A hurried and unceremonious burial is often all that can be given to the dead after a great battle. They are the harvest of war; but the dead, though in comparison to the living victors they may be said to be at least unhonoured, have often been the real winners of the battle. It was over their dead bodies or over the way they made that the survivors rushed to victory. So it is that when we allow self to die we accomplish most Christian work and win the fight of faith.
(Photo: Carlton and Sons, Horncastle.)
MR. WILLIAM FLETCHER.
(Who holds the Lincolnshire Record for Seventy Years' Sunday-school Service.)
For Prizes or Presents.
There are already many indications that the Christmas festival is slowly but surely drawing near, and not the least significant is the deluge of new stories suitable for presents and prizes which has already commenced. To many a boy and girl Christmas would lose half its charms if it did not bring with it a new story from old favourites, such as Gordon Stables, Emma Marshall, or G. A. Henty, and the young people will not be disappointed this year. Messrs. Nisbet have just issued Dr. Stables's latest story, which he has entitled "Off to Klondyke." Its very title is suggestive of exciting experiences at the fascinating goldfields of the Yukon, and many boys—both young and old—will follow with breathless interest the numerous wonderful adventures which are related therein. From the same publishers comes an equally interesting story of an English boy's adventures in the great French War under the expressive title "Face to Face with Napoleon." There is plenty of romantic incident in this story, and as the author, Mr. O. V. Caine, has carefully verified the historical portions of the work, it will serve the double purpose of entertaining and instructing. Our old friend, Mrs. Emma Marshall, is to the fore with an excellent story for girls, entitled "Under the Laburnum Tree" (Nisbet and Co.), which will be eagerly welcomed in many a home and school.—The last volume before us is entitled "Yule Logs," and is edited for Messrs. Longmans by Mr. G. A. Henty. Unlike the books previously mentioned, this does not contain a single long story, but is made up of a series of short stories by such well-known writers as Henry Frith, Manville Fenn, John Bloundelle-Burton, and, of course, the editor himself. The stories deal with extraordinary adventures on land and sea, in both ancient and modern times, and are of such variety as to satisfy the most exacting reader.
"Mousie."
A poor little lad died a few weeks ago in a narrow and crowded street of Central London after four years of terrible suffering from hip disease. His sweet and uncomplaining nature endeared him in a particular way to the friends who visited him, and one of them has taken a picture of him, as he sat up in bed, surrounded by his flowers and small comforts, not long before his death. "Mousie" got his pet name from the doctors at a big hospital, who were so struck by his gentleness, and by the quiet courage with which he endured his painful operations. He had been originally knocked down by a cab, and his feeble constitution never recovered from the accident. Once, to his great delight, he was well enough to attend a meeting of the Ministering Children's League, of which he was a member. He was supported on a table, and helped to make a cushion for a sick old woman. But he was soon obliged to keep to his room and his couch altogether. Even then "Mousie" was often thinking of others. "Can't I do a toy for some poor child who has none?" he would say, and with the wool that was given him he would make balls for babies. "It is not Jesus who sends me this pain," he once explained to the friend who pens this brief memory of him; "He is far too kind: it was my own fault for getting in the way of the cab." Poor "Mousie"! he was only ten years old, but he had his own solution of the mystery of pain. He loved to hear hymns. Someone sang "There is a Happy Land" to him the night before he died, and a little later those who were watching him were surprised to hear him croon the first verse all through in quite a strong clear, voice. Then he sighed pitifully, "Lord Jesus, do take me!" and said to his mother, "I shan't have a bit of pain there, you know!" And after a few unconscious hours "Mousie" knew why God had permitted his pain.
