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and old, and cannot work any more, their sons give them a blow on the head, which takes away their life. The people have no knowledge of the blessed Lord! Yes," said the missionary, "those people in the heathen lands are as much in the power of the devil as a flock of lambs is in the power of the wolf." These words sank deeply into Snell's heart, and the longer the missionary spoke the more deeply he was affected. By-andbye, both he and his little sister began to weep at what the missionary said. They never believed it possible that there were any people in the world in such circumstances of sin and ignorance. One missionary said many times during his address: "Oh, brothers, we should do something for the poor heathen-can we not contribute our mite in their behalf? Oh, what would we be to-day if others had not done something for us?" By-andbye the meeting closed, and Snell and his little sister slipped out of the front door without being seen by any one except the porter. The little sand bag was caught up in a moment, and the two children went home as direct as they could. When they reached the house where their parents lived, Snell told his mother what he had heard at the missionary meeting, and then said to her,

'Mother, we ought to do something for the poor heathen."

She replied, "I am a poor woman, and you, my child, are poor too. Snell, you know that you have all that you can do now to sell a little sand and buy us a little bread; and what can we give for the heathen? See there, you have only twenty-six pence this day. This we shall need for bread and other necessities."

She then took the twenty-six pence he had brought home, gave him a kiss for them, and went into the kitchen.

Snell went away and threw himself upon his little straw bed, but not to sleep. He was soon lost in reflecting upon the poor heathen and their blind

ness.

He hit upon this plan, in order

to help the heathen. He remembered that a certain gentleman, who was a banker, promised him one day that he would buy a little donkey and cart, provided he would be as industrious as ever. The gentleman said that it would be a great deal more comfort able for him, and more profitable too, to take round his nice white sand a cart, than to carry it about on hi shoulders. It was a kind man wh said that, for nobody but a kind per son would do such a favour. "Now! said Snell to himself, "I will accep that gentleman's offer; and after have paid him for the donkey and car by selling sand, I will pay something every year for sending the gospel the heathen."

Snell kept his promise faithfully He told the banker he would accept his offer, on condition that he might pay the cost of the donkey as soon as he had made enough money from them by selling sand. The gentler an accepted the proposition, more to please Snell than for any other purpose. Byand-bye a white donkey, harnessed to a green cart, was driven up before the house, in the upper story of which the widow and her two children lived. That was Snell's donkey and cart. His business increased from that time forward. He made two rounds a day, and each time sold out his cartload of sand. In just eight months and seven days from the time he made his first round he had saved money enough to pay for his donkey and cart. It amounted to ninety shillings in all. It was a proud morning for him when he could go and pay for his donkey an i cart. He requested his mother to dress his little sister up in her best clothes to go with him. He also put on his best suit, and they both got into the cart together, and drove round to the banker's place of business. Of course the banker was very much pleased to find him so honourable in his business transactions, and he received the money, not because he wanted it, but because he knew that it would really gratify Snell.

Now it so happened that there was Bother missionary meeting in Berlin Fo months after this time. Snell saw * announcement in the paper, and he termined to go to it. But he felt at he ought to give something if he ent. How could he do that? Where ould the money come from? He ally decided on this plan: "I have retofore made two rounds a day, and my profits were sufficient to pay my donkey and cart, and also to port our little family. Hereafter will make three rounds a day, on Finesdays and Saturdays, and all the rifts of the third round shall go to the onary cause." The missionary ting, which was soon to take place, as attended by a large number of Frons, among whom was the banker ho had bought Snell's donkey and art. Snell and his little sister were both at the meeting, for, having once heard about the heathen, they were ways anxious to hear as much more as ble. During the course of the ating the president gave an oppornity for any gentleman to make a remarks who might desire to do The banker arose and presented the chairman ninety shillings, and sed: "This sum is the fruit of honest

It was paid me by a little and vendor, for whom I bought a nkey and cart. I now present it to

Missionary Society, and beg that will accept it, not from me, but Snell the sand vendor." Cheers se all over the house at such a ement. The money was accepted, ad became a part of the missiony fund. Snell would have rather en a thousand miles away at that me than to have heard those Lords. For, however anxious he was

help the heathen, he was yet a

modest boy, and the mention of his deed and name on that occasion caused him a great deal of trouble. But as soon as he recovered himself, he resolved to say a word to the meeting. He was a frank boy, and the Lord had given him the gift of speaking in public. He then said these words to the meeting: "I am the boy the gentleman referred to, and I thank God that He ever gave such a friend as he was to me. I feel that my donkey and cart are the Lord's property. I have made arrangements for two extra rounds through the week, and all the profits from my sales during the two rounds shall go to this missionary fund." Cheers loud and long arose in that meeting.

The meeting adjourned, and Snell and his little sister went home. Good and noble people now had their eye on the little sand vendor. His business rapidly increased, and he was compelled in six months' time to purchase another donkey and cart, and hire an assistant. He made the same arrangement for the new donkey and cart that he did for his old one-the profits of the two extra rounds must go to the Missionary Society.

Year after year passed by, and Snell always gave a good sum of money to send the gospel to the heathen. The Lord prospered him in his business, and his benevolence under circumstances of poverty had its influence upon the wealthy people of Berlin to such an extent that they gave liberally of their ample means for the same good purpose. Snell arose in respectability and importance in the city, and he is now one of the leading men in all movements made for bringing the heathen to a knowledge of Christ.

A Story for the Christmas Fireside.

A STORY FOR CHRISTMAS EVE.
CHAPTER I.

CHRISTMAS EVE in a workhouse hospital, my reader! Do you know anything of that? Have you been either a visitor or an inmate of such a place at such a time? If not, let the following pages do something more than awaken a passing interest in the lonely ones who languish there.

It was at half-past five, on the evening of a certain 24th of December, that a woman in a blue cotton dress, and carrying a wooden tray loaded with bread, left the dining-hall of the workhouse at crossed a courtyard

upon which the moon was shining, and quickly entered the infirmary. She was one of the nurses, herself a pauper, and alone in the world; but, strange to say, not on that account more tender to her fellow-sufferers. Mrs. Rood is a decent woman in her way, but strong drink has brought her-as, alas! it has brought thousands before her-to this last stage of poverty; and we find her to-night in the workhouse, carrying bread to the sick folk in her ward, and grumbling as she goes at the dulness of a Christmas Eve "in this dungeon," as she calls the place which, at any rate, affords an undeserved shelter to her unworthiness. It is dull, Mrs. Rood, and, to such as you, simple justice demands that it should be so; but the afflicted people in your ward are victims, most of them, not of their own, but of others' faults, and our pity for them may go forth without reserve.

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Mrs. Rood," exclaims some one on the stairs above; "merry Christmas, ma'am, and a happy New Year!"

"Get along with your nonsense," exclaims the nurse, as, looking up, she descries a lame boy, who looks down

upon her with a smile upon his pal face. "Merry Christmas, indeed, in workhouse!

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'Well, there's roast-beef and plum pudding to-morrow," replies the child

"Don't I know that without you telling me, you little simpleton? Yo go back to your ward, or I'll come u and send you flying, crutch and all."

The poor cripple obeys, for he know by experience that Mrs. Rood will no hesitate to keep her word. Happ for him, and for the other inmates o the children's ward, their appointe guardian-Margaret May-is a kind hearted woman, who, with her fou little ones, has been deserted by drunken husband. This good crea ture, who has made up a more cheerful fire than usual for her patients, is looking forward to spending a precisas half-hour with her own darlings later in the evening, when the great be shall summon all who have relation in the house to meet together in th dining-hall. Until then she will ot cupy herself with the lame boy an his fellows, telling them stories abou Christmas Eves long gone by, whe she played with her brothers beneat the holly-boughs and by the brigh fireside of her childhood's happy hom Where are they all-those four merr boys, whose gay laughter made the father's house so glad? They an gone-all gone-victims, two of them of hereditary disease; the others sailors both, died abroad not lon ago.

"They grew together, side by side; They filled one home with glee; Their graves are severed, far and wide, By mount, and stream, and sea." And the workhouse nurse, realisin this, has small comfort save in look ing upward, with sweet trust in Jesu and a humble reliance on the inspire

ssurance that "all things work toether for good to them that love od."

Kind Margaret May! her heart is all of memories to-night; yet she empels herself to prattle cheerfully to er suffering little folk, until the lame oy, as he gazes at the fire, feels a ttle-just a very little as if he, too, ere enjoying that most wonderful me, known to the world outside the arkhouse as "Merry Christmas."

In the meantime, Mrs. Rood has tached her ward, and is distributing to each patient her share of the supper, consisting of broth or tea, with the Eual allowance of bread. It is a large, dean room, with two windows looking m the yard; a fireplace at one end, a deal table and a few chairs at the other; and on either side five or six beds. Over the fireplace hangs a bunch of holly-"the master's" gift --and the inmates are touched by the sight of its green leaves and scarlet berries, reminding them, as they do, of better times.

"Nurse," says one of the patients, a domestic servant, to whom a former mistress, living at a distance, has sent Some few shillings "for Christmas,' Will my cake come to-night, I wonder?"

Mrs. Rood, who is personally interested in this question of cake, makes reply at some length, to the effect that the matron, although very busy, has sent out, at her (Rood's) suggestion,

to

procure it. "You may thank me, Janet," she remarks, in conclusion, "if you have it to-night."

"So I will, nurse; and I'll give you a big slice, besides," says the patient, with a grateful look. Mrs. Rood is Bot bad, as nurses go, and, besides, it is Christmas Eve! In due time, the cake comes, and the girl gives a slice to each of her companions, taking care that the largest shall be offered to Mrs. Rood. While the inmates are enjoying their treat, for such it is, we will glance round the room, and introduce a few of them. In this bed next the door lies Bridget Rowe, who was born

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in the workhouse. She is a cripple, having never walked in her life, and I am sorry to say that in her youth she was too idle to learn. Therefore we find her very ignorant, unable to read or write, or even sew. Bridget is not religious, but she feels a great respect for "praying people," as she calls them, and often wishes that she could be as happy as Janet, who is a consistent professor of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Next to Bridget comes an older patient, one of Mrs. Rood's 'bothers,' as she calls them. Poor old Susan, who has outlived all her children and grandchildren, thinks it rather a hard case that she cannot die in a bed of her own, like other folks! She is very impatient, and thinks that there is something wrong in the world. when worthy people like herself end their days in a workhouse! Yet she never blames the sons and daughters who, although receiving first-class wages, did not care to put a portion of their weekly earnings into the savings bank, or in any way to provide for the future. Other people saved, and were well off-that was their good luck; all her people spent, and came to poverty, that was their ill-luck! Such are Susan's ideas, and she clings to them with extreme firmness, I assure you.

Who is this in the opposite corner, whose sweet smile, as it crosses the dull room like a sunbeam, falls on Janet in thanksgiving for her present? It is Catherine Barnett, another old woman, but of a totally different stamp. "Dear old Kitty!" as they love to call her, is one of the gentlest and most grateful creatures in the world. She and Janet are the only witnesses for God's truth in the room. Even Mrs. Rood feels that these are real Christians, and respects them accordingly. There are four other persons on this side of the ward, two of whom are recovering slowly from paralysis, and one from partial blinduess. The fourth, Grace Salter, a young widow, under treatment for a broken arm, is an especial friend of Mrs. Bar

nett's, beside whom she sits during several hours of every day, listening eagerly to selections from the Gospels, which, however, appear to her rather as pleasing tales than grand and allimportant messages from God. The remaining beds belong to Janet, Mrs. Rood herself, and two patients who are not right," though by no means in a state of idiocy. Towards these last the sympathies of the entire ward go forth-as well they may,-and even Mrs. Rood is pitiful. It is touching to see them, as they receive their cake with a gratitude that finds vent in childish laughter, and in such expres"Currant cake? Oh, my!" followed by a hearty, "Thank'ee, Janet. Much obliged."

sions as,

By this time it is seven o'clock, and the great bell is calling families together. The poor widow, having her arm in a sling, and carrying more than half her slice of cake beneath her apron, goes to meet her child, a little girl, who has been looking forward all day to the precious hour in which she shall be at liberty to speak to "mother," and tell her that a lady visitor, although not rich, has sent every child in the house a "real big" currant bun for Christmas. Only think of it, a "real big" currant bun!

CHAPTER II.

ON the same Christmas Eve, two respectable artisans, returning from their daily labour, passed the workhouse gate, conversing, as they did so, on the subject of the next day's enjoyments.

"For my part," said one, "I don't care so very much about Christmas."

"Not care much about Christmas? You surprise me!" exclaimed his companion.

"It's the truth for all that. Some people call it a religious duty to keep it, let them do as they think right: I don't see any law in the New Testament for setting up one day above an

other, except one in seven for rest and worship, that's our Sunday."

"Well, in that I agree with you. It is only by man that the day is set apart, and every one is free to celebrate the fact that 'Christ was born in Bethlehem,' as my children will be singing this evening, on any other day of the year as much as this. But is not Christmas a glorious time for giving everybody a holiday, so that in the depth of winter, when frost and hunger pinch the poor, rich folks learn to feel for those who suffer, and relieve their wants?

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May be so. I confess I should hardly like to give up the holiday, and. no doubt, if my own folks lived here, we should meet as a family, and so have better times. As for what you were saying about Christmas making rich folks think about the poor, I don't believe it."

John Moss said this with energy, for he loved to find fault with the many who possessed more of this world's wealth than had fallen to his lot, and besides, was not the accuse tion just? What was all these people gave away in comparison with their enormous possessions? A mere trifle! Nothing!

"Why," said he, interrupting his friend Heywood, who was about to speak, "if I only had a twentieth part of old Sinclair's money, I'd do more good in one year than he does in ten. For example, I'd go straight to yon workhouse to-night, and treat everybody all round.'

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Would you really? I can hardly believe it."

"Not believe it? Do you think I could sleep on my bed, when I knew that I had power to do so many people a good turn, unless I did it ?"

You sleep now," replied Heywood, significantly.

"Yes, because I have not a twentieth part of old Sinclair's income-more's the pity!"

"How would it be if you had fortieth part? Would you then help

the

poor?

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