The Bursting of the Water-Pipe.

THE late severe frost, which lasted over a fortnight, made sad havoc among the water-pipes. Here and there, all over the town, the main pipes burst, and the streets were flooded. In the low-lying districts the flooding was such as to create alarm and greatly impede the traffic. Many private houses also suffered in a similar way, our own among the rest. What made it worse in our case, the bursting of the waterpipe took place during the night, while we were all asleep. We remained in blessed ignorance till morning, when a scream from Sally, one of our maids, aroused and frightened us. To her horror, on reaching the bottom of the stairs, she plumped into water up to the ankles, which made her scream right out, not knowing what in the world had happened. Her scream soon brought us all from our rooms, eager to know what had frightened Sally, and dreading something awful. Glad were we to find it was nothing worse than the bursting of the water-pipe. And yet this was bad enough, for it injured and even spoiled some of the carpets, and some other things lying about; among the rest a batch of valuable manuscripts father had left under the table the night before. After feeling almost paralysed for a few moments, we set to work with right good-will and in merry mood to remedy the mischief as far as possible. By a vigorous use of mops, and brushes, and towels, and pails, we soon subdued the water, and got things tidied, though it was a good few days before the house looked as it did before this deluge.

The Boyhood of Joseph.

JOSEPH was a favourite child, or, as we would say, a pet child. His father loved him fondly, more so than he loved any of his other children, though he loved them all. He was the son of his old age, and this is, perhaps, one reason of his partial love. Old men are often fondly partial to their youngest children, or grandchildren. But Jacob had other reasons besides this for loving Joseph. For beauty, and for goodness, and for wisdom, none of his brothers came near him. His father could not well help loving him more than he loved the others; but it must be said he acted unwisely to show his preference for him in the way he did. He very likely showed this preference in

many ways; but there is one particularly mentioned deserving our notice. He made for him a coat of many colours; a sleaved coat, coming down to his ankles, such as you may see at the present day in some of the old Egyptian pictures, composed of different pieces of rich cloth of various colours, such as are even now-a-days provided by well-to-do Hindoos for their favourite children. By means of this gay and costly garment Jacob gave everybody to know that Joseph was his specially beloved child. As might be expected, the effect upon the brothers was bad. The honours lavished upon him were felt as a wrong to themselves. They envied him, and their envy turned to hatred. Had Jacob taken thought he might have foreseen all this, and prevented it. But he was not a deep-seeing or a far-seeing man. However fathers may love one child more than another, and they, perhaps, cannot help doing so, they should never be so offensively partial in their conduct as Jacob, otherwise mischief will surely follow. The hatred of the brothers was increased by Jacob's two dreams, which, with undesigning simplicity, he related to them. He dreamt, and, behold, as he and they were in the harvestfield binding sheaves his sheaf stood on end, and theirs fell down and worshipped it. Again he dreamt, and, behold, the sun, and moon, and eleven stars, like the corn sheaves, rendered him worship. He does not appear to have seen the evident meaning of these dreams himself, but his brethren saw it at a glance. 'What,' they said, 'shalt thou, indeed, reign over us? Shalt thou, indeed, have dominion over us ?' His father also saw the meaning, and fearing that vain and ambitious thoughts were creeping into his heart, he remonstrated with him earnestly. But these dreams were like fresh fuel added to the hatred of the brothers, and soon after an opportunity occurred for venting their hatred. They had gone from Hebron as far as Shechem to feed their flocks, and their father desired Joseph to visit them, and bring a report of how they were doing. As soon as they saw him approach, and while he was yet a good way off, their hatred boiled over, and they said to each other, 'Here comes the dreamer; let's kill him.' And they would actually have killed him, there and then, had not Reuben relented and interposed. 'No,' said he, 'let's not imbrue our hands in our brother's blood, but let's put him into a pit, where he will die of hunger.' This he said that he might come afterwards and deliver him from their hands.

They yielded to Reuben, and put him into a pit, which, fortunately, happened to be dry. They had not well done this, however, when they espied a company of Ishmaelites from Gilead carrying balms and spices into Egypt. The thought now occurred to them that they had better get rid of their brother altogether by selling him as a slave; so they sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver.

Of his career in Egypt, and the wonderful fortunes that befel him in that strange land, and how he became a man of great power, and saved Egypt from famine, and also wrought deliverance to his own family, we have not time here to speak. As a boy, he was marked for two things-his filial obedience and his piety. What his father bade him do he did without questioning or murmuring. He obeyed his father's commands in all things, and this is, perhaps, an additional reason to those already given for his father's partial love for him. And then, the fear of God was before his eyes. At all times and in all places he lived as in His sight, and under a sense of His holiness and goodness. Hence, when temptation to sin came in his way the awful sense he had of God made him dread and shun it. He said to himself, 'How can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?' and by thus keeping God in his thought he secured a victory over temptation, and grew up to be a man of pure and noble character.

The Little Hero.

THERE lived in Holland once a boy,
Who with one little hand

Held back the mighty sea, one night,
From deluging the land.

He was returning from the town,
To which he had been sent,

When, through the great sea-wall, he saw,
By chance, a little rent.

He'd often heard his father say

The slightest break would grow,
And soon the mighty mass would sweep
Across the towns below.

One moment's thought, and then he filled
The opening with his hand,
Hoping some villager might pass
Along the dyke of sand.

But all night long, through dark and chill,
He waited for the day,

While safe from harm, across the plain,
The sleeping village lay.

One faithful heart, one fearless hand,
May stay a tide of ill;

If only courage nerve the hand,
And love inspire the will.

A Mother's Voice.

11

A LADY, living in one of our large cities, was passing a public-house one day, just as the keeper of it was turning a man into the street. He was quite young but very pale. His haggard face and wild eyes showed that he had been drinking, and was far gone on his way to ruin. He was swearing dreadfully, and shaking his clenched fist at the man who had thrust him out of the bar. He was so blinded with passion that he did not see the lady who stood near him, till she laid her hand on him, and asked, in a gentle, loving voice-'What's the matter?'

The young man started as though a heavy blow had struck him. He turned quickly round, paler than before, and trembling from head to foot. He looked at the lady for a moment or two, and then said

'Oh! I thought it was my mother's voice! it sounded so strangely like it! But her voice has long been hushed in death,'

'You had a mother, then, who loved you?' said the lady.

He burst into tears as he said, 'Oh yes, I had an aged mother, and she loved her boy, but since she died everything has gone against me. I am lostlost to everything that is good-lost for ever.'

'No, not lost for ever; for God is merciful and gracious, and His pitying love can reach the chief of sinners,' said the lady, in a low, sweet voice, and her words seemed to have a wonderful effect upon the young man.

As the lady passed on her way the young man followed her. He noticed the number of the house she entered, and wrote down in his pocket-book the name that was on the door-plate. Then he went on his way with new thoughts and feelings stirred in his breast.

Years passed away, and the kind lady had forgotten all about this incident, when one day a

stranger called at her house and sent up his card, asking permission to speak with her. Wondering who it could be, she went down to the parlour and found a noble-looking, well-dressed gentleman. He rose respectfully to meet her, and holding out his hand, said, in a trembling voice

'Pardon me, madam, for this liberty; but I have come many miles to thank you for the great service you rendered me a few years ago.'

'I am puzzled to know what you mean, sir,' said the lady, for I do not remember to have ever seen you before.'

'I have changed so much,' said the young man, that I do not wonder that you have forgotten me. But though I only saw you once, I should have known you anywhere. And your voice, too, is so much like my mother's.'

The moment these last words were spoken the lady remembered the poor man to whom she had spoken kindly in front of the bar, so long before. She saw him weeping, and she wept with him.

Presently the gentleman wiped away his tears, sat down, and told the lady that the few gentle words she spoke to him on that day had been the means of saving him from ruin, and of making him

a new man.

'Those words 'Not lost for ever,' followed me, said he, wherever I went; and it always seemed to me like my mother's voice speaking to me from the grave. I repented of my sins, and resolved to live as Jesus and my mother would like to have me live, and I am thankful to say, that by the grace of God I have been able to resist temptation, and do some good in the world.'

'I never dreamed there was so much power in a few kind words,' said the lady.-Rev. Dr. Newton.

Harold, the Saxon.

HAROLD, the last of the Saxon Kings, was much beloved by his subjects, and he deserved all the love they gave him. We will not speak of the graces of his person, though he was of lofty stature, of frank, open countenance, his eyes of mingled blue and gray, and his light-brown hair hanging in curley masses over his well-rounded shoulders, altogether a man of sweet and noble presence. But we speak rather of his moral qualities. He was brave, and generous, and truthful, devoted in heart and soul to the good of his countrymen. He

had, in short, most of the qualities of mind and person likely to inspire and secure the loving devotions of his subjects. Harold loved a fair maiden, the sweet and beautiful Edith, whose selfsacrifice for her lover's honour and her country's good has made her name immortal in English history. They had known and loved each other from childhood, and now that Harold had reached man's estate, he wished to marry her, and settle down to enjoy the quiet comforts of domestic life. His private wishes, however, clashed, or were supposed to clash with public claims. He was called to the throne by the voice of the people, and, though his love for Edith remained unchanged, he had to relinquish the thought of marrying her. Harold's reign was brief, lasting only a few short weeks. The news of his accession to the throne of England filled with rage the heart of William of Normandy. William claimed the English throne as his own by right of a promise-a chartered grant, as he said, made by the deceased King (Edward I.), and to make good his claim he invaded England with a formidable army. Harold hastily gathered his forces to resist the invader, and the hostile armies met at Hastings. A general charge of the Norman infantry opened the battle, which raged the whole day, victory now swaying to one side and now to the other. Again and again the English repulsed the invader; again and again the Normans made good their ground, and pressed onward. Round the standard, where Harold and the bravest of his troops were gathered, the last sharp, long struggle took place. Rank after rank of the brave English yeomen was hewn down; but fast as they fell their places were quickly filled with others equally brave. With his huge battle-axe the King did mighty slaughter, till, chancing to look upward as he swung his axe with both hands, a Norman arrow pierced his eye, and he fell, and with his fall the battle was hopelessly lost. Long did they search the battle-field for Harold's bodydisfigured by wounds and loss of blood; but long did they seek in vain, till a woman, who had been long busy in searching among the dead, burst into a sharp cry of broken-hearted grief over a lifeless form. It was Edith. The body was too much disfigured to be recognised, even by his nearest friends; but on his bosom was punctured in old Saxon letters-Edith,' and just below that, in characters more fresh-England,' the new love he had taken when duty bade him surrender Edith,

Mr. Wesley's Courage.

As a specimen of the cool courage and determination of Wesley in his old age, the following account of his ride through the sea over the Cornwall sands between the towns of Hayle and St. Ives is given by his coachman on that occasion.

'I first heard Mr. Wesley preach in the street, near our market house, when I was hostler at the London Inn. Mr. Wesley came there one day in a carriage driven by his own servant, who, being unacquainted with the roads further westward, he engaged me to drive him to St. Ives. We set out, and on our arrival at Hayle we found the sands between that and St. Ives, over which we had to pass, overflowed by the rising tide. On reaching the water's edge I hesitated to proceed, and advised him of the danger of crossing; and a captain of a vessel, seeing us stopping, came up and endeavoured to persuade us from an undertaking so full of peril, but without effect, for Mr. Wesley had resolved to go on; he said he had to preach at St. Ives at a certain hour, and that he must fulfil his appointment. Looking out of the carriage window he called out: "Take the sea! Take the sea!'

'I dashed into the waves. The horses were soon swimming, and the carriage nearly overwhelmed with the tide. I struggled hard to maintain my seat in the saddle, while the poor horses were snorting and rearing in the most fearful manner. I expected every moment to be swept into eternity, and the only hope I had was on account of driving so holy a man. At that awful moment I heard Mr. Wesley's voice. With difficulty I turned my head toward the carriage, and saw his white locks dripping with water, which ran down his face. He was looking calmly upon the waters, undisturbed by his perilous situation. He hailed me in a loud voice and said:

'What is thy name, driver?'

'I answered, 'Peter, sir.'

'He said, 'Peter, fear not; thou shalt not sink.' That gave me new courage. I again urged on the flagging horses, and, plunging and wallowing through the waves, at last we reached the opposite shore in safety.'

Robert's Certificate. 'HAVE you a recommendation ?' 'Yes, sir.'

Robert had been seeking a situation for almost a week; and now that he had at last met with something that promised success he was as nervous as a boy can be. His hand went down in his jacket pocket-a handkerchief, a strap, but no recommendation. He emptied another pocket, and another and another without success.

'Ah, there it is, I suppose; you have dropped it on the floor,' said the gentleman, who was standing by, waiting, as a bit of paper fluttered to the floor. 'No, sir; that's only my pledge,' Robert answered, stopping to pick up the paper.

'Your pledge?'

'Yes, sir. My temperance pledge.' 'May I see it ?'

Robert handed it to him, and continued his search for the missing paper, growing more nervous as the search proceeded.

'Never mind, my boy, I don't need any further reference,' said the gentleman, after reading the pledge. 'I am willing to trust a boy who puts his name to a promise like this. That boy is his own reference.'

An Honest Boy.

IN a country school a large class were standing to spell. In the lesson there was a very hard word. I put the word to the scholar at the head and he missed it; I passed it to the next, and the next, and soon through the whole class, till it came to the last scholar-the smallest of the class-and he spelled it right, at least I understood him so, and he went to the head, above seventeen boys and girls, all older than himself. I then turned round and wrote the word on the blackboard, so that they all might see how it was spelled, and learn it better. But no sooner had I written it than the little boy at the head cried out: 'O! I didn't say it so, Miss Wilson; I said e instead of i.'

And he went back to the foot of his own accord, quicker than he had gone to the head. Was he not an honest boy? I should always have thought he spelled it right if he had not told me, but he was too honest to take any credit that did not belong to him.