not gone for ever. That little body will live again. Christ takes care of it in the grave. I saw it put into the deep, cold vault. Christ was buried in the same way in the sepulchre. But he rose again, and that is a sign that Emily will rise again too. As surely as Jesus rose, so surely will he raise this dear little one.

When the flowers die, all is over with them. All their gay colours, all their sweet perfume, are lost. But all is not over with Emily. Her soul is not lost. It is with Christ. It is better to be with Him than to be with us. The soul shall be joined to the body at the resurrection. Then soul and body will be happy together to all eternity. This is what I thought on looking at the silver cup and flowers beside the coffin.

97

THE BOY AND HIS CONSCIENCE.

ONE fine day in summer, a little boy was playing all alone in his papa's garden. The flowers had opened their bright leaves to the sun, and the birds were singing to the trees. It was a very pretty garden. Many a little boy, whose home is in a close, narrow street, in a large town, would have been glad only to look at the gay flowers, to hear the song of the merry birds, and to watch the busy bee, as it sipped first one sweet flower and then another, till its bag was full of honey, and then flew away to put its treasure safe into the hive.

The little boy was not quite happy even in this pretty garden, for instead of playing with the rake and spade which his kind papa had given him, he was standing still, looking at something.

K

What do you think it was? It was not at the blue sky. It was not at the honey-bee. It was not at the bird building its nest in the old tree. It was not at the pretty rose. No; he was looking at a bush which grew in the garden; its branches were full of fruit-such pretty red fruit! So the little boy thought; for he had seen it when it was green, and watched it turn from green to red, and thought how good the currants must be, now that they looked quite ripe. He went up to the bush and touched the fruit-he stopped a minute, for he felt something in his heart which told him he was doing wrong; it was like a voice speaking to him. It was his conscience. Would you like to hear how this little child talked to his conscience? I will tell you. Conscience said, "Oh, do not touch that fruit-it is not yours." The little boy said, "But why? Mamma gave me some the other day, and if she were

here now, I think she would give me a bunch." Then conscience said again, "It is not yours-wait till mamma comes." But the little boy said, "Oh no! I cannot wait, I think I must pluck some." So he put out his hand. Ah! what made the little boy start then? He thought he heard a step. But no; it was only the bird which was building its nest in the old pear-tree. Again conscience tried to be heard-"What made you start, if you do not think you are doing wrong? Oh, come away." Then the little boy waited a minute, and felt almost inclined to go from the bush, but he turned to look at the ripe currants once more, and they looked, to him, brighter and nicer than ever. "You are a thief," conscience said; but this time it did not speak quite so loud, and the little boy would hear no more of what conscience had to say, but gathered the fruit and ate it. It was much easier

to pluck the second bunch than it was the first, and soon he had eaten a great many. While he was eating, he heard his brother call him. Why was he afraid of that little voice? Why did he blush, and seem so ashamed, when the little boy came up to him and asked him what he was doing? Because he knew he had been doing wrong; and when we have done wrong, we are afraid of very little things, and always seem to think we shall be found out.

Well, it was of no use trying to play with his brothers and sisters. The day was clear and bright, and the kite flew well in the brisk wind, but the little boy had a heavy heart; he tried to forget the naughty thing he had just done, but he could think of nothing but the currantbush in the garden, and the sad, grave words of conscience came again and again to him, "You are a thief." What did he do? He listened to his conscience