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depending on her. Islington. 7. H. G., aged nine years and ten months. Father dead. Mother, five little children depending on her. This boy, the eldest, is beyond her control. St. Pancras.

The life histories of some of these lads, when told more fully, are fraught with sad interest, e.g.—

"Regy tells how, when he was not five years old, his father, who was in a consumption, broke a blood vessel and died very suddenly. Till then he had had a very happy home, but now it was gone. His poor mother was broken-hearted. She had four children to look after, and was too ill to work herself. And then a kind doctor, who had visited them, told his mother about the Home, and she was very thankful for his help in getting him admitted. But Regy did not understand this then, and thought, because his mother was ill in bed, that he was only being brought away from her for a little while, and would soon go back. On the day he came his mother had two little babies added to her burden, and Regy wanted to be with them. He was then, he said, old enough to remember that one day his mother came to the Home and said she was going into the country, where some friends had promised to help her, and she was going to take him with her. He went, and his old friends heard nothing of him for some time. But Regy saw his poor mother very sad, for one of the babies died, and then she fell sick; and the friends she had gone to were so poor they could not do much for her. So she sent Regy back to London all by himself; and one day the bell at the old Home was rung, and when the door was open there stood Regy. The omnibus was just going from the door, and Regy had been put down by the conductor. On his arm there was a piece of paper fastened, and these words written on it: Will the guard of the train put the child into an Edmonton 'bus, and ask the conductor to see him safely inside the gate of the Home for Little Boys.' He had a little box with him, and on opening it there was another slip of paper, on which was written by his mother, but so badly as to be scarcely readable, Pray take him in, I am very ill. And thus the little fellow had come all the way from Norwich by himself, the guard of the train and the conductor of the omnibus being kind friends to him by the way. Here Regy's story for a time ended; but the boys knew that since they came to live at the Children's Cottage his brother Parry had come to be one of their family; and so they want to know more about their poor mother after Regy left. And then they are told that only three days after Regy came back she died; and that since then the other baby had died, and that Parry and his sisters were quite alone. Kind friends had been trying to get a home for him, and chanced to ask at the Home for Little Boys, not knowing that Regy was there, for no one knew whither the mother had sent him, and the friends of the Home did not know whom to write to; and when it came out that this Parry was Regy's brother, many of the children who had helped to build the cottage, voted to get him admitted, and there he is with his brother once more."

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To walk round the Little Boys' village, and to note the order reigning throughout the institution is to gather some impressions of boy life not obtainable elsewhere. The very little fellows need a tenderer discipline than the elder lads, who divide their time between school, the workshop, and play, without which their education could not be complete. There are schoolmasters and schoolmistresses, each and all efficient in their spheres, and we were glad to find that the Bible is a book in constant use. But the educational discipline necessarily extends far beyond mere book learning. The basis on which the Home is founded is one of self-help. The lads' clothes are made, washed, and mended on the premises. There is a baker's shop, where some seven hundred quartern loaves are prepared weekly. Other trades are represented, each workshop being a training-room for such boys as choose this or that occupation. Peeping in at one door we find the menders and patchers busily employed, under the superintendence of a young needlewoman. Hard by are the tailors, while a little further on are the

painters, and also the printers. Some lads are employed in the bakehonse, others labour in the laundry, so that if these little fellows do not in after years distinguish themselves by industry, the fault will not lie at the door of their early friends. Each trade has its representative in an efficient professor of its art and mystery, and to each of these, it is hoped, the boys will, under Providence, become largely indebted.

Visitors will leave the Home pleased with what they have seen, and grateful for the blessings which arise from such an institution. On the average, about fifty lads are dismissed into situations every year, and their places are filled by others, who, but for the reclaiming agency, would lead an aimless life, if not a life of crime. Who is ignorant of the vast sums which one thief may cost the community before his final capture and sentence to penal servitude? Alongside of such calculations, £6,000 is not an extravagant outlay for educating and equipping fifty boys for useful trades and honourable courses. Industrial Schools are not so costly as prisons, and reclaiming boys is a more satisfactory business than that of punishing men.

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THE OLD HOUSE AT TOTTENHAM, THE ORIGINAL HOME FOR LITTLE BOYS."

The Candle and the Sun.

FOR THE CHILDREN.

BY PASTOR C. A. DAVIS.

HERE, once lived an old gnat, who, when he was about to leave the world,

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I shall soon die; but before leaving you I must give you my last advice. Live in the sunbeams, and when the great sun goes down, go home; for in the abodes of men there is a false sun, which has destroyed many a deluded gnat. It caused the death of your poor uncle. Ah! I have never forgotten the day I saw him perish. Lay to heart my last warning, dear little gnats, and beware of the false sun." Having said this, he wrapped himself in his wings and died.

The gnats presently flew away. They danced round the head of a ploughboy returning from his work, and when he threw up his cap to get rid of them, they spun round the cap. They fidgeted a cow grazing in the meadow till she swished her tail so furiously they were glad to get out of the way. So

they spent the evening flying up and down and round about in the sunbeams that streamed over the hills, till the sun went down, and the gnats went home. But it happened that one of them strayed away from his brothers, and flying into an open window, alighted on the red curtain. After admiring its bright colour and surveying the things in the room, he fell asleep, and was presently awakened by the sound of voices and music. Looking up, and rubbing his eyes," Hey-day," said he, "is the sun up already?" and away he flew in the direction of the light. The next moment he was astonished to find he had reached it. Then the thought struck him, "This is the false sun father spoke of," and he retreated to the curtain to think. "I wonder if there is any danger?" he said to himself; "old folks are always over-cautious, and father was old. Perhaps he wanted to keep us from fine things. I hate those envious creatures that are afraid lest somebody else should see more than they have seen. That light may be nobody knows what. Why shouldn't I see for myself? At any rate, I want to explore it, and that is enough for me." So saying, he flew once more towards it, and went round and round. Poor dizzy gnat! soon, with a headlong rush, he dashed into the flame, and fell to the table on the other side, his wings and legs burnt off. Spinning round in agony, he gasped out, "Ah me! I perish! I die!"

Far away in the country there was a shady wood; the ground was carpeted in patches with velvety moss or long grass; here and there a bank of fragrant primroses and violets peeped into view, and tall trees held their arms aloft to protect the flowers from the blustering wind. Hidden away in a tuft of grass, in the middle of the wood, was a nest, where lived a lark and his family. Every morning, before it was light, the old lark jumped out, ran along in the grass, and flew up through the tree-tops to sing his morning song to the sun.

Now the little ones were petulant and discontented, and therefore unhappy, as such people always are. They often quarrelled, they complained when their father went out of a morning; they would not fly with him, but chose to run about on the ground, saying they would much rather have a caterpillar to eat than go and see the sun rise.

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One day the father called them, and said, “My little larks, what is the matter with you?" They shook their shoulders, and looked cross. The father continued, “You were not meant to be always on the ground; if yon would be happy, you must come with me for a morning flight." They said they did not want to get up so early. "How is it," said the father, "that I never hear you sing?" "We cannot sing." "You never will till you fly." "But we cannot fly." "You never will till you try," said the father; "larks are always dull if they neglect the sun: come with me to-morrow morning." "But it is cold and dark." You will find it neither when you catch sight ot the sun." “But we cannot fly so high." "You mean you will not," said the father, and springing up, he flew off, and was soon out of sight. When he was gone, the larks began to talk together. Why does father want us to go and see the sun ?" said one. Well," said his brother, "I don't know, but it always makes him cheerful." Said another, "We are never so happy as father is." The fourth suggested, "Suppose we do as father says." This caused a general shiver, when they thought of the warm nest and the cold morning air; but, nevertheless, they resolved to do so. Accordingly, the next morning off they started with the old lark, as soon as it was light, and flew up above the trees, higher and higher still, wondering at what they saw. The moon was fading in the violet sky behind them, and the east was bright rose-colour and yellow. The fresh air made them feel so strong and cheerful that when at last they saw the sun's face smiling at them, as if to say, "Good morning," they all struck up a merry song to greet him. After that they flew up to welcome him every morning, and were as happy as any larks in the wood.

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Guess now, little friends, what my stories mean. Do you not think those who trifle with sin are likely to meet with a fate like that of the wilful gnat?

Sin may sometimes seem bright and alluring; but it is always ruinous. Do you not think those are happiest who love Jesus best? Aye, happier a great deal than the cheerful birds that greet the sunrise. If you think so, you are It is our not far wrong. Sinful pleasure is false pleasure and real ruin. Saviour who gives us true happiness. Avoid sin, dear little friends, and

seek Jesus.

Rebicws.

Golden Candlesticks; or, Sketches of the Rise of some early Methodist Churches. By JOHN BOND. Elliot Stock.

A BOOK fitted to thrill the soul. The facts relate to all parts of the country, and are well selected. Would to God the Christians of our day had half the backbone and fire of their forefathers.

Would Ritualism defile this unhappy

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land if we were as zealous as the old Methodists? We trow not. We hope Mr. Bond's interesting details will remind our Methodist friends of their heroic days, and lead them to do their first works; and if all other Christian denominations will follow in the same hearty enthusiastic style of service, a grand day will come for England. hardly know where to make an extract, it is all so good; but here is the portrait of "A METHODIST HERO," which may answer the purpose:-" Amongst the heroic itinerants who, through a great fight of afflictions,' won for our church its early triumphs, few will rank higher than Thomas Lee. To be struck down with violence, to be rolled in mud by cursing mobs, to be thrown into the common sewer, to be delivered by ecclesiastical magistrates into the hands of ferocious ruffians, drunken with ecclesiastical malignity, to be pelted with eggs, filled with blood and sealed with pitch, to be drenched with floods of water from head to foot, and then, by way of variation, to be painted over from top to toe, these were incidents in the life of Thomas Lee. But he met them like a soldier of heaven. Blackened, besmeared with paint and filth, bleeding, more than half dead, away he went from some of these experiences, and preached to his trembling people from the text, 'Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivereth

him out of them all.' And upon a review of his past life, in comparative old age, he exclaimed, 'Lord, if thou wilt, give me strength, I will begin again; and if thou shalt add to my trials lions' dens and fiery furnaces, by thy grace I will go through them all.' Such heroism in the cause of truth and conscience and Christ has, perhaps, never been surpassed by martyr or apostle. Christian

Ironsides like Lee could not but conquer. Filth, pestilence, long journeys, rough weather, rude lodgings, uncourteous congregations, hard toil and harder fare-the worst of such modern troubles

-what would they be to men like Thomas Lee? Ecclesiastical dandies are altogether out of place in John Wesley's regiment of 'The Sacramental Host of God's Elect.' To-day's dwarfs oan hardly be expected to wear the armour and carry the weapons of their giant forefathers. If Midian is to be conquered, the timid must go home, even though Gideon's 32,000 men be reduced to 300. Oh, for lamps, pitchers, and trumpets in the hands of 300 such men as Thomas Lee!"

The Light of all Ages. By the Rev. GAVIN CARLYLE, M.A. Strahan & Co. THE attempt of this volume is to show the relation of Christ to all ages and nations. Viewing him as the centre around which the world's interests have revolved from the beginning, and will revolve to the end, the author tries to show the vast import of our Lord's mission, and its bearings both upon man's The temporal and eternal interests. writer is a man of great powers, and sound views, and does his work well. The style is not sufficiently popular to secure a large audience, but solid readers will appreciate the volume.

The Emphatic Diaglott. By BENJAMIN WILSON. Samuel R. Wells, New York. DESERVES to hold a place in the first rank of the many valuable works that have issued from the American religious press. The idea is excellent, and the execution leaves little to be desired. If the book does not deserve quite unqualified praise, we can nevertheless give to it our very cordial recommendation. It bears evidence of painstaking study and work, and of careful and accurate scholarship, and we learn with surprise that it is the product of but seven years' labour. The author speaks of "slow progress," but the wonder to us is that what is in many respects a truly great work should have been completed in so short a time. The principal features which distinguish this from other modern versions of the New Testament are the "Interlineary Word for Word English Translation," and the "Signs of Emphasis." Of the Interlineary Translation it would be difficult to speak too highly. It is well and carefully and faithfully executed, and is calculated to be very useful, not to those only who are unacquainted with Greek, but to all save the profoundest scholars, who are almost as familiar with the languages of the Bible as with their own mother tongue. The marking of the Signs of Emphasis is, we venture to think, somewhat overdone. No doubt there are many words and phrases in the New Testament whose full force is either not known or not observed, owing to the non-indication of the emphasis that pertains to them in the original, and hence the full import and beauty of many a passage is concealed from the general reader. In such cases the Signs of Emphasis which Mr. Wilson has employed are very useful, and very much needed. But when we come to read a chapter in his version we are absolutely bewildered by the number of emphasised words that appear in it. We do not believe that almost every fifth word that the New Testament contains was intended by the Holy Spirit to be emphatic. Of the new version as a whole we can speak only in terms of approval; it compares favourably with most others that have come under our notice. We think, however, that Mr. Wilson is mistaken in not in every

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instance rendering the same Greek word by the same English equivalent. Moreover, he has sometimes made use of very uncommon words where those of everyday life would have suited his purpose equally well, if not better. We wish our space had permitted us more fully to notice Mr. Wilson's excellent work, but we must content ourselves with what has already been said. extend to the "Emphatic Diaglott" our hearty welcome, and should be glad to know that it occupied a place, not in the bookcase, but beside the desk of every divinity student and every preacher of the gospel. If a new edition should be called for, as we hope it speedily will, we would suggest that the publisher would do well to print it on better paper and in clearer type.

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A Year with the Wild Flowers. Popular Introduction to the Study of English Botany. BY EDITH WADDY. Wesleyan Book Room, 66, Paternoster Row.

WE are very glad to see that Miss Waddy is keeping her hand in. She writes pleasingly and instructively, knowing what she has to say and how to say it. Our favourite recreation lies in old herbals, year-books of plants, botanical works of a popular character, and descriptions of forest trees. Miss Waddy's beautiful little book we shall look at all the year round; and if we go for a ramble, we shall hunt up the plants she mentions, find out her blunders, if she has made any, and thank her for refreshing our memory upon all points in which she is right. We have already gone through some few books of the same description, and therefore know what a pleasant amusement it is. Perhaps this may induce some of our young readers to do the same, and if it should, it will be very greatly to their gain. If you have not got Sowerby, or Miss Twamley, or Miss Pratt, be thankful if you can get Miss Eddy for your helper. We count the day in which we first bought Miss Pratt's splendid work to be quite a red-letter day, but our young readers have not so much money to spare just yet; they cannot, therefore, do better than let Dr. Waddy's excellent daughter give them a summary of what the bigger books contain.

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