Jem; and this is part of it: you do not know how good it is."

"It looks very good, Susie; I remember your mother was a famous hand at making cakes. I have hardly tasted a bit of cake since I have been up here; and I have got quite tired of the bread and butter, it is so dry."

Jem's clasp knife was lying on the table. Susie cut off a piece of the cake, and Jem did not need much persuasion to eat it. He had not tasted anything so nice for a long while, he said.

He told Susie how much he had suffered, and how weak and helpless he still was. He seemed glad to have some one to talk to. He did not say a word about Mr. Johnson's pear-tree, neither did Susie. She felt that that was not the right time to point out Jem's faults to him. But she listened kindly to him, and gave him the book which she had brought with her; and, as it had several pictures in it, he promised to read it.

"Will you come again, Susie ?" he said, as she was going away. "It is so dull lying here all day with nothing to do, and hardly a creature to speak to. And I am very much obliged to you for the cake."

How strange it was for Jem to speak so to little Susie! Susie thought so, and I believe he thought so himself; for the next time when she went to see him, and took with her a few figs which her father gave her out of the shop for him, Jem said, in a curious halfhesitating manner, "How is it you are so good to me, Susie? Don't you remember how I used to tease you when I was well ?"

Susie did not answer directly. She took her little

Testament out of her pocket, and pointed out these words to Jem: "Be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you."

Jem did not speak for a minute or two. Then he said, in a softened tone, and with something like a tear in his eye, "You have learned your old text the right way now, Susie."

And Susie did not say no.

What do you say, dear reader?

THE LOCK OF HAIR.

"Do you see this lock of hair ?" said an old man to me.

Yes; but what of it? It is, I suppose, the curl from the head of a dear child long since gone to God." "It is not. It is a lock of my own hair; and it is now nearly seventy years since it was cut from this head."

"But why do you prize a lock of your own hair so much ?"

"It has a story belonging to it, and a strange one. I keep it thus with care, because it speaks to me more of God, and of his special care, than anything else I possess.

"I was a little child of four years old, with long curly locks, which, in sun, or rain, or wind, hung down my cheeks uncovered. One day my father went into the wood to cut up a log, and I went with him. I was standing a little way behind him, or rather at his side, watching with interest the strokes of the

heavy axe, as it went up and came down upon the wood, sending off splinters with every stroke, in all directions. Some of the splinters fell at my feet, and I eagerly stooped to pick them up. In doing so I stumbled forward, and in a moment my curly head lay upon the log. I had fallen just at the moment when the axe was coming down with all its force. It was too late to stop the blow. Down came the axe. I screamed, and my father fell to the ground in terror. He could not stay the stroke, and, in the blindness which the sudden horror caused, he thought he had killed his boy. We soon recovered: I from my fright, and he from his terror. He caught me in his arms, and looked at me from head to foot, to find out the deadly wound which he was sure he had inflicted. Not a drop of blood nor a scar was to be seen. knelt upon the grass, and gave thanks to a gracious God. Having done so, he took up his axe, and found a few hairs upon its edge. He turned to the log he had been splitting, and there was a single curl of his boy's hair, sharply cut through and laid upon the wood. How great the escape! It was as if an angel had turned aside the edge at the moment when it was descending on my head. With renewed thanks upon his lips he took up the curl and went home with me in his arms.

He

"That lock he kept all his days, as a memorial of God's care and love. That lock he left to me on his

death-bed. I keep it with care. It tells me of my

father's God and mine. It rebukes unbelief and alarm. It bids me trust him for ever. I have had many tokens of fatherly love in my threescore years and ten; but

somehow this speaks most to my heart. It is the oldest, and perhaps the most striking. It used to speak to my father's heart; it now speaks to mine."

What say you, my dear young readers ? Is not this an instance of delivering mercy on the part of our gracious God. And this God is the same kind Being who gave you life, and has watched over and cared for you until now. Do you love and put your trust in him? Look over your past lives, and think of the many times he has watched over you and delivered you in times of danger. When sick, and your parents thought you would die, he has spared your life and restored you to health; and in various other ways has he shown his love and care. Yes, his love is great, for he so loved the world as to give his only beloved Son to die, so that whosoever believed in him might not perish but have everlasting life. Children, love him with all your hearts, and in your youthful days devote your lives to his service. He alone has a right to it. Delay not to render it. Time is short; to-morrow may be too late.

HOW MY MAGAZINE IS MADE.

Do the young people who read this magazine from month to month sometimes wonder whose busy brain and hands produce so much that is good and instructive for their use? Although it is received with bright, thankful smiles, and read with eagerness, it is feared they are in danger of forgetting how much care and labour it costs to prepare it. They enjoy its pictures