEB, hast thou an unbelieving son, a poor reckless fellow, who is going on in the way to ruin? Ah! I think my memory can tell me of a mother who had a reckless son, who was treading the path to hell. But her prayers went up to Heaven for that child; the tears oftentimes fell from her eyes, for she prayed in intense earnestness and perseverance, and that child was, by the help of God, rescued. Saved by the hand of God was he oftentimes in the hour of peril; and when his mother was upon her knees, little knowing, God has delivered that child from sinking in the sea. Ah! that child can look back to the time when he stood on the water-washed deck of the vessel, tossed upon the rolling waves, upon the deep, deep sea. He can remember the time when that vessel, staggering beneath the load of water on her deck, well nigh sank, and when her very yards were dipped in the waves. He can remember the time when the vessel trembled beneath the shock—when the helmsman loosed the wheel, and all despaired—and he can think of the time when God by His own power delivered him from sinking, and saved him for His mercy's sake. That child stands before you to-night. God answers a mother's prayers; they are mighty, they are music in his ears. Oh! Mother, hast thou a disobedient and ungodly Sod? Then pray for him; pray for him; pray, and don't faint, and God will answer thee.—SevH. Oration Guinness.

Launched on the tide of God's eternal love,
His ark beneath thee, and His light above;
What canst thou fear ?—Be still, my soul, be still,
Thy God hath never left thee—never will.

NOAH'S DOVE.

When Noah had been long shut in,
And thought the earth was dry;

He sent a dove, to fly for him
Into the open sky.

The raven he had sent before,

Return'd not to the ark; The gentle dove no safety saw,

For all was drear and dark.

I, like the dove, may wander forth

Into the stormy sky:
Out of the ark there's only wrath

For sinners such as I.

Christ, like the ark, the refuge is,

For sinners lost like me; Without are floods and stormy skies,

In Hm I safe shall be.

Dear Lord! look forth and take me in,

As Noah took the dove;
I need not perish for my sin

When sheltered by Thy love.

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A LONDON RAGGKED SCHOOL BOT.

Upon one of ray visits to the various Ragged Schools of the Metropolis, I became very much interested in a lad of ten or eleven years of age, with a frank, open countenance, though somewhat dirty, and dressed in a suit of rags. He was reading busily in his Testament, and would stop occasionally and ask such curious questions of his teacher that I could not but smile. His "practical observations" on certain portions of Scripture, if clothed in eloquent language, would have done honour to men of education. There was a free-heartedness in him that gleamed out through all his rags and dirt, and I sat down by him to ask him some questions.

"Where do you live, and how?" I asked.

"I live where I can," he replied, "and almost how I can."

"But," said I, " what is your trade or business? What do you generally do for a living?"

"I am a water-cress boy," he replied, "and get up every morning at two o'clock, and go on foot three or four miles, and sometimes six or eight, to the edge of the city to buy the water-cresses. I get a basket of them for a shilling; and by crying them the whole day generally clear another, which pays my board and lodging."

"But can you live on a shilling a day ?" I asked.

"Yes, pretty well; but many times I don't make a shilling, and then I buy a crust of bread, and go to sleep under one of the arches of London Bridge, or in some crate or box down on the wharves!"

Just then the superintendent came along, and as I took his arm he said, L "The lad you have been talking with oomes every night LOVE. 171

to learn to read; and although he cannot get to sleep before ten o'clock, and is obliged to be up at two in the morning, yet he is always punctual. Not long since his mother was imprisoned for arrearages in her rent; the sum needed was ten shillings. Well, this poor boy almost starved himself, and slept out of doors, to save the money out of his scanty earnings, to release her from prison."

I went back again and talked with the boy; and in my eyes he was a truer hero than Wellington or Napoleon.

LOVE.

I Never was so impressed with the power of Lore as when I heard the following story :—A woman bad a deadly hatred against a fellow creature. Now there lived near her, a child who was not polluted with the world's wickedness. Mortal man had taught that child only a simple prayer, but the angels talked to her soul, and the Lord's light shone clearly there. Now that woman once left, her home burning with jealousy, and she stumbled and fell just where that little child lived. The woman was angry, and spoke bad words, when the child sweetly asked, "Has she been hurt?" Now the child was not afraid, but looked her in the face and said, "Never mind! God will cure you: and I will ask Him." So she put up her little hands to the Lord, and said her little prayer. The tears of the woman started; the child was asking the Lord to bless her, and the Lord was looking at her through the child! She could not bear it: she screamed in agony. And then the child rose up, and the woman caught her and said, "Teach me to pray." The woman forgot her hatred,—her fellow-sinner, everything 172 BE KIND TO YOUB SISTERS.

but that child. Her look was on her when the child taid, "Do you love?" "Me! love? Me! Oh! who can I love?" Then said the child in a whisper, "Lore God, who loves you, and me, and all the world." "Yes," said the woman, "He loves you, but he cannot love me." Then said the child of love, "You do not know our Father, then, for He is love." Now what that woman felt I do not know; but she fell on her knees, and the power of love impressed her; and she let the child—the little child—lead her home, feeling an angel had been sent to keep her from great sin, and to tell her God was love, and loved her.

Now this woman became transformed, not by fear, but by the power of love in a little ehilcL

BE KIND TO YOUR SISTERS.

Boys, be kind to your sisters. You may live to be old, and never find such tender, loving friends as these sisters. Think how many things they do for you; how patient they are with you; how they love you in spite of all your ill-temper or rudeness; how thoughtful they are for your comfort, and be you thoughtful for theirs. Be ever ready to obligo them, to perform any little office for them that lies in your power. Think what you can do for them, and if they express a wish, be ready to gratify it if possible. You do not know how much happiness you will fiud in so doing. I never yet knew a happy and respected man who was not in youth kind to his sisters. There is a beautiful song which says,

"Be kind to your sisters—not many may know
The depth of true sisterly love;
The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below
The surface that sparkles above."

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