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THE DYING HINDOO BOY AT BERHAMPORE.

IT will be remembered, perhaps, by some of our young readers that a few years ago there was a great famine in India. Indeed, such visitations are not of unfrequent Occurrence. It is, however, to be hoped that as Christian civilization advances, these calamities will be greatly mitigated, rather we should speak of this as a certainty, for the application of science, with wealth at its command, will greatly conserve and control the various forces in nature which have an immediate bearing on agricultural operations.

One natural result of these severe visitations is to awaken Christian sympathy; and that will not satisfy itself by attending merely to physical necessities; it will go out in the direction of spiritual wants.

During the late famine some heathen children, under the care of the missionaries, had been rescued from that dreadful visitation, and others were rescued from the jaws of death when they were about to be sacrificed to the goddess of the earth. These children are represented as being sprightly and cheerful, as, indeed, children always are when healthy and properly taken care of. Sometimes it would seem in their playfulness that they pay no attention at all to the Christian truths which they are taught, but it has occasionally transpired that these truths have made a deep impression on their minds. The following story is illustrative of this observation :

There was a boy named Deeno who died at the age of eleven years. Before he was afflicted he was cheerful and playful like other boys; but, at the same time, this little Hindoo loved Jesus.

When his parents saw him so ill that they apprehended his death, they gave expression to their sorrow in tears; for affection dwells in black and white the same. Poor little Deeno seeing the grief of his parents said to them, ' Weep not for me, weep for yourselves. It will be well with me; I am going to the Saviour.' The evening before his death the missionary's wife, holding his hand, said: 'Deeno, are you happy ?'

'There will be no weakness, no sin in heaven, Deeno.'

His eyes brightened, and with emphasis be answered, 'No, no.' After eating something he revived a little, and, looking at his father, said:

'Father, I am not yours, I am the Lord's. Father, did Jesus die for sinners? then believe in Him, pray to Him.'

Shortly after this he fell asleep in Jesus.

Now, my dear children, read the accounts we publish, from time to time, in one or other of our Connexional magazines, and you will be convinced that religion is the same thing all the world over. We do not wish to hear of any of our people, young or old, dying, but we all must die; yet, when some of them in Southern Africa or in Fernando Po fall asleep in Jesus, as did little Deeno, we shall be happy to give an account of it in our magazines. Meanwhile let us cherish an active and practical sympathy with our missions in those parts. God, dear children, will hear your prayers for them, and make our missionaries in those parts a greater blessing than ever.

DARNING.

A LONG, thin needle went in and out, under one thread and over the next, under the third and over the fourth, and so on until the bright steel shone through a net-work of stitches for a moment, and then left a long thread which helped to fill up and strengthen a weak place. Eliza Wallbourne bent her head over the work, watching it so closely that when presently her father entered, and she looked up, her eyes were misty and dim.

'What is the matter, Eliza ?'

'Nothing is the matter, papa. Why do you ask?'

'Because you look as if you have been crying.'

'It comes of sticking so closely to this work.'

'What work is it ?'

'Darning stockings.'

'Is it work that you like ?'

'No, papa; I hate it.'

Eliza said this with so much emphasis that there could be no doubt at all but that she meant it. But her father did not quite like to hear that, and he said 'Hush.'

'Well, papa, I think you would hate it too if you had as much of it to do as I have.'

'Perhaps I should, my child, but I should be sorry for it, because it is so much better to love than dislike one's work.'

'I know that, but if I cannot like it, what am I to do?'

'Why do you dislike it ?'

'Partly because it needs so much patience, and I have very little; and partly because it seems stupid to spend so much time in filling up holés.'

But Eliza's father shook his head.

'There are many more foolish things than that,' he said. It certainly needs patience, but so does all work; and, at least, you have the pleasure of knowing that some good is accomplished by it. Do you know that I think a workman can scarcely be engaged in any better work than darning?'

'Oh, papa, what do you mean? If that is all that women are fit for I am sorry I am a girl.'

'I assure you, Eliza, that one of the best women whom I have ever known spent her time in darning.'

'Papa, how could she? I should call it a wasted life.'

'Would you, my child? Then you would certainly miscall it very much. It was a most useful and satisfactory life.'

'It could not have been a happy one.'

'It was, though.

'There must have been something strange about the woman and her life, or she never would have been content.'

'Shall I tell you something of her ?'

'Yes, please, papa. I confess that I am a little curious, though the story of a darner's life cannot be very interesting.'

'As for that you shall judge for yourself, Miss Mayfield was fond of darning when she was a little child. She had a dear old grandmother, who wore one of those old-fashioned, high-crowned caps and glasses, but who had a gentle voice and willing hands; and this grandmamma taught Miss Mayfield to darn. She was only six years when she mended the first hole in her father's stocking, and he was so pleased that he gave her half-a-crown,'

'That would encourage her.'

'Yes, it did. She was not very proud of her first efforts, but she was diligent and persevering, and so anxious to become proficient in the art that she offered to darn all the family stockings.'

'Thinking that practice would make perfect.'

'Exactly so; and it made her a most beautiful darner. When she was twelve years old her darning was admired by every one who saw it, and her school-fellows were often told to try to imitate her. I think she was about fifteen when, as she was quietly working alone one evening, a thought came to her-it was this: These holes are like many things in life that are very unsightly and very uncomfortable, and it would be a good thing to stop them. I wonder if I, who can darn stockings, am able to mend homes that have holes in them.' 'What a funny idea!'

'But you understand what she meant, do you not, Eliza ?'

'Oh, yes, papa. I know she did not mean to be a carpenter, bricklayer and plasterer, but she meant to be a peacemaker, a person who should as far as possible change wrong into right.'

'That was her aim; and while she sat and darned stockings her thoughts were busy about other holes and rents, and the best way to mend them. She thought that she would first begin on herself. She had one fault which often brought trouble to her-it was the fault of procrastination. She never meant to neglect duties, but often she put them off until the opportunity to discharge them was gone. She was, consequence, not to be relied upon for punctuality, and her friends used often to say that Mary Mayfield was sure to be late. Well, she set to work over this hole in her character; and she found it less easy to mend than the holes in stockings. She was patient, however, and patient people are almost sure, sooner or later, to conquer.'

in

'It is so with darning, I know. If I keep putting stitches they are sure, in time, to fill up a hole, however large it is.'

'Yes, and Miss Mayfield afterward became a most punctual person. But others had holes to fill; and she was courageous enough to try to do something for them. Her brother had a bad habit of speaking more or less than the truth. She thought it would not do to attack him openly about it, and scold him for it, for that would be like beginning to mend the hole in the middle instead of at the sides; but she waited and watched, and put a stitch in now and then, until that hole too was filled up. Next, as she darned her stockings, she remembered the home of a friend, and how sad it was. It might, indeed, be called a torn home, for nobody was united, and every member of the family seemed to be keeping apart from the rest. Not a day passed without a quarrel, and angry tones and frowning faces were quite common things in that house.'

'But what could Miss Mayfield do ?'

'First of all, she examined the hole, and then she prayed, and watched, and waited. Next, she witnessed one of the boys do a really noble deed, for he sprang in the water after a companion who was drowning, and rescued him. He said nothing about it to his family, but Miss Mayfield did, and she told them in such a way that they could not help feeling proud of him.'

'That was a good beginning.'

'Yes, and she kept on. She waited quietly until a good opportunity came, ard then she eagerly seized it. After a few months the broken home was mended, and it became quite whole, and like a new one.' 'That was very good.'

'So good that Miss Mayfield decided to give her life to this kind of darning; and I believe she did as much real good in the world as half a dozen ordinary women would have done.'

'I will try to be a good darner too,' said Eliza.'

BE PUNCTUAL AT THE HOUSE OF PRAYER.

Why, dear friend, so seldom found

Early at the house of God?
When the hour returns for prayer,
Why so seldom punctual there ?

Is it so with scenes of earth-
Worldly calling, carnal mirth?
No! you're always punctual there,
Though not at the house of prayer.

Is it not delight to raise

Your heart and voice in Jesus' praise?
But, you know, you are not there
At the appointed hour of prayer.

The Pastor's heart would quite rejoice
To hear, with animated voice,
Your praise arise to Heaven's throne,
And bring the promised blessing down.

How delightful then to see

"A whole assembly worship Thee!"
Haste! for Him thy suit prepare,
Meet Him manifested there.