has more gold than sand in it, which says that Claudia, whom Paul mentions to Timothy, was the daughter of Caradoc, the British captive maid, and that she, having become a disciple of Jesus, was married to Pudens, whom he also mentions, and that through her Christian teachers went over from Rome to Britain. As to Claudia, I do not doubt the story; and who will say that the "fair barbarian at the Imperial court, yet much fairer now by reason of the new heaven-born life within her, would not yearn and contrive to send the heavenly news into her own country? At the sight of a Syrian leper, the Samaritan captive maid could not keep silence, but must speak of Israel's prophet. At the remembrance of their starving city, five lepers woke up in the midst of Syrian plenty to patriotic commiseration of friends at home; and we may well believe that the British captive maid, having received Christ herself, would do her utmost to send the gospel to her own land. And the light of that gospel then kindled has never been extinguished. Saxon cruelty, Danish treachery, Norman licentiousness, and Papal intolerance, tried it sorely, but could not destroy it. That Christianity is England's glory. Verily the hand of God was in that Roman invasion, making it, though a dark day to the ancient Britons, to be the very morning dawn of British glory. May England ever remember that "righteousness exalteth a nation," and that her stability depends, not upon imperial titles and the genius of a political adventurer and trickster, but upon her fidelity to the God-given mission! Long Buckby. SPEAK GENTLY! I "I AM entirely at a loss to know either manners or decency? what to do with that boy," said have told you a hundred times Mrs. B to her husband, with that when you come into a room much concern on her face, and in an anxious tone of voice. "I never yield to his imperious temper; I never indulge him in anything; I think about him and care about him at all times, but see no good results." While Mrs. B was speaking, a bright active lad, eight years of age, came dashing into the room; and, without heeding any one, commenced beating with two large sticks against one of the window-sills, and making a deafening noise. 66 where any one is sitting, you must be quiet. Go upstairs this moment, and do not let me see your face for an hour." The boy became sulky in an instant, and stood where he was, pouting sadly. "Did you hear what I said? Go upstairs this moment." Mrs. B- spoke in a very angry tone, and looked quite as angry as she spoke. Slowly moved the boy towards the door, a scowl darkening his face, that was but a moment before so bright and cheerful. His steps were too deliberate for the overexcited feelings of his mother; she can I not teach you sprang toward him, and seizing 'Incorrigible boy!" exclaimed his mother, going quickly up to him, and jerking the sticks out of his hand; 66 him by the arm, pushed him from the room, and closed the door loudly after him. "I declare I am out of all heart!" she exclaimed, sinking down into a chair. "It is line upon line, and precept upon precept;' but all to no good purpose. That boy will break my heart yet." Mr. B- said nothing, but he saw plainly enough that it was not all the child's fault. He doubted the use of speaking out, and saying this unequivocally, although he had often and often been on the point of doing so involuntarily. He knew the temper of his wife too well, and her peculiar sensitiveness about everything that looked like charging any fault upon herself, that he feared more harm than good would result from an attempt on his part to show her that she was much more than half to blame for the boy's perverseness of temper. Once or twice the little fellow showed himself at the door, but was driven back with harsh words, until the hour for tea arrived. The sound of the tea-bell caused an instant oblivion of all the disagreeable impressions made upon his mind. His little feet answered the welcome summons, with a clatter that stunned the ears of his mother. "Go back, sir," she said, sternly, as he burst open the dining-room door, and sent it swinging with a loud_concussion against the wall, "and see if you cannot walk downstairs more like a boy than a horse." Master H- withdrew, pouting out his rosy lips as far as he could. He went up one flight of stairs, and then returned. "Go up to the third storey, where you first started from, or you shall not have a mouthful." "I do not want to," whined the boy. 66 Go up, I tell you, this instant, or I will send you to bed without anything to eat," This was a threat that former experience had taught him might be executed, and so he deemed it better to submit than pay so dearly for having his own way. The distance to the third storey was made in a few light springs, and then he came pattering down as lightly, and took his place at the table quickly, but silently. "There, there; not too fast; you have plenty to eat, and time enough to eat it in." H- settled himself down to the table as quietly as his mercurial spirits would let him, and tried to wait until he was helped; but, in spite of all his efforts to do so, his hand went over the bread-basket. A look from his mother caused him to drop the slice he had raised-it was not a look in which there was much affection. While waiting to be helped, his hands were busy with his knife and fork, making a most unpleasant clatter. “Put down your hands!” harshly spoken, remedied this evil; or rather sent the active movement from the little fellow's hands to his feet, that commenced a swinging motion, his heels striking noisily against the chair. "Keep your feet still!" caused this to cease. After one or two more reproofs the boy was left to himself. As soon as he received his cup of tea, he poured the entire contents into his saucer, and then tried to lift it steadily to his lips. In doing so he spilled one-third of its contents upon the table. A box on the ears, and an order to leave the table, rewarded this feat. He went crying away, not in anger, but in grief. He had spilled his tea by accident. His mother had so many reproofs and injunc tions to make, that the bearing of them all in mind was a thing impossible. As to pouring out all his tea at a time, he had no recollection of any interdict on that suḥ. ject, although it had been made This was not spoken in kindness. A scene similar to the above was enacted at every meal; but instead of improving in his behaviour, the boy grew more and more heedless. Mr. B rarely said anything to H-about his unruly manner; but when he did, a word was enough. That word was always mildly, yet firmly spoken. He did not think him a bad boy, or difficult to manage; at least he had never found him so. "I wish I knew what to do with that child," said Mrs. B——, after the little fellow had been sent to bed an hour before his time, in consequence of some violation of law and order; "he makes me constantly feel unhappy, I dislike to be scolding him for ever; but what can I do?" Mr. Bsat silent. He wanted to say a word on the subject; but he feared that its effect might not be what he desired. "I wish you would advise me what to do, Mr. B-," said his wife, a little petulantly. "You sit and do not say a single word, as if you had no kind of interest in the matter." "There is a way which, if you would adopt it, I think might do him good." Mr. B spoke with a slight Speak gently, indeed!" she replied; "I might as well speak to the wind. I am scarcely heard now at the top of my voice." As her husband did not argue the matter with her, nor say anything that was calculated to keep up the excitement under which she was labouring, her feelings in a little while quieted down, and her thoughts became very active. The words " Speak gently were constantly in her mind, and there was a reproving import in them. On going to bed that night she could not go to sleep for several hours; her mind was too busily engaged in reviewing her conduct towards her child. She clearly perceived that she had too frequently suffered her mind to get excited and angry; and that she was often annoyed at trifles which ought to have been overlooked. "I am afraid I have been unjust to my child," she sighed, over and over again, turning restlessly upon her pillow. "I will try and do better," she said to herself, as she rose in the morning, but little refreshed from sleep. Before she was ready to leave her room, she heard H- -'s voice calling her from the next chamber where he slept. The tones were fretful; he wanted some attendance, and was crying out for it in a manner that instantly disturbed the even surface of the mother's feelings. She was about telling him angrily to be quiet until she could finish dressing herself, when the words "Speak gently seemed whispered in her ear. Their effect was magical; the mother's spirit was subdued. "I will speak gently," she said to herself, and went in to Hwho was still crying out fretfully. "What do you want, my son ?" she said, in a quiet, kind voice. The boy looked up with surprise; his eye brightened, and the whole expression of his face was changed in an instant. "I cannot find my stockings, mamma," he said. "There they are, under there," returned Mrs. B- as gently as she had at first spoken. "Oh yes, so they are," cheerfully replied H; "I could not see them anywhere." "Did you think crying would bring them?” This was said with a smile, and in a tone so unlike his mother, that the child looked up again into her face with surprise, that was, Mrs. B plainly saw, mingled with pleasure. "Do you want anything else?" she asked. For the first time in many months the breakfast-table was pleasant to all. H- never once interrupted the conversation that passed at intervals between his father and mother. When he asked for anything, it was in a way pleasing to all. Once or twice Mrs. B- found it necessary to correct some little fault in manner; but the way in which she did it did not in the least disturb her child's temper; and, instead of not seeming to hear her words, as had almost always been the case, he regarded all she said, and tried to do as she wished. "There is a wonderful power in gentle words," remarked Mr. B—— to his wife, after H— had left the table. "Yes, wonderful indeed; their effect surprises me." Days, weeks, months, and years went by; during all this time the mother continued to strive very earnestly with herself, and very kindly with her child. And The happiest results followed; the fretful, passionate, and disorderly boy became even-minded and orderly in his habits. whenever mothers complain to Mrs. B-- now of the difficulty they find in managing their children, she has one piece of advice to give, and that is, "Command yourself, and speak gently." THE PITY OF THE LORD. BY THE REV. J. W. LANCE. "For he knoweth our frame, he remembereth that we are dust."-Psalm ciii. 14. THE pity of the Lord is here said to spring out of His knowledge and His memory; but if He were not pitifully inclined, not graciously disposed, towards the frail children of the dust, no amount of knowledge and memory could in themselves originate in Him the sweet qualities of tenderness and mercy. A hard man may fully know and well remember the sorrows and afflictions of his neighbours, and yet feel no pity, and exercise no benevolence. Even the fact that such an one is a father is no absolute security here, for there are fathers without natural affection, who harden their hearts against their children, and close their doors against their own flesh and blood. Happily for the credit of human nature, these are but few. Evil though we be, we do know how to" give good gifts to our children," and the exceptions to this rule are so rare that this Scripture takes no notice of them, passes them by as if they were not For it is not said, "As a kind father, or a wise, or a good, pities," but, "like as a father," taking for granted the pity of a father's heart. As to the limitation that is here," them that fear him," there need be no thought for a moment of narrowness or exclusiveness; for if the Lord pitied only those who fear Him, what would have become of us when we feared Him not? "We love him because he first loved us." We fear him because before ever we did so His compassion went out towards us: "There is forgiveness with thee, O Lord, that thou mayest be feared." They who fear Him not are in far more pitiable case than those who do; and though they deserve not His compassion, neither do we who fear Him most. Not on the ground of merit, but of need, must we all stand; "for merit lives from man to man, but not from man, O Lord, to Thee." So that if you ask whom the Lord pities, we answer, All the sons of Adam, all His children, however wayward and erring. If you ask how He pities, we say, "like as a father." If you ask why He pities, we tell you, in the words of our text, "He knoweth our frame, he remembereth that we are dust." He knows us," for He is our Maker, we are the work of His hands; happy for us if we can add, "and the sheep of His pasture," no longer wandering and lost, but safe within the fold. Yes, He hath made us out of the dust of the earth, "in his own image did the Lord God make man ;" nor is this so much opposed to the teachings of modern science as at first sight may appear, for we care not as to the method, or the length of the process, or the theory of evolution, which also seems in some sort shadowed forth to us in the picturesque account given of the world's genesis. For first of all comes the chaos, and out of it rises the cosmos. The firmament and the waters, the dry land and the herb, and the living creatures after their kind, and, last of all, man. "Seven days' work; The last day shutting 'twixt its dawn and eve Since God collected and resumed in man The firmament, the strata, and the lights; Fish, fowl, and beasts, and insects-all their trains Reorganised and constituted MAN, The microcosm, the adding up of works; Within whose fluttering nostrils then, at last, |