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the crowd. The people made room for said. “I, too, am a Christian. God has them. They reached their father; they made use of these your good children to be embraced his knees. He did not know the first to tell me about Jesus Christ. them at first.

And this worthy man here, who is a "Oh, dear father!' they cried ; do you good Christian,'—she pointed to Antonius, not know us again? I am your Timo- who had just entered the room,-— has been theus. I am your Philemon.

my teacher and theirs.

I rejoice to know "Oh, my children!' cried the father with the father of such dear children!' a loud voice. "Oh, God! I thank Thee!' Now the father felt altogether happy.

The father now no longer thought of his He praised and thanked God with a loud chains, he was so full of joy. The people voice. Elmine, the two boys, and Antonius, who stood around were astonished and now told Lucius how God had dealt with touched, tears came into the eyes of many. them. The father passed many happy days They called out to those further off who bere; all rejoiced in the mercy and goodwished to know what had happened, “He ness of God. is their father. They are his sons!'

Nevertheless, Lucius longed to be back Elmine sent a servant down with the again in his home with his two dear childmessage, •The Pacha’s wife demands that

ren, for sometimes the Turks who dwelt in this prisoner should be given up to her.' the palace, or who came to it, scowled on The soldiers led him to her. Elmine paid him, and with difficulty restrained their them well, and said, Take this for. the

rage against him.

He begged the good present; the Pacha will pay you, brave lady to allow him and his sons to travel soldiers, when he comes back.'

home. The boys implored that their father's. But Elmine replied, “ So long as the war chains should be taken off.

Elmine or

lasts it is not safe; you will be exposed dered the soldiers to do so. They obeyed, to many dangers. But as soon as there and went away with the chains.

is peace I will send you back to your counThe boys hardly turned away their eyes try, and with ample compensation for all from their father. They saw with sor- you have lost through the war.' row that he had grown to look older. His Lucius knew that she was right, and deep sorrow at the death of their beloved thanked her gratefully. But he said, It mother, and his anguish at the robbery of will be difficult for me to live here without his children, as well as his being himself

some employment. I cannot bear to be idle.' carried away into slavery, during which he Hitherto, in his leisure hours and for had to suffer much from the Turks, had pleasure, he had busied himself with garleft many traces on his features. The boys dening, and with the culture of flowers. were sad when they saw this.

He now asked to be appointed as assistant Their father, too, looked at them with

to the pious Antonius, which Elmine willsorrow mingling with his joy; the splendid ingly granted. Turkish dress of his sons was strange to Lucius went to live with Antonius in the him. He feared lest they should have be- garden-house. Both rejoiced at being tocome Turks. Elmine remarked his sadness gether, and able to devote their lives to God and guessed the reason of it.

in common work and in prayer. “Be of good courage and rejoice,' she

(To be continued.)


ing a funeral which had just taken place in TWO FUNERALS.

the village. The baby in Kate Merridew's HERE was a group of villagers arms had prevented her from being present gathered round the doorway of

the doorway of at it, so Mrs. Stubbs and Mrs. Haydock James Merridew's house; Mrs. Merridew

were pouring into her ears an account of was the centre of it, and they were discuss

the ceremony.



'It was real beautiful,' said Mrs. Stubbs; | bella-tolling, and Mr. Blackman the quite a comfort for the widow to think undertaker just like another parson. Well, on,-a hearse with feathers, and a coach to well, if Mrs. Mitton was a bit fretted with follow. I saw the Squire's butler and house- him in life, she has done handsomely by keeper looking out myself after it as it him at last, and a pleasure to think on it went by the back-door of the Hall, and the all.'

more for tea than preaching to-night; 80 good evening, neighbours.'

And James stepped in at the door, Kate following him. When they were quietly in their own little kitchen James laid the infant in the cradle and put his hand on his wife's shoulder.

“Katie, dear,' he said, "we never know what may happen; but in case I ever was called away suddenly, don't make such a fuss over me as they did over poor Tom to-day: it made my heart ache.'

Oh Jim, don't talk of such a thing!' said Kate, half crying. 'You're not ill, are



“Ay, indeed!' sighed young Kate Merridew. But they say she's left badly, and if some of her people don't come forward there's little but the workhouse before her. But here's James; he knows best, being second cousin to poor Tom Mitton himself.'

James Merridew was a carpenter by trade, a hard-working, cheerful young fellow; he threw down his tools, took the baby out of his wife's arms, and then, after whistling to it a bit, said somewhat seriously :

"Is it Mitton's funeral you are talking of, Kate? Ay, that was fine enough if you can call black feathers finery; but it's poor sort of comfort for the widow, I reckon, and when it's taking the bread out of the mouths of the living I call it downright wicked.'

Kate stared, and Mrs. Stubbs and Mrs. Haydock shook their heads, as if much shocked at the young man's words.

Tom Mitton had been a drunken fellow, and met his death through a fall when he was returning one night from the beerhouse. So Mrs. Haydook thought it well to change the subject, by remarking that it was a sore trouble to Mrs. Mitton that Tom had not died in his bed.

'I don't hold so much, Mrs. Haydock, with dying in your bed,' said honest James : ‘many a good man has gone to Heaven straight out of battle, aye, and from the roadside too; and I agree with a bishop I have heard about, who prayed to die at an inn, that none of his own kin might disturb his thoughts at the last, and that lre might go down to the grave quietly. As for Tom, poor fellow, we'll say nought about him; it's best so: but for myself, I'd as soon die when about my day's work as lying in my bed. It seems as if that would be as much watching for my Lord as anything. But you'll think I'm after taking our parson's work out of his hands if I go on, and I'm

Never better, thank God!' said her husband; but remember what I say. And now my tea, sharp, there's a dear; I must be off again in a hurry, to measure Mr. Strong's new house for the doors.'

That evening was one to be long remembered in Haughton village; far and near the people gathered round one spot of ground where in the morning had stood a nearly finished new house, but which now was only a heap of rubbish.

The building, from some mistake in the foundation, had collapsed and fallen almost without warning. As it was after the usual work hours, 'few men were on the spot, and all had escaped safely save James Merridew. He, report said, was buried beneath the bricks and timbers. Poor Kate! the news was hastily brought her by a village child. She rushed to the place, leaving her babe unheeded in the cradle, and with hands strengthened by anguish she tried to drag aside the beams that hid her husband from her. There were ready and kind helpers in the work near her, too, but she was first to come on the crushed form of poor James, lying as he had fallen with his bammer in his hand. The working men beside her knew that all was over,



put the

poor woman aside while they carried their comrade to his cottage home.

Kate had been very calm, very still, from the moment she had found him. She had her baby on her knee when the clergyman came in, pale and shocked himself, to grieve with this smitten one of his flock. He looked surprised when she met his first remark with almost a smile.

“It is hard, sir,' she said, and yet it is as he wished—he died at his work; I saw the hammer in his hand. I can't fret so much when I remember that.'

Yes, James had his wish; he bad neither been called from the battle-field nor laid in long suffering on his bed, but he had gone straight from his daily work to the Master's home.

His fellow-workmen carried him to his grave; carriages and feathers there were none, nor Mr. Blackman either. Kate, with her white-robed baby in her arms, was the chief mourner; but there were sweet spring flowers on the coffin, and white wreaths laid on the grave, speaking more plainly of the Resurrection and the Life Eternal than any trappings of woe could have done.

There was a small store of money laid by, which kept Kate and the baby for awhile till she was strong enough to go and help James's mother, who had a small dairy. farm in the next village—a kind, good soul, who loved the poor young widow and longed to comfort her.

Haughton long talked about that sad week of two funerals, and while Tom Mitton's was still said to be very grand, it seemed to suit sore hearts best to bury their dead as James Merridew was laid to rest, without foolish pomp or show, but quietly and solemnly in the old churchyard.

H. A. F.

SILIPS. THE first boats that men ever used were

perhaps made out of the trunks of trees, or large baskets of wicker-work covered with the skins of wild beasts. These boats could not hold many people, nor were they fit for rough water, so when men wished to sail on the wide sea they built ships of planks, fastened together with bolts or larger nails. In calm weather they rowed them with oars, but if there was any wind, they put up a sail on the mast, and made it fast with cords. When the captain wanted his ship to stop he rolled up bis sails, and threw overboard an anchor, that is, a heavy iron weight tied on to a long chain, shaped so that it would stick into the sand as the ship dragged it after it along the bottom of the sea. That part of a ship which is deepest in the water is called the keel. The front of a ship is called the bow, or prow, and the other end is the stern, A man at the stern steers the ship by the help of a piece of wood or iron called a rudder, which stands out from the stern of the ship.



A DOG, having been run over by a

carriage, had his leg broken, and a humane surgeon passing had the animal brought home, set his leg, and having cured his patient, discharged him, aware that he would return to his old master; and the dog, whenever he met the surgeon afterwards, never failed to recognise him by wagging his tail, and by other signs of joy. One day a violent barking was beard at the surgeon's door, which was found to be made by this dog, who, it appeared, was striving to procure admittance for another dog, who had just had his leg broken.

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