EARLY DAYS.

OCTOBER, 1853.

THE RIVER.

FORTH from its deep and hidden spring,
A thing of life and day,
The stream, upon its journeying,
Glides silently away.

Never returning, on and on

In light and shade it flows; Murmuring along with gentle tone, No halting, no repose.

And thus my life, a ceaseless stream,

Steals quietly along ;

Now bright and light with sunshine gleam, Then gay and glad with song;

Or with a shadow overcast:-
My Saviour let it be,

That when all changes here are past,

I find repose in Thee.

HOUSE OF MILTON IN PETTY FRANCE. JOHN MILTON was born in Bread-street, London, and died in Cripplegate. At the age of fifteen he went to Cambridge, and entered Christ's College. A mulberry-tree, planted by his own hand, still flourishes in the college-garden. Afterwards the family resided awhile in Buckinghamshire. The poet visited Italy after his mother's death in 1637, but hastened home on account of the alarming state of public affairs here. Henceforth he resided generally in London, which has been called "the city of his affections and his pride."

Milton became Secretary of State at a most eventful period of English history. He now took up his residence at Whitehall, and lived, it is said, in very grand state. Suddenly the calamity of blindness fell on him. He left Whitehall in 1652, and removed to a house in Petty France, (now Queen's-square Place,) Westminster. Here he suffered much domestic grief. After the Restoration, 1660, the great man fled into hiding-places. Peace came at last. And death itself came (says the writer in "Old England ") as sweetly and gently as sleep must have done.

THE DISOBEDIENT KITTEN.

A FABLE.

Now," said an old puss to one of her kittens, as she washed her face and paws, "I charge you, Kitty, not to go into the next gentleman's yard; for

great dog Jowler lies there: he has horrid teeth, and a terrible snarl, and he is always on the lookout for stray cats. Remember, and keep at home: we have a snug garden, kind friends, capital titbits, and work enough,-rats and mice plenty. So, do not stroll off with bad company, visiting places where you have no business to be, and disgracing your bringing up; for you know better, Kitty, you do."

But Kitty had a saucy look: she boxed her mother's ears, in play to be sure, hoisted her tail, and away she frisked after a dead leaf. Kitty did not look at all like minding; and after her mother was out of sight, she kept up her rambles, going about nobody knows where, and cutting all sorts of capers, like a silly little kitten, as she was. Once, when she and some of her thoughtless companions were scudding across Jowler's yard, he, much disturbed by their play, started up and made after them in a violent rage; and poor Kitty, in her fright, got entangled in some brier-bushes, and so fell into Jowler's power. He seized her by the neck with his terrible mouth, shook the breath out of her body, and tossed her over the fence.

"O! O!" cried Mary and Willy, when they found their little favourite stiff and cold. "O," cried their mother, pussy's mistress, "you little puss! she bid fair to be an excellent mouser.' "O dear!" mewed

the old cat;

"O dear! such are the fruits of dis

obedience. How many a wilful child comes to an untimely end!""

THE PRODIGAL SON.

"I will arise and go to my father."-Luke xv. 18.

(Continued from page 283.)

THIS brings us to our third point.

III. The departure. "And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country."

I can almost imagine I hear one of our scholars say, "O, why did the father yield to his request! Why did he not refuse, and prevent the unhappiness that we know followed?"

Dear children, I answer, "Why should he? His son's heart was gone from home: why retain the body? The heart is the man, not the body: the body is but the outward covering; and when the son showed by his request that his heart was prodigal, it was a very insignificant thing that his body should be kept filial."

Well, "not many days after" he left his home, that happy place that had been the scene of so much real enjoyment. Foolish young man! you know not what miseries wait upon such a step. O that you would but pause for one moment! Think of your father's love, and of the ingratitude of such a step. It is not too late. Although you have gathered all together, and are ready to start for a foreign land, unpack your treasure, leave not your father's home.

Such is the lesson I would address to you to-day I sound a solemn note in the ears of our elde scholars this afternoon; and with affectionate e