progress of the Church of Christ in Newport. While other chapels have been built of our own faith and order, and of other denominations, and have grown and prospered, which we pray God they may ever do, we here have not decreased, but increased, and, as we hope with all of us, with the increase of God. Individually considered, let me try to turn to good account this thought of jubilee in the experience of some of you. See how the days have filled in the years of your earthly pilgrimage, and the years the jubilee. Just as in old Jewish reckoning the seven days of the week brought with them a Sabbath, and the seven Sabbaths the Pentecost, and the seven years the land's Sabbath, when even it rested, so the seven times seven of these brought the jubilee; so the days of our life run on till the full term is reached and the upreckoning comes. Look at God's mercy to you in a temporal point of view. What were some of you fifty years ago? how different your position then from what it is now. With Jacob you may say, "With my staff I passed over this Jordan, and now I am become two bands." To some of you God has given more than enough; in times past you have been prosperous; and though we are fallen on evil times now, having our share in the general depression, yet in your case is fulfilled that ancient promise of the Lord, "Ye shall eat old store, and bring forth the old store from before the new." If in some cases the bread of affliction be yours, and the cup of sorrow, remember that these things are in the very course and constitution of nature; that they form a part, and no small part, of God's discipline; that you are but sharers in the common lot, no temptation being yours but such as is common to man- "We are not all alone unhappy; this wide and universal theatre presents more woful pageants than the scene wherein we play." But let us think of the soul's jubilee. How many years ago is it since God's great peace came right down into your hearts? With some of you even this is fifty years ago, and in some cases more. More or less, let us all to-day bless Him that through our Lord Jesus Christ there came to us, once in our lives, the great day of atonement, a day that brings no night, no shadow, but merges into the eternal sunshine. Blow, blow, ye silver trumpets, and let the breath of grateful memory make melodious music in our souls. We are getting, many of us, towards the west; the sun of life is going down, but the low sun makes the colour, and heaven's own hues are seen. Men talk of being on the wrong side of fifty, but to the spiritual man there is no wrong side to fifty, or to any number of his years. Fifty should be always the soul's jubilee as well as that of the natural man. How can it be the wrong side when it is the side nearest heaven; when we are getting nearer the end of the race, and see the goal clearer than we did; nearer the end of the journey, and more sure of the rest? True, indeed, it is, we look at these things differently at different stages of our life, and the young man-and no doubt for wise ends this is as it should be-shrinks from the thought of growing old. I remember well when, as a boy, I made the startling discovery that my father was forty! I was solemnly impressed with it, and found, in my childish heart, much food for reflection upon the great age to which man is permitted to attain. But as we get on in life and hold our individual jubilees, and still hold on with something of the natural force not abated, how differently we look at these things! The older we are the richer are our memories of God's goodness in the past: the future is uncertain and the present, but the past is certain; nothing can rob us of that, and this is our jubilee-let us keep it with a great gladness. How will it be with us fifty years hence? Some of the young people here may keep the centenary of this church, and, looking back, remember this day's jubilee, but with most of us it cannot in the course of nature be so. We shall have passed, and perhaps also our memorial with us. Henry Kirke White, the boy poet, who died at twenty-one, says— 66 'Fifty years hence and who will hear of Henry! And so haply it shall be with us! What matter, if our names be written in the Lamb's book of life! If through God's grace we have done our duty here, feeble and imperfect as our poor services may be, we shall never be forgotten there, and this shall be our jubilee. THE FRUIT KING. FOR THE YOUNG. IN a beautiful great house, just and to watch how the fruit grew on the edge of the city, lived little heavier and rosier as the autumn Sigismund. There was a pretty drew on. No one would have flower-garden behind the house, grudged him this pleasure, had where he used to play. A board that been all he asked. But, unfence separated this playground fortunately, our Sigismund very from a large vegetable and fruit often climbed over the fence, and garden, which belonged to an old helped himself to this fruit. His gardener. This garden was cele- dear mother gave him all he wished brated throughout the city, because at home, but it did not taste half nowhere grew such beautiful fruits so good to him as that which he of all sorts as there. It was one of picked himself from tree and shrub. Sigismund's greatest delights to This naughty sin had cost him look out of his bedroom window, many a punishment; and his very sad mother was at his minutes later and he was sitting thievish ways, and often told him comfortably on the broad branches of the greater sins to which it would lead. His father whipped him severely on the complaint of the old gardener, and even the gardener himself had scolded, and boxed the boy's ears when he caught him stealing; but it all did no good; the fruit seemed to beckon to him, and he could not resist the temptation. One day the old gardener came along just as Sigismund was stoning down some of the most beautiful apples. The old man said: "I see, young master, that neither words nor blows do any good. You will never be quiet till the Fruit King himself catches you." "Pooh! the fruit king!" said the naughty boy, scornfully, and snapped his fingers; "what nonsense you do talk!" Bang! and down came a big, halfripe apple exactly upon his nose, and made it bleed. Sigismund looked up at the tree in a puzzled way, and then off he ran. of a plum-tree, and filling his pockets with the ripe fragrant fruit. He saw and heard nothing to disturb him, and felt very safe. Involuntarily he thought of the last time, when the old man caught him; and laughing and eating he said, half aloud: "I wonder if the Fruit King will catch me." "Yes, youngster, that he will," suddenly answered a very clear voice above him; and when he looked up, almost falling from the tree with fright, he saw upon the highest twig a remarkable creature sitting. It was a wee man, about the size of a large doll; his head was nothing but a great round apple; the black eyes were two whortleberries; the nose was made from a plum, and the mouth of red cherries, which were parted and showed, instead of teeth, a row of little white cherrystones. In the place of hair, quantities of white currants hung like curly locks about his head, which was crowned with a beautiful wreath woven of all kinds of fruit blossoms. The body yellow, ribbed melon which had hazel-nuts for buttons. His short legs were made of long pears, whose crooked stems looked like tiny shoes. His arms were great clusters of grapes, and with the lowest grape of the right hand he held a little bit of grape-vine fast, the head of which was adorned with a golden apricot. From the shoulders of this Fruit King hung a cloak woven of trailing vines, and a chain of fire-red cranberries, like a badge of honour, encircled his neck. Some days afterward Sigismund's parents were invited out, and they were hardly gone before he saw through the window the gardener of the little man consisted of a setting out for the city, and the man who helped to take care of the garden following him with a handcart full of blooming house-plants. Such a good chance to gratify his appetite had not offered itself for a long time. It was a beautiful autumn evening. The moon had risen, and lighted up with wonderful distinctness the richly laden apple and plum-trees. Especially bright shone the trellis yonder, hanging full of ripening grapes. Our Sigismund did not pause long to consider. He slipped slyly out of the house into the flower garden, looking about him to see if any servant-girl were watching him; and when he was sure he was quite alone, one, two, three, and he was over the paling into the neighbouring garden. A few Sigismund stared with wide open eyes at the little man sitting so cozily there, and who now began to speak again. "Thou thoughtest there was no such person as I in the world, didst thou, my son? And yet thou wert such a lover of my subjects! That golden yellow lemons, which gave thou mayest know henceforth where it a charming appearance. I live, I will now take thee to my dwelling." "No, oh no, Sir Fruit King," said Sigismund, whining, "I do not care to know, and I would rather stay here." "I cannot help that," quoth the Fruit King, and hopped with a spring down to the branch on which Sigismund was cowering, and clasped the boy round with his grape arms, which were not soft at all, but felt hard as the hardest grape-vine. Then, with the struggling, crying boy, he began to spring with great leaps from one fruit-tree to another across the garden, into the next, away on, on, far into the country into an unknown region. Sometimes he took fearful leaps, for often the fruit trees were miles apart, and Sigismund grew so dizzy that he could hear and see nothing more. When he came to his five senses again, the Fruit King had let go of him, and he stood in a strangelooking place where he had never been before. It must have been the tropical lands of which he had heard and read so much, for the trees which grew here were quite different from those at home. There were tall palms, bread-fruit trees, and giant ferns. There were burning-red flowering bushes and broad-leaved, shining rubber treesin short, a new, strange world. In the midst of the broad, green square stood a marvellous house. The foundation was masonry of great cocoa-nuts. On this firm base rose lighter walls of red oranges and pomegranates, the openings between which were closed up with closepacked figs. The roof was thatched with dates and Brazil nuts. There were no windows, but oval openings admitted light, and were festooned with bunches of raisins. The wide entrance was arched over with The Fruit King was standing beneath this arch. He motioned to Sigismund to follow him, which he did at once, for he was too anxious to offer any resistance, yet he expected no good from this invitation. The inside of the house was even more inviting than the outside. There was one great hall, on whose walls hung every sort of fruit that the world gives. Each kind was also arranged by itself in the most charming pyramidal manner, and on the top of each pyramid sat a little figure, mostly like little women, who all wore vine mantles so that their persons were hidden, but their heads bore a wonderful resemblance to the fruits which each had to guard. They all arose with low bows as the Fruit King entered, and gazed with astonishment at the human child by their master's side. The Fruit King seized Sigismund's hands with his grape fingers, and said, with emphasis, "I have brought a guest; if any one recognizes him, let him step forth." With fabulous speed all the little creatures who sat by the German fruits leaped from their fruit pyramids, and, standing in a semicircle around the trembling Sigismund, cried with one voice: "We know him! He is a fruit thief! He is a fruit thief! He throws stones at us! He beats us with poles! He steals us! He eats us!" "Then judge him," said the Fruit King gravely, as he sat down upon his throne, which was built of all manner of gilded fruit seeds. Sigismund trembled and looked helplessly at the curious company around him. They were all little women-folk except one little man-the apple-who looked well-fed and pompous. It was not he, however, but Madam Melon, who conducted the trial. "What shall we do with him?" asked Madam Melon, and shook her thick head. "We will wall him in with nuts," cried the little nut guardian, for she had a hard head, though her heart, if one could once get at it, could be quite sweet. No, we will pelt him with green apples," said the apple man, with dignity. "We might drown him in grape juice," suggested the proud grape girl; "but no-that would be too royal a death for a fruit thief." "How would it do to have our servants, the twigs, beat him as long as he lives? inquired the prickly chestnut burr, who was always in ill temper. And so it went on. Meanwhile, two tiny little fruit maidens put their pretty heads together and whispered to one another that it would be too cruel to put the poor sinner to death. They were the tenderest-hearted creatures in the world, and when they saw poor Sigismund's sorrowful face, they had compassion on him. "He is still so young," whispered little Miss Raspberry. "He may improve," added little Miss Strawberry; "let us propose something milder." "Tell them so, Strawberry," cried Raspberry; "they all love you so well they will listen to you." Little Strawberry stepped modest ly forward. "May I propose something?" said she; and she looked very merry and roguish as she spoke. "Out with it," growled Madam Melon, who was getting tired of standing so long. "We will grant him his life," said the little wood strawberry: "but we will all pledge ourselves to give him a sharp colic if he ever steals and eats one of us again." The old Melon laughed till her fat sides shook. "So let it be," said she. "The little one always has bright ideas. Brother Apple, inform his majesty of this decision.' She waddled away to her seat, and the apple man bounded to the foot of the throne. "What is the judgment?" asked the Fruit King. Stomach-ache," said the Apple, and resumed his seat. The Fruit King beckoned Sigismund nearer, and touched his eyelids with grape juice. The eyelids closed and he fell asleep. When he awoke he was sitting among the boughs of the plum-trees. The moon shone bright and his pockets were full of plums. Sigismund rubbed his eyes, swung down from the tree, emptied his pockets on the grass, and ran without stopping till he was safe between the sheets of his own bed. Our good Sigismund has never since stolen fruit, and has never since seen the Fruit King. EACH IN HIS OWN WAY. ALL great works are done by serving God with what we have in hand. Moses was keeping sheep in Midian; God sent him to save Israel, but he shrank from the undertaking. We sympathise with Jethro's herdsman, alone, a stranger, owning not a lamb that he watched. He had nothing but his shepherd's rod cut out of a thicket, the mere crabstick with which he guided his sheep. Any day he might throw it |