MR. G and I went out one night into St. Giles. Some of the people were busy in the gin-shop, but most of the streets and courts were quiet. We met a person who comes to the Hall, and she directed our attention to a boy and girl who were sound asleep on some steps. I went up and accosted them. Finding they had no home, and that they had been sleeping out for two or three nights, I asked them,

"Will you go with me?"

"Yes, sir."

"I will get you a bed."

By this time-it was after 10 p.m.-we had plenty of people around us curious to see who we were, and what we were going to do. My coat was buttoned under my mouth, and my head bent low down that I might converse with the poor little outcasts, and therefore people could not see who I was. As I raised the children, and then turned round into the gas-light to open a way for them, "Oh!" said some voices, "It's Mr. M'Cree." "Well, then," I said, "clear the way." It was done, and away we all went, myself first, then the children, then and then the mob. We got to the ragged school. Mr.

Mr. G

H.

"My mother is in prison. She got some drink and was locked up for seven days."

"What's your brother's name?" I asked.

"Alfred Douglas."

"How old are you?"

"He is ten; I am twelve."

66 Where's your father?" said Mr. H.

"I don't know. He was a chemist in North Street, and left us." Why?"

"Because mother drank so."

Such, as far as I remember, was the substance of the conversation which passed.

Mr. H then said that he could give the boy a bed in the Refuge, but he could not lodge the girl. I then said I would go into my district and try to find one. I then went to 28, Endeli Street, and knocked at the door. A woman came.

THE STORY OF OLIVER RAYMOND.

Down came Mrs. Lynch.

"Do you take in nightly lodgers, Mrs. Lynch."

"No, sir; but I will take one through respect to you."

23

"I am much obliged to you. I have picked up a girl in the streets, and as we have not a spare bed I want to get her a night's lodging." "Is she clean, sir?"

"Indeed, I don't know. I have picked her up asleep on a step." "Is she honest, sir ?"

"I am sure I cannot say; but if you like to go across to the school you can see her."

Away we went. Mrs. Lynch looked at the girl, and then said: "Indeed, sir; an' I'll take her in."

"I am much obliged to you: and will you bring her here in the morning?"

"At what time, sir ?"

"Nine o'clock."

"Indeed, and that I will."

"Thank you!"

Away went Alfred to the dormitory; away went Sophia with Mrs.

Lynch; away went Mr. H

upstairs; and away went Mr. G

and I to our homes at half-past eleven, p.m.

G. W. M'CREE.

The Story of Oliver Raymond.

BY E. JOSEPH AXTON.

CHAPTER I.-OLIVER'S HOME.

ALONG one of the broad thoroughfares of the East End of London, on a wild and snowy January night, the tiny figure of a boy hurried. The wild north wind, clothed in its spotless garment of snow, seemed ever and anon suddenly to gather redoubled fierceness and strength, and to be resolved on driving back altogether the trembling little form that was battling so hardly with its fury. At times, indeed, its force became so great that the lad was fairly overpowered, and but for a friendly post or railing near, would inevitably have been carried off his feet.

And not with the elements only was our little friend Oliver Raymond (whom we thus meet for the first time) fighting; there was another struggle, another tumult, going on within his breast. An hour ago, ere yet the storm king had come abroad, his mother had said to him, as she lovingly stroked his goldenbrown hair, "I think you may venture on going back to your place to-morrow, Oliver. But, as the night seems fine, you had better go round and tell Mr. Horffman you will be there to-morrow morning. I wish," she added, half sadly, "my poor boy could have had another week's rest. But your master, I fear, is not too patient; and as you are quite well now I don't think any danger will result especially if you take great care of yourself." Oliver had accordingly been to Mr. Horffman's-the result of his visit being the knowledge that his place was given to another. "I kept it open till yesterday," said Mr. Horffman, arranging, while he spoke, the books and newspapers on his counter in a bustling and off-hand fashion, and scarcely bestowing a glance on his pale visitor. "I am sorry, and if I can take you on again bye and bye I will; but at present I have no employment for you.'

With a sad and aching heart Oliver had left the shop, his ill-fortune rendering him unhappy more for his mother's sake than his own. Though he was not yet ten years old he understood that on him largely she depended; for his

father had been dead two Christmases now, and it was only by her neverceasing needle, and the little wages he could take home when he was in a place, that the two could get enough to enable them to live and keep out of debt. What would they do now?

Oliver's heart sank, and the biting north wind, with its hurrying and rushing streams of snow, seemed to get into his very soul, nipping it with cold, and making him doubly miserable. How should he tell his evil news! How could he bear to see his dear mother's face grow dark with anxiety and pain! perhaps with the thought of that terrible place of which he had often heard, the workhouse!

So ran the thoughts through the lad's mind as, fighting and struggling with the storm, that grew wilder every minute, he hurried on towards his home.

At last reaching Dover Street, in which he lived, he saw, as he had half expected, his mother waiting with pale and eager face at the door, and Pop, his father's favourite little dog, beside her. Instantly he turned the corner Pop came rushing up. Evidently he had shared his mistress's anxiety, for now he commenced to show his delighted satisfaction at his young master's return by making such terrific leaps-barking the while in that "pop"-like way which had given him his name-that he was enabled to dab his tongue rapidly against Oliver's face, and to plant with his paws great smudges of snow and mud on the boy's collar and coat.

I am so glad you have come back safely, Oliver," broke in Mrs. Raymond's voice, as the boy and the dog came up to the door. "Make haste and get your wet coat off, dear. I am sadly afraid you have taken another cold through this. What made you so long?"

66

Have I been long, mother? I haven't stopped anywhere except at the shop. I had to wait there, because Mr. Horffman was out."

"Poor mother!" he inwardly sighed, as the gentle face of Mrs. Raymond stooped to kiss him; how hard it was to tell her!

66

And how have you got on ?-all right, I suppose," the lady asked, very busy with a steaming saucepan on the fire and some basins on the table. "There!" she went on, as she poured out some sweet-smelling broth, "make haste and eat that. Prevention is always better than cure,' as poor father used to say."

Something in her tone, as she uttered the last words, caught Oliver's attention, and looking up he saw she was trying hard to keep back the tears that had started to her eyes. "Don't cry, mother," he said gently, wondering, as he often did, how it was that she so seldom mentioned his father without the tears beginning to flow. The sympathetic words seemed to make matters worse with the lady; for she now gave way entirely to a passionate burst of grief, burying her face in her apron and sobbing bitterly.

Oliver, unable to see his mother thus overcome without doing something by way of consolation, left his broth, and went and put his arms about her neck, saying (while Pop, who has seemingly been waiting to seize any such opportunity, at once leapt on to the table, and fell to appreciatively at the contents of the basin), "What's the matter, mother? Why are you crying ?"

There was an interval of silence, during which Mrs. Raymond was evidently trying very hard to regain her self-control. Then she answered brokenly"I don't know, Oliver. I feel dreadfully low-spirited, as if something is going to happen. I've felt it these last few days-just the feeling I had before your father died. God have mercy on my poor boy!" she added, pressing him half-wildly to her, "if he should be left alone in this cold and dreadful world." She uttered the words in a sort of cry, as if they were wrung from her against her will. But by a great effort she recalled herself, and went on, "You have not told me yet how you got on. What did Mr. Horffman say?"

A pang shot through the boy's heart at the question, and his face revealed his ill-fortune so truthfully that, before he could answer, his mother added quickly, "Surely he hasn't filled it up?"

There was nothing to do but admit the worst, which Oliver did sorrowfully. Mrs. Raymond sighed. "God help us, Oliver! He will if we trust Him, I know; but things are as black as they can well be. I almost expected this of

THE LATE MRS. BURNS.

25

Mr. Horffman; and yet if he'd had any heart he would have waited untilGoodness me! What's that?"

The last words were called forth by a crash of clattering and smashing crockery, and a glance revealed the cause. Pop had got to the bottom of the broth, and apparently liked it so much that, in his persevering determination to lose none of it, he had licked the basin and the plate it stood in gradually to the edge of the table, over which, followed by Pop, it finally toppled.

"Oh, you naughty Pop!" scolded Mrs. Raymond, as she gathered up the fragments; while Pop, standing a little way off, seemed to be as perfect a stranger to sorrow as he evidently was to fear, for he eyed the ravage he had committed more in the manner of one who had achieved something great than in that of a delinquent. And no wonder. He knew this was no house of blows and harshness.

Mrs. Raymond had hardly filled another basin, and bidden Oliver finish his supper ere any more accidents occurred, before a postman's knock rattled on the street door. "Thank God!" she said, after returning to the room and reading the missive. "Mrs. Thwaites wants some needlework done, and I'm to go and see her to-morrow. It almost seems," she continued, her pinched but open and sweet face lit with gratitude, "as if God would not give us time to doubt Him. My darling boy,"-suddenly drawing him to her-" never distrust your heavenly Father. Believe in Him to the last, even though He seem to mean slaying you. Remember Joseph, and Job, and Daniel, and that the God who helped them can and will help you."

While Mrs. Raymond was making the usual preparations for bed a little later, Oliver (seated on his stool by the fender, and half concealed by the semigloom which the light from the oil lamp was not strong enough to banish from the room altogether) fell into a brown study, and stared, like Pop, who was sitting by his side on the faded rug, contemplatively into the fire. Presently, with a face flushed and with eyes sparkling, he went and knelt before his mother, who was now seated and looking for a chapter for Oliver to read before they went to bed. "I wish I were a man, mother," he said simply, gazing up into her face. "Why, dear?"

"Because I could earn a lot of money then, and buy you nice things, as father used, and have a nice house to live in."

As his mother bent over him Oliver felt a tear fall on his cheek. But she did not reply; perhaps she could not trust herself to do so.

That night, as Oliver lay in bed, how bright were the visions of future prosperity and manly deeds that passed before his mind's eye! He would soon get another place; and more, he would soon be a man. And then what would

he not do!

But the mother: was it the dead, cold Hand of the near future that was pressing like a weight upon her heart, and making it ache, and driving sleep from her eyes? Can it be that the morrow was casting its awful shadow

before it ?

The Late Mrs. Burns.

JANE DAWSON, the only daughter of George and Ann Dawson, was born in the little Yorkshire town of Skipton, on the 6th of Sept., 1806. She grew up of an amiable disposition, and early joined a Methodist congregation, to the choir of which her voice procured her a ready welcome. At the same time there was living in that neighbourhood a youth strong and ardent, known as a voluminous reader and a popular local preacher among the New Connexion Methodists. He and the Skipton maiden met; they loved, and in July, 1824, they were married. For a little time they settled at Keighley, where in the following June a son was born to them, and was named George after his maternal grandfather. Great commercial distress set in, and the anxious father repaired to London to seek for some better means of maintenance than Keighley could provide. After a while the young wife was sent for; and one of her keenest recollections had respect to the long journey of twenty hours, during which,

seated outside the coach, she vainly tried to protect herself and her infant from the wintry rigours of the way. Affairs in London were not very prosperous. The struggle for temporal necessaries was sore; the wolf was ever and anon scratching at the door; and it was not wonderful that she grudged every sum, however small, taken from the cupboard to swell the contents of the bookshelf. Two children were born-one, William, who died in early infancy—the other, her youngest son, on whom her maiden name of Dawson was bestowed. The young couple had lodgings in Clifford Street, Blackfriars Road, where his unwearied energy and her suffering gentleness won them the favour of all who knew them.

In 1829 he became a Baptist; and having arranged to take part in a Gospel Mission in Scotland, the family of four left London in a sailing smack for Leith in the latter part of December; and from Leith they removed not long after to Perth, where they resided till the June of 1835. There Mrs. Burns endured two painful bereavements. Her only daughter, a lovely child born at Perth, lived a little over a year, and was cut down like a flower, though the vital essence of its beauty was exhaled and not extinguished. Her parents had come to live with her, and at Perth, too, she lost her father-the good old man who knew how to leave the world because he had known how to live piously while in it.

The pastorate of the church then meeting in what was known as Enon Chapel, New Church Street, London, was vacant in the spring of 1835, and a unanimous invitation having been accepted by her husband, Mrs. Burns once again took up her abode in the metropolis, and for the following forty years and a half, till his death in January, 1876, she was intimately associated with the church over which he presided. Long ago, when a sick visiting and relief society was formed, she became an active member; while in various forms, and through various channels, her influence was exercised for good. Had she felt more confidence in her own powers, and been more encouraged to employ them, they might have proved to herself and others that they were greater than they seemed. Her devotional spirit was deep and fervent. She had what is called a gift in prayer," and much also of its grace. This was most evident in her home, where, during the frequent absences of Dr. Burns, she conducted the family worship with an earnestness that impressed the kneeling band. Towards the poor and needy she ever turned an open heart and hand; and it is to be feared that she was not seldom deceived by tales of distress too well adapted to move her pitying and unsuspecting mind. Undoubtedly her most distinguishing feature was unostentatious kindness. She was singularly free from every trace of affectation; and her good deeds, which were many, were so done as to elude rather than to attract the notice of others. But they were beheld by Him who seeth in secret and who rewardeth openly. She had a sincere love for the house of God, and her punctuality of attendance up to within a few weeks of her death was a silent example, by the universal imitation of which the good order of the sanctuary would considerably profit.

Such a life, innocent, gentle, and unselfish, cannot have been in vain. Its value is attested by the conscious loss which its withdrawal has occasioned. The familiar smile, the homely word, the secret gift, has its record on earth and in heaven. Her end was peace. Spared long suffering, she expressed gratitude for all mercies. She said, “I want for nothing." Again she said, "All I desire is to realize more of the presence of the Lord." She waited and yearned for the rest of heaven; and it came in God's time. On the evening of Thursday, Nov. 17th, she said with a clear and emphatic voice, "Give my love to all-to all;" and early on the following morning she heard the summons, "Come up higher." With the spirit of love in her heart, and such a message of love upon her tongue, she was found ready to depart hence to be with the Saviour, who is the fountain of life, of light, and of love to His redeemed creation. DAWSON BURNS.

OUR FEBRUARY ISSUE will contain "The Eleventh Hour"'-Christmas Evans -The Spiritual Preparation of Teachers-a second paper on Nottingham-the continuance of the Story of Oliver Raymond-In Memoriam papers on Daniel Wilson and Mrs. Ferneyhough-etc., etc. Several items for January for the Church Register are too late.