persuaded her father, who had no very regular work, to go elsewhere and seek a living.

Miss Dennis saw Mrs. Miller's distress when all this was known; and far from wondering at it, she was more disposed to wonder how anybody could feel happy again after such a disappointment, or feel any heart to go on taking pains.

On the next Sunday the school seemed to her quite a different place from what it was a week before, though the building was just as pretty, and the sunshine as bright, and the shade of the limetrees as cool. Rachel's sad story was fresh in her mind. She thought of all the advantages that the poor girl had of kindness and good instruction, and then she thought of the bad examples at home, which made her case one to be pitied, at the same time that her acting wrong, against knowledge, made it a case to excite fear. The scholars all seemed, in one way or other, to feel what had so lately happened; for Rachel's place in the school had seldom been empty for several years past; and when the other girls took their places, some whispered to each other, and some looked sad and strange. One of the little girls said something to the youngest of the ladies who taught them, and mentioned Rachel Long's name; but the young lady seemed afraid to hear it, and turned away, looking troubled and scared.

Mrs. Miller sat down to explain the 2d Morning Lesson, which happened to be the 15th chap. of St. Luke; and none of those who listened to her could help applying what she said to the sad history of their school-fellow. To Mrs. Miller herself it was a comfort to hear and speak of the parable of the lost sheep, and of the prodigal son; and her scholars could not but see in her countenance, and hear in the tone of her voice, how much she felt it, both in sorrow and in hope. She often talked to her scholars about the green pastures in which the sheep of Christ's flock are allowed to feed; but now she

dwelt upon the unwearied goodness which still seeks to bring the wanderers back.

[The good Shepherd carrying back the wanderer to His Church: from an ancient painting at Rome. The earliest representations of our Lord are all enigmatical.]

In the meantime a class of smaller children were repeating a hymn on baptism; and when questioned about it by one of the young ladies, they told about the baby who was coming that evening to be baptised in its white robe. The Sunday before, Miss Dennis would have listened to them with unmixed delight, rejoicing in the pure, happy thoughts of baptism; but now even this seemed sad to her, as if a dark cloud had come over its sunshine.

It seemed to her that she felt more fear than hope even whilst the baptism was performed during the evening service, as if the promises which she heard made for the infant would not be fulfilled. How different her feelings were from those of a week ago, though every thing looked the same! And so it often happens in a Christian's course, especially in

that of a young Christian, to whom many things are

new.

In the evening she went into the school to fetch a book which had been left there by mistake, and she stood there by herself whilst the sun's last red light poured in through the western window at the end. She stood there looking intently at two pictures on the wall, one of a font, which had been the first hung up there when the room was made into a school-room, the other, a print of the good Shepherd, which Mr. Miller had bought and placed there not long after a disappointment which happened to him a few months ago in one of his boys. Miss Dennis stood looking at them both, hanging as they chanced to do near together; and she thought very deeply whilst she looked at them. She thought of the great blessings so freely given, and then of the peril of losing them,-the trembling hope which remains, the stedfast though subdued trust in Mercy which is Almighty. The moments she spent in such thoughts were not without profit; she turned back to the cool, calm summer evening with a heart more chastened to bear the sorrows and disappointments of this troublesome world, to wait patiently and hope to the end.

Prayer.

NEGLECT not any thought which God puts into thy heart (as He does oftentimes) to pray; the thought to pray must come from Him-it cannot come from thyself or from the evil one. Pray wherever thou art, whatever thou art doing; man will not see it, but God will; and thy Father, who seeth in secret, Himself shall reward thee openly. The first step on this way of frequent prayer is the first step on Jacob's ladder-its foot on earth, its top in heaven; look not above, lest thou faint and sink back; nor downwards, lest thou turn dizzy; but go on, step by step, labouring to make thy prayers more and more continual and fervent, and God shall send His angels to conduct thee, and thy Saviour shall intercede for thee, and thou

shalt win thy way step by step, until the cloud of death close round thee, and then thou shalt find that the first step to continual earnest prayer was "the gate of heaven."

We are formed to be unable to continue long any exertion of body or mind without breathing-space; we must pause and take breath to begin afresh; why not breathe to and in Him, who is the Breath of our life, and rest in Him, who is the Rest of the weary?

Each wish to pray is a breath from heaven, to strengthen and refresh us; each act of faith, done to amend our prayers, is wrought in us by Him, and draws us to Him, and His gracious look on us; each amends our prayers, and our amended prayers are His gift to amend our lives; and so we may go on, in slow, it may be, through our manifold infirmities, yet ceaseless progress, until we find, in His gracious and merciful Presence, the end of our prayers, our faith, our hopes, our lives. From Plain Sermons.

I DARESAY you have seen many of these birds flying about old churches and barns: sometimes, too, they live in holes in old trees, and come out at night to seek for their food. They feed mostly upon rats, and mice, and small birds: sometimes they have been known to eat fish.

Mr. Waterton, a gentleman very fond of birds, who protected the barn-owls which lived near him from being killed, built a place of shelter for them upon a ruined old gateway. About a month after this place was finished, a pair of barn-owls came to live in it, which very soon seemed to find out that they were safe and had a kind friend near them. Upon the ruin was placed a perch, at a little distance from the hole which served as a door to the owl's house: and sometimes an owl would perch upon it on a gloomy day.

One evening, Mr. Waterton was sitting under a shed, and he saw a large rat come out of its hole, which he killed; and as it lay on the ground, a barn-owl pounced upon it, and flew away with it. Another evening (in July), long before it was dark, he stood upon a bridge, watching the owl on the gateway bringing mice to her nest. All on a sudden she dropped into the water. Thinking that she had fallen down in a fit, Mr. Waterton was going to get into a boat to pick her up; but before he could get to the end of the bridge, he saw the owl rise out of the water with a fish in her claws, and take it to the

nest.

The barn-owl lays from three to five white eggs. Young birds have been found in July and September, and sometimes even in December.

In a nest of the barn-owl two eggs were once seen; and when these were hatched, two more were laid, which, it is supposed, were hatched by the warmth of the young birds. After these were hatched, two other eggs were laid; so that the nest at last held six young owls of three different ages, which were all reared.

The barn-owl screeches, but does not generally hoot. The young birds are easily tamed, and live peaceably with other birds. A sparrow-hawk, a barn-owl, and a ringdove, were once brought up together. After six months they were let free, and went away; and the owl was the only one of the three that came back.

September.

THE festivals of this month are,

St. Matthew on the 21st.

St. Michael and All Angels on the 29th.