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might not see their danger, while their riders, with their legs all bandaged and wadded that they might not be hurt by the horse falling on them, pulled them about with large curbed bits, and goaded them on with long sharp spurs. When these had taken their places and saluted the spectators a door was thrown open, and in rushed a fine large bull; at first, he seemed to wonder why he was brought to such a place. He had been driven in from the fertile plains, where he had fed peacefully in the large herds of cows and calves, and other bulls like himself, with whom he had often fallen out for a day, and fought his battle, and then they went quietly to feed again in the same pastures, after being victorious in the fight or fairly beaten. But here he finds himself in new society, altogether strange to bim, and evidently no way friendly, it is too clear that there is to be a fight, but instead of another fierce bull like himself for an antagonist, he is called upon to fight with a number of men called Christians, and in the midst of a large assembly of Christian priests, and holy (?) monks,and meek-eyed nuns and sisters of mercy, (?) all the learned and greatest men of the south of Spain, and such an assembly of fashionable and beautiful ladies, as were rarely seen in the famous theatre of Algeziras. And all of them Christians come to honour the Virgin Mary, and the new doctrine of the immaculate coneeption. Happy bull to have to fight in such a cause, and before such a gay assemblage of Christians. But, alas, the poor animal does not seem to know or care for such an honour; and no wonder, he never heard of the Virgin Mary, and he is deplorably ignorant of the pope and the cardinals, and of their new doctrine ; and he has grave doubts about getting fair play in the midst of these thousands of fashionable and fair Christian gentlemen and ladies. He



would far rather fight a savage bull in the plains, with none but wild cattle to look on, than to contend with these Christian enemies in the midst of a Christian assembly. Poor bull, he was right. He had a hope of victory and reward in his contest with his wild fellow in the herds, and the chance of escape by flight if victory failed, or mercy in succumbing to the fiercest bull that ever ruled a herd of cattle. But here he has no reward to cheer him on. The shouts of these Christians have not for him the significance of the lowing of cattle. All escape is cut off by the high fence around, and mercy there is none for him in the hearts of these worshippers of the Virgin Mary. But there is no alternative ; fight he must, these Christian foes are on him, throwing sharp things into his back and sides, and waving their flags before his eyes in such a provoking way, that he loses all self-control, and, singling out the most forward of his tormentors, he makes a desperate rush ; but in a moment the nimble foe has glided aside, and ere he can check his headlong force, has bounded over the fence, or slipped through the narrow opening through which his pursuer cannot pass. His blood is now up; and finding that the footmen are too nimble for him, he casts his eye fiercely on the horsemen, and with lowered head he charges the nearest at full speed ; nothing can resist the force ; the spear of the enemy only wounds and rouses him, and in a moment his horns are plunged in the side of the poor blinded horse, and he and his rider are tossed into the air, or lie sprawling on the ground. The footmen run to the rescue of their companion, and, by distracting the furious brute with their flags, they draw him off, and save the man ; but the horse lies bleeding and dying before the eyes of the assembled Christians, who are delighted with the sight, and praise the bull for the feat. But there is no



rest for the poor brute, now in a frenzy of rage. He glares wildly and reproachfully on these savage Christian tormentors, singles out another horse, and with the same result.

Again and again he renews the charge, until he has killed five or six horses, the riders almost always escaping, when his strength fails from exhaustion and loss of blood, and then another enemy appears with a flag in one hand and a sword in the other. He approaches the panting, bleeding victim, waves the flag before his eyes, he makes a last bold effort to charge, but as he rushes on, the Christian steps aside, plunges the sword into his neck, and he dies with the shouts of thou. sands of Christians ringing in his ears.

Another bull was now brought in, and the same scene enacted, until, that day five bulls and twenty horses were killed, and all this as a popish pastime to these thousands of people calling themselves Christians, and to the honour of the Virgin Mary, and the new doctrine of the immaculate conception.

Dear children, thank God in your prayers to-night that you are not taught to worship the Virgin Mary, or to honor her with cruel pastimes like these. Oh it is sad to think that men calling themselves Christians should do such things, which I am sure Buddhists in China would never do in bonor of their idols. Yet these Christiansas they are in name, not in truth--liked to see these cruel sights ;

and one young man told me that a lady gaily and richly clad who sat beside him, asked him to stand aside that she might look over and see a horse which was lying in the last agonies of death. Even English ladies learn to like a sight from which a savage bull would turn aside its gaze, and little children learn to clap their hands over dying horses in their agonies.


I am,

COME, LET US SING OF JESUS. (Sung at the Anniversary of St. George's Sabbath

Schools, New York.)
COME, let us sing of Jesus,

While hearts and accents blend;
Come, let us sing of Jesus

The sinner's only friend ;
His holy soul rejoices

Amid the choirs above,
To hear our youthful voices

Exulting in his love.
We love to sing of Jesus,

Who wept our path along ;
We love to sing of Jesus,

The tempted and the strong ;
None who besought his healing,

He passed unheeded by ;
He still retains his feeling

For us above the sky.
We love to sing of Jesus,

Who died our souls to save;
We love to sing of Jesus

Triumphant o'er the grave ;
And in our hour of danger,

We'll trust his love alone,
Who once slept in a manger

And now sits on a throne.

Then let us sing of Jesus,

While yet on earth we stay,
And hope to sing of Jesus

Throughout eternal day;



For those who here confess him,

He will in heaven confess;
And faithful hearts that bless him

He will for ever bless.


ANNIVERSARY. On a Sabbath, in the month of April last, I was in New York. That afternoon P was to go with me to St. George's Church, to hear the Rev. Dr. Tyng, one of the favourite preachers of the Episcopal Church in that city. I was sitting in my solitary room in the hotel, reading, when P- arrived. “We can't go to St. George's today,” he said, “it's the anniversary of the Sunday Schools, and there will be such a crowd, it will hardly be possible to get in.” “My dear fellow," said I," the very reason why I, at least, must attempt at all hazards to go. I have heard much of these schools, and I would not for a good deal miss the opportunity of seeing them on this, the occasion of their annual gathering.” “Well,” said he, “I have seen it before, and I shan't go; but you had better try, and I'll go to Dr. Hawk's.”

So he went off to Dr. Hawk's, and I set out to see if I could in any way succeed in securing access to the annual meeting of the largest Sabbath School in New York. At the school. house beside the church I found one of the teachers, to whom I explained that as a stranger from England I was anxious to be present at their anniversary. He kindly helped me to find Dr. W- whom I had met before, and on consultation they thought that the only way for me to get into the body of the church would be to go along with Mr. T—'s Bible class. So Mr. T

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