which it belongs, the subject which it seeks to portray, and the manner in which that subject is treated by the artist. The original painting, of which the reproduction (save, of course, in the matter of coloring) is an admirable representation, is the production of William Holman Hunt. Few sermons have been so impressive as some of this artist's pictures. Everybody knows the beautiful one which he has called "The Light of the World," and no person of any intelligence can look upon that without having recalled to his mind these words, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock." But it may not be so generally known that this impression is thus strongly produced upon the spectator because it was first very deeply made on the artist himself. A friend of ours told us this beautiful story. The original painting of "The Light of the World" is in the possession of an English gentleman, at whose house one known to both of us had been a guest. While he was there the frame had been taken off the picture for purposes of cleaning, and the stranger had thus an opportunity of examining it very closely. He found on the canvas, where it had been covered by the frame, these words, in the writing of the artist: "Nec me prætermittas, Domine!"—"Nor pass me by, O Lord!" Thus, like the Fra Angelico, Mr. Hunt seems to have painted that work upon his knees; and it is a sermon to those who look upon it, because it was first a prayer in him who produced it.

Much the same, we are confident, may be said of the picture which is now before us. All our readers must know the story. When the "divine boy" was about twelve years of age he was taken by Joseph and Mary to the Passover feast at Jerusalem. They went up with a company from their own neighborhood, and after the feast was over they had started to return in the same way. But Jesus was not to be found. Still supposing that he was somewhere in their company, they went a day's journey, and "sought him among their kinsfolk and acquaintance." Their search, however, was fruitless, and so, "sorrowing" and anxious, they returned to Jerusalem, where they ultimately found him in the Temple, "sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them, and asking them questions." They were amazed at the sight; and his mother, relieved, and perhaps also a little troubled, said, "Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing." To which he made reply, "How is it that ye sought me? wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?" These words are remarkable as the first recorded utterance of conscious Messiahship that came from the lips of our Lord. They indicate that now his human intelligence has come to the perception of his divine dignity and mission; and when he went down to Nazareth, and was subject to Joseph and Mary, it was with the distinct assurance within him that Joseph was not his father, and that there was ultimately a higher business before him than the work of the carpenter. Still, he knew that only through the lower could he reach the higher, and therefore he went down, contented to wait until the day of his manifestation came.

The artist has seized the moment when Jesus made this striking reply to his mother, and everything in the picture is made to turn on that. The scene is the interior of the Temple. The time is high day, for workmen are busily engaged at a stone on the outside, and a beggar is lolling at the gate in the act of asking alms. The Jewish doctors are seated. First in the line is an aged rabbi with flowing beard, and clasping a roll with his right hand. Over his eyes a film is spread, which indicates that he is blind; and so his neighbor, almost as aged as himself, is explaining to him why the boy has ceased to ask his questions, by telling him that his mother has come to claim him. Beside him, and the third in the group, is a younger man, whose face is full of eager thoughtfulness, and whose hands hold an unfolded roll, to which it appears as if he had been referring because of something which had just been said.

The other faces are less marked with seriousness, and seem to be indicative rather of curiosity; 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 FINDING OF CHRIST IN THE TEMPLE."—From a Painting by W. Holman Hunt.—See Page 87.

THE CAPTAIN'S BOY ON THE PENNY BOAT.

BY H. F. REDDALL.

Imagine a side-wheel steamboat a hundred and fifty or two