without appearing to notice these later tears, he remarked, "You have a goodly array of NewYear's gifts, Eva; which do you prefer?" "O Robbie," said Eva, "this is my trouble, I think I must be so wicked, for it seems to me I ought to like this beautiful Bible best; but I do not. You gave me an album, and Gerald gave me a work-basket, and dear mother gave me a locket with her likeness on one side and a likeness of father on the other. It is such a dear little thing, Robbie, and I like it so much-0, so much! Then dear father gave me this Bible, and I know I ought to value it. Father told me to let it be a companion to me; to read a little every day regularly, and whenever I wanted counsel upon any subject, to consult its pages; and he added many good words about the Book, that have all passed away from my memory." "Well, little sister," said Robert, tenderly, "anything more?" 66 'Robbie, I like the album, the basket, and the locket, better than I like the Bible; and is it not wicked ?" "Stop a little, Eva!" said Robert, cheerfully; "let me ask you a few questions. Did you ever have a Bible before this?” "To be sure I have; why, there is that little old one bound in sheep, that I always use at family worship; I like that because mother says it is the first Bible she ever had. Well, then I have a Reference Bible, that I had given me at the Sunday-school. I keep that in my own bed-room, and carry it to chapel on Sunday." "And is this Bible father has given you just like the others you have?" asked her brother. "Of course it is, inside; but outside it is lovely purple velvet and gold; and on the clasp is my name engraved." "I wonder you don't like it, Eva." "I do, Robert; but the first thought I had was, 'now I will take it to chapel, and that girl in the next seat, who has so many ways of showing off her Bible and Hymn-Book, shall see that I have a handsome one as well as she.' Then, Robert, I felt it was wicked to think about God's Word in that way, and prize the covers more than the contents. Then I cried, and wished father had not given me that present." 66 Only God's Holy Spirit can lead you to love the Word," said Robert; "but do not be discouraged; just tell me whether you would be willing to give up either or all of your Bibles? I know two or three people to whom I could give them, and I would pay you the money value, and you might get some articles that you prefer to the Bible." "Robbie! Robbie!" exclaimed Eva, her face flushing, and her eyes sparkling with indignation. "What are you talking about? I am ashamed of you!" "Are you, Eva dear? Would you sell one of your three ?" "No, Robert! I do love that little old Bible that mother used; there are so many marks in it, and now and then a memorandum. Why, this morning when father read the fortieth Psalm in my book, the last verse was underlined, and dear mother had written a date against it. Then I knew that at that time the passage marked was precious to her, and so I think of it frequently." "Well, then, Eva, there is good cause for not parting with that; how is it with the Reference Bible?" "My teacher gave me that, Robbie, and I do not believe I could find the places I want in any other Bible. The Book seems to open naturally at some history, or parable, or miracle that we have studied in the class, and sometimes only looking at the page brings back the message the lesson conveyed. That Book is far too useful to part with." Robert smiled, and drawing his sister towards him, said,— NARRATIVES AND INCIDENTS. "Eva, dear sister! I do rejoice to find that you really value the Word of Truth. It is evidently only these handsome covers that you are afraid of. Dear father thought to give pleasure, and had no wish that the exterior of the Book should take your attention from the contents of it; but while the revelation of the love of God in Christ Jesus to you a poor sinner is contained within this casket, the casket itself, or if you like the term better, the binding of the book, is to be a token of the love of your earthly father. Very soon, probably, this album will be the repository of the thoughts of your friends, but when you value their contributions, will you think less of my gift because it holds them? O no, Eva; the only feeling you need resist is the desire of showing off' that you were tempted to indulge. Use this Book as father wished; read it daily, and if for a time the School Bible is the friend you go to for counsel and advice, never mind! you will soon find places as easily in this. But I must go now, and take you with me, for we are wanted." "Thank you so much, Robert," whispered Eva, as she accompanied her brother. "I do love the sacred Book of God." It was several weeks after the conversation above referred to, that, one Sabbath evening, Eva's father remarked, "Until to-night, my dear child, I have never seen you with your best Bible at chapel." "Father," said the young girl, drawing closer to him, and looking NARRATIVES LOUIS HENRIE; OR, THE SISTER'S PROMISE. BY A. E. G. CHAPTER I. THE bright July sun of 1870 rose 7 affectionately in his face, "the Bible you gave me as a new-year's gift is my handsomest, but not my best. I like it very much, but have been afraid of looking proud of it if I took it to chapel; but since the little girl in the next pew has gone away, I am able to forget the grand covers, and so for your sake I shall carry it." "All right, my lassie," was the reply; "but tell me which is your best Bible?" With a bright smile, Eva ran up to her room, and returned with her Reference Bible. "This is it, dear father," she said; "it was while searching this with earnest prayer and strong desire,' that the Spirit of God opened my understanding, and I received the truth into my heart. 'Here are my choicest treasures hid; And hence my hopes arise."" It had been a great effort to Eva to say as much to her father, but she was glad to have done so; for, as she afterwards told her teacher, "the snare was broken, and I never was afraid again to tell him my joys or sorrows." True to her habit, the little old Bible was taken up for family worship, and as Mr. B- read the nineteenth Psalm, Eva saw that in her mother's Bible the following verse was marked: "The statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes." AND INCIDENTS. LILLIE M. on few places more attractive to the student of nature, or the contemplative Christian who loves to read his Father's care in the wondrous beauties of creation, than Highdean Manor, situated on a gentle eminence, nestling amidst trees of many centuries' growth, its quaint gables covered with ivy, its windows framed in the luxuriant foliage of jessamine, honeysuckle, and roses, which exhaled their delicious perfume on the balmy air that filled the spacious, well-ordered rooms of the ancient house. Many feathered songsters had taken up their abode in the garden, and made it resonant with their joyous warblings, no unfit accompaniment to the morning hymn of praise then being sung in the breakfastroom by the assembled family. When the hymn was concluded, Mr. L—, in a grave, sonorous voice, read the fortysixth Psalm, and then earnestly petitioned the Throne of Grace that each and all then united in devotion might experimentally prove God to be their hope and strength in every time of trouble. He concluded with thanks, not only for all earthly gifts, but also for that inestimable one, Christ Jesus. A half-smothered sob testified that one heart had deeply sympathized in the prayer, and longed to feel its soothing power. Mr. L seemed to know from whom the sigh proceeded, for on rising from his knees he held out his hand to a young lady, who might be four or five and twenty years of age, saying as he did so, "Fear not, Julie, God is the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever.' He Who was the refuge of the Psalmist, will be yours, if you will only go to Him in trust.' The young lady thus addressed looked up with a tearful smile, but words were not just then at her command, and she welcomed Mrs. L's call to the breakfast-table as a relief. Mrs. L's sweet, intelligent countenance was a true index of her peaceful mind and happy heart. She was a true helpmate for the husband who had chosen her because of her amiability and sincere piety. But this morning Julie could not eat; she tried to do so, but the effort was futile. Nor, apparently, were the others much more inclined to do justice to the comforts before them; even the lively Miss L-s were subdued and grave, for they were about to lose their cheerful and loved companion, Julie Henrie, who was to leave Highdean that day. The pretence of breakfasting being gone through, Mrs. L-left the room, followed by Julie, who, as soon as they were alone, threw herself into the arms of her friend, crying, "Dear Mrs. L-, you have been a mother to me; I can never thank you for all your goodness." Mrs. L caressed the sobbing girl, and whispered words of encouragement and hope, until Julie was soothed and had dried her tears. "I much wish, my dear, that you could have remained with us until this terrible war be over." "How glad I should be to do so, you cannot imagine. Yet I must go; for in the letter I this morning received from Louis, he says again that unless I return to Switzerland very soon, he will join the French army as a volunteer. And O, Mrs. L—, I am sure such a resolve would have broken mamma's heart; for she dreaded the army above all things. Then my promise to her binds me, for Louis is not twenty, and until he be of age I must act for him as mamma would wish, and do my best to keep him at home." "True, my dear, yours is the imperative call of duty. Would your brother have come to England and stayed with us, we should have been well pleased to keep you both until peace be restored to France; but since he will not, you must go to him. But, my child, you will take Christ with you, Who will be your strength and support whatever may betide." "Were it not for this thought I should indeed be miserable at leaving LOUIS HENRIE; OR, THE SISTER'S PROMISE. you who have been a more than mother to me, and made me feel quite at home in this country; but He enables me to act according to my conviction of right." "And God will bless your sisterly devotion and direct all your way; He will enable you to be patient with your brother, although you may find him very trying to your temper because of his disappointment, for he is young, ardent, ambitious, and impatient of control, and may be irritable and full of regrets that he cannot serve his beloved France, because fettered by his promise to his dead mother. But, Julie, be not cast down beneath the cross. Carry your burden to the Lord; lay it at His feet and leave it there, for He will give 'grace to help in time of need.' So shall you go on your way in peaceful trust, if not 'rejoicing;' and God may make you the blessed instrument of imparting to your brother the great truths he has heard but not received. Then how light will seem all present trials, which have wrought such a glorious consummation!" "Dear Mrs. L-, plead for me at the Throne of Grace that my faith fail not." "I will: and now before we part we will for a few moments join in prayer." The very act of prayer revived and cheered Julie, and she took leave of Mrs. L and her two daughters with a firmness that was not of earth. Mr. L-accompanied her to London, to place her in the care of kind friends who were going to Belgium, and who were pleased to have the company of Mademoiselle Henrie until she should be joined by her brother, who had promised to meet her on the way to Lausanne, near which town was their early home, to which they now purposed going; Julie to take care of her brother, and he to continue his studies until peace should permit him to 9 return to Paris to take his degree as a medical student. Of the incidents of the journey we shall make no mention, further than to state that Louis Henrie, according to promise, met his sister, and together they proceeded to their beloved cottage, where they were joyfully welcomed by their old servant Babet, and her husband Jacques, who had been left in charge during their absence, and had faithfully discharged the trust reposed in them. Both were sincere Christians, acting in all things as those who must give an account of their stewardship. This alone would have made them just, without the powerful incentive supplied by the love, almost parental in its tenderness, which they felt for the children they had nursed and tended through many troubles, and seen grow up, the one into a lovely young woman, the other into a promising young man. CHAPTER II. WHEN Julie Henrie was but five years of age, and her brother a baby, they had been deprived by death of their father. He had left the breakfasttable in apparent health, and in more than his usual spirits; cheerful at ali times, on this morning he was almost gay, as he fondled his children, and affectionately kissed his gentle wife; but in one short hour he was borne to his home a corpse. This sudden catastrophe completely prostrated Madame Henrie. For a long time she hovered on the confines of the grave; but she had her children, and for their sakes she controlled her grief and battled for life, lest they should be left desolate. Then she sorrowed not as those who have no hope; for she firmly believed that her beloved husband was in the presence of the Redeemer, through Whose sacrifice he had, while in health, sought pardon and peace, and Whose example of doing good he had humbly endeavoured to follow. Yet the loss of him who for eight years had been her best earthly friend, her guide and counsellor, was a sore trial to her Christian fortitude, and she needed all her submission to the Divine will, and all her trust in Infinite Wisdom, to enable her to say from her heart, "Thy will be done." But she rested not until she could say in spirit and in truth, "It is the Lord; let Him do what seemeth Him good." And having attained this happy frame of mind, she suffered no after repinings to cloud its peace. The battle between sense and spirit was often severe; feeling would fiercely contend with faith, but when she was "weak," then was she "strong," because the strength of the Omnipotent was made perfect in her weakness, and her humble, earnest endeavours to honour her God in adversity were crowned with success. She learned, through much tribulation and many a conflict, to trust implicitly the lovingkindness of Him Who, although He had seen fit to take from her the mainstay of her life, the father of her children, had yet by incontestable proofs shown Himself to be the Father of the fatherless and the widow's God. As soon as her little ones were capable of understanding, she would teach them some simple truth from the Book of Life, illustrating it from the book of nature; ever striving to make her children look to God as a loving Father, Whose care for their happiness never wearied. She tried to teach them, both by precept and example, that God's love alone could make them truly happy, either in this world or in that which is to come; and for their sakes she cultivated a cheerful demeanour, that home might be bright, and that her darlings might have a happy childhood. Well did the loving mother know that she could not change the hearts of her children; but she had great faith in the promise attached to the precept, "Train up a child," etc., and constantly she prayed for wisdom to direct her in the right performance of her responsibilities, especially with respect to her high-spirited, impetuous boy, who was only restrained by the deep love he bore his gentle mother from running into the wildest mischief. Many a time, when on the eve of some folly, the thought of his mother's warning voice would stay his heedless steps, and cause him to leave his companions, who knew him too well to attempt to stay him when once he had said No; and many a time did the praying mother, with tearful eyes and grateful heart, thank God for His restraining Hand, and look to Him with hopeful trust that He would turn her boy from darkness to light. Julie was a thoughtful, obedient, gentle girl, anxious to do right, and please the mother whom she thought perfect, and whose side she had never left. For Madame Henrie had educated her daughter at home, for which she was well qualified, being accomplished, and possessing a well-cultivated mind. Thus Julie's ideas of implicit obedience to her mother's behests had never been contaminated by the lax opinions of others; she reverenced as well as loved her mother, and hoped she should one day be like her. Yet Julie had not learned the secret of that true nobility of mind that shone in every word and act of Madame Henrie's daily life. What she attributed to nature and cultivation, was, in many instances, the result of grace; but the new birth was a mystery Julie had yet to solve, and little did she think, when she caught her mother's yearning eyes bent upon her, that she was silently praying that Julie might learn her need of a Saviour, and find through the atonement pardon and peace. She knew that the shaft which |