impossible to reclaim them from evil habits, as to make the crooked oak straight. A few days ago, I was reading a description of forest trees, in which the author said that when the oak was planted among straight larches, and tall pines, it would grow up straight and tall like its companions; and then if its companions were removed, and space given to its branches and roots, it would become a much more useful and valuable tree, than if it was planted and allowed to grow among other wide-spreading and disorderly trees. From this circumstance I may add a little instruction to that of my dear father's, by reminding my young readers that, according to the character of their companions, much will depend upon their growing up good or bad, useful or worthless, miserable or happy. If their companions be good, they will be influenced for good by them, and may grow up to be useful and valuable men and women. But if they associate with rude and wicked companions, they may grow up, like them, full of wide-spreading evil influences and bad habits. And how sad it is to know that children who grow up uncultivated, generally remain so when they are men and women, and continue so till death. People do not often repent when they grow old in sin, for they are then like the stubborn old oak that cannot be straightened. Luther said, "It is hard to reform old sinners, while the young tree can be made to bend without breaking.” Now, just one word more about the oak. You all know the beautiful little acorn in its tiny cup. Think of that acorn dropping from its parent tree into a little crack in the ground, and a cow, or a horse, or a stag happening to walk that way, and closing the crack by the press of its foot. There the acorn lies all the cold winter through, and as soon as the sunny showers of spring come it awakes to life, bursts its shell, and up above the ground peep two tiny leaves that enfolded its germ; then appears the little stem with its oak leaves on the top, which grows perhaps a foot high in its first summer, and year after year it grows; and in perhaps three hundred years it becomes a great tree-Oh, so great. One was recently cut down at a little village called Erwood, near Builth, in Wales, which contained 1,132 solid feet of timber. The trunk, when standing, measured near the ground fifty feet nine inches round. If you measure round a room in your house, that will give you an idea of the thickness of this oak's stem. It was perfectly sound in every part, and the quality of the wood first rate. Now the Psalmist tells us that the godly man shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water; that bringeth forth its fruit in its season; its leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. That all the readers of the Hive grow up to be trees of righteousness, is the prayer of AN OLD MAN. The Days of the Week. HO named them? Our forefathers ever so far back, before the missionaries brought the knowledge of God and His Son Jesus Christ to England. England was once pagan; she worshipped several gods. The days of the week are named after the old English gods and goddesses; for the people kept time by weeks, as the Jews did. Let us see how the names came about. They saw the sun. What is more beautiful than the sun? The sun gives light and heat. All living things grow and thrive under his brightness and warmth. The sun must surely be a god. So they worshipped the sun, and called the first day of the week Sunday. Next the moon. Nothing except the sun is so beautiful as the moon; and so they worshipped the moon, and Monday was named in honour of her. Tuesday was named after Tuesco, their god of strife and war. Then the wind; what mighty things it did, and yet nobody saw it. It was always moving, and nobody knew how. They said it was a spirit, and they called him Woden, the Moyer, the Inspirer, and named Wednesday after him. There was thunder. Thunder must be a god too, and they called him Thor. The dark thunder-cloud was Thor's frowning eyebrow, and the lightning was Thor's hammer splitting the trees and rocks. They said, too, that he drove away the winter cold and melted the ice. They loved him for doing so, and Thursday was named after him. Spring was a goddess; for does she not make everything beautiful after the dreary winter? The flowers blossom and the birds build their nests, and everybody is happy. She was called Frigga, the Free One, the Cheerful One; and Friday was named after her. Then came the harvest. How wonderful was it, and is it, that the corn and the wheat, which are put into the ground and die, should rise again, and grow, and ripen into golden corn and waving harvests! This must surely be the work of some kind spirit who loves people, they thought; and they called him Sæter, the Setter, the Planter, the god of the seed-field and the harvest; and after him Saturday is named. How much more do we know! We can look up to the great Creator of them all, and exclaim, "The sun and the moon, the wind and the thunder, spring and autumn are Thy works, O Lord God Almighty." And, best of all, Jesus tells us that he is "Our Father in heaven," loving us very much, and caring for us every moment of our lives. Look out for the Trap. IDE by side on the mossy log, what a happy brace of squirrels were Brownie and Grayback! To be sure, they had no names but squirrel in their forest home; but they did not always live there, as I shall tell you. One day they espied on their favourite log something nicer than acorns, more juicy than becchnuts or walnuts. Oh! what a feast the fresh, cool turnips proved. They never stopped to wonder about the new food; but, carefully smelling it, and then tasting-rather doubtfully at first-they soon made way with the delicious meal. At a safe distance gleamed out a pair of sparkling eyes from behind the thick hazel bushes. Day after day the squirrels found their nice food on the oak log, and day after day the pair of bright brown eyes peeped at them while they ate. They had no suspicion of this, or you may be sure they would have gone to their basement kitchen and dined on nuts without fear or favour. One day they found no food on the log. They smelled along, and peered up and down, and chattered briskly to each other. How the bright eyes sparkled then behind the the hazel bushes! Smelling along, at length they came to a curious little house, with a large open door, just at the end of the log. Ah! yes; just inside was the nice fresh dinner, white in its tuft of green. "What a nice house!" said Grayback. "I do not quite understand it," said Brownie; "but this is the kind of food we had on the log." Slowly he stepped in at the open door, turning his head this way and that, and actually looking right through the hazel bush into the brown eyes; but he saw nothing, and Grayback slowly followed into the curious house. They were soon busy over their nice meal, whenthe repast half over-crash! and the door came together fast and tight-too tight for the poor frightened squirrels. They scratched and pawed, and nibbled and knawed; but they were no longer their own masters. Charlie Wood, who owned the bright brown eyes, owned, also, the brown and gray squirrels. He bore them off in triumph. Charlie proved a kind master; but it was a long time before Grayback and Brownie could be contented with prison walls instead of the wide forest rangeeven if they did eat all sorts of nice food, and drink cold water from apple-cups made by Charlie for their especial benefit. Children, avoid temptation. Always be sure there is no trap beyond. Only a day or two ago I know of a little boy who was tempted to take a glass of wine. Hẹ The seed we sow, but it will not grow- But nothing is lost- No snow nor frost, That came to enrich the earth again ; And the pleasant rain springs from earth again. Water and food. Then never despair; Disappointment bear, Though hope seemeth vain, be patient still; All thy good intents good doth fulfil; Is finishing thy great life-work still. Memoir. MARY NICHOLLS HOCKING, OF MICHAELSTOW, CAMELFORD CIRCUIT. HE was born October 3, 1862, in the parish of Egloshayle, but removed to Michaelstow with her parents in 1866, when she became a scholar in the Church of England Sunday School. Several nice books presented to her by the Rector's daughter, testify to the affection here felt towards her. In 1870 the Rector died, his family left the neighbourhood, and the school was broken up; but another school being opened in connection with our own Church, Mary became a scholar in it. This same year God poured out His Spirit on the congregation, and brought a great many of their number to Himself. Little Mary was much impressed. It was delightful to hear her, with two younger sisters, rehearsing and singing the melodies which were sung in the revival meetings. In the beginning of 1873 Mary was seized with whooping cough, and congestion of the lungs. On Monday, March 17, she appeared to be worse, when a bed was made up in the kitchen for her. She had not lain there long before she said to her mother, "Please, I want to whisper to you; I am going to die, mother!" 'Well, my dear, look to Jesus, and He will give you a new heart, and fit you for heaven." Yes, mother, I am always praying to him in secret; I have no breath to pray aloud. I do love Jesus; but there is one verse always uppermost in my mind,— A charge to keep I have, A God to glorify, A never dying soul to save, Oh, mother, I have a soul to save, and fit it for the sky." She dozed a little, and then broke out singing, The Lamb, the Lamb, the bleeding Lamb, A little more sleep, and then looking up, said, Again she Traveller, whither art thou going, Adding, "Oh, mother, there are no storms in heaven; all is peace, and happiness there, I am going to that home that has no storm." She grew worse. The clogging of the air-pipes made it difficult for her to breathe; but amidst all her sufferings, it was delightful to hear her praising God. Thursday night was a terrible night of suffering. For hours she lay gasping for life ; but just after twelve o'clock she rallied and called for her father, who had laid down, to come and pray with her, and tell her about Jesus, the Friend of sinners. "Tell me," she said, 'something about Jesus." Whether in childhood or old age, this is the one truth needed by us when sickness and death approaches. Intervals of ease were still employed in singing some beautiful hymn or melody. About two o'clock on Friday morning she said, "Tell my brothers and sisters that I shall never see all of them again on earth, but tell them to meet me in heaven. Tell them I shall come to meet them. Tell them I am going home to Jesus." Respecting another child who was ill at the time, she said, "Tell little Mary that she must pray to Jesus herself for a new heart. If she does, He will give it her. Tell her to meet me in heaven." At the day school Mary had won the affection of the new Rector's family, who, during her illness, showed her great kindness; and whose wife and daughter spent some time with her on this last day of her life, applying poultices to her chest, vainly trying to relieve her breathing. They stated that they had never seen a child like her--singing and praising God so; and yet have we not all reason, at all times, to rejoice in Him and praise Him, as Mary was doing. During the morning she several times repeated, "Good-bye, mamma." "Where are you going, my dear," her mother enquired. "Nowhere, now," she replied; but they have been waving me away lots of times to-night." Noticing her mother's tears, she said, "Don't you cry; " and added, "There is no crying in heaven; Jesus will wipe away all their tears. It hurts me to see you cry." Just before her death she quoted the first line of that beautiful hymn, My God, the spring of all my joys. When, her breath failing, her mother, at her desire, repeated the remainder. The strangling cough again coming on, her mother lifted her up, when clapping her little hands, and throwing them up, she exclaimed, "I shall soon be a little angel." She fell back The The answer to the first puzzle in the February number is "Better late than never.' answer to the second, is 100 bushels. The following have correctly answered both,George Crossley, M. A. Ormerod, Mary Lord, W. Lord, A. H. Low, H. Ll. Snape, W. H. Sutcliffe, Marie Lang, S. Diggle. J. J. Clarke, R. Wyld, H. Bumby, R. J. Wakefield, H. Bedson, T. Taylor, J. K. Wolstenholine, H. Lewis, F. E. Chester, H. S. Gibbs, J. R. Mably, J. T. Birch, C. Taylor, A. Pickering, A. Soothill, J. W. Allen, W. H. Sharpe, J. G. Simpson, J. W. Peace, John Lord, C. E. Robb, A. Thackray, T. E. Wakefield, Thomas Smith, Eliza Turner, W. Newbold, T. Smith, J. Greenwood, J. Brown, W. Crosier, R. Fletcher, J. H. Andrews, W. J. Bennett, H. Horrox, L. Wilkinson. The following answered one correctly,— J. P Chalmers, A. M. Cozens-Hardy, Mary Hoyle, C. E. Bridgwater, W. Clapham, Sarah A. Massey, Sarah J. Gray, J. Dixon, A Halmshaw, W. H. Plant, H. W. Strong, W. H. Whitworth, Willis Briggs, A. Akeroyd, M. Curgenven, E. A. Underwood, M. Wardlow, W. W. Jacques, W. Mann, Lillie Elstob, Annie Burley, Alice Kirk, F. Harsfield, F. Marshall, H. A. Miell, Mary Ashton, A. Derry, W. A. Richardson, W. B. Trenbath, Willie Rushworth, Lillie Oldfied, F. Hedley, Fanny Cook, S. Ogden, F. A. Barr, F. Wright. We are afraid that some of our young friends I will have found it rather difficult to find out the proverb referred to in the first puzzle for March. The proverb is not perhaps so well known amongst children. The proverb, however, in the following verse will probably be known to all-one word of it is contained in each line. What is the proverb ? I. When nightingales sweet music make, The night looks wondrous fair ! II. |