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Richards has again a little garden of his own, where his boys work honestly; and Phoebe rents a pretty conservatory, where she and Susan rear flowers which pay them

well. Their abode is very pleasant, and Phoebe's young mistress often goes to see her, and evidently respects her for being tender to her family and faithful to duty.

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Rules for a Belfry.

E commend to Our readers the following answer to an inquiry for "The Rules of a Wellconducted Belfry." The writer is "Steeplekeeper" at Immanuel

Church, Streatham; and it must be a double pleasure to hear the bells rung with the knowledge that the Belfry contains so noble a set of ringers.

"Our rules are very simple, but they work well, and have been in force in this belfry for the last ten years. We have a peal of eight bells, and ring various methods. 5,040 is common with us. We choose the most respectable of the working men, and if, after a few weeks' trial, they can ring rounds, we admit them into the Society on the following conditions: Entrance-fee, 2s. 6d.; weekly subscription, 2d.; and any member not attending the weekly practice is fined 3d. We ring the congregation to church every other Sunday morning and evening. On the alternate Sundays there are only chimes. Every

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ringer must attend the service afterwards. No beer has ever entered the belfry: and we have no need of rules touching behaviour, drink, or language, as the best of order is always kept.

Three of the ringers are members of the choir; two are Sunday-school teachers; four are total abstainers; and the others are very abstemious men. I have been a bell-ringer thirty years, and for the last fifteen years a total abstainer, and I am convinced that men can ring best without drink. We have a Church Missionary box in the belfry, which receives liberal contributions. A book is kept in which the attendance is entered, punctuality being particularly noticed. The payment for the Sunday ringing arises from the Christmas-boxes and the subscriptions, the total amount of which is divided according to attendance; and all our business is transacted in the belfry, as we never adjourn to a public-house. I send these few lines with the sanction of our Vicar, trusting they may be of some service.

Fireside Fables.

BY AGNES GIBERNE, AUTHOR OF

I. DIVISION OF LABOUR.

EE the amount of work which I have performed," cried the Pen exultingly.

"You!" said the Ink, running from the end of possible for the last hour. me."

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which had been the Pen as fast as "You must mean

'Indeed, I mean what I say," responded the Pen. "The work is not yours. Look at all those pages which I have written. Much you would have accomplished without my

66

TIM TEDDINGTON'S DREAM."

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HENRY DANIEL.

'Ay, look at all those pages," repeated the Ink. "See them covered with my marks, and then say, if you like, that the writing is your own."

"I do say so still," persisted the Pen. "Pretty work you would have made of it, if I had not undertaken to run about, and leave you in the right places on the paper."

"And much good your running about, as you call it, would have done, if you had not had me to leave in your tracks," said the Ink.

Hitherto the disputants had kept pretty

wax warm, and to lose their temper—which is always a pity between old friends, and almost sure to lead to ill consequences.

"The fact is, you quite deceive yourself," said the Pen. "No doubt you are of some service to me in my task; but there is still less doubt that I am a far greater help to you; in fact, quite indispensable."

"Indeed, you greatly overvalue yourself," retorted the Ink, almost growing pale with chagrin. “Ishould not hesitate for a moment to dispense with your valuable assistance, if I felt inclined."

"A great deal of writing you would accomplish without me," sneered the Pen.

"As much, at all events, as you would accomplish without me," retorted the Ink.

"If my services are so unappreciated, I shall certainly withdraw them," said the Pen.

"Pray do, if you are inclined," said the Ink. "Of course, in that case, you will accomplish your work without looking for assistance from

me."

"Of course," responded the Pen haughtily. And thereupon they separated, both resolved to be independent of each other. The Pen travelled fast over a sheet of blank paper, with the intention of performing a large amount of work; but when he arrived at the end he found, greatly to his annoyance, that the sheet remained blank as ever. What could be the cause?

He tried it again, with precisely the same result. And by that time he saw that his former friend and partner, the Ink, was in a very similar predicament. Not that he had

failed in destroying the blankness of his sheet; but, instead of being covered with delicate, legible writing, it was one mass of black blots. The Ink and the Pen looked at one another, and very much ashamed they both felt.

Both hung back at first, unwilling to make advances. The Pen was the earliest to muster up resolution, and he remarked, rather shyly: "Neither of us have quite succeeded in our aim, I perceive."

"Not exactly," said the Ink, in an amicable tone, which showed him to be in a friendly state of mind.

"Perhaps, after all, the old plan is the best," said the Pen. "It certainly is necessary that I should leave some marks behind me."

"And I," said the Ink, "am unhappily rather disposed to run all over the paper unless properly guided; so you are certainly of use to me."

"If you acknowledge my usefulness, I am quite ready to work with you again," said the Pen, relenting.

"By all means, if you will admit that you are not entirely independent of me," said the Ink. "Why, no, I have proved that," said the Pen; and without delay they resumed their old partnership.

“After all, we have been rather stupid ever to part," said the Pen. "It is very certain that people can do much more when they work together than when they work separately."

"True; and I hope we shall never do such a foolish thing again," added the Ink. (To be continued.)

"Let us Gather up the Sunbeams.”

ET us gather up the sunbeams

Lying all around our path;
Let us keep the wheat and roses,
Casting out the thorns and chaff;
Let us find our sweetest comfort
In the blessings of to-day,
With a patient hand removing

All the briers from the way.
Strange we never prize the music

Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown! Strange that we should slight the violets

Strange that summer skies and sunshine

Never seem one half so fair
As when winter's snowy pinions
Shake the white down in the air.

If we knew the baby fingers

Pressed against the window pane
Would be cold and stiff to-morrow-

Never trouble us again;

Would the bright eyes of our darling

Catch the frown upon our brow?
Would the prints of rosy fingers

Richards has again a little garden of his own, where his boys work honestly; and Phoebe rents a pretty conservatory, where she and Susan rear flowers which pay them

well. Their abode is very pleasant, and Phoebe's young mistress often goes to see her, and evidently respects her for being tender to her family and faithful to duty.

[graphic]

Rules for a Belfry.

E commend to Our readers the following answer to an inquiry for "The Rules of a Wellconducted Belfry." The writer is "Steeplekeeper" at Immanuel

Church, Streatham; and it must be a double pleasure to hear the bells rung with the knowledge that the Belfry contains so noble a set of ringers.

"Our rules are very simple, but they work well, and have been in force in this belfry for the last ten years. We have a peal of eight bells, and ring various methods. 5,040 is common with us. We choose the most respectable of the working men, and if, after a few weeks' trial, they can ring rounds, we admit them into the Society on the following conditions: - Entrance-fee, 2s. 6d.; weekly subscription, 2d.; and any member not attending the weekly practice is fined 3d. We ring the congregation to church every other Sunday morning and evening. On the alternate Sundays there are only chimes. Every

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ringer must attend the service afterwards. No beer has ever entered the belfry and we have no need of rules touching behaviour, drink, or language, as the best of order is always kept.

Three of the ringers are members of the choir; two are Sunday-school teachers; four are total abstainers; and the others are very abstemious men. I have been a bell-ringer thirty years, and for the last fifteen years a total abstainer, and I am convinced that men can ring best without drink. We have a Church Missionary box in the belfry, which receives liberal contributions. A book is kept in which the attendance is entered, punctuality being particularly noticed. The payment for the Sunday ringing arises from the Christmas-boxes and the subscriptions, the total amount of which is divided according to attendance; and all our business is transacted in the belfry, as we never adjourn to a public-house. I send these few lines with the sanction of our Vicar, trusting they may be of some service.

Fireside Fables.

BY AGNES GIBERNE, AUTHOR OF

I. DIVISION OF LABOUR.

EE the amount of work which I have performed," cried the Pen exultingly.

"You!" said the Ink, which had been running from the end of the Pen as fast as possible for the last hour. "You must mean

me."

"Indeed, I mean what I say," responded the Pen. "The work is not yours. Look at all those pages which I have written. Much you would have accomplished without my

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TIM TEDDINGTON'S DREAM."

HENRY DANIEL.

"Ay, look at all those pages," repeated the Ink. "See them covered with my marks, and then say, if you like, that the writing is your own."

"I do say so still," persisted the Pen. "Pretty work you would have made of it, if I had not undertaken to run about, and leave you in the right places on the paper."

"And much good your running about, as you call it, would have done, if you had not had me to leave in your tracks," said the Ink.

Hitherto the disputants had kept pretty

wax warm, and to lose their temper-which is always a pity between old friends, and almost sure to lead to ill consequences.

"The fact is, you quite deceive yourself," said the Pen. "No doubt you are of some service to me in my task; but there is still less doubt that I am a far greater help to you; in fact, quite indispensable."

"Indeed, you greatly overvalue yourself," retorted the Ink, almost growing pale with chagrin. "I should not hesitate for a moment to dispense with your valuable assistance, if I felt inclined."

"A great deal of writing you would accomplish without me," sneered the Pen. "As much, at all events, as you would accomplish without me," retorted the Ink.

66

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If my services are so unappreciated, I shall certainly withdraw them," said the Pen. Pray do, if you are inclined," said the Ink. "Of course, in that case, you will accomplish your work without looking for assistance from me."

"Of course," responded the Pen haughtily. And thereupon they separated, both resolved to be independent of each other. The Pen travelled fast over a sheet of blank paper, with the intention of performing a large amount of work; but when he arrived at the end he found, greatly to his annoyance, that the sheet remained blank as ever. What could be the cause?

He tried it again, with precisely the same result. And by that time he saw that his former friend and partner, the Ink, was in a very similar predicament. Not that he had

failed in destroying the blankness of his sheet; but, instead of being covered with delicate, legible writing, it was one mass of black blots. The Ink and the Pen looked at one another, and very much ashamed they both felt.

Both hung back at first, unwilling to make advances. The Pen was the earliest to muster up resolution, and he remarked, rather shyly: "Neither of us have quite succeeded in our aim, I perceive."

"Not exactly," said the Ink, in an amicable tone, which showed him to be in a friendly state of mind.

"Perhaps, after all, the old plan is the best," said the Pen. "It certainly is necessary that I should leave some marks behind me."

"And I," said the Ink, "am unhappily rather disposed to run all over the paper unless properly guided; so you are certainly of use to me."

"If you acknowledge my usefulness, I am quite ready to work with you again," said the Pen, relenting.

"By all means, if you will admit that you are not entirely independent of me," said the Ink. "Why, no, I have proved that," said the Pen; and without delay they resumed their old partnership.

"After all, we have been rather stupid ever to part," said the Pen. "It is very certain that people can do much more when they work together than when they work separately."

66 True; and I hope we shall never do such a foolish thing again," added the Ink.

(To be continued.)

"Let us Gather up the Sunbeams.”

ET us gather up the sunbeams

Lying all around our path;
Let us keep the wheat and roses,
Casting out the thorns and chaff;
Let us find our sweetest comfort
In the blessings of to-day,
With a patient hand removing

All the briers from the way.
Strange we never prize the music

Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown! Strange that we should slight the violets

Strange that summer skies and sunshine

Never seem one half so fair
As when winter's snowy pinions
Shake the white down in the air.

If we knew the baby fingers

Pressed against the window pane
Would be cold and stiff to-morrow-

Never trouble us again;

Would the bright eyes of our darling

Catch the frown upon our brow?
Would the prints of rosy fingers

Ah, those little ice-cold fingers!
How they point our memories back
To the hast words and actions
Strewn along our backward track!

How those little hands remind us,
As in snowy grace they lie,
Not to scatter thorns-but roses
For our reaping by-and-by!

"He Stands Fire."

A WORD TO YOUNG MEN.

WAS walking along the
Strand one night, and I came
upon a fine tall soldier. I
entered into conversation
with him; and said,-

"There is one thing I cannot understand about the British soldier." "What is that, sir?"

"Well," I said, "he is bold and daring: you could not insult him more than by calling him a coward. There are men amongst you would rush up to the cannon's mouth, even if you knew it would be certain death. And yet there are amongst you men who dare not kneel down in the barrack-room at night, and repeat the prayer their mother taught them when they were children."

He paused, and said, "That is true, sir."

"What is the meaning of it, soldier ? " He said:

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A

"You remind me of what took place in my own roll a few weeks ago. young fellow came into our room, and the first night before going to bed he knelt down to pray, and instantly there was a noise and disturbance in the room. Caps and belts were flung over at the man, but he did not move. The second night there was a general cry, Willie, try it again.' Down he went on his knees again. Caps and belts were thrown again, and the men whistled. The third night he went again on his knees, and again on the fourth night,

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the greatest blackguard in the room cried out, Lads, he is genuine-he stands fire;' and from that night every one in the room respected him, and began to follow his example."

In a large establishment in Birmingham, some seventy years ago, there was a youth who came from his mother's loving home in one of our beautiful villages. He had been taught to "stand fire:" not to be ashamed of God or of prayer. The first night he retired to rest with several other youths. He knelt down to pray, and, as in the case of the soldier, he was instantly beset by the young fellows in the room, abusing him and ridiculing him. Everything was done to induce him to abstain from prayer, but he "stood fire;" he was not ashamed of the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amongst the others was a strongbuilt youth, who stood on his right, and who said, "My mother taught me to do that. I have been ashamed of doing it, but I will do it now." That youth became the great, the noble John Angell James.

O young men, if that youth had not stood fire the world might never have known or been blessed by the labours of John Angell James. The soldier told me what I want you to remember. He said, "Sir, as a rule the fresh fellows who kneel down to pray do not do it a second night." Ah! young men, may that never be said of you. That explains the meaning of those words, "He stands fire."-From an Address by

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