with the grace of God beaming in his countenance, and the many mansions of the Master in view. And by the old forge, in the sound of the bellows, as a blackbird whistled on a hawthorn near the grated window, and the great sun was sinking in the crimson west, he told me the Christian hero's tale, which adds a dignity to Cornwall and her lowliest sons. Michael Verran was a true type of the Cornish miner whose heart is imbued with the spirit of the Gospel of Christ. He commenced his work in the mine at a very early age, passing from one degree of labour to another, until he entered upon his underground duties, and these duties were very onerous. Here, in the darkness, with no light save that of a tallow candle, he often worked from morning until night, and from night until morning, in dust and sulphur and heat, until his limbs ached with excessive toil. But Michael was a true Christian. From the lips of his mother he had heard of the Saviour, and sought and found His love. He joined himself with God's people, read his Bible, prayed in secret, and carried the savour of his religion with him into the very heart of the earth. More now than thirty years ago he and two others were sinking a shaft. They had bored a hole in the bottom of it in the usual way, then one had climbed to the windlass, leaving the other two to attend to the blasting. They half-filled the hole with gunpowder, and then tamped it with soft stone to the top. Their working-tools were placed in one corner of the pit, and secured by having a few rough boards thrown over them. They were nearly in readiness to blast, as they had often been before. Now, the right and proper course would have been to have cut the fuse to its necessary length before placing it in the hole; then one should have ascended in the bucket, the single man left in the pit should have waited until the bucket came down again, fired the touchpaper placed under the fuse, given the signal, and the two men should have drawn him out of danger before the explosion took place. In the acted carelessly, having Then they cut it with a present case, however, they had left the fuse attached to the coil. stone and one of their blunt iron drills. In doing this, fire was struck; the fuse was ignited, hissing sparks fell around them, the hole might explode at any moment; they both dashed to the bucket and shouted the signal. But the man at the windlass, though strong and hale, could not draw up the two. He tried, and tried in vain: one could escape, both could not, and delay was death to both. Oh what a solemn moment in the history of their lives! It is the general custom of the Cornish miner who attends especially to the charging of the hole to remain behind and fire it. It was Michael's turn to have ascended; but, looking for a moment at his comrade, and stepping from the bucket, he cheerfully exclaimed: "Escape for thy life! I shall be in heaven in a minute!" The bucket sped swiftly up the shaft until it reached the platform, and the man was safe. Oh how eager he was to learn the fate of his deliverer, who had so nobly given up his own life to save him! He bent over the pit, gazed into the great gloom, and listened. Then came the hollow rumbling roar of the explosion, hurling a fragment of the rock to the very foot of the windlass, which left a deep and an abiding scar upon his brow. The smoke poured from the mouth of the pit like a furnace; they listened with beating hearts and throbbing temples, but not a sound was now heard in the working below. Down they went through the sickening sulphur, down, down, until they stood upon the rended earth in the bottom of the pit. Rocks lay here and rocks lay there in wild confusion, but the Christian hero they saw not. With faltering lips they called upon his name: "Michael, Michael Verran ! where art thou ?" And a voice came up from among the flints, sweeter than the voice of morning in the dewy vales: "Thank God! I am here." Yes, thank God, he was there, and his pulses were beating yet, and his faith in Christ was unshaken. With eager hands they removed the rubbish, rock after rock, and stone after stone, until they found him under the flints, with one sharp pillar hurled by the blast on his right side, and one sharp pillar on his left, both standing upright, with a rocky cover over them. Brave, good man! With shouts to the King of heaven, they took him out; and there was not found a rent upon his garment or a scratch upon his flesh. He told them that when he was left alone by the hissing fuse he sat down in a corner of the shaft, held a slab of rock before his eyes, commended his soul to his Maker, and waited the issue. And the God in whom he trusted delivered His faithful servant. Such is the substance of Uncle Dick's story. Michael Verran's mining life was changed from that hour; kind and good people of the Society of Friends rose up to encourage him. They placed him on a small farm, where he passed the remainder of his years in comparative plenty. He served his God in secret as well as in the great congregation; and when the time came for his departure he was, as he felt in the bottom of the shaft at South Caradon, quite ready. He now sleeps in a quiet country graveyard, where the daisies blossom in the grass, and the birds sing at the opening of summer; but far away over mountain and valley, and stream and sea, his Christian heroism is known, and many an ancient man and buoyant stripling wipes away a tear when listening to the recital of his manly deed, and exclaims with a throbbing heart: "Michael Verran was a true hero." J. H. We often kneel to Thee, our God, Oh, touch our lips, stir up our hearts, Without Thy guiding counsel, Lord, We're sure to go astray; To prayer Thou wilt that aid afford: We know that nothing we can do, Our hearts we know, we feel, are vile; When secrets all shall be revealed; Let Thy blest Spirit make them clean, Lead us to Christ, "the Lamb of God," He is the only way to Thee; Teach us through Him to pray. John i. 29. Oh, may we, as the patriarch, "Wrestle till break of day;" Nor "let Thee go except Thou bless," Teach us to love Thy Holy Word, And when we read its blessed truths, Psalm cxix. 18. Teach us to trust Thee step by step; In weakness, Lord, be Thou our strength, Psalm xxxvii. 23, 24. When passing on through Jordan's flood Be with us, Saviour-comfort us, Say to the billows-"Peace! be still!" Oh, let not Satan tempt us then, Nor death our hearts dismay; I Cor. xv. 55-57. And when, among the blood-bought band, With Cherubim and Seraphim, D. H. C. 'Thy going out and thy coming in." LEASE, Miss Ruth, there's a poor woman named Lloyd wants to speak to you. I asked her to give me a message, but she said she couldn't tell her business to any one but you." 66 Then, Martha, you ought to have sent her away. No doubt she came to beg, and you know I told you to say I cannot give to strangers. Just tell her that unless she sends in word what she wants she must go away." A few minutes later I heard the hall-door shut, with some relief, for I had just come in from a long afternoon's district |