nose be anxious for a closer intimacy, till the fumes of your breath be a little less potent. Mercy on you, man! The water absolutely hisses down your red-hot gullet, and is converted quite into steam in the miniature Tophet which you mistake for a stomach. Fill again, and tell me did you ever, in beer-shop, tavern, or dram-shop, spend the price of your children's food, for a swig half so delicious? Now, for the first time these ten years, you know the flavour of cold water. Good bye! and whenever you are thirsty, remember that I keep a constant supply at the old stand. What next? Oh! my little friend, you are let loose from school, and come hither to scrub your blooming face, and drown the memory of certain taps of the ferule and other school-boy troubles; take it, and may your heart and tongue never be scorched with a fiercer thirst than now! There, my dear, put down the cup, and yield your place to this elderly gentleman, who treads so tenderly over the paving-stones, that I suspect he is afraid of breaking them. What he limps by without so much as thanking me, as if my hospitable offers were only meant for people who have no wine-cellars. Well, well, sir; no harm done, I hope; Go, draw the cork, tip the decanter; but when your great toe shall set you a-roaring, it will be no affair of mine. If gentlemen love the pleasant titillation of the gout, it is all one to the Town Pump. This thirsty dog, with his red tongue lolling out, does not scorn my hospitality, but stands on his hind-legs and laps eagerly out of the trough. See how lightly he capers away again. Jowler, had you ever the gout? Your pardon, good people! I must interrupt my stream of eloquence, and spout forth a stream of water to replenish the trough for this drover and his oxen, who have come from afar. No part of my business is pleasanter than the watering of cattle. Look how rapidly they lower the water-mark on the sides of the trough, till their capacious stomachs are moistened with a gallon or two a-piece, and they can afford time to breathe it in with sighs of calm enjoyment. Now they roll their quiet eyes around the brim of their monstrous drinking-vessel. toper. An ox is your true The better you think of me, the better men and women will you find yourselves. I shall say nothing of my all important aid on washing-days; though on that account alone I might call myself the household-god of a hundred families. Far be it from me, also, to hint at the show of dirty faces which you would present without my pains to keep you clean. Nor will I remind you how often, when the midnight-bells made you tremble for your combustible town, you fled to the Town Pump, and found me always at my post; firm amid the confusion, and ready to drain my vital current on your behalf; neither is it worth while to lay undue stress on my claims to a medical diploma, as the physician whose simple rule of practice is preferable to all the nauseous lore which has found men sick, or left them so, since the days of Hippocrates. Let us take a broader view of my bencficial influence on mankind. No, these are trifles compared with the merits which wise men concede to me, if not in my single self, yet as the representative of a class, of being A GRAND REFORMER OF THE AGE. From my spout, and such spouts as mine, must flow the stream that shall cleanse our earth of a vast portion of its crime and anguish, which has gushed from the fiery fountains of the still and the beer-vat. In this mighty enterprise the Cow shall be my great confederate. WATER and MILK! The TOWN PUMP and the Cow. Such is the glorious co-partnership that shall tear down the distilleries, brew-houses, and malt-kilns, and finally monopolise the whole business of quenching thirst. Blessed consummation! then shall the glorious day dawn on us! Ah! dry work this speechifying, especially to an unpractised orator. I never conceived till now, what toil the temperance lecturers undergo for my sake. Hereafter they shall have the business to themselves. Do, some kind Christians, pump a stroke or two, just to whet my whistle. Thank you, sir. My dear hearers, by my instrumentality you will collect your useless vats, liquor-casks, and beer-barrels into one great pile, and make a bonfire in honour of the Town Pump. And when I shall have decayed, like my predecessors, then, if you revere my memory, let a marble fountain, richly sculptured, take my place upon this spot. Such monuments should be erected everywhere, and inscribed with the names of the distinguished champions of my cause. One o'clock! Nay, then, if the dinner-bell begins to speak, I may as well hold my peace. Here comes a pretty young girl of my acquaintance, with a large stone pitcher for me to fill. “Hold out your vessel, my dear. There, it is full to the brim; so now run home, peeping at your sweet image in the pitcher as you go, and forget not, in a glass of my own liquor, to drink-'SUCCESS TO THE TOWN PUMP!"" LETTERS TO THE YOUNG. NO. IV. THE BIBLE. MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS,-Last month's "Juvenile Companion" contained a letter "On Books." Perhaps you found time to read it. I am sure that, at the time I wrote it, I felt a little cheered in the hope that it might not fail of adding, in some small degree, to your well-being. A small seed sown in good ground, may become a most beautiful plant, or a large tree. You have seen an acorn drop from the wide-spreading branches of an oak tree. A cow grazing underneath, may tread it into the ground; it may soon germinate, and shoot up a little sapling, and grow up into a large tree. "From a small acorn, see the oak arise, Supremely tall and towering to the skies; I like merchant-ships much better than men-of-war. The acorn may become either. So the knowledge which you acquire the power which it confers-may either be wisely and mercifully used, or turned into an engine of evil and destruction. I hope with you it will be the former. God bless you with wisdom-the wisdom which is from above, that is, "first pure, then peaceable, gentle, easy to be entreated, full of mercy, and good fruits." I, however, promised you a letter on the Bible. How shall I begin? I want to write simply, as if I was thinking aloud in your presence. I have much to say. I am much more indebted to that book than I can either tell you, or ever repay. It has been the guide of my youth. I hope that it will be so of yours. I remember how happy and rich I felt myself to be, when I first claimed a Bible as my own ;-when clasping it to my bosom, I could say— "Holy Bible, book divine, Precious treasure, thou art mine!" How very different it is in these days to what it was before the art of printing was invented. Then Bibles were very scarce indeed, and young people then seldom, if ever, saw one. There was a time, when, in England, a load of hay was given for a few leaves of the Bible. "The Word of the Lord was precious in those days. There was a time, even in England, when young people were not allowed to read the Bible. Wicked and misguided Roman Catholic priests forbade them to read it. Not many months ago one of them burned a Bible which he found in the house of a Romanist. This was done in Birmingham. I once read a very affecting story of a little Irish boy who had a New Testament given to him. He was very much delighted with it. He read it with very much interest and pleasure. He did not, like too many, allow it to lie, covered with dust, or hid in some unfrequented drawer,-like the woman, who one day opening her Bible, found her spectacles, which she said had been lost for some years. On the contrary, this little boy hung with deep interest over the pages of his Testament. The Priest heard thereof. He visited the house where the boy lived, and demanded of him the much-valued book. He loved it so well-was so afraid of losing it, that he was unwilling to part with it. The Priest, however, insisted on his delivering it up to him. At length, with a trembling hand, and a sad heart, the little boy delivered to him his well-thumbed Testament. The Priest stood for a moment turning over the leaves, and then, with cold-hearted cruelty, and awful wickedness, threw it into the fire. When the poor boy saw his much-loved Testament burning, he looked up into the face of the wicked Priest, and said the tears streaming down his cheeks-"Stop, sir; you cannot tear from my heart the seven chapters that I have committed to memory." Thank God, my young friends, that you have Protestant parents, and Protestant ministers and friends, who are delighted to see you with and love your Bible! But, O take care, lest that little boy should condemn you for neglect of the Bible in "that day." The book teaches us that, “where much is given, much will be required.” The Bible, my young friends, is God's book. I wrote, in my last letter, of men putting their thoughts into their books. In this book God manifests his mind to man. "The Bible," says the Rev. G. Gilfillan, " is a two-edged sword, baring with one edge the bosom of man, with the other, the heart of God." "The Bible was written by holy men of old, who wrote as they were moved by the Holy Ghost." As the pen which I hold in my hand is an instrument by which I write down and reveal to you my thoughts, so the writers of the Bible were as a pen in the hand of the Holy Spirit of God. They wrote under the influence of Divine inspiration. The Holy Spirit revealed to their minds the truth, which prevented them from writing down any error. I sometimes feel, when I take hold of the Bible, a solemn awe come over my mind, when I remember, this is the book of God. This book came from heaven. It is intended to lead men in the way to heaven. It has been the sure guide of millions of souls. It has led them across the desert of time to the promised land. It has been the bread and the water of life to millions of hungry and thirsty spirits. It has been a healing balm to millions of wounded minds. The words of Jesus have been a cordial to their souls. "Come unto me all ye that believe and are heavy |