A PEEP UNDER GROUND.

"LET us have a bit more coal, mother, do!" cried James Smith to his mother, one bitter winter's evening, as they gathered round their little fire; "it freezes so hard to-night."

"Well, let it be only one lump in your fingers, then, Jem, just to make a blaze, for we must be saving with it, I know. I am afraid our half-ton will be out before the money is ready to buy another; and to get it by the hundred we should have to pay very high for it now."

"Nineteen pence, I heard Neighbour Brown say she paid for the last hundred she had," observed the father; "and I am sure it is a hard matter to make it last the week out."

Ah, and nineteen pence makes a nasty hole out of a man's earnings, when he only has ten or eleven shillings coming in," said Bill; "I don't believe it's a right thing to make it so dear."

Smith. "Don't be too fast, boy; there are one or two things to think of before you make that clear. If it is nineteen pence here, it is only one and a penny at the station, and I don't think you'd consider sixpence a hundred too much to expect if you had the trouble of bringing it up."

Bill. "Maybe not, father; but don't you say that thirteen pence is quite enough to ask for it at the station?"

Smith. "I should be glad enough to have less to pay, no doubt, Bill; but when I think of the miles and miles it has to be brought from the place where they find it, and, say you lived on the spot, of all the danger and all the trouble those have to go through who get it out of the ground, the wonder seems to me it isn't a pound and a shilling the hundred, instead of a shilling and a penny."

"Oh, father! don't talk so," cried poor Mrs Smith, whose heart seemed to fail her at the very idea; "I am sure we should all have to perish with cold then, and eat our food raw into the bargain."

"But how do they get it, father?" asked Jem, who had pricked up his ears when he heard of danger. "It doesn't lie ready to their hand, then, I suppose, any more than the gold in Australia?"

Smith. "Never, in our country, that I know of, Jem. I have heard that great lumps of it lie above ground, in a place called Pekin, in China; but not in England. No; they have to dig for it down, down, sometimes further than the deepest well you ever saw in your life."

Mary asked, "How deep, father?"

Smith. "Well, Mary, of course digging for coal is like digging for a good spring of water; you may find it near the top in one place, and in another you'll have to go down six times as far; but I believe, with the coal, the deeper

you go the better it is. The deepest I ever heard of near Newcastle, the part of this country where our coal comes from, went down one hundred and eighty fathoms. Now, if you tell Bill there are six feet, or two yards, to a fathom, I daresay he'll make it out for you."

William. "Three hundred and sixty yards, or one thousand and eighty feet, I make it, father."

Smith. "Quite right, Bill, I believe. Now, if you remember that our church tower stands fifty feet high, and fancy going down, down, down more than one-and-twenty times the distance that you would have to go up, if you wished to mount the steeple, you will understand something about the depths the coals come from."

"You've puzzled us now, father," said James. "How ever do the men get down such a way? and how do they lift the coals to the top when they have got them? I can't understand it at all."

"Oh! I can guess that," cried Mary, eager to answer the question: "they are let down from the top, as we let down the buckets into the well."

"Oh, I thought of that too, Polly," said her brother; "but don't you see what a difference the distance makes? I should not mind pulling you up the height of the church steeple, if we had a rope, and a roller with a handle to turn it; but I think father and I together would make a bad job of it if it was twenty times as far."

Smith. "You are right there, Jem; and you know, Polly, that if you come to have eighty or a hundred tons of coals to lift, that would be much harder still. No, it's more than men can manage-it is all done by a steam-engine."

Mary. "And is a steam-engine so wonderfully strong, then, father?”

Smith. "You know, Mary, if you were to reckon by the way in which we can pull a loaded cart along, how much stronger a horse is than a man. They measure the power of a steam-engine against the power of a horse, and call it a thirty-horse power, or an eightyhorse power, according as it will do the work of thirty or eighty horses. Now, I know some of these coal-mine steam-engines are a hundred and fifty horse power. With this power for turning the windlass, they let the men down, and pull the coals up, aye, and pump the water up, if it is wanted."

"But what have the coal-mines to do with water, father?" asked Mrs Smith.

"Much more than they of the mines like very often, wife; the same as we always find water gathers at the bottom, if we dig a hole deep enough. It is sure to gather in the deep places they dig for the coals; and a bad business it is sometimes, when it happens to come with a rush, faster than they can pump it out."

James. "Why, what does it do, father?" Smith. “Do, my lad? what water would do to you, if you had some sixty feet of it over your head-drown them, to be sure, men and horses too. And sometimes, what I should think worse than drowning, it fills up the passage-way to some of the further parts of the mine, so that, though the men stand dry enough where they are, they cannot get out. They are shut up in worse than a prison, till they die of hunger, or of the closeness of the air."

Mary. "But is there no chance of getting at them with boats, father?"

Smith, "You forget what a mine is like, dear. You'd have no chance of getting down a well with a boat, would you? A mine is more like a well than anything else; only you must fancy that there are doors in the sides of the well low down, leading to big rooms and places that have been hallowed out under the ground. Now, remember that there is no other way of getting into these rooms except down the well, and in at the doors, and you will see what a fix they are in if the water should rise high enough to be above the doors. Others have no more chance of helping them, except by trying to draw the water off, than they have of helping themselves."

Mrs Smith. "And do you say they often get boxed in so, father?"

Smith. "I can't speak exactly, when you ask me whether it is often or not, wife; but I know that scores, aye, hundreds of miners have lost their lives in this manner. I remember reading a story of a very bad case that happened rather more than thirty years ago. The water broke through the sides of the mine, in one place, about half-past four in the morning, and rushed in so fast that there was no chance for the workmen who were furthest from the entrance to make their escape; and seventy-five in all, forty-one men and thirty-four boys, perished as I tell you, leaving twenty-five widows and eighty-five orphans to mourn for them above ground."

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Oh, but, father," cried James, "was there no chance of getting at them? I would have made a way, I think, somehow."

Smith. "No chance whatever, Jem. You may be sure their friends tried all that ever lay in their power. They got three large engines, one of a hundred and thirty horse power, to draw off the water; but it grew deeper and deeper, though they were pumping out more than a thousand gallons every minute."

Bill. "A thousand gallons every minute, and yet they could not lessen it! Why, that sounds awful, father. Was it a river broke in, or what?"

Smith. "No-no river, Bill; the water that had gathered in some old waste pit, as I understood it. The bodies were not come at till more than nine months after, and by that

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time, as you may think, it was hard for any to know their own; but a loving eye is not soon puzzled. Partly by their clothes, and partly by their hair, they were found out by their friends. It seemed they had not died either from hunger or thirst, as they had plenty of good water; and for food, they had killed one of the horses, and cut slices off its hind quarter. Parts of those were found uneaten, in some of their caps and bags. It was the want of fresh air, no doubt, that killed them. But now fancy, boys, just for a minute, what it would feel like to be prisoned in such a place, and know that you had only a few hours to live, at the longest."

"It would make you think where you were going when you died, father," answered James, very softly.

Aye, my lad; and if a man had never prayed before, I think it would make him cry in good earnest to the Lord Jesus then, to wash away his sins, and save his soul."

"O father! I hope some of them did love and fear God," said Mary.

Smith. "I believe they did, dear. I heard many of the men, and some of the boys, were pious, and that many of the boys belonged to the Sunday-school. One woman, who had lost a husband and two sons, found out her son William by his pretty hair. What do you think she felt, when she took his tin candle-box out of his pocket, and found he had scratched on it with a nail these words? I shall never forget them, though it is a long while since I read the story. It must have seemed like a voice from the dead when the woman read-Fret not, dear mother, for we were singing, while we had time, and praising God. Mother, follow God more than ever Ĭ did.' And then, on the other side, as if the father had begged him to put down a message for him-for the poor man could not write himself-she found, 'If Johnny is saved, be a good lad to God, and thy mother. John Thew.'"

Tears were in the eyes of more than one of the party, as Smith told this story.

"He thought of his poor mother above ground, you see," said Mrs Smith, lifting her apron to her eyes, "when he was dying in that dreadful pit. Aye, father, you and I may bless God our lads don't have to work in such places."

Smith. "True enough, dear. We don't think of that as we ought. But I know what I should thank Him for most of all, and that is, if I could feel sure they would be singing and praising for joy when they saw death staring them in the face. There's only one way for that, my dear fellows, and that's what I'm asking for day and night for youthat you should lay hold of the Lord Jesus Christ, as your best Friend, your only Saviour. Why should we fear death, if we thought it was only like a chariot, come to carry us up to our best, brightest home, to be

with the One who loves us best of all? I can tell you another story about two colliers, as they call the coal-mine men, who were in sore danger too."

"Oh do, father," cried one and all. (To be continued.)

CRADLE SONG.

EVENING is balmy and cool in the west,
Lulling the golden bright meadows to rest,
Twinkle like silver the stars in the skies,
Greeting the two little slumbering eyes-
Sweetly sleep! Sweetly sleep!

Thy watch the good angels in Paradise keep.
Now, all the flowers are gone to repose,
All the sweet incense-cups peacefully close.
Blossoms rock'd lightly on evening's mild breeze,
Drowsily, dreamily, swinging the trees.

Sweetly sleep! Sweetly sleep!

Thy watch the good angels in Paradise keep.

Wise little elves, by the light of the moon,
Sing to my darling a lullaby soon;
Rise from your cells in the cups of the flowers,
Weave him a golden dream all the night hours!
Sweetly sleep! Sweetly sleep!

Thy watch the good angels in Paradise keep.
Weave him a rosy, and weave him a mild
Heavenly spring-time, the beautiful child,
Leading in slumber that soft little hand,
Far into dreamland, the magical land.

Sweetly sleep! Sweetly sleep!
Thy watch the good angels in Paradise keep.

Sleep till the flowers are opening once more,
Sleep till the lark in the morning shall soar,
Sleep till the golden bells' heavenly chime
Festally welcomes the morning's prime!
Sweetly sleep! Sweetly sleep!
Thy watch the good angels in Paradise keep.

From the German-By C. T. B.

THE FIRST RAGGED SCHOOL.

It is generally supposed that these useful institutions, ragged schools, had their origin in Great Britain. This, however, is not exactly the case, since a school very like those of the present day, flourished thirty-seven years ago in the little town of Weimar, in Germany, being probably the first ragged school that ever existed. This piece of information is derived from a German work, lately translated into English; and as every benevolent mind must take an interest in a mode of charity which has been so beneficial wherever it has been practised, which has, as one says, opened a door for the children of the destitute to learn the great lesson how to live for this world and for the next,-a brief sketch of the singular individual to whom the honour is due of having been the first in this good work will not be unacceptable.

JOHN FALK was a native of West Prussia. He was by no means a man of great intellectual powers, and seems to have been

naturally an eccentric character; but Divine grace had filled his heart with love to God, and such a noble, unselfish desire to serve his fellow-creatures, as enabled him in doing so to overcome difficulties, which, to others, would have appeared insurmountable.

Falk, having gone to reside in Weimar, had his compassionate feelings awakened by seeing in the localities which had been desolated by the battles of Jena, Leipsic, and Lutzen, a number of unfortunate children whom these battles had left fatherless. They were the miserable relics of the mighty Napoleon's armies. Among them might be seen darkeyed boys from France, and Italy, and a multitude from the various fair-haired German tribes. These destitute young creatures now wandered, like the wild animals of the forest, about the neighbourhood of the places where their natural guardians had been laid low. The heart of John Falk yearned over the wretched state of these outcasts, but it was not his way to pity the woes of others without making an effort to relieve them. He could not satisfy his conscience by learning the will of that Šaviour "in whom he had redemption through His blood" without endeavouring to perform it. His own words, in speaking of the indolence of religious professors, were, "Nor will matters be mended so long as men regard preaching, and the hearing of preaching, as Christian action, whereas Christian action is itself the true sermon."

With prayer, and strong faith in help from above, he undertook to rescue no less than three hundred of these young savages from the misery and degradation in which he had found them. He took that number home to his own house, and resolved to devote the energies of his mind and body to the business of reclaiming and giving them the blessing of education and an honest calling. For this purpose, as may easily be supposed, a great deal of money was necessary. He became a bold beggar; and it is said, that having unreservedly given up himself and his earthly possessions to the work of saving souls, he could not understand any one being lukewarm in such a cause.

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al

Poor John Falk acted fully up to the principles which he professed. His philan thropy was untiring, and day and night, through prosperity and adversity, he was ways abounding in the work of the Lord." Of course he had many difficulties to encounter; on one occasion his dwelling was sold by the proprietor, and there was no one very willing to admit him and his three hundred children into another. He immediately resolved to build another habitation by the hands of these children, "so that," to use his own words, "every tile in the roof, every nail in the walls, every lock on the doors, every chair and every table in the rooms, shall be a witness to their industry."

One who, in 1822, visited this ragged school,

has given, in the book already referred to, this description of it. "About fifty journeymen and apprentices, all of them former inmates of the Ragged Hospital, were working at the new building as masons and carpenters. They were attended by boys still in the institution; horrid cannibal-like faces they all had, with the wolf of the desert unmistakeably imprinted on their foreheads. In the expression of many however, there were traces of a new life; and Falk says it is a real pleasure to see how the claws and the shaggy tufts gradually fall

of."

It is a melancholy fact, though one to be expected, that some of his protégés returned to their former wild ways. Still his good work prospered wonderfully, and he had the happiness of witnessing much good which he had been the means of effecting, and saw numbers of the young savages grow up to be respectable and industrious citizens. In another respect also his heart's desire and prayer were gratified. His benevolent plan was adopted in several parts of Europe; and even in the far places of the earth, youthful destitution is now relieved by ragged schools. John Falk and his three hundred boys should encourage Christians in the performance of every useful undertaking, shewing the necessity and advantage of attending to the wise man's exhortation, "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might" while still remembering the prophet's words, "Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit,

saith the Lord of hosts."

LEISURE MOMENTS.

HE that truly loves God, loves God only, and constantly; he loves God for Himself; he loves all things, and all persons that are His; he loves His ordinances, His word, and His messengers; he loves all His dispensations; he loves His interests; he hates all those things that are contrary to His holiness; he delights to meditate of Him, and discourse of Him, and to hear the mention of His name.Anon.

of

ST PAUL calls the gospel the gospel of Christ, because Jesus Christ is the only subject of it. Though other things may seem to be spoken of in the gospel, yet every thing bears a reference to Him. The gospel speaks of the Father, but as having become our Father through Jesus Christ; it speaks of the Holy Ghost, but as sent to us by Jesus Christ; angels, because Jesus Christ hath made them our friends, and sendeth them forth to minister to us; of heaven, because Jesus Christ hath opened it for us; of earth, because Jesus Christ hath renewed it by His grace, and hath established new creatures upon it: it treats of morality, but in such a manner only that Jesus Christ ought to be the pattern of it. -Leger.

Pages for the Young.

TRUE DUNCAN AND THE CAT.

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ONCE there was a little boy named Duncan. The boys used to call him True Duncan, because he never would tell a lie. One day he school, and while he was chopping a stick, the was playing with an axe in the yard of the teacher's cat, Tabby, came along. Duncan let killed her. What to do he did not know. She the axe fall right on poor Tabby's head, and was a pet of the master, and used to sit on a cushion at his side while he was hearing the lessons.

shall see if Duncan can't make up a fib as well Now, fellows," said one of the boys, "we

as the rest of us."

Several of them thought this would do very well. But Duncan looked quite angry.

"No," said he, "no! Do you think I would lie for such a creature as that? It would be the word, his voice grew louder and louder. a lie-a lie—A LIE!" And every time he said Then he picked up the poor thing in his arms and carried it into the school-room, and the boys followed to see what would happen. The

master looked

and said

up "What is this? My faithful mouser dead! Who could have done me such an injury?" All were silent for a little while. As soon as Duncan could get his voice, he said

"Mr Cole, I am very sorry; but here is the truth-I can't lie, sir. I killed Tabby; but am very sorry for it. I ought to have been more careful, for I saw her continually rubbing her sides against the log. I am very sorry, indeed, sir."

Every one expected Mr Cole to take down his long rattan. On the contrary, he put on a pleasant smile, and said—

Duncan, you are a brave boy. I saw and heard all that passed from my window above. I would rather lose a hundred cats than miss such an example of truth and honour in my school. Your best reward is what you now feel in your own conscience; but I beg you to accept this handsome penknife as a token of my approbation."

Duncan took out his little handkerchief, and wiped his eyes. The boys could no longer restrain themselves; and when Tom Pooly cried, “Three cheers for True Duncan," all joined in a hearty hurrah.

PRIDE AND HUMILITY.

My little reader, did you ever see a peacock? It is a very beautiful bird, but very proud also. It walks about with its spread train;

and if you saw it, you would say, "How proud you look, Mr Peacock! Or did you ever see a turkey-cock in a poultry yard? Does it not strut along with a very proud look, as if it thought itself the handsomest being in the yard? But these birds know no better. They have no souls, and we cannot teach them.

Are any of my young readers like a proud peacock, or a foolish turkey-cock? What! can a child be proud? Oh, yes! I grieve to say it can. How do children shew they have pride? Well, I will tell you three ways which shew us that children have pride.

1st, Some children are proud of their dress. They like new clothes, and think they look nice in them. These are proud little children.

2d, Some children are proud of their learning. They think they are growing clever, and that they know more than others. Oh, what proud children!

3d, Some children think that their own ways are best, and so will not give up to others in their play. Oh, how ill-natured and proud!

A proud child is never happy. She does not like to be contradicted, nor put out in any way. If any one finds fault with her, the proud child is very angry, for she thinks she does not deserve it. She flies out with her sister who offends her, and is so full of pride and love of her own self, that she cares for no one else.

What a different child is the humble one! Not like a peacock. She reminds me of a sweet pretty violet. As I walk in the garden, I see in the corner of the flower-bed a cluster of leaves, I stoop down, and as I feel among the leaves, I see a sweet, sweet violet. It lies hid behind the leaf, as if it thought itself useless, yet we all love it. This is a picture of the humble child. We will call her our sweet, lowly violet.

Now, little reader, which do you wish to be like, the peacock or the violet? Perhaps you say still, "Oh! I have no pride in my heart." Then let me tell you, that they who say this are always the proudest people. You do not know you have pride within.

"Pride, ugly pride, sometimes is seen
By lofty looks and haughty mien ;

But oftener it is found that pride
Loves deep within the heart to hide."

BOYS WHO TRY TO EQUAL A BULL-DOG. WE accidentally overheard such a boy while walking homewards a few evenings since. "I'll fight him any time," said he, and the rest of his conversation, which was very profane, shewed him to be a boy who thought it a worthy object of ambition to be able to pound somebody very hard. Now, although you may at some time have heard boys praise a fighter," did you ever really love one? We have seen several men who made fighting a business. We did not meet them at church, nor in a gentleman's parlour. They would have been as much out of place there—that is,

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as fighting men-as a threshing machine in full blast would be. We saw them standing about the doors of grog-shops, where they seemed perfectly at home. Certainly that cannot be very desirable which unfits men to be loved, or even to be in the society of the good and the respectable. No, no, my boy, if you want to beat somebody, do it in learning lessons, or writing, or even flying kites or skating, but let only the "dogs delight to bark and bite."

LITTLE WILLIE AND THE APPLE. LITTLE Willie stood under an apple-tree old, The fruit was all shining with crimson and gold, Hanging temptingly low-how he long'd for a bite, Though he knew if he took one it wouldn't be right!

Said he: "I don't see why my father should say, 'Don't touch the old apple-tree, Willie, to-day;'

I shouldn't have thought, now they're hanging so low
When I asked for just one, he should answer me 'No.'

"He would never find out if I took but just one,
And they do look so good shining out in the sun;
There are hundreds and hundreds, and he wouldn't miss
So paltry a little red apple as this."

He stretch'd forth his hand, but a low, mournful strain
Came wandering dreamily over his brain;
In his bosom a beautiful harp had long laid,
That the angel of conscience quite frequently play'd.

And he sung: "Little Willie, beware, oh! beware,
Your father has gone, but your Maker is there;
How sad you would feel if you heard the Lord say,
"This dear little boy stole an apple to-day!'"

Then Willie turn'd round, and as still as a mouse,
Crept slowly and carefully into the house;
In his own little chamber he knelt down to pray,
That the Lord would forgive him and please not to say,
"Little Willie almost stole an apple to-day."

WHAT were the names of the twelve apostles?

Who took the place of one that fell by transgression?

Who said he was unworthy to be called an apostle?

Which of the apostles were fishermen ? Which of them saw Jesus transfigured? Which one was called "the disciple that Jesus loved?"

Who is called the "Apostle and High Priest of our profession?"

Which apostle was not present when Christ first appeared to the apostles, after His resurrection?

To whom did Christ say, "Behold thy mother?"

Which one was killed by the sword? Which one once lodged with a tanner? With whom did Paul lodge at Corinth, when writing a letter to the Romans? To what important facts were the apostles witnesses?

Which of them once had a sharp conten

tion?

What was its occasion?