WHAT A CHILD'S WORDS

MAY DO.

(Continued from p. 115.) HO is knocking there so late ?'

'Open the door, my good people,' cried a man's voice, outside. 'I see with joy that there is still a light in your house, and hear that you are still awake. Open to me, for I am well-nigh perishing from cold and hunger. Grant me a night's lodging in this terrible weather for money and for good words. I have lost my way, and have now been wandering about for several hours in the darkness. If you are human beings and Christians you cannot refuse me.'

'Why should we, indeed?' cried the weaver, through the window. I will come at once and open the door.'

Martha held back her husband for a moment, and said,

'I am afraid, Heinrich; who can it be at this late hour?'

'One who has lost his way, as you hear,' he replied.

'But, perhaps, on no good errand,' she said. Night is no man's friend; look well before you open the door.'

'What is there to look at ?' asked her husband. What can we have to fear? Robbers won't find anything with us. Who else can it be but a poor journeyman apprentice seeking for a shelter this wretched night?'

With these words he left the room, opened the door to the wanderer, and immediately after came back with him to his wife.

The stranger was a tall man, and his dress showed that he was well off in the world. His name was Burmann, and he

He had

said that he was a linen-dealer. just returned from a journey to Hamburg, where he had sold his goods and was now returning to his home.

But I can give you nothing to eat, for we have nothing ourselves,' said Martha.

Do not trouble yourself about that,' replied the stranger, who had taken off his wide, thick cloak, and thrown it down on the seat beside him; 'I have some provisions still with me, and you will give me pleasure if you will join me in my meal. I always enjoy it better in company than when I eat alone.'

Then he drew from the bottom of his deep coat pocket a huge sausage, a large piece of cheese, and four white rolls. Не cut them into slices, and then invited the weaver and his wife to sit down beside him without further ceremony. At the same time he drew a bottle of brandy out of the same capacious pocket, and handed it to the weaver, after he had first drunk some of it himself, and said,

"This has warmed and refreshed me on the way. I should have perished otherwise from frost and damp. Drink a little of it; there is enough for us all in the bottle."

It was a thoughtless action to offer spirits to a starving man, but a generous disposition caused the stranger to forget what was prudent. The weaver did not want to be asked twice. He drank, and drank again, for for it was long since he had tasted anything so pleasant. He and his wife, too, ate of the good food so kindly offered them. Soon after he sat down again in his old seat by the stove, deep as before in his thoughts, and did not forget every now and then to take a draught of the brandy from the bottle. He looked on the linen-dealer as one of those men whom he hated, because, as he thought, they supported themselves by the labour of the poor weavers. His

money and property were stolen from the weavers. He therefore had a right to take it, and to kill the man who had the misery of so many starving families on his conscience. The weaver persuaded himself that this dealer had no family, and that therefore no one would inquire after his fate. No one knew that he had lost his way and had come first to that village and to their house. It was quite impossible that the deed should be discovered. And

if any suspicion were aroused he was quite clever and cunning enough to turn it off from himself. In the meantime Martha chatted with the stranger, and said, among other things,—

How your family will rejoice to see you home again for Christmas, and bringing such good earnings with you, too!'

Not so, good woman,' answered Burmann. 'I have never been married, and therefore I have neither wife nor child, although I am now just sixty years of age. No one rejoices in my house when I come, and no one grieves when I go. But it shall be different soon. I am going to retire from business and settle down amongst some honest folk. There I hope I may live a few years peacefully and happily, and perhaps God may help me to find some good people to live with, so that I may not spend the remnant of my days quite alone.'

I heartily wish you may,' said the kindhearted woman. Then she continued, 'I am sorry that I can only offer you a wretched couch in a very small chamber.'

'That does not matter,' said the stranger. I shall sleep well in any bed, for I am ast tired as a chased stag."

(To be continued.)

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE EAST.

BOOKS.

EFORE the art of making paper was

BEFO

found out, people used to write on the leaves or bark of trees, on tablets, or on parchment. Tablets were boards thinly spread with wax, on which the writer scratched words with the sharp point of a tool called a style.

tool called a style. Those matters which they did not care to keep for a long time they wrote on the tablets, and when they were done with the writing they scraped off the wax, and put on another layer ready to be written upon. If they wished the writing to last, they wrote it on a roll of parchment, with a pen made of a stout reed, for they did not know about quills, or steel pens. In old times books were always written, and cost, a great deal of money. But now our printed books are so cheap that even the poorest person can have a Bible and Prayer Book, and learn from them how to lead a holy life on earth, and be made fit to live again in Heaven.

THE WRY GLASS.

HEN I was a little girl I lived with my father, and sisters, and brothers, in a large house, where we had many servants, and wore fine clothes. My mother was dead, and my eldest sister took care of us. I

used to fancy she was very cross, and very 'fussy;' but I know now that she was only trying her best to make us obedient and orderly. I am sure we were wilful and untidy enough.

About six miles from our house lived Aunt Phoebe. I was her godchild and

6

favourite, and I used to go and stay with her sometimes, which was the greatest pleasure I could have. Her house was called Strawberry Cottage,' and was not at all like our grand home. It was very small, for Aunt Phoebe was not rich. She only kept two servants-Sarah, who did everything in the house; and Roger, who kept the garden in order and groomed the old pony. And yet I thought my aunt's house far prettier than the Hall, as my own home was called. I thought everything looked better and tasted nicer at the cottage than elsewhere, and I enjoyed the drives I took with Aunt Phoebe in her shabby little pony-chaise, far better than those I had at home in our handsome carriage and pair.

Whenever I was naughty and troublesome at home, and therefore unhappy, I used to say to my sister and to my nurse, I only wish I might go and live with Aunt Phoebe. I would always be good there, and always happy;' and I remember poor Flo, our sister, would say, 'Ah, Kitty! a change of place would not change you, I am afraid.'

Strawberry Cottage was, indeed, very pretty. It was almost smothered with white jessamine, so that the windows did not look square, but rather like the little round holes in a swallow's nest. The garden was small, but oh, it was so gay! I have never seen anything like it since.

When I went for my visits I was made much of. Old Roger's son made me a little wheelbarrow, which was kept in the tool-house, and with this I used to follow the kind old man about, and carry away the weeds in it. Then Sarah made cakes for me--and such cakes! I have never tasted any so good since. And my aunt looked out from her stores wonderful pieces of old-fashioned silks, and satins, and

chintzes for me, unlike anything I saw elsewhere, and these had a great charm.

It very often happens, I think, that when we wish for anything very much. indeed it comes to us, but it does not always make us as happy as we expect. Well, I was just nine years old when I had my wish-I went to live with my Aunt Phoebe. My father died, and my eldest sister married, so all my brothers were sent to school and I was sent to Aunt Phoebe. She begged to have me, and I was only too glad to go.

I was pleased with everything when I got there. There was a little room prepared for me, which overlooked the yellow hollyhocks. The little bed had white curtains, and the walls were papered with a white paper, with green nasturtium leaves climbing over it, and the carpet looked like dark green moss, with here and there a brown leaf on it, or a bit of scarlet lichen. Over the bed hung a picture of my mother. It was a sweet, gentle face, somewhat like my Aunt Phoebe's; and by the side was a little bookshelf, on which were many delightful books.

Then, in the garden Roger had put up a swing, and had marked off a little plot of ground, which was to be my own, and round which he had planted a border of hen-and-chicken daisies. Sarah, too, had not forgotten me. She had made the butter up into ducks and fishes, and cut out the cakes into ivy-leaves, and stars, and hearts. I was very, very happy-yes, and for several days and weeks-till one day Roger vexed me, by telling me not to throw my ball among the flower-beds, because it broke the flowers. Then I went into the house, and Sarah sent me back to scrape my shoes; and when I went to my aunt, she said::

'Kitty, my child, I must have you keep