"Father, don't fret for me; I am going to heaven. And when her father asked her if she was safe for heaven, she replied, "Oh, yes, father, I have been ready some time; I gave my heart to Jesus long ago." Thus we have it on her own testimony that she has gone to be with her Saviour in that bright and beautiful home her Saviour had prepared for her and all His beloved ones. And my earnest prayer is that all Sunday-scholars may die as happy and as peaceful as did this beloved child of God. W. PAUL.

EMILY JONES

WAS born on September 28th, in the year 1865, and was the daughter of Samuel and Ellen Jones. She was a scholar in our school at Beswick, Manchester, and had been brought up in the fear of the Lord, having had the influence of godly parents, who have been members with us more than forty years; they first joined our school and chapel when in Oldham-street, and removed with us into Poland-street, and from there into Salter-street, and from Salter-street into Piercy-street, and from there to our new school and chapel at Beswick, built in the year 1865. Their daughter Emily was brought to the school when quite a child, and remained with us up to her death; and a more affectionate girl I never knew. During the early part of

1880 we had revival services, when many of our scholars were added to the Church; amongst them was Emily Jones, who from that time was a most devoted Christian. She was very attentive to the means of grace; seldom absent from her class meeting, always in time for school. She tried to set a good example to others, and was much beloved by her teacher, who is a good Christian, and would sacrifice almost anything for her scholars. She was very much beloved by the scholars of her class and of all who knew her. We were looking forward to the time when, had she lived, she would have been a useful teacher in our school. But it pleased God to take her away from amongst us to reign with Him in heaven. There she is wearing the palm of victory, and singing songs of Him who hath washed her and made her white in the blood of the Lamb.

"There she is waiting with the angels,
Waiting on the other shore;
Waiting to receive the ransom
When the storms of life are o'er."

She fell asleep in Jesus on June 16th, in her seventeenth year. With her parents we deeply mourn her loss, but we know our loss is her eternal gain.

JAMES BESWICK, Superintendent,
Beswick S.S.

Daisy and

LITTLE way from the edge of a pleasant A. brook, and amongst a group of its fellows,

grew a daisy. Its flowers were the prettiest of them all. They were red-tipped; not like some, with common red, looking as if the edges of the stars had been brushed against a paintpot, but with the most delicious crimson blush, fading into pearly white, in the middle of which was set the golden eye.

One morning, before the sun sent its first rays over the wall of the field, the daisy on awaking, found close to it a large clear dewdrop hanging on a blade of grass. Now daisies are a cheerful, talkative people, and so the flower soon became quite intimate with the dewdrop, whom she admired very much, because she saw in it a reflection of herself. The dewdrop told her he was a child of the brook near by, who had determined to go out into the wide, wide world and seek his fortune, and how he had started and been so frightened and cold in the night that he had soon tired and settled down to wait for day. He was now sorry for his foolish hurry, and remembered how he had been warned

Dewdrop.

The

against the big tyrant sun, which carried off any wandering dewdrops it could find, and would carry off even the old brook itself if it could. He feared that he would never see his dear old home again, and begged the daisy to save him. daisy told him she could do very little indeed, but for love of the brook (which she had never seen, though it had kept the air cool and sung to her all her life long), she would do what she could, so when the sun at last mounted above the wall, as if in a great hurry to catch any dewdrop loiterers before they had time to sink out of his way into the ground, the daisy cast her trembling little shadow on the dewdrop. As the sun rose still higher, the daisy stretched and bent herself, but for all that she could do the dewdrop grew smaller, and at last said to her all in a quiver: "Good-bye, daisy dear, I can't stay any longer, but if I can I will come back some day and thank you," and was gone in an instant.

The daisy was very sorry, and hung her head so much for several days that her neighbours thought she had a worm at her root and was

dying. However, the daisy had so many other things to think about, and everything around her was so beautiful, that, though she did not forget the dewdrop, yet she soon seemed as cheerful as usual.

The summer was a very hot one. Farmer Giles, who owned the field, said he had never known one so hot, and, as he had farmed for forty years and voted for his landlord at every election, of course he must have known about it. At any rate it was intensely hot. For many days no rain fell. The grass was scorched off the hard yellow ground. Great cracks opened here and there in the field. The brook was heard no more. It was sleeping away the hot weather deep down in its well, half way up the hill. The birds panted in silence in the thickest trees they could find. The daisy began to faint and droop, and then lay on the ground almost dead.

The next day opened very sultrily. The sun looked red and dull, though there were no clouds to be seen, and Farmer Giles said there would soon be heavy rain.

The daisy knew nothing of all this. She was quite unconscious. Her leaves were all shrivelled away, and her one flower stem was dry and on the point of withering, on which all would have been over with her; when a heavy raindrop suddenly splashed down right upon the root, sending a delightful shiver through it, and half awakening the daisy. It whispered, as others began to follow it, "I am Dewdrop, whom you helped so long ago, and I have come now to help you.'

The wind began to blow and the rain to rush down violently, but the daisy was too busy listening to the dewdrop's story to give heed to them.

He told how, when he had been compelled to

leave her, he had risen up and up to an awful height, the sunbeams telling him not to be afraid, for the sun was no tyrant, but only the task-master who took care that all the brooks and dewdrops did their proper share of work. This latter everything in the world must do, or else it is quickly punished and pushed out of the way; there is no idling permitted to anything but man, and even he, if he keeps on idling, is sorely punished for it.

The dewdrop was still terribly frightened, until he found himself amongst many of his own people, and with the whole of them hurrying rapidly along before the wind. In a little time it felt quite pleasant to be so borne on and to look down on such a wide reach of country. He felt that he was at last seeing the world, and ought to be enjoying himself prodigiously.

But we must not tell the dewdrop's story as he told it himself, taking the whole day long to do it. He joined others to form a cloud, and was with them in a fierce battle against other clouds, in which he narrowly escaped destruction by lightning. He fell into the bitter sea and suffered much, and was nearly swallowed by a little fish-which would have put an end to him— and, finally re-ascending, he got back to his starting-place, and found the daisy: "And we will never part again, dear Daisy, never again!"

What the daisy said I do not know, but the dewdrop was not seen any more, so I suppose he sank into the ground and therefore never went away again. If you would like to know whether this was so or not, why, you can go to the field and-unless some careless child has pulled her up, or old Crummie, the cow, trodden too hard on her, or something else of the sort has happened the daisy is growing there still, and you can ask her yourself all about it.

A. C. C.

THE

umbrella bird is a truly remarkably creature, and from the extraordinary mode in which its plumage is arranged never fails of attracting the attention of the most casual spectator. The bird is a native of the islands of the South American rivers-being seldom if ever seen on the mainland-from whence it is not unfrequently brought by collectors, as there is always a ready sale for its skin, either to serve as an ornament in glass cases, or as a specimen for a museum. In dimensions the umbrella bird equals the common crow of England, and but for the curious plume which adorns its head, and the tuft which hangs from its breast, might be

mistaken at a distance for that bird. The general colour of this species is rich shining black, glazed with varying tints of blue and purple like the feathers of the magpie's tail. Very little is known of the habits of the bird. Its crest is perhaps, the most fully developed and beautiful of any bird known. It is composed of long, slender feathers, rising from a contractile skin on the top of the head. The shafts are white, and the plume glossy blue, hair-like, and curved outward at the tip. When the crest is laid back, the shafts form a compact white mass, sloping up from the top of the head, and surmounted by the dense hairy plumes. Even

in this position it is not an inelegant crest, but it is when it is fully spread that its peculiar character is developed. The shafts then radiate on all sides from the top of the head, reaching in front beyond and below the tip of the beak, which is completely hidden from view. The top then forms a perfect, slightly elongated dome, of a beautiful shining blue colour, having a point of divergence rather behind the centre, like that in the human head. The length of this dome from front to back is about five inches, the breadth four to four and a half inches. Scarcely less curious than the "umbrella," as this overhanging plume is very appropriately named, is a bunch of elongated feathers that hang from the breast in a tuft, perfectly distinct from the rest of the plumage. The peculiarity in this tuft is

that the feathers of which it is composed do not grow from the neck, but from a cylindrical fleshy growth, about as thick as an ordinary goose quill, and an inch and a half long. The whole of this curious appendage is covered with feathers, so that the breast tuft is wholly distinct from the feathers of the neck and breast. The entire skin of the neck is extremely loose, more so than in any other bird. The feathers of this tuft are edged with a beautiful and resplendent blue, and lap over each other like so many scales. The food of the umbrella bird consists chiefly of berries and various fruits, and it always rejects the hard stone of stone fruit. As its cry is extremely loud and deep, the natives call the bird by a name which signifies a pipe.-The Hatter.

EMEMBER now thy Creator in the days of thy R youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them" (Eccles. x. 1).

"Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth." This text is addressed to the youth of both sexes throughout creation, and says in effect, you are not your own-God made you; He is your Creator-remember Him as such; your Father-honour Him in your youth, that you may have long to live a blessed life. In youth all the powers are more vigorous and active; so they are more capable of superior enjoyment. Remember Him in this part of your youth; you have no certainty; now is yours, to-morrow may not be; you are young, but you may never be old. Now He waits to be gracious, to-morrow may be too late; God now calls; His Spirit now strives; His ministers now exhort; you have now youth and health; sin has not so much dominion over you as it will have, increasing every moment if you do not give up your heart to your Maker.

Another consideration should weigh with you : should you live to old age it is a very dis. advantageous time to begin to serve the Lord in; for infirmities press down both soul and body, and the mind is generally not inclined to call on

the name of the Lord; there is little time for repentance, little for faith, and none for obedience.

The evil days are now come, and the years, in which you will feelingly be obliged to say, "Alas! we have no pleasure in them;" and what is worse, the heart is hardened through the deceitfulness of sin. Will the evil days surely and certainly come? Yes, they will, to all who have not obeyed the admonition in the text, but have lived a life of sin, seeking happiness in the pleasures of the world; verily they have their reward-"The wages of sin is death."

Do the evil days come alike to the righteous as well, who have lived from youth to old age in the service of their Creator, Father, God? Does not the psalmist say, "Many are the afflictions of the righteous?" Yes, but he also says, "But the Lord delivereth him out of them all." But there is no such promise to the wicked, unless they repent and return to God.

The righteous have pleasure in looking back on the goodness and mercy of their Heavenly Father, on the joyful seasons in Christian fellowship with brethren and sisters here upon earth, and then the anticipated pleasure of a reunion with loved ones in the Father's "house of many mansions." Then, dear youth, return to the 'golden text:" "Remember now thy Creator."

BEFORE FOOD.

ATHER of Mercies! Source of good!
We give Thee thanks for this our food:

O may it strength and vigour give,
That we may to Thy glory live,-

Through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

AFTER FOOD.

Great God! we bless and praise Thy Name
For what Thou hast in mercy given :

O may it be our constant aim

To do Thy will like those in heaven,

Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amer.

IT

T is a fact worthy to be remembered by our young friends that our holy religion supplies the grandest themes for the artist, the orator, the poet, and the musician. Look at the scenes depicted by the pencil of a Raphael and a Martin; the thrilling music of Handel, Hadyn, and Mozart; the oratory of a Chrysostom, Chalmers, and Robert Hall; and the poetry of a Wesley and a Watts in our grand hymns of praise, and Milton in his "Paradise Lost."

That

Milton was born in London in 1608, and died 1674, and was buried in Cripplegate Church. I never pass that church but I think of him. During the sixty-six years of his life England was the scene of wars and great commotions. Oliver Cromwell with his Ironside soldiers was resisting the tyranny of Charles I. monarch was beheaded; Cromwell was made Protector-only another name for king; and on his death, Charles II. was brought to England and enthroned. Milton's name was prominent in all these exciting scenes, for he was a learned man, speaking eight languages; he was a hater of oppression and tyranny, the friend and advocate of both civil and religious liberty. Because of these qualifications he was made secretary to Oliver Cromwell, and he wrote a number of books in defence of our freedom. You may be sure he was not liked by the Royalists; indeed, they hated him, and he very narrowly escaped their vengeance.

Milton's intense studies caused him to become

blind, and some of his enemies said his blindness was a judgment from God, inflicted on account of his opposition to Royalty. Full of this notion, the Duke of York visited Milton one day, and asked him whether his blindness was not a punishment inflicted by God upon him for opposition to the King. Milton replied: “I will answer your question by asking you another. If I have lost my sight as a judgment for my love of liberty, what about your father, who lost his head for opposing liberty?" The Duke was glad to get away.

In Milton's day the great plague came, and carried off 70,000 persons; and in the same year the great fire, which in the space of four days destroyed 89 churches, including St. Paul's Cathedral, 13,000 houses, and laid waste 400 streets. But amidst all these exciting scenes Milton's mind was absorbed with the great theme of his poem-paradise, angels, heaven, hell, Satan, sin, man fallen and man redeemedthe most wonderful poem my eyes ever saw, composed and published when he was blind; yet so little thought of at the time that the first edition was sold for £5, the second edition for £5, and the third edition for £5 more, making a total of only £15 for the most splendid poem the world ever saw!

We have the portrait of John Milton before us seated in front of his organ, for he was a musician as well as a poet. He died so peacefully that his attendants could not perceive the exact moment when his spirit left the body.

N exciting affair happened some time ago at

A. Killean River, Scotland. A little boy, aged eight years, was, along with an elder brother, amusing himself on a wire fence near the river, endevouring to catch the pieces of wood and other waifs borne down by the flood, when suddenly the wire on which he was leaning broke, and he was precipitated into the angry flood below, and borne along with the current towards the sea. His brother, unable to save him, ran home and gave the alarm, and his father immediately rushed off along the banks of the stream, followed closely by a faithful collie dog. For a time no trace of the boy could be

Dog.

seen, but after proceeding for about a quarter of a mile, the dog sprang into the stream, and in a few moments he was seen struggling to regain the bank with what appeared to be the lifeless body of the poor boy. The father, greatly at the risk of his own life, ran into the torrent, and seconded the frantic efforts of the noble animal to bring the boy to the bank, and in this they were ultimately successful. The boy was perfectly senseless, but, restoratives having been applied, he gradually recovered consciousness, and is not much the worse for his dip. The little fellow was carried along by the current nearly half a mile, at a very rapid rate.