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and the wood from which our plates and cups were cut, as well as our table and seat, we owe to these little seeds. It was by laying little seeds in the earth that I obtained my apple trees, my field of corn, and all the good and beautiful things that now adorn my little home which was

mere waste, and now abounds with everything that my life needs."

This was all very strange and wonderful to little Henry. He listened with wideopened eyes to every word his kind old friend spoke, and sat long pondering over all the marvellous things he had that day seen and heard.

And now the sun declined towards the west, and the garden with its beds of flowers lay in the cool shadow. Some flowers which Menrad specially prized looked somewhat drooping from the effect of the hot rays of the sun, and although he had hopes that refreshing rain would come ere long, he resolved meanwhile to water his choice favourites ; so he fetched a small watering-can, and taking little Henry by the hand, led him to a stream of clear water which flowed plentifully from a great moss-covered rock. The child clapped his hands with delight when he perceived the stream.

“What a lot of water is here,” he said, "and it is all coming out of that great stone. Every moment I think it must stop running, and yet it goes on as freely as before. Tell me who poured all this water into the heart of the stone, and where did they find enough water to fill it. Surely now you

should close the opening and save your water, else by-andby you will have none."

Father Menrad answered that this stream of water had been flowing on from the time the sun began to shine, without ever stopping, and that no man needed

He told him that the vast lake down in the valley, which Henry had supposed was an immense mirror, was nothing else but pure water. This was a new marvel for the child.

Carrying the water-can full of water back to his flower-beds, Menrad began to pour it gently on the drooping flowers. "Oh what are you doing there,” cried Henry in a tone of dismay, “ you will spoil

all your beautiful flowers ; the colours will all be washed away.

Menrad, laughing, replied that flowers and herbs, blades of corn, vines, bushes, and great treés, had all a kind of life of their own, and needed water to drink as much as he did, else they would die. “But," said the child, “where can water enough be found to give drink to all these things, and who is able to get up so high as to water the tall trees that grow yonder on the mountain sides."

“ That is all well-cared for,” said the old man quietly, “and in a way that you yourself will soon see; sooner, perhaps, than we think of,” he added, as he looked up to the clouds. And very soon a dark cloud began to gather over the mountain, and presently it rained, at first very gently and then more heavily. Henry looked on silently for a few moments at this to him marvellous phenomenon. At last he said, “This is indeed an excel. lent contrivance, and spares you a great deal of labour. How beautifully the water falls down in thousand, thousand drops, as if it were poured from a great watering

But tell me who made tbat won. derful cloud come that holds all this water? How did the water get up so very high, and how is it that I see the clouds above there moving about, and yet they do not fall down upon us?”

“I shall tell you all that presently," said Menrad. The child gazed long upwards towards the dark clouds, watching them as they gradually dispersed, and the rain ceased, and the sky again became blue and clear.

And thus amid astonishment, bewilder. ment, and delight, at the many new and strange sights he saw everywhere around him, the day passed quickly away with Henry; for hundreds of things, which other children, who see them every day and hour, pass by with scarcely a look or a thought, seemed wonders of beauty and interest to the little child whose life had passed within a gloomy cave, and gave occasion to endless questions.

Presently a new delight was awakened by hearing the evening song of a little bird perched on the branch of a tree close by, and what perhaps pleased him most of



to fill it up.

all were the flocks of goats, belonging to the cottagers, that towards evening were geen returning home from the mountains.

At last, the sun, that had gradually declined lower and lower, seemed as if sink. ing down on the opposite side of the lake. At this sight Henry uttered a cry of distress and alarm.

“Oh, dear me, look there, the great sun lamp is dipping down right into the big water. It will be quite put out, and all our gladness will be at an end."

Do not be alarmed," said the good father, soothingly,“ very soon you and I must go to rest, and we do not need the sun's light while we are asleep. When we have slept long enough we shall see the sun come back again at the other side, yonder between the mountains. It is thus he runs his course always round and round, and gives light and warmth everywhere.”

Then Henry fell back on his old question, which the old man had purposely put off answering, because he desired more fully to awaken his mind and stir up his curiosity. “Now, do tell me,” said the child," for surely you know, who it is that has made the sun to go on in this wonderful way, and who has built the great wide arch up there, and painted it with such beautiful colours; who shut up all that water in the rock yonder, and makes it flow without ever stopping; who makes the clouds that sail about in the air and then water all the flowers and trees with thousand sparkling drops; and who taught that little bird, that has no flute to play, such beautiful songs; and who hid all the flowers and the great trees in the tiny seeds, and makes them come up everywhere just where you want them, so that the ground is covered with a carpet of grass and flowers, and gives us fruit and bread and many more things besides ? Now, do tell me who it can be, for I want so very much to know.”

“So you really think,” slowly replied the old man, “that there must be some one who made and has arranged, and manages all these things."

“Oh, to be sure," said the child, im. patiently, "I should have no sense at all if I did not believe that. I know the men in our cave had to work very hard indeed

when they wanted to make it only a little bit bigger.

Once the roof of the cave seemed as if it was going to fall in, and they had to work very hard to prop it up, but in all this great beautiful arch above our heads here, I cannot see one pillar. Our lamp never lighted of itself, and we should have had to sit in the dark if we had not cleaned it, and every day poured in some fresh oil. And we had often to fill up our great water cask, else we might have died of thirst. I know, too, what labour it cost me to cut out and paint a single flower, and how long it was before I learned how to do it. Yes, I feel quite sure that none of these wonderful things I see here could have been made by you, or by men like those that lived in our cave, and now do tell me who it is that has done all these things.”

As the child spoke he laid his little hand on the arm of the old man, who seemed lost in thought, and looked up in his face with wistful eagerness waiting for an answer to his question. The good old man felt that he could keep silent no longer. He lifted the little boy tenderly in his arms, and lowering his voice while his eyes filled with tears of gratitude and love, he began in tones of the deepest reverence to answer his questions.

“You are very right, my dear, dear child, in believing that there must be some one who has made all these things. There is one very great, very wise, very good Being, whose name is God, who has made all the wonderful and beautiful things you have seen to-day, and more than I can tell you besides. He it is who has made me, and you also, and all creatures, and who keeps us alive day by day, and gives us all we need. He is God, our loving Father in heaven.”

The child gazed with solemn wonder in the face of the old man as he spoke these words, and as it had been with him in the morning when the sun for the first time gilded with his glorious beams all the world of beauty before his eyes, so was it now with his soul. The great thought of God entered his soul like another son, making all things light and warm within, and turning his wonder into gratitude, reverence, and love.

Yes, dear Henry," continued the old the first time, and repeated the words man, “it is our wise and loving Father after him. When the old man had ended above,' that has made all you see. He his prayer, the child, of his own accord, built that beautiful blue arch we call added these words:-“I also, thank thee, heaven. He kindled the glorious light of dear good God, that thou hast brought me the sun, and guides him in his course. out of the dark cave into Thy beautiful He caused the clear fresh water to stream sunshine, and led me to this kind father from the earth, and to drop down from the who has told me about Thee." clouds, that it may give drink and refresh- Then father Menrad carried the boy ment to all things that live. He it is who into his cell, and laid him on a little couch spread beneath our feet this carpet of soft of dry moss, and covering him with his grass and lovely flowers. He gave their own cloak, left him to his happy sleep. glowing colours and sweet scents to every It would make my story too long were flower of the field. He provides us de- I to tell you all that happened to little licious food out of the rough clods of earth. Henry while he remained with the kind He gives as everything that we need to old man, and how much more he taught form our dwellings, that we may have him out of the Bible, but you will be glad warmth and shelter by night and day. to know that the end of it all was that he He has made everything beautiful and was at last restored to his own dear glorious, that our hearts may be glad and father and mother, who night and day had rejoice in His works ; and although now not ceased to pray to God for him since we cannot see Him, He yet sees us at all they lost him, asking God first of all to times, hears every word that we speak, keep their darling from evil ways; and who and knows every thought of our hearts. now, to their unspeakable joy, received Every moment of our lives he permits us back their boy, not only alive and well, to speak to Him, and to tell Him all our but with his mind not corrupted by the wants.

He guides all our steps. He strange life he had led among wild showed you the path out of the dark cave men, a loving, truthful child, with a heart and brought you to me.

He is our wisest full of grateful reverence and love towards guide, our best friend, our most loving that great and good Being whom he had Father."

so suddenly learned to know in the way I While the old man spoke in this way in

have told you. gentle, solemn tones, the child listened This story, dear children, may help you with earnest gaze and without uttering a to think more of the beautiful and glorious word. Night came on while they sat things in God's world which we are all too together, but the child did not notice its ready not to think of at all, just because approach. The moon, which had been we see them every day; and may help you floating in the east like a tiny whit to thank your Father in heaven from your cloud, now shone forth in mild radiance, hearts, as little Henry did, for the sun and, surrounded by countless glittering and the moon and the blue sky, the clouds stars, rose high above the lake, whose and the rain, the green grass and the waters, like the clearest mirror, reflected flowers, and all the wonderful arrangein its bosom a second heaven, with moon ments which God has made for our hapand stars, through which it seemed as if piness and comfort in this world. It may one could gaze down into infinity. Not a help you to think, too, that if there is so leaf was stirring all around, and solemn much that is beautiful and glorious even stillness reigned over all nature. A feel. in this world, where sin and disorder have ing he had never known before stirred in entered, what will the better country, the the heart of the child, the feeling of wor. new heavens and the new earth be, where ship, of adoration, of the near presence of sin shall no longer pollute and destroy, God. And now the old man, folding his but where every dweller therein will be hands together and looking upwards, obedient, loving, and holy, all united began to speak to God, and the little under their divine king, Jesus Christ, to child clasped his own hands in prayer for whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.


OBITUARY: REV THOMAS E. EVANS, FORMERLY OF RHOS. This excellent minister of the gospel and the power of his preaching over departed this life Dec. 21st, 1867, at the large congregation that came to hear his residence, Bryncastle, Gobowen, him was considered second only to near Oswestry. He was born at Glyn- that of the first minister of the place, neath, Glamorganshire, in the year the celebrated William Williams, of 1831. He enjoyed early the advantages Wern. His physical strength and of Christian instruction, and joined the declining health, being inadequate to Church worshipping in the Congrega- the requirements of the spacious chapel, tional chapel, at his native place, while and the many hundreds attending it, quite a youth. It was soon observed he became convinced that it was his that he possessed the gifts considered duty to look for a sphere better adapted necessary to adapt one to the Christian to the resources of his weak constitution, ministry, and was therefore urged by though he felt it difficult to part with the hurch and its pastor, the Rev.

the noble and open kind-hearted John Thomas, now of Liverpool, to people of Rhos," as he used to call exercise them in the service of the them. Saviour. Having spent about two To the intense regret of Christian years in the Normal College, Swansea, friends at Rhos, of all denominations, under the tuition of Dr. Evan Davies, he removed from their midst and settled he was admitted in the year 1852 into

in Manchester, in March, 1862, to take the Independent College, Brecon. A the overcharge of the congregation now combination of good qualities secured worshipping in Booth - street chapel. him soon not only the respect, but also His settlement in Manchester formed a the affection of both professors and new era in the history of the Welsh students. He was almost the idol of Churches in that city. His Christian his classmates, and highly esteemed

manliness and meek and heavenly spirit and loved by his juniors and seniors proved the means of reuniting old friends during his collegiate career.

who had been long at variance, and reAfter going through the regular storing perfect unanimity between them. course of learning attained in Brecon He contemplated what he was instruCollege, he received and accepted an mental to effect in Manchester, for the invitation from the Congregational

peace of the churches, with greater Churches of Rhos, Ruabon, and Rhosy

satisfaction than anything else he had medre, to become their pastor, and was ever done, and regarded it as a special publicly recognized as their minister in favour conferred upon him by his Divine July, 1856. He laboured hard, in that

Master. Good men, on that account, extensive field of usefulness—took an will not cease to hold his name in sacred active part in the erection of the Con- remembrance. But the air of Man. gregational chapel at Ruabon, obtained chester proved fatal to his already the confidence of the people of his care, shattered constitution; and after a prosand became higher day by day in the perous ministry of three years and a estimation of the Christian community half, he was compelled, owing to great in the district. Feeling unable to weakness and debility, to give up not attend to the various demands of such only the charge of his attached friends a wide sphere, he resigned his charge in Booth-street, but the ministry altoover the Churches at Ruabon and gether, on the last Sabbath in SepRhosymedre. The Church at Rhos, tember, 1865. In five months after his during the six years of his earnest removal to Manchester, he married ministry, nearly doubled in number, Miss Hughes, of Offa Cottage, Ruabon,

daughter of the late Rev. J. E. Hughes, to preach at Preeshenlle Chapel as often incumbent of Llangwestenin and Llan- as his remaining strength would allow : rhos.

and his solemn appeals made his hearers The kindness of friends in Manchester feel as though he had come to them and at Rhos enabled him to adopt the with a direct message from the unseen advice of his medical advisers, viz.-to world, and the attention of every one seek a warmer climate in the south of seemed to be so fixed as if he thought England. He spent the winter of 1865-66 himself personally addressed by the at Ventnor, in the Isle of Wight, and a preacher. But, alas ! his precious life, few weeks at Stonehouse, Gloucester- though long ailing, was at last unexshire, on his way thither, where he pectedly cut short on the shortest day found kind sympathizing friends. The of the year 1867. A sudden change Christian society he met at Ventnor came over him on the morning of Friday, solaced many a weary hour, and cheered the 20th of December, and on the followhim much. He entertained the most ing Saturday, at 11.50 p.m., he calmly heartfelt gratitude for the sympathy and fell asleep in the arms of his beloved kindness shown him during his sojourn of and devoted young wife, who clung to five months there. He returned to North him with ever increasing attachment at Wales in the ensuing summer, and spent the approach of death. the last four months of the year 1866 in With many tears, his remains were the neighbourhood of Domgay, near laid in the burial-ground adjoining the Welshpool, and endeared himself greatly Independent Chapel, Llanfyllin, Montto the religious people of that locality. gomeryshire, a spot hallowed by many

Earnest Christians around his new sacred associations connected with Conabode became soon sensible of his not gregational history for upwards of 200 being an ordinary man. He engaged ears.

D. Milton DAVIES.


English Monasticism ; its Rise and Infra

ence. By ODELL TRAVERS HILL,F.R.G.S. London: Jackson, Walford, & Hodder. " This work is not an endeavour (the author says) to delineate the history of Monasticism in England, but to examine it under its two great phases, the Benedictine and Franciscan, and to trace the influence it exerted upon the art, literature, and social life of the country during its development. The career of Glastonbury Abbey, the oldest Monastery in England, is selected to be described collaterally with this investigation, in order that a picture may be given of the interior life of the cloister, with its glories and its sorrows, as it was played out in that celebrated institution." The task which our author thus undertakes is one of exceeding interest, and of no small difficulty. It involves an inquiry into a large portion of English History, and a discussion of some of the most perplexed and perplexing questions in philosophy, religion, and morals. We cannot say that Mr.

Travers Hill's treatment of this theme comes up to our idea of what it ought to be. But his work, notwithstanding, is one of considerable value, and of no small interest. “Our objection to the Monastic life generally,” he pleads, “ought not to hinder us from awarding to it the meed of praise justly due to it, not only as a social institution, admirably adapted to the wants of the period in which it existed, but due also to the work which it silently accomplished during that long syncope of European History, the Dark Ages.” Conceding the truth, to a certain extent, of this now common plea, it must not be forgotten that asceticism did not originate in the necessities of the Middle Ages, and therefore cannot find its apology in those necessities. It began to manifest itself even in Apostolic times, and grew both in intensity and in breadth, till, along with other corruptions, it deprived Christianity of much of that “ saltness ” which would have preserved the nations from the extreme degeneracy of the Middle Ages.

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