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iosity; but we make little account of them because of the fascination which draws our eyes to the principal group. The face of Joseph, as Alford says, is "well-nigh faultless." It is full of thankful joy over the discovery of the boy; and though to our thinking Joseph was an older man than he is here depicted, yet everything about him is natural and manly. The Mary is hardly so successful. The narrative does not represent her as speaking softly into the ear of her son, but rather as breaking in abruptly on the assembly with her irrepressible outcry, "Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us?" and there might well have been less of the soft persuasiveness and more of the surprised look of what one might call wounded affection in her face. But the portrayal of the boy Christ is admirable. We have never, indeed, seen any representation of the face of Christ that has thoroughly satisfied us, and we do not expect ever to see one. But this one is most excellent. The "far-away" look in the eyes, and the expression of absorption on the countenance, betoken that his thoughts are intent upon that divine "business" which he came to earth to transact. Exquisite, too, as so thoroughly human, is the playing of the right hand with the strap of his girdle in his moment of abstraction. In the far future the great business of his life is beckoning him on; but close at hand his duty to his mother is asserting its immediate claim. In his eager response to the first, he cries, "Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?" and his thoughts are after that meanwhile; but ere long the demand of the present will prevail, and he will go down with his parents, and be subject to them. This "righteousness" also he has to "fulfill," even as a part of that "business."
Take the picture, boys; frame it, and hang it where you can often see it. You will be reminded by it wholesomely of one who was once as really a boy as you; and when the future seems to be calling you on, and begging you to leap at once into its work, a look at the Christ-face will help you to seek the glory of the future in submission to the claims of the duties of the present, and will say to you, "He that believeth shall not make haste." Through the performance of the duties of a son to his mother Jesus passed to the business of saving men; and in the same way, through faithful diligence where you are, the door will open for you into the future which seems to you so attractive. It is right to have a business before you. It is right, also, for you to feel that the work you want to do in the world is "your Father's business." We would not have you fix your heart on anything which you could not so describe. But whatever that may be, rely upon it you will never reach it by neglecting present duty. On the contrary, the more diligent and faithful you are now as boys in the home and in the school, the more surely will the door into eminence open for you as men. Let the picture, therefore, stimulate you to holy ambition, and yet encourage you to wait patiently in the discharge of present duty until the time comes for your elevation. The way to come at your true business in life is to do well the present business of your boyhood.
THE CAPTAIN'S BOY ON THE PENNY BOAT.
BY H. F. REDDALL.
Imagine a side-wheel steamboat a hundred and fifty or two hundred feet long, her hull painted black, red, or red and white, with only one deck, entirely open from stem to stern; a hot, stuffy cabin below the water-line, her engines, of the cylinder pattern, entirely below the deck, and you have some idea of a London "penny boat"--a very different affair from our jaunty American river craft.
As most of my young readers are aware, the river Thames divides the great city of London into nearly equal parts. For nearly twelve miles the metropolis stretches along either bank, and, as might be expected, the river forms a convenient-highway for traffic--a sort of marine Broadway, in fact. There are a number of bridges, each possessing from six to ten arches, and through these the swift tide pours with tremendous energy. From early dawn to dark the river's bosom is crowded with every description of vessel. Below London Bridge, the first we meet in going up stream, may be seen the murky collier moored close to the neat and trim East Indiaman, the heavy Dutch galiot scraping sides with the swift mail-packet, or the fishing-boat nodding responsive to the Custom-house revenue-cutter.
Above and between the bridges the scene changes, but is none the less animated. Here comes a heavy, lumbering barge, its brown sail loosely furled, depending for its momentum upon the tide, and guided by a long sweep. Barges, lighters, tugs, fishing-smacks, passenger steamboats, and a variety of smaller craft so crowd the river that were we to stand on Blackfriars Bridge a boat of some description would pass under the arches every thirty or forty seconds.
But by far the most important feature is the passenger-boats. These are apparently countless. They make landings every few blocks, now on one side the river, now on the other, darting here and there, up and down, and adding largely to the bustle. For a penny, the equivalent of two cents American currency, one may enjoy a water ride of five or six miles--say from London Bridge to Lambeth Palace. When we reflect that all this immense traffic is crowded between the banks of a stream at no point as wide as the East River opposite Fulton Ferry, New York, and impeded by bridges at that, the difficulties of navigation will be in some measure understood; and I have purposely dwelt on this that my readers may fully appreciate what follows.
So far as I could see he had not as much interest in the boat as I had; apparently he observed the constantly changing panorama of river scenery--not an interesting sight on board escaped him, and yet as we neared or departed from each landing-stage the same mysterious sounds, only varied slightly, issued from his lips, and the boat stopped or went ahead as the case might be. I asked myself if this wonderful boy might not be the captain, but a glance at the weather-beaten figure on the bridge showed me the absurdity of the idea. So I watched the latter individual, from whom I was now sure the boy received his orders. But how? That was the question. The captain and his boy were too far apart to speak intelligibly to one another without all the passengers hearing them: how, then, did the one on the bridge communicate his wishes to the other at the skylight if not by speech?
The gesture by the captain's hand was oftentimes so faint that I failed to see it, though I was on the look-out; much less could I interpret its meaning, yet the lad never once failed to give the correct order.
Only think of it! The safety of these boats, their crews, and thousands of passengers absolutely depends upon these youngsters, who in wind and rain, sunshine or storm, are compelled to be at their posts for many hours daily. If through inattention or inadvertence the wrong command should be given to the engineer, a terrible calamity might occur. That such is never or rarely the case speaks volumes for the fidelity and attention to duty of these boys, who have very little opportunity for training or education of any sort.
PACKAGE NO. 107.
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