Chapter M: S. P (1)

CARING FOR THE LITTLE ONES.

The faithful guardians of our cities have many and varied duties to perform, but perhaps in none of them does the kindness of their hearts shine forth as it does in their tenderness to little ones who have lost themselves in the winding streets of a great city. In wet or wintry weather they treat them tenderly, and take them home, or to the warm fire at the nearest station, till their parents claim them. This incident may well call to mind the kindness of Jesus to the little ones when on earth, as we read--"And they brought young children to Him, that He should touch them: and His disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, He was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. And He took them up in His arms, put His hands upon them, and blessed them" (Mark x. 13, 14, 16).

The mothers came, in days of old,
To Jesus, that He might enfold
Within His arms their children dear,
And then His kindness did appear.

Disciples thought it waste of time;
Rebuked, as though it was a crime;
But it was ne'er the Saviour's way
To turn poor coming ones away.

Therefore the Lord was much displeased,
And thus the happy moment seized;
Them in His arms did take and bear,
Showing His love and kindly care.

His loving voice could never say--
"Oh, take these little ones away!"
And though the parents' hearts might fear,
He loved to see them coming near.

His blessed words, "Forbid them not,"
Are with much heavenly comfort fraught;
And "Suffer them to come to Me,"
Gives forth a welcome kind and free.

In Him sweet rays of mercy shine--
So tender, harmless, yet divine;
Upon them He His hands doth place,
And blesses them in truth and grace.

Displeased with what His servants did,
And having their unkindness chid,
He makes His pleasure shine so bright,
Causing the mothers much delight.

Oh, tell it out, to heal the smart
Of many an anxious parent's heart--
He hears the sigh, He sees the tear,
And each poor pleader welcomes near.

Oh, tell it out, that children dear
May seek His face, and never fear,
That He will hear their feeble prayer,
And give them in His love to share.

He speaks of heaven and glorious things,
And is so meek, though King of kings;
Of children says, to cheer and please,
"The kingdom is of such as these."

Oh, eyes that saw with kindly look!
Oh, arms that thus the children took!
Oh, hands, parental-like, thus laid!
Oh, words to bless, what grace displayed!

Lord, fix our youthful eyes on Thee;
Grant us Thy love and grace to see;
Cause us to love Thy blessed name,
And tune our tongues to speak Thy fame.

The proud, the lofty, all defiled,
Must be made as a little child;
Must all their sins and vileness own,
And seek for mercy at Thy throne.[1]

[1] Throne of grace.

Oh, Saviour, may Thy love so free
Encourage souls to come to Thee;
And may they, finding all they need,
Confess that they are blest indeed.

B. B.

THE biggest lies are told for the least cause.

A BUDDING OF HOPE.

Dear young readers of the LITTLE GLEANER, how very true and solemn are the words of the poet--

"The moment when our lives begin
We all begin to die."

And at what age death may take us none of us can say. From among the large number who read the GLEANER, we every now and again hear of one being taken away by death.

Lizzie Winchester, of Cross-in-Hand, was a constant reader of the GLEANER, and of other good books, but not to the neglecting of her Bible. She was a scholar in the Sunday School at Ebenezer Chapel, Heathfield, where she was always very quiet and attentive, and she was also very fond of her teacher. When she left school, she regularly attended chapel with her sisters, sitting where she could see the school children, and would complain when she got home if she saw any that did not behave themselves properly. She had a great reverence for the house of God and for the servants of God. She had but few companions, but was much beloved for her little acts of kindness in sending to one and another small presents. Some little time before her death she sent "The Sack and its Treasure" to a young friend at Eastbourne, as a birthday present; and who can say how much real good may result from such little gifts as that? I should not think that any one could point out a flaw in her moral character. But this was not grace; and although she needed no outward reformation, yet if the heart be not changed, there can be no entering into the kingdom of God.

The last time that she walked to chapel, a distance of three miles--making six miles both ways--was on August 21st. It was not then known that anything was the matter with her. First her throat was sore, and she felt poorly, but she still kept about. On Wednesday, September 14th, she was out, and gathered half a gallon of blackberries. She was up on Thursday and Friday, and put her clothes on on Saturday, but could not get down stairs. Towards night she was much worse, and it was found that her affliction was diabetes.

On Sunday she was very ill, and the doctor said she could not last long. Her Sunday School teacher, Miss C----, was sent for, and when she arrived, she saw that Lizzie was sinking fast, and found that she could say but little.

I am not going to set her up, and positively say she was a partaker of grace, for the very few words she uttered are not of themselves sufficient evidence for that. About five o'clock, during her mother's absence, she said, in a very low tone of voice, "I hope Jesus will heal my soul," or, "Perhaps Jesus will heal my soul." Miss C---- could not distinguish the words so as to be sure which.

Early on Monday morning, the 19th of September, 1887, she died. Had she lived till the 26th, she would have been eighteen years of age. Just as she departed there was a beautiful smile came over her countenance; and as Miss C---- afterwards went with several friends to see the corpse, these words came into her mind as if some one had spoken them to her--

"Not a wave of trouble rolls
Across her peaceful breast."

Mr. Mockford buried her on the following Saturday; and, among other things, he spoke from these words--"If the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth there it shall be." He spoke of the departed as being toward the south--toward the house of God, the people of God, and the ways and Word of God; and as she was so far joined to the living, there was hope that she would be found among that people at the resurrection morning.

On Sunday morning in the school, one of the teachers read that chapter where the same words stand, and, though not at the funeral, some very similar remarks were made, and the same hope concerning the departed was expressed. I am sure of this--that, if she had that good thing in her heart toward the Lord God of Israel, namely, faith toward Jesus and His blood, she is now joining

"The host of virgin saints
Made to salvation wise."

The question may arise, "Why say anything about her, since there is no more ground for hope than this?"

It is to the living I want to say a few words, hoping the Lord will make use of this feeble account to lead the young readers of the LITTLE GLEANER to consider how matters stand with them before God and for eternity.

"Reflect, young friend, I humbly crave,
Thy sins, how high they mount!
What are thy hopes beyond the grave?
How stands that dark account?"

Oh, how solemn your case, if you are in an unpardoned state! Death may come upon you speedily, and then what will you do? All who die without repentance and forgiveness must hear that solemn word from the lips of Christ, "Depart from Me!" Are you blessed with a good hope, through grace? Then you certainly have something to be thankful to God for. Or are you in some doubt as to whether you have a living hope in Christ? And do you fear that, if called to die, you could say no more than Lizzie Winchester did? Then my prayer for such an one is, that the Lord may stir you up to real, earnest, wrestling prayer and importunity respecting your salvation.

"If hellish foes beset thee round,
And would thy way withstand,
On Jesus call, nor yield thy ground,
And He will help command."

It is no small mercy, reader, if your moral character will compare with Lizzie Winchester's. She was a model in this respect, and I hope you may be found in every way as consistent as she was, and, above all, may you be found in Christ Jesus, living and dying.

I had thought of saying more, but, as I wish to be brief, I will conclude by telling you that, notwithstanding her reservedness, several friends, with myself, had a good hope of Lizzie. We do trust she is now

"completely blest;
Has done with sin, and care, and woe,
And entered Jesus' rest."

W. L.

[We hope our readers will bear in mind the motive our friend has in writing, and we in giving, this brief account of Lizzie Winchester; and may the Holy Spirit cause the reading of it to make them feel the importance of the new birth, and stir them up to seek clear and certain evidences of their salvation, so that, when they come to die, they may be able to confess, "I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him."--ED.]

BIBLE SUBJECTS FOR EACH SUNDAY IN MARCH.

Mar. 4. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 23. Mar. 11. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 24. Mar. 18. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 25. Mar. 25. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 26.

THE first character of right childhood is, that it is modest.

"THERE IS NO REST IN HELL!"

AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE.

Dear Reader,--The following account being "an authenticated fact," it is put before you with the hope that you may be thereby led to solemnly consider the subject of a future state. God's truth does not require fiction to make it effectual; therefore, the net of truth should only be weighted with words of truth.

The awful, but true, narrative now put before you takes us back for something like a century, to the city of Glasgow, where, at that time, was a club of gentlemen of the first rank in that city. They met professedly for card-playing; but the members were distinguished by such a fearless excess of profligacy as to obtain for it the name of "The Hell Club."

Besides their nightly or weekly meetings, they held a grand annual festival, at which each member endeavoured to "outdo all his former outdoings" in drunkenness, blasphemy, and licentiousness. Of all who shone on these occasions, none shone half so brilliantly as Archibald Boyle. Educated by a fond and foolishly indulgent mother, he was early allowed to meet in society with members of "The Hell Club."

One night, on retiring to sleep, after returning from one of the annual meetings of the club, Boyle dreamt that he was still riding, as usual, upon his famous black horse, towards his own house--then a country seat embowered by ancient trees, and situated upon a hill now built over by the most fashionable part of Glasgow--and that he was suddenly accosted by some one, whose personal appearance he could not, in the gloom of night, distinctly discern, but who, seizing the reins, said, in a voice apparently accustomed to command, "You must go with me." "And who are you?" exclaimed Boyle, with a volley of blasphemous execrations, while he struggled to disengage his reins from the intruder's grasp. "That you will see by-and-bye," replied the same voice, in a cold, sneering tone, that thrilled through his very heart. Boyle plunged his spurs into the panting sides of his steed. The noble animal reared, and then darted forward with a speed which nearly deprived his rider of breath. But in vain--in vain! Fleeter than the wind he flew, the mysterious, half-seen guide still in front of him! Agonized by he knew not what of indescribable horror and awe, Boyle again furiously spurred the gallant horse. It fiercely reared and plunged. He lost his seat, and expected at the moment to feel himself dashed to the earth. But not so, for he continued to fall--fall--fall--it appeared to himself with an ever-increasing velocity. At length this terrific rapidity of motion abated, and, to his amazement and horror, he perceived that this mysterious attendant was close by his side. "Where," he exclaimed, in the frantic energy of despair, "where are you taking me? Where am I? Where am I going?" "To hell!" replied the same iron voice, and from the depths below the sound so familiar to his lips was suddenly re-echoed--"To hell!"

Onward, onward they hurried in darkness, rendered more horrible still by the conscious presence of his spectral conductor. At length a glimmering light appeared in the distance, and soon increased to a blaze. But, as they approached it, in addition to the hideously discordant groans and yells of agony and despair, his ears were assailed with what seemed to be the echoes of frantic revelry.

Boyle at length perceived that he was surrounded by those whom he had known on earth, but were some time dead, each one of them betraying his agony at the bitter recollections of the vain pursuits that had engrossed his time here.

Suddenly observing that his unearthly conductor had disappeared, he felt so relieved by his absence that he ventured to address his former friend, Mrs. D----, whom he saw sitting with eyes fixed in intense earnestness, as she was wont on earth, apparently absorbed at her favourite game of loo. "Ha! Mrs. D----! Delighted to see you! D'ye know a fellow told me to-night he was bringing me to hell! Ha! ha! If this be hell," said he, scoffingly, "what a ---- pleasant place it must be! Ha! ha! Come now, my good Mrs. D----, for auld lang syne, do just stop for a moment, rest, and"--"show me through the pleasures of hell," he was going, with reckless profanity, to add; but, with a shriek that seemed to cleave through his very soul, she exclaimed, "_Rest!_ There is no rest in hell!" and from the interminable vaults, voices, as loud as thunder, repeated the awful, the heart-withering sound, "_There is no rest in hell!_" and he who, in his vision, walked among them in a mortal frame of flesh and blood, felt how inexpressibly more horrible such sounds could be than ever was the wildest shriek of agony on earth.

He saw Maxwell, the former companion of his own boyish profligacy, and said, "Stop, Harry! stop! Speak to me! Oh, rest one moment!" Scarce had the words been breathed from his faltering lips, when again his terror-stricken ear was stunned with the same wild yell of agony, re-echoed by ten thousand thousand voices--"_There is no rest in hell!_"

All at once he perceived that his unearthly conductor was once more by his side. "Take me," shrieked Boyle, "take me from this place! By the living God, whose name I have so often outraged, I adjure thee! Take me from this place!"

"Canst thou still name His name?" said the fiend, with a hideous sneer. "Go, then; but, in a year and a day, _we_ meet, to part no more!"

Boyle awoke; and he felt as if the last words of the fiend were traced in letters of living fire upon his heart and brain. Unable, from actual bodily ailment, to leave his bed for several days, the horrid vision had full time to take effect upon his mind; and many were the pangs of tardy remorse and ill-defined terror that beset his vice-stained soul, as he lay in darkness and seclusion--to him so very unusual. He resolved, utterly and for ever, to forsake "The Hell Club." Above all, he determined that nothing on earth should tempt him to join the next annual festival.

The companions of his licentiousness bound themselves by an oath never to desist till they had discovered what was the matter with him, and had cured him of _playing the Methodist;_ for their alarm as to losing "the life of the Club" had been wrought up to the highest pitch by one of their number declaring that, on unexpectedly entering Boyle's room, he detected him in the act of hastily hiding a Book, which he actually believed was the Bible.

Alas! alas! poor Boyle! Like many a youth, he was ashamed to avow his convictions, and his endless ruin followed.

From the annual meeting he shrank with an instinctive horror, and made up his mind _utterly to avoid it_. Well aware of this resolve, his tempters determined he should have no choice. How potent, how active, is the spirit of evil! How feeble is _unassisted_, _Christless_, _unprayerful_ man! Boyle found himself, he could not tell how, seated at that table on that very day, where he had sworn to himself a thousand and a thousand times nothing on earth should make him sit.

His ears tingled, and his eyes swam, as he listened to the opening sentence of the president's address--"Gentlemen, this is leap year; therefore, it is _a year and a day_ since our last annual meeting."

Every nerve in Boyle's body twanged in agony at the ominous, the well-remembered words. His first impulse was to rise and fly; but then--the sneers! the sneers!

How many in this world, as well as poor Boyle, have dreaded a sneer, and dared the wrath of an almighty and eternal God, rather than encounter the sarcastic curl of a fellow-creature's lip!

The night was gloomy, with frequent and fitful gusts of chill and howling wind, as Boyle, with fevered nerves and a reeling brain, mounted his horse to return home.

The following morning, the well-known black steed was found, with saddle and bridle on, quietly grazing on the road-side, about half-way to Boyle's country-house, and a few yards from it lay the stiffened corpse of its master.

Reader, the dream is horrible--truly horrible--yet not half so horrible as the reality. Ah! no. No dream can picture the full, long misery of "the worm that dieth not," "the fire that is never quenched," the woe that never ends.

Oh, reader, if, under the poison of infidelity, you have been led to doubt the existence of hell, I pray God you may believe the awful reality ere you are in it!

If God did not punish sin, His indifference to it would encourage it. If God did not punish sin, where were His holy abhorrence of it? If God did not punish sin, His kingdom would be a moral chaos. But His Word declares that "we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad" (2 Cor. v. 10).

Reader, as in the days of Noah, so now. Death threatens all who are out of Christ, and, therefore, in their sins. There was then only one place of safety; there is only one place of safety now--that is, in the Ark, Christ. "YE MUST BE BORN AGAIN." The horror you have felt in reading this dream will be no benefit to you if it is not made, in the hands of the Spirit, the means of your flying to Christ for refuge.

Oh, that in some hearts, the reading of this sad narrative may prove the means of producing the earnest cry, "Deliver me from going down to the pit!" and "What must I do to be saved?" To such God's free invitation to the heavy-laden sinner to come to Christ for rest is given, and Jesus Himself declares, "Him that cometh to Me, I will in no wise cast out" (John vi. 37).

THE SCOTCH THISTLE.

Why the Scots chose the thistle for a national insignia is told in this legend. It was at the time of an invasion, when the destinies of Scotland hung upon the result of a battle soon to come. The invaders knew that the Scots were desperate, and availed themselves of a dark, stormy night, and planned to fall upon the Scottish army on every side at the same moment. Had they been suffered to execute their plan undetected, they would certainly have succeeded in destroying the Scots; but a simple accident betrayed them. When near the Scottish camp, the foremost of the invaders removed the heavy shoes from their feet, so that their steps might not be heard, and thus stealthily advancing barefooted, a heavy, quick-tempered soldier trod squarely upon a huge thistle, the sharp point of which gave such sudden and exquisite pain that he cried out with a bitter curse. His cry aroused the outlying Scots, and apprized them of their danger, and meeting the foe widely divided for the purpose of encompassing the camp, they were enabled easily to overcome them with great slaughter. When the Scots discovered that it was to a thistle that they owed their victory, they adopted the prickly plant as their national emblem.

COUSIN SUSAN'S NOTE-BOOK JOTTINGS ON THE LIFE AND WORK OF FATHER CHINIQUY.

"BELOVED, BELIEVE NOT EVERY SPIRIT."

We have often wondered why any one should believe that a bit of consecrated bread was the true body and soul of the Lord Jesus, and that, as such, it should be reverenced and adored. But our surprise abates, though our sorrow increases, when we trace the steps by which a Roman Catholic reaches that point of folly and superstition, as the interesting narrative of Father Chiniquy brings them to our view.

When he was eleven or twelve years old, he met with a class of lads about the same age, to be prepared for his first communion; and there he was taught that, just as his mother punished him more seldom and less severely than his father for his faults, and just as his mother often interceded for him and saved him from punishment altogether, so Mary was more pitiful, more tender, than Jesus, and when He was righteously angry, His mother--the mother of all who pray to her--turned away His anger, and averted the strokes He was about to inflict on the sinner.

The thought of _this_ Christ--terrible, angry, unapproachable--was dark and chilling in the extreme. He seemed a Being to be feared, but not beloved.

And then the false Church presented another Christ to view--a god made with hands, not of wood or stone, but of wheaten flour. The priest's servant girl or attendant takes the dough, bakes it between two heated irons, on which are graven the letters, I. H. S., and the figure of a cross. These wafers, about four or five inches large, when well baked, are cut with a pair of scissors into smaller ones, about one inch in size, and then the priest, taking them to the altar, and pronouncing Latin words for "This is My body," is supposed to turn each of these into the Christ who lived and loved and suffered here, a gentle, tender, loving Saviour; and the poor deluded creatures who tremble before Christ in heaven, bow down and adore, when they do not eat, the paltry wafer which the priest has blessed.

Chiniquy himself passed whole hours, in biting wintry weather, in a church never warmed by a fire, worshipping this wafer god. He was yearning for divine sympathy and love, and hoped he had it then.

And yet, though he tried to "believe a lie" so earnestly, his faith was often shaken by what he saw and heard.

In a company of priests, a strange story was told of a drunken curate and his deacon, who, called to go a long journey in snowy weather, to carry the sacred wafer to a sick person, had a dispute with a traveller as to which should lead his horses into the deep snow, the cleared path being too narrow for the vehicles to pass each other. A terrible fight took place. The priest's horses took fright and returned home, breaking the sleigh all to pieces, and the little silk bag containing their "god" was lost in the snow. It was carefully sought in vain, and not till the month of June was it found, and then the wafer inside the little silver box had melted away! And the priests laughed boisterously when they heard it. Did they believe what they taught the people?

At another time, a blind priest had been adoring the bit of bread he had just consecrated, but when he went to eat it, it was gone. In alarm, he sent for Chiniquy, who was hearing confessions not far away, and as it could nowhere be found, he knew that a rat had taken it, for the rats were both numerous and bold in that place. The old priest was inconsolable, though he blessed another piece and then concluded his devotions. But his lamentations were so deep and long that Chiniquy at last lost patience, and said a word or two which greatly shocked the superstitious priest, who severely rebuked him, and ordered him for a penance to kneel every day before the fourteen images representing "the way of the cross," and say a penitential psalm before each for nine days, and on no account to tell the story of the rat to any one. He complied with these requests, and received a very gracious absolution. But on the sixth day he pierced the skin of his knees while kneeling, and the blood flowed freely, causing him great pain whenever he knelt or walked, and all because he for a moment had doubted the right of Rome to call that a god which a priest could professedly create and a rat destroy!

Alas! for those who follow such pernicious teachings! Let us pity and pray for them, and more than ever cleave to that Gospel which tells us that "there is only one name given under heaven by which we must be saved"--"one Mediator between God and men, the Man Christ Jesus," who lives in glory, no more to suffer or die, but who is "Jesus of Nazareth" (Acts xxii. 8), still tender and loving as when He dwelt below, while He is eternally mighty to "save to the uttermost all that come unto God by Him."

Oh, that all our hope and confidence may rest on Him--entirely on Him alone!

THE DIRGE OF AN ENGLISHWOMAN.

And ought the Queen of England's land
A gift to send by Norfolk's hand
To the old Pope of Rome,
His Jubilee to celebrate,
With Popish pomp, in grandest state,
In his Italian home?

Chalice and basin, richly made
Of shining gold; to him conveyed
By one of his trained band.
He used them both at his High Mass,
And proud of such a gift he was
From our dear native land.

Our own Victoria should be free,
True to "the rights" she swore when she
Sat in the abbey old;
And crown was placed upon her head,
And coronation oath she said
Over God's Word, we're told.

Up, English men and women all!
To the red beast[2] ne'er bow at all,
But leave him to his fate;
For Babylon will surely fall,[3]
And with her, nations great and small,
Who follow in her wake.

In days of yore she sat a queen,[4]
On seven hills,[5] so vile, unclean,
And shed the blood of saints.
"Come out of her, My people"[6] all,
Nor of her plagues receive at all,
Or listen to her plaints.

The Ritualists are helping fast
To bring us now, as in times past,
Beneath the sway of Rome.
You silly men and (silly) women[7] all,
Oh, why take heed to them at all
Who creep into the home?[7]

Alas! alas! for England's Queen,
And English nation too, I ween,
If e'er the Pope gets sway!
True Christians ne'er will bend the knee
To kiss Pope's toe so impiously,
Nor pence to Peter pay.

N. P. W.

_Southsea._

NOTHING doth more hurt in a State than that cunning men pass for wise.

[2] Revelation xvii. 3.

[3] Revelation xiv. 8.

[4] Revelation xviii. 7.

[5] Revelation xvii. 9.

[6] Revelation xviii. 4.

[7] 2 Timothy iii. 6.

EXPERIENCES IN THE ARCTIC OCEAN.

Captain Adams, of the whaling steamer _Maud_, which lately arrived at Dundee from Davis Straits, has related a few interesting incidents of his voyage.

When in Exeter Sound, Captain Adams was informed, by a native, of an island which was a favourite resort of the walrus, and where the animals could be often found asleep. He accordingly determined to try and secure an old specimen, and sent out four boats, with twenty-four men, to effect a capture. On arriving at the island, a large number of walrus were seen basking on the shore, and a landing was attempted, with the result that the colony soon showed their tusks, and made a deliberate attack on the boats. Ten of the foremost animals had to be shot to prevent mischief, and after a severe struggle a female walrus was lassoed. A number of small ropes were then fastened about it, and the huge animal was, after immense labour, hoisted into an empty boat, to which it had to be secured, to prevent it smashing the planks. On being towed to the ship, the boat and the walrus were hoisted on board, and suitable quarters were then found for it. It is fully eighteen months old, and Captain Adams is hopeful that it will survive. A young live bear has also been brought home.

One of the noteworthy incidents of the voyage was the landing of Urio Etawango (the Esquimaux whom Captain Adams had staying in Dundee over last winter) at Durban, the residence of his tribe. For several days previous to the arrival of the _Maud_ off Durban, Urio was moody and disconsolate, but he did not reveal his mind, so that the crew were ignorant of his thoughts. The conjecture was, that he was sorry to return to the rude life of an Inuit, after his experience of civilized life. When the ship first arrived off Durban, there was a long stretch of ice running out from the land, and Urio and one of the officers travelled about fifteen miles, and lighted a fire as a signal to the tribe of his return. The signal was soon recognized, and ere long the whole tribe were seen making their way over the ice. Meantime Urio had returned to the ship, and he was taking a nap in his berth when the news was communicated to him of the arrival of the tribe, with his wife and child amongst them. The Inuits are a very impassive race, and it was amusing to see the cool way in which Urio and his wife shook hands, as though they had been parted twelve days instead of twelve months. Urio showed more affection towards his child, with whom he rubbed cheeks in the manner peculiar to the Inuits. But if the young wife was undemonstrative at meeting with her husband, she got into transports of joy at the sight of the numerous presents which friends of her husband in Dundee had sent out to her. One of these was a pretty melodion, and the young woman's eyes sparkled when she beheld it. To the astonishment of the ship's company, she lifted the instrument and played "There is nae luck aboot the hoose," finishing with "The Keel Row." It was subsequently ascertained that she had learned to play several tunes on the concertina whilst resident at the American settlements on Cumberland Gulf. When the other presents were laid out, the delight of Urio and his wife and friends was unbounded. Several of the gaudy petticoats were seized, and the women put them on above their sealskin dresses, being so fond of display that the most showy articles are always worn outermost. Owing to the distance of the ship from the shore, only a few of the lighter presents were removed at that time, but a month later the ship got near the land, when the remainder of the articles were put ashore and taken possession of by Urio.

Captain Adams gives the Esquimaux chief the character of an honest, hard-working, warm-hearted fellow. He proved a good sailor, was beloved by all the crew, and he was a dead shot while seal-hunting. It is evident that his experience of civilized life has given him a distaste for his former mode of life, for he pleaded with Captain Adams to promise to take himself and his wife and child to Scotland next year.

Captain Adams is of opinion that the whaling at Davis Straits and Greenland is virtually exhausted. He saw only seventeen whales throughout the season.

SINGULAR CAUSE OF DEATH.

On Friday, January 13th, Mr. Wynne E. Baxter held an inquiry at the London Hospital, Whitechapel, respecting the death of Moses Raphael, aged thirty-two years, a commercial traveller, lately residing at Bromley-by-Bow, who died on the previous day in the above hospital. About six weeks previously he complained of pains in his head and also of shivers, and eventually it was decided to remove him to the hospital. Until the last few weeks the deceased had been in apparently good health. He was a wonderful brain-worker, and had kept a set of books most accurately.

Henry Muir Doyle, house-surgeon, stated that the deceased, on his admission, appeared drowsy, and complained of a pain in his head. He continued in that state till the 10th, but at times appeared quite clear-headed and rational. On the 10th, symptoms of apoplexy appeared, and deceased expired at twelve o'clock the same night. Witness said that, since death, he had made a most searching examination of the head and brain. On opening the former, he discovered an abscess in the brain. It was about the size of a turkey's egg, and had evidently been there some time. On removing the abscess, a penholder and nib were found protruding from the top of the right orbital plate. This had produced the abscess, and the abscess had caused death. The holder and nib must have entered the brain by way of the right eye, or through the right part of the nose. It was probable that they had been in there for a considerable time, as the bone had grown over them, and it was with difficulty they were separated. He had examined the eye, but had failed to detect any injury. It was, however, quite possible for such a thing to enter beneath the lid of the open eye, and the wound to heal up, showing no signs of the entry.

The widow of the deceased man was called in, and said that her husband never mentioned to her anything about being hurt by a pen.

The coroner said that the case was the most extraordinary that had ever come before him.--_Times._

ANSWER TO BIBLE ENIGMA.

(_Page 41._)

"_The Prince of Peace._"--ISAIAH ix. 6.

T ychicus Colossians iv. 7. H en Zechariah vi. 14. E rastus Romans xvi. 23.

P arvaim 2 Chronicles iii. 6. R immon Joshua xv. 32. I rijah Jeremiah xxxvii. 14. N ahum Nahum i. 7. C arpus 2 Timothy iv. 13. E lymas Acts xiii. 11.

O uches Exodus xxviii. 11. F aith Hebrews xi. 6.

P erez-uzzah 2 Samuel vi. 8. E lisheba Exodus vi. 23. A bba Romans viii. 15. C orinthians 1 Corinthians vi. 19. E n-hakkore Judges xv. 19.

JOHN WEST
(Aged 9 years).

_Biggleswade._

SOMETHING ABOUT FOXES.

That always entertaining writer about birds and animals, J. G. Wood, has a pleasant paper on "Foxes" in the _Child's Pictorial_. The author of "Homes without Hands" says:--

Many foxes have been known to climb trees, and hide among the branches, where no dog could smell them. Only a few months before these lines were written, the East Kent foxhounds met near Dover. The master of the hunt had been told that foxes had been seen to run up a tree, which was pointed out. A man was sent up the tree, and out came a fox, which was hidden among some ivy about twenty feet from the ground. The animal was chased, but after a while the scent failed and the fox escaped. The hunt then returned to the tree, and again sent a man up it. Presently a second fox came tumbling out of the ivy, but mistook his distance, and jumped into the middle of the hounds, which tore it to pieces before it could recover from the fall. The man continued to search the tree, and a third fox leaped out, and was killed close to the South Foreland.

In December, 1885, a fox was found near Oswestry, and after being chased for some time, it ran up a tree, to the height of at least forty feet, and hid itself among the ivy with which the tree was clothed. It was soon turned out of its shelter, and, after running for about half an hour, got away from the hounds, probably by some equally clever trick.

There are foxes known which have been hunted for several seasons and never taken; and those who have seen them run, say that the animals do not seem in the least afraid of the hounds, but trot on quite gently for some time, knowing that, in the end, they will give their enemies the slip.

Mr. Webster relates an amusing story about a cunning old American fox. It had been chased over and over again, and always escaped near the same place, namely, a wooden fence outside a plantation, which led into a thick forest. Hounds were brought from great distances in order to catch this fox, but never succeeded. The fox always made its bed in the middle of a large field, and did not try to hide, but gave the hounds a good run, and then disappeared at the fence.

Now, in America there are no hedges, the fields being divided by railed fences. Westward, where wood is almost valueless, the "snake" fence is used, but in the more cultivated parts the fence is made by fixing two strong stakes in the ground, so as to cross each other like the letter X, and nailing them together where they cross. Long poles are then laid on the crossed stakes, so that the fence can be made to any height which is most convenient, the poles being seldom nailed, but held in their place by their own weight.

Now, foxes often run along a fence, or the top of a wall, as far as the end. Then they go back for some distance on their own track, and leap off the wall as far as they can, so as to mislead the hounds. Knowing this trick, Mr. Webber took the hounds all round the fence and the plantation, but could find no signs of the fox. At last he determined to hide himself near the place, when the hounds were again set on the fox, and try to discover the trick. After a while the fox came quite slowly until he reached the fence. Then he jumped on the top rail, and ran along it for about two hundred yards, until he came opposite a dead tree, nearly sixteen feet from the fence. He paused for a moment, and, with a tremendous jump, leaped upon a tree, alighting on a large knot on the side of the trunk. Then he ran up the trunk, which was slightly sloping, and entered a hollow at the top, nearly thirty feet from the ground, where he lay hid, no one even suspecting that he could leap from a fence to the tree, much less run up it. This feat was the more wonderful, because ivy does not grow out of doors in America, so that there seemed to be no foot-hold. Indeed, had it not been for the knot, the fox could not have climbed the tree.

Mr. Webber was so pleased with the cleverness of the fox that he would not betray the trick, but amused himself on many occasions by watching the fox baffle the hounds.

Sometimes the mother fox chooses a hollow tree, instead of a burrow, for her nursery.

In April, 1868, a strange discovery was made in Warwickshire, seven dead cubs having been found in the top of a pollard oak. It was clear that the mother had been killed, and that the poor little cubs had died of hunger.

The cubs, when very young, are odd-looking little creatures--not in the least like their parents. They are pale brown in colour, have short, snub noses, like those of pug dogs, and little, short, pointed tails, not at all like the beautiful "brushes" into which they will grow in course of time.

The courage of the fox is wonderful. A fox was on one occasion sent to Mr. Bartlett for the purpose of being stuffed. It had only three feet, and, on opening it, Mr. Bartlett found the missing foot in its stomach! The animal had clearly been taken in a trap, and had freed itself by biting off the foot by which it was caught. We can understand why it should bite off the foot by which it was detained, but why it should eat its own foot seems rather puzzling. I am inclined to think that it did so by mere instinct, which made it eat any morsel of bleeding flesh that came between its jaws.

[If foxes are only fit to be hunted down, why are they preserved for that cruelty?--ED.]

ONE POOR STONE.

Two masons were working together on the rear wall of a church, when one stopped the other just as he was putting a stone in its place.

"Don't put in that stone," he said; "it is flakey, and will soon fall to pieces."

"I know it isn't a very good one, but it is so handy, and just fits here. Nobody will see it up here, and it is too much trouble to get another."

"Don't put it in. Take time to send for another. That stone won't stand the weather, and when it falls the whole building will be damaged."

"I guess not. It won't hurt us, so here goes."

Then he lifted the stone into its place, poor, and loose-grained, and flakey as it was, covered it over with mortar, and went on with his work. Nobody could see the stone, and none knew of its worthlessness but the two masons, and the church was finished and accepted.

But time and the weather did their work, and soon it began to flake and crumble. Every rain-storm and every hot, sultry day helped its decay, and it soon crumbled away. But that was not all, nor the worst. The loss of the stone weakened the wall, and soon a great beam which it should have supported sunk into the cavity, a crack appeared in the roof, and the rain soon made sad havoc with ceiling and fresco; so a new roof and ceiling, and expensive repairs, were the result of one poor stone being put in the place of a good one.

Each one of us, young or old, is building a structure for himself. The structure is our character, and every act of our lives is a stone in the building. Don't work in poor stones. Every mean action, every wrong act or impure word, will show itself in your after life, though it may pass unnoticed at first. Let every act and word of every day be pure and right, and your character will stand the test of any time.

A MORNING'S WALK IN A COUNTRY LANE.

It is pleasing, during the bright summer time, to rise early and, if our lot is so cast, to stroll into the country lanes and breathe the pure air of heaven, inhale the sweet scent of the hay, and gaze upon God's beautiful creation around us, and, if possible, learn some of the many lessons which even a tiny flower or a feeble insect may be able to teach us.

One Monday morning during the last summer, when staying in Hampshire, we had such a walk, the memory of which, and its profitable lessons, are still fresh upon our minds.

Leaving the town where we were staying, we quickly found ourselves between the hedgerows, and our first impulse was to turn at once into the green fields, but another feeling led us to keep to the lane.

Was that change of plan the result of chance? Nay; the great Ruler of all things, who guides the flight of a sparrow, as surely orders the footsteps of His children.

John Knox had a usual seat at his table, with his back to the window. A sudden impulse led him to take another seat. That night the assassin's bullet came through the window, and but for an overruling Providence, Knox would have lost his life.

How many such instances might be related, which shows that even more surely than the smallest wheel of some vast machinery is as readily controlled as the largest, so surely does Infinite Wisdom control all the great machinery of life, from its most momentous events down to the smallest circumstance, such as the movement of a leaf. "If a pestilence stalk through our land, we say, 'The Lord hath done it.' Is it not also His doings when an aphis creepeth on a rosebud? If an avalanche fall from the Alps, we tremble at the will of Providence. Is not that will also concerned when the sere leaf falls from the poplar?"

Pursuing our walk, we soon found that we were in the most delightful of country lanes, with high hedgerows and overhanging trees, that formed a most delightful shade from the fierce burning sun, which, even at that early hour, was almost unbearable. What must be the sufferings of a traveller in the desert, with the fierce orb of day beating down upon his head, as mile after mile he traverses the burning sand without shade or water? How grateful to him must be "the shadow of a great rock in a weary land," or some delightful Elim, with its seventy shady palms, and its twelve refreshing wells of water!

But there is yet another person to whom a shade is more delightful than even this desert traveller, and that is, a poor sinner upon whom is beating down the threatened wrath of an offended God.

When Thomas Bilney, as a young man, was feeling this, he endeavoured for a long time to find a shelter in some of the foolish and deceptive lies of the Romish Church. He gave his money for Masses and performed his penances till his purse was empty, and his body reduced to great weakness, and yet no shelter could he find in these from the wrath of God. At length he purchased a Greek Testament, and there he found the blessed shade, for with delight he read therein, "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief." Well might he exclaim, as he sat down under the shadow of the cross, with great delight, "Oh, blessed saying of St. Paul! Oh, blessed saying of St. Paul!"

Dear young reader, have you felt your need of this precious shade?

Presently we noticed in the hedge a rose-bush, a large portion of which was hanging down broken--doubtless the work of some thoughtless person, who had plucked the flowers in such a reckless manner as to leave a sad memento of his thoughtless action. But people who live in glass houses must be careful what stones they throw at others. That little boy, for instance, was just as thoughtless who played with his ball in so careless a manner as to break two windows in one week. That little girl, too, was equally thoughtless who, when left at home to take care of baby, carelessly left it on the bed while she went up the street to see some dancing dogs, and who found, on her return, that the baby had fallen on the floor, and had so injured its head as to nearly result in its death.

Ah! and how many are now in our workhouses or prisons who would have to confess they were brought there because they did _not think_ what trouble their thoughtless actions would bring upon them! Yea, we fear that there are many among the lost who would have to make the same sad confession. May the Lord cause each of our young readers to think of what will be the sad consequence of seeking only after earthly pleasure. It will be worse than a destroyed rose-bush. It may be destroyed health--destroyed reputation--destroyed prospects in life--yea, and, if grace prevent not, destroyed happiness for ever.

As we proceeded further up the lane, we noticed that the hedges on both sides were blooming with wild roses, which were truly charming to behold. Our first thought on seeing them was of the dear ones at home (many miles away), and how we should like to transport them to this shady bower, to enjoy what we were beholding. But, as this desire was impracticable, the next thought was, to gather some of these roses and take them home, that they, too, might, in some measure, share in our pleasure. Henceforth our endeavours to please others made our walk doubly pleasant.

A selfish person, young or old, can never be happy. But find one who tries to share his pleasures or comforts with others, and he is surely happy--like the little girl who stretched her small cloak round her young brother to shelter him from the wintry blast, although, strictly speaking, the cloak was scarcely big enough for herself. And how happy was that little girl who nursed a sick cat in the garret, and shared her meals with it, till pussy was quite well again!

Boys and girls, share your pleasures with others.

The next thought was, to look after the little roses, knowing they would last longer than the big ones.

Yes, fellow-teachers, look after the little rosebuds just blooming into life. Who can tell but what the Master may use you to gather them from the world, that they may, by His grace, be prepared for His mansion above?

_But the thorns!_ Not a single little rosebud without a thorn, yet so beautiful in other respects. Before Adam's fall, roses grew in Eden without thorns. Thorns are a badge of the curse, and even the smallest child has the thorn of sin. And how often we see it manifest! The thorn of pride, the thorn of self-will, the thorn of temper, the thorn of deceit.

But, dear young friends, are these thorns a trouble to you? Would you like their power destroyed, and guilt pardoned? Listen, then, to God's way of salvation.

As we gathered the roses, the thorns pricked our hands. But never mind that. We love them too much to mind a few pricks.

Have you ever thought how the thorns (as long as your finger) were plaited into a crown, and pierced the head of Jesus? Yes, He loved His children so much that He willingly endured even the "nails," as well as the thorns, that they might be for ever saved from the wrath to come.

A child once cried for fear when a wasp was near, but his mother said, "Don't fear, my child! It has left its sting in my hand. It won't hurt you."

Yes, Jesus has been pricked and stung by sin that His people may for ever be delivered from its fatal power.

May you, dear young friends, from a living faith, be enabled to commit your soul into His keeping who is able to "save unto the uttermost all that come unto God through Him."

But how easily many of the roses scattered! We only touched the branch, and they were gone. Such is life! We may be in full bloom one day, but in a moment we may be carried into eternity. "We all do fade as a leaf." The longest life is but brief. Then well may we pray--

"Prepare me, gracious God,
To stand before Thy face;
Thy Spirit must the work perform,
For it is all of grace."

EBENEZER.

"KEEP THE STAR IN SIGHT."