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PHILIP HENRY'S VOW. PHILIP HENRY was a celebrated Nonconformist Minister, one of the two thousand clergymen who left the Established Church through the passing of the “Act of Uniformity," " which took place on Bartholomew-day, Aug. 24, 1662," and which obliged all clergymen to assent to certain doctrines and various prescribed beliefs and formulas, which it seemed to many of them impossible conscientiously to do. Philip Henry was a good, wise, and pious man, and it is related of him, that he used to teach his children the following words :

“I take God to be my chiefest good and highest end. I take Christ to be my Prince and Saviour. I take the Holy Spirit to be my Sanctifier, Teacher, Guide, and Comforter. I take the Word of God to be


rule in all my actions, and the people of God to be my people in all conditions. I do likewise dedicate unto the Lord my whole self, all I am, all I have, and all I can do. And this I do deliberately, sincerely, freely, and for ever.”

Every Sabbath evening each of them slowly repeated these solemn words, after their recitation in the catechism, he putting his amen to it, and sometimes adding,

so say and so do, and you are made for ever.” And never was there a family more amiable and distinguished for its piety.

TEN RULES FOR LIVING. 1. Never put off till to-morrow what can be done to-day.

2. Never trouble another to do what you can do yourself. 3. Never spend your money



have it. 4. Never buy what you do not want because it is cheap.

5. We never repent of eating too little.
6. Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly.

7. How much pain those evils cost us that never happen.

8. Take things by their smooth handle. 9. When angry, always count ten before you speak. 10. See that thine aim reacheth unto higher than thyself



The whole meadows were besprinkled with primroses and cowslips,-telling not of chauge and death, but of gladness and of spring. So closely did they grow, that it was difficult to walk without some of them being crushed ; and instinctively I shrank from treading on them. Proceeding onwards I heard voices ; and on turning an angle formed by a hedge still fragrant with hawthorn, I saw a group of three children seated on the flowery carpet. The elder one, a girl, and apparently about eleven years old, was making cowslip balls, which a boy and a girl, several years younger, were throwing at each other with merry laughter.

They were too busy to observe me, and I stood watching them. It was a group for a painter. The children were of that class which, when they are clean and healthy, is the most picturesque of all classes,they were cottage-children. The two little ones with their rosy cheeks, their curly hair, their blithe coun:tenances, and their rural fancy dresses; were my beauideal of what cottage-children ought to be. They were children, such as one reads about, but such as in real life are seldom seen.

This was real life; and there they were before me. The older one was different to these : her countenance excited my interest, for it had the expression of suffering. The face was pale and thin ; and there was a pensiveness, almost a refinement, in the smile with which, having finished another cowslip ball, she threw it at her little brother. This seemed the signal for a general battle. She got up. The little ones got up also ; and laughing and full of glee, began pelting her with the balls she had been making for them. The girl ran on, stopping at intervals to pick up the balls, and throw them back again. At length she stopped ; and placing her hand on her side, she stood fanting to recover breath.

The young ones at once desisted from their play, and both of them running up to her caught hold of her dress.

• Nelly, dear, you're tired : we won't play any more

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“ Are you very much tired?”' asked the little girl ; and then, without waiting for an answer back, she bounded to the battle-field to pick up the balls which lay scattered along. With her tiny apron full of these, she came running on towards the turn in the hedge, when seeing me she stopped, blushed a still rosier red, and curtsied.

" And who made you these pretty cowslip halls ?"" said I, taking one out of her apron and examining it. It was very pretty, and so curiously fashioned as to conceal all the stalks and to leave visible nothing but the fresh fragrant flowers formed into a ball. I had never seen one before, and to me it really was a curiosity.

“Her made it-Nelly, her that's out there yonder.” “And who is Nelly?”

Nelly !”looking wonderingly into my face, “why she's Nelly."

“ And is Nelly your sister?”

"Oh yes! Nelly's sister Nelly, and she's'a very good Nelly, she isn't cross, and doesn't punch and bob us about as Sally does.”

So you have a sister Sally, too?" “ No, Sally ben't a bit of a sister at all, and I'm very glad she ben't, but sometimes when Nelly's too poorly to come out with us little ones into the meadows, mother asks Sally to come; her that lives in the cottage close by.”

· And your sister Nelly is poorly sometimes ?”

Yes, please Ma'am, at times like, she's very bad, and then she can't play with us, but she tries to do, for all that, and then she's forced to leave off all of a sudden like.”

But your father and mother, what do they do ?” - Father! we haven't got one, he's been gone away a long time, he lives in the churchyard now. And mother, she goes to work at farmer Brown's. "

Then, when mother's out you three are left to take care of yourselves ? ”

No, we're not, mother says that Him in heaven is always taking care of us, whether she's by or not; and Nelly says so too."


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During this time Nelly and her brother were still in the distance; she seemed better again, and they stood looking at me, and at the little girl, timidly holding back. “Will you give me this pretty cowslip ball ?”

Please ma'am, yes," said the child with great alacrity, “and if you'd like to have some more, Nelly will be glad, she can make them up in no time: please do have another."

· No, thank you ; but this one I should like to have very much; and perhaps," taking from my purse a sixpence which I held over her head, “perhaps you would like to have this.”

She looked at the sixpence and then at me; such a pretty little look it was, expressive of childish joy and wonder; then she hung down her head, but did not speak.

• Won't you take it, my little girl.”

She held out her hand, and I put the sixpence into it.

“Please ma'am, thank you, mother will be so glad!” “And where does your mother live?”

“A bit past them there tall trees, and look, there's the smoke just coming out of our chimney; that tells that mother's come back, and we must go home now."

And off she scampered towards the brother and sister.

I watched them as they went by a path through the meadows leading towards the cottage ; then I turned, but before I reached Herne Bay, the twilight had faded into darkness.

Not many days afterwards, an impulse almost irresistible urged me again to visit the church-yard. It was morning this time, the grass had been cut, the dew was still thick upon it, and the dew drops sparkling in the sunbeams. All gloomy associations were dispelled, for these sunbeams falling on the old graves in the freshness of the early morning, seemed rays coming direct from heaven to light the road to a more glorious day.

I was walking slowly round the church, when I perceived a child seated on a distant tombstone: I saw

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