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MATTY'S BIBLE.
(Concluded from p. 43).

R. MARKHAM stepped
into the kitchen and took
the chair that was offered
to him. Jenny resumed,

"When didst ta know awer Matty?'

'It's more than a year since. I found her spending her afternoon at the Well's Dale Station, and we had some talk together. I dare say, though, that she won't recollect it. Still I should like her to know that I am here, and shall be very pleased if there is any little thing I can do to make her more comfortable. What does the doctor order?'

'Why, if aw dunnot belave as yo're the gen'leman as gived her her Bible as hoo makes sich a dale on! Not rec❜lect yo'! Hoo's niver tired o' talkin' 'bout yo' now as hoo's bad. Hoo'll be rare an' glad when aw tells her as yo'se here.'

So she had bought the Bible after all, and she remembered him!

'Is she fit? Would she care to see me, do you think?' he asked.

Jenny had no doubt at all on the subject, and went upstairs to prepare the little invalid for her visitor. In a few minutes more the desire of Matty's heart was fulfilled, her eyes rested once more on the countenance of her friend. He took her little wasted hand in his, and seated himself quietly by her bed, saying,

'My poor child! I wish I had known before that you were ill. I am very sorry to see you like this.'

Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her voice was choked with emotion, as she answered:

'Aw niver thought as God 'ud let me

see yo' agen, the times and times as aw've looked out for the train as yo' missed that 'ere day, hopin' fur to see yo', but yo' niver coomed. Aw'd been fur t' look out that a'ternoon as aw were took bad.'

'My little woman,' he said, deeply touched by her childish earnestness, I never dreamt that you'd care to see me again, or I'd have found you out long ago. I thought very likely you'd forget all about me.'

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'Forget yo'!' she echoed, her eyes gleaming with a wonderful light. Why, yo' were the fust person as iver telled me aught about God, an' yo' gived me my Bible too! See, here it is, sir;' and she drew her treasure from beneath her pillow. "Yo' telled me as it 'ud larn me ivery thin' as aw had ought for to know, an' it has larned me. Aw've telled no more lees, sir; leastways aw've tried not. It were yo' as telled me fust as God hates 'em.'

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Ah, Matty,' said the gentleman solemnly; if I tried to teach you then, I think I must come to you to be taught now.'

The child gazed at him wonderingly; she did not understand: but her cough troubled her and she spoke no more for a time. Mr. Markham raised her higher on her pillows.

You have talked enough,' he said; I dare not let you exert yourself any more, but I will come soon again.'

Tears brimmed to her eyes. 'Dunnot go jist yet,' she entreated. 'Mebbe aw'll be gone to Heaven when yo' cooms agen. Aw'd niver a' knowed about Heaven if it hadna ben for yo'.'

'And you are not afraid to go, Matty?' 'Aw'd a' ben sore afeared if it hadna ben for yo'. But now aw'm glad, cos aw knows as Christ ull tak care on me; and He loves me, an' ull have me to live wi' Him. An' then aw shall be olez good. Aw shanna

want my Bible then. Aw thinks aw'd loike as Jenny should have it a'ter aw'm gone. Jenny's ben rare an' good to me while aw've ben bad;' and she looked inquiringly at Mr. Markham.

But he had shaded his eyes with his hand, and did not catch the glance. Matty asked anxiously:

Mebbe yo' would loike it yo'sel', sir? I niver thought o' that.'

No, dear little Matty,' he said. "I have a Bible of my own, which my mother gave me years ago; but I'm afraid it has never been to me what yours has to you. I said I must come to you to be taught.'

He took his leave soon afterwards, promising to return on the morrow. And that very night a hamper arrived filled with picture-books, and all kinds of dainties. The kind thought filled Matty's heart with gratitude and pleasure, but otherwise she was too ill to profit much by the gift. She slept more than usual during the night, but it was the sleep of exhaustion. And in the morning it was evident to every one that she had not many hours to live. But she was conscious throughout the day, and listened eagerly as the afternoon wore on for Mr. Markham's arrival.

'Mebbe he winnut coome a'ter all,' said Jenny, trying to prepare the way for a possible disappointment.

But Matty never doubted; had he not given his word? And, notwithstanding some laughing pressure from his friend Rigby, Mr. Markham was true to his promise, and little Matty felt the warm clasp of his hand as her own was chilling in death.

'God bless yo',' were almost her last words as her wistful eyes looked gratefully into his face.

Then she feebly pushed her one precious possession towards Jenny,-the Word

which had been as a lamp unto her feet through her later passage on earth, which was even now lighting up her entrance into Heaven.

May the gift so blessed to our little Matty prove a like blessing to its new owner! EMMA RHODES.

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE EAST.

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THE WINE-PRESS.

N countries where grapes are abundant, the Vintage, or the time when they are gathered, is as joyful a season as harvest is in England. Men and women go to the vineyard with songs and shouts, and when they have gathered the rich clusters, they bring home basketsfull on their heads. Some are eaten fresh, some dried into raisins, and some made into wine. These last are thrown into a stone trough, and the juice is trodden out by men, who sing and shout as they jump, or join with their voices in tunes played by musical instruments. The garments of the workmen are often stained of a blood-red colour, and for this reason battles and great slaughter are spoken of as treading the wine-press.' The prophet represents our Lord Jesus as saying, I have trodden the wine-press alone' (Isa. lxiii. 3), meaning that He had had to bear Himself the sufferings by which the world was redeemed.

Drunkards used to mix their wine with drugs to make it stronger; but wise men. mixed it with water.

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MORNING; OR, IS IT ONLY A LANDSCAPE?'

CHILDREN seldom care for landscapes. Few children have had the beauty of real

When they look through a book of pictures I often hear the words, 'Oh, that is only a landscape! turn on.' No one can wonder at this, and no one can blame them.

landscapes pointed out to them, so how should they care for pictured ones? Besides, if they go with their friends from the close towns,- from the continual bricks and

mortar, to the fine scenery of nature, it is enough for them to find pretty moss, or to jump over the great stones, or to run down the steep sides of the hills; to find caves of all sizes, to get flowers, to start rabbits, and to paddle in the little rill of water that trickles down the face of some rock, where cracks along the flat side of it seem to let the little stream and the little ferns and mosses out together. It is suitable to the children to enjoy the unpacking the lunch, or the filling the kettle and feeding the gipsy fire, quite without any raptures about colours and mists, and clouds and shadows. And is it not happy that it is so? For elders and youngers can then enjoy together in full perfection their day's, or week's, or month's holiday.

And so, when the young folk have a picture-book, they often like the elder folk to look it through with them; and what I want is, that when they come to a picture of mountains and mists, and trees and seas, they will not wish to rush on impatiently to the next puppy-dog or group of children, but remember that it is a pleasure to others to look at the landscapes. Perhaps they are saying, as they look at a print of the glorious morning lightening up the sky, 'It was beautiful like that, with the sun tipping the waves with crimson, and the sky all barred with gold, and the trees and the wet rocks glittering like diamonds, that morning when we climbed such a mountain, or walked through such a valley. perhaps they remember the lines,

Or

"These are Thy glorious works, Parent of Good, Almighty; Thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair: Thyself how wondrous then!'

Or, perhaps, some very kind, thoughtful friend will say, 'Bring me the Christian Year, my child; there is one hymn so pretty, and so simple, that I really think if I read it to you, and perhaps explain, or at least

talk about it just a little, you will be able really to like it, and perhaps will soil the page of your "Keble" as much as I did from frequent reading of it, and learning it by heart.' Strange to say, it will suit you who live in a town, as it suited me who lived in the flattest, ugliest country you can imagine. This landscape, called 'Morning,' so reminds me of it. It is the hymn for the First Sunday after Epiphany. J. E. C. F.

'SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD.'

HE was poor, and plain, and all alone

SHI

in the world, a state of things likely to make most people look sorrowful, and for a time Bertha Moore did wear a very sad face. It was so strange never to hear her mother's voice, nor the shrill chatter of Janie, the last little sister who faded and died in the old home. Then the old home, too, the pleasant farm-house in the green country, how different the one room in the dull town lodging-house seemed! Yet that must now be Bertha's home, for in the town she could best make a living. A new and sad necessity for her at least Bertha thought it sad at first; in time she grew to believe it a good thing that she had little leisure to brood over her troubles, but must brisk up and work hard for her daily bread.

Bertha Moore of the Chestnut Farm, was lost now in Miss Moore the daily governess, who taught Mr. Steele, the ironmonger's, four children. Mrs. Steele came out of the same neighbourhood as the Moores, and knowing Bertha to be a steady, welleducated girl, she had written to advise her to come to Widebridge on the break-up of her old home, when she promised to try and find her employment.

'She sews beautifully, and knows French and Latin,' said Mrs. Steele to her hus

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