II. THE LOST CHILD.

"And when they had fulfilled the days, as they returned, the child Jesus tarried behind in Jerusalem, and Joseph and his mother knew not of it. But they, supposing him to have been in the company, went a day's journey; and they sought him among their kinsfolk and acquaintance. And when they found him not, they turned back again to Jerusalem, seeking him."-LUKE ii. 43-45.

SOME sixty or seventy miles north of Jerusalem is a long, beautiful hill. Before the hill is a small, but quiet and most charming valley. Let us go up to the top of that hill. Now, children, let us look around us. On the

side of the hill

is a village, and a little on one side of that, a fountain of water gushes out, and drops into a marble basin. To this fountain all the women of the village come to get water. Let us look beyond the village. Yonder, between the mountains, and beyond the little valley which lies just at the foot of the hill, on the left hand, is a great, beautiful plain, the most beautiful in all the land. It used to be called the Plain of Esdraelon. That round-topped mountain at the left is Mount Tabor; and there, over the hills, you can just see the heads of Little Hermon and Gilboa. And that beautiful mountain, stretching along

till it dips its feet in yonder distant waters, is Mount Carmel. Look now directly west, and those waters so brightly gleaming in the sun are the Mediterranean Sea. You can see them on both the right and left of Mount Carmel. On the north is another beautiful plain; and away on, on beyond, seems to be a sea of mountains, with one mountain rising up higher than all, with his head covered with ice. That is Old Hermon! What a beautiful prospect from this hill! Where are we?

This hill is the hill of Nazareth, and that village on its west side is Nazareth. Here once lived a little boy. I suppose he often drank at that running fountain. I suppose his feet often trod this hill. I suppose his eyes often gazed upon these hills and mountains and valleys. His name was Jesus.

His parents lived in that village, and they were poor, but humble and pious people. Every year they all went up to the great city Jerusalem, where the Temple was, that they might worship God according as He had commanded. On the return of the feast of the Passover, -so called, because, when the angel of God killed so many of the Egyptians, (Exodus xii. 27,) he passed over the Israelites and did not kill one of them,-this family all went up to Jerusalem. When the feast was over, they, and all the villagers who had gone with them, set

out to return home to Nazareth. They probably went on foot,-unless there were some who were too old or too feeble, and they would ride on

asses.

As the large company wound along the footpath, among the hills where the vineyards were hanging their ripe fruits, where the flowers were breathing out their sweetness, where the fields were waving with grain,-where the beautiful oleander gleamed with its load of richest blossoms, and the roses of Sharon tempted the children to stop and pluck them,-where the dove sat on the boughs of the trees that hung over the path, and poured out her low song,oh, how glad were the hearts of these people! How they talked of the city of David where they had been, of the glorious temple in which they had worshipped, of the High-Priest in his rich garments, of the robes of white, of the music which made the courts ring with joy,—the trumpet and cymbal and harp,—of the good people whom they had seen, of the old friends whom they had met, of the loved ones who went up with them the last year, but are dead now! How they spoke of the children whose silvery voices united in the songs of Zion, or the inquiries they had made about a Saviour who was expected in these years! And then, some of them sang over again the songs they had heard in the Temple, old men and old women and maidens

and children all uniting to sing as they went towards their home.

It is now almost night, and the red sun begins

to go behind the hills, and to touch the mountain-tops with his light, and the western clouds look bright, as if covered with dust shaken from angels' wings. The company have all stopped under a cluster of tall palm-trees, where there is a spring of water, and they are getting ready for their evening meal. Hark! what cry is that! "A child lost!" "A child lost!" And there comes the mother, passing from neighbour to neighbour, and from group to group, inquiring most earnestly for her lost child. She supposed he must be among some of her relatives; but no! they have not seen him! How pale she looks! They try to comfort her. They want her to eat. Eat! she has no desire for food. Her child is lost! Has he been carried off by wandering robbers? Has he fallen by the way, and been left sick and alone by the road-side? Has he gone in an unknown path through mistake ? Poor mother! None can tell thy sorrows! None can know the thoughts of thy heart!

She must turn back! She is already weary with the long day's walk, but as the moon rises over the hills, her shadow is seen as she hurries back, and every now and then stops and calls for her child. The hills echo back the sweet

name of "Jesus!"

"Jesus!"-but that is all!

Sometimes she thinks she sees his form resting under a tree, but it is only a dark shadow. Sometimes she listens and thinks she hears his voice, but it is the distant call of the shepherd. All night long the mother keeps on her way,distressed for her lost child!

Children, you sometimes, it may be, feel unkind towards your mother. It may be that you are disrespectful in your language to her. Oh, let me say to you, that you have no friend, and you never can have, in this world, a friend like her! Should you die while a child, you will never be forgotten by your mother. She will remember how you looked; she will recall the tones of your voice; and long after others have done mentioning your name, she will think of it, and in the silence and darkness of night she will think of her child, and weep that he is dead. Or should you live to grow up, there never will be a day, if there is an hour, when she will not remember you, and wish she could do something for you. If you are in sickness or in trouble, she will ever be ready to come to you and try to do all she can for you. Others may forget you, other hearts may grow cold towards you, others may blame you; but she-your mother-will always take your part and try to defend you. Even should she live to be old, and blind or feeble, she will have her heart warm