cused for being self-sufficient, and for depending on himself and his own talents, he was the man. And yet, what was that man's highest hope? What was his great longing, the longing which made everything else worthless to him? Cannot you see by his prayer what it was? That his soul was athirst for God, even for the living God; that he was looking for God in righteousness, not that he might merely escape hell-fire, but that he might behold God's power and glory, and so seeing God, might be changed into God's likeness from glory to glory, until he was able to do God's will on earth in his calling, as the spirits in Heaven do it in theirs; and whether he ate or drank, or whatever he did, to do all to the glory of God.

For this was Alfred's aim throughout his whole life, from morning till night; whether he was reading or praying, or fighting against the heathen Danes who overran England with fire and sword, or working with his hands, or judging his people, his whole aim was God's glory; that God's way might be known upon earth; that this kingdom of England might become the kingdom of God and of His Christ. And even in his disease, strange to say, he sought God's glory.

The men who lived with him tell us that when he was young he was passionate and luxurious, and troubled as young men will be with many temptations. But he felt that a true and good king should conquer his flesh; for unless a man can govern himself, how can he govern the Church of God? And his prayer, like Solomon's, always was, 'Give me, O Lord, a wise and understanding heart, to rule this great people.' And one day, in the midst of his temptations, he went into a church, and throwing himself down on the pavement he besought God with cries and tears to send him some disease or affliction, a thorn in the flesh like St. Paul's, to keep him continually low and humble, and put him perpetually in mind that, however rich and great a king he might become, he was still a poor, weak, sinful, mortal man, with a body doomed to death because of sin: only he begged of God that his disease might not be one which might make him stupid, or ridiculous in appearance, or in any way hinder his working for God's glory. God answered his prayer, and sent him, strange to say, a fearful and agonising disease, which kept him continually humble and watchful; but at the same time there was fulfilled in him that great Bible promise, that 'As thy day thy strength shall be;' and that in all pain and sorrow God's grace is sufficient for us.

The more he suffered, the more he seemed to rise above his suffering to labour for Christ and for Christ's poor; the more this life was a pain and torment to him, the more he was able to enjoy and use this life, because his heart was more and more weaned from his own pleasure and his own interest, and set on his family and his kingdom, and holy men and holy thoughts; and set above all, as I have just shown you, on the glory of his Father in Heaven. What self-sacrifice and what spiritual wisdom, that a man should pray for sickness in the hope that his sickness might be, like that of Lazarus, to the glory of God!

All this may help us to understand Jesus' answer to Mary and Martha. This sickness is not unto death, but that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.' He wished to bring His disciples, Mary

and Martha, and us also if we would but read the lesson, into that same state of mind into which His grace brought the great King Alfred; to feel that all sickness and sorrow are a blessing and not a curse to us, if the Son of God is glorified by our sickness and our sorrow. If our sorrow proves Christ's love and faithfulness; if our sorrow teaches us more of Christ, and enables us to teach others more of Christ; if, in short, it raises Christ in the eyes of any single human being, then our sorrow is worth the bearing-nay, more, it is a privilege and an honour to bear it, to suffer for Christ's sake; and every single sting of grief which we bear here in working for Him He will repay us-He has promised to repay us, as He repaid Lazarus, and Mary, and Martha, 'an hundred fold more in this life, and in the world to come life everlasting.'

Oh! believe that He alone knows what will give us happiness. We can only see our own bodies-Christ sees our immortal souls; we can only see this life-Christ sees eternity; we are tempted to see only our own self-interest-Christ sees in all things and in all men only the glory of God. Whatsoever we are, good or bad, rich or poor, living or dead, there can be but one reason for which God has made usfor Himself and His own glory. He, as King Alfred says, is our life and our light, and our happiness and our glory. While we forget God, while we disobey God, we are in darkness, in prison, in misery, when we fancy ourselves most free. If we would but make God our first and last thought, God's kingdom and God's glory here our object; if we would but continually offer up ourselves, and all we love, and all we have, as living sacrifices to God, giving up our own wills to His will, following not our own interest and honour, but God's interest and honour, then we should feel that it matters little to us whether we show forth God's glory by our joy or by our Everywhere we can do God's work; everywhere show forth

sorrow.

God's glory.

Lazarus was laid on a bed of sickness which ended in death, and our Lord says that so He worked for the glory of God; St. Paul and St. John worked for the same glory, by preaching the Gospel of Salvation. Alfred served God's glory among riches and splendour by ruling a great nation in the fear of God; while any labouring man may set forth God's glory just as well by abiding in the calling wherein he is called, by patient industry and quiet trust in God, showing forth that power of God's sanctifying grace—a burning and a shining light in a crooked and perverse generation. In whatever station ye may be, make up your minds at least to work for the cause of God. Let your watchword be the blessed Saviour's words, Know ye not I must be about My Father's business?' Then, whether in riches or in poverty, in joy or in sorrow, in life or in death, whether you are happy or sad, you will still be blessed, and your sicknesses, even though your mortal bodies perish under them, will not be unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified thereby;' and your continual prayer will be like the Psalmist's, for strength and time to do some good before you die. Forsake me not, O Lord, in mine old age, when I am gray-headed, till I have shown Thy glory unto this generation, and Thy strength unto those who are yet to come.'

SEA-BIRDS.

OTHING adds more to the wild grandeur and beauty of some of the desolate and rocky shores of our country, than the myriads of sea-fowl of all kinds, who frequent the inaccessible crevices of the rocks in order to rear their young; and their extraordinary numbers in regions where they are not molested almost exceeds belief. Besides congregating in great multitudes, there is also among them an infinite variety of species, from the fierce and powerful Skua Gul-a blow from whose wing is dreaded even by hardy fishermen-down to the pretty little Kittiwake, with its beautifully diversified plumage; or the Common Tern, whose rapid wing, and long, forked tail, have secured for it the popular name of the Sea-swallow. To see any of these birds to advantage onc ought to visit St. Kilda, that lonely island of the sea; or the more northern islands of the Shetland group; or even that ancient stronghold, the Bass Rock, within twenty miles of Edinburgh, where it has been computed that upwards of twenty thousand sea-birds annually rear their young, and where they may be seen (when disturbed by some passing steam-ship) rising like a snowy cloud from the surface of the grim gray rock which is their home.

One variety, the great Black-backed Gull, often visits inland places near the coast, and has been known to attack and tear to pieces weakly lambs, or other defenceless creatures, which may fall in its way; if captured, this bird will fight desperately for liberty. The Common Gull, so well known to every one, is easily tamed, and can be kept in a garden, especially if treated now and then to a dinner of fish. The Herring or Silvery Gull is a beautiful variety, with its pure white head and soft gray back and wings. These birds make no nest, but lay their eggs (always few in number) in a mere depression on the surface of the rock. The eggs of most sea-birds are of an olive-green colour, with large brown blotches. They are peculiar in shape, being very much pointed at one end. D. B. MCKEAN.

A RANDOM SHAFT.

AUNT MIRIAM'S JOURNEY.

HERE was very little sleep for any one in the old mill-house at Summerbourne Mavis on the memorable night which preceded Miriam Thorpe's first journey to London. It was not that her own personal preparations took much time, for they were of the most simple nature. But there was so much else to be arranged when the mistress of a country household was called away. It was such an unheard-of event, that the good lady was going about late into the night from larder to dairy, and from storeroom to linen-press, giving directions for every possible and im

possible contingency, until the old servant was quite overwhelmed with the sense of her responsibilities.

Fortunately Miss Thorpe had the most perfect confidence in Dinah, who had been many years with her and knew all her ways; while Dinah looked upon her mistress with increased respect as about to undertake an heroic expedition, for she herself had never been much farther than her own village, except on the one occasion, long ago, when she went to be confirmed in Mere Cathedral.

At last all was ready; Miriam Thorpe had spoken her last words of caution and advice, and the four-wheeled chaise with the faithful Joe was at the door. They had to start before daylight, for the snow-covered roads had frozen in the night and were as slippery as glass; and there were more than eight miles to drive to the station at Mere before nine o'clock.

Old John Thorpe had been up for hours, had seen to everything himself, examined the horse's shoes, given Joe many warnings to drive carefully, and finally, when his daughter was covered with wraps and packed up in the chaise, he bent forward for a parting farewell, and added in a broken whisper,

And if—if it should come to the worst, you will bring our poor Amy and the child back to the old home.'

Miriam pressed his hand, but she could not trust herself to speak, and he turned away to hide his emotion, while she set off on the dreaded journey which nothing would have induced her to undertake had it not been a mission of love.

Her first care on reaching Mere had been to send a telegram to the Radley Hospital, asking for news of David Pryor, and begging that full particulars of his condition might be sent to her in London. As soon as she could obtain a morning paper, she anxiously searched for the account of those injured in the accident, but David's name was not mentioned and her hopes revived.

The most wearisome hours must come to an end, and at length, after many alarms, the poor lady found herself at her destination, No. 39 Kenilworth Villas, Battersea. She could scarcely believe that she had safely arrived, and she wondered at the cleverness of the cabman who could find his way through such a labyrinth of streets. Indeed, she felt really grateful to him when once made perfectly sure that he had brought her to the right house, by seeing at the door the familiar face of the little servant, who was a Summerbourne girl. She, on her part, was overcome with surprise and delight at the sight of her old friend and patroness, and would have run in at once to tell her mistress, but Miss Thorpe checked her, for she saw at once that the bad news was not yet known, and that she must be the bearer of them.

No, Jane; don't say that I am here; Mrs. Pryor might be startled. Tell her that a lady wishes to see her.'

But these kind precautions were useless, for Amy had heard the sound of wheels and she came quickly down with the child in her arms, full of joy and hope.

Surely David had come back! that was why he had not written, as he was able to return so soon, and she would forgive him and never let him know how she had pined for a letter.

She hurried forwards with his name on her lips, but in a moment