it was that the services of our little heroine were called into requisition. She had been on the alert, and had placed herself conveniently near to the spot, so that, if questioned, she might be able to say something that would be the means of saving her brother's life. How much had been entrusted to the care of Miriam ! What a weight of responsibility was hers! What, if she had failed in tact, or patience, or courage? It would seem, as we look at the event from our own day, as though at this momentous crisis the destinies of a whole nation were committed into her keeping. Could she have realised at that moment the issues that depended upon her conduct, it would have overwhelmed her; indeed, a stronger than even she was might well have trembled at the thought. Happily, however, she was equal to the occasion; for when Pharaoh's daughter had recognised the babe as one of the Hebrew children, Miriam, with inimitable tact and artless simplicity, said to her," Shall I go and call to thee a nurse of the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the babe for thee? Pharaoh's daughter at once bade her go. And who but the mother of Miriam, who but the mother of the little foundling whom the young princess drew from the treacherous waters of the Nile, could best perform the holy and sacred duties of MOTHER to him?

How difficult for my young readers to realise, and yet how true it is, that even to them are committed sacred trusts which may involve the happiness of hundreds, ay, of thousands of our fellow-creatures who shall

come after them. A poor fragile girl of ten or twelve years of age, the child of an

oppressed and enslaved people, between whom and the illustrious princess to whom she is now giving advice there yawns an almost impassable social gulf; yet, what stupendous results followed from Miriam's fidelity and courage! The delivery of a whole nation from the most miserable slavery; the destruction in one night of Egypt's proudest chivalry; wonders in the fields of Zoar, the records of which to-day are engraven upon the hearts of millions of

our race.

Might not the youngest of those who may be interested in reading these papers ask themselves the question, What are my responsibilities in relation to my brothers and sisters, my friends and playmates? Not very far from where I now write, there lives a gentleman holding the offices of Sunday-school superintendent and classleader, beloved by all who know him for his kindheartedness and zeal in the cause of God. When a little boy, his home was poor and desolate, and his moral training was sadly neglected. He had, however, an elder sister who was in the habit of attending a Primitive Methodist Sunday-school, where she was taught to know and love the Saviour. Not long after she had given her heart to God she was taken seriously ill. During her illness she felt deeply concerned about the salvation of her little brother. Frequently did she speak to him in earnest and loving words about the love of God and the Saviour of sinners. Shortly before her death she earnestly besought him to meet her in that beautiful home to which the angels were soon to convey her happy spirit. The poor little fellow wept bitterly at the thought of losing his sister, to whom he was devotedly attached; but at last he gave her the promise that she so anxiously requested of him. In a very short time after he had followed his sister to her grave he gave up his young life to the service of his sister's God. He began to attend a

class-meeting, and when he received his first class-ticket he was unable to contribute to the cause of God as he saw others doing, for he was exceedingly poor; but he had then, as he has now, a large heart, so for a few pence he sold the scarf that he was wearing, and these he laid as his first gift, after himself, upon the altar of sacrifice. The sister had gone home to know pain

and poverty no more, but her influence lives in the life of her brother, who is to-day honoured, useful, and happy. God has blessed him with worldly prosperity, and given him many useful talents; and his greatest happiness is to devote them to the service of his Master, whilst the memory of his sister is cherished by him as a precious heritage. GEORGE HARgreaves.

ITH Bethany we associate the names

of Mary and her sister Martha, and that Lazarus who, after having been dead four days, was raised to life again by the Lord Jesus Christ. If anyone lived in our district who had been raised from the dead we should be very anxious to see him and to talk with him, and to show him to our friends from a distance. And so were the Jews who lived at Bethany, and even those who lived in Jerusalem as well. When there was any excuse for getting into his company, any public occasion, the people went from the big city to the little village, which is about two miles out on the eastern side, and which, by walking across the Mount of Olives, they could reach in half an hour.

Lazarus and his sisters seem to have been good, kind people, who were ready to help needy persons and to show kindness to strangers. This generosity on their part brought them into better company than they perhaps had ever expected, for the Lord Jesus, when He was tired with the day's teaching and healing, often went out to their house to spend the night and to rest Himself for further toil. Martha and Mary are not the only ones who have had greater guests than they knew of or even fancied, for in the Old Testament we read of those who entertained angels of God

without knowing it. Kindness, we may be sure, will never pass unrewarded. We are not told whether the Saviour's lodgings at Bethany were paid for in the ordinary way or not. Most likely they were offered without the hope of any payment, and so accepted. But when the Lord Jesus restored the brother to life the sisters would not feel that they had suffered any loss by entertaining their Friend. Nor shall we, if we give our time and our money to help the poor. There is a clear statement

upon this point. It is in the 17th verse of the 19th chapter of Proverbs, and is very likely the result of King Solomon's experience. It says, "He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth to the Lord; and that which he hath given will He pay again." If the readers of the HIVE will read the 8th, 9th, 10th and 11th verses of the 4th chapter of the second Book of Kings, and the first six verses of the 8th chapter of the same Book, they will find a very striking instance of a good deed coming back to the doer of it when least expected.

Bethany is a small place, and seems never to have been very large, even in its best days; but it is in a pleasant district. It was the last scene beheld by the risen Redeemer, for from it He ascended into heaven. He led His disciples out as far as to Bethany, and said unto them, "Go ye

into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature," and having thus spoken, "He lifted up His hands and blessed them; and it came to pass that while He blessed them He was parted from them, and carried up into heaven." We can understand in a measure the feelings of a Scotchman, who, visiting the spot, exclaimed: "Men of Galilee! favoured of God above all the

rest, I would, oh! I would have been of your company on that triumphant morning, with you to look steadfastly toward heaven as He went up, and with you to worship. Or, better still, I would have been among the heavenly host that

Thronged His chariot wheels,

And bore Him to His throne;
Then swept their golden harps and sang,
'The glorious work is done!""

r is a common thing to see a large number of persons attending a funeral in some of the West of England towns. In these towns it is not the custom to wait for an invitation on such occasions. All the neighbours are expected, and most of the friends; so that if the deceased has been pretty well known and respected it is quite an ordinary thing for a hundred persons to make up the procession. At the same time a hearse is a rare sight. The coffin is generally carried by hand-not for want of means to hire horses, but because the West-country folks are fond of adhering to ancient ways.

From time immemorial funerals have been conducted after this fashion, and unnamed be the man and unhonoured who shall interfere therewith.

Another singular thing about a Westcountry funeral is the singing. In many cases the church is a mile from the markettown, and it, with the few houses round about, is called the church-town, to distinguish it from the former. At intervals along the route the friends sing hymns. Especially is this the case when the deceased has been a member of some Christian Church; and very beautiful it is to hear the measured words of hope and faith sung by sorrowing relatives and friends at such time:-

a

"Let the world bewail their dead,
Fondly of their loss complain;
Brother, friend, by Jesus freed,
Death to thee, to us, is gain:
"Thou art enter'd into joy:

Let the unbelievers mourn;
We in songs our lives employ

Till we all to God return."

In the North of England, on the contrary, no one thinks of going to a funeral unless he has been "warned;" and most of those who do go ride in some sort of conveyance. A funeral, therefore, is very expensive, and, as a rule, only a few persons are present.

The funeral of William 'Bout-Hat, however, did not relate to the rule at all, it was quite an exception. He had been a character, had William. What age he was when he died nobody knew. His neighbours said that they remembered him as long as they remembered anything, and that he seemed just the same when they knew him first as he had been toward the last, only that for a year or two he had grown weaker like-walked more slowly, and leaned heavily upon his stick. Very likely he could not have told his own age, for writing was a rare art when he was young, and the Government had not then provided as it has since for attention to such matters. Anyhow, William was re