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The haar from off the German Sea,

Oh! it was cold and keen, And scarce a single loiterer

On all the street was seen.

For such as called some home their own

Were thither hurrying fast,
And homeless ones in nooks and stairs

Sought shelter from the blast..

Only one little waif stood still

Upon the wintry street,
Waiting to sell his matches there,

Amid the snow and sleet.

Only a penny, matches, sir,

Lights, matches, please to buy ; Only a penny, lights, sir, lights : "

Such was the poor child's cry.

I saw him as I hurried past,

There shiv'ring in the cold;
A child in years, his pale thin face

Was prematurely old.

“Give me a box," I said, “ of those

Wax matches that you sell. Not change a shilling? Bring the changa

Around to my hotel.”

The hours passed by, no boy returned

To bring me back the change; Temptation had o'ermastered him,

I thought, nor thought it strange,

Not strange that such a waif as he

Should clutch dishonest gain,
And yet I hoped that he would come:

My hope, it seemed, was vain.

“ Poor child! he knows no better ; born

And bred in some thieves' den, You cannot judge of such a child

As you would judge of men.”

Late in the evening came a knock

At my room door. “Come in." 'Twas a poor little shivering child,

His dress was worn and thin.

He spoke; his voice was very sad,

And yet the tones were sweet. Are you the gentleman that bought

The matches in the street ?

There's fourpence of your shilling, sir,

My brither has lost some ; That's a' that's left, I've brocht it you,

For Sandie canna come.

He would hae come himsel' to you,

It's no for want o' will,
For him and me is honest, sir,

But Sandie's very ill.

A cart ran o'er him, and he lost

Your pennies in the sna';
His legs are broken, and he'll dee,

The doctor says. That's a'.

And there's your pennies, a'that's left."

He laid them on the tray,
And with a great heartrending sob

He turned to go away.

"Stay, little man. What is your name?

You're hungry, that I know, And very cold your little feet

With trudging through the snow.

O, Reubie, is it? That's your name."

I placed him by the fire, And set before him everything

I thought he could desire.

He tried to eat, but scarce the child

From sobbing could refrain, Then started up-"I maun gang hame,

For Sandie's a' his lane."

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A bright example for us all

Did Sandie manifest,
Of duty and unselfish love-

A pattern for the best.

With sorrows many, many a care,

And privileges few,
Though tempted upon every side
He honest was and true.

A manly heart was in the child,

A spirit true and brave;
Plant roses where he takes his rest,

Strew lilies on his grave.

And tell the young in happy homes

To be like him in youth,
To tread the path of helpfulness,

Of honesty and truth.

And seek the Spirit of the Lord

To help them in the strife; 'Tis He alone can give them grace

To lead a noble life.

For God hath sent His Spirit down

To dwell with men below,
And in the blood for sinners shed

To wash them white as snow.

He cometh with the grace of Christ

Unto the burdened soul;
The dead in sin to life He brings,

And makes the wounded whole,

All for the sake of that dear Lord

On Calvary who died ;
Who was for us rejected once,

Condemned, and crucified,

That all the sins that we have done

By God may be forgiven,
And we, clothed in His robe of white,

Find entrance into heaven.

By the Author of 'Little Will,'' The Blind Man on the Bridge,' &c.

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of Protestant Deaconesses. O ME years ago, when staying at Jerusalem, the writer

had the pleasure of an introduction to the widow of Pastor Fliedner, who was then residing at the

Deaconesses' Home in the outskirts of the city. The name of her revered husband had long been familiar as the originator of that work, which, commencing in 1833 in a room ten feet square with an attic above, in a summerhouse at Kaiserwerth, has sent out fruit-bearing branches not only into more than a hundred towns or villages in Germany, but also into Italy, Egypt, Turkey, Palestine, and North America. When we consider that the work was of a very multifarious kind, ultimately embracing schools, hospitals, orphanages, care of prisoners, &c., we may well ask how so small a seed could produce so great a harvest. The answer is to be found in the words which its founder took for his life-motto, “He must increase, but I must decrease.” The Master whom he delighted to serve, abundantly blessed his labours, and bestowed upon him the “ Well done,” even here.

Theodore Fliedner was born at Epstein in Germany, January 21st, 1800, and died at Kaiserwerth, October 4th, 1864. Within the comparatively short space of thirty years, the sapling he had planted at Kaiserwerth had become a great tree, and its offshoots were flourishing in four continents! The son of a poor pastor he was early thrown upon his own resources, and manfully, while yet a child, battled with the trials and difficulties of life. Reading was his only luxury, and schemes of future usefulness formed his fairyland. At twenty years of age he became tutor in a gentleman's family at Cologne, and afterwards was ordained pastor of Idstein, an obscure village on the Rhine, where he had only £27 a year, the parsonage to be shared with the aged widow of a previous pastor ! Still, nothing daunted, he threw his whole energy into the work, visited the schools, and opened

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