of it all was that the clock was going, and when it came to the hour it really struck, and then the barge moved down the river, and the windmill went round, and the waggons went along the road, and the reapers began to reap, which was more like looking at a fairy story all alive and at work than like looking at a common picture. Indeed, several times in the day, when we knew that the hour was nearly up, I begged Aunt Forrest to let me run indoors that I might hear the clock strike, and see the mill go round, and the waggons move, and the barge sail on, and the reapers reap, in the picture which hung over the sideboard in the old dining-room. Always afterwards when we talked over our doings that very night even, when we had at last been put to bed, after first putting our flowers in water, and when we had gone over and over all that happened to us, not leaving out tea on the grass, or the fire-balloon which my brothers and the gardener let off in the field-always afterwards 1 used to say that, if I were given my choice of all the things I had ever seen in the world to have for my own, I would choose that picture, and that, if I could only possess it, I thought I would visit it every hour of the day, in order that I might have the delight of hearing the clock strike, and of seeing the mill go round, and the waggons move, and the barge sail on, and the reapers reap as they did on that day when we beheld them on occasion of our birthday visit to Highwood, and dined in the old dining-room.

Years, many long years, have passed away since then. Uncle and Aunt Forrest never again received us all together at Highwood; and Johnny's wish, when he made his speech after the red-currant wine, was not fulfilled. Before another midsummer's day came round, we were all of us hundreds of miles off; and the next time I saw the old rectory Johnny himself was the Rector, and we were there as visitors to him and his wife. I had not been a minute in the dining-room before I spied out the picture which I so well remembered. There it was. There was the church, there was the windmill, there were the waggons, there was the barge, there were the reapers, everything, just as if they had been doing duty off and on all those twelve years, and were only waiting the note of warning to set to work as briskly as ever. clock struck-not the clock in the picture, but the church clock outside. I looked at my watch-I had a gold watch now, a birthday present from my parents and wondered

NA

BIB

The

whether it was too fast, for the things and people in the picture were perfectly unmoved. Then I saw that the hands were pointing to the wrong hour, and, though everything else looked in order, the waggons were still, the windmill didn't go round, the barge was motionless on the river, the reapers were holding their sickles as if they had heard "Once, twice, thrice," and only wanted to hear “ Away!" to start reaping, which " Away!" however, never came. "Oh, Johnny!" I exclaimed, "what has happened? have been longing to see that picture once more, and to hear the clock strike; and now it is all still, just as if it were any common picture in the house."

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"I must get it put to rights, if I can," answered my brother, "and if I can find a clever watchmaker. But I fear it will be a difficult matter. The mainspring is broken, which set all the machinery going, and I am afraid it will be no easy matter to get it repaired."

That was the reason. The mainspring was broken. No oiling or repairing of the other parts of the works would do any good. Without a mainspring, my favourite picture fell into being nothing more than a common useless landscape which nobody need stay to look at; and I begged Johnny to lose no time in seeing whether it could not be set to rights at once.

I have often thought since of that broken mainspring. Shall I tell you how I am reminded of it?

When I see people who might be doing good in the world standing idle, and never troubling themselves to think whether there isn't work for them, whether they mightn't make some one happier and better for their being in itwhether they mightn't lighten some burdens, or give a hand to some good cause, or try to make the place they live in the better for their being there—I am inclined to remember the missing mainspring; inclined to wish that some power would set them to work, would put their hands to rights, and make them working hands-would let them see that there's harvest work wanting labourers, and that it does no good for people to stand idle, looking on, like painted reapers in a picture which have never been started or set going. Yes, when I see people of this sort, whether small people or great people, old people or young people, I am reminded of the useless clock and the silent mill, and the lifeless reapers and the motionless barge, as they hung over the sideboard in Aunt Forrest's old dining-room.

I once knew a little brother and sister-Aleck and Lucy were their names. They were told, and had read of, the miseries of the people living in countries where the love of JESUS had never been proclaimed; and one day they went to a meeting, where some Missionaries told them stories of the sufferings and wretchedness of heathen children, which filled their hearts with pity. They agreed that they would try and do something, even though it could not be very much, to help to send out the good news of a Saviour which was so freely taught to them; and it was pleasant to see how earnestly they set to work to try and fill their missionarybox. Aleck learned from the village carpenter to make useful boxes and cases for magazines, which his father bought when they were finished, and which brought in many a penny and many a sixpence; and Lucy's missionary basket, in furnishing which with nice useful articles many a holiday hour was spent, and in filling in which her mother and friends often gave helping hands, was as successful. And besides this, the very trying to work for others seemed to do both the brother and sister a great deal of good. It seemed to put them in the way of helping people nearer home, and to remind them that it would not do to be working for the heathen with their fingers, and, at the same time, to be careless in their lessons, or to speak crossly and angrily to each other or to people at home; and when the first missionary meeting came, it was pleasant to see how much their missionary-box contained which they had been so diligent in trying to fill.

After about a year, I paid another visit to their house. There seemed to me some difference in Aleck and Lucy. I asked Aleck if he had any of his paper-cases ready for sale, as I had brought him quite a large order from the friends with whom I had been staying; but he told me that he had been so busy lately with some new fishing-tackle, besides having been chosen into his school eleven at cricket, that he had not found time for his old work. Then, when I asked Lucy for her basket, in order that I might add some new stores to it, I was surprised to find that she was not very eager to receive them, and after a time, rather shyly told me that her holiday hours had been so taken up with croquet, and with some cousins who had come to live close at hand, that she had no time for missionary work, or, at least, very little indeed.

"But would not your cousins help you?" I asked. "Could you not make up a little working party with Grace and Fanny, and get them to join in doing something better than mere play, though that is all right and very pleasant for part of your leisure time?"

But Lucy did not seem very much to care for what I said; and, after a time, I began to fear that, the novelty of missionary work having worn off, and the subject having been less before their mind, she and her brother had become careless, weary in well doing, and that nothing but a new mainspring-the only real mainspring-would set hands and heads to work, a mainspring without which, for any real use in their lives, they would remain as purposeless as the reapers in the picture over the sideboard in Aunt Forrest's old dining-room.

And what is that real mainspring? You will find it in these words

"The love of Christ constraineth us."

The love of Him, who so greatly loved us as to give His life for us, is the only one which will set our whole lives-every talent and power that we possess-in motion, in order to carry out His will, so to help forward His work in the world. There are little cheap mainsprings which may for a time seem to make us earnest and diligent for Him, but which are not the true ones. They soon wear out, and our efforts are at a standstill, just having our feelings touched by a passing compassion for others, or being diligent in order that we may have a fuller missionary-box than our friends, or taking to work of the kind because it is new and our parents are pleased with our doing it, or because we like to have our names down as collectors. Such motives are very poor and worthless ones. As I said before, they soon wear out, just as in Aleck's and Lucy's case; and we see that something lasting, something powerful, something that time will not destroy but will only strengthen and confirm, must be at the root of all our lives, if they are to be lives put out to interest for Jesus-if we are to be doing His work and His will here below.

The love of CHRIST, when you have been taught by His Holy Spirit all that He has done in bearing for you the punishment which was your due-the love of Christ deep down in your heart-will make you feel that you can never

do enough for Him who so loved you. It is a mainspring which will not wear out in this life, and which will not wear out through all eternity: it will last for ever.

My brother fulfilled his intention of having the old picture set to rights, and when I was last at Highwood, my nieces and nephews, who are a great deal taller and older than we were on that famous midsummer's day of which I have told you, asked me to tell them a story. So I gave them the history of my sister Phemie's birthday-Phemie, whose little daughter Phemie is as old as her Mamma was then. And after I had done, we all went to look at the picture together, and Johnny and Willy climbed on to the sideboard; and when the hour sounded outside, the clock-the clock in the church-tower-struck, and the waggons moved along the road, and the mill-sails went round, and the reapers began to reap, and the barge moved down the river, all just as they had done years before, when I said that the most beautiful thing at Highwood was the picture, compared with which I could not admire any other, and which hung over the sideboard in Aunt Forrest's old dining-room.

MISSIONARY SCRIPTURE QUESTIONS
FOR SEPTEMBER.

Jeremiah.

1. Why was Jeremiah afraid of undertaking the Missionary work given him by God?—What promise did God give him as his comfort and support?-How many times do we find this promise repeated? To which of the Apostles was the same promise made in a vision ?-When did Jesus Christ make this promise to all His disciples?

2. To what kings was Jeremiah sent as God's messenger? -What message was he told to speak in their ears? What trials did he go through in obeying his command to speak to them from God?-Where does he tell us that God was with him?

3. What prophecies can you find of the glorious time when Jesus Christ shall reign upon the earth? Where is He called "The Lord our Righteousness?"--Can you explain from the New Testament the meaning of this title of Jesus our Lord?