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MILES LAMBERT'S THREE CHANCES.

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the frightened crowd of women and children which thronged the path.

Miles was put at the end of the file. He saw it was no use trying to protest, for if they would not let one of the Squire's work-people go, what chance was there for him ? So he submitted to be fastened to another Worth man in silence, though inwardly he was quivering with indignation. When the moment came to go, he looked round for his brothers and sisters. Margery had drawn them back a little out of the crowd, and he saw them together on a bank.

Phyllis was crouching on the ground, her face hidden in her apron. Dick, with a fiery countenance, was shouldering a big stick, and evidently, but for Margery's restraining hand on his shoulder, would attack, single-handed, the whole press-gang. Robin was crying from fright and bewilderment; but Margery, brave Margery, was standing steadily there, with her dark eyes shining in her pale face, and her whole mind plainly set to think what she could do to help her brother.

Cheer up, Miles,” he could hear her cry, clear and steady, above the hubbub, when she saw him looking at her, and Miles knew that he could depend upon her to do what he wanted in this strait.

He beckoned to her to come near, and she left the others, and, threading her way quickly through the crowd, reached him just as he was passing out of the churchyard gate.

“Madge,” he whispered, “get my money-you know where to find it--and be over at Corfe with it, you and Dick, by daybreak to-morrow. I shall maybe manage to find a substitute."

She nodded and drew back, as a sailor roughly bade her “Stand aside out of the way.”

The village of Corfe presented an unusually lively scene that evening. The market-place was full of people, and especially round the door of a house with a curiously-shaped bow window in the upper story there was quite a crowd. That window was the window of a public room belonging to the village of Corfe, and it had been appropriated by the press-gang as a safe place to lodge their prisoners in for the night, before they marched them away to join the fleet.

Every face outside was turned up towards the bow window, which was crowded with the Worth men, who talked to their friends and acquaintances below through the one little opening among the old-fashioned panes.

Harry Smith, whom some unwise friend had been trying to cheer with a great deal more

drink than was good for him, had just been shouting through it a most excited speech to the people, and had so far stirred them up that they had made a confused, uncertain rush upon the guard. The heavy stone porch, however, had made a capital fortress, and the besiegers had soon given back, with two or three grisly cuts to show as the honours of war.

Miles Lambert spent the evening on a bench in the furthest corner of the room, with his face hidden in his hands; so lost in anger and disappointment that he scarcely heard or heeded the babel of noise around. He fell asleep at last, from utter weariness, with his head against the wall.

When Miles awoke it was with a start, fancying he heard his name called. All was still in the room now; his fellow-captives were fast asleep, some on the floor, some with their heads on the table. The keen, sweet breath of the early morning air was blowing in at the window; the top of the ruined keep shone in the first sunbeams.

“Miles !” cried a voice outside; and Miles sprang up and stumbled across the room over the bodies of the sleeping men.

Down below in the empty market-place stood Dick and Margery, and in Margery's hand was something tightly clasped, which she held up to view when Miles's haggard face appeared at the window.

“Here it is—here's the money!” she cried. “Oh, have you found a substitute ?"

“No, I haven't,” he answered, leaning out of the window to catch the breeze, “they wouldn't give us a chance of speaking to anybody on the way, and when we got here they clapped the door to on us, and wouldn't let a soul pass in or out. There's no help for it, Madge! You'd best take the money home again; it will keep you and the children for a bit, anyway."

Well, I mean to try what I can do first," answered Margery, in a very determined tone; and she turned without another word and went away down the street with Dick at her heels.

An hour later, just as a noise of feet and voices from inside the inn showed that the press-gang were preparing to turn out, Dick and Margery reappeared below the window where Miles was mechanically watching the sunlight creep down the castle walls as the morning brightened. Between them was a lad, a great hulking fellow, with a half savage, half careless look in his eyes, as if he did not much care what became of him.

“Here he is, Miles !” cried the boy and girl triumphantly “ His name's Steve Johnson,

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MILES LAMBERT'S THREE CHANCES.

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and he's willing to go in your place for ten guineas. Shall we give it him?"

Are you really willing to serve instead of me?" asked Miles, who could scarcely believe such a thing possible. He did not realise how little this homeless, vagabond lad, whom Margery's quick eyes had espied sleeping in a doorway, cared whether or no he exchanged one life of hardship for another.

Aye, I'm willing," he answered, with a shrug of the shoulders. “What's it to me where I go? Give me the money.”

“ You shall have it as soon as they've let my brother out," said Margery, prudently.

She thought it only too likely that her captive would make off with the money, and leave them all in the lurch, if she handed it over to him too soon.

She sat down on the steps of what had once been the market cross, and waited to see the captain of the press-gang come out of the inn. Dick stood opposite to Miles's intended substitute, drawn up like a soldier on drill, and kept his eyes fixed unwinkingly upon him.

At last, after what seemed an endless waiting, the leader of the press-gang-whom Margery at once recognised by the medals on his breastappeared at the door of the inn. She summoned up all her courage, and, clutching the money-bag tightly under her apron, went across the marketplace and made him her best curtsey.

Miles, looking on in breathless anxiety from the window above, knew by his sister's white lips how frightened she was, and felt ready to throw himself out of the window in his rage at being thus mewed up like a mouse in a hole, while she was going through so much for him.

“If you please, sir," began Margery, in faltering tones, “my brother is one of the men you've pressed, but I've found another man that is willing to go in his place, if you 'll please to let him, sir."

“ That's a likely story!” said the man, roughly. You found a substitute? I don't believe a word of it !”

“But I've got him here,” said Margery, steadily; “look, that's him, sir, standing in the road there. Indeed he's willing to go for—for what I've paid him!”

“Oh! paid him, have you?” said the man, in rather an altered tone. Perhaps it might be worth his while to listen to the girl after all. “ And how much is he willing to go for?”

Margery hesitated and looked frightened. She could not at once make up her mind whether or no

it would be in Miles's interest to own the large sum she had promised. • Here, you

fellow!” called the leader to Steve Johnson, “how much has the gell paid you?”

“She hain't paid me nothing yet,” growled the lad, who evidently was not in awe of anybody.

“What has she promised you then?” asked the man, with an angry oath. "Speak, or I'll shake it out of you.”

“She's to give me ten guineas."

The leader whistled, and eyed the hand which was hidden in Margery's apron.

“He's taller and stronger made by half than my brother,” pleaded Margery, “he'll do you better service, indeed he will.”

She pointed towards her captive, as if she were a dealer displaying the merits of a horse to a possible customer, and the scene altogether was so quaint that Miles could hardly help smiling in spite of himself.

“ Look here, my lass,” said the leader, in a surly tone, “we'd best come to an understanding in this business at once, for I've no time to stay palavering here. If you choose to make it worth my while to take yon chap instead of your brother, well and good. If not, he's off with me for Portsmouth along with the others before he's an hour older."

Margery was obliged unwillingly to produce her bag, for she did not know exactly how much there was in it besides the ten guineas which she had promised Johnson.

She tried to conceal its size and weight as much as she could in the folds of her apron, but to her horror an iron hand suddenly caught hold of her wrist and the captain snatched her treasure away.

“Oh, pray, pray give it me back!” she cried. “How dare

you
steal
my money

from me?" But both entreaties and anger were totally wasted. The man coolly emptied the contents of the bag into his hand and proceeded to count them. There were fifteen guineas and a little silver and copper-all poor Miles's hardly-made earnings and savings for the last four years. Margery felt as if she could knock the man down. He counted out ten guineas and threw them to Steve Johnson, who had come near to see the fate of his promised recompense, put the small money back into the bag, and tossed it at Margery. The five remaining guineas he rattled together in his palm and looked with a cool wink at the girl.

“Well," he said, “which is to go along with me—this here little sum, or your brother? Take

your choice."

THE UNMERCIFUL SERVANT.

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Margery's high spirit was thoroughly roused. “ How dare you rob me like that?" she cried undauntedly. “Five guineas is a deal too muchyou know it is! Dick, come here!”

“Stop," cried Miles, leaning out of the window. Dick was no real protection to his sister, and he was afraid of what might come next. “ You can keep the five guineas, if you

'll take

my substitute." The leader slipped the money into his trousers pocket with a chuckle over his good bargain, and went into the inn to fetch the key of the room where his captives were confined.

Ten minutes later Miles was walking out of Corfe with his brother and sister-a free man, certainly, but penniless and out of work.

The Unmerciful Servant.

(St. Matthew xviii. 21–35.) By The Rev. GORDON CALTHROP, M.A.

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The poor man, aghast at this stern decision, begs for delay. If time be granted, he says, he will find the money, and pay off the debt. " What! all that enormous sum ? It is impossible.Yes, it is impossible, but the man thinks he may be able to do it; perhaps he does not yet quite understand how large his liability is; and he entreats the king to be merciful. The king is a merciful king, and has compassion upon him, and gives orders that he shall be set free, and forgives him the whole amount.

There, now ! look at the man! He is going out from the royal presence, joyful at his deliverance, joyful to think that his wife and children are not to be sold into slavery, and full of gratitude, one would hope, on account of the mercy he has just received. But what is this? On the road, and not very far from the palace, he meets another man, one of the king's servants, who owes him a very trifling sum-well, about three pounds of our money. You expect him to say to the man, “ I have just been forgiven myself, and forgiven an enormous sum, millions in fact, and I will gladly forgive you your three pounds.” But instead of doing this he seizes his debtor by the throat, speaks to him, and handles him roughly; and because the money is not immediately forthcoming puts forth the power of the law upon him, and casts him into prison.

“How could he do such a thing ?” you say, "How could he be so hard-hearted just after having had so much mercy and goodness shown him ? " Ah, my dear children, the human heart is a strange thing, and you and I, if God were to leave us to ourselves, are quite capable of acting the base and cruel part which was played by the man in the parable.

But now the king, who has heard of what has happened, calls the cruel nobleman back into his presence, and because he has been so unforgiving makes him liable for the whole debt, and, as it appears, for something more. He “ delivers him to the tormentors till he should pay all that was due” to his master. I am not sure that I can quite explain this statement, but it must mean something terrible, and I think we must all feel that the unforgiving servant deserved his fate.

Now what does the whole subject teach us? First this—that God will not forgive us our trespasses unless we on our part are willing and ready to forgive the trespasses of others against us. And then this—that when we understand and feel, by the teaching of the Spirit, that God for Christ's sake has remitted, that is, let us off the payment of “ten thousand talents," we shall not be likely to be hard upon our brother on account of his poor “hundred pence.

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O you find it difficult to forgive

anybody who has injured you? Well, I suppose we all do, when left to ourselves. Our first inclination is to retaliate. And if it should happen to be

impossible for us to retaliate, we brood over the wrong, and probably magnify it ; and when the offender asks us to forgive him, we sulk and refuse to do so, or we tell him that we

can forgive but not forget,”—and you know what that really means.

But the Lord Jesus commands us to forgive, and tells us that if we withhold forgiveness from others, God will withhold forgiveness from us. Let us see how He enforces this precept.

Here is a great king-an emperor—with many servants, nobles, I suppose, whom he has appointed to rule over vast provinces, and to pay him the taxes. One day he calls them all together, for he wants to know how they have done their duty; and he begins to investigate their conduct.

Soon a nobleman is brought before him who has been so careless or so dishonest with the revenues of his province that he is ten thousand talents (a most enormous sum, equal to some millions of our money) in debt. The king is very angry, as you would expect; and because his servant has nothing to pay the debt with, orders him to be sold into slavery, with all his family.

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PEEPS INTO WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

author of “ Vanity Fair" and other famous novels; Reeps into Westminster Abbey. of Macaulay (1859), the poet and historian ; and BY EVELYN L. FARRAR.

the statue of Addison (1719), who is also buried in the Abbey. His funeral, which took place at

night, is described as wonderfully impressive. PEEP X.

“ His body lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber, HE great monument to the and was borne thence to the Abbey at dead of

statesman John, Duke of night. The choir sang a funeral hymn. Bishop Argyle and Greenwich (1743), Atterbury, one of those Tories who had loved and occupies the right-hand side honoured the most accomplished of the Whigs, of the door of St. Faith's met the corpse and led the procession by torchlight, Chapel. It is a fine specimen round the shrine of St. Edward and the graves of of Roubillac's work, and also the Plantagenets, to the chapel of Henry VII.”*

of the allegorical style of monu- It was not till nearly 100 years later that Addison's ment which was so much

statue was placed in Poets' admired in the eighteenth

Corner. century. Upon it are figures

Near Macaulay lies Isaac of Minerva, leaning on her

Barrow (1677), whom Charles spear, Eloquence, listening

II. described as “the greatin an attitude of rapt atten

est scholar in England." He tion to the flow of the Duke's

was master of Trinity Col. oratory, and History, who

lege, Cambridge, and officialis recording his actions and

ly connected with Westminpausing, as she writes his

ster, where he died, “in a name, at the half-finished

house in the cloisters that had word Greenwich, since the

a little stair in it out of the title, Duke of Argyle and

cloisters, which made him Greenwich, was to die with

call it a mare's nest. This him.

house was pulled down in Next to this comes Rou

1710.”

Barrow was tutor billac's last work, the monu

to Sir Isaac Newton, whose ment to Handel. The great

grave we shall come to premusician is represented look

sently in the Nave. Stephen ing upwards and listening

Hales, the inventor of the to the music of the spheres,

system of ventilation, has his while he holds in his hand a

memorial above. copy of his own immortal

The famous scholar, Isaac anthem, “I know that my

Casaubon (1619) is buried Redeemer liveth." His face

here. On his monument can is modelled from cast taken

be seen the monogram of after death. It was Handel's

the celebrated angler, Isaac earnest wish, as he lay dying,

Walton, with the date, 1618, that he might breathe his last

scratched there by himself. on Good Friday, in the hopes,

This is the only memorial in he said, "of meeting his good

the Abbey of the “gentle God, his sweet Lord and

fisherman,” who is one of Sa ur, on the day of His

the very few whom we can resurrection." The call came

forgive for having thus deon Easter Eve, 1759. It was

faced (as more insignificant of Handel that Beethoven

visitors are only too fond of said, “I would uncover my

doing) its sacred walls. head, and kneel at his tomb."

Two more monuments we Below him are the busts of

must notice in this aisle, William Thackeray (1863),

The North-West Transept.

+ Macaulay's Essays.

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PEEPS INTO WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

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those of the actor, David Garrick (1779), and of George Grote, the historian of Greece (1871), who are both buried here. The funeral of the former was attended by almost all the literary men of his day, and amongst them by his er, Samuel Johnson, who was seen standing by “bathed in tears.” Garrick is represented holding back a curtain and displaying a medallion of Shakespeare, as typical of the way in which he unveiled the beauties of Shakespeare by his acting.

Continuing our walk round the Abbey, we enter the south aisle of the choir, where we find many interesting monuments. First let us notice that to Richard Bell (1832), who was a canon of the Abbey and the founder of the system of pupil-teaching, by which masters are saved so much time and labour. His bas-relief represents a class of boys being taught by another boy rather older than themselves. Then comes Sir Thomas Richardson (1635), made Lord Chief Justice of England under Charles I. He was called the jeering Chief Justice, from the bitter and sarcastic remarks he was in the habit of making. On one occasion, when he came out from being reprimanded by Laud, he declared in a rage that “the lawn-sleeves had almost choked him.” On another occasion, when he condemned Prynne, he said, " Let him have the Book of Martyrs to amuse him.”

Here is the tomb of the brave commander, Sir Cloudesley Shovel, Commander-in-Chief of the Fleet (1707). When returning with his fleet from Gibraltar his ship was wrecked off the Scilly Isles and his body cast ashore. His monument is a deplorable piece of bad taste, for he is represented in an eighteenth century wig, but with Roman armour and sandals. In complete non-accordance with his character as a brave, hardy man, he is reclining on velvet cushions, under a canopy of state. Even his epitaph is unfortunate, for it dwells less on the services of his life than on his death, which was by no means especially glorious. Above him is the monument of Sir Godfrey Kneller (1723), the only painter commemorated in the Abbey. He was a great friend of Pope's, for whom he sent, in his last illness, to tell him, with a burst of tears, that he was dying. Pope asked where he would be buried. “Not in Westminster,” he answered;“they do bury fools there," and accordingly was interred at Kneller Hall. The inscription by Pope is, as he himself acknowledged, the worst he ever wrote“Kneller, by Heaven, and not a master, taught, Whose art was nature, and whose pictures thoughtWhen now two ages he has snatched from fate Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great

Rests, crowned with princes' honours, poets' lays,
Due to his merit and brave thirst of praise :
Living, great Nature feared he might outvie

Her works; and dying, fears herself may die." St. Paul's Cathedral has now become the memorial ground for painters, so Kneller will probably be the last, as he is the first, to have a monument in Westminster Abbey.

Next to Sir Cloudesley Shovel is a small tablet representing the shipwreck of William Wragg (1777), drowned on his way to England from South Carolina. His son, with the aid of a black slave, floated on a barrel and got safely to shore. Opposite is the bust of the Italian patriot, Pasquale de Paoli (1807). One of the most interesting monuments in the Abbey is that of the two brothers, John and Charles Wesley, erected by the late Dean of Westminster. On it are the medallions of the two brothers and a bas-relief of John Wesley preaching in the open air, with his three famous sayings

“I look upon all the world as my parish."
“The best of all is, God with us."
“God buries His workmen, but carries on His work.”

Next to Wesley's is the monument to Isaac Watts (1748). He wrote many psalms and hymns, and was the first to introduce poetry as a help to teaching.

The last monument we must notice on this side of the choir is that of Thomas Thynne (1681), who was murdered in his coach in Pall Mall by the hired assassins of Count Königsmark, whose jealousy he had excited from his betrothal with a lady of great wealth, Elizabeth Percy, widow of Lord Ogle. Thynne was on his way to his bride-elect, when met by his rival's creatures and shot through the window, as represented in the bas-relief. The assassins were executed, but the true murderer, Königsmark, escaped. It is of this monument that the story is related of a Welshman, who boasted that his father's effigy was in the Abbey, and on being asked where, pointed out the coachman in the bas-relief, saying that was his father.

Scotch Nightingales.

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THE nightingale is not to be met with in Scotland,

Wales, Ireland, Cornwall, or the south of Devonshire. Sir John Sinclair made an attempt to introduce it into Scotland. He procured a large number of

eggs, and had them put into redbreasts' nests, The eggs were duly hatched, and many young nightingales were seen during the summer, but in September they, as is usual, left for a warmer climate, and never returned.

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