Musical Reverie.

OUR young friend, Lottie Werff, is passionately fond of music. Music, indeed, seems to be the very breath of her life. All her thoughts and feelings and fancies have a musical complexion. Her aptitudes for music are quite wonderful. Evidently she is gifted with musical genius, and will probably become.distinguished in her profession. Sometimes, when alone, she becomes rapt in what may be called a musical reverie, and for the time being is as much lost to the world as if she were dead. The other day getting into one of these moods, she first of all thought herself on the sea-shore listening to the waves as they rippled in sweet cadences at her feet, and at the same time broke in rich bass undertones on the distant cliffs. Then, by a sudden transition, she thought herself wandering under the canopy of far-stretching green woods, ravished with the woodnotes of innumerable wild birds among the branches. Then, again, she thought herself transported to a grand old cathedral, where a host of well-trained choristers, sustained by the thunder peals of the organ, were discoursing a master-piece of sacred music, and filling the long-drawn aisles with volumes of melody at once tender and sublime. Finally, she thought herself lifted above the world altogether, and mingling with the hosts of the redeemed in heaven, while they, with a melody far surpassing anything she had heard before, sang the song of Moses and the Lamb. Her feelings were now becoming too intense for her to bear, when the voice of her father, summoning her to her lesson, broke the spell, and made her aware she was still living on the earth.

Jeanie and her big Bible.

JEANIE was a little Scotch girl who lived far back during the days of the bloody persecutions under the reckless Charles II. It was a bitter time. Soldiers were marching all over the country, driving people from their homes, burning their houses, and putting many innocent persons to death. Jeanie's parents were pious people, and their turn came at last to be driven from their home.

One afternoon the cruel soldiers were seen advancing, and the poor folks had to leave their cottage and flee with what valuables they could carry. Jeanie was given the big family Bible for her load, and her father told her that she must be very care

ful with it, and not have it get hurt, nor lose it by the way, 'For we could not live,' said he, 'without the good Book.' She wrapped one of her clean gowns around the Book, and started with it in her hands, following her father and mother, each of whom carried a child. The fugitives directed their steps toward the next village, where there was a strong old church that could be used as a fort, and which they hoped to reach before their enemies came up.

A stream lay in their way, and this they dared not cross by the bridge for fear of their pursuers. So they hastened to a place in the river where some stepping-stones had been laid down for the convenience of foot-passengers. It was quite dark when they reached the bank, and the water ran swift in its channel. But they did not hesitate. The father waded across carrying the others, one by one, in his arms, until Jeanie was left alone. Fearing solitude more than the dangers of the stream, the young girl followed her father on his last trip, stepping carefully from stone to stone. But it was so dark now that she could scarcely see the way before her, and presently her foot slipped and she went down to the bottom.

In her danger she did not forget, however, the treasure entrusted to her care. As her feet went down her arms went up, and her precious burden was held above her head. She struggled bravely against the current, and though the water came up to her waist she managed to keep on toward the shore, holding the dear old Bible as high as she could raise it. Her father met her before she gained the bank, and clasped both his treasures in his strong arms.

'Father,' said the brave little maid, 'you told me to take care of the dear old Bible, and I have done so.'

Several pistol-shots were heard at that moment, and the sound of approaching horsemen. The fugitives found concealment in a cliff among the rocks, and fortunately were not discovered. After their pursuers had rode away they issued from their retreat, and soon after reached the church in safety.

Jeanie married in after years, and lived happily with her husband to a good old age. The great Bible became hers after her father's death, and in it were recorded the names of her seven children. It is still in possession of her descendants, in a well-preserved condition.

Jeanie never forgot that night of peril when she carried the old Bible through the deep waters.

When she was dying she dreamed of her girlish exploit, and cried out, 'I'm in the deep river-in the deep river; but I will hold up the dear old Bible. There, father, take the Book.'

With these words she ceased to breathe.

A Blind Fisherman.

THE following story is told of a blind fisherman who at one time prosecuted his calling at Nairn, in the north of Scotland: Alexander Main, of Nairn, became blind almost from an infant; yet, notwithstanding the total want of sight, he followed the employment of fisherman with almost as much skill and success as if he had been blessed with the enjoyment of the powers of vision. He took his place in the boat and handled the oar, and, what was more extraordinary, he could guide the helm. By a peculiar sensibility he could tell when a breeze was coming, and give directions for taking in sail five minutes before it was known to any one else in the boat. This probably arose from a sensation experienced by a tremulous motion in the water, which is more rapid than the air, and precedes it, and which he, from his attention not being called off to other objects, acquired a tact of perceiving. This man assisted in managing the nets, and could bait and put out his long line of five hundred hooks attached as skilfully as any other man; he could bait his lines, take off the fish, and could, at the conclusion of the fishery, arrange his line in preparation for the labours of another day with as much neatness and dexterity as any of his brother fisher

men.

Luther turns Reformer.

It was in the year 1517. A gilded car formed the central part of the scene, in which sat a monk, Tetzel, by name. When he entered a town (for he was making quite a journey) the streets were hung with flags, bells were pealed, processions of nuns and monks preceded him along the principal streets. Before him, on a velvet cushion, was the Papal Bull. Don't think of this Bull as of some strange animal from a menagerie. Let me tell you what it was, and, in order to do so, I must go back a little in my narrative.

A new church, called St. Peter's, was being built

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at Rome; it was to be grander than any other on the face of the globe, either ancient or modern. But such a structure required money. To obtain this, the Pope issued an order, called a Bull, that people might buy indulgences and dispensations. Indulgences and dispensations! What were these?

You know that the Romish Church forbids the eating of meat on certain days. Her followers look upon such eating as sinful; but they who were disposed might buy, provided they paid well for it, a dispensation which would authorise them to eat meat on any day.

There are certain marriages which the Church of Rome forbids; some of them are forbidden in the Bible, such as marriages between near relations; but this Church forbade a man to marry the widow of his dead brother. When you read the history of England, you will find that, in the reign of Henry VIII., such a marriage caused much trouble. But all such marriages, whether forbidden by Scripture or not, became proper (so said the Bull) for all who had purchased a dispensation.

It also taught the people that they might commit such sins as murder, robbery, and the like, without fear of punishment in another world, if only they had previously purchased an indulgence.

Tetzel brought with him, not only the Papal Bull, but great sacks of indulgences and dispensations for sale. The money thus gathered, called St. Peter's pence, was to build the new church at Rome.

In each town the sales-room was the church; this was decorated for such an occasion; candles burned conspicuously on the altars. Tetzel stood in the pulpit and talked away like a quack medicine man. 'Acolytes walked through the crowds, clinking the plates, and calling, 'Buy, buy!' The business went merry as a marriage bell till the Dominican (Tetzel) came to Wittenberg.' So says a prominent historian.

At Wittenberg, what happened? He was opposed by a plain monk. Luther, alarmed at the effect such teachings would have upon the people, had first appealed to the proper authorities of the town. They took no notice, for they were to have a share in the money thus collected. Then he appealed to the people. Marching bravely up, in the face of public opinion, to the church door of Wittenberg, he there nailed up a paper stating such things to be wrong, and, in sixty-five propositions, showing that heaven is not pleased with such arrangements. These were some of his propositions :

'The Pope's indulgences cannot take away sin.

God alone remits sins; and He pardons those who are penitent, without help from man's absolutions.' "The bishops are asleep. It is better to give to the poor than to buy indulgences; and he who sees his neighbour in want, and, instead of helping him; buys a pardon for himself, is doing what is displeasing to God.'

The Pope smiled contemptuously when he saw a copy of these propositions, but the people were aroused. Monks were angry. They had always taught the people that they must pay them to say masses for their dead friends that their souls might escape from purgatory. Now, if the people began to believe that their prayers had no such power, where were they to obtain money? The hope of their gains would be gone.

These few simple propositions were the beginning of a great movement which led our forefathers, through much suffering, to better and brighter days, when they had indeed learned that 'none can forgive sins save God only.'

Copper Mines.

OUR principal Copper Mines are in Cornwall, some of them actually running underneath the sea. A copper mine has usually three shafts or pits sunk from the surface. One shaft is used for draining the mine of water by means of an engine, a second shaft is devoted to the removal of the ore, which is done either by a windlass or by an engine worked by steam. The third shaft contains the ladders by which the miners go up and down. As the lodes or layers of ore run in slanting directions, seldom more than two men can be at work together. The sides have to be supported by very strong timbers, lest they should give way and bury the miners, and the ore is got out by pick-axes and by the use of wedges. Gunpowder is employed where the rock is hard, and the operation of blasting must be carried on with great care. A hole is made, in which a charge of gunpowder is placed, and it is caused to explode by what is called a fuse. One end is placed in the hole among the gunpowder and the other end is lit; it burns very slowly, and allows the men time to escape before the explosion. There is a story told of a brave young Cornish miner, who was not afraid to die. He was employed with an older man, who had a wife and children, in a small new mine, at the top of which

was a windlass, at which two others were usually stationed, though from some cause one of them was absent on this occasion. The men below bored their hole, filled it with powder, adjusted the fuse, and then the younger one got into the basket that he might be drawn up, while his comrade remained an instant longer to set fire to the train, then he also jumped in, and gave the signal to those above to wind away. The only man at the windlass raised the bucket and its living load a few feet and could do no more; the fuse would soon reach the charge of powder; the rock to be blasted was immediately below the spot over which the two men were suspended, and instant death seemed certain. There was not a moment to lose, and the younger miner, telling his friend to go to his wife and children, sprang out, while the lightened bucket was drawn rapidly up. The explosion took place almost instantly, but no sooner had the dust and smoke cleared away than the voice of the man who had leaped back, as it appeared, into the very jaws of death, was heard, and he was speedily drawn to the surface uninjured. He said that he had just time to say a few words to his Heavenly Father, throw himself on his back, and place above him a plank that lay close by. A long while seemed to him to pass before the explosion, which he supposed would kill him, took place, and he lost consciousness for a few seconds, but on recovering found that he was unhurt. The fragments of rock had fallen on all sides of him, and some small stones on the plank with which he was covered, but that was all. Just imagine how glad he must have felt, and how he must have thanked God for saving him.

When the ore is taken out of the mines, it is first of all washed, and then it is taken to the mills to be smelted. The smelting consists of no less than six different operations, into the particulars of which we cannot now enter. After all this has been done, the purified metal is used for many purposes. We see it pure in our tea kettle and other articles of household use; when mixed with tin, and made into bronze, we pocket it in the shape of pence, halfpence, and farthings; mixed in a different way with white metals, it forms the brass of which our gas fittings and door handles are made, and may be seen in a great variety of ornamental forms.

'FROM a child thou hast known the Holy Scriptures, which are able to make thee wise unto salvation.'-Paul to Timothy.

THE Daylight complained to the Sunshine, one day,
About an old rock which they chanced to survey.
'I am not severe,' said the Daylight, 'and never
Find fault just to make people think I am clever,
Nor can I be charged with a wish to defame
Any neighbour of mine, nor to blacken his name;
And yet I must say that for years and for years
This rugged old rock, which before us appears,
I have known and have watched in the hope-ah,
how vain!-

That its features a lovelier aspect would gain;
But the barren old rock still a rock doth remain.'

The Sunshine looked up, but no answer she spoke ; Then she peeped round the edge of her cousin's grey cloak,

And soon, by the bright, winning smile of her eye,
She met a soft glance from a violet, so shy,

That, by dint of hard living, and being but thin,
To a small, narrow crevice, had squeezed itself in ;
It fluttered with joy at the warmth o'er it cast,
And the gladness it felt was unselfishly passed
To a tuft of dry grass that was drooping behind,
And had long for a look of encouragement pined.

And then the bright sunbeam her charms threw

across

The red and gray cups of some lichen and moss That had crept into corners; but now, at the least, They thought they were wine-cups set out for a feast.

Weeks glided away; and one beautiful morning The Daylight came past the same spot at her dawning,

And she said to the Sunshine, with critical air,
"That barren old rock, I suppose, is still there;
How foolishly sanguine about it you were!'

The Sunshine was silent, and Daylight's gray eyes
Awoke to the fact, in unquestioned surprise,
That the fair grassy knoll, with its flowers full in
view-

Tiny rock-plants, all freshly baptised with the dew—
And its rich-tinted mosses of delicate fold,
Was the very same rock he had slighted of old!

'O Sunshine!' he cried, 'you are right; I believe it ;

One way to make beauty is just to perceive it!'

Then an angel sang softly, 'Sweet triumph love wins,

For she veils from our sight such a number of sins.'

And the rock and its treasures replied in full chorus, (Though the words I don't think, were exactly like ours),

'And under the exquisite veil love spreads o'er us, Spring up, as by magic, God's own precious flowers.'

The Vision of Christ.

DANNECKER, the German sculptor, occupied eight years upon a marble statue of Christ. He had previously exercised his genius upon subjects taken from the Greek and Roman mythology, and had won a great reputation. The celebrated statue of Ariadne, in the garden of Herr Bethman at Frankfort, is his work. Critics of art have given him rank with Michael Angelo and Canova.

When he had laboured two years upon his statue of Christ, the work was apparently finished. He called into his studio a little girl, and directing her attention to the statue, asked her, 'Who is that?' She replied, 'A great man.' The artist turned away disheartened. His artistic eye had been deceived. He had failed, and his two years of labour were thrown away. But he began anew, and after another year or two had passed he again invited the child into his studio, and repeated the inquiry, 'Who is that?' This time he was not disappointed. looking in silence for awhile, her curiosity deepened into awe and thankfulness, and bursting into tears she said in low and gentle tones, 'Suffer little children to come unto Me.' It was enough. The untutored instinct of the child had divined his meaning, and he knew that his work was a success.

After

He believed then, and ever afterward, that he had been inspired of God to do that thing. He thought that he had seen a vision of Christ in his solitary vigils. He had but transferred to the marble the image which the Lord had shown to him. His rising fame attracted the attention of Napoleon, and he was requested to make a statue of Venus, similar to the Ariadne, for the gallery of the Louvre. He refused, saying, 'A man who has seen Christ would commit sacrilege if he should employ his art in the carving of a Pagan goddess. My art is henceforth a consecrated thing.'