THE HAPPY HOME.

VIII.

FIRE-FLIES.

In the New World's warmer forests they find great numbers of a shining fly ;* and so plentiful is their light that people often turn them to useful purposes. A friend of our own, when his ship lay anchored off the coast, had occasion to search for a book in the cabin overnight, and recollecting that two of these living lanterns were enclosed in a pill-box, with their aid he ran over the titles of the different volumes, till he found the one he wanted. The natives often keep a few in a phial, to guide them at little turns of household work; and as there is no danger of their causing combustion, travellers sometimes put one of these phials along with their watch, and under their pillow.

Of such tiny lights we now send the reader a specimen. It is not the object of these Tracts to give a system of theology, but we should be glad if we could

*Elater noctilucus, a sort of beetle.

impart the ABC of Christianity; and in studying its early lessons, our Fire-Flies may lend a little light. Thankful should we be if they proved of service to any one journeying in the dark, and perplexed about his road; or if they shed a ray, however feeble, on any sentence of God's own word. And though grown people may despise them, we are not without the hope that, like the flying lamps in Chili, they may find favour with your boys and girls.

THE PILGRIMS AND THEIR PITCHERS.

It was long ago, and somewhere in the eastern clime. The king came into the garden and called the children round him. He led them up to a sunny knoll and a leafy arbour on its summit. And when they had all sat down, he said, "You see far down the river, and hanging as on the side of the hill, yon palace? It is a palace-though here it looks so little and far away. But when you reach it you will find it a larger and sweeter home than this: and when you come you will find that I have got there before you. And when you arrive at the gate, that they may know that you belong to me, and may let you in, here is what each of you must take with him." And he gave to each of the children a most beautiful alabaster jar-a little pitcher so exquisitely fashioned that you were almost afraid to touch it, so pure that you could see the daylight through it, and with delicate figures raised on its sides.

"Take this, and carry it carefully. Walk

steadily, and the journey will soon be over." But they had not gone far before they forgot. One was running carelessly and looking over his shoulder, when his foot stumbled, and as he fell full length on the stony path the pitcher was shivered in a thousand pieces; and one way and another, long, long before they reached the palace, they had broken all the pitchers. When this happened I may mention what some of them did. Some grew sulky, and knowing that it was of no use to go forward without the token, they began to shatter the fragments still smaller, and dashed the broken sherds among the stones, and stamped them with their feet; and then they said, "Why trouble ourselves about this palace? It is far away, and here is a pleasant spot. We will just stay here and play." And so they began to play. Another could not play, but sat wringing his hands, and weep> ing bitterly. Another grew pale at first, but recovered his composure a little on observing that his pitcher was not broken so bad as some others. There were three or four large pieces, and these he put together as well as he could. It was a broken pitcher that could hold no water, but by a little care he could keep it together; and so he gathered courage, and began to walk along more cautiously. Just then, a voice accosted the weeping boy, and looking up he saw a very lovely form, with a sweet and pleasant countenance-such a countenance as is accustomed to be happy, though something for the present has made it sad. And in his hand he held just such a pitcher as the little boy had broken, only the workmanship was more exquisite,

and the colours were as bright as the rainbow round the stranger's head. "You may have it," he said; "it is better than the one you have lost, and though it is not the same, they will know it at the gate." The little mourner could scarcely believe that it was really meant for him; but the kind looks of the stranger encouraged him. He held out his hand for the stranger's vase, and gave a sob of joyful surprise when he found it his own. He began his journey again, and you would have liked to see how tenderly he carried his treasure, and how carefully he picked his steps, and how sometimes, when he gave another look at it, the tear would fill his eye, and he lifted up his happy thankful face to heaven.-The stranger made the same offer to the playing boys, but by this time they were so bent on their new amusements, that they did not care for it. Some saucy children said, he might lay his present down and leave it there if he liked, and they would take it when they wanted it. He passed away, and spoke to the boy who was carrying the broken pitcher. At first he would have denied that it was broken, but the traveller's clear glance had already seen it all; and so he told him, "You had better cast it away, and have this one in its stead." The boy would have been very glad to have this new one, but to throw away the relics of his own was what he could never think of. They were his chief dependence every time he thought of the journey's end; so he thanked the stranger, and clasped his fragments firmer. The boy with the gift-pitcher and this other reached the precincts of the palace

about the same time. They stood for a little and looked on. They noticed some of the bright-robed inhabitants going out and in, and every time they passed the gate, they presented such a token as they themselves had once got from the king, but had broken so long ago.-The boy who had accepted the kind stranger's present now went forward, and held it up; and whether it was the light glancing on it from the pearly gate, I cannot tell, but at that instant its owner thought that it had never looked so fair. He who kept the gate seemed to think the same, for he gave a friendly smile, as much as to say, "I know who gave you that;" and immediately the door was lifted up and let the little pilgrim in. The boy with the broken pitcher now began to wish that his choice had been the same; but there was no help for it now. He adjusted the fragments as skilfully as he could, and trying to look courageous, carried them in both his hands. But he who kept the gate was not to be deceived. He shook his head, and there was that sorrow in his look which leaves no hope. The bearer of the broken pitcher still held fast his useless sherds, and lingered long. But no one took any notice of him, or felt the smallest pity for him; and though he made many efforts, every time he approached the door it seemed of itself to shut again.*

* Perhaps you will understand this story by laying the following texts together:

"Without holiness no man shall see the Lord."-Heb. xii. 14. "God made man upright."-Eccl. vii. 29.

"All have sinned and come short of the glory of God."— Rom. iii. 23.

"All the world is guilty before God. And by the deeds of