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.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 48399
   :PG.Title: Kingless Folk
   :PG.Released: 2015-03-02
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: John Adams
   :DC.Title: Kingless Folk
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1897
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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KINGLESS FOLK
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   |  "But Love, that moves the earth, and skies, and sea,
   |  Beheld his old love in her misery,
   |  And wrapped her heart in sudden gentle sleep;
   |  And meanwhile caused unnumbered *ants* to creep
   |  About her, and they wrought so busily
   |  That all, ere sundown, was as it should be,
   |  And homeward went again the *kingless folk*."
   |                                  —*The Earthly Paradise.*

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      KINGLESS FOLK

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      AND

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      Other Addresses on Bible Animals.

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      BY THE

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      Rev. JOHN ADAMS, B.D., Inverkeilor.

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      Edinburgh and London:
      OLIPHANT, ANDERSON & FERRIER.
      1897.

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   CONTENTS.

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KINGLESS FOLK, `The Ant`_

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HOOKS OF STEEL, `The Bear`_

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THE SACRED BIRD, `The Dove`_

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LITTLE, BUT WISE, `The Coney`_

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CROWNED WITH HONOUR, `The Ass's Colt`_

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`THE REDBREAST`_

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A BORN MATHEMATICIAN, `The Bee`_

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THE BIRD OF FREEDOM, `The Swallow`_

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A HOUSE OF GOSSAMER, `The Spider`_

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LITTLE FOLLIES, `The Fly`_

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PEARLS, NOT PEAS, `The Pearl-Oyster`_

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`SOME OTHER SHELLS`_

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CALVES OF THE STALL, `The Calf`_

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FUR OR FEATHER?, `The Bat`_

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ONWARD AND UPWARD, `The Eagle`_

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THE VICTOR VANQUISHED, `The Lion`_

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THE BIRD OF THE DAWN, `The Cock-crowing`_

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`PEACE`_

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.. _`The Ant`:

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   The Ant.

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"Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her
ways, and be wise: which having no guide,
overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in the summer,
and gathereth her food in the harvest."—Prov. vi. 6-8.

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Of what use is a sluggard?
"Everything in the world is of
some use," says John Ploughman,
"but it would puzzle a doctor of
divinity, or a philosopher, or the wisest
owl in our steeple, to tell the good of
idleness; that seems to me to be an ill
wind which blows nobody any good, a
sort of mud which breeds no eels, a dirty
ditch which would not feed a frog.  Sift
a sluggard grain by grain, and you'll find
him all chaff."  A sluggard is really a
good-for-nothing, and no better advice
could be given to boys than this: "Get
out of the sluggard's way, or you may
catch his disease and never get rid of it.
Grow up like bees, and you will never be
drones."

In this passage from the Book of
Proverbs, Solomon advises the sluggard to go
back to school that he may learn *wisdom*,
for his folly is quite equal to his idleness.
He is too lazy to drive in a nail, and as
the old jingling rhyme has it, "For want
of a nail a shoe came off, for want of a
shoe a horse was lost, for want of a horse
a man was lost, for want of a man a
battle was lost, and for loss of a battle a
kingdom was lost."  Because of the
sluggard's first idleness in refusing to drive
in the nail the whole kingdom comes down
about his ears.  It is not much ease he
gets for all his scheming, and therefore he
is sent back to school to learn wisdom.

The schoolmaster this time is the *Ant*,
for, as the Bible tells us, "there be four
things which are little upon the earth,
but they are exceeding wise: the ants
are a people not strong, yet they prepare
their meat in the summer" (Prov. xxx. 24).

The wisdom taught by the ant is
threefold.

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\I.—THE WISDOM OF WORK.

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If it be the hand of the diligent that
maketh rich, the ants deserve to flourish;
for there are few sluggards in their nest.
The great mass of the teeming
population is called "*the workers*."  There may
be a few males and females in each
community dressed in four beautiful gauze
wings, and no doubt regarding themselves
as very superior members of the society—the
veritable aristocracy of ant life—but
they never touch the work with one of
their little fingers.  The keeping of the
nest, the gathering of the food, the care
of the eggs, and the rearing of the young
ants, all devolves on the shoulders of the
willing workers; and they, though they
have no wings at all, and are called
"neutrals" and some other ugly names,
cheerfully undertake the whole labour,
and make the entire community flourish
through sheer hard work.

And that is a splendid lesson for all
young people.  All great men, as well as
all true ants, have been hard workers.
This is the only royal road to success.

What Sir Joshua Reynolds said to his
students is equally true when applied to
other professions: "You must be told
again and again that labour is the only
price of solid fame, and that whatever
your force of genius may be, there is no
easy method of becoming a good painter.
Nothing is denied to well-directed labour;
nothing is to be obtained without it."  Jesus
Himself was a hard worker.  Go,
learn of the ant, and be wise.

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\II.—THE WISDOM OF SELF-RELIANCE.

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Solomon adds that the ants carry on
their labours without "guide, overseer, or
ruler," and that is strictly the case.  The
ants are a feeble people, but they are
perfectly self-reliant.  The bees, for
instance, have a royal personage in their
hive.  We call her the queen.  And thus
we may speak of bees as we speak of
ourselves, as living under a monarchical
government.  But the ants have no king
or queen.  There is no royal personage
in their nest.  They are rather to be
regarded as staunch republicans, who
carry on their labours without any "ruler,"
guided simply by that unerring instinct
which imitates the actings of reason.  The
silly sheep may require a shepherd to take
care of them, but the sagacious ants can
take care of themselves.

And all boys who are worth their salt
must try to learn the same lesson.  They
must learn to strike out a path for
themselves, and not be content to eat the
bread of idleness.  They must work for
the good of the whole community by
learning to stand on their own feet.  They
must despise the ignoble position of those
who, having no mind of their own, are
led like a flock of sheep by the will of
another.  They must think and act for
themselves if ever they are to rise to a
position of influence.  In one word, they
must be self-reliant.  No doubt there is a
sense in which we must be dependent on
the labours of others.  Every honest man
is bound to acknowledge the assistance
which he has received from his parents,
his fellows, and his God.  But the two
things are not opposed.  "These two
things, contradictory though they may
seem, must go together—manly
dependence and manly independence, manly
reliance and manly self-reliance"
(Wordsworth).  The two things stand or fall
together.  Self-reliance is not selfishness,
manly independence is not ignorant
braggadocio.  The ants toil for the
common weal.  They rely on one another.

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\III.—THE WISDOM OF MAKING PROVISION FOR THE FUTURE.

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"They prepare their meat in the
summer."  This fact has been denied by
modern entomologists.  They have told
us that ants are dormant in winter (at
least in Europe), and, therefore, stand in
no need of food.  But, as one reminds us,
"we had need to be very sure of our facts
when we attempt to correct the Spirit of
God" (Gosse).  It has been amply
ascertained that in the East and other warm
countries where hibernation is impossible,
ants do store up for winter use.  It is even
stated that these harvesting ants bite off
the radicle at the end of the seed to
prevent its germinating, and occasionally
bring up their stores to the surface to
dry, when the tiny granary has been
entered and soaked by the rain.

It is at this point that the example of
the ant is specially severe on the sluggard.
In crass idleness he would sleep even in
the time of harvest; but this little creature,
the least of insects, avails herself of every
suitable opportunity, and gathers a supply
of food sufficient for her purposes.  "He
that gathereth in summer is a wise son,
but he that sleepeth in harvest is a son
that causeth shame."  Let all boys then
lay up for the future.  Is it *knowledge*?
Let them sow well at school, that they
may reap well in business.  Is it *character*?
Let them sow well in youth, that they
may reap well in manhood.  Is it *religion*?
Let them sow well in time, that they may
reap well in eternity.  In all these
connections let them be warned by these solemn
words, "The sluggard will not plow by
reason of the cold, therefore shall he beg in
harvest, and have nothing" (Prov. xx. 4).





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.. _`The Bear`:

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   The Bear.

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"I will meet them as a bear that is bereaved of
her whelps."—Hos. xiii. 8.

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However ferocious a bear may
be, she is also capable of a large
and generous affection.  She is
at once a fond mother, a constant friend
and, if one may so express it, a magnanimous
foe.  Her devotion to her young is
proverbial.  She possesses the strongest
maternal instincts, and when to her easily
roused ferocity the fury of these instincts
is added, it may be imagined what the
violence of her attack will be.  Any one
who threatens the safety of her cubs does
so at his peril.  The constancy of her
friendship is shown by the following
curious case, related by Brehm.  He tells us
of a little boy who crept one night for
warmth and shelter into the cage of an
extremely savage bear.  The latter,
instead of devouring the child, took him
under its protection, kept him warm with
the heat of its body, and allowed him to
return every night to its cage.  By-and-by
the poor boy died from smallpox, and
the bear, utterly disconsolate, henceforth
refused all food, and soon followed its little
*protégé* to the grave.

But the bear is kind—*effusively* kind,
even to its enemies.  In the manner of its
attack it does not fell them to the ground
with one blow of its paw like the lion, nor
seize them with its teeth like the dog.  It
*hugs* them.  It embraces them with its
powerful fore-limbs with a great: show of
affection, and continues the squeeze so long
that the poor wretched victims are suffocated.
Bruin does nothing by halves.  The
advice of old Polonius is followed to the
very letter:—

   |  "The friends thou hast and their adoption tried,
   |  Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel."
   |

He *does* grapple them.  He may give
great attention to the friendships of life, but
he does not forget to *embrace* his enemies.

With respect to the bear mentioned in
the Bible, we may note three points.

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\I.—ITS KIND.

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This is not the common brown bear of
Europe, nor the white polar bear of the
Arctic regions; but the yellowish-brown
Syrian bear, which may still be found in
its native haunts around the wooded
fastnesses of Hermon and Lebanon.  It is
shorter in limb and has smaller claws than
its European cousin; but its most striking
peculiarity is its change of colour.  Like
many other animals, the Syrian bear
changes its colour as it grows older.
"When a cub it is of a darkish brown,
which becomes a light brown as it
approaches maturity.  But when it has
attained its full growth it becomes
cream-coloured, and each succeeding year seems
to lighten its coat, so that a very old bear
is nearly as white as its relative of the
Arctic regions" (J. G. Wood).  Alas! the
change which is produced by age is not
confined to *Ursus Syriacus*.  The boy, no
less than the bear, will yet experience that
solemn transformation.  The blackest locks
will yet whiten with the frosts of age, for
lustre, youth, and virility will all alike
perish.  But this change is only the
outward symbol of what ought to be an
inward, spiritual fact.  If the locks whiten,
so ought the conscience, the soul, the heart.
As youth passes into manhood and manhood
into age, the man within should "aye
be gettin' whiter"; until when the locks
have grown grey in the service of righteousness,
the children may "rise up before the
*hoary* head, and honour the face of the old
man" (Lev. xix. 32).

   |  "Yes, childhood, mark the hoary head and rise—
   |  Stand on thy feet and give the honour due;
   |  That crown of glory points you to the skies,
   |  Like snow-capped mountains in the azure blue."

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\II.—ITS FOOD.

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The bear, to begin with, is a strict
vegetarian.  While he can find abundance
of vegetables and fruit he is little disposed
to go far in varying his means of subsistence.
His teeth are formed for the purpose.
Unlike those of the lion or tiger,
which have a scissor-blade appearance, and
are incapable of any but an up-and-down
motion, the teeth of the bear are true
grinders or molars, and the hinge of the
lower jaw is so constructed that it can be
worked from side to side, so that the bear
can actually *chew* its food.

It is said to be very fond of strawberries—like
some little boys we know—and like
the blackbird it can walk daintily along
the rows and pick out the ripest.  But if
there be one thing more than any other
that throws the bear into an ecstasy of
excitement it is the prospect of a feast of
honey.  A nest of ants is nothing in
comparison.  The long nose is thrust into the
delicious comb, though it be stung and
stung again by the infuriated inhabitants.

It is not till other food fails that the bear
becomes carnivorous.  But then, driven by
hunger, it will even descend into the lower
pastures and seize upon the goats and the
sheep.  This habit is referred to by the
youthful David in 1 Samuel xvii. 33.  King
Saul was trying to dissuade him from
matching himself against the gigantic
Philistine; but David answered: "Thy
servant kept his father's sheep, and there
came a lion, and a bear, and took a lamb
out of the flock: and I went out after him,
and smote him, and delivered it out of his
hand....  Thy servant slew both the lion
and the bear, and this uncircumcised
Philistine shall be as one of them, seeing he
hath defied the armies of the living God."  And
all the young people know the result.
One smooth stone from the brook was
placed in David's sling, and yon huge
mass of human arrogance was hurled to
the ground.  They who fight for Jehovah
need never fear.  A stone cast in His name
becomes a thunderbolt.

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III.—ITS FEROCITY.

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"Let a bear robbed of her whelps meet
a man rather than a fool in his folly"
(Prov. xvii. 12).

The whelps themselves are not ferocious.
Indeed, they are remarkably stupid.  They
are as confident as they are weak, and do
not even try to escape when the hunters
come upon them.  The young water-fowl
by the river-side disappear in an instant if
you happen to come upon them; but the
cubs of the bear, with a stupid simplicity,
just allow themselves to be caught and
massacred.  They remind one of the lamb
mentioned by the poet:—

   |  "Pleased to the last they crop the flowery food,
   |  And lick the hand just raised to shed their blood."
   |

But there is something far worse than
this simplicity.  There is brazen-faced
irreverence and impudence.  When Elisha,
the man of God, was going up to Bethel,
a crowd of young vagabonds came out of
the village and mocked the old man, and
said: "Go up, thou bald head; go up, thou
bald head.  And two she-bears came
rushing out of the wood, and tare forty
and two of them" (2 Kings ii. 24).  These
were not little children, but "young lads"
(R.V. margin), who had begun to herd at
street corners, and to scoff and gibe at
those who passed by.  And, in our own
day, society would be none the worse of a
few she-bears to act as a kind of police at
all such corners.  They might help to rid
the streets of a good deal of juvenile
profanity.  But alas! because this Old
Testament punishment does not fall on these
young miscreants, the evil, instead of
becoming less, is in great danger of being
largely increased.  And yet, if boys only
knew it, a far worse calamity has already
fallen.  They may not have been attacked
by bears, but they themselves have become
bears—not growing fairer, nobler, whiter,
as they grow in years; but fouler, darker,
meaner, with the awful increase of sin—selling
themselves to do evil in the sight of
the Lord.  Ah! let every true lad beware
as to the company he keeps.  "Evil
company doth corrupt good manners."  "Whatsoever
a man soweth, that shall he
also reap;" and "the way of the ungodly
shall perish."





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.. _`The Dove`:

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   The Dove.

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"And He said unto them that sold doves, Take
these things hence."—John ii. 16.

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It is reported of St Francis of Assisi,
in the Middle Ages, that he would
sometimes go out and preach to the
beasts and birds.  He treated them so
kindly, both in the house and field, that
they would draw near without any sign
of fear, and allow him to stroke and feed
them with his hand.  In like manner, we
may think of Jesus pitying the poor,
dumb beasts of burden, when He saw
them, as we sometimes see them,
unmercifully treated by heartless drivers; or
grieving at other times at the frantic
efforts of little birds beating against the
bars of their cage—those tiny songsters
of the field and wood, which had been
taken by the snare of the fowler, and
bereft of their liberty.

The incident before us is a case in
point.  Here, at the beginning of His
ministry, He made a whip of small cords
and drove the traffickers out of His
Father's temple.  Men, money-tables,
oxen, were all swept before His holy
indignation.  But there, in mid-air, the
upraised whip was arrested.  *Jesus could
not strike the meek and gentle doves*.
There they sat in their wicker baskets,
with large eyes that were full of tender
pleading, and the raised whip was not
allowed to fall.  He could only say to
their keepers, "*Carry* these things hence,"
for to the dumb, lower animals, He was
"moved with compassion."

It is a great and fitting lesson for the
young.  They who are kind to their
pets are not far from His Kingdom.  "A
righteous man regardeth the life of his
beast."

We ought to be like the dove in three
ways.

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\I.—IN CHARACTER.

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"Be ye therefore wise as serpents and
*harmless as doves*" (Matt. x. 16).  What
the lamb is among animals, the dove is
among birds.  It is the divine emblem
of purity and innocence—the bearer of
the olive branch of peace.  The whole
character of the dove is in keeping with
this estimate.  Its voice, no less than its
disposition, is the embodiment of
sweetness.  It has "a tender mournful cadence
which, heard in solitude and sadness,
cannot fail to be heard with sympathy, as if
it were the expression of real sorrow"
(Gosse).  It recalls the language of Isaiah,
"We mourn sore like doves"; or those
beautiful words of Tennyson—

   |        "Every sound is sweet;
   |  The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
   |  And murmuring of innumerable bees."
   |

As symbolical of purity and peace, it
became a fit emblem for the Holy Spirit.
"Lo, the heavens were opened, and He
saw the Spirit of God descending *like a
dove* and lighting upon Him."  On the day
of Pentecost, however, the form chosen
was quite different.  "There came a sound
as of a rushing mighty wind, ... and
cloven tongues *like as of fire*, and it sat
upon each of them."  Why the difference?
Why a gentle dove in the one case and
cloven tongues of fire in the other.  The
difference lay in the character of the
men.  When it came to men—even to
holy men—it encountered prejudice and
opposition, which must be burned up, and
thus it must needs take the semblance of
fire.  But when it came to Jesus on the
banks of the Jordan, it came to its own,
and its own received it with open arms;
and to show the fulness and peacefulness
of the reception, it must needs be
symbolised by a dove.  In the holy chrism
of that baptismal hour, the dove and the
lamb had met together.  The sacred bird
had found a home, and it folded its wings
upon its nest.

But this gentleness of disposition renders
the dove a defenceless creature, ill able
to take care of itself, and it easily becomes
the victim of persecution.  Hence Hosea
speaks of Israel as "a silly dove without
heart," which shall "tremble as a dove
out of the land of Assyria."  And thus
the words "*wise as serpents*" have to be
added.  The harmlessness of the dove
must be supplemented by the wisdom
of the serpent.  And both elements are
found in the peerless example of Jesus.
See how He answered the quibbling
questions of the Scribes and Pharisees.
They tried to entangle Him in His talk;
but His wisdom was more than a match
for their cunning.  The wolf was utterly
discomfited by the lamb.  And this is
the only worthy ideal for His followers:
"Be ready always to give an answer
concerning the hope that is in you," but,
"with meekness and fear," "be ye wise
as serpents and harmless as doves."

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\II.—IN SWIFTNESS.

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The dove is one of the swiftest of birds.
The carrier pigeon "has been known to
accomplish a flight of three hundred miles
in little more than two hours."  Its wings
are its strength.  Upheld by them she
can fly for many hours, and the birds of
prey cannot overtake her.  Homer himself
mentions the dove as the emblem of
swiftness and timidity.  It is to this that the
Psalmist refers in Psalm lv. 6, when he
beheld the rock pigeon scudding across the
sky in the direction of her mountain home:
"Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then
would I fly away and be at rest....  I
would hasten my escape from the windy
storm and tempest."  Truly a wise resolve
when in the presence of strong temptation!
"O man of God, flee these things."  "Flee
also youthful lusts."  If you cannot
fight like the eagle, fly like the dove,
and, like the carrier pigeon, let your flight
be *homeward*.  May the homing instinct
be as strong in you as in her.  For it is
only there, in the mountain home of God's
grace, that your soul can find shelter.
Speed, then, your flight "as the doves to
their windows."  "Man's spiritual
existence is like the flight of a bird in the
air: he is sustained only by effort, and
when he ceases to exert himself he falls"
(Froude's "Bunyan").  Let your spiritual
advancement, then, be like the flight of a
bird.  Imitate the dove in its swiftness.

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\III.—IN SACRIFICE.

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The dove is pre-eminently the *sacred*
bird.  "The dove among the Semites had
a quite peculiar sanctity."  "Sacred doves
that may not be harmed are found even
at Mecca."  "We never read of it in the
Old Testament as an article of diet, though
it is now one of the commonest table-birds
all over the East" (Smith's "Religion
of the Semites," new edition, pp. 219-294).
As already noted, it was to the birds
what the lamb was to the animals—it
derived its chief interest from its use in
*sacrifice*.

We find it in the purifying of the Nazarite
(Num. vi. 10), in the cleansing of the
leper (Lev. xiv. 22); and, as the children
will remember, when Jesus was presented
in the temple, His mother offered as a
sacrifice "a pair of turtle doves or two
young pigeons" (Luke ii. 24).  In the
Virgin Mother's case the offering was the
sacrifice of the *poor*.  For it is distinctly
said in Leviticus xii. 8, "*If her means
suffice not for a lamb*, then she shall take
two turtle doves or two young pigeons:
the one for a burnt offering and the other
for a sin offering: and she shall be
clean."  Jesus, the Great Sacrifice, was born in
the homes of the poor.  Not the vicious
poor, whose poverty is the measure of
their thriftlessness; but the industrious
poor, whose piety is the measure of their
honesty.  "Though He was rich, yet for
our sakes He became poor, that we through
His poverty might be made rich."

In stooping thus far He was manifesting
the gentleness of the dove, and we are
summoned to copy His example.  "Let
this *mind* be in you which was also in
Christ Jesus."  He stooped to death, even
the death of the cross, and we are called
upon to stoop to something similar—to
the great deep of self-surrender and
self-sacrifice—the crucifixion and the death of
sin.  This is the essence of all Christian
sacrifice.  We must be crucified with
Christ, and rise and live through Him.
We must be washed in His blood.  We
must be made great by His gentleness.
We must be like the dove and the lamb
in *sacrifice*.

In character, in swiftness, and in
sacrifice, imitate the dove.





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.. _`The Coney`:

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   The Coney.

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"There be four things which are little upon the
earth, but they are exceeding wise: ... the
conies are but a feeble folk, yet make they their
houses in the rocks."—Prov. xxx. 24-26.

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"Little, *but exceeding wise*," that
surely is a splendid diploma for
"feeble folk."  If all the children in
our homes would but try to gain that "good
degree," it would be a merit certificate
of the highest order, and well worthy of
the best gilt frame to be had in the
market.  Mr Moody, the evangelist, used
to say, when speaking of college honours,
that he had no wish to be styled a B.D.,
a D.D., or an LL.D.  He would be
content if he got W.D.—"*Well done*, good
and faithful servant."  And the diploma
granted to little folks in the school of the
coney is somewhat similar.  They are
"capped" on the day of graduation as an
L.B.E.W.—"Little, but exceeding wise."

Why, in their school, the distinction
between big and little is simply ignored.
The little creature is no bigger than a
rabbit, and yet, strange to say, its nearest
affinity is with the huge rhinoceros.
According to modern classification, it is
placed between the elephant and the horse.
The shape of its teeth, and the form of
its feet and skull, make it a first cousin
to the hippopotamus.  There is little
difference between them, except in
dimensions, and, as every schoolboy knows,
there is not much in a difference like that.
If the huge leviathan has nothing more to
boast of than mere bulk, the little coney
can afford to sit on its rocky ledge and
look down on its unwieldy proportions
with the utmost indifference.  "Wisdom
is better than strength."  It was the
wisdom of the poor wise man that
delivered the city, and not the strength of
the city walls.  And it is not the bones
of the rhinoceros, but the wisdom of the
coney, that will bring us true success in
life.  "Wisdom is the principal thing,
therefore get wisdom, and with all thy
getting, get understanding."

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\I.—THE WISDOM OF KEEPING SHARP TOOLS.

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Among the Jews the coney was regarded
as one of the unclean animals, "because
he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the
hoof, he is unclean" (Lev. ii. 5).  But, in
actual fact, he does neither.  All ruminating
animals are furnished with a complex
stomach for chewing the cud; but this is
not the case with the elephant, the coney,
and the hippopotamus.  They neither
chew the cud nor part the hoof.  But the
coney has a habit of sitting on a ledge of
rock and working its jaws from side to
side as if it really did chew the cud, so
that a careless observer would readily
mistake it for a ruminating animal.  This
movement of the jaws is a very important
one.  According to J. G. Wood, the coney
performs it instinctively, in order that the
chiselled edges of the upper and lower
teeth may be preserved sharp by
continually rubbing against each other, and
that they may not be suffered to grow
too long, and so to deprive the animal
of the means whereby it gains its food.

The coney knows what every good
tradesman knows, that sharp tools are the
secret of all high-class work.  No boy
ever cut his finger with a sharp knife, but
always with a blunt one.  And what a
sharp knife is to the finger, a sensitive
conscience is to the life.  If the heart be
kept true and tender, and the mind alert and
keen, the conscience will never sting and
lacerate the soul.  It is only the wicked
who flee when no man pursueth, and
whose conscience is like the worm that
never dies.  "Leave her to Heaven," said
Hamlet of his guilty mother, "and to
those thorns that in her bosom lodge to
prick and sting her."  But the righteous
are as bold as a lion.  Like Paul, they
have the approval of a good conscience,
and

   |  "A heart unspotted is not easily daunted,
   |  Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just."

And the young people will not forget that
tools are kept sharp by exercise, not by
allowing them to rust like a sluggard's
spade, which no true gardener would touch;
but by keeping them sharp and bright like
his own steel blade, which is warranted
to cut through any sod.  Yes, keep the
powers of your mind strong and active
through diligent application at school, and
the faculties of your soul responsive by
kindness, obedience, and prayer, and you
will find that this is no mean part of the
wisdom that will enable you to succeed
in life.  For at school, in business, and in
religion, we have need of sharp tools.

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\II.—THE WISDOM OF EARLY RISING.

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If any one wishes to see or catch a
coney, he must be up with the dawn.
For, like the rabbit, it is generally to be
found feeding in the early morning or
at sunset; while a sentry, which is
commonly an old male, is said to be posted
to give warning by a short squeaking bark,
at which signal they all scuttle away
before one can obtain a glimpse of them.
After all, it is the early bird that catches
the early worm, and the coney has long
since decided that it is the early coney that
enjoys the sweetest aromatic shrubs.  And
therefore, if any aspiring sportsman wishes
to bag *Hyrax Syriacus* (for that is its
Latin name), he must be up and abroad
with the dawn.

Indeed, the sharpest tools will avail us
but little if the best hours of the morning
are idled away in bed.  The old adage
cannot be repeated too often, that "he
who would thrive must the white sparrow
see."  The lazy farmer who got up at
daybreak to try and get a sight of this
*rara avis* was not long in discovering the
cause of his diminished fortunes.  Everything
was wrong at the beginning of the
day.  Dishonest servants came to their
work an hour late, and others were
helping themselves to everything they saw.
On his farm, alas! there was neither an
early bird nor an early worm.  They were
all late together, and he, the latest of
them all, was simply being gobbled up
by such birds as he had.  Poor lie-a-bed
had certainly got a glimpse of the white
sparrow, and from the day he saw it his
fortunes began to mend.

"I never had any faith in luck," says
John Ploughman, "except that I believe
good luck will carry a man over a ditch
if he jumps well, and will put a bit of
bacon into his pot if he looks after his
garden and keeps a pig."  Exactly.
Solomon Slow will never be up in time
to catch the coach, and then he will waste
the rest of the day in blaming the
hardness of his luck.  But there is no luck
about it.  It is only downright laziness.
And boys cannot learn the golden text
too soon, that "drowsiness shall clothe a
man with rags."

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\III.—THE WISDOM OF KNOWING ONE'S OWN WEAKNESS.

.. vspace:: 1

"The conies are but a feeble folk, yet
make they their houses in the rocks."  They
cannot fight with the lion, and they
don't try.  They run from the least
appearance of evil, and so ought we.  It is
often one-half, and sometimes the whole,
of the victory to know our own weakness.
Discretion is always the better part of
valour.

How many there are who have not
this wisdom of the coney!  They are
feeble as he is, and yet they do not pray,
"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver
us from evil."  They cannot turn aside
the fiery darts of the evil one, and yet
they carelessly play into his hands by
dallying with that which is not good.
But

   |  "This is hypocrisy against the devil,
   |  They that mean virtuously, and yet do so,
   |  The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven."

Far better to act as young Gareth acted
when he lived among the "kitchen-knaves"
of King Arthur's palace—

   |          "If their talk were foul,
   |  Then would he whistle rapid as any lark."

The pure-minded lad refused to listen to
it, and he had his reward.  They mocked
him at first, but afterwards they turned
and reverenced him.  A like testimony
was borne to John Milton when he entered
Christ's College, Cambridge, at sixteen
years of age.  Because of his virtuous
conduct he was ridiculed by his
fellow-students, and nicknamed "the lady of
Christ's."  But the future author of
"Paradise Lost" could afford to let them
sneer.  He had the testimony of a good
conscience, and "they who honour Me, I
will honour."  And all those who are
tempted to-day must draw their succour
from a similar divine source.  With the
wisdom of the coney they must betake
themselves to the safety of the hills, and
say, "Lead me to the Rock that is higher
than I."  And in that strong Rock of
Ages all feeble ones will be eternally
safe, for neither foe nor tempest can
reach them there.  Flee, then, as a bird
to your mountain, or in the language of
your hymn—

   |  "Yield not to temptation, for yielding is sin,
   |  Each victory will help you some other to win,
   |  Fight manfully onward, dark passions subdue,
   |  Look ever to Jesus, He will carry you through."





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.. _`The Ass's Colt`:

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   The Ass's Colt.

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"And Jesus, when He had found a young ass,
sat thereon."—John xii. 14.

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Two varieties of the ass exist in
Bible lands, namely, the
domesticated and the wild ass.  But
whether these are two different kinds, or
simply variations of the same species, is
not yet a settled question.  On the
assumption that they are one, it would
still be disputed whether the wild ass is
to be regarded as an emancipated domestic
ass, or the latter a reclaimed wild one.
But into the merits of this question we
have no call to enter.

We may say at the outset, however,
that when speaking of the ass of the Bible,
we are dealing with a very different animal
from the poor weather-beaten, stunted, and
half-starved beast of our commons.  The
coldness of our climate, and the life of
hardship endured by the ass in this
country, have, no doubt, operated largely
in the decay of the breed.  But the
Arabian ass is quite different.  A
well-bred Syrian ass will fetch forty pounds.
It is well formed and muscular, well cared
for and fed, and is altogether a finer and
nobler animal than the spiritless and
degraded creature so familiar to us.

Consequently, when we read of Jesus
riding upon an ass's colt, there would
seem to be some ground for the statement
that "there was no humility in the case.
He rode upon an ass as any prince or
ruler would have done who was engaged
on a peaceful journey" (Wood).  In fine,
Jesus came riding on the universal saddle
animal of the East.

But turning to the ass's colt, I want
you to note three things about it.

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\I.—ITS WILDNESS.

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The colt of the wild ass is really the
most untamable and intractable of
animals.  Even when captured very young
it can scarcely ever be brought to bear a
burden or draw a vehicle.  Its wild nature
is constantly breaking out, and like the
asses which Saul the son of Kish went to
seek, it is always in danger of going
astray.

Love of freedom and hatred of restraint
are its main characteristics, and Zophar
the Naamathite reminded Job that
something very similar is true of man.  "Vain
man is void of understanding, yea, man
is born *as a wild ass's colt*" (Job xi. 12).

Of course, there is wildness *and*
wildness.  If boys are merely running over
with fresh animal spirits, like the young
lambs trying to jump over their mother's
head, we cannot think there is any great
harm in their mirth.  It is thus that lungs
are exercised and limbs made strong, and
the whole body and mind kept healthy
and happy.  Black care, alas! will leap
into the saddle behind them soon enough.
And therefore, while the days of youth
last, let all the young people run and
jump like the wild ass's colt.  Buoyancy
of fresh young life is not to be regarded
as exuberance in sin.

If the wildness, however, is inclined to
pass over into what is called "a sowing
of wild oats," the circumstances are altered.
Innocent pleasures are good, but pleasures
which are forbidden are quite another
thing.  And if the young life is in danger
of drifting into the latter, the sooner the
curb or drag is applied, the better for all
concerned.  If one could sow his wild oats
and then run away and leave them, it
wouldn't so much matter; but alas! a
reaping-time is sure to be treading on the
heels of the sowing.  And as no one ever
yet gathered grapes of thorns or figs of
thistles, it will not do for any of you young
people to expect to gather fruit where you
have only sown weeds.  No, no, this is a
kind of wildness which ought not to be
tolerated.  This is a piece of folly which
must either be tamed or punished.  And
if we would only introduce the custom
they have in Palestine of clipping a bit
out of the ear of those asses that go astray,
a fresh clip for every new offence, it might
then be seen that the wildness which means
mischief is not so pleasant an experience
after all, and perhaps not a few sowers of
wild oats would be found who had scarcely
an ear on their head.  Some punishment
like this is sorely needed, for while mere
exuberance of spirits is not sinful, the
exuberance that leads to forbidden
pleasures ought firmly to be condemned.

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\II.—ITS USEFULNESS.

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Merchants in the East carried their
riches on the shoulders of young asses
(Isa. xxx. 6), and it is added in verse 24
that young asses and oxen were yoked
together in tilling the ground.  But the
chief service rendered by the young ass
was its frequent use in riding.  In the
Book of Judges we read of one judge who
had "forty sons and thirty sons' sons that
rode on threescore and ten ass colts, and
he judged Israel eight years."  Both in
merchandise, in agriculture, and in riding,
the ass's colt was a most useful animal.

And this is the test which must be
applied to a boy's pleasures.  He must
not allow them to interfere with his
usefulness.  The games that make him neglect
his lessons, the pursuits that render it
difficult for him to learn his trade, the
companions that tempt him to desecrate
the Christian Sabbath, or the habits that
lead him to lose respect for his parents or
reverence for his God—all these must be
freely but firmly laid aside; for when
judged in the light of the influence they
exert, they stand self-condemned.  Pleasure
is never to be taken as the touchstone
of duty, but duty as the touchstone of
pleasure.

It is this that gives the evangel of Jesus
its inestimable value.  He can tame our
wildness into usefulness, and make duty
itself our pleasure.  He can teach us the
secret of His own example, and then all
work is a joy, every duty is an inspiration.
"I *delight* to do Thy will, O my God."  The
secret is love.  That is the new
commandment He writes upon the heart, and
then the yoke He lays upon the neck is
fur-lined—it is easy; and the burdens
given us to bear are not grievous, they
are light.  No service can compare with
His service.  Any pleasure that would
make us think lightly of His love is not
pleasure, but wanton folly; and any liberty
that would tempt us away from His yoke
is not liberty but license.  Therefore let
every young heart learn this second lesson
from the example of the ass's colt, that
wildness must be tamed into usefulness.


III.—ITS HIGH PLACE OF HONOUR.

If wildness is tamed into usefulness, this
in turn is followed by honour.  The ass's
colt had the high dignity conferred on it
of being used by Jesus in His triumphal
entry into Jerusalem.

The incident itself is full of meaning.
Jesus was entering Jerusalem for the last
time.  On reaching the Mount of Olives
He sent two of His disciples into the
nearest village.  He told them that there, "in a
place where two ways met," they would
find a colt tied "whereon never man sat."  If
the owner objected to his removal, they
were to say "the Lord hath need of him,"
and straightway the man would be willing
to let him go.  And when the two disciples
departed to do as they were bidden, they
found it even as Jesus had said.

But how did Jesus know that the owner
of the colt would consent to this
arrangement?  And why must the colt itself be
one on which never man had sat?  These
two questions are deeply significant, and
we may do well to try and answer them.
As regards the first, Jesus knew that the
man would agree to what He had said,
because, in all probability, this was not
the first time that he and Jesus had met.
On some former occasion the man had
come under the spell of Christ's teaching
and example, and although he had not
been added, like Peter or John, to the
number of the twelve, he had nevertheless
become in heart and life a true and
devoted friend.  And, no doubt, it was
the man himself who informed Jesus that
there, on the little bit of common "where
two ways met," his ass would generally be
found grazing; and if ever the Master
required it to carry Him a day's journey,
He could come and get it for the taking.
It was not a great thing he had to offer,
but such as it was the Lord was welcome
to it.  And I think I see the eye of Jesus
filling with a strange moisture as He heard
the quaint proposal of this humble villager.
It was like holding a cup of cold water
to Christ's thirsty lips.  And the young
people cannot possibly misread the lesson.
Little things, when done for the sake of
Jesus, become great things.  This man
had done *what he could*, and love made
it immortal.  "Wheresoever this gospel
shall be preached, this also that this man
hath done shall be told for a memorial
of him."

On the other hand, the colt itself must
be one on which *never man had sat*.  Does
this not remind us of what is said
regarding Joseph's new tomb?  It was "a
new sepulchre *wherein was never man yet
laid*."  Why a young colt and why a new
tomb?  Surely to teach us that even in
His humiliation, Jesus the Son of God was
worthy of special honour; and perhaps to
teach this further truth, that in everything
He was "separate from sinners."  He who
came riding on an ass's colt was still the
King of Glory, and although He was
"numbered with the transgressors," He
was still "holy, harmless, and
undefiled."  "Behold, thy King cometh unto thee,
meek, and riding upon an ass's colt."  Let
every child run, as the children of
Jerusalem ran, and hail Him with the happy
acclaim, "Hosanna, blessed is He that
cometh in the name of the Lord."  And
this will be *your* highest dignity.
Wildness will be tamed into usefulness, and
usefulness will be crowned with honour.
"Them that honour Me I will honour."





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.. _`The Redbreast`:

.. class:: center large bold

   The Redbreast.

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"The household bird with the red
stomacher"—a bird that should be in the
Bible, but isn't.  We must give it a page here.

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..

   |  Look! there on a sprig of holly,
   |    Like a bunch of berries red,
   |  He sits, wee bumptious Robin,
   |    Cocking his little head.

   |  Let us ask the little fellow,
   |    Why he comes so late to sing,
   |  For the autumn leaves are falling
   |    In a whirling fairy ring.

   |  Where did you go in summer
   |    With that little purple vest?
   |  Not away to the woods and hedges
   |    To conceal a tiny nest?

   |  Oh, you did! you sought the bracken,
   |    Where the flowers are wet with dew,
   |  And we never heard you singing,
   |    You had something else to do.

   |  You were feeding five wee Robins,
   |    And they kept you on the wing;
   |  But now that they've grown to *Red*\breasts,
   |    You can well afford to sing.

   |  So you can, you little wise-head,
   |    There is truth in what you say;
   |  And may every lad apply it,
   |    *That after work comes play*.





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.. _`The Bee`:

.. class:: center large bold

   The Bee.

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"And the Amorites, which dwelt in that mountain,
came out against you, and chased you, as
bees do."—Deut. i. 44.

.. vspace:: 2

Israel had determined at all
hazards to storm the strongholds of
the Amorites.  But as those who
disobey God can never stand before their
enemies, the Israelites were no match for
those hardy mountaineers of Seir.  Like
infuriated bees rushing out from their
nest, the Amorite hordes swept out from
their mountain fastnesses, and utterly
overwhelmed the hosts of Israel.  They
"chased you, as bees do, and destroyed
you in Seir, even unto Hormah."

This is the only sense in which the bee
is referred to in Holy Scripture.  The ant
may be introduced as an emblem of
industry and instinct; but the bee is always
regarded as one of the scourges of
mankind.  It recalls an incident in the African
travels of Mungo Park.  "Some of his
people having met with a populous hive,
imprudently attempted to plunder it of its
honey.  The swarm rushed out in fury
and attacked the company so vigorously
that man and beast fled in all directions.
The horses were never recovered, and
several of the asses were so severely
stung that they died the next day."  The
bee was clearly a savage and dangerous
annoyance.  They "chased you, as
bees do."

But turning to the bee itself, let us note
the three principal materials it uses in its
hive.

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\I.—WAX.

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Nothing can be done in the furnishing
of the hive until a sufficient quantity of
wax has been provided.  And this, like
the gossamer threads of the spider, is
drawn from the insect's own body.  The
process of secretion, as it is called, may
last for some twenty-four hours; and when
it is completed the wax projects from
between the segments of its body in the
form of thin plates.  The material is then
taken up into the mouth and undergoes
a process of mastication, until at last it
issues from the mandibles in the form of a
small white ribbon.

This is the material with which they
build up their hexagonal or six-sided cells;
and marvellous is the skill they show in
the ingenious arrangement.  Like Plato,
they might fitly inscribe over their portal,
"Let no one ignorant of geometry enter
here," for the bee is entitled to a first
place in the ranks of the geometricians.
It is even asserted on the authority of the
Rev. J. G. Wood that the angles of the
bee-cell are so mathematically correct that
by their measurement an error in a book
of logarithms was detected; and Mr
Darwin himself admits that "the comb of
the hive-bee is absolutely perfect in
economising labour and wax."

The form of the cell has three distinct
advantages.  It combines the greatest
strength, the largest storage, and the least
expenditure of material and labour; and
"the little busy bee," as if acquainted
with these strict mathematical principles,
has followed them so accurately that it
easily steps into the first rank as a born
mathematician.

But how is this fact to be accounted
for?  What is the explanation of these
inimitable architectural powers?  "Without
thought or even the organ of thought,
the bee can produce work which embodies
thought."  But to whom does this thought
belong?  Can there be thought without a
thinker?  Can there be the marks of
intelligence without an original and
creative mind?  No! at the building up of a
bee-cell, just as at the framing of a world,
the thoughtful soul is face to face with
Him whose mind is stamped on every part
of creation—with Him who is the great
and faithful Creator, whose tender mercies
are over all His works.

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\II.—HONEY.

.. vspace:: 1

After the construction of the cells comes
the gathering of the honey.  Honey, as
every boy knows, is the thick, sweet fluid
which bees gather from the cups of flowers.
Or in the language of myth and fable, it
is the veritable nectar of the gods.  The
mouth of the bee is framed for the
purpose.  It is so constructed that it forms a
sort of proboscis or tongue by means of
which the insects suck up the nectarine
juice.  It serves both as a mouth and a
pump through which the liquid passes into
the first stomach, and thus is carried to the
hive.

The abundance of honey is frequently
mentioned in Holy Scripture.  Palestine
itself is described as "a land that floweth
with milk and honey."  And we remember
that on one occasion Jonathan, the Son
of Saul, was faint and weary, and when he
saw honey dripping on the ground from
the abundance and weight of the comb,
he took it up on the end of his staff,
and ate sufficient to restore his strength
(1 Sam. xiv. 27).  John the Baptist also
was evidently in no danger of starving
from lack of food, when the wild bees
afforded him a plentiful supply of the very
material which was needed to correct the
deficiencies of the dried locusts which he
used instead of bread.  His food was
locusts and wild honey.

There is only one connection in which
we find honey prohibited.  It was to have
no place in the Jewish meat offering
(Lev. ii. 11).  Everything liable to *fermentation*
was excluded from the altar; and "the
same principle covers the prohibition of
honey" (Smith's "Religion of the
Semites").  "The effect of honey is similar
to that of leaven, since it easily changes
to acid" (Oehler).  Honey then was
forbidden on the same principle as an animal
with any kind of blemish was forbidden.
There must be no defect in the sacrificial
lamb, and there must be no fermentation
in the meat offering.  The offering brought
by man must be clean—a spotless sacrifice
(and God's Lamb is such), an honest heart,
and an earnest, unfeigned prayer.  Only
the pure in heart shall see God.

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\III.—POLLEN.

.. vspace:: 1

Honey is not the only substance that
bees carry home to the hive.  They also
collect in considerable quantities the
fecundating dust or pollen of flowers.  If
the long tongue is specially adapted for
sucking up the one, the hind legs, supplied
with a brush of hair, are equally fitted
for collecting and conveying the other.
When the bee visits the flower in question
it dives deep down among the dust-like
powder, and comes out again, all covered
from head to foot, like a miller well dusted
with his meal.  But applying the brush of
hair which it carries for the purpose, it
speedily brushes the pollen all down in the
form of a tiny ball, and carries it home on
its hind legs to be used in the economy of
the hive.

But what is it for?  To make *bee-bread*
for the young bees.  The hexagonal cells
are not all used for the storage of honey.
A very large proportion of the comb is set
apart for the hatching of the young ones.
And these infant bees are voracious eaters.
Like other little children, they have to be
carefully nursed and attended to, and the
sagacious nurses have quite enough to do
in providing them with the right kind of
food.  Ordinary honey is too strong for
their infantile digestion, and therefore the
honey is mixed with the pollen to render
it a fit nourishment for these fastidious
babies.

This is the only object the *bees* have in
collecting the pollen; but it is not the only
end they serve in the plan of the great
Creator.  Unknown to themselves they
are doing a great work in the propagating
of flowers.  The fertilising dust of one
flower must be conveyed to the corresponding
organs of another; and the bee
like a village postman, is brought in to
convey the necessary love-tokens.  Apart
from this service rendered by the bee, the
wild flowers that deck the fields and
highways would soon be conspicuous by their
absence.

We cannot, then, go back to the point
from which we started, and say that the
bee can only be regarded as a savage
and dangerous annoyance.  It fills a very
important place in the economy of nature.
As the maker of wax it is the prince of
mathematicians; as the gatherer of *honey*
it is the bringer of many choice blessings;
and as the collector and distributer of
*pollen* it is at once a sagacious nurse, and
one who dispenses a harvest, "sowing the
To-be."  Well may we sit at its hive and
learn wisdom.




.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Swallow`:

.. class:: center large bold

   The Swallow.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: small

"As the bird by wandering, as the swallow by
flying, so the curse causeless shall not
come."—Prov. xxvi. 2.

.. vspace:: 2

The swallow is the bird of the
summer.  Like the coming of
the cuckoo itself, the arrival of
the swallow is anxiously waited for as the
harbinger of warmer days.  And thus we
have the beautiful fancy connected with
the little flower Celandine.  The name
means "a swallow," and was applied to
the tiny plant because it was supposed to
open its petals when the swallows appeared
in spring, and to close them and die when
they disappeared in autumn.  Whether the
flowers hasten to welcome the little bird or
not, there are many human hearts that
leap up with joy at the sight of the airy
wanderer, and hail it as the bird of
freedom—the herald and pledge of the summer.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center

\I.—IT IS THE BIRD OF FREEDOM.

.. vspace:: 1

This is the meaning of its Hebrew name,
and surely no more fitting title could be
applied to so unfettered and freedom-loving
a bird.  Tennyson, in his great poem, "In
Memoriam," speaks of

   |  "Short swallow-flights of song that dip
   |  Their wings ... and skim away."

Who does not love to see it darting through
the sunshine, skimming along the surface
of a stream, or wheeling away in airy circles
on its swift, untired wings!  It is a thing
of beauty and a joy for ever—happy as the
summer light, free and untamable as the
breeze.

And we set this down as the first law of
bird-life—that every songster of the field
and wood *should be free*.  This is its
birthright and blessing, and no one has the
right to rob it of its liberty.  The green
fields and the blue sky have been given to
it as its heritage, and the barbarous custom
of binding its wandering wing and shutting
it up in a cage should be censured and
condemned by all healthy minds.  The swallow,
indeed, cannot be thus tamed and domesticated.
She who claims the whole earth as
her fatherland refuses to be imprisoned in
a cage.  She will die rather than yield.
And all young hearts cannot learn the
lesson too soon that the feathered tribes of
the woodland ought to be left to their
God-given liberty.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center

\II.—IT IS THE BIRD OF OBEDIENCE.

.. vspace:: 1

Another lesson taught by the swallow
is that *liberty is not license*.  Freedom to
wander from land to land does not mean
freedom from all control.  Our text speaks
of the law of its migration.  Like the stork,
the crane, or the turtle dove, the swallow
knows the time of its coming.

In France it is spoken of as "the Jew,"
because of its wandering habits; and in the
science of heraldry it was used as a crest
by the crusader pilgrims to symbolise the
fact that they too were strangers in a strange
land.  But to the swallow no land is strange.
The whole earth is its fatherland.  And
while it *does* wander to and fro over land
and sea, it always observes its appointed
seasons.  All its wandering is guided by a
purpose.  Its freedom is regulated by
unfailing instinct.  It may speed its flight to
far distant climes, but it comes back to the
same nest.  This is the law of its migration;
and in obedience to it, the swallows
appear in April and disappear in October
with all the regularity of the seasons or the
ebb and flow of the tide.  The cause is there,
and the effect follows.  The bird of freedom
is a slave to its own higher destiny.

And so ought we.  Freedom to wander
is not so great a boon as obedience to a
higher, diviner law.  Like the needle
trembling to the pole, or the swallow returning
to the same old nest, our hearts ought to
hark back to the sacredness of home and to
the God and faith of our fathers.  "There
is an instinct in the new-born babes of
Christ, like the instinct that leads birds to
build their nests" (Rutherford).  And this
instinct, like the law of migration, makes
us the children of *obedience*.  There is no
license in the liberty of Christ.  We are
only free to *serve*.


.. vspace:: 2

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\III.—IT IS THE BIRD THAT BUILDS
ITS NEST IN GOD'S TEMPLE.

.. vspace:: 1

"Yea, the sparrow hath found an house,
and the swallow a nest for herself, where
she may lay her young, even Thine altars"
(Ps. lxxxiv. 3).

Swallows sometimes build their nests in
the most extraordinary places—on a picture
frame, on a lamp-bracket, on a door-knocker,
in a table-drawer, and between the handles
of a pair of shears hung on the wall.  James
Gilmour, in his missionary travels through
Mongolia, found that they actually entered
his tent and built their nests within reach
of his hand.  And so fully do the little birds
confide in man's protection, that they will
even take up their abode in his places of
worship.  The heathen temples, the
Mohammedan mosques, and the Christian churches
are all inhabited by the swallow, and here,
in the eighty-fourth Psalm, it is spoken of
as having sought and found a home in the
courts of the Jewish temple.

The Psalmist, detained at home, envied
the little birds that built their nests under
the eaves of the priests' houses, and thought
of the very sparrows that were allowed to
pick up the crumbs in the temple courts.
It reminds us of Samuel Rutherford when
a prisoner in Aberdeen.  He often looked
back to his country church and manse near
the shore of the Solway Firth, and sighed,
"I am for the present thinking the sparrows
and swallows that build their nests at
Anwoth blessed birds."  These men, as
Spurgeon would say, "needed no clatter
of bells" to bring them to church; they
carried a bell in their own bosoms; holy
appetite is a better call to worship than a
full chime.

And the lesson is for the young people
no less than for their parents.  For the
Psalmist adds that the nest of the swallow
was for "her young."  The swallow reared
her young brood in the temple courts.  And
this is the duty and privilege of all Christian
parents.  The house of God may be a nest
for their little ones.  How beautiful to see
parents and children coming Sabbath by
Sabbath to the same family pew!  In after-years
will not these little ones find their
way back to the same old nest?  Yes,
"train up a child in the way he should go,
and even when he is old he will not depart
from it."  Or if, perchance, they are called
upon to suffer, and are not able, like the
Psalmist, to come to God's house, the spirit
will still be willing though the flesh be weak,
and they will sit and sing like another great
sufferer—

   |  "A little bird I am,
   |    Shut from the fields of air,
   |  And in my cage I sit and sing
   |    To Him who placed me there,
   |  Well pleased a prisoner to be,
   |  Because, O God, it pleaseth thee.

   |  "Nought else have I to do,
   |    I sing the whole day long,
   |  And He whom most I love to please,
   |    Doth listen to my song.
   |  He caught and bound my wandering wing,
   |  But still He bends to hear me sing."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Spider`:

.. class:: center large bold

   The Spider.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: small

"The hypocrite's hope shall perish, ... whose
trust shall be a spider's web."—Job viii. 13, 14.

.. vspace:: 2

What is hypocrisy?  It is a
bird of evil omen that builds
its nest on the tree of religion.
It is a kind of homage that vice pays to
virtue.  Were there no virtue there would
be no need to simulate it.  Every act of
hypocrisy is a tacit acknowledgment of
its greatness.  O Virtue! how great thou
art, when even the bad and the vile are
constrained to do thee homage!  No one
becomes a hypocrite when he pretends to
be different from what he is, but when he
pretends to be *better* than he is.  In spite
of himself he is paying a high tribute to
thy greatness and goodness!

The attempt to conceal the evil heart,
however, shall not always be successful.
"The day is coming when hypocrites will
be stripped of their fig-leaves" (Matthew
Henry).  Their trust shall be as frail as a
*spider's web*.  Could any language be more
expressive?  In Eastern lands the
flimsiness of the spider's web is proverbial.
"He shall lean upon his house (on that
light *gossamer*), but it shall not stand: he
shall hold fast thereby, but it shall not
endure."  The material is so frail, that
the least violence destroys it; and the
hypocrite's hope is so flimsy, that it shall
not stand in the judgment.  "They weave
the spider's web, but their webs shall not
become garments, neither shall they cover
themselves with their works" (Isa. lix. 6).

But turning to the spider itself, we may
learn various lessons.


.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center

\I.—ITS SKILL AS A WEAVER.

.. vspace:: 1

Like Hogarth's good apprentice, it has
made admirable use of its trade.  Its web,
however frail, is really a marvellous
production.  It is distinguished by beauty of
design, fineness of texture, nicety and
sensitiveness of touch, reminding us of
Pope's couplet—

   |  "The spider's *touch*, how exquisitely fine,
   |  Feels at each thread and lives along the line."
   |

And when we add to this that the
whole fabric is spun out of its own body—a
part of its very life—it is not difficult to
see that the spider's work must be of the
finest order, and well worthy of the study
and imitation of every young apprentice.

Every lad in going forward to the work
of his life should set up a high ideal.  In
all that he does he ought to aim at
perfection.  Like the spider's web, his work,
whatever it is, should be a bit of
himself—steeped in his own thought and shaped by
his own effort.  He may only be a weaver,
but he must aspire to be a *good* one—one
who plans as well as labours, and reads as
well as plans.  For in the race of life,
muscle is no match for mind, and skill will
always outstrip slovenliness—just as the
great Goliath must go down before the
alert son of Jesse, and the pigmies of the
African forest can easily outmatch and
out-manoeuvre the lion.  Let every young
life go and examine the perfection of the
spider's web, and seek to do likewise.


.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center

\II.—ITS PROWESS AS A HUNTER.

.. vspace:: 1

Popular prejudice has always been
against the spider; and it must be
admitted that there is a good deal to
sanction the poet's unfavourable verdict when
he says regarding it—

   |  "*Cunning* and *fierce*, mixture abhorr'd."
   |

Its cunning and craft have passed into
a proverb; and all the children know that
its apparent treachery, in decoying the
little fly into its parlour, has been suitably
expressed in verse.  Its fierceness also is
quite equal to its cunning, and when the
thought of its hairy-looking appearance is
added to the fact of the poison-fangs
which it buries in the bodies of its victims,
there would seem to be enough to warrant
the general dislike with which the spider
has at all times been regarded.

On the other hand, we must not forget
these two things—(1) That the spider is
only fulfilling the instinct which an
all-wise God has implanted in it; and (2)
that it is of great service to man in
diminishing the swarms of insects by
which he is molested.  Thomas Edward,
the Banffshire naturalist, calculated that
a single pair of swallows would destroy
282,000 insects in one year while rearing
their two broods, and sometimes they rear
three.  And if this be the service rendered
by a single pair of birds, what may not
be accomplished by those innumerable
spiders that weave their gummy webs on
every bush and hedge-row, and spend the
entire day, and sometimes the whole night,
in trapping and ridding the atmosphere of
those annoying pests.  Bereft of these
wily hunters, we should be like the
Egyptians in the time of Moses—plagued
and eaten up of flies: so that in spite of
prejudice and general dislike the spider
is occupying a real sphere of usefulness
in the world.  And so may we.  We can
afford at times to pause and study the
hunter's skill, and do something to
imitate its prowess.


.. vspace:: 2

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\III.—ITS FAME AS A TEACHER.

.. vspace:: 1

It teaches us how to spin and how to
weave, how to hunt and how to snare.
And as one has expressed it, it has
solved many a problem in mathematics
before Euclid was born.  Look at the
spider's web, and see whether "any hand
of man, with all the fine appliances of
art, and twenty years' apprenticeship to
boot, could weave us such another."  Nay,
if we think of the *water*-spider, which
bottles up air, and takes it under water
to breathe with, it is not too much to say,
that if people had but "watched
water-spiders as Robert Bruce watched the
cottage spider, diving-bells would have
been discovered hundreds of years ago,
and people might have learnt how to go
to the bottom of the sea and save the
treasures of wrecks."

The name of King Robert the Bruce
suggests one special lesson.  If all history
be true, the spider will always be known in
Scotland as the teacher of *perseverance*—

   |  "If at first you don't succeed,
   |  Try, try, try again."
   |

Once, twice, thrice, nay, six times over
the tiny creature, like a swinging
pendulum, had swung towards the opposite
rafter in that little cottage, but always
without success; and the eyes of the
defeated and almost hopeless hero of
Scotland watched its repeated struggles.
But however often it had failed, it was
in no wise beaten nor discouraged; but
gathered up all its energies for another
and more strenuous effort.  "England,
Scotland, Spiderland expects every one to
do his duty," and with one supreme push
it swung out and won at last.  "Bravo!"
exclaimed the Bruce, as he recalled how
he himself had been defeated six times,
and might read in the triumph of the
spider the promise and pledge of his own.
Little did the cottage spider think how a
mighty courage had been rekindled by its
tiny struggles, and how a brilliant page in
history would be opened by the memory
of its splendid success.  Yet so it was.
Great results have sometimes sprung from
small causes, and the champion of Scottish
liberties arose from his pallet bed to
deliver and consolidate his kingdom.

And little do children in any age think
how great an influence *they* might wield,
if only in devotion to what is right they
would follow and obey Christ's gospel.
Many a tiny seed has grown into a great
tree.  And Jesus Himself has said, "Out
of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou
hast perfected praise" (Matt. xxi. 16).





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Fly`:

.. class:: center large bold

   The Fly.

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.. class:: small

"Dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary
to send forth a stinking savour."—Eccles. x. 1.

.. vspace:: 2

Both of these terms, "apothecary"
and "ointment," need to be
explained.  In Hebrew they have
no reference to anything *medical*, whether
it be to the person of a chemist or the
contents of a chemist's shop.  The ointment
means the various perfumes in use among
the Jews—both in the anointing of the
living and in the embalming of the dead;
and the apothecary meant the perfumer
who prepared and sold these perfumes,
whether as cosmetics for the toilet or as
spices for the tomb.

If, therefore, the perfumes were carelessly
stored or insecurely protected, the
flies managed to gain admittance, and the
priceless treasure became corrupted by
the odour of their dead bodies.  For
"the fly that sips treacle is lost in the
sweets."  And the lesson drawn by the
preacher is sufficiently telling, "So doth
a little folly him that is in reputation
for wisdom."  The man himself is the
ointment, his reputation is the perfume,
the little folly is the dead fly, and his
disgrace is the stinking savour.  Ah! little
foxes spoil the vines, and sometimes
little follies lead to great sins.  "It is
very cold," said the camel in an Eastern
fable, "and I would be so thankful to
you, Mister Tailor, if you would only let
me put my nose inside your door."  And
the good man consented.  But soon the
camel had thrust in his head as well as
his nose, then his neck and his forefeet,
and last of all his whole body, which
completely filled up the tailor's little shop.
It was no use now pleading that there
was no room for both.  The camel coolly
replied that in that case the tailor could
go outside.  It was the beginning of the
evil that wrought the mischief.  It was
allowing the *nose* that did it.  "A little
leaven leaveneth the whole lump," just as
a tiny spark will kindle a great fire, or
little snowflakes become a dreaded
avalanche.  Let every young heart shun the
least appearance of evil.  Dead flies
corrupt the costly spikenard.

But the fly itself will repay attention
from two points of view.


.. vspace:: 2

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\I.—ITS STRUCTURE.

.. vspace:: 1

Were we in search of design in nature,
or an illustration of the wonders of the
microscope, no better example could be
suggested to us than the form and structure
of a fly.  Its tiny body is even more
wonderful than the body of a man.  Take,
for instance, its marvellous power of
walking.  It can walk anywhere or anyhow,
setting every principle of gravitation at
defiance by promenading head downwards
along the ceiling, or skipping up and
down the glittering window-pane, pursuing
objects that to us are quite invisible.
How is the feat accomplished?  What
peculiarity has its little foot that the
daring acrobat can keep itself suspended
in that dizzy and foolhardy position?
The microscope gives us the answer.
The foot consists of two pads covered
with innumerable short hairs, and these
hairs are hollow, having trumpet-shaped
mouths filled with gum.  This gum
becomes so hard when exposed to the air,
that it will not dissolve in water, so that
at every step the fly glues itself to the
ceiling, and there it would remain unless
it knew how to lift its feet.  It lifts
them in a slanting direction while the
gum is still moist, just as you would
remove a moist postage stamp by taking
hold of one corner and gently drawing it
back.  And think of the creature's eye.
It can observe everything in four-fifths of
the circle round it, so that to compete
with a fly we would require two more
pair of eyes, one at the side and another
at the back of our head.  But in no
sense can we compete with these aerial
nomads.  They have three sets of brain
instead of one.  They have wings, which
we have not.  They have six legs instead
of two; and their proboscis or trunk is
as far beyond that of an elephant "as a
railway engine is beyond a wheelbarrow."

As seen under a powerful microscope,
the structure of a common fly is a perfect
marvel of design, and it may well excite
our curiosity and call forth our admiration.
It points us to the greatness and
wisdom of Him whose works are as
perfect in the tiniest insect as in the
brightest star, whose power is as manifest
in the humblest sea-shell as in the huge
leviathan that makes the ocean its playground—

   |  "All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
   |  Whose body Nature is, and God the soul."


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.. class:: center

\II.—ITS USEFULNESS.

.. vspace:: 1

Instead of usefulness, one might almost
be tempted to say that the first law of
their nature is to *torment* people; but the
service they render to the world at large
must not be lightly esteemed.

1. The very torment of which they are
so capable may be turned into a visitation
of *judgment*.  When Isaiah refers to the
scattering of the Ten Tribes, he exclaims,
"The Lord shall hiss for the fly that is
in the uttermost part of the rivers of
Egypt, and for the bee that is in the
land of Assyria" (Isa. vii. 18).  And the
children will remember that the ten
plagues which fell upon Egypt included
"swarms of flies" in all the houses of the
Egyptians.  These little insects were used
as the scourges of mankind to wreak the
vengeance of a broken law on the heads
of the transgressors.  And especially is
this the case with the law of cleanliness.
The one sin that the fly will not tolerate
is the sin of laziness and dirt.
Wheresoever the filth is, there will the flies be
gathered together.  Those who despise
this first law of their being will not offend
with impunity; and if no other scourge
be available, that little torment—the
common fly—will be commissioned to
undertake the duty.

2. But the sword they wield is double-edged.
It not only flays the law-breakers,
it also slays the infection and the fever
which have followed in their train.  They
are *the scavengers of the atmosphere*.  They
do for the air what the pariah dogs of the
East do for the earth—they gather up
and remove everything that offends, everything
that occasions or breeds disease.  Let
no one say that the swarms of flies bring
the cholera and the fever.  They are the
camp-followers who tread on the heels of
those dreaded foes, and they feed upon
and do their best to remove the foulsome
odours.  We need not grudge the spider
his savoury morsel, but it will be a dark
hour for the earth if he should gain the
mastery.  If he should prove too much
for the fly, we shall be left to the
miasmas and pestilences from which the
presence of the fly relieves us.

3. Even in its death the fly renders a
most substantial service.  It forms the
food of innumerable song-birds, which,
apart from the fly, would never be found
in our land at all.  How dull and lifeless
would the months of the summer be
without the swallow, the willow-warbler,
and the fly-catcher.  And yet these feed
almost entirely on flies.  "And if the
trout had not discovered what a savoury
morsel the fly is that dances on the
stream, what a very dull, stupid
amusement would fishing be!  Many a
schoolboy would lose the greatest treat of a
summer holiday if there were no flies, and
no trout that appreciated them."

The niche filled by the fly is therefore
a very important one.  It neither lives a
useless life nor dies a useless death.  Its
sphere of usefulness is as striking and
suggestive as the wondrous delicacy of its
form and structure, and they both point
us to the Great Creator whose greatness
and goodness are manifested through all
His works—

   |  "Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
   |  A hero perish, or a sparrow fall."

And if the boy be the father of the man,
we may justly emphasise another lesson—that
the law of kindness ought to rule
in the least as well as in the greatest—that
he who begins by torturing a fly may
end with something far more solemn—*a
human heart*.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Pearl-Oyster`:

.. class:: center large bold

   The Pearl-Oyster.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: small

"Neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest
they trample them under their feet."—Matt. vii. 6.

.. vspace:: 2

The disciples of Jesus are here told
not to talk too freely of their
spiritual enjoyments before men
of debased tastes.  Religion is brought into
contempt, and its professors insulted, when
it is forced upon those who cannot value it
and will not have it.  "Throw a pearl to a
swine," says Matthew Henry, "and he will
resent it, as if you threw a stone at him;
*reproofs* will be called *reproaches*."  Such
men cannot appreciate the jewels of
Christianity, and like swine, which prefer
peas to pearls, they will trample them
under their feet and turn again and rend you.

On the other hand, this caution is not to
be carried too far.  We are not to set down
all our neighbours as dogs and swine, and
then excuse ourselves from trying to do
them good on this poor plea.  The Saviour's
golden rule shows us a more excellent way:
"Whatsoever ye would that men should do
to you, do ye even so to them; for this is
the law and the prophets."  We are to deal
with each other as God deals with us.  He
does not judge us uncharitably; but still
less does He give that which is holy to the
dogs.  He gives to each what is suitable
to each.  He sends His *rain* on the just
and on the unjust; but He keeps His *love*
for those who worship and love His Son
(John xiv. 21).  And that is His example
to you and me.  We must seek His Spirit
to guide us in all things, that being made
wise with His wisdom, we may ourselves
possess the pearl of great price and not
cast our pearls before swine.


.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center

\I.—BUT WHAT IS A PEARL?

.. vspace:: 1

It is a well-known gem found in several
shell-fish, such as the common mussel and
the oyster.  How it came to be there was
long a puzzle to man.  In ancient times
they imagined it was formed from the dew
of heaven.  The sparkling dewdrops and
the shining pearls were so like each other
that they adopted the beautiful fancy that
the pearl was begotten from the dew.  To
explain the shining lustre of the gem this
other detail was added, that just at the
moment when the conception was taking
place there was a vivid flash of lightning,
and the pearl caught something of the
fiery gleam.  All these fancies are read
together by one ancient writer, when he
says regarding the pearl of great price,
"This Pearl is Jesus, whom the virgin
conceived from the divine lightning."

But all this, of course, is pure fancy.  A
pearl is not formed from the dew, and still
less is its lustre derived from the lightning.
Science would describe it as the result of
an accident.  It is "an *accidental* concretion
of shelly matter deposited within the
shell of certain mollusca."  If you open an
oyster-shell you find the inside of *it* all
covered over with a bright smooth covering
of shelly matter.  This is laid on in
innumerable layers, the one above the
other, and the thinner and more transparent
the layers, the more perfect is the
lustre.  Now, if any hard substance like a
grain of sand gets inside the shell, this
shelly matter begins to gather round it,
coat after coat, which harden as they
gather, until the pearl is fully formed.  It
is said the Chinese take advantage of this
fact to get the little creatures to make
imitation pearls.  They insert round pellets
between the valves of the mussel, and in a
short time the creature deposits a coating
of this pearly substance upon them, and
they can scarcely be detected from true pearls.

A pearl, then, is a grain of sand
transformed into a precious gem.  It began as
a kind of thorn in the flesh, and ended in a
jewel so valuable that thousands of pounds
cannot buy it.  The unwelcome intruder
was really an angel in disguise.  The pain
became a pearl.

And do not all human pearls come in
the same way?  Is there any gain without
pain? or is there any perfection without
the fire of suffering?  No.  The fruit-tree
does not flourish apart from the pruning-knife,
and the fruit is not ripened apart
from the scorching heat of the sun.  Iron
is not hammered into shape until it has
been thrust into the furnace, and character
does not glisten like a gem until it has
been polished by the lapidary.  And thus
we find the poets saying that they learn in
suffering what they teach in song; and
the young people will not forget that even
Jesus—the Pearl of great price—was made
"perfect through sufferings" (Heb. ii. 10).
So that Carlyle was well within the mark
when he wrote: "Thought, true labour of
any kind, highest virtue itself, is it not the
daughter of pain?"  Yes, every thorn may
be a blessing in disguise.  Every pain may
become a pearl.

There is one gem in the character of
Jesus that all you young people would
do well to imitate.  I mean the *pearl of
obedience*.  Though He knew that God
was His Father, and the temple was
His Father's house, He went down to
Nazareth with Joseph and Mary, and was
"*subject unto them*."  That was the
keynote of His life.  To obey was better than
sacrifice; and even at the tragic close He
was "obedient unto death."  Is that the
ornament, children, with which you are
trying to adorn your character?  Are you
in loving subjection to your parents on
earth, and are you learning to be in
subjection to your Father in heaven?  That
can only be obtained in one way—the way
Jesus won it—the way of self-sacrifice and
self-denial.  Every pearl is the product of
a pain.  Jesus *learned obedience* by the
things which He *suffered* (Heb. v. 8).


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\II.—THE VALUE OF PEARLS.

.. vspace:: 1

The most valuable pearl-fisheries are to
be found in the Persian Gulf and on the
western coast of Ceylon.  The annual
produce of the former is said to be over
£200,000; while that of the latter is set
down at even a higher sum.  The value of
single pearls has sometimes been enormous.
Those who have read Rider Haggard's
books will remember the graphic way in
which he describes an incident in the life
of Cleopatra.  That unscrupulous woman,
at a supper with Mark Antony, took from
her ear one of a pair of pearls of the value
of £80,000, and having dissolved it in
vinegar, swallowed the absurdly precious
draught; and she would have done the
same with its fellow had it not been
rescued from her wanton pride.

But however valuable pearls may be,
there are other things more valuable still.
Holy Scripture mentions three.

(1.) **Wisdom**.—"No mention shall be
made of coral or of pearls; for the price
of wisdom is above rubies" (Job xxviii. 18).
The wisdom here referred to is the
divine wisdom—the plan or purpose of
God exhibited in the universe.  But the
same truth applies to human wisdom—the
gaining of knowledge and discretion in
human affairs.  The price of this is far
above rubies.  It is not to be had for
pearls.  How then shall a boy get it?
Only by hard work and diligent application.
He must shun the company of the
idle and the frivolous, and give his time
and thought to the companionship of
books.  He must show diligence at school,
obedience in the home, and reverence in
the church.  All his lessons must be faithfully
learned, every task must be faithfully
performed.  And if he learn thus early to
sow well in youth, a harvest of intelligence
and wisdom will be the reward.  And this
will be a possession more valuable than
pearls, for

   |  "Just experience shows in every soil
   |  That those who *think* must govern those who *toil*."
   |

(2.) **Good Works**.—"In like manner,
that they adorn themselves ... not with
gold or pearls, but with good works" (1
Tim. ii. 9).  The wisdom must show itself
in outward action.  If the fountain be pure,
so also must the flowing stream.  The hand
must follow the heart.

And all this in the way of adornment—the
adornment of a good woman; and girls
especially will not miss the lesson that
broidered hair and golden trinkets are not
the only kind of ornaments.  Peter speaks
of the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,
which is in the sight of God of great price;
and Paul points us here, in 1st Timothy,
to the beauty and excellency of good works.
She who is arrayed in meekness and
kind-hearted generosity has no need of flounces
and finery.  She may even say of all other
ornaments, "Unadorned, adorned the most."

(3.) **Salvation** (Matt. xiii. 46).—Both
wisdom and good works must show themselves
in religion.  The beginning of wisdom
is the fear of God, and the best of good
works is to believe on Him whom He hath
sent (John vi. 29).  Till this is done, we
are like the merchant man seeking goodly
pearls.  He found a great many; for this
beautiful world in which we live has many
precious secrets to reveal to the earnest
seeker.  But not until we find salvation
through Jesus does the great *Eureka*, "I
have found it," burst from our lips.  This
is the treasure which all the wealth of the
world cannot buy.  Not all the thousands
of Cleopatra could lay it at her feet.  And
yet, wonder of wonders, it is given to the
penitent soul without money and without
price.  Jesus says, "Buy of me gold tried
in the fire, that thou mayst be rich; and
white raiment, that thou mayst be clothed."  "He
that hath no money, come ye, buy and
eat, yea come, buy wine and milk without
money and without price."  This is true
wisdom, and this is the soundest morality,
to come and find in the salvation of Jesus
*the Pearl of Great Price*.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Some Other Shells`:

.. class:: center large bold

   Some Other Shells.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center

\I.

   |  Happy sunlight on the sea,
   |  Sparkling diamonds, all for me;
   |  Wavelets chasing for the land,
   |  There to kiss the golden sand.

   |  See! a floating, straying shell,
   |  Run! it has a tale to tell;
   |  Children, with their eager eyes,
   |  Splash the water, seize the prize.

   |  Hold it to the little ear,
   |  List and tell me what you hear..
   |  Music?  Yes, for you and me,
   |  That's the music of the sea.

   |  Down below the water blue,
   |  There it lived and there it grew,
   |  Gazing through its watery dome,
   |  Happy in its ocean home.

   |  List'ning there both night and day,
   |  Hearing what the wild waves say,
   |  Watching sea-weed float along,
   |  There it learned the ocean's song.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center

\II.

   |  But the children never still,
   |  See them leap like mountain rill,
   |  Ringing out their laughter sweet,
   |  Sending forth their little fleet.

   |  Full of mirth, but leaving me
   |  Musing by another sea,
   |  Casting with its angry swell
   |  At my feet another shell.

   |  There upon the sand to rest,
   |  With a babe upon her breast,
   |  Came a mother, not a wife,
   |  Tossed upon the sea of life.

   |  As she sat and sat alone,
   |  Did she hear another moan?
   |  Waves that smiled, then swept the deck,
   |  Till they left this shattered wreck?

   |  Yes, while tear-drops rose and fell,
   |  There I heard the murmuring shell;
   |  Strange the tale it brought to me,
   |  Moaning echoes of the sea.

   |  Round and round the eddying world
   |  Had this straying shell been whirled;
   |  Round and round lay blackest night—
   |  Moths see nothing but the light.

   |  Tossed by sin and idle care,
   |  Pain and anguish found her there,
   |  Young and mirthful, fair but frail,
   |  There she learned the ocean's wail.


.. vspace:: 2

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\III.

   |  Hold it to the little ear,
   |  Children, tell me what you hear.
   |  Nothing?  No, you cannot know
   |  All this human tide of woe.

   |  Would I be a child again,
   |  Not to know another's pain?
   |  Mourn like some for childhood's hours,
   |  Gathering nought but summer's flowers?

   |  No.  I want the power to tell,
   |  Power to hear the murmuring shell,
   |  Power to catch the rising moan,
   |  Power to make its wail my own.

   |  Learning thus to feel with pain,
   |  I shall be a child again,
   |  But a child experience taught,
   |  Child in heart—a man in thought.

   |  Then I'll hear the echoing swell
   |  In the murmur of each shell,
   |  And with touch of friendship warm,
   |  Try to lull the raging storm.

   |  Lulled to rest, its song shall be,
   |  Murmurs of *another* sea—
   |  Heavenly love shall thrill and dwell
   |  In the murmur of the shell.

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   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  Of that higher sea to tell,
   |  Make me, Lord, an echoing shell,
   |  That the world may hear in mine
   |  Echoes of the love divine.





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.. _`The Calf`:

.. class:: center large bold

   The Calf.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: small

"Ye shall go forth and gambol as calves of
the stall."—Mal. iv. 2 (R.V.).

.. vspace:: 2

Malachi is known as "the last
of the prophets."  With him
the sun of a thousand years
was sinking in the west.  It had its rise
in the prophetical school of Samuel, its
zenith in the glowing visions of Isaiah,
and its setting in the earnest appeals of
Malachi.  But before it loses all its glory
in the gathering twilight, it gives the
fair promise of another and better sun.
Malachi is led to write—"Unto you that
fear My name shall the *Sun of righteousness*
arise with healing in His wings; and
ye shall go forth and gambol as calves of
the stall."  He had frequently seen the
young calves let loose in the morning
sunshine, and as he stood and watched
their happy gambols, they became a kind
of illustration to him of far higher joys.
They led him to think of the coming "day
of the Lord," when, in the brightness of
that better Sun, those that feared His name
would rejoice with joy unspeakable and
full of glory.  They too would go forth
like the beasts of the field and skip and
play in the sunshine.

   |  "To hail Thy rise, Thou better Sun,
   |    The gathering nations come,
   |  Joyous, as when the reapers bear
   |    The harvest treasures home."
   |

The Bible imagery of the calf, however,
has much more to tell us than this, and I
propose to-day to direct your attention to
three points.


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\I.—THE CALF AS AN IDOL.

.. vspace:: 1

In Exodus xxxii. we have the story of
the *golden calf*.  It was a solemn hour in
the history of the Hebrews.  Moses was
up on Mount Sinai communing with God,
and all the people were waiting in the
plain.  They had watched their leader
ascend the hill and disappear within the
cloud; and for well-nigh forty days they
had been waiting for his return.  But
evidently they were waiting in vain.  Day
by day they had expected the cloud to
lift and pass away, but there it was still
lying on the rocky summit, brooding
and dark as ever.  They began to lose
heart.  They gradually grew impatient,
and finally they broke out in actual
rebellion.  They turned to Aaron and said,
"Up, make us gods which shall go before
us; for as for this Moses, the man who
brought us up out of the land of Egypt,
we wot not what is become of him."

And then follows the sad story of
Israel's idolatry.  Moses on the hill was
receiving a new revelation.  He was
receiving from Jehovah the two tables of
stone.  And these were the first two lines
inscribed upon them: "*Thou shalt have no
other gods before Me*."  "*Thou shalt not
make unto thee any graven image*."  And
lo! at the very moment that these words
were being written, the chosen people
at the foot of the hill were breaking off
their golden earrings and making a molten
calf.  They were renouncing the worship
of Jehovah and setting the worship of
Egypt—the worship of the *bull*, Apis, in
its place.

When Moses came down and beheld
this idol, he was completely overcome.
In a great outburst of grief and anger
he dashed the tables out of his hand
and break them beneath the mount.
Israel had sinned a great sin.  They were
a stiff-necked and rebellious people.  And
the anger of the Lord was kindled against
Israel, "and there fell of the people that
day about three thousand men."

It is the same taproot of sin which is
the cause of all our sorrows.  We, too,
have sinned against the Lord.  We have
made some kind of golden calf, and set
it in the place of Jehovah.  And unless
we are saved from the awful consequences
of our sin, we also will suffer, as
those rebellious Hebrews suffered,
because of the idol which we have made.
This is the first lesson that we may learn
from the Bible imagery of the calf.  It
sets before us the true nature and the
terrible consequences of sin.


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\II.—THE CALF AS A SACRIFICE.

.. vspace:: 1

The stain of sin may be deep, but the
power of redemption is deeper.  Moses
said unto Aaron, "Take thee a bull calf
for a sin offering, and offer it before the
Lord" (Lev. ix. 2).  Not indeed that the
blood of calves could take away sin.

   |  "Not all the blood of beasts
   |    On Jewish altars slain,
   |  Could give the guilty conscience peace,
   |    Or wash away the stain."

But that was the Old Testament way of
setting forth the great fact of redemption.
The offering of the bull calf was a picture
of the sacrifice of Jesus.  For as we read
in Hebrews ix. 11, "Christ having come
a high priest of good things to come,
not through the blood of goats and calves,
but through His own blood, entered in
once into the holy place, having obtained
eternal redemption for us."  This is the
hope and plea of every poor sinner.  "The
blood of Jesus, His Son, cleanseth us from
all sin."

And as a sacrifice, the bull calf *could
not be redeemed*.  The first-born of man
might be redeemed, as also the firstling
of any unclean animal; but not so the
firstling of an ox.  It was a *clean* animal,
and its blood must be sprinkled upon the
altar (Num. xviii. 17).  In this way it
shadowed forth the sacrifice of Christ, of
whom it was said, "He saved others;
Himself He cannot save."  As our Divine
Isaac He came to Mount Moriah, but
there was no ram found there to take
His place as the sacrifice.  He alone was
a perfect offering.  He alone was clean;
and therefore He alone as the Great High
Priest offered Himself as the victim.  He
poured out His soul unto death.  And
it is to this Saviour that all you young
people must look.  "Neither is there
salvation in any other: there is none
other name under heaven given among
men whereby we must be saved."  Looking
unto Jesus, loving Him, and resting
on Him—that is the way we enter into
life.  "Behold the Lamb of God, which
taketh away the sin of the world."

This is the second lesson we learn from
the Bible imagery of the calf.  Sin is
followed by sacrifice.  The molten calf
gives place to the calf that was slain.


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\III.—THE CALF AS A FEAST.

.. vspace:: 1

You remember the story of the Prodigal
Son contained in the Gospel of Luke.  In
that pearl of parables we have the
mention of the "*fatted calf*."  This was
considered a great delicacy among the Jews.
Large numbers were carefully selected
and fattened for the purpose.  And this
is what we are to understand by "calves
of the stall."  Even the witch of Endor
had "a *fat* calf" in her house, which she
killed and dressed for King Saul
(1 Sam. xxviii. 24).  And Abraham ran unto the
herd, and fetched "a calf *tender and good*,"
and prepared it for the three angels who
had visited him in the plains of Mamre
(Gen. xviii. 7).  This was hospitality
worthy of both kings and angels; and
this is the kind of entertainment which
is set before every returning prodigal.
They feed on angels' food.  They eat of
the finest of the wheat.  They are brought
into Christ's banqueting house, and His
banner over them is love.

Did ever any one sin a more grievous
sin than the prodigal?  Was ever any one
visited with a sadder and sorer
punishment?  Like the silly sheep, he had
strayed away into the far-off country;
and there, in that distant land, he found
himself in penury and rags.  He would
fain have filled his belly with the husks
that the swine did eat.  But the Shepherd
found the sheep.  The poor wanderer
came to himself in that distant land,
and found his way back again to his
father's house.  And what was the
result?  His home-coming was celebrated
by a feast.  The father said unto the
servant, "Bring hither the *fatted calf* and
kill it."

   |  "A day of *feasting* I ordain,
   |    Let mirth and song abound,
   |  My son was dead, and lives again,
   |    Was lost, and now is found.

   |  Thus joy abounds in paradise,
   |    Among the hosts of heav'n,
   |  Soon as the sinner quits his sins,
   |    Repents and is forgiven."
   |

The sin, the sacrifice, the feast.  The
golden calf, the slain calf, the fatted calf.
The first is ours, the second is Christ's,
and the third is designed for *both*.
"Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if
any man hear My voice and open the
door, I will come in to him, and will sup
*with him*, and he *with Me*."  Nay, Jesus
Himself is both sacrifice and feast.  He
could turn to the Jews and say, "Whoso
eateth My flesh, and drinketh My blood,
hath eternal life."  "I am the living bread
which came down from heaven: if any
man eat of this bread, he shall live for
ever."

We must repent of the sin, we must
trust in the sacrifice, and we must feed
upon the feast.  Not till then shall we be
fired with the hope and filled with the
joy of the last of the prophets—"Unto
you that fear My name, shall the Sun of
righteousness arise with healing in His
wings: and ye shall go forth and *gambol*
as calves of the stall."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Bat`:

.. class:: center large bold

   The Bat.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: small

"In that day a man shall cast his idols to the
moles and the bats."—Isa. ii. 20.

.. vspace:: 2

The bat is only mentioned three
times in the Bible, and it cannot
be said at a first reading that
the references are very flattering.  They
seem to justify the kind of horror which
most people feel when they encounter a
bat; for it is generally regarded as "a
creature of such ill-omen that its very
presence causes a shudder, and its
approach would put to flight many a human
being."

Moses speaks of it as one of the
unclean animals—a creature neither to be
eaten as food nor offered in sacrifice;
while Isaiah describes it as a fit
companion for the mole, or rather the
mole-rat, which crawls away from the sunshine,
and seems to love the darkness rather
than the light, because its deeds are evil.
Clearly the little "night-flier" has a good
deal to contend with in winning for itself
a place among the world's favourites.  It
has enough against it to crush an Atlas,
not to speak of a bat; and if it rise to a
position of honour after all, it does so in
spite of the incubus of general dislike and
loathing which the ignorance of superstition
has heaped upon it.  But all true
bats, like all true boys, but seek to rise
above any such reputation.


.. vspace:: 2

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\I.—THE JEWISH PROHIBITION.

.. vspace:: 1

The bat was regarded as unclean.  Two
reasons may be given for this—corresponding
to the two classes of bats which
are known to have existed in Bible lands.
We have first the *insectivorous* bats, which,
both in habits and appearance, are so
repugnant that no one would ever dream
of regarding them as food, or as fit objects
for sacrifice.  They were rejected on the
principle that nothing repulsive or hideous
is to be eaten or offered; for this would
offend the *horror naturalis* which is so
great a safeguard in human life.  And
indeed, if these were the only bats known
to the Jews, the prohibition as thus
applied would seem to be needless.  But
these were not the only bats.  We have
also the large *frugivorous* bats which have
been used as food in various parts of the
world; and they may have been so used
by the Jews themselves when sojourning
in the land of Egypt.  The Egyptian
monuments show that these large
fox-headed bats were not at all uncommon in
the valley of the Nile; and Canon
Tristram secured two fine specimens even in
Central Palestine, which measured twenty
and a half inches from wing to wing.
Now if surrounding nations ate these bats
as a common article of diet, would not
this be a sufficient reason why the Jews
should not be allowed to touch them?  I
think it would.  Israel as a nation was set
apart to Jehovah.  They were His peculiar
people.  They were His chosen and
purchased possession; and therefore even in
their food there must be a separation in
which this reference to Jehovah was
expressed.  They must be made to feel that
even in the prohibition of the bat and other
animals, the divine command had been
addressed to them, "Come out from among
them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord."

And yet one cannot but think that all
this was rather hard on the bat.  "It is
said that the African negroes depict and
describe *their* evil spirits as white; and
that in consequence, the negro children fly
in consternation if perchance a white man
comes into their territory.  Yet a white
man is not so very horrid an object after
all, if one only dare look at him, and the
same remark holds good with the bats."
(J. G. Wood.)  A very pretty and useful
creature is the bat, and it is quite qualified
to teach us many valuable lessons.


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\II.—WHAT A BAT IS.

.. vspace:: 1

How are we to describe this little
puzzle?  Are we to call it a bird or a
beast, or is it both of these rolled into one?
The possession of wings would seem to
argue that it must be a bird; but then its
sharp teeth and mouse-like body would as
clearly prove that it must be a beast; so
that the simple question whether the bat is
a bird or beast is not so simple as it looks.

The common name, "*Flitter-mouse*,"
exhibits the same difficulty; and so also
does Æsop in his amusing description of
the battle of the beasts and birds.  The
bat, availing himself of his combination of
fur and wings, did not join himself to
either party.  He hovered over the field
of battle, and waited to see which side
was going to be victorious.  He was
determined in the final issue to be on the
side of the victors.  But in this little
game he was entirely unsuccessful; for
when they saw the tactics of the little
traitor, he was scouted by both parties,
and has been compelled ever since to
appear in public only at night.  It is
quite evident that when Æsop wrote this
fable, he was not sure what to call the
bat—whether to describe it as a bird
because it had wings, or to place it among
the beasts because it had fur.  But what
then is the tiny creature?  A mammal, of
course.  A whale is not a fish because it
swims in the sea, and the bat is not a
bird because it flies in the air.  They
both suckle their young, and therefore
are true mammals.  Nay, Linnæus has
actually placed the bat in the highest
order of the mammals—in that of the
primates beside the monkey and the man.
Indeed, in one essential particular it has
easily excelled both.  It has grown for
itself a pair of wings—not a mere
parachute like that of the flying squirrels
or the flying fish, but a real pair of wings
which enable it to laugh to scorn all the
flying machines and balloons ever
invented by man.  How clumsy all these
inventions are in comparison with a bat's
wing.  Four of its fingers are drawn out
like the ribs of an umbrella, and then
covered over with its own skin like the
web of a duck's foot; and thus furnished
with the necessary means of competing
with the birds, it sails out like the swallow
in pursuit of its prey.  The remaining
finger or thumb is used as a hook to
suspend it from the roof or rafters where
it takes up its abode.  Here then is the
high position to which the bat has
attained.  It is the only mammal that flies.


.. vspace:: 2

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\III.—WHAT THE BAT DOES.

.. vspace:: 1

Let no one say that it lives a useless
life.  It is one of the most useful animals
we have.  It vies with the swallow in
destroying the swarms of insects that
infest the atmosphere.  They divide the
day of twenty-four hours between them.
The bat begins the work where the
swallow lays it down; and ruthlessly
pursues the insect prey all through the
night.  From dark to dawn, and sometimes
far into the day, it does yeoman
service in this important connection.  The
present writer remembers a pair of bats
in Perthshire, which were found in
company with the swallows even at the hour
of noon.  It was the month of September,
and perhaps they felt they must now
make haste in preparing for the winter's
hibernation.  For the bat is not able,
like the swallow, to migrate to a warmer
clime when the supply of insect food
begins to fail.  It must find another way
of spending the long months of the winter.
It must pass into a deep death-like
slumber, from which it is awakened, as the
flowers in spring are awakened, by the
returning life of the summer.  But the
traces of a wise design are seen everywhere.
The marks of a good and faithful
Creator are found through all His works.
If one creature has the power of migrating,
another has the power of hibernating;
and thus even in the mode of existence
pursued by a bat, there is abundant
evidence of the wisdom and goodness of God.

And how is the bat able to thread its
way through the darkest caverns where
the sharpest eyes are rendered useless?
It is not blind, like Tibbie Dyster in
"Alec Forbes"; and yet it might say, as
she did when congratulated on her fine
spinning, "I wadna spin sae weel gin it
warna that the Almichty pat some sicht
into the pints o' my fingers 'cause there
was nane left i' my een."  The bat has
indeed a marvellous power of sight in
"the pints o' its fingers."  Prof. Mivart
can only compare the sensitiveness of its
*touch* to a state of inflammation; and it is
this extreme sensibility that enables them
to direct their flight in these dark caverns.
This is another coign of vantage reached
by the bat.  It is the only mammal that
possesses wings, and these wings, in turn,
are the very perfection of the delicate
sense of touch.

But we go back to the point from which
we started, and say that, however useful
and wonderful the bat may be, it is not
to be eaten as food or offered in sacrifice.
It is *unclean*.  This, indeed, is a principle
which is full of gospel teaching.  A thing
may be good and useful in its own place,
and yet be quite unfit as an offering when
we appear before God.  Good thoughts,
kind words, and brave deeds are all
needed.  They are all necessary for the
adornment of our Christian character;
but for the forgiveness of our sins, and
the reception of "so great salvation," there
is no sacrifice which can be mentioned
save one: "Behold the Lamb of God,
which taketh away the sin of the world."  To
Jesus then must every boy and girl
look, saying in the language of the
hymn—

   |  "Just as I am, *without one plea*,
   |  *But that Thy blood was shed for me,*
   |  And that Thou bid'st me come to Thee,
   |        O Lamb of God, I come."





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.. _`The Eagle`:

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   The Eagle.

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.. class:: small

"Doth the eagle mount up at thy command,
and make her nest on high?"—Job xxxix. 27.

.. vspace:: 2

Jehovah is answering Job out of
the whirlwind.  He brings before
him a grand panorama of external
nature—the earth and sea, snow and
hail, the Pleiades and the lightning—the
wild goat, the wild ass, the ostrich, the
hawk, and the eagle; and as the glorious
pageant defiles before his eyes, he forces
him to face and answer the question:
Shall mortal man be more just than
God?  Shall he that contendeth with the
Almighty instruct Him?  He that
reproveth God, let him answer.  And Job's
answer is all that could be desired:
"Behold, I am vile: what shall I answer
Thee?  I will lay mine hand upon my
mouth."  The greatness of God in nature
has taught man his own utter insignificance.

Doth the eagle mount up at *thy*
command?  No.  All these pictures point
man to God.  They combine to illustrate
the mind and thought of Him who formed
them and cares for them.  So that the
conclusion of Ruskin is more than justified
that the universe is not a mirror that
reflects to proud self-love her own
intelligence.  It is a mirror that reflects
to the devout soul the attributes of God.


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\I.—THE ROCK-DWELLING HABITS OF THE EAGLE.

.. vspace:: 1

"She dwelleth and abideth on the
rock, upon the crag of the rock and the
strong place" (ver. 28).  It is to this that
Obadiah refers when he takes up his
parable against the Edomites.  They too
were rock-dwellers, who had made for
themselves houses and founded cities in
the rocky fastnesses of Mount Seir.  But
they are reminded that the impregnable
and inaccessible heights to which they
have resorted will be no defence against
Jehovah: "Though thou exalt thyself
as the eagle, and though thou set thy
nest among the stars, thence will I bring
thee down, saith the Lord."  It is even
added that Edom would become utterly
desolate: "As thou hast done, it shall
be done unto thee, ... and there shall
not be any remaining of the house of
Esau."  And if the testimony of modern
travellers may be accepted, the desolation
is mournful enough.  In 1848 Miss Harriet
Martineau visited Petra, the chief of these
rock-cities, and describes it as follows:
"Nowhere else is there desolation like
that of Petra, where these rock doorways
stand wide—still fit for the habitation of
a multitude, but all empty and silent
except for the multiplied echo of the cry
of the eagle, or the bleat of the kid.  No;
these excavations never were all tombs.
In the morning the sons of Esau came
out in the first sunshine to worship at
their doors, before going forth, proud as
their neighbour eagles, to the chase; and
at night the yellow fires lighted up from
within, tier above tier, the face of the
precipice" ("Eastern Life," vol. iii. 5).

The Edomite, alas, is gone, though the
eagle is still left, and she fixes her
habitation on the dizzy crag.


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\II.—THE ACUTENESS OF THE EAGLE'S SIGHT.

.. vspace:: 1

"From thence she seeketh the prey,
and her eyes behold afar off" (ver. 29).
The eye of a bird is a marvellous
structure.  It is a telescope and microscope
combined.  It has the power of compressing
the lens to adapt it to varying distances;
and is larger in proportion than
the eye of quadrupeds.  The kestrel
hawk, for instance, feeds on the common
field mouse; but this tiny creature is so
like the colour of the soil, that a human
eye could scarcely detect it at the
distance of a few yards.  The kestrel,
however, has no such difficulty.  Her
telescopic eye sees it from the sky
overhead, and like a bolt from the blue, she
swoops down upon the helpless prey.  No
mistake is made as she nears the ground.
Swiftly and almost instantaneously the
telescope is compressed into the
microscope, and the daring freebooter could
pick up a pin.

The same power is possessed by the
Griffon vulture or "eagle" of Holy
Scripture.  "*Her eyes behold afar off*."  A
dozen eagles may be soaring upwards in
the sunlight, until they become mere
specks against the blue of heaven, but
they are carefully watching each other
in their wheeling circles, and diligently
scanning the desert below in the hope of
discovering some prey.  The moment the
object is sighted, and even one bird has
made a swoop downwards, the movement
is detected by the one nearest, which
immediately follows; while the second
is followed by a third, and the third by
a fourth, until in a few minutes, "wheresoever
the carcase is, there will the eagles
be gathered together."  Their vast power
of wing and acuteness of sight have led
them to the prey.

And the lesson is not far to seek.  In
the Carlyle use of the word it emphasises
the need of being able to *see*.  "To the
poet, as to every other, we say first of
all, *see*.  If you cannot do that, it is of
no use stringing rhymes together and
calling yourself a poet, there is no hope
for you."  And in religion it is the pure
in heart that see God.  If the inner eye
be single, the whole body shall be full of
light.  The aged *seer* on Patmos saw
into the heaven of heavens.  Like Paul,
he heard words not lawful to be uttered;
and thus in the symbolism of the Christian
Church, he is known as the New Testament
*eagle*.  He was the one who "saw
more and heard more, but spake less
than all the other disciples."  But all the
saints of God may soar and *see* in some
measure as he did—

   |  "On eagles' wings, they mount, they soar,
   |    Their wings are faith and love,
   |  Till past the cloudy regions here
   |    They rise to heaven above."


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\III.—THE EAGLE AND HER YOUNG.

.. vspace:: 1

"Her young ones also suck up blood,
and where the slain are, there is she"
(ver. 30).

The eagle is one of the most rapacious
of birds, and her terrible instincts are
transmitted to her young, which "*suck up
blood*."  This is heredity in its most awful
form, and is well fitted to shadow forth
the grim heritage of woe which is handed
down to *their* children by the drunkard,
the libertine, and the thief.  But in any
form the thought is a solemn one, forcing
even the Psalmist to wail, "Behold, I
was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did
my mother conceive me."  The fountain
of the life is polluted, as well as the
streams—"Her young ones also suck up
blood."

But this is not the only way in which
the eagle influences her young.  Allusion
is frequently made to the way in which
she supports them in their first essays at
flight.  When the tired fledgeling begins
to flutter downwards, she is said to fly
beneath it, and present her back and wings
for its support.  And this becomes a
beautiful illustration to the sacred writers
of the paternal care of Jehovah over
Israel: "As an eagle stirreth up her
nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth
abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth
them on her wings: so the Lord alone
did lead them, and there was no strange
god with them" (Deut. xxxii. 12).  "I
bare you on eagles' wings, and brought
you unto Myself" (Exod. xix. 4).

Let ours be the holy ambition to be
worthy of that care.  Let us try, like the
young eagles, to soar and *see* for ourselves.
Let us gaze upon the Sun of righteousness
and rejoice in the fulness of His
light, remembering the promise, that "they
who wait upon the Lord shall renew their
strength: they shall mount up with wings
as eagles: they shall run and not be weary,
and they shall walk and not faint."

   |  "What is that, mother?  The eagle, boy!
   |  Proudly careering his course with joy.
   |  Firm on his own mountain-vigour relying,
   |  Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying:
   |  His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun:
   |  He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on.
   |    Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine,
   |    Onward and upward, true to the line."
   |                                  —G. W. DOANE.





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.. _`The Lion`:

.. class:: center large bold

   The Lion.

.. vspace:: 2

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"He went down also and slew a lion in the
midst of a pit in time of snow."—2 Sam. xxiii. 20.

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This text treats of the way in which
lions were hunted in Bible lands
before the introduction of firearms.
A deep pit was dug in the woods, and carefully
covered over with withered leaves, and
when the monarch of the forest came out
in search of his prey and stumbled into
the trap, he was easily secured by the wily
hunters, or forthwith despatched with their
long-pointed spears.  Benaiah, however, did
a more valiant deed than this.  He went
down single-handed to the bottom of the
pit and slew the lion in the depth of winter.
Evidently he was one of those muscular
giants whom all young Britons will delight
to honour—a very Samson in sheer herculean
valour, a brave and dauntless warrior,
who was well worthy of a place among
King David's mighty men.

David himself, as a young shepherd, had
gone after a lion and a bear, and rescued a
lamb out of their teeth.  And Samson, when
going down to the vineyards of Timnath,
had also slain a young lion which came out
and roared against him.  But both of these
encounters had taken place in the open,
where there was a fair field and no favour;
whereas Benaiah met his antagonist in
the most dangerous circumstances—in the
middle of winter, when the lion was
ravenous with hunger, and at the bottom of a
lion-trap, where there was no possibility of
escape.  Clearly this man was a hero who
would neither flinch nor fear: "He slew
a lion in the midst of a pit in time of snow."

**Brave and fearless**—that is the lesson
which is written large for all healthy and
noble-minded boys, and it is taught by the
character of the lion, no less than by the
courage of the lion-slayer.  There are few
books in the Bible that do not contain
some reference to this majestic animal, and
it is always introduced as an emblem of
strength and force, whether used for a good
purpose or abused for a bad one.  Jesus
Himself is spoken of as the Lion of the
tribe of Judah, and our adversary the devil
is described by Peter as a roaring lion
walking about and seeking whom he may
devour.


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\I.—THE MAIN CHARACTERISTICS OF THE LION.

.. vspace:: 1

(1.) It is the incarnation of **strength**.
Size for size, it is one of the strongest of
beasts.  It can kill a man or an antelope
with one blow of its terrible paw; and so
powerful are the muscles of the neck, that
it has been known to carry away in its
mouth an ordinary ox.  Well may its name
signify in the Arabic language "the strong
one."

(2.) It is also celebrated for **courage**.  A
lioness is simply the most terrible animal
in existence when called upon to defend
her cubs.  We all know how a hen, when
concerned about her chicks, will beat off
both the fox and the hawk by the reckless
fury of her attack.  And it may be imagined
what the fury of a lioness will be when she
has to fight for her young ones.  She cares
little for the number of her foes or the
nature of their weapons.

(3.) Another marked feature is that "in
the dark there is no animal so **invisible** as
the lion.  Almost every hunter has told a
similar story of the lion's approach at night,
of the terror displayed by the dogs and
cattle as he drew near, and of the utter
inability to see him, though he was so close
that they could hear his breathing."

(4.) The main characteristic, however, is
the lion's **roar**.  This is said to be truly
awful.  Gordon Gumming speaks of it as
being "extremely grand and peculiarly
striking.  He startles the forest with loud,
deep-toned, solemn roars, repeated five or
six times in quick succession, each
increasing in loudness to the third or fourth,
when his voice dies away in five or six low,
muffled sounds, very much resembling
distant thunder."  It is to this Amos refers
when he speaks of his own prophetic call:
"The lion hath roared: who will not fear?
The Lord God hath spoken: who can but
prophesy?"


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\II.—TWO LESSONS FROM THE LION.

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(1.) *It is glorious to have a lion's strength,
but it is inglorious to use it like a lion*.
When this is not attended to, heroism
degenerates into big-boned animalism, and
courage into selfishness and ferocity.  What
might have been the glory of our expanding
manhood and a tower of defence to the
weak and defenceless becomes the Titanian
arrogance of the bully and the senseless
boast of the braggart.  This is to imitate
the lion in a bad sense, and "I'd rather be
a dog and bay the moon than such a
Roman."  This is to walk in the footsteps
of those Assyrian monarchs who took the
lion as their favourite emblem, and counted
it their greatest glory to lash the nations in
their fury.  But all this is selling oneself to
do wickedness in the sight of the Lord,
and becoming willing captives to him who
walketh about as a roaring lion seeking
whom he may devour.

(2.) *It is glorious to have a lion's strength,
if the strength be the measure of our gentleness*.
It is in this sense that Jesus is the
Lion of the tribe of Judah.  He conquers
by stooping.  His other name is the Lamb.

You remember how beautifully this is
illustrated in Æsop's Fables.  A lion asleep
in the wood one day was awakened by a
little field-mouse, and quick as lightning
he laid his terrible paw on the tiny intruder,
and forthwith would have sentenced it to
death.  But the trembling captive implored
him to show mercy, and the great beast
was softened, and allowed it to escape.
And that gentleness was twice blessed—it
blessed him that received and him that
gave.  A few days after this the same
lion was caught in a strong net which the
hunters had set for him, and struggle as he
might, he could not set himself free.  But
the little field-mouse heard his terrible
voice, and came to the rescue.  Patiently,
thread by thread, it gnawed through the
stout rope, and the monarch of the forest
was free.  And no doubt, as he stood and
shook his bushy mane before plunging into
the depths of the forest, he thought within
himself, saying, "My former gentleness
hath made me great."

Yes, "he that is slow to anger is better
than the mighty, and he that ruleth his
spirit than he that taketh a city."  Even
a lion may be tamed.  Even a lion may
become a lamb; and it is glorious to have
a lion's strength when it is tempered and
tamed into gentleness.





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.. _`The Cock-crowing`:

.. class:: center large bold

   The Cock-crowing.

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"And one shall rise up at the voice of the
bird."—Eccles. xii. 4.

.. vspace:: 2

Youth and age are strangely
blended in this chapter.  With
a pathetic reference to old age,
the young heart is called upon to
remember its Creator in the days of its youth.
The days of youth are the choice—the
choosing days.  They are full of temptation,
but they are also blessed with many
great advantages; and no better season
could be mentioned for resisting the one
and improving the other than the
moulding season of what the paraphrase calls
"life's gay morn."  Old age, like a
sick-bed, has enough to do with itself.  There
are many discomforts that beset the path
of the aged.  For one thing, they cannot
sleep so soundly as young people do.
"*They rise up at the voice of the bird*."  The
first twitter of the swallow under the
eaves, or the first crowing of the cock, is
quite sufficient to break their night's repose,
for their light and fitful slumbers are very
easily disturbed.  And old age is soon
followed by death.  The silver cord is
loosed, and the golden bowl is broken; the
pitcher is broken at the fountain, and the
wheel broken at the cistern.  And the dust
returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit
returns unto God who gave it.  How foolish
then to neglect religion until a time of
decay like that!  It is worse than foolish: it
is suicidal.  The whole life ought to be
given to God, and not the mere dregs of
the cup.  "Remember thy Creator in the
days of thy youth, while the evil days come
not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou
shalt say, I have no pleasure in them."

   |  "Deep on thy soul, before its powers
   |    Are yet by vice enslaved,
   |  Be thy Creator's glorious name
   |    And character engraved."


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\I.—THE COCK-CROWING AS A DIVISION OF THE NIGHT.

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We are so accustomed nowadays to
clocks and watches, that the ancient
difficulty of marking the time may never have
occurred to us.  We listen to our time-pieces
striking the hours and think no more
about it.  But the Jew had no such
time-piece.  He had no other way of knowing
the hour than by listening to the voices of
nature.  The starry heavens stretched above
him like a great clock, and he could read
its face every night.  The clear ringing
voice of chanticleer was also heard,
reminding him of the advent of the dawn.  And
listening to these and such like voices, and
dividing the night by means of them, he
was able in a rough and general way to tell
the advance of the hours.  He made the
night to consist of four watches—"the
even" from sunset to about nine o'clock,
"midnight" from nine to twelve,
"cock-crowing" from twelve to three, and
"morning" from three to sunrise (see Mark xiii. 35).

The Rabbis used to say that David, the
sweet singer of Israel, had a harp hung over
his bed, which sounded at midnight of its
own accord, and woke the king to prayer.
And the children may remember that our
own King Alfred is reported to have used
graduated candles to measure the hours
of the night.  But until the advent of the
pendulum, the accurate measurement of
time was impossible.  The face of the sky
or the crowing of the cock could not give
an exact chronometry.

Nevertheless it had one clear advantage.
It kept man in touch with nature.  It made
him listen reverently to the voices of the
night.  And that was an education which
we can ill afford to disregard.  We are not
made richer by its loss.  We may only have
lost our reverence for the sake of our
mathematics.  Influenced by it, the pious Jew
responded to every voice of nature by
uttering a blessing on the divine name.  Even
when the crow of the cock fell on his ear
he was instructed to say, "Blessed is He
who hath given wisdom to the bird."  If
our modern chronometry has abolished
that, perhaps we have paid too dear for
our clocks and watches.  To have time-pieces
that go to the minute is a great deal;
but to hear voices that keep us in touch
with God is a great deal more.  "Remember
thy Creator in the days of thy youth."  Rise
up and pray at "*the voice of the
bird*."  We are even told that God giveth *songs* in
the night (Job xxxv. 10).

   |  "They err who say that music dwells
   |    Alone within the halls of light;
   |  In anthems loud it also swells
   |    Within the temple of the night.

   |  The happy birds that soar and sing
   |    May all be mute when day is done,
   |  The hum of insects on the wing
   |    May sink to silence with the sun.

   |  But when the sounds of toil are o'er,
   |    And silence reigns beneath the stars,
   |  A murmur runs along the shore,
   |    Where ocean smites his sandy bars.

   |  Its echo floats upon the wind,
   |    Beneath the moonbeam's mystic light,
   |  And stealing o'er the listening mind,
   |    Produces music in the night.

   |  While far among the stars, as runs
   |    The legend through a thousand years,
   |  Amid the rolling of the suns
   |    Is heard the *music of the spheres*.

   |  The roll of ocean and of star
   |    Dispensing music through the night;
   |  The one behind its sandy bar,
   |    The other in the realms of light.

   |  But both to teach the human breast
   |    That He who guides the star and wave
   |  Can also breathe a psalm of rest
   |    Around the portal of the grave.

   |  The night of grief, of sin, of death,
   |    Is not impervious to His power;
   |  It feels the influence of His breath,
   |    Like springtime come to woo the flower.

   |  It melts in music o'er the soul,
   |    For grief has caught the glorious light,
   |  And rolling as the billows roll,
   |    *His* songs are heard within the night."


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\II.—THE COCK-CROWING AND THE FALL OF PETER.

.. vspace:: 1

"Verily I say unto thee, Before the COCK
crow *twice*, thou shalt deny Me thrice"
(Mark xiv. 30).  But why twice?  There
is no mention of this detail in the other
three gospels.  No; but Mark got his
information from Peter himself.  The pain
of the degradation had sunk so deeply into
Peter's soul that he had no difficulty in
recalling each separate particular.  His
self-confidence had been so great that he
would *not* deny his Lord, and his
subsequent profanity had been so awful after
he had once entered on the downward
course, that not one warning was sufficient
to show him his danger, but a warning
repeated and repeated again, before he was
rudely awakened from the terrible stupor
of his sin.  The first crowing of the cock
at midnight, and the second crowing-time
about three o'clock, were both alike needed
to arouse and humble him in the dust; and
thus with painful accuracy he was able to
recall the very words of the Master, "Before
the cock crow *twice*, thou shalt deny Me
thrice."

On the other hand, his self-confidence
was a measure of his sincerity.  Matthew
Henry has well said, that Judas said
nothing when Christ told *him* he would
betray Him.  There was no protesting on his
part.  "He sinned by contrivance, Peter by
surprise: he devised the wickedness, Peter
was overtaken in this fault."  In the
language of "Baxter's Second Innings," "It
was a *swift* that bowled out Peter, the
night the cock crowed."  And the same
author adds, "The best of boys are sometimes
taken by swifts."  But, swift or slow,
it was clearly Peter's duty not to wait even
for the first crowing of the cock, before he
laid to heart the solemn warning of the
Master.  It would have been his wisdom
to say, "Lord, Thou knowest my nature
better than I do; and if Satan desires to
have me, that he may sift me as wheat,
take Thou charge of my life, lead me not
into temptation, but deliver me from
evil."  That would have been Peter's wisdom and
safety.  But this he didn't do.  He planted
his feet on the shifting sand of his own
self-confidence, and fell into the awful
quagmire of denying his Lord.  He would
not believe the pointed warning of his
Master, and therefore he was left to start
up at the voice of the bird, and to go out
and weep bitterly.  The cock-crowing may
come to one man as the summons to praise
and prayer; but it comes to another as the
very trump of God, calling him to
penitence or—judgment.


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\III.—THE COCK-CROWING AND CHRIST'S SECOND COMING.

.. vspace:: 1

"Watch ye therefore: for ye know not
when the master of the house cometh, at
even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing,
or in the morning" (Mark xiii. 35).
There is here a large element of
uncertainty.  Not the uncertainty of the
event, for the second coming of Jesus is
one of the things that cannot be shaken,
but the uncertainty of the *time*.  "Of that
day or that hour knoweth no man, not
even the angels in heaven, neither the Son,
but the Father."  The time of His coming
has not been revealed, to the end that we
should be always ready.

And yet, in that early age, the second
advent was believed to be nigh at hand.
Jesus spake of it as "*a little
while*."  "Behold, I come *quickly*, and My reward
is with Me, to give every man according
as his work shall be."  And James, the
Lord's brother, wrote, "Be patient,
therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the
Lord, for the coming of the Lord draweth
nigh."  If the little while has now stretched
out into centuries, and the crowing of the
cock has not yet been heard, it is not
because the Saviour has forgotten His
promise, but because the godlessness of
men and the worldliness of the Church
have raised up innumerable obstacles in
His way.  Oh, if men would but repent
and turn again to Him, those times of
refreshing would not be long delayed.
God would send Jesus, whom the heavens
must receive until the times of restoration
of all things (Acts iii. 19-21, R.V.).

What a coming that will be to all those
who love His appearing!  At midnight,
or at the cock-crowing, the cry will be
heard, "Behold, the Bridegroom cometh,
go ye out to meet Him."  And they who
are ready will rise up at "the voice of the
bird," and go in with Him to the marriage
supper of the Lamb.  But the foolish
virgins will be shut outside.  They too
will rise up at the voice of the bird; but
for them, alas! it will be no "bird of the
*dawn*."  Like Judas, they will go out into
the darkness—a darkness that has no
morning; and there will be the weeping
and the woe.

But that day, or rather that night, has
not yet arrived.  It has not yet come for
you young people.  With you it is still the
time of *choosing*; and if you choose Jesus,
if you remember your Creator in the days
of your youth, that evil day will never come
at all.  The cock-crowing will still be to
you the trump of God; but it will call you
to happiness and not to misery.  It will
proclaim to you the advent of the eternal
dawn; and you will rise up at the voice of
the bird to exclaim, "Even so, come, Lord
Jesus."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Peace`:

.. class:: center large bold

   Peace.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: small

"Then had thy peace been as a river."—Isa. xlviii. 18.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  I sat alone in the pinewood,
   |    And mused with the falling leaves;
   |  And the Autumn breath like a requiem
   |    Hymned low for the garnered sheaves.

   |  And the pensiveness of the Autumn,
   |    Like the ocean rocked to rest,
   |  Found a fitting shell-like murmur
   |    In the heavings of my breast.

   |  For a something came from the stillness,
   |    It had touched me oft before,
   |  Sometimes in the hush of pinewood,
   |    Sometimes on the lonely shore.

   |  It came and it touched my being,
   |    Laid its finger on my brain,
   |  And there alone in the pinewood
   |    I could *pray* as a child again.

   |  It was not the spell of memory
   |    Cast around me its soothing power,
   |  Nor the magic of thought that held me
   |    Entranced in that silent hour.

   |  The rarest and deepest impressions
   |    Come from fingers, but not our own,
   |  From music unbarred and unmeasured,
   |    From language unuttered, unknown.

   |  They come, the unnamed and the dateless,
   |    They come as the waves of light,
   |  Like the murmuring breath of the pine-woods,
   |    Like the voices of the night.

   |  And they leave their deep impressions
   |    In the tidemarks of the soul,
   |  Those pulses that come as in secret,
   |    And roll as the billows roll.

   |  It may be in yon far region,
   |    Far above the remotest star,
   |  My glowing and growing vision
   |    May find what those pulses are.

   |  May find in the land of the morning,
   |    In the brightness beyond the flood,
   |  That the pensive hush of the woodland
   |    Was a breath of the *peace* of God.

   |  Till then I will seek the pinewoods,
   |    I will muse with the falling leaves,
   |  And watch the design in symbols
   |    That the silent finger weaves.

   |  And catch from the fleeting river,
   |    And the ocean so vast and broad,
   |  From the Autumn quiet and the pinewoods,
   |    How to know and worship God.



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   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

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   THE "GOLDEN NAILS" SERIES

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   of

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   ADDRESSES TO THE YOUNG.

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*Post 8vo size.  Neat Cloth Binding.  Price 1s. 6d. each.*

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"Messrs Oliphant, Anderson, & Ferrier's 'Golden Nails'
Series is one of the happiest of recent enterprises in
book-publishing. Every volume has had a good reception, and
every new volume increases one's admiration for the
enterprise."—*Expository Times*.

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GOLDEN NAILS, and Other Addresses to Children.  By
the Rev. GEORGE MILLIGAN, B.D.

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PLEASANT PLACES.  Words to the Young.  By the
Rev. R. S. DUFF, D.D.

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PARABLES AND SKETCHES.  By ALFRED E. KNIGHT.
With Illustrations by the Author.

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SILVER WINGS.  Addresses to Children.  By the
Rev. ANDREW G. FLEMING.

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THREE FISHING BOATS, and Other Talks to Children.
By the Rev. JOHN C. LAMBERT, B.D.

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LAMPS AND PITCHERS, and Other Addresses to
Children.  By the Rev. GEORGE MILLIGAN, D.D.

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A BAG WITH HOLES, and Other Talks to Children.
By the Rev. JAS. AITCHISON.

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KINGLESS FOLK, and Other Addresses on Bible
Animals.  By the Rev. JOHN ADAMS, B.D.

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