Part 2

This was something new for the child. She thought; the little face brightened. "I understand, mamma. I know," she cried, eagerly. "You love me; but you do not always give me everything I want, and sometimes you make me wait. I will ask God to make you strong."

Day after day the child waited, prayed, and expected an answer, believing it would certainly come. One morning, Mr. Matthews received a letter as they were all at breakfast. As he read it his face grew bright; he handed it to his wife, and Nellie heard her mother say, while tears of a new kind ran down her cheeks, "Thank God!"

"Mamma, mamma! Is the trouble gone?" cried Nellie, eagerly.

"My darling, it is," was the answer, as she kissed the face of her little comforter with a thankful heart.

Mr. Matthews wondered what Nellie meant, especially when he heard her glad shout, "I knew it would go! I was sure it would go."

But when her mother told him how the child's prayer, and her daily expressions of confidence, had cheered and comforted her during those days of trial, he understood it all, and rejoiced that the good seed sown in the young heart had already brought forth fruit.

The words of Jesus are—

"Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein."

May this true story of a little child's prayers, faith, and patient waiting, be the means of carrying comfort to some weary and heavy-laden soul, longing, but fearing to take God at His word, and to lay hold on those precious promises which are all "Yea and amen in Christ Jesus."

A WITNESS FOR THE SABBATH.

TWO gentlemen were talking together one evening about the inestimable value of the Sabbath as a gift to mankind.

Both had led busy lives, and though one of them had long since retired from active commercial pursuits, he was incessantly occupied, not in making money, but in doing all that he could to promote the welfare and happiness of others.

"Better to wear out than rust out," was this man's motto, and his clear complexion and the bright expression on his countenance, together with his active step, showed that his labour of love, instead of making him older, was helping to preserve his vigorous health.

The younger of the two was still in the very prime of life, and was the owner of an immense manufacturing concern, which constantly taxed all his powers, both of mind and body. Yet he, too, found leisure to look around amongst his toiling hands, and to think of and carry into effect plans both for their moral improvement and bodily comfort.

"I used to think," said Mr. Baird, the elder of the two, "that I had weight enough to carry on my shoulders when I stood alone as the proprietor of mechanical works, and with hundreds of men in my employ. But my responsibilities seem small to look back upon in comparison with yours of to-day. There is such keen competition; news flies with such rapidity; in fact, the world lives so fast that we have hardly time to think. We seem to be in a perpetual whirl of business."

"It is quite true," returned Mr. Jackson, the younger speaker. "Times have changed greatly during the last fifteen years since you retired from business. And I could not stand it, but for one blessed relief."

"I can guess what that is—the Sabbath, that precious gift of which so many now seem to think lightly enough."

"Yes, it is precious indeed, and through all my life, I am thankful to say, I have valued its rest and been jealous of any attempt to encroach upon it. I think you know that for some years I travelled for the founders of the very works which now belong to me, and which you consider so vast and important."

"You have told me as much before," said Mr. Baird, "and just now, as you spoke of the Sabbath, I was wondering whether you succeeded in acting up to your principles whilst leading a life which exposed you to so many temptations."

"I wish I could say that I always did. I tried; but sometimes, alas! I yielded to the temptations around me. I can say this much, that I never, either as a traveller or employer, transacted business, or allowed others to do it, on the Sunday. As a rule, when 'On the road,' I so arranged my journeys that I ended the week in some quiet country place or old cathedral city. I often went a few extra miles on Saturday nights in order to reach such a resting-place; and words could not express how sweet the quiet was to me after the bustle and hurry of the week. I do not believe many men entered the house of God with a more thankful sense of its privileges than I did during those busy years."

"But you say there were exceptions to these happy Sabbaths."

"Yes. It happened occasionally that I could not reach one of my havens of rest, and that I was thrown into company with my brethren of the road who did not feel as I did, and was persuaded to spend my Sunday with them and after their fashion."

"Without attending public worship, for instance?"

"That would be one thing neglected. Then we sat longer at the table, and, though I was never intemperate, I perhaps took a little extra wine, and talked of subjects that would have been better kept out of mind."

"What difference did this make on you, body and mind, during the week?"

"My body missed its periodical rest, and was sooner tired. My mind was less bright; my conscience accused me. I exactly realised the truth of those words of old Judge Hale:

"'A Sabbath well spent brings a week of content, And health for the toils of the morrow; But a Sabbath profaned, whatsoe'er may be gained, Is the certain forerunner of sorrow.'

"But that is not all. I kept during all those years an exact record of my Sabbaths, and particulars as to how and where they were spent. I also kept an account of the week which followed each, and the business done in it. I possess those memoranda now; and it is a fact that I never had a good and prosperous week in business matters after an ill-spent Sabbath, and I never had anything but a happy and prosperous one after a Sunday which had been spent in accordance with God's gracious and loving purpose in bestowing it. Well now, how do you account for this, Mr. Baird?"

"I fancy we should both account for it in the same way, my friend," said the elder gentleman. "We have not forgotten those words spoken by the Prophet Isaiah to the Israel of olden time but as true as ever to the Israel of God to-day: 'If thou turn away thy foot from the Sabbath, from doing thy pleasure on My holy day and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honourable; and shalt honour Him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words: then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord; and I will cause thee to ride upon the high places of the earth, and feed thee with the heritage of Jacob thy father: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.'"

"Yes, I believe the words with all my heart. It is a good gift for the body, a blessing to the soul, a time bestowed on us here to fit us to enjoy eternity. Thank God for the Sabbath!"

Mr. Jackson paused, and his friend added a fervent "Amen."

As the testimony and experience of a business man in these busy days, I thought this conversation worth recording. I trust it may carry home a lesson to some of those who deny themselves the enjoyments and the privileges attached to God's good gift of one day in seven.

"See, for that the Lord hath given you the Sabbath." "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy."

WHICH PAYS BEST?

TWO shops stand side by side, in one of our city roads. Both are inhabited by hard-working and most obliging tradesmen. But there is a difference; for the one with the larger family works hard enough—the other works too hard. Six days' work in each week is enough for one, the other cannot do with less than seven.

One shop is closely shut on the Sunday, and from the side door, the father, a widower, may be seen, twice during the day, starting to join the assembly of God's people in His house. His eldest girl, a sweet-faced modest young woman, is on her father's arm, the younger ones go in front—a little family band, of one heart and one mind. There is a sweet sense of peace and rest on the young faces, and a light on that of the father which tells of that other peace, which the world can neither give nor take away.

Those who know them best say they are a happy family—that a loving father has dutiful children, and that the home, under the careful management of that young girl, is a sweet picture to look upon.

The secret of it is, that they leave the six working days outside the Sabbath as far possible; but they take as much as they can of the Sabbath lessons into the week days' work to cheer them onward.

Leaning against the door-post of the next shop is the too industrious master of it. He cannot spare himself the Sunday, and, though he puts up part of the shutters during morning hours, as a sort of compliment to the day of rest, you can see all the goods in tempting array within. You feel quite sure the master is ready to serve any customer who may be as unscrupulous as himself with regard to the Lord's day. Perhaps he thinks he will be the richer for his seven days' work in each week; but his home does not give evidence of this.

What can be more miserable than an untidy home on Sunday morning, and clothing with all the soil of the working days evident upon it! As no member of that household is thinking of going to church, no child has a place at the Sunday-school; neither parents nor children think of washing or dressing until the afternoon. So, slatternly and comfortless, they go about preparing the only sign of Sunday in the shape of a really extravagant dinner.

When this is over, and the kitchen cleaned, after a fashion, the mother takes her Sabbath rest, by sleeping until tea-time, and spends her evening in gossip with the stray customers whom her husband serves—at least when he is to be found in the shop.

But most of his time is passed in a neighbouring public-house, where he spends far more than the profits of his Sunday trading. As to the children, they are either displaying tawdry finery in the streets, or following the mother's example, and spending the precious hours in idle talk.

So the days and weeks go on unmarked by rest—either for soul or body. No walking to the house of God together; no taking sweet counsel together; no telling of the love of Jesus to the little ones, or bringing them to footstool for a welcome or a blessing. Seven working days in each week means no time for the concerns of any other world than this. No time for the Bible, for prayer, for thought of what is to follow when this world, its work, and its bustle, are ended for us; no time to think of a home beyond the grave, or to prepare for the great and solemn change that must come to us all sooner or later.

It seems strange that two families so unlike each other should continue to live side by side for years, and each go on its own way unchanged. But the Sabbath-keeper has tried many a time to influence the Sabbath-breaker, and it grieves him to see his neighbour's children, and especially a fine lad of fifteen, growing up in this godless fashion.

"Why don't you take John to church?" he asked, one Sunday morning, as the father and son were lounging by the shop door.

"He may go," was the answer. "They may all go. I tell them so always. Don't think I hinder them."

"You should take your children, not send them," said the other. "If I had only said 'Go' to mine, they would have been like yours. We all go together, and that is why we like it twice as well. I tell you, neighbour, that if one of us is kept away from God's house on the Sabbath, we feel as if we had lost something all the week through."

Depend on it, when we are called on to give an account at the last great day, it will be a poor excuse for us parents if we can only say that we gave them leave to do right if they liked; but never either used our authority as parents, or set them an example to induce them to do it.

We would repeat this Sabbath-keeper's advice. "Do not send, but take your children to church. Work together through the week. Worship together on the Sabbath; and so may you hope to be able, through Christ, to stand in His presence at the last, and to say with joy, 'Behold I and the children which God hath given me.' A family chain without one missing link."

BEN BARRY'S CHRISTMAS-BOX.

THERE was not a better known man in all the town than old Ben Barry. He was the owner of a large tilted wagon with a truck attached to the back of it by a chain, and a horse which looked neither strong enough nor fat enough for the labour of dragging wagon and truck when fully laden.

Ben was a handsome fellow, who had been a sailor, and who still went to and fro in a river steamer from the comparatively small town in which he lived to the large seaport near the river's mouth. People called him old, not because he was so, but because everybody knew him so well, and looked on him as a person of large experience.

Ben's business was to start at the end of the town the farthest from the pier whence the steamer sailed, and to collect the goods and parcels which were to be sent by it. He blew a long horn at all the street corners, and used to delight the lads by the musical flourishes in which it was his pleasure to indulge.

On the return of the steamer, it was Ben Barry's duty to deliver all parcels and packages brought by it, and often a passenger's luggage as well. The process of collecting the goods in the morning was a long one, but as nothing compared with that of distributing them at night. The poor old horse went at a snail's pace, and it was noticed that he stopped, without the admonitory "Whoa," at every public-house, and that it took longer to leave goods at such a place than at all the shops in the town beside.

Ben was not a good master to his bony steed, and in the bitter weather did not care that old Jack was standing supperless in the cold, whilst he was taking glass after glass, professedly to keep it out of his own throat, in a well-warmed, well-lighted room. Still Ben's immovable good temper, merry jokes, and really obliging disposition, made him a favourite with many, and at Christmas time especially, he received a gift, and too often a glass along with it, from most of the tradespeople.

It happened one very cold winter, that Ben's potations to keep out the frost became more frequent, and the delivery of goods more tardy and irregular; so Mrs. Barry, fearing for the safety of the parcels, sent her little son Jack—a sturdy ten-year old—to guard the same whilst the father was indoors. This made Ben all the more comfortable. Jack was a trusty fellow, too small to deliver goods, but certain not to forsake his charge. So Ben stayed a little longer by the warm tap-room fire, and Jack and the old horse shivered outside in company.

Christmas came, and Christmas-boxes. Ben dropped many a coin into his pocket, and swallowed many more glasses free of cost than were good for him. At the principal stationer's shop, which was also the post-office, Ben had had many large packages to deliver. There he did not expect that his Christmas-box would be supplemented by a glass, for the postmaster was a staunch teetotaler; but he felt sure of a handsome tip, and with a smiling face wished him a merry Christmas and a happy new year!

"Same to you, Ben, and many of them. I have a Christmas-box here, but I can't give it you without the old horse and Jack are with you."

The old horse was round the corner, but Ben had sent Jack home, so it was arranged that the trio should call on the following day.

There was a humorous twinkle in the postmaster's eye as the old horse, at his usual snail's pace, came crawling on, and was brought to a stand opposite his shop. Out came the shopman with a nose-bag containing as much corn as any horse could possibly consume, and at which Ben's steed set to work, moving his jaws with a steady, rapid crunch, of which no one who saw his legs move would have thought them capable.

"That is the old horse's share, and this rug will keep his old sides warmer when you are delivering those parcels that take so much stowing at the Red Lion," said the postmaster, as he put a warm rug over the poor beast's thin ribs. "And Jack, where's Jack? There's something for you. My boy's legs and arms are too long for this good overcoat. Try it on, and see if it will fit you."

Little Jack was speedily inducted. The coat fitted him just a little too much; but then it would last, and there was room to grow. In order to help him to fill it out, the postmaster added a large mince pie and a Christmas cake, and, on condition that he started an account with it in the penny bank that very evening, a bright shilling.

Ben touched his hat, thanked the postmaster, and looked expectant. "Nay, Ben," said the latter, "I have no Christmas-box for you in addition. So far you have had all the money and the drink, whilst Jack and the old horse have had double share of cold and all the waiting. If they share the labour, they should share the benefit, and I prefer giving my Christmas-boxes in food and clothing, and where both are most needed, to bestowing money where it is likely to be misspent in drink by one who has had too much already."

Ben was a good deal abashed at this, but he was not without fatherly feelings, and he was pleased in his boy's pleasure. "Thank you, sir, all the same," he said; "you have been good to my lad, and in that kind to me. And if you had given me nothing but the old horse's feed, at any rate you have taught me a lesson."

He waited patiently till the corn was finished, and then went on his way. The joke got wind, and Ben was often laughed at about the postmaster's Christmas-box. He took the jests with his usual good temper but it began to be noticed that Ben's eyes grew brighter, his pauses at the Red Lion shorter, and that his old horse's ribs became better covered. Little Jack, his mother, and the youngsters at home had more of Ben's company after that day.

By God's blessing, the postmaster's lesson proved a word in season, and that Christmas time, the turning-point in Ben's life. He began to think less of self and more of others. Then he became discontented with himself and his life, and in want of a Saviour. And when he found that Saviour in Jesus, he wondered how he had ever lived without Him.

Need I say that Ben Barry, the Christian, was a far happier man than the old Ben of whom we caught a glimpse at the beginning of this sketch?

TWO PICTURES BY THE WAYSIDE.

IN passing along one of the busy crowded streets of a large city, it was my lot, on the same day, to witness two pictures very opposite in character. There was much of sadness in each, and much to learn from both.

The figures in the first were an elderly man and woman; evidently husband and wife. By right, the wife should have leaned on the arm of her partner; but, alas! His step Was unsteady, his gait tottering, and she was guiding him with a firm clasp, looking around from time to time, as if afraid and ashamed to be seen by any casual passenger to whom they might be known. It was evident that the wife's sorrowful task was a new thing to her, and that the man was no habitual drunkard.

All the way along the road as they tottered on, it was touching to hear the poor old fellow pouring out expressions of regret for having yielded to temptation, and promises to avoid it for the future. The woman wiped her eyes now and then with the corner of her apron, and spoke soothingly and tenderly, as if she would fain comfort her old partner in his evident humiliation. Then the man began to remind her in a broken pleading voice of all the years and years during which he had never transgressed by taking a drop too much; adding, "And thee knaws, my lass, I've had to wark reet hard a' the time."

The wife tightened her hold of her husband's arm, and, as she clasped her other hand across it, said, while her voice was fairly broken with a sob, "Doan't I knaw it, Jem? Doan't I knaw it?"

As she uttered these words, she and her half-helpless charge came to the turning into a narrow street, down which they went, and I saw them no more.

There was a dark shadow cast over this little picture by the condition of the old man; but there were some beautiful lights in it nevertheless. To see that wife's homely face, full of combined love and sorrow, and the earnestness with which she strove, as far as her strength would allow, to hide her husband's fault from the eyes of their neighbours, stirred my warmest admiration and sympathy. Not one word of reproach did she utter, to increase the pain her husband was already feeling. She was ready to meet his penitence half-way; to call to mind his long perseverance and hard work, and to strengthen him in making and keeping good resolutions for the future.

My fancy followed them to their little home, and I seemed to see its fast-closed door shut, to prevent prying eyes from knowing anything to Jem's discredit. And I pictured, too, the sorrowing wife on her knees, asking pardon for his fault and new strength for both. The two, doubtless, long joined together by the strongest earthly ties, would be drawn closer still; for all who practise such conduct as that wife manifested realise the truth of those sweet words, "He that covereth a transgression seeketh love."

Thus thinking as I passed onward, I reached a railway arch, under which my road lay. There I witnessed a scene of a very different character. A much younger couple than those I had lately noticed were standing beneath the arch; the man steadying himself against the wall as well as he could; while the woman, in a perfect fury of passion, was heaping reproaches and abuse upon his head.

She taunted him with her rags and dirt, with his barefooted children running wild in the streets and not half fed, whilst he, worse than a brute, was setting in a public-house. She was so bitter in her words, so quick-witted and sharp in her taunts, that they stung him, heavy as was his head, and muddled as were his senses. He replied by an oath and an expression which was full of hate and contempt towards herself, vowing, in addition, that he would spend every farthing he had left of his wages, and she might get money where she could; though he had meant to give it to her.

Stung to fury at this, she seized his arm, as If to drag him homeward, but she only succeeded in throwing him down on the ground. The man with difficulty regained his feet, and his first act was to aim a blow at the face of his wife which would be heavy enough to leave cruel marks there; his next to reel forward and enter the nearest public-house, which was just outside the arch.

There were several witnesses to this miserable scene, this picture all black, and without any gleam of light to relieve it. The woman's shrill taunts had called more from the adjoining street; for her idea seemed to be, not to cover, but to expose her husband's transgression to the very utmost.

Now she went on her homeward way alone, weeping, disfigured, hopeless, and surely we may suppose self-accusing, if conscience were not altogether deadened within her.

I suppose my face told something of the sorrowful feelings which this scene had stirred within me; for a decent-looking woman, who evidently knew the unhappy couple, said to me, "Isn't it a pity she can't hold her tongue a bit, not even till she gets him home and the door shut behind him? But it has always been the same!"

"You know this couple, then?"