there is no place where he shall not see the death of the child. And when we send him a little relief, what a look of wonder and gratitude kindles up his face! Before, he did not believe in our compassion any more than we believed in his gratitude. But we nave both been hard on each other. Now we understand each other better, and we shall be more like brothers in the future. Is there nothing in this process to indicate the hand of Him who is wonderful in counsel and excellent in working? A gleam of a Divine purpose flashes on us. Repulsive and awful though Famine is, there is a side on which it has a connection with Heaven. Lessons of love and sympathy may be taught by it. Treasures of the heart, treasures that moth and rust do not corrupt, and that thieves do not break through nor steal, may flow from it. Bonds of brotherhood may be woven by those bare, bony fingers. Under the shadow of Famine, India and Great Britain may become one. Adversity may distil a dew which falls not in the sunshine of prosperity, and on the dew-softened heart of the heathen the seed of the Word may fall with an efficacy unknown when it was scattered broadcast on the hard-trodden soil. Notwithstanding that we shrink so much from suffering, we cannot but admit that it is a marvellous and quite indispensable factor in the moral and spiritual education of the world. The fruit of sin, it is at the same time, in some of its effects, one of the chief causes of its removal. It is the great parent of sympathy, and sympathy is the nurse of goodness. Even our blessed Lord was made perfect by suffering. In an inferior sense, suffering has given some of their chief elements of power to many who have exercised great influence on their fellows. God, doubtless, might have governed the world on other principles; but governed as it is, we see not how some of our greatest blessings could have been reached, had not suffering prepared the way. Objectors talk glibly against the argument from design, on this ground among others, that many of the arrangements of the world do not appear to be adapted to benevolent ends. Famine and pestilence, hurricanes, earthquakes, and volcanoes-where is the sign of benevolent ends in the existence and effects of such forces as these? But indirectly, the very sufferings they breed open the way for a higher beneficence. The sympathy born of such sufferings is a far higher treasure than the ordinary elements of material prosperity; and often it happens that the more appalling the calamity, the purer is the vein of this treasure that springs out of it. And perhaps there is something peculiarly fitted to awaken this sympathy in that form of suffering which comes from hunger. It is an evil that leaves men so utterly helpless; that works, one would say, with such slow, settled malignity; that mocks so frightfully the first cravings of nature; that tells so terribly upon children, and so utterly and awfully reverses all that is most characteristic and beautiful in childhood, that our sympathies are moved by it to their very depths. If it were only grown-up people that were the victims, we might view it with comparative equanimity. But these pictures of famished children in the Graphic and the Illustrated News-who can look upon them? They are too terrible. The tenderest chords of the heart are touched, and an offering is presented to the fund that shows how the soul has been thrilled to its centre. The list of contributions, both local and general, contain several things that seem to indicate that the more Christian part of our community has been especially moved by this calamity in India. The education of our Christian people through our missionschemes has led, first to an extensive knowledge of the people, and then to a habit of contribution, of which the fruits appear in these remarkable lists. The education too, in the privilege of giving, which people have been receiving these thirty years in our more vital churches, may now be recognised. The conscience of the Christian people has been slowly informed and quickened as to our duty to India, and now a great calamity brings to a point the teaching of years, and grieved to think that they should have been so apathetic in former famines, they haste to the rescue with streams of treasure. No doubt it is possible to dwell too exclusively on that aspect of this calamity which appeals to our compassion. No doubt, too, there are neglected conditions of material wellbeing to which this calamity bids both rulers and people attend. On such things it would be right to dwell at proper place and time, but in this brief paper, our purpose is simply to draw attention to that wonderful way of God, by which He often uses the most unlikely means to further the most gracious ends; and while thankfully recognising the measure of Christian sympathy that has been elicited among us for India, to stimulate the spirit to a fuller exercise, until the blessed ends are all attained for which God has committed that wonderful land to this little island of the sea. SUNDAY EVENINGS WITH THE CHILDREN. IF you were asked which of the command ments might be called especially the children's commandment, and you were to think a little before you spoke, you would be sure to fix on the right one. It is called the fifth commandment, but it is also called the first commandment with a promise to it. Perhaps God put the promise to it because he knew well how children like promises and how they help them to do right. This is it. "Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee." Now suppose God had said, "Obey thy father and thy mother," instead of "Honour," it would not be very hard then to keep, because your parents do not require you to do very difficult things; and good boys and good girls are always ready to obey-to do what they are told; but when God says we are to "Honour" our parents, He means a great deal more than just to obey. But as to obey is the first thing to do, and the easier, I will speak about that to begin with. Perhaps I hardly ought to have said that a father or mother never asks a child to do a difficult thing. I have read of one or two fathers' biddings to their sons to do things which were not easy, to say the least. When Joseph was a boy of seventeen, his father's encampment was in the vale of Hebron, the black tents were pitched on each side of the brook Beson. Although you could see numbers of sheep and goats filling the valley, yet that was only the "home flock," which supplied the old patriarch and his servants with milk and cheese; the thousands of his cattle were far away, herded by his ten grown Joseph and his brother Benjamin stayed with their father, for they were too young to follow the flocks; besides, Jacob loved the two boys and liked to have them near him. Of course Jacob often thought of all his sons who were far away with the herds, and now and then he would send a messenger to bring him news about them. The last time he had heard from them they were up sons. For suggestions as to the way of conducting these little services, see SUNDAY MAGAZINE, page 57. at Shechem, sixty miles away! So one day he called Joseph, and told him he wished to know if his brothers and the flocks were well. Without saying a single word, although his brothers disliked him, although he had to go more than fifty miles, although there were no roads, and very few houses where he might sleep at night, he caught one of the camels and set off. That was ready obedience, was it not? But perhaps you say, his father asked him to do a great thing, and when people are required to do great things they nerve themselves, and make up their minds for it. It is often easier to do a great thing than a little thing. Some children who never would think of really disobeying their father or mother, often do little things they have frequently been told not to do. I dare say you've been told never to play with the gas, or with matches, or never to poke the fire when you are alone in the room, and you never do so because you know it would be disobedience; but I've little doubt you have often been told to shut the door behind you, or to speak gently, or to put away your playthings tidily, and how often do you disobey! Oh! what a beautiful thing it is to see a gentle and obedient child! How pleased is the bright angel who is always close to you, when you obey at once! Remember how happy you make your father and mother, how you gladden the face of your angels, how you please the Lord Jesus by instant obedience. Run the moment you are told. Don't say, "Oh! please let me stay up a little longer," or "it is so dark on the stairs I dare not go myself, I must wait till somebody comes;" or when the morning comes, and somebody says, "It's time to get up," don't give the peevish reply, "I don't want to, yet.' Think of little Samuel. I dare say he was very tired and very fast asleep when he was awakened by a voice calling him, “Samuel! Samuel!" He did not say to himself, "Nobody can want me, and the lamp is nearly out, I can hardly see how to go," but before his name could be called again, he was up and off to Eli; and when Eli told him he had not called him, he was to go and lie down again, he did not say, "Oh! I'm so frightened in the dark, please let me stop here with you," but away he ran to his little bed, and lay down; and again the call came, "Samuel ! Samuel !” and he was up in a minute. That was something like obedience. But I can tell you of many a striking instance of obedience, for you must know that nearly all great and good men were remarkable for their obedience to their parents. You have heard of Sir Henry Havelock, a great general who did so much to stop the Indian Mutiny. One day, when he was a boy, he went with his father who was going on business close to London Bridge. He left Henry at the end of the wall of the bridge, just at the top of the steps, telling him to stay there till he returned; he waited and waited, but his father never came, hour after hour passed and still he waited. His father, in the hurry and anxiety of business, had quite forgotten the boy. It was evening when he returned home, and then remembered having told his son to stay where he left him. Mr. Havelock lived at St. John's Wood, and immediately went back to London Bridge, which he did not reach till eight o'clock, and there was the boy, patiently waiting in obedience to his father's word. No wonder a boy with such a sense of duty, and such strong resolution to do what he thought to be right, should become a great man, and fight and conquer the Queen's enemies! be long in the land;" which means that they shall have God's blessing and shall prosper. I There is no people on the earth who honour their parents like the Chinese. They actually worship their parents when they die, and as long as a Chinaman has a mother he always implicitly obeys her, and is guided by her in every step he takes in life. always think that even here we see God's promise true-" their days are long in the land which the Lord has given them." They are a very ancient people-none more ancient in the world. So God blesses dutiful children, though they be heathen, who love their parents and obey and honour them. H. MARTYN HART. Now let us try to think about where Jesus is now, and the reason why He is there. The day on which Jesus left the earth, He was with his friends in Jerusalem. They left the house where they were staying, walked through the streets of the city to the gate now called St. Stephen's Gate-and no one who met them knew Jesus; for it was one of the wonders of His resurrection body that no one could know Him except those who loved Him. I am not sure even if they could see Him. If Caiaphas, or Pilate, or the man who pierced Him, had met the little company of country-looking men, they would not have recognised Jesus; and perhaps if they had counted the company, they would not have counted rightly-they would have said there were eleven, when there really were twelve; for Jesus was there-only they could not see Him. soon return to be a great king, and we shall Oh! if they could have seen behind the glory." So Jesus entered, and is now for So the eleven disciples, with the Master, passed through the archway in the thick wall of the city, and descended by the steep path into the valley of Jehoshaphat; they crossed the brook Cedron, entered the garden of Gethsemane, and slowly walked up the mount of Olives. Then they turned their backs upon Jerusalem, and began to descend the other side of the hill, by the The warders on the walls of the city depath which led to the little village whose manded, "Who is this King of glory?" And cottages you might see among the clustering again the host replied with a mighty shout, palm-trees. They had just reached the bot-"The Lord of hosts, He is the King of tom of the slope when Jesus stopped. He lifted up his hands to bless them, and as He was blessing them He rose up from the But He is in heaven, not for His own ground higher-higher. Wonder-struck, pleasure, for He is doing work for us! He they gazed after him; quietly, calmly, He is there for you and for me. And what do was going up into the blue sky; his hands you think He does? "He ever liveth to were still stretched out blessing them, and make intercession for us." his face was bent down looking so kindly and lovingly on them. And that was the last sight they had of the Master; for a bright cloud, which the angels brought to hide the gate of heaven, received the Lord; and out of the cloud came two shining ones, who told the disciples they need not look any longer, or expect Jesus again for some time; but some day, said the angel, He shall come just as you have seen him go. And then the disciples returned to Jerusalem-not weeping-no, not even sorrowful; but actually full of joy. Joy! perhaps because they thought now the Master will I suppose the most valuable thing anybody can have in this life is a true friend, a friend who loves us, to whom we can go and tell everything-a friend who is always pleased to see us, and with whom we are always happy. There once was a North American Indian chief, who was very friendly to the white settlers, and was so useful that the government gave him a farm. So he left his tribe and came out of the prairies with his little child, and settled down in the farm. The white people who were in the farms near him, although they did not dislike the Indian, yet, because he had a red skin, none of them 1 2 would be friends with him. The poor chief was greatly distressed, he felt so lonely and desolate; and when he came in from his clearing, he would take his little daughter on his knee, and the two strangers in the white men's country would love each other. But one hot summer the little girl died. None of the neighbours came to comfort the poor father, and he dug a grave in the corner of his garden, and alone by himself laid the body of his child in it. And now he had no friend! His hut was silent and solitary. At last, he could bear it no longer, and going to the white men he said, "When your child died, the Indian chief was sorry, and helped to bury him. When my child died, no one spoke to me; I made her grave alone. I cannot live here: I've got no friend." That night the red man dug up the body of his little daughter, left his farm, and carried his sad burden two hundred miles through the forest, to the village of wigwams where his tribe lived. He had rather become a savage again, than live without a friend! And if it is such a pleasant thing to have a friend, how much more pleasant is it if our friend is very powerful and rich, and can give us all we need, and all that can do us good! There was once a man who had three friends. He had lived near them for many years, when one day, officers from the king came to put him to death; for an enemy had made the king believe that he was a traitor. The poor man was in great distress; his wife and children clung round him to prevent his going, but the officers had their commands to take him before the king. He determined, however, to go to his friends and ask them to accompany him, and beg the king to spare his life. The friend he had known the longest refused to go; the next said he would go to the gate of the palace, and do his best to cheer him, but he could not go in to the king; while the friend he had thought least of not only accompanied him to the king's palace, but, being a friend of the king, he went into the royal presence and asked the king for his sake to spare the life of his friend; and the king, smiling, graciously pardoned the condemned man, because one whom the king loved interceded for him. We all have got many friends; but we have only one who can go into the presence of God and plead for us. The name of that friend is Jesus. He stands at the gate of the great King's palace, ready to take us to the King; and there He will ask the King to forgive us all the wrong and sin we have done, and to love us for His sake. And the King, who loves his Son dearly, always grants whatever He asks. And so we are taken to live in the King's city, and become the King's friends, because the King's Son' is our friend. And to do this for us is the reason why Jesus lives in heaven. H. MARTYN HART. THIRD EVENING. Opening Hymn: "See the kind Shepherd, Jesus, stands." Lesson: Luke ii, 25-33, 39-52. Concluding Hymn: “Saviour, breathe an evening blessing.' One of the good old prophets who had seen a great many little boys grow up to be men, and little girls grow up to be women, once said, "It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth." It sounds strange, does it not, to talk of youths—boys and girls-wearing yokes? At least, it does so when you know what a yoke is. Let us see first what a yoke is, and then let us see what the prophet meant when he spoke about young people wearing one. young people wearing one. What, then, is a yoke? In different parts of the world different kinds of animals are used as beasts of burden. The Prince of Wales has been riding upon an elephant about India. If he should ever visit the Esquimaux in the Arctic regions he would be drawn in sledges over the ice by dogs, or perhaps by reindeer. I have seen men in Egypt riding on camels, and in South America the first European who went there found the people using llamas, animals which are very like great sheep, to carry them about. Of course, the horse is the favourite beast of burden; yet in very many countries cows and bullocks are made to draw the carts. It was one of the prettiest sights in Bombay to see the graceful and ladylike Brahmin cows drawing the carts. At first it seemed cruel to put the hard piece of bent wood over their necks-the thin silky skin wrinkled under its pressure-and to the wood was fastened the traces or the shafts of the cart. That piece of wood was a YOKE. Now, although we have no yokes upon our horses, we have collars, which serve the same purpose; and we use the old word which belongs to the oxen when we say that “the horses are yoked." And when horses are yoked it means they cannot do as they like, but they have to work; the driver makes them go this way and that way, and they have to |