FACTS, HINTS, GEMS, AND POETRY.

ONE GOOD PLAN to drive away melancholy and despair is to keep hoping" and working; hoping with your heart and working with your hands will drive them both away.

MARRIED MEN should always consult with their wives as to what they should do. Women have often more

Poetic Selections.

A SCRIPTURE POEM.

A curious arrangement of different Bible texts is given in the following poem:

common sense and clearness of judg-CLING to the Mighty One,
ment than men. They are like the
ballast that keeps the ship steady.

THE CHILDREN'S CORNER.

The Children's Corner.

MAKING MONEY OF MINUTES.

FRANK is a smart little fellow, and always punctual at school. Desirous of assisting his widowed mother in supporting the family, he is willing to give part of his play-hours every day in doing errands for a neighbour, from whom he receives weekly pay.

But whenever he is waiting for a basket or a message, he pulls from his pocket his knife, and a piece of wood, and commences to whittle, whittle, whittle, away as fast as he can.

This has been his habit for so long a time that we have watched him more attentively, and find that when his errand is given to him, he thrusts his knife and bits of wood into his pocket with the greatest unconcern. His little sticks were always made of the same size and length, and pointed at one end; so that it seemed as if his whittling was not for mere play, but that he had some object in view while making these sticks.

"Come, Frank, tell me what you intend to do with all these little sticks ?"

"I sell them to the butcher, sir."

"And of what use are they to the butcher ?"

"They are the wooden skewers that they put through their meat when they sell it."

"What do they pay you for them, Frank ?"

"I get twopence for a hundred, and that is better than being idle." "But where do you get the wood; do you have to buy it?"

"Oh no; sometimes I find pieces in the streets or on the roads, and sometimes the carpenters will give me some little odd bits that they would perhaps throw away."

"Yes, Frank, this is 'better than being idle.' Such busy habits formed now will always be for your good; and when you grow to be a man, you will never be sorry that you passed so many of your odd minutes in' whittling,' thus making your amusement profitable to your mother. For though many boys would laugh at the thought of getting only twopence for all their labour, yet you have found out that every halfpenny is of use. Take care of the minutes, for they will make money."

THE PITMEN'S PREACHER.

THERE are, it is said, upwards of thirty thousand labourers, men and boys, employed as coal pitmen in the counties of Northumberland and Durham. We gather the facts which follow from a writer in the first number of the Sunday Magazine, who spent several sabbath-days among them, visiting their houses, places of worship, and sabbath schools. "The first thing that strikes a stranger in a pit-village on a Sunday morning is the unwonted stillness, and even desolation, around that centre of daily labour -the pit-heap. Here, on other mornings, the whole scene is one of bustle and noisy business. This day, however, the whole scene is altered. Screens are noiseless, waggons motionless, steam-engines inactive, and the pair of revolving pulley-wheels, which high o'ertop inferior gear, and over which the pit-ropes run in all lowerings and liftings, are now at rest. Most observ. able of all is the absence of human beings-not a foot treads, not a hand labours, not a tongue wags here this day. You have leisure to scan the literal blackness of desolation which marks the whole vicinity."

The early part of the sabbath morning is devoted to a thorough washing of their begrimed persons. They then make their appearance in a clean white shirt, of which they seem proud. After breakfast some do one thing and some another, according to their various tastes and inclinations. The religious pitmen are generally Methodists. Few go to church, for it is distant, and their chapel is near. "Not very many years ago there was scarcely such a thing as a place of worship in a northern pit-village. Old colliers can remember a very sad state of things, and indeed they have described them to the present writer. Formerly a pit-village was the scene of all kinds of rough and riotous jollity on Sundays. Cuddy,' or donkey races, were held in the open roads; and dog-fights and cock-fights were got up in side lanes. Drunken. ness and dissoluteness of various kinds were ever associated with these fights, and pugilism commonly closed the sacred but desecrated day." Songs in rude rhymes were sung. Indeed the population was one of the most rough and profligate that could be found in England. "Then the Sunday costume of the pitmen of those days was extraordinary: plush breeches and 'clocked' or figured stockings, fastened at the knees with coloured ribbons; a richly-flowered waistcoat which was called a posy vest;' a short

THE PITMEN'S PREACHER.

smart jacket, and a jaunty cap adorned with ribbons, completed the dress of the outward man, while the hair was worn in long curls. Even at the present day they are a rough and somewhat rude population, as compared with that of cities or towns,, but the amelioration which they have experienced is so great, and the change is so conspicuous, that some efficient cause must have produced it. And no impartial inquirer can fail to attribute this to the laborious ministration of successive humble ministers and teachers, principally Methodists. Drinking parties and subsequent riots are now infrequent, while donkey-races, cock-fights, and the like, are almost entirely things of the past. The first religious teachers began their work when there were few to help them. They began with the lowest and the youngest, and instrumentally they have leavened the whole lump. Springing up as those teachers did from the midst of the miners, or the working classes of neighbouring towns, they knew at once how to reach the heads and hearts of the colliers, and this is exactly what the ministers of the little chapels now know and put in practice.

When we find ourselves in the colliery chapel, we are struck with the peculiar aspect of the assembled people. Few rosy cheeks are there amongst the males. Labour in the pit soon pales the cheek, not necessarily from its unhealthiness so much as from the absence of sunlight. The younger lads may show a little colour, but the men, especially the middle-aged and older ones look sallow and labour-worn.

With respect to the preacher he will be either a local' from the adjacent town, or an itinerant minister. His sermon will abound in strong appeals to the emotions, and have a plentiful sprinkling of pointed anecdotes, which will be greeted with an "Amen,' or Glory,' or ' Praise God,' from his approving auditors.

Though I never heard anything strikingly original or coarsely dramatic in these chapels, I was once interested in the report of a sermon to colliers given to me by a hearer, and a competent narrator. The preacher, J. C., became so wonderfully popular that crowds followed him from chapel to chapel, and his most attractive effort was after this fashion :

'Brethren! I'm now going to show you how a poor sinner is saved by grace, and I am sure many of you have been so saved. Let us take the case of a miserable man in the pains of conviction. He is, we will suppose, down at the bottom of the pit of despair. Now, let us ask him how he got there, and how he means to get up?"

THE PITMEN'S PREACHER.

Then, leaning over the pulpit to the right hand, the preacher curved and hollowed his hand, and, applying his mouth to it, spoke aloud this imaginary colloquy, as if from the surface down through the pit shaft, after the manner of the banksman' at a colliery :Hallo! hallo! Who's down there?'

Oh, minister, a poor sinner-a miserable sinner!' 'How came you there, my poor brother? How came you there!' 'My load of sins weighed me down, and I fell deeper and deeper.' 'O wretched man that you are! How do you mean to get up?' I never shall get up. I am lost-lost for ever! I've been trying ever so long to climb up by the side of the shaft, but I cannot I fall down again.'

You cannot succeed of yourself. I'll send you down the ROPE OF FAITH. Lay good hold of that, and you will be got out. Cling to it!-cling to it! Here it is. (Imitating the paying out of a rope.) Now then, it must be down to you. Lay hold of the only hope set before you! Have you got hold now?'

'I'm so feeble, I can hardly grasp it; but I think I have got a good grip now.'

Then pull-a-way, lads. Let us help this poor sinner up. Oh, how heavy he is! Why, what have you got besides yourself hanging on to the rope?"

'Only a few Good Works of my own.'

'Good Works!-Good Works! Throw them down! Down with them, or they'll break the rope!"

'Well, if I must, I must; but sure they would do me some good.' The preacher continues to represent the lifting, but suddenly stops, as if his arms had received a check, exclaiming to the imaginary ascendant:

Why, what is the matter now? What are you struggling with?' 'Doubts and fears, sir. I am afraid I cannot hold on.' 'Lay firmer hold of the rope. Doubts and fears are nothing to strong faith. But what now? Trembling again. What is it now?' A great fight of afflictions, master, and I cannot hold on.' 'Hold on, sinner-hold on! You'll come out of the afflictions. But what is this?—shaking again? What can be the matter now?' Strong temptation, master. O, I shall fall!—I'm falling! O, help me!-O, help me!'

So we will. But ah! what dreadful thing has happened now? The weight is three times as great! What a horrible noise! What have you got there?'