Title Page
 Table of Contents
 The haunted oak
 The wonderful lamp
 Fading away
 Little things
 The forest foundling
 A crown of glory
 The crown of glory (concluded)
 The convict prison
 The prisoner of the Grayfriars
 Back Matter

Title: Half hours with the little ones
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00061246/00001
 Material Information
Title: Half hours with the little ones
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: Langridge, N. T.
Publisher: Elliot Stock
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Alfred Boot, printer
Publication Date: 1861
Copyright Date: 1861
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00061246
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: alh3183 - LTUF
002232787 - AlephBibNum

Table of Contents
    Title Page
        Title Page 1
        Title Page 2
    Table of Contents
        Table of Contents
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page iii
        Page iv
    The haunted oak
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
    The wonderful lamp
        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
    Fading away
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
    Little things
        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 forest foundling
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    A crown of glory
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
    The crown of glory (concluded)
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
    The convict prison
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
    The prisoner of the Grayfriars
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
    Back Matter
        Page 99
Full Text




lWrhor of R"bo o~oog Miaoioio." k&.



M1Ke ame,
manam. 0mIn
natuweam Ls





comnsmoa wrm








I. THE HAUNTED OA . . .. 1


I. FANG AWA . . . . 21

Iv. LITTLE THINGS . . . .. 32


VI. THr CROWN OF OLOR . ..... 55





FoR the sake of some into whose hands this
book may fall, a few introductory words may
not be out of place. There are in connection
with Deverell Street Chapel, Southwark, two
Sabbath Schools, containing about twelve
hundred children. It is often the author's
happiness, in the discharge of his pastoral
duties, to spend "half hours" with these
"little ones." Being an old Sunday scholar
himself, he feels a deep interest in their wel-
fare, and is anxious, as far as possible, to enter
into the spirit of the command "Feed my
lambs." In common with many others,
however, he finds this to be no easy task.
One of the highest authorities has affirmed
that nothing is easier than to talk to chil-
"dren, but to talk to them as they ought to
" be talked to is the very last effort of ability.

" It requires great genius to throw the mind
" into the habits of children's minds; I aim
"at this, but I find it the utmost effort of
"ability. No sermons ever put my mind
"half so much on the stretch.".
The recollection of this may tend, in some
measure, to modify the judgment which
critical readers, who honour these pages
with notice, may be disposed to pronounce.
The author is not vain enough to present his
book as a specimen of the mode in which
children should be addressed; it merely
illustrates his mode of meeting the wants of
a very important class connected with his
church and congregation.
He cannot send forth his little book with-
out expressing his devout acknowledgments
to the Giver of all good, that the efforts of
his fellow-labourers in these two schools have
not been in vain in the Lord." Not a few
of the scholars have verified the truth of those
words "they that seek me early shall find
me," and have been safely gathered unto
the fold of the church. At the present time
a movement is taking place in both the

schools, of a most hopeful and promising
The author ventures to believe that be-
tween himself, the teachers, and his young
friends, an amount of affectionate interest
exists sufficient to ensure for this little book
a hearty welcome. He wishes it to be a
remembrancer of many happy meetings in
the past-meetings which, he trusts, will be
crowned by one still happier in "the ever-
lasting home above."


--ree ---

ttt Nannteb Oah.


"AxD so, boys, you want to hear one of
Uncle John's tales, do you P"
Oh yes, uncle," we all cried out, "and
pray let it be a ood long one."
"Well, rped he," don't know what
to about telling a good long tale. I like


to make my stories short and pretty, and,
as Mr. Wesley used to say, to leave you
Uncle Jon was a great favourite with us
boys. He was one of the best tellers of a tale I
ever met with. His fondness for boys and girls
seemed to grow every year andnothingpleased
him better than to have half-a-dozen young
folks round him, with bright eyes, smiling.
faces, and open ears, listening to some of the
pleasing and useful taleshe could so well relate.
He was a well-read man, had seen a good deal
of life, and was a wise and devoted Christint
Sorrow and gloom could not live before his
sunny face; and when I and my three bro-
thers and sister saw him walk up the garden
in front of our house, as he often did at the
close of a day, leaning upon his staff, we
always ran to meet him, and at once made
up our minds for a happy evening. Years
have paesed away since those pleasant days,
and Uncle John has long since gone to a
better world. But the tales he tod us often
pass through my memory; and thinking
that my little readers would like to hear
some of them, I shall try and remember a
few and print them in these pages.
Well, children," said he, on the night I
now refer to, I shall be sure to ask a ques-
tion now and then, so have your wits about
This.was no new thing to us, for it was a


rule with Uncle John, by a happy question,
so to draw out what we knew as to make it
a steping-stone to gaining more knowledge.
"My story to-night," said he, "I shall
We drew our chairs quite close to Uncle
John, and were as still as mice in a moment
-for, of all things in the world, we were
most curious to hear about "haunted"
places. We had already heard some strange
things about them.
"Owen Glendour," said my uncle, "of
whom you have all read in your English his-
tory, was, you know, a rebel prince of the
Welsh, and sprung from the British princes.
He had marched at the head of a large force,
meaning to join Hotspur and Douglas in one
of the most fearful battles that were ever
fought. Perhaps you can tell me its name?"
Was it the battle of Shrewsbury P" asked
my brother George.
Yes," said Uncle Jon ; "and it was
fought, you know, on-"
"The 21st July, 1403," replied my sister
Mary, very promptly, her memory being,
perhaps, one of the best in our family.
When the brave Glendour came near
the field of battle, he found a river, over
which he had to pas, so swollen by recent
rains that he could not cross it, and the bridge
at Shrewsbury was guarded by a strong foe.
Unable to join his friends he climbed to the


top of a large oak tree, and there looked on
the battle. He saw his friends whom he
came to help, quite routed, and then, booming
down from the oak with a very heavy heart,
he led back his men to the secret strongholds
of his native hill."
"Was that the haunted oakP" said my
Little brother James, who was listening with
open eyes and mouth.
"No," said my uncle; "have patience: I
am coming to that directly. When Glen-
dour got back to Wales, he called upon all
the chiefs and vassals in the land to rim
against Henry IV. One of Glendour's kins-
men, named Howell Sell, the lord of Nannan,
refused to answer to the call I don't know
his reason for this, though some have said
that he had sold himself to the foes of his
country. Glendour at once resolved to have
his revenge. You know what the Bible says
about revenge, I suppose P"
"Oh, yes," re~ped one of my brothers.
"'Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves,
but rather give place unto wrath; for it is
written, Vengeance is mine: I will repay,
saith the Lorcd.'"
"There were no English Bibles in those
days," said my uncle, "or Glendour might
have known better. Bent upon having his
revenge, he took with him one companion-
a chosen one, named Madog-and with him
o~tered on the broad lands of Howel Sell,

A rLIMV e TO C- 5

for the purpose of hunting. Just s Glen.
dour had expected, his kinsman, the lord of
Nannan, came out in great wrath to find out
who it was that dared to hunt the red deer
without his leave. He soon met Glendour,
who, with horn and hound, was eagerly
hunting a noble stag, and at once a fierce
combat took place between them. At length
poor Howell Sell fell, pierced by his kins-
man's sword, close by the aged oak which
still bears his name.
What became of the body P" cried I.
"Why," said my uncle, "Glendour and
his comrade dragged the body, and raised it
aloft on the branches of the aged tree. The
trunk of the oak was quite hollow, and they
dropped the body into that living tomb I"
Was the body ever found, uncle P? asked
Not for many years," replied he. The
servants of the lord of Nnnman, finding their
master did not return, searched 'through
glade and flowery dingle,' for him, but
searched in vain. The widowed wife looked
and longed in sorrowing hope for his return.
At length, years after, Madog, the trusted
quire of Owen Glendour, went to the castle
of Nannan, and said he had brought tidings
of their longabsent lord. You may fancy
how the sd wife of Howlell ll felt, and
how the servants, who had serehed every-
where for the.master, would gather mud


Madog to hear his tidings. He then told
the lady of Nannan that his master, Owen
Glendour, was dead, and that on his death-
bed he had charged his faithful friend to
visit the house of Nannan, and tell the secret
about the long-lost lord. Madog soon told
his tale, and then, mounting his steed,
hurried away from the house. The shadows
of evening had stolen over the forest, but
the anxious servants, armed with axe and
crow-bar, and lighted on their way by
flaming pine-branches, went out to search
for the body of their lord. They soon
reached the aged oak, and having hown
open the trunk, they found the skeleton of
their dead master, still clothed in the ar.
mour which he wore on the fatal day of the
Is the oak still standing, and have you
ever seen it, uncle P" we all inquired.
I have not seen it myself," he replied;
"but I believe it is still standing on a wild
common, not far from the little town of Dol-
gelly, in Wales, white with the lapse of ages.
I am told that the peasant still regards it
with awe and fear; and as the evening
shadows begin to lengthen into the gloom of
night, he will go a great way out of his right
path, rather than venture within the shadow
of this terrible oak. And, perhaps, my
children, when you think of the bloodshed
and violence of old times, and the peace and


good-will of the days in which younow live,
you will remember Uncle John's story of the
haunted Oak.

Forive thy foes;-nor that alone-
Their evil deeds with good repay;
Fill those with joy who leave thee none,
And kiss the hand upraised to slay.
So does the fragrant andal bow
In meek forgiveness to its dodn,
And o'er the axe at every blow
Sheds in abundance rich perfume."


(14t Usnbtrfnl Iamg.

A rEW years go I paid a visit tothetown of
Plymouth. During my stay some kind friends
ased me to go with them, and look at one
of the wonders of the plaoe-the Plymouth
Breakwater. They had not to ask me twice,
for though I had often heard of it, I never
before had a chance of seeing it. We hired
a little boat, and on one of the loveliest
mornings of the year-B morning on which
sunbeams lighted up earth with smiles-we


set out. We landed at the breakwater,
passed along it, filled with wonder, and at
length reached a small but strong building
at the nd. This was a lighthouse, formed
of stone. At a little doorway, just large
enough to allow one person to pas at a time,
stood the keeper of the house. Seeing, I
suppose, that himself and his house were
strange things to us, he asked if we would
like to enter. We were only too glad to do
so, and going up a few stone stps found
ourselves inside the house. When we
reached the top we saw a large lamp, to tell
you all about which would take far more
time than I can just now spare. The keeper
of the lighthouse told us many things about
the size of this lamp-the strength of it-
its uses-of what it was made-how it was
lighted-and what it cost Indeed, from
his warm and earnest manner it was quite
clear that among all the lamps in the world
there was none about which he talked and
thought so much as that. We left him at
last, and came away full of wonder at what
we had heard and seen in the stone house en
the Plymouth Breakwater.
Some time after this, when reading one of
the sweet Psalms of David, I met with a few
words which set me thinking about another
lamp far more wonderful than that at Ply-
mouth. And after musing some time I sad,
"I will put my thoughts into the little book

10 CAn WE Do WrHO rrT?

I am going to write; perhaps they will do
some of my little friends as much good as
they have done me."


"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto
my path. -Psalm cxix, 105.

One of my first thoughts was this : Why
put that lamp at the end of the Plymouth
BreakwaterP Because, I suppose, they
could not do without it. The sun is not
always shining The little stars are not
always twinkling. The moon is not always
"walkingin brightnes" through the heavens.
Darkness like a pall, covers the land and the
sea. Ships are sailing at all hours and in all
weathers. When looking through the little
window at the top of the lighthouse, I
thought of the danger to ships, to life, to
property, on dark and stormy nights. I
thought how sailors would leap for joy to
see the clear light shining in the distance
and showing the way home. Who w ld
venture to sea if these bright and friendly
lights were put out? We could not
without them.
Just so with the wonderful lamp of which
the Psalm speaks. The world osnot do


without it. I sometimes think, or try to
think, what the world would be like without
any flowers in it-not a rose, not a lily, not
a violet left-all faded away. Who would
not weep over the dead flowers! Fancy, if
you can, what the world would be like
without any birds in it-the sweet singers
among the branches all gone. Not another
lark to soar from earth, and, almost touching
with its wings the gate of heaven, to warble
forth its song of gladness. Think of a
world without a star, without a moon, with-
out a sun. Who would live in it But
believe me, a world in which this lamp never
shone-a world without a Bible-would be a
sadder sight still.
Bibles are very common now. They are
to be met with in every house. Not a
Sunday scholar in the land is without one.
The days have gone by when a Bible cost
more money than many of the readers of this
little book, perhaps, ever saw. But though
cheaper than ever, it is still as priceless as
ever. It is more precious than thousands of
gold and silver. It is one of God's greatest
gifts to the world. Oh let us. prize it.
Happy, happy, England, the home of the
I would not change my native land
For rich Peru with all her gold;
A nobler prse li in my head
Tha East or Wesern India hold.


II. A second thought was this: The
Lamp I saw at Plymouth was made and
lighted by man-this Wonderful Lamp was
lighed by God. It is a Divine Lamp. I
cannot recall all I heard in the lighthouse,
but many men were spokqp of who had
helped to make the Lamp what it was. It
had once been folded up, as a thought, in
men's minds. It was man's work. So with
some of the greatest and grandest works
in the world. The Pyramids, which, doting
with age, have forgotten their founders, were
all made by man. The Crystal Palace, at
Sydenham, where you have spent so many
bright and sunny days, makes you think of
Paxton. And that wondrous bridge which
now spans the mighty river, St. Lawrence,
in America, will for ever be linked to the
name of Stephenson. The heart and brain
which fitted them for these mighty works
were, it is true, God's gifts; still we do not
speak of the works as Divine.
But this Lamp is Divine-God lighted it.
There are thousands of holy men and women
on earth, and thousands more in heaven, but
the whole of them united could not have done
this thing. There are thousands of angels in
heaven who "excel in strength," but this
was far, far beyond them. Nothing but
"the power of the Holy Ghost" could do
it. "All scripture i given by inspiration of
God." "Holy men of old spke as they


were moved by the Holy Ghot." God's
love thought of it-God's wisdom planned it
-and God's power did it. There are two
things which make me feel sure that what I
now tell ou is true. Try to keep them in
your mind.
1. his Lamp is perfect. The man at
Plymouth told me that changes were often
made in his Lamp. This was altered, and
that, and the other; "and," aid he, "I
suppose it will always be so. The Lamp will
never be what you call perfect." Of course
not; all man's works are like that. But "as
for God, His work is perfect." As long as
you live, hold fast to this truth-that the
Bible is a perfect book, and therefore Divine.
Nothing can be added to it. Nothing am
be taken from it. But this is not all. I am
sure God must have lighted this lamp,
2. It cannot be pt out. Years have rolled
by since, as a little boy, I stood at my dear
father's knee looking with childish wonder at
some pictures in Fox's Book of artyr
The book is at home still, but e, guided by
the light of that Lamp of which I am
speaking, has reached a better home. One
o those pictures greatly puled me. There
was a rough sketh of a table, around which
a number of odd-looking men were seated.
In the middle of the table a lighted candle
was placed, and the whole of these men were


trying-but quite in vain-to blow it out. On
looking a little closer, I found that one of the
group was the Pope of Rome, and another was
Satan. On asking the meaning of this strange
scene I was told that by the lighted candle was
meant God's Book. That the figures round
the table were God's enemies, that the light
of the Bible was so great a trouble to them,
that they strove very hard to blow it out;
but the more they blew the brighter and
steadier the light became. That strange
picture taught me a lesson which I have
never forgotten.
What a wonder in the world would that
man be whom poison could not destroy-
whom fire could not burn-whom a dagger
could not kill! But the Bible is a greater
wonder still. You have many a time read of
the strange sights seen by Christian in the
Interpreter's house. I saw in my dream
that the Interpreter took Christian by the
hand, and led him into a place where was a
fire burning against the wall, and one
standing by it always casting much water
upon it to quench it: yet did the fire burn
higher and hotter." Christian, you know,
could not tell the meaning of this. But
when the Interpreter "led him about to the
other side of the wall" he saw what it meant.
God was at work. He cast oil into the fire,
so that all the waters in the world could not
put it out.


My dear little reader! the Bible is like that
fire. It shines as clearly and brightly now
as ever. It has guided millions to the skies,
and it will guide millions more. Its light
will shine
Till like a sea of glory,
It spreads from Pole to Pole-
Till o'er our ransomed nation
The Man for sinners lain,
Redeemer, King, Creator
In blis returns to reign.

III. Well, there was another thing which
did me good to think about. It is a Tried
Lamp. "Tried," you see is a little word, but
it is full of meanmg. Some years ago when
I was a little fellow, I went upon the ice for
the purpose of sliding. My kind parents
often talked about the danger of this, but
like many other boys I thought I knew better
than they did. I wagimple enough to trust
the ice before I tried it I did so one
afternoon, as I well remember, and without
a moment's warning it gave way, and I fell
into the water. Some kind passer-by helped
me out, and my life was saved. But I earned
then the great lesson which I have never
forgotten-" try first and trust azirwrds."
Wise men always do this. When the great
Exhibition was about to open in Hyde Park,
a number of soldiers were taken there to
march over certain parts of the galleries


in the building. They were trnghe
strength. The Committee knew that ill
would never do to allow thousands of me l
and women to enter a building the tregt
of which had never been tried.
I never think of trying or testing any
thing without calling to mind the story oft
poor Mr. Winstanley and the Eddystone
lighthouse. He built a lighthouse on the
spot on which the present one now stands.
He thought it was very strong, and when
people shook their heads, and looked
doubtul about it, he used to ay "Wait till
I get a change of trying it. I shouldn't
mind being in it during the most terrible
storm that ever visited this coast." At last,
one night he had his wish granted. He was
out in his lighthouse one evening, and re-
solved to stay there till the morning. A
storm arose uring the nght; moon and
stars were hidden bythe thick and heavy
clouds; the thunder and lightning filled
men's hearts with fear; the angry waves
roared around the lighthouse, dashed against
it, and leaped over it. The peopleon shore
trembled for the safety of Mr. Winstanley, as
they heard the howling storm; they tried to
look thrgh the darkness to find whether
the lighthouse stood firm amid the tempst.
They could ee nothing and were obliged to
wait till the morning came. At length the
day broke, and they hurried down to the

THE GoarT woNDa. 17

beach, but on looking across the water, the
lighthouse was gone It and its builder
had been swept away. Winstanley tried his
lghthouse, and it failed.
But this will never be said of the Bible as
long as the sun and the moon endure. It
has been tried by thousands of persons in
thousands of places, and was never known to
fail. Think for a moment of that. Were I
to tell you of a medicine so certain in its
effect, that the very worst disease was at
once cured by it, you might well wonder.
Were I to talk of a physician who had never
been known to fail in his efforts to cure a
sick man, you would long to hear his name.
Were I to tell of a warrior who never came
home from the field of battle but as a victor,
you would wonder at and admire his bravery
and skill. But, startling as the never-failing
medicine, physician, and warrior would be,
this lamp is still more wonderful. It has
been tried amid the splendour of the palace,
and the lowliness of the cottage; it has been
tried in the dark dungeon, on the horrid
rack, and at the burning stake; it has been
tried by the old and grey-headed, by the
young and tender, and never was it known
to fail. ,
I heard the loved and honoured Dr. Flet-
cher, who has just gone home to glory, tell
of a dear little Sunday scholar named Thomas,
who tried this Lamp in the hour of death.


His teacher called to see him, and pausing at
the door of his little room, heard Thomas at
prayer; when he ceased, the teacher entered
and kindly asked, "What were you doing,
Thomas P" I was praying, dear teacher."
"To whom were you prayingP" I was pray-
ing to Jesus." Where did you hear about
Jesus, Thomas Oh, Sir, I heard about
Jesus at my Sunday school." "And what
do you know about Jesus, my dear child ?"
"Oh, teacher," said he, clasping his little
hands, Jesus is a Saviour, and Jesus is my
Saviour!" How did the little boy know
that P Ho was guided to that blessed truth
by the light of this jamp.
The great and good John Wesley tried this
Lamp. When he lay down to die he raised
his eye to heaven, and, with the face almost
of an angel, cried out, "The clouds drop
fatness. He causeth his servants to lie down
in peace." He felt the truth of those sweet
lines you often sing:-

His every word of grace is strong
As that which built the skies;
The voice that rolls the stars along
Speaks all the promises.

IV. But I must now bring my thinking
to a close. And never forget that while this
Lamp is all that I have told you, it is also
the only Lamp. There is one heaven, and


this Lamp alone shines upon the road that
leads to it. There is one hell, and this Lamp
alone reveals the way to escape it. There is
one Saviour, and by the light of this Lamp
alone can the direct road to his Cross be
seen. There are many paihs downward to
ruin, but only one upward to glory.
Though you never saw a shipwreck, yet I
daresay you have many a time read of one;
and you can always understand how it is that,
when all hope of saving the ship is given up,
every eye is fixed upon the lifeboat. That
little boat is more precious in the eyes of the
crew than a house full of gold and silver.
It is their only hope-their one way of escape.
Sometimes in this great city of London, the
terrible ery of "fire" is raised, and flames
like things of life, are seen darting from
room to room-from window to window.
The inmates have climbed to the roof. There
seems but a step between them and death.
What means their shriek of terror, as they
cry for the fire-escape. What gives so much
agony to the eye, as they watch for its coming
in sight, and chide its seeming delay. Ahl
they know, too well, it is their only hope.
Failing that, they must perish.
And this is the only Lamp. No other
Book in the wide world can supply its place.
No other lifeboat can save you from the
shipwreck of the soul No other escape is
provided from the fire that is never to be


quenched. Will you not prize it ? Will you
not use it ? Will you not say with heart as
well as lip,

We won't give up the Bible,
God's holy book of truth;
The blessed staff of harry age,
The guide of early youth.
The sun that sheds a glorious light
O'er every dreary road;
The voice that speaks a Saviour's love,
And calls us home to God.
We won't give up the Bible,
But spread it far and wide,
Until its saving voice is heard
Beyond the rolling tide.
Till all shall know its gracious power
And, with one voice and heart,
Resolve that from God's sacred wold,
We'll never, never part.


jabing tJuag.


MY text is a very little one, and is made up
of very little words. The longest have only
four letters in them, and there are but two
words in it as long as that. Another word
has but three letters, and all the rest have
two. A text so simple is sure to be kept in
the memory, and, what is more, it is so
pretty, that you are sure to like it. You
may find it in the Book of Isaiah, 64th
chapter, part of the sixth verse. Here are


the words, so full of simple beauty, that a
little child will know the meaning of every

Now, had Isaiah spoken of a cedar tree-
had he said we all do fade as a cedar tree,"
some little one might have said I never saw
such a tree, what is it like?" Had he said
" we all do fade as a palm tree," some little
one might have said I never saw a palm
tree, what is it like P" Had he said" we all
do fade as an olive tree," some little one
might have said "I never saw an olive tree;
what is it like?" But he speaks of some-
thing which every child has seen and handled
a thousand times-a leaf.
And then that little word fade;" I need
not stay to tell you what it means. George,
who is reading this lecture, remembers the
Christmas piece he did some months ago.
He was noticing the other day that although
when the piece was done it looked jet black,
the ink has now changed its colour-it has
begun to fade. Mary who laid in her drawer
that lovely ribband, meaning to wear it when
the bright summer months came, found its
beauty almost gone when she wanted it: it
had faded away. So it is with a leaf. It
may look very beautiful in the golden sum-
mer ; if you knew no better, you might think


so much beauty could not pas away but
oftes before its time, and alwa, when the
time comes, the frail and lovely leaf fades.
And says my little text, we-old and young,
parents and children, teachers and scholars-
" we all do fade as a leaf."
Now I want to mention two or three things
in which human life and the life of a leaf are
very much alike.
A living leaf is a very beautiful thing,
and so is human life. God's works are full of
beauty, the small as well as the great. A
world of beauty may be found in a drop of
water, a blade of grass, the wing of a butter-
fly, or the eye of a bee. And a world of
beauty may be found in a single leaf. I
know a lady who often makes leaves out of
wax. They are very beautiful, and so natural,
that they would almost pass for the living
leaf. I know a lady who often makes leaves
of leather, the shape, the marks, and the
drapery of which are most beautiful. I often
meet with little boys who can sketch with a
pencil a tree, a branch, or a leaf, and when
coloured nicely, they appear so natural, that
you are almost tempted to think they must
be real. But they are not; place them by
the side of a living leaf, and yme at once see
the difference. Very beautiful are they, but
their beauty is as nothing compared with the
leaves made by God's fingers. Yes, a leaf is
a very beautiful thing, and so, dear reader,


is human life. Life in an insect, mere animal
life, is a beautiful thing. Look at the pond
of golden fish at Hampton Court. Look at
a cloud of insects, swinging mazily to and fro,
in a field of balmy air. Look at the bee,
humming all her noon-tide muisngs into the
ear of an open flower. But far more beau-
tiful is human life-the life of a little child.
Some of you, perhaps, may have a baby bro-
ther or a baby sister; you sometimes take
the little one m your arms, you smooth its
flaxen hair, you pat its velvet cheek, you
look into its blue laughing eye, you take its
soft tiny hand into yours, you listen to its
merry crow, you smile at its odd attempts to
talk, and as you dandle the little one in your
arms, running over with young life, you feel,
you cannot help feeling that life-human
life-is a thing of beauty.
II. I will now tell you another thing in
which the life of a flower, and the life of a
leaf are very much alike--you can see nothing
in the beauty of either to warn you that it will
fade. Suppose, if you can, the visit of a
little child from another world, a world of
immortal life. Suppose that little child had
never heard of such a thing as a faded leaf
-had never seen such a thing as an infant's
cofin, and knew neither the name nor the
nature of death. You take that stranger
from a strange world on a beautiful lawn.
The leaves hang by thousands on the trees,



they float on the gentle wind, they glisen
in the beautiful sunlight; birds of varied
forms and beautiful lu e ing among
the branches. A sweet rivulet, like a there
of silver, runs through the lawn, murmur-
ing its music as it fows; children, happy,
healthy, living children, are sporting on the
grass beneath the shadow of the trees. You
stand by the side of your strange visitor
and gaze upon the scene; you ask him, do
you think these leaves will be always fresh
and green, do you think these birds will sing
for ever, do you think these children will for
ever sport upon the lawn, and that the gentle
murmur of that streamlet will never cease P
do you think change, decay and death will
never lay their hands upon the whole, and
make its beauty pass away like a dream P "
I think I hear that stranger say, change!
decay! death! I never heard those words
before, I know not their meaning. In my
bright and happy home yonder, the leaves are
always fresh and green, birds always singing
among the branches, the river of the water
of life, clear as crystal, is always flowing, and
there youth is immortal. If there, why not
here. Death, decay, change-Rthe p ng
away of the beauty around 4A! Nay! it
cannot be; surely the beauty in your world,
as in mine, lasts for ever I "
I read once of a dear little boy, who was
almost like this stranger. His name was

26 DORA. A TH FLowwns.

Edmund, and he had a sister named Dora, a
pious lovely girl. They were very fond of
each other. One day Dora fell sick, and
Edmund was very sad because of her suffer-
ing. But it never entered into his head that
she might die, for he had never seen a corpse,
and knew not yet what death and dying
meant. While Dora lay full of pain on her
sick bed, Edmund thought what might afford
her pleasure, and he went into the field to
gather flowers, for he knew that she loved
them dearly. But while he was absent, Dora
died, and they clothed her in a white shroud.
Then Edmund entered the chamber where
she lay. He showed her the flowers as he
entered; but the little maiden did not look
up. Then he said, "Look Dora, what I have
brought for you!" But she did not hear.
Then Edmund came near, looked at his sis-
ter, and said, She sleeps; I will put down
the flowers upon her bosom that she may
rejoice when she wakes. Then she will say,
'Edmund has done that !'" Softly he did so,
and smiled. Then he went to his mother,
and said, I have been gathering flowers for
Dora, such as she loves best. But she sleeps;
I have put the flowers on her bosom, that
she may rejoice when she awakes." But his
mother wept, and said, Yes, she sleeps, but
she will wake no more." Then Edmund
said, "If she sleeps, why should she not
awake P" But the mother could not answer


him, for she covered her face to hide her
tears. Mother," said the little boy, why
weepet thou P "
The leaf is full of beauty, and tells you
nothing about its fading; as you look at it
in all its glory you read nothing of decay.
And so with human life. It is such a joyous,
sunny, gladsome thing, that, did not you
know better, you might think it would last
for ever.
III. I have now one thing more to tell
you-a leaf often fades before the time, and so
does human life. You have passed through
an orchard the day after a storm. The high
wind has shaken off hundreds of leaves from
the branches, where they had been hanging
in all the health and beauty of life. Their
little life was not more than half lived, when
the tempest passed over them, and they fell
before it. Yesterday they were the orna-
ments of the tree, and shewed no signs of
decay; to-day they are lying on the ground,
and you trample upon them as you pass.
Their beauty has already faded, and the gar-
dener will soon come and sweep them out of
sight. It is just so with life. Many of the
fairest and loveliest of lives fade before their
time. "The days of our years are three
score years and ten," but, ah! how many are
there who do not spend half that number,
and how many more who are rudely severed
from the tree of life ere as many months

28 nTH LOSr TREAans.

have flown P A dear friend of mine was once
called into the country for a few days, and
left his wife and little ones in perfect health.
He gave them a parting kiss, and promised
to return very soon. During his absence,
one of his favourite boys was seized with a
malignant disease. When my friend came
home, he missed the well-known sound of
his little one's feet. He heard not the music
of his voice. A shade of sadness had stolen
over the once happy home. The mother led
him to the chamber where a little sufferer
lay. That little sufferer was his own child!
ow hard it was for the father to believe
that he must lose his boy. When the doctor
told him so, the word fell in his ear like the
tolling of a bell. With what a heavy heart
that father paced the sick room, expecting
every breath of his child to be the last.
And soon, very soon, the last came. The
leaf which had hardly begun to grow, and
had shown so little of its beauty, faded, and
faded before its time. The father took his
dead treasure to the cemetery, and as he trod
upon the dry and withered leaves around
him, sadly felt the truth of my little text,
"We all do fade as a leaf."
IV. My last word is this-oh! try to
remember it-al leaves fade when the time
come, and so does uman life. "It is ap-
pointed unto men once to die." Leaves fall
m autumn, and life has its autumn as well

"WI I xuIF 111DB DIz."1

as the year. There are some men who seem
to doubt almost everything. But I never
yet met with a man who doubted that he
would die. Millions of the silent dead are
beneath us:-

The earth rings hollow from beneath,
And warns us of her dead.

Yes, dear reader, the very year, month, week,
day, and hour of your departure are known.
Not, indeed, to you, or to the nearest and
dearest of your earthly friends. But God
knows it. He can toll when you will die.
He knows where that great change will come.
He knows how you will meet it All this
is hidden from you-wisely and kindly hid-
den. All that the living know is this-they
know that they shall die. But think of it
till your heart feels it. Those active limbs
of yours will be motionless in the tomb-the
eye that now rests on this page will be closed
in death. The dust shall return to the earth
as it was. And here, note something more
important than anything I have mentioned;
the leaf has but one life, and when it falls to
the ground, mingles with the dust, and is
seen no more. But you, dear readers, have
more lives than one. True, "the dust shall
return to the earth as it was," but, "the
spirit shall return unto God who gave it."
Read once of a little boy who went to see a


cousin of his who had just died. His little
sister was with him, and when she saw the
corpse of her cousin, she said, Brother,
brother, I cannot understand this; I thought
good children when they died went to hea-
ven; I know cousin was good, but see, here
he is." The brother replied, "Ah sister!
you mistake; it is not the body that goes to
heaven, it is only the think that goes there."
The little boy was right! and it is this think
which makes all the difference between hu-
man life and the life of a leaf. This is the
jewel; the body is only the casket. This will
never die; the body will fade as a leaf."

The sun is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor of the sky,
The soul, immortal s its sire,
Shall never die.

A friend of mine was travelling a few
days ago with three hundred pounds in his
pocket. His journey was a short one-not
more than thirty miles; but he felt uneasy
till it was over, and the money put into a
safe place. It was not his own, and had he
lost it he was too poor to repay it. Dear
reader I you are travelling a journey, not of
thirty miles, but from one world to another.
You have in your keeping a treasure more
precious than thousands of gold and silver.
That treasure is your precious and immortal


soul. You have all around you enemies who
seek your ruin, enemies who are sworn to
destroy. Will you be carelessP Will you
trifle away your little span of life, and then
wake up in eternity, to find yourself for ever
undone? Oh, pause, and think of these
solemn words of Jesus: "What shall it
profit a man if he gain the whole world and
lose his own soul "

Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore
Tho' sorrow and darkness encompass the tomb.
The Saviour has passed thro' its portals before thee,
And the lamp of His love is thy guide thro' the
Thou art gone to the grave,--and, its mansions
Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt linger'd long;
But the sunshine of heaven beam'd bright on the
And the voice which thou heard'st was the
seraphim's song.
Thou art gone to the grave, but 'twere wrong to
deplore thee,
When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, thy
He gave thee, and took thee, and he will restore
Where death has no sting, since the Saviour has


Wttit 9ingis.


A FEW days ago, I was sitting in my room
as busy as a bee. A large white card was
lying on a desk in front of me. I had a
mall paint brush in my right hand, and in
my left a cake of vermillion colour. I had
dipped the brush in water, rubbed it on the
colour, and was about to paint the card. I
wanted to make a thin, straight, and even
line of red. Just as I began, two or three
of my little ones came round me to see what
was going on. One of them stood in the

light, another leaned upon the desk, ad a
third tried to get a peep over my shoulder.
They did it without a thought, but I at once
stopped, and told them what I was trying
to do; and as they had no wish to spoil it,
I was soon left to do my little task in
It was only a piece of ea prd after all I
and had my little friends iitheir haste to
see, caused me to spoil it, I dare say I could
have bought another. But still, in so simple
a matter as that of making a straight, thin,
and even line, I found great pains necessary
on my part, and much care on theirs. Now
in this little lecture I want to paint, not a
red line on a piece of cardbod, but some
great truths on little minds. I shall take
care to paint the right things there, and to
paint them in the right way. But while I
am doing my part, will my little reader do
his? will he take fast hold "-he knows
what that means-"fast hold of instruction P"
Will he try to hide in his heart" all that
I am going to say about little things."
If I wanted a little motto for my little
lecture about little things, I should find it in
Genesis xix., 20:-
Is iT No A MI.LsrU ram
L And first of all I want to guard you
against a very common mistake, into which
many people fall-that of sneering at and

" Tlgn PAST HOLD."


thinking nothing about little things." The
Bible asks "who hath despised the day of
small things Why almost every one does
before he is taught better. Things very little
in themselves have led to some of the greatest
discoveries and inventions the world ever
heard of. The falling of an apple is a very
little thing, if you read the life of the
great New you will learn to what a
grand discovery it led. You have often seen
the steam coming out of a kettle, from that
little thing came the invention of our steam
engines. A tuft of moves is a little thing,
but it once saved the life of the eminent
traveller Mungo Park. He was on his journey
over an eastern desert, and missed his way.
He lost heart and hope, and lay down, as he
thought, to die. In the depth of his misery
however, his eye rested on a little tuft of
moss. He saw in it the work of God's won-
derful finger! He thought if God cared for,
and had his eye upon it, he would also care
for him. He rose, went on his journey, and
soon found help at hand. And I have some-
where read of a young nobleman who, during
the terrible times of the French Revolution,
was thrown into prison. In the yard of his
gloomy home a little flower was growing.
He passed it day by day in his short and
solitary walk. At last that little flower set
the prisoner thinking. From thinking he
was led to inquiry. From inquiry he ws


led to prayer; and soon, strange as it may
seem, this young man was changed from a
doubting sceptic to a devout sint.
Mr. odd, in his own sweet way, tells this
story:-Two men were at work together one
day, in a shipyard. They were hewing a
stick of timber to put into a ship. It was
a small stick and not worth ,och. As they
cut off the chips they found a worm, a little
worm, about half an inch long.
This stick is wormy," said one, "shall
we put it in P"
I do not know : yes, I think it may go
in. It will never be seen, of course."
Yes, but there may be other worms in
it, and these may increase and injure the
"No, I think not. To be sure, it is not
worth much, yet I do not wish to lose it.
But come, never mind the worm; we have
seen but one : put it in."
The stick was accordingly put in. The
ship was finished, and as she was launched
off into the waters, all ready for the seas, she
looked beautiful as the swan when the breeze
ruffles his white-feathered bosom, as he site on
the waters. She went to sea, and for a
number of years did well. But it was found
on a distant voyage, that she grew weak and
rotten. Her timbers were found much
eaten by the worms. But the captain
thought he would try to get her home.


He had a great costly load of goods in the
ship, such as silks, grapes, and the like, and
a great many people. On their way home a
storm gathered. The ship for a while climbed
up the high waves, and then plunged down
creaking and rolling very much. But she
then sprang a leak. They had two pumps,
and the men wuked at them day and night,
but the water came in faster than they could
pump it out. She filled with water and she
went down under the dark blue waters of the
ocean with all the goods and all the people
on board. Every one perished. Oh how many
wives, and mothers, and children mourned
over husbands, and sons, and fathers, for
whose return they were waiting, and who
never returned. And all, all this, probably,
because that little stick of timber with the
worm in it was put in when the ship was
built. How much property and how many
lives may be destroyed by a little worm I
And how much evil may a man do, when he
does a small wrong, as that man did who put
the wormy timber into the ship.
II. I have said enough I hope to keep
you from sneering at anything merely because
it is little. I will now tell you something
about what people very often call Linl &Bas.
Good John Bunyan says, truly enough, that
we should never talk of little sins till we can
find a little God against whom we may
commit them.


1. The bestmen that ever lived have always
been afraid of little sins. When Daniel was
told that he was not to worship God for
thirty days, on pain of being cast into the
den of lions, he might have gone into an
inner chamber, instead of praying in that
room, the window of which opened toward
Jerusalem. Or he might have said his
prayers to himself, in his thought and heart.
In the eyes of some men that would have
been a lttle sin, but not in Daniel's. He
dared not do it. He fled from the face of
even a little sin as from a serpent. Shadrach,
Meahach, and Abednego, whose story you
have so often read, were required to do what
seemed a small thing. They were to bend the
knee-one bend would have been enough,
perhaps-before the golden image. But no,
they stood
Firm a an iron pillar strong,
And itedfit a a mwl of brad.
They feared sin more than they feared the
burning fiery furnace. A short time since
I read a strange story about a good bishop
who lived many hundred years ago, in the
time of the early Chritians. His name was
Martin Arethusa, and he was a bishop. He
had led the people to pull down the idol
temple in the city in which he lived. When
the Emperor Julian came into power, he gave
orders tat the temple should be built again

38 TH ea OHu IsMAs LO

The people were told that if they would not
obey the emperor's order, they should be put
to death. Martin Arethuss, however, told
the people of the sin they were about to
commit, and prayed them not to do it. This
so enraged the emperor that he laid his hands
upon the poor bishop. He was thrown into
prison, but was told that if he would give
the smallest mite of money towards the
building, or would cast a grain of incense
into the censer of the false god, he should
go free. This was a great temptation. Who
would not purchase life on terms so easy P
Arethusa would not. "No," he said-" not
a farthing of money-not a single little grain
of incense. I can die, but I cannot sin. I
am told that he suffered a very horrible
death, being pricked with knives, smeared
with honey, and then exposed to wasps and
stung to death. I again tell you, the best
men that ever lived have been afraid of little
sins, and I want you to be like them.
2. But this is not all-little siM lead to
great ones. My dear father was very fond of
a large roaring fire at Christmas, and long
before the dark cold days came, he would
lay in a good stock of firewood. Among
this many large roots were found, which,
before they could be used, had to be split in
several pieces. I often watched him when
splitting these logs, and sometimes tried to
give him a little help. We took a small iron


wedge, one end of which was thin and sharp,
and having by a few gentle taps fastened it
in the log-having, as father used to say,
Sgot the thin end of the wedge in,"-we
began to drive it home with all our force.
Small as the wedge was when compared with
the log, it soon began to split, and in a very
little time was broken in pieces. Many little
sins are like that wedge; and Satan takes
good care that we shall see no more than the
thin end. He knows well enough that if
he can only get tat in, the rest will be sure
to follow. A spark is a small thing, but
quite enough to blow up the largest fortress.
There may be but a small leak in a ship,
but if let alone, it will not fail to sink the
largest vessel.
Were I to show an acorn to a little child
who had never before seen one, and knew
nothing about it, and tell him that in that
little thing, almost hidden between my thumb
and finger, an immense oak tree-the mighty
monarch of the forest-was folded up; how
strange he would think it. Still more sur-
prised would he be if I told him that not
merely a tree but a whole forest might spring
from that single acorn. But what would he
say, if, taking him over a huge man-of-war
-one of the wooden walls of Old England-
he was told that that immense mass-nay, a
fleet of such-had once all been folded up
inside an acorn P And yet all this would
be quite true.

40 ooD HAT aTLm aSS.

Eve, you remember, looked at the tree,
but ruin was in that look. A feeling of env
found its way into the breasts of Josephs
brethren, but within the compass of that
feeling what a world of iniquity was folded
up I Achan desired the goodly Babylonish
garment; but oh I what death and desolation
grew out of that desire, If little sins thus
Sto great ones-if a covetous thought
may grow to robbery and an envious thought
to murder-who will not offer the prayer,
" Cleanse the thoughts of my heart by the
inspiration of Thy Holy Spirit, that I may
perfectly love Thee and worthily magnify
Thy Holy Name P"
I must also tell you that God ka es litle
aim. I cannot tell you how much he hates
them. I do not think the best man on earth
could tell you. Nor could the highest angel
in heaven do so. God hates sin with aperfect
hatred. He is of purer eyes than to look at
it. Sin led him to drown the world. Sin
provoked him to rain fire and brimstone out
of heaven upon the Cities of the Plain. Sin
dug the pit of hell. Sin caused Christ to
Pointed the nail and fied the thorn."
He hates it so that he never will allow the
smallest sin to enter heaven. If a man
won't give up his sins le must give up
heaven. "Without holiness no man shall
see the Lord."


I read a story once about a woman who
lived in a wild frontier country in Ameri.
She was very busy waging by the side of a
stream. Her little child was pi byher
side. It. little prattling voice ned like
the sweetest music in her ears. It strolled
away from the mother, gathering wild fruits
and flowers, and not returning at once, the
mother called it by its name. She received no.
answer. She called again, and not hearing
the voice of her child, she ran to the house,
thinking the little one had gone home. The
house was empty, and the mother's heart
sank within her. She ran into the woods,
calling in a loud and sad voice for her child.
At last, oh sad sight she found the body
of her little one, but it was only the body
she clasped to her heart. A wolf had seized
her treasure, and when at last she rescued it
from those bloody fangs, its spirit had gone.
Can you tell me, little reader, how that mo-
ther would hate wolves P Words were never
made to describe such a feeling. And no
words can describe how Jesus hates sin.
More cruel than a wolf, it is seeking to des-
troy souls more precious to him than that
mother's child was to her.
4. I can only stay now to tell you one
thing more. Jesu Christ can MNs ite in-
nes. Parents, and teachers, and ministers
can do much for you, but they cannot sve
you. Angels "excel in strength," but all of


them together could not wash away the sin
of a little child. None but Christ an do
that. And He i so willing to do it. He
waits to be gracious. Let me tell you what
Jesus did for a little girl in America, and
what that little girl was, by God's help, able
to do for her dear parents.
A Roman Catholic family once went to
settle in the United States. The father and
mother sent their little girl to a Sunday
School, and there she heard about Jesus, and
she found what I have just told you to be quite
true-that Jesus Christ could save little sin-
ners. She went home and told her father
and mother what God had done for her, and
how sweet the name of Christ was to her.
The father was deeply touched, "but did not
let the child see it. He felt himself to be
a sinner, and could find no rest day or night.
He wandered about one night till twelve
o'clock-he dared not go to bed-he was
afraid of waking in hell. He came home
in great trouble, and wringing his hands
begged his wife to pray for him. She had
never prayed for herself. She had said her
prayers often enough, but had never really
prayed. So she said, I can't pray for you,
husband; but Mary can." Do you think
she can," said the poor distracted man, and
going to the pescefl cot, his tears fell upon
the face of his dear little one. "Mary," said
he, "can you pray for your poor father P"


"Oh, yes," she said, and when they raised
her out of her bed she lifted up her hands
and prayed, Oh! God, for Christ's sake, save
my poor father. Oh God, for Christ's sake,
save my poor mother." That was all She
had prayed all her heart in those few words.
The father asked her to read; she turned to
the third of John, and read these sweet
words, "For God so loved the world that
he gave his only-begotten Son, that whoso-
ever believeth in him should not perish but
have everlasting life!" "What! what!"
said the father, "is that in the Bible
Read it again." She read it again, and
again, and again, until the father clasped
his hands, and cried out "Oh! Mary, that
whosoeer is your poor father." He believed
and was saved!

Little drops of water,
Little grins of sand,
Make the mighty ocean
And the beauteous land.
So our little errors,
Lead the soul awTy
From the paths of virtue,
Oft in sin to stray.
Little deeds of kindne,
Little words of love,
Make our earth an Eden-
Like the heaven above.


kIt forest founnbing.


WE were so busy talking to each other
that we never saw Uncle John when he
opened the garden gate, and walked up the
nicely gravelled pathway which led to our
house. It was not, indeed, till he entered
the door of the room, and stood looking at us
with his usual kind and smiling face, that we
knew he was in the house.


"How now, children," he cried out; "why
you are all talli at once, and judging fom
your looks, I hod think omethng wonder-
ful must have happened-what can it be."
We soon told Uncle John all about it.
Little Mary Wilson, the daughter of one of
our neighbours, had that day strolled away
from home, and lost herself. The whole
neighbourhood had been out looking for her,
and her parents were almost broken-hearted
at their loss. After some hours' search,
however, Mary had been found in a wood at
some distance, very quietly gathering wild
flowers and fruit. She had been brought
safely home, and just as Uncle John entered
we were talking of the lonely night she
would have spent in the wood had she not
been so happy found.
Uncle John listened to our story, and
then said, "Well, children, I am very glad
Mary, who is a little pet of mine, is safe at
home, and sleeping to night in her soft, clean
bed. I have read of lost children before,
and if you will give me your attention I will
tell you a story about one."
We were all eye and ear in a moment;
and having led Uncle John to the arm-chair
in which he always liked to sit, we drew our
seats round him, one or two of the youngest
sitting on the hearth-rug at his feet.
"What I am about to tell," said he,
"happened some years ago in America, to a

46 CRosnar SUa ceEn.

entleman who was travelling from New
Brunwick to the United States. He had
everything ready for the journey, and set out
with his blanket, his axe slung behind, and
his gun on his shoulder. He trudged on
gaily enough until he came to a place called
Slim Creek, over which there was no bridge,
and which at the time was much swollen
with rain."
Then, I suppose," said my little brother
James, "he took off his clothes and swam
Oh, yes !" said my sister Mary, with an
arch smile, "and left his gun, axe, blanket
and provisions behind him.
We all laughed, and Uncle John could
hardly help smiling, though he gave a kind
and encouraging look at James. "He went
up the bank of the stream, and set about
cutting down a tree, which falling across the
water might serve as a bridge. In this, how-
ever, he did not succeed, for the tree swung
aside, fell into the water, and floated down
the stream. He went farther up the stream,
and at length found a quiet-looking pool.
He then made a kind of raft to bear up his
clothes and gun, and keep them dry, while
he swam over and drew them after him."
The eyes of my brother James brightened
up, and seemed to say, "There, I was right
after all."
"Having reached the other side," oon-


tinued my uncle, "he sat down among the
flowers which grew in a beautiful meadow,
and, while eating a bit of biscuit, was startled
by a whining noise like the sounds frequently
uttered by young bear. He at once seized
his gun, looked at the touch-hole, reprimed,
and then dropping a ball into the barrel, he
quietly stole towards the spot whence the
sounds issued. He heard a crackling noise
among the twigs and sprigs, and expecting
every moment to see an animal rush out and
spring upon him, he raised his gun, and
placed his finger on the trigger."
Was it a bear?" we all exclaimed, well.
nigh breathless with curiosity.
"Wait," said Uncle John. "As he gazed
upon the bushes, he suddenly let the butt of
his gun drop quickly to the ground, for
among the raspberry bushes, and through
their twinkling leaves of dewy green, he saw
the beautiful arm of a child stretched out,
and the little taper fingers plucking the rich
crimson fruit! Full of wonder, the traveller
went close and saw a little girl, about seven
years old, pulling and eating the wild berries
which were spread in great variety over that
rich and fruitful spot. She seemed a pleasing
child: her clothes had a respectable look,
though they were most woefully rent and torn:
her eight hair played in disordered ringlets
over her fair cheek, which was dirty and
pale, and her soft blue eyes were red with


weeping. She burst into loud cries, and then
obbed as though her heart would break."
We had each half a dozen questions to ask
about this dear little girl, but Uncle John
raised his finger and went on.
When she saw the traveller she screamed,
ran a few steps, and then fell, covering her
face with her hands. He went to her, and
having uttered some kind words, she ventured
to look up, and with a sweet but languid
smile said slowly and faintly. Oh now, I am
sure you won't hurt me; oh, I am sure you
will not kill me!' 'Kill you,'replied the
traveller,' God forbid.' 'Oh,' said the little
lost one, 'I am very tired-I've been very,
very hungry, but got plenty raspberries here
-I only eat the good ones; I never take
them that have the spiders on them: mother
bid me not to.' here is your mother, my
dear child P' eagerly asked the traveller; and
received this answer: She is at home, sir, I
guess, but ma don't know where I am. I
can't find out the way home ever so long.'
The traveller raised her from among the
bushes, and carried her to the flowery part of
the field where he had been sitting, and gave
her some food."
"What was her name asked James.
"How did she lose herselfP" asked Mary;
and I added an enquiry as to "who were her
parents P"
"Have patience," said my uncle; "I can-


not finish all the story to-night, as you know
I never stay after eight o'clock, and it is but
a few minutes to that hour now. She told
the traveller her name was Lydia Harper:
that her family lived near Harth mills: that
she had been sent with dinner to her father,
who was making shingles a little way in the
wood: that she missed the right track, got
bewildered, and lost her way. 'When I
knew I was lost,' she said, oh, I was very
frightened; I screamed, and ran about, and
threw away father's dinner.' She walked
the first night, until she sank down nearly
stupified with fatigue. When it grew dark,
she laid down and said the prayers her
mother had taught her; and then,' she
added, 'I wasn't frightened.' Do you
remember the prayer?' asked the traveller.
'Oh, I do,' replied the little one; it is this
-' I will lay me down in peace and take my
rest, for it is thou, Lord, only that makest me
to dwell in safety: and into thy harids I
commend my spirit, my soul, and my body,
for thou hast redeemed me, 0 Lord, thou
God of truth. Amen.'"
The clock struck eight, and very much to
our disappointment Uncle John rose up, say-
ing, Now, children, good night; I must finish
my story about the Forest Foundling another
evening, for you know Uncle John's motto,
'* Ely to bed aid ealy to ris,
Will make a ma healthy, althy and wise'"


II. It was a week before Uncle John
called to see us again. We all thought the
days had never seemed to pass slowly be-
fore; but as we knew that business had
called him into the country, we bore the delay
as well as we were able. He came home,
however, on the very day he had mentioned,
and in the evening he found his way to our
house. Having told us a few things about
his journey, and promised us more for another
evening, he said:-
Well, children, I suppose you are very
anxious to know what became of Lydia Har-
per, the Forest Foundling. We left her and
the traveller talking together, you remember;
but at last he began to wonder what he was
to do with the child. He was sixteen miles
past her father's house, and his business
would not allow him to return; in addition
to this he was twelve miles from his next
resting-place, and there was no house be-
tween. The child was unable to walk; but
at last, by means of his blanket, he contrived
something by which he was able to carry her
on his back. This was not a very easy task;
but as I have often told you, love turns
heavy burdens into light ones. The little
foundling got more sprightly and free, and
began to prattle to her deliverer, which soon
helped to make her journey very pleasant.
"Did she tell him her adventures, uncle P"
said my little sister.


"Why, yes," replied he; "when the
traveller asked her if she had seen any wild
beasts in the woods, she replied, 'No, I
didn't, only once two black dogs were coming
to me. They stopped, and one stood up on
his hind feet; they didn't bark, but ran
away again.' She then said, 'Oh, sir, last
night! oh when I awoke in the middle of the
night, oh how glad I was I I thought I was
close to home, for I heard the cattle tramp-
ling about me. I could see nothing. None
of them had bells; and when I called Star,'
and Bright,' they lay still. Oh I was glad;
and my heart was beating and beating. I
lay very still to listen, and so I just dropped
away to sleep again. Wasn't it a pity?
they were all gone in the morning.' By-and-
by daylight was gone, the road w almost
trackless, and the moon did not rise until
near ten o'clock. At length the traveller
reached a deserted log-hut, about two miles
from the next village; and being almost
worn out, he thought he would stop and rest
himself. He determined to leave the child,
wrapped in his blanket, hurry on to the
village, and send back immediate relief. He
struck a light, and partook of some refresh-
"Did Lydia like to be left alone, uncle P"
said my brother.
"Oh no," said my uncle; she was very
unwilling to remain behind, even for a short


time. However, the traveller made a nice
bed for her, placed her snugly in it, and then
sat down to watch until she should fall
asleep. The moon had just risen before he
started; he gently approached the child, to
find if she was perfectly composed: he held
the light towards her; she opened her blue
eyes, and looked full at him, then turned
away her head, and sobbed."
"He never left her after that P" we all
cried out, the tears starting to our eyes at
the same moment.
"No," said my uncle, "he could not. He
slung his axe and gun once more upon his
shoulder, and with the little foundling on
his back, carried her safely to the long
looked-for house of rest. It was very late,
but Captain Josiah Trew was easily aroused to
admit the toil-worn travellerand hislittlecom-
panion, who now stood beside him at the door.
He ad tied a handkerchief under her chin,
and in this gipsey headdress she entered the
house. And now, children, comes the
strangest part of my story. Captain Trew,
while doing his best to make his guests as
happy as they could be, began, in a sad tone
of voice, to tell the traveller that the whole
country side had been up, and in search of a
child lost in the woods; that parties had gone
in all directions, but, sad to say, without suc-
cess; and that one of the people, deeply dis-
tressedaboutthematter, was now inthehoue."


My little brother almost screamed with
delight as the truth began to peep into his
mind. We quieted him, however, and uncle
The traveller at once told Captain Trew
that the child then before him he had
actually found in the woods. Every one
flew to Lydia, and fondled her, expressing
their wonder and delight. While this was
going on a person from the next room
rushed wildly in, seized the hand of the
little foundling, gazed on her for a mo-
ment, and then in an agony of delight
clasped her to his bosom. It was her own
father 1"
My uncle's voice faltered. and for a few
moments we were all so affected that he
could not proceed. At last he said-
"Now, children, in this affecting story
see the goodness of Divine Providence. As
far as we can see, if the traveller had set out
later on his journey, if there had been a
bridge across the creek, if the tree had fallen
across, if he had had no gun when he thought
a bear was by, the child might have been
lost. God guides the sun, moon, and
stars, in their courses; and yet he notices
the falling of a sparrow, and numbers the
hairs of our head "
Uncle John rose to depart. We all
pressed round him, and thanked him for his
beautiful tale, but many a week pased away


before we had done talking about Lydia
Harper, the Forest Foundling.

The Lord my pasture shall prepare
And feed me with a shepherd's care;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye;
My noon-day walks he ball attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.
When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountains pInt,
To fertile vales and dewy meads,
My weary, wandering steps he leads,
Where peaceful rivers soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.



%, robn of 1org.

Most of my little readers I suppose, have
seen the Tower of London. It stands by the
side of the river Thames and can be seen
by any one passing up and down the river.
Some years ago I visited it, and spent an hour
or two in looking at its wonders. Once it
was a home for kings, but since the time of
Elizabeth it has been used as a state prison, a


royal arsenal, and a place of safety for the
crown jewels. King John of France is said
to have been confined in one part of the
building called the White Tower. In ano-
ther part of the building is a prison lodging,
in which Sir Walter Raleigh was confined.
Opposite the water-gate is a small building
called the Bloody Tower. This, we are told,
was the scene of the murder of the two infant
princes by their uncle, Richard III. Before
the sad fire of 1841, there was a grand store-
house or small armoury, containing upwards
of 100,000 stands of arms-muskets, carbines,
and rifles. The walls of the Beanchamp Tower
are covered with records of the noble but
unhappy people who have been confined there.
Its upper chamber is said to have been the
prison of Anne Boleyn. The guide who went
with me had much to say about these things:
in some parts of the building my mind was
carried back to olden people and olden times.
Once more I fancied I saw their faces and
heard them talk. I seemed to forget that years
and years had passed since they lived and
moved in London, and I came away full of
very sober thought.
I well remember that among the sights in
the Tower I was shown the crown of our great
and good Queen Victoria. It wasin the jewel
office, and had in it many bright and arling
gems. One was an emerald about seveinches
round, and worth I am told, 100,000. If


my memory serves me rightly, the worth of
the jewels was about two hundred thousand
pounds. The guide would not let me touch
it, indeed, had I tried I don't think I could
have reached it, for it was inside a railing
formed of iron bars.
I heard more about this jewel-office and
its contents than I can now call to mind,
but this I remember, that of all the glorious
things in the Tower of London, this crown
was thought to be the most glorious.
I wish, however, in this lecture to tell you
something about another crown, of which I
have read in the Book of Proverbs, the 4th
chapter and the 9th verse. Try to treasure in
your mind the sweet words:-


Dear reader, glorious as our Queen's crown
may be, all its lustre fades away in the
presence of that of which this verse speaks.
It fades away just as you may have seen the
beauty and brightness of the stars die away
at the glorious rising of the sun.
"A Crown of Glory! what a beautiful
name," I think I hear a little reader say,
" Who gave it that name, and whyP" I will
tell you a few reasons for giving a name so
full of beauty to this crown.

68 Mv THr om H o0r OBEAvY.

I. It is called a Crows of Glory beca
God made it. God is the fountain of beauty,
and all that he makes is full of beauty. He
wished the world to be beautiful, and so he
put in the heavens the bright sun, the silvery
moon, and the twinkling stars.
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing as they shine,
The hand that made us is divine.
The flowers which charm you by the loveli-
ness of their colour and the sweetness of their
smell are the works of his fingers. The
"Strange bright birds with their starry wings,"
singingamong the branches, were taught their
sweetest notes by God. This fair world,
with all its light, and beauty, and song, owes
its glory to Him who made it. Heaven is a
beautiful place. My eye has never seen its
glory-my ear has never heard its songs, but
I know it is the chosen home of beauty. Its
walls are of jasper-its gates are pearl-its
foundations of precious stones-its buildings
of gold. The brightest stars are but as
lamps before the porch of those "realms of
the blest." Heaven must be beautiful be-
cause God made it; and this crown is a
thing of glorious beauty because God made


II. But more than this, it is called a
Crown of Glory became e f the preciousjeel
that are in it. I mentioned a jewel in the
Queen's crown worth thousands of pounds;
but that emerald, large and valuable as it is,
is not worthy to be compared with the pre-
cious jewels m tAis crown. Let me mention
two or three:-
1. There is te pardon of sin. King
David was thinking of this jewel, when he
cried out, "0 the blessedness of the man
whose iniquity is forgiven and whose sin is
covered!" Look at that poor man, with
mournful face, downcast eye, and heavy step,
on the road to the temple. He has a burden
on his heart which he feels is too heavy to
be borne. He enters the temple. Fear and
shame keep him from looking off the ground.
He smites upon his breast, as though to beat
his hard and guilty heart. His voice falters
with emotion as he cries, God be merciful
to me a sinner." While he calls, God
answers-while he speaks, God hears. Mercy
comes! Pardon is written on his heart.
His tears are changed to smiles-his prayers
to praises. A new song is put in his mouth.
Listen to it! Oh Lord I will praise thee;
though thou wast angry with me, thine
anger is turned away, and thou comfortedst
2. Another jewel in this crown of glory
is called rest. A little word that, but oh,


what a sweet one! BRet for the body i a
delight. After hard and anxious toil how
the labouring man longs for it At the close
of the day no sight is so fair to him as
the smoke curling from the chimney of his
own happy home-no sound is so full of
music as that which he hears

When kindly voices greet
The tired one at the door.
But rest for the mind-peace in the soul-is a
far greater blessing, than this. There is no
peace to the wicked. They are like the
troubled sea. They cannot rest. But he to
whom this crown of glory is given can rest.
He has peace with God "through our Lord
Jesus Christ."
Some of my little readers may have seen
Mrs. Stowe's book called "Dred." There is
one pag in that work which I always find it
harto read with a dry eye. It is that
chapter in which the story of the death of
poor Fanny Cripps is told. Her wicked hus-
band, after taking off his overcoat, has
thrown himself on the bed, and is snoring
heavily in deep slumber. Tiff, the pious
negro, having hushed the sick baby to sleep,
comes softly to the bedside, and site down.
Poor Fanny, weakened by disease and care, is
near her end.
"Tiff," said the young woman, her large


blue eyes looking at him, "I have heard
of the Bible; have you ever seen one,
"O! yes honey, dar was a big Bible
that your ma brought in the family when
she married, but dat ar was tore up to make
wadding for de guns, one thing or another,
and dey never got no more. But I's been
very 'serving, and kept my ears open in a
camp meeting, and such places, and I's learnt
right smart of de things that's in it."
"Now, Tiff, can you say anything?"
said she, fixing her large troubled eyes on
Well, honey, dere's one thing the
man said at de last camp meeting. He
preached about it, and I couldn't make out a
word he said, 'cause I an't smart about
preaching like I be about most things; but
he said dis yer so often that I couldn't help
'member it. Says he, it was dish yer way,
SCome unto me all ye that labour, and are
heavy laden, and I will Five you rest.'
Rest! rest! rest! said the woman,
thoughtfully, and drawing a long sigh.
" Oh, how much I want it. Did he say that
was in the Bible P?"
Yes, he said so; and I aspectss by all he
said, it's the good Lord above dat says it. It
always makes me better to think on it. It
'peared like it or as just what I was wanting
to hear."


And I too," she said, turning her head
wearily, and cloing her eyes. "Tif," said
she, opening them, "where I'm going, may
be, I shall meet the One who said that, and
I'll ask him about it. Don't talk to me more
now, I'm getting sleepy. I thought I was
better a little while after he came home, but
I'm more tired yet. Put the baby in my
arms, I like the feeling of it. There, there,
now give me rest, please do." And she sank
into a deep and quiet slumber.
Tiff softly covered the fire, and sat down
by the bed, watching the flickering shadows
as they danced upon the wall, listening to
the heavy sighs of the pine trees, and the
hard breathing of the sleeping man. Some-
times he nodded sleepily, and then recovering,
roe and took a turn to awaken himself. A
shadowy sense of fear fell upon him, not
that he apprehended anything, for he re-
garded the words of his mistress only as the
forebodings of a wearied invalid. The idea
that she could actually die, and go anywhere,
without him to take care of her seemed never
to have occurred to him. About midnight,
as if a spirit had laid its hand upon him, his
eyes flew wide open with a sudden start. Her
thin cold hand was lying in his, her eyes,
large and blue, shone with a singular and
spiritual radiance.
Tiff," she gasped, speaking with diffi
culty, I've seen the One that said tht, and


it's all true, too! and I've seen why I've
suffered so much. He-He-He is going to
take me. Tell the children about him."
There was a fluttering sigh, a slight shiver,
and the lids fell over the eyes for ever.
3. A third jewel in this crown of glory is
called adoption. When, some years ago, I
sat as a scholar on a form in a Sunday school,
I learned from my catechism the meaning of
this word. "What is adoption?" said my
teacher. I was taught to reply, Adoption is
an act of God's free grace, whereby, upon
the forgiveness of sin, we are received into
the number, and have a right to all the pri-
vileges of the sons of God." And then I
remember, when asked to prove from Scrip-
ture, what I had said, I repeated these two
verses: 1 John iii, 1, Behold what manner
of love the Father hath bestowed upon us
that we should be called the sons of God."
Romans viii, 17, "If children, then heirs-
heirs of God, and joint heirs with Christ."
A child of God What a Father What
family! What a privilegeto belong to the
blood-royal of heaven-to eome "the sons
and daughters of the Lord Almighty." The
Prince of Wales has just paid a visit to
America, and the papers have been full of
the story. Hundreds of thousands stood in
the streets to see him as he psed. Men
and women thought it the highest favour to
sit down at the same table within; and all


that could be thought of to show him honour
was cheerfully done. And why P He is
the son of Queen Victoria. He belongs to
England's royal family, and, at some future
time, may sway a sceptre over an empire
upon which the sun never sets. But, believe
me when I say, the humblest child, to whom
this crown of glory has been given, has more
honour than the Prince of Wales. He, it is
true, belongs to England's royal family,
but the converted child belongs to the royal
family of heaven. The Prince of Wales is
the son of a mighty sovereign, but the good
child is a son of the King of Kings and Lord
of Lords. The prince is eir to a vast empire,
but the saint is the heir of "an inheritance
incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not
away." I read a sweet story once of the
eldest son and heir of the Duke of Hamilton,
who was seized with disease that ended in
his death. He lay ill at the family seat near
Glasgow. Two ministers came to see him,
one of whom at his request prayed with him.
After the minister had prayed, the dying
youth put his hand back and took his Bible
from under his pillow, and opened it at the
passage "I have fought a good fight; I have
finished my course; I have kept the faith;
henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of
righteousness which the Lord, the righteous
judge shall give me at that day, and not to
me only, but unto all them that love his


appearing." "This, sir," id he, "is all
my comfort." A h was lying one day on
the sofa, his tutor was talking to him on
some subject connected with astronomy.
" Ah," said he, "in a little while, I shall
know more of this than all of you together."
When his death approached, he called his
brother to his bedside, and addressing him
with much love, he closed by saying: "And
now Douglas, in a little time you will be a duke,
but I shal be a king."
4. The last jewel I can stay to mention in
this crown of glory, is a title to heaven. The
youngest reader of this little book will know
what is meant by a title. John Bunyan, in
his beautiful book, The Pilgrim's Progres,"
tells us a sad story about a man named
Ignorance. Christian had often talked to
him, and tried to set him right. Ignorance
never came in at the wicket gate, and Chris.
tian told him, that when the reckoning-day
arrived, instead of finding his home in heaven,
the gates would be shut against him, and he
would be treated as a thiefand a robber. But
the warning was all in vain. Though he
had no title to show at the gate he thought
all would be well.
Poor Ignorance, we are told, got at last to
the river-side, and managed to pass over
without half the difficulty which the other
two men had. For it happened that there
was then in that place, one Vain-Hope, a


ferryman, who with his boat helped him over.
At last he came up to the gate. But he
came alone: no bright ones met him with
the least word of welcome. He knocked at
the gate, thinking that it would soon be
opened. Some men looked over the top of
the gate and asked him for his certificate-
his title to heaven-that they might go
and show it to the king. "So," says
Bunyan, he fumbled in his bosom for one,
and found none! 'Then,' said they, 'have
you none but the man answered never
a word. So they told the king, but he would
not come down to see him, but commanded
the two shining ones that conducted Chris-
tian and Hopeful to the city, to go out and
take Ignorance, and bind him hand and
foot and have him away. Then they took
him and led him through the air, to the door
that I saw in the side of the hill, and put
him in there. Then I saw there was a way
to hell even from the gates of heaven as well
as from the City of Destruction."
See the value-greater than any words of
mine can tell-of a title to heaven. And,
happy thought I this is one of the bright
jewels sparking in the crown of glory.
Now if all this be true, (and I have more
to tell you in my next lecture), do you not
think this crown is rightly named P And is
there not already a desire stirring at your
hearts to have it for yourselves P Are you


not resolved to seek it as silver, and search
for it as for hid treasure Happy, thrice
happy reader, if this crown of glory should be
delivered to thee!


How happy is the child who he n
Instruction's warning voice,
And who celestial wisdom makes,
His early, only choice.
For she has treasure greater far
Than east or west unfold,
And her rewards more precious are
Than all their stores of gold.
She guides the young with innocence
In pleasure's path to tread,
A crown of glory she bestows
Upon the youthful head.


dgrt groin of I1mq.

MY dear little readers, I have two things
more to tell you about this crown of glory;
and if what I have just said has made you
wonder and admire, how surprised you will
be with what is now to be told you!
I. Strange and startling as it may seem,
this crown is called a crown of glory because
the longer it is worn the more glorious it
becomes. When Jesus preached his wonder-
ful sermon on the Mount, he said to the people


who were listening, "Lay not up for your-
selves treasure upon earth, where moth and
rust do corrupt, and where thieves break
through and steal." Sooner or later the
purest gold and silver will canker, and the
finest garments will become motheaten. The
rose will fade from the healthiest cheek-the
light of the brightest eye will be dimmed-
strength will pass away from the hardiest
frame. The "silver cord" will be loosed;
the "golden bowl" will be broken; the
"pitcher" will be broken at the fountain;
and the wheel" broken at the cistern. All
things fair are fleeting. Riches make to
themselves wings and fly away. Flowers
fade. Beauty vanishes as a dream. "The
fashion of this world passeth away."
But there is a light which shines brighter
and brighter as days and weeks roll on.
There is a beauty on which the breath
of decay is never breathed-a glory which
the defacing finger of time never touches.
It is the glory of this crown. It shines
sweetly when worn by a little child; but
when that child reaches manhood, it beams
with a brighter lustre. And if we look again
at the close of his life, we see the old man's
finger turning the leaves of the precious
book-we mark the trembling voice, the
silken hair-we hear the deep and touching
prayer : Lord, now lettest thou thy servant
depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy

70 A narLmTIm PWIfUn.

salvation A crown of glory adorn that
hoary head, because found in the way of
How sweetly has good Dr. Watts taught
little children to sing about this:-

How fine ha the day been, how bright was the sn I
How lovely and joyful the course that he run I
Though he rose in a mist, when his race he began,
And then followed some droppings of rain.
But now the fair traveller has come to the west,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best,
He punts the sky gay a he sinks to his rest,
And foretells a bright rising again.
Just such is the Christian: his course he begins,
Like the son in a mist while he mourns for his sins,
And melts into tears, then he breaks out and shines,
And travels his heavenly way.
But when he comes nearer to finish his race,
Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace,
And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days,
Of rising in brighter array.

II. And let me tell you something about
this crown, which gives a lustre and adds a
finish to all the rest. When you die you ean
take it with you. Does my little reader ever
think of that hour which is coming nearer
everyday? I read once of a child who being
seen deep in thought, was asked what made
him so serious P He saidhe was th in of
the hour when he would have to die. One
who heard him, said he was too young to
think of things so sad. The little fellow


mid he had been to the churchyard and had
there een the graves of children no larger
than himself.
Yes I little children die as well as men and
women, but there was never one to whom
this crown of glory had been given, who
feared to pas through the dark valley. He
who is only rich in houses and lands, sighs
to think he can take none of them with him.
The rich man, though clothed in purple and
fine linen, and faring sumptuously everyday,
must leave all his finery behind him. When
the Central America went to the bottom,
strange sights were seen on board. Many
gold-diggers who had made their fortune
were among the passengers. Before the
storm arose, their bags of gold dust were in
their eyes the most precious objects in all
the world. How many many miles had they
travelled to obtain them, how much toil had
they endured before they could call that gold
their own! How much of the joy and peace
of their future lives depended on that glitter-
ing dust! Some were going home to get
their families and return once more to the
land of gold. When the storm raged, these
men began to think less and les of their
gold, and at length when it was seen that at
any moment the whole of them might be
buried beneath the waves, the rich men took
off their treasure belts, and threw the gold
upon the cabin floors, telling those to take it


who would, lest its weight-a few ounces or
pounds-should carry them to the bottom.
ull purse lay untouched on sofas. A carpet
bag was opened by one passenger who dashed
about the cabin thousands of pounds, and
told him who wanted gold to take it.
What a scene was this! and what a
thought, that of all those glittering stores
of gold, not one grain could be taken
to that strange world for which they were
bound I
Not so, however, with this treasure of
which I am speaking. It makes life a thing
of joy and sunshine. It smooths the pillow
in the hour of sickness : but, better than all,
it is enjoyed the most when wanted the most.
It makes the dying bed
Feel sot a downy pillows are."
You have often heard of the great and
god Rowland Hill. The crown of glory
had indeed been delivered to him. And,
oh! what a happy man it made him, happy
in life and happy in death. I am told that
during the last two or three years of his life
he often repeated these lines-
And when rm to die
Receive me I' cry,
For Jeus hu loved me-I cannot tell why.
But thi I can find.
We two are so joined,
That hell not be in glory and leave me behind.


A friend and neighbour of his, the Rev.
George Clayton, speaks of the last time
he occupied hi (M. C.'s) pulpit, when he
preached a beautiful sermon for a charitable
institution, and then went into the vestry
after service, feeling almost worn out with
his labour. He staid in the vestry till all
the congregation had left. At length'he
slowly rose to take his leave, saying as he
did so, that it was most likely the last time
he should preach in W Mr. C.
says I offered him my arm, which he de-
clined, and then followed him as he passed
down the aisle of the chapeL The lights
were nearly all put out, and the silence was
profound; nothing, indeed, was heard, but
the slow majestic tread of his own footsteps,
when in an under tone, he thus said-
And when I'm to die," &c.
To my heart this was a scene of great solem-
nity, nor can I ever recur to it without a
revival of that hallowed, sacred, shuddering
sympathy which it first awakened."
When the good old saint came to die,
and seemed to know nothing of what was
passing around him, a friend put his mouth
close to his ear, and shortly repeated his
favourite lines-
SAnd when Im to die,
Beeive me I'll cry," &e.


The light came back to his fastading eye,
a mile spread over his face, and hi lips
made an effort-though in vain-to repeat
the precious words that closed the verse.
This was the last sign he gave, for shortly
after he "passed through death triumphant
"A crown of glory shall she deliver To
THEE." TheeP Thee e' Of whom is this
wise man speaking? Where shall I go to
find this favoured person P Shall I find him
among the great, the noble, the high-born
of the land? Shall I go to the palaces of
kings, or to the mansions of nobility before
I shall see one to whom this crown of glory
has been delivered P Were I to say that it
was to be given to a few of the readers of
this little book-to six, or four, or to one-
how anxiously each would ask, Is it IP
Is it IP
The heart of every one who reads this
page should leap for joy, as I tell him that
this crown of glory, formed by the God of
glory and glittering with such costly gems-
the crown which grows brighter and brighter
the longer it is worn, and which, when a
man dies he can take with him-this wonder-
ful crown is God's free gift to all mankind."
Surely this is "glad tidings of great joy."
I wonder not that when Jesus was born, a
multitude of the heavenly host made the air


vocal with their songs, "Glory to God in the
highest, and on earth goodwilltowards men."
Whosoever will, may come and take for
himself the crown of glory without money
and without price.
If a poor man could obtain riches, or a
sick man health, or a person under sentence
of death, could obtain a free pardon, simply
by asking for it, how would he rejoice
And yet wonderful to say, God gives grace
in this world and glory in the next for
asking. "Ask and it shall be given you,
seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be
opened to you." And there is, in a letter
sent many years ago by Paul to the
Hebrews, a word or two, which ought to be
written in letters of gold overthe door of every
closet. Paul tells us that God "gives "-see
how free it is: that He "gives liberally "-
see how generous He is: that He gives
liberally to all men "- see how wide
and full His hand is; but the apostle
adds these sweet words, "AND UPBIAIDETH
Many a man gives to the needy, but he
gives m such a way as to rob the gift of
alf its sweetness. God never does this.
He does not upbraid or taunt a man with
being unworthy to receive what he asks for,
or with troubling him too often, or with
coming at the wrong time. "He giveth to
all men liberally, and upbraideth not." Let

every reader ask and receive that his joy
maybe fUllI"
Hoye that thirst approach the spring
here living water flow-
Free to that nered fountain all
Without a price may go.
Without a prie may go.
Without a price may go.
Free to that sacred fountain all
Without a price may go.
My stores afford those rich supplies,
That health snd pleasure give,
Incline your a and come to me,
The soul that hean shall live.
The soul that hears shall live.
The soul that hean shall live.
Incline your ear and come to me,
The soul that hean shall live.



( e gCnhirt lIrisen.

TaD little town of -- is not more than
thirtymiles from London. It lies on the
banks of a river which winds through some
of the most beautiful parts of what u called
"the garden of Kent. There are no very
great names connected with the history of
hi little place, nor do I think any very
greatpeople have ever lived in it. I saw in
the Tis newspaper, a few months ago, a
very bad character given to the town. Its
situation, its air, and its people, were, in the


opinion of the writer, anything but what they
ought to be. In fact, from all that was aid,
one would have thought that few places were
so badly offas C-- .
With all its faults, however, I greatly love
it. Its name will be dear to my heart for
ever. I was born there, and there I was
brought up. Many of the fields in which I
usedto play lie smiling in the glad sunlight to-
day, as they did thirty years ago. Not a few
of the trees which I used to climb are still
standing. I could take my reader at this
very moment to some of the shady walks and
lovely woods in which many a happy half-
holiday has been spent.
A year ago I paid a visit to the place. I
saw before me the fine old castle on which I
had so often gazed with childish wonder.
The bridge of my boyhood had been removed
and a much more handsome one put in its
place. But what seemed more strange to
me than anything else, the old house in
which I had spent some of the happiest years
of my life, had been taken down, and a rail-
way station erected on the very spot. I
strolled about the station, and tried to recall
the hours I had spent there,
"When manhood was a dream."
I thought of Him whose hand had led me,
and I thanked Him for his care.
During my stay in the town I paid a visit


to a building which had only been erected a
short time before my visit. It was a prison
for convicts. Convicts were mixed up with my
earliest thoughts. I had been in the dock.
yard with an elder brother, to whom I clung
very close, when the convicts were near. At
thattime they wore an odd, grim-looking dress.
Most of them had an iron ring upon the leg,
some were heavily chained, and there was
so much of gloom and fierceness about their
looks that the very sight of them was enough
to frighten me.
I had not seen any of these wretched men
for years, but having heard much of their
new prison I obtained leave to look over it,
and in this lecture you shall hear a little of
what I saw, and what I thought.
The sun was shining with unusual bright-
ness for the time of year as I came near the
prison. There were troops of little children
playing in the fields around, the Medway was
winding slowly and sweetly at a distance, the
sound of busy labour was heard in the dock.
yard close at hand, and in the midst of the
whole, like a dark shadow on the scene, rose
the prison! I no sooner reached the door
than the signs of prison-life showed them-
selves. An armed officer kept watch and
ward there. Keys, locks, bolts, and bar met
the eye at every turn. One of our company
asked the keeper whether, if a prisoner tried
to escape, he would feel free to shoot him.


His reply left no doubt on that matter, and
we could see at once that every prisoner was
in the hard and stern hand of justice.
There were hundreds and hundreds of cells,
each man being kept apart from his fellows.
The cells were very small, and though not
withoutsome comforts, yet the word p-r-i-s-o-n
seemed to be written on them within and
without. As I passed from cell to cell, and
heard from the civil guide who took me over
the place much that was sadly interesting, a
passage from the bright and solemn page of
God's book flashed through my mind-


Hard! oh how hard! Each of these men
had once been an innocent, guileless child,
his hand white and soft and his conscience as
the noonday, clear." Each began by despising
little sins. They ventured into the stream-
it seemed so smooth and shallow that there
was nothing to fear, but it soon bore them
away and at last landed them here.
It was hard when their sin found them
out! Light was flashed on their dark deeds
and they stood at the bar of justice, seen by
all and revealed to all in their true colours.
Men pointed the finger of scorn at them and
hurried them here.
Did no mother's heart feel it hard when he
whom ihe had once hushed to peaceful slum-

A an lon Lurx. 81

bet entered upon "the path of the detmyer."
Did no father, broken-hearted by the an of
hib son, "seek where to weep, and as he
wept, drink in some measure of the oup put
to David's lips when he cried, "0 my aon
Abealom, my son, my son Abalom! would
God I had died for thee, 0 Absalom, my son,
my son I"
Did not these men feel it hard to be shut
up there in the gloomy winter, the budding
spring, the blushing summer, and the golden
autumn P to reply with a sigh and a tear to
the voice which thousands were hearing-
Come sway! the nsnny hour.
Woo thee far to founts and powers;
O'er the very waters now,
In their play,
Flower are wedding eaty' glow,
Come away I
Where the liy's tender gleam
Quivers on the glowing team.
Come away I
Was there nothing hard in the thought
that they were branded for life-that nothing
could wash out the stain of that from the
page of memory. Freedom might come-
years of honest toil might follow their life
in a convict prison, but there was tha fat.
If others forgot it they never could.
Yes the way of transgreasors is hard.
SBoe men call sn a trife-same fools make
amock atit. But surely no one would who has


seen what I saw at 0- Sin may seem
at fint "a sweet morsel," but at the lat' it
"biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an
II, After looking at the cells and other
parts of the prison, Iwas taken to a building
close at hand which gave me food for more
thought. It was a chapel-a convict chapel.
I walked up the middle aisle towards the
pulpit, and stood outside the communion rails.
On the walls above and around the table,
some of the sweetest verses from the Bible
were painted in large letters. I asked my
guide whether any of the convicts were
allowed or were willing to come to the
Lord's table. He told me that at times
thirty or forty did so. When I thought
that even the lost and weary ones there
might find in Jesus a home and a hearty
welcome," some of his own precious words
came into my mind :-
IVn You mR T." THE Son or MAN
You have often read, and wondered as
you read, of the mighty works done by
Jesus when he was on earth. Blind men
were made to see-deaf men to hear-and
lame men to leap for joy. Poor lepers, from

Tim anamEN I'S BD.

whom all others turned away with fear and
dilgust, were made clean by Jesus with a word.
A weeping woman who for eighteen long
years had been bent double so that she could
not stand upright, was made straight in a
moment, and glorified God.
Pain before His face withdrew,
And sorrow fled away."
He was able to save to the uttermost, He
was mighty to save." And Jesus is as
full of love and power now as he was then.
He can turn the hard heart of a convict
into a soft one. Though every other door
is shut, Christ's is open. Though every
other voice is harsh, his voice is tender.
Though every other tongue should say Go,"
his says" Come." It was a blessed thought
beneath the shadow of that grim prison. It
was the voice of innocence speaking words
of love to the guilty-it was a song of
freedom, telling of deliverance to the cap-
tive, and the opening of the prison doors to
them that were bound. It was a bright ray
of hope glancing into the home of despair.
It was only the other day I read of a visit
paid to a prison by a good man named Richard
Weaver. He was once a great drunkard
and a pugilist. But Jesus, the mighty
Saviour, changed the lion into a lamb, and
now Richard is doing all he can to lead
others to the same Saviour. He went to a


prison in Scotland, and met 100 of the
wretched men confined there. When spobn
to they wept as though their hearts would
break. Mr. Weaver and other kind friends
talked and prayed with them for some time,
and several of them found the Saviour there
and then. One poor fellow said, O, bless
God that you came, or that God sent you
here; my load of sin is all gone, through
faith in Jesus." Another said, Oh, Sir,
this is a blessed day to me though in the
prison:-bless God it is not the prison-home
of hell. I do believe that Jesus has saved
Whatever else you forget take fast hold
of this great truth, that the Lord Jesus is
" mighty to save," and that his voice to you
is, Come unto me all ye that labour and
are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
III. Before leaving the prison, I learned
that sad as was the lot of these men, it was
not hopeless. Years might roll away before
many of them would step forth from their
prison as free men-yet the hour would come.
They had lost much, but not all. Hope was
left. And I could fancy that sometimes in
the stillness of night the mind of a convict
might scale the walls of his prison-home,
and wander in green fields and recline on
sunny slopes. Indeed, I was told that priso-
ners who had spent their term of imprison-
ment were often leaving the place. A suit of


clothes was given them, and if their conduct
had been good they were allowed a sum of
money-at times amounting to as much as
10, and in addition to this, help was given
them to emigrate.
All this was very pleasant to hear, but it
led me to think, by contrast, of another prison
house, more terrible than any tongue can
describe or heart can conceive.
"There is a pit beneath the grave
Where Satan and his angels dwell;
God made it in His Holy wrath,
And calls the horrid dungeon Hell."
I just now spoke of the gentle tones and
loving heart of Jesus. But the very lips
which, in words of honeyed sweetness, invite
the sorrowing to his arms, have warned us of
this rison. More than once or twice did he
Sof it as a place
In the prison I visited at C--, all the
inmates were fed and clothed. Though the
food was plain, there was enough of it. None
were in want. But in this prison, oh how
different. Read with solemn awe the words
of Jesus. "The rich man died, and was
buried, and in hell he lift up his eyes, being
in torments, and seeth Abraham afar of and
Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried, and

86 "' OU DAlKIORS."

said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me,
and send Laxarus that he may dip the tip of
his finger in water, and cool my tongue, for
I am tormented in this flame I' That drop
of water was denied him!
In the prison I saw at C--, it was
pleasant to learn that everything possible was
done to make the convicts better men. There
was no torture there. The aim of the whole
was not merely to punish, but to reform.
But hell is not designed to make men better.
There is darkness without one ray of light,
and despair without one gleam of hope.
There the harvest is past, the summer is
ended, andfor ever men will remain unsaved.
You have often sung, dear reader, of
heaven, and asked the sweet question, What
must it be to be there P Will you pause for
a moment, and ask the same question about
the prison of hell P What tongue can reply,
what mind can shape a full answer to the
enquiry, "What must it be to be there ? "
I dare not dwell on the sad theme. Let
Christ's own words complete the terrible
picture:-" ThDere shall be weeping' and
wailing, and gnashing of teeth."
Let me close my little lecture' by telling
you that though the gate of the prison of
dear is very wide, and though this road
leading to it is very broad, and though
thronging crowds are treading it,
Unmindful where they go "

rr XUr NOT BE 1 87

Yet God is not willing that any of my
little readers should find their way there.
" As I live, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure
in the death of the wicked, but that the
wicked turn from his way and live." 01 it
would be a sad thought if any of the little
ones whose happy smiling faces I can see at
this moment-httle ones who have heard so
many sermons-sung so many hymns-
spent so many pleasant hours in the Sabbath
School-should at last hear from the lips of
Jesus himself the terrible word, DEPART."
It must not be! Who among you will say,
" God helping me, it shall not be "
Thou callest me to seek Thy face!
'Ti all I wish to seek!
To attend the whispers of Thy grace,
And hear Thee only speak.
Let this my every hour employ
'Till I Thy glory see !
Enter into my Master's joy,
And find my heaven i Thee.



9et srisoer of tet (Srqfriars.


"DURING my late journey to the north,"
said Uncle John, when he last visited us, I
spent a few days in Edinburgh. An old
fien, whom I had not seen for many years,
kindly undertook to shew me a few of the
Sights' of that fine old city. Among other
plaoe, we visited the Grayfriars' churchyard,
about which he told me a moet remarkable

o1ray let us hear it P" said my oungt
sister; I am sure we shall like it.


Is there anything about the Covenanters
in it P" asked my eldest brother, who had
lately been reading and hearing a good
deal about that noeminded nd suffering
S"Well," reled Uncle John, "be patient
and listen, and you will learn all about it in
good time. It has certainly to do with the
Oovenanters, and perhaps, to help one at
tarting, George, who has been readig about
them lately, can mention a battle in which
they suffered a terrible defeat."
George promptly replied, "I suppose,
Uncle, you refer to the battle of Bothwell
rdo," he said; and my tale is about
a young man' who was taken prisoner in
that battle. I ought, perhaps, to tell you
first of all that in one corner of the Gray-
friars' churchyard, Edinburgh, there is a
recess, or walled-in space, stretching behind
the poor's-house, and usually called the inner
churchyard of the Grayfriars. In this
churchyard, the prisoners taken at the battle
of Bothwell Bridge were confined."
"But how could that be?" inquired
George, with a pushed look. here
were, if I remember rightly, more than
twelve hundred of them.
"Just so," said my uncle; "but strange
as it may seem, the whole of that large num-
ber were crowded into that small space."


"And what," said my little sister, "had
they for a covering? And what beds did
they sleep on P"
I am sorry to tell you," replied Uncle
John, that they had no covering to shield
them from the heat of the sun (and it was
then June), or from the chilling dews of
night. They were forced to lie on the cold
ground, as though they had been bound to
it with cords and chains; and if any of them
raised their heads ever so little in the night-
time, to ease their posture a little, the cruel
soldiers were sure to shoot at them."
"Well," said my youngest sister," I should
have tried to make friends with some of the
soldiers, and get them to let me run away."
"I dare say you would, my little Great-
heart," answered Uncle John, with a good-
natured smile; but you must be told, that
the sentries had to answer for their prisoners
with their own lives; the officers had to answer
for the sentries; and the town of Edinburgh
for the officers. But I must make haste, or
I shall never get to my story. The only
food allowed to these prisoners consisted of a
four-ounce loaf of coarse bread, and a quantity
of ale. The bread, however, was given to them
in deficient quantities, and the ale was seldom
given at all?'
Why, they must have been starved under
such brutal treatment as that P "said George,
in an excited tone.


"And so they would," said my Uncle,
"had not the friends of the captives, and the
people in Edinburgh, been very active in
briging meat, drink, and money to the poor
captives in the Grayfriars' churchyard. The
soldiers, however, were so brutal in their
conduct, that when the prisoners were sleep-
ing in the night, many of them were robbed
of any little money their friends sent them;
their shoes and clothes were also stolen
away from such of them as had beds and
couches brought to them by well-disposed
"And how long," asked George, "were
they in this wretched place ? "
About five months," said my uncle; and
during the whole time were exposed to wind,
rain, heat, and cold. At the close of their
confinement, some huts made of deal were
put up, though this was spoken of as a
mighty favour. Among the prisoners there
was a young man named Paterson, who came
from a place far distant in the west country.
He had not a single friend or relation m
Edinburgh. Strange to say, he attracted the
attention of a young woman who was in the
habit of paying a visit to the church-yard
prison every day, with food for the poor cap-
tives. Eliabeth Halliday, for that was the
young woman's name, noticed the youth and
sorrowful looks of Paterson, and began to
give him the whole of the contents of her


little basket. This was done several times,
and at last a strong affection sprang up
between the two. Theparents of Elizabet
were favourable to the (ovenanters, and they
soon began to admire Paterson, who refused
to pain his liberty by signing a declaration
which he did not in his conscience approve
of. Elizabeth and Paterson talked together
every day, and their love for each other
became so strong, that it seemed as though
there was but one soul in the two bodies."
And did she help him to escape, Uncle P "
said my youngest sister.
"Wait a moment," he replied, "and you
shall hear all about it. One morning, when
Elizabeth paid her usual visit, she found, to
her astonishment and grief, that the church-
yard was empty Early in the morning of
that very day, the prisoners had been taken
to Leith, put on board a ship so small that
two hundred and fifty-seven of them were
pent up in the room which could scarce have
contained one hundred. Many of them
fainted, and not a few were almost suf-
"Why," said George, "that was worse
than the horrors of the churchyard."
"Indeed it was," replied Uncle John,
"but worse yet remains to be told. The
ship was bound for Barbadoes, to which
miserable place these poor men were to be
transported. When off the coast of Orkney

University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs