And so the Christian's troubles often bring heaven to his view.

The person that Felix and Arthur met with, who invited them to drink some strong liquor, puts me very much in mind of some who call themselves Christians, but who seem to despise the plain and simple way of salvation which is given to us in the Bible, and who would have us receive another gospel, which indeed is no gospel at all. No wonder Arthur's head ached after drinking the strong liquor; and I am sure, that if we listen to all such teachers say, it will make our heads ache, and our hearts ache too, all the rest of our road homewards. There is a beautiful text, which I would have my little grandson remember-it is this: "Other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ," 1 Cor. iii. 11.

How Felix helped his poor brother along, when he was overcome, and almost ready to to think he could go no further! Ah! what a good thing it would be if all Christians did this to their poor, weak brethren, instead of scolding them, and calling them names, as they too often do. I hope my dear little boy will remember this lesson when he becomes a Christian man—and oh! I cannot bear the thought that he should grow up to be any other. I hope he will be kind and pitiful, forgiving and helping his fellow Christians, even as God, for Christ's sake, has forgiven and helped him.

Well, at length, the two brothers drew very near their home-so near, that they could plainly see it; and then they forgot all their troubles and difficulties. This reminds me of a hymn-you see, I am very fond of hymns. Well, I will read this hymn to you; and then I think we will walk a little way, and perhaps we may meet your father.

Then George's kind grandmother read the hymn, which is at the end of this chapter; and afterwards walked with the little boy along the road. They had not walked long before they saw Mr. Hardy and uncle William; and, in a few minutes more, all the family were seated round the tea-table.

"As when the weary traveller gains

The height of some o'erlooking hill,
His heart revives, if 'cross the plains,
He eyes his home, though distant still.

"While he surveys the much-loved spot, He slights the space that lies between; His past fatigues are all forgot,

Because his journey's end is seen.

"Thus, when the Christian pilgrim views,
By faith, his mansion in the skies;
The sight his fainting strength renews,
And wings his speed to reach the prize.

"The thought of home his spirit cheers; No more he grieves for troubles past; Nor any future trial fears,

So he may safe arrive at last.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE PASSIONATE BOY.

GEORGE was one morning very busily turning over the lumber, and looking into the drawers, in his famous play-room, the loft. He was trying to find something new to play withsomething which he had not before seen. This was not difficult; for almost every drawer and box contained something or other which might serve his purpose. On this morning, he found a very odd-looking small brass gun, or pistol. It was not much larger than some of the cannon with which he had been so much pleased; but it was fitted into a piece of wood, like a pistol stock, and it had a sort of trigger made of wood. When George found this, he carried it to his father, and showed it to him, asking him if he had ever seen it before.

Mr. Hardy. Yes, indeed, I have seen it before. Many years ago I found that brass barrel, and employed a young acquaintance of mine, who was apprenticed to a carpenter, to fix it into the wooden stock which you

now see.

George. Why did you have it done, father? Mr. H. I suppose it was because childish things please childish folks. That instrument was never of any use to me, nor could

I expect it would be of any use; nevertheless, I was pleased with it when I had had it completed. But, as it was never of the least use to me, let me see if I cannot make it of some use to my little boy.

G. Oh yes, father, if you please, I should like to fire it off.

Mr. H. But indeed you are mistaken, if you think I am going to allow you to fire it off. What would your mother and your sisters say, if I were to take you home with some of your fingers shattered with gunpowder-or the bridge of your nose broken down- or any other such disaster?

G. Then, father, you will fire it off?

Mr. H. No; that is not the use I wish to make of this-what shall I call it ?-this pistolet. Come, sit down here, and I will tell you a part of the history of my young schoolfellow and acquaintance, who was so kind as to help me to make this toy; and I think that little history will do you more good than if I burned a pound of gunpowder in firing off pistols and cannon.

G. What was the name of that boy, father? Mr. H. His name was Edward. We will not mind about the other name. I do not like to mention names when I am speaking to you of faults. It is better for you not to know the names of such persons; and I only tell you of their faults that you may be warned against them.