THE ORPHANS' CHRISTMAS

EVE.

CHICK and fast the snow-flakes
fell

Through the quiet air,
Christmas day will find the snow
Lying everywhere.
Lying in the busy street,

On the road-side hedge,
On the roof of every house,
On each window-ledge.

It was falling, falling still,
All the eventide,

Till each gleaming lamp was lit
Through the city wide;
Till from many a window pane,
Flashed the flickering glow
Of the blazing Christmas fires

On the sparkling snow ;

Till the Christmas bells rang out,
Clear, and full, and loud,
Waking echoes in each heart,

Through the hurrying crowd;
Waking hopes of pleasant hours
In the coming day,

For it was the Christmas time
When each heart was gay.
But from one small garret room
Came not laugh, nor light,
Silent passed the heavy hours
Of that Christmas night.
For the time had only brought

To the dwellers there

Many a sad and anxious thought,
Many a heavy care.

Thoughts of bygone Christmas days

With her husband passed, Most, of that a year ago,

Which had been the last, Came to make the widow sad; And she said beside,

"I can't think what we shall eat All this Christmas-tide.

"I can't think what we shall do

When to-morrow comes,
Other people will be gay,

In their happy homes,
But we have no bread, nor coal
For a fire all day,
Then the rent is coming due,
And I cannot pay.
"Little Johnny looks so thin,
He has grown so still,
And he never cares to play,
I'm afraid he's ill.

It is just for want of food;
And the others too,
Shiver in those poor old clothes,
With their elbows through."
Little May came silently

To her mother's side,
"Mother, don't you fret for us,
Jesus will provide.
He has promised he will feed
All who ask for food;

I ata sure he'll keep his word,
For he is so good.

"And, please mother, will you let
Me and Charlic go,
Just to sing the song we learnt
At the school you know?
Folks are kind at Christmas time,
Nobody can tell,

But that we may earn some pence,
And some food as well."

Tears came in the mother's eyes,

As she looked at May.
"Well, my darling child, perhaps
'Tis the only way.

You shall go, but wear my shawl,
It will make you warm,
And keep close to Charlie's side,
So you take no harm."
Forth into the silent night,
Forth into the snow,
Bravely on, and hopefully,

Did the children go,
And the happy Christmas bells
Seemed to them to ring,
Loud and clear, the very tune

That they meant to sing.
Charlie's steady, earnest voice

Rose in ancient rhyme,
Telling how the Christ was born
In the Christmas time.
May's sweet accents trembled so,

You could hardly hear,
Till she thought of what she sang,
And forgot her fear.

'Twas the carol angels bright

Sang so long ago,
Over Bethlehem's hills by night,

'Neath the moonbeam's glow. 'Twas the song the shepherds heard That first Christmas tide; Now its echoes fill the world, Sounding far and wide. Angels' song from children's lips, Falteringly it rose ;

It was very cold that night, 'Mid the bitter snows.

It was very hard to sing

When they were so faint;
May crept close to Charlie's side,
But made no complaint.
Many heard the Christmas song
That the children sang,
As along the silent street

Their sweet voices rang.
Happy mothers sat within

By their firesides bright, With no thought of those outside In the cold dark night. Listening to these pleasant sounds, To these voices dear, Many heard the children's song

With a careless ear; Turned away to other things,

With no thought of those Who were wandering wearily

'Mid the blinding snows.

Yet the God who heard the songs
Of the Seraphim--

Those who sang at eventide

The first Christmas hymnListened just as tenderly

To earth's lower lays; Heard each word of hope and joy, Every song of praise.

And amid the music fair

Circling round his throne, God, the Father, bent his ear To the children's tone; Heard how all the while they sang Their low prayer was said, "Father, help us both to sing,

And to earn some bread."
Hearing thus the simple prayer

That the children prayed,
Did He prove his promise true,
And send down his aid.

Some one opened a house door,
Lighting up the gloom,
Called the shivering children in
To a cheerful room.

There was such a blazing fire

Making brightness there,
Glancing on the holly boughs
Put up everywhere;
And the children round the fire
Smiled, and looked so kind,
That both Charles and little May
Left their fear behind.

Then a lady asked them both
What had brought them there,
Why they wandered out at night
In the wintry air;
So they told her everything,
All about their home,
And she said, "I know the place,
I'll be sure to come.
"Do you know how Jesus came
Just to help us here,
How he bore the griefs of those

Whom he came to cheer?
He will help you, if you ask,
In your troubles too;
He has put it in my heart,

Dears, to comfort you.

"I am very grieved to see
Children forced to go
In the streets, on such a night,
'Mid the wind and snow.
You were right, no doubt, to try
To do what you could,
But you might find other ways,
Surely, if you would.
"Now, my boy, if I could get

Work for you to do,
Would you try and do it well,

And be good and true?
You'll have a long time to wait
Till you are a man,
Don't you think you'd best begin,
And do all you can?"
"Yes, ma'am, that's just what I wish,
That was what we said,
So we thought we'd try to-night
For we had no bread.
Mother hardly seemed to like

May and I should go;
But, if I could get some work,
She'd like that, I know."

Then, before they went away,
They were warmed and fed,
And they carried home with them
Something more than bread.
They had money for a fire

To drive out the cold,
And a holly bough as large

As their hands could hold. More than all, the kindly looks, And the gentle voice, The sweet words of hope and cheer, Made their hearts rejoice. Didn't little Charlie talk

All the snowy way,

"Oh! how glad I am we went; What will mother say?

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"And the lady's sure to come
As she said she would;
Then, if she will get me work,
I. will earn the food.
It was kind of God to hear

What we children said;

I shall always go to him
When we have no bread."

Back through street, and lane, and court,

To the steps they ran;
And, before they reached the top,
Both their tale began.
Thus, with talking both at once,
Talking very fast,

Telling each thing over twice,
They got through at last.
Almost ere the mother's heart
Could receive the joy,

She had seized the bread and meat
For her sinking boy.

Then they knelt, and sent their thanks
Up to God in heaven,
Praising him for all the good
That his love had given.
For the promise and the hope
Made the widow glad,
And the day she dreaded so
Was no longer sad;
All the children were so gay

With their Christmas cheer,
That they wished that Christmas came
More than once a year.

And they learnt afresh from this
How God answers prayer,
That for those who trust in him
He will surely care;
That his promise shall be kept
Though all else may fail,
And an earnest trusting prayer
Always will prevail.

For the lady kept her word:

Ere the week was gone
She had found them out, and stood
In their humble home;
And she gave the mother work,
Little Charlie too,

He felt proud and like a man,
With so much to do.

And on other Christmas eves

When the home was bright, When they had the food and fire,

That they lacked that night,
They would think of how they felt
While they wandered there,
And thank God, who answered then
Such a humble prayer.

And would say, "Though we are poor
We can do some good,
Fill some saddened heart with hope,
Some faint lips with food.
We must try this Christmas time
Love to all to show,
For the sake of Jesus Christ,
Who has loved us so."

Let us rightly keep this time,

With all kindly thought,
With all gentle words and deeds,
Such as Jesus wrought;
Whether we are rich or poor,
We can all impart
Love and joy to those around,
From a loving heart.

So God bless the Christmas time,
Bless us every one,
Make it holy with the thought
Of his holy Son;
Make it full of loving deeds
Our own hearts to bless,
And send down on one and all
His great happiness.

ATE gave the notice, but she did not like the thought of living with her father altogether; he had altered of late; he had been so easy-never troubled himself to control anybody. This would have suited her. She had got too used to her own way and liberty, and too fond of what she called pleasure, to relish the idea of being thwarted.

So she wavered; and on the day when John had got a garret for her in the same house, she was walking slowly along, almost sorry that she had promised, when she saw a group of girls-her companions-standing reading something on the wall. It was a play-bill in great red letters, and a famous dancing girl was announced in it, with many other wonders. A picture of the girl, of a very unseemly kind, was at the top of the bill, and it greatly took the attention of Kate's friends.

"Oh, Robins!-you here ?-do look!" they cried; "isn't she a beauty! Just think how lovely it will be to see her! What would I give for a skirt trimmed like hers!" Kate stood among them and looked, and heard what they said. "You'll come?" said one girl; "Oh, I should think so," said another; "I don't know who'd miss it," said a third.

Kate knew she must miss it if she went to live with her father, for he had told her so-not of that particular entertainment, but of all suchdesiring her to remember her mother's fate, and the certainty of her following her in disease and death if she followed her in dissipation.

She paused; but one of the girls began to laugh, and said, "She's going to turn good, and live with her father!" upon which they all laughed.

It did not want much to make Kate decide on going, for all her inclinations were for it, and a little coaxing would have soon brought her to their mind; but she was not to be bullied into it-she turned angrily away, and said she should please

herself.

In high displeasure, nevertheless, she walked home, and took her place opposite John's-he had not returned from work. She looked about her: the room was really quite comfortable; the cupboard had several good things in it, including the remainder of the seed-cake; the fire-place was blacked, if not polished, and she found the box nicely cleaned out.

She was not sorry that Polly Hartley had jeered her into her present quarters. "If they had spoken civilly I'd have gone with them," she said to herself, "for she must be a beauty to see; and that rope-dancer, too, is so elegant-he is a most lovely man, certainly;" and a feeling of disappointment shot through her heart as she thought of the charms of the theatre.

John came home in the midst of her regrets; his hearty welcome was pleasant, but did not drive away her sorrow for what she lost at once. But he was so determined to do his best to please her, that she could not be sullen, and the evening passed off very much better than she expected it would.

She assorted her things in the box, and then began to smarten up a hat with a piece of a feather, while John, having made up the fire, settled himself with his Bible.

Kate looked at him now and then, and at last began to yawn.

"How you seem to take to that," she said, pointing to the Bible.

"I have taken to it, and I hope to keep to it safe," said John.

The novelty of her life was an amusement to Kate; it was a diversion to her to find some little bit for dinner that she did not expect. John never upbraided her with doing nothing to help him; he did all he could to make the home comfortable, and anxiously sought to deprive her of any cause of complaint; the only sore was the confinement at night.

Again and again had she passed that picture of the "beautiful dancer," who, seen by daylight without her paint and her finery, was something very far from a beauty; but Kate looked, and sighed, and longed, and at last determined to go.

"You needn't stay up for me to-night," she said, a little defiantly, one evening after her tea, "I'm going out."

"Where?" asked John, quietly.

"To the theatre," she said, after a moment's hesitation.

"I shall sit up for you, lass, if you are determined to go," said John; " but I hope you'll change your mind."

"I shan't," said Kate.

She seemed to enter on her night's enjoyment with more than her old delight-her long abstinence had increased her desire for it. John saw her go with grief, but he could not stop her; "he had never been a father to her, and had not a father's authority;" this he constantly felt.

It turned out a wet night; and Kate, who had determined to make the most of her pleasure, had stayed to dance after the play was over-got home at two in the morning, drenched and draggled with wet and mud. Her poor finery was an ill protection against such a storm as she had to pass through, and she was tired, for with all her brag and show of spirit she was not strong.

John had sat up, but was fast asleep in his chair. He roused himself-did not reproach her-hung up her wet shawl to dry, and gave her the blanket off his own bed to warm herself with, for she was cold and shivering. She went up to her garret in no very comfortable state, either of body or mind, her father's continual warning and the open grave would come back to her oftener than she liked.

The next morning she came down, looking very ill, but John had gone to his work and did not see her; she tried to go to hers, but was so giddy, had such pains in her head and limbs, she could not sit, and when he returned to dinner he found her lying on his bed in a flushed and highly excited state.

He had no hesitation now as to his course; he fetched the doctor, and then wrote to Nannie describing Kate's condition, and begging her to come, or else to let him take her to them as soon as she got better. The doctor said that a violent cold had brought on an attack to which Kate was constitutionally liable, and that unless she took great care of herself, she would go off in a decline.

Nannie was not long in making her appearance, but this time without Annie. "Safe bind, safe find," she said. Kate was sufficiently recovered by the time she arrived to be removed, and with much wrapping and care she was placed in the van. Nannie was delighted with the change in John's "place." Though he had had to nurse Kate in her sickness, there was, considering what the place was, a wonderful air of order, and comfort, and cleanliness, about it. She sat down without scruple, and ate her dinner without a wry face: it was very different now to the time of her first visit.

It was with a light heart that John, not now ashamed to be seen, helped Kate into the van with the promise of following her directly Nannie got him the certainty of country work.

"The doctor says for certain that if she stays in the town, another year or so will finish off Kate, and by that means, as she is terribly afraid to die,

she has made up her mind to go into the country for good, and live with me and keep house," said he; "and the sooner you can send for me, old friend, the better." He did not say what he might have done that his kindness in Kate's illness, and patience with her before, had gone far to awaken feelings of filial love in her heart, and made her look almost with pleasure to living with him altogether.

"I doubt it'll be a long time before she'll be of much use to any one," said Nannie, who did not take to Kate at first.

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"Oh, patience, granny; when she is well she will do nicely," said Annie. She is very clever, and I do believe she will become affectionate." And her hopes were realised. Nobody, two years after, would have known Kate Robins, in her neat dress, and modest sensible appearance and countenance, to be the same flaunting, insolent, daring girl that had strutted about the street in her tawdry finery, with her wide-spread hoop, slit skirt, and ragged petticoat.

Another year and Annie was married to Morgan White, a highly respectable labouring man, whose industry, together with her own, enabled them in time to take a small farm; and Nannie was glad to have Kate and John in place of her lost child. She found the benefit of all her kindness to the family in the help that John now was to her in the Scriptures. The Bible was his constant study and constant delight. He had sought help to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest it, and was, indeed, by his lively piety, a blessing to the household.

Nothing more was heard of Jack for a long time, till his name was seen among some young men who were lost in a fever that broke out in one of the convict settlements. This was a thorn in John's side. He constantly mourned over his past guilt, and never ceased to press upon Annie and her husband the important duty of being a parent in the true sense of the word. "Make your children love you, and love your home; and let them know that you and they have but one interest. It is only in that way you can hope for a blessing in them, and look forward, without grief and shame, to meeting them in the great day."

Happily the advice was not needed by Annie, for a better trained, more prosperous, and peaceful family, never was seen in town or country-to the gladdening of all who knew them, and especially of good Nannie Barnet.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL. TOOD people all, both young and old, Lift up your heart and voice; Again the season is come round That bids us all rejoice.

Rejoice aloud in early youth,

And when your hairs are grey, In Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Rejoice on Christmas-day.

To Bethlehem in Judah,

As prophets had foretold,
The wise men came and worshipped him,
And brought their gifts of gold.

It was within a manger
The lovely infant lay:
In Jesus Christ, our Saviour,
Rejoice on Christmas-day.
The Lord of life and glory

Put by his glittering crown;
It was to die for sinners
That he from heaven came down.
Oh, these are happy tidings,

And Christians ought to say,
Rejoice in Christ our Saviour,
Rejoice on Christmas-day.

O'd IIumphrey.

JAMES WATT was born at Greenock, in Scot

land, in the year 1736. His greatgrandfather was a farmer, but took up arms during the civil wars of the time, and fell on the field of battle. The father of James Watt was a builder, merchant, and ship chandler, and for many years carried on trade in Greenock. He had two sons, John, who was drowned while on a voyage to America at the age of twentythree, and James.

Being a sickly, delicate lad, James spent much of his time at home, and, like many other distinguished men, was indebted to his mother for his early education. When very young he showed an intelligence and thoughtfulness far beyond his years. It is related of him that, when he was about six years old, friend, when calling upon his father, found the boy on the floor,

a

apparently amusing himself in some childish play. "Why do you," he asked his father, "allow this child to idle away his time in this manner? Send him away to the public school."

"You may find, sir," the father replied, "that you are mistaken; before you blame me examine what my son is about." To the surprise of the gentleman, he found the child was

sent for to fetch

him away. "You

must take your son

James home, Mrs.

Watt; I cannot stand the degree of excitement he keeps me in. I am worn out for want of sleep. Every night, before going to bed, he contrives to get me into conversation, and then begins some humor

ous

EARLY DAYS OF JAMES WATT.

she reproved him for his absence of mind and seeming indolence. "James Watt," she said, "I never saw such an idle boy. Why don't you take a book and employ yourself usefully? For the last hour you have not spoken a word; -you have done nothing but take off the lid. of that kettle and put it on again, watching the steam rising from the spout, and catching it as it falls into drops. Are you not ashamed

reaping some benefit from his long labours of toil when he suddenly lost his wife. "Of all the heavy blows he had suffered," says his biographer, "this he felt to be the worst. His wife had struggled with him through poverty; she had often cheered his fainting spirit when borne down by doubt and perplexity, and now she was gone, without being able to share in his good fortune as she had done in his adversity. For some time after, when about to enter his humble dwelling, he would pause on the threshold, unable to summon courage to enter the room where he was never more to meet 'the comfort of his life.'"

We cannot follow the future career of this remarkable man-the results of his genius are seen in all parts of the world-but refer our readers to a little book, entitled, "Watt and the Steam Engine," in which will be found an interesting account of the man who showed us how to drain our mines, blow our furnaces, roll and hammer our metals, thresh and grind our corn, saw our timber, drive our looms and spindles, print our books, impel ships across the ocean, and perform the thousand offices in which steam is regularly employed."

"I

THE TRUE SOLDIER.

WISH I was a soldier," said Frank Martin, as he laid aside his history of celebrated battles.

"What is there in the life of a soldier that my son wishes to be one?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"Why," said Frank, "I think I should like to defeat the enemy, and then, when I returned home a great conqueror, all the people would give me a grand reception, and I would feel very happy."

"Frank," said his mother, "yours is the motive that prompts most men who choose a soldier's life; but let me tell you how you can be a true soldier. There was a king who conquered all the great nations of the world, and when he had done so he wept because there were not other worlds for him to conquer."

"That was Alexander the Great," said Frank.

"You are right; and yet Alexander could not conquer his own evil passions. The Bible says, 'He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city.' Now the kind of soldier I would wish you to be, is one who can conquer all the evil that there is within. There are a great many enemies for you to fight, and if you conquer them you will receive a crown of righteousness in heaven, which will be far greater than any earthly honours that could be conferred on you. And now to show you how to prepare for the battle of life, I will read to you the advice of an apostle on the subject.

"Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having your

Published by the Religious Tract Society, price 6d.

GREEK AND ARAB SOLDIERS.

loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; and your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God: praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints" (Ephesians vi. 1018).

GREEK SOLDIER ARMING FOR WAR.

An old country customer called one morning at the store in which young Wilder was head clerk, and having made a selection of several articles, he wanted half a bale of Russia duck. Not having it in stock, the clerk offered to get it by the time the purchaser was to call for the other articles, which was at one o'clock.

I soon left for Boston, says Mr. Wilder, in order to obtain the article wanted. Having purchased it, I engaged a young man with a wheelbarrow to take over the bale of duck. After transacting other business, I proceeded on my return home. On reaching Back Street, there was the young man sitting upon the wheelbarrow, quite overpowered by the intense heat of the day, and unable to proceed any farther.

Having promised the goods at one o'clock, and it being already half-past twelve, I immediately seized the wheelbarrow, dressed as I was in nankeen small clothes, with silk stockings, white marseilles vest, a striped gingham coat, and a white fur hat. Thus I was pushing the wheelbarrow when overtaken by Mr. Codman (a wealthy merchant) on horseback. What," ," said he "Mr. Wilder turned truckman?"

66

"Well, sir, I have promised these goods to be ready for a customer at one o'clock, and am determined not to disappoint him. This young man, being quite overcome by the heat, it only remained for me to take his place."

"Good, good!" said Mr. Codman, and rode off. On his way he called at our store, when he said, "I witnessed a scene just now which afforded me much satisfaction, being nothing less than observing your head clerk with a wheelbarrow loaded with a heavy package, which it seems he had promised a customer to be delivered at one o'clock. I understand," said he, "that that young man is about to commence business for himself. You may tell him that such is my approval of the energy of character which he has displayed in not hesitating to wheel the barrow himself rather than disappoint a customer, that when he commences business my name is at his service for thirty thousand dollars, so long as he does not endorse for others."

On reaching the store I found the customer with his other goods packed, and only waiting for the duck, which arrived just in time to be loaded on the team with the other articles.

A few months after I commenced business on my own account, and though I never availed myself of Mr. Codman's kind offer, yet he consigned to me a cargo of goods, which I disposed of on commission. He was so well satisfied with the sale that it led to two or three similar transactions during the first year of my business, and which resulted in a gain of over ten thousand dollars.