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said to her. Aunt Mary has not spoken on the subject; the young people have all envied her the life before her. What can it be? Her cousin Alfred boasts of the number of parties and fêtes his beautiful sister Leila attended last season, and of the number she is to give herself next season, as she is Leila Osborne no longer, but the Hon. Mrs. Dudley; and tells how delighted she is that she can chaperone her cousin, though only two years older than she.

But Lucy, as she thinks of these things tonight, sighs, scarce knowing why; and rising, throws open the window to let in the balmy air, and gazes out at the beautiful scene-beautiful indeed in the soft moonlight. Silver-tipped are the hills and trees; whilst, mirror-like, the quiet lakes reflect the whole, and smile under the gentle toying of the moonbeams. No wonder that Lucy stood enraptured; never before had nature seemed to her so lovely. There was rest there, even such rest as she fancied lay in Aunt Mary's eyes, and in those soft grey ones seen so long ago, so dimly remembered.

Yes, Lucy thought that she had learnt the secret of Aunt Mary's peaceful spirit, the key to her hidden treasure. Amidst the tranquil beauties and wonders of nature she had sought and found it; and the more she gazed and thought, the more fully she became convinced she had guessed aright. As she lay down to rest, she wished she could have spent her life in this quiet abode, in the midst of this glorious scenery, that in the midst of nature she might find the treasure she coveted.

Nay, Lucy, nay; not there the blessing you seek. Nature can give much,-pure joys, simple, soul-elevating pleasures; it can rouse feelings akin to the sublime; but it cannot give true happiness, cannot impart real peace. Only One can do that, and He is hidden from your eyes, though He is ever present with you. Though He has loved you with an everlasting love; though He has died to redeem you from the god of this world; if He is named to you now, you would exclaim, 'I see no beauty in Him.' But yet a while, and, your eyes opened, his glories will flash on your sight, and the language of your heart and lips will be, 'He is chief among ten thousand-altogether lovely.'

Even as she lay asleep, prayers were ascending for her. Aunt Mary's heart yearned over the orphan girl: too well she knew the temptations which lay before her. Fain would the childless widow have kept the child of her dead friend to live with herself, but it might not be. Her natural home was with her mother's brother, Mr Osborne, and all that Aunt Mary could do for her was to pray. All! but was not that enough; better than anything else she could do? Could she not thus draw down on the head of the motherless girl richer blessings, surer protection, than she or any one on earth could bestow? Ye who love the Lord, and delight yourself in Him, pray on; pray for the souls of those around you, Lord, let them live before Thee;' and doubt not, though the answer tarry, it will surely come; and He, true to his promise, will give thee the desire of thine heart.

CHAPTER III.

'Oh, who could bear life's stormy doom,
Did not thy wing of love

Come brightly wafting through the gloom,
One peace branch from above!

Then sorrow touched by Thee grows bright,
With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.'

AND you really think, Alfred, that Harry Wilmot is determined to find the hidden treasure? Well I do wish, if he does, he'll let me into the secret; for I am beginning to believe that happiness is all a myth, a mere word, found only in a dictionary. I doubt if any one is happy, even those who are well, and able to go where they like, see what they like, and do what they like; not like me, obliged to lie here all day, hardly ever able to move or do one thing I wish to do. Certainly, happiness is a thing unknown in my experience, and yet, could it be got, it is a boon worth the finding. There now, I have horrified Cousin Lucy by my speech. Never mind, dear, Alfred can tell you I don't always speak like that; only my head aches tonight, and it is weary weary work, always to be ill, and know you will never be better-at least never like other people.'

The speaker was a young girl of about fourteen, the Osbornes' youngest child. An invalid almost from her birth (a fall, whilst still an infant, having injured the spine, and laid the seeds of permanent though not fatal disease). All that care, nursing, and the best medical skill could do, had been done, and yet the hopes were small that Netty Osborne would ever rise much from the couch. For long the child was as contented as the circumstances would admit of, and the loving attentions lavished on her went far to soften her lot. But of late it was different: the precocious mind was early developing; the feelings of the child were changing to those of the woman; she was waking up to the bitterness of her lot; cut off from the enjoyments of life, incapacitated from taking her part in the busy world. The cup was a bitter one to drink, and can we wonder if she turned away from it, and rebelled, loudly rebelled, against the draught?

Poor Netty! were there none to tell you of Him who alone could sweeten the bitter cup; of Him who, for your sake, drank to the dregs a still more bitter draught, and murmured not, only saying, Father, not my will, but thine be be done? Were there none to speak to you of Him, whose very name is as 'ointment poured forth;' none to lead you to Him, who is as willing as He is able to cure,-the Great Physician, the kind, loving, sympathizing elder brother, Jesus?

No, not one. Father, mother, brother, sister, gave all they could give, in the shape of fond love, unwearied attentions, kind sympathy-but no more. The treasure was indeed a hidden one to her; months of vanity and wearisome nights were appointed to her, and she knew not that He who appointed them did so in love. She thought of Him (if at all) only in the light of

[January 1, 1867.]

THE CHRISTIAN TREASURY.

an enemy, and saw not that the very hand that chastened bore the marks of wounds received for her.

Lucy Villiers had scarcely ever seen her Cousin Netty for years, and now as she sat beside her on the day after her arrival in her uncle's London home, her whole heart was filled with compassion for the young girl. She marked the restless, eager, longing eyes, the weary unsatisfied expression, and noticed the bitter tone of irony in which she spoke,-too surely indicative of a heart ill at ease; and Lucy's kind heart longed to comfort the sufferer, and speak words of peace to her.

But how could she speak what she knew not; how lead one to the hidden treasure, when she herself knew not the way? As she sat there, joining Alfred in repeating many of the jokes which had amused them at Amberley Park, in order to cheer up Netty, she felt that they fell pointless on the girl's ears, and she longed to see Aunt Mary sitting by that couch, sure that she would find a way to soothe and cheer. Not till Alfred told the story of Harry Wilmot setting off to search for the Sangreal, did his sister's interest seem roused; then she spoke as we have told.

Yes; happiness was something worth seeking, It was all very if one only knew the right way. well in Alfred to say that happiness was a thing which every one possessed, and therefore did not require to be sought for; but she knew she had it not, nor many others that she could name;

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not even Leila, bride though she was, and rich in all the world calls good.

Long after the others had retired to rest, Netty lay and thought of the hidden treasure, and wondered if the Great Treasurer, of whom Aunt Mary had spoken, would ever open to her, and give forth the hidden store. Oh, if He only would-if any would tell her where she could find Him! She would beg and pray Him to do so, and surely he would not refuse a poor ing child like her.

suffer

Refuse!-ah, no! He is waiting to be gracious; longing to pour the balm of Gilead into the weary heart; longing to show thee himself, to reveal his glory to thee. Even now, though thou hearest Him not, he is saying, 'Come unto me, ye weary and heavy-laden one, and I will give you rest.'

But as yet Netty heard not that voice, and as she lay she began to mark out a path for herself, by which she hoped to attain the treasure. She was wonderfully attracted to Lucy Villiers; she felt she could love her; her soft eyes seemed to read her thoughts, and feel for her, and her gentle voice sounded as sweet music in her ears. Ere Netty fell asleep, she had determined to search for the treasure in the path of friendship: surely in the interchange of thought and affection with a kindred soul, she would find the good she panted for! She too had joined the seekers, and her path also would end in 'vexation of (To be continued.) spirit.'

Readings for the Young.

THE FAITHFUL DOG.

HE Silesian vale is in the midst of great high mountains in Germany. There is in the middle of it a village, where very plain peasants live. Not far from the village stands a very old castle, which was occupied by a nobleman and his family. Strangers, in travelling through the country, often went to see the castle, for it was very remarkable in many respects. There were beautiful paintings in the parlours, curious old books in the library, and articles of carved ivory that were very wonderful.

One day a man went to the castle gate and asked admission. He seemed to be old, and was clad in a long cloth robe, which made him look exactly like a priest. A servant came to the gate, and the stranger said to him: 'I am a plain country priest, and have come from a distance to see this castle. I have heard a great deal about it, and the wonderful things that are in it. May I be allowed to enter it? Tell the gentleman who lives here that I am a poor man, and that I will be grateful if I may be allowed to go through it.' The servant replied: My master is not at home, but his wife is at home, and she is a very kind lady. I am sure you can gain admission; in fact, it is a standing rule

here, that when a preacher asks admission, he is Come in.' never refused. The great iron gate opened slowly, and the By-and-by he reached the stranger entered. door of the castle, and was admitted into the parlour. He was introduced to the nobleman's wife, who was indeed a good woman, and had a very kind heart.

She showed him the pictures, and the beautiful ivory articles, and the old books, and many other interesting things. She led him through all the chief parts of the castle, and finally conducted him up the high flights of stairs to the top of the tower. Her little boy accompanied her, and she held him by the hand. By-and-by they reached the highest point of the tower, and the good lady said to the stranger, 'Look out now upon this beautiful Silesian valley; did you ever see it surpassed?'

No sooner had she said these words, than the stranger threw off his monk's hood and his long robe, and seized the little boy of the good lady in his arms, and held him over the parapet of the tower.

'Now,' said he, 'give me your jewels, or I will drop your child!"

Horrified at such conduct, the good lady screamed aloud; but, of course, nobody could hear her at that distance.

She then said to the cruel man, 'I now see who you are; you are Kuno, the great robber. Give me my dear child, and you shall have all the jewels in the house.'

'Do you promise me faithfully?' said he. 'I will. I will give you everything you want, if you will save my child,' she answered. But will you make no alarm, so that I may get away from here in safety?'

'Give me my child,' said she, ' and you shall go from here in safety.'

Wicked Kuno took the child down, and gave him to his mother. In one half-hour from that time he had taken his departure through the big gate, with the splendid jewels in his possession.

Many weeks passed on, and the nobleman, who had been several months in Paris, returned. The whole event was told to him; and he took his little boy, whose name was Lewis, in his arms, and said, 'Thank God! How thankful I am that his life is spared! He is worth more to me than all our jewels.'

I have said that the nobleman's wife was a kind lady. Now I will prove it.

She was in the habit of taking a long ride every Thursday, with provisions for the poor in her carriage. One day she was told by a humble peasant woman, whom she had assisted many times for several years, that in the next cottage a poor man lay, who had fallen in one of the mountain passes, and had so injured himself that he could not live much longer. I have a few loaves of bread left,' said she, and I will go in and see him, and perhaps I can help him.'

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She was admitted into the dying man's little room. On seeing the strange lady enter, he lifted his weary eyes toward her, and gave a loud groan.

It was Kuno, who had taken her jewels! 'I know you,' said she, but I will not harm you. I forgive you all.'

He replied: I am a dying man. Your jewels have been like coals of fire in my heart ever since I took them. They now lie in that bag in the corner of the room. Good lady, will you pray with me?'

She did pray with him, and stayed with him several hours. She noticed a beautiful little white dog, which sat on the foot of the bed, and looked at Kuno all the time. It was Kuno's dog, named Flink; and he seemed as if he really thought his master was going to die. He was faithful to the last.

Kuno said: "There are the jewels, which you must take home with you; and here, on this bed, is my little jewel, Flink. He has been faithful to me in all my crimes, and he will be faithful to you in all your good deeds.'

The kind lady left the house, but not until Kuno died. She provided for his burial. He was laid away in the village graveyard. She took Flink home with her; and though it was some time before he became attached to the family, yet he did become fond of Lewis, and all the rest of the occupants of the castle.

Several years now passed by, and Lewis grew large enough to ride on horseback. Little Flink followed him wherever he went. He was as

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devoted to him as he had been to his first master. One day Lewis was riding on one of the roads that wind around the neighbouring mountains, and the horse became frightened at a queerlooking rock that stood near the road. sprang suddenly, and Lewis was so taken by surprise that he fell off, and his foot caught in the stirrup, and he was dragged for some distance on the ground. Flink made a spring at the reins that were hanging loose from the horse's neck. He got one of them in his little mouth, and held it firmly. The horse seemed to be gentle enough on ordinary occasions; but I fear that poor Lewis would have lost his life, if it had not been for little Flink; for that dog held the horse by the rein for some time, until a peasant, who had come from the other side of the mountain, saw the strange scene. The remarkable sagacity of the dog astonished him. Lewis's foot was released; and, after recovering his strength, he was placed upon his horse, and returned home. He told his parents all that had happened, and that Flink had been the instrument of his safety. Gratitude filled the hearts of Lewis's parents, and thanks were offered that his life had been preserved.

The next time that the nobleman went to Breslau, he ordered a little silver collar to be made for little Flink. Now, I will tell you what inscription was put upon it. It may seem to you a very long one; but the words were small, so that they could be engraved very easily around the collar. You will find it in the Bible; and without telling you where it is, I hope you will find the place if I give you the words

'Not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing, but contrariwise, blessing; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that you should inherit blessing.'

The beautiful bright silver collar was brought home, and Lewis read the strange inscription. He then asked his mother why that verse had been put upon Flink's collar. She then told him, for the first time, all about Kuno's threatening to throw him from the castle tower, and that the only way his life was spared was by giving away her jewels.

'Mother,' said Lewis, 'I hope Kuno was a good man when he died. But your kindness to him on his deathbed will be worth more to me than all the property I may ever possess. I shall be thankful as long as I live for my good

mother.'

BE YE KIND ONE TO ANOTHER.

WE were playing at bricks one afternoon in our old nursery. We had begun to build a castle, and were very anxious to see it finished. So we took all the bricks to build it with, each a heap for herself, and left none for the baby to play with. She did not cry, but came to me and asked, in her sweet childish accent, for one little brick.

It was refused. The bright face clouded, and the blue eyes filled with tears. Generally the sight of my dear little sister's distress would have

touched me; but I was too much taken up with play at the time to care.

She went away to another sister, and got a brick from her. So the baby was happy, and soon both she and I had forgotten all about it.

But I was to remember my unkindness again; for, when the trees were getting green, and the flowers springing up, and the earth looking her loveliest, God took our baby-sister to that land where the trees are ever green, and the flowers never fade.

'The baby is dead!' they told me. They took me to see her lying on her little bed. As I looked on her face, now so cold and passionless; on her eyelids, shut fast by the hand of death; the memory came back to me of an earnest pleading face, and blue eyes filled with tears by my unkindness. I lay down on the floor beside her bed, and wept long and sore.

Then they told me that she was happy-quite, perfectly happy; that nothing could ever grieve her any more; that even now, as we looked at the empty body of our baby, her spirit was in heaven, one of those infant angels whom Jesus keeps so close and near to himself; that in her

little hands a harp is placed; on her sorrowless head a crown of gold is set.

They could not comfort me. I believed every word which they told me of her happiness, but that did not comfort me.

They laid her under the green grass, and soon the daisies grew over her head. Not so soon did my sorrow pass away.

God saw that this sad and sore lesson was needed to make me less selfish; and not until it was fully learned, in all its bitterness, did He send me comfort.

And though it is a long, long time ago now since then, and many a winter's snows have lain on her grave, and many a summer's flowers bloomed there, I cannot yet think without pain of the day when I grieved the baby-sister whom God lent us for a season; and have written this for you, dear little ones now reading it, in the hope that, by God's help and blessing, your little hands may be made gentler, and your little hearts kinder, towards those little ones whom your loving Father has given you to love. 'Little children, love one another.'

O. D.

THE CHASTENED SOUL'S CHOICE.

'Let us fall now into the hand of the Lord, for his mercies are great.'-2 SAM. XXIV. 14.

DAVID had sinned; the pride of his heart, excited by Satan, had led him astray; and the prophet meets him with a message from God, as one who had entered into temptation. But his heart had already smitten him, and he had gone to the throne with his inward sorrow, saying, 'Take away the iniquity of thy servant, for I have done very foolishly.' In this frame the divine proposal-to choose one of three troubles -was laid before him. It is seldom that God allows his people to choose their own troubles; and David wisely casts himself back on God. He had learned what man is, and he had also learned by experience how gracious God is. The event proved that, though God would not pass over the sin of David, and of his people, yet that He could overrule all for good. This was a kind of clearing-up storm in David's eventful life. Then came the tranquil evening, to be followed by the bright day of Solomon's prosperous reign. New discoveries, new blessings, sprang out of this last trial of David's.

The Lord does not present us with three evils, out of which to choose what we think is the best; but He presents us with good in its infinitely varied forms. He spreads out before us his word, the riches of his everlasting covenant, and says, 'Ask what I shall give thee.' Let us open our mouths wide, and He will fill them.'

of various

Still, it may be that, in consequence trials and sorrows, we may be in a great strait of perplexity. If so, let us adopt David's resolution; and whatever may have brought us into our trouble, let us fall into the hands of the Lord.' If we fall penitently and resignedly into the hands of Omnipotence, saying, 'Let Him do as seemeth Him good,' we shall prove that we are under the shadow of his tender mercies.

Use the rod, and not the sword;
Correct with kind simplicity;
Bring me not to nothing, Lord,
But bring me home to Thee!'

Words in Season.

BIBLE THOUGHTS.

BY THE EDITOR.

1 COR. I. 7.

Ar Corinth there was a large and noble church. It was not perfect; there were errors and divisions in it; there was gross sin in it. Yet it was not only a true church, but one of high attainment. The Corinthian saints were enriched in all utterance and all knowledge. They had gifts as well as graces; manifold gifts; all gifts; they came behind or were deficient in no gift; they abounded in them. They were an advancing church; a church of true progress, in knowledge, gifts, and holiness.

Thus there may, in a church, be much evil in the midst of much good. Even when there are divisions and inconsistencies, there may be life and fruit. The remedy for all the evil, and the source of all good, was to be their holding fast Christ and his truth, Christ, the power of God and the wisdom of God.

It is progress at which we are to aim,-each church, each Christian. We must first startstart in the right direction-for the walk or the race. We must begin with believing; we must be rooted and grounded in love. And then progress, true progress begins; not till then. Having begun, we go on unto perfection; we increase and abound in wisdom, truth, holiness, hatred of sin, love to the brethren, pity for the world. Onward, upward, is our motto. Our earnestness after true progress, and our dread of progress falsely so called, should go together.

But, along with these gifts, there was one thing specially noticeable in these Corinthians: they waited for the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ. Let us mark here

I. The Person.-He is not here designated Son of man, or Son of God, King, or Master, or Bridegroom, but 'Lord Jesus Christ,'-his fullest, largest title, and one which the apostle delights to repeat at full length, as if never weary of it. He is-(1.) Lord; nay, He is Lord of lords: He is Lord in the sense of God; He is Jehovah; for this is his Old Testament name. (2.) Jesus; Jah, the Saviour; He who saves us from our sins; a divine Saviour. (3.) Christ; Messiah, the anointed One; filled with the Spirit without measure; the vessel of infinite and divine fulness. These three names declare his glory, and also reveal his grace. In them we read: God is love;' God so loved the world;' 'Herein is love.'

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Satan; to convert Israel and the Gentiles; to execute vengeance; to raise his saints; to judge and to reign. For these things He comes. He is only waiting for the time appointed of the Father. Then He shall appear in his glory, no longer the man of sorrows, but the Conqueror, the Bridegroom, the crowned King.

III. The Posture: Waiting' (see Rom. viii. 19, 23). As the servant for the master; the traveller or mariner for the morning; the bride for the bridegroom. In all these there is eager and earnest expectation. The event is infinitely desirable; the person is the object of love. We have heard of Him; we long to see Him, and to hear his voice. His absence is sadness and gloom. As Rutherford says, 'It is like a mountain of iron on our heavy hearts.' All seems to go wrong in that time of absence. In such a case 'waiting' is a necessity; we cannot but wait. (1) We wait in faith; (2) In hope; (3) In patience; (4) In desire; (5) In love; (6) In watchfulness. Such was the church's position before Messiah's first coming; such is it before his second. It is the posture of the church-and of each saint. They are waiters and watchers. There must be no forgetfulness, no indifference, no sloth, no sleep; all wakefulness, eagerness, and longing. Many things tend to hinder this, and to throw us off our guard. Let us beware, and hold fast. Let us not sleep as do others, but watch.

IV. The connection between this posture and the gifts: it is close, vital, and mutual.-The gifts cherish the waiting, and the waiting the gifts: the one helps the other. The more we wait, the more the gifts will grow; and the more they grow, the more will we wait. (1.) The gifts are all from Christ, out of his fulness; and the more we possess of the gifts, the more shall we desire to know the giver; the more copious and pleasant our draughts of the stream, the more shall we long for the fountainhead. (2.) The gifts are the gifts of the Spirit, and He is the Witness of Christ; the more that we are filled with Him, the more shall we wait, and look, and long for Him to whom He testifies, and whom his office is to glorify. Thus the two things are inseparably linked together. We cannot be growing Christians without waiting for Christ; and we cannot wait for Christ without growing.

(1.) Press on.-Stationary saintship is as poor as it is perilous. Advance, advance! Make this your motto. Be progressive Christians; belong to the advanced school of theology and holiness, in the

true sense.

(2.) Beware of stumbling and backsliding.-The tendencies, both within and without, are all against us. Snares and stumblingblocks are in our path. Be on your guard. Look to your feet. Dread one retrogressive step. Watch against coldness and prayerlessness.

II. The Event: 'the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ. The word is properly the Apocalypse,' or revelation,' or 'manifestation.' He is now hidden-unseen-within the veil. But this concealment is not always to last. God hath appointed a day for revelation.' Then He shall be visible; every eye shall see Him. His first coming is the greatest event in earth's past history; his second coming is the greatest in its future. He shall come! Behold, the Lord cometh. He comes in glory; in majesty; with clouds; with all his saints; to destroy antichrist; to deliver creation; to binding of the day of God.

(3.) Wait for the revelation of Christ.-Be this your posture constantly; not theoretical, but practical. Let nothing come between you and a crucified Christ; a risen Christ; a glorified Christ; a coming Christ. Look for, and hasten to, the com

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