a double first class. This means, that he so diligently pursued his studies, that when quite a young man, he took the highest honours the University had to bestow. In the year 1832 he became member of Parliament for Newark. In 1847 he was elected member for Oxford University. Since 1868 he has been member for Greenwich. If we were to explain to you the prominent part he has taken in the making of many wise laws, you might not understand the matter. We will, therefore, only say, that Mr. Gladstone, and John Bright are regarded as the most eloquent speakers in the House of Commons. They are both good men, as well as great men, and the results of their toil will be a blessing to all coming generations of Englishmen. 9 Server Clinter. HE Psalmist when speaking of God says, "Thou hast made winter;" and again he says,-"He giveth snow like wool: He scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes. He casteth forth His ice like morsels, Who can stand before His cold?" If we think about the snow, and frost, and ice, we shall see how wonderful they are. The water in the glass, the ice on the pond, the snow in the garden, and the steam coming out of the kettle spout, are all precisely the same substance, seen under different circumstances. Any one of these may readily be converted into the other. As our young friends know, it is heat that makes all the difference. But what is heat? Who amongst our readers can answer this question ? What is heat? Why, says one, it is heat to be sure! Yes, but what is it? You feel very cold, and standing before a fire, you soon are warm. Or you are out on a cold frosty morning, and your hands ache with cold, whereupon you give them a good, sharp rubbing, and they become warm. Now, how was it, that rubbing your hands produced the feeling of warmth, quite as well as standing before the fire? You must think about the matter. And then how is it that we have no snow in summer? "Oh, you say, "that is easily explained; it is because in summer the atmosphere is too warm; what is snowin winter becomes rain in summer." Very good, but why is the weather warmer in summer than in winter? Why have we not the same warmth all the year round? "Perhaps we are nearer to the sun in summer than in winter," says one. No, it is not so. We are nearer to the sun in winter than in summer, and yet the weather is so much colder. You must try and find out, how it is, and if you cannot succeed, you must ask your father, or Sunday School Teacher, to explain it to you. Boys are generally very fond of winter. They like a good snow storm. They are delighted to go and slide and skate on the pond. And this is quite right. We hope these Christmas holidays you will be able to enjoy yourselves on the ice. When we are well clad and have plenty of food, the cold is very bracing, especially to young people. One of our poets has written a song in which this thought is well expressed. It is called, THE NORTH EAST WIND. Let the luscious South wind Breathe in lovers' sighs, While the lazy gallants Bask in ladies eyes. What does he but soften Heart alike and pen? 'Tis the hard grey weather Breeds hardy Englishmen. What's the soft South-wester? Through the snow-storm hurl'd Drives our English hearts of oak Seaward round the world. I Come, as came our fathers Heralded by thee, Conquering from the eastward, Lords by land and sea, Come and strong within us Stir the Vikings' blood; Bracing brain and sinew; Blow thou wind of God! CHARLES KINGSLEY. The Two Monuments. BY JOHN ASHWORTH. N our recent visit to Jerusalem and the Holy Land, amongst the many objects we beheld with much interest were the tomb of Joseph and the pillar of Absalom. We had long known the early history of both the persons they commemorated, but the sight of these memorials told afresh the tale of their lives, repeating more strongly the lesson their lives will ever teach. We had just left Jacob's Well, and were crossing a small but clear and rapid brook that flows near the mountains Ebal and Gerezim. When we came in view of Joseph's last resting-place what a crowd of mingled feelings rushed into my mind. The moment I saw the whitewashed monument reared over his sepulchre, and as I neared and walked around it, those thoughts became still more intensified. The coat of many colours given him by his aged father as a token of his love, and that precious coat dipped in the kid's blood and brought back to the heart-broken old man, by the lying, cruel brothers who had sold Joseph for a slave; his temptation, his imprisonment, his trust in God, and subsequent greatness, all rose up to memory, The coat of many colours given by the venerable parent was not only a token of love to his son, but also of Joseph's goodness, for it seems that from early years Joseph feared God, and acknowledged Him in all his ways. When in slavery his answer to a repeated temptation was, "How can I do this great wickedness and sin against God?" When in prison, hearing them talking about dreams, his observation was, "Do not interpretations belong to God?" When he went to explain the king's dream he said, "It is not in me; God shall give Pharaoh an answer of peace." And again he said, "God shall show Pharaoh what He is about to do;" giving the king to understand that, "The thing is established of God, and God will bring it to pass." To his ashamed, astonished, and now humbled brethren, he said, "God did send me before you to preserve you a posterity in the earth, and save your lives by a great deliverance. So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God." And he told his brethren to tell his father that "God hath made me lord of all Egypt." And at his father's funeral he said to his conscience-stricken brothers, "Ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good." And when dying he said, with his last breath, "God will surely visit you, and bring you out of this land unto the land which he sware to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob. And ye shall carry up my bones from hence." Joseph seemed to live in the very presence of God, and referred to Him in every event and action of life. Even the heathen king Pharaoh called him Zaph-nath-paaneah, which name means, one to whom God reveals secrets; and this heathen king then said, what was afterwards said by David, who better understood its true meaning, "The secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him; and He will shew them His covenant." Solomon also said, "His secrets are with the righteous." Joseph never looked at second causes, but as the results of one great cause, and herein lay his confidence and security. In this lay the wisdom and strength of all the Bible worthies, and this was the ground of their faith, comfort, and consolation. How different their conduct from ours, who profess to love and serve the same God. We seem afraid of talking about His mercy, goodness, and providence, lest we should be thought foolish, silly, or puritanical. Let the world say what it will, God lives, and governs, and rules, and they that acknowled Him in all their ways will find that He directs their path. While standing by the grave of Joseph night began to come down upon us, but I left the sepulchre with much reluctance, for I loved the spot where he lay. How dear must his memory have been to the Israelites, who when they left Egypt took up his coffin, and for forty years carried his body, and then buried it here,-"in a parcel of ground which Jacob bought of the sons of Hamor, the father of Shechem." I lingered near the grave till the last minute, and on finally leaving it looked back again and again, until it was lost in the deep shades of evening, then hastened on betwixt the mountains of Ebal and Gerezim, through the valley of cursing and blessing, to join our tents, pitched outside the ancient, half-ruined town of Shechem. Journeying on through sacred scenes, in the lands and possessions of Israel's ancient tribes, we come to the valley of Jehoshaphat, and as we traversed this Necropolis of the Jew, this mausoleum of a nation, we came in sight of the shrines and vaults of kings and prophets, but the most conspicuous memorials of the celebrated dead are those of Zacharias, James, Jehoshaphat, and Absalom. How different were my emotions and feelings when looking on this obelisk of Absalom from what I had when standing at the vault of Joseph. Absalom was said to be the handsomest and proudest young man in all Israel. In the 14th chapter of the second book of Samuel we read "In all Israel there was none to be so much praised as Absalom for his beauty: from the sole of his foot even to the crown of his head there was no blemish in him. And when he polled his head, (for it was at every year's end that he polled it: because the hair was heavy on him, therefore he polled it:) he weighed the hair of his head at two hundred shekels" (about forty ounces) "after the king's weight." If Absalom had cared as much for his father's peace of mind as he cared for his own long hair, the consequences would have been widely different. Fine heads of hair and grand bushy whiskers have made sad fools of some of their owners. The deep plot Absalom laid for the supplanting of David his father in the kingdom showed how great beauty can be desperately wicked and hollow-hearted. He could kiss, and smile, and flatter, and fawn on any or all the people, sighing over their wrongs, and mourning over the injustice, all for the base purpose of stealing their hearts, and drawing them from their allegiance to the king. When he had accomplished his purpose, the aged, weeping father fleeing from the city did not soften his callou heart, but, following the bent of his inclinations, and the advice of the time-serving, double-faced Ahithophel; he so outraged all decency that reconciliation became impossible. "Pride goes before destruction." The haughty counsellor, seeing things go against him, hung himself. The armies of the afflicted father and his rebellious son came in conflict, and victory was on the side of Justice. Absalom galloped away from the battle-field into the forest of Ephraim; his fine head of hair caught in the branches, his swift mule fled from under him, and he was left hanging and dangling by his superb long tresses, unable to touch the ground with his feet, or reach the branches with his hands. There he hung until Joab, his father's general, pierced him through with three darts. "And they took Absalom, and cast him into a great pit in the wood, and laid a very great heap of stones upon him." When David heard of his son's death, he "went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept and as he wept, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!" The tender-hearted father still loved his wicked and rebellious son, and this has been the case of many parents since the days of David; but wicked, unkind, selfish children, who grieve and dishonour their parents must and will have a reckoning. How different the wail of David over Absalom from the meeting of Jacob and his son Joseph, when Jacob went down to Egypt. Joseph had honoured God, and God had honoured him; Absalom had dishonoured God and his father, and had to reap the consequences; for we must all reap what we sow. Writers and travellers are not all agreed as to this being the original monument. The Bible says, "Now Absalom in his lifetime had taken and reared up a pillar which is in the king's vale; for he said I have no son to keep my name in remembrance; and he called the pillar after his name." The upper part of the pillar is an obelisk; the lower part seems a hollow square, composed of large blocks of beveled stone. One of the blocks has fallen away, and all around the pillar are loads of small stones that have been hurled against it by passers by, and the hollow part is now filled with missiles cast at the hated object, marking their displeasure with the proud, bad son of David! Joseph Absalom! How different are the associations arising from the sound of those two names! I left the monument in the king's vale with a different feeling from what I experienced when leaving the tomb of Joseph, feeling some sympathy for the grief of David, and also for the fate of his unhappy son. A useful lesson may be learned from The Two Monuments. The Faithful Shepherd. HERE was once a German shepherd-boy really a noble fellow, although very poor. One day as he was watching his flock feeding in a valley on the borders of a forest, a hunter came out of the woods, and asked,"How far is it to the nearest village ?" "Six miles, sir," said the boy; "but the road is only a sheep-track, and is very easily missed." The hunter looked at the crooked track, and then said, 'My lad, I am hungry, tired, and thirsty. I have lost my companions, and missed my way. Leave your sheep, and show me the road. I will pay you well for your trouble." "I cannot leave my sheep, sir," said Gerhardt. "" They would stray into the forest, and be eaten by the wolves, or stolen by the robbers." "Well, what of that?" replied the hunter. "They are not your sheep. The loss of one or two of them would not be much to your master; and I'll give you more money than you ever earned in a whole year." "I cannot go, sir," said the shepherd, very firmly. "My master pays me for my time, and trusts me with his sheep. If I were to sell you my time, which does not belong to me, and the sheep should get lost, it would be just the same as if I stole them." "Well," said the hunter, "will you trust your sheep with me, while you go to the village and get me some food and a guide? I will take good care of them for you." The boy shook his head. "The sheep," said he, "do not know your voice; and-;" here Gerhardt paused. "And what? Can't you trust me? Do I look like a dishonest man ?" asked the hunter. Sir," said the boy slowly," 'you tried to make me false to my trust, and wanted me to break my word to my master. How do I know that you would keep your word to me ?" The hunter laughed; for he felt that he was fairly cornered. "I see, my lad,” said he, "that you are a good, faithful boy. I will not forget you. Show me the road, and I will do the best I can." Just then a number of persons came out of the forest. The shepherd found, to his surprise, that the hunter, with whom he had been talking, was the great duke who owned all the country round, and these were his attendants. The duke was so pleased with the faithfulness of the shepherd-boy that he had him educated, and he became a rich and great man. ! * Look to the End. N aged Christian man was going along once, under a heavy load, on a hot summer day. He sat down to rest himself by the road-side, under the shadow of a great tree. A person who knew him came along, and stopped to speak with him. As they were talking together, a splendid carriage rolled by. The owner of the carriage-a proud, bad man-was sitting in it, taking his ease. This friend said to the old man: "There, do you see that carriage? The man who owns it is a very wicked man. Every one who is acquainted with him knows this. He never goes to church. He hates the Bible and religion. He swears dreadfully, and does a great many wicked things. And yet he is rolling in wealth, and has everything he can wish for. "On the other hand, here you are trying to love and serve God faithfully. And yet, see how many trials you have! You can hardly get money enough to buy bread to eat, and clothes to put on. Now, if God orders all things about us, and is good and wise as the Bible teaches, how do you explain it, that He often lets wicked people have such an easy time, and allows good people to have a hard time?" That "Ah!" said the old man, "" it is the end that will explain all. My road is rough, but it is short, and it leads directly to heaven. will make up for all the difference. I am happier in my poverty, with the hope of heaven, than the wicked man, with all his riches, can be without that hope." PERSEVERANCE. "I remember reading somewhere," says Dr. Clarke, "the description of a picture representing a man at the base of a mountain, with his coat and hat upon the ground, delving into its sides with a pickaxe; above him the motto, Little by little;'-let this be the motto him that would excel." "I think," said her mother, "that you have a penny of your own, Charlotte, which your father gave you this morning. He gave you and Henry each a penny." "Yes, mother," replied Charlotte; "but I wish mine to buy a bun as I come home from school." "If you expect to be hungry then," said her mother, "you may take a piece of bread and butter with you." “But I like a bun better," said Charlotte. “I am afraid, then," said her mother, "that you are not very sorry for the poor boy. You seem inclined rather to let him go away hungry, than to give up the pleasure of eating a bun, although you have had a good breakfast, and he most likely has had none. Just at that moment Henry came up to the gate. The boy was still standing there, "Here, poor boy," said Henry, "here is a penny for you. I meant to buy a bun with it, but I am not hungry now, and I daresay that you are." The boy thanked Henry, and ran off at once to a baker's to buy a roll. Henry went away to play with his hoop, and thought no more about the penny. Charlotte hung down her head, ashamed. She resolved not to buy a bun that day. It is very easy to say that we pity the misfortunes of others; but if we will not give up something of our own to help them, our pity is of no value, for it is not sincere. Charlotte was not unkind, but she was selfish. She wished to give a penny to the poor boy; but she did not like to give up her own enjoyment for the sake of another. This is not |