man falls into, and to the evil language he constantly hears.

And this the poor Marie experienced with her Fritz. Earnestly had the good mother longed for the day when she should again clasp her son, freed from service, in her arms, and when he should again help her in the care of her other children.

The day came: with open arms she received the returning one, and warmly pressed his hand in welcome, and pressed a mother's kiss on his sunburnt cheeks. But what was this? Her hearty welcome was not returned; he coldly received her tokens of joy; cast his eyes down to the ground, and turned surlily from her.

'But, dear Fritz!' stammered his mother with sorrow, what is the matter? After a separation of years, why such a meeting? Do you no longer understand, no longer value your mother's heart?"

Oh! indeed, I am as glad as you can be to lay aside the soldier's coat. But why all this nonsense? I am no longer a child!'

The poor mother said nothing. She was cut to the heart by the contemptuous language of her son. His want of sympathy fell like a bitter frost upon her loving heart.

And yet he had spoken the truth he was no longer a child. That childlike, pious faith, with which he had left his parent's home; that childlike, true affection to his honest mother, which he had previously shown her; these had vanished-he was no longer a child. Innocence had long ago been driven from his heart; his faithful, confiding mind, was now filled with the so-called enlightenment of the age-that enlightenment which despises and mocks at strong faith in God, and in His truth, as old wives' fables. Thus had Fritz come home-truly no longer a child.

In other respects, too, he was no longer

a child. Before he went away to the town he worked faithfully and diligently; honest labour was a pleasure, and a true heart's joy was it to him when he could pour out the pence which he had earned into his dear mother's lap, and see the pleasure which beamed from her face.

But now he hated every kind of serious work. After idly wandering about all day he would come home to his mother's spare meal, eat the bitterly-earned bread of the widow and the orphans, and even demand. some pocket-money besides.

And only because he could not get thisfor how could his mother give it him, and how dare she if she could?-he would get some sort of stray employment (for the honest trade which he had learned he would have nothing to do with), and would then squander what he earned in gambling and drinking.

Thus were fulfilled the hopes which Marie had set upon her son. But the undutiful young man went farther still. His mother could not silently witness such conduct. She begged and implored him to give up this life of vice, and again, as before, to be a faithful son and a true brother. But this only excited his wrath. Cursing and stamping he went about the house; he struck on the table with his fist, and declared that he was master in the house. Once, indeed, he even went so far as to hold his fist up to his mother's face, and to threaten her with a blow!

Poor, poor mother! Thus did your Fritz, whom you had brought up so well, and sent away from home so good, come back to you. You saw the day, the hour approaching, when all this must have a terrible end. But Heaven interfered, and for a time put an end to this godless conduct, by liberating you for a space from this unworthy son. (To be continued.)

THE SWAN.

HE Swan is once mentioned in the Bible. In Leviticus (xi. 18) it is found in the list of birds which the Israelites were forbidden to eat. The names of these

birds are in Hebrew,

and the learned have been puzzled to fix on the exact bird of modern times and of other countries which each Hebrew word describes. Some think that the word rendered swan' really means the 'goose,' but that the 'gier eagle,' which is named in the same verse, is the swan.

Our picture gives the swan which is most familiar to English eyes-the beautiful tame swan which is seen on lakes and rivers, especially on the Thames, Isis, and Cam. This is the stately bird which Milton admires, as she,

"With arched neck

Between the white wings mantling, proudly rows
Her state with oary feet.'

The wild swan is not so graceful as the tame one. He carries his neck erect. His plumage is not so snow-like, and his wings are closer to his body. Two or three kinds of wild swan visit England in the winter, and leave on the breaking up of the frost, or on the first favourable wind. Their flight is high and swift: they are said to Imake 100 miles an hour. Most of them go to the Polar regions: Lapland, Siberia, and the countries around Hudson's Bay, are their favourite breeding-places.

HARD AS STONE.

(Continued from page 367.)

CHAPTER III.

HE year 1864 carne and brought war into the land. Austria and Prussia marched against the Danes. Then Fritz received orders to join the army, which he was obliged to do. Marie was thus quit of her wild son. Was it for ever? For a long time? Ah! who could tell that? Certainly for her he had been a heavy cross, and under other circumstances she would gladly have seen him depart. But not thus to the terrible battle, to the bloody war, perhaps to death itself! See, Fritz, deeply hast thou wounded thy poor mother's heart; thou hast made bleeding wounds in it; thou hast acted as an inhuman monster; but thou hast not stifled thy mother's love, thou hast not destroyed it. How the loving heart of thy mother trembles, and throbs, and cares for thee still! How she wrestles in prayer on her knees before God for thee! how she clasps her hands, praying that God will graciously protect thee and preserve thee in the roar and danger of the battle! All thy cruelty, all the insults thou hast heaped upon her, are forgotten, and the mother's heart thinks only of thee whom she has borne as a babe on her breast. Fritz, forget not thy mother! If thou returnest home in safety, be to her a better son!

time. The terrible warning voice of the Father whom he had offended, which spoke to him there in the thunder of battle, Fritz refused to hear; he remained just the same as before-wilder, rougher, if anything; and Marie, the faithful mother, endured and suffered afresh.

When the Furies of war were again let loose she did not find rest so soon as before. In 1866 Austria and Prussia stood opposed to each other, armed to the teeth. The question was, which should rule in Germany, and streams of German blood watered the

German soil. In comparison to this dreadful war the Danish one was a mere trifle. Though it may be called the seven days' war, yet it made the hearts of thousands of German lads to cease to beat; thousands who went forth full of life and joy into the din of battle, and hoped to enjoy life for many long years, were laid in their graves on the Bohemian plains. Many, whom war had spared in the year 1864, fell victims to it in 1866; and there were sorrow and lamentation throughout Germany.

Fritz, too, had to depart to join in this bloody struggle; yet, where thousands of noble hearts were pierced, whence so many brave lads returned home as cripples, he remained spared and quite unhurt, and, fresh and well, he saw his home once more.

mained the same Fritz as he was before 1866. No change, no softening of the heart. He remained hard as stone.

CHAPTER IV.

FRANCE, Germany's old foe, now showed signs of enmity. Again the flames of war burst forth. Napoleon had declared war against Prussia. King William boldly accepted the challenge, and in a few days all Germany stood as one man, armed to the teeth, and the terrible conflict began. Fritz, too, must start again-now for the third time. Against the Danes, against Austria and her allies, he had marched forth, and each time Marie his mother had witnessed his departure in anguish and terror, with the thought that perhaps she should never see him again! and now her heart sank within her when Fritz received his marchingorders. There was a gloomy fear in her soul that this time it would fare hardly with her son—that she would never see him again.

When the orders came round and every one perceived how serious the matter this time was, many who had to go into the battle humbled themselves with penitent hearts before God; the churches were thronged, and many were the young lads who every day knelt before the Table of the Lord, and with the bread of life sought to support and strengthen themselves for this, perhaps last march forth from their homes. What did Fritz do? He passed the few days which he still had to spend at home in riot; with wild, excited head, he reeled home late at night, and, no longer master of his senses, threw himself down on his bed. In this condition his mother could not speak to him; when, however, in the

And yet, it did not do so! Fritz re

eyes she went up to him and said,(To be continued.)