The Brave boy, or, Filial love


Material Information

The Brave boy, or, Filial love
Uniform Title:
Brave boy, or, Christian heroism
Portion of title:
Filial love
Christian heroism
Physical Description:
174 p., <1> leaves of plates : col. ill. ; 16 cm.
Routledge, Warne, & Routledge
Place of Publication:
New York
Publication Date:
Copyright Date:
New ed.


Subjects / Keywords:
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Charity -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Orphans -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Envy -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Filial piety -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
National characteristics -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
History -- Juvenile fiction -- Hērakleion (Greece)   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1864
novel   ( marcgt )
Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York


Statement of Responsibility:
translated from the German.
General Note:
Originally published under the title: The brave boy, or, Christian heroism.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
All applicable rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier:
ltqf - AAA4705
notis - ALG2850
oclc - 48561098
alephbibnum - 002222604
System ID:

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Full Text

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" So saying, she offered her hand affectionately to the child, who
gladly took it."



filial gobt.


"Young Thalaba looked round:
He stood amid the wilderness alone."

"There is a comfort in the strength of love
'Twill make a thing endurable which else
W\uld overnet the brain or break the heart."

a aitt elitim.




THE Countess Linden was the widow of a
rich German count. Since the death of her
husband she had led a very retired life, living
at her castle in the country, and seldom coming
into the city of S-, from which it was not
many miles distant. She was much loved and
respected by her neighbours, both rich and
It happened, at the time which we are
speaking of, that this good lady came to the
city of -- to remain a few weeks while
settling some important business. The evening
before her return, she went out to walk, and
passing the fine cathedral for which -- is


noted, she resolved to go in once again and
admire its lofty arches and splendid marble
pillars. Vespers were over, and she could
therefore indulge her own meditations without
disturbing the devotions of others. Lady Lin-
den was a Protestant, and an Englishwoman,
but she had often heard of this cathedral from
her husband, who was a Roman Catholic, and
who had often come over from his castle to
attend the service here.
The twilight and stillness of the sacred
building stirred up feelings of devotion in her
heart, and she knelt down and offered up a
silent prayer. Then she walked slowly through
the long aisles, and seemed lost in wonder at
the magnificence which surrounded her. She
was much interested by the rich marble monu-
ments in the side chapels. One especially
interested her: it was sacred to the memory of
a lady, who during her life had suffered severe
trials, having outlived both her husband and
children, and who had devoted her remaining
years to acts of kindness and benevolence.
The inscription on the monument was "Blessed
are the dead who die in the Lord; yea, saith the


Spirit, for they rest from their labours, and
their works do follow them."-Rev. xiv. 18.
Lady Linden had lost several children, who had
all died in infancy, and now she had lost her
husband. She felt the similarity of her case to
that of this lady, and she resolved to follow her
example-to bear her troubles with patience
and resignation, and to do as much good to
others as lay in her power.
On leaving this side chapel, full of these
pious and good resolutions, she entered another,
and was startled by seeing a little girl, of
about eight years old, kneeling before the altar
in deep mourning. Her hands were clasped,
and she was praying so earnestly that she did
not notice Lady Linden. Tears rolled down her
cheeks, and there was a touching expression of
grief and resignation on her face. When she
rose from her knees, Lady Linden, who had
been watching her with great interest, said, in
a gentle tone of voice, You are very sad, dear
little girl, what is the matter?"
The child's tears fell fast, as she answered,
"My father has been dead a year to-day, and
my mother has been buried only a week."

6 aZ WOODEN Camos.

"Poor child! and what have you been pray-
ing for so earnestly?" said the lady.
"That God will take care of me," the child
replied. I have been staying with the people
with whom we lodged, but they told me to-day
that I must go away to-morrow."
"And have you no relations to whom you
can go. Is there no one to take care of you?"
I have some relations in this town, and I
wish they would let me come and live with them,
but they say they cannot support me, for they
have children of their own. The good pastor,
who often came to see my mother when she was
ill, and was very kind to her, told my uncle and
aunt that they ought to take care of me, but
they will not agree to do so."
This is a sad story indeed, my child," said
Lady Linden: "I do not wonder that you are
so sorrowful."
"I came here very unhappy, but God has
taken away my sadness; I feel now quite com-
forted, and I wish to live according to His will,
that I may please Him."
These words, which were spoken simply by
the child, whose open brow seemed to bespeak


truth and uprightness, touched the noble lady's
heart. She looked fondly at the little girl
and aid,-
I think that God has heard your prayer,
dear little one I keep your resolution, try to
please and serve Him, and you will be com-
forted. Come now with me."
The little girl looked inquiringly at Lady
Linden, and answered,-
"Yes, but where? I must go home."
"Come with me to the worthy pastor who
was so kind to your sick mother; I wish to
consult him how I can help you."
So saying, she offered her hand affectionately
to the child, who gladly took it, and went with
her to show the way to the pastor's house.


THE Lady Linden knew the good pastor, and
he was pleased, though surprised, to see her
come in leading the child by her hand. He


was an old man, and venerable in his appear-
ance: he rose from his writing-table to receive
the lady, and, at her request, sent the little girl
into another room, while she spoke to him
about her.
Reverend Sir," said Lady Linden, I am
thinking of taking this child to live with me,
and of being a mother to her. I have heard
her sad story, and I wish to know from you
whether it is all true, and to ask your advice
upon the subject." Lady Linden then ex-
plained to the pastor how she had become
acquainted with the little girl, and then added,
"My own children died very young, and my
heart tells me that I can love this little one as
I loved them; but I do not wish to act hastily:
what say you?"
The good man raised his eyes beaming with
tears of joy, and folding his hands, said,-
"God's holy name be praised! You could
not do a greater act of mercy, and you could
not easily find a better or more sensible child
than little Sophy. Her parents were very
honest people and sincere Christians; they
brought up their child well, and were very


fond of her. I shall never forget the grief of
the dying mother when she looked at this
dearly-loved child, who stood sobbing by her
bedside, and with what a look of pious con-
fidence she raised her eyes to heaven and said,
'Thou, my Heavenly Father, will be her
father; I die comforted by this hope.' This
faith is now rewarded. God has not left
her child desolate. He has mercifully sent
you to be her second mother; without doubt
it was by His gracious providence that you
came at this time to S--, and that you were
led to go into the church while the little girl
was there. It is His work; His holy name be
Everything was now soon settled, and the
worthy pastor called the poor orphan in and
said, "Sophy, this good, kind lady proposes
to take you home with her, and to be a second
mother to you. Are you not very thankful?
Will you be a good daughter to her P"
Sophy could hardly answer, for the tears
ran fast down her cheeks, but she kissed the
lady's hand and said, I will try indeed."
The pastor continued,-" See, my child, how


mercifully God has provided for you. Thank
Him for His fatherly care of you, love Him
with all your heart, trust in Him, and keep
His commandments. Be a good and an
obedient child to your new mother, and give
her reason to love you and rejoice in you; then
all will go well. And remember, when in the
course of your life you meet with sorrow and
trouble, pray to God with the same childlike
confidence that you just now prayed to Him
in the church. He will always be thy sure
helper, as He has now helped thee in this
trouble. He may not always send so quick an
answer to your prayer, nor give you what you
wish so readily, but He will always comfort
you and give you what He sees best for you.
Trust in Him, look to Him, and you will never
be disappointed."
Then the good pastor sent for Sophy's rela-
tions, and they were well pleased that the kind
lady should take charge of the poor orphan;
they were indeed more than satisfied when
she said she would take the child just as she
was, and that they might keep the few things
which had belonged to her parents, and the


rest of Sophy's clothes for their own children
-Sophy only wished to keep a few books of
devotion for her mother's sake.
The next morning, Lady Linden took Sophy
with her in her travelling-carriage, and re-
turned to her castle.
It was very late when Lady Linden reached
home, and supper was waiting, for her servants
expected her, having had notice of her coming.
She sat down to table and placed little Sophy
close to her. She ate very little herself, but
gave the child a plentiful supply. Then she
led her into a pretty little room and said,
" This is where you are to sleep; be sure and
say your prayers very thoughtfully to-night,
and ask God's blessing on your new home:
good night, sleep well, and do not forget to put
out your candle."
Sophy felt very happy; she said her evening
prayer with a grateful heart, and soon fell



WHEN Sophy awoke next morning, she
found fresh cause for rejoicing. The rising
sun shone into her room so different from the
little close dark closet in the town, where she
had been used to sleep. It was spring, and
when Sophy stood at the window, she looked
into the kitchen-garden and saw all the fresh
green leaves and the beautiful blossoms on the
fruit-trees; beyond this there were flowery
meadows, and fields green with the early corn,
and still more distant a pretty little village and
some wooded hills.
Sophy knelt down, and thanked God again
for having brought her into such a beautiful
place and to live with so kind a lady.
Lady Linden behaved like a real and affec-
tionate mother to Sophy, and Sophy grew very
fond of her, and did everything to please her,
and tried to do all she wished even before she
was told, and often before the lady spoke,


Sophy had run to fetch her what she wanted.
She was so modest, good, and amiable, that
her foster-mother loved her better and better
every day.
Lady Linden sent Sophy regularly to the
village school, where she received a good
education. Her religious instruction was care-
fully attended to by the worthy pastor of the
village, who daily visited the school, and who
was a very kind friend to children. Sophy
was not only very diligent at school, but she
practised at home the truths she learnt there.
Out of school hours, Sophy helped in the
kitchen and worked in the garden, as much as
her strength would allow, to accustom her
early to a useful and active life. When there
was nothing else to do, the lady allowed her to
bring her knitting or her little spinning-wheel
into her room, and to sit and work and talk
with her. The lady instructed her in all
kinds of useful needlework, and in all the
necessary duties of a good housekeeper. She
dressed her sensibly, in a manner suitable
to her work and to her station in life. It
would only be a disadvantage to her, she said,

14 13M VOODIM Clg.

to give her smart clothes, and might lead
others to think les well of her. Sophy always
looked neat and simple in her peasant dress,
and grew up to be a good and modest

SoPHR had lived ten years in this happy
way with Lady Linden, when this good lady
fell ill.
Sophy nursed her with a child's tender love,
and thought of everything which could minister
in any way to her comfort. She spoke softly,
and moved gently, so as not to disturb the sick
lady, and Lady Linden liked her better as a
nurse than any one else. This was a great
happiness to Sophy. She often spent whole
nights in the arm-chair, in the gloomy sick-
room; and if she fell asleep, the least move-
ment of the sick lady woke her, so careful and
watchful was she.


Lady Linden knew how to value this tender
childlike love, and bleed the hour when she
bad brought Sophy home to the castle.
One cold winter's night, the sick lady felt
worse than usual, and asked for some tea,
which she thought might revive her. Sophy
went directly and made the tea in the kitchen.
She brought it to the invalid, but she could not
help trembling with the cold. Lady Linden
drank the tea, and said, "You are very kind to
me, my dear Sophy; a child of my own could
not do more. God will reward you. I have
not, my child, forgotten you in my will. I
have left you a sum of money which will
enable you some day to marry comfortably.
You will receive it after my death; but your
affection, dear Sophy, it is impossible to repay."
Sophy wept, and begged her not to talk in
that way. But the noble lady said, "Do not
weep, dear child. Death is not so fearful as
you think: he is only a friend that delivers us
from a prison, in which we groan in this life;
he opens to us the gates of a brighter world.
Without death, I cannot see Him in whom
I have believed. Keep your heart pure, dear


Sophy. Walk in the ways of God. Love
your Saviour with all your heart; for out of
love to us He died upon the cross. Never do
what is wrong, but always what is right, and
then you will never fear death, but will rather
rejoice to be released from all sorrow, and to
be set free from all sin."
Lady Linden was silent for a time. She
held in her hand a little wooden cross, which
always lay on her table. It had belonged to
her husband, and he had been accustomed to
use it when at his devotions.
Lady Linden held it now from no feeling of
superstition, but in simple remembrance of
her husband, with whom now she hoped to be
reunited, and of that blessed Saviour of whose
agony and death it reminded her, and in
whom she trusted to receive her into His
I shall soon see my Redeemer face to face,"
she said. "How inexpressible is that love
which enabled Him to die for us on the
cross !" Presently she said, "Dear Sophy,
my Saviour has always been my best Friend;
My great happiness has been thinking of His


words, His example, His love, and in prayer
and communion with Him. There is no
other salvation under heaven than by faith in
Christ Jesus. When we trust in Him, He
never fails to comfort us I And so, my good
Sophy," continued Lady Linden, and her voice
grew weaker, His words are now my greatest
comfort. He told His disciples, In my
Father's house are many mansions; if it were
not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare
a place for you.' And I feel that there is
a place for me. My Lord calls me, and I
follow Him with joy."
She wished to speak again, but her weak-
ness was too great, and she could only say,
"Into Thy hands, I commend my spirit."
These were her last audible words. She closed
her eyes. Sophy awoke the servants, and
they sent for the good pastor; he offered
a prayer for the dying lady. She opened
her eyes, and made a sign that she was
conscious, and was praying with him. One
more. hour, and the good Lady Linden had
breathed her last. Sophy mourned for her as
she had for her own mother.

18 TaE WOODEN aoMs.


LADr Linden had been greatly respected by
the whole neighbourhood, and the poor had
lost a kind benefactress in her death. Her
funeral was attended by numbers of persons,
and many tears were shed over her grave.
Many of her relations were present, clothed
in deep mourning.
After the funeral, the will was opened. Two
thousand dollars were left to Sophy, the
interest of which she was to begin to receive
from that day; but the capital was to be
kept for her marriage-portion. Besides this,
she was to choose what she liked best, as a
keepsake, of all the valuable things which had
belonged to Lady Linden. Some of the lady's
relations were very envious at this legacy of
two thousand dollars and the keepsake, and
there was much disputing in consequence, so
that Sophy was quite perplexed, and knew not

what to choose. At last, the gentleman who
opened the will, said,-
Sophy is a poor orphan; I must do my
duty, and take care of her. There are some
things of great value, gold and precious stones.
Lady Linden fully intended, and you have
clearly seen that by the will, to leave Sophy
something very valuable, which might be of use
to her in the hour of need. It was wisely
expressed in the will that Sophy should be
allowed to examine the things, that she should
not choose in a hurry. I will, therefore, give
Sophy time to consider what she would like to
have; she may also like to consult her friends
on the subject, and then to-morrow she shall
declare what she wishes for, and I shall see
that she has it."
Upon this, all dispersed; but some mur-
mured, and were very much displeased. The
matter was much talked of, both in the village
and in the castle. The servants were eager to
advise Sophy what to choose. The cook re-
commended her to ask for the great diamond
ring, or the pearl girdle; the old gardener said
that the beautiful portrait of the Blessed Lady,


set in gold and diamonds, would be the most
appropriate keepsake for Sophy; but the ser-
vants who belonged to the strangers now come
to the castle, said they were sure their masters
and mistresses would never allow Sophy to
choose anything that was not fitting for a pea-
sant girl to wear; for it could never have been
the intention of the gracious lady to do such a
When every one was assembled the next
morning, the executor arranged in fine order
all the precious effects upon a table covered
with green cloth.
There were pins for the hair, and rings with
precious stones for the ears, and gold chains,
clasps, and all kinds of beautiful jewels,-the
diamond cross, the pearl girdle, and the little
portrait set in diamonds. Most of the heirs
stood ready to dispute everything with poor
Sophy, and some of the ladies tried to frighten
her by their threatening looks; but Sophy said,
very quietly,-
It is not for me, gracious ladies, to choose
a golden keepsake; the most trifling thing that
belonged to the good lady would be very valu-


able to me. The dear blessed lady has left me
a larger sum of money than I deserve; but, as
I may choose, I beg to have the little wooden
cross, which was in her hand when she died,
and upon which her last tear fell. This would
be to me the dearest keepsake, for it would
remind me of her last words. And, if I can
follow her good instructions, and attain to a
faith like hers, which is beyond all earthly
treasures in value, I can easily do without gold
and precious stones: and then the dear lady's
blessing will rest upon me."
The relatives of Lady Linden were greatly
surprised at Sophy's request, and while they
commended her for it, they laughed at her in
their hearts. The cook said to her as she went
out of the room, You are a stupid thing not
to choose something better. Did you not see
how I kept secretly pointing to the ring and
the pearl girdle ? You might have had the old
wooden cross besides: no one cared for that.
You are very foolish."
The old gardener said,-" God bless you,
dear child! You are a good and grateful little
soul. You will receive more blessing with the

22 aTH WOODnN CaBOs.

wooden cross, than with the gold and silver;
and this choice will give you more comfort in
the hour of need and in your last hour, than
pearls and precious stones. Remember what I
Sophy put the little wooden cross carefully
into her box, and treasured it beyond every-
thing that she possessed. She was conscious
that she had been influenced in her choice by a
wish to preserve peace and not excite feelings
of envy and jealousy among the relations of
her kind benefactress; and this made her feel
satisfied and happy. The covetous young
ladies still found much to quarrel about in
the distribution of the good Lady Linden's
property; and thus the beautiful things which
fell to their share were the cause of disappoint-
ment more than of pleasure.



Asouw a year before Lady Linden's death,
the gardener's son, an honest, well-principled,
and industrious youth, had made an offer of
marriage to Sophy. As his mother was dead,
he had spoken to his father on the subject, and
the father perfectly approved his choice and
had spoken to the kind lady about it. She
was well aware of Sophy's'feelings with regard
to the young man, and said,-
Your wish, my dear gardener, and that of
your son, is also mine. You have brought up
your son well, and have taught him to fear God
from his childhood; and he has always behaved
like a sensible and respectable youth. Far
from disapproving of this marriage, it gives me
great pleasure. But it is too soon for you,
good father, to retire from my service. I
should like your son, therefore, to go for a
time under the gardener at the Duke of ,
where he will learn many improvements in his

24 wTs WOODEN COm.

business. Gardening is now brought to great
perfection; and I should like him to understand
his work thoroughly before he takes your place.
If he and Sophy are of the same mind when
he returns at the end of two years, and I am
still alive, I will, with pleasure, act the part of
foster-mother to Sophy on her marriage."
The father, and William, and Sophy, were
all well pleased with this answer. Lady
Linden provided the young man with a good
supply of clothes and money for his journey,
and sent a letter of recommendation with him
to the head gardener at the Duke of -'s
At the good lady's death, as Sophy had no
other home, she went to live with the old
gardener, and to keep his house for him. Wil-
liam returned at the end of the two years, and he
and Sophy sincerely grieved that the dear good
lady could not be present at their wedding.
Whei. the bride and bridegroom came out of
church after the ceremony, they visited the
grave of their revered benefactress, which the
young gardener had richly adorned with
flowers; and here, in the quiet country church-


yard, they poured forth their gratitude for all
her kindness in abundant teas.
William and Sophy lived together in quiet
peace and happiness. They were good and
religious, they loved each other heartily, and as
they had both from childhood been taught to
control their evil tempers and passions, there
was no quarrelling and disputing-all was peace
and harmony. They equally shared the care
of their old father, who lived to see the birth
of his grandson, and was delighted to hear
him receive, at his baptism, the name of
Frederick, in honour of his grandfather. He
took great pleasure in nursing the little grand.
son on his knees, and in carrying him about.
The second child, a girl, was named Theresa,
in remembrance of the respected Lady Linden.
The honest old grandfather did not live many
years with his children and grandchildren: he
died after a short illness. William and Sophy
were greatly grieved at his death, and shed
many tears over his grave.
Their lives were now not free from trouble.
And whose is? A year after the old man's
death, William fell from a tree, and broke

28 Tax WooDEN cRaON.

his left arm; it was very badly set, and he
never had the use of it again. This prevented
him from doing his usual work in the garden,
and the new lord gave him notice to quit his
house at the end of three months. He allowed
him a pension, in consideration of his father's
services, but it was a very small one, also
some flour and wood. William was very
melancholy at the loss of his situation and
house, especially as he felt that though he
could not do any hard work in the garden, yet
he could be very useful in superintending the
other men, and directing the management of
the forcing-houses, &c.
How are we to live now," said he, anxiously;
and how shall we support our children?"
Sophy tried in every way to comfort him.
"Look," said she one day; "look at our
canary-bird in that cage. It belonged, you
know, to our dear lady. In her last illness
she could not bear its loud singing, and she
told me to take it into my room, but every day
she asked me if I had remembered to feed the
bird; and the very last day of her life she
asked me to take care of the little canary


hen she was dead. I was then very unhappy,
Id did not like to think about the affectionate
dy's death, but I thought to myself, 'If this
god lady provides so tenderly for a little bird,
wil not our Heavenly Father take care of us ?'
rhis thought often now comes into my head,
and whenever I feed the little canary, I think,
God will give us and our dear children daily
bread.' Be comforted, then, dear William.
God can never forget us. We will trust in
Him. He who has hitherto helped us, will
not now forsake us; but we must strive
earnestly ourselves. There is no lot in life
so bad, that if a man trusts in God and
will work, he may not improve his circum-
Then they consulted as to what was best to be
done. They agreed to purchase a house in the
village, and to set up a shop, which might be
useful to the country-people, as there was
nothing of the kind established in that village.
"I shall be able to attend to the shop," said
William; "my lame arm will not prevent
this; and my knowledge of reading, writing,
and accounts, will be very valuable to me. I


am very grateful to my poor father for having
sent me to schooL"
"Well," said Sophy, "I hope by my saving,
and the embroidery which the good Lady
Linden taught me, that I shall be able to earn
They found a house in the village to suit
them, and though it was rather out of con-
dition, they bought it. This purchase, and
the necessary repairs, together with stocking
the shop, were heavy expenses, and there was
the doctor's bill for William's arm besides, but
they resolved to pay for all this out of the two
thousand dollars left to Sophy, and which till
this time they had left untouched.
The house in time assumed a very cheerful
appearance, and the good William was much
pleased with his little garden, which was soon
filled with vegetables and beautiful flowers.
Everything within the cottage was as simple
as possible-table, bench, and stools of oak.
Instead of a handsome clock, with gold orna-
ments and alabaster pillars, they had only a
common wooden timepiece, but this went
regularly, and that was all they wanted.


Ihey had no mirror, but in its place was a
elf of good and useful books, out of which
illiam read during the long winter evenings,
rhile Sophy was spinning at her wheel. Instead
>f their former pictures, there was only a little
ketch of William's father, to remind them of
he virtues of the good old man.
Their shop prospered, owing to their honest
trading and the good quality of the things
tey sold. William and Sophy were now
again happy and comfortable, and had got
over all the troubles and difficulties which had
come upon them in consequence of William's
fall and the loss of his situation. They could
not feel sufficiently grateful to God for having
so blessed them and their two children. They
had no wish to go back to the castle, which
they could see from their window. They
enjoyed peace and contentment; they were
happy in their children, and with a thriving
business, their little house and garden was like
a paradise to them.



HAPPINESS seldom lasts long in this world:
sorrow and joy comes by turns. William and
Sophy soon again experienced this.
Sophy's legacy had been intrusted to a mer-
chant in the city of S--, and at the time
they wanted to purchase the house, William
asked for half the capital; but the merchant
said that he was entitled to a year's notice, and
that he should not give them a copper coin of
it under that time. William and Sophy's
troubles were greatly increased by this conduct
of the merchant, but a rich builder offered to
lend them the sum they required, and to be
repaid at the end of the year, with fair interest.
This offer they gratefully accepted, but before
the year was ended there was a report in the
village that this merchant had failed. The
builder who had lent William and Sophy the
money was not a kind man, and as soon as
he found that the merchant had really failed,


SSophy's capital was gone for ever, he do.
handed to be repaid his thousand dollars
tantly. William and Sophy offered their
)use and garden and shop as security for
eir payment; but the builder was inexorable,
d even reproached them with insulting words,
if the loss of their property was through
eir own fault. He told them that if they
d not bring him the money on the appointed
Ry, he would sell everything belonging to
hem, even their beds; and he struck the table
agrily as he said this.
This unfeeling conduct brought sorrowful
ays upon poor William and Sophy. It was
aly three weeks before the dreaded day, and
iey had no means of raising the money. Still
key would not despair; they trusted in God,
iat He would yet be their helper, and they
id not cease to pray to Him.
The evening before the day on which they
ere required to pay the money, Sophy went
ito a little room at the top of the house, where
ie might weep and pray unseen by every one.
he took up the little wooden cross, which re-
dinded her of the comfort which her dear


benefactress had sought for in her troubles,
and of her faith and patience. She knelt
down, and began to pray in these words.
Oh, blessed Saviour I Thou seest that I am
in great sorrow; it is not for myself, but for
my poor husband and children, that I grieve.
My heart is ready to break when I think of
them. Oh, Thou blessed Saviour I who, in
Thine agony didst pray to Thy Heavenly Father
for Thine own people, have pity upon me, and
hear me when I say unto Thee-Father, if it be
possible, take this cup from me; but Thy will,
not mine, be done."
She was silent, and burst into tears, which
fell upon the little cross in her hands. But a
load seemed taken from her heart, and, com-
forted by her trust in God, she arose from her
knees. As she was going to put the little cross
in its place, she noticed upon the back of it a
little loose bit of wood, which fell to the ground
as she touched it. The little cross had been
once broken, and glued together; but Sophy's
tears, and the warmth of her hands, in her
distress of mind, had melted the glue. She
was vexed to have broken the cross, and took


it to the window to try and mend it. As she
held it up, a brilliant ray of light from within
it quite dazzled her. She was frightened, but
on examining the cross more closely, she found
it was hollow, and contained something shining.
One bit of the wood was made to draw out,
but it was not easy to discover this, it was so
neatly contrived. She drew it out, and found
the wooden cross was lined with red velvet, and
contained a diamond cross set in gold. She
took it out and examined it. It sparkled in
the evening sun so that it quite dazzled her
eyes. Sophy had often seen her dear lady's
diamonds, and she knew, therefore, that these
were real diamonds.
She fell upon her knees, and thanked God,
who had so mercifully and wonderfully an-
swered her prayer.

2r WOODnI CaM.

WauIo Sophy was praying in her little
room, William was sitting downstairs, very sad
at the thoughts of what was to befall them.
His despair made him so hot, that he opened
the window to refresh him, and his tears,
which he restrained before poor Sophy, now
fell fast as he offered up his silent prayer.
The children were at play in the room; but
when little Frederick saw that his father was
crying, he sprung up to him, upsetting his
little carriage in his haste, and asked tenderly,
Why do you cry, father ? "
Dear Freddy," said his father, "you know
that our neighbour Kaspar is going to drive us
out of our house, and to sell all and every.
thing that we possess. You heard how angrily
he spoke, and how ill he behaved to us. He
is going to make us all beggars. You must
help me to pray to God that He may deliver us
out of this trouble."

JOY AMran soOW. 85

Little Freddy began to cry bitterly, clasped
his little hands together, and looking devoutly
towards heaven, said,-
"Dear Father in Heaven, do not let the
wicked Kaspar take away our house from us, I
beseech Thee."
When little Theresa heard this prayer, and
saw her brother weeping and her father's eyes
wet with tears, she began to scream and cry.
Her father took her on his knees to comfort
her, but the little girl wrung her little hands
half frightened, and exclaiming, "Dear Lord,
help us-help us."
The father had laid an apple with his
garden-knife upon the window-seat, intending
to give it to the children; and when the child
began to cry, he gave the apple to her, which
soon pacified her; and Freddy said, kindly,
"Only be quiet, dear Theresa, and you may
have the whole apple; you must not cry; God
will help us."
Just at this moment the mother entered with
the wooden cross in her hand, and exclaimed,
joyfully, "Come and see how God has helped
us; come and let us thank Him." She showed

86 ra WOODIN OCaos.

her husband the diamond cross within the
wooden one, and told him how she had just
discovered it. William looked at the sparkling
stones, and returned thanks to God, saying,-
"The cross is very valuable. We can now pay
our debts, and our children need not be
Little Freddy could not understand what
was said, and begged his mother to let him see
the cross nearer. She pointed out the diamond
cross, and told him those sparkling stones were
worth more than a thousand dollars.
William could not recover his surprise, and
said, with tears of joy in his eyes-
You cannot understand, my dear children,
what a great blessing God has sent us. I shall
be able now to pay the builder with the money
I shall get for this diamond cross; and w-
shall stay in our house, and keep our garden,
and everything that we have."
"Yes," said Freddy, "then God has given
us what we asked for. How good the great
God is to us "
"He is, indeed," said his father; "and we
wil thank Him for all his mercies."


They all knelt down together, and returned
thanks to God for their deliverance in the hour
of need.

AT break of day on the following morning,
Sophy went into the city of S-- to speak
with the venerable pastor whom she had con-
fided in when a child. He was now an old
man with snow-white hair. Sophy had wished
to consult him before in her trouble, but he
had then gone into a distant part of the
country; he was now fortunately returned.
She showed him the cross, and told him all the
story, and she then said,-
How right you were when you said to me,
twenty years ago, 'In all your troubles, pray
to God with childlike confidence, and He will
be your sure helper.' See now the fulfilment
of your words."
The old man looked pleased, and said,
"Yes, God is our sure helper: no one goes to

Him in vain, though our prayers do not always
receive the speedy answer that yours have.
From your childhood up to this hour, God has
watched over you as a father: be faithful to
Him to the end of your life; believe stedfastly
in his beloved Son, our Lord and Saviour; do
God's holy will; trust in Him, cast all your
care upon Him, and bring up your children in
the same faith, and He will never forsake you
in this world, and finally will receive you into
His blessed kingdom."
"But," said Sophy, "may I consider this
valuable cross as my property ? "
The good pastor answered,-
The cross is yours. Perhaps the good Lady
Linden herself did not know what a treasure
this old family heirloom contained. Probably
it belonged to her husband's uncle, who held a
high place in the church. However that may
be, Lady Linden expressed in her will the wish
that you should have the most valuable of all
her things. From a love of peace, you chose
the simplest and the least esteemed by others;
but God has blessed your choice, and by the
guidance of His almighty hand, He has suf-


fered the good lady's wish to be granted.
The diamonds on this croa are very fine,
and it is altogether worth more than three
thousand dollars. Sell it, and bless God for
the help He has sent you in your hour of need,
and enjoy your fortune. Always preserve the
wooden croes; leave it to your children and
grandchildren, as a remembrance of your kind
benefactress, and still more, of the great good-
ness of God."
The good old man replaced the diamond
cross in its wooden case, and closed it, saying,
"Who would suppose what rich treasures this
poor cross contains? But so it is with all our
sorrows in this world, which we Christians call
our cross. Every sorrow may be compared to
this wooden cross; externally it is but a poor
despised bit of wood, but within there is a
great treasure far more valuable than gold or
silver. For sorrow and bring us nearer
to God; by them, we learn the vanity of
earthly things: they purify us from weakness
and imperfection, while they teach us to trust
in God, and to exercise the virtues of patience
and humility; and these are the graces which


fit and prepare us for heavenly joy. Therefore
rejoice when sorrows are sent thee, for the
hour will come sooner or later, which will
reveal to thee their true value: and if you
cannot always realize this whileon earth, yet you
will hereafter ir. heaven, when you realize the
immeasurable goodness of God, who has made
us rich throughout eternity, and who has pre-
pared a kingdom for His children, where they
shall enjoy life everlasting, when life and all
its splendour, its gold and precious stones, are
turned into dust and ashes."
The venerable pastor had a friend in the
town, who was a jeweller, and a very honest
man; he sent to ask him to call at his house.
The jeweller carried on a great business, and
was well acquainted with the value and
nature of precious stones. He came directly,
examined the diamond cross, and said he
would give three thousand dollars for it, one
thousand dollars on the spot, and the rest
within a certain time. The arrangement was
soon made. Sophy joyfully took the money.
She made no secret of the event, the news of
which soon filled the city of S- .


Before Sophy returned home with the
money, she visited the little chapel in the
Lthedral, in which more than twenty years
p her childish prayer had been so wonder.
Uly answered, as now the prayer of her riper
ars had been gain sc lately in her oW hittb
m. Here again in this same chapel, she
w heartily thanked God her Father, who
ver forsakes His children who tyst in Him,
d endeavour to serve Him.
When the news of the diamond cross reached
e ears of Lady Linden's relations, they
eed together to accuse Sophy before a
magistrate, for, said they, "It is madness to
ve such a beggar as Sophy a diamond cross,
rth three thousand dollars. We ought to
>ye it."
Then the old Lord Hagen appeared, and
ked what they were talking about. When
Heard, he struck the ground repeatedly with
s crutch, and said very decidedly, Stay at
)me with your complaints, and be thankful
you hear no more of this matter; if envy
inot made you deaf to reason, listen to
rhat I now say to you. If at the distribution


of the property you had known what a
treasure the despised wooden cross contained,
still if the good Sophy had chosen it, you
covetous people could have made no opposition
to the power of Lady Linden's will, therefore
be satisfied now. You do not deserve that
it should fall to your share, for your want of
right feeling, your disrespect to the Lady
Linden, and your unkindness to the poor
orphan, make you most unworthy of it. You
have always laughed at Sophy's choice; you
are now punished for it, and the laugh will be
against you. Take my advice, and keep your
complaints to yourselves, or it may be the
worse for you."
Angry as these envious ladies were, they
felt that the Lord Hagen was right, and they
were obliged to be silent.




ABoUT thirty years ago, on the southern
voast of the island of Candia, there stood a
very pretty house upon a gently-rising hill.
Its verandah, richly covered with ivy and vine,
nade it very picturesque. It was surrounded
)y little hills; on one side was a blue lake,
nd towards the north the range of the
3phakiotlischen Mountains, the highest of
which, the great Psiloriti, the Ida of the
ancient Greeks, raised his ice-crowned head,
ike the king of the mountains, far above the
This house belonged to a Greek called


Messaros, who lived here pith his wife Helena,
and their child Philip, a pretty intelligent boy,
who was about six years of age at the time our
story begins. Close to the house were well-
arranged gardens, citron and orange groves,
and olive-gardens and vineyards, and refresh-
ing fountains. Besides all this, Messaros pos-
sessed some more distant plantations of tobacco
and cotton ; he was therefore rich. The prin-
cipal use he made of his money was to relieve
the poorer inhabitants of Candia, who were
grievouslyoppressed by their Turkish governors,
who treated them as slaves, robbing them of
the fruits of their industry, whilst the poor
Greek looked on with silent indignation: he
had to bear something even harder than the
destruction of his crops; he had to hear the
Turks mock at and despise what he considered
most sacred and precious-his faith. It was
at such at such a moment as this that the eyes
of the oppressed Messaros would sparkle with
the desire for revenge, and his hand would
seek for the dagger in his girdle, but a glance
at his wife and child checked the rising feeling,
for how would revenge help him? It would


only bring down upon him the most horrible
and cruel of punishments.
It was common amongst the Turks to
destroy the houses of those poor Greeks who
had revenged themselves, to lay waste their
fields, to imprison the fathers, make the
mothers slaves, and break the heads of the
poor little innocent children.
Messaros was one of the few Greeks who
had not been quite ruined by this oppressive
Turkish government. He had secured the
protection of the mighty Pasha by rich pre-
sents, and had patiently borne the insults he
had received.
But at length the hour came which seemed
to offer freedom to these sufferers from the
dreaded Turkish yoke. The call to arms
sounded throughout Greece, and all the brave
Christian inhabitants of Candia joined in the
general insurrection and prepared to fight for
their liberty and faith. Messaros headed a
little band of brave men, and for weeks his
wife Helena heard no tidings of her absent
husband, and her only comfort was in praying
or his safety.


One evening, about sunset, little Philip was
playing in the verandah, and his mother was
sitting near him lost in sad thoughts and gazing
at the blue sea. The father's brave heart
already beat within the boy, and he amused
himself by arranging his little wooden and
metal soldiers (his pretended Greeks and
Turks) in order of battle before him, and
firing little shot in between them. The Turks
were soon thrown down, but the Greeks,
though much fewer in number, still kept their
Look there, mother," cried the boy, with
sparkling eyes: "look there, mother; my
Greeks have won, and have cut off the enemies'
heads; father will do the same, will he not,
mother ?"
God grant him the victory, dear child,"
said the mother, smiling sadly. It is long
since we heard of him, and then the news was
not good. The numbers are so unequal."
"What does that matter," answered the
brave boy. "You have often told me that
God will give the victory to the just cause; so
do not grieve, mother; all the Turks will be


driven away, and All will not come any more
and take away my best playthings and my
little horse."
What Ali, my child ?" asked his mother.
"A li Rudschuck, son of the Capudan Pasha,"
answered the little boy. "Do you not re-
member when he came here a few years ago
with his father, what an ill-natured wild boy
he was, and how he took away everything of
mine? But he might have had everything, if
he had only left me my little horse. But when
I am a man, I will take my sword and fight
him in the field and get back all my things,
that is what I will do."
Silly boy," said his mother, as she smoothed
the glossy black curls of her child, "when you
are grown up, your little horse will have been
long dead, and you will have ceased to care
about him. But if your father returns vic-
torious, you shall have a far more beautiful
Do let it be a white one, dear mother,"
cried the excited boy, clapping his hands. I
have always wished for a white one. The


pasha rides a white horse, and then I shall be
as proud a he is I"
"Yes, my child," answered his mother, as
she turned her eyes, which had been thought.
fully fixed on the sea to the distant moun-
tains. Hark, Philip, do you hear nothing?
it sounds as if there was a disturbance in the
Yes, mother," said the boy, forgetting his
horse. "Yes, I hear it; they are firing it is
a battle I"
"How dreadful I" exclaimed his mother,
"and so near us." A sudden paleness over-
spread her beautiful face as she said, "Philip,
if it should be your father who is firing there I
-but no, it cannot be."
Why not, mother ?" asked the boy; "if it
was my father, you know he would be fighting
I am not afraid of that," said his mother.
"If the enemy is so near, all must be lost; the
Turks must have won, and our people have been
crushed. 0 God preserve us from our dreadful
fate. Pray, child, that the Lord will give your
father the victory. Kneel down, my child."


"I would rather fight with my father," said
the child. "I wish I was bigger and stronger,
and then I would go to battle with him. Hark,
mother, at the firing I"
Be quiet, my child, and listen, for we may
be wrong: it may only be a storm that echoes
through Psiloriti. Courage, child."
Little Philip shook his head, stepped out of
the colonnade, and gazed intently at the distant
mountains, and listened attentively to every
No, mother," said he, "that is not thunder;
but why are you sad ? if there are Turks there,
are not my father and his friends also there ?
and do not the Greeks shoot better than the
Turks? They will soon take to flight, you will
see; look there, how the smoke curls up I look,
mother !"
"Yes," replied the trembling mother; "fetch
the telescope, my child, and then we shall see
if it is smoke or mist. Make haste, child."
They looked anxiously through the telescope,
and there was no longer any doubt. Greeks
and Turks were engaged in a hot conflict, and
thronged the valleys and cliffs, and rocks and


woods. Helena even distinguished figures, and
smoke from the muskets, and falling on her
knees she exclaimed," 0 God have mercy upon
the Greeks and my husband," and little Philip
knelt beside her and prayed also. After some
time the firing decreased, and when the sun set,
it had quite ceased, with the exception of now
and then a solitary gun.
Night came on, and darkness covered the
woods and mountains until they were faintly lit
up by the crescent moon.
All is over," cried little Philip, and he threw
his arms round his dearly-loved mother; "do
not be unhappy, our friends must have beaten
the Turks, and my father is pursuing them."
"Heaven grant that it is so," said Helena,
sighing, "but I cannot believe it; but whatever
happens, we must be patient, and bend submis-
sively to the will of the Lord. May He only
spare you, my poor child I you are so young
and tender, God will have mercy upon you."
Her voice died away into sobs, and she pressed
her child closer to her; and so they sat together
in fearful expectation of the end of the battle.
But they did not wait long. The decisive


moment was near, which would bring with it
misery greater than even the heart of the poor
mother had imagined.


IT was growing dark, when a little band of
Greek warriors in hasty flight sought out a deep
mountain ravine, where the thick woods might
conceal them from the sharp firing of the Turks,
who closely pursued them, shouting the name
of "Allah l" They halted from time to time to
return the Turkish fire with a volley of deadly
shot from their long and beautiful guns. By
the time the Greeks had reached the thick wood,
the cry of "Allah!" had ceased, and the leader
of the Greeks exclaimed, "They are going, and
we are saved: we have lost the battle, but life
and liberty are ours; the game is over, my
friends,-numbers have crushed us, treachery
has destroyed us. Our sun is setting! we can
expect nothing now in Candia; but do not


despair. God will not forsake the just caue.
In other places we have brethren sighing for
Christianity and for freedom from the Turkish
yoke; go then to them,-go to the Morea; we
must part, but we shall meet again. Disperse
tow for safety. Farewell, we shall meet in the
More; our brethren will lend us their ships."
"Do not forsake us, brave Messaros," ex-
claimed the little band, pressing around their
leader, and embracing him; we will be faith-
ful to you, and we would rather die with you
lhan separate."
"No, Gregory; no, Alexander; no, my
brothers; you shall go and fight where you
may succeed better than here," replied Mes-
saros: I entreat you to follow my advice; if
you must die, die for our holy faith and our
liberty. I will only save my wife and child,
and then follow you to the Morea. Go; we
want brave men to break the Turkish yoke,
and to defend our faith. I must be obeyed."
The little band shook their leader's hand, and
dispersed in the wood. Leaning on his gun,
Messaros watched them until they were out of
sight, then he smiled bitterly, and said, "It is


too late: Candia is not to be saved; I must escape
with my wife and child. It is the will of God,
and we must submit. He will give us the
victory perhaps on another field. We have
nothing now but trust in God,-this is our
greatest treasure, and His most precious gift."
He threw his gun over his shoulder, and turned
towards his house, and for the first time per-
ceived how weak he was. His pale face was
blackened by powder, blood flowed from a
wound on his forehead, and stained his hand-
some dress. But he did not stop to bind his
wound, for his thoughts were with his wife and
child. He knew how infuriated the Turks
would be now that they were victorious, and he
expected no mercy from them. The road was
so familiar to him, that he did not need even
the moonlight to find it. All was still, save
the night-wind rustling in the leaves, and the
splashing of the little brook. They are
asleep," said Messaros; "they are weary with
fighting, and I shall be in time; the cave on the
shore will be a safe retreat, and a ship will soon
take us to the Morea. No time must be lost."
It was midnight before he reached his house;


he had only strength to knock and to call in a
low voice, "Helena, open the door: danger is
near,- we must escape."
A faint cry was heard from within, the door
opened, and the next moment Helena was in
her husband's arms.
"Messaros,you are wounded!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," replied Messaros, "I am wounded,
and a fugitive. We are defeated-the Turks
are at our heels. Make haste, my wife; colletr;
your jewels, awaken Philip, and follow mk.
Do not lose a moment, for ruin is near."
Helena, almost stunned, listened to these
words. Her worst fears, then, were confirmed:
everything was lost, there was no hope but in
flight. She trembled, but controlled her grief
and prepared for flight, for to some minds evea
misfortune is easier to bear than uncertainty.
" Everything shall be done, as you desire, Mes-
saros," she said in a firm voice; "but you must
rest a few minutes and eat something. I will
bring you some wine and bread."
"No," replied Messaros, we must fly: if my
strength fails, you must save yourself with the
boy; and as for me, God's will be done! Mak.

TrE suanF s. U7

haste, the enemy may be close: hide yourselves
in the muscle-cave on the shore; there you will
be safe, and a ship will take you away. Fly, I
command you."
"No, not without you, Messaros," replied his
wife. "My place is by your side in sorrow and
in joy; but do not fear, the enemy is not very
near, and we shall be saved together."
Messaros made no reply, but fainted upon a
divan in the hall. The tofaika fell from his
Helena cast a look of pity-on her husband,
removed his hair from his face, and kissed his
forehead. "God preserve you and all of us!"
sighed she, and hastened for some refreshments
and bandages for his wound. Her efforts suc-
ceeded in restoring Messaros; he stood up,
looked wildly around him, and said, faintly,
" You still here! fly, Helena-I can now follow
you: fetch the boy, and let us go."
Helena flew to the upper story of the house,
awoke the boy, who was fast asleep, and told
him what had happened. The news of his
father's return cheered his little heart. Whilst
his mother collected her jewels, he sprang


downstairs, and threw himself into his father's
arms, who with a sad but loving smile pressed
him to his heart.
As soon as Helena joined them, Memsare
again urged their departure. He had only
walked a few steps, when his strength failed.
"Fly, I eutreat you," he said, "and leave me
to my fate. I shall die content if I know you
are safe." Helena made no reply, but put her
arms round her husband, and almost carried
him. Lean upon me, Messaros," she said,
" I am stroAg enough. The cave is not far off,
but if we do not reach it, we will die together.
No one shall say the wife of Messaros cowardly
deserted her husband in his hour of need.
We will never part."
"Never, never, father," cried little Philip.
"I would rather be killed by the Turks than
move from your side."
Messaros was obliged to yield, and tried to
walk a little further. The fugitives were near
the garden, when suddenly a wild cry sounded
from the gate, and at the same time a thunder.
ing noise against it was heard.
Messaros with his wife and child stood

aTHIs U rSU.

motionless with horror. The next moment, the
garden-door gave away, and a small band of
Turks rushed in with wild cries.
"It is too late," sighed Messaroe, with a
bursting heart. "We are all lost. Oh, God,
protect the mother and child. Fly, Helena,
into the thicket. You will be hid there for a
moment, for the night is dark. Leave me: if
you have only the boy, you may escape. Philip,
go and take care of your mother."
"No," replied the child, "I will not move
one step from your side, father."
Helena embraced her poor husband, and
taking him in her arms, carried him to the
nearest thicket. Philip followed, and they
glided like shadows over the soft turf, unper-
ceived by the Turks, who, with furious cries,
burst into the forsaken house, destroyed every-
thing that they could not carry away with
them, and then set fire to that home, which
had been the abode of so much happiness.
The flames burst forth from the roof, and lit
up the country round, and by its light the
Turks perceived the unhappy fugitives, and
with a frantic cry of triumph they made


known their discovery. In vain did Messaro
again entreat his wife and child to save them-
selves, but they would not forsake him. The
Turks soon overtook them, struck the poor
father to the ground, as he extended his arms
around his wife and child, and then led them
all three back to the house, to wait the decision
of their fate. It was this-" They were to be
sold as slaves in the market at Kanea."


THE slave-market at Kanea was celebrated
for the fine Greeks who were sold there; and
purchasers came from all parts of Turkey to
examine these poor Christians, as they would
beasts in a market. Here it was that the
unhappy family of Messaros awaited their fate
in grief and silence, for they had little to hope.
They had but one wish-they prayed fervently
that God would not suffer them to be separated,
and if this prayer was heard, they thought


they could bear everything else. It was very
heartrending to see this little group, their hands
clasped together, awaiting their fate in agony.
The merchants looked at this poor family
with indifference, and many despised the pale
and wounded Messaros. He was grateful to
the weakness which delayed the dreaded
moment of separation, but it came at last.
One merchant gazed some time at the wounded
man and his wife, then he examined their arms
and legs, and hearing the price that was asked
for them, laughed contemptuously. "Why,
the knave is not worth half so much," said he.
"Sick, feeble, and wounded, he may die in a
fortnight; it is a risk to buy him."
"Pooh!" said the slave-dealer; "he is still
in the bloom of life, and with care he will soon
recover; his limbs are strong, his muscles like
iron, his bones like steel, and his chest is
arched like a shield; in one fortnight he will
be worth double what I now ask for him. Buy
the slave, there is not a better in the market."
The Turk shook his head contemptuously,
and turned away, but the dealer held him by
the arm. Take the whole family, Aga; you


may have them for a bargain. The woman is
strong and healthy, and will work well in the
house or garden. You will not repent the
bargain; only fifty piastres for the man, woman,
and child I" The Turk hesitated, cast a search-
ing look at poor Messaros and the unhappy
Helena, but did not appear to see poor little
Philip, who clung weeping to his mother, and
hiding his face in her dress. "Well," said the
Turk, "five-and-twenty piastres, and I will
have the man and woman, but not the boy,-he
will be no use to me; off with him!" With
deathlike agony, and trembling in every limb,
poor Helena awaited the slave-dealer's answer,
and pressed her beloved child to her breast
with a look of tenderness that might have
touched the heart of a tiger. Messaros knelt
by his wife, and clasped her and their child in
his arms, as if he would never part with them;
his face was pale, his breathing oppressed; it
seemed as if his life depended on the words of
the slave-dealer.
But the hardhearted Turk cared nothing
for the mother's grief, or the father's misery.
He saw their despair, but felt no pity. He


cared not if their hearts were broken, so that
he could extort a piastre or two more from the
merchant. "No," sid he, "you may have
the three slaves for fifty piastres; not a para
less. They are worth double, and if you do
not buy them, some one else will."
"But what shall I do with the child ?" said
the merchant, angrily. "For the last time I
say forty piastres without the boy."
"Have mercy on us!" exclaimed the un-
happy mother, "you are rich; ohI give but ten
piastres more and buy our boy with us do not
separate usi do not break our hearts I Oh sir,
it will not hurt you to give ten piastres morel
We will work doubly hard for you, if you will
show mercy to our child. Gratitude will in-
crease our strength. Have mercy upon a sor-
rowful father and mother, and a helpless child!
Where shall we find mercy if not with you?"
The cruel merchant cast a dark threatening
look at the poor mother, and turned coldly
away, without condescending to answer her.
"Make up your mind quickly," said he to the
slave-dealer, forty piastres for the parents, and
not a para more?"


Meesaros got up, and before the slave-dealer
could answer, he threw himself at the feet of
the cruel merchant; Have pity, master, on an
unhappy family," stammered he in accents of
the deepest grief, what are ten piastres for
you, and with them you could purchase for us
the greatest happiness. Look at my limbs, you
will soon see them become strong again, and I
will be the most faithful and industrious of ser-
vants; only have pity upon us and our child,-
do not separate us, and I will work till the skin
is off my hands, and my fingers bleed,-but do
not separate my boy from us; whatever he costs
you, we will repay you by our work; and when
he is old enough, he will be a strong and faith.
ful slave to you. We will teach him gratitude
and love to his benefactor, and we will pray that
the Lord of the world may bless you,-only
show mercy to the unhappy"
Poor Messaros received no answer but a kick
from the Turk. It threw him down; but the
Turk again asked the slave-dealer, for the last
time, I now offer you forty piastres; make haste,
I cannot delay."
Before the slave-dealer could reply, Mesaros


was again at the feet of the cruel Turk. "Hear
me! hear me!" ho cried, full of grief and
despair, if you buy us without our boy, the
curse of God will rest upon you, and ruin will
overtake you; his parents will die of grief, and
you will have spent your money in vain."
"Dog of a Christian," roared the Turk-
"speak again, and I will knock you down.
Hunger and the whip will soon drive your sorrow
away And you, man, will you or will you not?"
"But what am I to do with the child?"
asked the slave-dealer.
Throw it into the sea or kill it," replied the
Turk; what do I care about the child? Make
up your mind, or I will seek elsewhere for what
I want. There are plenty of slaves here to be
"Take the two, then," said the slave-dealer,
for he saw that the merchant had made up his
mind; "take them away, and whoever likes
may have the little dog."
A cry of horror sounded through the market
when the slave-dealer's cruel answer was heard:
it came from the poor mother, who clasped her
darling child to her heart and fainted away.


Mesaros knelt beside her in an agony of
grief, shedding bitter tears on her death-like
face. Poor Philip sobbed aloud, and wrung his
little hands in despair.
"Now is the time," whispered the Turk
to the slave-dealer, "get rid of the boy before
the mother is conscious. If she recovers, and
the young dog is here, we shall have a disturb-
ance, which will collect all the people in the
market around us; away with him quickly, or,
by Allah I will make you; the trade is nearly
done for."
The threat, accompanied by a fierce look,
frightened the slave-dealer. He took the oppor-
tunity whilst Messaros was attending to his poor
wife of throwing the screaming child up into
the air, and when he fell down into the crowd,
and the mother had recovered her conscious.
ness and asked for him, it was in vain. In
agony she exclaimed, "PhilipI Philip but
the boy did not hear her, at any rate there was
no answer to her despairing cry. Messaros
tried to find his child in the crowd, but a blow
from the slave-dealer threw him to the ground.
I is new master beckoned to some servant*, and


commanded them to chain the new slaves. They
laid heavy chains upon Messaros and his wife,
and in silent grief they followed the servant,
who led them out of the market. They did not
see their beloved child again. Pale and tear-
less they walked through the unsympathizing
mocking crowd; but grief for the loss of their
little Philip was so great, that every other
trouble seemed light; indeed their hearts were
quite broken. When they were close to the
harbour, a stranger stepped up to Helena,
seized her hand and said, "Hope, my poor
woman; God has shown mercy to your child,
and you shall at least have this comfort in your
misery. Your boy shall be my child, and I will
love him like a father. Be comforted, and have
patience. God will not forsake you, and you
will again meet him whom you love best in the
world." .Helena looked up in the midst of her
grief, and saw a friendly compassionate face.
A faint smile lit up her soft pale features; she
would have spoken to the man who had given
her such blessed hope, but the slaves hurried her
away, and the stranger only caught the words,
" I thank Thee, 0 merciful God!"
F 2


A ship ready to sail took them on board; in
a few hours they were far away from their
island home and from their child; their hearts
were full of anxious thoughts for him, and they
shed many bitter tears. Messaros tried to com-
fort his poor wife, but her only trust was in God,
and in the hope that her child might have a
better fate than that of his poor parents.



Tax man who had taken up little Philip
when he was thrown into the crowd by the
cruel slave-dealer, was called Michael Santos.
He was poor, and lived by himself in a small
cottage in a distant part of Kanea. He main-
tained himself by giving lessons in writing,
anthmetic, and reading, to the children of rich
Turks; they paid him very small sums for his
honest services, and therefore it was a great
asarifice to him to take the charge of Philip.

Trs PusA'SU so. 69

Bat his heart was as rich in Christian charity
as he was poor in worldly goods.
When he was at the slave-market, where he
had been accidentally led, and saw how cruelly
Philip and his parents were treated, his heart
swelled with compassion, and for the first time
he wished that he was rich enough to purchase
the unhappy family to give them their liberty.
The grief of the parents echoed through his
heart; and when little Philip flew like a ball
into the air, he stretched out his arms to
receive him, and pressing him to his heart,
whispered kindly,-" Be comforted, dear child,
God has sent me here to-day to find you; I
will be your father, and my home shall be
yours." Then he carried the poor boy to his
little cottage, trying to soothe his grief with
kind words as he went. He gave him in
charge to a kind neighbour, and returned to
the market to discover the fate of the parents.
Messaros and his wife were by this time sold;
and hearing that they were gone towards the
harbour, he followed them as quickly as he
could, and was just in time to whisper the
few words of hope to the despairing mother,


as we have related. He afterwards inquired
the name of their master, and found that he
was Mustapha Kodosi, a merchant of Bagdad.
This name he was careful to remember, hoping
that the knowledge of it might some day be of
use to the little orphan.
Sad at heart he returned to his cottage, and
comforted poor little Philip. At last the child
fell asleep in his arms, and then he whispered
these words to him,-"Sleep sweetly, dear boy;
you will soon forget your sorrow, and with
God's blessing, you will be happier, poor little
fellow I You have early in life met with grief:
may God give you strength to bear it. I will
do all I can, that you may not miss a father's
love." Then, with a mother's gentleness, he
laid the sleeping boy on his bed, and bending
over him, offered up a fervent prayer that God
would protect and bless him.
Poor Philip could not easily forget the cruel
treatment that his parents had received, though
the good Michael Santos did all in his power to
make him do so. Time, however, softened his
grief; his pale cheeks grew rosy, and his dull
eye sparkled, and his foster-father's loving

Tra PAsHA'B sow. 71
words at last touched his heart. Philip soon
found playfellows among the neighbours' chil-
dren, and Michael rejoiced to see him happy.
He never repented having brought him to
his cottage; for Philip repaid the old man's
kindness with affection and gratitude. He was
diligent and obedient; and Michael Santos
blessed the hour when the boy first crossed his
threshold. They had very little more than the
mere necessaries of life. Good old Michael
had to work hard for their support; but they
were contented and happy.
When Philip was fourteen, and had been
publicly confirmed in the Christian faith, he
assisted his fosterfather in teaching the scholars.
This was his morning work; in the afternoon,
he climbed the mountains, and wandered about
the shore collecting shells, or searching for rare
plants in the woods, which he sold to the
Philip often assisted the sailors to lade and
unlade their ships, and his services were pre-
ferred to those of any other porter, and better
paid. Philip kept his secret from Michael; he
did not spend the money he earned. His dress


was poor but neat. He had no taste for glit-
tering weapons or gay ornaments, like his
young companions. What then did he do with
his money? for he had saved altogether a
tolerable sum.
When Philip was seventeen years old, there
was not a finer youth in all CAndia. All who
knew him loved him. He was gentle, kind,
and friendly to every one, and Michael had
nothing to complain of except the sad expres-
sion which never left his noble features.
Michael sometimes found him in great grief,
with tears in his eyes; but he would give no
explanation, and said that he had nothing to
complain of.
One day, when Philip was climbing the
mountains, he heard, afar in the woods, a shrill
cry for help. Naturally bold and fearless, he
hastened to the spot from whence it seemed to
come, and being quite unarmed, he took up a
large stick and rushed with it into the thicket.
There he heard the clashing of swords and
firing of shots, and felt sure that some deed of
violence was being done,-no uncommon event
in those days I


Philip saw three wild banditti-looking men
in the wood, and a richly-dressed youth with
his back against a tree, defending himself from
their violence. His was the cry for help, for
he was fighting bravely for his life, one against
three. By his side lay an apparently lifeless
man, with a fearful wound in his forehead. It
might have been the youth's servant; for near
the spot where they were fighting, two gaily-
bridled horses were tied to a tree, and evidently
belonged to the youth. Philip understood
directly how things were. Regardless of
danger, he placed himself by the side of the
youth, and with a blow from his thick club, he
struck the fiercest of the robbers to the ground.
" Courage I" said he to the youth, who seemed
about his own age; "courage! we will be a
match for the villains."
The youth uttered a cry of pleasure, and,
emboldened by his brave companion, he rushed
on; and the next moment Philip struck the
second robber to the ground, and the third
took to flight.
The youths did not pursue him. The
rescued youth threw himself upon Philip, and


embraced him, saying, "My friend and bro.
their, you have saved my life, and by Allah and
my father's beard, I will never forget you.
We will prove our gratitude to you."
"What," replied Philip, laughing, "do I
need a reward for doing my duty ? You would
have done the same. But, instead of talking
about it, let us look after the wounded man."
"Yes, my poor Hassan," said the young
man, kneeling beside his wounded attendant,
"he is killed I"
"Stay," replied Philip, "it is a bad blow,
but it may not be fatal. Let us see what can
be done."
They soon discovered that Hassan was not
mortally wounded. He opened his eyes, and
said, faintly, "Allah be praised; now I die
No, no, good Hassan," replied his master;
" you shall have some refreshment, and then
you will be strong enough to remount your
horse and follow me."
Hassan looked up timidly, and said," Where
are the robbers, master?"
"Two lie dead at the foot of the sycamore,


and the third has fled," replied Hanan's
master. "Do not be afraid, they will not
return; this is the friend who lent me his
strong arm."
"Allah be praised I" replied Hassan. "Your
father will rejoice to find you have escaped
unhurt. The danger was dreadful; and who
is the young man who has saved the life of the
Pasha's son?"
Philip started. "The Pasha's son!" he
exclaimed: "I am your slave,-a poor Greek
orphan, who was brought up by a good honest
man. My name is Philip Messaros."
"You are a Greek, then, and a Christian,"
said the noble youth. "But never mind, you
are good and brave, and we will be friends;
give me your hand, Philip, and be my
"My lord," replied Philip, crossing his
hands over his breast, according to the Eastern
custom. "My lord, it does not become me,
"Nothing more about my lord, and it
becomes," replied the youth, quickly; call
me Achmet and brother. You have risked


your life for me, and I can offer you nothing
less than my friendship. Come with me to
my father. He loves me, and will welcome
his son's deliverer. Get up, HassanI Are
you strong enough to keep on your horse?"
"Yes, my lord," replied Hassan; "the blow
stunned more than injured me."
"Well then, we will not delay," said Achmet,
and fetched the horses. Hassan was lifted
into his saddle, and Achmet wished Philip to
mount the other, but he hesitated, and declared
he did not know how to ride, and that he
would lead Hassan's horse, because he had no
strength to hold the bridle. Achmet was
obliged to yield, and rode by the side of
Philip, who carefully led Hassan's horse by
the best road. "Where shall I lead you?"
asked he. "Your father's palace is on the sea-
"Yes," replied Achmet; "but we have been
some days at Kanea. I wonder you did not
know that."
"I know very little of what happens,"
answered Philip. "My fosterfather is poor,
and we have very little time to go to the

TE PAIHA's s3K. 77

market and hear the news. But tell me how
you fell into the hands of the robbers."
"That is soon told," said Achmet, laughing.
"I love hunting, so I rode out with Hassan
into the woods to look for game. The report
of our guns attracted the robbers, and just as
we were dismounting, to go to breakfast, they
fell upon us, struck Hassan to the ground, and
then all three of them attacked me. Then
you came, and were my deliverer. What a
pity you are a Christian, and not a follower
of the Prophet. I am sure my father will
provide for you, and you will never leave us.
But, then, my father is a zealous Mussulman,
Philip; you must change your faith. By
Allah, it will not hurt you."
"No, never," replied Philip gently, but
firmly. "I would bear anything rather than
forsake Christ. Forgive me, Achmet, but you
would despise me if I should forsake my faith
for any worldly advantage. No, I will never
do that."
You are right, brother, and I do not blame
you," replied Achmet, warmly pressing his
young friend's hand. "We must not deny

78 ILnAI u. V.

what we believe to be true. Keep to your
faith, and we will still be friends."
The sun was setting when Philip and the
two horsemen reached the pasha's splendid
estate at Kanes. Achmet sprang from his
horse, told the servants to take care of the
wounded Hassan, and led Philip into the castle,
and begging him to wait whilst he related to
his father the events of the day, he showed
him into a splendidly-furnished room. Philip
sat down upon a costly divan, and resting his
head on his hand, looked thoughtfully at the
splashing waters of a fountain, which rose
from a marble basin in the middle of the
room, and filled the air with its refreshing
coolness. And what was he thinking of?
Not of the splendours around him, but of that
which for years had been the secret of his
heart. He was so engrossed with this, that he
did not hear a curtain raised, and Achmet
hastily enter. He gazed at his thoughtful
friend in wonder. Philip," said he at last,
laying his hand gently on the youth's shoulder,
" my father wishes to see you; follow me, my


Philip sprang up quickly, and followed
Achmet through a suite of splendid rooms until
he reached the one where the Pasha was
expecting him.
The Pasha was alone, reclining on soft silken
cushions, with his legs crossed under him,
smoking his chibouk, the mouthpiece of which
was covered with rich jewels. He looked very
friendly at Philip, who stood with his arms
crossed upon his breast.
The Pasha looked at him for some minutes
and then said to him kindly, "You are welcome:
Achmet told me that you saved his life, and by
the Prophet's beard you shall be well repaid
for this; sit down and tell me your past life.
Do not be afraid: I am the Pasha, and your
Achmet led the hesitating Philip to the soft
cushions, where he was forced to rest, and
sitting down by him, he took his hand and
whispered, "Be comforted, my father means
very kindly towards you." Philip raised his
eyes and saw that he had nothing to fear.
Pasha Ibrahim was a fine handsome man with
lofty brow and large speaking eyes, and long


black beard, the curls of which hung down
upon his breast.
It would be easy to believe that those eyes
could sparkle with rage if the Pasha was pro.
evoked, but now they looked so mild and kind,
that Philip looked fearlessly at him. "My
lord," said he firmly, "I have done nothing
particular, and your brave son might have
been a match for the robbers without me. He
fought bravely against them."
"Did he! did my Achmet?" said the
Pasha, kindly. "Yes he is a young lion, who
will do credit to his father. But we do not
know if he would have escaped alive without
your help. Are you not a Greek ? Who are
your parents?"
An expression of deep sorrow passed over
the countenance of poor Philip, and the Pasha
remarking it, added quickly, "Oh, poor boy,
have you no parents? Forgive my reminding
you of them. I dare say you have lately lost
them, and your grief is still great."
No my lord," answered Philip, sadly,
" they live, but in slavery, which is worse than


How is that ?" replied the Pasha anxiously;
" tell me my son."
Philip tried to compose himself and to over-
come his grief. He related his past history,
the captivity of his parents and of himself, the
dreadful scene in the slave-market, and all
about good Michael Santos. The Pasha listened
with attention and sympathy.
Have you never heard of your parents
since ?" he asked.
"No!" replied Philip; "never."
Have no means been -tried to find them
None," replied Philip. "My foster-father
is poor and can do nothing. I have no other
friends-they have all left Candia. And how
could I help my unhappy parents? I can only
wait, and hope that when I am older I may do
something for them. I can now earn a little
money in different ways. I give lessons like
my foster-father; I collect shells, plants,
stones, and insects, and sell them to the
merchants; and when I can, I go to the harbour
and get employment as porter. All I earn in
this way I save for the future, hoping it may


in time be sufficient to ransom my poor parent
who are pining in slavery. My little -tock in-
creases every year, and I hope soon to have
enough to defray the expenses of the journey
and to bring my beloved parents home again."
Philip ended his story with tears in his eyes.
Achmet embraced him, and even the proud
Pasha could not conceal his emotion. He cast
a look of wonder at the boy, and stroked his
long beard, saying, "By the soul of the
Prophet and by my own beard, you are a good
son and a brave youth What a pity you
are not a Mussulman; but, however, if your
parents are still alive-and, by Allah, I hope
thattheyarel-theyshallbesetatliberty. Allah
il Allah, what a good son! By the beard of
Mahomet you deserve it, and may God grant
you the pleasure of bringing your parents
home free and happy! God is great and
Mahomet is his Prophet I I am not deceived
when I hope that Allah may have preserved
your parents. I am sure you will see them
again; and, by my head I you shall have all the
help that I can give you. What a good son I
By Allah I this is how children should love their


parents I Speak, boy, do you know where
your parents went in the ship ?
My good foster-father told me they went
to Bagdad," answered Philip, whose heart beat
with joy at the Pasha's promises; "their master
is called 'Mustapha Kodosi;' he is a rich
merchant. If, my lord, you will show mercy
to a child who loves his parents above every-
thing, look on me. I desire nothing but the
deliverance of my parents."
Make yourself easy boy," said the Pasha;
"if they are still alive, they shall be set at
liberty. Now leave me, my son. Allah be
with you! you are a good son. Go and be
comforted, for the Pasha will think of you."


PHILIP could not remember how he got out
of the Pasha's palace, nor what had been said
to him when there, for he was so bewildered
with the good fortune which Heaven had sent


him. Revived by the open air, he uttered a
scream of joy; then he said a short prayer;
then wept, laughed, and jumped, and almost
flew to the good Michael Santos, threw his
arms around the old man, and stammered out
a few unintelligible words.
Compose yourself, Philip," said Santos;
" whatever has happened, trust in the Lord,
and control your feelings. What is the
Oh, it is joy, father 1" said Philip. Oh,
Michael, you will rejoice and thank the Lord
for my good fortune I I am going to seek for
my parents, to break their chains, and bring
them home free and happy. How can I thank
Thee as I ought, 0 God?"
Michael looked at the boy with astonish-
ment, for years had passed since they had
spoken of his parents; but now his long-re-
pressed feelings burst forth, and declared his
long-cherished wish.
You dream, Philip," said Michael anxiously,
fearing the boy's reason was affected; how is
it possible? If your parents are alive, they are
separated from us by land and sea; where will


you get money from to go to Bagdad and
ransom them? I do not know who could help
you in this."
The Pasha, father," cried Philip; "Pasha
Ibrahim. Is he not rich enough?-and he is
my friend."
"The Pasha exclaimed Michael; "how
came you with the Pasha ?-and how did he
become the friend of a poor Greek boy? You
must be out of your senses, Philip; go to bed,
child, and talk more sensibly to-morrow."
Philip remarked, for the first time, the good
Michael's anxiety, and trying to control his
feelings, he related his meeting with Achmet,
the Pasha's son, and the conversation with the
Pasha. Santos listened with deep but sad
feelings, shook his head, and said nothing.
Speak, father," cried Philip; are you not
glad? Only think that I shall see my poor
parents again, and free them from slavery."
No," replied Santos, "my heart is very
sad; have you thought of the danger of this
undertaking? Will you brave the dangers of
the sea? Will you cross the burning desert?
The hot simoom will dry up the blood in your


young veins and the marrow in your bones;
and remember you are a Christian, and how
could you expose yourself to the wild tribes of
the desert, who will not even spare their com-
panions in faith, and treat Christians worse
than dogs. No, boy, you must not leave me;
you must wait until you are a man, and can
bear such a journey, and have wisdom to guide
you. No, my son; I respect and admire your
love for your parents, but I know you can-
not set them at liberty, and you will ruin
them and yourself too. You shall not go,
Philip; I love you as a father, and anxiety
about you would kill me; stay with me;
the Pasha can help you without your running
into danger; I will not consent to your
leaving me."
"Father," replied Philip, affectionately, but
firmly, as he took the old man's hand, "father,
I must leave you, and you must give me
your blessing. After you have done every-
thing for me, will you deny me this one wish
of my life? God will be with me,-He will
not leave me; and if the Almighty protects
me, what dangers can hurt me? Leaning on


Hi help, I will begin my journey, and He will
guide my steps. We shall meet again, father,
and our hearts will overflow with joy and
gratitude to the Most High."
"It cannot be, my child," replied Santos,
much affected; "you must wait a few years,
and let us find out if your parents are alive.
Slave-chains are heavy, my son: how do you
know that they have been able to endure the
pains of slavery?"
"That is why I cannot delay, father," re-
plied the excited youth; "every moment that
I lose seems to kill me. Shall means to free
my poor parents be offered to me, and shall I
nottread the path opened to me? No,fatherl
no danger shall frighten me from my duty;
and if I perish in the attempt, I shall have this
satisfaction, that I have done what I ought.
Let me go, father, and bless me !"
"Go in peace, then, and may God be with
you, my sonI" said old Michael. "Your feel-
ing is a right one, and I will try to overcome
my sorrow. If I was not so old and feeble, I
would go with you; but I should only hinder
you. May God bless your work, and smooth

88 FnuLr. Lor.

your way; and may you find your parents
alive I"
I feel that I shall succeed Father, for God
will be with me, and my mother's tears of joy
will be my reward."
Philip embraced his affectionate old foster-
father, who blessed him, and prayed that God
would protect him. They conversed till mid-
night, and when they went to rest, Philip's
heart was full of hope and joy; not so old
Michael's, but he sought comfort in prayer.
He loved Philip dearly, so it was natural lie
should be anxious for his safety, and that he
should feel the loss of the prop of his old age;
but sleep at last closed his weary eyes.
The following morning, Philip expected a
message from the Pasha; and about noon the
sound of horses' feet was heard in the narrow
street, and a few minutes after a number of
splendidly-dressed people were at Michael's
door. One of them, a fine youth about Philip's
age, sprang into the room, and Philip ex-
claimed, with sparkling eyes, "Achmet Here,
my father, is the friend to whom I owe all my


"And here," said Achmet, laughing, "is the
friend without whose help I could not have
done another kind action. I rejoice to see
your honourable face, old man."
Michael bowed low, and said, "May your
entrance into this cottage be blessed, and may
you find wherever you go hearts as grateful
as ours! Will you rest? The seat I offer
you is very humble, but you will forgive it, for
we are poor."
Poor in worldly goods, but rich in virtues,"
replied Achmet; and the Prophet says, They
are the best riches, for they will not forsake us
in the hour of death, but will smooth our road
to Heaven.' My father sends me, Philip, to
bring you to him, and you too, old man; he
wishes to see you, he respects you for the kind-
ness you have shown Philip; he says that you
are a noble man, though you are a Christian.'
Follow me: horses are ready to carry you to
the Pasha."
The Pasha's wish was a command, and
Michael was obliged to yield; he was not
Rfraid of the kind Pasha, but he asked leave to
go on foot, instead of on horseback; but


Achmet would not allow this, and aid, "Fear
nothing; I have chosen a quiet horse for you;
a child may ride it, for the saddle is safe as a
cradle; my father would be displeased if Philip
went without you."
Michael obeyed, and he and Philip followed
Achmet, whose servants assisted Michael to
mount a gentle but beautiful horse, and
Achmet and Philip rode fiery courses. They
proceeded slowly through the streets, and the
people gazed in wonder to see old Santos
riding by Achmet's side. They soon reached
the Pasha's palace, where the old man was
carefully taken off the horse. Achmet led the
way to his father, who received them both
very kindly, shook hands with them, and gave
them the usual Eastern greeting,-" Koech
amedid,"-" You are welcome." Then he
ordered in cushions, pipes, and sweet sherbert;
and when the comfort of his guests was
provided for, he turned kindly to Michael,
Maschallah I what a man you are 1 You
obey the Prophet's precepts, for you comfort
the afflicted and protect the weak. Why are


you not a follower of the Prophet Mahomed? "
My lord," answered Michael, "long before
your Prophet, Christ commanded us to share
our bread with the poor. I was born a Chris-
tian, and I will die one."
Do so," said the Pasha; I will not oblige
you to forsake your faith, which cannot be so
very bad, as it teaches you to do good. You
Christians are wonderful people, and you might
attain to high honours if you would obey the
precepts of the Prophet; but you prefer
poverty for the sake of Christ."
Yes, my lord," said Michael; we must not
change our faith like a garment; and you will
excuse my saying that we Christians believe
ours the most perfect faith."
"Well, then, do not change; but it shall
not prevent my showing you kindness," re-
plied Ibrahim, kindly; and turning to Philip,
he said, And you, my son, are you still
determined to look for your parents ? "
"Oh yes, my lord, quite determined," re-
plied Philip, with sparkling eyes.
The Pasha was silently lost in thought, quite
concealed in a cloud of tobacco-smoke; the


spectators waited for him to speak, not wish.
ing to interrupt his thoughts. After a few
minutes, he spoke as follows: "You are a
good child, but the journey to Bagdad is long,
and the desert is dangerous; you had better
stay here, and let me arrange for your parents
to be set at liberty."
Philip turned pale, and threw himself at the
Pasha's feet, saying, If it should be to the
end of the world, my lord, and if I must walk
barefoot, I should not be afraid. Have mercy
on me, and let me go I"
"Be quiet, my son," replied the Pasha
mildly, "and sit down; far be it from me to
wish to prevent you, and I will keep my pro-
mise. If you persist in going, go; but you
will be a fool if you do not listen to the voice
of experience. Achmet loves you, my son; he
is your friend, he wishes you to be his brother;
stay with him; he will give you fine clothes,
and glittering weapons, and a fine horse. You
shall have every luxury, and I will treat you
as my son, and your future career shall be as
brilliant as one of the stars of heaven."
Philip shook his head, and answered, I love


Achmet as my brother, but I love my parents
better than everything in the world, my lord."
"But your parents shall be taken care of,"
replied the Pasha. "I do not doubt that I
shall be able to obtain their freedom."
Philip struggled with his feelings, and said,
"I feel your great kindness, my lord, but do
not think me ungrateful if I keep my resolu-
tion. Your mesenger might be imprisoned, or
murdered, or he might be terrified by the
dangers he would be exposed to, and he might
return and say, "Those whom you seek, my
lord, are dead," and we must believe him; or
he might escape with the ransom-money to
a distant country, and never come back to you;
but if I go, I fear no dangers, but trusting to
God's help, I shall find my parents and loose
their chains."
"Then you despise my favours," replied the
Pasha, frowning. You despise the good things
that I offer you, and my son's friendship."
"No, no, my lord," answered Philip; "but
I value my parents' happiness more than my
own. Ought I to be deaf to the voice which
speaks to my heart 2"