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for men are both swift runners and nimble climbers in lands where there are no ladders and where the fields abound in dangers. At a safe height in the tree, the terrified man looked back at the lion. There it was at the foot of the tree. It had quickly recovered itself after its plunge and pursued the man, who had not been a second too soon in reaching his refuge. But the man knew that the lion could not climb, and that though it was so near, to be safe he only needed to stop where he was till morning, when the lion would be sure to go away; for lions don't like the day; they only hunt in the night. At length the morning broke, the lion turned to its lair, and the grateful man came down from his perch in the tree to return to his village home, resolved not again to put off to so late an hour the fetching of his water from the pool.

One day, wicked people caught Jesus Christ and dragged him before a judge, and tried to get him put to death. Peter was very sorry for Jesus, for Jesus and Peter loved one another; so he went to the place where the judge was trying Jesus, thinking that he would stand by Jesus, and speak up for him, perhaps hoping to convince the judge that Jesus ought not to be killed, and thus help to save that dear and beautiful life. But while he was there, Peter could see that his hopes were wrong; he could not save Jesus and was even in danger of being killed himself; so Peter got frightened. And just when he was re-warming his hands among a lot of cruel men, he was asked a question, and in answering that question he told a story, and having told one story he told another and then another, to keep from being found out and from being thought a story-teller. And Jesus knew that Peter was telling stories, and He looked at Peter, and Peter saw Him look, and was very very sorry for what he had done; and he cried about it, and wished with all his heart that he had not done it. Poor Peter! he was very, very wretched, until he knew that Jesus had forgiven him.

So, you see, the lion "walks about." The man did not go to the lion's lair-that was in the forest, many miles away; the lion came down to the man's water-pool. And that is one thing in which the adversary of men, and, I am sorry to say, the adversary of little children too is like the lion. He does not wait for us to come to his house, he takes the trouble to come to ours.

And did not you notice how sly the lion was? When the man went down to the pool the lion was not standing boldly in the road. He was in amongst the beautiful tall reeds, craftily lying in wait. There he lay, had perhaps been lying long, listening, watching, peeping, and keeping quite still, till he could see his chance to catch something. Well, that is another point in which the adversary of our souls is like a lion. He gets behind something. He lies in wait, and when we never suspect that he is near, and he is sure of his prey, out he springs.

But the lion is sometimes disappointed. Did you not feel glad that that lion at the pool missed the man that it sprang at, and that he got safely home to tell his little children the story of his wonderful escape? Yes, the lion was disappointed. And this is another point in which the devil is like a lion "seeking whom he may devour," he is sometimes disappointed. And that is the best point of all-the devil is sometimes disappointed.

Now let me tell you how Peter knew all this to be true. I have told you that it was Peter who said that the devil was like a lion. I will tell you a story about Peter, and you will see for yourselves how Peter knew that what he said was true.

And after he knew that Jesus in His mercy had forgiven him, Peter remembered what one day, just before the sad affair in the judgment hall, Jesus had said to him-"Simon, Simon, Satan hath desired to have thee . . . . but I have prayed for thee." It was in that judgment hall that Satan had thought to have him. Just as the lion was by that African pool, hidden there among its beautiful reeds, so the devil, Peter's "adversary," was there by that fire in the judgment hall— hidden, but there!

But Peter, like the African, had escaped. The devil did not make a story-teller of Peter. Peter was ashamed of story-telling, and when he saw how story-telling grieved Jesus, he wept about it as though his heart would break, and he told the truth ever after. Yes, Peter became a very brave man; all his life he loved to please Jesus, and at last he died for Jesus.

Now, my dear children, be sure of three things. (1.) Be sure, first, that whenever you are afraid of telling the truth, or are afraid of doing right, then you are very near to the long grass and tall reeds where "your great adversary" is hiding. When these feelings are in your heart the devil is not far away. Be afraid of nothing so much as of doing wrong and of grieving Jesus, and you are safe from harm. (2.) Be sure, next, that when you have done any wrong thing,

stopped, and turning round barked in Halbert's face. "Go on Shag; get along, dog! said Halbert. But Shag moved very reluctantly and only a few yards, whining as he did so. Then he suddenly turned and barked again in a still more excited manner.

or have said any word that is not true, you have made Jesus sorry. Tell Jesus all about it. Ask Him to forgive you, and when you have asked Him, believe that He has forgiven you. (3.) Be sure too, that when you have yielded to temptation, and have done what you should not, if you are sorry for it," Go on, Shag; we shall soon be home; get Jesus will be only too glad to hear you say so, and to forgive you. No one is so merciful to us as Jesus. That was the way Peter escaped from the great adversary and became a brave, good man.

BENJAMIN WAUGH.

SECOND EVENING. Opening hymn: "Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild." Lesson: Luke xv. 1-24. Concluding hymn: "All Praise to Thee, my God, this Night."

One of the hardest things that children have to do is-what do you think ?-to try to be better. Now I want to talk to you about the way to make this hard work easier. You know that a carriage-wheel goes round easily when there is oil on it, and a happy thought in the mind makes the soul work easily. Let us see what the happy thought is. When Paul wanted the Christians at Corinth to try to be better people, that they might please God, he gave this happy thought to help them: "Ye are not your own." And what Paul said to them is true of you. So let us try to understand what it is for people not to be THEIR OWN.

There was once a shepherd's boy, Halbert, who lived in a cottage high up among mountains, far away from any town or village, and away even from any road. One night Halbert's mother was taken very ill, and his father, the shepherd, got ready to go to the nearest village to get medicine for her. "Father," said the boy, "I know the sheep path through the glen better than you; let me go for the doctor. Shag can go with me." The shepherd, whose name was Malcolm, consented to the proposal, as Halbert knew well the way; for he had often gone it. So Halbert and Shag set off down the mountain side; the boy ran and the dog leaped and barked. Snow was falling a little, and the evening became dark as they went; but the village was at length reached in safety, the doctor seen, the medicine obtained, and with a glad heart at the thought that his poor mother would now soon be better, Halbert set off for his climb up the mountain path home again.

Shag seemed rather anxious, and walked a little ahead of Halbert, taking on himself the post of guide. At one place he suddenly

along, dog, do!" said Halbert, now rather vexed at him. But this time the dog would not stir, so Halbert passed him to go on alone. Halbert had only taken a step or two when he fell over a precipice, which the deep snow and the darkness had concealed. Quickly the good dog found a way down the rock to the spot where his young master lay.

As the snow was still falling and the night was dark, a candle was placed in the window of the shepherd's cottage. The shepherd often snuffed it, to make it burn brightly, that it might be seen by his boy a long way off, to guide him to his home. At length the time came at which Halbert was expected to arrive. It passed, it had long passed; but Halbert did not come. The sick mother looked pale as she saw the snow fall against the window panes, and heard the wind whistling through the chinks of the door; and her husband tried to comfort her; but he himself began to be anxious too. He looked through the window, even opened the door, and eagerly gazed into the bitter, dark night; but there was not a sign of Halbert. After long and painful waiting there was a glad sound-Shag's bark was heard. "There they are at last!" said both at once, now very happy again. The door was opened, and the dog entered; but, oh! the anguish of the couple! there was no Halbert! Halbert must be lost! But what was that something round Shag's neck? It was Halbert's handkerchief. Was there something in it? They untied it and looked. Yes, there was something in it-the medicine, which Halbert had safely tied round the dog's neck; so they were glad to think that Halbert must be alive somewhere, in danger perhaps, but not killed.

In an instant the old shepherd put on his coat and hat, and with the dog as his guide, set out into the night to seek his child. The sick mother, now left to herself, cried bitterly. Perhaps the poor boy was lost in the snow, and before he could be found would die of cold. How dreadful! Perhaps her husband might get lost in the snow too, and die too, and the poor loving woman looked at the window and listened to the wind. She forgot all her pains in her fear for her two dear

ones in danger. She was fuller of misery than she had ever been before, and she prayed to God to save her boy and her husband alive. It was a very fervent prayer that she prayed, lying there, sick, sad, and helpless.

Shag knew well what his master wanted, and guided him straight to the spot at the bottom of the precipice where poor Halbert lay. Getting down the steep path to this spot was to the shepherd a very difficult and even a more dangerous work; but the snow was not falling at the time, and the moon just showed itself and lighted him, letting him see ledges where he could put his feet, and branches that he could take hold of. So, dangerous as it was, the old man did it safely. But arrived there, he could not see his boy. Then he said "Halbert!" but there was no reply. Then again, louder, "Halbert!" but still, there was no reply. Shag snuffed about and whined, then scratched away in a most violent manner, digging a hole in the snow. The old man watched in silence till he saw the clothes of his son. Since the dog had left him, the talling snow had buried him. Was he dead? Another minute and the boy was lifted on to his father's knee. Poor lad, there seemed but little life in him, but he was not dead; and speedily his cold, wet things, all soaked through with snow and blood, were stripped off him, and the shepherd's own warm plaid wrapt round him in their place; then, strapped on his brave father's shoulders, with much difficulty, he was carefully carried up the steep path, and on to his father's house. It was far into the night when the house was reached.

With what gratitude and joy would the sick woman see her child and husband enter their home! But Halbert was in a frozen sleep. He was warmed in his poor mother's bed; for ill as she was, she must have her boy with her to warm. At length he awoke from his deathly sleep. His first words were, "Did you get your medicine, mother?" His wounds were at length healed, and, I am glad to say, he became quite well and strong again.

Now, why was that father so anxious about the boy? Why did he put his candle in the window, trim it, look through the window, open the door, peer into the dark night, and hour after hour walk about the room with a troubled face and aching heart? Why did that mother forget her own bodily pain in her anxiety for the poor lad who did not return, and who, she was afraid, had perished? Why did she in an agony pray for his rescue, and at length give up her husband to go

and seek him, perhaps to be lost in the attempt? Why did poor old Malcolm go out into the bitter cold, among the dangers of darkness and snow, in the hope of finding the boy? Why did he get down that hazardous path, thus risking his life. Why did he strip his own warm plaid, and wrap it round Halbert? Why did the mother and father, whilst he lay in his mother's warm bed, watch so anxiously to see whether he would awake again? Why all this care, this pain, and this risk? It was all because the poor boy belonged not to himself, but to his parents. He was "not his own."

1. Well, you see what it is not to be your own, and you see too what a good thing it was for that poor lost boy not to be his own. Now, Jesus teaches us that we do not belong to ourselves-we belong to God. We are to believe that God feels towards us just what a father and mother feel towards their child; for we are God's children. Each one of us is God's child, and each one is God's lost child. "Lost," but "not our own."

2. And that is the reason why Jesus came to save us. Just as that shepherd on the mountain left his warm home, and set out in that bitter night with a heart full of love and sorrow, wanting to find his boy, so Jesus left His bright home, His home of glory, and came into our world to seek and to save us. The great King David was amazed at the goodness of God to the world, and once, when he was so, he exclaimed, "What is man, that thou art mindful of him?" What was Halbert, that they were mindful of him? What! Why, he was their child! It was all natural, because Halbert was their child. And we are God's children. God feels what Halbert's parents felt. He must be mindful of us. He cannot give us up.

3. And that is the reason why Jesus prays for us now in heaven-we are not our own. The father went out to seek, the mother stayed at home praying, and expecting, and longing for the lost one's return. Jesus is father and mother both in one. He seeks us and He prays for us; He looks for us, He expects" us, the Bible says; and at last He will welcome us home. "Lord Jesus," said dying Stephen, "receive my spirit." Stephen was then passing through the doors of heaven. He was going home.

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4. This, too, is the best motive to be good -we are not our own. Everything that we do that is right pleases God, and everything we do that is wrong grieves Him. He feels for us as Halbert's parents felt for him. He feels our sickness as they felt his, and what

us.

ever harms us makes Him sad. Sin harms A boy whose conduct nobody cared for, would be a boy whom nobody owned; but there is no such boy. Even if he were so bad that father and mother forsook him, still the Lord would take him up. God cares for us all, for we all belong to Him. Children should try to be good because they belong to their parents, to please them; but they should try too to be good because they belong to God, to please Him.

5. And so, my dear children, when you pray the prayer the Saviour taught, and say, "Our Father which art in heaven," remember that you belong to God, just as Halbert belonged to Malcolm. That is why God seeks you and loves to save you.

BENJAMIN WAUGH.

THIRD EVENING.

Opening hymn: "Around the Throne of God in Heaven." Lesson: John v. 1-15. Concluding hymn: "All Praise to Thee, my God, this Night."

Let me tell you something about evil desires. You know what it is to want what you should not have, and to wish to do what you should not do. It is about wantings and wishes like these I am going to speak to you. James, the apostle of our Lord, says something about such desires. which we may read for our text: "Every man is tempted when he is drawn away by his own evil desire. And this evil desire, when it conceives, brings forth sin; and sin, when it is finished, brings forth death."

You know, do you not, that God is talking to us in parables in these days, just as much as ever He did? One of the most striking of all God's many parables is the gay beautiful butterfly, as we call it, bursting out of the hard, dry case in which it had lain so straight and and still, just like being in a little coffin. First, you know, it was a caterpillar-a greedy, grovelling thing, that divided its time between doing just two things-eating and sleeping; from beginning to end of this part of its life it very likely never moved off the branch on which it was hatched, and even slept close to its food, so that as soon as ever it woke it might begin again to eat at

once.

This was its first life, and answers to the life we are living now in this world. "But what a greedy, low kind of life it is!" perhaps you say. Yes, and so it is; and so is ours in this world, even the best of us; it is a poor, low, mean kind of life, that is, compared with what our resurrection life will be.

But then this mean, grovelling caterpillar one day had a change. Its time came for leaving this lower kind of life and entering another state. And so it went and buried itself in the ground, or in some other secret, lonely place, and then very quickly its form was altogether changed. But for a while it did not seem a change for the better. It had shown signs of life and feeling before, and in some cases had been clothed in a very magnificent dress, and had, at all events, been able to move about on its bough. But now all this, I say, was changed. Its colours were gone, its activity was gone, its very life seemed gone. It was wrapped round in a kind of shroud, or else was shut up in a hard brown case, and lay in the cold ground just for all the world like a little corpse in its coffin.

But then, after a time, there comes another change. One bright, warm day the hard brown case that looked so hopeless and lifeless, bursts open, and a beautiful, soft, living creature makes its way out. It is no longer a mean, hungry caterpillar, content to stop in one place, and to spend its life in eating. It has wings now, painted with every colour of the rainbow, and as it fans them up and down in the sun to dry them, it looks more like a splendid, living, moving flower than anything else; and when it mounts up into the air, with its colours all flashing in the sunlight, or flits from flower to flower to sip a little honey, it looks one of the very gladdest, lightest, and brightest of God's creatures; always seeming to live in sunshine, and always happy. This, dear children, is its resurrection life. And isn't it a changed one? Why, so far from its being grovelling and greedy any longer, it does not even require food at all now. It does sometimes sip a little honey for enjoyment; but it does not require it. Oh, I do hope that you and I, dear children, will have a happy resurrection life; for this insect is a parable; we shall one day be changed too.

Well, and there is another thing to be noticed in this little insect, which I think is another point in the parable.

Unless you happen to know the nature of the particular caterpillar you find, you cannot at all tell what sort of creature it will be when it comes to a butterfly: for of course you know that some butterflies are much more beautiful than others. And just so God tells us that those happy souls who go to heaven will not be all alike; some will be higher and more glorious than others. God knows which will be highest, because He sees our hearts

and knows which are the best. But it cannot be told from the outside show. Just as the caterpillars which you find often surprise you when they reach their perfect state, unless you happen to know them. It is not the brightest caterpillars that turn out the most beautiful butterflies, you know; sometimes it is just the reverse. I could tell you the names of some most brilliantly coloured caterpillars that turn out the brownest, dullest-looking insects you ever saw; whilst, on the contrary, there is a very common, plain, brown caterpillar, that comes out such a lovely creature as few of you can imagine, for I dare say very few of you have seen it in its perfect state, though you know it so well as a caterpillar.

This, then, I think, is the lesson God teaches us here from insects: that we must not think we can judge of what a man will be in the next world from what we see him now, for it often happens that there, "the last shall be first and the first last."

Well, but what has all this to do with the text? The apostle James says, "Every man, when he is tempted, is drawn away of his own evil desire and enticed. And this evil desire, when it conceives, brings forth sin, and sin, when it is finished, brings forth death." And what has all this got to do with it? We are coming to that now. We have not got to the end of God's parable yet.

There are a very great number, perhaps a good deal more than half, do you know, of those poor struggling caterpillars that never reach their perfect state at all. They never become butterflies. And let me tell you why. They are surrounded by a great many enemies whilst they are in their lower life as caterpillars, and these enemies lose no opportunity of pouncing down upon them and destroying them. First there are their human enemies: the gardeners keep a sharp look out for them, and destroy many hundreds of them. Then there are the birds, more sharp-eyed still; and they destroy as many thousands, I dare say, as the gardeners destroy hundreds. And there are many other enemies besides. But perhaps the worst of all is a most curious tiny creature, and the way it destroys them is most remarkable, and serves well to explain my text.

I shall never forget what a puzzle it was to me before I had it explained. It was many years ago, when I was a boy. I had one particular caterpillar that I set great store by, and was very anxious to rear, because it was rather a rare one, and I had only once

seen it in its perfect state as a moth. But when the time came for it to make its first change-to go down into the soil and become a chrysalis-instead of doing so it got into a most restless state, hurrying backwards and forwards, and round and round. This went on for many hours; but at last, when, after a short absence, I visited it again to see how it was progressing, it had undergone a change, but it was a change that puzzled me more than ever. There lay the skin of the caterpillar, quite lifeless, and nearly empty, and by its side lay a creature nearly as big as the caterpillar had been, but such a singular object that I hardly know how to describe it. It had no particular shape, was white and soft, and full of lifethe most disgusting, loathsome-looking thing one can conceive. As I tell you, I could not understand it at all. What had become of the caterpillar I could not think, and neither could I imagine how this other strange creature had come there; and so I went off to a friend who understood such things much better than I to have it explained. And then I found out how common a thing it was that had taken place.

God, for the protection of these creatures, puts within them something which we call instinct, which teaches them what they must do so as to keep themselves safe from their enemies. With this one I am speaking of it is simply to keep itself hidden under the leaves, and to let nothing tempt it out. But even caterpillars do not always do what God teaches them to do. They see, a little in front of them, a green leaf, brighter, and fresher, and sweeter than any that they can reach whilst remaining under cover, and so they venture out to it. And then, see what happens. One of their enemies—a fly that looks very much like a bee-is always hovering about and watching for them, never seems to grow weary; and no sooner does a caterpillar show itself than down it pounces, and pierces a little hole in the skin and deposits an egg. It is all done in a second, and though the caterpillar seems in pain for an instant, it soon goes on eating again, the wound heals, and it seems as if no harm will come of it. But wait a little. The egg that was put under the skin of the caterpillar in a short time hatches, and becomes a living creature within the body of the caterpillar; and then it grows, and grows, and feedsfeeds on the caterpillar itself-until at last it reaches its full size, and is itself ready for its change. When this is the case, it kills the poor caterpillar by living on its vital parts.

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