choly one as it relates to Miriam and Aaron. Well has it been said, "that the pure fire of prophetic enthusiasm, that precious gift of God, had unwarily been suffered to degenerate into the strange fire of selfish ambition. Insensibly to herself Miriam had passed out of the region of Divine inspiration into that of self-seeking and self-aggrandisement." We have a graphic account of it given in Numbers xii. "And Miriam and Aaron spake against Moses on account of an Ethiopian woman whom he had married. And they said, Hath the Lord spoken only by Moses? hath He not spoken by us also?" The real cause of their dissatisfaction peeps out in the last clause of this paragraph. It was not so much the "Ethiopian woman that had offended them, as the exercise of his prerogative, as leader, in appointing seventy elders without consulting them. Thus "base envy, that withers at another's joy," manifests itself in their conduct towards their highly-exalted brother. Miriam, however, as leader in this incipient rebellion, has to pay smartly for this wilful display of envious feeling. The account contains this very significant expression, "The Lord heard it." Just as He hears every foolish and improper word that we utter; nay more, He sees the thought before it has time to crystallise into words. The great Jehovah, against whom Miriam had actually turned in chafing at the leadership of her brother, came down in a pillar of cloud and stood in the door of the tabernacle, and severely rebuked Miriam and Aaron, and when the cloud departed from off the tabernacle, Miriam was a leper as white as snow. For seven days she was excluded from the congregation of Israel. At the instigation of Aaron, Moses interceded for her recovery. The Lord graciously heard him, and restored her again. Poor Miriam ! she paid dearly for this foolish freak of hers. What a seven days' experience must that have been

for her! Her sorrow's crown of sorrow was to remember those happy, triumphant days when, flushed with victory, she led on Israel's conquering host, and to the sound of tablet and harp she made the air about the old red rocks of Edom vibrate with her shout of joy. Now she sees her self loathed, shunned, isolated from human society-an abandoned leper. Her condition moved the heart of Moses to plead on her behalf. "Heal her now, O Lord, I beseech Thee!" and after seven days his prayer was mercifully answered.

What a lesson for my young readers! Beware of the sin of envy. When tempted to envy the exalted position and dignities of others, ask yourselves the question, Am I willing to bear the burden of anxiety and responsibility which their position involves? and if so, am I capable of bearing it? The envious are their own tormentors. The leprosy of a constant unrest and disquietude is ever clinging to them. Envy is a selfdestroying power. There is a story told of a man who killed himself through envy. His fellow-citizens had reared a statue to one of their number, who was a celebrated victor in the public games of Greece. So strong was the feeling of envy which this excited in the breast of one of the hero's rivals, that he went forth every night, in order, if possible, to destroy that monument. After repeated efforts he moved it from its pedestal, and it fell, and in its fall it crushed him. How strikingly does this symbolise the suicidal action of envy!

Miriam lived many years after this event, and, no doubt, very sincerely repented of the foolish and sinful act into which she had been betrayed. She died in Kadish, and was buried there. Her burial place was one of the rock-hewn tombs which perforate the whole range of the hill surrounding what is known to modern travellers as Petra. "It may be," says a popular writer, "in that secluded spot still known by the sacred

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name of the convent,' still scaled by the long ascent cut out of the rock, for the approach of pilgrims in ages beyond the reach of history." The lesson of Miriam's life is, that daring, impulsive natures, when they do yield to temptation, are peculiarly liable to fall into great sins, and severe measures are used to correct and restore them. Happy they who, possessing superior quali

ties both of heart and mind, are preserved by Divine grace from perverting their great gift by sinful uses, and thus escape that stern discipline which a loving Father may see needful to their restoration to His love.

Our next heroine will be of a different type from Miriam, yet exhibiting the truest heroism in a very high degree-viz., RUTH, THE HEROIC DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.

ERE, on this bright May-day, is the familiar pear-tree, a perfect picture of loveliness and beauty once more. It is one mass of snow-white bloom, tinged in the centre of each blossom almost inperceptibly with a delicate pink, and set in a frame of pale green leaves; and as it waves in the wind, or sparkles in the sunlight, its fascination is complete. I have gazed on it from above and from beneath, from one side and from another, at morn and at mid-day, and everywhere and always the gaily-dressed tree stands forth like a candidate robed for some grand festival. At early dawn ten thousand little cups are filled with the sweet and refreshing dew, which the silent night, like a gentle and gracious Lady Bountiful, has left on her journey; and as the day wears on and the sun draws up the moisture as an acceptable sacrifice, each little pitcher spreads in thankfulness a broader surface to receive his life-giving beams. Thrice this gay scene has invited and charmed the heart, and yet the tiny blossoms, cut to the quick by keen winds or biting frosts, have fallen to the earth, and the summer sun has shone for them in vain. No fruit was gathered in those "lean years.' No fruit! Well, scarcely so! True, the branches have mourned their barrenness, and the storeroom has been empty. But surely all that wealth of beauty was not for

naught. Nor has that very unfruitfulness been altogether unprofitable. Nothing in our Father's world is without service to His children. "Lilies" and "angels" are "sent forth to minister to them who are heirs of salvation," and May-bloom, discoloured and dashed to the ground, and never to be followed by ripe and mellow fruit, is not without a place amongst the teachers of such as are willing to learn.

Of several parables suggested by this fallen blossom let us take one. It is Mayday in the family. Home rings with the merry laugh of childhood, and the house is mirthful from basement to summit with the frolicsome joy of young and overflowing life. There is a sweet simplicity that carries us back to Paradise, and a frank innocence that opens the gates of the kingdom of heaven. These are the days of exuberant promise. Everything is in blossom. We feast on hope. Balmy spring baptizes the family with joyful anticipations of maturing blessings in the near future; and we breathe a more joyous and trustful life as we receive back from our children the energy and hopcfulness that dwell in them.

But the scene changes. The footfall of disease is heard stealthily marching through the home, and the bright blossoms, so full of promise, are scattered at our feet. Desolation sweeps through our hearts like a

whirlwind, and for awhile the very heavens seem dark as the grave. Yet it is not all loss. The blossoms have not given place to the fruit of a perfecting manhood as we desired or expected; but the sights we had of their beauty are still sweet in the memory, and the fond recollections are cherished as sacred treasures, and gradually we learn "'tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." Our hearts are bigger for our grief, and we have more room for the love of others than we had before. The child that is gone is not loved any less; less!-how much more, and with what greater purity, God knows; but the affection for the surviving children has become at once more intense and holy. Heaven is

nearer to us, and we are already in it, in the persons of our beloved ones, who are ripening in the world where "everlasting spring abides, and never-withering flowers." And so the light of heaven streams upon us through our sorrows, and we ourselves are become fruitful in love, and trust, and purity, through those very blossoms that fell at our side, only to appear with a richer beauty in the garden of the Lord above. For of these we may surely say—

"They all shall bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by Thy care;

And saints upon their garments white
These sacred blossoms wear.

"O! not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the bloom away."

NCE there lived in England a good clergyman whose name was William Marsh. When he was a little boy, not yet four years old, it happened that one day he was shut up in the store-room for some small offence, by his nurse, and left there till long past his dinner-hour. The nurse had forgotten that dishes of oranges, apples, and

cakes were arranged there within his reach. On looking through a window, she saw the hungry little boy gazing at each by turns, with his small hands firmly clasped behind his back, and she heard him saying to himself over and over again—

"Billy must not touch them; they are not Billy's own.”

E cannot begin too early to practise kindness. It is one of the many means for training our hearts-for hearts need training as well as hands and intellects. We are anxious to be clever and to be famous-we must be equally anxious to be kindly. The mother in the picture is a wise woman, who is bringing up her children to good deeds. Good deeds produce beautiful sights; for what is more pleasing than to see confidence established between dumb animals and human beings? The following short story may be taken as an illustration of the old proverb, "Handsome is who handsome does."

One summer's day, a pleasant, goodnatured farmer was riding on horseback along a dry and dusty road. He had ridden far, and he had many more miles to ride, when he came to a trough filled with bright running water, which flowed into it from a neighbouring spring. Being kindly disposed towards his beast, he drove up to the trough, and let his horse refresh itself with a drink. He was very thirsty himself, but, being somewhat stout, and his horse being somewhat restive when about to be mounted, he disliked getting down from his saddle, because of the great effort required to get on it again. So he said to himself—

"I wish someone would come out of yonder house, and hand me a drink of that cool water. It would refresh me very

much."

Just at that moment a girl, with a very beautiful face and a very dainty walk, stepped out of the house. "Ah!" thought the good farmer, "there is the fairy I have been wishing for." Then, lifting his hat, he said, "Good morning, my little miss! Will you be kind enough to give me a pitcher of water?"

The dark eyes of the pretty little miss flashed angry fires at the farmer, and a frown gathered on her alabaster brow as, with curled lips, she scornfully replied—

"Do you take me for a servant? If you want water, you may get down and take it. I shall not get it for you.'

"Come, old Billy, let us be off. That girl has the face of a fairy, but there is not a pig in my stye that has worse manners. Her beauty is all in her face, but I am sure her soul is as ugly as sin. Go on, old Billy!"

Just as old Billy had pricked up his ears, and was getting ready for a start, another girl came out of the house with a pitcher in her hand. Her face was not half so pretty as the other's, but she wore a smile that was far more pleasing than the other's beauty. Looking up to the good farmer with her clear, bright eyes, she said—

"Would you like a drink of water, sir ?? "I should like it very much, my little queen."

While the farmer was yet speaking, the child filled her pitcher. Going to his side, she stood on tiptoe, and handed him the

"Good-day, sir," replied the girl, and then, carolling a simple song, she went back into the house, with a heart filled with the pleasure which always follows an act of kindness. The pretty miss, her sister, met her in the hall with a frown and a pout, saying

"I think you are a silly goose, Minnie, to make yourself a servant to that old farmer.

"Am I, Bell? Never mind, I believe the farmer feels a good deal better for his drink; his looks showed how thankful he was, and somehow I feel much happier than I should have done if I had let him go off thirsty."

As for the farmer, he really did feel refreshed by the water, and he told his feelings to his horse, saying

"That's the miss for me, old Billy. Her face is not half as pretty as the other's, but I'm sure she has got a beautiful soul. Heaven bless her for giving me that cup of cold water!"

So you see that Minnie's kindness brought pleasure to her own heart, and won a golden opinion from the farmer. She has certainly won a place in my heart, too, which I cannot give to that unkind Miss Bell. I hope her example will win you, my children, to practise the law of kindness, and to put away that hateful spirit which spoils Miss Bell's beauty. When I see Minnie, I shall whisper these words of Jesus in her ears :—

"Whosoever shall give you a cup of cold water in My name, because ye belong to Christ, verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward."

Will not that text cheer Minnie's heart, think you?