THE GARDENER'S BOY.

OTHER, you're very sad tonight,

Although the day has been so bright,

And spring is almost here; For I have found a crocus cup, And two white snowdrops peeping up,

That father set last year. "Do you remember father said We scarce might see the tender head

Press upward through the ground;

For when the flowers were on the lea

We should be sailing o'er the sea

To his new country bound?"

My boy, 'tis that which makes me fret,

You know we've had no letter yet;

Had all been well, I know

Your father would have written home,
To bid us wait, or bid us come,
Three months or more ago.

"For I am sure he loved us well,
Though none of you can rightly tell

How good he was and true;

He never would have left us thus
Only to make a home for us,

A way in life for you.

"I often lie awake at night,
And shake with terror and affright,

Until the distant sea

Seems loud with cries of drowning men;
I scarce can go to sleep again
For fearing what may be.

"And sometimes in the daylight, lad,
When all the world is bright, and glad,
My heart feels like a stone,
To think perhaps your father lies,
No face he loves before his eyes,
Sick, helpless, and alone.

"And now I scarce can pay my way;

I hardly know from day to day
Where next to look for bread!
'Tis not for me,-I mostly feel
Too sick at heart to touch a meal,-
But children must be fed.

"Just bring the teapot from the shelf,
My son, and you shall see yourself,
The money 's nearly spent ;
These seven shillings and the pence
Are what must pay for all expense
When I've put by the rent.
"You know I do the best I can,
But baby here and little Fan

Both want their mother's care;
No parish ever paid for me,
And as for asking charity,

"Tis what I could not bear."
"You never shall," the boy replied,
His eyes lit up with honest pride,
I mean to get a place;

My mother shall not come to want,
And if our comforts are but scant,
They'll bring us no disgrace."
"Ah, lad, I know your will is good,
But that alone won't carn the food
We need from week to week."
"But, mother, I have heard folks say,
That where there is a will, a way
Is never far to seck.

I think how through the winter's snow, When not a bud or leaf would grow,

And boughs were hard with rime,
The robins, hopping on the ground,
Their breakfast and their dinner found
A little at a time.

"Each day's supply would make them sing;
They looked not to what morn should bring
With doubting or complaint;
And, mother, if we always pray
For what we're needing day by day,
I think we shall not want."

John sought his garret room alone,
And there, while winter moonlight shone

In lines upon the floor,

Te knelt, and prayed that God would guide His footsteps in this path untried,

And teach him more and more.

A week had brought its added care,
John sought for work, but everywhere
He found it hard to get;

At last he came with better cheer ;—

46

I've heard of something, mother dear,
So don't lose courage yet.

"I'll tell you all about my plan :

You know George Green, the gardener's man,
His master wants a boy

To drive his cart; from what I've heard,
If George will give me a good word,
I'm sure of the employ.

"And if I get it I shall earn,

I think, from what I've chanced learn,
A shilling every day;

So with your washing for the squire
We shall make out for food and fire
Until we go away.

"Then keep your heart up, mother dear,
For in my mind I feel it clear

We'll hear from father yet;
And you have told me God on high,
Who listens when his children cry,
Will fail not, nor forget."

"You're young to work," the gardener said, "But if you're forced to earn your bread,

I'll try what you can do ;

I hear you're quick at figures, lad,
And what is harder to be had,

Are honest, frank, and true."
So, laden with its winter store,
John led the cart from door to door
Thro' all the country round;
On market-days he drove it down
Amongst the buyers in the town,

Where gardens were not found.

His heart was glad when first he learned
The joy of money fairly earned,
And took it home at night;
But there were troubles in his way,
Temptations coming every day,

To lead him from the right.

At first it did seem hard, no doubt,
To measure rosy apples out

He might not taste or eat;
They were so easy to be had,
And John was but a little lad,

And fruit was such a treat.

A voice would speak within his heart,
"Your master trusts you with the cart,
You must not touch nor take;
And if your mother ever knew
Her lad dishonest or untrue,

See those potatoes, take a score
And leave them at your mother's door,
And tell her what I say.

"You earn good wages, yet I fear,
My boy, from all I see and hear,

You must be closely pressed;
You have a bit of garden ground,
Whatever you can grow take round
And sell it with the rest."
Then late and early John would go
To weed and water, plant and sow,
And tend his garden well;
To cut his lettuces and cress,
His onion beds to hoe and dress,

Or gather peas to sell.

One pleasant August morn when John
Had put his tools away and gone

To drive his master's cart,
He saw the postman climb the hill,
And as he watched him nearer still
The blood rushed to his heart.
"I'm glad I've chanced to meet you, boy,

I almost feared the sudden joy

Would turn your mother's head.

It is your father's hand I know;
Don't look so wild, mind where you go,
And think of what I've said."

There was no chance that John would use
One cautious word to break the news,
So wild with joy was he;

He cried as loudly as he could,
"The letter 's come; I said it would;
Oh, mother, come and see!"

"I have been ill," the letter ran,
"Too ill to write, or work, or plan,
Sick, weak, and helpless lain.
Thank God, with me, my dearest wife,
That He has brought me back to life,

And helped me on again.

"Since first I reached this foreign shore I've written to you twice or more,

As near as I can tell;

I wonder no one has replied

("The letters never came," they cried), I trust that all is well,

"Though much I fear you've had to live On what the parish board would give, I'll pay it back some day.

I could not blame you, darling wife,

I know you've had a bitter strife
To live and pay your way.

"But now I've got a settled home,
Where you and all the bairns can come
And make a nest at last;
And John can go to school a bit,
And get a place when he is fit;
He must be growing fast."
The children screamed with wild delight;
The mother's eyes were glad and bright;
She trembled with her joy,
And whispered, as, in fond embrace,
Her tears fell warm on Johnny's face,
"God bless my little boy.
"Your father will be proud the day
He hears his boy has been the stay
On which my heart could lean;
And he will know his honest name
Is free from shadow or from blame
As it has ever been.

"Now let us kneel, and in our prayer
Thank God for all his tender care;
And pray for help and grace,
That we may love and serve Him still,
May keep his words and do his will,
Until we see his face."

JOHN ROBINS'

ENEMIES AND FRIENDS.
CHAP. III.

JANNIE BARNET (that was the

countrywoman's name) had known John Robins from his youth. She was very sorry when she found that he had married a factory girl, who had no recommendation as a wife but a pretty face and a few fine clothes. Mary did not like any one who dared to find fault with her, and had no fancy for such a plaindealing woman as Nannie. She behaved so rudely to her that Nannie had kept away from the cottage for long and long before they left the village. "It's no good I can speak of the lass," she used to say; " and I'm bound to speak out my mind. And it's wrong in the sight of God to set man and wife apart. He has made a hard bed for himself, and he must lie upon it; I should only make it harder by putting him to find fault with her."

John had not visited his old home for more than four years, and as Nannie never went near the town except when some wonderful necessity took her, she had not seen him during that time.

At last she determined, instead of sending her brood of young fowls to market by the carrier, to take them herself, and see if he really was going on in as "middling" a way as she feared.

"I'll take them a few flowers," she said; "I dare say they haven't got much of a garden; and the children will like a seed-cake or two." And she put a piece of cold bacon and her own sweet home-made bread in a clean towel, saying, "I'll have my dinner with them; I dare say they won't have more than they want."

She had a great deal of trouble in finding him out, and was very hard of belief that she had got to the right place when she stood at the door of the dark room and saw him on the chair before the empty grate, with Annie on his knees.

"I knew you'd come to no good, my lad, but I never expected to see you like this!" she exclaimed, wiping the tears from her eyes. John could only sit and sob; he had not a word to say; but little Annie was so charmed with the flowers, that she took no notice of the seed cake after a taste of it, but went on hugging them and laying them out one by one on the floor. When she found a marigold that had been squeezed up into the middle of the nosegay she almost screamed with delight, as she took it to her father, and then shuffled back with it to Nannie Barnet.

"Poor little creature!" said the good woman; "I do believe she's thinking of those that used to grow under your window, John!" John cried more at this, as if the thought of what he had lost came home to him in its whole strength.

Nannie was heart-sick. She put down the bread and bacon in the least dirty place she could see, and said, "Well, my lad, I'd thought to have a bit of dinner with you, but I'm sure now the thought of it goes against me. I'll leave what I put up, you might fancy it presently. And now, John, look here, if you've a mind to let me have poor little Annie for a bit, I'll have her and do for her as if she belonged to me."

John said he thought it would be the saving of Annie if Mary would let her go.

"She let her go!" answered Nannie angrily; but checking herself, she added quietly, "No

danger, she'll let her go, John; it's plain she's got no time to look after either of 'em."

At this minute Jack made his appearance. He never, as a rule, found his father at home in the day, and did not expect to see any one but Annie and the baby. He looked a little put out at first, but his impudence would stand more than the sight of John and Nannie without being daunted. He stood lazily by the door, looking at the company, and the seed-cake and flowers on the floor.

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Why is that Jack!" exclaimed Nannie. "He is grown! Come here, lad; it's a good thing that you've got the use of your legs. I suppose dirt won't kill everybody."

Jack, although he had the use of his legs, did not choose to accept the invitation, but stood still, rudely staring at her.

"Where's your manners, boy?" she cried. "You don't remember me, but I've given you many an apple, and many a cuff for taking one without leave."

Jack smiled contemptuously, and went to the cupboard to look for his dinner, for Mary always put the best she had by for him.

"Oh, before I could eat that! but these children can swallow anything!" cried Nannie, with a grimace of disgust as she looked at the dingy lump of cold pudding he took from the shelf.

Jack's face grew red as he said, "I told her I wouldn't have no more of this stuff."

"It's as good as they've got," said Nannie; and she pointed to the cold potato lying on the ground.

"That's nothing to me," said Jack; "they don't pay for it, and I do; and I'll have what I like, or I won't stay here."

"Oh, my boy!" cried Nannie, getting into a wrathful temper, "if that wouldn't cure your mother of her doings I don't know what would. Wouldn't I stick-beat a little chap like you if you was mine and made such a speech!"

Jack looked hard at her; he wasn't used to bear such rough language.

"Why don't you give him a rap, John Robins?" she said to the father, who sat ashamed and stupid on the bed." That's never your little Jack that you used to carry home of nights when you found him about after work was done."

"It's no good for me to speak to him; he hasn't minded me this long time," said John, despondingly.

Nannie, who was quick-tempered, longed to give Jack a good box on the ears as he stood laughing impudently at her and his father; but she simply said he ought to be at school with a clean face and a whole jacket, and good words in his mouth. And then, without wishing to hear what was coming, she turned to Annie and asked her if she would go back with her to the country.

Annie could hardly take in the thought of such happiness at first: but supposing that her father and the baby were to go too, she expressed herself with all the pleasure she could find words for.

Her lameness made Nannie almost regret her offer, "But I believe plenty of washing in cold water, sweet air, and good food, will cure that," she said to herself.

While she was thinking how she should get her to the carrier's van in her present ragged, unseemly condition, in walked Mary. Jack had met with her as he went back to the factory and she was returning from her dinner to work; and having freely delivered his mind on the subject of the pudding, he gave her to understand that she should see no more of his money.

In order to prevent such a catastrophe she determined to run home and make sure of his best clothes and shoes, which she meant to keep as a pledge of his safety until, by giving him a series of

good things, she had again secured his boarding at home.

Great were her surprise and dismay when on opening the door she saw her old enemy (as she used to call Nannie) and Annie playing with the flowers, and the baby gnawing a piece of the bacon, which she had pulled out of the paper.

There was no possibility of retreating, so, with no good grace, but plenty of boldness to hide her shame, she walked haughtily into the room, saying to John, "I think if you had no work, you might have tidied up the room for your company, and looked a bit after the children."

John didn't answer, but Nannie, with as much temper and patience as she could command, explained how it was she was there, and that she was quite an unexpected visitor.

Mary flounced about, much provoked at the true state of things having been thus betrayed. Nannie looked at her with utter dislike; the faded flowers in her dirty bonnet, her wide-spread crinoline covered with a dingy petticoat that had more than one tear in it, and her smart but shabby shawl drawn tight round her, gave her a rakish, miserable look in her eyes; but Mary herself thought she was much more to be admired than old Nannie in her straight print dress, as bright as the washingtub and mangle could make it.

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Mary apologised for the mess" of the room, and taking up the baby, tried to shake it into something like order, and then said, "It's hard upon me, Mrs. Barnet, being out all day, and having nobody to look to the poor things; and John won't put his hand to do anything if he's at home for days; and Annie's between eight and nine now, and is of no more good to me than a baby; and here's baby, as I call her, she's five and three-quarters, and can't shift for herself a bit. If I hadn't a good spirit I could never get on."

So saying, she darted an angry glance at John, who made no answer.

Nannie could not, for conscience' sake, pretend to pity her. She ventured to say that if her advice had been taken they would never have had so much trouble, for John would have kept his proper work; and she would have had no more than a wife and a mother ought to do, and be glad of it.

Mary flew out in a rage, declaring that John had taken to drink before they left the country, and laying all the blame on him.

"Well, Mrs. Robins, I didn't come here to make words between us," said Nannie; "but if you are so put about, may be it'll be a help for me to take little Annie off your hands a bit. Perhaps you'll find a bit more time for the other when she is gone."

Mary was really delighted, and would gladly have packed off both. She pretended to look up Annie's clothes, then confessed, with some excuses, that she had none but what were on her back; for as she could not walk, it did not matter so much, but she would roll her up in the shawl she could best spare and carry her to the van herself.

In order to get the shawl she spoke of, Mary opened a large box and displayed, without intending it, her best dress and bonnet, the latter of a bright pink muslin, with roses and green feathers all over gold spangles

Nannie opened her eyes very wide when she saw it, thinking to herself, "That's where the wages go! No wonder Jack won't eat his nasty pudding when he sees the money that ought to buy him a wholesome dinner laid out in that trumpery!" John got up when all was ready for Nannie to go. 'I'll carry the child," he said. "I'd have offered before, but I'm so shabby and look so mean." Nanny, who thought it would only distress him without doing him any good, said she thought it would be best for Mary to carry her, and he yielded. "Now, you'll promise, John, to come over and see the child, and Mary too, and

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bring Kate along-I don't say Jack, he's too saucy for me,' she said in parting, The thought crossed her mind of giving a shilling or two to John to get his shoes mended, but she feared he would go at once to the beer-shop. She earnestly entreated him to give up his murderous habit. If you once master that, you'll be master of yourself, your wife, and your children, and all will go well," she said. John sighed as he listened; at that very moment he felt that he would give wife and children and all hopes of happiness for a shilling that he might go and quench his present miserable thirst with that which had already worked his ruin.

you

"Won't turn in, Dick?" "Well, no," was the answer; "drinking will hardly do these times. My master's lost seventeen more of his stock, and I think it will end in his giving up altogether, which he'll be bound to do when the farm dies in his hands, as you may say."

"It's a wonderful thing is this murrain," said the third; "but I sup. pose there'll be some end to it. They say that

there was one that
lasted a very long
time a hundred
years gone by."
"I should like
to know some-
thing about that,"
said Thomas
Horner, he who
had first invited
Dick Long into
the "Plough."

"Well, I can tell you something about it," said Sam Sparks. "The master's been looking over all the books that were written about that time, and he told me that he'd got it all put down on paper, and printed. So I asked him for one; and if you've a mind to go home with me, I can show it you, with some very good sayings on the back of it."

Dick Long turned very readily to follow him, but Horner cast a wishful look at the "Plough" door, which he seemed unwilling to quit.

"You may as well come, Tom," cried Dick; "you'll have plenty of chances of turning in there. Giving it up for once won't hurt you, anyhow."

Tom put his hands in his pockets and turned off the step and they all three went down the

lane together. When they reached Sam's cottage, he took the paper from the cover of the great Bible, and they seated themselves on the low wall that fenced in his little garden.

Sam was looked upon as no small scholar, and began his task with a clear, loud voice. The paper was as follows::

"In the year 1745, a disease broke out among the cattle in this country, and continued till the year 1757, when it gradually died out.

"The first infection of this dreadful distemper, we are told by Mr. Theobalds, a diligent inquirer, was brought over from Holland by means of two white calves, which a farmer at Poplar, near London, procured for breeding purposes, and it spread into Berkshire by two cows brought out of Essex and sold at a fair at Maidenhead. He noticed that the clothes

THE LAST COW OF THE HERD.

of such persons that had anything to do with. the sick cows had a very disagreeable smell, and that the infection had been spread by means of sheep, who, it is believed, carried it in their wool. There were no less than thirty thousand lost in Cheshire in the seventh year of the infection; and in its thirteenth year it still lingered in Kent and Somerset. It raged especially in the counties of York, Westmoreland, Lancashire, Wiltshire, Monmouthshire, Gloucestershire, and Dorsetshire, and at Bristol. Cheshire, Lincolnshire, and Nottinghamshire suffered in the first years of the plague.

"Innumerable recipes for its cure were constantly tried, but none seemed to answer. Inoculation was used, but without success. "To know that our fathers before us have

suffered the same affliction which it is now our lot to bear, has this comfort in it-they were carried through, and the same Hand that helped them can help us.

"Many persons in that day were brought to poverty, and obliged to till the ground for others that had pastured their own cattle. It may come to this with some of us. What then? If God be with us in our poverty, as he has been in our riches, our lot cannot be unbearable-it will even be blessed; if our riches hardened our hearts and hindered us from fearing him, let us pray that the poverty he sends may soften them and cause us to seek his face. When God smote the cattle of Egypt, the cattle of Israel did not die. He will not make this division now. him not, may be spared,

Some, who fear while his faithful servants may suf. fer; but we may be sure of thisthat without him not a sparrow falls, and that his people will not be tried for nought nor in vain."

"Now that I call very pretty," said Sam; "and see-here's places in the Bible marked out; if you've a mind, we'll read them when we go in." The others

agreed, and Sam,

folding up the

paper, continued

saving as he can, that he may be able to help others if he does n't want it himself."

"The children are all in bed, Sam," said Mrs. Sparks, putting her head out at the door, "if

you

1've a mind to come in."

They did go in, and looked out for the places in the Bible, as Sam suggested; and you may depend upon it, they found nothing there that contradicted what he had said. One text had a great effect upon their minds-" Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation" (Hab. iii. 17, 18).

"BE YE READY."

E virgin souls, arise!

With all the dead, awake!

Unto salvation wise,

Oil in your vessels take:
Upstarting at the midnight cry,
Behold the heavenly Bridegroom nigh!

He comes! he comes to call

The nations to his bar,

And raise to glory all

Who meet for glory are:

Made ready for your full reward;
Go forth with joy to meet your Lord.

Then let us wait to hear

The trumpet's welcome sound:
To see our Lord appear,
Watching, let us be found,

With lamps well trimmed; then joyful rise,
And meet our Saviour in the skies.

GRANDFATHER'S ADVICE.

"DON'T

ON'T look so cross, Edward, when I call you back to shut the door. You have got to spend your life shutting doors, you know, and might as well begin to learn now."

"Do forgive me, grandfather, I ought to remember it. But what do you mean? I am going to school, and then I am to be a lawyer." "Well, admitting all that. I imagine Squire Edward Carter will have a good many doors to shut, if ever he makes much of a man."

"What kind of doors? Do tell me, grandfather," said Edward, his curiosity roused.

HEN shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, which took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom. And five of them were wise, and five were foolish. They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them: but the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps. While the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept. And at midnight there was a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him. Then all those virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps. And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out. But the wise answered, saying, Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go yo rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves. And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut. Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us. But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not.

Watch, therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh.

Matt. xxv. 1-13.

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"Sit down a minute, and I'll give you a list. In the first place, the door of your ears must be closed against the bad language and evil

counsel of the boys and young men you will meet at school, or you will be undone. Let them once get possession of that door, and I would not give much for Edward Carter's further prospects. The doors of your eyes, too, must be shut against bad books, idle novels, and low, wicked newspapers, or your studies will be neglected, and you will grow up a useless man. You will have to close them sometimes against the fine things exposed for sale in the shop windows, or you will never learn to lay by money, or have any left to give away. The doors of your lips will need constant care, for they guard an unruly member. That door is very apt to blow open; and if not vigilantly watched, will let out angry, trifling words. I would advise you to keep it shut much of the time till you have laid up a store of knowledge, or at least till you have something valuable to say. The inner door of your heart must be well shut against temptation, for conscience, the doorkeeper, grows very indifferent if you disregard his call, and sometimes drops asleep at his post; and when you may think you are doing very well, you are fast going down to ruin. If you carefully guard the outside doors of the eyes, and ears, and lips, you will keep out many cold blasts of sin which get in before you think. This shutting doors,' you see, Eddy, is a serious business; one on which your well-doing in this life and the next depends."

THE BIBLE ILLUSTRATED.

"Every idle word that men shall speak, they

for some time, and then returned to his attendants. They were

ment."-Matthew xii. 36.

WHEN any one was speaking ill of another in the presence of Peter the Great, he at first listened quietly, and then asked, "Is there not a fair side also to the character of the person of whom you are speaking? Come, tell me what good qualities you have remarked about him.”

"Let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth."-Ephesians iv. 28.

A WEALTHY merchant in Boston, New England, was called on by a friend in behalf of a charity. At that time he was reproving his clerk for using whole wafers instead of halves; his friend thought this circumstance unfavourable to the object of his visit; but to his surprise, on listening to the appeal, the merchant subscribed five hundred dollars. The applicant expressed his astonishment that any person who was so particular about half a wafer should present five hundred dollars to a charity; but the merchant said, "It is my saving half wafers, and attending to such little things, that I have now something to give."

"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits."-Psalm ciii. 2.

In his early days Dr. Hutton was very poor, and when he afterwards enjoyed honours and wealth, he was never ashamed of referring to the state of poverty from which it had pleased God to raise him. While he was Bishop of Durham he was once travelling near Wensleydale, when he suddenly dismounted, and retired to a particular spot at some distance from the highway. He knelt there in prayer

RICHARD CROWNINSHIELD was a murderer. As long as he thought the evidence of his crime was concealed, he was cheerful and confident, even in prison. At length a letter, stopped in the Post-office, led to the arrest of one of his accomplices. That arrested man was carried into the jail at midnight; but so sound was the sleep of the hardened criminal, that all the clanging of the bolts and bars of the prison, at that unusual hour, did not wake him. The next morning the sheriff came into his cell and entered into familiar conversation with him. He was standing calmly at the foot of his truckle bed. 'Well," said the sheriff, "did you hear the noise last night?" "Noise? no; what noise? I slept well." "Why, did you not know that they had arrested Frank Knapp, and brought him here at midnight?" The strong, guilty man put his hand to the wall to man put his hand to the wall to steady himself, but, unable to conceal his feelings, or to recover from the shock, fell back senseless on the bed. What passed that night

แ

A LITTLE girl having read to her teacher the first twelve verses of the fifth chapter of Matthew, he asked her to stop and tell him which of these holy tempers, said by our Lord to be blessed, she should most like to have. She paused a little, and then said with a modest smile, "I would rather be pure in heart." Her teacher asked her why she chose this above all the rest. "Sir," said she, "if I could but obtain a pure heart, I should then have all the other graces spoken of in this chapter." Surely this was a wise and a right answer. God himself had said, "Out of the heart are the issues of life."

It is in the heart that God sheds abroad the graces of his Spirit; and from thence comes that

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grace of the lips" which shows forth the right mind within.