Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Richer than wealth
 The two farmers; or, will...
 Making the best of it
 Harry Hardheart and his dog...
 Speak kind words
 The little boy's faith
 The one thing

Group Title: Richer than wealth : and other stories
Title: Richer than wealth
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00026584/00001
 Material Information
Title: Richer than wealth and other stories
Physical Description: 96, 16 p., 1 leaf of plates : col. ill. ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: John
Religious Tract Society (Great Britain) ( Publisher )
Unwin Brothers ( Printer )
Gresham Press ( Printer )
Publisher: Religious Tract Society
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Unwin Brothers, The Gresham Press
Publication Date: [187-?]
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1875   ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1875   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1875
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
England -- Chillworth
Statement of Responsibility: by Uncle John.
General Note: Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00026584
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002228618
oclc - 50646933
notis - ALG8929

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Page 1
    Half Title
        Page 2
        Page 3
    Title Page
        Page 4
        Page 5
    Table of Contents
        Page 6
    Richer than wealth
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
    The two farmers; or, will you forgive?
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Making the best of it
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        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
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
    Harry Hardheart and his dog "Driver"
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
    Speak kind words
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
    The little boy's faith
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
    The one thing
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
Full Text


The Baldwin Library

oIfm B

__ ___~





k I Al. I.1H 'i I Ii







RICHER THAN WEALTH .................................... 7


MAKING THE BEST OF IT................................... 40


SPEAK KIND WORDS ........... ............................. 79

TIE LITTLE BOY'S FAITII.................................. 86

THE ONE THING ........................................... 93


I AM an old Sunday- ool. teacher,
now laid aside by sickt..'s and age. %
My sight fails me, my ,hearing is
not so good as it was, and my foot-
steps are not-so firm as'~n- the days
that are gone. I must fall into the
rear of the Lord's vineyard-workers;
and make way for younger ones to
come to the front.
My old class-book now lies by my
side. What memories are awak-
ened as I turn over its soiled leaves 1
I see at the end a few sketches


and notes of some of my former
scholars. Some of these lads passed
from early grace to early glory.
'Well do I remember their last
words of faith and love. Others
have been spared to occupy useful
-places in the church and in the
Some pages of my old class-book,
as I glance over them, cause me to
raise a song of praise, and even on
earth to begin the vintage song,
which shall break forth in the great
day of the ingathering. But. on
other pages a silent tear falls, as I
think of those whose goodness was
as the morning cloud and early dew
which pass away."
At the present moment the forms
of two young men rise on my view.
They seem now to my fancy as
they stood before me when they


were in all the freshness of early
life. I trace them onward through
the course of their lives, most of
which came under my notice, until
they passed into the eternal world,
before the days of their old teacher
have been numbered.

Charles Gaines and Robert Mil-
brook were about the same age;
they were born in the same village;
their fathers' farms were close to-
gether; as they grew into boyhood
they joined in the same sports; and
in the Sunday-school were uhder
the care of the same teacher. In
the course of time, however, their
paths were to.separate: one was to
find a home in the great city, the
other to spend his days in the spot
which gave him birth.
One day, when they were about


twenty-one years of age, they met
on the road that led from the old
church to the little market-town.
Charles, in his usual farmer's dress,
was driving a waggon. Robert was
not in his working trim, but his
appearance showed as if he were
making holiday.
"Where are you off to now?"
asked Charles, as he pulled up his
Oh, have you not heard that I
am about to give up the plough
and the flail, and all that sort of
thing ? was the jaunty reply. I
am tired of a farmer's life, and have
turned my thoughts to something
less dull and plodding."
"Why, Robert, how long has that
been uppermost with you ?"
"A dislike to country labour,"
continued Robert, as he leaned


against the waggon, "has been
growing on me for months. I as-
pire to something better. I want
smarter company, and a chance
where a pushing fellow may get on
in life. All the change yod have as
a farmer is on market-day and
what a change is that, after all!
You meet with the same old faces;
and all the talk is about the state of
the crops, the price of mangold-
wurtzel and turnips, and the chance
of a good lambing season. I have
S had enough of it, and hold up my
head for something better."
"Where do you hope to find it ?
What's in the wind now, I wonder?"
"A few weeks ago," said Robert,
"I saw the lord of the manor on
his way from the hunt. He had
been thrown by his horse, and-there
seemed no one at hand, except my-


self, so I ran to his help. It was
not far to bur stable, where I
managed to mount him on my nag,
,.and get him home. He was very
polite and thankful, and told me I
was,a smart lad. Since then I have
met him several times, and he has
quite noticed me very kindly. One
day he asked if he could serve me
in any way. This was just what I
wanted, so I spoke up and told him
a bit of my mind that I had a
notion above farming, and wished
to try my fortune in London. He
then inquired as to my penmanship,
and ciphering, and other matters of
learning, and at last said he had a
cousin in town engaged in com-
_mge, to whom he would write
-i ~ut he."
"And what has come of it all ?"
inquired Charles.


"Just this: I am engaged as a
junior clerk in this merchant's count-
ing-house, and in a week's time I
am to enter on my new duties ;- .th,.
good-bye to repairing of hedges.:
and stacking of barley-ricks, and'
driving of calves to market. Hurrah!
I can see the finger-post that says,
'This is the, high road to Wealth.'
I mean to reach the end of i-some
"May I remind you,"said Charles,
very gravely, that young as we are,
we have seen some who have. spent
their best days in seeking after a
fortune, and who have never got
it?" .
"That may be so," said Robert,
,wjh a toss of his head; E i..at
f have set my heart upon T ys
manage" to obtain." -
"There is nothing blameworthy,"


remarked Charles, "in a desire to
push our way in the world, so that
we do so lawfully, and in submission
to the will of God; but I expect
there are more who have failed in
the race after riches than there are
those who have won the prize. You
remember that it is not long since
Our Sunday text was, 'They that
wi, t. rich fall into temptation and
a snare.'"
"Oh, I find you are about to
preach," testily replied Robert, "so
I will bid you good-morning." Then
turning on his heel, he made his way
over the common, and Charles gently
shook the reins for the horses to go
Ten years have passed, and the
two young men are engaged in the
full business of life. The farmer


has been diligent, steady, provident,
but he cannot boast of any great
increase of worldly goods. He
occupies the same farm as his
father and grandfather tilled. It is
a model of good cultivation. His
rent is regularly paid, and he stands
high in the. esteem of his land-
lord and neighbours. He has a
wife like-minded with himself; and
three children who-are blessed with
health and happy tempers. But the
best of all is-he is known at home
and at market as a lowly disciple of
Jesus Christ.
Charles is not insensible to the
gifts of God's providence. He
gratefully receives and cautiously
uses the things of this world; for
he knows that a poor man's little
may draw the heart from God as
.strongly and fatally as a rich man':s


stores. He has enough, and a trifle
to spare for a friend in distress. He
has attained to the middle age of a
man's life with few changes.
"Content to fill a little space,
If God be glorified."
And in what state is Robert?
High in the confidence of his em-
ployers. He has been advanced to
the post of chief cashier, and has the
prospect of becoming a junior part-
ner at no distant date. His desire
of becoming a man of wealth is
stronger than ever. He has found
it true that the more men obtain,
the more their desires are enlarged.
If he were asked at any time,
"When will you be rich enough ?"
he would probably reply, "When I
have got a little more than I now
possess." The thought that he
should fail in his object never


crossed his mind; and yet he has
seen in the commercial world that a
fire, a storm, a panic, a fraud, has
deprived a man in one day of the
labour of his whole life. He has
seen some who have stood high
among the wealthiest of their times
cast into the lowest depths of
poverty. And yet his confidence
that he shall meet with no reverse
continues unabated.
It is true, the pious instructions
of his early days will revive in his
mind. The thought, What shall
it profit ?" sometimes intrudes on
his lonely hours. The friends of
his youth are often remembered by
him, but he thinks of them as less
fortunate than himself, and pits
their lowly lot-though now and
then a text, or a verse of a hymn,
learned when a schoolboy, ad-


monishes him, and he feels what he
scarcely dares to own, that he is not
happy; that he has been laying up
treasure to himself, and is not rich
toward God.

Twenty years have come and
gone. Charles and Robert still live.
They are both richer men now, but
how different is the nature'of their
wealth Charles long since "chose
the good part." Through God's
grace he is rich in faith," and rich
in good works." He has found
wealth without wings. He has
placed his treasure in a bank that
never breaks. He has an interest
in the fulness of grace that is in
Christ Jesus-pardon, peace, a re-
newed heart, a hope of the inherit-.
ance in heaven. He knows that if
he could obtain mines of gold, he


must indeed be poor without thea
-poor foi both worlds.
Robert remains unmatried. He
'has no home comforts to draw hlfti
to a domestic f:es!de. He has
become more aid more tunsf.al,
cold, and sordid. We think we Cah
see him when the clerks ltave left
the counting-house after the duties
of the day are over. He t rmains
shut up alone in his private office.
There lie before him leases, riort-
gages, railwayand mining shafes,fnd
his banker's book. He lihas jt
made an estimate of what he is
worth. What an amount of *elAth
he has got together-' But the
reckoning does not bring eomftrt to
his mind. The fact is, he ihas ot
felt quite well for some weeks, fnd
the unwelcome thought will ~tfi in
-his mind: "If I grasp this store



ever so tightly through the whole of
life, death-will soon despoil me of it:
it cannot ransom me from the power
of the grave-and what then ? "
A week had scarcely passed when
the blinds of the counting-house of
Millbrook and Company tell the
neighbours that Robert is no more.
Dying without a will, his wealth is
dispersed among distant members
of his family, who miver shared
his bounty while living, nor will
cherish any grateful memories now
he is dead.
Charles pursues his humble course
for about twelve months after the
removal of his early companion, and
at length sinks into the graveamidst
the tears of his familyand the loving
regrets of the children of the Sunday-
school, and of the aged and afflicted,
into whose hearts he had often


sought to pour the consolations of
the Gospel.

And now I have told the brief
story of my two former scholars, let
this be the lesson taught-THERE
A good name, a good conscience, a
contented mind, a good hope, is of
more worth than all the unsanctified
possessions of the worldly rich man.
The difference between the two
characters I have sketched lies here:
one laid the corner-stone of a peace-
ful, contented, and useful life in
early piety. He gave his heart to
Christ when a boy: the other lived
for self, for the world, and for time.

As a sequel to the history of
Charles and Robert, let me now lay


before you a brief address which I
gave after their death, in the Sunday-
school where they were once lads,
and which may further enforce and
illustrate the lesson I would teach.

When the greatest of all teachers
was on the earth, a rich young man
came to him. He was concerned
about his soul. He drew nigh at
the time when Jesus spake the
gracious words, "Suffer the little
children, and forbid them not, to
come unto Me." As he listened, per-
haps he thought, "Surely if He is
so kind to the little ones, He will not
refuse to attend to me;" and he
said, "What shall I do to inherit
eternal life ?" He did not, like the
Pharisees, ask a question to tempt
Jesus, but from a real desire to learn.
When Jesus spake to him he soon


showed that he was very ignorant,
and that he did not know his own
heart. "What lack I yet?" he
asked, thinking of his own goodness.
Our Lord, who knew his thoughts,
and what they were chiefly set upon,
soon put him to the test. We may
suppose that he was a kind and
hopeful young man; for when Jesus
saw him, He loved him. But to try
him, and to show the young man his
true character, He said, "Sell all that
thou hast, and come, follow Me."
If Jesus had told him of some
way in which he might have followed
Him, and yet have kept his riches,
he would probably have become His
disciple. But he could not become
poor. "What, give up all? Oh,
how hard to give up what I love so
much "-for he was very rich." So
he went away sorrowful.


Must we then part with all that
we have if we would follow Christ ?
No, God does not call on us for this.
But He does call on all to give up in
heart all for Christ. We must love
Him, choose Him, above moneyand
all that is in this world-all that is
vain and sinful, and which would
bind us to the earth. Jesus will not
have a divided heart. We cannot
serve Him and love riches too. How
sad that many should prefer the
world and its wealth rather than the
service of our Saviour !
Now let us turn to another rich
young man, who lived only a few
years ago.
A missionary sat in a bamboo
chair,, in the front of a mission house
in the East Indies. It was the even-
ing of the day. The sun's heat was
still very great, and not a breeze


moved the lofty palm trees which
grew by the wayside. He looked
faint, weary, and careworn; for he
had sat in that chair all the long day,
teaching the simple truths of the
Gospel to any who would hear
them. Some of the Hindoos, as
they stopped for a moment, only
laughed at his words, and then
turned away to mock. Others were
too proud to listen, and passed along
on the other side of the road. Be-
fore this missionary was a small
table, on which lay his Testament
and a bundle of tracts. From time
to time he gave one of the tracts to
any passing traveller who would re-
ceive it. And as he gave it he spoke
a few words of truth, and then his
lips moved in prayer that God would
bless the message to the soul of the
poor stranger.


The sun was just going down in
the sky, and the missionary turned
to go into his house to rest. At this
moment there stood before him a
young native, with a rich turban on
his head, and wearing a robe of yel-
low silk. It was plain that he was
of the Brahmin class, who are the
highest people of the country, and
are held sacred, for they alone may
wear a yellow robe. The noble
stranger made a low salaam, and
then sat on a low and matted stool.
I have come to tell you," said
the young Brahmin, "that I have
seen the sin of idol worship, and I
believe that your religion is the only
true one." "And what do you want
me to do ?" asked the missionary.
"I wish you to baptise me," said he,
"that I may be known as a disciple
of Christ."


He then went on to say that .he
was a rich man, for he had four large
estates and fifty thousand pounds in
money; that among his own people
he stood in the highest rank, and
that he had a mother and many
friends, who loved him.
SThe missionary told,him to think
well of what he was about to do;
"for," said he, "you have riches,
honour, and friends, and live like a
prince. But all you have will be
torn from you if you profess the
Christian faith. Then think of what
is before you."
When God the Holy Spirit en-
lightens the mind and changes the
heart, a man is willing to give up all
for the sake of Christ. To know
and feel the love of Jesus is better
than houses, and land, and gold. I
hear what you say," said the rich


young man, "about my rank, my
property, and my friends; but I put
the whole in one scale, and I put an
interest in Christ in the other, and
t ey are lighter, than vanity."
A few months passed away, and
the honours and riches of this Hin-
doo were gone. His mother and
friends would no longer own him.
The poorest servants who once fell
at his feet, as though he were a
god, now passed him in scorn, and
were they to have seen him dying
would not have given him the small-
est help. He had become a Chris-
tian : he had given up all .for the
sake of the Gospel; and he was
without an earthly portion. That
lie might not eat the bread of-idle-
ness," he hired himself to a mer-
chant as a clerk, with a salary of
fifty pounds a year, and lived happy


in his poverty as became a follower
of Christ.
Now, let us look to. ourselves.
Which of these two young men are
we-like? What are we willing to
give up for Christ? The young
Hindcoo gave up four large estates
and fifty thousand pounds: the young
Jew clung to his riches. It is true,
we are not tried as they were; yet
we are called to give up the ways of
sin, the follies of the world, and the
service of Satan. Christ only re-
quires of us that we should forsake
what is hurtful and sinful, and which
ends in misery. He does not ask
of us anything we truly need; and
He has told us that for all we now
give.up, from love to Him, He will
more than make up to us in riches
of grace," the true riches,"-riches
that are better than wealth.


MARY and Robert Thorne learned
a text every morning, and repeated
it to their mother at breakfast-time.
Then their mother told them a short
story, in the hope of fixing the truth
contained in the text more strongly
on their minds.
One Monday morning the text
was this-" If thy brother trespass
against thee, rebuke him; arnd if he
repent, forgive him. And if he tres-
pass against thee seven times inf a
day, and seven times in a day turn


again to thee, saying, I repent; thou
shalt forgive him (Luke xvii. 3, 4).
This long text was said very cor-
rectly; then Mary Thorne sat on" a
stool, and her brother Robert leaned
against the table, whilst their mother
told them the story of THE Two

Rosedale was one of the prettiest
villages in all the country round.
The squire's mansion aid park, the
winding river and its water-lilies,
the deep wood with its wild flowers,
the white cottages with their climb-
ing roses, and the farmhouses and
daisied meadows, made such a scene
as is not often to be found. But
many a fair spot in this world is
blighted by the-folly and sin of those
who live on it. So it was in my
native village of Rosedale.


The lands of two farmers, about
whom I have now to speak, lay next
to each other. It might have been
hoped that as they were close neigh-
bours they would have been the
best of friends. But it was not so;
and this was seen in many ways.
The cattle of one farmer was allowed
to break into the fields of the other.
Farmer Finch's dog was let loose
to worry Farmer Jones's poultry;
while the pigeons of the latter were
too free with the crop of peas in the
field of the former. Then, too, they
were opposed to each other in parish
matters, and were rivals in the.
country market. In short, they did
all they could to vex and annoy,
and to bring each other into discom-
fort and trouble; and we fear that if
ruin had overtaken one, the other
would have felt a secret delight in
his downfall.


After a time, Farmer Finch was
brought to feel his state as a sinner,
and to look to Jesus Christ for
pardon. How this great change
came to pass I cannot tell, but I
know that no sooner had he found
mercy and peace than he desired
to be reconciled to his neighbour.
After many struggles, he went one
evening, and rapped at the door of
FarmerJones's house, which he had
not entered for two or three years.
Not knowing who it was, Farmer
Jones called on his visitor to enter.
And enter he did, took a seat, and
after a pause he thus began, "Friend,
I feel that I often have done you
great wrong. I have been very
much to blame for the manner in
which. I have treated you, and I have
now just stepped in to own my fault,
and to ask you to forgive me."


Farmer Jones was not a little sur-
prised, but instead of meeting him
with kindness, said very gruffly, I
always knew you were in the wrong,
and I long ago made up my mind
not to be friends with you any more,
nor to forgive you the injury you
have done me."
I am grieved to hear you speak
in this manner," said Farmer Finch,
in a meek tone of voice, "but I
hope that God, for Christ's sake,
has forgiven me. We have both
been moved by a wrong spirit, and
if we do not forgive one another,
how shall we- meet at the judgment-
seat of God, before which we shall
both stand ?"
Farmer Jones sat very uncomfort-
ably in his chair; then he rose up
and walked up and down the room;
but still he seemed very unwilling


to be reconciled. He muttered a
few words about living near bad
neighbours," and that he had "al-
ways been ready to serve a friend; "
he however resisted Farmer Finch's
kind appeals, so that the latter at
length left the house filled with grief
and sorrow.
But the words of Farmer Finch,
so gently spoken, at last softened the
heart of Farmer Jones, though he
could not quite make out what had
brought his neighbour to his house,
" except," as he said, I suppose
it is because he has become a
How strange it is," he went on
to say, "that he should ask me to
forgive him. I never expected that
he would stoop to beg pardon of
me. It is a great thing if his religion
has made him humble; he was proud


enough before. But those words
he so meekly spoke--' We shall
meet before the judgment-seat of
God!' I cannot get them out of my
mind. They sound in my ears as
solemnly as a funeral bell."
A few days passed, and he tried
to turn his mind to other things, but
he could not. One evening, how-
ever, after sitting thoughtfully for
some time, he sprang from his arm-
chair, and, taking his hat, hastened
to the house of his once-hated
As he opened the door, the other
came forth to meet him, and took
him by the hand in the most friendly
manner. I have come to you this
time," said the visitor ; "and though
I fear we have both been in the
wrong, I am here to confess that I
am worse than you. Will you for-
give ve I "


Forgive you!" cried Farmer
Finch, and his voice trembled as
well as his hand; "forgive you! to
be sure I will, with all my heart."
But only to think of the spite I
have shown," said Farmer Jones, as
he drew the cuff of his coat across
his eye, "and the wrong things I
have done towards you. I may well
be ashamed. But you do forgive
me, do you not ?"
A firm grasp of the hand showed
that their enmity was at an end,
and that they were now firm friends.
There was a long talk about what
had passed. Each was ready to
own his faults, and each tried to
show how sincere was his sorrow
for acting so bad a part. Then
kneeling together, they prayed for
God's grace to rest upon their souls,
that, finding pardon for the past


through faith in the Lord Jesus
Christ, they might, knowing how
much they were indebted to mercy,
be taught to show mercy to each
other. And as they closed by re-
peating the Lord's Prayer, they did
not fail strictly to mark these
words-" Forgive us. our sins; for
we also forgive every one that is
indebted to us."

Mrs. Thorne having finished her
story, took up the Bible, and read
to Mary and Robert these texts :-
Rejoice not when thine enemy
falleth, and let not thine heart be
glad when he stumbleth. Say not,
I will do so to him as he hath done
to me : I will render to the man
according to his work" (Proverbs
xxiv. 17, 29).
When ye stand praying, forgive,


if ye have aught against any: that
your Father also which is in heaven
may forgive you your trespasses"
(Mark xi. 25).
Be ye kind one to another,
tender-hearted, forgiving one an-
other, even as God for Christ's sake
hath forgiven you (Eph. iv. 32).

You would have had to go a day's
journey and more to find two friends
so thoroughly unlike as John Spoor
and Peter Kendall; and yet they
were friends as fast as fast could be.
As a rule it will perhaps be found
that if two men are very close friends,
whilst they have a great deal in
common, there are also some things
in which they are widely different;
but the differences between John
Spoor and Peter Kendall were so
marked, that everybody who knew
them wondered at their friendship.


They lived in the same court
when they were lads. All the boys
in the neighbourhood liked Spoor,
and he deserved his popularity, for
a more cheerful, hearty, good-tem-
pered fellow never lived. It did
you good to hear his ringing, merry
laugh; and nobody ever saw him
with a cloud on his brow. He could
"stick up for himself," if it was
necessary, and that was pretty well
understood; but, somehow or other,
he .scarcely ever had to do so. He
had the art of getting on so well
with everybody, that it was the
rarest thing in the world for him
to be brought into anything like a
Peter Kendall was the very re-
verse of all this. He was touchy,"
and far too ready to think himself


"There's no getting on with
him," said one of their companions
" What a way he has," said another
"of sticking his elbows into every-
body's ribs!" He would have been
left out of many a game, and out of
many a fishing and walking party
on a holiday afternoon, but for
Spoor, who, whilst in a quiet way
he remonstrated with him, pleaded
for him with the others. So he was
tolerated for the sake of his friend.
Yet there were some good points
about him. He was thoroughly
kind at heart, and he was truthful
and genuine; and Spoor liked him
on these accounts. He was not
very happy at home, for his mother
was dead; his father had married
again, and his stepmother was not
so kind as she might have been;
and Spoor, who knew all this, was


the more disposed because of it to
show him kindness than he might
otherwise have been. Then, too,
he saw that Kendall looked up to
him, and sought his friendship; and
he found that he could get on very
well with him-better, in fact, than
could anybody else of their set. In
one way Kendall could render some
return; he was a good deal quicker
than Spoor about his lessons, and
many a time he had helped him con-A.,
They went early to work, and
they went to the same place. Their
master was a cabinet-maker, and
they were now, though about six
and thirty years of age, journeymen
in the shop in which they had served
their apprenticeship. In the case
of Kendall, however, there was a
long break; for when he was about



five and twenty, work being some-
what scarce, and other circumstances
having also arisen which made him
think a change would be advan-
tageous, he had soughtand ob tainted
employment in a large town at some
distance; but a year before the time
of which we have now to speak he
had gone back again to Bolton. His
wife, who had not enjoyed very good
health, and who had besides been
__ a good deal tried by the sickness of
"-several of her children, and by the
loss of one of them, wished to be
near her relatives. And Kendall
himself, who had not made many
friends in the place to which they
had gone, was quite willing to re-
turn, and even desirous to do so.
Hearing, therefore, from his friend.
Spoor that there was a vacancy in
his old shop, he wrote to the master,


and was once more at work on the
very bench he had left.
Meanwhile a great change had
taken place in the views and cha-
racter of Spoor. Not that he was
a bit less frank an4 cheerful and
open-hearted than before. He was
just as well liked by his fellow-work-
men in the shop as he had been by
his companions when he was a lad,
and he had a kind word for every-
body. The man was in these re-
spects everything that might have
been expected from the boy. But
the great difference was this-he
had become a true Christian. His
genial nature had exposed him to
some danger, and his company had
been greatly sought by those who
were fond of a Sunday stroll, and
of what they called "a friendly
glass" in the evenings; but one


Sunday he was induced by a fellow-
workman, who saw whither things
were tending, and who was very
anxious to do him good, to go with
him to hear a young minister who
had recently come to the town.
What he heard that night made a
deep impression on his heart, and
he went again and again, till by and
by his place was never vacant. He
had never felt himself to be a sinner
before; but he did so now, and for
a little time he was very serious and
downcast Then it, began to be
whispered in the shop that he was
becoming religious; and some of
his old companions mourned bitterly
that "such a regular good fellow
should be spoiled in that fashion."
But the sunlight soon came back
again to his spirit, and he was
brighter than ever.


"And why should I not be
happy ?" he replied to one of his
fellow-workmen who had ventured
to speak to him on the subject.
" Thank God, I never was so happy
in my life. It is true I was down-
cast for a bit, when I thought what
a sinner I had been; but as soon as
I learned to trust in the Lord
Jesus, and knew that my sins were
pardoned, all that passed away.
Ah, Ned, if you would only try
By -God's blessing he persuaded
his wife--for he was already married
-to try it; and glad he was be-
yond the power of all words to de-
scribe, when she too gave her heart
to the Lord Jesus. It made their
house a very happy one. Indeed,
though they had been really very
comfortable, he sometimes said that


he hardly felt as if it had been
thoroughly home till then.
It was a favourite saying of John's,
"Let us make the best of it." In-
deed, it became so well known as
his, that it was often said, jokingly,
" But, as John Spoor says,' Let us
make the best of it.'"
Sometimes he would enlarge on
this maxim of his, and say, There
are some things so good that we
can hardly see how they could be
better; and there are some things
so bad that we can hardly see any
'best' that can be made out of
them; but things are very bad in-
deed when something can't be done."
Already he had had more oppor-
tunity of putting his principle into
practice than falls to the lot of men
who have as yet scarcely reached
middle life. He had saved a little


money, and put it into the savings
bank. It happens very rarely in-
deed that depositors in savings
banks sustain any loss-never in
those which are established by
government; but it did happen
that the manager of the savings
bank in which John had invested
his money had knavishly applied
the deposits to his own purposes,
and there was every reason to
fear that John's savings were all
"It's a great pity, Nellie," said
he, when he took the news home to
his wife; and, of course, if we had
known we would not have put it in;.
but it's no use crying over spilt milk.
Let us make the best of it. We
are young and healthy, and I have
plenty of work and good wages.
Maybe God did not see it good


for us that we should have so much
Things did not turn out so badly
after all; for some gentlemen, re-
solving that the deserving poor
should not lose their savings, sub-
scribed to make up the deficiency.
But their greatest trial was this:
their second child was taken ill,
and for a long time there seemed
no hope of his recovery. He did
recover; but they noticed that their
medical attendant expressed no glad-
ness about it; and at length he told
them candidly he feared that there
was small prospect for their dear
little one, save that of hopeless
weakness of mind.
It's a sore trial," said John, "one
of the heaviest, I think, that could
have happened to us. However,
we' must make the best of it."


"Ay, that's what you always say,
John," replied his wife; but it's
hard to see what best can be made
out of this."
They acted, however, on John's
maxim. They devoted themselves
with special care to their afflicted
child, got what information they
could as to the best modes of train-
ing him, and they -were rewarded
by finding that the wreck was not
so great as might have been feared.
After a few years they obtained for
him admission into an asylum, and
as the combined result of their own
training and of that which he re-
ceived there, though he never re-
covered his intellect fully, he re-
covered it in so far as to be able
to earn his own livelihood.
Kendall had not improved much
during his absence *f:-m Bolton.


He was a steady man, indeed, and
he never spent his evenings in the
public-house, but he.was very prone
to be discontented and to take
gloomy views of things. He looked
much more at the blackness of the
cloud, when any trouble befell him,
than -at the bright fringe which told
of the silver lining which was on
the other side of it. If he had ever
heard of the old proverb, "Always
take things by the smooth handle,"
he never practised it. Indeed, one
reason which'weighed strongly with
him in returning to Bolton was, that
he had become involved in misun-
derstandings more or less serious
with several of his fellow-workmen
in the place where he was.
"We must try to do what we can
for him," said Spoor to his wife, who,
with a sharp-witted woman's insight,


had soon found out what sort of a
man Kendall was. He always
had a queerish temper; and he has
not improved much whilst he has
been away. But if only the Lord
would change his heart, I believe he
would brighten up wonderfully."
There was an old foreman placed
over the men in the shop, a clever
workman, most kindly devoted to
his master's interests, and wishful
also to do everything that was right
to the men, but resolute, even to a -
fault, in having everything done in
the precise way which he thought
the best. He had, besides, a keen,
biting way of speaking to anyone
who crossed him, which was the
harder to bear because what he said
was said so quietly, and in so few-
words, as almost entirely to prevent
reply. These were both things

under which a man of Kendall's
temper was especially likely to
It so happened that a piece of
work which required more than
usual delicacy and skill was en-
trusted to Kendall by the foreman,
with directions as to the way in
which it should be done. As he
proceeded, he thought that it would
be a great improvement on the
plan which had been laid down if
he made a certain deviation from
it; and instead of mentioning it to
the foreman beforehand, he carried
out his idea without consulting him.
When the work was completed, he
presented it with something like a
feeling of pride, assured that it
would be approved and praised.
Not so, however. It was certainly
an improvement ; but the foreman,


who was both jealous of his authority
and a little old-fashioned in his
notions, looked at the work for a
minute or two, and then said,--
Humph! and so you've been
trying some of your Liverpool
fancies, have you ? Clever, I dare
say; but the rule of this shop is,
that we do things as we are ordered.
I don't think I can pass it."
Kendall coloured; his' counte-
nance fell, and he was just about to
make a reply which would have
broken the peace between himself
and the foreman for ever, when,
glancing aside, he caught a view of
Spoor, who gave him a warning
look, which he rightly interpreted
to mean that he had better be
silent. He had the good sense to
take the hint, and, without saying a
word, he returned to his bench.


I'll tell you what," he said, when
Spoor and he left the shop, I can't
stand old Robinson. It's vexing
enough to be found fault with about
the work, but that sarcastic way of
his is unbearable. He and I will
have a row some day."
And a great deal of good that
will do, Peter. Now, just think a
bit. There's no use quarrelling
with one's bread and butter. He's
queer enough; but it's his nature,
and we must make the best of him.
One will find something to try one's
patience anywhere. You had some
odd tempers at Murdoch's, in Liver-
pool, had you not ?"
After a good deal of talk, Spoor
succeeded in obtaining a promise
from Kendall that he would do his
best to keep his temper with Robin-
son. Perhaps it helped him to do


so, for when the foreman came to
look at the work he had the frank-
ness to confess that after all it was
an improvement on the plan laid
down. "Only," he said, rather
gruffly, "let us know beforehand
when you're going to make any
change; they may not always be

Things went on much as usual for
about a twelvemonth, when one
morning, on going to work, the men
were startled by being told that the
master had died suddenly. He had
left no will, and his property had to
be divided amongst some relatives
who were not on very good terms
with one another. All, therefore,
that could, be done for the present


was to finish what work was in
hand, and to close the shop. The
men, therefore, were thrown out of
employment. It was most likely,
however, that the business would be
disposed of, and then there was
every reason to believe that they
would resume their work.
Kendall was depressed and fret-
ful. He lounged about the house,
doing nothing; and now and then
he strolled out, but he returned
from his strolls in no more cheerful
temper. He had been a fool, he
said, to go back to Bolton. But,
somehow, things were always going
wrong with them. He scarcely
knew why; it was no fault of his.
His wife pointed out, very sen-
sibly, that they could not have
foreseen what had happened; that
such an event might have occurred


to any master; and that they were
neither on the parish nor running
into debt. It was not very pleasant
to encroach on their savings; but
they had no alternative, and they
might be thankful they had them to
fly to.
All this was undeniable: still
Kendall's discontent remained. v
"Just walk down to Spoor's,"
said Mrs. Kendall, and see if he
has heard anything."
She knew that if anybody could
cheer her husband up it was Spoor.
I think I will," said Kendall.
So, rising, he put on his hat and
went out.
As he 'drew near to his friend's
house, he heard his voice singing
cheerfully, and with as much vigour
as a man at his work could put into
his song-


" Then let our songs abound,
And every tear be dry;
We're marching through Immanuel's ground
To fairer worlds on high."
He knocked, opened the door,
and walked in. There was Spoor,
with his sleeves rolled up and
hammer in hand, hard at work;
whilst in 'a corner was one of the
younger children, rendering what he
thought very valuable help.
Spoor's cheerfulness was infec-
tious, and Kendall felt that it in
some degree brightened his own
Busy, seemingly," said Kendall.
Oh, ay," replied Spoor. It's
a bad job to be out of work, but one
may as well make the best of it.
Better work for nothing than be
idle for nothing. Missis has long.
been wanting me to make her a


little chest of drawers and a table,
and to mend up some broken things;
but we've been so busy for a long
while that I never seemed as though
I could find time. I dare say she
thinks it not such a bad thing that
I'm out of work a bit. It won't pay
to work long for her," glancing, as
he said this, very significantly at
his wife; "but when this is done,
maybe I shall find a job that will
pay better."
Kendall sat and talked awhile;
but he felt that Spoor's cheerful
activity at once quickened and re-
proved him, and rising, he went
home, and to his wife's great sur-
prise set vigorously to work on
something which she had long
wanted to have done, but longed
in vain. The house was a hundred-
fold happier.


Ere long the shop was reopened,
and Spoor and Kendall both found
employment again. Robinson, who
had saved a little money, after a
time gave up work, and Spoor be-
came the foreman in his stead.
Time rolled on. Spoor had per-
suaded Kendall to go with him
regularly to the place of worship
which he attended, and he had
reason to think that he felt deeply
sometimes; but as yet there was no
decided change. Something else
seemed needful, and by and by it
Kendall, never very strong,
caught, one winter, a severe cold;
and at the same time, aggravated
by that, an old complaint returned
which rendered needful long rest
and very careful treatment. From
what has been seen of him, no one


will be surprised to hear that he
was, especially at first, sadly down-
cast. Indeed, in his depression, he
sometimes thought he would never
be able to work any more, and he
indulged some hard and rebellious
thoughts against God.
Now, my man," said Spoor, as
once, when he had looked in upon
him, Kendall spoke very gloomily,
and turned his face away that his
friend might not see his quivering
lip and the tear that stood in the
corner of his eye-" now, my man,
this kind of thing will never do.
Keep up your heart, and--"
"Yes, I know," said the poor '
man, with a rueful sort of smile,
"and make the best of it. Soon
said, John; but-it's rather a dark
look-out, and I can't see much hope
of anything brighter."


Don't talk that way, Peter,"
replied his friend; "think of your
mercies. How much worse things
might have been You have every
reason to hope jhat, with care, you
will come round again, and be able
to do your work as well as ever;
and it shall lack no effort of mine
to keep your bench for you. Then
you've your club money, and you've
something in the savings bank ; and
if all comes to all, and you need
further help, well, we'll try to help
It's very good of you," replied
the afflicted man, "and I dare say
I do sometimes get flatter than I
"No doubt," replied Spoor. But,
Peter, there's a better thing now to
be done than to look at the brightest
side so far as health and the things


of this life are concerned. Don't
you think God is dealing with you
in this -trial to bring you to trust
and love Him ? You have heard a
great deal about Him, and I know
you have felt what you have heard ;
but have you believed with your
whole heart in the Lord Jesus
Christ, and found His salvation ?"
"I hardly think I have, John,"
he replied.
"Then take my word for it,
Peter, you'll make the very best of
this trouble of yours, if you see
God's hand in it, and hear God's
voice in it, calling you to repent of
all your sins, and to believe in
Jesus. I am certain, if you do that,
you will say ever after that the best
thing that ever happened to you was
that you were laid aside in this way
from your work, and shut up in


your sick-chamber to read your
Bible and pray."
Many other conversations fol-
lowed on the subject. Spoor asked
their minister to go and see Kendall,
and lent him books likely to interest
him, and especially to point out to
him clearly the way of life. The
issue of all was, that through God's
Holy Spirit and blessing Kendall
left his sick-chamber an altered
man-in one word, a sincere be-
liever in christ.
The influence of his new-found
faith was seen in his altered views
of life. He will never be the
hearty, cheerful man that Spoor is.
That is scarcely in his nature. But
since he learned to call God his
Father, and to trust Him, and to
believe that all things happen to
him as the Lord wills, he finds


that he can pass by many things
very lightly which once would have
troubled him -greatly. He is alto-
gether a happier man, and all about
him are happier too.
One thing he has learned about
his friend Spoor. He thought that
his constant cheerfulness was alto-
gether natural; he now sees that,
though in part it is so, it springs,
far more from his faith in God.


T'it dog is a faithful creature. If
everybody knew his good qualities,
everybody, we think, would be kind
to him. He delights in our com-
pany, and always tries to do his best
to please us. He obeys our voice,
follows us in our walks, guards our
homes, and often has saved the life
of his master.
See how he frisks about us to show
his joy, and licks our hand when we
feed him. He comes jumping at
our call, and spreading out his paws,


he looks up in our face, and seems
to say, Well, here I am ; what do
you want with me ? If there is any-
thing I can do for you, I will do it
in a minute."
Some men and boys teach dogs to
fight one another, or to worry the
chickens and the cat, or to bark and
fly-at people as they pass along the
road, and in this way to spoil the
temper of the animals. Such con-
duct is cruel and sinful.
There have been many accounts
written of the good service of the
dog; and we will add another. The
more we hear to his credit, the more
shall we value him, and we shall be
the less likely to use him ill.
The story we are now going to
give is about a boy whom we will
call Harry Hardheart.
Harry's father is a poor man, and


sells turf, wood, and other things in
the streets. He keeps a donkey, to
draw his little cart in which the
goods are carried. This poor animal
leads a sad life : it works hard, is
badly fed, and has plenty of kicks
and blows.
But it is about the way in which
the dog Driver was treated that we
are now to tell you. A large brown
and white dog is Driver; he has fine
long ears and a noble bushy-tail.
He is kept to guard the cart by day,
and to watch the shed where the
wood and turf are placed at night.
When Harry was about fourteen
years old he was a rough and rude
boy. He had never been kept at
school long together; and as he was
left to do as he pleased, he was
known in the street where he lived
as a dirty and ignorant little fellow.


His companions were boys as bad
as himself, who were always getting
him into trouble and disgrace.
It was so that the dog Driver was
the innocent means of leading
Harry's father to find him out in
some of his sly tricks, and for which
he was well punished. Harry was
very angry, and afterwards showed
his spite against the dog. Poor
Driver was not to blame; but it was
the wicked heart of the boy that led
him to show anger and revenge.
A river runs near the cottage of
Harry's father, and the dog often
went there to wash himself. One
day as he lay on the bank, drying
his shaggy coat in the bright sun-
shine, Harry came to the same place.
Driver sprang towards his young
master, wagging his tail with delight,
and began to romp around him.


Instead of treating him kindly, the
cruel thought came into Harry's
mind, that if he were to drown
Driver he should not be found out
again in his wicked doings. So
coaxing the dog into his arms, he
managed to tie his fore-legs, and
then, we are sorry to say, threw him
into the deep part of the stream.
Driver sank, but in a moment
came to the surface. As he struggled
hard, the string that bound him
slipped off, and gaining the full use
of his legs, he was soon on the shore.
It seemed as if he knew and felt the
cruel conduct of Harry, for he did
not run to him again; but making
the best of his way home, he got into
the shed, and, panting for breath,
lay down quietly on sbme straw in
a corner.
A few. days passed away, and


Harry was again at his mischief.
There is a place on the river called
the Ferry. Here is kept a boat,
which belongs to a man who gains a
living by rowing people across the
water. One evening, Harry, with
one of his bad companions named
Ned Jones, crept down to the spot,
and getting into the boat, they pushed
into the middle of the stream. The
current was strong, and they did not
know how to manage the boat. In
vain they tried to row; they soon
found themselves drifting along to-
wards a part of the river, which is
said to be very deep and dangerous.
They were now sadly alarmed;
each of the boys thought that he
knew best how to take the boat to
the shore, and struggled to have his
own way. In the scuffle the boat
tilted on one side, and then upset,


casting the boys into the water. Ned
Jones could swim, and got safely to
the shore. He, however, did not
think about or care for Harry, but
ran home, leaving him in the midst
of the stream, which bore him rapidly
along. Harry held up his hands,
and screamed for help; but there
was, at that moment, no person near
that part of the river.
Was there no one to save the
wicked drowning boy ? Must he be
cut off in his sins ? Yes, there was
help at hand. Who was the de-
liverer ? It was Driver. He had
heard Harry's cries, and rushing to
the spot, plunged into the river. It
was as if he knew all about it; for,
in an instant, he caught the collar of
Harry's coat, and with a few strong
pulls he brought the boy out of the
strength of the current, to the side


where the waters were shallow and
still. Harry now caught hold of the
branch of a tree .that hung over the
stream, and with the help of Driver
crawled to land. Thus was he saved
from drowning by the dog whose
life, only a few days before, he had
tried to take away.
By the time the bad boy had got
home, his aunt, who lived near his
father's cottage, heard of what had
taken place, and also about his cruel
conduct to Driver. As she had been
like a mother to him (for his own
mother was dead), she hurried at
once to the house. She was a wise,
pious woman, and had often told
him of his evil conduct, and tried to
lead him to the love of what was
right and good. You may be sure
she did so at this time.
Harry," said she, as she sat by


his bedside, "I am sorry to hear
what you have been doing. You see
what has come of your bad and cruel
ways. I do love to see young people
kind to animals, for where they are
not so, it shows that they are either
very unfeeling or very thoughtless.
God has given us power over them,
but we ought to use our power for
their good, and not to their injury.
The man or child who is cruel sinks
lower than the brute. He casts
away the reason God has given him,
and wickedly stirs up the passions of
the animals he should rule and guide
in kindness and love. He who gave
you feeling, gave it to dogs also;
and as you would not like to be
made to suffer, you should not in-
flict pain upon others. You may be
sure that the great Creator is angry
with us when we cause pain to the


creatures He has made. It is
written, 'He shall have judgment
without mercy, that hath showed no
mercy.'* I think, Harry, you have
learned a lesson to-day that you
should never forget. Driver has
taught you how to return good for
evil. In your anger you would
have drowned the poor faithful dog;
he has in return saved your life."
I am very sorry, aunt," said
Harry. I hope God will forgive
Yes, I hope He will; for He is a
merciful God. You might have been
cut off in your sins, but in His pity
He sent Driver to snatch you from
death. You must.seek for pardon
for the sake of Christ, for it is His
precious blood that cleanses us from
sin. I have often told you how He
James ii. 13,


lived in this world, and how He died
on the.cross for sinners. If you be-
lieve in Him with all your heart, and
seek the grace of His Holy Spirit,
then I shall see you a pious and kind
boy. Having found mercy yourself
your conduct will be merciful and
loving to all."
That is all we have to tell about
Harry just now. Let us hope that
he will become all that his kind
aunt wished him to be.



HAVE you any little sisters or
brothers ? Do you love -them ?
Then take care never to speak an
unkind word to them. If you should
do so, you may be sorry for it when
they are laid in the grave, as you
may learn from a little story we will
now tell you.
Ellen and Jane were sisters.
They lived in a nice house which
had a long garden to it, like those
of other houses near.
Ellen was ten years old, and Jane
five. Ellen loved Jane, and in most
things set her a good example. The


eldest child in a family should be a
pattern to all the rest.
Ellen was a busy little girl, and
tried to help her mother in many
ways. There were little things she
could do which saved her mother's
time. She could use her needle
very nicely, and could be trusted to
go to the shops. She used to rock
her baby-brother to sleep in the
cradle, and nurse and kiss him when
he cried. Then she could read and
write, and learn her lessons qujte
well. Some people said she was a
clever little girl.
We think Ellen wished to be a
good and kind girl; but she had one
fault. She often spoke in a hasty
way, and used words that were not
kind or proper. Her mother had
often spoken to her about this bad
habit; but she was no better for all
that was said to her.


One day Ellen went to play in
the garden by herself. Her sister
Jane was ill, and was lying on a
pillow in the front room. As Ellen
was at play, a lady in the next
garden gave her a large rosy apple.
She ran with it into the house,
and with much joy called out,
" Look, Jane, what a nice red apple
I have got! Did you ever see such
a fine one ?"
Jane turned slowly on her pillow,
and held out her little hands, and
said, Please let me have it, Ellen.
My lips are so dry, I should so like
a bit of it."
Now Ellen knew that her little
sister was too ill to go into the
garden to get an apple from the
lady. She might have given her
the one she had, with a loving smile.
But she spoke in haste. In a sharp


way she made this 'unkind reply:
" No, I want it myself. I will keep
it till my cousins come to play with
me." As soon as she had said these
words, she felt as if she had spoken
what was unkind. But still she kept
the apple to herself.
Little Jane turned with a sad look
away, and tears fell fast on the
That night the poor child was
much worse. Her mother sat by
the side of her bed till daylight the
next day. When the doctor came,
it was soon found that Jane was so
ill that she would not live long.
As she lay on her bed, she was
so gentle and meek that every one
who saw her could not but love her.
She often put her little hands up,
and prayed to God. "I do love
Jesus," she said to her mother.


"Oh, I like to think about those
kind words,' Suffer the little children
to come unto Me;' and 'I love
them that love Me, and those that
seek Me early shall find Me.'"
Her mother knelt by her bedside,
and cried to God to spare her child;
but if it were His will that she
should die, that Jesus, the kind
Shepherd, would take the dear lamb
to heaven.
When Ellen saw the pale face of,
Jane, she was very sad., How glad
she wouldthen have been to have
given h r the apple, but it was too
late. Jane could not then eat any
of it, nor would it have been good
for her.
The next day Jane was not able
to speak, or see, or hear. Her eyes
were quite closed, and in a 'few
hours she died.


How did Ellen feel now ? Oh,"
she said, if dear Jane could come
back-to life, I would never speak an
unkind word to her again. I would
never refuse her anything." Then
she kissed the cold face, and sobbed
aloud. "Oh! if I only knew that
she forgave- me. Oh dear Jane, I
know you did love me, but I have
been very unkind."
Ellen's mother heard her words,
and saw her tears. She called her
to come to her, when she said,
" My dear child, you now find what
sorrow we bring on our hearts when
we do not speak or act kindly. I
am glad to see you weep, as it
makes me hope that you are sorry
for what you did."
Oh! mother," said Ellen, I
wish I could tell dear Jane how
sorry I am for my unkind words."


That cannot be," said her
mother. "She will not return to
us, but we shall go to her. May
you from this time learn to speak
only words of truth and love. Pray
to God to give you the Holy Spirit,
that you may be like Jesus, who was
'meek and lowly in heart.' And as
you say you are sorry for what you
have said and done, may you through
faith in Him find mercy."
Ellen lived to be an old woman,
but she often thought of her little
sister and the apple, and of the
lesson she was once taught, to be
kind and gentle to all.


Do you know what faith in Jesus
Christ means ? It is to trust in
Him with all our hearts. It is to
give our souls to Him to be saved,
because there is no one else who
can save us. A little story will
help to make this plain to you.
A family lived in a house which
stood near to a wood. On a dark
night they went to bed. The wind
blew among the tall trees, and large
black clouds passed over the full
moon. While all were asleep a fire
broke out in one of the rooms of


the house. The father soon heard
the loud cry of "Fire!" At first
he did not know what it meant;
but the cry was louder and louder.
And soon there were many people,
who cried, Your house is on fire,
get up, and come down." Then
they knocked hard at the door.
The father now sprang from his
bed, and great was his alarm when
he found his own house in flames.,,
He ran again to his room and
awoke his wife. Then he took the
babe, and they got out at the back-
door. His eldest little boy, about
ten years old, was in another part of
the house, near to the room where
the maid slept.
The father cried, Oh, what shall
I do to save my poor boy?" He
did not care about his goods; his
dear son was all he thought about.


He made his way to that part
of the house, and met the maid
flying from the flames. "Where is
Charles?" cried the father. He
is in his room," said the girl. In
her alarm she had come away and
forgotten to bring the child with
her. And now the stairs were in
The wind blew on the fire, and
made it burn wildly. The doors
and the roof were all red and burn-
ing. In a short time poor Charles
was seen at one of the windows.
" Oh, father, dear father!" he cried,
"how shall I get out ?" He could
be seen by the fire in the room, but
the thick black smoke kept him
from seeing the people below. But
he heard their voices, and he cried,
"Oh, save me!"
Here I am, my son," said the


father, and he held out his arms for
Charles to jump into them. Here
I am; don't fear. Drop down and
I will be sure to catch you."
Charles crept out of the window,
but hung fast by it. He knew it
was very high from the ground, and
he was afraid to let go.
Drop down, my dear boy," cried
the father.
"Oh, I can't see you, my dear,
dear father!"
"But I am here. You can trust
me; I will save you."
"I am afraid, father, I shall fall."
"Let go, and don't fear," cried the
people; "your father will be sure to
catch you."
And now Charles felt the flames.
He was certain that if he hung
there he should be burnt. He
knew that his father was strong,


that he loved him, and that he was
waiting to save him. Then he
drew in his breath, let go his hold,
and in a moment he was in his
father's arms. Charles was saved
from the fire, and there was great
joy among all the people who saw
the sight.
As you read this true story, did
you not see how great was the dan-
ger of little Charles ? There was
only one way for him to be saved
from the fire. He could not see
his father, but he heard his voice.
He knew that his father loved him,
and wished to save him. Then he
felt quite sure that his father would
save him. So he fell into his arms
and, was saved.
Do you not know that every child
is in danger of being lost for ever ?
It is the loss of both soul and body.


And why ? Sin has brought us into
danger. How glad we should be
that there is a way made known to
us in the Bible in which we can be
saved Jesus saw our sad state and
He "came into the world to seek
and to save that which was lost."
And to save us He died on the
cross. But now He is in heaven.
Though we cannot see Him He
sees us. And in His holy Word He
says that He is able and willing to
save all who go to Him by faith.
It is as if His arms were wide open,
as the arms of the father were when
Charles fell into them. He tells us
to come to Him and be happy. He
waits to save us. He speaks to you
now: will you not hear His voice,
and trust and love Him ?
A little girl was once asked why
she loved the Bible. She said,


"Because it tells me that Jesus
Christ died to save sinners."
But what makes you think that
He will save you ?"
The little girl then said: Be-
cause Jesus Christ took children in
His arms and blessed them, and
said, 'Suffer little children and for-
bid them not, to come unto Me; for
of such is the kingdom of heaven.'"
Was not this girl quite right?


IN the village of Bethany, about
two miles from Jerusalem, dwelt
a family which Jesus loved. One
day, when he paid them a visit,
one of them, Mary, sat at His feet,
and listened to His words, while
her sister, Martha, was very busy
about house matters, and in pro-
viding a suitable repast for their
visitor; and because Mary did not
show the same anxiety, she came to
Christ, and said, "Lord, dost not
Thou care that my sister hath left
me to serve alone ? bid her there-


fore that she help me." "And very
right, too-why should she do all
the work?" perhaps some of you
may think. But pause a moment;
hear the reply Jesus made to her
request: Martha, Martha, thou
art careful and troubled about many
things; but one thing is needful;
and Mary hath chosen that good
part which shall not be taken away
from her."
"One thing." What can that
be ? Is it riches-? People do not
become better, wiser, or happier
for being rich. In fact, the reverse
is often the case. "The abund-
ance of riches will not suffer their
possessor to sleep, and he that in-
creaseth goods increaseth sorrow."
Is it honour ? Great names and
titles do not confer wisdom or hap-
piness. "Better be a poor and


wise child, than an old and foolish
Is it sinful pleasure ? No; He
that loveth such pleasure shall be a
poor man." Solomon tried it, and
he found it vanity and vexation of
The "one thing needful" is true
piety. But why' is it called the
one thing? Because it is of the
first importance. It is the duty of
everybody to seek first the king-
dom of God, and His righteousness."
Though we possess everything be-
sides, we cannot be happy without
religion. True religion is the only
thing which will prepare us for
death and judgment. Godliness
is profitable unto all things, having
promise of the life that now is, and
of that which is to come."
The proper place for every child


is to sit at the feet of Jesus. In the
East, scholars sit at the feet of their
tutors. When, therefore, we say
that you should sit at the feet of
Christ, we mean that you should be
His disciples or scholars. He in-
vites you to come to Him. You
should come to Him as your
Teacher. Learn-of Me," says He,
for I am meek and lowly in heart."
He is meek, and pities the ignorant;
He is lowly, and stoops to the
meanest -capacities.- What He
'teaches, all may understand. A
good man has said, "So long as
you look after other things besides
Christ, you lose Him."




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