manners of one among them; he was a stoutish man, of middle age, who spent his leisure in taking remarkable care of his horse, in cleaning up his vehicle, and sometimes in reading upon his box. It was noticeable that when there were noisy debates and squabbles going on, his voice was never heard; and that when the whole brotherhood would adjourn, as they often did, to the neighbouring public-house, Roberts, for that was his name, stayed behind. Another thing was also observable, and that was that when any of my neighbours wanted a cab, it was Roberts who was almost always chosen if he happened to be on the stand. Before I had been many weeks in my lodgings I noticed that Roberts never made his appearance on the stand upon the Sunday; and on asking the reason, I was told that that was a matter of conscience with him, and that he always went with his his family family to church.

Of course, the first time I wanted a cab, I called for Roberts, and he came. The distance I had to go was barely less than three miles; and in alighting, in order to test the man, I gave him a crownpiece and requested him to take his fare from it. He gave me back three and sixpence, with civil thanks and a touch of his hat.

"It is not over three miles, then," I remark ed.

"No, sir; it wants a furlong of that. Good morning, sir."

I will confess that this straight-forwardconduct was rather rare in my cab-hiring experience, and it raised my respect for Roberts in no trifling degree.

Shortly after this I was called unexpectedly to the country, and had to start by an early train from the Paddington Station, which lay nearly five miles from my dwelling. Roberts drove me again; and this time, as the morning was fresh and clear, I mounted the box with him, and had some talk as we rolled along. He was not at all unwilling to be questioned, and as I was anxious to know his history, I drew from him a short account of his London life, which, with the exception of some facts of no importance to the reader, I shall give, as nearly as I can remember them, in his own words.

"When I first married and settled in London," said he, "I bought a small shop business in a street running out of Holborn. The business was not so good as it had been represented to me, but I had hopes that it would grow better, and both Nancy and I worked hard to

improve it. However, after a few years' rubbing along, I found, just as a family was beginning to rise around us, that our affairs were going to the bad, and that if we would pay everybody their due we must stop business at once, while we had the means of doing so honestly. We neither of us could bear the thought of getting into debts without the hope of paying them, and so we stopped trade, sold off what there was, and after settling all claims, had but a small sum left to call our

own.

"I knew no handicraft, for I had never learned any; but in the country I had been used to horses, and could drive well, and I proposed to my wife that I should turn cab

THE LONDON CABMAN.

man. She was against it, because she fancied and she said, that it would lead me into evil company; but I told her that of all men in London a cabman might be most independent of company if he liked. She consented at last, and I hired a cab of a man who was owner of forty of 'em. I paid him twelve shillings a day, and what I got over I kept for myself; and though times were now and then hard enough, I managed to get bread for my family.

"I set out with the rule of being always civil, and never lost anything by it, I can assure you. After a year or two, when I got known to many people, I did rather better, and was able to save a little money. As soon as I had enough I bought the cab I'm driving now, and hired horses; then I saved more and bought one horse, and only hired one; and for several years past I have driven my own horses, and

have been able to live in tolerable comfort, and do my duty by my family."

"And you have never driven on Sunday ?" I asked.

"No, sir, I have not. It isn't for me to speak against other men who choose to work on Sunday; but I know, as a Christian believing God's word, that it is not my duty to be looking for work on that day, seeing I've got a family who look to me for an example, and whom I couldn't expect to fear God, and do rightly, if I dishonoured Him myself. Then again, sir, it's bad economy to work cab horses seven days in a week. I know by experience, and by what I've observed, that when horses have their rest on Sundays, they'll work

better, and last several years longer than when they don't so you see that, letting alone the right and the wrong, what is gained in one way is lost in another by Sunday work."

"I believe you are right," I said; "and it would be well if all your comrades were of the same opinion. Can you tell me why it is that the London cabmen are so seldom content to accept the legal fare, and have such a character for cheating and extortion?"

"I suppose they are angry, sir, that Government should step in to regulate their trade, while other trades are free. It was not always so. When cabs first came up every man charged what he liked. But no man has any excuse for grumbling now he knows the conditions of the trade before he enters it, and if he is not inclined to abide by them, he ought never

to mount the box. A right-minded man would not follow any calling upon which he could not ask the blessing of God; but no man can do that without mockery unless he pursues his occupation with a clear conscience. I don't see why a cabman should not do this as well as any other man who works for his living; honesty is the same in all trades, and it is as much dishonesty to overcharge a fare, as it is to sell a bad article or to use false weights in buying and selling."

These were Roberts's thoughts on the subject of his calling. I lost sight of him some time afterwards, as I left my lodging to live elsewhere; but I heard at a later period that he had gone on prospering in life, and that his children, under the influence of his example, were growing up in the fear of God, and in the due observance of his holy day.

Children's Page.

PUSS AND HER KITTENS.

YOUNG

YOUNG children are nearly always fond of animals, and of all the animals they see, Pussy is pretty sure to be the greatest favourite. When we notice the patience with which she will suffer herself to be pulled about by little boys and girls, we are obliged to admire and praise her good temper; and if she is not quite so patient when she has her kittens to look after, we ought to make allowances for that, and not be angry with her.

Cats are very proud of their kittens, and like to take all the care of them they can. A clergyman who has written a book about animals tells us that on one occasion he missed his cat, who used to sit with him in his study, and he wondered what had become of her, as he did not

way upstairs where it was liable to be trodden upon, back again to the kitchen fire ten times in an afternoon. Once, when a cat and her kittens were playing near a barn-door, a large hawk pounced upon one of the little ones, and hawk pounced upon one of the little ones, and was making off with it, when puss flew at the fierce bird and obliged him to drop her young one and defend himself. She fought the hawk for a long while, and though one of her eyes was blinded by its sharp beak, she killed it at last, and then, without thinking of herself, ran to lick her wounded kitten, and purred with gladness to see that it was not much hurt.

her one morning

scratching at his door, and when he opened it there she was, with a little blind kitten in her mouth, which she had brought to show him. She was looking as proud as a queen, and marched about purring quite loud, with her tail stuck up in the air; and she would not allow him to sit down again to his

books until he had followed her to her hiding place and seen the rest of her little family.

I once knew a cat who had no home, because the people with whom she had lived had gone away from

the house and left

her behind. Shortly afterwards she had kittens, and as poor puss was almost starved herself, it is no wonder that her young ones came badly off; indeed two of them died from want. The other two would most likely have died also, but that the mother carried one of them into a house, where the people took pity upon it and fed it till it grew strong. This was very clever of the old cat, but she did a much more clever thing afterwards. When the first kitten had grown strong in its comfortable house, she came one morning and took it away with her, and left the other starving one in its place, that it might be fed and nourished, and grow strong as well as its brother.

Sometimes, when a cat's kittens are safely and comfortably housed, she does not seem to give herself much concern about them; but when they are in any danger she is always on the watch to guard them. I have seen a cat carry a playful kitten, who had scrambled half

I knew another cat, which lived on very good terms in the same house with a terrier dog, and would eat out of the same dish with him, and would make a pillow of his back when he lay sleeping on the hearth-rug. But when this cat But when this cat

had kittens, she would not let Snap come near them; and if he entered the room where they were she would fly at his face and drive him out again; and she would never be friendly with him until her young ones were gone or able to take care of themselves.

When cats who have had kittens have been deprived of them, they are often very uneasy, and will not be satisfied until they have found something to supply the place of their lost young ones. Sometimes they have been known to suckle young hares, at others they have

nourished young dogs, and even young rats have been nourished by cats, and taken as much care of as if they had been their own offspring. The most curious instance of this kind I ever knew is that of a cat now living in the neighbourhood of London, who, not long ago, having lost her own kittens, took charge of three young ducklings, whose mother had been accidentally killed. Puss, finding them left without a protector, hovered about them all day, and at sunset carried them tenderly in her mouth one at a time to her own bed, and curling herself round them during the night, kept them snug and warm. Every morning she carried them again to the yard, and guarded them throughout the day while they picked up their food, seeming very well pleased and proud of her charge, except when they went into the water, at which times she would mew piteously and try to entice them out. Notwithstanding all her care, one of the little ducklings died; but the other two grew stout and strong, and appear to have done just as well as if they had been brought up by their own parent.

We all know that cats are very useful to us; indeed if it were not for them, many dwellings would be overrun with rats and mice, and we should hardly be able to prescrve our food, or to eat

a meal in peace. It is not so well known, however, that cats may be taught many things, and made to show themselves quite clever. I have seen a cat fetch and carry as

well as a dog; and

JinbirI once had a cat who would open

the door of my room for herself whenever she wanted to come in, if it did not happen to be locked;

and what was more remarkable, she would not try a second time when it was locked. Some cats have followed their owners about, just as dogs do; and there was a cat living at Oxford some years ago, who almost lived upon fish, which she caught for herself by plunging for them in the river.

Now I hope that no child who reads this account of the cat, will ever be unkind, much less cruel, to poor puss. The great and good God who made us, made them, and when he gave them such kindly, intelligent, and gentle natures, he intended that we also should be kind and gentle towards them. We know that He regards them with favour, for "His tender mercies are over all his works," and therefore it must be plain to the youngest child that we cannot do them any wanton injury without offending Him.

like blind men. The valley through

NOT MADE.

A HOTTENTOT child was asked

whether we possess anything which we have not received from God. And her answer was, "Yes, sir, sin." She was right. We have one thing certainly which God has not given us and the world is full of this one thing. Whether we go east or west, or north or south, there we find it. It is common in poor cottages and in proud palaces; in miserable streets, like some which might be named that are inhabited by thieves and other bad characters, and in the finest streets with their villas and beautiful lawns and gardens. Alas! it is to be found not only in jails, but in churches and chapels. It is like the air which penetrates through every chink and into every corner. But it is strange how little people know of this very common thing, sin, especially in themselves, and how little they feel its evil. There is a fog over their minds, as thick and black as any London fog in November, which prevents their seeing it as it is. But it is there notwithstanding, It is in them and around them. If you go into a dark cellar at midnight, you see nothing. But take a light with you, and perhaps you find a thief crouching in a corner. But for that light you would not have known that he was there, and might have gone to bed in peace, believing your house to be safe, when it was at the mercy of a robber. Many years ago I was travelling with a friend by night along the banks of a river in the Highlands of Scotland. So great was the darkness that we had to feel and grope our way almost

from us. The very heavens above were hidden. But suddenly we found ourselves in what, by contrast with the darkness, might be called a blaze of light. The road before us, with the cart marks upon it, the trees by the road-side, the river, the hills rising up on both sides of the river, and even some whitened houses high up on these hills, were revealed to us as if they had been suddenly brought into existence by a magic power. It was the work of a moment, as if blind eyes had been opened by a miracle. We were startled, and gazed and saw a beautiful meteor, such as is called a "falling star," streaming down from mid-heaven. It was this meteor that had dispersed the darkness, and given to us what seemed like a glorious vision. The light was soon gone, and we were left in our former darkness. As we, the travellers, were in that valley, so are men in regard to their sins. They are blind to them. The things that lie nearest to their hearts and nearest to their hands, they know but little. And it needs a light from heaven to show men to themselves.

a magnet near the ship's compass, which acted on the needle in such a manner, that the ship, sailing according to this compass, was really sailing in a very different direction from that in which she seemed to be. And the ship and cargo, instead of being carried to the port of trade, were conveyed to another place where they were sold by the wicked and covetous captain. Now many a conscience may be compared to the needle of that ship's compass, turned round by the power of the concealed loadstone. Sin lies so near it, that it perverts it and turns it round. In fact, the ship captain's conscience was like the needle of his own compass. had a conscience. That was given him by God. But he had something which was not given him by God, a covetous heart. And this wicked heart blinded or bribed his conscience, or bound it in fetters, or stupefied it somehow, that it did not do its duty.

He

God has put one light within every man — that is, conscience. And the very office and duty of conscience is to tell us what is right and what is wrong, and to condemn us for all wrong-doing. But unhappily this light is itself often darkened by the love of sin. And then, “if the light that is in us be darkness, how great is that darkness!" I have read somewhere of a ship being destined for a ship being destined for a certain port to which it was the captain's duty to steer her; he professed to do so.

For an

book, while it covers us with shame under the conviction that we are great sinners, brings gladness to our hearts by telling us that Jesus Christ is a great Saviour.

OF NO USE NOW.

"WELL, John, how

are you

to-day?" said a minister as he entered the cottage of an aged labouring man.

John could no longer do any work, but was a sincere and cheerful Christian. "Thank you, sir," said he, "just middling: troubled a good deal with aches and pains; but what can one expect at seventy-five?

“I suppose, John, these are to be expected at your time of life. Indeed, there are very few at your age as strong as you are."

"I've much to be thankful for about that, sir, and about a great many mercies besides."

"Most of all, John, that you long since found a Saviour, and that, trusting in Him, you find you have his gracious promises fulfilled to you, and that you have a good hope."

that

"Ay, sir,” said John, heartily, "that's the best of all. I don't know what I should do without that. But, sir,” he continued after a short pause, "I sometimes think I'm a poor useless body, only a burden to them that are about me, and likely to be more so. I often wonder what God lets me live for."

"So you think you're of no use, John, do you? you? Perhaps you may not be able to do as much as some other people are doing, and as you yourself once did; but don't think that

66

you are altogether useless." Well, sir, what good do you think I can do?"

"Why, first of all, there's your family. You can't work for them as as you did once, and they don't need it; but they all love you; and, scattered though they are, they look up to you for counsel. They would not like to lose you, old as you are.

"Then," added the minister, "though you can't do much, you can show to those who know you what the gospel can do to make you cheerful and happy in feebleness and old

age.

"You don't get to church as often as you would like, but when you are there you do me good. You listen attentively, you listen as though you felt and enjoyed God's word: that often helps me greatly. Besides, your love for God's house and your attention there do good in the way of example to others.

"Then, John, you pray. You pray for your family; you pray for me; you pray that God's work may be revived; and you pray for a good many things else. If you did nothing but pray, you would not be useless.”

"Thank you, sir," said the old man. "It's very kind and encouraging of you to say all that. I'm afraid in these ways I've not done nearly so much as I might, but I'll pray for grace, that, as long as the Lord spares me, I may be kept from all impatience, and that I

It is related that the dry root was put into the moist earth, and (strange to say) by and by a living plant shot up; and presently, there burst forth a beautiful and fragrant lily flower.

Let us "consider the lily;" and it will whisper to our hearts a lesson of cheerful trust.

The dead body which we may have laid to-day in the dark grave

earth to earth-dust to dustwill rise again. Sown in corruption, dishonour, and weakness, the redeemed will come forth again in incorruption, glory, and power.

This seems very wonderful; but so does the bursting forth of that dry lily root into bloom and beauty. It is the same almighty God who works both wonders. The wonders of nature, if seen aright, should strengthen our belief in the far higher wonders of God's grace. But the Christian rests his heart, not upon the evidence of any outward sign, but upon the testimony of God's own word, and the witness of the Spirit.

The dead shall rise again. Let us, then, go in faith, to Jesus, "the Resurrection and the Life," and beseech Him to make us ready, through the washing away of sin by his own blood, for the resurrection of life and glory.

"JESUS CHRIST is my All in All," said the reverend Charles Simeon. "Do you see any sting here?" he said to those who stood round his dying bed. "No, indeed," they answered, "it is all taken away." "Does not this prove that my principles were not founded on fancies or enthusiasm, but that there is a reality in them? And I find them sufficient to support me in death."