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much dejected, and likewise went to bed, leaving Ann in solitary possession of the room. And yet she felt not alone; many sweet hours had she spent in that little cottage, apart from the world, with her Bible and her God. Precious had these opportunities ever been to her, of pouring out her soul to God—of spreading her sorrows, her trials, all before him, and giving vent to a full, and now, alas! a heavy heart.
Having seen her children safely at rest, she made up the peat fire on the hearth, that she might not afterwards be disturbed for the night. She then trimmed and lit the cruisy (a small iron vessel which served as a lamp), and hung it upon its accustomed place on the wall, and moved the clean oaken table near it; and having taken a large family Bible from among the six or eight well-read, wellworn volumes on the book-shelf, deposited it upon it. She paused, however, before opening the sacred volume, to implore a blessing on its contents, when the following text involuntarily came into her mind : “ For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills."
That text, thought Ann, is not very applicable to my present condition, and opening her Bible she proceeded to look out for some of her favourite passages of Scripture. Yet, “ For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills," was uppermost in her thoughts. She knelt down and committed her case to the Hearer and Answerer of prayer, and then tried to recall former experience-to bring to remembrance the promises of God, and those portions of Scripture which used to come home with power to her heart, but without now feeling that lively pleasure and satisfaction she had ever found in the word of God. The text, “For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills," seemed fastened to her memory, and, despite of every effort, she could not banish it from her mind. Yet thought Ann, it is God's own word; and she read the fiftieth Psalm, in which the text is contained. It was, she thought, a beautiful psalm, but many verses in it appeared to her more suited to her condition than the one already quoted. Again she prayed, hoping that, while presenting her supplication before the throne of grace, she might forget it; but with no better success. Still she endeavoured to encourage her drooping heart with the belief, nay, God's blessed assurance of the efficacy of earnest, persevering prayer, and continued her occupation, alternately supplicating in prayer and reading her Bible, until midnight.
Indeed, early dawn found her engaged at this same employment. At length, as daylight appeared through the little casement, a loud, impatient rap was heard at the door.
“ Who's there?” said Ann. “A friend,” answered a voice from without. “But who is a friend ?” replied she. “What are you?"
“I'm a drover; be quick, mistress, and open the door, and come out and help me. And if there's a man in the house, tell him to come with all speed; for one of my cattle has fallen down a precipice and broken its leg, and is lying at your door.”
Op opening the door, what was the first object that met the astonished gaze of Ann? A large drove of cattle from the highlands of Scotland. As far as eye could reach in either direction the road was black with the moving mass, which the man was driving on to the market in the south. And there lay the disabled beast, its leg broken, the poor drover standing by, looking ruefully over it, his faithful dog by his side, gazing up as if in sympathy with his master, and as if he understood his dilemma, and knew also that his services could now be of no avail.
The worthy couple were concerned for the poor drover, and evinced every willingness to assist him in his misfortune, had it been in their power. He, in his turn, felt at a loss to know how he should dispose of the animal, and paused to consider what course he ought to pursue. But the more he thought. over the catastrophe, the more his perplexity increased.
To drive on the maimed beast was obviously impossible; te sell it there seemed equally so. At a distance from a market, it would not be easy to find a purchaser; and by remaining in that place long enough to do so, he must likewise detain the whole herd of cattle, which would incur more expense than the animal was worth.
What was be done? The drover drew his Highland plaid tighter round him. He shifted and replaced his bonnet from one side of his head to the other. “I never," he at length exclaimed, “ was more completely brought to my wit's end in my life;" and then turning to Ann, he added, “'Deed, mistress, I must just make you a present of it, for in truth I don't know what else I can do with it; so kill it, and take care of it, for it is a fine beast. I'll answer for it, a mart like that has never come within your door.” And, without waiting for thanks, he whistled on his dog and joined the herd, which was soon seen moving slowly on its weary journey.
The poor cottagers were lost in wonder at this unex. pected deliverance from famine, by so signal an interposition of Providence; and after they had in some measure recovered from the surprise such an incident was calculated to excite, the father assembled his little family around him to unite in prayer, and to give thanks to the “ Giver of all good” for this new proof of his condescending kindness toward them. Thus their prayer was now turned into praise. He then proceeded to follow the advice of the drover. All was then rejoicing, preparation, and gladness with the inmates of the cottage. They had meat sufficient to serve them for many months to come, and in their first joy they totally forgot that they had no bread. But He who “commanded the ravens” to bring to the prophet “bread and flesh," did not forget it. God does not work by halves. Another knock was heard at the door, which this time flew quickly open, when who should present himself but the “grieve," or bailiff, of Lady Kilmarnock, with a load on his back.
He then proceeded to relate how Lady Kilmarnock sent for him the previous evening to inquire “ if anything had happened to Ann Young.” To which he replied, that he was not aware that she had met with any calamity, and that when he last heard of her family they were all well. “ Then,” said her ladyship, “she must be in want, for these few days she has been incessantly in my thoughts; I cannot get her out of my head, and I am sure she is in distress. So take a sack of meal to her, a large one, too, and take it directly. You had better convey it yourself, that it may be safely delivered to her, and bring me word how she is; for I know she would almost starve before she applied for relief.”
** I fully intended,” added the bailiff, “ to have brought it yesterday, as Lady Kilmarnock desired; but being more than usually busy throughout that day, I could not find leisure to come, but determined that my first employment this morning would be to fetch it to you.” Thus were these pious cottagers, by a wonderful interference of Providence, amply provided for, and Ann Young found out why that passage of Scripture had been so impressed upon
her mind, and learned to understand more fully than she did before the meaning of that old, and yet new, and true, and ever-faithful word of God, “Every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills.”
THE FIRE BY THE SEA.
Yet sweet as the sweet dew-fall
And we know them, one and all
Ay, know them and love them all.
And they walk'd with downward eyes :
And they knew not if He would rise
Knew not if the dead would rise,
Beat slow through the fogs their way;
And now 'twas the break of day
The great, glad break of day.
And they cast and were dragging hard;
“ It is our risen Lord
Our Master, and our Lord !”
Ay, first of them all was he ;
Like an anchor into the sea
Down deep in the hungry sea.
Dragging their net through the tide ;
And, with arms of love so wide,
'Tis long, and long, and long ago,
O'er the hills of Galilee;
The fire of coals by the sea
On the wet, wild sands by the sea.
That stream'd o'er the mists of the sea ;
To answer, “ Lovest thou Me?”—
“ WHERE SHALL I SPEND ETERNITY?”
| YOUNG lady had for some time resisted the Holy Spirit. Many of her acquaintances were gay and thoughtless, and she found pleasure in their so
ciety. On account of her beauty and vivacity her company was much sought, and a large circle of friends would have been sorely disappointed and vexed had she turned away from their frivolous amusements to seek the salvation of her soul.
Some of her intimate friends, however, had become savingly converted to Christ, and they felt very anxious in regard to her spiritual welfare. Unhappily, every effort made to arrest her thoughts and fix them on the realities of eternity apparently failed; while she readily yielded to the enticements of the world and worldly companions.
One evening, at a ball, as this young person was standing up with her partner, and in the act of joining in the dance, she was observed to tremble, and suddenly to turn pale. The gentleman by her side, noticing her agitation, anxiously questioned her as to its cause. Giving an evasive answer, and begging to be excused from the dance, the young lady left the ball-room. Afterwards, when more composed, she gave the following explanation :
“Just as I rose to give my hand to my partner in the dance, these words seemed to ring in my ears : « Eternity! Where shall I spend eternity? I never had such feelings