there's the boy we get our matches and black-lead from; I dare say he'll get you one in a jiffey.'

'Here, boy,' said Mary, the first speaker; 'have you any stay-laces ?'

No, I haven't,' said Arthur; but I'll get some directly if you want one.' 'Well, do,' she said; I'll buy two or three of you; for it's as well to have an extra one ready in case of an accident.'

So that morning our young merchant added stay-laces to his stock in trade; and, shortly afterwards, a sudden necessity for a thimble having arisen on the part of one of his customers, he extended his commerce to that article; purchasing, at the same time, a basket, for the more convenient carriage of his wares.

In this manner Arthur contrived to support himself, poorly enough, certainly, but still with considerable satisfaction to his own feelings. Sometimes he had a bad day, or even two bad days; but then again, he would have two or three good ones; and, on the whole, there was not a week in which he did not find some improvement in his circumstances. He made it a rule to keep his basket very tidy, and also not to importune people to purchase when they seemed disinclined. This last rule he gathered from experience and observation; for he found that too much perseverance more frequently awakened anger than pity; whereas a modest demeanour sometimes induced compassion in those who had at first declined to purchase.

So far, so good; but as one of the effects of doing well is to make people wish to do better, Arthur was by no means content to remain where he was. The success he had met with very naturally led him to aspire to something further. 'If I could but read,' thought Arthur; 'and if I had but some better clothes! for the poor child was still in his original rags, and he frequently experienced the disadvantage of them in more ways than their insufficient covering. But for them, he might have sometimes found admittance into a more decent sleeping-place at night; and to them he attributed the circumstance of his being so often repulsed as a beggar-an affront to which he was very sensible. The clothes, he flattered himself, he might in time compass; but how to learn to read, with no book, no teacher, and no leisure, was a question to puzzle a philosopher. However, when people keep a good look-out for what they want, they are very apt to meet with it; and Arthur's first step towards learning was one that most aspirants might make, if they had the energy to set about it. This was no other than learning his letters from the inscriptions over the shop-doors, his teachers being such among his acquaintance as happened to be qualified to instruct him. From this he proceeded to street bills and advertisements, such as he often picked up, or were given to him for asking, by the men who were engaged to post or distribute them; and at length he advanced to an old book, which he purchased for a few pence at a book-stall.

The possessor of the finest library in Europe is perhaps not more proud of his curious manuscripts and rare editions than was Arthur Hunter of his one volume. It is true, that as the print was smaller than he was accustomed to, and as his studies had been chiefly amongst the capital letters, he at first found it extremely difficult to read in it, but the idea that the book was his own, inspired him with a degree of energy and perseverance which no difficulties could withstand. When Arthur began his book, he had not the slightest idea of what it was about; he had selected it because it happened to be the largest volume the merchant had to dispose of at so low a price; and Arthur's inexperience in literature very naturally led him to believe that the largest book must be the most valuable-a belief which is very far from being universally well founded. And, indeed, it so happened that the greater part of the contents of this book were considerably beyond his comprehension, both as regarded the subject and the words used in treating of it; for it was a scientific history of birds; and when, by slow degrees, he arrived at a glim

mering idea of this fact, he felt extremely sorry that its contents were not of a more interesting nature; for Arthur's notion of birds was confined to the poor dirty sparrows that built under the eaves of the houses and hopped about the gutters of the London streets, at which he occasionally amused himself by throwing stones, and to certain Sunday excursions he had made beyond the suburbs for the purpose of taking nests. So for some time he plodded on, spelling and hammering at the words and sentences, but making little progress in understanding their meaning. At length, however, one day, happening to open his book in the middle instead of the beginning, as he had hitherto done, he found an engraving of a bird's nest, accompanied by the following lines:

'Behold a bird's nest!

Mark it well, within, without.

No tool had he that wrought; no knife to cut,
No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert,

No glue to join: his little beak was all.
And yet how neatly finished! what nice hand,
With every implement, and means of art,
Could compass such another?'

It may be supposed that it was some time before Arthur could read these verses with facility, and longer before he thoroughly apprehended the meaning of them; but he worked hard till he mastered it, and, when he had done so, he found himself pervaded by a new idea. Very true. said he to himself; I could not make a nest, and how can a bird do it? I wonder who teaches him! This was a question that puzzled Arthur extremely, and which awakened in his mind a very augmented interest in his book, hoping, as he read on, that he might arrive at a solution of the mystery; and many a time would he seat himself on the step of a door, and, drawing it from his basket (for he always carried it about with him), turn over the leaves in the expectation of finding what he wanted. But although, in the course of his researches, he discovered many curious and interesting facts regarding birds, he did not find exactly what he sought for; but his labour was not lost, for he learned several things that surprised him, and awakened his mind to reflection. For example, he felt ashamed of his own dirty face and hair and hands, when he learned how eagerly birds wash themselves when they can get access to water, and how carefully they preen and dress their own feathers and those of their young; and how neat and tidy they keep their little nests, even though there is often a large family to be brought up in so small a space. The first comb Arthur ever possessed was owing to this hint from the birds; and whereas he had hitherto been content with visiting the pump once a-week, he now resolved to wash himself well every morning. Then he could not help questioning with himself how far it was right in him to amuse himself by taking away the nests that these little animals had built with so much pains and care, more especially when they had eggs, or, still worse, young birds in them; for he gathered from his book, that birds, as well as other animals, have a very tender affection for their young, and indeed have feelings and faculties of which he had no idea. There were two well-authenticated anecdotes related there that he read over at least a hundred times; and as they amused him, and formed one of his earliest lessons in humanity, we will, with the reader's leave, repeat them here. It is a French gentleman of the highest respectability who vouches for the truth of the first story.

'One day,' says he, 'I remarked a swallow, who had, I know not how, entangled its foot in a slip knot of packthread, the other end of which was attached to a spont It struggled some time to get free; but at length its strength was exhausted, and it hung at the end of the string, fluttering its poor wings and uttering the most piteous cries-vain cries, as I then thought, for it was out of the reach of human aid, and I did not perceive any means of assisting it. But whilst I was contemplating the poor bird's distress with vain commiseration, I was struck by the number of swallows that were beginning to arrive from different quarters, and congregating about

the spot, flying round and round, and chattering, as if consulting what was to be done. I am sure there must have been several thousands; and at length, after deliberation, one of them fell upon a device for delivering their friend from his painful situation, and it was immediately put in execution. Each took his place, and in regular succession, one after the other, they flew at the packthread, striking it with their bills as they passed; and so difficult was the feat they had undertaken, that, al though they carefully directed their efforts to one point, it took them a full half hour to break the string. But at length their generous perseverance was rewarded by success; they did break it; the poor little captive was set free; and after a great deal of chirping and chattering, and mutual felicitations, they all flew away together.' This story astonished Arthur extremely; for he naturally concluded that if it were true, as the book asserted, these little creatures must be capable of design and of sympathy; and must also possess the faculty of communicating their thoughts to each other. Here was matter for much reflection; and much Arthur pondered over it. Then he would turn to the other story, and read how a male and female parrot, being confined in the same cage, the female, after they had lived together four years, fell ill; and how, being unable, from a disease in the legs, to descend to the bottom of the cage to seek her food, the male assiduously fed her. He supported her in this way for four months, at the end of which period she fell off the perch, being too weak to sit upon it any longer. This misfortune seemed to distress him considerably, and he made repeated efforts to replace her. Sometimes he tried to lift her by her bill, sometimes by her wing; whilst she seconded his endeavours by such feeble efforts as she was capable of exerting; but it was all in vain; they had not strength to accomplish their object, and the poor hen bird remained lying at the bottom of the cage. But her affectionate mate still persevered in his attentions to the last, and, as her death approached, they were redoubled: he tried to open her bill to give her nourishment, uttered plaintive cries, walked round and round her, evincing the greatest agitation and distress; and when at length she expired, he fell into a state of mournful silence and inaction, and only survived her a few months.

It is wonderful what an effect these two little stories, simple as they are, produced on Arthur's uninstructed mind. Up to this period he had never thought of animals, nor of the various beautiful creatures that surrounded him. What he saw with his eyes had made no impression on his intellect; but now, all at once, the eyes of his mind were opened, and he saw really; and he asked himself questions, and longed to ask them of others; for he was filled with a desire to know many things. But these new ideas not only influenced his thoughts but his actions; and through these, had, as we shall see, a considerable influence on his future welfare.

CHAPTER II.

'Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.' It was now the spring-time of the year, and, being Sunday, Arthur started, as he had frequently done before, for a stroll in the country; for he had never been instructed to go to church, and had no clothes to go in had he wished it. The hedges were green with their fresh young leaves, and musical with the song of birds; the sweet hawthorn-buds were bursting into blossom, the unfledged nestlings chirped in their downy nests, whilst their tender parents flew busily about in their dear labour of love, searching for food to nourish their beloved ones; and over all shone the warm bright sun so pleasantly down, that Arthur leapt for joy to think he was alive, and that he too was one of the happy creatures of the world. There he was, barefooted, ragged, and poor; forlorn, for he had not a being belonging to him but Bobby in the workhouse; and almost helpless, for he had nothing but his own little wits to help him; and yet he leapt for joy in his own existence and the bright world that surrounded him. Why?

Because his heart was filled with love for the creation; his eyes were opened to its beauty; and his book had taught him that in all this beauty there was intentionpurpose-meaning. The world was not a blank sheet to him as it had been before; he saw that nature was a book to be read, like his own book; only he did not yet quite understand the characters; but the gleam of light that broke upon his soul with this conviction, was bright enough to lighten all the darkness that hung over the destiny of the lonely child.

It was in this frame of mind that Arthur was proceeding on his way, when he discerned at some distance before him several boys peering into the hedges and beating them with sticks. Well he knew what they were doing, for he had often done the same thing, and never thought it wrong; but now he knew better; and running forward with all his speed he called out, 'Don't take away the birds' nests, poor things!' 'What for?' cried the boys, who's to hinder us?' 'Nobody'll hinder you that I know of,' replied Arthur; but it's so cruel.'

'Cruel! repeated the boys; 'who says so? what is there cruel in it ?'

I've got a book about birds,' answered Arthur. 'I know they don't like to have their young ones taken away.'

Pooh! said the boys, laughing, and resuming their previous amusement. There! there she goes! cried they, when a hen chaffinch flew out of the hedge; 'the nest is close by, depend upon it.'

Here it is! here it is! cried another, with five young ones in it.'

'Don't take it! don't take it! cried Arthur. 'Take it! take it! cried the others.

'I'll give you twopence if you won't,' said Arthur, darting forward in the enthusiasm of his new-born charity. You haven't got twopence,' replied the boy, looking round at him.

'Yes, I have,' answered Arthur, drawing the money from his pocket.

Do you want the nest yourself?" asked the boy. 'No,' replied Arthur, 'I want you not to take it, and I'll give you the twopence.'

Very well, returned the boy, holding out his hand as he retreated from the hedge; I don't want the nest." 'What a flat!' said one of the other boys, advancing. 'I shall take the nest now, unless you give me twopence too.' No, you shall not,' said the first, whose name was William Wilson; it was I found the nest; and if I don't take it, nobody shall.' But the boys would not admit his claim, nor adhere to his bargain; and the consequence was, that a quarrel ensued, in which, however, William had the best of it, for he was a very strong boy, and one of the biggest of the party.

The affair being thus, at length, finally settled in favour of the birds, the company divided, William and Arthur going one way, and the rest of the boys the other; and when they were alone, William began to inquire of Arthur his reason for so strange a proceeding; whereupon Arthur related to him the stories he had read in his book-which he was very capable of doing, for he had read them till he knew them by heart-and explained to him the impression they had made on his mind. Ever since,' said he, I don't like to see birds ill treated.'

William said he did not think birds had so much sense, and that, for his part, he had been in the habit of taking nests without ever thinking about it; and Arthur, in order to induce him to do so no more, offered to lend him his book, a proposal which was gladly accepted. From this slight foundation there arose an intimacy betwixt the two boys, the material advantages of which were very much on Arthur's side: for William was well off, compared to the drunken beggar-woman's orphan child; he had a decent roof over his head, and enough to eat every day; for his father was an artizan in full work, his mother took in washing, and he himself occasionally helped his father, and occasionally went to school. But

at the school he attended, although his master taught him to read and write and cast accounts, he taught him nothing else. As is too often the case with schoolmasters, he seemed to think that reading was education; but it is not; it is only the means of education-the tool people are to use in cultivating their minds. If a man took the trouble to make a plough and a harrow, and, after having made them at the expense of much labour, dragged them to a field and left them standing in a corner doing nothing, would the field be a bit the better for all the pains he had taken? Or if one who had a street to sweep expended a great deal of time in constructing an excellent broom for the purpose, who would be the better for the broom if he never used it? And what are people the better for being able to read, if they do not make use of their attainment to acquire knowledge? And then, only figure to yourself, my dear reader, how foolish we should think any body who, having had a nice bit of gardenground given to him, and proper tools to cultivate it with, would yet persist in letting it lie barren-useless to himself and every body else-instead of enriching it with good seeds and plants, that should grow up into all manner of pretty flowers, and nice vegetables and fruits, that would contribute to the pleasure and profit of the owner, and of all connected with him. And only think again, how we should laugh at any body who, having good stout arms and legs, fit to work with and to walk with, yet never exercised them. And why let your mind remain unemployed, any more than your legs or arms, or your garden? We have all got minds, some better, some worse; but there are few indeed that, with a little cultivation, cannot be brought to produce both good fruit and pretty flowers. But, as we were saying, William's schoolmaster had never considered these things any more than his pupils. He had never given them agreeable books, nor sought to awaken their minds to reflection; and thus, though William had much better tools than Arthur (for he could read a great deal more fluently, besides being able to write and cast accounts), yet, somehow, the stories of the birds had given birth to more thought in the mind of the latter, than had yet been awakened in that of the former, though he was much the older of the two. But now they were in a situation to exchange the advantages they each possessed. William, besides improving him in reading, taught Arthur writing and arithmetic; and Arthur communicated to William the various ideas that had arisen in his mind from the perusal of his book; for, by this time, he had learnt not only that birds have feelings and faculties he had never dreamt of, but also how wonderfully they are formed, and how admirably their frames are adapted to their mode of life; and as they talked over these things, again the question occurred to Arthur, 'Who taught them to build their pretty nests?'

I've heard say it's instinct,' replied William; 'the same that makes bees gather honey, or a Newfoundland dog take the water.'

But what is instinct?" asked Arthur.

'I don't know,' returned William; and he might have added, neither does any body else.' However, having promised to procure the necessary information for his friend, he took the first opportunity of asking his father what instinct was.

'It's what makes dogs hunt game and cats catch mice,' replied the father.

Ay, but what is it?' inquired William. 'It's something that God Almighty teaches them, I suppose,' replied the father; and this answer William conveyed to his young friend; and then came Arthur's inquiry of Who is God Almighty ? for, except as an oath, it was a name he had never heard mentioned. 'What!' said William, 'don't you know who made you?" 'No,' answered Arthur; do you?"

'It was God Almighty,' answered William. Now, it may perhaps appear very extraordinary to some of our readers that Arthur, at nine years old, should not be acquainted with this sublime truth; but,

from authentic information we have procured, we have reason to believe that there are many much older than he, who are equally benighted and ignorant. Alas, for them! How happy we shall be, should we ever learn that we have been the humble instrument of publishing this great news to any one human being, and so helping to bring them out of the darkness into the light! It was strange intelligence to the poor little forlorn Arthur, who had thought himself alone in the universe, to find that he had a loving father in Heaven-his Maker and Creator-who looked down with pity on his humble struggles to win an honest livelihood-who rejoiced in his good thoughts and deeds, and mourned over his evil ones-and who, if he fought manfully the good fight, and was brave and constant in well-doing, would assuredly compensate him for all his sufferings. For Arthur soon learnt all this: not that William could tell him much about it, for he had not been well instructed, and had not been endowed with that natural thirst for information that had incited Arthur to seek it for himself; but he had a grandmother, a very old woman, whose early industry and frugality had placed her above want, and who had said, when she heard of Arthur's desire for further information on this great subject, Bring him to me, and I'll tell him such high things of the Lord God, and of the blessed Jesus, as shall make his young heart leap for gladness.' And she did; and from that time the lonely Arthur was alone no more; he found he had friends on earth to comfort him-for the good always have, they are never lonely long-and a Father in heaven to watch over him.

The old woman, although she was poor, had yet a docent cottage a little way out of the town, and she gave him shelter by night. Oh, what a comfort it was, after tramping the streets all day, with his basket on his arm, often wet, and cold, and weary, to lift the latch of the tidy cottage, with its well-swept floor and crackling fire, and to see the clean table spread with the humble fare (to which he contributed his mite), and to hear the glad welcome of his kind old hostess! Oh, what a contrast it was to his previous nights, passed amongst beggars and thieves, and swearers and blasphemers; sometimes quarrelling, sometimes fighting for amongst such his mother's vices and his unfriended poverty had hitherto condemned him to lie! The money, too, that he saved by not having to pay for his lodging, soon enabled him to furnish himself with decent clothes: and now, who was so happy as Arthur?

There were two things, however, that occasioned him some uneasiness. One was, that his brother Bobby, now a child of four years old, was still in the workhouse, and that he saw no prospect of getting him out of it; and the other was, that his friend William, who had contributed so much to his good fortune, did not seem likely to turn out very well. He had got acquainted with a bad set of young lads; and there seemed great reason to fear he would be led into mischief by them. Arthur ventured sometimes to advise him; but William, being much the elder, laughed at his advice; and the father and mother, though they meant very well, did not know how to influence their son. They had let him have his own way till he had outgrown their authority; and now, when they tried to pull him in, they found it was too late. However, Arthur hoped that time would show him his error; and, in the meanwhile, his own affairs were in a very improving way; for a lucky chance had brought him in contact with an old friend-no other than the carpenter, the founder of his fortune, who had now a workshop of his own, and who, finding his favourable predictions about Arthur so far verified, and gratified by the consciousness that his own seasonable generosity had probably been the means of rescuing the child from beggary, now felt disposed to complete his good work by taking him into his service, and teaching him his trade. So, from this time, Arthur worked with him daily, till at length he was so good a workman as to be entitled to receive wages from his instructor; and the forlorn child

that we became acquainted with when he was eight years old, was now, at eighteen, a respectable journeyman carpenter; Bobby, his brother, whom he had removed from the workhouse, being elevated into the situation of errand-boy and assistant in the same establishment; whilst Arthur's evenings, after work, were regularly devoted to the instruction of the lad in such branches of learning as he himself possessed. Happy days of virtue and industry! But in this world, where the wicked have their inheritance as well as the good, even virtue and industry cannot always prosper. Were all mankind virtuous, earth would be heaven, and we should be dwelling amongst angels; for there is no doubt that, either directly or indirectly, remotely or proximately, all the sorrow and suffering that exist, or ever existed, in the world, has proceeded from the sins of its inhabitants. We cannot, perhaps, always trace the links by which the sorrow is brought down to us, any more than we can always trace the stages by which a contagious fever has reached us; but the fact is not the less certain, that every evil that falls upon us is the consequence of either our own errors and ignorance, or the errors and ignorance of some other person or persons: it is true, perhaps, persons far removed from us in time, place, or station; but still, assuredly, the chain that links the error and the suffering exists somewhere, though, it may be, we cannot see it. And let not our readers urge that ignorance is not sin; almost all ignorance is sin somewhere -either in those who neglect to learn, or those who neglect to teach, such truths as human industry and application have amassed for the use and benefit of man

kind.

What's the matter, granny ?' said Arthur to his old friend Rebecca, one morning, looking in as he passed the door, on his way to a gentleman's house to take some

orders.

'I can't see to read my book,' said Rebecca, wiping her eyes; I believe I'm going blind.' Blind said Arthur, 'don't think that, granny. Why, I never heard you say a word about it before.'

No, answered Rebecca; I did not like to speak about it; but it's too true. It has been coming on some time, and it gets worse every day; and who's to take care of me when I'm blind, I wonder! I shall be obliged to go into the workhouse after all.'

No, you won't,' replied Arthur; 'we must get somebody to take care of you.'

Take care of me! returned Rebecca; 'who'll do that without being paid for it ?'

But we'll pay them. Never fear, granny!" he added, cheerily; you shan't be neglected. There's your son and daughter, and William and I; it's hard if we can't make you comfortable amongst us.'

William reiterated the old woman, shaking her head.

'Ay,' replied Arthur. 'Where is William, granny? I haven't seen him this long time.'

6

'I can't tell you where he is,' she answered, and her head drooped as she spoke; he's sometimes here, and sometimes there; William's a wild lad.'

'I don't think he means any harm,' said Arthur; 'he's just as you say, wild a bit; that's all.' Ay,' replied Rebecca, that's just the way mischief comes: people begin by being wild, but they end by being wicked.'

I'm sure he loves you, granny,' said Arthur, soothingly, for he was surprised to hear the old woman speak so bitterly of her grandson.

He did, when he was an innocent boy,' she answered; but idleness and bad company have hardened his heart, and he loves nobody now but himself; and he can't be well said to love himself either, for he's his own worst enemy.'

But if William won't help you, his father and mother will,' urged Arthur.

Ay, if they nad it,' said Rebecca, shaking her head in a way that convinced Arthur that she knew more than

she liked to communicate. So, after assuring her that whilst he had hands to work she should never want attendance, he went on his way, resolving to take the earliest opportunity of ascertaining what William was about. But in the mean time,' thought he, 'she mustn't be left alone in the cottage at night now she can scarcely see; I must contrive to sleep there when I can; and when I can't, Bobby must.'

It was on the third night after this, that, being unable to go himself, Arthur had sent his brother to keep the old woman company; and as the boy was sleepy after his day's work, and Rebecca being unable to read, had no means of passing the evening, they both retired at an early hour to bed. How long Rebecca might have slept she did not know, but she was suddenly awakened by a noise in her room, and she just opened her eyes time enough to perceive Bobby getting out of the window; and before she could get up or call to him, he was gone, leaving the window open behind him. Amazed at so strange a proceeding, the old woman arose, put out her head, and called after him, but to no purpose; so fearing to add to her troubles by getting cold, she shut the window and retired to bed, where she lay awake the rest of the night, ruminating in perplexed surprise on her companion's disappearance, and vainly straining her ears for some sound that should announce his return.

SABBATH THOUGHTS.

MANY and thrilling are the associations which the weekly recurrence of the Sabbath brings. The sun of a Sabbath morn first shed light on a finished creation. When the ball we tread on stood out a complete and lovely thing before its Maker; when Eden bloomed a little heaven below, and man, with his pure and lofty spirit, lived in its bowers; ere yet the trail of the serpent was over all, 'God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it.' The beams of a Sabbath morn first shed light on a ransomed creation. Then it was that the Captain of our salvation, having battled with Death in his own dark domain, shivered his fetters, rose a victor from the tomb, led captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men; so that now, instead of the woe and shame sin had entailed upon the fallen, there is proffered to them the beauty, the brightness of a purchased immortality. The Sabbath is

a type, and tells of that rest which remaineth to the people of God-of that hour when the Christian pilgrim shall terminate his long and toilsome march through the wilderness, and cross the threshold of his Father's home -when the Christian mariner shall heave over the last ocean billow, and enter the desired haven-when the soldier of the cross shall lay off his panoply, wear the rich robe and the bright crown. Independently, too, of these grander associations, there is much-much of piety, much of poetry-to make the Sabbath-day to a Christian's soul the very 'best of all the seven.' The image of a grey-haired sire, the family shrine, the domestic Sundayschool, the big ha' bible, once his father's pride,' the music of the church-bell, the house girt round with the graves of his kindred, devotion's lofty peal-Oh! it cannot be that the man is on his way to heaven who loves not as his life this atom of heaven dropped on earth-it cannot be that he is of the peculiar people' who calls not the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honourable' -that he has any claim to the character of a religious being, who allows its golden hours to glide away without some thoughts about that inheritance to which it points!