CHILDREN OF THE OLD TESTAMENT.

THE CHILDREN OF BETHEL.

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o EROBOAM, the wicked father of the good child Abijah, made Israel to sin, by setting up two golden calves in Dan and Bethel. At the same time a prophet lived in Israel whose name was Elisha, who taught the people that they ought to worship the true God and not bow down to idols, even though the idols were made of gold, and set up by a king. Elisha was the servant of another prophet, named Elijah, and one day, as these two were walking together, a chariot of fire came down from the sky and took Elijah up to

heaven, so that Elisha saw him no more The wicked people of Bethel did not

believe that Elijah was gone up to heaven,

and when Elisha went to their town, no doubt they often mocked him, and said, “There goes the man that will not worship the golden calves, and who tries to make us believe that his master was taken up to heaven.” Very likely they told the children to run after him and call him names whenever they saw him. One day Elisha was walking on the road near Bethel, when a great many children (perhaps a hundred or more) came running out to meet him, that they might mock him. I daresay they threw stones at him, and did everything they could to insult him, and all the while they called out, “Go up, thou bald head; go up, thou bald head.” (2 Kings, ii. 23.) They had heard their parents call Elisha “Bald head;” and when they said “Go up,” they meant either that he should go away from them, and not come to Bethel again, or else they meant to say, “Go up to heaven, in the same way as you tell us that your master has gone.” I feel sure, though we are not told so, that Elisha would turn round and be these naughty children to be silent, an not to sin against the Lord. Perhaps he

said to them, “If you go on calling me names, I must pray to the Lord to stop you; I must o God to punish you for your sin.” But they would not hearken to him, and so the prophet turned round and “cursed them in the name of the Lord.” This does not mean that Elisha got into a passion, and swore at these children. God would never have sent the she-bears out of the wood in answer to a swearer's prayer; but Elisha was angry because these children were insulting and grieving God, and so he prayed God to punish their sin as it deserved. You might ask whether it was right for Elisha to curse these children, when St. Paul says, “Bless, and curse not.” (Rom. xii. 14.) And I would answer, that God had told Elisha to curse these children. He was angry with them and with their parents, .#. made His servant Elisha to know that it was His will that these wicked children should be destroyed, and so Elisha cursed them in the name of the Lord. He prayed that God would punish them as He thought fit, and as they deserved. And then “there came two shebears out of the wood, and tore forty and two children of them.” Perhaps, when they saw the fierce beasts come growling after them, the children might call on Elisha to save them ; but it was too late—the bears fell first on one child and then on another, and hugged and squeezed them in their great paws, and soon forty and two children werelying dead. A few minutes before they were running, and laughing, and skipping about, and now forty and two of them were torn limb from limb, and lying, a ghastly sight, upon the ground. Wo: a fearful thing it is to fall into the hands of the living God! Perhaps you would hardly think it was sin at all to call people names because they are doing right, while you are doing wrong; but you see in this Bible story what God thought of it, and how He punished it. Oh! then, children, never let your lips join in the calling of names or the hootin of anybody, even of the poor half-wit people that we sometimes meet in the street. Be sorry for such people, and if

The Indians and the Priuting-press. have with them portions of Scripture, and other books of delight of the Indians were very great when they saw that Prayers and Hymns, which they could read, would be a the press could produce so quickly and correctly that which great blessing." To assist the good missionary and his cost' them so much labour and time to write out. It is poor Indian converts, a printing-press with types in the gratifying to hear that in one winter no fewer than 1600 native character have been sent to him. The surprise and books in Indian dialects have been produced by it.

AND SISTERS.

** N E summer's evening, when the golden rays of the sun were spread upon the village church. a little girl was ent over a grave, while tears ran down her cheeks. An old man, who was passing by, saw the little girl, and stopped to speak to her. “Why do you cry, my little one?” said the good old man. The child's tears flowed faster, and in the midst of her sobs she said, “This is my little brother's grave, and now that he is dead I think of all the cross and angry words that I said to him. Sometimes I was not kind; but if I had him now I would never speak harshly to him: ” and then she turned away, and sobbed as though her heart would break.

“Brothers and sisters are a gift

Of mercy from the skies;

And may I always think of this
Whene'er they meet my eyes:

Be tender, good, and kind,
And love them in my heart;

Lest I should sigh with bitter grief
When we are called to part."

FORGIVENESS. (Concluded from p. 100.)

APPILY for Archie, the first awful torrent of passion was over before he was disturbed. When nurse came into the room an hour after, she found him still under the bed, but he was on his back now, with his knees raised, and one arm thrown across his face—resting after the storm, in fact. She had the good sense and the kindness to say nothing to him, pretty well guessing the state of affairs, so Archie remained there for another hour. He was perfectly quiet, feeling, indeed, utterly exhausted and weak, and watched nurse about the room in a silent, listless fashion, as people do when recovering from a fever. At last the first bell for the children's early dinner rang, and nurse said, ` “Come and have your hair brushed, Master Archie.” She spoke kindly, and as Archie came out of his hiding-place he felt glad that he had forgiven her long ago. Her words had certainly vexed him very much when they were spoken, but the annoyance was soon over, for he had heavier sorrows to contend with that day. He had forgiven nurse, but he could not, would not, forgive Mary Head. He stood quiet whilst his face and hands were washed, and his curly yellow hair put in as much order as it would ever allow ; then he went down-stairs slowly, holding by the bannisters all the time. Little o: passed him on her way up, and quite vexed him, she was so merry and happy. “Where have you been, Archie?” she asked. “Nowhere," was the reply. But even this stern rejoinder could not quench the young lady's high spirits; she had been for a walk with her mother, and had likewise picked up a fourpenny-piece, either of which circumstances, taken by itself, would have been enough to turn her little head, so the effect of the two was highly exciting. Archie felt quite alone in the world, and went down-stairs “heavy and displeased,” as was ever that poor wrong-headed Ahab of old. Dinner was dull work. The children's mother took her luncheon at the same time, so was always present. She saw that something was wrong with her little boy, so she tried to cheer him up by telling him all about sister Kate's departure by the train that morning. But it was all in vain; Archie thought, “Sister Kate will come back, but the chicken never will, and I think I loved it better than her.” Then a consciousness that this was not quite correct came upon him, and he got very red, just as if any one could see his thought, as indeed One did. When his dinner was given him, he tried hard to eat it, but it was of no use. He had only got through two mouthfuls when, all at once, the sad scene he had witnessed that morning flashed upon him so that he could almost have believed he was actually seeing it again. He put down his knife and fork, he was so tired and so sick. Laying one burning cheek upon the cool, white table-cloth, his mother was surprised to see a large tear steal out of the closed eye, and run slowly over the soft, pink face.

“What is the matter, my dear little boy?” she asked. But Archie did not know ; he “felt sick, and might he go and sit on the steps outside l’” Leave was given, and so he went. But there, just where he had witnessed the “murder,” as he called it, what could he do but think it all over and over again and thinking it over brought a dull feeling of anger—not passion now, but almost Worse. “I hate Mary Head :" he said within himself. Scarcely had the thought passed through his mind than a clear voice behind him

said loudly,– “He that hateth his brother is a mur

derer.” Who was it ! Archie started and

looked behind him: of course no one was there. “It could not have been mother,” he argued, “for she never talks so loud as that, and it could not have been Maudie, for she hasn’t the sense to say things of that sort. Besides they are both at dinner; every one is at dinner but me,” and he sighed; and again he heard, “He that hateth his brother is a murderer” spoken loudly and distinctly. “I don't at all mind it now,” thought Archie; “of course it's only fancy.” No, Archie, it was not fancy; it was the voice that speaks so loudly to little children, and so softly when we get older; scarcely whispering sometimes in old age; the voice that will remain with us only if we listen to it—the voice of conscience. It is speaking to Archie now : will he turn from it? I think not, for he is in a very arguing mood. You must understand that all that followed was “unspoken language”—a talk between Archie and his own heart. “I don't exactly hate her,” said Archie; “but I am very angry with her, stupid little thing!” “Doest thou well to be angry f" asked the voice. “Yes," said Archie, “it is right to be vexed sometimes, and I am very glad I am so angry now: it serves her right. It