"Why, my study looks as if some fairy had turned it into the Lowther Arcade!" exclaimed Mr. Gascoigne. "Yes; aren't they beautiful things! Ten presents altogether, papa; that's four more since you went away this morning, counting the vases two things. Sarah bought them from the travelling man; and Cousin Helen sent me the fairy-tale book-it's full of pictures, you see.” Mr. Gascoigne listened and admired till his little daughter was satisfied; then he sat down in his arm-chair by the fire, and took her on his knee. She leaned her head against his shoulder and gave a little sigh. "Tired of birthday treats, darling?" he said, stroking her hair fondly as he spoke. "No, papa; but I do so wish there was fairy-land, really." "Do you, Effie? Why?" "Oh! think how nice it would be to climb up into a beautiful unknown country, like Jack and the Bean-stalk, or to have a wishing-cap, and only just say what you wish for, and there it is; or an invisible cloak, so as to go anywhere you liked without being seen. There is one story in my book about a little girl who lived with a cross old woman that never gave her any treats; and one day she found a secret door in an old passage of the house where she lived, and as soon as she touched the handle the door flew open, and she saw a large room full of toys—a doll's-house and a rocking-horse, and everything; and while she was wondering whether she might play with the things, suddenly a fairy princess stood before her and said, 'These toys are for you; you may come and play with them every day when you have done your lessons, and the old woman has gone out to see her friends.' So after that the little girl went every day to the fairy play-room, and didn't mind about the cross old woman any more. I do wish, papa, I could find a secret door in this house." "But my little girl isn't quite so badly off in her own home as the little girl in the story," said Mr. Gascoigne, smiling, and drawing his little daughter closer to him. “No, papa, I should think not, indeed! I only mean if the fairy tales were real, and I could live in there as well as living here. Is it wrong, papa?" she added, rather anxiously, as, receiving no answer from her father, she raised her head to look into his face, and saw it was very grave. "No, my darling; we're not meant to have our lives made up of the things we can see. I was thinking of a book I know which is full of stories about beautiful things that are quite real, and which people can live in.” “Are they wonderful stories, papa, like my fairy tales ?” asked Effie, eagerly. "Yes; about a country where desert places turn into gardens of roses; and where the King's palace full of treasures is always open, so that every one, even little children and the poorest people, may go to Him, right up to His throne, and ask Him for everything they would like; and He has it already for them, or else gives them something a great deal more worth having. So you see that is better than your wishing-cap. And for an invisible cloak, He gives them, to guard them from everybody and everything they are afraid of, a magic shield, which is called 'the secret of His presence.' "Papa, do people get to live in that story-book by just reading it ?" "No, dear; there is an unseen Person who gives them sight to see that the wonderful things are all really there. I was with a little girl to-day, Effie, not much older than you, who is living in the stories of that book.” "Oh! please tell me about her: was she a London little girl ?" "Yes; she used to go to the ragged-school I once took you to see when we lived in town. About three years ago she left off coming, and we heard her father had work far away, and had moved with his family. Yesterday the schoolmistress sent me word that little Ruth Clark had come back to live in a court near the school, and that she had hurt her back, and was quite a cripple; so to-day when I left my office I went to see her. That was why I couldn't help being late, even on your birthday, my child. The house she was in was a tumble-down place, with a high prison-wall just opposite. I went up the broken stairs into a room which was so low I couldn't stand straight up in it, and so dark I couldn't make out at first where little Ruth was; but soon I saw her lying upon a mattress put upon chairs in a corner. She had a small, thin white face, and very large eyes that were looking at me eagerly. She said she remembered me quite well: she told me her father was dead, and her mother went out washing almost every day. There were three younger children going to the ragged-school. Her back had been hurt by a fall, and she had had a great deal of pain at first, but not lately, only very bad headaches. I said to her, 'This is a dark place for you to be lying in always don't you feel dull and lonely when your mother's out?' "No, sir; I'm not lonely,' she said; and her eyes looked bright, and a little smile came on her face, as if she had some happy secret. 66 6 'How is that, dear?' I asked her; and she said, 'It's because of Jesus. I know about His loving me, and about His being here always.' "How do you know?' I said. "Because of all it says in my Testament, sir, about His coming down from heaven and dying on the cross for us, and being so kind and able to do everything; and He's just the same now, and I know He hears when I speak to Him.' While she said this she drew out a New Testament from under her pillow, and pressed both her little wasted hands tightly upon it. 666 "Do you care about toys?' I said, for I saw, lying on a shelf fixed to the wall beside her, some broken furniture out of a doll's house, and a doll with no eyes, and a cup full of beads. ""Oh yes, sir!' she said; but I don't often play; I have to mind the children when they come in, and sometimes to do a bit of hemming to help mother; and I read every day some verses in the Testament a great many times over, so that when mother comes in I can say them.' "Will you say to me what you have been reading to-day?' I asked. "Yes, sir; I think I know them.' "And then she repeated to me the first six verses of Rev. iv. the chapter is about St. John seeing a door opened in heaven; and seeing through the open door the throne of God, and the saints around the throne, in their golden crowns. "I dare say you often long to be there, dear?' I said to her. "Yes; very often,' she answered; but sometimes when I shut my eyes, and say over the verses about heaven, about Jesus on the throne, and the sea of glass, and the thousands of people in white robes, playing upon their harps of gold, it seems as if I could almost see it all; and when I open my eyes again, I still feel as if I really lived there.' "And so you see, dear Effie, the poor little crippled girl is living in the Bible stories. You could tell by the look in her eyes as she spoke that she was looking right away, beyond everything in the dark miserable room, at beautiful things that others could not see.” "But, papa, only a few little girls could do that; if they were ill, or very good." "God means every little girl to do it, my dear child, and every grown-up person too. He says we are to look not at the things which are seen, but at the things that are not seen." "But the things in the Bible don't ever seem to me real and close by like that," said Effie, looking sorry and perplexed. "My darling, they will if you ask God to give you His Holy Spirit. He is the unseen Person who alone can open our eyes to see heavenly things. When you are reading your Bible, or learning verses in it, say this little prayer: 'O God! give me Thy Holy Spirit, to open my eyes, and make me see that everything in the Bible is real, and is meant for me.'" Little Effie thought a great deal about her birthday talk with her father, and offered very often the little prayer he had taught her; and she was made to see, by God's Holy Spirit, that the Lord Jesus Christ was real and close by," and that the beautiful things in the Bible were better than fairy tales; and so her birthday wish was granted, and she enjoyed the longed-for happiness of “living in the story." The Sympathy of Christ. HEN deepest sorrow clouds the soul, WHEN A. J. T. And fast the burning tear-drops roll, And feels each pang that rends the heart. When those whom we so dearly love That Jesus bitter tears once shed When one whom He had loved was dead! When, sadder far, a friend grows cold, When Satan levels at our hearts |