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also bid thee again and a recompense be made thee but when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed the lame, the blind, and thou shalt be blessed, for they cannot recompense thee, for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.'” Luke xiv. 12-14.

Then, uncle, you think that there can be no generosity without self-denial."

“ Certainly not. If you give of your abundance only what you never miss, this is not generous. To be truly generous we must deprive ourselves of some enjoyment, or sacrifice some taste or feeling for the benefit of others, and that, too, from a proper motive."

“ Then I must give up Cæsar and Alcibiades," said Horace sadly, “and choose some other hero."

All that day and the next he laboured at his essay, and after many attempts-after choosing and rejecting many heroes in succession, and burning many a page, he fixed on the example of a person who had left a very large fortune to a public charity, besides giving a great deal during his lifetime. Horace did not yet fully understand the subject: he forgot that the motive must be clear and undoubted.

The important day came when the prize was to be given for the essays composed during the holidays. All the school was assembled ; the master was seated at his desk, with a large pile of papers before him.

“Well, boys,” said he, “I have examined all the essays sent in, with the greatest attention. There is something creditable in all of them. You have given me many instances of apparently generous actions involving selfdenial, of which we cannot know the motive, because we cannot see the heart; and, on the other hand, many things done evidently from a good motive, but involving no selfdenial. In one essay only I have found generosity viewed in its twofold aspect,-a self-denying act, done from a proper motive, with the testimony as to the purity of motive from One who knew the heart. This essay is the composition of the youngest boy among you, and to it I shall adjudge the prize, as in my opinion it comes nearest to the

rules which I gave you for the essay. These were, 1st, Brevity ; 2d, An example judiciously chosen from a wellknown book. The composition is sufficiently short, and I will read it to you.

"GENEROSITY. “ Generosity is liberality without ostentation, selfdenial, from love to God and our neighbour,

Example. "And he looked up, and saw the rich men casting their gifts into the treasury. And he saw also a certain poor widow casting in thither two mites. And he said, Of a truth I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast in more than they all ; for all these have of their abundance cast in unto the offerings of God; but she of her penury hath cast in all the living that she had.'” (Luke xxi. 1-4.)

The master had scarcely ceased reading, when approval of his decision was shown by the loud applause of many young voices.

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HYMN.
We are not orphans on the earth,

Though friends and parents die ;
One Parent never bows to death,

One Friend is ever nigh —
Even He who lit the stars of old,

And filled the ocean broad,
Whose works and ways are manifold-

Our Father is our God,
There comes no change upon his years,

No failure to his hand ;
His love will lighten all our cares,

His law our steps command-
And One who for our sakes the gloom

Of death's dark valley trod,
Will bring us safe at last to Him,

Our Father and our God.

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JETTY AND THE BEE. We have a beautiful, little Blenheim spaniel, with such bright black hair that we call her Jetty. She has long ears, black sparkling eyes, a white breast, brown silky paws, and a brown spot over each eye. She is only about the size of your frisky kitten, although she is several years old.

Jetty was rather melancholy yesterday, and not inclined to eat her breakfast, so I gave her a little bit of sugar; and she liked the sweetness so much, that she thought she would have something else that was sweet,-something of her own choosing. Well, she trotted down stairs, but presently returned, shaking her ears, and looking as if her mouth had been hurt. Then sbe carefully laid a treasure upon the carpet, turned it over with her nose, and shook her ears again. What do you think she had got ? A great bumble bee ! I suppose she had licked some honey off its legs; but, alas ! it had stung her tongue.

Little children, beware of stolen sweets! There is often a sting in them!

ILLUSTRATIVE STORY. It was a sad sight to see little Harry gazing in wild ; amazement at his weeping mother, and vainly trying to comfort her, saying, “Don't cry, dear mamma ;" and then to see her clasp her little boy to her bosom, and exclaim, in a burst of grief, “ My boy, my own dear boy, you have no father now to care for you!" That morning a letter had told that Harry's father had died of a fever in India.

But months had passed away, and it was a pleasant sight to see that mother, in her widow's dress, her pale face calmed and brightened by thoughts of the better land, sitting with little Harry on her knee, telling of a “Father in heaven who could never die.”

It was Sabbath evening, the sun was sinking in the west among soft downy clouds, and his rays, passing through the open window, rested on the boy's fair face, making it fairer still.

“Look at that beautiful sun, and look at this little daisy, Harry,” said mamma, pointing to a daisy in a little green flower-pot standing on the window sill. “I would like my dear boy to know that he has still a Father, and that that Father made yon great sun, and cares for that little flower, and will care for my Harry too.” The young scholar looked up in her face." See," she continued, “tbat kind Father gave this daisy its drop of dew to drink each morning; he clothed it in its green robe, and crowned it with its white flower, tinging its edges with red ; and so He will feed and clothe my little Harry, and make his cheeks blush with bealth.”

“Will He? But, mamma, I never saw Him. Where is He ?"

“God will be your Father, my boy, and he is ever pear, though you don't see him. You know at night I often come to the side of your crib, and though you don't see me, you feel happy that I am there ; so you should feel happy that God is near, kindly to watch over you, though you don't see him either."

There was a pause for a little. The mother's eye wandered to a picture of Harry's papa hanging over the mantel-piece; and as she gazed, her eyes filled with tears.

“Dear Harry,” her voice trembled,“ you remember what aunt Mary said to you when she came to see you, that you were just like your dear papa. Now, all who are God's children are like God, and God is very good ; they love him-they are kind and obedient. Will my Harry try to be good, and be God's own child ?"

“Oh, yes," exclaimed the little fellow, and threw his arms round his mother's neck, and kissed her ; but again he sunk back, and looking anxiously at her, asked, “But, mamma, will God never die ?"

It was too much for that wounded heart: it cost a great effort ere the mother could say, “No, my boy, if God is your father, that great Father can never die.”

Little Harry seldom afterwards forgot to kneel down each evening and pray to his great Father, God. Often, too, on Sabbath evening, he asked mamma to tell him of

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that beautiful home where all God's children will meet at last to be happy for ever and ever; and then they sung together the hymn, "Round the throne of God in heaven.”

“PEACE AT THE LAST." Not many weeks ago, I stood, for the first time, beside a dying bed. I had looked on death before ; for who has reached manhood or womanhood without being called to gaze upon the awful aspect of that universal visitant. But I had never watched the stealthy progress of his inroads, or spoken with one who stood face to face with him, in near expectation of the last great struggle. It was therefore with a new and solemn feeling that I entered the chamber of a dying girl who had expressed a wish to see me.

I had visited her in a former illness about twelve months before, and seen reason then to hope that the grace of God had fitted her for either life or death ; a belief confirmed by every thing I had since heard of her. For a while she recovered sufficiently to be able to return to her situation, but now, for two months, she had been again confined to her bed, suffering from a fearful disease, which it was evident could only terminate in death. Incessant pain rising at times to paroxysms of terrible agony, and only lulled at night by powerful opiates, had worn her almost to the appearance of a living skeleton; and it was to the surprise of her medical attendants, as well as of all who saw her, that she could have lingered on so long. These particulars ber mother told me on a previous visit, dwelling on Ellen's patient endurance and resignation with many tears.

When I entered the room, a smile of grateful welcome lighted up the poor girl's wasted features, and the warm pressure of her thin white fingers, told almost more plainly than lier whispered words that she was truly glad to see me. As soon as I was seated she expressed in a few unobtrusive words her sorrow at hearing of a sudden and heavy bereavement I had recently sustained. I have often

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