and worth that the Protectorate of Cromwell had evoked. These were dark and gloomy days for England; and for a soul like that of Milton's it would be much less tolerable than his blindness. During the rest of the days of our great poet he lived by sufferance; but "a good man is immortal till his work is done." Milton's was not done. God screened him under the shadow of His wings. He lived to compose "Paradise Lost," "Paradise Regained," Sampson Agonistes," and several prose works; one of which was published, for the first time, about thirty years ago, it having been hid among the State papers in London. At length Milton, having served his generation, by the will of God, he gave up the ghost, and was gathered unto his fathers.

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He ex

pired in his own bed, so peacefully that those who were watching with him did not know the precise moment of his departure. His sublime and holy soul went home to the "bosom of his Father and his God," to mingle with the congenial society of "an innumerable company of angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect." He was 62 years of age.

Such, my young friends, is a short account of the life of this most extraordinary man. It was needful to glance first at that sublime poem-his life-before speaking specially of his poems. However, short as the account is, it is so long that I shall be under the necessity of deferring my remarks on his poetry until next month. Hoping that you will read over with attention more than once what is here written, I promise, if spared until next month, to finish the subject of this letter. I am, my dear young friends, sincerely yours,

UNCLE JOSEPH.

THE CHILD'S FAITH.-A TRUE STORY.

It was a cold evening, and there was but little fire in Mrs. Hoffman's stove; so little Frantz sat close by it;

and though his thoughts were far away, yet a slight feeling of discomfort, from chilliness, mingled with his fancies. His mother's wheel kept on-as it always did in the long winter evenings—with a low humming sound, that had till now been very cheerful and pleasant to little Frantz; but somehow, he forgot to notice it this night. Poor Frantz!-he scarcely looked like himself, for his head was bent down, and his eyes seemed to be looking straight through the floor, so fixed and intent did his gaze seem.

Often and often did the mother's eye turn to her little boy, for never before had the joy-speaking eye of Frantz been so long bent to the earth; but still the mother said no word, till at last a deep sigh came from the parted lips of Frantz; then his mother laid her hand softly upon his ; yet even the gentle touch started Frantz, so lost was he in thought; and when he quickly lifted his face, and saw the questioning look of his mother, his pent-up thoughts burst out at once.

66 Oh, mother! in a week it will be Christmas-day; can I not have a Christmas tree?"

The mother's face looked sad, but only for a moment; she knew that the earnest wish of little Frantz was not likely to be realized; but she knew too, that it was best for her boy to learn to bear cheerfully any crossing of his desires which must be; and she spoke more soothingly and gently than usual, as she said:

"And what makes my little Frantz set his heart on that now? He has never had a Christmas tree before?" "Oh, that is it," exclaimed Frantz; "I never had one. Ever since I was a baby, mother, I have heard of the good Christ who brings beautiful gifts to others. Why does he not bring them to me! Am I worse than all the rest, mother?"

"No-no, Frantz!" so spoke the mother, hastily-for in her heart rose a picture of the gentleness, the selfdenying fortitude of her little boy in the midst of trouble; his patience in sickness, his industry in health, his anxious care to help her in all that his little hands could do. "No-no! my Frantz-it is not that."

"Well, mother-but is there any reason? Oh! you do not know how I have dreamed and dreamed of a beautiful tree that I should have this Christmas; it was full of golden fruit and lighted tapers, and under it were laid gifts for you, dear mother; that you might not have to work so hard, dear mother; and warm clothes that would never let you get cold. And, oh! as I came along the street to-day, and saw the windows shining with their loads of beautiful toys, and gifts of all sorts, and saw the boys and girls running and telling how they would not care for any thing else, when the Christmas-day was once come, and they would have their loaded tree-then, mother, all the dreams I have had since I can first remember, came back; all you have told me of the good Christ and of his love for children; and I have felt, mother, as if I was left out, and not loved among the rest.”

"Dear Frantz," said the mother, "it was a sad-sad thought. Do not let it come into your heart again. Oh! Christ is always good-altogether loving, even when his love is shown in such ways that we do not clearly see it at once. Come closer to me, Frantz."

Frantz saw in his mother's face a look of such deep tenderness, that his soul grew full. He took his own little seat, and sat close beside her, and leaned his head against her knee, and the mother said gently :

"Christ has given you beautiful gifts, my Frantz; he has given you life, and a warm earnest heart; he has given you a mother, who loves you so dearly; a home to shelter you; he gives us the light of the day, and all the glorious things it reveals, and the stiller beauty of the night; and he gives us more than all, a hope of heaven, and a knowledge of the path to it. Are not these great gifts, Frantz ?"

Frantz lifted his face; he did not speak, but his eyes were full of tears, and his mother knew that his heart said "Yes."

"These are the gifts we most need to make us happy ; others may be good for us, but Christ knows better than we do what we need. If it were good for us he would give us

all we wish for, but then we might not make a good use of his gifts, or we might grow proud of them, or be so wrapped up in the gifts as to forget the Giver. Ah! my Frantz, let us only ask for what is best for us to have, and he will give it; he loves to give, and only refuses what will hurt us."

Again little Frantz had bent his head on his hand, but now it was not sadness, only thought that was in his face; and he asked:

"How can we know what is best-what to ask for?"

"If it is not given, think that it is withheld, and be patient; if it is given, be thankful, and use the gift aright. See, Frantz!"

And the mother arose, and took from a closet a small sum of money.

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"This," she continued, "is all I have; if any of this is spent for toys or play, I shall not have any to buy shoes for you nor for me, and by this I know Christ deems it best for me to be content with what is most necessary, and to give up the pleasure of buying you beautiful golden fruit and coloured tapers."

"I

"Could I not do without shoes ?" asked Frantz. would go so many errands for the old cobbler, that he would mend my old ones; and oh! if that would make it right”—

"And I-should I do without shoes?" asked the mother. Frantz looked down at the worn-out shoes she had on, and again his heart was full.

"Oh! no, mother; you must have shoes. But oh! how happy the boys must be whose mothers have shoes, and can give them Christmas trees too!"

Long did Frantz lie awake that night, and ponder over all his mother had said, and at last a thought sprang into his mind. It was not wrong to ask Christ for what we wish, if we will only patiently bear the withholding. He would ask for the tree. But how? His mother had told him, Christ was ready to answer and always near. Frantz would write his heart's wish in a letter, and direct it "To the Christ who was child."

And early in the fair morning Frantz wrote the letter, and when he met his mother, his face was once more the

gay, bright face of old; for in his pocket was the paper which seemed to him a warrant of coming joy, and in his heart was a feeling very like certainty that his wish would be granted; yet he did not speak of it. It was his first, glad, darling secret, and it should be a great surprise to his mother. So he only looked joyful and kissed her, and she laid her hand on his head, and said how glad she was to see her boy so patient and cheerful once more.

Frantz did many little acts of kindness and industry that day, for in his heart was a fountain of hope and love; and he wished to help every one. But, lively as he was, he did not forget to drop his precious letter in the postoffice..

When the postmaster came to look over the letters, of course he was much surprised at this one of Frantz, with so strange a direction; but in a moment he saw that it was in a child's hand, and he opened the letter. It ran thus:

"GOOD CHRIST-CHILD,—I am a poor little bəy, but I have a good mother, who taught me many things about you; and she said that you are kind and good, and love little children, and delight to give them gifts, so that they are not hurtful ones. Now my mother is kind too, and would like to give me all I want, but she is poor, and when I asked her for a Christmas-tree she could not give me one, because she had only money enough to buy shoes for us; so I ask you, who are kind and rich, to give me one. I hope I am not a bad boy-I am sure my mother does not think I am; and if it is best for me not to have the tree, I will try to be patient, and bear it as a good boy should; but I don't see what hurt a large Bible or warm clothes could do to my mother; so, if I may not have the tree, oh! please give her those, and I shall be so happy.

"FRANTZ HOFFMAN." innocence of the letter, When he went home, come to take tea with

Pleased with the simple, childish the postmaster put it in his pocket. he found a rich lady there, who had his wife; and at the table, when all were assembled, he drew forth the letter of little Frantz, and read it out aloud, telling how it come into his hands, and saying how