“Oh, Mrs. Grey,” he said, "I am afraid there must be something quite wrong in your spiritual life, if you can ever let such words pass your lips as these." What, sir?" asked Mrs. Grey, wondering what she could have said to make Mr. Barnard look so grave. "Why-only the prayers! Think for a moment what these prayers are. They are our speaking to God, telling Him all our wants and needs, and asking Him to help and strengthen us. Confessing our sins to Him, and asking His forgiveness, thanking Him for all His mercies to us, and interceding for blessings for others as well as ourselves. All this is included in the service that you speak of as if it was something unimportant. If we remember, too, what prayer is, what a near access it is to God, and, above all, the greatness and power, the mercy and lovingkindness of Him to whom we pray, we shall not dare to depreciate in the smallest degree any opportunity of going to His House and joining in the prayers of our Church." "We can pray at home as well, sir," said Mrs. Grey, who still thought she had one cord left of her arguments against week-day services. "To be sure we can. Private prayer should never be rejected. We are told to enter into our closet and shut the door, and pray to our Father,' but we are also told that wherever 'two or three are gathered together in Christ's name, that He is there in the midst of them.' The one should never be neglected at the expense of the other. If we use both rightly we shall find that each help us in a different way, though to the same end. You have not, you say, much time for prayer at home just now; well, try to go the services when you can, and I am sure that they will help you. Don't look upon the prayers there at church as something special and separated from your own difficulties and trials. Bring your own sorrows and trials there; and be sure, if you look well into the matter, you will find words in the prayers that will suit all your needs." "I'll try, sir," said Mrs. Grey; "but all the same, now, I don't see anything that'll help me at this here time. They don't pray for my husband; though, by-the-bye, I remembers how he asked me to tell you he'd like to be remembered when you pray for the sick.” "It shall be done; and even had you not mentioned it, Mrs. Grey, I do think he is prayed for. We commend to God's fatherly goodness all those who are afflicted or distressed in mind, body, or estate. Then we pray that the desires and petitions of God's servants may be fulfilled; and surely your desires are that your children may be led to live differently: and your petition is to that effect." "Indeed, it is, sir," said Mrs. Grey. "I do see what you mean. It seems kinder different since you've explained it all to me. I'll try, sir, to get to church when I can." "You will find it a help, Mrs. Grey, that I am assured of, if you pray the prayers, and do not go as a matter of form. Need I tell you that if you think there is the smallest merit attached to your going to church that you are mistaken. There is none; the action must be from the heart. You must care about prayer and joining in the Church prayers, and then you will feel, more and more, how great is your privilege." "I will try, sir," said Mrs. Grey; and she did. That very evening she hastened over her work, and went over to church, leaving Sally with her father. (To be continued.) A PEEP AT ST. GILES' FAIR AT OXFORD. AND OTHER FAIRS. BY THE AUTHOR OF "MORAVIAN LIFE IN THE BLACK FOREST," ETC., ETC. THE especial so-called "fun of the fair" consisted chiefly in sprinkling or slightly besmearing passers-by with coloured brushes, fox-tails, or paper shavings dipped in perfume or dye. A curious repetition of the heathenish custom during the "Hooli," a certain festival celebrated by the natives in India, by the bedaubing one another with coloured powders and liquids of every hue. Squirts, scratchbacks, and crackers were, however, prohibited, and the people were wonderfully quiet and orderly, bent on earnest amusement, if not on business. The showmen and women and children looked fagged and worn, a sign that their shows had been in good request, and the tinsel and tarlatan of the performing girls' dresses had a crushed and tumbled look, telling of much hard work on their part. Also the wearers had a strangely untrim appearance, as if they were too tired out to smooth the wrinkles in their fleshings, or to pull out the frills and the flounces of their skirts. How glad they must all have been when the last bell had rung for the curtain to fall, when the last set of boisterous riders had left the circus, the last hungry lad had devoured his " one and bread," the last woman had decided on which rattle or doll she would take to her child at home, when the last man had finished his last "cocoa-nut shy," and the last girl had bought her Brummagem chain for the sweetheart at sea-and last not least-when they themselves at last might turn into their green, and blue, and yellow, and crimson vans to eat their hardly-earned supper. Midnight must have struck ere they were thus employed; and soon after nothing would be heard but the low growl of some wild beast of the menagerie, the occasional tramp of the giant horse's hoofs, as he moved uneasily in his extemporised quarters, or the heavy snore of some stout gipsy, who had been recruiting his strength to the last moment at the nearest tap, happily closed punctually at eleven o'clock by magisterial orders. Amongst the shows, two had attracted our attention on account of the quiet respectability of the people concerned in them. One was that of the man born without arms. He told us that at home he worked as a carpenter, and that he had a wife and children whom he thus supported. He could use a hammer or saw with his foot-the left one-as readily and effectually as other men could with their hands. He could open his own door with a latch key, and comb his hair, or write a letter with equal ease. The pen he wielded with his right foot, the toes of which were much smaller than those of the left, which had been used for hard labour. The poor fellow had a good countenance, expressed himself well, and spoke with intelligence. He certainly wrote as well as most people of his class, having the advantage of all their limbs, and better than many. From this tent we went to see the "giant horse," which was in charge of a little lad of about fourteen, whose evident pride in the really fine-looking brute, and affection for it, were very pleasant to notice. In answer to our question as to whether it did any work Aye, indeed," he replied, "he works very hard. He works all day, and draws our heaviest van"-and he patted the creature's shoulder, as high as he could reach it. Its food was slung up "miles high," as it seemed to us. "He couldn't reach it no other ways," as the boy explained; "and that's not the way to treat a horse," he interjected reprovingly to some youngsters, who were poking and digging at the patient creature with short sticks. Indeed it was a true, gentle giant of its kind; and the contrast with a minute very pretty little kitten curled up on its back for the warmth was exceedingly curious. The kitten had attached itself to the mighty beast, the boy said, and would not leave it. It rode on the horse's back on the march, and lived on it when at rest; ate, and drank, and slept there; and if removed, returned at the first opportunity to its singular friend. A curious incident occurred on the morning after the fair. At daybreak the work of removal had begun, and by ten o'clock all the vans were off the ground, and St. Giles was being rapidly restored to its normal condition of stately picturesqueness by a staff of local board-men. A few miles outside the town, however, an exciting scene, indirectly connected with the fair, was taking place. A farmer driving to Oxford Market, on the high road near Hampton Payle hamlet, had caught sight of a clumsylooking shaggy brute in the ditch of a field, busily engaged in devouring a lamb, which seemed to have been snatched from a neighbouring flock. The owner was informed of the strange discovery, and seizing his gun, he hurried to the spot, and despatched the performing bear, just as he was in the act of gnawing off the head of the lamb. It seemed a pity to have killed him, instead of capturing him to be returned to the proprietor. The bear had a collar round his neck, and evidently had escaped from a van en route from St. Giles's Fair to Bicester. SILENT WORKERS. BY REV. JAMES WILLIAM SMITH, Rector of Bourney Parish, THE SISTERS-MARY AND FANNY HICKSON. THE pious, amiable, and talented gentlewomen were known to me and my family, from the earliest years of my childhood up till the time of their passing from this world into the better land. It has been well said, the more humble a Christian is, he is the more exalted and worthy; and it will be found for ever a truth, that lowliness of heart is real dignity, and that humility is the brightest jewel in the Christian's crown. The way to preserve the sweet scent of our graces is to clothe them with humility. A deep and humble sense of our unworthiness of the least of God's mercies, is a temper very pleasing to God, will dispose us properly to receive and improve His mercies, lead us to submit to the Gospel method of salvation, promote our patience under all the afflictions of this lower life, and excite our compassion and kindness to others. Those who are destitute of the grace of humility, whatever profession they have made of Christianity, have, in truth, the rudiments of it yet to learn. If they have been soaring up to heaven itself in the sublimest speculations, if they have built up their hopes to the greatest height upon other grounds, without laying this at the foundation, they must be content to come down again to learn this lesson, which enters into the very elements of the Christian religion. A proud Christian is a contradictory character, as much as it would be to say, a wicked saint. The whole Gospel, in its precepts, its great examples, its glorious prospects, tends to humble the pride of man and, therefore, whoever will come after Christ, must, in this respect, deny himself. The two dear sisters of which I write, were humble, earnest believers, and devoted but silent workers. Dear readers of SPARE MINUTES, if any of you would like to die as Mary and Fanny Hickson died, "strong in faith, giving glory unto God;" if you would have your portion with such in your death, you must resolve to spend your lives with them, and to become, while you are in this world, faithful to the Spirit, and to the hope which is given them, accounting it your greatest distinction among men, "that you are called to be saints," and that even in evil, dark and doubtful days, you are not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ, by means of which you have, in any degree, obtained that high character. You must live the life, "the every day" life of the righteous, if you would expect to die their death. "The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart; and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken from the evil to come." This remark of the evangelical prophet is applicable to the translation, from time to eternity, of every faithful follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. Death to such a person, let him die under whatever circumstance he may, is always gain. 66 All is tranquil and serene, Calm and undisturbed repose, Since 1846, when I was only five years old, I remember this amiable family. It consisted of the aged and pious mother (widow of an officer in Her Majesty's army, who saw much foreign service, and discharged his duties with honour and distinction, the late Captain Hickson, who afterwards retired on half-pay, and dying in Dublin, his remains were interred with three of his children gone before, in St. Peter's churchyard, Annoyerstreet.) The widow and three daughters, Mary, Kate, and Fanny all lived together in a large white house, on the South Circular-road; I believe it was called Oakfield. I remember the time the daughter "Kate" died; I was only a little boy at the time. Her remains were laid in a new family burial place in Mount Jerome Cemetery. She was an eminent Christian, and whatever cloud might occasionally have come over her earthly path, no cloud appeared ever to overshadow her spiritual life. There all was light, life, liberty and love; by faith she daily saw "an opening heaven, and a smiling God," while here she gathered strength, both for labour and conflict, and especially the grace and the strength which sustained her in her last struggle. She "drank abundantly of the brook by the way," and was satisfied. I have seen manuscript books closely written through; she had a most retentive memory, and, I believe, wrote down many of the sermons she heard; some of those were from her old pastor, Rev. Mr. Hastings, and his predecessors in St. Catherine's parish. After the lapse of some |