Chapter XI: "that Child Is Ill!" (2)

"No, not so bad as that, I hope; but a rather bad break, I am afraid. It was a close shave for _you_, laddie. But for this brave boy the carriage-wheel would have passed right over you."

"What are you going to do with the poor boy, doctor? Do you know who he is, or anything about him?" a lady asked, whom Arthur recognised as Lady Elmslie.

"No, I never saw him before. But we must get him to Redloaning as quickly as possible, and have him taken to some cottage."

"See that he has everything that is necessary, doctor; and send up to Inverweir, if you can't get all you require in the village," Lady Elmslie said. It was her horses that had started forward at the discharge of the gun, and had been the cause of the accident.

A man now stepped forward, and said, "Ye'll just let me carry the laddie to the village, doctor. I'll start the noo, and I'll carry him easier like than any kind o' trap, ye ken."

"A good idea, Stoddart. Lift him gently."

"I'll do that. He's a bit hero, puir laddie; an' we mauna let him dee for his brave deed."

Stoddart lifted the still unconscious boy in his strong arms like an infant, and starting off carried him in the direction of Redloaning.

"Take him to Mrs. Aikman's cottage, and I'll be there as soon as you," the doctor said. In a few minutes he mounted his horse and followed in the same direction.

Meanwhile Arthur stood by hearing all that was said with anxious interest. Though not much hurt, he was a good deal shaken, and was still trembling from head to foot.

"Are you sure you are not hurt too, Arthur Dalrymple?" Lady Elmslie asked, looking into the boy's white and startled face.

"Oh, no, I'm not hurt; but that poor boy, Lady Elmslie, will he be all right again soon?"

"I hope so. We will do all we can for him. Don't you know anything about him, either? But stop! Get up here beside me and I'll drive you home; and you can tell me all you know about it."

Arthur got into the carriage. He rapidly decided that he would return home at once, and give up all thoughts of going to Mrs. Stewart's to-day. On the way home he told Lady Elmslie as briefly as possible all he knew about the little boy who had been the means of saving probably his life.

Lady Elmslie set Arthur down at the garden gate, but did not go with him into the house. Then Arthur had to recount to his father, his mother, and Kitty all the morning's adventures in detail, which he did in a somewhat excited manner.

"I shall walk over to Redloaning and see how the poor boy is doing this evening," Mr. Dalrymple said.

Mr. Dalrymple, much to his relief, found that the boy, his son's preserver, was progressing as favourably as the case permitted. The poor boy was manifestly suffering much pain, but he made no complaint or murmur. He was able to tell his simple story.

On the previous day when he had first seen Arthur and his sister, he had been on his way to Redloaning from the neighbouring village of Westburn, to see if he could get any kind of light employment in the former place. His mother was dead, and his father had lately enlisted in the army, leaving his boy to his own fate and fortunes. He had succeeded in obtaining a situation in Redloaning as a message-boy, but the place would not be vacant for a few days. So after passing a night in the village he was returning next day to Westburn, to remain there until he could enter upon his new duties. He was attracted by the show and stir and bravery of the games, and, like Arthur, lingered a while to watch the gay on-goings.

There he saw his young benefactor of the previous day before the latter saw him. The kindness and generosity of Arthur and his sister were yet fresh in his heart; the moment came when he saw an opportunity of repaying those kind offices, and I have tried to show you how he seized and used it.

Andy received the tenderest nursing, and more kindness and gentleness, probably, were compressed into the weeks he lay in bed than had fallen to his lot during the whole of his previous life.

"Arthur," Kitty said, on the first day that her brother and she saw Andy, "hasn't it all been strange about Andy and you?" Then a funny little smile came into her eyes, and she added, "You see, Arthur, _Charles was determined to have some adventures_, as you wrote; but it was you who got them. By-the-bye, you never told us what became of the little hen."

"I can't tell you. I never saw it again. I don't think it was hurt by the carriage, and it may be wandering about the hill-side still, and perhaps it may wander back home again."

Andy's progress towards complete recovery from his hurt was slow and at times painful. But at last he did get well and strong again. When he was quite able for work, instead of taking the situation at Redloaning, which had been long since filled up, he went into Mrs. Dalrymple's service as assistant to the gardeners at Fircroft, a post he was still filling with much success and credit when I last heard of him.

/* ROBERT RICHARDSON. */

LITTLE TOILERS OF THE NIGHT.

II THE FISHER-BOY.

"Benny, so here we are then," said the sturdy-looking sailor, as Ben, the "Reading-Boy," went running up to the railway station at Liverpool Street, London, just as the last shower of night rain was blowing away over the houses, and the sun was just peeping out and giving the grey sky a tint of salmon colour. "I'm glad as you've got from this mornin' to Wednesday, Benny, becos you see it's a pretty long v'yge from here to Yarmouth, and I'm glad you're in good time, Ben; an' I'm glad as your precious mother has made you put a coat over your jacket. 5.15 the train goes, Ben."

"What fun it is, eh, uncle! Only fancy my going down to the sea! Why, I shouldn't want to come back if it wasn't for mother."

"Now don't you be a rollin' stone, Benny. It's all very fine for fair weather sailors, to go and sit about on the beach, and p'raps be rowed out a little way, or take a trip when everything's smooth below and aloft, but just you find yerself aboard one of our smacks, in the North Sea, one night when there's a stiff sea on, and the wind cuttin' your hair off your head, and your hands stiff and blue with haulin' on to the trawl-nets, and you'd tell a different story. No, no, I don't _think_ as you're cut out for a fisher-boy, or leastways a smack-boy, for that's what they call 'em."

"A smack-boy! that's a queer name," said Ben, laughing.

"Ah, ain't it? and there's a double meanin' in it too, for I can tell you the smack-men ain't very slow for to give the youngsters a knock over the head, or a smack of the face, or a rope's-endin'. But as it's Yarmouth we're bound for, you will soon see what our fisheries are really like; and there, too, you'll find our men hard at it in tarpaulins or canvas frocks, and wet through and through perhaps, and not much time to get a drop of hot coffee nor a bit to eat. Think of that, Benny."

Ben looked serious when he heard this, and it was not till they had taken their seats in the railway-carriage, and were rattling along far beyond the houses and amidst the trees and fields of the country that he began to talk again.

"Don't the boys that go fishing like their business?" he asked.

"Well, you see," said his uncle, "they've _got_ to like it, because when they're once in it they can't well turn to anything else. It's a rough, hard life, especially for the young 'uns, Benny. Not so hard as it used to be, though. I can remember when I was a younker we used to go fishing for cod off the Dogger Bank, which is a great ridge of hills at the bottom of the sea, not far from the coast of Holland. We'd be out for a good while, and not have much to eat except cod b'iled or cod fried in a pan; and if there was much sea on, and the wind blowin' a gale, it was a hard matter to cook it at all. Now the cutters bring us some of our meat and vegetables and soft bread; but still the boys have a hard time.

"If it's the herring-boys, they have to watch the floats--the big, round things that you'll see at the edge of the nets, Ben--to keep them near the top of the water; and whether it's drift-nets or trawling-nets, they must take their share of hauling in and of playing out, night or day. More than that, too: any sort of work is boy's work, whether it's to swab the decks or to take a turn at frying fish in the cooking-galley, or paying a boat with tar, or helping to take a boat-load of fish off to the cutter in bad weather, when the waves tosses so that the fish, being loose, may slide, so that one side of the boat may heel over, and before you know where you are you're capsized and struggling in the dark, cold sea, with a singing in your ears, and the faint cries of your mates just as bad off as you are."

"But, of course, it isn't always so bad," said Ben.

"Well, no; and there's times when we've no call to grumble. Such weather as this, when there's green sea and blue sky, and bright sun overhead and clear moonlight nights, with fresh and light breezes to take the sail. Nothing could seem more pleasant than the life of a fisherman if it was always like that; but then, this isn't exactly fishing weather, Ben, and however fine it may be the boys haven't any idle time of it.

"There's always ropes to splice, or sails or nets to mend, or something to clean or to scrape, or to pay down with tar; and if there's any good in going out at all the nets must be looked to and lowered and hauled in. Even on Sundays there's things to be attended to by the lads, and though I don't say as 'ow boys is made to do useless work, yet, when they're there on that day, they toil pretty hard for little 'uns.

"And now, Ben, if you don't object, I'm going to smoke a bit o' bacca, and then you can rest your tongue a bit, if you like."

But Ben had a hundred more questions to ask about the fishing-boats, or "smacks," as they are called, and how many of them there were, and how many fish they caught at a time; and his uncle, who settled comfortably down and lighted his pipe, told him a great deal about them.

And Ben was surprised to hear that there are many thousands of men and boys who go out to catch the millions and millions of all sorts of fish that are sent to the markets in the large towns of England by railway nearly every day. He had been to Billingsgate Market in Thames Street, and to the new fish-market in Smithfield, and had seen the great piles of cod-fish, and skates, and soles, and plaice, and the boxes and baskets of white fresh herrings, and the beautiful shining mackerel, but he did not know how great was the number of herrings, and pilchards, and cod-fish that were also salted and put in barrels to be sent from England to foreign countries. He knew what bloaters were, of course, and had heard that they were herrings just a little salted and smoked over burning wood, but how was he to know that at Yarmouth there was a great fleet of herring-boats, and that in the cold November weather they went far out to sea in the mist and rain, and were night after night hauling in the great nets full of glistening silver fish?

His uncle was the owner of two smacks, but he did not go herring-fishing. He was what is called a trawler, and he and his men and boys used a different sort of net. The herring-nets are called drift-nets, and catch the fish that swim in shoals, which means a large number together, near the surface of the sea; but the trawl-nets are shaped like a long purse or bag open at the mouth. These nets go to the bottom of the sea, and in them are caught cod, whiting, soles, and other fish that lie at the bottom, and swim deep down in the water.

When Ben's uncle was a smack-boy the trawlers, after they had caught as many fish as they could carry in a deep well in their boat, used to sail away as fast as they could to Billingsgate Market, or to some place where people would buy their fish and send it by railway to London; but now the old fisherman said they had much bigger vessels, and would stay out sometimes for four or five weeks tossing about in the North Sea, or, as it is sometimes called, the German Ocean, and dragging the great trawl-nets night and day.

"Not much time to play, Ben, my boy," said the bluff old fellow. "Sometimes not too much to eat either, except fish and biscuit, and not much room to sleep in when you turn in to your hard wooden bunk and pull a rough blanket over you to keep out the cold."

"But you don't keep the fish long on board, do you, uncle?" asked Ben.

"No, no, my lad. A fast-sailing boat that we call a cutter comes and goes from shore to the fleet of trawlers, and takes the fish off; backwards and forwards it goes, and away goes the fish directly it's sold--up to London, or elsewhere, where there's millions of mouths waiting for it. Ah! I well remember when the smack-boys, or the fisher-boys, would have to help to take the fish off in a boat to the cutter on a dark night, and many a time the poor fellows would get capsized, and afterwards go down in that cold North Sea. Hard work, my lad, hard fare; and in danger half the time. Things are better now, perhaps; but we're out longer a good deal, and there's a big fleet that belongs to a company that keeps the men and the boys out for weeks at a time, and fetches all that they catch, so that by the time they get ashore the poor fellows are pretty near worn out. Of course the cutter takes out food for 'em, but it can't take 'em out warmth and dry clothes, and snug beds, and every year there is some of the vessels lost, and perhaps all on board lost too."

"Well," says Ben, looking very solemn; "there's some that get lost on land too. They fall ill or get a bad cough, or have some sort of accident with machinery or something, you know, uncle; but we're obliged to work all the same."

"Well said, my boy Ben," said the fisherman. "The thing is to do our duty, whatever it may be, and to pray that we may be made able to do it. Some of our smack-boys go to school when they're at home, and there's a mission-room where they go to hear and to read the Bible, and have teas and singing, and various treats, and some fun too sometimes. Yes, things are better than they used to be in my young days."

It was a long journey to Yarmouth, but Ben greatly enjoyed it, and when he and his uncle got there they went at once to have a look at the sea.

Such a great broad expanse of soft yellowish sandy beach, where the great waves came rolling in! such a long pier where people were fishing with hooks and lines, and sometimes catching a codling or a whiting! "I'll go and have a try at that by-and by," said Ben; "but what are those great wooden towers that look like a sort of big puzzle stuck up on end?"

"They're the look-out towers, Ben. Now, do you see that cutter over yonder, coming into shore with its big sail like a sea-bird's wing? Keep your eye on it for a minute, and then look at the top of that tower, and you'll see that there are men there that have got their eyes and their telescopes on it too. Now do you see these carts coming along, and do you see those black barges floating ready to pull out when the cutter comes near in shore? The cutter will unload a rare lot of fish. The men on the look-out tower saw her coming, and signalled to the barges and the carts to be ready. That shipload of fish will be off by a special train to-night, Ben; and if you were in London you might, if you could afford it, have some of it."

"But where's the herrings--the Yarmouth bloaters, you know?" asked Ben.

"Ah, well! this isn't the time to see so much of them. It's in the winter you see the herring-smacks come in at the herring-wharf over yonder, and hundreds of baskets full of the shining fellows brought ashore and sold, and sent off fresh in no time; while others are kept here to turn into bloaters, or red herrings, or kippers. Those sheds in the yard over there are where hundreds of women and girls set to work to salt or pack the herrings in barrels; the bloaters are what we call cured in the herring-office."

"That's a funny name," said Ben.

"Yes; and it's funny what goes on there. The herrings are brought ashore, are shot out of the baskets on to the stone floor, shovelled into big tubs to be washed, and then threaded through the gills on to long laths of wood. Then these laths with the rows of herrings strung on 'em are hung in frames from wall to wall of a top room, like a barn with a stone floor, and a hole in the roof. When that room's full of herrings all hanging in rows--thousands and thousands o' fish--a fire of oak chips and logs is lighted on the floor, and the smoke going all among the herrings, and only by degrees getting out of the hole in the roof, the fish are smoked; and them that's salted first is red herrings, and them that's only just touched dry with the smoke like are bloaters.

"So now we'll get down to our lodging, and have some supper, Ben; and so to bed, that we may be up early in the morning; but don't you dream about being a smack-boy, or you won't sleep at all sound, I can tell you."

/* THOMAS ARCHER */

THEIR WONDERFUL RIDE.

As I passed down the pathway
I heard a merry pair
Shout from behind the garden wall,
"Let's ride the old brown mare."

With whip and voice I heard them
Urge on the maddened steed,
Whilst to my frantic warnings
They paid no single heed.

Then quickly down the garden,
Trembling with fear and fright,
And bursting open wide the door
I saw this curious sight:--

Upon a wooden railing
That ran down from the wall,
Two little folk were riding,
Quite safe from fear or fall.

"Why, auntie, what's the matter?"
Shouted the merry pair;
"You cannot think what fun it is
To ride the old brown mare!"

OUR SUNDAY AFTERNOONS.

NEBUCHADNEZZAR'S DREAM OF THE HUGE TREE.

A Mighty king lay stretched upon a magnificent bed of gold. His head rested upon pillows of crimson satin, beautifully embroidered with gold, and studded with golden spangles and precious stones. Over him was a coverlet of crimson satin, also adorned with gold: and everything in his chamber was in keeping with the richness of his couch.

Costliest delicacies and oldest wines had weighed down his supper-table, round which had sat some of earth's grandest and most powerful lords. He had been lulled to sleep with soft strains of sweetest music. Ever-watchful attendants stood by him, as he slept, and cooled his brow with gentle breezes stirred up to life by fairy fans. His last thoughts had been of his vast wealth, his uninterrupted prosperity, and his great power. He was king of kings, and the whole world trembled at his feet. He had attained to the highest pinnacle of glory. Earth had yielded to him its most costly treasures, and had nothing more that she could give. Men had profusely showered upon him their highest flatteries, and addressed him in humblest language.

Yet his sleep was troubled. His brow grew dark, and the colour deepened upon his cheeks. He breathed heavily and moved nervously on his luxurious bed, which, grand as it was, could not give him rest. Hundreds of years afterwards it was said of the bruised and bleeding martyr Stephen, that he sank peacefully to rest amid a shower of stones, and the yells and hoots of bitterest enemies; for in all circumstances He can give "His beloved sleep." But this flattered son of pomp and splendour, this mighty king, upon whose very breath seemed to hang the fate of nations, tossed restlessly upon his bed of gold and purple. No, he knew nothing of that joy and peace that pass all understanding, which the world can neither give nor take away, and which has converted many a fiery furnace into a shadow from the heat.

Over those who love Him God watches in the night, and holds sweetest communion with them, as through the long dark hours they lie upon their beds; but to the wicked He sends no thought of comfort or consolation. He does not soothe them to rest with the remembrance of His loving care. And often He troubles them with dark thoughts and unwelcome dreams, that banish true repose.

So this wicked king, Nebuchadnezzar, who lived for himself, and not for God, who enriched himself at the expense of others, who closed his ears to the cry of the fatherless and the widows, and who passed by judgment and justice and mercy, was perplexed with a mysterious dream.

He saw, growing in the middle of the earth, a mighty tree, which reared its lofty head to the skies, and, on every side, sent out boughs to the ends of the world. Large bright green leaves thickly covered its branches, from which hung, in unheard-of abundance, great clusters of fruit. The beasts of the field found under it a grateful shadow from the heat of the burning sun. The fowls of the air came and built their nests in its leafy branches, and there laid their eggs, and reared their young, and joyously sang out their gladness. All was bright and beautiful; and the sleeping king, as he gazed wonderingly at the giant tree, admired its grandeur and its greatness.

To what length of days, he thought, might this majestic tree not attain! and how would the earth be able to hold it if it should go on increasing in size?

But suddenly there was a fluttering in the air; and down from the bright heavens came "a watcher and an holy one," who was terrible in his strength, and whose face shone like the sun. Judgment, and not mercy, was written upon his forehead. And oh, his voice! How dreadful it sounded to the startled king, who would gladly have closed his ears to it.

"Hew down the tree," the Angel cried, with a voice of thunder, his eyes, which were like balls of fire, flashing with righteous indignation. "Hew down the tree, and cut off his branches; shake off his leaves, and scatter his fruit. Warn the beasts to get from under it, lest they be crushed with its weight. And bid the little birds leave its branches. But do not destroy the tree. Leave the stump of his roots in the earth. Let it be wet with the dew of heaven; and let his portion be with the beasts in the grass of the earth. Let his heart be changed from man's, and let a beast's heart be given unto him; and let seven times pass over him."

What a strange dream for a king to have! And how troubled his countenance was when he rose from his bed! His eyes moved restlessly from one object to another, telling of a mind ill at ease. His limbs shook; and he seemed many years older than on the previous day. His grandly-arrayed lords came round him as before, with pleasant smiles and flattering speeches. But he could heed none of them. Whatever he did, he could not give his mind to affairs of state. Try to control them as he would, his thoughts would wander back to the towering majestic tree, to its great thick trunk, its leafy branches, its rich profusion of delicious fruit affording sustenance to all the world, and to that bright but awful being who had come from heaven and pronounced over the tree that dread sentence.

What if the tree should mean himself? Who in all the wide world but himself could be compared to it for strength and majesty? Who but himself had attained to such power and magnificence? And oh! what if all should be taken away from him? What if the widely-spreading tree should indeed be cut down, its glory and its beauty and its strength alike gone?

How he wished he knew the meaning of his dream! And how anxiously he consulted the wise men who were summoned to his presence! Magicians, astrologers, Chaldæans, and soothsayers, all the wise men of Babylon came to his palace to hear his dream, and to try to tell the meaning of it.

But the effort was in vain. The dream was from heaven, and not all the vaunted wisdom of this world could interpret it. The meaning of it could only be told by one inspired by the Spirit of God who had sent it.

Then Daniel, the Jewish captive, to whom Nebuchadnezzar had given the name of Belteshazzar, or _a layer up of things in secret_, was brought. Not long before he had not only told the king the meaning of a most mysterious dream that he had had, but he had also recalled the dream itself, which Nebuchadnezzar had forgotten. And as an interpreter of dreams and the wisest of mortals, his fame had spread far and wide; and Nebuchadnezzar could see that the Jewish prophet had a wisdom far surpassing that of his wisest and most skilled magicians.

So the strange dream of the mighty tree cut down was told to the Jewish captive, and the usually calm face of the prophet grew dark and troubled as that of the king.

"Do not be distressed by the dream or its interpretation, Belteshazzar," Nebuchadnezzar said in his gentlest tones; for he saw that the dream meant something bad, and that Daniel did not like to tell him. "Show me the interpretation."

"My lord," the Jewish prophet replied sadly, "it is a dream that will please only your enemies; and all those who hate you will rejoice at it." And then he went on to explain to the king that the great tree that he had seen towering towards heaven, and spreading itself over the whole earth, with its fresh green leaves and abundance of fruit, with its thousands of beasts taking refuge under its spreading branches, and its myriads of feathered songsters nestling amongst them, was himself. "It is thou, O king," he said; "for thy greatness is grown, and reacheth unto the heavens, and thy dominion to the end of the earth."

By the coming down of the holy watcher, and his commanding the tree to be despoiled of its glory, and hewn down, Daniel showed the king was meant his own humiliation. He should be driven from the abodes of men, his dwelling should be with the beasts of the field; he should eat grass like an ox, and his body should be wet with the dew of heaven.

But he was not to be for ever removed from his place. The malady was to continue only for seven years; for as the stump of the tree was left in the earth, so that it might some day put forth its branches again, and once more abound in foliage and fruit, so his terrible affliction should only last until he should acknowledge that it was not by the strength of his own arm, but by the power of God that he had been raised to so great a height of glory; that the kingdoms of the earth belong to God, and that He raises up whom He will to govern them.

"Oh, learn this lesson in time, mighty king," Daniel pleaded; "that supreme power belongs alone to the living God. Humble thyself before Him. Put away every iniquity; and begin to show mercy to the poor and the defenceless, who have hitherto cried to thee in vain. For it is in mercy that God has sent thee the dream, to show thee how thine heart has been lifted up, and to give thee an opportunity of averting the punishment by timely and sincere repentance."

Oh, if Nebuchadnezzar had but heeded the warning dream! If he had but taken his kingdom and his glory, his riches and his honour, and laid them all at the footstool of the great King in Heaven, acknowledging that they were all from Him, and must be held and used for Him; what great trouble he might have saved himself, and all those who looked up to him! How soon, by humbling himself, and how effectually he might have turned aside the threatened judgment! How the great and compassionate God above would have rejoiced to show mercy! And how the holy angels would have sung for joy over the repentant king, and the blotting out of his great sin, and the withholding of judgment, and the showing of mercy!

But the dream was unheeded. The warning was lost.

The great and mighty king having conquered all his enemies round about, and extended his power to the utmost limits, devoted his attention to the improving and embellishing of his capital. And as he saw Babylon increasing in glory and beauty, his heart became still more lifted up. He had done it all himself, he thought. He was so great, and so wise, and so glorious a king, that he had no need of divine aid. Such a thing as being in any way dependent upon a higher power never entered his mind, and by very severe means he had to be taught the needful lesson that might have been learned from the dream that had in mercy been sent to warn him.

While surveying the glorious city from the roof of his palace, and congratulating himself upon the dignity to which he had attained, a voice, like that which he had heard in his dream, fell from heaven, telling him that his kingdom was taken from him, and that he should meet the fate of which he had been forewarned by the cutting down of the huge tree.

And so it was.

That same hour, the terrible malady predicted by Daniel came upon him. He lost his reason, and became as a wild beast. His costly crown of gold and pearls and diamonds was taken from him, and he was driven from his throne. For seven years he lived with the beasts of the field, stooping down to the earth and eating grass like an ox, and drinking with his mouth of the flowing streams. The rude winds blew upon him, ruffling the hair that had been so carefully kept, and the scorching sun tanned his face, once so expressive of majesty. The hairs of his neglected beard became like eagles' feathers; and his uncut nails grew like birds' claws. He noted no difference between the changing seasons; and when the sun sank in the west, he lay down to sleep upon the hard ground, like the beasts, his companions, and his body was wet with the falling dew.

At the end of seven years another opportunity of repentance was offered to him, and after so severe a lesson he gladly accepted it. His reason returned, and instead of taking glory to himself, he ascribed it to God, acknowledging that He rules above all.

So the dreadful affliction was removed, his kingdom was restored to him; and his glory and honour and majesty were greater even than before.

As he once more lifted up his head amongst his nobles, he said humbly, "The great God of heaven is King; and those who walk in pride He is able to abase."

H. D.

BIBLE EXERCISES FOR SUNDAY AFTERNOONS.

25. How many times is the Lord's Prayer recorded?

26. Where are we told that departure from evil is understanding?

27. From what words is it supposed that St. Paul, like Elijah, visited Mount Sinai, there to hold communion with God, before entering upon his apostolic work?

28. Where are we told that he who rules his own spirit is better than he who takes a city?

29. Where is the Eastern custom of gathering the tears of mourners in tear-bottles alluded to in the Psalms?

30. Where is it said of the departed that they have "fallen asleep"?

31. How is the passing away of the Old Testament saints spoken of?

32. Which of the Evangelists tell us of Christ's offering three successive prayers in Gethsemane, on the night of His agony, and of His three times finding the disciples sleeping?

33. Where, in the New Testament, is David called "David the King"?

34. How many days elapsed after Noah's entering into the ark before the flood came? And who shut the door?

35. How many armour-bearers had Joab?

36. What was done with the sword of Goliath?

ANSWERS TO BIBLE EXERCISES (13-24. See p. 84).

13. St. Matt. xii. 49, 50; St. Mark iii. 33-35; St. Luke viii. 21.

14. In Prov. xvii. 17.

15. In Neh. ix. 17; Ps. ciii. 8, cxlv. 8; Joel ii. 13; Jonah iv. 2; Nah. i. 3.

16. From St. Luke xi. 1.

17. In Prov. xv. 18, xxvi. 21, xxix. 22.

18. In Prov. xvi. 32.

19. In St. Luke iii. 38.

20. From St. Matt. i. 5, 6.

21. In Gen. ix. 13.

22. In Rev. iv. 3, x. 1.

23. The names of the women are Mary Magdalene, Mary, the mother of James and Joses, the mother of Zebedee's children, Joanna, the wife of Chuza (Herod's steward), and Susanna. (St. Matt. xxvii. 55, 56; St. Luke viii. 2, 3.)

24. In Ps. cxxi. 4.

The Water-Carriers of the World

In the hotter countries of the world, in which water is the very mainstay of life, a number of persons drive a considerable trade in the sale of that liquid. Most of us know what a trouble it is to get water during a severe winter when the pipes are all frozen. Suppose such a state of things to be usual the whole year round, and you will perhaps understand the difficulties of families in some tropical lands with regard to what is to them--in a sense almost more than it is to us--a necessary of existence. Thus it is that the water-carrier is so important a personage in these warm climes. His figure is as common in the streets as our milkman, though he is generally a very much more picturesque-looking individual.

In the illustration on this page we have grouped together portraits of the water-carriers of different countries, and it will be seen that, in respect of their quaint attire and the curious vessels in which the water is carried, there is no reason for surprise that they have engaged the brush of many painters.

No. 1 represents a water-carrier of one of the provincial towns of France. With his cocked hat and queer staff, and his water-skin strapped like a knapsack on his back, he reminds one not a little of an old soldier. His next door neighbour's nationality is a good deal more obvious. Whose can that jaunty, lazy air be but that of the gay, ease-loving water-carrier of Madrid? With earthenware pail hanging from each arm, turban on head, bright-coloured waistband, and cigarette in mouth, you can tell at a glance that he belongs to a sunny country where leisure and pleasure go hand in hand. In No. 3 we find the representation of the Peruvian water-carrier. He does such good business that he can afford to keep a donkey to carry the water, which is contained in a big leather sack that lies like a bolster across the animal's back. I am afraid he is not so mindful of Neddy as he ought to be, and that some of our own costermongers could teach him a lesson or two in the humane treatment of his patient beast of burden. Leaving Peru and South America, and travelling to the northern continent, we are introduced in No. 4 to a water-carrier of Mexico. Notice how he carries the water in two odd-shaped vessels suspended from his head by means of a broad band. In No. 5 will be observed an Egyptian fellah woman carrying a jar of water on her head. Compared with her, the Norwegian peasant in No. 6 looks prosaic and businesslike. The last two are not sellers of water, but are merely taking home a supply for their own households. How fortunate those towns are where the water is conveyed by pipes from house to house!

BURIED ALIVE;

OR, LOVE NEVER LOST ON A DOG.

"Heigho!" sighed Thusnelda, as she lay on the straw not far from the spot where her three beautiful puppies were curled up in a heap. "Heigho!" she sighed, "I do hope dear master will not deprive me of any more of my darlings. Let me see now, there were ten of them originally. Yes, ten, for I counted them over and over again fifty times a day, and now there are only three. Heigho!" Here she glanced round towards these sleeping beauties in the straw, and her lovely eyes were brimming over with motherly affection and intelligence.

"To be sure," she added, "master has kept the three prettiest, that is some consolation, and the others have all gone to good homes, where I doubt not their virtue will be duly appreciated, though I shall never, never see them more."

Thusnelda was a dog of German birth and extraction. In truth, she was a Dachshund, and a high-bred one too, and both in this country and in Berlin she had taken many honours at dog shows.

Some might not have thought Thusnelda's body shapely. She was long and low, with a red jacket as smooth and soft as satin; so low in stature was she, that her chest almost touched the ground, and her fore legs were turned in at the ankle, and out at the feet--the latter indeed were almost out of all proportion, so big and flat were they; but no one could help admiring Thusnelda's splendid head, her broad intelligent skull, and her long silky ears and gazelle-like eyes. If ever eyes in this world were made to speak love and affection and all things unutterable, those eyes were Thusnelda's.

She got up at last and went and stood over her darlings. She gazed at them long and fondly, wondering and thinking what future they had before them. She held her head so low as she did so, that her splendid ears trailed and touched them. They moved in their sleep, they kicked and gave vent to a series of little ventriloquistic barks as puppies have a habit of doing; then the mother licked them fondly with her soft tongue, and therefore one awoke. It was Vogel. The names of the other two were Zimmerman and Zadkiel. As soon as Vogel awoke she gave a joyful wee bark of recognition, which aroused both her tiny brothers, and the whole three rushed at once to their good mother.

"Ah, my dears," she said; "you are very fond of me at present, I dare say, but you will get to be different as you grow older, I expect. However, I must make the most of you while you are young. Why, let's see, you will be six weeks old tomorrow, and you can lap every bit as well as I can. Yes, and it's quite a treat to see you lapping, and master thinks so too."

"Master" did.

"Master" was very fond of dogs, and he doted on good ones. He used to come and admire these three puppies by the hour. The milk he gave them was of the freshest and creamiest, and he even thickened it with a little boiled flour. Whenever Vogel and Zimmerman and Zadkiel saw him coming with the milk-pan they expressed their joy by saucy little barks and yelps, and made a headlong but awkward rush towards him, and when he put down the pan they weren't content to simply put their heads over the side and lap. No, they must have their fore feet in as well, although their mother often told them it was only little piggies that fed in that fashion. But Vogel was worse even than Zimmerman or Zadkiel, because she used to insist upon getting in the dish bodily. Only Vogel was master's favourite, and he used to take her kindly out of the dish again and place her by the side of it, and try to show her how to lap like a lady.

Vogel was the prettiest, Zimmerman the biggest and sauciest, and Zadkiel by far the wisest of the trio.

In the picture with which our artist has presented us, Vogel is standing in the centre, Zimmerman is lying on the left, while the far-seeing, deep-thinking Zadkiel is sitting on the right.

An impudent sparrow has just alighted on the puppies' pan, and is coolly helping himself to what has been left from breakfast.

"Delicious!" the sparrow is saying. "I'm the king of all the birds in the creation. Everybody admires me, I build in the choicest apple-trees, and feed on the daintiest food. Farmers cut down their hay that I may make my nest, farmers' wives kill the fowls that I may find feathers to line it, and even the cows cast their coats to aid in the same good work. Why, you little puppies, don't _you_ admire me also, you ridiculous-looking fluffy things?"

"I admire your profound impudence," Zimmerman is saying.

"I am astonished at your daring audacity," Vogel is remarking.

But Zadkiel is thinking. "I dare say," he says at last, "that even such a wretched mite of a bird as you must have been meant for some good purpose. To pick up the grubs and the green flies perhaps."

"Absurd," cries the sparrow, and off he flies in disgust.

Then the pups forget all about it, and begin to lick each other's noses and toes--I was nearly saying _toeses_--in the funniest way imaginable. After that they go in for one of the most terrible sham fights that has ever been fought.

"You'll be a badger, Zadkiel," cries Vogel, "and Zimmerman and I will worry you to death."

So at it they go pell-mell. Zadkiel is hemmed up in a corner of the cart-shed, and his brother and sister make pretence, to tear him limb from limb. Zadkiel defends himself gallantly, but has to succumb at last, for he is fairly rolled on his back, and in a few minutes is, figuratively speaking, turned inside out. Then they espy the good-natured admiring face of their mother, peering at them over the corner of the straw, and at her they all rush. They make believe that she is a fox, and her life is accordingly not worth an hours' purchase.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughs some one not two yards away, and looking up they espy "master," who all unknown to them has been enjoying the fun for the last half-hour.

"You dear, delightful little pets," he says, "why, you are as lively as kittens, and as healthy and happy-looking as the summer's day is long. You will do your mother credit yet. Your legs are straight, but work will bend them into the right shape, then you'll be able to creep into any rabbit's hole in the country,

"To beard a badger in his drain,
A wild wolf in his lair."

So in order to make these little rascals' legs bend to the proper shape, master, as soon as they got a little older, used to bury bones for them deep down in the garden earth, and get the whole trio to scrape and find them.

This was grand fun, and by the time the puppies were six months old they were just as shapely as the mother was, or as unshapely, if you like it better, for after all perhaps the beauty of their bodies consisted in their ugliness.

It isn't every one who knows how to rear puppies properly, but this master did. He fed them on bread and milk, and broth and scraps of meat four times a day, he never forgot to give them plenty of the freshest of water, and as for straw, why they could at any time bury themselves in it. But this was not all, for he made the little things his constant companions, when he himself went out for exercise. And didn't they scamper and didn't they dance, and frolic, and run! Many a rat, and stoat, and polecat had reason to wish them far away, I can tell you.

Few people know how wonderful, intelligent, and sagacious a dachshund can become under proper treatment. But there must be system in the treatment. The whip must be hidden away out of sight entirely, the animal must be treated like a reasoning being, as indeed it is; it thus soon comes to know not only every word spoken to it, but your will and your wishes from your very movements and looks.

A dog never forgets kind treatment, and whenever he has the chance he acts a faithful part towards a loving master. I could tell you a hundred true stories illustrative of that fact, but one must here suffice. Had you seen the dachshund puppies then as they are represented in our engraving, brimful of sauciness, daftness, and fun, and seen them again two years after as they appeared when accompanying their beloved master in his rambles, you certainly could not have believed they were the same animals. They were still the same in one respect, however, for Vogel was still the beauty and Zadkiel the philosopher.

One day their master went out to hunt in the forest. It was far away in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands. He had gone to shoot deer, but as he was returning in the evening after an unsuccessful stalk, he caught a glimpse of a fox disappearing round the corner of an old ruin.

"Ho! ho!" he cried. "You are the rascal that steals my ducks. We'll have you if we can."

But the fox had taken at once to his burrow in the ruin. It was a very ancient feudal castle, only just enough of it remaining to give an idea of the shape it once had been, for regardless of the respect that is due to antiquity the keepers had carted away loads of the solid masonry to build their houses, leaving the place but a beautiful moss-grown chaos.

"Watch," was all the master said to his dogs as he crept in through an old window into the donjon keep. It was a foolhardy thing to do, for the stones were loose around it, but he had many times got in there before, and why, he thought, should he not do so now. Besides, this was Reynard's favourite den, and he hoped to shoot him in it. But the fox had improved on his dwelling since the hunter had last paid him a visit; he had excavated another room. Stone after stone the hunter began to pull down, when suddenly there was a startling noise behind him, and he found himself in the dark.

Buried alive! Buried in a dungeon in which there was hardly room to turn. The situation is too dreadful for pen to describe. He sank on the soft damp mould of the floor and gave himself up to despair. And thus hours went past.

Hitherto there had not been a sound, but now the impatient yelping of the faithful hounds told him they had begun to appreciate the terrible danger of the master.

The rest of the story may be told in a very few words. Vogel did nothing but run about wild with grief, and made the rocks around her echo the sounds of her grief. Zimmerman set himself to work to dig the master out. But alas! solid stone and lime were too much for even his strong little limbs. But where was the wise and thoughtful Zadkiel? Gone. He turned up some hours after at his master's house, and his strange behaviour soon caused the servants to follow him into the deep forest and straight to the old ruin.

Morning had dawned ere the hunter, more dead than alive, was extricated from his living grave. His first act as soon as he recovered was to return thanks to Him who had delivered him, his next to embrace his faithful dogs.

ARION.

LITTLE MARGARET'S KITCHEN, AND WHAT SHE DID IN IT.--IX.

_By_ PHILLIS BROWNE, _Author of "A Year's Cookery," "What Girls can Do," &c._

"I wonder what we shall do to-day, Mary?" said Margaret, as the two children stood by the kitchen table waiting for the next lesson.

"I don't know," said Mary; "but I fancy we are to learn something about fat, for I heard mistress giving orders to put the fat ready for us. And there it is. Don't you see all those pieces of fat on the dish?"

"Well, children," said Mrs. Herbert, who at that moment entered the kitchen, "how would you like to learn to fry to-day?"

"We should like it very much, mother," said Margaret.

"But what shall we make?"

"I wish we might make some apple fritters, like those we had the day before yesterday."

"You shall learn to cook the fritters at our next lesson," said Mrs. Herbert. "To-day we shall be quite sufficiently busy preparing the fat for frying. Can you, Mary, tell me what it is to fry food? If you had to fry the fritters, for instance, how would you set about it?"

"Please, ma'am, let me think," said Mary. "When we fried the pancakes, we put a little fat in the frying-pan, and let it melt, and then put in the batter. So I suppose we should do the same with fritters."

"That is exactly what we must not do," said Mrs. Herbert. "There are a few things which we must fry in a shallow pan, with very little fat. Pancakes and omelettes are amongst them. But as a rule, this is a very extravagant, wasteful mode of cooking. It is much better to _fry_ properly, that is, to cook in an abundance of fat, using as much fat as will cover the food entirely, so that we may be said to boil the food, but in fat instead of water."

"I should have thought it was very wasteful to use a quantity of fat," said Margaret.

"Do you remember how much fat we used when we fried the pancakes?" said Mrs. Herbert.

"I remember," said Mary: "for every pancake we used a piece of fat about the size of a walnut."

"And how much of this was left when all were finished?"

"Why, none, mother," said Margaret. "The fat was used each time, and it seemed to dry up or go into the pancake, or something. At any rate, it was lost altogether."

"Then if we were trying to find out how much the pancakes cost, we ought to include the cost of the fat in which they were fried?"

"I suppose so."

"Do you not think, then, that if in frying we could so arrange matters that the fat should be used again and again and again, that would be less wasteful?"

"Of course it would," said Mary.

"Then this is what we will do. We will provide a quantity of fat, as much as will half fill a good-sized iron saucepan. When we use this for frying, we shall find that if we are careful of it--that is, if we lift it from the fire as soon as it is done with, do not let it burn, and strain it--we can use it again and again and again. In fact, it may be used any number of times, and we keep adding fresh fat as we get it."