the threshold. "Mr. Irwine, did you say, sir?, ing over the invalid's pillow, "Eleanor has the next house but one, it's on this side. You come -Lady Kenneth-she has forgiven us, can't miss, there's only one other door in the there is no more want for our little ones, no block, and this is the first." more wretched days for us, we shall be happy yet." She stood staring after the unwonted apparition of the silver gray horses, the showy cutter, and the pale lady muffled in glistening robes, as the equipage started on. "I will get out, John," said Lady Kenneth, as it stopped again, "you may wait here;" and to the great wonder of the old coachman, she alighted on the snowy ground and stepped up to the sidewalk, pausing before the first door at her right. The shadow of a lamp lay upon the thin curtains, it vanished as steps quitted the room, and its pale rays in another moment fell distinctly over her own face, as she stood at the threshold. It was a child who held it, a pretty boy, with lips and eyes like those long sealed under the white tombstone at Penrith. Lady Kenneth's heart gave a quick throb, the child stood staring at her with wondering "Will you come in, lady?" he lisped, in low, infantile tones, 66 'papa is sick, and mamma has dropped asleep." eyes. It was a sorry Christmas tableau which met Lady Kenneth's eyes; a man, pale, wan, and sickly, lay on a low pallet in a corner of the small room; and just started up from a rude lounge, or settee, near by, aroused at the sound of voices, or the opening of the door, a pallid, weary looking woman, bearing little likeness in her faded beauty, to the young, fresh girl she had last seen arrayed in satin and pearls for an evening ball. A scanty wood fire smoldered on the hearth, a rough deal table, a few chairs, made up the scanty furniture, and two brightfaced, poorly clad little girls shivered in the inclement atmosphere of poverty. "Eleanor!" stammered the frightened woman, starting forward, and trying to throw off the nightmare which she felt must be pressing upon her "I am dreaming; this cannot be real." "Lucy," said her sister, holding out her hand, "I have come to you at last. I am growing old and shall soon go where no words of reconciliation can be spoken. We will forgive the past, it may be we have both something to forget." "Do you hear, Charles?" murmured the glad wife, relinquishing the hand which struggled to release itself from her kisses, and bend "Your ladyship is too noble, too generous;' the poor man turned away his face to hide the quick flush of emotion. "I did you a grievous wrong-not Lucy - she has never been happy, not even in our first married days, pining for your forgiveness — but we have suffered together.” Lady Kenneth drew her furs around her as if to shut out the chill air. The children came forward, hanging bashfully at their mother's side, and looking with curious eyes on their new relative. "Come, Lucy," said the visitor, sending a shivering glance again around the dreary room, "how long will it take these little ones to get ready for their night's ride? I have made up my mind to have you all spend your Christmas eve with me- it is a short ride, Irwine, you will not feel the exposure, the horses are swift.” "He has sat up most of the day," interposed his wife; "he is growing better - but "— and her glance fell with a flush of lingering pride on her own faded dress. Lady Kenneth read the whole story of the pawnbroker's shop. "I will not be disappointed," she said, “you shall come as you are, and we will find plenty ere the eve is over.” It was a strange freight which the prancing coursers bore back. The coachman, puzzled and curious, discharged them at the door, and went round to the servants' kitchen to tell the strange story; while Lady Kenneth with a glow of joy, ushered her late guests into her warm dining-room, where the side tables still stood heaped with fruits and wines. The children gazed around with bewildered eyes, Richard, the curly headed boy, thought of the story of Aladdin's lamp of which his mother had told him an hour ago, and that it must have a real existence; the little girls clung to their mother's side, the husband and wife struggled with blended emotions of pain and joy. "Henceforth let the past be buried," said Lady Kenneth, clasping her sister and brother's hands, "I have been hard in this long withholding of forgiveness. To err is human — wo should remember the rest of the quotation." Count that day lost whose slow descending sun UNDER THE SNOW. BY MRS. CAROLINE A. SOULE. Something taps lightly on the pane! I start from my chair with a joyous bound,- I rush to the door and open it wide- That as flitting years went swiftly on, Alas for my hope, my hope so wild, Upon breast and brow, the gathering mould. Under the snow, the cold, white snow, While sore in my heart is ever the pain Of a hope that I cherished, but cherished in vain, No more, no more, for under the snow, CHRISTIAN PROGRESS. N all departments of life there is progress, I Ia dapat said, unfmited progress. In the vegetable and animal kingdoms, progress seems to be limited, but "no particle of matter is ever lost," there may be progress invisible to us, even in decay and death. There is growth in physical, mental, moral and spiritual life, but with seeming limitation to all but the last. Jesus when on earth attained the limit of all moral life, as he obeyed perfectly the moral law; and -possibly — human beings have done the same;- as the law would be useless if it could not be obeyed, — yet who does not know that Jesus went far beyond this law. He not only loved others as himself, but so much better, as to give himself for others, and that while they were his enemies. us. There is an innate love of progress within We love, not only to feel growth, but to see it. With what delight we watch the little plant increasing in size and beauty! how eagerly we look for bud, flower and fruit! How differently we view the aged tree which has attained its full maturity; it may be a noble tree, yet it awakens within us no special interest except in the changes with which the changing season's invest it; it has had its day. The man who builds a house and lays out grounds for his own use, finds a higher delight, a keener interest and pleasure, in the single year of building, than in many years of quiet possession, after it is all completed. If progress then be so desirable, how earnestly should we seek for that which is unlimited. If it is so glorious to watch till maturity, how much more glorious to gaze upon, aye, to feel eternal growth! and this glory is to be found only in spiritual or Christian progress. "God is love;" Christ was the manifestation of that love, and the gospel proclaims pure, essential love. Justice is fully comprehended in love, yet it is exceeded by it. King Solomon had as keen sense of justice as may be found on earth even now; did he know how to love his enemies? Spiritual life is the life of love; Christian progress is the progress of love, or of the power of loving, and is unlimited, immortal. The special work of the Christian is to cultivate this power of loving, to gaze upon its highest manifestations. Like the astronomer with his telescope who sees worlds on worlds of starry brightness, growing fainter, yet ever ex grow panding in the distance, and finds he needs a more powerful telescope; even so may the Christian peer into the infinite love of God through Jesus Christ; yet with this difference in the result, the telescopic powers of the soul will increase by use, and the pathway-though ever expanding to the vision — will brighter and brighter unto the perfect day. This spirit needs to be made the ruling power in all reform measures. There are many organizations in these days of social and moral reform which work well for a season, and then die out; the reason is, they have their basis upon the moral instead of the Christian idea. But moral power should not be ignored, for its highest phases are included in Christianity, and in accepting the latter, we are sure to gain the former. It is often said that the world goes backward; that crime increases; that intemperance, oppression and war, are more prevalent now than ever; if this be true, it does not stay Christian progress; this is seen in the power to love the inebriate, in the act of building asylums for his cure, instead of prisons for his punishment, he is recognized as a brother; but Christians should not be satisfied until they can say of the distiller and vender, "ye are brothers too." The poor oppressed negro is our brother, willingly acknowledged such, but his oppressor is our brother also, this is not yet acknowledged, but it will be, and until it is, our power with that oppressor will be small. We do not accept as we should the truth, that he who giveth good, is more blessed than he who receives the good; if we did we should more truly know that he who inflicts a wrong, or an evil, is more accursed than the receiver of the wrong. Let us accept this idea fully, and we shall at least pity, if we do not love, the wrong-doer the most. Then, and not till then, shall we exert that redeeming power which shall save others from sin, and the love thereof, and shall return unto our own natures, blessings an hundred fold. War exists, because this Christian idea is not made the motive of action, is not the fundamental principle in human governments. But while the people are taught that God's government is based on fear and force, it is easy to see what the copy must be. Men see not yet the Great Original as He saw Him, who said, "Love your enemies, that ye may be the children of your Father who is to say, in heaven;" hence they learn war, and study the best methods of killing each other; and whether for a wrong object or a righteous one, they who conquer usually have the presumption "God was our helper," and in the glory of their triumph, overlook their losses, or mistake them for gain. Let us reason together! if love only can bless us, if it is the only true motive for deeds, if it only is immortal, and if by any act of ours we have cultivated the spirit of hate, or have lessened our power to love, what can compensate us? nothing! absolutely nothing! we give up the greater for the less. O! it is glorious to see and feel the progress of the spirit of Christ; but next to this, is the blessing of believing, where we cannot see. He who hath said, "Thine own sins shall correct thee," hath so linked cause and effect together, that mankind learn the good-if too dull to learn otherwise by being sated with evil. In this way, as it were the last method of Jehovah -we may still see the progress of love; thank God! humanity cannot become sated with good. But as Christians we have much to do in the cultivation of this tender and holy spirit, in our own souls, in our domestic relations, in the church and in social life. It reaches to the thoughts and intents of the heart, it allows us "to think no evil,” to do good unto all, even the most debased and criminal of our race, well assured that "The blackest heart hath sighs to tell MY BIRDS. BY REV G. T. FLANDERS. Two little birds with piumage gay, Within a gilded cage I keep; To-night one sits with wakeful eyes— The other's perched in peaceful sleep. My little bird, why sleep you not? Why this lone hour you wakeful keep? Poor things, I know your secret well; FEAR from your eyes has banished sleep. My little bird, why sleep you well? With muffled head you restful keep. Sweet one, I know your secret well; Secure in LOVE you calmly sleep. Thus voyagers on life's troubled sea, With shivering fear some wakeful keep; While others, rocked upon the tide, Secure in love, untroubled sleep. O Father, grant that like my bird, My trusting faith I steadfast keep, And whether led through calm or storm, In love's embrace securely sleep. A MY MOTHER AND I. BY CHARLES CUTTERFIELD. FTER my father died, my mother and myself lived in comparative obscurity – receiving little company, and visiting little. I was fourteen years old at the time, and my little sister Carrie, was only five. For two years after his death we occupied the same homestead - and in those two years, I had grown from an obedient boy, to a disobedient one. I use the terms in the outward sense for 1 was obedient to my father, rather through fear of his power, than from any love of obedience, as a fixed principle in my soul. My companions were the boys of the street, and unconsciously I imbibed their notions, became imbued with their recklessness, and felt the same contempt for parental authority. My father was a minister, and most of his hours were spent in his study. He kept me at the public schools, and meant to do all that he could for my welfare, but the public schools afforded facilities for "deviltry," as I called it, which he knew little about. I knew that he would never punish me, and my heart reproaches me bitterly at this day, that I did not feel more keenly the pain that I gave him. He often talked to me, but always said that he would not punish me “this time," though he could not tell what he should be compelled to do, if I persisted in doing wickedly. I have said that I was obedient- I always made it a point, to never directly disobey a command of his. He had a power over me, which I cannot describe. I could not find it in my heart to violate openly a single command which he gave. But I practised all sorts of deception. When one thing was forbidden, I sought something else equally pernicious. My I taste was for mischief, and I plotted to find means and opportunity to indulge my taste. And yet in justice to myself, I must say that I always knew that he was right, and I wrong. Down below the crust of my being, I felt the truth of his words - the beauty of his prayers - and the value of what he uttered in his sermons. I was like a man who is led on by his appetite, to eat food which he knows will injure him. I knew that my course was death to my happiness, and yet a keen appetite kept pressing me on in a path which I knew was ruin to my peace. father's death, and before I left home, I had grown to be one of the most reckless boys of the village. The forces had become intensified-I pursued vice with a more headlong fury, and I felt the beauty of virtue more keenly in the lower depths of my spirit. My mother plead with me in vain. I went from bad to worse, going downward steadily, till I acquired the reputation of being the worst boy in town. And all this time, I had the keen consciousness that I was capable of better things, and that I ought to act up to my highest capabilities. I am bound to say also, that I did not deserve all that I was compelled to bear, from neighbors and professed friends. I am quite sure that some took a special delight in seeing me go down. They accused me falsely. They made no effort to assist me out of my evil ways. Indeed, one of the greatest shocks which my better nature received at this time, was the knowledge that professed friends were false. They seemed to delight in making me out as bad as possible. I lost confidence in friends which I shall not regain again, though I live half a century. At length matters came to such a pass, that I had no peace, either at home, or in the streets, and I resolved to leave my mother forever. I had no clearly defined purpose concerning the future, but I resolved to go out into the world, and leave all my youthful associations. I would take care of myself, and my mother and little sister might get along as best they could. It was a heartless purpose, as I knew very well, and I made my preparations with great secrecy. I was to run away with Billy Bishop, one of my dissolute companions. I was to go at ten o'clock in the evening, and already the dusky shades of twilight were resting upon the village. I was in my chamber, arranging for the departure, when Carrie came and said mother would like to see me in the library. I went quickly, for I loved her still, though the rank weeds of disobedience were growing in my soul. "Charles," said she, as soon as I entered the library, "I want you to kneel down with me and Carrie, and repeat again with us, the little evening prayer which we used to say together when your father was with us. Will you, just this once, Charles, for my sake?" Strange as it may seem, it was a relief that In the two years which intervened after my she asked it. My heart was not steeled to everything good, and the olden memories came | something of worldly affairs, and I must tell back in a flood, as I thought of leaving forever the scenes of my childhood. The prayer was a single petition which my father had written years before, and which we three now repeated in concert, as sincerely as though I had not learned to be a villain. I am sure I never uttered the words more heartily and earnestly, than I uttered them then. When we arose from our knees, my mother still held my hand, and drew me to a seat beside herself. “Charles, you are a good boy, and whatever else you forget, do not ever forget this prayer." How strangely the words sounded. To be called good, when in a few hours I was to forsake my mother and my little sister forever. "I shall always remember it," I answered. “And will you always repeat it every night before you sleep?" "I will try to, mother." I said this with difficulty, feeling that it was a strange answer to make, after having been so long without repeating it, and been all the time under the old roof. "I thank God that you promise me this, Charles. I shall always have hope, now, that by and by you will be the noble man which you are capable of becoming." She looked very earnestly into my eyes, as she spoke, and I wondered why she manifested so much more feeling than common. My heart smote me, and I wished it could be always thus. I wished it for the time, though I have reason to believe that the feeling would have passed away with the rising of the sun. "I must go now," I said. you all. I can live here only two years more, unless you help me. This dear old homestead, where we have lived so many years - these trees, which your father planted with his own hand-all there is here will pass into other hands, and I shall be turned out of doors. I can barely earn enough with my needle to furnish the necessaries of life, I cannot even pay the yearly interest. I do not know where you will find me when you return. Little Carrie and I must trust to the cold world, as soon as you forsake us. You are my hope." She paused a moment, and a new flood of thoughts came surging through my youthful mind. Was it possible that I was of so much value to any one? "When you are gone, Charles," she continued, "I want you to think of the two courses that are open before you. If you forget all the noble thoughts which your father has sought to impress upon your mind, then little Carrie and I must be beggars. If you are good, as you are able to be, we shall always have this pleasant home, and always be very happy. You can earn money if you are good, and be loved and honored. You are capable of the best things. You have done some wicked things it may be, but I am sure that people have slandered you. You did not mean to be low and base. You will rise above it, will you not Charles?" I could not answer. “I shall trust God to give me back a noble boy, to be the comfort of my old age. Oh! it is so noble to be good! And I have never doubted you, not for one moment. I know you can find no real enjoyment in vile company. You will find less and less as you grow older, You feel just as I do, and you love the memory ?of your father!" "Not yet, dear, I have something to say. You are going away to leave me to-night, and I must talk with you before you go. "Who told you that I was going away? What do you mean? Why should I go away Some of the pesky neighbors have been telling more lies. It is false every word of it." I did not understand how she came to know of my determination, and my evil nature was roused in a moment. "You are going away to leave me, and I must give you such advice as I can. I do not seek to detain you, Charles, I consent that you should go. You are not happy here. I have mourned over it, but I cannot help it. You have determined to go. You will think of me sometimes I know, and you will come back again. You are old enough now to understand I can bear witness that he seemed almost sainted in that moment, though I found language to utter no word. My mother arose and went to her little drawer, and then returned to her seat beside me. "Here is all the money that I have in the world, you will need it more than I. You must take it, and use it wisely. I have earned it by the hardest toil. If I help you now, you will help me by and by. Good by, Charles." "Dood by Tarly!" said Carrie. I could not speak. As I passed out of the door of the library, I heard the faint murmur of my J |