even slaves usually had accorded to them. He saw them treated as if they were foreign captives, though their fathers came into the land by the invitation of its monarch, and they themselves had always paid to his successors the devoted allegiance of loyal subjects. He saw, too, that remonstrance or supplication on their part was in vain; that their rulers cared little whether they lived or died, whether they were contented or miserable, whether they regarded the government of their stern rulers with hatred or with reverence. As long as they were weak, they would be trampled upon and despised. As long as they could be used for their tyrant's purposes, they would be retained in bondage. Fear was the only sentiment that could obtain justice from their oppressors, and it was only by being strong that they could ever hope to become free.

All this Moses saw; and deeply must he have felt for their wrongs, when he stole away, as he often did, from the splendours and luxuries of the royal palace, and returned to visit the haunts of his childhood, and to see how it fared with his unhappy brethren. Deeply, too, must he have pondered over the difficulties of their position, and tried to make out how they could be extricated from it, and what human means could be sufficient either to deliver them from their bondage, or to lead them forth from the land where they were enduring it. But, as yet, he did not see in what way such a deliverance could be effected. Afterwards, he learned to know that God could himself lead them out by a way that they and he alike knew not. But first, the escape was to be for him; and his people were yet to suffer a few years more of slavery and sorrow, till God should come himself to lead them forth with a mighty hand and outstretched arm.

One day, when he was visiting the dwellings of his people, and watching the progress of the labours imposed on them by their cruel taskmasters, he saw one of his countrymen most harshly and unjustly treated by an Egyptian overseer. The poor Israelite felt that he was a slave, and that even death might be his fate if he lifted his hand to save or to avenge himself. He therefore submitted to the blows of his tyrant as an ox broken to the yoke would have submitted to them, and bore, without a murmur, the brutal treatment, the liability to which had now become a part of the necessary condition of his people. But Moses looked upon the outrage with the more natural feelings of a man. He had not been brought up as a slave, nor had been taught the tame submission to wrong which is one of the first lessons of slavery. He had been accustomed to command much more than to obey, and to follow freely the warm impulses of his nature much more than to control or to subdue them.

And when he saw this cruel outrage offered to one of his oppressed countrymen, and knew that there was no redress for such wrongno punishment for such crime-no protection for such victims—his blood boiled within him, and, without pausing to consider the consequences of his conduct, or to measure very exactly the degree of punishment due upon the offender, he at once walked up to the spot where the Egyptian stood, and, without further inquiry or parley, struck him to the heart with the dagger which he always, as a matter of course, carried in his embroidered belt.

The Egyptian fell to the ground under the blow, a dead man. It was a lonely place where they had been standing, at some distance from the fields where other parties of the Israelites were working. No man, therefore, saw the bloody deed, but the poor Hebrew who had been the unwitting cause of it. He immediately fled from the spot, and Moses was left alone standing there among the sand hills near the river, with his bloody dagger in his hand, and the body of the murdered Egyptian at his feet. His rage was cooled now, for he was both shocked at the deed he had done, and feared the consequences to himself if it should become known. He immediately dug a shallow grave in the sand, and hastily throwing in the body, covered it as well as he could, so as to leave but slight mark to indicate the unusual disturbance of the soil, if any one should pass near; and then wiping his dagger, and replacing it in his belt, quickly withdrew from the spot, and carefully avoided the observation of both strangers and friends for the remainder of the day. The thing, however, could not remain a secret, as it was already known to one man who had witnessed it, and who was not very likely to keep strict silence on a matter affecting so nearly the relations of his people with their oppressors. Accordingly, Moses soon found that what he had done was publicly reported among his people, and, ere long, he heard that it had reached the ears of Pharaoh, who, probably, having received an exaggerated account of it, vowed vengeance even upon the adopted son of his daughter, for having thus avenged the wrongs of an Israelite by shedding the blood of an Egyptian.

(To be continued.)

Who would like to reflect when dying, that the world was no better, but perhaps the worse for his having lived?

It is not wise to argue on subjects one has not thought much upon, nor read up to.

The temptation of Eve was a wish to become wise, without purchasing wisdom by experience or reflection.

BLESSED ARE THE PEACE MAKERS."

BY CATHARINE M. A. COUPER.

To a stranger little Harry might have appeared the least happy of John Baxter's large family. Delicate from his birth, he had not grown in strength of body as he grew in stature; his back was so weak that he could not sit up for more than an hour at a time, and his right hand and foot were almost powerless. He was subject to fits of severe pain, when every sight and every sound gave him acute distress, and yet if ever there was a sunbeam in a home, little Harry was one. Instead of constantly asking for pity and sympathy for his sufferings, he was the one to whom all took their sorrows, sure of finding comfort from him, and more than that, all took their joys to him, equally sure that he would have for them a smile and a word of congratulation.

His mother had always, both to the little sufferer himself and to his brothers and sisters, taken a high and healthy view of his afflictions. If in her own hours of solitude she lamented with tears that her boy would never have the privileges and opportunities of active service that other boys would have, and that if he lived he must have much of acute suffering to bear; she never forgot that those who endure meekly the trials sent to them, serve their Heavenly Father as faithfully on the bed of sickness, as those who work the hardest in the work of the world, and she inspired her child with this feeling, instead of talking to him too much about his own suffering. She never, however, let slip an opportunity of pointing out to him when an effort of his had done good, for his humble lowly spirit was not too ready to believe that he, weak and helpless as he was, could work works of love that would be acceptable in the sight of God. She made him useful to her whenever it was possible; many a time he watched beside the sleeping baby when a more active child would have grown weary with the necessary, yet apparently idle work, and often was he trusted to guard two or three of the younger ones as they played in their mother's absence, for she knew well that his gentle voice had more power to control the tendency to mischief or quarrelling, than the rough hand of an older sister. Not that any of the family were very rough, for the presence of this little fellow seemed to have a hallowing influence over the whole of them. Withdrawn, by his infirmities, from active life, he seemed more in immediate communion with his Maker, who in afflicting him, had drawn him to himself, and the harsh reply, and angry word, were often checked, because “ Harry looked so

sad."

One day, on his mother's return from an absence of two hours, when she had left three little ones under seven years of age under Harry's care, the elder children being all at school, she found him in an agony of grief, sobbing as if his heart would break. She thought one of his fits of violent pain had come on, and hastily putting down her basket, and throwing off her shawl, she ran to him, to support him in the position that gave him slight relief when in suffering. "No, no, mother," he said, between his sobs, "it is not my pain; it is not my pain; but they quarrelled, Kate and Tom quarrelled, and I might have stopped it."

His mother tried to soothe him, for any violent emotion was very bad for him. He seldom cried loud for his own suffering, but moaned and gasped,-as trying to the anxious watcher, but showing more self-control in the child. When he was a little calmer, he told his mother that the children had been playing very happily together, and that he had begun to read, thinking they wanted no watching.

"And, mother," he continued, "I was so much interested in my book, that I did not listen to what was going on, till they had got so angry I could not stop them. Tom had taken the bricks Katie was building with, and he would not give them back; at first it was only in play, I think, and if I had noticed it then, I could have set it all right, by telling him it was not kind to teaze; but she got cross, and answered him sharply, and then he threw the bricks back to her, and one of them hurt her, and she struck him, mother. But she was very sorry afterwards," he added, gently stroking his little sister's hand as he held it in his own, "and now, if you will give me A Kiss for a Blow,' I will read them one of the stories, and, dear mother, I will try to be more faithful to my trust another time."

His mother brought him the book, and the two little delinquents sitting at his feet, listened to his sweet voice as he read one of the loving tales in that little book of love, and when it was finished, they felt they loved each other as before, and him more than ever. When Harry was about ten years old, his parents had the sorrow of losing one of their children, a little girl two years younger than their invalid boy. Harry was most painfully excited during her illness, which lasted for more than a week. He had been peculiarly attached to this sister, for her gentle disposition had created more sympathy between them, than could be felt with the more lively and active children. She was not in the same room with Harry, but during the day he used to creep into her room as often as he could, to see how she was. For several hours before her death, she was

66

insensible, and he was troubled at first that she did not know him, but he soon became more composed, and he said in a low voice to his mother, She has begun to talk with angels, she cannot speak to us now; and after a pause, "Mother, why does not God. take me instead of Annie? I cannot do you so much good as she would have done."

"You have not finished the work He has given you to do, my dear boy," answered his weeping mother, "or he would take you do you wish to go? is your burden harder than you can bear? No, mother," he replied gently, "I can bear it, but I should like well to go with Annie; but," he added, as if to himself, she will not be lonely, she will know them all there, and she will look for me-I cannot stay long. Mother, did you ever know a man as weak and ill as I am? do not mind telling me, I think I can bear either."

His mother with difficulty answered him, that it was not often so delicate a child grew to be a man, but she could not tell, and she hoped both he and she would be able to bear whatever was appointed.

66

I shall not mind much, I think, if I am taken away. I should not have liked to be first, I am so helpless, but if Annie is there, she will help me, but," he added with a smile, as if a ray from the bright Heaven he was realising shone upon him, "but there all pain and weakness will be gone, we shall be strong and beautiful and happy;" and he closed his eyes as if he would fain shut out all of this life in the contemplation of that life where pain and sickness do

not enter.

In a few hours the little girl regained her consciousness for a few minutes, and with her brother's hand in hers she calmly fell into the deep sleep of death.

It seemed as if Harry's grief had been only during the uncertainty. When he knew she was dead he was calm and composed, and did his best to comfort his mother, and to make himself useful in keeping the little children quiet; and as she looked at him, she felt how invaluable to her was her poor, weak, helpless child. She knew, however, that she must not look for a long continuance of his precarious life. She felt that it hung upon a thread.

For two years, however, he was spared to her; his body grew thinner and thinner, and it seemed as if he was all soul. For a short time he was relieved of all pain, and they were spared the trial his mother dreaded of the last struggle being a painful one. Struggle there was none, he faded like a beautiful flower, his last words being, "She is waiting for me, and she will be so glad. Mother, I