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IRI, I t The Baldwin Library R.- qyuniw oii f1jn ^ n ItQ 4+-r ,Z Ii TRIUE ASND) FA, E 'RIEND SI It' TRUE AND 7ALSE FRIENDSHIP 1Anb ther Storiez. LONDON: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY: 56, PATERNOSTER Row; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD; AND 164, PICCADILLY. MANCHESTER: CORPORATION ST. BRIGHTON: WESTERN ROAD. CONTENTS. TRUE AND FALSE FRIENDSHIP: CHAP. PAGE I THE CONTRAST 5 II. GREAT EXPECTATIONS 17 III. DISAPPOINTED HOPES. .29 IV. THE Two ENDINGS 37 THE PASSIONATE BOY 42 ADA'S TWO RESOLUTIONS 48 CHAPTER I. ,- THE CONTRAST. SN the village of Harlstein, a "small out-of-the-world place, lying deep in the heart of the Thuringian Forest, the i peasants have a tale regard- V ing two boys respectively -named Fritz and Karl, whose friendship was famous in the days of their grandfathers. S Fritz was the son of the village notary, that is to say, attorney. Karl was the orphan nephew of the village black- smith. Their rank in life was different, and such distinctions tell as powerfully in the rustic village as in the courtly capital. Fritz's 6 True and False Friendship. father, the notary, was one of the Harlstein gentry, a body consisting of himself, the antman or magistrate, and tax-gatherer, the pastor, and the schoolmaster. Karl's uncle belonged to the commonalty, which included all the rest of the village. Moreover he had six boys and girls of his own to keep, and had brought up Karl among them, with no prospect but hard work and rough fare for him and his cousins; while the notary had but two daughters and one son, and grand relations living in the city of Weimar, who were expected to do something for them all, and particularly for Fritz. The present station and future outlook of the boys being thus different, it was a marvel to all Harlstein that from their earliest days of learning at the village school, or playing in the fields, Fritz and Karl were familiar and almost inseparable friends. Wherever the one was seen everybody knew the other was not far off. In schemes of boyish sport or pleasure, they went always hand in hand; and in visitations for all misdoings in which the one was detected, it was generally found necessary to-include the other as aiding and abetting. Yet the boys were known to be as The Contrast. 7 different in disposition as their families were in rank. Fritz was a keen clever boy, with a high opinion of himself, and a strong in- clination for showing off to the best advan- tage in all companies. He had high spirits, but little of serious thought, was a deal less given to work than play. Nobody could learn his lessons quicker than Fritz, but no- body could forget them more rapidly; and those who knew him best said that his pro- mises and professions were apt to be forgotten too, if the fulfilment did not some way or other forward his own interest or amusement. Karl did not shine like his friend in school lessons or schemes of play. He was a slower, most people thought a duller boy, not so ready to answer, not so keen to perceive, and not by any means so lively a playmate. But what Karl did learn, he learned and remem- bered long; what he did perceive he was apt to think of in a sober, earnest manner, and come to very sensible conclusions for his years; and everybody knew that what Karl promised or undertook might be depended on to the uttermost extent of his ability. Besides their natural diversities of character, there was a contrast in the bringing up of 8 True and False Friendship. the two boys, in the maxims they heard and the examples they saw at home, which doubt- less operated to make each what he was. The notary and his family were thought highly respectable among their neighbours in conduct as well as in station; but all the week they were thinking of where they should go and what amusement they should have on Sunday after church time, which the father and mother slept away comfortably in their respective corners, while the children surveyed and criticised the looks and dresses of the young people round them, and were always glad when the service was over. There was nothing thought of, nothing talked of in their house but how to get and how to spend. The notary was a shrewd man of business: some people said he encouraged disputes and law- suits among the villagers, in order to get employment. His wife was great in house- hold affairs; but the highest ambition of both was, that their children should make the finest appearance, have the best portions, and cut the most conspicuous figures in the world, which to them signified the village of Harlstein. The poor blacksmith and his family had to work harder and fare worse from one week's The Contrast. 9 end to another. But they found time to read a chapter in their German Bible, and sing one of their old German hymns every evening before retiring to rest. They went to church on Sunday to worship and to hear, and were thankful for the peace and privileges of the sabbath-day. The father and mother taught their children to work honestly with their hands, that they might neither want nor be dependent in future days; and also taught them to remember that in this world they had no continuing city, but were only passing travellers bound for the New Jerusalem, where their treasures and their hearts should be. As might be expected, all their boys and girls were the better and the wiser for that teaching. Karl benefited by it too, for he had been early taken into the family. His father and mother died within a year of each other while Karl was yet an infant; and the honest black- smith, saying it was his duty to take his brother's child, at once adopted him into the number of his children, and all inquirers on the subject supposed that he had seven. Some of them were older, some younger than Karl, but they all grew up together, getting the same rough fare, the same rustic garments, 10 True and False Friendship. the same hardy honest training, and the same kindly looks and words at the humble hearth or the poorly-furnished table. If there were any difference perceptible among the seven, it was in Karl's favour. The blacksmith and his wife had tender consciences; it was their daily dread that the orphan might get, or seem to get, unkindness from their hands, that their own children might be uncon- sciously preferred to him in those small affairs of household life which appear so important to the young, and are apt to tinge the back- ward memories of after years. It was the good people's mistake, but it sprang from a noble purpose, namely, to supply his lost parents' place in spirit as well as in fact to their young nephew. So it happened that in spite of their wise and worthy intentions to bring Karl up exactly as one of their own sons, the boy got too much of his own way, and it led him to continual, almost inseparable association with the notary's son Fritz. The popular saying concerning them was, that Fritz got Karl into scrapes, and Karl got Fritz out of them. The villagers might have added that Fritz got Karl into bad prac- ticos, which Karl never got Fritz out of. The Contrast. 11 Brought up to think of nothing but his own interests, pleasures, or whims-for Fritz got the largest amount of spoiling in the family in right of being the only son-it was his custom to ridicule, reason down, as a pre- sumptuous ill-taught boy could, and laugh to scorn, the sober, pious habits enforced in the blacksmith's house, particularly what Fritz called that stupid, humdrum manner of keep- ing Sunday. "You see, Karl," he would say, in those private attacks on his playmate's better learning; "you see nobody of rank or fashion keeps Sunday in that way. It is only the poor rustic clowns of the country, who know nothing but what their preachers tell them, and go humdruming on from one year to another just as the people did before the flood, I'll warrant. But people who live in towns and courts know better; my uncle and aunt in Weimar always go out picnicking on Sunday afternoons, and to the play in the evenings. I shall be going to serve my ap- prenticeship with uncle some of these days, and will send you all the news how fashion- able people get on. In fact, Karl, I hope you are not going to be a rustic creature all your life; you know the friendship I have for you, 12 True aqd False Friendship. and if you would only look up a little, get enlarged ideas, and not be bound down to those narrow-minded, old-fashioned ways, I might get my uncle to find you a situation in Weimar. Those cousins of yours don't care for you at all; they are too stupid to care for anything but the smutty forge and the barley field. I'll warrant the old black- smith groans every night over the burden you are to him. But never mind, Karl, I'll stand your friend, and you and I will have glorious times in Weimar. Now, don't forget to have your fishing-rod ready, and meet me at the garden-gate as soon as we get out of church to-morrow." Such was the general drift and conclusion of Fritz's private lectures, which were com- monly delivered on Saturday afternoon, when school was over early, and the boys had time to talk and play. Karl did not exactly be- lieve all Fritz said on those occasions. He knew his cousins did care for things beyond the smutty forge and the barley field, and that his good uncle did not groan over the bur- den he was to him. But somehow he could not contradict Fritz. The notary's son had got the lead of him and kept it, partly by The Contrast. 13 professions of friendship, of which Fritz was never sparing, partly by assuming a know- ledge of what was done in the great world of towns and courts, so little known to the forest people, but made manifest to Fritz through his grand relations in Weimar, and partly by sel- fishly working on the fond and foolish affection which made Karl unwilling to dispute with or to refuse him anything. All the while the simple boy did not perceive that Fritz was making a convenience and a plaything of him. There was nobody in all the village that would listen to or serve the notary's son as Karl did. Fritz called him his friend, and stood stoutly up for the connection against his mother and sisters, who thought the black- smith's nephew a very ungenteel companion, and far beneath his rank and expectations. The notary thought so too, but Fritz was his only son, had a will of his own, and would have his own way. Karl pleased him better than any one, loved him better, he was sure; in short, he would play and go with nobody else, and between sulks and threatening to run away, the family got half tired, half fright- ened, and Fritz was allowed to keep company with Karl. 14 True and False Friendship. These two households were disquieted by the friendship of Fritz and Karl. It was true there were no such stormy scenes in the black- smith's cottage as in the notary's house, but the good man and his wife were vexed to find the orphan nephew they had brought up stealing away with fishing-rods and bow and arrows to meet the notary's son after church time on Sundays, and ramble with him through the fields and the woods till nightfall; to see the needful work left undone and the requisite task neglected on week days, because Fritz had whistled Karl off to some sport or pastime; and, worse than all, to see idle, careless, if not graceless habits thus fostered in the boy, and likely to be intro- duced among their own children. The honest pair grieved over these things, they made Karl a burden to them indeed, and many an earnest remonstrance and many a sound advice and many a kindly warning he got against the danger of such courses. Karl knew that all his uncle and aunt said was just and right-the boy had good sense as well as good nature-and if left alone with his honest kinsfolk, would have followed their precepts and profited by their example. But ine Contrast. 15 the friendship, the grandeur, and the clever- ness of Fritz were too much for him. Karl's good resolutions, and even his promises, were overcome by the first invitation to fish in the stream, or hunt rabbits in the woodland. "I can't go with you next Sunday, Fritz," he would sometimes get the length of saying; "it vexes my uncle so, and I don't think it is right myself." "Oh, you can't," Fritz would answer; "well that is like a friend, after all I have stood at home for being seen with you Sunday or week day. You care for your uncle and his old humdrum notions more than you do for me, Karl; but never mind, if you are too good to go with me, somebody else will. Franz, the antman's son, would be glad enough; but I did not expect to be treated in such a manner by one I have suffered so much for." By the time Fritz got to the end of that discourse, poor Karl was ready to beg his pardon, and promise to go with him any- where or any day he pleased. The fishing- rods and the bow and arrows were again in requisition as sure as Sunday came, the week-day lesson was unlearned, the week- day work undone, and the good blacksmith 16 True and False Friendship. and his wife had another cause of vexa- tion and remonstrance. They would have used more authoritative measures with their own children; and thoughtful neighbours blamed them for being too remiss with Karl. But the dread of seeming unkind to their orphan nephew, his general good conduct in every other respect, and the probability which Karl believed and tried to make them believe of the service which such a distinguished friend as the notary's son might be to him in future years, the situation which his uncle would get him in Weimar, and the like, wrought on their honest simple minds, to the overlooking of many a broken promise and many a neglected duty. ^' N' CHAPTER II. GREAT EXPECTATIONS. SHE pastor of Harlstein was a man so far stricken in years, and so burdened with the infirmities of age, that he could scarcely con- duct the service of his Lutheran church; but he was attached to his congregation, and his congregation was attached to him. When he first settled among them the forest country was traversed by hostile armies in the closing strug- gles of the great French war. From that time he had preached and prayed for them through fifty years of peaceful labour and rustic quiet, while fields were sown and harvests gathered, the young generation born, and the old laid down to rest in God's acre, as the Germans call the churchyard. The villagers could not part with the pastor who had mourned with them by their fathers' graves, married their sons, and baptized their children. They could not see a stranger, however faithful and efficient, come to take his place, and do his duties. So the old pastor continued to preach and pray, C 2S 18 True and False Friendship. hoping, as he said, that the Lord of the vineyard would Himself make up for the failing strength of His servant. But in other respects his parishioners were almost left to their own guidance, and would have been entirely so but for the village schoolmaster, Ernest Maltz. Ernest was a distant relation to the pastor, but the pastor had no nearer one. Brothers and sisters, wife and children, all had died out in the course of his long life, and left him alone at its close. The parish was poor; he had been hospitable and charitable, and would have little or nothing of worldly goods to leave. The schoolmaster's salary was also scanty in that forest village; but Ernest had come there partly to be near and serviceable to his aged relative, partly the better to pursue a course of private study, and save up sufficient to pay his expenses at the university of Weimar. Ernest was a serious, thoughtful young man, and had made up his mind to devote himself to the ministry. Such of the pastoral duties as he could discharge were cheerfully under- taken, and faithfully performed. The villagers relied upon him for giving religious instruc- tion to their children, for visiting families in Great Expectations. 19 times of sickness or distress, and for affording good counsel to young and old in those difficulties and perplexities which cross the most quiet lives. The judgment, discretion, and kindly nature of the young schoolmaster were so well known to the people of Harlstein, that they were in the habit of consulting him on all their troubles, spiritual and temporal; and the more thoughtless of the community knew that when his advice was not sought, though very much wanted, Ernest was apt to give it in such a gentle and friendly manner, that those he reproved thought the better of him and it ever after. The schoolmaster was well aware (as who in the village was not ?) of the blacksmith's diffi- culties with his nephew and the notary's son. He had a good opinion of Karl, liked the good-natured, steady-going boy, and kept up the hearts of the blacksmith and his family with good hopes concerning him, in spite of that unsafe and troublesome friendship; but he saw plainly enough how and where it was leading the boy, and used to make small opportunities for private talk with Karl. Sometimes he would waylay him in his goings to meet Fritz, sometimes ask him to stay 20 True and False Friendship. behind the rest of the scholars to see some- thing new in his books or in his garden; and still their talk concluded with the same kindly and earnest remonstrance against grieving his good uncle, and being led into what he knew to be wrong by the arts and flatteries of a selfish companion. "He is no true friend to you, Karl, or he would not vex your nearest relations, and get you into trouble, merely for his own whims and amusements. Besides, you know these Sunday sports to be wrong doings, and you are sacrificing to the notary's son not only your own and your family's peace, but the love and favour of your everlasting Friend above. My boy, remember what your Bible says, 'The friendship of the world is enmity with God.' The text holds true for boys as well as for men, and you will find this Fritz a friend after the world's false fashion." So the good schoolmaster would speak, and Karl would listen with serious convictions that all his teacher said was true, except as regarded Fritz. The boy could not be per- suaded that the playmate who made such mighty professions of standing his friend, and loving him beyond all the world in spite of Great Expectations. 21 the difference of rank and relations, was not staunch and trusty, and never would forget him even among the great people in Weimar. While that belief remained in Karl's mind Fritz had a bridle with which to lead him about at his pleasure; and about he did lead him for many a day, to the great vexation of his uncle, and everybody who wished Karl well, till Fritz himself got something finer to do. The forest country of Thuringia lies, as the map will show you, in the centre of Germany. A long stretch of some seventy miles, varying in its breadth, but always narrow in pro- portion to the length, runs through some half-dozen principalities among which it is divided. The district in which Harlstein was situated belonged to the Grand Duchy of Weimar. Its capital-called by the same name, where the Grand Duke lived and kept his court, from whence new fashions and dealers in all rare and foreign goods came down to the forest country-though at no great distance, and not so large as a third-rate town in England, was, in the talk and fancy of the villagers, the greatest city in the world. Few of them had ever seen it. The slow- 22 True and False Friendship. going and hardworking Thuringian peasants were no travellers. They had no money to spend in its shops and warehouses; there was no absolute want in the forest land; but there was general frugality: all necessary things were home-made, and nobody thought of better; but the people of Harlstein had a great admiration for Weimar and everything that came out of it. The notary's chief distinction had been long built upon the fact of his having relations in the great city. They consisted of a brother, also a notary, with his wife and son, said to be living in extraordinary style; for the head of the family did business for two barons, one count, and the Grand Duke's deputy chamber- lain. They were often boasted of, but never seen, and little heard from in Harlstein. It was whispered that the two brothers had not agreed well in their early days, and were con- siderably estranged by time and distance. But at this period of our story it so happened that the notary in Weimar lost his son by sudden sickness. When he and his wife re- covered from the shock of that heavy loss they agreed to adopt their nephew Fritz if he behaved well, and bring him up to the busi- Great Expectations. 23 ness, that neither it nor the money they had gathered for their own boy might go to strangers. Fritz's father was written to ac- cordingly, told of the prospects that awaited his son, and asked to send him without delay on a twelvemonth's trial before they took him entirely. Fritz's father and mother caught at the proposal. The notary's business was little in that' forest village. The boy would be provided for, and they could save up money for their girls. All Harlstein heard of the prospect thus opened to Fritz: he was to be adopted by his rich uncle, made heir of nobody knew how much in the Weimar bank, and brought up to the business which was done for two barons, one count, and the Grand Duke's deputy chamberlain. Fritz became a kind of nobleman himself in the eyes of the simple villagers when that great news was published, and the young gentleman did not fail to enlarge on the grandeur he should see and share in to all his acquaintances, and especially to Karl. "Yes," said he, "it is come at last, and I always knew it would come, didn't I, Karl ? My friends will have cause to be proud of me 24 True and False Friendship. yet. I am going to be made a notary, you see; and a notary who does business for court people may rise to anything in Weimar. I dare say I shall go to court some day myself in a fine gold-laced coat, a cocked hat, and a sword by my side. But I'll not forget you, Karl, in all my prosperity. I'll write to you every post. I'll tell you all the news and all the fashions, and see if I don't get my uncle to find a situation for you, and take you from among those stupid forge people." Karl believed his friend, as he had always done; and Fritz, after promising the same things and more over and over again, was made ready with his best clothes, provided with a seat in the carrier's waggon, which once a month passed through the district on its way to Weimar, taken leave of by the whole village, and escorted by all its young people for some miles on his triumphant journey. Karl sat with him in the waggon, and went a mile beyond the rest. (We are speaking of English, and not German measure, which happens to be a great deal longer.) Then the friends parted with tears and protestations never to forget on both sides. The notary's sop Great Expectations. 25 went on to the courtly capital, and the black- smith's nephew came back to his village home. Henceforth there was peace and quiet in two houses of Harlstein. The notary's family had nobody to scold for keeping low com- pany, and the blacksmith and his wife were not vexed by the forbidden doings of their nephew. Having no Fritz to whistle him off from work or better things, Karl went on soberly and steadily in the good old ways of his uncle's family; and as in that kindly household bygones were allowed to be by- gones, and every allowance made for the young orphan, Karl would have found him- self the better and the wiser for the parting on the Weimar road but that his heart still missed and mourned for his early friend. From work and from play his thoughts went after Fritz to the great and unknown city. When school was over on the Saturday afternoons he would steal away to their old haunts in the woodlands, the streams where they fished, and the dells where they rambled together, and sit there alone, wondering what Fritz was doing now, if he would ever come back, or send for him to the promised situa- tion in Weimar; He had not forgotten him, 26 True and False Friendship. Karl was sure of that, for letter after letter came, some by the postmen who crossed the forest country on their way to distant towns, some by the travelling traders who sold Weimar wares, and bought up forest produce in Harlstein. A more experienced reader would have observed that every letter was so filled with Fritz's own grandeur, the fine presents he had got from his aunt and uncle, the fine things they and their friends said of him, the fine house in which he livedwith them, the fine sights he saw, and the great things he expected-that there was only room in the last corner for a brief inquiry after Karl's health and welfare. Still it was the news and the fashions of the grand courtly city; what was more, it was the glory and honour of his friend; and Karl read the letters not only to the family at home, but also to all his school- fellows and all the villagers. The notary's household thought it beneath their son to write to such a boy; but they overlooked the fault in consideration of so much grandeur being published. Most of the simple people of Harlstein thought Karl's fortune half made by having such a friend, and getting such letters Great Expectations. 27 Even the blacksmith and his wife were not a little pleased that the notary's son should remember and write to their nephew; but the good man sometimes warned him not to expect too much from folks in their prospe- rity, nor build too high on the friendship of boy or man. Thus time passed. Karl's school-days came to an end. It was necessary to think of what trade he should be apprenticed to, for there was no intelligence of the promised situation. Karl had looked for it, hoped for it, ever since FEitz left him; to get to Weimar, and be near his friend in any capacity, was the thought of his aay and the dream of his night. He had dropped gentle reminders in his replies to the grand letters. They were generally written under packets of choice fish-hooks and dried.forest flowers, by which Karl showed at once his skill and his friend- ship. Fritz admired them immensely, pro- mised to show them to his grand acquaint- ances, but took no notice of the reminders, and latterly his letters began to grow few and far between, he was so much engaged in learning the notary's business. It was time, however, that Karl should "28 True and False Friendship. be apprenticed like other honest village lads. IIe did not like the blacksmith's trade. Fritz had always called it low and dirty; but his uncle's wife had a brother, named Matz, living at Kirksdoff, a village half way between Harlstein and Weimar, and esteemed one of the best carpenters in the forest country. Matz happened to want an ap- prentice. His own son preferred the black- smith's trade; and it was settled that a fair exchange should be effected. Karl should go to Kirksdoff, and young Matz should come to Harlstein. Karl went with a light heart; he would be so much nearer the great city, and his friend Fritz could write to him just as well at Kirksdoff-could send for him when the situation was ready; and perhaps in some holiday time, Karl might get the length of Weimar, and see the notary's son in the midst of his grandeur. Such were his hopes, and Karl wrote them all to Fritz; but he got no reply: the learning of the business was, doubtless more than usually difficult. CHAPTER III. DISAPPOINTED HOPES. ETTLED in his new home, Karl commenced the carpenter's trade. He found it hard at first, as all trades and learning are, but would have got on pretty well if it had not been for vexation at his friend's long silence, and also for the tempers of his new master and mistress. Matz and his wife, though so nearly connected with Karl's aunt and uncle in Harlstein, were very different people. The husband had a hard, inconsiderate way of dealing with those under him. The wife had a remarkable memory for everything disagree- able, and a great readiness of tongue in recalling the like. They both knew of the trouble Karl had given in the matter of his friendship with Fritz; and though not generally agreed on any subject, they both thought his uncle and aunt had spoiled him by their gentle- ness, and were determined to make up for 80 True and False Friendship. whatever was wanting in that respect. So Karl got harshly ordered and sharply re- proved on all occasions. His master expected him to think of nothing but carpentering, learn everything without being half taught, and above all things, to be worth his board in the house, for liberality was not among the forest carpenter's virtues. His mistress took every opportunity to remind the ap- prentice of his former misdoings and dis- obedience to his uncle; and what Karl thought still worse, the pair, together with their two journeymen and numerous relations, made an especial point of throwing despite and ridicule on his friend Fritz. They had never seen the notary's son, it was true, but they knew all about him from their Harlstein kindred, and Karl was simple enough to make an early boast of his present grandeur and future prospects. From that unlucky day the boy had no peace; foolish and spiteful young men, mischievous urchins, cross old women, and above all, the ready tongue of his mistress, did their best to take down his pride of the notary's son in Weimar. Karl was a sober, steady, good-natured boy; but all Kirksdoff had got a thorn in his side; and Disappointed Hopes. 31 who can stand against the continued attack of numbers ? He got angry, got into quarrels, got reproved and threatened, got tired and sick of his apprenticeship, and at length one .day, after a fierce dispute with the two journeymen, in which both master and mis- tress took part against, and the carpenter struck him, Karl made up his mind to run away. He could not think of going back .to his uncle, where young Matz was now in his room; and all at once it occurred to him to set out for Weimar, see how Fritz was getting on, and ask if he could get him the situation. "He will be glad to see me, anyway," thought Karl; "and I can surely get something to do in the great city. I'll do anything, or take the poorest place, to be near him, and away from these spiteful people." With those thoughts Karl bundled up his few clothes before day- break on the following morning, stole out of the carpenter's house-nobody locks up doors in the forest country-left Kirksdoff behind him, and was far on the Weimar road by the rising of the sun. Part of the way he knew, having often studied it; for the rest he in- quired of carriers and travellers, who grew 32 True and False Friendship. more numerous as he emerged from the forest, and reached the cultivated lands. Pocket-money had never been plenty with Karl. He left the carpenter's house with only half a groschen (about fivepence English money); but at the first village inn where he stopped and asked shelter for the night, the landlord allowed him to share the family supper, sleep in the hay-loft, and breakfast on broken victuals for that sum. He was told he should reach Weimar by noon, however, and that kept Karl's heartland spirits up. On he went, much admiring the great farms and rich crops through which his road lay, still more the gentry's country seats and the clean white villages which thickened as he ap- proached the town. At length there was a far-off prospect of towers and steeples, a passing of vehicles, a thronging of people. Karl was glad, for he was footsore and hungry. The day was in- tensely hot. It was that time of the year when summer and harvest meet, and he had journeyed far. But there was Weimar, and there was Fritz, no doubt, ready to take him by the hand, and welcome him with the looks and tones of their early friendship. So Karl Disappointed Hopes. 33 hastened on, passed through the northern gate, and found himself in the streets of the busy town. A wondrous place it seemed to the forest boy, accustomed to the sight of wide woods and fields, with his own poor village made up of one small church and the old timber cot- tages straggling round it. The shops aston- ished Karl, the public buildings overwhelmed him, and the din of the streets almost con- founded his senses. He knew the address Fritz had given him in his letters, and began to ask his way of everybody he met. They all looked strangely at him, he thought. Karl was dressed in the forest costume of coarse blue cloth, with yellow cords and brass but- tons. His Thuringian dialect was scarcely intelligible to most of the townspeople; but he was walking on, and asking his way, when his eye was caught by the flash of gold and diamonds in a jeweller's shop-window. There was a tall lady in black going in at the door, and close behind her who but his friend Fritz, dressed in a handsome suit of city-made clothes, and looking so grand that Karl scarcely knew him. But the forest boy's heart leaped for joy. Here was an end to D 28 84 T'rue and False Friendship. all his wanderings and misfortunes. He ran up to Fritz, laid his hands on his shoulder just as he was entering the shop, and cried, "Here I am, Fritz, come to see you in Weimar." But Karl got no grasp of the hand, no wel- come. Fritz turned round and looked at him as if he were the most unpleasant sight in all the world, shrunk back to the wall, and said in a very low tone, lest the lady, who had by this time gone in, should hear him, "What brings you here ?" "To see you, and to get a situation," said Karl, as soon as he could speak, for the unex- pected reception stunned him like a blow. "There are no situations for forest people in Weimar," said Fritz, looking still more dis- pleased; "and I can't be seen by my aunt speaking to you in such a trim as that. Do go away." Karl turned from him with a sickening sen- sation. Was that the end of all his friend- ship, of all his promises ? The boy was tired, hungry, and a stranger; but not for all the wealth of Weimar could he have brought himself to stay another minute, and ask help or countenance from the notary's son. Disappointed H hopes. 85 He ran down the street like one pursued by his enemies, turned up lanes, down alleys, and across squares without knowing where they were leading him. All parts of the town were the same to poor Karl since he had been dis- owned by the friend in whom he trusted so long.- But what was he to do, what was to become of him, without money and without friends in the strange town? He knew that what Fritz said was true-the forest people were thought outlandish and of no account- for everybody stared at and nobody seemed to understand him. At last, when the sun was getting low, and the evening coming on, he found himself able to walk no farther, and sat down on the steps of a deserted house in one of the great squares. All the inhabitants seemed within doors, having their suppers, as Karl thought. It was the hour at which people gave up work in the forest village. His uncle, aunt, and cousins would be gather- ing round their table now, young Matz would be sitting in his place, the grace would be said, and the provisions divided. Many an evening he had come in too late, and been reproved for his idle goings with Fritz; many a day he had left his tasks undone; many a 36 True and False Friendship. Sunday he had broken the sabbath rest, grieved his uncle and aunt, and done things against his own conscience to please the boy who now cast off and forsook him in the midst of the strange town. There was no one to see him or care what he did, and Karl wept sore in the bitterness of his heart. \-\L>" 2>. ** n, '" 37- CHAPTER IV. THE TWO ENDINGS. T seemed to Karl that hope and strength and courage had forsaken him with Fritz. It was the heaviest, hardest grief, the sorest disappointment, that he had ever known; and, like all the young and inexperienced, he thought that nothing could be worse. But while he sat with his head bowed almost to his knees, and his frame convulsed with thick coming sobs, a kindly hand was laid on his shoulder, a voice called him by his name, and, looking up, Karl saw the village schoolmaster, Ernest Maltz. "What are you doing here, my boy, and what has happened to you?" said the friendly teacher, sitting down on the steps beside him. He was quite as well dressed as Fritz, and looked as much of a townsman. "Oh, sir !" said Karl, unable to command either his tears or his tale, "I have run away from my master, the carpenter of Kirksdoff, 88 True and False Friendship. and come here all the way to see Fritz; but he has turned from me, said he couldn't speak to me in this trim, and bade me go away." Exactly what I should have expected from him," said the schoolmaster; "but do not grieve about it, Karl. Fritz or anything he does is not worth grieving for. He was not worth the trouble you took to serve and please him in former times. Had there been any worth in him he would not have allowed you to do it. But don't grieve: it is a hard lesson, but a good one, and may be of use to you all your life as a warning to avoid selfish and graceless companions. In the meantime you will come home with me. I am a student here now; our old pastor has gone to his everlasting rest; they have got a young minister and a new schoolmaster in Harlstein, and I have come to finish my studies at the university." Karl went home with his former adviser whose warnings had proved so true, got warmed and comforted with a good supper and a kindly welcome, and told his story over again with full particulars. Ernest Maltz promised to consider what was best The Two Endings. 39 to be done, got Karl a good bed for that night, where the tired boy slept soundly; and though his sorrow was not forgotten, it was very much softened in the morning. In conversing with him, his former school- master found reason to believe that the lesson he had got at the jeweller's shop-door would serve the blacksmith's nephew for the rest of his life. At the same time he hap- pened to know a worthy cutler in the town who wanted an apprentice, and had come from the forest country in his youth. This man consented to take Karl on Ernest's re- commendation; and after some difficulties with the Kirksdoff carpenter, his indentures were allowed to be cancelled, out of regard to his uncle and aunt in Harlstein, but with a prediction from his master and mistress that Karl would never come to good. That prophecy signally failed of fulfilment. Having got one lesson against idle and worth- less companions, Karl was careful with whom he associated ever after. The words of Solo- mon, "My son, if sinners entice thee, con- sent thou not," were the rule of his conduct; and the wise and pious teachings of his early home remained in his memory, and guided 40 True and False Friendship. his daily walk in the courtly city. He finished his npi.l're'ti':..-hllp with credit to himself and satisfaction to his master; and- the latter having no son of" his own, took Karl first for his journeyman, then for his partner, and finally for his heir and successor in business. Thus the forest boy became a tradesman of good repute and some wealth. it the city of Weimar. But as KarlPs fortunes rose, those of Fritz - fell. The idle, careless habits which the notary's son had brought with him from his native village, though kept in check for some time by the novelty of his position, and the dread- of his uincle and aunt, who were close-handed and strict people, returned in full force as soon as he became accustomed to town life; and as one could gu n coirn tlere much easier than in the forest country, Fritz got lii'uilif and his relations into trul:'i,:.. The Weimar uncle sent him back to his father more than once, and finally, after Sundry trials of his good behaviour, which l\,:- I'' vC1il fiih I i, disinherited and turned him out upon the world a half-made notary and a worthless young man. From that time Fritz went about as people of his sort do, ir The Two L',,.1;, 41 all countries, getting situations, and losing them, getting into scrapes of every variety, and hanging on friends and relations as long as they would allow him. Fain would he have renewed association with Karl, and made many an effort for that purpose, re- minding him of their old days in the forest land, and hoping he would not keep malice for what he, Fritz, had been obliged to do in the way of disowning him for fear of his proud old aunt. But Karl answered him calmly, "I bear no malice, Fritz: it is un- worthy it' a man and a Christian. If you are in necessity I will assist you. If you will take advice, I counsel you to follow a better course of life. I owe you this much, because it was from you I learned the differ- ence between true and false friendship." ,e*' i I. ^^~~ 42 Sh!e HPassianate aBJy. "- -. E. EVER let me witness the like ". of this again," said a kind -* -i, - Christian father, as his eye ''. a sorrowfully rested on the Sbosom of his youthful son, r- agitated by a burst of passion. l A younger brother had de- prived him of a favourite toy only for a few minutes, and he had just then revenged the wrong as his father entered the play-room. The culprit hung his head. Guilt makes a coward of a man, why not of a boy ? "George," continued he, "how often will my heart be rent by such exhibitions of my child's temper ? Willing as I am to forgive you, I cannot but tremble for you, should you persist in the conduct you are now pursuing." The usual excuse was about to be offered, "I will never do it again." The Passionate Boy. 43 "But, no, George," interrupted his father, "I will not listen to such vows; they are like impressions on the sand; the first wave of temptation will wash them away. First en- deavour to understand the nature of your error, and then strive to correct it, earnestly seeking in prayer the aid of Him who was meek and lowly as a lamb." Mr, L-- was no slave-master: in con- demning the frailties of others he did not display his own, but strictly obeyed the in- junction, "Be ye angry, and sin not." Like hiS Father in heaven, he pitied while he chided -loving the sinner, though hating the sin. How careful parents ought to be in this respect the following story well illustrates. A mother had one day chastised her little son with unnecessary severity, and in a condition of feeling inconsistent with a profession of Christianity. He then retired to his own apartment, and she, curious to know his rea- son for so doing, followed him, and overheard the following prayer: "0 God, take away my bad temper; and, oh, take away my mother's too !" Children are acute observers, small though they be, and parents would be wise to tax their memories with how they 44 The Passionate Boy. felt, and what they thought, when but few summers had passed over them; and they would be fitter judges of the thoughts and the feelings of their youthful offspring. "Father," remonstrated little Edward, as he observed Mr. L-- leading George towards the door, "forgive him for this time, and he will never be angry with me again." "You have a generous, forgiving spirit," replied his father; "I am not going to punish George for this offence, but I will take him to my study, and reason with him there upon the impropriety of his behaviour." So saying, he took him down-stairs, and, closing the door, knelt with the offender, and pleaded for Divine direction. Then taking his hand affectionately, he said: "My dear George, I have no doubt you sincerely repent of your fault; but you know not the amount of evil you may already have committed. You may forget your foolish acts, but others will not; and the effect of past sins will cling to you, even after your personal appearance and circumstances have undergone many a change. A school-boy, possessed of a very violent temper, was ordered by his master to drive a nail into the wall every time he ren The Passionate Boy. 45 dered himself ridiculous. By this device, he became scrupulously careful, and succeeded so far, that upon each manifestation of self- denial he was permitted to displace a nail. On taking a survey of the school one day, his master observed that all the nails were out. 'I am delighted to see this,' said he; 'it gives hope for the future.' Perhaps it does,' replied the now humbled youth, 'but the marks are still there.' "Yes," continued Mr. L--, thoughtfully, "the marks will remain; and I would warn you to watch and pray, lest this 'root of bitterness, springing up, trouble you.' 'No man liveth to himself:' as long as you live, you will exercise an influence for good or evil; and if you do not check now this grievous in- clination to quarrel, you may yet commit crimes whose rehearsal at this moment would make you shudder. I believe you feel indig. nant at the bare supposition, but let not this be a ground of security. Others have equally scorned the idea, and yet lived to prove the truth of the alarming prophecy. Before Hazael became king of Syria, he was informed, during an interview with Elisha the prophet, that he would commit cruelties of the most 46 The Passionate Boy. unmerciful nature when he had attained to the high position in store for him. 'What !' cried he, 'is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing ?' Yet done it was, and by him, for he became the scourge of the children of Israel for their transgressions, and fulfilled to the letter all that had been fore- told. How true it is that 'man knoweth the beginning of sin, but who can bound the issues thereof? Who can say that the thought of murder filled the heart of Cain when he first felt very wroth with his brother ? Yet it led to it, as surely as the streamlet gives birth to the mighty river. There is but one instance of irritability recorded in the history of the meek Moses; yet, for the sake of those who looked up to him as their example, as well as for the honour and glory of God, the offence was punished, and he who had longed to behold the 'land flowing with milk and honey' was not allowed to enter it." Observing that George was much affected, Mr. L-- kindly drew him to his side, saying: "I am aware, my dear boy, that you have had many disadvantages. The loss of a mother's influence at an early period of life The Passionate Boy. 47 can never be supplied, and my line of business has called me oftener from home than any who are anxious about the training of their children would wish. Under your own feeble care, this evil habit has grown strong, but not too strong to be conquered by diligent effort; and I fondly hope to see the day when your disposition will be as gentle as it is now boisterous. Pray, therefore, my dear boy, for the grace of the Holy Spirit to take away this sinful temper; and if you pray aright, your prayer will surely be heard." ^"" 48 :Lda's WT wo :tsolutior s. CHAPTER I. CAUSES OF FAILURE. l'" o HALL you take me with you 0 to the missionary meeting to-morrow, mamma?" asked SAda Marshall, before setting off for school, one fine May morning. "Will not to-morrow be soon enough to answer that question, Ada?" replied her mother. For me it would, of course, mamma; but Miss Hunter always likes us to tell her if we are likely to be away from school; then she does not feel uneasy at our absence." "Then you may tell your teacher, my dear, that, all being well, I hope to take you with me to the meeting" Causes of Failure. 49 Oh, thank you, dear mamma! I am so glad," said Ada; and away she tripped to school. On the following morning, as Mrs. Marshall was putting on her bonnet, her little daughter again came to prefer a request, and this time with rather a sad countenance, as though scarcely hoping that it would be granted. "Mamma," she began, "I am very sorry, but I have spent nearly all my money. I quite intended to save a good deal to give to the missionaries; but somehow I first saw one thing I wanted, and then another, so I put off beginning to lay any by. Now," she continued, holding out sixpence, "I have no more than this left. Will you give me a little money, just another shilling, to add to it, for this is scarcely worth offering ?" "If my little -daughter can prove that all her own store, or even the half of it, has been wisely spent, I shall have no objection to advance a shilling, to be repaid out of her regular allowance of pocket-money." Ada's face turned crimson in an instant. She bethought herself of many little articles purchased to gratify a momentary whim, and then cast aside as useless. Too late she E L 50 Ada's Two Resolutions. wished she had saved at least a part of their price; but, alas! wasted money, like wasted time, cannot be redeemed. So she replied in a low voice: "Mamma, I have not spent my money wisely; but indeed, if you will let me have some now, I will try to keep sufficient in store for such another time as this." "I believe you expressed precisely the same determination after being at the last year's gathering of friends to aid the mission- ary cause, did you not ?" Poor Ada I too well did she remember the circumstance to which her mamma alluded. She had returned from the missionary meet- ing greatly moved by the narratives she had heard from some zealous missionaries, who, after years of earnest soul-seeking in foreign lands, had returned to give an account of their success, and incite others to aid, as far as lay in their power, the spread of the gospel. She had built many castles in the air, be- lieving them to have a more substantial foundation. She had resolved that she would do a great deal to help the missionaries, that she would save every penny of her pocket- money, and add all her presents to it; and Causes of Failure. 51 yet now, at the year's end, there was-this one solitary sixpence. Poor child! She was like many an older person and more experi- enced Christian; she found it so much more easy to resolve than to perform. She might have said, as the great apostle of the Gentiles did so many hundred years ago, "To will is present with me, but how to perform that which is good I find not." There was a short pause before Ada spoke again, and when. she did she made no attempt to defend herself, for conscience told that her mother's words were only too true. So she said, Then will you not do what I asked you, mamma?" "I am very sorry to refuse you anything, my dear child; but I think you must be sensible that I cannot do otherwise. If I were to place the money in your hands to bestow, it would still be my gift; not yours." Some of my young readers may probably think that Mrs. Marshall was very severe with her daughter; but, perhaps, when I have explained matters, they will understand that she acted more kindly in refusing than she would have done in granting Ada's desire. The little girl was too much in the habit of 52 Ada's Two Resolutions. talking about her good intentions, and then failing to perform them, and her mother wished to give her a lesson which might produce a lasting impression. Besides, Ada had a regular allowance of pocket-money, quite sufficient to have enabled her to spare far more than a little sixpence in aid of the missionary cause; and she had always been taught by her kind mother that we should not offer to God what costs us nothing. It is a very easy thing indeed for us to ask our parents for money to give to the poor, to the sabbath-schools, or to the missionary fund, but not quite so easy to do without something we very much like, in order to make a little offering to the cause of God. So Ada had found it, ahd had deferred making a beginning until this season was lost. But if Ada regretted all her wasted six- pences before she went, how much more did she wish them once more in her possession, when she heard stories of the heathen nations who had been brought to a knowledge of God, and the anxiety of many a poor Indian and African to possess a Bible, which, alas ! could not be given, for want of money to ob- tain more, Ada's own Bible had never before Causes of Failure. 53 seemed half so precious, nor had she thought nearly as much of God's goodness to herself. As she and her mother walked home to- gether, Ada was often tempted to say that she really had resolved to begin to save at least half her allowance, that when such a meeting was again held, she need not go almost empty-handed. But something within seemed to whisper, "You said so last year, Ada; how do you think your mother can have any faith in your words ? Better not speak than fail to perform." So the child was silent, though her thoughts were very busy, as she trudged along by her mother's side. Perhaps Mrs. Marshall guessed what was passing in Ada's mind, for she asked, "Ada did you hear what was said by one of the ministers about a child's gift to help the missionary work ?" "Yes, mamma; he said a little girl had given two whole sovereigns. I think she must either have a great deal of pocket- money, or else her friends had provided her with it on purpose for to-day." "You are quite mistaken, Ada. That child never had half as much pocket-money as 54 Ada's Two Resolutions. yourself, and yet she offered what was really her own, because earned by the labour of her hands. I happen to know all about it, and can assure you those two sovereigns were won by the busy fingers of a child a year younger than my little daughter." "Then she is not more than nine years old, mamma. I think I could not earn two sove- reigns if I were to work for as many years. How did she manage to get so much ?" "By spending first a few pence in purchas- ing materials, and then by always devoting a little of her spare time daily to making up pretty fancy articles for sale amongst her friends. Those beautiful mats on the drawing- room table were made by her, and their price helped towards the two sovereigns, which seemed such a large sum for a child to give." "What a clever little girl she must be, mamma !" "She is a very diligent one, my love. I think she must often call to mind these words when she is at her work, 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor know- ledge, nor wisdom in the grave, whither thou goest.'" Causes of Failure. 55 "Those are very solemn words, mamma." "They are indeed, my child. It is a great thing to bear in mind continually that the labours performed in this world are not for time, but for eternity." Mamma," asked Ada, "do you think God has set me any work to do for Him ?" When we reach home we will look in the Bible and see, dear." Ada thought this a very strange answer indeed, and felt quite sure there would be nothing about her in the Bible. But when she had taken her dress off, and sat down beside her mamma, Mrs. Marshall found the twenty-fifth chapter of St. Matthew, and bade her read the parable of the talents. Ada did so, and then said, I do not find anything about myself here, mamma." "But you have read how one man received five talents, another two, and another one. from his Lord. Each was entrusted with something, in proportion to his ability." "Yes, mamma, I know all that." "But, Ada, does it tell you of any servant to whom nothing at all was given ? " "No, oh no. I think I understand now. Everybody has something which God has 56 Ada's Two Resolutions. given him to answer for. No person is left quite without; and we are not to think because we are little, and have little, that God does not expect us to use it well." "Just so, my dear. Do not forget that, Ada." CHAPTER II. THE SECRET OF SUCCESS. DA MARSHALL did not forget what her mother had said about all persons having to account for the gifts which our Almighty Father places in our hands. Neither did she fail to remember what she had heard of mis- sionary labourers, and their claims on the sympathy and help of their Christian brethren. "If I were even to save half of my pocket money," she thought; "that is, if I could but shut my eyes when I pass the shop-windows, and learn to do without some of the things I have been used to buy, I might give more than a sovereign when the next missionary meeting comes round. And I will not say a word about it, for fear I should not be able to The Secret of Success. 57 persevere. Only I will ask God to help me to think of those who have not heard the glad news of salvation." Ada knelt, therefore, and prayed earnestly that she might resist temptation, and have strength to do what she felt would be accept- able in God's sight. When she rose from her knees, the thought flashed across her mind: "Why can I not do what another child younger than myself has done ? If I were to buy working materials with my money, I might perhaps earn more. But, oh dear me ! I never liked sewing, and my work is never very neat, mamma says. Then how am I to find time to make anything without being seen ?" Ada was not a little perplexed. To will was indeed present with her, but how to per- form she knew not. However, she did not act as she probably would have done a year before, but kept turning the matter over in her mind, and puzzling her young head with thinking of ways and means. At first she was half inclined to put off beginning, thinking she would try to sew better at school before she commenced; "and, besides, was there not a whole year to work in ?" 58 Ada's Two Resolutions. But something seemed to say, "Better begin now, Ada;" so she decided on making her first purchase when she received her weekly allowance, which would be on the following day, Friday. The next question which suggested itself was, "What time can I spare ? for that is needed as well as money." This seemed more difficult to answer than the last. To be sure, there was Saturday afternoon, which she was always permitted to call her own; but sometimes she had little visitors, and occasionally she went out to take tea with her young friends, so that she could not reckon on much more than one afternoon in a fortnight. To such a young needlewoman this seemed very little indeed. Again a bright thought came to Ada's help: "Could I not get up an hour earlier every morning, while the weather is warm and the day is long ?" This idea pushed itself into her mind while she was sitting in the dining-room with her mamma; and so engrossed was she with her project that, forgetting any one was near, she started from her chair, and cried aloud, "That will be the very thing." "What, Ada ?" said Mrs. Marshall, smiling. Ada blushed: and replied, "I was thinking The Secret of Success. 59 about something I would do, mamma. I did not intend to speak aloud; but indeed it was nothing wrong." "I do not wish you to tell me, love; only let me beg, if you are forming another good resolution, that you will try, by God's help, to keep it. And I also," she added, "will pray that my daughter may be strengthened in every good purpose, whatever it may be." "Thank you, dear mother," replied Ada; and she thought, "Oh, what a happy thing it is to have a kind mamma! who not only shows she loves her child by taking care of her body, but who prays to God to bless her, and help her to do right." To the great surprise both of her parents and teachers, Ada from this time began to show a very great wish to improve in sewing. Industry is not often confined to one branch of study alone; for the same spirit which first induces us to work, if it be persevered in, becomes a habit. So it was with Ada. She began really to like spending her time in labours which had the good of others for their object, and insensibly greatly benefited herself while thinking only of her fellow-creatures. Every morning in the quiet of her own little 60 Ada's Two Resolutions. room, her busy fingers sped in their wonted duty. Scarcely a week passed without some new article being added to her fast-increasing store. Mrs. Marshall was surprised to observe that Ada gladly took possession of all the spare bits of silk which could possibly be turned to account; and one day she said: "My dear, I think you are too old to spend your time upon the manufacture of dolls' garments. Those hands of yours are now so skilful that they ought to be employed on something better." "I shall not wish to make many more, mamma," said Ada, with a happy smile; for another missionary meeting was near at hand, and she was joyfully thinking of her almost completed task, and considering how the fruits of her labours were to be disposed of. "If I only knew the name of that little girl who gave the two sovereigns last year, I would ask her what I ought to do," thought Ada. However, when only one month of the year remained, Ada led her mamma to the secret store, and displayed to her astonished sight such a large collection of articles, that Mrs. Marshall could scarcely believe her eyes. The Secret of Success. 61 These cannot be all your own making, Ada," said she. "Indeed they are," she replied. "Every stitch is my own; but I do not want to keep anything. Dear mamma, do tell me how I may get money for them, that I may give it to help those who go to tell the heathen about the Saviour who died for them, as well as for us." "But, Ada, my darling, how could you find time for all this work, even in a year?" Then Ada told her mother all: how she had resolved to do something, how she had been tempted to delay, and how God had been pleased to give her strength to persevere. The joyful tears flowed from Mrs. Marshall's eyes. "God has indeed answered our prayers, Ada," said she; "for He it is who has assisted you, since of yourself alone you could not have. overcome a besetting sin, such as your old habit of constantly adding to the number of your unfulfilled resolutions." How happy Ada felt on hearing her mo- ther's words! Truly every step we take in the right path brings us within reach of a reward for having made the effort. Most willingly did Mrs. Marshall help her 62 Ada's Two Resolutions. daughter in that which still remained to be done. At her suggestion, Ada wrote a num- ber of little circulars to inform her young friends that she should hold a bazaar at a certain time and place; and as such an un- dertaking was a somewhat novel one to be under the conduct of a child, a goodly number of juvenile purchasers came, eager to expend some of their pocket-money. But besides her youthful customers, many of her mamma's friends accompanied the children; and as there were many pretty things which even they might buy, Ada's stock rapidly disappeared. Guess her delight when, after the bazaar was over, she found herself the possessor of three sovereigns, a half-sovereign, and eight shillings. She never thought of gaining such a sum, but even a very little girl can do a great deal in a year, and Ada knew that it was fairly earned. Our young readers will not wonder that she thought the few days which must elapse be- fore the missionary meeting very long indeed, or that the money was very often counted over in the meanwhile. "If I had two shillings more, they would have made four sovereigns," said Ada, after The Secret of Success. 63 having looked at her treasure for the last time before devoting it to the purpose for which it was intended. "Would you like me to give you the two shillings, my dear ?" inquired Mrs. Marshall. "Oh no, thank you, mamma! Perhaps, if I live until another year, I may do more; but whatever I give must be of my own." "Then you are not weary of well-doing, Ada ?" "Oh, mamma, how could I be weary, when I think what a happy year this has been ?" Then, after a pause, Ada added:. "Mamma, do you remember setting me to read the parable of the talents, and telling me that no servant was left without any ?" "Yes, my love, I do. Did that help to strengthen you in your work ?" "Indeed it did, mamma. I felt as though I should like to be faithful, and spend both the little time and money that God had given me, so that I might gain more for Him. Now, do you think He will trust me with more talents?" "Strive to do the best you can with what you have, my dear, and leave the rest to your heavenly Father, who gives every one accord- 04 Ada's Two Resolutions. ing to his ability. And while devoting your humble gains to the cause of the gospel, do not forget to pray that the fruits of your labours may bring spiritual food to some poor soul hungering and thirsting after righte- ousness." If any of our little readers wish to know whether the story of Ada's labours is a true one, let me assure them that it is; and we pray God that He may give them the will and strength to do likewise. LONPON: KNIGHT, PRINTER, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE. A.* "1 |