youth, and who was now old when he uttered them as a warning to others. "If a man live many years, and rejoice in them all: yet let him remember the days of darkness, for they are many. All that cometh is vanity. Rejoice, O young man in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment. Therefore remove sorrow from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh for childhood and youth are vanity."

Every sin is so much wrath laid up against the day of wrath. Every lust is so much fire of hell in the body. Every profane word uttered leaves a dark spot upon the soul to increase the gloom of old age. Every dishonest dollar in the purse is a canker in our treasures to eat up the rest, and to bring emptiness in the end. Every lie and slander with which we wound another is a serpent that will strike back with its fangs into our own heart.

O ye young, can ye brave the Almighty! Can ye ignore that judgment and justice which are the habitation of His throne! Trifle with His eternal laws in youth, and they will fall back upon you in age and crush you with the weight of a world! "Say ye to the righteous, that it shall be well with him, for they shall eat the fruit of their doings. Wo unto the wicked! it shall be ill with him for the reward of his hands shall be given him !"

old

WAIT, MY LITTLE ONE.

Wait! my little one, wait!

When you get to the beautiful land;

Tarry a little, my darling,

Ere you join the heavenly band,

Stand close to the shining gates of pearl,

Look out on the narrow way,

For I want the first glance of my heaven-born sight

On my little babe to stay.

Wait! my little one, wait!

When you reach the courts above;

Look down with the light of thy beautiful eyes

On those that you used to love.

Whisper sweet dreams in our earthly ears

When we lie down to sleep;

Paint bright pictures before our eyes
When we awaken to weep.

Wait! my little one, wait!

When you reach the celestial strand,

For thy mother may be toiling up
To the heights of the better land.
For the years that fall like molten lead
On the hearts this side of the sea,

Will pass like the light of a beautiful dream,
My little baby, o'er thee.

A STORY FOR THE LITTLE FOLKS.

CONTENTMENT IS BETTER THAN RICHES.

A GERMAN WONDER STORY.

On an open space, upon one of the most thickly-wooded mountains of Germany, may be seen even now, the gray ruins of the Castle of Drumburg. If these old walls could speak, they might tell fearful tales; for the old castle was once the stronghold of a band of robbers, whose treasures it was said, were hidden in a vaulted cellar under a strong tower that has now disappeard, but of which wonderful stories were told.

It was a warm summer evening that a poor wood-cutter, who had been at work in the woods was passing the old castle on his way home, and saw lying in his path, an old black-looking book. Looking about for its owner, he discovered an old monk with a long gray beard, sitting on a stone and looking up at the tower. The woodcutter was an ignorant and simple man, and very timid in the presence of his superiors; he hid himself behind a tree and watched the stranger.

Presently the monk arose, and went to the other side of the tower, and disappeared behind some stones. Lightly as a cat and stealthily as a serpent, the wood-cutter followed, and saw him stop at a door that he never remembered to have seen before. The monk struck it lightly with his fore-finger three times, and then called aloud:

"Doorlette, open

Immediately it opened, slowly and without the least sound, though from appearances the hinges must have been very rusty. The monk passed in and the wood-cutter heard him call again. "Doorlette, shut!" when it immediately closed again.

The wood-cutter shook his head, for this was a strange affair. He examined the whole place closely. The door was of iron, but looked only like a mark upon the great stone and not a lock or a key hole was to be seen. He was almost tempted to pronounce himself the mysterious words he had heard the monk say, so great were his anxiety and curiosity. But his courage failed, and he went home in such a trembling and excited condition that he forgot even the old book.

After he was in bed, he began to think what fool he had been.. What could have happened to him more than to the monk? while he was quite as able to take care of himself. Then, too, the good God was there as well as elsewhere, and as long as he was doing nothing wrong, would surely protect him. He could not sleep for thinking of all this, and of the chance he might have had of getting some of the great treasure that he had always heard was in

the vault of that old tower. If he could only do that, his poor over-worked wife would have some rest, he knew, and his eight little ones wouldn't go ragged and barefooted and half-fed much longer. About himself he did not think.

The next day was Sunday. Hans had not slept a wink; but he got up at daybreak, put on his best clothes, went to the bed where the eight children were sleeping sweetly and softly, kissed each one gently on the forehead, and then walked off to the old tower. Here he sat down on a great stone, and thought of all sorts of things; but at last he got his courage up, went up to the door, and called: "Doorlette, open!"

He waited some moments, but the door still remained as tightly shut as ever. Suddenly he remembered.

Oh!" said he, "I didn't begin right."

Then raising his fore-tinger he made the three strokes -each a little harder than the other-and after the last one exclaimed: "Doorlette, open!"

Open went the door in an instant, and Hans entered a narrow, dark passage, in which he felt as though he was wrapped in a cloud. He groped onward a few steps, and then remembered that he had left the door open.

"Stop" said he to himself, "that's not right!" whereupon he groped back again and called:

"Doorlette, shut!" and the door immediately closed with a loud

noise.

By this time accustomed to the darkness, he could look about him, and saw the whole space crowded with sacks, bags, boxes, and chests filled with gold and silver money, diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of jewels.

"Oh!" exclaimed the poor wood cutter, "if I only had one handful of all this, it would give my little ones food and clothing for a whole year!"

But he was too honest to think of touching it, though, with all his hard work, his family were almost starving. Just then a voice from the darkness called to him and said:

"Take as much as you choose!"

The poor fellow was so frightened that he turned to run away, and would have fled out of the tower if he had not in his terror quite forgotten the words to open the door. He trembled till he was quite ready to fall, but hardly dared to trust his own ears until the voice repeated the permission. Thanking his unseen benefactor with a voice that trembled with joy, he took up two pieces of gold and a handful of silver coins, and slipped them into his pocket. The jewels he did not touch, for, as he said, they could be of no use to him except he sold them, and then people would suspect him of having stolen them.

"Take more gold then," said the voice; and Hans, in delight took a whole handful of gold, saying that was all he needed, for that was enough to last him a whole year.

"You are a worthy fellow," said the voice. you like, and take as much as you want."

"Come as often as

Opening the door by the magic words, the wood-cutter ran home, told his wife his good fortune, and hid his treasure carefully away. The next day he went back, and filled his pockets and his cap. This he repeated every day for a week and then he told his unknown friend that he had enough-enough to last for all the rest of his life-so he would take no more.

Now the curiosity of the neighbors began to be excited, for the wood-cutter's family not only lived and looked more comfortably than ever, but had something for every poor creature that came to their door. But then Hans worked as hard as ever, so they concluded that he must have found a better employer.

One night after they were all in bed, the wood-cutter's wife said to him:

"Hans, do you know how much money we have!"
"No," replied Hans; "I never thought of counting."
"But can you count?" persisted the wife."

"No" replied Hans.

"Neither can I," said the wife, "but we must know!"

"I know," said Hans, "that in the market sixteen pecks make a bushel. What shall we do?"

"Weigh it!" said the wife.

"Neither of us can count so much.

We must send for our neighbor's scales."

"You are right!" said Hans, and he sent to his neighbor, Martin, and borrowed his scales.

Now neighbor Martin was very miserly and very curious, and he put a bit of soft wax on the bottom of the scales before he sent them. To this bit of wax a silver coin stuck, but the wood-cutter did not see it, and the scales were sent home.

"Hi, hi! What now!" said Martin, as he turned up the scales. "Has neighbor Hans so much money that he must weigh it? Whether he has found it or stolen it, I must have my share!"

It best suited his plan to wait a day or two; then he put the silver thaler in his pocket, and went to the wood-cutter's hut. He was at work away off in the woods.

"So much the better!" thought Martin, and to the woods he went.

"Well, Hans," said he, in a most friendly way, "what did you want to weigh with my scales?"

Now the wood-cutter would not have lied for his life, and he did not wish to tell; so he turned very red, stammered and hesitated, and then began to talk about seed-corn and barley, hoping to turn the conversation. But Martin had his own purposes.

"Hi, hi! neighbor! No more of that!" said he scornfully, and drew the hard silver thaler from his pocket. "This is neither seed-corn nor barley. You've got money somehow, and I am going to have the half in full, or I will notify the police of either a robbery or a murder-perhaps both!"

Poor Hans cursed his own carelessness; but finding there was no help but in lying, told Martin the whole story, only begging him to keep the secret.

"A pretty ass I should be to tell of it," said Martin, "and set others on the scent." But he called Hans a thousand asses for not taking all he could get, and insisted upon his showing him the very spot and telling him the password as the only condition on which he would not set the police on him, and Hans was forced to promise that he would.

For several days Martin employed himself in providing bags in which to bring away the treasure; then, after a sleepless night, he rose one morning very early, put all the smaller bags into one large one, threw it over his shoulder, and went for Hans to show him-the place. Hans tried hard to persuade him not to go, and even promised to give him half of what he himself had, but all in vain. Though he did not say so then, he was resolved to have that too; but he entertained the wood-cutter all the way with stories of what he was going to do with his treasure, and made it out a very good action to help him to get it. He was going, he said, to give Hans half, one-tenth to the Church, and untold sums to the alms house, while every poor man, woman, or child in the whole district was to be clothed from head to foot, and then feasted.

Hans was forced to show him the place, but he so worked upon his fears by telling stories of horrid things that had happened from taking others into such places with those who were seeking treasure, that Martin at last agreed to demand no further assistance from him, after they got the door open, than to take the sacks out after he had filled them and taken them there.

When they reached the tower, Martin was so agitated at the thought of the vast richest he was going to get, that he could scarcely utter the words that were to open the door. He did, however, at last stammer them out, and open flew the door, with a noise that made them both tremble in every limb. Martin went in with his bag on his shoulder, but when he had groped on a few steps, he remembered that he had left the door open, and that Hans, now familiar with the place, might slip in and take some of the treasures; so he stumbled back again, and called, "Doorlette, shut!" when bang! went the iron door with a force that shook the whole tower.

Beginning now to see his way, Martin lost no more time, but drew from under his blouse a shovel he had brought for the purpose, and began filling his sacks. In the midst of it, a fierce, savage looking black dog came slowly out of the darkness, yawned, stretched himself, and then curled up beside Martin's filled sacks. Rolling up his fiery eyes to the miser he growled :

"Be off, you wretch! Let all that alone! Begone!"

The wicked man trembled so that he could not stand. He fell upon his knees and hands, and crept on all fours as fast as his failing limbs would take him to the door, wanting nothing but to get out. But in his terror he had no control of his words, or thoughts, but got everything wrong, and so kept calling:

"Doorlette shut!"

Of course the door remained as it was, and in the midst of the