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duties. It is therefore not only allowable but right. All study and no play would soon make not only a dull but a stupid boy; and I for one do not believe that a little boy will be the worse cricketer, or the slower in the race, or the less able to enjoy a long walk, and be a cheerful companion to those who may be with him, because he has been doing his very best all the morning in the schoolroom,-because he wishes to please not only his earthly but his heavenly Father, or because he prayed heartily in the morning that he might be kept from all evil. No, be very sure that true religion will never make a boy a 'muff, whatever some of his schoolfellows for a time may pretend to think; and, in the end, they would be constrained to say, “Well, that little Harry is a downright brick, though nothing on earth will make him do what he fancies is not right.'
This is a long letter, and I must not add any more today, except to send quantities of love.
send quantities of love. Your birthday presents would not safely travel by post, so we hope to leave them with you on our return home.—I am, dear Harry, your very affectionate mother. B-SWITZERLAND,
THE CHILDHOOD OF JESUS.
WHEN I listen to the children,
And hear their voices at play,
To a childhood passed away, —
But we know that it must have beep
That ever on earth was seen.
No cloud of passion or anger
E'er dimmed those gentle eyes ; None saw on that brow so holy
A sullen shadow arise.
A childhood of earnest watching,
Of patient learning and prayer; Waiting His Father's business,
And the hour that called Him there;
Knowing of times of sadness,
And weary days to come,
Would call Him far from home.
And so He patiently waited,
Till the time of that work drew nigh; Then He went forth on His mission,
To heal, and to preach, and—to die.
Ah! well it was for the children
That the Saviour came below, Not only to die to save them,
But an holy example to show.
And He knows the feelings of children,
How weak their hearts must be ! So He says in His love and pity,"Let the little ones come unto me!'
E: C. S. THE VIOLET.
T was a warm spring afternoon, the sun was
fast sinking behind the hills, which looked blue and hazy in the distance, when a little child, wearied out with play, came and threw
herself down on a green mossy bank. The birds sang sweetly overhead, and below her feet the little brook ran babbling past, but she heeded neither ; for the rosy lips were pouting, and hot angry tears stood in the deep blue eyes. She held in her hand a freshly gathered bunch of wild-flowers, but as she lay down she Aung them impatiently away.
"I wanted a violet so much for my sick mamma, and I cannot find any;' and with the words the sobs came too.
Farther down the bank, beneath its own green leaves, a violet lay hid, and it heard the little maiden's words, and it thought—How I should like to belong to that little child! but oh, I am not worthy—I am not worthy ;' and the little flower drooped its head despondingly, not knowing that its humility made its fragrance all the sweeter. But the soft spring wind was hovering near, and heard the violet whisper, and it said, “Can I help the little flower ?' So it drew near and kissed the violet, and then with outstretched wings it bore the kiss to where the child lay; and the little maiden started up and clapped her hands. “The violet ! I have found the violet !' she said ; and the next moment the treasure was her own. And the little brook laughed and sparkled in its glee, and the birds sang cheerier than ever, and the soft spring breeze danced about, for all loved the little modest flower ; but the violet only drooped its head the lower, and whispered still, I am not worthy, oh! I am not worthy.