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where whole families herded together without food or fuel. All London - that is, all poor London-suffered so. Rich London had wine and dainty fare ; the opera and the ball ; cards and clubs, as before.

Morning, noon, and night, I was in St Giles's, visiting, as my custom was, the hunger-stricken population : blacksmiths, carpenters, shoemakers, tailors, printers, carmen, labourers, costermongers, needlewomen, porters, waiters, street-hawkers, board-men, sick mothers, ragged children, orange girls, and crossing-sweepers-even thieves and burglars -seemed all blended together in a horrible mass of misery. The Lord laid them on my heart, and I made a solemn resolution to befriend them to the uttermost. The Sick Poor Relief Society, connected with Bloomsbury Chapel, helped nobly, but there were too many starving people for any single society to meet their immediate wants. What was to be done ? For weighty personal reasons I had resolved not to ask any one for money, but to give of my own as long as it would last, and continue in daily prayer for the poor.

So I went forth to my work in the morning, and continued until evening. Fearful scenes met my gaze. I found family after family without food or fire. I saw children crying for a crust. Honest workmen burst into tears as I sat beside them and heard them tell how they had tramped miles and miles in search of work, how they had failed, how they had pawned their tools, their Sunday clothes, and their watches and clocks, how they had sold chairs, drawers, and tables, and how, at length, they had nothing else to sell, and how they wished hunger would kill them, and bring their troubles to an end. Then I tried to comfort them, their wives and children, with words from the Good Book ; prayed with them, kissed the little ones, gave them tiny toys, dolls, and books full of pretty pictures, put a tract on the table, if there was one, shook hands kindly with the husband, and more kindly with the sobbing wife, in whose hand I often quietly placed some silver coins, and then slipped away to find another scene of woe. I had also some free teas, where fifty or a hundred poor people enjoyed themselves and heard a few quiet words about Jesus. A hot supper was given in a lodging-house frequented by women who obtained a precarious living by selling combs, fruit, nets, &c., in the streets. Bread, meat, tea and sugar, coals, and old clothing, were also distributed to companies of twenty, thirty, and forty people, who were assembled for the purpose, in the Bloomsbury Chapel Mission Hall, Moor Street. Prayer always preceded the distribution of those gifts, for I regard prayerless charity as a very imperfect thing. Still, the distress grew deeper and darker. I worked all day, and then could not sleep at night. “O Lord, O Lord, have pity on the poor !” was my incessant

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No pecuniary help came. I therefore gave of my own, until I had little left, except a few pounds in the Savings Bank. I withdrew them, and gave them to the poor. Then I had nothing left. I felt, however, strong in faith, and, apart from my anxiety for the poor, I had heavenly peace within. Many divine promises were given to me by the Holy

conduct was certainly disorderly for, and he might have saved him years a lad fortunate enough to be born in of toil and poverty, during which he the Kirk o' Scotland, he had na doubt was hourly stung by the mean sneers it was the genius cropping out of him, and the sarcasms of those who were instead of total depravity, as he then afterwards proud to boast that they thought."

know him when a boy His native town grew proud of him, Young Kenneth's case illustrates and every man in it remembered the wrong often dono by parents to some word or act worth repeating of their children. The idea that you the boy who they once declared “wad can make just what you please of a never earn a red herring.”

boy is a mistaken one. A lad who There was one who had always possesses talent for trade will not be smiled on his waterwheels, and ex likely to be skilful at the plough, nor cused his carelessness when the dead yet will the one whom God has sheep were found; one who had called designed for a farmer guide safely the him tenderly her ain dear bonnie ship of state. How many boys are laddie, and who would never suffer dragged by force through college, and any one to call him a fool unrebuked. the irksome studies of a learned proThat was his mother. He was always fession, simply because their parents a hero and a genius in her loving can afford to pay their bills, when, eyes; and although she was rejoiced, perhaps, they had quickness and taste she would never admit that she was for some mechanical or mercantile surprised, at his good fortune. pursuit, in which they would have

Now, had the honest Scotch farmer proyed a blessing to the world! discerned the boy's talents, he might Parents should study the natural have saved himself all the trouble preferences of their children in these and the mortification he had in his matters, and be guided by them in unsuccessful efforts to convert him the selection of a suitable business or into & ploughman or a shepherd; 'profession.

REMARKABLE INCIDENTS FROM LONDON POOR LIFE.

BY THE REV. G. W. M'CREE.

II.-HOW THE POOR WERE FED. A LONDON winter is a dismal time-- a time of privation and sorrow, 31 time of fog and falls, slush and slop, poverty and pauperism, disease, discontent, and death. It brings hunger into thousands of wretched homes, and makes the poor endure manifold woes. The grim misery of a severe winter in London is simply indescribable. Work ceases; want reigns. Need I say more ?

I have sad memories of a stormy winter. Down came the snow! The parks and roads were hard as iron! The heavens were low and dark, and the nights bleak and deadly with icy winds ! Policemen died on their beats! Old people perished on their way home! Hungry workmen fainted in the wide streets! Scores of poor people expired in fireless rooms, and none know of their need in time to comfort them. Groans and curses, sighs and prayers, meek patience and fierce ravings, were found

where whole families herded together without food or fuel. All London - that is, all poor London-suffered so. Rich London had wine and dainty fare; the opera and the ball ; cards and clubs, as before.

Morning, noon, and night, I was in St Giles's, visiting, as my custom was, the hunger-stricken population : blacksmiths, carpenters, shoemakers, tailors, printers, carmen, labourers, costermongers, needlewomen, porters, waiters, street-hawkers, board-men, sick mothers, ragged children, orange girls, and crossing-sweepers -eyen thieves and burglars ---seemed all blended together in a horrible mass of misery. The Lord laid them on my heart, and I made a solemn resolution to befriend them to the uttermost. The Sick Poor Relief Society, connected with Bloomsbury Chapel, helped nobly, but there were too many starving people for any single society to meet their immediate wants. What was to be done ? For weighty personal reasons I had resolved not to ask any one for money, but to give of my own as long as it would last, and continue in daily prayer for the poor.

So I went forth to my work in the morning, and coutinued until evening. Fearful scenes met my gaze. I found family after family without food or fire. I saw children crying for a crust. Honest workmen burst into tears as I sat beside them and heard them tell how they had tramped miles and miles in search of work, how they had failed, how they had pawned their tools, their Sunday clothes, and their watches and clocks, how they had sold chairs, drawers, and tables, and how, at length, they had nothing else to sell, and how they wished hunger would kill them, and bring their troubles to an end. Then I tried to comfort them, their wives and children, with words from the Good Book ; prayed with them, kissed the little ones, gave them tiny toys, dolls, and books full of pretty pictures, put a tract on the table, if there was one, shook hands kindly with the husband, and more kindly with the sobbing wife, in whose hand I often quietly placed some silver coins, and then slipped away to find another scene of woe. I had also some free teas, where fifty or a hundred poor people enjoyed themselves and heard a few quiet words about Jesus. A hot supper was given in a lodging-house frequented by women who obtained a precarious living by selling combs, fruit, nets, &c., in the Streets. Bread, meat, tea and sugar, coals, and old clothing, were also disTributed to companies of twenty, thirty, and forty people, who were assembled for the purpose, in the Bloomsbury Chapel Mission Hall, Moor street. Prayer always preceded the distribution of those gifts, for I regard prayerless charity as a very imperfect thing. Still, the distress grew deeper and darker. I worked all day, and then could not sleep at nght. “O Lord, O Lord, have pity on the poor !” was my incessant cry.

o pecuniary help came. I therefore gave of my own, until I had uttle left, except a few pounds in the Savings Bank. I withdrew them, and gave them to the poor. Then I had nothing left. I felt, however, strong in faith, and, apart from my anxiety for the poor, I had heavenly pace within. Many divine promises were given to me by the Holy

Spirit, for my comfort, my strength; and, best of all, when I preached, “the word was with power," and many of the poor were made rich in faith, and heirs of the Kingdom of God.

The Lord's day came, and I had nothing left. Silently, I waited upon God. A crowded congregation listened as I spoke of faith, prayer, hope, and heaven. Many wept. The people were bowed before God, and I left the pulpit to conduct the prayer meeting. It was a solemn time, and a season of refreshing from the presence of the Lord.

But, outside the Mission Hall, there was the terrible storm. What should I do on the morrow ? How were the poor to be fed ? After pronouncing the benediction, I sat still. My mind seemed far away with God. I felt hushed-enfolded in arms I could not see. As I sat tlius, a hand—that of a dear brother, a working man- quietly placed a halfcrown in mine. He said :

You know more poor people than I do, sir ; give it as you think

proper.”

As I left the hall, another working man gave me five shillings, saying, “ My wages have been raised; that is for the poor."

Next day a well-known firm gave me four tons of coal. Then a friend presented me with ten shillings, and his gift was followed by many others. A Quaker handed me £5. The employés of a great house in the city sent me £11. My dear friend, the Rev. W. Brock, told me to expend £5 in his name; to this he subsequently added another note for the same amount. This help was most grateful.

Down came the snow again, and the wail of distress grew awful. Famine, sickness, and despair, were found in scores of houses. I went into attics, front rooms, back rooms, and cellars, and sought out hungry, wretched families, and comforted them with kind words and generous help. Soup was provided for ragged children; fifty poor women had a meat tea; rent was paid, to prevent widows and orphans from being turned into the frozen streets; and coals were sent to fill the cold grates of sick folk. Down came more snow, but money, clothes, soup tickets, and bread were given me in rich abundance, and none-save one man, who behaved rudely-were sent empty away.

If charity abounded, prayer much more abounded. At every distribu. tion of gifts I prayed with the poor, and the Lord visited them and melted their hearts. In their homes short prayer meetings were held by Christian friends, and many were brought to feel their need of Jesus. Then, in time, çame the spring. The snow passed away; the air grew balmy and pleasant; work was resumed. The poor ceased to complain, Religion received its due honour from those who had been helped, and many confessed the Lord Jesus. As for me and my house, and all who had willingly joined in works of love, we rested from our labours, and gave “Glory to God in the highest," by whom, and not by us, THE POOR HAD BEEN FEN,

THE BEST REMEDY FOR MOTHS.

A HINT FOR A HARD WINTER. We were examining our wardrobe “ Why, Aunt Julia, I thought you after the summer, and found to our had a cedar closet?". surprise and grief, many of our | “Yes, when we moved into our choicest articles sadly damaged by the new house; but by that time my moths. In the midst of our trouble, closet was too small for my increased and the discussion as to the modes wealth, and till I used this recipe, of protection against moths, which I seldom passed a year without some had been handed down by tradition, moth holes, but now I have not seen Aunt Julia came in.

one in nine years.” " Aunt Julia, how do you keep "What was it, Aunt? Have you your winter clothing from the the book ? or can you repeat it from moths ?” we both asked eagerly, as memory? It is too late to save these that good lady proceeded to lay aside things, but I will write it down, and her handsome shawl, which looked try it next spring.” as fresh as ever after seven years' So saying, Anna took out her wear.

little recipe book and pencil, while "I used to suffer from moths as Aunt Julia prepared to recall the much as any one, once,” replied moth preventive. . Aunt Julia, taking her knitting from The book was an old one with the her little basket, and sitting down: title obliterated, and title-page torn “but I found a recipe in an old out by some careless child, but the fashioned book which has relieved directions were these : me of much solicitude on the subject. “Lay not up for yourselves treaIt was many years before I could be sures upon earth, where moth and persuaded to try it. In my young rust doth corrupt. daysmoney was not quite as plentiful “Butlay up for yourselves treasures as now, but provisions were cheap, in heaven, where neither moth nor and a farmer's daughter began her rust doth corrupt, and where thieves married life better supplied with do not break through nor steal." linen, blankets, and bed-quilts, than O! Aunt Julia, is that all ? many a jewel-decked city belle. As How does that help the matter ?” I was an only daughter, and was " Wait, Anna, and hear my story not married too young, a noble pile out. One day, as I was mourning of blankets, feather-beds, bed-quilts, over my choicest blankets, eaten by etc., became my portion. For many the moths, and airing my down bedyears after we removed to the city, quilts, and feather-beds, which had I used to dread my summer work of been rendered obsolete by the introairing beds, and packing very fine duction of spring mattresses, as I home-made blankets, and quilts stood ready to cry with vexation to stuffed with the softest down. I see my choicest articles eaten in the tried snuff, tobacco, camphor, pep most conspicuous places, as you have per, and cedar chips, and yet, as wo experienced to-day, my eye rested changed our place of residence on an old Bible, which lay on the several times, some colony of moths, top of a barrel of pamphlets in the old squatters among the beams of garret. I opened it, and almost unthe garret or in some unobserved consciously read the recipe for avoidscrap of woollen cloth, would perfo ing moths which I have given you rate tiny holes in my choicest pos

to-day. I then recollected that they sessions."

seldom troubled the clothing in

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