cavern except over masses of rocks and thickets of gorse, and the passage was so completely hidden that no one suspected the secret of their hiding-place. At the end of the rocky approach there was a small iron door which the robbers kept always locked, and beyond this door there was a long, narrow path, more than a mile long, and perfectly dark, which terminated in the hollow, vaulted cave where the robbers lived. In this cave they kept all the treasures they had got by plunder; vast quantities of rich cloths and costly furniture, gold and silver and precious jewels; and here they spent their time in smoking and drinking and playing cards. They were greatly delighted when the old gipsy woman brought them the little boy, because they had long wished to get possession of a child of one of the nobles, thinking that he would be a pledge of safety for themselves. They thought that if ever one of their number should be seized and put in prison they would be able to save his life by threats of what they would do to the child should their companion not be set free. They therefore resolved to take good care of the little boy, and on no account to allow him any chance of escape.

In this dark, underground dwelling, and with these terrible companions, the poor little boy lived and learned to think and speak. He very soon forgot all about the bright, happy days of his infancy. He had no remembrance of having ever seen the sun, or the moon, or the stars, or the grass, or any of the lovely things of God's beautiful world. No ray of daylight ever visited the gloomy cavern where his life was now passed. The only light came from a big lamp, fed with oil, which was kept burning night and day, and which hung from the black, vaulted roof, and shed a red glare on the smoky, rocky walls. There was no want of plenty to eat and drink. The robbers had bread and cakes and dried flesh, and dried fruits; and wine in abundance. In one corner of the cave stood a huge cask of water, which they filled from time to time, and which supplied to them the place of a well or spring. They were sparing in the use of this water, however, because they had a

very long way to go for it, and the old gipsy charged the little boy, strictly, always to take care that the water-cock in the cask was well turned, that no water might be wasted. They slept on beds of rushes covered with rich carpets.

The little boy was never allowed to leave the cave, but he was not treated cruelly; he had plenty of food given him and warm clothes, but no one ever tried to teach him anything good. He could neither read nor write, and had never heard anything about God. His life would have been very sad indeed, had there not been, among the robbers, a young man called William, who was much gentler and kinder than the rest, and who soon began really to love the child. He was the son of respectable parents, but love of idleness and gambling had tempted him, when still a boy, to leave his home and to join these wicked men. The sight of the little boy recalled to his mind his own innocent happy days, and he tried to show him kindness in many ways, and to make life brighter to him in this dreary place. When he returned with the other robbers from their plundering expeditions, he would bring back with him a variety of playthings to divert the child during the long hours. He also brought him a book full of painted pictures of all kinds of flowers, and he taught him the art of cutting out flowers in paper and pasting them together, and then showed him how to colour them like those in the book. The little boy spent many an hour in this work of making and painting flowers, and they were his happiest hours. But of all his playthings, the one he prized the most was a small miniature likeness of his mother, which, along with other things, the old gipsy had carried off the day on which he was stolen from the castle.

Whenever William had opportunity he talked with the little boy, telling him many things that interested him and awakened his understanding, only he never told him a word about God and our duty to Him, or about the other world, for the robbers had sternly for bidden the mention of any subject that might awaken his conscience, and they had long tried to persuade themselves

that there was no God and no world beyond this, because they were afraid to believe in the God whose laws they were every day despising and breaking.

The gipsy, who was old and infirm now, never left the cave, but she was a dismal companion for the little boy. She was almost always cross; and as her eyes were weak and inflamed, she would sit behind a big green shade to protect her eyes from the glare of the lamp, mending clothes or counting her gold for hours without speaking a single word. Sometimes she would fall asleep over her work, and snore very loud for a long time. One day, as she was sitting thus fast asleep, the little boy took courage, and having lighted a large wax torch, left the cave and went out into the narrow, dark path which I told you of. He went on and on farther and farther, till at last he came to the iron door, but this he found it quite impossible to open, because it was fast locked. Sorrowfully he turned back again; but as he was slowly returning he noticed in the path one or two very narrow openings, by which it seemed possible to go a long way under the earth on either side. Into one of these openings the boy crept; and after he had gone a long way, and the wax torch was almost burnt out, he thought he saw at a great distance something that looked like a burning light. Full of curiosity, he eagerly pressed on towards it. The red streaming light grew larger, till at last it seemed like a fiery form standing upright before him. He took courage and still went on, till he stood before a great rift or cleft in the rock, through which streamed the red light of the rising sun. With a bound he leapt forward and stood in the free open air.

It was a lovely summer morning. The sun had just risen, and the eastern sky glowed with its rosy light, and shed its brilliant reflection on wood and hill. The child stood as if struck by lightning. He was like one beside himself with amazement and bewilderment. It seemed as if he had just awaked out of a long, deep sleep, and he felt giddy, and reeled as if still only half awake. At last he cried aloud," Whither am I come to, and from what place have I come! Oh how

wide! how large! how bright! how beautiful! how grand! is it all around me here!"

He then began to run about a little, but he was afraid almost to move for fear of treading down the flowers spread everywhere at his feet. Suddenly he perceived a young lamb asleep under a thicket of wild roses. He had seen pictures of lambs and figures of them among his wooden toys, and he knew at once what the little creature was. "A lamb, a lamb," he cried in delight, and ran up to it and laid hold of it. The creature moved, stood up and began to bleat, and the little boy started back in amazement at the sound. He then began to talk to the lamb and to put all kinds of questions to it, and when he received no other reply but constantly-repeated bleatings, he became at last quite vexed with it. Just then there came towards him a young shepherd lad-a beautiful boy, with fresh rosy cheeks and fair golden hair. He had missed the lamb from his flock, and was in search of it. He had been observing the child for some time at a distance, and did not know what to make of his strange gestures and wild talk. At first the child felt afraid of the young shepherd; but when he spoke to him kindly and gently the little one gained courage and smiled on him in return. "Oh, how beautiful you are!" he said, "and tell me," he went on, stretching his arms wide towards heaven, and earth," does all this great, great wide cave belong to you, and may I stay here always with you and your little lamb ?" The shepherd boy felt quite puzzled by his strange words, and concluded that the child must have lost his reason. He then asked him where he had come from, and how he had got here; and then he took him up kindly in his arms, and, laying the little lamb on his shoulder, he hurried away with all speed, as if he dreaded to hear the footsteps of the robbers behind him.

There lived in the mountain a venerable hermit who was more than eighty years old, and on account of his goodness and wisdom went among the simple dwellers among the hills and valleys by the name of "Father Menrad." The young shepherd resolved to carry the little boy, he had so

strangely found, to this good old man. The hermitage was at no great distance. It stood on the side of the mountain nearest the lake, and looked like a little paradise. The shepherd boy opened the latticed gate which led into the garden and saw the venerable old man seated under the shade of a large apple tree, where he could look on the beautiful lake stretched out like a sea of glass before him. A large book-it was the Biblewhich he was reverently studying, lay on a little table beside him. He rose courteously, seeing the children, and greeted them with much kindness. He listened attentively while the shepherd lad told his story, and, full of the tenderest compassion, he took the little child in his arms and asked his name. "Henry is my name," said the little boy, for he had never known the name of his father. The good old man at once suspected that the child had been stolen away from his parents. "Leave the little one with me," he said to the shepherd, "and mention the circumstances of your finding him to no one else for the present. I trust his parents will yet be discovered, and meanwhile he will be very safe with me from the snares of robbers. They avoid my dwelling as if it were guarded by cannon. The old man then set bread and milk before the boys, and after they had refreshed themselves the elder lad took up his shepherd's crook and returned to his flock.

When the shepherd had gone out of sight, the old man lifted the little boy on the seat beside himself, and entered into talk with him. "Dear Henry," he said, you know nothing at all of your father and mother ?"

"do

'Oh, yes," said Henry, "I have a beautiful mother here in my pocket; only look at her ;" and he drew from his pocket the little miniature likeness of his mother which he had carried with him from the cave. The poor little child had never before seen his mother's picture by the light of the sun. He was astonished

at the clearness and beauty of the painting, and at the dazzling brightness of the diamonds in which it was set.

"Tell me why everything is so bright

here with you," he said; "and, oh, tell me," he went on, pointing with his finger towards the sun, "Who lighted that beautiful golden lamp up above there which makes everything so clear and bright. I am not able to look at it, it is so dazzling. The big lamp that hung in our cave was dim and mean compared to this, and tell me how it seems to mount higher and higher. When first I saw it, it came out behind yonder trees, and in a short time it rose up above there so high that no one couid reach it even if he stood on the top of the tallest tree. Tell me how it is made to move of itself and hang there without falling, for I can see no cord at all? What is it that moves it, and who climbs up so high to pour in fresh oil?"

The good father told him that this glorious and beautiful light was called the sun, and that it had shone there thousands of years before little Henry came into the world, and would still shine on and on without needing one drop of oil.

"I do not see how that can be," said Henry. "But what beautiful flowers you have got here," he cried, rising and springing from the seat towards the flower beds. "Oh, how wonderfully and beautifully are your flowers painted, red, and blue, and purple, and gold, and how finely are all the hundreds of leaves cut out, so many, all exactly the same pattern. What can all these leaves be made of. It is not paper; it cannot be silk. What a long, long time you must have tried before you learned to make such flowers."

Menrad allowed the little boy to talk as long as he pleased, and then answered him quietly that he had not made and could not make a single one of all these flowers, that no man had made them, and that they had all come out of the earth of themselves. But this little Henry stoutly refused to believe.

"That could never have been," he said; "I would far sooner believe that made you them all yourself."

The old man then showed him the beautiful seed apple of a ripe poppy that grew near, and shook out into his hand hundreds of the tiny round seeds which it contains. "In such a tiny seed," he said,

"there lies hidden a multitude of such great scarlet and purple flowers which come out of it after the seed has been laid in the earth; and all the other flowers, you see, come out of just such tiny seeds."

The child looked up in the face of the old man to make sure whether he was really in earnest, and then said, "Can it truly be that out of such tiny, tiny balls these large beautiful flowers come? Then

such a little seed must be far more wonderfully made than even the wonderful gold watches William sometimes showed me in the cave."

"That is true," said Menrad.

"But who, then, made the wonderful little seed," continued the child. "I think, now, it would be less difficult to make all these flowers as they are than to make one such little seed."

Springdale Abbey: Extracts from the Diaries and Letters of an English Preacher. London: Longmans, Green, and Co. THIS goodly octavo, in outward form more like a theological treatise than, shall we say? a novel, has already excited considerable attention, and we think is destined to excite more. Professedly it consists of extracts from the Diaries and Letters of the Rector of Springdale Abbey; and two of the four sentences which constitute the Preface prepare the reader for the style and spirit of much of the book. "The editor ventures to believe that after all allowance is made for intentional exaggeration, no sentiment will be felt to be at variance with that simple and liberal charity which, while it deprives satire of its sting, gives to pleasantry a practical, moral persuasiveness. Though some of the chapters are not wanting in controversial pungency, and others develop a persistent determination to expose the most odious of hypocrisies, yet the editor cannot but hope that most of his readers will feel that nought has been set down in malice." Caricature and satire are not very amiable things, but there is so much good humour and bonhommie in the whole texture of the Springdale rector's nature that we readily forgive his choice of such weapons. We have had many a hearty laugh over his pages, but the laughter he creates is very far removed from that of the fool; it is instinct with a very wholesome spirit. Some will have it that the rector is a Nonconformist in disguise; but we are not satisfied that it is so. The arguments with which he defended "the Church" against the Non-con-Washington are absurd enough; but we do not know that they are too absurd to be actually used by many a real rector on his first coming into living contact with a Dissenter. One thing we feel sure of, that the author of " Springdale Abbey" is

a master of the pen, and no novice in the art of "putting things." He is brimful of thought, and knows how to create channels for its outflow. We often differ from him, but we could not find it in our heart to quarrel with him.

Bible Illustrations: consisting of Apoph

thems, Maxims, Proverbs, Sententious Thoughts in Poetry and Prose, Devotional Comments, Heads of Sermons, Anecdotes, &c. Selected from above Fifteen Hundred sources; and arranged and grouped under appropriate Scripture passages. By Rev. JAMES LEE, M.A. Vols. I. and III. London or Manchester: Subscribers' Edition.

THE object of this work, the editor says, is to supply a hand-book for devotional reading, which may be used either in private, or at the family altar. "An elaborate and argumentative criticism has, as much as possible, been excluded; and the extracts aim to exhibit some of the practical applications of the passages they are brought to illustrate,without either perverting or ignoring their textual and legiti mate import. In their selection preference has uniformly been given to such as were felt to be both pertinent and impressive. ***It was at first intended to issue the work in one volume, excluding that portion of Scripture to which the illustrations do not apply; but the size of the book would have been found very inconvenient, both for use and reference, in comparison of six portable volumes; and moreover, the insertion of Holy Scripture in its connexion and integrity gives the work a completeness and an intrinsic value which it would not otherwise possess."

It will thus be seen that the work is to consist of six volumes of very convenient size (two of them being now before us), that these volumes will contain the whole Bible-printed, we may add, as all Bibles ought to be, in paragraphs; and that the

notes, selected from an immense variety of sources, do not constitute a connected commentary on the whole, but are designed to bring out the practical bearings of a large portion of the Sacred Volume. We are much pleased, both with the plan and the execution of the work. We have consulted it on many passages, and have found very many quotations of a striking character, throwing much light on the meaning of the text, and suggesting many trains of valuable thought. The work cannot fail to be useful, and we bid the editor "good speed in the name of the Lord" of the Bible.

The Increase of Faith. London and Edinburgh: William Blackwood and Sons. "THE doctrine of the increase of faith," says the author of this volume, " may almost be said to be unknown to the science of the day. At all events, though often referred to incidentally, it has never (as far as I am aware) been stated in a definite and systematic form in the ordinary systems of Christian doctrine, or in any work of authority." Our author does not profess to do more than to furnish some contribution towards supplying the wants which he points out. And a very important contribution it is-worthy of being very carefully studied, especially by those who have to teach others. We have noted several points in regard to which we should differ from the author, but they are minor points, while there is much in the volume for which we feel that he has laid us under obligation.

The Daily Prayer Book for the Use of Families. By ROBERT VAUGHAN, D.D. London: Jackson, Walford, & Hodder. "THIS is not a subject," says Dr. Vaughan, 66 on which to indulge in the ambition of authorship; but I have taken some pains to give this work an adaptation to usefulness, and I must confess that I am very desirous it should find acceptance. To be conscious of rendering daily aid to devout thought and feeling in many Christian families, would be to me a richer satisfaction than I could hope to derive from any other use of my pen." We sympathize much with this feeling, and would shrink, even if otherwise disposed, to criticise the prayers which are here provided for the use and spiritual comfort of those who need or who prefer such helps as these. They are such as those who know Dr. Vaughan's habits of thought would expect, and will, doubtless, be prized by very many. The volume is in a very convenient form, beautifully printed, and contains morning and evening prayers for twelve

weeks.

with

Family Prayers for Five Weeks; Prayers for Special Occasions, and a Table for reading the Holy Scriptures throughout the Year. By WILLIAM WILSON, Minister of Kippen. Edinburgh: William P. Nimmo.

WE can commend this volume, by a Presbyterian clergyman in Stirlingshire, quite as cordially as we do Dr. Vaughan's. The volume is smaller but equally well printed, and the prayers are simpler; not that there is any want of genuine sim plicity in Dr. Vaughan's, but the cast of the Doctor's thought is often such as would not be natural on the lips of an unlettered suppliant. If our readers imagine that Scotch prayers and Presbyterian prayers must necessarily be prolix and sermonic, Mr. Wilson's volume will convince them to the contrary.

Man's Renewal: or, The Work of the Holy Spirit. By AUSTIN PHELPS. London: Alexander Strahan.

WE read the essays which constitute this volume with deep interest and admiration when they first appeared in the American "Bibliotheca Sacra;" and the publisher has done good service in giving them to the public in this convenient form-only he should have told the public that they are a reprint. The book contains five chapters:-I. Conversion-its Nature. II. Regeneration the Work of God. III. Truth the Instrument of Regeneration. IV.Responsibility as related to Sovereignty in the New Birth. V. The Indwelling of the Holy Ghost. The fourth chapter, it will be seen, discusses questions which have perplexed metaphysical theology in all ages; and with all his ingenuity and skill, we cannot say that Mr. Phelps has overcome or removed the difficulties of the subject. But we very earnestly recommend his little book to the study, not of Ministers alone, but of all thoughtful Christians. It is written in a glowing popular style.

The Garden Oracle for 1868. By SHIRLEY HIBBERD, Esq., F.R.H.S. London: Groombridge & Sons.

The Gardener's Magazine. Monthly. Con

ducted by SHIRLEY HIBBERD, Esq. London: E. W. Allen.