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And Frank found the old sailor's words true. During that long voyage he used to sit alone and think of his father. It almost seemed as if his father were with him, and spoke to him. Then he was happy when he began to enjoy what he called “heart visits to papa." It was then he found that those who really love one another may meet in thought, and feel as if they were once more with each other.

After this manner we may go to Jesus. He is not to be seen with our eyes, but we may take delight in thinking of him. We may think of what he did and said, and how he lived and died for us. Coming to Jesus," then, is to think of him with trust; it is to have the desire of the heart towards him.

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Secondly, YOU CAN SPEAK TO JESUS. If he were on earth, as he once was, you could go to him. But then you would have to travel many, many miles. You would have to cross wide seas. It would, perhaps, take many weeks or months to get to him. The journey would take much time and cost much money. And when you came to where he was, you might have to push your way through a crowd of people. There also might be some who would keep you back, as it was in the old times.

now.

But without all this trouble you can come to Jesus You are really better off than those who lived when he was on the earth. He is always within your call. You have not to go over the hills or across the deep waters, or from city to city to find him. He is very near to you. He hears the softest call. He knows all you want and all you wish.

Have you seen the wires raised on posts at the side

of the railroad? They go along for many miles. They pass over the hills and across the valleys. In some places they are carried under the water from one land to another. People who have never seen each other, and who live hundreds of miles apart, can talk by the use of these wires. They can send messages by them. As soon as a wire is made, as it were, to speak at one end it is heard at the other end. Almost as quickly as you think, the message is carried along to a place afar off.

Is not this a great wonder? But it is not so great a wonder as prayer. The prayer of a little child on earth is heard in heaven at the very moment it is spoken. And in the same moment an answer may be given.

It is a great thing to speak to Jesus. He is the King of kings and Lord of all. Angels bow before him. All who are in heaven serve him. But if we pray with the heart he will be sure to hear us.*

THE BUTTERFLIES.

THE butterflies came over the garden wall, and fluttered from flower to flower, as if they enjoyed the sunshine. Robert made a plunge at one with his cap, as it seemed about to settle on a rose, but could not catch it. Then he tried another and another, and thought it fine sport, as they eluded his grasp, to

From "The Sweet Story of Old," a book for little children, with beautiful coloured pictures, lately published by the Religious Tract Society.

chase them round the garden. At last he beat one down, and, carefully picking it up, ran to show it to his sister. But the wings were bruised, and the delicate feathers came off on his fingers like fine gold dust.

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'Oh, what a beauty!" exclaimed Annie; "but you have spoiled it. How could you be so cruel!"

Robert only laughed at what he thought his sister's foolishness, and turned to show his prize to his father.

"Annie is right," said Mr. Sherwood; "you have killed the butterfly, and have not much to show for your trouble."

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'But, papa, it is such fun trying to catch them."

'Yes, Robert, I dare say you enjoy it, as you would enjoy any other little excitement. But there are many better ways in which you could have quite as much amusement."

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"And they look so pretty flying about," said Annie; ever so much prettier, I am sure, than when dead." "You have heard," said Mr. Sherwood, as they moved slowly down the path, "of Sir John Franklin, the celebrated navigator, who perished in exploring the Polar Seas. What do you think the American Indians used to call him, when he travelled among them ? Why, 'the great chief who would not kill a mosquito.' He was as gentle as he was brave, you sec, and would not without reason hurt any living creature. Now, Robert, mosquitoes sting; and I suppose you would think it only fair play to kill them every one if you could. The butterflies, dancing among the flowers, and arrayed in such bright and varied

colours, give us only pleasure: not Solomon in all his glory was ever so beautifully clad. But I should like you to feel, my boy, that the little things which God has made are not, one of them, to be carelessly destroyed. I would not have you hurt even a fly, for the mere fun, as you say, of catching it. You remember how, when the different creatures were created, God 'saw that it was good.' And in this declaration all the little insect tribes, the tiniest things that creep about or that float in the air, were included. They are the Divine handiwork; and if you examine, you will find that each one is a marvel of wisdom, full of wonders that no human skill can rival. Is it right, then, in mere fun to destroy them ? It is a mistake, too, to think, as some do, that it is unmanly to care about such things. Wanton cruelty even to a worm is a sure sign of a depraved nature. It is still told of the tyrant Nero, as one proof of his littleness and debasement, that he used to amuse himself by sticking flies through with a bodkin. There is no sort of character more admirable than that which unites tenderness to strength. Cultivate, then, the habit of kindness in small matters, and it will not fail you in greater. It was the maxim of a famous poet

'Never to blend his pleasure or his pride

With sorrow of the meanest thing that lives ;'

and I should like my children to make it their own. What says Robert ?"

"I was not thinking, papa,” replied Robert, looking up from the ground, "or I should not have done it." "So I supposed. How many wrong things come

from want of thought! But look," added Mr. Sherwood, pointing, "there come two splendid butterflies, chasing each other over the rose trees, and here's another, like a trio of playmates. Is there no pleasure in watching them, Annie? You'll have, I expect, to be Robert's butterfly now."

"And so I will," exclaimed the little girl, suddenly laughing and darting away; "and he shan't catch me, and kill me."

Robert bounded after, and found it as much trouble to catch her as the butterfly itself. When at last he succeeded, and gave her a kiss in token of triumph, he felt so much pleasure in seeing her happy, that he declared he should never want to run after butterflies again while he had her to play with.

JANUARY VERSES.

GOD of our life, thy various praise
Let mortal voices sound;
Thy hand revolves our fleeting days,
And brings the seasons round.

To thee shall daily incense rise,
Our Father and our Friend;
While daily mercies from the skies
In genial streams descend.

In every scene of life, thy care

In every age we see ;

And constant as thy favours are,
So let our praises be.

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