What thou hearest may be forgotten, but what thou readest may better be retained.

Forsake not the public worship of God, lest God forsake thee, not only in public, but in private.

In the week-days, when thou risest in the morning, consider-1. Thou must die. 2. Thou mayest die that minute. 3. What will become of thy soul. Pray often. At night consider-1. What sins thou hast committed. 2. How often thou hast prayed. 3. What hast thy mind been bent upon. 4. What hath been thy dealing? 5. What thy conversation? 6. If thou callest to mind the errors of the day, sleep not without a confession to God, and a hope of pardon. Thus, every morning and evening make up thy accounts with Almighty God, and thy reckoning will be less at last.-Bunyan.

S

Psa. cvi. 21.

HALL Christ, my Saviour, be forgot,
Or seldom brought to mind?

Shall all His love and mercy shown

To oblivion be consigned?

When for my sake He left His throne,
And laid His glory by,

Came down to earth in human form,

To suffer, bleed, and die;

When He, with His own precious blood,

Washed all my guilt away,

Shall I of Him unmindful be,

Ingratitude repay?

When He has suffered in my stead,

And cancelled all my debt,

Shall I for aught this world affords,
My Saviour e'er forget?

No; never shall He be forgot,
While life's prolonged to me;
Till I behold Him face to face
He shall remembered be.

Then when before His throne I stand,
Salvation's song I'll sing,

And evermore love and adore

My Saviour and my King.

J. D.

CHAPTER I.

OLLO there! What do you want? Why do you run away?"

The boy thus addressed continued to run, and was soon lost to sight by a turn in the garden path; whether he leaped the gate or the wall was not apparent.

"Come to steal my gooseberries, I suppose," muttered the owner thereof; "only let me catch you, that's all!" but he made no effort towards that end, and quietly walked along, looking complacently at the rows of well-laden bushes on either side.

Suddenly he stopped, attracted by a bundle of something, not quite hidden by the foliage of a large currant bush. "Hey-day! So, so! Two little thieves! Come out and show yourself instantly."

"No, no, no. Watty's not a thief; he isn't; it's me," cried a passionate sobbing voice, as a small rough head came reluctantly into view, and then a triumphant twinkle shone through the tears as it added: "If he's run you can't catch him, I know."

"And who is me?" asked the gentleman, rather amused. "Come and tell the truth, if you ever heard of such a thing."

"It was me as opened the gate; it was me made him come in. Watty's not a thief, sir," whimpered the child. "Ah, I see," said the gentleman; "true to your origin, leading the way in mischief. But, now, couldn't you turn about, and get Watty to be good, instead of making him naughty?"

66

Watty ain't so very good," said the child, in a low hesitating voice, and trying to rub from her frock the consequences of her recent hiding-place, "only he ain't a thief this time."

"Well, come with me, and if there's anything of a man about him, he won't leave you alone in the scrape, will he ?"

"Oh, let me go, please-please let me go!" screamed the child, in an agony of terror, as a firm hand was laid upon her shoulder to hinder the attempt to run away.

"Oh, Watty, come back! Oh dear, oh dear!"

In a moment a shock head appeared above the garden wall, with a look half frightened, half defiant on the not very clean face.

"Oh, go away; he'll catch you. Go away; never mind me," gasped the child, with sudden fright at the speedy answer to her call.

But with a leap that brought him into the middle of a strawberry bed, to the great disgust of the owner, the boy stood before him.

66

'Please, sir, let her go; take me. I'll go to prison if you like; only let Maggie off please, sir," he humbly pleaded. "Well done for a brave knight; so suppose I let you both go, what then?”

"We won't ever come here again, sir; we won't indeed; will we, Maggie ?"

"No, never," cried Maggie.

"Are you hungry ?" asked the gentleman, kindly.

"Yes, indeed, sir; we meant to go up to the back door and ask for a crust, and then we saw the-the trees-with gooseberries, sir, and-"

"There, I don't ask any more about that; it's plain you thought them good for food, as other sinners did by other fruit before you. I want my breakfast, too, so we'll all go and get some; come with me."

Maggie looked dolefully at her knight to inquire his opinion on the subject.

"I don't think he wants to trap us, Mag," whispered he ; "he don't mean no harm by the look of him, and if he does we'll run."

"But if he locks us up?" suggested Mag.

"Then we'll get out at the window; I don't care if I break the glass-but let's try him this once."

And reassured by the amused smile of the individual thus generously put upon his trial, they followed him up to the house, where he desired them to sit down on a bench in the yard, and ordered two large basins of bread and milk to be prepared for them.

"Now, little ones," said he, kindly, "you will stay quietly here until I come to you again; you won't run away? You're not afraid, are you?"

"No, not a bit," said the boy, boldly.

"Nor you, lady rag-bag?"

"You ain't afraid of nothink with me, are you, Maggie?" put in the boy, patronisingly.

“If mother was here she'd teach me to sew, and then I shouldn't wear rags," muttered the child, looking down her dirty torn pinafore and frock.

"No, nor when I can earn things Maggie shan't wear rags," said the boy, with a stamp of his small half-shod foot, while Maggie sidled up to him with a look of infinite content and confidence.

"Lilly, my dear," said Mr. Bower to the young lady who presided at his breakfast-table, "don't ask me to go to any more of your meetings; I can't stand such revelations of the misery of young things in this world of ours. What was a paltry guinea in the plate to do for hundreds and thousands of destitute creatures like those we heard of last night?”

"But a great many guineas in a great many plates may do a great deal to help some of them, dear father," said his daughter; "and every child saved from ruin is not only made good and useful for himself, but is a gain to the moral interests of the country; there's political economy for you, papa."

66

Very fine, I dare say; but what do you think? All night long I had dreams full of children, starving children, ragged children, forsaken children, wicked children, staring at me through the curtains, knocking at the doors, scrambling up to the windows like Bishop Hatto's rats, and then slipping down again with screams of despair. I'll never listen to such tales any more, so don't expect it. But that's not all. I got up early and went to cool my head among the cabbages, when what should appear before me but two of the very urchins that had tormented my dreams— representatives, of course, a deputation from Puddle Dock, an incarnation of the destitution described."

"What became of them, dear father?" asked Lilly, in surprise and anxiety for their fate.