"Pretty sort of holidays these are, truly," muttered Louis. "One cannot get out for five minutes for a walk, but back one is driven by a shower! Here's the last day of our Easter holidays, and not one—no, not one fair day have we enjoyed."

"Except Sunday," suggested Jessy.

"Oh! Sunday—I did not count Sunday. But what are we to make of ourselves all this long morning?"

"Let's have games," suggested merry little Julia.

"What games? We're tired of all."

"And we must have nothing that is noisy, on account of old Mrs. Presgrave! No fun! I shall almost be glad to get back to school again," cried Louis, "we are so moped up here!"

For want of something better to do, Willy, quietly seated in the corner, was cutting a round hole in his drum; a box of paints lay on the table, with which Bella had been daubing, certainly not adorning, the plates in the last book which her uncle had given her. There was a broken draughts-board under the table, but half of the draughtsmen were lost, and Tom and Louis, who had taken to chess, were beginning to quarrel over the game.

"I'll move there—check!" cried the former, putting down his queen with an air of triumph.

In a moment an ambushed red knight pounced down upon the square, and the white queen was in the hand of Louis.

"I'll take back that move. I did not see."

"Oh! But your hand was off!" shouted Louis. "That's not fair!"

"It's all fair!" cried the boy, reddening with excitement, and holding his trophy behind him. In a moment sport would have been exchanged for anger—perhaps for blows—when the door was gently opened, and an aged gentleman with silvery hair, and a stoop which told of years and weakness, but a bright cheerful smile, like sunshine in winter, entered the room and joined the party. In a moment the angry voices were stilled, young Willy pushed aside his drum, Bella sprang from the table, and all joyfully welcomed the old man.

"What are you all doing? How are you all amusing yourselves, my young friends?" he said, after a short pause, without appearing to notice the sounds of strife which had attracted him to the room.

"Doing, uncle? Why, nothing," said little Julia, running to him, and gently leading him to his armchair. It may be remarked, by the way, that all the children addressed Mr. Presgrave as uncle, though Tom and Willy alone were his nephews, the rest of the young people now at Ivy Lodge being on a visit to the family.

Perhaps my young reader would like to be introduced to the little party now assembled in the play-room together. That tall boy with the dark eyes, and nut-brown complexion, and large heavy frame, is Tom; and there is his more lithe and active brother Willy, with his great earnest eyes now open wide with attention, now sparkling with merriment and fun. Julia Merton is their cousin, an only child, but one who finds brothers and sisters in every boy and girl who knows her. Her smile tells of a light and joyous spirit, a cheerfulness not readily to be damped, a temper not easily provoked—she is the darling and plaything of all.

Bella, the young poetess, who writes sonnets on Leonidas; the fiery Louis; and quicksilver Amy, to whom the worst penance is to have to sit still—these, with blue-eyed, kind-hearted, dull-headed Jessy, delighted to escape from a schoolroom in London, had come to Ivy Lodge in the beginning of the week, for change of air and the pleasures of the country. There remains but one of the party to be mentioned, Percy Manners, a schoolfellow and companion of the Gores—a sickly youth, stunted in his growth, and supported on crutches, whose chief pleasure appeared to be a quiet corner and a book. He was buried in the recess of one of the windows, with the curtain drawn before him to screen him from view, till the entrance of Mr. Presgrave drew him from his retirement, and he gathered with the others around the old man.

Mr. Presgrave was the uncle of Tom and Willy's mother. He had been as a parent to her in the days of her youth, and now, in his old age, he and his invalid wife were the beloved inmates of her home. Mr. Presgrave had passed through a long pilgrimage in this world, with his eyes steadily fixed upon a better. Religion to him was a thing of reality, not confined to the Sabbath or the hour of prayer, but a living principle that governed his life, that was seen in his actions and known by his words—nay, that left its calm imprint even on his countenance, which few could behold without loving.

"Doing nothing!" exclaimed the old gentleman, slowly seating himself, and looking round upon the party. "Why, that is the most tedious occupation that I know of!"

"Why, uncle, we've nothing to do," replied Louis. "We had expected to have got out, and to have had cricket, and trap-ball, and kite-flying; but this horrible weather—"

"Hush! my boy," said Mr. Presgrave gently. "I never like to hear any one abuse the weather; it is the Almighty's sending, and of what He sends, man has no right to complain. But," added he in a more lively tone, "I find you all in a difficulty from which I am bound to try to relieve you, for if 'idleness is the mother of mischief,' she is also the parent of a large family of other evils. Can you name to me any of her sons and daughters?"

"Gossip," said Bella.

"Discontent," added Willy.

"Fighting and quarrelling," whispered little Julia.

"Now, knowing the evil, let us find out the remedy."

"O uncle! Do tell us one of your long stories!" At these words of Julia's there rose a little storm of entreaties, for Uncle Presgrave was famous for his tales and adventures.

He waved his hand to command silence, and replied: "By all means let us have stories, but you would not have me begin one now at ten o'clock in the morning! We will have them in the evening, and in the meanwhile, as a cure for idleness, why should you not each prepare one yourselves? You shall be given a common subject, and each shall collect an anecdote or a tale, to add to the amusement of the rest."

"A capital plan!" cried Bella and Louis, clapping their hands; the rest of the party had a more doubtful expression on their countenances, except poor Percy, who smiled at the idea of an amusement in which his infirmity would not prevent his joining.

"I should not mind trying," said Louis, "if I might have the choosing of the subject. I know a capital story of heroism—suppose that we fix upon that."

"That may suit you, Louis, as you wish to be a soldier, but what have we girls to do with it?" said Amy, who had often been laughed at for her want of the quality in question.

"I see no objection to the subject," observed Mr. Presgrave cheerfully, "if the rest of the party agree. So little is fighting a necessary mark of heroism, that we may banish it from our stories altogether, and yet have no difficulty in selecting examples. I should not be much surprised either," added he, smiling at Amy, "if some of these examples should be afforded by women."

"Are our stories to be true ones?" asked Jessy.

"Oh! I hope they are to be true!" cried Julia, "for I never could make anything out of my own head!"

"True let them be, my little lamb," said Mr. Presgrave, patting her rosy cheek. "I like everything better for being true."

"Shall we give real names? Perhaps our heroes might not like it," observed Willy thoughtfully.

"Well considered, my boy. I know few things so odious as spreading tales and reports of others; but as in this case the anecdotes will all be favourable to their heroes, I think that, without scruple, we may give their real names."

"But," said Julia, "must we keep so very close to truth in our stories, and not alter them in the very least bit? Perhaps we have heard them but once ourselves, and do not remember them quite exactly."

"Or we wish to make our story more striking, by dressing it up a little," added Bella. "We may want to say that our hero wore a purple cloak, when we do not know whether it was purple or black, or whether he wore a cloak at all."

"Oh! My poetical young lady, since you have given us fair warning, you may dress up your heroes in any way that you please, only let your facts be correct. But oh! Remember," he added very earnestly, "that when you profess to repeat exact truth, no changing should ever be permitted. The exaggerated description to heighten effect, words put into mouths that never have spoken them, these are all wanderings from the straight line of truth, and lead the mind insensibly to error and falsehood."

"Will you be present at the reading of our stories, Uncle Presgrave?" said Julia, looking up in his face.

"I will read them myself, if you will permit me, and make my observations upon them as we go along."

"Then we are sure to have profit as well as amusement," murmured Percy. They were the first words that the lame boy had uttered since breakfast, and now, seeming half-ashamed at having let his voice be heard, he retired to his recess in the window, to meditate upon the story that he was to write.

[CHAPTER II.]

THE SHIP ON FIRE.

IT was a busy day to the children at Ivy Lodge; not one felt the time pass wearily. Even quicksilver Amy had been quiet for awhile, as she sat with knitted brows biting the end of her pencil.

Old Mrs. Presgrave had not been startled once by the sound of a sudden shout or a heavy fall, and volumes were drawn from their corners in the bookcase by hands that seldom had opened books but from necessity. Mrs. Gore had found it difficult to proceed in her needle-work, so numerous were the interruptions from the literary juveniles. Thrice had she to rise to search for books, and ten times to stop to mend a pen, innumerable were the applications for aid in spelling; and when at last the young party assembled after dinner, Willy's story was written on cream-tinted paper, in the hand of his indulgent mother.

Jessy needed a copy-book—Julia ruled lines—every inkstand in the house was in requisition, and Louis and Tom, disputing over theirs, managed to upset it between them. At length, however, the last page was written, poor Jessy bringing up the rear; and, some neat, some blotted, some long, some short, the stories were placed in the hand of Mr. Presgrave.

Little Julia had drawn a footstool for his feet, had patted up his cushion with her plump little hands, and picked up the spectacle-case thrown down by Tom. Then slowly the "silver eyes" were adjusted in their proper place—quiet succeeded to the hum of voices, a smile of expectation was in every face, and as Julia seated herself at the old man's feet, in a clear, distinct voice he began:

Jessy's Tale.

THE SHIP ON FIRE.

"JAMES MAXWELL, a native of Stirlingshire, was pilot of a fine steam-vessel called the 'Clydesdale,' sailing between the Clyde and the west coast of Ireland. And one evening, after setting out on the voyage across the Channel, with between seventy and eighty passengers, Maxwell became sensible, at intervals, of the smell of fire, and wont about anxiously endeavouring to discover whence it originated. On communicating with the master, he found that he too had perceived it; but neither of them could form the least conjecture as to where it arose. A gentleman passenger also observed this alarming vapour, which alternately rose and passed away, leaving them in doubt of its being a reality. About eleven o'clock at night this gentleman went to bed, confident of safety; but while Maxwell was at the helm, the master ceased not an instant to search from place to place, as the air became more and more impregnated with the odour of burning timber."

"At last he sprung up on deck, exclaiming, 'Maxwell, the flames have burst out at the paddle-box!'"

"James calmly inquired, 'Then shall I put about?'"

"Turner's order was to proceed. Maxwell struck one hand upon his heart, as he flung the other above his head, and with uplifted eyes uttered, 'O God Almighty! enable me to do my duty! and O God! Provide for my wife, my mother, and my child!'"

"Whether it was the thoughts of the dreadful nature of the Galloway coast, girded as it is with perpendicular masses of rock, which influenced the master in his decision to press forwards, we cannot tell. But as there was only the wide ocean before and around them, the pilot did not long persist in this hopeless course. He put the boat about, sternly subduing every expression of emotion, and standing with his eyes fixed on the point for which he wished to steer. The fire, which the exertions of all the men could not keep under, soon raged with ungovernable fury, and keeping the engine in violent action, the vessel, at the time one of the fleetest that had ever been built, flew through the water with incredible speed. All the passengers were gathered to the bow, the rapid flight of the vessel keeping that part clear of the flames, while it carried the fire, flames, and smoke backwards to the quarter-gallery, where the self-devoted pilot stood like a martyr at the stake. Everything possible was done by the master and crew to keep the place on which he stood deluged with water; but this became every moment more difficult and more hopeless; for, in spite of all that could be done, the devouring fire seized the cabin under him, and the spot on which he stood immovable became intensely heated. Still, still the hero never flinched!"

"At intervals, the motion of the wind threw aside the intervening mass of flame and smoke for a moment, and then might be heard exclamations of hope and gratitude as the multitude on the prow got a glimpse of the brave man standing calm and fixed on his dreadful watch!"

"The blazing vessel, glaring through the darkness of night, had been observed by the people on shore, and they had assembled on the heights adjoining an opening in the rocks about twelve yards wide; and there, by waving torches and other signals, did their best to direct the crew to the spot. The signals were not misunderstood by Maxwell, whose feet were already roasted on the deck! The fierce fire still kept the engine in furious action, impelling the vessel onwards; but this could not have lasted above another minute; and during the interval, he ran her into the open space, and alongside a ledge of rock, upon which every creature got safe on shore—all unscathed, except the self-devoted one, to whom all owed their lives! Had he flinched for a minute they must all have perished."

"What would not any or all of them have given, when driving over the wide sea in their flaming prison, to the man who would have promised them safety? But when this heroic man had accomplished the desperate undertaking, did the gratitude of this multitude continue beyond the minute of deliverance? We believe it did not! One man exclaimed, 'There is my trunk—I am ruined without it: five pounds to whoever will save it!' Maxwell could not hesitate in relieving any species of distress. He snatched the burning handle of the trunk, and swung it on shore, but left the skin of his hand and fingers sticking upon it—a memorial which might have roused the gratitude of the most torpid savage! But he who offered the reward forgot to pay it to one who could not and would not ask of any one on earth."

"As might have been expected, Maxwell's constitution, though very powerful, never recovered the effects of that dreadful burning. Indeed, it required all the skill and enthusiasm of an eminent physician under whose care he placed himself to save his life. Though the flames had not actually closed round him as he stood on his awful watch, yet such was the heat under him and around him, that not only, as we have said, were his feet severely burnt, but his hair, a large hair-cap, and huge dreadnought watch-coat, which he wore, were all in such a state from the intense heat, that they crumbled into powder on the least touch. His handsome athletic form was reduced to the extremest emaciation; his young face became ten years older during that appalling night, and his hair changed to gray."

"A subscription for the unfortunate pilot was set on foot among the gentlemen of Glasgow some time after the burning. On this occasion the sum of a hundred pounds was raised, of which sixty pounds were divided between the master and pilot, and the remainder given to the sailors."

"Notwithstanding his disabilities, James was fortunately able, after an interval, to pursue his occupation as a pilot; but owing to a weakness in his feet, caused by the injuries they had received, he fell, and endured a severe fracture of the ribs. The value, however, in which he was held by his employers, on account of his steady and upright character, caused them, on this occasion, to continue his ordinary pay during the period of his recovery."

"After this event, James entered the service of another company (Messrs. Thomson and McConnell), conducting a steam-shipping communication between Glasgow and Liverpool, by whom, notwithstanding the enfeebled state of his body and broken health, he was (as how could such a man be otherwise!) esteemed as a valuable servant."

"In the year 1833 the case of this hero in humble life was noticed in 'Chambers's Edinburgh Journal,' and roused a very general sympathy in his favour. The subscriptions in his behalf were at this time of material service in enabling him to support his family; but misfortunes, arising out of his enfeebled condition, afterwards pressed upon him, and another subscription was made for his relief in 1840. James did not live to reap the full benefit of this fresh act of public benevolence and respect; and shortly after his decease his wife also died. Enough of money was realised to aid in rearing and educating the younger children of this excellent individual, who deserved so well of his country."

——————————

"A very interesting story! Well done, Jessy!" cried the children.

"Oh! I deserve no credit at all," said she, colouring. "I confess that I copied every line almost out of 'Chambers's Journal.'"

"You have the credit of having chosen well," observed Willy.

"Might I suggest," said Mr. Presgrave, "that in reading our stories we should abstain from either praise or blame? The one might discourage, the other foster vanity, to which we are all but too prone."

"There is one thing in the story which I can hardly think true," exclaimed Amy; "and that is, that those whom the pilot had saved could ever be ungrateful to him!"

"Oh no!" cried Julia, clasping her hands, "after all that he had done, after all that he had suffered, when they sprang one by one on the safe firm shore, and felt the cool wind, and saw the vessel flaming upon the water, and knew themselves saved—saved! Oh! I should have thought that they would have poured out their whole hearts in thankfulness, and never have stopped showing their gratitude to their deliverer!"

"God grant that none of us may be equally ungrateful!" said Mr. Presgrave in a solemn tone of voice.

"O sir! O uncle!" exclaimed all the children at once.

"May not the burning vessel be considered as a type, an image of a world lost by sin, speeding on to death and destruction? The first spark that kindled the flames may have appeared small, but the evil spread, until the whole ship seemed destined to become a prey to the devouring element. What mattered it that the sky was clear above, what mattered it that no rocks opposed her course, how fearful was the fate of that doomed vessel, that carried the destroyer within herself with her!"

"I do not quite understand," said Julia timidly.

"Are there any here who have understood and can explain my meaning?" said the old man, glancing round him.

"I think so, sir," said Percy, after a pause. "The first spark was like the sin of Eve in the garden, which spread to all those who followed after her. The whole world, and all that were in it, were doomed to destruction, none could escape, for all had sinned, and 'the soul that sinneth it shall die;' but when nothing but ruin and death seemed before us—"

"Then," said Mr. Presgrave, "Mercy found a way for our escape! Sufferings beyond what mere man ever endured were borne for us, and for our salvation; and now the bright shore of heaven is before us, safety and bliss freely offered to all, to all who do not wilfully choose death rather than life, and remain in the burning vessel!"

"Are there any who would do that?" asked Jessy in surprise.

"I ask my young companions for a reply," said Mr. Presgrave. "Who are those who madly choose to remain behind and perish, when deliverance and safety are offered to them?"

"The covetous, the unforgiving, thieves, liars, Sabbath-breakers," were echoed on every side.

"And what should we have said to a man in that vessel who should have lingered when all else were leaving the ship, and while flames gained upon him every moment, resisted all entreaties with the careless reply, 'There is time enough yet to escape?'"

"I should have feared that he might grow giddy and unable to escape," replied Willy.

"Oh! my dear children, while yet there is time, seek the means of escape so mercifully provided for us! Remember that the straightest course to our haven is the only secure one; and oh! Never forget our deep debt of thankfulness to Him who gave life itself to redeem us from destruction!"

[CHAPTER III.]

Bella's Tale.

CATHERINE DOUGLAS.

"'THEY have not discovered him! Heaven be praised!' exclaimed the Queen of Scotland, as, after vainly searching the apartment in which she stood trembling, surrounded by her ladies, Robert Graham and his ruthless band hurried away to examine other parts of the palace."

"'Oh! how my heart throbbed,' cried the youngest of the maidens, 'when the murderer had his foot on the very plank which we had raised to let the king * down to his place of concealment!'"

"'Are they gone?' murmured a low voice which seemed to come from beneath them."

"'Oh! hush, my liege lord! Rest in safety and in silence—they are not distant—they may return—they—'"

"'Hark!' cried Catherine Douglas, with her finger on her lips, and there was a stillness like that of death in the circle. Then sounds wore heard in the distance, the heavy tread of many feet, the clanking of armour, and the terrified ladies caught the words, 'The vault! we have not searched the vault!'"

* James I., King of Scotland.

"The queen stood like a monument of terror, her quivering lips apart, her eyes wildly fixed, every drop of blood banished from her agonised face. 'They come!' she gasped forth."

"Catherine sprang to the door, and closed it in a moment against the approaching murderers."

"'Fix the iron bar across!' cried the Lady Margaret. 'Ere they can force its massive strength, assistance may arrive!'"

"'The bar!' exclaimed the ladies. 'The bar!'"

"'It is gone! We are lost!' cried Catherine. The tread of the murderers was at the door, a hand rudely grasped the lock without—stay, traitors, stay! There is yet a bar—a weak woman's arm is thrust across—Catherine Douglas has sacrificed herself for her king!

"O ruthless men! Can ye force a bloody entry. Should not devotion like hers form a firmer defence than bar of iron or brass! Who shall tell the terrors of that moment—that brief awful moment of unutterable agony? It yields—it breaks—the weak barrier of love—and the murderers force their way to their victim, over the senseless form of Catherine Douglas!"

——————————

"Did they kill the king?" inquired Willy.

"He died by the daggers of the traitors!" replied Bella. "You may read the whole account in the History of Scotland."

"And did the brave lady live with her poor broken arm?" inquired Julia, with tears in her eyes.

"I do not know—the history did not tell. If she lived, it must always have been a comfort to her to think that she had done all that she could!"

"This reminds me," said Mr. Presgrave, "of an incident in English history, perhaps equally touching, and not so well known. The life of Edwin, one of the most illustrious of our Saxon kings, was endangered by an assassin, who, armed with a poisoned dagger, gained admittance to his presence. This man began to deliver a fictitious message; in the midst of it, he clenched his dagger, and rushed upon the king. Lilla, the favourite minister of Edwin, perceived the danger, but had no shield to ward off the blow. The king was off his guard—the dagger was raised; with self-devoted loyalty, Lilla threw himself between his sovereign and the assassin, received the descending blow, and expired!"

"There is something noble and glorious in dying for one's king!" exclaimed Louis. "I could half envy such a death!"

"I have that feeling, too," said Bella. "But one has no chance in these days of doing anything that is wonderful or glorious!"

"But think of the danger and the pain," suggested Amy. "It is easy to talk of sacrifices, but difficult to make them."

"I believe that I could sacrifice life in a glorious cause!" replied the enthusiastic girl; and she said no more than she thought. "And if the eye of a king were upon me—think of that! What courage and strength it would give one!"

"It seems to me," observed Mr. Presgrave, "that in these days, as well as in times gone by, each true subject has not only a chance, but a necessity of doing something noble and glorious! There is no light struggle before us all—hate, selfishness, worldliness are at the door of each, but Faith must hold its firm bar across, and the eye of our King is upon us!"

"But what happens to children like us seems so small," replied Bella. "We know what is right, but we seem to want a motive for exertion to the utmost of our power."

"How can we want a motive, my dear child? The weakest child has an enemy to struggle with, more formidable than any power of man—his own traitorous heart. Angels witness the conflict—Heaven sends aid, and victory is—glory eternal!"

"Oh! When earth's hopes are brightest,
Arm for the inward strife!
With more than mortal foes thou fightest,
And for more than life!"

Percy murmured, but so softly that only Jessy caught the words—"'He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.'"

[CHAPTER IV.]

THE BOMB.

"THIS, I think, must be my little Julia's story," said Mr. Presgrave, taking up a sheet of foolscap, neatly ruled, and covered with large round text.

"O uncle!" cried the child, laughing and blushing. "I am almost ashamed to give it in. I cannot write like the others—I never wrote anything so long before, and yet it will seem very short."

"You have done your best, my darling!" replied Mr. Presgrave, fondly passing his hand over her curly locks, "And no one can do any more. A short story may have a long moral, and so—let us proceed to your tale."

With good-natured smiles, and some little curiosity, the party listened to the story of the youngest in their circle, while Julia hid her merry little face on the knee of her Uncle Presgrave.

Julia's Tale.

THE BOMB.

"THERE was a fight between the English and the Russians. Cannons were roaring and bullets were flying, but the brave men on board the English ship 'Hecla' fought on, and were not afraid. All on a sudden, down fell a great bomb on the deck, all ready to blow up, and kill every one near it. A young seaman, called Lucas, caught hold of the bomb, lifted it, and flung it into the sea!"

——————————

"You see," said Julia, raising her head, "mine was a very short story. It took me a long time to write it, but you have read it all through in a minute!"

"It was a very nice little story, jewel—a very nice story!" cried the children, to not one of whom was it new.

"I think that we may draw a most valuable lesson from it," said Mr. Presgrave.

"Yes, to do what ought to be done at once, without stopping to hesitate or to doubt," observed Percy.

"True!" cried Louis. "For if Lucas had delayed but one minute, he would probably have been blown to pieces the next."

"Can any of you mention to me examples from Scripture of the danger of delay and hesitation?"

After a little pause, Percy replied, "I remember the example of Felix, the Roman governor, who trembled when St. Paul spoke to him of the judgment to come, but put off his repentance to a convenient season, and died, I fear, in his sins."

"And Lot's wife," said Willy, "who paused to look behind her, and was changed into a pillar of salt!"

"Was it not wrong in Eve to stop to listen to the serpent?" added little Julia, in an inquiring tone.

"You have all mentioned striking examples, my children. I believe that one of the most fatal errors of man is that of putting off till to-morrow the duty of to-day. I was much impressed by what I read in this valuable little book," he continued, laying his hand on a small work on the table entitled "COME TO JESUS." "I cannot refrain from giving you a short extract, as it bears upon the subject upon which we are conversing."

"On the narrow ledges of the steep cliffs of the Yorkshire coast, multitudes of sea-fowl lay their eggs, by gathering which some persons obtain a perilous livelihood. It once happened that a man, having fixed in the ground his iron bar, and having lowered himself down by the rope which was fastened to it, found that, in consequence of the edge of the cliff bending over the part below, he could not reach the narrow ledge where the eggs were deposited without swinging himself backwards and forwards. By this means, he, at last, placed his foot upon the rock, but in so doing, he lost his hold of the rope! His situation was most dreadful!"

"The sea roared hundreds of feet below! It was impossible to climb either up or down; he must soon perish from want, or be dashed to pieces on the rocks! The rope was his only way of escape. It was still swinging to and fro, but when it settled it would be out of his reach! Every time it approached him it was farther off than before. Every moment that he waited his danger increased! He made up his mind. The next time the rope swung towards him he sprang forwards, seized it, and reached the top in safety!"

"Sinner! Your salvation is farther off every moment you wait! Death will soon cast you down, but Jesus is near to save you! He invites you to lay hold on Him. It is your only hope. Grasp Him by Faith; you cannot miss your hold. He will hold you, and draw you up to heaven. But the difficulty and danger are greater every moment that you delay. Come to Jesus now!"

[CHAPTER V.]

Amy's Tale.

THE LADY AND THE SERPENT.

"A LADY, named Miss Bird, on entering her bathroom one night during her residence in India, happened to place her foot on the head of a serpent. She did not yield to the natural impulse of fear, and start back, and so release the dangerous reptile. Firmly she pressed down her foot upon it. It coiled round her ankle, but she remained immovable! When the servants came with lights they found the heroic lady with a cobra capella lying dead at her feet!"

——————————

"Oh! What firmness she showed!" exclaimed Jessy. "I am sure that I should have started back and screamed the moment that I felt the slimy creature under my foot!"

"Then if the lesson taught by the last story was decision, the lesson taught by this must be perseverance," said Mr. Presgrave. "There are many who act upon prompt and noble impulse, who trample, as it were, on the sin that besets them, but fail when their trial is lengthened and tedious, when their courage has time to cool and their hope to flag. And we all need the apostle's exhortation—'Be not weary in well-doing, for in due season ye shall reap if ye faint not.'"

"Ours must be a lifelong keeping down of the serpent," said Percy, rather as if thinking aloud than as if addressing himself to his companions. There was silence for a few moments in all the circle, and an expression of grave thought even on Julia's little face. Then Louis exclaimed—

"That story of persevering courage was such a short one, that I am sure that uncle ought to give us another; why, it was not any longer than Julia's."

"Oh! Give us another! Give us another!" cried the little people eagerly.

"That may not be so easy to do at a moment's notice," replied Mr. Presgrave, taking off his spectacles, however, which the children thought a sign that their request would be granted. He slowly rapped the table for a few moments with his fingers, passed his hand over his smooth forehead, and then, es if a thought had struck him, leaned back in his chair, and began.

Mr. Presgrave's Tale.

THE SHIPWRECK.

"It must now be forty years ago—yes, it was in the year 1814, when I was on a visit to some friends at St. Andrews—that, on one fearful wintry day, intelligence circulated through the place that a vessel had been driven on a sandbank in the bay to the east of the town. I remember that the news reached us as we sat round the table, by a blazing fire, enjoying a comfortable meal. In a minute the room was empty—cloaks and hats were snatched from their pegs, and we all hurried down to the beach."

"A crowd of sailors, citizens, and students were already assembled there; and what a sight presented itself to our view! The vessel had been cast ashore but a few hundred yards from the dry land, and she lay so near that, though the air was darkened by the driving sleet, we could see at intervals the fingers of the crew clinging to the ropes and spars as each billow broke over her side! What was to be done? How could aid be afforded? Must the sufferers perish before our eyes! The hardiest fishermen drew back, and dared not face the fearful surge. For myself, I knew not how to swim. I could only attempt to urge on others to do that which I yet feared was but throwing away life, and adding another victim to those before us!"

"At length I heard a murmur through the excited crowd: 'He will go—he has offered;' and pressing forwards I beheld John Honey, a young student of divinity, preparing to venture into the raging sea. Remember his name, and honour it, my children, though his reward is above the praise of man! Tying a rope round his waist, holding a knife between his teeth, and struggling through the surf, he threw himself into the waves! I, among others, grasped that rope, and watched with sickening anxiety the swimmer making his way through the sea! Each giant billow seemed as though it would dash him to destruction; his progress became more slow, he was growing faint we feared."

"'He will never reach the vessel!' we cried, and began to draw him back by the rope! But not so easily was his humanity foiled, or his perseverance baffled. Judge of our astonishment, our terror, when we felt the rope lightened of its weight, and pulled it on shore without resistance! The determined young hero had cut it away, and so severed his connection with the shore!"

"At last the joyful cry of 'He has reached it!' burst from the crowd, and I could myself distinguish the form of young Honey standing on the deck of the stranded vessel. It was but for a few minutes, then again we saw him spring into the billows, one larger than the rest soon landed him at our feet, and many hands grasped him, and many voices welcomed, as we aided his cold dripping fingers to unfasten a rope which he had borne with him from the ship."

"But the unhappy crew were too much exhausted to avail themselves of this slender bridge through the foaming waters. They had been four days without food, as we afterwards learned, and though the rope was firmly secured on shore, in vain we watched in hopes to see one of the sufferers venture upon it. Again young Honey plunged among the breakers, aiding himself by the rope. Again, he gained the vessel, and returned, pale, panting, but not alone! I will not lengthen my tale too much, nor describe how the crew, consisting of six men, were, one by one, safely landed on the beach—a shout of joy welcomed each arrival."

"There now remained but one human being on the sea-washed deck, and to him the student made his way. He was a boy, so helpless that we feared that he never could reach the shore alive! Loud shrieked the wind, and the roaring billow swept over the heads of the two, as they attempted to gain the land! Ha! There is now but one head visible, the exhausted child has been swept from his hold, he has let go the rope—'He is lost! He is lost!' we exclaimed."

"No, for a preserver was near him. Honey, whose philanthropy seemed to endow him with strength superhuman, dived for the boy, and with joy we again beheld them both clinging to the rope! Another tremendous wave—once more the feeble hands have been unable to retain their grasp, once more the student dives, rallying his exhausted powers for one last effort—then what shouts of joy and triumph ring along the shore, as the boy and his deliverer lie gasping on the strand!"

——————————

"O uncle! How glorious!" exclaimed Bella, clasping her hands.

"Is Honey living yet?—May we not see him one day?—Is he living?" cried the children.

"Yes, living, but not on earth. God grant that you may see him where there is no more danger, or suffering, or death! Though Honey survived that terrible day, we have reason to believe that in saving the lives of others, he had sacrificed his own. The seeds of a wasting, fatal malady had been sown in his breast by severe exposure and extreme exertion, and he passed from this world in the prime of his days, a martyr to humanity."

"But come," resumed Mr. Presgrave, after looking around him, and then glancing at his watch. "We must not go to the ladies with weeping eyes, and I see that we may soon expect a summons to the tea-table. We have concluded the stories of our dear little girls, and they have given us much food for reflection. The boys' we will reserve till after tea, when, perhaps, we may be joined by my dear niece and Mrs. Presgrave. But before we leave off, my young friends, let me ask—I would have you ask yourselves—what truths will you carry away with you from these tales, and our conversations over them? What is the honey that you have gathered from the flowers, the profit more enduring than the amusement of an hour?"

The sound of the tea-bell interrupted the old gentleman; his question we will leave to our readers to answer.

[CHAPTER VI.]

THE MAD DOG—THE BEAR.

"YOURS looks a very long story, Tom," whispered Jessy, as, after tea, they all adjourned to the drawing-room again.

"Copied—all copied; I took that hint from you. It is much easier to write other people's words, and one is more certain to give the story all right."

"Who was your hero?"

"A brewer."

"A brewer! That is strange!"

"Oh! A brewer on a grand scale, and a member of Parliament. He was one who struggled hard to get justice done to poor slaves. You should read his life—the Life of Fowell Buxton; it is very interesting, at least the parts that I have read of it. I have only dipped into it here and there, but Percy has read it right through, I believe."

"Poor Percy! He cannot amuse himself like other boys, so he is doubly fond of his book."

Mrs. Gore opened her Tunbridge-ware box, and resumed her much interrupted work. Little Willy crept to his mother's side, and looked his thanks for all the trouble that she had taken for him, for he had dictated, not written his tale. Old Mrs. Presgrave was comfortably placed on the sofa, and the lamp carefully screened from her eyes; again the packet of papers was produced, and Mr. Presgrave read as follows, Fowell's own account of a perilous adventure:

Tom's Tale.

THE MAD DOG.

"As you must hear the story of our dog Prince, may as well tell it you."

"On Thursday morning, when I got on my horse at S. Hoare's, David told me that there was something the matter with Prince, that he had killed the cat, and almost killed the new dog, and had bit at him and Elizabeth. I ordered him to be tied up, and taken care of, and then rode off to town. When I got into Hampstead I saw Prince covered with mud, and running furiously, and biting at everything. I saw him bite at least a dozen dogs, two boys, and a man."

"Of course, I was exceedingly alarmed, being persuaded he was mad. I tried every effort to stop or kill him, or to drive him into some outhouse, but in vain. At last he sprang up at a boy, and seized him by the breast. Happily I was near him, and knocked him off with my whip. He then set off towards London, and I rode by his side, waiting for some opportunity of stopping him. I constantly spoke to him, but he paid no regard to coaxing or scolding. You may suppose I was seriously alarmed, dreading the immense mischief he might do, having seen him do so much in the few preceding minutes. I was terrified at the idea of his getting into Camden Town and London, and at length considering that if ever there was an occasion that justified a risk of life, this was it, I determined to catch him myself. Happily, he ran up to Pryor's gate, and I threw myself from my horse upon him, and caught him by the neck; he bit at me and struggled, but without effect ..."

"His struggles were so desperate that it seemed at first impossible to hold him, till I lifted him up in the air, when he was more easily managed, and I contrived to ring the bell. I was afraid that the foam which was pouring from his mouth, in his furious efforts to bite me, might get into some scratch and do me injury; so, with great difficulty, I held him with one hand, while I put the other into my pocket and forced on my glove; then I did the same with my other hand."

"And at last the gardener opened the door, saying, 'What do you want?'"

"'I've brought you a mad dog,' replied I, and telling him to get a strong chain, I walked into the yard, carrying the dog by his neck. I determined not to kill him, as I thought if he should prove not to be mad, it would be such a satisfaction to the three persons whom he had bitten."

"I made the gardener (who was in a terrible fright) secure the collar round his neck, and fix the other end of the chain to a tree, and then walking to its farthest range, with all my force, which was nearly exhausted by his frantic struggles, I flung him away from me, and sprang back. He made a desperate bound after me, but finding himself foiled, he uttered the most fearful yell I ever heard ..."

"The next day when I went to see him, I thought that the chain seemed worn, so I pinned him to the ground between the prongs of a pitchfork, and then fixed a much larger chain round his neck. When I pulled off the fork, he sprang up, and made a dash at me, which snapped the old chain in two. He died in forty-eight hours from the time he went mad."

——————————

"Well, what I admire in that man's conduct," said Jessy, "was his thought all along for others. He could easily have escaped himself from the dog."

"And when he seized it, it would have been far easier to kill than to keep it," subjoined Tom.

"Sir Fowell Buxton was one who carried religion into everyday life," observed Mrs. Gore, "and devoted his time and his talents to the service of his God. It was remarked of him that he went through the world like a man passing through the wards of an hospital, and stooping down on all sides to administer help where it was needed."

"I should like to grow up to be such a man," observed Willy.

"Tom's story of an act of generous self-exposure to danger for the sake of others reminds me," said Mr. Presgrave, "of an account which I read to-day of two little boys' adventure with a bear. If my dear Julia will hand me that large green book, and open it at the place where I have left my paper-knife, I think that you all will listen with interest to an extract from Lloyd's 'Scandinavian Adventures.'"

THE BEAR.

"Two boys, cousins, one of ten, the other twelve years of age," so we read in a Swedish journal of the 13th November, 1851, "were, on the 1st of last October, tending their parents' cows and sheep on the outskirts of the forest in the parish of Evje, in Norway. Towards evening a bear, followed by two cubs, suddenly rushed towards the herd."

"'The bear is here!' exclaimed the elder of the lads to the younger, who was at some little distance—'Pass opp! Pass opp!' That is, look out! Look out!"

"At this time, the beast was in the act of chasing one of the sheep; and though the boy was provided only with a stick, he instantly ran to the rescue, and held up his frail weapon in a menacing way towards the bear. But the odds were too unequal; for on his near approach, she rose on her hind legs, and laid the gallant little fellow prostrate."

"The younger boy, on hearing the cries of the elder, made forthwith to the spot, where he found the bear lying over his cousin, and the fangs of the beast in contact with his head. In that part of the country, even the smallest lad wears a knife, suspended by a belt, about the waist. Such was the case with our little hero, who forthwith attempted to draw the weapon; but owing to rain that had fallen in the morning, the wooden handle of the knife stuck fast in the scabbard, and his efforts to disengage it proved unsuccessful. Nothing daunted, however, and armed only with a stick, he went straight up to the bear, and commenced belabouring her hind quarters. Thus unceremoniously attacked, the beast, uttering a deep growl, sprang to her feet, and, strange to say, moved sullenly off, without offering him any kind of molestation."

"As soon as she had left her victim, and while making a second dash at the identical sheep previously chased (which, owing to the rest of the flock having run-off in an opposite direction, stood stock still, as if bewildered), the little fellow drew his knife—the attempt having in this instance proved successful—and brandishing the shining blade, he, with menacing gestures, thus addressed the bear: 'Be off with you! make yourself scarce, or you shall see how I will serve you!' A form of words, coupled with a display of bright steel, of which that beast, according to the superstitious notions of the peasantry, is mortally afraid."

"The wounded boy having by this time risen to his feet, presently joined his comrade; and whilst the two little fellows thus battled with the bear, the hunted sheep, benefiting by the opportune diversion in its favour, succeeded in effecting its escape."

"The bears now retreated, when the lads hastened home with the cattle, leaving the beasts no other trophy than the cap of the elder, that they had carried off, and which, riven nearly in pieces, was afterwards found at some distance from the scene of conflict."

"The clothes of the wounded boy were torn to rags, and he himself sorely bitten; but he is, nevertheless, now so far recovered as to herd cattle as before."

"'What would you have done had the bear carried off your cousin?' was the question put to the younger lad after the occurrence. 'Then I myself should never have returned home,' was his reply; 'we should have shared alike!'"

——————————

"Brave boy!" exclaimed Louis.

"Faithful friend!" murmured Percy.

"I wonder if any one of us would have done so much for a companion!" said Willy in a musing tone.

"I am half afraid not," replied Julia.

"And why so, jewel?" cried the boys.

"Because—because—" said she, hesitating—"it is not very likely that we should be ready to give up our lives for another—when we are so very seldom ready to—to—"

"To give up our wills," added Mr. Presgrave, smiling. "Our selfishness is the bear that we fear to fight—our evil temper the mad dog that we must chain down and subdue."

[CHAPTER VII.]

Louis's Tale.

THE JACOBINS.

"AMIDST the horrors of the first French Revolution, when the palace of the monarch was sacked, and the guillotine ran with blood; when to be rich was treated as a crime, and the highest rank brought the deepest fall—a merciless mob of Jacobins were hurrying a citizen to his death. In vain, might he plead ignorance of his offence. In vain, might he claim justice, or cry for mercy. He saw but the fierce sans-culottes around him, dragging him forwards to the terrible guillotine!"

"In this fearful hour, who could save him? Who dare interpose to rescue the citizen from death? One man did dare, and that man was an Englishman! I never heard if he were impelled by feelings of friendship, or only a generous desire to help the defenceless, but with a courage that defied all danger, Nesham, a young officer of the British navy, who then happened to be near the spot, arrested the Jacobins in their murderous course, declared that their victim should not die without a trial, and that if they proceeded it should be over his body!"

"Even the fierce Revolutionists were struck with admiration at the heroism of the stranger. The French are peculiarly alive to such sentiments, and Nesham had not only the glory of having rescued an innocent man from destruction, but was voted a civic crown by the Jacobins themselves, for having preserved the life of a citizen."

——————————

"That is a very extraordinary instance of courage," observed Mr. Presgrave, as he laid down the paper. "Had you it upon good authority, Louis?"

"Nesham's own sister told it to my dear grandfather."

"It is one of the most remarkable examples of success in opposing the torrent of evil that I have ever heard," said Mrs. Gore. "Had the furious Jacobins torn Nesham to pieces, or dragged him to the guillotine to share the citizen's fate (which seemed the most probable result of his interference), every one would have called his attempt to save the Frenchman an act of perfect madness."

"It is never an easy matter to swim against the torrent," quietly observed the old lady on the sofa. "If it is hard not to follow the multitude to do wrong, it is harder still to oppose them."

"We know something of that at school," said Willy.

"Ah! Often things happen that will remind me of Nesham," cried Louis. "Depend upon it, when he was a schoolboy, he never suffered a little chap to be bullied."

"Nor was afraid to say his prayers," subjoined Percy.

"It's so easy to speak about being brave," said Tom; "to talk of dashing amongst cannon and bullets, but to go one way when all the world goes another."

"To stand up for the right when every one else is hunting it down."

"This needs a desperate deal of courage," said Louis.

"It is often difficult even to reprove sin by example," remarked Mr. Presgrave. "I know a young civilian in the Indian service, one of the finest specimens of a pure-minded, noble-hearted man that I ever had the pleasure of meeting with."

"When a boy he had refused to join his schoolfellows in robbing the fruit of their master; and threatened to report their conduct if they persisted in it. When quite a young man, he was invited to the mess-table of a regiment in India, where the conversation after dinner became so improper, that the civilian, feeling it his duty to show his disapprobation, calmly rose from the table and left the place."

"I dare say that the officers jeered at him," said Bella.

"I dare say that they did, but they could not but respect him, and when they met him in future, they were more guarded in their language."

"One of the most distinguished generals in the Indian army," said Mrs. Gore, "who returned to Old England covered with laurels, told me himself that when a very young officer he had fairly run-off from a mess-table, where his comrades were endeavouring to induce him to drink. And it has always seemed to me that that run-off from temptation, when almost a boy, did him as much credit as the proudest of his victories when a man."

"I dare say that it required more courage," observed Willy.

"I wonder," exclaimed Bella, "that even Nesham's heroism could have roused any generous feelings in those horrible Jacobins! Those who could guillotine their own gentle king—" *

"And their beautiful queen," † added Julia.

"And carry the head of a young princess ‡ on a pole, with her fair hair floating around it."

"Oh! I would have had no mercy on such murderers!" exclaimed Louis, striking his fist upon the table. "If I had been a general at the head of twenty thousand men, I'd soon have cleared Paris of them! I'd have rode them down, and cut them to pieces!"

"O Louis!" exclaimed Jessy and Julia; while Bella whispered to Willy, "It would have been no more than they deserved!"

Mrs. Gore looked shocked, the old lady sighed; but Mr. Presgrave, who had been glancing over Willy's tale, quietly raised his hand for silence, and commenced his reading without an observation.

* Louis XVI., a prince of mild and amiable disposition,
was guillotined, after a mock trial, by his own subjects in 1792.
† Marie Antoinette, the wife of Louis XVI.
‡ The Princess de Lamballe.

[CHAPTER VIII.]

Willy's Tale.

THE ROBBER TRIBE.

"ABOUT thirty years ago, in the mountains of Candeish dwelt a terrible race of robbers, called Bheels. They lived by plunder, thought nothing of murder, and by their cruelty, their wickedness, and their numbers they were the terror of the whole country round. Sometimes when every one had quietly gone to rest in a poor Indian village, there would be a cry of 'The Bheels! The Bheels!' and soon by the light of their blazing huts, wives would see their husbands killed at their doors, and their children running shrieking from the murderers!"

"The Governor of Bombay, * whose care it was to see that all that country was kept quiet and in order, always looked grave and stern when he thought of the Bheels, and determined to punish and subdue them."

"So he sent his brave troops into the mountains of Candeish, to hunt out the robber tribes. Sometimes they killed a few Bheels, but the rest kept out of their way, for it was as hard to catch them as monkeys. Then the place was so hot, and so very unhealthy, that the soldiers began to droop. One man fell ill and another fell ill, till ever so many fell sick, and the doctors were worked from morning till night, and grave after grave was dug for the dead; and the pale, sickly officers reviewing their troops thought, 'We never shall subdue the Bheels!'"

* Bombay is one of the great divisions of India, and is ruled by a
Governor sent out from England.

"Then the Governor of Bombay was more angry than ever, and it seemed to his mind that there was no better way than to kill every one of this murderous tribe!"

"Another governor * succeeded him, mild and gentle, who loved better to save than to destroy. He thought of a plan to subdue the Bheels; but whom could he find to carry it out?"

* Mr. Mountstuart Elphinstone.

"The Bheels hated the soldiers, and hated the English, and hated the Governor of Bombay. They looked at their own wild hills, and they shook their own sharp swords, and resolved that they never would yield!"

"There was one young officer among the English, named James Outram, distinguished for his dauntless courage. He had fought the Bheels and gained successes over them; and if they had taken him in fight, oh! How they would have exulted to have cut him in pieces, or to have hurled him down one of their precipices!"

"How astonished were they when, one sultry day, they saw Outram himself mounting a hill, and fearlessly coming towards them! Do you think that he came at the head of his men, on a fiery steed, with a gun in his hand, and pistols at his saddle-bow? No, he came alone, not a soldier near him, alone in the midst of his bloody foes. He placed himself in the hands of the Bheels, the fierce robbers whom our troops were hunting down, with no defence but his own calm spirit, and God's Providence watching over him!"

"Even savage hearts are touched by a proof of generous and undeserved confidence. Outram lived among the Bheels, and they harmed him not; they began by admiring, they ended in loving him. He hunted with them, and they wondered to see a courage yet more daring than their own. He cared for their wounds, he told them tales, he won the hearts of the robber tribe. Then he asked them if they would enlist as troops, and earn their bread in an honest way. Under such a leader they gladly enlisted, they became as faithful as they were brave—they defended the country they had loved to attack, and shed their blood freely in the cause of order and peace!"

——————————

"What a fine fellow that Outram must have been!" exclaimed Louis. "I wonder if he is living still?"

"Oh yes! He is living—and long may he live! I used often to see him when he was in England."

"Did he tell you of his adventures with the Bheels?" asked little Julia.

"Oh no! I never could get him to speak of his adventures, though I longed to hear about them, especially of one famous hunting story, of his rolling upon the ground with a panther."

"Is it not he who is called the modern Bayard," said Percy, "the Chevalier sans peur et sans reproche?"

"What does that mean?" whispered Julia.

"Without fear and without reproach," replied Percy.

"Without fear for his enemies, or reproach for the way in which he treats them!" said the little girl, glancing archly at Louis.

True heroism

Armed only with a stick, he went straight up to the bear

and commenced belabouring her.

TRUE HEROISM.

BY

A. L. O. E.

AUTHOR OF "NED FRANKS," "PICTURES OF ST. PAUL,"

"THE WHITE BEAR'S DEN," ETC.

GALL & INGLIS.

London: Edinburgh:

25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 20 BERNARD TERRACE.

CONTENTS.

TRUE HEROISM.

IVY LODGE.

THE SHIP ON FIRE.

Jessy's Tale.

THE SHIP ON FIRE.

Bella's Tale.

CATHERINE DOUGLAS.

THE BOMB.

Julia's Tale.

THE BOMB.

Amy's Tale.

THE LADY AND THE SERPENT.

Mr. Presgrave's Tale.

THE SHIPWRECK.

THE MAD DOG—THE BEAR.

Tom's Tale.

THE MAD DOG.

Louis's Tale.

THE JACOBINS.

Willy's Tale.

THE ROBBER TRIBE.