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THE POOR LITTLE BURMAN GIRL.

The little brown-faced girl, notwithstanding all the darkness which surrounded her, had some bright ideas. She had always been told that girls and women must not study and understand books, yet she could not quench the ardent desires of her heart for knowledge, for she felt very earnest longings to be able to read and know for herself.

This little girl had never loved her uncle very much, and her black eyes flashed with anger as she caught up the water-jar, and, placing it upon her head, left the house, and rapidly made her way to the water-tank.

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As the lady concluded, silence reigned for a moment, when one of the women broke the silence. "These words are very good and true; for how could the world come into existence without a Creator? But we (turning to the women) cannot remember these things, as the men who can read."

The lady looked sad, and, turning to a friend, she said, "It is very hard to impress these things upon the minds of these ignorant females;" and she turned to the women with tears, saying, "I wish you could all read like the meri. I would gladly teach you."

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The Missionary's house was not far distant from the tank; and as the The little girl bent forward to catch little girl caught a glimpse of female these words of hope; and the lady forms going into the house, she forgot just then observing her radiant face, her water-jar, which she had placed asked her if she wished to learn to "Mamma, you know I do; and that I wish to sew like your little girl, and become clean and good."

on the bank of the tank, and with a quiet step she made her way thither, and, crouching down behind some of the women, she listened to the words of the teacher.

The lady, after talking some time, brought some books, and explained the truths they contained. The little girl's attention was wholly absorbed, and she peeped between the shoulders of the women, and her eyes sparkled with a wild brilliancy as she watched the eyes of the lady tracing the lines of the book, as she read it aloud.

read.

Just at that moment the voice of the uncle was heard in boisterous tones, threatening to whip or kill the little monkey, as he called her. She hastened to her water-jar, but he dashed it to atoms; and, grasping her hair, he dragged her into the house, where screams and blows told a sad tale.

The Missionary's wife marked this event, and she made up her mind to persuade this girl to live with her, if possible, so that she might teach her

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POETRY LITTLE THINGS.

the ways of virtue and holiness. With which are unknown to man, this little this view she made many efforts to see one may yet drink from the fountain the little girl, or the uncle; but, on of life and knowledge, and be a shinher approach, the door of the house ing spirit in the abodes of bliss. Some

was always closed, and she could not gain admittance.

tract may yet be read to her, or some other teacher or native Christian may yet have the privilege of leading this soul to Christ."

Often did she think of this interesting child, but the way to reach her SO as to do her any good seemed My dear children, when you are closed. The poor girl may now never disposed to be indolent, and inclined hear of the way of salvation through to neglect your studies, and become Jesus Christ. She will grow up in indifferent to the many blessings you ignorance and superstition, and that enjoy, think of these little Burman bright intellect which God has given girls. May the thought excite you her may be crushed, and she at last to diligence and to gratitude; and go down to the grave in despair. may you not only ask God to be Yes, this may be so; but a small faint merciful to them, but do all you can voice whispers in our ear as we are to help those who are seeking to bring now writing, "Hope thou for this them into the paths of holiness and child. God is merciful; and in ways peace.

Poetry.

LITTLE THINGS.

BY CHARLES SWAIN.

She said that "few were too young, and none too humble, to benefit their fellow creatures. The Birth Day Council," by Mrs Alaric A. Watts.

Do something for each other,
Though small the help may be;
There's comfort oft in little things,
Far more than others see.

It takes the sorrow from the eye,
It leaves the world less bare,

'If but a friendly hand comes nigh
When friendly hands are rare.

Then cheer the heart which toils each hour,

Yet finds it hard to live;

And though but little's in our power,
That little let us give.

We know not what the humblest hand,

If earnest, may achieve

How many a sad anxiety

A trifle may relieve."

We reck not how the aged poor

Drag on from day to day,

When e'en the little that they need

Costs more than they can pay.

Then cheer the heart that toils each hour.
Yet finds it hard to live;

And though but little's in our power,
That little let us give.

Price 6d. per doz, or 38. 6d. per 100; 20 copies sent free by post for 10d., paid in advance. Published by GALL & INGLIS, 6 George Street, Edinburgh.

HOULSTON & WRIGHT, London

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A TRUE STORY OF LUCKNOW.

up the precipitous flanks of mountains, and over foaming torrents on the slender bridges called sangahs. These are often loosely formed of pieces, between which the wide intervals show the impetuous stream to the dizzy traveller, boiling far beneath him, sometimes so furious in its course that large masses of stone are rolled along by the force of the current. One thus describes his passage over one of these frail bridges

than three feet wide, and though it was thickly strewed with boughs, I saw several dangerous interstices between the beams. Though we had all been Alpine travellers, we found it rather a nervous performance. The two ponies, and one of the mules, accomplished it in safety, though I trembled for them as I saw the insecure bridge bending beneath their weight. The other mule had just reached the middle, when one of his legs went through between the pieces, and, after a brief and fruitless struggle, over he went headlong into the boiling torrent, thirty feet beneath. He luckily fell into a deep gulf free from rocks, and, after being carried down about twenty yards, recovered his legs, and scrambled to the bank, a good deal shaken, but with whole

"The torrent was at this spot almost one continued cascade, so that the only possible means of crossing was by a sangah formed of pine-stems, with a few flag-stones spread over it for foot-passengers. To render it more difficult, the rock which formed the opposite buttress was several feet lower than that on the side upon which we approached this flying limbs." bridge. The sangah was not more

morning visiting the hospitals as usual.

A TRUE STORY OF LUCKNOW. THE following touching narrative is written by Miss Tucker, a lady whose labours in the Benares hospital, during a considerable period of the mutiny, were singularly laborious, and were conducted with a prayerful zeal that is unconsciously illustrated in this "true story." We extract it from the British Flag:

"In the station of Benares, in the Upper Provinces of India, I was one

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As I entered the general hospital, I was told by one of the men that a young man of regiment was anxious to speak to me. In the inner ward I found, lying on his charpoy in a corner, a new face, and, walking up to him, said, ' I am told you wish to see me: I do not recollect the pleasure of having seen you before.' 'No,' he said, 'I

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A TRUE STORY OF LUCKNOW.

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But for one man there was They were to start that afternoon, so that you had no time to get one. But you went to the apothecary, and got pen and paper for him. When you came back, you gave this paper to him, telling him you should look for him in heaven.' As he said this, the poor fellow pulled out from the breast of his shirt half a sheet of note paper, on which I recognised my writing, though nearly illegible from wear. On it was written, the 1st, 7th, 10th, 14th, 15th, and 17th verses of 2 Corinthians v., and that hymn,

'How sweet the name of Jesus sounds.'

have never seen you, yet you seem | bag. no stranger, for I have often heard none. speak of you.' I asked him if he was ill or wounded. 'I am ill,' he replied. He went on to say that he had just come down from Cawnpur. Perhaps you would like me to tell you my history. It may be you remember, a long time since, some of our men went into the hospital opposite, as you sat reading to one of the Highlanders. There were some half-dozen or more of them: they went to see a sick comrade. You went up presently to them, and told them how grateful you and all your country-people were to your noble soldiers for so readily coming to protect you all, and how deeply you sympathised with them in the noble cause in which they were now going to take a share. Then you talked to them of the danger which would attend them. You reminded them that life is a battle-field to all, and asked them if they were soldiers of Christ, and if they had thought of the probability of their falling in battle? I have heard all about that long talk you had with the men. Then you gave your Bible to one, and asked him to read a passage. He chose the 23rd Psalm, and you prayed. They asked you for a book or tract to remind them of what had been said, and you gave all you had in your

"That man,' he continued, and I were in the same company, but he We met in was ahead of me. Cawnpur, then we marched on with Whenever we the rest to Lucknow. halted, the first thing did was to take out his paper, and read it aloud to those who cared to hear : As we then he prayed with us. marched, he spoke much of his old father and mother and only brother, and wished he could see them once more. But he was very, very happy, and ready to go home,' if God saw fit. As we neared Lucknow, he dwelt much on eternity, and said to me, 'It is very solemn to be walking into death. I shall never leave this

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