"Yes," answered his Mamma, smiling.

come in to breakfast."

"But now

Not far from the house of Mr. Weir, Freddy's Papa, stood a little cottage, where Mrs. Reynolds lived, with her lame daughter, Nelly. Mrs. Reynolds was a widow, and had to work hard to support herself and Nelly, whom she was frequently obliged to leave several hours in the day alone.

Few cottages could be found so well kept and clean as the widow's; and the little garden in front of it was always free from weeds.

Nelly was about eleven years old, and had been a cripple since her babyhood; but her kind mother had taught her to read and knit; so that, although she was almost entirely confined to the house, she was not without employment.

On the morning we have mentioned, little Freddy, having finished his breakfast, and obtained his Mamma's permission, hastened down the lane to the cottage of Mrs. Reynolds. I daresay any one that passed him would notice that his hand was closed, and that he held it very carefully, as though he had something precious in it. Ah! we know the secret, though. It was the violet. He opened the green gate, and walked up the white footpath, white with broken cockle-shells, for it was not far from the seashore,-up to the cottage door. Nelly was sitting at the window, longing to be out, poor child, when Freddy came in with his rosy face, which of itself was enough to cheer any one.

"Good morning, Nelly," he said. "See what I have brought you! It is the first we have seen this year." You should have seen how Nelly's face brightened up when the violet appeared.

"O! thank you, thank you, Master Freddy," she cried. "I am so much obliged to you. I do love violets so much. Now I shall smell it, and talk to it when mother is away."

"How can you talk to a flower?" asked little Freddy, in astonishment.

"O! I can," answered Nelly. "It will tell me how good God is to me to make me so happy; and, when mother comes home, she will be so pleased to see it." "Well, good-bye, Nelly," he said. "I must go home to my lessons now; and off he went accordingly. Freddy felt very happy; for he had done a kind action. When he reached home he said,

"Mamma; I am very glad I took the violet to Nelly,

instead of wearing it in my button-hole. She looked so pleased when I gave it her."

66

Yes, my dear," replied his Mamma; "so am I. The violet has certainly done its work. It has made three people happy in its short life."

"Three people! How, Mamma ?'

"It made Nelly happy, I think: did it not? It made me happy, by telling me that my little son is trying not to be selfish; and I think the consciousness of having done a good and kind act has made Freddy happy, too. Is it not so?

It would be a pleasant thing if little children always did their work equally well with the violet.

THE STORY OF A CAT.

WINIFRED.

How often we read about the sagacity and affection of the dog; how seldom about these qualities in the cat! But scanty justice can have been done to Puss in this respect. It seems to be commonly supposed that the cat attaches herself only to places, and is incapable of affection for her human friends, however kindly treated by them. That this estimate is unfair will be shown by the following narrative.

Some years ago, the subject of our story, when a very young kitten, became an inmate of the house of a Wesleyan Minister. She inherited more than ordinary shrewdness and vivaciousness from her mother; who, even at the mature age of seven years, could enjoy a game with a ball or a reel. Kitty, by her gentleness and docility, as well as her playfulness, soon won the favour of the family; and, being well fed and cared for, in time established for herself a reputation for honesty. She was equally remarkable for her courage. Without her permission, none of her feline neighbours might presume to walk on the walls which surrounded her master's garden. This little territory she claimed as her own special domain. Here she early asserted and acquired the right to rule. By the side of the principal path stood a lofty post: often, when excited by the presence of company, particularly her master's, Pussy would rush up this post, and perch herself on its narrow top, just like a bird. Her fondness for this pastime never abated during the two years and three-quarters she spent with the family at this happy home.

At the end of that time sore troubles awaited poor Puss. Circumstances now rendered it expedient that the Minister should change his residence for one in a distant part of the same town. So, one day, while the cat, all unconscious, was basking in the pleasant June sun, the furniture was removed; and the same evening, after dark, she was carried, in a covered basket, to the new home. When released, her terror was so great, that she attempted to escape by the parlour chimney; but, after an hour's nursing and stroking, she slept on the familiar couch, and became forthwith reconciled to the change, so far as the house was concerned. It was, however, found impossible to induce her to remain alone, for a single moment, in the new garden, from which the passers-by could be seen. After a few weeks, she would suffer herself to be carried, in the dusk of the evening, to the further end of it, where she would gaily frisk about among the shrubs; but only so long as her protector remained on the spot. The first step he took to go away would call forth a cry of lamentation; and she would fly back, in consternation, to the house.

Towards the end of August, as the family were about to quit the town, and the house was expected to be closed for a week or more, it was decided to leave the cat in the care of a friend in a neighbouring street. Accordingly, a day or two before their departure, she was again removed, after dark, in a covered basket. Vain precaution this time; for, on the following morning, when the door of the Minister's house was first opened, there stood Puss, waiting for admittance. What had brought her back to this house, rather than to her old home? Was it too far away, or had she, after an absence of only two months, already forgotten the cosy little garden, with its sunny walls? We shall see. There was now no alternative but to leave the animal shut up in the house, and to arrange for a daily supply of food to be taken to her till the arrival of the next family.

Puss had always shown a special fondness for her master; and it was really touching to see her, on the last morning, jump on his knee once more, and for some minutes rub her face against him. Was it likely such affection would be readily transferred to strangers? A few days of solitude, and then Puss would settle that question in her own way.

The new family, on their arrival, treated the cat with kindness, and tried to detain her. But all in vain. For now, having lost her dear old friends, great was the

longing that she had to see the familiar home in which she had grown up from kittenhood, and where only she could have any hope of finding the missing faces. In search of it, Pussy, who had not courage to walk in the new garden without a protector, now ventures, all alone, to traverse nearly a mile of streets, and fields, and roads, only to find, alas! on reaching it, that that house, also, was invaded by strangers. She could now only resort to the well-known garden, with its favourite little tool-shed, and to the green fields behind, where formerly she had caught many a stray mouse.

Some friendly neighbours soon became aware of the return of the cat, whose appearance was, at any time, sufficiently remarkable; her head and body being perfectly white, and her entire tail very dark. Her bereaved condition excited their pity; and from that time they regularly placed food within her reach. Thus Pussy managed to lead a wild kind of life during the ensuing autumn and winter.

At the following March quarter the house became vacant; but what did that signify to a cat, that had so long shunned all human society? How would she feel, were any of its former inmates to return? Would she be able, after a separation of seven months, to recognize the face she used so lovingly to caress ? Curiously enough, this question, too, Puss had the opportunity of settling in a characteristic manner. One day, early in the spring, while she was enjoying a reverie in the garden, she was startled by the sight of two men entering it from the back-door of the empty house; one of them, during a brief visit to the town, having come on purpose to see the solitary creature. As usual, she darted off to the bottom of the garden; and, having leaped on to the wall, was about to escape to the other side, when her ear caught the sound of a well-known voice. She stopped. Again the voice called to her. This time Pussy, too, spoke in response. Presently a loving hand was stroking her; and Pussy well knew it was the same that had often caressed her, in that very garden, in bygone days. The visitor then walked back towards the house, the cat following him, and rubbing herself against his legs, in testimony of her great joy at the return of her old master. Nothing loth, she allowed him to take her up in his arms, and carry her through the house and the street to a neighbouring shop. She had not been there many minutes, however, before the sudden slamming of a door so frightened her, that she rushed out, and made

her way back to the garden, where she was again left in solitude.

It is very pleasant to be able, without the slightest aid from fiction, to give a happy ending to this story. In the month of June, just one year after the commencement of Pussy's sorrows, the house was again tenanted. Perhaps the small number of the family, and the quietness of their ways, may have reminded her of old friends; possibly her transient visit to the house with her former master may have awakened some old memories: certain it is she did once more attach herself to the house and its inmates, and again became a domestic cat in a happy home. SUSAN.

FELLOWSHIP WITH JESUS.

MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS,-Among the believer's high and holy privileges is that of being permitted to hold close and constant fellowship with Jesus. Yet how few fully realise this blessedness! Many desire it. Knowing that God has called them to the fellowship of His Son, they are dissatisfied with their present attainments, and long to obey the voice which calls "Come up hither." Yet, while they aspire after more intimate communion with the Saviour, they continue to mourn their distance from Him. Can it be that the loving, compassionate Jesus ever denies His manifest presence to the souls that long after Him? If any complain that they seek His fellowship in vain, the answer is, You seek and find not, because you seek amiss. Like the bride in the Canticles, you seek the beloved of your soul with desire unaccompanied by action. No wonder, then, that you find Him not. All will be unavailing, until with her you arise and go forth in the way that is marked out by His footsteps, and always illuminated with His presence. If you would enjoy the blessedness of those with whom Jesus walks and communes, it is necessary that you abide with Him by following in His track: by walking even as He walked. Behold, in the mirror of the Gospel, how He walked below. The earlier and greater part of His sojourn was passed in lowliness and subjection. Learn, then, that if you would walk with Jesus, your first care must be to cultivate deep poverty of spirit, docility, and obedience. While you cherish these graces, your Lord will surely draw near; for He has promised to dwell with the humble, teachable soul. Again, if you would walk with Jesus, behold Him descending into the