don't want to have poor folks' children, so I may wish as long as I like—sometimes I've even wished she had been born to the rich instead of to me.”

“What!” said the young lady, “would you like to know, now, after all you have done for her, and so fond as you are of her, that she was not your own child, and you had only been nursing her for the real parent? Or, should you like it, if you could look down into the cradle just now, and find that the baby was not there, and could be told that a rich man had got her, and meant to adopt her, and would bring her up well, and let her live in his house, and be taken care of, and you never, never, to see her again—should you like that ?”

“O no, no,” replied the mother, "never to see her again, and her not even to know she was my child, or know anything about me—No, I don't think I could bear that." She looked down into the cradle, and softly touched the child's delicate arm with her rough hand, as if to assure herself that the picture which her young visitor had presented to her was unreal, and then she continued in a musing tone, " And yet, bless her! what can I do for her? Why just lay her down under a hedge all day, and then let her cry if she must cry, and sleep if she can sleep -that's all."

"And love her," suggested the girl.—

"Yes, to be sure, love her," said the mother, "but that I could do whatever happened. I should love her however long I was away from her-I could love her just as well in another man's house. Well if I came to be tried, and anybody was to offer to take her-anybody that I knew would be good to her— and she was to live in plenty, and be happy, and kept away from wickedness and mischief, I don't know but what I could give her, even if I was not to see her again for years and But I needn't talk-who would have her, poor lamb ?" "No Martha, I dont think any one would," said the young lady, "but you will do for her yourself as well as you can, and when she grows older she will be a great help and comfort to you."

years.

"I don't mean to say but what she is a great comfort now," replied the mother, resting her hands upon her knees, and looking down in the dusk upon her child. "But then she's a care

ful comfort-It's only along of my being so fond of her that I ever took these wishes into my head-for sometimes when I'm gleaning, or hoeing turnips, or what not, and when I'm forced. to leave her to cry by herself, and can't help feeling that I'm a poor creature, that's hard-worked, and neither food nor covering enough to keep cold and hunger off-and a husband that doesn't care what becomes of her, through the ale-house-why then I take to fancying what she may come to when she's a woman, and I wish she may be different."

"I hope so," said the visitor, and she looked round the cottage, which contained scarcely an article of furniture beyond the chairs on which they were seated-" we all hoped that John would be different after his illness."

The mother shook her head. "It's very hard," she observed, "and makes me very down-hearted when I'm coming home from my work, with this child in my arms, to have him meet me in such a state that he can scarcely walk, and take my wages out of my hand to buy more with-and so I comfort myself with making out a different sort of life for her, and wishing for all sorts of comforts for her."

As she said this, the baby sobbed in its sleep two or three times: the mother moved it, and again rocked the cradle, looking towards the casement, and talking quietly, while the harvestmoon shone on her care-worn face, and on the brick floor and white-washed walls.

"Martha," said the young lady, "how the baby sobs.-If she was old enough to understand what you have been saying, I should think she was sobbing at your notion of giving her away."

"Bless her," said the woman, with a smile: " yes, I would do it if I could-that I would. If it broke my heart to part with her, I would still do it-to-morrow if I had a chance-I think I could do it to-night. As for wishes, if all my wishes could be given her, she would be too good even to speak with such as me; she would be as happy as the day was long, she should have the beautifullest music that ever was heard, instead of that song that I heard just now,"

"Martha!" exclaimed the young girl, "what do you mean ?:? "She should be taken as much care of, and set as much store

by, as if the Queen herself was her mother, if only I had my wish; and she should learn all sorts of things that I know nothing of, and have no hard work at all: she should live in a beautiful house, quite a mansion, and not even know what poverty is, but have plenty of friends and companions, and if there's any other sort of pleasure that I never heard of (which I don't doubt there is,) she should have it all, God bless her! "O! Martha," said the girl, "don't wish any more, God doesn't bless any of us with so much happiness as that.”

"I must wish" said the mother, "I've no pleasure in this world but in wishing that God would please to let her be happy."

The harvest-moon by this time had risen high enough to cast its yellow lustre through the wicker-work of the cradle. The mother, after her excitement, folded her arms and sat with a softened face, looking down into it, and listening to the soft sigh which now and then heaved her infant's breast.

The darkness increased, and the silence lasted some time. The mother sat resting, and her visitor was lost in thought. If any other face looked down on the baby-features they did not see it; if any other voice spoke, their ears were too dull to hear it. If in the dusky evening, an angel stood at the foot of the cradle, how could they tell, whose sense was not fine enough to catch the sound of immaterial wings, whose arms were held that they could not touch or embrace a spiritual presence, whose eyes were dim-so dim that if an infant spirit, with one deep sigh, had fled into an angel's bosom, they would not have known, nor have caught one gleam of the heavenly smile that such an infant might have turned towards its mother when the wings of a purer guardian enfolded it, and a face of yet deeper love was shining on it.

At length the visitor arose." The baby is very sound asleep now," she said; "how fair and still she looks in the moonlight. I must go now, Martha; it grows late."

"Must you go Miss ?" said the mother," Well, I hope you will tell mistress I am kindly obliged to her for the needle-work. I can sit and think while I do it, and little time I've had for that since I left her service."

"Good night" said the young girl as she shut the door softly hehind her, lest she should wake the baby.

"Poor Martha," she thought as she walked homewards, "how can she indulge in such wild wishes!

Wild wishes indeed! Yet the next morning, as she passed down the village, though the father was again singing that unmelodious song, the mother was no longer rocking the cradle, and entering the cottage, she was made aware that all those wild wishes had been granted, even those which seemed the most unlikely when the mother had uttered them.

For the mother had looked down into the cradle, and had found that the baby was gone, and she was not to see her again, perhaps, for years and years! She had found this parting a bitter thing to bear; but in her heart of hearts, she had consented, since she knew that the Father who had adopted her child would indeed be good to her, and that in His house she would be happy and holy, and free from both poverty and

sorrow.

ORRIS.

THE LESSONS OF THE BIBLE.

THE term "Preceptive Biography" has recently become familiar to the readers of the Youths' Magazine. Its special application may be called in question, because all biography is preceptive,―i. e. calculated to give precepts. Since, however, the phrase is employed to designate such biography as abounds in practical suggestions, records of extraordinary efforts, or of remarkable success, and examples of great value to young persons in particular, we shall not complain of it.

Example is more powerful than precept, and biography in its teachings comes nearer to example than any other department of literature. The finest specimens of preceptive biography in the world are to be found in the Bible, and they are sketches of the lives, actions and characters of both good and bad men. There we see the good-their efforts to advance in personal excellence and in all that is honorable and useful, their successes and the distinction conferred upon them, both by God and man. These pictures are drawn with life-like accuracy, and have irresistible attractions. Just as the photograph depicts our features as they are, and by the light of truth, so God has portrayed Scripture characters upon the sacred page.

No human pencil can paint like the light, and no human author can set forth men's characters and lives, like the author of the Bible. The excellencies of the highest biography are here, without the defects which attach to every work of man. I need but refer to a few of these sketches by way of illustration.

There is the history of Jacob, who early left the parental roof for a distant home, but by diligence and perseverance grew wealthy and honorable.

Look at the vivid and touching picture of Joseph, the youth who was sold by his brothers as a slave, but by integrity, perseverance, and wisdom, passed safely through a long series of temptations, and surmounted many great obstacles, till through the blessing of God he saw himself second in authority in Egypt. Then there are the touching scenes with his brothers and his father, so full of nature, truth, and goodness This is indeed a preceptive biography of the most interesting and important kind.

There is the story of Moses, the child found in the ark of rushes on the Nile, by the king's daughter, and brought up as her own son. Instructed in all the learning of Egypt, and invited to honor and dignity, he refused to offend his conscience, choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season; and preferring the reproach of Christ to the treasures of that wealthy land. We follow him to the desert, exchanging the delights of a palace and the refinements and splendours of a court for the lowly life of a keeper of sheep, nor do we hear a murmur or a complaint. We see him returning at God's command to his oppressed courtrymen, and for forty years holding an office, pursuing a course, and displaying energy and wisdom such as to raise him to the summit of fame.

There are the chequered but instructive life of Joshua, and the history of Samuel, the little boy who was sent to the temple, to whom God spoke by night, and who became a great prophet, and a powerful judge. Nor can we overlook the wonderful history of David, chosen from the sheepfolds, and raised to be the king of Israel. How instructive is his career, and how adorable the ways of God as revealed therein! And