WALKS IN LONDON, BY OLD ALLAN GRAY. AFTER a long holiday last year, your old friend has come to light again. He is just as he was-only a little older; and you know even a few weeks or months form no small portion of what is left of an old man's life. These words, "Walks in London," always remind him, as he writes them, of days gone by-of days when he was young and strong, his eye clear and his hand steady, when he could march along the streets and alleys, the crowded thoroughfares or lonely lanes, in shower or sunshine, fros♦ or fog -all the same. And it is a consolation for him to think that if these young days are gone they were not all wasted-that through God's mercy some good deeds were done, some useful lessons learned, and, if he may say as much, some "footprints" left on the "sands of time" that it was worth coming to the world to make; or, as the poet says:— "Something known that's worth the knowing, Your old friend does not say this in self-praise-far from it; but simply that you may learn the lesson, and strive to spend your strong days better far than old Allan Gray did-giving them all to God. But now for our "walk." Here we are at old St. Paul's, a noble building. Some day, when my breath is good and my limbs stronger than they are to-day, we shall have a trip up its long winding stairs and a peep out from the top of the "ball," away yonder towering up among the clouds with all London stretching away at our feet. But at present we are bound for Field Lane. Let us go WALKS IN LONDON. 41 down Ludgate Hill, up Farringdon and Victoria Streets, and we shall get there in a few minutes. Here is Victoria Street. Let us stop for a little. You would not think it, perhaps, but this part of the street is built on arches. Let us have a look below. There, don't get frightened; there are no hobgoblins here. But what dark, murky caverns they are. How the echoes of one's voice flies screaming through them like unearthly spirits! And yet I well remember the time when you might have found plenty of companions here at deadl of night—not ghosts, nor spirits, nor witches-but boys; poor hard-up, ragged, homeless boys, who came here for a 66 bed," because they had no better-to starve and shiver, and dose away the dark weary hours till daylight the best way they could. They say necessity is the mother of invention," and here is proof of it. Sometimes, when the nights were cold and they had neither straw nor shavings, three of the biggest boys would lie down close together, and two lighter ones stretch themselves over on the top of them, and in this way they tried to do battle to the cold damp winds which whistled through their doleful dwelling. Boys have been found here who once lived in happy homes; but death carried their fathers and mothers to the grave and left them helpless in a cold world. One night a great and good man-I mean Earl Shaftesbury-came down to this place and spent several hours in it. He took two friends with him, and by the help of a lantern they gathered out about thirty boys who were burrowing in these dusky caverns, took them into the Field Lane School, and provided them with food and shelter for the night. This night's work led to the fitting up of the "Field Lane Night Refuge for the Destitute,” 42 IDOLATRY IN CHINA. where many a poor wretched creature thanks God for friends and shelter. His lordship told what he saw to a kind, generous lady, who paid all the expenses of furnishing and opening the Refuge. You shall see this strange place next time we pass this way, for we cannot stay longer now. Poor Lord Shaftesbury hastened home to see a favourite son-a very superior, godly youth-who was dangerously ill. When his father entered, Francis was sitting up in bed. "O Francis," said he, "I have been away among the poor homeless boys all night, and I've got so much to tell you." "Thank you, father," was the reply, "but I feel a little faint and must lie down for a few minutes first." He did lie down; but his head was scarcely on the pillow when his spirit passed away to the presence-chamber of the King of kings-to that blessed land where there is no suffering, sin, nor death. It was hard to part with such a noble, hopeful son; but he was ready to go. A few days before his death he threw his feeble arms around his father's neck and said, "Dear papa, I want to thank you for teaching me so early the way to Jesus. What would have become of me if I had to seek salvation now ?" Reader! What will become of you if you put off seeking Christ till you come to die? Seek Him now, humbly, thankfully, earnestly. IDOLATRY IN CHINA. IT is calculated that the people of China expend every year ninety million pounds sterling for incense to be burned before their idols. This amount is equal to about five shillings for every man woman and child in that vast empire. AN OLD CHRISTIAN CORANNA. A MISSIONARY in South Africa gives the following description of an old Coranna. It will make our young friends smile, but it will also show them what the love of Christ and of the gospel can do, even for the most miserable creatures upon earth. "By the reckoning of his sons, this man must be seventy years old; yet every Sunday," writes the missionary, "he walks about twelve miles from home to attend divine service at my station. Although he stays till Monday, and is always to be found during that time near my cottage, yet my children could never get accustomed to his appearance. He is a tall black man, as lean as a crab-stick, with a long swarthy face. He has but one eye, and rather a large beard, which last is uncommon among the Corannas. He wears an old cap on his head, but that man would be very clever who could find out what its shape or colour was when new. His body is covered with a very old, greasy, gray cloth jacket, made of shreds and patches, which it seems impossible to mend 44 AN OLD CHRISTIAN CORANNA. any more. Properly speaking, it seems to consist of a number of scraps of cloth of different kinds and colours sewn together, and, as many of them are torn and loose, they flutter about in the wind like little flags. His short leather small-clothes, through his constantly squatting, have got into such a strange form, that he appears to be bandy-legged. In one hand he carries the tail of a jackal to wipe away the sweat from his face, and in the other a long staff, while around his neck there is a thong of leather to which is fastened his knife. From one of his buttonholes hangs his almanack or calendar. This is a small, narrow board, with seven holes in it. These seven holes, placed in a row, answer to the seven days of the week. In the morning of every day he puts a peg into a hole, and as he begins with Sunday, he knows it is Saturday when he comes to the last hole in the row. He therefore sets out regularly on this day, that he may be here quite early on Sunday morning to join in the worship of God. To crown all, he carries his stool upon his back, that he may have his own seat in the house of the Lord." Yet this poor man-this once savage African-is a humble servant of the King of kings, a disciple of Jesus, an heir of glory. Though his body is covered with rags, his soul is clothed in the righteousness of Christ. He is one of those who shall come from different parts of the earth, and sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven.-Juv. Miss. Mag. All the world cannot pull down an humble man, because God will exalt him; and all the world cannot exalt a proud man, because God will pull him down. A good aim doth not make a bad action good, but a bad aim makes a good action bad. |