B

EFORE slavery was destroyed in America, there were many slaves who were called half-caste. In most of these cases their mother was a slave, while their father was free-born. It was very difficult to distinguish such slaves from the white people. Frequently they were very beautiful, and were sold for a very large amount. We have

seen many such persons, and if we had not been told, we should never have supposed that they were liable to be sold as slaves. Our first picture this month represents a slave of this character. Let us thank God that the iniquity of buying and selling men and women, so far as America is concerned, is for ever abolished.

Pow sad it is to see a little child who begins to sulk or get angry and cross when its parents ask it to do this or that, and how grieved they must be when, if they ask him or her to do this, the child begins to grumble, and say, "Oh, bother!" or "How tiresome! just when I wanted to play!"

Children should think of how much their parents have done for them, or how when they have been working till they are so tired they hardly knew what to do, still they do not grumble and get angry because they have to do it. I am sure if the children were to think oftener of this they would obey more cheerfully.

And yet I know that it is sometimes rather hard for them to go cheerfully, and at once, when they are just in a very nice game of play, and I daresay some of them ask if they may just finish this game first at least, I know I did. But if they are told no, they must not, they should not bother any more, but go gladly and cheerfully at once, and then, perhaps, they will be allowed to go back to their play again when they have done what they were told to do. We must always remember that God gave us a promise, a promise, "Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may

be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee." In the New Testament it says, "Children obey your parents," and we must not only obey them through fear, but through love. Let us think what they have done and suffered for us; how they have watched over us and prayed for us. Let us not forget, but love them while they are left to us, for we know not how long we may have them; or, perhaps, we may die first, and then on our death-bed how sweet will be the thought that we have done what we could to repay them for the love and kindness with which they watched over us in our infant days.

Some children have bad parents. Oh, pity those poor children, and if any of you have such parents, remember that harsh words and unkindness will not win them to the Saviour, but gentle words and kind and thoughtful, acts perhaps may. Kind words turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger. Some young men, when they have been into the world, begin to feel ashamed of their mothers. This is sad, for when boys are ashamed of their mothers they are generally beginning to turn away from the Saviour, and it is to be feared they will grow into wicked men, given to

swearing and perhaps getting drunk. Why do not the young men and women all sign the pledge? What a happy place England would be if they did! It is said that England is the land of freedom, and that Britons never, never shall be slaves; but I think that many of them are slaves-the slaves of drink. When children begin to be ashamed to own their parents, it is the first step in the downward way.

How careful the hen is of her chickens! When any danger is near, she calls them all and covers them over with her wings, till the danger is past; and so it is with GodHe takes care of us all through life, and helps us out of all our trouble, if we do but ask Him sincerely from our heart, and have faith that He will do all that He has promised.

I once read of a little girl whose father used to call for her every day at the school where she attended to take her home. But one day he called, and told her to wait till he came he had to go further on. So she

waited until all the other children had gone, and it was getting quite dark, but still she waited. A man went past who knew her, and told her she had better go with him, that her father had forgotten her. But she answered, "Father told me to wait, and he promised to come, and he will be sure to keep his promise." At last it got quite dark, and she could not see anybody coming, so she sat down a while. Soon after someone called, "Nellie Nellie!" It was her father back at last. She answered, "I am here, father." When he got to her he asked her if she was not afraid, and if she thought he would never come, telling her he had been detained on business. She said, "No, father, I was not afraid, because you promised to come, and I knew you would not forget." If we only would trust God as little Nellie trusted her father, how much happier we should feel. Let us pray to God for faith to love and serve Him all our days. EVA STANLEY.

Manchester.

was a pleasant morning in May.

about being entered on, when our teacher was called from the room. After an absence of a few minutes, she returned, bringing with her a little girl, whom she introduced to us as Emma Lee.

The child quietly took the place assigned her, and the duties of the day proceeded as usual.

Some weeks after this, before schooltime one morning, we were assembled on the ground, enjoying ourselves in our various games for exercise. Helen Gray came up in great haste, saying, " She had something to tell us." With one accord our sports

were abandoned, and we crowded around her to listen.

She said that on the coming Thursday she would be eight years old, and her mother had told her that she might invite all her school-mates to take tea with her on that day. "Now," said she, "be sure to ask your mothers, when you go home, if you may come; and we'll have a nice time !"

Just then the school bell rung, and it prevented any further remarks. Whilst studying my first lesson, I happened to look over towards Emma Lee's desk, which was directly opposite mine, and I saw tear drop on the book over which she was bending her head. Another, and then

another fell. She quietly wiped them away, and continued looking over her lesson. Her class was soon called to recite. Every question put to her was answered with her usual correctness.

When the play hour came, of course the birthday party was the general subject of conversation.

After a few moments, I happened to think of Emma, and, on looking around, I noticed her at some distance from us, alone.

I went to her, and asked her what was the reason that she wept that morning in school.

"Why," she replied, "when Helen Gray was speaking of next Thursday, she told us to ask our mothers if we could come;" and then her dark eye seemed to glow still darker, as she said, "I have no mother to ask."

I put my arm around her neck, and kissed her. Child as I was, I felt that there was something sacred in her sorrow.

In a few minutes she looked up, and said, "My aunt is very kind to me; but when I hear other little girls speak of their mothers, I do so wish I had a mother, too, to love me! I think I never would grieve her."

My heart smote me; for I knew I had grieved my kind mother that morning by my disobedience.

She told me that she did not remember her mother, as she had died when she was but two years old.

The summons to resume our studies was given, and we were soon. busy with our books again; yet I could not forget little Emma's sad story.

Thursday, so much looked for, came at last, and we all enjoyed ourselves very much at Helen's home. Sometimes I thought I saw a shadow on Emma's face, though she seemed to enter into the pleasures of the hour. But she was never a merry child. I have thought since that it was the loss of a mother's love and care that made her so quiet, even in her sports.

She had no mother! I remember how long I thought of her after I laid my head on my pillow that night; and I resolved, then and there, to love my mother more than I ever had before.

Have you a mother? Thank God for her untiring care and precious love. Cherish her tenderly; for, next to a Saviour's love, here is the greatest blessing you will ever know on earth.

Be gentle with your companions; but, oh! be very gentle with the motherless-for there are many, many such-and, when you can, throw the sunlight of your love and kindness over their sorrowful, clouded pathway.

ON the cradle soft and easy, Lies the baby covered quite By the blankets warm and fleecy, By the curtains pure and white.

Little hands have ceased their playing,
Bright eyes heavy now with sleep,
Little feet are warm and cosy,
Cuddled up in one soft heap.

All is quiet in the nursery,
Baby sleeping for a while,
Angels to her softly whisper,

And she answers with a smile.

Little darling! Jesus keep thee

Safe from harm through all thy life; Shield thee in its hardest battle,

Help thee in its hardest strife.

SECRET is something one should not tell; Little girl Gold-locks knows this well, So she shadows her lips with one small hand, That none but myself may understand, And begs for the wonderful history Of the chippie birds in the cedar-tree.

We call this our secret; and Gold-locks'

eyes,

Though brimmed with mischief, look wondrous wise;

And since already the rogue has heard
The story repeated, word for word,
Over and over, always new,

The rest of the children shall hear it too.

The chippies had built a dried-grass house.
Under the thickest, greenest boughs;
Not a single window was in the wall,
Not a door, nor any roof at all;
The place for the skylight was the door,
And a soft, soft carpet lined the floor.
They were plain and home-spun little folks ;
None of those gaudy hats and cloaks
Such as the dandy orioles wear,
Whether the weather be dull or fair;
Nor even as much as a crimson vest,
Such as covers the robin's breast.

Mrs. Chippie wore mostly brown,
From tiny claw-gloves to shawl and gown;
And Mr. Chippie was plain indeed
In a dingy, well-worn suit of tweed;

But the oddest of all was their family,
Nothing but brown eggs, one, two, three!
Gold-locks thought it was very queer
Why Mrs. Chippie should disappear,
Whenever she peeped through the cedar
boughs

To look at the cunning dried-grass house,
And count through the open skylight door
Little brown eggs, one, two, three, four!
She studied within her careful brain
What they would do if it should rain;
And at night, whenever she thought of it,
She looked to see if their lamp was lit;
Always so wrapped in mystery
Were the little folks in the cedar-tree!
But now the funniest thing of all-
And Gold-locks laughs until tears fall-
Four baby birds are in the nest-
Big and homely, and not half-dressed;
You would think-they open their mouths
so wide-

They could swallow each other if they tried.
What do you think bird babies eat?
Nothing so very nice or sweet.

Their mother brings them for cakes and pies

Little green worms and bugs and flies;
And when they are grown up, I suppose,
She will dress them all in plain brown
clothes. Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

flaxen hair, and I loved him. But one day I got drunk, and, coming home, found him gathering berries in the garden, and became angry without a cause, and killed him with a rake. Whisky has done it—it has ruined me! I have but one more word to saynever, never, NEVER, touch anything that can intoxicate !"