HERE were two brothers, one, rich in the love of a good wife and children, but sick and poor in this world's goods; the other, Franz, was rich in money, which he loved better than anything else. Franz lived all alone. One bitter cold night, the wife of the sick brother came to the miser Franz, and begged for help, but he refused her, and she went away, saying, "I pray God that the gold which has so hardened your heart may never weigh so heavy on your soul that you cannot mount to glory."

This frightened Franz. By and by a fairy came to him, shaking bags of gold, and said, "Lie down, put your strong box on your chest, and I will give you gold so long as you can bear its weight; but take care you don't get too much, for though I can give, I cannot take away."

So Franz lay down, but he was so greedy of the gold that he kept wanting more, till at last he was so weighed down he could not move. And there he lay for years and years. At last a bright light shone. He remembered his neighbours, his brother with

Some

Pr is not likely that any of our young readers ever saw an adjutant. And yet at first sight some of them may be ready to suppose that they have. Storks are plentiful enough in England, and specimens are to be seen in every zoological garden. But a stork is not an adjutant. naturalists class them together, while others regard the adjutant as a type of a different genus. The stork, however, is quite a dwarf compared to the adjutant, which in its erect attitude is five feet high, while its wings measure some fifteen feet from tip to tip. It is not a nice-looking bird even in a

the wife and children, but he couldn't go near them, for he was weighed down by this pile of gold.

"Oh, take it off! take it off!" he cried, "and let me go."

Then came a voice, "Any of you, his family, his neighbours, or servants, anyone whom he has helped, may remove the awful load that binds him down."

But no one stirred, and a cry burst from Franz, as his eye went from face to face, and only the memory of unkind and selfish words and actions came up before him. He saw in his sister's face that same sad look, as on that stormy night, long, long ago, when he drove her from his door, cold, hungry, and sorrowful. Then a wail was heard with these words, "The gold that hardened his heart has bound him to the earth; he can never rise to glory."

The Bible says: "Having food and raiment, let us be therewith content;" and "charge them that are rich in this world, that they be not high-minded, nor trust in uncertain riches; that they do good, that they be rich in good works."

DJUTANT.

picture, but it is worse still in real life, for its head and neck are nearly bare; a sausage-like pouch hangs from the under side of its neck; and its bill is of enormous size. The adjutant would be an expensive bird to keep, for it will swallow a leg of mutton readily. It is a native of the warmer parts of India, where it is serviceable in devouring snakes, lizards, and all kinds of offal. Although ungainly in appearance its long legs are well adapted to the marshes. in which it finds its food, and the beautiful Marabou feathers are obtained from the under side of its wings.

HE above lines were brought to my remembrance by the sight of the picture we this month present to our readers. Who is the author of them I cannot say. Many a year ago, "when my children were about me," I transferred the little poem of which they form a part from the columns of a newspaper to a scrap-book which was the common property of the family. I soon had evidence of the truthfulness of the sentiment they embody. The young ones learnt the words with avidity, and frequently, to my great delight, did I hear them prattled forth with all the glee that a child's heart in the sweet freshness of its emotions can feel.

Never was the most exquisite music so grateful to my ear as those infantile utterances on the domestic hearth. But a touch of sadness now comes mingling with the memory of them, for the lips from which they were oftenest heard, and from which they came with the merriest ring, are now inarticulate in the grave. Not, however, did she pass away till on her own darling boys-though for a period too brief for the craving of our affection-she bestowed that maternal care and love which made her own heart so joyous when bestowed upon herself.

Our picture is also suggestive to my memory of other poetic lines, those for instance from the pen of Campbell :—

"Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; She while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive

eyes,

And weaves a song of melancholy joy.”

"I never forget the joyous thrill

That smile in my spirit stirred, Nor how it could charm me against my will, Till I laughed like a joyous bird."

In my first quotation the mother who bends over her babe to meet its opening eyes with her smile is undoubtedly a happy mother. Her heart is full of gladness to overflowing, and that gladness she is wishful to impart to the object of her love. But she is a "sorrowful mother" spoken of in the second quotation, and in speaking to my young friends a word or two about a mother's care I should like them specially to mark this. The care is not always of a joyous kind; sometimes it is attended with painful anxiety. It is so in case of sickness. In the very nature of things a child cannot be very self-helpful when in full and vigorous health. It is necessarily dependent on others for the supply of its constantly-recurring wants, so that a mother's care is always precious to it; in sickness it is infinitely so. That is a strong word to use, but I use it advisedly. I mean I cannot tell you how precious it is. I cannot in my thought give any limit to its worth. God help the dear little sufferers in their sickness who have no mother's eye to watch over them, and no mother's hand to smooth their pillows, and supply their little but pressing wants!

But it is no easy task for a mother to watch over her sick child, day after day, and night after night, ever on the alert to meet its wishes and soothe its sufferings, while her mind is in a state of distracting anxiety as to the issue of the sickness. And yet this is what many a mother does, bearing up in her sorrowful care with almost superhuman fortitude and energy. Dear readers, this is what she whom you call by

the sacred name of mother has done for many of you, and in all probability to the exercise of such maternal care in such circumstances you owe the prolongation of your life till now.

And more: many of you have been the objects of a widowed mother's care. You are fatherless children. In early life the sad bereavement fell upon you, and only through a mother's hands can you ever remember receiving parental gifts, or from a mother's heart parental love. This care, too, has not taken the form of fondness only. You have been cared for in every way practicable to the devotedness of her by whom the care was felt; you have been fed, and clothed, and educated, and provided with a comfortable home, and initiated into an honourable trade through the consecration to your well-being of the hands, the brain, the heart, the whole nature of your widowed mother.

How shall a mother's care be acknowledged by those for whose good it is exercised? It surely ought to have some return from all. Those who are still young can make a proper return for it by their thankfulness, and love, and obedience; by being such children that their parents may feel that they are worthy of the care and kindness shown them. Those who have arrived at an age when they have to leave home, and go out into the wide, wide world, to their thankfulness and love should join a manner of life which will reflect credit upon their parentage, and give satisfaction and joy to the hearts in which they know they hold so dear a place. Indeed, the debt we owe to a mother's care can never be dis

charged while life lasts, and it is a debt which no right-minded person will ever wish to avoid paying.

Time brings changes to everything; it brings them to the domestic circle, and the relations which belong to the various members of it. The feeble infant develops into the stalwart man, the vigorous mother declines into the infirm and decrepid old lady. These changes bring change of relative duty. The mother who once cared for others now needs caring for herself. Her ministering days are over, and it becomes. her turn to be ministered to. And who shall do this but those who have been so greatly indebted to her care in years gone by?

I transcribe for my young friends the beautiful sonnet of Kirke White to his mother. Will they please commit it to memory, and imbue their hearts by its repetition with the praiseworthy sentiments it breathes? If so, I am sure many a mother will rejoice to reap in declining years what she sowed in the days of her devoted motherhood:

"And canst thou, mother, for a moment think,

That we, thy children, when old age shall shed, Its blanching honours on thy weary head, Could from our best of duties ever shrink? Sooner the sun from his bright sphere should shrink

Than we, ungrateful, leave thee in that day,
To pine in solitude thy life away,

Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink.
Banish the thought! where'er our steps may roam,
O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home;
While duty bids us all thy griefs assuage,
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age."
J. HUDSON.

HOUGHTFULNESS for others, modesty, and self-respect, are the qualities which make a real gentleman or lady, as dis

tinguished from the veneered article which commonly goes by that name.-Professor Huxley.