the evidence afforded by the extraordinary labours, sufferings, successes of these twelve men, that Jesus of Nazareth had actually risen from the dead and ascended up on high. His attention had, however, been previously drawn to a remarkable fact, which seemed to show that the same Jesus who was crucified many centuries ago had power to accomplish things upon the earth at this day, which no mere man could accomplish.

"There was a young lady dying of consumption in a certain city. She was surrounded by all that could make life attractive, and it seemed, especially to one who was much bound up in her, one of the saddest of all conceivable things that she should go down to a premature grave. She herself would have gladly lived: | there was a hope in life that death could not offer. There was in the same city a lady in whose school she had been a pupil. This lady incidentally heard that her former pupil was dying, and not prepared to die. She went to see her, but was not allowed access to the invalid. She would not, however, be denied, but persisted, and almost forced her way to the sick-chamber. The Lord blessed her ministrations, and she was enabled to show the patient her need of the Saviour, and to lead her to Christ. Then was all fear of death removed; the desire to live left her; the hopes that seemed to irradiate this life shifted to the life to come, but elevated and enriched a thousand-fold; a sweet peace possessed her soul, and she died rejoicing in the assured conviction that she was going to be with Christ. Whatever grace and beauty seemed to belong to her in health, were eclipsed by the spiritual grace and loveliness that invested her last hours as with a halo. There was one who would have given all his interest in life to impart the least alleviation to her pain, to have diminished in the least the sting of death; but he was made most painfully conscious that this was utterly beyond his power to accomplish. Now the fact that arrested his attention was, that that Jesus of Nazareth, who had been so long disregarded and scorned by him, should come to the dying one and give her peace and sweet content and joy in the assurance of a blissful immortality: here was something marvellous and inexplicable. He was bewildered. The effect wrought corresponded with that which only the sublimest truth, in connection with a present divine power, could accomplish; it was the removal of the sting from death, the bringing of life and immortality to light, the opening of a door into a glorious and holy heaven; and all this heightened by contrast with his own utter impotency and total penury of help......

"A Bible, bequeathed to him with a dying request that he would read it, he received with thankfulness, and proceeded to obey the injunction. He read it, and found much to admire in it; valued it for the comfort it had bestowed upon another; but he never for a moment doubted that he was right in his views regarding it, or suspected that it was really a revelation from God. One night, just before retiring, he said aloud in his room,

'If there is a God that notices the desires of men, I only wish that he would make known to me his will, and I shall feel it my highest privilege to do it, at whatever cost.' He had been brought to see that there was nothing more desirable than for a man to be conformed to the will of an all-wise Creator, and also to feel that there must be some divine guidance in order that he might know that will. But immediately after that ejaculation the thought arose, How foolish to suppose that God will occupy himself with our desires! However, the sequel showed that God was pleased to hear that bewildered cry, that could scarcely be called a prayer. Two or three days after he went to a public library from which he was accustomed to get out books— asked for a book-receiving one, put it under his arm, and returned home. The distance was about two miles. When nearly home, he looked at the book, and found, to his surprise, that it was Paley's ‘Evidences,' a very different book from the one he had asked after. He could not go back to the library that day, and had to keep the book till he could get an opportunity of returning it. He would not read it; he knew all about the evidences of Christianity; he had long ago finally settled that question. Before putting it away, however, he glanced at the first sentence, and was arrested by it. He read one page, and another, and another, was pleased with the style and the candour of the writer, and at last sat down and read a good portion of the book. To his surprise, he found that he was beginning to take a new view of the evidences; and then shut up the book, and put it aside, afraid of being surprised into any change of belief. He went away for a few days in the country, and on his return resolved to read the book carefully and calmly, and see if there was really any reason to believe the Bible to be from God. When about half-way through the volume, he offered the prayer, 'Help thou mine unbelief.' When he had reached the last sentence, his doubts were all removed; he was perfectly convinced of the truth of the Scriptures.* He turned to Gibbon, and read again the chapter which had first led him astray, and saw its sophistries and the weakness of its arguments most clearly. The Bible was now God's book, but he did not believe that it contained the doctrines that men pretended to find in it. He would read it for himself, and by himself, and see what it really taught. But he had had a great lesson, and felt that humility best became him. He would read it in a humble spirit, and whatever he found there he would receive, no matter how repugnant it might be to his own ideas. Day after day, alone in his room, communicating to none the change he had experienced, he read it, and by degrees found there the very doctrines that he had

Upon this incident Mr. Bowen makes the following judicious comment: "Paley's Evidences' has been the means of bringin many unbelievers to the knowledge of the truth. We say not that it is the book best adapted to all phases of scepticism; we do not think that it is; but to an out-and-out unbeliever, of a logical turn of mind, we believe it well adapted."

HE first day of December brought fresh snow.

All day the sun had cast his beams from a cloudless sky over the snowy fields, so that they glittered as if sprinkled with diamonds; but in the dusk, thick flakes began to flutter about again in the air. In the parsonage of Theuringen, pastor Leuthold sat by the stove in his arm-chair, rocking his little daughter of three years old on his knee. The mother had set off to town in the forenoon in the sledge, to buy the many things wanted for Christmas; and little Marie had already, as the day faded, inquired at least ten times whether mamma would not soon be home. She had played happily all day, or been contented with the reply that the mother had gone to see after presents for Marie for Christmas. But now the father had sung her all his songs; had repeated the stories of Goose Mamma and her seven goslings; had told the name of each gosling; had also related the history of Red Riding Hood and her grandmamma, and the wicked wolf; and did not know what more to tell. The child wanted something new; she had heard all these so often. The father sang again for a while, cogitating all the time; for, right or wrong, something new was demanded. At last he took the two skirts of his house coat, and made them represent two little birds. First they fluttered about here and there, then they settled down on the child's lap; and the father began improvising :

See two little birdies flying,
Swiftly to the window hieing;
Marie loves to see them flying,

Cries, 'Whence come ye swiftly hicing?'
We have wandered far and near,
By hill, and dale, and streamlet clear.'
Then, birdies, you the world have seen;
Come tell me all where you have been.'
So Robin, with his breast so red,
Thought a while in his puzzled head,
Then hopping lightly to her side,
Flirted his wings, and thus replied:
'Last winter so drear,

In the forest near,

I lived with my children three. The wind it did blow

O'er the frozen snow;

It was cold as cold could be.
But God is so kind,

Keeps us ever in mind,

-

Gives us coats and hoods so warm,
That the wind and snow
Might freeze and blow,

But we did not mind the storm.

But though warm our coats, And ruffs round our throats, We still had our cares and sorrows: Father Winter old,

With his snow so cold, Had covered our food for the morrow. We peered about, Hopped in and out,

Through woods and hedges hunting; Not a single grub,

Nor worm that we love, Could we find with all our searching. They were all, you know, Hidden under the snow,Not a seed nor a grain uncovered; As my children three, And I, you see, When hungry and sad discovered. So to them I said,

With a shake of my head: "We cannot stay here and perish; To Theuringen we'll go, There are farmers, you know, Who sure will us pity and cherish." But at many a door, Though full was their store, They drove us away still pining, At last I descry

A cot hard by,

With a fire through its window shining.
So, quite in despair,

We hop down there,
And peck at the small pane lightly;
Behind it I see,

Looking out at me,

A child with a face so sprightly.
Her eyes so blue,

Looked sweet and true,
And kindly she smiled upon us;
Then away she ran,

As fast as she can,

To bring back something for us.

The window so small

With a friendly call

She opened, some crumbs to scatter;

And to us she said,

With a look so glad,

'Dear birdies, you need not flutter.

Be not in alarm,

I would not you harm,

I love you too well altogether.

I know very well

What Jesus doth tell,

How you sow not, and reap not, nor gather

But our God so good,

He cares for your food,

He sent you to me to borrow;

So eat it up fast,

You have it at last,

And come back for more to-morrow."

So every day

While the snow still lay

The little maid fed us duly;

Till winter was past,

And long it did last,
Before our food we found freely.
And now, Marie dear,
Again we are bere;

Be like the kind child in the cot,
And give us some bread,

And when we are fed,
Your kindness shall ne'er be forgot.'
So ended at last

Sir Robin Redbreast

The story of how he was fed.

The lark, who stood near,
Said, 'Now it is clear,

You must hear, too, how I have sped.

Trilili, trilila,

So happy we are,

In summer when all is so green;
We fly up so high

To the bright blue sky,

And soar till we scarce can be seen. 'Tis a happy lot,

With no anxious thought,-

God gives us our daily bread;
So we sing his praise,

And an anthem raise

To him by whom we are fed.

But though when on high,
So near to the sky,

All is bright, and happy, and free;
When down we stoop,

And our wings we droop,

Then care and sorrow we see.

In the fields, you know,
Where the grass doth grow,

God hath taught us to build our nest;
Behind a big clod,

Or amid the sod,

Low down in the earth is our rest.

And there we should be

Still happy and free,

Did no reaper with scythe come near; For a lowly lot,

By the world forgot,

Is peaceful, and free from fear.
But, alas one noon

In the month of June,

When the grass was ready for hay,
There came down by

Where my young ones lie

A mother with children at play.
They run about,

And search all out,

At last my nest they spy.

In great delight

At this new sight,

"A lark's nest!" they loudly cry.
Then the boy he spake:
The young I'll take

To hang in a cage in my room;
And I'll daily there

Feed them with care,

And they will sing to me soon."
But his mother cried:
"Nay, nay, my child,

You must not the young ones take
Pray how would you feel
Were men you to steal,

And leave me to weep for your sake?"
So they left us there,
Still trembling with fear,

But thankful the danger was past. And now I have said

Enough on that head,

So we'll bid you good-by at last.'

And so the birdies flew away, each to its place; which truly was not far off, seeing they were sewed to the pastor's house coat.

In the meantime it had become dark outside, and only the fire in the stove still sent little gleams of light through the room. The mother's long absence began to make even the pastor a little uneasy. He lighted the lamp, and then opened the window in order to shut the shutters outside. But first he looked down the village street and listened, hoping to hear or see something of the sledge. Whilst he was drawing in the second shutter, his eyes fell on the high steps before the door of the house.

"Now what can this be?" he exclaimed suddenly. "It must be some new trick of neighbour Fritz.”

Little Marie had managed to get up on a chair beside her father, that she might look out alse.

"Little snow-men! little snow-men!" she cried out in delight, as she saw three white figures on the broad landing at the top of the door-steps. That was the father's first thought also. But the little snow-men suddenly rose up, and a whimpering and sobbing sound came from the steps. Pastor Leuthold shut the shutter hastily, and went to the door. Here he found three half-frozen boys in white shirts whom he at once recognized as "Star Boys."

"Why did you not come in ?" was his first question. And as one of them with chattering teeth gave the frightened answer, "We had not the courage to do so,” he took the speaker by the hand and led him in, the others following.

He led them into the kitchen first, that the frozen snow with which they were covered might melt, and that they might get dried at the fire. In answer to his questions, they told him whence they came, and what was the motive for their journey. They were none other than Andrees with his two companions, Christel and Friedel. They had now been two days away from home, and had gone through several villages; but sometimes they had been so badly received, that the two brothers repented of their desire to wander the very first day they were out. They would have turned home that same evening,.had not their father's question, "Where shall we get bread ?" rung in their ears, and their own counsel in reply lain on their hearts.

They related how they had been hunted out of the courtyard of a rich farmer by the dogs, and pursued with snow-balls by the boys of a village the whole length of the village street. In another village, an insolent boy, the son of a rich man, fell on them with his whip as they went by. Andrees had not been slow to give him a box on the ear in return. His cries brought the village beadle, who seized our three kings by the nape of the neck, having not the least respect for their majesties.

pease, lentils, and meat, and told Christel he must take it on his shoulder. The pastor would not be behind his wife in upholding the hospitable reputation of the parsonage, so asked for Christel's purse, and put a piece of money in it-" For bread to eat with the meat," as he said.

Andrees' bag, too, was filled with the pieces of bread, &c., that they had got in their two days' wandering. The poor boys could hardly express their thanks, they were so amazed at so much kindness being shown to them.

"Just one thing more," said the pastor, as they were going. "Christmas will be here in four weeks; you must come back to us then. You have not sung us your songs yet; you must do it then. Now, greet your father for me, and God be with you and keep you."

mained rooted in amazement at the door till the pastor came and took them by the hand. They had never seen, never once imagined, anything so splendid. There stood the beautiful pine-tree, with its top nearly reaching the roof of the room, and covered with lights!

The dazzled little eyes gradually became accustomed to the brilliance; then they perceived the large gilt angel on the top of the tree, and also saw that the boughs were bending under the weight of the sweet gifts that do not grow at all seasons, nor on every fir-tree.

At the foot of the tree was a garden, with bright green moss, fir-twigs, and creatures of all sorts. On one side were seen several shepherds, and a little flock of sheep ; on the other was a thatched stable, with figures of Joseph, Mary, and the young Child laid in a manger.

They found the way home much easier than the way out, though they were so much more heavily laden.

66

CHAPTER III.

BEHOLD, I BRING YOU GOOD TIDINGS OF GREAT JOY!" "WHAT can have become of our little majesties?" said the pastor's wife, on the afternoon of Christmas-eve. "They are long of coming." And the children of the house were in double expectation-of their guests, and of the presents they were to receive. They were long of coming, but they did come at last.

The pastor was still in the large upper room, occupied in decking up the Christmas-tree, and the mother was busy laying out the gifts, when they heard such shouts of welcome from the children, that they concluded their expected guests must have arrived. And so it was; the "Star Boys" were there, but incognito, for they carried their kingly state hidden in a bundle.

Evening had at last come, and darkness covered the earth; but it was a night which long ago was lightened by the glory of the Lord, which then arose upon the world; a night the remembrance of which is kept up among us by our national customs connected with the Christmas-tree. The children had sat for an hour with their new friends, who had put on their dresses, and Friedel had tried his star to see if it would spin round all right. They had many speculations as to what presents, sent them by the Lord Christ, might be awaiting them in that room, where for some days they had not been allowed to enter. At last the appointed signal was given by the clear sound of a bell. Then the mother came in and led the little band up-stairs.

What light, what splendour, burst upon them as the door opened before them! What devout astonishment and delight appeared on the young faces! Little Marie nestled up shyly to her mother, who took her up in her arms. Adolphe's eyes glanced with delight as soon as they caught sight of a glittering helmet, sword, and gun, which he felt sure were for him. The "Star Boys" re

When the first wonder was past, the children could observe more closely; and after looking, came touching. Little Marie had found a doll, and hugged, and kissed, and rejoiced over it. Adolphe was soon equipped in his military paraphernalia, and felt himself something like David in Saul's armour; but he was far from being willing to lay it aside, and would even have gladly gone to bed in it!

The "Star Boys" were not forgotten. There lay three full suits of clothes, and beside each stood a plate full of apples, nuts, and a large gingerbread heart. They scarcely knew where they were, when the pastor's wife took them to where these good things lay, and told them they were gifts from the Lord for them.

At last they were able to speak, and thanked her heartily. The familiar words went through Christel's mind: "That ye through His poverty might be rich." So it was indeed; for this love which covered the naked lived in the hearts of the pastor and his wife, because they themselves had had their nakedness covered with the robe of righteousness wrought out by Him whose birth as a child they this day commemorated.

"But now, children," said the pastor, "let us not forget the Giver while enjoying his gifts We shall now sing our Christmas song to his praise." So they sang together Luther's child's hymn, "Down from the heavens high I come." Christel and Friedel had learned it from their father; Andrees joined low in the melody; and even Marie piped with her shrill little voice in a very devout manner.

After this song, Leuthold expounded to the children the beautiful custom of receiving all these gifts as from the child Jesus. "You are old enough now to know and understand something of the joy and good tidings which the angel proclaimed at Bethlehem, and not merely to rejoice in the sweet things and other gifts of the season. You boys, as forest children, are well acquainted with the pine-tree, and know how it remains ever green, even when winter with its shrill blasts has stripped all the other trees of the wood. The fir remains green and fresh, and