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EAUTIFUL, glorious sunshine!" cried Lily, on a bright Sunday morning, as she sat with her mother on a grassy bank, waiting till the sound of the bells should tell them to prepare to go to church. "Oh, mamma, how glad I am that the winter has gone, and that the sun has turned back to smile on us again!" "It was not the sun that turned from us, but we that had turned from the sun," observed Mrs. May.

"What should we do without the sun!" exclaimed Lily, glancing upwards.

"What should we indeed," said her mother. "Without the sun there would be no colour in the flowers; nay, not a single flower would grow. There would be no grass in the meadows, no corn in the fields, no, life anywhere upon earth. Therefore it is that in the Bible the sun is shown to be a type, a kind of image, of our blessed Saviour himself. As the sun is made to give beauty, and joy, and life to Nature, so the Lord Jesus gives every blessing to his people. Do you remember any verse which speaks of the Lord as a sun?"

Lily. The Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing on his wings. And then there is my favourite hymn

"Sun of my soul! thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if thou be near."

Mrs. M. When you feel the warm beams of the sun, and rejoice in his cheering light, think, my child, if the sun be so glorious, what must He be who made the sun, and set him on high to give light to the world!

Lily. And, mamma, don't you love the moon toothe pretty, soft, silver moon? I saw her last night riding through the clouds, looking so round and bright; I thought her as beautiful then as the sun. Mrs. M. But all her beauty she owes to the sun. Lily. Oh, no indeed! for she shines in the night when not a glimpse of the sun is seen.

Mrs. M. Not seen by us, my Lily; but the sun is shining through the night as well as the day, and shining full upon the moon, or she would have no brightness at all.

Lily. I don't see how that can be. The sun had set yesterday long before the moon rose.

Mrs. M. Have you not seen the windows of the house on the hill and the gilt weather-cock on the spire, gleaming bright in the sun when all our valley lay in shade?

Lily. Yes, often and often, mamma.

Mrs. M. The windows and the weather-cock shone with reflected light; the sun's rays reached them, though those rays did not fall upon us. So is it with the moon; the sun's rays reach her when our side of the earth is in darkness, she reflects them back, and they alone make her appear so lovely and bright.

Lily. That rather disappoints me, mamma. I thoughtthat the moon was like an immense lamp in the sky, carrying her own light in herself; I did not think that she borrows it all from the sun. Now, when I next see her, I shall say, "Ah, beautiful moon, you have nothing to be proud of. If you look so silvery bright it is because the sun is smiling upon you."

Mrs. M. We may learn something from this, my Lily. The Church (that is, all God's true servants) has been compared to the moon. All that is good and lovely in the conduct of Christians comes from the Lord, their Sun of Righteousness. In themselves they are nothing; their light is reflected from Him. The best and holiest being upon earth has nothing in himself to be proud of.

Lily. What! not even my own dear papa? He is so good that I always think of him when I hear the verse, Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.

Mrs. M. Your father's character shines brightly indeed, my love, but it is because the grace of God's Holy Spirit rests upon him, as the sun's beams rest upon the

moon.

Lily. If I prayed very hard for God's grace, would it make my character shine too, mamma ?

Mrs. M. Yes; it would make my darling gentle, obedient, and kind-the joy of her parents' hearts. Lily. I should like to be as the gentle moon; her

light is very beautiful, although it is not her own. Is the sun much larger than the moon?

Mrs. M. Millions of times larger, Lily. I have read that if the sun were hollow, there would be room in the middle for our earth and the moon besides, the moon going round the world at the same distance as she does

now.

Lily. Oh, mamma, how immensely large the sun must be! How is it that it does not look bigger to our eyes?

Mrs. M. It is so very far from us; you know that everything looks sinall at a distance, the houses on the hill no larger than toys. Every beam that comes to us from the sun has travelled ninety-six millions of miles.

Lily. Oh, mamma, how wonderful !

Mrs. M. It takes our great world about a year to go round the sun, though it is darting through space like a ball from a cannon.

Lily. It is very very hard to believe that this great firm earth is flying so fast round the sun, or that the bright moon is dark in herself. A thought has just come into my head. Does our round world ever come between the sun and the moon, so as to stop the sun's rays from shining upon her, for then we could see in a moment whether her brightness comes from his beams?

Mrs. M. Yes; the world does sometimes come between, and cause what is called an eclipse of the moon. Lily. And does the moon really turn dark?

Mrs. M. Quite dark wherever the earth's shadow falls upon her.

Lily. But suppose, instead, that the moon should come between us and the sun, what would happen then, I wonder! Should we see the moon's silver ball in the middle of the sun, and his golden glory all round her ? Mrs. M. No, no, my child; you forget that the moon in herself is dark, and that if she were between our world and the sun, while her one side, bright with his light, would be turned towards him, her dark half would be turned towards us. This is what happens in what is called an eclipse of the sun.

Lily. But I can't fancy what the moon would look like, while just in front of the sun.

Mrs. M. Only like a black shadow on his face, slowly, gradually passing across it, and shutting out his beautiful beams from the world.

Lily. To think of the lovely moon ever looking like a black shadow! An eclipse of the sun must be very gloomy and grand. If people did not know that the darkness was only caused by the moon, I think that it would frighten them terribly.

Mrs. M. Ignorant people have been terrified by eclipses. It is related that when the Spaniards had first landed in America, they found that the poor natives, when they saw an eclipse, fancied that the shadow was some monster devouring the sun, and they made a great noise and shouting to alarm it and make it give up its prey.

Lily. Oh, how very very funny in them to take the moon for a monster, or fancy that she would care for their shouting! How I should like to see an eclipse, and watch the black moon, like a shadow, blotting out a part of the sun. I will often look out to see if the moon is going towards the sun.

Mrs. M. There will be no eclipse of the sun for some time to come, my dear.

Lily. Why, how can you know that, mamma?

Mrs. M. Learned men watch the movements of the heavenly bodies, and can tell to a day and hour when the course of the moon will bring her between our earth and the sun. They mark down the time in an almanac, so that any one who can read can see at a glance when an eclipse is to happen.

Lily. I wish that an eclipse would come soon.

Mrs. M. There have been already two eclipses of the sun this year (1866), but neither of them could be seen from our part of the globe. I could tell you a pretty story about one of them.

Lily. A true story, mamma?

Mrs. M. Quite true; I read it in a letter from a Christian lady in Syria, which is, as you know, the Holy Land, the country in which our Saviour was born, and died.

Lily. How often I have wished to visit that country; above all, after hearing of that dear kind lady, Mrs. Bowen Thompson. Uncle told how, after a dreadful massacre in the Holy Land, when the cruel Mohammedans had been killing the Christians, Mrs. Thompson went, full of pity and love, and gathered the widows and orphans around her, and helped them, and comforted them, and told them of the Lord Jesus. Uncle says that Mrs. Thompson has many schools in the Holy Land, in which the little Syrian girls are taught to love our dear Lord.

Mrs. M. The letter which I saw was written by Mrs. Bowen Thompson's sister, then taking charge of these schools in Syria. She mentioned the following interesting occurrence. Early in this year, a man calling himself a prophet, declared that there would be another dreadful massacre of the Christians in Syria, and that there would be a sign in the sun on that particular day on which the massacre would take place.

Lily. That was putting it into the heads of the crue} Mohammedans to kill the poor Christians on that day. But as, of course, there would not be a sign in the sun, they would see that this prophet was wrong, and so leave the poor Christians in peace.

Mrs. M. The Christians were naturally very much frightened, for they remembered but too well the horrors of the former massacre. It occurred to Mrs. Thompson's sister to look in the almanac to see whether there would be an eclipse of the sun at the particular time mentioned. To her alarm she found that an eclipse would take place on that very day.

Lily. I daresay that that wicked man who pretended to be a prophet had looked into the almanac first, and

seen when there would be a wonder in the sun, and so tried to make the Mohammedans fancy it a sign from God to tell them to kill all the Christians. Did the lady try to explain to the Mohammedans that an eclipse is nothing at all but the moon going between the earth | and the sun?

Mrs. M. That would have been a useless attempt; the ignorant, fierce, bigoted Mohammedans would not have believed the English lady, even had it been possible for her to have spoken to them all. The Christians grew very anxious; it appeared only too probable that the prophecy would be terribly fulfilled when the Mohammedans saw the sign in the sun.

Lily. And nothing could stop the moon from going on her way! Oh, mamma, tell me what the poor Christians did as the dreaded day drew near!

Mrs. M. They prayed, my child; in their distress they besought the Lord to save them.

Lily. But ought we to expect miracles now? It would be a very great miracle if the Lord turned back the moon in the sky.

Mrs. M. The Lord did not turn back the moon, but He heard His children's cry, and delivered them in His own way. The weather had been very splendid; you know that the sun shines on Syria far more gloriously than on England; but on the very evening before the eclipse the weather completely changed. On the next day-the dreaded day-the Lord drew a thick curtain of clouds all over the sky, neither sun nor moon were visible; the eclipse took place, indeed, but no one could see it! The terrible day passed over quietly; the Mohammedans had not known that there had, indeed, been a sign in the sun.

Laly. How thankful the Christians must have been ! How good was God to bring those clouds! It was not exactly a miracle, and yet it seems almost like

one.

Mra. M. It was one of those gracious, answers to prayer, my dear child, which are often sent even in these days, and which should strengthen our faith in the love and care of our heavenly Father. If ever we are tempted to fear that God will not hear our prayers, or deliver us in our troubles, let us think of the praying Christians in Syria, and of the clouds that hid the eclipse.

Lily. It seems sad that the lovely moon should ever become a cause of darkness instead of light.

Mrs. M. Here again, dear Lily, we have one of Nature's beautiful parables or lessons. Christ is our Sun of Righteousness, all the light of our souls is from Him-but, alas! we are too apt to forget that we should love Him with all our heart-love Him first and best of all. Whatever comes between us and the Saviour, whether it be our business or our pleasure, or even the dearest friend that we have on earth, must be a cause of darkness if it hides the Lord from our thoughts. He must have the chief place in our hearts. The moon is beautiful as she reflects the rays of the sun, and we rejoice in her beauty; so may we rejoice and thank God for all the unnumbered blessings which His bounty bestows upon us; but if ever His gifts make us forget the great Giver, then they become like the moon passing between the earth and the sun; they cast on us a shadow instead of a beam, and our joy and our faith suffer eclipse.

Lily. I do not quite understand you, mamma.

Mrs. M. You remember the young ruler who came to our Lord, saying, "Good Master, what good thing shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?" The Sun of Righteousness was shining upon that young man, for it is written that Jesus, beholding him, loved him. And yet that ruler turned away sorrowfully from the Saviour; a shadow had to him dimmed the light on his soul. Can you tell me what caused that shadow?

Lily. Wait a moment, mamma; let me think. Ah, I understand now! the ruler had great possessions, and he would not part with them to follow the Lord. His money was like the moon coming between him and the Sun of Righteousness. But is it always a bad thing to have great possessions, mamma?

Mrs. M. No, Lily; there are many rich people on earth who use their wealth for God, and to them their money is a blessing.

Lily. Because it does not come between them and their Sun, but only reflects His light. Oh, yes, I see it all now! Everything-like the moon-is beautiful and bright if the Lord can smile upon it; but if it shut Him out from our hearts, then, like the moon in an eclipse, it causes darkness instead of light, and, at last, sorrow instead of joy.

A. L. O. E.

the other, and now another quarter's rent was due, and he had not a shilling wherewith to pay it. His landlord was going to throw his unfortunate tenant into a debtor's prison, as was too often done in those days, and turn out his young wife and babe, in the depth of winter, to seek shelter wherever they might find it.

"Can nothing save us from this misery ?" cried Jessy. "We must submit, and trust in God," replied Duncan.

Jessy looked doubtfully, anxiously into the thin face of her husband, as if she had something that she wished, yet feared to say. At last she timidly spoke. "You know it's nigh a year since the gentleman who came here for a cup of coffee dropped that locket in a case, which we did not find till after he had left the shop. We did all that we could to find him out: we put up a paper, we spoke to the minister and the constable about the locket; but no one ever came to claim it. Tim Muir told us at the time that all the diamonds round it were real, and that it was worth-oh, a deal of money! Duncan-Duncan-would it be wrong, now that so many months have passed, and we're in such great, such terrible distress, would it be wrong to sell-"

"Dinna ye tempt me, wife!" cried Duncan. "Dinna ye think that Satan has whispered the same thing to me? Has he not said, 'Why go to a debtor's prison? why see your wife turned out o' house and hame, when ye've a diamond locket beside ye, and naebody comes to claim it?' But, Jessy, I've an answer ready. The locket isna mine; to sell it wad be to steal it; better is it to suffer than to sin."

Duncan was interrupted by the entrance of an old companion of his, Tim Muir. This man had known Duncan Stewart from boyhood, so, though the two had scarcely a thought in common, and no great liking for each other, long acquaintance had made Tim a familiar guest. He took a pipe from his mouth as he entered, nodded a familiar "good morning" to Jessy, then seated himself on the counter, for lack of a chair, and addressed himself thus to Duncan :

"I hope that what all the town's saying is not true, old fellow. All the world knows that Lowe has no more heart than that board; but surely he won't have the face to send you to prison, when you're in debt by no fault of your own?"

Duncan's sad silence was sufficient reply.

"Why, what will become of Jessy and the babe ?” "Thank God, there will be a hame for Jessy and the bairn," said poor Duncan. "Her cousin at Runside Farm has offered to receive them, if the warst comes to the warst."

"Well, it's a bad look out for both of ye," cried Tim, kicking the side of the counter. "And ye were always trusting to Providence, and fancying that all things must turn out right. I hope that you are cured of that sort of weakness for the future."

"Tim Muir," said the ruined man sternly, "I suffer no sic light talk under this roof. I do look to Provi

dence still; I do believe that all will come right; I mind me o' the words of old Job, Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.'"

Tim shrugged his shoulders, and turned towards Jessy. "Of course you've sold everything that can be turned into money," said he.

Sadly Jessy glanced around her bare walls.

"And how much did ye get for the di'mond locket?" asked Tim Muir, bending forward with a look of curiosity on his face. "Ye should have got me to do the job of selling it; the locket is worth twenty guineas, if 'tis worth a penny."

Duncan answered instead of his wife. "What it may be worth is nae business of ours; we're not the owners, Tim Muir."

"You don't mean to say that you're acting such a blockhead's part as to go to ruin-you and yours-with a diamond locket in your possession?"

"Na in my possession, Tim, but in my keeping. I am a ruined man, but, God helping me, I'll never be a dishonest one. "Tis better to suffer than to sin."

Tim saw in the countenance of Duncan that his resolution was fixed, and that there was no use in attempting to shake it. Muir thought his old acquaintance little better than a madman, and he muttered something of the sort as he quitted the shop. For Tim Muir was one of those who choose their portion in this life. To eat and drink plenty, to smoke and make money, this was all that he cared for: seldom did he think of God, seldom of heaven or of hell. The deadened conscience of Muir had never been disturbed by those most solemn words of the Lord: What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul; or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?

Not many hours passed before poor Duncan was carried off to a debtor's prison, and his weeping, desolate wife, with her babe in her arms, set out on her dreary walk across snow-covered wastes, to the farm of her cousin, which lay at nearly four miles' distance. Jessy had nothing left but the clothes and wedding-ring which she wore, with a few linens tied up in a bundle with her Bible, in the very centre of which bundle the diamond locket had been carefully placed, to be kept till its rightful owner should appear.

Icy chill blew the wind, but a more painful chill lay at the heart of poor Jessy; life to her was wintry indeed. At every step that she took her feet sank deep into the snow; at the end of three miles the poor woman stopped to rest for a few moments, she was so utterly exhausted. As she did so, she was startled by feeling a heavy grasp on her arm, and half turning round, beheld Tim Muir, whose steps she had not heard on account of the snow.

"I say, Jessy Stewart, you're not carrying off that there locket with you?" said Tim. There was something in his manner which alarmed the lonely woman.

"What is that to you?" she replied. Her voice trembled as she spoke, but perhaps that was from the cold.