that if he could keep the broken plank in its place he might stop the incoming flood. So he sat himself upon it, and braced his feet against the cask, and then called for help. But he was too far away; so low down, with such a mass of cargo about him, that his voice scarcely reached other ears than his own. Some of the men heard him, but thought he was talking to himself. And there he sat, with his feet braced, for four-and-twenty dreary hours, with the water spurting all over him and drenching him to the very skin. He had several times thought of going to the hatchway and calling for help; but he knew that the broken plank would be forced in if he left it, for he could feel it heave beneath him. His limbs were racked with pain, but he would not give up. I asked him if he should not have given up if I had not come as I did. He answered that he could not have done it while he had life in him. He said he thought not of himself; he was ready to die, but he would save the rest if he could; and he had saved us, surely, saved us all, from a watery grave. The boy lay sick almost unto death: but I nursed him with my own hands,nursed him all through his delirium ; and when his reason returned, and he could sit up and talk, I bowed myself before him and humbly asked his pardon for all the wrong I had done him. He threw his arms around my neck, and told me if I would be good to him he would never give me cause of offence, and added, as he sat up again, "I am not a coward, I could not be a dog." I never forgot those words; and from that hour I have never struck a blow on board my ship. I make my men feel that they are men, that I so regard them, and that I wish to make them as comfortable and happy as possible; and I have not failed to gain their respect and confidence. I give no undue license, but make my crews feel that they have a friend and superior in the same person. For nine years I have sailed in three different ships with the same crew. A man could not be hired to leave me, save for an officer's berth, and scarcely for that. And Jack Withers remained with me thirteen years. He was my cabin-boy, one of my foremost hands, my second mate, and the last time he sailed with me he refused the command of a new barque because he would not be separated from A COW TEACHING THEOLOGY. OLD Mr. Bunnell was a peculiar man. When a little child he was peculiar. He didn't want to rock, or creep, or walk, like other children. He seemed to prefer to creep sideways or backward rather than forward. And when a boy no play suited him, no plan was exactly right. When other boys wanted to skate, he wanted to slide. When they wanted to slide down hill, he wanted to run on the ice. When they learned to read in the usual way, he turned his book bottom upwards, and learned to read in that way. Not that he was cross or morose, but peculiar. wanted everything done his own way. When he became a man, and rode bareback when other people used the saddle, and milked his cow on the right side instead of the left, and used an ox harnessed with the old horse, why, people said, "Mr. Bunnell is a peculiar man," and let it all pass. He But there were places where he found it hard to travel with other people. Especially was this so on the Sabbath. He never could enjoy the singing in the church, because the chorister always got hold of the wrong tunes; and he could not enjoy the prayers, because they were too long or too short, too abstract or too common. They were always out of joint. If the heathen were prayed for, he thought that the heathen at home might as well be remembered. If the nations were mentioned, he thought the Jews ought to be mentioned by name. In all cases, somebody was left out or put into the prayers that ought not to be. He didn't "mean to scold or find fault," he said; but he did "love to have things done right." Poor man! he never had them done right! But a greater trouble was the preaching. He professed to like his minister, and did like him as well as he could like anybody. But there were awful mistakes in his preaching. Sometimes a most important point, as he thought, was left out. Sometimes things were put in which nobody could understand. Sometimes things almost heretical were broached. What could he do ? He gave hints and propounded queries to his minister, and his minister so gently and kindly passed them off, that it seemed like pouring water on a duck's back. At length, when patience seemed about to give out, and when he could stand it no longer, he went over to his neighbour, Deacon Wright, and poured his troubles into his ear. Now Deacon Wright was a quiet man, said but little, but thought more. When he did speak, it was always to the point. He knew all about Mr. Bunnell, had great patience with him, and a great regard for him. He used to say, "Mr. Bunnell loves to growl, but he never really bites." The Deacon was just going out to the barn to fodder his cattle, when Mr. Bunnell came up and bid him "Good morning-if I can call such a cold morning good." "Now, Deacon, I've just one word to say. I can't bear our preaching! I get no good. There's so much in it that I don't want, that I grow lean on it. I lose my time and pains." "Mr. Bunnell, come in here. There's my cow Thankful: she can teach you theology!" "A cow teach theology! What do you mean?" "Now see. I have just thrown her a forkful of hay. Just watch her. There now! She has found a stick-(you know sticks will get in the hay)-and see how she tosses it one side and leaves it, and goes on to eat what is good. There again! She has found a burdock, and she throws it one side and goes on eating. And there! She don't relish that bunch of daisies, and she leaves them, and-goes on eating. Before morning she will clear the manger of all, save a few sticks and weeds, and she will give milk. There's milk in that hay, and she knows how to get it out, albeit there may be now and then a stick or a weed which she leaves. But if she refused to eat, and spent the time in scolding about the fodder, she, too, would 'grow lean' and my milk would be dried up. Just so with our preaching. Let the old cow teach you. Get all the good you can out of it, and leave the rest. You will find a great deal of nourishment in it." Mr. Bunnell stood silent a moment, then turned away, saying, "Neighbour, that old cow is no fool at any rate."-Rev. Dr. Todd. THE BOY AND HIS SIXER. FROM THE GERMAN. A POOR old blind man sat at the corner of a street, and whenever he heard the sound of passing footsteps he raised his imploring voice. He was dependent on the gifts of charity he thus collected for his daily bread. Every sympathizing passerby gave him something, or if he had nothing to give addressed to him at least the comforting words, "God be with you." The good man then always prayed for those who aided him. A boy who passed him on his way to a neighbouring village, whither he was going to visit an aunt, and celebrate a festal holiday, halted before the blind man, and contemplated him with much sympathy. "The poor man," he thought within himself, "is not able to behold the fields and meadows, and God's beautiful sun; before him all is dark as it is to me in the darkest night; he cannot labour, and would have to die of hunger if people did not assist him. How unfortunate am I, that I have nothing to give him! When I am grown up, and am rich enough to do it, I will give an alms to every poor man I meet." Thus thought the boy as he was tenderly viewing the poor blind man before him. on. "God bless you, good man!" he exclaimed at length, as he was about to pass The blind man recognised his voice as that of a child, and said, "Thank you heartily, my child. God bless you also, and let you live to become a good and an honest man!" This beautiful wish of the unfortunate man affected the boy deeply, and a tear stood in his eye. "Oh, how very unfortu nate I am in having nothing to give him!" said he, as he slowly resumed his journey. Gradually the impression thus made upon him faded from his heart, and he found pleasure in contemplating the beautiful country through which he passed, in hear ing the birds sing, plucking flowers, and looking at those whom he passed on the road. Thus diverted in his way, he had already nearly reached the village whither he was going. He already heard the music and the festal rejoicings of the children, when, looking down, he discovered a coin, half covered with dust, lying before him in the road. Quickly he stooped and picked it up. It was a sixer, a small German coin of the value of three farthings. His heart beat with joy over his excellent luck, and his first thoughts were of the poor blind man. "If I should run hastily back and give him this sixer!" He turned round. If he were to hasten, it would take him only a quarter of an hour. How soon this could be accomplished! And then we must not count time when a good act is to be done. Then he hesitated a moment, bethought himself that for this coin he could purchase something for himself at the festival, and that it would be unpleasant to pass between two rows of beautiful things spread out on tables for sale, and have no money to buy anything. It is a poor play when one has an empty purse. But for the poor man, who perhaps has nothing to-day for dinner, a sixer would be sufficient to buy bread to satisfy all his needs. "And I," he continued thoughtfully, "will have a good report with my aunt, and get cakes as many as I wish. Back with you, then, and give the poor blind man the sixer, especially as I had no reason to expect that it would fall into my hands." "Still "-again he stood hesitating. For a long time he had not been in possession of a sixer. Whilst he was thus in a strait between showing a favour to the poor man and indulging his own expected pleasure, he saw a multitude of shouting children of his own age coming towards him, who were following a man who was bearing on his shoulder two puppets, Master Kasperle and little Madame Susan. He at once joined himself to this delighted swarm, and with the rest followed after Master Kasperle and little Madame Susan. The man soon reached his little theatre in the market-place of the village, and in order to draw on the people began to exhibit his wonderful puppets. This was only the beginning of the interesting things which were to be seen! When a sufficient number had gathered around him he announced a yet far more beautiful exhibition. For a sixer they could see, by means of a magic lantern, a multitude of excellent sights-kings, and other great personages; all the principal cities of the world: sun, moon, and stars also could be seen as though they were quite near! The most beautiful things could be seen! Crowds gathered around him. The boy stood undecided at the entrance, turning his sixer round and round in his pocket. Every one obeyed the call of the man. t In order still better to operate on the vanity of any that hesitated, he always ended his exhortations exclaiming as loud as he could, "Yes, certainly, my beloved friends, who ever denies himself the enjoyment of be holding such extraordinary sights must not have a single sixer in his pocket!" By mere chance he cast a glance at our boy; and he, thinking that the man's words were specially directed to him, took out his sixer, and entered like the rest. The exhibition lasted not a quarter of an hour, and the boy went out just as rich as he was before he had found the sixer. His remembrance of the blind man, which continued to employ his thoughts, very much damped the transient pleasure he had enjoyed. Very much humbled and subdued, he came to his aunt. In order to quiet his conscience be sought to persuade himself that his aunt would certainly give him a little money, which he would not spend, but give to the poor man as he returned in the evening. But matters did not turn out as he had expected. His aunt, it is true, received him kindly-much more so than he felt he deserved and entertained him with more tarts, fruits, and sweetmeats than the poor man had dry bread to eat that day; but no money did she give him. She thought it was quite enough when she bought him a set of ninepins and a trumpet. With these playthings she sent him back again, and told him not to detain himself on the way. At first he was much cast down. He reproached himself severely with his hardheartedness; he nevertheless took his trumpet, and blew with all his might. But when he came near the place where the blind man was he began to blow more softly, and at length ceased entirely. He purposely passed by on the other side of the way, as if he were afraid of being discovered. The poor blind man, who had a very acute ear, did not permit him to pass without repeating the petition which he was accustomed to present to every one who passed: "Have pity on a poor blind man, who has to depend entirely on the charities of good people!" These words cut into the very heart of the boy; and he did not venture, as in the morning, to answer, "God bless you, good man!" He crept silently past, as much displeased with himself as if he had stolen the sixer from this poor unfortunate man. This dissatisfaction with himself he ex perienced every time he passed that way, whether the blind man was there or not; and he continued to reprove himself for his ungracious act, till he had the fortune of being able to give the blind man a sixer, which he had saved for that purpose farthing by farthing. "Ah, God be praised!" he exclaimed in the joy of his heart; "God be praised! Now I can again pass this way without sadness and shame, and call to the blind man, 'God bless you, good man!"" Gems from Golden Mines. HOW GRACE CHANGES A MAN. ALL changes, truly, are not from bad to good, or good to better. They may be from good to bad, or from bad to worse. Moisture dims the polished blade, and turns its bright steel into dull, red dust; fire changes the sparkling diamond into black coal and grey ashes; disease makes loveliness loathsome, and death converts the living form into a mass of foul corruption. But the peculiarity of grace is this, that, like leaven, it changes whatever is applied to it into its own nature. For as leaven turns meal into leaven, so Divine grace imparts a gracious character to the heart; and this is what I call its assimilating element. Yet, let there be no mistake. While the grace of God changes all who are brought in conversion under its influence, it does not impart any new power or passion, but works by giving to those we already have a holy bent; by impressing on them a heavenly character. For example, grace did not make David a poet, or Paul an orator, or John a man of warm affections, or Peter a man of strong impulses and ardent zeal. They were born such. The grace of God changes no more the natural features of the mind than it does those of the body. As the negro said, it gave him a white heart; but it left him still, to use the language of another, the image of God carved in ebony. Be the meal into which that woman hides the leaven meal of wheat or meal of barley, it will come from her hands, from the proress of leavening, from the fiery oven, cakes of the same grain. For it is not the substance but the character of the meal that is changed. Even so with the effect of grace. It did not give John his warm affections; but it fixed them on his beloved Master, sanctifying his love. It did not inspire Nehemiah with the love of country; but it made him a holy patriot. It did not give Dorcas a woman's heart, her tender sympathy with suffering; but it associated charity with piety, and made her a holy philanthropist. It did not give Paul his genius, his resistless logic, and nobie oratory; but it consecrated them to the cause of Christ, touching his lips as with a live coal from the altar, it made him such a master of holy eloquence that he swayed the multitude at his will, humbled the pride of kinge, and compelled his very judges to tremble. It did not give David a poet's fire and a poet's lyre; but it strung his harp with chords from heaven, and turned all its strings to the service of religion and the high praises of God. So grace ever works! It assimilates a man to the character of God. It does not change the metal, but stamps it with the Divine image, and so assimilates all who have received Christ to the nature of Christ, that unless we have the same mind, more or less developed, in us that was in him, the Bible declares that we are none of his.Dr. Thomas Guthrie. ASK FOR WISDOM. EVEN among those who do pray regularly, the prayer for wisdom does not, I suspect, form a part of their petitions. Many of us seem to have a confused notion that sense, reason, good judgment, or by whatever name we call our intellectual faculties, are quite distinct from spiritual blessings, and are things too worldly to be named in our prayers. Yet what was Solomon's choice, but an "understanding heart to judge the people"? That is, a sound and powerful mind, capable of discerning the truth and the right in the line of his daily duty. Solomon's choice should be our prayer: in St. James's words, we should ask of God to give us wisdom. And as in other points of our conduct, so is it also in this; that by asking God to give us a wise and understanding heart, we confess to ourselves that our opinions and judgments are serious things, for we do not bring mere trifles before God's notice in our prayers; and that, being serious things, they demand our own serious care; that duty and sin belong to them; that as our salvation depends on our lives, so our lives depend upon our thoughts and judgments; for if we ask ill because we have judged ill, and have judged ill because we took no pains to judge well, then the sin is not taken away from our act, but remains in it; and the act was an act of what Scripture calls folly, the folly which sees not and regards not God. Whatever be our business in life, if we make it a part of our daily prayers to God that he will give us understanding in it; that he will assist our judgments, so that, seeing what is right and true, we may maintain and follow it both in word and deed-I do not doubt that such prayers will be answered, and that, where we now act blindly and carelessly, according to any prevailing feeling or fancy, then we shall act upon the full persuasion of our minds, and that persuasion will be, in general, according to the will of God.-Dr. Arnold. MORNING AND EVENING MAY I take this occasion of speaking of the importance of this one solemn ordinance of religion, never to be forgotten wherever we are-morning and evening prayer? It is the best means of reminding ourselves of the presence of God. To place ourselves in his hands before we go forth on our journey, on our pleasure, on our works; to commit ourselves again to him before we retire to rest-this is the best security for keeping up our faith and trust in Him in whom we profess to believe, whom we all expect to meet after we leave this world. It is also the best security for our leading a good and happy life. We shall find it thrice as difficult to fall into sin, if we have prayed against it that very morning, or if we thank God for having kept it from us that very evening. It is the best means of gaining strength, and refreshment, and courage, and self-denial, for the day; it is the best means of gaining content, and tranquillity, and rest for the night; for it brings us, as nothing else can bring us, into the presence of Him who is the source of all these things, and who gives them freely to those who truly and sincerely ask for them. We may "ask" for them without caring to have them; but that is not really "asking." We may "seek," but without lifting up our little finger to get what we seek; but that is not really" seeking." We may “knock,” but so feebly and irresolutely, that no sound can be heard within or without; that is not really to "knock." But "ask distinctly and with understanding; "seek" earnestly and deliberately; "knock" eagerly and pertinaciously-and in some way or other, depend upon it, we shall be answered. -Dean Stanley. THE POWER OF LITTLES. IT is not to be doubted that there is many a man whose piety is damaged by overlooking or disregarding small matters. He fails to take notice of little things, and they accumulate into great. He allows himself in little things, and they accumulate into great. He indulges himself in little things, and thus forms a strong habit. He concedes in little things, and thus gradually gives up much. He relaxes in little things, and thus loosens the bonds which hold him to duty. Because it is a little thing, he counts it of little moment, utterly forgetting that millions are made up of units, that immensity is constituted of atoms. Because it is only a stone, or a pebble, against which his foot strikes, he makes light of the hindrance, not caring that he is contracting a habit of stumbling, or observing that, whenever he trips, there must be some diminution in the speed with which he runs the way of God's commandments, and that, however slowly, these diminutions tend to bring him to a stand. not So, on the other hand, many a man becomes eminent in piety by giving heed to little things, grateful for the smallest good, watchful over the smallest error, fearful of the smallest sin, careful of the smallest truth. He becomes great through counting nothing little but himself; great in knowledge through studying the least sentence and treasuring the least fragment; great in faith through noting God's hand in little incidents, and going to him in little sorrows; great in holiness through avoiding little faults, and being exact in little duties. |