Front Cover
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Upwards and downwards
 A white lie
 "Don't be too sure"
 Quite in earnest
 The Pharisee and the Publican
 Clouds and sunshine
 Paying dear for it
 Back Cover

Title: Upwards and downwards
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00027871/00001
 Material Information
Title: Upwards and downwards
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: A. L. O. E.,
Publisher: T. Nelson & Sons
Copyright Date: 1874
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00027871
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: alh9439 - LTUF
60551106 - OCLC
002238915 - AlephBibNum

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
    Half Title
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Upwards and downwards
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Pages 17-32
    A white lie
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
    "Don't be too sure"
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    Quite in earnest
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
    The Pharisee and the Publican
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
    Clouds and sunshine
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
    Paying dear for it
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
    Back Cover
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
Full Text


rhe Bjld..jn Lihran
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O ther S tori s.


A. L. 0. E.,



UPWARDS AND DOWNWARDS, ... ... ... ... 7

A WHITE LIE, ... .. ... ... .. ... 29

"DON'T BE TOO SURE," ... .. ... ... ... 44

QUITE IN EARNEST, ... ... ... ... ... 59


CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE, -. ... .. .. ... 89

PAYING DEAR FOR IT, ... ... .. ... 10


--. X -
S- T r

" OOD-BYE, Ellie dear-bless you!"
cried Willie Deane, with a chok-
ing voice, as he embraced his little
blind sister again and again at the
gloomy door of the poor-house.
"Come, no more of this said the parish-
officer, laying his hand on the shoulder of the
sobbing girl, who clung closer and closer to
"her brotherthehe only tie now left to her in
the wide world. They had that afternoon
followed the remains of their father to a
pauper's nameless grave; and though the

only mourning worn by the bare-footed,
ragged children was a little bit of old crape,
lent by a pitying neighbour, in the hearts
of both there was deep, deep mourning, and
all the greater since they were now to be
separated. Willie, as a boy quite able to
work," though his wan face told of hardship
and hunger, was left to make his own way
in the world; while Ellie, whose blindness
made her perfectly helpless, was removed
to the shelter of the poor-house.
"Oh, we shall never, never meet again,
and you are all that is left me now! My
heart will break!" cried the little girl be-
tween her sobs.
"No, no; trust in God, darling; we shall
meet again! I will work early and late,
but I will find some means to support you !
We shall yet gain our bread by honest in-
dustry-we shall, Ellie dear; only trust in
And so they parted; and the orphan boy,
needing only too much for himself the conm-


fort which he had been trying to give to
another, stood for some minutes gazing at
the door which had been closed behind his
fair-haired sister with a feeling of utter
desolation. He wished, then tried to re-
press the wish, lest it should be sinful in
the sight of his Maker, that he could lay
his weary head where his father slept, and
forget all his sorrows in the quiet grave!
"But no," he thought, "I must live-I
must labour for her. God may yet have a
work for even me to do; life's long day of
toil is before me, and then, oh, how sweet
will be rest! "
Willie carried back the crape to Mrs.
Clark, who had been the friend of his father
in better times. A very poor woman she
was now, but with a kind, compassionate
heart. "Sure, I'm sorry for you, poor
fellow!" she said, brushing the moisture
from her eyes with the back of her hand;
"but I have scarcely bread to put into my
own mouth, and sorry a bit to give away.

Had they allowed her but a shilling or two
for out-door relief, I'd have let that dear
little girl share my crust and my bed; but
what's little for one is starvation for two.
I don't see how I can help you now, unless
-there's an old broom in the corner there;
if it's any use to you, you're welcome to it;
may be it will bring you a few pence."
The present was accepted with thanks,
and the homeless boy, as he left her little
cellar, blessed the voice of kindness which
had been like a cordial to his desolate heart.
The night was now closing in; whither
should the orphan go ? He crept under
the shadow of an archway, which sheltered
him from the rain which was beginning to
fall; and from that strange place of refuge
rose the humble, trusting prayer of a
troubled spirit-but a brave spirit, that was
preparing to battle with poverty, to look
want in the face, and, by God's blessing,
thrust it back, and struggle on to indepen-
dence. Willie would not beg, but he

would earn his bread, though his sole
means of doing so was the half-worn-out
broom which had been given by one almost
as poor as himself.
The sun was scarcely up earlier than
Willie. He gazed on the brightening sky,
dappled with rosy clouds, and breathed
forth his morning prayer. With his broom
in his hand, and a hope in his heart that
the Almighty would bless his labours, he
passed along the quiet streets, and at last
began to work at a crossing by the side of
a square, which, from its almost impassable
state, seemed to have been neglected for
many a day. The labour was new to him,
and soon tired his arms; but with resolu-
tion he brushed on till a clean causeway
was made across the narrow road. Pleased
at his own success, he had just paused to
rest, when a boy about his own size, also
ragged and bare-footed, ran up with a
broom in his hand, and in an angry voice
accused Willie of having deprived him of

his crossing, and tried to take the bread out
of his mouth.
"I did not know that it belonged to any
one," said Willie, casting a glance of disap-
pointment at the crossing at which he had
been working so hard.
"It's been mine this month and more,
and it was my mother's afore me," replied
Sam Higgins, in no very courteous tone.
"Well," said Willie, shouldering his
broom with a sigh, "I must go somewhere
else, I suppose. Does any one make a long
crossing yonder, so as to cut off the corner
of the square ? "
Oh, you're welcome to that, if it takes
your fancy," laughed Sam; "as if any one.
would wade over that sea of brown mud !"
"They shall not have to wade," replied
Willie, setting himself at once to his new
task with that resolute spirit which, whether
possessed by a king or a street-sweeper,
usually secures success. As he plied at his
crossing, Willie thought of the lines:-

If I were a cobbler, I'd make it my pride
The best of all cobblers to be;
If I were a tinker, no tinker beside
Should mend an old kettle like me!"
And he determined that whatever he did
"should be done well.
.Sam, leaning on his broom, watched
Willie with- a mocking sneer. He was
himself quite a stranger to that energy
which rises to meet difficulties-that perse-
verance which resolutely overcomes them.
He thought it enough to stand by his cross-
ing, sweep for a moment when he saw a
passenger approaching, and run after him
with loud importunate entreaties to beg
the pence which he was too lazy to earn.
Willie never begged; he left his work to
speak for him; and as the conduct of the
sweepers was different, so likewise, as might
be expected, was their success. The long
clean crossing was constantly preferred;
the boy who remained steady at his post
raised the kindly feelings of the passer-by,
and became known to the residents round.

For every penny which Sam extorted by
begging, his silent companion received
three. Willie found that he could maintain
himself in honest independence. This was
his first upward step.
Willie heard that a Ragged School was
open every evening, not far from the poor
lodging which he now managed to procure
for himself. Anxious for knowledge-
anxious, above all, to be instructed in the
things of God-he never failed in his daily,
attendance, and was the most diligent, the
most persevering of all the scholars.
"Little good larning will do to such as
you," cried Sam sneeringly, as he saw
Willie one day with a multiplication table
in his hand, trying as hard to master its
difficulties as he had done to earn his bread.
Willie only replied with a smile; he felt
that the useful knowledge which he was ac-
quiring was another step in an upward path
-that he should one day find the benefit of
it; and he thought with fond hope of the


time when he might impart to his darling
little sister some of the information so
freely given to himself.
He learned also at the school the value
of cleanliness; he was instructed how to
mend his own clothes. A kind teacher,
pleased by the industry and docility of her
pupil, gave him an old cap of her son's, and
a cast-off pair of boots; so while Sam's
elbows still looked through the rents in his
sleeves, and his dirty clothes hung in rags
upon him, and his face looked as though
it had never been washed,-gradually his
companion gained an appearance so respect-
able and clean that it could scarcely have
been believed that both had started from
the same point of poverty; but then the
one was pursuing an upward, the other a
downward path.
The object which Willie ever set before
himself was to be the support of his sister
Ellie. He almost denied himself necessary
food to save up his little earnings for her;


and earnestly he prayed to his heavenly
Father to fulfil this desire of his heart. As
Willie became known in the neighbourhood,
he was often sent on little errands, em-
ployed to fetch water, or to sweep before
doors; and many a meal, and many a
penny-yes, and silver pieces too-he was
enabled to earn in this manner. But still,
in the dry, clear autumn days, when his
crossing scarcely needed a touch of the
broom, Willie felt that his time was not
fully employed-he might do more-he
might gain more for his sister.
Here, again, the Ragged School offered
its valuable instruction. Willie was taught
how to make little baskets; and though his
profits at first were very small indeed, the
little purse which he had made for himself,
and which contained all his savings for
Ellie, gradually grew heavier and heavier,
and every now and then he exchanged a
handful of coppers for 'a bright silver shil-
ling or half-crown.

17 32


rich in grace; that the friendless on earth
have a Friend in heaven; that they who
sow in 'tears may at last reap in joy; and
that blessed are those who trust in the Lord,
and humbly walk in his ways. Mrs. Field-
ing little thought, when she bade her young
charge good-bye, how much had been done
by her husband's few thoughtless words to
mar her labour of love, and confuse the
ideas of right and wrong in the mind of the
boy whom they both wished to serve.
Mark Robson went to his situation in
the house of Mrs. Hayley with many good
resolutions and cheerful expectations. There
was but one uncomfortable feeling which
would sometimes arise, like a speck of dark
cloud upon a bright sky; this was the re-
collection that he had gained his place by
deceit. "But then the deceit was not his own.
He had merely remained silent when a false-
hood had been spoken, glad, if the truth
must be owned, that another was found to
say for him what he would have scrupled
(407) 3

to say for himself. But as one little seed,
blown by the wind, may become the parent
of many; as the small cloud may grow
larger and larger, till darkness overspread
the blue sky; so one sin-one falsehood-has
in itself a tendency to spread and increase.
Almost the first question which Mrs. Hay-
ley asked of Mark Robson was, "When
did your poor father die ?" Swift as light-
ning passed a crowd of thoughts through
the mind of the boy. "I can't contradict
what the baker said; I can't expose my kind
friend; I will not disgrace myself. 'Tis
impossible to speak the truth. What's the
harm in a white lie?" So Mark answered,
"Two years ago," scarcely knowing what he
said, but speaking out as boldly as he could
the first sentence which rose to his tongue.
The lady asked no more questions on that
subject, which was a great relief to Mark,
and he hoped that the falsehood which he
had uttered would be the last of which he
should be guilty.

But was "no harm" done by the lie ?
Alas for the effect upon the soul of the
lad When we give ourselves to the Lord,
we must give ourselves fully and freely;
there must be no reserve, no keeping back,
no secretly saying in the heart, I will obey
God in all things but one; I will give up
every sin but that which doth most easily
beset me !" One leak unstopped, sinks a
ship;-one spark unquenched, may burn a
city! Poor Mark tried hard to persuade
himself that his kind friend, the baker, had
been right, and that there had been no real
harm in going a little from the truth. The
Evil One is but too ready to help us to
silence conscience, and every time that
conscience is wilfully silenced its power is
weakened within us. Mark Robson now felt
little pleasure in reading the Holy Bible,
because its warnings against sin made him
feel uneasy in his mind. He wished that
God's law were not so strict. When he
came to the awful history of Ananias and

Sapphira, struck dead with falsehood on
their lips, as related in the Book of Acts,
Mark closed the Bible.with a sigh, and had
no wish to open it again. All his comfort
in prayer was gone Giles Fielding, a well-
meaning man, who attended God's worship,
honoured God's day, and believed that he
was helping God's poor,, would have been
startled indeed could he have known what
a stumbling-block he had put in a young
lad's path, how by what he had called a
white lie he had been doing the work of the
Mark had been for some months in his
situation when, one day, as he was walking
along a street, a hand was suddenly laid on
his arm; and, turning round, he was startled
to behold his own father !
Glad to see thee, my lad ; right glad to
see thee once more !" cried Robson, wring-
ing the hand of his son, in whose heart
feelings of affection, shame, pleasure, and
fear strangely mingled together. "And

where hast thou been, my boy, and how
hast weathered the winter ? I guess from
the look of thee," continued Robson, sur-
veying his son from head to foot, "that thee
has found some un to take thee by the hand.
I'll walk a bit with thee, and we'll crack
together as we go."
Mark told his parent of everything but
the deceit which had been used by Giles
Fielding in order to get him a place,-he
shrank from saying a word about that. He
gave otherwise a full account of all that had
been done for him by the kindly baker and
his wife, and the heart of Robson warmed
towards the friends of his son.
"Blessings on 'em both for caring for a
lad as was worse than an orphan!" he
exclaimed, "and blessings on 'em for larning
thee the right honest way to go in I'd
never ha' been where I'se come from, had
there been any one when I was young to
care for my soul, or give me a chance in
the world! Maybe I've larned summat in

jail, maybe I'll ha' a try to begin a new
sort of life ; but it's hard for a fellow as has
a bad name to swim right against the tide."
Robson passed his rough hand across his
brow. "But I'se never be a weight round
your neck, my lad; if I can't float, I'll not
drag thee down. I'll not come hanging about
the house arter ye, as maybe the missus
mightn't half like it; but thou'lt come and
see me,-come often, my lad,-I'll need a
bit cheering from thee !"
Mark promised eagerly that he would
visit his father in the miserable lodging of
which Robson gave him the address. It
was the greatest relief to the boy to find
that. the good feeling of his unhappy parent
would save him from a thousand difficulties
which visits to Mrs. Hayley's house might
have caused. Had Robson been a more
hardened sinner, he would have forced his
son more bitterly to rue the white lie so
lightly uttered by the baker.
But though Mark's troubles might have

been greater, they were sufficiently perplex-
ing to keep him in a state of constant
anxiety and fear. He had a secret which
might be found out, and it became to him a
burden which grew more oppressive day by
day. Mark went to see his father, he was
in duty bound to do so, but he could not
ask leave to go in a frank and open manner.
Once beside poor Robson, it was hard to get
away. The late prisoner's health was fail-
ing, he could hardly procure any work;
but for the kindness of the Fieldings, the
poor man might almost have starved.
Mark saved what he could from his wages,
and gave what he could of his time; but
Show could that time be spared-was it not
paid for by his mistress ? Having entered
on a course of deceit, Mark felt himself
forced-against his will-to go on in it.
Untruths came more readily to his tongue.
He asked for leave now to go to a wedding,
then to buy himself shoes. When sent on
an errand and blamed for returning an hour

too late, he was ever ready with a false
excuse. "It is for my father," he would
say to himself; 'tis but a white lie after
all !" Oh, how much happier for him had
he spoken the truth from the first, and so
never have been tempted to plunge deeper
and deeper in the miry ways of falsehood !
Once, during Mark's lengthened absence
from home, a thief took the opportunity to
steal down the area-steps, and carry off some
forks which had been carelessly left near the
window. Great were the surprise and distress
of Mark on discovering the loss What
was to be done ? Conscience and common
sense urged him alike to go at once and
confess the truth to his mistress. But the
unhappy lad had now no courage to speak
the truth. He had become accustomed to
deceit. He instinctively felt, alas! that he
had not a right to- be believed. Mark con-
cealed the matter, and by doing so, brought
not only his truth but his honesty under sus-
picion when the loss was discovered at last!


Trembling and pale, the miserable lad
stood one evening before his indignant



mistress, who had just been having an
interview with a policeman. One suspicions
interview with a policeman. One suspicionls

circumstance after another had recurred to
her mind; by making inquiries in the
neighbourhood the lady had found that
Mark had deceived her on several occasions.
All her confidence in him was gone, and
she naturally thought him guilty of stealing
the silver.
I find, unhappy boy," said Mrs. Hayley,
fixing her eyes sternly upon Mark, who, in
the misery of his soul, almost wished that
the earth would open and hide him-" I
find that you have repeatedly been seen in
company with a man, who-as the police-
man asserts-was released but a few months
ago from jail. Such fellowship speaks for
itself. I am unwilling, from pity for your
youth, to send you before a magistrate,
but not a doubt exists on my mind that
either you, or your wicked companion, has
stolen my silver forks !"
How could Mark defend himself,-how
could he defend his father from a charge of
which he knew him to be guiltless! All


the truth was now confessed, with deep
sorrow and shame; but the truth was not
now believed! Mark was dismissed from
his place in disgrace, and under suspicion of
theft! "A boy who could weave such a
web of falsehood," observed Mrs. Hayley
to a friend, would be capable of any crime.
He who is false in his words, is likely to be
dishonest in his deeds."
Miserable was the life which the poor
disgraced boy had for a long time to lead,
before any one would trust him again If,
after a painful struggle through years of
hardship and toil, Mark did at last regain
the character which he had lost, it was only
through such trials as almost crushed his
young spirit. One lesson, however, he
thoroughly learned,-and this was worth
all that he suffered,-a dread of the begin-
nings of sins, a horror for a white lie .

41, --^ ; .-

+. f i (" ,
L. :4\y. .,jI _


"on't be too Surc."

"f HALL have a jolly time of it with
.- .old Marsden the bookseller!" ex-
t- claimedd Will Blane to his father;
"'nothing to do but to carry the
papers round in the morning to his cus-
tomers, and get a peep at the news as I go;
and to take library books to the houses, and
run on an errand now and then And what
"a deal of time I'll have for reading, and what
"a glorious lot of books to read-for they say
Mr. Marsden is good-nature itself, and lends
willingly enough to young chaps! Why,
I'll get as clever-as clever as a Lord
Chancellor or a Lord Mayor!" cried the


boy, almost wild with joy at the thought of
leaving the shop of his father the cobbler,
to enter on his first situation.
Don't be too sure, Will," said old Blane,
as he quietly fitted on the heel to a shoe.
" You've no reason to be certain that even
Mr. Marsden will take you at all."
Oh, there's not a doubt of it! exclaimed
Will. "Didn't he tap me on the shoulder,
and say I was as 'cute a lad as ever he had
seen ? "
Blane only smiled and shook his grizzled
head, like one who has his doubts on some
"Father, don't you want me to get clever
and great ? asked Will, rather mortified at
the smile.
I want you, my boy, to do your duty in
the station, whatever it may be, to which it
shall please God to call you, and not to set
your heart on, or make sure of, any mere
earthly success. When I see folk, as the
saying goes, counting their chickens before


they are hatched, it brings into my mind
what I read lately about the famous
Napoleon Buonaparte."
"Let's hear about him, father; you can
talk quite well at your work, and I like to
hear what you get out of those learned books
that the clerk lends you to read of an even-
"This was taken out of a grand long
work, written by an earl, the 'Life of the
great William Pitt,' said the cobbler, and
it's all true, I haven't a doubt of it. When
Buonaparte-he was ruling over France,
he'd a mind to rule over old England too;
and so, making sure of conquest, he fixed on
the very time when he'd come over and
invade us. Hie got a lot of his soldiers to-
gether, and had ships to carry 'em across;
and he looked over the blue waves of the
Channel, and thinks he,' I'll soon land in
England, march up to London, and take it.'"
"He made too sure," laughed Will.
"Hle made so sure," said the cobbler,


"that-would you believe it, my boy ?--he
had actually a medal made to celebrate his
invasion of England "
"But he never invaded it!" interrupted
"And on the medal was stamped in
French, 'Struck at London,' continued old
"But he never entered London!" cried
He made so sure of success," said the
cobbler, "that he prepared a medal in honour
of the conquest of a city that he was never
so much as to set his foot in! "
"Well, that was counting his chickens
before they were hatched-making too
sure !" exclaimed the boy. How ashamed
Buonaparte must afterwards have felt when-
ever he thought of that medal! Have you
any more stories for me, father ? "
Yes, another comes into my head, which
I read in another clever book," replied
Blane. It's about a very .,t' i"'] man

fiom him who struck the medal; it's about
the Duke of Wellington-"
"Who beat Napoleon Buonaparte himself
at the battle of Waterloo cried Will. I
hope that he hadn't his medal ready before-
hand ? "
"You know, or perhaps you don't know,
my lad, that Wellington was sent over to
Portugal to help the poor folk there who
were fighting against the French. God
gave wisdom to our great general, and suc-
cess to a good cause, so the enemy's soldiers
were driven out, and Portugal was free."
"How glad the Portuguese must have
been," cried Will, and how they must have
honoured our duke. That was the time for
striking a medal-when the battle had been
fought and won."
"I don't know whether a medal was
struck," said Blane ; "but I'll tell you what
the Portuguese did; they had a print made
of the general, and under it were these
words in Latin, Inrincible Wellington, from


grateful Portugal.' So the clerk made out
their meaning; he's more of a scholar than
I be."
"What does 'invincible' mean, father ? "
"It means, one who cannot be conquered,"
replied Blane.
"Oh, that was making too sure! The
duke might have won a hundred victories,
but as long as he lived no one could tell
that he might not be beaten a.t last."
Just hear the end of my story, my boy,
and you'll see that the duke was just of
your mind in that matter. A friend asked
him to send him the print, so Wellington
got a copy and sent it: but he wouldn't put
up with that boasting word at the bottom of
his likeness, as if he thought himself sure of
victory; he scored out 'invincible' with a
dash of his pen, and underneath it he wrote,
' Don't halloo till you're out of the wood.'"
Will Blane burst out laughing. "That
showed the duke's good sense," said he.
"Ay, and good feeling, too, my boy. It
(4071 4


showed that he was not a man of a boastful
spirit, but knew that the highest may have
a fall. When you are tempted, Will, to
make too sure of the morrow, just mind you
of Buonaparte and his medal-of Wellington
and his print. But now"-the cobbler
raised his eyes to the little Swiss clock
which was fixed on the wall before him, "it
is nearly time for you to be off to call upon
Mr. Marsden, as he told you to do this
evening, that all may be settled and fixed."
It is not six yet, father, and he bade me
be there at seven. But," added Will with
animation, I should like to call at Jem's
and Wilson's on the way, to tell them of
my good luck; so it is not too soon to
Perhaps," said the cobbler with his quiet
smile, "you had better call upon them on
your way back-don't be too sure of the
Long before Will Blane returned home,
his father's day's work was over but the


cobbler delayed his evening meal until his
boy could share it. Everything he placed
ready-the neat white cloth on the little
table, the loaf, the piece of yellow cheese;
and as twilight darkened around, Blane lit
his candle and sat down to read. The
volume which he now opened was not one
of those which the clerk had lent him; the
fact was that Blane himself was anxious
about his son's getting the place, and felt as
if he could not fix his attention on common
reading. He, therefore, had taken down
the Bible, which is worth all other books
put together, and was searching the pages
of the sacred volume for that wisdom which
cometh from above. Blane had his finger
on the verse, C .''. .. all your care upon him,
for he careth Jor you, when he heard a step,
then the opening of a door, and turned round
to welcome his son.
The step was not so quick and firm as
that with which Will had left his home.
The door was opened slowly, as if by a wearyx


hand; and when Blane glanced up at his
boy, he read disappointment in his face
before Will had uttered a word.
"It's no use. I've had my trouble for
my pains!" exclaimed the lad, throwing
himself down on a chair. "Mr. Marsden
has behaved shamefully to me! Will
pulled off his cap, rubbed his heated brow,
and looked both weary and angry.
Mr. Marsden has not, then, settled with
you after all ? "
"No," replied Will, in a mortified tone.
"He has found out that he has a young
cousin in Suffolk, who will suit him exactly.
He might as well have thought of that this
morning, and not have sent me on a fool's
errand across half London, only to get dis-
appointment in the end !" And there was
a husky sound in the boy's voice, while,
though he tried hard to keep it down, the
moisture would rise to his eyes.
"Well, my lad," said Blane, after breathing
a little sigh-for he was disappointed as well


as his son-" there are two things that we
may be sure of."
"I thought that you said, a little while
ago, that we should never be sure of any-
thing," cried Will, in rather a testy tone.
"Two things that we may be sure of," re-
peated his father ; and these are, that God
knows what is best for us, and that he mak-
eth all things work together for good to them
that love him."
"You are always bringing in religion,"
said the boy.
And haven't I reason for it, Will ? "
replied Blane. In a world like this, where
all is changing and moving like the clouds
in the sky, or the waves of the sea; where
we're like the ships on the ocean-now up
in hope, now down in disappointment;
where there's nothing of which we can say,
'This will be to-morrow as it is to-day;'-
is it not a comfort to have something which
can never, never be moved; something like
a rock, to which we can cling amidst all the

changes and tossing of life ? Man's word
may fail us, but God's word is sure." Here
Blane laid his hand on the Bible. Man
may break his promises; God's promise is
sure. Here is just one on which we can
rest." He turned over to the place where
it is written, The Lord will give grace and
glory; no good thing will he withhold from
them that walk uprightly."
But are not the promises only for God's
people ?" asked Will.
"For the redeemed of the Lord," replied
his father.
And how can we be sure that we are so ?
We are all called Christians, I know; but
does that make us all Christians indeed ? "
"That's a sensible question, my son.
May God help me to give a right answer,
for it is a matter in which it would be a
terrible thing to make a mistake. There
are many as seem to take it as a matter of
course that they are right on the way to
heaven, 'cause they were baptized when

young; and maybe they go to church or
chapel, and bear a good name in the world;
--and so they make sure of heaven-too
sure, as they'll find at the last. They strike
their medal of success, as it were, before
they've crossed the sea of temptation, or hit
one good stroke against sin.
But how can we tell that we are of God's
people ? again asked Will.
"There are two marks which can't well
be mistaken," said his father; "let's search
"and see if we have them. Real Christians
love God above all, and hate sin above all:
these are two simple tests. They love God
"above all; and why ? Because they believe
that he gave his only Son to die for their
sins, and to save their poor lost souls;
because they believe that he will care for
them in this world, and will give them, in
the world to come, life and glory everlast-
ing And they hate sin above all. Why?
*Because sin is hateful to God; because sin
would keep them from God. They struggle


with it, they give it no quarter, they fight
against it, till God makes them more than
conquerors in the end !"
"If real Christians love God above all,
and hate sin above all, I'm afraid I'm not
one of them," said Will Blane.
Do you wish to be one?" asked his
I should wish to go to heaven when I
"Then ask God for his blessed Spirit, to
make you live holily, die happily, and rise
gloriously at the last. Make sure, my boy,
-oh! make sure that you give your heart
to God. He is the kindest of masters, he
is the best of friends. Sorrow, labour, and
disappointment may be our lot in this life;
but remember that peace, and rest, and joy
are what God prepares for his people."
It was about a week after the day on
which Will was disappointed of his place
with Mr. Marsden, when, on his return fiom
going on a little errand, he found his father


with a letter in his hand and a look of
pleasure beaming on his face.


-* ...- ._._l:^ ;


"Here's a bit of good news for you, Will,"
he said, holding out the letter to his son.

Will took the paper from his father, and
eagerly began to read it; but before he had
gone half through it, he burst out with an
exclamation of joy,--
"What! that good gentleman, Sir John
Bate, going to travel abroad, and offering
to take me with him; and you willing-I see
that you are-quite willing to let me go!
Oh, how glad I am, how very glad, that I
was disappointed last week! This place
will be better in every way-so far better
than the other There's nothing on earth I
should like so much as to go abroad with
Sir John !"
"Did I not say truly, my son, that God
knows what is best for us ? observed Blane,
laying his hand on the shoulder of his boy.
" Let us once be sure, quite sure, that we
have taken the Lord for our Saviour and
Guide, and we may be sure, quite sure, that,
happen what may, he will never fail or for-
sake us."

rf' ,, k ,

Quite in (Earnest.

"OW, father, I want to ask you for
something," exclaimed Will Blane,
almost the instant that he rose
from his knees, after joining, or
seeming to join, in the prayer that
his parent had been offering aloud. It was
the custom of Matthew Blane to pray morn-
ing and evening with his son. The first
prayer, he would say, gave him heart for the
labours of the day, and the second prepared
him for the rest of the night. Matthew
*would as soon have forgotten his daily bread
as his daily prayer to his God.

"You seem to be in mighty haste to ask
me," observed Blane drily; he could not
but notice how little of his son's attention
had been given to the prayer.
Well, you see, father, as I'm going
abroad, I was thinking how useful I should
find one of those leather cases, with knife,
and pen, and pencil complete, and a place
for the paper and the stamps. Jem showed
me where I could get one very cheap; and
I thought, father, as a parting present, that
you would not mind buying one for me."
Matthew Blane gave a little dry cough.
"You're quite in earnest in wishing for
the case ?" asked he.
"Of course I am," replied Will, a little
surprised at the question.
A good deal more in earnest, perhaps,"
observed his father, than you were a few
minutes ago, when you asked for safety,
health, and forgiveness, and food for both
body and soul."
"Well, to own the truth, father," said

Will, "my thoughts will wander a bit while
I am saying my prayers."
"Saying my prayers," repeated Blane,
half to himself; "ay, that is the word for
the thing. Saying your prayers is not pray-
ing. You ask God for certain blessings as
a matter of course, as a duty; but you don't
expect to get aught by your asking. You
don't look to receive an answer, as you did
when you told me you wanted the case."
0 father, it's so different !" cried Will.
"Ay, it's different; I grant ye that,"
said Blane, slowly stirring the fire as he
spoke. It is a different thing to ask for all
that you can need from One who alone has
power to give or to take away all, than to tell
a father that you've a fancy for a trifle that
you could very well do without."
"I did not mean that," said Will, colour-
Sing; "but it does not seem as if the great
God in heaven would attend to the prayers
of such poor creatures as we are."
"That's it; 'tis unbelief that makes so

many cold in prayer," observed Blane, look-
ing thoughtfully into the fire. "We do
not take God's word as we would that of a
t'ellow-creature whom we respected. Does
he not say again and again in the Bible
what ought to encourage us to pray-Ask,
and it shall be given unto you. If' ye then,
being evil, know how to give good gifts unto
your children, how much more shall your
Father which is in heaven give good things
to them that ask him. There are many and
many promises like that, which we'd hold fast
and never let go if they were made by a friend
upon earth. And if promises are not enough
to content us, just look again into the Bible,
and see if it is not full of examples of an-
swers to prayer."
But that was in the old times," observed
"God never changes," replied Blane.
"He is the same yesterday, to-day, and for
ever. The same Saviour who stopped to
listen to the cry of the poor, when he walked

as a man upon earth, now listens with the
same love and pity, sitting as God in the
heavens. But then, prayer, to be answered,
must come not merely from the lips-the
heart must be quite in earnest."
"It is difficult to pray from the heart,"
said Will.
"Ay, the best of us need to say with the
first disciples, Lord, teach us to pray. The
.wisest of us need to ask for the Spirit of'
grace and supplications, to help us to pray
as we ought."
"But, father," said Will, with a little
hesitation, "I don't see as how those who
pray hard get much more than those who
don't pray at all. If I were to ask God
now to make me very rich, and pray with all
my heart and soul, do you believe that he
would send me a fortune ?"
Maybe not, my boy," answered Mat-
thew Blane; "for God might see that a
fortune would do you harm, and not good,
-as has happened to many afore. If you

asked me for poisoned food, I'd not give
it, however hard you might beg. I'd not
harm ye even to please ye! But what I
say, and what I'll stand by, is this: God
gives to his praying children all that they
ask for in faith, if it really is a blessing that
they ask for. He may keep them waiting
awhile, to try their faith and their patience;
but he never forgets their prayer. They
have at the last exactly what they would
think best for themselves, if they could see
all things as God sees-if they could know
all things as God knows. And when, in a
happier world, they look back upon'their
past lives, they will find them-I'm sure
that they all will-full of answers to
Even in little earthly matters, father ?"
"Even in matters that may seem to us
earthly and little. I'll give you an instance,
my lad. One fact will often go further
than many words in the way of con-
vincing. I'll tell you what happened not


very long since to our Bible-woman, Lucy
May." *
What was it, father ?" asked Will.
"Lucy had a ring that she dearly prized,
because it had belonged to a pious sister,
,who was dead. I doubt if there was any-
thing that she had that she would not sooner
have lost than that ring. Lucy, as you
know, is employed, like many another in
London, in seeking out poor wandering
Sinners, and trying to lead them to the
Saviour. There was one girl-her name
is Emily-who seemed minded to listen to
Lucy, and even agreed that she would go
"one evening with the Bible-woman to a
-meeting for prayer. It was on the very
"day, if I remember right, on which the meet-
ing was to take place, as the two were to-
Sgether in Lucy's little room, there came the
' postman's knock at the door. Off started
Lucy in haste, for she expected a letter.
A. L. O. E. had the following facts from one thoroughly ac-
quainted with them, and on whose truthfulness she implicitly
relies. She has only changed the Bible-woman's name.
(407) 5

And sure enough there was one, bringing
her news of her mother, who was ill. No
wonder that while the poor Bible-woman
was anxiously spelling over her letter, she
forgot that in the room in which she had
left the girl Emily there was her ring, be-
sides a golden sovereign in her work-box-
a work-box that was not locked."
"Ah !" exclaimed Will, "that was a for-
get indeed! Did the girl open the box
and take them ?"
"The temptation was too strong for her,"
replied Blane; Emily took both sovereign
and ring, and slipped them into her stock-
"Lucy might have expected as much,"
cried Will. "What could have made her
leave such a temptation as that in the way
of a stranger ?"
"I s'pose it must have been her anxiety
about her mother, and the worry of the
letter," answered Blane. "Anyways, it
added not a little to her trouble when she

found that the girl whom she had hoped to
have as a penitent turned out such a thief;
and that, instead of going to the prayer-
meeting as was settled, she went away no
one knew where, with the stolen money and
the ring, which she denied knowing anything
"Didn't Lucy call the police?" asked
No; she didn't like to set the police upon
the track of the wretched girl; she would
rather put up with her loss. And a sore
loss it was to Lucy," added Blane. "Ill
could a poor Bible-woman spare the sove-
reign that had been taken, but that loss
might be made up by hard work or by the-
kindness of friends; but who could restore
the ring, the precious ring of her dead sister ?
How could Lucy hope to find again that
which she had valued so much ?"
"How, indeed!" exclaimed Will. "To
"hunt out one little ring amidst the thousands
and thousands in the endless pawnbrokers

and jewellers' shops in this big town of
London would be indeed, as the saying is,
like searching for a needle in a haystack!
One would as soon expect to fish up a ring
after throwing it into the Thames What
did poor Lucy do ?"
"She went to her knees, my boy; she
laid her trouble before God. She and a
friend of hers prayed hard; they were quite
in earnest, mind ye; their words didn't go
one way and their thoughts another, like
those of some one that I know of."
But did Lucy ever get her ring back ?
that's the question," asked Will, who did
not like the turn the conversation was taking.
Be patient awhile, and you shall hear.
No policeman followed that miserable thief;
justice did not trace out her haunts ; no one
knew but herself in what pawnbroker's shop
she had pledged the stolen ring: but it was
as if she had been followed by Lucy's prayer;
that was like an arrow in her heart; go
where she might, she carried that with her.

"What was the surprise of the Bible-woman
when, about three weeks after the robbery,
the girl Emily came back of her own accord,
with a look of sorrow and shame She told
Lucy that she could neither sleep nor eat,
her conscience was so troubled by her sin.
She had but three and sixpence left out of
the sovereign which she had stolen, but this
she was ready to give back; and she offered
to take Lucy to the pawnbroker's shop,
where she might recover her ring."
"And Lucy went with the girl?" asked
She went with Emily to the place, and
"long and weary was her walk before she
- reached it at last; for so bent had Emily
been upon hiding her wicked theft, that she
"had gone to a shop distant three miles from
the lodging whence she had stolen the ring.
Right glad was Lucy to recover her treasure,
and all the more glad because she felt that
she got it in answer to prayer. While she
was engaged in the pawnbroker's shop, the


poor shame-faced thief took the opportunity
of slipping away unseen."

Poor soul !" exclaimed Will, there was
some good left in her, or she would not

have come back at all. Did Lucy never
see her again ?"
"Not for about nine months, I think,"
said old Blane; and then she chanced-no,
that's not the right word-God willed that
they should meet in the streets. 'Why do
you turn from me ?' said Lucy, more anxious,
I take it, to recover the poor wandering
soul than she ever had been to recover her
ring. Emily owned that she was ashamed
to see her after having treated her so ill.
She then told Lucy, and after inquiries
showed that she told the truth, that she had
once gone with five shillings in her hand to
the lodging where she had stolen the money
and the ring, to give them to the Bible-
wc-ian in part payment of what she had
taken. Lucy had, however, left her lodging,
and poor Emily frankly confessed that she
had been rather glad at not being able to
find her, being so much ashamed at the
thought of meeting the woman whom she had
so cruelly wronged. The poor creature had

now only one shilling and fourpence in the
world. She offered Lucy the shilling; the
fourpence she said she must keep, as it was
her only means of getting food for that night.'
"Well," exclaimed Will, if Lucy prayed
quite in earnest, that poor girl repented
quite in earnest, or she would not have tried
three times over to pay back as much as
she could of the money. Did Lucy take
her last shilling ?"
No; she had not the heart to do that.
She showed the poor penitent girl the way
to her new home, and made her promise to
come and see her. I can't say-I don't
know," added Blane, whether Emily has
ever steadily begun a new life, and given
herself to her Saviour, but I know that she
has often been prayed for, and that the
Almighty heareth prayer. He who touched
her heart with shame and repentance can
touch it with faith and love. I don't
despair-not I-of meeting both the Bible-
woman and the poor thief in heaven !"

"Father," said Will gravely, I never
before thought that prayer was so real a
thing; I never looked for an answer."
"Mark those telegraph wires stretching
over the street," observed Blane, who was
fond of illustrating his ideas by the common
objects around him; "we can't see the
message that is darted along them quick as
lightning; but we know that messages are
sent, we know that answers are returned,
though plain folk like you and me cannot
understand how. Now I often think, as I
look at those lines, prayer is like a golden
wire that stretches all the way up to heaven,
and faith sends her messages by it. But
there is one thing which we must always
remember, Will, whether we ask for earthly
blessings or better gifts for our souls, we
must ask all in the name of the Lord Jesus
Christ. It is only for his sake that the
Almighty stoops to listen to the prayers of
poor sinners such as we."
Will sat for several minutes, turning over


in his mind what he had just heard from his
father. Matthew Blane was the first to
"And now, my lad," said he, "you and
I will go together to buy the case which
you want. It may serve to remind you
sometimes of what we have been talking
over this morning. 'Tis well that every
one should form a habit of daily prayer;
but mere lip-prayer without heart-prayer is
like a body without a soul, it has no more
power for good than a dead corpse has in its
coffin. To pray with power we must pray
with faith, we must pray in the name of the
blessed Saviour; and whether our words be
many or few, our hearts must be quite in


that they were righteous, and despised others.". 9.

^he pl.irkrct anb the ^ubcian.


And he spake a parable unto certain which trusted in themselves
that they were righteous, and despised others."-LUKE xviii. 9.

"--F HICH of these two coins would
you think most precious, Anna "
"A .)i?' said Mrs. Fairley, placing before
:. d her little girl what appeared like
two pieces of money.
Oh, this bright shining sovereign, to be
sure the other looks dull and old, as if it
had been taken from the dust-hole."
Now take them up in your hands; you
know that gold is a heavy metal,-weigh


them, and then tell me which you think the
more precious."
How very light this bright one is! I
do not think that it is a sovereign at all."
It is not a sovereign; it is not made of
gold; a little thin gilding alone gives it so
bright an appearance."
"And the other one, mamma ?"
The other is an old coin, not now used
as money, but valuable notwithstanding, be-
cause it is really gold. Do .you remember
anything of which these things remind you,
my Anna ?"
Anna thought for a moment ;-she was
a clever child, and her mother had accus-
tomed her to reflect.
They remind me that some people ap-
pear good, and are not really so, while others
may be better than we think them."
"Yes, even as -we read in the beautiful
Parable of the self-righteous Pharisee and
the Publican. The Pharisee doubtless de-
ceived others, he also deceived himself; he

believed himself to be holy, and little thought
how he appeared in the pure eyes of his
Maker! Heaven preserve you, my child,
from self-righteousness and pride, and teach
you to know your own heart!"
Anna said nothing in reply; but, if the
truth must be told, she thought her mother's
caution very unnecessary as far as regarded
That my readers may judge how far it
was so, I will give a short account of the
next Sunday passed by the little girl; and
as we are rather writing about what she
was than what she did, I must let you into
the secret of her thoughts as well as of her
No one could look neater than Anna as
she stood ready to accompany her mother to
divine service in one of the churches in
London. Her hair nicely brushed, her look
quiet and sedate, just what might best be-
Scome a child upon the Lord's-day. No one
knew that she thought that she appeared

very nice, and that her mind was a little
running upon her new ribbons.
As she walked towards the church, she
passed near to a poor girl clothed in rags,
bare-footed and dirty, who was standing
with a basket of oranges to sell.
What a wicked little creature that
must be exclaimed Anna; "nothing could
ever make me break the Fourth Command-
ment in such a dreadful manner !"
"My Anna, let us pray that we be not
led into such temptation," replied Mrs.
Fairley: then, as she passed by the fruit-
seller, she said softly to her, "What shall
it profit a man if he gain the whole world,
and lose his own soul ?"
The girl looked sadly after the lady, and
her thin fingers grasped more tightly the
handle of her basket as she reflected on the
words just spoken to her.
To lose the soul Oh, that is a terrible
thought! I remember that text, and where
it comes from. Oh, if the lady only knew

my trial! I stayed at home and sold
nothing last Sunday, because I feared to do
"wrong. I went hungry to bed, and my
little brother cried himself to sleep. What
can I do ? Oh! what can I do ? God help
me, a miserable sinner !"
At present we will follow the steps of
After entering the church and taking her
usual place, she appeared very devoutly en-
gaged in prayer, while all the time the
thought of her heart was, "How could my
mother speak a word to that wicked girl!
I wonder why the police have not orders to
take such people to prison !" Anna had never
known what it was to want one meal! Her
sins were of a different kind. Riches and
poverty have each their peculiar temptations
(Prov. xxx. 8, 9).
I promised that I would let you into the
secret of Anna's thoughts, but I have not
space to tell you one quarter of what passed
through her mind during the two hours that

she remained in church. I should be
ashamed also to put such trifling down; and
startled indeed would the little Pharisee
have been could she have seen a record of
them before her! There was certainly
very little that was at all like prayers,
though she seemed to repeat earnestly every
petition for pardon, for mercy, and for grace.
She had little idea that she required any of
these blessings,-such people as the orange-
girl might be miserable sinners,-but for
herself, her mind was quite at ease.
So Anna noticed the carving on the
pulpit, and the shape of the windows; ob-
served the fashion of the bonnets in front
of her; wondered why the clergyman read
so slowly; wished that the service were not
so long; and left church at last, feeling that
she had performed a great duty, and that who-
ever might wander from the straight path to
heaven, she at least .was upon the direct road!
Dinner and an amusing Sunday-book
occupied Anna until it was time to prepare

for the second service. She attended to
the prayers this.time still less than the first,
for she was tired as well as indifferent.
Many a plan for the business and amuse-
ment of the week did Anna devise while
the good clergyman was earnestly trying to
lead sinners to the God whom they had
offended And yet, could it be believed!
when walking home with a friend, Anna
presumed to find some faults in the preacher
"and to express her sorrow that she had not
-heard dear Mr. Haynes, who always, she
felt, did her so much good!" She made
"some observations, also, which she thought
.clever and solemn, upon hearing of the
"-- sudden death of a neighbour whom she
believed to have been worldly and gay; she
drew a contrast in her mind between his
-character and her own, very decidedly to
her own advantage; and parted from her
companion with a comfortable feeling that
she must certainly stand high in the opinion
of her friend as a girl of singular piety.
(407) (;


Whose voice was so loud and full in the
evening hymns as Anna's I She made sweet
melody upon earth, but not such melody
as is loved in heaven. The holy words
upon her lips were not what engaged her
attention,-she was admiring the sound of
her own fine voice, and feeling sure that
others must admire it also.
Anna retired to rest on that Sabbath
evening rather glad, in her heart, that the
solemn day was over, though she would not
for the world have said so. She was pleased
with herself for the way in which she had
observed it; she never doubted that her
conduct had been acceptable to the Al-
mighty; and she rather considered herself
as deserving of reward, than in any way
requiring forgiveness. Alas for the blindness
of sinners who. thank God that they are
not as other men are!
Have I among my readers one thus blind,
one possessing the spirit of the Pharisee ?
Let him search his heart, his thoughts, and


his motives, and honestly examine his life to
see if his religion is the gilding or the gold !

"And the publican, standing afar off, said, God be merciful to me
a sinner. I tell you, this man went down to his house justified
rather than the other."-LUKE xviii. 13, 14.
"What shall it profit a man if he gain
the whole world, and lose his own soul?"
These were the words which sounded in the
ears of Esther, the poor orange-girl, as she
stood, barefoot and ragged, near a church,
: with her basket, tempted by hunger to sin,
but with her conscience awakened even by
this short sentence from a passer-by. As
she paused, irresolute and sad, a little bird
flew within a few feet of her, and carried
away a crumb from a spot where a beggar
-had taken his early breakfast. This was a
very trifling occurrence, but the little winged
Creature preached a sermon to the heart of
the poor girl. It brought back to her mind
' a text heard long ago, during the time when
' '*k

she had attended a Sunday school: ." Behold
the fowls of the air, for they sow not, neither
do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your
heavenly Father feedeth them: are ye not
much better than they ?"
God will take care of me, if I only love
and trust him !" murmured poor Esther.
"Oh, how sinful I was ever to doubt it!
May the Lord forgive me for intending to
do what is so wrong, and have pity upon
me and upon my poor little brother! I
will go home at once and pray for pardon
for my sin."
So Esther turned from the place with a
broken and contrite heart, and took her
way towards her wretched .lodging. She
had to go through a narrow street, in which
there was a small chapel; but the bells were
silent, because the service had begun, and
there was scarcely a passenger in sight.
Just as Esther was passing the door,of the
chapel, a gentleman, walking rapidly, for
' e. knew that he was late, brushed past her

and entered the place. He drew a hymn-
book from his pbcket at the moment that he
entered the door. Esther fancied that she
heard a slight chinking sound, turned her
head, and saw a bright crimson purse lying
on the door-step of the chapel. Trembling
she laid her hand upon it, paused, and
glanced round: there was no earthly eye to
behold her. Here was temptation in another
form. The Evil One seemed to whisper,
"This is an answer to your prayer; the
Lord has sent you help; neither you nor
your brother shall starve,-and as for the
m:,Iey, the rich man will not miss it!"
SBut poor Esther had not heard in vain the
Swords of the Lord, "What shall it profit a
man if he gain the whole world, and lose
his own soul ?" She resisted the tempta-
Stion with the sword of the Spirit-the good
seed had been received into an honest, faith-
S-ful heart!
S. Esther, barefoot and miserably clad, dared
not venture into the chapel to restore the

purse. She determined to remain and
watch until its owner should come out, and
give it back without even looking at the
contents. Oh, how many times was she
tempted, during the long two hours, to go
away with her unlawful prize! Once a
policeman ordered her' to move on in a stern
tone of command which made the poor girl
tremble. She took up her basket, passed
round the corner of the street, then watched
her. opportunity, and returned to her place.
She heard a faint sound of singing from the
chapel; she thought it very beautiful, and
listened with a mixture of pleasure and fear.
"Oh, while holy, happy beings are singing
in heaven," murmured Esther, shall I be
shut out, as I am here ?" The tears filled
her eyes, but she looked up towards the
sky: "There is room there even for a poor
sinful creature like me!"
At length the door opened and the con-
gregation began to pour out. With what
scorn some looked, and others with what

pity, upon the miserable Sabbath-breaker,
as they thought her! Patiently Esther
watched till at length she perceived the old
gentleman to whom the purse belonged.
Timidly she approached him; she could not
catch his eyes-he had no attention to give
to such an object. She ventured very gently
to touch his arm; he started, and looking
angrily at her basket, asked if she were not
ashamed of such godless traffic upon the
Lord's-day. Silently Esther held up the
purse; it was her only reply, but it was
enough. Too much surprised to speak, the
gentleman took the purse, walked a few
paces and examined its contents; then hast-
ily returned and asked the orange-girl her
Same, and that of the place where she lived.
Esther modestly replied; the old gentleman
nodded his head, put his purse in his pocket,
and walked away. Without a word of
p raise-without a farthing of reward-the
Spoor girl returned to her home ; and through
that long day she and her young brother


had nothing with which to satisfy their
hunger but a little of the fruit which con-
science forbade them to sell!
But this was the last day that Esther
was ever to know want; the God in whom
she trusted had not forsaken her. The
next morning the old gentleman called at
her lodging, inquired into her case, promised
to put her in the way of earning an honest
livelihood, and kept that promise faithfully.
Her rags were exchanged for good warm
clothes-her wretched lodging for one re-
spectable and clean. The next Sunday,
when worshippers sought the house of
prayer, Esther no longer stood trembling
without, but joined, heart and soul, in the
song of praise-" Bless the Lord, 0 my soul:
and all that is within me, bless his holy

-, _. ...- -'. 5 HE r .- _.f.. ,
ir' tu ----P-===--'j-,J. 'hr- ...

tljonubz aub Sunshine.

The hope of the righteous shall be gladness."-PRov. x. 28.

T will rain, I tell you !-it will rain!"
r cried Priscilla; "it always does
When one wishes. it to be fine So
Syou need not put on your bonnet,
Lucy; there will be no boating for us to-
(lay." .
It is not raining one drop,-the grass is
quite dry," replied Lucy, running for the
twentieth time to the door.
"But the sea-weed that hangs there is
quite soft and damp, and that is a sure sign
of rain. Only see these black, heavy clouds !"
"Only see that dear little bit of bright

blue between them! I think, Priscilla,
that you are always looking out for clouds.
I never notice them at all till the rain be-
gins to drop !"
"That is because you are a thoughtless,
foolish little thing!" observed her sister,
with a kind of scornful pity.
"Well, I'm glad that I'm not so wise as
you; I'd rather be merry than wise," was
the laughing Lucy's reply.
This time, however, it appeared that the
elder sister was the mistaken one. The
patch of blue in .the sky, to Lucy's delight,
became larger and larger; the sun shone
out cheerfully; and, no longer afraid of the
weather, both girls set out on their walk
towards Ryde. They were there to meet
their uncle, a boatman, who had promised
them a row over the water to Portsmouth,
where he was to show them the docks and
feast them with cakes; and as the girls had
never been to England before, having been
both born and brought up in the Isle of

"Wight, they had both looked forward to
this expedition for a very long time, though
with different feelings, according to their
different dispositions. Lucy was all delight
at the thought of the pleasure; Priscilla all
fear lest anything should occur to prevent
their being able to enjoy it.
They made their way over the fields,-
the one mirthful, the other grave. They
shortened part of the distance by passing
along a lane; and a lovely lane it was, all
adorned with wild flowers.
"I like this path so much!" cried the
happy little Lucy. "Such beautiful plants
; ,grow in the hedges, that were I not in a
: very great hurry to get on, I should gather
Sa splendid nosegay on the way !"
I do not like this path at all," replied
3 hler elder sister; "it is so narrow, one is
encaught every minute by the thorns."
Ah, Priscilla, you are always looking
,-it for thorns I never think of them till
I find myself caught."

"That is because you are a silly, giddy
child !" was Priscilla's contemptuous reply.
It will be easily seen, froni this short
conversation, that however wise Priscilla
might be in the eyes of other people, or in
her own, she was not the most pleasant
companion in the world. She was con-
sidered a very sensible girl, one possessing
reflection beyond her years; and in some
respects she deserved the character. She
was wise in keeping clear of evil society;
she was wise in performing her daily duties,
and in not expecting too much from the
world : but she was not wise in ever casting
a shade of gloom over what Providence in-
tended to be bright; she was not wise in
ever meeting misfortune half way-in al-
ways looking at the dark side of every
event, and seeming as though she thought
it almost a sin to be happy! In truth, in
these matters, by taking the opposite ex-
treme, Priscilla was just as foolish as her
sister. The one, eager after pleasure, often

met with disappointment: the other, fearing
disappointment, scarce knew pleasure at all.
"There was the same difference between
them on the subject of religion, in which
both had been carefully instructed. Lucy
was too easily carried away by amusement:
with a warm heart, but a giddy and
thoughtless spirit, she too often, alas! ne-
lected the one thing needful for the pass-
ing diversion of the hour. Priscilla never
forgot her Bible-reading or her prayer; but
both were too often a mere matter of form.
She would not for any temptation have
worked, bought or sold, on the Sabbath;
but she never considered it a delight.
Priscilla quite put aside the command in
the Bible, Rejoice evermore; and again I
say unto you, Rejoice; while her sister for-
got, in her heedless mirth, that it is also
written, Rejoice with trembling. The one
Girl knew too little of the fear of the Lord;
the other was a stranger to his love.
At length the sisters reached the shore.

and saw before them the sparkling waves of
the sea. On the waters large men-of-war
were lying at anchor;-little boats were
floating on the sunny tide, some moving on
steadily, as their line of oars rose and fell;
others speeding along with graceful motion,
like butterflies spreading their silver wings.
Amongst the many boats which were ply-
ing here and there, and those which were
fastened to the pier, Priscilla and Lucy
vainly searched for the Nautilus, which was
that which belonged to their uncle. As
with anxious looks they proceeded along
the shore, exclamations of impatience burst-
ing from their lips, they were approached
by an old friend of their uncle's whom they
had seen several times before.
"On the look-out, eh?" said the old
sailor, as he came towards them. "You'll
not hail the Nautilus to-day. Your uncle
was engaged this morning by a gentleman
to carry him round to the Undercliff in his
boat; and I suspect that they'll have ugly

weather," he added, turning his weather-
beaten face towards the sea: "so he asked
me to wait for you here, and tell you why
he could not give you a row over the water;
and, as he thought as how you might be a
little disappointed, he sends you a shilling
-a-piece to make all straight."
Tears burst from the eyes of little Lucy:
she turned aside that the sailor might not
see them. Delighted as she ever was at
the prospect of pleasure, she never could
bear to lose it; and every little disappoint-
ment appeared to her as a real and serious
misfortune. Priscilla showed less vexation
at losing her excursion, though she took the
shilling with a discontented air; and her
first words, as she turned to walk back with
her sister, were as unjust as they were un-
grateful to that good Providence that gives
us so much even upon earth to enjoy.
I knew that it would be so! it always
happens thus !-if one expects a little plea-
sure, disappointment is sure to come !"

How strange and unkind in my uncle !"
said Lucy, still half crying; "and to think
that these stupid shillings could make up
for the loss of such a delightful treat! "
We had better walk faster," observed
her prudent sister; "your blue bit of sky
is quite disappearing now."
"And these thorns are very annoying,"
Lucy added fretfully, as, trying too hastily
to free herself from a bramble, she tore a
large hole in her dress.
"Life seems all full of clouds and of
thorns," observed Priscilla, in the tone of
one who is conscious of uttering a very wise
saying; "and to hope to find it anything
else is folly only fit for a very little child.
There !-was not that a drop of rain?
Yes another, and another !-and so large !
That great cloud is going to burst just over
our heads; and, as always happens, there is
no place near where we could take shelter
from a storm."
"Oh, you are wrong there for once!


there is Bertha Fielding's cottage; it is a
little, a very little out of our way, and I am
sure that the good woman will make us wel-
Thither ran the two little girls in the
rain, which was now falling thick and fast.
A sudden flash of lightning quickened their
steps, till, heated and breathless, they slack-
ened their pace as they approached the neat
little cot. There was the voice of a woman
singing within,-a feeble, trembling voice,
in which little melody was left; but its
tones sounded earnest, as if coming from
the heart, and from a heart that was cheer-
ful and happy :

Content with this, I ask no more,
But to Thy care the rest resign;
Sick or in health, or rich or poor,
[ All shall be well if Thou art mine! "

The girls' hasty tap silenced the hymn,
and. a kind voice bade them come in. The
inside of the cottage was clean and neat,
Sut its appearance bespoke great poverty.
(407) 7

The clock, which had once merrily ticked
on the white-washed wall, was gone from
its place; there was no arm-chair by the
side of the fire; and many a treasured
family piece of old china had disappeared
from the wooden shelf. A pale, sickly-
looking woman lay upon the bed, which
was now almost the sole furniture of the
little abode. Her countenance appeared
worn with pain and with want; yet it still
bore a peaceful, hopeful expression.
"May we wait here a little, till the
shower is over ?" said Priscilla, as she en-
tered the cottage.
Most heartily welcome," replied Bertha.
"I was rather inclined just now to feel
sorry at the rain falling, as I suffer a good
deal from the damp; but I was wrong, for
it has brought me two visitors to-day, and
that is a real pleasure in this lonely place.
"I am afraid that you are very poorly ? "
said Lucy, approaching her kindly.
I am quite laid up at present with

rheumatism, my dear, and have been so
for the last six weeks. I can scarcely rise
from my bed."
"What a misery to have to lie so long
on your bed!" cried Priscilla, who had
known something of illness.
"What a mercy to have a good bed to lie
on !" replied the sufferer, with a smile.
"But you will recover before long, and
be able to work again," said Lucy, with
kind interest in her looks.
" "I hope so, if it please God," answered
S Ah !" cried Priscilla, I daresay that
Syou have been hoping and hoping all the
time that you have been ill."
I always cherish hope, my dear."
"Then you are disappointed every day
Sof your life."
"Oh no cried the sick woman cheer-
fully; "my hope is firm and sure, and can
never be disappointed! "
That is impossible said Priscilla.

"Oh, tell me your secret!" cried Lucy,
with animation. I always am hoping too,
but I so often find that I never can have
"what I hope for "
"My secret is a very simple one," replied
Bertha. I ask the Lord, for the sake of
his blessed Son, to give me all that is good
for me; and I hope-I more than hope, I
feel certain-that the Lord hears and will
grant my prayer."
"Yet you are sent poverty and pain,"
said Priscilla.
"I firmly believe that both poverty and
pain will work together for my good, and
that I shall suffer from neither of them one
moment longer than the all-wise Father
knows to be best for his child."
"Yet you must be very miserable now? "
said Priscilla, glancing round on the com-
fortless abode, and then at its suffering in-
"Miserable oh no; that is no word for
a Christian When I think of my deserts,

and then of all that is left me, I should
think it a sin to be miserable! I have
never yet gone one day quite without food;
God has till now provided me with daily
bread. I have a roof over my head, and
some kind friends, and one friend"-here
she laid her hand on a Bible-" that casts
sunshine over the darkest trial. My hear-
ing and my eyesight are spared to me,-
how great a blessing is this Then I have
sweet thoughts to cheer me as I lie here in
pain. I trust that, through my Saviour,
my sins have been forgiven,-is that no
cause for happiness ? I trust that every
hour brings me nearer to a home where
there shall be no more sorrow, or crying, or
pain,-is that no cause for happiness? I
believe that God is with me even here, to
support my courage and keep me from fall-
ing,-is that no cause for happiness ? Oh,
well may I count up my mercies well may
I thank him who bestowed them all !-the
Rock of my strength and my salvation!"

Tears filled her eyes as she spoke, but not
tears of sorrow : T17e hope of the righteous
shall be gladness.
Priscilla sighed. When she contrasted
her lot with that of this poor woman,-her
peevish discontent, her cold, heartless ser-
vice, with Bertha's loving, grateful, happy
spirit,-she felt abashed and humbled in
her own eyes.
"The rain is over," she said, turning to
the door. "I am sure that we are much
obliged to you, Bertha; and I shall often
think over what you have said."
Lucy glided to her sister and whispered
a few words to her, at the same time
pressing something into her hand. "You
speak for me," was all that could be over-
heard. Priscilla's smile was brighter than
"We happen to have been given a little
money," she said, going up to Bertha with
Lucy; "we have no real wants ourselves,
and we should be glad, very glad, if you

would spend it in getting any little comfort
for yourself."
"May the Almighty bless you for your
kindness, dear children !" cried Bertha, fer-
vently clasping her hands. "It is he who
has sent you here to-day. He. knew that I
had not a crust left in my cottage, that I
had no earthly means of procuring one.
He has answered my prayer. I hoped in
him, and he has not disappointed my hope.
But I cannot deprive you of both shillings,"
she added; "it is too much--"
Oh no exclaimed Priscilla; "we will
never touch that money again !"
"Prissy," said Lucy gaily to her sister,
as they hastened along the wet path, not
complaining when their shoes were fixed in
the mire, and showers of moisture dropped
on them from the trees, I am almost glad
that we were disappointed of our treat; I
think it was a good thing after all."
"Yes; and I am glad that the shower
came, though we dreaded it so much."


I daresay that if we looked at things as
poor Bertha looks, we should find a great
deal to make us glad."
"Glad, and thankful besides," said Priscilla.
"Ah,l you are thinking less of the thorns
and the clouds "
I see that earthly joys and earthly sor-
rows are mixed, like the lovely wild flowers
with the brambles; so that we should not
care too much for the one, nor fret too
much at the other. And as, when dark
clouds roll over the sky, we yet know that
the blue heaven is always beyond, we may
look through all troubles with a sure glad
"And the hope of the righteous shall be
gladness!" said Lucy.

Isay, and don't let's have any of your
nonsense. There's prime soup in
that jug, I'll be bound; it's in such

a stiff jelly that one might cut it with a
knife. I like a drop of good soup of all
"But it was not sent for us, aunt," said
the child, who was holding in her hands a
white jug full of soup which had been left
by a gentleman's servant; "it's for the poor
sick lady up-stairs ; the man said that it was
for Miss Delmar."
"And Miss Delmar will have it, of
cI I 'll li fl~` F Ii :.* E 1. C

course," said the aunt, Sarah Kingsley, a
tall red-faced woman, who, in bonnet and
shawl, was just about to go out for some
shopping; "but she'll never miss a few
spoonfuls; so take out six-six good uns-
d'ye hear ? and then set the jug on the hob,
and heat it down nicely again. I guess
there will be still a deal more than she'll
want; it's little enough she can take."
Oh, but, aunt," began Jessie, looking up
at the woman with a timid glance of anxiety
and doubt.
"None of your impudence for me !" cried
Sarah fiercely; "take the jug down and do
as I bid you, or I'll break every bone in
your body And with this ungentle threat
upon her lips, Sarah pushed past her niece
and left the house, banging the door as she
went out.
Oh, dear, dear, what shall I do ? I'm
sure that it's dreadful wicked," sighed poor
little Jessie as she slowly went down the
kitchen steps to the room which she shared

with her aunt. "Everything that comes
for Miss Delmar aunt will have a bit of,
and in such a sly, cunning way. And Miss
Delmar she's so ill, and so good; she tells
me so much about God, and she makes me sit
by her bed, and gives me so many of the nice
things which kind ladies send here for her."
Jessie reached the kitchen, and with a
heavy sigh had just taken with a spoon a
.portion of the cold soup, and put it into a
jelly-pot belonging to her aunt, when she
heard the tingle of a bell rung by the sick
lodger above. With a sad heart Jessie
answered the ring, entering Miss Delmar's
darkened room vith a feeling of shame that
made her glad that the green blind was
down, that the bed-ridden lady might not
see the blush that burned on her face.
Can I do anything for you, ma'am?"
said Jessie, walking up to the bedside, and
speaking in a respectful tone; for though
Miss Delmar was very poor, Jessie knew
Sher to be in every way a lady.


The pale, wasted face of the sufferer was
bright with a kindly smile. I wanted to
speak with you, Jessie," said she.
I hope that she has heard nothing about
the soup," was the first thought of the
conscience-stricken child.
I know," continued the lady, how fond
you are of looking at some of the hymns in
my book. Would you not like a hymn-book
of your own ?"
Kind and gentle was the tone of that
feeble voice, but it seemed to frighten
Jessie, for she could not answer a word.
"You are such a good, attentive little
girl," said Miss Delmar, "that it pleases me
to give you any pleasure. This is for you "
and the thin trembling fingers drew forth
from beneath some papers a beautiful little
hymn-book, with gilt edges and purple
Miss Delmar had denied herself some
comforts to buy the present for the child,
and she expected it to be received with joy,

such as she felt in giving; but to her great
surprise, Jessie turned away and burst into
"I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" she
sobbed: "I can't take anything more; I've
had a deal too much already!" and she
cried as if her heart would break.
What is the matter, my child ? asked
Miss Delmar, raising her languid head from
the pillow.
"I mustn't speak, but I can't help speak-
ing; I can't go on robbing you this way,
and you so good and so kind I can't be a
hiding the truth any more, if aunt beat me
ever so badly "
And silence once being broken, very few
questions sufficed to make Jessie unburden
herself of all the secrets that had been
weighing like lead on her young, tender
heart. She could not now stop if she
would; it was such a relief to let Miss
Delmar know all. Jessie thought that even
if she must continue to rob the poor lady,


she at least would never deceive her any



"You did not get half of your biscuits
yesterday; we always keep back part of


your butter; and when you send down your
teapot for hot water, aunt takes out some of
the tea. Such beautiful soup came to-day !
I've been taking out spoonfuls from it; I
knew that was wicked, oh, so wicked! but
I'm forced to do what aunt bids me. Do
not tell her," cried Jessie, clasping her hands,
"pray don't tell her that I've let out her
secrets; she would beat me, and turn me out
into the streets."
"You need not fear my exposing you to
your aunt's anger, my poor child," said the
gentle, pitying sufferer.
"And you forgive me all I have done ?"
"Fully and freely," said the lady. "Go
to your own room, Jessie, and ask God for
the sake of his blessed Son to forgive you
also. Nay, take the hymn-book," she added,
seeing that the child seemed afraid to touch
the gift which she had not deserved; "you
will learn in the sweet verses there both
where to seek forgiveness for the past, and
where to find grace for the future. Go, and


God bless you, my child, and guide you in
the only path which leads to peace here
and happiness hereafter."
Miss Delmar listened to the steps of Jessie,
as she slowly went down the staircase, and
then turned over in her mind all that the
little girl had just told her. The sick lady
had often suspected that Sarah Kingsley
had robbed her of little comforts, and now
she felt certain of the fact.
How shall I act ? thought the invalid.
"Here is a woman, pretending to be pious,
venturing to kneel in God's house, to read
God's word, to speak the language of God's
people, and yet living in the habitual practice
of wilful sin. She deceives others, may it
not be possible that she is deceiving herself ?
May she not hope that her petty pilfering is
beneath the notice of Him who hath said,
Thou shalt not steal; that, like one who
takes slow poison, she is hardly aware of the
deadly nature of her sin ? I cannot speak
to her openly of it, lest I should draw down

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