23rd, 1841, at Golcar, near Huddersfield. When she was old enough she was sent to the Church school, and when she went to a place of worship it was the Church of England. About the month of March, 1868, a remarkable revival of religion broke out at the Methodist New Connexion Chapel, Wellhouse, Golcar. The services continued five or six weeks every evening, and scores were pricked to the heart. Charlotte attended the revival services, and it pleased the Lord to direct His word to her heart like an arrow, and she went home thoughtful and serious, and, for the first time, concerned about her eternal welfare. All her sins now appeared in array before her. She saw how she had been living regardless of Christ and his mercy, and she now felt, when the Saviour was held up, that He was the only hope and refuge for guilty sinners to flee to. In this state of mind she remained for a short time, distressed and concerned about her soul, but yet a stranger to that peace of mind without which no one can possibly be happy. For this unspeakable blessing she sought earnestly at the house of God and in the means of grace, and at length she found the pearl of great price. It now pleased God to reveal His Son in her as the hope of glory. She obtained such peace and joy in believing as are only to be found at the foot of the Saviour's cross. The burden of her guilt was thus removed, a sense of pardoning love was experienced in her soul, and from that time she went on her way rejoicing, proving that the ways of true religion are "ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." As a Christian her piety was uniform and clear. She was most diligent in her attendance at the class-meeting and the other ordinances, so far as her opportunities allowed. She became unwell in the spring of 1871, and symptoms indicating a consumptive tendency exhibited themselves. Medical aid was procured, but, in spite of what medicine could do, the disease made a stealthy but sure progress. In her sickness she was visited by the minister and by the leaders and members of the church of which she was a member, and every visit was always welcome; and when she was asked about her soul she said, with a smile-"I am on the rock Christ Jesus." She was very patient in her sickness. Before her departure she gave with the utmost calmness certain directions about her funeral, and affectionately charged her parents and the other members of the family to prepare to meet her in heaven. Her mother asked her to give a sign if all was right just before her departure, and she, holding up her arms, gave a smile and fell asleep, August 11th, 1872. G. H. T. OUR CHILDREN'S PORTION. THE NAUGHTY PRINCE. ONE day the Crown Prince of Germany heard an uproar in his nursery. He stepped in to inquire, and the nurse said, "Prince Henry refuses to be washed." "What, my son, will you not be washed and made clean?" "No, I won't be washed," he petulantly responded; "I don't like to be washed. Let me be! "Well," said Fritz, "if that is his choice let him be. He need not be washed." Away he bounded with great glee at having conquered the nurse, and getting his own way. By-and-by the nurse and Prince Henry took a ride through the Thier garten and streets of Berlin. He soon noticed that the sentries stationed all over the city did not give them the customary salute. "Why don't the soldiers present arms, nurse ?" "I cannot tell," she said; 66 we are dressed correctly, are in the royal carriage, and I cannot guess why they refuse us the honours." At eventide his papa asked Prince Henry if he had enjoyed his ride to-day? "No, papa, not a bit." "Not a bit ? What can the matter be?" "Why, papa, not a soldier recognised or saluted us in driving all round the city, and we had on uniform and rode in the royal carriage." "Ah!" he says to the lad, "soldiers did not salute you, eh? Well, you must understand, my boy, that no Prussian soldier will present arms to an unwashed prince!" BONNIE CHRISTIE. 66 Two boys were in a school-room alone together, when some fireworks, contrary to the teacher's express prohibition, exploded. The one boy denied it. The other, Bonnie Christie, would neither admit nor deny it, and was severely flogged for his obstinacy. When the boys got alone again— "Why didn't you deny it ?" said the real delinquent. "Because there were only we two, and one of us must then have lied," said Bonnie. "Then why not say I did it ? " "Because you said you didn't, and I would spare the liar.' The boy's heart melted. Bonnie's moral gallantry subdued him. When school resumed, the young rogue marched up to the teacher's desk, and said "I can't bear to be a liar, sir; I let off the squibs," and burst into tears. The teacher's eye glistened on the self-accuser, and the unmerited punishment he had inflicted on his schoolmate smote upon his conscience. Before the whole school, hand in hand with the culprit, he walked to where Christie sat, and said aloud with some emotion, "Bonnie, Bonnie, lad, he and I beg your pardon; we are both to blame!" Poetry. 0 CONTENTMENT. The following stanzas are two hundred and sixty years old: they were written by Robert Southwell: My conscience is my crown, My wishes are few, All easy to fulfil; I make the limits of my power The bounds unto my will. I fear no care of gold, I clip high-climbing thoughts- A YEAR AT SCHOOL. A SERIAL STORY. BY TOM BROWN. (ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) CHAPTER I. AFTER THE HOLIDAYS. T was a clear, cold, frosty morning in January, 186—, and the first school day in the new year. It wanted quite half an hour to school time yet. In the large playground of Copsley School was a little group of boys who had come thus early to meet their schoolfellows, and to chat over the fun they had had in the holidays. They looked sturdy, jolly fellows, as they stood there wrapped in their warm overcoats their faces ruddy with cold, and three or four of them talking all at once, as they described what sports they had had. "Back to school again" is never shouted quite so enthusiastically as "Home for the holidays," and yet most intelligent boys are glad to get back to school when the time comes for them to do so. When they "break up" they feel as if they could enjoy a perpetual vacation, and for the first week or so, while everyone else is taking holiday, they certainly do enjoy themselves immensely. But when father and elder brothers have again toattend closely to business, when mother is fully occupied with household cares, when there are no more little parties, and no more entertainments or friends to visit, the leisure time begins to hang heavily on their hands, and all boys, who are not downright idlers, are glad to get off to school again. Although they do not put it before them in so many words, they soon find that holiday is only pleasant as a change, and they for the first time learn the useful lesson that work is better than play. It was so with these boys. Before they left for the Christmas holidays they had got thoroughly tired of school work. Right away from the Midsummer vacation they had been hard at work at their lessons; and at last they had begun to consider the schoolroom as a prison, the lessons as penances, and the master as a tyrant. But now, after being away only three weeks, they were quite astonished to find what a pleasure there was in coming back to the familiar old place, and in meeting their master and their fellow-pupils. But all this time we have left the little group of early comers chatting and standing out in the cold. Surely they have finished their gossip before now. No, they have not. George Benson is just showing his playfellows how narrowly he escaped being thrown by the little pony he had been riding at his uncle's, and with his skate-strap for a rein he is demonstrating how cleverly he pulled the animal round just at the right instant. But it is getting near school time now, and the boys are fast arriving. Presently we hear a great shout of "Hurrah! hurrah! here's Gus Brookes ;" and a boy, apparently about thirteen years of age, squarely built, and with a roguish, jolly face, enters the playground. Gus Brookes was the strongest boy in the school, and the little ones firmly believed that if he once put out his strength the schoolmaster would be powerless in his hands. He was the leader in all the school sports, and although not particularly bright at his lessons, his generous, impulsive good nature made him a general favourite. "How good you all are," said he. "I should think you are trying to curry favour with the master by coming so early. I wonder how many of you are going to keep on as well as you have begun ? I should have been here as early as any of you though, but I have been skating since six o'clock till breakfast on the mill-pond." "How does it bear?" was the immediate inquiry of half-a-dozen boys eager for the sport. "As safe as houses in some parts," he replied, adding, with an air of conscious superiority, "but I'd advise anybody who can't swim well to keep away from the weir." Immediately upon this another burst of cheering told of the arrival of another popular pupil, and a glance at him showed that his popularity must arise from far different causes from those which made Gus Brookes a favourite. This boy, who was greeted as Alec Gordon, was a slight-made, pale-faced lad, with thin features, and clear, piercing grey eyes. He was wrapped in a great coat, and had a warm woollen comforter round his neck; but for all that he was shivering with cold. Alec Gordon was the cleverest boy in the school, and although he was not strong enough to join in any of the boisterous sports, his gentle demeanour and kindness made him a favourite with most of the scholars. Almost close upon his heels there came a smart lad, dressed in a well-fitting suit, wearing a bright-coloured scarf, and fine cloth gloves. "Oh my!" said Gus Brookes, "ain't Charlie Davis coming out a swell. I should think they'll put his portrait in the fashion plates soon." Twig his purple gloves and his new tile,'" said Bob Johnson. "Good morning, Mr. Davis," said Sam Townley, assuming a |