IN the campaign of Napoleon in Russia, while the French army was retreating from Moscow, there lay in a poor, low cottage, in a little village, an invalid boy. This village was exactly in the course of the retreating army, and already the reports of its approach had reached and excited the terrified inhabitants. In their turn they began to make preparations for retreat; for they knew that there was no hope for them from the hands of the soldiery, who were anxiously seeking their own preservation, and who gave no quarter.

Every one who had the strength to flee fled, some trying to take with them their worldly goods, some trying to conceal them. The little village was fast growing deserted. Some burned their houses, others dismantled them. The old were placed in waggons, and the young hurried their families away with them.

But in the little cottage there was none of this bustle. The poor crippled boy could not move from his bed. The widowed mother had no friends near enough to spare a thought for her in this time of trouble, when every one thought only of himself and of those nearest to him. What chance in flight was there for her and her young children, among whom one was the poor crippled boy 1

It was evening, and the sound of distant voices had died away. The poor boy was wakeful with terror, now urging his mother to leave him to his fate, now dreading lest she should take him at his word and leave him behind.

"The neighbours have all gone away; I hear them no longer," he said. "I am so selfish; I have kept you here. Take the little girls with you; it is not too late.

And I am safe. Who will hurt a poor, helpless boy 1"

"We are all safe," answered the mother; "God will not leave us, though all others forsake us."

"But what can help us?" persisted the boy. "Who can defend us from their cruelty 1 Such stories as I have heard of the ravages of these men! They are not men; they are wild beasts. Oh, why was I made so weak—so weak as to be utterly useless! No strength to defend, no strength even to flee."

"There is a sure wall for the defenceless," answered his mother. "God will build us up a sure wall."

"You are my strength now," said the boy; "I thank God that you did not desert me. I am so weak, I cling to you. Do not leave me, indeed! I fancy I can see the cruel soldiers hurrying in. We are too poor to satisfy them, and they will pour their vengeance upon us. And yet you ought to leave me! What right have I to keep you here? And I shall suffer more if I see you suffer."

"God will be our refuge and defence," still said the mother; and at length, with low, quieting words, she stilled the anxious boy till he too slept, like his sisters. The morning came of the day that was to bring the dreaded enemy. The mother and children opened their eyes to find that a "sure wall" had indeed been built for their defence. The snow had begun to fall the evening before. Through the night it had collected rapidly. A high wind had blown the snow in drifts against the low house, so that it had entirely covered it. A low shed behind protected the way to the outhouse, where the animals were, and for a few days

the mother and her children kept themselves alive within their cottage, shut in and quite concealed by the great wall of snow.

It was during that time that the dreaded scourge passed over the village. Every house was ransacked; all the wealthier ones deprived of their luxuries, and the poorer ones robbed of their necessaries. But the low-roofed cottage lay sheltered beneath its wall of snow, which in the silent night had gathered around it. God had protected the defenceless with a " sure wall."

FLORENCE'S FIRST LETTER.

January 19,1883.

TVEAREST GRANDPA,—I was a "week old yesterday afternoon; and papa said, if I was a good girl last night, that I might write a letter to my own grandpapa to-day. I was good last night, and mamma had a good night too, and she and I are both " doing well." Papa is doing well too. I like my two grandmammas quite too utterly much. I want to see my grandpapa, and see if he is really and truly an "elderly gentleman," as mamma'smamma says he is. I like your picture ever so much, dear grandpapa, and don't think you look elderly at all. Mamma says you are coming to see me soon, and I am so glad. I want you to come as soon as you can, and stay a long time; and you and I can talk over old times together. Won't that be preciously precious 1 They haven't told you anything about me in their letters to you, so I am just going to tell you about myself. I have blue eyes, and hair of an auburn hue. I am perfect in all respects, physically and intellectually (papa taught me these two big words this morning). I eat a great deal; and nurse says I am a

little pig. I sleep some, but don't cry at all, except when very hungry. I have one (1) nose, two (2) eyes, two (2) ears, one (1) mouth, ten (10) fingers, and ten (10) toes. I take an inventory every morning, to see that they are all right. Now, I want to send my love to all my nice relations, and I must stop, because I am tired. I shall be so glad when you come. We are all well and happy. I hope you will love me, dear grandpapa, as much as I love you, and that you will soon answer this first letter from your loving granddaughter,

Florence. Postscript.—Ain't you glad I'm a girl 1

OUR CHILDREN.

STANDING forth on life's rough way,
Father, guide them:
Oh, we know not what ere long

May betide them.
'Neath the shadow of thy wing,

Father, hide them;
Waking, sleeping, Lord, we pray,
Go beside them.

When in prayer they cry to thee,

Do thou hear them;
'Mid the sorrows of the road

Do thou cheer them.
'Mid the quicksands and the rocks

Do thou steer them;
In temptation, trial, grief,

Be thou near them.

Unto thee we give them up,

Lord, receive them;
In the world we know must be

Much to grieve them;
Many striving oft and strong -

To deceive them; Trustful in thy hands of love,

Safe we leave them.

MARY was kneeling down by the side of her bed, her eyes closed and her hands clasped. If her mother had seen her she would have thought she was praying, and she would have been pleased that she knelt so long. But she was only "saying her prayers," not praying. Her mind was full of the young people down in the parlour, whose shouts of merriment came sounding up the stairs every few minutes, and of the happy evening she had had. They were all older than herself; and though her mother had allowed her to sit up an hour later than usual, the time had come when Mary knew it would not do to beg for a "little more time."

But the longer she knelt the more her thoughts wandered away from what she was trying to do. The words, some of them, passed through her mind, but that was all. At last she jumped up.

"It's no use," she said, hurrying into bed. "I've tried my best. Well, nobody will know I couldn't get through the Lord's Prayer even. It's the first time in a good many years that I went to sleep without saying it."

But Mary felt uncomfortable the few minutes she lay awake. She had been brought up to feel that she must pray at least twice a day, just as much as she must eat her meals. She didn't feel quite right, especially when mother came in and asked God to take care of her little girl and make her his child.

Mary's first dream was a very strange one. She thought she was sitting in her little bedroom reading. But instead of the pretty wall-paper, covered with rosebuds and delicate ferns, she found, on glancing up from her book, that the walls

were all white. As she looked she saw a fair-looking being, an angel she supposed, beginning to write on them. What was he writing there ?" Our Father which art in heaven"—the Lord's Prayer. But what were those many words and lines that came after1 "I wonder what play they're at now? How they laugh! I think mother might have let me sit up longer! I came so near winning that last game, and— 'Hallowed be'—Anna Ross said that she would teach me that new crochet stitch tomorrow. O dear! I forgot. Where did I leave off? 'Thy name. Thy'—Meta Johnson said she didn't have to go to bed till ten," etc.

We don't like to tell all the foolish thoughts of our little girl, which, she saw, were soon filling the pure white walls. It seems too dreadful to put such words side by side with our Saviour's beautiful prayer. Mary felt so ashamed and grieved as she read on that she would gladly have covered her eyes, but they seemed held open and made to look.

"Blot it out! blot it out!" she cried at last; "I can't bear it. I never thought those things would look so dreadful when they were written. Can't something be done 1 Must I always have it there? I will rub it out myself."

But it was of no use, she soon found. The letters seemed to stand out more distinctly than ever; and on, on the angel wrote, soon filling the walls with what passed through her mind in so short a space of time.

"Nothing you can do can Wot it out," said the angel at last. "One thing only can."

Mary looked up to hear what he had to say more; but her joy was so great that she

awoke with a start. Oh! what a relief to see, by the light of the moon that tilled her room, that the pretty rosebuds and ferns were still there, and that no angel was writing down those foolish thoughts of hers.

My little friends, I don't need to ask you what only can blot out all those wrong thoughts and words and deeds of ouis. But I should like you to send me some texts about it; won't you? Of course, it is unnecessary for me to ask any of you if

you know about the angel who wrote on the wall of Belshazzar's palace. But isn't there a book where all these things are written down, and lemain written, unless blotted out by that one thing of which the angel spoke? There are other allusions to this book, or these books. Who writes in them? and when will they be published? And how many things are spoken of as written in them? I can think of at least five things. How many can you find?

rilHE other day a poor woman who lives J- near my house came running in in great excitement. "Oh," she exclaimed, "Mrs. Marjorie, I am in so much trouble! I have just lost all the money I had in the world, between my house and the corner. I must have dropped it in the street. What shall I do?"

The only thing that I could advise was that she should insert an advertisement of her loss in the paper; and as she did not know how to write it I wrote one for her. Then I said, " How came you to lose your pocket-book? Was there a hole in your pocket?"

She showed me a rip between the lining and the outside of her dress, and said she bupposed she had slipped her money through that instead of into the right place. "I've been meaning to sew that for a week," she said, very sadly.

I felt too sorry for her to tell her that experience had taught her a very dear lesson; but it did seem hard that the savings of two months should have been lost for want of a stitch in time.

The homely old proverb says, " A stitch in time saves nine." Please think of it when you are studying your etymology,

and are not sure about a derivation. It will take only a few seconds to look it up now, but it may save you much trouble at examination-day to be sure on the subject . Think of it, too, when your little playmate passes you coldly, and when you feel that you have given offence to your teacher or mother; a frank word of apology, a kind, forgiving look in time, may save you from many hours of regret and distress. A great many tangled and troublesome things in this world would be set right speedily if everybody believed in a stitch in time. You may apply this principle to everything in life, and it will never fail you. A great poet (Mr. Tennyson) says,—

"It is the little rift within the lute That by-and-by will make the music mute."

A very tiny leak, if not repaired, will cause the great ship to go down in the midst of the sea. Any small wrong thing may be corrected or mended while it is small, but every day that it is left alone it will grow larger and stronger. One weed is easier to pull up than ten are. Do not forget the stitch in time, wherever you may be.