"This was the story the missionary heard when he came back; and he lost no time, but went that very evening to the hut in which the grandmother lived. The cottage was nothing but a roof of thatch laid over a sort of hole in the ground, and there was no furniture in it but a bedstead made of bamboos laced with cord, and a few pans of coarse pottery. The old woman had, however, a spinning wheel; she now and then got a few pice by spinning cotton, otherwise she, and her boy, and their dog, must have died by famine. She was sitting on the ground busy with her wheel at the entrance of the hut, but when she saw the missionary coming, she left her wheel, and ran out of sight behind the thatch.

"The gentleman cared little where she went, he wanted only to see the boy; so he alighted from his horse, and bade his servant hold it whilst he went into the hut, being obliged to stoop as he did so. There, in one corner, he saw the bedstead, and stretched upon it, with a roll of rags under his head, was the poor blind boy. Had he doubted who it was, he could hardly have doubted long, for his dog was sitting by him, and came forward to welcome the Saheb with every testimony of joy which a poor dumb creature can exhibit, first coming up to him, and then walking before him to the bed.

"Gopaul, my boy,' said the missionary, 'why have you left us so long? and why do you lie here?'

“The child made no answer, and the gentleman spoke again, and spoke louder. At that minute the old woman appeared at the back of the hut, and speaking in a fawning manner, and as if she felt much tenderness towards her grandson, she told the missionary that her poor child had been ill several days; that he had got fever, and would soon die, adding, that for some hours past, he had not understood any thing which had been said to him.

"The missionary, as is the case with many who go to foreign countries, had learned something of medicine, and especially of the treatment of fever. He stooped down to take the boy's hand that he might feel his pulse, and thus he made the poor blind one sensible that some one was with him: still he did not know his saheb, but thought his grandmother had touched him.

"Ah, my mother!' he said, speaking at first, very feebly, and afterwards more strongly-Ah, my mother! leave me to die, I do not want to stay here in this dark place, I am going where

there is light! I know that the words are true, that God has sent his Son to die for the sins of the world;' and then the poor blind one repeated verse after verse, and verse after verse, of the many which he had learned and been taught in the school, with seemingly no more mind, than belongs to the echo which we hear, Gerard, in the hollow valleys of these mountains. Amongst these verses, the one on which poor Gopaul's voice seem to linger, as if with most delight, was this, in Job, I know that my Redeemer liveth, and though after my skin, worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another;' he said it once; he said it twice; he returned to it at last; and as he uttered the words 'I know!' once again, his voice failed, and he was silent from exhaustion.

"When the boy ceased to speak, the missionary fell upon his knees and thanked God that he had revealed these things to such a babe as the poor Hindoo. The kind gentleman then sent the servant who waited with the horse, for one of his Christian people, to watch by Gopaul, whilst he himself went to his house to get medicines and restoratives; for if the child had had a fever, it was gone, and he was then suffering from extreme weakness; nor did the missionary dare to leave him long to the tender mercies of his grandmother and her people, for he doubted not, that if he had done so, they would have found means in a very short time, to silence that tongue, which, as he learned afterwards, had for several days only moved to declare the love of God through Christ; and to express the brightest anticipation of the happiness of heaven."

"Oh, papa," I asked, "what would they have done?"

"They would probably have contrived to suffocate the child," my father answered-" a cruelty of which the Hindoos are often guilty, with the infirm and dying; and therefore the missionary took care that the poor boy should not be left for a moment without some Christian friend, until his deliverance from this present evil world was wrought in God's good time.

"The poor boy lived only twenty-four hours after this, it being beyond all human efforts to restore him. The last words he uttered were, I see! I see! now have I light-now have I light-I see him-I see him in his beauty! Tell my saheb that the blind one sees; glory-glory-glory!' And with these words

hanging on his lips he lost all power of utterance. He never spoke again, and soon died.

"The missionary with his Christian servants knelt by the bed to praise and bless the Sovereign Lord of all, for his infinite mercy in having given spiritual sight to the little blind one, and after having so done, in removing him into everlasting light. Then giving the old woman a few rupees, he returned to his house, filled with joy, and strengthened for his further exertions among the heathen.

"And now, my Gerard," added my father, "tell me which is most to be desired, natural, or spiritual light."

“Oh, papa, papa!" I answered, "I wish I could always feel what I do at this moment, about these things; often when you talk to me, I feel as if this world was not worth thinking about, and that we ought only to desire to be with our Saviour; and then soon afterwards something comes, and I seem quite to forget all my better feelings."

"If your good feelings are from God, my boy," answered my father, "and if your eyes have been opened by the Holy Spirit, the light, in time, will utterly dispel the darkness, and the spirit will become victorious over the flesh."

We were now come nearly to the end of our long walk; we had to turn out of the road and to go up a rather steep path over a field, at the top of which was our house. As we were labouring up this path with weary steps, the clouds suddenly parted above our heads, and the soft light of the moon shed itself over the whole scene, shewing us the ruins of an old monastery in the valley, in all their beauty.

"How sweet is light after darkness! Gerard," said my father; "but had the rays of the sun burst as suddenly upon us, as those of the moon have done, we should have been quite dazzled and overpowered. We may believe, that God, in his infinite tenderness, ever tempers the manifestations of his glory to the apprehensions of those to whom he first imparts his spiritual light, as softly as he has restored light to us this evening, after our gloomy walk.

"No! not gloomy, papa," I answered; "for this has been one of the happiest walks I ever took with you."

In this way did my father give me many a holy lesson; can such instructions be forgotten; or if for a while, other things may

S

intervene, and they may seem to pass away, they will return some time or other with the divine blessing upon the recurrence of the natural objects with which they have been associated.

M. M. S.

THE OLYMPIC GAMES.

"So run that ye may obtain."

“THE fifth year opens, long expected, anxiously awaited—the crisis of hope to tens of thousands. Months have witnessed a strange alteration in the manners and features of the people. The schools of exercise have been crowded, youths dilate themselves with aspiring ambition. Mirth has laughed jocundly through the land. The high roads are filled with equipages, and many a wayfarer of different costume and complexion travels onward from afar. Now and then, a king rushes by. Along the green-sward, paths, and lanes, the populace with curious looks, and occasional banterings, make their way. The sea is but a bridge of boats from isle and mainland. Cyllene, the port of Olympia, hails and moors ship after ship. Pavilions are pitched on every side; canvass cities have grown in a few hours from the earth. The baths, the sudatories, are all prepared. Pisa resounds with chastened revelry. The stadium has been newly laid. Arrival is announced upon arrival. The hippodrome echoes with the neighing of the fiery steeds. The winged or brawny combatants walk abroad with looks of elation and defiance. Nations, lately in arms against each other, embrace. There is but one country, it is Greece; there is but one renown, it is to be a Grecian. The silver disk now peers above the horizon, the moon's full orb is seen, and a new Olympiad has arisen! The welkin rings with acclamation; the trumpets wind their congratulatory flourish; every altar sends up its flame of sacrifice; and the bending multitude breathe their vow!

"The dawn has broken! The throng hangs upon the Cronian steep, cut as in an amphitheatric form! Tier rises above tier ! The mountain lives! The course is arranged! The lists are prepared! Altis is bathed in morning dew! Temple and portico glisten in the early light!

"The Grecian youths are full of quality,

They're loving, well composed, with gifts of nature flowing,
And swelling o'er with arts and exercise."

"Where is Olympia Now? There still blows the olive,—Cronian still lifts it heap; but the very olive is stunted, and instead of the mountain, there is a mound. The name is forgotten, and Antilalla only heard. The Carbon creeps where once Alpheus flowed. All is drearily still where nations shouted! All is well nigh depopulated where kingdoms threw forth their swarms! Where is the revel-cheerfulness, the high-souled valour now? It was life in its most compressed energy and intensity. It is death in its deepest, coldest gloom. The real barbarian has been there, rifling earth's fairest portion, destroying man's noblest race. We have little to regret that the Olympics survive but as a tale of wonder and romance. Better institutions have arisen, though not there, and nobler feelings are enkindled. Well may we rejoice that such things are now regarded as the sports of that childhood which has grown in wisdom and stature up to the present age. Let us hope that a country so lovely may not be abandoned to perpetual desolations: let us more than hope, that a people who erst filled such an orb of fame, may complete more glorious destinies. New civilization, and sounder philosophy, and purer religion, may elevate them not only to the standard of the line"Such as the Doric mothers bore,"

may foster not only our belief

"That there perchance some seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own,"

—as brave, as free, as refined as the Grecian heraldry,—but must rank them transcendently more wise, and virtuous, and happy! And while this retrospect of a marvellous institute, based on the solidity of ages-elaborated by the arts of sculpture, eloquence, and poesy-the school of glory-the centre of intelligence-the apex and paragon of fame-while this retrospect has opened upon us, let us, thinking of our higher duties and graver responsibilities, and incomparably more precious advantages, learn from this course of agonistic strife and struggle, to fulfil our nobler, better course.

"There was One who had seen the first, or who was fully informed concerning it, and it may be well, at least cannot be harmful, to listen to his "conclusion of the whole matter." He seems to have before him in imagination, the throng of spectators, the debated course-the contested rivalry-the gymnastic curriculum, -he transfers it all to a grander combat and a sublimer speed.