THE

Jubenile Missionary Herald.

WHICH SHALL I VALUE?

A CHAPTER ON GIFTS.

"MOTHER! What do you think has happened today? Guess, all of you;-Kitty, Elizabeth, Miss Sidney, all of you I say! and tell me what you think."

Mrs. Blake and her daughters looked up in surprise, as George burst into the room with the exclamation which we have recorded; and Miss Sidney, a young lady who was spending the day with them, laughed most heartily.

“Well, well,” said George, throwing his cap, in defiance of all neatness, to the very farthest corner of the room, "I have the laughing side, Miss Sidney, depend upon it."

"Tell us, then," said Elizabeth, as she tied his neckerchief; "don't make us guess."

"Look there, then," said the boy, throwing a piece of gold into her lap.

"Who gave you this?" cried all the ladies at once. “Ha, ha! who but Mr. Wise?" And George sat down on the hearth-rug and laughed right merrily. "He called me into the shop," said he, after awhile,

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“and said that my papa was a good customer, and that he had heard I collected for the Mission, and all that; and then he offered me this dear little half-sovereign.”

"It was very kind," said Mrs. Blake; " you must take the next Report to Mr. Wise, and ask him to read it."

"He don't care much for that," said George; "he gave it to me more than to the cause, I think."

"Most likely," said Kitty; "but you need not tell him you think so.”

Every body was silent for a few minutes, and then George rose to get his card, to enter the name of his new subscriber.

"Mother," said Elizabeth, "do you not prefer receiving subscriptions from those who give as to the Lord?"

"Certainly, my love, but we need not refuse such gifts as these."

"My idea," said Miss Sidney, "is that persons i such circumstances give us a present, with permission to appropriate it to the cause we have at heart, and in such case, I think, we should rejoice over it.”

“And pray over it," said Mrs. Blake, very earnestly. "Mother," said George from the side-table, "I wish old Mrs. Drummore's name was not at the top of my list."

"And why do you wish that, my love?”"

"Oh, because I should like Mr. Wise to stand at the top-a halfpenny a-week, two and twopence a-year, looks so paltry for the top! doesn't it?"

"I am sure- began Elizabeth; but her mother

motioned for silence.

"Come here, George. What does God, who sees the heart, love in our givings?"

ers

WHICH SHALL I VALUE

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"The Lord loveth a cheerful giver;' is that what you mean, mother?"

"It is, my boy. But you will say, Mr. Wise gives as cheerfully as Mrs. Drummore; that may be ; but to whom does he give it?"

"Charity thinketh no evil, mother," said Kitty, with a half smile.

"True, Kate; but she does not encourage falsehood. I should leave the path of truth if I allowed George to think that Mr. Wise's gift was as valuable as Mrs. Drummore's; that it cannot be."

"Oh, mother! it is nearly five times as much!" said George.

"Nevertheless, I maintain that Mrs. Drummore's gifts will do more good than twenty such as you have here."

"More than ten pounds would do, mother? How can that be?"

"Tell me what she said when she gave you the -money last week."

"I think I can remember," said Kate, seeing that George hesitated; "she said, 'Master George, 'tis but a widow's mite, but I give it as to the Lord, and night and morning I pray for a blessing on my offeringthat, little as it is, it may be the means of good to many immortal souls.'"'

"Yes," said George, eagerly;" and I remember that when she bade us good-bye, she held my hand, and said, You know, Master George, all the money in England would not prove the means of blessing to a single soul, unless God gave the increase; unless he sanctided the gift.'

"And now," said his mother, "you begin to see my meaning."

George hesitated-"I think I do, mother; you mean that Mrs. Drummore prays over her gift, and that God's blessing rests upon every penny of it?"

Mrs. Blake drew him fondly towards her as she said, "You are right, George; it is this which makes the gift so precious; our God has promised our dear friend that a blessing shall come down."

"Cast thy bread upon the waters," said the low voice of Ellen Sidney, as she bent over them both, "and thou shalt find it after many days."

"Mother, I am glad Mrs. Drummore is at the top of my list," said the boy presently; "I shall not wish to alter it again." He had learned which gift to value. C.

A LESSON FOR SPRING.

SPRING suns and showers are warming and watering the earth, and preparing it for seed time. Everything is astir about the farms. The cows wander down the lane in search of the long grass. The horse is harnessed to the harrow, and the little colt is out by his mother's side to see how willing she is to help her good master. Mother hen is leading her brood abroad in the homestead. The farmer is in his field, and the

gardener is in his garden; very busy are they.

"I do not want to be put into the ground," said the little seeds, looking into the deep dark hole which the gardener had made in the earth, "never to see the sun, never to feel the air—we shall die." "Don't be afraid," said the gardener, "the earth will take you to her warm bosom and nourish you with her healthy juices, and help you to grow up in beauty and fruitfulness."

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A LESSON FOR SPRING.

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The seed shuddered and was grieved, and did not believe the gardener, for it could not see how his words were coming to pass. Only trust," answered the gardener, "that's all." As he cast them in, one

sidled, as it fell, and lighted upon a hard rock. "A happy escape," it said; "here I can see the sun, and bathe in the rain-drop, enjoy all this delightful scene, and be up in the world." The other trusted, and it fell on the lap of mother earth, and was folded in her bosom, and warmed and nourished; it was so lowly that it escaped everybody's notice, and some might have said, "See what comes of trusting." But its trust in the promise of the Great Father, that seed time and harvest shall not fail, was not disappointed. Down in its darksome little home there is life in the tiny seed, which the warm earth cherishes, till it shoots upward, climbing to life and air, and in autumn it yields a rich harvest, ten, or twenty, or a hundred fold. And what became of the unbelieving little seed on the rock? When the sun was up it was scorched, and because it had no root it withered away.

It was hard for the little seed to trust; we find it hard sometimes. The Sunday-school teacher, patiently sowing, week after week, and after some seeds have fallen quite long enough to spring up and bear fruit, finds it very hard to trust. Little reader, are you a child in a faithful teacher's class? have you ever thought of the seeds she has so long tried to sow deep in your heart? has that little heart been like the sunny rock, where they have withered away? Oh, think of her unwearying toil, of her trusting faith, and let her see that the good seed is springing up to repay her watchful care.

How hard the Missionary must find it to TRUST, SOW