Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 A flower from a London court
 The first Sunday
 Harry Hudson's pupil
 The new frock
 Be cheerful
 The rough house
 Honest Jamie
 Back Cover

Group Title: flower from a London court and other school stories
Title: A Flower from a London court and other school stories
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00028169/00001
 Material Information
Title: A Flower from a London court and other school stories
Physical Description: 96, 16 p., 1 leaf of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Religious Tract Society (Great Britain) ( Publisher )
Gresham Press ( Printer )
Unwin Brothers (Firm) ( Printer )
Publisher: Religious Tract Society
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Gresham Press
Unwin Brothers
Publication Date: 1875
Copyright Date: 1875
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Students -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1875   ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1875   ( rbgenr )
Hand-colored illustrations -- 1875   ( local )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1875   ( rbprov )
Bldn -- 1875
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
Hand-colored illustrations   ( local )
Prize books (Provenance)   ( rbprov )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
England -- Chilworth
General Note: Date of publication from inscription.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
General Note: Publisher's catalogue follows text.
General Note: Baldwin Library copy illustrations are hand-colored: probably by young owner.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00028169
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: notis - ALH0129
oclc - 60654479
alephbibnum - 002229794

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 3
        Page 4
    A flower from a London court
        Page 5
        Page 6
        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
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
    The first Sunday
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
    Harry Hudson's pupil
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    The new frock
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
    Be cheerful
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
    The rough house
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
    Honest Jamie
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
    Back Cover
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
Full Text

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SCHOOL .......................................... 44

HARRY HUDSON'S PUPIL .............................. 53

THE NEW FROCK ...................................... 65

BE CHEERFUL ........................................ 73

THE ROUGH HOUSE ................................... 82

HONEST JAMIE ....................................... 91


C 1




a strange title some say.
Well, you like stories, do you
not ? I never yet knew a young person
who did not.
SBut if you read this little book, it will
tell you two stories instead of one.
There will be first THE STORY," and
then there will be the "STORY ABOUT


First of all we must tell you "THE
STORY."' It was many years ago since
I first heard it, and I have never since
seen it printed in a book, so I do not
think you can have heard or read it

The children of a large Sunday-
school had a teacher, who loved them
very'much; they loved him too-and
no wonder; he was always doing some
kind thing for one and another; and
oh, how he laboured and prayed that
"they might grow up to be holy children !
But, at last, this kind teacher made
up his mind to leave the children, and
-go thousands of miles away from them.
Do you think it was because he was
tired of them, or had left off loving
them ? Oh no; he 'loved them, if
possible, more than ever; but he had
read of other children, and men and
women, too, in distant lands, who had
never heard of the holy Lord God, or of



the loving Saviour, and the true way to
This pious man knew that if he left
his dear scholars in England, somebody
else would teach and care for them;
but that it would be very hard to find
any one to go to that far-off country to
tell of Jesus to the poor heathen. So
he said that he would go to teach them,
and be a missionary to them. That was
why he left the English children. They
were truly sorry when they heard that
he was going, and that, perhaps, they
should never see, him again.
At last the day came that he must
say good-bye to them-the last Sun lay
he should pass in England. At the
close of the afternoon school, he stood
up to give them his last address. The
children were placed in their classes,
all down the room, while in front, just
under the desk, was a long form filled
with the very little ones, who had been
brought in from the infant-school to

. '-~~e.rt fx


have one last look at Mr. J-, and to
hear his last words.
He spoke first to the elder children.
We do hot quite remember all that he
said to them, but he told them why
he. was leaving them, and how he
should never forget them, but would
daily pray to God for them, and ask
them to pray for him. And then he
told them once more, for the last time,
what he had so often spoken to them
before-of the love of God, their Father,
and of Jesus Christ, their Saviour; and
would beg-of them to give their young
hearts to Him who had loved them, and
to pray that God would give them His
Holy Spirit, to teach them, and to make
them holy; that so at last they might
all meet in the glorious home above.
When he had finished speaking to
the elder children, he turned to the
little ones, sitting in front, and said to
them, Well, my dear little ones, now
I want to say some words that even you

can understand 'and remember. You
will not forget me when I am gone, will
you ?"
No, sir, no!" the children cried.
"I thought you would not. Then
you will remember me sometimes ?"
Oh yes, sir! the children cried
"Well, whenever you remember me,
I want you to think of my last words to
you; they shall be so short, and so easy,
that they will suit even the very least."
As he said this he stooped down, and
took the two youngest children in the
class-little Ellen and little Mary-and
just lifted them, one on each knee.
" Now," he went on, even little Ellen
and Mary will be able to understand
and remember these four little words-
"Will Ellen say them?" Then Ellen
said them.
Now little Mary say them." And
Mary said them.

Now all the little ones in the class
say them together after me."
The children all repeated, JESUS
When they had done so, Mr. J-
said, When I am gone away, if you
remember nothing else that I have ever
taught you, do not forget these words.
Remember it np'.. while you are young,
and when you are grown up to be men
and women, still remember it-JESUS
LOVES YOU; loves you so much that He
came from heaven to die for you; to
die in your stead, that so you may be
forgiven, and go to live with Him in 'the
happy land.' Yes, JESUS LOVES LITTLE
CHILDREN. Will not the little children
love Jesus, and try to serve and please
Him ? And now good-bye, dear little
ones. What are the four words you
are going to remember? Say them
once more, and then I shall hope that
you will not forget them."
All the children once more cried


out together, "JESUS LOVES LITTLE
Then Mr. J- knelt down, and all
in the school knelt down too, and he
prayed that God would bless them, and
make them all His own obedient chil-
dren, and make them very happy and
useful in this world, and take them,
when they died, to heaven.
After this he went round to each class,
and shook hands with each child and
teacher, and said, Good-bye." Then
the bell rang, and the children went
out, one class at a time.
When the infant-class went out, some
began to talk and chatter to each other,
and some went skipping and running
along homewards. But little Ellen
(one of the little children whom the
missionary had taken upon his. knee)
walked very quietly, as if her young
mind was busy with thinking. When
she got home, her mother was arranging
the table for tea. Little Ellen sat

down on the wooden stool by the fire-
place, and was quite still for a long
time, looking into the fire. Soon her
mother missed her little tongue, that
usually had so much to say whenever
she came home, and she said, "Why,
Nelly, what are you thinking about ?-
you are so quiet."
"I am thinking about what teacher
has been saying this afternoon, mother,"
little Ellen answered. He has been
saying 'good-bye' to us all. He is
going to say 'good-bye' to the grown-
up people in the church this evening;
but he said 'good-bye' to us in the
school this afternoon; and oh! he did
talk so nice!"
Do you remember what he said ?"
her mother asked.
Oh yes, that I do, mother; for do
you know he took me and Mary on his
knees, and he spoke to us, and made us
say the words after him."
"What words, Nelly?"

"Oh, four little words, that he told
us always to remember when we think
of him. I am sure I shall think of him,
mother, and I won't forget the four
little words."
Then Ellen said, slowly and solemnly,
counting the words on her fingers as
she repeated them, "These are the
four words, mother: 'JESUS LOVES
LITTLE CHILDREN.' And he told us all
about Jesus loving us, and dying for us."
Soon Ellen's father and the other
children came in to tea; after which
.the little ones were put to bed, while
their father and mother went to hear
Mr. J-- "say 'good-bye' to the
grown-up people." But the mother
remembered her child's words after-
wards, for that was the last Sunday
little Ellen spent on earth. Before the
next Sunday, Jesus, who loves little
children, had taken the dear girl, who
wanted to love Him, to be with Him for

We will tell you about it.
On Tuesday morning little Ellen had
a bad headache, and felt very sick.
Her mother said that, perhaps, she had
better stop at home, but Ellen begged
so hard to go to school, that her mother
let her go. However, in the afternoon,
one of the elder girls brought her home,
saying that the mistress thought she
was going to be very ill, and had better
go to Led.
The poor little one had a very bad
-sore throat, and was hot and feverish,
and ached all over. In the evening
she was worse, and her mother sent
for the doctor. When he came, and
had looked at her, he said that she
had scarlet-fever, and that she was very
ill, for it was a bad kind of scarlet-
The next day she was worse, and in
a day or two they saw that she must
die. We do not know whether little
Ellen was told that she would never get


any better, or whether she overheard
what the doctor said, or whether she
felt in herself that she was dying, but
she seemed to know it quite well.
Soon she said to her mother, Mother,
I should like to see my teacher
before I die." She meant the lady
who used to teach the infant-class on
The poor mother sent a messenger to
the lady, to ask her to come at once,
for her little scholar was dying. The
teacher did not wait, but went directly,
for she loved her little Ellen very
When she reached the cottage she
knocked, but there was no answer, so
she opened the door very quietly, and
went into the kitchen. Nobody was
there; then she began to go gently up
the stairs. She stopped when she was
half-way up, for she heard little Ellen's
voice, and did not wish to interrupt
what she was saying.


The doer of the room was open, and
she could see the bed, with the dying
child upon it. The father was standing
at the foot of the bed, looking very sad.
Poor man He had just been brought
from his work to see his child die. And
there was the poor mother bending over
her, sobbing as if her heart would break.
"Mother! don't cry, mother the
teacher heard Ellen say. "Mother!
you ought not to cry for me, for I am
going to heaven, and that is better than
staying here."
The teacher now came up into the
room, and Ellen saw her. A bright
smile came over her little wasted face
as she said, "Oh, teacher, I am so glad
yotu are come. I wanted to say' good-
bye' to you. I am going to die, teacher,
" but I am very happy, because I am
going to heaven."
"But how does my little Ellen
know quite surely that she is going to
heaven?" the teacher asked. "Only


holy children go to heaven; has my
little girl been always quite good ?"
Oh no, teacher. I know I have
often been very naughty; but Jesus
Christ died for me, and I know He has
forgiven me, because I have asked Him.
And, oh teacher, don't you remember
what Mr. J- said last Sunday, that
I know He loves me."
These were almost the last words
little Ellen spoke. For a few minutes
she lay quite still, and then there came
a long breath, and then another, and
then no more. A change passed over
the little face, and the hands fell life-
less on the bed. Ellen was dead. Her
soul had gone to be with Jesus, who
loves little children. Happy little Ellen!

There, my young readers, that is
"The Story" that I promised you;
and now I will tell you the ".Story
about a Story."


think it is about a rose, or a violet,
or some other flower, that grew in a
London court?. Many poor people in
dingy London streets often take great
pains to make flowers grow in pots in
the windows; but they are not the
sort of flowers I mean.
Have you ever heard father, when he
has baby-sister on his knee, call her his
"little rosebud ? and mother, when
she has her little ones all about her,
does she not sometimes call you her
"sweet flowers?" Just so, God's children
are often called His plants, His flowers
-flowers that He lets grow in this world,
and then moves them to bloo.: for ever
in the brighter world above.
If the children who love God are
His flowers, do you not think that
the Sunday-schools and Infant-schools,
where those children are taught about


God, are just like gardens, where the
tender plants are watered and tended ?
Our school here is one of Jesus Christ's
gardens. Is not that a pleasant thought?
And theteachers whom He sends to teach
you are like H'is under-gardeners, sent
to take care of His. flowers. Ah! but
children, who in this class are His
flowers, or who are only weeds ?
Now listen. Harry, are you a flower,
one of Jesus Christ's own dear children,
who always try to please Him ? or are
you only a worthless weed, that will
one day be rooted up, and thrown
away? And Mary-little Mary-are
you really flower, or only just a useless
plant, with nothing but leaves, and no
bright blossoms, that Jesus will never
transplant to his beautiful garden
Ah! I don't know, but Jesus does.
Now you can guess the kind of flower
I aip going to tell you about, can you
not ? It is about a dear little girl, almost

a baby, who lived in a dark, wretched
court in London.
First, I must tell you about the garden
where a little flower grew-the school
in which a little girl,. named Emma,
was taught about Jesus. It was what
is called a Ragged-school, where poor,
ragged children, who cannot go to a
better school, are taught. Poor little
things they would be ashamed to go
to a school like yours, where the chil-
dren are all clean and tidy, and, besides,
no clean child could bear to sit near one
of them.
Oh, such poor little, sharp-faced,
bare-footed, rough-headed, ragged crea-
tures, some of the children in our school
were I remember one little boy who,
for a long time, had no other clothing
than a lady's worn-out winter mantle,
with holes cut in it for his arms to go
through, and tied round his waist with
a bit of string. I think I have his
picture before me while I am writing.

His sister is standing by his side, with
no shoes or stockings on, and her frock
hangs in such tatters, I wonder how
she keeps it on.
But all the children were not quite so
ragged as these. We had a few whose
mothers really did try to keep them
clean and tidy, but yet were obliged to
send them to the Ragged-school, because
they were too poor to pay for their
schooling anywhere else.
One of our most tidy and regular
children was a little boy, six or seven
years old, named George. He, andoa
girl of about twelve, were generally at
school ten minutes or a quarter of an
hour before the others came. While
Jane was with the teacher who took all
the elder children, little George and I
used to have very pleasant talk together,
before the rest came. One morning-it
was such a cold, dull morning in No-
vember-George was not there. Ten
o'clock came, and school began, still

George did not come. I began to think
he must be ill, for he had never been
late before. At last I heard a heavy
kick, kick at the door. We were
obliged to keep the door locked, because
the great, rude, street boys would some-
times come in and make a riot, or throw
stones in, to frighten us.
I knew it must be George who was
kicking at the door, for no other boy
had such strong nailed boots as he;
most of our children had none at all.
Still, I had never heard George kick
quite in that way before.
I opened the door, but did not see
his face, only his little black cap;. he
had his back to the door, and did not
turn round, but pushed in backwards
through the opening, pulling what looked
like a red bundle up the steps. When
he and his bundle were safely in the
room, he looked up, and said, "Teacher,
we've got a new baby at home, and
mother is going to stop in bed all day,

and she can't mind little Emma too.
So I have brought her to school. This
is little Emma, teacher;" and he pushed
his red bundle towards me.
When I looked at "little Emma," I
saw that she was a very tiny girl, with
fair hair, and large, blue eyes, dressed
in a faded red frock and tippet. I found
afterwards she must have been more
than two years old, but she did not look
more than a year and a half; indeed, I
have seen some babies only a year old,
quite as big as little Emma.
At first I thought we could never keep
such a very tiny one good and happy all
Sthe morning without hindering the other
children, and told George so. But he
begged so hard that she might stay, "at
least till she cried," that at last I said
she might, just for that one day.
However, I soon found that instead
of being a hindrance to us, little Emma
was rather a help. She was quite still

and good, till she went to sleep, and
then, when her little head was laid on
George's lap, he was afraid to move
about and scuffle his feet, as he too
often did, for fear of waking his little
George had never been so still before.
I think that was the first morning I had
not half wished George's feet were as
bare as those of many of his fellow-
scholars, because of the noise his shoes
used to make. It was the same in the
afternoon; so that when they were going
home, George asked if he might bring
little Emma next Sunday. I told him
she might always come so long as they
were both as good as they had been that
And so little Emma began to come to
school. She came all through that
winter. Dear little thing! she used to
sit so still and good on the low form,
looking up in my face while I was talk-
ing to the other children, and seeming

to listen, though I never thought she
could really understand. While the
others were repeating the prayers that
they were learning to say to God morn-
ing and evening, I used- to see little
Emma's lips moving, but thought she
was only imitating the others. I did
not know she could talk; it was the
same while they were learning the texts
and hymns.
Often, when she and George were at
school early, before the rest came, I
used to take her on my knee, and talk
to her in baby words. She would look
up, and smile, and nod her little head,
but she never spoke: that made me
think she could not talk.
And so the winter passed away. I
do not think little Emma was once
absent.. Yet all this time I never knew
that the little one was really acquiring
anything. I thought she was being
taught to sit still, and be quiet and
good, so that she might learn something

when she grew older; that she only
.liked to come to school because it was
warm and comfortable, and that she was
amused with watching the other chil-
dren,- and loved me, and liked to be
with me. And then, though she was
the best and sweetest-tempered baby
I had ever seen, I thought it was only
because she had naturally a quiet,
happy temper.
But at last I found out my mistake.
One day her mother sent for me to talk
to her boys. One of them-I forget now
whether it was George or his elder
brother-had been stealing some sugar
out of the cupboard. The poor mother
spoke very anxiously about her children.
She was sadly afraid that Bill was
learning bad ways, and George was-too
fond of copying him; but when she
began to speak of little Emma, her face
was quite bright.
"Oh, miss," she said, "that is such
a dear, blessed little child! She has


learned so much ever since she has
been at school; she always says her
prayers morning and night, and would
not miss them for anything."
Why, Mrs. Bland !" I said, I did
not know the little one could talk;
though, she is always so good, it is a
pleasure to see her in the class; I have
never once heard her speak."
Well, I do not suppose many would
make out what she says," Mrs. Bland
replied; I often can't myself, but she
does talk a good deal in her way. She
is always singing to herself bits of the
verses they'learn at the school, and as
I said, she always Says the prayers that
you taught her; and whenever George
forgets his, she pulls his frock, and is
never happy until he has knelt down
by her, on that rug, and said them.
Several times too, lately, she has
waked her father and me in the middle
of the night, singing 'Hosanna Ho-

The children had just been learning
that hymn, which I hope most of you
have learned:
"When His salvation-4ringing."
You know the chorus is-I
Hosanna! Hosanna Hosanna!
Hosanna to Jesus we'll sing."
"I do not remember all that Mrs.
Bland told me about dear little,Emma
"that morning, but I heard enough to
make me believe that God Himself had
been teaching that dear baby.
The next time I had her on my knee,
I tried to get her to talk to me; how-
ever, she would only nod or shake her
head in her usual way, till I asked her
to say some- of the hymns she knew, and
then I heard the little voice for the first
time, lisping them out. I don't think
any of you would have understood a
word; I should not have done so, if I
had not known what she was trying to
say. But I could sec that what her


mother had said was quite true, she had
learned a great many bits of verses
and hymns.
A very little while after this visit, my
children were restless one Sunday after-
noon. It was such a. hot, close day,
and our corner was so crowded. Ah !
you children, in .your pleasant airy
school-rooms in the country, cannot think
how stifling and uncomfortable a Ragged-
school in London often is on a hot
summer's day.
But it was not the heat that made
the children so fidgety and inatten-
tive that afternoon. A kind gentle-
man, whom most of them knew, was
coming to say good-bye to them at
the close of'the school. In a little
while'he, also, was going far away, thou-
sands of miles over the sea, like little
Ellen's friend, Mr. J-, to teach the
poor heathen in India the way to
heaven. He had not been the teacher
of these children, as Mr. J- had of

those you heard of before, but he had often
visited their parents in their wretched
homes, and it was he who had brought
many of these wild little ones to school
for the first time in their lies. So
they loved Mr. A- very much, and
were thinking so mueh about him that
they could not attend to the lesson I
was trying to teach them.
Every now and then one would inter-
rupt to ask something about the black
people Mr. A- was going to teach,
or about the country where they lived;
and then, whenever there was a knock
at the door, they would start up and
cry, "There he is there he is !"
At last, I found we could not get on
with the lesson at all, and was beginning
to wonder what we should do the rest
of the afternoon-for I had a very large
class, many of them little wild Irish
children, just picked up from the streets,
who were getting quite noisy-when I
remembered the story that was told you

at the beginning, and thought my chil-
dren would just be able to make it out.
So I said, Should you like to hear a
story about a missionary who came to
say 'good-bye' to a school, just as
Mr. A-- is coming to do this after-
neon, and about a little girl who
remembered what he said? "
"Yes! yes!" the children cried.
So I began the story. The way in
which it was listened to, you shall hear
in the next part.

So, as I have told you, I began the
story, and soon the class became
quiet, and the children sat so atten-
tively listening, only stopping now and
then to wonder if those other chil-
dren loved Mr. J- as much as they
loved Mr. A- and whether they
hemmed all his towels for him before

he went, or made any work-bags for
the little black girls in his school
Just when we got to the part where
Mr. J- asked little Ellen to say these
four words after him, I heard a little
moan-it was not quite a cry. Poor
little Emma was if a corner, between
two forms, which were both very full;
and as George and the child on the
other side of her were both bending for-
ward to listen, she was almost squeezed
I put out my hand to pull her up,
but instead of giving me her hand, she
stretched out both her arms for me to
take her on to my lap. I had not meant
to do that, for I was tired, but could not
help it, when she asked so gently; so I
lifted the little one up, and said, "Can
my little Emma say those four words
that little Ellen said? "
She then lisped them after-me, and
said them so gravely and sweetly, that


something made me go on to talk to her
about them. I did not exactly forget
the other children, for I saw that they
were quiet, and some were listening;
but I spoke to the dear babe as if nobody
else were there, and told her how the-
Lord Jesus had loved little Ellen, and
.what He had done for her.
Little Emma sat looking up at me in
her old way, but I fancied there was a
strange look on the little face, as if she
understood more than she could say, and
dearly loved to hear the "sweet story."
While we were still talking, Mr. A-
came in, and the children all took their
places to listen to his last address.
First we sang that hymn-
"Oh, that will be joyful !"
We thought those two verses seemed
written on purpose for us, that after-
"-Little children will be there,"
"Teachers, too, shall meet above."

I do not think little Emma knew the
words of all the verses, but whenever
we came to a chorus, she sang out quite
loudly, "Oh; that will be joyful! and
when the last verse was finished, she
still went on singing, "Joyful, joyful! "
all alone. The other children turned
and smiled, but she did not seem to
think she had done anything to be
laughed at. Dear little Emma I can
fancy I see her now, in her eager-
ness standing rather out of her line in
front of the rest, with her little face
flushed with pleasure, for she liked no-
thing so much as singing. Precious
little one It was the last hymn she
ever sang in school. She was soon
"Where they'll shall sing with joy,
And eternity employ.
In praising Christ the Lord."
Mr. A-'s text was, Eli perceived
that the Lord had called the child." I
will not tell you what he said about it,


for he spoke chiefly to the elder children.
At the end of his address, he knelt down
and prayed to God for the children; he
asked very earnestly that soon there
might be some children in that school
of whom their teachers could say, "Surely
they knew the Lord had called them."
I believe that God had "called" my
dear little Emma to know and love
Him. He was very soon going to
" call" her from her dark home in that
wretched London court, to live with
Him in His glorious home above.
A few days after, I heard that little
Emma was very ill with measles. A
great many of the children in the courts
had them then. I went to the room where
little Emma lived. She was all alone,
for her mother was obliged to go out
to work, and to leave her little sick girl,
who was lying on a bed made up on
two chairs, in a corner of the dark room.
She was asleep, and was breathing so
heavily. The woman said that the

inflammation had settled on her lungs,
and the doctor thought she would not
get over it.
The next day we spent in the country.
I do notthink you can guess how great
a treat it is, for people who live in Lon-
don, to go into the'country for a day.
But though everything was so beautiful,
I thought a great deal all that day of
my little flower "-Jesus Christ's
" little flower"-in that dark London
court. Oh, how much fairer and
sweeter she was than the may, the
bluebells, and the buttercups we saw
at Richmond !
On my way home, I stopped at the
street in which Emma's court was, and
went up to see my little girl. She was
awake; and knew me, but seemed
scarcely able to take any notice. I
gave her some bluebells, my brother
had sent to her. She took them in her
tiny, hot hand, and smiled.
Then I spoke to her of Jesus,'who


loved little Emma, and was taking care
of His dear sick child; and, perhaps,
was going to take her to the "happy
land to be with Him. Again she
smiled, and for a moment the weary
look went away, and her old bright look
came back. But it was only for a mo-
ment. She was so very ill that she did
not seem able to think for nore than a
minute at a time. And so I said good-
bye to my little one, for I thought I
should never see her again.
When I went the next evening, all
the children in the house were out in
the court. Some were playing, others
were standing, leaning against the wall,
watching them. Little Emma's sister,
Mary, was sitting on tre door-step, look-
ing very grave. I asked her how her
sister was, and she said, She's dying
now; the doctor was here a while back,
and he said she was dying; so we have
all been sent out, to keep the house

I went very softly up the stairs. The
room-door was standing open. The
poor mother was by the window, with
her apron over her face, crying bitterly,
and the kind schoolmaster's wife was
trying to comfort her. I looked on the
bed, and there lay dear Emma's body.
She had just died. But, oh, I cannot
tell you the strange, beautiful look
there was upon the little face. All the
look of pain and weariness was gone,
and it seemed as if, just as her spirit
was departing, it had seen some beauti-
ful and glorious sight, which filled it
with such wonder aid joy that it left a
look of glad awe behind. I had only
seen death once before; and then it had
been so awful to look upon, that I had
dreaded to see it again. But there was
nothing terrible here. I thought -I had
never seen an3 thing so beautiful as that
little, happy, resting face. Dear Emma!
God had looked upon His "little flower,"
and had seen that all the bad examples


she would see around her as she grew
up, and all the bad words she would
hear, would be like the rough cold winds
to the fair little blossom; and so He had
transplanted it to His garden above,
where no wild storms would ever blow
upon it.
I had been in the room some time,
standing by that lowly bed, before the
Spoor mother saw me. When she did,
she cried, Oh,- Miss, and won't she be
singing 'Hosanna' now? "
Do you knowwhat "Hosanna" means ?
If not, will you remember if I tell you,
and think of it next time you sing
"Hosanna?" It means, "save us n::w."
Little Emma would no more need'to
sing Hosanna," would she? Oh, no!
She was saved-saved for ever. She
will able to sing that new and glorious
song, which even the angels cannot
sing: "Thou hast redeemed us to God
by thy blood."
The next Sunday poor George came

alone to school, looking so lonely and
miserable. On the drawers at his home,
lay a small wooden box, painted dark
blue. You can guess what it was-dear
Emma's coffin; and inside lay the little
white body, still looking so very pretty,
that it seemed a pity to bury it. But it
would not always keep beautiful; so
the next day they carried it to the grave-
yard, and laid it in the ground. It was
only the body, which could not feel any
thing, they put there. Little Emma's
happy spirit was with Jesus in His
place of safe keeping; and her body
will not lie in the grave always.
Have you ever thought how the
churchyards are another kind of gar-
den God has on earth-where the
bodies of His children are laid in the
ground-" sown," like seed is sown ?
Oh, how many precious seeds "-some
that you know-are sown in our grave-
yards But will they always lie there?
Oh, no! No more than the flower-

seeds you sow in your garden in spring,
will always be hidden underground.
One day-we do not know when, but
the day is surely coming-the Lord
Jesus will come again in the clouds of
heaven, and all His holy angels with
Him, and then He will call to the dead
to arise, and all the dead bodies of His
children will come out of their graves,
beautiful and glorious; then their souls
will come into them again, and they
will be caught up into the clouds with
Jesus, and go with Him to heaven.
Oh, how wonderful and beautiful God's
grave-yard gardens will look on the
resurrection morning !
And now, my .young friends, what
lessons do you think you can learn from
my stories ?
One lesson is, that you are not too
young to begin to love Jesus.
Another lesson is, that you are not too
young to die.
You know the only way to be ready

to die. It is to go to God, and confess
to Him the many naughty things you
have done, and how truly sorry you are;
and ask Him to forgive you for the
sake of Jesus Christ, and to help you
to do so no more.
But perhaps some little boy or girl
will say, Nearly all the good children
I read about in books always die. I
am sure I do not want to die, and per-
haps should if I were as good as they."
Now I need not try to tell you how
happy these little ones are who die
young. I know that you would still
wish to grow up to be a man or a
woman; and it is very natural that you
should, for I believe that God has put a
wish to live into all our hearts.
But it is a very great mistake to
think that all good children die young. I
know some children who began to love
God when they were young, and they
are now growing up to be useful men and
women. There was one dear girl, who

gave her heart to Jesus when she was
scarcely bigger than little Emma, and
has ever since been trying to love and
please Him. She is now getting to
be quite a great girl-the brightest,
happiest girl I know. The thought
that she is God's own child, whom He
loves and is watching over, makes every
joy more joyful, and takes away the
sorrow from every trouble.
Oh, won't you try to be happy in the
same way? Nothing else will make
you so happy.
And now, good-bye. If you forget
my stories, yet try and remember those
four words that little Ellen and little
Emma both learned-

N a Saturday afternoon in the
early summer of 1784, a worthy
shoemaker, named James Kemp,
was seen going across some brick-fields
at Hoxton, at that time a village on the
north-eastern side of London.
He lived in a small house, nigh to the
cottages of brick-makers and dust-men.
"When Sunday came, these people gave
the hours to sinful sports, and fights
were frequent in the fields opposite this
worthy man's dwelling. He loved the
Saviour, and wept that his neighbours
did not love Him too. "What can be
done for these men and children ?" he
said. What can I do ? I amn afraid
the grown-up people are too hardened

in sin for me to do them any good; yet
if I could teach their children, and lead
them to keep holy the Sabbath, how
happy I slh.uld be But he knew that
boys a nid gi'll \. re engaged all the bright
days of: summer helping their parents
to make bricks, and Sunday was always
their play-day; vhat then could be
done to meet their pitiable case ?
While Kemp was thus in doubt
how to act, he was told that a gentle-
man named Raikes had set up schools
on. a Sunday, at Gloucester. Might
not, he thought, the same thing be done
with equal success in London? He
would try. It was true there was a
rough field of labour before him; he had
no money to spare, and had a young
family to care for; but the love of Jesus
moved him to make an attempt.
News did not travel very fast in those
days, and there were no papers that
cared to publish the tidings of Christian
work in the world So Kemp thought

he must go to Gloucester, and see with
his own eyes what was being done.
But how could he give two days in
going by the "fast coach," and the
same time for the return journey?
Besides, the money for the fare-not a
small sum at that time-was to him a
serious concern. For a moment the
good man was at a loss what to do; but
,he was healthy and strong, and had
been well known for his long journeys
on foot; he therefore resolved to walk
there and back-in the whole, two
hundred and twenty miles. And he
did it bravely.
Kemp returned to London full of
faith and hope; told all he had seen
and heard to his pious wife, and they
agreed to open their own humble rooms
for a school to be held on Sunday. It
was some weeks before he could find
money to buy stools and forms. At
last all seemed ready to start the good

On the Saturday afternoon before the
school was to be opened, Kemp put
aside his usualworkof shoemaking. The
window to his front room, which served
as a small shop, was cleared of all
goods by his wife, after she had lulled
her infant to sleep, while he went forth
to seek for scholars. He first directed
his way to the brick-fields; and as he
well knew what bad men they were he
was about to address, he stopped for a
moment's silent prayer, and then went
A little shoeless girl, merrily swinging
on a gate, was among the first to whom
he gave his invitation. She received it
with a silly laugh, and showed him the
way to her parents, who, with a number
of men and women, were engaged in
moulding bricks. Some of the gang no
sooner saw who it was than they began
.to call him mocking names, and gather-
ing around him, awaited to hear what
had brought him among them. "He

then, in gentle tones, asked them if they
did not wish that their children should
learn to read. He had come to request
that they would send them to his house
on the next day, when he would do all
that was in his power to teach them,
without any payment or reward.
The invitation was received with a
shout of laughter. Who had ever heard
of such a thing before ? What could
lead him to care for other people's
children ? Some proposed to duck"
him; others made up small pellets of
clay, and, perhaps, more out of merri-
ment than malice, threw them so as to
fasten on his hat and coat. Turning to
the women, he appealed to their feelings
as mothers, and spoke of the benefits
that would arise to their little ones.
The gentleness of his manner, and his
evident sincerity, at length won upon
them, and during that afternoon he
received from them the promise of a
goodly number of children, though some


of the ruder boys could only be tempted
by the promise of a penny to each.
The Sunday morning dawned brightly,
when, in the humble home of a poor
shoemaker, the first Sunday-school in
the county of Middlesex was to be set
up. The door of the house was thrown
open, whilst James Kemp stood within,
with fear and faith in conflict in his
heart, watching the result of his visit
to the fields. At the appointed hour a
few children peeped round the corner of
the road with a half-look of suspicion;
but, taking courage, they entered, and
were followed by others. They, how-
ever, soon threw aside all restraint, and,
uncertain as to the object of their new
friends, showed all the wildness of their
ignorant state. Itwas great fun to them;
and as their would-be teacher tried to get
them into order, they made the place
ring again with their shouts and laughter.
Some rolled on the floor, and others
jumped and skipped about the room.

In the midst of the frolic, he turned
to the noisy group, and asked if they
could sing, when a little sun-burnt girl
quickly replied, To be sure we can! "
and began a popular brickmaker's song,
with a chorus, which was taken up by
the rest, and sung at the top of their
voices. Kemp in vain tried to stop
them. The young leader went on with
the song, and her companions with the
noisy chorus.
When they lfad finished, they were,
told that was not the kind of song that
was meant, but they were to sing a
hymn. They said that they did not
know what a hymn was. "Well, then,"
said the teacher, "perhaps some of you
have been to church, and can sing a
psalm." "A psalm! what's that ?"
No, they did not know what it was to
sing a psalm. "-Now, listen to me,"
said he, "and you shall hear me sing;"
and he sang two or three hymns. It
was all new to them; they had never


before heard such sounds; and so
passed away the first morning of the
In further seeking for new scholars,
Kemp was met by strange objec-
tions. "Schools on week-day may be
very proper," said some of his neigh-
bours, "but who ever heard of schools
on Sunday ? Others were under the
influence of fear. There had been
strange rumours among the ignorant
poor of London that children were
stolen, and shipped to the back parts of
North America. Many a lost child was
supposed to have been sold into bondage
as a little white slave. At some doors
when a stranger, such as Kemp was
to many, presented himself, he was
driven away as an agent of the slave-
As time passed on, the improved con-
duct and progress in learning of the
scholars led other parents to bring their
children; and such was the increase in

the Sunday attendance, that the two
rooms on the ground-floor were filled,
forms were ranged quite along the
passage of the house, and even the
underground kitchen became occupied.
From that time God very much
blessed the work, and thousands of
children, in the course of years, were
trained and taught in the shoemaker's
rooms at Hoxton.
And now what shall, we say, as we
hear in our times of hundreds of thou-
sands and millions of children taught
on the holy day ? We will praise God
that ever put it into the hearts of Raikes
and Kemp, and many, many others, to
care,for the little ones. May He still
command His favour on the work; and
may a multitude of children be brought
in their earliest days to Jesus, the Good
Shepherd, giving to Him their young
hearts, and commencing a service that
shall last all their days on earth.


HIS is a fine evening for a valk,"
said Harry Hudson, as, leaping
from his stool and seizing his
hat, he prepared to leave the office in
which he had been all day hard at
work. Yes, it was just the evening for
"a walk. Clear and bright overhead;
but in the dusty streets and the busy
city the heat had been very great during
the day, and now that the air was a little
cooler, it made people long to leave the
crowded dwellings of men, and seek a
change among the works of God.
Harry Hudson was a youth of seven-
teen, who, spent, his days in a broker's
office, and well did his duty there.
During the sumnimer he and a friend used

to meet at a particular spot, equally dis-
tant from their places of business, and
thence to set out on a long ramble. In
a general way, both the youths were in
Time; but this evening Harry was not
only first at the place, but he waited a
full quarter of an hour and yet saw no
signs of his friend,
At the end of that time he pulled out
his -watch, and resolved to give his com-
panion just five minutes more. He
walked up to a shop-window, in order
to spend the brief space in looking at
its contents. It was a bookseller's shop,
and Harry was rather amused at find-
ing that the window was almost entirely
filled with the most simple books for
children. There were gay-coloured pic-
tures in abundance; but most of them
were alphabet-books, and he was on the
point of turning away, satisfied that he
could obtain no good from such a collec-
tion, when he was spoken to by an old

She was a homely-looking old body,
and had on a pair of spectacles, through
which she was peering at all the books,
and Harry noticed that she had been so
occupied during the whole time of his
stay. More than once she had looked
at him, as he walked up and down the
street, as if she wished to speak; but
when he came to the window she der
cided on doing it. And what do you
think was her question ? Do not smile
when we tell you, for a deep and holy
purpose was moving the good.old dame,
and she sought Harry's aid to carry it
into effect.
"Please, sir," said she, "what is that
letter? "
Harry turned his eyes to the place
marked by the old lady's finger, and saw
that she was pointing to the letter S.
There was no sign of shame at her
ignorance to be seen in her face-in
fact, there n as simply an evident and ear-
nest wish to obtain the information she

sought. Some youths might, perhaps,
have given one careless answer and
turned away, unwilling to be troubled
by an old strange woman, but Harry
was not one of that sort. He answered
the question in a pleasant way, and with
such a kind and frank smile'on his face
that the old dame was led to ask more.
" What is that letter ? and that ? and
that?" said she. And- between each
question came Harry's reply. The old
woman was indeed so much in earnest
that he was quite charmed, and went
on telling her the letters, one after an-
other, and sometimes naming the same
one several times, until at last he almost
forgot where he was, and for whom he
was waiting. At any rate, far more
than five minutes had passed, when he
was startled by a light tap on the
shoulder, and the voice of his friend,
Charles Barret.
I am after my time, Harry," said
Charles; "I was afraid you would be


gone ; but you may be sure it was not
my fault, for I was ready enough to get
The old woman heard this remark,
and, turning to Harry, said, Sir, I am
very much obliged to you for your kind-
ness and patience, and I wish you good-
Harry lifted his cap in that true
and kindly way which the young
should ever show to the old, whatever'
their'rank in life, and replied, "You
are very welcome, and I am glad if I
have been of any use to you. Good-
So they parted. Charles Barret's
curiosity had been a little awakened by
the few words which had reached his
ears, and as soon as he and his friend
were at such a distance as to prevent
his remark being overheard, he said-
Harry, who. is that old woman ?
I thought she must be an old nurse of
yours, or something of the sort, when I

saw you so deep in talk at the shop-
window. I was half afraid to come and
stop you both; but as you seemed to
take no note of time, I was forced to do
it at last."
Harry laughed, and answered, '" I
never saw the old lady before to-night;"
and then he told his friend what he had
been doing while standing with her at
the window.
-" Well, that is droll I suppose she
wants to learn to read, and nothing to pay
for it. I wish you joy of your promo-
tion to the office of teacher !"
You may thank the old lady for my
being there when you came," returned
Harry. "She made me forget how
time was going, or I should have been
off without you."
Then Iowe her a 'thank you' for hav-
ing held my friend in talk," said Charles,
With light- hearts the two youths
went on their way, and the old dame
was soon forgotten.

The next evening was also fine, and,
to Harry Hudson's delight, on going to
the usual place of meeting, he again
found his friend of the preceding night.
Again she spoke to him, and once more
he took upon him the office of teacher
at her request. So full of zeal was his
scholar, that before they parted she got
the whole alphabet by heart, and was
highly pleased by her new stock of know-
ledge. She took Harry's hand and
thanked him again and again, to tlfe
youth's joy, for he did not place any
great value on the trifling service he
had been able to render her.
At this second time, however, the in-
terest felt in his elderly friend by the
young clerk was greatly increased; and
Charles, who had patiently awaited the
end of the lesson, amused himself by
thinking as to what could be the old
woman's motive in thus waylaying his
"I dare say I shall not see her again,"

replied Harry, "though, poor dear old
lady, I should be very glad to do so, and
to give her a few more lessons, if she
wants them. And now mind, Charley,
if she should waylay me, as you say,
don't be weary if I steal a few minutes
from you to give them to her."
I'll not grudge her her reading-
lesson, I promise you. I can be patient
for the sake of this dear old woman,
who is engaged in the 'pursuit of know-
lIdge under difficulties,' answered the
light-hearted youth, as he placed his
arm through Harry's.
For a week after our young clerk's
second meeting with his old scholar,
the weather proved so wet that walking
was not to be thought of, and the two
friends sought amusement at home.
But the first fine evening they again
met near the old place, and, to their
real surprise, they saw the old dame,
spectacled as usual, at the bookseller's
window. Harry did not wait a moment.


He at once went towards her, and greet-
ing her as an old friend, asked if he
might help her a little as before.
"You are kind," said she; "but I
could tell that when I looked in your
face that first night when I met you
here. Only I feel it is almost a shame
for me to hinder you, when I dare say
you and your friend are going for a
walk, or else I should like-"
She paused, but Harry assured her
that he should be delighted to con-
tinue his lessons, and that his friend
would wait.
"Thank, you, my dear," said she;
"I have not forgotten the letters you
taught me." To prove this she repeated
the alphabet as Harry pointed out each
That is capital !" said her teacher.
"Now we will try to join two or three
But it is needless to relate the par-
ticulars of this and many other lessons


that followed it. With Harry Hudson
for her teacher, and first one shop-win-
dow and then another for her school-
rcom, the old dame made wonderful
progress. And the young teacher be-
came so moved by her zeal, that it was
soon to him a great disappointment if
anything prevented their meeting regu-
larly. And all this while neither knew
the name of the other. Harry felt sorry
that he had not asked what was the old
woman's name and place of abode, for
the evenings became long and dark, and
suddenly he missed her from their usual
Months passed by, and he had given
up all hope of seeing his friend and
scholar again. With spr;n,. however,
his wish to see her was gratified. She
was looking feebler, paler, and older,
but the bright and happy look of her
face was sweet to behold. She came
towards Harry with outstretched hand,
and said, as she clasped his, Oh!


I am so glad to see you again. I have
been a prisoner, owing to the rheuma-
tism, all through this long, cold winter;
but, thanks to your kindness, I have
had the greatest of all comforts to sus-
tain me and help me to bear the pain."
I do not know how that- can be,"
replied Harry, kindly. I have wished
I did know where you lived, that I
might ask after you. I am very glad
you are able to go out again."
I will tell you," replied she, "what
I owe to you. You know how ignorant
I was when you first began to teach me
my letters, and in all my life I had never
been able to read a- word in God's
blessed book. Well, thanks to you,
dear boy, I can read it now, and it is my
Bible that has been a joy and a com-
fort to me through the dark season of
pain ay, and it will be, even through
the very 'valley of the shadow of
The youth was deeply moved. He


was rejoiced that he had been enabled to
assist this poor woman in her earnest
desire "to search the Scriptures" for
herself, and he told her, before they
parted, how happy her words had made
him. And we may be sure that he did
not value his Bible the less after having
seen the yearning of this aged Christian
to obtain a full supply of "the bread of
Dear young friends, a word to you.
You are able to read God's Holy.
Word ; you have it always within reach.
Do you value it as you ought ? Do
you feel that it is meant to be a lamp to
your feet, and a light to your. path?
Has it led you to Jesus? Have you,
under the teachings of His Spirit, re-
pented of your sins, and believed in the
Saviour as your only hope? And are
you seeking to obey all the holy precepts
you find written on its pages.


ANY a week had passed since
Mary Burton had- been at the
Sunday-school. When last she
was there the snow-flakes fluttered softly
through the air, and nestled snugly
in every quiet corner. Now, beautiful
summer was come. Birds and butter-
flies, trees and flowers, felt a new life,
and God was proving His loving kind-
ness to our world by ten thousand
It was not illness that kept Mary from
the Sunday-school: so Miss Ashwood,
her teacher, found when she called to
inquire for her. But Mary would not
give any good reason for her absence,
and in reply to the teacher's kind words,
persisted in saying she could not go to


school for a few Sundays more. How-
ever, in Mary's private talks with her
friend, Ellen Nolan, she told her the
secret, that since her mother died she
had got no new clothes, and that father
thought her mourning good enough to
wear a little longer. But she was re-
solved never to go to the Sunday-school
again in that nasty crape bonnet and ah'
old black frock. And the foolish little
girl added, that she would tease her
father until he gave her an entirely new
summer suit.
For a while the teasing was not very
successful, except in making her father
angry. But, after some weeks, when
Mary had ceased to speak on the sub-
ject, and had given up all hope of a new
dress, a most unexpected piece of good
fortune occurred.
One morning, her father put a sove-
reign into her hand, telling her to buy
the clothes she required, and adding,
that he would be glad if Ellen's mother

could spare time to go to the village
with his little girl, and help her to make
a suitable choice. Now Mary did not
wish for Mrs. Nolan's company, as she
knew this wise, motherly woman would
only buy plain, useful things. She, on
the contrary, had set her heart on
having something very fine.
As it happened, Mrs. Nolan was
baking bread for her family when Mary
burst into the cottage full of one idea-
the new frock. At that moment it was
not possible to leave the bread to take
care of itself, but Mrs. Nolan promised
to be ready to go next morning, soon after
breakfast. This was just the answer
Mary- hoped for. There was not an
hour to be lost. Had not father said she
was to buy the frock to-day ? So, with-
out telling Ellen's mother of her plans,
she started alone for the village. In-
deed her mind was already made up. A
blue muslin, which hung day after day
in the draper's window, exactly suited
E a

Mary's taste, and a bonnet, trimmed
with 'bright pink ribbons, seemed all
that was required to set it off to per-
With a beating heart and uneasy
conscience, Mary made her purchases,
forgetting to inquire if the muslin would
wash, or the bonnet wear well. A
pair of thin patent-leather shoes were
added to the parcel, and the golden
sovereign slipped into the shop-keeper's
till. We need not tell the difficulty
that Mary had in reconciling her father
to the use she had made of his money,
nor the unpleasant twitches which con-
science gave her now and then. Things
did not go on very smoothly during the
rest of the week. They never do when
all is not right within.
Sunday morning dawned. A stillness
reigned as if the world listened while
the Sabbath pointed far back to crea-
tion's rest and redemption's triumph,
and whispered,'in the softest accents, of

the eternal Sabbath-keeping which re-
mains for the people of God. But no
Sabbath peace was keeping little, Mary's
heart. Long after other children had
started for the morning school, Mary
was still before the looking-glass, giving
a few finishing touches to her dress, or
settling, for the tenth time, the pink
strings of her new bonnet. When all
was done, it required very sharp walk-
ing to reach school half-an-hour too
late. The opening prayer was over,
and the girls of Miss Ashwood's class
had repeated their lesson before Mary
took her place among them.
The verses happened to be from
I Peter iii. 3, 4-" Whose adorning let
it not be that outward adorning of
plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold,
or of putting on of apparel. But let it
be the hidden man of the heart, in
that which is not corruptible, even the
ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,
which is in the sight of God of great price."

Many bright eyes were fixed on the
teacher, and the varying looks of the
children showed the keen interest she
was able to keep up. Mary's arrival
made very little impression, only one of
the scholars found time to whisper some
remark about the new dress. Nor was
it much to be wondered at that a class
of girls should be interested with such
a lesson, as Miss Ashwood knew that
almost every person had some adorn-
ing, so she wished to guide her class
to choose true ornament and reject
the- false, On a previous Sunday she
had proposed this question,, "What
does the Bible teach about woman's
dress ? and asked her girls to examine
the holy book carefully, as it not only
teaches us the way to heaven, through
our Lord Jesus, but gives us rules for
such seeming trifles as dress and man-
ners. Several slips of paper were handed
to her now, containing the following
replies :-

"It should be neat, modest, simple,
useful, and suitable to our means and
station. (i Tim. ii. 9.)"
It should not occupy much of our
thoughts. (Matt. vi. 28.)"
It should not be such as would cul-
tivate pride in ourselves, or attract the
notice of others. (Isaiah iii. 16-24.)"
"Beauty of shape and harmony of
colour are no sin; our Heavenly Father
has given both to the field-flowers.
(Matt. vi. 29.) But iY is a sin to ne-
glect the true ornaments of a woman,
'a meek and quiet spirit' (I Peter
iii. i), and 'good works' (I Tim. ii. io).
These jewels never grow old, and are
highly valued by God."
Pleasant conversation followed, which
Mary knew was not specially intended
for her, though she felt every word
burning its way into her heart. But
Mary was to get another lesson on dress
from a different teacher. The sky was
suddenly overcast, and the rich, plashing

sound of a summer thunder-shower
mingled its full harmony with the last
hymn. During her walk from the school-
room to the village church, Mary's thin
shoes were thoroughly wetted,- and be-
fore the service was over she felt shiver-
ing and burning by turns. The next
morning brought no relief. And during
many wearisome nights of painful toss-
ings, she could not forget that disobe-
dience to her father's wishes, and
self-willed indulgence in unsuitable
dress, had probably been the cause of
her illness.
Fever is a rough teacher, yet Mary
learned an important lesson, and her
sickness was so blessed that she rose
from her bed a wiser and humbler girl.
And often as, in after years, she thought
of her childish purchase, she prayed to
be clothed in the beautiful robes of
humility and love, and to be given
woman's brightest jewel-" The orna-
ment of a meek and quiet spirit."


OOR little Jack looked anything
but cheerful, as, with bare feet
and torn trousers, and an old
ragged jacket and cap without a crown,
he left his widowed mother's room in an
old-fashioned house in one of the narrow
streets in Bristol, to beg a penny now
and then in the more fashionable part
of that busy city.
He wandered up one street and down
another for he did not know where to
go; and when he met with anyone he
thought was likely to pity him, he began
in a whining tone to ask for charity.
A very few gave him a penny, but
more passed him by unheeded, for there
were too many like him to be met with.
At last poor Jack walked up as far as

the Downs, above the town of Clifton,
and seated himself on the short grass,
in the sun, where he felt warm and
comfortable, and, taking out his pence,
he began to count them. They were
soon counted, for five or six was all he
had got. Just as he was putting his trea-
sure back in his pocket, he saw an elderly
gentleman walking along the Downs.
"I'll try again," said Jack, getting
up from his seat; and though he felt
warm enough, he thought it best to
assume his whining tone in order to
excite the gentleman's pity; so, pulling
his cap over his eyes and drawing his
ragged jacket around him, he began in a
pitiable voice-as if he was shivering
from cold-" Please sir, give me a
penny; my father's dead, and mother's
sick, and please, sir, I am very cold, and
I've had not a bit to eat to-day."
The gentleman did not answer.
"Please, sir, will you, sir?" repeated
Jack, still in the same doleful tone.


The gentleman turned, and looking
at him, said, very gently, No, my boy,
I will not give you a penny. I do not
like to see a lad begging who is able to
work, nor do I like that whining way
in which you speak. You only make
yourself more miserable than you would
otherwise be. Try to be cheerful; look
up like a man, and don't pretend to be
worse than you are. I dare say you
are very poor, but you have a few pence
in your pocket, for I saw you counting
them just now, so you can buy some
bread for to-day, and then try and get
some work to earn your living; there
is plenty of employment for any lad
who is willing to work in these large
towns. But look up, I say; hold up
your head and be a man, and try to
speak cheerfully, and it will help you
to feel cheerful too; and when you try
to help yourself, others will try to help
you too, and God will help you, if you
ask Him."


So the gentleman walked on, leaving
Jack looking rather puzzled. He sat
down again, and began to think over
what he had been told.
To look cheerful and hold up his
head like a man: yes, he could do that,
but how should he get work? He sat
thinking and thinking, but he could not
think how to begin. Just then some
ladies, who were walking down the
road, crossed over to the path where
Jack was sitting. "How dirty this
crossing is!" remarked one; "I wish
some one would sweep it."
"A thought flashed through Jack's
mind; could not he sweep the crossing,
and could he not thus earn a little
money honestly ? He had seen several
people stop and give money to a poor
old man with a wooden leg who swept
a crossing down in Bristol.
I will try what I can do," said he;
"the pence I have will buy me a
broom." So he jumped up and began

to run along the road to look for a shop
to buy a broom. It was no effort for him
now to look cheerful, for he felt hopeful,
and that made him look cheerful in spite
of his bare feet and ragged clothes.
The broom was soon bought, and to
work Jack went with a good heart; and
his crossing looked so clean that many
ladies walked a few yards out of their
way in order to avail themselves of it,
and they seldom passed without giving
Jack-a halfpenny ; so before the evening
Jack had gained back all the money. he
had laid out for his broom, and more
besides. On his way home he called
at the baker's to get a loaf for his
mother, to which he added a little tea
and sugar, and then hurried home to tell
his poor mother all he had done. She
was delighted at her boy's success, and
encouraged him to go on at his work
and give up begging.
So Jack went every day to his cross-
ing; and he soon found that people

were more willing to give him when
they saw him usefully employed than
when he was begging.
It was not many days before he saw
his friend again, and looking up cheer-
fully he said, as he touched his cap,
" Please, sir, I am trying to work now,
as you told me."
"Ah! said the gentleman, "I re-
member you, my little man-well, how
do you feel now-is it not pleasanter
to have something to do, even if it be
only to sweep a crossing, than to go
about making yourself miserable and
begging? "
Oh yes sir," said Jack, and I can
earn more too."
That's right," said the gentleman,
"work away at your sweeping, and
perhaps after a time you will find some
other work; but remember what I told
you; look up,- hold up your head like a
man and be cheerful, it will help you at
whatever work you have to do."


He then put a piece of money into-
Jack's hand, and walked on. Jack
thought it was a penny, and was slipping
it into his pocket, when all at once he
perceived it was silver-a five-shilling
piece. Oh! what riches for poor Jack;
he fairly leaped with delight, and
leaving his broom behind a tree, he ran
off to show it to his mother.
See mother," said he, that will
help me towards buying the donkey I
told you I wanted to get next spring ;"
so, dropping the piece of money into a
small box, he ran out again to look for
further success.
By the time spring had come, Jack's
little box was full, so he opened it to
see how much he had; and what was
his joy to find he really would be able to
procure the donkey he wished to have!
All that summer Jack got constant
employment for himself and his donkey;
for he was such a civil, cheerful-looking
lad, every one liked to employ him.

.Often he looked out for his friend who
had given him such good advice, but
he had left Clifton, and Jack.looked for
him. in vain.
It was more than two years after,
when Jack was returning home one
evening, that he caught sight of a figure
he thought he knew; and running
quickly down the street he soon over-
took the person he was looking for. It
was his old friend, and Jack was over-
joyed at seeing him again. "Good-even-
ing, sir," he began, taking off his cap.
The gentleman did not at first recog-
nise, in the smart, tidy lad before him,
the miserable little ragged boy who
accosted him in the same place two
years before.
"You don't remember me, sir, I am
sure," said Jack; but I am the poor boy
who used to beg, and to whom you
spoke so kindly, telling me not to look
so miserable, but to try and be cheerful.
I took your advice, and I soon found


how good it was. I gained money by
degrees, and got, first, a donkey, which
I hired out to ladies to ride, and now I
have a little donkey-carriage. I have
never forgotten what you told me, and
I have often looked for you, hoping to
find you, that I might tell you how well
I am getting on, and to thank you
too, sir."
The old gentleman was greatly pleased
with Jack's account of his success, and
he gave him more good advice, which
he never forgot, and if ever he was in
any trouble he always tried to make
the best of it-to look up-up to his
Father in heaven for help, and to be
cheerful, and he always found it make
his troubles easier to bear.


T was an October evening in
Hamburg, thirty years ago. A
few good men had met in a
school-room, to consider what could be
done to save some of the very poorest
children of their town from want and sin.
In those days there were no ragged-
. schools, the only choice for many a child.
was between the streets and the prison.
The young minister who spoke such stir-
ring words to the, little meeting was
called Immanuel Wichern, a name then
scarcely known, but now honoured in
almost every land. He told of poor boys
wandering from house to house on
dreary winter nights, and sleeping on
steps, or under doorways, because they
had no home to go to. He told, of


orphans with wild, hungry looks, who,
knowing nothing of our Heavenly
Father's love, wished themselves in
the. grave, "because mother was dead,
and there was no pleasure in living any
longer." He told of young children,
old in crime as well as sorrow. His
story went to the listeners' hearts, and
liefore the friends separated it was re
solved to establish a home, where firm,
loving training might prepare the little
outcasts for all earth's duties, and for a
better home above.
But these men were poor; where
could they get the money necessary for
such an undertaking ? We have one
treasure," they said, "the promise of
our gracious Lord." -They talked little,
but prayed earnestly, and in three
months they had money and land.. A
gentleman gave them a piece of ground
at Horn, near Hamburg, on which a
half-ruined cottage stood. The low
thatched roof was shaded by a fine

chestnut-tree; a garden, a well, and a
fish-pond were near at hand. For
many a year this spot had been called
"The Rough House," although no one
could exactly tell why it got such a
strange name.
The Rough House was repaired.
Immanuel Wichern and his mother left
their own pleasant dwelling and went
to live there, that they might offer a
home to rude, hardened lads. They
wanted to win them from wicked ways;
they longed to make them happy by
leading them to the Saviour.
Two months passed, and twelve
wild, stubborn-looking boys sat round
Wichern, in the parlour of the Rough
House. They never before had known
what home meant. They were coarse
and ignorant, but their gentle teacher
bore all patiently, determined by God's
help to be their companion, guide, and
friend. The days were spent in work
of various kinds, but every morning and

evening the little family gathered in
the parlour to hear the Bible read, sing
hymns, and pray. The singing often
touched the poor rough fellows' hearts
so much that they burst into tears,
exclaiming, We cannot stand it, it
makes us think of what we were!"
Sometimes the boys grew.tired of work,
and longed to return to their wild, ram-
blinglife; a few of them even ran away.
But whenever they came back again,
Wichern received them with hearty
forgiveness, telling them that "the
Rough House was a house of love; that
it needed no ramparts, nor walls;
nor bolts, because the love of Christ
binds faster than ramparts, or walls, or
bolts." When spring sunshine and
showers had melted the snow, and
softenedthe frost-bound ground, the boys
found plenty of work in the fields near
their dwelling. This out-door employ.
ment helped to cure their roving habits;
each month added something to their

farm-stock. They sowed seed, and
planted trees; grew quite rich in fowls
and bees; and one day they were
delighted to see a beautiful cow, with a
tinkling bell and a wreath of flowers
round her neck, walking up to their door.
It was a present from some ladies in
Hamburg. By degrees the boys learned
not only to read and write, but to bake
their own bread, and do their own tailor-
ing, shoemaking, and knitting.
As time rolled on, a great many
other boys and girls begged to be
admitted to the Rough House. It
was sad to hear their stories, sadder
still to refuse to let them in. Wichern
determined to build another house. He
did so, adding another and another until
the old Rough House grew into twenty
separate dwellings, some for boys and
some for girls; but all grouped round a
pretty chapel with a wooden spire, and
surrounded by gardens, fields, and
woods. Each new house was managed

in the same way as the old one had
been. Every boy and girl was taught
to feel that the humblest work should
be faithfully done. Many helpers came
to aid Wichern. A group of six or
seven young Christian men lived in each
household of children, to guide the
family life, and direct, counsel, and
watch the little ones. The children
themselves elected a boy.called Friedens-
knabe, or the Boy of Peace, whose duty
was to foster a brotherly spirit among.
all, and be a peacemaker in case of
need. As the pupils grew up, situations
were foutid where they could support
themselves, and new learners always
came to supply the vacant places.
Printers and carpenters, sailors and
soldiers, servants and gardeners, far-
mers, schoolmasters, merchants, and
even lawyers and clergymen, were once
inmates of the Rough House. How
great the work has grown since that
autumn evening, thirty years ago, when


Wichern and his mother went to live
in the cottage at Horn, and prayed God,
for Jesus' sake, to enable them to lead
many to heaven, through the doors of
the Rough House!
But where did all the money come
from? Immanuel Wichern would an-
swer, From God." Faith and prayer
were his only riches. His loving la-
bours were never stopped for want of
means. Rich men's hearts were opened
to send their pounds, little children's to
give their pence. The industry of the
boys has been blessed, and while they
are continually kept looking to Him
whose storehouse is always full, they
never have wanted daily bread.
Would you like to see this wonderful
place yourself? Come with me, then.
We leave the busy streets of Hamburg,
and take an early walk to Horn. It
is eight o'clock. The children have all
done breakfast. The great bell is call-
ing them to morning worship in the


chapel. Boys and girls soon fill up the
forms. A lovely bunch of flowers has
been laid near Dr. Wichern's desk by
some unknown, but loving, little hand.
The service begins with singing and
prayer, the Bible is read and explained,
and after another hymn and prayer, the
children separate for their daily work.
The boys are then drawn up in front -of
their workshops, and as the words of
command are given, "Printers, march!
Tailors, march Bakers, march !" they
set off to their business. Others are
sent to finish household work, and the
rest to labour in the fields. The girls
take charge of the cooking, washing,
ironing, sewing, and knitting, and, far
apart from the boys, learn something
of that modest, womanly industry,
which will make them so useful when
they grow older.
Let us look at the printing-press. It
does good work at the Rough House.
Every month it sends out thousands of

printed sheets to carry the news of
Christ, the sinner's friend, over the
Continent. But hearken !-the bell
rings again and calls the children to
dinner at midday. When dinner is
over, the children again go to their
various labours until five o'clock.
But Immanuel Wichern delights in
seeing his children happy, and gladdens
their hearts with many a festival,-birth-
day feasts, cherry-feasts, apple-feasts,
and Christmas-feasts. This evening,
however, there is no festival; but at
five the bells ring out once more, and
then work gives way to play. Merry,
hearty play it is, as earnest as the work
has been. Supper comes next, and
evening worship and bedtime. Then
night softly folds its wings over the
Rough House. The great bell peals
aloud, "The Lord God is a sun and a
shield." The watchman sings, "I will
lay me down in peace," and the tired
children dream until dawn.


AMIE was a poorboy. His home
was a little garret. All the
goods found there were a few
broken chairs, an old deal table, and a
layer of rags in a corner,'which, served
for a bed. The wholewas a scene of
misery: and what was worse, a scene
of vice.
We are sorry to tell that Jamie's
mother was a drunkard. The scanty
pennies he brought home were -spent
by her in the purchase of gin and
rum. Poor boy! he was willing to do
what he could to get a living; and
ragged as was his clothing, and coarse
the food he got, he would have been
happy had his mother been what as a
parent she should have been. But she

took from him the little money which
he got, and beat him because he did
not get more.
Jamie sometimes went about the
streets to collect rags and any rubbish
that was swept from the shops in the
early morning. One day, while search-
ing in a heap of sweepings, a kind man
saw him, and asked him to come at
night to a school, where he would find
others as poor and as ignorant as
It is a good thing," thought Jamie,
"to know how to readd" and so in the
evening he set out for the school.
When he came to the door he saw the
lights within, and listened to a hymn,
which just at that moment the scholars
were singing. It sounded to him very
sweet and pleasant. He had often
heard bad, noisy songs in the court
where he lived; but these sounds were
quite new to him. As he stood on the
steps of the door he was half afraid to


enter, and once turned away, as if he
would go home again. At length he
mustered courage and stepped into the
room, when a teacher asked him to sit
down in a class of boys, with whom he
felt quite at ease.
They were strange truths to Jamie
which he then heard. He learned for
the first time that he had a soul, which
would live for ever; and that this soul
was in danger of being lost. Some-
thing within him had before whispered
that he was a sinner, but now he found
that it was so; for God's holy Word
declared that all have sinned, and that
because of sin, death has come upon all
men. But then, oh joyful news! he
was told that Jesus Christ, the Son of
God, came ihto the world to save sin-
ners; and that He was able to save to
the uttermost all that came to God by
faith in Him; and not only able, but
that He was willing to save.
Jamie heard also of the power and

grace of the Holy Spirit in bringing men
to repent of sin, and enabling them to
live a life of obedience. All these teach-
ings were good news to him; and he
thought that even he might find mercy
and peace-that his sins might be par-
doned for the sake of Jesus Christ; and
though very unworthy, even poor Jamie
might wear a crown of glory in heaven.
Some weeks after Jamie had entered
the school, he was one day on his usual
search for rags, when he found a won-
derful prize. It was nothing less than
a gold watch. In former times he would
have sold it, for he knew that there
were some dishonest people who bought
all kinds of things that had been lost or
stolen; but now he felt that he ought
to try to find the owner. "It would
not be honest," said he to himself, "to
sell it, and to spend the money. Be-
sides, God knows all about it, and to
keep it would be almost the same as if
I had stolen it."

Jamiewas"adly at a loss to know what
to do with the watch. Not knowing any
better way he took it .home; but when
his unhappy mother saw it she tried to
get it from him, and very sadly used
him because he would not agree to sell
it. At last he thought of his teacher, and
away he ran to his house, and told him
all his trouble; for the finding of a gold
watch had really become a trouble to
him. The teacher soon set about mak-
ing inquiry in regard to the owner, and
after much search it was proved to be
a young lady. Her loss was deeply felt,
so much on account of its real worth,
as because it had been given her by a
beloved father, who was then in his
grave. No other watch to her was of
half the value of that which was lost.
Jamie was once more happy. He
felt that he had done his duty. The
lady was delighted when she heard of
the poor boy's honesty, and said that
she would gladly' give him a sum of

money which she had already offered
as a reward to any one who found it.
But Jamie, who did not know that any
such reward had been offered, did not
think that it would be quite proper to
take it. It was as if he were paid
for being honest. The lady, however,
was so much pleased with the poor rag-
picker, that she put the money into a
savings'-bank in his name, to be laid
out for his benefit when he got a little
older, and to help him on in life.
We do not know whether or not Jamie
still lives if he does, it is hoped that
he has not departed from the ways of
honesty and truth, and that the lessons
of his teacher in the ragged-school
have proved like good seed which has
brought forth much fruit to the glory
of God.



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