"THE QUIVER" BIBLE CLASS. walk nearly filled with poor people, who had evidently chosen that spot as a resting-place for the night. After taking what rest he could in such a place and under such circumstances, he took the road to Derby, and walked there by easy stages, occasionally getting a lift by some good-natured wagoner. He was now almost penniless, and knew no time must be lost in seeking employment. He first called on the few jewellers in the town, offering his services in any capacity; but no one would take him without a reference. So at last, in returning from the town, he saw a large building, and numbers of men, women, and children rushing into it. He stopped a youth, and asked him what all those people were going to do, and was at once informed that they were factory hands, going to work in the large cotton-mill. He thanked the boy, and followed the people who were entering by the large gates. He soon discovered an office at the entrance. A good-natured man was sitting inside. Upon inquiry he found that this man was the manager, and had it in his power to employ fresh hands; so he walked into the office and asked for work. "What can you do, my boy? 319 tion of Fuller for a robbery of diamonds from his employer, living in Bond Street. Our young friend thought that the time had now arrived when he might clear himself of the unjust imputation on his character, and resolved to write forthwith to his old master, telling him all the facts. His old master was greatly relieved in his mind by this communication. He wrote three letters: the first to the young man, the second to his parents, and the third to Mr. Crutchly; to the two latter he fully exonerated John from any participation in the late robbery; to the young man he wrote a long letter, begging him to return at once, and offering to make every restitution in his power. John was happy, indeed, to find himself so suddenly relieved from the stigma that had rested upon his character, and which he had so bravely endured; but he felt reluctant to leave his adopted home, till he received an urgent letter from his kind patron, requesting him to return as soon as possible to the house of his late master, so that he made arrangements to leave immediately, and was met by his kind patron upon his arrival, who again placed him with Mr. Wyatt, to assist in the business till he was of Poor John was at a loss to know how to reply, but age, and promised at the end of that time to do resolved to be candid. something more for him. "I have only been working at a trade; but I want work, and will do anything you want done, if you will let some one show me how, the first time, if I do not know." The manager was struck with the candour of his speech and the earnestness of his manner, and at once set him to do some of the simple work done by factory boys; but he soon found out that he was a lad of very superior abilities to the majority of his companions, and in less than twelve months he had worked his way from the lowest grade to that of clerk to the manager; and one day was, as usual, writing at his desk while the manager and another gentleman were discussing the various topics of the day, when suddenly his attention was arrested by the following dialogue : "Well, it is a severe sentence, but he has been a bad fellow." "Then this is not his first offence?" “Well, it is the first brought home to him; but he is strongly suspected of robbing a former employer of the name of Wyatt more than a year ago." John sat as if riveted to his seat. Could it be possible-could they mean his old shopmate? he would see. He began to reflect upon all that had passed upon that eventful night; and the more he thought of Mr. Fuller's conduct throughout, the more he was convinced that he must be the man alluded to. No sooner had the gentlemen left the office than he seized the paper, scanned each column carefully, and at last found what he sought, and his suspicions were realised; he there read of the trial and convic I have only to add that he is now in his twentysecond year, has been for some months the partner of his old master, and is esteemed and respected by all who know him; his good patron having arranged the partnership to the full satisfaction of Mr. Wyatt. M. N. "THE QUIVER" BIBLE CLASS. 151. Two kings bestowed gold chains of office on Hebrew captives. 152. Where did the prophet Samuel live? 153. Certain of the sons of Ephraim attempted to carry off the cattle of the men of Gath, but were slain in the attempt. 154. A father and a son each invite the same king of Judah to be their ally, and in both cases the same words are given in answer. What was the answer? 155. A king, living in Jerusalem, knowing that his queen was not one of the Lord's people, built another house for her, taking her away from the city of David because it was holy from the presence of the ark. Where do we read of this? 156. A child who was hid from his grandmother for six years in the house of the Lord. 157. There is only one mention of the Lord Jesus having a short time of happiness on earth. ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 288. 137. 1 Kings xxii. 17-19. 138. 2 Kings xix. 37. 139. Mark vi. 52. 2 Kings iv. 42-44. 140. Acts xx. 35. 141. 2 Chron. xx. 21-22. 142. Acts xi. 28. 143. 2 Chron. xxiv. 16. STRAY THERE was a man at Oriel who was in manner so positive, and impatient at contradiction, as to be voted a bore; and he was supposed by most to be excessively conceited. I alone declared that he greatly underrated his own abilities, and was consequently always suspecting that people took him for a blockhead. And I said if he could get a prize he would be greatly improved. Every one else said that would make him quite intolerable. He was persuaded by me, with extreme difficulty, to write for a prize. He gained it most triumphantly, in 1811; and every one then avowed that my prediction was fully verified. He had no longer that troublesome impatience to prove that he was no fool.-Whately. CHRISTIANITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES.-Drouet, the commander of the artillery of the guard under Napoleon I., was a man famous for his courage and remarkable for his candour. It is said that he always had a small Bible, not merely as an addition to his equipment, that it might be used in the time of danger or of threatened death, but for the purpose of reading whenever he was at leisure, in which occupation he found great delight, and he cared not who observed him. This practice of reading the Bible he boldly avowed to them who composed the imperial suite. This peculiarity in one of the emperor's staff exposed him at times to contempt, ridicule, and irony; and thus the avowal of his faith and practice required that moral courage which elevates the man of true dignity. The historian NOTES. his foes, but, when his master was thrown down from the height of his power, he showed that he was no more wanting in fidelity than in courage-both in him were equally balanced. He gave a praiseworthy proof of his unswerving fidelity in accompanying Napoleon to his place of banishment in Elba. Thus, among the many followers of the emperor, he was pre-eminent for his faithfulness, and when many whom the emperor had highly favoured in his prosperity, and who had largely partaken of his bounties, disgraced themselves by defection, treachery, and enmity, Drouet adhered to Napoleon with the same strength of fidelity in his adversity that he had shown to him in his prosperity. From this anecdote we may learn not to be ashamed of what our conscience approves-to forbear harshly to judge the peculiar tendency, or idiosyncrasy of the human mind in the conscientious discharge of its duty, and to admire fidelity in any person, and under any circumstance in which it is found or displayed. THE following are some lines which were found written in a Bible, which belonged to Sir Walter Raleigh, and of which he is considered the author. It is supposed they were written the night before his execution: "Even such is Time, who takes in trust But from that earth, that grave, and dust Poor Sir Walter! he paid with his own blood all describes him as a man who was somewhat superstitious, in that, in the most hazardous moments of his engagements, when Napoleon commanded him to go forward to meet the enemy, he was seen carefully arrayed in his old uniform of general of artillery. The reason he assigned for adopting this peculiar dress was, that whenever he was thus clothed he never received an injury, and therefore at the end, in the hour of bitter adversity, found he would never change it for another. He never shrank from danger, and was always found at the head of his troops. There is another peculiarity recorded of this man, that, upon the approach of the enemy's troops he always dismounted from horseback, and advanced towards them on foot in the centre of the artillery under his command. There seemed an especial, if not an extraordinary, providence in his case, for neither himself nor his horse was ever wounded. It is further related of him that, in great humility of mind and firmness of purpose he exercised his extraordinary knowledge and developed his military skill. Not only during the time of the prosperity of the emperor did he serve him with great boldness and fidelity, and helped to contribute to his various successes against liberty of action, and their influence was not lost upon him. These lines well describe how all faded before him, like a flower that falls, and withers in the dust. All, in that dark and trying moment which his past life brought in review before him. ending in repentance, was by him committed to the silence of Deity and to the dust of death, but not for ever to be shut up there, for he evidently trusted that like a flower he would spring out of the earth, and bloom again in the face of heaven and of his God. Surely in this, and in similar instances, it is well to think and say nothing of the dead but that which is to their advantage-charity hopeth all things of him who repents of his past misdeeds"De mortuis nil nisi bonum" (Speak only good of the dead). look of dismay upon it. Her words jarred upon him. He let her cling to him a few minutes. He knew that his love was shallow and trivial compared to hers that his remorse would soon have died out, had he gone away to other scenes. But his impulsive, volatile nature had been vehemently wrought upon. His feelings had not the depth Reuben thought they had; but yet, they had led him, in a moment of impulse, to link himself for life to Amy Howard. Her illness, her weakness, called out so much of his tenderness; her passionate and clinging love had appealed to him not in vain. He had said to himself that he should be a villain and a scoundrel if he left her again-that he was in duty bound. He could see that the mere mention of his departure caused her the keenest agony. He was touched by the pale cheek and restless anxious eye; she was still feeble; the least shock might undo all. He must go back to East Bramley. Let him take her with him as his wife. "Pray do not allude to such a thing before Reuben," she had said; for since that slight conversation with her brother she had hushed up the matter, as far as he was concerned. She dreaded lest he might throw any impediment in the way. Her all was risked on this. As to what should come after, she was reckless. In all this Amy was not wise. At this very moment Reuben knew not what had happened. He had been obliged to go home, on urgent business connected with his parish. The lovers were to follow. Yes, and they would follow. Every arrangement had been made to that effect; but ere they did so they were married. Sidney's interview with his mother had staggered him. He was like a child in the ordinary business of life; and he had been cherishing a fallacious idea, that he could take Amy to the Tower. Any number of pensioners might live on the bounty of poor dear Frederic. His beneficence was supposed to know no bounds. "Have it out? Have what out, Sidney ?" "Well, you see, he may be angry, and think himself slighted. I don't like to go through anything unpleasant. I will come back when you have made all smooth." "Oh, Sidney! don't go; do stay with me!" "I can't, Amy. No, don't hinder me;" for she had put her arms round him. "I want to inquire about the trains, and see if there's a decent inn in the place. I don't suppose we can get on till tomorrow.” Amy loosed her hold directly. When he was gone, she sat down, her hands folded on her lap. She was rather in a flutter when she thought what Reuben would say. The incipient selfishness of Sidney's Then, gathering up her courage, she went to her brother. "Reuben, I want to tell you. Pray don't be angry, dear, because we could not take your advice; we did it for the best: Sidney and I are married.” He looked startled for the moment, and very much pained. It made the tears come into her eyes to think how they had wounded him. He was softened to her when he saw the tears, and began to wipe them away; the secrecy of the transaction had vexed and hurt him. It was clear that no good would come of it. "Whatever Sidney does," he had said, "let him be open as the day." That is, as far as his relatives were concerned. But the mischief had been done, it seemed, and reproach was useless now; besides, he did not wish Amy's married life to commence with weeping. Now the parting was so near at hand, Amy clung to her brother with unusual fondness. It occurred to her at intervals to appreciate the blessing of a friend like Reuben. She was unworthy of him; she had known that all along. He would go on his way, toiling up that rugged height, until it ended in glory. What would she do? Ah! that was the difference. She was choosing her portion here. Her heart was below, in this smooth flowery path, with Sidney. The interview was beginning to assume a more serious character. Brother and sister knew not where they might meet again. She was going away from him, beyond his control or influence. He had intended to make her a present before she went away. It lay there ready. It was a handsomely bound Bible. She was softened, and her spirit chastened, by this IN DUTY BOUND. farewell interview with Reuben. She took the sacred volume reverently. "Promise me, Amy, that you will never miss reading a portion, day by day. If not for your own sake, dear, promise it for mine." "I will promise,” she said, tearfully. "And, Amy, whatever happens to you, you will find some word of counsel, or of sympathy, there. In sorrow it will cheer you, in joy it will impart fresh gladness. Take it to your heart, in faith and humility. It will guide you through this troublesome world, until we shall meet again yonder." She was touched more than ever. He had unconsciously led her to breathe a purer and holier atmosphere. He had made apparent to her a solid and substantial bliss, after which the soul of man might well hunger and thirst. But here Sidney came in hastily, and at once the train of pious thought was broken and scattered. The spirit he brought was alien to it. 323 The place had been more wretched, if possible, than she had anticipated; the fare more meagre, the daily life more devoid of comfort. Comfort was a word that was not included in the Peckit vocabulary. At first, Ruth's pride had held her up. Her obstinacy was of an enduring nature, and could not easily be tired. Both pride and obstinacy were getting wearied out by now. It was very long since she had received any communication from the outer world. Her husband had addressed several letters of earnest expostulation to her, but she had replied to none of them. At length he held his peace; from Mrs. Mudford she never heard at all. She seemed to lie, in this lonely place, forgotten by everybody. She could not stay here much longer; her health was failing, under the privations she endured. From reports which came now and then to her ear, this was no unusual thing with Miss Peckit's teachers. She He shook hands with Reuben in a quick and had not forgotten the ill-omened assertion that "none cursory manner, then turning to his wife "It is Reuben's present," and she dried her eyes. "Look, Sidney!" He came and looked. A smile, half of derision, passed over his face. He was about to shrug his shoulders, but the presence of Reuben was a check. Amy was grave and silent for a little time, but the old influence was fast coming back. It only needed a few of Sidney's blandishments to make her just the same as ever; to make her forget everything in the world but him. CHAPTER LV. RUTH HAS TO BE GOT RID OF. "It seems to me, Ruth, that you do not exert yourself as you ought," said Miss Peckit, one day to her teacher. "You mope about, and have no spirit in you," continued that worthy lady, as she looked at Ruth's red eyes and pale cheeks. "Pray what have you been crying about now?" Ruth turned away her face. She had long since found out that Miss Peckit was not the person to go to for sympathy. And yet she thought she had never needed sympathy so much before. She was very wretched indeed, as wretched, she said to herself, as anybody could be on this earth. She had been six months at Miss Peckit's, a fact she could scarcely believe, even with the evidence of her senses. of 'em stop." Well, she would not stop, if she could only obtain what payment was due to her. 66 "There is nothing due to you at all," said Miss Peckit, angrily, when Ruth propounded the subject. You came to me for a home, and a home you have had. Not a word was said about payment. It is not every one, let me tell you, that would receive a runaway wife!" Ruth's pale cheek crimsoned, then again it looked so pale and wan, that Miss Peckit added, in the same unfeeling tone, "If you are going to fall ill on my hands, it is another matter." "I think I shall be ill. I don't know what will become of me!" exclaimed Ruth, with a vague sense of alarm, and bursting into tears. "You had better go back to your friend Mrs. Mudford," sneered Miss Peckit, eyeing her sharply. After all, it was silly to try and keep her against her will. She was of very little use, and set a bad example to the girls. She was always fretting-the worst thing in the world for the spirits of the establishment; and she would certainly fall ill, sooner or later. Miss Peckit was running a risk by not letting her go, peaceably and at once. Besides, rumours had got about concerning Ruth's position as a wife separated from her husband, and the parents of some of the pupils had made unpleasant remarks on the subject. It would never do to damage her own interests by harbouring Ruth. She had expressed a wish to go, and she should. She would offer her a trifling sum of money, and get rid of her. When this decision came to the ears of Ruth, her heart leaped for joy. It would be something to get free from this prison. And in one respect, Miss Peckit was right: she would go straight to her friend Mrs. Mudford. Mrs. Mudford would be sure to receive her with open arms. She was not yet |