THE SHEPHERD BOY AND THE

AT

STARS.

T the beginning of the eighteenth century, there lived a poor but honest labourer at Keith, in Scotland, who was in the habit of gathering his children around him at the close of the day, and giving them what instruction he could. His family was large, and he had not the means of paying for their education. Hence when his toils were over, he might be seen busily engaged in teaching the elder children to read and write. Those who were under seven years of age he did not attempt to teach.

One of these excluded ones, however, was a very inquisitive child, and he would sit quietly by, watching every movement—all eye and all ear. When his elder brother had finished his lesson, he would get the book and try to go over it by himself. When he found anything that puzzled him, which he often did, he would slip out of the house and run across the fields to an old woman who lived in a cottage not far off, for he did not like to trouble his father, who he thought had enough to do without teaching. him. The old woman was very kind, and always helped him as well as she could. In this way the child learned to read before any one thought that he knew his letters.

James Ferguson-for that was his name - always liked to know the reason of things. When he was about seven or eight years of age, the roof of the cottage where they lived partly fell in; and James, to his great surprise, saw his father raise it again by applying a beam to it, resting on a prop in the manner of what is called a lever. James was not content till he found out how it was that his father had so easily accomplished what seemed to him so difficult. After contriving several small levers, and making repeated experiments, he at length attained the object of his wishes. He did this without books, or a teacher, or tools, except an old turning-lathe of his father's, and a knife with which he fashioned his blocks and wheels.

Thus by closely observing, and thinking much about what he saw, young Ferguson gained much information. While he was still very young, a farmer employed him to mind his sheep. He was put to this work because he was not very strong nor very healthy; but he liked it greatly, because, while the sheep were feeding about him, he could study books, or busy himself in making little mills, spinning-wheels, and other things he happened to see. At night, when obliged to stay out late in the fields, he used to watch the movements of the stars. In a very curious way he managed to draw a small map of them. He would sometimes after his day's work, go out into the fields, with a blanket about him when it was cold, and lying down on the grass, look up at the sky. He had a string with

small beads on it, which he would hold between his eye and the stars, sliding and settling the beads upon it, till they hid certain stars from his eye, so that he had the distance they seemed to be from each other on the thread between the beads. He would lay this thread on a sheet of paper, and mark the stars there with the beads. One night his master came and found him at this work, and laughed at him at first; but when James explained what he was about, he told him to go on; and that he might have time to make fair copies by day of what he had drawn at night, he would often mind the sheep an hour or two for him.

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One day Ferguson was sent with a message to a minister who lived near. He knew that he was a kind man, and took great notice of young people, and was pleased to see them improving themselves; so he took his drawings of the stars with him to show them. But he felt rather ashamed of making so free, and after giving his message, stood for awhile twisting his cap in his hands. The minister noticing this, said, 'Well, James, can I do anything for you?" The boy blushed, scarcely knowing what to say, but handed him his drawings. The minister then showed him some maps which were lying on his table. The lad was delighted, and asked a great many questions; and then for the first time he learned that the earth is round. earth is round. Finally he prevailed on the minister to lend him a map of the world to copy; and with borrowed compass and other materials, set off home, promising to return as soon as he had completed his task. So enthusiastic was he, that he now had scarcely patience to pursue his ordinary labours. His master, however, with unusual insight, perceived that he was no common boy, and allowed him all the time he could.

When the map was finished, Ferguson took it to the minister. On his way he passed the school where he had been a scholar for a short time, and the master seeing him, inquired what he had in the parcel he was carrying. James told him. The schoolmaster having looked at the map, asked him if he would like to learn to make sundials. Hearing this, a man who was painting one on the wall of the school-room came forward, and gave it as his opinion that the boy ought to be more encouraged. Ferguson had a good deal of talk with this man, and learned much from him. He then hastened to the house of the minister. While he was there, a gentleman named Grant came in, who when he saw the map was so pleased with it, that he offered to take James into his own house, and have him instructed by his butler. This butler turned out to be the very man who was painting the sun-dial on the school-house walls.

Young Ferguson did not go to Mr. Grant's at once, but, as was right, first fulfilled his engagement at sheep-keeping. He then went to his new place, and there he made

good progress in arithmetic and algebra. He had commenced geometry, when the butler, having the offer of a much better situation, left. At parting he gave James a "Geographical Grammar." By studying this book well, young Ferguson learned to make a globe. He first turned a ball out of a piece of wood, and covered it with paper. He then drew a map of the world on it. The ring and the horizon he also made of wood. This globe was of great use to him in his studies.

The next situation which Ferguson entered was at a mill, where he thought he should have plenty of time to read; but, unhappily, the miller was a frequent visitor at the ale-house, and left James nearly all the work to do, and sometimes nothing to eat. A little oatmeal mixed with cold water was very often the only thing he could get. In this harsh service he continued patiently for a year, and then he returned home in a very weak state of health. His next engagement was still more unfortunate; for he was not only rarely able to open a book, but was soon disabled by hard labour.

One day, young Ferguson saw a gentleman riding by his father's house, and he could not resist the wish he had to examine his watch. In a humble manner he asked what o'clock it was. The gentleman looked at his watch, and told him in such a goodnatured manner that the lad made bold to ask him to let him see the inside of it. It was opened without the least hesitation, and everything about it explained. James soon set about making a watch. It did not go very well, for the spring was of whalebone; but his cleverness was much admired by the neighbours. Afterwards he made a wooden clock, and was delighted to find that it kept time pretty well. The bell on which the hammer struck to tell the hours was the neck of an old bottle.

To obtain a livelihood, Ferguson next set to work to clean clocks. He also began to draw patterns for ladies' dresses; by which means he earned a good deal of money, and was enabled, very much to his joy, sometimes to supply his father's wants. He also copied pictures with his pen, and tried his hand at portrait-painting, with such success that his country friends at length sent him to Edinburgh to perfect himself in the art.

Then commenced a new era in his life. For twenty-six years he followed this profession in the Scottish capital, at the same time continuing his astronomical studies. At length he made up his mind to go to London, in the hope of finding more congenial employment. A paper which he had written on the motion of the moon served to recommend him to the President of the Royal Society, who immediately brought him into notice. Soon he began to give public lectures, and he had often King George III., then a boy, among his hearers. He also published several scientific works, and was

MY SCARLET SHAWL.
A WIFE'S STORY.
PART VI.

THE packman was right—I was afraid to

tell my husband. But he was wrong in thinking that it was the fear of John's anger which principally made me keep back my wrong secret. I could have borne his anger. His anger Dear John had never been angry with me; we had never had an unpleasant word since we were married. Why I did not dare to tell my husband was that I dreaded losing his confidence

'Maggie," he said to me that night after he came home, still disappointed of obtaining employment, "it makes my heart ache

to see you. Things will clear up by-and-by; and we must put our trust in God. Don't fret so much, my dear; you will make yourself ill; and then what shall I do?" And then he tried to comfort and encourage me, not doubting that I was troubled about his being out of work. And so I was; but not about that only.

You take it too much to heart.

I smothered my grief as well as I could, however; and, indeed, there was something so kind in John's ways that I felt less heavyhearted when he was by.

"I am going to (he named a place a few miles off) to-morrow; I have heard that there's a chance of work there; so we'll hope for the best, Maggie," he said.

So the next day he went off; and left me at liberty to do something that had come into my mind.

Not far from our home was a draper's shop, where we generally dealt; and I knew Mr. Smith at that shop very well. He was a kind, good man; and everybody who knew him at all knew him to be an honest, upright tradesman.

So that morning I wrapped up the scarlet shawl, and went to Mr. Smith's shop; saw Mr. Smith, and told him all my story. Then I opened the parcel, and showed him the shawl.

"If I understand you," he said very kindly, "you wish me to buy the shawl.” I told him I did.

I told him three guineas.

"And how much would it be fair for me to give you for the shawl if I were to buy it, do you think?" asked Mr. Smith.

I said I did not know; I would rather leave it to him to fix his price.

66

No, no," he said, with a sort of half smile; "it does not do to be buyer and seller both."

Well, perhaps then he would not think two pounds would be too much. I would willingly sell the shawl for two pounds. I should then be able to pay the packman all his demand, and have a few shillings left.

Mr. Smith shook his head, as much as to say, "No, that wouldn't do." But he did not speak.

If he thought that too much, I went on, I would even sell the shawl for one pound ten and sixpence, which would enable me to get rid of my hard-dealing creditor.

"I am sorry I cannot help you,” Mr. Smith said then, "and I will show you why I cannot;" and with that he laid on the counter a bundle, which he unpacked. It was a parcel of shawls; and he picked out one, just the fellow to mine. It was the same colour and pattern, and had the same border and fringe.

"You see this," he said. "Now will you examine it, and tell me if you can see any difference in the quality?"

I did examine it, and could see no difference; and I said so.

"There is no difference," he said. "They are made of the same material, and very likely came from the same loom; certainly from the same manufacturer. Now I will not tell you what my shawl cost me, and my selling price for it; but my young man shall." Then he called one of his assistants, and told him to tell me the price.

The young man looked at the ticket. "One pound," he said.

"That is the selling price," said Mr. Smith. "Now be so good as to tell Mrs. (he knew me by name) what it cost

me."

The young man looked at the ticket again. "It cost you fifteen and ninepence," he said. "Thank you, that will do," said Mr. Smith; and the young man walked away.

"Now you see," said Mr. Smith to me, "that I cannot help you in the way you wish. I could not give you more for your shawl than I gave for this one of mine; and that would not help you out of your difficulty with your creditor. Besides which, you would lose your shawl altogether."

"I don't care for that," I said, adding passionately, "I wish I had never seen it, nor the cheating man who sold it to me." And then I asked Mr. Smith what he would advise me to do.

Mr. Sinith gave me his advice. The first thing was to rid myself of my troublesome

creditor. I had been taken in; there was many a good, useful packman, no doubt, but this fellow had cheated me, and there was no help for it now. I must pay him his demand; and I must choose between going on with my weekly payments, and thus, in the end, pay thrice as much for the shawl as it was worth. Here I broke in upon Mr. Smith,

"I can't do that; and if I could I would not. To think of being deceived so!"

"I don't wonder at your feeling annoyed,” said the gentleman; " and I think you are right in deciding not to go on with your payments; but then you must forfeit the shawl, and lose three more half-crowns, it Now, you don't really want the shawl, you say; so that is no great sacrifice. But the three half-crowns, how will it be about them?"

seems.

I did not know, I was sure. I knew I had not got them, and should not have them. I could not bear to ask my husband for them. I supposed I must try and raise the money by selling something about the house.

"Don't do that," said the good-natured draper; "that will be dishonest. I must help you out of this, I see. I'll lend you the money to clear scores with the packman; and and you shall pay me when you are able, not before. And when you really want a new shawl," he added, laughing, "you must come to me for it. I won't charge you three times what it is worth."

Then he put three half-crowns into my hand; and I went home with a lighter heart than I had known for a long time.

A FALL IN THE WORLD. ICHARD DAVILL kept the livery stables at Starford. He had been for more than seven years head groom to Major Wilde, at the Old Grange, about a mile from the town; and there he had borne a good character as a steady man who knew his business. He had saved a little money, and when he left the Major's service it was to marry, and to go into business on his own account. Davill was not very young when he married Mary White, after a twelvemonth's courtship; he was old enough to choose well, and he did choose well, for Mary was an excellent young woman, who made the Bible the rule of her life, and was, moreover, a comely lass whom any man might have been proud of. She had nursed the Major's wife through a long and painful illness, and at her death had inherited a small legacy. It was with Mary's money, added to his own savings, that Davill was able to buy the livery stable business of old Marston, who had carried it on for more than thirty years, and was now able to retire. So Richard Davill may be said to have entered on his married life with fair prospects, and most people who knew him said he would do well.

For a time he did very well indeed, in a worldly sense; he rose before the lark every morning, and looked closely after his business,

taking care to see that man and boy did their duty. In another sense Davill did not do well; he was not really a religious man. When in service he had attended church with the rest of the household, but now he went to no place of worship; he could not find time for it, he said, when Mary would try to persuade him. Towards the end of the first year of her wedded life Mary gave birth to a son, a sturdy, healthy little fellow, full of life and baby laughter. The boy grew a strong, active fellow, the pride of his father, and the petted idol of the lads and stable-boys among whom he was brought up. It was Mary's care to watch over him and guard him from evil influences by such good instruction as she could give him. She taught him Bible histories as soon as he was old enough to listen to her and to understand them; and at a proper age he was sent to school, where he made very good progress, and promised well. Many a fervent prayer did his mother put up on behalf of her only son-and surely they were not unheard. Young Tom got the character of a steady boy,-rather self-willed at times, but generally obedient, and specially good and dutiful towards his mother.

Before Tom had finished his schooling poor Mary Davill's saddest troubles had begun. For now she observed a change in her husband; he did not attend to business as he had done; he lay late in the morning, and often came in late at night, sometimes in an angry, sometimes in a jovial and excited mood. The truth is, and it is not to be wondered at, looking to Davill's growing disregard of religion, that he had fallen into temptation, and was fast "going wrong as people say. Mary heard with dismay that he had got mixed up with racing and betting men, that he

had won sums of money at the last Derby, and had a colt of his own in training to run at the next Starford Races. Then she saw that when he should have been guiding matters at home, he was often dressed like a gentleman, and off on the best horse in the stables, whither she knew not. All this was misery to the poor wife, who only made matters worse by her remonstrances, and so had to bear the affliction as she best could.

When Tom was fourteen Davill insisted on having him home to help in the business. Mary, who would have wished him to remain at school another year, had her reasons, however, for consenting, and home the boy came. He took readily to the business, of which he was always fond, and, as far as he could, supplied the care which his father should have bestowed. But things did not go on well.

To

Gentlemen grew dissatisfied, and complained. And the business suffered more and more. complete Davill's mortification, his colt was beaten at the races, and he lost more money than he could well pay. Under this reverse the worst side of the unhappy man's nature came uppermost. He ill-treated Tom, who could do nothing to please him; swore at the men; abused his poor wife, and once, in a fit of passion, struck her. Poor Mary! hers was a sad home now. In the autumn she took a severe chill, which almost deprived her of the use of her limbs. Had she been in sound health previously, the doctors said she would have thrown it off; but, prostrated as she was by anxiety and grief, it was too much for her.

TOM DISCOVERS HIS FATHER.

After an illness of less than a month she died, blessing her son with her last breath, and putting into his hand her own well-worn pocket Bible, the companion of her life.

After his wife's death, Davill, sobered and apparently heart-stricken, seemed to have become steady again. For a time he was kind to his son and attentive to his business, and behaved as though he had seen the error of his ways and resolved to forsake them. But it was not so. There was no vital change of heart. With the spring his old companions came down to Starford again to see about the training for the handicap, and Davill was more than ever with them. The business was now all left to Tom and to the foreman, whose trustfulness Tom more than doubted. It went on badly, of course, and the poor lad got the blame, which was now always accompanied with abuse.

Months passed on in this way, things getting worse and worse, until Tom, from fearing and dreading his father, began almost to hate the sight of him. One night, when the lad was sitting up over the account-books, pondering ruefully the dismal tale they told, his father came in, looking wild and excited, and evidently half-drunk. Tom innocently asked what had made him so late, and received for answer a savage cut from a riding-whip, followed by a torrent of abuse. Stung by the blow, and without thought, Tom took a candle and walked up to his room. Yielding to the temptation which had already more than once presented itself, and forgetting his mother's counsel to do his duty patiently in spite of unkindness, he

hastily resolved to leave his home. Packing up some clothes in a portA manteau, he flung it into the garden, leaped out after it, and in a minute was on his way to the railway station. He slept that night in a railway carriage, and was in London soon after dawn.

Tom's career in London was more fortunate than a runaway lad of sixteen had a right to expect. He soon found employment in the stables of a man who came from Starford, and gained

go

a good character by his care and attention to the animals under his charge. After some months he obtained a still better engagement in the service of a gentleman to abroad. Tom travelled with his master on the continent for more than six years, visiting most of the capitals of Europe, and wan dering through the most picturesque regions leisurely on horseback. At times the thought of his old home would come across him, and he would wonder how his father was getting on; but if he had a misgiving as to his own conduct in running away, he would dismiss it from his mind, and not allow it to trouble him.

One day when they had reached Paris, on their return towards old England, Tom's master gave him a holiday, that he might go about and see the sights of that famous city. Tom, glad enough of the chance, ran to his room, and began rummaging in his portmanteau for a certain showy waistcoat, intending to put it on, when suddenly his hand fell upon a book, and he drew out his dear mother's well-worn Bible. Somehow the sight strangely affected him. He sat down on the bed: the book opened of its own accord where a leaf had of been turned down at the beautiful story Ruth. Tom read the first chapter-read it twice, and then he fell a thinking. What his thoughts were we leave the reader to imagine. Whatever they were they brought him to his knees; and when he rose, it was with the

The day after arriving in England, Tom got leave and ran down to Starford. No one in the town recognised him, he was so grown and altered. He found the old livery stables in the possession of a new proprietor, and on inquiring for Mr. Davill was referred to the yard of the "Crown Inn." The waiter at the inn showed him to the yard, and pointed to an old man who was rubbing down a horse as the person he sought. Tom's heart was in his mouth as he approached the crouching figure, so changed from what it was. "Father," said he, "do you know me?"

The old man turned, and shading his eyes with his hand, gazed earnestly at him. "Yes," said he at length, "it is my son; God has sent you to me in answer to my prayers.' He led the horse into the stable, and beckoning to Tom to follow, pointed to a bench on which they both sat down.

"Father," said Tom, "I have come to ask your forgiveness, and to make what amends I can. I have saved money; let me take you out of this, and put you again into the old business."

"Forgiveness!" said the old man, "I was more to blame than you; but, yes, we will forgive each other. For your kind offer He will reward you who has put it into your heart. As for me, I must not accept it. Praise be to God, he has taught me to recognise his goodness and mercy in the punishment of my own

and now I have that I want for nothing more."

Tom spent some days with his father, and before returning to London took measures for securing his comfortable maintenance in case of need; and from that time forth the bond of love and duty was never broken between them.

THE RAINBOW. TRIUMPHAL arch that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part,

I ask not proud philosophy
To teach me what thou art.

Still seen as to my childhood's sight
A midway station given,
For happy spirits to alight,

Betwixt the earth and heaven.

Can all that optics teach unfold

Thy form to please me so,

As when I dreamt of gems and gold Hid in thy radiant bow?

When science from creation's face

Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws!

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.

When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's grey fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign!

BIBLE TRUTHS.

SUNDAY, October 2.-" And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son" (Luke xv. 21).

то To discover that we are sick, is the

first step towards a cure. We shall never go to the physician, or seek a remedy, till we feel our need of healing. "The whole need not a physician, but they that are sick." So too is it in spiritual things. Christ came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. It is those and only those who feel themselves to be lost sinners, who will ever come to him. Mark, too, how this poor prodigal makes full confession. He attempts neither to hide nor excuse his sin, but lays it all bare and open. There are some foolish people who go to a physito a physician, and do not tell him the real state of their health. In going to God this is far more foolish

and wicked. He cannot be de

ceived; he will not be mocked. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins."

"Prostrate, dear Jesus! at thy feet,

A guilty rebel lies,

And upward to the mercy seat,
Presumes to lift his eyes

SUNDAY, October 9.-"But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him" (Luke xv. 20).

WHILST we are only beginning

to return, God meets us. Nay, more than this, "It shall come to

pass, that before they call I will

answer; and while they are speaking, I will hear." We may say even more than this. It is he who draws us to himself, and makes us desire to return. At the greatest distance to which our sins have carried us, his pitying eye has followed us, and his gracious Spirit has pleaded with us, and as we begin to

turn to him, it is love which is drawing us. What encouragement is is there here for the poor trembling penitent! You are a great way off, you say, you have gone so far astray that you doubt whether God will receive you; how can such as you are hope to be forgiven ? Read this wonderful parable, remember that it is God himself who speaks to you in it, and doubt no more.

IF

"Welcome, weeping penitent, Grace has made thy heart relent: Welcome, long estranged child; God in Christ is reconciled."

SUNDAY, October 16.-"The night cometh, when no man can work" (John ix. 4). F we have a long and dangerous journey before us, we are careful to start early, lest the darkness should overtake us in the way. If we have a very difficult and important piece of work to do, and very little time to do it in, we

set about it at once, if we are wise, so as to finish it before "the night cometh, when no man can work." But what journey so beset with dangers, what work so difficult and so infinitely important, as our journey to another world! Failure here would be fatal. The day of life is rapidly drawing to a close. The night of death is fast coming on. Yet multitudes have not even begun to prepare. Will nothing arouse them to a sense of their folly and danger? time for delay. day of salvation, be too late.

There is no

To-day is the to-morrow may

that he may see how he stands. If he neglects to do this, he may be going to ruin without knowing it, or being able to take any steps to prevent it. Surely we ought to use the same caution in the infinitely more important concerns of the soul! Have we ever looked into our prospects for eternity? Do we really and honestly search and try our ways? Perhaps, whilst we are flattering ourselves that all is well, we are going down to eternal death with a "lie in our right hand." It will be a dreadful thing to awake from our unconcern, and discover our error too late.

"Tis a point I long to know,
Oft it causes anxious thought,
Do I love the Lord or no,
Am I his or am I not?"

SUNDAY, October 30.-" Be not weary in well

doing" (2 Thess. iii. 13).

I

is not enough to begin well:

we must end well too. In the

parable of the sower, our Lord describes various classes of hearers who promised well at first, and seemed likely to "bring forth fruit unto everlasting life;" but the cares of this world, or the deceitfulness of riches, or persecution arising, choked the seed. Some, again, are not hindered so much by others as by themselves. They grow weary; their love grows cold, they fall back and follow Christ afar off,

or

even forsake him altogether. Against all such backsliding in heart or life, we have many cautions in the Bible. It dishonours