The Mother Hen

the

FAT mother hen was one day strutting on green, with her chickens running merrily about her, pecking and peeping, and happy as any happy family could well be. Suddenly she caught sight of a dark spot in the sky. What a cry of terror came from her little throat! How the frightened chicks rushed in an instant under her wings. How bristling and fierce the old hen looked. What was the matter? Ah, it was a hawk in the air, out getting his breakfast, and ready to dive at some unwary chicken. But every chick is safe and snug under its mother's wings. The hungry hawk was loath to go. "I will die before you shall seize one of my little ones," the old hen seemed to say in every feather of her body and every look of her eye. The hawk soon saw it was no use, and in a few moments flew away. She then gave a note of joy and triumph, and out hopped the chickens from their secure hiding-place'; some hesitating, as if not quite over their fright; others, more bold, stepping confidently off. Ah, they knew whose warm and friendly wings were ready at a moment's notice to shelter them again.

Do you remember what the Lord Jesus once said to Jerusalem in the twenty-third chapter of Matthew? He loved Jerusalem. He knew that enemies wanted to destroy it. He desired to save it. But no; the people would not mind his warning cries, and one morning, as he stood looking at the city, he said," O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, [how often would I have gathered thee, as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings."

The blessed Saviour, you see, is a refuge from harm. He is a sure refuge, an instant refuge, a warm refuge, a loving refuge. He cares for the "little ones," for he says,-" Suf

fer little children to come under me." Under the refuge of Jesus we shall be safe from the attacks of sin and of Satan, that, like hungry birds of prey, are always ready to pounce and we can be safe nowhere else.

upon us,

Work During Sleep.

HOSE cases in which the brain is hard at work during sleep, instead of being totally oblivious of everything, may be called dreaming or somnambulism, according to the mode in which the activity displays itself. Many of them are full of interest. Some men have done really hard mental work while at sleep. Condorcet finished a train of calculations in his sleep which had much puzzled him during the day. In 1866, a collegian noticed the peculiarities of a fellow-student, who was rather stupid than otherwise during his waking hours, but who got through some excellent work in geometry and algebra during sleep. Condillac and Franklin both worked correctly during some of their sleeping hours.

The work done partakes, in many cases, more of the nature of imaginative composition than of scientific calculations. Thus a stanza of excellent verse is in print which Sir John Herschel is said to have composed wi.ile asleep, and to have recollected when he awoke. Goethe often set down on paper, during the day, thoughts and ideas which had presented themselves to him during sleep on the preceding night. Coleridge is said to have composed his fragment of "Kubla Khan" during sleep. He had one evening been reading Purchas's "Pilgrim;" some of the romantic incidents struck his fancy; he went to sleep, and his busy brain composed" Kubla Khan." When he awoke

in the morning, he wrote out what his mind had invented in sleep, until interrupted by a visitor, with whom he conversed for an hour on business matters; but, alas! he could never again recall the thread of the story, and thus "Kubla Khan" remains a fragment. Dr. Good mentions the case of a gentleman who, in his sleep, composed an ode in six stanzas, and set it to music. Tartini, the celebrated Italian violinist, one night dreamed that the devil appeared to him, challenged him to a trial of skill on the fiddle, and played a piece wonderful for its beauty and difficulty; when Tartini awoke, he could not remember the exact notes, but he could reproduce the general character of the music, which he did in a composition ever since known as the "Devil's Sonata." Lord Thurlow, when a youth at college, found himself one evening unable to finish a piece of Latin composition which he had undertaken; he went to bed full of the subject, fell asleep, finished his Latin in his sleep, remembered it next morning, and was complimented on the felicitous form which it presented.

The Torn Bible.

N one of those straggling villages so often. met with in the south of France, there lived, several years ago, a poor woman, known among her neighbours as "La bonne Marie." At the time of which we write she lived alone. Her hearth had once been gladdened by childish mirth and loving hearts; but sorrow and sickness came to her home, and one after another, husband and children were taken from her, and she was left dependent on her own exertions for bread.

But chastened as she had been, Marie was happy. She

had become a Protestant and a Christian. A colporteur, in passing through the village, had given her a Bible. It was not long before she became deeply interested in its pages, and every leisure moment found her poring over it. But she was not permitted long to enjoy her gift, for within two months the Bible was taken from her by the parish priest. But though it was lost to her for ever, she had learned many texts which she repeated to herself, and she never forgot to pray daily "that some time God would send her another Bible."

While selling some articles in a neighbouring town, she saw a torn book lying on the counter. One glance told her what it was, and she easily persuaded the shopkeeper to sell it to her for a trifle.

Trembling with joy, she hurried home, where, gathering her neighbours together, she read it to them. At first they scoffed and laughed at her, but she persevered in her good work; and had the comfort of knowing that she had been an instrument in God's hands of doing much good.

Years after, when the colporteur next passed through the village, the turf was green on Marie's grave, but her memory was still fresh in the hearts of her simple friends, and he was astonished at learning from the lips of old and young that, through the instrumentality of the poor woman and her "torn Bible," many souls had been gathered into the fold of Christ.

In all thy actions think God sees thee; and in all His actions labour to see him: that will make thee fear Him; this will move thee to love Him. The fear of God is the beginning of knowledge, and the knowledge of God is the perfection of love.—Quarles.

The Child Missionary.

WANT to tell the readers of the "Hive," about our little Winnie-our child missionary, as we call her.

A little time since, while she was visiting in the city, she heard there were two criminals in the gaol under the sentence of death; one of whom especially seemed very hardened. She became very earnest to go and see him, and pleaded so importunately that her mother granted her request, and carried her to the gaol. As they entered the cell, he was sullenly sitting in one corner, all manacled. Winnie went softly up to him, saying, in a low, sweet voice, Man, I'se come to see you, to know if you love Jesus; do you?"

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She continued: "Please, man, let me stay. tell you about Jesus ; mayn't I?"

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I want to

The convict made no reply. So she commenced, and in her own simple language, told him about the life of Christ, His sufferings, and His death on the cross. She finished by saying, "Man, Jesus did all this for you; don't you love Him for it?" The hardened convict burst into tears, murmuring to himself, Oh, what a sinner!" Then Winnie strove to comfort him, telling him, "If he had been naughty, Jesus would forgive him." The man, in broken words, tried to tell them part of his history. He had formerly been an upright man, and a member of the church; but by degrees he became a backslider, and fell into other sins, "until at last, I am here," he added.

The hour had now come for them to leave; but Winnie begged him, in parting, "to love God, and ask him to for