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"Jfor* lijW yVwn my SoCT'*«r'i Paw, iJwt Imav*Mna(fcetr<jAi«T; mors liiowWje 
q^ Ood, (Aadmoy tii»(r«rf others; niore AoKn«jo/ trait, (hoi i*# tooritl m«y I«arn ihaX 
Vtert *| a fxnon- iohich erueifiu telf, and enabUt tht foaeuor to liiw ' at ttting Him ivAo 
invinbte.' "—Prom " Hobe and More," Heme Words, Vol. iiL p. lOS. 



r 




HOME 










FOF^ 



ji|;)\HT n^V l^S^HW 



CONDUCTED BT THE 



REV. CHARLES BULLOCK, B.D., 

POBMBBLY BEOTOB OF BT. KICB0LA8', W0BCE8TEB ; 
EDITOE OP " THE FIRBSIDB," " THE DAY OP DATS," AND " HAND AND HEABT/' 



" Peace be within tby woUa. 

Aland 

Where lives a faith Divine ; where graceful rise 

Beligion's hallowed domes, and close at hand 

The school-house, fit ally, within whose walls 

Kind cnltore early monlds the plastic mind 

To virtne and to truth ; where stand embowered 

The mantled cottage and the tasteful Home. 

Dear tranquil scenes ! Home, o'er the world a name 

That like a talisman calls to the soul 

All images of bliss, hath here a* spell 

Of mightiest working." 

Bat Palmer. 




^^^CsSKlAacN. 



1880. 



. FEB TBI -j 




bonbon : 

"HAND AND HEART" PUBLISHING OFFICE, 

1, PATEBN08TEB BUILDINaS, E.C. 




. BUTLER & TANKT-R, 
THE SELWOOD PRlXriMG WORKS 
FROME, AND LONDOX 



COITTEITTS 



PAQB 

A Bishop en Ilard Work 205 

A Christmas Welcome Home. By the Bditor 274 
A Good Bale All the Ycaur Kound. By Grooa 

AClUpxO ••• •■■ ••• ■«! •(( ■(> (*c a«a X/ 

A Good oamaritan 40 

"A Grain of Grace" ("Can Kothing be 

SJsJXXXd • / ••• ■•• ••• «•■ ••• ••! ••« ••• JL/ / 

"A Hand at Fault and a Hand to Help." By 

the Bev. S.J. Stone 45 

"A Merrie Christuias." By the late Frances 

Ridley Havergal 267 

A Morning Thought for Each Day of the Week. 
By the Author of *'A Peep Behind the 

l^w^U^^EI ••• ••■ ••• ••• ••• »•• ••• ••• X'V^ 

A Polite Man — A Wise Woman ... 205 

"Another Year." By the late Francos Bidley 

JX c» V VX^lCVbX •«• ■•• •#• ■>• •■• ••§ ••• ■•« O 

" An TTnworded Dart" (F. E. HaTcrgal) 198 

Australian Squatters 258 



Bible Mine Searched. By the BiAop of Sodor 
and Man ... 28, 47, 71, 95, 119, 148, 167, 191, 

218, 239, 268, 283 

"Billy and Mej or, Oat in the Hay." By 

James Hogg 141 



Calendar, Monthly : -Daily Texts, "The Titles ' 
of the Lord Jesus " ... 34, 43, 72, 96,120, 

144, 168, 192, 216, 240, 264, 281 
Centenarv Hymn for Sunday Scholars, A. By 

the Rer.B. Wilton 153 

Chinese, The, and Chinese Stones. By the 

Be?. Arthur E. Moule, B.D., 226,259 

v/ iinstmas ... ... ... ••. ... ... ... «/ o 

Church Missionary Work. By the Editor ... 17 

Condors at Best By F. S 208 

Creaking Doors 83 



Do our Children Pray ? By the Editor ... 



157 



Early Piety (Keble) 91 

Early Prayer. By the Editor b8 

Easter Communion, The (Griniield) 88 

Easter Sunbeams. By the Editor GO 

Easter Thought: "When Will the Morning 

Come?" By the Editor 80 



England's Church. Selected by the Editor :— 
I. What the Prayer-Book Did. (Dr. 

Wainwright) ; ... 20 

XL Bishop Baring on the Church of Eng- 

lauu ... ... ... .1. .11 ... ... .,. z\j 

III. Value of the Liturgy 65 

IV. Something to Stand By. (Bishop of 

Manchester) 118 

V. The National Church a Blessing to the 
Nation. (The Bev. W. F. Taylor, 

\J •XJ • f »•• ••• ••■ •«• 9*, ••• »«« xoo 

VI. The Thirty-Nine Articles 180 

ETcnird, The Bor. George, M.A. By the 

r^^l I'n 't I •• ••• «•■ ••» •«• m 9 • ••• «•• ••• mk L%r 

"Everything" and "Nothing." (G. M. Tay- 

XwJTy •■• ■•• ••• ••• ■•• ••■ »•• ••• *•• A A^3 



Fables for Tou. By Eleanor B. Pressor ... 21, 

d9, 93, 113, 163, 186, 238, 262, 281 

Factory Song, A (Anon.) ... 10 

" Father Knows " 141 

"Fear Not." (Alex.) 246 

Flower Messages. By Miss E. S. Elliott 123 

Fire of London, The Great 236 

Folly of Atheism, The 251 



Gold from the Mine 



•t* ••• .«• ••• ••• 



PAOB 

... 230 



Haftrlem, The Little Hero of. By Mary E. 

_ ^JiUVlAvJ^ ••■ ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• «■• ••• fi/ 

HarvesterB, A Word to our. By Frederick 

Sherlock 181 

Harvest Lessons. By the Editor 203, 229 

Harvest Lesson, The. By the late Frances 

Bidley Havergal 178 

Havergal, Frances Bidley, The Church Mis- 
sionary " Memorial Fund " 45 

Havergal, f^rances Bidley, in the Sunday-school 153 

Havergal. Frances Bidley, as a Sunday-school 

jLuucoor ■*■ ••• ••• ••• ••■ ••• ••» ••• xov 

Home, The Light of . By 8. J. Hale 147 

In Yacht and Canoe. By John Macgregor, M. A. 
(Bob Boy) :— 

I. " My Second Shipwreck " 10 

II. A Stormy Night off Baaehy Head 41 

Jack and Jack's Wifo ; or, Off to the Sea. By 

One who went Last Year 178 

Jonas Colter: or, The Victory Gbined. By 
A. L. O. E 210,232, 27>) 

Joy in Harvest (Dr. Monsell) 213 

Kennedy, William, The Blind Mechanic of Tan- 

deragee. By Betro 185 

Elnowles, Mark: A Story of Peneveisnce 
Under Difflonltiee. By Frederick Sher- 

AwwJE •■• ••• ••• ••• ■•• ■■• ••• ••• ^^9 ^9%J 

Landseer, Sir Edwin. By H. G. Beid 14 

Lessons from The Book : — 

I. The Bright Side of Growing Older. By 

the Editor ... 12 

n. "The Tract that all Men Bead." By 

the Bishop of Sodor and Man 34 

III. The Strength.Giving Look. By the 

late Frances Bidley Havergal 31 

IV. Easter Hope. By the Bishop of 

Bochester 61 

V. The Quenching of The Spirit. By the 

Editor 108 

VI. The Voice Heard. By the Bev. J. 

Vaughan 158 

VII. The Spirit Prompting to Praise. By 

the Editor 158 

VIII. Christ at the Door. By the Bev. H. 

Martyn Hart 273 

"Let it Pass." By S. J. Vafl 62 

Little Babies. By A Mother 166 

Modem Hymn Writers. " Specimen Glasses ** 
for the King's Minstrels. By the late 
Frances Bidley Havergal ; — 
I. Introductory 86 

II. The Bev. W. Pennefather's Hymns ... 8G 

III. Charlotte EUiott's Hymns ... 68, 80, 129 

IV. Dean Alford's Hymns 171 

V. Bishop Wordsworth's Hymns 231, 250 

Money, A Cluit About (S. J. B.) 40 

" Most Blessed for Ever." By the late Frances 

Bidley Havergal 85 

"My Confirmation Day." From one of 

F.B.H.*s" Sealed Papers" IBS 

Mrs. Treadwell's Cook. A Tale of the Olden 

Time. By Emily B. Holt ... 148» 173, 199, 

222, 246, 263 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



»AGB 



Naisb, John G«orge, One of England's Artists. 

By the Bditor 154 

"Nane but Christ." By William MitcheU ... 9 
Next-Doob NeiohboU£S. By Agnes Gibeme 

6, 80, 63, 75, IW, 125 

Nothing but Love 65 

Nuts mth Kernels. By Uncle John... 88,102,130 

" Oh ! I'm a British Boy, Sir." Anon 75 

Old Oscar, the Faithfnl Dog. By H. G. 

Xl^ld ••• •■■ ••■ ••• ?•• ••■ ••• •«■ ••• \fO^ 04 

*« Once More—* Yes ' or * No.* " By the Hey. S. 
o » w ames •*• •>• •«• ■>. *•» «•. ... ••• 



Pennefather, The late Bev. W. By the Editor 
Prescription for Making the Face Look Tonnger 
Pyrenees, In the. By Frederick Sherlock 



243 

8 

16 

110 



Baikcs, Robert. B v the Editor :— 

I. The Past and the Present 89 

II. Journalism and Prison Philanthropy ... 115 

m. Sunday School Labours 136 

IV. Personal Work and Private Character ... 160 

Baikes, Robert, A Suitable Memorial of 124 

Bamblings in GhurchT&rds and Cemeteries. By 

the Bey. Gtoorge JByerard 132, 254, 277 

"Boll Back, ye Bars of Light." Bev. Canoii 

Jl&oXlwauie ... ... ... ... ... oL 

Byle,TheyeryBdy. J. 0. By the Editor ... 99 

Snepp, The late Bey. 0. B. By the Editor ... 195 

Something like Death. By the Editor 62 

Stag, or Ited Deer, The. By Fredk. Sherlock 267 

Stoi4 of a Tea-Kettle. ByBetro 18 

Sunday Bells (Anon.) 53 

Sunday School Centenary, The. By One ^ho 

yras x uere ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• •«. ^w 

Swallows, The Betum of the. By the Bey. B. 

W XlbOu ••• •«• ••• ••• ■•• ••• •■• ••• Xv^ 

Sweet Cloyer. By Louisa J. Kirkwood 234 



rACB 

Temperance Facts, Anecdotes and Figures from 

the Editor's Note Book...22, 44^2, 140, 166, 214 
The Barley-Mower's Song. (Mary Howitt) ... 205 

The Blessed Home (C. C. L. Von Pfeil) 

The Old Man's Counsel; or, A Main Thing 

(N.Stone}... ••• ••• ••• 

The Spirit Prompting to Praise 

Thompson, Jacob, the Camberland Artist. By 

the Editor ... ••• *** 

To our Readers : " Carols and Chimes " ... . ... 

True Teachmg, The Foundation of (Bishop 

Wilberforce) 



204 

244 
253 

66 

245 

141 



"The Motherless Turkeys." By Maria Douglas 184 
The Sinner's Plea. By the Bev. B. Wilton ... ""' 
" Trust begets Truth " (From The Fireside) ... 
Trost in the Lord (Isaac Williams) 

Watstdtc Chiues :— 

I. Trinity. By Cecilia Havergal 

II. What Would Jesus Do ? By the Bey. 

E. H. Bickersteih 

in. " Our Ruler and Guide." By M. B. ... 
IV. The Saviour's Presence. By the Bev. 

W. B. Carpenter 

V. God'aCare. ByA. 0. J 

VI. Bread Upon the Waters 

Wedding Hymn, A. By the Bev. Canon Bell... 

** We (Jot Him In." By the Editor 

" What are These with Palm and Song." By 

the Bev. E. H. Bickersteth 

Wife, A Good. By the Author of "John 

XUUImIZ ... .*• ••• ••• ••* ■** *** *** 

Wives, A Friendly Letter to. By Miss Skinner 286 

Young Folks' Page, The...I.-;III^23; IV.- 
VII., 47 5 VIIL-XI., 71 ; XII.-XVII., 95 5 
XVlh.-kx., 119; XXI.-XXII., 148; 
XXIII.-XXIV.,167; XXV.-3^II.,191; 

XXVIII.-XXX.. 215; xxxi.-xxxiy., 

239 ; XXXV.-XXXVI., 263 ; XXXVII.- 
XXXVIIl 



221 
202 
133 

109 

177 
198 

22*3 
256 
276 
261 
110 

157 
112 



... 



283 



^ ^ * --,^.rfS^ m-^^^M 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



The Rev. T^liam Pennefather 

" My Second Shipwreck " 

Landseer and his Friends 

Watt and the Kettle • 

The Little Hero of Haarlem 

Astley Church, The Rectory, and Charchyard 

Head of a Pointer (Landseer) 

" Watch on Deck " 

The (>ho8t of Rob-Roy off Beachy Head 

" A Hand at Fault, and a Hand to Help " 

Mark Xnowles, Esq* ... • 

The Lost Sheep 

Going to the Church 

Prudence Better than Cunning 

"Oh! I'm a British Boy, Sir" 

Charlotte Elliott 

Xue J&eapers ... ••• ... ••. ... ... ••• ••• 

vi Id v/Scar ... ... ... >•• .•• ... ... ... •" 

" New Light on the Matter " 

The Bishop of Liverpool 

Si^bury Cathedral 

The Betum of the Swallows 

Shepherd Girl in the Pyrenees 

" The Bright Side " 

Bobert Baikes Visiting the Site of the First 

Sunday School ... •. ••• ••• 

Trust in the Lord 



2 
11 
15 
19 
26 
35 
39 
42 
42 
46 
50 
59 
67 
70 
74 
82 
85 

87 

94 

98 

98 

103 

111 

113 

122 
135 



" Billy and Me" : out in the Hay 

The Light of Homo * ••• 

"Standby! Beady! About!" 

Bobert Rukes at the age of 72 

The House of Bk)bert Raikes at Gloucester 

"Handsome is that Handsome Does" 

The late Dean Alford 

Bamsgate • ••• ••• ■•■ 

Evangeline ... ... ••• •• 

" A Rolling Stone Gathers no Moss " 

Heads of Boar, Sheep, etc. (Landseer) 

The late Rev. C. B. Snepp 

Model of the Proposed Statue of Bobert Raikes 

at Gloucester • ••• ••. 

Condors at Rest ... 

Joy in Harvest ... • •" 

The Rev. George Everard, M.A 

A Chinese School • 

Our Dogs • * 

"Once More — 'Yes' or * No,'" 

The Bishop of Lincoln ** •■• 

The Great Fire of London, in 1666 

Australian Squatters 

Honourable Old Age 

The Stag, or Red Deer •> 

A Christmas Welcome 

A Christmas l^reasuro ... ... ... • 



142 
146 
15$ 
159 
160 
165 

171 
179 

183 
187 
190 
194 

207 



213 
218 
227 
235 
242 
251 
255 
258 
262 
266 
275 
262 




I{^ 





FOR 



6T THI tATB PBAKCBS BIDLIT HATEBGAL. 




NOTHEB Tear is dawning ! 
Dear Master, let it be 
In working or in waiting, 
Another year with Thee. 

Another year of leaning 
Upon Thy loving breast, 

Of ever-deepening trustfulness, 
Of quiet, happy rest. 

Another year of mercies. 
Of faithfulness and grace ; 

Another year of gladness 
In the shining of Thy face. 



Another year of progress. 
Another year of praise ; 

Another year of proving 
Thy presenoe " all the days.' 

Another year of service. 
Of witness for Thy love ; 

Another year of training 
For holier work above. 

Another year is dawning ! 

Dear Master, let it be, 
On earth, or else in heaven, 

Another Year for Thee I 




€J)t late ^tb, wmiinm 9eimefatY)er : 

THE POWER OF A GODLY LIFE. 



BT THB EDITOB. 



ONO will the name of 
William Pennefather be 
a treasured memory in 
the hearts of thousands 
who loved him as their 
pastor, their benefactor, 
and their friend. 
His life-work furnished a striking testi- 
mony to the power of Christianity to bless 
and elevate — a testimony whioh none 

TOli. X. NO. I. 



could gainsay. He was *^ a living epistle ** 
of the truth he taught — the very type of 
an Apostle — ''a man who reflected the 
image of Jesus, who Himself is Love, as 
brightly as any saint of God." The twin 
graces, love and humility, gave him a 
power to influence others rarely equalled. 
He seemed to dwell in the very sunshine 
of the Divine favour. His heart was full 
of lovOi and *'wide as the world." A 

b2 



HOME WORDS. 



former curate testifies — " His face, to my 
knowledge, never wore but two expres- 
sions, one of loye, the other of self- con- 
secration;'' and Lord Shaftesbury well 
described him as " the gentle, the pious, 
the good, and one of the most amiable of 
mankind." 

In the Islington parish of St. Jude*s, 
in which he laboured, the eye has but to 
look around, and his monument is every- 
where. Orphanages, Homes, Mission- 
rooms, Workman's Hall, Conference Hall, 
Schools, Mothers' meetings, classes of all 
kinds established and flourishing, testify 
to the exemplary zeal and devotedness of 
the faithful pastor. 

Although not a voluminous writer, he was 
the author of several valuable experimental 
books ; and his Hymns* entitle him to be 
regarded as a true poet of the Sanctuary. 

But he was preeminently the pastor in 
action. His path was ever onward ; new plans 
of usefulness, new openings for Christian 
work, seemed constantly occurring to him. 
Claiming no remarkable or special intel- 
lectual gifts, he was spiritually '^ great in 
the sight of the Lord ;" and in the Lord's 
strength he aimed at — and he accomplished 
—great things. Gifted with an amiable 
and buoyant temperament^ he loved to 
work amongst the masses ; and the special 
need of any sphere of labour was to him its 
chief recommendation. 

The real secret of his power — to quote 
his own words, so applicable to himself — 
was found in *' the calm dignity of one, 
who, while grasping an Almighty hand, 
exclaims, 'I can do all things through 
Christ which strengtheneth me.' " He 
knew, in fact, what it was to '' rest in the 
Lord," whilst he worked for the Lord. 



His biography is best summed up, as 
that of Enoch is summed up by the word 
of Inspiration, in the single, emphatio 
sentence, ''He walked with God." The 
Tower of a Oodhj Life made him what he 
was. ** Walking with God " as a forgiven 
child walks with a loved parent, he became 
'' more and more " of one mind with God ; 
and he witnessed '' more and more," by a 
life of holy joy and spiritual service, to 
the transforming and sanctifying "grace 
that is in Christ Jesus." 

Thus living, he gained the love and 
esteem of tens of thousands ; and it was 
said with truth on the day of his funeral, 
that it might have been " the funeral of a 
king." It was assuredly the funeral of a 
pastor who reignedf as few have reigned, 
in the hearts of his people. 

"Being dead," he "yet speaketh." 
What he was, bids ua "Go and do like- 
wise." "There is not one of us who 
knows what he may be able to do for God, 
if only he will walk in the path God marks 
out for him, and cast himself for strength 
on the Lord his God. There is not one of 
us who can tell what a field of usefulness 
may be opened to him, if he but say, 
' Master, here am I, to die, and live, and 
work for Thee.'"f Let our watchword 
for the New Year be the watchword he 
himself so earnestly commended and ex- 
emplified — ^" More light from my Saviour's 
face, that I may shine the brighter ; more 
knowledge of God, that I may instruct 
others; more holiness of walk, that the 
world may learn that there is a power 
which crucifies self, and enables the pos- 
sessor to live * as seeing Him who is in- 
visible.' " Then will others take note in 
us of the Power of a Oodly Life. 



* Speoimens of these Hymns will be given in the first ol a series of papers, entitled ** Modem Hymn 
Writers, Specimen Glasses for the King's Minstrels,*' by tiie iate Francos Bidl^y Hayergol, which will 
commence in onr Febmary Nomber. 

t '* Foneral Address," by the late BeT. C. D. Marston. 



NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 



DT AGNES QIBSRNB, AUTHOB OF '^THB BEGT0B*8 HOME/' ''tHI TEDDINQTON'S DBBAH/' ETO. 




OHAPTEEL 

PHIL AND I. 

WON'T stand it, and I can't, 
and that's a fieu^t," says Phil 
angrily. "So you needn't 
talk, Sae." And he looked me 
straight in the face with the 
sort of glowering frown that 
a man will pat on even to the 
wife that he loves when his 
temper is np to white heat. He gave a stamp 
too, and the dndt fell off his boots, making a 
grey mark on the carpet. " Tou're not going 
to come over me with soft words this time," 
said he. " It's past mortal patience. I've 
borne and borne and borne as much as a 
man can bear, and I'll put up with him no 
longer. A cantankerous, cross-grained, ill- 
natured chap I I'll have no more of such ways. 
I'll give it him before I'm one hoar older. 
He shall have a bit of my mind this time, and 
no mistake." 

I didn't try any arguing jast then. My 
Phil was always one of the best of husbands, 
but be had a sharp temper, and anybody 
knows that to argufy with a man out of tem- 
per is like pulling a pig by the tail. The 
more you pull one way, the more the pig will 
go the other. 

"Very well, Phil," said I, quite mild-like. 
*' You oaght to know best what is right to 
be done." 

« Bight ! Of course it's right," says Phil : 
for, you know, a man in a passion always 
counts himself as infallible as the Pope makes 
believe to be. 

"And I won't say one word more against 
it if you'll just promise me one thing," said 
L 

" Promise what P " says he. 

" Only, Phil, please don't go and give Gil- 
pin the scolding he deserves, for just three- 
qnarters of an hour." 

" Three-qaarters of an hour! What on 
earth should I wait three-quarters of an hour 
for ? " says he» 

*^ Because I want it^" says I, smiling up in 



his face ; and, there's no doubt of it, a smile 
has a sort of soothing way over a man. 
"Women have their little fancies, Phil, and 
that is one of mine. You say the scolding 
has got to be over in an hour, but if you be- 
gin in three-quarters of an hour you'll have 
lots of time. It don't take a man longer than 
a quarter of an hour to give a bit of his mind, 
does it P" 

" Well, no, I suppose not," says Phil : and 
he sat down by the table, and put on a down- 
right determined sort of look. " I suppose 
not, and I'll wait because you want it. Sue; 
but you needn't suppose I'm going to change 
my mind and give over speaking to Gilpin. 
It is only just and right I should." 

" I wouldn't for anything have you leave 
undone what is just and right to be done," 
said L We were sitting, I remember, on 
opposite sides of the round table, and I was 
mending one of Philip's shirts. 

" If it was anybody but you, I'd think you 
were asking m& to pat off, just because you ^ 
knew that Gilpin would be out of the way in 
three-quarters of an hour," said PhiL " But 
that sort of underhandedness isn't your sort." 

" No," I said. " Gilpin's more sure to be 
in then than now, to my thinking." 

"Then it's only because you're in hopes 
I'll cool down. Bat I shan't," says he. "It'll 
take a deal longer than three-quarters of an 
hour to cool me down, J can tell you. All the * 
pains I've taken with them plants, and every- 
body saying I was as sure of a prize as if it 
was mine already ; and now to have a smash- 
up like that, just because a cantankerous 
chap can't stand a child throwing a stone into 
his garden; it makes a man's blood boil! 
Why, I'd set my heart on getting you a nice 
new gown to go to church in, and no chance 
of that now, —not if it's to come out of the 
prize, anyhow." 

"I'll do without the gown a bit longer; 
thank you all the same, Phil, for thinking of 
it," said I. " I've spoken to Jamie, and told 
him he was naughty to throw stones : for so 
he was." 

Jamie came in while we were talking. I 



HOME WORDS. 



don't think anybody would ever have gaessed 
our little Jamie to be near upon nine years 
old. He was always such a white-faced, puny, 
mite of a child. I used to be very proud of 
his goldy-looking hair, all curling over his 
head, and as fine as silk, and he was a good, 
gentle child ; but he gave Philip and me many 
a heartache, for he had scarce all his life long 
known a day of really good health. One 
thing and another thing was always wrong 
with him. Not but what he was a merry boy 
commonly, though just then his little lips 
were trembling, and his blue eyes were run- 
ning over. 

"Eh, Jamie, what's the matter?*' asked 
Philip, for he was dearly fond of the child : 
and Jamie threw himself right into Philip's 
arms, with his head down on his shoulder, in 
a way I like to see a little one ding to his 
father. For*a father's love ougliX to be a little 
picture of the great deep love of our Father 
in heaven for His children on earth, and the 
trust and clinging of the children to their 
father ought to help them to trust and cling to 
their heavenly Father in every trouble. But, 
after all, it seems to me that nothing comes so 
near that love as a mother's loVe. And oh me, 
there's many a father and many a mother 
too, whose children can't cling to them at 
all, and would run anywhere rather than to 
them for help. It's a poor notion of a father's 
love that Gilpin's children could ever learn 
from him. 

" father, he's gone and smashed 'em all 

. up, quite all up," sobbed Jamie. "And the 

beauty white rose has a lot of earth on it — and 

not one of them is fit to be seen — and mother 

says it's all my fault." 

Philip looked across at me a bit fierce when 
he heard that. 

** No, Jamie, not all," says I, •* only partly. 
It wasn't right to throw stones in Gilpin's 
garden. We shouldn't like to have him 
throwing stones into ours." 

" It wasn't your fault a bit, Jamie, so don't 
you mind mother," said Philip, who was a 
deal too much out of temper to be wise. " Not 
one bit. It was all Gilpin. Mind you never 
have a word to say to him again." 

Jamie looked up in a wondering sort of way. 

" Mustn't I speak to Gilpin again, father?" 

" No," says Philip, quite determined 



** Never,— never at all P " 

"Never," says Philip. "Til give him my 
mind the moment the clock is on the stroke 
of half -past four, and I'll never exchange one 
word with him after." 

It was easy to see how puzzled Jamie felt. 

" Mother said I was to forgive old Gilpin," 
he murmured. " Mother said I was to for- 
give him when he broke my little wheel- 
barrow, and father made me learn a text, and 
said I was to be kind to him back. And I did 
mean to try. Needn't I be kind to him any 
more, father P " 

I knew Philip gave a wince, and I spoke 
up quick to leave him time for thought. 

" Why was it father said yon were to be 
kind to him, Jamie ? " said I. 

" 'Cause he's such a dreadful bad unhappy 
old fellow, mother, and don't know the way 
to heaven. And if he don't learn it quick, 
he'll be a deal unhappier when he dies. And 
flather said if we weren't gentle and kind to 
him, Uke the Lord Jesus is, he'd maybe never 
learn to be better." 

"Well, you're a good boy to remember 
what you're told," I said to him. "And I 
dare say you haven't forgotten the text too, 
Jamie." 

"No," said Jamie, and he repeated it 
straight off, — " * For if ye forgive men their 
trespasses, your heavenly Father will also 
forgive you. But if ye forgive not men their 
trespasses, neither will your Father forgive 
your trespasses.' And I know what trespasses 
means, 'cause father told me," Jamie went 
on. "It's when the neighbours do nasty 
spiteful things, like old Gilpin." 

"Or when little boys throw stones into 
their neighbours' gardens," I said. 

" Well, but, mother, why don't Gilpin for- 
give me P " asked Jamie very quick. 

" Pm afraid he isn't one that cares much 
about what the Lord Jesus tells us," I said 
soflly. "But fiither and you and I care, 
Jamie : so we've got to attend, and we've got 
to forgive old Gilpin: only father means 
to tell him that he mustn't do such things 
again. And you needn't speak to Gilpin till 
father gives you leave. You can go and play 
in the garden now." 

Jamie went off, and I sat and worked, and 
Phil looked hard at me. I knew he wanted 



NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 



me to talk: for as sore as I had said anything, 
he would have told me he meant to speak oat 
his mind just the same^no matter what I 
thought. But as I didn't say anything, he 
had no particular call to say that either : bo 
the clock ticked and neither of us spoke one 

W0]%. 

I always liked the ticking of that dock, with 
its big round pendulum, swinging to and fro 
in the wooden case with a glass front. It 
was such a strong, quiet, regular click, dick, 
dick, as if the clock knew its business, and 
meant to do it, and wouldn't be easily hin- 
dered. The dock was given me for a wed- 
ding present, when I was married, by my 
mistress, Mrs. Conner, after the years I had 
been in her serrioe, — twelve years, neither 
more nor less, from the time I was fifteen to 
the time I was twenty-seven, first as school- 
room maid, then as under-nurse, an4 last as 
lady's-maid, and I never was in any other 
service. 

My master's gift was a grand family Bible, 
heavy and purple-covered. It lay always on 
a little round table in a comer of our par- 
lour, and I never let anybody dust it but 
myself; and on Sundays and holidays, when 
we sat in the parlour and had meals there 
instead of in the kitchen, we had prayers 
there too: so Philip read out of our big, 
beautiful Book. 

On each side of the clock there was a 
handsome vase, and they had been given me 
by the young ladies of the house when I lefb. 
How sorry I was to say good-bye to them 
all, to be sure ! But still it wasn't a good- 
bye of the worst sort, though my home was 
to be ne longer under the same roof: for 
Phil and I lived still in Little Sutton, and 
they often came to see me. The young 
ladies were married by this time, and wed- 
ding-cake had been sent me four times, and 
now there were grandchildren running 
about often in the house, as sweet as my 
own young ladies had been when I was there. 

We had two or three neat framed pictures 
hanging on the walls, and a little bookcase 
of three 'shelves nearly full of books, and a 
comfortable rocking-chair, and a pretty 
bright red table-cloth to smarten up the 
room. Phil and I took a real pride in 
having our parlour look nice. It was a cosy 



little cottage, with the kitchen at the back, 
behind the parlour, and three little bedrooms 
overhead. Phil and I slept in one, and the 
two boys in another, and we commonly had 
a lodger in the third. We made a little 
more that way ; not that it was really need- 
ful, for Phil was a good workman, and he 
earned good wages, and he used to bring all 
his wages straight home to mo, instead of 
leaving half in the pockets of the publicans 
by the way. 

I always did say, and I al?rays shall say, 
that there are not many men in England 
like my husband : and yet maybe there are 
more than I think. It isn't that he ever 
was so very particularly clever. He was a 
skilled workman, but not at all one of those 
men who make a stur wherever they go, and 
get everybody to admire them. 

Of course it is a great thing to be clever. 
Phil always declared I was cleverer than 
him, because I could read fast and write 
easily, while he was one of the slowest 
readers I ever saw, and writing was a great 
bother to him. Bat then he always had so 
much sense. If I was cleverer than Philip, 
—and I don't know that I was, for all he 
said so, — I know I never had half his sense. 
And if he didn't read fast, he thought over 
everything he read, and never forgot it after. 

And Philip had such a straighforward way 
of looking things in the &ce. Truth was 
truth, and right was right, and wrong was 
wrong, and a lie was a lie, with my husband. 
He would never say black was white to 
please anybody, and he never could follow 
the doubling^ and shiftings and shilly- 
shallyings of some men. That wasn't always 
liked, maybe,— and especially it wasn't always 
liked by the men when he became foreman, 
— but fdl the same he went straight ahead, 
and he was fifty times as much respected iu 
the end for not giving in to what was wrong. 

Little Sutton was not so small a village 
even in those days as its name would seem 
to make out. Our little row of cottages — 
Philip's and mine in the middle, with old 
Gilpin's on one side of us, and Will Saunders' 
on the other side, and two more cottages be- 
yond each, making seven in all — was in about 
the most countrified part of the whole place. 
Little Sutton had grown into quite a town 



8 



HOME WORDS. 



on the other side of the church, and there 
was such a deal of hnilding gomg on that the 
masons had a pretty good time of it. My 
husband was a mason. 

Besides being so tme in his ways, my 
husband was very kind-hearted, — as kind- 
hearted a man as ever I knew. He could 
not see a child tumble down in the road 
without stopping to pick it up and comfort 
it. And as for cuffing and knocking about 
his wife and his boys, like what — well, I 
needn't say vihick of the neighbours often 
did — ^I should just have thought he had 
gone out of his mind if I had seen him 
begin such ways. No ; he was a good hus- 
band to me, and he always said I was a good 
wife to him. I hope so, I am sure, or it 
would be bitter work looking back now. 

As I have just said, Philip earned good 
wages in those days, and we were gathering 
quite*a nice sum in the savings bank. For 
it never was our plan to spend every penny 
we could earn on dress aod food, and then 
expect the parish to support us, or gentle- 
folks to step in and keep us from the work- 
house, when sickness or ago or a slack season 
should stop work. No ; Philip always said 
he didn't count that to be proper self-respect. 
If we did our best, and God took from us the 
means of getting along, then, he said, he 
would be gratef al for help : but he had too 
much of honest pride to trust to that as long 
as he could provide for himself and for his, — 
not only in fine weather, but on rainy days. 
Why, dear me, the bees and the ants and the 
dormice and the swallows show a deal more 
forethoQght than many a working-man and 
his wife show when they have good times 
and plenty ef work. Of course I don't mean 
to say but there's many a one as wise as my 
husband, for there's seldom a rule without a 
lot of exceptions ; still I do know that such 
are the exceptions, and not the rule. 

Phil and I sat awhile as quiet as two mice : 
only I saw Phil looking up slyly at the clock, 
as if he was tired of waiting, and didn't much 
enjoy this sort of spending of his half- 
holiday. And presently I said to him in a 
cheerful sort of way, " What do you think of 
our new lodger, Phil P " 

'* Don't know," says Philip gruffly. 

" He's a pleasant young fellow in the main, 



and steady, I do think, and that's a com* 
fort." 

" He wouldn't stay here long if he wasn't, 
I can tell him," said Phil. 

" Fm sure he is. And he seems so good- 
tempered, and not a bit fussy in his way. 
The boys take to him wonderful I wonder 
where he comes from." 

" No knowing where any of them young 
navvies come firom," said Philip, rather crusty 
stilL " Just regular birds of passage, all of 
'em, — coming and going." 

" Well, it's like to be a good two years' 
business, he says, in these parts, — ^such a 
deal of tunnelling, and a bridge, and a via- 
duct, and I don't know what alL But I'm 
glad you are not a navvy, PhiL It's nice 
to have a settled home." 

"Settled as long as there's work to be 
had," said PhiL 

"Building in Little Satton isn't like to 
get less, now we're to have the railway 
brought to our doors," I said. "And as 
long as Mr. Conner keeps on, you're never 
like to be wanting work." 

" Maybe not, but there's no knowing what 
may happen next," said Phil. You see, he 
was in a mood to take everything on its wrong 
side. And then he got up, and said, "I'm 
going out now, but I'm not going far. You 
needn't suppose I've changed my mind, Sue." 

" No," said I. 

'* Gilpin's ways mtM< be put down," said he. 

" Yes, he's got to be conquered somehow," 
said I. 

" That's just what I say. And I mean to 
do it, too." 

" Only there's different ?rays of doing it,** 
says I. " I suppose it's a question which is 
the best way." 

" I'm not going to be put upon any longer," 
says Phil gruffly. " He's determined to have 
the upper hand of me, and I'm determined 
he shan't." 

"Well, the Bible does tell us not to bo 
overcome of evil," said I, as quiet as I could. 
" So you've got to conquer him, no doubt." 

" It don't mean " 

I expect Philip was going to say, "It 
don't mean that, though." But he stopped 
short in the middle, shut his lips, and widked 
off. 



{^0 ht c(mtin}ui,'i 



''NAME BUT CHRIST:' 




'' ^ane but Cftn'st-*' 

A MOTTO FOR THE NEW YEAR. 

YE, but it*a hard to live the life o* sainted men o' God ; 
To tread the path o' faith an* prayer as our Great Ma>ter trodo ; 
To die to sin, to live for Him, in though tj in word, an' deed ; 
To give all praise — oursels forgot— to Him, our livin' Head. 

* 

It's fine, no doubt, to tak' an oar, wi' Him just i' the boat: 
To tbink that we can lend a hand to keep oursels afloat; 
When skies are fair this may look weel, but oh ! to trust Him sac 
That He will lead — we follow on — unto the perfect day ! 

A *' decent life " is not the life for follo*ers o' the King ; 

A lonnie life, 2k fragrant life — just like the flowers o* spring : 

The rose's scent, the lily's hue, the palm tree's upright form. 

The cedar's strength, the willow's droop when bent beneath the storm ! 

Oh, lowly One 1 we need Thee sore, that we may lowly be : 

Oh, Saviour meek ! break down our pride, mak' us as meek as Thee : 

Give us more love an* charity, mak* us completely Thine — 

No wayside plants, but garden flowers, kept by a Hand Divine ! 

I've heard " Eyes Front" given in oomman* to soldiers on review : 
An' such, methinks, is the comman' to Christian soldiers too : 
" Eyes front " to Him, in life or death, whatever may betide — 
Not right, nor left, nor yet behind, but only on our Guide. 

We maun look in, to see our sin an' a* our daily need ; 
We maun look in, to purge oursels frae ilka wicked deed ; 
We maun look in — but just to tak' our vileness to His feet, 
An* stan* in Him, in Him alone, most gloriously complete ! 

As sailors, then, we'll lay the oars con^letely in His ban's ; 
As soldiers true we'll look to Him, and follow His comman's ; 
As garden flowers we'll look above for sunshine an' for dew, 
To smile on us, an' water ns, an* keep our lily hue. . 

An' bless the Lord, we may live so, that we shall sair be miss't : 
May tell o' Him in silent deeds, an* a* our ways be blest ; 
Jnist bury selfy an* hide in Him, till only He appears ; 
The glory His, the profit ours, through a* the tide o* years. 

William MiTcnELU 




HOME WORDS. 

fin l^atbt anti Canott 

1. "MY SECOND SHIPWRECK." 

ETIOnH UACQBEaOB, U.l. (BOB BOT), CAPTAIN Or "THE BOTAL GANOB CLUB." 

HEBE was a very pretty 



little iron cutter for 

in the Urge harbour or 

Kingstown, near Dnbho, 

and I aaved inj pocket- 

ine7(as a boj of fifteen ought 

do] and hired the charming 

cralt on Satnrdaj holidays sereral times, until 

" the man " let me "go out alone "— yoa know 

the delicious feeling ol ihalt, jonng reader lad I 

Sailing alone makes yon understand the 
whims and fancies of a boat, and how its boom 
tm'II gibe and hit yoa under the lelt ear; and 
how mnch sheet is enongh for the jib. 

I got bolder after practice — which was 
right, but ftt last I got rash— which was 
irrongi and so I ventared ontside the har- 
boar,jn8t "to go a lif fie waif and then oome 
back" — the nsnal intention which is so diS- 
cnlt to fnlfil. 

The first few rollers in the great tide-way 
outside the piers were perfectly delicious ; but 
at last a sudden billow gave us such a jerk 
that the peak-halyard snapped, and at onoe 
my mainstul dropped and hang dishorelled 
all in "a mess." 

It was dangerotu to " wear her," for the 
sea would come over the stern, and it was 
impossible to " go about " in the regular way. 
Solhad to jog on and thus get into smoother 
water : and yet, somehow, it didn't get 
smoother. 

Bat eyes were upon me in this danger, and 
the skipper of a big yacht, then at anchor in 
the harbour, kindly " boused up " bis crew 
and gallantly came out to save the lonely 



mariner. Oh 1 how I thanked him in my heart 
as I saw the fine schooner dashing through 
the waves, and then he whirled round my 
lee and dropped a sailor boy on my bow wiili 
a strong rope to make fast to my sinking 
cutter. But the boy took fright and tailed 
to fasten the rope; and, with a shont of fear, 
he scrambled back on board the schooner, 
while "oceans of water" poured into my 
lillipution craft, and I was left alone again. 
Kob only alone, but sinking &st, because my 
iron cutter had no emnparf menf* ; and an iron 
boat is fure to sink when filled. 

Bat see now, then ore minutes still of 
hope; the schooner goes about to return, 
and here she is alongside agun, in the 
whistling wind and the bursting surge — an 
anxious time indeed. They heaved a ropo 
again to tne, and I rushed forward, seiEed it, 
fastened it well round the "bits" (for the 
anchor and bowsprit), and down she sank 
while I climbed on board the schooner — all 
in a few seconds. 

Heavy work it was to tow the sunken iron 
yacht into the harbour, until at last she 
grounded, and when the tide left her dry 
she was got all right again. 

I was also got "all right," and with a bit 
of experience (not forgotten in thousands of 
miles of lonely sailing afterwards) which I 
hope many lads may profit by :— never to sail 
in an iron boat which has no compartments; 
always to help those whose ignorance or folly 
puts them in unexpected danger; and most 
of all to thank and praise Him who " oome to 
seek and to save that whioh was lost." 



#4RIQHTLT, brightly Bhines the skein, 
aj Qolden, yellow, smooth and soft ; 
^ Bnt ^e slender silken thread, 
Winding, see I is broken oft. 
Well, no matter ; find the end ; 
A little knot soon makes a mend. 
Bnt walch the knotty place with oare ; 
'Tis apt to break agiun just there ! 



% 4^jictorp dong* 



Like the silk our tempera seem, 

Smooth and even till they're tried 1 
Bat oft we see the thread of peace 

Broke short by roughness and by pride- 
Well, now quickly join the ends; 
Forgivel forgetl shake bands! be friends! 
Bnt watoh the knotty place with core, 
Lest it shoold break again jnst there ! 

Ahoh. 



HOME WORDS. 



Se^ons from Vat Sooft. 



, THE BRIGHT SIDE OF GROWING OLDER: A LESSON FOR THE NEW YEAR. 



BT TOB GDItOB. 



" TEAIt older I "—la it a 

somewhat sad thooght to 
any of ns : or have we 
learned the happy secre t 
• of "The Bright Side 
of Growing Older " P 
^ There is a remarkable 
paper bearing this title, in " Royal Bounty," 
by "the sweet Singer" — the bright and 
loving Frances Hidley Havergal^ which 
should be read in the light of her transla- 
tion " to the choir of Paradise " daring the 
year that is gone. The thonghts in this 
paper are very prooions : and that dying 
appeal of hers, when God's loving "Hand" 
was " pressing her soro " — " I want yon to 
speak hTigld words about Jesaa " — seems to 
^ve her testimony a voice from the inner 
sanctuary, whereby " she being dead may 
yet speak " to ns " words in season " for 
the Now Tear.* 

"The Bible," she fiays, "gives ns the 
V>right side of everything : and in this case 
of ' growing older ' it gives qb three bright 
sides of a fact, which without it conld not 
help being gloomy. 

"First, it opens the sure prospect of 
itxereannq irighlnets to those who have be- 
gan to walk in the light. Even ' onr age 
is to bo cUarer than the noonday ' (Job xi. 
17). How snggestive that word ' clearer ' 
is ! The light, though intenser and nearer, 



shall dazilo less: 'in Thy light shall we 
tee light ' — be able to bear much more of 
it, see all else by it more clearly. We 
ehould havo said, ' At evening-time there 
shall be shadow : ' Ood says, 'At evening' 
time there shall be light.' 

"Also, we aro not to look for a veiy 
dismal afternoon of life, without some final 
snnset glow : for He saya it ' sbineth more 
and more unto the perfect day.' So those 
who are willing only to walk la the light 
are to expect a continually brightening 
path. Just think, when yon are Be»en, or 
ten, or twenty years older, that will only 
mean seven, or ten, or twenty years' more 
experience of the love and futhfulness of 
Jesus: and «fi2! tho 'more and more unto 
tho perfect day' will be opening out befbre 
us I We are ' oonGdent of this very 
thing.' 

"The leetmd bright side, is inoreeuing 
fruitfidneai. Do not let na confase between 
works and fruit. Many are not able to do 
anything at all, and yet are bringing forth 
fruit unto Qod, beyond the bnsiest workers 
— ' They shall still bring forth fruit in old 
age.' Some of the fraits of the Spirit 
seem to be espocially and peculiarly char- 
acteristic of sanctified older years. Iiook 
at the mellowness of St. Paul's ' joy ' in his 
later epistles ; and the wonderful ' gentle- 
ness ' of St. John, which makes us almost 



* Wo tua; mention that oni dear Friend, very shortly before her truuUtion to her Eternal Homs, 
placed in ooi bonds a paper, entitled " Him with Whom we have to Do." We inggested its mutability 
oa a Watchword or Bible Motto for the coming New Tear, and uked her to add a few wotds bearing 
directl; on tlis flight of time, in oider that we might bo use it in one of oar magazinaa. The mann- 
aciipt waa retomed to her for this purpose onlj a week oi two before the Moster'a Call reached her. 
The lines were not added, bat tbe eolemait; of almost " Last Words " attachea (o this Watchword tor 
the New Tear. We have printed it in the Janaaiy nambor of Tin Da]/ of Day; and it con olio be 
obtained as a Kew Teoi's Tract, witb a Portrait of " F. B. H.", fi<an an; bookeeller for Id. ; or in quan- 
tities for distril'ution, 5t. per 100, direct from Hand and Ueart Offiee, 1, Patemoitat Bnildiogi, 8.0. 



LESSONS FRO^f THE BOOK. 



13 



forget his early character of *a son of 
thunder.' And ' the same Spirit ' is given 
to ns that we too may "bring forth * fruit 
that may abound,' and always * more fruit.» 
"The ihird bright side is brightest of 
all : * "Even to your old age, I am He,' Al- 
ways the same Jehovah- Jesus ; with ns 

* all the days ;' bearing and carrying us * all 
the days ;' reiterating His promise — ' Even 
to hoar hairs will I carry you . . . ; 
oven I will carry and will deliver you,' just 
as He carried the lambs in His bosom. For 
we shall always be His little children, and 

* doubtless ' He will always be our Father. 
The rush of years cannot touch this ! " 

Truly these are " bright words " indeed 
—words of Gospel light and love, revealing 
** the bright side of growing older." 
Walking beneath the light of Ood's counte- 
nance, forgiven and accepted in the Be- 
loved, and daily " increasing in Ood's Holy 
Spirit more and more," what can the New 
Year bring — but " the supply of all our 
need " ? 

" God*8 reiterated * Alll ' 
wondrous Word of Peace and Power ! 

Touching with its tuneful foU 
Each unknown day, each hidden hour 

Of the coming year ! 

" He shall ' all * your need supply, 
And He will make * all * grace abound ; 

Alwayt * all sufficiency ' 
In Him for * all ' things shall be found 

Through the coming year l"—F. E. H. 

Perhaps one thought more may be added, 
to guard against a possible misconception. 
We must not forget that the bright side of 
Christian experience is ever found in the 
way of ^'crucifixion with Christ '' Progress in 
holiness, or the bringing forth of " the fruits 
of the Spirit" as the unfailing law and result 
of Christian life — must ever be the meaflure 
of Christian light and joy and peace ; and 
this progress in holiness necessarily in- 
Yolves discipline and trial and spiritual 
conflict. The road to Heaven is indeed a 
bright road, but we have to learn much on 



the way ; and clouds, and crosses, and even 
falls are often our lesson books. There 
could indeed be no growth in grace at all, 
unless we were being thiis constantly 
taught our need of more grace — even of all 
" the riches of grace " that God has stored 
up for us "in glory, by Christ Jesus." 

Hence we know the forgiven, who have 
'* known the love that God hath to them," 
are those who are ever feeling their fresh 
and constant need of the renewed sprink- 
ling of the Atoning blood ; and those who 
walk most closely with Q:od are ever 
''counting themselves not to have attained," 
and for this Tery reason are " pressing to- 
wards the mark for the prize of their high 
calling in Christ Jesus." The deeper the 
Christian experience, the higher is the 
standard of holiness, and the greater the 
sense of spiritual need. 

Thus it was with Frances Ridley Haver- 
gal. There was "growth in grace," in 
knowledge, in humility, and holiness, even 
to the end. Up to the last she sweetly 
sang :— 

" precious blood I Lord, let it rest on me 1 
I ask not only pardon from my Einjg;, 
But cleansing from my Priest. I come to Thee 
Just as I came at first — a simple helpless 
thing. 

*' Saviour, bid me * go and sin no more ; ' 
And keep me always 'neath the mighty flow 
Of Thy perpetual fountain. I implore. 
That Thy perpetual cleansing I may fully 
know." 

And so also she ever felt that in order to 
the daily walk of holy, happy, bright com- 
munion with God and usefulness to man, 
there must be unceasing prayer for the 
continued increase of faith. ** Let us," she 
writes in one of her latest letters to a 
Christian friend, " let us asJc Him together 
to increase our faith, so that we may more 
and more come under the beautiful descrip- 
tion of those who ' through faith obtained 
promises.' " 
Yes ! ever " More and more " — the Chris- 



14 



BO ME WORDS. 



tian's onward watchword on his heaTeatrard 
way — more light, more graoe, more holi- 
ness ! " Mor^ light from my Sarionr's 
Face, that I may shine the brighter; mora 
knowledge of Qod, that I may instmot 
others; mora holiness of walk, that the 
world may learn that there is a power 
which eruafiet self, and enaUes the pos- 
sessor to live 'as Eeoing Him who is in. 
risible ' ! " •' 

If then we would learn better this Ifow 
Tear the secret of " The Bright Side of 
Qroniog Older," our aim moat be to abide 



closely beneath the shadow of the Cross— 
" looking nnto Jesna" — and to be often 
found as waiting and needy snpplieanta at 
the throne of grace. To ns it may then 
be said, — 

" Feu not the mrteting ihadows, 
ehildien of Ibe Da; I 

For blighter still and brighter 
Shall be your homeward wa;. 

BespIendeDt aa the mommg. 
With fuller glow and power. 

And clearer than the noonday, 
Bhall be jonr aTsnlns hoar."— F. K. II. 



IT O. Q. BBID, IDTBOS OV "OLD OSCAB," "LOWLAND LEOBNCS," BtO. 



3 one ever pointed ani- 
mals like Sir Edwin 
Landseer. He was an 
artist from his earliest 
Bars: and happily he be- 
\a by copying nature in- 
ead of prints 01 drawings, 
jfe stndied the dogs and 
the donkeys on Hampatead Heath, the lions in 
their cramped cages in the Zoologioal Gar- 
dens, and the mild deer in the parks. As 
early as the age of five he employed bis pen- 
cil; and at the South Kensington Mnsenro 
some of his sketches at this age are still to 
be seen.f 

To gonins he added diligent labour and 
perseverance i and this ensured greater 
power and brilliancy of execntron as years 
advanced. All his paintings have eharaeter. 
Each dog has its own expression: sadness, 
misery, satia&uttion, and drollery, the pas- 
sions and the ftelings, the hopes and the 
raara, are shown to belong as much almost to 
the coantenonce of a dog as of a man. 

When barely eighteen years old, he aeonre^ 
a place in the first rank of the painters of the 
age, by his " Dogs of St. Benuml discovering 
a Traveller in the Snow." He early gained 



the notice of the Qneen and the Prince Con- 
sort, ever ready as they were to enoonrage 
and foster art taste amongst the people. We 
are told that his neighbonrs at St. John's 
Wood, where from 1825 his life was spent, 
were sometimes startled on seeing the Boyal 
party waiting for the yoong painter to monnt 
bis horse and ride oat with them, it may he, 
to make observations for some picture of Her 
Uajesty on horseback. 

The private ooUeotion of Her Ifajesty oon- 
tuns many of his sketches and studiea, some 
of which have been giacionsly lent for the 
pnrpose of papular illustration, to help in 
the edncational work which was the original 
design of these and other reproductions. It 
is significant that the Queen had two ezqnisiie 
designs — a pur of deer in difierent attitudes — 
specially drawn for her private note and 
letter-paper, both of which are still used, in- 
dicative of a loving link with one whose 
memory is cherished. The lost picture which 
Landseer exhibited was in 1873 : " As un- 
finished sketch of the Qneon." 

In 1824, when in his twenty-seoond year, 
he went to Scotland, and from this period 
his works gave proof of considerable advance 
in breadth of oonoeplion and freedom ol style. 



■ Ths Bev. W. Pennefatlier, In s paper in Hem* Word; vol. iil. p. 106, hesdod 
whioh appeared just befoM hii translation. 
t We bopa to give engravings from these skelohei In ooi Febmary nniuber. 



' Uors snd Um,* 



LANDSEEH AND HIS FRIENDS. 



i6 



HOME WORDS. 



It would be hopeless to enumerate the 
multitudinous paintings Landseer produced. 
His fame became world-wide, and the nation 
rejoiced when the honour of knighthood 
was conferred upon him by the Queen in 
1850. 

As he grew in years he grew in breadth 
and in rapidity of execution. He grew also 
in the conviction that there is always room 
and need to learn; and down to his latest 
years, decaying in faculty and mentally be- 
clouded, he had his old friends about him, 
ever watching their ways and discovering 
some fresh feature or fact, to him a source of 
delight and instruction. 

When, eight months after his death, the 
artist's portfolio was opened to the public, 
and the famous seven days' sale took*place in 
London, the crowded gatherings and the 
prices given— £300, £500, £1,000, £1,500— 
showed the value attached to his most truth- 
ful and beautiful paintings. When his sketch 
books were put up, old, rusty, and fioger- 
wom, there were some curious incidents. 
For one, with a huge white button and a piece 
of brown cord attached, there was a keen 
competition. It contaimed several faint tra- 
cings of well-known pictures, and was evi- 
dently desired by their owners. In a few 
seconds it was knocked down at over a hun- 
dred pounds, amidst general applause. The 
seven days' sale realized nearly £80,000. 

Landseer's genius was a rare x>ossession; 
but his censecration of his genius to high ends 
may be imitated by all. "No pains, no 
gains": *'In all labour there is profit." 
Genius alone will not achieve success. When 
we look at a masterpiece of art, we seem to 
lee written beneath it — 

'< Never yet was good acoompUshed 
Without hand and thought." 

God has given to every man his work : and 
all can labour. Landseer was ever an honest 



worker; he was rapid and quick; bat he 
never ''scamped." Even his sketches and 
jottings for his own use were models of 
care and accnracy. What he did he did 
thoroughly, and he did his best. Let us all 
try and do the same. 

But beyond this Landseer rendered ines- 
timable service in fostering and promoting 
kindness to aoimals and high art amongst 
the people. His paintings are, many of 
them, pleas full of tender power which 
few can resist. It has been truly said, 
"No teacher has done more to disconraj^c 
cruelty, unkindness, or the needless infliction 
of pain ; no teacher has done half so much to 
elevate and intelligently protect the lower 
creation." 

He knew, too, the importance of Art in 
the Cottage, and valued highly the privilege 
of thus ministering to the enjoyment and 
profit of the people. It is recorded of him 
that when he first saw a copy of the British 
Workman, which has done so much to 
carry art into the humble homes throughout 
this land and other lands, he said to his pub- 
lisher Mr. Graves, more than a quarter of a 
century ago, " Encourage the editor of that 
pictorial paper; he is doing a good work." 
Nothing pleased him more than to find in 
cottages engravings of his pictures, and an 
intelligent acquaintance with his works. 

It were well if in these features of his 
character we all emulated the example of 
Landseer. All may be kind to animals, and 
all may do something to encourage the wide 
introduction in the homes of the people of 
those high-art engravings which are so 
admirably adapted to educate both the mind 
and the heart. 

** He prayeth best who loveth bost 
AU things both great and small, 
For the dear Lord who loveth us^ 
He made and loveth all." — OoUridgo* 



9irefi((rfption for ilSaitfng tlie 4ract looit i^oungert 



Op Contentment, 3 Drams. 
Of Essence of Heart's- ease, 3 Drams, 
Of the Spirit of Charity, 3 Drams — ^and 
no Scruples. 



Of Extract of "Good Hope," a whole 
Ounce. 

The mixture to be taken daily, and the 
efieot watched by those about us. 



A GOOD RULE ALL THE YEAR ROUND. 



X7 



6Itmps((s( at Cl^urid illts!fi(fonare Wsy^%^ 




I. THE NIQER MISSION. 

BT THIS BDITOB. 



XJTIES are oars: eyents 
are with God; but the 
work of Missionary en- 
terprise has ever been 
attended with such 
success that we may 
well ezdainii '* What 
hath God wrought ? " 

We have sometimes wondered whab the 
twelve disciples would have thought, if, when 
they received their world-wide commission to 
" preach the Gospel to every creature/' their 
Lord, in a moment of time, had enabled them 
to look for?rard nineteen centuries, and they 
had seen England the most powerful nation 
of the earth— then unknown — the stronghold 
and fortress of Christian truth! This has 
been one of the results of missionary labour ; 
and still the preaching of the Grospel is hast- 
enii^g on the time when '* the kingdoms of 
this world shall all become the kingdom of 
our God and of His Christ." 

As a modern illustration of what mission 
work has done for a barbarous land. Dr. 
Crowther, the native Bishop who presides 
over the Niger Mission in Africa, which 
numbers 1500 members, gives us the follow- 
ing recent account :— 

" Tho Mission began twenty-one years ago. 
The inhabitants of these countries were at 



that time in the deepest ignoranoe and de« 
gradation, worshipping supposed spirits re- 
presented by shapeless blocks of wood, to 
which sacrifices were made of aniioals and 
human beings. At Onitsha* for instance, 
there was an annual human sacrifice for the 
sin of the nation. Sixty human victims 
were sacrificed at the funend of the king. 
Slaves wexB often buried alive with the 
corpses of their masters, to accompany them 
as servants into the world of spirits. (One 
was so buried at Alenso in June, 1877.) Twin- 
born children were put to death. In many 
places cannibalism prevailed, and it is still the 
case at Obokshi, not six miles from Onitsha, 
where the graves of the dead are sometimes 
watched for five or six nights, io prevent their 
being rifled for this purpose. These horrid 
and degrading practioes are not yet extinct, 
even in the neighbourhood of the missionary 
stations, though they are slowly dying out" 
It is among a people such as this that the 
Gospel banner has been unfurled, and the 
Mission work of our Church conducted to 
good effect. The tidings are not borne to 
us in startling telegrams or in military de* 
spatches, but in the more gentle tones of 
fiftithful men^God's heroes, whose " record 
is on high:" whose prayer and life harmo- 
nise— ''Thy kingdom come 1 ^ 




BT CBOKA TEHFLE, AUTHOB OF " SEED TO THE 80WEB," ETC. 



LWAYS think the best 
of people," old Benja- 
min Grainger used to 
say. Benjamin was the 
keeper of the West- 
hampton toll-bar, a kind 
old man, with pleasant 
looks, and pleasant 



words for any who would stop to have a talk 
with him as they paid toll at the gate. 

" But some people are so bad there's not 
any ' best ' to be got about them," farmer 
Dean said one day. 

"I reckon you're wrong there, farmer," 
Benjamin answered. " I never met a man 
who was bad right through and through. 



* The early publication of this Number of ffofiM YForif forbids our isiving information ai to the 
progress of the " Franees Bidley Havergal Church Missionary Memorial Fund : " but the response has 
been most generous, and we hope in February to place the result before our readers. All subscriptions 
are acknowledged in the columns ol Uon^ fxni Heart, 



iS 



HOME WORDS. 



Bat l«ttmg tbftt qaeation alons^ it ia better 
for yoKTHl/to mako the beat of others." 
, "'W'b7P"Biud fanner Dean, fliokuig a fly 
off his borfle with the lash of hia whip. 

" Becttuae, if we are always thinking evil of 
people, the bard thoughts leave a slimy traok 
behind in onr owa hearts." 

"And pleasant thonghts leave plouant 
tracks, eh, Benjamin F So now I've foand oat 
why yon are saoh good oompany, for I don't 
believe yon think evil of anybody," said far- 
mer Dean. 

" I naed to, thongh ; and it's fiurly wonder- 
fnl how easy it oomes to give bad motives to 
people if once joa fbll into the habit of doing 
it. And then everything and everybody are 
Bare to be wrong. I mind when I was a boy 
reading about a creatnre they called a ecor- 



pion; it lives amoag roaes— eats thero«ea,for 
all I know to the contrary; bat 'tis the moat 
poiaouoaa beast that lives on the eartb. Some 
folka get jaat like scorpions; be they ever 
BO close to the rosea, yet they can get nothing 
from them bnt poison. They have their asen 
and ezcellencea, I suppose, as the soorpions 
also have; but they're nncommonly dia^ree- 
able to come across in life." 

" So they are," said farmer Dean, as be 
prepared to drive on. "Well, good-day, 
Benjamin, and thank ye for the warning ; I 
shouldn't hke to be a baman scorpion ; and I 
fear I'm getting into a mighty snepioioaa,aii- 
oharitable way of thinking and talking too. 
Qood-day, neigh bonr." 

"Qood-doy, farmer, and snocess to your 
marketing." 



dtorp oC a QCta'%tttIe. 



winter's evening, 
etbononehand red 
8 ago.the tea-board 
laid ont, and the 
dow-curtaina were 
oly drawn, in the 
ible parloar of a 
„„_11 fa case in the 
town of Greenock, in the west of Scotland. 
A tidy, active matron was bastling about, 
slicing the bread and butter ; a blazing fire 
gleamed and roared is the grate, and curled 
rotmd the black sides of the kettle which re- 
posed in the midst of it; and the fire crackled, 
and the water boiled with a faintly heard 
bnbbly Boond, and a stream of white vapour 
came whiizing out of the spout of the kettle, 
with a shrill cheery hiss. 

Now, the matron aforesaid saw nothing 
partioular in all this ; kettles had boiled and 
Ores hod burned from the beginning, and 
would probably do so to the end of the 
chapter. 

Not BO with her son James, a boy of 
fifteen Bummers. Sitting ou a low bench in 
the chimney comer, h9 was inteutly gazing at 
tiie fire, the kettle, aad the steam, awallowing 
themwithhis eyes, absorbed in deep thoughts, 
ud loBt in contemplation. He looked at the 



fire, and the mother looked at her son. ** Wua 
there ever aio an idle ne'er-do-weel in this 
warld asour JamieF" was thequeationwbicL 
almost anconscioasly she proposed to herself. 
A neighbour stepped in at this momenL 
Turniag to the visitor, Januo'a mother sud, 
''Mrs. B., did you ever see the likes of our 
JamieF Look at him, hell sit there for 
hours, staring at the kettle and the steam, 
till you wad think his een wad come oot o' 
his head." 

And, truth to tell, there was something 
peculiar in the glance of the boy's eye. There 
was mind, active, speaking mind, looking 
through it. He had sat watching the esca- 
ping steam, until the thin vaporous column 
had appeared to cast itself upward in iaia- 
taatio.obanging shapes. Sometimea the subtle 
fluid, gathering in force and quantity, woalil 
gently raise one side of the lid of the kettle, 
emit a white puB*, and then let the metal fall 
with a low clanking sound. There was 
power and strength in that watery cloud ; 
and aa the dreaming boy saw this, an unbid- 
den thought came upon bis mind, and he kneii 
that the fierce Btmggle was symbolical of in- 
tellect warring with the elements. 

And still be gazed. Did he see in bis day- 
dreams ships sailing withoqt wind or sails, 



HOME WORDS. 



uid wagODa propelled o'er deserta wild b; 
some power unseen to mortal e;e F 

" Jamie, Jamie," exclaimed hia mother at 
length, " sit bj to jv/as tea; if I find 70 sta- 
ring at the fire again, yell feel the wecht o' 
mj hand." 

The bo; rose meaklf, and did as he was 
told. Hie name was James Watt, afterwards 
Sir James Watt. He was honoored bj the 
title of knighthood, being the first who ap- 
plied the powers of steam to 007 nsefol por- 
pose. 

Watt was born in 1738. He was the 
son of a poor tradesman, and eojojed few 
advantages of education. Bat, like most 
great men of all times, he was mnch indebted 
to the care and instmctions of an affectionate 
and judicious mother. Be improved lua op- 
portunities; and the meditative lad in the 
pictnraaqne, old-faehioned kitchen, where the 
tea-kettle babbled and hiesed and spnttered, 



became at length the worid-fomed engineer, 
the discoverer of the mighty power of steam. 

Steam has almost made this old world of 
ours a new ona Yet this triumph of art and 
science was once the laughing-etook of jeer- 
ing thonsands, once it was only the waking 
phantasy of a boy's mind as he sat and in 
seeming idleness watched a little oolomn of 
vaponr rise from the spont of a teo-kettte. 

Soienoe is still bnt in its infancy, and every 
Boientifio truth is being pressed iato the 
service of man. There will be men of eenius 
in time to came, as there have been itttimes 
past. But rich as England is in her scientific 
and mechanioal genius, she is riehar and 
mightier in her moral and reli^ons power; 
and it is on the futhful application and true 
direction of this power, under God, that 
natiiHis depend for their happiness and free- 
dom. The Bible is, and may it ever be, " the 
secret of England's greatness 1 " 



NOTES AHD TESTIMONIES. 

SEUSCTZD BT.IHI XDROB. 



THAT THE PRAYER. 

BOOK DID. 

Prayer Book displaced 

I Mass. It restored the 

orament of the Sapper. 

abolished the privata 

articular coBfesBion to 

riest, and snbstitnted 

n to God, to be sud by 

the priest himself in common with "all the 

people." For the inaudible mumbling of 

" mnmpBimus," in on unknown tongue, by 

the priest alone, it substituted the artioulate 

nttenmco, in "a loud yoice," of the Lord's 

Prayer, in ptun English. 

In n word, Divine worship was now no 
longer a public spectacle 1 it was a solemn ser- 
vice. The priest was no longer sole, nor even 
chief performer : for the performance was no 
more. Serviee had superseded show, and in 
that service the people were participants. 

And in all this, the Divine Book was the 
standard and goide. In its Lectionary, is 



its selection of " Gospels " imd " Epistles," 
the Frayer-Book overflowed with the letter 
— OB in its teaching, its thanksgiving, its sup- 
plication, it was saturated with the spirit— 
of the Bible. 

We need not wonder at the satisfaction 
with which an outhority of the second year 
of Elisabeth, quoted by Strype, made bis 
boast that "now a young child of ten years 
old can tell more of his duty towards God 
and maa, than a man of tbeir bringing up 
can do in sixty or eighty yoora." — TAe 'Rev. Dr. 
TFainwright, Author of "Chritlian Certainty." 



"The Chorch of England is in our country 
the strongest bulwark agunst the progress 
of error, the best security for the preserva- 
tion of sound, practical Beligion, There is no 
Chnrch on earth to be compared with it, in 
the Scriptural character of its faith, in the 
simple beauty of its Liturgy, in the compre- 



J 



FABLES FOR YOU. 



21 



hensiveness with which it would embrace 
all who, differing in minor points, hold the 
essentials of the revealed will of God. And 
when we review its varied excellences, its 
long existence, its wide influence, the 
oottntless blessings it confers en thousands 



of small villages, as well as on populous 
. towi^s — when we walk about .our Zion and 
mark well her bulwarks, not only does the 
prayer arise from our hearts, e«to perpetaa^ 
but we would fain cherish the hope that no 
* harm shall befal so glorious a Ohurch.'' 



t^' t ^t W ^l^ 



f&Wi fiar 7017. 

BT ILBASOB B. PBOSSBB. 




I. " LOOK UP." 

TRAVELLBB stood m 
a narrow plank, his eyes 
fixed on the foaming tor- 
rent beneath. 

" Help me," he cried, 
as he clung trembling 
to the rail ; ** help me, 
or I shall perish in the waters ! '* 

'' Look up, look up ! " said the voice of 
his guide ; " one more glance downwards, 
and yon are lost ; but keep your eye steadily 
fixed above, and you will reach the shore 
in safety." 

II. HOW TO DEAL WITH 80ANDAL. 

Thb haystack was on fire^ and the qparks 
flew in every direction. 

" Blow them out, blow them out I "- cried 
ihe neighbours. 

** Let them alone," said the owner ; " they 
will die out quickly if left to themselves, 
but if you blow them they wIU be fanned 
into a flame." 

III. TOO LATE. 

A DOYB snared by a fowler lay captive 
in ike net; her mate hovered near, trying 
to free her, but in vain. 

^'Alas!" he cried, ''for the time when 
we used to mount upward together into the 
blue heaven, before those fatal meshes 
bound thee to the earth — ^will it nevermore 
return ? " 

And echo answered, '* Never more re- 
turn." 



IV. FAITHFUL IN THAT WHIOH 18 LEAST. 

'' WflAT an insignificant li^le thing you 
are ! " said a raindrop, as it splashed into 
a puddle by the roadside. 

" Perhaps so," replied the puddle, " but 
I reflect as much of the sky as I have room 
for, and the bosom of the proudest lake can 
do no more." 

V. SHARE AND SHARE. 

" Father, father ! What has happened ? 
Why is it so dark P " cried the young lark 
to the parent bird, as, with folded wing, ho 
rested from his upward flight; " the sun is 
gone; the light has aU faded out of the 
sky." 

" He is gone from us, but only to shino 
elsewhere, my child," replied the parent 
bird; "and unworthy indeed should we 
prove ourselves if we grudged to others 
the light and warmth so freely shed on us." 

VI. THE WEAK POINT; 

" What a splendid animal Gheny is, and 
what beautiful milk she gives ! "saidayoung 
heifer to a brindled cow that was chewing 
the cud in the comer of a field. 

" Quite tme,^' said the cow lazily. 

** I heard the master say he wouldn't part 
with her for her weight in gold," said the 
heifer. 

" Ah, indeed ! " said the cow ; " perhaps 
he doesn't know the awkward trick she has 
of kicking the pail over as soon as it's full ; 
she may give good milk, but what's the use 
of that if she wastes it all directly after P " 



{To be eontinued.) 



^MP«»«M^W«pi#W«PW« 



SOAfE Uroii£>S. 



Ctmptrantt ^ct^» 9lntiliotf0, aiUi ;figurt9E. 

nOH TBI IDROB'a HOTX-BOOt. 



. HOW TO BEOOME ■rmomi MEN. 

T the rammer of 1872 it ms 
i ncoesBuy to Hbilt th« mla on 

upwards of 600 miles of per- 
muient iraj od the Oreatr 
Western line from the brokd 
to the narrow gangs, and there 
was onl; a fortnight to do it 

!._. ^ to be got through was enor- 

moiu. Aboat 3,000 men were emp1»7ed, and 
ther worked doable time, sometimes from 
four in the morning till nine at nighL Hot 
a soul was sick, sorry, or dmnk, and the work 
was aocoroplished within the fortnight. 

What was the eztraordinar; support of this 
wonderful spurt of moscnlar energy P Weak 
ffeilly. Tospareeveryonnoe of strength, the 
men were hntted along the line, and brought 
with them bacon, bread, cheese, oocoa, etc., to 
provide their nsoal meals, at nsoal times. 
There was no beer, spirits, or alcoholic drink 
in any form. A ponnd and a half of oatmeal 
and a half-pomid of sugar was allowed to 
each man daUy, and to every gang of twenty- 
one men a cook was told off. The first thing 
done in the morning was to breakfast: and 
then the oook, with his oanldron, started 
along the line till water was toand oon- 
venient, and a fire-place of stones bnilt, and 
the pot boiled. Oatmeal was then sprink- 
led into it with engar, and thoroughly well 
boiled. The thirsty men liked it exceedingly, 
and learned by experience the importance of 
baring it well cooked. 

Here is a very old and well-known agent 
cheap enough, and usily procured, capable of 
imparting " staying power " better, probably, 
than anything else, which is not employed to 
anything like the extent it might be with 
adyantage. — Th» Lanett. (TAs Uading Midi- 
edlJouTnal.} 

II. HOW TO BEOOME 0APITAUST8. 

Thi expenditure of the tBorkiruf ^attet alone 
in drink exoeeds £^,000,000 erery year. 
Every year, therefore, the working olasaes 
bsTe it in their power to become oaintalists 



{simply by saving wasteful and pemicioni 
expenditure) to an extent that would enable 
them to start at least 500 cotton mills, or iron 
works, or coal mines on fheir own omowU, or 
to purchase at least 500,000 acres of land, and 
to set np 60,000 familiee, each with a nice little 
estate of ten acres of freehold. No one can 
dispute facts. The working-men of England 
have the power every year of starting 50,000 
of their nnmber with ten acres cf freehold as 
th«vr own, simply by abstaining fhim strong 
drink. — Qaaritrlf Bsvtsto. 



It was Dr. Hook's beast, that for more than 
thirty yean he had " laboured in the mann* 
factoring districts, not /or the working olassest 
bnt vnt\ fhem, in the measnres desired by 
ikemidvet for the improvement of their class, 
and having for their ot^eot the Ibrmation of 
habits of temperance and pmdenoe ; and ea- 
p ecially that he had worked with them in the 
canee of rational recreation and of education.' 

It was with a view to aid this wide and 
general step in the education of the masses 
that, late in life, he joined the Temperance 
movement, and became a pledged teetotaler. 
He used to tell the story of his change in this 
direction in the following way : — 

" I had in my parish at Leeds a man who 
earned 18*. a week ; out of this he nted to 
give 7s. to bis wife, and to spend the rest in 
drink -, bat for all that, he was a good sort of 
man. I went to him and said, ' Now, suppose 
yon abstiun altogether for six months.' 'Well, 
if I do, will ywt, sir P ' was his reply. ' Yes,' 
I said, ' I wilL' ' What,* said he, ' from beer, 
from spirits, and from wine P' 'Tea.' 'And 
bow shall I know if you keep your promise P' 
' ITKy, Bir, you atk my " Jfitnis," and FU tuh 
youm.* It was agreed between ns for nx 
months at first, and afterwards we renewed 
the promise. He never resumed the bad 
habit that he had left off; and he is now a 
prosperons and happy man in bnainees at 8L 
Petersburg, and I am Dean <d Obioheatw.'* 



THE YOUNG FOLKS' PAGE. 



n 



Cl^e Houng jToIfcd' $age» 




I. ARE YOU GROWING P 

¥ is three timet mentioned that SommI 
"ffTM.** What does it mean F QrewtallP 
grew clerer f grew goodf In each way I 
should think he grew. His body grew, his 
mind grew* his heart grew,lus sonl grew. 
Are yon growing f I don't mean only 
your body} bat is yoor sonl, your heartk yonr mind 
growingP Wonld Gk)d say that f Can you say, as a 
man onoe said—" I am not what longht to be; I am not 
what I wish to be ; I am not what 1 shall be ; bat I cm 
not wHot I OMM WM." We oaght to be oliooyt ^rowiny, 
growing in grace as well as in years. Are yon growing? 
— TIm fie«. J. Faa^haa. 

il. A NEW YEAR'S RESOLVE. 

Gos says to erery boy and girl, "Remember fhy 
Creator in the days of thy yonth'*: and He jnromiaes 
ihat all who *' seek Him early shaU find Him.*' 

A good man named Philip Henxy resolred, when he 
was yoang, to gire himself to Qod i and he did it In theee 
words :— ** I take Ood the Father to be my Chief Bnd s 
I take God the Son to be my Sing and Bavioar t I take 
God the Holy Ghost to be my Gnide and Banctifler: I 
take the Bible to be my rale of life t I take all God's 
people to be my friends ; and here I gire my body and 
my sonl to be God'i— for God to nse for ever." That was 



Philip Henry's resolve^ which he wrote out fbr hbnsell 
when he was yonng \ and he pat at the end of it^" I 
make this tow of my own mind treelyi God give 
grace to keep it.** 

That was a good t«w. I am enre Philip Heni] 
regretted It He llTCd to be a teiy iiappy and nseftil 
man. What a good New Year's reeolre it wonld be fos 
all the boys and girls who read HonM ffords.— Thi Xditor. 

III. THE LESSON AT NAZARETH. 

To thy father and thy mother, 

Honoar, lore, and rererence pay | 
This command, before all other. 

Hast a Ohristian child ob^. 
Help me. Lord, in this sweet daty, 

Gnide me in Thy steps Divine i 
Show me all the Joy and beanty 

Of obedience each as Thine. 

Teach me how to please and gladden 

Those who toil and care Ibr me j 
Many a grief their heartmnst sadden,— 

Let me still their comfort bel 
Then, when years an gathering o'er them. 

When they're sleeping in the grare i 
Sweet will seem the love I bore them. 

Bight^ the rererence which I gsTCb 



W^% Bible 4B(tie Searcficti. 

BT TBB BIOBT BIT. THI LOBD BISHOP Of BOBOB ABB IQH, 




JANUARY SPEGIAL PRIZE DISTRIBUTION. 
2.000 VOIiXJMBB of '* THB DAY OF PAYS " AN NTJAIi. Cloth GiU^ It. eAoh. 

|A8T year a Friend of Sunday Schools generoosly bore the entire cost of 1,000 rolomee of *' THS DAT OF DATS * 
ANNUAL, which were giren as PrisM for the best answers to oar Janoary Qaastions. The distribation excited 
great interest, the genenl testimony echoing the words of the Yicar of one narish, who wrote i— *' The offered 
prise has been the means of stirring np children and parents to a wonderfol degree. When all the answers 
were recelYcd I gave an address npon them to toe soholank and afterwards preached in the ohoroh on one of the ques- 
tions/' " 

We are glad to say that we are enabled to repeat the offer, althooghln a aomewhaldiflteent f6rm. The award and 
transmission of Mnpto voiiimM by post InrolTed serioas labour as Well as expense ; and sines each aohool might well 
present six or twelTC prixee to tne di/«rtiit ckuMi^ and it is a good plan to '* help thoee who help themselTee," we pro- 
pose this year that oar friends should ikare the outlay, so that we mi^deaMe the nnmber of prises, and send them out in 
uirymr pare«U by ralL 

We offer therefore to eend, as prises for the beet-written answers to the Bible Questiona for January, to any OI«gy* 
man or Sunday School Superintendent in the United Kingdom who will award them— 

Six Gopiei of •• THB DAY OF DAIS" ANNUAL, Talae 18«., for U. 

Twelye „ ,, „ „ £1 4f., for lOt. 6i. 

The Tohimee, np to l,000t will be aent in the order of letters reeelTed \tf 
HB. OHABLSS HUBBAT, "HAND Jt HIAKT" OFFIO^ 1. P^n 



BviSMVM, iMnoWt S.O. 



The OlergT localising "HOia WORDS ''can hare the TOlumee SBcloeed in their Febraarr parcel. Lees than els 
copies cannot be sent. In no case are the Anmawn to be forwarded. laeh Scheel will award Its own prises. 

We think, in most parishes, some generous loosl Friend maj be eaeily found willing to eopply the m. or the 10t.6A. 
ee a stimulus to the young to " Search the Scriptures." We do not think money oould well be more wisely spent. 



BIBLE QUESTIONS. 

1. TTOW was the omniscience of Christ twice manl- 
AA fested, but in different ways, in connection with 
atree? 

S. What man was thought to be DiTlne from the miraon- 
lOQs power exercised ky himself and on himself P 

5. The palace roof was the scene of the moral fall of two 
great kings— who were they? 

4 IThat are God's three greatreasonsflbr sending rain f 

6. When did God's people tremble by reason of the 
ihowen which He sent f 

6. Is it erer unsafe to be on the rockf 

7. How was the prorerb beautifully mnstrated, thai a 
good name is better than precious ointment? 

•• Who was specially pnmitted to nterPaiadiae before 
tediedr And who «re<9(l7 afterwarOe r 



t. Why was God's anger kindled <m one ooeasioii when 
the people were numbend, and not on another? 

10. How was King Solomon's prayer for the stranger 
answered hnndrede o< yean after the Dertication of the 
Temple ? 

11. Were any of St. Paul's famflr brought to know the 
Lord Jesus prerious to his eonvernon ? 

IS. Why does the Preacher eay that there is a time to 
kill, when God says distinctly. Thou shalt not UU? 

ANBWEB8 (See Nor. No., page S88). 
L Acts U. SA n. St. liati. ill. 17; zrU. S; and Bk 
John xiL 18. JJL In one only, St. Luke xwL 10-31. IV. 
St. Mark xiL 17. Y. St. MatL TiiL SO s St Hark lii. 11 1 
St. Luke It. 8^ 41. TL His prayer for Peter, St. Luke 
xxiL 81, SS| for His Ohnroh, St. John xriL, and for His 
murdeiers, St* Luke xxitl. 84. TIL St, Jamee IL 8i 
YUL Acti alT. IS. IX. 1 St. Mer U. SI. XAoHtl^ 



JANUARY.' 



*K 



and B. aft. Xmas. Tht Bright snd Uaninf Si 



6bsU 8tr with t 



1st B.oft.Eplpb. 



lie Word. JohnLl. [xx 



Christ, the 
same yesterday, to- da 



AND FOR EVEH. 







Fl ll.. IL ^M^ll 


^ 


r- 


■ " ft .^11 I* ^^^ 


fBl7 


fi 


ComB auto He. UULil. 38. p 


so 


8 


Iti»I:bonot<rfr»ld. Matt.»iT.S7. W 


si 


s 

Th 

F 


2llda.ftn.Bplpll. Smma*ml.aoimtliiu. MUC 
Herein UIOVB. Ijohnly. ID. ^L 33. 

A mercirol High Priett. Beb.iL17. 


8 

u 

Tn 


8ei>tua.8. Bt.Pivi. IrmlAi GochI SVpIwril. W 
All we like sheep hKve iraiie Bstray. IsLliil. d. fli 
ItaydownMrlTrBfortieBhEBp. John .. 16. W\ 

aodmrBayioar. Luke i. 47. ■ 
anenputnreB . . . Still wntan. Ps-iriil. 3. M 
Heib^gslhertheluDbswithHiiBTm. Ib«.x1.ii. 3 




UBliiriththeBl WlCbttaMalwBn, 
1^ AUtheDlgfaUuddlthaCUfii 

TmUngallttiylilehiiiniM. " 


Ha (iwtthflwet Thine own Master, V 
Leadinit, loring to the end : W 
BriBlil^ng Joy and lightening sirrow. ■ 
,!Ulo-dB7, jet inort tcmorrow, ■ 
King end B«rtonr, Lord and Piiend.-P. E. H. JL 





THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM. 

" When tha builden cuno to t« It, I Ttll It nndennined Ihs nl 

Thc7 SUIT ihai cnilce tmkU And tbM Hiin«l'a illgbt ton 

Would bavo widened, tre the break of day. | Hsd Hvod the Uvea of all I 



HOME WO 




FOB 




ii 




€f)t mttlt Irro of l^aarlem t 

A HOMELY BALLAD. 

BT HART B. 6SADLST. 



litila Bon of Hans Yedder 
Went oat one afternoon ; 
Orer his head the aky vaa bine 
With the tender Une of 
Jtme, 
And the Uttle Urde tang right 
and left, 
With erery note In tone. 

The meadow was pink with dorer 

That blossomed under his feet, 
And the wind that wandered to and fro 

Had neyer seemed so sweet ; 
It Ussod the little blue fUz-flowerSv 

And tossed the field of wheat. 

The little son of Hans Yedder, 

The sweet wind kissed him, too^ 
The early looks on his broad white brow, 

And his eyes so brare and trae : 
The Jmie sky and the flax-flowers 

Were only jast as blue. 

He had been a diligent soholaTi 

And done his tasks so soon. 
The master gave him holiday 

For the whole bright afternoon ; 
And his mother gave him leave to play 

Till the rising of the moon* 

" When yon see her horn of silter 

Abore the dyke,*' she said, 
** Ton will anderstand the time has oome 

(Althoogh the sky be red) 
For little ohiekens to go to roosti 

And Uttle boys to bed. 

▼OL. X. HO. n. 



•« Come home in proper season, 

My good little son," said she. 
** And so I will, my mother," 

He answered sturdily. 
** It shall not be for a fault of mine 

If anything hinders me." 

About her work went the mother. 

With a cheerful heart at rest. 
From the time when, a baby plump and small, 

He had laughed upon her breast. 
Her little son, amongst all the boys, 

Was known to be the best. 

He was ready for fun and frolio. 

As a sturdy boy should be ; 
Nobody climbed, or skated, or ran, 

With a merrier will than he. 
But to honour his father and mother in all 

Was Hansel's rule of three I 

So the mother's heart was easy 

This afternoon ; for she knew 
What Hansel said was certainly 

What Hansel meant to do. 
It*s a light heart that a mother bean 

When she knows her boy is true 1 

She sang at her wheel right gaily. 
As she spun out the flaxen thread ; 

And she smiled as she laid the supper-cloth 
With a loaf of wheaten bread : 

'* I know how hungry the child will lit 
After his play," she said. 

o2 



sS 



HOME WORDS. 



So she set the table with honey 

Sweet in the waxen oomb, 
With a pat of batter, and golden cream, 

And a diflh of oiudfl like foaml 
" Soon I will see the white moon riBe, 

And my boy will be coming home.'* 

Bui the white moon rose, and floated 

Over the setting snn ; 
The daylight faded, the little stars 

Game twinkling one by one ; 
And the mother looked with longing eyes, 

Bat all in yain, for her son. 

The father, stoat Hans Yedder, said, 

" A woman can never rest ; 
She's like the gilded cook on the Tane 

That the wind blows east and west : 
Let the boy alone, he will find his way, 

Early or late, to his nest." 

" He promised to come," said the mother, 
" It is this that makes me afraid ; 

If nothing had happened to hinder him 
I am snre he wonld not have stayed. 

Some troable has overtaken the child. 
And his homeward feet delayed.*' 

Hans Yedder looked np and gmmbled : 

'* A woman can never be still I 
Clickety-daok, her tongae goes on 

Like the clapper in a mill ; 
Bat the man that valnes a qaiet life 

Most learn to march at her will." 

Bo the two went forth together. 

And of erery sool in the way 
She asked, ** £fave yon seen my Hansel ? " 

And no one was able to say. 
The neighboars smiled at her anxions looks : 

"Toa are far too fearful," said they. 

Bat more and more was she troubled, 
For the night grew black apace ; 

The wind blew chill from a sadden cloud 
That darkened the white moon's face, 

And a ragged streak of lightning flashed 
Across the hollow space. 

• 

She wrung her hands in the darkness. 
She prayed with a wordless prayer : 

" Oh, Ohrist 1 protect my good little son. 
And have him safe in Thy eare ; 

Oh, help me now to find the plaeo 
'Where he is, and lead me there 1 " 

But there came no answer to her, 

Only the rushing rain ; 
And tiie heavy drops they seemed to fkll 

|iA» lead cqpon heart and brain; 



Till homeward the weary mother went, 
For her search was all in vain. 

Hans Tedder, sad and silent, 

To his lonely chamber crept. 
And tossed about with a troubled mind ; 

Tet, after a little, slept. 
But the weeping mother all night looog 

Her sleepless vigil kept. 

She wakened the father early, 

^th the new day jost began. 
" Bise up," she said, ** and come with me ; 

This day shall nothing be done. 
Nor will I rest, till, alive or dead, 

I have found my little son." 

There were few words spoken between them, 
As they went again on their way ; 

The empty streets were dumb with sleep 
In the misty morning grey, 

And the silence of a mutual dread 
Upon their spirits lay. 

Beyond the line of houses. 
And the length of village street, 

Over a mile of beaten road 
They trod with hasty feet, 

TiU they reached the clover meadow 
And the field of early wheat. 

Some instinct led the mother. 

She knew not what or why — 
Bui she looked about her, right and left, 

With a sudden kindling eye : 
And all at once, with a leap of heart. 

She gave a joyful cry. 

•* What is it r " the father asked her, 

But she answered not a word ; 
Over the bending wheat she flew 

Like any wingdd bird ; 
The sudden breeze swept o'er Hons's face, 

By her rustling garments stirred. 

He followed her, not so lightly : 

The tender stalks were bent 
Under the tread of his trampling feet. 

That recked not where they went ; 
But never a thought Hans Yedder gave 

To the owner's discontent. 

For he saw what the keen-eyed mother 

Had been so quick to see^- 
A shadow that wavered to and fro 

Like the leaves npon a tree*- 
The shadowy shape of a little head, 

As plain as plain eoold be I 

It was lying, this little shadow. 
Against the broad stone dyke;— 



'fc 



THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM. 



29 



Nodding upon the white-washed wall 

At home he had seen its like, 
When the sandman, going his evening roonds, 

The sleepy eyes would stiike. 

Bat never the nodding shadow 

Had seemed so fair a sight, 
And never the father's heart had thrilled 

To such a deep delight. 
He who regains a treasure lost 

May read his joy aright. 

The mother she clasped her Hansel 

Glose to her heating breast ; 
All night his poor little tired head 

Had found no place to rest. 
And she raised her hands in mute amaze 

When the reason was confest. 

For the little son of Hans Yedder 

Had done a noble deed ; 
My heart leaps up within me 

When I the story read : 
Its courage and unselfishneag 

Few stories can exceed. 

In simple words to tell it — 

The child had left his play, 
And started promptly for his home 

Before the dose of day : 
The path that lay along the dyke 

Had been his nearest way. 

But passing here, his footsteps 

Were held as by a spell : 
From a tiny fissure in the rock 

A stream of water fell, 
And the watchful little Hollander, 

He knew the danger well. 

Many a time his father 

Had told him how this wall 
Kept back the sea, that otherwise 

Had OTcrflowed them all ; 
And showed him, if the dyke gave way. 

What ruin would befal. 

80 he waited not for counsel 

Upon the thing to do, 
But thrust his finger in the place 

Where the stone was cleft in two, 
And watched with beating heart to see 

If still the stream crept through. 

It trickled down for a moment, 

A thread of water thin, 
But the small forefinger wedged itself 

So tight the crevice in, 



That, presently, not a single drop 
Its harmful way could win. 

Then the child sat down oontented, 

And waited patiently : 
" Somebody, surely, will come by 

In a little while,*' thought he, 
" Who will stop the hole in a better way, 

And I shall be set free." 

Bat, alas for little Hansel 1 

No friendly step passed by. 
The moon rose, and the sunset light 

Ghrew dim in the western sky : 
Over the distant marshes rang 

The bull-frog's rasping cry. 

No human voice came near him, 

His lonely watch to cheer ; 
The bats and owls flew past him 

And made him shrink with fear : 
The rain beat down upon his head. 

And the lightning seemed so near 1 

And the little aching finger ! 

It was stiff, and numb, and sore ; 
All his body was cramped with pain 

He had never felt before. 
Bat the little hero kept his post 

In spite of the ills he bore. 

How long the night, and dreary, 

Can be but faintly guessed ; 
To his patient suffering at last 

Sleep brought a fitful rest : 
And the child waked up to find his head 

Upon his mother's breast ! 

She bore her treasure homeward ; 

The neighbours fiocked around 
To hear with wondering joy and praise 

How the little son was found. 
Hans Yedder stayed to mend the dyke. 

And make it safe and sound. 

When the builders came to see it, 

They said that crevice small 
Would have widened, ere the break of day. 

Till it Tmdermined the wall, 
And that Hansel's slight forefinger 

Had saved the lives of all ! 

So, honour be to Hansel 1 

And let them crown who will 
The heroes of the battle-field, 

Who march to fight and kill ; 
For me the little Hollander 

Is a greater hero still. 



BOMB WORDS. 



BI AOUlfl GIBIRMI, 4UTH0E OF " THE EBCTOb'H HOIII," "tM TKDDDTOTOIl'a DBllH," ITO. 

in the fear of God, and nnla aboTB all to 
pleass Him." 

Harrymadenoanawerto that. Hesbaped 
his lips aa if he was about to nhistlo. 

"What's that mass in the garden P" he 
asked, all of a sudden. " Some mieohier of 
the jonngeteraF There's a lot of flowert 
awfallf damaged." 

"It is old Gilpin," I sud. "We bardl; 
know how to get along with him at alL It 
is hard work being next-door neighbonn 
when a man won't be neighboorly ." 

"Why won't he F" 

"He's bad-tempered, and tokea oSenoe at 
everything. And it seems to me he hates 
everjbodj that is better than himselt U 
isn't the first time he has dons as harm: bnt 
Phil is terribl; disappointed, for the flowv- 
show is close at hand, and now he oan't try 
for the prize. He's taken saoh paiiia,too, with 
them flowers." 

"It's a shame. Gilpin might hava been 
more careful," said Harry. 

"It wasn't to do with want of oaroil onlj 
wish it was," I said. " Jamie threw a stone 
into his garden, and he says it nearly hit him ; 
and he was that angry, he pitched a lot of 
earth and stonea into oar garden faaok for it, 
and they fell on the ahow-flowers. I don't won- 
der Ph^ is vexed, bnt it can't be oared now." 

Td pitch into him if I was Proctor," 
Harry said; and when he hod epoken the 
words my haaband pat his head in at the 
door, and went away again. It was joet npon 
half-past four, and I was afraid my plan hod 
not done much good after all ; only I oonld 
not help seeing that Phil looked quiet, and 
not angry. So I thought maybe he vonldn't 
tay ao much as he might hare said three- 
qoarters of an hour before, and " Least sud 
eooneat mended" is a true saying. Tm 
always alhudof too many words being let 
Blip when one is vexed. I didn't feel easy 
(hongh I had some hopes, and I got np to 
begin laying the cloth for tea, bo that I could 
take a peep or two oat of the window. Bat 
I saw nothing of Phil. 



SIL had been a good while 
gone, and the clock-band 
was working its way ronnd 
very near to half-past fonr, 
when our new lodger, Harry 
Carter, came in. The firat 
I heard was a cheery " I 
say, mother," and when I looked 
np, there he was. 

My husband was a pretty big man, bnt 
Carter qnite put him in the shade. I think 
any mother might have been proad of his 
brood chest, and his strong toll figore, and 
his blae eyes. 

"I say, mother"— he always called me 
mother, as oar other young lodgers had done 
before him, and aa he had been used to do 
elsewhere — " I say, mother," says he, " what's 
the name of that orosty-looking chap next 
door?" 

"What, old GilpinF" said L " Gilpin is 
his name, Harry. I shouldn't be sorry if we 
were anything bat neit-door neighbours. 
Haven't you spoken to him yet f" 

"No, I haven't," Harry said, looking down 
on me from his great height. " Why, dear 
me, I haven't been in this place three days. 
Soyouwiah you weren't neighbours F That's 
juat what I don't. I've seen the prettiest 
girl in there I ever did see in all my life." 

"Annie GilpinP" sud L "She's of a 
different sorb from her father." 

" She's the sort for me," ssid he. " I 
shouldn't wonder if she's got the make of 
a good wife in her." 

" You've got sharp eyes to find that out so 
qoiok," says I, "but I do really believe it's 
true. Annie hasn't a happy home now : for 
with Gilpin's temper I don't see how any 
home ooald be happy, and Annie's mother is 
a pitiful sad sort of woman, not at all enliven- 
ing for any yonng girl to be with. Bat I do 
think she has trained Annie well and care* 
fully, and I know Annie is a girl tb^ lires 



NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS, 



31 



*' Yoa're a good hand at spreading a table/' 
said Harry, when I had laid out the nice 
white doth, and the bread and the butter, 
and the cresses that we sometimes had for 
onr Saturday treat, and the good plain cake 
which I made once a week, and which Phil 
always said I was such a capital hand at 
making. For I thought that if Phil came 
back still vexed and worried, it would com- 
fort him to find tea all ready in good time. 

Phil came in at last, and sat down. He 
looked sober and cool, and not like a man 
who has just been giving a scolding to some- 
body else : for, as everybody knows, scolding 
isn^t a cooling sort of work. 

"Look ye here, Harry," says he, "don't 
you forget one thiog. I've got the wisest 
little woman that ever lived for my wife, and 
you needn't suppose you'll ever find another 
like her." 

" I'm not so sure about that," said Harry. 
" I rather think I shan't need to look far, if 
somebody else is willing." 

"EhP" said Phil. 

" Well, I don't say much yet, you know, 
but it's a may-be," said Harry. " I saw her, 
and we had a bit of a talk, and I don't know 
as I made a bad impression on her, either." 

He wasn't likely to do that, — specially, 
dressed out in his best half-holiday suit and 
his crimson tie^ He couldn't help knowing 
what a manly handsome young fellow he was ; 
and I know that only that very morning, when 
he was at work, he had heard somebody who 
was passing point him out as a "splendid 
specimen of manhood." That's just what he 
was, and he took pride in knowing that there 
wasn't another navvy in his gang who could 
£^t through an equal amount of work in an 
equal time. But with all this he was very 
good-natured, and not given to quarrelling, 
and as simple as a child. He was as easy 
led as a child, too, in doing right or wrong, 
which isn't so much to be wished for with a 
full-grown man. 

"And who is it ?" asked Phil. 

" Somebody with an old father that don't 
seem gifted with an overcivil tongue," said 
Harry. 

"Annie Gilpin. Why, she's a chick," said 
FhiL " But she's a nice little girl. I don't 
know a niceri outside my own doors. It's a 



wonder she is what she is, — but she had a 
good mother. Get Annie in to tea, Sue, and 
we'll take her with us on the river." 

" I'll go and fetch her as soon as ever I've 
made the tea," said I, putting the kettle on 
a hotter part of the fire. The parlour opened 
into the kitchen, and I could talk across to 
him quite easy throagh the opening. 

" That's good of you," Harry said, and he 
looked so pleased. " It's more than I expected, 
after the old man spoiling of your flowers. 
It's a shame. He ought to make it good." 

"Last thing Gilpin's likely to think of 
doing," said my husband. 

" What'll you do about it P " asked Harry. 

" Well, I don't know as there's much to be 
done. The poor things are pretty well d^one 
for already. I'd a notion at first that I would 
give him my mind,but Sue was against it ; and, 
after all, that wouldn't put the flowers right. 
I found Iwas likely to give him a bit too much 
if I was once set off; so I just didn't begin." 

" But something ought to be done," Harry 
said, and Phil answered, " So Sue says. She 
says he's got to be conquered, only she didn't 
like my way. Maybe her way is best." 

" A man can't fiJways fall in with woman's 
ways," said Harry. " It's all right for a 
woman to give in tamely, but a man's got to 
be a man. It ain't manly, to be trampled on 
without a word." 

"It would be a mighty manly action, 
wouldn't it, Harry, if I was to go and kick 
old Gilpin, and knock him down P " 

Phil spoke very quietly, and Hany couldn't 
help laughing. 

" Why, I'm twice as strong as he, to begin 
with," said PhU. "And if I wasn't, well, 
maybe it would be a relief to my feelings; 
but as for manliness, I don't see anything 
manly in getting out of temper, and I never 
did see it. I never get out of mine but I'm 
ashamed after." 

" But I say, if you don't mind what you're 
about, and defend yourself somehow, you'll 
have Gilpin trying it on in all sorts of ways," 
said Harry. 

"We'll defend ourselves somehow," said 
my husband. And I felt so proud of him 
that I couldn't help telling him so in a whis- 
per as I went by his chair. 

" Ah," said he, "I shouldn't have come off 



33 



HOME WORDS. 



conqueror but for my little Sae. The enemy 
nearly had me this time." 

" What enemy P" asked Harry. 

"The enemy of souls, lad. One that's 
always going about seeking whom he may 
devour. It's a fashion now-a-days to make 
little of that enemy/' Phil went on; "but I 
know his power. I know it, and I wish you 
young fellows all knew it too. There wouldn't 
be BO many of yon get into his clatches if 
you did." 

Harry looked a bit grave for a minute, 
whUe I was making the tea. And just as I 
was thinking of going after Annie, Jamie 
came pulling her along with him to our door. 
Annie Gilpin was only sixteen then, though 
she was taller and more slim than me. She 
had shy and almost frightened manners, 
which, I suppose, came from her father's harsh 
ways, and she had blushing cheeks, and 
brown eyes that used to fill up with tears in 
a moment, though commonly they were 
smiling. But she had no smile on her face 
that afternoon, and it seemed a question 
whether Jamie would pull her in or whether 
she would puU him oat. 

I don't think she palled with much of a 
will, especially after my husband said,/' Oome 
in, Annie, — what's the matter? — come in;" 
for Jamie won the day, and she came np to 
me, blushing and looking very sorrowf uL 

" Oh, Mrs. Proctor," said she, " clo yoa know 
what father has doneP I couldn't have 
thought it of him. Oh, it does seem too bad," 
and tears ran down her cheeks. "You'll 
never be able to forgive as, either of you. 
But you can't have found it out yet, or you 
wouldn't ask me to come in." 

'' That's the sort of Christians you take us 
for, is it P" says my husband* 

"But it was 80 wrong, — oh, so wrong," said 
Annie. " And you've taken such pains, and 
you were so sure of a prize." 

" Too sure, maybe, since it seems the prize 
is to be somebody else's," said Phil. " Don't 
you fret, Annie, for nobody will blame you. 
It wasn't a neighbourly action by any manner 
of means, and maybe I'll pay your &ther 
back for it yet in some sort of coin, but it 
won't be by turning a cold shoulder on yoa." 

Annie didn't know exactly what to make of 
this speech. 



" Sit down, sit down," said PhiL " We'U 
have tea together, and enjoy ourselves. 
There's no company to-night, for we've 
settled to go boating after tea: so yoa shall 
be our company, and Sue shall give yoa a 
lesson in steering. You know Hurry Carter, 
don't you ? Sit down." 

Annie did as she was told, and when our 
elder boy, Willie, came in, we began our tea. 
Willie was a quiet thoughtful sort of lad, 
and a great comfort to me, only Phil was 
vexed at times because Willie didn't take 
more to his trade. He was not a boy to say 
much at any time, and he had not half the 
fun in him that Jamie had ; but there wasn't 
a boy of his age in Little Sutton who gave 
his mother less trouble than Willie gave me. 
I could trust him anywhere. 

Harry was very particular in looking after 
Annie, and trying to make her eat more than 
she wanted. He only seemed sorry that she 
could not drink six cups of tea instead of two, 
that he might have had the pleasure of hand* 
ing them to her. 

The long summer evening wasn't over 
when we came back from our row : so we sat 
down in the garden. I remember how soft 
and still the air was, and how the gnats were 
frisking and whirling under a branch near us, 
and how there was not one single doud to be 
seen over all the blue sky, as the sun went 
down, and how pretty the flowers looked 
along each side of the pathway. Phil was 
right proud of his geraniums and carnations, 
and I was proud for him, knowing what a 
deal of pains he took with them. Sometimes 
people stopped in passing to admire, and I 
heard one lady say, "That's the prettiest 
cottage-garden in all Little Sutton." 

Annie sat with us, now and then saying, 
" I ought to go home ; mother will expect me." 
But Harry always made answer, "Oh, no 
hurry yet; wait awhile;" so she stayed on. 

My husband got up presently from off the 
bench, — it was one he had made with his own 
hands in the early mornings, for he loved a 
bit of carpentering) — and walked away. But 
presently he came back, with a lovely white 
rose and two rosebuds in his hand. " There," 
said he, *' that's all I could save fix>m the 
wreck. These were broke off short, and were 
sheltered somehow. They're the only ones 



NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS, 



II 



not smashed under dust and mbbisl;. Yoa 
don't often see a more perfect rose than that, 
Harry. Look at its shape, now. I wonder. 
Sue, whether you wouldn't like Mrs. Conner 
to have it. I don't see why somebody 
shouldn't." 

Mrs. Conner had been my mistress through 
my fifteen years of service, and Mr. Conner 
had employed my husband nigh upon twenty 
years. That was how Phil and I came to- 
gether, being both, as one may say, in the 
same employ ; and good friends Mr. and Mrs. 
Conner always were to us. We have had 
reason to be thankful again and again for 
that. 

I was pleased to think of Mrs. Conner 
having the flowers : so my husband started off 
that minute, and he took Jamie with him. 
Annie gave a sigh when they were gone, and 
said, " How kind of Mr. Proctor not to be 
angry with father 1" and I made answer, 
'' There's no denying he was angry, Annie; 
but, you know, he must forgive." 

Harry said the word " must " after me. 

" Yes, because the Bible tells us so," I said. 

" But, Mrs. Proctor, I don't think every- 
body does always just what the Bible tells," 
Bidd Annie gently. 

"Not everybody," I answered. "There's 
many a one doesn't even ti*y. But how if we 
love Cod, and take His Book for our rule P" 

"Only it isn't easy to forgive," she said. 
" It's hard to keep from being vexed when 
unkind things are said." 

Harry made some little remark about being 
quite sure nothing ever put Annie out. She 
didn't heed him, but looked straight at me 
in a questioning sort of way. 

"We have to do it," I said. "It isn't a 
question of easy or hard, or a matter of may- 
be. It is a matter of must-be. For we are 
told as plain as words can tell it that if we 
don't forgive men God won't forgive us. 
Why, for my part," I said, " I don't see how 
the two things can fall apart. I don't see 
how we exi-M be forgiven children of God, 
loving and serving Him, and keeping up 
anger and bitterness in our hearts towards 
men. It isn't possible. One must conquer 
the other." 

" Well, I never was a spiteful sort of chap, 
nor given to keeping up malice," remarked 



Harry. " But I didn't think about God not 
forgiving." 

"It's what the Bible says," I answered him. 
" And it's what we pray every time we say, 
'Forgive us, a* we forgive.' If we don't 
forgive, what does that prayer mean but that 
we ask Gk>d not to forgive us either? " 

"Anyway, bIiq didn't say she csouldn't 
forgive," he said, looking across at Annie. 

"Oh, but I meant that; I did mean just 
that," Annie said, flushing and folding her 
hands together. "lam afraid sometimes I 
don't forgive as I should." 

I knew she was thinking of her father. He 
treated her and his wife more like dogs than 
women. But I only said, " It has to be done, 
Annie. If I was you I wouldn't stop asking 
God to make mo do it — I wouldn't stop ask- 
ing till I was able." 

I heard Annie say very low, " I won't ; " 
and after that she soon got up and went home. 
Harry saw her to her own gate, and when he 
came back he had a good deal to say about old 
Gilpin's ways and Annie's sweetness, — for 
that she vaoi sweet there's no denying. While 
he was in the midst of his talk my husband 
and Jamie returned, and Phil was looking as 
gay as if he had never wanted to get the rose 
prize at all, while Jamie had a large square of 
plum-cake wrapped up in neat white paper. 

" That's not all," Phil said, as Jamie showed 
us his prize. "Mrs. Conner came out to 
speak to me, and when she saw the rose she 
did exclaim, to be sure. She said she had 
never seen anything like it. And then one 
of the little Miss Connors passed by, and 
Mrs. Conner called her to look at it, and 
made her get the cake for Jamie. They 
asked me why I hadn't kept the rose for the 
show the day after to-morrow, and I said 
there had been an accident, so I couldn't 
compete. They were very sorry to hear that : 
and then Mrs. Conner said she knew Mr. 
Conner wanted a word with me, and would I 
step into his study P So I went, and the 
long and short of the matter is. Sue, that I'm 
made foreman. And right glad I am that, 
my temper didn't master me to-day, or I*d 
have a sore feeling at this moment in tho 
middle of my good news." 

But Phil couldn't be more glad and thank- 
ful than I was myself. 



HOME WORDS. 



Zc^ond from ti>t iBoolu 

II. "THE TRACT THAT ALL MEN BEAD." 

[ BIOHT BBT. THB lARII BISHOP OF SODOB UID 1 



" Ebdwh and read of »11 d 

1 can be no donbt 

reiy mnch good u 

hj the distribntion 

icta. Many a one 

I refased to read 

'ord, or to go to a 

place of worsbip, Iibs been arrested bj some 

itartliDg text or irord of warning put into 

his hands as he passed along the streets. 

It is a verj good plan for those who love 

Bonis, for Jesns' sake, to carr^ tracts about 

with them, aa thej have so many oppor- 

tnnitiea of thus sowing the seed. Bnt, 

perhaps, yon say, " I hare tried ; and I 

never can get people to read what I give 



Now I want yon to remember that Oisre 
U a tract that all men read, — that tract, 
dca» Christian reader, is yoursei/— you are 
an epistle " knowit and bead op all hen." 
If yon are washed in the blood of Jesns, 
and sealed with the Holy Spirit, the life of 
Ghrifit becomes yonr life ; and yoa have to 
go forth into the world, bearing witness to 
the truth, by yonr word and by your lifo. 
Ton have, by God's grace, so to reflect the 
image of Jorqb, that others may, by be- 
holding yonr heavenly life, be led to glorify 
yonr Father which is in heaven. 

What harm is done by inconsistencies 



in a Christian's lifo, by thonghtless OOQ* 
duct, foolish conversation, levity of man- 
ner I We know how Uie snn goes on 
shining, and the world goes hurrying on 
aronnd it. Daily it exerts an inflnence for 
good, hj its light and warmth, and few 
take any notice of it. Bnt only let a spot 
appear npon the son ; at once every eye 
and finger Is directed towards it, and 
people are writing to the newspapers 
abont it. 

It is JDst so with the Christian. Tha 
world is hurrying on abont htm, and as it 
passes, though few take any notice of him, 
he can exert his infiuence for good. But 
only let him stumble, let him show any 
inconsistency of conduct, and then the 
world will point and scoff at him, and his 
influence for good is hindered. 

Think of this, my dear Christian brother 
or sister. Ton can do much for yonr 
Savionr's glory. Do what yon can by 
word; but above all, live aa those who 
are washed in the Blood of Jesns, and 
keep yourselves unspotted from the world. 
So shall men see that the " life which yon 
now live in the flesh yon live by the faith 
of the Son of God, Who loved you and 
gave Himself for you." You shall be an 
epistle "known and read of all men." 



III. 



THE STRENQTH-GIVINQ LOOK. 

BT TUB LATE PBANCES KISLET HAVEBOAL. 



" And tht Lord looked upon him, and e 
■OB the might of the look of the 
j Lord is enough fbr anything I 

Very graciously does the Master 
sometimeB give this strengthening 
look. We know that our Lord has looked 
open ns, and the look has flashed electric 
strength into heart and hand ; and we go on 



id, Oo in this tli; misht."— Jud. ri. li, 
our way rejoicing, not at all in feeling any 
more able than berore, bat in the brightness of 
His power, sajing, " I will go in the strength 
of the Lord God." But who is it that aball 
have this strengthening look of the LordF 
" Tothia manwillIIook,"saith Jehovah, "even 
to him that is poor and of a contrite spirit." 




■' ^osT ^: 



BLESSED FOR ' 



Bi TUB un nuicii uolit HiTxaoiL. 

(I>miSih (h( latt ef llitu Inui <i snuTlaii^ Ouj^ m dkatn » a clorini ckorl fg &fr Biiiii on wrU.) 

TYTHS prsfer of mtnj « day Ib all fuIGlled, 

Only by lull fmition aUjed and stilled ; 

Ton asked tor bleuiDg as jonr Fsthei drilled, 

Nov He hatli annraied : " Mort blessed for crer 1" 
Lost it the daily light at mntnal smile, 

Ton theisfoTS soitow now a little while ; 
Bat floating down lile's dimmed and lonely aiale 

Comes the oleai mnsio: "Uost blesaed for ever I" 
From the great antbema ol the Crystal Sea, 

ThTOngh the far Tiataa of Eternity, 
Grand edioes of tho word peal on tor tbee, 

Sweetest and tnlleet : " Uoat blened tor ever 1 " 

[We give the above lines from " Under His Shadow," the last Poems of FautoiB 
BiDLBV Hiraaaun which are now pnblished by Ueesrs. J. Kisbct A Co. The 
Engraving of Aitlay Cbnroh, the Beetory. and Chnrchyard, is from " Echoes from 
the Word," published at Hand and Heart Office.] 



BOMB WORDS. 



inoDrm %^xm SB9rtttrst 

"SPECIMEN-GLASSES- FOR THE KINQ'S MINSTRELS. 

ST TBI UTB mUICXS BtDUT O&TXKOAl. 



L DitBODDCTOBT. 

:CrUEN - GLASSES" 
■re smftll, clear, and 
colourleBB vRses, not 
intended to attract ad- 
miration or attention, 
bnt only to Beire tbe 
purpose of presenting 
cboioe single ipecimens of rosea or other 
flowers, whose speraal beauty might be over- 
lookedin a larger vate or acrotrded claster 
In the same waj these little papers are not 
intended to be elaborate and noticeable essays 
on modern Hymns or Hyron-writers, bnt only 
to be the means of presenting some beantifal 
hymns to the readers of Home Word* which 
might olherwise escape notice in the larger 
collections in which they occnr. 

It is a very old storyto talk about "flowers 
of poesie." Bat the oldest ideas are not 
always the worst, and the ezpreasion is per- 
haps most applicable to all tme and worthy 
Hymiu, Far- wafted fragrance, eiqaisite 
workmanship, delicate and striking beanty of 
form and colour, stores ot hidden honey, are 
not the only points of coroparison. There 
should be in OTery snoh flower incormptible 
seed, which may spring np in the heart ot 
many a gatherer, blossoming there in the 
beanty of holiness, and bearing fniit nntQ 
life eternal. Although many a Hymn may, 
flower-hke, fade and pass away from remem- 
brance, having fulfilled some lowly mission 
of Bolooe to a few, or, it may be, only to one, 
other Hymns are tme amaranths, and never 
die, rather gaining than losing the power ot 
their fragrance and loveliness as years and 
evencentories pass on. On those which have 
thns beoome treasores of tbe Cfaorcb, and the 
Home, we shall not tonch ; bnt we propose to 
gather a few for onr Specimen-Glaases which 
are oomporaliTely leu known, and recently 
prodooed. 



IL IHB BBT. W. FBHITUITDZB's BTXHS.* 

It seems that God sands among na liring 
illustrations of what He wonld have ns learn, 
and that the lives of some of His people are 
like valoable engravings set between the other 
leaves ofHis great lesson-books. EngntTingsI 
yes, the word is suggestive; for it is not 
without shoip graving-tools and great cost 
and special skill and labour that these living 
pictures are prepared for their position. Per- 
haps no more perfect " proof " has ever been 
given for our study than one beneath which 
the inscription reads unmistakably thns — 
"The Power of Holiness." The "6«o«(y of 
holiness " has often been shown and reoog* 
nised, but perhaps we needed a gnnd illns* 
tration of its power. It has been giren, and 
the portt^t bears the name of William Fenne- 
father. 

Where the holiness really is, there is always 
the proportioned power, felt even if resisled, 
and none the leas strong because it is secret. 
Wby was he able to do so much more than 
others F so much more than men of greater 
physical and intellectual strengthF No one 
spoke of bim as a talented man, but as a holy 
man, wholly consecrated to his holy Master. 

" Dedicated 1 He was indeed dedicated, his 
substance was dedicated, his time was dedi- 
cated, his poor frail body was dedicated, even 
to tbe very lost, to his Father; his natural 
amiability was dedicated; he lived only for 
one thing." 

Tbis seema to be the key to the almost an- 
paralleled influence of his life. It was at 
once intense and far-reaching. 

Those who came in personal contact bear 
witness to it, not by empty words, bat by 
Uvea changed, brightened, elevated, atimn- 
lated, stirred np, sanctified. A nobla bond 
of workers sprang up around him, working 
themselves and setting others, far and near, 
to work also. Uerely to read over a ban list 



• A poKiait ol tbe Bev. W. PennafaUia hi given in enr Jannaiy Hunbat. 



MODERN HYMN WRITERS. 



37 



of "what he actaally Aid,, almost takes away 
one's breath. One marvels how any one life 
conld produce snch results ; and yet that life 
was cut off long before the years- were fall. 
The charches, the schools, the institutions, 
the conferences, the missions, the homes, — 
hardly a possible device for practical, spiritual, 
or temporal benefits, to all classes, but he had 
set it on foot. And so marvellous was his 
organization of all, so far-seeing was his 
training and placing of workerSf that nothing 
needed to halt or suffer when the hand that 
set all in motion was withdrawn. 

It was not North London alone that felt his 
power. Were there an*^ of the thousands 
who came each June from all parts of the 
kingdom to his great Mildmay Conferences 
who went away without that threefold bless- 
ing which always seemed granted, — personal 
joy in the Lord, increase of desire for personal 
holiness, and great increase of zeal and power 
for workP These great blessings, together 
with more definite aims, and treasures of 
pi-actical hints and suggestions for all im< 
aginable branches of Christian work, were 
taken back into hundreds of parishes, bearing 
untold fruit and golden results. 

Would we have a glimpse of the inner life 
which resulted in such an outer life? Let 
ns read the following hymns in their simple 
sequence^ and we shall have it. Let as seek 
the same close and jo3rful communion with 
oar Lord Jesus, the same realization of onion 
with Him, the same spirit of praise that can- 
not keep silence, the same deav and steadfast 
gaze of faith, which brings the "shining 
shore " " almost within sight," and then may 
we strive, not all in vain, to follow him as 
he followed Christ. 

THB PALACE OF OUB KIKQ. 

And may I really tread 
The palace of my King, 
Gaze on the glory of His f aoe^ 
And of His beauty sing f 

I am not worthy, Lord i 
Hot worthy to draw near ; 
My feet are dusty with the way, 
I hesitate— I fear I 

** But wherefore tremble thus r 
I washed thee dean and white ; 



I decked thee with salvation's robo, 
Fairer than morning light 1 

<« I hold thy hand in Mine, 

And as I walk beside, 
The pearly gates lift up their heads, 

And for us open wide. 

<* They opened long ago, 

Opened to let Mt in, 
When I, returning from the fight, 

Had conquered death and sin. 

" And they stand open still, 
Open, my child, for thee ! 

Then enter in with joyf ulness. 
And use thy liberty." 

Jesus I I t0t7I draw nigh, 
And in the " secret place," 
Behold the beauty of my Lord, 
And banquet on His grace. 

THE BIYEB OF LIFE. 

Ere each morning breaketh, 

I would see Thy face, 
Jesus 1 Precious Saviour ! 

Jesus 1 King of Grace! 
For my thirsty spirit 

Longs to drink again 
Of the living river 

Flowing through the plain. 

Hark I how sweet its musio 

As it dashes by. 
Clear and fresh as ever, 

Li its melody. 
From the crystal city. 

From the throne on high, 
It has leaped to succour 

Sinners lest they die 1 

Flowing where the desert 
Looks most parched and bare : 

There its shining wavelets 
Sparkle everywhere 1 

We, with dying thousands. 
Would again partake 

Of this crystal river- 
It our thirst can slake. 

It the drooping pastures 

Can refresh and bless, 
And with fragrant blossoms 

Clothe the wilderness I 
Oh 1 Thou living Spirit, 

Give us of Thy dew : 
Then our souls, like gardens. 

Will yield fruit anew 1 



S8 



HOME WORDS. 



'•ONB LOBD, ONE FAITH." 

O Holy I Holy Father, 

ChriBt ascended high, 
pure celestial Spirit, 

Eternal Trinity 1 
We, with Thy ooimtleBS ieraphs, 

We, with Thy saints in light, 
Bow down in adoration, 

And praise Thee day and night 

One life perrades Thy ransomed. 

Within the golden gate. 
And those who still are pilgrims, 

And for their glory wait. 
The shouts of triumph yonder. 

The plaintive songs of earth, 
Flow from the Spirit's presence ; 

Both own a heavenly birth. 



The pieoioiM blood of Jesus 

Is now within the veil — 

Yonder Thy saints behold it, 

^ We too by it prevail I 

Upon each shining forehead 

We read the Saviour's Name ; 
While we, now pressing for- 
ward. 
Bear on our brows the same. 

Then teaeh ns. Lord, to worship 

With loving hearts to-day : 
And whilst we sing Thy praises, 

And learn in faith to pray. 
Help ns to feel our union 

With all who know Thy Name, 
And glory in Jehovah, 

Unchangeably the same I 



««Mi«^«^>^kM 



^ut0 tottl) itermld^ 

ft 

BT UNCLS JOHN. 



L OOBTXXTlCSHli 




GENTLEMAN had a board pat 
up on a part of his land, on which 
was written: — ^"I will give this 
field to anyone who is really con- 
tented." When an applicant 
came, he asked, " Are yon contented P *' The 
general answer was, " I am ;" and his reply 
invariablj was, "Then what do yoa want 
with my field P" 

XL A CHBiaOAL SXFXBIMENT. 

Whbv Isaac Hopper, the American Philan- 
thropist, met a boy with a dirty face or hands, 
he would stop him, and inquire if he ever 
studied chemistry. The boy, with a wonder- 
ing stare, would answer " No." " Well, then, 
I will teach yoa how to perform a carious 
chemical experiment," said Hopper. "Go 
home, take a piece of soap, put it in water, 
and rub it briskly on your hands and face. 
Ton have no idea what a beautifal froth it 
will make, and how much whiter your skin 
will be. That's a chemical experiment: I 
advise you to try it." 

nX. THI BBE AND THX DOYB. 

A UTTLB bee fell into a brook. A dove saw 
him from above. She broke a small leaf from 
a tree and threw it to him. The bee swam 



toward it and safely helped himself oat of the 
water. A short time after the same dove was 
quietly sitting on a tree when a hunter softly 
came up and took aim at her. He had already 
cocked his gun ; the bee came and stung him 
in the hand. Pas'! off went the gun aside. 
The dove flew away. To whom did she owe 
her life P 

lY. A HBLP TO SaCClSS. 

An English judge being asked what contri- 
buted most to success at the bar, replied : — 
" Some succeed by great talent, some by the 
influence of friends, some by a miracle, but 
the majority 5y txmvm&Mi'ng xxAXhoui a «&i2- 
Knflf." 

T. A LESSON TO LKABNSBSL 

When old Zachariah Fox, the great merchant 
of Liverpool, was asked by what means he 
contrived to realize so large a property as hv 
possessed, his reply was: — ^"Friend, by one 
article alone^ in which you may deal too, \ 
yoa please; it is oivilUy'* 



TL THE HOXB HAGNET. 

A wm wbo has tried the experiment says. 
*' When a man finds a place that is pleasanter 
to him than his own home his wife should 
put two extra lumps of sugar in his coffee, 
and double the quanti^ of sonshine in the 
front room." 



HOME WORDS. 



a C^at abottt iHoiup. 



SUFFOSB vfl all know Bome- 
thing of the valne of monej : 
«t least wo onght to da And 
moreover, we all know tliat six- 
pence car«fiilly laid oat will 
go ninch fnrttier than if it is 
thrown awaj; and we need nob 
be estraordinarily good arithmeticians to dia> 
cover that one ahilliog, well spent, will go jaat 
twice aa far as sitpenoe will I Now, shillings 
are not bad thinga when a man knows how 
to spend them; the more we bavo of them — 
provided we come bj them honeatly — the 
better. 

It takes a great deal of heat to melt silver 
in a furnace; bnt yon do it in no time of a 
Satnrday night in a pnblio honse; and if jon 
are in the habitof taking odd drinks throagh 
the week, wbj it melts stilt foster. 

Bememhar that one shilling a week is £2 
12«. a year, and many drink a deal more than 
that ; thos frittering awaj their dearlj earned 
money, setting a bod example to others, act- 
ing unfairly by the wife, and robbing the 
children of their inheritance. 

I know many » ao-c&lled moderate drinker 
who spends nine or ten ponnda a year upon 
beer and spirits. Now, a qaartem of spirits 
or a qnart of beer a day costs about nine 
pounds in a year. Let ns see what that nine 
pounds would do. We will auppoae Bill 
Waters to have a tidy little wife and » strap- 
ping great boy, well tangbt at achool, and 
soon abont to be " 'praiticed " to ft carpenter. 
He buys— 



_ ^_ . of 8-4 

^huilRiU ... 9 
Coratlid 6 

Foi fas WirE. 



Stnw 



3 



Cloth CloeJt 

BhanlHmndkaref 16 

CoUoD for Qawn G 

Staff P«tdooBt ... 4 3 
FUnuel forPetti- 

S 8 



BroDght om 4 7 10 
For the Bot. 

Boj'iC^ 1 

A pur of Hose... 14 
„ Hi^h Shoa 10 

dutiuSoit 18 

Calico for Foot 

SluTta 8 

Fob Biiib Eihselt. 



Hot... 



..070 



FutuaCoot 10 

„ Wautcoot 6 
7 6 



onb............ u £ o . J, XTOOBen v / u 

CdttoD for Shirt 3 6' CaJrao for Shirt OSS 

A pail of HoM... 1 , Neckerchief I 

„ Shoes 8 , A Fair of Eom 14 

„ Girl's do. G 6 „ High Shoe* 14 

£4 7 101 £9 18 

We have over-shot onr mark by la. 6(1., hut 
that does not matter to a careful chap like 
Bill. This ia what &a does with hia brass; 
while Tom Swigger, a respectable party mind, 
who doesn't get dmmk, spends all his spare 
caah upon beer for himself (quite £9), to say 
nothing of his standing treat now and then to 
hia mates, which costs him jnat half as much 
again or more. Bill Waters spends his £9, 
and snre enough the money is gone, but then, 
look what he has got for it I Tom Swigger*B 
money is gone too, but where P Into the till 
of the " Cook and Piddle," from whence it is 
drawn, to be converted into artiGoial flowers 
and By-away bats, and gorgeous petticoats, to 
deck the Wdlord'a daaghtera withal. 

Now I do think, that of all ways and means 
for sinking money, that of sinking it into the 
pablic-hoQse till, ia the most foolish that ever 
was known. 6. J, IL 



% ^ooli Samaritan* 



Boring a rery severe frost and 
"1 fall of anew in Bcotland, the 
I fowls did not make their appear- 
the hour when they 
usually retired to roost, and no 
one knew what had become of them. The 
house-dog at lost entered the kitchen, having 
in his month a hen apparently dead, forcing 
hia way to the fire, the sagaoiona animal loid 
big charge down upon the warm hearlbi and 



immediately set off. He soon came again 
with another, which he deposited in the same 
place, and so continued till the whole of tbe 
poor birds were rescued. Wandering about 
tbe stack-yard, the fowls hod become quite 
benumbed by the extreme cold, and bad 
crowded together, when the dog observ- 
ing them, efleotod their deliverance, for 
they all revived by the warmth of the flra — 
Jessb. 



IN YACHT AND CANOE. 



41 



«■ !■ 




In i^ad^t anli Canoe^ 

BT JOHN MACaBBQOBy V.A., GIPTAIN OF ^'THB BOTAL CANOE CLUB." 



II. A STORMY NIGHT OFF BEAOHY HEAD.* 



iHE barometer mounted 
steadily all Sandaj, so we 
resolved to start from 
Newhaven at break of day. 
Bat though the night was 
quiets the Colchester fish- 
ing boats near my berth 
were also getting ready; therefore at last I 
gave np all hopes of sleep, and for company's 
sake got ready also after midnight, that we 
might have all the tide possible for going 
ronnd Beachy Head, which once passed we 
conld find easy ports all the way to London. 
So abont two o'clock, in the dark, we rowed 
out on the ebbing tide. 

Dawn broke an hour afterwards with a 
dank and silent mist skirting up ibr-away 
hills, and a gentle east wind faintly breath- 
ing, as our tea cup smoked fragrantly on 
deck. The young breeze was only playful yet : 
so we anchored, waiting for it to rise in 
earnest, or the tide to slacken, as both of 
them were now contrary ; and meantime we 
rested some hours preparing for a loug spell 
of unknown work ; but I oould not sleep iu 
such a lovely daybreak, not having that most 
valuable capacity of being able to sleep when 
it is wanted for coming work and not for 
labour past. 
The east wind baffled the yawl and a whole 



fleet of vessels, all of us trying to do the 
same thing, namely, to arrive at Beachy Head 
before two o'clock in the day; for, if this 
could be managed, we should there find the 
tide ebbing eastwards, and so get twelve 
hours of current in our favour. 

This feature — ^the division of the tides there 
— makes Beachy Head a well-marked point in 
the navigation of the ChanneL The stream 
from the North Sea meets the other from the 
Atlantic here, and here also they begin to 
separate. After beating, in downright sailing, 
one after another of the schooners and brigs 
and barques in company, I saw at last with 
real regret that not one of us could reach the 
point in time, and yet the yawl got there only a 
few minutes too late ; but it was dead calm, 
and I even rowed her on to gain the last 
little mile. 

One after another the vessels gave it np, 
and each cast anchor. Coming to a pilot 
steamer, I hailed, '* Shall I be able to do it P '^ 
"No, sir," they said; "no, — ^very sorry for you, 
sir; you've worked hard, sir, but you're ten 
minutes too late." Within that time the tide 
had turned against us. We had not crossed 
the line of division, and so the yawl had to b< 
turned towards shore to anchor there, and to 
wait the tide until nine o'clock at night, un- 
less a breeze came sooner. 



* This sketch deaoribes a night of stormy and never-to-be-forgotten experienoe spent in the English 
Ohannel, during the ** Voyage Alone in the Yawl "Rob Roy," (London : Sampson Low A Go.) This yawl, 
built by Messrs. Forrestt, of Limehonse, the builders for the Boyal National Lifeboat Listitution, is 21 
feet in length, and is fnll-decked to keep oat the sea above. Her cabin is comfortable to sleep in, but 
only as arranged when anchored for the purpose. Sleep at sea is forbidden to her ** crew." Her 
internal arrangements for cooking, reading, writing, provisions, stores, and cargo, are specially devised 
and quite different from those of any other yacht. She carries a little dingey or pant — a Ufeboat only 
eight feet long — to go ashore by, to take exercise in, and to use for refoge in last resource if ship- 
wrecked. Mr. Macgregor tells us : — 

** This little boat was quizzed unmercifully, and the people shook their heads very wisely, as they 
did at the first Bob Boy Canoe. Now that we can reckon about a thousand of such canoes, and now 
that this little dingey has proved a complete success and an unspeakable convenience, the laugh may be 
forgotten. However, ridicule of new things often does good, if it begets caution in changes, and stunu- 
lates improvement. Good things get even benefit from ridicule, wMoh may shtike off the plaster and 
paint, though it will not shiver the stone." 

The stozm off Beachy Head, described in this paper, occurred towards the close of the " Voyage 
Alone,*' after sailing along the dangerous coast of France, crossing the broad Channel (100 miles) to 
Littlehampton, and- thence to Newhaven. The yawl is now in Australia. 



t}i> 



^Ml' 



WATCH OM DECK. 



THE GHOST OF ROB ROY OFF BEACHT HEAD. 



IN YACHT AND CANOE. 



43 



After three hoars' work she reached the 
desired siz-&thoms patch of sand, just nnder 
the noble white cliff that rears its head aloft 
about 600 feet, standing ever as a giant wall 
sheer npright oat of the sea. Dinner done, 
and everything set right (for this is the best 
policy always), I slipped into my cabin and 
tried to sleep as the sun went down ; bat a 
little land breeze soon began, and every now 
and then my head was raised to see how tide 
and wind progressed. Then I must have 
fallen once into a mild nap, and perhaps a 
dream : for sudden and strong a rough hand 
seemed to shake the boat, and on my leaping 
up, there glanced forth a brilliant flash of 
lightning that soon pat everybody on the 
alert. 

Now was heard the clink of distant cables, 
as I raised mine also in the dark, with only 
the bright shine of the lighthouse like a keen 
and full-opened eye gazing down from the 
cliff overhead. Oompass lighted, ship-lantern 
fixed, a reef in each sail, we steered right 
south, away, away, to the open sea. 

It was black enough all around ; but yet the 
strong wind expected afber thunder had not 
come, and we edged away eastward, doubly 
watchful, however, of the dark, for the crowd 
of vessels here was the real danger, and not 
the sea. 

Look at the ghost of Bob Boy flitting on 
the white sail, as the lamp shines brightly. 
Down comes the rain, and with it flash afber 
flash, peal upon peal of roaring thunder, and 
the grandeur of the scene is unspeakable. 
The wind changed every few minutes, and 
vessels and boats and steamers whirled past 
like visionB, often much too near to be wel- 
come. 

A white dazzling gleam of forked lightning 
cleaves the darkness, and behold 1 a huge 
vessel close at hand but hitherto unseen, 
lofty and full-sailed, and for a moment black 
against the instant of light, and then utterly 
lost again. The plashing of rain hissed in the 
sea, and a voice would come out of the un- 
seen, — " Port, you lubber I " The ship, or 
whatever it is, has no lights at all, though on 
board it they can see mine. Ah, it's no use 



peering forward to discover on which side ia 
the new danger; for when your eye has 
gazed for a time at the lighted compass, it is 
powerless for half a minute to see in the dark 
space forward; or, again, if you stare into the 
blackness to scan the faintest glimmer of 
a sail ahead, then for some time after you 
cannot see the compass when looking at it 
dazzled. This difficulty in sailing alone is 
the only one we felt to be quite insuperable. 

Again, a steam-whistle shrieked amid the 
thunder, and two eyes glared out of the form- 
less vapour and rain — the red and the green 
lights ~the signals that showed where she 
was steaming. There was shouting from her 
deck as she kept rounding and backing, no 
doubt for a man overboard. As we slewed 
to starboard to avoid her, another black form 
loomed close on the right ; and what with 
wind, rain, thunder, and ships, there was 
everything to confuse jast when there was 
every need of cool decision. 

It would be difficult for me to exaggerate 
the impressive spectacle that passed along on 
the dark background of this night. To show 
what others thought, I may quote the fol- 
lowing paragraph from the "PdXX MaXL ChtzeUe 
of next day : — 

''The stoi*m which raged in London 
through the whole of last night was beyond 
question by &kr the most severe and protract- 
ed which has occurred for many years. It 
began at half-past eight o'clock, after a day of 
intense heat, which increased as the evening 
advanced, though it never reached the sultri- 
ness which was remarked before the storm of 
last week. The first peal of thunder was 
heard about nine, and from that time till after 
five this morning it never ceased for more 
than a few minutes, while the lightning may 
be said to have been absolutely continuous. 
Its vivid character was something quite un- 
usual in the storms of recent summers, and 
the thunder, by which it was almost instan- 
taneously followed, can only be described as 
terrific. The storm reached its greatest vio- 
lence between two and three o'clock, when a 
smart gale of wind sprang up, and for about 
ten minutes the storm was really awfal.'* 



(To he continued*) 



^ 



HOME WORDS, 



I KDITOB'S HOTE-BOOK. 



fV. "A LOST LADDFEl- 

" I »ni pity the soirowa of ftU 

Who are ready to fail in th* fight, 
And B nord m*; b« sent on my faltering bcealli 
Which shall uve tome desperate eonl bom death, 
Aa mine baa been xaved to-night." 



GOUGH, in » reoent 
speech, told the fol- 
lowing touobuig iaci- 

" A yonng Sootoh- 
man called to see me, 
who Bfaoned me bis 
diploma as a physician. He waa a graduate 
or Edinbargh University, a fiae-lookiDg fel- 
low, aa handsome a man as ever walked the 
streeta, except from being marked and scarred 
by thia enemy. Arter some conversation he 
left me, and bis last words rang in my ears ; 
they brought tears into my eyes, and I think 
I shall never forget tbem. Standing before 
me, be said : ' I am very mooh obliged to yon, 
Ur. Gough ; you have given me yonr time, 
and yon have told ma the trath : bat it's noe 
use, there is noe hope. Shake hands with 
me, will you P I am a lost laddie I ' and he 
wentaway. Aa I saw him going oat, stalwart 
■nd strong, in the pride of beallb, a lost 
laddie,' my eyea filled with tears, and at night 
I awoke, bearing the cry of a despairing man, 
' I am a lost laddie I ' " How many ' lost lad< 
dies' are thereto-day in the United ScatesF 
How many are there in ihe City of London P 

V. A VOLUME IN A LINE. 

At a Temperance celebration m Newmarket a 
little lad appeared in the prooesaion bearing 
a flag, on which waa insoribed the following ; 
— "All's right when doddy'a sober." 

VI. THE BE9T TEMPERANCE AQENT. 

Tbs best Temperance agent is a clean and 
well-ventilated home. The life ia the blood ; 
and witbont pure air, healthy blood is but a 
name. Open the window and let hcBlth inl 
No training, however skilfolly conducted,— 
no dieting or tcetotaliam, however rigid or 
prolonged,— can bring a man into good con- 
dition, either inbody ormind, Bolotigos ho is 
compelled to breathe an impnre atmosphere. 



VII. BEER v«nui BRIOXa 

"TniBB," said an artisan in one of the mana- 
facturing diatriota in Lancashire, "every foot 
of that nail represents a gallon of kle." 
" How is that P " " Thus, sir : I naed to spend 
BO much in the alo-boiiHe; but after reading 
one of Br. Begg'a pamphlets, I began to put 
my money into the Building Society ; and in- 
stead of helping to erect a palace for ' mine 
boat,' I have built a cottage for myaelf." 

A very practical Temperanoe argument, 
not easily ana were d by " mine host." 

VIII. FOUR QOQD REASONS. 

I HAVE tried both waya; I apeak from ex- 
perience, I am in gooi spinta becaose I take 
no apirita; I am Aob becanaa I nse no ok; I 
take no antidote in the form of drags bec*ase 
I take no poison in the form of drinka. Thua, 
thongh in the first ioatance I Bought only the 
public good, I have found my own good alao 
since I became a total abstainer. I have these 
four reaaonB for eontinoing to be one: lat. 
My health ia stronger; 2Dd, "^j bead ia 
clearer; 3rd, My heart ia lighter; 4th, Hy 
purse is heavier. — Thtrma* Qv.Qvn*, DJ). 

IX. ROVAL EXAMPLE. 

Thb Princess Loaiae is understood to be a 
total abstainer. It is atated that the Queen 
brought np all her children without alcohol 
until they were seventeen, unless ordered 
by the family doctor. The youngest of Her 
Majesty's married daughters has, it b said, 
Been no reason to depart from the habit which 
she had formed in early life. 

X. A BREWER ON SUNDAY OLOSINa 

At a meeting at Dudley, Mr. Oonnoillor 
Dawes said : — " He might seem a little out of 
place on that platform that evening, for many 
of them were teetotallers and he waa ft brewer. 
He was in &tvour of the total closing of pnbtio 
houses on Sundays. He bad abont twelve 
houses nnder hia own jurisdiction, and there 
was not one of them open on Sunday. On 
Saturday they took double the amount of 
money that they took on any other day, and 
ha could assure the meeting that beer would 
keep perfectly good if parchased on Sotanlay 
and bottled." 



A If AND AT FAULT, AND A HAND TO HELP. 



45 



9 ^anH at jTauIt^ anti a %anti to flelp. 




BT THE REV. a J. STONE, M.A., AUTHOR 

ATHER rosebuds, who will, while 
ye may," 
Sings the poet, and singeth 
right well, 
Bat beware ! on the bloom-laden 
spray 
There are spears ready couched to repel. 

" Grasp a nettle with will, without fear. 

It will only the carefal annoy," 
Says the saw : and who hears let him hear ; 

But that wonH do with ro«e«, my boy I 

And if e*er, 'mid the roses, too late. 
What you doubted before you can feel, 

Then repenting, amending, go straight 
To an older wise hand that can heaL 

It will heal you by pain upon pain ; 
The sharp needle may go to the core, 



OF "the knight of INTBIICESSION," ETC. 

But— the thorn -out — your face smiles again, 
And your heart is more wise than before I 

All this is a story of life. 

And is true as the truth is, my dear! 
There are pleasures with perils as rife, 

As the roses have thorns you must fear. 

Likewise, there are evils and foes, 
Kettle-like, which you needs must destroy, 

And with them at your will you may close : 
But that worCt do with pleasures, my boy ! 

But if e'er it should hap, without heed, 
That you find in such pleasures your bane. 

There's a Hand that will help at your need. 
And a pain that delivers from pain. 

Aye ! a pain that delivers from pain ; 

You must face it, though cry if you must ! 
Never mind I such a loss is a gain : 

You will smile when it's over, we trust. 



m^0^^^^t^i0^^f0^m^^i^%0^0^0^m^m 



Cl^ejftatuedStOybpl^abersalCl^tirc^ iHfddtonarp iHemorfal fm\^* 




E wish it were possible to convey to 
others the feeling produced in our own 
mind by the widespread and generous 
response accorded to the proposed 
Church Missionary Fund in memory 
of Frances Ridley Hayergal. 

The* amount received now exceeds £1700. But 
even this noble sum cannot be rightly estimated, 
unless it is borne in mind that it represents the 
distinct offerings, as nearly as we can calculate, of 
some ten thousand contributors. Many also of the 
letters accompanying the contributions indicate that 
even the smallest offerings ''have cost '' the givers 
'* Bomethsng," and are literally expressions of heart- 
gratitude to " The Sweet Singer," who stimulated so 
many to the consecrated life, and whose voicO; 
happily, in her Boyal Books, still^ 

' Rings on with holy influence deep and strong." 

We venture to express the hope that many more 
will yet " cast in their mit^." It should be borne in 
mind that the twofold object of the fund* affords 
seox>e for the expenditure of almost any amount that 
could be raised. The openings for the employment 
of native Bible women in India might, indeed, almost 
engross the funds of a society ; and the circulation of 
translated and selected portions of " F, B. H.'8 " 



writings in India and other mission fields, would well 
employ the amount already raised. 

As one indication only of the need of Christian 
literature in our mission fields, and the special fitness 
of selections from " F. B. H.'s " books for circulation, 
the Bev. Prebendary Wright says : " The following 
extract from a letter just received from one of our 
missionaries in Ceylon shows that there need be no 
fear of our being able to put the F. B. H. Memorial 
Fund to good account : — ' I have begun t<f translate 
Miss Havergal's "My King" into Singhalese, and 
ask for a grant to print and bind the same. I intend 
to translate her other works.' " 

We hope "other mission fields" — European, 
African, and American, as well as Asiatic — ^will also 
be reached by " F. B. H.'s " translated books ; but 
even confining ourselves to India, it is sufficiently 
clear that further offerings to the Memorial Fund 
may well and wisely be made by those who have not 
already contributed. 

Contributions can be sent to the Bev. Charles 
Bullock, Hon. Sec. of the Fund, 7, The Paragon, 
Blackheath, S.E. Cheques and P.O. Orders payable 
to 0. Douglas Fox, Esq., Hon. Treasurer. All 
sums received are acknowledged weekly in Hand a/nd 
Hearty and a full list of contributions will be ulti- 
mately sent to each contributor. 



rf»^>^l^»^l^>^>^^^^^^% %0^F^0%/^Wm^l^*^» 



"A HAND AT FATILT, AND A HAND TO HELP," 



J 



>r><>oo<>OOC<*00<>0<>OC"&0000<X>0000©O^OOOC<XX>0000000<X>OCK>0000<>0000<>'^ 



J 



TffE YOUNG FOLIOS' PAGE. 



47 



^t I^oung jToIits;' T^in^u 




IV. STARVING SELFISHNESS. 

HAT do yoa think I wiah to Bterre and killP 
Johnl VLujX wholsyoargnateetenemyP 
•■John." ''ICary.** I maA to kiU Toar 
great enomy, to staira it. to kill It. What 
ii ftp StVIAfMtt. That great» big, agly 
thing Mlflihnewi *'L I. L" "Me. Me. 



Me.*" *'QiTeittome." aOf. StI/. 8nv. 

Let US tey to think if we can «(ar«t taffittvMu this Lent 
It will he agood fast if we do that^ Belilshnees is such 
an ugly thing. *' We get as muoh as we give." Thexeforeb 
gi?e all yon ean. 

V. DONT BE A DEAD SEA. 

Tsna is a lake in the Holy Land : ererything nms into 
Uk and nothing nms oat of it. It is "The Dead Sea.** 
The waters mn into itj hat it waters nothing else again. 
Bo it is a dead sea. Srerything aboat it is dead. Don't 
yoa ba a dead asal I hope your heart won't be a dead 



sea, filled with self; eveiTthIng coming in, nothing going 
oat. Don't be a dead seal "Freely ye have received : 
freely giTe," 

VI. NO AeOOUNTS TO SETTLE. 

Wkiv the Bey. Henry Blnnt was dying, the doctor satd 
to him, ** Sir, yon are drawing near the gmyeb and I think 
if yoa have any acooonts to settleb yoa had better settle 
them." Mr. Blnnt replied, *' I haye no aocoonts to settle ; 
I owt nothing to maMt avb mt Batxovb has yazb axx xt 

BBBTB «0 Gon 1" 

Whatabeantifalstatetobeinl God grant wa may aU 
be able to say it^ when we come to die. 

VII. PITHY PROVERBS. 

"Dixitobetrae: nothing can need a He.** 

"He who wants to dig will find a spade somewhomi* 

"If yoa've no moneya yon mighl hays "mmimm m 



IV TBI IXOBT BXT. TES LOBD BIBHOP OV 80D0I AID MAI. 




SPECIAL PRIZE DISTRIBUTION. 
1.000 VOLXnOBS of "THB DAY Qg DAYS" ANNUAIi, COoth Gfll^ U. eadk 

HI Olergy and Baperintendents of Sunday Schools, who have deferred awarding the Prises for the best 
Answers to oar janoaiy Questions till the Answers were published, can have the Tolnmes of *'THB 
DAT. OF DATS" ANNUAU as offered in our Januaiy Number, enclosed in their liaz«h paroels on 
writing to 

MS. OHARLia MUBBAT, "HAND ft HBABT" OFFICII 1, Pifnurotm BvxLDZvas, LoVBOV, B.a 



BIBia QUBSTIONS. 
L TKTHAT character ave we assured has God's tpedal 

I. We read of two heathen women In Soriptare^ the one 
of whom had a presentiment that her husband would not 
sucoaed In injnnng the Jews, the other that her husband 
shoald not injure the Sng of the Jews. Who were they? 

5. In what place were many of our Lord's miracles 
wronght whion are not recorded P 

A Whose name was changed beeauM of the Lord, and 
yet ia nerer spoken of by the name which God gaye him f 

6. When was the seryant of God awakened by an an- 
gelio yoioe to arise and realise his safety f When by a 
human yoice to arise and realise his dangerP 

6. What two people who were loyed by Ohrist did He 
spcskk to spedslly about one thing P 

7. In speaking of the promised return of the Jews to 
FslesUne, how does God m some of the prophets distin- 
guish between Israel and Judah, the ten tribes and the 
twoP 

8. Whidh of oar blesied Lord's parables giyes the key 
to tha right nndarstanding of all the rest P 

9. Are we eyer told in what language Ohrist spoke P 
and what are the only instances we haye of His speech in 
the original ftnmP 

10. Which is the first Psalm wherein we haye the word 
Spirit applied to the Holy Ghost P 

II. How many, besides eur Bleesed Lord, were named 
In Scripture preylous to their birth P 

19. What Is the Kaster's only description of Himself 
which shows how mutih His seryant Hoses must haye had 
of the Master't qdritf 



AN8WEBS (See Dio. Na, page £88). 

L Damaris, Acts xyii. 84. n. Jud. yiii. 8; 1 Sara. 
84-84. m. Gains, 8 John 6, 6. lY. St. James. 
James it 88. Y. Wearing a horn upon the forehead, 
which was yery com mon in the Bast. vL 1 Ohron. xxiii. 
6 } Amos yi. 6. YII. Acts ziii. 11 ; xiy. S-10 jxyL 18 j xix. 
11, IS; xz. 10-18; zzyiU. 6; zxyiii. 6^ 9. TUL St. Luke 
xyi. 10. 



ANSWEBS (See Jiv. No., page 23). 



He saw 



I. He saw Nathanael imd«r the tree (Jno. 1. 48). 
Zaochssus up in ttie tree (Luke zix. 6). 

9. St. Paul (Acts ziy. U ; and Actsxxylii. Q. 

8. Dayid (8 Sam. xi. 8). Nebuohadnessar (Dan. ly. 29), 

4. foh iccxyii. 18. 

6. Bsra z. 9 (Margin). 

6. Luke yiii. 13. 

7. The odour of ointment 'sosnts only In one place, the 
odour of a good name eyerywhere (ICaric. xiy. 8. 9). 

8. St. Paul (8 Cor. xiL 4). The Penitent Thief (Luke 
xxilLiS). 

9. When Hoses numbered the people, It was to collect 
the tax for the sanctuary— the atonement money (Bxod. 
XXX. 11-16). But when Dayid numbered thepeople, it was 
by the temptation of Satan, to distrust the Diyine promise 
(iGhron. xxi.]). 

10. John xii. 20. 21 ; Acts yilL 87, etc 

II. Yes— his kinsmen, Andronicus and Jnnia (Bom. 
xyi. 7). 

12. while the spirit of the commandment Is plain 
(Matt. y. 81, 82X there are circumstances under which 
idlling Is lawful, yis.. Judicially, criminals ((jtan. ix. 6, 8), 
and in a righteous war|l Sam. xy.8» ^ 



wmmttmmf^ 



• ^ ^M^MW«MMMnM»W 



.-^>^Jir 




FEBRUARY.'r- 



OF THE T 



Wo 
walk Ijb fattb. 




Sftirttlfff ^ 
ihom ibrmiab Ttrff trtttb. 



ij 


u 

W 

I 


BelinolnlhsLordfMMOlirlM. AoU ivi, SI. 


all 


B 


QttinQii«gM.8.rfc.H<iiiiOwVflod. Lufcaiv.S*. 




" WHAT iroald'it thon ba J " 

JJ A bleHiDg to eafli duo aar.».......u, 

A chalica nt daw to Itao weuf haart, 

* — ' * ' — biddlDB aorroir dop«rt 

id TtsMl • bawooOnbb 



A nlghUnnle aonn in th* darkeet ttisbt 

A beckoDlns bSDd to ft tU'Oir sonl. 
An ftnoal oMove M aacb fr!cndlo« lonl. 

SnchtrauldlbOi 
(Bi tbst null bappiuoH itera for me I— F. B. K 



HioistiT.— Wu It ni 



wboDi B> bl 



ir only. T<^ the " BtnmgBrt Ii | 
le (liendlincu and klndnsM which ne nui; ahow them ; imd tba R i 
« who need oar mlnlidx ^hy ahonid we bncy it is adi thcao 
'-'— " V,Bfm"t—F.S " 



-■ -■^^^:.}, 



A—" n "wTiiiit ti 



/^;t«.-^^^<^C«^ W 



HOME WORDS 



FOR 



'^tm mn lj(tmk> 



»«on Saik, St Bars iX CfgAtt 



fl 



AN EASTEB HYMN. 

6T THE BEY. W. MACILWAINE, D.D., CANON OF ST. PATRICK'S, DUBLIN. 







jOLL back, ye ban of light; 
Wide open, g^tes of glory ; 
All heaven, behold the sight, 
Attend the wondrous story : 



1 e angel hosts that crowd 
Aroond the Oonqneror's car, 

Proclaim His praise alond. 
Whose mighty ones ye are. 

Bise, saints, the Lord to meet. 
To praise and to adore Him ; 
Gome, worship at His feet. 
And oast yoar crowns before Him. 
Lift up your heads, ye gates, 

And let the Victor in ; 
Eternal triumph waits 
The Yanquisher of sin. 



At mom the Saviour rose, 

Like giant from His slumber; 
Fled all His mighty foes. 
Though countless was their number ; 
Death and the gloomy grave 

Have yielded up their prey ; 
Almighty now to save, 

On high He takes His way. 

Bide on, ride on, Lord, 

The golden gates enfold Thee; 
In highest heaven adored 
Oar eyes may not behold Thee : 

Yet hear, oh ! hear our praise. 
Great Saviour, God and King, 
As thus our hymn we raise. 
Our heart's devotions bring. 



A STOBY OP PBBSBVBBANCB TJNDBB DUPIOULTIES. 

BT FREDIBICK SHERLOCK, AUTHOR OF "ILLUSTRIOUS ABSTAINERS." 




OHAPTBB L 

EABLT UFB. 

EBBB was sound common 

sense in good President 

Lincoln's quaint phrase, 

" Keep peggin' away," and 

few men have followed the 

advice more closely than Mr. 



YOL. X. NO. in. 



Mark Knowles. The story of his eventful 
life is well calculated to stimulate and en- 
courage the yoath of the land to " aim high," 
and affords a powerful illustration of " Per- 
severance under Difficulties." 

Bom of humble parentage, at Boe Lee, near 
Blackburn, in 1834, a year memorable for the 
hand-loom famine, and the consequent dis- 
tress, his future path in life did not seem to 

D 2 



52 



HOME WORDS. 



be very inviting or promising. His parents 
were tben in a state of great poverty, and his 
poor mother was often without sufficient food, 
a fact to which medical men attributed her 
son's lameness on his left side. Work re- 
vived after a time, but the distress had told 
upon his father, who died, leaving five young 
children to lament his loss. 

Mark was only four years old at the time : 
but the writer has heard him say that he 
remembered the day perfectly well. It was 
the very day his mother went to the Poor 
Law Guardians to see about going into the 
workhouse. The dying father guessed the 
object of his wife's visit to the Guardians, and 
referring to it said, '* I have made that child 
the subject of special prayer to Almighty 
God, that he may never want any good thing, 
and I am sure that my prayers will be heard 
and answered." More than forty years have 
elapsed, and although " that child " has had 
many ups and downs, and has been put to 
terrible straits at times, he recently stated in 
public that ** He truthfully and thankfully 
acknowledged God liad not allowed him to 
want any good thing." 

With his father's death the real struggle of 
life began, and his mother had for a time to 
find shelter in the workhouse, where life then 
was very different to what it is now. The 
poverty which sought relief was too often 
considered almost a crime ; and between the 
workhouse and the gaol, so far as comfort 
went, there was not a great deal of difference. 
Thanks to the efforts of Lord Shaftesbury 
and others, things in this respect have under- 
gone a change, and children in workhouses 
are much better cared for than they were 
forty years ago. 

In 1843, the Rev. R. T. Wheeler, M.A.,was 
appointed Vicar of St. John's, Blackburn, 
and soon afterwards, with the kindness that 
was his distinguishing characteristic, he no- 
ticed young Knowles in the streets, went with 
him to his mother's cottage, and finally agreed 
to pay for his education. Afler three years* 
schooling, the boy was sent to his first situa- 
tion in a boot shop, and there received two 
shillings per week wages. He was thus 
thrown among men who drank a good deal, 
but to their credit, be it said, they never tried 
to persuade him to drink. One man, indeed, 



used often to say, '' We drink, but it's no good 
to you. I have had your share and the shares 
of a great many others." A drunken boast, 
which was literally a sober truth, and for 
Knowles a very happy truth toa 

Just before he was twenty years of age, a 
wholesale dealer came to his master's shop 
and said, " Are you Mark Knowles ? " Ho 
replied, " Yes." '* I have been recommended 
to give you a place in my warehouse in Man- 
chester," was the rejoinder. " Lads in Man- 
chester," continued the speaker, " are bo 
accustomed to bad ways that I cannot trust 
them, and I must have one who will keep 
clear of them." Knowles replied, " Well, sir, 
I am lame, but I have kept well to my work, 
and have no companions except those who 
attend the Sunday School and Mutual Im- 
provement Society. What wages will you 
give P " The gentleman said, " We have been 
giving thirteen shillings a week and board 
and lodging^." Knowles was afirfud that his 
infirmity would stand in his way, and that at 
any rate he could not expect to receive so 
much ; but he ventured to ask how much 
would be given Mm if he went to Manchester. 
He did not at first get a reply, and had rather 
an anxious time of it while his interrogator 
* went away for a few hours to transact busi- 
ness and consult his partner. In the course 
of the afternoon the friendly stranger re- 
turned, and, to the utter amazement of the 
youth, with whose manner and conversation 
he had evidently been struck, undertook to 
pay twenty- six shillings per week, in addition 
to providing board and lodgings. It is need- 
less to say the ofier was promptly and grate- 
fully accepted. 

His attention to his work was soon reward- 
ed by a further increase of wages, and ulti- 
mately he received £2 per week. This was 
almost too much for him, and, as he now 
states, he "began to have an exaggerated 
notion of his true position." It was then, 
too, that he made the mistake o! his life, by 
attending a discussion ckss, the chief object 
of which was to discountenance religion. 
This naturally led to other mistakes ; but, as 
we have seen, he was the child of godly pa- 
rents, and their prayers followed him. Mark 
was led to repentance by an old man, who re- 
proached him for his misoondnct, and asked 



NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOURS, 



liim what he thought his &ther would say if 
he saw him in the company of the " philoso- 
phical debaters." At first he resented the 



advice given, bat the rebake had touched his 
heart, and before three days were over, he 
left " philosophical debating " for ever. 



{J^o ht conXinut^,) 



^unlrai? Selld. 




WEETLY chime ttie Sunday 
bells. 
Echoing o'er the waters gray, 
Up the mountain, down the 
dells, 
Calling rich and poor to pray. 



Hark, the blessed Sunday bells ! 
Happy, peaceful, Sunday bells ! 

Chiming, chiming, 

Sweetly chiming. 
Echoing over hills and dells, 
Happy, peaceful, Sunday bells. 

ANOli. 



■M^>i^^^S^^^^fc^»^»^M»rffc^^>^^i^^*^>*Mi* 



BT AGNES GIBBRNB, AUTHOR OF " THB EECTOB'S HOME," "TIM TEDDINGTON'S DEBAM," ETC. 




CHAPTER ni. 

habbt's mother. 

'HAT a miserable thing 
it is to be sure, for 
husband and wife to 
be ill-matched! There 
were our next-door 
neighbours on the one 
side, John Gilpin and his 
wife; he a fractious, ill tempered, sulky, 
snappish man, and she, that might have been 
a blithe young woman still, worn to a fretting 
puling creature, with ne'er a smile for any- 
thing or anybody. And there were our 
next-door neighbours on the other side, 
William Saunders and his wife; he the 
soberest, steadiest-going of men, loving order 
and cleanliness and home comfort ; and she 
a noisy, gossiping, dirty slattern, always idle, 
and always in a muddle. Many's the time 
we've asked Saunders to our own table, just 
to get him out of the wretched mess he'd 
have had to eat in. 

" She's very wrong ; she's doing her best 
to drive him to the bad," my husband said 
sometimes : and sometimes I spoke to Sukey 
Saunders, and told her plain truths too. But 
nothing made her angry, and nothing seemed 
to make her care, for she went on still in the 
old way. It was quite a trouble to me to be 
living next door to her, for everything about 



her belongings was always in a state not fit 
to be seen, and I never liked my boys to 
have much to do with her six. 

We went to the flower-show in the evening 
when it was cheap, and most of the neigh- 
bours went too. I saw Sukey Saunders 
there, flaunting about in a dirty light gown, 
and a shabby bonnet with big staring pink 
roses in it. Saunders looked ashamed of 
her, poor man, as well he might, and Phil 
said to me : — " I shouldn't like my Sue to be 
dressed like that." I said, "I couldn't : " and 
then he said, "No, nor any other woman 
either, with a grain of self-respect." And 
we both pitied poor Saunders. 

Annie Gilpin went to the show with us, 
and when we came near the rose-stand her 
face took quite a pitiful set. Harry saw that, 
and he talked fast, and tried to make out 
that the prize rose was a better one than 
Phil's, so that afler all Phil had lost nothing. 
But we all knew better; Phil's had been 
much the best; this one wouldn't have 
stood comparison with it for a moment. 

We had a pleasant evening in spite of the 
disappointment, and when we went home 
Gilpin was standing at his door, with a pipe 
in his mouth. Phil gave him a " good even- 
ing " as we passed, and got a grunt back again. 
Before we had gone six steps Gilpin changed 
his mind about speaking, and shouted out. 
" I say, Where's that gal of mine P " 



54 



HOME WORDS. 



" Annie was a bit ahead of us/' I said, and 
I tamed back. " She's home by this time, — 
gone ronnd by the back lane maybe. We'll 
keep her to snpper." 

'*Back lane! shonldn't wonder: so as I 
conldn't see her. Send her back this minute. 
She's been galivanting about long enough." 

I tried to ask for half an hour, but he 
wouldn't hear me: so Phil and I went in, and 
I told Annie. She got up directly, and said, 
*' Oh, I must make haste," and she would not 
let Harry go with her. I could see she was 
afraid of a quarrel, if Gilpin was out of temper. 

It was three or four days after this that my 
husband and our Willie had a talk about 
what Willie was to be. I remember it well, 
more particularly because of what came after. 
Harry Carter was late that evening, and I 
had been wondering why, and hoping no one 
was leading him into mischief. 

Phil wanted very much that his eldest boy 
should be in the trade, as was natural ; and 
he wanted it all the more because Mr. Conner 
had offered to take him free as apprentice. 
The thing was pretty near settled, and though 
I knew Willie was loath, I didn't think to 
pay much heed to a boy's fancies. But I 
suppose Phil thought it best to have the 
matter out, for that eyening after tea he 
spoke up suddenly in a blunt sort of way : '' I 
say, Willie, what's this about your not liking 
to be in the trade P " 

Willie blushed up, and looked as though 
he would a deal rather not have answered. 
He was a shy quiet boy, given more to think- 
ing than talking, and more to books than play. 

" I don't want to be a mason, father/' says 
he. 

" So youVe said to somebody and some- 
body said to me." Willie looked uncomfort- 
able, for there's no doubt he had said it to a 
good many "somebodies." "Well, then," 
says my husband, "what <2o you want to 
beP" 

" Not a mason," Willie said again. 

" What's your reason ? " 

" I've more reasons than one," says Willie, 
fidgeting. 

"Tell 'em out, and don't be chicken- 
hearted," said my husband ; and I said too, 
" Don't be afraid, Willie." 

" I wouldn't say one thing,, only I know 



you won't tell again," Willie said. ** I know 
some of the apprentices, father, and they 
have to do things I shouldn't like. The men 
put them to do wrong things." 

" Don't you ever &e put, then," says PhiL 

"But supposin' I couldn't help it, father?" 

"Don't talk to me of 'couldn't help.' 
There's no living man can make another sin 
against his will. You'll have to be a man, 
Willie, and to remember what's your duty aa 
a soldier of the Lord Jesus." 

" But, father. Bob— I mean he that told me 
— said he had to do things." 

"A man can be made to die but he can*t 
be made to do, without his will's in it. Mind 
you that." 

" Only he said if he didn't do what the men 
told him they'd be angry, and not teach him 
the trade." 

" Ob, it's come to the point now," says my 
husband. "It's a question of doing wrong 
or of losing something. Well then, see that 
of the two you choose the losing. Better be 
a worse workman than a worse soldier of the 
Lord Jesus Christ. But there's many a fear 
of that sort that don't come to much in the 
end. Make a firm stand for the right from 
the first, and be civil and obliging, and no 
fear but you'll be respected. Why, dear me, 
as if there was a workshop in the kingdom, 
or any other sort of shop either, where you 
wouldn't come in the way of temptation. 
You '11 have your troubles of that sort, wher- 
ever you be," 

Willie looked hard on the ground, and said 
nought. 

" I'd save you from them glad enough if I 
could ; but I can't. And if you pray and fight 
bravely, and don't get overcome, no fear but 
you 11 be the stronger for 'em in the end. 
Mind you be a servant of Gk)d out-and-out. 
as much in the workshop as at home, and 
you'll make your way. Half-heartedness 
runs into difficulties where whole-hearted- 
ness jumps over them. Well, what's the 
other reasons P " 

" You'll laugh at me," says Willie, turning 
all over as red as a turkey-cock. "But, 
father, I (Zo want to be a great man some 
day, and I can't if I'm a mason." 

My husband seemed to be thinking for a 
minute. 



NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 



S3 



«< 



" Never knew that before/* Bays he slowly. 
Wife, yoa hear. A mason can't be a great 



man. 

" What does Willie mean by a great man P *' 
I asked of them. 

" Ah, what ? " said my husband. " Maybe 
the lad 's set his heart on being on one of the . 
ladders that leads to the Lord Chancellor- 
ship or the Prime Ministership." 

"Fm not like to climb so high/' Willie 
said, and he looked a bit bashfaL 

"No, you're not," says my husband. 
''They're crowded ladders, and there's but 
few of the hundreds who set out together 
that reach near the top. And they who do 
aren't always the happiest." 

" But you don't know yet what I may be 
able to do," Willie said. 

"No, I don't/' Phil said. "But I know 
one thing, and that is that if you aren't great 
in your daily work you'll never be great in 
anything. For real greatness is doing well 
whatever God gives us to do, and real little- 
ness is leaving undone what He sets us. 
Whether you've got to build a house or build 
an empire, or whether you've got to rule ten 
thousand men or a dozen sheep, it 's the looy 
yon do it that matters. Put self aside, and 
do your very best in God's sight, and you'll 
be a great man." 

"But who thinks a mason or a shepherd 
great?" asked Willie. 

*'Ah, there you are again!" said Phil. 
" Who thinks and who doesn*t think ? What 
does that matter P Do your duty, and mind 
what God thinks, and never mind about men. 
Be great, and they '11 find it out ; but if they 
don't, what matter P True greatness lives to 
(2o, Willie, not to be admired." 

" Only you don't mean to say, father, that 
a mason just doing his duty is as great a man 
as the Duke of Wellington was P " 

"Maybe so, maybe no. We haven't the 
means of measuring. He hasn't the same 
claim on his country's gratitude, nor the 
same call to be looked up to, — that stands to 
reason. But the Duke didn't work for admira- 
tion. He worked hard enough, but it was all 
for duty, — duty, — duty, — and love to his 
country, not himself. That is how he came 
to be so great. Of course he had talents and 
powers that most men haven't, and he used 



them well; and we've got to use ours well, 
whatever they be." 

" But supposin' — snpposin' — 1 7uu2 powers," 
says Willie very bashfully. 

" Well then, use them," says my husband. 
I hadn't often heard him speak so quick and 
decided-like as he did that day, and I felt 
right proud of his sense. " Do your best, 
and if you've got powers, no fear but you'll 
rise. A pebble goes to the bottom of water, 
and oil rises to the top, and men are pretty 
sure to find their level. The stones won't 
rise, and the oil won't sink. If you're clever 
and if you're diligent too, no fear but you'll 
rise in time. But don't you go and cheat 
yourself with the notion that being great and 
being clever are the same thing. There's 
many a great man who isn't clever, and 
there's many a clever man that isn't g^reat." 

"Mother says you want me to learn the 
trade," says Willie, hanging down his 
head. 

" So I do, lad. I want you to make up your 
mind to go through with the apprenticeship. 
Study as hard as you will in spare hours, and 
I'll be glad enough you should, and glad to 
help you. And if you see a different way of 
life lie open to you after the seven years, 
why, I'm the last man to hinder you. But 
there's the opening now, and I don't know 
a better, and it does seem to me we'd be 
wrong to let it slip." 

'Til do it/' said Willie, speaking quite firm; 
" I'll be apprenticed, father, — and you shall 
see I'll do my very best." 

"That's a brave boy: that's spoken like 
an Englishman now," says my husband ; and 
Willie blushed up, and looked mightily 
pleased. They had a bit more talk, and then 
I said, "I wonder Harry don't come, I hope 
nobody's enticed him anywhere he'd better 
not go." And my husband said, "I'll take a 
look round and see/' 

I wished after that I had not let him go. 
But one can't tell what is coming, and if it 
was God's will it was to be. Not but what 
one would rightfully blame oneself, if one had 
done wrong and harm followed upon it, but 
there wasn't wrong-doing here. 

He had not been gone five minutes when 
Harry walked in : so I sent Willie running to 
tell his father. 



56 



HOME WORDS. 



" Tea's ready," said I, " and I was wonder- 
ing where you were." 

" Oh, I waa all right," says he, blushing up 
a little. *' I only stopped to hear a bit of 
speechifying." 

" Not the sort of speechifying that meaus 
turning the world upside down, I hope," 
said I. 

" Dear me, no," says he, laughing. " I'm 
too fond of things topside uppermost. It 
wasn't exactly a speechifying neither, but 
there was a young Mr. Conner — not so over 
young neither — and he waa giving a bit of a 
talk to a lot of fellows outside a public, wait 
ing for their wages. He told 'em they'd be 
wise to agitate for payment to take place 
anywhere else but there. He said they'd 
often agitated for things a deal less im- 
portant." 

" True enough for that I" said I. " Young 
Mr. Conner, — why, that's my master's eldest 
son, Master Harry that used to be. I didn't 
know he was in Little Sutton. He's a good 



man. 



}i 



" It wasn't hard to guess that. He had a 
manly sort of way with him too. It isn't 
Mr. Conner's way, I suppose, to pay at a 

public." 

" Ko indeed," I said, and Harry sat and 
looked uncommon grave. 

" It's queer, isn't itP some'at about what he 
said made me think of my old mother." 

" Where is your mother P " I asked, for 
Harry had seemed to shirk talking of her. 

" Home, I suppose," says he. 

'* Where is your home ? " 

" Down in Sussex. She's got a tidy little 
cottage, and she's got friends, and enough to 
keep her from starving. No, no, she's in no 
danger of starving, not one bit. She's certain 
sure of being looked after," says he, as if he 
was arguing with himself. 

" She ought to be, with such a big son to 
do it," said L 

'* Oh, she's got other friends too," said he. 
" I've had to look out for myself. But it did 
make me think of her, when the gentleman — 
what's his name P — Mr. Conner — told us we'd 
got plenty to do with our money, without 
squandering it at the public. I was glad I 
didn't do that any way. And then he looked 
straight in the face, one after another. 



11 



:md says he, * You've got wives some of you, 
and children too, and I shouldn't wonder if 
many among you have got mothers living. 
Now you mind,' says he, 'it's a deal of care 
and trouble and pains your mothers gave to 
you men when you were boys. I wonder 
how much you've all given back to your 
mothers since, to show you're gratefuL' It 
made me think of my mother, I can tell you." 

'* You send her a bit of money sometimes, 
now, don't you, to make her more comfort- 
able P " said I. 

*'Well no, I haven't. I ought, but I 
haven't," says he, looking shamefaced. 

"I wonder how much your mother spent 
on you when you were little," said I. 
'* Money, and time, and love, and maybe 
tears and pray era too." 

''Maybe," said he, looking hard at me. 
"Yes, she spent money, sure enough; 
mothers always do, I suppose. And she 
didn't give much time nor care to anything 
else, when I was to the fore. Folks used to 
say she just doted on me. And I've seen 
her cry too. And as for prayers there was 
lots on 'em; never was such a body for 
prayers." 

" That's good now," said I. " A mother's 
prayers '11 never fail to bring a blessing." 

"Well, I don't know; I used to think them 
and the crying a bit of a bother," said he. 

" But yon don't think so now you're away 
from her P " 

"I'm none so sure of that," says he. 
" Why, dear me, it's over two years I 
haven't written to her once. I've been 
going about, and she don't know whore I am 
now. I shouldn't wonder if she's plaguing 
her head to know if I'm alive or dead." 

" Harry, you don't say so 1 " said I. 

" Ob, she's used," said he. " I never was 
much of a letter writer. It takes such a lot 
of trouble." 

" Mothers don't get used," I said ; and I 
was talking half to myself as it were. " If 
my Willie was to grow up and leave me like 
that, and never to write nor let me know for 
years if he was alive or dead, I do really 
think it would bring mo to my grave. I 
don't know how I'd stand it." 

"Will's a sharp little chap. He'll write, 
no fear. He's clever." 



NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS, 



57 



" Maybe lie's clever, and maybe he isn't," 
Baid I. " As for that I don't know : but I do 
know he loves his mother, and I hope I 
shan't live till the day when he leaves off 
C5aring abont me." 

** Come, come, yon needn't go to make out 
as I don't love my mother, for I do," said 
Harry. " She's the kindest-hearted old soul 
as ever breathed." 

"And she's praying for you," said I. 
" She'll never stop that, Harry. She'll pray 
yon yet into being a good man." 

Harry looked a bit uneasy, as if he wasn't 
quite sure about wanting that, for he knew I 
meant that I hoped ho would become a real 
Christian. While we were speaking I saw 
my husband coming through the garden 
gate, and I knew in a moment that something 
wasn't quite right. He had such a strong 
quick walk of his own, commonly, and now 
he seemed dragging one foot after the other ; 
and when he came near, the ruddy look was 
all gone out of his face, and it looked drawn 
as if he was in bad pain, and Willie had a 
sort of uncomfortable manner, following 
close behind him. 

"What has happened, PhilP " said I. 

"I want a cup of tea," said he, sitting 
down. 

* 

"Yes, but what has happened?" said T. 
" You haven't had a fall, have you P " 

" Oh dear no," says he cheerfully. ** Only — 
well, only a bit of a blow. Just turned mo 
rather sicky-like, but a cup of tea will take 
that off." 

I didn't like his face, but I made the tea 
as quick as I could, trying to keep down my 
impatience to know more. He drank the 
lea, and said it was just as he liked it, but ho 
couldn't eat. 

"Where was it, Phil ? " said I. 

"Down at the corner of the lane behind 
Pearson's," said he. " Willie and I we'd 
stopped a moment to look at the house 
they've begun to run up there. And some- 
body came hurrying round the corner, with 
a heavy parcel in his arms, and banged right 
against me. It was an uncommon hard edge 
the parcel had, and it caught me just in the 
back. Don't look fidgety, Sue; no ribs are 



broken. It only tamed me a bit queer. I'll 
be all right after a good night." 

I did not feel so sure, but I only said, 
" We'll see presently what can bo done. Is 
the pain much P " 

" I've got a back-ache," says he cheerfully 
enough, but I didn't need to ask again if it 
was bad. The way he seemed afmid to move 
showed that 

" Clumsy fellow, not to look where he was 
going! " Harry said. 

"He might have seen," says Willie verylow. 
" Father was standing stock-stilI,and not close 
to the comer neither. He might have seen." 

"Stuff and nonsense," says my husband. 

" Who was the man ? " I asked. 

"Never you mind," said he, "It's done, 
and what's done caii't be undone." 

But it came into my head to say, "Was 
Gilpin the man? " and Willie gave a sort of 
little nod. 

"Gilpin or any other might do such 
a thing by accident," said my husband. 
" Mind, Sue and Will, I don't want talk made 
about it; and I would scorn to accuse an 
innocent man of ill intentions, if it was all 
sheer accident." 

But the very saying of so much made me 
feel the more sure that my husband didn't 
really think it was all sheer accident. I 
couldn't but doubt. I knew what Gilpin's 
temper was ; and though I dare say he would 
not mean to do any real harm, still he wa'? 
just of that revengeful sullen sort of humour, 
that ho wouldn't be unlikely in a moment's 
temptation to give a shove or a blow to any 
one he was angry with. 

He couldn't forgive my husband for being 
BO liked by Mr. Conner, and respected by 
every one. And above all he couldn't for- 
give him for having been made foreman. I 
don't know whether Gilpin had hoped for 
that for himself: but any way he couldn't 
easily submit to see my husband set over 
him, and he hated his ways as foreman. My 
husband never would wink at evil, to please 
anybody, and Gilpin hated any manner of 
restraint. He liked to be allowed to go 
along his own way, without a word ; and a 
bad way it often was. 



HOME WORDS. 



(^Ili ^car. Vat yaftfifoi 9og. 

BT H. 0. KIID, lUTHOK Or " LOITLAKD LIQEKDS, " ART STODIBS PBOH LUDSBBB," ETC. 



CHAPTER L 

OSCAK at BOHK. — POOB "noiM."— » QSEPUt 
BKOEB.— THB LOST 

■Hur. 

can B dog under* 
id withont nnder- 
ndtng? aakedDr. 
idner ; and the 

wered. In onr 
ivings to ezalb 
" tbe man " ne some tiroes do iiynatice to the 
"lower aDimali" — to Tmaty or Tear'em— 
who has not in tbu respect, as he has hi 
othera, the power at self' defence. The 
natare of the dog has its higher develop- 
ments, nnchanging fldelitj, depth of insight, 
and bravery in tbe moment of dani^r. 
Did yon never observe how your Tmsty 
scans K stranger — how acntely be measures 
biro, and takes np bis likes or dis- 
likesP What will he not do for a friendF 
What has he not done even for a hard 
master P 

Here is "Old Oscar," for instance: long 
and fondly will his memory be cheiished. 
Never was there a more Undly, a nobler 
member of the canine family. All bis days 
hod been epent at the farm of Heathside, and 
seldom had he been beyond the boundaries 
of one of the mdest parishes in the north of 
Scotland. Thoroaghly used to country cus- 
toms and rural quietude, any tiroe be did go 
to town, OS his old master used to say, " he 
was never like himsel' ere he gat oot the road 

Oscar was above the average siEe, and 
never can we forget bb portly hearing; the 
black shaggy hair, those dangling ears, the 
long bushy tail, and that white spot on Lis 
brood chest, running np in triangnlar form 
right under his massive head. 

" Old Oscar " — for to us he was always old 
— had little of the warrior in him. He had 
nothing >A tbe offensive or quarrelsome ; and 
often did he eubmit to tbe grossest indignities 



wilhottt retaliation ; not in a cowardly cring- 
ing spirit, but with a calmness and dignity 
which one could not but admire. He was 
decidedly averse to fighting— one wonld have 
thought on philosophic principles ; and the 
only stroke in the way he ever did was quite 
in keeping with his genenJ oharaoter. 

In his morning walks, which were taken 
with constitutional regularity, Oscar had to 
pass the mansion of a neighbouring squire. 
As sure as he reached the garden gate, oat 
come my lady's lap'dog, with its ugly red 
eyes and its sharp teeth ; and not contented 
with yelping, aa most cure are, it would 
follow a few yards industriously biting the 
heels of its big brother. For mouths did 
Oscar trot along, regardless of the pain and 
annoyance, except now and then a significant 
growl or a wag of that huge tail of bis. One 
morning the little tormentor was busy at its 
old work, picking and scratching, in its own 
provoking way, at the irritated and festered 
heels of our long-suffering friend. Oacar 
stopped suddenly i something was wrong; 
bad that quiet spirit at last been disturbed P 
Turning round, he seized his tormentor by 
the neck, as a cat would her kitten, and 
walked bock to a small stream close by. 
Wading in some distance, he pnt his victim 
beneath the water, and, deeming reform hope- 
less, planted his foot firmly upon it. In a 
few minutes he tamed round again, and 
trotted along to his morning haunt as if 
nothing bad occurred. Tbe body of poor 
"Violet" was buried in the guden, and 
flowers were planted on its grave. 

Oscar was useful in his way. He could go 
to the shop and bring home a pound of eugv 
or an ounce of tea ; and often have we seen 
him jogging along with a neat little wicker 
snspended bom. hb bright brass collar. He 
could do this without even the assistance ofa 
slip of paper, strange as this may seem to 
oataiders. Those country shopkeepers, deal- 
ing in all things from beer to broadclotb, are 
not like shopkeepers in your greit cities. 
When they see your money or jar, with an 
instinct which baffles every "theory," and 



6o 



HOME WORDS, 



wLich only experience can understand, they 
give yon exactly what yon want. Oscar got 
bis threepence or fivepence ha'penny tied into 
the comer of his basket, and that was enongh : 
he branght home what was wanted. Never 
was he known to go wrong or to be turned 
aside from his coarse: such is instinct;, so 
called. 

HeiCthside, the quiet and secluded home of 
Oscar and his friends, was well-nigh four miles 
distant from the district post-office, and only 
one day in the week were the letters and 
papers conveyed to and from that humble 
hostelry on the highway side. True to his 
duty, as regularly as Friday came round, 
Oscar was asiSr by times, and by noon he might 
have been seen depositing the contents of his 
basket on the hearthstone ; the weekly news- 
paper to start on its round of thirty readers, 
a few letters for the farmer and his neighbours, 
and a stray broad-sheet from a brother who 
had long since settled in the far West. 

One stormy evening, such as only the 
dwellers in the land of mist can understand, 
the farmer had gathered home his flock of 
sheep, and enclosed them for protection. He 
had just entered his own comfortable apart- 
ment, when Oscar — ^who had been missing 
for some time — was observed to enter in an 
excited state, rush round the room, and dis- 
appear. After a prolonged absence, which 
had not awakened surprise, he again entered 
in a still more excited manner, jumping upon 



his master and endeavouring to arrest his 
attention. Again he left the house, and 
again he returned with wailing importunities. 
The farmer was impressed with the thought 
that something must be wrong, and followed 
his dog out into the fields and through the 
snowdrifts for more than 'a mile, the dog 
leading the way, and anxiously watching the 
steps of his master. Near a bridge which 
crossed a small stream on the farm, Oscar 
stood still, and leaping over the parapet, 
began to tear away the snow with all his 
might. After a diligent search, it was found 
that one of the sheep had gone over, sunk 
in the snow which covered the stream, and 
then, in its vain eflbrts to escape, had forced 
its way under the bridge. It was found 
also that daring the hours that had passed 
Oscar had not been idle; he had been in- 
dustriously clearing away the snow f5rom 
the opposite side of the bridge, in order to 
let it pass through and escape an untimely 
end. The sufferer was delivered, and the 
dog and his master went home rejoicing with 
the lost one. 

" If a man have an hundred sheep, and one 
of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the 
ninety and nine and go off into the mount- 
ains, and seeketh that which is gone astray ? 
and if so be that he find it, verily, I say unto 
you, he rejoiceth more over that sheep than 
over the ninety and nine which went not 
astray." 



(To be tontinued^ 



BT THE EDITOB. 




HEN Easter comes the sun begins 
to shine more brightly. One of 
our Easter hymns begins with 
the words : 



" Bright sunbeams deck the joyfol sky." 

A little girl had heard some one say, in the 
language of poetry, that the sun danced on 
Easter morning, when his rays fell upon the 
surface of the water. She thought she would 
go and see the sun dance. 

There was the water, all sparkling with 
the sunlight which shone on it ; but the sun 



did not dance ! At first she was greatly dis* 
appointed, but, like a sensible child, as she 
certainly was, she said, "If the «un does not 
dance on Easter morning. I will make some- 
body's heart dance, and that will be better 
still I " 

So she ran upstairs, got her very best pic- 
ture-book, and stole quietly into her sick 
cousin's room, and laid it on the pillow, with- 
out disturbing her. "Now," said the little 
girl, " her heart will dance when she wakes 
up ; and our Saviour will like that better than 
if the sun danced, in honour of His rising I " 



1 



LESSONS FROM THE BOOK. 



6t 



fMimA from tlE^e Sooit. 

IV. EASTER HOPE IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 

BT THB BTOHT BVVBBEND THE LOBD BISHOP 07 BOOHBSTER. 
" I will fear no eTil." — V%, xxiil. 4. 




,H ETHER for our- 
selves, or for those 
we lore, we need fear 
DO evil, if only Christ be 
onrs. Death has yet to 
come, — and we do not 
know in what shape it will come ; it may 
be qaito near, or it may still be far away. 

** Thon ineyitable day I 
When a voice to me shall say, 
Thon mnst rise and come away ; 
Art thon distant, art thon near, 
Wilt thon seem more dark or clear, 
Day with more of hope or fear f " * 

Anyhow, we will not dwell too mnch on 
it. Instead of looking down into the open 
grave, we 'will look up for the glorious 
appearing. We know of a happy country 
across the dark river; we have heard of 
the shining ones who will lead us up the 
hill. It is no new temptation, but one 
that is common to man. He who has 
helped others through it will help us 
through it. Those gone before us, who 
have got it over, found Him near them. 
He who was faithful to them will be faith- 
ful to us and to those whom we leave 
behfnd. 

Do we, however, sometimes ask, in the 
secret of our own thoughts, Which of us 
will go first P Banish them as we will, do 
not sad fears sometimes force themselves 
on U8| as we think of the whitening hair, 
or the thinned hands, or the pale cheeks, 
or the tottering footsteps of those we love ? 
Well ; they may go first, but the interval 
between them and us in the balance of 
eternity is but as the single tick of a 
pendulum. Weeping may endure for a 



night, but joy cometh in the morning 
(Ps. XXX. 6). The bed of death is the 
presence-chamber of Jesus. We who stand 
by cannot see with our mortal eyes what is 
vouchsafed to those who are putting on 
immortality ; but if we cannot know, we 
may at least conjecture: and the radiant 
joy that sometimes lights up the wan 
countenance of a dying Christian tells of 
an Invisible Presence that is shining there. 
It is a solemn moment as the soul passes 
away ; yet for us only is it a time of sad- 
ness. They, if they could speak, would 
say. Weep not for me ; but sing with me, 
" death where is thy sting ? grave, 
where is thy victory P " (1 Cor. xv. 65.) 

And He who goes with them stays with 
us. For He is in paradise with those that 
sleep in Him. He is on earth with those 
that wait for Him. He can think of the 
living as well as of the dying; of those 
who have still to grapple with the last 
struggle as well as of those who sing the 
conqueror's song. 

So we pass out of the sight of our dead, 
wondering at our own calmness. Thank- 
fulness for the glorious change passed on 
them absorbs all selfish thought o^ the 
grief come on us. We too feel that, if wt 
have lost much, we have gained much , 
earth is beneath us ; we have stood on the 
very threshold of heaven, and the love of 
Christ is more real than ever. On the 
morrow, when we go out of our chamber 
to do our work, to meet our friends, to feel 
our loss, He who was with us in the qnici 
night meets us in the glare of the morn- 
ing; we remember the promise, "tLj 
brother shall rise again " (John xi. 23). 



Trench. 



63 



HOME WORDS, 



act ft ^adg. 




[E not swift to take offence ; 
Lot it pass ! 
Anger is a foe to sense ; 
Let it pass ! 
Brood not darkly o'er a wrong 
Whicli will disappear ere long ; 
Bather sing this cherry song- 
Let it pass ! 
Let it pass ! 

Strife corrodes the purest mind ; 

Let it pass ! 
As the unregarded wind, 

Let it pass ! 
Any vulgar souls that live, 
May condemn without reprieve ; 
'Tis the noble who forgive. 

Let it pass ! 

Let it pass ! 

Echo not an angry word ; 

Let it pass ! 
Think how often you have erred ; 

Let it pass I 



Since our joys must pass away, 
Like the dew-drops on the spray, 
Wherefore should our sorrows stnj ? 

Lot them pass 1 

Let them pass ! 

If for good you've taken ill, 

Let it pass ! 
Oh, be kind and gentle still ; 

Let it pass ! 
Time at last makes all things straight ; 
Let us not resent, but wait, 
And your triumph shall be great ; 

Let it pass ! 

Let it pass ! 

Bid your anger to depart. 

Let it pass ! 
Lay these homely words to heart, 

" Let it pass ! " 
Follow not the giddy throng — 
Better to be wronged than wroug ; 
Therefore sing the cheery song — 

Let it pass ! 

Let it pass ! 

S. J. Vail. 



S^ometl^fng £t1» Beatl^; 




N Bishop Ken's evening hymn, 
"Glory to Thee my God this 
night," there is one verse which 
ought to be called the Easter 
verse : 

** Teaoh me to live that I may dread 
The grave as little as my bed ; 
Teach me to die that so I may 
Bise glorious at the judgment day." 

Every night when we go to sleep it is some- 
thing like being buried. We do not know 
what we are thinking about, and are quite 
unconscious of what is going on about us, 
when we are buried in sleep. Then in the 
morning we awake, and rise again. It is 
something like death. 



Bishop Ken meant to teach us to think 
when we lay our heads on the pillovr:— ^' This 
is like being buried. I will give myself to 
Christ, my body and my souL Then I shall 
not be afraid ; for I know I shall wake up 
again. If I do not wake up in this world, I 
shall wake up in heaven." 

We must all be buried some day. How 
happy to ''die daily" in this way, giving 
ourselves to Christ; so that when thai day 
comes we may '* dread the grave as little as 
our bed" — lie down in the arms of Jesus, 
and sleep and wake in heaven ! Those keep 
Easter well who can think of death being 
" something like sleep." 

The Editor. 



iiODERN HYMN WRITERS, 



63 



'•8PECIMEN.QLA8SE8" FOR THE KING'S MINSTRELS. 

BT THl lATX r&ANCI8 BIDLET HAYZBGAL. 




III« CHABLOTTS BLUOTT'S 
HTMBS.* 

ISS Slliott's hymns 
are all hearfe-work; 
and whether written 
in the first, second, or 
third person, we feel 
that she has lived 
every line; and this 
is why they touch other lives so magnetically. 
That which springs straight ont of a living and 
beating heart is "poetry," and lives; that 
which does not is just " rhyming," and dies. 
It may take many a year of living to pro- 
duce a hymn which comes to the surface in 
one flash of thought, and is written in ten 
minntes. Even the writer does not know 
when the true making of that hymn began : 
perhaps far back in childhood, or among the 
''misto of the valley " which have been left 
behind years ago. Neither do oar hymn- 
writers know how even to-day they ore living 
ont hymns nnthought of» which will not be 
ready for the readiest pen till ten or twenty 
years have fed the hidden and growing germ. 
Bat some sadden touch of earth's tears or 
heaven's sunlight will set them free, and the 
growth of half a lifetime will blossom in an 
hour. And that is not the end, for there may 
be frait unto life eternal to follow. 

Such hymns are generally the simplest: 
eveiyline is plain and clear; but it is the clear- 
ness of depth, very different from the mystical 
maddiness of verse shallows, that have only 
been thought out, not lived out. 

Such are Miss Elliott's hymns. Any one 
might have been written in half an hour, but 
more than half a century of patient suffering 
went to the making of them. " From early 
years she was more or less of an invalid," 
writes her sister, in the touching memorial f 
prefixed to her poems. Ii is rarely that a life 



80 fall of weakness and pain is prolonged for 
eighty-two years, before the silver cord ia 
loosed. 

But surely it was worth any suffering only 
to have written that one hymn, *' Jast as I 
am." Could any greater crown be set upon 
any life than to have been made God's mes- 
senger of peace to unknown thousands P We 
say thousands ; but how could we count? All 
over the world that hymn has gone forth, and 
still goes — a bright, strong, heaven-sent hand, 
to lead sinful, soiTowfid souls to the Lamb of 
God: some for the first time, others again 
and afresh. And the tale is not fall yet ; for 
it cannot die, as generations do. That re- 
frain, " Lamb of God, I come!" will ascend 
from many hearts in many lands and lan- 
guages "till ^e come," and sorrow and sighing 
flee away. " It is one of those hymns which 
can never be sung or printed too often." 

"JUST AS I AM.*' 

Just as I am — ^without one plea, 
But that Thy blood was shed for me* 
And that Thou bidd'st me oome to Thee — 
Lamb of God, I come. 

Jast as I am — ^and waitLng not 
To rid my soul of one dark blot : 
To Thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot-^ 
Lamb of God, I come. 

Just as I am — thoogh tossed about 
With many a conflict, many a doubt, 
Fightings and fears within, without^ 
O Lamb of God, I come. 

Just as I am— poor, wretched, blind; 
Sight, riches, healing of the mind. 
Yea, all I need, in Thee to find— 
Lamb of God, I oome. 

Jast as I am — ^Thou wilt receive. 
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve 
Because Thy promise I believe — 
Lamb of God, I come. 



* We hope to give a portrait of Miss Elliott in our Annl nomber. 

t *' Selections from the Poems of Charlotte Elliott. With a Memoir by her Sister." London : The 
Beligious Tract Society. 



64 



HOME WORDS. 



Just as I am— Thy loye nnknown 
Has broken every barrier down ; 
Now, to be Thine, yea, Thine alone— 
Lamb of God, I oome. 

Jnst as I am— of that free love 

The breadth, length, depth, and height to prove : 

Here for a season, then above — 

Lamb of God, I come. 

It was not her doing. She only quietly 
placed it in " The Invalid's Hymn-book," pro- 
bably with no thought of its passing beyond 
the lonely and shadowy rooms which that was 
to reach. But she had laid it somewhere else 
first. She took it as her own jewel of faith, 
tear-shining and trae, out of her own heart, 
and laid it at the Saviour's feet. He took it 
up and sent it forth, as no human sending 
could have done, in the glorious strength of 
His blessing. One has said, what doubtless 
many have felt :— " I would rather have written 
that one hymn than all the sermons I ever 
preached." 

Second only to this, which itself is perhaps 
second to none, is her touching hymn, " My 

God, my Father, while I stray." 

« 

"THY WHiL BE BONE." 

My God, my Father, while I stray, 
Far from my home, on life's rough way, 
Oh teach me from my heart to say, 
Thy will be done. 

. Though dark my path and sad my lot, 
Let me be still and murmur not ; 
Or breathe the prayer Bivinely taught. 
Thy will be done. 

If Thou shouldst call me to resign 
What most I prize, it ne*er was mine ; 

1 only yield Thee what was Thine : 

Thy will bo done. 

Let but my fainting heart be blest 
With Thy sweet Spirit for its guest, 
My God, to Thee I leave the rest, — 
Thy will be done. 

Benew my will from day to day, 
Blend it with Thine, and take away 
All that now makes it hard to say, 
Thy will be done. 



Then, when on earth I breathe no more 
The prayer oft mixed with tears before, 
ril sing upon a happier shore. 
Thy will be done. 

There is a beautiful fitness in the fact that 
these two far-thrilling chords were struck by 
the same hand. For only the heart that lias 
said, " Just as I am," can ever truly say, "Thy 
will be done." Only by the personal coming 
to the Lamb of God can we reach the quiet 
trust and love of the Father's will. Only 
through submissive acceptance of Chrisfs 
free salvation can we reach submissive ac- 
quiescence. Nay, we will not stop there, say 
rather restful rejoicing in God*s sovereignty. 
The first hymn is the key to the second. 
For '* that free love " is the essence of that 
" will." 

Only in one point there seems to be a falling 
short, and that in the last verse, although lit 
np with the bright thought that, — 

"The prayer, oft mixed with tears before, 
rU 9ing upon a happier shore." 

Why put off the singing P Why delay the 
change of sigh to song in uttering that glarioue 
prayer, " Thy will be done " P " Understand- 
ing what the will of the Lord is." Yes, what / 
All, more than all that heart can desire, more 
than all our holiest, deepest longings have 
reached, all that Infinite Love can devise and 
bestow, all that Infinite Wisdom has planned, 
all that Infinite Power will work in us and for 
us! Our salvation, our sanctification, our 
showing forth His glory, our joyful resurrec- 
tion, our everlasting life, our being with Him 
and beholding His glory, and the countless 
and unspeakable blessings enfolded or linked 
with all this, this is what we " ignorantly '* 
ask when we pray those wonderful words 
which Jesus taught us; these are the trao 
harmonies to that seemingly simple melody, 
"Thy will be done." When we search out in 
His Word what the will of the Lord is, anl 
when we see that it is the very strength an<l 
action of His exceeding great love, then we do 
not wait till the "happier shore" is reachcdf 
but even here and now we eiyig, "Thy will bo 
done." 



To he continued. 



«M^^i#«tfta 




ENGLAND S CHURCH. 
NOTES AXD TESTIMONIES. 



-6S 



SELECTED BY 

III. VALUE OF 

HE Bey. Dr. Shaw, a lead- 
ing American Presbyterian 
minister and pastor of the 
Presbyterian church in Bo- 
Chester, New York, paid 
the following glowing tri- 
bate to the Talue of a 
Liturgy in a recent sermon delivered on the 
fortieth anniversary of his pastorate : — 

"The Church, if she would fulfil her 
mission, must avail herself of the riches 
which her children during all these ages 
have been gathering for her. How rich the 
Church is in hallowed memories : how rich 
in good books: how rich in philanthropic 
institutions : how rich in great names : how 
rich in the blood of her martyrs : and espe- 
cially how rich in those hymns and anthems 
and prayers which bring, as it were, the 
departed saints back to our assemblies, so 
that those who are hei*e and those who are 
there can worship God once more in the 
same transporting strains I 

" And that is the reason why I cling with 
a growing tenacity to those sublime bursts 
of praise wbich come echoing down to us 
through the ages. The Litany — do you think 
I will ever consent to giye that up? The 
•Gloria in Excelsis' — do you think 1 will 
ever let any man or any church rob me of 
that P And the noblest of them all, the ' Te 
Deum Laudamua ' — why, I cling to that as I 
cling to the blessing which my dying mother 
left me. No modem hymns, however beauti- 
ful or grand, can ever take the place of these. 
I want the hynms that cheered the pilgrimage 
of the saints in the olden times ; I want the 
hynms that the martyrs sang on their way 
to the stake. When I sing I would have 
Folycarp and Chrysostom, and Ambrose aud 



THE EDITOa. 

A LITURGY. 

Augustine, and all the worthies of the Apos- 
tolio age, sing with me. Dearly beloved, it 
is impossible for the Church in our day to 
make another 'Te Deum.' Before we can 
make such an anthem as that we must 
reverse the wheels of time; we must have 
the shadow on the dial go backward; we 
must recall the dead ; we must rekindle the 
fires of persecution; we must restore the 
martyr age; we must arouse the rushing, 
mighty wind of Pentecost, and awaken the 
lingering echoes of the angelic song. We 
must go to the manger as the wise men 
present their ofierings; we must visit the 
sepulchre while the angels still sit in their 
appointed places; we must reach the brow 
of Olivet before the cloud and the Master 
have passed quite out of sight. 

'* I hope the day is coming when the great 
and noble Church to which I belong, the 
Church of my father and my mother, will 
discover that she has unwittingly given up 
part of her dowry, and when she will consent 
to use those forms and symbols of worship 
which are the common birthright of all the 
saints. 

"I have long thought that our Presbyterian 
worship is, for the most part, too bare and 
bald a thing. I think that at least we might 
have responsive reading, and that we ought, 
as little children, to gather around the feet 
of our Father and say the Lord's Prayer 
together. It would not hurt us one bit to 
have some liturgical forms, and thus secure 
that variety and that uniformity which are 
alike essential elements of true worship. 
It is just because my own Church is so dear 
to me that I want her to avail herself of 
those riches which her children in all ages 
have been gathering for her.' 



» 




**^otb<n8 tut i,obt. 

PBTEUD was speakini? of a Cornish 



M 



miner who had lon^ followed Christ. 

He was once talkmg to his aged 

wife. 

" I don't think I shall be long here, wife," 
he said : " something seems to tell me I shsdl 
soon go home ; but remember that, if any 



thins happens to me, there is nothing but 
love oetween God and my soul." 

Not lone after, he was killed in a colliery 
accident ; but it was always a comfort to his 
wife to remember his words. She was sure — 
for he had said it— that there was ''nothing 
but love between God and his soul." 



HOME WORDS. 



In ilfemoriamt 

JACOB THOMPSON: THE CUMBERLAND ARTIST. 



ULL of jeara and bononrs, 

tcorking up to the last 

with an eye that had not 

lost its clearness, and a 

hand that had not lost its 

cDnning, the Camberland 

artist, Jacob Thompson, 

hu been called to bis 

rest. He died at tbe Hermitage, Hockthorpe, 

on Saturday, December 27th, 1879, in hia 

seventy-ninth year. Hia last great work 

bears the title of " The Hope Beyond," How 

sweetly sug^itire of the simple faith in 

Bible truth, which animated him in life and 

sustained him in death ! 

A sketch of his remarkable career, the 
early difficnlties he surmoanted, and the 
trinmphe ultimately achieved, appeared in 
SwM Word* for 1871.* We cannot therefore 
repeat it here; but the story of the turning 
point of bis life as an artist is so interesting 
that we are sure all will be glad to read it 
again, 

" One fine autumnal day, when crowds were 
gathered on tbe Penritb raceconrse, — for it 
was the time of the races — Jacob, alone, with 
his sketching materials under bis arm, bad 
wandered away from the noisy scene, and, 
seated on an eminence overhanging Che rooky 
bed of the Lowther, near to Brougham grotto, 
WB8 busy sketching tbe piotureBqne bridge 
crossing the stream. While thus occupied, 
he waa interrupted by the approach oE an 
elderly gentleman, wbo, on arriving at the 
bridge, dismounted from bis horse, and left 
it in charge of a groom. 

" • May I see what yon are doing P ' inquired 
tbe stranger. 

"'Yes, if yon please; 'and thennflnisbed 
sketch was banded op. 

" ' Why are you not on the Penrith race- 
course P' 

" ' Because I like painting far better.' 

" The querist seated himself on the artist's 
9tooI, and alter leisurely examining the pic< 
tnre, said, — 



" ' Yon have mode tbe bridge too rod.' 

" ' It is bailt of red sandstone,' replied the 
boy. 

"'Tme, but time makes all such objects 
grej: it is not in harmony, and attracts too 
much attention. Have yon seen any good 
pointings f ' 

" ' A few ab Brougham Hall.' 

'"If you would like to see any works by 
the old masters, I abonld he glad to show 

'"Thank you; but where am I to see 
them P ' 

"'Oo to Lowther Castle, take with yon 
any sketches yon have made, and inquire 
for Lord Lonsi^Ie.' 

"The next day Jacob proceeded to the 
Castle, and was condacted into the presence 
of the benevolent old earl, whom he found 
to be his visitor of tbe preceding day. His 
lordship conducted bim throngh his gallery, 
pointing out tbe works most worthy of bis 
notice; and told bim that if he chose to atody 
or copy any of them, a room should be set 
apart for bim, and the housekeeper instmctod 
to provide whatever he might require. Of 
course the offer was most thankfully ac- 
cepted; and such progress was made that 
Lord Lonsdale brought some specimens to 
town, in order to consult some of his friends 
who were judges of art, bow far it migbt be 
advisable to place bim with some London 

"Their decision seems not to have been 
very favourable ; but Lord Lonsdale etill 
encouraged bim; and at length, in 1829, 
Thompson was summoned to London, and 
admitted a student at the British Maseum. 

"From this time bis success as a painter 
became certain. Piling aflor painting 
adorned tbe walls of the Boyal Academy, 
and brought fresh fiims to the gifted artiat." 

Just twelve months ago Mr. Thompson 
wrote to a friend from hia quiet home : " Life 
glides away peacefully, happily, and I trost 
usefnlly; its pleasures greatly enhanced by 



' Bon* Warit, 1871, ptga IBS. A teller akstoh, with Portrait, la given In nt Firetidt toi Febcoaty. 



IN MEMORIAM: JACOB THOMPSON: THE CUMBERLAND ARTIST. 69 



past trials and experience." Only a few 
weeks since a magnificent work appeared, 
entitled, ** Eldmuir : An Art Story of Scottish 
Home Life, Scenery, and Incident." * It was 
to be a final memorial of tbe artist's labonrs. 
The illastrations, drawn on wood by himself 
after his finest paintings, were engraved by 
William Ballingall, his son writing a de- 
scriptive narrative story, which gives proof 
of the possession of high literary power. 
Mr. Thompson, shortly before his death, spoke 
of this volume as *' a labour of love, which 
he trusted would interest and be of service 
to others, long after its author, and all who 
had kindly aided in the work, rested from 
their labours beneath green mounds in quiet 
graveyards." 

We are snre the engraving we are enabled 
to give from this volume, " Going to Church," 
will malae our readers feel that the artist's 
hope is in \Asxkt case fully realized. "A 



thing of beauty is a joy for ever :" and the 
power of representing nature, although pos- 
sessed by few, is a gift which all can value, 
because it is a gift the pleasure of which all 
can share. Even in these days of locomotion, 
when we can travel in a few hours as many 
miles as our forefathers travelled in a week, 
the beautiful lake districts of England, and 
still more of Scotland, are "an unknown 
land " to the greater portion of our popula- 
tion ; and, as the next best thing to seeing 
the reality, we cannot be too thankful to the 
artist whose pencil copies the scenes which 
Grod has made so lovely to the eye, and places 
the lifelike painting in the hands of those 
whose lot is cast in "pent-np city," or in 
smoky town. 

Multitudes in this and other lands will feel 
that in Mr. Thompson's death they have lost 
one who truly ministered to their happiness 
and instruction. The Editor. 




jTaWesf for yov. 



BT £LCANOR B. PROSSEB. 



VII. EXPERIENCE 
TEA0HE8. 

HY do you trem- 
ble P " asked an old 
oak of a young one 
that grew near him 
intheforest; "there 
isn't a single leal 
on yon that isn't 
quivering." 

" And enough to make me quiver," said 
the young one; "didn't you hear that 
terrible thunder clap? it went right 
through me. I verily believe I'm struck ! " 
" Struck ! " said the old oak compassion- 
ately. "Ah! you're young yet. When 
you have weathered as many storms as I 
have, you will know that ^e roll of the 
thunder is powerless to harm you: it is 
the lightning that does tho work." 

VIII. FOOLISH FEAR DOUBLES DANGER. 

"Now, my children, there's nothing to 



fear; do as I tell you, and you will be 
quite safe," said the mother bird, as she 
fluttered over the nest, trying to urge her 
young ones to their first flight. Three of 
them following her directions were soon 
resting their weary little wings on a neigh- 
bouring branch, and chirping merrily over 
their success ; the fourth stood trembling 
on the edge of the nest, fearing to brave 
the unknown peril. 

" Gome, my son," said the parent bird, 
"see how foolish your fears are; your 
brothers are safe on yonder branch, while 
you are shivering here alone. Had you 
but taken my advice, you would now have 
been rejoicing with them, and would have 
found as they did that the worst part of 
many a peril is tho anticipation of it." 

IX. PRUDENOE BETTER THAN OUN- 

NINQ. 

" What a delicious smell ! " cried a young 
mouse to an old one, as they came out of a 



• II 



Eldmuir.*' (London : Bampson, Low & Go.) 



70 



}JOME WORt>S. 



hole in the gmnary floor, " I'm enre it's 
toasted cheese ; there's notliiiig like it ! " 

" Very likely," eaid the old monse calmly. 

" Do yoa know," said the young monse, 
" I've foand a way of getting it ont of the 
trap witfaont being canght. If you tread 
very lightly, and don't give it time to tip 
Up, you're all safe. Won't you come end 
try?" 



X. EARLY DAYS— TRAINING DAYS. 

"Spabb me a little longer," s^d the 
young vine to the gardener, as be laid 
hold of one of her slender branches, to 
guide it to the prop he had provided. **ni 
grow any way yon like next year, if yon'U 
only let me have my own way now." 

But the gardener shook bis heed. 

" Why not ? " murmured the vino ; " it's 



"No, thank you," said the old mouse; 
"and if yon take my advice, yon won't 
either. I've seen plenty of traps in my 
time, but I never met with one that I 
cared to trnst myself inside ; and clever 
as you may think yourself, I fancy you 
are more likely to live to grey hain ae 
I have done if yon keep outside tliem 
tool" 



hard I may not have my freedom a little 
longer ; it will be time enough, when I am 
older, to be guided and trained." 

" Ah ! " said the gardener, " that only 
shows bow little yon know about it. Eecli 
year your branches will grow harder and 
leas flexible, and where one naU will hold 
you now, it would take a doien in another 
twelve months' time." 



THE YOUNG FOLKS' PAGE. 



71 



Cl&e i^oung S^VeA* 9as(< 






?«^^ 



VIII. BAD PICTURES. 

HSBB was once a gnat paiater, whose 
name was Sir Peter Lexmie. He used to 
say that he neTer looked at a bad picture : 
for if he looked at a bad piotore, he was 
qnite sore when he began to paint next 
time one of his oolonrs would hare a bad tint, or one of 
his figures would have a <3t)oked line. Bad examples are 
bad pictures. The less we look at them the better. 

IX. LOOK UP TO THE SKY. 

A TUM went yerj early one morning to steal some tur- 
nips. He took his spade with him, and his little daughter 
aooompanied him. He put her on the top of the wall that 
she might see if anybody was coming. Her name was 
little Janet, and her father said to her, ** Janet 1 do yon 
see anybody ooming ? " She replied, " No, father.*' He 
said, "Have yon looked all down the roadP" She an- 
swered, ** Tes, father." *' And have you looked all up the 
road, and across the fields, this way, and that way P" 
Again she answered, "Yes, father. But—*' she con- 
tinued. " Well, Janet, but «\at f " Janet replied. " But^ 
father, there is one way that I have not looked yet. I 
koM not loofcid up to Om «fey. Perhaps there is some one 
there who can see us I " The father put down his spader 
and went home without the turnips I Always do that 
Always look up to the skyt Look te see who sees us 
therel 

A good man onoe liyed in a house from which he could 
look in almoet every direction. One said to him, "If you 
win pay me Ibr itk I will make your house so that people 
cannot look in upon you anywhere." He replied, " I will 
pay you twice as much if yon will make my house so that 
every person can see me night aqd day; that they may 
see where I am, and what I am doing." 

Would you like a glass door into your hearty that every 
one could look in, and aee all that is going on up and 
down tn your heart? That is what God tells us to do. 
So to live that everybody can see all that we are doing \ 
see us all over. 



X. GOOD FRIDAY. 

DzB you ever bear of Hedley Yicars* that good soldiert 
He was once reading the Bible, and aocidentally->he was 
not religious then, I believe— aoddentally he happened to 
come upon the verse— "The blood of Jesus Christ His 
Son cleanseth us from all sin." He thought, " Is that 
true? If that triM to nMf Does the blood of Jesus Christ 
wash out all my sin P Then I resolve I will henceforth 
live as a man who has been washed in the blood of Jesus 
Christ" A noble resolve I Bemember it»— "I will Uve 
as a man ought to live who has been washed in the blood 
of Jesus Christ." How is a man to live who has been 
washed in the blood of Christ P That was a noble resolve I 

XI. LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOURS. 

THBxa is a beantifal little word, made up of (bur letters 
I want you to spell it. CanyouspellP The first letter is 
L, the next U O. What is the thirdP Y. What is the 
fourth P B. Thatisit-LOVB. A beautiful little word, 
much better than self. That has four letters in It too. 
SELF. That is very ngly. LOYB is a beautiful thing, 
I want you to write it, not in ink, bntsomehow or other in 
very large letters. I should like it to be written in the 
kitchen, and in the parlour, and in the drawing-room, and 
in the schoolroom, and in the nursery, and in church, and 
in the streets, and everywhere. LOVB written up every- 
where. And I think we might almost write it in heaven. 
What is love P Heaven. They are almost the same thing. 
Love— heaven ; heaven— love. Try and write it every, 
where. See Love everywhere. Love in my heart; love 
all around. It is beautifhl to love. " Thou shalt Iom thy 
neighbour as thyself." 

Do you know what "neighbour" meansP "Neigh" 
means. aigh ; it is an old word meaning iwor ; and " hour" 
means a person who dwells. Bo "neighbour " means a 
porton who dio#n« noor to you x who lives next door to me. 
Are you kind to the person who lives next door to you P 
Does everybody know the name of the person who lives 
next door to him P Were you ever kind to the person who 
lives next door to youP If thqy have been in trouble have 
you been good to themP 



Ws^t iSaie ^me Searcfielr. 

BT XBB BIGHT BBT. THB LOBD BISHOP OF BOBOB ABB HAH. 



. BIBLB QUBSTION& 

1. XXTHBN did a multitude in heaven cry, " Peaee on 
X X earth P " and when did a multitude on earth cry, 
'Peace in Heaven P " 

a. Where in the Old Testament, apart firom the record 
In Genesis, do we read of the unbelief of the antedilu- 
nan world P 

8. Have the angels a speech ot their own, or do thoy use 
human language P 

4. Why were our first parents turned out of BdenP 

6. There are certain books mentioned in the Old Testa- 
ment, such as the Book of Jashar, which are not now 
extant. Are there any such mentioned in the New P 

6. On what two occasions were costly oflbrings made to 
our Bleesed Lord P 

7. Who shed tears that he might obtain the blessing P 
Who shed tears because he could not obtain the blessing? 

8. What is the one little word whtoh each Person of the 
Trini^ is represented as saying to us P 



0. "Almost all things are tqr the law purged with 
blood." Can vou mention anytung that was not P 

10. When Aoam and Sve sinned, now was the word of 
God fulfilled, " In the day that thou eatest thereof, thou 
Shalt surely die " P 

11. What good man, besides Christ, endured the re- 
proach and indignity of spitting in the face P 

18. What were the five speciaiprivileges, and what the 
five special sins, of Israel in the wilderness P 

AN8WBB8. 

1. 1 Cor. is. 7. n. Esther vi. 18 ; llatt. xxvU. 19. m. 
Matt. xi. 81. IV. a Sam. xii. 86. Y. Acts xiL 7 ; Jonah L 
6. VI. Mark X. aiiLnke x. 48. TH. Isa. xi. 18; Micah iv. 
7 1 Zeph. iii. 19. Yin. Mark iv. 13. IZ. Acts xxvi 14; 
see Mark v. 41 ; viL 84 ; xv. 84. Z. Fsahn U. 11. XL Gen. 
xvi. 11 J xviL 19 ; 1 Kings xiii. 8 ; Isa. xliv. 28 ; Luke 1. IS. 
XII. Matt. xi. 20; see Num. xiL 8. 



W90*0t0^mt0^0*0^ 




HO 




E WOROS 



FOR 



%m ma %mik' 



€€ 



mi I*m a ^rftua) 2op, »ir. 



ff 




{H I Fm a BriMsb boy, sir : 
I joy to tell it you ; 
A Briton sboald be honest,-^ 
Let me be bonest too. 
My toiigae sbould speak tbe tratb, sir : 

'Tis tbiB tbat yon sbonld know me by : 
For every Britisb boy, sir, 
Sboald bate to teU a lie. 

Oh ! I'm a Britisb boy, sir: 

I joy to tell it yon ; 
A Briton e'er loves bononr-— 

Tbea let me love it too. 



In justice be my glory brigbt, 
Regardful of another's rigbt : 

Ob, I'm a Britisb boy, sir : 
Tbis is my true deligbt 

Ob ! I'm a Britisb boy, sir, 

I joy to tell it you ; 
God make me of it wortby, 

Life's toilsome journey tbrougb ! 
And wben to man's estate I grov. 

My Britisb name tbe world sball know : 
Ob ! I'm a Britisb boy, sir. 

And tbis my life sball show. 

Ahoh. 



i^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^N^* 



KT AGHIS GIBIRirB, AUTHOB OF '' THB BSCTOB'S HOHB," ^'TIM TSDDINaTON'S DBIAM," BTO. 



OHAPTEB IV. 

A LBTTBB. 

IKEEE was not mncb to be 
seen tbat nigbt wbere tbe 
blow bad been given, 
tbougb that did not com- 
fort me much, for the 
worst hurts don't always 
show the qaickest. I 
made my husband get to bed early, and put 
on a good hot linseed poultice, and he said 
it was unoommon comfortable; but still he 
bad little sleep for tbe pain. 

However, be went to bis work as usual 

TOL. X. HO. IT. 




next morning, and a good many mornings 
after. He was not one of those men who 
give in easily. He didn't complain, and he 
always seemed cheery : so for a wbile we got 
to think little about the matter. Now and 
then I used to see him doing things as if he 
fonnd them a labour, and I would say, "How 
is the back, PbilP" But he usually made 
answer, " Oh, it '11 soon be all right," and 
then he would go off whistling. 

But it wasn't soon all right. And strange 
to say it was Harry Garter more than I who 
first began to take alarm. Maybe Phil was 
careful with me to put on more obeeriness of 
manner than be could keep up always, and 

B 2 



76 



HOME WORDS. 



so I was longer deceived. Not that he meant 
to deceive me or anybody ; only it was his 
way to make little of his ailments, — jnst the 
opposite to most men. For though of course 
there are men that are different, and women 
that are different, yet no doubt women do as 
a rule bear illness a deal the best. It seems 
as if a man don't know what to make of it, 
and he sits huddled up in a bunch, and looks 
miserable, and can't think why in the world 
we women don't manage to make him feel 
right. But that wasn't my husband's way. 
I always do say there aren't many like him. 

Since the day when he was hurt we seemed 
to see almost nothing of Annie Gilpin. Near 
upon a fortnight went by, and Harry grew 
fidgety and impatient, and I wondered why 
it was. We thought^ maybe she knew what 
had happened, and was afraid to come. I 
talked of going to look her up, but somehow 
I put off doing so ; for though I said I had 
forgiven Gilpin (I said it to myself and to 
Phil also) yet I did not want to see him. I 
felt as if he had behaved so wrongly he 
didn't deserve civil words; and I can see 
now that, while I felt so, it was no real for- 
giveness at all. 

One evening I was just going to shut and 
lock the door, when a hand came all of a 
sudden on mine, and I found Annie standing 
close to me. There was a high wind blowing, 
and she had no bonnet or hat on, but an old 
shawl pulled over her head. And when I 
wanted to draw her in she pulled back, and 
wouldn't step over the threshold. 

" Come," said I. " Why it's a week and 
more since you *ve been near us." 

"Nearer a fortnight," said she. "No, I 
mustn't come in. I would if I might, but 
father says I mustn't. He says he won't 
have me come here, and I must do what 
father tells me, mustn't I, Mrs. Proctor P " 
She asked the question as if she would very 
much have liked me to say, "No;" but I said 
" Yes." 

" Even when there's no reason P " said she. 

" The Bible don't tell children to look into 
their parents' reasons," said I; "it only 
says, obey ; so, if he don't command you to 
do something wrong, you 've only just got to 
do what he says." 
* "I don't know as I can count it that, ez- 



f* 



aotly; at least I suppose the greater wrong 
would be to disobey," said she sorrowfally. 
" I mustn't come to your house, then, any 
more, Mrs. Proctor." 

" Till when P " I asked her. 

*• Till— oh, I don't know when. He doesn't 
— doesn't like " 

Annie stopped, and seemed aa if she did 
not know how to go on. 

"Maybe he will change his mind aoon» 
I said. 

" Oh, I don't know, I don't know," said 
she. 

*' He don't like our religion, Annie," said I 
to her. 

" He hates it," said she ; and with the can- 
dle light from the open door Mling on her 
face I could see her flushing. " He hatea it» 
and I think he hates Mr. Proctor and yon for 
it. He calls you hypocrites; but I know 
he doesn't really mean that, for he knows it 
isn't true." 

" Perhaps some day he will feel differently 
about us," said I. 

" Oh, I wish he did," Annie said. " But he 
says you 're making me like you, and he saya 
it spoilt mother, and he doesn't mean to have 
me spoilt too. He says mother was a lively 
lass, before she took up with religious no- 
tions." 

" Before she took up with a crank-tempered 
husband," said I : and I knew the words were 
not over wise with the child of the man who 
had the bad temper, and yet I couldn't help 
saying them. " That's the truth of the mat- 
ter, and not the other, Annie. Beligton don't 
spoil folks, though some religious folks have 
their queer ways of course, just as lots of 
people without religion have too. A person 
isn't spoilt and made dull by having a King- 
for a Friend, and a royal palace for a home. 
No, no, your mother's dulness don't come 
from that, nor anybody else's either." 

" I must go," said Annie with a sigh. 
" Are you all quite well, Mrs. Proctor P " 

" Saving and except my husband," said I. 
" There isn't much wrong with him, only the 
blow has left a soreness." 

"Did he have a blow P" said she; and X 
saw she hadn't heard. 

'' Just about a fortnight ago," said I. "A 
mam ran against him with a sharp-edged 



NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 



77 



paroel« and he hasn't eeemed quite himself 
since." 

'* I hope he 11 be all right soon/* said she, 
and she went off to next door with a qoick 
step. She and her mother had a way of 
harrying as if they were always half fright- 
ened and expected to get a scolding for slow- 
ness. 

Harry was in a great way when he heard 
what she had said, and he declared he would 
see her. He would go next door, and tell 
Gilpin it was a shame. I told him if he 
wanted to have done with Annie altogether 
that was the very best way; and presently 
he cooled down, and saw there was nothing 
for it bat to be patient. We knew we should 
meet Annie and her mother outside some- 
times. But for next-door neighbours it is 
wonderful how seldom we did meet in the next 
xow wee&s. 

Harry came in one day, and said, "IVe 
seen her/' 

" Seen who P " says I, for I had my hus- 
band's shirt buttons in my mind at that 
moment, and not the neighbours. 

"Why, Annie GUpin," said he. "And she 
asked me if I 'd kept my promise." 

" What promise P " said I. 

"Why she made me promise ever so long 
ago that I would write to my old mother. 
Annie was in a taking to find I hadn't 
written to her for so long." 

" Tou don't mean you haven't done it yetP" 
said I ; and I took blame to myself for not 
seeing to the matter, thinking how all these 
weeks the poor woman had been anxious 
still about her son. 

"I can't say nothing else anyhow," says 
he in his light-hearted way. " Very bad of 
me, isn't it P" 

" Yes»" I said, and I didn't smile as I spoke 
the word. " It w bad, Harry. Tou '11 write 
this very afternoon, won't you P " 

" Well, I mean to— 40on," says he. 

I just went to a drawer, and took out a pen 
and a piece of blotting paper, and a sheet of 
paper, and an envelope, and I put them on 
the table with the inkbottle. 

"Tnere^" said I, "now you've no excuse. 
There's plenty of time this afternoon ; and 
no time is like now, you know. Don't you go 
and put off." 



He didn't want to do the thing then, for 
with all his strength he was lazyi and writing 
was a bother to him. But he put the paper 
square in front, and rammed his pen into the 
inkbottle near hard enough to turn up the 
nib the wrong way, and gave a great yawn. 

" Dear— old— mother," says he, and he 
began to write a big D. 

" I wouldn't call her old, if I was you," I 
said ; " it don't sound respectf al." 

" Why, I always do," he said. 

" Well, maybe she likes it," said I; " but I 
don't. I shouldn't hke my Willie to write so 
to me." 

" It don't matter; it's shorter without," 
said he, and he went ahead, saying the words 
aloud, and making his pen spit and splutter 
as it never had been used to do before. " * Dear 
— mother — it's lota — of time — since — I've — 
wrote to — ^you — and — I'm — sorry— but I've — 
not — ^forgotten — ^you.* She'll be pleased with 
that, won't sheP "'Mind — you-^wribe — ^and 
—tell — me —how — ^you — are — and — if you're 
— comfortable. I send — you — five shillings 
for — a — ^new — cap, — wish — it — was — ^more — 
but— am — ^run — ^rather — close. I've — found 
— good — ^friends — here. I've kept — steady — 
like — you — ^wanted — me — to. I'm — your — 
affectionate — son — ^Harry — Carter.' " 

"That isn't over long," said I; "but it'll 
tell her where you are. Mind you give the 
direction clear, Harry, and don't forget the 
five shillings, and get it off by the first post, 
won't you." 

"So I will, the very first," said he. "Won't 
she be pleased P I can't think how ever I've 
left her so long. She'll go half crazed for 
joy." And he made a grand business of 
folding it up, and putting the direction and 
the stamp. 

" Don't stick it up," said I ; " there's the 
five shillings' worth of stamps to put inside." 

" To be sure, — if I wasn't forgetting," said 
he, and be got up. Half-way to the door, he 
turned back. " I say, mother, where' s Proc- 
tor this afternoon P " said he. 

" Mr. Conner wanted to see him ; I don't 
know what for," said I. 

" Well, if I was you I'd look after him," 
said Harry. " He ain't so well as he wants 
you to think. He's lost a deal of flesh." 

" He don't sleep nor eat well," I said, aiid 



78 



HOME WORDS. 



I tried not to be firightened; " but there's 
nothing wrong." 

••WeU, I hope not," says Harry, "but 
there's some'at that isn't right." 

And with that he went off sharp, and I 
couldn't ask any more ; and I sat down, and 
worried, and fretted, and wondered what I 
ought to do. While I was in the middle 
of my fretting the dick of the front gate 
sounded. I thought it was my husband come 
home, and went to the door ; but it was Mrs. 
Conner. 

She had her grown-up sons and her mar^ 
ried daughters, and her grandchildren, had 
Mrs. Conner, and she was getting on in life. 
Yet there was to my mind something young 
still in her smooth forehead and pale skin. 
Wrinkles of age never seemed to come there. 
It wasn't that she had not known plenty of 
care and trouble in her lifetime; but I do 
think she had the " peace that passeth un- 
derstanding " more than many people have : 
her very look always brought those words to 
mind. 

" I have not been to see you for some time, 
Susan," she said, as she came in. I was ' Susan' 
still to her and the young ladies. And I said 
I knew she was busy, and she said she cer- 
tainly was. " But I want to ask you some- 
thing now," she went on. "What is the 
matter with your husband? " 

It seemed so odd, the question coming just 
after what Harry had said, and the thought 
that other people had been noticing and I had 
not been anxious. I just stood and looked at 
her, and said nothing. 

"He isn't well, is he, Susan P " she said. 

" He hasn't been altogether right," I said, 

"But he isn't one to make a deal of no- 
thing." 

''The more need not to let him make no- 
thiug of something," says she. " What has 
been the matter P " 

" He had a blow on his back," said L "A 
man ran against him with a sharp parcel It 
didn't seem much, but I'm not altogether 
satifified. There's a sort of pain and weak- 
ness in the back that don't go off as it should, 
and he hasn't his appetite." 

" He looks ill," said she. " My husband 
was noticing the change in him. How long 
ago was the blow P " 



"A good many weeks, ma'am," said I. 
" Four or five. I'm not sure how many." 

"And you haven't consulted a doctor P" 
said she. 

No, we had not thought of such a thing, 
and I said so, and I made up my mind that 
minute to the doing of it Mrs. Conner saw 
she had said enough, and she talked of other 
matters; but I had a weight upon me, and I 
couldn't think of aught but Phil. 

When she was gone, and he came back, I 
told him what she had said. He laughed at 
first at the notion of going to the doctor, and 
said 'twas all nothing. But I got him to 
promise, for I gave him no peace till he did ; 
only, as it was late, I had to be content he 
should wait till Monday. 

I had a worrying day, Sunday, watching 
my husband, and thinking what a poorly sort 
of way he seemed in altogether, and scolding 
myself that I hadn't noticed more. The fret- 
ting did nobody any good, and only made ma 
a dull companion ; but may-be it was natural, 
though it wasn't wise. 

Then, when Monday came^ my husband 
found there was something that ought to be 
done just in the very hour when he could have 
found the doctor in, and that was between 
three and four in the afternoon. Mr. Con- 
ner would have been willing enough to let him 
off for the hour, and I knew that, and I 
wanted to have everything give way to the 
doctor ; but Phil felt different. He said the 
time wasn't his own, and it was for other 
people's interest that he shouldn't neglect his 
work ; and as for seeing the doctor, one day 
more or less couldn't make a grain of differ- 
ence. So at last I set him free from his 
promise. And the next day was the vety 
same thing over again. I had to be content 
to wait till Wednesday, which happened to 
be a balf-holiday at the works, on account of 
its being Mrs. Conner's birthday. She al- 
ways asked that for the men as a favour from 
her husband. 

" Wish it was a half-holiday with me too^" 
Harry Carter said, as he went off to his work. 
And my husband laughed, and said : — 

" You needn't wish you had to go and be 
physicked, any way." 

"Maybe he won't physic yon« if there's 
nothing wrong," said L 



NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 



79 



"Maybe not/' says my hasband; and there 
the matter dropped. But at the proper time 
in the afternoon he started off for the doctor's, 
and a few minutes after I went upstairs to 
see to some things that wanted sorting and 
mending. They took me a good half-hour or 
thereabouts, and when I had done and came 
down again, there was Harry Carter, sitting 
at the table, with his big curly head down on 
his arms, crying and sobbing like a child. 

'• Why, Harry," said I. " Harry— what's 
the matter P " And my heart went down and 
down like lead, for I thought he had surely 
heard something of the doctor and my hus- 
band, that being the uppermost thought in 
my mind. " What is it, Harry P " I said ; 
** has something gone wrong P " 

" Something 1 Oh, hasn't it P" says he, with 
a great gulp. " To think of the big selfish 
brute Ftc been — " 

" Have you heard firom your mother P " 
said I. 

" I've heard of her," said he, and he sobbed 
again. And then all of a sudden he looked 
up at me with such a sorrowful pair of eyes. 
" I'ye got to thank you," said he, " and I do 
too ; for if it wasn't for you I don't know how 
I'd ever have been able to look any one in 
the face again. A great selfish brute, — ^yes, 
that's it, — thinking of nothing in life but 
my own pleasure, and she pining her heart 
away for me yonder, and never able to get at 



me." 

" Then your mother's ill P " said L 

" She's been ill," said he, in a smothered 
tone, dropping his head down again on his 
arms, " and she's — she's— dead." 

I didn't wonder he seemed half broken- 
bearted. No, I couldn't wonder. For with 
all his pleasant ways, and his kind ways too, 
to my children and myself, it had been cruel 
heartless work to leave his poor old mother 
all that while, with ne'er a word to say where 
he was, or whether he was alive or dead. Oh, 
it was cruel work. He didn't mean to be 
cruel of course, and he didn't know the love 
and longing of a mother*s heart* and young 
fellows like him are thoughtless ; but I don't 
think that is enough excuse. I think they 
ought to understand better. 

"And the. letter didn't reach her, Harry," 
said I, feeling tears fill my eyes with think- 



ing what it must have been to her to die 
without one word from her boy. 

" Yes, but it did," said he, in a choked sort 
of voice. " It got to her in time, just two 
hours afore she died. And the lady that 
writes, — she's the clergyman's wife, and she 
was with mother to the last, — says 'twas 
beautiful to see her smile. She wouldn't let 
the letter once out of her hand, — and she lay 
and kissed it, — and she said how God had 
heard her prayers. It was the one thing she 
was fretting for, you see; and if it hadn't 
been for you she wouldn't have got it in 
time.'* 

" It would have been dreadful for you if 
she hadn't," said I. 

" It's dreadful now" said he, with another 
choke in his voice. " Just to think of all 
them months that she's been getting weaker 
and weaker, and thirsting to hear from me, 
and never hearing I Why, if I'd written one 
week sooner I could have heard she was ill, 
and I might have run home for a last look. 
Wouldn't I feel different then to what I do 
nowP I didn't know what it would be to 
feel m never see her again." 

" Never P" said I. "Don't you mean to 
meet her in heaven, Harry P " 

"Ah, that's what she said," says Hany. 
" That's just it. She kept telling the lady 
again and again — see, here's the words if I 
can find 'em, — ^no, it's on the fourth page— 
wasn't the lady good to write such a long 
letter P Here it is. She says, " Your mother 
kept saying to me, over and over, through 
those last two hours, " Mind you write to my 
Harry. Mind you tell him to come to heaven. I 
can't see him before I die, and I must see him 
again. Tell him to come to heaven. Tell him 
there's no way but through the Lord Jesus ; 
and tell him he caji't love the holy Christ and 
love sin too. My Harry's got to make his 
choice. You'll be sure and tell him he's got 
to meet me in heaven." ' Aint that beauti- 
ful P" 

"And you'll do it," said I. " You'll make 
the right choice, won't you P You won't be 
contented to let the parting between your 
mother and you be for ever, and for ever, 
and for ever." 

"No, no, I couldn't stand that," says he. 
" You'll have to teach me what I've got to 



BOMB WORDS. 



da. And I'm going homo to aeo her, though 
ehe won't see me. I'll be there at the fane- 
ral, and I'll toU the lady what a brnto I've 
been, and learn all I *an about poor old 
mother," 

" She JBn't poor wow," I saiJ. " She'a ti 
beantifnl saint in God's paradise," 

Harrf fetched a great sigh at that, and I 
ASked him presently, " When did yoii get tho 
letter F" 

" Why, 1 looked in at the post as I went 



by," said he, "and there it was. I gnessed 
t was a letter from mother, oftlj I thonght 
she'd got Borae one to write the outside direc- 
tion. And I hadn't time to read then, for I 
1 a bit late ] ao 1 thought I'd keep roy treat 
till dinner time. And ifhen I found what it 
ras I hadn't any more heart for work to-day; 
I got leave to come home." 

I didn't wonder. It's hard work reaping 
the fruit of tho bitter accda that young folk 
too ol^.oa love to boit. 



an (Sastfr Clioufcljtj "Saaftfn tofll tfif iWorntitff Come?" 



HB following touching ijiscrij>tio. 
was copied fiora atiimbstone in 
village churchyard. 

OUR MOTHBB 

FELL ASI.KKP 

November 12, 1840. 
.£1.41. 

} coasf 



Simple, yet beautif nl language !— latigaago 
that siionlcf find a response in every heart 
mado sad by the loss of that best and dearest 
of all earthly friendis, a mother. Many a fal- 
tering tongue has asked that tnagniGcent 
question, Vi'lixa loill •morning eome ? Only 
Christianity gives the answer; — "When I 
awake in His likeness." 0. B. 



"SPEClNl EN-GLASSES' FOR THE KING'S MINSTRELS. 



S LATE ritANCES BIDLET BATEKOAL. 



HL CHABLOTTB ELLIOTTS 
(Cojilmutfil.) 

DT we must fill our speci- 
men- glasses with other 
choice fiowers from the 
same root whence grew 
" Just as I am " and " Thy 
llbedone." Theirbcavenly 
grance is more noticeable 
an their poetic beauty, thongh this ia by n 
Bitns wanting. We will take the first two 
mjianion hymns. They complete each other 
our fnith and Christ's love, our clinging, 
is pleading. 

•■ WE CLING TO THEE." 
O Hoi; Savioiii, Friend nnMea, 
Sinee on Thine arm Tbon biJd'Et as Uan, 
Help ns, lluoaghout life's changing bccdb, 
By fnitb to diBR to ThSB. 



Blest with this fellowahip Divine, 
Take what Than vilt, we'll not repine ; 
Even as the branclioa to tlia vine. 

Our Bouls will cling to Thco. 
Without a muminr we dismiss 
Om' former dieems ol earthly bliss j 
Oitr joy, em' oonsulation this, 

Each hour to cling to Thee. 

Though taith and hope may oft bo tried, 
We aak not, need not, aaght betide ; 
So safe, BO calm, so satisQcd, 
The lonls tliat oUog to Thee t 

They fear ant Satan, not the griiTB, 
They know Thee near and strong to sftve, 
Nor dread to cross e'en Jordan's ware, 
Bocanse they oUng to Ihce. 

Blest be onr lot, nliate'er befaU I 
What oon disturb, or who appal, 
While as our Strength, our Bock, cm All. 
SsTioar, we oting to Thee 7 



MODERN HYMN WRJTERS: 



8i 



" OH, PLEAD FOR MB." 

O Thou the contrite 8inner*s Friend 
"Who, loving, lov'st him to the end, 
On thia alone my hopes depend, — 
That Thou wilt plead for me I 

When, weary in the Christian race, 
Far oflP appears my resting-place. 
And fainting I mistmst Thy grace, 
Then, Sayioor, plead for me I 

When I have erred and gone astray 
Afar from Thine and wisdom's way, 
And see no glimmering guiding ray. 
Still, Saviour, plead for me 1 

When Satan, by my sins made hold. 
Strives from Thy cross to loose my hold. 
Then witji Thy pitying arms enfold, 
And plead, oh, plead for me ! 

And when my dying hour draws near. 
Darkened with anguish, guilt, and fear, 
Then to my fainting sight appear. 
Pleading in heaven for me ! 

When the full light of hearenly day 
Beveala my sins in dread array, 
Say Thou hast washed them all away ; 
Oh, say Thou plead'et for me I 

Realization of the Lord Jesus Christ as ft 
personal Saviour and Friend, personal love 
to Him, with a longing that rests in nothing 
short of His presence, seem to be the leading 
characteristics of Miss Elliott's writings. In 
one verse of another hymn she opens the very 
centre of her life and of her power ; and the 
fulfilment of this great central desire vras 
written npon her life and in her works. 
Jesus was a " living bright reality " to her. 
How often we see such answers ! When we 
converse about some special grace of the 
Spirit, and our friend says, with deep hu- 
mility, " That is just what I want, just what 
I am asking continually for ,' how very often 
we feel, even if we do not ^y, " Why, that 
is the very thing you have I " And the very 
praying of this prayer will be a step towards 
its rich fulfilment. 

JESUS KNOWN. 

O JesuB, make Thyself to me 
A living, bright Reality : 
More present to faith's vision keen 
Than any outward object seen ; 



More dear, more iutimatuiy ui|^u, 
Than e*en the sweetest earthly tie I 

It is pleasant to find that the long-ques« 
tioned authorship of this helpful verse is now* 
known. 

" Faith's vision " is foretaste, but not fru- 
ition. And the sweeter the foretaste the 
deeper will be the longing for the fruition. 
When we have received and realized our 
Saviour's promise, "I will not leave you 
comfortless, I will come to you," then shines 
out that other " sure word " with nearer 
radiance and warmth, " I will come again and 
receive you unto Myself, that where I am 
there ye may be also." And so this hymn 
follows naturally upon the last-quoted verse. 

»' WITH CHRIST." 

Let me be with Thee where Thou art. 

My Saviour, my eternal Rest ! 
Then only will this longing heart 

Be fully and for ever blest. 

Let me be with Thee where Thou art. 

Thy unveiled glory to behold ; 
Then only will this wandering heart 

Cease to be faithless, treacherous, cold I 

Let me be with Thee where Thou art, 
Where spotless saints Thy Name adore ; 

Then only will this sinful heart 
Be evil and defiled no more. 

Let me be with Thee where Thou art, 
Where none can die, — where none remove ; 

Where life nor death my soul can part 
From Thy blest presence and Thy love t 

We may remark here, that Miss Elliott is 
exceptionally happy in refrain, and the short, 
simple, always telling words which she thus 
uses form the point to nearly all the swiftest 
and brightest arrows in her quiver. Most 
hymns leave a merely general impression ; 
good memories quote whole veinses, but others 
only retain a vague idea that it was " a very 
nice hymn." But once read, or, still better, 
once sung, the very essence of many of Miss 
Elliott's hymns is carried away in a single 
phrase, impossible to forget, and containing 
the one thought which all the rest unfolds or 
illustrates. " Just as I am," is a volume of 
divinity in four syllables. " We cling to Thee" 
and " Oh, plead for me," come back again 
and again, when a whole hymn, or even versoi 



<34,-2^^2Zr^^iv!!^ 



I 0DI7. mr Gi 
LlBtln^uiAh 'Thj boiuabold b^low. 



oDgcd-for nutmbUnee once 11 
comelLneM put upon ma. 



I wiot In ThM 10 to iXMb, 

Ai (0 bring tonli umg trait to Th; pnlat 
Tb* bnuich irhloh Tluni pnuuat. ihongh Ik 



DoaiorKcuv. 

ni7 «onl to Thr out 

Itb, m;lMt*lcbl— C.E 



To glorifj Tti»« tlU 
b«n ckbnlr to ' ' ' 
AndbTMUia 



MODERN HYMN WRITERS. 



83 



would not be dwelt npoxL "Let me be with 
Thee where Thou art," is all one's loying and 
longmg set to music in one bar. 

Sometimes her rehnin is taken from the 
most nuMical as well as the most poetical 
Book that ever was written, as in this Hymn. 

"IT IS I; BS NOT AFBAJD." 

When wayes of trouble round me sweD, 

My soul is not dismayed : 
I hear a Toioe I know full welt^ 

••'lis I; be not afraid.** 

When blaek the threatening skies appear, 

And storms my path inyade, 
Those aeoents tranquillise saeh fear» 

••'TisI; be not afraid." 

There is a gnlf that must be erossed ; 

SsTionr, be near to aid! 
Whisper, when my fraH bark is tossed— 

•* 'Tis I ; be not afraid." 

There is a dark and fearful Tale, 

Death hides within its shade ; 
Oh, say, when flesh and heart idiall faO -> 

••*TisI; be not afraid!" 

Tender experimental hymns were not the 
only outflow of this life of seclusion and 
snflering. Sometimes a clear trumpet-note 
rang out. And then, with that sensitiye per- 
ception of metre which is analogous to an 
artist's choice of key in musical composition, 
she exchanged her usual meditative iambics 
for bright ringing trochaics. For instance, 
take the following : — 

•• WATCH AND PEAT." 

••Christian! seek not yet repose;" 
Hear thy guardian angel say, 
Mjhou art in the midst of foes— 

•<Wateh and pray!" 



Frindpalities and powers, 
Mustering their unseen array, 
Wait for thy unguarded hours — 

"Wateh and pray 1" 

Gird thy heavenly armour on, 
Wear it ever, night and day ; 
Ambushed lies the evil one— 

"Wateh and pray!" 

Hear the victors who o*eroame : 
Btill they mark eaeh warrior's way ; 
AH, with one sweet voioe, exclaim — 

•* Watch and pray!" 

Hear, above all, hear thy Lord, 

Him thou lovest to obey ; 

Hide within thy heart His word — 

"Watch and pray!" 

Watch, as if on that alone 
Hung the issue of the day ; 
Pray that help may be sent down^ 

•* Watch aad pray ! " 

Or agiun this :— 

••0 FAINT AND FEEBLE HEARTED. 

faint and feeble hearted I 
Why thus cast down with fear f 

Fresh aid shall be imparted, 
Thy God unseen is near. 

His eye can never slumber. 
He marks thy cruel foes ; 

Observes their strength, their number, 
And all thy weakness knows. 

Though heavy clouds of sorrow 
Make dark thy path to-day. 

There may shine forth to-morrow 
Once more a cheering ray. 

Doubts, griefis, and foes assailing, 
Conceal heaven's fair abode ; 

Tet now faith's power prevailing 
Should stay thy mind on God 1 



{^0 h€ eontinti^d.) 



IW«***«M««tf*tf«tf*0«^«ff«Wrt«»«^«^l^^ 



Creaitfng fioortf. 



WOBKING mani in Birmingham, 
noticed the door of the Church 
creaking whenever it was opened. 
The next spare hour he took some 
oil, and made it go smoothly and easily. There 




is often a creaking door in tome form or other* 
Don't leave it to the pastor or some one else, 
but see if you cannot put it right. Perhaps, 
if you do not do it, it may be left undone 
altogether ! 



HOME WORDS. 



, AUTHOB or " LOVLiSIt LI0IND9," " ABT BrUDIBS FBOU LiBDeEBB," KTO. 



AT SCHOOL.— OM THE 
PEEC I PI CB.— COMPAjrlOK- 
8EIP.— THE BHD. 

SCAB had ft com- 
panion witt whom 
botimea ho wonid 
. hold commnnion, 
t/Heemiag alirajs to 
think moBt of tba 
friends who accom- 
panied them ; with 
hia deep human instincts perceiving tbeir 
wanta and watchiDg over their belonginga. 
" Banger " waa b compact, somewhat eoaj- 
going Scotch collej attached to the ahepherd 
of a neighbonring farmer ; and often did the 
" twft dogs" go out with the "Reapers," to 
gaard their cast-off clolhing, or ait beside 
them as they enjoyed their noontide meal after 
theheatand burthen of theday. The shepherd 
did not live in the same house as hia master, 
but resided in a cottage some distance avaj ; 
and Ranger never, by any ehance, went into 
the farmhonae. It happened one day that 
when in the act of haltering a joung horse, 
the shepherd was so seriously injured that he 
was obliged to be carried home, bis faithful 
dog accompanying him. The poor man lin- 
gered a few days, when death put an end to 
his sufferingg, the dog during that period 
never leaving the house. The church was 
distant about a mile, and it waa necessary to 
convey the body in a cart, and when this waa 
arranged. Ranger walked demurely under 
the cart all the way to the church — of. a 
truth, the " shepherd's chief mourner." The 
cofQn having been placed in the centre aisle 
of the ohnroh, the devoted friend lay down 
beside it, alterwards fbllowiog it to the 
grave; and when all waa over, he accom- 
panied the master, who oat of respect to a 
good servant had attended the funeral, to 
his own honse, never again seeking to go to 
his old home, rendered nnto him desolate, 
and saying in langoage which was under- 
■tood— " Ton mnat take care of mo now." 



But oor schoolboy days form the brightest 
spot in our reminLscencea of Old Oscar. 
Bright days indeed those were, dimmed only 
by one dark shadow. 

Once Oscar accompanied ns to achool. 
With mnch trepidation we ventnred to admit 
him, for often had the old Dominie declared 
his vengeance against " all doga and cats, 
and (UC& worthless animals." But, like most 
others, the Dominie had hia weak aide; and 
with evident perception of what waa needed, 
onr companion went right np to the table, kod 
submissively licked the hand which happened 
to be banging over its edge. With eagerDeaa 
we had watched the eSect : it was electric. 
For once the monarch was anbdned, and 
through that rongh nature there beamed one 
ray of light and love. Oscar was invited to 
take a place on the large rug inside the desk; 
and there he lay, quiet and cosy, till play- 
time. He thenjumped Dp, and, after a kindly 
pat from the master, bounded forth with the 
boys. 

What fun we had that day 1 All gathered 
round Oscar; all were ready to feast him. 
And then the racing — np the playground, 
and over the stile, and. down by the little 
green well, where we used to eat our bread 
and drink the cold dear water; then bftck 

As we were retnming to lessons, a wiclred 
little fellow pulled Oscar's ear, and got a gvir 
for hia trouble — nothing more; but np he 
weat, jcreaming, with a toad complunt. It 
was no nae ; the boys laughed, the master 
was immovable ; d priori, the animal would 
have touched no one without cause; and, 
besides, ere this time he had peacefally found 
hia way to the comfortable retreat inside the 

That was Oscar's first and laat day at 
school ; a day long to be talked of and (Per- 
ished in memory. 

Kegolarly did Oacar come ont the way to 
meet ns as weretnmed; sometimes leaping 
and joyful, aometimea calm and demure. 
Either way we never dared to disturb him ; 
over ns he exerted a powerful influence : 



86 



HOME WORDS. 



somehow we fell into his mood, and his 
presence made us mirthful or sad. In daj- 
light we gambolled with him; when it was 
dark we felt happy and secure in his com- 
panionship. How strange it would hare 
seemed had he been absent from his place I 

Could it beP — ^Yes, it was even so ! One 
night Oscar met us not, and it dH seem 
strange. We came up to the old steading 
bewildered : he was not to be found. 

Oscar had a companion, the adopted son of 
his worthy master, who had grown up with 
him, his constant playmate though "little 
master," full fifteen years. He too was miss- 
ing; coincidence most ominous I Whither 
had they gone P An awM mystery gathered 
over their disappearance. It was thought 
th^y would be found together, and the neigh- 
bours turned out to search for them, as coun- 
try neighbours do on such occasions, with a 
kindly honest sympathy. 

We sought them at the a^joming home- 
steads, and down amongst those rugged cliffs 
that overhang the sea. From " Maw Cave " 
to " the Glen," from •' the Glen " to " Hell's 
Mouth," we sought them sorrowing, looking 
now up amid the rocks and ravines, then 
down by the pebbly shore. At times we 
would stop and listen ; then call their names 
— Oscar! John I Could they be there P 
Suspicion how terrible I It was now quite 
dark, and we could see the stars glittering in 
the glassy water, the quiet murmur of which 
was only broken by the stray screech of an 
owl, or the suppressed mutter of a disturbed 
seafowl. There was not a human sound or 
motion, save our own, which seemed in this 
solitude to deepen the gloom and heighten 
onr fears. 

The night passed on — a night of sorrowful 
fruitless watching never to be forgotten. 
Dawn came; and as the company, — ^now 
small enough, for only love can hope against 
hope and still struggle on, — were groping 
their way along "the braes," the old man, 
ever foremost in the search, and whose eye 
was ever watchful, caught a glimpse of 
*' something strange," perched on the edge 
of a lofty precipice. It was Oscar I His 
name was called — ^loudly and fawningly 
reiterated^ but he heeded not. There he sat, 
looking eagerly, fixedly downwards. Alas I 



the tale was too certain — ^too sad were these 
forebodings. Overpowered, the old man 
sank to the ground, and was carried home, 
muttering, amid expressions of deep sorrow 
and anguish, "My puir laddie! my poor 
laddie I and Oscar wi' him tae ! " 

John Williams had gone out a-nesting with 
Oscar, as he had often done before. He had 
missed his footing, and fallen a height of 
more than two hundred feet. Dead, dashed 
in pieces on the jagged edges of the preci- 
pice, the fragments of his body were scat- 
tered on the level rocks below like a shower 
of clotted blood. 

Nesting I How is it that year after year ib 
counts its victims P Is there, after all, such 
a charm in the possession of a few wildfowl's 
eggs P It is not in the prise, but there is a 
^cination, wild and strong, in scaling the 
dizzy heights, in creeping along the shattered 
shelvings, and peering into those mysterious 
crevices, familiar only to the marrot and the 
mew. Ay, and there is a fascination in tell- 
ing of adventures and hairbreadth 'capes, 
the very thought of which makes one's blood 
grow cold. Brave natures cannot resist it, 
led on by a love of dangler and daring which 
most possess in some degree, and which, 
well trained and rightly directed, forms one 
of the noblest elements in man. 

By the assistance of a boat the mangled 
remains of the hapless youth were gathered 
up, and carried by sorrowing friends to that 
home he had " left so late," full of life and 
hope. 

There, on that cold eminence, through the 
long solitary night, sat his faithful com- 
panion, eagerly watching, his ears bent 
downwards, his eyes transfixed. Nor would 
he stir from that place till the mournful com- 
pany moved on, and then he followed at a 
distance, stopping at intervals, and looking 
back with that long melancholy whine whicli 
the traveller hears at midnight, and, some- 
how, quickens his step homewards. " It is 
only a dog," you say. True; but that 
« dumb brute," as you (^ him, Imew he had 
lost a friend, and/eli the separation. 

Cowering and trembling, Oscar entered 
the house, and crouched into that comer 
beneath the old oak table he had so often 
shared in other days with one now lost for 



OLD OSCAR. 

" ThtM he sat, perctied on the edgs of a lofty preslpiee, looliing Mgmly, fiiedly, 
dmnmidi. Hia name ira» called— loadly and fawniuglj reiterated, bnt hs heeded 
not." Bee page S6. 



88 



HOME WORDS. 



ever. He refused to eab or mind any one, 
and spurned all entreaties to leare his couch. 
But our story is soon told. One morning 
Oscar's place was vacant. No one saw him 
leave it ; no one knew whither he had gone ; 
and in yain was he sought among his former 
haunts. A few days afterwards, poor Oscar 
was discovered by some fishermen, cold and 
stiff, near the rock on which were found the 
shattered remains of John Williams. Some 
spoke of blind instinct, and some of self- 
destruction ; but such were the facts, and it 
is not for us to speak of causes. Oscar was 
carried home to the old steading, and buried 



in the garden beneath a plot of flowers which 
had been planted and tended by the hand of 
the lost friend without whom aU was darkness. 

Such the mysterious link between maa 
and his most trusted and devoted companion 
— this human sorrow, attachment, and joy; 
and such the emblem of a still higher relation- 
ship — the sheep, the shepherd, and the dog 
in conscious and beautiful dependence for 
guidance and protection. 

"And there shall be a tabernacle for a 
shadow in the daytime firom the heat, and for 
a place of refuge, and for aoorert from storm 
and from rain." 



Cbt ^ascter Commumom 

" Did not oar heart bum within us, while He talked with us by the way, and while He opened to 

us the Scriptures ? " — SU Luke ziiv. 82. 




HEY talked of Jeans, as they 
went; 
And Jesus, all unknown, 
Did at their side Himself present 
With sweetness all His own. 
Swift^ as He oped the sacred Word, 

His glory they discerned ; 
And swift, as His dear voice they heard, 
Their hearts witliin them burned. 

He would have left them, but that ihey 

With prayers His love assailed : 
" Depart not yet ! A little stay ! " 

They pressed Him, and preyailed. 
And Jesus was revealed, as there 

He blessed and brake the bread ; 
But, while they marked His heavenly air. 

The matchless Guest had fled. 



And thus at times, as Christians talk 

Of Jesus and His Word, 
He joins two friends amidst their walk, 

And makes, unseen, & third. 
And oh ! how sweet their converse flows, 

Their holy theme how clear. 
How warm with love each bosom glows, 

If Jesus be but near ! 

And they that woo His visits sweet. 

And will not let Him go. 
Oft, while His broken bread they eat^ 

His soul-felt presence know : 
His gathered friends He loves to meet 

And fill with joy their faith, 
When they with melting hearts repeat 

The memory of EUs death. 

Gbihfisld. 



MOBNING. 



^arl^ 




ENTLE Jesus, hear my prayer, 
Make a little child Thy care ; 
Early may I look to Thee, 
liy Saviour and my Guide to be. 

Sufibr not my foot to stray 
From Thy safe and happy way ; 
Thou hast lived and died for me, 
Let me love and live to Thee. 




ETENING. 

B AVENLY Father ! I come to Thee to 
bless me before I sleep. Forgive all I 
have done wrong to-day, and fill my 
little heart with love and peace. When I rise 
in the morning, may I, like the sweet flowers, 
rejoice in Thy presence. Bless my dear 
parents, my brothers and sisters, and mako 
me indeed a holy child : for the sake of Jesus 
Christ, our Lord. Amen. — From ** The Sunday 
School Qiftr 



0^^^^0*m*0^ 



*^^m^t^t0^0t0t0tm^0^0m 



THE STOR Y OF ROBERT R AIRES. 



89 



BT THS BSV. CHABLB8 BULLOCK, B.D., BDITOB OF " HAND AND HBABT/' AUTHOB OF '^THB 



WAT HOME, ' ETC. 




OHAPTBB L 

IHB PAST AJTD THB FBBSXNT. 

The Tree and the Acorn. — Can Nothmgbe Done ? 
— ^The State of the Church.— Oxford University.— 
Pnblio Morale. — Ignorance of the People. — The 

Sunday School and Secular Educa- 
tion. 

HAVE been reading abont 
things as they were more than 
a hundred years ago; and I 
think if, before trying to tell 
the story of England's debt to 
Bobert Baikes, I give a sum- 
mary of " the news of the day " 
at that time, I may draw one 
OT two inferences both encouraging and 
stimulating to all who take a hearty interest 
in Sunday-school work. 

When we look upon a full-grown tree we 
are apt to forget that it was once an acorn ; 
and so, when we look at the present state of 
society, we are very apt, — ^those who can re- 
member the past, or those who have heard of 
the past, — to forget the record ; and thus it 
comes to pass that the progress made is not 
sufficiently marked. Now, we know the state 
of society is bad enough in our own day ; but, 
neTerthelesSy there has been a marvellous 
change for the bettor ; and if we are &ithf ul 
to our privileges and responsibilities I see 
not why that change for the better may not 
be the earnest of a greater and a better change 
BtilL 

In the year 1807 an old man, then seventy- 
two years of age, might have been seen walking 
the streets of Gloucester, leaning upon the 
arm of a younger friend. As they reached a 
certain spot, the aged man stopped his com- 
panion, stood still, uncovered his white head, 
and passed some moments in silent prayer. 
That place was the site of the first Sunday 
school; the venerable man was Bobert 
Baikes, the founder. The tears rolled down 
his cheeks as he said to his younger com- 
panion : — " This is the spot on which I stood 
when I saw the destitution of the children 



and the desecration of the Sabbath by the 
inhabitants of the city. As I asked, 'Can 
nothing be done P ' a voice answered, * Try.* 
I did try, and see what God hath wrought." 

If Bobert Baikes marvelled at that time, 
what would he do now, if he oould see the 
mighty gathering of hundreds of thousands 
of the children of the poor taught by the 
myriad teachers now engaged in this labour 
of love P 

Bobert Baikes could form a correct judg- 
ment of the change from his knowledge of 
the past; for when he inaugurated the 
Sunday-school system he saw things as they 
were more than a hundred years ago. 

Is it too much to say that the land then 
was covered with almost Egyptian darkness P 
Archbishop Seeker testified in one of his 
charges : — " In this we cannot be mistaken, 
that an open and professed disregard of 
religion is become the distinguishing charac-* 
teristic of the age. Christianity is ridiculed 
and railed at with very little reserve; and 
the teachers of it without any at all." 

The bishops and clergy too were very 
different from those of our own day. They 
were influenced by the spirit of the age, and 
shared in the general indifference to true 
whole-hearted religion. No doubt here and 
there in the midst of the darkness, the Gospel 
was preached ; but communication before the 
railway age was exceeding difficult, and the 
faithful ones, living for the most part in com- 
paratively quiet spots, exercised a very limited 
influence. There was no apostolic zeal to 
evangelize the nation, much less the world. 
The perception of the missionary spirit of true 
Christianity was most imperfect. Both in 
churches and chapels the "marching orders" 
of the Church of Christ, " Go ye into all the 
world, and preach the Gospel to every crea- 
ture," would seem to have been almost totally 
forgotten. 

It is true the Prayer Book of the Church 
of England all the while bore its plain and 
Scriptural testimony. Indeed, the remark- 
able fulness of the Liturgy is in nothing 



90 



HOME WORDS. 



more manifest than in the missionary spirit 
whioh it breathes. Although the Beformers 
lived in an age when the world was almost 
unknown, when oountries now &miliar to ns 
as household words were only marked upon 
the geographer's map, still, in framing our 
Liturgy, they took care to teach her members 
that no public service should be held in which 
" all sorts and conditions of men " were not 
remembered in prayer; and that the waiting 
desire of expectant faith should ever be this, 
that "Qod would be pleased to make TTih 
ways known unto men, His saving health 
unto all nations." But in spite of all this, 
coldness and lethargy prevailed; and even 
those who to some extent valued Gospel 
truth themselves, did little to impart it to 
others. 

It would seem as if, with the deep piety of 
the Beformers in the days of persecution and 
trial, the Church of England, in the days of 
her prosperity, when their work was done, 
lost the spirit of zeal and self-denying labour 
which these prayers and supplications should 
have prompted. The Society for Propagat- 
ing the Gospel in Foreign Parts did indeed 
spring into existence at a very early date; 
but the contributions to its funds scarcely 
deserve mention. Not till the close of the 
eighteenth century was there any adequate 
sense of the importance of missionary work 
abroad exhibited. And then opposition had 
to be encountered. 

In point of fiict, England stood in need of 
missionaries herself If the form of godli- 
ness remained, it was almost entirely bereft of 
its power; and a state of moral degradation 
prevailed which it is difficult now to realize. 
The popular morals may best be read in 
Hogarth's pictures. Highwaymen infested 
the public roads. A state of terrorism pre- 
vailed which reminds us of the aspect of 
Greek brigandage a few years ago. Horace 
Walpole speaks of the necessity of being 
accompanied with one or two servants armed 
with blunderbusses, to ensure safety a mile 
from home, — ^near London, — after sunset. 
Gambling was a notorious vice; drunkenness, 
cock-fighting, and every species of immoral- 
ity abounded. Sunday was the common day 
for Cabinet councils and Cabinet dinners. 
Bishop Newton cites it as a most signal and 



unusual instance of religious duty, that Mr. 
George GrenvUle " reg^arly attended the ser- 
vice of the Church every Sunday morning, 
even while he was in the highest offices." And 
Lord Mahon records that the Lord- Lieuten- 
ant of one of the Midland shires had told him 
that when he came of age there were only 
two landed gentlemen of his county who had 
family prayers. 

As to the education of the people, printing 
might almost as well never have been in- 
vented. Only here and there could a labour* 
ing man be found able to read; and no 
shame was felt on account of the ignorance. 
The children of the poor had no better pros- 
pects. In the greater number of parishes* 
and especially in rural districts, the children 
of the poor had no education at all. Nearly 
all our rural schools have been built since 
1800. As a sample parish, Hannah More states : 
"On first going to the village of Cheddar, 
near the cathedral city of Wells, we found 
more than two hundred people in the pariah, 
almost all very poor; no gentry, a dozen 
wealthy formers, hard, brutal, and ignorant. 
We saw but one Bible in all the parish, and 
that was used to prop a flower-pot 1 " 

The picture of things as they were is a very 
dark and gloomy one ; but facts are stubborn 
things, and it is well to recall them. No won- 
der that the revived truths of the Gospel, — 
the doctrines of the Bef ormation, — when first 
again preached by Wesley and Whitefield and 
their evangelical fellow-Churohmen, " seemed 
to the listening crowds as new and strange 
as they do to the heathen." No wonder the 
modem apostles were often met with sliame- 
f ul entreaty and savage violence ; in whioh 
the mob were certainly not dwoouraged by 
the magisterial powers. 

In a memorial sketch of the Bev. John 
Davies, the good rector of St. Clement's, 
Worcester, so well remembered still in the 
neighbourhood as " The Watermen's Friend/' 
the late Bev. Canon Havergal stated, that 
when Mr. Davies came to St. Clement*s, "a 
good old man, one of the fruits of Mr. Bid- 
dulph*s ministry, was still living in it ; and 
he kept, as a memento, his front teeth, which 
had been knocked out when encountering 
a mob who attempted to throw him into 
the river as he was going to St. Clement's 



THE STORY OF ROBERT RAIKES. 



9» 



old obnrch.'* " The state of things," he oon- 
tinues, " in Worcester, at this period and for 
some years after, may seem incredible to the 
present generation." 

Very briefly let me, in closing my sketch, 
draw one or two encooraging and stimulating 
inferences. 

Katandly we ask, How has the change for 
the better which we are so privileged to wit- 
ness been brought about? My answer is, By 
the circulation of Bible truth ; but I supple- 
ment that answer by specifying the Sunday 
School as the main instrumentality. The 
Sunday school has been the nursery of the 
Church and the handmaid of national edu- 
cation. The need of EduccUion in the day 
sekool became apparent when children were 
gathered in the Svnday SchooL It then be- 
came dear that they must be taught to read, 
and BO education got an impulse; and the 
past sixty years has witnessed gigantic 
strides in this direction. Every labouring 
man now, if he will,— if he practises the least 
self-denial, say to the extent of a daily glass 
of beer, — can secure for his children (for six 
at least on the present estimate) an elemen- 
tary education. 

Sooh is the provision made by past effort. 
Of the future, some are sanguine and others 
are fearful. Whatever is done, it is to be 
hoped the aim will be to help parents to 
*' help themselves ; " so to help them as not 
to rob them of their independence, or of the 
privilege of exennsing some self-denial for 
their children's good. An education which 
cost nothing, would soon be deemed, by the 
parents at least, to be worth nothing. 

Bnt my present point is the national edu- 
cational debt to Sunday schools. I maintain 
that George the Third's well-known wish 
that every child in his kingdom might be 
able to read the Bible, has been the motive 
U> 8elf*denying effort; and hut far that 
motvoef there i$ reason to fear (hat eO'CaUed 



eecular education would never have been thought 

Hence I conclude, our obligations to the 
Sunday-school system, as the handmaid of 
genend education throughout the land, are 
very great indeed. 

Entertaining these convictions, I need 
scarcely say, I think it impossible to repro- 
bate too strongly the action of the Birming- 
ham School Board in excluding the Bible 
for several years from their schools. It was 
simply inexplicable that there should have 
been found amongst the professed friends of 
education even a few who in the nineteenth 
century were disposed to form in England an 
index of prohibited books — the first and the 
only entry being the Bible 1 Shut the Bible 
out of the schools 1 As well shut the light 
out of the world, or affection out of the home ! 
Woe to our nation if she betrays and yields 
that Book which our Sovereign once declared 
to be " The secret of Eng1and*s greatness ! " 

But it will not be so. Even the Birming- 
ham mif-representatives of the School Board 
have already seen the wisdom of retracing 
some of their steps ; and the strange course 
which they pursued is now resulting in a 
clearer understanding of the true basis of all 
Christian teaching — a firmer adherence to 
the essential truths of Gk>d's written Word, 
as '' a lamp to our feet, and a light to our 
path,*' in the efforts we make to form the 
character of the young, and train them up 
** in the way they should go." 

If the nation will only hold fisust by Mr. 
Forster's noteworthy declaration, that "it 
would be a monetrotu thing i^ in a Christian 
country, the Bible, and not merely Bible 
reading, but Bible teachingf was excluded 
from the day school," the change for the bet- 
ter which we have noted, in looking back one 
hundred years ago, will, as I have said, doubt- 
less be the earnest of a greater and a better 
change stilL 



earlp 9ietp< 




|H say not, dream not, heavenly notes 
To childish ears are vain : 
That the young mind at random 
floats, 
And cannot reach the strain i 



And if some notes be false and low, 
What are all prayers beneath. 

But cries of babes that cannot tell 
Half the deep thoughts they breathe P 

Keblb. 



m^^'^k'MVMMiktfl^BMVMatfWig 



HOME WORDS. 



Ctmptrante jFarttf, ^nrctiotrsE, ant) ^gurefl. 

FBOH THI IDITOb's NOTI-BOOE. 



XI. THE ONLY WAY. 

* r'S no Tise talking of being 

more oarefal, and trying to 
ease a thing oS ; my principle 
is, tbat if I find a tiling inter- 
feriog with tny datj to my 
life, I out it off: root and 
braaoh — make an end of it at 

onoe \ that is the only way." 

OOMXODOEB QoODBHOnOH. 
XII. AHDIEHT TEMPERANCE DECLARATION. 

On the blank leaf of an old English Bible, 
which has been transmitted from aire to son 
throngh many Bnocessire generations, and 
appears aa the property of Robert Bolton, of 
Bronghton, Northamptonshire, is iasoribed 
th« following ancient Temperance pledge : — 

" From this daye forwarde to the ende of 
my life, I will never pledge any healche or 
drink « caronse in a glass, cop, bowie, or other 
drinking inatrnmeat, wheresoever it be, from 
whomsoever it oome; not to my own most 
gracious Kinge, nor any of the greatest mon- 
archs or tyrants npon earth ; nor my dearest 
friend, nor all the goulde in the world, shall 
ever enforse me. Not Angel from hesTen 
(who I know will not attempt it) shall per- 
soade, nor Satan, with all his onlde subtleties, 
nor all the powers of hell itself, ahaJl betray 
me. By this very sinne (for sinne it ia, and 
not a little one) I doe plainly find that I have 
mor« offended and dishononred my glorions 
Maker, and moat mercifol Saviour, tjian by 
all other sinne that I am subject nntoe; and 
for this very sinne it ia my God hath oFt«n 
been strange nntoe me: and for that caaaa 
audnoe other respeothave I thus vowed; and 
. I heartily beg mj good Father in heaven of 
Hia great goodness and infinite mercy in 
Jeana Ohrist to assist me in the same, and 
be BO bvooroble nntoe me for what is paat. 
Amen. " B. Boltoh." 

" Bronghton, April 10, 1637." 

XI IL WHERE THE MONEY OOe& 

A CBaiAiH pablic-honae, not a hnndred miles 
from the Hoases of Parliament, was some few 



years since in the market. The price asked 
and received for the lease and goodwill was 
£20,000, the returns being stated, and ad- 
mitted correct by the purchaser, as £1,000 a 
month. Binoe the increase in the price of 
wagea, the returns of this house have greatly 
augmented. I should also stat« that there 
are within a radius of 150 yards from this 
pablio-honse no fiawer than 19 others, all doing 
a good busineas. 

Let OS test this ezpenditnre in another 
manner. At present the Westminster Hoa- 
pilal ia much in want of funds. The r»- 
tums of the one public-house alluded to 
are 60 per cent, more than the whole ex- 
penditure of the hospital, which has always 
in its wards 220 in-patients, without taking 
into consideration the many thousand out- 
door patieata it relievea. Were the returns 
of the four large publio-honaea I could name 
at the west end of the town put together.and 
applied to the relief of the sick poor, they 
would maintain the whole of the patients in 
St. Mary'a, St. George's, the Westminster, 
and Charing Croas Hospitals, leaving soma 
2,000 other flourishing pubUo-honaes in the 
dty of Westminster. 

Nbuo (in " a%a ISmM "). 

XIV. SIXPENCE A DAY. 

A IjONDOB paper fhmiahes the following : — 

" There is now an old man in an almshouse 
in Bristol who slates that for sixty yeare he 
spent sixpence a day in drink, but was never 
intoxicated. A gentleman who heard this 
statement was eomewhat curious to ascertain 
how much this sixpence a day, put by every 
year at five per cent, compound interest, 
would amoant to in sixty years. Fntting 
down the first year's saving (three hundred 
and sixty-five sixpences], nine pounds two 
afaillinga and aiipence sterling, he added 
the interest, and thua went on year by year, 
until he found that in the sixtieth year the 
sixpence a day reached the startling sum of 
tlu«e thousand two hundred and twenty-five 
pounds nineteen ahillings and ninepenoe 
sterling." 
Judge of the old man's sorpriae when told 



FABLES FOR ^OU. 



93 



that, had he saved his sixpence a daj, and 
allofred it to aocomulate at compound in- 
terest, he might now have been worth the 
above noble sam; so that, instead of taking 
refuge in an almshonse, he might have com- 



forted himself with a house of his own and 
fifty acres of land, and have left the legacy 
among his children and grandchildren, or 
used it for the welfare of his fellow-men. 
'' Take care of the pence" is a good rule. 



^aWttf for YOU. 



BT ILEANOB B. PBOSSEB. 




XI. TEST OF 
WORTH. 

^ELL, yowr day is 
about over," said a 
smart, newly paint- 
ed signpost to an 
old moss-covered 
milestone, half 
buried in a grassy 
bank by the roadside; "it's quite time 
I took your place; why I heard an old 
^ntleman only yesterday, complaining 
that he couldn't read what was written on 
yon without putting on his glasses; he 
couldn't say that of me at all events ; you 
c^an see my letters from the end of the lane." 
"True, friend," said the milestone, "I 
am old and out of date ; but let me tell you 
I've done my work well through many a 
summer's sun and winter's snow ; you may 
be more useful now, while your paint is 
fresh, but I question if you wiU last as long." 

XII. LOST OPPORTUNITIES. 

" Why do you work so hard ? " said the 
willow to the mill wheel, as she dipped her 
branches lazily into the stream that turned 
it. 

"Because I've a great deal to do, 
roa'am, and I'm sorry to say I was idle 
all yesterday," said the mill wheel. 

"Well, you needn't go so fest at all 
events," said the willow ; " it quite tires me 
to look at you." 

"Ah ! but I must, you see, ma'am; for 
I heard the miller say this morning that if 
this dry weather went on much longer he 



was afraid the brook would g^t too shallow 
to turn me ; and then where should I be ?" 

"Yon needn't trouble yourself about 
that," said the willow ; " there's plenty of 
water to last you all the summer. Why, I 
can see it sparkling in the sun a mile off." 

" True, ma'am," said the mill wheel ; 
"but, unhappily, if there were an ocean 
there it would be of no use to me. You 
forget that it never comes back when it has 
once gone past ma.' 



t» 



XIII. DONT LISTEN AND YOU WONT 

HEAR. 

"Why don't you go. Tatters?" said 
Nettle, the white terrier, to her friend ? 
" didn't you hear your mistress whistle P " 

But Tatters was busy polishing a bone, 
and didn't answer. 

" There it is again ; you'll catch it if you 
don't go," said Nettle, hoping he'd leave 
the bone behind. 

" I didn't hear it," said Tatters. 

"Didn't hear it!" said Nettle; "youwui*/ 
be deaf ; I'm sure it was plain enough." 

" Very likely," said Tatters ; " but you 
see I managed to get into a bad habit 
when I was young, of not attending 
when she called, and now I very often 
don't hear her. It's a great pity, for I've 
missed several nice titbits lately that she's 
given to Toby because I didn't come at 
once. Let me advise yon, Nettle, always 
to run the moment you are called. It's 
very trying, I admit, when you've any 
particular engagement in hand, but you'll 
find the advantage of it in the long run." 



BOMB WORDS. 



XIV. NEW UQHT ON THE MATTER. 

" Se> how mnch th«7 think of me," 
aaid a lantern to some dipe tliat irere 
IiangiDg on a nail close by. " I heard the 
master say my glaasee were to be kept as 
bright as crystal." 

"Very likely," said the candles; "but 
of oonrso you know why P " 



yon, friend, that yon wonldn't be of the 
least nse to anybody if onr light didn't 
shine throngh yon." 

XV. THE TEST OF WORK. 

Thi miners toiled in their rocky cavern, 
separating the precions stones from the 
refiiBe in whioh they were imbedded. 

" Wbat riches are here I " exclaimed a 



' V 



NEW LtQHT ON THR MATTER, 



" Becsnse Tm so nseM," said the lan- 
tern ; " the master says he doesn't know 
what he shonld do without me these dark 
nights." 

" No donbt," said the candles ; " bnt he'd 
ring 'a different song if it weren't for one 
of na inside yon. Did it never occnr to 



traveller as he gazed on the glittering heaps. 
" Trno, wo are mnch prized by mm," 
answered tbo jewels ; " bnt we might lie 
nndiscovered for oentnries without being 
missed ; while yonder grey millEtonee, that 
men think little of, are working fbr the 
goad of thonaanda." 



TItB YOUNG fOLKS' I^AGB. 



95 



d^e Hotmg ^olitfis' pagt. 




XII. THE HOLY NAME. 

HAT great and good man, the Hoil Robert 
Boyle, a nobleman, a itateeman, and an 
author, dnnng his lifMime, bef ora ha arer 
8idd the Name of Gk)d, alwaoft madaahoflh, 
apaiuel 

XIII. SUNDAY BLE8SINQ8. 

BnliAffKiwHAZJiliTadthroaghalonglifeb Heobeexred 
from his own espeiience and that of oth ers that the 
■noosBS of the week depended upon how the Bimday was 
kepk ** When I wasted my SnndayB," ho said, "the week 
did not go on well ; when I kept the Bnnd^r, a blessing 
was upon all the week." 

XIV. DRIVE THE NAIL. 
Dain the nan aright^ boys. 

Hit it on the head; 
Strike with all yonr mighty boyib 

Sre the time has fled. 
Ijeasons yoa*Te to learn, boyi, 

Btodywithawill: 
They who reach tba top, hoj% 

First mnst olimb the hilL 

Standing at the foot, boyig 

Gasing at the sky. 
How oan yon get up, boys. 

If yonneTertryP 
Though yon stomble oft^ b<^y8^ 

Nerer be downcast; 
Try and try again, boyi^ 

Yon'U snooeed at last. 

Xver perssTeitib boys. 

Though yonr task is hardf 
Too and happy tms^ boys. 

Bring their own reward. 
Neyer glre it up, boys^ 

Always say you'll try ; 
Ton wHI gain the crown, boyib 

Burtfy l7-aod-b7« 



XV. ASCENSION HOPE. 

Did you erer read "The Young Cottager," or "The 
Dairyman's Daughter,*' by Legh ttiohmond P If yOU have 
not, I adrise you to get them and read them. In his 
account of "Little Jane" he mentions that one day he 
went to sea her, when she was sick of the sickness with 
which she died. She was lying fast asleep on her bed, 
the Bible lying open before her, and her finger on the 
▼erse^ " Lord, remember me, when Thou oomest into Thy 
kingdom 1" Legh Richmond thought, "Whatl is this a 
mere accident that her finger is there, or has she put it 
there on purpose? " 

When the little girl began to rouse, befbre she was quite 
awake, she said, " Lord, remember me, a poor little child. 
Lord, remember me, wl^sn ThMi oom«t into Thy fcin^dom/" 
Don't you think, we might do this now Ohrlst is gone into 
Heayen P Isn't it now the time to say, "Lord, now Thou 9ri 
wms to Tby fcinydom, remember me I" We say it in the 
Litany: "By thy glorious Besurreotlon and Ascension, 
Qood Lord, deliver us."~Tho Rnv, J, Taughoii. 

XVI. A HINT TO MINISTERS. 

A uRLi boy— saying his prayers on Satnrday nights 
said, " O God I let the minister to>morrow say something 
I oan understand." Who will not hope that that prayer 
was answered P 

XVII. "WHAT IS UNDERNEATH P" 

WoBss are very little things { but words show what is 
underneath. 

Suppose there was something very dangerous,— deep 
water,— «nd a little bit of cork floated on the top of the 
water, and that cork showed where the water was deep. 
Then that cork would be very important. It would show 
what was down below. 

Words show what is down below. Therefore they are 
of great importance. Perhaps oar words show our hearts 
more than our actions. We think more about what we 
do ; but words slide out so glibly, and so quickly, that 
they show most what is underneath. 



n TBI BIOBT BET. TBI LORD BIBBOP OV 80D0B ABB XAB. 



BIBLB QUBBTIONB. 



1. 



PJSTJCK and Paul were both brought in the same way 
to know that Jesus was the Son of Ood. How 



itP 

2. In the Christian's dress, what should he cany over 
sll in time of peace, and what in time of war P 

9. How was a little chOd once made the means of in- 
stniotion In the f andamental teaching of the Qospel P 

4. What did Koses say about the l&nit of natural lifeP 
and was it fulfilled or not in his own caseP 

6. Who in Old Testament times would appear to have 
had the greatest success with Ood in intercessory prayer P 

8. How does the Bible account for all the battles and 
warfare Which arise in the world P 

7. Why do we find no reference to tibe Temple in the 
BpisUe to the Hebrews, but only to the Tabernacle P 

8. What oMeet had God in view in the conversion of 
Bu Fan], which makes it so peculiarly valuable to others P 



9. How many Books are there in the Bible In which 
the name of God is not mentioned P 

10. In the Book of the Eevelalion we are told many 
things whi<^ are not in heaven. How may we know the 
many things that are in heavenP 

11. What did our Blessed Lord do, in eating the Feapt 
of the Passover, which was not in accordance wiUi its 
original institution P 

13. What remarkable act was the means of life to those 
who undertook it in faitti, but death to those who at- 
tempted it in unbelief P 

ANSWERS. (SeelCarohNo., pageTl.) 

I. St. Luke ii. IS, 14; xix. 37, 88. IL Job zziL 15, 
etc lU. 1 Oor. ziii. 1. IV. Gen. iii. 28. Y. Col. iv. le. 
YI. St. ICatt. ii. 11 ; St. John xU. 8. YIL Hosea zil. 4 ; 
Heb. zii. 17. YIU. Isa. i. 18; St. Matt. xi. 88; Bev. xzii. 
17. IX. Lev. zvL 26. Z. Gen. iii. ; compare Ufk, lis. 8. 
XI. Job zzx. 10. Xn. 1 Cor. z. 1-^ and 6-10. 



M^MM^k^^^k^k^«tf«««0«MM 



SAX.ISBURT CATHEDRAL. 



HOME WORDS 



FOB 



if^^m attd ll^att^ 



Cfte Wtrjs itebi 3^ C# Ilple, iH^a^t Sean of ^ali^burp^ 




BT THB EDITOR. 



EW clergymen of the 
Church of England have 
grained a more distin- 
guished position in the 
esteem and regard of 
the community at large 
than the newly ap- 
pointed Dean of Salisbury. His life has 
been one of incessant activity, and his 
multitudinous publications have made his 
name a "household word," not only in 
England, but we might almost say wherever 
the English tongue is spoken. A sketch 
of his life will not fail to interest our 
readers. 

John Charles Byle was bom at Park 
House, near Macclesfield, on the 10th of 
May, 1816. His father, John Kyle, Esq., 
was M.P. for Macclesfield. His education 
began at Eton, where he was a pupil of 
Dr. Hawtrey. Proceeding to Oxfoi^, he 
gained the Craven University Scholarship ; 
and took first-class in classics in 1837. 
That he attained so good a position is the 
more noteworthy, because, both at school 
and college, he was better known as a 
cricketer than a scholar. He was suc- 
cessively captain of the Eton and Oxford 
eleven. He has been heard to express 

?0L. X. vo. V. 



reg^t that he g^ve so much time to cricket, 
and said that it would have been better 
had he devoted himself more to literary 
work and less to athletic amusements. 
Possibly the exact balance may not have 
been observed; but apart from the fact 
that he gained high distinction as a 
scholar, the athletics may have contributed 
to that physical strength (so often sacri- 
ficed by overmuch study) which has enabled 
him to get through an amount of work in 
after-life rarely equalled even in this busy, 
active age. 

We believe Mr. Ryle was not originally 
intended for the ministry. His father was 
a banker both at Manchester and Maccles- 
field. Till the age of twenty-five his 
eldest son looked forward to entering the 
House of Commons as a member for his 
native town of Macclesfield. The over- 
ruling hand of Ood's providence, however, 
disarranged this plan. In the commercial 
crisis of 1841, his father suffered heavy 
losses ; and after a short interval of doubt 
and hesitation as to his future course, 
Mr. Byle finally decided on entering the 
ministry. He was accordingly ordained 
deacon in 1841, and priest in 1842, by Dr. 
Sumner, Bishop of Winchester. 

r 8 



100 



HOME WORDS. 



His first curacy was at Exbnry, in the 
New Forest, near Southampton. lie after- 
wards was appointed to the Kectory of 
St. Thomas', Winchester. In 1844, Lord 
Lyndhnrst, at that time Lord Chancellor, 
nominated him as Rector of Helmingham, 
Saffolk. 

Certainly, hnmanly speaking, the right 
man did not here seem to be in the right 
place. Eminently fitted physically, intel- 
lectoally, and spiritually for dealing with 
the masses, Mr. Ryle was now confined in a 
small agricultural parish, with a population 
of only three hundred souls — about sixty 
families — ^lying nine miles north of Ipswich. 
Doubtless the smallest parish will not fail 
to give occupation to the devoted pastor ; 
bat if in some way a union of parishes like 
Helmingham could be effected, two form- 
ing one charge, the benefit to the worker 
as well as the flock would, we think, soon 
be apparent. 

Mr. Byle spent no less than seventeen 
years in the quiet and rural retirement of 
Helmingham. Happily, in his case, the 
active, energetio spirit found an outlet for 
exertions beyond the parochial bounds. 
His first sermon there, preached at the 
age of twenty-eight, was at once made of 
further practical service by the use of the 
printing press. Under the title, " I have 
something to say to thee," it was published 
for private circulation ; and has since be- 
come the first of that numerous series of 
tracts, the product of his busy pen, so 
widely read in this and other lands. 

As a tract- writer, Canon Byle stands in 
the first position amongst modem writers. 
As in character, so in his writings he is 
eminently *' thorough." Whatever he does 
or says is done or said with all his heart. 
He ^kes a firm grasp of his subject in 
starting, goes straight to his pointy and 
never fails to make himself understood. 
Without confining himself to Saxon words, 
he takes care to employ words which have 
'^n meaning. His tracts have had an 



- — 1. 



enormous circulation. He has published 
about two hundred and fifty, varying in 
size from a handbill of one page to forty- 
eight pages; and these tracts have ob- 
tained an aggregate circulation of more 
than twelve millions. ^£any of them have 
been translated into the French, German, 
Portuguese, Italian, and other Continental 
languages, as well as into Welsh and 
Gaelic. 

Our readers may like to see the auto- 
graph of the new Dean, as well as his 
portrait and the cathedral over which he 
is to preside. We confess we do not envy 
the printers who have had to decipher so 
much of his caligraphy. 



J'^^UJ^^ 




Lord Lyttelton was onoe puzzled by a 
request to read his own writing. He gave 
it up at last, and we do not know whether 
Dean Byle might not be obliged to do the 
same under similar circnmstanoes. 

But " Tracts " have not altogether en- 
grossed Canon By le's literary labours. He 
has been engaged in the production of 
several works which hold a position as 
standard books. His "Expository Thoughts 
on the Gospels," now extending to seven 
volumes, forms one of the most practical 
and devotional companions to the Go^l 
narrative in existence. He is also a lover 
of Hymnody, and has published several col« 
lections. His '' Spiritual Songs," first and 
second series, were followed by hia " Hymns 
for the Church on Earth ; " and recently he 
has published a new collection, under the 
title of '' The Additional Hymn. Book." 

One of his most popular and interesting 
books is entitled '' The Christian Leaders 



THE VERY REV. / C. RYLE, MA., DEAN OF SALISBURY. loi 



of the last Centary." Mr. Bjlo sajs in 
the prefiaoe : — ^*' My object in drawing np 
these biographical papers was to bring 
before the pnbHc in a comprehensiye form 
the lives, characters, and work of the 
leading Ministers by whose agency God 
was pleased to revive Christianity in 
England a hundred years ago; such as 
Whitefield, Wesley, Bomaine, Rowlands, 
Orimshaw, Berridge, Venn, Toplady, Her- 
vey. Walker, and Fletcher." The lives of 
these jQ^reat preachers, writers, and workers 
are sketched with the admiring enthnsiasm 
of one who is evidently absorbed by his 
topic. " I confess," says the anther, " I 
am a thorough enthnsiast about them. I 
believe firmly that^ excepting Luther and 
his Continental contemporaries and our 
own martyred Beformers, the world has 
seen no such men since the days of the 
Apostles." And he adds : — " Surely, when 
we look at the state of England, we may 
well say — ^Where is the Lord God of 
Whitefield and Bowlands, and of Grim- 
shaw and Venn P Lord, revive Thy 
work ! " 

As a controversialist, Mr. Byle has ren- 
dered good service. He holds firmly the 
cardinal Catholic principles of the Thirty- 
nine Articles; and is oatspoken and de- 
cided in his avowal of Protestant Ghurch- 
manship. 

In the palpit. Canon Byle preaches em- 
phatically and simply, " Jesas Christ and 
Him cmcified." With remarkable plain- 
ness and fulness he points to Christ, the 
Befnge and Best of sinful men. His 
sermons derive great clearness and force 
from the use of proverbial, epigrammatic, 
and antithetical sayings with which at the 
end of a paragraph he fastens the nail as 
it were in a sure place. For instance, he 
employs the following : — 

*'What we weave in time we wear in 
eternity." " Hell is paved with good in- 
tentions." "Sin forsaken is one of the 
best evidences of sin forgiven." '^ It mat- 



ters little how we die, but it matters much 
how we live." "Meddle with no man's 
person, but spare no man's sin." " The 
street is soon dean when every one sweeps 
before his own door." "Lying rides on 
debt's back : it is hard for an empty bag 
to stand upright." " He that begins with 
prayer will end with praise." " All is not 
gold that glitters." "In religion, as in 
bnsiness, there are no gains without pains." 
" In the Bible there are shallows where 
a lamb can wade, and depths where an 
elephant must swim." " One thief on the 
cross was saved, that none should despair; 
and only one, that none should presume." 

He is apt also in illustration. An ex- 
ample of this we may give from a sermon 
preached by him at St. Bride's Church, 
Fleet Street, from St. Matt. xi. 28. 

" In Carisbrooke Castle, in the Isle of 
Wight, the Princess Elizabeth, the daughter 
of the unhappy Charles I., separated from 
her father, her mother, her friends, and all 
the associations of her early youth, was 
confined as a prisoner. She pined away, 
and after years of anxiety, died at the ago 
of sixteen or eighteen. One morning she 
was found lying dead, with her Bible open, 
and her cheek resting on the very verso 
I have been speaking about to-night. Our 
gracious Queen not very long ago com- 
manded a monument to be erected in 
Carisbrooke Church to the memory of the 
Princess ; and there you will see, engraven 
upon the marble leaves of the Bible, the 
very words of my text : " Come unto Me, 
all ye that labour and are heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest." 

In 1861 Mr. Byle was presented to the 
Vicarage of Stradbroke by the present 
Bishop of Norwich, and in 1871 he was 
made honorary canon of Norwich Cathe- 
dral. Stradbroke is a large, isolated, rural 
parish of about one thousand three hun- 
dred and fifty people, half-way between 
Norwich and Ipswich, and seven miles 
from any railway station. It is the prin- 



I02 



HOME WORDS. 



cipal Tillage of the Hoxne Hundreds, 
which contain twenty-four parishes. 
Strange aa it may appear, we have been 
told there is neither a mile of railway 
nor a resident lawyer in the whole Hun- 
dreds. Nor, until after Mr. Byle's ap- 
pointment to Stradbroke, was there even 
a money-order office or a telegraph-wire. 

During his incumbency the church, — a 
very large and handsome one, with a sin- 
gularly fine towery*-has been completely 



restored, at a cost of more than £3000. 
Large schools have also been built. 

Oanon Kyle's nomination to the Deanery 
of Salisbury is a fitting acknowledgment 
of the distinguished services which, as a 
preacher, a pastor, and an author, he has 
rendered to the Church of England. May 
he long be spared to carry on, with the 
strength and energy and winning earnest- 
ness which have ever characterized him, hia 
valued and devoted labours ! 



^^^^^^^^^^^^V^^^N^ 




Cf)e iietum of t\)t ^toaUoU)s(« 

Br THE BEV. BICUARO WILTON, M.A., AUTHOB Of " LTBICS, SYLVAN AND SAGBED.' 

SWALLOW, Summer reigns within thy heart, 
As sunshine sleeps upon thy purple wing ; 
For lo ! thou comest with the brightening Spring, 
And yellowing Autumn warns thee to depart. 
To wait on thy king's march is all thine art. 
And to his flowery train, rejoicing, cling ; 
While tidings of his glory thou dost bring 
Where'er thine arrowy form is seen to dart. 
Oh that Heaven's Summer in my heart might rest^ 

And cheering rays about me I might fling, 
Blessing all others while myself am blest ; 

Then I must follow too ray viewless King, 
And catch from Him the sunshine of the breast, 
And round mo flowers will smile and birds will sing. 



^utd iDftI) Utimte^ 



BT TTNCLE JOHN. 



vn. "sing old hundred.'* 




DBOYEB who was naturally a 
high-tempered man, had been 
used to beat his oxen over the 
heads, as all his neighbours did. 
It was observed that, when he 
became a Christian! his cattle were remark- 
ably docile. A friend inquired into the 
secret. 

•* Why," said the drover, " formerly, when 
my oxen were a little contrary, I flow into a 
passion, and beat them unmercifully. This 
made the matter worse. Now, when they do 
not behave well, I go and sit down and sing 



Old Hundred. I don't know how it is, but 
the psalm tune has a surprising efiect on my 
oxen." 

VIIL HOW TO DEAL WITH SLANDBB. 

Act like the Dutchman who, when there was 
wrangling going on around the table, said : 
— "I Bays notings — I eats;" so say when 
slandered, " I says notings — I works." 

VL* SBKVB HIM BIGHT. 

Thx young man who boasted that he could 
marry any girl he pleased, found that he coald 
not please any. 



UOME WORDS. 



BT AOKES GtBBltNE, 



UTUOR 0» "THB EMTOB'S HOUX," "TIM TEDDINGTON'S DBBAM," 



rOSOITENKM. 

lUBbnnd aeed to eaj 

thiogs bad a trick of 

coming in threea. I 

don't know vhetlier 

there Sa ouf troth in 

the nation. He used 

to like to mark how 

thera would be three tftmbles near together, 

or three pleunraB, or maybe three breakages, 

or three tumbles of the children. 

To be anre it always did aeem to me tliat 
things came jnst aa often in twos and fours. 
Sometimea he'd txf to me, "That's number 
two; now there'll be another," and yet the 
other never came. But he was jnataa positive 
next time. A.nd Bometiraes I would Bay, 
"But there's this or that that's happened, 
making four;" and then he wouldn't let me 
count the fourth ; bat stuok to the three he 
had ohoaen. Ton see, if a miui takes to a 
notion, hs Isn't easy disturbed in it. 

However, there really were three things 
about the some time, just when Harry lost 
bis mother. There was her death, and there 
was my husband being ill, and there waa 
Gilpin'a faU. Now I oome to Uiink of it 
there were other things too; but those three 
did in a manner hang together, and' had to 
do particularly with us. 

It was not over easy to make oat from 
Flul, when he came book ftom the doctor, 
exactly what the doctor had said. It didn't 
seem to me he gave muoh of an opinion. He 
ordered some physio, and ha said Pliil vraa 
to take a few days' rest, and wasn't on any 
acoonnt to lift heavy weights or do what 
might make the pain worse. And he said 
Phil was to go again in a week. 

The notion of idleness was not at all accord- 
ing to my husband's mind> I tried to make 
him see that his daty was to do aa the doctor 
told him 1 and Phil seeming very loath atiU, 
I just took the thing in my own bands, and 
went straight off to Mrs. Conner. 
I found her at home, and Mrs. Conner said 



I was quite right to oome. She spoke to her 
husband, and bfr. Conner made no difficulty 
at all abont the matter. He said Phil was 
on no acoonnt to go against the doetor'a 
orders. " It never pays in the end," said he, 
"to straggle on and get downright ill, when 
a little rest taken early may bring abont a 
quick core. So you tell your husband," says 
iie, "that we'll manage without htm. His 
health's too valuable a thing to be thrown 

So I tltanked them, and came away, right 
thankful, and Phil bad to make up his mind 
to do what Mr. Conner and the doctor eaid. 

There wasn't any fear of his spandintf hla 
days in idleness, l&j hnsbaad had a way of 
being always busy. I never In all my manied 
life saw him lonnging at the dooTi With his 
hands in his pockets and a pipe in Us month. 
Bat then our spare money went in books and 
home comforts 1 lb didn't go In pipes and 
tobacco. If it bad, we ahoold have hod a very 
different home, and different sort of friends 
too in days of trouble. 

My hosbond waa as sorry aa 1 tor poor 
Harry in hia loss, which waa made lo mooli 
worse to him by hia own oondact. There 
was no need to say words of reproaoh: for It 
didn't seem likely Harry would ever forget 
the thonghta of how his mother had pined 
and [Hned to hear from him, and he never 
thinking of writmg to her — leaatwaya, if he 
thought of it be waa too lasy to do it 

He waa very np and down the next day or 
two ; sometimes quite upset again, and aome- 
tlmM more glad than he oould say, that the 
letter ftod been in time. 

For if it hadn't been I Well, folks do bear 
a wonderfnl dwtl of trouble, and oome oat of 
it at the end I bat tt does look to me aa 
ir I couldn't havs borne i\ai in Harry'a 

He got two days' leave to go to the fu&enl ; 
end very particular he was about hia ooat 
and hia hatband. If he had given a t«nth 

part of the thought and care to his poor old 
mother, when sho was living, that he gave to 
his hatband, to show respect to her when she 



NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 



'05 



was dead, she wouldn't have pined and sor- 
rowed for her boy. 

I saw him off on the morning of the day 
when the funeral was to take place, and he 
looked grave and decoroas like; and there 
was a sort of older and more sensible way 
with him since his trouble, which made me 
hope he had begun to turn over a new leaf. 
Not that he had been unsteady ; but he had 
been thoughtless, and content to go on in his 
own way, just bent on pleasing himself. I 
am qnito sure of one thing, and that is that 
a life of self -pleasiug never leads anywhere 
but to evlL Self-pleasing is commonly the 
long and the short of Satan-pleasing. It 
don't alvrays look so at first sight, of course. 

I thought I caught a glimpse of Annie's 
fiEUse at the window of next door, gazing out 
in a wistful sort of way when I came up the 
garden path after seeing Harry go; I nodded 
at her, but couldn't make out whether she 
nodded back. 

Then I began to wonder whether I had 
been altogether doing my duty by Annie of 
late. It oame over me all of a sudden that 
perhaps I hadn't any business to let things 
go on so quietly, about Annie being kept 
away fh>m us like she had been. It wasn't 
Annie's fault, and it wasn't Mrs. Gilpin's 
&ult, that Qilpin behaved as he did. Why 
shouldn't I go and see them both P As for 
Gilpin, to be sure he wouldn't speak a civil 
word to my husband when they met ; and I 
wasn't over anxious for much of him nor of 
his surliness. But after all, if I went to see 
his wife and daughter, maybe the civil word 
mightn't be refused to me. 

I didn't care for Mrs. Gilpin. She was a 
doleful puling feckless sort of body, and we 
never had suited. Bat it wasn't there that 
the pull lay, dragging me back from next 
door. She was a good woman, and I was 
ready enough to be neighbourly with her. 

I was not at all ready to be neighbourly with 
Gilpin himself, though. I had not known 
that, but it soon came pretty clear to my 
mind, as I thought the matter over and over. 

For all that day my thoughts just ran 
upon nothing else. Down deep in my heart 
I came upon something which I had never 
dreamt to be there, and that was unforgive' 
nesB. All these weeks and weeks I had 



never forgiven Gilpin for his treatment of 
my husband ; and yet I had gone on praying 
the prayer, " Forgive us our trespasses as we 
forgive them that trespass against us." 

Bat then it wasn't against me, I argued. 
And all the while I knew right well that 
argument wouldn't stand. For were not my 
husband and I oneP A wrong against him 
was a wrong against me. Gilpin had done 
us harm, and Phil had forgiven him, and I 
had not. I could forgive about the flowers, 
but I couldn't forgive his way with my PhiL 
It seemed so bad. 

And yet, — "If ye forgive not men their 
trespasses, neither will your Heavenly Father 
forgive you your trespasses." 

To be sure, Gilpin wasn't sorry yet, and 
hadn't asked Phil to forgive him. But per- 
haps he never would; perhaps at any rate 
he might not for years. Was I going on for 
years, with that place low down in my heart 
fall of dislike to Gilpin, with a sort of feeling 
almost like hate and revenge, as if I didn't 
care to pray for him, and didn't ivant him to 
be happy ? 

Once or twice Phil said, '* Why, Sue, what 
makes you so grave to-day P" But I found 
it easy not to answer, for he went on quickly 
— " I'm forgetting. You are thinking about 
poor Harry." And I did not teU him he was 
mistaken. There are times when one can 
tell what is deepest in one's heart to no 
living person, not even to one's husband, 
but only to God. 

I did that I know, both silently over my 
work, and upstairs alone in the bedroom, 
when I could get a few minutes there. For 
I never hold with the plan of waiting till 
night to pray for strength. If one waits so, 
then when night comes it sometimes seems 
as if God's Holy Spirit was no longer helping 
us, as He would have helped us a few hours 
earlier. 

The only thing I said to PhU about what I 
had in my mind was at tea-time. He was 
speaking about Harry, and I said, ''It's a 
long while since Annie was here. I wish 
Gilpin would let her come : I've a mind to 
try and persuade him." And Phil said, 
"Just what I've sometimes wished. We'll 
both try our hand on him." 

Tea being over, Phil went off for a little 



io6 



HOME WORDS. 



stroll, not meaning to go far. I saw him 
stop a moment oatside next door, and speak 
to Annie who was just going in. And then 
he walked on, and I thought he would be 
back in half-an-honr, for he didn't find much 
ezMTotse to agree with his back. But a whole 
hour passed, and he never appeared: so I 
supposed he was gone into somebody's house 
for a chat, or maybe was at Mr. Conner's. I 
wished I had made him promise not to be so 
long, or had asked where he meant to go. 

Well, there went by a second hour, and I 
was getting into a fret. I sent Willie off to 
see if he could find his father, and made up 
my mind that in another half -hour I'd go 
myself too, if they didn't come. 

The half-hour had just about half gone by, 
when Willie came rushing back. " I've found 
him, I've found father,*' said he. " Father's 
next door." 

"Which doorP" said I, and I felt quite 
vexed for a minute to have had all my worry 
for nothing. " Saunders', I suppose ; what's 
he doing there P " 

"No, at Gilpin's. Gilpin's been hurt," 
said Willie, and then he turned scarlet. 
•* Serve him right too." 

" We oughtn't to feel that," I said. 

"No, I suppose not," WHlie said. "But 
only think of &ther 1 Annie told him where 
Gilpin was gone, and father had a notion 
he'd like a word with him : so he took his 
walk that way, thinking he'd maybe meet 
Gilpin coming back. Well, and he did meet 
him too, only it wasn't just the sort of meet- 
ing he'd expected. Gilpin must have been 
drinking, for he had stumbled over some 
rough stones at the side of the road, right 
into a deep ditch, and had sprained his knee 
terribly. He could only manage to crawl 
.half out, and couldn't stand. He couldn't 
have got home alone, and if he had had to 
stay there all night in the dark and wet he 
might have died of it almost. And not a 
man goes along that road sometimes for 
hours, specially late in the evening 1 Oh, 
didn't I tell you where it was P The lane that 
runs round the back of the big field where the 
old brick-kiln is, through Farmer Hodges' 
grounds." 

" And father stopped to help him," said I. 

"Tes,— pulled Gilpin up, and gave him an 



arm. I expect he must have pretty nesriy 
carried Gilpin, for he don't seem able to pnt 
that leg to the ground. I asked father why 
he didn't leave Gilpin and go for help ; and 
he said he did think of it, but Gilpin seemed 
bent on walking. And now he don't say one 
civil word of thanks to father nor doctor nor 
wife nor anybody, but lies and soowls and 
sulks. And the doctor says hell be bad for 
weeks and weeks. I'm sure I pity Mrs. 
Gilpin and Annie, for they'll have a time of 
it. How he must have hated to have father 
helping him I If I was in his place, I'd sooner 
be beholden to anybody in all the world. 
Mother, don't it seem as if it was jvai what 
he deserves, after the way he's treated 
father P" 

I was glad I hadn't said " Yes " quicker, 
when I looked up, and saw Phil at the door. 

" We've nought to do with that/' says he 
quietly. 

" With what, father P " says WflUe, turning 
redder. 

" With what Gilpin deserves," said Phil ; 
"Maybe, if yoa and I had our deserts, we 
shouldn't come off best." 

And then he moved on a few paces, and 
sat down slowly on the first chair, as if the 
doing of both wasn't easy to him, and I saw 
that he was pale, with a sort of dark look in 
his face. 

" What's the matter, PhU P" I sud in a 
fright. 

'* I— don't— know," said he, letting drop 
the words with stops between. "Maybe 
Fve strained my back a bit. I've a sort of 
qneemess all over me, and the pain catches 
away my breath." 

"Gilpin's a heavy man," I said. "You 
haven't been lifting him, Phil P " 

"Not more than was needful," said he. 
"He couldn't do much of the walking him- 
self, though he thought he could." 

" He'd no right to ask you to bear him up 
— ^you, of all people," said L 

" That's just it," says Phil. " I could have 
said no to any other. But being as matters 
are between us I didn't see my way to rightly 
refusing him. Maybe things 'U be on a dif- 
ferent footing between ns in future. Sue, I 
think I'll lie down on my bed. The pain's 
bad." 



NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 



X07 



I knew it mast be very bad for him to say 
80 much ; and it went to my heart to see him 
drag himself np the stairs, step by step. I 
almost thought he wouldn't be able to do it. 
But he got to the top at last, and went to his 
bed and lay down. I had never seen him in 
worse pain. He seemed scarce to know how 
to bear himself. I wanted to send for the 
doctor, but he wouldn't hear of it : so I tried 
a hot water fomentation, and that did at 
last make him easier. 

"And it's all Gilpin again," I said. "Oh, 
FhDy I don't know how to forgive him." 

** Go and see him, and you won't find it 
hard," said PhiL "He's downright bad. 
Sue." 

"So are you," said I; "and it's his doing." 
I felt like saying tftiose words over and over. 

-Not wilfully," said Phil. "He had no 
thought to hurt me, nor himself either. If 
he'd been taking a drop too much, he was 
wrong, and he's punished for his folly. But 
there's no malice in the question." 

" There's been spite enough in the past," 
I said. 

" Well, m tell you what," said he, and he 
looked me in the face; "Sue, don't think 
about it, nor talk about it, but just pray God 
to make you feel difierent. For Gilpin hoM 
to be forgiven." 

And I knew it too. Gilpin had to be for- 
given : yet I felt far enough off from forgiving 
him. I knew he had done my husband fresh 
harm, and I didn't know any more than any- 
body else where it might end. 



CHAPTEB VL 

"mothba's bible." 

Mt husband couldn't leave his bed next day. 
As for getting up and down stairs, he might as 
well have talked of flying to the moon. The 
doctor came to see him, — for I wouldn't have 
that put off, — and he made a grave face over 
the matter, and ordered Phil to keep still, 
and promised to come again next day. 

It was getting late before Harry walked in. 
I was glad to see him looking serious and 
full of feeling still ; for one never knows how 
quickly those thoughtless young fellows will 
shake off what seems at first to be a really 



deep impression. But it wasn't so with 
Harry. 

He sat down and told me a lot about the 
funeral, and who had been there ; and how 
the clergyman's wife, Mrs. Fenwick, had had 
a loog talk with him, and had given him 
quite a history of his mother's illness. I let 
him talk, keeping my own news about Gil- 
pin's accident till later. It pleased me to see 
how anxious he was not to forget: and it was 
plain the lady had spoken some home truths 
to him, which had left their mark. 

Presently he put his hand into his pocket, 
and brought out a parcel done up in a red 
cotton handkerchief. It had to be unpinned, 
and inside was a little old black-bound Bible, 
with rubbed edges and pencil-marks all 
tlirough. 

" Look," said he, " that's mother's Bible. 
She read it every day of her life. And when 
she thought she mightn't hear from me 
again she begged Mrs. Fenwick to keep it, 
and some day if I turned up she was to give 
it to me, and tell me I was to be sure to do 
the same. And I will too. I promised 
mother I would, standing by her poor body, 
that couldn't give me look nor answer. It 
did make me feel bad, to be sure, to see her 
so, and to think it was all my fault I couldn't 
have a goodbye. Bat I've got to thank yovk 
the letter was in time. It was such a com- 
fort to her, the nurse said, and seemed to 
make her die easy. And when they read to 
her my letter, and showed her my stamps, 
she seemed wonderful pleased, and she said, 
' He hasn't forgotten me — no, he hasn't for- 
gotten me.' And then she smiled and said, 
' But I shan't want a new cap now, because 
I'm going to have my golden crown ; so it'll 
help pay for my funeral.' " 

"Mind nothing ever makes you break 
through your promise to re&d her Bible every 
day," I said when we had had a bit more of 
talk. 

" No," said he, " I hope not. I'd promise 
you too, if that would make it surer; but I 
don't know as it would. The promise was to 
mother herself, though I can't tell if mother 
heard; and please God I'll keep it. I've begun 
already, and it's grand reading. Somehow it 
don't read like the common run of books." 

"It would be strange if it did," I said. 



HOME WORDS. 



"seeing other books come oat of men'a 
minds, but this came, atrtugtt out oE God'a 

Hiu-r; nodded and Baid, " Tee, that's it." 
"Ajid you'll ask God to teach yon as yoo 
read," I said. " There's oflen a deal of Bible 
readini; that's JD8t without profit, when the 
Holy Spirit don't shine npon the page that's 
read. You'll ask P " 



Harry said, " I'll try to be sore," and be 
looked as if he meant it. I think he kept 
that promise, and tbo other too. For Earr; 
Carter seemed to me never qoito the some 
after his mother's death that he seemed 
before. It ia well when a andden call from 
Qod isn't foagbt against, bnt is allowed to 
do the work in a man irhioh Qod means it to 
do. 



£tE(EU)iu( from t^e Sooft* 

. THE QUENCHINQ OF THE SPIRIT. (For Whitsuntide.) 

Br THE RB7. GHABLBS BULLOCK, B.D. 

" Qnenoh not the Spirit."— X Tfl«ti. t. 19. 



HE Holy Spirit is the one 
great and Divine Agent 
in the renewal and con- 
version of the soul — "the 
Author and Giver of 
life," I believe this re- 
rsion of the sool tnms npon 
the nse men make of holy impreasions and 
convictions lodged in the heart, of which 
all are conscious at one time or another. If 
cherished and fostered these will asanredly 
lead to spiritual life. I might easily give 
illnatrationa of this great tmth. Every 
precept of God'a Word that falls npon the 
ear gives an impnbe we either nourish or 
quench. " Search the Scriptures " ia the 
Spirit's appeal to many. Those who yield 
will find the Scriptures " able to make 
them wise nnto salvation." Bnt the Bible 
neglected, after snch an appeal has reached 
the conscience, ia the sure witness that 
the Boul has " quenched the Spirit." So 
of promises and providences — the constant 
messengers of the Spirit, ever waiting at 
the door of the heart, and only departing 
when the message of grace and Divine love 
ia rejected. 

Let none, therefore, charge God fool- 
ishly, if hitherto they have boon strangers 
to that experience which brings the sinner 
home to God, crying, "Abba, Father!" 



If men would bnt nonrish the holy im- 
pulses they are so prone to quench, they 
wonld marvel at God's aboundiog grace, 
and speedily be the happy sabjects of its 
renewing power. 

Bnt the direct application of the exhor- 
tation, "Quench not the Spirit," ia to 
those who ore consoions of apiritual life ; 
and thus regarding it, we have in it the 
secret of all advance or progress in the 
Christian life. We may be true Christiana : 
know what it is really to pray for tho 
Spirit to enable ns to live and to be what 
the Word of God requires ; bnt we most 
not rest with ttus experience, this testi- 
mony to our aonship and adoption : we 
want to " walk worthy " of our high voca- 
tion as " the members of Christ, the chil- 
dren of God, and the inheritors of the king- 
dom of heaven " \ and to this end we must 
constantly remember and act npon the 
exhortation, " Quench not the Spirit," 

When, thpn, a good thought comes to ns 
in the House of Prayer or elsewhere, let 
us act upon it. Wlien an opportunitry 
presents itself for doing good, let ns seize 
upon it at once. If a plan suggests itself 
by which we may show some kindnesa, 
or in any way promote the temporal or 
spiritual welfare of those around us or at 
a distance from ns, let na bring it to soma 



WAYSIDE CHIMES. 



109 



practioal result. So, also, let ns nourish 
eyeiy impulse to prayer and to praise. 
Let us be sure these holy desires and feel- 
ings and self-denying resolves spring from 
the Spirit of Ood. Human instrumen- 
tality may be employed, but human instru- 
mentality in itself is powerless. When- 
ever the ministry or reading of the Word 
is attended with " power," it must be ''the 
XX)wer of QodJ* Hence the Apostle writes, 
'* It is OoD that worketh in you, both to 
will and to do of His good pleasure ; " and 
''therefore," — mark the connection, the 
argument — because in dealing with these 
impressions you are dealing with God and 
not with man — " therefore work out your 
own salvation with fear and trembling." 

Alas ! alas ! how bold we are sometimes 
in our treatment of the Divine Worker— 
the heavenly flame of the Spirit's in- 
fluences. How wonderful it is that God 
does not in righteous judgment extinguish 
the flame because we fail to nourish it ! 

But — and this is the mystery of godli- 
ness the Gospel only solves — He is the God 



of ffracef Gospel grace ; and therefore He 
bids us graciously, with admonitory warn- 
ing voice, for our good alway, " Quench 
not the Spirit." 

We dream not foolishly and unscrip- 
turally of sinless perfection in this world 
of conflict and battling with easily beset- 
ting sin. Did conflict cease whilst we are 
"in the flesh," we should have certain 
proof that we were not " walking in the 
Spirit," for the Spirit ever "warreth 
against the flesh." 

But at the same time, looking at this 
exhortation, we may not, we would 
not, limit the jprogress in the spiritual 
life of those who "counting themselves 
not to have attained," are therefore 
nourishing and cherishing and preserv- 
ing the holy flame of the Spirit's in- 
fluences: those who "quench not the 
Spirit" — ^the Spirit when He prompts 
them to prayer — ^the Spirit when He 
prompts them to praise — the Spirit when 
He prompts them to active self-denying 
service. 



QISaapsEOie €f)imt&i 



««i 




WITH THEE ! " Thy Father 

saith it. 
In His loving tenderness : 
With thee waking. 
With thee sleeping, 
With thee sowing, with thee reaping : 
**ImUh thee!** — ^now, trust and praise ! 

*'Iwiih thee! " — thy Saviour saith it^ 
With a fellow-sympathy : 

With thee daHy, 

With thee hourly. 
When dark doubts or foes distress thee : 
**Imth ihee I "^now, trust and praise ! 



I. Trinity, 

• with thee." — Ita» zli. 10. 

" I with thee ! "—the Spirit saith it> 
With abiding faithfulness : 

With thee working. 

With thee resting, 
With thee when in prayer thou'rt wrest- 
ling :— 
" I with thee ! " — now, trust and praise I 

^^ I with ^A6e/"-^the Great Jehovah, 
Father, Son, and Spirit — One ; 

With thee singing. 

With thee sighing. 
With thee living, with thee dying : 
" I with thee ! " — ^now, trust and praise ! 

Cbcilia Haybbqal. 



HOME WORDS. 



YOUNQ SHEPHERDESS. 



BTWEEN FratUM and 
Sptun, there ninB from 
B«ft to sea one oontinnons 
monntaiti b&mer, abont 
two hundred and seventy 
miles in length, and from 
tirenty to forty milea in 
breadth. It is singolarly 
alike through the whole of the ohain, although 
loltiest near the centre. The people on eibber 
EJde are as effeotirelj divided hy the ragged 
moanttun chain as they conld be by a tracklesa 
desert or aepaiating sea. Save where at the 
enda the elopes abate, there are but fbw lines 
of communication. Elsewhere the Fyrenean 
nnge is pierced only by gaps (the " ports " 
aa they are called by the natives), veritable 
gateways, and the monntain paths are practi- 
cable only to the Barefooted male, moantuu 
goat, or oantione shepherds and their tnuted 
companions. 

The climate ia very mild, and the air ao 
still and silent that aoand travels long dis- 
tances. From afar comes the tinkling of 
aheep-bella, and the lowing of herds: and 
the qaiet beaaty of the scenery makes the 



locality a foronrite reoort tat invBlida in 
aearch of health. 

Tending the flocks and leading them to 
pasturage ia the chief occnpation of the men, 
in whiob they are often assisted by the 
yonnger members of the family. Civilisation 
and industry have made much progress 
amongst them. The young girls, whilst en- 
gaged in shepherding, knit the fine I^Frenean 
wool. 

Our illustration represents a yontblol 
abepberdesa thna occupied. The &ithfut 
dog has taken np a position at his mistress's 
feet ; and resting upon her friendly orook she 
busily plies the glistening needles.* 

Might not some of the girls of England take 
a lesson from the example. It ia wdl in oar 
apare moments to have something useful to 
do. Fragments of time are as precious as 
fragments of money. They would be found 
more so if always improved. Wbo ever 
heard of any one throwing pence or shillinga 
away F Yet how many have lived to lament 
in old age the golden hoars of yonth mis- 
spent or nnimprovedf 

Fridbbick Sbxbiack. 



BT THI BDITOB. 



WITKE9SED an instance of 
brotherly sympathy and kind- 
ness the other evening in 
Spitalfielda which I shall never 
forget. It was at a "Bobin 
Dinner." A little lad hnnger- 
ing for a dinner bad no ticket. 
Tainly he tried to pass the barrier, and, full 



of di8app<datment, borst into tears. Some 
of the other "oatsidera" thereupon oonsti- 
tuted themselves his frienda for the occasion, 
and pleaded for his admiaaion on the ground 
that he had "neither bther nor mother." 
The Bector of Spitalfielda happened to be 
close at hand, and, yielding to the urgent, 
irresistible plea, tcid the doorkeeper to " pass 



■ Ws are indebted lor our UlnBtratian to a magnillaant volume entitled " French Piotniea," bj the 
B«T. Dr. Qreen. (London : The Beligioo* Tract SooiBty.) 

t From " Wkat io vt (het Bimi Bobtrt RaiktM ,■ or, Tlie SWy of a Oratn of Mtutari Seed," £j 
the Editor of Home irordi. Prioe 61I. London : Hand and Heart Offloa, 1, Paternoster BoUdin^, E.G. 
We hope oar readers will aid the effort to eironlste this iUnstrated Centenary volnme amongst tbe yoong. 

We wish also to csU attention to the libetalit; ol s Friend of Bnnday Sofaools, enabling the Pab- 
liaher to offer daring the Centenary Tear, Sonday Sohool and Parish library Grants at a reduetlim of 
forty per cent., to tbe valne of £1000. Books vslae £5 will be sent for £3 ; valae £3 for £1 16).; and 
value £1 tor 12f . The ostslogue for selection will be forwarded on applioation to Mr. Charles IfDrray, 
1, Pstemoster Bnildiugs, fjondon, E.C 



HOME WORDS. 



bimin." The aaoceBBfol advocates hftd gained 
their object ; and, oa they left the scene of 
action, unfed themBelves, it would have heen 
a picture for the Academy, if an Eirtist coald 
hATe depicted the glowing faces of the bojB, 
as one exolaimed to the othera, with trium- 
phant glee, " We got him in ! " 

Ahl that waa a triumph indeed, a triumph 
worth more than the feast within \ for there 
ia no feast that can compare with " the luxury 
of doing good I " 

Robert Baikea enjoyed that luxury i and 
BO may we if we feel and act as he felt and 
acted. Thdre are two ways of getting, on 



which God's bleasiug reata. The one ia by 
aaking: "Ask, and ye ahall receive." The 
other is by giving : " Qive, and it ahall be 
given to you." A\X may give. Even the 
talent of mouey ia by no meana confined to 
those who are called the rich. The widow's 
" mite " was money ; and she " cast in more 
than they all." So it may be atilL The poor 
know Bome who are poorer than themaelTea. 
But money ia not love's only or most pre- 
cious gift. Love'a tme aaorifioe is tAf. Kind 
words, and loving deeda, and tender sympathy, 
were the gif ta which Bobert Raikes bestowed ; 
and we may all " go and do likewise," 



a ®oot( w^iiti 



E may be under palace root, 

Princely and wide ; 
I No pomp foregone, no pleasure 
loat, 

No wish denied ; 
But if beneath the diamond's flash 

Sweet, kind eyes hide, 
A pleasant place, a happy place, 
la oar fireside. 



It may be 'twiit four lowly walls, 

No show, no pride ; 
Where sorrows ofttimes enter in, 

Bat ne'er abide. 
Tet if she sits beside the hearth, 

Help, comfort, gnide, 
A blessed place, a heavenly place. 

Is our fireside. 

Tha AvXhot of " John Eali/az 



"Chfrpt&fttff » anil "^tftfng;." 



OUNO man who bad in 
is early Christian experi- 
ace realized much peace 
' and joy in believing, 

fell into a state of de- 
pression and partial 
darkness of soul In 
his distress be applied for comfort to an 
older Cbiistian than himself. This good 
friend asked him, " Well, and when yon 
came to Christ, what were you? " "I was 
nothing at all," was the reply. "And 
what was Ho P " " He waa everything." 
"Well, which of yoa has broken downP" 
asked the other with much earnestness. 
" Haa Christ ceased to be ererything ? " 
"No,"B^dthe young man. "Ah! then 
I fear yon have oeased fo be nothing." 



Is there not teaching for ua nil in this 
simple story ? 

« Oh to b« noUung, nothing I 

Only ta lie at His test, 
A broken and emptied vessal. 

For the Meter's nae mude meet. 
Emptied, that He miglit fiU me, 

Aa forth to Els Eerrice I go ; 
Broken, that bo nnhindored 

His Ut« throngb me might flow. 

Oh to be nothing, 'nothing I 

An arrow MdinHis hand; 
A meaeengar st W'« gateway. 

Waiting tor Hi* oommAnd. 
On]; an instriunent ready 

For mm to use at His wOli 
Or ihonld He net require me, 

WlUing to wait there still." 

G. M. Taylor. 



fABLES FOU iOU. 



jTablfS (tor you. 

DT ELEIHOB B. PROSSBB. 



XVI. ONLY SPOTS IN THE 6UN. 
SE stable yard was crowdod, for the 
bounds were to meet close by. 
*'I don't think much of Skylark," 
swd a brown cob to a hack that was stand- 
ing saddled and bridled at the gate. 

" No, he 's such a dingy colour," said the 
hack. 

" I never could bear iron grey," said the 
€»b. 

" And I 've heard it said that his temper 
is very nocertain," said the hack. 

" I can qnitfl believe it," said the cob. 
" I 'm snre yoa will agree with ns, gentle, 
men," he added, ss some of the houids 
came trotdog np; "we were just saying 
what a very ngly colour Skylark is." 

"Possibly so," said the hoands, "but 
really he ia always so far ahead of every 
one in the field that we never notice the 
ooloor of bis coat ! " 



""What for! why, for having to carry 
that dingy old brown house of yours about 
wherever you go. It must be a tenible 
bindrance. By the time you've got to the 
top of the wall, the sua will have gone 
round to the other side, and you'll have 
had aU your trouble for nothing. I'm 
really very sorry for you." 

" Keep your pity, my dear, for those 
that want it," said the snail. " I am quite 
content as I am, and I wouldn't change 
my 'dingy old brown house ' for your fine 
green coat, I assure yon. It shades me 
from the sun, and shelters me from the 
rain ; and if I have to carry it about, it is 
always at band when I want it, which is 
more than you can say wben you're caught 
in a sbower half a mile from home." 

XVIII. "WORKING FOR THE MA8TER.- 

"I wouldn't let my branohes lie on the 
ground like that, if I were you," said a 



114 



HOME WORDS. 



tall young apple tree, looking over the 
orchard wall, to an espalier loaded with 
fmit that grew in a garden close by. 
'' Look at mine. See how bravely they 
stand np ; the lowest of them is over your 
head ; and every one that goes by stops to 
admire my golden fmit.*' 

" Yes, I know they do," said the espalier. 

"No one can see whether you*ve any 
fmit or not." 

" Perhaps so," said the espalier ; *' bnt I 
don't care for any one to see it but the 
master, and I don't think I'm too low 
down for him to find it when the time 
comes; till then I am content to wait." 

XIX. MUCH SPEAKING TENDS TO EVIL 

SPEAKING. 

" I BSAR that Pointer won't get the prize 
after all," said a greyhound to a mastiff, 
as they met at the corner of the street. 

"Why not?" asked the mastiff j "Pm 
sure he deserves it." . 

'* So we all thought ; but I've heard it 
whispered by two or three lately that there 
is something wrong about his pedigpree." 

^ Ah ! indeed," said the mastiff. 

"Yes," said the greyhound, "and I'm 
inclined to believe it, for the poodle from 
the Hall mentioned it in confidence to a 
friend, and he told it to a cousin of mine. 
I only wish I could think it was a mistake 1" 

" A mistake ! " said the mastiff, " I should 
call it a slander ; but that's the way vrith 
your 'confidential' friends. They are 
always ready to believe evil of any one, 
and to spread reports without a grain of 
truth in them, from the pure love of talk- 
ing. If you'll take my advice, friend, in 
future, you'll think twice before you listen 
to a slander, and three times before you 
repeat it." 

XX. PRIDE MUST HAVE A FALL. 

" Seb how tall I am," said a gay young 
poplar that had shot above the heads of 
her neighbours in a small plantation \ 



" there isn't one of you I can't look down 
upon ; and what a delicate green my leaves 
are 1 " she continued, glancing at the dusky 
foliage of some Scotch firs, as the setting 
sun shone through their branches. 

Evening came, and clouds covered the 
sky. The low roll of the thunder was heard, 
and flash after flash lighted up the dark- 
ness. When the morning sun rose, the 
poplar still stood erect, but her scorched 
and withered branches told their melan- 
choly tale. 

" Ah ! " she sighed, as she gazed mourn- 
fully around her, "how little I thought 
that what I boasted of yesterday would 
be my ruin to-day ; if I had not held my 
head so high in my foolish pride, I should 
never have been singled out by the light- 
ning for destruction ; even if I have enough 
life left in me to get over this shock, my 
beauty is a thing of the past." 

XXI. HASTY JUDGMENTS SELDOM 
JUST ONES. 

" Well ! I'm thankful my children are 
not like that," said a duck, who was lead- 
ing her young brood to the water for their 
first swim. " No one can help admiring 
my little family. I heard some one say 
only yesterday that they were like balls of 

golden down ; but those creatures ! " 

and she glanced contemptuously at two 
ungainly cygnets, who were waddling np 
the plank that led to the swan house. 

" Wait a bit, ma'am," said an old jack- 
daw, who was standing near enough to 
hear her soliloquy ; " it's always a pity to 
form a hasty judgment. There will come 
a day by-and-by when your ' little balls of 
golden down,' — I think that was it, wasn't 
it ? — will have grown into ordinary ducks 
like yourself (no offence, ma'am ! ) and 
meantime 'those creatures' will have 
turned into swans ! I fancy, when that duy 
comes, an impartial judge would give tbem 
the prize for beauty, even ov^r your hand- 
some family ! " 



THE STORY OF ROBERT RAIKES. 



"5 



XXII. DIFFERENT VIEWS OF A 
SUBJECT. 

"What am I to do for breakfast?" 
said a sparrow-hawk to himself, as he 
rested from a loDg spiral flight. " There 
isn't a bird to be seen anywhere ; I can't 
think what's become of them all." 

Iq vain he looked around ; not a stray 
feather was in sight. 

"Well, I suppose I most put up with a 
mouse," he continued, '* if there's nothing 
else to be had ; but they're very poor eat- 



ing ; none of the delicate flavour that thero 
is about a thrush or a linnet. A mole 
would b« more tasty; but they are all 
underground, I suppose. I'm afraid I 
shall have to make the best of a mouse." 

" It's very fine for him to talk of ' mak- 
ing the best ' of a mouse," said a hungry 
cat, who was prowling about; "I only 
wish I saw a chance of doing the same ; 
it's what I've been hunting for half the 
night. If he never has a worse breakfast 
than that, he may be very thankful; it 
will be a vast deal more than he deserves." 



' i ~ir'~r~ i~Tfir~<-i''ir->r-ii ii ~ i ~y~ i r-ii~i~ i r~ i n Mi - mr 



C{)e ^torp of itobert iSaiked^ 



6T THE REV. CHAfiLES BULLOCK. B.D., 



CHAPTER n. 



C( 



>t 



ii 



EDITOB OF "HAND AND HEABT," AUTHOB OF ** THI 



WAY 



i> 




JOUBHALIBU AND FBISON FHILANTHBOFT. 

GloQcesier One Hundred and Fifty Years Ago.— 
The Gloucester Journal.— Raikos' Early Phil- 

anthropio Efforts. — State of 
the Prisons. 

PICTUBE of Gloucester, as 
it was in the early part of 
the eighteenth century, may 
teach a lesson of grati- 
tude to the nineteenth 
century : — 

" Gloucester, in the 
early part of the eigh- 
teenth century, was not the handsome, well- 
kept city it is now. It was then unpaved, 
undrained, unsavoury, and, by necessary con- 
sequence, unhealthy and incommodious. The 
lionses were for the most part low, irregular, 
and projecting. Instead of the numerous 
ships which now crowd the docks, an occa- 
sional vessel from Portugal or France depo- 
sited a few casks at the quay, and a wherry 
to Worcester went twice a week. As to loco- 
motion, even the 'Flying Coaches' which 
sobsequently carried adventurous passengera 
to London in the course of two or three days, 
bad not then commenced their journeys. Nor 
was the moral or social aspect of affairs more 



HOME," ETC. 

pleasing. The streets swarmed with rogues 
and vagabonds, who were flogged through the 
city weekly by scores. Beligion was at a low 
ebb. The Church seemed asleep. John and 
Charles Wesley had not begun their evan- 
gelizing labours, and Whitfield was known in 
his native city of Gloucester only as a dirty 
little rascal, who robbed his mother's till and 
tried to quiet his conscience by giving part 
of the plunder to the poor. Wholesale execu- 
tions for comparatively venial offences were 
the panacea of the government for all crimes; 
and these same executions, with bull-baiting 
and cock-fighting, formed the favourite enter- 
tainment of the mob. Sunday-schools there 
were none, and poor schools were only just 
being thought of. All over the kingdom 
popular ignorance and prevalent vice went 
hand in hand. Gloucester, with all its bad- 
ness, was no whit worse than the rest of the 
country. ' Darkness covered the earth, and 
gross darkness the people.' " * 

The issue, in 1722, of the first number of 
the QUmcester Journal, ninth in order of time 
among provincial papers, and in size scarcely 
larger than a sheet of foolscap, was a gleam 
of light. Its founder was a printer, named 
Bobert Baikes, the son of a clergyman ; and 
by his energy and enterprise the paper soon 
gained a large circulation. A curious testi* 



• II 



Bobert Baikes: Journalist and Philanthropist." By Alfred Gregory. (London: Hodder & Stooghton.) 



ii6 



HOME WORDS. 



mony to this fact is recorded in one of the 
early numbers as folloifs : — 

"A demure old fturmer applied to the prin- 
ter of the Oloueeeter Journal, and with great 
gravity of face told him that he feared the 
raealmen and bakers seldom read their Bibles ; 
but as he knew they always read the news- 
papers, he desired a comer of his paper for 
the following texts: 'Just balances, just 
weights, a just ephah, and a just hiu shall ye 
have ' (Lev. zix. 36) ; * Divers weights, and 
divers measures, both of them are alike abo- 
mination to tiie Xiord ' (Prov. zz. 10.)" 

Ghreat as was its ultimate success, Baikes' 
paper was not established without a hard 
struggle. Besides being, like every other 
contemporary production of the press, heavily 
handicapped with parliamentary imposts, — 
such as the duty on paper and the tax on ad- 
vertisements, — ^the Gloucester Journal expe- 
rienced a special difficulty in the shape of an 
encounter with the House of Commons. 

Parliamentary reporting at this time was 
strictly forbidden. Baikes published a report 
of certain proceedings in the House ; and as 
the result he was taken into custody, brought 
to the bar, and upon his knees received a 
reprimand from Mr. Speaker. It was not till 
many years later that the House of Commons 
abandoned its false stand against the Press. 

Bobert Baikes, the printer, who thus founded 
the Gloucester Journal^ was the £Ekther of 
Bobert Baikes, the illustrious founder of Sun- 
day-schools, who was bom in Palaoe Yard, 
just beneath the shadow of Gloucester's grand 
cathedral, September 14th, 1735. His mother 
was the daughter of the Bev. Bichard Drew. 
On the monument in St. Mary de Crypt 
ohurob, to the memory of her husband and 
herself, she is described as his " most excel- 
lent wife ; " but her best epitaph is found in 
the exemplary after-life of her children, seve- 
ral of whom obtained influential positions. 

Bobert's education was both liberal and 
practicaL It was designed to fit him for the 
employment of his father, at whose death, 
in 1757, being then himself only twenty-two 
years of age, he succeeded to the responsi- 
bilities of a large and important business. 

The character of the Journal was more than 
sustained; and in process of time the young 
printer became one of the most influential 



men in his native city. In 1767 he married 
Anne, daughter of Thomas Trigge, Bsq., of 
Newnham, Gloucestershire; and in 1802 he 
retired from business upon a well-earned 
competency. The house of business is still 
to be seen in Southgate Street, Gloucester. 
It is a quaint, roomy old house, the upper 
storeys projecting over the lower part, and 
the fronts braced with stout oak timbers. 

Mr. Gregory, in his interesting Biography 
of Baikes, with the natural interest of one 
who is himself engaged on the present 
Gloucester Journal, says : — 

** A review of the old flies of the newspaper 
which Baikes owned and conducted so long, 
affords many illustrations of the diflerence 
between journalism as it was then, and jonr- 
nalism as it is now. Leading articles, which 
now flgure prominently in every newspaper, 
were then but rarely seen. Occasionally, the 
editor, or, as he more generally called him- 
self, ' the printer,' deemed it necessary to ex- 
press his opinions upon some current topic, 
but when he did so it was with the utmost 
possible brevity. ' The editor of a weekly 
paper,' wrote Baikes, ' is under a necessity of 
suppressing pieces that might be an ornament 
to it, that matters of opinion may not take 
the place of matters of fact.' When 'mat- 
ters of opinion ' did obtrude, Baikes strove to 
make them as generally acceptable as poasi* 
ble. Of course he found that he could not 
please everybody. One week he was obliged 
to write as follows : ' Whatever degree of 
anxiety the printer may feel to have his paper 
as much as possible the vehicle of nothing 
but what is acceptable to all his readers, in 
matters of party, the publisher of a country 
paper, of necessity open to both sides, cannot 
consider himself answerable for everything 
which may appear of that nature.' ' To con- 
vey to the public true and well-founded arti- 
cles of intelligence,' was Baikes' own defini- 
tion of his great object in the compilation of 
his newspaper. It was not always an easy 
matter to accomplish that object. Special 
reports by telegraph or railway were then 
unknown. For the general intelligence of the 
week, country newspapers had to rely upon 
newspackets brought by coach from London ; 
and it not unfrequontly happened that these 
packets miscarried. Sometimes, even when 



J 



THE STORY OF ROBERT RAIKES. 



117 



thoy came, they were inaccarate, and the poor 
printer had to correct one week what he had 
Btftted the week before. In nothing does the 
printer seem to have been more frequently 
hoaxed than in his intelligence respecting 
' Births, Marriages, and Deaths,' — ^then a most 
important item in the paper. Some of the 
contradictions of misstatements under this 
head are very curious. One lady, writing to 
deny the report of her own death, indulged in 
the amiable remark that she was 'in good 
health, and, what is more, hoped to outlive 
her enemies.' " 

As a slight testimony to the elevated cha- 
racter of the Editor, Mr. Gregory remarks : 
"Not a single instance of personal abuse can 
be found in the Oloueeeter Journal during the 
whole of the many years it was under the 
control of Eobert Haikes." 

The earliest tokens of philanthropic effort 
on the part of Baikes were associated with 
the Gloucester gaols. It is difficult to com- 
prehend the utter state of neglect and mis- 
rule in the prisons of England at this date. 
Take the following description of Gloucester 
connty gaol : — 

" Ito condition, when Baikes first knew it, 
was simply horrible. Though from forty to 
sixty fresh prisoners were received within its 
walls every week, there was but one court for 
them all. The dayroom for men and women 
felons was only twelve feet long by eleven 
feet broad. Persons imprisoned for debt, of 
whom there were always a great nuncLber^ 
were huddled together in a den, fourteen feet 
by eleven, without windows, and with no pro- 
vision for admitting light and air save a hole 
broken in the plaster wall. In the upper part 
of the building was a close dark room called 
'the main,' in which the male felons were 
kept during the night, and the floor of this 
apartment was so ruinous that it could not 
be washed. Directly opposite the stairs lead- 
ing to this sleeping room was a large dung- 
hill Owing to the utter absence of all 
sanitary arrangements, the whole place con- 
tinually reeked with infection, and deaths 
were of constant occurrence. Sometimes as 
many as a dozen victims succumbed in a 
month. As far as the debtors were con- 
cerned, the only wonder is that any of them 
survived. Ko provision of any kind was 



made to keep them alive. No allowance was 
granted them, either of food or money, nor 
was any opportunity given them of earning 
anything. At night, unless they could afford 
to pay for beds, they were obliged to lie upon 
straw ; and for clothing, as for food, they were 
entirely dependent upon their own resources 
or the charity of the benevolent. The pri- 
soners committed for felony, though, as a 
rule, less deserving, were a little better treated* 
They were provided with beds and clothing, 
and allowed a sixpenny loaf every two days. 
The indiscriminate hoarding together of debt- 
ors and felons, men and women, child offend- 
ers and hardened criminals, was productive 
of the most fearful immorality. Every new 
inmate, on entering this den of iniquity, was 
required by his fellow-prisoners to pay a 
certain sum of money, called ' garnish,' which 
was immediately spent in beer, bought from 
the gaoler, who eked out his emoluments by 
the profits derived from this trade. The 
gaoler had no salary, but was paid by fees. 
Attempts to escape were of frequent occur- 
rence, and as the place was most inefficiently 
guarded, they were often successful." 

For years before the celebrated John How- 
ard commenced his prison crusade, Robert 
Baikes had been unostentatiously labouring 
among the miserable inmates of Gloucester 
Castle. His first efforts seem to have been 
to provide the necessaries of Hfe for the im- 
prisoned debtors; and with this object he was 
earnest in his solicitations, both through the 
channel of his newspaper and by personal 
applications to his friends. One appeal ends 
thus : — 

" The boilings of pots or the sweepings of 
pantries would be well bestowed on these 
poor wretches. Benefactions for their use 
will be received by the printer of this Jour- 
nal." 

But beyond relief of this kind, Baikes pro- 
moted education in the prison, supplied books 
and obtained employment for the debtors; 
and in the colunms of the Journal he man- 
aged to keep the subject of reform constantly 
before the country. The state of things must 
have been melancholy indeed. It startles us 
to read the following, and to know that the 
description applies to one of our cathedral 
cities not a hundred years ago :«- 



HOME WORDS. 



" In Jane, 1783, in mentioning thett do less 
than HiTtj-six persona were committed to the 
raatle in one week, Mr. Eaikes added; * The 
pri.Bon ia already so fall that all the gaoler's 
Block ol fetters ia occupied, and the smitha are 
hard at work casting new ones. Conid nn< 
happy wretches see the roiseiy that awaits 
them in a crowded gaol, they wonld anrelj 
relinqoish the gratiGcationa that redace them 
to snch a state of wretch edne as,' As showing 
that he recognised one of the chief caneea of 
crime, there follows this significant remark : 
'The people sent in are neither disappointed 
aoicliera nor sailors, bnt chiefly fraqaenters of 
ale-houseH and akiltlQ -alleys,' Another para- 
graph says : ' The ships ahont to sail for 
Botany Bay will cany about one thonsand 
miserable creatnres, who might have lived 
perhaps happily in this oonntry had tbey 
been early tanght good principles, and to 



avoid the danger of associating with thoM 
who make sobriety and indnstry objects of 
their ridionle.' Id 1790, a man named Jobs 
Weaver, vho had been oonvicted of stealing 
two geese, waa ordered to be transported for 
seven years. ' This piaobioe,' says a para- 
graph in the Journal, ' of robbing the tarmert 
of their poultry is become so general that tha 
oonrt determined to put a stop to it, aa far u 
a severe pnnisbment can contribute to that 
desirable objeot. It will be a dear price b> 
pay for a conple of geeae, — not only the for- 
feitnre of liberty, bnt the oonfinement for t«n 
or eleven months in the hold of a crowded 
ship, and then to be landed in a distant 
coantT7, fi*om whence the means of return we 
utterly hopeless.' " 

These are specimens of large nnmbera of 
paragraphs to be found in the Joitrnal wlula 
Baikes was its " printer." 



NOTES AND TESTIMONIES. 
aiLKCTED BT Tsi xnrroB. 
SOMETHING TO STAND BY." 



years ago" 
shop of Man- 

a recent 



[ 1 



a the 



tes, and took 
A was almost 
ional event — 
tba opening of the first monument erected to 
the first soldier of the North who fell in the 
Civil War. I walked in an almost intermin- 
able proceaaion in Iiowell, in company with 
a well-known Uethodiat miniBter familiarly 
known as Father Taylor. That ministar 
asked me some questions concerning the 
Obnrch of England, and he said, almost with 
a tone of sadness ' — 
"'We can never have a Obaroh tike the 



Charch of England; onr Constitntion forbida 
it. The Chnrch of England baa not slmr 
been wise, has not always been kind ; bat 1 
shonld be sorry to see it go down nnder th« 
adverse inBaences of tbia nineteenth centaiy. 
She is like a good chronometer which t 
captain and pilot can trnst to gnide the ship's 
conrse throogh reefs and shoals. We trt 
all dragging on onr anchors ; we want »me- 
thing to ttand by — something that stands by 
the old mooring- plaoea.' 

" OiHsping me by the hand. Father Tsjlor 
aaid, 'Qod save and preserve the Chnrch of 
England!' 

"It seemed that good men on the other side 
of the Atlantic did not altogether feel better 
because they bad not got a National Ohnrcb." 



THE YOUNG FOLKS' PAGE, 



"9 



Cl[)e l^oung S^^^^ page^ 




XVm. A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW. 

UOTH the boy, "FU climb that tree. 
And brixig down a nest I know." 
Qaoth the girl, " I will not see 

little birds defraoded so. 
Cowardly their nests to take. 
And their little hearts to breaks 
And their little eggs to steaL 
Leare them happy for my sakSb— 
Bimly litUe birds oan feel ! *' 

Qnoth the boy, "My senses whirli 

Unto now I never heard 
Of the wisdom of a girl. 

Or the feelings of a bird I 
Pretty lirs. Solomon, 
Tell me what yon reckon on 

When yon prate in snch a strain't 
If I wring their necks anon. 

Certainly they might feel— pain I " 

Qaoth the girl, **I watdh them talk. 

Making lore and making fan. 
In the pretty ash-tree walk. 

When my daily task is donei 
In their little eyes I find 
They are very fond and kind. 

Bveiy change of song or voiod 
Plainly proreth to my mind, 

ThQy can snfler and rejoioo." 

And the Uttle Bobin-blrd 

(Nice brown back and crimson breast) 
All the conTcrsation heard. 

Sitting trembling in his nest 
•• What a world," he cried ** of blis^ 
Fall of birds and girls, were this t 

Blithe we'd answer to their call- 
Bat a great mistake it is 

Boys were ever made at all." 

XIX. NO STEALING I 
Dm yon erer read of Dr. Adam Clarke? He ?ras a 
good minister, who wrote a Commentaiy on the Bible. 



When Tory yoong, he was pat apprentice to a linen draper, 
who kept a shop in Cbleraine, in Ireland. He was a v^ry 
good yoang fellow, bat he had not a good master. Things 
went on very smoothly till there was a great sale, at Dub. 
lin, of clothing, and his master was packing np the cloth 
to be sold at the time of the fitir. When measaring the 
piece they were holding ont^ they foond it a yard short of 
what it ought to be. 

"NcTer mind I*' said the master, '*yoa take one end of 
the cloth, and I will take the other; yon pall against me, 
and I will pall against yoo, and we will soon make it the 
right lengtti." 

" No, I won't! " said Adam, '* that is cheating." 

The master said, " Don't yoa plsgae me by making each 
a fass about such a thing as this. If ou are not fit for 
trade." So he was dismissed! 

The msster sold his doth which he had puZUd iSMitk to 
make it a yard longer; he got the money for it; but it 
wasflttfoling/ Tes, there are a great many ways of steal- 
ing. Take cure 1 take care ! 

I must tell yoa of one way of breaking the eighth Com- 
mandment. Supposing you are a young serrant, yon 
have got a place, and are paid so much a week. It is 
onderstood that for that money you are to work so manj 
honn for your. employer; or you are to go out and dc 
diCRBrent things. Bat supposing in the time that yoo 
ought to be working for your employer, you stop^ and 
look at the boys playing in the market-place, or look al 
the pictures in the shop windows, or sit laaily doing no- 
thing at all— what are yon doing P You are robbing yoni 
master ! He pays yoix for that half-hour, or hour, yoo 
are robbing him of. Some boys think very little of being 
gone a long time on their errands ; but it is downright 
robbery 1 It is breaking the eighth commandment. 

Ths Bar. J. YAuanAir. 

XX. PENNY PROVERBS. 

** A nmrr, and a penny laid np, will be many." 
« A penny saved is a watch-penny to watch the pocket" 
'* Buy what you dinna want, and yoa will sell what you 
canna spare." 
" Those who go a-borrowing go a-sorrowing.** 



BT THX BIOHT BBV. THB LOBD BISHOP OT BODOB AKD UAR. 



BIBLE QUESTIONS. 



1. 



WHAT did Christ do on entering Jerosalem, which 
Vit forbade others to do when He was departing 
from it? 

2. When did God acknowledge to His seryant the 
OTeroonxIng power of intercessory prayer P 

8. Sceptics haye wondered that Christ did not show 
Himself to His enemies after His Besurrection. How may 
we cgplain this P 

4. when did the officers of a victorious army give all 
the spoils to God because they had not lost a single man 
in the battle P 

5. What are we assured in Scr iptur e will guide us in 
taraTelUng, will guard ns in sleeping, and will counsel us 
in rising np P 

0. When was one soul made the necessity for Christ 
taking His disciples to a place which He had told them 
BoCtOTiaitP 

7* What are the four things which we read of in the 
Bfblt M coming out of the rockP 



8. What are the four things which Agar said an ex- 
ceeding wise P 

9. Is there any passage of Scripture to encourage ns 
in the good practice of grace after meat as well as be- 
fore? 

10. What is the blessing, superior even to lif^ itself, 
which should call forth the praise of God's people P 

11. When does a fire of coals appear to have been used 
to remind God's servant of his transgression ? 

12. How was it rather a falsehood than an excuse when 
the man said. " I have married a wife^ and therefore I 
cannot come ' P 

ANSWERS (See Aran No., page 0B)« 

L Matt xvi. 17 ; GaL L 16^ 1& n. CoL iii.U; Xph. vi. 
16. III. Matt xviU. 1-^ IV. Ps. xc. 10; Deut xxxiv. 7. 
V. Jer. XV. 1. VI. Jas. iv. 1.2. VIL Heb. xiiL 14. VIII. 
1 Tim. i. 16. IX. Esther, Cant X. 1 Cor. ii. 9, 10. XL 
Luke zxii 14; Exod. xii. U. XIL Heb. xi. 29. 



aWNM^WW^MMMtfW^^M^'^M^k^l' 



ROBERT RAIKES 

Vunuia, WITH Nostra LinciSTu, m axot vbui tbi msT Soin>ii Scaooc wu hiui 
in ObouaiHTui. 

"Tbli ii Um spot on which I (tood when I MW th« dertitntlou of the ohUdiaii uid the 
iMMnUaa of Uw Sabbkth by ths inhkbituiU of the oit;. An I Hkecl, Can aothins bs doiMr 
K TOiee unmel, Trj. I did by, «nd *m irh^t Ood hath wronght." 

___ 



HOME WORDS 



FOB 



"^tm ui %m^k* 




BT mSS E. 8. BLLIOTT, AUTHOR OF ''COFSLKT ANKALS," KTO. 

^OdDAdex ihelilieihow th«7 grow: they toil not, %hej spin not; and yet I flay unto yoa» that Solomon 
in all his gloiy was not amyed like one of these. If ttien God so cdothe the grass, whioh is to-day in 
the field, and to-morrow is oast into the oren ; how maoh more will He dothe yon, ye of little faiu? " 
St. Luke zii. 37, 28. 

HEN weary, weary seems the day to heart and spirit tried* 
I listen to the yoioes of the flowers by my side ; 

God bless the hands that gather'd--bless the hands that ranged each spray 
Which brings to me His message — " Ye are better far than they." 

They take me back to other times ; I picture all their homes ; — 
This from the cottage garden— these from the sheltered coombs ; 
This blossom from its moorings at the margin of the lake ; 
This fern from where amid the pines the breezes music make. 

Perchance these buds were gathered by the chiidreor after school. 
Scattered with song and langhter 'mid the meadow-grasses cool ; 
Perchance these hardy heath-flowers they found in rocky climb. 
Glad for the purpling heather and the breath of mountain thyme. 

It may be that some sister on a far-off bed of pain. 

Loved for the city hospital these tendrils fair to train ; 

It may be that this rose-bud grew on the baby's grave 

Whose mother for my unknown couch her treasured flower gavo. 

This tender moss, had this its home beneath the quivering larches ? 
Or where across the grassy walk the elms throw forth their arches ? j ; 

O flowers fair, the thought will oome to weary heart and brain, « 

Shall I e'er wander through the woods, or dimb the hills again P 

Shall I linger in the churchyard green to watch the length'ning shadow^/ 
Or see the children playing in the happy hill-side meadows f 
Shall I meet the summer breeses, with the thyme and clover sweet } 
And smile to mark the daisies nestling lowly at my feet t 

TOXi* IC. iro. v^ 



J; 



124 



HOME WORDS. 



Shall I wake on Sabbath morning bright, and hear the happy chime, 
Telling of other days, and bringing thoughts of HeaTenly clime ? 
Or still for weeks and months, perchance for weary years to come^ 
Will mine be pain and loneliness and a longing sigh for Home ? 

I know not ; yet when thonghte Uke these arise within my hearty 

€k)d'B flowers fair all silently a breath of peace impart s 

Far from their homes, in fbver'd air, their tender lires are given 

I'o breathe fresh hope to weary souls, to whisper thoughts of Hearetu 

** God carej for us,'' they seem to say ; " streams from a thousand hills 
To us bring life, and Heaven's own dew each upturn'd blossom fills : 
He decks us — His poor pensioners — ^with many a glittering bue; 
His tender ' Sow mudfb vf^te ^ to-day wa whisper forth to yon. 

** If God so clothe for their brief life the grasses of the field, 

To heart that seeks, oh, how muck more will He His bounty yield? 

If He delights to care for us, each in its lonely place, 

Say, how much m^ore to soul athirst will Ha s^d forth His grace P 

" We perish: our brief mission o'er, soon shall our beauty &de; 
But ye for higher purpose and for endless joy are made : 
To you in all your weakness 'neath the burden of to-day, 
He speaks^' t care for these, and ye are better far than thoy/" 
• ••••••• 

O messengers of love and grace, I bless you for your word ; 
Not, not in vain ye yield your lives thus whispering of the Lord ; 
Sweeter than music in my heart, your message low shall be; 
My lifb, my all, I leave with Him who caretli mora for me. 



*^l^fc^>^^^N^<^>^»^N^»^>^»^»^>^>^<^<^i^M 



^ ^nitOilt iSUmoriul of ^obttt 30iAfktg^ 




[8 stated last month, by the liberality 
of a friend of Sunday Schools, who 
wishes to promote the circulation ot 
pure literature in the homes of the 
people, an offer has been made, available 
during the Centenary Year, to supply books 
for school libraries, etc., selected from Sand 
and Heart publications to the value of £5 for 
£3 ; £3 for £1 16;. ; or £1 for 128. The grants 
will be made up to the value of £1,000. 

A good increase to the Sunday-school 
Library will form a suitable Memorial of 
Bobert Baikes in more ways than one. His 
life-long connection with the Press was a 
marked feature of his useful career, and 
greatly aided him in his Sunday-school 
efforts, by giving publicity to the movement. 
Books in the home from the Sunday-school 
Library would also do much to supplement 
the teacher's work and extend his influence. 
Those who wish to present a gift to Sunday 



Schools would find this a aaitable oppor> 
tunity. 

A number of letters have already been re- 
ceived; and to guard against disappointment, 
applications should be made at once to the 
Manager, 1, Paternoster Buildings, E.G. 

We would also again mention our Cente- 
nary Volume for Sunday Scholars — ** WluU do 
we Owe Him ? "Robwi Raikee ; or^ The BUmj 
of a Grain of MuHard Seed." It has three 
HluBtrations, is bound in the best oloth, with 
medallion portrait of Bobert Baikes, and its 
price is only 6<2. In quantities it can be sup- 
plied at a reduction on application to the 
Manager, I, Paternoster Buildings, E.G. 

A little local efibrt would enable the clerg>* 
to place a copy in the hands of every soholai* 
as a memorial of the Centenary. This plan 
is being widely carried out; but to make 
sure of copies orders shauld be sent imme- 
diately. 



NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 



I2S 



BT AQKE8 GIBBRMfl, AUTHOB Of '^THl SIOTOS'S HOME," '^TIH TBDDINGTON'S DBEAM,'' ETO. 




OHAPTBB VIL 

"we've got to CONqiTSE 
GILPIK.** 

AYBS my husband's 
illness helped to fix 
Hairy in a better 
state of mind* and 
brought him into a 
habit of more thonght- 
folness. I don't know 
how things might have 
been, otherwise. I know it was soaroe possi- 
ble to spend many honrs with him and not 
learn something ; and I know Harry spent 
many an hoar by his side as he got worse. 
Phil's own boys were not more tender with 
him than Harry Carter. It's strange how so 
muoh real gentleness could be in a man 
alongside with so mnch thooghtlessness ; but 
perhaps that part of him had gone to sleep 
for a time, and now it was awakened up. 

We did not at all think for a good while 
how bad my husband was going to be. It oame 
onBlowly,and if the dootor knew he didn't say. 
At first we only talked of a week's holiday, 
and then it was to be a fortnight, and then 
the fortnight grew into a month. And by 
the time the month oame to an end there 
ooald be no more thought of work, or of any- 
thing except lying in bed and being nursed. 
I know I was a good nurse, and that was a 
comfort, and it is a comfort to me stilL For 
Phil had everything he could need. Mr. 
Conner was so liberal, we had little need to 
trench upon our savings ; and Mrs. Conner 
was always sending something nice to tempt 
Phil's ^petitfl^ w]]dch needed a deal of tempt- 
ing. 

The bedroom where Phil lay wasn't large, 
but it couldn't have been easily matched in 
any cottage near for cosiness and neatness. 
I never let a speck of dust lie, and the sheets 
always looked smooth and white. Phil was 
very good not to mess and crumple them 
more. But his patience was wouderful. I 
think ihai frightened me for him, as much as 
anything. It seemed scarce natural. And 



of course it wasn't natural either, but just 
Crod's grace. 

I don't know whether It's altogether a silly 
notion, but when I see one of God's people 
ill I'm almost comforted to have a bit of 
peevishness and fractiousness and temper 
shown: for then I'm apt to think,— ''Ah, 
well, you're a good way off from heaven yet; 
you've a good deal more discipline to go 
through before you 're fit to be taken home." 
To be sure we outsiders can't judge of 
another's inside, and maybe there's often 
more beauty and more victory in God's 
sight than ours. But there 's no doubt the 
Sim doe% show its brightest colours just 
before setting, and there's no doubt it is 
the ripest fruit of all that falls from the 
tree. And I couldn't help feeling sometimes 
how very ripe my Phil was grown, and how 
bright his light was shining. Ah, and I was 
in the right too. 

It was long before the dootor would say 
what was the matter with Phil. I thought 
he could not find out, and I used to worry 
and puzzle myself with trying to guess; for 
the pain got worse and worse, and I knew he 
wasn't any better. 

But the word came out at last. It was an 
abscessthat was forming,— a deepslowabscess 
in a very bad part, out of the doctor's reach. 
It was the fruit of the blow Gilpin had given 
him, — ^not that the doctor knew how the blow 
was given, only he knew there had been a 
blow. Maybe things mightn't have been so 
bad, but for the over-exerting himself the 
day of Gilpin's accident. The doctor wouldn't 
speak with certainty ; but he thought perhaps 
the abscess had been lying sleeping — dormanty 
he said — until that day, and it mightn't have 
come to anything until a good deal later. Bu^ 
now there was little to be done, except just to 
wait and to keep Phil quiet. The question 
was whether he would have strength to fight 
through. 

I got to think less and less of his strength 
as the weeks went by. He changed so fiist 
into a weak thin invalid, with only the happy 
look in his face to make me think of my Phil 



126 



HOME WORDS. 



as he had been. The going down-hill was 
qaicker than I had expected, or the doctor 
either. 

We saw mnch more of Annie than we had 
done : for though her father kept her bnsy 
attending to him« yet she had got some 
manner of leave to come and see me again, 
and she nsed to step in and out. EEarry's 
head was jost foil of her, and I could see she 
thought a deal of him. He let her know 
pretty plainly what he felt and wished, but I 
think she begged him not to speak yet awhile; 
Gili^in was in that cranky condition of mind 
witii illness, that he was pretty sure to say 
no to anjrthing that was asked him. 

What a difference there is to be sure in 
nursing different sick folks ! I never had a 
cross word from PhU, and never did a service 
for him without a " thank you." He wasn't 
like most men in that. It wouldn't do any 
harm if men and women too now-a-days 
would think a bit more of their " thank you" 
to one another. Any way, that wasn't a word 
which Gilpin framed his lips often to speak. 
There was plenty of grumbling and scolding, 
and this being wrong and the other not right, 
but there wasn't the smile or the "thank 
you " to reward folk for their trouble. 

Not that I saw Gilpin. I said I couldn't 
be spared from my husband, and indeed I 
didn't often leave him. 

But all those weeks that I was going about 
with the weight of trouble at my heart about 
Phil, I had another weight there too. For I 
could never feel that I had rightly forgiven 
Gilpin. 

No, it wasn't real true hearty forgiveness. 
I told myself I didn't wish him evil ; but then 
I didn't wish him good. I had a feeling that 
he right well deserved his bad knee. And I 
didn't care to see him or talk to him. "The 
less of him the better," I said. 

It startled me one night to have Jamie say 
tome: — 

"Mother, you don't talk to me so often 
now about the Lord Jesus as you used to do. 
Is it because you are so busy with fiftther P " 

I said, " I suppose so, Jamie : " and then I 
felt the colour come burning into my face, for 
I knew — all in a moment as it were — ^that 
that was not the reason. I knew the real 
reason was that the unforgiveness of Gilpin, 



lying like a lump of ice at the bottom of my 
heart, was chilling the love to my Saviour, 
and was making the heavenly life there to 
grow faint. I knew it in a moment, and I 
felt afraid, for who could tell how far things 
might go P 

" Jamie, you must pray God to help me," I 
said in a whisper, tucking him up in bis bed. 
" I am very anxious about father, and I don't 
feel rightly about Gilpin." 

" It's all Gilpin's &ult," Jamie said softly. 
" And we've got to forgive him, haven't weP 
Father says so ; I think I do forgive him too. 
He doesn't look happy as father does. Willie 
says it's his fault, mother, but he says father 
wouldn't like me to tell anybody." 

I gave Jamie a kiss, and then I went back 
to my husband, and said to him:— "Jamie 
says, Gilpin doesn't look happy." 

"No," says Phil, who was just then easier 
than common. " S ue, it's the first time you've 
spoken of him, of your own free will." 

And I don't know what made me, but all 
at once I had my face down on the white 
coverlet, and I was crying and sobbing, and 
saying, — " Oh, Phil, I can't— I can't— forgive 
him, — and I'm very miserable." 

" We'll ask God to make you able," Phil 
says gently, and he put his hand on mine, and 
prayed aloud in such a beautiful way. I 
slipped off my chair and on my knees, and 
when I got up again I felt as if half the battle 
was g^ned. 

"Tve been waiting for this," says Phil 
quietly. " Sometimes I thought Fd have to 
speak first. Sue, our work isn't done yet. 
We've got to conquer Gilpin." 

"Pve got to conquer myself first," said I. 

"That's going to be done, but it isn't yovk 
that will do it," Phil said. " And the other 
needn't widt for that. I've sent messages by 
Annie and Harry too, to ask if hell come for 
a word with me, and he won't. What's to be 
tried now P" 

"He can*t walk much yet," I said. 

" He can walk enough for that." 

I was afraid Phil was going to say next that 
he wanted me to take the message : so I apoke 
first. " Let's send him in something nice to 
eat. I'll make one of my best cakes or pies." 

" WeU, that isn't bad," says Phil. ^ Mind 
yon make it nice and relishy, so as to tempt 



NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 



127 



him. And you'd best take and give U your- 
self." 

I didn'ii Hke that part of the matter^ but 
somehow I couldn't refuse Phil anything. So 
I made a pie» and did the best I could do 
with it ; only all the while I was grudging 
that it couldn't be for Phil's eating. 

But somehow when I got inside next door, 
and saw Gilpin, I grudged it no longer. His 
wife was gone out, and he had dropped asleep 
in his chair, with the two sticks by him thi^ 
he had still to use in walking. And the 
room seemed to me bare : for the Gilpins had 
not good friends like us to help them at a 
pinch, and having to stop work so long had 
been a great pull upon them. Gilpin looked 
changed since I had seen him last. He was 
grown thin and sallow and stooping, and I 
think I never did in all my life see such a 
miserable unhappy expression in any man's 
&ce. All the anger seemed to die out of my 
heart, and there wm room for nothing but pity. 

** Good afternoon, Mr. Gilpin," said L 

He gave a jump and a hallo, and grasped 
at one of his sticks, as if his first thought on 
waking was that somebody meant to do him 
an injury. And then he said* — " Oh, it's — ^" 
and put the stick down again. 

" It's only me," I said. " I've brought you 
a pie of my own making. I hope you'll like 
it." 

He aotaaUy did manage to get out a 
"tbank-ee," and then looked half ashamed 
of saying so much. 

*« Where shaU I put it P" said L 

"There, if you like," says he, in his grumpy 
Toice, pointing to the table. 

I had not meant to stay more than a mo- 
ment, but somehow I sat down and got 
into a bit of a talk. He wouldn't say much, 
but he told me how his leg was, and answered 
me more civilly than in old days. We spoke 
of Harry Carter, and I said a kind word for 
him, hoping it might do good ; and he let it 
pass, for a wonder, without contradicting. 

When I got up to go I said: — " I shall come 
again, and you must come and see my hus- 
band. We haven't been over neighbourly to 
one another, but it isn't right, and now things 
must be different." 

"Don't see why ywh should want that," 
says he bluntly. 



«i 



Well, I do," said I, "and so does my 
husband ; and so I hope will you too." 

I couldn't get any more out of him that 
day, but I went home, light in heart once 
more, for the bitterness of unforgiveness was 
gone. After all, Gilpin, who had done the 
wrong, was worse off than we to whom he 
had done it, and I was downright sorry for 
him. It's a miserable thing to be disliked 
and unloved. 



OHAPTEB VIII. 

VEIOHBOUfiS AT LAST. 

That pie wasn't the last, thoagh it was the 
first, we sent in. Annie had never com- 
plained, and I had taken it all along for 
granted that her pale cheeks came only from 
nursing her father and not getting enough 
fresh air. But a talk I had with her, the 
next day after the giving of the pie, showed 
me she had wanted other things besides 
air. She and her mother had just pinched 
themselves that Gilpin might have what he 
needed to eat, and even so they couldn't get 
along without pawning some of their furni- 
ture. So Phil and I were glad to give them 
a bit of help, and Phil spoke about them to 
Mrs. Conner next time she came to see him. 
She said she had not known they were in 
so much trouble as that, and she went to see 
them, and seemed quite taken vfith Annie. 
Gilpin had worked a good while for her 
husband, but his suriyways made him no 
friends, among either employers or neigh- 
bours. It's most like she had never felt sure 
what sort of a greeting she would have, if 
she called there. But she gave Mrs. Gilpin 
help. 

I must make haste on, for I have written 
my story nearly long enough. I cannot go 
through all that long long illness of my 
husband's, with the ups and downs, and the 
hopes and fears, and the slow-growing cer- 
tainty that he would never be better. Even 
if I had room to write it all I could not. 
Though many years have gone by since, it 
seems still too near and real, and the loss to 
me is still too great. Ah, there are few like 
my Phil ! I wish there were more. 

Nothing could persuade Gilpin to set foot 



128 



HOME WORDS. 



inside oiir cottage, not even when he was 
able to begin work again, until one day when 
Phil was taken suddenly worse. We thought 
he was dying, and he asked for Gilpin, and I 
just rushed in next door and would take no 
refttsaL I couldn't bear that Phil should die 
with a wish denied him. I think a woman's 
will is sometimes stronger than a man's, when 
they oome to pull different ways. I know 
Gilpin had to give in. 

He came and he stood by the bedside, 
and he looked down on the poor wasted body 
which had been so hale and strong. And 
Phil looked smiling up at him in his breath- 
less pain, and spoke kind words of welcome, 
and told him he must come again. And 
Gilpin said never a word, but went home, 
and sat for hours like one dumbfoundered* 
I think ho knew <ft0» what he had done; I 
think his sin had found him out. 

Nobody thought that day that Gilpin 
would coma again; yet Phil had a rally, as 
the doctor called it, and brightened up. And 
Gilpin left off refusing, and came whenever he 
was sent for, and sat by the bedside, and let 
Phil say what he liked. 

It was only a few times after all, — only 
a few days. B ut Gilpin must haye learnt some 
lessons in those days that he didn't know 
before. And chiefly he must have learnt the 
meaning of true Christian forgiveness. 

Not that they talked of pardon. Gilpin 
never asked for it, or said he had been in the 
wrong. Indeed he never opened his lips to 
say a word more than he needed. And Phil 
never spoke of the harm Gilpin had done 
him. His head was full of other thoughts, 
full of the Saviour and the heaven he was so 
soon to see. 

The end seemed to come quite suddenly. 
I don't know whether it was sudden to the 
doctor, but it was to me. I couldn't bear to 
see even Annie oftener than needod to be, till 
after the funeral. 

But the next day after I did see Gilpin* 
He came to my door and begged so humbly 
I couldn't refuse. And, oh, if ever I felt that 
the way of wrong and temper and sin is a 
hard way, I felt it then as I looked on his 
haggard face. 

" I've come for a word," says he, " and then 
I won't bother yon after. I oonldn't live on 



here, with him gone, and yon a poor widow, 
and me feeling what I do about it all. Mrs. 
Proctor, did you ever think any ol it all w«s 
my fault P For it's true. I didn't mean to 
make your husband ill, and I didn't think to 
give him more than just a shove : but I could 
have helped doing that. It's along of my 
awful temper, you see. And I'm going to 
get work elsewhere. I can't stay in Littlo 
Sutton. " 

He stopped a moment for breath, and then 
went on. 

*' I never told Proctor," says he. " I ought 
to have told him I was sorry, but I couldn't. 
Seemed as if I was tongue-tied. I didn't 
think the end 'ud come so quick. And now 
I can't tell him. But I've done one thing I 
know he wanted. I've told Garter he shall 
have Annie. Proctor would have been pleased, 
wouldn't he P " 

'' Yes, " I said. '^ He did want it, now Harry 
see9is getting to be what one would wish for 
her." 

^ He's steady and good*tempered and hard- 
working ; and Annie likes him amazing. So 
that's all settled," says Gilpin, fetching a sigh. 
And then he cast a glance raund the inside 
of the cottage, and looked in my face, and 
said in a shaky voice : — 

" I didn't mean — ^no, I didn'^ mean to hart 
him so. But it's bad enough any way. Mrs. 
Proctor, I suppose it's no manner of use for 
me to ask you — ^if you'll — forgive me." 

And oh, I do thank God that it was easy 
for me at that moment to take his hand and 
say, '' My husband forgave yon, and so do I." 

" Sure ? " says he. 

''Tes," said I quite firm. '*I am sure, — 
for him and for me too. And I hope we'll 
meet you again in heaven." 

I don't know what made me say those last 
words : I didn't know it was really good-bye 
at that moment. But he just said, '*Gk>d 
bless you,"'— and then he went off. And the 
next day he was gone in search of work, and 
he didn't come back. 

Mrs. Gilpin and Annie and the youn^r 
children joined htn^ later when he had found 
employment. And Annie was very happy, 
though she had to part with Harry for a time ; 
they couldn't hope to marry for a good bit 
Still they wero snro of ee.ch other; nnd 



MODERN HYMN WRITERS. 



129 



after due waittng they beCBitte husband and 
wife. 

I nevet saw Oilpin from that time to this, 
and don't know whether I ever ehall. Bat 
they do say he is a different man : so much 
gentler and sadder and more thoaghtfhl. 

My boys and I lite etill in the same cotfcage, 
and Mr. and Mrs. Conner nerer suffer me to 



want. Willie bids fair to tread in his father's 
footsteps. Jamie seems taming oat the 
most bookish*disposed of the two. Willie 
don't seem now to hare any wishes beyond 
the trade. But if he'll be such another 
manly, true-hearted forgiving Christian 
working*man aa my Phil, I'll be well con- 
tent. 



iMoliem %pmn WxiXtx^x 

"SPECIMEN-GLASSES" FOR THE KING'S MINSTRELS. 

BT THl LATl IRANCES BIDLET HAYEBOAL. 




m. CHAfiWrttE ELLtotr's 
HTHVS. 

((70nttnii«d/rofiij»ap« 83. ) 

E haye spoken of Miss 
Blliott's realiiing 
&ith; we find it 
joined, as snoh laith 
alwaye is^ with eai*- 
nest desire and effort 
to attain practical 
holiness. This comee ont beantifnlly ini— 

THE BELUfiVEB'S WAKTS. 

I want that adorning Divine 

Thou only, my Qod, oanst bestow ; 
I want in those beantifiil gannents to shine, 

Which distinguish Thy household below. 

I want eveiy moment to feel 
That Thy Spirit resides in my heart, 

That His power is present to cleanse and to heal, 
And newness of life to impart. 

1 want, oh, I want to attain 
Some likeness, my Sayiour, to Thee ; 

That longed-for resemblance once more to regain ; 
Thy comeliness put upon me. 

I want to be marked for Thine own, 

Thy seal on my forehead to wear ; [stone, 

To receive that *' new name '* on the mystic white 

Which none but Thyself can declare. 

1 want in Thee so to abide. 

As to bring forth some fruit to Thy praise I 
The branch which Thou prxmest, though feeble 
and dried, 

May languish, but never decays. 

I want Thine own hand to unbind 

Each tie to terrestrial things, — 
Too tenderly cherished, too closely entwined. 

Where my heart too tenaciously clings. 



I want by my aspect serene, 

My actions and words, to declare 
That my treasure is placed in a country unfleen,-- 

That my heart's best afifectioni are there. 

I want, as a traveller, to haete 
Straight onward« nor pause on my way, 

Kor forethought nor anxious contrivanoe to waste 
On the tent only pitched for a day. 

I want, — and this sums up my prayer,— 

To glorii^ Thee till I die; 
Then calmly to yield up my soul to Thy Care,-^ 

And breathe out, in faith, my last sigh ! 

A very striking means of giving effect and 
actnality to snch desires ie pointed out in her 
Hymn for Saturday morning. This gives a 
glimpse of the detail, 80 to speak, of her own 
practical efforts in this direction, and sets a 
yery loyely and etimnlating example of holy 
preparation for Sabbath blesring. Oar Bun- 
days would often be very diffbrenti if our 
Saturdays "thns tuned with care each unseen 
chord within." 

SATtTBDAT MOBKINa. 

This is the day to tune with care 

Each unseen chord within : 
Would we for Sabbaths well prepare, 

To-day we should begin. 

Before the majesty of Heaven 

To-morrow we appear ; 
No honour half so great is given. 

Throughout man's sojourn here. 

Yet if lus heart be not prepared, 

His soul not meetly dressed, 
In vain that honour will be shared, 

No smile Will greet the guest. 

Wo must beforehand lay aside 
Oar own polluted dress. 



^30 



HOME WORDS. 



And wear the robe of Jera's bride, 
H1j9 spotless righteousness. 

We mast forsake this world below, 

Forget all earthly things ; 
Strive with a seraph's loye to glow. 

And soar on angel wings. 

The altar mnst be oleansed to-day, 

Meet for the offered Lamb : 
The wood in order we mnst lay, 

And wait to-morrow*s flame. 

Lord of the saerifioe we bring, 

To Thee onr hopes aspire ; 
Onr Prophet, onr High Priest and King, 

Send down the saored fire ! 

After such preparation of hearfc, what 
wonder that her Snnday morning song was 
80 rich and fall. The very page seems to 
glow with the holy sanshine lighting np her 
own heart. It is a golden litany; perhaps 
the brightest intercessory prayer erer written, 
as well as one of the most comprehensiye. 

THE SUN OF BIQHTEOUSNESS. 

Thou glorious Sun of Blghteousness, 

On this day risen to set no more. 
Shine on me now, to heal, to bless. 

With blighter beams than e'er befdro. 

Shine on Thy work of grace within. 

On eaob oelestial blossom there ; 
Destroy eaeh bitter root of sin. 

And make Thy garden fresh and fair. 

Shine on Thy pure eternal Word, 

Its mysteries to my soul reveal ; 
And whether read, remembered, heard, 

Oh, let it quioken, strengthen, heal. 

Shine on the temples of Thy graoe ; 

In spotless robes Thy priests be olad ; 
There show the brightness of Thy faee. 

And make Thy chosen people glad. 

'Shine on those unseen things, displayed 

To faith's far penetrating eye ; 
And let their splendour cast a shade 

On every earthly vanity. 

Shine in the hearts of those most dear, 
Disperse each doud *twizt them and Thee, 

Their glorious heavenward prospects dear ; 
•* Light in Thy light," oh, let them see 1 

Shine on those friends for whom we mourn, 
Who know not yet Thy healing ray : 

Quicken their souls, and bid them turn 
To Thee, " the Life, the Truth, the Way." 



Shine on those tribes no country owns. 
On Judah, once Thy dwelling-place ; 

** Thy servants think upon her stones,** 
And long to see her day of grace. 

Shine on the missionary's home. 
Give him his heart's desire to see ; 

(Collect Thy scattered ones who roam ; 
One fold, one Shepherd, let there be ! 

Shine, till Thy glorious beams shall chase 
The blinding film from every eye ; 

Till every earthly dwelling-place 
Shall hail the Dayspring from on high* 

Shine on, shine on, Eternal Sun I 
Pour richer floods of life and light ; 

Till that bright Sabbath be begun, 
That glorious day which knows no night ; 

" That glorions day which knows no night*' 
has began for her. She does not regret now, 
she never did, that in early life she turned away 
from paths which had fair promise of earthly 
fame, and gave her talents all and entirely to 
Him'who lent them to her. He gave her better 
things even in this life. I think J7e a/toays 
(2oef . And now, and henceforth, and for ever 
and ever, she has *' the things which Gbd hath 
prepared for them that love Him," and the 
never-ending f alfilmenb of her prayer, ** Let 
me be with Thee where Thoa art.'* 

Her transition to this oonsammation was 
another page in the ever-filling records of the 
Saviour's faithfulaess and tender love to His 
children. Her sister writes : — 

"In the last years and days of her life — days 
of increased weakness and suffering — she was 
sustained and blessed with a sense of her 
Savionr's love and her Saviour's presence, and 
with a sore and abiding trast in Him. . . . 
The last manifestation of conscioasness was on 
the morning of her death, when, on her sister 
repeating to her the text for the day, ' Thine 
eyes shall see the King in His beauty; they 
shall behold the land that is yery far off,' 
she clasped her hands together ; and as she 
raised her eyes to heaven a beam came over 
her countenance which showed that she fally 
entered into the precious words, and was 
realizing the glorious vision she was so soon 
to behold. On the evening of that day, Sep- 
tember 22nd, 1871, without any apparent 
suffering or the slightest struggle, she fell 
asleep in Jesus/' 



A MOHX^fXNG THOUGHT 

3Por eaohc Bag nif ihd Wddk 

fiT TfiB ADTHOB Of "A RIP BIBIVD TBI 8CBHE3," "CBBISTM'S OLD OKQAK," ETC. 



GOD'S HOLY DAY..: Holiness. 

FRAY Thee. Lord, tluifc I may grow 

VoveHlEetoTheef 
Thai eterj nnfiil thooght fund wiih 

Maj die in me s 
Unifl xMMOtod on mj loiil 

Thine image be. 

I pray, that iviih a perf eot heart 

I may obey ; 
Hay seek thr praise in aU I do^ 

Orthinj[,om;r; 
And draw, dear SaTioar, to Thy rida 

More near thii.day. 



MONDAY ......... Service for Christ. 

There le work lor thee in the Tineyardt 

Oh, say, ii thj work begun? 
The Keeter ia oalfing Hie eervaatei 

Oh, »y. 11 thy work nndone P 
Then haatel for Uie ihadows deepen. 

Then haatal for the time flite by : 
Oh, keep thy eye on the Master, 

Ana work, for the night drawa nigh I 



TUESDAY Confession of Christ. 



A oowazd. Lord, afraid to ipeak 
^e nogle word for Thee ! 

If thii the nd return I make 
For all Thy loTe to me f 

Gm oonrage to mt timid heart, 
Brmg out the futering word | 

And help me braTdy to oonf eaa 
My Maeter and my Lord. 



WEDNESDAY...Perfect Confidence. 

How laf e, how hamiy, and how bleat, 
Like iheLtered bira in parent neat, 
Xadh Bool that oomea to Ghriat for reati 

Lord, my Savionr and my King, 
Beneath the shadow of Thj wing 

1 can do nothing else bat amg, 

" In lif e, in death ; by day; by nighti 
No terror ahall my aonl affiright : 
Jeans ia near— ana all ia right I " 



THURSDAY...The Cleansing Blood. 

Bmfol, defiled, and hardened with my gailt, 

I oome to Thee i 
For I beliere Thy predona blood waa apilt 

For aaoh aa me. 

So ain-stained and ao weary ia my aonl, 

Sanonr Divine I 
I cannot reat till Thou hast made me whole. 

And sealed me Thine. 

I come— nnworthy, helpleaa, fall of nn, 

I oome to Thea— 
Oh, deanae me^ make me white and pare within, 

Speak peace to me I 



FRIDAY • Forgiven— Forgive. 

For MyNameTa aake— eaaat thon not bear that alight, 

That croel word? 
Ia not the aorrow amaU, the harden lights 

Bom for thy Lord t 

For My Nome'a aaka— I aee it, know it all | 

Tia hard for thee; 
Bat I have loved thee ao— My child, canat thoa 

BearthiaforMeP 



SATURDAY... Homei Sweet Home. 

Oh, to be there ! 
Where the weary feet shall rest at kat ; 
Where the grief and the pain are for ever past } 
Where the parted hands are again linked tast i 

Oh, to be there J 

O Saviour dear I 
When the tired heart is sad with care, 
When Satan tempta as to dark despair, 
Give na bri^t thonghta of the Home np there— 

Savioordear! 

Jean, onr Lord, 
When oar eyes are teaif al and hearts are aore, 
When wa monm o'er the loved onea gone before, 
Oh, qpeakof that land where they die no more— 

Jean, onr Lord. 

Lord, bring na therei 
There, to the aoiuhine, and life, and Ught | 
There, to the city where all ia bright ; 
There, where onr £aith will be changed to nght i 

Lord, bring na there. 



^ 



HOME WOMDS. 



BT TIIB BET. aBORQK ETBBABD, H.A., AuTHOft Qt " EDIB'S LBITBB," ETO. 



CHASTESL 

KNOW no plftce where we 

may Wm more than in A 

quiet stroll Rmon^t the me- 

■BxttaAm of tho deftd. Toicas 

seem to come back to na 

from those who have gone 

before. A efreet promise of 

Christ, a word of life and immortality, 

seems to come with doaUe pomr at such 

times. Sometimes, too, there is & qnaint- 

ness about an epitaph which oreatee a smile, 

and yet, perhaps, makes the leeson sink 

deeper. 

The comparative responsibility of a lon^ 
life is bronght ont in one I noticed in a 
cemetery at Stiriisg, thongii is rather a 
ciuriona fortn. It ia dated 1800, on ooe 
Alexander B. MiOen : 

" Oar lif« ia but A ninht dsf , 
Soma only breskfMt ud \int) ; 
Othen to dianei Bts;, 

And ue f uU led I 
Tbs oldest nun but mpa, 

And goes to bed. 
Lugs ii hli debt 
That lingera ont the d^; 
Ee that gose toooeel 
Hae Ute iMrt to imt," 

In a like pithy shape, the lommB which 
man bom into the world most look for, is 
brought out in the insonptios on aa in- 
fant's grave inaCambridgeoharofayard. If 
I remember right, it Is upwards of a cen- 
tury old. It reads thoB ;•» 

" Oped IM eyw, took a peep ; 
Didn't like It ; went to eleep." 

Very frequently we find "soDlptural 
Tirtnes," and the most folsome flattery. 
Now and then we read % bop* exprwPBd 
on the tomb which were, indeed, a wretched 
and deceptive one, were it the confidence 



(To (« eontinimf.) 



of biia who lies beneath. More open self- 
righteousness I have never seen avowed 
than in a few words I copied in a cbarch- 
yard at St. Helier'e, Jei'sey :— 

"In memory of TmUsm Ooodirin, a man of mi- 
bonndeA befierclaiiee, *Iie gronJUd Us kop« of a 
blessed immortality oi the praotiee tA ekarit;, be- 
Uevingit tobetheptleetdalltlttnes, attd that 
it ihall eorei a nnutindeet dfltf." 

Wbat a whole bttsbel of emm vsA mis- 
takes within a small compass ! Almsgiving 
confonnded with chari^ : whereas a man 
might give alt Ub jfoodB to feed the poor 
and yet hare no obaritf, tbat is, no trae, 
gennine love in Ms bewt ! Then for a man 
to gronnd bis hope on anything be can do, 
whereas it ie " not of works, leak any man 
ehonld boast ! " Again, imagining that 
charity or love oonM cover a mnltitade of 
a •mamCt own. fjfw, When H is bnt tiie cloke 
with whioli to oovar a brother's faslta, and 
when nothing bnt the practonfl blood and 
rigbteonsnesB of Ohrist caooover one ataio 
of gnilt ! 

Let ma give one or two bright contnata 
to an epitaph like this. I remember one 
in a little village in Koni It atrnck me 
as a noble rebuke to all flattery of the 
dead. It was over a poor man's grave, 
and traced on a piece of wood, which, I 
suppose, WBi all that ooold be aSbrded. ] t 
ran thus:— 



Not altogether nnlike tbia are the words 
over a somewhM celebrated Bculptor in 
bis day — John Bacon, now lying in West- 
minster Abbey, and who wrote tbem before 
his death, 

" What I was u so Attirt sMmed of some Im- 
poTtanoe to aie wlule I lived, but wbat I me aa a 
Believer in Jeaos Ohriat li the only thing of im- 
portanoe to me now." 



AfARK KNOWLESy ESQ^ BARRISTER-ATLAW. 



m 



n 



A STORY OF PERSETERANCE UNDEE DIFFICULTIES. 

BT FRBDfiBICK SREKLOOIt, AX7TH0R OF ''iCLTTSTBTOtTS AB8TAINBBS." 




OHAFTER n. 

LIFE-FBOGUESS. 

,A.yiNG esteped Ms 
^anare of the fow- 
ler/' . Mr. Knoifles 
commenced Bwnng. mo- 
ney. -In 1855, he had 
£33 put by, and be de- 
cided to go 'into busi- 
ness as an aeoonntant. /He eacc^ded beyond 
the most eangnine ezpectatione, bo that in 
twelve months he had £500 to hia credit in 
the bioL A natural aptitude for mechanics, 
and (nofewithBtanding ids JaraenesB) no small 
skill in tiie uae of tools, impelled him to turn 
his attention to engineering. He fitted up a 
workshop at a small expense^ and people be- 
gan to say he was " a bom mechanic." 

A little later oa he was brought into con- 
tact with a man who bad an idea that an im- 
prQvement conld be made in the machinery 
for cotton weaying. This idea agreed with 
his oiim oouduaions, and the result of th^r 
nmtoal experiments waa a new machine, for 
whicb they took out a patent. The machine, 
however, prored a t6tal failure, and by it the 
Barings of two years, were swallowed pp. A 
dissolution of .partnership was the inevitable 
result. Shortly affcerwords- a man called on 
Mr. Xnowles to purchase one of the discarded 
machines. He explained that it was a failure, 
bat the would-be purchaser set his wits to 
work, and, as the result of their joint opera- 
tions, in four months from that time a second 
patent was obtained, which proved a thorough 
Bacoe8S,so much so that now there is scarcely 
a cotton-weaving factory in the world perhaps 
where one of these machines is not to be found. 
Mr. Knowles next built the Walpole Iron 
Works, in Blackburn, and went into partner- 
ship with his old master of the shoe shop. 
The new enterprise flourished up to a certain 
point. Then came trying times, and his 
partner, fearing ruin, backed out of the whole 
concern with a small loss. Soon afterwards, 



owing to several heavy English and Russian 
foilures, Mr. Knowles in one night lost 
£13,000, and was thus reduced from indepen- 
denoe almost to poverty. By the assistance 
of friends, however, he escaped going into 
the bankmptcy courts and -at once reduced 
his expenses. It ought to be recorded that 
at this juncture his noble wife rendered him 
signal assistance by doing the work of a elerk 
four hours daily for three years. 

His financial difficulties being over, he ac- 
quired a certain amount of popularity vrith 
the working-men ci Blackburn, some of whom 
thought he would make a good representa- 
tive in the Town GounoiL Mr. Knowles was 
accordingly selected to oppose a gentleman 
who contested one of the wards mainly in the 
interest of the brewers. Many said that he 
could not possibly be elected. However, a 
oommittee of one hundred and thirty working 
men thoroughly canvassed Uie electors, most 
of the electioneering being done either before 
six in the morning, or after six in the even- 
ing. On the polling day, November 1st, 1870, 
his opponent, remarking that Mr. Knowles 
had no hope whatever, generously offered to 
pay his expenses if he thought fit to retire; 
but he preferred to persevere to the end, and 
was returned to the Council by a majority 
of sixteen, having polled 2,327 votes against 
2,311. Three months later Mr. Knowles was 
elected yice-Chairman of the Blackburn 
School-Board, and was thus enabled to add 
another link to the chain of useful services 
which he had rendered to his native town. 

But it is perhaps in his character as a 
distinguished advocate of the Temperance 
movement that Mr. Elnowles is best known. 
Next to Canon Ellison, there is probably no 
name more familiar to the public in connec- 
tion with the work of the Church of England 
Temperance Society, than that of Mark 
Knowles. During the past five years he 
has addressed no less than 1,837 meetings, 
and travelled 123,000 miles for the further- 
ance of temperance work. These figures go 



134 



HOME WORDS. 



far to jasbify the remark made by the Arch- 
bishop of York, when he introduced him to 
a meeting of working-men at Middlesborough, 
as "the most indefatigable temperance worker 
of onr time." Nor is His Grace alone in this 
opinipn, for the lamented Bishop Selwyn» at 
a meeting held in the Palace^ Lichfield, in 
1876, described Mr. Knowles^as " the modem 
apostle of temperance." 

Few who werp present at a memorable 
meeting held in Lambeth Palace about five 
years ago under the presidency of the' Arch- 
bishop of Oanterbury, are likely to forget the 
impression made by Mr. Knowles' powerful 
speech upon that occasion. The succeeding 
speaker was the Bishop of Gloucester and 
Bristol; and his lordship, after referring 
in terms of marked commendation to Mr. 
Knowles' able address, went on to say : " All 
sides ought to be represented here to-day, 
and as each one seems to hare a sort of con* 
fession to make, I will make one myself as one 
of those who are aU but, but not quite, total- 
abstainers. I am glad to ayow that I am 
foUowiug the rule which Mr. Knowles has 
laid down. For some time past I have been 
reducing the moderate quantity I have been 
accustomed to take, and now avow that I am 
looking forward to the time when I may be 
able cordially to declare myself one of that 
body— that very bonoureble body,— I mean 
the total abstainers." The fact was, that 
some two months previously, Mr. Knowles 
had been in Gloucester, and the Bishop was 
the chairman of a meeting at which he ex- 
plained what he termed his "experimental 
rule." As every one knows. Bishop Ellioott is 
now one of " the honourable body : " judging 



by his activity and energy, his bodily health 
has not in the least suffered from the ** ex- 
periment." 

Mr. Knowles has taken a prominent part 
in three or four of the Church Congresses ^ 
indeed, there are few platforms on which he 
is not a welcome speaker. The Ckwn^ of 
England Tamperanos Ohronide a few years 
since described his style so admirably, that 
we cannot do better than quote its remarks : 
— ^" He has something to say-— and says it; 
and whether it be the homely but touching 
details of his early life a9d straggles, — com- 
mon sense advice to working-men on the 
virtues of thrift imd self-denial, — ^vtvid 
pictures of neglected homes, — a touching 
episode of child-life from his experience as a 
Sunday-school teacher,— or a stirring appeal 
to the members of a Christian Church, he is 
equally happy, felicitous, and effectiye. His 
acquaintance with business pursuits enables 
him to grasp the full dgnifictknoe and weight 
which our immense and discreditable ex- 
penditure on strong drink will exereiBe on 
the future of our country, and few men have 
more thoroughly mastered the detaila of 
licensing legislation. In the advocacy of 
this great Question, the Society needed a 
man of the people to speak to the people, 
and in Mr. Bowles it has found him.** 

Our sketch would want its crowning point 
as a story of Perseverance under difficulties 
if we omitted to mention that Mr. Knowles, 
having applied himself to the study of Con- 
stitutional and Legal History, was admitted 
a student of the Middle Temple in the 
Hilary Term, 1876, and was called to the bar 
in Michaelmas Term, 1879. 



^■^**»»»s^<^^»^^<^»^<»^»<»<» 



(Sm IHttierafum, jnv* IBS.) 



'HE child leans on its parent's breast, 
Leaves there its cares, and is at rest ; 
The bird sits singing by his nest, 
And tells aloud 
His trust in God, and so is blest 

'Neath every cloud ! 




He has no store, he sows no seed, 
Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed ; 
By flowing stream or grassy mead 

He sings to shame 
Men, who forget, in fear of need, 

A Father's Name. 

IsAio Williams. 



r 



f*YM, tbe ipanoir bath fonnd tat hovM, ind the nrallow k n«rt toi harsalf, 
iiian ■li« maj Iq Ixr yonng."— P«. Iszxlr. S. 




HOME WORDS. 



Vat »tarp ot %i)I)ert SafitM. 



BI TDB BET. CnARLBS XULLOCK, 



' AVTHOB OP "the 



CHAPTER ni. 

GDKDAT-SCEOOI UBOUSS. 

The Sundft; School S;atoin. — The Immediate 
BeEolts.— Bo;alt7 Inteiested.— Bproftd ot the 
MoTement. 

a OEOBQE the Third 
deserree to be remem- 
bered, if for nothing 
elBO, for the ezpreanon 
' his geDoroBS and truly 
Ltriarcbal deBire; "It is 
J wish that every poor 
child in my kingdom ahonld be taught to 
read the Bible." What George UL wished, 
Bobert Boikea did much to seonre. Several 
other devoted men took part in the fonnding 
of the Soitday-Bchool syetem; but BaifceE.by 
hia pnblic advocacy of the movement, gave 
it a pnblio character, and made it truly 
national. Local efforts did not satisfy him; 
and "from cottager to king, all learned of the 
new institution through Eobert Saifcea." No 
donbb children had been gathered together 
and instract^ before by Eealons individnala. 
One Buoh Jatoorer, " Old Jemmyo" th' Hey," 
nsed to teach the children of a village near 
Bolton, Lancashire, "calling them together 
by the ringing, not of a bell, but of an ex- 
cellent snbstitnte, an old brass pestle and 
mortar." Several of the clergy had also 
abont this period formed Sunday- schools. 
One of them, the Bev. Thomas Stock, after- 
wards Baikes' co-worker in Gloucester, had a 
school at Ashbnry in Berkshire. Bnt the 
national interest in the new system may nn- 
qnestionably be traced to its recognised 
founder. 

Ur. Baikos' prison ocperience seems, to a 
very considerable extent, to have led to bis 
Bnnday-schocl efforts. He knew that "pre- 
vention" w<fa1d be "better than cure." The 
children ol the poor wtie never Been in 
cbureh; and he began to lure them by kind- 
ness and trifling: gifta to come to an early 
r^crvice held in the Cathedral on Sunday 



momingB. They must have been strange- 
looking visitors, unless the philanthropist 
clothed them before they came. " Ignorant, 
profane, filthy, and disorderly in the extreme," 
is one of the many similar descriptions he 
gives of the children he saw around him. The 
darkness in their homes was Egyptian dark- 
ness. The Bishop of Chester, in 1736, thus 
writes of the parents of these children : — 

" Onr houses cannot secure us from ont- 
TBg«, nor can vre rest with safety in onr beds. 
The number ot criminals increases so rapidly 
that our gaols are nnable to contain them, 
and the magistrates are at a loaa how to dis- 
pose of them. Our penal code is already suF- 
fioiently sanguinary, and onr ezeontions suffi- 
ciently numerous to strike t«rror into the 
populace; yet they have not hitherto pro- 
duced any material alteration for the better, 
and were they mnltiplied a hundredfold they 
wonld probably ful of the desired effect." 

Mr. Baikes' own account of the formation 
of his resolve most be g:iTen at length. It 
occurs in a letter to Colonel Townley, of Shef- 
field, who had written to the then Mayor of 
Glonoester for information respecting Sno- 
day-scbools :— 

" Glodcbbter, Novvmhw 251^ 1783. 

" SiE, — My friend the Mayor has just com- 
municated to me the letter which you have 
honoured him with, inqniriag into the natnre 
of Snnday-schools. The beginning of this 
scheme was entirely owing toacddent. Some 
business leading me one morning into the 
suburbs of the city, where the lowest of the 
people (who are principally employed in the 
pin mannfaotory) chiefly reside, I was Atrnck 
with concern at seeing a grAup of children 
wretchedly ragged, at play in the streets. I 
asked an inhabitant whether those children 
belonged to that part of the town, and lament- 
ed their misery and idleness. 'Abl sir,' said 
the woman to whom I was speaking, ' oould 
yoa take ft view of this part of the town on a 
Sunday, you would be shocked indeed; for 
then tji« BttMt is filled witb multitudes of 
these wretches, who, released that da; from 



THE STORY OF ROBERT R AIRES 



m 



employment, spend their time in noise and 
riot, playing at 'chaok,* and Cursing and 
strcariog in a manner so horrid as to convey 
to any serious mind an idea of hell, rather 
than any other place. We have a worthy 
clergyman,' said she, ' curate of our parish, 
who has put some of them to school; but 
upon the Sabbath they are all given up to 
follow their own inolinations without restraint, 
as their parents, totally abandoned themselves, 
have no idea of instilling into the minds of 
their children principles to which they them- 
bclves are entire strangers.' 

'*This conversation suggested to me that 
it would be at least a harmless attempt, if 
it were productive of no good, should some 
little plan be formed to check the deplorable 
profanation of the Sabbath. I then inquired 
of the woman if there were any decent well- 
disposed women in the neighbourhood who 
kept schools for teaching to read. I pre« 
Bently was directed to four. To these I 
applied, and made an agreement with them 
to receive as many children as I should send 
upon the Sunday, whom they were to instruct 
iu reading and in the Ohurch Catechism. 
For this I engaged to pay them each a shilling 
for their day's employment. The women 
seemed pleased with the proposal. I then 
waited on the clergyman before mentioned 
and unparted to him my plan. He was so 
much satisfied with the idea that he engaged 
to lend his assistance by going round to the 
schools on a Sunday afternoon to examine 
the progress that was made, and to enforce 
order and decorum among such a set of little 
heathens." 

The clergyman to whom Baikes represents 
himself as going, was the Bev. Thomas Stock. 
He held the mastership of the Cathedral 
school, and was rector of St. John the Baptist 
with St. Aldate. He is described as one who 
"made it the business and pleasure of his 
life to go about doing good, by instruction in 
righteousness and in works of charity, yet 
who never sought the applause of men." So . 
far as Gloucester is concerned, ^ he appears 
to have had almost as much to do with the 
starting of schools there as Baikes himself." 
Some think that in Gloucester ho was the 
chief originator. 

But whatever position is assigned to Mr. 



Stock, the fact that Baikes was the recognised 
public founder of the Sunday-school system 
is, as we have already said, indisputable. He 
was spoken of as such at the time and in his 
own presence; although, with befitting hu- 
mility, when, three years after the commence- 
ment of 'his first school, he made the system 
public in the columns of his newspaper, he 
did so without any mention of his own name, 
and without in any way attempting to claim 
credit for his share in the movement. All 
credit is indeed assigned to ''some of the 
Clergy," who had identified themselyes with 
the work. 

The immediate results were most cheering. 
At Quarter Sessions the promoters of Sunday- 
schools were formally thanked by the magis- 
trates. Bishops commended the work. Lord 
Ducie, noticing the unusual and singular 
silence and good order maintained by the 
children in one of the churches near his seat» 
became practically interested. Extracts and 
paragraphs from the QUAkCMUr Jourwd were 
copied into other papers. Everywhere the 
scheme found friends. Adam Smith said : — 
^ No plan has promised to efifect a change of 
manners with equal ease and simplicity since 
the days of the Apostles." Tl^e poet Cowper 
declared that he knew no nobler means by 
which a reformation of the lower classes 
could be effected. John Wesley said, ''I 
verily think these schools are one of the 
noblest specimens of charity which have been 
set on foot in England since the time of Wil- 
liam the Conqueror." 

Bishops and archdeacons introduced the 
subject in their charges. In 1789, Bishop 
Shute,of Salisbury, recommended the univer- 
sal establishment of Sunday-schools through- 
out the kingdom, and stated there were 
already no less than 300,000 scholars in the 
schools established. 

Boyalty became interested. While visiting 
some relations at Windsor, probably about 
Christmas, 1787, Mr. llaikos had the honour 
of introducing his institution to the Queen. 
Hearing that he was in the neighbourhood, 
Her Majesty sent for him, and expressed a 
desire to know '' by what accident a thought 
which promised so much benefit to the lower 
order of people as the institution of Sunday- 
schools was suggested to his mind, and whnt 



138 



HOME WORDS. 



effeots were observable in conaeqaence on 
the manners of the poor." The conversation 
which ensued lasted more than an hour. 
Her Majesty most graoionsly said» that she 
envied those who had the power of doing 
good by thns personally promoting the wel- 
fare of society, in giving instruction and 
morality to the genered mass of the common 
people, a pleasure from which, by her situa- 
tion, she was debarred. Baikes, in accord- 
ance with his invariable habit of keeping his 
own name out of print* makes no mention of 
this memorable interview in his newspaper; 
but it is referred to in the QeniXMnatCt Magch 
zine in 1788, with the comment : — 

" What a glorious sentiment is this for a 
Queen 1 Were this known amongst the ladies 
of the British nation, it would serve to ani- 
mate them with zeal to follow the example 
which the Queen is desirous to set before 
them." 

Shortly afterwards, the King himself 
visited the Schools of Industry at Brentford, 
and won the hearts of all the children by his 
condescending behaviour. 

Mrs. Trimmer and Mrs. Hannah More now 
threw their influences into the work. In her 
Somersetshire home on the Mendip Hills, 
Hannah More had long lamented the igno- 
rance of the poorer classes ; and as early as 
1789 she endeavoured to enlighten them by 
means of a Sunday-schooL Prior to start- 
ing her school she made a house-to-house 
visitation through the village, of which she 
says : — 

"We found every house a scene of the 
greatest ignorance and vice: we saw but 
one Bible in all the parishi and that was 
used to prop a flower-pot." 

In Ave years' time there were in regular 
attendance at the schools established by 
Hannah More in this country district no 
less than 200 children and 200 adult 
scholars. 

The spread of the movement was most 
rapid. At Leeds, in 1784, within a year of . 
the first promulgation of the scheme in the 
Qloucester Journal, there were twenty-six 
schools and 2,000 scholars, taught by forty- 
five masters. By the next year Manchester 
had no less than 2,836 of \ts children under 
Sabbath instruction ; '* and," says the record, 



** sach a general conversion of manners, such 
a change from noise, profaneness, and vice, 
to quietness, decency, and order, was never 
seen in any former period." 

John Wesley took an active part in recom- 
mending the schools. A school at Bolton, 
founded in 1785, was one of the earliest at 
which the teachers gave their services with- 
out payment. The children were here tauglit 
to sing in public worship ; and Wesley speaks 
of the eflbct being such that " he defied any- 
thing to exceed it, except the singing of the 
angels in our Father's house." 

About this time, Mr. William Fox, a friend 
of Mr. Baikes, aided by Mr. James Hanwaj, 
Mr. Henry Thornton, Mr. Samuel Hoare, and 
other8,formed the first Sunday-school Society. 
At the first meeting of the committee, Mr. 
Baikes is spoken of in a resolution passed as 
" the original founder and liberal promoter of 
Sunday-schools." 

In a letter to Mr. Fox, soon after, referring 
to an account of a school celebration a( 
Colchester, Mr. Baikes made the following 
characteristic comment ; — ; 

" What a wide and extensive field of ra- 
tional enjoyment opens to our view, could we 
allow the improvement of human nature to 
become a source of pleasure. Instead of 
training horses to the course, and viewing 
with delight their exertions at Newmarket, 
let our men of fortune turn their minds to an 
exhibition like that at Colchester. Impart to 
them a small portion of the solid enjoyment 
which a mind like yours must receive from 
the glorious sight — children more neglected 
than the beasts of the field now taught to 
relish the comforts of decency and good order, 
and to knowtiiat their own happiness greatly 
depends upon promoting the happiness of 
others." 

The high motives of the founder and the 
sense of the privilege of the work of Sunday- 
school teaching, thus expressed, exercised a 
powerful infiuence in gradually rectifying the 
original error of paying teachers from Is. to 
28, each per Sunday for their services. From 
1786 to 1800 the Society we have mentioned 
expended no less than £4,000 in these pay- 
ments. Gratuitous teaching now became more 
generali and the greater efficiency of the 
work done indicated the importance of the 



THE STORY OF ROBERT RAIKES. 



139 



change. The pftying system, indeed, was 
proving a most serious drawback ; the higher- 
toned teachers were repelled, and the luke- 
warm and inefficient tempted to undertake 
work in which they had no hearty interest. 
The simple appeal to the motive power of love 
became the earnest of a spiritual revival, the 
endoring influences of which we witness in 
the marvellous success and self-denying 
labours of Sunday-school teachers in the pre* 
sent day. 

Aboat this time Mr. Charles of Bala intro- 
duced the Sunday-school in Wales, and in- 
strumentally the British and Foreign Bible 
Sodety sprang out of the seed thus planted. 
A dear child, it was discovered, for lack of a 
Bible in her own village, had been accustomed 
to travel every week seven miles over the hills 
to find one from which she could read the 
chapter from which the minister took his text, 
Mr. Charles heard of this, and the next time 
he went to London he urged his friends there 
to assist in forming a Bible Society for Wales. 
A Bible Society for the world was the result. 

The school .in the parish of St. Mary de 
Crypt, in which Mr. Baikes himself taught, 
was Imown as " Baikes's Own." It was held 
in a private dwelling-house in Southgate 
Street^ almost opposite Baikes's residence. 
The teacher, a Mrs. Sarah Critchley, lived 
next door, and was paid for her services at 



the rate of one shilling a Sunday, with firing 
and gratuities worth an additional sixpence. 
The one essential qualification for the admis- 
sion of scholars was cleanliness. " All that I 
require," said Baikes to the parents, "are 
clean hands, clean feces, and their hair 
combed." None were turned away because 
their clothes were dirty or ragged. " If you 
have no clean shirt, come in that you have 
on," said Baikes ; and when the ragamuffins 
pointed to their tatterod garments and shoe- 
less feet as excuses for their non-attendance, 
Baikes argued with them, " If you can loiter 
about without shoes and in a ragged coat, you 
may as well come to school and learn what 
may tend to your good." 

Emulation was excited by the occasional 
distribution of little rewards, such as books, 
combs, shoes, or articles of apparol, to the 
most diligent. The vice of profane swear- 
ing, at that time fearfully prevalent amongst 
all classes, was one against which the scholars 
were firequently warned, and the leaders were 
charged to report to the teachers every in- 
stance of the use of bad language in school. 
*' The great principle I inculcate," wrote 
Baikes, " is to be kind and good-natured to 
eaoh other; not to provoke one another; to 
be dutiful to their parents; not to offend God 
by cursing and swearing; and such little 
plain precepts as all may comprehend." 



BT UNCLE JOHN. 



- ■ - 
& •* ■ "4 


^KMrKT. 




A 


V^w 



Z. A BECBET. 

HAT is your secret?" asked a 
lady of Turner, the distinguished 
painter. He replied, " I have no 
secret, madam, but hard work." 
Says Dr. Arnold : « The differ- 
ence between one man and another is not so 
much in talent as in energy." 

^ Nothing," says Beynolds, " is denied well- 
directed labour, and nothing is to be attained 
without it." " Excellence in any department," 
Fays Johnson, " can now be attained by the 
labour of a lifetime ; but it is not to be pur- 
chased at a less price." '' There is but one 
method," said Sydney Smith, " and that is 
hard labour." *' Step by step," reads the 
French proverb, " one goes very far." 



XL BBIATH OS B&EKZS. 

"A BREATH of encouragement sends round the 

mill: 
A breeze of dUparagemeni makes it stand 

still." 

xn. "it's all thifb own." 
A FOOB Macedonian soldier was one day lead- 
ing befora Alexander a mule laden with gold 
for the king's use. The beast being so tired 
that he was not able either to go or sustain 
the load, the mule-driver took it off, and 
carried it himself with great difficulty a con- 
siderable way. Alexander seeing him just 
sinking under the burthen, and about to 
throw it on the ground, cried out : — " Friend, 
do not be weary yet ; try and carry it quite 
through to thy tent, for it is all thine own." 



HOME WORDS. 



PEOM THB BDITOk'B NOTE-BOOK. 



THE ONE TOO MANY. 

b tUe significant in- 

ptioa on a pablio-honse 

iboard, which we oame 

)Ba daring a ramble in 

icaabirQ a few years 

. The localitf is not 

1 far from the resi- 

denoe ai the eminent statistioal authority, 

Mr. Wm. Hoyle, who has recently been 

showing that there are a great many more 

than " ofM too many " pablio hoases. 

Aooording to Mr. Hojlo. there are at the 
present time about 185,000 houses in the 
ITnited Kingdom where intoxicating liquors 
are sold, or one drink-ahop to every 36 honses 
throughout the kingdom. If the houses 
were put end to end, and fourteen yards of 
frontage allowed to each, they woald form a 
street of houses 750 miles long. Snch a 
street would stretch from Land's End in Cora- 
wall, to John O'Orcat at the extreme north 
of Scotland, and would reach 110 miles 
beyond that. Or, if we take another view of 
the drinking system, and concentrate all the 
pnblio-houaes, beershops, etc., together in one 
oouuty, say the county of Stafford, which is 
the moat densely populated of all the midland 
connties, it would swallow up all the honsea 
inStaffordahire.with its population of 860,000 
people, and some 15,000 more hcnsea wonid 
be needed berore all the drinksellerB were 
accommodated. — ZTunti attd nearl, 

XVI. SIR MATTHEW HALE'S ADVICE. 

SuoKTiT before his death Chief Justice Hale 
wrote to his grandchildren : — 

" I will not have you begin or pledge any 
health ; for it is become one of the greatest 
artifices of drinking, and occasions of quarrel- 
ing in the kingdom. Ifyoapledgeonehealth, 
you oblige yourself to pledge another, and 
a third, and so onwards ; and if yon pledge 
as many as will be drank, yen must be de- 
banched and drnnk. If they will needs know 
the reason of your refusal, it is a bir answer : 
'That your grandfather, that brought ycu 
np, from whom, under God, you hare the 



estate you enjoy or expect, left this in com- 
mand with you, that you should never begin 
or pledge a healtL! " 

XVII. THE POWER OF THE PENOS. 

Fboh the First Annual Boport of the 
Plymouth Coffee-house Company, we leant 
that the balance-sheet is a very satisfactory 
one for the three bouses now in operation. 
Taking the Borough Arms alone, £&,865 6t, 
Id. have been received over the counter in 
the twelve months juat closed, l^is sum 
repreaenta 635,273 penny cups, or other tran- 
sactions; andtaking the two other houses into 
consideration as well, nearly a million similar 
tnuigaotians have taken place over the oom. 
pany's bars. 

XVIIIi SIR CHARLES NAPIER'S TESTIMONV. 

FxoH the poblished oorreapondeuce of Sir 
Charles Napier we extract the fallowing i— 

" To Private James K y, 

" I hare joor letter. Yon tell ma you give 
satisfaction to your officers, which is just 
what you ought to do, and I am very glad to 
hear it, because of my regard for every one 
reared at Castletown, for I was reared there 
myselil However, aa I and all belonging to 

9 have left that part of the country for more 
than twenty years, I neither know who Mr. 
Tom Kelly is, nor who your father is; but I 
would go &r any day in the year to serve a 
Celbridge man, or any man from the barony 
of Salt, in which Celbridge stands ; that is to 
say, if such a man behaved himself like a 
good soldier and not a drunken vagabond, 

like James J e, whom you knew very 

well if you are a Coetletown man. Now, Mr. 

James N y, as I am sure yoo are, and 

must be a remarkably sober man, as I an 
mywEf,or I should not have got on so well in 
the world as I have done, I say, as you are a 
remarkably nAer man, I desire yon to take 
this letter to yonr captain, and ask him. to 
showittoyourUeutenant-coloneliWithmybest 
compliments to have yon in his memory; aai 
if yon are aremackahly sober man, mind that, 

James N y, a rentarkt^ly iiAer man, like 

I am, and in all ways fit to be a laoce corporal i 



BILLY AND ME; OR, OUT IN THE HAY. 



141 



I will be obliged to him for promoting 70a 
now and hereafter. Bat if you are like James 

J e, then I sincerely hope he will give 

70a a doable allowance of punishment, aa yon 
will deserve for taking up my time, which I 
am always ready to spare for a good soldier, 
bat not for a bad one. Now, if yon behave 
welly this letter will give yon a &ir start in 



life ; and if yon do behave well, I hope soon 
to hear of yonr being a corporaL Mind what 
yon are about, and believe me your well 
wisher, — 

"Chaeles Nafiek, 

MajoT'Oeneral wivd Qovemor of Sdnde, 

because I have always been a remarkably 
sober man." 



SiHp attii Mt; Dr^ ^t in tf)t l^n^. 




HEBE the pools are bright and 
deep, 
Where the grey tront lies asleep: 
Up the river and o'er the lea — 
That's the way for Billy and me ! 

Where the blackbird sings the latest, 
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest : 
Where the nestlings chirp and flee—* 
That's the "way for Billy and me ! 

Where the mowers mow the cleanest, 
Where the hay lies thick and greenest; 



There to trace the homeward bee — 
That's the way for Billy and me ! 

Where the hazel bank is steepest, 
Where the shadow falls the deepest : 
Where the clustering nuts fall free — 
That's the way for Billy and me I 

And this I know : I love to play 
Through the meadows, among the hay ; 
Up the water and o'er the lea — 
That's the way for Billy and me ! 

James Hoaa. 



^•^t^t^t^^^^^^^^^m^^^i^t^t^t^tmm 



^^*^^^*^^^»^*^*^t^*^t^^0*^m0^0^^^0^^^^t0^ 



€f)t jTouiUiation of Crut Ceacl^fng^ 




BELIEVE from my soul, that 
the clear and full bringing out 
of the Person, Office, and Work 
of Christ, our only Saviour, 
and Him crucified, is the only foundation 
of true teaching. I shonld dread to speak 
a word which shonld lead a single soul to 
look to his own good works, or repentance, 
or anything in himself, as in any sense, or 



under any reservation, the cause of his 
acceptance with God ; and I should fear no 
less to put any other thing, name, or notion, 
whether devised by man or an abused or- 
dinance of Ood, between Christ and the soul 
as the Oiver of all its life, the Bestower of 
God's grace, and so the Continuer no less 
than the Author of its spiritual being."— 
The late Bishop Wilberforce. 



u 



jTatfttr HiwlDSf/* 




[OHNNY, don't you think you 
have got as much as you can 
carry?" said Frank to his 
brother, who was standing with 
open arms, receiving the bundles 
bia father placed upon them. ** Tou've gob 
more than you can carry now." 

"Never mind," said Johnny, in a sweet, 
happy voice ; " my father knows how much 
I can carry." 
How long it takes many of us to learn the 



lesson little Johnny had by heart — " Father 
knows how much I can carry ! " No grum- 
bling, no discontentment, but a sweet trust 
in our Father's love and care that we shall 
not be overburdened I The Holy Spirit alone 
can teach us how to trust God as little 
Johnny did his father; for He alone can 
"reveal" to us "the love of God which 
passeth knowledge." Let us ask Him to 
do BO, on our knees — "Lord, tbacq Tiiou 



>t 



>0<>*«>000©©00000*OOCOC>00000000*0000©00©OOOOOOeOOA©C-&000000©00« 



BILLT AND ME: OUT IH THE HAY. 



i 



II 



THE VOVNG POLKS' PAGE. 



143 



(K^e i^oung jroIftsC 9age< 




XXI. THE CENTENARY CALL. 
Bt TXfl RiT. PAXfos Hood.* 

OlOB from tha wilderaeii^ 
Ooma from the oi^i preM^ 
Ooms from the villago rodaa 
Ooma from the aolitade \ 
Comak with glad Toioai. sad rmisa them to- 
dayl 
Come with the infhat's soxifft 
Let age the atrstn prolong i 
Gome with the oigaa'a peal. 
Gome with the trampat'a iwdl t 
ya to pralaa tha Lord, ooina ya to praj. 

Whara the waeda wildait grow. 
Where atreama an bladk and alow* 
Where dewleaa rooka were aaen* 
Whara earth waa no more green. 

Whan 110 flow'xa ihad their aweet% lighting the waji 
Thareblof thatraeaof God, 
FoU of aap, nobly nod i 
There, to the earth and ekiaa, 
There ehUdren'a Toioea riael 

narataknapraiiatheLordl there lot na pray I 

Praiif to the loring Lord I 

Be gave the ehearfol word I 

Pralaa fior the loToly feet, 

Orer tha nurantaina fleet I 
Gnaft ia the army of Teaohera to-day I 

Fray that they atfll may he 

Virm in their loyalty ; 

StUl may they nobly atand, 

Sentrlaa aroond our land I 
Ooaw jatopraiaetheLordl oome ye to prayl 

XXII. THE 8EA-BOY'8 GRAVE. 

A couoinre atory la told of one of Baikaa* aeholara 
nnderthe tiUe of "The Bea-Bqy'a GiaTe.** The writer 
relatea that he onoe royaged home from the Weat Indiaa 
in aahip on board of whioh were a nototioody wicked 
aailorand a eaUnboy who had raoaiTed inatmfition in one 



of Baikee' Gloaoester schoola. The boy's name was Pel> 
ham, bnt among the erew he waa known as "Jack 
Balkea." In the ooniae of the voyage the aaaor waa 
■track down with feTerj and,aa he daily grew worse, 
it waa ftered that he woold die. unrepentant and wifihoat 
hope. "Jack Baikea,*' howerer, obtained leave to nurse 
him. He watched over him with womanly tenderness, 
told him of the Savioor he had learnt aboat at school, and 
prayed with him constantly and eamaatly for salvation 
in the Bavioor'a Name. 

After a whQe the hard heart melted, and bitterly were 
the aina of a past misspent Uf e deplored. Then came to 
thia poor seamap, In qoiok anocesaion, the consdooeness 
of the Bavioor'a forgiving love, and a teiomphant en* 
trance Into God*a kingdom of glory. 

A few daya afterwarda a atorm came osl The stont 
ship, while nearing her daatination, waa driven far oat of 
her ooorse. With relentless ftary the tempest harried her 
to destrootion on a aiuiken rode off the northern ooset of 
BcoUandf and the sanora* aa a last hop^ took to the 
boats. The boat in which "Jack Baikea** foond a place 
waa soon overturned b7 the angry wavea, and, next 
morning, hia body waa among the nmnber of those that 
strewed the neighbouring shore. Th^ writer of the nar- 
rative, who got aaftiy to land with a spar to which he had 
lathed himself, thna daserfbaa the appea r ance of poor 
Jaekr— 

"His conntenance wore aswaet and heavenly exprsssioa* 
and, stooping down, I robbed his bare head of a little 
lo6k of aubom hair that lay npon hia temple. Hiaeflbota 
—alas! how poor, and yet how rich— were apread npon 
the table in the room, and conaisted of a little leather 
parse in which vrere a well-fcept half-crown and a solitary 
sixpence. His Bible, which he had ever counted his chief 
riches^ and from which he had derived treaaorea of 
wisdom, waa placed by his side. I took it up, and ob- 
aerved, engn^ved on ita daspa of braas, theae words : 
* The gift of Robert Baikea to J. B. PeUiam.' ■ O Baikea,' 
thought I, 'thia ia one gem of purest light indeed : still, 
it is but one of the many thonaand gems whioh ahall en> 
divle thy radiant head In that day when the Lord of 
Hoata ahaU make np Hia JewelB."'— JVom " IThot 2to IF« 



^^M^^^^^ 



Wit ISaie WXxfX SeatcfreH. 

n tBB BtQBT BIT. TBI LOUD BZ8B0F OP 80D0B AND KAH. 



L 



BIBLB QUBSTIONB. 

THBBS ia one thing which Ohrist ia never reoorded 
to have done, bat which ia apedally held out aa 
a praolsed blessing to His people— wnat ia ttf 

t. Who waa taken to the city of Babylon when it waa 
aa the height of ita greatneasb yet never aaw Ita wonders? 

8* b fSare anything to mark the toming-point in 
Snodi'a life, when he really became a man of aith P 

4 When did the ear recognise Ohxist when the eye had 
failed to do so P 

A Where did the money come firom whidh supplied the 
first fiharitable inatttation of which we read in the Bible P 

8. How can we show that the Holy CHloat la God firom 
the histoiy of Noah's flood P 

y. Why waa the ministry of our Bleaaed Lord oonflned 
only te the JewaP 

8. What proof have we of St. PauTa atrong aenae of 
iBOtal obligation In his natural atate, aa wall aa when he 
waa In a atate of grace P 



8. When waa the gift of a erown oflbred in return for 
the gift of bread P 

10. Where do we flnd in one verse of Scripture the 
strongeet teatimony to the personality, the agency, tho 
apoatasy, and inflaenoe of Baten P 

11. WluBit heathen king gave command that God'a people 
ahonldpray for the Boyal Ihmily P 

If. Wnat were the excuses made by the educated and 
uneducated Jewa In Old Testament timea for negleotiDg 
the BoriptoreeP 

AN8WBB8. (Baa ICiT No., Pa«b 110.) 

L Lake six. 41., xxUi. 18. 11. Xxod. zxziL 10. ITI. 
Lake xvi. 81. IV. Num. xxxi. 48-00. V. Prov. vi. 10-83. 
YI. John It. A VII. Ex od. x vii. 8; Judg. vi. 11 ; Ji)b 
xxix. 8; Ps. IxxxL 18. YIII. Prov. xxx. 18, 18. IX. 
Deut. viii. 10. Z. Ps. fadiL 8. XI. John xxi.Oj compare 
John xvliL 18. ZIL Deut xxvi. A 



i Bstert^ftsi «s Han ^ qieaeista','' a Maateal aeinofar, (London i M^ Old BaOey). A oa^^ help for 






THE UGHT OF HOME. 



HOME WORDS 



FOB 



%m 8t«i ikm% 




C^t %.iflfyt of ^om^ 

6T S. J. HALI. 

|Y boy, ttou wilfc dream the world is fair, 
And thy spirit will sigh to roam ; 
And thoa must go ; bnt never, when thero^ 
Forget the light of Home. 

Thongh pleasure may smile with a ray more bright, 

It dazzles to lead astray : 
Like the meteor's flash, 'twill deepen the night 

When thou treadest the lonely way. 

But the hearth of Home has a constant flame, 

And pnre as vestal flre : 
Twill bnfn, 'twill bnm, for ever the same^ 

For natnre feeds the pyre. ' 

The sea of ambition is tempest-tost. 

And thy hopes may vanish like foam ; 
Bnt when sails are shivered, and radder lost, 

Then look to the light of Home. 

And then, like a star through the midnight clond, 

Thon shalt see the beacon bright ! 
For never, till shining on thy shroud, 

Can be quenched its holy light. 

The sun of fame, 'twill gild the name ; 

But the heart ne'er felt its ray ; 
And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim, 

Are but beams of a wintry day. 

And how cold and dim those beams must be. 
Should life's wretched wanderer come I 

But, my boy, when the world is dark to thoe, 
Then turn to the light of Home. 



-'< 



rou X* vo. vn^ 



B 2 



HOME WORDS. 



A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIMfe. 



BT KMILT a. BOUT, ADIBOK 0? 

OHAPTEfi L 



. DOEOTHTTBBAD- 
WELL woB sweeping 
ant the shop one fine 
Hay moming in the 
year 1471, juat about 
four handred years 
ago. The shop was 
a tailor's, and it etood on the south or shady 
aide of Bucklersbory, in the heart of the city 
ofLondon. Overthe doorawunga Hignboard; 
for every house had one in 1471, which was 
nearly three hundred years beforo houses in 
towns were numbered. The sign in this case 
was a green griffln. Now a griffin is a crea- 
ture that nerer walked on the earth nor flew 
in the air, being a faucifal monster with the 
head and fore feet like those of an eagle, the 
tail and hind paws of a lion, and a handsome 
pair of wings springing ont of the middle of 
its back. Where the shop-windoira would 
now be there were square openings, the shut- 
ter of which being let down formed a stand, 
upon which the tailor's cloth, trimmings, 
hats, and hose, were displayed ; for a tailor's 
stock then often included those of a hatter 
and hosier also. The house on tha right 
hand was occupied by a baker, who displayed 
a silver fish on his signboard ; that on the 
left by a bowyer, namely a seller of bows 
and arrows, which at that time were gennioe 
und formidable weapons of war. The bowyer'a 
signboard was a standing yexation to Mrs. 
Treodwell, for it represented a "silent 
woman " — otherwise, a lady without a head — 
which Mrs. Treadwell very properly regarded 
aa a libel on her sex. Nothing on earth would 
have induced her to submit to such an insult 
swinging over her shop door. 

Urs, Treadwell was attired in the fashion 
of her day. She wore a " rayed" or striped 
serge gown, black and green in colonrs, and 
a heart-shaped head-dress of light brick- 
coloured camlet, atndded with tinsel battons. 



" TBB ICAniKNS LODGE, STO. 

ITnder this head-dress her hvr was oompletely 
tacked away, out of sight. The dress was 
made long and full, with sleeves very wide 
from the shoulder to the elbow, but quite 
tight at the wrist. Bound a very short waist 
was a band several inches brood. The shoes 
were long and pointed- 

As to her personal cbarocteriatica, Ifrs. 
Treadwell was of moderate height, and ex- 
tremely fat. The sweeping business was 
evidently irksome to her, and she puBod and 
sighed while she did it. Her apparent ago 
was thirty-five or forty. 

Was she a person of any consequence P In 
the eyes of her neighbonra not by any means : 
but there was one person to whom she was 
the sun and centre of the world, and that 
person woa Dorothy Treadirell. She was 
never tired of telling people that she had 
comedown in the world when she graciously 
condescended to marry Master Humphrey 
Treadwell. It might be the case that other 
people could not see very much condescension 
in the matter; and some, whose sincerity was 
greater than their civility, had been bold 
enough to tell her so. Urs. Dorothy there- 
upon flew into what Master Humphrey called 
a tantrum. Was she not a Oordiner by birth P 
and had she not the Cordiner noseP Was 
not her father a grooerP — a wholesale grocer, 
mark yon, not a retail one. And a wholesale 
grocer (in Urs. Dorothy!a eyes) was as much 
above a retail tailor aa a king waa above a 
chimney-sweep. 

Master Humphrey Treodwell was a qniet, 
humble individual, who never contradicted 
anybody, and least of all his wifcL She 
might have said " obey " in the marriage 
gervioei but it was he who did it in prac- 
tice. 

The remainder ot the tulor'e fhmHy can- 
siated of Master Humphrey's Biater, Eate 
Treadwell, who was nuny years younger than 
himself ; his tmly child, Lucy, the heiress of 
the cloth of 3£aater Humphrey and the 
Cordiner nose of Mrs. Dorothy; the ^pren- 
tioe boy, George, as much given to miaohief 



MRS. TREADWELLS COOK. 



149 



M moBfe liealUiy boys of fifteen aro; and two 
mud-BarrantSy a 000k and a hoasemaid. 

It was not by any means the habit of the 
oondesoending Mrs. Dorothy to sweep out the 
shop ; and she considered it a great hardship 
on this particular morning. It was Qeorge's 
business. But George had other business on 
hand, of more importance (to him), and had 
not been heard of since the previous eyening. 
Master Humphrey was carrying home a 
bundle of clothe!^ to a customer at a distance ; 
Lucy was away on a visit to her nnde; the 
cook had been married the day before ; the 
housemaid had most inconsiderately allowed 
herself to be taken ill. There was only Kate 
lefbk and she was attending to the cooking. 
Mrs. Treadwell, in consequence, felt herself 
very iU-used by circumstances, and not at 
ail properly considered by Providence. She 
sighed heavily as she knocked her broom on 
the door-step to get rid of the dust. 

" Good-morrow, Cousin Dorothy ! " said a 
cheerful voicQ at her side. "What! dcnng 
your own sweeping this fresh morrow F " 

" Eh» Cousin Boger I — ^give you good mor- 
row I " responded Mrs. Treadwell, setting the 
broom in the comer, and offering her cheek 
to her cousin's greeting. (People did not 
shake bands, but kissed each other, in those 
days). ^ My own sweeping F— aye, am I, and 
like to do it yet again. I 'm in such a peck of 
troublef Cousin, as never mortal woman was. 
And how goes it with Nell and the lads P " 

^'l^ey all fare well, God be thanked," said 
BogerCordiner, lifting his cap for a moment 
as he uttered the Divine Name. " And what 
is all your trouble. Cousin Doll ? — if a man 
may know it" 

" Porsoothtf and you may so : but come in, 
Conain Boger ; 'tis not meet you shoidd stand 
without* Mine husband shall be back shortly, 
and then shall we break &st," said Mrs. 
Treadwell, leading the way into the kitchen. 

" Nay, for I brake mine two hours gone, 
Dol]/* answered Boger, wit& a twinkle in his 
eyob well knowing that it was n(^ one of 
Dorothy's fillings to get up too early in the 
mondng* 

**Two komrs, quotha!" exclaimed she. 
" Now, just look you here, Cbusin ; here be 
aUthewoik of tfns house upon Kate and me. 
Tbere'a ipm liok afbed in the garret^ and 



George a-gaumering somewhither taking of 
his pleasure, the lack-halter rascal! — and 
what in the world possessed yon Cicely to go 
and be wed yestermom, and leave me in this 
cumber, I'm a Frenchwoman i£ I know! 
Could you but hear of any maid that lacked 
a place, whether as cookmaid or chamber- 
maid, she were as welcome to me as flowers 
in May, and I would not stand to a crown 
piece for wages. Kate is nought of a cook, 
yet she must look to it, for I cannot abide 
yon fire. Eh dear, dear! — ^was ever poor 
woman so put about? " 

And Mrs. Treadwell dropped into a chair, 
and wiped her exhausted face with a red 
linen handkerchief. 

"Well, Cousin Doll," answered Boger, "'tis 
somewhat pat, though I did not look for it, 
that part of mine errand hither this very 
morrow was to ask of you if you wist of any 
that lacked a cookmaid. There is a maid of 
Nell's acquaintance, that she would fain 
serve, a-looking out but now; and I know 
she would be right glad to put her to serve 
you. If you think not she is o'er young- 
she hath but seventeen years." 

'* If she has hands and eyes, and a willing 
mind, and will but do as she is bid. Cousin 
Boger, I will never stick at her years. — ^Ab, 
here thou art, Humphrey ! " 

Mr. Treadwell, a meek-looking little man 
with a slight limp, greeted his wife's cousin 
very humbly and cordially. It was his wont 
to be humble with every one, but in particular 
with Boger Cordiner, who was the most dis* 
tinguished of Mrs. Dorothy's connections. 
Had he not, in bygone days, been a serving- 
man in the household of the great £arl of 
Warwick? The servant of a nobleman, in 
those times, was considered far above a 
tradesman, however prosperous. 

The party sat down to breakfast. On the 
table were boiled beef, cheese, and brawn, 
rolls of bread hot from the oven, biscuits, 
and beer. (Tea and coffee had never been 
heard of then.) The clock struck eight as 
they began, which was then thought a very 
late hour for breakfast. 

Kate felt it necessary to apologise fbr the 
Inread, which her conscience told her was 
heavy I "birtf you know, my masters, I am 
nought of a cook," said she humbly. 



ISO 



HOME WORDS. 



" Bat look thou, Homphrey ; Goiuin Boger 
wist of a cooknudd that shall serve my turn/' 
joyfully added Mrs. TreadwelL " When can 
she come, Boger, think yon P I would iain 
have her a- work as soon as may be." 

" Why, to-morrow, for anght I know," said 
Boger. ''I reckon her goods and chattels 
shall not break many mules' backs." 

"Is she strong and willing. Master Cka> 
diner P " inquired Kate. 

" Wilhng enough, in good sooth," was the 
answer; ''but as for strongs— Yon had 
best see her and judge for yourselves." 

Mrs. Treadwell looked rather uneasy at 
this remark. 

" Eh, Cousin, one a-bed is enough at once 1 " 
said she, 

** Nay, not so bad as that Youll not find 
her abed, Doll* I count." 



OHAPTEB n. 

A CHAPna OP XHOUBH HISTOET. 

*'And what news abroad, an' it like you, 
Master OordinerP" demanded Mr. Tread- 
well, having humbly waited to put his ques- 
tion till every one else seemed to have 
finished. 

There was news enough; for seldom has 
there been a more stirring year in England 
than 1471. The Wars of the Boses were 
just over. For sixteen years " the lion and 
the unicorn were fighting for the crown," 
and England was deluged fix>m end to end 
with blood. Now King Edward was upper- 
most, and now King Henry; and the people, 
many of whom probably understood very 
little of the real gist of the matter, followed 
one or the other according as their early 
training led thenu The dispute between 
them was really as follows. 

Just a hundred years before this time, the 
old law of succession had been altered in 
England. The famous Black Prince, who 
died before his father, Edward III., had left 
a son behind him. Now, according to the 
present law, this son would just have stepped 
into his father's place, and would have been 
king after his grandfather. But the old law 
said : "No I The king's son must succeed the 
king. This child is not the king's son. The 



link which bound him to the throne is gone; 
he is no more than any other nobleman. The 
next son of the king takes his dead brother's 
place." But in this case it happened that 
King Edward was very anxious that his 
little grandson, Bichard, the child of hts 
favourite son, should be his successor. His 
second son, Lionel, was dead too ; but he had 
only left a daughter, and nobody ever thought 
of her. The third son, John, was alive; but 
he was not at all popular, and he had no wish 
to be a king. He willingly seconded his 
father's desire, and the law of succession was 
changed by Act of Parliament to what it is 
now. All the Lords and Oommons swore to 
receive and obey the little Prince Bichard as 
their next king, and the very first to take 
this oath was his uncle Prince John, who 
under the old law should have been king 
himself. 

Things would most likely have gone pretty 
smoothly if Prince John had not had a son 
Henry, a child of ten years old, who took the 
oath to accept his cousin as king. But he 
was far more ambitious than his father, and 
he always considered that he had been 
tricked out of his rights. For twenty-three 
years, during which Bichard reigned, Henry 
made him as uncomfortable as ever he could, 
and at the end of that time he thrust him off 
the throne, and sat down in his place. Poor 
King Bichard lived only a few weeks after- 
wards ; and how he died God knows, for men 
never knew with certainty. But he left no 
diild to dispute the crown with his cousin 
Henry, who reigned for thirteen years as 
King Henry lY., and then went to give in 
his account at the bar of GKkL His s<ki, 
Henry Y., succeeded him peaceably enough ; 
and he became so popular, from his successes 
in war with France, that nobody wished to 
disturb either him or his son, Henry YI.| 
though the son was only a baby when he 
came to the throne. But as H«iry YL grew 
up he proved to be a very different sort of 
man firom either his fother or his grandJkther. 
He was a good man, but not at all suited foi 
a king in those stormy and warlike times. 
Beside this, he was subject to occasional fits 
of madness; and of oourse, during these 
times, a Begent had to be f^pointed to trans- 
act the afifdm of state. The person upon 



MRS. TREADWELLS COOK. 



IS' 



whom the nobles fixed as.Begent waa the 
king's oousin, Bichard, Duke of York. 

Now, Bichard was descended from Prince 
Lionel, King Edward's second son, who had 
left only a danghter. He was her son's 
danghter's son. An d when he found himself 
in the position of Begent, which he seems to 
have liked, he begatn thinking that he had a 
better right t« be king than Henry himself. 
He had no reason to be attached to the 
femily of Henry lY ., who had been extremely 
cruel to several of Biohard's relations. And 
the more he thought about it, the more 
satisfied he was that Henry was a usurper, 
and that he, Bichard, ought to be Song of 
England. He had just oome nicely to this 
conclusion^ when Eling Henry recovered 
from one of his attacks of insanity; and 
when Henry, in his gentle way, thanJEcd his 
cousin for taking care of his affairs, and 
intimated that he was now able to manage 
for himself, Bichard replied that he preferred 
to stay where he was, as he considered that 
he had much the best right to be there. 

So began the Wars of the Boses. Henry 
took for his badge a red rose, and Bichard 
a white one. The struggle between them was 
very long and bloody ; Bichard was killed in 
one of the battles, but.it made no difference, 
for he left three sons who continued the 
war. These were Edward lY., George Duke 
of Clarence^ and Bichard Duke of Gloucester. 
We shall hear more of them presently. 

The greatest and richest nobleman in the 
kingdom, at this time, was Bichard Neville, 
Earl of Warwick. He is said to have had an 
annual income of eighty thousand crowns; 
which, allowing for the difference in the 
value of money, would be equal to three 
hundred thousand pounds in our day. Six 
hundred retainers wore his livery— livery 
was much more commonly worn then, and 
was not restricted to servants; and six oxen 
were dressed every day for the break&sts of 
his household. This magnificent nobleman, 
instead of throwing the weight of his in- 
fluence into one scale, took part first with 
one of the royal claimants, and then with the 
other. He married his elder daughter, 
Isabel, to George Duke of Clarence, the 
brother of Kiog Edward ; and his younger 
daughteri Anne, to Edward Frince of Wales, 



the only child of King Henry. As the Earl 
had no son, these two young ladies would 
inherit all his vast wealth. Whether Henry 
or Edward therefore proved the final con* 
queror, the Earl of Warwick would have a 
friend at court. 

This world holds a good many people of 
the Earl of Warwick's description. Some- 
times, however, they overreach themselves. 

It was now the beginning of June, 1471. 
News of battles and changes of all kinds had 
kept coming to London : but the Treadwells 
were very ignorant as to particulars, and glad 
to know as much as Boger Cordiner could 
tell them. He was much better informed 
than they were, for though he had not fol- 
lowed his master to battle, he had received all 
the news from persons who had been there. 

" And my good Lord your master, — where 
is he now become. Master Cordiner P " asked 
Humphrey. 

"My master? Dear heart!— he fell at 
Barnet, Master Treadwell, this last fourteenth 
of April, when King Henry, that was, was 
captivated." 

When we say "captivated " now, we mean 
pleased and delighted ; but in Boger's days 
it meant taken prisoner. 

" God have mercy of his soul 1" mattered 
Humphrey. 

" And when news thereof was brought to 
the Queen Margaret's g^race," continued 
Boger, "she came in haste from France 
with my Lord Prince her son, and my young 
lady the Princess, and took command her- 
self of the army. Her army and King 
Edward his men came together at Tewkes- 
bury, this last fourth of May, and after a 
great battle the Queen Margaret was taken, 
and the Prince and the Princess, and the 
Prince's grace was brought afore King 
Edward in his tent on the field." 

" My Lord Prince was but a youth, was he 
not. Master Cordiner P" 

"But a youth of eighteen years, Master 
Treadwell ; and he the fairest and most well- 
fevonred young man that eyes may lightly 
see. And in the tent were King Edward and 
both his brethren, my noble Lords of Clar- 
ence and Gloucester. Then asked King 
Edward of my Lord Prince what moved him 
to take up arms against Ioql And hfl^ bold 



153 



HOME WORDS. 



B8 ooold be, mftde answer tbst he came to 
recoTer the heritage of his lather." 

"Grood lack !" exclaimed both Hamphrey 
and Kate. 

"Which he had no sooner said," Boger 
went on, " than King Edward strake him iu 
the fiM» with his gauntlet ; and then first my 
Lord of Clarence, and after, oTery man in the 
tent saying my Lord of Gloucester, fell on 
him, and in a minute be lay on the floor of 
the tent, ihrost through with a score of 
daggers." 

" Eh, pity of his soul I " cried compassion- 
ate Kate. 

" But wherefore, think yoo, held xsij Lord*8 
Grace of Gloucester backP" Humphrey 
wanted to know. 

^Metbinks," said Boger softly, "it should 
be by reason he loveth my young lady." 
My Lady Princess P " 
Aye. They were playfellows, look you, of 
old days when they were little childer ; and 
afore ever my young lady wedded my Lord 
Prince, my Lord's Grace of Gloucester would 
right fain have won her to wed with him." 

" And she chose' rather to wed with my 
Lord Prince P " 



« 



« 



Boger nodded. "Methinks it should be 
for her sake that my ^rd drew not his sword 
upon bim she loved. Howbeit, some three 
weeks later, as you know, Bang Edward camo 
unto London, and with him these two poor 
gentlewomen, prisoners, — ^the Queen Mar- 
garet and the Lady Princess." 

** And what was done unto them ? " 

"The Queen Margaret was sent imto the 
Tower. For my young lady, what should 
have been done with her cannot I say : but 
afore ever King Edward could give command 
touching her, that very even she was found 
missing, and nought never heard since." 

The dialogue had been lather impatiently 
borne by Dorothy, who heartily wished it 
would keep nearer her leveL She was yery 
anxious to know more of her new cook, who 
was of vastly more importance in her eyes 
than all the kings and politics in the world. 
She tried once or twice to turn the conversa- 
tion in the direction she wanted it to take ; 
but both Humphrey and Kate wove so in* 
terested that Dorothy's efforts were a failure. 
It was not eyery day that queens were sent 
to prison, or that princesses disappeared in 
an unaccountable manner. 



* - - xi _n_-L-UL Li-ij-u 

21 Centenary %^n for J^unliap StUntAvoi*, 

BT -THK BET. BICHABD TVILTOH, HU., lUTBOB OF " WOODKOTES IHO CHURCH BSLLS." 






{O, the birds are sweetly singing; 
I would let my voice be heard ; 
Mercies more each dawn ia 
bringing 
Unto me than any bird. 

Lo, the bees are softly humming 
As they toil from bloom to bloom ; 

Bo each duty, as 'tis coming, 
Met with gladness not with gloom. 

Lo, the streams are brightly flowing : 
All their banks with flowers are fair; 

Let my life with love bo glowing. 
Blest and blessing eyerywhere. 

Lo, the trees are gently swaying 
To the changes of the wind \ 

L^ my heart be still obeying 
Motions of Qod's Spirit kind. 



Lo, the clouds are eyer moying : 
To dry meadows bringing rain ; 

Let me still be working, loving. 
Helping want, and soothing pain. 

Lo, the sun is mounting gaily. 

But is silent as he walks ; 
Let me do my duty daily. 

Still like one who works nob talks. 

Lord, Thou art my King and Sayiour, 
Thou Thyself a child hast been ; 

Let me copy Thy behayiour 
Ab at Nazareth Thou wast seen. 

Thon wast subject to Thy Mother, 
Thou didst labour with Thine hands; 

Thee I'll follow, and no other, 
And obey Thy sweet commands. 



FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL IN THE SUNDAY SCHOOL, 153 



Thy young eyes Gbd's Word did ponder, 
Thy meek heart God's Word did love ; 

From that Word let me not wander, 
Precioas wisdom firom above. 

LOSDBSBOBOTJOH BSOTOBT, JUfltf, 1890. 



Chiefly in that Sacred Story 
Let me view Thy dying grace : 

Grace which bought ns endless glory, 
And the right to seo Thy Face I 



^ ^ ^~'~ ~ ^"•■"n "• "" I "!" ~i i ~_rij-iru»"u 




jTramejf 3RMep ^^abngal fti tfte ^imliap JI>t&ooL 



N the " Memorials of fVances 
Bidley Havergal " • just 
published, a "sister's loving 
touch " has indeed fittingly 
as well as most ably "united 
the several links" in the 
touching, winning, and im- 
pressive "life story" of "one of the 
noblest and truest-hearted and most loyal 
o! the King's servants." 

Where all is absorbingly interesting it is 
diflBcult to select : but we think the par- 
ents, and Sunday scholars also, who read 
Eome Words, will appreciate a glimpse at 
this devoted worker in the Sunday School. 
We are told that " F. R. H.'s" Sunday 
School work was a loved employment. In 
the neatly kept register, entitled "My 



Sunday Scholars, from 1846 to 1860," each 
child's birthday, entrance date, occurrences 
in their home, general impressions of their 
character, and subsequent events in their 
life, are all caref ally noted. While absent 
for a few weeks, Frances writes : " My 
dear children have kept up quite a cor- 
respondence with me, and printing aJl my 
answers is quite a work of time and 
patience, but one I do not grudge. Some 
of their letters are very sweet and en- 
couraging, and all are at least affectionate 
and interesting." 

The special extract we want to give from 
the volame is taken from the register 
referred to ; and was written on the last 
page in March, 1860 on her leaving the 
parish of St. Nicholas, Worcester, 



"MY SUNDAY SCHOLARS' REGISTER. 

[The la»t page."] 



" I did not think when I ruled this page 
that it would be unfilled. Yet so it is, 
and the last of my dear second class fills 
its first space. He who appointeth the 
bounds of our habitation has, in manifest 
providence, removed our own after fifteen 
years' sojourn. And it will probably be 
some time ere I again have a regular class 
to care for, as other claims will fill my 
Sunday hours. 

" Among all my St. Nicholas' memories, 
none will be fonder or deeper than my class. 
I cannot tell any one how I loved tibem, I 
should hardly be believed. No one in the 
parish, either rich or poor, called forth the 
bame love that they did. Neither could I 
tell how bitter and grievous any misbe- 



haviour among them was to me : no one 
knows the tears they have cost me ; and be- 
cause no one guessed at the depth of either 
the love or the sorrow, 1 had but little sym- 
pathy under disappointments with them. 

" Teaching my class has been to my own 
soul a means of grace. Often, when cold 
and lifeless in prayer, my nightly inter- 
cession for them has unsealed the frozen 
fountain, and the blessings sought for 
them seemed to fall on myself. 

" Often and often have my own words 
to them been as a message to myself of 
warning or peace. My only regret is that 
1 did not spend more time in preparing my 
lessons for them, not more on their account 
than my own, for seldom have Bible truths 



* •• Memorials of Frances Bidley Hayergftl." By her Sister, U, V. G. H. (London : J. Nisbet. & Co.) 



154 



HOME WORDS. 



seemed to re&oli and touch me more than 
when Beeking to arrange and simplif j them 
for my children. Therefore, I thank Ood 
that these children have been entrusted to 
me I 

"For some time past sereral ot them 
hare come tome, once a week, for separate 
reading and piayer. These times I have 
enjoyed very much. I rather dissuaded 
than otherwise, unless any real desire after 
salvatioQ was manifested; and I do think 
that this was so far eSectaal that nearly 
all of those who did come wer^ at least at 
the time, truly ia earnest on the great 
qneetion. I hare one token of their lore, 
given me, not by the then existing ' 2nd 
class,' bnt by those of both 1st and 2nd 
who were ' my children.' This I treasure 
tor their sakes, yet the rememhranoe of 
their lore ia more than its outward sign. 

"I trust it has been frus bread which I 
hare oast upon these waters ; my Sariour 



knows, and He only, my earnest longings 
that these tittle ones should be Hia own, 
I think I am quite content now that others 
shonld see the frnit, so that it bs hut truly 
home; that others should enter into my 
feeble and wanting labours. Bnt, ia dear 
papa's words, I do most fervently pray, 
■ Ma; all whoM nam«B us mitten h«ie. 
In the Lamb's Book ol Iiite mppear 1 ' 

" r. R. H., JtfarcA, 1860." 



Daring the present month the hearts of 
many parents will be prompting a thankful 
acknowledgment of the "labour of lore" 
in which the Snnday School Teachers of 
England are engaged. This glimpse at the 
tnie nature and high aims of their work, 
as exemplified by one of their number, wiU, 
we are sure, help to deepen parental grati- 
tnde and incite parental prayer for the 
Divine blessing upon those who teach and 
those who are taught. 



ONE OF ENGLAND'S ARTI8T8. 

or IBE BDrroB. 



[N OEOBQE NAISH vsa 
bom at the pretty little 
town of Midhnrst in Sus- 
sex, on the 9th of April, 
1824, and was educated at 
the grammar-school there. 
When a very young boy, 
hie drawings were the pride 
and delight of hia &ther, who had an ardent 
love for every kind of art, and contrived to 
get the walla of his dwelling-house covered 
with pictures, good and bad; while books 
and china were carried home fhim every 
auction within a reasonable distance, where 
there was a chance of " picking up " anything 
worth having, or presumed to be. Amid such 
surroundings the boy's natural taste found 
materials for encourage ment. 

When be was abont nine years of age an 
accident cut short, at least for a time, his 
juvenile Art-oareer, and nearly terminated 
bis life. While visiting an uncle at Chiches- 



ter, his cousin aooidentally shot him in the left 
eye with a steel-pointed arrow. A long ill- 
ness and the loss of the sight of the eye were 
the result. On leaving school, so great was 
the fear of total blindness, if the remaining 
eye had too much stnun upon it, that all idea 
of beooming an srtist had to be abandoned, 
thongh very reluctantly, and the youth was 
placed with a farmer. The fresh air of a 
Southdown sheep-farm, and the invigorattDg 
exercise associated with the occnpation, were 
found to be both ^preeable and hcalthrnl. At 
the end of a year, however, a wanderiug artist 
came across his path, the old feelings asso- 
ciated with the "craft" returned, and Mr. 
Naish eventually found his way to London, 
with an introduction to the late W. Etty, 
fi.A., from whom he received much kindness 
and attention. 

After working steadily at the Bntish 
Museum for some time, he was admitted a 
student in the school of the Royal Academy 



iS6 



SOME WORDS, 



in December, 1846 ; baring previonslj had a 
picture bang in the Bnnnal exhibition of that 
;«ar. The aubject of it was, "Troops De- 
parting for India," eketched at Portsmosth — 
a place the artist knew well, from frequent 
visita he bad paid it in early life, for tbe pur- 
pose of making himself acquainted with the 
abipping and other marine objects. His Art- 
tendenoies from the first moved in the direc- 
tion of tbe sea, and they were ao strong that 
the marvel is they ahonld ever have turned 
another way, as it will be presentlj shown 
was the cose. 

Mr. Naiah married in 1350, and although 
but little was seen of his works for seTeml 
years, he waa by no means idle. Aa a kind 
of wedding-trip he and his wife went to Paris, 
where he worked Tery hard in the Lonrre, 
and auhaeqnectly in Belgium, at Antwerp, 
Bruges, and other places. Rctnining to 
England in 1851, be took a honae at TiTolting 
Hill, and painted there nntil 1856. His pic- 
tures np to this period consisted chiefly of 
poetical and sentimental subjects. Many of 
them were exhibited in the Boyal Academy, 
and the British Institution. He now tamed 
his mind in an entirely different direction, 



which seems to hare proved more congenial 
to his taste and inclination. The first result 
was a picture which bore for its title, " The 
Receded Tide; Port du Moolin, Sark." 
Others of a similar character followed in 
rapid Buccession. Amongst these vera, 
" Bough Hands and Warm Hearts ; " " Hia 
Old Lizard Head ; " " Tbe Castle of the King, 
Tintagel;" and "A North Devon Fisher 
Girl." " The Last Tack Home," hung in the 
Academy in 1854, brought out Mr. Naish 
very prominently as a marine figure-painter. 
Tbe picture we have selected as an illnstra- 
tion of tbe artist's works shows him in tbe 
character of a painter of marine subjects. 
The command, " Stand by I Ready ! About ! " 
is given by the old sailor, steering the Cardiff 
pilot-boat, to his mate, who is handling the 
foresail sheets. In heavy weather, altering 
tbe tack of a boat is an exciting and some* 
what delicate operation, and the man at the 
helm seeks the opportunity of effecting it so 
as to ship as little wateras possible. Ererr 
inch of this canvas is punted with the most 
Bcrupnlons care and with undoubted tmth- 
fnlness: the unfailing obanwteriatica of a 
great artist. 



NOTES AND TESTIMONIEa. 

SBLBCTSn BT IHE.XDITOB. 

V. THE NATIONAL CHURCH A BLESSINQ TO THE NATION. 

BT THE BIT. V. P. UILOB, X 



HE Protestant Reformed 
Religion established by 
law ie a blessing to the 
nation. It secures a na- 
tional standard of Revealed 
truth as opposed to Infi- 
delity and Popery, unbe- 
lief and superstition ; and 
it muntains our national ecolesiaatical inde- 
pendence agoinat Papal supremacy. It i 
grand national testimony for Qod, for the 
Kingship of Christ, and for tbe pore Qospel 
of Solvation. 

It provides in every parish for the public 
reading of the Word of God and the public 
worship of God according to our matoblesa 



Litnrgy — a Liturgy, tbe excellenoes of which 
are such that enlightened and candid Non- 
conformist ministers are never tired of sing- 
ing its pr^es, and some of them have grad- 
ually introduced it into their public chapel 
services. Already some of the Congrega- 
tionalists have tbns introduced the Te J}eum 
and the singing of the Fsalms ; some are 
adopting the Litany and the muted repetition 
of the Lord's Prayer ; whilst the Wesleyans 
generally have taken the Liturgy bodily, and 
itae it every Sunday. 

Let ua consider what the Church ofEngland 
has been in the past, and what to a large 
extent she is in the present— the bulwark of 
our civil and religioaa liberties, the cradle of 



''WHAT ARE THESE WITH PALM AND SONGr 



157 



tme piety, the blessed messenger of salvation 
to thousands who have learned the Gospel 
from her faithful ministers. The Church of 
England is the Church of Cranmer and Lati- 
mer, of Ridley and Hooper; of Herbert and 
Jewell, of Burnet and Tillotson, of Fletoher 



and Whitfield, Wesley and Newton, Scott 
and Simeon, M'Neile and Stowell. 

Ob, surely she has been a blessing I 
" Destroy it not for a blessing is in it." It 
is oar duty and our privilege to maintain 
it. 



€€ 



SI2Bf)at are ^tst tott^ $alm anb &ts\\%V* 



A CENTENARY HYMN.* 
BT THE BIT. E. H. BICKBRSTBTH, M.A., AUTHOR OF " TESTBBDAT, TO-DAT, AlH) FOB EVBR." 



m 



HAT are tbese with palm and 
Bong, [throng ? 

Bound the Saviour's feet who 
Wherefore is that mountain road 
With their festal garments strow'd P 
These are cbildren welcoming 
Christ their Saviour and their King : 
Who their glad Hosannas raise, 
With their love to crown His praise. 

What are these on Zion's mount, 
Multitudes no tongue can count ; 
Children with delfght untold 
Harping on their harps of gold P 
Hark, their everlasting song 
Through the ages rolls along ; 
Theirs the joy of sin forgiven, 
Theirs the perfect bliss of heaven. 



Blessed Jesus, grant that we 
Here may serve and worship Thee : 
Teach us, Master, all Thou art ; 
Write Thy Name upon our heart ; 
Help us gladly. Lord, to bring 
Costliest gift and offering 
To the footstool of Thy throne, 
Thine ourselves, and Thine alone. 

Jesu, Thou wilt come again, 
Not to suffer, but to reign : 
May we Thee with rapture meet ; 
Fall adoring at Thy feet ; 
With Thy saints and angels rise 
To our mansions in the skies, 
Hallelujahs there to Thee 
Singing through eternity. 



DO OUR CHILDREN PRAY? 




|HEi Chuteh Sunday'School Magazine aeks 
the question, ** Would it not be a good 
plan if each 8anday>8ohool teacher were 
to make a point to ascertain whether 
their scholars do really pray night and morning, 
and of what their prayers consist ? Perhaps some 
irin be startled by the result." 

Would it not be a still better plan if all the pa- 
rents who read Home Words would make a point 
during this Centenary Tear to help their children 
to pray, by kneeling down with them and guiding 
them in the words of their prayers? 



** Children know how much their parents love 
them ; how ready they are to giye them good gifts ; 
but Jesus asks, * How much more will your Heayenly 
Father give His Holy Spirit to them that ask 
Him?' 

" We can never answer that question ; we can- 
not tell how ready our Heayenly Father is to 
giye our children His Holy Spirit ; but a stronger 
and more encouraging motiye to * Early Prayer ' 
could not possibly be imagined. 

'* ' No fondest parent's melting breast 
Teems like tby God's to make thee blest* " f 



* From the Special Sunday School Centenaiy Illustrated Number of Hand and Heart. This Num- 
ber has been prepared with a yiew to wide distribution at Centenary Celebrations throughout the countiy, 
ae affording an opportunity for the dissemination of Christian literature in a form Skely to ensure its 
preeeryation. Each copy contains about as much printed matter as an ordinary shilling yolume, and 
in addition five illustrations are giyen, including a finely engraved portrait of Bobert Baikes. It can be 
supplied in quantities at 6«. per 100 from the Publisher's Office, 1, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C. 

t From ** The Sunday- School Gift : a Help to Early Prayer and Praise.*' (London : Home Words 
OSicc, 1, Paternoster Baildings, E.C.) Price One Shilling. 



HOME WORDS. 



iMEtond from ^t Booft. 

VI. THE VOICE HEARD. 

BY IHl &BT. IIHBS T&iiaEAH, H.A., VICAK OP CBRI8T CHttaCH, BUQHttUr. 

" Sp«»k, Lend, for Thy Hrruit heareth."— 1 Som. uL B. 



HEN yOD are listaning 

to a Bermon, do not 

critioise, do not see 

e man, bat ait tmd 

il, " Speak, Lord, for 

ly Berrant hearetb." 

When you open your 

Bible, before yon open it, fe^, " I am come 

to an Oracle to get an answer; " and Bay, 

" Speak, Lord, for Thy aeirant beareth." 

When yon are alone, take ocoaaion of the 
Bolitnde; wben you go to your room, feel, as 
you shut the door, " Now I am alone for tbiB 
very purpose, that Qod may aay Bomething 
to me." 

If you take a walk among Ood'a handi- 
works, begin yoar walk with the expectation, 
" Uay the voice of nature apeak I " " Speak, 
Lord, for Tby Borvant heareth." 

When yon lie down on yoar bed, remember 
that the day may require aome voice from 
Qod to cloae it; and do not abut your eyes 



till you bare aaked it. And when you wake 
in the momingto a new life, toc^ with Qod'a 
preaeuoe, and all>eloqaent of His will, make 
it a first thoi^bt, " Speftk, I«rd, fbr Tby 
BeiTOnt heareth." 

Ifyonr mindis perplexed about any matter 
— if you have some hard judgment before 
you — reoogniae ezoluBirety and oaat yourself 
absolutely upon that attribute of Christ ; haah 
yourself into a silent listening for a guiding 
whisper ; believe in it : " Speak, Lord, for 
Tby servant bearetb." 

Never let an affliction fall but yon feel it, 
nor a joy bot you aing it. For every joy and 
every affliction is an angel that brings a mea- 
B^e. Let each Ailfil its mission : " Speak, 
Lord, for Tby servant heareth." 

And then, when that sbort night oomee, 
that you will lie down in the consecrated bed 
where " the Holy Child Jesua " lay, you will 
not have to fear what voice it will be wbieh 
will meet yon waking. 



VII. THE SPIRIT PROMPTING TO PRAISE. 

BT TEI SIV. CHARLES SVLLOCK, B.D., AUTHOB DP "TUB POReoTTEN TRUTH," BtC 

" In evraything give thanks." — 1 Thtu, v. 18. 

deaire comes, and it will not come too ofken, 
yield to it. Thank God at once. Do not 1^ 
the evil one persuade you to look down at the 
toil, and the ronghnese, and the diScultiea of 
the road you may be treading ou the jonmey 
of life; bat yield to the thankful feeling. 
" Lift up yoar eyes unto the hiils, from wheooe 
tximeth your help." Ooont np your meroias : 
or try to count them up : and say, " Bleaa tbe 
Lord, my soul : and all that is withiB me, 
bless His holy Name." 

It will be the traest wisdom for us thoa to 
nourish the flame of thankfulness. It is tbe 
Spirit of God moving within us. "Qnenchnot 
tbe Spirit" when He prompts yon to praise.* 



I THANKFUL heaH," whether in 
a palace or a cottage, " is a oon- 
tinnal feast." The thankful Christ- 
ian most honoura Christ. But to 
praise God is not always an easy duty, Emd I 
Bnppose there is no Christian who thinks he 
is <M thankful to God aa he onght to be> I 
heardnoblong since the remark of a Christian 
suflerer:— "I tbink we are not thankful 
enODghfor being Aol/welll" What of being 
guiie well 1 Who does not feel reproved for 
thanklesBness even for common daily mercies? 
Bat there are times when a feeling of thank- 
fulness steals over tbe heart of the believer, 
lod be desires to praiae God. When anch a 



*" At I atlu^, ' Can nolhing it dont t ' a voice atuieend, ' Try.' J did try ; and 
Ste «hal Qoi kath wrotijilU."— Booani Bukbs, at tlie age of HeTent;-two. 



IBS FOUNDER OF BUNDAT SCIIOOLfl. 



HOME WORDS. 



THE HDOta or BOBKBT BUESB IN OLOUCEBTEK. 

Cde *torp of jRoftcrt =Rai(tts* 



CHAPTER IT. 

PBBBOKAL TOKE AND PRITA.TB CHARICTBR. 

ItemlU of PetBonal I[)t«reHt.— " He loved Little 

Children." — Joseph Luicaater — Publia and 

rirale LUe. — Deatit and 

haracler. 

HAIKEStook a deep 

perBonal interest in 

1 the children gathered 

in the School; and it 

is gmtifying to find 

the labourer himBelf 

reaping a blessing. 

" It waa, we are told, 

while reading the fifty-third chapter or Isaiah 

to one of his echolars that he received eome 

of his deepest impreBsions of the tmth and 

power of the Gospel." Uanj instances of the 

happ7 teenlta of bis labonrs might be given, 

but we can only find space for two- One is 

thna related by Roikes himself:— 

"One day, aa I was going to oharcb, I 



"band ahd beast, aothor of "the 

' ETC. 

overtook a soldier just entering the chnrcb 
door: tbia was on a week-day. Aa I passed 
him I said it gave me pleasure to see that he 
was going to a place of worship. ' Ah, sir ! ' 
said be, 'I may thank yon for that.* 'MeP' 
said I; 'why, I don't know that I ever saw 
yon before." ' Sir,* replied the soldier, ' when 
I was a little boy, I wee indebted to yon for 
my first instraotion in my dnty. I nsed to 
meet yon at the morning aervice in this 
Cathedral, and was one of yonr Snnday 
scbolarg. Hy father, when he left this city, 
took me into Berkshire, and pnt me appren- 
tice to a shoemaker. I nsed often to think of 
you. At length I went to London, and was 
there drawn to serve as a militiaman in the 
Westminster militia. I came to Gloncestor 
last night with a deserter, and took the 
opportunity of coming this morning to visit 
the old spot, and in hope of once more seeinj; 
yon.' He then told me his name, and bronghl 
himself to my recollection by a cnriona oir- 
cnmstsnce which happened while be was at 



THE STORY- OF ROBERT R AIRES. 



i6i 



lohooL His fftther was a journeyman currier, 
a most Tile, profligate man. After the boy 
had been some time at school, he came one 
day and told me that his lather was wonder- 
folly changed, and that he had left off going 
to ihe alehonse on a Sonday. It happened 
soon after that I met the man in the street, 
and said to him: — 'My friend, it gives me great 
pleasure to hear that yon have left off going 
to the alehoose on the Sondsy; your son 
tells me that you now stay at home and 
never get tipsy.' He immediately replied 
that I had been the means of this change 
being produced. On my expressing my sur- 
prise at this, on account of never having so 
much as spoken to him before, he replied: — 
'Ko, sir, but the good instruction which you 
gave my boy at the Sunday-school he repeats 
to me; and this has so convinced me of the 
error of my former life as to have led to my 
present reformation.' " 

A second story bears out Balkes* statement 
that he always admonished his scholars "in 
the mildest and gentlest manner." 

A sulky, stubborn girl, who had resisted 
both reproofs and correction, and who refused 
to ask forgiveness of her mother, was melted 
by his saying to her : — ^" Well, if you have no 
regard for yourself, I have much for you; 
you will be ruined and lost if you do not 
become a good girl; and if you will not 
humble yourself, I must humble myself and 
make a beginning for you." He then, with 
much solemnity, entreated the mother to for- 
give her. This overcame the girl's pride; 
she burst into teuv, and on her knees begged 
forgiveness, and never gave any trouble 
afterwards. 

The main secret of Bailees' power over the 
young was found in the benevolence of his 
spirit. An epitaph which the writer remem- 
bers to have seen on the tombstone of a 
Sanday-sohool teacher in Glevedon church- 
yard, ereoted by his friends, — " He loved little 
children," — might well have been the motto 
o{ Bsikes' life* In one of his lettexB he 



says: — 

"I cannot express to you the pleasure I 
often receive in discovering genius and good 
dispositions among this little multitude. It 



is botanislng in human nature. I have often^ 
too, the satisfaction of receiving thanks froQi 
parents for the reformation they perceive in 
their children. Often I have given them 
kind admonitions, which I always do ui the 
mUdest and gentlest manner. The going 
amongst them, doing them little kindnesses, 
distributing trifling rewards, and ingratiating 
myself with them, I hear, have given me an 
ascendency greater than I ever could have 
imagined; for I am told by their mistresses 
that they are very much afraid of m^ dis- 
pleasure." 

The humility of the worker was equally 
manifest. In this same letter, after apologis- 
ing for the details he had given, in answer to 
his friend's request, he adds : — 

'*! am ashamed to see how much I have 
trespassed on your patience; but I thought 
the most complete idea of Sanday-schools 
was to be conveyed to you by telling what 
first suggested the thought. The same senti- 
ments would have arisen in your mind had 
they happened to have been called forth as 
they were suggested to me. I have no doubt 
that you will find great impix>vement to be 
nwde on this plan." 

But, perhaps, the spirit of the worker, and 
the measure of the blessing which followed 
upon his labours, may best be gathered from 
the well-known incident attending the vieii 
of Joseph Lancaster to his friend and fellow- 
labourer some thirty years after the establish- 
ment of Baikes' first school. 

At that time the founder of Sunday-schools 
was seventy-two years of age, and past active 
work, but he still took a lively interest in his 
much-loved institution. Many were Lancas- 
ter's inquiries respecting the origin of Sunday- 
schools, and an interesting account has been 
preserved of one of Baikes' replies. Leaning 
on the arm of his visitor, the old man led 
him through the thoroughfares of Gloucester 
to the spot in a back street where the first 
school was hdd.* " Pause here," said the old 
man. Then, uncovering his head and closing 
his eyes» he stood for a moment in silent 
prayer. Then turning towards his friend 
while the tears rolled down his cheeks, he 
said: "This is the spot on which I stood 



^ 8ee Illustration in Uomt Wwdi for Jons, page 183. 



l63 



HOAtE WORDS. 



when I saw the destitution of the chilcbren 
and the desecration of the Sabbath by the 
inhabitants of the city. As I asked, ' Can 
nothing be done P' a voice answeredt 'Try/ 
I did try; and see what God has wrought. I 
can never pass by the spot where the word 
' try ' came so powerfolly into my mind with- 
out lilting np my hands and hei^ to Heaven 
in gratitude to Grod for having put such a 
thought into my heart." 

Of Bobert Baikes in public and private life, 
comparatively little is known. He must have 
been a busy man; for in addition to his prison 
and school labours, and the duties of a flour- 
ishing busines8,4ie took a prominent part as 
a leading citizen in all movements of a patri- 
otic or philanthropic nature. He was " given 
to hospitality," and found especial pleasure in 
entertaining distinguished guests who visited 
Gloucester. Howard, the prison reformer, 
once stayed with him; and on another oc- 
casion. Prince William, Duke of Gloucester, 
nephew of George III., honoured him with a 
visit, and partook of refreshment at his 
house. The slavery question greatly inter- 
ested him ; and he was one of the first to 
welcome the labours of Mr. Grenville Sharpe, 
Mr. Thornton, and others, for the formation 
of a negro settlement on the coast of Africa, 
where the natives might " exhibit the advan- 
tages of cultivating their own soil, instead of 
employing their lives in making each other 
slaves to foreigners." As a conscientious 
Churchman, he was firm in the maintenance 
of his own principles, but always liberal to- 
wards those who differed from him. 

At the age of sixty-seven, he retired firom 
business, and relinquished the proprietorship 
of the Qlo^MuUfr JoumoL He received from 
the latter an annuity of £900. Tended by a 
loving wife, " with an active and well-culti- 
vated mind and a heart open as day to melt- 
ing charity," and surrounded by an affection- 
ate family, he peaoefnlly descended the hill of 
life. From incidental touches in some of his 
letters it is evident that the affections of 
home occupied a large place in his heart; and 
he found one of the greatest comforts of his 
declining years in the society of his children. 
In a letter to a friend, as early as 1787, he 
writes: — ^"I am blessed with six excellent 
girls, and two lovely boys. My eldest boy 



was bom the very day that I made public to 
the world the scheme of Sunday-schods, in 
my paper of November Srd, 1783." There is 
no reason to suppose that his opinion of his 
boys deteriorated as they advanced in years. 
The eldest, Bobert Napier, as a elergyman« 
adorned his sacred calling by an exempiaiy 
life. 

The scene of Mr. Baikes' death appsara to 
have been a house in the dty of Gloucester, 
situated in Bell Lane, where he took np his 
residence after his retirement firom active life. 
For some time before his decease, he fbund 
his health declining ; but despite this warning, 
the end, when it came, came suddenly. Some 
five-and-twenty years before, when narrating 
in his newspaper several unexpected deaths, 
he had urged his readers to reflect on the 
precarionsness of human life; and now he 
was about to teach the same lesson in a still 
more forcible way. Towards evening, on the 
5th of April, 1811, he experienced an op- 
pression in his chest; a physician, who 
immediately summoned, declared his 
hopeless; and in less than an hour he went 
Home. Thus died, in the seventy-sixth year 
of his age, a man whom all succeeding gene- 
rations will delight to honour, 

"All that was mortal" of Bobert Bukes 
was buried in St. Mary de Crypt Church, 
where some sixty years before his father's 
ashes had been laid. Mindful of his work to the 
last, he had left instructions that his Sunday- 
school children should follow him to the 
grave ; and these instructions were duly car- 
ried out. A plain tablet near his grave bears 
the following inscription :— 

"Sacred to the memory of BOBE&T 
BAIKBS, Bsq. (late of this city). Founder of 
Sunday-schools, who departed this life, April 
5th, 1811, aged 75 years. 

«( * When the ear heard me, then it blessed 
me ; and when the eye saw me, it gave wit- 
ness to me : because I delivered the poor th»t 
cried, and the fatherless, and him that had 
none to help him. The blessing of him that 
was ready to perish came upon me: and I 
caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.*— * 
Job xxix. 11, 12, 13. 

" Also ANNE BAIKBS, relict of the above 
BOBEBT, who died Marob 9tb, 1828, 
85 yean. 



FABLES FOR YOU. 



163 



^''Tbe blood of Jesas Ohrist His Son 
cleaoBeth ns from all sin.' — 1 John L 7. 

^ ' Neither is there salvation in any oiher : 
for there is none other Name under heaven 
given among men, whereby we most be 
sayed.'— Acts iv. 12.'* 

Mr. Gregory, of Qloucester, in his admir- 
able biography of Baikes, which our readers 
will And a most attractive and interesting 
volume,* well remarks, that ** glowing eulo- 
gies of Baikes' character might easily be 
written." But they are unnecessary. His 
life spoke with no uncertain tone, and marked 
him as the possessor, not indeed of distin- 
guished talent or genius, but of that ennobling 
piety which ''seeks first the kingdom of 
Grod and His righteousness." He was a 
simple-hearted Christian, sincerely desiring 
to serve God and benefit his fellow-men. His 
great work began in simplicity. He dreamed 
not of the future; he was only faithful in the 
present. He himself spoke of the efibrt as 
*'aa experiment, harmless and innocent, 
however fruitless it might prove in its efieot; " 
and when he could write of it as " extending 
BO r^idly as to include 250,000 children, and 
increasing more and more," he only added, in 
humble reverence, "It reminds me of the 
grain of mustard seed." 

We could not better sum up his character. 



his worki and the testimony he left« than in 
the words with which Mr. Gregory doses his 
most interesting volume : — 

" Two features of Baikes' character stand 
prominently out among a host of minor ex- 
ceUences — ^his affection for children and his 
love for the Word of God. Doubtless he had 
his failings, aa have other men ; but whatever 
they were, a grateful posterity may well 
afford to overlook them. For the sake of the 
good seed he planted— now become a great 
tree, whose leaves are for the healing of the 
nations — ^his name will be held in everlasting 
remembrance. Every Sunday-school is a 
monument to his &me, every teacher and 
scholar a celebration of his work. And who 
can tell the countless memorials, unmarked 
by human observation, but carefaQy recorded 
in the chronicles of Heaven, of minds en- 
lightened, homes reformed, and lives ennobled 
by means of the work which Bobert Baikes 
began P " 

Oould he now stand by our side, surrounded 
by the five hundred thousand Sunday-school 
teachers and the three millions of scholars 
who meet in our schools, with what wonder- 
ing gratitude would he exclaim — ^not, " See 
what I have done," but, — uttered with far 
deeper earnestness than when he first used 
them—'' Seb what God hata WBOUoas I " 




ff&hlti for YOU. 

BT KLEANOB B. PROSSBB. 

XXIII. HANDSOME IS THAT HANDSOME DOES. 



; HAT a splendid fel- 
low ! " said a tad- 
pole to a minnow, 
as they met on a 
stone at the bottom 
of a clear stream; 
"did you ever see 
anything like him P it quite dazzles one's 
eyes to look at his jacket in the sun." 

<< Do you mean that kingfisher ? " asked 
the minnow. 
*^I don't know the gentleman's name," 



said the tadpole; "I've never seen him 
before." 

"Ah! well, I have; and I don't care if 
I never see him again. He may be good- 
looking; but I've lost half my friends 
since he came to live in that bank ; and to 
tell the truth, I don't quite like the way 
he's looking at me now; so I think I'll 
wish yon good morning; by the time 
you're a firog you'll know that there are 
things more important than the oolour of 
I your coat ! " 



* "Bobert Baikes: JoomaUst and Philanthropist." By Alfred Gregory. (London: Eodder and 
Stonghton.) 



1 64 



HOME WORDS. 



XXIV. EMPTY VESSELS MAKE THE 
MOST SOUND. 

''What splendid jnnsio tliat gentleman 
makes ! " said the fife to the oornet, as the 
big dmm struck np a thandering accom« 
paniment ; '' I wonder where it comes from, 
and what there is inside him to make it." 

" Do you ? " said the comet. " Well, I 
can tell you ; it comes from the parchment 
he's covered with, and he makes it because 
he's hollow." 

XXV. A MOST VALUABLE FRIEND. 

" You 'll be glad to hear I am going to 
change my quarters," said a surly looking 
mastiff to a shepherd dog. " I know I 'm 
not popular with any of you ; I 'm too 
plain spoken to be a favourite." 

"On the contrary, sir," said the shop* 
herd dog, *' I am truly grieved to hear you 
are leaving us ; for nothing could ever go 
the least wrong in the fold without your 
making such a commotion that I was sure 
to hear of it at once. I assure you you 
have been a most valuable friend." 

XXVI. JUSTICE ALL ROUND. 

" It's all very well, my dears ! " said a 
tabby oat to her young family; ''but if 
Td done it I should have had a can of 
water thrown at me, or been beaten within 
an inch of my life ; he ought to be ashamed 
of himself!" she continued aloud, as 
Bustle, a shaggy Scotch terrier, trotted 
across the yard. 

''What has he done, mother?" asked 
the kittens. 

" Done ! why he*s stolen some sausages 
off the breakfast table ; if Ti, taken them, 
I should have been called a thief; but just 
because he happens to be a favourite, all 
sorts of excuses are made for him ; it was 
'an accident,' 'a mistake,' 'he didn't mean 
it!' I should like to know what he (2ti 
mean ! I ean only say I met him coming 
out of the room with his mouth full, and 
a bit sticking out at each end; and he 
wouldn't so much as give me a scrap of 



skin; and there he's to be petted, and 
made much of, and oalled ' clever,' whan 
he ought to be starved for a week ! it's a 
crying injustice!" said the old oat; and 
her fur rose, and her tail swelled, with 
indignaHon. 

" So it is, mother," cried the kittens. 

" So it is, ma'am," croaked a tame raven 
from the top of the kennel ; " but perhaps 
you wouldn't have felt it quite so much if 
he'd given you that bit of skin ! " 

XXVII. THE POWER OF FLATTERY. 

*'Thet say the grey kitten has been 
stolen," said Dick, the bull terrier, to 
Bustle. 

" You don't say so 1 " cried Bustle. 

"Yes; I've been told so, but I can't 
believe it's true. Who could possibly want 
a kitten enough to steal it P " 

"^ Well, as for that," said Bustle, " abe 
was a nice little thing enough as kittens 
go, and I'm sorry she's lost." 

"Sorry!" said Dick contemptuously; 
" why. Bustle, my boy, I'm surprised at 
you; the world's overrun with kittens — 
you can't go round the comer without 
seeing a dozen at least; and J never 
thought you cared about them." 

"Well," said Bustle thoughtfully, "you 
see, Dick, there are kittens anS, kittens ; 
this one was the most sensible I ever met 
with; it was only the other day she was 
remarking what a splendid coat I had, 
and wishing hers was like it; and yester- 
day she told me she'd heard how clever I 
was at rat-catching, and she wanted me 
to give her some lessons. Yes, she was a 
superior kitten there's no doubt; and I 
believe she'd have turned out well." 

" Ah! " said Dick to himself, as Bustle 
trotted out of the room, "now I under- 
stand. I should have g^ven him credit 
for more sense ; but I suppose, thougii it 
is a humiliating thought — ^very — ^that few 
of us are superior to flattery even from a 
grey kitten! " 



HOMM WORDS, 



Ccmptrancf ;fatt0, SbucliotMf, antr ;fr]|u»8* 



BHUEAI- SIS RICHARD 
DACEE8, in writing from 
the Orimea, Janiury 17th, 
1856, Bftid:— 

" Sinoe I have becom« a 
teetotiJler I hsTe gone 
thrangh great fstignea 
in hot climfttea, I have 
orosHod the Atlantio, oome here, been expoied 
to diseue and aome disoornfort, and I have 
never been eiok or had even a ehort attack oF 
diarrhcea. I ascribe this to water; but, mind, 
I am a temperate eater alia I never eat ani- 
malfoodmore than ODcea day; take no lanch 
bnt a piece of biaonit ; and am a ver? earl j 
man. Now all these tbinga combined enable 
me to do aa mnch hard work at fifty-five aa 
man; ten or fifteen yeara yonnger. What I 
began with, as an example, I now continue, 
Aa I consider I am much better withoat wine, 
be«r, etc., both in a religions and worldly 
point of view, I shall go on, m I am, plesM 
God, to mj life'a end." 

XX. A BIT OF AOVIOK. 

Sm OtuUiU NuiiR npon one oooaaion said 
to the men of the 96th Regiment :— 

" Let me give you a bit of advice— that is, 
don't drinfe, I know young men do not think 
mnch aboDt advice from old men. They put 
thdr tongue in their cheek, and think the; 
know Rgood deal better than the old man 



KB XOn-BOOK. 

who is giving them advioe. Bat if yon drink, 
you're done for. Toa will eitlier be invalided 
or die. I know two regimenta in thia oonntry 
—one drank, the other didn't drink. The one 
that didn't drink ia one of the finest r^mentB, 
and has done aa well as any regiment in 
existence. The one that did drink baa been 
all hot destroyed. For any regiment for 
which I have reapect — and there ia not coe of 
the British regiments whom I don't reapeot — 
I sboald always try and peranade them to 
keep from drinking. I know there are soma 
who will drink in spite of their officers, but 
■nch men will soon be in hospital — and very 
few that go in, in this country — [India]— over 
oome out again." 

XXI. JOHN MILTON'S OPINION. 

" Know that to be free is the same thing aa 
to be pious, to bo wise, to be fmgal and absti- 
nent, and lastly to be magnanimons and brave. 
3o to be the opposite of all these is the aama 
aa to be a slave." 

XXII. THB EASE OF ABSTINENOI. 

I> William Ball's " Slight Memoriala oi 
Hannah Uore " is this remark : — 

" I dined last week at the Bishop of Chea- 
ter's; Dr. Johnson was there. Inthemiddle 
of dinner I urged Dr. Johnson to take a \\ttl« 
wine ; he replied, " I can't drink a Mtle, 
child, therefore I never touch it. Abati- 
nence is aa easy to me aa Temperance woQld 
be difficult." 



Zittit 3Babfe0. 



HAT are Uttle babies for ? 
Say ! say ! say ! 
Are tliey good-for-notliing 

things? 
Nay! nay! najl 

Can t1]^ Bpeak a single word F 

Say ! say ! aay ! 
Can they help tlieir mothen mw f 

Nay ! nay 1 nay I 



Can they walk npon their feet P 

Say ! B&T I sav ! 
Can they even hold themselveeP 

Nay! nay 1 sayl 

What are little babies for P 
Say I say I jib; I 

Are tber made for na to lore P 
Tea! yea! yea I 



7!ae YOUNG fOLKS^ PAG&. 



167 



(C|)t l^ouns St^^i? 9ase< 




XXiri. WHAT DO WB OWE HIMP 

jMiIs for aw thing, I think Sunday aoholan 
owe to Bohert Baikes iH« aMZ^ to rMuL I 
beliers w» ahoald nerer have had onr 
Daj-aehoola hat for the Bonday-sohooli, or 
onr Sandaj-BOhoola hat for the Bible. Oar 
Sondaj aoholan I hope mean what they 
■aj when ttiey aing r* 

•* We wont give op the Bihto, 
God'a Holy Book of troth 1 
The hleaaad ataff of hoaiy agei 

The goide of early yoath 1 
The eon that aheds a gloxiooa Ugfat 

On erefy dreary road 1 
The Toioe that speaka a Savioor'a loreb 
And oalla oa home to God." 

Beading la indeed a predoaa gift The poor Indian, 
when he found the mistlonary waa able to send xneasagea 
to hie home by '^makiag chips talk," ooold not find 
words to ezpresa hia amacement Printing is God*a 
modem airade. A good book ia like a friend, always 
ready to talk with ns, and to talk to good pnrpoee too. 
In seaaona of aicknesa especially, when we cannot aee 
mneh of other Menda, and have to paaa many hoars 
alone, it would not be eaay to aay what we should do if 
we eoold not get hold of some pleasant book. Bat in 
bsalth «ad atarangth good boeka are invalnable: and 
many Wt Sunday scholar who haa taken care, like the 
"busy becb" to "improve the shining hours** of yoath, 
by treasuring np the storea of knowledge they contain, 
has found himaelf in after years gradually climbing life'a 
bidder of usefulness. They may not haye become aa 
famooa aa one of their number, the great African explorer 
Ltvingatone ; bat they have exercised an influence for 
good "in the state of life to which it haa pleased God to 
call them," and that is quite enough for any one to do. 

Don't forget, therefore^ th« oh^li^ to read when you are 
keeping the Bonday^whool Oentenary.— JVom ** WMi do 

XXIV. "BE KIND TO U8." 
llna Skivvxb, Sweffliag Bectoiy, Baxmundham, has 
fasoed another "Vriendly Letter," addressed espedaliy 



to bpys who have the care of goata and donkeys. R is 
full of practieal hints. One ia very good t— 

'* Some foolish boys think it manly to be seen with a 
pipe in their months. Th^ do not know that it really 
goea ftur to prevent their becoming men at allt for it stopa 
their growth, and \k3% the seed of many diseasea. Learn 
a lesson from yonr donkeys and goata. Tbqr can do 
without beer and tobaooOi and ao can yon.*' 

But the lesson of humanity is the main one to cnlcated, 
and we quote this in full :— 

** I am sure if donkeys or goaty conld speak they would 
say, 'B« Und to in. We will work for yoo, and go aa fSr 
and aa fast aa we can, if only you won't drive us beyond 
our strength, and lay those eniol sticks across our poor 
thin backs! Then, don't make us stand, for hours per- 
haps, in a burning sun, without a drop of water, whUe 
you are playing marbles with your friends. You could 
not run about as you do now, if yon had no breakfast 
and no dinner: then how can yon e^MCt ua to work 
hard, and carry heavy children one after the other till we 
are ready to drop, nnless you feed us properly? * " 

*<I always tremble when I aee a cruel boy. I feel amy 
he will, if he lives, grow up to be ft wicked man. A 
brutal boy once saw his sister's two pet rabbita running 
about the garden. He took one up by the ears, and threw 
it into the air^ It came down on a piece of atones and lay 
bleeding on the ground till it died. Tears after, the sister 
visited that brother in prison, just before his execution 
for murder. 'Do yon remember the bleeding rabbit, 
ICary P ' he said, weeping ; ' I have been cruel ever since.* 
Tes; God's eye is on evexy animal He made^ aa well aa on 
every bird: for 'not a sparrow falla to the ground with- 
out Hia knowledge.' Then never be crueL Try to win 
the love of your poor dumb friends, which you can 
easily do if you are kind to them. In London, there are 
annual ahows of donkeys belonging to the Qolden Lane 
ooetermongers. As one resolt, in all parte of London 
they have wonderfully improved in appearance. At the 
Show, held on July S4th, the donkeys were pronounced 
by the Barl of Shaftesbury to be ' beautifol 1 ' and as his 
lordship handed the prisee to their owners, he waa grati- 
fied to hear from so many of thetn^ 'Ify donfefy do«*n'l 
worfc on Sunday.'** 



8^1 3SAIe iBStnt Seatc^cti. 

Bf fBB BXOBT BIT. TBB LOBD BI8B0P 09 SOSOB ABB USB. 



BIBLB QXnBSTIONB. 

L TTOW many are mentioned by name as the recipients 

aA of Christ's mitaoulooa power f 

2. What did Moses consider to be the three quaUflcations 
for any who were to bear rule with ability P 

5. when did testimony to the Lord's omniscience on the 
part of a stnnger lead many others to believe on Him F 

4. Who was enabled to let one king know all that an- 
other king was saying, even in his sleeping apartments P 

6. What good man warned Israel to have nothing to do 
with atnnge geds at the very place where one df their 
aooeatora had Duriedhis strange gods r 

C Who are reoorded in Scripture aa having suffored 
BMHtvrdom aftOT our Lord's ascension P 

7. BOW waa St. Paul spedally qualified to be an apostle, 
although there were some in the Ghuroh who queetioned 
his officer 



8. On what occasion was an address delivered to a eon* 
gregation of very clever people, of whom some soofTed, 
others procraatinated, and only a fSw believed P 

». Which is the first instance in Scripture where the 
Devil is distinctly mentioned as causing a man to fttll P 

10. What reason doea St. Paul appear to give for not 
soff ering a woman to teach pablidy m the Church P 

11. What remarkable instanoee nave we of Olirlatiaa 
women *nakirg good teachers P 

12. Who diemed himseli; but did not deny hie HasterP 
Who denied his Master, but did not deny himself P 

ANSWBBS (See Jvn No., page 148X 
I. La. vi. 21. n. Jer. IIL 11. HL Gen. v. 21, 22. IV.- 
JTohn zx. 14-16. V. Matt. xxviL ,7. VI. Gen. vi. 8, and 
1 Pet iiL 20. Vn. Bom. zv. 8. VUL Acta xxvi. «, and 
Bom. L 14. DL Johnvi.l6. Z. Johnviii.4A, XL BazB 
vi. 10. zn. Isa. xxix. 11, 11. 



■ PUT WF OATB,-ja, _ -J^HMiD AHB MBABT," Wi S'TltE RRESIB^' H. 




HOME WORDS 



FOB 



'^tm mil %m^k* 




iWotiem llpmn SHBrftersf: 

"8PECIMEN.QLA88E8" FOR THE KINQ'8 MINSTREta 

BT THB LATE TBAlTCBa BIDLBT HATERGAL. 



IV» DEAN ALFOSD'S HTMlfB. 

MONG tbe " pleasant pio- 
tares " of our Church in 
the nineteenth oentnry, 
one whose tints will be 
Cresh and bright when 
more glaring ooloors are 
&ding, is that of the 
gentle Christian scholar, 
patiently and lovingly toiling under the 
shadow of his grand cathedral. Patiently, 
for the work was long and great ; lovingly, 
for it was sacred and sweet. We may imagine 
him now and then resting on his oars, and 
taming from his Greek Testament and his 
intensity of critical research, to solace him- 
self with a short, fall mosical setting of the 
spirit of the traths over whose letter he had 
been poring. Perhaps it was thas that this 
sweet Hymn on *' Charity " came to him, and, 
through him, to the Church. 

CHABIT7. 

Thou who on that wondrous Jooxney 

Sdtt'st Thy Face to die : 
^y Thy holy meek example, 

Teaoh us Ghazity t 

Thou who thai dread eup of soflering 

Didst not put from Thee : 
O most Loving of the loTing, 

GiYe us Charity t 

VOL. X. vo. vni. 



Thou who reignest, bright in glory, 

On God's throne on high : 
that we may share Thy triomph — 

Grant us Charity I 

Bend OS Faith that tnuts Thy promise ; 

Hope, with upward eye; 
But more blest than both, and greater, 

Send OS Charity I 

Yet his life was not one-sided; and while, 
in addition to his theological work, he came 
forward on occasion as a champion of Pro* 
testant trath and &ct6, or as a clever and in* 
stractive contributor to periodicals, he did not 
refrain from coming " to the help of the Lord 
against the mighty " in the closer conflicts of 
"the work of an Evangelist." In this the 
same faithfal perseverance which carried him 
through his great criticfd Commentary was 
not wanting ; and our next Hymn shows him 
thus at onoe working and waiting for his 
Master. 

LAB0X7B FOB CHRIST. 

"All the night and nothing taken " — 

How shall we let down the net T 
All oar steadfast hopes are shaken, 
Every scheme with failore met ; 
Thoogh we speak the Message clear, 
Yet the sinner will not hear. 

•' All the night and nothing taken "— 
Aad the hoars be speeding by ; 

I 2 



tJ2 



BOMB WOI^DS. 



Is the chosen flock forsaken ? 
Ifi no Master standing nigh ? 
Koaght is found among the bond 
Bat faint heart and weary hand. 

Still, though night may pass in sorroWi 

And no guiding star appear. 
Sounds tiio promlso for the morrow 
From the Master standing near : 
" Ye shall find '* : then hopefol yet 
At His word we loose the net I 

Dean Alford*s contribntions to hjmnology 
are not widely known, though his Hymnal, 
''The Year of Praise," containing many of 
his own hymns, is far more excellent than 
some which are far more popular. His quaint 
and beautiful Baptismal Hymn — 

** In token that thou shalt not fear 
Christ crucified to own *' — 

written so early as 1832, is, however, so gene- 
rally adopted that it may be considered as 
one of our standard Church hymns. 

His Hymn for the last Sunday after Trinity, 
dated 1867, supplied a want in our. Church 
Hymnology. Its chastened tone of grateful 
retrospect and trustful anticipation harmonize 
well with the quiet Kovember Sunday which 
closes the privileges of our ecclesiastical year. 
The line which leads up into the dozology — 

** And then our darkness with Thy glory fill *'— 

is singularly perfect, not only in its mnsical 
balancing of vowel sounds and accents, but 
in its uplifting suggostiveness of expression; 
while its position in the Hymn, as a shining 
stepping-stone from prayer to praise, en- 
hances its value and beauty. 

" SEND OUT THY IdOHT AIO) TOY 

TBUTH." 

^nr year of grace is wearing to its close, 
its autumn storms are louring from the sky ; 
Shine on us with Thy light, O God Most High : 
Abide with us whore*cr our pathway goes. 
Oar Guide in toil, our Guardian in repose. 

All through the months hath beamed Thy cheering 
light, 
From Bethlehem's day-star waxing ever on ; 
Through every eloud Thy Blessdd Sun hath 
shone. 
Earth may bo dork to them that walk by sight, 
But for Thy Church the day is always bright. 



Light us in life, that we may see Thy will, 
The track Thine hand hath ordered for our way: 
Light us, when shadows gather o*er our day : 
Shine on us in that passage lone and chill. 
And then our darkness with Thy gilory fill. 

Praise be to God from earth's remotest coast, 
From lands and seas, and each created race : 
Praise from the worlds His hand hath launcLcd 
in space : 
Praise from the Ghu]:fih,and from theheavenlyhost: 
Praise to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 

In sparkling contrast to the subdued tone 
and grave measure of the foregoing stands a 
Hymn on " The Coming Glory," wliich vividly 
realizes "things not seen as yet." 

It is ftbymn to tune up the voices as well 
as the hearts of any congregation. It mubt 
be a hopeless choir indeed which could pos- 
sibly get "flat" in it, and a hopeless con- 
gregation indeed which would not be stirred 
up to join right heartily. It is so bright, so 
clear, so near-hringing ; one sees the daszling 
whiteness of the robes, and the glory of the 
opening gates ; the very ear is filled with the 
" rush of hallelujahs " and the " ringing of a 
thousand harps." 

It is a manly hymn of heaven, and the 
faith that echoes it will not be the faith of 
mere desire and far-off anticipation, but of 
noble strife and following. And the third 
verse adds to the reality of the vision, by its 
touch upon the things that are so close to us. 

. THE COMING GLOB-. 

Ten thousand times ten thousand* 

In sparkling raiment bright. 
The armies of the ransomed saints 

Throng up the steeps of light : 
*T is finished— all is finished. 

Their fight with death and sin ; 
Fling open wide the golden gates. 

And lot the victors in I 

What rash of Hallelujahs 

Fills all the earth and skyi 
What ringing of a thousand harps 

Bespeaks the triumph nigh 1 
day I for which creation 

And all its tribes were made : 
OJoyI for all its former woes 

A thougmdf old repaid. ' 

Oh then what raptured grccthigs 
On Canaan*B happy shore I 



MI^S. TREADWELVS COOK. 



173 



What knitting Bevered friendships up 
"Where partings are no more I 

Then eyes with joy shall sparkle 
That brimmed with tears of late : 

No longer orphans fatherless, 
Nor widows desolate. 

Ton thousand times ten thousand, 

In sparkling raiment bright, 
The armies of the ransomed sainta 

Throng up the steeps of light : 
'T is fimshed—allis finished, 

Their fight with death and sin ; 
Fling open wide the golden gates, 

And let the iriotors in 1 



Those "raptured greetings" were nob so 
very for off when this luright hymn was 
written! Bat one life-wish was yet unfulfilled 
— ^that he might '' stand within thy gates, 
Jelttsalem." It was all planned, that thought- 
ful, sacred journey; undertaken not for his 
own refreshment and enjoyment alone, but 
for the enrichment of many ati untravelled 
Christian student. Bat the ^Master had 
planned a *- better thing" for His weary ser- 
vant ; and afler a short passage of suffering, 
the feet that never trod the earthly Zion 
entered *'that great city, the holy Jerusalem," 
to '* go no more out/* • 



A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIME. 

BT SmLY 8. HOLT, AUTHOU OV ''XEB HAIDENS' LOBGE>" BTC 




OHAPTEB III. 

bogeb's mission. 

OOB Dorothy Treadwdl was 
doomed to be disappointed a 
little while longer. If she 
cared for nothing but her 
new cook, all those around 
her were interested in Boger 
Cordiner^s narrative ; and be- 
fore Dorothy could turn the 
conversation, Kate broke in with a fervent 
question. 

"Eb, dear. heart, but to think it! And 
pray you, !M»ster Oordiner, what think you 
shall come of this poor lady^ the .Queen 
Margaret ? " 

•' Sure, they *11 never cut her head off ? " 
added Mr. Treadwell. 

The example of butchering royal women 
had not yet been set in England. 

•* Gramercy, nay I" responded Boger. " 'Tis 
thought like the King of France shall, ransopi 
her." 
He did so before long. 
" And what think you is oome of my Lady 



Princess P*' inquired Kate, who was very 
curious to know. She looked upon Boger 
Gordiner as an authority on this question, 
since he had been a Jiervaut of the Princess's 
father. .1 •. . 

It is fts .well to note that, for nearly two 
hundred years after that time» the daughters 
of the King were not termed princesses. 
They were merely, "the Ludy Elizabeth's 
Grace " or " the Lady Mary's Grace." "The 
Princess " meant the wife of the Prince of 
Wales, and nobody olsa 

"I reckon. Mistress Kate,twe may scantly 
call my young lady Prinoess any longer," 
said Bog^r Oordiner somew^t sadly. 

Jndec|d, it.was a perilous .thing in those 
days to use a name wrongly. The landlord 
of the Crown ixm was hanged in this reign of 
Edward I Yt, fo^ jokingly saying that his son 
wa^ "heir to. the, Grown." ■ To lityle a young 
ladyJPrince^fli th^fefofe^^whef^A^er husband's 
father had been depf^ed as a- usurper, was 
no li^t matter. ..,..* 

" But .where, th^k ypu, is she become ? " 
persisted Kate. 

"God wot r'. said Boger, -revorently. "I 



* How remarkably the ooinoidence strikes the reader ,^^e purpose of F.,^ H. tp visit Irctland, to 
see the work of the Irish Society, in which she was so deeply ihterested, — ^the day fixed for the journey, 
June 4th j 187^,^ih6 ** better thing" planned by the Master; and the Home Call the veiy day before tiie 
proposed dspaitiiret • - • 



174 



HOME WORDS. 



pray that He may lead her to comfort and 
safety. My poor young lady I " 

** Bat I say, Gonsin/' interrupted Dorothy, 
who had heard as much as she cared on that 
suhjeoty especially since Boger did not seem 
to have any priTate information, — '*I say, 
Cousin, you will endeaTOur yourself to have 
the cookmaid hither so soon as may beP 
Never was poor body so put about as L" 

"Truly, Doll," said Boger, ''I wiU able 
myself after my power. I cast no doubt she 
shall be with you to-morrow, without I find 
her promised otherwhere." 

''Eh, cousin Boger, but that shall ne'er 
serve my turn!" cried Dorothy in dismay. 
"Promise or no promise, I must have her I I 
can ne'er weather another day of this work. 
Do you hear?" 

" That do I, Oousin Doll," answered Boger, 
with a comical twist of his mouth. *' Well I 
I reckon this maid is not the only one in the 
world. Trust me to send you a cookmaid, if 
such be possible. I am assured Nell shall 
do her endeavour." 

" Now, give you Nell to wit I mmi have 
one!" said Mistress Dorothy earnestly, lay- 
ing her hand on Boger's shoulder to enforce 
her words. "I shall be baken mine own self 
instead of the meat, if I get not a cookmaid 
right soon." 

"Dear heart! be there no oookmaids in 
all London?" gently suggested Mr. Tread- 
well. 

" Never a one can I hear o( Humphrey ! 
And I 've asked here and asked there, till 
I'm a-weary of searching. Why, afore Ois 
went, who but I counted me at the very point 
to covenant with Mistress Hambury's UrsulaP 
and afore I might turn round, the jade went 
and promised herself to Mistress Oheyne o'er 
the way. 'Tis enough to break a body's 
heart to be thus used. And she's a good 
stirring maid, Ursula : I was well aggrieved 
to lose her, I can tell you." 

"Well, Doll, I will do mine utmost for 
you," said Boger, as the party pushed back 
their chairs with a clatter upon the brick 
floor. " And now I bid you heartily good 



morrow. 



•» 



Boger departed on his missiony and Mrs. 
Treadwell seemed more hopefuL 



CHAPTEB IV. 

XBS. TREADWELL SNOAOSS HER COOK. 

"What, Doll!— not done yetP" good- 
humouredly demanded Mr. Treadwell, on the 
evening of the day following Boger Car- 
diner's visit, as he came into the kitchen and 
found his wife still toiling over her house- 
work. 

"Aye, 'tis all right well for you men," re- 
turned Dorothy, looking as sour as if she had 
swallowed a quart of vinegar. " You work 
but from sunrise to sunset, and then you caa 
shut up and go a-pleasuring : but wo poor 
women may toil on through all the night, to 
have matters comfortable for you, and never 
so much as a ' thank you ' comes our way. I 
did think yon cousin of mine might have 
been trusted, man though he be ; but you're 
all alike. He leaves me in the lurch like all 
the rest. 'Tis best never to put faith in any 
man, nor look out for aught, and then a poor 
overdone body's the less like to be dis- 
appointed." 

And, setting up on the dresser shelf the 
last of the wooden trenchers which sbo had 
been seraping clean, Mrs. Treadwell sat down 
in a chair, and began to fan herself with the 
red handkerchief, as if exhausted nature 
could stand no more. 

No one knew better than Humphrey 
Treadwell the signs of a coming " tantrum"; 
and perceiving that his spouse was within an 
inch of one, he prudently withdrewi just as 
a rap came on the outer door of the kitchen. 

" Eh dear, this world I — a body can never 
have a bit of peace in it 1 " muttered Mrs. 
Treadwell, continuing to fan herself, while 
Kate, at the risk of letting her milk boil 
over, went to open the door. But Dorothy's 
next exclamation was in a different tone. 

"Eh, Cousin Boger! — come you in noTr, 
you and the cookmaid, for I reckon 'tis ehe 
you have brought withal. Trust me, hut 
I'm fain to see her. All the flesh 'U bo oiT 
my bones if I have another day on't." 

Boger Gordiner gave an amused glance &t 
the portly form of his cousin. 

"I'd have thought, Doll, there was a hit 
more flesh on thy bones than one day's work 
would fetch off. Howbeit, here is the cook- 
maid to deliver thee from that trouble." 



MRS. TREAD WELL'S COOK. 



»7S 



«< 



Aye, and time she was oome ! " said Mrs. 
Dorothy. "Come thou right in, my maid; 
thou art as welcome as roses." 

Boger Gordiner came in as requested, 
followed by a woman so maffled in cloak and 
hood that it was not possible to see what she 
was lika In a few minutes, however, she had 
taken off her wrappings, and stood plainly 
risible to the curious eyes of Dorothy and 
Kate. 

"Eb, Bogerl" The exclamation broke 
from Dorothy. 

Boger Gordiner could readily guess what it 
meant. It had struck his cousin instantly 
that the girl was very young looking, and 
very, very beautiful. She was tall, slightly 
built, and stately in carriage, though so 
young. Her hair was of a bright, fair shade, 
with a golden gleam upon it ; and her eyes 
a shining bluish grey. There was little 
colour in her face; but what struck Kate 
more than anything else was the look of 
iotense moumfulness in the eyes. It seemed 
as if the girl might have lost everything she 
loved in all the world. 

'' Aye, Doll, here's your oookmaid," said 
Boger again, discreetly ignoring her ex- 
clamation. " I am assured I may trust thee 
to be a good nudd. Nan, and attentive to thy 
mistress' bidding. I dare reckon, Doll, she's 
no great learning touching cookery as yet, 
but with your good training she shall be like 
to do you credit. And she is willing, that 
I will say for her." 

" Well, we can but do the best we can," 
said Mrs. Treadwell. "But I would she 
looked stronger a bit, and older." 

" That last '11 mend," said Boger. 

The girl was perfectly silent But when 
she saw Kate about to lift a heavy pan from 
the fire, she quickly and quietly did it herself 
instead. 

" Ah, come now, that'll do 1 " said Dorothy. 
" I like a maid that has her eyes about her. 
Now let me see — sit you down, Gousin Boger, 
pray you I — let me see what thou wist touch* 
ing cookery. Wouldst ** 

** Nay, I thank you, Doll, I must be away," 
answered Boger. " So I will bid you good 
even, and leave you to your ca'^ohising." 

'* Eh, but tell me first what so you cove- 
nanted with her P '* 



" Oh, aye,~was I forgetting that? Well, 
I covenanted with her for three pound by the 
year, and her victuals and lodging." 

Mrs. TreadweU's foce said that, considering 
the youth and inexperience of her new cook, 
she thought the wages rather high. But she 
said nothing ; and Boger took his leave. 

" WeU I I trust thou wilt be a good maid," 
said she. "Now teU me, with what sauce 
wouldst serve a joint of veal P " 

Had Kate been fixe mistress, she would 
have shown the girl her sleeping place, and 
let her make herself comfortable, as the first 
thing to be done. But that was not Dorothy's 
way of doing things. 

The girl came forward to the table, on 
which she rested one hand as though she 
were tired. 

" With sauce pevrat^ mistress," she said, 
in a voice so low and sad that it sounded 
like the wind sweeping over the strings of a 
harp. 

"Gfood! andaoaponP" 

"With sauce neger, mistresSi an* it liked 
you." 

" And whereof wouldst make sauce neger P " 

"01 the liver of the capon, hewn small, 
with the fat that drippeth in the roasting, 
veijuice, and vinegar, thickened with bread 
crumbs, and powdered o'er with ginger and 
caneL" 

Ganel is the old word for cinnamon. 

" I see thou art not so ill off for knowing," 
observed Dorothy complacently, "And 
canst make payne ragun P " 

" Aye, mistress." 

" How dost it P " 

" I would boil together honey and sugar, 
with powder of ginger and powder of pines, 
till it were thick that it should stand, and 
not ML out of shape ; then I would leche it, 
and set it around the dish." 

To leche meant to cut in strips. 

"And with what manner of meat wouldst 
serve it P" 

" Either with fish or roast, as it pleased 
you, mistress." 

The satis&ction in Dorothy's tsyoe grew. 
She was by no means indifferent to the 
pleasures of the table, and the departed 
Gicely had not known how to make payne 
ra$(un, one of her favourite sweetmeats. 



176 



HOME WORDS. 



and had always reqaired telling what sance 
toserre* 

"I reckon thou wilt do/' said Mrs. Tread* 
well oondescendingly. *'Thoa wist bettor 
than I looked lor. Nan— is not thy name 
Nan P^betfcer than I looked for I " 

"Naoi mistoees^ to serve yoni*' was the 
quiet answer. 



iMa 



OHAPTBR V. 

EOTJSEHOLD ABEINGEUIKTS. 

Whbv bed-time oamoi Kate showed the 
new eook where she was to sleep. There 
were two bedchambers in Mr. Treadwell's 
house s one devoted to the master and mis- 
tress, and another in which Kate and Lucy 
slept with the two maids. As to the lookless 
Goorgey a sack filled with ohaff and a blanket, 
in the shopi was considered quite good 
enough for him* 

The bedroom in which the four girls slept 
held two beds. They were four-post bed- 
steadsi with camlet curtains, one better than 
the other. In the blue bed, which was the 
distinguished one, occupied by Kate and 
Lucy, the feather bed was uppermost: in the 
brown bed^ wherein the maids slept, the 
mattress was at the top. In those days 
people thought a great deal more of what 
was fitting for their rank than of what was 
good for their health; to sleep on a mat- 
tress was considered a hardship, and only fit 
for low and common people. 

The remaining furniture of the room con- 
sisted of fire irons — tongs, shovel, and fire- 
fork, which last preceded the poker — a chest 
for dothes, a chair, and two stools. The 
washstond was nowhere. People were ex- 
pected to go and wash at the pump in the 
yard, when they washed at all ; but face and 
hands were quite as much as most persons 
thought it necessary to have dean. 

For those in the Treadwells' rank of life, 
it was at this time customary to rise by four 
or five o'clock in the morning. Even earlier 
than this their ears were greeted with the 
various London cries, of which the most 
oommon were "fine felt hats," spectacles, 
"stawberries" (strawberries is a corrupt 
spelling), cherries, pepper, saffron (of which 
they used great quantities in cooking), hot 



sheep's feot, mackerel, gp*een peas, ribs of 
beef, pies, "white Saint Thomas's onions," 
"glasses, fine glasses," "marrowbones, 
maids, marrowbones," " small coal, a penny 
a peck." Towards evening the watchmen 
cried, " Hang out your lights I " for gas was 
a thing unknown ; and when winter came on, 
the cry arose, — 

" I have screens at your desire, 
To keep your beauty from the fire.** 

Breakfast was served about seven o'clock, 
though some very late people made it eight. 
Bread and butter was just becoming usual 
at this meal ; until then the common reliab 
had been dripping. English people are said 
to like their meat much more underdone than 
others, which probably arose from the old 
notion that overdone meat affected the tern* 
pers of those who ate it. The principal 
breakfast dish, however, was "buttered eggs," 
still oommon in the north of England, though 
not now oonfined to any meal in partionlar. 
The usual hour for dinner was from ten to 
eleven in the morning ; and for supper> from 
four to five in the aflemoon. Those were 
late people who were up and about after 
eight at night* 

As the days wore on, Mrs. Treadwell came 
to the conclusion that she had abundant 
reason to be satisfied with her new cook. 
The girl was extremely quiet (she never 
spoke unless some one spoke to her), per- 
fectly docile, ready to do everything in the 
way her mistress wished it, and never ap- 
pearing to have any preferences of her own. 
She seemed to have no friends nor relatives, 
and she made no acquaintances. Still more 
strangely, she never wanted to go out. 

All this was highly satisfactory to Mrs. 
Treadwell, who had at first entertained a fear 
lest so remarkably handsome a girl should 
have a large following. But Anne did not 
seem to have one lover, nor even a female 
friend. She " kept herself to herself " in the 
most decided manner; and Mrs* Treadwell 
noticed no more. 

There are as many qualities of the human 
mind as there are of drapery or earthenware. 
Mrs. Dorothy Treadwell's mind was of vexy 
common quality. She was quite unable to 
put herself in the place of another person, 



WAYSIDE CHIMES. 



177 



or to suppose that any one conld entertain 
motives which wonld not have inflaenoed her. 
She gaye nobody credit for thinking or feel- 
ing anything which she would not have 
thought or folt herself had she been in 
similar oircnmstances. 

Kate's mind was of mooh finer quality; 
and she early disooyered a yery interesting 
sabjeot of study in the new oook. Bho 
noticed some strange peculiarities about the 
girl, whidi had neyer struck Dorothy at all. 
Kate saw not only the look of intense moum- 
fnlness in the lustrous eyes, as though they 
were heayy with unshed tears ; but also a 
oonsfaint appeamnce of nenrous apprehension, 



quick frightened glances in the direction 
of the least noise, sudden pallor when a 
knock came at the door, trembling of yoice 
and hand if any one spoke suddenly. Of 
what was the girl afraid P 

Her first thought was that the new cook 
must haye committed some crime, and that 
she was terrified lest it should be disooyered. 
It might be but a small crime, the theit of 
a shilling perhaps. But a little consideration 
and watching of the girl banished this idea. 
Her sleep was too calm, and her prayers too 
long and f eryent, for any such fancy to be 
maintained. Still, it was eyident that the 
new cook had something to oonoeaL 



{To he omHwud.) 



11. "Y^AT ^ouLD Jesus po?'' 

BT TRB RBy. B. H. BICKERSTBTH, MX, yiOAB OF CHRIST CHURCH, EAHPSTEAB. 

[The other day I saw the above words, " What Would Josub Do f ** hanging as an iUmninated motto 
on the walls of an orphanage. I thought them most helpfoli and promised the orphans that I would try 
and turn their fayourite watchword into verse for them. J)r, Dyke's tune ** St. Bees *' suits the hymn.] 




HEN the morning paints tho 
skies, 
And the birds t^ir songs 
renew, 

Let me from my slumbers rise — 
Saying, " What would Jesus do P " 

Countless mercies from aboye 
Day by day my pathway strew ; 

Is it much to bless Thy lovo P 
Father, " What would Jesna do P " 

When I ply my daily task. 
And the round of toil pursue. 

Let me often brightly ask, 
'* Whaty my soul, would Jesus do P " 



Would the foe my heart beguile, 
Whispering thoughts and words un- 
true, 

Let me to his subtlest wile 
Answer, ** What would Jesus do P " 

When the clouds of sorrow hide 
Mirth and sunshine from my yiew, 

Let me, clinging to Thy side. 
Ponder, " What would Jesus do P *' 

Only let Thy loye, God, 

Fill my spirit through and through, 
Treading where my Saviour trod, 

Breathing, " What would Jesus do P " 



^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 



♦*a ©rain 

THINK I have received a grain of 

grace," said Matthew Henry, when a 

boy, to his sister, after hearing a ser. 

mon on the parable of The Mustard 

Seed ; and the grain of grace proved in his 



of ©ratt/' 

case the seed of a Gommentary on the Scrip- 
tures written in after years, which millions 
haye found a treasury of devotional exposi- 
tion."— PVw» "Can Nothing he Danef'* 
(London : " Hand and Heart" Office.) 



HOME WORDS. 



9ac6 an]i Sactt'is onife; or, ^ff to td( ^ea» 



r OKB WHO WKKT USI TBAB, 



HB Ohnp Trip is an es- 
BSntiallf EnglJah iiutitii- 
tion. It was bom in Lei* 
CMter in the earl; daji dL 
the nilva; BTstem, and 
for onr own port we regard 
its popolarit; u among 
tbe most pleasing signs of onr social life. 

"All work imd no play makes Jack a doll 
b<^," — and if Jock sticks to his bnsiness 
tbrongli the dnll and dreary days oE winter, 
wbat can be more fitting than that Jack and 
Jack's wife, yes, and Jack's children too, 
shonld take a trip to SaniBgate in the middle 
of Aognst for a whole day's pleasnre, or even 
a week's, if Jack can afford it P 

"Yes, bnt that's just the qneetion," says 
one : " If he can afford it 1 " How the Jack 
whom we have in onr mind's eye would 
langh if he heard this wonderful objection. 
Afford it P Why he wonld cheerfully tell ns, 
that he only has to fave a trifle here, and 
drop off a copper there, to do it all 1 only to 
exercise an economy which he scarcely feels, 
when once he begins- to practise it I Yes, it 
is wonderful how the OKonrsion money 
grows. And when the holiday season comes 
ronnd, Jack and Jack's wife don't fiod them- 
selves at all bothered by the question 
" u)?Mf A«r they shall go P " Now the great 
point to settle is, "-vihxn they shall go 
to I" 

If the truth be known, the settling of this 
question is almost as keenly relished by Jack 
as the trip itselC Svery night for weeks 
before t\6 event^il day, Jack and Jack's wife 
go into the matter across the tea-table to the 



great delight of the youngsters. Talk about 
State qnestions ! Why the Home Office itself 
oonld scarcely be called upon to deal with a 
point more knot^ than that which is so 
ardently disonssed by the Prime Minister and 
Home Secretary of Jack's Farliament I Shall 
it be right to the heart of the country among 
the corn-fields and along the shady lanes ; 
or, straight off to the seaside with its miles 
and miles of lorely beach f 

Of course it shall betotheoeal We are a 
maritime race:— 

" Biitauda nles the waTss," 

and those two boys, thorough Britons as 
they are, have so strongly exerted themselves 
to secure mother's vote in favour of the sesk, 
that Jack finds himself insensibly led to 
declare that there is no inland place whioh 
can be compared with a trip to the sea. 

Consider too what attractions tbore are. 
The romp on the sand-hills, the delightfol 
sail in the penny steamer, or the hiring of a 
little row boat all to fEemselves. Then the 
tea and the shrimps : and the hunting for 
predons stones and shells: and the gathering 
of the big bunch of sea-weed which shall tell 
what sort of weather there will he all the 
year round. Then the pleasant ride home: 
and more than all the neighbours' compli- 
ments the next day, "Why how very sun- 
burnt yon are 1 " 

We hope all our readers will take a trip to 
the sea this year ; and it is jost possible if they 
keep their eyes opeo, they will find them- 
selvea in " Jack's " pleasant company before 
the outing is over. 



" God's ' grain ' in Christian experience, and in Christian Berrice too, is the secret of 
i'b harvest."— Oad'("Grain"i <t Cenfntory Zesson. 

" Let ns watch awhile the Sowers, let na mark their tiny Grain, 
Soattered oft in doabt and trembling, sown in weakness or in pain t 
Then let Faitb, with radiant finger, lift the veil from unseen things, 
Where the golden sheaves are bending, and the Harvest anthem nogs." 

Frakcbs Biolbt Havxbqai. 



HOME WORDS. 



jftanas JROrltp feafacrffal: 

AS A SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER. 

[We are indebted to Min HaTetgftl for the foUorinK iiit«r«tting notee on Bnndar-MluKl teMhiBB, 

wUoli do not appear in the " Memoriala " ot hei deter. They idll be eipeciUUy Intereitine *t the 

present time, alike to porente, teaohers, an^ aeholars. They serre bIbo to fix the mind npon wbat ia so 

often a partly or wholly forgotten tmth : our dependence npon the Sirine Spirit for all ttnly spiritna] 

roenltB of Christian worb. Well does the mltei remember, m carate of St. Nicholas' Fariah, Woroeater, 

abont the period referred to, tbe deep interest " F. B. H." took in the Sonday-eohool ; indeed she vai 

regarded throngbent the parish m a nmbeam of brightness wheieTCr she went. — Tsi 

Editob.] 



-KTEBRUPTIONS to Snn- 
!^ dny.-BcbooI teaching are 
F often trying to diligent 
B teachers. My sister'a 
^ (P. R. H.'s) advice to bar 
^ friend Elizabeth may on- 
conrage snch, — 
*' I do feci for yon in yonr disappoint- 
ment that illness prevents your taking 
yonr class. Bat if it was really Hia work 
yon were doing, yon need be nnder no 
anxiety at tbe interraption. Perhaps yon 
are like a yoang gardener bailing the first 
spring beam, and hastening to plant his 
seed in tbe varm, moist soil. Bat the 
Master comes, and stays his hand, and 
beckons him away from his pleasant work, 
and his heart is sad ; for ho thinks that all 
was ready, and now the promised crop will 
be delayed, and it will be so long ere the 
sweet fioweis gladden bis eye; or perhaps 
the seed will be wasted and evil weeds 
spring np ere bis retam ; and so be leaves 
it Borrowfoll;, even though it be at his 
Uaster'a call Bnt see, tho Master leads 
him apart a little while, and bids him eat 
anddrink in His presence and 'restawhile:' 
so that he may go forfh to his labonr with 
new strength, and bright with the smile of 
Lis Master's conntenanco. And perhaps 
he will find on hia retnm a soft shower 
(sent by no mortal hand) has fallen from 
a olond-of blessing, and his ground shall be 
filled with fmitfnIneES from tbe seed which 
bo may now bring, 

" Teaobers do not always like faking the 



lowest classes; bnt I am delighted with 
my little ones. I spend ahont the same 
time in preparation for them as I did for 
Ta-j Bible-class. Tbey are mostly six or 
seven years old, and have no books to read 
in. So it's all vi'vd vtxx, and I get streams 
of questions. It is most interesting work- 
" When I began they asked no questions ; 
bnt six or seven Sundays made a difiiar- 
euce. To wit, taking the Christmas subject 
with them, they kept np a running fire of 
questions for half an hoar, e.g., ' How did 
Joseph know it was an angel that spoke to 
bimP' 'If Joseph hadn't minded what 
tbe angel said to him and stopped in Beth- 
lehem, would God bavo let tbe soldiers 
kill Jcsas P ' etc., etc. When children go 
on asking yon questions I consider it very 
interesting work ! " 

What is so often a " forgotten troth " as 
to the work of God's Holy Spirit was con- 
stantly the theme of F. B. H.'s Sunday- 
school teaching, even in 1858. In the 
note-book my sister kept of conversations 
with her class (in tho week) ore tho fol- 
lowing entries ; — 

"May 21st, 1858. Mary Anne and 
Priscy name, saying, ' Oh, teacher, we 
want you to talk to us abont God.' I 
helped them to find varions texts about the 
Holy Spirit : Luke xi 13 ; Bom. viii. 26 ; 
John xiv. 26. The subject I gave them (o 
think about waa ' The n«ad of, tke Holy 

"May 25th, 1858. Annie and Priaoy 
came. The sabjeot of our reading was, 



A WORD TO OUR HARVESTERS. 



i8i 



'The Holy Spirit oomforting and teach- 
ing.' Then I knelt down and prayed with 
them that God would give ns the Holy 
Spirit" 

''July 17th. Selina and Annie came. 
Subject^ Matt. zzvi. 86-46 : the love and 
watchfulness which Christ's sufferings 
should awaken in us. Selina has had a 
severe test, and has stood it. While away 
at her little friend's house, her father sent 



for her three times to go to the races' (then 
going on). At last he came and dragged 
her home by force. She cried and en- 
treated not to go, remembering papa's 
(W. H. H.'s) address at Sunday-school and 
my (F. R H.'s) advice. The father swore 
she should go. At last the mother's en- 
treaties saved her, and the father gave up 
the point, and my little Sunday scholar was 
faithful and victorious." 



_j-U-M- M - M ~ M ~ M~M'^<~ T~'~T i ^'^~ ~ ^ ^'~""""*""'V tl''M'Tf 



^ ^orti to our %arbessters(« 




19 



BT FREDERICK SHERLOCK, AUTHOR OP " ILLUSTRIOUS ABSTAINERS," ETC. 

(See lUustration, Page 183.) 



OT many years ago he 
would have been Qon- 
sidered a bold man who 
ventured to advocate the 
general practice of total 
abstinence in the harvest 
fields of old England. In 
many localities the in- 
gathering of the golden grain was frequently 
the occasion of scenes of dissipation and 
revelry, the evil effects of which remained as 
a source of regret long afterwards. 

The formation of numerous parochial 
branches of the Church of England Temper- 
ance Society has happily done much towards 
bringing about an improvement in this 
respect. Beliable information has been 
spread on the physical evils resulting from 
an undue use of stimulating liquors, and 
many have been led to test for themselves 
the gain of abstinence. One of the most 
useful efforts of this nature was the offering 
of a prize for the best paper on the special 
subject of " Drink in the Hay and Harvest 
Field." There were a large number of com- 
petitors, and the award was made to Mr. 
John Bailey, of Grantham. His experience 
deserves to be pondered by all who are 
brought into connection with harvest work, 
whether as employers or labourers. Strong 
men may not of course feel the ill effects as 
he felt them; but what so clearly injured 
him must certainly be anything but beneficial 
even to the strongest. He writes :— 

" When engaged in the harvest field, and 
accustomed to drink beer, I found that I 



was filled with an unnatural heak My 
mouth became parched with thirst, and the 
of tener I drank beer the more firequently I 
became thirsty ; so that in my case beer 
proved itself to be useless as a quencher of 
thirst. Then, as to its strength-giving and 
appetizing properties, I found that it fre- 
quently caused a sensation at my stomach 
like heartburn, with a heavy weight and 
total loss of relish for food, followed by weak- 
ness and trembling in my whole frame." 

Like a sensible man, John Bailey, having 
thus in his own case at least traced the con- 
nection of cause fuid effect, soon came to the 
conclusion that the best thing would be 
to test the matter by going without his 
customary allowance for a few days, and 
taking oatmeal and water instead. We give 
the result of the experiment in his own 
words. 

" First Day, — ^I felt somewhat better, and 
towards night could begin to enjoy my food. 

*' Second Day. — My appetite returned, and 
my strength began to increase. 

•* Third Day. — ^I was quite weU. 

"No more parched palate ; for when I had 
taken a draught of my new drink I could ' go 
in '(as we termed it) for an hour or more 
without the least inconvenience. No mor6 
trembling limbs now; I swung my scythe 
from right to left, and the precious golden 
grain came trembling to the ground. 

** The burning feverish heat which had so 
troubled me by day, disturbed my rest at 
night, and caused my mouth to be so parched 
and nauseous in the morning, had entirely 



X83 



HOME WORDS. 



gone/ I could now perform my work cheer- 
fully, jgo home tired certAinly, bat by no 
means ezhaasted. Day by day my strength 
-increased, and when the harvest was ended I 
was in such trim for work that I was only 
sorry there was not another harvest ready to 
begin. Prejudice in favour of drink was en- 
tirely routed, and my depraved appetite was 
no longer allowed to rule and reign over 
right and common sense. Another pleasing 
feature was, I had a good harvest and but a 
very small beer bill to pay, for I bought no 
more beer after I found out the better plan. 
My experience clearly proved to me that men 
in the harvest field need nourishment and 
support, not intoxicating stimulants." 

It would be easy to multiply similar testi- 
monies. The Eev. Thomas Snow, Incumbent 
of Underbarrow, Milnthorpe, has taken great 
interest in this question, and collected a num- 
ber of opinions from working men in various 
parts of the country, whose united testimony 
is that hard work in the harvest field has 
been found much easier to them without the 
use of intoxicating liquors as a stimulant. 
It deserves to be mentioned that the men 
whose testimony is g^ven are practical har- 
vesters, some having mown sixty-three acres 
of grass, and others having reaped nineteen 
to twenty acres of com, without strong 
drink. 

Custom has a great deal to answer for : — 

Use, John, Use, John, winks at this abuse, John ; 
And, when you recommend the pledge, will patoh 
up some excuse, John : 
Many drink because th^ *re cold. 

And some because th^ *re hot, John, 
Many drink because they 're old, 

And some because th^ 're not, John ; 
Bfany drink because they 're thin, 

And some because they 're stout, John ; 
Many drink because they 're in, 
And some because they 're out, John. 
< Nay," John, ** Nay," John, whatever they may 

say, John, 
Kever touch and never taste, but always answer 
" Nay," John. 



Our illustration is an engraving of one of 
the finest pictures in the present exhibition 
at the Boyal Academy.* The artist, Mr. G. 
H. Boughton, has achieved a great success 
and triumph in the exquisite finish of his 
work. "Evangeline," we may conclude, is 
bearing a good supply of John Bailey's re- 
freshing and strengthening oatmeal and water 
to the thirsty harvesters. We hope there 
will be found an " Evangeline " in every har- 
vest field this year, and that all harvesters 
will at any rate " just tiy " for once. 

Some of our readers may be glad to possess 
the following recipe for "a drink for har- 
vesters,'* given by the eminent Dr. Farkes, 
in his valuable little book on *' The Personal 
Care of Health." 

•* When you have any heavy work to do, do 
not take either beer, cider, or spirits. By far 
the best drink is thin oatmeal and water, with 
a little sugar. The proportions are a quarter 
pound of oatmeal to two or three quarts of 
water ; it should be well boiled, and then one 
ounce or an ounce and a half of brown sugar 
added. Shake up the oatmeal well through 
the liquid. In summer, drink this cold ; in 
winter, hot. You will find it not only quen- 
ches thirst, but will give you more strength 
and endurance than any other drink. If at 
any time you have to make a very long day, 
as in harvest, and cannot stop for meals, in- 
crease the oatmeal to half a pound, or even 
three quarters, and the water to three quarts. 
If you cannot get oatmeal, wheat flour will 
do, but not quite so well. For quenching 
thirst few things are better than weak coffee 
and a little sugar ; one ounce of coffee and 
half an ounce of sugar boiled in two quarts 
of water, and cooled, is a very thirst-quenching 
drink. Cold tea has the same effect, but 
neither are so supporting as oatmeaL Thin 
cocoa b very refreshing and supporting, but 
more expensive than oatmeal.^' 

" My doctor's order " is sometimes, we are 
afraid, unduly pleaded. We hope iliU ** order " 
will be both pleaded and practised in a thou- 
sand harvest fields. 



* We are indebted to Messrs. Casaell, Fetter, <fr Galpin, for this engraving. It is a good speoimen of 
the character of the illastrations in their deservedly popular Magazim of Art. 



1 84 HOME WORDS. 




HE WUte Turkey was dead I The Whifce Turkey was dead I 
How tHe news throngli the barn-yard went £ying I 
Of a mother bereft, fonr small turkeys were left. 
And their case for assisfcance was crying. 
E'en the Peacock respectfully folded his tail. 

As a suitable symbol of sorrow ; 
And his plainer wife said, " Now the old bird is dead. 

Who will tend her poor chicks on the morrow ? 
And when evening around them comes dreaiy and chill, 
Who above them will watchfully hover P " 

• 

"Two, each nighfc, I wHl tuck 'neath my wings," said the Duck, 

" Though I've eight of my own I must cover." 
'* I have zo much to do ! For the slugs and the worms, 

In the garden, 'tis tiresome picHn' ; 
I have nothing to spare;— for my own I must care," 

Said the Hen with 0720 chicken. 

" How I wish," said the Goose, " I could bo of some use. 

For my heart is with love over-brimming ; 
The next morning that's fine, they shaJ[l,gp,with my nine 

Little yellow-baclvcd goslings, out swimming ! " 

" I will do what I can," the old Dorking put in, 

" And for help they may .call upon me too ; 
Though I've ten of my own that are only half-grown, 

And a great deal of trouble to see to. 
But those poor little things, they aro all heads and wing;;, 

And their bones through their feathers aro stickin' 1 " 

" Veiy hard it may be, but, oh, don't come to me ! " 

Said the Hen with one chicken. 
" Half my care, I suppose, there is nobody knows,^ 

I'm the most overburdenod of mothers I 
They must learn, little elves ! how to scratch for themselves. 

And not seek to depend upon others." 

She went by with a cluck, and. the Ooose to the Duck 

Exclaimed in surprise, " Well, I never ! " 
Said the Duck^ " I declare, those who have the least caro. 

You will find, are complaining for ever ! 
And when all things appear to look threatening i^nd drear^ 

And when troubles your pathway are thick in : 
For aid in your woe, oh, beware how you ga 

To a Hen with one chicken ! " 

Marian Doueud. 



^a^ktf^^^^M^tf^tfMtf 



' 



' ' ^ 



WILLIAM KENNEDY, THE BUND MECHANIC OF TANDERAGEE. 185 



SISaflltam ittnmlip, t6e BKnli iHecl&anCc of Cantieragee. 

** Overwhelmed in darlcness, and deprived of sight, 
Through all his life 'twas one oontinned night.** 




thine; "EomA Ww^ readers 
will be interested in a record 
of the powers of a blind Irish- 
man, who, though he had no 
claim to the genius of poesy, 
nor ever expatiated in the 
regions of philosophy, yet by 
the delicacy of touch arrived 
at almost unexampled perfection in the execu- 
tion of various pieces of mechanism, which 
in other men would require all the aid of 
sight. The best account of his extraordinary 
progress in mechanics is to be found in his 
own simple narrative, given by dictation to 
ft friend. 

" I was bom near Banbridge, in the county 
of Down, in the year 1768, and lost my sight 
at the age of four years. Having no other 
amusement (being deprived ol such as chil- 
dren generally have), my mind turned itself 
to mechanical pursuits, and I shortly became 
projector and workman for all the children 
in the neighbourhood. As I increased in 
years, my desire for some kind of employ- 
ment that might render me not burdensome, 
though blind, induced me to think of music ; 
and, at the age of thirteen, I was sent to 
Armagh to learn to play the fiddla My 
lodging happened to be at the house of a 
cabinet-maker; this was a happy circum- 
stance for me, as I there got such a know- 
ledge of the tools and manner of working as 
has been useful to me ever since. Though 
these things, however, engaged my mind and 
occupied a great part of my time, yet I made 
as decent a progress in music as any other of 
Mr. Moorhead's scholars, except one, After 
living a year and a quarter there, I returned 
home, where I made or procured tools so as 
to enable me to construct household furni- 
ture. 

" Not being satisfied with the occupation 
of cabinet-maker, I purchased an old set of 
Irish bagpipes, but, without instruction, it 
was with difficulty that I put them into play^ 
log order. I soon, however, became so well 
acquainted with the 'construction of them, 



that instruments were brought to me from 
every part of the neighbourhood to be re- 
paired. I found BO many defects in this 
instrument, that I began to consider whether 
there might not be a better form of it than 
any I had yet met with; and, from my early 
instruction in music, and continual study of 
the instrument (for indeed I slept but little), 
in nine months' time (having my tools to 
make) I produced the first new set. I then 
began with clock and watch-making, and 
soon fouud out a dock-maker in Banbridge 
who had a desire to learn to play on the 
pipes, and we mi)tiually instructed each other. 
From this time I increased in musical and 
mechanical knowledge, but made no more 
pipes, though I repaired many, until the year 
1793, when I married, and my necessities 
induced me to use all my industry for the 
maintenance of my wife and increasing 
family. My employment for twelve years 
was making and repairing wind and stringed 
instruments of music. I also constructed 
clocks, both common and musical, and some- 
times recurred to my first employment of 
cabinet-maker. I also made linen-looms, 
with their different tackling. My principal 
employment, however, is the construction of 
the Irish bagpipes, of which I have made 
thirty sets in the little town I live in, within 
these eight years past." 

Thus ends the simple sketch of the life of 
William Kennedy, given in his own un- 
adorned style. The modesty of our blind 
mechanic has prevented him from enlarging 
on several points, illustrative of his ingenuity 
as an improver of this instrument. In this 
respect, indeed, he deserves the character of 
an inventor, as his additions to the Irish 
pipes have done away with many of their 
imperfections. The fuU particulars of his 
most ingenious alterations would require 
terms too technical to be introduced here ; it 
must suffice to say that this blind mechanic 
was unequalled in the elegance of his work- 
manship and the perfection of his scale, in our 
favourite national instrument. Having first 



i86 



HOME WORDS. 



formed his latbe and tools rrom a ntdeblock of 
flbonj, R fngmoiit of ui elephant's tooth, and 
a piece oE silver, he shaped and bored the 
complicated tabes, gi«daated the Teutage, 
adapted the kejs, and fanned an iostrament 
of perfect eztemal finish and heauty, " that 
prodooed moat eloquent mosio," oapable of 
espresaing the fineat movements in melodf) 
and bj no means deficient in harmony. 



All this he accompliaUed by the exquisite 
sensibility of tonoh, for he was atone blind, 
and qnite incapable of distinguishing the 
bkok oolonr of ebony fVom the white of ivory. 
Under poverty and physical privation of the 
most overwhelming kind, he gcadnally rused 
his mechanical powers to this extraordinary 
degree of ezcellennw 

BETita 



ya&Ied for yov. 

ST ILEISOB B. FKOBBER, 



XXVIll. THE SECRET OF A 
HAPPY HOME. 

CAN'T conceive liow you ma- 
nage to give all your family 
honse-room," said a willow- 
vrren to a titmonge. "I 
haven't half yoar number, 
and yet one or other of them 
is always tumbling oot of 
Qie neat." 

"Perhaps yon didn't make it large 
enongh," said the titmonae, 

" That oan't be the reason ; it's as large 
as yours." 

"Ah 1" said the titmouse. "Well,yoa'll 
ezcuBO my mentioning it, but I fanoy I've 
heard that your young ones don't agree 
very well." 

"It wouldn't make the nest any loiter 
if tboy did," said the wiUow-wren. "I 
don't see what that has to do with it." 

"Pardon me, friend," said the tit- 
mouse, " but it makes all the difference in 
the world. If my twelve didn't do their 
be^t to accommodate each other, we 
couldn't get on at all; but I'm thankful 
to Bay they are all of one mind, and that 
is what makes a peooeable home." 

XXIX. HOW TO QAIN YOUR POINT. 

"I can't manage it; I never saw such 
wood in my life," said the hatchet; "my 
edge is quite turned with the blows I've 

sttock." 



" It's no uBO trying," said the axe ; " Fve 
chopped at it till my head has come oft" 

" Excuse me, gentlemen," said the saw, 
"but I think you both went to work the 
wrong way. Ton hit agaitut the grain; if 
you were to try the other way, you would 
find it easy enongh to conquer it." 



"Neso and Prince are having a fight; 
let's go and help," swd Viper, a small 
bIack-and>Uui terrier, to his iiezt>door 
neighbour, Sweep. 

"Not I," said Sweep. 

"Why not? " said Viper; "it would be 
great fun, and Prince would be glad of 

" Qlad of your help ! " said Sweep, con- 
temptuously; "don't deceive yourself, my 
boy ; take my advice, and keep out of it. 
Prince is quite able to fight his own battlea, 
and if you don't know it yet, you'll soon 
find by experience that any one who takes 
part in a quarrel, at any rate with such n 
purpose as yours, gets abuse from all and 
gratitude from none." 

XXXI. A ROLUNQ STONE GATHERS 
NO MOSS. 

"Wsr, where have yon found all that 
honey?" said a yonng bee to an old one, as 
he watched him rctarning to the hive laden 
with golden nectar. 



FABLES FOR YOV. 



■87 



"la that bed of wild thyme dose b;," 
B&id the old bee. "This is t^ third loftd 
I've brought in this morning, and there's 
plenty left yet." 

"Well, I'm Bore I're been flying abont 
aU orer the garden, to look for some," said 
the young bee, " but I couldn't find any 
worUi speaking o£ I met a butterfly, and 
ha advised me to go to the rosary, bat 
tliere wer« to many from oxa hive there 



oangbt there, for some one shat the window 
down, and I had only just time to esoape. 
Sinoe then I have been roaming aboat 
trying one flower and another as I thought 
they looked promising, but I've got hardly 
any honey." 

"Ahl " said the old bee. " WeU, I am 
not surprised, for, by your own account, 
yon have spent the morning in flying 
about, instead of working. If yon had 



A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO UOSS. 



before me that I thought it was of no use 
to atop. Then I tried the pansies, but the 
gardener bad jast been watering tbem. 
So I vent to the mignonette box on the 
windowsill i bnt I was veij nearly being 



kept to one bed, as I did, yon would 
hare brought hams a load like mine; 
but I can't stop to talk aoy longer 
jnst now, for I want to take it to the 
hive." 



HOME IVORDS. 



**M^ Coitfirmatiou jQap." 

FROM ONE OF F. R. K's "SEALED PAPERS." 



er StUj, 18H Fnoioefl Bidley 

HaTergal iras confirmed in 

WoroeBter Cathedral. Her 

confirmation was iadeed . a 

reality, and is a profitable 

Btody for all who are oon- 

templating this act of pnblio 

decision for Qod and Eia eerrioe. We 

gire the following extract, found in one of 

her " Sealed Papers " :— 

" In the proceaaion to Woroeatier Cathe- 
dral Ellen Wakeman was my companion. 
On reaching^ onr seat rery near the rails, I 
snnk on my knees : the thonght of ' whose 
I am ' fanrst upon me, and I prayed, ' My 
Ood, oh, my ovm Father, Thou blessed 
Jesns, my oum SaTioar, Thon Holy Spirit, 
my own Comforter,' and I stopped. It 
scarcely seemed right for me to nse the 
language of saoh strong asanrance as this ; 
but yet I did not retract. While the 
solemn question was being put by the 
Bishop, never I think did I feel my own 
weakness and attor helplesBness so much. 
[ hardly dared answer ; hnt ' the Lord is 
my Strength ' was gracionsly saggested to 
me, and then the words quickly came from 
(I trust) my very heart : ' liord, I cannot 
without Thee, bnt oh, with Thy almighty 
help — I DO.' 

" I beliere that the solemnity of what 
hadjnst been uttered, with its exceeding 
comprehensiTeneaB, was reaJized by me as 
far as my mind ooold grasp it. I thonght 
a good deal of the words 'Now unto Him 
tliat is able to keep yon &om falling ' ; 
and that was my chief comfort. We were 
the first to go up, and I was the fourth or 
fifth on whom ^e Bishop laid his hands. 
At firsts the thonght came as to who was 
kneeling next to me, bnt then the next 
moment I felt alone, nnconacions of my 
fellow-oandidates, of the many eyes fixed 



upon ns^ and the many thoughts of and 
prayers for me, alone with Qod and His 
chief minister. My feeliogs when bis 
hands were placed on my head (and there 
was a solemnity and earnestness in the 
very touch and manner) I cannot describe, 
they were too confused; but when the 
words 'Defend, Lord, this Thy child 
with Thy heavenly grace, that she may 
continue Thine for ever, and daily increase 
in Thy Holy Spirit more and more, until 
she come unto Thy everlasting kingdom,' 
were solemnly pronounced, if ever my 
heart followed a praif er it did than, if ever 
it thrilled with earnest longing not on- 
mixed with joy, it did at the words ' Thine 
for ever.' Bnt, ss if in no feeling I might 
or conld rest satisfied, there was still a 
longing, ' Oh that I desired this yet more 
earnestly, that I believed it yet more fully.' 
" We retumed to oar seats, and for 
some time I wept^ why I hardly know, tt 
was not grief, nor anxiety, nor exactly 
joy. About an honr and a quarter elapsed 
before all the candidates had been up to 
the rails ; part of the time being spent in 
meditation on the double transaction which 
was now sealed, and in thinking that I 
vras now more than ever His ; hnt I still 
rather sadly wished that I could ftd more. 
Many portions of Scripture passed through 
my mind, particularly part of Komans 

The paper was not finished, nor can any 
account of her first Communion be found. 
In her manuscript book of poems sho 
wrote. — 

•■lEINB FOB ETBB." 
"Oh I 'Thine for ever:' vbat a bleiaed thing 
To h« lot STer His who died for me t 
Uy Savioor, all m; life Th; proiaa I'll siitg. 
Nor eoue m; long thronghant etemi^." 

In tht Cathtinl, JWy 17, I8S1. 



ENGLAND S CHURCH. 



189 



She always kept the anniyersary of her 
Gonfirmatdon day. When at Celbridge 
(1875) her juvenile instmctor in Hebrew 
(John H. Shaw) remembers on one of 
these occasions missing her at their hour 
for study, and that she spent most of 
the day in holy retirement. So lately as 
1876 and 1877 she seems to have renewed 
her Confirmaiion vow, in the following 
verses :— 



•• A COVENANT." 
" Now, Lord, I give myself to Thee, 
I would be wholly Thine ; 
Ab Thon hast given Thyself to me, 

And Thou art wholly mine ; 
Oh, take me, seal me as Thine own, 
Thine altogether— Thine alone." 

(JttZy, 1876.) 
" Only for Jesas I Lord, keep it for ever, 

Sealed on the heart and engraved on the life 1 
False of all gladness, and nerve of endeavour. 
Secret of rest, and the strength of our strife ! " 

(JttZy, 1877.) 



•tf«»«Atf«tf«MMP«^i^«A^«^«M^«^i^iM^k^ 




NOTES AND TESTIMONIES. 

SELECTED BT THE BDITOB. 

VI. THE THIRTY-NINE ARTICLEa 



JSTOEIOALLY con- 
sidered, the Thirty- 
Nine Articles are in- 
tensely interesting. 
They carry ns hack 
to that great period 
in onr national his- 
tory known as " the Eeformation :" a period 
when the Ohnrch of this conntry abandoned 
the errors of Bome, and went back to the 
simple, primitive teaching of "the Apostles 
and Prophets, Jesns Christ Himself being 
the chief Comer-stone." We glory in the 
Beformation becanse it meant a free Bible, 
the right to worship God as conscience re- 
qnires ns, a mighty impulse to learning, 
science, commerce, and every department of 
inflaenoe — apolitical, literary, religions — under 
which nations become firee, and therefore 
great; and these Thirty-Nine Articles remind 
ns of the battle which was fonght and won by 
our forefathers three hundred years ago. 

Scripturally considered, these Thirty-Nine 
Articles are invaluable. We must never 
forget that they set forth the view which the 
Church of England takes of the doctrines 
which accompany salvation, as contained in 
the Bible. Collectively they form a model of 



accuracy, brevity, and arrangement They 
are always up to Scripture, never beyond it. 
A more precious treasury of Christian doc- 
trine than that contained in the Thirty-Nine 
Articles no Church in Christendom possesses. 
In the mere matter of style they take their 
stand by the side of the noble English of our 
national Bible. They are thoroughly outspoken. 
The great principle which goes through them 
is entire fidelity to God's Word, as distinct 
from all human tradition whatever. 

Devotionally considered also, they are 
worthy of devout regard. They are full of 
the spirit of the Gospel, which is the spirit of 
Christ. They never dogmatize beyond the 
point warranted by Holy Scripture. They 
are as broad, and comprehensive, and liberal, 
as Christianity itself. They allow the fullest 
liberty where Gk>d*8 Word has not decided. 
Even those who are not members of tho 
Church of England must admit the wido 
Christian charity which pervades them. 

We therefore prize our Thirty-Nino 
Articles, and we believe it to be a wise and 
proper arrangement that every clergyman 
should subscribe to them, and, before ho 
enters upon a ministerial charge, read them 
in the face of his people. 








■» -w 



THE YOUNG FOLKS' PAGE. 



tji 



^t iloung ^olitd' pajBft* 






XXV. WHAT BOYS OUGHT TO KNOW. 

PHUiOBOFHBB has Mid tba4 fba trns 
edoeation for boys is to teaoh them what 
th^ ought to know when thqy twooms 
men. Teach thsmi— 

1. To be tnxe; to be genuine. Ko edn- 
cation will be worth anything that does 
not indnde this. A jnan had better not know bow to 
read— he had better nerer learn a letter in the alphabeti 
and be tine and genuine in intention and aotion, than, 
being teamed in all sciences and in all ]angnages,be at 
the same time false at heart and counterfeit in life. 
Abofs all things, teach the boys that— tmth is more than 
riches, more than culture^ more than earthly power and 

pOSitlOlL 

S. To be pore tn thought, language, and Ute— pore In 
mind and in body. An impure man, yoong or old, 
poisoning the society where he mores with low stories, 
and impure example^ is a moral nicer, a plague spot, a 
leper, who ought to be treated as were the lepers of old 
—banished from society and compelled to cry **unclean," 
as a waning to eaye others from the pestllance. 

8. To be unselilsh. To care for the feelings and com- 
forts of others. To be polite. To be Just in all their 
dealings with others. To be generons, noble, and manly. 
This will include a gennine rererence for the aged* and 
things eacred. 

4. To be self-reliant and self-helpful even from eerly 
childhood. To be indnstrions slways and self-s upp or tfa g 
at the earliest proper age. Teach them that all honest 
work is honourablis, and that an idle, nseless lifb of 
dqiendence on others is disgraceftiL 

When a boy has learned these things: when he has 
made these ideas a part of his belngi he has leaned 
tome of the important things he ought to know when 
he becomes a man. 

XXVI. MY INFLUENCE. 

A OBVTKiKAV, some time ago, was giyfng a lecture on 

"Influence,"— about doing good. There was in the room 

a poor working man, and he had, in his armsi a little girl. 

The genilemaa said, '*That little girl in the poor man's 



arms can do goed." The man said, " That's true." Alter 
(he meeting was erer, he came up to the lecturer. 

"Xbegyour pardon,8ir,'' he ssid, "for interrupting yon t 
I amafraid it was wrong, buft I could not help it. Ton 
said i^tatwas so true. I will tell yon about that little 
girlimn^anaa. I was a dronkard. I did not like to go 
te a publio-hoose by myself, so I took my little girl in my 
armswiUima. Bhe said, 'Father, don't go there.' Isaid, 
' Hold joor tongue.' We went on a little farther, and 
again she said, ' Please, father, don't go there.' I laid, 
< I tell you, hold your tongue.' As I walked on, I lUt a 
little hot teas fall on my hand. I thought my Uttte girl 
was crying. 8o I did not go to the public-house, and I 
have never- been there since. It was all my little girl's 
hot tears that turned me from being a drunkard into (I 
hope) a Christian man." 

NsTer let anybody Bay they cannot do any good. That 
little girl with her tear turned the poor drunkard into a 
good Ohristian father. Let us all try to do all the good 
we can, in all the ways we can, to all the people w« 



XXVII. A 00N8GIENGE THAT WOULD 
NOT STRETCH. 

Db. Adas Olauci, the celebrated commentator, was 
placed in his boyhood witha draper to learn the business. 
Young Adam had a conscienee which refosed to stretch 
far his personal adrantag^ and what must have been 
a serere trial at the time opened the way for future suc- 
oessandfame. One day his auwter set him to measure a 
piece of <doth fbr a onstomer. It was a few inches diort 
of the required measnre^ and Adam was directed to 
" stretch the doti^ so as to make it long enough." Adam's 
eonsdeace refused to let him do what he regarded as a 
dishcaeatthingi and the draper sent his apprentice home 
with the message that "he would nerer make a man of 
buslnessl" What Adam rose to in after lifb is well 
known. He li^ured sssiduonsly to explain and expound 
the Word ef Life that had led him to Ohrist as his BsTiour, 
and produced a Ocmmentary on the Bible that has made 
his name familiar wherirer the Bnglish language is 
spoken. 



S^e sail IKtne Statcj^et. 

n TBI Bxaar bsy. thm iabs> bxsbop ov sosob ahd kam. 



BIBLB QUBSTIONB. 

1. TTOW does the aocoontof Oreation on the second day 

XI differ from all the othernP 

2. When was a prayer for bussing refused by Ohrist, 
in order that the one who asked it might be made a bless- 
ioff to others F 

9. How was it that the Jews came te find pitj from all 
their oppressors when they were in captivi^ t 

4. Had Bathsheba any other sons beiriaes P ft i ft w* tffj 
after she became the wue of DaridP 

6. On what occasions did God show the vabie which 
He attaches to the ministry, as a means of graocb by 
naing it whan He might haTO dispensed with it F 

d. when did the death of one woman produce great 
f ear, and the re anr re ct lon of another woman great ndth, 
apKmgst the Lord's peopled 

7. What great man was permitted to see the glery of 
God« who was afterwards connected with Its ^^^t*^^ 
tionf 

6. Howmajwe have all thai Solomon asked God for, 
when he was inrited to pray, and everything besidesF 



•. What did one of the Apostles hear from heaven 
which he has omitted to mention in relating the droom- 
staacea to the Ohurdh P 

10. What remarkable prayer waa answered, as we 
know that prophecy was fhlfUled, upon the day of Fente« 
oostP 

11. What Incident In the life of Ohrist diows how close 
people may be to Him in the means of grace, and yet not 
receiye a blessing P 

II. There was a wicked man who sought to evade the 
force of a prediction by a secret stratage m , but who only 
accomplialied what the Lord said by His prophet. Who 
it P 



AK8WXBS (Bee JvftT Ko., page leT). 

L Kaxfc z. 4f; Jehm zl 48. IL Bxod. zyiii. SI. m. 
John It. 8MI. IV. B Kings yL U. Y. Josh. xxiy. 1 and 
Gen. XXXV. 4. YI. Acta viL 50, 60; xlL t: Rev. IL IS. 
Vn. 1 Gor. iz. 1] XV. 8t aee Acts i. SS. YIII. Acts zviL 
8S.34. DC 1 Ohron. zxi. 1. XI Tim. ii. 14. XI. Acta 
xviii. S6; STim.L8. XIL John i. SO ; liatt. xziri. 70. 




" Borne, going hemt I Bomt to my Saviour / Homt to dtar <ma gOM bt' 
fortt Bomt to the prtitaet ef MT Ood .' Qoiag home. BUued tluiaght, gloriout 
tetl" JnothfT nument'i pauie, and tken the toneioj prayer : "LoTd,pri- 
pare rat for going, terfect in mt that lohith it imptr/etl," {Bee Page 196.) 



NOME WO 




FOR 



%m mA %m% 



C^o - 




€l)t late 30itb, C^ JS« i^tupp^ l%,£H^x 

A RECORD OF LIFE'S CLOSINQ HOURa 



BT THE BDITOB. 



^HEN a lite baa long 
spoken for the Master, 
ibe attending inci- 
dents of closing hours 
are of little moment to 
the pilgrim himself. 
"Death cannot come to 
him nntimelj who is fit to die," whose life 
is tmlj "hid with Christ in God." But 
parting testimonies to the sustaining power 
of Divine grace are deeply impressive to 
all privileged to hear them, and the record 
of such testimony has often cheered and 
stimulated " the followers " of those who 
now "through faith and patience inherit 
the promises." 

Seldom has a brighter example of the 
Christian thus triumphing over death been 
witnessed than in the closing hours of the 
late Bev. Charles B. Snepp, the widely 
known editor of " Songs of Grace and 
Glory." The home-call was unexpected 
and sudden, but the "faithful servant" 
was found " watching." . 

Mr. Snepp had returned home on 
Saturday, June 12th, from Byde, where he 
had been staying for five weeks of greatly 
needed rest and change. On the following 

VOL. X. NO. IX. 



Sunday he preached twice. One of his 
texts, " He will keep the feet of His 
saints," he often quoted for his own com- 
fort through his illness. On Monday and 
Tuesday he was actively at work, full of 
plans and arrangements, preparing to begin 
many things with renewed energy and 
zeaL On Wednesday he was seized with 
shivering and pains, and was obliged to 
give up preaching in the evening. A night 
of patient sufiering followed*. In the early 
morning he asked for a text, and when the 
promise was given, " Thou wilt keep him 
in perfect peace," he repeated "perfect 
peace ! Yes ! such peace as nothing can 
describe." 

From this time those who ministered to 
him tell of continual prayer for his own 
dear ones, and for his people, in some such 
words as these : " Stir up my curates, stir 
up my teachers, stir up my scholars; 
quicken their zeal, and let them all be 
gathered into Thy everlasting kingdom." 
On Sunday morning he kindly insisted 
that the nurse should go to church, and 
was delighted when she told him of the 
service and sermon. The night waa passed 
in much suffering, but he spoke often of 

K 2 



196 



HOME WORDS. 



great peaoeu Once he said : '^ Whenayer 
I sleep I wake witH Bnch sweet thonglits, 
either with some text brought to mj mind 
or else enjoying prayer." He asked many 
questions abont his people, and said, '^ Tell 
me everything yon can.*' 

Monday was a day of increasing weak- 
ness. He said once, '' I am brought very, 
very low, but the Lord can raise me up." 
And at another time, '' I want so much to 
see the reason for this illness, and the 
lessons that are to be learned." About ten 
o'clock on Tuesday evening he sent to ask 
for something to be played and sung. The 
hymn 725, by F. R. H., in " Songs of 
Grace and Olory," was suggested by Mrs. 
Snepp as one of his favonritM ; and when 
he heard the words, '* Accepted, perfect, 
nnd complete," he emphatically repeated 
them. 

On Wednesday ^morning, afler the 
doctor's visit, he called him to his bedside. 
His first question, " Am I better P " was 
answered tenderly but decidedly in the 
negative. "Am I worse?" "You are 
getting weaker." "Am I likely to re- 
cover P " The answer in the negative 
was again received with perfect calmness 
and composure. Presently he said with 
much emphasis and deep earnestness : 
" Thank you ! I receive your message 
with solemn awe. Not with astonishment, 
for I am not surprised ; but it is a solemn 
truth to be told. I am in the hands of 
a loving Father, and all will be well. I 
should like to have been spared a few years 
longer to my dear ones, a precious wife 
and a beloved child, and to the work which 
I have so much loved : but God's will be 
done." And tben, with the courtesy which 
characteriaed him in health, he thanked 
Dr. B— «- lor all his kindness, and for the 
candour with which he had answered his 
inquiries. 

" And who," writes one who was present, 
" who shall now intrude upon the ' solemn 
awe ' with which he confessed his soul was 



filled at that moment? He seemed rapt 
in holy communion with his God. There 
was a pause of deep and hallowed quiet, 
and then his soul found utterance, though 
still apparently only speaking to his God : 
— ' Home, going home ! Home to my 
Saviour ! Horn e to dear ones gone before ! 
Home to the presence of ht God ! ' and 
then in a voice of rapturous triumph: — 
' Going home. Blessed thought, glorious 
prospect ! ' Another moment's pause, and 
then the tones of prayer : * Lord, prepare 
me for going. Perfect in me that which 
is imperfect.' 

" The weakneea was evidently increasing, 
and at intervals breathing and speech were 
difficult. Again he spoke to a friend : 
' Only going a little while before other 
dear ones, to see mt^ Saviour and my Ood ' ; 
while his countenance was radiaok with 

joy- 

" Shortly after this, Dr. B amvea. 

He waited very quietly till the viflii was 
paid, and then signified his wish to ask 
some more questions. Having ascer- 
tained that both agreed in the opinioii 
that his strength was failing» ha aaid: 
< Thank you ! Blessed thought ! In His 
presence is fulness of joy, and pleasures 
for evermore ! But I should like to have 
been spared a few more years to my dear 
ones, my beloved wife and child, and to 
the woi*k I have so much loved> and that 
I have had such delight in ! ' He again 
expressed warmest thanks to Dr. B ■ for 
all his kindness, and for all that he had 
done for him. 

"About half-past two o'clock there 
seemed to be a change, and those around 
became conscious that he was faat nearing 
the haven. ' So near home I ' he said. 
His darling child came then to see him. 
He fondly clasped her in his arms, and 
having heard that she had spoken of the 
comfort she had felt in praying for him, he 
said : ' I am so glad to hear, darling, that 
you have been finding comfort in prayer. 



THE LATE REV. C. B, SNEPP, LLM. 



197 



It has been your father's comfort for 
many years — ^may yon know it too/ 

''And now we watched with thrilling 
hearts. Again we pleaded all together in 
prayer, in an adjoining room, ' Lord, spare 
bis life/ Bat the messenger was come, 
and we oonld only bow onr heads and say, 
' STen so, Father/ On onr retnm to the 
room we saw it all. Dear Mrs. Snepp was 
enabled to giro him sweet thonghts from 
Qod'fl Word, which he most eridently 
intensely enjoyed, and then read to him 
the sweet hymn from 'Songs of Grace 
and Olory,' 'I have a home abore/ His 
radiant look of joy thronghont tiie reading 
of the hymn will never be forgotten. It 
seemed as if he were already catching 
some bright rays of the heavenly glory. 
His dear wife then said, ' I see heaven 
opened, and Jesas standing at the right 
hand of Ood,' which met with a response 
in his beaming face, as if indeed he did 
see it. We then saw he was within sight 
of the glory, on the very threshold, just 
stepping in to see the King. ' Lord Jesns, 
receive my spirit ' was the prayer of her 
who was so. fondly ministering to him. 
He took it np, 'Lord Jesus,' . . . bat 
the voice was hashed, and with a loving 
pressure of the hand ho had passed from 
grace to glory.' 



tf 



«• Servant of God, well done I 
Best from tby loved employ ; 
The battle fought, the victory von, 
Enter thy Master*s ]oy. 

The pains of death are past ; 

Labour and sorrow cease ; 
And, life*8 long warfare closed at hist, 

His sonl is found in peace. 

Soldier of Christ, well done 1 
PraSie be thy new employ ; 

And, while eternal ages rnn, 
Rest in tby Saviour's joy.** 

Mr. Snepp was educated at Calas Col- 
lege, Cambridge, where he obtained a 



first-class in Law in 1846, graduating LL.B. 
in 1850, and LL.M. in 1861. He was or- 
dained deacon in 1846, and priest in the 
following year. In 1851 he went to Perry 
Barr in sole charge, and was presented to 
the Vicarage in 1854. In 1852 he was 
married to the elder daughter of the late 
R. W. Winfield, Esq., of Birmingham, who 
always took a deep interest in all that was 
done at Perry Barr. Dnring Mr. Snepp's 
long residence as Yicar he was the means of 
achieving many great and important works, 
amongst which may be mentioned the 
erection of Christ Church, Birchfield, to 
meet the wants of the population in that 
part of the parish. He was always one of 
the foremost in any schemes for the pro- 
motion of the spiritual or social good of 
his people. The institution of " Hospital 
Sunday " found in him one of its earliest 
supporters, a sermon in its aid being 
preached by him in 1859. He was the 
first to form in his own parish a Floral 
and Horticultural Society. He was, in 
the truest sense of the word, a pastor to 
his flock. 

But perhaps his greatest work, and Uie 
one which will be the most permanent, is 
his splendid collection of 1,094 hymns, 
entitled " Songs of Grace and Gloiy."* In 
this compilation he was assisted by the 
late Frances Ridley Havergal. A new 
musical edition, finished since that lady's 
death, and brought Out in December last, 
completed the work, which has already 
had a circulation of over 311,000 copies. 
It is, we believe, the largest collection of 
hymns and tunes in the Church of England 
in one volume. The topical arrangement 
is most excellent; and the indices are 
complete. A special feature is the full 
selection of hymns to "The Holy and 
Ever-blessed Trinity in Unity.** A far 
larger number are assigned to the Person 
and work of the Holy Ghost than in any 



* ** Bongs of Graee and Olory." (London : J. Kisbet <& Oo.) 



198 



HOME WORDS. 



oiher collection. As the result of laborious 
re8earcli,the authors and dates of the hymns 
are almost all given. "Every doctrine 
of Holy Scripture, all the seasons of our 
ecclesiastical year, and all the hopes and 
conflicts of the individual believer, are 
carefully represented." No pains were 
spared to produce and furnish this really 
standard Hymnal at the lowest possible 
cost The compiler's one object was 
to make what he felt was really a 
needed contribution to the .service of 
Hymnody, and with all the enthusiasm of 
his character he gave himself no rest and 
refused no outlay till it was accomplished. 
It will always be a memorial of his life, 
and we have reason to think that it is the 
groat desire of Mrs. Snepp to carry on and 
as far as possible extend the efforts made 



to introduce and so promote the circula- 
tion of the work still more widely. 

At the funeral the widespread esteem in 
which Mr. Snepp was held was shown in 
a very marked manner. The principal 
Birmingham clergy were among the 
mourners, and the congregation was lai^ely 
represented. The coffin, which bore beneath 
the name on the shield the text "With 
Christ, which is far better," was carried 
by eight of the servants of the &kmily. 
The service was read by his old and valued 
friend, the Bev. George Lea, of St. Qeorge's, 
Edgbaston, assisted by his senior curate, 
the Bev. J. T. Meek. 

" Thjem, aX»o which $leep in Jesus unU God 
bring with Him.*^ — 1 Thess. iv. 14. 

" Until ihe day hreak, and the shadows flee 
away,** — Song of Sol. ii. 17. 



m. " 0^^ J^ULER AND Guide." 

" And He led them forth by the right way." — Pt, evii. 7. 




P we could choose our earthly 
lot. 
How sad our life would be ; 
Lord, be my Guide, and let me 
not 
Choose other guide but Thee. 

£eep thoughts of holiness in view, 

Or bring to mind again ; 
Write in the happy friendships true, 

Blot out the false and vain. 



Forgive the ill, most gracious God, 
Thou in my life hast seen ; 

Accept the good, cleansed in Thy 
blood, 
And make me pure within. 

God of Providence and grace, 

Be ever by my side ; 
Within my heart, before-mv face, 

My Buler and my Guide 1 



M. B. 



^^ 9bt 3SntoorIie)i fiait/^ 




will be very gracious unto thee 
at the voice of thy cry." That 
has comforted me often, more 
than any promise of answer ; it includes 
answers and a great deal more beside ; it 
tells us what He is towards us, and that is 



more than what He will do. And the 
''cry" is not long-oonneoted thonghtfal 
prayers; a eiy is just an unworded dart 
vjpwards of the heart, and at thsU " voice " 
He will be very gracious. YHiat a smilt! 
there is in these words I 

FUAXXES BiDLfiT HaVGUQAIi. 



•wwwwww>^w^v\/^^ws 



MRS. TREAD WELL'S COOK. 



199 



A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIME. 

BT KMXLY 8. HOLT, AUTHOR Of "XHS XAIDBNS' LODGE/' ETC. 




CHAPTER VI. 

HAS. TREADWELL PREPARES 
FOR A DINNER PARTY. 

thoroughly was Mrs. Doro- 
thy Tread well pleased with 
her new cook that she 
began to think about giv- 
ing a dinner party. 

In those daySa when the 
commonalty were fenced 
in by laws on every side, 
which reached down to the cut of their gar- 
ments and the cooking of their dishes, giving 
a dinmer party was not a very easy business. 
No commoner was allowed to have more than 
three dishes at one meal. People who did 
not keep a conscience ingeniously evaded the 
law by serving half a' dozen meats in one 
dish; but Mr. Treadwell did keep a con- 
ficiencOf and was scmpulous about such 
things. This Dorothy knew, and with a 
sigh resigned the hope of making a show in 
this direction ; for the point of conscience — 
which he kept, and she did not — was the only 
one on which she usually allowed her- lord 
and master to have his own way. She con- 
tented herself, therefore, with the expressive 
assertion that if the dishes were only three, 
they should bo dishes 1 

" Now, Nan, set thy wits to work," said she, 
"and aviso zne what dishes I shall have." 
" Of a flesh day, mistress ?'' 
" A flesh day, quotha P I should hope so 
much, verily ! Wouldst think I go about to 
make feast of a fast day P " 

" What should you think, mistress, of pot- 
age to critone, viand of Cyprus, and pome of 
orange to crustade P" 

Potage meant soup ; and potage to critone 
was made of the liver, heart, gizzard, eta, of 
fowls. Yiand of Cyprus was a made dish, oi 
fowl brawn, almond milk, rioe, and spices, 
with strips of toast set round the dish. 
Pome of orange of course meant oranges, 
and a crastade was an open tart. 



" Say I" responded Dorothy, pausing with 
the gridiron in her hand to look at Anne ; 
"why, I should say thou wert as fond o' 
starving other folk as thyself. Bits o* scraps 
o* sisses ! I want somewhat to eat, woman ! 
Serve me a good lump of beef or a pestle of 
pork, and leave thy viands o' Cyprus and 
pomes to crustade for them that have done 
nought all the mom save to fan their dainty 
faces. There 's none o' them in this house, 
1 11 warrant thee 1" 

Anne never answered a taunt back again. 
She went on with the gingerbread she was 
making, in silence. 

"I wouldn't so much care if viand of 
Cyprus were one," observed Dorothy in a 
meditative manner; '"tis a gentlefolks' dish, 
and I love to have folks see I know how 
gentlefolks live. It seems me, Nan, thou 
must have served in a right good kitchen 
afore thou camest hither, for thou wist all 
manner of dishes meet but for lords and 
gentry." 

Anne made no reply. Kate wondered 
afterwards whether it Was only her fancy 
that the girl's hand shook as she put her 
moulds of cake into the oven. 

"I'll tell thee what I'll have," pursued 
Mrs. Treadwell, who was making griddle- 
bread for supper,— a feat which sho alone 
could accomplish, for it was a Welsh dish, 
and she had been taught it by a Welsh 
mother, — "serve me a pestle o' pork, with 
sauce pevrate, viand of Cyprus, and a bry 
tart. That'll do, I reckon." 

The foundation of sauce pevrate was broth 
thickened by grated toast ; vinegar was then 
added, and powdered cloves and pepper. 
Our forefathers dearly loved sharp sauces. 
A bry tart was made of eggs andoheese, with 
sugar and spices. 

"Aye, that'll do for dinner," said Mrs. 
Treadwell^ complacently. "Now then, what 
for supper P " 

"Humphrey loves garbage, sister Doll," 
suggested Kate. 



200 



HOME WORDS. 



" So lie doth, Kate ; aud I too. We '11 have 
it." 

Now garbage, as we nnderstand the word, 
woald not be at all a savoury dish for supper; 
but in 1471 it meant a stew of ohioken 
giblets. 

" Should you like a charlet, mistress F " 

*' Gharlet me no chariots 1" replied Doro- 
thy, arranging her griddle-bread on the 
pewter platter. "Light, good-for-nonght 
stuff I Nan, we '11 have bukenade to potago, 
if thou wist how to make it." 

"That do I, mistress." 

" And — let me see— what of a succode P • 
I reckon " 



<f 



Cold cream, mistress P " suggested Anne, 
as Dorothy paused to consider. 

"I never saw nought like thee!" cried 
Dorothy, laughing. " Thou art all for dishes 
that be made o* froth and feathers, and would 
fill no man's stomach an he ate till the 
morrow ! Nay, — we '11 have a good bowl o' 
candle." . 

" Aye, mistress." 

" And when, sister P " asked Kate. 

" I go about to be ready o' Thursday," said 
Dorothy. " Cousin Boger comes to the city, 
I wis, of a Thursday, every week, and if I can 
give him to wit to-morrow, and he will to 
bring their Nell, I'll bid Mistress Cheyne 
o'er the way, and Mistress Hambury and her 
master, which shall be as many as we can 
hold. I dare reckon Mistress Cheyne should 
lend me their Ursula, at the least to dress 
the supper ; and more hands, lighter work. 
But I must have Cousin Boger." 

Cousin Boger, who was duly served with 
the invitation, accepted it for himself and 
"their Nell," namely, his wife, Eleanor 
Cordiner. Mrs. Cheyne was unable to come, 
but as a compensation she lent Ursula to 
help with the cooking. Mr. and Mrs. Ham- 
bury undertook to be present. 



CHAPTER VII. 

BOEKOWS B£Y0KD TBASS, 

It was early in the morning, and Dorothy 
was busy ironing her best table-linen for the 
occasion, while Joan, who had recovered her 



health, was dusting and decorating the little 
parlour. To have a parlour was rather un- 
usual for a small tradesman ; but Dorothy, 
before she would descend so low as to marry 
Mr. Tread well, had made certain conditions, 
of which this was one. She was very proud 
of her parlour, only a shade less than she was 
of her Cordiner nose, and her uncommoii 
Christian name, which was then but just 
beginning to come into popular use. A 
hundred years later, it was among tho com- 
monest names in England. 

Kate and Anne were alone in the kitchen, 
for Ursula was only to arrive in time to help 
with the supper. Kate was compounding the 
bry tart, and Anne was getting forward with 
such parts of the " bukenade to potage " as 
could be done beforehand. I give the receipt 
for* this dish as a specimen of the way in 
which our forefathers " dressed their meat." 
There are five points specially noticeable in 
old cookery. First, only noblemen had the 
privilege of haying joints served whole ; com- 
moners were obliged to cut them in pieces. 
Secondly, all old receipts are delightfully un- 
certain with regard to proportions. They 
simply desire you to " take chickens," " take 
onions," or "take vinegar," and put it in; 
they never give the least idea how much to 
take of each thing. Thirdly, the great 
quantities of vinegar, verjuice, wine, and hot 
spices, used in nearly every dish and often 
all at once, give an impression that our 
fathers liked strong tastes, and were not 
much troubled with indigestion. Fourthly, 
they never used salt in cooking; thoy always 
added it at the table. And, lastly, they ate 
many things which we do not touch, and ihcy 
mixed many things which we should ncvcr 
Lhink of putting together. Conger eels, por- 
poises, swans, cranes, curlews, herons, are all 
to be found in their cookery books; they 
made salads of nearly every green thing tha' 
grew; and they mixed wine and vinegar, 
cheese and honey, fish and raisins, currants 
and ginger, in a style which it sets one's 
teeth on edge to think about. Onions, wine, 
vinegar, and saffron went into nearly every 
dish. Great use was made of misins, cur- 
rants, almonds, sage and parsley, giogf'r. 



* Sweet dish. 



MJ^S. TREAD WELL! S COOK, 



20t 



ciima^mon, cloves, aud mace. Bice was ex- 
pensiTe and scaroe, and therefore very little 
used. Honey waa the nsual sweetener, for 
sngar cost too mnch ; fifty yeartf after this, 
seTenpence-halfpenny was the price of a 
pound of sugar, — ^a price, considering the 
difference in the value of money, equal to 
about seventeen shillings in our time. 

The following is the receipt fbr " bukenade 
to potage." 

" Take hens, or conynges [rabbits], or veal, 
and hew it on gobbets [small pieces], and 
seethe [stew] it in a pot. And take almonds, 
and grind them, and temper [mix] it with 
the broth, and put in the pot. And do there- 
to [pnt with it] raisins of Oorance [currants], 
and sugar, and powder of ginger, and of 
canell [cinnamon], and cloves, and maces; 
and colour it with saunders [shavings of 
sandal-wood, which give a fine red], and ally 
it up [thicken it] with amyden [flour which 
had been steeped in water, strained, and 
dried ; it was thought finer and more nourish- 
ing than common flour]; and if thou will, 
take onions, and mince them, and fry them 
in grease; and hew small parsley, sage, 
hyssop, and savory, and do it thereto. And 
let it boil ; and if it be too thin, take flour of 
rice, and do thereto; and dress it forth [serve 
it up]. And flourish [garnish] the dishes 
with drage [a kind of spice]." 

Anne was busy preparing this, pounding 
the almonds, chopping the herbs, and so on. 
In an interval of beating eggs, Kate said 
rather suddenly: — 

" Nan, be thy father and mother alive P" 

The first answer was one of those frightened 
glances usual with Anne when any one spoke 
unexpectedly. But in a moment she said, in 
her ordinary quiet tone : — 

" Mistress, my father hath not been dead a 
year." 

" Is it that causeth thee to look so sorrow- 
ful, Nan ? " 

" Partly so, my mistress." 

But the look that came over the girl's face 
told Kate that the hidden half of the burden 
was the heavier to bear. 

" Thy ways are not those of a young maid. 
Nan," said Kate, thoughtfully. " Most should 
weep well for a day or twain, and then in a 
while be a«laughingand making merry again." 



The pestle and mortar wcro sttuidijig stiil, 
and Anne was looking out of the window 
Yrith eyes that saw nothing. 

" Ah, my mistress," she answered, " there 
be sorrows beyond tears." 

" I never knew one," said Kate thought- 
fully ; " and I am older than thou. Nan, by 
seven or eight years, I guess." 

"Mistress," answered the girl earnestly, 
" in all things but years, you are nob so old 
as I,— not by the half ! " 

** I can tell by thy face thou hast known 
much sorrow, my maid." 

" If my face told you the sorrow that I 
have known," said Anue, almost passionately, 
" you would marvel how it could have been 
crushed into seventeen years ! " 

The calm surface was broken at last, and 
the girl's face worked and burned with feel- 
ing. Under the ice there was fire. 

''And it alway seems me, Nan, as though 
thou wert afeard of somewhat further to 
come." 

"Afeard!" The girl caught her breath, 
and glanced round apprehensively, as she 
said the word. " Mistress, they may thank 
God whose worst is behind them." 

" Yet God is good, my maid." 

" If I had not believed that," said Anne 
huskily, "methinks I had not lived to see 
this day." 

Kate was too considerate to make closer 
inquiries. Dorothy, had she cared to put 
them at all, would have prosecuted them re- 
lentlessly. But Kate saw that Anne had ifo 
wish to enter into details, and she forbore 
from asking any. Anne went on with her 
pounding in a hurried, nervous manner, as if 
the conversation had agitated her. 

"Dear heart! no farther yetP" said 
Dorothy, marching into the kitchen. " Set 
your wits o' the grindstone, my maids. I've 
every stitch o' yon napery ready ironed and 
pressed, and the parlour is all a-ready saving 
flowers. Nan, my good maid, I would fain 
have thee run to Master Grisacre's, and buy 
me a bunch o' roses and a good parcel o' green 
stuff for to dress the parlour. Here's a tester 
for thee, but a groat's worth '11 be plenty." 

A tester was sixpence, i^nd a groat four- 
pence. 

'*May I go, sister?" asked Kate, rising 



202 



HOME WORDS. 



quickly. She had caught the look in Anne*B 
eyes — that glimpse of terror at the proposal, 
•W9 if she thought something would happen 
to her if she ventured outside the door. 

'' Aye, so do, if it should like thee," said 
Dorothy ; and Kate took the tester and went 
out for the flowers, followed by a grateful 
glance from Anne. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE DINNEK FABTT. 

Tub party was a success. Everybody was 
in a good temper, the cooking was well done, 
and the decorations were greatly admired. 
It is true that everybody was not of the same 
politics, but as they all kept their ideas to 
themselves, no harm was done by that. Mr. 
Hambury was a decided Lancastrian; but 
greater than his wish to befriend the House 
of Lancaster was his desire to keep his own 
head safe upon his shoulders, and the only 
way to do that in I47I was to keep his tongue 
quiet in his mouth. 

Conversation waa rather restricted in those 
days, when it had to be carefully kept off any 
subject that could possibly awake the jealousy 
of the ruling powers, and when nearly every- 
thing was regulated by law. It would not 
do to lament high prices, when they were 
fixed by royal pi*oclamations ; nor to discuss 
the fashions, when they wore kept within 
due limits by sumptuary laws. Men who 
complain of want of freedom in the present 
easy times can have little notion how very 
much less freedom was granted to their fore- 
fathers. If a yeoman wore his sleeves 
slashed, or trimmed with laoe ; if a tradesman 
allowed the points of his shoes to be above 
two inches long ; if a gentleman wore a cloak 
shorter than a certain measure ; if a lady, 
not of title, put a strip of ermine on her 
dress; if any woman whose husband was 
not worth ten pounds a year (equal to about 



£150 now) wore a frontlet, or forehead band* 
made of velvet or silk : a heavy fine was 
exacted in every case. How should we liko 
such times as these to return P What an 
outcry there would be against tyranny and 
oppression ! Perhaps, if we were to feel a 
little more thankful for the liberty we have, 
and to make a little less noise about the 
rights and liberties we have not, it might not 
do much harm, either to ourselves or other 
people I 

Mrs. Treadwell and her friends, therefore, 
took care to keep their conversation to such 
subjects as they considered safe. No mis- 
chief could well be made by talking over 
Mrs. Cheyne*s rheumatism, which had pre- 
vented her coming; the roses might be ad- 
mired to any extent ; and Roger Cordiner 
amused the party by telling them of a tailor, 
recently set up in his neighbourhood, who 
had made him a doublet, or waistcoat, which 
he could not possibly get on. The women 
compared receipts in cookery, or asked of 
one another where this dress was bought or 
what had been the cost of that handkerchief. 
After supper it was then usual to have some 
singing, and at times a little playing on the 
harp, flute, or fiddle. The English of that 
day were a very musical people, and a person 
who could not sing was looked on almost as 
a curiosity, Mr. Treadwell brought down 
his violin and gave them an air. Roger 
Cordiner, who had a fine voice, sang a 
ballad, and Mr. Hambury a hunting song; 
while Kate and Nell finished the evening 
with a two-part glee. Then iihe Hamburjs 
took their leave, and Roger and Nell went 
home shortly afterwards. 

Before Roger left, Kate noticed that he 
drew Anne for a few minutes into, the pas- 
sage, and a short, rapid, whispered oonversa- 
tion followed. Anne came back with an ex- 
pression of distress in her eyes which had 
not been there before. 



(To he continaed,) 



SON nearing manhood once said to 
his mother about some bygone fail- 
inff, '*Do you remember P" "No, 
indeed," "Just like you, mother. 
How you have helped me all my life by for- 




getting all that has been bad in me P " Per- 
haps you have made me forget by so many 
dear things in vou." How expressive was 
the quiet kiss that rested for a moment on 
her forehead.— Fbom ** The FmisiDB." 



HARVEST LESSONS. 



203 



flarbestt IMinxai^ 




BT TBI BIT. CHASLBS BULLOCK, B.D., AUTHOB OF " THE WAT HOME," EtO. 

I. GOD'S FAITHFULNESS. 



|0D is the great Landowner. 
He ifl the nniversal Pro- 
prietor. He " openeth 
His hand and filleth all 
things living with plente- 
onsness;" "He reserveth 
nnto ns the appointed 
weeks of the Harvest." 

Men are prone to forget God in Provi- 
dence — God preserving and governing all 
things. They regard themselves as pro- 
prietors rather than tenants — tenants abso- 
latelj at the will of another. They are 
prone, too, to blind themselves to the im- 
mediate agency of God — ^the direct part 
He takes in haman affairs and interests. 
They cannot bnt mark the mysterions 
processes which are ever working oufc their 
appointed ends — the. mysterions processes, 
for instance, which result in the Harvest ; 
bnt they are apt to talk of the ** laws of 
nature " rather than to see the great Law- 
giver directing and controlling the opera- 
tion of those laws. They forget 

*' Natuze u but a name for an e£Feot 
Whose Cause is God."*— Couy^r. 

Kightly regarded, Harvest blessings 
remind ns of OodU Faithfulness. 

The atheism of fallen human nature, as 
I have said, sets aside the direct agency of 
God in Providence. The true source of 
that atheism is sin — sin in the heart 
prompting man to wish there were no 
God, although he dare not assert there is 
no God. The cure, the alone cure of this 
atheism is the knowledge of God as the 
God of Qrace — grace providing an Atone- 
ment for sio, gvhce bringing guilty man 
nigh to God by the blood of Christ. It 
is when we see God to be the God of 
Grace — ^and onhj when we see Him thus — 
that we are enabled to recognise His 



faithfulness as the God of Providence. 
Providence, in fact, becomes to ns a min- 
ister of Grace. The same God who gave 
His Son, gives ns also all things richly to 
enjoy. 

It is then as our Covenant God we see 
His " Faithfulness " in the Harvest field, 
even as each day's bread throughout our 
lives reminds us of the faithfulness of 
" our Father in Heaven." Our Harvest 
blessings are the fruit of the Divine faith- 
fulness. We have them in consequence 
of His faithfulness to His Covenant promise 
— the promise that " while the earth re- 
maineth, seed-time and Harvest, summer 
and winter, day and night, should not cease." 

There is a remarkable passage in Hosea, 
in which this truth is enforced in a very 
striking manner: — " And it shall come to 
pass in that day, I will hear, saith the 
Lord; I will hear the heavens, and they 
shall hear the earth ; and the earth shall 
hear the corn, and the wine, and the oil ; 
and they shall hear Jezreel." In other 
words, we ask for the com and the wine ; 
we cry to the earth by which they can be 
produced ; the earth calls to the heavens, 
by whose genial influence alone she can 
yield them ; the heavens look up to God ; 
and God hears the heavens ; and then the 
earth receives, and the earth gives us the 
corn and the wine and the oil. And thus 
we really receive them from the open 
Hand of a Faithful God. 

Truly this Faithfulness of God should 
call forth Harvest-praise. We are receiving 
again the bounties of Providence^ But 
how easily God might put His hand upon 
the machine of nature which He con- 
structed, and stay its operations in a 
moment ! How speedily might desolating 
flood or withering blight destroy the fruits 



304 



it 0MB WORDS. 



j:^^. 



mtmX 



of the field ! Instead of this we are au^ 
licipating a glorioas season — ^forestalling 
as it were '' the appointed weeks of the 
Harvest." Ob, let our earlier songs of 
praise prove that we are ready, without 



the Toice of Fatherly discipline to remind 
ns of a forgotten or half-forgotten tmth, 
to recognise with ihankfnl hearts the 
faithfulness of Fatherly bounty in Harvest 

gifts ! 



II. OUR DEPENDENCE. 



As a second Harvest thought let me sug- 
gest: — Harvest blessings should impress 
upon us our absolute and entire dependence 
upon Qod, 

This thought is akin to the former. 
Those who realize God's Covenant Faithful- 
ness, will not fail to feel their own depend- 
ence. Those who mistake nature for Qod, 
may and do pervert the faithfulness, the 
regularity of nature, into a ground of in- 
dependence. But the believer sees God 
moving nature, and therefore feels his ab- 
solute dependence upon God. Nature thus 
studied will constrain man to confess that 
he " hangs upon God," for life and breath 
and all things. It is true man possesses, 
in a sense, a power over nature ; but that 
power he holds from God, and he only 
exercises it as God wills it should he exer- 
cised. Independent power he has none; 
and he is compelled to admit it. All the 
science and ingenuity of mankind united 
together could not produce one drop of 
water or a single ear of corn. Man can 
only study God's laws in nature and bring 
them to bear in order to certain results } 
but the results are clearly with God. He 

(To be 



may sow the seed ; but as he cannot <»eate 
the seed, so also is he dependent upon God 
to quicken it to vegetable life, and to nur- 
ture it to v^etable development. '' First 
the blade, then the ear, then the full corn 
in the ear." 

Let us, then, seek to feel more and more 
our absolute and entire dependemee. Let 
those who are apt to think they have 
*'much goods laid up for many yeara»" 
remember that their day*a bread is equally 
God*8 free gift to them aa it wilt be His 
free gift to the very poorest. And let none 
suppose that this refieotian will rob their 
daily bread of its sweetaeas. No ; it will 
bring down the bleasiog of the Giver with 
thegift^ the blessiog which aloue ^* la^kath 
rich " — truly rioh — " and addeth no sorrow 
thereto." Rich and poor, we are pensioners 
on the bounty of our God ; and he ifill be 
the happiest who daily waits at his Father^s 
board, " poor in spirit," the prayer of ab- 
solute dependence on his lips : " Give me 
this day my daily bread." 

He who thus prays will never forget to 
praise; his Harvest thimkpgiving will 
every day be new. 
continued.) 



€t)t ^\ti&t}i ftomt. 




|H, blest the house, whate'er befall. 
Where Jesus Christ is All in AH ; 
Tea, if He were not dwelling 
there. 
How poor and dark and void it were ! 

Oh, blest that house where faith ye find, 
And all within have set their mind 
To trust their God and servo Him still, 
And do in all His holy will. 



Blest such a house — it proapere welli 
In peace and joy the parents dwell, 
And in their children's lot is shown 
How. richly God can bless His own. 

Then here will I and mine to-day 
A solemn covenant make, and say, 
Though all the world fbrsake Thy Word, 
" I and my house will serve the Lord." 

a a L. von Pfeil, 1735. 



A BISHOP ON HARD WORIt. 



205 



%\)t Sarltp^inotDer'sf g^tm^A 



I 



BY MART HOWITT. 



•^t 



7 -..-t-^> 



A.RLEY-MOWERS Kere we 
stand. 
One, two, three, a steady band ; 
True of heart and strong of 
limb, 
Ready in onr harvest-trim ; 
All a-row with spirits blithe, 
Now we whet the bended scythe. 

Side by side now, beading low, 
Down the swathes of barley go ; 
Stroke by stroke, as true as chimo 
Of the bells, we keep in time : 
Then we whet the ringing scythe, 
Standing 'mid the barley lithe. 

Barley-movers must be true. 
Keeping still the end in yiew ; 



One with all, and all with one, 
Working on till set of sun ; 
Bending all with spirits blithe, 
Whetting all at once the scythe. 

Day and night, and night and day. 
Time, the mower, will not stay : 
We may hear him in our path 
By the falling barley-swathe ; 
While we sing with spirits blithe, 
We may hear Eis ringing scythe. 

Time, the mower, cuts down all, 
£[igh and low, and great and small : 
Fear him ijot, for we will grow 
Beady like the field we mow ; 
Like the bending barley lithe, 
Beady for Time's whetted soytha 



■^^^^•^•f>K«^v«^% 



3 £t£;{)op on ^uvU Wiork* 




IT a " supper " recently given to cab- 
men and others, the Bishop of 
Gloucester, who was present, 
said: 

"No doubt all of them had plenty to 
do all day long, from early morning till 
late in the evening, and there was a pres- 
sure upon them for earning daily bread and 
doing daily duties. The pressure of work 
was a very, serious pressure indeed; and 
he could speak feelingly on that subject, 
because, though it had pleased God so to 
order it that he had not to work for his daily 
bread, yet he had to work almost incessantly. 
He arose sometimes before the day opened, 
and when night closed upon bim it found 
him as tired out a man as any one of them ; 

A WISE WOMAN. 

A woziAH who has tried the experiment says: 
*^ When a man finds a place that is pleasanter 
to him than his own home his wife should 
put two extra lumps of sugar in his coffee, 
and double the quantity of sunshine in the 
front room." 



and so he could speak feelingly of hard 
work. 

" Bat hard work was very good in many 
ways. It kept them engaged in what they 
were about; and it kept them from many 
evil and bad things. There was a great 
blessing in real hard work : but he was 
afraid it did not always leave them time 
wherewith to look upward. 

"Ho believed it was the object of the 
meeting that night to encourage them to 
look upward. Whether it was the work 
of hands looking after horses or the work 
of the drivers, it could be better done if 
there were an upward look to Him who has 
said that man must labour by the sweat of 
his brow." 

A POLITE MAN. 

Tub Duo de Morny's definition of a polite 
man is the hardest to realize of any ever 
given. ''A polite man," said he, "is one 
who listens with interest to things he knows 
all about, when they are told by a person 
who knows nothing about them." 



SOME WORDS. 



BT OBI WBO «iS TBKBI. 
I. AT LAMBETH PALACE. 



I Sonda; School Cen- 
Dary meetings and oele- 
'ationa in London and all 
rer the ooantiy bare been 
r too numeroas for na to 
TO any details of them in 
omfl WotA», but we ronat 
make an exoeption of the Lambeth Palace 
gatherinf^. 

Thia gathering, in response to the Arch- 
bishop or Canterbnry's kind invitaCioti, will 
certainly never be forgotten by those who 
were there. The morning honra were spent 
in hope and fear, for although the snn now 
and then ahone splendidly, the douda floated 
ominoaaly and the threatening showers de- 
scended. Jnatwhen the schools were gather- 
ing a downponr seemed likelf to envelope 
the whole of the prooeedings in a conclnsive 
wst blanket. With true British determina- 
tion, however, the yeangstors kept their ranks, 
what nmbrellas there were becoming common 
property in the attempt to cover as many as 
possible. 

Josb when the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs in 
State appeared, to the delight of everybody a 
gleam of retnrning sanshine welcomed the 
brilliant cavalcade. In driving ronnd the 
Falaoe grounds the Lord Mayor was reoeired 
with enthusiastic shoiitg, bnt the attending 
civic officials " arrayed in gorgeona robes " 
evidently made the chieT impression npon 
the wondering scholars, A toach of the 
lodioroas excited their risible bonifies when 
these exalted personages, passing nnder the 
bonghs of a tree which hung over the drive, 
were constrained to malce a very nndigoiBed 
"dip" to escape the loss of their remark- 
able and striking head-gear. 

The reaction, after the dread of total failore, 
helped wonderfully to inspirit everybody, and 
the programme daly commenced with the 
nnited singing of the grand " Old Hondrcdtb," 
accompanied by the Band of the Qrenadier 
Ooards. The spectacle vraa certainly one 
never to be forgotten. Twenty thoasand 
children, representing 320 schools, are not 



oRen aesD together; and the drcnmstanoM 
and associations of thia gathering were eo 
exceptional that the very thonght of Baikea' 
" grain of mustard seed " was enongh to tnne 
every mind and heart to praise and thankfnl- 

An address fWim the Charch of England 
Sunday School Institute, and a Gold Medal — 
with an open Bible and the words " Feed My 
Iambs " engraved on it — were presented to 
the Arohbiahop by the Rev. J. F. KiLto (Rec. 
tor of Wbitecfaapel], and his Grace then pro- 
ceeded, with the Bishop of Bodiester, the 
Bishop of London, Lord Hatherley.and many 
others, to inspect the assembled schoola. 
The Archbishop's fatherly glance of interest 
in them alt was perh^s mtre effective than 
any lengthened speech could have been, even 
supposing it had been possible for the voice 
to reach the dense multitade. 

Presently the shoals of the children, the 
hoisting of the Boyal Standard, and the 
atruns of the National Anthem, announced 
the arrival of the Prince and Princess of 
Wales, the Kiag of Greece, Prinoe Albo-t 
Yiotor, Prince George, and the Princeasea 
Loniae, Victoria, and Kand of Wales. After 
the Koyal party had been welcomed, the 
Prince of Wales was presented with flowers 
for his batten-hole, and the Princess with a 
bonqnet, by the 8anday>schoo1 scholars, who 
also presented to the yonng Princes and 
Princesses Bibles and Prayer>Books bought 
with their penny subscriptions. 

After another hymn came the march-past 
of all the schools. The procession was pre- 
ceded by several school bands. The fifes 
and dmms were especially admired, and the 
yonng players received a warm tribute of 
applause. One of the marches played by the 
Grenadiers was " Onward, Christian soldiers," 
and this hymn was sung with an effect inde- 
scribably striking, the Prince of Wales beat- 
ing time with bis hand. Several preeen- 
tatigns were made bj the Arobbishop. 
Amongst others thns honoured, were Uie 
Ber. J. F. Kitto, the ChMrman of the Insti- 



HOME WORDH. 



Lute 1 Mr. Jolin Folmer, the' secretarj ; Mr. 
A. R. PonneTatfaer, who, with Mr. C. J. Glass, 
orgtuiEed and directed the gathering; Oap- 
M'Hard;, B.£,, who laid out the ground ; and 
the Bev. Bandall Davidson, who completed 
the work of arrangement. 



The Bojal part; soon after then lelt \\\a 
^oanda; and as each carringe drove away, 
the heart;^ cheers of the scbotara afforded a 
good pledgB of English lojalty aa one of the 
lesions effectnallf taught in onr Snnday- 
Echoota. 



11. STATUES OP ROBERT RAIKES. 



Two Staines of Boberb Uaikes will com- 
memorate the Centenary, one in London, the 
other in Gloncester. 

The London broiiEe statue stands on the 
Yictoria Thames Embankment. It is the 
work of Mr. Brock, a pnpil of Ur. Foley. It 
represents Baikes in the costnme of his own 
day, standing erect, snd teaching from a 
book — the Bible — which he holds in one band, 
while with the other he emphasises the lesaon. 
The coat of the work, £1700, has been raised 
by ahoQt 400 Snn day-schools. 

The model of the Gtoaceater etatae, which 
is U) be of marble, was nnveiled in tlie Shire 
Hall by the Earl of Shaftesbuir, in the pre- 
sence of the Biahop of Gloucester and tho 
Mayor and Corporation. The model, of which 
we give an engraving, consists of two figarea 
— Bobort Baikes, eight feet foar inches in 
height, and a little girl who is nestling dose 
to hia aide, and over whom he baa thrown 
his right arm with an air of protecting Idnd- 



neaa. Tlie attitude of Baikes is very striking. 
He is atanding on the left leg with the right 
advanced; with his left hand he holds "The 
Book " closely pressed to his heart. Tho 
face is open and beaming with the love and 
kindness which was so eminently characteris- 
tic of the man. The whole design ia a very 
happy one, and peculiarly adapted to the 
character of Baikes. The scnlptora arc 
Mossra. W. and T. Wills, of London. The 
marble atatne is to be placed in the Cathedral 
near the western entrance. 

Mr. Henry JeS'a, of Gloucester, who origi- 
nated and carried through the monument and 
statue to the martyred Biahop Hooper twenty 
jeara ago, ia the aecretary of the Statne 
Fund, towarda which he has himself sob- 
scribed £50. Tho entire cost is to be £1000; 
and we may add that Mr. Jeffs will be very 
glad to receive any snma that onr reader.", 
yonng or old, inay be disposed to send him. 
Don't forget that pence make pounds. 



Cantors at £rst. 



Condor is peculiar to 
I New Worid, but it 
iroachea very closely to 
ivnltnreaoftheoldConti- 
it. The immense moun. 
n of the Andes, which 

. „..„ .D the continent of South 

America, ia the native stronghold where 
tbeae birda dwell aecnrely. There, in the 
regions of perpetual anow, and of terrific 
Btorma, 15,000 feet above the level of the sea, 
on some isolated pinnacle or crag, the Con- 
dor rears ita brood, and looks down on the 
plains beneath, jet far away, for food. 
Thongh here these birds 6nd their home, 
•,hey bnild no neat, bnt deposit their eggs 



{Stt IWnKrad'on, Tagt 209.) 

on the naked rocks, without aurronnding 

them either with straw or leaves. 

Of all birds the Condor mounts highest 
into the atmosphere. Humboldt describes 
the Sight of it in the Andes to be at least 
20,000 feet above thb level oF the aea. He 
says it is a remarkable circumstance that 
this^ird, which continues to fly abont in 
regions where the air ia ao rareGed, deacends 
all at once to the edge of the sea, and thas 
in a few miciutes passes through all tha 
variations of climate. 

When driven by hunger, the Condor de- 
acends into the plains, but leaves them aa 
soon as its appetite ia aatisSed. Like the 
rest of its specie?, it subsists on carrion, and 



CONDORS AT JiEST. 



209 



often goTgea itself so h to become inoajHible 
of flight. The Indiana, irho are well acqutuD' 
ted with this effect of voracity, torn it to 
accoont in the cbaae. For this purpose they 
expose the dead body of a horse or a cow. 
Some of the Condors, which are generally 
horering in the air in search of food, are 
speedily attracted. As soon as they have 
glotted themselves on the carcase, the Indians 



my party told me that, seeing the Condors 
hovering in the wr, and knowing that several 
of them wonld be gorged, he hnd also ridden 
ap to the dead horse, and that as one of 
theso enormoas birds flew aboot fifty yardy 
off, and was unable to go any farther, he 
rode up to him, and then jumping off bis 
horse, seized him by the neolc. The contest 
was eitroordinary, and the enconnter nocx- 




make their appearance, armed with the lasso : 
and the Condors being nnable to escape by 
flight, are puraned and caught by this Hinga- 
lor weapon. 

Sir Francis Head says : " In riding along 
the plain, I passed a dead horse, about which 
were forty or fifty Condors. Many were 
gorged and unable to fly ; several were stand, 
ing on the gronnd, deTouring the oaroase, 
the rest hoi-orinti nbont it,. Later on one 



peoted. Ho two adveraariea can well be 
imagined less lilcely to meet than a Cornish 
miner and a Condor, and few oould have 
calculated a year ago, when the one was 
hovering high above the snowy pinnacles of 
the Cordillera, and the other was many 
fathoms beneath the surface of the gronnd 
in Cornwall, that they would ever meet to 
wrestle and " hug " upon the wide deRert 
plain of Tilla Ticenoia. 



HOME WORDS. 



Uj companion said he had never bad snch 
a battle in bis life ; that bo put his knee upon 
the bird's breast, and tried with all his 
strength to twist his neck ; bat that the Con< 
dor, objecting to this, struggled violentlj. 
Sevenl othera were fljing over bis bead, and 
he expected they would also attack him. At 
last, he uud, he succeeded in killing bia 
antagonist, and with great pride showed me 
the large feathers from his wings ; but, when 



the third horseman oams in. he told ns he 
bad found the Condor in the path, bnt not 
quite dead." 

As to tho precise siie of the bird there 
have been contradictoTj ooconnts. Hnmboldt, 
however, met with none that went beyonil 
nine feet, and was assured by man; credible 
inhabitants of Quito, they had never shot an; 
that meosarod more than eleven. 



Soiiaff Colter; tst, tbt Victors aaimli. 

BT 1. L. 0. I.| AUTHOB OF " FKBCBPTB IN FBACTICE," ITfl. 

CHAPTHB I. 

ALIE ADD JOBNSr. 



A.S COLTEB was as gal- 
lant an old seaman as ever 
lailed on salt water. He 
ma kind and generons 
ilso,and would have shared 
lis last ehilling or his last 
jTuat with anj poor crea- 
ture who required it. Jonas loved his Bible 
and loved hii church, and might have been 
Hoen regularly every Sunday morning with 
his book under liis arm stumping along with 
hi> wooden leg, on his way to the house of 
prayer. But Jonaa had one sad failing — 
rather should I call it one great sin, for " an 
angry man stirreth up strife, and a furious 
manabonndetb in transgression." He had 
no aort of command over his temper, and 
that temper was an nnoommonly bad one. 

" There are many exonses to be made for 
him," hia sister, Mrs. Uoiris, weald often 
aay. " Just think what a rough life he has 
led, and bow mooh he has had to safTer. If 
bis temper rises sometimes like a gale of 
wind, like a gale of wind it is soon over I " 

"Bat, Ifte a gala of wind, it leaves its 
effects behind it 1 " obserrect a neighbour, 
when this remark was repeated to biro. " I 
shan't care to call often at Ure. Morris's 
boose whils her bear of « brother makes it 
his den I " 

There were perhaps none on earth whom 
Jonas loved better than Johnny and Alio, the 
children of his sister ; and yet none snffbred 



more &om bis fierce and ungovemed temper. 
They feared him more than tbey loved him ; 
and notwithstanding the many little present* 
which he made them, and the many little 
kindnesses which he showed them, bis ab- 
sence, when be left home, was always felt as 
a relief. It is impossible to regard with tlie 
greatest affection one who puts yon in per- 
petual fear, or to feel quite happy with a 
companion whose smile may in a moment be 
changed to a firown, whose pleasant talk to a 
passionate burst. 

Johnny, though oonsidered a oourageons 
boy, was afraid of rousing his ancle ; and if 
to him Jonas was an object of fear, to Alie he 
was an object of terror. Alie was one of tbe 
most timid little creatures in the village. 
She would go a long way round to avoid pie- 
sing a large dog, was uneasy at the sight of 
a turkey-oock, and never dared so much as 
raise her eyes if a stranger happened to 
address her. It was not only from the tem- 
per of her nnole that poor little Alie now 
suffered; Johnny, while himself annoyed it 
theVoughness of Jonas, with the imitative dis- 
position of youth, began in a certain degree 
to copy it. He knew that the old SMler wu 
thought generous and brave, and therefore 
wished to be like him; but made the very 
common mistake of imitators, — fc^owed hint 
ratlier in hia defects than in those things 
which were worthy of admiration. Ferhapa 
Johnny also tried to hide fhim lumself and 
others how much he was oowed by his nnole, 
by assuming a blustering manner bimsetr. 
This is so ofben DQoonsdonsly done, that when- 



JONAS COLTER; OR, THE VICTORY GAINED, 



211 



ever I see a bally I am inclined to suspect 
tbat I am looking at a coward. 

Alio was fond of listening to her uncle's 
sea-stories, — "long yarns/' as he called 
them, — but only if she could listen nnob- 
serred. Her fayourite place was the win- 
dow-seat, where she could draw the eurtain 
before her to screen her from observation. 
To be suddenly addressed by her uncle was 
enough to make the timid child start. 

Jonas had many curiosities from foreign 
parts, which it amused the children to see, — 
dried sea-weed, reptiles in bottles, odd speci- 
mens of work done in straw by savages in 
some distant islands with unpronounceable 
names. These treasures were never kept 
under lock and key; it was quite enough 
that they belonged to the terrible Jonas ; no 
one was likely to meddle much with his goods, 
lest he should " give 'em a bit of his mind." 

"Alie," cried Johnny one morning, when 
the children happened to be alone in their 
uncle's little room, " where on earth have you 
put my ' Bobinson Crusoe ' P " 

"IP" said the little girl, looking up inno- 
cently from her work ; " I have not so much 
as seen it." 

« Look for it then ! " cried the boy, in the 
loud coarse tone which he had too faithfully 
copied from his uncle. 

Little Alio was plying her needle dili- 
gently, and her brother had nothing to do ; 
but she was muoh too timid to remonstrate. 
She set down her work, and moved quietly 
about the roem, glancing behind this thing 
and under that ; while Johnny, stretched at 
full length on the floor, amused himself with 
chucking up marbles. 

^ There it is 1 " ci-ied Alie at last, glancing 
upwards at a high shelf, on which were ranged 
divers of Jonas's bottles. 

** Gkt it down ! " said the boy, who, to judge 
by bis tone, thought himself equal to an ad- 
n^iral at the least 

''I don't think that I can," replied Alie; 
" I can't reach the shelf » and there's another 
book and heavy bottle too on the top of 
' Bobinson Crusoe.' " 

" Goose ! can't you get a chair P " was the 
only reply vouchsafed. 

Alie slowly dragged a heavy chair to the 
■pot, while Johnny commenced singing-* | 



" Britons never, never shall be slaves ! " 

considering of course as exceptions to the rule 
all gentle, helpless, little British girls, who 
happened to have strong, tyrannical 
brothers. 

" There 1 —mind I — take care what you're 
about! " he cried, as he watched Alie's efforts 
to accomplish the task for which she had 
hardly sufficient strength or height Scarcely 
were the words uttered when down with a 
crash came the bottle and the books, almost 
upsetting poor Alie herself ! 

Johnny jumped up from the ground in an 
instant 

" What is to be done I " he exclaimed, look- 
ing with dismay at the broken bottle, whose 
green contents* escaping in all directions, was 
staining the floor and also the book, which 
was one of Jonas's greatest treasures. 

" Ob, what is to be done I " repeated poor 
Alie, in real distress. 

Johnny felt so angry with himself, that he 
was much inclined, after his usual fashion, 
to vent his anger upon his sister. Seeing, 
however, that they were both in the same 
trouble, and that it had been occasioned by 
his laziness in making the little girl do what 
he ought to have done himself, he repressed 
his indignation, and turned his mind to the 
means of remedying the eviL 

^'My uncle will be in a downright tem- 
pest!" he exclaimed; "what say you to a 
good long walk right off to the &rm, to get 
out of the way of his fury P " 

'* It would be just as bad when we came 
back ! " said Alie dolefully, stooping to pick 
up the injured book. 

" Don't touch it ! " cried Johnny authorita- 
tively ; " don't get the stain on your dress as 
well as on everything else. I have hit on a 
famous plan. We'll shut up the cat in the 
room, then go on our walk, and no one on 
earth will guess that she did not do the 
mischief." 

'< Oh, but, Johnny, would it be right P " 

*< Bight! fiddlestick!" cried the boy. 
" Put on your bonnet and be quick, while I 
look for Tabby in the kitchen." 

Alie had great doubts whether she ought 
to obey, but she was frightened and confused, 
and accustomed to submit to the orders of 
her brother; and, after aUi her uncle wm bo 



213 



HOME WORDS. 



«« 



« 



fond of the cat, that it was likely to snfier 
much less from his anger than any other 
oreatare would have done. 

Tabby was soon canght, and placed on the 
floor near the broken bottle. Jobnny dipped 
one of her paws in the fluid, to serve as 
farther evidence against her, and then came 
out of the little room. 

" I must get out my work— I left it there," 
said Alio. 

" Go in quickly, and get it then," replied 
Johnny. 

Alie went in, and returned with the work, 
but stood hesitating before she quitted the 
room, looking back with her hand on the 
lock. 

" Oh, Johnny 1 Tabby is licking it up ! " 

" So much the better ! ** cried he ; " her 
whiskers will tell tales of her then ! " • 

But, Johnny ^" 

Come quickly I I can't stand waiting for 
you all the day I " exclaimed the boy ; ^ uncle 
may be back before we get off ! " 

These words quickened the movements of 
Alie : and she closed the door with a sigh. 

Very grave and silent was the child during 
the whole of that long walk ; very grave and 
silent daring her visit to the farm. Johnny 
first laughed at her nonsense, as he called it, 
and then grew irritable and rude, after the 
example of his uncle. The walk home was a 
Tory unpleasant one to Alie. 

But more unpleasant was the arrival at 
home. The first sight which met the 
children's eyes, on their return, was poor 
Tabby stretched out lifeless on the floor of 
the kitchen, and their uncle bending over 
her with a flushed face and knitted brow; 
while their mother, who stood beside him, 
was Tainly endeavouring to calm him. 

" Accidents will occur, dear brother '* 

" There has been gross carelessness some- 
where," growled the sailor; and turning 
suddenly round towards the children, whom 
he now first perceived, he thundered out to 
Johnny, "Was it you, sir, who shut the cat 
into my room P " 

"No," answered Johnny very promptly; 



then he added, *' Alie and I have been out a 
long time ; we have been all the way to the 
farm." 

" I may have shut the door myself," said 
the mother, "without knowing of the cat 
being in the place." And, to turn the 
8aiIor*s mind from his loss, she continued, 
"Tm going up to the village, Jonas, and 
I've a very large basket to carry; Johnny's 
just come off a long walk, or ^" 

" I'm your man I " cried the sailor ; ** III 
help you with your load. Just wait a few 
minutes till I've buried this poor thing in 
the garden. I shouldn't like the dogs to get 
at her, — though 6he*s post feeling now, poor 
Tabby ! " And as the stern, rough man 
stooped, raised his dead favourite, and carried 
it away, Alie thought that she saw something 
like moisture trembling in his eye. 

"Alie," said her mother, "go into that 
room, and carefully collect the broken pieces 
of the bottle which poor Tabby managed to 
knock off the shelf; and wash that part of 
the floor which is stained by the liquid : be 
attentive not to leave a drop of it anywhere; 
for the contents of the bottle was deadly 
poison, and I cannot be too thankful that the 
cat was the only sufferer." 

Alie obeyed with a very heavy heart. She 
was grieved at the death of Tabby, grieved 
at the vexation of her uncle, — most grieved 
of all at the thought that she had not acted 
openly and conscientiously herself. 

When she returned to the kitchen, she 
found Johnny its only occupant, her moiher 
and uncle having set off for the village. 

" I say, Alie," cried Johnny, " wasn't it 
lucky that uncle asked me instead of you 
about shutting the cat in P 'Twas you that 
closed the door, you know." 

"Oh, Johnny ! " said his sister, " I feel so 
unhappy about it ! I wish that I had told 
mother everything, — I don't think that I 
could have spoken to uncle. It seems jast 
as if I were deceiving them both !" 

" Nonsense !" cried Johnny, in a very loud 
tone ; " you ought to be too happy that the 
storm has blown over! " 



{^o he conttntftfd.) 






tARTH below is teem- 
ing. 
^^.. Heaven is bright 
""^ abore; 
JCrery brow is beaming 

In the light of love; 
Every eye rejoioes. 

Every thoaght ia praise; 
Happy hearta and voices 
Gladden nights and days. 

Every youth wad maiden, . 

On the harveet plain, 
Bannd the waggons laden 

With their golden grain. 
Swell the happy choms. 

On the evening air. 
Unto Him who o'er na 

fiends with constant care. 
For the sun and showers. 

For the rain and dew, 
For the nurtaring hours 

Spring and summer knew; 
For the golden autumn. 

And its preoiODS stores. 
Praise we Him who brought 

Teeming to our doors. 
Eai-th's broad harveut wUi- 
tens 

lu a brighter sun ; 
Tbon the orb that lightens 

All we tread upon ; 
Send oat labourers, Father ! 

Where fields ripening 




JHEY JOY pEfORE JKI, ;^CCORDINa TO THE JOY )H JiARVEST. 




BOMM WORDS. 



Ctrnpcrana SiM, antrtiotts, ana Jignrw. 

ROX TBI KDITOB'fl NOTB-BOOK. 



XXfll. THB POWER OF 



ftAMELIH, the veU- 
known pliilo«oph«r and 
aathor of Poor Biokwd's 
Almanac" worked for 
eome jrwn aa a jonmej- 
man printer in London. 
In hia antobiognph; be 

" From laj aumple a great many of the 
workmen left off their muddling breakfast 
of boer and bread and cheese, finding thc^ 
oonld, like mjaelf, be sapplied from a neigh- 
bonring haaae with a large porringer of hot- 
water gmel, sprinkled with pepper, cmmbled 
with bread, and a bit of bntter in it, for tbe 
price of a pint of beer ; vis., three-halfpence. 
Tbia was a more comfortable as well as a 
cheaper breakfast, and kept their heada 
clearer." 



SPBACDia at the annnal meeting of the Iriab 
Temperance League in Bel&st, in 1862, Dr. 
Gathrie said: — 

" I was first led to form a high opinion of 
the canse of Temperance by the bearing of 
an Irishman. It is now eome twentf-two 
years ago. I had left Omagh on a bitter, 
biting, blasting day. with laahiog rain, and 
had to tiavel across a cold oonntr; to Cooks- 
town. Well, by the time we got over half 
the road, we reached a small inn, into whioh 
we went, as sailors in stress of weather ran 
into the first haren. B; this time we were 
soaking with water oatside, and as these were 
the days not of tea and toast, bat ot toddy- 
drinking, we rnshed into the inn, ordered 
warm water, and got onr tnmblers of toddy, 

" We thoaght that what was ' sance for the 
goose was aance for the gander' — bnt the 
oar-drlfer was not snch a gander as we, like 



geese, took him for. B» would w>( (a«& it. 
■Whyr' we asked; 'what obgeotiui hkve 
yon t ' Said he, ' Flaie yonr riv'renoe, I am ■ 
teetotaller, and I won't taste a drop of iL' 

Well, that stnck in my throat, and it west to 
my heart, and (in another sense than drink, 
thoi^h !) to my head. There was a hnmble, 
oncoltiTated, nnedncated carman; and I 
said, if that man can deny himaelf tliis in- 
dotgenoe why should not I, a Christian 
minister F I remembered that ; and I have 
ever remembered it to the hononr of Ireland. 
I bare often told the story, and thonght of 
the example set by that poor Irishman for 
oar people to follow. I carried home the 
remembrance of it with me to Edinburgh. 
That cironmstance, along witii the scenea in 
which I was called to laboor daily for years, 
made me a teetotaller." 

XXV. A NOBLEMAN'S TESTIMONY. 

Thk late Earl Stanhope, who was a total 
abstainer for many years, once said : — 

" Ify &ther was a weakly child. He was 
taken early to Qensra, when a celebrated 
medical professor, who had formerly beoa a 
popil of the great Boerhaave, was oonanlted 
on his case. He advised that he should 
nse much exertion, and drink nolJiing btU 
tealer. He adhered strictly to that advice: 
and when, in after years, hia habits became 
more sedentary, he still used only water. He 
beoame clear and vigoroas in his Tarioos 
energies of body and mind, and exerted his 
fhoalties almost to the last moments of his 
life. Uy grandfather was aleo a water- 
drinker, and even at the age of seventy-two 
devoted several hoars a day to abstmse 
mathematical studies. Vy gnuidmotfaer 
drank only water, and enjoyed the use of all 
her ordinary faculties nnlil near her diasoln- 
tion, which took place when ahe was ninety* 
two years of age." 



THE YOUNG FOLKS' PAGE. 



«xS 



Clbe i^oung jToI&fiS" $age< 




XXVIII. THE THRESHER. 

Q I hJa UmlM Are lirong as boaghB of oak. 
And biB fehewi like links of maU I 
How his qniok breath streama whileroand 
him gleama 
^th a whirl hie inigb^ flail I 

Ttor it's thnmp, thnmp, thnmp^ with right good will. 

From mom till aet of eon } 
And his arm and flail wiU nerer ttSi 

TiU his daUy taak be done. 

With the first glad birds that baa (he mom 

He is up at work amiun, 
Till the old ban& floor is coTsred o'er 

With the sweet and pearlj grain. 

Oh I bJs heart is light as hearts win be 

With a purpose good and strong. 
And his strokes keep time to oatoh the chime 

Of his blithely carolled song. 

For it^s thnmp^ thnmp, thnmp, wifii right good will. 

From mom till set of son ; 
And his am and flail will nsYer Ml 

Till his daUy task be done. 

While the boys that 'mid the oom-stacks hide 

Scho back his gleesome lay. 
As they toss the chalT, and shout and laugh 

In the golden noon of day. 

Bat a lesson they msy read and leam. 
And the Thresher makee it plain : 
For the chaff he finds he glTCs to the winds» 
Bat he gamers np the grain. 

Th<m it's worl^ work, work, with a right good will. 

And store the sheaves of tmth ; 
Fktnn the ifredons seed striks hade and weed. 

In the Harrest time of Yoath. Q. Bsnrsn. 

XXIX. THE HEART MELTED. 

A ssucT, stabbom girl, who had resisted both reproofs 
and correction, and who refused to ask forgiveness of 
tier mother, was melted by Mr. Baikes* ssjing to her :— 



" Well, if yoa have no regard for yonxwli^ I have mnoh 
fat yon ; yoa will be rained and lost if yoa do not become 
agoodgirlj and if yoa will not hxmible yonrselt I most 
bnmbls myself^ and make a beginnixig for yoa." He 
then, with mnoh solemnity, entreated the mother to for- 
give her. This overcame the girl's pride ; she barst into 
tears, and on her knees begged forgiveness, and never 
gave any troable afterwards. 

XXX. OUR NEIGHBOUR. 

Do yon know what the word " kind * means P Take the 
word ''kin." The meaning of that is a rtlstion. Put 
the ** d" to it^ it means " fcind," then you are to be \inia, to 
everybody becanse everybody is related to yoa. Bvery- 
body is year brother and sister. In all the world, we are 
brotkiers and sisters, all of as. Tho^fore all men are 
"year kin: " yoa most be kind to all; be like a \iMtMkn 
to alL *' Kind " means '•' kin ; " and eveiybody almost is 
"yoor neighboor," because yoa can 9^ near to almost 
everybody. If yoa like, yoa may ssy, everybody is yonr 
kin. Therefore yoa most be kind to yoor neighboor; kind 
to eveiybody. 

In a street of a town there was stsnding on the top of a 
hill that went down the street, a wagon, and there were 
four fine strong horses harnessed to it. In the front of the 
wagon a board ran across from axle to axle, Mid on this 
board was sitting a little boy. The driver of the wagon 
went away for something, and there was nothing left on 
this large board but this poor litUe boy. 

While he wss sitting there, something frightened the 
horses, and they set oft fliU gallop down the hill. There 
was a terrible cry : the poor little boy cried, and every- 
body was alarmed and frightened. But tiiere was a 
woman there, and this womsn cried out^ "Stop the 
wagon I stop the wagon I " 

Some men ran t^ter it, and tried to stop it : but there 
was an old man there, a cold-hearted old man, like an 
icicle—a cold, old icicle— and this cold old man said to 
the woman, " What are you making such a fhas aboot it 
for? is he your child P" *' No." said the woman, *' but fc«'t 
Mm«body*s child— that's the same thing," That woman 
had " love to her neighbour." 



^^0m09^t0t0m0^^m^»^^tm 



VI THS BIOHT BXy. THB LOBD BISHOP OT BODOB AND Kill. 



BIBLB QUBBTIONB. 

1. T^OW is it alone that we can see the things of heaven? 
kk and who waa permitted to have a practical realissp 
tion of the truth P 

5. Did people imagine at the time that Kebnohadnesaar 
would ever be able to capture Jerusalem P 

3. What remarkable references have we in prophecy to 
the feet of JeeosP 

4. What kind of treatment did Joseph experience in 
prison at the hand of God and at the hand of man P 

6. Who showed his faith by looking upon disease as 
beiofrsimply God's servant P 

6. what aro the sacrifices which we are called to oflbr 
in the Christian Ohuroh, and in wliich the Lord delights P 

7. Had BL John aoy special object in writing the Gospel 
which bears his nameP and in what way is his ust 
Epistle supplemental to itP 

8. There were two men of the same name, Who by the 
prec«Dce and work of Christ, were led, the one to question 



his own character, the other the diaraoter of the Lord— 
who were they P 

9. Who is uis least perfect kind of oharacter to deal 
withP 

10. When shall the salvation of the believer be fully 
completed P 

11. What was dene on the return from the Captivity to 
make the people thoroughly acquainted with the word of 
GodP 

la. When did a look from the Lord give strength P and 
when did it give repentance P 

ANSWBBS (Bee Auevsv No., page 191). 

I. It is not said that God saw that it was good. II. ICark 
V. 19. III. Ps. ovi. 46. IV. 1 Chron. ili. 1. V. Acts viU. 
26; ix. 11; X. 82. VI. Acts v. 11 ; ix. 42. VH. Exod. xxxiii. 
18 ; Luke ix. 90, 31. Vin. 1 Cor. i. 90, 91 ; iii. 31-W. IX. 
Luko ix. 85 ; soe a Pet i. 17. X. 1 Kings vili. 41-43; Acts 
U. 10. XI. Luke vUi. 46. XU. 1 Kings xxU. 80, 38. 






wo 





FOR 



%tm ami H^ftitti 



fe-^ 




€bt l^tbi George ®btrar)i> iH*a> 

VICAK OF ST. MABK'S, WOLVERHAMPTON. 



^ 



HE Rov. George Everard 
is widelj known as a 
mission preacher, and 
BiUl more widely as an 
anthor. He is also highly 
esteemed as a hard work- 
ing and zealons pastor 
in iho parish of Sfc. Mark's, Wolrer- 
hamptoiiy where he has laboured for about 
twelve years. 

His early education was received at the 
Manchester Grammar School. After leav- 
ing the school he was for about two years 
engaged in commercial pursuits. At this 
iimcy in the year 1846, he received re- 
ligions impressions which proved the turn- 
ing point inhis life. His plans and prospects 
were changed, and in 1847 he entered St. 
John's College, Cambridge. Here he 
obtained a scholarship which he held during 
the four years of residence; and in the 
Mathematical Tripos of January, 1^51, his 
name appeared as the Sixth Senior Op- 
iime. ^ 

In 1852 he was ordained to the curacy of 
Christ Church, Bamsgate, where he en- 
joyed the privilege of labouring with the 
Bev. Canon Hoare, now Vicar of Holy 
Trinity Parish, Tunbridge Wells. Soon 
after he became chaplain of the Isle of 

TOLi X. HO. X. 



Thanet Union. In 1854 ho took the curacy 
of Trinity Church, Marylebone, thus gain- 
ing the experience of a working clergyman 
in the Metropolis. His last curacy was at 
St. Mary's, Hastings, with the well-known 
devoted and highly gifted Vicar, the Ilev. 
Thomas Vores. 

In 1858 he was appointed to the vicarage 
of Framsden in Suffolk. This post he held 
for ten years, at the end of which period 
he was nominated to St. Mark's, Wolver- 
hampton. The church in this parish is a 
good, modem building, and will seat 
about 1,400 persons. The various agencies 
of parochial machinery are in active 
operation, and those who wish to see what 
the Church of England can do when her 
system is fairly and faithfully worked 
should pay a visit to St. Mark's. A large 
Mission Room has been erected, in con- 
nection with which there is a band of 
devoted workers who every Sunday night 
gather in a large number of those who 
seldom are found within the walls of a 
church; and, as indicating the life and 
growth of the congregation, we believe 
the communicants number about three 
hundred and fifty. 

We have said that Mr Everard is widely 
known as a mission preacher. As a rule, 

L 2 



220 



SOME WORDS. 



it is no doubt best for each pastor to 
abide continually with his own flock; bnt 
without going so far as the Weslejan 
plan of constant periodic change of the 
scene of ministry, we believe a measure of 
change is desirable and profitable both for 
preachers and hearers. Some, however, 
are manifestly specially gifted ''for the 
work of an evangelist/' and Mr. Everard is 
one of these. His persuasive and winning 
influence, "speaking the truth in love,*' 
gains him a ready welcome; and the 
recollections of his visits are treasured 
memories in many parishes. Moreover, 
the members of the home coDgregaiion 
are, wo believe, not only not losers by 
the occasional absence of their pastor, but 
gainers. He returns to them with in- 
creased experience, enlarged sympathy, and 
enriched with the prayers of those who 
have profited by his distant ministrations. 
''There is that scattereth and yet in- 
creaseth." 

In 1873 a heavy affliction fell upon the 
family of Mr. Everard ; and three children 
were in quick succession taken from the 
home circle. Since then, in May, 1879, 
another treasure was taken home. " The 
shaft flew thrice, and once again," but the 
Hand that drew the bow knew how to 
bind up the wounded spirit ; and with new 
strength, new power, and new tenderness 
the work of the ministry has been carried 

OD. 

We have yet to refer to Mr. Everard's 
writings. The readers of Home Words have 
for many years been indebted to him as 
a constant and leading contributor to its 
pages. Several of his most popular works 
have been thus first introdaced to public 
notice. Distinctly evangelical in doctrine, 
his books are all characterized by sim- 
plicity, earnestness, and illustrative inci- 
dent aptly introduced to seal and flz the 
lessons drawn. He is thoroughly experi- 
mental and sympathetic. He is one of 
those teachers described by Bunyan when 



he tells us, 'Hhe Sang had commanded 
His servants to make a good passage over 
the Slough of Despond" He loiows how to 
meet the painful doubts, and how to re- 
move the distressing fears which will from 
time to time assail especially young pil- 
grims who are convinced of sin, and are 
just setting out as pilgrims. 

His first book, " Day by Day," was pub- 
lished in 1865. It brings Christian truth 
to bear upon the details of everyday life : 
and presents the Gospel as the true and 
Divine light which alone can direct our 
steps in safety in seasons of danger, tempta^ 
tion, and difficulty. "Not Your Own" 
is a most valuable book for Oonfirmation 
candidates. Too often tracts only are 
given at this important season. Oood as 
they may be, they are soon read and fre- 
quently soon lost; but a suitable book, 
with a kindly word of interest inscribed by 
the pastor, is sure to be treasured for many 
a year. The laity would do well at Con- 
firmation seasons to see that their clergy 
are supplied with funds to enable them 
thus to present useful books as memorials 
of the service. "The Holy Table," a 
small but comprehensive manual for Holy 
Communion, is equally suitable for this 
purpose. " Safe and Happy " is another 
book also intended for the young. It 
is addressed to young women, and is 
especially suitable as a gift to a servant. 
" None but Jesus " is a cheap, evangelistic 
book, and is adapted to carry on the work 
of a mission, by giving suitable counsels 
to inquirers and young beginners, pointing 
out both the path of peace and also that 
of Christian holiness. " Steps Across " 
anticipates the principal hindrances in the 
youthful pilgrim's course, and shows how 
they may be " stepped across." " Little 
Foxes " deals with secret faults and lesser 
sins which are so numerous and dangerous* 
" Beneath the Cross " supplies meditations^ 
counsels, and prayers for oommnnioants^ 
and guards against error by the simplidtj 



THE REV. GEORGE EVERARD, MA. 



221 



of tmth. A zoore recent yolnme^ '' Edie's 
Letter," ia a most suitable gifb for the 
young, presenting religion in its winning 
nspect, — '' ways of pleasantness and patlis 
of peace." " My Spectacles, and What I 
Saw with Them," has just been pub- 
lished. It ia fall of illustrations taken 
from everyday life, and may reach some 
who would not read a more distinctly 
religious book. 

As a cheering tokenof the wide religious 
influence of the printing press, it is grati- 
fying to know that the above works have 
many of them reached a very large cir- 
culation. ^'Not Your Own " has reached 
30,000 ; " Day by Day " and " Safe and 
Happy" upwards of 20,000 each. Alto- 
gether about 100,000 of the larger books, 
and about 250,000 of the smaller books 
and publications have been sold.* 

As a tract writer Mr. Everard might 
almost stand by the side of the new Bishop 
of Liverpool. The titles of his tracts are 
always good. Without being " sensational " 
they are pointed and not easily forgotten ; 
and the substance within is as good as the 
title without. About eighty are on the 
list of the Religious Tract Society. We 
cannot enumerate them ; but we advise our 
readers to obtain " Only Trust Him," and 
** L O. TJ. ," as specimens of the rest. 

Numeroas instances of the usefulness of 
Mr. Everard's works have attested their 



valae, both at home and abroad. In one 
case a copy of " Not Tour Own," trans- 
lated into Tamnl, sold at Penang to ayonng 
*Hindu, led him to Christ, and sent him back 
to his native village in Tinnevelly to help 
the Christian pastor there. In another 
case a young man in Glasgow read " Day 
by Day " ; it proved a blessing to him, 
and he sent a copy of it to each of his eight 
brothers in different parts of the world. 

A copy of " The Four Alls," given away 
in Wolverhampton, was brought back by 
the receiver — after being lent about from 
one to another for a twelvemonth, and 
having been the means of conversion to 
one young person — with a request for 
another copy, as it was too worn to be 
lent further. 

But it is needless to give instances. 
" God's Word," read, spoken, or written, 
never returns to Him void. We can indeed 
only now and then trace the growth of the 
scattered seed ; but we know the Lord of 
the harvest never withholds His blessing : 
and therefore truly spiritual labour can 
never be " in vain in the Lord." If in the 
spirit of humble dependence we "plant" and 
"water" the seed, God will not fail to " give 
the increase." " He that goeth forth, and 
weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubt- 
less como again with rejoicing, bringing 
his sheaves with him." 

Ths Edixob. 



€J)t Mmxtt'a ^ItUi 




HOUGH Imoum trith downcast face, 
Thou canst save mo by Thy grace : 
Though my life is stained with blots, 
Thou canst change the leopard's 
spots: 
Hough my soul is dark as night, 
Thou canst wash the iBthiop white : 



Though the leper's curse I bear. 
Thou canst make me fresh and fair ; 
Though my sins the Saviour killed, 
I may bathe in blood I spilled: 
Guilt and wretchedness are mine. 
But they're lost in grace Divine I 

BlCHABD WiLTOK, M.A 



* We wish the clergy generally would thus aim to utilize the press — at least in their own parishes. 
Ifany would thus be reached who never enter the church itself. Home Words Local Covers ore of the 
grcatest service in this way ; and we would suggest that ev^ cover should contain at least a page of 
'* bzeYities '* from the pastor's sermons. 



HOME WORDS. 



rV. JhB ^AVIOUR'a fRESENCB. 



! BET. W. nOTD CUCPEKTEB, M.A., TIOAB OF C 

?10RD, I hear Thy genUe call I 
Follies, siiiB, I leave them all ; 
I am BtroDg to break iheir 
thrall. 
Lord, if Thou wilt go with ma. 
I would gird me with Thy might ; 
Shield of faith and hreastplate bright 
Thou hast given them for the fight: 
Oh, tDj Sarionr, go with me. 



F CHURCB, PADDDTOTOV. 

Flame and sword may bar my way, 
Taunt and Bueer may bid me stay ; 
I would brave them while I pray, 

Ob, my SaTioor, go with me. 

Pleaanres strew my pathway o'er, 
But Thy love to me is more 
Thau all this world's richest store 
Oh, tny Savioar, go with mo. 



Then wilt watch with loving oare, 
Thou wilt keep through fight and snare, 
Thoa wilt bring me safe to whero 
I shaU ever be with Thee. 



A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIME. 

t EUILT ■. HOLT, ADTUOIt OF "tSB KAIDBKa' LODOB," ETC. 



CHAPTER IX. 



OW long Kate had 
been aaleep she did 
it know, when she aad- 
;nly woke to the know- 
dge that there was a 
w, soft sound in the 
)om. Joan was fast 
asleep and snoring; but Anne, who had been 
in bed berore either of them, was now not 
only np bat dressed. Kate watched her 
quietly, without giving any sign that she 
was awake. There was no need of light, for 
theJauemoonlight was flooding the chamber. 
To Kato's surprise, she saw Anne tie an out- 
door hood over her head, open the door, and 
softly closing it behind her,- creep away. 
Eato lay and listened. The bolt of the outer 
door was removed, almost noiselessly, and, 
apparently some one came in. Low voices 



could be heard below, for some five miontoei 
at the end of which the outer door was 
opened again. Kate spisng out of bed and 
went to the window, which commanded a 
view of the street. She saw dearly by tha 
moonlight a tail female figure wbioh she 
recognised as Anne's, and with her a roui 
who stmek her as being about the height and 
build of Soger Cordlner. At the comer of 
the street, £ate saw them joined by another 
man; and then the three turned the oomer 
and passed out of her sight. 

There was no more sleep for Kate Tread- 
welL By the appearance of the moon sbs 
guessed it to be abont eleven o'clock, a time 
which to her was the middle of the night. 
AH manner of gaessea and bncies surged 
through Kate's brain. Was Anne' running 
away, never to be heard of again F Ought aha 
to have stopped her F Bhonld she rise now. 
and call her brother and sister-in-law, or 
wait to see if Anne retnmedP And what 
should she do, it the girl did come backf ~ 



MRS. TREAD WELL'S COOK. 



223 



For about two honrs Kate lay still and 
thought. Bat her thoughts had not taken 
any determined shape when there came a 
rush of air under the door,— oar forefathers' 
houses were always very draughty, — abd 
Kate felt sure that Anne was coming back. 
More low-toned yoices for a minute, then the 
shutting of the outer door, the noiseless 
opening of the door of the chamber, and 
Anne came in, with the slow step of oneyery 
tired and perhaps very much disheartened. 
She glanced hurriedly at her two companions. 
Joan, who usually made one nap of her 
night's rest, was still in a state of serene un- 
conscioasness ; and Kate shut her eyes the 
instant that Anne glanced in her direction. 
The latter evidently felt reassured. She un- 
dressed quickly and quietly ; but once Kate 
saw her pause a moment, and look upwards 
out of the window, clasping her hands as 
though in deep anguish or fervent prayer. 
Then she lay down softly, and all was still. 

Kate had never found a resolution so diffi- 
cult to frame as on that night. It might be 
the greatest kindness to Anne, or it might 
bo the greatest cruelty, for one word to be 
breathed to Dorothy. If Kate could have 
formed any idea of the reason for such mys- 
terious conduct, her own coarse would have 
been more easy. But she found it impossible 
to guess. Only one fancy kept haunting her 
imagination, which her reason dismissed as 
absard, that the first man whom she had 
seen with Anne was Boger Gordiner. Elate 
scolded herself for thinking such a thing. 
She whispered to her own mind the most 
excellent reasons to the contrary. Boger 
was a thoroughly respectable man, the father 
of a family, one who made a high profession 
of religion ; the last man, as Kate felt, whom 
one would expect to see helping a girl of 
seventeen to commit a foolish or improper 
action. Yet, over and over again, something 
seemed to whisper back to her, '' Ah, but it 
was Boger Gordiner, for all that." 

Love and politics were the only explana- 
tions of the mystery which occurred to Kate ; 
and who would expect to find a conspirator 
in Mrs. Treadwell's cook P 

Kate was still, as John Banyan puts it, 
very much "tumbled up and down in her 
mind/' when the subject of her reflections 



gradually became rather confused, and the 
confusion ended in a blank. The next thing 
of which she was conscious was a hand grasp- 
ing her by the shoulder, and Dorothy's voico 
with : — 

" Gramercy, Kate 1 dost mean to sleep till 
next Sunday f 



i» 



GHAPTEB X 

m'SS ▲ PBISOKEB. 

Slowly K!ate awoke, in all senses, to her 
circumstances. She dressed and came down 
with only one distinct idea in her head, 
namely, that whatever was to be done must 
be done that day. Lucy was expected home 
in the evening, and Lucy was a lively damsel 
of thirteen years, whose eyes and ears were 
everywhere. Kate found all the feminine 
part of the family in the kitchen. Dorothy 
was in a caustic and fault-finding mood, not 
promising for such a revelation as Kate had 
to make. Anne went about her work in a 
quiet, methodical way, as if her hands were 
in it but her head and heart elsewhere. 

At last Joan went off to wash, and Dorothy 
asserted that no earthly power should keep 
her any longer in the kitchen in that heat, 
and she departed to take a nap in the parlour. 
Kate was still undecided how to act, and the 
words which came suddenly from her seemed 
to come without any will on her part : — 

*' Nan, doth it like thee better to take walks 
abroad in the night than in the day P " 

The wooden spoon which was in Anne's 
hand dropped upon the brick floor. Every 
trace of blood fled away from her lips and 
cheeks. The large shining blue-grey eyes 
seemed to grow as she looked, till Kato 
wondered what size they would reach at last. 

" My maid," said Kate very kindly, " it is 
easier to be undone than to amend it." 

The blood came back to the girl's face with 
a sudden rush. 

'' Mistress Kate ! " she said, and then sud« 
denly went on in a hurry with her work. 
" Did you think ihat of me P " 

Kate felt the tone of indignant innocenco 
in a moment. 

" Nay, my maid, but what could I think P " 
she said. 



924 



HOME WORDS. 



** Anjtliing bat that ! '' was Annc'fl ansircr. 

It seemed to Kate noir tbat the mystery 
mast hare Bome other interpretation. It 
WAS not possible to look into those clear, 
bonett eyes, which met hers f ally, and beliere 
Anne otherwise than respectable. 

''My maid, I was right unwilling, trnst 
mo, to think any each thing: bat what el^so 
is there P Thoa art Tery fair, and very 
yoang ; and sach are oft easily led astray." 

Kate was going on, but Aune stopped her 
with a gc stare. 

"Are they so?" slio said. *'I trow not, 
when such have seen all that ihc^ loved laid 
under ten feet of earth below the church 
tower I Mistress, when a maid's heart is dead 
within her, yea need give yon no pain lest she 
should go astray in iliai fashion V* 

** Then what mast I think, Nan P ** 

** Must you think, Mistress Kate P " was 
the demure answer. 

Kato replied by a little laugh, and — "I 
cannot help it, Nan. Am I to count thee a 
conspirator aguinst the peace of our lord 
the King P cr what so P " 

Anne laid down the spoon, and came np 
close to Kate, with great earnestness in her 
eyes. 

'' Mistress Elate," she said, ** could you not 
trust me, and no more P The day may come 
when you will be sorry if you did not." 

Tiio two girls looked silently into each 
other's eyes for a moment. 

** Nan," said Kate, '* how if thou wort to 
trust mo P " 

Anne's shako of the Load was a decided 
negative. 

" Wherefore P " 

''Mistress Kate, yon would not thank 
mo." 

" But could I not help thee P " 

Anne shook her head again. " Only One 
can do that," she said. 

" And doth He not help thee. Nan P " 

"How do I know, Mistress KateP That 
may be holp, in God's purposes, which seems 
none in mine eyes. I can but leave all to 
Him. Yet this muoh will I toll you, mis- 
tress, that you may not think worser of me 
than is truo. I went this lost night to speak 
with my sister. Yet why the matter need be 
kept thus secret, or with whom I went, or 



whither — I do bat beseech yon to imst me, 
for I cannot tell yon. I would if I oovild.'' 

And Anne's face seconded her words. 

** Well, Nan, I wiU trust thee," said Kate, 
after a moment's eonsideration. "Only one 
thing ten me : the man that came hither to 
fetch thee, was it Master CordinerP ** 

A quick flush rose to Anne's dieek, bat 
she hesitated. 

" Nay, snrely. Nan, then mayest tmst me," 
urged Kate. ''I would none harm at all to 
my sister's cousin.** 

''Trust for tmst," said Anne In a low 
voice. "Aye, Mistress Kate; it was Master 
Cordiner." 

Kate sat for a few moments lost in thought, 
while Anne returned to her work. 

"Nan," she said at last, "if it be as thou 
sayest, might I not help thee, knowing more 
of thy matters P " 

Anne shook her head again with a smile 
which had in it both sadness and pity. 

"Nay» Mistress Kate; you could only 
harm yourself, and that right quickly." 

"I cannot understand thee," said Eato, 
looking at her. 

"Do not wish to understand me," was 
Anne's earnest answer. "Oh, do not wish 
it ! " 

When Dorothy bustled into the kitchen, 
the next minute, she only saw that Anne was 
chopping parsley and that Kate was beating 
eggs. And as Dorothy's eyes were not given 
to searching below the surface of anything, 
nothing occurred to her mind beyond eggs 
and parsley. 

The evening brought Lucy, and Lucy 
brought a birdcage, which held a hapless 
young linnet. The bird was a recent gift from 
one of her cousins, who had limed the poor 
little thing ; and Lucy was determined that 
everybody should express admii*ation of it 
Kate, however, being very tender hearted, 
and more given to thinking wliat othei-s 
would like than most people, while she ad- 
mired the linnet, demurred to the caging of 
it. 

" It should be a deal happier to bo let fly, 
Lucy." 

" Oh, well I but I should not," returned 
selfish Lucy. 

" But if it should not live, my maid P " 



MJ^S. TREADWELLS COOK, 



225 



"Oh, it nLosti take its chance," was the 
careless answer. 

"Poop heart!" said Kate, looking com- 
{mssionately at the liniict. 

At that moment Anne came in, and Lucy 
called ker to come and admire the bird. 
Much to Lncy's astonishment, Anne covered 
her eyes with her hands. 

* Oh no, no I " she said. " I shall love it, 
mietress. Ajid whatever I love will die.** 

Lttcy, who was not particularly addicted 
to loving anybody but herself, gazed at 
Anne with an expression of great surprise. 

** I would fain have Lucy to let the poor 
bird fly,*' said Kate. "What thinkest, 
Nan ? " 

" Gmmercy, Aunt Kate I " exclaimed Lucy. 
•*I am not such a goose 1" 

**Ah, Mistress Lucy, you were ne'er a 
prisoner ! " said Anne, in that low soiTowf ul 
tone of hers. 

"Why should IP I ne'er # did anght 
irrong," was Lucy's self-satisfied reply. 

*'Linocent folk may get into prison, my 
mistress," answered Anne, in the sane tona. 

And Kate, looking into her eyes, felt sure 
that Anne had, at some past time, been in 
that position, — or, if not, had very dearly 
loved some one who was in it. 



CHAPTEB XL 

XAV » THE CIiOAK. 



Aftsr the midnight adventure which had 
cost Kate so much thought, matters seemed 
to sink down into their usual quietness. She 
was not again disturbed by any similar 
event. Nothing, for some time, was seen of 
^ger Cordiner. Break&st, dinner, supper, 
and bed followed each other in regular 
order, and no worse calamity happened to 
disturb the Treadwell peace than a customer 
difi^cult to please, or a little sharpness of 
tongue on the part of Dorothy. 

Lucy was at once interested in Anne, and 
used her eyes and ears with a diligence which 
would have been praiseworthy if she had 
exerted it on a useful object. She had not 
Kate's delicacy of feeling, and she had more 
than Elate's inquisitiveness. She put as 
many direct questions to Anne as would have 



filled a catechism. But, without appearing 
to do so, Anne quietly baffled her at nearly 
every point. The only information she suc- 
ceeded in obtaining was that Anne had a 
mother, and a married sister, both living at 
a distance ; that her father had been a soldier, 
and her brother-in-law followed the same 
calling. Every closer question was parried 
in a style which seemed at the time to answer 
it completely, and yet gave no real inform- 
ation. 

Mrs. Tread well was' hardly so well satisfied 
with her cook as she had been at first. It 
was not from any fault on Anne's part, but 
was due to two discoveries on that of Doro- 
thy. The first was a growing conviction that 
Anne had the more refined nature of the 
two ; and the second was that the girl was 
able to read. Mrs. Tread well, who, like most 
tradesmen's wives of her day, could not read 
a word, took this discovery almost as a per- 
sonal insult. What business had her sei*vaut 
to be better educated than herself? After 
finding out this affront, Dorothy, who had 
little generosity in her dispoeituHi, was per- 
petually throwing out taaata aoneeming it. 
If Anne recommended % particalor mode of 
dressing a dish, she was pretty Bare to be 
told that her mistress had never Bden ftuch a 
t^ing done, but of course she most knock 
under to a fine madam that knew how to 
read. If she suggested that cinnamon would 
be a better fli^vouring than cloves for some 
compound, she was asked in which of her 
great learned books she had found that. 
Kate looked on in perplexity, unable to read 
the meaning of Dorothy's conduct; Lucy 
enjoyed the sparring, and helped it on when 
she could. Anne took it meekly, as some- 
thing beneath her notice. 

Some weeks had passed, when one night, 
not feeling very well, Kate went up to bed 
half an hour earlier than usual. She looked 
out of the window, and by the light of the 
harvest moon discerned a man, wrapped in a 
long cloak, and slowly pacing up and down 
the opposite side of the street. He made 
very short turns, as if he wished to keep 
close to one spot; and at that moment Kate 
heard some one go to the door to hang up the 
lantern. There were then no street lamps 
lit at the public expense, but every house- 



HOME WORDS. 
holder was required tu hang oat a lantern at and Lucj made op by extra talk for the 



hia door when dark had set in. As soon as the 
laDtcni bearer appeared, the man in the cloak 
euddeiilf darted across the narrow streets 
appeared to slip something into her band, 
and then departed at once, walking west- 
wards with hastf strides. Eate felt uo 
doabt at all that Anne had been the bearer 
cf the lantern, and tbat the man had been on 
the look-out for an opportunity to communi- 
cate with her. She thought too that Anne 
must have expected him, for it was not her 
wont to hang ont the lantern, Joan mode 
her appearance upstairs so quickly as to show 
that she had not been the actor in this scene. 
Lacy folloiredi full of chatter, as she general^ 
was. Some minutes more elapsed before 
Anna came. When aha did come, she was 
TorjBilent; bat that was nothing una soal. 



silence of anybody else. She was one of 

those persons so fond of the sound of their 
own dear roices that they never notice 
whether the individoal to whom they speak 
says anything or not. 

Lucy and Joan were soon asleep. Joan 
was a girl of industrious hands and heavy 
head, whom no slight noise was at all likely 
to arouse. Eut now and then the sound of & 
faint sob from the other bed struck on Elate's 
ear, and she felt sure that Anne was quietly 
crying. Kate Treadwell had grown much 
attached to the fair, silent, mysterious girl, 
and she was inclined to be very angry with 
Anne's sister, whom in her heart she credited 
with the girl's troubles. If Anne would only 
speak out, and let Kate know things, and 
help her I 



(To ht eonlfniud.) 



Cf)t Clifnese anb ^xwt^t J&torfed. 



SI T 



E EST. ABTHUK I 



lE have received a 
t Chinese "Story-book" 
containing specimens 
if stories translated by 
ihe Bev. Arthnr E. 
Uoule, from the original 
irork published in China 
and very popular there. 

Before giving the stories (a few of which 
we hope to insert in a second paper next 
month) Mr. Monle bos something to say about 
Chinese habits and customs, which we are 
sura will interest our readers. 

He tell ns there are two hnndred millions 
and more of Chinese boys and girls, eight or 
ten times the population of England and 
Wales-Someof them have very curious names, 
"Hera comes Master 'Long-lived King,' 
and Master ' Glorious Light Summer.' Here 
is Miss 'Beautiful Gem Place,' and Miss 
' Beautiful Phceniz Bell.' Then there ara 
nicknames, and piet names, and the babies 
have what the Chinese coll ' milk names,' like 
our ' Tiny,' ' Dot,' and so on. But the snper- 



UOgLE, B.D., C.U.S., HINaro ISD BAROCHOW.* 

stitions Chinese, being afraid of the evil eye, 
and of calamity following if they choose too 
high sounding names, often call their children 
by some mean title, in order to avoid the 
envy of evil spirits. So one is called 'Little 
Dog,' and another ' Hill Bog,' ' Old Cow,' and 
so on. These milk names and nicknames 
sometimes cling to them through life. A 
tailor in Ningpo was called 'Dog the Tailor.' 
" But a mother's love and pride oflen over- 
come these foolish fears, and 'The Precious 
One ' is a common namo for a littla girl or 
boy ; or ' Threefold Happiness,* meaning 
'much joy, many eons, much money' — the 
Chinese ideal of threefold or perfect bliss. 
Sometimes convenience guides the selection 
of names, and the child is called simply 
'Number One,' 'Kumber Five,' and so on. 
Then, when the boys go to school, (there are 
no schools for girls except mission schools in ' 
China) they have a hoak-wame selected by the 
master, and written on the class-books and 
oopy-slips, such as ' Perfect Talent,' ' Per- 
vading Excellence,' etc." 




Ty 



v£7 











I 



A CHINESK SCHOOL. 

From ih$ Original Draviag, 



f 







228 



HOME WORDS, 



Chinese food is on the whole very good, 
only in bod seasons they are not prepared as 
we are with imported food from other ooan- 
trics, and hence dreadful famines now and then 
devastate the land. Seven millions of people 
are said to have died during the last famine. 
In addition to rice, which is so nourishing, 
they have excellent vegetables and fruits. 
The boiled hamhoo shoots are much eaten by 
them. The bamboo is a most beautiful and 
valuable tree. It grows very rapidly. Shoots 
come up from the roots of the old bamboos 
early in April ; and pushing through the soft 
earth like great asparagus (only much thicker, 
and hard and firm instead of soft), they reach 
their full height — that is to say, from twenty 
to thirty feet — by July ; and year afler year 
they grow no taller, but the hollow stem 
hardens its rind. This hard stem is turned 
to every imaginable use. The masts, and 
sails, and ropes, and poles, and tilts of ships 
and boats are made of bamboo. Chairs and 
tables, and chop-sticks (the Chinaman's knife 
and fork), and cups and bowls, all come from 
this wonderful tree; as well as the young 
iihoots which they eat as food. 

Sir. Monle gives the following piece of 
verse, written by Major Arthur T. Bingham 
Wright, which admirably describes the uses 
of the bamboo-tree, and also illustrates the 
peculiarities of the strange jargon called 
Pidgin-English-*- alanguage invented in China 
as a means of communication between 
English and Americans and the natives. 
Some of the words we can hardly make out ; 
perhaps our readers can do it better than we 



oan. 



JOHN CHINAMAN'S BAMBOO TBEE. 

One pieoee thing that my have got, 
Maskce that thing my no can do, 
Yon talkoy you no sabey what ? 

Bamboo. 

That chow chow all too mncheo swcot 
My likco ; what no likco you ? 
You makoe try, you makce eat 

Bamboo. 

That olo houBO too muchoe small, 
My have got ohilo, wanchee new ; 
My makee one big piecee, all 

Bamboo, 



Top-side that house my wanchee thatch, 
And bottom- Bido that matting too ; 
My makee both if my can catch 

Bamboo. 

That son he makce too much hot, 
My makee hat (my tolkee true) 
And coat for rain ; if my have got 

Bamboo. 

That Pilong too much robbeiy 
He makee ; on his back one, two, 
He catoheo for his bobbery 

Bamboo. 

No wanchee walk that China pig, 
You foreigner no wolkee you, 
My carry both upon a big 

Bamboo. 

What makee Sampan go 80 fast? 
That time the wind so strong he blew, 
What makee sail and rope and mast t 

Bamboo. 

My catchce every thing in life 
From number one of trees that grew. 
Bo muchee good I give my wife 

Bamboo. 

And now Man-man, my talkee done. 
And so my say chin-chin to you ; 
My hope you think this number one 

Bamboo. 

Other dishes, however, are eaten in China. 
There is an old story of an English gentleman 
who was invited to a dinner-party in a Chinese 
gentleman's house. He could not speak 
Chinese well ; so being doubtful as to a dish 
which was set before him, ho pointed to the 
dish, and then turned to his host, and asked, 
" Quack, quack P " which plainly meant, " Is 
this duck?"' The host shook his head, and 
using the same language, replied, "Bow- 
wow ! " — plainly meaning, " No, it is dog." 
The notice, ** Black cat always ready," may 
be seen, Mr. Moule tells ns, in a butcher's 
shop at Canton. 

Another curious dish which is sometimes 
prepared for honoured guests is "ducks' 
tongues." But we must remember that very 
curious things are eaten in England some- 
times. Many a rabbi t-pie is suspected of 
having mewed when alive. 

The schools in China are, as we have said, 
only for boys. Girls are not thought to be 
of much value. The Chinese call good girls 



HARVEST LESSONS. 



229 



" Fine bamboo-sboofcs springing up outside the 
fonce/' that is, bringing good ontside the old 
home, and to another family. When a son is 
born there are very loud and joyful congratu- 
lations. When a girl comes the best thing 
friends can say is, " Well, girls also are of 
some use.*' In certain districts of China, 
and especially when famine or war prevails, 
tbe poor people, in their heathen blindness, 
destroy their little girls as soon as they are 
bom. This is not bo common a crime, at 
least now, as is often supposed ; but that it 
is still committed is clear, because Mr. Moulo 
tells us, " In Ningpo there is a Society formed 
by the heathen gentry to suppress this crime.*' 
Our illustration is a Chinese drawing of a 
schoolroom. What is generally called the 
three B*8 in England, is reduced to two in 
Chinese schools — ^namely, reading and writing 
alone; and they learn everything by heart, 
getting accustomed to the shape and sound 
of their strange written and printed words, 
and not learning the meaning of what they 
are taught till they arc thirteen or fourteen 



years old. There is no al'phobbet in Chinese, 
but every word has a sign or picture to itself ; 
and the right spelling of the word is the right 
number and position of the strokes and dots 
which compose it. So that school life is 
rather dull for the little boys when they be- 
gin. They do not learn arithmetic, or geo- 
graphy, or the history of any other country 
except China, and not much about China 
even. 

But the chief thing lacking in Chinese 
schools, as weir as in the homes of the people, 
everywhere, is the knowledge and love of 
God. There are missionaries in China now, 
but they are very few in number, and, for the 
most part, the people hear nothing about the 
glad tidings of the Gospel: "Glory to God 
in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill 
to men." They have idols many ; they even 
worship their ancestors ; and they have many 
superstitious customs about death and the 
grave. They need the Gospel to tell them 
that " God is love," and that Jesus came to 
" bring life and immortality to light." 



(To he continued,) 




BT THE ESV. CHAELBS BULLOCK, B.D., AUTHOR OP " THE WAT HOME," ETO. 

III. THE DIVINE FORBEARANCE AND BENEFICENCE. 



N E other Harvest 
thought I havo yet 
to mention : — Har- 
vest blessings are 
^reacJiei's of Divine 
Forbearance and 2?e- 
neficeiice. 

Are there not many, even in Christian 
England, in whose ears a Toice might 
have sounded during the by-gone month — 
a voice from the Divine presence — as they 
gazed upon the corn-fields, where God Lad 
" made the place of His feet glorious " ? 
Migbt not that voice have pleaded : — 

" Look, sinner, continuing in thy sins, 
unrepentant, unbelieving — ^look upon the 
Harvest field and the waving corn inviting 
the reapers to gather it into the garners ! 



There has been no prayer on thy lips, no 
praise in thy heart. Thou hast been un- 
thankful; feeding at a Heavenly Father*s 
board, but yielding Him no life service of 
filial love. Oh ! read you not the mystery 
of grace in Harvest blessings ? Are you 
not constrained to say, — * Verily, He bath 
not dealt with me after my sins ' ? 

** And see you not the Divine purpose 
in this forbearance and bounty of Divine 
love? Fatal, inexcusable must be the 
ignorance of those who ' know not that the 
goodness of God,' — His abounding and 
forbearing mercy, both in providence and 
grace, — 'leadeth to repentance.' Let it 
not be BO with you. Every fresh act of 
His beneficence, every stream of love that 
flows from His heart, every ray of light 



23© 



HOME WORDS, 



ihafc falls upon onr world, bespeaks * the 
riches of His grace ; ' and that; grace He 
waits to extend to yon." 

Tes; the "weeks of the Harvest," do 
indeed show that God has not left Him- 
self without witness ; bat that He is ever 
calling upon ns, not only by the messages 
of His Word and the invitations of His 
Gospel, but by the very bread which 
Harvest places in every hand! "Take 
it," God would seem to say, even to the 
unthankfal and the evil; "take it from 
My open Hand, and let it bear tbis mes- 
Rnge of forbearing mercy and tenderest 
love — *My son, My daughter, give Me 
thine heart ; ' give it to Me, that I may 
bless it with 'all spiritual blessings in 
Christ Jesus.' " 

Such thoughts of the Divine forbearance 
and beneficence may well plead with those 
who have hitherto failed to see God in His 
gifts. Happy they who yield to the con- 
straining influence which thus "beseeches" 
from tbe Harvest field, and responding to 
the Voice which pleads, form the hallowed 
resolve, " My God, my Father, I will give 
Thee my heart." 

But verily the admonition of the Divine 
forbearance and beneficence speaks not 
alone to those who have yet to learn " how 
good and joyful a thing it is to be thank- 
ful." The lesson is needed by us all. 
Indeed it will be felt to be needed most 
by those whose gratitude has been the 
most deeply stirred by the sense of Har- 
vest blessings; for gratitude, like every 
grace of the Spirit^ sees not itself, but 
rather sees it own deficiency. 

Let the admonition, then, suggest to ns 
the fitting answer to the question of Har- 
vest thankfulness ready from so many 



lips : " What shall I render to the Lord 
for all His gifts to me P " 

The Psalmist's heart was a grateful 
heart when he proposed to himself that 
question ; but he was so deeply impressed 
with the Divine forbearance and graco and 
goodness to him, that his very gratitude 
seemed to lead him to a still deeper con- 
sciousness of his need, his dependence, and 
his indebtedness to the God of Grace, — 
forbearing, Covenant Gi*ace. Henoe tbe 
paradox which presents itself in his re- 
markable reply to his own question — "J 
vsill talce the cup of salvation, and call 
upon the Name of the Lord." The question 
he had asked wa8> " What shall I render t " 
The reply is, " I wiU taker 

So let it be with ourselves. Let our 
gratitude for Harvest blessing^, and for 
all blessings, prompt ns to take more, 
God is able to give ns more, able to supply 
"all our need," — our need, not as we 
imperfectly know it, but as it is fully 
known to Him, — our need temporally and 
our need spiritnally. Let ns "take," 
then, "the cup of salvation," and "call 
upon the Name of the Lord." 

Thus ." taking" we shall never fail to be 
ready to " give," — ready each day to give 
our hearts to Him who gave His Son for ns 
— and ready too (because constrained by 
" Love Divine, all love excelling,") to give 
the offering of service and ministry and 
sacrifice for others as the heart's acknow- 
ledgment that " we are not our own, but 
have been bought with a price," and are 
therefore bound by the infinite debt of 
grace to make it our life's aim to " glorify 
God in our bodies and our spirits, which 
are His." The best Harvest thanksgiving 
is thanlcsMving. 



eoUi from tbt Mnt. 




HUNGBY man will be sure to find 
time for a meal, and a lively Christian 
will find time for devotion." 



" How sweet is it to have our dependence 
on a God who comes to meet ns, in order to 
solicit ns to come to Him I" 



MODERN HYMN WRITERS. 



231 




"SPECIMEN-GLASSES" FOR THE KING'S MINSTRELS. 

BY THE LATE Y&ANCES RISLET HAYER6AL.* 



V. BISHOP WORDSWOETH 8 
HTUNS. 

UE next sefc of " Speci- 
men - Glasses " shall 
contain Hymns by 
Christopher Words- 
worth, Bishop of Lin- 
coln, Hymns which 
reflect the heart of a 
joyful saint, together 
with a frequent touch of poetic glow, and a 
beauty of form and language worthy of the 
famous name he bears. 

No characteristic of Bishop Wordsworth's 
Hymns is more striking than their fulness 
of Scriptural teaching. They are rich in 
typical suggestion, and some are as a bril- 
liant picture-gallery of Old Testament story, 
on which one concentrated ray of New 
Testament sunlight is made to fall. Take 
for instance one of his Easter Hymns, and 
mark how much historical and doctrinal 
teaching is compressed^ into its eight Tcrses, 
while the mastery over a difficult metre adds 
to the sense of masculine power which we 
feel in this condensed commentary. 

BESUBBECTIOK TEACHINa. 

In Thy gloriouB BesuiTeotion, 
Lord, we see a world's erection, 

Man in Thee is glorified. 
Bliss, for which the patriarchs panted, 
Joys, by holy psalmists chanted. 

Now in Thee are yerified 1 

Oracles of former ages, 
Veiled in dim prophetic pages, 

Now lie open to the sight ; 
Now the types, which glimmered darkling 
In the twilight gloom, are sparkling 

In the blaze of noonday light. 

Isaac from the wood is risen ; 
Joseph issues from the prison ; 
See the Pasohal Lamb which saves ; 



Israel throogh the sea is landed, 
Pharaoh and his hosts are stranded, 
And overwhelmed in the waves. 

See the cloudy pillar leading, 
Bock refreshing, manna feeding ; 

Joshna fights and Moses prays ; 
See the lifted wave-sheaf, cheering 
Fledge of harvest-fruits appearing, 

Joyful dawn of happy days. 

Samson see at night uptearing 
Gaza's brazen gates, ancL bearing 

To the top of Hebron's hill ; 
Jonah comes from stormy surges, 
From his three-days' grave emerges. 

Bids beware of coming ill. 

So Thy Besurrection's glory 
Sheds a light on ancient story ; 

And it casts a forward ray, 
Beacon light of solemn warning. 
To the dawn of that great Morning 

Ushering in the Judgment day. 

Ever since Thy death and rising 
Thou the nations art baptizing 

In Thy death's similitude ; 
Dead to sin, and ever dying, 
And our members mortifying, 

May we walk with life renewed ! 

Forth from Thy first Easter going, 
Sundays are for ever flowing 

Onward to a boundless sea ; 
Lord, may they for Thee prepare 08, 
On a holy river bear us 

To a calm eternity 1 

Another of Bishop Wordsworth's Easter 
Hymns appeals rather to spiritual than in- 
tellectual sympathy, and its teaching, not 
less full, will be more widely and deeply felt. 
In this we are led on by a loving and fervent 
hand into an inner and more glorious temple: 
the glow of personal faith and love breathes 
around; the Eisen Lord Himself is ''the 
Light thereof;" and we are led to recognise 



* Our readers will be glad to hear that " iify BQiU Study : for the Sundays of the Year; " a series of 
fifty-two Post Cards lithographed in fae-simile from the original, by Frances Bidley Havergal, is now 
ready, price S«. M. (London : Hand and Heart Offiee.) 



ti' 



HOME WORDS. 



and rejoice in the mjstcry and glorj of " Ibe 
power o£ Hia Reanrrcction," in irhicU w8, 
too, have pnrt ; tor " Christ is risen, lua tire 
riaon I " Those who have nob had the privi- 
lege of joining in this Hymn oa aa Eastor 
momiBg can have little idea of its stirring 
and elevating power. Old associations are 
ver; strong in tonching and arousing the 
heart, but truths of God, deep and grand and 
foil, and clothed in each verae, are stronger j 
and with all our love for the old strains 
familiar from chUdhood, we cannot help feel- 
ing that in some oases "the new wine" is 
better than the old. 

" OHHIST is BIBEH : WE ABE ItlBEN." 
Hallelujah I Hallelojahl Hearts to heaven and 

Sing to Qod a hynm of gladneu, sing to Qod a 

hymn of praise I 
He who on the Cross a viotim tor the world's 

salvation bled, 
Jesna Chiiit, the King ot Oloiy, now Is risen [rem 

the dead. 
How the iron bara are broken, Christ from death 

to lite is bom, 
Qloriona life, and lite immoitol, on this hoi; 

Eostarmom: 



Christ haa trinmphed, and we conqner by His 

mighty enterprise, 
We with Him to life elemal by His resnrrectien 

Christ ia risen, Christ, the first-fmiti ot the holy 

harvest -Held, 
Which will all its fall ahmidonce at Hisseeonl 

coming j-icM \ 
Then the golden ears ot hfurest will th^ heads 

before Him wave, 
Itipened I7 His glorious mnshine, bom the tuirona 

ot the grave. 

Christ ia risen ; we aie risen t Shed npon ns 
heavenly grace. 

Bain and dew and gleams ot gloiy from the bright- 
ness of Thy face. 

That we. Lord, with hearts in heaven, hen on 
earth may fmitful be, 

And by angel-hands be gathered, and be evei safe 
with Thee. 

Hallelnjahl Hallekjeht Glory be to Qod on high I 
Hallelojah I to the Sariom', who baa gained the 
victory; 

Hallelujah I to the Spirit, Foont ot Love and 

Sanctity ; 
Hallelojahl Hallelujahl to the Irinne Ua- 
■ jestyl 



3ona3 Cotttr; or, tfce ©ittorp (Safiirt. 



BT A, l. O. F., AITTHOK OF " FRECBFTS IK 



ETC. 



CHAPTER n. 

A BIUVX GONSCIZXCE. 

DT the conscience of Alie 
would make itself heard, 
not with atonding her bro- 
ther's voice of acorn. 
She had been aooastomed 
from the time when she 
conid first talk to speak 
the simple trntb, and the 
whole truth. She knew that there may be 
fiilaehood even in silenee, when that silence 
tends to deceive. She felt that she had 
wronged her nnole, by destroying bis pro- 
perty, and, however nnintentionally, causing 
the death of bis pet : and instead of frankly 
confessing the wrong, and asking pardon, she 



ni)ape212.) 

was concealing the matter. Alie went slowly 
np to her own little room, took down from 
ita shelf her well-used Bible,— tliat would be 
a eafor counsellor than her brother 1 She 
opened it, and the first verso npon which her 
eyes rested was this, "The fear of man 
bringcth a snare : but whoso pnttcth his trust 
in the Lord shall be safe." Alio closed her 
book, and resting her head npon her hand, 
sat and Ibonght : — 

" Mother bos often told me that the lan- 
guage of heaven is tmth, and that whosoever 
loMctk or makelh a lU shall never bo admitted 
to that happy place I But why shonld my 
mind be so troubled P— I have not said a single 
word that is not true. Bnt I bare concealed 
the truth. And why P— beoanse ot the/earof 
man, which the Bible tclla me IringeUt a mure. 



JONAS COLTER; OR, THE VICTORY GAINED. 



n% 



Wfaat then wonld be my etraight oonrse of 
dotjP to confess thafe I threw down the 
poison P Wonld not that bring my brother 
into trouble P No ; for it was I who climbed 
on the chair, I who knocked over the bottle, 
I who last shot the door, — all the mischief 
was done by me, though it was not done for 
my own pleasure. I know what will be my 
best plan/' said Alie^ with a sigh of relief at 
coming to anything like a decision: "TU 
confees all to mother when she comes back 
from the village ; and she will choose a g^od 
time, when my uncle is in a pleasant temper 
and I am out of the way, and tell him that I 
killed poor Tabby, but am exceedingly sorry 
that I did it." 

So Alio returned to the kitchen, and put on 
the water to boil for tea, and sat down to her 
unfinished work, awaiting her mother's re- 
turn. Her heart beat faster than usual when 
she heard i e clump, dump of her uncle's 
Wooden leg, bnt still more when, he entered 
the house alone. 

"Where's mother P" daid Johnny. 

" She's gone to the vicarage," replied Jonas. 
" She met a messenger to tell her that the 
lady there is taken very ill, and wants some 
one to nurse her ; so she sheered oflf straight 
for Brampton, and desired me to come back 
and tell you." 

" When will she return P " asked Alio with 
anxiety. 

" That's when the lady gets better, I s'pose. 
I suspect that she's cast anchor for a good 
while, from what I hear," replied the sailor. 
" But pluck up a good heart, little lass, and 
don't look as though yon were about to set 
the water- works going; I've brought you 
something to cheer you up a bit ; " and slowly 
unfolding his red pocket-handkerchief, Jonas 
displayed a large cake of ginger-bread. 
" Here's for you," he said, holding it out to 
his niece. 

" Oh, Uncle I" cried Alio, without attempt- 
ing to touch it. 

"Take it^ will youP" said he sharply; 
"what are you hanging back forP" Alio 
took the cake, and thanked her uncle in a 
faltering voice. Jonas stooped down, lighted 
his pipe, and as he glanced at the warm comer 
which used to be his favourite's chosen place, 
and missed her well-known purr, the old 



sailor gave an unconscious sigh, and '* Poor 
Tabby I " escaped from his lips. 

The sound of the sigh, and the words, gave 
pain to the heart of little Alio. "Here am I 
receiving kindness from my uncle," thought 
she, " and knowing how little I deserve it ; 
and yet I have not courage to confess the 
truth I I am sure that fear is a snare to me. 
Oh that I had a braver heart! so that I 
. should dread nothing but doing wrong I 
Johnny is a bold as a lion, yet I am sure that 
even he would be afraid to tell the truth to 
my uncle;" 

" What's the matter with the lass P " cried 
Jonas with blunt kindness, taking the pipe 
from his lips, and looking steadily at the 
child. " Ye're Vexed at your mother biding 
awayP" 

*' It is not that;" replied Alio, very softly. 

"Ye're fretting about the catP " 

" Partly," murmured the child. 

" Kind little soul ! " exclaimed the sailor, 
heartily: "I'll got a white kitten, or a tor- 
toiseshell for ye, if one's to be had for love or 
money 1 But maybe ye're like the Jack- tar, 
and don't think new friends like the old ! " 
and the rough hard hand of the seaman was 
laid caressingly on the little girl's shoulder. 

" Uncle, you quite mistake me, you — ^you 
— ^would not be so kind if you knew all ! " 
said Alio rapidly. The first difficult* step 
was taken, but poor Alie's cheek was crimson, 
and she would have felt it at that moment 
impossible to have raised her eyes from the 
floor. 

"What's all thisP" exclaimed Jonas 
roughly, while Johnny, afraid that the whole 
truth was coming out, made a hasty retreat 
from the kitchen. 

" What's all this P " repeated the bluff sailor. 
Alio had now gone so far that she had not 
power to retreat Her little hands pressed 
tightly together, her voice tremulous and 
indistinct with fear, she stammered forth, 
"It was I who knocked down the bottle — 
and — and shut poor Tabby into your room— 
and " 

"Shut her in on purpose!" thundered 
Jonas, starting up from his seat. Alio bent 
her head as her only reply. 

" Shut in the cat that the blamo might be 
laid upon her!— took a long walk that the 



234 



HOME WORDS. 



mean trick might be Buocessrul ! " At each 
sentence his voice rose lender and loader, so 
that Johnny could hear it at the other side 
of the road, while poor Alio bent like a reed 
beneath the storm. 

" And was your brother with yon, girl P " 
continued the angry sailor, after a short bnt 
terrible pause. 

Poor Alio was dreadfully perplexed; she 
squeezed her hands together tighter than 
ever; she could not speak^ but her silence 
spoke enough. 

"Mean coward 1 " exclaimed Jonas, striking 
the table with his clenched fist till it rang 
again ; " and he has set all sail, and made off, 
and left this little pinnace to brave the storm 
alone ! " Alio burst into tears ; and whether 
it was the sight of these tears, or whether his 
own words reminded the sailor that Alie at 
least had now acted an honest, straight- 
forward part, his anger towards her was gone 
in a moment, and he drew her kindly to his 
knee. 

" Dry these eyes, and think no more about 
it," said he; "you never guessed that the 
liquid was poison, and accidents, as they say, 
will happen even in the best regulated fami- 
lies. But why did not you and your sneak 
of a brother tell me honestly about breaking 
the bottle, instead of playing such a cowardly 



trick as that of shutting up the poor cafe in 
the room P " 

"Ob, Uncle," murmured Alie, at length 
finding her voice, " we knew that yon woald 
be so dreadfully angry." 

" Humph ! " said the sailor thoughtfully. 
" So the fear of me was a snare to you. Well, 
you may go after your brother, if he*s not run 
away so far that you cannot find him, and 
tell him that he may sneak back as soon as 
he can muster enough of courage, for not a 
word, good or bad, shall he hea^ ""om me about 
the bottle or the cat. And i?'nd you, jny 
honest little lass," continued Jonas, "Til not 
forget the white kitten for you ;— for though 
you've not a stout heart, you've a brave con- 
science, and dare speak the truth even to a 
crabbed old sailor, who you knew would be ' so 
dreadfully angp^.' " 

Alie flew off like a bird, he!* heart light- 
ened of its loac* and rejoicing in the con- 
sciousness that A painful duty had been 
performed. And whenever in future life she 
felt tempted to take a crooked course from the 
dread of some peril in the straight one, the 
timid girl found courage in remembering the 
verse which had struck her so much on that 
day, — "The fear of man bringeth a snare; 
but whoso putteth his trust in the Lord shall 
be safe." 



I0t0^0*^*^»i^trf^*mt^*^^0*0k0*^tt n ^*^** 



^hiret Clolien 



BT LOUISA J. KIBKWOOD. 




*M only a common plant, 
A little wayside weed. 
From the dusty soil I spring, 
Up from a tiny seed. 

I have no glowing hues 
To vie with sparkling gems, 

Only a sprinkle of white 
Along my tender stems. 

And but few would pause to look 

At my modest little spray, 
Which I hold to sun and wind. 

Close to the broad highway. 

Why I was made so plain 
J woAdered for many a day^ 



And e*en began to complain 
That beauty I could not display. 

But ah, one day, on the wind, 
A song was wafted to me, 

And sweet was the story I heard 
From my dear lover, the bee : 

''I pass you, beautiful flower, 
I may not be lover to thco ; 

For a scanty fare of sweets 
You offer the busy bee. 

"There is one that is sweeter far, 
Though only a wayside weed, 

And I would be lover to her, 
For sh^ will bp dpar indeed, 



'pUR '^OQ?. 



From Landseei^ 

ISm BIuU}\ of Ot Uft i^ Bit Kiwbi Lmtttr, Jawiy " VoiM irsnli." pofi U.] 



HOME WORDS. 



" She'a Bweet as my honeyed cell, 

And fresh as tbe morning dew ; 
Her fragrance scontg the breeze, 

And she's modest, pare, and trno 
"Ah, mine is the small white flower, 

She surely was made for mo ; 
For her onpa with honoy are full. 

Stored for her lovor, the boo." 



And this was the stoiy I hoard, 
The tale of tlje bee's sweet hnm ; 

Ho woos me all the day long, 
Then bears hia sweet burden hon^ 

No more for hennty I pine^ 

Since thus I am usefal, yon see, 

To fill np my cnpa with sweets 
For my gay lorer, the bee. 



a .fritiililp %ttttv to miiits* 



:APPT Ihonght has oc- 
curred to a lady, Uisa 
Skinner, who resides 
at Swcfiling Boctory, 
Saxmnndbam. She 
has written twelve 
"letters "to different 
classes of the community, all of wbicb are 
now printed. We sincerely hopo tboy 
will bo widely oironlated, for they well 
deserve it,* 

As the best way in which wo can farther 
this end we give the eleventh letter of the 
series. Wo are sare oar readers will agree 
that tlio writer knows how to say mach in 
very tittle space. This letter is addressed 
to "wives." Perhaps this will iniJaoo 
(ho " hnsbands " to read it. Wo hope it 
will ; for it wHI do both wives and hus- 
bands good. 

" Mr DBiR Fsmn),— Did yon ever hear 
tlio saying, 'A man i» what a woman 
makes him ' f Now, if this is trae, how 
very anxiooa yon ebonld be — as a wife and 
I mother, to be a really good woman, since 
the making of the men of yonr family— 
yonr sons, and even yonr husband — so 
mnch depends npon yonrself! Snffer me 
then, with Qod's help, to say a few words, 



SKINKEB. 

which, if acted npon, wilIMp yon to mate 
that home of yours, however poor, a little 
eai-lhly paradise, so that tboso dwelling in 
it may tmly be able to say— 
" ■ A chwm from the akiet seems to hallow ni 

^niich, roam thTOngb ths world, is not met wiU) 
deewbere. 

Tben's no place tike borne I ' 

"Wilt yon, therefore, pat up a little 
pmyer as yon read ibis letter, and say ; — 
'Lord Jesns, Then hast given Thyself for 
me ; moke me truly Thine own ; and help 
me to he a blessing to all those dear ones 
whom Thou bast give^ to me; that we 
may all dwell together iu Thy glorious 
home iu heaven by-and-by.' Of course, 
thero are many things in the lot of every 
one of ns which we should all like to have 
altered. But would it not be mnch better, 
like a sensible woman as yon aie, to make 
the best and most of things as they are, 
instead of gmmbliog and complaining 
about what can't be helped P 

" First, then, as to your hnsband. 

"Be lovers stitl. If ft man's afTeotion 
is worth the trouble yon took to win it, 
surely it mnst be worth the troohla of 
keeping. Now, if ho comes home at night 
weary and tired with a long day's work, 



* Copies may be had at |d. eaah, or 8*. 64. par 100, asmnted, bj writing to MIm Hkinner, Bweffling 
Itostoi7. The series embiaoes letbm to almoat all olnasoa. Two capital ones to "BojabaTiag the con 
of OoaU and Donkeys," and " Bath or Wheel-ohair Hen," on very osefol loi taolida; disfaahation. 



A FRIENDLY LETTER TO WIVES^ 



«37 



and finds his wife a filatfcem or a scold, 
and ihe children dirfcy, and crying about, 
wlien they onght to have been in bed long 
ago, and no snpper prepared, no smile of 
welcome, can we wonder if John takes 
himself off to the nearest public-honse ?> 
It was Tery different when yon and he 
went conrting. Then your hair wto always 
neat, your face always smiling, and yon 
dressed in what you thought was the most 
becoming way; and more than once you 
asked yourself, ' What woold John like me 
to wear P * Can't you do so now P 

'* But don^t get into debt. * Pay as you 
go,' is a wise maxim for women; and 
another one too, ft.e., ' She that goes bor- 
rowing, goes sorrowing.' In all country 
places there are men who wiU soon persuade 
women to get into debt unknown to their 
husbands, if they will dress above their 
position. Don't have * trust,' but try with 
a little ready money to get what you re- 
quire. Try too, and save for a rainy day. 
Qod tells ns to ' Consider the ways of the 
ant and be wise,' because the ant stores up 
food in summer for winter. In every town 
there is a Post-office bank where they will 
take as low as Iff. deposit ; and in many 
villages there are penny banks in connec- 
tion with the Church There is an old 
proverb, ' Take care of the pence, and the 
pounds will take care of themselves.' How 
many a poor man's family would be bene- 
fited if he would buy a pig instead of beer, 
and spend his leisure time in a small garden 
of his own instead of in a public-house I 
A shilling a week saved is £2 12«. a year; 
and in six years this would amount to 
£15 12^. without interest. *A penny 
saved is a penny gained.' 

'* Second. As to your home. 

^' Some women say it is through luck that 
their neighbours' homes are more tidy than 
their own. But the real secret is, that 
their neighbours believe in the old proverb, 
'Cleanliness is next to godliness.' 'My 
dean little homci' said a labourer^ 'and 



clean children, are better to me than the 
tap-room at the inn.' 

" There is a story told by a missionary 
of a woman who had the character for 
being dirty, that one day she gave all the ' 
children such a good wash. The dean 
faces made her think that her rooms wanted 
washing; and when they were done, she 
looked into a glass, and thought how much 
better she would look for a wash herself. 
The husband came home, and seeing his 
house 80 clean, and children and wife dean 
too, he felt dirty directly, and thoroughly 
washed himself. They had now tasted the 
luxury of clean water, and continued their 
cleanly habits until their good example 
was caught by all who lived in the same 
lane, and the place became noted for clean- 
liness. No dustbins were allowed to re- 
main full. No dirty water was allowed to 
gather in the lane. The consequence was, 
that while their neighbours outside the 
lane had fever, they were free, by the use 
of pure water. 

" But how can a woman's home be clean, 
if she goes out to work and leaves her 
litUe ones in charge of an elder child P 
Therefore, don't go if you can possibly 
hdp it. A mother's place is her homo; 
and so surely as she leaves her home work 
to others, she will lose more than she gains. 
Seek to have Jesus in your home. Bring 
out the old Bible that your mother used to 
read. Ask your husband to read a portion, 
and pray that the blessing of the Lord may 
rest upon your dwelling. 

" Third. As to your children. 

" Teach them the value of prayer, and 
direct them to the Saviour who died for 
you and for them, and whose blood can 
cleanse all your guilt away. Teach them 
to thank God for their food, so that your 
dear children may never be able to say, 
when your heads are laid low in the church- 
yard, ' Mother nor father never taught me 
to pray.' Do not let your boys and girls 
be huddled together in the same sleeping- 



238 



HOME WORbS. 



room, bot teach tfaem seU-reepeot; end 
gnard your girls against the Ioto of fiaerj, 
for manja one has thns fallen, and beoome 
a mother while yet only a child. Do not 
neglect the house of Ood ; and send your 
children to the Snoday- school, so that 
while they are young they may learn more 
of Jesm, and the way to that land where 
there ia a reet for the people of Ood. Lore 
yonr ohildren, and never scold at them or 
threaten them unnecessarily, but try to 
make yonr little home a place that yonr 
boys KoA girls will think of with pleasure, 
and love to return to when away from yon 
at service. 

"Lastly, remember that all true happi- 
ness most oome from (Jodi 'They who 



bononr me,' says Ood, ' I will hononr.* 
Be indnstrions, honest, sober, independent. 
Owe no man anything bnt love. Seek do 
help from any man while yon have the 
power to help joarseU. Walk in the fear 
of Qod ; be faiUifnl to Him ; and then yoa 
will be faithful to those around yoo. * A 
woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be 
praised. Give her of the fmit of her 
hands; and let her own works praise her 
in the gates ' (Prov. nii. 30, SI). Such 
was the account given by a pions king of 
his own mother. Pray that it may also be 
true of yon. 

" Believe mo, yonr faithful friend, 
«V.M.S." 



"Thank yon, friena," whispered the 
daisy, and her pink-edged petals took a 
rosier hne as she bent her little bead in 
gratefnl acknowledgment. 

XXXIII. METTLE NOT EVERYTHINa 
"I wONDBKGrey Star didn't fetch more!" 

stud a wom-ont cab horse to » neighbour 

on the same stand. 
" I don't," said the other. 
" Don't yon ? Well, I'm surpriaed," aiUd 



jTablftf for ran. 

BT lUAflOR B. PSOBSIB. 

XXXir. WORK FOR ALL. 

WONDER what use I am in the world," murmured a 
piok-edged daisy, as she opened wide her snowy 
petals to the morning son. " I'm afraid I am too 
small to do any one any good." 

" Qnite a mistake, friend, I assure yon," awd a 
dewdrop that was trembling on a blade of grass 
close by. " If it hadn't been for the shadow that 
yon threw over me, the heat of the sun wooldhave 
dried me up, and the blade of grass I am resting 
on wonld have withered for want of its proper 
nourishment." 

the first -, " he's the fastest goer I know ; 
he'd beat yon in a canter, old fellow, I'm 
sure." 

"Very likely," said the otlier, as be 
thmst his nose into the bottom of his din- 
ner bag, and to his great regret found it 
empty : " bnt yon seem to forget, friend, 
that he can't see I He may have plenty of 
spirit; I dare say he has; bnt have yon 
never heard that metUe is dongerona in a 
blind borse P" 



T^M YOUNG POLIOS' PAC£. 



«39 



Clbe i^ouns jToIfcs;' $age< 




XXXI. WINDOW FLOWERS. 

O garden have we, not an inohf 

No treee, or giaesy field. 
To shelter singing thrush or^findi* 

Or rosy apples yield. 
But onr cottage is in '* Pleasant Bow," 
And the sonny sldo is oars ; 
Bo God be praised that His love we know» 
And He sends ns Window Flowers. 

Burjucur Govgs. 



XXXII. "GO ON, 8IR1 GO ON, 8IR1" 

Thxbx was a great mathematician and astronomer who 
once discovered a new planet. When he was yoang, stndy- 
ingmathematics,he got very much discouraged, and almost 
determined to give it all up, because he thought he should 
never succeed. In his text or note book, his eye one day 
fen uiran some words on the inside paper covering of tho 
book. He could not read the words through the outer 
paper. I do not know why ha wanted to, but he thought 
he should like to see what the words were. 80 he got 
some hot water, and took off the cover. Then he saw 
inside the cover, on a little bit of paper, part of a letter 
from a master to another student ; but the only words he 
could decipher were these: "60 on, sir! go on, sirl" 
" There is a message to me," he said. 

I yiink it would make a good message to many of ns 
whan we get discouraged to read, " Go on, sir." I would 
wish to say to every school-boy, every school-girl, when 
they get discouraged, "Go on, sirl go on." It means 
Just what the Bible tells ns, " Be not weaxy in well 
doing.'* 

XXXIII. ''SUCCOURING PARENTS." 

Osi day Frederick the Great, the king of Prussia, who 
lived about a hundred years ago, rang his bell. Nobody 
answered. The king went into the next room, the ante- 
room, and there he saw the boy, his page, who ought to 
have answered the belli uleepi The king looked at him, 



and saw hanging out of his pocket a little bit of paper, 
which he examined. I do not know whether the king did 
quite right : I do not think he ought to have.done so, though 
he was king. What was it about P It was a letter finom 
his mother, and it ran something like thisi "My dear 
boy,— I am very much obliged to you for the rnxmaj you 
have sent me. God will bless you for it." 

The king did not wake the page, but went back to his 
own room, and took out a rouleau of ducats of gold, and 
put it into the page's pocket while he slept. He then went 
back to his room, and rang the bell very violently indeed. 
The imge came in rubbing his eyes, and looking very 
frightened. The king said, " You have been asleep 1" 
The boy fumbled in his pockets, because he got so nervous^ 
and then he f e^t the roll of ducats. He burst out crying. 
The king said, " What is the matter ? " The page replied, 
*' O please your majesty, I have got an enemy. Some- 
body has been putting money into my pocket. I never 
put it there." 

Then the king said, " Takeit^ my boy," and he used a 
German proverb—" God gives to people in their sleep." 
I must Just tell you that In the 127th Psalm, where we have 
it translated, " Bo He giveth His beloved sleep," in tho 
original it reads, *' God gives to His beloved yihXU tK«y ors 
•l««p»itg." " Take the money," ssJd the king : ** keep part 
of it yourself, and send the rest to your mother, and toll 
her I will always be your friend and her's." That Is what 
the boy got for succouring his mother. 

Succour your father and mother. Help them. It is a 
nice thing to make presents to them. Save up a little 
money and give them something on their birthdays ; when 
they are sick, give them something nice. That is one 
reason why we should save our money, to have some to 
give to our father and mother when they want it. 

Biv. J. YAuesAjr. 

XXXI Y. WHAT THE LARK TEACHES- 

DOS'* forget the lesson the laxk teaches— it is a very 
good ones The lowest builder makes the highest flyer, 
and the sweetest singer. 

What honour hath humlU^I 



Bt tBk B20BT BBT. TBI LOBD BIS&or Of SObOB AltD KAV. 



8IBLB QUESTIONS. 

1. tXT^^^ illustration have We from the lives of the 
Xx Old Testament saints, that we know not what 
we should pray for as we ought P 

2. Why is the conversion of a sinner the highest act of 
loveP 

3. What is the difltoence in God's deallngwith the mind 
and the flesh in the believer P 

4. How does God anticipate every excuse for onr not 
listening to the wisdom in the Book of Proverbs P 

6. Does God still write the commandments for men 
with His finger 7 andin what way f 

e. Did the rest of the twelve suspect Judas Iscariot of 
being the traitor P 

7. What was ordained by God to be the way of life 
before creation P 

& Were the Jews sight in eaying that, Out of Galilee 
ariseth no prophet P 



9. When WAS the seal of natufal aflbetioil made nee of 
by the devil in leading one of our Lord's immadiate 
followers into slnP 

10. Who brought trouble on his ftunily by asking God 
to have his life prolonged r 

11. What part of the Scriptures was read in the syna- 
gogue lay our blessed Lord, when all the worhippers were 
fed^to look at Him with fixed attention P 

12. In what three particulars was Samson such a re- 
markable type of the Lord Jesus P 

ANSWERS (See Sxptxmbbb No., page 216X 

L 1 Cor. ii. 9, 10 ; see Rev. iv. 2. II. Lam. iv. 12. III. 
Ps. viii. 6 ; Zech. ziv. 4. lY. Gen. zxzix. 21 ; Ps. cv. 1& 
Y. Hatt. viU. 8. 0. VI. Rom. xii. 1 { 1 Pet ii. 6 j Heb. 
ziii. 16. YII. John xx.S ; and 1 John v. IS. YIII. Luke 
V. 8 ; vii. 89. IX. Prov. xxvi. 12. X. Heb. ix. 28 ; 1 Pet. 
i. 6, 9. XI. Neh. viii. 7, 8. XII. Judg. vi. 14i Luke zxii. 
61. 




HOME 




FOB 



'^{mt 8«(l 




c- * k3^SS^Q^*9 



€€ 




©me more— ^ges(*or*^o/ 



f» 



BY THR RK7. 8. B. JAMES, M.A., VTCATl OF NOTITHMATISTO!?, 
AUTHOR or "PifHT PROVERBS POINTED," ETC. 



.E has asked her two 
or three times before, 
and fihehas coquetted 
with his qaestioDf 
trifled with his affec- 
tion, slighted his 
strong and earnest 
lore^ till at last he has consulted his mother 
(not too big or too old for that, my friend I), 
and his mother has told him that if she were 
he she would not be "played with" — those 
are her very words — *'any longer." 

Bat she was not he : and only remembered 
how, some eight-and-twenty years before, she 
had, like the straightforward girl she then 
was, told his father — Ben's father — by modest 
word and modest look, that he had not sought 
her affections in vain. 

The young damsel in the picture is different 
from Ben's mother, as Ben finds to his cost. 
Ben of the dark locks and anxious face is 
easily teased, and PbcBbe knows very well 
that she may put him off as long as she 
likes without any danger of his leaving her 
at last. PhoBbe Barton " would not like that, 
anyhow," she says to herself, for she is not 
really so hard-hearted as coquetry and seem- 
ing caprice make her seem to be. 

Last Michaelmas fair was the first time 

Ben Dyke had made advances to young and 

comely Fhosbe of the Orange Cottage, and 

this is now a year ag6 or more. Well, Ben 

TOIh X. HO. XI. 



thought he might do worse than take his 
mother's advice, and so he started out with 
the idea of asking Phoebe for "positivdy the 
last time " whether she would give him an 
answer to that great question that he had 
been asking for so long in every conceivable 
way. But as he passed the old Grange and 
nearedthe Grange Cottage, at which lived 
Phoebe's father, the head gardener at the 
Grange, Ben's stout resolutions began to 
ooze out at his finger-ends. 

That long speech he had prepared, almost 
Ciceronian, and quite manly and grand, full 
of his new-made resolution to have an answer 
of some kind, some decisive " will you or nil 
you " kind from Phosbe, melted into air as 
he heard in the distance Phoebe^s sweet and 
simple Toice,not a bit coquettish or artificial, 
singing such a simple song as village maid- 
ens may. And by the time big Ben got to 
the door — more and more when he found 
Phoebe all alone — ^his heart sank, and so did 
his voice, showing to that shrewd interpreter 
of his every action and tone of voice that he 
had come with a purpose, and that his pur- 
pose was failing. 

However, he did speak at last, after wish- 
ing himself he knew not where or what, unless 
it were one of the apples handled so tenderly 
and almost caressingly by Phoebe in her all- 
engrossing occupatioiL His voice faltered, 
as books say yoioea do always filter on such 

M 2 



244 



HOME WORDS. 



occasions, and he turned rather pale, and his 
lip qairered a little, and he did not look like 
the big Ben that could beat all the Tillage at 
cricket and football. 

" Poor fellow," said his mother to his 
father, " he's gone to have a word with that 
tiresome Phoebe of his, and much I wish she'd 
say yea or say nay to him for good and all. 
He's bin' long enough hanging on over there, 
and my belief is he'll never settle to any- 
thing till he's had his answer." 

" Phoebe-mad— that's what our Ben is," 
rejoined the father. " Why can't he show a 
little sperrit and ha' done with it, J say ? " 

"Well, John, yott didn't show *a little 
Bperrit' eight-and-twenty years ago, and Ben 
may take aftet* you, mayn't he P " 

" I| Mary I no* I don'4 know that there 



was much need. If Phoabe was as kind to 
our Ben as Ben's mother was to me, all 
would be well. But there, I don't suppose 
Ben cares quite as much for Phoebe as I was 
foolish enough to care for—. Well, well, 
how time flies I " . 

^^Fooluih, enough, John ? " 

Ah, John was only joking, devoted husband 
•that he was, and Mary knew it too. 

But it is about Ben and Phoebe, and not 
about John and Mary, that we are surmising. 
What will Phoebe say to him ? I think I 
know. I hope the reader knows too. Ben 
will, perhaps, go home happier after his visit 
to-night, and perhaps Phoebe will take a turn 
in the garden with him first, and tell him 
that if his happiness does reoZZy depend on 
. Well, well I 



%\^t ^m iVlan's; Coun^tl^ or^ SI iMam C^ing^ 




|H, I'm a poor unhappy wight 
As ever there was bom, sir: 
There's nothing in my house 
that's right, 
'Tis lonely and forlorn, sir ; 
I've cash enough, and pay it well. 

To keep my house in order, 
But ne'er can get a decent meal, 
Though plentiful my larder ; 
'Tis overdone or underdone. 

Perhaps not done at all, sir ; 

No man had ever such a home 

In all this dreary world, sir. 

" My coat is at the elbows out, 

I ne'er can get it mended ; 
My shirts are scorched in ironing, 

My vest to ribbons rended ! 
My stockings down unto the ground, 

I ne'er can keep a garter ; 
And if they e'er get washed at all, 

It's sure in dirty water. [dohe, 

There's nothing done that should be 

And if it's done at all, sir. 
It better never had been done, 
Than done so very ill, sir." 



" Go, get a wife," — the old man said» 
' " Nor sit ye here complaining ; 
Of wedlock never be afraid, 

A prudent wife's a main thing : 
Shell keep your house, she'll mend your 
clothes, 
And chat and sing the while, sir ; 
And when at eve you hasten home, 
She'll meet you with a smile, sir. 
And all that's done will be well done, 

And done without complaining ; 
If e'er yon'd have a pleasant home, 
A wife — a wife's a main thing." 

Jack quickly took the sage advice, 
And woo'd a farmer's daughter, 
And never did he rue the day 

When home a bride he brought her. 
His clothes are always clean and neat, 

His house is like a palace ; 
His cooking that a king might eat^ 
And do it with a relish. 
And now he is a happy man. 

He never goes complaining ; 
But with a joyous smile declares 
" A wife— a wife's a main thing." 

N. Stone. 



#<^#»M^^i»^^»^^y^ ^ ^■^^. 






'' CAROLS AND CHIMES: 'HOME WORDS' FOR CHRISTMAS, 245 




TO OUB READERS. 

^^ Carols; an)i api^tmes: ^^ome ^isaotlisf^ 

for C|)ri£(tina£f/* 



UR Clirhimas Suj^ph- 
mental Nuviher last 
year xuefc with a 
hoartj welcome. 
The circulation was 
far in excess of any- 
thing wo anticipated, 
and even exceeded that of "Home Woeds." 
The difficulty of meeting the demand 
when Christmas approaches, from the 
pressnre of work involved in printers' 
holiday arrangements, has induced us to 
issue our special Christmas J^umher with 
the November ** Home Words.** 

The Number, containing twenty-four 
pages the size of '^Home Words,** gives 
with other Christmas reading two com- 
plete original Tales : — 

I. Lost and Found: a Story for the 
Christmas Fireside. By E. Garnett, 
Author of " Little Rainbow," etc. 

II. Onists and Gnimpets : How all came 
right at Christmas. By Mrs. Marshall. 

The price, with the November Magazine, 
is twopence : but farther single copies, price 
one penny each, can be ordered from the 
Booksellers. 



We do not suppose that any of our 
readers will wish not to have the Clirlst- 
mas Number, and therefore, to save' dis- 
appointment in the supply, the Publishers 
have arranged to send with the Novem- 
ber Magazines a proportionate number, 
both to the Clergy who localize "JToww 
Words" and also to the Trade. Copies 
unsold, if any, will of course not be 
charged. 

The Christmas Number would be a 
suitable " Christmas box " for the guests 
at Parish Gratherings, Robin Dinners, etc., 
and we should much like to send copies 
again this year to .the thousands of Hos- 
pital patients in London on Christmas 
morning. If any of our friends are dis- 
posed to lend a helping hand towards the 
latter object, we shall be glad to hear from 
them as early as possible. Address : The 
Editor of ''Home Words,** Blackheath, 
London, S.E. 

Those who cannot assist in this way 
might order a dozen copies for distribu- 
tion, and so contribute to the common joy 
of Christmas-tide which we desire to pro- 
mote. 



«MM«M«4tfhtf^««tf^««rf^^k^*^«««« 



i^*^^^*^>^i^^^^0^0t0t0^^»m 




Jfear ^ot I 

HE winds blow fierce, the waves run high. 
They roar and rave with mighty shock ; 
Yet fear thou not, the Lord is nigh — 

He is thy Rock I 

'Tis night and darkness, dread and drear, 
No star above shines calm and bright ; 
Yet fear thou not, for. God is near, — 

He is thy Light I 

With feeble strength and trembling knee, 

Beneath thy cross, a weary load ; 
Yet fear thou not, for God shall be 

Thy Staff and Rod I 



Albx. 



MAM^WNtfV«AMM# 



HOME WORDS. 



A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIME. 

Br XMILY a. BOLT, AUTHOK 01 "TUS MAIIlEKs' lODOB," ETC. 



CHAPTEB XIL 



BFOBB Eote Treadnell 
oonld find aaj oppor- 
Innitj for a quiet talk 
with Anne, one after- 
noon Roger Cordiuer 
ade bis appearance, bring- 
^ with him a tall, good' 
looking man, whom he 
introdaced aa an old fellow serrimt in the 
Earl of Warwick's hoDsehold, by name 
Philip StrangenajB. Kate noticed, as soon 
AS Roger came in, a little aileat telegraphing 
between him and Aiine,~a manirest question 
on the girl'a face, and a biirelj' perceptible 
nod of Roger's bead. She thought that it 
deepened the look of pain and perplezib/ ia 
Anne's face. 

Another fancy had taken possession of 
Kate's miDd, and dwelt there persistently, 
for which she conld give no reason. It waa 
that Philip Sbraogewajs had been the man 
who had met Anne and Roger Cordiner ab 
the street comer, and alao the one who bad 
slipped the note— if it were a note— into 
Anne's hand a few nights before. Kate 
perceived that Philip was stiU in the ser- 
vice of the hoaae of Warwick, for he wore 
their livery, and bad the Earl's badge (the 
b«ar and ragged staff) fastened to hia leit 

" And what news abroad, my masters P " 
31r. Treadwell wished to know, when he 
came in to greet the guests. 

"Why, the main news," said Roger Cor- 
diner good-hnmouredly, " is to know if yon 
have a good cloth of mnstredovilers that yon 
can sell me for a tabard, and at what cost." 

" That have I, my worthy master," sud 
Mr. Treadwell, with a lively professional air; 
"of common cloth at three shillings and 
eigbtpence the yard, and thence np to the 
beat at five shillings; than which I coald 



sell the King's Grace himself no better. 
What colonr should like jou P " 

Two explanations have been given of this 
singularname for a kind of cloth; according 
to one of which it was a corruption of the 
name of the French town where it waa 
originally manufactured; while the other 
represents it aa meaning half velvet, from 
the French words moitU da velouTt. A 
tabard waa a loose short coat with short 
wide sleeves, then much worn. It ia still 
the proper state costume for the royal 
heralds-at-arms. 

" Why, I think a good tawny should aerve 
me as well as. any," answered Roger; and 
tbey were presently deep in shadoa and 

Business, in Mr. Treadwell's eyes, was of 
more consequence than anything else; and 
so long as there was any doubt whether' 
Roger's tabard should be reddish-brown or 
yellowish-brown, orwhetber he would choose 
themustredevilers at three and eigbtpence 
the yard, or that at four and twopence, ib 
was quite impossible for Humphrey to be 
interested in any other question. But when 
these important matters were deciJcd, and 
the measure came out of hia pocket, I'.c was 
able to feel as much interest in public nlLiirs 
as he usually did feeL That, aftor oil, was - 
not very much. 

"And of public news is there auy, my 
masterP" inquired Mr. Treadwell, as he 
proceeded to take his cousin's mcasnre. 
" Things be now all established, I count P " 

Tbey could hardly bo expected otherwise 
just then, when every claimant to the throne 
hod been killed but two, and one of those 
was safely banished across the sea. 

"Things be well settled," said Roger, 
"and all now peaceable, thank the Lord. 
And the King's Highness of Franco hath 
ransomed the Queen sometime so called, — 
Margaret; and I do hear my Lord Friaca 
groffolh apace, and is a right goodly child." 

" Of what years is my Lord Prince now. 



MRS. TREAD WELL'S COOK. 



24> 



master ? " asked Humphrey Treadwell, whose 
notions were exoeedingly Tagae on that and 
many other points. 

"Years!" answered Boger, with a little 
laagfa, in which Philip joined. " Nay, good 
my cousin, my Lord Prince oonnteth his 
life as jet bat by months. Mind yon not, 
he was bom this last All Hallows' Day P " 

" Oh, aye V* responded Humphrey, blush- 
ing like a girl to find himself caught in a 
blunder. '' And, pray you, good master and 
my worthy cousin, is yet any news come 
touching my Lady Princess, I mean the 
Lady Anne — I would say. Mistress Anne 
Neville — ^how call you her P " 

Poor Humphrey! In his anxiety not to 
comniit high treason, he was ready to style 
the Princess of Wales anything that might 
be acMseptable to the person addressed. 
Both Boger and Philip smiled. 
** The Lady Anne, Master Tread well, an' it 
like you ; an earl's daughter can scantly &11 
below that. Why, nothing at all is heard of 
her.'* 

*Tris not known whither she is be- 
come P" 
" Not known unto any man." 
" Eh, poor young lady ! " said Humphrey 
sympathisingly. "The sleeve no longer 
than to here, my master P Well, well ! But 
to think, now! The saints grant she is 
fallen in good hands ! Twelve inches around, 
think y on?" 

" Aye, that shall be well, good my cousin. 
Maybe my young lady is fallen into good 
hands," answered Boger, gravely. 

** I know. Master Cordiner, you should be 
right sorry any ill befall her." 

" Aye, that would 1 1 " said Boger sadly. 
'' An' 'tis like enough it shall." 

" Take me with you, my master," replied 
Humphrey, by which curious phrase he 
meant, " Explain to me what you mean." 

" Why, know yon not that my Lord's 
Grace of Gloucester pursueth sore my 
young lady, and would have her to wed 
with him, whether she will or noP 'Tis 
no secret, that." 
"And she no will P" 

"Her heart, my master, or I mistake, lieth 
buried ten feet deep, under the tower of 
Tewkesbury Abbey." 



" With my Lord Prince that was, trow P 
Ah!" 

" Then wist my Lord of Gloucester nought 
of her dwelling-place P " put in Dorothy. 

"The good Lord keep him from finding 
it!" said Boger. "But beside that, think * 
you, she is under the attainder of Queen 
Margaret." 

It was too true. The poor young Princess 
had been made an outlaw; and if any man 
chose to injure or even murder her, the law 
would take no vengeance upon him. It was 
a pitiful position for a fatherless girl, not yet 
twenty years of age. 



CHAPTEB XIIL 
"the wobsbb sobbow." 

Thbsb details deeply interested Kate Tread- 
well. Her intense pity had been aroused by 
the sad story of the Princess, a girl younger 
than herself, orphaned and widowed; and 
she instinctively looked across at Anne^ as 
being the one other person in the room 
whom she expected to feel with her. She 
could hardly have told why she thought so, 
but it was really because she felt that Anne's 
brain and heart were of finer quality than 
those of Dorothy, Lucy, or Joan. But 
Anne's face was not to be seen. It was 
too early to prepare supper, and she was 
busy with' needlework, which seemed just 
then to require her to pin it to her knee, 
and to bend her head close down to it. So 
Elate was disappointed. 

Boger Gordiner and his friend declined to 
stay for supper, though Dorothy pressed 
them cordially to do so. Humphrey saw 
them out of the shop door, washing his 
hands in invisible soap, and earnestly as- 
suring them that the tabard should be ready 
for his good cousin and worthy master that 
day week. 

"Nan, my maid, how dost thou sigh!" 
said Kate that afternoon, when she and 
Anne were alone in the kitchen. 

*' Is that a new thing. Mistress Kate, think 
yon P " was Anne's response. 

"Nay, — I would it were," replied Kate. 
" But folks say. Nan, it shorteneth life." 

" I hope so much," said Anno quietly. 



248 



HOME WORDS, 



" Nay, good my maid ! Would'st die afote 
thy time P " 

" My time ! " repeated Anne, her nnder lip 
quivering slightly. "That went by some 
greeks gone, Mistress Kate; if you mean 
thereby, the timo* I wonld have been fain to 
die. Bat God's time, may -bo, is another 
thing." 

" Well ! God is wise and merciful." 

" *Ti8 easy for them that be happy to say 
that," was Anne's reply, which rather startled 
Kate. " Let them await till they have seen 
the grave close over half them they best 
loved, and somewhat worser than the grave 
await themselves and the rest, — and then see 
if it will be as glib on their tongues as afore- 
time." 

"Nan I " exclaimed Kate, wondcringly. 

"Mistress Kate, knew you ever a much 
worser sorrow than the losing of a pomander, 
or the spoiling of a new gown P " 

The pomander was a ball made of pierced 
metal, and filled with sweet scented drags, 
which gave oat a pleasant smell when it was 
carried in the warm hand. "Women usually 
wore them hung by chains from their 
girdles. 

Kate searched her memory to think what 
wa3 her worst sori'ow. Her parents had 
both died before she was old enough to 
retain any recollection of them, and she had 
no beloved dead. Try as she would, she 
could not recal anything worse than a cir- 
cumstance which had painfally affected her 
in childhood, the burning of a favourite 
doll by a teasing cousin. She said as much 
to Anne. 

" Your eyes told me that, MiajiresB Kate," 
said Anne. " And that trouble — though I 
make not light of a child's sorrow ; it was a 
trouble when it happed you — yet that trouble 
was without its worser side. You loved the 
toy, and wept to lose it. But it loved not 
you; it was no sorrow nor suffering to it 
that it should be cast on the fire." 

" Nay," Kate thoughtfully allowed, " none." 

"Mistress Kate, 'tis vastly lesser sorrow 
to lose that which you love only, than that 
which likewise loveth you." 

''I would think so jnuch, indeed, Nan. 
But where gattest thou thus much philo- 
sophy P " asked Kate, smiling. 



" I learned it by open graves, mistress," 
said the girl. " I learned it in prison cells, 
where no pain lay in the locked door, but in 
that there was no good unlocking it ; that 
nought stood without to which I cared to 
go forth, nought was within reach of me that 
was worth reaching forth to win. God's 
great world lay around me, full of His riches ; 
but they were not for me. And the one 
thing for which I would most gladly have 
given the world with all its riches, lay far 
out of reach of my longing arms, and I could 
only stretch forth vain hands across the 
darkness, and find nought touch them; 
nought but that which was to me as a toad 
or a snake should be to you, if you chanced 
to lay hand on one in the dark." 

And Anne turned away with a shudder of 
disgost. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

"my JFATHEfi NEVEB DIBTH." 

" Toads and snakes ! " said a cheery-sounding 
voice, which startled both the girls no little. 
"Who talks here touching toads and 
snakes P " 

. " Grandmother I " cried Kate, running to 
meet the speaker. "Eh, but I am iam to 
behold you ! Have you seen Doll P " 

"I've seen everybody but thee, my maid/' 
answered the bright, lively little old woman 
addressed ; " and this other maid that drop- 
peth toads and snakes out of her mouth, 
who's she, belike P " 

And old Mrs. Treadwell sat down in the 
great carved chair, while Kate piled cushions 
round and behind her, in a way which said 
that to make her grandmother comfortable 
was one of the essential matters in life. 

"I am Mistress Treadwell her cookmaid, 
an' it like yon, mistress/' was Anne's explana- 
tion, with a smile. 

It was scarcely possible to .look at old 
Alice Treadwell, and not smile. She was 
very much given to smiling, not only with 
her lips, but with her eyes and her whole 
face. She seemed to look on the world as 
just the place for her, and on every circdm- 
stance that happened to her as the very 
thing she wanted. Yet Kate could remember 



MRS. TREAD WELL'S COOK. 



249 



he»riiig a atory of long ago, when Alice 
Tread^vell had seen four coffins carried out 
of her hoQse in one month, and had after- 
wards been eo ill herself that it was a marvel 
to every one abont her that she had recovered 
at all. Bnt that mnst be so long since, 
thongbt Kate, that perhaps she had forgotten 
it! 

Alice Treadwell now set her head a little 
on one side, and looked at Anne with very 
mncli the air of a lively rObin redbreast. 

** I marvel if thou art ! " said she. " Thoa 
lookest 'rare like a oookmaid, thoa dost I 
IHd folk never call thee aught elseP " 

Anne flashed np to the roots of her hair, 
but she made no other answer. 

•* Well, well ! " said the old woman. 
** K!eep thy toDgae between thy teeth, child, 
if it list thee. 'Tis the safest place for most 
folks* tongnes, it is. But what was this I 
heard tonching toads and snch like pleasant 
talk ? '• 

Kate explained. 

" Aye, aye, aye 1 " said old Alice. " Some 
folks think, ohilder, that 'tis great marvel 
the Lord doth not crash evil men with His 
great power. Bat for me, I have been so 
long time amazed how He can bear with the 
best of as, that I have given over to wonder 
how He stands the worst." 

" Yon think it wicked, my mistress, to say 
such things ? " gently inqaired Anno. 

" Child," said the old woman, "I mind mo 
I once had need to take a long jonrney afoot, 
when this maid's father was a little lad a- 
ranning at my side. It was o'er a right 
rongh and weary road, and the sharp stones' 
cot oar feet ere we had made an end, they 
did ; and my little Ned was right well tired, 
he was; and he fell a- whimpering and a- 
blabbering, he did. Well, I was middling 
done myself; but I took the little lad up, 
and I carried him a bit. I wasn't angry 
with him, my maid, that he fell a-crying. 
But when I took him up, he wouldn't give 
o'er; and he went on a- whimpering. So 
I essayed to cheer him up a bit, I did; 
bat that wouldn't do. And I told him a 
fairy tale, to beguile the way; but that 
wouldn't do neither. So then I sat me 
down of a g^cen bank, and I sang him a bife 
of a song. But nothing would serve. He 



blabbered and he roared while yon might 
have heard him a furlong off. So at last 
says I, — *Ned, this isn't weariness; 'tis 
naughtiness. I'll put thee down again.' 80 
I did." 

Old Alice's head went on one side again, 
and she looked at Annd. 

"Pray you. Grandmother, for the inter- 
pretation of your parable," said Kate, laugh- 
ing a little. 

"Why, child, art no wiser than to want 
it?" replied old Alice. "We are all goings 
to heaven alongside of oar Father, we that 
be of Christy my maids ; none else : aye, and 
the road's sore rough, it is ; and it cuts our 
feet, it doth ; and we get rare weary at times, 
and we fall a-whimpering. I don't think, 
childer, that our Father 's angry when wo 
fall a-whimpering. The stones were sharp 
for Him too, when He came along the road 
with bare feet like us. He'll of tener a deal 
take us up and carry us a bit, than He'll give 
us a shake and bid us have done with our 
noise. And 'tis easy going along the road 
when we're carried. Bat if we won't take 
the ease, and won't listen to the cheer, and 
the tale, and the song, but keep o*^ a-roaring 
out of fair temper and naughtiness, — well, 
then, we get put down sometimes, aye and 
shaken too. I don't say that's thy way, my 
maid; I only know 'tis mine, aye, a deal 
too often, it is I So, if the cap'll not fit thee, 
don't thee put it on; 'tis like enough my 
cap '11 not serve thee. But if it doth, why 
then wear it a bit for old Al'ce her sake." 

" Methinks, mistress," said Anne, quietly 
enough, " that cap shall scarce serve me." 

"Yery like not," responded old Alice, 
" very like not ! Bnt, child, there's another 
cap '11 fit thee. The Lord knoweth thy 
troubles." 

"I reckon He doth," said AnnCj ^*Y©t 
how shall that lighten them, mistress f** 

" Dost know what thou hast told me, by 
that last word P " asked old Alice, gravely. 

"No," replied Anne, looking up. 

" Child, I am sore afeared thou hast no 
Father ! " 

"Nay. My &ther died this last spring- 
time." 

. '' My Father never dieth I " wab ^ne solemn 
answer of Alice. " When trouble taketh me, 



HOME WORDS. 



I go and tell my Father; and I know He 
ilwll see &bont it, and amend it, «ben good 
is. He alwa; keepeth mj secrets ; and Ha 
ne'er forgetteth eo maoh as one of them." 

" ' When good ia ' 1 " repeated Anne, f^ten- 
ing on the qualifying term in the sentence. 
" That may be a vast while firHt, mistreBS." 

" Well, wonldat like it better when it were 
bad P " demanded the old woman ' briskly. 
"That's my Father's basineis, child. His 
dock 'b u tme as the sun : mine's for ever 
-a-getting ont of gear. If I go by that, I 
eball be a-going to bed as the dawnbreaketh, 
and rising np when the san setteth. And 
that 11 not do, child. Nay, nay I I 'd liever 
tny Father fixed the hours than me. Things 



are like to tnm ont % sight better in the 

" Aye, bat in the meantime?" aaid Anne, 
significantly. 

"Eb, maid, M things have oome right 
when thoa art doffing thy raiment for bed, 
never thou mind what they looked like when 
thoa wert dishing dinner." 

" Vij mistress," said Anne, with a nther . 
tronbled smile, "I have but reached the 
dinner bonr as yeL" 

" Now that's more than I conld tell thee," 
retamed old Alices putting on her robin- 
redbreast air. " Oar lather waits not alway 
till night oome to pnt na abed. Maybe thon 
art to go to bed afore old Al'oe, child," 
(To ba eonfintwd.) 



9 (c«nfinu«d). 
characteristics of Bishop 
ndsworth's two Easter 
mna already qaoted are 
uidly combined in an 
paralleled Ascension 
'mn, beyond qnestion 
I Gnoit Hymn in oar 
language for that great Festival. 



iVlolrtnt 9^pmn Wxiitx&x 

"SPECIMEN-aUASSES- FOR THE KINO'S MINSTRELS. 

BT TEX LAM IKAflCES UDUtT B&TBROAL. 

BUBO? vokdswobth's WhUe He nJsed Hii bands in hleesiiis, He was 
ported from His friends ; 

While theii eager ejes behold Him, He npon the 
clouds asoends ; 

He who walked with Ood, and pleased Him, 
prEoching trnth and doom to oome. 

He, oar Enosb, ia translated to His ereilasting 

How onr heavenly Aaron esters, with Hia blood, 

within the t^ ; 
Jbsbna now is come to Canaan, and the kings 

be[<»e Him qoail I 
Kew He plants the tribes of Israel in their pn>- 

miied resting-place ; 
Now OUT great Elijah oiler* donble portion of His 

grace. 

Thon host raised onr human natnre in the elosds 

to Ood's right hand, 
There we sit in heaveitly plaoea, there with Thoa 

in glory stand ; 
Jesns reigns, adored by angels ; man with Ood is 

on the throne ; 
Mighty Lord, in Thine Asoen^on wa bf laith 

behold onr own I 

Holy Ohoet, ninminstor, shed Thy beams upon 

Help ns to look np with Btephen, and to sea, 
beyond the skies, 



See the Conqaeror monnts in trinmpb, see the 

King in royal state, 
Biding on the olonds Bis ohoriot, to His heavenly 

palace gate; 
Hark, the quires of ongsl voices joyfol Hallelojahs 

sing. 
And the portals high are lifted, to leoeive their 

heavenly King. 

Who is this that comes in glory, with the tramp 

of jubilee? 
Lord of battles, Ood of armies. He has gained the 

He who on the Cross did soffer, He who from the 

grave arose. 
He has vanqnished shi and Baton, He hy death 

has spoiled His toes. 



HOME WORDS. 



BT THE BBT. OEOBOI E7EBARD, H.A., lUTBOB Or " EDIB's LETTBR," ETO. 



J _ (CoatiniMil/r 

CHAPTER n. • 

OMETEMES ire come 
upon a tomb where an 
epitaph ia expressive of 
the moot entire and an- 
dirided reliance upon 
the SaTionr. I remem- 
ber often walking to a 
little village in the lale of Thaaet, and 
always staying to look at one such, which 
not eeldom cheered me in Beasoiu of donbt 
and depression. 

" J«aiii, my Ood, to Thee I fly, 
Thon ift a Befnge erer nighi 
When heut shKll fail, vhen Ufa ii part, 
Thon wilt TMetre m; soul at lait." 

Another may interest many readers. It 
refers to one whoso name is familiar to na 
throngh her most helpfal and experimental 
writings. I saw it in Sontbport Cemetery. 
The words on the stone were very few and 
yet very impressire. 

" Hetty Bowman, 

Died"— 
" iiighty to Save." ' 

Another I wonid set by the side of Uiis. 
I found the inscription in Haverill church- 
yard, Essex. 

" Hi» trembling band the heavm]; Hope embnwed I 
Hia feeble loot upon the Bock he placed : 
That Book was CbrlBt : the epirifa tnut and stay, 
When earth ahall melt and haaTen ahaU paaa 

Or this one which a friend once gave me 
from a tomb in Leicester, 

Bold infidality, turn pole and die, 
Beneath this stone four infanta' ubes lie; 
Say, are they lost or MTfdT 



mpoft 133.) 

It death'! by sin, thsy sinned, for tbe; an hers ; 
It heaven'! by works, in heaven they can't appear ; 

BeasoD, ah, how depraved I 
Bavere the Bible's aaored page, the knot's untied, 
They died, fot Adam sinned ; they live, for Jc^ua 

died." 

Another I night add from a village in 
North Wales. It is npon the tomb of a 
yonng lady who had many dark honrs and 
who seemed for m irtiile unable to find 
peace ; bnt a few linee vrava written to her 
and a tract endosed, " Only tmst Him ; " 
light arose in the darkness, and by her 
desire these tines are engmven over her 
remains: 

" When from the dast of death I rise, 
Vo claim my mansion in tbe skies : 
B'en then shall this be all my plea, 
Jesns hath lived and died for me." 

A beantifnl spirit of faith is expressed 
in the following : 

" The Eye that marks a spsnow's tall 
Beheld my spirit pass away : 
Jems who died for me, for all, 

I hombl; tmst 

Will raise my dnat, 
And not forget me in Bis mercy's day." 

Sometimes we find an insoription aa an 
epitaph If ith very poor grammar bnt very 
mnch. heart. I always respect one placed 
over a father's grave in a Snffblk village 
by three orphan danghters who tended 
him with wonderfnl sfiection during a 
long illness. Never have I seen more filial 
love than in that home. 

Farenta that twins BTonnd the hevt, 

Eipcrienoe beat can tell. 



(To be eontintud.) 



HOAfE WORDS. 



V. God's Car^, 
"An tor me, I un poor and needy, bat the Lord coieth for me."— F(. xl. 20 [P.-B. Ten.) 



^OT & brooklet) fioweth 
Onward to the sea, 
I Hot a ennbeam gloweth 
Od its bosom free : 
Not a seed nofoldeth 
To the glorioas air. 
Bat oar Father boldetb 

It within His care. 
ITot a floweret fadeth, 

Not a star grows dim, 
Not a olond o'ershadoweth, 
Bnt 'tis iQarked by Him. 
Dream not that thy gladness 

Qod doth fail to see ; 

Think not in ihj sadness 

He forgetteth thee. 



Not a tie is broken, 

Not a hope laid low, 
Not a farewell spoken, 

Bat our QoA doth know. 
Every hair is nambered, 

Ereiy tear is weighed 
In the changeless balance 

Wisest loTe has made. 
Power eternal testeth 

In His changeless hand ; 
liOTO immortal haateth 

Bwift at His command. 
Faith can firmly trnst Him 

In the darkest hour. 
For the key she holdeth 
• To His love and power. 



disraal fire broke out 

r baker's ehop in Fiid- 

; Lane, by Fish Street, 

bo lower part of the 

, near Thamen Street 

ong wooden bonees 

y to take fire and full 

o( combnstiDie goods), in Billingsgate ward, 

which ward in a few hours was laid in ashes. 

As it began in the dead or the night, when 

every one was asleep, the darkness greatly 

increased the horror of the calamity. 

It rapidly rnshed doirn the hill to the 
bridge, crossed Thames Street to St. Magnus' 
Chnrch at the foot of the bridge ; bnt having 
scaled and captnred its fort, shot larga 
Tolnmes of flames into every place about it. 
The fire drifted back to the City again, and 
roared with great violence through Thames 
Street, sided by the combustible matter 



{Set Jlliutrotlon, Page 2S5.) 
following occoant ol tbU lamentaMe Firo is token from tlo London 
QaitCtt, pablishsd b; Authority, Wlillehall, Sept. B, 1666.) 

deposited there, with such a fierce wind at 
its back aa to strike with horror its beholders. 

" Firo ! Firo I Fire ! " doth resound in every 
street, some starting out of their sleep and 
peeping through the windows half-dresaed. 
Some in night- drosses, mshing wildly obont 
the streets, crying piteously, and praying to 
God for assistance; women carrying children 
in their arms, and the men looking quite 
bewildered. Many cripples were also seen 
hobbling about, not knowing which way to 
go to get free from the flames, nhich were 
raging all round them. No man that had the 
sense of humanmiseries could nnconoomedl; 
behold the Trightful destmction made in one 
of the noblest cities in the world. 

What a confasion 1 The Lord Mayor of the 
City came with hts ol&cors ; and ijondon, eo 
famous for its wisdom, can find neither handi 
nor brains to prevent its utter rnin. London 



THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON. 



257 



must fkn to the gronnd in ashes, and who can 
prevent it P The fire gained mastery, and 
burnt dreadfully. By the fierce easterly 
wind it spread quickly in all directions, over- 
turning all so farionsly that the whole City is 
bronght into a desolation. That night most 
of the citizens had taken their last sleep; 
and when they went to sleep, they little 
thought that when their ears were unlocked 
that such an enemy had Invaded their city, 
and that they should see him with such fury 
break through their doors, and enter their 
rooms with such threatening countcDance. 

It commenced on the Lord*s Day moruing ; 
never was there the like Sabbath in London. 
Many churches were in flames that day. God 
seemed to come down and preach ^imself in 
them, as He did in Sinai when the mount 
burnt with fire. Such warm preaching 
those churches never had before, and in other 
churches ministers had preached their fare- 
well sermons. 

Goods were moved hastily from the lower 
part of the City to the upper part, and some 
hopes were retained on Sunday that the fire 
would not reach them ; they could scarcely 
imagine that a fire half a mile off could 
reach their houses. All means to stop it 
proved ineffectual. The wind blew so hard 
that flakes of flame and burning matter were 
carried across the streets and spread the fire 
in all directions; and when the evening came 
on the fire was more visible and more dread- 
ful, and instead of the dark curtains of night, 
which used to spread over the City, the cur- 
tains had changed to yellow, and at a dis- 
tance the whole City appeared to be on fire. 
• Little sleep was taken that night ; men busy 
in all directions pulling down and blowing up 
houses to stop its progress ; but all to no pur- 
pose, for it made the most furious onset, and 
drove back all opposers. Many were upon 
their knees in the night pouring out tears 
before the Lord, interceding for poor London 
in the day of its calamity ; but all in vain. 

Sunday night the fire had got into Ocmnon 
Street, and levelled it with tho ground. On 
Monday QracechtMrch Street was all in flames, 
and Lombard Street and Fejichurch Street. 
The burning was in the shape of a bow, and 
a fearf q1 bow it was I 



Then the flames broke in on Comhill, that 
large and spacious street, and rapidly crossed 
the way by the train of wood that laid in tho 
streets untaken away, which had been pulled 
from the houses to prevent its spreading, and 
burned to the tops of the highest houses 
and to the bottom of the lowest cellars. 

The Koyal Exchange was the next invaded, 
and burnt quickly through all its galleries. 
By-and-by down fell all the kings upon their 
faces, and the building on the top of them, 
with such a noise as was dreadful ; then the 
citizens trembled and fled away, lest they 
should be devoured also. 

Monday night was a dreadful night! 
The fire burst into Cheapside in four direc- 
tions, with such a dazzling glare and roaring 
noise, by the falling of so many houses at one 
time, as to amaze any one who witnessed 

it. 
On Tuesday the fire burnt up the very 

bowels of London; from Bow Lane, Bread 
Street, Friday Street, and Old Change, the 
flames came up almost together. 

Then the fire got on to Paternoster Bow, 
Kewgate Street, the Old Bailey, and Ludgato 
Hill, and rushed down into Fleet Street. 
St. FauFs Church, though all of stone out- 
ward, and naked of houses about it, strangely 
caught fire at the top ; the lead melted, and 
ran down as snow before the burning sun, 
and massy stones, with a hideous noise, fell 
on the pavement. 

Tuesday night was more dreadful than 
Monday night; for the flames, having con- 
sumed the greatest part of the City, threat- 
ened the suburbs, and the poor were 
preparing to fly as well as they could with 
their luggage into the countries and vil- 
lages. 

On Wednesday the Lord had pity on them ; 
the wind hushed, and the fire burnt gently. 
Then the citizens began to gather a little 
heart. 

The following list of buildings destroyed 
in this terrible disaster hath been taken :— 
13,200 Houses, The Custom House, 

87 Churches, Jail at Newgate, 

6 Chapels, Three City Gates, 

The Eoyal Exchange, The Guildhall, 
And four Bndges. 



HOME WORDS. 



!audti-<ili(iu ^quattn'0. 



lUSTEALI AN Sqaatterg," eeems 
j to be ■ ver; appropriate torm 
I for the EJuigBroo, whoBO mELaaivo 
I and powerfol tail serves him aa 
eioellenb eobstitate for a 
camp stool. Theanimal habitnallj rests itself 
inttuBpoBitioDiOndnheQliuntedand brouglit 
to baj it will sit up in this manaer and fight 
with it* forelegs, its sharp strong claws being 



rather formidable weapons of defenoe. Ths 
nalking of the Kangaroo on oil fonrs i» 
awkward and constrained; bat thej hop or 
bound along on the hinder limbs with great 
velocity. Gentle and inoETensire in character, 
their food is entirely vegetable. The large 
claw of the hind foot is their defensive weapon, 
and being armed with a hoof-like noil, it ia 
able to inflict a severe blow. F. 9. 



QTtie ;foUs of satbtf^m. 



I CHBISTIAN man hod a sceptioal 
friend who eud he believed in 
chance. 
He placed in his room a beaati- 
M globe, and aoid : " It is a map or repre- 
■entation of the world." In reply to the 
qaestion where he prooared it, be aud; 



" Oh, from nowhera." " Then how oama it 
hereP" "Bjchanoe." " Ob, nonsense I " 
replied the sceptic. 

"Well," said the Ghriation, "yon will not 
believe it of that little toy, and yet yon can 
believe that the great world of which it ii a 
feeble representation ooold comebyohanoel*^ 



r->e-VX$'J'Cfc^Ws^^ 



THE CHINESE AND CHINESE STORJES. 



259 



CI)e Ct)uufi!^ atdy €\i\\\tit £^tor»d« 




BT THE BEY. ABTHUB £. UOULS, B.D., C.H.S., NUiOPO AND HANGCHOW.* 

(Continued from page 229.) 



|HE " StoricB *' given by Mr. 
Moulein his charming book 
show* that there is much 
to admire in the Chinese. 
It is clear that thoj have 
a knowledge of the reverence 
and respect dae to parents 
and elders, and of other moral duties. But 
their need of the Gospel and the teaching of 
God's Word is none the less manifest. 

Ajs Mr. Moule tells us: ''They are far 
from acting up to the dim light they possess : 
and tbey have the most superstitious notions 
respecting the soul and God. They have 
many idols : and even their regard for their 
parents becomes almost an act of idolatry, 
since when they are dead they turn them 
into deities, and say, in the words of Con- 
fucius, their great teacher : " He who places 
his forefathers on an equality with Heaven, 
and sacrifices to his father as he sacrifices to 
God, performs the greatest of all moral 
duties." 

Mr. Moule well observes: "The Chinese 
would think very little of the man who was 
kind to his friend and wcbs unkind to his 
brother, or of the woman who loved her 
brother and deserted her husband, or of the 
husband who loved his wife and neglected 
his parents, or of the man who was dutiful 
to his parents and rebelled against his 
emperor. And so out of then* own mouths 
they are judged. They neglect or forget 
their duty towards God ; and no other virtue 
or excellence can make up for this. They 
need therefore the knowledge of the only 
true God, and of Jesus Christ whom He has 
sent ; the blessed doctrine of a Father, Be- 
deemer, and Sanctifier. And this salvation 
we preach to them at the commandment of 
the Lord Jesus Christ." 

At the same time, so far as they go, the 
stories, whilst they amuse, may teach even 
some English children a lesson, as well as 



prompt them to do what they can to send the 
higher knowledge of God to this wonderful 
country. 

We give twelve of the short Stories. We 
hope they will make our readers hungry for 
the rest. Mr. Monle*s book ought to be 
widely circulated. 

I. 

The parents of Tsze-loo, the favourite dis- 
ciple of Confucius, were poor ; and he himself 
was in the habit of eating nothing but herbs 
and pulse, while he carried rice for his parents 
on his back thirty miles and more. 

When the old people died, Tsze-loo tra- 
velled southwards to the country of Ts'oo, a 
hundred carts following him loaded with ten 
thousand measures o£ grain. When he ar- 
rived at the grave, he spread his mat, and 
sat down upon it, and then set up his three- 
legged kettle, and ate his meal; and, sighing, 
said : — 

"Though I am willing ^o eat herbs and 
pulse, and to carry grain for my parents to 
eat, alas, they are not I " 

If then a son thus longs to support and 
help his parents when they are gone, is it not 
strange that sons living by their parents' 
side, with the joy and blessing of their pre- 
sence, will not seize this opportunity for 
dutiful service ? 

There was once a man named Han. When 
he was a boy he misbehaved himself very 
often, and his mother used to beat him with 
a bamboo-rod. One day he cried after the 
beating, and his mother was greatly sur- 
prised, and said : — 

" I have beaten you many a time, and you 
have never cried before; why do you cry to- 
dayP" 

*'0h, mother!" he replied, "you used to 
hurt me when you flogged me; but now I 
weep because you are not strong enough to 
hurt me." 



• " Ohinese Stories," Edited and Translated by Arthur E. Moule, B.P. (London : Seeley, Jaokeon dr 
Halliday.) This will be a capital book for a Christmas gift. 



26o 



HOME WORDS. 



^ IIL 

Abonfc eighteen hundred years ago there 
ifras a man named Ong, who, when a child, 
lost his father, and lived alone with his 
mother. 

Civil war broke out, and he carried his 
mother off on his back to escape the con- 
fasion. Many a time, when he was out 
searching for some food for his mother, ho 
met the banditti, who seized him and threat- 
ened to drag him off. Bat he wept, and told 
them of his old mother at home depending 
on him ; and even these rough robbers had 
not the heart to kill him. 

IV. 

About eighteen hundred years ago there 
was a man named Mao, who cntei-tained a 
friend, one Koh, and kept him to spend the 
night. Early on the following morning Mao 
killed a fowl for breakfast, and Mr. Koh 
flattered himself that it was for him. But 
no! it was for Mao's old motber; and Mao 
and Koh sat down to nothing but greens and 
rice. When Koh saw this he rose up from 
the table, bowed low to Mao, and said : — 

" Well done, illustrious man I " 

There is plenty of cordiality amongst 
friends in the world, but too much neglect of 
parents. This example of old Mao's teaches 
us the right order of duties. 

V. 

There was a boy once named Woo Mang, 
or '* Brave and Talkative." When only eight 
years old ho was very dutiful to his parents. 

They were very poor, and oonld not afford 
oven mosquito-curtains * for their bed in the 
summer. So their little boy used to get 
into his parents' be.d early in the evening, and 
let the mosquitoes do their worst at biting 
him for an hour or two ; and then, when they 
were surfeited with his blood, and fatigued 
with their venomous exertions, he got out 
and called to his parents to sleep in peace. 

VI. 

A man named Chung lost his father in 
early childhood ; and his mother, when old, 
fell ill, and longed for some bamboo-shoots to 
eat. Chung could not find any, because the 
ground was dry and hard. He went to the 



wood, leant against the trees, and wept. His 
tears fell like rain, and moistened the ground, 
so that the shoots sprang up instantly, and 
with joy he took them to his mother. 

VII. 

About thirteen hundred years ago an officer 
was unjustly accused of treason by a brother 
officer, and was condemned to death. His 
son, who was only fifteen years of age, went 
in boldly and beat the drum to claim an 
audience, entreating to bo allowed to die for 
his father. 

The emperor thereupon set the man free ; 
and then expressed his intention of giving 
the boy the title •'Perfectly Dutiful." 

The boy exclaimed : "It is right and just 
for a son to die when his father is disgraced ; 
but what disgrace can be compared with the 
idea of gaining honour at a father's expense ? 
I respectfully decline your mojesty's proposed 
distinction." 

vin. 

A certain man had a mother who lost her 
sight, and he spent all his money on doctors, 
but in vain. For thirty long years he cared 
for his mother, and would scarcely tfike off 
his clothes ; and in the pleasant spring 
weather he would lead his mother into the 
garden, and laugh and sing, so that his 
mother forgot her sadness. 

When she died, her son wasted away from 
grief; and when at last he somewhat re- 
covered his health, he loved bis brothers and 
sisters like his mother, and was as gentle to 
his nephews and nieces as if they had been 
his own children. As he said himself : " This 
is the only way in which I can get some com* 
fort, namely, in letting my love go forth to 
those who are left." 

xs. 

There was once a mandarin named Soo. 
He had under his jurisdiction a person named 
Yih or " Bent." 

This man quarrelled with his brothers 
about some land, and went to law. Year 
after year the case dragged on ; each party 
brought forward fresh evidence, and a 
hundred persons were involved in the law- 
suit. The prefect at last summoned " Bent " 



• Moeqoitoes are finats which sting so badly, especially at night, that lU but the very poor in Chins 
have gauze or net bed-ourtains to keep them out. • 



A WEDDING HYMN. 



261 



and his brothers before him and addressed 
them as follows : — 

•* It is difficult to gefc a brother; it is easy 
enough to get land. Suppose you gain your 
fields and lose your brother, how will you 
feel then P " 

The prefect wept, and none of the by- 
standers could restrain their tetrs. The 
brothers then bowed low to the magistrate 
and asked his pardon, and reflecting on their 
sod ten years of quarrels and separation at 
once resomed their common dwelling. 

X. 

There were once two brothers, the elder 
named Duke Peace, the younger Earl Bland, 
'who lived together in peace and love. 

When the elder was eighty years old, his 
brother honoured him as a venerable father ; 
and took care of him as of a tender infant. 

At every meal he asked him every other 
minute if his hunger was satisfied or no ; and 
when the weather began to get chilly, he 
stroked his back, and said : "Are not your 
clothes too thin, brother ? " 

Why was this incessant care shown by 
Bland for Peace, as to his hunger and thirst, 
and cold and heat P Why, but that it is a 
rare thing in the world to have a brother, 
and a rarer thing still to have a white-haired 
brother f 



XI. 

A certain great officer had a younger 
brother named "Perverse," who was con- 
stantly getting intoxicated. One day, when 
he was tipsy, he shot at and killed his 
brother's ox which dragged his cart. When 
the great man came home, his wife met him, 
and said : " Perverse has shot your ox." 
. He did not seem surprised, nor did he ask 
questions, but simply said : " Well, let it bo 
cut tip for food ; " and sat down quietly to 
read. His wife exclaimed again : " Perverse 
has shot the ox; surely this is no light 
matter I " 

" I am aware of it/' said her husband ; and 

did not even change colour, but kept reading 

his book. 

xn. 

A family named Brown had been long dis- 
tinguished for harmony and love. 

One of the brothers was on his way to the 
capital to compete for the highest degree. 
The rumour reached him that his elder 
brother was ill. He sighed, and said: 
" Calamities are swift; honour can come by- 
and-by. I must go to my brother;" and 
so saying, he instantly turned back. 

The next year he came out head of the 
whole list for admission to the Imperial 
Academy* the Han-lin (Forest of Pencils); 
the senior wrangler of his year. 



91 Wlt^itiins %pmn. 




BT THB BBV. CANON BELL, D 

|E near ns, Triune Ood, we pray, 
In this the bridal hour ; 
And may we feel, this holy day, 
Thy gentle power. 

Give these who at Thy table bendy 

Rich tokens of Thy love ; 
All benedictions on them send 

From l^eaven above. 

'Great Father, ratify the vow 

That each to each has given ; 
The troth that has been plighted now. 

Seal Thou in Heaven. 

Ohrist, who at Cana's marriage-fcasb 
A Guest didst deign to be ; 



D., RECTOR OF CHELTENHAM. 

Grant that this union may bo blest 
And owned of Thee. 

O Holy Spirit, mystic Dove, 

Author of life and peace, ' 
Crown all their hopes of joy and lovo 

With rich increase. 

And when this solemn rite is o'er. 

And one in Christ they be, 
God, send them forth for evermore, 

To walk with Thee,— 

To walk with Thee, with steadfast heart, 

Till life wears on to even ; 
Then to be with Thee, where Thoa art, 

For aye, in Heaven. 



ITOMS WORDS. 



jTafilttf for Yom 

BT ELEOOB B. FItOSSEB. 



XXXIV. HONOURABLE OLD AGE. 

ELL, you've seen yonr best 
days ! there's little eoongb 
of yon left now," said a pair 
of shears to a spade that was 

leaning against the hovel door. 

"I can do a good day's work yet," said 

the spade. 
"Yon don't look 

mnchlikeit,"st>id 

the shears, snper- 

cilionsly. "Your 

edge is all worn 

anay, and yonr 

handle's cracked 

right through ; I 

should say yon 

weren't good for * 

"Even so," said 
the spade. "I'd 
tstber ho worn 
out in good honest 
work, than lis on 
the shelf like yon, 
till the mat spoilt 
my hinges and 
made me useless. 
I heard the gar- 
dener say this 
morninghesh ould 
have to get a new 

pair of shears, for , 

you weregood for bonookul 

nothing." 

XXXV. DOUBTFUL HONESTY. 

"Quite a tempting evening for a stroll, 
my dears," said a fox to some young pnl- 
lets who were picking up a few grains of 
' barley left from their last meal . 



"Yes," said the pullets, "bnt we can't 
get outside this tiresome grating." 

"Ah, tint's a pity ! " said the fox ; " but 
perhaps I could mannge to undo the fas- 
tening for yon. I've munaged one of that 
sort before — and it's a shame you shonldn't 
come out. There's a whole handfnl of oata 
just outsido tho barn door thai the wag- 
goner dropped 
when he was feed- 
ing the horses just 
now — I came on 
pnrpose to tell 

" How delight- 
fol ! " cried tho 
pullets ; " make 
haste — do — be- 
fore anyone comes 
to stop us." 

" What are you 
aboot, yon ras- 
cal ?" cried Watch , 
the yard-dogi as 
ho suddenly ap- 
peared round the 
comer; "be offthis 
instant, if you vs- 
Ine awhole skin." 
" Pardon me," 
said the fox us he 
8kalkedoff,"Iwas 
merely remarking 

— TZ7— ^1 what a pleasant 

1 OLD iQB. evMiing it was— I 

had no thongbt oF 
intruding further ; my principle has always 
been, Honesty is the best policy." 

" Perhaps so," said Watch ; " but I ques- 
tion how far your practice would have 
squared with it, if I hadn't happened to 
I come up when I did," 



•■*^»'«H5*9-^«'»j 



THE YOUNG FOLKS' PAGE. 



263 • 



Cl^e liounff jfolfes' page^ 



XXXV. HOW QOD GIVES THINGS BACK. 
Bt thx Bit. Jaxu YAvaHiv, H.A. 



[2:^! 



HBRE waf a widow womaxi«~Bhe was not 
very poor, and she was not rery ji€tu She 
had two sons, and the two sons I am sony 
to say were not good sons at all ; they were 
▼ery wild and wicked. The widowed mother 
was Tery unhappy ahout them. One day 
there was a collection being made for the Missionary 
Booiety, and the mother had saved np twenty pounds, 
and she gave the whole of this twenty pounds to the 
Missionary Society. Her sons were very angry indeed 
about it, and said, " You might as well throw your money 
into the sea. as give It to the Missionary Society." She 
said '*That is just what I have done. I have ca«t my 
bread.upon the waters j that is like throwing it into the 
sea. Perhaps I shall find it another day." 

The eons were very angry indeed ; they thought they 
ought to have had the twenty pounds ; and they could 
not forgive their mother for using it to send teachers to 
the heathen, and to buy them Bibles. They were so angry 
that tb^ both went and enlisted im the army. Theij regi- 
ments were ordered to India; one of the sons was sent far 
up the Gtoges, the other remained at Calcutta. The one 
that waa sent far up the Ganges happened to be, in God's 
providence, thrown very near a good missionary. This 
missionary was very kind to him, and talked to him ; till 
at last the young man became quite religious, quite a 
Christiaxi. When his mother heard of it— for he wrote 
home to tell his motiier of the change in his heart— she 
said, " Oh my twenty pounds I haven't they come back to 
me again P " That was God's way of giving things back. 
After the elder brother had become a Christian, he went 
down to see his younger brother in Calcutta. They prayed 
together, had much conversation, and it pleased God that 
the younger brother too should become quite a Christian. 
Tery soon after the younger son became good, the elder 
died. He died most happily. The younger brother wrote 
home an aeoount of the death of his elder brother, telling 
how great was his pleasure at the thoaght of going to 
heaven. When the letter came to his mother, she said, 



" Oh my twenty pounds ! haven't I got my twenQr ponnda 
back again, a hundred-fold ? '* 

This younger son afterwards became a minister, and 
left the army. Time went on. The poor mother got very 
old, and by-and-by she came to her last illness, and felt 
she was going to die. Lying in her bed, very ill, near her 
death, the Bible by her side, a tap came at the door. She 
Just said, *' Come in," when who should walk in but her 
younger son dressed like a clergyman ; and a clergyman 
he was. There was his mother before him. He took the 
Bible, read to her, prayed with her. His mother saw, and 
recognised him ; she died so happy,— made happy because 
she loved God, and had found out that both her sons loved 
Him too. One was gone to heaven, and the other was still 
serving Him on earth. Before she died, she said again, 
" Oh my twenty pounds I have not my twenty pounds oome 
back again P" Was not that ** lending to the Iiord"P 
Did not her money " come back again " P 

XXXVI. A LITTLE. 

A LiRLB,— 'tis a little word. 

But much may in it dwell ; 
Then let the warning truth be heard. 

And learn the lesson well. 

The way of ruin thus beglni^ 

Down, down, like eaqr stairs 1 
If conscience suffers little sins» 

Soon larger ones it bears. 

A little theft, a small deceit^ 

Too often leads to more ; 
'Tis hard at first, but tempts the ftet 

As through an open door. 

Just as the broadest rivers run 
From small and distant springs. 

The greatest crimes that men have done 
Have grown from little things. 

The child who early disobeys, 
Stands now on slippery ground | 

And who shall tell, in future days. 
How low he may be foond. 

Avor. 



i^w*^k^i^w«^ar*»a#«»«^«Mr 



BT TBS BIGHT BBT. TBS LORD BISHOP OF 80D0B AND KAN. 



BIBLE QUESTIONS. 
1. TTOW did God first teach Israel the power of prayer 
AA in overcoming their enemies P 

8. Why do we find the name of Bphralm in prophecy 
given to Israel P 

8. Where do we learn, in the Old Testament Scriptures 
that God the Son appeared many times on earth before 
He waa bom in Bethlehem P 

4. H*ve we any deflpition in the Bible of eternal lifeP 
and how do men receive itP 

6. How did Joaeph, and afterwards Daniel, look for tha 
interpretation of dreams and vitionsP 

0. What remarkable title did the man bear, whose 
prayer to God is the first recorded in SoriptureP 

7. When God created the world, where was the Lord 
JensP 

8. In what place of worship, built by a Boman officer, did 
Chdtfe axplau how He Himself waa the food for thesoulP 



9. How was Christ anointed to be the Prophet Priest, 
and KiDg of His people P 

10. What is the only way in which we can account (or 
the penitent thief being able to recognise in our Lord 
upon the cross the Saviour of the world P 

11. How is it, that while Scripture says, " There is none 
righteous, no not one." yet we read in Bcriptoxe of 
certain righteous men r 

12. Who first gave themselves and then their goods to 
the LordP Who first gave their goods, but not them- 
selves to the Lord P 

ANSWERS (See Ootobis No., page 888). 
I. Gen. zviii. 83-83; Deut. iii. S3. II. Flov.^. IS; Jaa. 
v. 80. m. Ephes. Iv. 28 j Gal. v. 24. IV. Prov. i. 88. V. 
Heb. viii. 10 ; compare Luke zi. 20 and Matt. xii. 28b TI. 
Matt. xzvi. 22. YII. John ziv. 6. VIIL 2 Kings zlv. 28. 
IX. Matt. zvi. 23. X. Isa. xzztz. 6-7. XL Luke iv. 18-80. 
XIL Judg. xiii. 3-6. Birth, separation, strength. 



^^^^^^^>^^k^^^^*^ 



^ Dr..»i,Hu«™wi».l THE STAG, OR RED DEER, t^' 





FOR 







^^7^^ 



^' a Mtttit Cftrfetmasfi*' 



DT THE LATE FRANCES BIDLET HAVEBGAL. 




MERBIE ChriBtmas to jon ! 
For we " serve the Lord with 
mirth," 
And we carol forth glad tidings 
Of our holy Saviour's birth. 
So we keep the olden greeting 

With its meaning deep and true, 
And wish " A Merrie Christmas 
And a Happy New Year to you ! '' 



Oh, yes ! " A Merrie Christmas," 

With blithest song and smile, 
Bright with the thought of Him who 
dwelt 

On earth a little while, 
That we might dwell for ever 

Where never falls a tear : 
So " A Merrie Christmas ** to you,. 

And a Happy, Happy Year ! 




Cfte ^tag, ov »eli Mm\ 



I HE Stag, if we regard the 
elegance of his form, the 
flexibility oE his limbs, his 
bold branching horns, and 
the lightness of his mo- 
tions, is the most beautiful 
of the deer kind. 
The antlers of the male Stag are supported 
on short solid tubercles of the frontal bone. 
After remaining nearly a year, they are cast 
off, and soon replaced by a newly-f ormed antlen 
which is of a larger size than the one lost. It 
often weighs nearly thirty pounds, and has 
been known to be completely formed in ten 
weeks from the time of its first appearance. 
There is no other instance in the animal 
kingdom of so rapid a growth. 
Stag-hunting used to be a favourite pastime 

VOL. X. KO. XII. 



^in Britain. Large tracts of land were set apart- 
for making forests as a shelter for them. 
Amongst these wo may mention the New 
Forest, Woolmer Forest, and Epping Forest : 
but very few are ever seen in these forests 
now. 

In Scotland, however, in the central part of 
the Grampians, there are still large herds of Bed 
Deer. They f req uent the southern part of the 
bleak and generally speaking naked ridge of 
Minigny, which lies between the glen of Athol 
and Badenach. The deer are seldom on the 
summits, but generally ii^ the glens of the 
Tilt and Bruar. They are often seen in herds 
of upwards of a thoasand ; and when, in a 
track whore there is no human abode for 
twenty or thirty miles, a long line of stag 4 
apiiear on a height with their branching horns 

N 2 



aCS HOME 


WORDS. 


relieved agunst b dear moantaia ekj, tho 


Tossed hia beamed ttonUet lo the ekj ; 


Bight is very Btriking. 


A moment gazed adovu the dale. 


Nothing can eiceed the vividnesa of Scott's 


A moment annffed the tainted gnle, 


Trell-known lines: — 


A moment Uitened to the ory 




That thickened as the chase drew nigh ; 


" The antletea monwoh of the waBte 


Then, as the headmost foea appeared, 


Sprang Irom hia lieathei7 aoncb in haste ; 


With one brava bound the copse ho oleare,! ; 


Hot, ere hU fleet career be took. 




The ilowdropB from hia flanka he shook ; 


Sought the wUd heaths ol Uam Var." 


Like oroBted leader, proud and bigli, 


FllEUEBlCK SUKELOCK. 



A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIME. 

■ EMILY B. HOLT, iniBOR OF " THE MAIDENS' LODGE," ETC. 



CHAPTER XV. 
ood's pbeachino, 
NB shook her head, and 
. wear; look came into 
lit eres, when old Alice 
Veadwell eaggested that 
her life might not be 
long. 

"N6!" Bheaiud. "It 

is .the happy that die 

enrlf. The hapless have a long, aorrowFuI 

way before them, and they may look ont for 

a weary road." 

"Eh.moid!" said old AUce. "I've lived 
nigh fonrscore years in this world, and I 'vc 
seen so little come that I looked for, and so 
much I ne'er reckoned on, that I 've given 
o'er fretting me for matters that may be. 
'Tis no good, childor." 

" It may be no good," returned Anne with 
a sigh, "but bow ahall yon help it, my 
mistress F " 

"Well, 'tis none so easy," said old Alice. 
" And 'tis a eight easier to preach to another 
than to one's self. The best way is alway 
to read thine homilies to thyself first, ere 
thoa set oat to disconrse to other folk. Bat, 
though I said the best, there's a better 
way than that, my maid ; and it is, to go to 
church where the Lord's a-preaching. And 
the door of that church is very oft at the end 
of pongh roadi." 

Old Alice's conversalion was always full 
of sinulitndei, which Kate was apt to take 
rather too liteiaUy. 



"Ah, now yon mean Saint Lawrence 
Pountney, Grandmother ; 'tis rare rough 
down yon street. I nigh put out mine ankle 
the last time I went thither." 

" Thy saints and my saints be not alway 
the same folks, Kate," said Alice, with a 
twinkle in her eyes. " There's a good let 
of churches, my maid, and a weary tot of 
roads to them, that I meant, or ever thou 
go near Saint Lawrence Pountney. There 'n 
Saint Disease's, at the end of SuSer Strtiet ; 
and there's Saint Sorrow's, in Mourniug 
Lane; and there's Saint Penny- go -quick' a, 
in Heavy-loss Street; and there's Sunt 
Sick- Heart's, midway up Hopeless Eow; 
and Saint Cruelty's, on Bitterword Hill. 
Eb, bat there's a parcel of them! And 
in ouy of those, maids, you'll alway find 
either the Lord or the dovil in the pulpit at 
sermon time. Sometimes they ore both 
there, and you can choose. The throng's 
thickest round the devil's pnlpit. Folks 
mostly like hia aermons better of the tiro. 
He's given to saying: 'Idy dear afflicted 
brethren, never anybody was so troubled as 
yon! But take comfort: 'tis with this coin 
ye buy Heaven.' And you'll see the folks 
sometimes looking right cheery, when they 're 
coming ont of ohnreh after one of the devil'^ 
sermons. He keeps a pot of honey in tho 
vestry, and rubs it ever on bis lips afore be 
beginneth. But the Lord discourseth right 
difi'erent from that. He sets yon to looking 
into your hearts by the light of Hia lantern, 
and it shows right ngly things there. (The 
devil '11 set yon looking there too, but 'tis by 



MRS. TREADWELLS COOK. 



269 



Uia lantern, which flasheth false colours, and 
trims up all the ugly brown beetles in green 
and gold.) The Lord's lantern shows matters 
jast as they are. And, whatever the Lord 
doth, the devil 's sare to go and do the same 
thing, bat alway upside down.- Saint Dis- 
ease's hath a dispensary, where the Lord 
givcth oat simples and ontteth away cores ; 
and so doth the devil on t* other side. 
Ton '11 get wormwood served to you at the 
Lord's dispensary (with a lamp of sugar 
alway at the bottom) ; but the devil handeth 
forth rare sweet wines, clear and sparkling. 
And the Lord taketh forth the core, that He 
may save you: it hurts, childer, it doth! 
But the devil rabs on scented salve, which 
is rare good to smell to, and leaveth the core 
in. £h, my maids ! there 's many a day old 
Al'ce has gone to the devil's dispensary, and 
licked her lips over his sweet wine, and smelt 
to his rose-coloured salve. Now, child, which 
door art thou going in at P " 

The sudden question, addressed to Anne, 
brought a flash to her cheek, and made her 
hand tremble. 

*' I thank yon, my mistress," she said in a 
low voioe. " I will think on what you have 
said.'* 

Old Alice rose from her dhair, and laid her 
hand on Anne's shoulder. 

" Child," she said, " if thou hast a stubborn 
malady. He may be like to cut deep. But 
He '11 heal thee, if thou wilt let Him. And 
He cares a deal more about it than thou 
dost." 



CHAPTEE XVL 

FOUND AT LAST. 

*• Now, Nan, bustle up ! " cried Mrs. Tread- 
well, one afternoon towards the end of 
August. ''I want a gooseberry pie to my 
sapper, and I verily hope Cousin Boger shall 
be here to fetch his new tabard. And look 
Lhou make it not too little ; I cannot abide 
to be starved. I count feathers and shavings 
should serve thee, but they '11 none suit for 
ray supper, I warrant thee. Good lack, what 
of a bruit ! Is aught going on P " 
Whereupon Mrs. Treadwell applied her eye 



to the little round window which looked into 
the shop, through which she and her hus- 
band were accustomed to communicate when 
necessary. The cause of the bruit, or noise, 
was very easily perceived. 

"Well-a-day, and saw I ever the like!" 
exclaimed the worthy dame. " Here's gentry 
in the shop, if they be no lords, as fine as 
fiddlers, and lacqueys to boot ! And one — 
two — ^three — four tall men o' their hands in 
murrey and blue livery, with a white falcon 
fast—" 

'* Qood heart. Nan ! what ails thee P " broke 
in Ejvte. 

For a low cry had come from the white 
lips, and the girl retreated to the farthest 
comer of the kitchen, where no person look- 
ing through the little window could possibly 
detect her. Dorothy, however, was too much^ 
interested to see or hear anything but the 
scene in the shop. 

"Eh, but what a grand set-out this first 
hath on I" said she. " A red hat, trust me, 
with a golden band and a white feather, held 
down of a jewel; and' a cramoisie* sluMrt 
jaoket-^he must be a lord I — f urircd with gris 
as deep as mine hand, and blue hose, with 
short roimd boots o' red Spanish leather. 
£b, my word! if that oramoisie might be 
bought for less than eight shilling a yard, 
then will I eat my kerchief with sauce neger. 
And that feather cost a full angel,t or I 'm an 
apple- John. And the gold chain of his neck ! 
and the far round the wrists of him! and 
the slashed sleeves of him 1 . Eh, Kate, do 
thou come hither and look; 'tis a sight to 
see, as I 'm a living woman !" 

Elate went towards the window, in doing 
which she had to pass Anne. A thin trem- 
bling hand was laid upon her sleeve, and white 
lips whispered : 

" Hath he the one shoulder higher than the 
other P Look and tell me." 

A look through the window, and Kate 
nodded. 

''Too late! too late! Is there no mercy, 
God ? " 

"Why, Nan, what is come o'er thee?" 
demanded her mistress, looking at her in 
amazement. 



Crimjson velvet. 



f Ten shillings. 



27© 



HOME WORDS, 



Bab before any answer conld be given, tbe 
little round window was pnsbed open, and 
Hnmphrey's yoioe, in an excited tone, said : 
" Wife ! come bither." 

Dorotby bustled off at once, leaving the 
window open, through which the conversa- 
tion in the shop was distinctly heard. 

"Give you good morrow, my mistress," 
said a voice; and Anne shrank into her 
corner, as though she would gladly have 
shrank through the wall or the floor, if she 
could. Kate went to her, and put her arm 
round her. 

"What IS it, poor NanP" she asked, in the 
lowest whisper, so as not to attract attention. 

*'It is my worst enemy!" said Anne, 
.huskily. 

" I have heard, of a very good hand,** con- 
'tinned the voice, evidently that of an edacated 
man, "that you have here a young gentle- 
woman, by name Mistress Anne; and as I 
would fain have speech of the same, I do 
beseech you bring me unto her.*' 

"Dear heart! good my Lord," returned 
Dorothy, "we have here no young gentle- 
w^oman at all, neither Mistress Anne nor 
Mistress Joan. There is but myself and my 
daughter, and my master his sister, and our 
two serving-maids. Never a young gentle- 
woman lodgeth in this house, trust me, as 
my name is Dorothy Treadwell.*' 

" I must ask of you, my mistress, to give 
me leave to see these serving-maids." 

Anne*s hands, within, were wrung in agony. 

" Certain sure, and your Lordship shall," 
answered Dorothy, hastening back into the 
kitchen. " Here, Joan ! — Nan I — come hither, 
and show yourselves to this good gentleman." 

But the good gentleman followed Dorothy 
before she was aware. He passed Joan by 
with a glance. Going straight up to the 
comer where Anne cowered with Kate by 
her side, to the unfeigned amazement of 
Dorothy, he dropped on one knee before her 
cookmaid. 

" Found at last, my Lady's Grace ! " 

Aye, there she stood, hidden no longer, the 
lost Princess of Wales, one hand pressed 
close upon her eyes, as though to shut out a 
terrible sight, the other outstretched, as if 
she would thrust her unwelcome suitor as far 
from her as possible. 



" Fairest my Lady, what moved your Grace 
to hide you thus meanly from him that loveth 
you ? " 

A shudder passed over Anne, but her hand 
oame down from her eye?. 

" Gramer6y ! " whispered Dorothy. 

"Lord Richard," Anne said, in a tone 
which Kate had never heard f i-om her before 
that moment, " why did you seek me out, if 
you feign to love me P You know " 

"Feign, Lady Anne! Never man loved 
truer." 

The curl of Anne's lip seemed to say the 
contrary. 

" You knew," she said, " that it was from 
you I was hiding. Not from the law— ah 
me, no ! What terrors hath outlawry for me, 
that look for no rest but death, for no 
happiness save to meet my dead ? Why, the 
man that should have stabbed me to the 
heart would have been my kindest friend. 
But you! you ask me to give you a dead 
heart, to prink out with rich attire a head 
that woald fain be at rest beneath the sod. 
Outlawry hath no terrors, death is no ill ; 
but I pray God put the ocean betwixt me and 
you, for you are worser unto me than either." 

" Sweet Lady Anne, for what reason ? " 

" Reason ! " she panted. ^ Is there aught 
the which is not a reason ? " 

"Bear with me, fairest lady,'* replied the 
soft, musical voice of him who, perhaps of all 
men living, best knew how to cajole a woman. 
"Has it so soon passed from your Grace's 
mind that last May, on the field of Tewkes- 
bury, there was one sword wA drawn on the 
Prince you loved P Will you give me no 
credit for my long and faithful love, love 
that you never deigned to lighten by so much 
as a smile or token P Mind you not that we 
two were playmates of old time, ere any 
other crossed your path to mine hurt P Ah ! 
women have light memories, though men 
love well." 

Certainly Gloucester pleaded^ his cause 
well. Yet there was no sign of yielding in 
the fair, set, white face. 

At last, suddenly, — no one saw exactly how, 
— at a signal from the Duke's whistle, the 
men-at-arms in the royal livery surrounded 
the Princess, and bore her away. 



MRS. TREADWELLS COOK, 



CHAPTER XYIL 

THE END. 

« 

Tiro honrs later came Eoger Cordincr, wlio, 
novr that all need fqr secrecy was past, 
could give them farther particulars. The 
Princess had taken this disguise at her own 
earnest wish, to avoid the Duke of Gloucester, 
and with the help of her brother-in-law, who 
bad a selfish reason for wishing her not to 
marry, since the whole of her father's inherit- 
ance would then fall to his children. 

" Will she wed with my Lord of Glouces- 
ter? " asked Kate. 

*' He will force her to wed him," said Boger. 
" And take my word for it ; if my poor young 
lady do, she will be the wretchedest slave 
ever seen on middle earth 1 " 

Boger had discovered that the Princess had 
been taken to the Sanctuary of St. Martin lo 
€k«nd, under the care of her uncle, G«orge 
Keville, Archbishop of York. Here she was 
at first treated with an appearance of great 
kindness, and was even allowed to visit Queen 
Marguerite, still a prisoner in the Tower. 
But as months went on, and she stood as 
.firmly opposed to the marriage with Glou- 
cester as ever, he became convinced that this 
sort of treatment would not serve his pur- 
pose. The Princess was taken away from the 
kindly keeping of her uncle, and put into 
harder hands. Yet she held firm. At last, 
when he was satisfied that no yielding on 
her part could ever be expected, Gloucester 
gathered his servants around hira, and bore 
the royal girl by brute force to the altar of 
Westminster Abbey. There, despite her 
helpless efforts to escape, despite her pas- 
sionate words of protest, the marriage ser- 
vice was performed, and Anne Neville was 
made the wife of the man she hated. It was 
an outrage as wicked as murder, and as 
crael. 

. For twelve months Anne wore her chains, 
ever trying to find some excuse for a divorce. 
But then there came to her a reason to the 
contrary, in the form of a little, nestling, 
helpless baby, — a hope, to love and live for. 
She gave way then, and accepted her fetters. 

Before that time had come, there were 
changes in the Green Griffin in Bucklersbnry. 
Boger Gordiner visited them twice, with 



news of the Princess who had grown so dear 
to Kate Tread weirs heart in the familiar in- 
tercourse of those few months. Kate was 
not, however, given to talking much about 
.Anne. It was Dorothy who did that, — 
Dorothy, whose taunts and harsh words had 
added so many drops of bitterness to the fall 
cup of the fair girl's misery. For years after 
that episode in her life, no customer could 
come into the shop when Dorothy was 
present, without being told that it had been 
newly painted " that yew; the Lady Anne's 
Grace tarried with us," or receiving an un- 
asked commendation of the pattern he had 
chosen as " well liked of my Lady's Grace of 
Gloucester, when she was hither." 

After that occasion on which Boger Gor- 
diner had introduced him, Mr. Philip 
Strangeways took to visiting at the Green 
Griffin. Nobody quite knew why he made 
himself so agreeable, (though old Alice with 
her head set redbreast fashion had strong 
suspicions on the subject,) tiU one summer 
evening, when he was standing with Kate 
beside the parlour window, and he was pleased 
suddenly to ask her : — 

" Mistress Kate, think you that you might 
tread well in my strange ways P " 

After a shy glance at Philip's face, which 
. confirmed her interpretation of his meaning, 
Kate sent a rapidly instituted commission of 
inquiry to her heart, from which an immedi- 
ate report was returned to the effect that 
Philip's strange ways were very pleasant 
ways, and that if deprived of his frequent 
visits life would become a much drier and 
more uninteresting thing than it had been of 
late. So a bashful " yes " answered Philip's 
pun,— our ancestors dearly loved to pun upon 
names — and in due course of time Kate 
Treadwell became Kate Strangeways. 

It was shortly after her marriage that Kate 
was told by her husband that *' my Lady's 
Grace of Gloucester would fain have speech 
of her." Kate could scarcely tell what it 
was which made her feel so nervous and un- 
comfortable, as Philip led her along the 
gilded corridors, and finally into a splendid 
room, hung with rich tapestry and crimson 
velvet, where they had to wait for a few 
minutes, before a liveried page lifted the 
tapestry, and a lady came forward to the 



B73 



HOME WORDS. 



middle of the room. Kate bung back, but tbo 
Ducbess came to ber and took both ber bands. 

''Tis bat Kan tbe cookmaid, Mistress 
Kate " sbe said, a wintry smile on ber wbite 
worn face, and in the eyes which were more 
sorrowful than over. " And how do you all P 
for I would know." 

Kate managed to answer tbe inquiry, and 
lo stammer out a hope that her good Lady- 
ship's Grace was well. 

" As well," said the Duoboss quietly, *' as I 
am eyer like to Ju on middle earth. Ah, 
Mistress Kate I It was better with me in 
the Green Griffin than in this palace ; serge 
lieth ofttimes over an happier heart than 
Telvet* And Mistress Treadwell, old Mis- 
tress Alice, how goes it now with her P '* 

'* Madam," answered Kate with a sob, " I 
am afcared that sbe is not long for this world." 

"Sbe is meeter for the other/' said Anne, 
gently. " But tell her, Mistress Kate, with 
my loving commendations, that her good 
words were not lost, and that I will try to go 
in at the right door." 

Kate Strsngeways never saw ber again bat 
once, and that was twelve years after the 
summer which she spent in the Green 
Griffin. King Edward lY. was dead, and his 
sons were cast aside, and Richard Duke of 
Gloucester bad become King of England. 
There was a magnificent pageant in Cheap- 
side, when the Kingsnd Queen passed through 
the city towards Westminster, tbe day before 
their coronation. Our Plantagenet kings 
always slept at the Tower a night before their 
coronation, in order to make this splendid 
progress through London the day after. 

The King had passed by, — the deformed 
prince with the handsome faoe and sinister 
eyes, the nervous restless man who must be 
perpetually fingering something, and who 
could not look fixedly at any man for more 
than a second,— and then Kate heard a cry 



of " God save tbe Queen I " She looked up 
to the gilded chariot, over gorgeous violet 
and gold, and saw tbe face, once so familiar, — 
more worn and white than ever, with tbo old 
golden gleam on the fair hair, and more than 
the old deep anguish in the lustrous eyes. 
And then the pageant swept on, and Kate 
saw her no more. 

« Well, dear heart I " 

Kate had gone back to the bedside of old 
Alice. She had lived longer than had been 
feared, but she was near the end now. 

*' Is she in at the right door, tbinkest P 
the poor child I Bight sorrowful and weary 
doth she lookP Ah, well! The Lord know- 
eth His own. Old Al'ce shall know likewise, 
afore long. I 'U watch to see if she comes in,. 
— if only I can get my eyes off the Lord." 

And so old Alice passed in at the gates of 
gold. Eight months later, news came to 
London that the cherished child who was 
Anne*s one tie to life had died at Middleham 
Castle "an unhappy death." And just twelve 
months after that, the great beU of West- 
minster Abbey tolled thirty-one strokes npon 
the spring night air, and they knew that 
(}od's hand had broken the gilded fetters* 
and that the weazy heart of Anne of War^ 
wiok would suffer no more. 

Tbisj in the main, is a tme etory. Shall 
we not thank God and take courage from it P 
We cannot be used as this poor girl was. 
The men and women of England may weep 
by their dead in peace, may enjoy their honest 
gains in safety, may worship God without 
any man making them afraid. Is this nothing 
to be thankful forP It was not always so. 
The day may come when it will not be so 
again. A contented, thankful heart is about 
the best receipt possible for making a man 
happy or a woman fair. Let us ask God for 
it : for He alone can give it. 



^^'^>^i^»^t0*^^^i*mi0*0m0^^*0t0^0t^t0*^ ^ 



** ^ome WSSiottii ** for tht ^elo H^ar* 




|UB ammgemtnts for 1861 indado: I. Old Urn* 
brollas; or. Nobody Cares/' a NewTalo, by Agnes 
Oibome. IL '* Harvest Home ; or, the Reapers* 
Song,'* a New Tale, by Smma Marshall. III. 
"Oar Church Portrait Gallery." IV. " Waysido Chimes/* 
by the Rev. E. H . Bickorstctb. Y. ** Tho Lif(f of Thomas 
Cooper/* by the Editor. VI. " What I saw in China,** by 
the Bat. A. B. Moalo. Vn. "Down in the Daanemora 



>» 



Mine/* by " Rob Roy/' VHI. " Lessons from th« Book, 
by varions Authors. IX. "Royalty at Home," by tho 
Editor. X. " Fables for Toyi,** by Eleanor B. Proaner. ZI. 
"Anecdotes of niostrious Abstainers,*' bj F. Sherlock. 
XII. "England's Church.** Xm. " Young Folks* Page. 
" The Story of the Months/* etc., etc. 

Will each Reader try and gain another? 

" Corok and ChinMS** is also now ready. 



■» 



LESSONS FBOM THE BOOK. 



a 73 




%Ms^vA from tl^e ISooit4 

VIII. CHRIST AT THE DOOR. 

BT THE YKBT REV. H. MABTTN HABT, DEAN Of OSNTSR. 
" There was no room for them in the inn." — &t, Luke iL 7. 



|HE birth of Christ is an 
event wliich never dies. 
He passes throngh this 
world, seeking a home in 
the hearts of men; and 
when the door is opened, and 
room is found for Him to abide, 
again the angels sing, " Glorj to God in 
the highest, and peace on earth." For 
there is joy in the presence of the angels 
of God over one sinner who repenteth — 
who changes his mind. 

Christ is still as it were a wayfarer 
standing at the door of an inn. He stands 
out in the cold ; His hair is wet with the 
night dews; His eyes might be dimmed 
with watching if it were not love that lit 
them ; He would be tired of waiting, were 
His not Divine ])atience. He sees the 
heart thrown open, and the world and sin 
find a ready entrance ; but when He knocks 
how oden He is told, " There is no room " 
for Him " in the inn." 

Ah ! foolish heart, those guests of yours 
are only staying for a little time. They 
are but sojourners with you for the day. 
They will all at last leave you desolate and 
alone ; while for the only Being who could 
fill your whole heart wiUi His occupancy — 
who could give you more joy than all the 
rest— who would never desert you, but 
take you with Him to the home of His own 
blessedness-— for Him there is ''no room." 
Ob, bid Him welcome now ! Ho will 



create enduring peace and never-ending 
happiness. 

Families gather at Christmas-tide around 
the same hearth : a genial warmth seems 
to reach all hearts, and a thrill of happi- 
ness crosses the strong rough current of 
earnest life. But beyond all this, it is to 
Christmas that eternity will owe its happi- 
ness. Because of Christmas the Father 
will gather His children within His hea- 
venly Home — a drcle which no rude death 
can break, and no separations can change. 
Because of Christmas the society of Hea- 
ven will be . one — one in intention, one in 
endeavour, one in mind, because each is 
filled with Christ. The rough torrent will 
there be a glassy sea, and the sparkling of 
happiness will fill it with lig^t^ because the 
one joy, the joy of the Lord, will be upon 
all. 

Yes, Heaven dates its happiness from 
Christmas. Every heart there will have 
its Christmas-day, the day upon which 
Jesus Christ was born in it. He passes 
you to-day; bid Him welcome. Let go 
that selfishness, renounce that sin which 
most easily besets you, silence that voice 
of enmity, bid pride lower itself, lift up 
your whole being to make room for Him 
to abide : and you will commence a Christ- 
mas joy which will never dim, but which 
shall increase with the increase of God. 
For of ** the increase of EUs government 
and peace there is no end." 



a Wlotti of €f)tn to €l)ti&tmja £Rontntt!f^ 




OUBNEB, Christmas comes for thee; 

Hear with low and gentle tone 
One who whispers. Look to Me ! 
Hope, for thou art not alone ! 



He knows all — thy Lord Divine : 
Mourner, though thine eye be dim. 

Look to Christ : — ^His love is thine; 
Take thy Christmas joy from Him. 



HOME WORDS. 



a e&rtfftuias WitXumt ^omr. 



BT THE EDUOB. 



:}TtTBE8 illuatrating do- ' 

meBtio Bnbjeeta areanquea- 

tionably most popular vilh 

the pablio. The reoMii they 

Are BO is obrions enotigh- 

We Rre emphatically a do- 

TDBstic peoplei other nations 

may equal no in their Ioto of 

ronntry, hot they harre not the Bame regard 

for their bomee. An EngliBhman, as a mle, 

feels pride in his home and honaehold, vrhether 

he be wealthy or in humble circamBtanoei ; 

his sympathies are in accord irith sTety* 

thing whioh speaks of home-affections, home- 

iaflnences, home-pnTsnita. Art which tonohes 

the slightest chord that harmonises with these 

feelings, be therefore welcomes; and becaose 

it does this, its spirit is intelligible to him, 

though he be nnable to give any other reason 

for the interest he takes in it than that it 

pleasBB him. 

Aa one of the best speoimens of this class 
ot paintings, we introduce a Chkutius Wkl- 
COKI HoKB. The picture is an expression of 
ono of those " touohoB of nature," which 
" makes ub bU akin," and will Bnd a not nn- 
eoitable oomment in some kindred Toraea 
from the gifted authoress of "The Songa of 
the Affeotiona." Ure.Hemana' posmsonghb 
to be read more than they are. 

THE VOICE OF HOUB TO TEB WANDEASB. 
" Oh, when wilt then letQni 
To th? Epidt'fl earl; loTes T 
To the tieihneBB ol tlis mom. 
To the etUInesa ol the groTesr 



Oh, thou hut wandered long 

From thy home without a guide 
And thy natire woodland song 

In thine altered heart bath died. 
Then haat flong the wealth aw^. 

And ths gloiy of thy spring ; 
And to thee the leaves' light play 

Is a long'forgotten thing. 
Give ba«k thy heart Bgain 

To the freedom of the weodf, 
To the birds' triumphant atrain, 

ta the monntain solitudes 1 
Bnt when wilt then return T 

Along thine own pme air 
There are young sweet voioes borne — 

Oh, Bhoold not thine be there? 
Btill at thy father's board 

There is kept a plaoe for tbM ; 
And, by thj smile restored, 

Joy round the hearth shall bft 

Still hath thy mother's e^e. 
Thy coming step to greet, 
A look ot dsTS gone b7< 

Tender and gravely s*eet. 
Still, when the prayer is said. 

Far thee kind bosoms yearn, 
For thee fond tears are shed — 
Oh, when wilt thou return t " 
It may be these lines may reach tho eye »f 
soma wanderer from a " father's board." 
What a miseion will Jloms Worit diacharga 
at Chrietmas-tide this year, if it be only said 
a\ one, in the joy of a Christrans welcome : — 
" This my son was dead and is olive again; 
he was lost and is found I " 



■HtUSTUAB is here again. Christinas 
Beading in the Home is an important 
ODDsideration. Good books are as 
Wordswortb terms them, — 

Ukl world, boUi purs and Bood, 
Roand wblob, nUli (mdrila Kroiig a* Besh and blood. 
Our pasOme sod oar bivpiiMsi can gcoir." 
We know ear readere are ell interested in onr 

eflorts to SDpply bigh-elass CQuiatian literature. 

We therefore (^ve out " bill ot "—mental—" bie." 



Cftricctmad Kratrfiti):. 



I. TM Annaali. Tin Firetldt, 7: id. Band and 
Heart, It. id. The Day of Daf$, Si. Aesie 
WoTd*, 2i. 

3. NeJtemiah Nibbt' Gooig, It. 

8. PttzcUdomfoT Fireiidt Amiuement, 3>. fld. 

<. The ChTUtnuu Box of Fireiidt TaUi, 2i. 6d. 

6. Our Folht ; -John, ChttrehiWi Lttltn Home, SJ. 

6. Carol* and Chitati. Hokb Words for Christ- 

A HAPPY OHRISTMAe TO ALL OUR READERSI 



276 



HOME WORDS. 



^^fci&ixem. 




:i:ilCY'S day of triumph." 
"The heart's sammer." 
"Earth echoing the angels' 
song." 
''The rising day of the San 
of BighteoasnesB." 

"The loadstone which attracts maay a 
prodigal to his father's hotise." 

"Time's reminder of lihs Its^wSt ones gone 
before.** 

"The san which may thaw some drops 
from efcft a BBser's heart.'* 

"The Morions birthday of the Eong of 
kings." 
"The jubilee of earth:" 
" The dove which carries the olive branch 
of ' Peace on earth ' to our families." 

"An annual visitor who has a warm heart, 
though his head be crowned with a garland 
of snow." 



" The foeus which should alwajs miite the 
bright but scattered rays of family afiTeo- 
tion." 

" The spring-tide of Christian hope." 

"The severed link 'twixt earth and heaven 
again restored." 

" The jubilee alike of the Christian and of 
the domestic year." 

" The season when the most glorious con- 
cert was performed by a perfectly harmonions 
choir. Yet, although the burden of their 
song, ' Peace on earth, goodwill toward men ! ' 
flowed easily from their tongues, it has never 
yet been perfectly learned on earth." 

" Cement to unite broken families." 

"A Divine message bidding the wanderers 
meet and rejoice again around our Father's 
board." 

" Charity in her bridal robe, with hope and 
faith bidding all hearts rejoice." 



«^^k^^«^I^^^P^<«#^^^^^^^^l«^^^^S^«^« 



QSaa^dOKe Cibuneei. 



CI 



VL ^READ UPON THE WaTERS. 
Cast thy bread upon the waters : for thou ahalt find it after many days."— Ecc?<'^. si. 1. 




[D the losses and the gains ; 
Mid the pleasures and the pains, 
And the hopings and the lean, 
And the restlessness of years, 
We repeat this promise o'er — 
"We believe it more and more — 
Bread upon the waters cast 
Shall be gathered at the lost. 

Gold and silver, like the sanda^ 
Will keep slipping through our himSa. \ 
Jewels, gleaming^ like a sj^rk;. 
Will be hiddeft is the dark ; 
Son aad moon Hid stem will paT«, 
Buir tf&Me words will never fail : 
&ead vpoa l[hd watam ewt 
Shall \m gttthred at the last. 



Soon, like dust, to you and me, 
Will our earthly treasures bo ; 
But the loving word and deed 
To another in his need, 
They will not forgotten be — 
They will live eternally : 
Bread upon the waters cast 
Shall be gathered at the'i^ut. 

Faat the momeoiis slip away, 
Soon, oar mortal fMrnra decay, 
Low and lower sinks the sun. 
What we cEo must soon be done ; 
Then what rapture, if we hear 
Thousand voices ringing clear-— 
Bread upon the waters cast 
Shall be gathered at the last. 




Axbn* 



RA MB LINGS IN CHURCHYARDS AND CEMETERIES, 



277 



^ambltnjgffi! m CT)uitl^parlis( an)( Cemetened. 

BY THE BEV. GEORQB EVEEARD, M.A., ACTHOB OP " EDIE*S LETTER," ETC. 




CHAPTER II r. 

K the cemetery in Hosbinga 
lie not a few whom I knew in 
days gone by. 

Here is one grave. It is 
that of a young man. I 
visited him for a few weolis 
before his death. I cannot 
bub hope and believe that he took hold of 
the Saviour's promise. Upon this stone 
are engraved the last words he ever ut- 
tered — uttered, too, with intense reality, 
though with failing breath : — 

• • Him — ^that — cometh — ^unto Me— I — will — m 

KO WIBB— W NO VISE— cast OUt." 

Close by his grave is that of an aged 
Christian, who fell asleep after fifty or 
sixty years of faithful service in the Lord's 
vineyard. Thoagh fifteen years blind, he 
was always busy for the Master. Upon 
the stone are engraved the last words be 
bad ever been able to read in the Bible he 
had loved so well. 

"Thon ahftlt gnide me with Thy connsel, and 
afterward reoeive me to glory." — ^P«. Ixxiii. 24. 

Over this there is cut out the likeness of 
a ring and the words within it :-^ 

'* God's providenoe mine inheritanoo. *' 

Tho finding of this ring and the motto 
within it had exercised a lifelong infincnce 
upon him. It had led him to roly upon 
God's Fatherly care, and his confidence 
had never been disappointed. 

Not far away lie the remains of three 
sisters — all of them tho true followers of 
Christ, and whose works do follow them. 
One text amongst others over their remains 
is peculiarly appropriate, in romembrar.ee 
of their zeal in winning souls for ChriAt. 

** They that bo wise shall shine as the brightness 
of the firmament, and they that tarn many to 
righteousness, as the stars for ever and ever." — 
Dan, xu. 8. 



Cix)ssing the walk, and at a few yards 
distance, there lies tho body of one, the 
Rev. Thomas Vores, who, for more than 
thirty years, preached with all love and 
earnestness the Gospel of Christ, and whoso 
simple and faithful lifting up of the Saviour 
brought consolation to many a troubled 
and anxious soul. 2 Cor. v. 20, 21, upon 
his tomb tells truly the story of his ministry. 
Upon the' stone of his partner, for many 
years a confirmed invalid, there is a thought 
which she repeated more than a hundred 
times during her last illness. She had long 
been a true believer, but one distressed ex- 
ceedingly by doubts and fears. But these 
words had marvellously helped her :— 

<* Begard not feelings, good or bad, 
Trast only what He saith ; 
Looking away from all to Him — 
This is to live by faith." 

Let me end my paper with a questioii 

for each reader. The closing days of 

another year may well suggest it. The 

longest life is but an inch of time: and 

any life may end at any moment. If 

soon the summons call you away, what 

might truly be written over your grave P 

What doth He see who searobeth the 

heart? Have you a hope that maketh 

not ashamed ? Could there be written on 

your tomb any such words as these? 

"Accepted in the Beloved ; " "I know that 

my Redeemer liveth ; " " To me to live is 

Christ, and to die is gain ; " "As for me, 

I will behold Thy face in righteousness ; '* 

** Safe in the arms of Jesns, 
Safe on His gentle breast.*' 

Let us live so that wo may leave a sure 

testimony behind us. It was a sweet word 

I noticed over the grave of a young lady in 

Edinburgh, aged 17, one Elizabeth Pope : — 

♦' I know that grief your hearts will touch, 
While yoo my loss deplore ; 
But, farewell, though I love you much^ 
I love my Saviour more.'* 



* ^^^^^^^Vi^^#^^^^^^^^^ 



HOME WORDS. 



3oiiad CoUrr; or, tbe ^ittorp 6ameti. 

BI A. L- O. E., ICTHOS OP " PBECIPTS K PKiCTICE," ETC 

{Con(iiiufiI/rom jage 231.) 



CHAPTER III. 
riiE vicTOEi o.iisKO. 

old tailor Jonas sat 
tore the fire witb hia 
M in bis moatb, looking 
tadfosllf into the glow- 
all. Not that, following 
arito practi(»of bisljttlo 
niece, he was nuking ont red-bot costlea and 
flaming bnildings in tbe grate, or that bis 
thoughts were in an^ wa; connected wicb the 
orabera ; bo was doing what it would be well 
if we alt Boraetimea did,— looking into bimeelf, 
and reflecting on what bad bopponed in rela- 
tion to hia own conduct. 

" So," tbonght he, " here am I, an honest 
old fellow,— I may soy it with all my faults; 
ond one wbo ahrinka from falaebood mora 
than from tlrs; and I find that I, with my 
beariah temper, am actually driving those 
aboat me into it— teacbing tbem to be crafty, 
tricky, and cowardly! I knew well enough 
that my graffneas plagaed others, but I never 
saw how it Umgtii othera nntil now; tempted 
them to meanneaa, I would aay, for I have 
found a tbouaand timea that ' an angry man 
etirreth up strife,* and that a ahort word may 
begin a long qnarrel. I am afraid that I have 
not thooght enough on thia matter. I've 
looked on bad tomper as a very little aiti, 
und I begin to suspect that it is a great ore, 
both in Qod's eyes and in the cooaequenccs 
that it brings. Let me see if I can reckon 
up its evils I It makes those miserable whom 
one would wish to maku happy ; it often, like 
an adverse gale, forces them to back instead 
of steering atraight for the port. It dis- 
honours one's profession, lowertt one's Aug, 
mokes the world mock at the retlgiou which 
can leave a man aa rough and rugged as a 
heathen savage. It's directly contrary to the 
Word of God,— it's wide as east from west of 
tbe example set before us ! Yes, a furious 
temper ia a very evil thing : I'd give my other 
leg to be rid of mine I " And in the warmth 



of seir-rcproocli the sailor struck his wooden 
one against the hearth with such violence as 
to make Alie start in terror that aome fierce 
eiplosicn was about to follow. 

" Well, I've made up my mind as to ita 
being an evil — a great evil," continued Jonas 
in his quiet meditation; "the next question 
is. How is the evil to be got rid of P There's 
the pinch ! It clings to one like one's skin. 
It's one's nntnre,— how can one fight against 
natareP And yet, I take it, it's the very 
business of faith to conquer our evil nature. 
As I read somewhere, any dead dog can float 
with tbe stream : it's the living dog that 
Gwima against it. I mind the tronble I hod 
abonttbewickedhobit ofHwearing, wheufirati 
taoktotryingtoaerveGodandleaveoffmyevil 
courses. Bad words came to my month as 
naturalostbeveryoir thatlbreathod. What 
did I do to onre myself of that ovilP Why, 
I resolved again and again, and found that 
my resolutions were always snapping like a 
rotten coble in a storm, and I was dnven 
from my anchorage so often, that I almost 
began to despair. Then I prayed bard to be 
helped; ond I said to myself, 'God helps 
those wbo help themselves, and maybe if I 
determine to do something that I should be 
sorry to do, every time that an oath cornea 
from my month, it would assist me to re- 
member my duty.' I resolved to break my 
pipe tUo first time that I swore ; and I've 
never uttered an oath from that day to this, 
not even in my most towering passions .' 
Now I'll try the same cure again; not to 
punish a sin, but to prevent it. If I fly into 
a fury, I'll break my pipe! There, Jonas 
Colter, I give you fair warning ! " And the 
old sailor smiled grimly to himself, and stirred 
the fire with an air of satisfaction. 

Not one rough word did Jonaa ntter that 
evening; indeed, he was remarkably silent; 
for tbe simplest way of saying nothing evil, 
he thought, was to aoy nothing at all. 
Jonaa looked with much pleasure at his pipe 
when he put it on tbe mantel-piece for the 



JONAS COLTER; OR, 7 HE VICTORY GAINED. 



279 



nigbt. "YouVe weathered this day, old 
friend/' said he : " we'll be on the look-out 
against sqnalls to-morrow." 

The next morning Jonas occnpied himself 
in his own room with his phials, and his 
nephew and niece were engaged in the 
kitchen in preparing for the Sanday- school, 
which their mother made them regularly at- 
tend. The door was open between the two 
rooms, and, as the place was not large, Jonas 
heard every word that passed between Johnny 
and Alio almost as well as if he bad been close 
beside them. 

Johnny, I say, Alie — 

Alie, Please, Johnny, let me learn this 
quietly. If I do not know it my teacher will 
be vexed. My work being behind-hand 
yesterday has put me quite back with my 
tasks. Tou know that I cannot Icam as fast 
as you do. 

Johnny. Oh I you've plenty of time. I want 
you to do something for me. Do you know 
that I have lost my new ball P 

Alie. Why I saw you take it out of your 
pocket yesterday, just after we crossed the 
stile on our way back from the farm. 

Johnny. That's it ! I took it out of my 
pocket, and I never put it in again. I want 
you to go directly and look for the ball. That 
stile is only three fields off, you know. You 
must look carefully along the path all the 
way ; and lose no time, or some one else may 
pick it up. 

Alie. Fray, Johnny, don't ask me to go 
into the fields. 

Johnny. I tell you, you have plenty of time 
for your lessons. 

Alie. It is not that, but — 

Johnny. Speak out, will you P 

Alie. You know— there are— cows ! 

Johnny burst into a loud laugh of derision. 
•* You little coward I " he cried, *' I'd like to 
see one chasing you round the meadow! 
How you'd scamper ! how you'd scream ! rare 
fun would it be, — ha ! ha I ha ! " 

*' Bare fun would it be, sir 1 " exclaimed an 
indignant voice, as Jonas stumped from the 
next room, and, seizing his nephew by the 
collar of his jacket, gave him a hearty shake ; 
•* rare fun would it be,— and what do you call 
this? You dare twit your sister with 
cowardice I -^y on who sneaked off yesterday 



like a fox because you had not the spirit to 
look an old man in the face !— you who bully 
the weak and cringe to the strong I — you who 
have the manners of a bear with the heart of 
a pigeon ! " Every sentence was accompanied 
by a violent shake, which almost took the 
breath from the boy; and Jonas, red with 
passion, concluded his speech by flinging 
Johnny from him with such force that, but 
for the wall against which he staggered, he 
must have fallen to the ground. 

The next minute Jonas walked up to the 
mantel-piece, and exclaiming, in -a tone of 
vexation, "Run aground again!" took his 
pipe, snapped it in two, and flung the pieces 
into the fire ! He then stumped back to his 
room, slamming the door behind him. 

*• The old fury I " muttered the panting 
Johnny between his clenched teeth, looking 
fiercely towards his uncle's room. 

** To break his own pipe ! " exclaimed Alie, 
" I never knew him do anything like that be- 
fore, however angry he might be ! " 

Johnny took down his cap from its peg, 
and, in as ill humour as can well be imagined 
went out to search for his ball. He took what 
revenge he could on his formidable uncle, 
while amusing himself that afternoon by 
looking over his ** Bobinson Crusoe." Johnny 
was fond of his pencil, though he had never 
learned to draw ; and the margins of his 
books were often adorned vrith grim heads 
or odd figures, by his hand. There was a 
picture in "Bobinson Crusoe" representing 
a party of cannibals, as hideous as fancy 
could represent them, dancing around the 
fire. Johnny diverted his mind, and gratified 
his malice, by doing his best so to alter the 
foremost figure as to make him appear with 
a wooden leg, while he drew on his head a 
straw hat, unmistakably like that of the old 
sailor, and touched up the features so as to 
give a dim resemblance to his face. To 
prevent a doubt as to the meaning of the 
sketch, Johnny scribbled on the side of the 
picture, — 

** In search of fierce savages no one need roam ; 
The fiercest and ugliest, you'll find him at 
home ! '* 

He secretly showed tho picture to Alie. 
" Oh, Johnny ! how naughty ! What would 
uncle say if he saw itP " 



28o 



HOME WORDS. 



" We might look oat for squalls indeed ! 
bat ancle never by any chance looks at a 
book of that sort." 

" I think that yon had better rab oat the 
pencilling as fast as yoa can," said Alio. 

" Catch me rubbing it out I ** cried Johnny ; 
" it's the best sketch that ever I drew, and as 
like it as can stare 1 *' 

Late in the evening Mrs. Morris retamed, 
a narse from London having been sent for 
the lady. Eight glad were Johnny and Alio 
to see her $ooner than they had ventured to 
expect. She brought them a few oranges, 
to show her remembrance of them. Nor was 
the old sailor forgotten ; oaref ally she drew 
from her bag, and presented to him, a new pipe. 

The children glanced at each other. Jonas 
•took the pipe with a carious expression on his 
face, which bis sister was at a loss to under- 
stand. 

"Thank'ee kindly," he said; <' I see it'll be 
a case of— 

* If ye tiy and den*t saoceed, 
Tiy, tzy, tiy again.' " 

What he meant was a riddle to every one 
else present, althongh not to the reader. 

The "try" was very suocessfal on that 
evening and the following day. Never had 
Johnny and Alie found their uncle so agree- 
able. Hill manner almost approached to gen- 
tleness, — it was a calm after a storm. 

*' Uncle is so very good and kind," said Alie 
to her brother, as they walked home from 
afternoon service, " thaA I wonder how yon 
can bear to have that naughty picture still in 
your book. He is not in the least like a 
cannibal, and it seems quite wrong to laugh 
at him so." 

" I'll rub it all out one of these days," re- 
plied Johnny ; " but I must show it first to 
Peter Crane. He says that I never hit on 
a likeness : if he sees that, he'll never say so 
again ! " 

The nest morning Jonas occupied himself 
with gathering wild flowers and herbs in the 
fields. He carried them into his little room, 
where Johnny heard him whistling "Old 
Tom Bowline," like one at peace with himself 
and all the world. 

Presently Jonas called to the boy to bring 
him a knife from the kitchen ; a request made 
in an unusaally courteous tone of voice, and 



with which, of course, Johnny immediately 
complied. 

He found Jonas busy drying his plants, by 
laying them neatly between the pages of a 
book, preparatory to pressing thom down. 
What was the terror of Johnny when he per- 
ceived that the book whose pages Jonas was 
turning over for this purpose was no other 
than his " Robinson Crusoe ! " 

*' Oh ! if I could only get it out of his hands 
before he comes to that horrid picture ! Oh ! 
what shall I do I what shall I do 1 " thought 
the bewildered Johnny. " Uncle, I was read- 
ing that book," at last he mastered courage 
to say aloud. 

*' You may read it again to-morrow," was 
the quiet reply of Jonas. 

" Perhaps he will not look at that pictare," 
reflected Johnny. " I wish that I could see 
exactly which pare of the book he is at I He 
looks too quiet a great deal for any mischief 
to have been done yet ! Dear! dear I I would 
give anything to have that ' Robinson Crusoe' 
at the bottom of the sea ! I do think that my 
uncle's face is growing very red — yes I the 
veins on his forehead are swelling I Depeud 
on't he's turned over to those unlucky canni- 
bals, and will be ready to eat me like one of 
them. I'd better make off before the thunder- 
clap comes." 

*' Gh>ing to sheer off again, Master Johnny P " 
said the old sailor, in a very peculiar tone 
of voice, looking up from the open book on 
which his finger now rested. 

''I've a little business," stammered out 
Johnny. 

" Yes, a little business with me, which you'd 
better square before you hoist sail. Why, 
'when you made such a good figure of this 
savage, did you not clap jacket and boots ou 
this little cannibal beside him, and make a 
pair of 'em ' at home ' P I suspect you and I 
are both in the same boat as far as regards 
our tempers, my lad ! " 

Johnny felt it utterly impossible to utter a 
word in reply. 

" I'm afraid," pursued the seaman, closing 
the book, " that we've both had a bit too much 
of the savage about us, — too much of the 
dancing roand the fire. But mark me. Jack, 
— ^we learn even in that book that a savage, 
a cannibal mat/ be tamed ; and we learn from 



FABLES. FOR YOU. 



281 



soxnethiag far better, that principle,- the 
noblest principle which can govern either the 
young or the old, — wiay, ay, and muaf, put out 
the fire of fierce anger in our hearts, and 
change us from wild beasts to men. So I've 
said my say," added Jonas, with a smile, 
" and in token of my first victory over my old 
foe, come here, my boy, and give us your hand ! " 

" Oh, Uncle, I am so sorry ! " exclaimed 
Johnny with moistened eyes, as he felt the 
kindly grasp of the old man. 

** Sorry, are you ? and what were you on 
Saturday when I shook you as a cat shakes a 
rat ? '" 

" Why, Uncle, I own that I was angry." 

" Sorry now, and angry then ? So it's clear 
that the mild way has the best eflfect, to say 
nothing of the example." And Jonas fell in- 
to a fit of musing. 

All was fair wealhcr and sunshine in the 



home on that day, and on many days aflcr. 
Jonas had, indeed, a hard struggle to subdue 
his temper, and often felt fierce anger rising 
in his heart, and ready to boil over in words 
of passion, or acts of violenco ; but Jonas, as 
he had endeavoured faithfully to serve his 
Queen, while he fought under her flag, brought 
the same earnest and brave sense of duty to 
bear on the trials of daily life. Ho never 
again forgot his resolution, and every day 
that passed made the restraint which he laid 
upon himself less painful and irksome to him. 
If the conscience of any of my readers 
should tell him that, by his unruly temper, 
he is marring the peace of his family, oh ! let 
him not neglect the evil as a small one, but, 
like the poor old sailor in my story, resolutely 
struggle against it. "For an angry man 
stirreth up strife, and a furious man abound- 
eth in transgression." 



4fai)Ufit for yov. 

BY ELEAHOB B. PSOSSEB. 




XXXVI. OFFICE 
SHOWS THE MAN. 

OW do you like 
Tiger ?" said Puck 
ft) Toby, her lady- 
ship's favourite pug. 
who was sunning him- 
self against the wall by 
the stable door. 
" LiliQ him ! '* said Toby, wrinkling his 
black nose into contemptuous creases : '* I 
don't suppose any one lilces him ; but ho 
has nothing to do with me, as I shall take 
the first opportunity of telling him, if he 
oficrs to interfere with me." 

"Ah! I wish I were in your place," 
said Puck; "he's wonderfully altered 
since he's been put in charge of the yard ; 
he used to be as friendly as possible, and 
I've often given him a tit bit from my own 
dinner, because he was so pleasant and 
sociable; but now he does nothing but 
growl if any one goes near his kennel, and 




leads us all such a life that nobody has a 
good word for him." 

"Ah!" said Toby flattening his nose 
on his fore paws and blinking at the sun : — 
"you are not the first I have heard com- 
plain of him. I'm sorry for you ; but I'm 
not surprised. He's nob the first, and ho 
won't be the last, whose head has been 
turned by the responsibilities of office." 

XXXVII. THE TIME TO REMOVE EVIL 

" Don't pall me up ! " cried a handsome 
Scotch thistle to the farmer, as he grasped 
fier prickly stalk. " See, I am quite io 
the comer of the field : and though I am 
tall, I take up very little ground. There 
are no- more of my family anywhere in 
sight. I am all alone in my glory." 

" I daresay," said the farmer 5 " bat if I 
were to leave you to scatter those seeds of 
yours over the field, I wonder how many 
of you there would be next year. No, no, 
my friend ; you're comparatively harmless 
now, and now is the time for you to go." 



YOUNG FOLKS PAGE. 



2S3 



%\)t iloung jToIfes' ^age* 




XXXVII. THE WONDROUS BIRTH. 

NCB in royal Dayid's city 

Stood a lowly cattle shed, 
Where a Mother laid her Baby 

In a manger for Hie bed ; 
Mary was that Mother mild, 
Jssus Chbist her little Child. 

Ho came down to earth from heaven 

Who is God and Loan of all. 
And His shelter was a stable. 

And His cradle was a stall ; 
With the poor, and mean, and lowly. 
Lived on earth onr Saviour Holy. 

And through all His wondrous Childhood, 

He would honour and obey. 
Love and watch the lowly Maiden 

In whose gentle arms He lay : 
Christian children all must be 
Mild, obedient, good as He. 

For He is onr childhood's pattei'm 

Day by day like us He grew : 
He was little, weak, and helpless. 

Tears and smiles like us He knew| 
And He feeleth for our sadness. 
And He shareth in our gladness. 

And onr ^es at last shidl see Him, 

Through His own redeeming love : 
For that Child, so dear and gentle. 

Is our Loan in heaven above ; 
And He leads His children on 
To the place where He is gone. 

Not in that poor lowly stable. 

With the oxen standing by. 
We shall see Him; but in heaven. 

Set at God*s right hand en high ; 
When, like stars. His children crowu*d 
All in white shall wait around. 

Mbb. Alexahsss. 




XXXVIII. HOW DO WE KNOWP 

) W do we know a Christian boy or girl? Why 
in the same way that you know a candlo 
has been lighted— by t(s thtntng. Do joa 
suppose that people do not know whether 
you love your mother or not? You need 
not say to them, **I am very food of my 
mother; " they will find it out soon enough for themselves, 
—by the way you speak o/your mother; by the way yoa 
speak (0 your mother ; by your obedience to her direc- 
tions ; by your thonghtfulness when yon think you can 
help her; by your willingness to be in her company ; by 
your grief when she is grieved, or in trouble or pain. 
Yes; in a hundred different ways people can discover 
your affection for your mother. So with your love and 
devotion to the Lord Jesus Christ. 

There is no necessity for your quoting texts, or talking 
religiously; indeed, I think such practices exceedingly 
unbecoming in children ; and if I fdund a child acting in 
such a way, I should find it hard to believe that he bad 
any real religion at all. A child must be a child in his 
i-eligion as well as in other things. The Lord Jesus, when 
He was a boy, did not lift up His hand, as the pictures 
represent Him doing, and preach to the old men around 
Him, but sat modestly at tUoir feet, and heard what they 
said, and asked and answered questions. 

But though yon need not announco to the world bow 
good you are, the world will find out if you are 
good, will find out if you love Jesus Christ, when 
they see that you really— not in pretence, but really 
-like all that belongs to Him : His Book, His House, 
His Day ; and really— not in pretence, but really— wish 
to please Him, and try to please Him, by following His 
Example. If you have the light, it will shine. If yoa 
have the love, it will show itself. People will say, " That 
boy, that girl, makes no parade of religion, but quietly 
and modestly is serving the Lord Jesus." * 

• From " Flowers from the Garden of God." By the Rov^ 
Gordon Calthrop, M.A. (London : Cassell & Co.). Every 
Sunday Scholar should have this charming book. Pa> 
rents and Teachers, make a note of it. 



«^iM^h^k^«^k^k^k^«^ ^^l^^l^*^^0S^^^^^n^% 



W^i Bible fKine i^earcbetr. 

BT THB niOBT lUET. THB LOBO BISHOP OT BODOB AND IIAN. 



BIBLE QUESTIONS. 

1. TXTHO does our blessed Lord teach ns to regard as 
W the earliest prophet ? 

2. How do we know the truth of the record which 
lias been given ns through Moses in the first chapter of 
Genesis P 

8. What prayer of Christ for His people just before 
His death, was wonderfully fulfilled just before the death 
cf the first martyr ? 

4. Who preferred to break God's commandment, rather 
than break an oath which ho had rashly made ? 

6. How did God open the prison doors for the deliver- 
ance of the saint ? And how did Ho open them for the de- 
Uveranco of the sinner ? 

0. Who was the first man permitted to perform a 
miracle? 

7. Where do we last find any mcnt'on made of Fontins 
Pilate? 



8. What young man, whose name we know not, was the 
means of saving the life of one of the Apostles ? 

9. How was it (hat Balaam's ass was able to speak with 
human voice, and that the whale was able to swallow 
the prophet Jonah? 

10. In whose days was the earth divided ? And what> 
Divine plan regulated the divisionf 

11. What animal, which was not in the ark, has 
suffered more than any other on account of min's sins ? 

13. What sad instance is mentioned in tho Bible as the 
result of not attending to Scripture when it is read in a. 
place of worship ? 

ANSWERS (SCO Xovsjcsxb No., page 263). 
L Exod. xvU. 11. II. 1 Chron. v. 1, 2. lU. Micah v. 2. 
lY. John XVU. 8; Bom. vl. 23. V. Gen. xl. 8; Dan. iL 28. 
VI. James U. 23. YIL Prov. viii. 28, 80. VIII. John vi. 
59 ; Luke vii. 1-5. IX. Acts x. 38. X. 1 Cor. xlL 3. XI. 
Rom. iii. 22. XII. 2 Cor. viii. 5 j Acts v. 1-11. 



"THE DAY OF DAYfl," M. 



•■TME FIRESIDE," ed.