Christ Jesus." He stooped to death, even the death of the cross, and we are called upon to stoop to something similar—to the great deep of self-surrender and self-sacrifice—the crucifixion and the death of sin. This is the essence of all Christian sacrifice. We must be crucified with Christ, and rise and live through Him. We must be washed in His blood. We must be made great by His gentleness. We must be like the dove and the lamb in sacrifice.

In character, in swiftness, and in sacrifice, imitate the dove.

The Coney.

"There be four things which are little upon the earth, but they are exceeding wise: ... the conies are but a feeble folk, yet make they their houses in the rocks."—Prov. xxx. 24-26.

"Little, but exceeding wise," that surely is a splendid diploma for "feeble folk." If all the children in our homes would but try to gain that "good degree," it would be a merit certificate of the highest order, and well worthy of the best gilt frame to be had in the market. Mr Moody, the evangelist, used to say, when speaking of college honours, that he had no wish to be styled a B.D., a D.D., or an LL.D. He would be content if he got W.D.—"Well done, good and faithful servant." And the diploma granted to little folks in the school of the coney is somewhat similar. They are "capped" on the day of graduation as an L.B.E.W.—"Little, but exceeding wise."

Why, in their school, the distinction between big and little is simply ignored. The little creature is no bigger than a rabbit, and yet, strange to say, its nearest affinity is with the huge rhinoceros. According to modern classification, it is placed between the elephant and the horse. The shape of its teeth, and the form of its feet and skull, make it a first cousin to the hippopotamus. There is little difference between them, except in dimensions, and, as every schoolboy knows, there is not much in a difference like that. If the huge leviathan has nothing more to boast of than mere bulk, the little coney can afford to sit on its rocky ledge and look down on its unwieldy proportions with the utmost indifference. "Wisdom is better than strength." It was the wisdom of the poor wise man that delivered the city, and not the strength of the city walls. And it is not the bones of the rhinoceros, but the wisdom of the coney, that will bring us true success in life. "Wisdom is the principal thing, therefore get wisdom, and with all thy getting, get understanding."

I.—THE WISDOM OF KEEPING SHARP TOOLS.

Among the Jews the coney was regarded as one of the unclean animals, "because he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof, he is unclean" (Lev. ii. 5). But, in actual fact, he does neither. All ruminating animals are furnished with a complex stomach for chewing the cud; but this is not the case with the elephant, the coney, and the hippopotamus. They neither chew the cud nor part the hoof. But the coney has a habit of sitting on a ledge of rock and working its jaws from side to side as if it really did chew the cud, so that a careless observer would readily mistake it for a ruminating animal. This movement of the jaws is a very important one. According to J. G. Wood, the coney performs it instinctively, in order that the chiselled edges of the upper and lower teeth may be preserved sharp by continually rubbing against each other, and that they may not be suffered to grow too long, and so to deprive the animal of the means whereby it gains its food.

The coney knows what every good tradesman knows, that sharp tools are the secret of all high-class work. No boy ever cut his finger with a sharp knife, but always with a blunt one. And what a sharp knife is to the finger, a sensitive conscience is to the life. If the heart be kept true and tender, and the mind alert and keen, the conscience will never sting and lacerate the soul. It is only the wicked who flee when no man pursueth, and whose conscience is like the worm that never dies. "Leave her to Heaven," said Hamlet of his guilty mother, "and to those thorns that in her bosom lodge to prick and sting her." But the righteous are as bold as a lion. Like Paul, they have the approval of a good conscience, and

"A heart unspotted is not easily daunted,

Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just."

And the young people will not forget that tools are kept sharp by exercise, not by allowing them to rust like a sluggard's spade, which no true gardener would touch; but by keeping them sharp and bright like his own steel blade, which is warranted to cut through any sod. Yes, keep the powers of your mind strong and active through diligent application at school, and the faculties of your soul responsive by kindness, obedience, and prayer, and you will find that this is no mean part of the wisdom that will enable you to succeed in life. For at school, in business, and in religion, we have need of sharp tools.

II.—THE WISDOM OF EARLY RISING.

If any one wishes to see or catch a coney, he must be up with the dawn. For, like the rabbit, it is generally to be found feeding in the early morning or at sunset; while a sentry, which is commonly an old male, is said to be posted to give warning by a short squeaking bark, at which signal they all scuttle away before one can obtain a glimpse of them. After all, it is the early bird that catches the early worm, and the coney has long since decided that it is the early coney that enjoys the sweetest aromatic shrubs. And therefore, if any aspiring sportsman wishes to bag Hyrax Syriacus (for that is its Latin name), he must be up and abroad with the dawn.

Indeed, the sharpest tools will avail us but little if the best hours of the morning are idled away in bed. The old adage cannot be repeated too often, that "he who would thrive must the white sparrow see." The lazy farmer who got up at daybreak to try and get a sight of this rara avis was not long in discovering the cause of his diminished fortunes. Everything was wrong at the beginning of the day. Dishonest servants came to their work an hour late, and others were helping themselves to everything they saw. On his farm, alas! there was neither an early bird nor an early worm. They were all late together, and he, the latest of them all, was simply being gobbled up by such birds as he had. Poor lie-a-bed had certainly got a glimpse of the white sparrow, and from the day he saw it his fortunes began to mend.

"I never had any faith in luck," says John Ploughman, "except that I believe good luck will carry a man over a ditch if he jumps well, and will put a bit of bacon into his pot if he looks after his garden and keeps a pig." Exactly. Solomon Slow will never be up in time to catch the coach, and then he will waste the rest of the day in blaming the hardness of his luck. But there is no luck about it. It is only downright laziness. And boys cannot learn the golden text too soon, that "drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags."